#and being no older than 8 and still waiting. just tensed and taking the verbal lashing and them fighting before speaking up?? yeah.

[martyrbat]

the man who falls – secret origins (1989)

[ID: Two cropped comic pages of Bruce Wayne as a child after falling into a cave and being ambushed by a swarm of bats. There's multiple narration boxes over the pages:

Page One: a three panel sequence of Bruce being rescued by his father. In the first panel, Bruce is screaming with his eyes squeezed shut in fear. He has his fists clenched in front of him and is wearing a reddish pink turtleneck sweater. The narration says, ‘Again, he shrieked — not in terror, but in despair...’ In the second panel, Thomas Wayne is shown from behind in a low angle. He's wearing a red sweater similar to Bruce and is holding a flashlight as he jerks Bruce into him. Above them is bats surrounding them and the broken wood floors that Bruce fell through. The narration continues, ‘The arm curled around him, muffling his voice, and his cheek rubbed against the rough wool of his father's jacket... He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be away from here—’. In the third panel, they're standing outside. The narration reads, ‘When he opened them, he was in the area behind the mansion, in the pale light of the autumn afternoon, and his father's words pounded at him—’. Thomas is kneeling down in front of Bruce in front of the hole he fell in. He's gripping the child's shoulders as he scolds him, “Idiot! I told you never, never to go off alone. Didn't I? Didn't I?” Martha Wayne is behind them with her hand on the side of her face as she looks at them with relief that Bruce is okay.

Page Two: Martha is defending Bruce as Bruce has his head down. Thomas is still squeezing Bruce's shoulders as Martha tells him, “Thomas, he's frightened.” Thomas replies, “He damn well ought to be. He could have been killed.” Martha replaces Thomas's spot in front of Bruce, kneeling to gently place a hand on his upper arm and using a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. Bruce is standing with his fist still clenched and grimacing as Thomas angrily says, “He's got to learn.” Bruce is shown in a low angle, looking up at his mother with wide eyes. The narration continues, ‘He listened to his father's boots crushing the dead grass, and when he could no longer hear them, he dared to ask:’ “Mommy, was I in hell?” Martha soothes, “No, baby, that was just some old cave. You're safe now,” as she hugs him. His cheek is pressed against hers and she has her eyes closed as Bruce still looks uncertain. END ID]

[chroniclesofbts]

Call Me Home Part 6

Idol hybrid BTS x hybrid foreigner reader

Warnings: implied sexual themes, smut, angst, fluff, polyamorous relationship, name calling, night terrors, drug use to cause shifting, auctions

If you’re not 18+ please, do not interact.

As always, my works do not represent BTS in any way, this is purely a work of fiction.

Rushed down the hall and into the den, I am handed a green turtleneck to change into. I can hear Hoseok in the other room talking to the Therapist. My hands are shaking so much that I struggle to take off my current shirt. Jungkook takes the turtleneck out of my hands and gives it to Jimin. He grabs the bottom of the shirt I am wearing and waits for permission to help me. I nod, giving a small yes, before he pulls it off quickly. Jimin instantly puts the turtleneck on me, both of their eyes being respectful and not wandering. Jungkook grabs my hand softly and leads me to the living room where Hoseok is with the laptop. He glances up at me as we enter, smiling softly at my shaking form. He reaches his hand out for me to take, pulling me softly into his side.

"We can stay, if you want, or one of us can. Whatever you need, we are here for." Hoseok speaks to me, his face showing worry.

"Stay, please, I don't want to explain everything all over again. Wanted everyone here, but I guess I will have to explain again anyway." I whisper, feeling Taehyungs emotions weighing me down.

Footsteps coming down the stairs cause me to glance up, seeing the rest of the pack entering, eyes still showing their animals are present. They are dressed and holding Taehyung tightly, who is looking at his feet. He isn't hurt like I expected, just showing freshly bitten mating marks.

"We wouldn't make you go through it more than you needed to, Doe" Yoongi says, letting go of Taehyung and joining my other side.

"Let's begin our first session, now that everyone is present." The woman says through the computer.

"We met in the hospital, I was one of the ones who spoke to you before you left. Do you remember me?" She continues

I nod, feeling a squeeze to my thigh, "I do" I verbalize, earning a small chuff from Yoongi.

"It's good to see you again, how are you feeling?" She begins, asking all of the typical questions to start our session.

The session is going well, mostly a routine check in, until she asks about my home.

"Tell me a little bit about where you are from, where you grew up."

"I don't remember much about my family, I moved when I was young into the ranch." I spoke quietly, feeling the atmosphere changing. Yoongi and Hoseok tensing on either side of me, Taehyung's feeling distracting me as I meet his eyes.

"How old were you?" She pushes, refocusing me.

"8, I think?" I pause, "Maybe 7, the memories all blur together"

"Why did you move so young?" She continues without missing a beat.

"I am rare, small, worth good money" I shrugged, bumping shoulders with Hoseok. "My parents are both deer, so I am a purebreed, and I had the rare trait, it made sense I was the one to leave. We needed the money, my mom was getting older, so I took her place. My siblings had too many mixed genes from the ranch, I wasn't born there, was an accident" I mumbled, leaning into Hoseok's arms.

"And how long did you stay at the ranch"

"Until I was sold permanently" I replied, distantly, feeling my chest start to tighten.

"Tae, switch with me" Hoseok whispered while I was talking. Taehyung moved quick, pulling me into his lap, so softly that I was barely jostled.

"And how old were you then?" She pushed, taking not of the interactions between me and the pack.

"I was at the ranch for 6 years, I fought each client there and they got tired of me. My owner purchased me for cheap, I think, complained how I wasn't even worth what little he gave them for me"

And how long were you with him?"

"Until I ran away, after biting the client and being beaten, i stayed on the streets for a couple of years, trying to remain out of sight."

"And then you entered the program" She concluded

"I did, not really given a choice or much information, just caged and sedated. Shipped off to another country" I confirmed, causing Taehyung to squeeze me tighter and bury his head into my shoulder.

"And your heats?"

"I've never had one, was on medicine, the strong ones so I didn't get pregnant in the ranch or with a client. The took me off a few weeks before I left, hoping it would cause me to accept the clients easier. I just never got it after"

"That could be because your animal was protecting you, or the stress in the situation before you were given suppressants in the program. Would also explain why you were thrown into a false heat" She explained, writing more down.

"How are the nightmares?" She said, causing me to freeze and be thrown back into the memory from last nigh, my breath quickening. I can vaguely feel my name being said, the memory feeling all too real. My face is shoved into Taehyung's neck, the scent and memory mixing into reality. I can feel hands pulling me out of Taehyung's grasp, snarls and growls, before I am laying on my back on the couch, a weight over me. My scent gland exposed, a mouth latching and nipping. A hand hovering my mark from Taehyung, before slowly rubbing over it. My body falls slack, vision returning and finding Yoongi pressing me down, a comforting weight, and lapping at my unmarked gland. I turn slightly, eyes finding Namjoon, who is rubbing over the mark, sending jolts down my body.

"You're safe, here with us" Yoongi murmurs, lifting his head to find my eyes.

"I think it's best for the rest of you to mark her, so her animal feels completed in the den, but nothing else for now. It's too dangerous to trigger a heat, marking her will comfort her animal and help her to be pulled from her nightmares quicker. Slow the episodes down too. She should have been comforted by her first mate, being marked usually soothes my clients. But I have never seen a pack this size with a client. Start slowly, one mark a day until her animal calms down. You'll know when she is ready for more. I would like to see you 3 times a week, and talk about your dreams. Once you are comfortable, until then we can talk about your feeling with your pack." She concludes her session with Jin and Hoseok, while I continue to calm down, sagging in Yoongi's hold. Once the call ends, Taehyung pushes his way on top of me and latches down on my mark, his animal upset they couldn't comfort me. His mouth soothing the sting, his body molding against mine as he tends to the fresh wound. My eyes flutter at the sensations, the calm of the room and the stress from the call pulling me under. The last thing I remember is being lifted and carried, the smell of the den lulling me fully to sleep.

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, I am currently back to work at both jobs and didn't realize how little time I would have, on top of how tiring it is after being on leave for so long

Taglist (open):

@dachshunddame @minjianhyung @minhanbyeol @m00njinnie @famousdelusionobservation @danielle143 @dragons-flare @kimsaerom @butterymin

[chaoticevilqueers]

Just start here by 28sunflowers(me) 

Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson | 1384 words | General Audiences | Fix-It Of Sorts | Pining | Fluff | First Kiss 

What if the scene of Sam telling Bucky to stay over ended a little differently?

Read on AO3 or under the cut. 

–– 

Bucky has been stalling. He knows he should just drink the last of his beer and say goodbye, but he can’t seem to make himself do it. 

He wants to stay. 

But that, right now, will implicate in too much, and he doesn’t know where Sam is at or where exactly they stand with each other. It’s one thing to get back from fighting, exhausted, and ending up on the same bed, usually to wake up alone and not to speak about the previous night at all. It’s a completely different one to explicitly make the decision to share the same sleeping space for comfort. 

With a resigned sigh, Bucky drowns the rest of his beer and stands up. “Well, I should get going, get a hotel room for the night. Gotta catch my flight tomorrow.” 

“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam gives him an unimpressed look. 

