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baronessvonglitter · 10 months ago

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Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 17 🍒

"What is and What Should Never Be"

pre-outbreak! au!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 5,924

Summary: Reconnecting with Joel is easy, but things take a turn when you spot a man you never thought you'd see again.

(Warnings contain spoilers, so check beneath the cut if you dare to peek)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 18-19, Joel is 35-36), set in September 2003, angst, family drama, drunk dialing, phone sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, alcohol drinking (only Joel), reader runs into her estranged father who now has a new family, Joel once again using his fists to solve problems which gets him arrested, mentions of blood and gore after a fight (later mention of broken nose and needing stitches), Joel's guilt causes him to break up with you once and for all, reader refuses to take care of herself as a self-inflicted punishment, no use of y/n (if I've left anything out please let me know)

Author's note: this took forever to write because honestly a big part of me didn't want to do it. Thank you for sticking with me, those of you who have been reading from the start!

Series Masterlist

"Stay."

That word haunts you, so varied in its meaning. Stay of execution. Please stay for lunch. You chose to stay with your mom despite the fact that Joel asked you to stay with him in Austin.

It's the first thing you think about when you wake up each morning. That stupid word, haunting you like a specter. And there's that little voice in the back of your head that taunts: 'You could be with him right now, waking up next to him, the warmth of his arms enveloping you as he nuzzles your neck, rousing you with a firm morning hard-on before you have to get up to go your separate ways for the day.'

Then you remember the reason you left him in the first place. It makes you sick to your stomach to think that everything he'd done with you had only been a repeat session of what he'd done with your mom. Who, by the way, has fussed over you since you moved back in. You took a pregnancy test at her behest, giving a silent sigh of relief when the results read negative.

She hounded you for details, of which you gave her none. Her jealousy was disgusting to you, and pitiable. And though you shared a man with this woman, unknowingly, the only difference was you'd given your heart and she had not.

You walk on eggshells around her for the first few days, unsure how to navigate this new territory. You're not sure how to move on from here, unwilling to address what happened yet desperately wanting a sounding board. You can't talk to the problem about the problem. You feel like a prisoner in your own home, deprived of the love you should have been given years ago that instead has become suspicion and doubt. You weren't even allowed to attend your friend's wedding because your mom thought it was in bad taste to attend a ceremony for such a young couple. Even though she herself got married younger.

Meanwhile your phone stays quiet, no calls or texts from Joel, but Sofia is kind enough to give you details. Unfortunately it's quiet on their end. She's still with Tommy, having finally succumbed to being in a relationship despite her initial misgivings. She only sees Joel now and then, and he smiles hello or good evening to her, but that's it. Sarah has been hanging out with new friends and seems happy.

Your stomach twists in knots at Sarah's deceptiveness. You can't help but wonder if Joel knows, if they're on speaking terms, but it's awful to wish that on a kid. If it came between your father and your friend, you might choose the same course she did.

By Labor Day you have your schedule to keep you busy: early British literature at nine, creative writing at noon, and a few other non-major related classes just to keep you from having to think too much on things you don't have a handle on.

At your new university you run into a few friends from school, people who either didn't want to leave home for the adventure of a lifetime, or couldn't get into the more prestigious schools in the state. It's still a good school, just not the one you wanted.

It was embarrassing having to tie up loose ends in Austin, calling Hailey at the cafe and telling her that you've moved, keeping in touch with friends only through texts, with meager promises to meet up soon, make a road trip out of it. You're not naive enough to actually believe any of it, but it's nice to come away from the situation with a little bit of kindness.

Your mom tries to get you to go over with her to her family's Labor Day cookout, but celebration is the last thing on your mind, least of all with her. You stay home alone, reminding her there's no way you can get up to any trouble. She's flattened out whatever spirit was left in you and she knows it but won't admit it.

With the house to yourself, you study in the living room, the TV tuned in to a rerun of NYPD Blue. Your short story that's due this week sits abandoned, half-written as your attention drifts to the screen, watching the cops interrogate a cute goth guy named Dio.

Your cell phone rings, bringing you out of your daydream. Sofia's name shines on the caller ID.

"Hey, cous. What's up?" you lean back on the sofa, a can of Vanilla Coke at your lips.

"Hey there.. babygirl," Joel's voice murmurs over the line. You sit up straight.

"Joel.." you repeat dumbly, in shock. "What.." your mind goes blank.

He chuckles on the other end of the line, and you feel a warmth in the pit of your stomach when he mutters your name. "God damn it I miss ya," he slurs.

"Are you drunk?"

"Naw, baby.. well a little." Wherever he is you can hear Tommy in the background, and Sofia demanding her phone back.

"Came out tonight and thought about ya.. ain't heard from ya and I missed your voice."

"Oh, Joel.." you sigh, different emotions warring within you. "I don't think that I should be talking to you.."

"Cherry!" Tommy's ebullient, voice comes over the line now. "Cherry, Joel misses you! He's been cryin'! There ain't no other woman for him 'cept you!"

Tommy's words become unintelligible. There's a jostling sound and soon Sofia's on the phone. "Sorry about that.. I guess the Miller boys are a little out of control tonight," she says, forcing a laugh. "Joel asked to use my phone but I didn't know he was gonna use it to call you." It sounds like Sofia's outside, away from the blare of the music and sounds of drunkenness.

"It's all right.. how is he?"

"I think he's lonely," she answers. "It was supposed to be just me and Tommy out tonight, but Joel invited himself along as a third wheel. Tommy says you broke his brother's heart," she adds softly.

You shake your head. "Sofia, you were there. You know the truth now. How can I forgive him for hiding so much from me?"

"I can't speak for him, but I will say that we all make mistakes. He's only human."

You sigh, plopping yourself on the sofa after pacing the room. "What should I do?"

"You care about him, right?"

"Of course."

"Maybe just hear him out. Then you can decide what your next step should be."

"Tell him to call me when he's sober."

She chuckles. "No guarantees he won't try tonight."

Joel calls the next day, and you call him the next night, with sporadic texting in between. You're treading carefully, talking about mundane things until it feels okay enough to talk about what happened between you.

He tells you the same story as your mother, and you steel yourself listening to the man you love talk about the life he had before he met you. He doesn't leave out the parts about other women, how he tried to cover his broken heart instead of facing it head on and healing it, how he lost the best friend he'd ever had over a woman who didn't care for him.

"She doesn't love you," you whisper into your phone one night, tucked under the duvet so that you won't be overheard by your mom. "She never did.. but I still do."

It's this revelation that brings you together, has you calling each other "babe" and "love" all over again. Before the end of your first week reconciling you're already whispering filthy things to him over long phone calls, your hands drifting over your body, excited to come for him as he growls his commands over the line, there you go, babygirl, just like that, come on your fingers.. now suck them off, I wanna hear it and you do come for him, knowing there can never be anyone else for you, no matter what.

"I'm comin' to see ya," he tells you one morning as he's heading to work and you're in the university parking lot.

"Joel, you can't-"

"Then come here."

"Three hours away? Four or five with traffic? You're crazy. Mom would come looking for me."

"Then let's meet in the middle."

You consider this. "What's the halfway point between Houston and Austin?"

"There's Brenham," he suggests.

"I've never been there." You toy with the cherry scented air freshener hanging from your rear view mirror. "Could we tour the Blue Bell factory?"

"That we can.. among other things." You can hear the suggestive smile in his voice.

You make the excuse that you have to do extra credit at another campus and are able to get away for the weekend. The drive is over an hour long, and your heart feels like it may just hammer its way out of your chest cavity the entire time. It hasn't really been that long since you've seen Joel, and just as you pass through Cypress you wonder if it's a good idea after all. But your heart is young and easily swayed to the will of your fantasies, among them being that you and Joel are meant to be, just a pair of star-crossed lovers who will find their way together again, beyond the chains of society dragging them down.

You reach the small diner in Brenham, taking a deep breath before you leave the car, then another before you open the door to the restaurant.

And there he is, in a booth in the corner. Your heart skips a beat before it lodges in your throat.

It's only been a few weeks since you've seen him but in that moment you swear it's been an eternity.

It's like a movie in slow motion: Joel rises from his seat as you near him, and without hesitation you go into his open arms, which wrap lovingly around you. The world stops for a brief, beautiful moment.

There's not much to catch up on, you soon find out. It's barely been a few weeks since you've seen him. Everything is the same as when you left, only everything has also changed.

"I can't stop thinking about you, about the way we left things," he says urgently, under the sad and lonely twang of the steel guitar from whatever old country song the diner's jukebox is playing. "But you said you need to figure things out, so I'm givin' you that space you need," he says.

His hands clasp yours across the table, between the half-eaten plates of food you've neglected in favor of discussion. "I meant what I said, babygirl.. I can't see myself with anyone else."

Your heart clenches at the thought, even as the rational part of your brain tells you it's impossible, that you experienced the strongest pull of attraction with a man old enough to be your father, and you both let your emotions get the best of you.

It dawns on you that you've only known him for three months.

It also dawns on you that you only have this one life, this one chance to be happy at all, especially now that you're under your mother's roof again, no escape in sight until you graduate and land a job. Right now, in this slice of a moment, you have complete and total freedom from things you don't want to belong to.

"Joel.." you whisper, and he clasps his hands tighter around yours. "Let's get out of here."

There's a motel across the street, the kind that serves wayfarers and illicit lovers, of which you and Joel are both.

Your fingers are intertwined as he pays at the front desk, and his arm is slung around you as you walk up to your allotted room. The moment the door closes behind you, Joel's self-control snaps like a broken guitar string. He surges towards you, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his lips melding with yours in a desperate collision of desire and need.

You kiss him back, desperately tasting his mouth, molding your body to his in a frantic need for him. His hands travel down your body, rough palms roaming over your curves. His tongue slides into your mouth as he pulls you close, his muscular frame crowding you.

"Yes," you whisper in between fiery kisses. This is the only thing that feels right, the only thing I want in the entire world. You lift your shirt over your head, shove your shorts down your legs before your hand teasingly slips down the front of his jeans, rubbing him through his boxers. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat as he presses his hips forward into your touch.

"All for me?" you ask, wrapping your hand around his generous length, your cunt already feeling its velvety thickness inside you.

Joel nods, his muscles tensing as your touch ignites a fire within him. "Only for you," he whispers, voice rough with desire. "I think about you all the time, in places I shouldn't," his breath shudders as you fall to your knees, pulling his jeans down the rest of the way and immediately taking him into your mouth.

"Like where?" you ask, keeping your eyes on him as you swirl your tongue around his cock, itching for him to take you then and there, but you've waited so long and pined so hard that a little teasing is in order.

His thick fingers card through your hair, gathering the length in a ponytail to gently guide you down on his cock. "In my truck, in the shower, in bed.." he grunts as your mouth envelops what it can of him, and he's careful not to push in and have you choke on his dick like he wants to. "Sometimes I even catch myself thinkin' about you while I'm workin'. You're dangerous, babygirl."

A thrill goes through you, an electric shock straight to your senses when you hear this. "And what do you think about?" you ask, pumping him with your hand.

Joel puts his hand over yours, stilling it, not wanting to risk that he's gonna explode after a couple of strokes, like some damn high school kid. "Everything, darlin'.. I think about every part of you: how good you smell, how good you taste, how damn perfect you are. I think about how I want to devour you, take you as mine and never let go."

"Don't let go of me again, Joel.. promise me," you say as he rises you to your feet, pressing your body flush to his, able to feel every contour, the hard parts of him that you dream about on a nightly basis.

His arms tighten around you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and regret as he watches your reflections in the dresser mirror. "I won't, baby, I promise." His words are both a vow and a prayer. "I won't let go of you ever again."

His hand glides up your back, his fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. "I've missed you like crazy.." his deep voice is filled with need. "Missed touchin' and holdin' you like this."

"No one has to know what it's like between us," you sigh as his touch ignites your senses. For all intents and purposes, no one knows that you're here, and once again you're a secret.

"No one," he agrees, bringing you to the bed. "Just me and you. No one else has to know, because this?" He slips his hands down your panties, making you gasp, and he growls in return to feel you warm and wet, welcoming. "This is ours, no one else's."

In no time at all you're sprawled on the bed, panties and bra discarded on the motel carpet. Joel's between your legs, pressing a teasing kiss to your mound, his fingers circling your entrance. As you writhe and moan beneath his touch, his tongue darts out to taste you. "So responsive.." his breath his hot against you as he pushes a finger inside.

A needful groan leaves your lips. You haven't been able to match this intensity with just your own fingers since you left him. "Don't stop," you beg. His breath stutters at your pleas, devoting himself to bringing you pleasure. His fingers and tongue work in tandem, stroking and caressing you from within and without. He wants nothing more than to draw out every sound you can possibly make.

"You taste like heaven, babygirl," his voice is rough and heated. "So damn good. I could do this all day, just for those beautiful moans."

Joel watches as you come apart beneath him, your body arching under the onslaught of pleasure he's given you, and his heart swells with desire. "That's my girl," he whispers. "Just beautiful."

You're left trembling, a complete puddle when he's done with you, and you've never been more satisfied in your life. "God, I missed that.."

He kisses his way up your body, leaving a trail of soft, tender kisses along your soft skin until he reaches your lips. When he gazes at you, his eyes burn with love and lust. "I missed it too," he says. "Missed touchin' you like this, hearin' you say my name, seein' you all flushed and breathin' hard. Drove me crazy not havin' you near."

And then he's inside you, burying himself to the hilt, fucking you like it's the last time he ever will. It's like he's twenty years younger, on the verge of coming within minutes, until he shifts you into different positions to stave off the need to cum, not satisfied to help himself to his own pleasure until you're too weak to mumble your own name.

You lose track of all time, lost in the feel of him as he fucks you hard, then softer, desperately, and as if he has all the time in the world. It's a blur of sweat and sighs and tangled limbs for the rest of the afternoon.

The next few weekends are spent in this way: meeting at the motel at the halfway point between your city and his, holing up in the room and only leaving to get food.

"I wanna be with you forever.." Joel slowly kisses his way down your body. The sun is setting, casting a golden hour glow in the room, and you're both resting atop the rumpled sheets and strewn pillows.

"Forever?" you repeat with a love-drunk smile.

"Forever baby," he reiterates. "I don't want a life without you in it," he whispers as he makes his way even lower.

You sigh his name sweetly. "Maybe after I finish college I'll find a place in Austin."

"Really? You'd move to Austin to be with me?" He situates himself between your thighs, a thousand kilawatt smile on his face.

"Yeah.. I actually really like it there.."

"I'd love it if you were closer to me," he sighs. "Plus payin' for these rooms is gettin' damn expensive." He pauses. "Nothin's stoppin' you from comin' back sooner, y'know.."

You search his eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the love that has drawn you in since the very beginning. "I'll finish out this semester and we'll talk about it," you tell him, delighted when his eyes light up at the prospect of having you with him again.

"You could stay with me.. for good.. forever.." he says, kissing down your body with each word.

You lay naked in his arms, satisfied, yet always aching for him in your heart and in your soul. "Forever sounds so good with you," you murmur, your voice a little hoarse from giving screams of pleasure earlier.

The following week is your shared birthday, and though Joel is less enthusiastic about turning a year older, he loves seeing how caught up you get in planning a little getaway for the both of you. San Antonio is as safe a place as any, and not likely to be too crowded this time of year.

The first night, your birthday night, is spent traversing the colorful Riverwalk, romantically lit, placid, even among the neon signs of the shops, bars, and restaurants. You choose a place to have dinner, sitting on the patio and enjoying the mild September weather.

"How does it feel to be thirty-six?" you ask, watching him with hearts in your eyes as you rest your chin on your hand.

"Same," he shakes his head. "How's it feel to be nineteen?"

"Amazing," you smirk.

"Youth is wasted on the young."

"I see you finally got your watch fixed," you smile, tapping the glass face.

"That.. yeah, Sarah got it fixed for me, gave it to me as a present before I left."

The mention of her still makes your stomach drop and you go quiet.

"She misses you," he says. "Been talkin' about you a lot lately. She wanted me to give you this."

"She knows you're here with me?"

Joel shrugs. "Word gets around. Maybe Tommy said somethin'.. either way, I'm not keepin' you a secret no more."

You plant a soft kiss on his lips before unwrapping the small jewelry box he gives you. Inside is the missing earring you thought you'd lost forever God knows where, probably in a nook or cranny of Joel's truck one hot night, but here it is, the mate to the one in your jewelry box at home.

