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crystallinestars · 9 months

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To Steal a Detective's Heart

Thief!reader x Heizou oneshot I've been thinking about since April. Wanted to post this for his birthday, but I didn't have enough time to complete it, so here is a super belated birthday present to best detective Heizou.

Reader is female.

You had a rough upbringing. When you were a teenager your father vanished without a trace, leaving his enormous debt for you and your mother to pay off. Your mother had to give up all your valuables and the house to pay them off, leaving you and her to live in the filthy, gloomy streets of the slums. Growing up in the slums without a safe roof over your head or food to eat, you couldn’t help but grow resentful of the rich nobles who didn’t have to go cold and hungry like you did. While they ate delicious steaks, sweet fruits, and buttery pastries, your mother had to work hard to be able to afford a simple loaf of stale bread.

When your mother fell ill and couldn’t work, getting food and shelter proved nearly impossible. To survive, you turned to theft. Nobody would offer you a job since you were a frail street rat living on the slums, so you resulted to stealing what you needed. It was scary at first, and you got caught several times and faced harsh punishments, but you couldn’t give up. The little bit of food you managed to steal from vendors and coin pouches from unsuspecting passersby helped you and your mother to fill your stomachs and buy some new clothes to better protect yourselves from the cold nights.

Over the course of a few years, you perfected your criminal craft and were soon able to sneak into the abodes of the rich merchants and nobles you so despised. After stealing a few of their valuable jewelry and gold-encrusted cups and cutlery, you’d successfully sneak back out in the cover of the night and distribute your haul amongst the other poor families and street urchins since you understood their struggles better than anyone. The poor folk adored you for these gifts, and their happy smiles and fuller stomachs encouraged you to keep at it. You stole more and more valuables from the wealthy and distributed them among the poor, selling whatever was left and bringing the money to your mother in hopes of alleviating her burden of having to support the two of you alone. With the money, you were able to buy a small cottage for the two of you to live in, as well as expensive medicine to cure her illness. When she asked where you got the money from, you lied and said you got a job to prevent her from worrying, though the lie always weighed heavily on your conscience.

Your success earned you a reputation as a scandalous thief among the wealthy. An elusive mongrel who targeted only the rich, but no matter how the nobles strengthened their security with guards and multitude of locks, you were always able to successfully infiltrate and steal from them.

Hearing wind of a nationally renowned detective with a 100% success rate in cracking cases and catching criminals, the town leaders bent over backwards to get him to come and rid the town of this pesky thief. That was how the famous detective Shikanoin Heizou found himself surrounded by indignant nobles that begged him to catch you and be rewarded handsomely if he were successful. He accepted their request because Heizou has been determined since a young age to nip crime in the bud. He lost his dearest friend to hit-and-run, and he’d be damned if he let criminals run amok and ruin people’s lives for their selfish gains, swearing to himself to not let anything like that happen to anyone else.

However, your case was a peculiar one. The more he studied the clues, the more curious he grew regarding you. You only stole from the wealthy and never harmed anyone, and even then you only stole some money and expensive pieces of décor that served no sentimental purpose to their owners. Regardless, it didn’t change the fact that you stole valuable goods and were a criminal that deserved to face justice for her crimes. Heizou was able to deduce who your next target would be, and as night fell, he laid in ambush for you to make your appearance.

You didn’t notice anything amiss when you infiltrated the merchant’s house, sneaking your way into the treasury as usual. However, as you were quietly pocketing several pieces of expensive cutlery into your satchel, a voice sounded from behind you. Startled, you whip around to see an attractive man emerge from the shadows. He looked young, with messy maroon hair pulled back into a low ponytail and piercing green eyes.

A silence hung in the air as the two of you looked at each other for several heartbeats, frozen in place like statues. While Heizou usually wouldn’t hesitate to utter a razor-sharp quip about catching a criminal in the act, this time he was caught off guard by how pretty you were. Even though the upper half of your face was obscured by a hood, there was something attractive about your visage. He could see the surprise in your eyes, your lips parted in silent shock as you stood still, terrified that you were caught.

Shaking off his momentary surprise, Heizou was about to say something witty with a charming smirk, prepared to handcuff you and take you to the station, however you reacted faster than him and were already slipping out the window before he could even utter a word. Luckily it was the first floor, so you jumped out and gripped your satchel tight as you sprinted through the courtyard towards the cover of the streets, abandoning the rest of your loot. Heizou rushed after you, not wanting to let you escape. He was hot on your heels, but you were able to lose him among the winding streets since you were far more familiar with the layout of the town than he was, and he soon lost sight of you completely.

That night, both Heizou and you realized that you met your match. Heizou had never met a criminal that could escape him so easily, though he was loathe to admit that the only reason you got away was because he was too captivated by your looks to react immediately. Meanwhile, you were terrified that someone finally managed to come close to capturing you. If you weren’t as quick as you were, you would have been caught that night.

With Heizou’s arrival in town, your easy victories came to a grinding halt. From then on, you and Heizou had more and more close calls. He grew more proficient in reading your patterns and line of thinking, while you grew more creative in your infiltration and escape attempts.

On one particularly close call, Heizou managed to corner you against a wall after calling for the guards, fully intent on handcuffing you and taking you to the police station, but you thought quickly and tried to engage him in a conversation while you attempted to buy some time in figuring out how to give him the slip.

“Did the snobby aristocrats bribe you with a hefty sum to try and catch me? Are you that desperate to lick their boots that you’d go through all this trouble just to capture me?” you taunted the detective to try and rile him up. Heizou flashed you a charming smirk, understanding what you were trying to do.

“I didn’t become a detective to earn big money. As a matter of fact, I’d catch criminals and put them behind bars regardless of whether I got paid or not. My goal is to prevent crime before it even happens. I want criminals like you to think twice before committing dastardly acts by knowing that I, detective Shikanoin Heizou, will undoubtedly catch every last one of you and bring you to justice,” Heizou replied in a confident yet laidback manner as he nimbly spun the cuffs around his finger, catching them with a metallic clink in preparation to use them on you.

You blinked, not expecting to hear such a noble reason, and your hostility towards him waned slightly.

“Why? Do you want to feel like a hero that badly?” confused, you couldn’t help but ask, momentarily forgetting about your goal of thinking of a way out of your current situation.

Heizou’s expression turned serious, a note of melancholy shined in his green eyes.

“No. It’s not about playing hero. It’s about preventing criminals like you from harming innocent people,” his voice carried a note of resoluteness, and you could tell he was speaking from past experience. “I don’t know what your reasons are for stealing from all these nobles, but your thievery ends today. I won’t let you cause harm to anyone else.”

Heizou’s accusation irked you and you couldn’t help but snap at him.

“I’m not harming anyone! If anything, these stuck-up nobles don’t even need all this wealth, and the poor people in the slums are able to use-“ you abruptly slap a hand over your mouth as dread settled in your belly. You couldn’t believe you let your annoyance get the better of you, causing you to blab some private information to the very detective that has been chasing your tail for weeks, giving him clues to finding you outside of your identity as the town’s thief.

Heizou realized your slip up too and paused. It clicked in his mind that the reason you were doing this was because you wanted to share the stolen goods with the starving people of the slums to help them survive in the unjust world. There was also a good chance you came from the slums yourself, or at the very least were exposed to the horrible life that living on the streets entailed.

Swallowing thickly, you stayed silent, internally panicking that you had messed up in a big way.

Heizou stayed where he was, a pensive expression on his handsome face as he mulled over your words. You were doing what you did out of your own sense of justice, he realized. You wanted to help the less fortunate, just as he wanted to help those affected by unjust acts of crime. Both reasons had their validity, even if one is rooted in crime. He couldn’t deny that you had never harmed anyone physically, and you only targeted those that could stand to lose a few valuables and still be financially sound. And even then, they were never things that would be considered sentimental like engagement rings or items that were clearly used often by their owner. You took things that could be easily replaced, such as a few satchels of gold coins, fancy knickknacks that served no other purpose than to be displayed for decoration, and fancy fabrics.

Heizou’s brain was in disarray as his mind battled with his heart over whether to see you as a plain criminal or someone with a just cause like him. At that moment, there were the sounds of footsteps rushing towards the room you were in. The guards and police were coming. Your breath hitched as you felt the impending doom of your capture. Making a last-ditch effort, you grabbed a nearby book and threw it at Heizou to distract him, before making a break for the window.

Heizou easily caught the book and turned his head to watch you crawl through the window. He still had plenty of time to stride over and catch you—you both knew it. Yet for some reason, he didn’t. Instead, he simply watched you slip out the window.

You glanced back at him with furrowed brows, confused why he hadn’t made any attempts to stop you yet. But Heizou was just as confused as you were, and by the time his mind spurred him on to do the right thing and reach a hand towards you, it was too late. You had successfully escaped with another small haul stored away in your satchel.

When the guards arrived, they found Heizou standing and staring out an open window. When questioned about what happened, the detective gave a sheepish smile and said you gave him the slip again, but that he was extremely close to catching you this time.

From then on, Heizou tried to corner you more often to get more of these conversations with you. He amped up his charm and wit, even cracking a few jokes that made you laugh despite your better judgement and made you open up to him. During the day, he would venture out into the slums and question the people there about the mysterious lady thief. Most refused to disclose any information, but a few kids let slip that a girl by the name of y/n would help their families by giving them expensive looking trinkets, before being hastily pulled away by their mothers. That’s how Heizou learned your real name—a beautiful name for a beautiful thief that stole his heart.

It was a strange relationship for the both of you. You were both each other’s greatest enemy, yet neither could honestly say they thought badly of the other. There was an undeniable respect between you, and also a hint of something romantic. You weren’t oblivious to how Heizou would word his sentences in slightly flirtatious and sometimes even suggestive ways, while Heizou wasn’t blind to your coy smiles, flushed cheeks, and fluttering lashes.

You were both aware there were romantic feelings involved and that they were reciprocated by the other. However, Heizou was starting to get pressure from the police and the town’s nobles for taking too long to capture you despite being regarded as a genius detective, meanwhile you were still reluctant to give up your thieving ways since other professions available to you wouldn’t earn you the money you desperately needed. Caught at a crossroads, each of you had to decide whether to give up your goals for the sake of your love, or to pursue them and lose this budding connection you had.

What choice will you make?

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #heizou shikanoin x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou x reader

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superman86to99 · 2 months

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Superman/Doomsday: Hunter/Prey #1 (April 1994)

DOOMSDAY IS COMING... BACK! Superman has been having nightmares about Doomsday, which is the natural psychological reaction when someone kills you. In his dreams, Doomsday has already wrecked the entire Justice League (again) and goes after Superman, who turns into a scared little boy in the middle of the fight. Just when Doomsday is about to knock lil' Clark's head off...

...he wakes up. It's the same dream every night. So, Superman decides to do the healthy thing when something is scaring you to that point. No, not visit a therapist -- finding and killing it.

But where is Doomsday these days, anyway? The last time anyone saw him, he was floating through space after the evil Cyborg Superman tied his body to an asteroid and tossed him there. As it happens, just when Superman is thinking about finding Doomsday, a cargo spaceship headed for Apokolips runs across that asteroid and takes it in, thinking they might be able to sell it to Darkseid as a big paperweight or something. By the time the ship lands in Apokolips, everyone inside is dead -- and soon, so is everyone in its general vicinity. As Doomsday tears through Apokolips' residents, one seems to recognize him and calls him "the Armageddon Creature," which for some reason makes me think of Steve Buscemi.

Even Darkseid seems freaked out by Doomsday. He sends his elite guard to slow him down with their fancy exo-armors, which "can stop anything"... except, it soon becomes clear, Doomsday's fists. When Doomsday kills one of the guards, a little gizmo on his back starts glowing and something jumps into the guard's armor -- it's the Cyborg Superman, whose consciousness had been hiding there since Superman Superman destroyed his previous body!

So now they have two maniacs destroying poor old Apokolips (what did they ever do to deserve this?!). Desaad wants to call the Darkstars or L.E.G.I.O.N. or some other cosmic police force for help, but Darkseid would rather evacuate the entire planet than do that.

Meanwhile, after talking it over with Lois (who isn't exactly thrilled about her fiancé going after a creature that has already killed him once), Superman realizes who can help him find Doomsday: the Linear Men, the protectors of the time-stream, since they can find anything, anywhere, anytime. He stands outside young Matthew Ryder's home, causing the adult, time-traveling Ryder to materialize and ask Superman why he remembers a famous superhero loitering in his back yard one night. Superman asks the Linear Men to give him all the info they have on Doomsday, but Matthew hits him with the "sanctity of the time-stream" stuff again.

However, Matthew's more hot-headed (pun intended) alternate reality version, Waverider, manages to give Superman a "subtle" clue about Doomsday's current location:

Back in Apocalypse Apokolips, Darkseid decides to step in personally and hit Doomsday with his legendary Omega Beams. No one can withstand the unsurpassed force of the--! Oh, wait, no, Doomsday did, pretty easily. And then beat the living crap out of Darkseid. After seeing that, Desaad is like "screw this," disobeys his master's orders, and calls the Justice League headquarters... just as Superman has stepped in to ask for help in finding Doomsday. Desaad ends their intergalactic Zoom call, but this makes Superman put two and two together and decipher Waverider's hint.

Now aware that Doomsday is in Apokolips (but still not knowing if he's alive or dead), Superman borrows a Mother Box from the JL's Oberon and teleports there, only to immediately run into the Cyborg breaking shit up. Superman is ready to fight him, but the Cyborg hits him with something more devastating than any blast: a live video feed of Doomsday, alive and kicking. Well, punching.

And then he hits Superman with a blast. While the Cyborg is distracted torturing Superman, Desaad uses the opportunity to open up a Boom Tube near Doomsday to teleport him away (which they probably should have done in the first place, huh). Superman flies off to stop it, but he's too slow: Doomsday has been sent to some other planet... perhaps Earth?! TO BE CONTINUED!

Creator-Watch:

This marks the glorious return of inker Brett Breeding, who we hadn't seen since the end of "Reign of the Supermen" because he was focusing on this miniseries. This time, he's actually providing finished art to Dan Jurgens' layouts, and the result is probably his finest work yet. We've all missed Breeding in the regular books (no disrespect to Josef Rubinstein), but that makes this mini feel extra special and like a prestige event worthy of that cardboard cover and the extra three bucks. More art gushing in Don Sparrow's section below!

Plotline-Watch:

No idea if this is intentional or not, but the final page, with Superman failing to catch Doomsday's Boom Tube and wondering if he stopped himself out of fear, reminds me of the classic final pages of Jack Kirby's Forever People #1 (1971), when he intentionally stops in the middle of a Boom Tube trip. Not many comics end with an emotionally devastated Superman kneeling between some rocks in front of an orange background after just barely not making a Boom Tube trip.

Superman mentions to Lois that one of the reasons he wants to find Doomsday's body is because he remembers how obsessed people in ancient Krypton became with genetic engineering (as seen in the World of Krypton miniseries), and he worries someone might recreate him or make an army of Doomsdays. That's a pretty clever way of delivering information that will become relevant when we find out Doomsday's origin, next issue.

ELROY SIGHTING! Of course that little jerk wouldn't wanna miss an issue where his rival for Lois' affection has serious chances of suffering a violent death...

Don Sparrow says: "A small nod to the 'Emerald Twilight' storyline happening in Green Lantern, as Superman mentions he can no longer ask Green Lanterns for help in outer space." Find out why at the @greenlantern94to04 blog, which just reached Green Lantern #50! (I'm hoping to have that blog catch up to this one by the time we hit Zero Hour at least, so we can crossover.)

Another important observation from Don: "Superman’s a boxers guy now, which is a switch from the tight-whiteys he wore in the now-famous Superman #50. No, I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life, why do you ask? (Weigh in with your comment—do you think Superman is a boxer guy, or briefs? NOT about whether I’m wasting my life.)" I'm gonna go with briefs on the outside, boxers on the inside. He's a man of two worlds!

As he leaves the Ryder residence, Superman tells Matthew's confused dad to "teach your son to do what's right -- while you still have time." Am I the only one who thinks the even more confused little Matthew got a belting after that?

At the JL HQ, Maxima offers to come along to Apokolips to have her own rematch with Doomsday, but Superman says no because he wants to face his fears alone. I feel kinda bad for her, but she must be pretty used to Superman turning her down by now.

I like this little car parked outside Darkseid's palace. Did a cabbie get so lost that he ended up there? Did he still charge $6,50?

Not even the Linear Men could figure out where exactly this miniseries fits in the continuity. This obviously takes place after Action #694 (February 1994), the issue where we last saw Doomsday floating in space, and before the Zero Hour event (September 1994), due to certain events involving Matthew and Waverider. Thing is, that Action issue takes place during the long storyline when Superman is losing control of his powers, which doesn't seem to be a problem in this miniseries. That storyline ends in Action #699, which is also the first part of the "Battle for Metropolis" storyline, which leads directly to Metropolis becoming a big pile of rubble in Action #700. Metropolis seems fine in this mini, so this must be taking place during Superman's power woes, but something about him being stronger than usual during such an important rematch doesn't seem right to me. Let's all just blame this on Zero Hour messing with the time-stream.

Patreon-Watch:

Our patrons Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, and Gaetano Barreca got to read half of this post back in November, because Don got a bit ahead of himself, and now they get to read half of our upcoming post on Man of Steel #28, because it happened again! Take advantage of our absentmindedness by joining us at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99

Speaking of Don, he's got way more to say about this issue, so keep reading...

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

Some context behind the art on this issue: While I was essentially a DC-only kid in the early 90s, you simply couldn’t ignore the revolution happening at Image Comics. I still maintain that those early Image books weren’t popular only, or even mainly because of the creators, and certainly not because of the stories—I think what set them apart were the incredible production values. (The fact that there isn’t that much appetite for trade paperbacks of early Spawn or Savage Dragon issues bears this out.) The paper quality and digital colouring that Image Comics offered blew the doors off of what DC was publishing regularly. And it wasn’t that DC was incapable of using the same techniques, or paper supply—indeed the astonishingly illustrated Batman movie adaptation from 5 years earlier showed they could. So while I found Image comics to have enviable art, but no stories to my taste, I couldn’t help but wish that my beloved Superman comics could look as nice as the Image comics on the newsstands. That’s one part of what made these issues so exciting. Of course, a rematch with Superman and Doomsday was another attraction, and as if we needed a third reason, this mini-series reunited Jurgens and Breeding, who weren’t the usual team on the superbooks at the time.

After all that, we start with the cover, and the simplicity would certainly make it jump off the stands. Jurgens was always the most posteriffic Superman artist, where the action poses would make a great pinup, but without sacrificing story. This cover is a great example of that, with a determined Superman flying into battle on a computer-generated background of flames on the front cover, with Doomsday stomping into action on the back cover. Even the title pages boast some great production values, as the brushed steel photoshop texture and rounded gradients on the rivets make for a much more photo-realistic finish than usual.

Issues like this one are tricky, because it’s tempting for me to comment on every darn page, because the art is so consistently at a high level. So, in the interests of keeping this post from becoming a novel (yes, I know I went overboard in the Death of Superman 30th Anniversary Special issue!), I’ll just highlight the very best of the best.

The slow buildup of the early pages are very well done, as the peaceful dreamlike setting of Clark’s childhood farmhouse give way to the adult nightmare of Doomsday. The full page splash on page 4 is perhaps the defining image of Doomsday (one we saw repeated in modern times, as it was swiped last year in the aforementioned 30th Anniversary issue).

I like seeing the Superman-era Justice League (even if it’s among the wreckage), though my copy has a colouring error on Blue Beetle’s costume).

The outer space scenes, of the doomed space freighter crew have a scary, claustrophobic feel, and I can definitely remember my heart racing seeing Doomsday awake (even though we knew he was a long time ago). The design on this ship is reminiscent of the semi-canonical Superman/Aliens mini-series that’ll come out in about a year’s time.

As any loyal reader knows, I love good Lois art, so seeing Lois in her pajamas is a treat when handled by this art team. Later in the issue we get a Darkseid that rivals John Byrne himself for my favourite depiction of the lord of Apokolips.

