#all the characters are holding secrets and frustrations and everything is about to burst and no one is ready

[crispylilworm]

i'm watching The Last of Us with someone who doesn't know any spoilers (vs i do know what happens in the game) and he's like "WOW ellie & dina are so reckless and kinda bratty it seems like too much" oh don't worry that just adds to the regret and despair to come :-)

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 2 - Bruises | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.6k

Trent slumped down next to Noah, running a hand over his hair, his thoughts all over the place. It had been hard enough leaving you upstairs, seeing you so vulnerable, so close. Noah nudged him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Mate, seriously—what is the deal with you two?” Noah asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s putty in your hands, and you’re practically breathing down her neck. Thought you’d snap eventually but you just keep dragging it out.” Trent let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch. 

“I don’t even know, mate. I can’t keep this up. Every time I’m around her lately, it feels impossible to just… be her friend.” He shook his head. “But Jack would kill me, you know that.” Noah burst into laughter, shaking his head. 

“Trenty, it’s been years of this. You’re acting like this tension is new! This is, hands down, the longest and most intense case of foreplay I’ve ever seen. Even Jack’s gotta know by now.” Noah smirked. Trent rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty grin breaking through. 

“Yeah, but it’s different now. She’s… she’s not just Jack’s sister anymore. It’s like she’s looking at me the same way I look at her.”  He groaned and then he let out a shaky breath, feeling exposed for the first time. “And tonight—I feel like she’s slipping, no? Just hard to leave her room after all that. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Noah leaned in, eyes glinting with amusement. “Mateeee.” Trent groaned once more for good measure. 

“Bro, you gotta sort this. You can’t go on like this forever.” He clapped Trent on the shoulder. Trent chuckled, a little embarrassed but unable to deny how much he wanted you. 

“I know. But I’m just trying to play it smart, you know? I don’t want to hurt her but Jack’s my boy.” Noah raised an eyebrow, laughing harder. 

“Play it smart? Just try not to trip over yourself sneaking back upstairs.” He teased. With one last laugh, Trent let himself sink into his thoughts of you, wondering how much longer he could hold himself back.

Another night of drinking to forget came. You knew it wasn’t the healthiest method, but it was maybe the most fun. The club was packed, pulsing with the beat of the music and the energy of people letting loose on a Saturday night. You had dragged Layla along with you to have a fun night out, a chance to unwind and forget about all the stress from the past week. You were in good spirits, laughing and dancing with Layla, letting the music take over. But everything shifted when you spotted him—your sort of ex, a footballer for Manchester United, Josh. If playing for that club wasn’t enough of a reason for you to hate him, he also was just an awful person.  He was standing by the bar, surrounded by his friends, looking as arrogant as ever. You tried to ignore him, but it was clear he had seen you too. A smirk tugged at his lips as he pushed through the crowd, heading straight for you.

“YN!” he called out over the music, a mocking tone in his voice. “Long time no see.” You forced a polite smile, not wanting to cause a scene but you knew this was being done to be rude.

 “Hey,” you replied shortly, hoping he’d get the hint and move on. But he didn’t.

“What’s the matter? Not happy to see me?” he jeered, leaning in closer than necessary. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, could see the malice in his eyes.

“I’m just here to have a good time with Layla,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “I’d rather not—” But he cut you off, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You were always such a good girl, Y/N. Too good for the likes of me, right? Or maybe you’re just playing hard to get?” He sang in an obnoxious tone. You’d ‘split’ because you didn’t like each other enough. It was sex and that was about it. Josh particularly didn’t like that no matter what, you’d never look at him the way you looked at Trent and so he blamed the split on you. Despite him ending it, it was your wrong doing apparently.  

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, yeah? Fuck off.” Layla stepped in, sensing the tension. He sneered at Layla before turning his attention back to you. 

“What’s the matter, YN? Still pining after Alexander-Arnold? Aye just get it through that pretty little head, he’s never going to want you.” The words stung, sharper than you expected. You rolled your eyes and he didn’t take kindly to that. Even though you didn’t care for him anymore, his cruelness cut deep. Tears welled up in your eyes despite yourself.  Josh had never been the kind to hold back, not even in public. You had seen glimpses of his temper before, but tonight, it felt different—meaner, more deliberate. His words were mocking as his fingers gripped your arm with a force that made your skin sting, and as he leaned in closer, his words grew more venomous.  "What, are you going to cry now?" he spat, tightening his hold on you. His grip was firm, biting into your flesh with enough pressure to bruise. You winced, trying to twist free, but he only tightened his grip, his nails digging into your skin. He was holding you close to him, he was angry in a possessive way. You could feel the bruise forming under his touch, a dark mark that would remind you of this night long after it was over. You hated how he could make you feel so small, how he could strip away every ounce of confidence with just a few words and a harsh grip.

“Please just stop,” you snapped, your voice breaking. You tried to yank your arm away again, but he only pulled you closer, his lips curling into a cruel smile. He pulled you away from everyone so it was just the two of you. You felt a wave of shame, not just for the scene he was causing but for yourself—for letting him do this to you, for putting up with it, for not having the strength to push him away once and for all. Layla didn’t know what to do. So often you had said it was fine with him but right now it felt anything but.  You didn’t know why you even put up with him, why you had let him into your life at all. He had always been like this—aggressive, dominating, possessive,always needing to control every situation, even when you were out in public. It was as if he thrived on belittling you, on reminding you of every perceived flaw, every mistake you’d made.  He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. 

“You’ll be nothing without me, know that?” he hissed, his grip tightening painfully. You flinched, the pain radiating up your arm. “You’ll always be nothing.” The tears blurred your vision, and you hated yourself for letting him see you cry. You hated how he still had this power over you, how he could reduce you to this—a sobbing, broken mess in the middle of a crowded club. You hated how he could strip you of your dignity with just a few cruel words and a tight grip on your arm. Somewhere in the haze of your thoughts, you found the strength to pull away. You jerked your arm back with a sudden burst of energy, managing to break free from his grasp. You stumbled back, cradling your bruised arm against your chest, the sting of the fresh bruise radiating through your skin. You looked up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving with a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration.

“I’m done. We’re done” you choked out, the words barely more than a whisper. “I get it. Just let it go, okay?” You whimpered. He just laughed, a dark, hollow sound that sent a chill down your spine. 

“You’ll be back, babe” he called after you as you tried to leave, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You always come back.”  You hated that you had gone back to him before, that you had let yourself get tangled up in his web of anger and possessiveness. The sex had been good—at least, that's what you told yourself. But he had cheated on you more times than you could count, though you were never really sure if it counted as cheating. Your relationship had always been undefined, a messy entanglement of emotions and misunderstandings. He was hypocritical, a storm ready to explode any time he saw you so much as smile at another man. And yet, there you were, always caught in the crossfire of his jealousy and rage. It didn’t matter what he did, his whole goal was to just have complete control over you and Trent threw a wrench in that. He especially hated Trent. It wasn't just because they played for rival clubs, though that was part of it. It was deeper than football. He saw the way your eyes lingered on Trent, the way your face softened when you spoke his name. He knew there was something there, a connection that went beyond friendly banter or casual attraction. Trent was everything he was not—calm, kind, successful in a way that made others admire rather than fear him. And you—God, he could see it—your feelings for Trent were written all over your face, in the way you laughed at his jokes, in the way you always seemed to find yourself at his side. He resented Trent for being everything he wasn’t and for being the object of your affections. You ootd to keep Josh’s behavior hidden from your brother, somehow managing to mask how fucked up it all was. Jack didn't know how deep your ex’s temper ran or how controlling he could be. But if he knew.. If Jack knew or even his friends knew but probably especially Trent knew… all hell would break loose.  So you’d learned how to swallow back the stories, pretending that everything was fine. 

“Can you just leave me alone,” you managed to say, your voice breaking. 

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” He leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Does your brother know you slut yourself out for his best friend? What’s your dad think of that... Being a whore for the boys your brother trusts most… and your mum.. Oh well.. You wouldn’t know what she thinks of her slutty little daughter.” That was the last straw. You hated that you even trusted him enough that he had that bit of information about your life. You felt the tears spill over, and you turned and bolted, pushing your way through the crowd. You needed to get away, to breathe, to clear your head. Your heart was pounding, and your vision blurred with tears. You stumbled trying to get to the back hallway of the club, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Layla had seen enough. 

“Fuck you!” Layla screamed rushing over but when she turned to try to follow after you, you were lost in the crowds. Unbeknownst to you, Trent had been at the club too, celebrating with a few of his teammates. He had seen you running, and had noticed the distress on your face. Without a second thought, he followed you, his concern outweighing any questions about why you were there or what had happened. The flashing lights of the club blurred around you, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to spin faster with each passing second. The pounding bass reverberated through your chest, matching the erratic beat of your heart. You felt dizzy, your thoughts swirling like the flickering neon signs above. The laughter and shouts of the crowd melted into a distant, muddled hum as your vision began to swim. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and unchecked, as you stumbled through the throngs of people. The room felt like it was closing in on you, walls shrinking as the faces around you became distorted, like a nightmare you couldn’t escape. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one catching in your throat as you fought the rising tide of panic.

You could barely think straight, your mind a haze of confusion and pain. Everything felt wrong—your body, the people around you, the pounding music that seemed to pulse through your veins. You wanted to escape, to find a place where you could breathe again, but everywhere you turned, there were people, faces, eyes. It was too much, all of it pressing down on you, squeezing your chest until you thought you might break. Your legs felt heavy, your steps unsteady as if the ground were shifting beneath your feet. You pushed through the crowd, desperate for air, for space, for anything but this suffocating chaos. Your tears blurred your vision, and you wiped at her eyes, her hand trembling. Then, through the haze, you felt it—strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. At first, you panicked, thinking it was someone else, another stranger trying to touch you, but then you caught a familiar scent, a mix of cologne and something uniquely comforting.

Trent.

Your body sagged with relief, your knees nearly buckling beneath you as you collapsed against his chest. His arms were solid and warm, encircling you like a protective barrier against the chaos of the club. You felt his hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as he whispered soothing words you could barely hear over the music. Then for the first time, Trent saw a bruise forming on your arm. His face was a mask of concern, his eyes darkening with anger as he took in the sight of you, your arm marked with the telltale signs of aggression. 

"Y/N," he whispered, stepping back before reaching out to gently lift your arm, his touch featherlight but steady. He turned it over, revealing the bruises that had already started to bloom in shades of purple and blue. His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened just enough for you to feel his rage simmering beneath the surface. "Who did this to you?" You tried to pull away, tried to hide the evidence of your shame and pain, but Trent wouldn't let go. It was so obvious it came from someone grubbing you too tight, being too rough in a way no one wanted. His hand held yours firmly, his thumb brushing against your skin as if he could erase the marks with a touch. 

"Please," you muttered, your voice breaking, "stop." you weakly begged.

"Y/N…" he insisted, his voice low and steady, but with an edge that made it clear he wasn't going to let this go. "Who…" He snapped demandingly. Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, the weight of everything crashing down on you. Trent's face hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in you attempting to tell him what just happened but he couldn’t focus on anything but how sad you looked, how broken. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as if to shield you from the world, from the pain, from everything that had ever hurt you. In that moment, you felt safe for the first time in what seemed like forever. His arms were your refuge, his strength your solace. Trent's blood boiled with a fury he rarely felt, his hands shaking with the need to do something—anything—to make Josh, who he knew it had to have been, pay for what he'd done. But then he saw your tear-streaked face, your lips trembling as you tried to hold back sobs, and all that rage took a back seat. His anger didn't matter right now; you mattered. Your body shuddered with each sob, and Trent felt a pang of helplessness in his chest. He wanted to tell you everything would be alright, that he'd take care of everything. He wanted to promise that no one would ever hurt you again. But he knew that words wouldn’t be enough, not now. So, he just held you tighter, letting you cry into his shirt, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey, you're okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the noise, anchoring you to the present. You buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you from drowning. The tears kept coming, but they were different now—less frantic, more a release of all the tension you had been holding onto. Trent’s embrace was a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on. The world around you seemed to fade, the thumping bass and flashing lights dimming in comparison to the steady, comforting rhythm of Trent’s heartbeat against your ear. You could feel his warmth seeping into you, calming the storm that raged inside you. In his arms, you felt a safety you hadn’t known she needed—a reassurance that, despite everything, you weren’t alone.

“Just breathe for me,” Trent whispered, his voice soft and close to your ear. “I’m here. You’re safe.” You tried to do as he said, taking a shaky breath that caught in your throat. But with him holding you, the air seemed easier to draw in, the panic slowly ebbing away. The tears continued to fall, but now they were softer, quieter, as if his presence was slowly soothing the hurt you felt. For a moment, there was only you—no noise, no crowd, no chaos. Just the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his embrace. Trent held you tightly, his grip firm yet gentle, his touch grounding you in a way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. You stood in there struggling to catch your breath as Trent's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke, grounding you in a way that felt comforting and electric all at once. He tightened his hold, his chin resting on the top of your head, and his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back. But even as he tried to comfort you, a battle still raged inside him. Part of him wanted to go find Josh right then and there, to make him pay for every single bruise on your skin, every tear he'd caused. The other part of him—the rational part—knew he needed to stay with you, to keep you safe and calm. And then there was the question he couldn't push away: Should he tell Jack?  Jack was his best friend, but Jack was also your brother. He deserved to know that his sister had been hurt, but Trent also knew how fiercely protective Jack was of you. If he told Jack, there’d be no holding him back, and things could spiral out of control. Plus, he wasn't sure if you'd want Jack to know—if you'd want your brother to see you in this vulnerable state.

"I got you," he whispered as his thoughts spiraled, his voice filled with a tenderness you hadn't felt in a long time. "I got you, okay?" You felt something break in that moment-a wall you'd kept up around yourself for so long. And when his lips brushed the top of your head in a soft kiss, something stirred inside you, a longing that had been quietly simmering for years. It felt like an opening. Your heart raced as you pulled back slightly, your gaze finding his, and in the dim light, his eyes softened, a silent understanding passing between you. You hesitated, but then, almost instinctively, you tilted up, pressing your lips to his. It was a tentative kiss at first, a question in every touch of your lips against his. Trent tensed, caught off guard, but he didn't pull away. He wanted this so instead, his hands found your waist, his fingers digging in ever so slightly as he kissed you back, the warmth of his mouth melting away the hurt that had clung to you since your ex's cruel words. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together, like a fuse that had finally been lit. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, years of unspoken attraction finally bubbling over. His hands roamed, his grip on you tightening as he leaned into you, pushing you up against the cool brick wall behind you. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, felt like it was meant to be, like you'd waited your whole life for this moment. God, he wanted this… but not like this. This was wrong. So then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back, his breathing heavy as he looked at you with wide eyes, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper. 

"What...Y/N… what are we doing?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, his fingers still lingering on your skin. The conflict in his eyes was clear, and it sent a pang through your chest. But you didn't care about the doubts racing through his mind. You leaned in again, refusing to let go of this feeling. To remind him how very right this wrong was. The kiss was softer this time, gentler, but just as consuming. You poured everything into it—all the years of longing, the quiet, unspoken feelings, the ache you'd felt every time you saw him with someone else. And for a moment, he gave in, his lips moving against yours like he'd been holding back for years. You could feel him wanting more but then, with a deep sigh, he pulled away once more, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady his breathing. "Y/ N... we can't. I can't," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry. I just..." He muttered. The rejection cut deeper than you expected, the pain raw and immediate. Your eyes burned with fresh tears as you took a shaLay step back, your heart pounding with a mix of heartbreak and anger.  

"Fuck you!" you cried, your voice trembling. It felt like the walls you'd let down were crashing back up, each one harder than before. You turned on your heel, ready to escape before he saw you fall apart completely. But he reached out, his hand grazing your arm, as if he couldn't quite let you go. You recoiled, stepping back, your expression a mix of pain and anger. 

"Wait," he pleaded softly, but you yanked your arm from his grasp, your heart shattering as you disappeared into the crowd, leaving him behind with the lingering taste of regret on his lips. Trent’s heart ached seeing the tears well up in your eyes again.  You turned and ran, pushing your way back through the crowd, your vision blurred with tears. You didn’t care where you were going; you just needed to get away from him, from the humiliation and the heartbreak. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you fled, but you didn’t look back. Trent watched you go, his heart sinking into his stomach. He wanted to run after you, to explain, to somehow make it right, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He knew you needed space, needed time to cool off. But as he stood there, the guilt and worry gnawed at him. He had never wanted to hurt you, but in trying to protect you, he feared he had done exactly that. The sounds of the club grew louder around him, but Trent felt miles away, lost in his thoughts. He knew he’d have to find a way to make this right with you, to explain himself, and to make sure you knew how much he cared. But for now, all he could do was watch you disappear into the crowd, your absence leaving a painful ache in his chest. Trent leaned back against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Some of his teammates who he was out with came over. They were giving him confused looks, clearly curious about the scene they had just witnessed. From their perspective, he had chased after to a a teary-eyed girl, who then kissed him like her life depended on it, and then, just as quickly, pulled away with a broken ‘fuck you.’ They had questions.

“Mate, what was that about?” one of them asked, laughing awkwardly, unsure how to react to the tension still lingering in the air.

“Bro, was that…” Another piled on cautiously, recognizing you. Trent ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the flood of emotions. He glanced toward the crowd, desperately scanning for you, but you’d disappeared into the sea of people. His chest tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of what just happened settle in. He couldn’t explain it, not to them, not in a way that made any sense. 

“Yeah, was Jack’s sister.” He muttered after he took a deep breath, eyes still flicking toward the direction you’d gone. The second those words left his mouth, Trent knew something had shifted inside him. It wasn’t a lie, not really, but it felt bigger than that. It felt like a realization he’d been avoiding for too long. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You were his everything. And the truth of that hit him like a freight train, leaving him standing there, breathless and rattled.

“Fuck, mate. That’s complicated.”  One of his teammates whistled, finally connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” Trent breathed out, his mind racing. It was beyond complicated. Jack was his best friend, and you… you were the girl who had been slowly slipping from childhood crush to something deeper, something dangerous. He shook his head, his thoughts swirling. The way you’d kissed him tonight, the hurt in your eyes, the fire in the way you’d pulled away—it was like everything had boiled over, and Trent had been too slow to catch up. He’d rejected you, not because he didn’t want you, but because he wanted you too much. He couldn’t handle the idea of hurting Jack, of crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. But now, standing there with his teammates still glancing at him for answers, he realized that line had already been blurred for a while. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You hadn’t been for a long time. And now, Trent wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise. As the music pulsed around him, Trent felt a shift. He needed to find you, needed to figure out what came next, no matter how messy it got. Because, after tonight, he knew he couldn’t go back to seeing you as just Jack’s little sister. You were more than that. You always had been. 

After leaving Trent behind, you had stumbled back into the chaos of the dance floor, your heart pounding and your emotions a tangled mess. You had felt rejected and humiliated, and in a haze of frustration and alcohol, you made a poor decision. You spotted a man at the bar—a tall, handsome stranger who had been eyeing you all night. Without much thought, you walked up to him and struck up a conversation. His flirty smile and eager compliments were a welcome distraction from the pain you felt. When he suggested you leave together far sooner than appropriate, you didn’t hesitate. You just wanted to forget, to numb the ache in your chest caused by Trent's rejection. You told Layla you felt sick and had needed to leave. She knew it was a farce but she also knew she couldn't stop you. She assumed it was just Josh being an ass she had no idea you had just kissed Trent. She called and called to find you; to leave with you but you just texted saying it was all fine. But as the night unfolded and you found yourself in the stranger's bed, you quickly realized how hollow it all felt. The sex was awkward and unfulfilling, a stark contrast to the passion you had imagined when you thought of Trent. You found yourself comparing the man to Trent in every way—his touch, his movements, the way he spoke to you. Every comparison only made you miss Trent more. You knew deep down that Trent would have been different—gentler or maybe rougher but definitely more attentive, more real. Tears stung your eyes as you lay there, regretting your impulsive decision. This was a low. By the time morning came, you left the stranger's place without a word, feeling emptier than before. You hadn’t heard from Trent since that night. Part of you was relieved, thinking it was better this way—less complicated. But another part of you ached for him, for his presence, for the safety you felt in his arms. 

You’d stumbled in through your front door just after dawn, your steps heavy and uneven, your head pounding with every movement. Jack was already up, a coffee mug in hand, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lazy grin. 

“Rough night?” he joked, his eyes barely glancing up from his phone. “You look like you’ve been through hell.” You tried to muster a response, but all that came out was a soft hum, barely audible over the sound of the coffee machine. Your shoulders slumped as you shuffled over to the fridge, your body moving on autopilot. The sting of tears was still fresh in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall again, not in front of him. Jack finally looked up from his phone, his grin fading when he saw the look on your face. He straightened up, setting his mug down on the counter, his brow furrowing with concern. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.  You just hummed again, the sound weak and empty. You didn’t have the energy to explain, didn’t want to get into it with him. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you closely, but you kept your gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding his gaze. Jack took a step closer, his concern growing. “You sure?” he pressed gently, sensing something was wrong. “You don’t look so good.” You just shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest aching with the effort of holding everything in. You needed to get out of there, away from his questions and his worry. You couldn’t deal with it, not now.

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was a lie, and you knew he could see right through it, but you didn’t care. You needed to be alone, to let yourself fall apart without an audience. Jack watched you, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, but he didn’t push any further. He just nodded, letting you go. He knew you knew he was there if you needed him. 

 “Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back. “But if you need anything...” You nodded, not waiting for him to finish. You turned and headed upstairs, your steps heavy and slow. As soon as you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.  The weight of the night before crashed down on you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that tore through your chest. The shame, the regret, the confusion—it was all too much. You’d thought you could handle it, thought you could keep it together, but now, alone in your room, it all felt too heavy to bear. You cried until there were no tears left, your body shaking with the force of your sobs. And when you finally stopped, when the tears finally ran dry, you were left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest and the haunting memory of Trent’s rejection.

You were absolutely mortified. You had kissed Trent. How could you have done something so reckless? You laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling on Layla’s bed at her place, your mind racing in sheer panic. Every nerve in your body felt on edge, replaying that moment over and over. What was worse was that it never happened before, not even close, but something had come over you—like instinct taking over reason—and now you regretted it. Layla shifted beside you, sensing your turmoil. 

“Come on, it won’t that bad,” she said in an attempt to soften the blow. You groaned, rolling onto your side to face her. 

“No, Lays. I can never, ever see him again.” The words came out in a rush, your voice cracking under the weight of your embarrassment. She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. 

“That’s not true.” She told you. You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest, your breath shaking. 

“It is! I crossed the line. And he… rejected me.” The last part was barely a whisper, like speaking it aloud made the sting of it even worse. You felt your face grow hot, the emotions swelling until they spilled over. The rejection was unbearable, and before you knew it, tears slipped down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” you said, your voice wavering between a sob and a chuckle. Layla immediately wrapped you in her arms, pulling you close. 

“No, it’s not just tiredness,” she murmured into your hair, holding you tightly. “This sucks. The boy you like just said no. That’s a lot to handle, but we move.” You stayed in her embrace, taking in her warmth, but her words only made your heart ache more.

“I’m not even sure if I just like him,” you admitted, voice small and hollow as you pulled away slightly to look at her. Layla’s face twisted in confusion. 

“What?” she asked, blinking, and then a knowing look crossed her face as she softened. “Oh no. Babe…” You swallowed hard, blinking back more tears. 

“I mean, I do… but it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just like.” The weight of the word hung in the air between you both, unspoken but understood.

“You love him,” Layla said quietly with a frown she couldn’t control, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But maybe right now, the feeling of love is for your friend.” She paused, her eyes full of sympathy. “You don’t need to hurt yourself imagining anything more, okay? Not right now.” You bit your lip and nodded, the tears still threatening to spill over. You were exhausted, heartbroken, confused.  You knew you loved Trent as Jack's best friend, as a friend of your own but you had never had an intimate relationship to say you loved him any deeper than that. The thought of those feelings right now though were making you sick.

“But what if I can’t face him? What if it’s too awkward?” Layla shook her head and gave you a reassuring squeeze. 

“You’ll bounce back. Trent’s nice. He’s not going to make fun of you for this or make it weird. You two have been friends for too long for that.” But deep down, you couldn’t shake the sting of rejection. Maybe Layla was right—Trent wouldn’t make fun of you, but things weren’t the same anymore. Not after this.

When Jack invited Trent along with all the other boys over for a movie night a few days later, Trent was hesitant. He knew you might be home, and he wasn’t sure how you’d feel seeing him. But Jack was his best friend, and Trent figured maybe it was time to face the music. As Trent walked up to Jack’s front door, his nerves were on edge. He took a deep breath and knocked, his mind racing with what he might say if you were there. The door swung open, and Jack greeted him with a grin, pulling him into a quick hug.

“All good, mate?” Jack said, stepping aside to let Trent in. But Trent only hummed. He managed a smile, following Jack inside. He glanced around the living room, half-expecting to see you curled up on the couch. But the room was empty. “Y/N’s out,” Jack said casually, noticing Trent’s quick survey of the room. “I think she’s been a bit off lately. Haven’t seen much of her.” Trent nodded, trying to hide his relief that you weren’t home but sadness Jack noticed things were off.. 

“Yeah, I haven’t seen her either,” he replied, his voice steady despite the churn in his stomach. Jack grabbed a bottle of water and handed one to Trent.

“She seemed pretty fucked up when she came back from a night out but didn’t tell me much, though.” Trent took a long sip of his water, not sure how to respond.  Jack and Trent were sitting in silence on their phones only best friends could sit in whilst waiting in the kitchen for the other boys to show up. Trent kept glancing toward the hallway, waiting for the moment you would come home. He wanted to see you, to talk to you, to somehow make things right. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of you, a sense of unease settled in his chest. The sound of a key turning in the front door caught Trent’s attention. He tensed, his heart quickening as he heard the door open and close. A few seconds later, you appeared strutting through the house, your face mildly flushed from the summer heat outside. You froze when you saw Trent sitting there, your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice tight.

“Hey,” Trent replied, his eyes locked on you.  Jack, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. 

“Hey, Y/N. Weird vibe but erm.. Lads are watching Shawshank tonight. Want to join?” He asked, trying to lessen whatever awkwardness just flooded the room. You shook your head, avoiding Trent’s gaze. 

“No, thanks. I’m just going to head to my room.” Jack looked between the two of you, frowning slightly. 

“You sure? You haven’t been out here much lately.” He cooed gently. 

“I’m sure,” you smiled sympathetically at your older brother. You appreciated him caring but this was far from something he could help with. You turned and disappeared down the hallway without another word. Trent watched you go, the weight of your unfinished business hanging heavy in the air. He knew he needed to talk to you, to explain himself, but he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen. For now, all he could do was sit and wait, hoping for a chance to make things right.

You had spent the last few days trying to keep yourself busy, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t get Trent out of your mind. Trent, on the other hand, was torn between worry and respect for your space. He had tried to find you that night at the club, but it was like you had vanished into thin air. He didn’t want to push you, especially after how things had ended between you. Still, the thought of your hurt and alone gnawed at him. Trent thought about that kiss everyday and how much withstraint he was having to practice. He wanted to rip your clothes off, he had to stop his hands' magnetic pull to grab your ass. It was a typical movie night—Jack had all the boys over for another film. They’d yell through the whole thing and gossip in a way they’d claim only girls did. You knew the drill by now, but tonight felt different. You hadn’t seen Trent since that moment, the kiss that had turned everything upside down. You tried to ignore how awkward things were between you and trent but you were dying of thirst and you weren’t sure if dying of embarrassment of dehydration would be worse, You settled on dehydration so you moved quickly through the house, attempting to avoid where all the boys were, but Trent wasn’t going to let it go. He heard you try to sneak into the kitchen.