"Give her my thanks," you tell him, wondering if he knows she's the one who tore them apart in the first place. Talking about it would just ruin the night, so you slip the box into your purse for later. "Looks like I'm getting back everything I ever thought I lost," you smile, holding his hands across the table.

When the music gets too loud to talk over, you write cute love notes on the napkins, reading them quickly before the condensation on the table, courtesy of Joel's beer, smears the ink.

After dinner you stroll along the river, arm in arm, and he leads you back to the hotel, thankfully within walking distance. Once inside your room you can't keep your hands off each other, taking advantage of the night, of the anonymity of being in a different city. The bed is bigger than the shitty motel in Brenham, the sheets are softer, and Joel takes the little piece of chocolate that housekeeping left on your pillow and places it in your mouth, as his lips travel down your body to get you worked up with your tongue. He's promised you a gift but he's saving it for the end of the weekend. Right now he'd drawled, you'll just have to be satisfied with me making you cum.

Joel's up earlier than you the next day. Not even his circadian rhythm goes on vacation. But he's left a note saying he's going out to get breakfast, not content with with having the continental breakfast the hotel serves. An intrusive thought pricks at your mind: maybe he just doesn't want to be seen with you at a hotel, even in front of strangers.

You shake that thought away, getting showered and dressed.

On the way to the front desk to check for messages, you hear a familiar voice as you turn the corner. A middle-aged man, average height, wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and cargo shorts, speaks with the morning concierge.

"..the couple in room 478 was very loud last night. They kept me and my family awake, and honestly that's not the kind of thing I want my young kids to hear.."

You realize you and Joel are the ones in 478 that he's complaining about, just before your breath hitches in your throat. Everything, in fact, seems to slow and still as you approach the desk, nearing the man making the complaint.

Dad..?

He leaves the desk before you can go up to him, only seeing him from the back as he goes in the opposite direction, on his way to the free hotel breakfast. Your feet don't allow you to follow him, mired as you are to the floor. The concierge addresses you three times before you hear her.

"Miss? Is there something I can help you with?"

You've completely forgotten what you came here for, and meager words form on your lips. "That man.. what's his name?"

She shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't give that information."

"Well.. what room is he staying in?"

"Again, I can't give out that information, sweetie. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"..no.." you answer, voice barely a whisper, walking slowly back to your room.

"Somethin's on your mind," Joel says casually, watching you as he sips his ice cold beer. "I can tell. You tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, babygirl."

The sun is high overhead as you both enjoy lunch on the patio of one of the nicer restaurants in town. You'd initially balked at the priciness of the place, but Joel had insisted. You ate sparingly even though you were hungry. The breakfast tacos from that morning had only given you and Joel more energy to fuck a couple more times before you decided to walk around the city and get some fresh air.

"Nothing," you tell him, faking a smile. But you can't keep up the pretense for long. "Well.. I think I saw my father at the hotel this morning."

Joel puts his drink down, his gaze settling on you, the most serious you've seen him. "You think, or you know?"

You shake your head. "I'm pretty sure.."

He says nothing for a few moments. "Small world if he's here."

Breaking the tension, you tell him about the noise complaint that you're likely to receive once you get back to the hotel, and it earns you a little laugh from him, and pleasure warms your heart to see him blush.

It's later in the evening when you're strolling, enjoying the city as sunset takes over, gold and purple in the autumn sky.

"I'm thinking I wanna give you your birthday present tonight," he says, nodding as if he's just thought of it.

You're a little embarrassed that your own gift is so meager, whatever money your mother gives you going to gas for the car or lunch for the week.

"Spending this time with you has honestly been the best gift I could ask for," you tell him, grasping his hand in yours.

Your sighting this morning is all but forgotten as you and Joel return to the hotel, arm in arm. From the opposite direction comes the man you saw at reception earlier, in a different Hawaiian shirt this time, but he has his arm around a woman you've never seen before, who's pushing a stroller with young twins inside.

He catches your eye and you see that flash of recognition before he artfully conceals it, looking askance, hurrying his stride and whispering something to the woman he's with.

"Dad?" you call out, despite the part of you that wants to pretend it's not him, that the world is too big and too wide to be conceivable that you'd find him here after so many years.

He ignores you, casting his glance away as he hurries, his wife looking at him in confusion.

"Chris." Joel's voice booms louder than yours, catching your dad's attention. You feel invisible as the two men who haven't seen each other in almost two decades, former friends, practically brothers, reconnect.

But it's not as nice as it sounds.

There's history between them that you don't understand.

All you can see right now is your father, with another family, with absolutely no intention to ever speak to you again.

"Joel." Chris's voice is low, indifferent as you've always remembered it, with a hint of curiosity as his gaze flicks between you and him. And you see the last piece click in place as it registers; while his brain lights up his eyes go dark.

"You wanna tell me what you're doin' here with my daughter?" he moves towards the both of you, a charge in his steps as his purpose becomes clear. Joel stands his ground, shielding you.

"It ain't none of your concern, never was," Joel grunts his reply.

"The hell it ain't," Chris grunts back in Joel's face. You sneak a peek at the woman he's with, maybe five or six years older than yourself, eyes filled with worry as she tries to assess the situation, obviously too afraid to step in.

"Chris, come on," she begs, her accent showing she's not from these parts.

But the men are like animals, neither one is going to step down first.

"If you're doin' with her what I think you are, you're in some deep shit, pal," Chris warns.

"She's an adult and can make her own decisions. And you got no say in her life after leavin' it."

"She's my kid, man!"

It's the first time he's admitted this, and a small thrill of victory floods your veins, quickly thinned when Joel retorts:

"You got a problem with it, come see us in room 478. Oh, and we'll try to keep it down tonight," he smirks, knowing this comment will hit him where it hurts.

What happens next you'll review in your head over and over in the coming days.

Joel barely dodges Chris's punch, but the force of the swing creates a gust of air that grazes his face. He retaliates with a jab to Chris's ribs, landing with a dull thud.

"Dad!" you run towards him, fearing for his safety, knowing firsthand how Joel can switch on to violence in a heartbeat. In the midst of the chaos you try to intervene, grab your dad's shoulder to wrench him away. In his rage-filled instinct he shoves you back, the back of his hand connecting with your cheekbone.

In your daze you stumble back on your ass, hitting the pavement as Joel rams into Chris, knocking him to the ground too. The woman Chris is with starts screaming as Joel slams his fists repeatedly into Chris's face. The sickening crunch of fist meeting flesh, cartilage and bone makes your stomach churn, all your own pain forgotten in the melee of the brutality.

Panicked passersby call for help, try to stop the brawl, come and check on you, helping you to your feet. But all you see are the uniformed cops cuffing Joel after successfully breaking up the fight, leading him to a cruiser, and paramedics coming to your dad's rescue, assessing him. You go to him, hovering over your dad, glimpsing blood and gore before he's lifted onto a stretcher and taken into the back of an ambulance.

It's late, past two a.m. You're curled up in an uncomfortable chair at the hospital, waking with a crick in your neck.

Your dad's going to be okay, the doctor tells you. A broken nose, some stitches, nothing major.

You go in to see him, passing by his wife as she leaves, giving you a sidelong glance, measuring you up. It's not known if Chris has told her about you or not, and this is something you'll never know.

He's sleeping, his monitor beeping steadily. The room smells like disinfectant.

And it's at this point you realize you have nothing to say to him. Any questions that burned in the back of your brain are now ash. The man in front of you is a stranger and has been for years now. He's your father only in biology.

You take a good long look before leaving, at peace with cutting him off. Wondering, asking, waiting.. you don't have the patience for it and he doesn't have the honor to offer you answers. Even if he does, you don't care to hear them.

It's a small relief as you exit through the sliding doors and into the still September night. You'd alerted Tommy to what's happened, and he should be with Joel right about now. Your phone rings in your pocket. Joel's number.

"I'm on my way. Are you at the jail, or-"

"Listen to me, baby.. this ain't a good idea."

You turn cold. "What's not a good idea?"

He pauses for longer than you're comfortable with. "Us, baby.. I'm thinkin'-"

"No," you cut him off before he can say anything final. "No, Joel, you don't mean that."

You're in the car, racing through the late night streets, back to your hotel.

"Listen, Joel, we can talk about this."

You're in the backseat of Tommy's truck in the hotel parking garage. Tommy has gone inside to get Joel's things.

"Joel.."

"You're just a kid," he says softly. He's unharmed from the fight earlier, but he's been through just as much as you have in the past few hours.

"I'm not a fucking kid. Would you have done all those things with me if I was a kid?"

"You know what I mean. You're young, you don't know nothin' about life.. need someone your own age, someone who ain't gonna punch every man who looks at ya with judgmental eyes.. let's face it. I've hurt you by hurtin' others."

"Joel, I don't care about them."

"You're still a little girl at heart, y'know?" he murmurs, his voice taking on a vulnerability you haven't seen in him before. "When I got pulled away from the fight, you went straight to your daddy. I can't fault you for that. It's how it oughta be."

You shake your head. None of this feels real. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life," you whisper as tears trace down your cheeks.

He purposely keeps his eyes away from you, knowing he'll break if he doesn't put a stop to this soon. "I ain't blamin' ya for goin' to your dad instead of comin' to me, but it damn sure hurts, baby. The way ain't made clear for us yet. I can't say if it ever will be."

You grab hold of his hand but he slips away from your fingers in a soft, almost graceful move. "You promised you'd never let go of me again.." your voice is desperate, begging. "Joel, why are you doing this?"

"It's over," he says quietly.

Alone in the hotel room, Joel's side of the closet now bare, his toiletries gone, his side of the bed cold.

You've cried every tear in your body, cried so much you vomited. As punishment on yourself you refuse yourself the necessary water to feel better. If you had never spotted your dad or called out for him, you both could have ignored each other, and Joel would still be here. He would still love you. You don't deserve to feel better.

You comb through the drawers in search of anything that Tommy might have overlooked when he was packing, any little item that would give you an excuse to call him or see him again. You hold onto that tiny shred of hope like a dying ember.

You do a double take when you see an unfamiliar jewelry box among your things. Black velvet. It's not yours. Your heart palpitates at what it could be, yet a part of you already knows, is already in mourning for what was lost. You force yourself to be strong and open it.

Nestled within, on a bed of white satin, is an engagement ring.

dividers by @saradika-graphics & @enchanthings

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mushyposts · 10 months ago

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WOAH! THE CREW???? THE CREW FROM HIT FANFICTION NO THING DEFINES A MAN LIKE LOVE??? WOAH WOAH WOAH??? Anyway yes omg its them!!! This took me so long and im so tired but look at my ANGELS!

UM! Friendly reminder that I myself am not Inuit/Indigenous! I did research + had an Indigenous person helping me w the tattoos, but if theres anything wrong/disrespectful pls do let me know and I will fix it. All the tattoos r on a seperate layer so it'll be an easy fix and one i am more then happy to do. A few of the designs changed between this and my written description, so... Oops?? Especially Morqa. I got carried away ok.... ANYWAY I have some little notes abt their designs here and there so! Kaiqa: He used to have shorter bangs around his face but they annoyed him so he tried to let them grow out but that annoyed him so he would cut them again and then try to let them grow out and now he just has perpetual baby hairs that wont get any longer. Mikla: UM. Not much to say here. Isnt he pretty tho?? Buteq: SOMEHOW ENDED UP THE MOST MAJESTIC MAN EVER. HELLO?? The two beads on the right are for his nieces and the one on the left is for his sister! Neter: One time he got super cocky abt being 7 years older then Nitya which meant he was a better fighter and so Nitya was like "yeah?? ok bet." and then punched him and broke his nose and was like "hm where are those warrior reflexes?" so now Neter has a permanently bent nose. Sorqai: He got the scar thats through his beard in the same raid that cause Nitya and Konait (Kaiqas older brother) to die. Nitya died trying to get Konait and some other kids out of the mess, and Sorqai got injured trying to get to them to help. He's mostly numb on that side of his face due to nerve damage ! Causes him to lisp a bit, especially w the chipped tooth (which he got from tripping) Natai: He wears both his own and Nitya's necklaces their parents made them, and intends to only take of Nitya's and let it go into the ocean where he was buried when the war is over. His own way of keeping Nitya involved in the war effort, something that was really important to him. Kutai: Again, no real notes here but isnt he pretttyyy..... Kovak: Honestly, very likely one of my favourite character designs I've ever made. Im kind of obsessed with him. He doesnt wear his necklace from his parents because he wasnt on good terms with them at all while they were alive. He took it off before they died, and hasnt been able to bring himself to put it back on. he intends to give it to his kid when he gets back. Mori: UM! I dont have a lot of notes here. Mori has two kids ! Hence the three tattoos under their chin, I saw an inuit creator/source say that sometimes people will add lines as they have kids and I thought that was really lovely so yes!! Again im just. I think hes so pretty. Luqait: Im so sorry king I did u dirty posting this after that one chapter. Each one of the beads he wears is dedicated to someone he knew in the tribe who died, theres more not visible on the other side of the braids. I can say for 100% certainty theres one for Kya and Nitya. Saila: Saila was actually a design i struggled a lot with, but I think I got them to a point im happy with!!! They're a good amount intense, androgynous and also have that amber flash in their eyes. The amber comes from having Fire Nation somewhere in their ancestry, something I dont think will really come up in the fic, but a detail I think is good to know! Morqa: I changed Morqa's design the most, especially his hair! But I think he's ended up being a design I am most proud of. The piercings especially!! Eventually u will run out of space (that we can see ig??) king but today is not that day godbless.

OKAY! THERE WE GO... I HOPE EVERYONE LIKES THEM UM PLS BE NICE AND DONT REPOST AND IDK JUST.... I HOPE U LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO i know oc's in fics arent always peoples favourites but the reception of these guys has been like. Beyond mindblowing. Im so fucking excvited and happy everytime people in my comments talk about how much they love the characters i've created. Like.... The fact that people enjoy the OC's and not just for what the give to Zuko, but for what they give to each other and their own individual stories is so incredible to me. I hope u guys like this and I hope it helps u visualise them better!! : D

#mushy rambles #no thing defines a man like love fic #atla #avatar: tla #atla fanfics #avatar fic #atla fic

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ckret2 · 8 months ago

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I just realized the reason for Ford's questions in chapter 23, and it is that Bill did not want to admit that the reason why the portal had to be so powerful and destructive to bring Bill to reality, is because the portal is designed to allow him literal passage to the center of existence, plus it makes me laugh that Ford does not know that Bill is the center not only of his life but of everyone else's, figuratively and literally.

I got three asks about the same topic a few minutes apart so I'm assuming they're connected.

"why the portal had to be so powerful and destructive to bring Bill to reality, is because the portal is designed to allow him literal passage to the center of existence" - Nope! Sorry anon, I appreciate the deep thinking, but I'm afraid you read too much into this one.

Ford already knows that the interdimensional portal opens into the Nightmare Realm (a.k.a. Dimension Zero), which Ford himself defines in Journal 3 as "the dimension between all dimensions." So he already knows the portal's default exit point opens at the center of reality; that's not a twist, that's canon info available to both the audience and to Ford.

Once you get a portal that can open in the center of reality, it's not much harder to make it open in the center of the center of reality—like how if you invented a rocket that could carry you from Mars to Texas, it wouldn't be that much harder to get it to Dallas.

If Ford asked "why did you need to get from Mars to Texas riding a missile powerful enough to blow up half of North America rather than any other rocket design?" and Bill said "because I really needed it to hit Dallas exactly because I'm currently in City Hall and can't leave" it wouldn't answer Ford's question at all. So build a different rocket that can land in Dallas, jeez.

Plus, it's pretty easy to open portals to Dimension Zero. Every single Henchmaniac made their way there somehow. Ford found an exit wormhole within minutes of entering the Nightmare Realm (which means he was still pretty physically close to Bill—so, still pretty physically close to the center of D0.) And consider the tiny rifts left behind after Weirdmageddon; consider the Bottomless Pit, which has one exit in D0 that's close enough to Bill that in J3 Bill complains about receiving some of Ford's junk through it. With TBOB, we now also know that something as simple as nuclear testing (well, simple on a cosmic scale) can accidentally open a temporary rift from Earth to Bill's location.

There's plenty of cheap, easy, and safer portals & wormholes & the like open and available near the location of the center of existence. It's just that Bill can't go through them.