We are also introduced to the new look Cyborg Superman (Jurgens tried hard to establish his name as simply “The Cyborg” but it never really took—even with Vic Stone not in the comics of the time, I think DC fans always thought of “Cyborg” as a good guy) which is one of my favourite looks for him. I think I may slightly prefer the look he had in mid-2000s Green Lantern comics overall, but even they took the red and black look established here. It’s a small panel, but I remember copying and re-copying the little shot of a very handsome Superman flying toward the camera on page 26. The subtle gradients in the colouring really add a lot.

Back to Apokolips, the simple silhouette of Darkseid using his omega beams is a stunner, especially with the sizzle effect at the edge of the beams.

Not sure I pictured Darkseid having red blood, as we do (dark gray maybe? Black?) but the image of someone as imposing as Darkseid yelping in pain is definitely one that will linger. For pure cartooniness, I love the panel of Desaad’s shock at seeing Darkseid KO’d. After seeing the Lord of the Rings films, I always pictured Brad Dourif as Desaad, but at this time (and certainly seeing this panel) I think Marty Short would have made a great one.

I appreciate the Justice League being involved, even tangentially, given their involvement in the first Doomsday battle. Though Maxima’s costume is technically more demure than when Superman was in the league (in mourning for Superman she updated her look in Justice League America #71) as she’s covered chin to toes, she somehow seems more naked than ever in these pages.

There are a couple reused panels in this comic, which stand out—page 40 reuses the famed Doomsday portrait mentioned earlier and that same page inserts a shot of the Cyborg’s eyes that is clipped from page 43. Not the end of the world, but noticeable to me. As Superman emerges from the Boom Tube, I like the blue-tinged lighting on his costume, some good colouring there.

Lastly, the body language as Superman passes by the closed Boom Tube that transported Doomsday elsewhere is well observed.

SPEEDING BULLETS:

This mini-series also highlighted an unfortunate trend of the early-to-mid 90s—that anything really big rarely happened in the regular titles, but was relegated to special—and enormously more expensive—special issues or mini-series. Despite this story being seismic in importance, it was mostly ignored by the events in the tightly-linked Superman titles at the time. Which to me felt like a missed sales opportunity, certainly the rematch between Superman and Doomsday would have bolstered sales line-wide, had they done it in the regular books. But having a new-reader friendly self-contained story, by a single writing and art team AND a high price point won out in the end. This was also true in the Batman titles, where pivotal characters like Azrael and Bane were introduced in prestige format one shots or mini-series rather than the monthly titles.

Maybe another reason this story was confined to a mini-series—it’s quite gory in some places, perhaps too much so for a code book?

Back in the 90s, they’d always play it coy about whether Superman and Lois have a sexual relationship, but as in the past, they do give hints to support one reading or the other. On the one hand, they keep separate apartments, but on the other, they do have potentially meaningful captions like “hours later” that may contain multitudes.

I gotta say, I was sorta surprised and impressed that DeSaad didn’t immediately make a power play in order to rule Apokolips himself. Though, he likely knew that no matter what he’d need someone as powerful as Darkseid (or Orion, or Mr. Miracle) to combat Doomsday.

I do get a kick that even under duress, DeSaad still officiously signs off with a “DeSaad out!”, Seacrest style.

It’s grim, but the expression on the face of the dead inspector is unintentionally hilarious to me. Almost like it begs for one more word bubble. [Max: Don's gonna hit us with a "Totally Rad!" isn't he?]

[Max: ...I stand corrected.]

#superman #dan jurgens #brett breeding #doomsday #justice league #maxima #oberon #darkseid #desaad #linear men #matthew ryder #waverider #elroy #hank henshaw #superman/doomsday: hunter/prey #guy who parked in apokolips somehow #desaad out #steve buscemi should play bertron

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weministertomonsters · 1 year

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Count On Their Claws ~ 1

Not sure what warnings to use... Light non-con I guess? And I had to look this one up: Sexsomnia, also known as sleep sex, is a sleep-related disorder where you engage in sexual activity when you’re asleep. That's not what I was going for but it's the only explanation that makes sense. Let me know if there's a better explanation!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"That will be three gold," Louise said, forcing her tone to remain light and neutral as she shoved the items he had bought into his basket.

The blacksmith continued to stare at her with eyes as black as sin, unwavering. He most certainly found some twisted pleasure in making her uncomfortable and nothing made Louise more uneasy than his gaze.

"Abel," she said. "The money please."

He grunted and dug into the greasy pocket of his smithing apron and retrieved three coins that had been rubbed to a fine sheen. He set them on the counter one at a time. Louise snatched them up and put them in the drawer, sucking in a breath and wondering how she was going to get the brute to leave.

The doors to the mercantile swung open and a flighty young woman came rushing in a whirlwind of strawberry lace and pleats.

"Oh, Louise, I have the most horrible news!" She moaned, tearing off her hat and blinking in surprise when she spotted the blacksmith by the counter.

"Oh, Abel," she said. "Might I have my friend to myself? I have a great many things to tell her that require a modicum of privacy."

Abel took the basket, looping it on his large forearm so that the poor wicker thing was dwarfed by his sheer size. He stomped to the door and the two young women watched him go in silence, eyeing the jars of preserves whose contents jiggled when he lumbered past. Once the door clamped shut, the woman dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"He fancies you!" She said.

"I shudder to think of it, Camilla," Louise sighed.

"Has he laid a hand on you?" Camilla said in concern. "Is that why you detest him so? Louise, you should have said something!"

"Hold your ribbons, Camilla!" Louise tutted. "That isn't the problem. I can't explain it, but something about him turns my stomach right to its core. I feel feverish and frightened when he lays his eyes on me."

"Now why might that be? His features aren't comely, that's for sure, but he looks at you only in a moony, dumb sort of way," Camilla said, plopping on a sack of feed and fanning herself with her hand.

"I haven't a clue why, but trusting my instincts has brought me thus far," Louise reasoned.

"Could it have to do with his first wife dying? It was rather a mysterious event, wasn't it? And on their wedding night as well! Abel is so large in stature, I wouldn't be surprised if he tore her apart by accident, if you know what I mean."

Louise went rather pale at the picture and said, "Let's not speculate on what we do not know."

"You always spoil my fun," Camilla complained, but she elegantly changed the subject. "Suppose I tell you my news?"

"Go ahead," Louise said as she cut chunks from the big wheel of cheese and wrapped them in wax paper.

"My father is arranging for me to get married!"

"Married!" Louise exclaimed, just as shocked as her friend. "Whomever to?"

"That soft-faced Duke from West Pembrooke," Camilla sighed. "Not that I mind a life of luxury in the countryside, but have you seen Duke Justice? He is double my age and still wears clothes fashioned in the style of the last century!"

"And is that so terrible?" Louise said in amusement.

"Not by half, no. I could fix him up quite nicely for I have heard through the vines that he loves to please a lady," Camilla said, jumping up and pacing the floor.

"But?" Louise prompted, even though she knew what Camilla would say next.

"But there is my darling Matthew!" Camilla cried. "He and I plan to get married; you know. But he is still an apprentice and we were waiting until his apprenticeship was over. Now, this!"

"I daresay the Duke will not take no for an answer," Louise said.

"I don't doubt that," Camilla said. "The only hope Matthew and I have now will be to elope in secret."

"Your father would be terribly angry," Louise said quietly.

"I'm afraid he gives me no choice," Camilla said with a toss of her head. "I am his only daughter, so he will have to endure it. I'm sure with time, he will see the charm of Matthew."

"If there is any man who can bring your father around, it will be Matthew," Louise said.

"Indeed! I'm glad we are of the same heart in this," Camilla said, looking relieved. "I knew I could count on you."

"Always," Louise smiled, her cheeks pink from the exertion of restocking shelves with jars of syrup and honey. "The hour is getting late, Camilla. We can't have a lady like you running amok in the streets."

"Like a brightly colored hen, my father always says. I came by carriage, so the driver will take me," Camilla said. "Walk me to the door?"

Louise obliged, stepping briefly out onto the front steps. The clouds had gathered and now hung heavy in the sky, threatening rain. Camilla hurried to the carriage and lifted something out. A wicker basket with a large ribbon tied to the handle.

"Mrs. Parks baked enough for an army today, so she sent something along for you and the family," Camilla said.

Louise's cheeks flushed as she accepted the basket of goodies. "Send her my gratitude," she said.

"I will!" Camilla said, climbing in the carriage and waving her dainty handkerchief from the window as she went.

Louise went back into the mercantile to close for the evening, hoping to avoid getting caught in the rain. She took the basket on her arm and locked it up. As she turned to start down the stairs, a slurring voice called out,

"Hey there, little lady!"

Louisa ducked her head and clutched her shawl as she passed the drunk man, but he stepped in her way and grabbed her wrist. Alcohol and the unwashed scent of him wafted into her face and made her eyes water.

"Let go of me, sir!" She exclaimed, lifting her foot and kicking him in the shin.

She only succeeded in making him laugh and sway on his feet, dangerously close to falling on her. She tried to tug her arm away in vain. He stumbled closer and tried to pull her into him, his rank breath puffing against her face.

"No!" She cried, and suddenly the man was quite literally flying, rolling several times before he came to a stop and groaned.

"Are you all right?" The dark husky voice of Abel washed over her.

Louise tensed and turned to see Abel standing only a foot or two away. Her heart came to a jump in her chest.

"T-thank you," she stammered. "I must go now."

She hurried along the path, forcing herself not to run. She felt the itch of eyes on her back long after she had left the area, but when she looked over her shoulder there was no one. She made it to the cabin just as it began to rain heavy droplets.

"I'm home!" She called out, slipping off her boots in favor of her house shoes as she pushed her slightly damp hair out of her eyes.

"Good day in the shop?" Mr. Carthy asked from where he sat in front of the dead fireplace, a blanket draped on his lap.

"Yes sir, there were many customers," Louise said as she set the basket down and grasped the old man's wrinkled and spotted hand. "Why, your fingers are cold!"

She exclaimed and started to make the fire. "Is Jess doing better today?"

"He's still feverish," Mr. Carthy said. "I tried giving him some sweet tea and he asked for you."

"You mustn't exert yourself," Louise said, leaning back as a tendril of flame caught on the kindling. "I'll try and come back at midday to make sure you're both all right."

"Jess will be back in the mercantile to help before you know it,' Mr. Carthy said, smacking his lips.

I hope so, Louise thought to herself. Even the doctor doesn't know what is wrong with him.

"Camilla stopped by this afternoon, sir. She brought some baked goods," Louise said.

"That angel!" Mr. Carthy said.

"There is bread too. Once the fire is hot enough, I will heat the soup from yesterday and we will have it with bread and butter," Louise said. "Let me look in on Jess."

"Hmmm," Mr. Carthy said, already sleepy from the warmth.

Louise left him to doze, poking her head into Jess's room. The curtains were still drawn and the room was cold.

"Oh, Jess," she said, coming to the bed with the lantern.

The glow of it cast over his body, for he had torn the sheets away and they lay crumpled on the floor. His skin shone with sweat, and the muscle tone he had gained stood out prominently in the dips of shadows. His shirt had been discarded, but mercifully he had kept his lower garments on. His bottom lip was red and bruised from biting.

Louise set the lantern on the side table and leaned down to press a hand to his cheek.

"Why, you're burning up!" She exclaimed.

Jess's eyes cracked open a sliver. "L-Louise..."

"I'm here," Louise said, delighted that after three days of deep sleep, he was finally coming to.

She leaned over him, staring into his eyes. "Jess?"

He gazed at her like he was seeing straight through and she touched his cheek again, worried. He made a sound then, between the whine of a wounded animal and a growl of frustration. He grabbed her arms with a strength she did not expect, pulling her onto the bed.

"Jess!" She shouted softly, trying not to wake Mr. Carthy who had surely fallen asleep. "What are you doing?!"

Jess did not seem to hear or see her as his strong arms maneuvered her against his feverish body. He let out a sigh then, tilting his head back. Louise paused and felt a certain part of him, hot and throbbing against her thigh through their clothes.

To say she was mortified was an understatement.

"Jess!" She hissed. "What is this? Wake up!"

She lifted herself on her arms, trying to pull herself off to the side, but the young man was strong and she found herself almost crushed as he pressed her to his chest, his fingers digging painfully against her skin as he hissed out a breath.

"Jess," she groaned. "I know you are in a fever, but you can't do this! You are like a brother to me and I-"

She stiffened as he drove his hips up against her body with a strength he shouldn't possess in such a state of sickness. His skin was damp and hot against her own. He smelled of the herbal medicines the doctor had prescribed and an underlying earthiness she couldn't put her finger on.

Her fingers clutched at the bedclothes as her mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of this mess. But there was no visible way, not while she could hardly draw in breath from how closely he held her. Her cheek was squashed against his chest and her skirts tangled and bunched around her legs, which she kept firmly pressed together.

"Jess," she tried again. "Jess?"

She received no answer, only ragged groans, and breaths. Finally, she resolved to lay still, hoping that he might loosen his grip. He did not, and she was forced to monitor her breathing lest she fell into a state of panic. A strange feeling crept up on her, something akin to a fever, hot dizzy feelings that made it hard for her to keep her breath. She dug her nails into Jess's upper arms, in case it would shock him enough to let her go. Again, he did not, but his reaction to the pain was not what she expected.

He went strangely still except for the jagged thrust of his hips now and then. His arms loosened abruptly and he lay there as if dead, breathing languidly, stupidly peaceful. Louise lifted herself and scrambled off the bed, tears stinging in her eyes.

"How could you do that?" She asked the innocent-looking sleeper. "You-"

She paused, observing the damp spot that had formed on his garments. Her face became hotter than she had thought possible.

"No," she whimpered.

But he had done the deed, and there was no denying it. Was he going to remember this when he recovered? If so, Louise was sure she would not be able to face him.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Hi, dear readers, it has been a while! I've been struggling with both depression and ghostwriting commissions on Fiverr. It's been a tough couple of weeks because depression and writing don't mix well and it's like pulling teeth. However, I'm making good progress, and deep down I know I've got this!

While I do need the money, I'm kind of jealous of the person I'm writing the novelette for, lol. I'm going to give my precious baby away. But, it's good practice because it has been a long time since I've written this much in one stretch.

Wish me luck! XD

#exophilia #monster lover #terato #monster romance

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sweetcloverheart · 7 months

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Had a weirdly interesting+angsty MLB Fic prompt idea (that I might write later)

Context - Like, do you remember that one two-parter episode of Justice League Unlimited where Batman, Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman are trying to stop this timetraveling villain, and at the end of the first part they end up in the future and GL meets his son, but it's a kid he learns he has with Hawkgirl despite the fact that he's dating Vixen at the moment and causes some angst/guilt with him

I kind of want to do something similar to Adrinette

Like, it's the standard "Emma (or Hugo or Louis, or all three) comes to surprise visit young mom and dad via Bunnix's Burrow and does a poor job hiding her ID" plot (possible set right before S6 but after S5 or after Chrysalis is taken care of) and Marinette is all excited and everything because her son/daughter's here, living breathing proof that everything worked out and that her future with Adrien is finally secure and it's all fun and cute babysitting shenanigans until Marinette slowly realizes that her "future child(ren)"...doesn't really look like her. At first she brushes it off and assumes they just simply took more after Adrien, but as the more time she spends with them passes, the more she realizes they really are nothing like her appearance-wise or in personality, and they tend to stick with Adrien more. Marinette tries to get reassurance clues about what her future as a parent is like and how Adrien and she are doing, but the child is steadfast in not giving anything up (they might've messed up in hiding their identity but they at least remember Aunt Alix's rules about No Spoilers)

And then she's referred to as "Aunt Mari" by habit/mistake, and the child is forced to confess that no, Marinette is not their mother - at some point in the future, she and Adrien break up, and Adrien goes on to marry the child(ren)'s actual mother and have them. Marinette is still good friends with him and happily acts as a surrogate aunt, but that's as far as their relationship goes now (whether Marinette goes on to marry someone else too, has a child of her own, or decides to remain a single pringle is up in the air/to the writer's discretion)

Needless to say, Marinette is upset. Adrien and her don't stay together. After everything they went through, after all the struggling, after fighting against Gabriel, Lila, Chloe, and every single force in the universe seemingly determined to keep them apart, they end up just splitting ways on their own (How did they even break up? Why? Was it because of her Ladybug and Guardian duties? Was it because he got bored of her? Was it because she skipped on too many dates? Did she forget a present, a birthday, an anniversary?). There's no happily ever after, no picket white fence and nice little cottage, no three kids and two hamsters to share in their blissful love and joy with.

And now Marinette has to go back into her life knowing that her and Adrien have an expiration date - and she has no clue when it will happen and how to stop it (or if she can).

(On the opposite end, there's also the idea of the child revealed to be Marinette's but not Adrien's (though still the same situation), with Mari having to struggle with the fact that Adrien and her don't end up lasting and wondering who exactly she actually does end up marrying and feeling even worst with this now on top of everything else she knows about Adrien. Does she keep going with the relationship despite knowing she'll let her heart be moved by another and abandoned him, or just end things now to save them both the heartache?)

#Miraculous Ladybug #Fic Prompt #might write this in the future

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blackacre13 · 1 year

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Have you read The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo? can you make a loubbie verison please?

This book had me bawling and singing its praises, so this is an HONOR❤️✨ I will never do TJR’s novel Justice, but here is a poor attempt:

There had been a lot of press about me over the years. Scandalous headlines. Award nominations. Rumors. Pity parades. But no one truly knew my story. No one truly knew who Deborah Ocean was. Because well, Debbie Ocean wasn’t real. She was really Devorah Mayim. But I didn’t want to be restricted to a culture or a religion or a family or a background. I wanted to be famous. And I wanted to be famous for being me.

It was inappropriate and a bit rash I’m sure to go about an interview knowing I was going to give a story that was anything but what the magazine was looking for, but even if the magazine was mad, I was going to change this reporter’s damn life. Not that auctioning my gowns to raise money for cancer wasn’t a worthy cause. It was. Most certainly so. After all, cancer had taken my reason for living away not once. But twice. But it was no story. My life. That was the story.

The young girl seems intimidated. And hell, most people would be. But I’m not most people. She has no idea that I’m about to change her life. And she hasn’t the faintest clue that she will be the first human in the world to truly learn the story of Debbie Ocean, starlet and celebrity turned recluse.

It’s easy enough to begin. The smaller parts of my story are the ones that don’t affect me so. They don’t matter as much. They helped shape who I am, of course, but they don’t weigh as heavy on or torture my soul. They’re just artifacts.

My first husband is like that. Linus Caldwell. He was nice enough. A baby face. A boring but stable job. Chivalrous. He knew he was getting more than he bargained for in more ways than one. But he had enough income that he could help me run. And that’s what was important to me at the time.

Dennis Mayim was the devil. He was volatile. He abused my mother. He abused me. And I vowed every night that I would make my way out of Hell’s Kitchen and flee the city for a life that was better. Different.

I was upfront with Linus about this. We had our fun, and I showed him plenty of it, but he was my escape hatch. My safety valve. He wasn’t the love of my life. And that made it easier than ever for me to walk away.

Linus told me he always knew I’d leave him for another man, and that was true. But it wasn’t for love. It was for fame. And I’d never been dishonest about my goals. Robert Ryan, or Rusty, as the industry knew him, was an up and coming producer at Sunset Studios and we became fast friends. He wanted to produce films with stars and I wanted to be a star. He told me I had what it takes.

Linus was done. And Devorah was good as dead. I didn’t want my father trying to convince anyone he was owed any of my money anyway.

Claude was Rusty’s idea. Having a beau on my arm who was already a famous actor would only boost my star and help me on the road to fame. And I won’t lie, he was good…in the kitchen. What started as a publicity stunt turned into something real. It happened when you spent as much time together as we did. We had a lavish wedding. It was a gorgeous affair. A steamy honeymoon. And a Heaven of a homecoming. On camera at least. Hollywood doesn’t pay much attention to what truly happens behind closed doors. Especially when they can’t see the bruises or hear the yelling.

With a scotch in hand and a cigar in his mouth as he cursed at me, I realized my mistake. I’d married my father. I’d been blinded by the potential for fame and success. I hadn’t seen the yield signs.