“Y/N,” he called out quietly, coming into the room behind you and taking a few steps toward you. You froze, your back to him, the tension thick in the air. You could hear Jack in the cinema complaining about something, completely oblivious you’d hoped. You weren’t ready for this, not now, not when your emotions were so raw.

“Please, I don’t want to talk to you,” you said firmly, your voice low, trying to keep the emotion out of it.

“Y/N, come on… just give me a minute,” he persisted, his voice filled with a quiet plea.You whipped around, eyes already welling up. 

“Trent, I really don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, trying to hold your composure. “Frankly, I’m having a hard time even just seeing you right now, so please,” you begged, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. You could feel your chest tightening, the tears threatening to spill. His face softened, but he didn’t move.

“I just want to talk. Please,” he said, sounding desperate now, like he was grasping at straws. But you couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with Jack just a few rooms away. You shook your head, blinking back tears, but one escaped anyway. 

“I don’t want to talk,” you choked out, your voice shaLay, as the tears began to build along your lash line. Trent stood there, helpless. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do, caught between wanting to comfort you and knowing that he couldn’t—not here, not now. You could see the frustration and guilt etched on his face, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. But you just shook your head again and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, stuck in the mess that neither of you had any idea how to clean up. And the worst part was, Jack was still there—completely unaware of the storm brewing between you two, his heart left open to wounded arguably as much as yours if you couldn’t sort this.

Trent thought about that drunk, tearful kiss at the club every single day. It replayed in his mind over and over, the taste of it, the way your lips had trembled against his, the way your hands had gripped onto him like he was the only thing anchoring you. He hadn't even expected it—had been caught off guard by how much he wanted it too. But then, the reality had hit him hard. The restraint he had to practice afterward felt like torture. It felt like trying to fight a g force the way his hands moved on your body. He wanted to rip your clothes off that night, to give in to the magnetic pull that constantly drew him to you. But he couldn't. Not like that. Not when you were drunk and emotional. Not when it could ruin everything. Now, the moment haunted him, and he was stuck in the limbo of not knowing what to do next. What if you regretted it? What if that kiss had meant something completely different to you than it did to him? And what scared him the most-what kept him up at night-was the realization that he didn't just want the kiss. He wanted more than that. He wanted you in a way that wasn't just about desire or physical attraction. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, who you leaned on, who you could trust with all the messy bits of life. But what if he'd already blown his chance? What if that kiss had been the beginning of the end rather than the start of something more? 

This tension carried on for days. Neither you or Trent making any further attempts at sorting it. Trent sat at a restaurant with Jack and Noah one night, completely lost in his own thoughts. His fork hovered above his plate, food untouched, as he stared blankly at the table. Jack, noticing how quiet he’d been, shot Noah a look. They’d been trying to get him to open up all night, but nothing was working.

“Mate, seriously, what’s going on?” Jack finally asked, setting down his drink. “You’ve barely said two words.”

“Yeah, you’ve been in your own head all night. Go on.” Noah chimed in. Trent talked nonstop all the time so this was very out of character and it’d been going on for over a week. Trent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure if this was something he should even bring up, especially not with Jack sitting right there. But the weight of what happened between him and you had been pressing down on him for days, and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He ran a hand over his hair, debating how to word it without setting off alarm bells.

“Have you ever…” he began slowly, his voice low, “turned down a girl and then immediately regretted it?” He sheepishly asked his eyes, flicking to both boys trying to gauge their responses. 

“Nah, mate. If I turn her down, it’s for a reason.” Noah, always the confident one, scoffed.

“Yeah, once or twice. Why?” But Jack, ever the romantic, leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful nod. Trent’s eyes flickered between them, his stomach churning as he chose his next words carefully. He had to be vague, had to make sure Jack wouldn’t catch on.

“There’s this girl…” he started. He hesitated, feeling the weight of his own words. “She kissed me, but she was drunk, so I pushed her away. Now she’s pissed, and she won’t talk to me.” Trent hesitantly explained. Trent wasn’t normally shy talking about women so this whole thing was very confusing for his friends.

“So why did you turn her down if you’re this worked up about it?” Noah’s brow furrowed.

“Because she was drunk!” Trent said, frustration lacing his voice. He looked down at the table, unable to meet their eyes. “I didn’t want it to be like that.” Jack shrugged, clearly puzzled. 

“That’s more than valid, mate. If she was drunk, you did the right thing. Why wouldn’t she understand that?” Trent groaned inwardly, knowing he couldn’t explain the real reason behind his frustration without giving too much away. The truth was, he didn’t want just a drunken kiss. He wanted more than that—something real, something that wasn’t just swept under the rug as a mistake.

“It’s complicated,” he muttered, his voice trailing off. Noah, always the one to push for action, smirked.

 “Next time you see her, just go for it. Easy.” He looked at Trent like he had solved his issue no problem. Trent couldn’t help but laugh at the simplicity of Noah’s solution. If only it were that easy. He wasn’t just dealing with any girl—this was you, Jack’s sister. It wasn’t something he could just ‘go for’ without thinking about the consequences. Jack, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward with a more serious expression. 

“Mate, just talk to her. Tell her you actually care about her and that you want it to be something she remembers, not something that happened when she was drunk. Simple as.” Trent’s heart sank. Jack had unknowingly hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what he wanted to say to you, but how could he? How could he tell you that he cared about you—really cared about you—when Jack was right there, completely unaware of the storm brewing between the two of you? He tried to keep his expression neutral as Jack gave advice, but guilt gnawed at him. He was about to take his best mate’s advice and use it to get closer to his little sister. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and it made his stomach twist. But he couldn’t keep running from the situation. He had to talk to you, had to tell you how he felt before it drove him insane. Noah, oblivious to the deeper layers of the situation, laughed and gave Trent a light punch on the arm. 

“Yeah, man. What’s the worst that could happen? You talk, she listens, and you two figure it out, I imagine she’s leng.. Get her in bed. Done.” Noah quipped and Trent’s guilt worsened. He forced a chuckle, but his mind was already elsewhere. What was the worst that could happen? Jack could find out. He could lose his best friend. You could reject him, or worse—tell him that kiss was nothing more than a drunken mistake. The thought made his chest tighten. But Noah’s lightheartedness didn’t calm Trent’s nerves. Jack’s advice, however, echoed in his mind—talk to her, tell her how you feel. Trent knew it was the right move, but the fear of rejection, of ruining everything, loomed over him like a dark cloud. As they finished dinner and paid the bill, Trent’s thoughts were already on what was coming next. He was heading to your house after this. You’d be there. Jack would be there. And somehow, amidst it all, he had to figure out how to have that conversation. As they walked to the cars, Jack patted Trent on the back. 

“You’ll be alright, mate. Just don’t overthink it.” Trent forced a smile, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t shake the anxiety bubbling inside him. Jack’s words rang in his ears, and he knew he had to take the advice, but how? As Trent drove to your house, the weight of everything pressed down on him. He was about to walk into a house where everything could change in a matter of minutes. He wanted more than a kiss, more than just a fleeting moment—but what if you didn’t? What if that kiss had meant nothing to you? You only said you didn’t want to see him… were you just mad. He couldn’t tell.  Pulling into the driveway, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had to talk to you. He had to try, even if it scared him to death

Trent awkwardly made his way into the living room, his heart pounding as he spotted you already seated on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you. You looked adorable and it made him sadder. You were curled up in the corner, your eyes glued to the TV, but he could tell from the stiffness in your posture that you were aware of his presence. The soft glow from the screen cast a flickering light over your face, highlighting the tension in your jaw and the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should sit down. But with a deep breath, he took a seat next to you, careful to leave a respectful gap between you. The silence between you was thick, almost tangible, and he could feel the awkwardness settling over you like a heavy blanket. 

“Hey,” he said softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. You barely acknowledged him, giving a short nod without looking away from the TV. 

“Hey,” you replied curtly, your tone clipped. Trent’s heart sank a little at your cold reception. Never in his life had you greeted him like this and it was starting to eat at him but he couldn’t blame you. He knew he’d hurt you that night, and he was ready to face the consequences. He could imagine what he would feel like if you said no to him. Still, the distance between you now felt like a chasm, one he was desperate to cross. He kept his eyes on the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the show, but he was acutely aware of every small movement you made—the way you shifted slightly, the soft sound of your breath, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He wanted to say something, anything to bridge the gap, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Minutes passed in silence, the tension between you unyielding. Trent’s mind raced with what he could say or do to make things right. He didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to overstep, but he also didn’t want to let this moment slip away without trying. Finally, gathering his courage, he reached out and gently placed his hand on your leg, just above your knee. It was a tentative touch, his fingers light and hesitant, but it was enough to make you stiffen slightly under his hand. You glanced down at his hand, then up at him, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “I didn’t mean to upset you that night.” He cooed gently. Your gaze remained on his hand for a moment longer before you sighed, your shoulders relaxing a fraction. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For… trying to kiss you. I was drunk and— Clearly that’s not something you want and I get that…” You earnestly and awkwardly were trying to apologize but Trent couldn’t help but chuckle softly, interrupting you. 

“You honestly think I didn’t want to kiss you back?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. He kept his eyes on the TV, a coy smile tugging at his lips.  “Trust me, Y/N, it took everything in me to stop.” You looked at him, a flicker of confusion mixed with curiosity in your eyes. 

“Then why did you?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. Trent’s smile faded slightly as he turned to meet your gaze. 

“Because you were upset and not in a good place. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, especially after what that asshole did to you.” You flinched at the mention of Josh, the hurt from his cruel words still fresh in your mind. You looked away, your eyes downcast. 

“He… he said some awful things. It wasn’t great,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Trent’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, his touch becoming more reassuring. You sat there, your heart pounding as Trent's words hung in the air. He'd never spoken to you like that-direct, unfiltered, like he'd been holding back for too long. The way he placed his hand on your thigh, his fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of every inch of contact, sent a spark straight through you. Your mind raced to keep up, to make sense of what was happening, but he was already pushing forward, his tone low, serious, like he needed you to understand.

"That kid's a fucking idiot for losing you," he said, his voice tight, almost angry. "Saying whatever he could to make you feel small... he doesn't know shit about you, and you know that. Right?" You nodded slowly, words caught in your throat. It was true-you did know, somewhere deep down. But hearing it from Trent felt different, grounding, and it made the sting of your ex's words fade, bit by bit. Trent's hand stayed warm on your thigh, a quiet promise in the small gesture. You glanced up at him, your eyes searching his face. You could see the sincerity in his expression, the way his brow furrowed slightly with concern. 

“You really think that?” You asked quietly, your voice tinged with disbelief. Trent nodded, a small, earnest smile playing on his lips. 

“I know that. You’re smart, occasionally  funny,” he teased with a glint in his eyes and your lips curled,  “you’re the sweetest girl I know, and—” he hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly, “—gorgeous. You’re fucking gorgeous. Anyone who can’t see that is a fucking donut.” He kept his eyes on the TV, trying to play it cool, trying to be nonchalant in case anyone else happened to come into the room but he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He risked a quick glance at you and saw a soft smile slowly spreading across your face. The sight of it made his own heart lighten, the tension between you beginning to ease.

"Trent.." you started, wanting to say something, anything, but he shook his head slightly, a glimmer of intensity in his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he interrupted, each word sounding heavier than the last. It was like he'd been carrying them around, waiting for the right moment to let them out. You felt your cheeks flush, a mix of nerves and thrill rushing through you as his gaze stayed locked on yours. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so it’d be impossible for anyone else to hear, his hand firm on your thigh. "And just so you know... that's not the way you get bruises. Never again. I'll fucking kill him if he ever comes near you." His eyes were dark, protective in a way that felt both comforting and incredibly dangerous. Then, in the midst of the tension, he smirked, the intensity softening into something else, something teasing. "The only bruises you ever get are from not being bored in the bedroom. Yeah?” Your breath caught, your face flushing as his words registered. You recalled telling when you split with Josh citing boredom in the bedroom as a problem but you were surprised he remembered that. Surprised he just said that to you. Before you could respond, he gave you a wink, that same smirk lingering as he stood up and walked away, leaving you stunned, heart racing, and desperate for him to come back.

You laid in your bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts about Trent. You could hear the low rumble of laughter drifting up from downstairs where Jack, Trent, and their friends were still hanging out. But your thoughts were miles away, lost in memories of Trent and all the moments you’d shared over the years. You closed your eyes and let the images flood your mind. The way he’d smile at you from across a room, a mischievous glint in his eyes, or the way he always seemed to find a reason to touch you—a hand on your shoulder, a playful nudge, his arm brushing against yours when they sat close. You thought about all the times he’d said sweet things to you, little compliments and comments that you’d always brushed off as friendly banter. You tried your entire life not to take the pet name ‘pretty girl’ too seriously, you always thought maybe he said that to every girl but now it felt personal and just for you. Was he talking about bruises in the bedroom in a sexual way, yeah 100% but did he mean that he would give them to you? Leave love bites on you? Your mind was racing.  But, lying there in the dark, you couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more to it. Your heart fluttered as you recalled the feel of his hand on your leg earlier tonight, the warmth of his touch and the firm yet gentle way he’d reassured you. You shivered, a pleasant tingle running through you as you thought of all the times his hands had been on you, even in the most innocent of ways. His touch always left a lingering warmth, a sensation that seemed to seep under your skin and settle deep within you, leaving you longing for more. You bit your lip, a wave of desire washing over you. In your longing haze, you wondered if maybe you’d been missing something all along. Had Trent been flirting with you all these years, in his subtle, teasing way but in all seriousness, did he want something? Was there something real to your relationship that you hadn’t let yourself see? Was it more than teasing? The thought sent a thrill through you, a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. Your fingers itched to reach for your phone, and before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed it from your bedside table. You couldn’t shake what he said to you, Trent had made it clear-it wasn't that he wasn't interested. Now, you were ready to take the risk, fully aware that all the boys were together. It was dangerous, maybe even reckless, but that only made it more exhilarating. They were watching a movie in the cinema room, the lights dimmed, everyone absorbed in whatever action scene was playing on the screen. You were upstairs in bed, restless and buzzing with anticipation. You flipped your phone camera to 0.5 to catch yourself at a high angle, tits prominently displayed in your thin bralette, the flash making your nipples obviously visible. You typed out a message, your fingers moving faster than your brain could catch up.

"Is this the appropriate place to get those bruises you were talking about?"

You pressed send, heart pounding in your chest. The silence afterward was deafening as you waited for a response. It was insane you just did this, but you couldn't back out now. A part of you wished you could retract it but there it was… ‘read.’ Trent opened the message, his heart skipping a beat. He blinked, unsure if he'd seen it right, unsure if you had actually sent it. This was the first time you'd ever texted him directly. Sure, you'd always been in the group chats-always flirty in your usual playful way-but nothing like this. The last personal message you'd sent was your order for a takeaway months ago, and before that, it had been something for your birthday and then passport details for a trip that seemed forever ago. A trip you weren’t sure why you were invited on to begin with but it was one where you'd teetered on the edge of something more with him but never quite tipped over. Now you had pushed things over that fragile edge with a stupid text. There was a reason for the limited texts though, because you knew it’d lead to something just like this. Trent swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the image, the words beneath it repeating in his head. He couldn't let the boys see this but he also didn’t want to look away. He couldn’t… but he had to.

Quickly, he swiped out of the message, his phone burning hot in his hand. He shoved the phone into his lap, screen down, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the visual of you barely in that bralette. He felt a slow, stupid grin spread across his face despite his best efforts. His heart was racing, and he could feel the tension building inside him. He knew things were spiraling. He'd always told himself this was a line he couldn't cross, but now? Now, it felt inevitable. Trent moved, his thumb hovered over his phone. He dimmed the screen, adjusted his seat in the chair, trying to play it cool making sure the other boys were none the wiser. His mind was racing, wondering if this was you really finally putting your hat in the ring. And god, if it was... there was no way he could say no. Now, all that was left was his response. Trent took his time responding, trying to be as calculated as possible. You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for his response. The dots appeared then disappeared only to reappear, showing he was typing back, and your heart leaped into your throat. What was he going to say? Had you gone too far? You felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with a hint of fear. But underneath it all was a simmering excitement you couldn’t deny. You could practically feel the tension building in the air around you. Finally, your phone buzzed with a new message, and you hesitated before opening it, your pulse racing…

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 3 - Crossed A Few Lines xx

[spxdxrpxnk]

PAVITR loves you with everything he has, and he knew you loved him just the same.

and.. and that's something he actually kinda hates- even though he'd never, ever say that out loud.

( notes: this is written by a minor, so nsfw/18+/'minors dni' blogs please do not interact with this post! thank you!

this went from a paragraph to 2k words. i am in love with pavitr prabhakar. reblog )

he loved you so much that you were the first person he revealed his secret identity to! ... or- or built that identity with, rather? seeing as he came to you when he first started experiencing spider powers.

peace and quiet was never really a thing when it came to your relationship with PAVITR.

his bright smile and seemingly endless energy was contagious, so you two often got into the craziest of shenanigans when he'd look at you with that glint in his eye and that smile on his face.

you felt like you were ready for anything pav could throw at you.

... but you really weren't ready for things to be sticking to him rather than being thrown at you.

you heard him when he came into your house, heard his polite yet rushed greetings to your parents before he burst into your room like a madman. there was a piece of paper stuck to one of his hands. he looked like he'd just finished a marathon, or just barely escaped a pack of angry dogs, all flushed and panting heavily.

and considering he lived a considerable distance from you but always chose to walk instead of taking public transportation, you didn't doubt he actually ran the whole way.

before you could even get a word out, PAVITR was frantically calling your name, closing your door and locking it and holding out his paper covered hand. you got a peek of it before he started pacing frantically, and saw that it was an essay for the physics class you both shared.

an essay for physics sounds crazy, and.. well, it is, but PAVITR wanted extra credit to ensure a big fat A+ for the class by the end of the semester.

ever the overachiever.

"what do i do, what do i do-" he questioned frantically, shaking his paper covered hand as if it was burned in an attempt to get his essay off. "you see this!!" PAVITR shouted as he stopped pacing and turned to you, showing you his hand again.

you only nodded, pure confusion on your face, before he started pacing again.

"it's finished, all of it, but it won't come off my hand-"

"pav-" you tried to get a word in, trying to think of a question that could clarify any of that, but you were rendered speechless before you could even finish his name.

you watched, in pure awe, as he just.. started walking up your bedroom wall, and began pacing like that.

he'd make it halfway up the wall, frantically mumbling about how he "can't pull it or i'll rip the paper and it's due tomorrow- literally tomorrow morning!!!- and i- she won't give me an extension and-", before he turned and returned to the floor as if it was nothing.

"pav!" you called a little louder, and PAVITR actually froze in his tracks while standing on your wall, like a cartoon character. he had to lift his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowed with a frustrated pout on his face.

"what??" he asked you, as if you were the one bugging him, when he was getting footprints! all on your wall!!!

and you? you loved him so much that you always worried for him whenever he had to put on the mask to go fight crime, save lives, and put himself in danger to keep the random citizens of mumbattan safe. even kiss a baby or two, when he could be kissing you instead and not some stinky baby, if the day called for it.

and maybe, just maybe, you were a little selfish. but you did have his best interest at heart, and that's what counts.

you always told him to come to you if he had big injuries he couldn't tend to on his own.

you weren't a certified professional, or even studying medicine like that, but.. who needs professional training when you have youtube and a few stolen practice materials from school?

when PAVITR came to you one day with a pretty deep cut on his arm, you were so mad. it was the first time he'd ever seen you so upset at him, and he didn't know what else to do besides apologize. but you were quick to shush him.

"i'm not mad at you, pavi," you said. but the furrow in your eyebrow, the frustration in your voice, and the way you pulled the gauze a little too tight didn't help ease him at all. "i'm mad at the.. the assholes that think it's okay for them for hurt a teenage boy!"

"... everyone thinks i'm over twenty, if that makes it any better...?"

the deadpan look you gave told him 'no, that didn't make it any better.'

"i know you have to be the big tough spidey and keep all the bad guys away, but it sucks seeing you get hurt for people who probably wouldn't even do the same for you. for a bunch of.." you struggled to find the word, pausing with the gauze pulled taut between the blades of the medical scissors from the first aid kit you bought specially for him.

PAVITR really wanted to rub the wrinkle between your brows away, kiss that pout off your lips until you were smiling and giggling, but he loved seeing you like this even more.

when you couldn't think of a word during your passionate rants, you always came up with something so good-

"NPCs!"

'snrk- sounds about right.'

"and you, honey." he reminded you gently, watching as your expression softened with just those three words. you sucked your teeth as the scissors snipped!, severing the gauze around his arm from the very skinny roll in your hand.

and PAVITR knew he got you with that.

he knew, because you always sucked your teeth or scoffed, and then started messing with something to give yourself an excuse to look away from him whenever you got flustered.

you gently tucked the loose strand into the wrapped gauze, patting his now-properly-taken-care-of arm like it was a shiny new car.

he almost, almost complained that you were missing something, before you kissed your palm and softly patted your hand on his cheek in the way that made him giggle and flush a little, because it was so dumb.

and PAVITR loves you for caring about him so much, he really does, but hates how much you do. and that actually makes a ton of sense, if you think about it.

because, well, he loves having you dote and fawn over him; gently reprimanding him for being reckless and getting more hurt than he needed to. you'd press little kisses on his cheek, which would be bruising from a hit he probably could have dodged, to distract him from the uncomfortable sting of the warm, soapy water you were using to clean an open wound.

but he hates that you care so, so much, that you'd run head first into danger for him.

you, who didn't have the super cool spider powers like he did.

you, without the agility, or the heightened senses, or the quick healing.

normal, average you.

you would risk your life for him, just because you didn't like seeing him hurt, even though he'd heal fully within the week while it'd take you months.

he really wasn't paying as much attention as he should have at that moment, PAVITR admits that much.

stopping a gang of armed men from robbing a bank should have had his full attention, but you were there at the time.

he was walking you home when you heard all the commotion from across the street, and you rolled your eyes with a huff before pushing him into an alleyway so that he could change into his spidey suit.

he wanted to show you how effortless it was for him to fight crime and come out unscathed.

so that maybe, just maybe, you'd stop worrying.

he'd disarmed the guys early into the fight, but they were a pretty slippery bunch. PAVITR got most of them webbed to a wall for the police to handle later, which he thought was all of them, and was ready to swing off to change.

but he was still pretty new to being spiderman, and his spidey sense sometimes lacked.

he wouldn't have sensed the guy running at him full force with a bat until it was too late.

you noticed, though.

and you weren't the smartest either here, sure, whatever. yeling at him to watch out, to turn around- almost anything else would have been better than what you did.

which was running at the guy, tackling him to the ground before he could swing the bat.

you had the spirit, you really did.

it took your very surprised boyfriend with his spidey strength and a few other random bystanders to pull you off.

you were really holding your own, just.. wailing on the guy that tried to attack him. wild fists, some harsh kicks to very sensitive areas thrown in there. even a full force headbutt that left the dude with a bloody, probably broken nose and you with a slight headache.

of course, you didn't come out unscathed, and PAVITR wasn't too happy.

thankfully, he can never stay mad at you for too long.

and yeah, he hates when you get hurt because of how much you care for him, sure- but he'll never get tired of the moments you share after.

"to be fair," you'd started, sitting on his bed with him standing in between your thighs as he placed some very soothing healing cream on your bruises.

he was quiet the whole way to his house, and quiet when he pulled out his own first aid kit ( which was way smaller than yours, by the way ). "he would have gotten you right in the head if it weren't for me. i saved you from possible brain damage, don't i get a thank you?"

and man, if looks could kill…

you'd probably be fine, because PAVITR could never bring himself to glare at you with everything he's got.

no, he loves you too much.

instead of the angered, fiery look he attempts, he gives you a look akin to that of a kicked puppy. "thank you for saving me from possible brain damage. my hero." he replies sarcastically, a pout evident in his voice as he applies the last of the cream and closes the tube, tossing it aside to cross his arms at you. "but i really don't appreciate you getting hurt in the process."

you didn't reply immediately, instead staring at him with an overly smug expression that he pointedly avoided, furrowing his eyebrows. before you could open your mouth to say the four words that would stop PAVITR's entire argument before he even started, he basically said it for you.

"i sound like you." he stated defeatedly, which made you laugh at how ironic it was.

PAVITR sighed heavily, head dropping to rest on your chest. you brought up your arm to pat his back. "now you know how i feel." you told him with a mocking voice, which he gave a muffled whine to since his face was buried in your chest. you laughed again, leaning your head down to press a kiss to his pretty head.

"please never do that again." he mumbled, pure sadness in his voice, and you think you can hear your heart break a little. you smile fondly, rubbing circles on his back.

"no promises, sunshine. spiderman has to get saved once in a while, so that his ego doesn't inflate too much."

PAVITR lifts his head to narrow his eyes at you, trying and failing to hold back a smile at the cheeky look on your face. "i'm being serious."

"i am too! i'm telling you, that guy has such a big head, it's a wonder how he gets that headband around it!" you'd tease him, giggling happily and reflexively shrinking away from him when he places his fingers on your waist.

you lifted your hands, one of them wrapped snug with the last of his soft cotton gauze since you kinda grabbed the guy's fist when he tried to swing on you- like the total badass you were. nothing was broken or fractured or out of place, but it did hurt like hell. neither of you knew what to do besides wrap it and hope the gauze inflicted a healing aura or something.

thankfully, your always honest boyfriend said you looked so cool when you did, which makes you think it was worth it.

"i love seeing this pretty face when it's not all bruised up- even though you're handsome either way." you tell him, tone all mushy-gushy and baby-ish the way it is when you're genuinely complimenting him but playing it off as a joke, a gentle smile on your face as you kiss his nose.

PAVITR smiles along with you, bright and happy and a total contrast from the tragic kicked puppy look he just had.

this was a pretty typical situation for you both, only the roles would be reversed: you'd be reprimanding him for getting hurt while he cracks jokes and flirts with you until you lighten up. and he's all flustered now, since he's always weak for your compliments.

he knows he has a point, the way you always do, and an entire heartfelt rant about how he's a superhero and you're not and you have to stay out of harm's way was right on the tip of his tongue.

but with his flushed cheeks and dopey smile, he decides to hold it off.

instead, PAVITR just pulls you close ever so carefully so that he doesn't strain any of your injuries further, nuzzling his nose to yours in a little bunny kiss before properly kissing you on the lips ever so softly.

and if he tasted a little blood from the benign split in your lip, he didn't say anything.

[scottlocked-hunt]

Study in Pink : Mind of a Bored Forensic  Scientist (fanfic BBC Sherlock; not ACD Sherlock)

I don't own any if the characters mentioned or BBC Sherlock except Ann Ryder who's purely my own creation.