But—you're in the neighborhood of the true reason. Bill being defined as coordinate point 0,0,0 of Dimension Zero is a symptom of the problem—not the problem itself.

Anonymous asked: At some point Ford will discover that Bill is the center of existence or it will be information that is always hidden, although I am not really sure how it could affect him, besides an attack of paranoia when he starts to fear the implications of Bill no longer being the center or even worse that he continues to be (and that the center is not in his position) perhaps Bill could take advantage of this.

I haven't thought about whether he'll discover that specifically, because it's not really "hidden" because it's not really a secret that's being kept. The center of existence is only a location. I suppose there's no reason he can't, but... it's not something I've put thought into yet because it's not something that narratively matters lmao. There's more important things to discover about Bill.

And at the moment, Bill is very demonstrably not at the center of existence, because the center of existence is over there in Dimension Zero and Bill's over here in Dimension 46'\. In fact, Bill hasn't been at the center of existence since Weirdmageddon—he passed through the rift to Earth, then went to the Axolotl's tank, then to Theraprism, then back to Earth.

But the info could come up casually in conversation at some point. ("I miss being the center of the universe." "It must be so terrible, not having everyone around you do everything you say." "No, literally, I used to be physically at the center of Dimension Zero." "Huh. So that's where you got your ego." "Hey.")

At this point, it seems more like something he'd happen to let drop to Mabel than to Ford. He's told Mabel about everything from shape genetics to Euclidean dance music to his mother's history as a model. Meanwhile he won't even admit to Ford that he can make soda cans float while making a soda can float.

If Ford does find out, he'd be more likely to go "well, why was Bill at the center? Was he just hanging out there or was there something significant to it?" than he would be to immediately assume that, for some reason, Bill MUST be the center.

Anonymous asked: Scenario that will never happen Dipper finds out that Bill is the center, which drives him crazy that no one from outside (the gods) are going to do anything in case his dimension suffers consequences by having the center of existence sleeping on the floor, this paranoia is fueled when he remembers what Bill told him about the axolotl cutting a timeline which serves as an excuse for him to become more alarmed by their indifference to what happens to his dimension.

No yeah that tracks, Dipper would invent a crisis around a non-existent problem he created in his head.

(Fun fact though: the gods aren't indifferent. Some of this will be in future chapters and some of this will only be seen when I finish editing ch 51 for TBOB-compatibility—but the Axolotl is working very hard to keep Bill safe, and just about everyone else really, really wants Bill back in Theraprism—or worse.)

#(remind me in 5ish weeks when the axolotl arc is over—)#(—once enough info has been revealed that people start going 'WAIT A MINUTE. DOES THAT MEAN...'—)#(—to reblog this post with a dramatic one liner)#(i even positioned the read more to facilitate the future dramatic one liner)#anonymous #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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sallowedbethyname · 5 months ago

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to be home, to be loved ch.2

Chapter 2: a home that was built upon grief

excerpt:

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you. Really, I couldn't thank you enough. I think I owe you my life.”

A soft laugh fell from your lips. You shook your head.

“No, don't do that,” you gently reprimanded him. “What's important is that you live a better, safer life, Sebastian. If not for me, then for Ominis. For Anne.”

He was stunned at your choice of words. You watched as a million emotions flashed in his dark eyes.

“I will. I'm doing that now. You can see that, can't you?”

word count: 8.5k

tags: found family, friends to lovers, eventual smut, child abuse

note: i've made a sebastian sallow x mc playlist filled with songs that sets the tone for this fic! check it out here if you want!

chapter 1, chapter 3

read on ao3

Professor Fig’s house was the same as you left it a year ago. Neat and tidy, despite the absurd amount of tomes and magical artefacts that seemed to cover every surface. Warm and welcoming, as almost every room seemed to smell like cinnamon and tea. Comforting, as you could almost feel traces of your mentor even though he was long gone.

You stood in the foyer, taking in the sight. Suddenly, you could remember everything so vividly. The day Fig brought you to this house after taking you out of the orphanage, how you still had a hard time believing that magic truly existed. The fear and surprise you felt when you first saw Hobbs. The feel of Fig’s wand in your hand — foreign, like it didn't belong, yet you managed to cast your first magic.

“It's… bizarre, isn't it? Death,” you softly spoke. “One minute they're there, the next, they're not. Yet the world still retains traces of their lives. The clothes they wore, the books they loved to read. Makes it hard to accept their passing, don't you think? It's so easy to believe they never really left. That they'd return.”

Sebastian stared at you — had been since the first time you walked through the door. He was silent for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “It is.”

Somehow, his voice snapped you from your stupor. Quickly, you turned to face him, panic etched all over your face.

“Sebastian, I'm sorry, I—”

“Hey, it's okay, you don't have to apologize,” he said, eyes widening in surprise. “You are grieving, so you needn't worry too much about me.”

You forced yourself to smile. Took a deep breath. Nervously straightening your coat.

“Thank you,” you said in a thick voice. “I'm alright now.”

If Sebastian could see through your lie, he had the decency not to point it out. For that, you were grateful. Taking a few deep breaths, you walked deeper into the house, him following quietly behind you.

Fig’s living room came into view, dominated by dark blue and wooden accents. You briefly wondered if he used to be a Ravenclaw and it dawned on you that you had never once thought to ask him. Once again, your heart got swallowed up by grief, bitter from your own helplessness.

“Seems empty, this house,” Sebastian thankfully spoke, giving you something to focus your attention on. “You said there’s going to be a house-elf?”

“Yes, he’s a bit older than the other house-elves I met though,” you explained. “Perhaps only Deek was older than him.”

“Deek?”

You blinked, realizing you had never once taken Sebastian, or any of your friends, into the Room of Requirement. “A house-elf friend of mine. When we get back to Hogwarts, perhaps I’ll take you to meet him.”

“Should’ve introduced us when you took us into the kitchen,” he replied, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, he’s not usually in the kitchen. He’s… somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else,” he repeated, curiosity shining in his eyes. “Is this another secret of yours I'm aware of?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps.”

A snort. “Alright, then. I’ll hold on to your word for it,” he grinned. “So Fig’s elf. Where do you think they might be?”

“I’m not sure..” you murmured as you looked around the room, even taking a peek at the empty, spotless kitchen the house-elf usually frequented. “Hobbs? Hobbs, are you in here?” you decided to call out.

Almost immediately, you could feel a strong gust of wind and a loud crack echoing throughout the house. A house-elf wearing a pleated robe had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the living room. Its eyes, almost the size of a teacup plate, were staring at you in surprise.

“Missus!” Hobbs croaked with a loud, hoarse voice. “Missus is here.”

You smiled. “Hello, Hobbs. How have you been?”

The house-elf blinked rapidly before tears welled up in his eyes. The next moment, he wailed.

“Oh, Missus! Please forgive Hobbs for not welcoming Missus and her friend! Hobbs was cleaning Master Fig’s room… Hobbs knows Master is no longer… no longer here, but Hobbs simply cannot leave it be. Poor Master Fig, Hobbs misses—”

Neither you nor Sebastian could understand the rest of Hobb’s sentence because the house-elf had cried so hard he had lost the ability to speak. You couldn't take it anymore. Without thinking, you rushed forward and hugged the elf’s frail body.

“I know, I know,” you said. Stammering. Still trying hard to contain your tears. “I'm sorry, Hobbs, I missed him, too.”

The house-elf continued to cry, smearing his snot and tears all over your shoulder but you couldn't care less. You knew he had served Fig for a long, long time, and your mentor had been nothing but kind to him.

“Poor Master Fig… first it was Missus Miriam and now Master…”

Behind you, Sebastian was standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Your shirt had gotten so wet but pointing it out would no doubt be a dick move given the moment. So he decided to slip away to the kitchen.

You didn't notice that Sebastian was no longer in the room with you. Not when you were so focused on not allowing yourself to cry. You could do it later, you thought, when you were alone and nobody could see you.

For now, you must comfort Hobbs.

“Hey, Hobbs, it's okay,” you softly said, rubbing his back. “I'm here now… you won't be alone anymore.”

“Hobbs knows,” the house-elf said as he rubbed his eyes with the hem of his plaid robe. “A good witch lady came here a few weeks ago. The deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. She told… she told Hobbs what happened to M- Master Fig and that Missus is now Hobb's… Hobb's master…”

“Professor Weasley,” you said, nodding. “Yes, she's a good witch, Hobbs. A very good witch.”

The house-elf continued to cry. “Hobbs has been grieving. T- The last time the Master was here, he t- told Hobbs that he would b- bring Missus here to visit, b- but… but Master—”

“I know,” a treacherous tear finally rolled down your cheek, rebelling against your desperate attempt. You immediately looked up and took a deep breath, exerting any strength and willpower in you to stop yourself from crying. “I know… I miss him, too, Hobbs.”

For a while, the two of you sat on the living room floor, huddled together. The house-elf was still sobbing, though not as hysterical as before. You felt numb. You could feel guilt sinking its teeth into your limbs as you recalled your mentor's death, scrutinizing every small detail, pinpointing moments where you should have been able to save him.

Sebastian walked in a few moments later and you hurriedly wiped away any traces of tears from your face. He brought two cups of tea with him and carefully placed them on the coffee table.

“Warm tea,” he said. “My… mother used to brew one for me and Anne whenever we were feeling sad.”

You nodded, giving him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Awkwardly, Sebastian returned your smile and took a step back, giving you space. You gently pat Hobbs’ back.

“You've been crying a lot, Hobbs. Here, have some tea. My friend Sebastian made it for you.”

“Oh,” he gasped. Sebastian's kind gesture snapped him out of his misery. The elf looked at Sebastian timidly. “Thank you, Missus, kind sir, Hobbs is sorry he failed to give you a proper welcome.”

“It's alright, Hobbs, you don't need to apologize,” Sebastian replied, sounding almost bashful.

For a moment, a soothing silence fell over the room as you and Hobbs drank Sebastian's tea. It was just the right amount of sweetness, and the heat did wonders for warming your chest and delicately calming your frayed nerves. You could taste a hint of mint, too, and you wondered if he added it using magic.

Sebastian took his time marvelling at your mentor's living room. Brown eyes tracing over every object and tome in wonder. You wondered if he could decipher their usage if he stared hard enough. Suddenly, he let out a gasp. Freckled hands grabbed a thick, leather-bound book from the top of the fireplace.

“I can't believe this! I can't believe Fig had this in his house!” he exclaimed with an excitement akin to a kid discovering a hidden treasure.

“What is it?”

He held out the book to you, grinning from ear to ear. The wording on the book cover was fading, but you could still read it:

Uncovering the Secrets of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades

“This is one of the rarest books about the history of magic. The only time I saw it was in the Restricted Section!”

“Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades?” you frowned. These names weren't foreign to your ears. “The Greek Gods?”

“Or extremely powerful wizards of the past,” he clarified, a conspiratorial smile blooming on his lips. “There were rumours that the gods the people of Ancient Greece worshipped weren't exactly gods. Rather, they were wizards and witches. It had some merits, don't you think? Zeus could conjure lightning through magic—perhaps a bit like your power… and Aphrodite may be extremely irresistible because she developed a potent love spell, some food for thought.”

“Huh, and why would Hogwarts put the book in the Restricted Section?”

The smile on Sebastian's face disappeared. “Is that a real question? Zeus and his promiscuity? The creation of the Minotaur?”

You paused, remembering all the concerning things you had read about the gods of Ancient Greece. “Ah… not the best book to be read by first-graders, isn't it?”

“Definitely not,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Still, I'm surprised Fig could get his hands on this. Like I said, this book is extremely rare.”

Seeing the wonder in his eyes comforted you, somehow—so much so that you didn't realize you had been smiling.

“Professor Fig told me he used to travel a lot with his wife before he joined Hogwarts. Most of the objects you see here are memorabilia from their adventures.”

“Huh,” Sebastian hummed as he picked up a glass box which contained a large scale. It had such a pretty colour. Dark purple, but it reflected the light just like how a galaxy should. Holographic and mesmerizing.

“That was a mermaid scale, gifted to his wife when she saved the mermaid from some dark wizards.”

“A mermaid scale, a rare book,” he cast his glance around the room one more time, before meeting your eyes. “I may not know much about your mentor, but it seemed like he had lived a wonderful life, didn't he? Seeing the world, exploring every secret it had to offer…”

You let out a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you're right,” you smiled, remembering the serene look on Professor Fig's face when he drew his last breath, Miriam's wand secured in his hand. “I suppose it is only right that we celebrate his life.”

Once you had finished your tea and Hobbs began to feel better, he immediately fussed over you and Sebastian. He didn't seem to mind or look surprised when you told him of the boy's long-term stay in this house, though you wondered if it was because Hobbs was simply too nice to comment on it.

“Today has been an awfully long day, isn’t it,” Sebastian muttered as the two of you sat in the dining room, stomachs full and content from roasted chicken expertly made by Hobbs.

You glanced outside the window, at the view of the night sky and cheddar tree covering the horizon.

“Goodness, it’s so late, isn’t it? We should get some rest,” you said, pushing yourself off your seat. “Oh, which room would you like to stay in? There are two on the second floor, one’s more spacious but it’s facing the east so… if you’re not an early riser, the sunlight will be a bit of a bother in the morning. The other one’s smaller but it’s got a nice sunset view.”

“The smaller one,” he said without missing a beat. Let’s leave the bigger room for Ominis; he deserved it. When he stayed over in Feldcroft, we either slept in the same bed or I slept on the couch. The first time we had a sleepover, he told us he had a good sleep, but I could sense him twisting and turning the entire night.”

“I can imagine,” you laughed. “Come on, then, let me show you your room.”

You took Sebastian up the stairs to the second floor, to the room on one corner of the hallway, next to the library. The door opened with a faint creak and the smell of wood and tea greeted you. The room itself was rather cosy, with striped, dark blue wallpaper. There was a single bed in one corner of the room, followed by a bedside table and a desk. On the other corner of the room stood a wooden wardrobe and a standing mirror.

“Ah, isn't this a nice room?”

Sebastian seemed satisfied with his choice and you immediately felt a sense of relief. Hobbs seemed to know where the new guest chose to sleep, because the next moment, Sebastian's belongings started to materialize next to the wardrobe.

The boy walked inside, taking a closer look at the interior, before turning to look at you.

“Where will you be sleeping?”

“Downstairs, it's in the hallway next to the living room.”

“Ah,” he muttered, appearing to be strangely flustered. Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, see you tomorrow?”

“Right. See you tomorrow. If you need anything, just call Hobbs. Or me. I'm a light sleeper so… yeah,” you lamely explained. Faltering, as you realized you had been rambling. You shook your head. “Well… I better get going.”

“Wait!”

Sebastian's voice caused you to halt. You looked back at him, unsure. The boy himself seemed to mirror your reflection, mouth opening without any words coming out. In the end, he sighed and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “For giving me a place to stay. Good night, ace.”

Your heart leapt in your chest.

“Good night, Sebastian.”

Much to your dismay, sleep seemed to be adamant to evade you that night. You had been lying on your bed for over an hour now, sprawled in an ungraceful position, staring at the ceiling.

Every time you close your eyes, you see your mentor's face. Nightmares didn't come often, but returning to Fig's house evoked a deeper sense of grief inside you. Even more than you expected. Hobbs had cried so much, the poor elf. When you remembered him, guilt flared inside your chest like a dry bush caught fire. Incendio swallowing a forest.

He could've survived, you thought to yourself. I could've saved him.

Because you really could, couldn't you? If you had been faster or stronger. Perhaps a single Bombarda would have destroyed that boulder to pieces. Or your Ancient Magic! You could've done something.

You could feel your throat constricting. Air trying to claw its way into your lungs. A tightness in your chest that felt so real you could've sworn there was a real wound there. With a sharp inhale, you sat up. Kicked the blanket off of you before getting out of the room. Desperate to take your mind off of your grief and guilt.

The house was deathly quiet. Not even a faint snoring could be heard. In that silence, your own rapid breath sounded so loud. You wiped your face with your hands and tucked your hair behind your ears. Still wide awake. Aimlessly, you padded towards the kitchen. Perhaps tea would help, so you decided to make yourself a cup.

You moved like you were a mindless Inferi under a spell, every action made was more from muscle memory rather than a conscious effort from your brain. Yet after a while, the mundane actions seemed to help. You found consciousness seeping back to you as you lit the fire to boil water. Placing trembling hands on the kitchen counter, you closed your eyes and took a deep, grounding breath. Once, twice, thrice.