“I don’t wanna make it weird,” Bucky says easily, before realizing what he just did. He tries to quickly amend things. “For your family.” 

Sam rolls his eyes at him. “Just stay here. You can crash on the couch if you rather.” 

Bucky watches him for a second. Sam looks so sure of his choice, the perfect picture of calm and collected. It’s a huge contrast to how much of a big deal this sounds to Bucky’s ears. He clenches his hands in repetitive motions to force some tension out, and then accepts the offer. 

“Okay.” 

–– 

Bucky stares at the ceiling of the living room, the shadows from the light post on the street hitting the window blinds make soothing patterns on the white pain. Bucky watches it like it’s a painting that holds all the answers to the questions running a mile a minute in his mind. 

The night was great. Sarah cooked, Sam cleaned and Bucky helped them both. It was domestic and easy in a way Bucky hasn’t experienced in… so long. Too long. It both satisfied his desire for that type of routine in his life and made him long for it even more, now that he got to experience what he misses most for one night. 

The two boys, Sam’s nephews, weren’t scared of him. They talked around him with no reservations, didn’t flinch or look skeptical at his vibranium arm even though it wasn’t covered up. They invited Bucky to play Uno with them after dinner. Sam made fun of him for being a pushover when he immediately agreed to it, but all it did was make Bucky smile at the teasing. He had always had a soft spot for kids. 

But now that everyone is asleep and Bucky is left alone to his own thoughts, he realizes that this night wasn’t enough to fully satisfy his needs. There is still something missing, and he knows exactly what it is. 

He has kept himself stuck to the couch for almost half an hour, but the more he stays, the more his body screams at him to get up and move, to be a little bit braver and ask for what he wants. 

Bucky takes a deep breath and pushes himself up in an impromptu boost of courage. He doesn’t look back, because he knows how easily he would talk himself out of doing what he’s about to do. So he just moves, one foot in front of the other, until he reaches Sam’s bedroom door. He pushes it open slowly, careful not to make any loud noises, then closes it softly behind him. He tries to control his breathing so it doesn’t match the rapid beating of his heart and brings attention to himself inside the quiet and dark space. He blinks a few times to adjust his sight and then tiptoes around the room, moving towards the side of the bed with more space on it. 

Sam has his back to him, which makes things easier. He climbs on the bed and under the covers before his brain starts telling him to get out because Sam is better off without him. He slowly pushes himself closer to Sam, until he is satisfied that he can feel his warmth against his front. His left arm hovers over Sam’s form as he realizes that, if Sam hasn’t woken up yet, the cold metal touching him most definitely will jolt him awake. 

He stays like that for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do, until a hand takes his arm and pulls it tight around Sam’s waist. 

And then Sam closes the last of the distance between them until he is plastered against Bucky’s front. 

“Took you long enough,” Sam sounds smug even through the soft tiredness in his voice. 

Bucky swallows. He fits his face on the space between Sam’s shoulder blades and lets out a heavy breath. His body immediately relaxes, tension leaving his muscles progressively as he molds himself more against Sam’s back. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s alright. Goodnight, Bucky.” 

“Night, Sam.” 

–– 

Bucky’s eyes open fast, something waking him up hastily. He tenses up but stays still, trying to account for what sent off warning bells inside his brain. The door creeks and he realizes it’s been opened. Bucky is almost pushing himself off the bed to close it when he hears a soft giggle followed by a shush. 

He relaxes back down against the bed for a second, before realizing that’s not any better. Sam’s nephews have just caught them cuddling in bed. There is no platonic way to explain this. 

He turns to look at them and his worries are only slightly calmed by the fact the boys are paying them no attention, whatsoever. They are focused on stealing Sam’s shield. He has to bite down a smile at the endearing scene. The feelings of longing and affection from last night come rushing back in and he hides his face on the pillow to try to contain them. 

He only hears the two pairs of feet rushing out of the room and the door clicking behind them, not bothering to push his head up to watch the little menaces run off with something that most definitely isn’t theirs. 

Sam doesn’t wait a second before speaking up. “Did they take the shield?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. 

“Is that why you’re so tense all of the sudden?” 

Bucky appreciates the out in the question, as he is sure Sam worded it like that on purpose. It’s a chance for him to approach the topic, but without pushing. He could easily say “yes” because they both know how dangerous the shield can be when in the wrong hands, but that’s not what worries Bucky right now. 

“No, I was just caught by surprise. Didn’t expect them to see us like this,” he admits. 

Because the boys might’ve not paid close attention to them, but they could talk. And their position is pretty incriminating to anyone who is older than 8 years old. Bucky doesn’t want to overstep boundaries in Sarah’s house, especially in front of her children. 

“They are good ones. They know about me since forever, Sarah always made sure of it.” 

Oh. 

“Oh. I didn’t –,” 

“I know, we’ve never talked about it before.” Sam cuts him off. He turns around in Bucky’s arm so they’re facing each other. It’s intense, and so much more than what Bucky allows himself to have normally. They keep things to the dark, they keep talking to a minimum. This is a lot to handle at once, and Bucky’s head feels like it’s spinning. It doesn’t stop Sam, though. “I know we have this… rule, I guess, of not talking about these things, but I want to break it.” 

“Okay,” Bucky rasps out. 

“Sarah and the boys know about me. If you’re comfortable sharing that part of yourself, there will be no judgment from them. You’re safe, at least inside this house, alright?” 

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. “Alright.” 

“Alright,” Sam repeats after him, a smile growing on his face, both happy and mischievous. “Now, can I finally kiss you, or is that too much homo for you?” 

God, Bucky hates him. But he may actually love him. 

He doesn’t give him a verbal answer and just closes the space between them. 

––

Hello, if you liked this short fic, please reblog it, give it kudos and comments on ao3 or let me know in some other way? Thanks xx

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- I actually though this chapter wasn’t gonna happen. But I’m a procrastinator at heart here it is. The version of Crimson and Clover quoted is the original by Tommy James and the Shondells)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7

Warnings- Angst, sort of, I guess(?)

Chapter 8- Inescapable Bitterness

"Dad!" Y/n shrieked, everything blurring, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she stumbled to his path, in an effort to stop him from assaulting Keanu. Standing about a foot in front of him, with her arms outstretched defensively, she racked her brain for helpful words, quickly discarding the useless and desperately searching for anything that would make their situation better. Though, in the end, all she could come up with was a ridiculous, shaky, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vaguely, in the background, Y/n could hear Keanu's confused; "It's not?" But she quickly decided that that was an issue for much later. If there was even a later after everything was over.

"Yeah?" Roger folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders under his red and black flannel tightening and the veins at the side of his neck and on his forehead prominent, "So what the hell is it?" He gave her a couple minutes to scamper for an appropriate response. Though, when not as much as a peep left her mouth, he started moving around her to get to Keanu,  "Cause it looks like Keanu's been taking advantage of my kid."

Loudly, she scoffed in disbelief, grabbing Rogers's forearms to keep him here he was, "He's not taking advantage of me, I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself."

"You're twenty-two," Roger managed, exasperated, shaking off Y/n's grip. Finally free, he approached Keanu and they stood head to head. Y/n could figure out if Keanu was just gonna take a punch or if they were going to have a full on fight, “And he’s fifty five. To him, you are a kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” Keanu managed through gritted teeth, standing tall. If he was phased by Roger, he was definitely good at hiding it.

“Yeah, you should know, right?” Neither of them made a move to get physical; her father was always more of a pacifist, getting loud if necessary but never violent, at least, not in any instance that she could recall. "You had no business."

"I didn't know she was your daughter-"

"It doesn't matter who's kid I am!" Y/n's hasty interjection was met with startled stares, "I'm an adult dad, and I'm gonna date whoever I want."

Before Y/n could speak again, Roger was interrupting, "You think I don't know that? But he's thirty years older than you. And you said it yourself; he doesn't want anything serious, so I'm not gonna stand back and let him hurt you."

She understood his point, well, she tried to; when you have kids, you want to protect them, make sure no harm came their way. But you also couldn't do it forever, there'd come a time when they'd have to make their own mistakes. And if Keanu was one of those mistakes, Y/n was willing to find out on her own. "I know," her tone softened empathically, "And I appreciate that dad, but I'm not sixteen anymore, you can't just yell at the guy I'm dating and ground me so we don't see each other again. I'm an adult and I can don’t need you to protect me all the time."

Tentatively, Keanu added, "She's right Rog-"

"No,” he turned, pointing warningly, his face still beet red with anger, “You stay out of this! God you’re-” Unable to find the words, Roger cut himself off, shaking his head, huffing so he could catch his breath. It was clear to Y/n that he was no longer willing to put up a verbal fight, though she knew that the next time they saw each other in private, all wouldn’t be as it typically was. She was definitely in for a lengthy lecture, the one she’d been duly avoiding. 

Sighing heavily, her father finally continued, his tone significantly softer that time, "Look, I get it, you're a grown up, you can do whatever you want," reluctantly, he shook his head, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "I can't stop you. But," at that, he turned to face Keanu, his expression hardening once again, and his pointer finger jammed into Keanu’s chest, "If you hurt her, and I mean this, I will destroy you."

"I…."

Before either of them could respond, Roger was already headed for the door, the thuds of his boots heavy on the floor, not even looking back as Y/n called after him, scurrying slowly so she wouldn't actually have to grab him. "Come on. Dad," she tried one final, fruitless time, before he was pulling the door shut behind him, sound of it closing enough to bring a chilly finality to their interaction.