Summary: This fanfic is about (drumrolls please) Ann Ryder, the childhood friend of Sherlock, the MI6 agent, the woman who put up with Anderson and Donovan in forensics (all hail her!!), and Mycroft's acquaintance. This is just the beginning of Study in Pink (I'll try writing the next part in the meantime; hope you don't mind if it's a bit too procrastinated, am terribly lazy).

Backstory: Ann Ryder, or Annabeth Harlow Ryder is an orphan who was adopted by Mr and Mrs Ryder at the age of 4. The Ryders were close friends and neighbours of the Holmes' so Ann grew up with them. Sometime in her high school years Mr and Mrs Ryder died from a car crash and in frustration, anger, fear, denial, (guilt somehow?) she runs away. Sherlock tracks her down in university (or she does, dunno for sure) and they reconcile again. Ann Ryder moves into 221d, the flat above Sherlock's. Ann is physically and MENTALLY strong and capable so Mycroft recruits her for the British Secret Services. She trains as an MI6 agent AND becomes a forensic investigator, while Sherlock becomes a consulting detective yada yada. Sorry the backstory is too long.

Warnings: A character ALMOST (mind you, almost) says the f-word, nothing to worry about dear readers...and there is a mention of a misunderstanding (Dr Evans really needs to change his glasses). Sherlock being compared to Smaug. Mention of a near strangle hold. a guy thinks 2 people are kissing but they are not, yada yada, hmph that's about it according to me, there are no general warnings, hehe enjoy!

Why was I there? No idea. Sherlock dragged me along because according to him I had nothing better to do. And there I was at the morgue of St. Barts, standing beside Dr Molly Hooper. There was nothing particularly bad about her, not even her jokes about cadavers. I was the only one who actually got it and laughed. Sherlock zipped the bag open, his curls dangling over his forehead, eyebrows creased in concentration.

"How fresh?"

To a normal mind, it might seem as if he's asking about the freshly baked pastries from Speedy's (which I might have had a bite of if he hadn't grabbed it and poured hydrochloric acid earlier; he likes pouring acid on everything he sees). He's enquiring about the cadaver, a.k.a corpse. Molly swooped into the conversation, her cheerful attitude glowing.

"Just in. 67, natural causes. Used to work here, donated his body. I knew him, he was nice."

"67 natural causes?" I turned to Molly. Didn't know one could die from that many natural causes.

"No, I m-mean-"

"For the love of God Ann, there was a comma in-between." Sherlock said exasperatedly.

"Remind me again Sherlock, why'd I agree to come here with you?" I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"You had nothing better to do."

"Right." I gritted my teeth.

"We'll start with the riding crop."

He grinned.

The next few minutes was just Sherlock slashing and lashing at the body. I tapped Molly on the shoulder.

"Didn't you say you...knew the man when he was alive?"

"Yes. I did."

"And here you are, giggling like this was a magic show."

She looked at me in a weird way. Then burst out laughing. That...was weird. No one laughed at my jokes. Either the jokes were lame, or the people were.

"You...got it." I said, slightly shocked.

"Sorry?"

"No...you actually understand my joke?"

"Yeah yeah I do."

"Well, that's a first. Usually no one gets my jokes."

"You're talking to the wrong people then."

I smiled in spite of myself.

"Ann Ryder. Forensic Scientist."

"Molly Hooper. Pathologist."

I held out my hand. She shook it, smiling.

"Try lipstick or ask him if he'd like to have coffee with you. I know that won't exactly captivate Sherlock Holmes, but that's the best advice I have for you."

She looked at me quite surprised.

"How did you- "

"I've known him for 30 years. Being with such people usually rubs off."

"30 years?"

"Around that much, yes. Now go." ---------------------------------------------

"So. Bad day, was it?"

Sherlock ignored her joke. I peered at the corpse.

What?

I am a forensic scientist AND an intelligence field agent.

"You should have gone harder on the torso, Sherlock. Can't see much bruises there." Sherlock nodded and proceeded to say in his usual maniacally fast way.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes. Text me."

I caught Molly's eye and mouthed 'Go for it'.

"Listen, I was wondering, maybe later when you're finished-"

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

I elbowed him harshly in the ribs. He spun around and swatted my shoulder with the notepad.

"I just...refreshed it a bit." Molly said, a little surprised at our petty exchange.

"Sorry, you were saying?" Sherlock said, still eyeing me in annoyance and a why-did-I-bring-this-freak-with-me-here look.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

"Black, two sugars, please I'll be upstairs."

He headed away, as I mentally cringed and slapped my hand to my head.

"...okay."

"Should've known he'd say that. He's terrible at socializing. So am I. Awfully sorry."

I snatched up my mini kit and marched out, leaving Molly to stare at me oddly.

"Why would you say that?" I said, marching stride per stride with Sherlock.

"What do you mean? She asked me if I wanted coffee."

"With her." With that, I crossed his path and stood in front of him.

"I know you're bad at socializing. But for once in your life, stop insul-........you know what? Forget it."

I pursed my lips and resumed walking alongside him. Sherlock jogged a bit to catch up with me and stuffed the notepad into my arms.

"Oh Ann, I envy you so much."

"Shut up. I know exactly what you're about to say next."

"Your mind is so placid, straightforward-"

"What are you talking about? I'm the only person who at least manages to catch up with your thinking!"

"By the skin of one's teeth. Your mind is barely used-"

"Oh for god's sake..."

I roughly caught the scruff of Sherlock's collar with my cold hands and pushed him against the wall, my elbow on his neck, in a threatening near-strangle hold. The tips of our noses were touching, my icy glare refusing to leave his face.

"Look here, consulting detective." I sneered. I bet he could feel the rage radiating from my breath.

Yeah, yeah, he's Bilbo and I'm Smaug.

He eyed me warily, having been in this position before.

How many times?

Once?

No.

More like a dozen times.

…

More than a dozen times.

Coming back to me strangling Sherlock.

"You know damn well who I am. You know damn well the stuff I endure. So don't you dare try to rub it in by saying I'm average. I'm. Not. Your. Typical. 32. Year. Old!"

I said the last 3 words in a hissing whisper, so as to be threatening and discreet.

What?

No one other than Sherlock knew about my secret other life.

If looks could kill, we would have been cremated 2 minutes ago.

It took a gagging gasp to shatter our cold glares. We both craned our necks to the left. A pale, middle aged man in a lab coat, similar to Molly's, was gaping at us, his glasses on the tip of his nose and his wrinkly hands trembling with a coffee mug with 'Thank you Dr Evans'. I should probably mention, a patch of brown liquid had stained his shirt.

"The m-morgue is n-not a p-place for-"

He looked as if his knees were about to give out. Was that man mentally stable? Certainly not. Then I realised why he was so shocked.

"Dr Evans, it's not what you think-"

"How the f-", he spluttered, "How the hell did you know my name??"

"Your coffee mug. It's obvious really." Sherlock interjected.

"I think you should change your glasses, we weren't doing what you think we're doing. You should really change glasses." I called out as Sherlock dragged me out of there.

"Pathetic fellow." Sherlock muttered. He glanced sideways at me whilst walking, as if to ascertain if I was still angry.

"What? I'm not backing off. I meant it."

"Alright alright, I'll try my best not to insult you."

"And I'll try my best not to strangle you."

…

A few moments of silence passed between us like the serene breeze after a particularly frenzy storm.

"What did he mean? Why was he so shocked?"

I looked at him, a sly smirk grazing my lips.

"Haven't you figured?"

His eyebrows scrunched up, thinking. Then he got it.

"Oh that bastard. He thought we-"

"Yep. Shut up."

I caught his eye and that was the last straw. I burst out snickering.

"Oh...oh god..." I wheezed. Sherlock chuckled. That was enough. Even chuckling was rare for Master Stoic.

"Right now we look like lunatics."

"We are." Sherlock said.

I chuckled and shook my head.

"We sure are."

"This way."

[valyrianwreath]

“Let me see you. I shall not ask again for a time.”

plot (psych) bunny: aemond visits helaena to watch her

begins with innocent things: how his sister brushes her hair, how she does needlework, how she looks for interesting specimens in the garden grass. bit stalkerish? oh, he’s just her brother. escalates slowly (e.g. bathing, changing into something) until he starts coming to her when she is about to or has already retired for the night.

for helaena it’s really the means to first learn about her younger brother's feelings/desire for her.

she is not entirely comfortable. for reasons her mother has metaphorically beaten into her (your duty: aegon) + her character (it’s her innocence phase + this is her little brother who used to come to her after being bullied). aemond is also not straightforward about his intentions despite knowing helaena doesn’t do metaphor (no matter her own prophecies).

he is not entirely sure yet how to go about getting what he wants & not getting caught & retaining an “upright” image of himself/her. so he thinks he is thinking about what’s good for her; he can control himself if she will just meet him halfway. after she starts touching herself in his presence, it turns into a strange little secret they share; both disconcerted by different reasons.

as helaena marries aegon, things complicate between them.

helaena is made apathetic of her husband's poorly/mocking/monstrous ways - he remains her brother. she manages; she must - but also becomes resentful of aemond. he has left her in frustrating to navigate waters & pretends everything can & should remain as it has - with him coming to her & her giving. there's also jealousy at play on aemond’s behalf now (esp. after the twins are born) which takes a lot away from the initial innocence of the obsession. of its strange perverted comfort. though it is also a means for aemond to own what is his brother’s.

she learns more about him watching her than he does about her. to helaena it looks like aemond is sleepwalking. they all sleepwalk around her, though she is the one supposedly "not quite there."

one night, aemond asks her to do for him what she does for aegon. to talk him through how it usually goes while at it. he is agitated, she makes him drink wine first. it’s not nice, but a desperate sort of love that leaks through a bursting vessel that must somehow still hold (why?). all pent up, frustrated sense of injustice & desire; entitlement that is being acted upon now.

a part comes when her brother should fall asleep on top of her, and aemond notices the angry tears that have made their way into his sister’s eyes. then the slight panic - at understanding this brother does not pass out before anything can happen; at how he takes her, forcing himself to slow and gentle due to the scene becoming more and more unreal for him. but not letting go, now that he has her. forcing to forget resentment, begging softly for forgiveness as he moves inside her.

little maelor is conceived that night...

...as helaena reflects: looking numbly at the passed out aemond on whom the spiked wine (for the sake of the “realness” of the scenario) has finally worked. end of the pilgrimage. now her little brother knows what it’s like to take the elder’s place.

in fact, it’s how aegon finds them; choking down bitter laughter at suspicions having been proven correct – the set-up like a cart on fire hurtling toward a market stall; somewhat funny & pathetic. only more pathetic being his own image in all this being reflected back at him.

aegon cradles them both that night.

[ac3id]

The Artist and His Majesty| 18+

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 0 / 5 | fantasy au. 

chapter i , chapter ii

pairings: yandere! emperor! shigaraki x female! reader.

warnings: [series] dubcon, exhibitionism, size difference, degradation, masturbation, bondage, reader is also kind of delusional, death, violence (not on reader). (there are more but i can’t think right now.]

↪ for chapter 0: none !!

summary: you come to the big city in hopes of starting your career as an artist but things take a shocking turn when you’re recruited as the court painter for the royal palace.

↪ for chapter 0: a strange man approaches you, offering to buy your painting to which you oblige. little do you know that it kicks of a series of unfortunate events ending with you being trapped in shigaraki tomura’s clutches forever.

wordcount. 

a/n: finally !! i started this series. high-key inspired by these two dresses in my wardrobe and @ana-list‘s this  drawing ! seriously it’s literally everything. also thank you once again for proof reading this @the-grimm-writer ! 

taglist: @shigaraki-is-my-master, @deathmemeiverse, @n4dhii, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @mstssister, @nereida19, @prince-zukohere [dm to be added/ removed.]

“That’s a beautiful painting,” a rough, scruffy voice calls out, jerking you away from your daydreams. Your grip around the color canvas resting in your arms tightens as you glance behind your shoulder to see a well-built man standing right behind you. He’s tall and a lot older than you, he has short grey hair which falls right before his eyebrows along beautiful, matching grey eyes. A cigar hangs lazily from his lips as he occasionally huffs on it, blowing clouds of smoke out his mouth. He’s dressed in expensive robes, a choice of style only people better off could afford. You can’t help exachaning a covetous glance between his expensive suit and your sloppy, knee-length, light green dress. “Thank you.” you murmur shoving him an appreciative look, hoping he’d leave you alone. When you come to the city to complete your studies in art, you mother, father, family and friends had warned you about men like these. Rich, snobby men who liked to lure in young, naive girls. Whispering praises of how they are the most unique on the planet so they pull their guard down form them to take advantage of the helpless beings. 

“Can I take a better look? It’s the Emperor, is it not? Your painting. ” You hesitate before turning back to him. Not a lot of people had seen the King to be. He lived humbly in his castle, trying his best to not indulge in the affairs of the common people. “ Yes,” you hold up the slightly small canvas (courtesy of you being broke the entire week and not being able to save up to buy a bigger canvas). To even get an idea of Shigaraki Tomura, you had to go through many people. Not a lot of people had seen his face, he had always kept it hidden under a mask. No one knew why he did so but the many conspiracy throes suggested it was something to do with his personal grief.

 You had heard many stories about him. Some made him look like a spoiled brat with a demeaning, ignorant personality who didn’t care for others and as the rumors said: self destructive habits which lead him to tear the skin of his own neck down whenever he got anxious or frustrated. 

Others portrayed him as a strong, confident man and a reliable leader who cared for his comrades. You did not know which one of the two personas brought him your attention but you couldn’t complain. Tomura had caught you under a spell, and despite never meeting him (and knowing full well you never would), you were still ready to sacrifice your life for him. He was your King even before he had taken his crown, to you he looked like a shining bright light ready to enlighten you. To you, he was a god. And as years passed by, he grew from a caterpillar into a cocoon which was ready to burst open as a butterfly into the beautiful, mysterious world. And it was happening today, Prince Tomura Shigaraki’s Coronation ceremony. After the passing of All For One, it was his turn to take the crown and fulfill his duty as the ruler of the nation

 The entire city was busy, bustling with people. Families, friends and everyone in between gathered around the huge castle walls as they waited for the ceremony to begin. They waited patiently, filled with excitement and joy as they waited to catch a glimpse of the new great King. You were among them. You had come down to the centre of the city with your friends, waiting alongside many to catch a glimpse of the new ruler. The painting which nestled in your hand was something you were hoping to sell today, to a shop or anyone who wants to have it. It was a beautiful painting which had taken you several days to complete, and dare you say it, you were quite proud of it. From all the things you had heard about Tomura, you had managed to sketch him decently. Long white, wavy hair reaching till his shoulder, skin white as snow. He sat proudly on his throne wearing a cape with his vermillion eyes peering through your soul. His face was scarcely detailed as you did not have much idea about it but he still looked ethereal. With little scars running both his eyes and a comparatively larger one on his right. Chapped lips with even more scars running over them wildly, he was not conventionally attractive. No one would call him a pretty boy yet there was something more, something alluring which attracted  you to him. His beauty was rare, not in the grasp of many but if it was grasped and held close to the heart, it was hard to let go off. And you found him attractive, very attractive. 

The man took a good look at your painting, examining it carefully and for a second you really thought he had seen the mysterious Prince. “It’s quite similar to him,” he sends you a friendly grin and you notice a tooth from his front missing, leaving an uncomfortable gap. “Have you seen him before?” he asked and you shake your head, no. He gives you an amused expression, “I must say, you are very talented, miss…?” you complete your name with a nervous smile. “And you are?” you ask. 

You realised that you were getting a little too comfortable with the stranger and it could be a really bad decision but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt as he behaves like a gentleman you can find yourself to trust. “Kagero Okuta but I like to go by Giran,” he says with a lop-sided grin. Giran, you’ve heard the name before but cannot recall where and how. It sounds so familiar but you just can’t grasp it, he looked wealthy so you assumed he was a Noble and that made you even more curious as to why he was speaking to you.

 “What are you planning to do with that painting?” he asks, diving a closer look and admiring its features. “I must say, you’ve got it quite accurate but,” you stiffen, your hands growing cold as your heartbeat picks up. You realized your painting must have some complications, drawing a man you had never seen before purely out of your interpretation was a hard and a bold task to do. But to have someone who had actually seen the King for himself pinpoint your mistakes sent a rush of anxiety through your veins.

 “He’s not that bony.” He completes and you gulp nervously, looking down at your painting in disappointment. Your eyes are filled with disappointment,  all of the time and effort you spent making the piece all for it go in vain just because you missed a small detail. Giran notices your remorse and speaks up, “But that’s quite alright. He looked just like that until a while ago,” he hadn’t meant to offend or hurt you. He still believed your painting was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

 “What do you mean?” you ponder, giving him a perplexed look. He leans  in closer to you as if to tell a secret, “let’s say the King has been working out behind closed doors.” you blink in confusion. It was a strange thing to say, exactly how well did this man know the Emperor? Who was it that you were talking? 

“Who are you?” you can’t help but question, bewildered by such a character. Giran says nothing. He just stares at you with his lips curled into a snappy smirk, holding his cigar between his lips. He was not going to tell you anything. Without wasting time, he quickly changes the topic. “What are you going to do with that painting?” he repeats, his voice growing impatient.

 “I am planning to sell it,” you feel a bit taken back. The friendly aura which had Giran had now disappeared for a reason you could not conclude. “Sell it? To whom?” the intruding nature of his tone starts to make you uncomfortable, there’s nothing more you want to do other than get far away from him. Yet you still find yourself answering him, “To anyone who wants it.” he hums at your response, his eyes holding a mocking glint. “Wouldn’t you like to give it to the Emperor himself?” you frown, was he mocking you? 

“That’s well...impossible.” you reply, stretching your neck awkwardly. “To you, maybe.” 

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, this man was really testing your patience. A part of you tells you to ignore him and walk away but as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag of coins worth much more than you could ever earn in a month, he has you hooked yet again. 

“Hey, let me buy that painting, would yer’?” 

.

..

..

“What is the problem now?” Giran takes a seat around the round table. It was late after the Coronation ceremony and the Royal palace was already facing problems. Giran was disappointed but definitely not surprised. After all, he was their personal problem solver and broker. “It’s not that big of a deal.” A curt and hard reply cut him off.

 “It actually is, Shigaraki Tomura.” a voice speaks, coming from a man dressed in a black suit with a long, flowy robe covering his entire body. He stands taller than the other two men in the as his head is replaced with a wisp of smoke. He was none other than the trusted and talented magician of the Royal family. With eccentric features and an ability to wield strange magic, nobody knew where he came from. There were many rumors about him; that he was once a normal, handsome man cursed by a witch that turned him into a hideous monster or he simply was a ghost. “What is it, Kurogiri?” Giran rephrases his question, directing it to the other man. “We need a new painter,-” 

“Servant.” Shigaraki corrected. He stood in front of the giant windows glancing over his city as his men talked about hiring a new painter for the castle. He couldn’t care less about such tedious tasks, he had his focus set on greater things like expanding his territory, taking back stolen land. 

“What happened to Mr. Kyo?” Giran asked, Shigaraki rolled his eyes at the mention of the name and clicked his tongue, “His Majesty eliminated him.” Giran stops himself from laughing out loud. He was certain once Shigaraki would take over the throne incidents like so would double the instant. But he was expecting it to happen so soon. “And why was that?” 

“He was breathing too loud, like you are right now.” 

A cold silence broke over the room as Giran counted his breath. Kurogiri looked nervously at Shigaraki who still had his back turned to them. The longer the pause grew, the dreadful the atmosphere became. Shigaraki’s threat strung the air loud and clear and Giran was afraid to speak again. “What we are asking for is that-,” Kurogiri started in a calm, slow tone easing the tension in the room. “-we need a new court painter. Do you have any names?” 

The murderous sent in the air magically disappeared as a grin stretched across Giran’s face. 

“Aren’t you in luck?” He says, running a hand through his hair before taking a puff out of his cigar. “Does that mean you know someone?” Kurogiri questioned. Giran hummed, “You see, I met this beautiful painter today. She’s extremely talented and I know for a fact she will love working for the castle.” 

“What’s the name?” growing impatient, Shigaraki asks. “Oh, it was,” Giran pauses for a moment to recall. 

“Ah yes, Y/N L/N.” 

[fandomlovingfreak]

Summoned

Chapter 1: Summoned

Sebastian de Poitiers x OC

Rating: E for everyone

Word Count: 1661

MasterList Link I Wattpad Link I AO3

Summary: Summoned, to bid to come : send for

When a letter is received from an old friend summoning her for an unspoken favor, Isobel must set sail from her father's home in Scotland, unsure if she will ever see the shores of the country she loves, ever again. French Court, something whispered about by her and her friends as young girls seem frightening to Isobel. Yet, destiny awaits her in Mary's secret favor.

Disclaimer: The characterizations of characters from Reign (based on historical figures) are all the property of the CW Historical Romance show, Reign created by Laurie McCarthy and Stephanie SenGupta (these characters include but are not limited to Sebastian de Poitiers, King Francis, Mary Queen of Scots). This work has not been created for profit or financial compensations, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

CW nor the creators of Reign do not own my original character Isobel.

Notes: I’ve been reworking this fic for a while. I hope to bring it to life as I’ve quite literally been writing it off and on since 2019!

Enjoy

Dear Isobel,

I would like to be summoning you under different circumstances, but I find myself needing you at this hour. I cannot disclose too much information within this letter, as we are still uncertain whether or not the English are intercepting our letters, but I beg you to make haste.

I await your arrival at French Court.

Your friend,

Mary Queen of Scots

 I've read and re-read the letter from my dear friend at least two dozen times since departing from the shores of Scotland. Reading was a wonderful escape from the thoughts that I may never see these shores again, something my father had drilled into my head a thousand times before I left. He was certain I'd find a match in France, hopeful that the Queen of Scotland was arranging the details as I traveled.

I myself am nervous about the implications of the letter... of the summoning from Mary. Where my father saw hope, I saw dread-- or at least unexpected news.

But she spoke of something important, and I couldn't just ignore her pleads to come to her Court. Last I'd heard, she'd married her long-awaited fiance, Francis, and gone on a long honeymoon tour. What on earth would have her summoning me of all people at this moment?

***

Everything is splendid

I think to myself as I look around the halls of the castle. The people are even dressed splendidly. 

I am greeted by my old friends Kenna, Greer, and Lola, who all talk animatedly about my arrival before I am hurried off to Mary's bed-chamber for the purpose of my summoning. 

She greets me just as our other friends had, warmly, with smiles and small talk. I did miss her, more than I originally thought I did, as I see she's become more Queenly than ever before. Technically, I suppose, she was more a Queen than ever now that she and her husband had officially been crowned King and Queen of France.

"Come sit, please." Mary situates us by a glowing fire, asking if I'd like a refreshment of any sort. I decline, feeling I can't wait another moment. I must know why I am in France.

Mary looks down at her hands, suddenly looking as if she'd rather not be doing this, "Yes, well. I must ask you to do something I feel uneasy asking of you--"

I take Mary's hand in mine, "what is it?" Her tone is almost unreadable, but her eyes tell me I should be nervous.

Mary takes a deep breath of air, "I must ask you to stay here in France and-- marry Francis's brother, Sebastian de Poitiers."

I feel the color drain from my cheeks, "Marry--?"

My Queen has the decency to look embarrassed as she searches for words, "Francis's half-brother."

"The late King's bastard son? That Sebastian? Mary, I don't understand--"

"I know that-- I know how your father would react, will react if you agree to help me, but please listen to me, Isobel. I have good reason to ask for your help." After a moment, I nod, urging her to tell me the point of this-- suggestion.

"I'm not sure what you've heard about my past year in the French court, so I'll start from the beginning." I listen to her retell the problems they've had. The Queen Mother's meddling, the prophecy of Francis's death if he married Mary, the ploy to get Sebastian legitimized by the Vatican. All of the details are poured out for me to better understand Mary's odd request.

"I don't understand how you could have even-- I mean, Mary. He's the King's bastard. Your mother would have never allowed it..."

"And she fought it and won. I know that it seems crazy, but I love Francis. I would do anything to keep him from death, even marry a man I--" she flushes. I can see there were feelings even if she chose one brother over the other. 

"Oh, Mary..."

Mary sighs, "I know it's a lot to ask of you, Isobel, but Sebastian is my friend, and it's the only way Francis will feel... he can let Sebastian stay in court-- if he's married and settled down with his own wife."

I look down at my hands, embarrassed to be asking such a question, "How would this affect me in court, Mary?" How can I turn down my Queen's requests, though? I have to do what is right for the country, even if the country she's asking me for aid from is her husband's.

"Francis has agreed to give Sebastian a title, a small one but a title nonetheless, and an estate that will be available if you wish to escape French Court for a time during each year. Bash is a bastard, but that won't destroy you under Francis's care."

"And has Sebastian agreed to this?" 

Mary hesitates, "He has not." I thought as much, "but it's the only option for him. He'll see reason. Sebastian is very reasonable, Isobel. That's one of the reasons why I thought of you when this predicament came up. I often think he is a reflection of you in ways."

My father's potential thoughts and opinions plague my mind, keeping me silent as she waits for my answer.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you, Isobel." Silence chokes out the conversation.

"Can I think it over, Mary?"

"Yes. If you need me to, I will send your father's word. I'll tell him it was for the good of the alliance between Scotland and France. Anything you need, Isobel." Her hand grasps mine, pleading with me.

With a nod, I agree to be quick with my answer. 

***

The halls are near empty as I walk slowly towards the room prepared for me by my dearest friends Kenna, Lola, and Greer.

Worries come in and out of my brain rapidly. I fear for the fall in my reputation, then feel awful for thinking of another so lowly. Sebastian could very much be a wonderful man, and I'm sure he is if Mary held such a high opinion of him. She wouldn't have entertained marriage with a man if she did not believe him to be a truly wonderful person, I'm certain of it. But, that did not change the fact that he existed somewhat outside of polite company.

Sitting on the large bed, I fold my hands tightly on my lap in worry. If I agree to marry, I will be directly aiding my Queen and helping create peace within both of our countries. Francis was technically now the King of Scotland. On the other hand, I would be marrying someone I don't know, which frightens me. Not to mention I will someday have to face my family, who may blame me for pulling them down with me if all of this backfires and I become some sort of social pariah.

Feeling thoroughly exhausted by all of this thinking, I flop back onto the bed.

In the end, I do trust Mary. I don't believe that she would purposefully lead me astray, and she seemed genuine and confident that Sebastian and I could be a match. A good one at that.

**

With newly found resolve, I wake early and dress before making my way to Mary's bed-chamber. I need to-- before I chicken out and run home to my father. I can be brave.

"Isobel," Mary's voice is full of surprise, "is something the matter?" She takes a few steps towards me

"I've thought it over, Mary," I take a large calming breath, sealing my fate, "I will marry him."

She stands looking at me for a beat before taking a few steps to embrace me, "Thank you, Isobel. Thank you. You can't understand how grateful I am." She pulls back, looking deadly serious, "I promise you that I personally will send word to your father and make him know this was my doing. You will receive no backlash; you have been kind and selfless. I promise you that you will be taken care of under both the Scottish and French crowns."

I smile, pulling her back into a hug, "Thank you, Mary."

"Don't thank me at all. You are doing an enormous, insane favor for me."

"I trust you, you know that? I don't believe you would let me marry someone horrible."