“Seems like someone's unable to sleep.”

Sebastian's voice caused you to flinch. With a soft gasp, you turned around and found him leaning against the kitchen archway, still in his pyjamas, looking at you in amusement.

“Merlin's pants, you surprised me,” you sighed. “And no, I couldn't, but it seemed like you couldn't either.”

“Merlin’s pants? That's new,” he chuckled. “And you're right. I can't sleep either. What are you making?”

“Tea. Want some?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” he said in a soft voice as he approached you. “So, what's bothering you?”

You paused, linking your fingers together. “...Grief,” you answered. “What about you?”

Sebastian let out a soft sigh. “Grief.”

Warm brown eyes met yours in the dark of night. You should look away, you knew, but they were beautiful, his eyes, shining like a dark lake under the moonlight. Realizing your treacherous thought, you took a deep breath. Your body moved on its own accord, shifting awkwardly to the right, widening the distance between you and him.

“Anne?”

You didn’t dare ask about Solomon. Wouldn’t even dare to wonder if he grieved his rage-filled uncle.

“Mhm,” he replied, head hanging low. “Do you think she’s okay, wherever she is?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Truthfully, you didn’t know how to answer his question, but you’d be damned before you allow him to slip again.

“You know, when Professor Fig first taught me about the curses in the magical world, I asked him if these curses would be broken should the caster die.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. Hopeful.

“And?”

“He said it depends on the curse. Some could be broken. Some stayed the same. But some could become weaker. I’d like to believe that… if Anne’s curse continues to persist, it would at least be weakened after Rookwood’s death.”

“I’ll hold on to that hope,” Sebastian whispered. “Whether it’s broken or not, she should be… marginally okay right now, isn’t she? I mean… even if she couldn’t forgive me, she… she would’ve let me know if she’s not okay, wouldn’t she?”

“Of course,” you answered. You couldn’t resist it, you placed your hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, Sebastian, she would’ve let you know.”

The brown-haired boy nodded. Took a deep breath before shaking his head. Clarity made its way back into his gaze.

“You’re right. She wouldn’t have kept such important information a secret from me, right? If she still doesn’t want to contact me, then… at least Ominis.”

“Yeah…”

Right at that moment, your kettle began to whistle. You moved to pick it up, but Sebastian was quicker, turning off the stove and picking the kettle up. He told you he got this so you grabbed two cups from one of the shelves.

“I could do it myself, you know.”

“But it’s hot.”

You stilled. Treacherous heart waiting with bated breath. “Has that ever stopped me?”

“No,” he looked up, pushing one of the filled cups towards you. “But come on, we’re on a break and you’ve had a busy year.”

You wanted to tell him that has nothing to do with the tea, but you relented. “Come on, let’s go to the living room, it’s too cold here,” you said.

“Speaking of which, you wouldn’t mind if I read some of Fig’s books, would you?” Sebastian said, looking much better than he did a few minutes ago.

“Eager to get your hands on the Uncovering the Secrets of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, are you?” you said with a teasing smile. “I don’t mind. Although I’d rather none of us go into Fig and Miriam’s room and their study�� I’d like to preserve everything there as best as I could.”

“Duly noted.”

Quietly, the two of you walked into the living room and turned on the lights. With a soft ‘Incendio’, Sebastian lit up the fireplace, spreading much-needed warmth into the space. You sat on the nearest sofa, taking a sip of the tea and letting the heat cauterize the hurt that had been flaring in your chest.

“Oh, Merlin's beard, I can't believe this,” Sebastian muttered in awe.

The boy was standing in front of one of the shelves with a book spread open in his hands. He looked at you with an excited grin.

“The author of this book was talking about his time exploring Athens and stated that there were traces of magic in the spot where the Statue of Zeus used to stand,” he explained in excitement.

“Mm, so it was destroyed by magic.”

“Destroyed or hidden away?” he answered in excitement. With large steps, he crossed the room and sat next to you, placing the book on his thigh so you could read it. His finger was pointing at a text saying Possible Locations For the Entrance to Tartarus.

“Take a look at this part. This guy theorized that the entrance to Tartarus was hidden in a lake somewhere in a region called Lerna in Greece. The hydra was said to guard the lake and some believed that this was where Hades abducted Persephone!”

He got your full attention.

“Oh, I love the tale of Hades and Persephone,” you said with a sigh.

Sebastian’s eyes were on you. “You know, some people believed that Hades didn’t actually kidnap Persephone.”

Blinking rapidly, you looked up at him in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“Well, some said that Hades and Persephone started out as friends after Hades sought her from the Underworld. As time passed, they fell in love and decided to elope, with Penelope following Hades and eating the pomegranate seed which bound her to the Underworld, so that they would never be separated.”

You listened to his explanation with rapt attention. You never even entertained such a crazy idea before, not when the books you read told you the same thing: that the god of death tricked and kidnapped the Greek goddess.

Somehow though… you found yourself not minding this version at all.

“I like it. I think I like this version better.”

Sebastian looked perplexed. “Because it’s less macabre?”

“Hmm, no, not that,” you paused, pondering the story and formulating words inside your head. “This one felt… purer. Hades was always depicted as this cold deity and people fear him because he’s the God of Death, yet Persephone didn’t seem to mind. In your version, it sounded to me as if she loved him for who he is, undeterred by the darkness and even embraced it, as she became the Queen of the Underworld in the end.”

“Oh…” Sebastian murmured, lips parting open as he looked at you with what seemed to be amazement and surprise, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You smiled and tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear.

“What about you? Are there any Greek mythology that you liked?”

The boy blinked. Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Uh…” he averted his gaze and straightened his back. “I think… Odysseus?”

“Ahh, the cunning and intelligent Odysseus. The one who defeated Cyclops, angered Poseidon, and the reason why the Greeks managed to win the Trojan War,” you laughed to yourself. “Very fitting, actually.”

“You make it seem like I’m a warmongering wretch.”

“I’m not! But those are the things Odysseus is known for, no? Well, aside from leaving his wife Penelope for 20 years and still testing her even though she had shown unwavering loyalty to him.”

“Heh, yeah. Well, guessing he’s not too smart when it comes to love, isn’t he?”

“Definitely not,” you nodded. “I’d be so angry if I were Penelope.”

Sebastian’s expression softened. The corner of his lips curled into a crooked smile. “Yeah, I can see why. But anyway, to stop you from teasing me, there’s another Greek mythology that I really like.”

“Oh? Do tell, Sebastian.”

This time, Sebastian averted his gaze, as if finding his toes to be much more interesting than anything else in the room.

“Orpheus and Eurydice,” he answered. “The man whose determination and love could soften the hearts of the King and Queen of the Underworld that they granted him one thing that had never occurred in mankind’s history before: to bring someone back from the dead.”

You hummed. “All he had to do was not turn back.”

“And he almost made it!” Sebastian said with wide eyes, wonder dripping in his tone. “No, he made it! Just one more step before Eurydice could leave the Underworld. But in his eagerness to be reunited with her, he looked back, forgetting that Eurydice had not yet crossed into the overworld and… because of that, she vanished for the second time. Forever.”

There was something in the way he spoke that moved you and enabled you to mourn for the doomed lovers in ways you never had felt before.

“I didn’t expect you would pick such a sad tragedy,” you said with a voice no louder than a whisper.

Sebastian rubbed the tip of his nose. “I don’t know. Something about it resonated with me, I suppose. Failing at the very last moment. Losing someone you cared about because of your own foolishness.”

“Do you think Orpheus failed because he was foolish?”

“...Yes.”

You hummed. “Perhaps he was. But I remember reading this book. It was a retelling of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, so it wasn’t meant to be true to the source at all. Yet the author did a spectacular job of exploring their love for each other. Basically, the author said… perhaps Orpheus wasn’t to be blamed for looking back. He did that because he loved her. He loved her so dearly, so how could he not look back?”

Once again, Sebastian looked as if he was at a loss of words. He shifted in his seat, one hand rubbing the back of his head. You wondered if it was because of the dim lighting of the room or because of the glow from the fireplace, but his cheeks seemed to be a bit pinker.

“Mistakes that were made because you love someone, huh?”

“Yes, I guess you can say that.”

“Hm,” he smiled, nodding to himself. “I suppose that's one way to look at it. A gentler way. I must say, though, I didn't expect you to be such a romantic, ace.”

You rolled your eyes and let out an undignified snort. “If you tease me about this, Sebastian, I swear—”

“I won't tease you! Who do you think I am?” he retorted, pretending to be offended by your words. “Your secret is safe with me, so relax.”

“You better keep your word or you'll wake up with vines growing out of your nose!”

Sebastian winced. “It's that another one of your ancient magic tricks? I thought being transformed into a chicken was the worst.”

“No, it's a stupid spell I learned from Garreth.”

“Why is he teaching you spells? I thought he was busy concocting another death potion.”

“It was an exchange,” you explained. “I help him gather ingredients, he teaches me new spells or shows me another one of Hogwarts' secret passages.”

“Pretty sure you can find half, if not all, of those passages on your own, considering how much time you spent exploring.”

“True, but sometimes I like having someone show me the way.”

Sebastian snorted. “You, my friend, are missing the point of secret passages. The most exciting thing about a secret is unravelling them.”

“Not everything needs to be trials and tribulations,” you laughed, before pushing yourself up and walking towards the bookshelf. “Now, let's see if I can find something as interesting as your book.”

“I surely hope you can, more for me to read!”

You run your fingers through the rows of book spines before you before stopping on a title that caught your eye.

“Ah, History of the Pure Blood Families of Great Britain,” you read aloud.

“That is the most boring title I've ever heard. You can just ask Ominis about the pure-blood families if you're so curious about them.”

“Well, I grew up in the muggle world so I knew nothing about you wizards strange blood types,” you said as you picked the book up. “I’ll read this one.”

Sebastian gave you an exasperated look that turned into a chuckle when you plopped down beside him with a bright grin, as if utterly proud of your choice. Soon, a comfortable silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of pages being turned.

Ten minutes into the book and, with a heavy heart, you had to admit that Sebastian was right. The book was indescribably boring. So boring that it should've been a crime. It talked about the pure-blood families in flowery words while putting down half-bloods and muggles. However, curiosity pushed you to continue reading, even if you had to repeat the same paragraph over and over again to understand what it meant.

Still, the room was warm and you could smell the faint scent of pine needles and caramel in the air. When you tilted your head towards Sebastian, the scent grew stronger. You breathed it in. It was familiar and reassuring. Slowly, the words on the pages began to blur and, before you could stop yourself, you dozed off.

“Oh, look, there's a chapter about the Minotaur,” Sebastian said, blissfully unaware that you've drifted off to sleep. When you failed to give him an answer, he turned and found you fast asleep, head hanging low in an awkward position that would surely give you a pesky headache in the morning.

Soft smile bloomed on rosy lips. Sebastian let out a soft chuckle.

“Alright, then, let's get you to bed.”

The distant, yet jubilant chirping of birds was what woke you up the next morning. The delightful sound seeped into your mind and slowly roused your consciousness. When you opened your eyes, you were surprised to find yourself on the living room sofa with a warm, wool blanket covering your body. Blinking drowsily, you found Sebastian on the sofa right across you, still fast asleep, body curling into a fetal position, with half of his blanket having already slipped to the floor.

‘Can’t imagine what Ominis would say if he knew what happened,’ you thought to yourself, half from amusement, half from embarrassment.

Still, sleeping Sebastian was quite the sight. He looked so peaceful. You usually saw him sporting a smug, teasing smirk or with his eyebrows furrowed in indignation when things did not go his way or with a downcast expression on his face. Presently, though, he looked as if whatever burden that had been chasing him during the day failed to capture him while he slept.

“Missus, Hobbs is sorry for bothering you, but… is there anything you want for breakfast?” Hobbs peeked his head from the kitchen, speaking in a high-pitched whisper as if he could wake an entire village if he was louder.

“Hmm, pancakes sound nice. But wait there, Hobbs, I'll have a look at what we have,” you said.

“Oh, very well.”

You stretched away the remaining drowsiness on your body like a cat before standing up and adjusting Sebastian's blanket so it properly covered his body. Stifling a yawn, you headed to the kitchen, where Hobbs was already waiting.

“We have bread and butter, some bacon and egg… Hobbs can also make Missus and her friend pancakes if you like.”

You frowned. It would be nice if Sebastian could have what he liked for breakfast, but then you realized you didn't know his favourite food. Or drink.

“Um… I suppose we can settle with the pancakes?”

The house-elf nodded vigorously, ears flapping around his head. “Hobbs will do that right away.”

“I'll help.”

“But Missus—”

“I wanted to, Hobbs. Back at my old place, we would take turns cooking meals for the children in the orphanage, so I know a thing or two about cooking,” you grinned at him. “It may not be the best but it's at least decent.”

“Very well,” Hobbs said, though he still looked slightly unsure.

You two worked quickly though you ended up contributing little because Hobbs was just too good at what he did. You had never seen a pancake so round before, so unlike the crooked ones you used to make.

“You have to teach me how to make such a round pancake one day, Hobbs.”

Hobbs looked at you, bewildered. “Hobbs doesn't mind but Hobbs actually did it with magic.”

“Oh, it's too bad house-elf and humans have different magic. I'd love to learn a spell that can make me cook the roundest pancakes.”

“Maybe there is a spell for that! Who knows, wizardkinds are resourceful with their magic.”

Soon enough, the sweet smell of pancakes, maple syrup, and berries filled the house, making your mouth water. Sebastian peeked into the living room not long after.

“Seems like someone has been busy! You should've woken me up, I would love to help.”

He looked absolutely adorable with his hair all tousled up and messy. You let out a chuckle.

“Was worried I was going to be a bad host if I disturbed my guest’s sleep. But thanks for letting me know. Tomorrow, Hobbs and I are definitely going to enlist your help,” you said as you sprinkled berries on top of your pancakes.

“Good. I'm actually quite good at cooking, you know,” Sebastian replied, swiftly grabbing the plates of pancakes and setting them on the table.

A teasing reply had been sitting on the tip of your tongue, but part of you worried you might say the wrong thing. You always did, whenever it came to his family and what happened just a few weeks ago, before your fifth year at Hogwarts ended.

You decided to go for the safest answer. “Had a lot of practice?”

“Ominis is a disaster in the kitchen—don’t tell him I said that, Anne was slightly better than me but after she got cursed… well, I try doing most of the house chores whenever I can.”

He mentioned nothing of Solomon. You knew better than to ask.

“Alright, breakfast is done. There are three plates so I assume Hobbs will be eating with us?” Sebastian asked once he was done setting the table.

“Yes! We used to have meals together with Professor Fig, don't we, Hobbs?” you kindly asked the house-elf.

“Hobbs had a hard time accepting it at first. Most wizardkinds thought sharing a meal with house-elves is scandalous and dirty,” Hobbs explained. “But Master was very kind towards Hobbs, and now Missus, too.”

Sebastian caught your eyes and grinned. “Alright, let's have breakfast!”

Days in your mentor’s home seemed to stretch longer than usual. After breakfast, you took your time getting ready before inspecting the house. Hobbs had been cleaning every room thoroughly, but nobody knew what to do with Fig's personal belongings.

“I should probably give them a look or tidy them up, I know,” you said, while you and Sebastian sat on the backyard porch, watching bees and butterflies swirling around Miriam’s knotgrass bush.

“But you can't do it,” Sebastian finished.

“I can't. Not yet, at least,” you sighed.

Each item held a memory. Or, at the very least, the expectation that the owner will return and use it. It was an uncomfortable feeling and you weren't exactly keen on facing it.

“Well, then, we should probably put a pin on that plan for now,” Sebastian said with a knowing look. “You know, I don't often go to this part of London. Where should one go for sightseeing?”

You found yourself smiling. “Is this your attempt to get me out of the house even though we've only been here for a day?”

“Perhaps. What do you say?”

“Well, first of all, don’t get your hopes up because there isn't much to see here. There's a forest to the south and if we head north, we'll find some markets and shops and… that's it, honestly. They do sell great toffees and pastries, though.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Certainly, it’s much better than Feldcroft.”

“Well… it is livelier.”

The two of you broke into a peal of laughter and the gentle wind carried your voices to the edges of the garden. Smiling, you pushed yourself up, dusted your trousers, and grinned at him.

“Alright, let's go.”