But beauty is pain. And he was only taking it out on me because I was having an affect on his career as well. Who cares about Claude Becker when he was being outshone by his stunning, glamorous wife, Debbie Ocean? Not enough people for Claude’s liking.

It’s a relief when I am offered a different sort of role. I’ve done the sex. I’ve done the romance. I am tired of playing second fiddle and arm candy to Claude on film and in life. Josephine March was a role that would change all of that. Jo was serious. Aspirational. A writer. A leader. An inspiration to her sisters. It was going to put me on a pedestal and let me be seen in a whole different light. I was ecstatic.

The trouble, you see, was something else entirely. There are four March sisters. Amy is a nuisance. Meg is kind but dull. But Beth? Poor, sweet Beth, who falls ill and is taken from the world too soon? She could steal the show. And worse, she could steal the academy award.

I didn’t know anything about Louise Miller except that she was beautiful and talented. Younger than me. Bolder than me. And that bitch was going to steal my Oscar.

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thisiswhereikeepdcthings · 2 years

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Comfort movies for the batfam, let's go!

Bruce would absolutely love Clue. Not just because of the mystery element, but the humor and the acting always get a smile out of him. He watches a different ending depending on how he's feeling, and each of his kids has listened to him pick apart the logical gaps and fallacies to each version at least once.

Dick will never pass up the opportunity to watch The Princess Diaries. It's cheesy and dumb and soft, and while he'll never admit to it he sort of projects onto Mia and her struggles to accept the high position thrust upon her.

Babs, whenever she's in a poor mood, puts on Hairspray (2007 remake) and settles in with a pint of ice cream. This only got stronger after she lost the use of her legs, and she takes some catharsis in Tracy achieving her dreams. Also, the songs are great, and she'll play Welcome To The Sixties whenever she needs a pick-me-up.

Jason is fond of Lady and the Tramp. He loves the songs (barring one, you know what you are) and the characters, the spaghetti scene usually makes him tear up a little, and he begged Bruce for a Cocker Spaniel for weeks after watching it for the first time.

Tim adores The Princess Bride. He can quote about 80% by heart and claims it was his bisexual awakening. He also read the original book and, while he liked it, the movie is still his clear favorite.

Cass likes Jurassic Park, both for the awe it inspires and the horror it instills later on, with the "Welcome To Jurassic Park" and "When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth" scenes as her absolute favorites. She likes the sequels well enough but the original is her favorite, hands-down.

Steph loves Howl's Moving Castle. She enjoys the animation and the relationship between Howl and Sophie. She likes the other Ghibli movies well enough, with Castle In The Sky and The Cat Returns being close seconds.

Damian will never admit to it, but Mamma Mia always gets tears out of him. He loves the music and the characters, sure, but ever since Jason and Tim sat him down to watch it he's felt a deep connection to the main conflict between the daughter not knowing her father and the mother trying to do right by her family and friends.

Duke loves, loves, *loves* Pride and Prejudice (2005). Everyone assumes that Jason is the one advocating for the Austen movie on movie night, but Duke has adored this movie since he first watched it as a little boy. While he knows there are more accurate versions out there, this is the one he first watched and this is what he likes.

Alfred will gladly watch and rewatch Hogfather, even when it's not the season for it. The message of hope and belief in justice, even when the universe is devoid of such things, is what kept him going throughout most of Bruce’s teenage and young adult years, and he gets the family together to watch it every Christmas.

#batfam #batkids

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barricadebops · 3 years

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And He Falls With a Smile

Summary: In 1823 Feuilly arrives in Paris. In 1824 a man in a daring red waistcoat invites him to a student organization where despite his orphan status, Feuilly gains a family in the throes of rebellion and revolution. Read on AO3 here.

1823

In many ways, Paris is quite unlike the south. The city bustles with more people than Feuilly had ever seen in Aigues-Mortes. He will likely have to take a while to become accustomed to the constant crowds in the streets, the way everyone seems a stranger to each other.

However, to his due consideration, Paris is also in many ways quite akin to the south.

The language of French rolls easy off his tongue like the rhythms of Provençal and Polish, and casts no doubt on his employability when it comes to dealing with coworkers at the fan-making atelier. The streets are still lined with the poor who cry out for help, for just one sou while the haughty bourgeois stroll past leisurely, and there are still women thrown on the ground—prostitutes from destitution, children begging for alms instead of attending school, and there is so much misery that surrounds him when he steps foot in the city, and the orphan boy thinks that there has not been much significant change here, that he will work here until he dies never having known a true family.

Feuilly’s only family has been the concepts of France, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Italy—simply put, the rest of the world, the people of the rest of the world.

So, Feuilly resolves that he shall adopt the people of Paris too.

________________________________________________________________

1824

He meets a man by the name of Bahorel, down by the schools of law.

Three francs does not buy a man much. It hardly puts bread on the table. It certainly does not provide for better clothes than what Feuilly dons everyday. And only in his scarcely selfish dreams, do three francs provide him with a place at the universities of Paris, where every bit of knowledge is put within his reach with thought only of reading and reading and reading until his brain tires and he nods off to sleep, blissful in the knowledge that he will not have to rush awake the next morning to catch work.

But three francs does not lend him that reality. Three francs only lets him gaze wistfully outside the buildings and think of a life where he could read better, where he could write better, where he wouldn’t have to waste away toiling at the fan-making atelier—where others would not have to toil away—others who are younger, who are needy, who should be going to school. People from France, from Poland, from Greece and Hungary and Romania and Italy. People from around the world who deserve better than to have their inherent right to an opportunity, an education, a leap at life—taken away from them.

L'École de droit de Paris is teeming with young men, all affluently dressed, all hailing from wealthy families—men who care not for why lawyers are so prudent, why law needs to be so heavily examined. It is filled with men who walk without casting a glance at Lady Themis, their patron, who stands disappointed—though she may be blindfolded—knowing that her supposed guardians do nothing to bring about justice, to bring about her divine right. It is filled with bourgeois young men with haughty airs, fake smiles, and cold graces.

L'École de droit de Paris teems with such young men when classes are let out. For now, Feuilly can enjoy its tranquility, its academic aura without the glances thrown his way. Peasant worker.

So no one can really seek to blame him for the irritation that rises within him when he feels a man crash into his side, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the hard cobblestones of the campus.

"Are you quite alright?"

Feuilly has the strong urge to snap at the hooligan present above him now that he was not alright at all, not since he disturbed some of the only moments he is allowed to breathe free with his rough tumbling.

But he stops short. Something about the man's smile—though he must admit, it seems rather rude to smile in a situation like this—halts the words on his tongue.

The man, or well rather a boy since he looks like he cannot be much older than him—is smiling brashly, unabashed in his humour. Though he wears the red coat of a man bound to be wealthy, there is a certain quality in the way he holds out his hand to Feuilly, without disgust, without turning his nose up at him, without thinking that he is a great saint for doing so, that makes Feuilly think that he cannot possibly be of the bourgeois, and without thinking, Feuilly takes the proffered hand and rises his feet. As he regains his footing, the man nearly sends him back down by delivering a mighty clap on his back.

"My sincerest apologies, my good fellow. Here you were, wasting away your time like a respectable gentleman should be doing, when I so rudely crashed into you. But I do believe this is a fortunate coincidence! To meet another sensible individual—it is not everyday you have the great opportunity to meet another idler—they seem rather scarce in this dull profession. I do know of just one other, but unfortunately Bossuet is forced to remain in Blondeau's class—what amusement! Imagine Blondeau really considering that being kicked out of his class is a punishment! I fret for poor Bossuet who shall come out having truly come into possession of knowledge on property law. Just imagine!"

Much as Feuilly may have tried if he really did want to, he could not imagine, considering he was not actually a student of law, not to mention that he had absolutely no clue who this Bossuet was.

"But—" the man continues on, and Feuilly vaguely realizes that at this point he should make haste to mention that he is not actually a student of l' ècole and that he really should be heading back to the atelier, but the man barrels on, "say, I have not seen you in any class before. You certainly must be younger than I, for there can be no other way to explain it."

Feuilly flushes. How could this man seriously still go on believing that he was a student here when he saw the way he dressed and held himself?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and clarified, "You're mistaken, Monsieur. I am not a student of the school."

The man's eyebrows furrow for a moment before his smile returns with massive force. "And I thought you could not possibly get better!" Feuilly's gaze darts up curiously. "How fortunate indeed!"

At this, Feuilly's mind staggers a little, and he bristles at the way the man's words rub on him. Did he think it was fortunate that a poor man like him could not afford an education, a right all deserve? Did he think it was fortunate that children lacked the opportunity to acquire knowledge because of the situations they were born into?

This man had to be of the haughty bourgeois, there was no doubt about it. His bold, rather daring waistcoat definitely spoke a testament to the statement.

There was work to be done at the atelier, there were fans to be made, money to be earned, another day to be lived. Feuilly needed to head back and throw this man out of the recesses of his mind, for he did not have any space freed up there either.

And yet—

And yet, Feuilly finds that this man is so incredibly wrong to have said what it is he said, and, well, someone must correct him one way or another—

"Forgive me, Monsieur," he says stiffly, "but I see absolutely no reason as to why this is a good thing. Do you really laugh at the thought of an orphan being unable to find the money to pursue an education?"

For the first time in their spontaneous conversation, the man's face is thrown off guard.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" His brows wrinkle before he bursts out with a hearty laugh. "Oh no! My dear fellow you have it all wrong!" The man grins and for a split moment Feuilly is sure he is the slightest bit mad. "I—of all people! I could never make fun of the peasants—my own parents are peasants, mon ami, it is why they have common sense."

There is something in this man's bold words that has even Feuilly amused enough to crack a smile. Perhaps he had simply misjudged him; though he would likely never understand Feuilly on the full on accounts of actually still having parents that evidently did love their son, the man hailed from a peasant background, so of all things, he was definitely not stuffy like the rest of his new-class, though the daring red coat did write him into Feuilly's books as just the slightest bit reckless—such was the effect of the colour red clothed on such a brash man.

He lets out a resigned sigh; at this point he absolutely has to get back to the factory if he wants to clock in on time. But the man is still grinning at him, and Feuilly cannot help but feel the urge to stay.

"Your words undoubtedly ring true, and it speaks a testament to the kind of life you have been made to lead." All at once, his face turned serious. "We need more men like you at our meetings—come join us, I beg of you."

Meetings? What sort of meetings could this man have been talking about?

Unless…

Feuilly was not illiterate. He had caught whisperings of secret Jacobin societies, groups that hid themselves away from the gaze of the King as they would secretly plot rebellion. A man of the people, the true common man, Feuilly too had been eager to join these groups—but where was the time? He hardly had any time to go back to the pathetic little apartment he had managed to scrounge up money for, how could he find himself time to attend Republican meetings?

At the atelier, the clock was surely ticking away, bringing Feuilly closer every minute to being late heading back to work. "I'm sorry," he turns away and makes to head off. "I find myself unable to join, unfortunately, at the moment."

There is an elbow at the crook of his arm easing him around. "I urge you to reconsider, Monsieur. There is always room for new recruits, and I assure you that your input will always be valued." He opened his mouth to argue when the man put up a hand to stop him. "Your time needn't be an issue—we are all but students, we will uphold your responsibilities if need be. But your word—your word will be no doubt incredibly valuable. Please think of it."

Feuilly hesitates; in the sky, the sun burned bright in indication of a rapidly approaching afternoon. "And what do you call yourselves?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Les Amis de l 'ABC," he replies rather cheekily.

Les Amis de l'ABC? Somewhere, the name strikes at Feuilly's core. The Friends of the ABC. Surely an educational group—that was something he could support—and something he could personally understand, too.

"And what is it exactly that your group does, Monsieur?"

"Well, in name, we are dedicated to the education of children." (L'ABC). The man's smile turns a little sharp as he lowers his voice. "In reality, we… Well, I suppose you would have to come see yourself, would you not? Though I suppose if you ponder our name long enough, you should figure out anyways.”

ABC…

Abaisse.

Les Amis de l’ABC — Les Amis de l'abaisse.

The Friends of the ABC—the Friends of the abased.

A rather clever name, if he had to be quite honest. So it was as Feuilly suspected.

“And who exactly makes up your group?” he asks, attempting to keep up his inquisitive tone even as he moves to clasp the man’s hand.

The man laughs. “Well, if—when we succeed, I imagine we shall become a group that will belong to some measure of history, though that’s not why do what we do.”

“Succeed?”

“Yes! I have no doubts that we shall do exactly that. The question is, Monsieur, will you be there with us when we do so?”

There is no reason to say yes; in fact, there is every reason to say no. The minutes are still ticking by and the factory foreman is not a forgiving man, especially not towards orphans who need the job more than he needs the orphan, and there was never any time to join such organizations, and so many of them are run by bourgeois boys who did not know what they spoke of, never truly knew what it was their goals should be, why would they accept Feuilly among their ranks—

And yet, there is just something about this man, something about the aura he exudes, something brash and reckless but accepting, even if his words do not always come off that way, that makes him hesitate from immediately flatly refusing and turning to get on with his day, something about the unspoken promise held in his words, something about the name—the Friends of the Abased.

He heaves a breath and looks up at the sky; it’s approach towards afternoon and the way campus seems to hold its breath, ready to release when the professors adjourn their classes signals his inevitable tardiness at work.

He glances at the sparkle glinting in the man’s eyes—there is an entire future, a lifetime held within the promise of the society that the man informs him of that Feuilly is yet unaware of.

“Well where is it that you meet?”

With a mighty thump on his back, the man slings an arm around his shoulders, using his arm to point his finger towards the horizon in the direction of the north-east. “Follow the streets until they take you towards the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel, near six tonight. Ask a patron to lead you towards the backroom—a male, however, for we do not allow women to enter—with the exception of dear Louison, that is—surely you can understand the delicate nature of women, my own mistress would tremble at the talk of rebellion and she is one to laugh at about anything I should think to say—and surely you shall see me there. And if I should be late—for it is not unheard of that I should be out late talking to others of the same cause—tell them you were asked to join by Bahorel.”

Feuilly swallows. Seemed rather a large commitment he was signing onto before even truly attending one of these meetings.

“I shall ensure my best efforts to attend one of your meetings then, Monsieur Bahorel,” he says at last.

“And we shall ensure our best efforts to work towards that future in which orphans are allowed to pursue the education they seek.” The man—Bahorel—tips his hat. “Now you must pardon me, Monsieur—”

“Feuilly,” he interrupts. Bahorel inclines his head in sign of having listened.

“—Feuilly,” he says, “but the afternoon approaches and classes will soon be adjourned for the rest of the day, and I must deploy myself to the mighty task of finding Bossuet and listening to his new complaint no doubt against Blondeau, and then head off with him to find young Enjolras and de Courfeyrac too, for though the former may be able to sway a crowd with his words, especially with his second-in-command by his side, those two cannot hope to find their way through the university streets and—”

“Thank you, Monsieur Bahorel, I shall hope to see you then, tonight," he interrupts, only the slightest bit ashamed for having done so; he really does need to be on his way.

If Bahorel takes offense to his interruption, he makes no sign of it; rather, he clasps his hand, and says, “Thank you, Monsieur Feuilly. Your presence will be greatly appreciated. No doubt everyone will be pleased. I look forward to seeing you sit amongst us.

Feuilly tips the ragged hat he has on his head in response.

This is how it begins.

________________________________________________________________

1825

It is ten at night, a most indecent time for respectable men to still be outside, and yet Feuilly can see no sign of Enjolras tiring while he listens with bright eyes to what Feuilly has to say on the subject of the partitioning of Poland.

It was indeed a topic of great rage and indignation for Feuilly, that date of 1772. How was it that a monarchy, a tyranny, had the right to strip a people of their identity? Of their nationality? He exclaimed as much to Enjolras, who watched on with awe.

"But how can they have the right? To tell a people that they no longer have the ability to climb atop their tables and exclaim 'I am Polish! Here I stand free in my country of Poland! ?" Running a hand through his fiery hair, he fumed just as he thought about it. "The audacity!"

At the table, Enjolras scoots closer, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Indeed. Tell me more of it.”

He glances at him, and, briefly, he allows himself to ponder the person sitting in front of him. Feuilly hesitates to call him a boy, though, at nineteen years, that is exactly what he is.

It is simply that, despite his excessively youthful face, there was something in Enjolras' eyes that gave him the feeling that the boy had already lived for hundreds of years, made him feel as if he were seated in front a man who had already, in some previous existence, traversed the many revolutions of the past.

And yet—

And yet, despite that, not having gone unnoticed by any of those few members who attended the meetings, it is Feuilly who Enjolras evidently idolizes—reveres, even.

And it is a fact that Feuilly cannot fully comprehend; of all the people Enjolras is surrounded by, all the people he has to idolize—Combeferre or Joly or even Bahorel—he sees first and foremost Feuilly, a poor orphan who struggles to read when Enjolras himself could make his way through the thickest of volumes with ease.

Feuilly does not think less of himself for his background, but how often can a man go on surrounded by people who excelled in a variety of skills than he could only ever hope to gain without feeling the occasional pang of self doubt?

He allows himself a smile. “But I thought you had already read about this, Enjolras? Combeferre tells me the matter is one that incenses you quite the bit—rightfully, might I add.”

He thinks of how strange it is—at the atelier, no one gave second thought to anything Feuilly had to say, so he never really thought to say anything anymore to his coworkers or his foreman who he knew would either ignore him or dismiss him straight away.

But Enjolras listens. He listens to the words of a poor orphan boy, and despite his upbringing by his parents that likely taught him not to pay heed to the words of a man like Feuilly, he instead leans forward, always leans forward at every meeting whenever Feuilly raises his voice to contribute, and he listens breathlessly and nods and says But of course, and Yes you’re right, and But if you could please tell us more, we need more of what you have to say.

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Yes, of course, the stripping of the autonomy of any nation is an injustice—it is simply that hearing you speak of it is all the more informing.”

Feuilly quirks an eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Because you are all the more knowledgeable of this, of course.”

He huffs a laugh. “It was not as if I was there when they put down the first partition. I am hardly an eye-witness, nor would I say more knowledgeable than you.”

In front of him, Enjolras reaches a hand to grasp at Feuilly’s. “But you are! For as well as I understand it, I could never truly know what kind of an effect such a monstrous event could have on the common man. But you, Feuilly, you know so well, for you have endured far worse than I have, you are a much better man than I am, surely you must know you have my eternal respect—”

As he blushes, Feuilly briefly thinks of scolding Enjolras for proclaiming Feuilly better than himself only on the grounds that he was born in a different circumstance.

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand back. “Do not declare yourself a lesser man than me, Enjolras. Over this past year you have demonstrated the fact that those of the upper class can still have compassion and the skill to identify injustice, and you have made me feel all the more welcome amongst your ranks.”

Enjolras smiles. “Les Amis de l’ABC would not be what we are without your inclusion, my friend. It is for people like you that we fight, it would hardly be a cause if we did not have your voice present with us. The gratitude should be coming from me to you for trusting us, for joining us. You make us who we are Feuilly.”

And Feuilly is just the slightest bit blown away by Enjolras’ words, for while he knew Enjolras held a special sort of respect for him, he had never imagined that his reverence shaped up like this.

“Will you tell me more about Poland?”

He glances down at Enjolras, who stares up with hopeful eyes, and he smiles.

“But of course.”

________________________________________________________________

1826

It is not unheard of that Jehan Prouvaire should be sitting quietly in his corner after meetings, staring dreamily at his paper as if he could see entire meadows and forests scrawled on it rather than the lushious words he pens to create his poetry.

“The stars are not out and yet you gaze at your paper as if you can already see the constellations they form,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair next to Prouvaire, having been beckoned over.

Prouvaire blushes and smiles softly. “Every constellation has a story tied to it, and poetry seeks to do much the same. Poetry is how our ancestors spoke of their tales around the fire.”

“Is that what you will be writing about today? The stars?”

Prouvaire hums and shakes his head. “No. I think I should like to write in Polish today.”

Jerking slightly, Feuilly looks at him, confused. “Write in Polish?”