"He isn't! Sebastian is wonderful. He's thoughtful and kind, a little pigheaded, but what man isn't a bit stubborn?" I laugh at her words. "And think of this! You and I shall be related by marriage."

I smile kindly, not wanting to burst her bubble... In many's views, a bastard, even one close to his half-siblings, is not a true sibling.

***

Sebastian looks between Mary and his half-brother, "you can't be serious."

Francis's eyes hold that hatred. The one reserved specifically for Sebastian that has developed since Mary came to Court.

"It's the only solution, Sebastian. I will never feel comfortable with your return to Court-- living near my wife if you remain a bachelor."

He snorts at the ridiculousness of the idea, "If I agree to marry a complete stranger, you will somehow gain comfort?" The venom in his voice pulses through each syllable.

Unluckily, Francis matches his frustration, his tone turning just as icy, "You will be too preoccupied with your own wife and new station to continue lusting over my wife. Your Queen." Mary looks at her husband with concern, a look he used to be on the receiving end of. Sebastian looks away with disgust... no sadness. Some vile emotion that he detests feeling.

"Please, Bash," Mary tries to soothe the pain, "Isobel has agreed. She's wonderful. She will make an excellent wife for you."

Sebastian sighs, running his fingers through his hair, "Can I meet her first? I would like to meet her before you force us to marry, please."

Mary and Francis look between each other. 

"I can arrange that."

[jessefandomunited]

He loves me, He loves me not - Kenny x reader

THankyou to @a-ravenclaw-into-tardis-221b for giving me the idea of a friends to lovers scenario with THE BOI! IF you guys have any more suggestions of one shots or fics let me know

I Had been best friends with Kenny for a pretty long time, we had met in college while he was still in the witness protection program. I had a coding class with him and talked about all sorts of nerdy thing we were into. That definitely helped us become friends but what solidified it was one time while we were hanging out at his place his dad said something really rude to Kenny and I almost instantly, snapped back at him. His dad was now a bit nervous around me but Kenny was even more comfortable.

 Years passed and we ended up getting jobs at the same gaming company. I worked in story boarding and character development while he worked on the tech end of things, it was great we got to eat lunch together and go to fun places after work, it was all perfect, well, there was one thing that could have made it better. I had always liked Kenny more than a friend but at the risk of ruining our friendship I decided to keep it under wraps. The lunches together were okay, but It would have been nice if I was able to sit  a bit closer to him. Outings to museums and walks in the park were fun, but it be nice if we could hold hands while doing so. Movie nights at the apartment were lovely and a laugh, but it be  nice if we could have cuddled a bit. At any point I could have just spilled the beans, at any point I could have just gotten it out of the way so we could move on whatever the outcome, but the longer I put it off the more nervous I got. What if he felt betrayed? It was frustrating but I knew that it was getting to the point if I didn’t tell him soon I’d go insane. I told that boy pretty much everything and keeping this a secret was almost too painful.

We were out at the park taking a stroll around the small pond they had there when I saw a cute little bench near the water. I decided that that would be a nice place to sit and talk this out. “ hey...let’s stop here a bit...I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said nervously. He instantly went pail and I backtracked knowing his fear of abandonment , “ nothing bad I swear.” He seemed to relax a bit, “Okay...yeah sure.” We sat there and I wrung my hands nervously, “ we tell each other everything right?” He nodded , “ yeah, I really like that about us, It’s nice to tell someone something and know they wont judge you or make you feel bad or stupid.” I nodded and bit my lip a bit, “ i’ve been hiding something from you because it never felt like the right time, but I really need to put it out there.” He looked at me pretty concerned, “ are you pregnant? or Dying ?” I burst out laughing which eased my tension a bit, “ No no it’s not that.” “ Then what,” He asked gently , “I mean when you’re ready.” My heart thudded in my chest he was so considerate and so kind and so. “ Kenny I want to be your girlfriend,” I couldn’t believe I said it so bluntly. I had been avoiding looking at him but the silence that followed made me have to check. He was in complete shock like I had just told him I found bigfoot or something. “ Wait…..WHAT,” He finally choked out. I took a shaky breath, “ ever since I met you I've felt a connection. You’re funny, talented, and incredibly friend and I really love our friendship which is why I waited so long to tell you but I .” I paused a minuet before continuing, “ If it’s a no, I need to know...ya know.” “ I wish ...you would have told me this sooner,” He gasped, “ I had a thing for you since the beginning. The moment I saw you walk into class and was praying you’d choose the seat next to me. You were incredibly smart and strong willed and funny and amazing in every way and I felt so lucky that you’d want to sit with me, let alone be friends with a loser like me. However, I never really thought girls found me attractive in the romantic sense I mean I dated one girl and we realized we were better as friends so I didn’t expect anything more. I didn’t want to damage things because of my own aura of un likability.” My heart broke a bit and feeling a bit impulsive I took his hand in mine and rubbed it gently, “ well...can I then?” He blushed furiously and looked at me, “can you what?” I chuckled and rolled my eyes, “ can I be your girlfriend doofus?” He suddenly realized that this was actually happening, almost like he forgot I was the one who brought this up, “yes….oh yes please!” I smiled brightly and hugged him tightly , tears forming in my eyes. I pulled back a bit and we our eyes locked, we both hesitated a moment before bringing our lips together for our first of many kisses.

He was a great kisser!

[edasnest]

Might you have any Raeda headcanons you'd be willing to share?

Oh shit I didn’t see that you sent this to me until now oh man.

But you better believe I’ve got some Raeda headcanons >:D

[Spoilers for Eda’s Requiem and Knock Knock Knockin on Hooty’s Door! Also a little bit of a character study regarding those eps lol]

Raine is constantly in awe of Eda. Eda’s desire to learn every kind of magic and buck tradition and societal norms sometimes leaves them breathless. When they were young, Raine always admired Eda for the clever pranks she’d pull using different kinds of magic despite being in the potions track. They also admired Eda’s boldness when it came to standing up for herself and her sister.

Eda found Raine to be interesting considering they were in the bard track despite their stage fright, but once Eda watched them perform and saw how they’d lose themself in the music was, no pun intended, magical. They had a fierce grip on Eda’s heart and she didn’t know why; she was fascinated by Raine and made it her goal to be best friends with this oddly shy bard (which she achieved pretty quickly).

After Eda’s curse caused her to unintentionally disable her dad, she was terrified of what it would mean if she was caught off guard like that again. So she started putting up walls. No stressful situations, no hard conversations, no sudden bright lights or loud sounds that she wasn’t the cause of. If she could be in control of her surroundings, she could control the Owl Beast. The elixir she’d discovered that could keep the curse’s side effects at bay helped maintain her sanity and her chill demeanor, but Raine was able to tell she was always slightly on edge. Raine knew about the curse; after Eda had transformed on the Grudgby field the first time everyone had been talking about it, but they didn’t know the extent of it. Everyone just said she’d turned into a monster and then fled; but what kind of monster?? But every time Raine tried to get more information about it, Eda would brush it off and change the subject. It broke their heart watching Eda brush off something that was clearly bothering her, and eventually it all came to a head. She was lying more and more often to Raine and they just couldn’t take it anymore. What happened to their best friend??? Why would she lie to them????? It was maddening and all the frustration and aching in their heart became too much. They needed to focus on something other than Eda. They weren’t nearly as bold as Eda, even after all these years, so they joined the Bard Coven in order to start teaching and building a career for themself. They’d happily welcome Eda back if she’d just tell them what was going on. But it never happened. Burying themself into their work and then, eventually, into the BAtTs helped keep the heartache at bay, but only sometimes.

Eda and Raine caught glimpses of each other as the years passed. They’d spot one another in the market or Raine would see a flash of unmistakable ginger hair dashing around a corner; sometimes they’d hear Eda yelling at some Coven guards and quietly hope she’d make her escape. Eda would occasionally see posters advertising a performance starring Raine; she’d either buy a ticket or sneak in just to listen to them play again. She could never stay for very long though because listening to them play made her heart hurt so much she’d be at risk of turning into the Owl Beast. Raine grabbed one of Eda’s wanted posters and keeps it hidden under some other paperwork in their desk, pulling it out sometimes and going over every detail of the artist’s rendition of her. One day, a new wanted poster came out - this one with a weird skull dog now part of the image and the bounty having increased significantly. Raine would always smirk whenever they saw the new version, although they were alarmed the first time they saw her drawn with all-grey hair. When had that happened? They weren’t that old yet, right??

The day Eda saved the BAtTs and figured out Raine’s secret was maybe the best day Raine had had in years. Their best friend was talking to them again, helping them with their plot. Raine didn’t bother pushing Eda about the last 20 years; their last conversation proved enough that Eda didn’t like it when people pried. But Eda had become not just older, but so much more kind and open. To a degree that sort of shocked Raine. When they asked Eda if she had nothing to lose and Eda took their hand, it was like they’d gone back in time. As if they were both 20 again and daydreaming about a world they’d create for themselves where covens weren’t there to shackle witches down and stage fright didn’t exist; where Eda’s curse never happened and they could stay there on that hill forever.

Eda of course was warring with her own emotions during all of this; she was under the impression that everyone in her life was leaving her again. And not because she was pushing them away this time, but of their own volition. She got her big sister back only for her to go back home to their parents after just a few weeks. She overheard King talk about leaving to find his dad and her apprentice - the first person to ever break down all of Eda’s defenses and show her how to love again - was constantly working on ways to go back to her own home. Eda would be left with Hooty and Owlbert and absolutely nobody else and that hurt so much more than she cared to admit. So when Raine showed up in the town square with their BAtT mask on, using their magic to turn some coven guards into bumbling fools, Eda was a little shell-shocked. The first person to leave her of their own volition was right there in front of her and needed help. So she helped them. And when she became invested in their plots to free wild witches, she felt like she was a teenager again, plotting out pranks with Raine in her secret shortcuts room at Hexside, blushing at every interaction they had because even after all this time, Raine was still Raine. Her Rainstorm. It was like she was starting over, like the last 20 years had faded away, except they hadn’t. Because Luz and King were competing in a race that she needed to be there for. Her past and her present were all different types of painful but finding Raine like this again gave her so much hope! Until she realized she wouldn’t see the end of that race, not if it meant stopping Belos. And she was ready for that, ready for the pain to just stop already, but Raine wouldn’t let her.

Losing Raine again was so much worse the second time. But what they said stayed with her and Eda needed to get back to King and Luz. So when she got back and discovered they’d lost, of course her first thought was to help them. Anything to take her mind off of what she’d just lost. And when King announced that he wasn’t leaving at all, he was legally changing his name? She was “stuck” with him forever? That was too much and she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Someone wasn’t leaving her. In fact he was legally binding himself to her. No one was leaving, at least not any time soon. Eda definitely still cried more that night after King and Luz had gone to bed.

In the future, Eda and Raine agree to start from scratch: Eda explains the curse to them in detail, all the things she’s learned about it over the years and specifically with Luz and King and Hooty’s help. She explains that Lilith was the one that gave it to her to begin with and why (Raine is appalled like???? Raine specifically worked with Lilith in that last year before they had been made head of the Bard Coven?? And Lilith showed maybe irritation at best at the mention of Eda, so like?? What the fuck???). Eda also explains how she’s come to accept the curse as something that’s part of her and the history the Owl Beast has that she got a glimpse of which is super intriguing to Raine. Also Harpy Eda was a thing which was maybe the most surprising part of it all.

Raine in the meantime tells Eda about their time working their way up the ranks of the Bard Coven, how they met each of the BAtTs and recruited them, the façade they had to maintain to stay on track to become the head of the Bard Coven (something that greatly impressed Eda given Raine’s history with being an awkward actor).

Eda introduces Raine to Luz and King to which both of them start shooting rapidfire questions at them and overwhelm them pretty quickly. Eda has to shoo the two away before Raine just bursts out laughing, saying something about how they’re definitely Eda’s kids (all of them blush while Raine is laughing). Luz is just as fascinated with Raine’s Bard magic as Eda was when they first met and the similarities between the two are striking. Raine tells Eda as much later on and Eda begins gushing about what a great apprentice Luz is and everything she’s done during her time on the Boiling Isles.

They fall easily back into dating once they reconnect properly and everything’s calmed down a little - Raine will still be humming a piece they’re working on and suddenly grab Eda and begin dancing to the tune, Eda laughing the whole time and making their heart soar. Eda will still play with Raine’s earring when they’re cuddled up together just chatting. Raine will start asking Eda again for her opinion on musical pieces they’re working on and Eda will make suggestions along with some jokes or snide commentary. They both still love watching the clouds overhead on their hill, sometimes playing music, sometimes just holding hands.

Raine loves watching Eda interact with Luz and King. They love watching how easily Eda loves them and how much she’s changed since they first broke up. Once they’re alone together, in a moment total admiration for how far they’ve come, Raine tells Eda they love her. Eda immediately kisses them and starts crying, repeating Raine’s words back to them and mumbling about how she’ll never let Raine leave ever again.

A canon Non-binary love interest to a main character that uses They/Them pronouns??? In my kids cartoon???? It’s more likely than you think.

Anyways I fucking love Raine and I love how much Eda and Raine love each other and I can’t wait to see what ends up happening with Them™️

[lemonjoonah]

Blood Bounty - Part 2 (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), vampire feeding during intercourse, referenced non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted non-consensual vampire feeding, attempted vampire feeding on a minor, referenced captivity, referenced injury to animal, blood, violence, gore, threats, obsession, poisoning, murder, minor character death(s), illness, referenced death of brother, historical medical practices, self-inflicted injury (for the sake of vampire feeding), contemplation of action which might result in self-harm, discussion of drugging (with vampire blood)

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Just a quick note, there will be a few flashbacks in part two, all of which should be italicized (as long as Tumblr doesn’t fail to format properly). Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

...

You wake before Yoongi at the start of dusk, after having fallen back asleep propped against his chest. The tension in your thighs from your two days of riding resurfaces as you stand. Restricted to a strained hobble, you grab the nearest supply sack. Heading outside to take a moment of privacy and address your bodily needs, while leaving Yoongi to continue his rest.

As you finish putting on the fresh clothes you acquired the day before, swapping out for a new tunic and the much needed smaller boots, Yoongi bursts out the door of the ramshackle house. His face fraught with worry. “Your Highness?!”

“Here,” you call over to him, stepping out from the cover of the trees. “I’m here.”

His chest heaves with a sigh as he relaxes. “You should have woken me.”

“So you could hover over me as I change?” You ask with a raised brow as you fit your cap back on your head.

“N-no... it’s just best if...” Yoongi’s reply is marked with stuttered speech and a tone of frustration. “H-how can I keep you safe if you wonder off in the night? You act as though you don’t have a bounty on your blood. There are sure to be hunters about and still looking for you.”

“I didn’t stray far, and there was still light out when I left you.”

“Even so, it worried me to wake, and not find you by my side.” He mutters, before returning inside to fetch the horse’s tackle and the rest of the bags.

“It won’t happen again.” You promise to his turned back, disarmed by his compassionate concern.

While he readies the horse for the day's journey, you keep to the front of the stead. Holding on to the bridal, you brush the dark mane as you make a request. “Are we able to stop at a river soon? The waterskin is running low.”

Yoongi nods, “We will cross one shortly before my ally’s post.”

“Your ally?” You ask, your heart starting to race as you panic over the suggestion. “You never said we would have to meet with more of your kind.”

“He has a residence he keeps for the clan between here and your castle. He will have a spare room and bed for us. I can promise you resting there will be far more comfortable than it has been the past two nights.”

“And it’ll be safe for me to be around such company?”

“He has no need for your blood. He resides there with his blood consort, a human-”

“A human! A captive-”

“No, no of course not.” Yoongi cuts in. “They are companions, Namjoon feeds Seokjin by choice, and in return Seokjin looks after him with his own blood, keeping Namjoon free from age and ailment.”

“But-”

“Seokjin will not approach you if I ask him not to. I trust him.” Yoongi comments as he straps the last bag in, the horse now equipped to depart.

Placing your foot in the stirrup before Yoongi can even offer to assist. Muttering your apprehension over the situation as you attempt to mount the stead. Though your endeavour to reach the saddle on your own fails miserably, resulting in your back colliding with Yoongi’s chest as you fall. His arms catch yours while your foot remains caught in the metal brace. “Careful now,” Yoongi warns you.  

“I know. I can do it on my own.” You urge back, frustration edging out into your voice over your apparent state of helplessness, as you struggle to right yourself.

“I’m sure you can.” He chuckles, while pushing you up and onto the horse, before joining you himself. “But it doesn’t mean you have to.”

You shrink down between his arms trying to avoid his touch, continuing to fume over the prospect of spending the day within reach of another vampire. Yoongi may have become less of a concern after the revelation last night, but the thought of being in such close proximity to someone of his clan puts you on edge.

As you shift in the saddle trying to find a comfortable position for your seat, one of his hands comes to clutch your waist. He presses you back against him, mercifully relieving some of the weight from your thighs.

“Better?” He asks.

You nod in reply. Despite your bitterness you lean into him further, the ache being a far more pressing issue at this moment, then the ally you meet later tonight. Soon finding comfort in his support, you turn your concern to the other vampires that neither you nor he can dismiss so easily. “Earlier you said that Taehyung’s hunters are still about, you don’t think they would make it out this far and this quickly do you?”

“For you? Most certainly. I’m sorry to say, I doubt they are far behind.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was forced to work among them. The swiftest way for me to get to you on my own was to be granted an invitation inside, but to do that I needed to hunt. I gave them a false identity, calling myself Agust, and my services in an attempt to gain their favour.” You go rigid in the saddle. Yoongi must have sensed the change as he is quick to clarify his words. “I never gave them people, only blood I acquired in the same way that I obtained it for myself.”

“And how do you do that?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Yoongi mutters. You’ve come to despise this answer, still huffing at his need to keep all a secret. “When you keep insisting on hiding it, I start to doubt more and more that I will like the answer.”

He hesitates before replying. “What if that is what I want?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t judge so quickly? Now you wish for me to dislike you and your ways?” You blurt out in confusion. Why after attempting to build your trust would he want you to hate him so.

“Not necessarily, just to question and be critical once you have all of the information, to hold your own opinion and not my own view. If your memories come from me how can I know that they are unbiased.”

“But how is that a memory of mine if it’s your method of feeding?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond but merely clenches his jaw when you look back at him, refusing to speak anymore on the subject.  

The silence between you stretches on for most of the night, he checks in on occasion to ensure that you are well. But other than that you hardly exchange another word, right up to when Yoongi slows the horse at the sight of the moonlit river and bridge. He helps you dismount, and unhooks a pack from the saddle, giving you access to the provisions you require.

“Our stop is only a few more minutes away down road. We have several hours until day break.” He nods to the river, “Take all the time you need. I’ll give you some privacy and take the horse just around the bend.”

When Yoongi leaves your line of sight, you remove your boots, roll your trousers, and step into the chill waters. You take one stride in and another unit you are submerged almost to your knees. Filling up the waterskin you take a long daft, while also savouring the coolness of the river your skin and sores. The bandages on your heels are a ragged mess, in desperate need of being replaced. You reluctantly return to the banks, crouching to rummage through the pack to hunt for something that could be of use to protect the broken skin.

You have no such luck in locating any spare cloth, but find instead a heavy roll of leather at the bottom. Dragging it up to the surface of the pack, you are curious as to what it might be. While peeking up to ensure that Yoongi has not come back to check in, you loosen the string ties and unravel the well-worn wrap. There’s a small clang from whatever lies inside as it unfolds. Your heart races as you attempt to brace the objects within, slowing your motions to prevent the noise from happening again. Not wishing to draw attention to your invasion of the vampire’s belongings.

But your cautionary actions come to a swift halt when tucked inside you find sharp metal instruments, encompassing a variety of shapes, sizes, and serrations. Kept well enough to glare back at you as they reflected the moonlight. You immediately drop the leather carrier to the ground, and stumble away from the horrific implements. Though in your fear and hurry, you miscalculate the security of the ground on which you stand. Teetering on the rocks at the river’s edge, you fall back. Losing your hat to the current, while your hands plunge into shallow water. The sharp pebbles of the bank dig into your palms, skinning off the scab of Taehyung’s bitten wound.

You gasp in pain, pulling your hand out from the river to inspect the freshly opened break in your skin. Yoongi appears seconds later, reaching out for your hand from the edge of the water. “Are you hurt?”

You look from your palm up to Yoongi. The sting of the lesion and his presence triggering a memory of a darkened cobblestone street, a fanged monster hidden beneath a hood, reaching out for your hand, caked with dirt and blood. Then a gap, a break in your recollection, ending with a flash of Yoongi taking that same hand and passing his own blood over yours to close the cut. The brief glimpse ends, leaving you with a bleak look at your alleged friendship.

“You... you gave me your blood?!” You ask, delving further back into the river out of fear, the prospect of the freezing water is nothing compared to the demon who seems to have poisoned you long ago.

“What are you-”

“You gave me your blood. You used your sway to compel me into-into caring for a monster like you!”

His face falls at your accusation. “Is that how you truly view it then? You do in fact see me as a monster?”

“How else can I? Why else would someone like you carry those tools other than to harm? ”

Yoongi looks down, his lips tightening upon seeing your discovery. “Because you gave them to me!” He counters, to your shock and horror, allowing his forced confession to sink in for a moment before continuing in a more sombre tone. “If you feel that I influenced you poorly, for that I am deeply sorry. I thought, I hoped you might have seen it all differently. I had your blessing back then, but I can see that I was right to question my undue-influence on you.”  

“I’m not talking about your influence, but your blood, you used it to manipulate my thoughts and actions! If I gave you such things I was surely under your spell.”

“No, I would never intentionally force you to think a certain way! But your circumstances back then made you vulnerable, I fear they made you open to my persuasion, and to desire my good graces.” You stand there thigh deep in the river, frozen in place, as his words continue to challenge your perception and memory. “If you revoke your once good opinion of me I will not fault you for it. But I don’t know how else to remedy my mistakes other than to take you home. Can you please trust me long enough to do that?”

“I-” You begin, while trying to figure out where your answer will end, your head swimming with conflicting recollections of his blood, and kindness to you.

But your answer is halted by the sudden change in the vampire before you. Yoongi turns his head back to the line of trees his nose lifting before like it did when he caught the scent of the highwaymen. “Hunters, they’ve found us.”

A shiver passes over you, unrelated to the cold water. “You can smell them? Are they Taehyung’s?”

“No, not them per se, but the blood they are dressed in, and based on that...” He turns back to you, his expression fraught with worry as he points to the river. “Go in further and remain in there until it is safe to come out. They will not be able to fetch you if the river reaches past the leg of their mount. Promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever you hear, you will not leave until you are certain it is safe.”

You nod unable to verbalize your agreement. Your breath catches in your chest as you continue to lower yourself into the water's depths. The slow current comes to reach your waist, just before a mounted hunter and his much larger companion on foot break near the banks of the river.

“Agust,” the mounted hunter address Yoongi by his false persona, confirming your dread of who they serve. “Fancy meeting you here. We thought we smelled something sweet, but had not realized you would be attempting to collect it too. Since when do you capture live prey? I thought you dealt more in bottled goods.” He proceeds to laugh at his own words, while his fellow remains silent.

“This bounty is mine Thane.” Yoongi commands from the ground standing between you and them. His attention focused solely on the vampire with the stead, marking him as the superior of the two hunters in your eyes.

“Is it now?” He asks with an air of conceit. “It looks more like it’s just beyond your reach. Smart of her to use our weakness in such a way.”

“She’s just playing a game,” Yoongi mutters. “She won’t last long in there, the cold will send her out soon.”

You wish it wasn’t so, but there’s truth to his words, for you are unsure of how much longer you can bear the frigid temperatures. The chattering of your teeth brings further evidence to them that the chill has sunk deep into your skin.

“If she was so difficult to control why did you not give her your blood?” The larger of the two hunters asks.

“What, and taint the product with my own?” Yoongi spits back, looking offended that the hunter would suggest such practice. “I plan to take her back to Lord Taehyung, unspoiled, and alone.”

The lip of the leader, Thane, curls at Yoongi’s comment. “I do not think you will. She seems like more than you can handle.”

“Then you and your partner leave me to fetch a human who may breach the water’s banks.”

“No, you will come with me. Averill will stay and watch her.” Thane nods to the hulking vampire next to him.

“And leave my blood bounty with you? I think not.” Yoongi’s worry starts to cross into his voice, his wavering tone evident to even you. He stands down with a fake chuckle and proceeds to dismiss their presence by busying himself with the task of repacking the belongings you left out of the sack. “If you're not going to send for assistance leave me be, for I plan to wait as long as it takes to recollect her for his lordship.”

“And what will you do when the sun rises? You are not in a position to negotiate Agust. You should be glad that we are offering to even do you this favour. I hear the reward for this one is greater than any before. Lord Taehyung is offering an immediate position among his keepers to whomever can capture her.”

It becomes clear to you that they will not give in so easily, and Yoongi too pauses upon hearing this news. “Since you insist, I will go with you, but he does not make an attempt to touch her until we get back. If I find out you’ve tried to cross me-”

“He will stick to the shore of the river, until our return.” Thane looks to his companion who nods to confirm that he will abide to such terms.

Yoongi turns his back to them, the light of the moon granting a dim view of the concern on his face. He points one figure at the ground, what you can only only read as a supposed signal for you to stay, before mounting up and riding off with one of the hunters in the direction of his ally.

The vampire on the water's edge began to prowl back and forth, watching you with intrigue. “You look cold and tired my dear. You should come out, let’s not play this game any longer.”

“It’s not a game.” You mutter in response to the vampire.

A menacing grin takes hold of his face. “Of course it is, your kind consider hunting to be of sport, do they not?”

You turn your head and ignore his comment. Letting minutes pass with you in silence, until the vampire's pacing comes to a halt, and the smile has all but faded from his features.“Where the hell are they?”

Considering the torment his clan has brought you, you take great pleasure in seeing his frustration rise. “What’s wrong?” You tempt him, hoping that he might be foolish enough to try to reach you on his own. “Does the night wane too quickly for you? Is the vampire afraid of a little sunlight as well as running water? With so many weaknesses it’s a wonder you’ve survived.”

“There are still a few hours to go until sunrise human, I wouldn’t raise your hopes just yet. Because when I pull you from that river, I will show you just how well I survive. ” No sooner than the threat passes from his lips, a single horse rides back into view. Though to your terror it is not Yoongi’s stead, but Thane’s, with it’s rider wrapped his tattered and blood stained cloak. Your chest tightens and breathing stops, as you consider what might have happened to Yoongi. His absence brings grim thoughts to your mind regarding his fate, fearing what kind of situation he must be in to prevent his return.

Looking downriver with a choked sob, you contemplate your only escape with Yoongi now gone, ready to take the current to its end, or yours.

The imposing vampire that was left with you calls out to his ally. “What in the devil's name took you so long? I thought you were going to deal with Agust, and bring back someone who could assist? I see no humans!”

Thane doesn’t answer out loud. After dismounting he pulls his cloak tighter, and approaches his friend, leaning in to talk to him. It’s not until a stake pierces Averill’s chest that you see the true face of the rider. Painted with blood from, and contempt for, the being he just slaughtered.

A sense of déjà vu grips you once again, and refuses to let go. You’ve witnessed something like this before, so many years ago. Another memory starts to resurface, another vampire slaying much like this, both executed by the hand of... “Yoongi?!”