Y/n stood, rooted the floor, staring at the white painted double doors hopelessly. Her heart thumped erratically against her chest as panic swoll up slowly. Y/n hadn't seen her father mad at anyone like that since he'd left her mother. Just like he'd left her a few minutes ago. It was absolutely irrational, she was an adult, and the situation was completely different, but Y/n couldn't help but worry that it would end the same. That really, she was like Elane. First it was Luke, and now her own father. She hurt people too, just like her.

Her glassy eyes stung and there was a lump caught in her throat that couldn't be remedied in time to respond to Keanu's calls. Y/n's lips quivered, though she didn't have the slightest clue on if it was due to words unsaid or her sheer, though unwarranted panic. She had to fix things, she couldn't lose her father again. And it couldn't be her fault. 

"Y/n," Keanu called out to her again, that time, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, a little gasp escaped her parted lips as she turned, and her paled cheeks were enough to exaggerate the emotion in her eyes. Even as she looked at him, even if he'd drawn her attention, Keanu's words seemed to have failed him and he simply stood there with her, his touch not as intimate as the ones they'd shared over the past two months, but his eyes were sympathetic and dim.

Keanu couldn't have recalled a worse time to be rendered speechless. He knew that he should have said something, anything, but nothing seemed right. He couldn't believe that he hadn't put the pieces together; her name and the things he'd heard from Roger in the past. Hell, it was probably plastered all over the fucking internet. But ignorance is bliss. 

Would he have been with her if he knew who she was? If they'd met a few years before, when he and her father were frequent poker buddies, playing rounds with a slew of other bachelors at Chateau Marmont on Thursday nights? 

Sometimes, over the summer, Roger would skip poker or whatever else they'd planned, telling everyone that he was headed to spend some time with his daughter. "She's great," he'd say, a haughty, proud smile plastered on his features as he slapped Keanu on the back, "I've gotta bring her out to meet everyone some time."

He'd never brought her.

And now, Keanu knew her. Better than any of those other men surrounding the green felt ever would. It was funny, Keanu thought, back then, he'd envy Roger, wishing that he'd have someone waiting to spend vacation with him. Someone he could spend hours talking about, being proud of. Someone he loved. Maybe a kid, maybe a wife, just anyone really. But shortly after that, he'd aged out of it, the tingle of jealousy turning into disinterest; his time for those things had passed, and all that was left were fleeting pleasures.

Reverting to the present, Keanu tired to blink the guilt away, refocusing his attention on Y/n, who still seemed tragically bewildered, "Y/n-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sunk into herself and Keanu couldn't help but be a little grateful. He didn't think he'd do a very good job at explaining things, and he could tell that their….. companionship had hit a new level of fragility, now easily shattered by whatever came next. 

"What do you want to do?" Desperately, Keanu needed her to tell him. He wanted to fix things for her, for them, but the situation was less than familiar, it wasn't everyday that he'd get caught with his hands up a friend's daughter's blouse, and really, Keanu didn't have the slightest clue on what would make things better. It would help if she'd let him in, but he'd learnt that Y/n wasn't the type of person that was quick to do something like that; he'd have to earn the privilege of hearing her thoughts. Though seeing her like that, so shaken and in need of comfort and an emotional band aid, he ached to do something, even if it meant she'd have to spell it out.

For a moment more, Y/n regarded him curiously, as if assessing to see whether or not his offer was a genuine one. "Have a drink with me," she finally determined, slipping out of his loose grasp and heading to the kitchen.

"Why don't we go out?" Keanu offered, he knew just the place he'd take her, it was secluded and not too popular, meaning that they wouldn't have been discovered, and they served almost every kind of liquor available. It was the perfect combination of trashy and classy. 

Her hand was already gripping the handle of the refrigerator, though, it wasn't open yet when she stopped to consider his offer. Going out would be good, at least she could forget the horridity of what had not too long ago happened. "For drinks?"

"Yeah," Keanu nodded slowly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "If we leave soon, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."

A faint ghost of a smile brushed Y/n's lips, and she let her hand fall  to her side as she nodded, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Instead of taking the bike he’d gone to her place with, they’d taken Y/n’s car after she’d showered and changed into a simple pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with a loose, lace tank top on the inside. The drive had been an hour and a half longer than Y/n had expected it to be, and she and Keanu had spent most of it in tense silence. She couldn’t figure out if she was mad at him for not trying to break it off or if she wanted it to stay that way for a while. 

For the most part, she’d spent the ride propped on her arm, jammed against the passenger door, while Keanu manned the driver’s seat, maneuvering her sleek grey vehicle with ease; five fingers easily closed around the velvet wheel covering, his other hand stationed on his thigh, never reaching over console. At some point, she’d turned the stereo on, playing what she had saved there, but the soft hum of music wasn’t enough to cut the tension swirling around the enclosed vehicle, and at some point, Y/n had shifted her gaze, to out the window, staring blindly as glittering buildings grew sparse, replaced with houses, those eventually becoming infrequent too while periods where the headlights were the only source of light growing longer and longer. Desolate desert lined the street on both sides, and it was like that for a considerable chunk of the journey, until, out of nowhere really there a bar came into sight. 

It was at the helm of what looked like a small, scantily populated town and didn’t look very credible with beat up concrete walls and a gravel filled parking lot. When Keanu parked, her Tesla stood out impressively among the less eventful cars that were there, scattered about the large lot. There weren’t many though, and when Keanu led her through the door, Y/n found that there weren’t many patrons either. 

The nameless establishment was just as she suspected, a bit worn down from years of use; upholstery boasting hints of wear and tear while the heavy wooden interior constituting the lengthy bar, chair frames and floors told their age in surface scratches and a dulled color that was mostly hidden by the dim yellow lighting. A lone television hung over one end of the counter, the rerun of a football game on mute while rock music wafted softly from speakers stationed at the corners. It wasn’t at all the kind of place that Y/n usually ventured to, with her half a handful of friends; it had a sort of eighties biker feel that she found was charming. As far as she was concerned, the bar didn’t have a name, but it had one hell of a personality. 

With a gentle hand stationed at the center of her back, Keanu led Y/n to  a circled booth at one of the corners, leaving her for a handful of minutes to get them a couple of drinks- that definitely wasn't the kind of place with a wait staff. He returned not too long after, setting down a couple glasses of whiskey neat. “I figured you’d want something strong after…..”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, bringing the simple glass to her lips, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. It wasn’t as smooth as the ones she’d witnessed Keanu ordering before, he had exquisite taste when it came to spirits, but it was definitely from the top shelf. “That was…..” Embarrassing? Traumatizing? Confusing?

Even if she hadn’t finished, Keanu knew exactly what she was talking about. It really wasn’t up there with the moments of his life that he wanted on mental speed dial, but it was too late, forever, probably every time he saw that armchair at her place or wore that t-shirt, Keanu would remember, and probably cringe, at that memory. It was branded into his brain. “It was,” he followed suit when Y/n took another swing of her drink, quietly hissing at the tinge of the amber liquid

Y/n took several of those ‘almost’ breaths, the kind that people took before they said something important or asked a question that they weren’t too sure of. The type where you’d inhale, but only halfway and where your chest expanded, but not noticeably so. Those breaths. “How do you know him?” When Keanu glanced up at her, the darkness of his gaze was seemingly tripled by the shoddy lighting as dark strands curtained his ruggedness. He was so attractive, so sinfully perfect, it was hard to believe that he and her father could be the same age. Why’d he have to be so handsome? 

“Your dad?” He cleared his throat, staring at his drink, probably considering downing it in one go, before looking up at her again, “When I used to live at Chateau Marmont, about….” he thought on it for a minute, “Maybe twenty years ago, he’d stay there whenever he was in Los Angeles, we’d talk in passing but didn’t really know each other personally,” Y/n listened intently, her head tilted to the side, some of her loose hair cascading over her shoulder, her head propped up by her hand as she leaned into the lip of the table. She didn’t remember anything from the time Keanu was referring to, she couldn’t have been more than a couple years old anyway. “We only got to really know each other after I moved out,” he leaned into his side of the small booth, one fist still on the table, the other hand bringing his glass to his lips, moistening his lips before he continued, “I’d still go sometimes, and then Roger- your dad,” Keanu seemed unsure of how to refer him from them on, and Y/n was too intrigued to offer anything helpful, “He told me that he was living there, he and his wife were separated.”

Y/n gasped quietly; that must have been no more than a few months before her parents’, very messy,  divorce but definitely after he’d left their home. It wasn’t breaking news that he’d spent a few years at a hotel before finding himself the Malibu pad, but Y/n just hadn’t known what hotel he’d been living at. “That’s it?” Y/n probed, referring to Keanu's long pause.

He’d hoped it was enough to appease her, though Y/n could apparently see right through him, already knowing that he was holding back, “No,” he sighed heavily, “The two of us, and some of the other regulars started playing poker together on Thursday nights, drinking and whatever,” he waved it off, not going into much more detail. “He talked about you a lot,” Keanu quirked half smile, “How smart you are, how proud he was and how lucky he was to have such a great kid.”