He nods. “Yes. I think of it often, you know, and I feel it’s an injustice, the way the Polish identity has been stolen from the people, almost as if their right to thought has been taken. I figured, would it not be prudent, then, of me to write a poem in Polish, and reaffirm their status?”

Nodding vigorously, Feuilly agrees, “Yes, of course. Your words hold the utmost merit, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge this through your words. I can think of no better way for you to express your thoughts about this than through your sacred form of writing.”

He props his chin on his hand and leans forward. “Yes, but I seem to encounter a problem in that I do not know how to speak Polish. My friend, I only have one favour to ask of you: will you help me construct this poem?”

Feuilly blinks. Of all the honours he could have been bestowed with… For Prouvaire, reading and writing poetry was one of the very fundamental things that kept people humble. To connect to nature, to hear of stories past—it is what both allows humans to soar amongst the beauty present in the world, yet keep them humbled and grounded to work on what needed to be improved. For Prouvaire, poetry is his form of worship, his devotion to the miracles of the world before him, present in front of him, and the one yet to come.

“You would choose to ask… me, to help you?” he asks, bewildered at the thought of him sharing something so close to his heart, to his spirit.

There is a sort of sparkle in Prouvaire’s eyes, a look he reserves for when he gazes at wildflowers and oats growing in meadows, or for when he hears the nightingale sing—a look so impossibly soft that he can use it only when he finds himself looking upon a being he believes deserves to be showered upon with love and written about with the utmost tenderness—and it is present in his eyes when he gently places his hand atop Feuilly’s and says with the utmost solemnity, “My friend, I could think of no one else who I would trust more for such a matter.”

Feuilly is rendered speechless. Both with the love he feels for his friend, and by the astonishment at the trust his friend shows in him.

Feuilly hopes the world will see Prouvaire's soft verses and name him with the likes of Keats, whom he idolizes.

Jehan hopes that one day the world will read his poem—the one he writes now, that tells the story of a common fan-maker who spoke Polish and still strived to see the possibilities of the entire world despite the world never having strived to see the possibility in him—and understands the adoration that he and the rest of his friends had for a man who was made up of a thousand different nations and came from a thousand different stories and had with him a thousand different plans for the future.

________________________________________________________________

1827

The sky is dark and Feuilly’s perception of time has been skewed by the long, insufferable hours spent at the atelier crafting fans while harbouring a most dreadful headache.

He does not see that the clock has struck much past seven, much past eight, now half an hour after nine, and that his foreman kept him detained much longer than he realizes, taking advantage of the evident illness that has Feuilly dazed and unaware. With much effort, he pushes the door to the café open and stumbles towards the backroom where he expects his friends will be.

Upon reaching the backroom, he leans a hand against the frame and struggles to comprehend the image of an empty room, one where the meeting has clearly adjourned.

Well, mostly empty.

“Feuilly?” At his side, Combeferre reaches a hand to place on his shoulder, a steadying presence among the rushing winds that seem to have found their way into the café. “Are you quite alright?”

He coughs—once—twice—three times into his fist. “Well I do find myself in a bit of confusion,” he admits as Combeferre gently takes him by the crook of his elbow and seats him at a table. “Has the meeting for today been cancelled? I would not have imagined that everyone would be busy all at the same time.”

Combeferre tilts his head and looks at him peculiarly. “The meeting?” He frowns. “My friend, are you well? The meeting ended about an hour and a half ago.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he coughs twice more as he shakes his head and says, “No, that cannot be. Surely it cannot be so late. I had only just seen the clock, look, there, it says…” he trails off as his eyes fall upon the small hand halfway towards its path to the painted ten, then glances back at Combeferre sheepishly. Clearing his throat, a rather painful task to do considering just how raw it feels, he manages to scrape out the words, “It appears I have missed the meeting. I apologize, I did not realize just how late it had become.”

Combeferre smiles sympathetically. “Evidently. Your presence was greatly missed at the meeting, Enjolras looked rather down about it, but nonetheless we understood, though we thought it was simply because you were working.

Burying his head in his hands, he croaks, “I was supposed to be working regular time. I don't know how I didn't realize the foreman had me working late without informing me of it.” At this, Combeferre’s eyes darken a shade.

“You cannot let this go unprotested, Feuilly,” he says, the slightest bit angry, though Feuilly knows it is not anger directed towards him. “Your foreman has no right to do so; we will go back tomorrow and demand he pay you what you deserve for working the extra hours you did.”

Raising his head, Feuilly looks up, a little surprised at Combeferre. “It will not work, Combeferre, for all that I would like it to. The foreman has plenty of people available to replace me should I start to fuss. Though it is wrong, you must know that he has the power to keep me longer without paying.”

Combeferre runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “However much power he holds, he cannot go against the principle of the matter and expect no retaliation. It is settled; we will go and speak to your foreman.” When Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, Combeferre holds his hand up and halts the words on his tongue. Silently, he reaches forward and gingerly places the back of his hand on Feuilly’s forehead, tutting at the heat that comes away. “Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

Feuilly frowns. “It is really not that much of a concern, my friend—”

“Feuilly,” Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at him again, “in about a years time I shall begin my internship at l’Hôpital Necker; as of right now, I have enough medical knowledge—well, really, anyone has enough medical knowledge—to diagnose you with the fact that you have caught a cold—no doubt from the rainy season we have all found ourselves trapped in—and while it is nothing serious, it can become something of a concern if you do not rest and allow me to take care of you.”

Feuilly looks away. “While I do not doubt your knowledge, Combeferre, you needn’t bother yourself with—”

“What is more so a bother, Feuilly,” Combeferre interrupts him once more, and does not even look the slightest bit embarrassed for doing so, “is when one of my friends fall ill, and instead of taking the time they need to get better, they only continue to work until it is worse and their recovery becomes all the more difficult.” He watches as Combeferre rises from his seat, holding out his hand when he says, “So, for my own convenience, if you believe—unjustly, may I add—that your own convenience is not worth it, please come back with me to my apartment so that we can have you back on your feet in mere matter of days rather than weeks.”

As Feuilly allows himself to be hauled up, his arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, for he does not believe he has the strength in him to stand a single second more on his own—he marvels at what it is he must have done that warrants fate to provide him with friends who care for him like a mother or father would their own child, though Feuilly is not well acquainted with the feeling.

________________________________________________________________

1828

Even before he feels Courfeyrac’s hand clap down on his shoulder, Feuilly can feel Courfeyrac approaching—because that is simply the kind of person he is; his aura is boisterous and bubbly, a loud that made you grin rather than cringe away.

“My friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “My friend, my friend, my very good friend!”

Feuilly smiles as he knows what is inevitably going to come up. “As much as you may ask, Courfeyrac, I simply do not have the time to stand out in the middle of the street only so you can ‘save’ me in front of that Genevieve girl you have recently taken a fancy to.”

Courfeyrac looks taken aback for a moment before he begins to laugh. “No, no, I was not speaking of that. Besides, I have most recently been made to come to sense that I do not need anyone to play the part of a man in distress who needs to be saved—as long as I somehow end her near Bossuet, I shall allow him to carry on with the way he already lives, and soon enough I shall have saved him from his own stupidity in front of her!”

At another table, Bossuet indignantly pipes up, “Hey!” In response, Joly waves his cane dismissively.

“Calm yourself, Aigle de Meaux, his facts are not incorrect.”

As Bossuet and Joly begin to bicker in that lighthearted way friends so often do, Courfeyrac turns his gaze towards him, and Feuilly finds himself blinking, trying to figure out what exactly it is Courfeyrac will be asking him as a favour, for he knows the beginning of their conversation is exactly what Courfeyrac will do every time he seeks to extract a favour from someone.

And whatever it is, Feuilly already knows he will be saying yes, for not only does he love his friend enough to do anything for him, he is sure that had it been Feuilly asking for the favour, Courfeyrac would have already been up from his seat heading off to help.

“Out with it, Courfeyrac,” he encourages with a smile. “What is it that you evidently need me to do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “You know me so well, my dear friend. Well, the matter is,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “my parents have been writing incessantly to me in hopes that I will, at their side, attend the ball of one of their long-time friends.” Courfeyrac grimaces. “I shall depart for Avignon in a week’s time.”

Feuilly blinks, confused. He could hardly grasp at what this entire affair had to do with him.

“But Courfeyrac, you have always struck me as a man who delighted in dressing in a nice coat and going dancing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Courfeyrac huffs impatiently. “I like to go dancing with my friends. I would rather not have to suffer by my parents’ side at some ball surrounded by a crowd of people who cheer at the sight of the 1814 Charter.”

At his mention of the Charter, Feuilly allows himself a little laugh, his mind straying to a recent memory of Courfeyrac throwing a copy of the very same thing in the fire during a heated debate with Combeferre.

Calming himself, he manages enough breath to ask, “That is all good and fine, but what do I have to do with all this?”

With a beam, Courfeyrac shuffles closer to throw an arm around his shoulders. “So,” he begins, “all I ask from you is a small favour.” At Feuilly’s silence, he continues, “I want you to attend with me.”

At this, Feuilly nearly spits out the coffee he had taken in his mouth.

Once he finishes choking, he adopts a look of astonishment and asks, “Me?”

Courfeyrac’s grin is one of sincerity; try as he might, there is no sort of a joke written on his face. “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, he asks, “But… Why would you ask me of all people?”

At this, Courfeyrac frowns. “But why ever not you? I cannot think of a single reason why I would not ask you.”

He feels a humiliating blush stain his cheeks as the many, many reasons why he should be amongst the last people Courfeyrac should ask crosses his mind. For God’s sake, even Grantaire is a more preferable option—he, at least, hailed from a wealthy family, and so has the knowledge of the sort of behaviour and etiquette to be employed in such situations.

With a sad sort of smile, he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and says, “Find someone else to go with you, Courfeyrac. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must deny you this one thing.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepens. “But why?”

Must he really push this issue?

Well, Feuilly is not ashamed of who he was, but it really is a little rude making him say the words.

“Courfeyrac,” he sputters, “I haven’t the faintest clue how to behave at such a social gathering. Neither do I… neither do I have the money for the sort of lavish clothing no doubt one is expected to wear there.”

Courfeyrac’s mouth flattens, and it is a rare moment that Feuilly sees him so frank. “Your background has not rendered you a scoundrel, Feuilly—I have only ever seen you act as a man should—honest and down-to-earth. You’re exactly the kind of person a man should be like, and frankly I do not care much for the opinions of my parents’ friends, and I believe you needn’t do so either. As for clothing, if you will not allow me to purchase you new clothing, I shall simply ask Combeferre to borrow his, on your behalf.”

His little speech shocks him. “But,” his voice is a little weak, “why would you ask me?”

At last, Courfeyrac’s face brightens once more into the sort of face he was famous for amongst his friends. “My friend! You are such interesting conversation! I cannot think of another person I would rather have by my side as I am forced to endure another gathering of insufferable royalists.”

Feuilly struggles with his words. Courfeyrac would have him attend the ball by his side? Once more he finds himself searching Courfeyrac’s face for any hint of a cruel joke, but finds none.

At his silence, Courfeyrac rises from his seat, grinning widely, for silence tends to give the impression that the opposing side has fallen into agreement. “Excellent! So, Tuesday next week we shall depart. And I shall begin my valiant search through Combeferre’s wardrobe!”

Feuilly remains astonished in his seat.

________________________________________________________________

1829

If he has to be completely honest, Feuilly does not talk very often with Grantaire, and so, Feuilly finds he cannot really come to a conclusion about him. He sees that the man is doubtful of their efforts, loud and rambunctious, and is drunk, always seems to be drunk.

But there is also a sort of melancholy present on his face when he thinks no one can see, when he does not constantly keep up that smirk as he goes on his next drunken ramble, a bitter and sardonic expression when he hears the rest speak of revolution and he finds himself too tired to even inject himself into the conversation. He sees a yearning, impossibly broken look grace Grantaire's face when their leader starts to speak or makes to smile or cries when upset or rages when he is furious—he seems to look as if he is reaching for something he can never quite have no matter how he stretches his fingers whenever Enjolras does anything, really.

Feuilly does not know much of Grantaire. So, he thinks to speak to him.

"Grantaire," he sits down next to him and inclines his head in greeting when Grantaire looks up from where he had been staring hard at his bottle of absinthe.

"Ah! The fan-maker makes time for me at last!" Grantaire cries as he spreads his arms wide. "Yes, young Feuilly, what is it that you find yourself in need of a drunk for?"

He ignores the young comment, only meditating briefly on the fact that he is the same age as Grantaire, and instead, hoping to forge a connection to the man, asks, "Did you really study under the guidance of Gros?"

Grantaire bellows out a loud peal of laughter. "My good fellow," he slurs, and Feuilly worries for how much he has had to drink tonight, "you must not believe everything that comes out of this drunkard's mouth."

He furrows his eyebrows. So he was lying?

"So you lied?" he asks in clarification. "You never did go to art school?"

A smile twists up Grantaire's face. "I only just told you not to trust everything I say. And yet! And yet, what is the first thing you do after I give you advice?"

He was beginning to get a little lost here. "I’m not quite sure I follow. Did you attend art school or not?"

Grantaire leans back in his chair. "Yes and no!"

"Yes and no?"

He grins at Feuilly. "A tale worthy of the likes of pleasant idlers, I am afraid, and while you are pleasant enough, you are anything but an idler—you cannot possibly hope to enjoy it."

He leans forward. "And yet, I find myself curious enough to hear of it nonetheless."

"Well," he starts, and for a moment, Feuilly fears that Grantaire will start on another one of his rather infamous rants, and while it is not that he is exactly opposed to them, but more so, he needs to get home so he can get however many hours of sleep Joly ordered him to get. "I certainly did attend classes at first. But the pretentiousness of it all! No man can tell you better that artists are amongst the most pretentious people to grace this hellish landscape we call earth. And the nude models were hardly anything to look at! I could get myself a better whore for less than a sou! Or better yet, not pay at all when it is me that such women always want!"

For a split second, Grantaire's gaze drifts, and when Feuilly tracks the movement of his eyes, he ends up looking over to where Enjolras stands at the table near the front, regarding Grantaire with a strong look of disappointment as he holds Grantaire's stare before returning to whatever it was he was discussing with Combeferre.

Grantaire tips his bottle towards the ceiling.

"No, I made the decision that no more would I waste away somewhere I knew I would rot. So instead I spent my time pilfering apples."

He huffs a laugh. “Pilfering apples? The ones used to model fruit?”

Within Grantaire’s eyes, Feuilly sees a mischievous sort of glint. “The very same.”

“And now? Do you still attend?”

He shrugs. “From time to time, though, I must ask why you think to ask me. My good fellow,” he reaches forward and lays a heavy hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “I should think to ask you, rather, on your own painting.”

Feuilly flushes a little. “I haven’t the slightest of time for painting, Capital R.”

“And yet what little you have painted deserves to be hung up next to the works of Géricault!” Grantaire cries once more, and despite himself, Feuilly grins a little.

“It is hardly anything compared to Géricault.”

Grantaire waves a dismissive hand. “Bah! All these names—Géricault, Prud’hon, Delacroix—all of them are insufferable men who catch one whiff of fame and lose themselves to their pretentiousness. Your one work, young fan-maker, would be worth more than any of those scoundrels’ paintings put together.”

And Feuilly cannot help but gape, for this man in front of him, the very set definition of a skeptic, who once told their group, on his own whims, that believing was for the foolish and that he had no wish to believe in anything that would earn him an early death—he now sits here telling Feuilly that he finds meaning in his work, more meaning than in the works of the greatest painters to exist.

It leaves him shocked beyond compared.

Attempting to gather his thoughts once more into a state of decent coherency, he proceeds to ask, "Do you paint anymore?"

For a moment, just one quick moment that Feuilly admits he would not have caught had he not been looking closely, Grantaire's eyes flicker over to where Enjolras appears to be moderating some sort of a debate between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, laughing at something Courfeyrac must have said, and he notices the way Grantaire's face twists bitterly.

"Yes."

Feuilly does not ever ask what—or who—his subject is.

________________________________________________________________

1830

The weather of Paris in the spring signals the approach of a storm the Friends, unknown yet to their knowledge, will find themselves fighting in when the people decide in the season of July that tyranny must not be allowed to continue, and will resurrect barricades all throughout the city in the name of a free France achieved through a revolution that sees the overthrowing of King Charles X.

But for now, it is spring and the rain beats down upon the poor the hardest, upon those who have less shelter, fewer clothes, scarce food, and only in abundance do they have misery.

Feuilly counts himself lucky that he has a roof over his head, even if it is one that freezes in the night’s cold, and in the summer, swelters in the day’s heat.

Joly, however, does not seem to think so.

“I simply cannot allow you to go back to your flat when the rain beats down on our heads like this!” he cries, ignoring Feuilly’s several protests to the idea of spending the night at Joly’s residence, after Joly had taken one step into Feuilly’s own apartment and declared it uninhabitable in their current temperatures. “There is more than enough room at my residence, and I will not have one of my own falling ill when I had more than enough resources to prevent the ailment.”

“I wish not to intrude,” Feuilly repeats for what must surely be the hundredth time. “You already find yourself housing Bossuet, too, and—”

“Feuilly,” Joly scrubs a hand across his face, “helping a friend is hardly any bother to me. In the six years we have known each other is this how you expect me to behave?”

And Feuilly stops short, because Feuilly, who has never had a family—who has never had a mother or father or brother or sister—could hardly ever have imagined in his life that would have a friend—that he would have several friends—who would care for him—who would love him—like this, enough to offer up the chance at a residence that must look like a palace compared to his own shabby room, even if for one night.

“I simply… I simply would not want to cause any burden,” he mumbles.

Joly’s face splits into a bright grin, the one everyone who knows him is familiar with, the one that gives reason to why they all call him Jolllly. “But my friend!” he exclaims. “The more people to house, the more amusing the occasion, no?” Armed in one hand with his cane and the other holding Feuilly by the elbow, he begins to lead him towards his apartment. “Come! We shall make merry by the fire and drink to our heart’s content today—and we will not have to worry about rationing our drinking, for Grantaire is not here, either!”

“Make merry by the fire? But I regret to inform you that the Yuletide season is well past us,” an amused voice says by their side. As they both turn to the left, a familiar, laughing bald head makes itself apparent to their eyes.

Feuilly snorts. “I have not known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to nest by Joly’s fire, Bossuet. I find that I would rather while away the time in the false pretense that Christmas is still upon us rather than spend the hours shivering in the rain—would you not?”

“Bossuet can handle a little rain, what with the two sous in his pockets, he may even be able to manage a meager coffee,” Joly teases, carefully bringing the tip of his cane to rub at his nose.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, how does one manage a coffee at just two sous?”

“With enough grovelling at my door once he realizes that his endeavour is an impossible one and he owes me for the medical supplies I would inevitably have to purchase to bring him back to health after shivering so long in the cold.”

Bossuet bellows a laugh as he makes way for himself in between Feuilly and Joly, draping an arm around each's shoulders. “The grovelling will not be necessary, Jolllly, I shall tag along anyways. I would never decline, having found myself in the company of our dear friend Feuilly.”

Feuilly shoots him a confused look. “And why might my company be so desirable?”

Bossuet and Joly both laugh as if he had just told them the most amusing joke, but Feuilly cannot quite catch what it is that is so funny about what he said.

“Friends do not ask each other why their company is desirable, Feuilly,” Bossuet simply says.

And Feuilly feels something warm in his heart turn to a roaring fire, despite the chill of the rain.

Later, when he finds himself tucked into one of Joly’s armchairs, a blanket around him, he feels Joly lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder, looking at him most earnestly.

“I beg you think not of this as charity, my friend, but rather as something a friend would do for another. Nay a friend—more a brother.”

And with that, Joly leaves to prevent Bossuet from setting himself on fire in the kitchen while Feuilly struggles to blink back a wetness that threatens to slide down his cheeks, though his feelings are far from any sort of sorrow he has felt before.

________________________________________________________________

1832

He is hungry and he is thirsty and he is tired and he knows he is going to die.

He also knows that not only will he die in triumph, but he can imagine no other group of wonderful, extraordinary, familiar people he would rather die with.