Professor Fig’s house was located in a wizarding neighbourhood, so you didn't have too much difficulty in finding other wizards and magical items. The market you and Sebastian were heading to was just fifteen minutes walk away and it was pretty much a winding, cobbled street, lined by shops, taverns, and housing. Still, it was lively. The air smelled like toffees and freshly baked bread, while the townsfolk often stopped to chat with one another.

“This is no Hogsmeade, but…”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian snickered. “This place looks lively. A lot livelier than Feldcroft, that's for sure. Come on, show me where you usually go.”

First, you took him to the local candy shop, Cat’s Tail, where the two of you bought boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Sugar Quills, and Caramel Cobwebs.

“You know, I've always known you as a very courageous and daring person. Coming from a Gryffindor, this should be high praise, don't you think?” you told Sebastian as you led him through a stall full of candies.

The boy laughed, brown eyes fixed solely on you as if no amount of sweets could steal his attention.

“I'd argue that bravery isn't a trait solely reserved for Gryffindors, but go on.”

You showed him a basket full of Cockroach Clusters. “Go on, buy this and have a bite!”

“Hah, I knew you were up to no good!”

You were horrified to see him buy five of the disgusting-looking sweets and eat them all in front of you.

“While I appreciate your efforts in making our excursion more… entertaining, I need to remind you that I grew up with a twin sister who’s even more mischievous than I am. Cockroach Clusters were nothing to me, ace,” Sebastian explained with a triumphant smile as the two of you walked out of Cat’s Tail.

“That is unfair. I only knew wizards regularly eat cockroach-shaped sweets last year.”

“Aw, chin up, you still have much to learn, my charge.”

Rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk, you grabbed his elbow and pulled him towards a smaller one that strayed from the main street.

“You know how I spent most of my life in a Muggle orphanage?” you asked, turning at him.

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, not every kid was sweet and friendly. Some of them were heinous, to say the least. I thought I had seen how mischievous or obnoxious children can be in that place, but then I went to Hogwarts, I met Garreth and you—”

“You think Garreth belonged in the same league as me? I should be a few levels above him, ace,” he snorted.

You winced. “Well, you’re not wrong, but that’s beside the point. My point is, I thought the kids at my orphanage were the pinnacle of mischief. That is until I met you and now I thought you’re the pinnacle of mischief—”

“High praise.”

“—But you just said that Anne is even more mischievous than you? I can’t believe it. I think I’m having a culture shock.”

“Surprised by the wizardkinds’ mischief, aren’t you?” he grinned. “Perhaps one day I shall tell you about our misadventures.”

“Uh oh, why does that intimidate me somehow.”

“A Gryffindor feeling intimidated? How uncommon.”

“Don’t.”

You stopped in front of a shop with purple panels and golden signage saying ‘Herta’s Vault of Curiosities’. It looked fairly humble at a glance until you saw the assortments of magical trinkets and items displayed on the window — a dragon scale armour, a skull embedded with emeralds and rubies, a set of daggers made of obsidian, and more.

Sebastian was looking at all of these items in awe. “What is this place?”

“A magical antique shop,” you grinned at him. “Herta’s the owner. Fig told me she used to be an esteemed professor in France and, after retiring, she travelled the world to collect magical artefacts. It was the first place I visited after I got here and it stunned me.”

“Well, right now, it’s stunned me, too.”

“When I first found this shop I was so amazed… I mean, all I knew was the walls of my orphanage. The children, the caretakers… I sort of had an imagination of what the outside world would be but… never this. Never magic.”

Sebastian was listening to you with rapt attention as if imagining the vastly different childhood you had.

“And now, you’ve become the hero of the wizarding world.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I know, what a twist, isn’t it? Anyway, let’s get inside.”

The shop was the same as you left it. It smelled of herbs and old books, and every item seemed to call out to you. Sebastian, on the other hand, looked like he was Alice and he had stepped into Wonderland. He wouldn’t stop ‘ooh’-ing and ‘aah’-ing, calling out your name every few minutes to show you the cool items he spotted. First, it was a set of jewellery that was said to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, next was a potion book that was believed to be written by Rasputin himself (“Garreth would’ve shit his pants if he finds this,” you told Sebastian), and a unique looking curved dagger that was said to belong to a fierce general from Southeast Asia.

“Don’t even think about buying Rasputin’s book. It costs a fortune,” you reminded Sebastian when he cast one, longing glance at the book as you were on your way out of the shop.

“Wait for me, book. I shall come back to you in two years.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that the book would probably have a new owner by the time he graduated from Hogwarts.

“Right, where to next?” Sebastian asked.

You glanced at the clock inside the shop.

“It’s almost lunchtime. Shall we find something to eat? I know a good place not far from here. It’s cheap, too!”

The boy grinned. His brown hair caught the sunlight in the prettiest way possible.

“Lead the way.”

The place you had in mind was a restaurant called Angel’s Share, which had an outdoor dining area facing the forest. The sun was nice and warm today, so the two of you picked an outdoor table. When the waiter gave you and Sebastian a curious look, you gave her a polite smile and told her that your parents were still caught up at some shop.

“What are we now, siblings?” Sebastian asked once you two were out of the waiter’s earshot.

“Siblings, cousins, whatever as long as nobody paid too much attention to us.”

“Fair enough.”

Lunch was served in no time and by this time, you realized you had been starving. You figured Sebastian must’ve been hungry as well because the conversation soon ended and both of you were far too engrossed with each other's meals. Within minutes, the plates were emptied. You found yourself slouching on your seat, still savouring the taste of roasted bacon in your mouth, while Sebastian patted his stomach in satisfaction.

“That was a good meal.”

“Very.”

You cast your gaze towards the forest, spotting a group of birds flying overhead.

“Reminds you of the Forbidden Forest, doesn't it?” you softly said.

Sebastian followed your gaze. “A thinner, lighter version of it. Hopefully with fewer spiders, too. Or… at all.”

That brought a smile to your face. “Yeah, I've had enough of them.”

The boy let out a lighthearted chuckle, his eyes snapping back to yours. “You know, I didn't know you liked caramel that much. And chocolate,” he said, gesturing at the full shopping bag from Cat's Tail.

“Hah, what do you think I like?”

“...I don't know, actually. It's kind of strange, isn't it? We've slain dark wizards and goblins and other monsters but I don't even know what your favourite snack is.”

You tilted your head to one side, a grin spreading on your lips. Elated at the idea that Sebastian was interested in what you liked and you didn't like.

“Don't look too glum. I don't know what you like either. Hobbs asked me earlier if we should make something you like but I was at a loss,” you explained.

“Apple pies,” he answered. He had a smile on his lips, though it looked rather dim. “I suppose we were too preoccupied with the dark wizards and goblins and your magic and finding the cure for Anne, I…”

You waited, briefly wondering if it was better to stop him and tell him it was alright.

“I'm sorry. I was such an ass towards you… sometimes I wished I could go back in time and kick myself in the butt.”

You stilled. It wasn't the first time he apologized for everything that had transpired during the fifth year and each time, you told him it was alright. Water under the bridge. All's forgiven and forgotten.

Nevertheless, a part of you also felt a sense of relief each time he apologized. Quite like changing a bandage on a healing wound.

“It's alright, Sebastian. I've forgiven you.”

“...Even for what happened in the Scriptorium?”

Once again, you felt a faint prickling sensation all over your skin. A flash of green, a thousand invisible needles digging their way into your flesh. Sebastian's worry had been quickly replaced with awe when the wretched scriptorium opened up for them.

“Even what happened in the Scriptorium,” you nodded.

“Why did you make that choice? Why not…” he lowered his voice. “Why not cast it on me?”

This caused you to pause. Pondering what led you to make that dreadful choice of him casting Crucio on you.

“Well, first of all, I just started my year in Hogwarts, I have no idea what consequences I would face if I chose the other option,” you slowly explained. “A part of me did consider casting it on you, though, I admit… but then I looked at Ominis and… I don't know, I thought he probably wouldn't want to see his best friend going through the same experience.”

Sebastian hummed. Calloused fingers idly fiddling with the napkin on their table.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Sebastian.”

He trained his gaze on you for a moment before he shook his head and laughed.

“I didn't expect you'd want to learn it though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You could already do much more terrifying things with your… special skills. I thought you'd think you're above learning… you-know-what.”

Why indeed, when you could blow up your enemies into smithereens like confetti, lift them up into the air and slam them over and over again to the ground like toddlers roughly playing with their toys, turn them into mindless chicken or sheep? Why should you mess with the Unforgivables?

“Curiosity,” you softly answered, averting your gaze from him. “That's one part. The other…”

Water. Suddenly, you could see water around you. Cold and salty. A pair of wild, desperate eyes had been searching yours.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself back to the present, where Sebastian was sitting across you and looking at you with curiosity.

“Let's just say, I'm not above using less respectable methods for the greater good. I've learned it the hard way.”

The boy stared at you in surprise. He opened his mouth, searching for words.

“I mean, I suppose this wasn't too surprising, you never hesitated when you… you know,” he said, making gestures with his hand.

“...Turn them into confetti?”

“...Yes, that,” he cleared his throat. “Look, while I appreciate you telling me this — honest to Merlin, I didn't expect this turn of events at all — but I just want you to know that I am immensely curious.”

“I knew you'd be,” you said with a laugh. “Want to know what happened?”

“Yes— ahem, but… only if you feel comfortable.”

The smile on your face faded ever so slightly. You ducked your head, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

“One day,” you said, giving him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “It's not that I don't trust you. I trust you. But it is not something I'm keen on recalling.”

“Right. Of course,” he quickly replied. Casting you an apologetic look. “Forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive, Sebastian. You didn't do anything wrong,” you said in a gentle voice.

When your eyes met, he cracked a smile, which you returned.

“There's something else I'm curious about if you don't mind me asking.”

“Mm? Ask away.”

He took his time, slanting his gaze towards the forest before looking at you. “What you just said earlier… was that the reason why you… persuaded Ominis, and by extension, Anne, not to do what they wanted to do?”

“Ah…” you blinked, biting your lip. This question was even harder to answer than the previous one.

Indeed, why save him? Why save a boy who had murdered his own kin? You could say that it was all a mistake. A mishap made in the heat of the moment.

You could say that his fate was not yours to decide, not when you had cast spells more terrifying. Not when you had killed more.

You could say that Azkaban was too cruel of a fate for him. For a boy who had repeatedly been sidelined, scrutinized, and belittled by the only caretaker he had in his life.

But there was something more. Something bigger. Something deeper.

Ultimately, you settled with, “Yes. I suppose you can say that.”

The answer was undoubtedly too vague for someone as curious as Sebastian. Yet he didn't pry. He only nodded, humming in acknowledgement. Brown eyes seeking yours and you met him in the middle.

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you. Really, I couldn't thank you enough. I think I owe you my life.”

A soft laugh fell from your lips. You shook your head.

“No, don't do that,” you gently reprimanded him. “What's important is that you live a better, safer life, Sebastian. If not for me, then for Ominis. For Anne.”

He was stunned at your choice of words. You watched as a million emotions flashed in his dark eyes.

“I will. I am doing that now. You can see that, can't you?”

“Yes,” you nodded, reaching over the table to hold his hand, you couldn't resist the urge. “Yes, I can see that, and you don't know how relieved I am because of it.”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered towards your hand. You could feel his fingers trembling, but he made no other move.

“Good. That is all I want now,” he smiled.

tagging: @whoslestrange

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanart #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #karinawrites

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ranzemn · 11 months ago

Text

Yknow, Nagi left Reo in the 2nd phase cuz he found a person that could possibly further help him evolve, and while Reo was rlly bitter about it, it was him who said that if Nagi sucked Reo would abandon him.

So this relationship that they have was never solid to begin with. Nagi had left Reo to progress further with his skills in football, and if Nagi had continued to be like how he is at the very beginning Reo would, too, possibly lose interest in Nagi because he lacks the ego/passion needed to progress further as a good football player.

Overall, if Nagi hadn't left first and continued evolving, there's a possibility that Reo would leave him first because his skills are lacking. Or that, because Reo seems like the more attached one, he'd stay with Nagi urging and helping him to get better. Which would ultimately result in both of them falling behind.

So if we're speaking realistically (even though I was sad at the 'break up scene') if Nagi didn't leave Reo then they wouldn't be where they are right now.

I know Reo and Nagi got back together eventually but they got back together as better versions of themselves. Like, if Nagi didn't leave then they wouldn't have had their own time to really evolve and would've still be stuck behind a wall while everyone else is progressing forward.

Just like a few chaps before actually, I remember reading in a chapter about Reo and Nagi failing to do well on the field (Neo league) and as much as I like Reonagi together, they would be better off without each other. Because once they're together they get heavily reliant on the other, which stops them from being able to evolve even further (if you know what I mean?)

Being an 'egoist' is literally to prioritize your own needs above the rest and to be 'selfish and arrogant'. To not care about others, and to only care about yourself and your path forward. That's why most of the 'evolving' that was happening for Reonagi was when they were separated. And the moment they got back together was when their 'evolvement' rlly came to a pause.

To be fair, Nagi never really had an interest in soccer at the start, and Reo just wanted to win the world Cup one day. Also the fact that Reo saw that Nagi was rlly good at football despite not playing it leads him to believe that Nagi is a one of a kind genius (and that if Nagi practices enough, his genius will be able to crush everyone else). Which then led him to label Nagi as his 'treasure' the genius he found and will further cultivate until they both succeed.

Nagi, on the other hand, started football because Reo offered him money and an easy life. So I think that because of this, the moment they're together again, Nagi just doesn't really have the 'urge' to continue evolving. Because when he's with Reo his easy life is practically alr guaranteed as long as he continues to play football.

Reonagi is kinda like Kaiser and Ness, the striker in question is way too reliant on their middle fielder. It's like how Kaiser and Nagi will probably only pass to one person throughout the entire game. Unlike Isagi, who even though his first option will be to pass to either Hiori or Kurona, he will still pass to the others on the team if it can make for a positive outcome.

This is all my own opinion btw, I don't know how accurate this might be but this is what I think from what I've seen with these two. Also, I'm not an Isagi glazer if anyone is coming after me for that. This is just me and my very own biased opinion.

Ps: Kaiser telling Ness to leave him made me sad, yes, but I think it was the right choice?

Anyways, for anyone who's read to then end thanks for coming to my Yap talk, I have a lot to say and no one to say it to. So I just yap on Tumblr, also, it's like 11pm here so I'm excessively yapping. Shit might not make sense cuz I didn't proof read, and I might be saying shit everyone alr knows/repeating words, but like, hear me out guys.

#Nagi and Reo would've been an even amazing duo if they were able to stay together and still continue to evolve #But sadly thats too good to be true #blue lock #bllk #nagi seishiro #mikage reo #episode nagi

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felixcloud6288 · 9 months ago

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Dungeon Meshi Chapter 2

First thing I had to do was compare the map in the chapter 1 title page to the chapter 2 to confirm they are different maps. I'm two chapters in and I really want to play a game where hunting and eating monsters while exploring the dungeon to sustain yourself is a key mechanic.

This is really neat.

So is the basic idea that each floor of the dungeon corresponds to an actual floor of the tallest tower from the golden castle and some magic is being used to alter the terrain per floor?

It looks like there's a water level a few layers down.

Did Marcille's staff always have a little sprout growing out of it?

I'm with Marcille on the bats and rats. That sounds like an easy way to getting sick.

WAIT!! I've seen this meme!

Laios looks so upset and shocked that Marcille wants to eat normal food rather than hunt monsters.

The matagi are winter hunters from Northern Japan. They're known to hunt deer and bears. I guess that's the idea Laios imagined when thinking about hunting monsters or beasts.

So are Matagi a thing from where Laios is from or did he hear about them from the samurai guy who left the party and that's what he imagines they are?

Laios's explanation about how baraselia don't eat people but instead wrap their tendrils around victims to kill them and convert them into compost is not reassuring.

So there's a corpse retrieval and resurrection service. But it's not a union benefit of any kind. And since the resurrected have to pay a percentile fee for being resurrected, this would incentivize finders to prioritize retrieving rich adventurers.

Not sure what stops people from just robbing the corpse instead.

I might as well save each instance of Marcille casting magic and try parsing anything about the language she's speaking. Maybe see if there are any recurring runes in that language.

Kinda interesting how Marcille holds her staff in her right hand when they're traveling but switches it to her left when she begins casting magic.