Huffing quietly, Y/n took another sip of her whiskey, returning his faint smile. She always knew that her father was proud of her, Roger never made any attempt to hide it, but hearing it from someone else sparked a warmness in her chest. As upset as he’d been when he left her apartment that evening, Keanu’s words were enough to instill some level of reassurance, he was still her father, and he’d always love her. 

“Did you know?” Earlier, Y/n had heard Keanu tell her father, several times, that he didn’t know who she was, but Y/n had to hear it for herself. She needed the truth, desperately.

For the first time, since they’d left her building, Keanu reached out to touch her, easing her grip from the glass and taking hold of the tips of her fingers, “I promise you,” he leaned forward, his eyes pleading with hers to believe him, “I had no idea. I should have put together somehow. If I’d known……” Keanu let the words trail off, thinking better of hurting her like that.

But Y/n wasn’t so quick to let the issue go, “If you’d known?” Keanu just carried on with absently stroking her knuckles, turning his face towards the open space of the floor left for dancing. There was no one there, everyone seemed interested in drinking and quiet chatter, but nothing more. “If you’d known,” she repeated slowly, dragging his attention back to the moment, “What would you have done?”

He probably wouldn’t have fucked her.

Probably wouldn’t have cornered her in an empty pool.

He probably wouldn’t have asked her out, or whatever he’d done.

Keanu probably wouldn't have done a lot of things.

But he couldn’t tell her that and risk hurting her. Besides, that would have been a really awkward ride back. “Come on,” he polished off his drink, pulling Y/n off the seat, gently tugging her towards the makeshift dance floor. “Dance with me,” pretending to not hear her question, or rather, blatantly ignoring it was probably his safest, least emotionally taxing option. And Keanu was going to take it and run.

“I asked you a question,” Y/n urged, though, still letting Keanu pull her to his chest. An old song was playing, one from when he was a teenager, a slow rock ballad that had been covered several times since the original.

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her But I think I could love her.

"I know," Keanu held Y/n against him, looking down at her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle and hers looped his neck. They swayed slowly in one place, not really in time with the beat but, unless his eyes had betrayed him, Keanu didn't think the other patrons were paying them any mind anyway. 

My, my such a sweet thing I want to do everything  What a beautiful feeling

Y/n shifted her head, casting her gaze to the glittering bottles adoring the oak shelves behind the bar, fixed on the skewed reflection of their forms of the reflective glass behind the stocks, bodies in sync though minds gravely troubled. "Aren't you going to answer me?" Her words were void of any urgency, a mere, husky whisper barely heard above the hypnotizing mantra of Tommy James.

Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over

"No," was all he offered, just as softly as her previous words, one of his hands sliding to the center of Y/n’s back. She didn’t look at him, apparently unaffected, but considering their position didn’t afford Keanu a ready view of her expression, he didn’t think he could actually determine anything. 

Keanu didn't need to tell her for either of them to know. He prided himself, well typically, on being the keeper of a strong moral compass. Infidelity wasn't something he took lightly, even if he'd proven himself wrong in recent months. But a friend's daughter? That was something else. 

Keanu didn't tell her, Y/n knew it anyway.

If he'd known, he'd have never slept with her. 

If he'd known, they wouldn't even be standing there.

It was a tumultuous thought. And the worst part? Neither of them knew if they'd preferred it that way or not.

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana  @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi

[onthepageoftears]

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 8 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry this is late, I had a lot of schoolwork to do this week :/ Also, I’m almost at 1k followers! Thank you all for following and reading and everything I really appreciate y’all 💜💜💜

maybe i’ll do a little imagine giveaway or something??? lemme know what you think ;)

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: There’s more to people than the sins they have committed.

Warnings: mentions of killing/kidnapping, intense staring, I dont think there’s anything else lol

Word Count: 2,339

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

The sun had reached the top of the sky and was already on its way down by the time you came across the village. You counted approximately eleven times that Jaskier had asked Geralt to get on his horse — Roach — but to no avail. Now, the three of you were on foot with Geralt guiding Roach in front of you and through the village.

To say you were more relaxed was a bit of an overstatement.

Getting out of the city allowed your shoulders to lessen their tension, and you didn’t even mind that your hood was a bit further back than usual. But whenever you went into these villages, you were alone. You could walk around with barely a worry, the people around you not sparing you a glance. But now, with a witcher and a flashy bard, all eyes were on you.

By the time you made it to the small, smelly tavern, your ears were somewhat used to the whispers.

Geralt walked right up to the counter, where an older man was wiping down the surface with what looked like an already dirty cloth. The tavern had a few people littered around it, but it was still quite early.

“Got any rooms?” You peeked through the space between Geralt and Jaskier to peer at the man. He was frowning already — not a good sign.

“Barely. And definitely not…” He passed his eyes over all of you. “Three.”

“No, we only need one.”

That changed the man’s face. His eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down, a confused expression soon wafted away with a shrug.

“Fine by me. How much coin you got?”

This time, Jaskier answered. “How much do you need?”

“You bunch look like trouble.” He tilted his chin up. “So…double.”

“Double—“

“We’ll take it.” You shoved your way to the front, grabbing a bit of Jaskier’s arm in a pinch. He winced, turning to you with a hurt expression, but reached into his coin pouch nonetheless.

After he paid the tavern owner, he went to put his coin purse away, but you tightened your grip. “Actually, we were going to get some food as well.”

“We were?”

You ignored him and spoke through a synthetic smile. “Been traveling for quite a while. Food could do us some good.”

Despite his bitter tone, the man seemed to lower his guard at your change in tactics. “Could do us all some good, I reckon.”

“What’ve you got?” Geralt asked.

“Again, not much. But if you’re paying, we’ve got enough.”

You all turned to Jaskier, who still held his relatively hefty coin pouch. He looked back at you, and at the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Again, he slammed the coin on the table, muttering as he put it away. “We’ll have that brought to our room, thank you.”

You flinched just as the man let out a cold laugh. “To your room.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face back to a scowl. “What am I, your servant? Does this look like those fancy places you pay to shine your bloody shoes as you step into a warm bath?”

You stepped forward again, this time in front of Jaskier. The man’s scowl turned to you, barely lessening his glare.

“Sir, excuse my…partner. He isn’t right in the head after our trip here. Probably the lack of food—“ You leaned forward and placed a hand to the side of your mouth to block Jaskier’s view, “Which lead to a lack of manners.” When the man let out a dry laugh, you stepped back. “We’ll be fine at a table.”

“Sure you will.” And with that, the man shook his head and walked into the back room.

How these two ever survived on the road was a mystery to you. You assumed they had experience in small villages like this, especially because they traveled together often. How those trips went, you didn’t want to know. This was already toeing the line of being a disaster, and it had just begun.

Geralt took a seat at the counter, barely looking at the two of you. “I’ll wait here for the food.”

Fair enough. You practically dragged Jaskier with you to an empty table, not that they were hard to find. It was a weird time between the usual lunch and dinner rush hours, so not many people were accompanying you at the tavern. Either way, the village was quite small and you doubted it would be crowded in the first place.

You sat down across from Jaskier, keeping an eye on the main door. Even though the coast seemed clear now, you didn’t want to take any chances. But of course, Jaskier was there to distract you.

He was staring at you again, but this time with a small smile. It was infuriating.

You couldn’t help the sharpness of your voice, “What.”

“You know, maybe after all of this assassin stuff, you should be an actress.”

You couldn’t hold back a snort. But in an instant, your smile faltered. Rauf said something similar to you the night you got this assignment. The night where all you wanted to do was kill the man in front of you. And now…well, you were far from that.

You settled on a shrug.

Surely Jaskier knew something was on your mind; by now, he was used to the way you tensed up whenever you actually felt comfortable, how whenever the slightest amount of genuine emotion peeked out you immediately shut it down. So, naturally, he decided to push you further.

“Why do you kill, anyway?”

Your eyes snapped back to him. You supposed a question like this was coming, as it usually did. But something about him asking it was surprising. Like maybe…he was better than that.

You shook your head at the thought. Better than what? Every other person who didn’t understand the life you lead? It wasn’t uncommon, and it shouldn’t have disappointed you in the slightest.

But it did. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he placed his palms flat on the table. “I know you said you kill people who are…monsters. But…why?”

You reached for the knife on your wrist, dragging a finger along its sheath. “I was taught every person has a monster inside of them, waiting to snap. Some people never do. Others...kill their wives and sell their children. Or other variants.”

“Yes, I understand that.” You looked back up at him, where he was staring at you intently. “But why.”

His eyes were focused on you, and only you. It made you straighten your posture, roll back your shoulders. You knew why. Of course you knew why. And your first instinct was to just tell him. What’s a sad back story if it doesn’t get told? But your second instinct, the one Rauf’s voice controlled, was telling you to keep your mouth shut.

This time, you listened. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Jaskier sat back in his chair, continuing to look you over with his infuriatingly casual curiosity. “How strange.”

“What?”

“From what I understand, when you look at people, you see…sin. Monsters. But I see…stories.” His eyes shifted just past your head, focusing on something behind you. He jutted his chin out. “Him. What do you see when you look at him?”

You sighed, but twisted in your seat to look behind you. You assumed he was talking about the man in the back of the tavern, sitting alone. The man’s eyes were stuck to his glass, which held barely any liquid. He had what you assumed was the rest of his coin laid out on the table — definitely not enough to pay for more alcohol.