Enjolras has already delivered news of their abandonment. Now, they sit and listen as he speaks of the principles of their fight, of the principles of their deaths, and Feuilly can think of no better speech he has ever heard in his short life.

He realizes, with a jolt, that Enjolras has turned to him. “Listen to me, Feuilly, valiant worker, man of the people, man of the peoples. I revere you. Yes, you see the future clearly, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father. You’re going to die here—in other words, to triumph.” He holds his gaze for a second longer before he continues.

And Feuilly nods. Because he believes in Enjolras. He trusts in his words.

He knows he will die. But what better cause could there be?

He wishes they had succeeded, he had hoped, had so ardently believed that the people would rise with them.

But if the people do not wish to answer the call of revolution, he knows it will not succeed. He has accepted this.

And he realizes it is okay. He has come to terms with it.

He dwells on Enjolras’ words.

You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father.

And, he quietly thinks to himself, I have adopted my friends as my brothers. And there is no one I would rather die beside. There are no other people who I would rather see smile one more time, or hold one more time, or laugh with and cry with and sit with one more time.

When he had first arrived in Paris, back eight years ago, Feuilly had resolved that he would adopt the people of Paris just as he had adopted those of the rest of the world.

He never imagined he himself would be adopted in turn.

________________________________________________________________

Rather than the bullet, Feuilly feels a sort of warmth spread through him instead. He lifts a hand to place at his side, where his blood begins to seep through his shirt and waistcoat.

He thinks of Bossuet’s laugh when he comes up with only two sous in his pocket and still offers Feuilly a drink.

He remembers why Joly was named the way he was, remembers his jollity in just about every situation Feuilly had found himself and Joly trapped in.

He nearly laughs at the thought of Grantaire’s rambles, and he sympathizes with his pursuit to find a family after his own had thrown him out. He sincerely hopes he will find the family that Feuilly did, too.

He recalls the feeling of Courfeyrac’s warmth, recalls how he kept the group together, how he shared that warmth with everyone no matter who they were, even if they were orphans like Feuilly.

He remembers Combeferre’s care, the way he always seemed to keep one eye open to look after everyone in the group, the way he never stopped making sure Feuilly got enough sleep, or had enough food, or rested enough, and he thinks that the world has just lost one of its greatest doctors.

He smiles at the memory of Jehan’s empathy, how his eyes seemed to see right through anything, and the way he always knew when to sit with Feuilly and ask him if there was something he wanted to share, something weighing down on his chest that was suffocating him, something that seemed to be relieved only when Jehan would smile that soft smile of his and tell him that he always had him by his side.

He can still feel Enjolras’ passion light up the barricade, recalls how his passion showed when he preached of a free France, when he spoke of the plight of the poor, and remembers the way that passion would soften into reverence when he would sit with Feuilly and listen to what he had to say, despite the fact that all his life he was likely taught to disregard men like him.

He remembers Bahorel’s bravery, how could he ever forget? He remembers that reckless smile, the bold behaviour that led to him taking his hand after being toppled to the ground, remembers that single question Bahorel asked him that would change his life forever, and he wishes—he cries at the thought of never having had the chance to say thank you, to tell him he is the reason why Feuilly is content to die in the situation he has found himself in.

Feuilly thinks of being born into the world with no family, no one to call his own.

Then he thinks about leaving it having found the men he loves, he loves—oh Lord above he loves like he could never love a mother or a father, he loves these men so much that it tears his heart in two thinking of each and everyone dying—he catches a glimpse of Enjolras being backed up the stairs while the National Guardsmen continues to prowl their way towards him and he sees Combeferre glance towards the heavens as his chest is speared by three bayonets and he sees Courfeyrac fall to his side having been shot once, twice, three times, and he sees Joly and Bossuet look towards each other as they are both shot side by side and he remembers the strength in Jehan’s voice when he cried out one last time in the name of the world they had sought to build and he remembers Bahorel’s spirit being the first to leave and he remembers, remembers, remembers, and it hurts so much, it makes him ache with a pain that makes him want to scream and cry for he cannot imagine the thought of having finally found his family and then having them torn from him, one by one, he hurts so much and surely God cannot be so cruel that he snatches their dreams, snatches the only people he knows he will ever love away—

And then he finds peace. Because as he bleeds out, he hears a voice, clear as the dawn drawing above the new day, cry out Long live the republic! and it is Grantaire, and he can almost hear Enjolras smile when he hears what he knows is the final report resounding, and in Combeferre’s eyes there is a sort of divine trust as his eyes remain affixed to where he believes he will find salvation, and there is a sort of tranquility in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he sees the way Joly and Bossuet are still looking to each other even in death, and he thinks of how Jehan went out exactly as he wished, with strong words on his tongue, and he thinks of Bahorel’s fighting spirit and how he died doing what he thought was right.

His hand grows damper and hotter as his blood seeps out quicker and quicker.

The world may not remember their names in history—but Feuilly knows they will have a permanent place in his.

Like Combeferre, he casts his eyes towards heaven, and he thinks he can see Bahorel hold out his hand like he did eight years ago.

He can’t wait to have his life change again.

And Feuilly falls with a smile.

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Unexpected. Part 1

Harry Potter Young Marauders Post Hogwarts

Summary: James is more than excited for you to come home. He is, however, unprepared for the surprise that you bring along.

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M

_____

“James, would you calm down?”

Lily hissed after James stepped on her foot for the fourth time this morning. James stopped his wandering around the kitchen to look at his wife.

“My sister is coming home. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Lily smiled as she put baby Harry down in his high chair. She had to admit that she was with James on that one. Everyone had missed you from the moment that you took a job for the order and moved off to France. Lily missed her best friend and James was missing his sister more than ever.

“I know, love. Y/n will be back soon. You can join Sirius in driving the poor woman crazy and I will have my best friend back.”

James grinned as he leaned down to get Harry’s attention.

“I can wait for her to see how adorable he is in person. Pictures just don’t do justice.”

Lily smiled. James had wanted nothing more than for you to come. From being so close to his little sister to having only phone and letter conversations for some time; Lily could see the sadness in James’ eyes when your name was mentioned.

“No, they don’t. I’m anxious to see what surprise she is bringing home. Has she given you any clues?”

James shook his head.

“If it's a boy, I will simply die. Y/n is too young to be worried about getting married.”

Lily looked up.

“James, we were married at her age. I’m sure if it's a boy, Y/n will have chosen a wonderful man. You know how picky your sister is.”

James had to agree on that one. You had to be one of the pickiest Hufflepuff’s that James Potter had ever seen. If you didn’t like a boy, you didn’t give him the chance. There had been plenty of boys at school that tried to “charm” you and failed miserably.

“You’re right there.”

James commented as Sirius and Remus came in the front door.

“Is she here yet?”

Sirius asked cheerfully. He was more than excited for you to come back too. After moving in with the Potters, he had become your new older brother. When you didn’t come back to London after graduation, Sirius missed you almost as badly as James did.

“No, she should be here soon.”

Remus gave Sirius a smirk.

“I told you that we hadn’t missed her. He’s like an over-excited child.”

Remus commented as Sirius picked up Harry. Even though Harry was only six months old, Sirius was still trying to get him to say Padfoot.

“Things never change.”

Lily said with a pleased smile as the front door opened and closed. James’ eyes lit up. This had to be you! He knew that it would in the afternoon before Fleamont and Euphemia arrived.

“Sissy! I’ve missed…”

James had run out of the kitchen and froze the moment that he came skidding into the living room to see you standing with Regulus behind you. Lily, Sirius, and Remus quickly followed after James the moment that his voice stopped. All three were as surprised to see Regulus standing behind you as James.

“Y/n….why is Regulus with you?”

James questioned. Sirius blinked before focusing his attention on James. His best friend looked beyond confused and worried.

“Please tell me that he isn’t the surprise.”

James commented as your smile fell. You, meanwhile, took in a deep breath. From the moment that you awoke that morning, you knew today was going to be a shit show of a dumpster fire.

“He’s part of it, James. Regulus and I are married now.”

James’ face went white as Sirius and Remus started whispering to each other. Lily meanwhile, reached out to wrap her hand around James.

“You what?”

James yelled. He looked between Regulus and yourself with a furious expression. Regulus was giving him that cocky smirk that the younger Black brother reserved just for James Potter. You, meanwhile, looked extremely worried.

“You heard me. I love him but there’s more. Reggie?”

James leaned back to Sirius saying “oh, god she calls him that.” You stepped away from Regulus to reveal a baby sleeping in his arms. If you had ever tried to surprise your friends, you won the gold medal today. James and Lily looked as if they were going to take turns fainting. Remus’ eyes were wide while Sirius had a hand over his mouth as he took everything in.

“That’s a baby.”

James muttered. He turned around and started fanning his face.

“That’s a baby, Lily.”

Lily nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Regulus, meanwhile, rolled his eyes.

“Yes, James. Congratulations...you figured it out.”

You turned around giving him a displeased expression that made Regulus shut up. Before arriving at the Potters, you had begged him to try to get along with your brother. You knew that there was no love lost between James and Regulus.

“Regulus, James...please. It's clear that we need to talk.”

James nodded, trying to breathe in.

“Clearly! When did this happen? Is this child his? Is that why you married him? Call me old-fashioned but what’s wrong with living in sin.”

Lily gave James a scowl.

“James, stop. Y/n, what’s going on here? I promise that he won’t yell at you. Please, sit down.”

James paced around the room before taking a deep breath.

“I want to talk to you alone...without him. In the kitchen, please.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Regulus. His eyes were carefully looking between James and his own brother for any sign of hexes being thrown. The last thing that Regulus wanted was to leave you alone with James. Lucky for him, he could look right into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

You replied. Sirius stepped in finally. He had forgotten how to speak but finally came back to himself.

“James, I think we all need to talk right here. I am anxious to see what my own brother has to say.”

James started chewing on the inside of his mouth. Sirius sat down on the couch.

“Y/n, Reg...what is going on?”

“What you see is what you get.”

Regulus said, sounding almost bored with the situation. James flexed his hands a few times before taking a few deep breaths.

“Sorry but that doesn’t work for me. I want to know how this started and why neither of you could pick up a telephone or send a letter. I’m an uncle and I didn’t even know about this child’s existence. Regulus, I know that we don’t like each other but this is my sister...that you married without my permission.”

You slipped a hand on Regulus’ knee, hoping to stop him from getting angry. To your relief, he only smirked.

“I wasn’t aware that Y/n required your permission to do things. Is she also allowed to cross the street without you holding her hand?”

You decided to come into the conversation, after meeting Siriuis’ gaze.

“We met in France. After we just hit it off...I didn’t tell you because...well because of the way that you are acting right now. You’re acting like a child James. My happiness should matter to you and clearly, it doesn’t.”

James stood up.

“Sorry, but when your happiness is over a man that could end up getting you killed...I won’t be thrilled for you. Have you seen the mark on his left arm? Do you two even know each other at all?”

James didn’t wait for you to respond before turning and walking from the room.

“Reg, can we talk….outside?”

Sirius asked. Regulus didn’t mind talking to his brother. It would be the first time in years and deep down, he missed his brother. Now Walburga wasn’t breathing down his neck telling him not to speak to Sirius.

Regulus gently eased the sleeping baby into your arms. His grey eyes met yours.

“Will you be alright?”

You nodded as he leaned down to kiss you. Neither of you noticed the expression of discomfort on Lily, Remus, and Sirius’ faces. Had James been in the room, he would have probably fainted.

“We’ll be fine.”

You softly replied as Regulus stood to follow Sirius out of the room. Lily, meanwhile, waited all of two seconds to take Regulus’ place.

“I’m sorry about your brother...we are just shocked. You could have come to us, you know. I would have talked James down. The two of you shouldn’t have had to go through all of this alone.”

You’re eyes rolled up to meet Lily’s. Finally, there was some genuine caring coming from someone. Remus nodded scooting closer.

“Lily’s right, Y/n. James will get used to it eventually. He’s just shocked...all of us are. Why Regulus?”

You looked up to Remus.

“Why not Regulus? If it wasn’t him it would just be another.”

Remus shrugged.

“Fair enough. The two of you seem so different.”

You smiled.

“We actually are very compatible, him being a Slytherin and me a Hufflepuff. You both want the truth? We met in a pub in France one night and were both wasted. The baby is the result of us sleeping together that night. We got married because we felt like it was the right thing to do. I do love Regulus and I know that he loves me. It may not be the ideal situation for any of you but it works for us. With this war going on, none of us know how long that we have. We could all die young... Regulus isn’t a death eater anymore. We’ve both been risking everything...Regulus especially. I wish James would see things that way but I don’t think that he will.”

Lily couldn’t argue with you on a few things. There was a very real possibility that all of you would die young. The war was getting worse and worse by the day. James would also take some time to calm down.

“Let me see this baby.”

You smiled and eased the baby girl into Lily’s arms. Lily smiled. You were relieved to finally see a genuine smile.

“She’s darling. How old is she?”

“Four months...just two months younger than Harry. I wanted her to grow up with her cousin and her family. Her name is Halley.”

Lily smiled as the baby snuggled closer to her chest to go back to sleep. The little one looked extraordinary like her father mixed with some of the Potter features.

“Like the comet? That’s cute. She already has the Black family looks. Give Sirius a moment and he is going to be going into extreme uncle mode.”

Lily was pleased to see you smile at that.

“Regulus won’t say it but he misses his brother. I think it has a lot to do with being afraid that Walburga is going to jump out and bash him over the head for admitting his feelings.”

Lily knew all about the Black family. Their cold feelings on everything was a constant topic of conversation between James and Sirius.

“Do they know about Halley?”

You shook your head.

“Regulus didn’t want to tell them. We will now because there is a great chance that we will run into them at some point.”

Lily reached out and gently squeezed your hand.

“Everything will be just fine. The two of you aren’t alone anymore. Do you love him...Regulus?”

You smiled.

“Yes, I love him very much. It didn’t take much work. I suppose in ways we are still getting to know each other but I think everything will be fine. Hopefully, Sirius isn’t out there giving him an earful…”

(meanwhile)

Sirius lit a cigarette as Regulus stared out into the garden. He was waiting for his brother to start talking but clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

Still the quiet one….

Sirius thought with a frown. If he wanted to get anything out of Regulus then he was going to have to pry it out of him...just like in childhood.

“I’m impressed.”

Sirius commented as he inhaled. Regulus didn’t bother turning in his direction. He knew where this conversation was going. Sirius wanted to know what happened.

Of course, he’ll want to know. It's one hell of a story for one to hear…

“About?”

Regulus questioned. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I had to marry her.”

Regulus softly replied. Sirius frowned.

“Do you love her?”

Regulus was silent for a few moments before turning to his brother.

“I’m sure that I will. Y/n is a good woman. She’s been extremely kind to me...when she didn’t have to be. She could have easily never told me about Halley. Y/n could sit back and tell the child that her father was a monster and not worth loving but she didn’t. She loves me and it's nice. I married her so people wouldn’t talk...Y/n doesn’t deserve that.”

Regulus didn’t turn to face his brother who was frowning. That clearly wasn’t that answer that Sirius was expecting. Sirius expected Regulus to say that he loved you.

“Don’t you think it's a bit cruel to marry someone that you don’t love? Do you tell her that you love her?”

Regulus frowned. He wanted to make sure that you didn’t hear the words coming out of his mouth. Love was such a funny word. While Regulus cared for you deeply he wasn’t sure if he loved you. He wasn't sure if he even knew what love was or capable of feeling it. Maybe, in time, he would but for now, he knew what his feelings were.

“I do and it's not cruel. She’s happy...I make her happy. As I said, I’m sure that I will fall in love with her. She does make me happy...you know what a feat that is. I love our daughter and that’s enough for now.”

Regulus glanced over his shoulder.

“She gave me a chance. You know that we, being members of the sacred 28, didn’t get much affection from our parents. I don’t want Halley growing up with that.”

Sirius sat down on the banister.

“You’re right there. How old is Halley?”

“Four months. Before you ask, mum and dad don't know. I didn’t tell them. I’m sure that you can understand why.”

Sirius nodded and ran a hand through his hair.

“Of course, that comment speaks for itself. I’ll talk to James.”

Regulus stood up.

“I should go check on my wife.”

______

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Text

Runaan, the Dragonblade

I woke from a dream this morning where I figured out half of this and came up with the rest while I mulled it over, and now I have a new angsty headcanon: Runaan was raised by Avizandum and trained to fight by Skywings at the Storm Spire.

Runaan is a soft elf who's learned to adopt Hard Mode at a moment's notice. Avizandum is a rat bastard who truly thought of humans as lesser beings. Runaan's Hard Mode and his attitude that humans are liars, nothing in them worth sparing, etc etc, is all learned behavior. It makes sense that all his harsh attitudes are part of his assassin training, since Ethari and Lujanne don't share them. And we’ve seen how certain other old dragons feel about humans. Considering that Xadia once wanted to wipe them all out, and that the dragons live by far the longest, it seems to me that the source of prejudice against humans lies with the dragons and is taught to the elves over and over with each new generation.

Then there's that casual line in the Book One novelization where we learn that Xadia wouldn't necessarily choose to avenge Avizandum because he was a morally gray bastard, but it would absolutely cry for justice over Zym being killed. That scene is Rayla's, and all her assassin information comes from Runaan. Bitter about his upbringing at Avizandum's claws, maybe? I don't blame him.

If Avizandum really did raise Runaan and see to his training, then S1E1′s title “Echoes of Thunder” just keeps having more layers to it, doesn’t it? Gosh. Runaan is connected to so many parts of the plot, to so many characters, but behind him lies Thunder. Just like Aaravos lies behind Viren and his own web of connections.

I keep trying to puzzle out Runaan's scars, where and why he got them. This headcanon has yet another guess. See, Ethari is eager to use the Sun's Tears salve to keep Runaan healing quickly--he hates to see his husband hurt, of course he does, he loves him! So I don't think it's very likely that Runaan got those scars after he married Ethari. And then there's his bio clue about "learned to put his mission above all else". If you learn something, that's a lesson, and lessons usually are learned early, especially when assassin training begins before you can even walk.

So if his training supervisor was Avizandum, and Runaan wasn't hard enough during training... I can see it. Typical dragon behavior, a little smack of the tail. It wouldn’t do much damage to another dragon, not with their thick scaled hides. But used on elves who are short and tiny and delicate in comparison? Ouch.

None of Runaan’s scars or even damage from his fight in Harrow’s chamber, none of it is on his back. Runaan never turns his back unless he’s spinning with his blades out. So whatever hit him, he was facing it directly. And if it was Avizandum’s judgment, then he stood there and saw it coming and took it like the stoic Moonshadow he is.

This poor angst-ridden elf, god.

I'm dancing around it here. But Avizandum losing control of Zym was a good thing, and Viren interrupting his hatching storm was beneficial for Zym and therefore all of Xadia - once the Dragaang got to hatch him, anyway. Because however much Avizandum cried at dying and being unable to reach Zym, whether from love or fear or loss of control, he would've raised him to be hard and trained him to be ruthless. Just like Runaan.

Zym was spared all that. But maybe Runaan wasn't. Maybe it's tradition for the Dragon Throne to raise and train each assassin leader, and that's where the blood promise thing comes in. A Moonshadow elf, separate from their people, surrounded by dragons and Skywings, needs to bond with someone. So they make the promise, swear their honor and loyalty in service to the one being who has seen to their education and whatever guidance and comforts they are given in life. And then they go home to the Silvergrove and bind others to the will of the Dragon King.

I had a really old headcanon once that Runaan was raised by Skywings, lol. This version is cooler though. It's just the way he fights. It's so aerial! And all the spinning! Everything about Skywings being strong and fast really just adds more strength to this headcanon. Rayla believes Runaan is the best assassin, and he's described as basically unstoppable. A Moonshadow who fights like a Skywing would have serious advantages over most other combatants. Maybe this will be one more connection between Runaan and Callum someday? How fun would that be? Runaan actually being able to train Callum in Skywing aerial techniques to some degree. Whether he would... ehh. I could see him silently adjusting Callum’s elbow or something and nodding for him to try again, though. Perhaps in a “but I doubt you’ll get it--oh huh, look at that” sort of way. Which would be awesome all around, tbh.