...

-10 years ago -

Just a few hours outside of the palace walls, that is all you desire. Dressed in your lady’s maid’s change of clothes you go in search of the sights outside. Hoping to find something unfamiliar and new. After hearing the very maid you ‘borrowed’ the clothes from, discuss the bakery, the public houses, the marketplace, and more. You could no longer hold back your curiosity. Your books and maps are not enough to quell your taste for adventure, your eyes seek to explore the areas that the tomes in your library fail to touch. And since it all resides on the crown's land, surely you have a duty to study it?

As much as you would have preferred to go out in the day, the cover of darkness is so much easier to slip out under. No one should look twice at a person your attire, and you yourself are not expected to be anywhere else other than bed.

Unfortunately that means the bakery is closed and the market packed up. The only place warmed with light and presence is the tavern, but you know it would be foolish to go in there. For you have no coin on hand for a meal, and are far too young to have any other sensible reason for entrance.

Despite your first expedition not being everything you wanted, it only makes you determined to plan better for your next. After two hours pacing the streets, looking for sites of interest, you consider heading back. You turn to face the direction you had just travelled and look for another route home, not wishing to view only the same roads as before. Travelling one side street and another, though you soon make an error and find a dead end greeting you on the third.

Turning about, you double back, but fail to notice the slick pile of refuse, which sends you falling forward. Your hands reach out to stop your face colliding into the cobblestones, while the rest of your body flattens painfully in your tumble.

Following the shock of your plummet you take a moment to inspect your well-being from the ground. You curse your foolish inattention when you find your palms coated in mud, and stinging with scrapes. Resulting in a small amount of blood, beading on the surface of your skin.

A man dressed in a long cloak and hood from the nearby road turns into the alley and encroaches upon your, no doubt pathetic looking form. You thought he might be there to offer his assistance after such a fall, but he only looks down upon you with a hunched posture.

“Well aren’t you a rare breed. Surely you are not from these parts, or I would have found you before.” His sinister words immediately put you on your guard, after giving you the impression that you are something to be collected rather than aided.  

“I’m sorry sir but you are mistaken.” You ascend from your knees and brush yourself off, seeking to flee his uncomfortable presence, but the stranger blocks your path. With an outstretched arm, his hand rests against the wall, taking up the entire width of the alley. The lower half of the man’s face peaks out from beneath his hood, only to show his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You clench your jaw and stand firm, attempting to give him reason to reconsider preying on one such as yourself. “I hail from here, and my family expects my return soon. Now let me pass.”

“I am not mistaken, I know a new and valued vintage when I smell it, and you are quite something...” He steps closer as you back away, continuing to cut off your escape by dragging his fingers along the stone wall. His stride resembles that of a predator, narrowing in on their presumed feast. You raise a hand in to signal for him to stop, but he merely gives it a keen stare.

“Did you hurt your hands my dear? Here let me take a look.” He reaches out with his own taloned hand, his long fingers ending with sharpened nails. “I can help heal them right up for you.”

“Thank you sir, but I would rather just go home and tend to them myself.” You give one last plea, one last appeal to his humanity. Fearing that his next action against you will be truly monstrous.

“It will take only a moment, and I promise,” the fabric of his hood falls back to reveal his feral face with pointed teeth, “You won’t remember a thing.”

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth. You try to tug it back, but his grip is like none you’ve felt, so firm that even the strongest pull you can muster has no impact on him. Even a push to his chest from your other fist does not disturb him. You close your eyes waiting for the pain of his strike but there’s nothing of the sort. Only a soft grip on your wrist for a second and your hand is released. You open your eyes back up in hesitation, to find your attacker pinned against the wall by another.

“We do not feed on children! Have you forgotten our clan’s law?”

“Yoongi, I’m sorry sir you’re right. But you must understand, you must smell how sweet her blood is. Do you not find it as tempting as I?”

“We do not feed on children.” The newcomer reiterates his tone drawing into a low growl.

“Surely she is not so young that you cannot make an exception this once? No one else in the clan has to know sir, it’s just us here. I’ll even share her with you.”

There’s a swift flash of movement and the second has impaled the first through the chest with a wooden stake. The predator who cornered you looks on him with shock before slumping down the side of the wall, leaving a strip of blood in his wake.

You stare into the vial stranger’s blank eyes, unable to quell the worry that he might still launch an attack on you. “Is-is he, is it-” You manage to stutter out, as you battle your nerves, deeply shaken, but increasingly grateful for the intervention of the one before you.

“He’s dead.” The vanquisher tends to the cast-off on his coat and skin, brushing his hand over the crimson stains while he addresses you. “You should run along princess, it’s not safe for you to wander about at night.”

“You-you know who I am?”

“I’ve come across your scent before, it was just after one of your family’s gallant displays of authority.” You tilt your head confused by what he could mean. He takes in your bewilderment and explains further. “One of the royal processions, I spotted you just after dusk when you returned to the castle some years ago. Your aroma is not one my kind would forget.”

“Your kind, what do you mean your kind? What was he?”

“A weak willed monster who feeds on blood, and hunts by night. He is not alone out there, so you should stay very far away from the darkened streets.”

“But you are not like him.”

“I swear to you, he and I are the same.” The man comes towards you lowering himself on one knee and baring his fangs. “He is a vampire, and so am I.”

You don’t turn away but look at them with curiosity. His brow furrows as you move in closer. “And what of your name?” You ask, desperate to know more about him, for his appearance, his very existence, has certainly become the most intriguing part of your night .

“You don’t need-”

“But I would like it.”

“Yoongi. I go by Yoongi,” he mutters, looking taken aback once again. “May I?” He extends his hand for yours. You give it to him with little hesitation, wincing as his thumb brushes the mud away. He pauses upon noticing your discomfort and extends an offer to you. “If I take away this pain, will you promise to go straight home?”

You nod back, wondering how he could offer such a thing. He bites his hand before taking your own, rubbing the blood over the scrapes. And to you surprise, the cuts vanish before your eyes, the skin forming back together as though your fall never happened. Regardless if this being thinks he is a monster or otherwise, it’s apparent a miracle cure flows through his veins. Your brother's condition jumps to the forefront of your mind. “You can heal wounds? Cuts and contusions too?”

“I can.” His answers with a raised eyebrow.

“So you could help my brother?”

“Your brother, what of him?”

“He has an illness. My parents don’t want to spread word of his condition, but whenever he gets hurt, he bruises and bleeds without end. You can save him, right?”

“I cannot assist your brother.” He rises from his knee and proceeds to drag the body of the former vampire deeper into the shadows, all while continuing to answer your request. “Making myself even known to you goes against the wishes of my clan. I should wipe your memories, but if I do, I fear you’ll forget the danger and return here once again.”  

“Please! He needs your help.” You beg, hoping that he’d agree to be your salvation once again.

The self proclaimed monster looks at you, while tugging the stake from the chest of the corpse. Meeting your eyes when you refuse to look away from him or the gruesome sight. “If you swear to stay within the walls of your castle and tell not a soul... I will see what I can do.”

You lead him back to your home, the vampire following a few paces behind. Returning to the passage hidden in the roots of the hedge, the trap door beneath the flora, from which you ventured out earlier tonight. You open it stepping in first. Your companion stops as if being held back by some invisible force. “I need your permission to enter.”

“Why?”

“Consider it a courteous limitation of my race. Now do you want me to heal your brother or not?”

“Yes, you may come in.”

Lighting the lantern you left for yourself at the entrance, you lead him through the dark tunnel beneath the castle.

“What is this place used for? I can’t imagine anyone ventures down here much.” He remarks brushing away cobwebs that stretch across the path.

“It is an escape tunnel, to ensure the safety of the royal line. Only my immediate family knows of it. If there were to be danger we could flee down here and leave the grounds. And no, they do not visit here, only I come down myself when I wish to hide away.” The hidden offshoot of the cellar is ample space for you, and far less restrictive than the palace above ground.

You climb a set of stairs ending in a door which returns you to the halls of the castle, the entrance to the secret route concealed behind a painting of a king who came long before. Peeking out into the corridor you find it clear of guardsmen and servants, and doing the same again at your brother’s door.

The physicians and surgeons had left him for the night, which allows for Yoongi to slip in behind you. He checks over your sleeping brother, paying close attention to both the recent injury to his knee and the incision on the inside of his elbow. “Why was this made?” He points to the latter. “It’s too clean to be an accident.”

“Bloodletting, they bleed him regularly to dispose of the weakened blood.”

“Weakened Blood?” Yoongi shakes his head as he reopens the spot on his hand, spreading his blood over your brother's wounds. They close up with the skin returning to its normal state and hue. “I hadn’t realized that surgeons practiced such things. If you want to keep him alive don’t let them bleed him anymore. Come to think of it...” He examines the tools of their trade, and roles up the leather pouch in which they are contained. “May I borrow these? I might have a use for them.”

“Take them, please.” You urge, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s a shock to see your brother's condition, which has plagued your family since his birth, so easily remedied with Yoongi's help. But the worry over the uncertain future still holds. “What if it happens again? How will I find you if I shouldn’t leave the castle?”

“You said few know of the cavern below? I’m in need of somewhere safe to rest during the day when I come to town, that spot will do. If I have your consent to use it?”

...

It’s been a couple weeks since your first meeting. The vampire, Yoongi has grown more comfortable within the tunnel beneath, and far less hesitant around you. You’ve learned so much about him, and his shrouded kin, both the good and the bad.  

He lays back against the stonewall his eyes closed in satisfaction. Far different from the first few  times you met him. “You look... more relaxed.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he gives you his answer, “I had the ability to address some of my needs I’ve been neglecting. I’ve been able to feed on a far more frequent basis.”

“Oh...” You exclaim, not knowing how to comment further on the topic.

One of his eyes opens to peek at you while he remains at rest. “Does that scare you? Do you fear me now?” He chuckles darkly.

You respond with a quick and decisive, “No.” Catching the vampire by surprise judging from his tongue in cheek and open mouth.

“And why is that?”

“If you took no issue with human suffering you wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t have saved my brother. Did you bring pain to the person you feed on?”

 Yoongi scoffs, his tongue still rolling in his cheek as he looks to the floor. “No, I did not. And I have you to thank for that.”

“How did I help?” You ask in utter bewilderment. The two of you have never discussed his own meals before.

“When a vampire feeds they don’t often care about the damage they cause, they can make their prey forget they ever saw them, becoming nothing more than a bad dream. I have been struggling with this way of life for a while now. But you, you gave me another method to feed, and for that I am eternally in your debt.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I know,” he chuckles back. “I’ll show you one day. When I can be certain it is safe to do so.”

...

A month later, Yoongi sneaks into your room in the dead of night, waking you from your slumber.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” You ask with slurred words as you rub your eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, but I’m ready to show you. Dress in what you wore when we met. We can’t have anyone recognizing you.”

You bolt up out of bed and dash over to your desk. Yoongi watches as you tug out the false bottom you created in one of the drawers that hides the cotton-spun dress from sight.  

“You appear to be well versed in the art of hiding secrets princess,” Yoongi laughs, as he examines the panel.

“When every eye in the household seeks to critique you, you find ways to hide your less-than-amiable indulgences.”

“And is that what this is?” The vampire holds up a book of cartographic exploration also stored in the secret nook of the drawer. “An indulgence?”

You take the tome in question from his hand and return it to the drawer, replacing the panel to conceal it. “For a situation like my own it is.”

After changing into the plain garment Yoongi takes you from the castle, bringing only the leather roll of surgical instruments you had given him. He doesn’t take you far, a house, located only a five minute walk beyond the gates of your castle. “Are you sure you want to see this?” He asks as his fist hangs above the door.

You nod, curious as to how he’s been feeding himself.

“Very well, if anyone asks you are my assistant.”

“Assistant for what?”

He answers only with a wide grin as he knocks. The door opens a fraction, by the hands of a startled woman, whom Yoongi is quick to greet. “Sorry to intrude, and so late too. I heard you might be in need of a surgeon?”

“W-we can’t pay,” she croaks back, and attempts to close the door, but Yoongi stops it by placing the leather case in the gap.

“I require no monetary payment. My services have already been covered.”

“By who?” The woman is sceptical, and rightly so. Based on your experience with your brother’s past needs, you know a surgeon’s fee to be no small price.

“The daughter of the crown.”

“The crown? But why would she-”

“Because there are those in this kingdom in need of my assistance. I’m sure you’ve noticed the rapid recovery of your neighbour just a few doors down.”

Her eyes widen, lighting with hope. “The surgeon was you?”

“It was.” He answers with a closed lip smile.

The resident looks from Yoongi to you, her gaze lingers for a second on your appearance, before opening the door further. “You may come in.” She takes you to a small residence, her hands trembling as she escorts you into a nearby bedroom.

The stench of a sickly-sweet rot overpowers your nose the moment you step into the room. You cover your mouth in an attempt to keep down your rising dinner, while Yoongi goes to the aid of an unconscious man laying in bed. A deep and putrid gash extends from the inside of his thumb to his wrist.

“Another surgeon said he might need to take the hand... it’s not so bad is it?” Her voice quakes. “My husband won't be able to work if he loses it.”

“No, he’ll keep it.” Yoongi states, as he lifts a ceramic bowl, notched at the rim, from the bedside table and props the wounded man’s arm over it. Several small cuts already adorn the weak skin at the crease of his elbow joint. “I take it you've bled him regularly?”

The wife nods. “Yes, but we ran out of money. I couldn’t afford to have anyone else continue the bleeding. So I attempted it myself.” She looks down at the floor in shame, clearly upset that she had not been able to help her own husband.

“He will be well again. I promise I can heal this.” He assures her, before turning to you. “Can you hold these for me?” Passing you the same tools you gave him just months before. You unravel the leather pouch. Exposing the sharp tools for his selection, his slender fingers choose one of the smaller blades to make the incision. As the scarlet fluid drains, Yoongi calls for fresh linen and the wife leaves the room in search of his needs.  

The second she is out of sight, you start to question the vampire. “Bloodletting? But I thought you said-”

“It’s both a cover, and an exchange. He gives me his, and I’ll give him mine. I must thank you for the tools, they’ve been very helpful in keeping up the disguise. But do you think you can keep her out? I can’t let her see this next part, the improvement to his hand will be too drastic and too quick for her not to suspect a mystical source.” Yoongi requests as he breaks the seal on a bottle filled with thick crimson fluid. Pouring out a drop he rubs his blood onto the festering wound of his subject's hand.

You nod, watching the two sides of the laceration seal together, leaving only a clean scar. When the wife returns with a knock at the door, you take the material and ask her to wait there. Thankfully she obeys without much resistance, taking a seat just outside the room, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion, and her skin slick with the sweat of worry.

You hand over the linen to Yoongi who wraps it around the previously infected area. The man, much to your concern, remains unconscious. “Will he wake soon?”

“It might take some time, but yes. He still has a fever, but that should break in the next couple of hours with the infection gone.”

“And that?” You nod to the basin of blood.

“That, I will keep for myself.” Yoongi finishes wrapping the man’s hand before taking a wine skin from his coat, carefully pouring the viscous fluid into the flask, and taking every drop.

“It won’t affect you adversely even though he was ill when he gave it?”

“No, his ailment won’t harm me.” Taking a draft as if to prove his point, he wrinkles his nose as it goes down, and licks his lips clean to hide the evidence of his feast. “The taste isn’t always perfect, but it fills my needs, and it’s far better than the alternative.”

Yoongi passes off the patient’s care to his wife and warns her not to remove the bandages for several days. A continuation of his ploy to maintain that his methods have a more realistic recovery rate.

After returning you to the passage of the castle shortly before dawn, Yoongi looks to be apprehensive, wringing his hands as he bids you farewell for the day. “Seeing that... taking part in it wasn’t disturbing to you? You do not think it malicious for me to lie and profit in such a way?”

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, and beam at the vampire before you. “I was pleased that you showed me.”

“I owe my thanks to you,” he whispers, as a smile starts to cross his own features.

“But I did nothing.”

“You gave me the idea. I was not aware, nor did I think to benefit from such a human norm. I thought I was condemned to feed like a monster until the end. So as long as you approve, as long as you think it decent to conduct myself in this way, I will continue.”

“You’ve already helped us so much, how could I not? You are the reason my brother is well again, the reason that man will continue to live and work. You are more a saviour than any being I’ve met before.”

...

You thought him a hero in your past. Every action had a valid reason, every motive morally sound. His store of blood, the surgical knives, every memory of his history with you is beyond reproach.

“Yoongi?”

The friend of your past, falls to his knees beside the body of the hunter. He raises a hand to his face to contain a cough, but even from your distance you can see scarlet sputtering from his lips and spilling down between his fingers.  

“Yoongi!” You wade through the water as quickly as you can. Reaching his side while he continues to expel blood. “What happened?”

“Powdered silver.” He sputters again spraying your drenched trousers and ground with scarlet. “The bastard asked for some of my drink. I obliged to maintain my cover, but I didn’t notice he poisoned it in the process, and then took a sip myself.”  Despite his state he proceeds to hastily shove the body of the vampire into the river, where it starts to burn and disintegrate in the current. “Don’t worry, much like this one, he is far worse off than I.” Yoongi chuckles darkly before doubling over in another fit.

“We need to get you somewhere safe to heal.” You take his shoulder and help him on to the stolen horse.

“Seokjin, he's waiting for my return. I left everything with him. Down the road,” he whispers as another clot of blood leaves his mouth. “You’ll find a stone house.”

Once he is mounted you take the spot behind him this time, in an attempt to keep him in the saddle. “Yes, I remember it now...”

...

- 9 years ago -

You’ve fallen into a routine, where every morning an hour before sunrise you wait in the underground passage to see if Yoongi will show. It’s been over a week since he’s visited last. In the year you’ve known him he has never stuck to a schedule, his visits are random but frequent. You pass the time waiting with a travel log of a famous explorer, and an atlas for reference, studying the map and marking his trek as you pass through the pages. Cartography has long become a hobby of yours, much to the disappointment of your mother, she deemed such interests as unladylike forcing you to hide your activities. Though your hands stained with ink from your nightly studies, have betrayed you on more than one occasion.

The trap door to the outside opens, revealing your long awaited friend. “Yoongi!” You run and pull him into a hug. When you allowed him to rest here and tend to your brother as needed, you never thought that he would become your salvation too, your craved glimpse into the outside world which you have long since been denied. “You said you’d only be gone a few days!”

“I know forgive me princess, something came up. The travel back was slower than expected.”

“Were you able to do what I requested?”

“I was.” He pulls out several pages you had torn from your atlas marking them with details important to those of his kind. “Excuse my penmanship. It’s not as practiced as it once was.”

Dismissing his concerns with a wave of your hand you peer down at the sheets eager to see the world from his eyes, starting with the details closest to your own home. “Who is Seokjin?” You ask pointing to a dark spot labelled ‘Seokjin’s Post’ less than a day's ride away.

“I see you waste no time.” Yoongi smiles at your enthusiasm. “A member of my clan, a keeper, one who is stationed at a waypoint for ease of travel.”

“A keeper?” You ask unfamiliar with the vampiric title.

“One who has a claim to our land, and can give permission to other vampires to enter. It’s an honour to be trusted with such a responsibility.”

“Are you a keeper?”

“A form of keeper, yes, I share claim to the main stronghold with our clan’s lord. It took me near a quarter century as a clan hunter to be given permission to even enter, and three times as long to gain my current status. It is a prestigious role, but also a double edged sword, for it also is what keeps me away.”

“I should like to see it.”

“My clan’s fortress? No, I will never take you there, your scent could plunge the whole estate into chaos.”

You frown at the inability to visit his station, but continue to search the map. Finding another castle marked much like his own out to the west. “What of this one? ‘Lord Taehyung’s Fortress,’ you have never spoken of him.”

Yoongi goes rigid as he hovers over the mapped sheets with you. “I have not, for he is of a different clan, with far darker ambitions than our own. I choose to mark it as a warning and a place to avoid. If you should ever hear of or be near someone in his service, run. Run as far and fast as you can.”

You swallow any further questions regarding the rival clan, uneased by Yoongi’s words. Changing the subject again to learn more of your confidant and friend. “Where did you come from if you have not always resided with your clan.”

Yoongi forgoes the sheets you have given him of the surrounding area, taking the atlas out of your hands, he flips the pages to a wider view of the land. “I come from out here.” Pointing to an area not on the page, but to the right of the book, far more east than the last recorded city.

“Off map? Could we visit your old home instead?” You ask, your excitement bubbling to the surface.

“No it is far more than a night’s journey away, making it too long of a trek for you. It would take months on foot, and even if we were to make it, I doubt there would be much left, for the hearth kept by my family grew cold long ago.”

“I would like to see the area at the very least. We could get a horse. Money is no object, I have-”

“Princess, even still, your absence would be noticed. You cannot just disappear for weeks on end and return when you please. You would lose your home, your own station.”

“What if I told you that I don’t want to be a princess. That my dream is to leave this castle, and find an adventure with you.”

...

- 5 ½ years ago -

For years this disagreement raged between you both, with you desiring to leave, and him insisting you must stay. His return is always a bright moment, but your partings always cast a dark shadow when he once again embarks alone. Existence without him in the kingdom is so cold and rigid, to the point where you’ve come to rely on his visits to breathe life back into you, needing his company to live as much as your brother needs his blood. To your dismay the length between each of his appearances grows longer. Though his apologies still accompany him each time you must wait beyond his promised return.

“I told you, you should invest in a horse.” You mutter as you cling to him, greeting him with your usual hug the second he slips into the underground tunnel.

His hand draws across your back soothing you with his presence. “And I’ve told you I don’t need one for myself alone.”

“Then you will get one when we leave together?” You ask, pulling away looking up with hopeful eyes.

“Princess...” He growls as you once again bring up the dreaded topic.

“We need to talk about this Yoongi. We can’t go on like this forever.”

“No, but how is your brother? What would happen if you left?” Yoongi asks, setting up his bed roll for you both to sit on. He never leaves anything behind out of concern that someone in your family will find it while he’s away. Requiring him to get re-situated upon every return.

“He is well...” Your statement trails off unable to make a further valid argument regarding his situation.

“But that could change in an instant. And if you’re not here-”

“I might not be here much longer anyway!” Your statement hangs in the air between you both.

His face reads only of confusion, with his mouth hanging open as he attempts several false starts to respond. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You take your seat next to Yoongi determined to make him see it your way this time. There has been something weighing on you, feelings that you’ve found difficult to approach, but if you don’t say it now you worry you’ll never get to. “I am eighteen Yoongi, and well of age to marry. There have been suggestions of prospects and matches. I’ve tried delaying them but I know I will not stay in this castle much longer either way.”

His eyes darken and brows furrow. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His words in no way match his expression.

“No, they are not! I don’t want that life, I’ve told you this before. I have no wish to leave this castle only to become locked in another. You know that is what will happen! Any union made will be to benefit the kingdom in an alliance, they will have their own expectations, their own walls I cannot cross.”

“Maybe that is for the best though. You will live the life you were intended, saving you from a life with a monst-”

“You are not a monster Yoongi, I do not need saving from you!”

“If not from me, then at least from my kind. I cannot give you the life nor the safety which lies here, or in another castle with your own kind. A life alongside a vampire will not have a happy end.”

“And what of a life without living one’s dream? Without the one you’ve come to admire and befriend. Can that have a happy end? Would it not bother you to yield me to another who is not as kind, nor caring as you? Yoongi, I lo-”

Yoongi emits a low growl halting your argument and paramount confession. “I profess I would loathe to lose you too, but dreams and desires change. I do not wish for you to regret your path with me as I once regretted choosing this life too. If it weren’t for you... ” His voice trails off as he hangs his head in shame. “I could not bear to see you suffer knowing I brought you the pain which haunted me for years. The loss of a family, of a home, I do not wish for you to endure the same.”

“Then what would convince you? What will show you I am truly earnest in my desire?” You ask hoping to find the answer to not only show your determination to leave, but your true feelings for him too.

He pauses the discussion, getting up to pace the room. His fingers run through his hair as he ponders your query. “I don’t want you forced into this because of circumstances beyond your control...” He stops his stride mid thought, and glances to you.“I can still supply your brother with blood if you choose to marry, and leave my side. Now in having that safety I need to know that you’ve given this consideration more time. Without the weight of your brother's life hanging over you.”

“It has been all I’ve wanted these past few years, to leave this place with you.”

“But first I need you to give this life the honest chance without my presence. I will leave you with enough of my blood for the time I’m gone. Though we should discuss who you will entrust to take care of him if you are in another castle, or with me.”

“My lady’s maid.” You suggest, for you know she loves him as much as you, though she tries to keep it concealed. “I would trust his life to her, but how long do you plan to stay away?”

“My clan intends to launch a wave of hunters into rival territory, it’s the best chance we have to take down Taehyung’s stronghold.” Yoongi explains while returning to the seat next to you. “If we can do this before you wish to leave then I will be as far greater ease to take you from here, but knowing that they are out there now worries me when it comes to your safety.”

“How long Yoongi?” You reiterate, scared by his avoidance of your question.

“Six months.”

“But that’s such a long time!”

“If you want to leave with me you will have to endure it, but I wish for you to take this time and consider your options. Don’t close every door yet, simply because of how you feel now.”

You inch closer to him, “My answer will be the same half a year from now. I want you to take me will you.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to wait, and hear it again upon my return.”

“I will do as you ask, but after that wait, I expect you to be ready for me to leave alongside you. We’ll need a travel plan, supplies, and a decent horse too.”

“Whatever you require, I will have. I’ll even let you name the stead.” Yoongi promises with a smirk. Taking the glass vial of blood he uses on his patients from his coat, he gives it to you. Cupping your hands as you take it from him, he leans in, putting his lips enticingly close to your own. “I’ll be back for your final answer, just please think it over. I will bear you no ill will if you decide...” He pauses, a grimace weighing heavy on his expression. “If you decide, you would be better off if you forgot me entirely, and moved on with your life.”

“I would never wish to forget you.” You give another thought to confessing further, telling him how much you’ve grown to love him. How you crave more than just to leave with him. Wishing to close the gap between you and seal your deal with a kiss. But despite your determination to confess to him earlier, you hold your tongue and lips in place. Suspecting that he will dismiss those desires too. When he returns, you reason with yourself, putting it off for a little longer. Yes, then you will express it all to him.

...

Just as Yoongi said, further down the road and nestled between the trees, there resides a small stone house. Had you not been looking for it, you might have missed it entirely. You stop with a pull of the reins, sliding down from the saddle you tie the horse to an outdoor post, and proceed to help the increasingly catatonic vampire with his own dismount.  Propping one of his arms over your shoulder you approach the dwelling and hammer on the door.

A booming voice responds from the other side. “It damn well took you long enough!” It opens to reveal a tall man draped in a spattering of blood, extending from his broad shoulders to the small of his waist. He curses upon the sight of you and the barely conscious Yoongi on your shoulder. “I told him he wasn’t well enough to return to you alone.”

He looks human at first glance but a small chuckle reveals pointed teeth hidden by his set of full lips. “‘I must do this Seokjin,’” The vampire utters in his imitative tone of Yoongi. “‘Just look after this one’s body for me.’ That is the last time I do you a favour. I swear I’ve never seen a vampire’s corpse so saturated with blood.... even ruined my favourite shirt.”