You turned back to Jaskier. ”I see a sad old man.”

“Right, but—” He looked past you again, this time taking in the old man’s features himself. Then, he turned back to you. “Look at his hands. Those are a poet’s hands — worn from hours of writing of longing and heartbreak. I would know.”

You snorted, but decided to let him continue.

“He was a poet, a good one at that. One who was just gaining popularity from the masses. He was striving— until he lost his muse. A terrible accident, I suppose. Perhaps in a shipwreck—“

You snorted again. “Or a bandit attack.”

He practically jumped up in his seat. “Now you’re getting it!” You couldn’t help the twitch of a smile as he leaned forward. “Maybe in his life he stole some things — a quill for his poetry, a ring for his love — but that was just one small part of his life.”

You considered the bard. His eyes were sparkling once again, and he smiled back at you with sincerity.

“Surely you don’t think every crime is inexcusable.”

“Of course not. But sometimes the…otherwise seen as, monstrous things we do…are just one chapter in our books.”

Just then, a plate of food was slammed on the table between you two — Geralt settled in the spot next to Jaskier, barely realizing the conversation he just interrupted.

But seemingly, so did Jaskier. His attention was now on the food in front of him. “That’s what 50 coin got us?”

Geralt nodded. “Looks like it.”

Jaskier only mumbled his curses, resorting to eating the food even though he was vexed as he did so. It didn’t take long for the three of you to finish it all, though you had soon found that your appetite was gone. Perhaps it was what Julian had said to you — though, you would hate to admit it, he often surprised you; where you expected him to be like everyone else, he changed his tune and left you…virtually speechless. You didn’t know if you hated it or enjoyed it, but either way, it made you uncomfortable.

You were all ready to retire to the room, but none of you verbalized it. At that point, you were just sitting there and staring at each other, almost daring the others to get up first. In your defense, you just didn’t want to have to spend another day holed up in a room, though you knew you had no other choice.

That was before the man came into the tavern.

He was distraught, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, the bags under them showing he hadn’t gotten sleep in…maybe days. He was holding a small stack of parchments with a shaky hand, the desperation seeping off of him like the stench of alcohol.

It was a mistake to look at him long enough that he caught your eye. You turned away, knowing it was probably too late.

“Excuse me.” He was standing at the edge of your table, his features more prominent now that he was up close. He was looking at you with his pleading eyes, and you couldn’t help but look away.

Jaskier waved him off. “We don’t have any spare coin, good sir.”

“No, I…that’s not what I need.” You looked back up in time to see he was looking at Geralt. “You have two swords. Are you…a witcher?”

“Why yes, yes he is!” Jaskier perked up; his bright smile was unsettling for once in this atmosphere — it was the direct opposite of whatever this man was feeling.

“Oh, thank the gods. I need your assistance.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.”

You frowned. Geralt turning down a job didn’t seem normal. To be fair, you barely knew him, but still. You guessed he declined because of Jaskier’s situation, but then again, this man was clearly in a hardship.

Your own voice surprised yourself. “What’s the problem?”

The man turned to you again, relief filling his features. He reached into his pile and pulled out a single parchment, placing it on the table in front of you.

“It’s my daughter. She’s missing.”

Your eyes narrowed at the sketch in front of you. It was the same one you saw at Novigrad on the notice board. The young girl made of charcoal looked back at you with a sad expression.

You had to tear your eyes away. “I saw this poster in Novigrad. Are you from the city?”

The man shook his head. “No. I live in a small cabin just outside of the village, near the river. I’m a fisherman. My brother lives closer to the city — I had him hang up some posters there.”

He wasn’t from the city, meaning he was practically harmless. Well, you didn’t know of his past, but at least you knew he probably wasn’t an assassin.

You shifted in your seat. “How long has she been missing?”

“Around three days.” He must have noticed the tension around your table; his voice was at the brink of begging for help. “Please, I’ve tried everything. I...I don’t have much, but I can pay you.”

You bit your lip. It took everything within you to not jump on this assignment. If it had been three days, the young girl was either being held captive…or she was dead. But her father was desperate, like any good father would be. Even finding out what happened to her would be better than letting him suffer at the end of each day, not knowing why his daughter was gone.

“I think we can help you.” Your head shot up at the sound of Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier. Of the three of you, he was not the one you expected to want to help someone else. But when you shifted your gaze to him, he was already looking at you. He winked, then turned to Geralt. “Right, Geralt?”

The witcher grunted and grabbed the parchment that was laid in front of you. You and Jaskier shared a glance before turning back to him, waiting to see his response.

He looked up at the father, whose hands were holding the rest of his parchments with a nervous grip. “Where was the last place you saw her?”

———————————————————————————————————

Let me know your thoughts! :)

[giftofshewbread]

PTSD Versus My Hope of Forever

: By Jonathan Brentner  Published on:November 2, 2018

My expectations of Jesus’ imminent appearing and a joyous eternity with Him are not simply things about which I enjoy writing; they are deeply personal to me. They provide an incentive to keep using my gifts to serve the Lord amidst disappointments, failures, and even fierce opposition.

My hope of forever also keeps my perspective balanced between now and forever by reminding me that eternal realities are so much more valuable than the fleeting things of this life. That, however, was a lesson I learned the hard way!

It took the Lord working through much pain and chaos in my life to change my earthbound outlook on life and through that to put me on the path of healing in my battle with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

I am not an expert on PTSD (far, far from it). I share my experiences so that I might help others who may also be struggling with lingering anxieties and deep wounds from their past.

My Nightmarish Experiences While a Pastor

I am not a veteran of war and I fully realize that survivors of combat experience much more severe PTSD symptoms than I can imagine. My struggles have deepened my empathy for those men and women who bravely served our country facing the nightmarish terrors of war and now suffer the consequences.

My nightmare occurred during my second pastorate. Everything went well for a couple of years, and then everything changed as I encountered harsh criticism regarding my preaching and ministry. Although I tried to improve, it seemed as though, the harder I tried to please my critics, the more mistakes I made and the opposition grew more aggressive.

One of the older women in the church voiced the disapproval of several in the church with these biting words: “You’re ministry is a joke!” She repeated this accusation after countless evening services making sure everyone heard her. Some in the church defended me, but that did not deter her loud outbursts that still ring in my ears.

The opposition at church added financial pressure to my predicament; some stopped giving at the insistence of those who believed I had failed as a pastor. This intensified the pressure I felt to make things happen (never a good motivation to say the least). The harder I tried to bring about the required church growth, the more I failed.

The financial woes at church added considerable stress to an already tense situation at home. My wife had earlier fallen into a deep depression with major mood swings. I tried to encourage her, but my efforts fell far short. I did not understand what was happening or why she had become so angry with me in such a short amount of time.

I felt like a ball in a pinball machine bouncing between angry outbursts at home and hostility at the church. As the clanging of each bounce grew louder, I became increasingly fearful of my future. However, rather than face my anxieties, I buried them deep within me. Somehow I would make everything work and come out on top. That did not happen.

As opposition to my ministry intensified, I resigned from the church and continued working at a factory, a job I had begun over a year earlier as attendance at the church had dwindled.

Although I loved preaching about prophecy, I valued my success as a pastor over my life in eternity. As a result, I barely survived the trauma of being forced to leave the job I dearly loved.

Months after my resignation, my wife admitted to a lengthy romance with my closest friend and my strongest advocate amidst my turmoil as a pastor. He had stopped by many times to encourage me during my turmoil as a pastor, and now he had betrayed me.

This disclosure stunned me as nothing else could have done. I remember long walks crying out to the Lord, nights without sleep but full of tears, and deep, piercing emotional pain I believed would never end. Even at work, I often could not stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks.

I wanted to run far, far away from God, from His people, and from everything life seemed to be. Looking back, I realize it was my unwavering belief in Jesus’ resurrection that kept me from running; I knew I had nowhere else to go to find life.

A Respite from the Grief

As the shock wore off, I returned to school at The University of Iowa the following year to pursue an MBA degree. My emphasis in finance and accounting proved to be a good fit for me.

Through a series of promotions during the next several years, I moved up from a second shift data entry operator to a position as Senior Financial Analyst at the company I had begun working at while in school. I found surprising enjoyment in being a number cruncher; I loved my new career of managing the finances for various government contracts.

I soon forgot about the ugliness of my past as I pursued success in the business world.

My walk with the Lord gradually deepened during this time. I continued to write adult Sunday school curriculum for David C. Cook, something I started during my final year as a pastor (and continue to this day).

During this time of spiritual renewal, however, I remained unaware of the powerful fears that raged below the surface of my consciousness, waiting to ambush me at the worst possible time.

Terrors in the Night

Many years later, I met a woman whom I thought was the answer to my loneliness. She was not. Our marriage got off to a rocky start and never recovered. My wife’s discontentment with me caused a renewal of past anxieties inside me that caused much conflict in our relationship.

My counselor at the time diagnosed my symptoms as PTSD; he said my panic attacks stemmed from unresolved fears from long ago, especially during the tumultuous years of my second pastorate and conflict at home. Remarriage and the problems in our relationship had reopened and aggravated old wounds buried inside me.