Unfortunately, if Runaan were trained by Skywings, he would have thought himself slow and sloppy during training. It probably influenced his constant training regimen in the Silvergrove. If he trained all the time, he'd at least get closer to Skywing standards. But maybe he still lives with a deep-seated sense of inadequacy for not being as swift and light on his feet as his trainers. And I can see Avizandum allowing that mentality, and even encouraging it, since it would urge a young Runaan to constantly push himself harder.

Now, let me headcanon about Rayla: if she were the child that Runaan chose to follow him as the assassin leader, there is no way in hell he'd let her go back to the Storm Spire for instruction at Avizandum’s claws. So maybe he told Lain and Tiadrin what happened to him, or maybe they already knew. Heck, maybe they were there with him, or maybe Lain was and that’s why he’s Runaan’s best friend. In any case, no one wanted to put Rayla through that, so they all managed a compromise. Lain and Tiadrin went in her place and served on the Dragonguard. And Runaan got to keep Rayla away from Avizandum.

He was so gentle with her when he raised her, it kills me. The irony that he was still training her to be an assassin despite his own history is very deep. But I don't think anyone knows how to get out of that one yet. Still, he raised her softly and with encouraging guidance, not with tail smacking. Somehow, that sense of "I'll never be good enough" did carry over, though... Rayla really is as perceptive as her mother sometimes. She picks up things Runaan never meant to teach her. Luckily that also includes kissing techniques.

Runaan helped Rayla avoid his harsh upbringing at the Storm Spire, but he raised her so softly that she got him captured. He keeps using those Skywing moves like mental chess to try to get around the dangers in his life and protect his friends and family, but the board is set against him. And I'm guessing the only way to win is not to play.

tl;dr: Runaan was raised by dragons and trained by Skywings and it shows, but he didn't want Rayla raised the same way because it was traumatic and scarring, so her parents went to the Storm Spire instead of her. And everything still fell apart because the system is broken.

Extra hc’s:

Runaan got over his fear of heights and death at the same time because Avizandum made him jump off the Spire repeatedly, and he’d have to be chill and calm and accept his fate, and when he was at peace with it, then a Skywing would catch him.

Runaan gave Hendyr his cheek scars for catching him too early one time. Dude was trying to help, and Runaan was trying to be perfect, and it ended with shades of Amaya.

Rayla throwing herself off the pinnacle when she killed Viren was something she may have heard about before, and once again she’s copying Runaan.

There’s a Moonshadow room at the Spire because there’s always a Moonshadow there for training, and that’s where Lain and Tiadrin were living: in Runaan’s childhood room. They’ll know him so much better after having spent time there.

Runaan’s got chronic stress about messy windswept hair now, and that’s why Ethari does his hair for him every morning with those dexterous hands of his, to make sure Runaan feels calm and ordered and as far from the Storm Spire in his mind as possible.

#tdp headcanons #angsty tdp headcanons #tdp angst #runaan #runaan headcanons #storm spire #rayla #lain #tiadrin #moonfam #moonfam angst #Skywing elves #the dream part was about avizandum raising runaan #and i added the skywings training runaan after i woke up #like holy shit this is angsty #i love and hate it aaaaaaa #why everything terrible gotta happen to my boy #no i know why

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

And This Is How It Starts | Susan Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight homophobia, shitty friends???

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Everything your soulmate loses, you receive. Turns out, Y/N’s soulmate is very forgetful.

Request: helloo. can you write a sapphic susan fic please! take it whatever way you'd like :)

A/N: I’m not sure how many people read Susan fics, but I really like this one :D

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

“Gross, can you guys please cut it out?” Y/N stated, watching her best friend suck faces with her soulmate. She was on his lap and their make out session was starting to grow more intense than Y/N was comfortable with. Hannah pulls away from Alex with an exaggerated groan.

“You’re just jealous you’re still stuck in the ‘lose it and receive it’ phase. Not my fault you haven’t found him yet.” Her voice was light and teasing, but Y/N couldn’t help but fell her heart rip.

“I’ll find her eventually,” Y/N sighed, taking a book out of her schoolbag. It was a small, very beat-up copy of The Hunger Games.

“Her?” Alex responded, tearing his gaze from Hannah’s face. “How do you know it’s a her?”

Y/N opened the book delicately to reveal “Susan Pevensie” written in perfect cursive on the back of the front cover. The book had multiple stains on it, most likely tea judging by the color, and the same perfect cursive riddled the pages. Whoever Susan was, she adored this book with her life. Y/N’s fingertips lightly traced the writing before turning the book for her friends to see. Hannah scrunches her face at it.

“It could be his friends, you know. Like she lent it to him and he lost it,” Alex kisses Hannah’s cheek.

“Or this Susan girl is his girlfriend,” Hannah smirks.

“Or,” Y/N was growing frustrated. Whenever she hinted that her soulmate might be a girl, everyone dismissed her suspicions. “My soulmate is Susan Pevensie and she keeps losing her things. And besides, this book is really loved, she wouldn’t just give it to someone.”

Hannah scoffed, tossing her hair in a very I know everything, and you don’t kind of way. “Fine, believe what you want. Not sure why you would want a girl soulmate anyway, I know I wouldn’t.”

“Well, yeah, of course you don’t. You’re straight,” Y/N flipped to a random page and read the gorgeous handwriting that was scrawled in the margins. Her mouth twitched slightly at how perfect the script was.

“What? And you aren’t?”

“No, I’m not.” Y/N’s eyes didn’t move from the page as she spoke. The teens sat in silence. “Is there a problem?”

“No! No, of course not,” Alex answered quickly. ‘I guess we just, uh, didn’t expect it… I guess.”

“Well, surprise. Now that that’s out of the way, do you guys like The Hunger Games?”

The two grew even more uncomfortable at the sudden tension they were feeling. “No, not necessarily.”

“She seems to. A lot. And there’s a cute little strawberry bookmark on page 47,” Y/N sighed dreamily picturing what Susan must look like. Based on her cursive alone, she must be absolutely jaw-dropping.

“Has, er, Susan lost anything else recently?” Alex asked. Y/N nodded excitedly, digging in her bag again. She pulled out a set of keys with a feather pendant keychain, a light pink lipstick, a glass water bottle, and a small fabric coin purse. Y/N grinned down at the items then looked back towards her friends.

“Oh, she must be quite forgetful. Do you have any other stuff?” Y/N’s grin brightened even more.

“Oh, loads, this is just what she’s lost within the past week,” The keys jingled as she moved her hands. “The keys must’ve really ruined her day. I wonder what they’re to.”

“Hopefully somewhere in England. Where’s the money from?” Hannah gestured to the yellow coin purse. Y/N shrugged and tossed it towards her friends. It was rather small, barely the size of Y/N’s palm, and it had a gorgeous diamond quilt pattern.

“No clue. I haven’t opened it if I’m being quite honest.” Alex’s noble fingers undid the clasp and looked inside.

“Well, it’s definitely British currency, which is helpful.” He tipped the pouch and emptied the contents into his hand. As expected, a variety of different coins came toppling out, along with a folded piece of paper and various pins. “Can I have this?”

“No, you cannot have my soulmate’s belongings. Give me that,” Y/N grabs ahold of all the bag and its contents. With her hand cupped like a funnel, the pins and money fall smoothly into the coin purse. Y/N discards the pouch into her bag and begins to unfold the paper.

She had expected the paper to be riddled with text, like a to-do list or a small reminder. Instead, it appeared to be a little photograph of a family. The paper itself seemed to be fragile as if it had been handled a lot or had gotten wet, so Y/N handled the photo with care.

The scene depicted the smallest of the group, a little girl, giggling up at the oldest as the other two looked on with large smiles. Y/N turned the photo to look at the back, just in case any date was included with the photo. In the same gorgeous script as the book, Lucy laughing at Peter because Ed insulted him “in the name of justice.” June 15 was written in black ink. Y/N turned the picture over frantically and scanned the faces of the family.

Susan was absolutely beautiful; her dark brown hair was styled in effortless waves and her lips were painted with a cherry red color. Her eyes were wrinkled in the corners, due to her contagious smile, and she looked like she was filled to the brim with happiness. Y/N had never seen such gorgeous baby blue eyes.

The poor girl was speechless, her mind running a mile a second and vision focusing on only Susan’s portrait.

“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N murmured breathlessly.

“Who is?”

Y/N looked up at her friends, turning the photo to show them.

“Susan, my soulmate.”

Susan read over the essay that sat in her lap, taking in every detail of the writing. It wasn’t hers, but it was her soulmate’s misplaced homework. The topic wasn’t overly exciting, an analysis of a book Susan hasn’t read, but just the way her soulmate wrote captivated her. Y/N L/N, which was the name written on the top of the paper, had such a poetic way of writing. It was as if she was telling Susan a story, rather than writing about an 18th century novel.

“Reading the essay again, are we?” Peter snickered from next to her. Susan would have hit him with the paper, but she didn’t want to risk damaging it.

“Yes, what’s the problem with that?”

“Nothing, Su, I just don’t think rereading missing homework is going to bring Y/N any closer to you. It’s over a year old.” Peter had found his soulmate when he was young, so he didn’t quite understand his siblings’ desire to find their other halves so quickly.

“Not physically, but I already know a lot about her from this one paper. I know her handwriting, how she talks, the way she feels about some things…”

“Yeah, how she feels about classic literature. Not exactly groundbreaking.” Peter sunk deeper into the couch cushion in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Maybe not to you, but to me it is. You don’t have to be such a happiness drain, you know.” Susan was growing more frustrated by the minute. She didn’t want her older brother to snatch the paper away from her, so she gently creased it and placed it into her notebook.

“I’m just taking the piss.”

“Well, it’s not funny. And shouldn’t you be doing your wash? We leave for school tomorrow.” Susan stood up, lifting her bag off of the floor and onto her shoulder.

“Yes, alright mother.”

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Hannah hollered over her shoulder. She was walking towards the train station with a large group of her friends. Y/N waved her off.

“I’ll meet you there! Save me a seat, yeah?” Hannah shrugged her off and continued the conversion she was more invested in.

Y/N sighed, watching their backs disappear into the distance. She never quite liked the group Hannah was friends with, so them leaving her out never quite bothered her. Especially when she could get sandwiches for the train ride.

The teen was waiting at a crosswalk when she spotted her. Susan was stood at the newspaper stand outside of the corner store Y/N was going to. She looked stunning as she flipped idly through a Vogue magazine. The sun shone across her hair and Y/N thought she looked similar to an angel.

When the light turned green, Y/N scurried across the street in order to meet her love. However, she paused a few paces away to steady her breathing.

“Excuse me, are you Susan Pevensie?” Y/N spoke, voice shaking. Susan turned around, utterly confused. Y/N was right in her assumption; Susan was in fact an angel. An angel that looked even more heavenly in person.

“Yes, and may I ask who you are? And how you know my name?”

“Oh, right, um I’m Y/N L/N. I’m not sure if you know who-” Susan’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but cut Y/N off.

“You’re my soulmate.” Her red lips were slightly agape as she took in Y/N’s appearance. “Excuse my bluntness, but you’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Y/N’s cheeks grew hot and her fingers fumbled with the buckles on her bag. She was much more nervous than she had hoped, but Y/N couldn’t help it. Once the bag was open, she gripped Susan’s possessions and held them out.

“You need to keep better track of your things, love.” Susan’s perfectly manicured fingers brushed Y/N’s as she took back her book and keys. Y/N’s legs felt like jelly.

“How could you possibly know what I looked like?”

“You lost a picture of your family. Well, I suppose a coin purse with a picture folded inside. Still, a picture was lost and I saw it.” Y/N rambled, making Susan giggle. “I’ve been looking for you for ages,”

“And I you, darling.” Susan placed her belongings into her bag and embraced Y/N. Y/N didn’t quite know what to do; Susan smelt of rose petals and honey and her hair was so soft as it brushed against Y/N’s cheek. All the same, Y/N wrapped her arms loosely around Susan’s waist.

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” She whispered into Y/N’s ear. Y/N could have fainted on the spot, but she squeaked out a small yes.

Susan kept her arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she kissed her gently. Y/N’s thumbs danced across the floral patterned fabric that covered her hips as she kissed back. It was light and fleeting, but it still made Y/N feel like she was going to burst. The pair pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes. Susan’s were even bluer in person.

“Can I buy you a sandwich?” Y/N croaked, cutting the tension. Susan giggled happily.

“As long as you let me cover the dessert.”

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parismemes · 4 years

Text

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM DEATH NOTE: THE MUSICAL

WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?

“where is the justice when the guilty all go free?” “i see a young man’s anger burning in your eyes.” “show me what’s right about the wrongs that we allow.” “this whole damn system’s broken way beyond repair.” “what about the victims waiting for some justice?” “how can we turn away and say that’s just the way things are?” “your simple arguments have all been made before.” “the world’s not black and white.” “what good is law that can’t punish those who break it?” “isn’t everybody sick to death of all this stuff?” “we owe them some justice.”

THEY’RE ONLY HUMAN

“isn’t it a laugh?” “isn’t it a shame?” “we stay eternally bored.” “they’re only human; they don’t see.” “who they are is who they’ll always be.” “they push and they shove with this thing they call love til they fall.” “isn’t it a farce?” “isn’t it a waste?” “i really don’t know and don’t care.” “they give and they take, hoping someone will help break their fall.” “they can’t see all the years they could give you and me.” “they give and we take.” “i’m intrigued by their love.” “let’s call.”

HURRICANE

“did i hear correctly?” “writing is the gun--i only have to aim.” “the sky will scream once they feel the power of the hurricane.” “finally, a chance to find a little justice.” “there’s nowhere to run to.” “take what fortune grants you. use it while you’ve got it.” “flawless execution.” “i am the mighty hurricane.” “i am the god of a brave new world.” “the time for talking is finally in the past.”

KIRA!

“where i come from is a world of bone and dust.” “all i am is always bored.” “from time to time, i visit seeking fun.” “it’s no big deal, really, is it?” “we sit and gamble all day long.” “it isn��t right, it isn’t wrong.” “there really isn’t very much to do.” “now and then, we spy on you.” “humans are such funny creatures, always thinking you’re so smart.” “the more things change, they say that, the more things stay the same.” “you think you’re making changes, but the only thing you can change is your name.” “mind if i just take a bite?”

I’M READY

“they say i’m too young, and they call me a fool.” “the world may be cold, and the world may be cruel, but this world is all that i’ve got.” “i’m ready, ready or not.” “the road is too long to believe you can walk it alone.” “together we might find a place to belong.” “if you’re ever afraid, you can just lean on me.” “let me kiss you. and then let me kiss you again.” “ready or not, i’m in love with you.” “i don’t care where we go.” “i don’t care what the world has to say.”

WE ALL NEED A HERO

“when i get afraid, i reach for your hand and i go on.” “the best of us can come from any place.” “we all need a hero.” “we fight the good fight.” “something must be done.”

THE GAME BEGINS

“empty your mind of any theories.” “start at the end of all your queries to learn where things begin.” “you analyze by working backwards.” “even perfect crimes have perfect flaws.” “the game begins the same way.” “anticipate his adaptation by using all you’ve learned.” “some minor detail will draw you in and then another one will draw you out again.” “the chase is on.”

THERE ARE LINES

“there are lines that can’t be crossed.” “there are things you shouldn’t do.” “you don’t justify the means in the service of an end.” “send a thief to catch a thief.” “trap a liar with a lie.” “nothing wrong can turn out right by saying wrongs are right to do.” “you don’t load a gun, close your eyes, and shoot.” “you don’t kill a man just to buy a clue.” “this is not a plan lawmen can pursue.” “you know that i feel as you do for these lessons i’ve learned at your knee.” “i think maybe by working with you, helping you will be helpful for me.” “never cross these lines.”

SECRETS & LIES

“all of the data has been analyzed.” “there’s something i don’t see.” “what information is eluding me?” “how can i ever be at ease with ___?” “he/she/they can go to hell.” “the truth is hard to sort out among the secrets and the lies.” “familiar faces watch you, but with a perfect stranger’s eyes.” “i’m smart enough, so it appears, to win this stupid game.” “i’ll rid the world of any criminal who wants to play, and also rid the world of anybody who gets in my way.” “the line is quickly blurring between what’s right and what is not.” “i don’t care who gets hurt, as long as i get one more shot.”

MORTALS & FOOLS

“what i see in your eyes is a counterfeit emotion.” “you believe in the spell of this thing that you call love.” “try as i will, i just don’t understand it.” “love is for mortals and fools.” “it never turns out quite the way that you planned it.” “why do you break all the rules?” “what i feel is so real that it sets my poor heart racing.” “try as you might, you will not understand it.” “love makes you break all the rules.” “love can make you come alive or take your life away.”

STALEMATE

“each time i challenge, he responds.” “i haven’t figured out just how.” “i wonder, is this guy for real?” “is he who he claims to be?” “why would he make a point of telling me?” “he doesn’t rattle easily.” “like it or not, i am his alibi.” “let’s get to it.” “clock is ticking, so let’s just do it.” “lose or win, this is it.” “his name is obviously fake.” “he’s waiting for my first mistake.” “i’ll wait also, but more patiently.” “we’ll see who blinks first.” “i know you’re gonna love my brand new song.” “i know we’re gonna be a perfect fit.” “it’s me and you forever.”

I’LL ONLY LOVE YOU MORE

“i owe you more than anyone.” “you rescue me from all my tears.” “i’ll pay any price for finding you.” “my restless knife is worth so much more because of you.” “i’ll only love you more.” “i’m here now.” “please, please don’t run away.”

HONOR BOUND

“___ is exactly who he seems to be.” “coincidences can’t replace hard facts.” “what if i’m seeing bends as light refracts?” “would i have the strength to do anything i needed to for justice’s sake?” “i must come to my senses and my sanity.”

PLAYING HIS GAME

“time to rethink.” “margin for error is slim.” “he could win.” “i can’t use the same plan.” “time to start thinking like him.” “what would i do if i got inside his head?” “i’ll walk in his shoes as long as it takes.” “does he see pixels, not dreams?” “all that promise keeping is harder, i’m sure, than it seems.” “how would it be if i saw the world like him?” “i must be ever so careful.” “don’t move until you are ready.” “don’t lose your cool or you’ll blow it.”

BORROWED TIME

“you can do most anything you want to me now.” “you will never change my mind.” “i’d rather die than let you make me betray him.” “i’m living on borrowed time.” “i will hold out longer than you.” “i’m cheating death with every breath.” “every day that i don’t die is borrowed time.”

WHEN LOVE COMES

“i’ve always lived without it.” “that’s what the poets say.” “i never believed that anything could feel this true.” “when love comes, it takes you by surprise.” “finally there’s someone to cry for.” “i can’t believe the peace i’m feeling.” “even if i die, love will survive.” “funny the things the human heart will put you through.” “don’t fight it.”

THE WAY IT ENDS

“though it feels right, a part of me knows that it’s wrong.” “i’m like a software program caught inside an endless loop.” “is this the way it ends now?” “how could i not see this coming?” “i know by now you understand you’re just a pawn upon a board.” “let the cold, hard justice crash the system.” “i’ve always stayed a step ahead.” “this is the way it ends now.” “i’ve seen through you right from the start.” “you’ll never, ever get away.” “don’t you see that you will die today?” “feel how a minute spends when you wish you had a minute more.”

#rp meme #rp memes #ask meme #ask memes #sentence starters

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ororowrites · 3 years

Text

Two Thousand Twelve (Yahya x Black OC)

Sweet Thang Series - Chapter One

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, substance use

Word Count: 2,409

Los Angeles - 2012

Forty-five, forty six, forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty! Candace finished up her last set of sit-ups, dusted off her leggings and grabbed her belongings. The gym served as her stress reliever, especially when her boyfriend was the cause of the stress. When she felt like she had worked up enough of a sweat, Candace returned to the off campus apartment she shared with her twin sister, Trinity.