Seokjin takes Yoongi from you and calls out to another. “Namjoon? Come help me with this determined fool and his human princess.”

You cringe from the unexpected use of your title, but the vampire pays you no mind. Looking to his human partner who descends the stairs. Namjoon ushers you into their residence, looking troubled by the state of your soggy clothes.

Just as with the abandoned house from the night the windows have heavy shutters that close from the inside, most of which are currently open, letting in the night air. But this dwelling is thankfully well lit, with several lanterns bolted to the walls, a fire roaring off to the side, and an iron candelabra at the centre of a massive wooden table.

The vampires take the lead up the narrow wooden stairs, with you and Namjoon trailing behind. Gliding through an open door in the upper hall, Seokjin places your now fully unconscious companion on the bed of a well furnished room. He takes Yoongi’s tunic and tears it open, exposing a trail of burns down his throat and chest.

“I’ve never witnessed a silver poisoning to this extent. It’s a miracle he was able to still retrieve you.” Seokjin mutters.

Namjoon grabs a blanket from the cupboard, and wraps it around your damp shoulders, before attempting to take you from the room. “Come let's get you some dry clothes.”

But you stand firm and refuse to be parted from Yoongi. Concern grows within you over Seokjin’s statement. “Will he- will he recover?”

“Yes, but it’ll take time. Though if he feeds soon, his injuries will heal far quicker.”

“Do you have any blood on hand?” You ask on his behalf. “With his supply poisoned he has nothing else to drink.”

Seokjin’s eyes bore into you expectantly, a smile coming to the corner of his lips. “Am I not looking at his blood consort now? Has he not fed from you?”

You shake your head, backing away from Yoongi’s supposed ally.

He takes in your reaction with a tilt to his head. “That must have been a struggle for him, considered I’m using all my power to not feed from you now.”

Namjoon steps in between. “Let her be Seokjin, you know who she is, and where she’s been kept. She’s clearly scared to do so, I can spare-”

The smirk on the vampire’s face dies with the offer of his human. “You will do no such thing! Your blood is mine, and mine is yours is it not?”

“It is, however-”

“Then that is the end of this discussion. If she wishes to help him then she must make that sacrifice, not you.” The vampire pushes his human out of the room before he turns back to you. “If I were in your position I would heal him, and do so quickly... for he has given up far more for you than a few drops of blood.” Seokjin then shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone with Yoongi.

You pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, hugging your blanket close in comfort. When you consider feeding him, your anxiety starts to rise to an undesirable peak, with the feeling of your heart rising to your throat and pounding in your ears. Your mind can’t help but draw on the memories of Taehyung's feeding, but this instance is different, with you in control, and the one who requires blood is not a monster but your past saviour, and love.

You empty his bags on the desk provided in the room. Making one last effort to look for any additional store of blood that might have remained unpolluted. Finding nothing but clothes, and basic supplies, until the roll of surgical instruments hits the wooden surface with a dull thud. Left with no other option but the tools before you, you grow more determined to push down the horrors of your past. Doing it for the sake of Yoongi, and the returning portion of you who adores him so adamantly.

Freeing one of the knives, you take a deep breath, and slice along the partially opened scar on your hand. The pain takes control for a moment, forcing your jaw to clench and your breath to seethe between your teeth, as the sight of scarlet turns your stomach. But seeing Yoongi suffering brings your mind back to focus as the blood wells to the surface, creating a thick pool in your palm. You go to him and straddle his form taking his chin in one hand to open his mouth. You clench your ruby drenched fist and tilt it over him. The first drip hits Yoongi’s lip, the second entering his mouth. His eyes fly open, and a snarl leaves his throat. Reaching out he grabs your hand, not to draw it closer but to push it back towards you.

“You’ve spilled enough of your blood for my kind.” He whispers, his ache evident in the hoarseness of his tone.

“Seokjin said you needed it. Will you just take it.”

“No! I have no wish to become the next monster who haunts your dreams.”

“You won’t, I remember now. From my first time meeting you, all the way up to our parting. You did so much for me and my family. You were right in saying those you feed off of were not your victims, I saw how they suffered from illness and injury.” Your voice starts to quake as you force it all out, confining his depth of importance to you to a few small statements is no easy task. “I understand why you feared your influence over me in the past. But please, know now, I do not consider myself a casualty of yours. I give you my blood of my own free will.”

You offer your hand once again but Yoongi doesn’t move his narrow gaze giving the impression that his decision is final. “Very well.” You counter, as you cup your hand with your own, pressing down on the wound as you consider the already escaped blood. “It seems a shame to waste it though. Maybe your friend Seokjin will take it, he appeared to be interested.” You play your bluff, hoping to gain a rise out of him the way Seokjin claimed Namjoon.

Shifting your weight, you ready to leave, but Yoongi moves faster, pulling you down to lay beneath him. “Why must you be so stubborn?” He mutters as he places one hand gently over your eyes obstructing your view of him. “Please, if I am to do this don’t look. I don’t want you to remember me by this act.” His other hand takes your blood soaked palm in his grip before he finally presses his lips to the dripping wound.

The tug of his mouth on your skin is gentle lasting only for a few seconds. His tongue then starts to drift down the scarlet trails that lead across your fingers, licking every inch of your skin clean. His touch is soft and attentive, you find yourself enjoying his caress, forgetting entirely the purpose of his actions. But it’s soon brought to an end when a soft scrape of his fangs crosses your knuckles, with your immediate instinct to flinch, it incites him to draw back and apologize.

He removes himself from your hand, and turns to draw his own blood. When he goes to press it to your laceration he hesitates and gives you his assurance. “This will only heal it. Do you trust me to do that?”

You nod with a deep breath and clenched teeth, dreading this part most, you look away until the tingling sensation of the skin's repair stops. When your gaze returns to the spot you find it without flaw, for his blood had also erased the scar of Taehyung. Tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes .  

Yoongi wipes at the edge of his mouth taking away the dark remnants of your blood. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, quite the opposite. Thank you for taking it away.”

“I’m sorry you had to bear his marks for so long.” His lips kiss the newly healed skin of your hand before he lays down on the bed next to you. As much as he tries to hide it you can see that he’s still weary from the silver. Your fingers trace down the slowly fading burn of his throat, a rumble of contentment flowing from it as his eyes close.

Embracing the softness of the bed you were promised earlier, and far too weary to change out of your damp clothes you join him in sleep.

...

You rest for only a few hours with the sun starting to break across the horizon, shocked but grateful that no appearance of Taehyung brought halt to your peaceful slumber. Rising to close the shutters to the light, you leave Yoongi to his sleep.

You open the door a slight amount, checking to see if anyone else is about, when you find a form of kindness you had not expected on the floor in front of your room. It would seem that Namjoon must have brought food while you slept, a small collection of bread, cured meat, and fruit awaits you along with the clothes he promised. Though your current outfit is now dry, you take the fresh garments inside for a later change before you depart in the evening. The food however, barely lasts a few minutes in your presence. For you indulge hastily on the wonderful meal as you sit at the rather cluttered desk.

Naturally, the mess you made earlier in the night still remains, the contents of Yoongi bags strewn over the desk and floor. Once finished with your plate, you start to pack the clothes and supplies all away again until there are only a few items left, including a piece of folded parchment lying in the corner. You flatten it out across the surface of the workspace, reuniting yourself with Yoongi’s map.

Of course, it wasn’t always his. No, this was the map that you had made from the fragments and pages he recorded. It was intended to be a gift for him upon his return after those long six months apart. Every stroke of the pen, every hour, and every drop of ink which bled into this creation brought you so much joy. But you also remember the sorrow that led to the error, the blotch left while trying to conceal the map before the ink had set.

...

-5 years ago-

It has been seven months since Yoongi’s departure, with no whisper or hint to his whereabouts. The blood supply he had given you was fully consumed in the past fortnight. You assure your lady’s maid, whom you imparted with the knowledge of the cure, that your friend will return soon. But still you wait for him, while putting the finishing touches to the map in the form of an ornate compass rose.

With the final mark of ink in place, your mother bursts into your room, consumed by a wealth of tears. You fold the map in haste, and tuck it under a book. Thankful that she is too distraught to realize that you should be in bed and not at your desk, but the news she shares gives grave reason to her oversight. Your brother had fallen from his own earlier in the night, causing a lesion to the back of his head. Without the aid of your vampire, you know it to be a likely death sentence.

Come near dawn, you wait in the hidden passage, praying for Yoongi to show. But when the sun comes to rise without his presence, you can only hope that your brother will survive this day without the medicine he’s grown so dependent on. However, as night falls, his health worsens, and the physicians resort to bleeding him again. You try to stop them, but that only results in you being banished from his room.

With no other options left, in the late hours of night, you don another of your maid’s old dresses, tugging it out from your hiding spot, and replacing it with the finished map which now bears an unfortunate scar. Taking your usual path you escape to the town of your kingdom. Your plan, to pace every street until you find him, or another who might know of his whereabouts.  

...

Your memory fails to pass the darkened cobblestone roads which frame your search. Leaving you to conclude that was when you were found by your capture of these past five years. Yoongi was right, the open night is dangerous for one such as yourself, even so he left you with little choice, he broke his promise first.

There’s a creak from the bed behind you, but you keep your focus forward on the map, still trying to piece it all together. Until two hands wrap around your waist and Yoongi’s chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“You said you would come back.” You remain still in his arms, scolding the vampire with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Why didn’t you return to me as promised.”

Yoongi turns you around to face him, raising your chin with his finger. “You remember our arrangement?” You nod your response, refusing to meet his gaze, until he lowers his own head in disappointment. “There were... difficulties. I know it does not excuse my broken oath in full, but I was prevented from going to you.” He sits you back down in the desk chair and kneels before you, taking your hand in his. “Taehyung had found the hunters we were attempting to embed in his ranks. He dealt us a swift blow with their deaths, and then sent his men east, towards our fortress, and your kingdom. The keepers, such as myself, were ordered by our own lord to remain within the walls of our residences, out of concern that we might be captured and lured into giving Taehyung's clan access.”

“Then you should have sent word of your delay!” You cut in, had you known this you never would have left to find him.

“I did. I wrote a letter and sent it by raven, telling you to stay within the castle walls no matter what. That it was far too dangerous for you on the outside, and my return would be a longer wait. But I received no reply. I thought then that you did not want to hear from me, that you had chosen a different path. It was weeks before my raven returned badly injured. I feared then that my warning might have gone astray.” He sighs, as continues to recount  the dark narrative. “I couldn’t remain a willing captive of my own home when I know you might be in danger. So I renounced my title, I gave away my claim and access to the stronghold. Lowering myself to the status of clan hunter so I could leave and find you. But I was too late, you were already gone and well beyond my reach. I searched your room looking for any clues as to how you ended up in his hands. I found no dress, and only that in your drawer.” He nods over to the map.

“I have spent the past five years trying to correct my mistake of not going to you sooner, for not leaving with you when you asked. But when I found you again, without your memories, I had no way of knowing the choices you made or any feelings you had previous to your captivity. I kept our past from you so as to not impact your previous decisions with my own desires. If you thought me to be a monster who groomed you for my own needs, I would back away. If you were just catering to me to save the life of your brother, I wanted you to be free of that.”  His hand comes to the side of your face, with a finger dotting at a tear that had fallen from the corner of your eye. “I’m aware I don't deserve it, but please I must know. What was your decision before I let you down so horrifically, what was it that led you to be in his custody?”

“I never felt pushed to stay by you because of my brother's condition. I had no wish to marry nor leave with another, it was never simply about journeying outside the castle for an adventure. I wanted to be with you. Those six months we spent apart only confirmed what I did not wish to tell you out of worry you might dismiss those feelings too. I loved you, and still do.”

Yoongi chokes out a wavering sigh of relief, lowering your head by his hand, he presses his forehead to yours. “And I you, your highness. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I just didn’t want to unknowingly imprison you by my side with-without-”

“I know.” You whisper back. “You were right to be concerned, I was young and sheltered. I do not blame you for what happened. When the blood ran out, I could wait no longer. I had to find you. I went into the town but that is the last I remember.”

“And there you were taken.” Yoongi pulls back pausing as he bites his lip. “Now that you remember. Has your desire to return home changed?”

“I-I don’t think it can Yoongi. I still have so many gaps in my past. I hope that my return will mend that, as my time with you has brought light to our own history. Despite that, even if I was whole, the loss of my brother, it-it complicates things.”

“Your kingdom needs you to have an heir, a son to maintain the line of the crown.” He swallows glumly, as you reach out to clutch his hand. “Something that I cannot give you.”      

“When my duty was just for the sake of pleasantries between kingdoms I could find it within reason to leave, but now, the kingdom’s people, the ones you’ve helped to save are at stake.”

Yoongi gives you a solemn nod. “At least now you can be certain you will not be sent away.”

“Once I return home...” You pull back, folding your hands on your lap, fidgeting while you ask the next important question of him.  “Will you plan to stay nearby like before? You will not leave me alone again will you?”

“I must. With my lower position now, I will likely be sent back into Taehyung’s land again. Though I will be glad of it, for I can not stay still while he is still hunting, and risk you falling prey to him again. And for the sake of our attachment I feel that our parting would be easier on the both of us. Especially since it will not be long before you are asked to-”

“Marry?” You let out a deep breath of air in an attempt to dispel the building weight in your chest. Is he right to think that upon your return you’ll be bound to another so soon? You hope that there would be time to find yourself again, to re-educate your mind into what it was before. But how long will that take and how patient will your parents be without the line of succession secured. You can only hope any man who is chosen will be... will be, “Though I wish it to be you who remains by my side, if my future husband has half the character of you I should be so lucky.”

“Do not say that.” His voice cracks with his hushed plea.

“Why not?”

He stands up before you, pulling you from your seat, and tucking you into his chest. He holds you there while with one hand to your back, and the fingers of the other rooting amongst your hair. He breathes in deeply, whispering the challenges to his choice. “Because it’ll make leaving you so much harder. You made my cursed existence not only bearable, but desirable. When I consider the possibility of spending my life, with the one who gave me purpose, who saw me not as a monster but as a salvation, who I came to love more than I thought possible.” Yoongi lifts your head again, directing you to look up at him. “An eternity with you, is the greatest temptation of all.”

You reach up to take his face in your hands, delivering a solemn kiss to his lips before pulling away.“If we can not have eternity, what of one moment within it? One final memory together to help us through the time we must spend apart. Can you give me that? Can you give me yourself?”

Yoongi’s mouth comes down to you in search of another, the wave of passion in his approach is so much stronger and forceful than your own. His tongue, endeavouring to taste you in a far different manner than hours ago. “You already have me, my blood, my life, my love, it’s all yours.”

He picks you up and returns you to the bed with him, tugging off his oversized shirt, while you remove your own. His mouth seeks out your neck, your collarbone, and downward soon finding the peaks of your chest. He’s soft and careful not to leave a mark as his lips tug gently on your skin. With each graze of his tongue he insights an inadvertent reaction from you, in the form of a moan or twitch. As your fingers tangle in his locks, his eyes gazing up to look for your expression. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You lower your hand to his face, dragging your fingers across his cheek and lips. “Yes, I can’t tell you how much I desire a memory like this.”

He stands to remove your pants before lowering back down to hover over you on his hands and knees, straddling you as you lay on the feathered mattress. His fingers trail down the side of your chest, your waist, you hip, before moving inward to reach between your folds. You inhale with the first touch of his fingers to your slit. As his index starts to stroke from the inside, his thumb circles your clit. Forcing you to groan into his mouth which comes down again to cover yours.

Once he appears satisfied with the wetness pooling around his digits. He pulls out and takes his finger to his mouth with a hungry moan. Cursing as it slips out from his lips.

Your face heats up, embarrassed by his reaction. “Surely you are making too much fuss over it.”

“You think I don’t find you enjoyable? That I can’t see, feel or taste how divine you are?”

You grin, taking pleasure words despite their boastful nature. “Divine? No, you are just too kind to say otherwise.”

“Then allow me to prove you wrong.” Yoongi smirks, adjusting to take his place between your legs.

“What do you intend to-” He answers your question before you can finish, his mouth latching firmly onto your cunt. Your words lost as he takes in a long draft, his tongue playing along darts inside of you before shifting up to tease your most sensitive spot. When paired with his fingers, which once again come to stretch your inside, you do not stand more than a minute before biting the pillow to muffle your scream. Drenching his mouth and hands with your cum.

“As I said divine.” Yoongi grins as he looks up at you, his lips glistening with your fluids. After leaving  you with no energy to debate his notion you can only nod and accept his truth. He cleans his fingers once again with his tongue, before sending them to undo the laces of his trousers.

When his cock slips free he takes your hand, guiding it along to stroke his shaft. His head falls back in pleasure, giving you the confidence to grow bolder. You sit up to meet him pulling his length down to glide along the outside of your folds and become wet with your slick.

You find to his mouth again with a kiss as he throbs against the inside of your legs and mound. “You are sure of this then?” He asks one last time.

“I am.” You promise looking into his eyes as he leans you back and guides his cock past your folds. The air in your throat catches, and your eyes flutter as you adapt to the sensation of him inside you.

The back of his fingers brushing at your cheek before folding out to cup your face. “Still with me?”

You nod back, pushing your lips to his upper chest and shoulder as you adjust to him. Yoongi lowers you back down to the bed, cradling your form as you descend. Finally cocooning you in a close embrace, with his nose buried in the nape of your neck.

His cock swells, and you arch your back in response, meeting his chest with yours. With his arm tucked around, he keeps you in that position. Dragging his hips away and towards, his thrusts come slow as your arousal coats his shaft. Every push becomes easier for you to take, but it would seem it’s harder for him to hold on. His forehead comes to rest on your shoulder a rasping grunt, as he remains inside. He changes tactics and turns to tend to your neck instead, slowing his pace to a halt, as he kisses the marked spot.

You take note of a low growl emitting from him as he continues to lavish the spot. He must hate it as much as you, his failure to come to you in time on display before him. But you know no amount of simple affection will remove the spot from view.

“Yoongi?” You ask in concern as his disdainful rumbles grow louder. Adjusting your head to get a glimpse of his pained face, you find a dampness forming in the duct of his eye.  “Yoongi, is it-”

“I hate how he continues to mark you. It shouldn’t be here between us.”

“Then take it.” You suggest, for you like him are unable to tolerate it any longer.

He looks fearful of what you ask, his eyes wide as he explains, “I’ll need to break the skin.”

“Then do it. Please, help rid me of this too.” You tuck his head back down so his lips come to rest against your neck. No longer fearing such an act with him, not after the gentleness he showed you before.

His mouth opens with his teeth dragging across the scar. There’s a brief prick of pain before the spot is soothed by his lips. Yoongi’s groans of satisfaction start to encourage and blend with your own, his arms continuing to embrace you and coddle you.

With his still mouth fixed to your neck, you feel as his tongue turns beneath his teeth, and with a swift bite he laps his own blood on to the fresh wound. The lingering pain soon falls away as the skin heals. Your head swims in a state between dizziness and pleasure, a sense of euphoria takes over.

You place your hands on his hips wanting him to resume, craving more of his pleasure. And so the thrusts return with Yoongi’s hand pressed to the small of your back, ensuring that your clit grinds against him as he pushes deeper. He dives into you to the point where you can hear the dull thump of the bed frame against the wall.  You wish you could hold on longer, you wish you didn’t have to let go, you find yourself whispering Yoongi’s name repeatedly as if it might change that. Only to be left stuttering between breaths as you claim your last climax.

He pulls out after his own release, hovering as he smiles down on the sight of you, and your legs wrapped around his thighs. After taking a moment to collect himself he goes to grab the washing dish and jug of water, dipping the supplied towel he proceeds to take care of what he left behind. You attempt to claim the cloth from him, as he lingers between your thighs, but he insists on being though. With a grin tugging at his lip each time the towel passes over your sensitive flesh and causes you to twitch.

“I will not forget this, not ever.” Yoongi whispers once finished, as he takes to your side covering you over with the blanket.

You nod in agreement, brushing the hair from his face. “When it is all done, I want you to come back to me. I don’t care how long, I have to see you again.”

“I-I will try, but I cannot promise I will survive this task. If my demise will allow me to stand between you and him then I will gladly become that barrier.” You gasp ready to argue against such a sacrifice, but one tap of his finger to your lip stops your conflict in its place, allowing him to finish. “Rest now. Think not of what we can’t change.”  

You curl into Yoongi trying to do as he suggests. Though just as you get comfortable there’s an unexpected tap on the shutters of your room, a circumstance made even more surprising when you remember yourself to be on the second floor of the house. Your vampire rises, careful to open the window so no light shines on him. Allowing a raven to make its way inside.

Yoongi is quick to free it of a rolled letter attached to its foot before releasing the bird and blocking out the window behind it. As his eyes scan the paper, his brow furrows and his hand clenches the parchment to the point where it starts to crackle in his grip. He proceeds to throw back on his clothes, not even bothering to change out his torn shirt, while keeping the letter clutched in his hand.  

“Yoongi, is something-”

“I need to talk to Seokjin. Stay here.” He growls bursting out the door in a formidable rage, slamming it behind him. You give time for him to descend the steps before crawling from your bed wrapped in the sheet and leaning your ear to the solid wood that bars you from the hall, but nothing can be heard through the thick barrier.

You can not help but fear what might be wrong for Yoongi to react in such a way. Going against his command you throw the clothes Namjoon left you and ready to exit your room. Carefully pulling on the latch of the door so as to not make a sound. You ease through the smallest crack you can muster before settling at top of the stairs, hidden from the view of the floor below. The voice of the vampires trailing up from the main room.

“You have her smell all over you, lucky bastard,” Seokjin groans. “How did she taste?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer the question, posing his own instead, with a rustle of parchment and a loud thump on the table. “How long, how long have you known of this?”

“Yoongi-” Seokjin responds, the uncertainty of his tone is a jarring contrast from your own previous interaction with him.

“Answer me Seokjin!”

“I couldn’t tell you, you gave up your position, because of her. You know there is information we must keep from the hunters in case it falls into the wrong hands. I’ve known this to be the truth since you first went to recover her from Taehyung. We all knew it was your primary goal to retrieve her, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything that might cause a change in course from you. If you had known you would not have led her this way.”

“So you kept me in the dark? All these years?” Yoongi seethes. “I promised I would take her home! And you're just now sharing with me that I can’t? You didn’t care if I knew the whole truth, just as long as in the end I brought her closer to the clan’s reach?”

“We can keep her safe.”

“No, she deserves her life away from us. She has been tortured enough Seokjin. How am I supposed to tell her this? She was just starting to recover, to remember her past, and to trust me again, but this... it will break her. She won’t accept this new fate if this is your only solution.”

“Then don’t tell her, don’t give her a chance to refuse. She accepted your blood, did she not? Use it to send her off to sleep and don’t wake her again until she’s resting comfortably behind the clan’s walls. You can return to your old life, Hoseok will grant you your title back if you do this, I’m sure of it. You can be the high keeper again, with your princess safe by your side.”

There’s a loud clamour and groan, prompting you to peak just around the edge to witness the struggle. There on the table, Yoongi has pinned Seokjin, his fingers wrapped around the vampire's neck.

Seokjin doesn’t appear to be too put off despite his situation, choosing instead to give advice to the one who has him by the throat. “You’re immortal Yoongi, she is not, you need to remember that. Her sadness will be only temporary if she chooses to hold it against you, but if you go against us now you will be alone, without a clan for eternity.”

Yoongi stands there in silence, no more refusals, no more rebuttals. Instead of continuing to argue on your behalf, he nods and lets Seokjin up from the table. His fellow vampire claps him on the shoulder and mutters, “You’ve made the right choice old friend. Hoseok will be pleased to have you back in the clan’s coven.”

While they embrace every part of you is lit ablaze with pain and anger. You both had been played, but he... he acquiesced to his puppeteer, and plans to string you up too. There’s nothing that could willingly compel you to take shelter in a castle full of vampires again... with Yoongi by your side though? You consider the notion for a fraction of a second before a resounding ‘no’ takes hold. Your younger self might have gone, and willingly so, but now the cost to you and your people is far too great.

With the growing list of broken promises, how long before the vow of safety fractures for the sake of his clan too? What is there to stop the situation from evolving into your own past with Taehyung? You can not, you will not endure that kind of life again.

With your only option being to run, your head concocts a plan to flee. Creeping back to the bedroom you crack the window open, and glance over the edge, thankful to see that there are several crates stacked close enough for you to reach with your feet. If you’re lucky Yoongi will stay downstairs for some time and have no reason to believe you’ve flown from his side. Fitting a spare cloak you escape out the window taking the map with you. Climbing down you flee towards the stables out back.  

There you find the horse without a proper name, another painful reminder of Yoongi’s promises, and inability to return. Forcing you to recognize the constant pull between you and his clan. Your heart is left broken down the line of betrayal and understanding, for how can you entirely fault him when you yourself are determined to return to your own kingdom at the expense of his happiness. In the end the both of you are left to suffer the pain of duty over love.

Not wanting to journey with such a bitter token of the past, you choose the other smaller stead stolen from the hunters instead. Mounting the horse, you ride off into the noonday sun, eager to make it home before he or his kind have the ability to alter your course.

[sonoftatooine]

Whumpay 2021

DAY 19: HOPE / DESPAIR

Finally, this one took ages

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Brainwashing

Summary: Winter Soldier AU - Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker disappeared from the face of the Galaxy the day Palpatine executed Order 66. Padmé Amidala, however, managed to escape from Coruscant when the Empire was formed and became a founding member of the Rebellion. Several years later, when Obi-Wan Kenobi manages to capture the Emperor’s infamous Sith apprentice, Darth Vader, Padmé is left to deal with the horrifying discovery of what happened to her husband at the fall of the Republic.

***

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Padmé Amidala, former Senator of Naboo and member of the High Council of the Rebel Alliance, frowned down at the screen displaying the flickering vid feed of her lost husband in the room adjacent to the high security—or as high security as their current base could afford them—cell in which he was being held.  She had been stood there for at least ten minutes, hovering, waiting, and in all of that time, Anakin had not so much as twitched—so much so that she might have been fooled into thinking that she was looking at a still image if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink. It was so unlike him—her restless husband, always on the move, but who had always come back to her until the day that he didn't—that it made her eyes burn with the effort to hold back tears. This was wrong, so wrong—

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I'm sure” she said once she was sure she could bite back the sharp reply that was on the tip of her tongue that the man beside her didn't at all deserve. Of course she was sure. How could she not be sure, when this was her husband—the man she loved with all the force of a thousand stars—at stake? She had to.

“You don't have to, Padmé.” Stood beside her, arms folded over his chest, and tired blue eyes fixed as unrelentingly on Anakin's frozen figure as her own, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed, his mouth curved downwards in an unhappy line. Grief had aged him badly since the horrors of Order 66 and the beginnings of Palpatine's Empire. There were new lines around his eyes, and his auburn hair was fast turning white, but the change over those years was not nearly as stark as that which had been wrought upon him over the past few days. He looked raw and worn down, no matter how he tried to disguise it with his regular stoicism, as if he was on the verge of being swallowed by despair. Ever since the Empire had come for him on his last mission. Ever since they had managed to capture the Emperor's enforcer, Darth Vader.