It was the perfect storm. I came into the marriage with buried anxieties from my past, and my wife entered with high expectations stemming from deep wounds in her previous marriage. My struggles shattered her trust in me; her angry response to my issues and her frequent verbal abuse inflamed my PTSD symptoms. She wanted what she had with her previous husband, which I could not give her.

She spoke often of her desire to leave me. For more than a year, I resisted her pleas for a separation. Eventually, however, I realized I had no other choice but to go along with her plan that we sell our home and live separate lives.

As the turmoil at home grew, my panic attacks intensified. At times, these assaults sprang up out of nowhere. I remember feeling completely peaceful one night as I fell asleep. Then, at 3 a.m., I woke up overwhelmed in a state of great terror. What was happening to me? How could I feel so fearful apart from any conscious worry or threat?

On this particular occasion, I battled the anxiousness with Scripture and prayer for an hour before I again felt the Lord’s peace in my heart. I also began to recognize the devil’s role in these attacks as he sought to take advantage of my weakness that night.

A Song Restores My Eternal Focus

During this time, I attended a Steve Green concert. As I walked into the auditorium that evening, I knew my life was over. Thoughts of my failures as a pastor and husband plagued me night and day.

I will never forget, however, the way God spoke to me that night at the concert. As Steve Green introduced one of his songs, In Brokenness You Shine, I heard the Lord speak these words into my heart, “Jonathan, this is for you.” After that, it seemed as though the crowded auditorium became strangely vacant and Steve was singing only to me.

The lyrics pierced my soul that evening and ignited the process through which the Lord calmed my fears and healed the deep wounds of my heart. Jesus caused hope to come alive in my heart again just as the words to In Brokenness You Shine said He would do.

My renewed anticipation of a joyous forever seemed more than enough to get me through this life even if my circumstances never improved or even got worse. After the concert, I wrote about my hope of eternity and how that eclipsed my feelings of despair and fears regarding my earthly future.

It was not that any of my beliefs regarding my future hope changed; they hadn’t. However, I learned to give eternal realities more weight than my troubles – something Paul wrote about in Romans 8:18. As I shifted my ultimate hopes to forever, the Lord opened my heart to His healing touch.

It still took time for the Lord to heal the deep wounds of my past that continued to cause the middle of the night attacks. I later read a book written by John Eldredge entitled Wild at Heart. The Lord used the words of this book to give me a strategy for dealing with the devil’s assaults.

Rather than flee from the fears of my past, I stood my ground, asking the Lord for insight into the wounds causing them.

I remember one night in particular when the Lord used a significant panic attack to reveal the nature of my deepest wound: a long-held inner conviction of being unlovable, unworthy of love, and as a result unwanted by others. This wound began during the bullying I experienced in high school and deepened significantly with the betrayal I felt during the time of my second pastorate as everything caved in on me. My attacks were but a symptom of deep wound inside my soul.

This disclosure became a significant turning point as my panic attacks diminished both in frequency and intensity.

A Touch of the Savior’s Love

In the lyrics to In Brokenness You Shine, Steve Green used the phrase “your love surrounds.” He sang of the Lord coming to us in our grief and lovingly staying with us regardless of what others might say or do.

These words came alive for me a few years after the Steve Green concert.

After work one day, I went for a long run listening to songs of praise on my iPad Shuffle. Later, I spent time alone with the Lord in my prayer closet. Because recent events had caused anxieties regarding my future to resurface, I began my time of prayer by submitting my future anew to the Lord.

A few moments later, I asked the Lord this question: “If you were seated right here next to me in this closet, what would you say to me?”

Before I finished the question, I heard his response in my soul: “I love you!” Tears streamed down my face from both joy and amazement.

The touch of my Savior’s love that night vanquished all the remaining effects of PTSD.

My Story

This is my story of how the Lord delivered me from PTSD. It’s not a pretty story; but then again, my life shows how God can use the worst of times for His glory and bring joy out of great sorrow, feelings of hopelessness, and utter failure. The Lord can shine His light on the ugliest of circumstances and make the shattered pieces of a badly broken life shine again. It took time, but He did that for me.

As a young pastor, I could cite 20 reasons why I believed in the pretribulation rapture; but sadly, I placed a greater worth on the success I could achieve than on my hope of eternity. Once the Lord broke my fierce, self-centered pride through failure, suffering, and loss, I learned the importance of valuing my expectation of heaven over earthly success and accomplishments (see 2 Cor. 4:17-18).

The Lord in His great mercy and grace has restored my life in remarkable ways. First, after many more years of loneliness and singleness I married Ruth, who is the kindest and most loving woman I have ever met. I thank the Lord every day for His steadfast love in bringing her into my life. Second, the Lord opened up a writing ministry for me as a blogger and author.

Psalm 30:5 aptly sums up my life: “For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

Jonathan Brentner

[tv-show-imagineperson]

Are You Happy? (Shaun Murphy x Reader)

This is my first imagine on this blog! Yay!!!

Tv-Show: The Good Doctor

Main Characters: Shaun Murphy and Reader

Plot: When your boyfriend, Shaun, comes to visit, you two have a rather deep conversation about being happy.

Type: Fluff

Words: 1655

Warnings: Probably OOC Shaun? Talk of an abusive ex. I can never keep the tenses the same. I think that’s it?

A/N: Having not one, but two Autistic siblings, I hope I have protrayed Shaun as well as I can. And I apologize if I have gotten anything “wrong”.

—

You sat patiently, reading a book, and waiting for your boyfriend Shaun to arrive. You and Shaun had been dating for a little over two years, so you had come to learn his little schedule. Even though he got of work at 8, he always came around to yours at 9 every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. He would call at exactly 8:30 if anything had changed. It was rare that anything would change with him. And that was okay. You enjoyed the simplicity of his the constance.

You and Shaun did not live together. He lived in one apartment building, and you live in another that was a 6 minute drive away from his own. You came over to his place on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays - unless he called to say he was busy, or something popped up in your own schedule. This too was rare.

Shaun had not been your first boyfriend. In fact, he was your third. The first, whom you had dated during the duration of high school, had broke up with you after graduation. He went to MIT, leaving you thousands of miles away. He didn’t believe in long distance relationship. So you were left alone. The second one you had met online, but it didn’t last too long. He turned out to be a real jerk. You had dumped him before things could get to intimate. But Shaun. Shaun was different - very different.

You couldn’t remember where, or when, you met him. He was strange, but that was what had interested you. You had known him for half a month before someone told you he was Autistic. They had said it with such hostility, you remember. And you had glared at them hard.

“My brother is Autistic.” That had shut them up. Most people who knew you, knew you had an older brother. But not many people ever met or spoke to him. He wasn’t much of a people person, or a talker, and preferred to stay locked in his room with his plethora of stuffed toys and Batman dvd’s. You love your brother - the person’s comment had angered you. So what if Shaun was… different. He’s still human.

People asked you how you became friends with him, let alone his girlfriend. And to be totally honest, you had no idea. On the outside, if anyone saw you two, they would not make the assumption that you two were in a relationship. Shaun is not one for physical affection. Every once in awhile, if you two are out on a walk, he will take your hand, rather tightly. But you didn’t mind. Every kiss was asked for, unless it was pressed to a cheek. If he were to kiss your cheek, he would state it so you could push your hair away.

You didn’t mind the lack of physical affection too much. But every once in awhile, you found yourself wanting to be held. But you pushed the feeling away. You didn’t want to make Shaun uncomfortable.

Youŕe about to turn another page in your book when the familiar, rapid knocking erupts in your quiet apartment. You check the clock with a smile. He’s right on time. You place your bookmark, and set it aside. You speed to the front door, worried his knocking would bruise his knuckles. You’d have to talk to him about it some time.

“Shaun!” You greet him with a smile. He lowers his hand, and returns to rubbing his hands.

“Hello, Y/N. May I come in?” He always asked you before he came inside.

“Of course,” You step aside so he can come inside. “Come on in.” He takes a step inside, and then turns to you.

“I’m going to kiss you cheek.” You giggled lightly, and push your hair out of the way. Shaun leans his face towards your own, and presses his lips briefly to your cheek before pulling back. He then heads immediately to your couch, picking up your book from the table. You shut the door, locking it before following after him. “This is not the same book you were reading Tuesday. Did you finish that one?”

“Yeah.” You sit next to him, so your knee almost touches his own. “Although, the ending was rather disappointing.”

“How so?” He stared at you, as he usually did while waiting for an answer. You always though, for someone who didn’t like being asked questions, he ended up asking a lot of them himself. Not that you mind.

“It ended with a wedding and a ‘happily ever after’.” You shrug. He tilted his head to the side, clearly confused.

“And a happy ending is disappointing?” He asked calmly. You hold back a snicker.

“Not exactly… Happy ending are amazing, Shaun. Just not the unrealistic ones.” You attempt to explain.

“And that one was unrealistic?” He confirms, nodding his head.

“Very.” You laugh in agreement.

“Do you ever want to get married?” He asks buntly. You’re used to his bluntness, but this question caught you off guard.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe one day.” Shaun hums lightly before setting your book back down.

“Can we watch a movie?” You nod quickly, going to find your CD case. You come back, and unzip it.

“You have a movie in mind.” You attempt to state it, rather than ask. He stares down at the case before taking it, and flipping through. He stops when he finds what he was looking for, pointing at your copy of “Charly”. It was one of his favorites.