I already said she was right-handed, but it looks like she prefers to use her right hand to the point that she doesn't use her left hand at all unless it's necessary. She prefers gesturing, holding, and acting using her right hand and will only use her left when her right hand is busy.

The moment her spell-casting was interrupted, she started transferring her staff back to her right hand. And when she was grabbed by the plant, she was gripping her staff with her right hand but doing nothing with her left.

To summarize, Marcille has no instinctive use of her left hand and you could probably easily hit her with a sneak attack from her left side.

Last chapter, Marcille got attacked by a slime. This chapter she got captured by a plant. I hope this isn't going to be a recurring thing with her.

I think the chapter is really brushing aside the part where Marcille was grabbed by a parasitic plant that plants its seeds under other creatrues' skin. Her clothing is probably thick enough to have protected her, but they should check her her skin for any cuts or scrapes and should look through her cloak for any seeds that might be embedded in the threads.

The plant would probably have let Marcille go after a minute or two since it likely wants its victim to be far away when its seeds sprout.

That face Marcille made conveys so many thoughts and emotions, the first of which is the dawning realization that she's going to learn things about Laios on this journey that she never wanted to know.

Marcille probably wasn't thinking how snug the shadowtail's grip was when she was more concerned about being eaten or having seeds implanted under her skin.

If Laios was the one who had been grabbed by the shadowtail, he would have been excited and asked everyone to leave the plant alone while it tied him up.

Love how the hollow comes with a fire pit, a broom, and a sign asking adventurers to clean up the place. Are there guild members who just scout out the dungeon for camping areas and prepare them for adventurers? Someone had to build that bridge they were crossing, right?

There's nothing strange about plants making fruit that other creatures find tasty. The strategy is the fruit and seeds will get eaten by whatever animal wants them and the seeds will pass through the creature's digestive tract and get pooped out somewhere else. The plant is using whatever eats its fruits to transport its offspring and provide some initial fertilizer.

The plants that use their fruits to lure in prey probably generate fruit somewhat independently of when they actually need to eat. If they only produced fruit when they are hunting, then most prey animals would either refuse to approach the fruits or adapt to become able to avoid the plant's traps entirely.

Baraselia might even have a gimmick where it has active and inactive tendrils. Most of the tendrils would be inactive and be meant to trick the prey into thinking its safe to approach the baraselia fruit. But then some random tendrils are active and are meant to catch prey that has concluded it's safe to approach.

And considering how shadowtail works, it likely doesn't produce fruits since it has other means to spread its seeds hence why it wasn't in the list of fruits in the tart.

I'm having fun with this. I'd like to know what kind of adaptations the local animals have to combat or avoid these plants so they can get to the fruits.

back

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi readthrough

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 19 days ago

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🦇 All Fired Up Book Review 🦇

❓ Who is your favorite opposites-attract ship?

🦇 Nicole Wells left Seattle two years ago for a master’s in fire dynamics and some much-needed space. Now she’s back, ready to hit reset on her life…and take one last chance on best friend/unrequited love Skylar Clark. But Nic’s plans crumble when Skylar announces she’s quitting her job and moving to Fiji. Kira McKinney stepped in as Skylar’s safety net friend while Nic was away. She’s got plenty of her own problems, but when Skylar makes her announcement, Kira knows she’s needed again. Fortunately, Kira finds an ally in Nic, and when talking to Skylar doesn’t work, there’s only one option left: shenanigans. But as all their efforts go up in smoke, one thing becomes wildly clear: the situation between Nic and Kira is heating up. Can they let go of the past, or will they get burned?

💜 Talk about chemistry! It's time to get you all fired up for this opposites-attract contemporary romance! Let's break it down:

✨ Characters (4/5): Give me a hot female firefighter (Marjan from 911 LS, anyone?) and a sexy woman in STEM any day. Nic and Kira are obviously made for each other, the two perfectly balanced. Both women have layers and detailed back stories; their characterization is thorough enough to make them breathe off the page. My concern, however, is their amazing friend group. We don't get a lot of the supporting cast, even though it's obvious they're all on side quests (and keeping secrets). Will we get their stories soon?

✨ Plot and Pacing (4/5): The plot of two strangers coming together to keep their mutual best friend from making a mistake was chef's kiss perfect. I do wish some of the shenanigans had been a bit bigger/crazier, but they all work realistically. The pacing is consistent, but I wish we'd seen a few bigger bonding moments before the falling officially starts.

✨ World-Building (4/5): Seattle is one of my favorite cities, so I do wish the setting played a bigger part, at least in descriptions.

✨ Romance (4/5): With Kira and Nic being so well-balanced (chaotic energy versus steadfast calm, the spontaneous versus the planner), it's no wonder their romance felt so natural. There's no big moment when they fall; it's gradual and easy. Unfortunately, this story relied on sex as the transitional period, which you guys know I don't love too much (but at least those scenes were fire instead of awkward). The tarot card scene was a beautiful, visually-powered way to help both women recognize it's time for change. Thankfully, Kira and Nic are what the other needs for serious character growth, and it's gorgeous. I can't possibly finish this review without saying it at least once, these two are FIRE. This was the sapphic book I've been waiting four months for, and it was worth the wait.

✨ Mystery/Suspense (3/5): EVERYONE in this friend group is keeping secrets, and yet, the tension isn't there. Even Skylar's reason for moving is revealed earlier than expected. That tension could have scorched a path throughout the entire book to give the pacing a bigger push, but it's lacking.

✨ Tone/Prose (3/5): I did mix up Kira and Nic a few times, when transitioning POVs/chapters. Their voices aren't entirely distinctive. Thankfully, there's dry wit and humor in the dialogue. When Kira and Nic finally start talking, the pace picks up. They have the kind of chemistry that can burn every obstacle to ash.

🦇 Recommended to fans of Rachel Lacey and Ashley Herring Blake.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🔥 Bisexual / Lesbian 🔥 Queer / Sapphic Romance 🔥 Firefighter / Fire Scientist 🔥 Dual POV 🔥 Only One Bed 🔥 Women in STEM 🔥 Mental Health Rep 🔥 Found Family 🔥 Friends to Lovers

🦇 Major thanks to the author @mk_england and publisher @canarystreetpress / @htpbooksfor providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #AllFiredUp

💬 Quotes “Wow,” Nic interrupts. “I didn’t realize a person could actually sound like a neatly tabbed binder and a fresh pack of highlighters personified.”

I’ve know I’ve been attracted to her…but there’s a world of difference between being sexually attracted to someone and being romantically attracted to them. The world is filled with people who experience one, the other, neither, or both.

She’s beautiful under normal, everyday circumstances; with my name on her lips and her taste on my tongue, she would be a goddess.

"You need to be your own anchor.”

There is vulnerability in the aftermath of crisis, in hope, and in rebuilding. If you can care for each other in that vulnerable state, build together instead of staying siloed, you can avoid constructing an exact replica of your previous cage. You could balance each other. You could build something entirely new together.”

“Yeah. I’m ready.” I’d follow this woman into the fire any day.

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mckiwi · 2 months ago

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Oblivescence

Chapter Two: Symbol of Freedom

Read on AO3

Start<<< Prev < > Next

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies)

Relationships: Stephen Strange & Wong, Stephen Strange & Original Female Characters, Stephen Strange & The Cloak of Levitation

Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Original Female Character(s), The Cloak of Levitation

Words: 2,383

Oblivescence: noun [ob-luh-ves-uh ns] the process of forgetting.

The human brain has a limit, Stephen of all people should know that. To view those fourteen million futures, he had to sacrifice something. His memories. It started with the first few hundred timelines, a few deaths from Dormammu, neurology facts he'll never need again... but the spell became greedy. Now, he can't remember why his hands hurt.

Stephen quickly scanned the library for any late-night visitors before dropping the Book of Dhakira onto the desk. A flick of a finger rendered the doors magically sealed for the next hour. Stephen exhaled heavily, “Here goes nothing. At least if something goes wrong, they'll find my body quickly."

Stephen remembered first seeing this book when he was a mere apprentice, not long after the frog incident, as he was helping Wong reorganize the books. The Book of Dhakira caught his attention for its memory altercation abilities. Its pages told of memory augmentation, restoration, modification, but most importantly to Stephen… eradication.

Once again using the blessing that is Google Translate, he found the warning section for erasing memories. "'Always be sure to recite the closing incantation. Potential to unintentionally erase memories,' because that wasn't obvious. 'Intention must be clear. Memory must be clear. Only erase one memory at a time.' I'm sure they're probably gonna recommend common sense. So just the standard warnings then, got it."

The Cloak twitched nervously at his side.

"Relax, I've done more complicated spells. Besides, who better to perform a memory spell than a neurosurgeon?"

(He decided to ignore the voice in the back of his head, which sounded suspiciously like the Ancient One, that chided, "Well, not anymore. Isn't that why you're here?")

Thankfully, this particular author was kind enough to draw diagrams for the correct hand gestures instead of just a written description. Stephen copied the motion. Similar to the gesture used for the Eye of Agamotto, his right arm crossed over his left at his chest, and his pinkie and thumb connected on each hand. His middle and ring fingers stayed outstretched while his index fingers connected to form an arc.

It reminded him of a bird with its wings spread wide. A symbol of freedom, in a way. Free of the memories. Free of the sins he hasn't yet committed. Free of walking the line between this reality and the next hundred thousand.

He couldn't be more excited.

He did as instructed and pictured his first death by Dormammu vividly.

Stephen tried to regulate his heavy breathing as Dormammu promised, "You've come to die. Your world is now my world, like all worlds." He barely got his shields raised before giant stalactites started raining down on him.

He uncrossed his arms to activate the spell.

He kept the shields raised above his head as the spikes came at him from every direction. He dodged them while Dormammu did... something.

Stephen turned around just in time for Dormammu to blast him with an... a... thing. Another stalactite? Or was it a beam?

What?

Eyes wide in shock, he gaped at the Cloak ecstatically. He barked a laugh and re-crossed his arms, "It can't be that easy."

"What is this? Illusion?" Dormammu asked.

Stephen replied, "No, this is real."

"Good," the demon rumbled before crushing him with his fist.

No, wait–that was the other time. Like the third? Yea. Then what was after the Illusion line?

He couldn't remember.

"I can't believe it."

He started getting confident. Sure, the book said to only erase one memory at a time, but he would be Sorcerer Supreme right now if not for the blip and Wong's current integration into the role. Surely he could handle it.

Tony, Peter, and Stephen ran away with the Guardians. But far away wasn't far enough for Mind.

A blue-eyed Peter stepped over Quill's body and sauntered over to Tony. Mantis was trying to wake up... Quill?

"Peter," Tony rasped... right?

How was he supposed to know? Thanos probably gave another evil monologue about mercy or whatever. He did that a lot.

Uhh, wait–hang on, he's got this.

"Oh no, I'm so scared," is what he would have said if he actually gave a crap about dying again. Dying became tedious after a while.

Did he say that, though? That would've been funny. He wondered how Thanos would've reacted.

What was he supposed to be doing again? Oh, yeah!

He erased all at once the first ten outcomes he viewed with successful results. Then the next hundred deaths in the Dark Dimension. Another hundred outcomes.

He only stopped once his stomach decided to impersonate a dying whale a few hours later. He looked at the Cloak with renewed hope shining in his eyes, "I've got an appetite again. That's good, right?"

He recited the closing ritual to stop the spell, and gleefully put the book back on the shelf. Even with the weight of the Cloak on his shoulders, he had never felt this light in months, if not years.

—————

Geneviève, the Master who had watched the Sanctum last night for him, walked into the kitchen while he was preparing a salad.

"So, Wong grounded you, did he?" she teased, her French accent heavier than usual and movements just a tad more sluggish.

"Yeah, he had the audacity to tell me I had to get nine hours of sleep. How dare he?" he joked back. "Thanks for watching the Sanctum for me, though. I know it's getting late in London right about now. You look exhausted."

"Don't worry, I'm used to erratic sleep schedules anyway," she dismissed, tying her dark hair into a bun and began helping Stephen with the salads.

She opened the packages his impaired hands couldn't while he grabbed objects her short frame couldn't reach. See Wong, he can work with others, thank you very much.

He and Gene chatted idly about random topics while eating their salads. That was, until he noticed she was looking at him weirdly, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You just seem more lively than usual," she said. “It's unsettling. Stop it."

He laughed, "Didn't realize you liked my 'tall, dark, and mysterious' persona so much."

"'Dark and mysterious,' oh please," she scoffed. "Don't think I didn't notice how all the stray cats seem to gather around the Sanctum. Almost as if someone were feeding them. Huh..." she brought a hand to her chin and acted as if she were pondering it.

His face reddened slightly. He gathered his fractured pride and defended himself, "One of them has kittens!"

She beamed at him, "How many cats are there?"

Counting on his fingers as he went, he named, "Ed, Led, Paul, Mick, Diana, Tina, and her kittens: Camilla, Lauren, and Ally."

Spluttering, she exclaimed, "You even named them?"

"After singers, yes. Most of them are from the 1970s, but the kittens were Fifth Harmony members and Ed is a ginger cat, so you know I had to name him after Sheeran. Paul and Mick keep getting in fights, ironically."

"Ironic how?"

"Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney. The Rolling Stones and the Beatles had a sort of rivalry."

"Why do you know this?" she questioned.

"Why don't you?" he questioned back.

"I bet you don't know classical songs from France."

"'Habanera'. Composed by Georges Bizet for his opera, 'Carmen'." He started to hum a few measures for emphasis. "I used to play the piano. If you're going to challenge me, actually make it a challenge."

She got up to rinse her bowl and set it in the sink. "Alright. I'll be back next week with a playlist. You have to name them. If you don't, you have to dust the entire London Sanctum. Deal?"

He accepted readily.

The two embraced followed by la bise, per French culture. She turned to leave, but not before saying, "À la prochaine."

"Until next time," he agreed, waving goodbye as she left. "Speaking of cats," he mumbled to himself and went to feed them.

—————

The rest of the day was filled with his normal activities. He studied for about three hours, cleaned up a little here and there, interacted with the sentient relics, and visited Kamar-Taj to check up on the students, all before ten.

After having only gotten two hours of sleep the night before, Stephen decided to go to bed, in hopes of a peaceful, restful night.

His hope was misplaced.

Dormammu decided to have fun. He got creative.

Stephen stared at the dark ceiling, not failing to notice the migraine had come back full force. He managed to roll over just enough to see the little digital clock he kept on his bedside table.

Only three hours had passed.

Wouldn't it be nice to forget about Dormammu entirely?

—————

"I brought a little power from mine. This is time. Endless. Looped. Ti–"

Nope.

"Dormammu! I've come to–"

Gone.

"This is how things are now! You and me! Trapped in this mo–"

Erased.

Stinging, drilling, tearing, wrenching, crushing.

Pain's an old fri– pain's an ol– pain's an– pain's– pain, pain, pain, stop, stop, stop, stop, please–

STOP!

Is this the universe's penance for all the patients he turned away? All the pain he'd caused others, returned tenfold?

While we're at it, let's erase the entire Hong Kong experience, Stephen thought. The Time Stone's been destroyed, it's not like he needs to remember how to use it anyway.

He's come to bargain. He's come to die. He's come to have peace in ignorance.

Dormammu, I've come to bargain

Dormammu, I've to bargain

Dormammu, I've to

Dormammu, I've

Dormammu, I

I'm

I'm so tired.

He stopped the spell. The world went dark.

—————

"Stephen! For the love of Vishanti, wake up!"

One eyelid slid open to show a sliver of blue iris. "Wong?"

"Who else?" his friend asked dryly, though there was still concern brushing at the edge of his words.

Stephen squinted at the image of Wong sitting on the edge of his bed. "Why are you in my room?"

Wong sighed, "You were scheduled to teach a class. At first, we thought you were just running late, but then you never showed up."

"What time is it?"

"Here? It's seven."

"In the morning?"

"In the afternoon."

Stephen bolted upright at that. "What!"

"Have you been sleeping well, Strange?" Wong asked.

"Admittedly, no. Hardly at all." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't know how I managed to sleep that long."

"Apparently you needed it. You were practically dead to the world," Wong informed. "I haven't seen you that exhausted since Hong Kong."

Something like deja vu washed over him, but he couldn't fathom why. "Hong Kong?"

"Yes, Hong Kong. When you reversed time to restore the city, then tried to restore the Sanctums but passed out before you could finish." Wong eyed him skeptically, "Dormammu came, ring a bell?"