Vader. Lord Vader. The name sent a shiver of horror through her, but not for the reasons that it once had. Before, she had known him simply as the latest in what seemed to be Darth Sidious' ever replenishing supply of Sith apprentices, and one of the most troubling additions to the Empire's ranks. Robed and masked entirely in black, without even the slightest indication to what lay beneath his impenetrable disguise, he had been a complete unknown to all but Palpatine himself—Empire and Rebellion alike—save for the brutal efficiency with which he carried out his duties. They had watched the Emperor's transmission introducing him to the Galaxy—her and Obi-Wan and Bail, while Luke and Leia slept soundly in their cribs watched over by Threepio and Artoo—from their bunker about a year after the Empire was formed. Padmé remembered seeing him, standing tall and motionless, three steps behind his master, and had felt a frisson of fear and misery run through her that she hadn't quite understood at the time.

She understood now. Oh Force, she thought as the image of Anakin, swamped in black robes and strapped, unconscious, to a gurney, and Obi-Wan's anguished look as he gasped out “he doesn't remember us; he doesn't even remember who he is”, swam through her mind. Oh Force, she understood now.

“Yes, I do,” she said, with a nod that looked far more decisive than she felt. She clutched the pile of warm cloaks and blankets that she had brought with her tight to her chest. Anakin had always hated the cold, and she couldn't bear the thought of him all alone in that cell without at least making sure he was as comfortable as possible. “He's my husband. I want to see him.”

She wanted to see him ever since they had brought him off the ship, ever since she had been dragged away from Coruscant by a harried Obi-Wan and Bail, crying and begging for them to take her back, that they needed to find Anakin, they couldn't leave him there. Anakin who she had last seen standing to the right of the Chancellor during the meeting of the Delegation of the 2000, hands bundled into the voluminous sleeves of his Jedi robes and not quite able to meet her eyes. Who had been sent by the Council to report to Palpatine the day of Order 66, and had never been seen since.

Until now.

“Padmé, he tried to attack me when I went to talk to him,” Obi-Wan reminded her grimly. “Ahsoka too. He doesn't remember any of us. All he knows is what Sidious has made him believe. What if he hurts you?”

Padmé shook his head.

“He won't hurt me” she whispered. He wouldn't hurt her. Anakin would never— But she didn't think he could ever have tried to hurt Obi-Wan either. Or Ahsoka. But he didn't remember any of them, because Sidious had taken him and forced him to forget everything, turned him into his weapon— She was shaking, full of rage and grief, but she pushed them both down. It was alright now. It would have to be alright. He was with the Rebellion now and they would heal him of whatever vile Sith had done to him and then he could meet their two precious children and everything would be alright—

“Padmé.” She thought, faintly, that Obi-Wan had managed to hone saying her name in a tone of utmost exasperation and frustration to a fine art. No doubt Anakin had given him a great deal of practice in the past. “He's not the Anakin we know. Not anymore.”

This time, it took a great deal more effort for her to swallow her harsh retort. Obi-Wan had given up hope a long time ago—the night of Order 66 when his bond to Anakin had snapped. He had thought him dead, and blamed himself for it—the Council had pushed him into spying on Palpatine, he had said, and he was sure that Anakin had discovered the man's secret and been killed for it. She remembered how he had looked, blurred through her tears as they rushed through hyperspace away from Coruscant—dishevelled and worn, the telltale signs of his battle with Grievous burnt into his Jedi robes, and a haunted look in his eyes, misted up with tears that he refused to let fall. He had come back from his last visit to Anakin's cell much the same, convinced that his old padawan had died with whatever it was that Palpatine had put him through, that what was left was nothing but a shell of the man he had loved as a brother.

(It still hadn't stopped him from abruptly ending a call with Yoda when the old Jedi Grandmaster had suggested “lost to the Dark, young Skywalker is; let him go, you should”.)

“I don't believe that,” she said. She had never believed Anakin to be dead. Refused to believe it, told Luke and Leia all sorts of stories about their brave and dashing father that she saw so much of in each of them, hoping beyond hope that one day he would be there to share his own stories with them. She wasn't about to give up now, when he was here—finally here, in front of her, no matter how changed, and no matter what Jedi platitudes about letting go she heard. “We can save him. I know we can.”

She turned her pleading gaze to Obi-Wan, but he refused to meet her eyes. He was still staring at the screen, and though his expression was blank, she could see the longing in his gaze—longing and fear. Fear that he would get his hopes up when nothing could be done. Fear that she would get hurt trying. Padmé sighed sadly. Obi-Wan may have given up hope, but she wasn't about to let him fall into despair.

“Obi-Wan, you'll be here the whole time,” she said, softly, soothingly. “I have faith that you'll protect me, if need be.”

Obi-Wan scowled, finally turning to look at her, but there was a hint of something gentle and fond beneath it.

“The pair of you will be the death of me” he sighed. It was barely a ghost of how he had been before, when they had all been together and happy and none of them had been brainwashed into becoming a Sith, but it was familiar enough that Padmé couldn't help but send him a watery smile.

“Please, Obi-Wan, I'm ready.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“I'll be just on the other side of the door.”

Despite her words, Padmé's heart felt like it might burst out of her chest as she stepped into Anakin's cell, the pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind her reverberating in her ears like a threat. She was not afraid. At least, she was not afraid of the figure sitting, head bowed, on the little cot in front of her—he had not attacked any of his visitors since the two Jedi; indeed, had barely acknowledged them, enough so that the High Council had deemed it as safe as it would ever be for her to see him—but she was afraid of what would happen next. Of what she would learn from this meeting. Of looking into her husband's eyes and finding him unrecognisable. But Padmé was never one to shy away from things that made her afraid, and so she took a deep breath, and murmured:—

“Anakin.”

No response.

“I brought these.” She gestured to the robes and blankets in her arms. “I thought you might be cold.”

That got a reaction from him. Slowly, jerkily, as if his head were being lifted up by a string, he turned his face towards her. The sight of him made her want to scream—scream and cry and hold him in her arms and never let go. He looked sick and gaunt, and the change from golden tan to waxy white looked even more stark under the bright lights of the cell, the circles under his eyes dark like bruises. And his eyes, oh his eyes. The sparkling blue that she remembered—had loved and missed so much for all that she saw it every day in the face of their son—had been replaced with the same horrible yellow that she had seen deep set in the sunken face of Emperor Palpatine, gleaming cruelly under the shadow of his hood, during Empire Day transmissions. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Anakin's eyes had always been so expressive, brimming with love and joy and fear and anger and grief, as if he felt too much and too deeply to keep it all inside. It was one of the things that she loved about him. Now, however, he turned those sickly eyes to her and she saw nothing in them but blankness. For the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker looked upon her and he felt nothing.

Padmé swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. She wanted to run to him, bury her fingers in his hair and press her lips to his as she used to do each time he came home to her from the war, but, with what felt like a monumental effort, she pushed the desire away. That wasn't what Anakin needed right now, no matter how much she wanted it. Instead, she waited for him to reply, waited for some sort of acknowledgement—anything to indicate what she should do, what she should say.

None came.

She sighed. Stepping forward, she leaned down and placed the pile of clothes next to him on the bed, trying to keep her heart from shattering into a thousand pieces at the tiny flinch he gave as she approached him. Carefully, so as not to startle him, she pulled back, coming to a stop once she was far enough away for him to relax minutely. Hot tears burnt at her eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, wishing that her voice did not sound so shaky, so thick with emotion. Anakin had always had a way of bringing out absolute honesty in her—even when she didn't even know she was trying to hide something—and now, confronted with her husband whom she hadn't seen in years, and who had spent every day of those long years suffering under the man who had enslaved the entire Galaxy to his will, all her politician's training, all her masks and airs had fled her. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have done a thing to hide her feelings from him.

Anakin frowned.

“You are Padmé Amidala,” he answered tonelessly. His voice was as dead and as flat as the look in his eyes. He sounded hoarse and tired, like he used to after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. Like he had when he had when he had dreamt of her death in childbirth, only a week before he had disappeared, before she had run and left him— “One of the founders of the Rebellion.”

“That's right,” she said, with a nod that she wasn't sure was meant to encourage him or herself. “Do you— Is there anything else you remember about me?”

She knew it would be no. She knew he remembered nothing. But she wanted so badly for him to remember at least something of her. Wanted to know that Sidious hadn't taken everything from him. No matter what she wanted, though, she knew what his answer would be. Knew it and feared it.

“I understand that it's more usual for an interrogator to ask their prisoner for information,” Anakin replied. He tilted his head to the side, the expression on his face somewhere between confused and wary. “Not questions about themselves.”

He didn't sound like Anakin. Or rather, he sounded like Anakin—his voice sounded like Anakin, but the words, said in that flat, dull tone— It was wrong, all wrong. Oh my love, Padmé thought. My love, what has that monster done to you?

“I'm not interrogating you, Anakin” she said. She fought keep her voice steady and calm, even as she wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. Anakin's frown deepened, a look of suspicion flitting across his face.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” he asked, and for the first time, there seemed to be a hint of something else in his flat tone, a hint of uncertainty, of apprehension. His hands twitched, like he wanted to twist his fingers together like he used to do beneath the sleeves of his Jedi robes when he was nervous. Instead, he balled them tight into fists.

Padmé sent him a watery smile.

“It's your name, Ani.”

My Ani, she thought, watching him twitch oddly at the contraction of his name, turning sharply away. Her Ani who didn't even remember his own name. Oh, what was she going to do. How could she help him when he remembered nothing—nothing about his friends, nothing about her, nothing about himself—and they didn't even know what it was that Palpatine had done to him to cause this? She felt despair rushing in on her like a shark that had scented blood in the water, but she pushed back against it. She couldn't given in now. For Anakin's sake, she couldn't give up hope.

“How much has Obi-Wan told you?” she asked carefully. It was a risk mentioning Obi-Wan—a Jedi, a man he had ostensibly been sent to kill before the Rebellion had captured him—but she needed to know how much he had actually taken in.

Yellow eyes flicked back to her, the wariness and suspicion turning his expression even more closed off and guarded than it had been before.

“He told me I was once his Jedi apprentice,” he replied. “But I suppose you'll claim that I was your closest friend in the Senate. Or have you had the chance to corroborate your stories since Kenobi's last visit?”

The harshness of his words—as much as their content—made it all the harder to hold back her tears. Anakin had hardly ever spoken to her like that, was hardly ever sharp with her. Around her, perhaps, when he was particularly upset or frustrated, but rarely with her. It was yet another reminder of what had been done to him—the changes Sidious had forced upon him, as if he were nothing but a droid to be reprogrammed according to an owner's desire. Well, she would fix it, she would help him, and she would never let that vile man near him again. But to do that, she would have to get him to believe her, and for him to believe her, she—

“I'm not lying to you,” she insisted. “I promise you. It's Palpatine—Sidious—who has lied to you. You were a Jedi—have been since you were nine years old. Near the end of the war, the Council was concerned about the powers Palpatine had gathered for himself and sent you to report on him. But you— They sent you to his office the day he ordered the Jedi killed and then you disappeared. The Jedi thought you were dead, but he took you and he did something to you and you don't remember it because—”

“No.”

The sharp growl silenced her rambling mid-sentence. Her mouth clicked shut and her eyes widened as Anakin stood abruptly from the bed, his expression as hard as durasteel. Padmé swallowed, a flicker of nervousness fluttering in her stomach that she ruthlessly pushed down. She wondered if Obi-Wan was getting ready to dash into the cell from the other side of the door, afraid that he was about to attack her. But she refused to share that fear. She had never been afraid of Anakin, and she never would.

“No,” Anakin repeated, more softly this time. Instead of starting towards her, he prowled away to the far corner of the cell, back not quite turned to her—just enough to keep her in his line of sight—and hunched in on himself, arms crossed defensively across his chest. It was such a familiar gesture that, despite herself, Padmé couldn't help but feel a sliver of relief at the sight of it. Whatever Sidious had done to him, he hadn't managed to chase every last part of him from his mind. “My master warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He told me that you would try to deceive me, turn me against him—”

“He's the one deceiving you!,” she cried, trying to ignore worm of uneasiness in her stomach at the thought of the Emperor warning her husband against the Jedi and the Rebellion—or perhaps her specifically. If she could just get him to see, just get him to believe— “I don't know what he's done to you but please, Anakin, all we want is to help you. All I want is to help you. But to help you, I need you to believe me—”

She approached him, slowly, cautiously, as one might a wounded animal. His gaze fixed on her the whole way, wary, unrelenting, but he did not move, frozen to the spot. She itched to reach out to him, to pull him in and hold him close, but she wrestled the urge down to the depths of her heart.

“Please, Ani,” she begged, barely a whisper. “Please.”

Anakin stared down at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of blue in those yellow eyes.

“You haven't told me who you are,” he said, after a long moment of silence. His tone was guarded, cautious, just as quiet as her own. “Who you were to me. If what you say is true, what did I mean to you?”

Everything, Padmé thought. You meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and Luke and Leia. And one day, I'll be able to have them meet their father and you'll mean everything to them too. Her heart, too full of love and fear and hope and despair, ached in her chest, snatching up all her words before they could reach her mouth. How could she say all of this to him? How could she say any of this to him, when he barely believed she was telling him the truth about his name?

“You're—”

She faltered, unsure what to do. Would it be too much for him, finding out that he was married to a woman he didn't even remember? But what could she say? She couldn't lie to him—wouldn't lie to him. She wanted him to trust her again, like he used to before everything had gone so wrong, and how could they ever help him if they too deceived him?

“I'm...I...I'm your wife.”

Anakin froze stock still.

“...What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It's true.” Padmé could no longer stop herself. She reached out slowly with both hands, making to smooth down his hair—it had always calmed him down after a nightmare; maybe if he accepted the truth, it might soothe him a little now? He gave an odd little jerk at the contact, his tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips, but he didn't pull away, still frozen to the spot, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Please believe me. It's true. I'm your wife—”

“No,” Anakin cut across her again. This time, however, his eyes had not hardened, and he could see the uncertainty creeping into them. His voice shook. “No, you're a liar.”

His hand—the one of durasteel that she had held at their wedding after he lost it to Count Dooku—darted up to snatch her wrist. But instead of shoving her right away, he held her in place, her hand hovering between them, arm extended towards him, as if he could not decide whether to push her aside or pull her closer. Padmé stared into his eyes, vaguely aware that Obi-Wan was probably panicking by now on the other side of the door. She could feel the strength in his grip, well acquainted with what his mechno hand could do. He had been horribly embarrassed when he had managed to crush several of her cups after their wedding, still unused to the amount of force his prosthetic required compared to his flesh hand. If he wanted to, he could tighten his grip now and crush her just as he had those cups, shatter every bone in her wrist. But he did not press down. He didn't even so much as grip hard enough to bruise.

“I'm not,” she cried—really cried, the tears she had been holding back starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I swear to you—”

“You didn't corroborate your stories after all,” Anakin retorted. “I could hardly have been a Jedi and a husband.”

Padmé shook her head, blinking heavily to keep the tears from blurring her vision. It would be alright, she told herself. She could persuade him. His voice was not nearly so certain as his words, and if she could just explain properly—

“You broke the Code to marry me,” she said. “We kept it secret, so you could stay as a Jedi and I could keep serving in the Senate until the war was over—”

“How convenient” Anakin returned, perhaps not as derisively as he had intended. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

Padmé shook her head again, more insistently this time. She reached once more with her free hand to cradle his cheek in his palm.

“Please, Anakin, please. I love you. I love—”

“No!” With a cry, Anakin jerked backwards. The durasteel fingers wrapped about her wrist pulled away. “No! You—”

But words seemed to be beyond him. He staggered back, hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, but it wasn't enough. His legs failed him, and he sank down to the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, trembling violently.

“This isn't—,” he hissed. “You can't— It's a trick. It's a trick—”

His hands fisted in his hair, so tight that Padmé thought he might tear clumps of it out. She rushed to his side, wiping her tears away furiously with her sleeve. She had pushed him too far. It was too much for him—too much at once.

“Padmé.”

Anakin's head shot up just as Padmé turned around to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, trying to remain impassive and failing miserably. She caught a flurry of movement in the corner of her eyes—Anakin had forced himself to stand back up, pressed up against the wall. He looked like a cornered loth-wolf, hunched in on himself, ready to spring, his yellow eyes wide and feral.

“It's alright,” Obi-Wan soothed, holding up the palms of his hands to show him he wasn't armed. Despite the calmness of his tone, Padmé could hear the agony beneath his words. “I won't hurt you. We will leave you to rest now.”

He turned a significant glance towards her, and Padmé could do nothing but nod, for all that she wanted to stay. She didn't want to overwhelm Anakin any more than she had already. Swallowing thickly, she forced down her tears, turning to meet her husband's unnatural yellow eyes with her own glistening brown.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

She made it to the other side of the door before she broke down in tears.

(Later, when she came to check on him to find him curled up in the warm robe she'd brought him, she cried for very different reasons).

[oodlyenough]

psychonauts 2 review!

I played the first few-ish (not many... I'd guesstimate under 4) hours of the original Psychonauts years ago, but found it unruly to control and never progressed further. I remember thinking the concept was neat, though, and when I heard a sequel was coming I figured I'd check it out, since it'd presumably be more polished.

The sequel is very very good. I think it is the best game I've played this year. It's also maybe the most creative game I've played... ever.

When Rift Apart came out, a lot of reviews said it was "like a playable Pixar game". Having played (and enjoyed!) Rift Apart as well, I gotta say while that may be true in image fidelity, in basically every other respect I think Psychonauts 2 comes closer. I would absolutely recommend it to anyone who's ever enjoyed this kind of platformer.

More detail and possible spoilers:

I'll start with the cons, because there aren't very many:

I posted early on that I found jumping kind of unwieldy/frustrating, which is bad for a platformer. Although I got better at it as I got used to the controls, I still did run into scenarios where I was creating a thought bubble while trying to wall jump, or rolling off the edge of a platform I'd just landed on, or otherwise just finding jumping clumsy. I turned off fall damage pretty early for this reason; it was infuriating to just keep dying because I couldn't make a clumsy jump, and then respawn with increasingly limited health.

(Also, fwiw, because I know gamers were losing their damn minds about this when it was announced, turning off fall damage doesn't allow you to skip out on executing all the platforming. You just don't respawn with a health penalty if you fail. You still have to eventually time it right.)

A few hours after turning off fall damage, I turned off combat damage too. So I guess I can't really evaluate the smoothness or difficulty of combat fairly, because uh... I was immortal. This is just me as a player though -- I played large chunks of Spiderman & Miles Morales & Rift Apart on immortality mode. Boss fights simply do not spark joy for me; I want to progress a story without repeating a segment several times. I will say, in this mode, combat was fairly repetitive, mainly just psi blasting and meleeing everything. I kept thinking about turning it off, to maybe appreciate the challenge or figure out other techniques.... but I really just wanted to keep progressing the story, so I never did.

HOWEVER... there's a ton of extremely profitable games where combat is literally just "shoot", so, even then I wouldn't hold it against Psychonauts much.

I'm an idiot I guess and didn't realize levelling up skills was a separate thing from buying pins to augment the skills. So I played like a good chunk of the game with every skill at level 0 lmfao.

Easily my least favourite level is the first one, which I think is a bit unfortunate... I don't have, like, a dental phobia and I was still not really enjoying that part, and compared to how colourful and cool and imaginative the other worlds are it just seems like it starts the game off on a weird foot.

I know some purists are reading this like SO YOU PLAYED A GAME WITH NO DAMAGE AT ALL? Yep and I appreciate DoubleFine allowing me to do so. ✌🏻

And then onto the pros:

Like... everything else?

Playing Rift Apart this summer made me feel like a kid again, as a someone who grew up on cartoony platformers like Spyro and who still craves the satisfaction of first discovering you can charge that cracked wall and find an orb behind it. Psychonauts 2 had all that fun of exploring maps and finding secret, hidden locations and collectibles... on top of having the most creative and varied level design I've ever seen.

Seriously the levels were gorgeous. I was constantly spinning the camera around to take in all the little details, and there were SO MANY different levels where the gimmick would surprise and delight me. Almost every level for me was like "omg how did they think of that". Even when I was getting irritated by (for eg) the unruliness of trying to steer a giant bowling ball down a precise ramp, I was at least marvelling at the ingenuity involved.

The script was wonderful. Funny, charming, clever in its use of metaphor, and genuinely touching at times. If ever anything felt a little bit simplified, well, it's a kid-friendly game... I can't be too mad about that.

Raz is so endearing! It's very easy for the plucky young kid character to uh, become grating, but I always found Raz charming and I was rooting for him. Richard Horvitz is so good.

TBH all the characters were super lovable and funny. In a giant cast of cartoons I don't think there was a single one where I'd be like "ugh, this guy again" which is quite a feat honestly. They were all charming and well-acted and bursting with dialogue.

Even the random NPCs around the motherlobe who have their own progressing storylines via conversations... I love that detail! It was one of my favourite parts of Life is Strange: True Colours and I was delighted when I realized it was happening in this game too. It was fun to check in on some of your faves as the game progressed.

I'm pretty thorough, and I love exploring maps, and boy do these maps have a lot to explore, especially the hub areas. I STILL haven't figured out how to get everywhere in the Questionable Area, lol, or gotten every psy card, etc.

I like the music, especially the music in the quarry area that absolutely makes me feel like I am walking around Epcot. Perfect vibe. (And the Small World knock-off music in Nick's brain lmao...)

As soon as the projection started talking I was like, "this is GIR, right? This is intentionally a Zim and Gir thing?" So I felt validated by checking IMDB after lmao.

Ummm... I think that's about it. Honestly great game. I might give Psychonauts 1 another go... although I'd say there's a high chance I instead watch it on YouTube, lol.

[miss-storytime]

Trial by Time: Chapter 1

Summary:

When a Sludge villain attacks Bakugo on his way home from school he finds himself in a fight for his life. During his struggle against his assailant, the young teen discovers something new about himself that may be extremely useful in his hero career. However, something else interesting happens during his encounter with the villain, the actions of his Quirkless classmate Midoriya, who rushes to his aid.

What new secrets will be discovered in this chapter, and how does Bakugo really feel about the courageous idiotic intervention of his childhood friend?

*This is an Alpha! Katsuki x Omega! OC A/B/O fic, so if that is not something that you are interested in reading or something you don’t like feel free to keep scrolling. No hard feelings on my end. Hope you all who do read, enjoy the chapter!

Have a Fantastical Day,

~ Miss. Storytime, & The Librarian

!DISCLAIMER!

I do not own any of these characters except my OC, and parts of the storyline. Most of the characters and plot belong to the amazing Kōhei Horikoshi! I give him all of the credit of which he is due. 

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

  11 months ago… …

“Here’s the sad truth: All men are not created equal....”

“Is it possible to become a hero, even if I don’t have a Quirk!? I’m a normal

kid without any powers. Could I ever hope to be someone like you?”

“Can you be a Hero? Not without a Quirk.”

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

     ‘Damn it...Someone get this freak off me!’ Bakugo thought as he struggled against the binds of the Sludge villain holding him captive. His head was still spinning from how exactly he had gotten into this situation. All he knew was that he was walking home from school with his idiot friends in tow, and then he was being attacked by literal sewage. 

     ‘This guy fucking reeks, I’m gonna smell like this for hours’, the heckles on Katsuki’s neck bristled as he let off another barrage of explosions. Looking around the ruined open-air shopping center Bakugo couldn’t find or think of anything that could help him escape. All he could see were the burning kiosks and storefronts, as well as the group of shoppers careening past him to avoid all the damage. The burning smell of smoke and fire filled the air and made breathing painful for the struggling teen. However, that wasn’t what was truly stressing Bakugo out, what really got under his skin was the crowd. They just stood there watching him like it was some sort of street performance; far enough away to keep themselves safe, but close enough to get a good view. It really pissed him off.

     The scent of anxiety, fear, and concern radiating from the crowd was almost drowning out the smell of his burning surroundings, making it hard to focus. The mixture of alphas and omegas in the crowd alone was upsetting enough, all those competitors and potential mates watching him struggle like this was humiliating. Add on the irritating scent of the alphas, the distressed chirping and anxious smell of the omegas, and his instincts were bouncing off the walls. Ignoring them as best he could, Katsuki continued to pull and thrash against the slimy restraints of his captor. Using his quirk when he could in an attempt to escape Bakugo grew increasingly more frustrated, nothing seemed to be working. Every time he made a dent in the creep more goop took its place. 

     Slowly, Bakugo's vision began to tunnel down to a pinpoint, and he was becoming acutely aware of the rapid pounding in his chest. He was used to his alpha making himself known in less than ideal circumstances, but something about this was different. He could hear more than he thought he normally could, the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins thundered in his ears. The distant voices of the crowd gradually grew more clear, enough for Bakugo to make out what some were whispering to one another.

     “It’s a monster…”

     “This looks bad, maybe we should run?”

     As if that wasn’t weird enough his sense of smell was getting increasingly more sensitive allowing him to pick up every note in the air. He was certain that if he focused he could pinpoint which scent belonged to which person; that is if the suffocating stench of his capture wasn’t all over him. ‘Where the hell are the heroes!? I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up for...God whose smell is that, it’s really pissing me off!!’. Finally, the voice of a hero approaching stole Katsuki’s attention away from the frustrating smell.

     “How dare you prey on a child!!”

     Forcing himself to focus through his narrowed vision Bakugo saw the hero Death Arms charging at his attacker, and for a brief moment he felt some relief. However, whatever hope he had built up in those few seconds were quickly dashed when the hero made impact. Immediately it was clear that Death Arms was no more equipped to handle this freak anymore than he was, maybe even less so.

     “What the hell is this? Some kind of goo?”

     The hero wrestled his arm from the body of the slime and jumped back out of reach, careful to avoid further contact with the villain., while more pro heroes started arriving. Backdraft stood back away from him and the villain, putting out what fires he could while fencing off the onlookers with his quirk. 

     “Stay back, or I’ll snap his neck!”, the Villain laughed out tightening his hold on the blonde.

     Something about hearing that triggered something deep within Katsuki, and all the accumulating panic was flushed from his system. A heavy lump started forming in Bakugo’s throat making it harder to breathe as it grew, and for a moment he felt that he was going to pass out. His vision broadened once again and his surroundings were overlaid in a reddish tint. The pounding in his ears overtook all other sounds as the weight in his throat burst forth from him in a roar.

     “You picked the wrong guy to mess with!! I’m gonna send you back to whatever sewer you crawled out of!” 

     A feeling he had never known before crept up from his chest and filled his lungs and throat with a prickly heat as he surged forward against his restraints. Then he shouted at the Villain.

                                                    “Let me go!”

     As he spoke he felt for a brief moment that he was in complete control of the situation. The pounding in his head quieted to a gently thrumming and he could swear the crowd watching fell into collective silence. For a second the binds holding him loosened enough for him to surge forward freeing one of his arms in the process. Almost as soon as he made progress the sludge returned with a vengeance, pulling his arm back in and wrapping around his mouth and nose. Bakugo continued to fight and thrash against the villain holding him as more heroes arrived on scene. His inner alpha creeping over his consciousness, pushing his instincts to the forefront of his mind. ‘Survive, even if you have to kill him’. And he tried.