“This one, please.” You take the CD and put it in your CD player, turning on the TV as you go. You come to sit back down, seeing your CD case tossed carefully onto your coffee table beside your book. You take a seat beside Shaun again, placing your sock-clad feet onto the coffee table. You pick up the remote control from it’s place on the arm of your couch, and press play.

You’re about twenty minutes into the movie when Shaun speaks.

“Do you like being with me, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the TV, and you don’t take your eyes off of him.

“Shaun, of course I do. Why do you ask?” You shift in your seat to have a better look at him, and for once in all the time you knew him, his calmness of the situation scared you.

“I saw a couple in the hospital today,” He stated blankly. He took your silence as a signal to continue on. “The girl had broken her leg after falling of a ladder. They were moving in together, and she was painting in a room when she fell.”

“Shaun, I don’t understand…” He cut you off.

“They were very affectionate.” He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the TV. “Her boyfriend was holding her and kissing the top of her head the entire time. They looked very happy.” He stops to clear his throat, and you wait rather nervously. “Are you happy?”

“Of course I am, Shaun.” You reassured him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy with someone as I’ve been with you.”

“What about your other boyfriends? Were you not happy with them?” This made you pause. Should you tell him the truth? You sigh, knowing that lying could only make things worse.

“With Rowan, yes. I was… very happy. He was sweet, always paid attention to me. But to be honest… we had very little in common. He never really had enough time for me. And when he moved to Michigan, I thought the world was going to end, but… it didn’t.” You bit your tongue, because Shaun finally took his eyes off the screen to look at you.

“What about Mark?” He asked. “Were you happy with him?”

“When I first agreed to a date, yes… but he was… verbally abusive. He did everything in his power to destroy my self confidence and that… I would rather not talk about.” You shook your head, then began again. “But you aren’t like Mark. Or Rowan. You’re… well, you’re you. You’re sweet, you pay attention. You have time. You’re honest. Yes, you’re blunt, but some people would kill for a significant other who voiced their opinion.” You cautiously took his hand, which he allowed you to do, and squeezed it softly between your own. “If you’re worried… that I’m not happy, because you’re not… as physically affectionate as others, then you’re wrong Shaun.” You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m more than happy being with you.” You assured him.

The two of you stared at each other momentarily, and Shaun pulled his hand away from you. You were surprised that, instead of resting it in his lap, he gently put his palm on your cheek. He rubbed your cheek rather harshly with his thumb, but you didn’t mind. You could feel tears pooling in your eyes.

“Okay.” He pulls his hand away, and grabs the remote. “I’ll rewind, since we missed some of the movie.” While he does this, you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. He presses play and sets the remote on the coffee table. You two sit in silence once again. Then he shifts awkwardly, coming closer to you. “Would you like to cuddle?” He holds up his arm, not looking at you. You look at him, eyes hazy. You and Shaun didn’t cuddle often, and he was always the one to initiate. So you scoot closer and press yourself gently into his side while his arm lay stiffly on your shoulder. You knew he would relax as the movie went on, so you sit content under his arm as the movie continues.

Then, without warning, he presses a quick, hard kiss to the top of your head and pulls you a little closer.

“I’m happy with you to, (Y/N).”

[to-be-mary-jay]

You know there are days when I relate to the song "I'm still here" from Treasure Planet a little too much. And personally I would live to have a more solid father figure in my life like he did... maybe just more solid family members in general. I hate askin for things like to hang out or help with homework or help in general because my family was supposed to be that growing up and they weren't. Mom treated me like I was a lesser being because I didn't understand math a lot (jokes on her cause it changed about 8 years later and was proven right about it when only one question was right and it was the one I had figured out and all the others were wrong).

The brother that's just above me (i have 4 older brothers for reference, we'll call this one brother 4 or b4 for short) hated me for years because I took his place as the baby of the family (even with the 11 year age gap). Still pretty sure b4 hates me a bit still, when his wife treats me better than he ever will (won't go into that right now).

Brother 3 (b3 for short is just above b4 in age) is a con artist and owes me 3,000 something and I'm not even going to go into all the things before he moved out (most of which I can't fully remember except the bad stuff no one believes me about which I didn't learn was bad till later in life. Fuck the education system.)

Brother 2 (b2 for short the second oldest just above b3) is probably the most adjusted out of all of us but is still hella fucking unreliable because his "help" constitutes as agreeing to it and then never fucking doing it (just like mom) closest thing I had to a father for years till I moved away from upper utah.

Brother 1 (the eldest b1 for short) he was already an adult and got married when I was 4 (I was a young flower girl along with another girl but not the point). I don't have a great relationship with him because of that (and my mom telling me about their disagreements but now i know that she is narcissistic and not in the looks way) but he's also smacked me for barely tapping his car with a plastic chair (i was like fucking 10 asshole i don't care if you have an inferiority complex i was just a kid and it didn't do any fucking damage). I have a better relationship with his wife (but that remains to be seen sometimes because they can both be pretty bad but she's mellowed out a bit cause of their 3 kids).

Now here we are onto my dad in this 230 am rant because I can't sleep again (probably cause I'm on my phone) and I just, don't know where to begin with this because i don't remember it all. Like i have the c-PTSD triggers but I also have survivors guilt because I'm the only child who didn't get beat at the drop of nothing (although according to mom [which her information is pretty unreliable tbh] I may have been touched as a child in a sexual way but they couldn't find any evidence besides baby me physical reaction.) Like I hate having these triggers, people start yelling or fighting and I'm just like there witnessing in 3rd person i get incredibly tense and it takes me hours to try to calm down if I'm by myself. And like I'm terrified of men that are older than me especially if they get angry in anyway. What's worse is i don't actually remember any of what caused the c-ptsd just what I've been told and what c-PTSD b3 has (he can't stand to have people come up behind his back... it was dad's favorite place to hurt them or rather him).

I'm not gonna go into the other stuff I remember that wasn't cause by my family directly (I've already vented about indirect stuff that my mom could've prevent in a previous rant and some I'm... not proud of even if it was through coercion of a child's mind [cause let's be honest if your a quiet lonely kid who can't/ isn't allowed out much it's easy to convince them to do things thinking it might be normal] but you can gather it from this huh? Sorry... if you think less of me now) I guess my point is I've never been in a solid enough place to have people to rely on that actually prove I can rely on them and now I'm so messed up that the only way I can get it out is on fucking here because I'm so used to hardly anyone listening to me when it comes to me venting. Because God i know i can be too much, i know I'm annoying I know I'm not a choice. Because maybe... maybe if I was a choice then maybe... maybe i wouldn't have been so alone growing up? They... they cloud've made time to hang out with me or chose to just put aside their work for an hour... but it was always everything else first... I hardly ever got to go to friends houses and they wouldn't come to my house because mom wouldn't allow it or something. And there were times when my brothers (mostly b4) were supposed to be watching me and I would find myself alone in an empty house waiting for hours just four someone to come home and help me or something. But they didn't. The funny thing is this is just the tip of the iceberg (probably) that's wrong with me that I can piece together. Other stuff... happened later... things that made me wish I had never met that person or became friends with them. People that don't understand why I cut them out (2 so far, I really should stop being so forgiving of other people and maybe forgive myself more?) Honestly I don't think anyone knows fully everything at least not verbally... maybe here... i don't have the courage to ask my friends who follow me here if they do. If they think less of me... if i really do annoy them and they just tolerate me and are being polite. I just... i just wasn't too be able to talk to someone without fear of being interrupted or told that's not gonna happen because bla (loose version of something my mom told me) and like everyone started out with the trust of maybe I can tell them things until they prove otherwise (eg cutting me off abruptly while in the middle of explaining a thing I found that I thought was cool) and it will take them ages to get that trust back (if they ever do because I don't tell them because I know that I'm just a burden who's barely worth hanging out with and don't want to hurt them [probably a learned behavior from calling out my mom on her bullshit and getting lashed and abused verbally because she would start crying as soon as we pointed out what she was doing] yes I know I shouldn't think that. Hard not to... I've always felt like I've never really belonged anywhere even in this dumb family.) I've had past experiences with friends/bf/family who turned the fault back to me. (Guess that's where I got my it's always my fault thing even when it isn't, thank mom for most of that complex). God I've gone on a few tangents sorry... I'm sorry if I scared you with this... and I'm sorry my friends here if you think less of me. I wish that it wasn't almost always in the early/late morning when it gets to much to hold back and just comes flooding to the front of everything. I just... I need to let it out I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

[kor-knight]

Dead with the Devil ch 8

LONGEST CHAPTER TO BOOT. Enjoy it. I’m thinking, maybe like. 2 more chapters left? Who knows. 

Don’t hate me for the cliffhanger! 

Ao3 Deal with the Devil chapter 8

“Elizabeth! Dinner is ready!”

Alice’s voice rang through the house, sending chills down Betty’s exposed back. Taking a deep breath and sparing one more glance in the body mirror, she cracked her door open a bit and shouted a quick “be there in a minute!” before promptly shutting the door and leaning back against it.

Tonight was prom – the prom. The one she wasn’t even going to attend, let alone fret over. But here she was, standing half naked in her bra and panties while she internally struggles about what dress she should wear.

On one hand there’s the pink one, pretty and safe by anyone’s standards. It was comfortable and easy to move in, great for the occasion on all accounts, and it made her feel confident.