They were both in their Senior year at USC, far away from their home in Chicago, Illinois. Candace was majoring in Dramatic Arts while her twin sister was studying History and Education. They were both the apple of their parents’ eyes but Candace was the child who went above and beyond to make them proud. Her sister Trinity was more of a free spirit and though she had many academic successes, she did not care what their parents thought or about their constant pressure. Trinity and Candace had two older sisters, Freida and Talia and a younger brother, Anthony who was about to start his freshman year of college. The twins were in their last semester of college and while they looked forward to graduating, they did not look forward to splitting up for graduate school. Candace had dreams of attending Yale’s Drama School and her twin wanted to move back home for her next educational ventures.

“I need to figure out what I’m going to do. At this rate, I can’t keep up with my tuition payments,” Candace complained, checking her bank statements. “Most of my money is going towards the car and insurance and I can’t get rid of that.

“Did you talk to someone in the financial aid office? They stay having attitudes in there but maybe they can help. I would say I’d help you....I’m broke as shit, though.” Trinity twirled her Ramen noodles around her fork and stuffed it in her mouth. “I’m surviving on Ramen noodles and faith.”

“I wasn’t expecting your help, Trin.” Options began to pile up in Candace’s head and only one of them appeared to be the best choice. Maybe not the best choice to many but her pride kept her from asking her parents for more help. Anthony Jr. was a talented athlete and with them putting him through school, she didn’t want to bug them. Plus, she wanted the best for her brother. He deserved the world for all the hard work he put into his craft and turning his life around after a rough patch.

“Getting another job is probably your best bet,” Trinity suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

--------

“Let me eat you out,” Maxwell whispered in Candace’s ear.

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they’d fall out of her head. Why did she even agree to come out with him when his sheer presence irked her soul? Maxwell was Candace’s on and off again boyfriend and right now they were in an off phase. As usual, Candace ended up making herself available so Maxwell could apologize.

“Why can’t you just watch the movie,” Candace ignored the twitch between her legs and kept her eyes on the movie screen. Agreeing to come to the drive-in was a poor decision. Everyone always ended up fucking at the drive-in.

“Come on, baby. I’m trying to apologize.”

“There’s a such thing as saying ‘I’m sorry’.” Maxwell’s verbal advances turned into physical ones as he pressed his lips to her neck.

“For a man that claims he knows me sure doesn’t get a clue.”

Even though she was slightly turned on and would do anything to take her mind off her latest concern, Candace was distracted.

“Aight then. What’s up? What’s on that pretty mind of yours,” Maxwell questioned, his golds glistening as he smiled.

Candace pulled at the drawstrings on her sweatshirt, “I don’t think I’ll be finishing school this semester.”

One thing Maxwell didn’t have to worry about was money when it came to school. He was a future NFL prospect and had a full-ride scholarship. “Damn, baby. Can’t you call your parents for help?”

“Ant is graduating this year. They’ve supported us all this time and I’ve been doing good paying my tuition this year. As soon as my hours got cut at work, shit started getting out of hand,” Candace sighed, running her hands down her face.

“Why didn’t I know this was going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Candace thought about how many ways could say, Because you only think about yourself. “You’ve been too busy worrying about other things. I told you they were going to cut my hours.”

“My bad. You know I stay busy with ball. I don’t remember you telling me that,” Maxwell replied, letting his hand rest on her thigh. “I would help you out if I could.”

No you wouldn’t, Candace thought. But, she stayed silent to protect her peace.

Maxwell’s hand crept across her lap and between her legs. She hated that she couldn’t control her sexual urge when it came to this man. The empty promises she made herself time and time again were getting ridiculous. Candace flinched when Maxwell’s cold fingers pushed her thin, cotton shorts to the side. Once again she was failing herself. Candace reached for the lighter and left over blunt that Maxwell had in the cup holder.

“Relax,” Maxwell hummed, waiting until he felt Candace’s muscles relax before pushing a finger past her folds. He watched Candace close her eyes, letting the smoke pass through her lips. Hitched breaths filled the car, even with the loud action scene coming through the speakers. Letting herself go, she began to roll her hips into his hand.

As usual, he had her where he wanted her. Right in the palm of his hand.

--------

San Francisco - 2012

Yahya returned from his lunch break early, excited about new ideas he wanted to write down before they left him. His mind never stopped going and it often kept him up at night. Since graduating from Berkeley, he worked for the Mayor’s office as an Urban Planner. His passion for building up the urban core piqued his interest in architecture and his minor in social justice. When he landed the job with the Mayor’s office, he jumped into projects feet first. He had been a part of two major projects and was currently working on another one.

“Mr. Abdul-Mateen,” the secretary said as Yahya walked through the glass doors and towards his office. “Mr. Reid would like to see you in his office.”

Stefanie’s statement did not worry him. Her eyes always held a certain sadness, so Yahya didn’t see that sadness as a threat. Yahya walked down the long hall to Mr. Reid’s suite. The normally rambunctious man was sitting at his desk but facing the the window overlooking the city skyline.

“Remember your first project, Yahya,” he asked, sensing a presence in his office.

“Yeah, that proposal for the new school. That one public official was a pain in our ass but the proposal finally went through at the last minute,” Yahya recalled, smiling at the memory of his first success on the job.

“Yeah, Mr. Ryan is a total hard ass for no reason. But you should be proud.”

Sensing a shift in the conversation, Yahya cut right to the chase. “Mr. Reid, what’s this about?”

“Um....why don’t you come take a seat,” the director motioned to the chair in front of his desk. With the way he was looking, this could not be good news.

Yahya had been let go. Even after all his hard work and fresh ideas, the city needed to make budget cuts and his job was one of the first on the list. Their reasoning? They had too many Urban Planners and could only afford to pay two of them and those two just so happened to be recent graduates that would get lower pay. His world felt like it had fallen apart in the ten minutes he spent in Mr. Reid’s office. What was he supposed to do now? There was no plan B when he was very calculated about his life decisions since childhood. Yahya knew what he wanted to do, which school he wanted to attend and which career path he would take to get to his ultimate goal of having his own architecture firm. This put a dent in his plans, leaving him feeling helpless.

When Yahya got home, he didn’t even think about calling his mother and father about the bad news. He wasn’t ready to accept the news himself, so he’d wait a couple of days. Instead, he called up his boys in Los Angeles and told them he was heading down for the weekend.

Kevin and Damon were brothers and Yahya’s best friends since grade school in Louisiana. When Yahya and his family moved to Oakland in his 6th grade year, they all remained close. Summers were spent in Louisiana and Yahya was grateful his friends were at least in the same state now. Kevin was a celebrity trainer and Damon was currently in law school. They had both moved to Los Angeles shortly after high school.

“What’s up, dude,” Kevin exclaimed, clasping Yahya’s hand and roughly patting him on the back. “Long time, no see. You ain’t been down here in a minute.”

“Shit, been busy, bro. Wassup Damon,” Yahya greeted the other brother and stepped inside their apartment. “Damn, the place is nice. Glad to see ya’ll asses finally got a couch and tv stand.”

“Shut the hell up. Always talkin’ shit,” Damon groaned. “Want anything to drink? Water, soda...or a drank drank?”

“You got anything dark? I’ll take some of that.”

“Long day, man? You look like you been through it,” Kevin added, joining Yahya in the living room. He flipped the television to Sports Center.

“Long day? How about a long week. They worked my ass. I may put in for some vacation time here soon. I need a break,” Yahya lied. He would keep this layoff a secret until he had a plan on where he wanted to go next.

“I hear you,” Kevin agreed.

The crew watched sports highlights and reminisced on their childhood for a couple of hours. It was late but the night was still young for them and they didn’t want to be stuck inside on a Friday night in Los Angeles. They hit the town, settling on a strip club downtown.

“Glad I got paid today because I’m about to go crazy up in this bitch. I heard this place has the best looking strippers and I’m tryna make someone’s daughter rich tonight,” Damon yelled over the music. Beautiful women seemed to be everywhere they turned. The strippers, the bartenders and a few women there for bachelorette parties or just there out of curiosity.

“Just as long as you have enough left for your half of the rent, nigga. I’m not covering your half again this month,” Kevin eyed a dancer on the stage twirling down the pole with her legs in a split. “Damn.”

Yahya was distracted. Even with all the good distractions in front of him, he couldn’t stop thinking about losing his job. The entire six hour drive to Los Angeles, he tried to think of a plan B or if he needed to move and try to get an urban planning position in a different city.

“Whoa, shit! Sorry,” a woman groaned, grabbing onto Yahya’s shoulder trying to catch her footing. “These niggas don’t know how to say excuse me around here. Sorry I ran into you.”

“Oh, you’re good. You okay,” Yahya caught the brown beauty before she could hit the floor.

“Yeah, first night back at this place. Gotta get used to the rude ass men in here. Thanks for catching me. Enjoy the rest of your night,” she quickly pushed through the crowd and disappeared.

Yahya turned back to his boys to find them shaking their heads. “What?”

“You just gone let shawty walk away like that? Did you see how that ass was sittin’? How those titties were sittin’? Honey was bad as fuck and you let her walk away,” Kevin sucked his teeth.

“Unlike you, I’m a gentleman. Plus, she was in a rush. She’s working.”

“Man, whatever, lets go find somewhere to sit and order some liquid courage. I’m trying to get fucked up tonight.”

The trio settled on a table in the middle of the club after ordering their first round of drinks. They spent a little more money than they wanted but Yahya finally loosened up and started to have a good time. The next morning, he’d probably regret all the alcohol he was consuming to numb his pain. Too much liquor meant making silly decisions; like paying for a private dance in the famous Dream room.

Yahya took a seat on the leather sofa and waited on a dancer. He had opted for the Friday night surprise, instead of asking one of the dancers on the floor for private time. The door opened and the woman who had run into him earlier that night closed the door behind her.

“Oh, you again,” she said with a grin.

“You act like that’s a problem,” Yahya laughed, licking his lips. His eyes were low from all the alcohol he had consumed that night. “Maybe this time I can catch your name, sweetheart.”

“A dancer never tells anyone her real name. I go by Cakes.” She stood in front of Yahya’s long legs, placing her hands on his knees. Anywhere by 112 started playing over the speakers. “This is one of my favorites.”

“Mine too.”

Candace tried to shake whatever connection she was having with this random man at the club. It was her first night back in two years and the first rule of Dynasty was to not fall for these randoms in the the club. They didn’t see you as anything else but a hoe in the strip club. Besides, things were on the upside with Maxwell.. at least for the time being. The only reason she had come back to Dynasty was to get enough money to pay up her tuition and put funds into her savings account for her moves after graduation. That was it. Candace had no room to be greedy because this was one secret she did not want getting back to her parents.

Rolling her body, Candace kept her eyes on the customer, dragging her hips to the seductive beat.

Maybe the long drive down to LA would be worth it.

Tags: @just-peachee @blackburnbook @emjayewrites @chaneajoyyy @kumkaniudaku

Want a tag? Please let me know and I’ll add you to my taglist for this series.

#yahya abdul-mateen ii #yahya abdul-mateen ii fanfics #fanfics #yahya x black oc #ororo writes #black fanfics #black writers

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useragarfield · 3 years

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Hiii Lolo!! 💕 This is for the favorite fics ask game! I got a little carried away because I was so interested/excited...here ya go! 😊 🎭 😱 🥰 👩‍👩‍👧 👩‍⚕️ 🎲 ♾

If you don’t want to answer them all that’s completely fine!! Thanks in advance! Love ya!! Hope you’re having a lovely day because of course you deserve it!!! ☀️💓

(THANK YOU FOR SENDING ME THIS DEAR. i wanted to wait to respond until i could do some deep diving and give you a real answer. as a fic writer myself, i do tend to reread my own stuff, but i don’t want to me indulgent or anything so none of it is here but sljgksg i hope YOU are having an amazing day and i’m so flattered that you cared to ask.)

😊 a fic you like to read when you’re happy

drinking salted water by grimgrace (THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN)

this fic is so familiar to me it’s like a warm, spidey scented hug. one of the first fics i read over and over because it was simply perfect with just the right amount of bittersweet. happy endings and spidey kisses? i’m S O L D

Poster Boy by MilkshakeKate (THE MAN FROM UNCLE)

milkshakekate is simply the best and my favorite tmfu writer, which is saying a lot because that is a dedicated writing fandom there and i owe them my life. anything they write is incredible, but something about the secret rendevous mid mission and all the uniform stuff really uh. got me.

Gwen Stacy and the Wonders of Spider-Sex by Jenetica (THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN)

i’ve read this so many times i could not tell you. the relationship growth? the intrigue? THE HOT SPIDEY OF IT ALL! never been and never will be disappointed by this fic.

B O N U S

the language of touch by moodyreindeer (CLOAK AND DAGGER)

alright this section of ao3 & fanfic.net is tiny for one of my favorite pairings but i fell in love with this fic the first time i read it and have never fallen OUT. it’s so genuine to them and i love it sm. idk. read it, it’s GREAT.

🎭 a fic you like to read when you’re sad―either to cheer you up or because it matches your mood

Reckless by ninemilestogo (THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN)

a truly detailed tasm au where my kids are ANGSTY but end up happy and also the best use of the comic book villian chameleon ever. although to be fair, i haven’t read enough of them.

😱 an angsty fic

may i feel, said he by sugargroupie (ONE TREE HILL)

on the surface this is smutty, but it’s my favorite naley fic OUT THERE in these streets. the writer does teenage nathan so well i yell a lot on the inside. i don’t know how many times i’ve read it.

The Man, the Mystery, Richard Castle by RachelCAstrid (CASTLE)

one of the first castle fics i stumbled upon after my rewatch and it has my whole heart!! it’s sweet and angsty and in depth, and you can’t lose by reading it. DO IT. i dare you.

B O N U S

the sole relentless tenderness by satellitesonparade (YOUNG JUSTICE)

wally and artemis will make me cry for the rest of my life, and this is one of the best writers for it, so yeah. gift yourself. read it. sob saltily.

🥰 a fic for people in love

She thinks it’s funny that they’re awkward in bed by Emma_dghc (CASTLE)

this just makes me swooooooooon. i love intimacy and little moments a lot in my fics, it’s what sells me on relationships between characters, and this did an incredible job! one of my favorite fics set in season five, which is a fic fave for me i suppose with this pairing.

by any other name by FreshBrains (DIRTY DANCING)

after i watched and fell in love with the movie i combed through the archives and THIS was my favorite one in the whole place! it’s just so, so lovely. i find that with older films it’s harder to find things that feel written true to character, and this knocked it out of the park.

Bodies at Rest by PollyLynn (CASTLE)

at this point in my life i have a read (read: a LOT) of caskett fanfics in my time and there are many more in my future, but this really stands out to me as one of my favorites. their burgeoning relationship season 5 is truly - chefs kiss - and it’s the first (or second?) fic of @pollylynn ‘s that i ever read, and without it i wouldn’t have begun to work my way through all of their incredible stuff! check them out, they are a gift.

👩‍👩‍👧 a fic that makes you your appreciate your (found) family

The Team by loveJLforever (YOUNG JUSTICE)

the og young justice crew is one of my FAVORITE found families and i envy anyone who can do GC format because that shit is taxing as hell. this is hilarious and in character and i’ve read it through multiple times.

👩‍⚕️ and a hurt/comfort fic you like.

Teach Me To Live by dontoutchthefics (PHANTOM OF THE OPERA)

at this stage in my life i kind of set up a house on ao3 and rarely dare to venture to my old place on fanfic.net, but for this story it was absolutely worth it. it’s a gorgeous phantom of the opera modern/coffeeshop au that still has singing and this authors prose is STUNNING. it was a fic i stumbled across simply due to @ilustrariane ‘s INCREDIBLE commission which i highly suggest you also check out.

🎲 one fic that made you change something about your life, and what:

Lessons for the Lost by KayMoon24 (MULTI-DISNEY)

this was literally the first and only time that i actually connected enough to email back and forth with any fanfic writer online! their prose and respectful + in depth taking on different topics just blew my mind for a disney fic and it’s still top tier in my head. it inspired me so much i started my own (which, ain’t as good at all), but this is the best one of its kind. wherever you are kay, ilysm!

B O N U S

The Horizons Saga by njsafkbj (link is for Part I of VII, HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON) is a gorgeous fic written before we even knew there would be another HTTYD that is so well done about Toothless and Hiccup recovering from the events of the first movie and growing and yeah.

♾ one fic you tell yourself not to reread because it makes you feel SO MUCH but you always end up going back to it

the world fits inside your arms by flyingthesky

one of the first works i ever bookmarked on archive of our own, possibly the one fic about real people that i love. it’s so lovingly written, and i see it as i guess a sort of real life au idk, but i reread it whenever i’m feeling bittersweet and angsty because it sends me right back to 2013-14 when emma stone and andrew garfield owned my life and had no clue.

B O N U S

The Next Great Adventure by brella

hands down best young justice fic i have ever or will ever read. season 3 of young justice exists in a different universe to me, this is the best fix it fic ever, and i reread it once a year to put myself through hell and back, not unlike wally in the speedforce.

HONORABLE MENTIONS NO ONE ASKED FOR

royally flushed by satellitesonparade (YOUNG JUSTICE) princess diaries wally/artemis au

Mistaken Messages by MistyMountainHop (THAT 70′S SHOW) jackie/kelso soulmate au

Acts [1-5] by lone_lilly (CASTLE) castle/beckett smutty goodness

so bad but he does it so well by greenconverses (PERCY JACKSON & THE OLYMPIANS) percy/annabeth college punk/princess au

Poor Unfortunate Soul by makapedia, Peregrine Williams, witchynick (SOUL EATER) maka/soul succubus au

and the camera flashes (make it feel like a dream) by ladililn (BROOKLYN 99) jake/amy celeb photographer/celebrity au

Silent Still by yaba (ONE TREE HILL) brooke/julian ANGSTY FIC set in 6.23

#ask #answer #fanfiction #ao3 #i speak #caitlyn tag #THIS TOOK LITERALLY ALMOST 2 AND A HALF HOURS #YES I LOVE READING SMUT I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT #SOMEBODY APPRECIATE THIS BECAUSE WHOO LORD I AM TIRED #detectivekevinryan

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minalous · 4 years

Text

fallen candy | 1

⇁ yoongi x female reader x taehyung ft Jimin x female reader

⇁ romance,humour,angst,smut || supernatural!au

⇁ yoongi!angel, taehyung!angel, reader!hybrid, mentions of death, oral (female receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, love triangle, future poly

The gates of the underworld are now open, unleashing evil and death on earth. Namjoon cannot stand to see his beloved humans suffering so he asks his most trusted friend Yoongi to help him save them. With the help of Taehyung, Yoongi is searching for the hybrid that will help them save humanity. They are searching for you.

⇁5.1k

...

Eras come and go, thousands of years full of knowledge and history are intertwined with the humans on this earth, the world created for them. As humanity started growing into something magnificent, evil and hatred came to disturb it. The wondrous world of humans is about to cease to exist, no miracle would be able to recover the atrocities the demons had done over the past few years; Humans stopped believing in the old gods, in the new gods, in any gods for that matter. They gave up every power they were holding, they offered that power to monsters whose only desire was to destroy whichever privilege their gods openly offered them.

The true Gods gave them free will, courage, intelligence, a beautiful world to live in. And what did they do in return? They destroyed their world, they worshipped gold and silver, they fell on their knees and worshipped false gods which never existed. The true Gods wished nothing but happiness and love for their creation. Can they help them now? Yes they can. It is not too late.

Their headquarters are filled with smart beings, some not so smart but heavenly beautiful.

Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook and Namjoon are four of the Gods, half daemons, half angels. Daemons were creatures of wisdom, creatures equal to Gods so they were treated as such. Their angel blood gave them power which was much needed for the wonders they did upon the earth. Day and night they would guard humans from evil, keeping demons and monsters under their control. When humans began their secret worshipping of demons, when they started having evil thoughts and feelings which had to be restrained, they lost their connection to the heavenly creatures. Their free will was in their nature, nobody would take it away from them; but that was what led them to hell upon earth.

The gates of the underworld were now open, unleashing evil and death on earth. Namjoon could not see their creation dying, suffering until they would beg to be put out of their misery. They created them because they needed to love and be loved. He had to act and he had to act now.