     Letting off the strongest explosions he could make, Katsuki pulled against the mess of slime surrounding him, occasionally pulling against his restraints hard enough to hurt his limbs. By the time Mount Lady and Kamui Woods arrived the young blonde was growing desperate, his skull throbbing painfully and his lungs were burning for air. ‘Damn it, am I gonna die on tv...what bullshit.’ Just as his vision dimmed to near-nothingness,  Bakugo heard someone in the crowd cry out and he became aware of the irritating smell from earlier getting much closer. In fact, it seemed like it was right in front of him. 

     “No! You idiot! You're gonna get yourself killed!”

     With the remaining strength he had Bakugo turned his head as best he could to see what was happening, and to his disbelief he saw his quirkless classmate, Izuku Midoriya, barreling towards him and the villain. Eyes wide and looking like he was on the verge of tears Midoriya spun and threw his backpack at the creature. Whatever happened after that must have done something, because the sludge surrounding his mouth dropped and Katsuki sucked in greedy gulps of air before speaking to the boy who was now digging, bare-handed, into the person holding him. 

     “What the hell?! Why are you here?!”

     “I dunno, my legs they just started… moving. Kacchan! I couldn’t just stand there and watch you die!” 

     Midoriya continued to dig into the slime as Bakugo started fighting with renewed strength. As he fought, the now familiar heat filled his lungs and throat once again as he raged against his attacker with everything he had.

                                          “Get the hell off me!!”

     Feeling his attacker go stiff, and the restraints holding him relaxed once more Katsuki pushed forward just as before, except this time he felt he wasn’t pushing, so much as being pulled. A deafening BOOM rattled around in his head and made his teeth hurt. Temporarily disoriented, Bakugo wondered if he had in fact died. That is until the gentle feeling of a cool rain misted down on his head and now exposed limbs. Looking up he saw that the sky had clouded over and it had begun to rain, which he thought was odd. ‘I could have sworn it was just sunny...maybe I really am dead.’ 

     As his head cleared and his hearing returned to normal he became aware of cheering. Looking around his surroundings he saw that him and his classmate were dangling a little ways off the ground, and the crowd that was standing behind the arms of Mount Lady were cheering. Finally regaining the sense to see why he was not standing on his own two feet Katsuki looked back from the crowd and saw the one person he never expected. ‘All Might....’ With the Sludge villain nowhere to be seen, and his idol standing before him, he knew it was finally over. 

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

     Or so he thought. Camera after camera and microphones brandished by overzealous reporters were shoved in his face, and Katsuki was at the end of his rope. If he didn’t get away from these people he was going to explode. Literally. Listening to anchors prattle on about what had just happened to him over and over again had him bristling. He was tired, hurting, and smelled like absolute shit. It was either his scent or his scowl that finally tipped them off, he didn’t care to know which, but he was finally able to get a ride home from one of the police officers that had arrived on the scene. 

     After the relatively short ride to his home, Katsuki stood outside the front door for a moment. ‘Deku…’ He thought, turning abruptly from his door and stomping down the street in the direction of his childhood friend’s house. ‘I really don’t want to have to thank him for anything, but he did… well he did something today that’s for sure.’ He continued to walk until his classmate came into view, however, the closer he got the more irritated he became. His mind fogged over and before he knew what he was doing his mouth was moving.

     “Deku!”

     “Kacchan w-”

      “Listen I would never ask for a weakling like you to help me. Don’t think you can look down on me! Got that? I was fine by myself! You're just a Quirkless failure who won’t even cut it as a rent-a-cop. You didn’t help me, you did nothing. And don’t you forget it!”

     After thoroughly ranting Katsuki turned and started back towards his house as fast as he could, and like usual the further he got from Deku the clearer his head became and the calmer he felt. ‘Shit...that’s not what I meant to say at all. What the hell is wrong with me. I’m always doing dumb shit like that with him...fuck.’ Sighing, Bakugo stomped up the stairs to his house and opened the door, slipping his shoes off before walking inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The scent in the house was off, and it really irritated him. He just wanted to come home and have as normal an evening as he could, after a shower or five of course.  His dad smelled like a nervous wreck, all chirping and anxious in the main room, so when the door closed behind him Katsuki wasn’t surprised to see his dad already starting towards him. 

     “Katsuki! Oh, Katsuki, your home! Your mother and I were worried sick! Are you ok, do you need anything? We saw what happened on the news, tell me can I get you anything. Like maybe food or or-” stopping to sniff the air his father wrinkled his nose and brought Bakugo in for a hug. “How about a bath? I bet that sounds good right now hu?”

     At the best of times, hugs like this upset the teen, but the tightness of his fathers embrace got under his skin and he wiggled away as fast as he could. 

     “Oi! Get off of me old man, I’m fine! I can get my own bath!!”

     It was then Katsuki noticed his mother approaching him, arms crossed as she stopped just in front of her young son. With her eyes narrowed Mitsuki took a deep breath before lifting her son's chin and turning his head from side to side. Brushing through his hair down both of his shoulders with her hands before closing her eyes and kissing him gently on the head. She lingered a moment before stepping back, red-faced and avoiding eye contact. 

     “He’s fine Masaru… I bet he’s hungry though, why don’t you go get us something to eat? We missed dinner watching the news.”

     His father glanced between the two before nodding and starting down the hallway towards the kitchen. Bakugo sighed, knowing something was coming if she wanted to be alone with him.

     “Look if your gonna yell at me I’m really not in the mood I’m tired and I want to go to b-”

     “Go take a bath and then meet me out here. We need to have a talk.”

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

     After taking a rather long soak and scrubbing himself a little too hard with scent-free soap, Bakugo felt clean enough to change and return to the living room. He was tired and grumpy, but something about the way his mother had treated him earlier made it a little easier to move. Although, if he was honest with himself, it also scared the shit out of him. ‘Wonder what’s going on now.’

     Rounding the corner into the living room the smell of food hit his nose and his stomach replied eagerly. His father had set up one of the tables in the living room and on it sat a large dinner. All Katsuki’s favorites. Bakugo kneeled next to his father, across from his mother and mumbled his thanks before he began filling up his bowl when his mother spoke.

     “All Might was here earlier.”

     Bakugo froze, his head shooting up to meet his mothers eyes. “All Might wa-!” Mitsuki gave him a pointed look and he huffed, sitting back on his heels

     “All Might was here earlier today, and he told us a little bit about what went on today. He said some rather interesting things happened between you and that villain. Did you know that he was an Alpha Katsuki?”

     “Of course I did, anyone can smell that shit.”

     “Language Katsuki.” His father interjected quietly, filling up his son's bowl with an outrageous amount of food. Chirping happily as he did the same for his wife.

     Watching her husband for a moment Mitsuki continued, “Well according to All Might, your voice seemed to work on him a little bit, the villain I mean Enough that you were able to almost get away on a few occasions.”

     Bakugo was silent for a moment, letting his mother’s words roll over in his head. As far as he knew he didn’t have a voice yet, unless…

     “Was that what that heat was? In my throat I mean, it felt all prickly and heavy.” Mitsuki closed her eyes and sighed before responding.

     “Yes, just my luck you’d come into it now. It’ll only feel like that for a little bit though, after a while it’ll be as easy as talking. Anyways, I saw the news Katsuki, your voice did have an effect on that villain today. The news has seen it, they won’t shut up about it. It was so obvious that All Might came down to ask us if we knew that you were an Apex.”

     “Seriously I can’t believe All Might came here to talk to you two losers while I was out to thank D-... an Apex? All Might thinks I’m an Apex.”

     “We know you are. At least we know now anyway, your father and I have tossed around the idea for a while. I was hoping not though, you’ve got a big enough ego as is-”

     “Ego!! What the hell does that mean old hag! Just cause I know I’m amazing doesn’t mean I have an ego!!”

     They bickered back and forth with one another for a while until Masuru huffed loudly and looked between the two.

     “No more fighting, not after today.” His father looked over at his mom, “We said we weren’t going to do this tonight, Mitsuki. You promised.” His mother took a deep breath and nodded while maintaining eye contact with her son.

     “Fine, fine. The brat gets a pass tonight, but let me be very clear.” She leaned forward and took her bowl, giving Katsuki a pointed look as she spoke. “You may think you're all tough shit now that you're an Apex, but pull that voice on me and I’ll beat your ass. I’m still the alpha of this house and your mother. Got it?”

     Katsuki rolled his eyes and grunted his agreement, taking a deep breath through his nose as he brought the bowl up to his lips to hide his smile. ‘The house smells right now’, placing the bowl back down Bakugo sighed and settled in to dinner with his family.

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

     Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, I had a lot of help from my close friend on this one. If you liked it please leave a heart, and maybe leave a comment? I’d love to hear from you guys. As I always I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you all have a great life.

Remember,

Keep Dreaming,

~ Miss. Storytime, & The Librarian

[databoyreekoo]

thoughts on khmom

this thread contains spoilers for khmom, you have been warned

long story short; i loved it

i’ve always been indifferent about kairi. i don’t like her, but i don’t hate her either. honestly, it’s hard to have any sort of opinion on her when her presence in the story is severely lacking...especially compared to other female characters like aqua, xion and namine, who are all developed and well-rounded. but that’s the thing...it’s just kairi. fans like to jump to “nomura doesn’t know how to write female characters and will never give his female characters anything” when in reality, kairi is just poorly written. (i’d like to add that i’m not saying there aren’t any flaws in the way nomura writes his female characters, but this issue is exclusive to kairi as far as kh is concerned). i mean...even larxene and ava have more depth than kairi, and they haven’t even been featured in as many games as her. this is frustrating for those who already like her, and for those who want to like her. yet...it’s been kinda obvious that nomura a) didn’t really know what to do with her post kh1, and/or b) doesn’t particularly enjoy writing for her.

between kh1, kh2 and ddd, kairi showed only a smidgeon of her desire to fight for and help her friends. however, these moments were immediately countered by her waiting on the islands for sora and riku to return, her getting kidnapped, her getting manipulated by xehanort (and other orgxiii members)...or her getting killed. in kh3, her training was left in the hands of a wizard...not a keyblade master. and yes, even though time doesn’t exist in the secret forest, there’s only so much knowledge axel can pass onto kairi...and without a variety of enemies to fight, there’s only so much experience kairi can gain. she still had a lot to learn but was thrown into a war and expected to hold her own (she did good for what little time she had to prepare, though).

then..remind happened. apart from the lore bits that were added and the plot holes that were addressed, the rest of it felt like fanservice, to be quite honest. it gave the fans everything they had been screaming about since kh3′s initial release, including “kairi development/spotlight.” i’m using quotations because kairi was very inconsistent in remind. one moment she’s blocking xion’s attack and protecting axel (repaying him for protecting her earlier in the KG, regardless if she remembers it or not AND for plot reasons; getting to see xion’s face, all in all this feels good, this feels like natural progression for kairi, love that for her), then...she’s suddenly overpowering XEMNAS of all people after he literally slapped sora, roxas AND xion away like a couple of mosquitos...(thematically, it would’ve made more sense for it to have been xion or roxas getting the upper hand, and it would’ve been in character too since they’re both powerhouses...it just feels like this was compensation or an apology for kairi not doing anything in the base game when xemnas kidnapped her...WHICH STILL HAPPENS BTW making this interaction between xemnas and kairi feel insincere and unrewarding...i want natural progression for kairi, i don’t want her to come off like a mary sue), then later once sora and the guardians bring kairi back, she’s totally clueless as to what sora means by “kairi, are you ready for this?” when she can obviously see darkness swirling above their heads...yet, earlier, she immediately gave axel affirmation when he asks “you with me?” just as they’re about to fight saix and xion...her fight against xehanort was wonderful though, her gameplay suited her very well. i just want consistency and natural progression like the rest of the main cast experienced.

i feel like remind was kinda misleading when it comes to kairi...and a lot of fans just rolled with the hype straight into khmom, believing it to be this huge turning point for kairi...only to be let down by the ending.

however, khmom is a turning point for kairi...but it feels sincere, it feels deserved. it feels natural. she got to address her repressed childhood memories and confront an illusion of xehanort, the embodiment of her suffering. she acknowledged her weakness (in jp, sena translated it different) and how it put sora and everyone else in danger. she showed frustration and anger with the way xehanort used her and altered her fate. she charged in to fight and stand up for herself without a second thought. she’s more assertive and involved now than she ever has been, and her personality is finally showing through and she’s bursting with life. even when she tells riku she wants to go, and he denies her in order to keep her safe (i swear to god, if i see one more person call riku a misogynist for gently putting kairi down because she isn’t experienced enough and doesn’t have the power of waking needed to journey to a dangerous, unknown world i’m gonna lose my mind, sora was literally denied access to the realm of darkness all throughout kh3 because it was too dangerous and he hadn’t regained the power of waking and nobody said a damn thing about that), she acknowledges her lack of experience and tells riku with confidence that she’s going to train hard and get stronger so she can fight alongside sora AND riku...not just sora this time. this is the first time in a long time we’ve seen kairi so vocal and adamant about her training so she can grow stronger and not put herself or anyone else in harms way anymore...instead of her writing it down in an unsent letter or having the game telling us but hardly show it. she even tells yen sid she wants to train under aqua WHICH IS HUGE because not only is it a decision she makes herself (and actually voices this time instead of remaining passive), but she also utilizes magic and speed in combat...training under aqua will help her develop SO MUCH, in both character and skill. this also opens potential friendships between kairi and terra, as well as kairi and ventus.

kairi is finally...FINALLY starting her own journey, and even though her path is different from sora and riku’s right now (which, honestly, will be more beneficial for her in the long run), i have more faith now than ever that kairi’s path will cross with sora and riku’s again and she’ll have the strength she wants in order to stand by their side and support them.

[hughiecampbelle]

Vanish (Steve Rogers Oneshot)

Character/s: Steve

Word Count: 1,148

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @lotsoffandomrecs @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon

A/N: 1.) I love him 2.) He looks very smexy in that gif 3.) I'm just writing for therapy I guess. It's not my best, but it's as good as its gonna get for the time being. School is killing me and idk, things have been lonely. It's frustrating and I feel stupid for both feeling all this and letting it get to me, y'know? Anyways, I quite like the storyline. I hope you like it too, and if you're feeling the same way, know that I'm always here if you wanna talk or vent or whatever you need :) Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: No one understands why you did what you did except Steve

Gif Credit: @theavengers :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The job, the life, the take with little give, it tore you apart. Limb by limb, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold, to stand, to be. Nothing left. The cemeteries of others left for you to hold, to keep, to care. Flowers and rocks atop headstones. Never enough. Always demanding more. The city, the world, a cat stuck in a tree. Watching others wear their uniform with pride, with the ease and awe you could only dream of. A sense of grace, a caution with their words, an effortless way of existing. Why was it so hard for you? When had the Cape become so heavy? The flashing lights so blinding? The right thing so wrong? Slandered, overlooked, dragged through the mud. Your steps too quick, too slow, your decisions that not of a real hero, your motives questioned, your intelligence questioned, your entire fucking existence questioned.

No one could ever be proud. No one could ever say a goddamn thank you.

No wonder you turned out the way you did. Your name a joke in the media, the headlines, between the ones you called family. Up and left. Disappeared. Nothing, not even a note. As if you were never there in the first place. It was better this way. You wouldn't have to drag out your apologies, burden everyone by calling them in, or telling each of them the same story over and over again. You wouldn't be questioned, or guilted, or face any anger. Sometimes it was better to go into shock. Let the adrenaline take over. Numb their wounds, their hurt, their pain. Let them think and say what they wanted, you wouldn't be around to hear it. Abandoning your duties, your teammates, the entire world. You were at your breaking point, drowning demands, in expectations you did your best to live up to. But your best wasn't good enough. It never was. Sometimes it was better to live in ignorance, in bliss. They'd get to you eventually. Word would spread. You'd be turned into a villain. There'd be interviews, and press conferences, and a global search for the one who abandoned their post.

Let them waste their time, their breath, their effort, the same way you did.

He knew. He knew before it happened. The faraway look in your glazed eyes. The hesitation. The second thought. The flinching. He didn't know what it was, though. The tone in your voice unrecognizable, your words of someone else. You hadn't just lost those pieces of yourself, they'd been crushed, absolutely destroyed. You were giving up, caving in, believing what it was everyone was saying. And then, you were gone. A ghost. Expecting to see you as he turned a corner, catching himself wanting to call your name, ask you for advice, for help, for everything. Glancing at an empty doorway, swearing you were standing there, saying something that'd surely make him laugh. Instead there was nothing. The absence of something. The regret, the grief, the frustration at himself for not putting the pieces together. You spoke without words. Always had. A language he was still learning. Complicated, and delicate, the art of saying so much in silences, in unease and avoidance. He tried, he really did.

But he couldn't stop you. And he couldn't stop them.

Civilians like vultures, tearing your image apart. Media stars slandering you because there was no one else to stand up for you. Your good name shattered, bursting at the seams. Inside, and outside. You'd expected the push back. He hadn't. The rage, the annoyance, the name calling. Rash. Impulsive. Stupid. That's when they were being nice. Horrified you'd turn your back on them, never questioning why. This wasn't the easiest way to live, to exist. He'd thought about it a lot, but what else was there for him? Who else could he be if not a super soldier? You, though, you had options, you had wants and needs outside of a catchy alias and a photo opportunity. You were young, you had your life ahead of you. It'd be a damn shame if you let it go to waste. He fought with them as best he dould, hush their disgust, the disgrace, reminding them not too long ago they turned to you, called you one of their own, saved them more times than they were allowed to forget. Bitterness and blood on his tongue, he was tired of biting it all back. Couldn't they see they were part of the problem? They were falling into the same habits that made you want to scream?

He hoped you were happier there than you were here.

And you were. You were at ease now, at peace, choosing a path for yourself instead of following one that'd been laid out. No more secrets, no more lies, no more lives in your hands. You had one life to live, you weren't going to waste it being miserable. Going where you wanted, being who you wanted, nothing to hold you back. The urge to reach out never quite dulled, not even after all these years. You missed them more and more every day that passed. A call, a text, showing up out of nowhere. With ehat, though? An explination, an apology,ban awkward hug? Maybe too much time had passed, maybe you weren't allowed to call them your family anymore. To them, you were a stranger, but you never stopped thinking about them, keeping up with all their triumphs. Across each screen there'd be another report of the man with his shield or an iron suit saving the day. There seemed to be a new member with every report. Eventually, they forgotten all about you. The media, then, you assumed, the team, your name nothing more than a reminder that even if you played the part well, it didn't mean you were a real superhero. Let them think what they want, there was no use in changing their minds.

As far as you were concerned, you were the best of the best.

Sometimes he caught you in the faces of strangers, the acts of others, the smallest of details. He still looked for you, wondering where you were, where you'd gone, who you were now. You'd look different, of course, but maybe nothing had changed after all. Maybe he'd catch you there, like he hoped he would every time, in the doorway looking in, saying something that'd make him laugh. He still expected you next to him, across from him, in his life. If there was a way to contact you, he never pushed it. Let you come back your own way, on your own time, if you decided to ay all. That wasn't his choice to make. He'd never push you the way they did. He couldn't. You'd finally done something for yourself, he'd never do anything to ruin that freedom.

[echoghost1]

Forget Your Life Story

Word Count: 1836 For: @ecto-american

You can read on AO3 or down below the cut

Summary:  Danny woke up with no memory. He didn’t even know his own name. The doctor told him it would come back and his parents were there to help him. He trusts them, even if he doesn't recognize them. Even if some things didn’t quite line up.

Edit: I added a summary

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but white. White ceiling. White walls. White sheets.

He wrinkled his nose finding it all very unappealing.

He tried to sit up but a sharp pain in the crook of his left arm stopped him.

There was movement to his right, a nurse walked into the room and stopped when she saw him looking at her.

"Oh! You're awake!"

He tried to talk, but his voice cracked and died on the way out. He had so many questions bubbling inside him but all he could do was make faces and grunt in a vain attempt at being understood.

She nodded as she checked the different machines and equipment around him as if he was actually making any sense. "Don't worry dear, your doctor will be here soon and explain everything."

He was surprised that worked.

It wasn't long before the doctor came and informed him that he had been in a coma for a month.

Then the doctor asked what he remembered.

He thought for a moment.

Then a little longer.

He figured falling into a coma would be more memorable. Since he had nothing, he just shrugged at the doctor.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember what happened.” the doctor reassured.

He nodded then bit his lip as a question popped in his mind that he wasn’t sure how to answer. Or how to ask.

“Something on your mind?” the doctor asked as if he could read his thoughts.

“It’s just,” he hesitated as he tried to word it right, “someone is waiting for me right? Someone’s here that can take me home?”

The doctor looked concerned, "Your parents are just outside. Did you want me to get them now?"

He nodded and the nurse took the opportunity to remove the IV in his arm.

A couple walked into the room and they smiled at him.

He looked from them back to the doctor.

"You don't recognize them do you?"

"I'm sorry." He felt awful. What kind of son forgets his parents. As if he didn't put them through enough already with the coma.

The nurse placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze.

“I was worried about that.” the doctor muttered to themselves before addressing the room, “It’s not uncommon for cases like this to lead to memory loss. But luckily ‘loss’ is a bit of a misnomer.”

His parents, he supposed, relaxed, but he was still confused. He didn’t know what that word meant. He figured he might as well ask.

“In this case, it just means that ‘loss’ doesn't mean ‘gone forever’. It’ll take time, but your memories should come back to you.”

He relaxed into the bed. That was really good news. “Is there a way to make it work?

“Not exactly. This isn’t something you can force.”

He slumped into the pillows more.

“But, I can give you some advice.”

He perked back up, hopeful.

“It will come in bursts and waves. The things around you will trigger memories. Sometimes it’s smells, other times it’s sounds. The memories might just be feelings or vague impressions and other times they might be full-on movie-style productions. It all just depends.” The doctor pulled up a chair next to the bed, “Your memories are like puzzle pieces that got knocked to the ground from a high table. It’s going to take time and a little help to find them all and make sense of the picture they make, but it’s not impossible.”

Then they asked if he remembered his name.

He didn’t.

His mom told him it was, Danny.

“Danny,” he repeated a few times with different inflections just to see how it felt. If it fits.

He nodded, satisfied that it did.

==============================================

It was odd that he needed a tour in his own house when he got there. He’d been expecting it, but he had been a little hopeful that it would at least seem a little familiar once he saw it again.

On his first night home, he had a weird dream. It wasn’t scary, just odd. He decided to tell his mom about it in the morning. The doctor had mentioned that his memories could surface in dreams and it was important to talk them through.

He sat at the kitchen table while his mom made coffee.

“There was this girl in my dream last night. She knew me. I guess I knew her too. I knew her name in the dream, but now I can’t quite remember it.”

“Oh?” his mom turned to him as she stirred her sugar in her mug. “Do you remember what letter it was? Or if it rhymed with another name?”

“I think it had to do with music? But that doesn't make sense, does it?”

His dad came in, kissed his mom on the top of her head as he reached for his mug, “Maybe it was Melody?” he guessed, “That’s a musical name.”

“Do I know a Melody?” he asked despite the name not sounding right at all.

“I don’t think so. Unless you met them at school.”

“That or you saw them in a movie.” his dad sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I know the doc said you might have dream memories but that doesn't mean they all are. Some dreams might just be dreams.”

“Yeah I know,” Danny sighed, “But it just felt so real, you know?”

==============================================

It wasn’t until a few days later that he heard his parent’s names. They were waiting in the doctor’s office for a check-up on his progress when it happened.

“Matilda and James Fairchild,” The receptionist called, “the doctor is ready for Danny now.”

He dropped the magazine he was holding as the names buzzed around in his brain.

Matilda?

“Maddie.”

His mom turned to him confused, “What?”

“I thought your name was Maddie?”

She hesitated for only a second before recognition lit her eyes, “That’s what my mom called me. You remember Grandma?”

He shook his head. So far he hadn’t remembered anyone. “Just the name.”

His dad picked up the magazine off the floor, “It’s okay, Champ. These things take time. I’m sure you’ll have it all back soon.”

He knew that. He really did.

It just didn’t stop it from being so frustrating to be so close and yet so far.

==============================================

It wasn’t until he was alone with his therapist that she asks how it felt to hear his parent’s names. If they felt familiar like his own name had.

“Sort of. Like I’m trying to watch a 3D movie without the glasses on. I can tell what it is but it’s still a little off.” he leans back in his seat and continues, “the weird thing is when I have dreams about my parents I don’t see them as they are. I just see colors.”

“What colors do you see?”

“Teal and orange. Orange for dad and teal for mom.”

“That’s an interesting way to see them.”

“Yeah, but I really don’t like those dreams.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t dreams.” he pulls his knees up to his chest in the chair but knew he couldn’t back out now. He has to just power through it so he can get better.

So he can remember.

“They’re nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

“The orange one always towers over me. He’s so impossibly tall. The teal one has sharp hands, claws like razors. They’re always so angry. Always yelling at me. Calling me a monster.”

“Those two don’t sound like your parents at all.”

“I know! That just makes me even more confused.”

“Well, why don’t we try to reassociate your parents with something nicer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if you’re dreaming them as colors, why don’t we pick new colors. Or maybe something else altogether?”

“Books,” he said simply. “Mom’s like a library full of books.”

“Nice, safe, and quiet. That’s a good comparison.” she notes it before looking up at him again, “and your dad? What’s he like?”

“Peaches? No, bugs.” he corrected then added quickly, “but not in a gross way, in a friendly way.”

The therapist squeezed her lips together in a tight line to suppress herself. She quickly covered her mouth and apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I think I know what you’re thinking of.” she composed herself, “you’re making literary associations. Which is fine, and honestly still works for what we’re trying to do here, but I wasn’t expecting it is all.”

“Literary associations? What do bugs have to do with books?”

“Your parent’s names are the same as book characters in a couple of children’s stories.” Then she smiled fondly, "you know both of those stories have some themes in common. They're about kids who are raised in not-so-nice places, with bad caretakers, who escape from their dangerous homes and find new families. Find people who love them just as they are. Like family should."

He smiled and wondered if it meant anything that his parents' names were the same as stories with happy endings. "Do you think they love me like that?"

He wasn't sure why he was asking. He certainly hoped they did.

She laughed good-naturedly, "of course they do."

"But how do you know?"

Why was he so uncertain?

"It's the little things. You'll see."

==============================================

After he talked through his nightmares he stopped having them.

He was really glad he gave this therapy thing a try. Even if a part of him is still a little uneasy about it. Almost like he’s done something like it before.

But he knows he hasn’t. He had asked his mom and she said no.

Even if he was still having dreams about Melody. Or whatever her real name was.

He also had dreams about another person. Someone else who seemed to know him and dream him recognized. Although he wasn’t sure if they were one person or two. He wasn’t sure what to call them. Eventually, he called them Sawyer.

He figured he would continue with the literary theme. He wasn’t sure why he was so familiar with titular characters, but it felt right.

He didn’t tell his parents about Sawyer.

He wasn’t sure why.

Why he had an urge to hide this from them even though they’d done nothing but love and support him.

But keeping a secret from his parents felt familiar. He just wasn’t sure what secret he used to keep.

==============================================

It had been months and his memory was still a little spotty, but he was managing. He may not be sure about everything in his life but there were things he was sure of.

His name was Danny Fairchild.

His parents were Matilda and James. He got his dark hair and fair skin from his father while his mother passed on her blue eyes and button nose.

They lived in the small town of Salem City.

Due to his memory loss, he was home-schooled.

And most importantly of all, his parents loved him and he felt safe.