It was, in fact, not ringing any bells. "Oh yeah, that... sorry. I just woke up, you know how it is.”

Wong was having none of it. “Are you okay?"

Stephen threw his legs over the side of the bed and started to gather his outfit for the day, "Yep, never better. Just let me get ready and I'll be down soon." With that, he walked into the bathroom to change.

Only to realize it was the closet.

Before Wong could comment, he found the correct door and briskly walked in.

Why did the name 'Dormammu' send chills down his spine?

—————

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Stephen's already been there and done that, so he wasn't deterred.

A perk of having been best friends with the librarian is knowing where the records are kept. Ever since said former librarian mentioned Dormammu, he couldn't help but wonder who, or what, that was.

Flipping through the ‘D’ section, he mumbled, "a-d, e-g, h-k, l-o. There. Dormammu."

Again, some primal part of him shuddered at the name.

2016, November 23: Dormammu is brought to Hong Kong by Zealots

The Dread Dormammu: Cosmic Conqueror, Destroyer of Worlds, Devourer of Dimensions.

Consumption of Earth:

Status: Unsuccessful, for reasons unknown

Casualties: 5,246 (restored)

Breach of the London Sanctum by Zealots

Status: Successful (restored)

Casualties: 5

Breach of the New York Sanctum by Zealots

Status: Unsuccessful

Casualties: 1

Breach of the Hong Kong Sanctum by Zealots

Status: Successful (restored)

Casualties: 37 (32 restored)

"That's very informative, thank you, dear book." Stephen rolled his eyes and pushed the book away.

Perching his chin on his arm, Stephen wondered aloud, "The world almost ended, how do people not know what happened? And how do you restore casualties?”

The Cloak nudged his arm and tapped at the New York section.

"Yes, I can read. It says 'New York.' What about it?"

The Cloak started tapping at the date feverishly.

"November in New York? What're you trying to tell me?"

It jabbed a corner to his chest.

"Me?"

A nod.

"What about me? I wasn’t stationed in York until December."

The Cloak tilted its collar at him and pointed at the one casualty.

"I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. I had just discovered the Time Stone when the London Sanctum was attacked and I was thrown into the New York Sanctum.”

A motion for him to continue.

Stephen sighed, but said, “I became Master because Master Drumm died. He died and Mordo and I fought Kaecilius in the mirror dimension. The Ancient One died trying to protect me, and then I met back up with Mordo."

The Cloak puffed in an 'and...' manner.

It was asking for an explanation, and much to Stephen's confusion, he didn't have one.

Pulling the book closer, Stephen stared at the page in front of him.

Something was missing. He met back up with Mordo, but his mentor left right before he became Master. Why? The resurrection of thirty-two people should be impossible. The only power capable of performing such a feat would be the Time Stone.

"When you reversed time to restore the city, then tried to restore the Sanctums but passed out before you could finish." Wong eyed him skeptically, "Dormammu came, ring a bell?"

Stephen had the Time Stone. He was there.

"Why don't I remember what happened?"

The Cloak detached from his shoulders and floated through the shelves, returning a moment later with a book.

"The Book of Dhakira? What's that got to do w–" he cut himself off as the realization slapped him across the face. “It worked."

He looked back at the record of Dormammu and noted the way he still had a primal fear of just the name. Yet he couldn't remember why.

"It really worked."

#doctor strange #stephen strange #wong #cloak of levitation #doctor strange fanfic #stephen strange fanfic #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #memory loss #angst #comedy #magic #sorcery #post endgame #pre multiverse of madness #canon divergence #mckiwiwrites

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thevoiceofthebard · 8 months ago

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Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Uthgerd

"Any ideas?"

Talao ducks back behind our overlook of the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow, where four bandits stand on guard. If their associates from the outpost down the mountain were anything to go by, they wouldn't be much trouble, but for their superior numbers.

"A few," he says. "Surprise will be to our advantage here. So try not to go yelling at them first this time."

I grimace, despite his neutral tone. The bandits at the outpost hadn't attacked us, but when one had called me a mud-crab lover as we left... Well, I suppose I was lucky there had been only one unseen bandit. I can still feel the sting in my side from the mace blow, despite my steel plate armour. "Of course. They're likely on alert in the first place, and we won't be able to approach too closely.

"Can we wait for nightfall?"

"Not possible. There's a storm on the way, within the next hour." In truth, probably sooner. The air is already more bitterly cold than it was just an hour ago. The sky is completely covered by dark, flat clouds, and the wind is picking up. "We need to be inside that barrow before it hits."

Talao crosses his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "We can't go 'round the other side, thanks to that cliff, and they've two guards watching the path. Do you think the brush will cover us long enough to get within bow range?"

Another peek over the ridge. "If they aren't focused on it, yes. If I can make it to that tree, I'll have enough cover to draw.

Talao nods. "Likely our best choice. The guard overlooking the valley is isolated, and if you're lucky, his death won't alert the other three."

"Aye, if I'm lucky. I'd prefer another bow-hand rather than relying on luck." Blast, my mouth got away from me again. I don't really blame him, but it's frustrating enough.

"The only strings I've plucked are instruments', as I've told you before," he responds crossly. "My hands create art, not violence."

I notice snowflakes drifting into my vision. Damn. "No time. We can figure out how you've not died yet later, but it's now or never. Wait here; I don't need you getting in the way." And before he can reply, I slip over the ridge and slide into the sparse brush along the path. The coming winter has killed most of the foliage, but these shrubs stubbornly hang on to their leaves. No movement from the path guards, thankfully. They seem to be looking out on the plains, to the oncoming storm. My armour blends in a bit with the rocks as well, which helps.

The tree, when I reach it, is near a hundred yards from the guard, at my estimate. Not terribly far, but nothing to scoff at. I stand, nocking a steel arrow on my Orcish bow. Cost me quite a few Septims, but worth every one. I keep a second arrow held between my fingers as well, for quicker access. Two is all the time I'll get. The wind hasn't picked up yet, but there's a small steady breeze coming from the plains. I adjust my aim. The bandits are all wearing fur, so I go for a safe body shot.

Inhale. Pull.

Hold. Steady.

Exhale. Release.

The arrow is thrown through the air, and my second is nocked even before the first reaches its target. It lands true, punching deep into the bandit's chest, and he collapses without a sound. I quickly set up my second shot for the closest guard, before any of them notice. Just as I let it fly, I feel a slight gust, and curse as the arrow moves from its path, striking the guard in his left arm.

His screams of pain are clear over the wind, and I duck behind the tree once again. Is it worth drawing another arrow, or do I charge now? They're sure to know my general position now, but three on one odds are not easy to go against, however unskilled they might be. The longer I stall, the more organized they'll be, so I decide to drop the bow and charge the guards before they can rally.

I've always wondered what goes through the minds of bandits when they see a Nord woman as tall as they, sprinting at them in full plate armour, greatsword waving above. The first always seems surprised more than anything. This one is no different. The yards disappear and I finish the job my arrow started, driving my blade into the injured guard's gut before he can draw his weapon. He falls to the ground, silenced, and I move on.

Two left.

The last have finally drawn their weapons, though too late to save their fellow. They're also smart enough to approach me spread out so that I can't move them into each others' paths. No matter. Before they can attack, I shout a battle-cry, swinging at the guard on my right. Despite their shock and fear, he manages to deflect the cut with his own sword, though the force drives him to a knee. I send him sprawling back with a kick to the chest, turning just in time to parry a cut from the other guard's axe. I take the momentum into a downward cut, hoping to cleave off his arm, which he blocks with his shield. Surprisingly, both he and the shield hold steady, and he scores a solid hit to my already injured side. I lose my breath, pain shooting through my side, but I can tell the armor has held strong. I feint to his side, then flip my sword around his guard and thrust the tip through his neck.

The second always dies with fire in their eyes, cocky in the face of danger.

A shout from behind draws my attention back to the other guard I'd been fighting. I manage to dodge a wild thrust from his blade, but he tackles me, and I lose hold on my blade as he forces me to the ground. Still unrecovered from my last injury, losing my breath again so quickly after the last, I struggle to take in any breath at all, stars dancing in my vision. The bandit rips off my helmet somehow, or maybe it fell off from the impact on the stone ground, and he punches me in the face once, twice, sword seemingly forgotten, and I can see the terror in his eyes as I grab his forearm to stop him, even though I can't gain any leverage against him. Suddenly his free hand is on my throat and I still can't breathe, my vision is going black from the edge, and my ears sound filled with cotton, so I can faintly hear a shout, as the bandit looks up and then a dagger is sticking out of his eye

All at once I can hear and see and feel pain again. I yank the dagger out of his eye, and plunge it under his arm where I know his heart lies, and then the world is blessedly silent again but for the ragged gasps of my own breathing.

The last one always dies in fear, a coward to the end.

"Uthgerd! Uthgerd! Are you alright?!" Gods, that bloody bard will be the death of me, I can tell.

"I'll... I'll live," I gasp. He appears in my vision, offering an arm up. I wave it off and sit up, a wave of curses rolling off my tongue that would've had me over my mother's knee for the rest of my life. Okay, pain. Where? Side, obviously. That needs some attention right away. Throat, sore, will bruise terribly, but not life-threatening. Face, couple of knocks. Some blood from my mouth. I spit. Shit, there goes another tooth. That makes... Three now? Well, I've had worse scraps.

Talao is kneeling over the dead bandit by my side, and the details of the fight click in my head. "Did you throw that dagger?"

He starts, as though I'd interrupted some deep thought. "I... Yes, I did." He acts even more surprised than I feel, as if he doesn't believe it himself.

"Well... Damned fine aim there, I guess. Suppose you aren't useless in a fight after all." Slightly less useless, at least.

"But... No, I didn't mean to... I was only trying to distract him, not... It was an accident."

"Accident or not... You saved my life, Talao. For that, I'm grateful."

He perks up at this. "Yes, you're right. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill us both." A pause, the wind echoing around us, slightly muted by the towering entrance of the barrow. "Do you suppose they're here for the same reason as us? The artifact?"

I struggle to remember what Talao had told me about the treasure - bit difficult to think at the moment - the "Dragonstone." "A map of ancient dragon burial grounds? Highly doubtful, I should think. They aren't after something with no clear value like that. I imagine only the Jarl's wizard knows anything about it, let alone have any interest in it. They'd be after burial tributes. Gold and valuable buried with the deceased."

"Then why post so many guards? It's like they expected people to follow them... Perhaps there's some other treasure down there?"

Hmm. It's an interesting idea. But the light is quickly dying as the storm picks up. "We can discuss this further inside if we need to. Right now we need to take shelter."

"Right," Talao replies. "I'll grab the packs and your bow, and meet you at the door." I stand, grunting, as he heads back toward the ridge. I look out toward the plains of Whiterun Hold. On any other day, the sight would have been beautiful, but the oncoming storm robbed the vision of anything but dread. I've never really thought of the weather as anything great than that, or the influence of Kyne upon Nirn, but I can't help but feel as if this is a terrible sign - of terrible things to come. A herald of truly dark times.

Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow

#tes #tesblr #the elder scrolls #fanfic #gaming #skyrim #dragonborn #the voice of the bard #uthgerd the unbroken #please reblog and review

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thefutureiswhat · 1 year ago

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Fargo Season 5: Where 3 Roads Meet

This theory is in collaboration with @tdciago.

For a while, I've wanted to share my thoughts about this season as it relates to the act of writing a story. But I haven't really had a clear idea of how the storytelling motif lines up with other aspects of the season (and where it could be leading) until now.

This Is a Story

As showrunner Noah Hawley said in a GQ interview:

“But it was exciting to go back to the movie after four years for the first time to really say, Well, let's look at the movie and let's riff on it, and do what I call a game of telephone with the movie, which is if you give two writers the assignment to write movies about a man who kidnaps his wife, this season is a different writer's version of the same story.”

This season, perhaps more than any other, has drawn frequent attention to the fact that it's a story, starting with Lorraine telling Dot to "write your own pulp fiction."

Munch tells Roy, "A man has only so many words in his lifetime. For us, there are very few left." Sounds like something a book character would say as the pages start to run out.

Danish tells Roy that he can make the other Roy Tillmans disappear "as quick as I made them." Sounds like something an author would say before killing off a character... which is what this story's author does in that very scene.

Then there's the fact that the opening text ("This is a true story.") is written in Times New Roman font, as if it's being typed on a computer or printed in a book.

What's especially interesting is that this season doesn't seem to be a finished story, but rather a work in progress. Whoever the writer is, they're apparently indecisive about formatting and plot points, and lazy about fact-checking. And their writing is downright clunky at times.

The spacing of the opening text's final line ("Out of respect for the dead...") differs between episodes. Sometimes it's single-spaced, and sometimes it's double-spaced.

In 5x05, "The Tiger," we're suddenly given a title card calling the episode "Chapter Five," and a narrator is introduced. This concept is dropped in the next episode.

Then there are all the continuity errors and inconsistencies. First it seems like Roy hired Munch, and Munch brought Donny into things. But later, Gator says he found Donny, who apparently brought Munch into it.

The amount of time since Dot ran away from Roy is also unclear. Roy says she hid from him for "nine, ten years" (Wouldn't he remember? Or is it the author who can't decide?), but the FBI agents tell Indira she went missing eleven years ago.

Characters travel great distances, sometimes hundreds of miles, in hardly any time -- often on foot. Other times, characters don't seem to even know where they are. In 5x08, Roy seems to know the nurse at the hospital and says he's sheriff of the county, but Witt says later that the hospital is "outside Bismarck," which isn't even close to Stark County.

And perhaps the biggest oversight of the entire season is the fact that Wayne is magically electrocuted by exposed wires on the windowsill... while the power is out in the entire house.

In 5x04, the author makes some awkward word choices. Roy describes Baylor Maze as "sitting there in his easy chair, taking it easy." About a minute after Witt says that "ghosts don't photograph," Lorraine talks in a voiceover about a minivan "giving up the ghost."

And perhaps most noticeable of all, Lorraine and Dot bicker at the hospital about Scotty staying in a hotel after the fire. Seconds later, Lorraine asks for service and a nurse tells her, "This isn't a hotel." Weird analogy. Why not a restaurant?

As a writer, these moments stood out to me. If I were proofreading this episode, I'd probably change a couple of those words, so as not to be repetitive. But maybe this story's author hasn't gotten to the proofreading stage yet.

We've Got Our Own Reality

Some would say that all of these examples are simply oversights or continuity errors on the part of Noah Hawley and his co-writers. But what if they're not? What if they were placed there intentionally to show that we're witnessing various drafts of a story, strung together in such a way that we hardly notice anything is off?

A recurring motif this season has been the concept of different realities. The show has even invoked the idea of a time loop, through dialogue like "loop's closed" and "circle back," and by using the song "I Got You, Babe," which plays at the start of each loop in Groundhog Day. It's as if we're seeing moments from different loops (or drafts), in which things are slightly different.

Playing on the idea of multiple realities, this season has also felt the most removed from the rest of the series. So far, there have been no direct connections to past seasons or returning characters. Even the opening text changes "the events depicted" (as we've seen in Seasons 1-4) to "the following events."

Danish tells Witt, "We've got our own reality." What if he's talking about the characters in this season? Who is writing their story? Is it someone who already exists in the universe of the movie (and by extension the rest of the series), and therefore Season 5 takes place in a fictional universe within that universe?

See @tdciago's recent post for more about that idea, and who the author might be.

It's the Crossroads

So what does all of this mean for the rest of the season? Well, what if the "work in progress" nature of the story becomes unmistakable in the final episode(s)? What if this season has three different endings, like a choose your own adventure story?

Maybe the season finale will be "where three roads meet," with the roads being the different versions of the story we've been watching. Why three roads, you ask? Because this season appears to be referencing the story of Oedipus Rex.

Gator's official character description says he has "daddy issues up there with Oedipus Rex’s." Notably, Oedipus kills his biological father at a crossroads where three roads meet. We've already seen some possible foreshadowing of a similar event this season, including Roy's use of the word "crossroads" in 5x04.

The number three has also shown up this season, particularly in 5x08. Danish convinces three men to change their names to Roy Tillman, and the first is number 313 at the court; Dot tells Roy there's a three-day minimum for ordering an ice cream cake for Scotty's birthday; she also tells him, "third time's a charm" about his marriages; Danish gets gas at pump 3.

Many viewers seem to agree that Roy should end up dead by the end of the season, but they don't all agree on who should do it. The show has already seemed to foreshadow Roy's death at the hands of both Dot (theory here) and Gator (theory here).