Namjoon gathers his most trusted friends to ensure the immediate resolution of their biggest problem. He knows the only remedy to the situation is to create a new hybrid, a creature powerful enough to have their enemies tremble in fear. The hybrid would be their new leader, the leader they’re in need of and who will shed light on the darkness the demons have brought upon humanity.

The details about the recent events in the underworld and on earth have the Gods agree upon taking great measures to ensure an immediate expedition, to acknowledge the danger, the considerable pressure growing bigger. Namjoon further explains how humans are no longer free, their will is manipulated by the demons, vampires and other hideous monsters who are in need of puppets to do their deeds. And that is when Namjoon drops the bomb out of nowhere; the need to create a hybrid.

“You want us to do what?”

Yoongi has become so furious with their leader’s announcement, the weight of the task given to them is something more than what he has anticipated for.

“If you do not do it, Jungkook will. And you know what that means”

Namjoon’s voice is loud and clear, determination lacing his soothing tone. He is confident enough to entrust an important task to his best friend, a task that could ensure a win against the evil powers controlling humans. He would not want to have Jungkook handle a strategy in need of meticulous research, a plan to reveal weaknesses about their enemies. Jungkook may have the muscles but Yoongi has the brains. However weird it may seem, Taehyung is a better shot to the unknown than Jungkook on this occasion.

“Hey! I am a real asset to this team”

Jungkook pleads to be chosen for this mission, muttering under his breath he’s better than anyone else in this room.

“You are only off by two letters”

Jungkook stares at Yoongi’s direction, furrowing his brows in deep confusion due to the daze Yoongi’s words caused him.

“Stop speaking with fancy riddles, hyung” Jungkook says in an almost begging voice

"And you call me stupid"

Taehyung mocks Jungkook in a childish way, making both Yoongi and Namjoon hold their temples in an attempt to calm their frustration. They are in great need of cunning beings that can accomplish tasks in this time of need, but who knows what must be going on inside their brains.

"You make a good rival" Jungkook tells him proudly

"Stupidity is not something you should be proud to compete but between the two of you, I would not expect anything better"

Yoongi’s voice now mirrors Namjoon's feelings, his words confusing the two younger Gods even more but making Namjoon laugh.

"Please just accept the research. You cannot leave me with Jungkook as my last resort" Namjoon now pleads for Yoongi’s acceptance, pointing at Jungkook who is trying to fight off a small bug with his fists, throwing tiny punches in the air.

"Hey! I am right here guys" Jungkook says once more, scaring away the two older Gods

...

In the end, Yoongi ends up accepting Namjoon’s offer to become the leader of the research, a team working under his command who is seeking for clues about the existence of a hybrid. Taehyung is the one to seek answers hidden in the history of their ancestors, as Yoongi tries to discover new information about the demons on earth. Yoongi hasn’t seen humans from up close for a very long time, his eyes wandering to find any clue that could lead him to the main source of their problem.

It has been two months now and he had almost given up. There were no signs of change, the same old things kept happening; vampires feeding off humans, humans willingly offering their souls to demons for a better life, people worshipping false gods which in reality were reapers that would later torment their souls for eternity. It breaks Yoongi’s heart to see those low life demons disturbing the peace of his beloved humans.

When Yoongi could no longer bear the thought of seeing those atrocities and was about to leave, he sensed an immense power. There must have been a powerful creature on earth. He could sense it was evil; the powerful aura radiating from within its heart was pure evil. Since nobody could ever see him, living or dead, good or evil, he walked towards the direction of where the being should be. But he would have never expected to see what he saw.

A fallen God. One of the monstrous Gods that killed hybrids with their bare hands.

In the older days, Gods had the freedom to be with whoever they desired to be; angels, daemons, humans, witches. Everyone was living freely all across the lands. Hybrids were created, beings much more powerful than most of the Gods. Soon enough some the Gods envied the power the hybrids held, fuelled with jealousy and anger they achieved to turn every powerful God and magical creatures against them. Families were destroyed, young kids dragged away from their mothers’ embrace and in a matter of days, the young hybrids were either exiled or dead. But for the jealous gods, the massacre wasn't enough, and they started hunting down the surviving children; had those poor souls tremble in fear before tearing their hearts from their chest, killing mothers with their unborn babies inside them. This complete genocide of innoncent hybrids couldn’t be ignored by the other Gods, who stepped in to bring the perpetrators to justice. All except for one..

Nobody ever sought revenge, nobody tried to find what happened to the hybrids that survived. Deep down their parents knew what was better; even if the kids were in exile, it would be for the best for their identity to stay unknown; and if they were dead, they wouldn’t want to know the truth. Exile sounded better than death and for them, a lie would be better than the truth itself. It hurt too much to get separated from their beloved kids but who was to rise against the almighty Gods?

Taehyung is given the order to search for any clues inside the books they were passed down through generations, to find anything remotely close about the history of the hybrids. The library contains hundreds of books, centuries of history including the hybrids, knowledge upon the Gods, the known enemies, the existence of powerful unknown enemies hidden in the shadows, possible threats in the foreseeable future. So much information that is enough to get Taehyung confused and mostly make him give up only after two months of research.

Yoongi finds Taehyung shuffling around the library with one of the librarians, almost ready to devour her on top of priceless books which offer unlimited access to humanity's history. He would have expected him to be irresponsible, to be lazy and grumpy about the difficulty and the obligation of his duties towards their team but he would have never expected this kind of irresponsibility.

Yoongi fake coughs and it is enough to alert Taehyung who shoves himself away from the poor girl, the girl bowing slightly before leaving the two Gods alone. Taehyung is quick to grab the book right next to him, sitting back down on his chair to continue reading or at least pretend to.

"I never claimed to be the smart one, Yoongi hyung" the small pout on his lips is the sign that he is about to use, Yoongi's weakness

"Do not hyung me, Tae." Yoongi scoffs to the younger's attempt to get away from being lazy so easily

"It has been two months now and there is no progress! I am not the one to fix such a complicated matter!" Taehyung loses his calm, pouty demeanour and stands up with a small jump from his chair, tossing the book he was holding on the desk. "I wish I could help but reading is not my speciality. Having my head between books is boring" he whispers under his breath but Yoongi is quick to hear his words.

"Being between someone's legs is your speciality but right now we need you. I need you. We are talking about humanity's last chance to be saved." Yoongi's sarcasm is easy to detect and it has Taehyung get smaller when he sits back on his chair, book in hands again to keep up with their research "You may not care about them, may not miss them but they still have faith in us, Tae. We promised to take care of them as long as they honour us. And they still do." Yoongi eyes Taehyung for the first time this evening, his glare intimidating, so intimidating that has Taehyung look away from him before muttering something that sounded like "okay I'll do my best not to have them die"

Taehyung desperately tries to find any clue about the existence of any hybrids, any hint that there may be someone left to lead them back to the land where they used to live, where the families raised their kids. Two weeks go by since his small argument with Yoongi and he can feel that they are going in circles, there is no history left from back then, it seems as if they have erased any kind of hint about the hybrids.

“I give up. I guess humanity is going to die!” Taehyung mumbles “And I am in no mood to create new humans” he pouts and kicks his legs like a five year old

One of his wishes is to find an answer about the hybrids, he has been praying day and night to his ancestors to find a hybrid or for them to simply create one. Taehyung’s fear is not what will happen to humanity or what horrors the demons will bring upon them but what Yoongi and Namjoon will do to him if he doesn’t do his job. A loud thump breaks his train of thoughts, he jumps up quickly to find the cause of his disturbance.

“Why can’t I have some peace of mind?”

His footsteps lead him to an aisle full of some of the most ancient books they have, some of those are not even related to the recent Gods including him as well, books enclosing a few of the mysteries of the universe’s creation. A piece of paper draws his attention, with careful moves he retracts the paper and carefully reads it.

“Cl-o-clo...se? Close?” Taehyung sighs and tries to read it again

“ ‘Close your eyes’ ? Why didn’t I pay attention to ancient Greek? Okay.. Relax Taehyung. You got this..” he takes a deep breath and starts again “ ‘Close your eyes and.. and call my name.‘ ”

The frustration is already built up inside his mind, no time to waste but he is here trying to read a stupid paper that gives him no clue.

“Do I look like I know your name?”

“Call my name”

“W-what?” even for a creature like Taehyung that holds so much power, he is still scared of unknown voices that whisper to him.

Before he can ask for a second time, deep sleep takes him over and soon enough he is snoring on the floor, the books on the shelves shaking as something or maybe someone is arriving. The powerful spell he had just cast consumed all of his power and drained him but he is safe as the young woman arrives into their heavenly kingdom.

...

You are here.

You don’t know what here is, you don’t know where you are, what you are. You only know you belong here. Something or someone called for you. Someone woke you up from your deep sleep, you don’t know for how long you have been asleep for. Your last memory is your mother and father telling you how much they love you, how proud they are for you, how good and kind you are and that one day they will be with you again. They were scared last time you saw them; so scared. You were only a few decades old when something happened that brought so much sadness inside your house, in the place you grew up and learned to call home.

The way you heard your parents scream your name, the moment you saw their expressions change from happiness to pure terror... It still haunts you after so many years of silence. Their love can still be felt in your heart, you let it guide you as you walk down the aisle. By the looks of it, it must be a library. You think it must be a beautiful place to wake up, to make up for the years of not learning anything new, to build new memories to call your own.

It feels safe to be here, that’s what you think, already enchanted by the knowledge getting offered to you so openly. Book already in hands and for the first time in so long, you feel at peace. Even when you were asleep, away from reality, you could feel the loss, the longing. But now, everything seems to be falling into place. Is this what it feels like to hope?

There’s a God near you; you can sense his presence, his aura. A wave of euphoria overwhelms your emotions for a few seconds without realising you may be in heaven right now.

“Can I stay here a little bit longer?”

The stranger nods softly, a warm smile on his lips as he closes the space between you. Without any warning he hugs you, a way to reassure you it is safe to be here, to be with him.

“Of course” his voice sounds so sweet to your ears

“My name is Yoongi. If you need me, let me know”

With Yoongi gone you wish to continue reading, more and more books to offer you knowledge you don't have yet about this kingdom or the world, the human world. You don't find overwhelming the new information you get to explore; history of the world, evolution of the human kind, ancient times and magic, the background of your ancestors, the different kinds of art. Who could have thought humans would be so blessed?

But what about now? What is happening now in the human world? Maybe there is a book to enlighten you further into their history.

There is one book that stands out. A book in the middle of the library. Questions cloud your mind as to what makes it so important, why is it in the centre of the library. It presents itself in all its glory, white pages with golden letters. Letters that start appearing as if the book is writing its own story. And it does indeed.

The book represents the story of the human world. Everything happening right now in the human world is getting written on the book.

"It's a spell." the man says

“Don’t they need help?” but instead of waiting for an answer, you let the book answer for you

With only a touch of your hand the book spoke to you, time stood still for a split second, your eyes rolled at the back of your head and you saw; you saw the pain, the agony, the fear, the manipulation, torn souls and evil. So much evil.. It is way too late to save some of the souls, they were far too deep into the evil surrounding them, minds full of thoughts they didn’t own, another being controlling their every move, mindless puppets ready to do their master’s deed.

It feels so dark and lonely inside their world.. Hope and love can be seen, kindness can be found into the smallest corners. But you see traces of the same energy everywhere, black drops tracing back to the same aura, it cannot be seen but you can feel it spreading steadily, slowly devouring the goodness from people. It is like broken memories, the book whispering to you, scenes unravelling in front of you and they look all the same while they are revealing you one and only being; a man who walks on this earth to bring misery. A fallen God.

He is suppressing who he is, power drips from his fingertips but you can tell. He is the one to blame for the doom brought upon the humans. Why is he in every memory the book is showing you? You can only catch glimpses of him, his face changing every time he moves from one human to another. This fallen God finds a new host to live in but none of them can survive long, he repeats the same thing over and over again until he feels satisfied with the pain he brings upon.

Once you believe the book is done with showing you past memories, it shows you one more; the fallen God looking at someone. He smirks and you can feel it, all kinds of evil thoughts consuming his whole being and it scares you. It is time to go.

“Found you”

A sweet voice, there is nothing sweet about the tone he uses but his voice sounds so sweet.

"The Gods never left, little girl. Humans started worshipping lifeless devices, poisonous intimacy, gold and silver to rule their life. Humans abandoned the Gods, so They abandoned them."

The fallen God is so close to you, caught on what is happening you let your guard down and he grabs the opportunity to touch you. Is it fear you feel? No. This feeling is.. Sadness. Agony. Regret. He runs his finger on his plump lips to taste the sweetness of your fear mixed with your tears of agony. Blood boiling within his veins but it doesn't stop him from teasing you for a little more before tearing your soul. Desires of any kind have his mind under control, his thoughts are a swimming pool ready to lure you into the depths of it, darkness and loneliness wanting to drown you and keep you under their wet blanket.

“They still want you. They still need your love”

So many voices live inside his mind, the more you look into it, the more you stare into his eyes, you find something so familiar and endearing. Why is it that you cannot find yourself to feel threatened by him?

“Call me crazy, but I think I was meant to know you” you manage to get out in a soft whisper, hand reaching out to touch his cheek

His eyes soften for a moment before he goes back to his blank stare, but in that moment you felt as if he understood what you meant.

“Jimin” is the last thing you remember saying

The man who woke you up from your deep sleep, is the one who dragged you out of memories the book was showing you. Memories would not be the most accurate way to describe what just happened but you have no other explanation.

“Nobody was ever able to do what you just did” he says

“What is this book?” you ask as you take a step back from the book

“This is the book of past and present” he tells you “it shows every single thing that is happening right now in the mortal world, humans living and dying, every decision they make, good or bad thoughts”

“Who was that man? The fallen God?” you ask him in curiosity

“Taehyung, it’s okay. I’ll let her know about it”

Yoongi carefully takes your hand into his, looking for any hint of disapproval in your eyes but you have none when it comes to him and your new friend Taehyung, a sense of security warms up your heart when they are in your presence. Yoongi and you sit down on the sofa right next to the fireplace, the soft noises of the burning wood bring back memories you try to suppress while Yoongi recounts events of the past, stories of how Jimin, the fallen God you met and other fallen Gods brought shame to the Kingdom.

When all is said and done, Yoongi heads back to the headquarters to attend a meeting with their leader Namjoon, leaving you with Taehyung who is the one responsible for you.

...

Taehyung is taking his sweet time to do his so called research on you, within a few weeks you already have the ability to consume enormous amounts of information; history, science, evolution. And this kind of growth is not meant to happen in such a short time, not when the gods and daemons themselves have to learn little by little. Humans are strange, humans are unpredictable and so are you. Are you a human? Are you a god? Are you a daemon?

His eyes follow your every movement; the way your lower lip twitches every time you read something that excites you, how your eyes squint in curiosity when a new information is found within the endless pages of the books you’re reading, how pretty your skin looks under the warm light of the fireplace.

“You better stop” he tells himself

"Could you please stop fidgeting?" you ask him without taking your eyes off your book

Taehyung cannot stop staring at you, the former interruption with the librarian left him unsatisfied and bothered. Obviously you are sending him no signals, nothing impure coming from your way but that doesn’t stop him from closing his eyes to imagine how good you would feel underneath him.

With eyes shut tight his thoughts can only lead to pure filth, marking your hot skin, your sweet smell only serves to drive him crazy. Nobody has ever touched you in that way before and he wishes to be your first. Taehyung opens his eyes to be met with the beautiful sight of you. Legs now spread to help him with any kind of relief, his cock restrained inside his painfully tight pants.

“What’s up?” his voice dropped an octave and you can feel his eyes piercing through your skin

“What’s good?” another question follows but you're unsure on what he refers to

Unknowingly you trace your eyes back to him, Taehyung touching his soft lips, index finger brushing his lower lip and you cannot help but trace his every movement. A new feeling blooms inside your chest making the next thing he says so easy to follow and accept.

"Come here, angel"

The aroma coming from his aura is unbearably sweet, intoxicating. His long, curly hair falls in front of his sharp eyes, hands now placed in each of his thighs and it surprises you how breathtakingly deceitful looks are. You could have mistaken him for a devil if you didn't already know he is a God.

Lust.

The smell of lust is oozing out from every part of his body, he is so unnaturally warm when you touch his face. Taehyung grabs your hand softly, no words come out of his mouth when he pulls you in one sharp movement and places you underneath him.

"Do you trust me?"

The mixture of his scent with the warmth of his body offer nothing but safety, body relaxing under his weight. The hair at the back of your neck raises in every soft breath he takes, feeling so sensitive as it hits your skin.

"Please tell me you trust me"

Goosebumps awaken on your skin when his lips brush at the shell of your ear and you softly nod to his words. You are scared to answer, afraid your voice will betray you. You wouldn't have let him touch you, be so close to you if you didn't trust him. It doesn't feel wrong to be here with him, to feel him press his cock on your thigh.

You are not that clueless about sex, neither are you experienced. It doesn't matter because you want to know, you want to feel what those humans felt when they sold their souls to the lust demons. It must be so good, so heavenly good for them to sell the most valuable thing they have, their soul.

With his teeth grazing on your neck you close your eyes, a sound you have never made before leaves your lips and Taehyung immediately freezes. Taehyung's hand comes to wrap around your neck, fingers softly pressing against your throat but in a way that only serves to drive you crazy.

"You drive me mad. You haven't done anything but a sound and I am already so hard for you."

Taehyung roughly bites on your ear this time and you feel your panties sticking on your folds, your empty core in desperate need of attention.

"Let me take care of your every need, let me taste you"

With your clothes being a barrier anymore, Taehyung praises you, taking over you, senses overwhelmed as he is buried between your legs. His tongue is attacking your clit relentlessly, one of his digits inside your pussy and you can already tell why everyone is so easily blinded by lust.

The sounds of your moans fill up the small of the room, his fingers entering your mouth to silence you. Your instincts tell you to suck around his fingers, to lick them and you are glad you do. Taehyung groans, your actions cause him to speed up his finger, curling it inside your pussy to attack that soft spot that has you moan around his fingers.

Your back is arching, shivers welcoming a new wave of pleasure and you can sense your whole body falling apart. He knows what he is doing to you, acting so innocent as he wipes your cum off his face.

"You are dripping wet, angel"

The smirk on his face and his full blown out eyes have you spellbound, you haven't caught your breath yet from your first orgasm but you want more, you need more.

"Please, I want more"

Taehyung doesn't need more than those words to oblige, cock lining on your entrance, his need to feel you raw may cause him problems later on but he doesn't care, mind only filled with you. Thoughts of you. The sounds you make only for him.

"Look into my eyes" he says, voice laced with love and you know you won't regret having him be your first

You cannot close your eyes, the euphoric feeling of bliss overwhelms your senses and in that moment he is taking over you, he has your heart in his hands. A moment only the two of you will ever share, a memory you will forever treasure.

…

The night sky looked so beautiful from the balcony outside the library, your favourite place for the past few weeks now and you cannot wait until the moon rises. For the moon to be in its full bloom, to smell the night wind carrying the fragrance of the flowers that prettily decorate the garden.

“Why are you always up so late?” a familiar voices stops your train of thoughts

“Yoongi” you say with a smile forming on your lips

“World's asleep” you add “more room for thoughts”

Yoongi nods, quietly coming your way. Having him so close feels comforting, you had such a long day, the effort you put to trace Jimin again, the fallen god Yoongi and you saw in the human world, is wearing you down. But to have Yoongi share this beautiful night sky with you, a new feeling starts blooming in your heart. He has been supportive, he has been guiding you carefully into the human world and both inside his world, the community the Gods have. He is so good to you..

Like a dream come true, you find yourself able to breathe again, your heart coming at ease. Is it natural to feel the same way for more than two people? This feeling inside your heart is the same one you feel when you are around Taehyung.

But now you want to hold Yoongi closer, to feel him closer; with no thoughts on your mind you turn around and kiss him. What surprises you is not how easily Yoongi accepted your kiss but the way Taehyung found a way to creep inside your mind. Taehyung is filling your mind with thoughts of him, Yoongi is slowly making his own way to your heart and you cannot choose who owns your heart.

Every love story is a ghost story. Maybe you don’t have to choose.. Maybe you have found your ghosts.

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