Maybe we'll get to see both of those deaths, plus a third option where he causes his own demise, or he ends up in prison. Maybe we'll see other characters (like Dot or Munch) die in one version of events, but survive in another -- because the author is just as indecisive about about what should happen as the viewers are.

The Lady, or the Tiger?

Will we ever know which one is the final draft? Probably not. Another story referenced this season is "The Lady, or the Tiger?" The story ends with a man choosing one of two doors. Behind one is a tiger. Behind the other is a lady for him to marry. We never find out what's behind the door he chooses.

This season has referenced the story in a few ways, the most obvious being the repeated references to Dot as a tiger. But there are other details that point to "The Lady, or the Tiger?" in particular.

In 5x01, we see two paintings behind Indira as she sits at her dining table. In the painting on the left is a lady with flowers on her head. On the right is a tiger.

5x05, "The Tiger," obviously contains a number of references to tigers. But it also features several uses of the word "lady": Vivian Dugger calls Lorraine "lady" at lunch; Roy said he caught Dugger with a "lady of the evening"; the narrator refers to Dot as a "lady tiger"; and Lars tells Indira, "Babe, there's a lady in our kitchen."

Will this season be as "insoluble" as "The Lady, or the Tiger?" Or is Dot right that "third time's a charm," and the third option will be the official one? Can we really even declare one version the official version, when it's all made up anyway?

By the end of the season, will we be the authors, choosing whichever version of events is most satisfying to us? To borrow a phrase from Linda, which truth is the true truth?

#fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo spoilers #season 5 #my posts

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k8epot8e · 1 year ago

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Train in Vain: Chapter 1

Notes: Never done this before, I've only ever written academic essays for grad school etc. I got the idea for this story on the train the other day. Wanted to play around with Kid's characterization and his relationship with Kil. The amount of space Kid and Killer are occupying in my brain lately is unhealthy and I especially loved the HC I'd seen of them being in a punk band together. I'd originally thought of this as a one-shot, but I enjoyed writing it so much that I will keep going! My plan atm is to upload another chapter by next week. Please let me know what you think! Going to try to improve my dialogue and action sequences. The general idea is that it'll all happen over the course of one night, like an After Hours, or American Graffiti situation. TWs: Reader is a woman. Sexual harassment of reader. Brief mention of an imaginary sex scene. Light violence. Implied drinking and drugs. Implied familial pressure and sexism. Cursing. Minors dni.

On AO3 I gave it an M but it's a lighter M. Here's that link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53565769

Summary:

You're headed out on a Saturday night when some cute punks help you out of a sticky situation. Next thing you know, you're tagging along to their concert. This isn't something you'd normally do, but they're nice to look at and you need a little more spontaneity in your life. Let's see where the night takes you.

The man was slumped against the faux wood-paneled wall of the train car. You only noticed him because of his massive, muscular frame. He was your age, late 20s, but he had a boyish charm about his face that made you grin. A mischievousness that was noticeable even with his eyes closed as he was currently. His hair stood up in a dark red shock like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He was pale and riddled with piercings, metal spikes jutting out from his nose and ears giving his angular face an even sharper appearance. He wore goggles loosely at the top of his forehead. A punk aesthetic that seemed simultaneously meticulous and nonchalant. You noticed his massive left arm was metallic from the elbow down. An equally large man sat beside him on the seat to his left. The man was blonde with long hair that layered itself in sharp locks down his shoulders. He had an old-school soul patch that softened his sharp jawline and drew attention to the blue paper mask he wore courteously over his mouth. He seemed tired in a way that betrayed his rough exterior. His traps were huge and strained against the collar of his worn blue t-shirt. Seeing their muscular physiques made you hold your breath albeit briefly as you boarded the train and quickly slid into a newly available seat.

It was mid-Saturday evening and you were making your way to a bar in south Brooklyn to meet up with a friend from college. She'd recently had a baby and her husband had been begging you to take her out. She was always so responsible; you'd historically been one of her very few bad influences and her husband loved you for it. Despite what she would say when pressed, she enjoyed the thrilling sense of ease you coaxed out of her typically rigid demeanor. Your relationship was easy. She didn't need to text or call you to make sure you still felt involved in her life. You could pick up right where you left off, be it months or years since you'd seen each other.

This was how you lived most of your life. Your family and upbringing were so exhausting that you felt an aversion to friction of any sort. That didn't mean you weren't responsible, of course you were. You always did what was expected of you or what you thought needed to be done. You were the oldest girl, rebelliousness was a luxury reserved for other people. Despite this, you carved out ways to satisfy your inner hellion as you could. Little rebellions that you could control but still scratched the itch you had to break everything down. You drank too much, but not enough to be a real issue. You smoked too much weed, only once it became legalized. You had a serious problem with authority figures or anyone for that matter who had the gall to tell you what to do. You would never cause an actual scene, but you'd fume for weeks after the encounter, thinking of clever ways to handle the situation in retrospect. You had a smart mouth, and while you rarely used it on high, your colorful vocabulary and quick temper had gotten you in serious trouble a couple of times before. You secretly loved using your words to cut someone down to their core, but only if they deserved it. When that side of you showed, the really mean one, no one could keep up with you. People would stare at you, eyes wide and mouth agape at your ability to so quickly discern what they truly hated about themselves and launch it back in their faces.

Aside from its ever-looming presence, this side of yourself was far away from you tonight. You were excited to see your friend, and shockingly the sun had been out today after nine days of straight rain. You had your AirPods in and were listening to one of your throwback playlists on Shuffle. The Clash rang in your ears, barraging your poor eardrums with excessive volume as the train hitched and swayed down the tunnel.

You let your gaze travel back up to the two large men at the other end of the train car. It struck you that it’d been a while since any man had touched you, let alone one as cute as the guys you were ogling shamelessly. You leered at the veiny forearms of the blonde, thickly folded into a taught cross over his chest. Your libido, ever your betrayer, flashed an imaginary scene in your mind’s eye. A vision of the man's vascular forearms tensed in a wrought-iron grip around the edge of a table in front of you, while he fucked you mercilessly from behind. You imagined what his strong body would feel like pressed against your back. A warmth bathed over your skin, your imagination tricking your synapses ever so gently. The warm sensation quickly shot upwards to your cheeks as you realized that the man was watching you stare at him. His expression wasn't judgemental or surprised, just thoughtful with the faintest hint of a smirk behind his mask. Your face flushed beet red and you quickly shook your head back and forth, attempting to convey to the man that you were not, in fact, ogling him but rather staring into the distance and were abruptly brought back to reality. This pathetic coverup attempt made you feel even more guilty since you knew your lustful gaze had been obvious. You averted your eyes down and to the right, tracing the lines made by an errant shoelace discarded on the floor.

The movement of the train broke you out of your shameful reverie. The driver pulled the break surprisingly hard into the next stop and your body lurched forward with the car. You steadied yourself on the wall to your left and watched as most of the people in your car streamed out of the train car doors. The older woman who had been sitting next to you disembarked and in her stead, a lanky brunette man with a buzzcut flopped down next to you dramatically. He gave you a shit-eating grin as your eyes met his and you quickly looked away.

You thought you felt a gaze from further down the train watching you closely but you didn't move or look up in an attempt to discourage your newly arrived neighbor from talking to you. This evasion failed miserably as he tapped you on your right thigh a little too high for your liking.

“Nice weather today, right?”

“Yep.” You said as you took out your right earbud.

“Where you headed?”

“To see a friend. What about you?” You mentally kicked yourself for engaging with him. Why were you so deferential?

“Me and my buddies are going out. Keeping the party going.” He nodded to a man to his right sitting across the aisle. His buddy was cute, like him, but something about him unsettled you. Something about both of them.

“Cool,” you said as you tried to put your earbud back in.

You noticed how empty the train car was. You and these two guys were the only ones on your end of the car. Why did this guy have to sit right next to you?

“What bar are you going to?” He asked quickly before you had the chance to put your earbud back in, so you stopped, holding it aloft.

“Baratie. It's nautical-themed.”

“Sounds cool. What's your friend's name?” He asked, staring you in the eye.

“Um, Amanda.” You said slowly.

“Hah. Good. I thought you were gonna say a guy's name.” He said and chuckled to himself.

“What?” You asked instinctively.

“I thought you were gonna say you had a date.” He explained. You were still confused.

“What do you mean?” You asked dumbly knowing full well his implication.

“I mean a pretty girl like you should come out with us tonight,” he said, his smile turning more nefarious by the second.

You'd never thought of yourself as pretty, and being called a girl made you feel infantile.

“Excuse me?” You asked not very aggressively

You knew that men generally found you attractive. You didn't know to what extent, but you knew on some level that you were cute. You never felt beautiful, that was a word reserved for tall, model-like women who were pretty in an ethereal sort of way. The women you found yourself watching in restaurants and clothing stores who made your heart skip a beat. They always seemed so effortless.

You were the opposite. You were small and round and angry and everything you did was full of effort. You weren't tiny but you were short. Despite your size, you always felt enormous and awkward. You were always moving out of people's way because you felt so brazenly wide. This feeling came from being muscular. You weren't ripped but you'd always played sports growing up and took every opportunity to carry things so that your mother didn't have to. You were a force of sheer mass and will. Femininity felt out of reach for someone who took up space.

Despite this, men found your willingness coupled with your small stature endearing. Your muscles and general meatiness meant that you had a curvy body which betrayed how seriously you took yourself. Your boobs were objectively huge which made you feel fat. Your large bust in tandem with your wide shoulders and back made you feel like you were going to hulk out of lithely cut women’s clothes. You didn't shop frequently, opting instead to wear t-shirts that swamped you in their width. You had a bit of a belly from your enjoyment of craft beer but generally, you were in good shape and attractive. You'd never admit this to anyone, but you saw the way people looked you up and down in bars.

Self-consciousness flooded your brain as you stared at the man sitting next to you. What did he mean?

“Oh, haha, no thanks.” You replied tentatively.

“Don't be shy,” he said, wrapping his long arm around your shoulders. You could smell minty alcohol radiating from the back of his throat.

“Haha. No, I'm good. Gotta meet my friend.” You said attempting to shrink from his grip.

His hand tightened and tensed on your left shoulder. He leaned his face into your right ear.

“Come on, don't be a bitch.” He cooed, his hot breath making you shiver in his arms.

All the color drained from your face and your heart sank. “Fuck,” you thought to yourself as your brain scrambled for ideas on how to escape.

His friend across the aisle laughed as he pulled you in closer to his body. He discreetly placed a soft kiss on the base of your neck.

“I know you want it.” He whispered. “My buddy and I will show you a good time.” You felt his fingers drift to your inner thigh as he squeezed lightly.

You froze from shock. Your brain descended into a panic as fear wracked your body. You couldn’t move.

Suddenly, the man next to you was yanked into the air and thrown to the floor of the train, his body making a loud thud as he skidded to a stop across the linoleum. The train bounced as your gaze trailed up the strong legs of the man now standing in front of you. It was the masked blonde man from your earlier fantasy. Your shocked expression caught his gaze. There was a silent rage behind his eyes. You didn't know how he crossed the train so quickly to launch your harasser out of his seat, especially in steel-toed boots, but you were grateful for it. The redheaded punk was still asleep, head resting on the wall.

The harasser’s friend, the man sitting across the aisle from you started to yell. He tried to get up in the face of the masked man but was violently shot backward with a swift roundhouse kick. The harasser got up off the floor while the masked man used his inertia to quickly pivot his feet and turn to face the incoming attack. He caught the harasser’s fist with his large left hand and parried with a swift punch straight to the guy’s jaw. You heard the crack of bone when his fist hit the man’s face. The harasser was once again, propelled to the ground, blood spraying from the side of his mouth. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand in shock. You’d never seen a real fight before.

At that moment, the train car doors opened, and, seeing the chaotic scene, the people on the platform yelled in horror and diverted to other cars. You noticed the redheaded punk was now awake and smirking at his friend’s handiwork, his large arms crossed over his chest. The masked man paused, breathed out calmly, and turned to face you. You held your breath. His right fist was covered in blood, so after a thoughtful pause, he extended his left hand out towards you.

“You okay?” He asked. His voice was steady and reassuring, his large hand extended towards you, palm facing upwards.

“Um. Yes. I’m alright.” You stuttered, still in shock. You looked the man in the eye. The rage from earlier was gone and all that remained was tentative concern. He seemed worried that you would spook at any moment, like a wild rabbit caught against a fence.

Sensing no malice in his gaze, you gingerly placed your hand in his. It was calloused but warm and reassuring. He clasped your palm and helped you to your feet with surprising gentleness.

“Well I doubt we have much time after that performance” the redheaded punk spat from down the car, standing from his seat. His booming voice filled with deadpan amusement shocked you out of your daze. You looked around, people were whispering and looking at you through the train’s windows. You saw the station cop start to hustle down the platform towards your train car, “Hey! You three!” He yelled as he picked up his pace. “I've got an assault on a train down here” the cop barked into a walkie-talkie on his right shoulder.

The masked man put his hand on your right shoulder and looked at you, “Sorry, about this, but we gotta get moving.” In one swift motion, you were gracefully floated from the ground. The masked man draped your body over his left shoulder like it weighed nothing and held your legs snug to his chest. The redhead laughed raucously as they dashed out of the train car with you in tow. The masked man and the redhead ran side by side as they picked up speed, busting through the emergency exit door and darting up the station’s long walkway to the street. The yells of the station cop echoed into nothing as you emerged up, into the cold night air. The two men didn’t stop running until they reached an alley two blocks away. The masked man lowered you gently to your feet and they both hunched over to catch their breath.

“Kil, I’ve never seen you manhandle a chick like that” the redhead howled.

You tensed.

“Kid, you heard the cop, she was gonna get detained. I had to get her outta there.”

“How fucking gallant of you, asshole. What are we gonna do now? That wasn’t our stop.” The redheaded man finally caught his breath and stood up to his full height. He was huge, even taller than you’d originally thought. The masked man was broad and taller than you but the redhead had to be at least 6’5.

“Um excuse me. I’m here too.” You said looking from one to the other. On hearing this, they both turned and looked at you.

The redhead furrowed his brow at you, “Yeah, we know. You got us into this mess.”

Your jaw fell open. “How is this MY fault you’re the ones who basically kidnapped me!” You said incredulously.

“Yeah, if my buddy hadn’t saved your ass you’d be in a holding cell all night being questioned by Paul Blart.” The redhead shot back, his intense golden eyes boring into yours.

“Kid, knock it off. You know it’s not her fault.” The masked man waved dismissively at the redhead. “My name is Kil. Sorry for escalating things. Just thought you needed a hand.” The masked man reached his hand back out to you.

You took his hand and shook it lightly. “No, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Kil shot a thumb at the redhead, “This ray of sunshine is Kid.”

Kid crossed his arms over his chest and averted his eyes from yours. “Pleasure.” He mumbled.

“He's not that bad when you get to know him,” Kil added. “We’re in a band and are meeting up with our mates for a show later.”

“Oh that’s cool,” you said, “what kind of band?”

“Punk, genius” Kid tsked and gestured towards his outfit with his metallic forearm.

“I didn’t ask you, ginger” you snapped back. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Kid’s lips shoot up into a reluctant smirk.

“Like Kid said, we’re a punk band. You’re welcome to come to the show if you’re interested, but I’m not exactly sure how we’re getting to the venue anymore.” Kil answered.

All of the commotion had made you completely forget about your own plans. “Shit!” You yelped and dug for your phone in your purse. The screen lit up and you find a text from your friend. “Hey I’m so so sorry but Lulu is coming down with something from daycare. I don’t think I’m gonna make it out tonight. Rain check?” You frowned at your phone. You’d wanted to see your friend tonight but hoped her daughter would feel better.

“So are you coming or what?”

You looked up. Kid was staring down at you, eyeing the message you’d pulled up on your phone. He had an expression in his piercing, golden eyes that you couldn’t read.

You paused to think. You didn’t know these guys, but despite their gruff exteriors, you felt decently comfortable with them.

Maybe it was because you’d already done your hair and makeup, maybe it was because you were still full of adrenaline, maybe it was because you thought of yourself as more rebellious than you actually were, or maybe it was because looking at either one of the men made your insides twist into knots, but for whatever reason you cracked a wry smile and replied,

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

#eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #eustass kid x killer x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fanfic

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