But on the other hand, there was the daring black dress, strapless and silk, it hugged her curves so closely it left little to the imagination. It was completely irrational to even consider wearing that dress, considering she’d never even shown past her knees to the student body, let alone Jughead. But there was a tiny piece of her mind that was clinging to the idea, however preposterous it may seem, that Jughead might enjoy her wearing it.

Not that she should let that dictate what she wears, considering she would still have to head downstairs and convince her mother of letting her out later than curfew, but that was a battle to be won at a later time.

Sighing, Betty just shrugged her shoulders and reached for the pink dress, slipping it on easily as she sat at her vanity, applied a minimal amount of makeup and stood.

One more glance in the mirror before Betty took a deep breath, counted down from 10 and made her way downstairs.

“There you are! What took you so long-” Alice’s voice cut off, 3 pairs of eyes landing on Betty as she landed on the last step of the stairway. “Where do you think you’re going?” It wasn’t a question, not really anyway. Her voice was clipped, stance tall, hands on her hips. Betty knew better than anyone that this was an Alice Cooper specialty stance, dedicated for her mistakes or scolding small children at the conventions they went to.

Sighing, Betty stepped down onto the landing and reached for her shoes. Swiftly putting them on, she stands once more, clasping her hands together tightly behind her back. “Prom is tonight, and I was wondering if I could go.” She knew better than make it seem like a question, considering the time spent on the receiving end of Alice Cooper’s parenting style.

Her mother quirked a brow, fingers digging visibly deeper into her sides as she shifted feet. “Oh?” A few tense moments past by in an agonizingly slow pace before Alice spoke again. “With whom?”

Betty knew she should lie, come up with a reasonable male figure to spit off as her date of choice but her mind was coming up with blanks.

Kevin? No, the whole town knew he was gay. It was as scandalous as her little black dress to consider lying about him being her date.

Trev? He was a pretty chill kid, moved here a few months back. They had chemistry together and he was always smiling at her. But the “outsider” label stuck with him harshly, many older folks giving him hell for not being a ���true Riverdale citizen”.

All the other “respectable” boys were either taken or opting out of attending, many of whom gave statements in the issue of the paper last week as to why. So with a final sigh, Betty gave in the her mothers scrutinizing glare and sunk her shoulders a bit.

“Jughead.” her voice was just above a whisper, mumbling to her toes.

“Speak up Betty, I didn’t raise a mouse.” Betty flinches at the sharp tone, stepping back a bit.

Inhaling deeply, she opens her mouth and exhales, looking up at her mother once more. “I’m going with Jughead.” She stated clearly, loud enough for her mother, father and sister to hear from where they sat at the table.

Alice’s features went to stone, mouth sitting in a thin line as she stayed silent. Her father looked up from his plate of food, eyes wide with disbelief, hand poised with a fork full of pasta before he dropped it back down to his plate with a clink.

“Excuse me?” His voice was deep, not nearly as cold as her mothers had been, but close. He opened his mouth again to say more but Alice swiftly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“I’ll handle this dear.” Alice looked up at Betty’s still frame, eyes narrowing as she rounded the table. Polly opened her mouth, but a quick glance from Alice sent her eyes down to the plate in front of her, back now facing Betty. As Alice approached Betty, she fought the urge to retreat away. Standing tall and squaring her shoulders, Betty waited for her mother to blow up.

“Give me one completely relevant, good reason as to why I should let you go whore yourself around with that Jones boy tonight.” Hands on her hips once more, Alice stared down at Betty.

“Who said I was going to whore around?” Betty asked incredulously. “It’s a dance mother! You know, what normal people go to? To have FUN?!” She didn’t mean to shout, but this conversation was exhausting and she was going to be late to their meetup. Prior to tonight, Jughead had sat her down and talked out the details pertaining to “the night,” - whether Jughead was going to come pick her up at home, and risk a severe verbal onslaught by the infamous Alice Cooper, or to schedule a meet up place and time so they both survived the night. They opted for the latter and came up with the idea of meeting in front of the parking lot at the school by 8pm sharp. With a quick glance over her mothers shoulder, Betty caught sight of the clock that read 7:46pm and her eyes went wide.

“I will not just let you leave this house to go parading around town with that Southside trash, ruining my good reputation along with that of the Registers!” Alice’s face was slightly red, from anger or something else, Betty couldn’t tell. Hearing her mother call Jughead names sent a flare of white through her vision though.

Trying to cool her rising anger, Betty closed her eyes and counted down from ten in her head, clenching her fists together tightly. Once she reached one on her countdown, she inhaled and exhaled deeply, opening her eyes once more.

“I don’t honestly care what happens to your reputation, mother. But I’m going tonight. And don’t even try to stop me, got it? You want the whole town to know about your crazy daughter? The one with the panic disorders and depression?!” Her voice was raised once more, but this time it was in her control. Her green eyes never wavered as she stared down her mother, shoulders squared and hands at her sides. “I’ll be back later, don’t wait up.” She stated coolly, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

“Don’t come back here tonight, you hear?” Her mother’s voice rang out behind her, more emotion in those few words than the entire conversation beforehand.

As Betty walked down the stone pathway to the Cooper house, she turned and began walking backward, a wicked smile on her lips. “Who said I was even gonna be home tonight?” She winked at her mother before turning back around and heading down the sidewalk to the school, a faint music could be heard through the quiet streets.

“I’m going Jughead, with or without you.”

Archie’s voice still bounced around Jughead’s skull, eerily deeper than normal. He was pacing his room at the Whyte Worm, tie completely forgotten as he wondered what he should do.

Tonight was Prom. He was supposed to go meet up with Betty and have a good time. He even bought a tie for gods sake!

But low and behold, Archie decided it was going to be a fantastic idea to tag along with a deal tonight. A fucking deal. One so incredibly similar to that of the one where they lost a brother in arms. Jughead’s heart was hammering in his chest as he thought back to that dreaded night. The gunshots, the screaming, the blood, the smell of burning flesh. He remembered everything, and it haunted him everyday. They shouldn’t have been there that night either, but Jughead insisted they get a front row seat at this part of the business, since they were to inherit the whole thing when they came of age.  

But after that night, Jughead swore that this had to stop.

Too many Serpents died at the hands of possible buyers during gun sales. Many of whom Jughead grew up with or learned from. He spent hours arguing with his father, FP Jones, the leader of the gang, over whether they should stop the deals now or wait till Jughead takes over.

And from his knowledge, FP told the other elders there were to be a minimal amount of trades to be had in the coming years, to avoid dwindling numbers and the idea of recruiting new members.

But someone scheduled this deal, and Jughead couldn’t tell what pissed him off more – the fact that someone was going behind his back, or that Archie was stupid enough to try and attend this thing. With a sigh, he turned on his heel and head out the door, down the hall and quickly opened the door of his fathers room.

FP looked up at Jughead as he entered, feet up on the desk in front of him. “What’s up Jug?” He quirked a brow, waiting.

“Who’s scheduling deals again?” He figured it would be easier to get straight to the point, his dad never liked the idea of beating around the bush either. And from the reaction of his father, Jughead knew it wasn’t in his knowledge that a deal was being made either.

His feet flew off the table in an instant. “What did you just say?”

Jughead shifted his weight, crossing his arms. “Someone is making deals again dad. And Archie is there!”

“What the hell is he thinking?” It wasn’t a question directed at Jughead in particular, but he still shrugged his shoulder as a response. FP flung his leather jacket over his arms quickly as he strode past his son. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Ah ah-” He reached a hand out to stop Jughead in his tracks. “Let me deal with the elders, you go get that dumbass out of there before he gets hurt, got it?” Jughead sighed, contemplating an argument before sighing with defeat and nodding. His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder, nodding. “Good luck.”

Jughead raced down the stairway to the main entrance of the Whyte Worm, bolting past the double doors instantly. As he rounded the corner, he was nearly clothes-lined by an arm leaning against the outside wall. Skidding to a halt, he opened his mouth to yell at the guy to move before realizing the arm belonged to a woman.

A dark haired woman, clad in a tight black dress and nasty looking heels turned to face him, a sly grin across her lips. “Hey handsome, forget something?” She quirked a brow and jutted her chin to his untied tie that lay around his neck, completely forgotten to Jughead.

“Sabrina, I don’t have time for this. Please just go away.” He tried to bolt past her, hoping to find a trail to where Archie’s infamous deal was being held, but her body appeared in front of his view before he could move an inch.

“Why can’t we play like before?” She purred, a hand tracing his collar bone with ease. “We had a lot of fun together, don’t you remember?”

He pulled away from her hands, taking a full step back. “Look, I said this once and I’ll say it again. We’re done. Nothing more between us. So please just move.” He tried to step around her again, but she swiftly cut his trail off once more.

“Come on Juggie,” the nickname only Betty called him rolled off her tongue with ease, sending shivers down his spine. “Play with me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, not caring what happened anymore. Without a second thought, Jughead placed a hand on either side of her, a grin plastered on his face as he stepped forward.

Then pushed her to the side and walked past.

“What the hell?!”

“I told you Bri, I don’t have time to play right now.” He called over his shoulder.

Her next words halted his feet in their tracks though. “I can tell you where Archie is.” He spared a glance over his shoulder, eyeing her closely.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” He inquired, stance sideways in an attempt to make this conversation go by quickly.

She smiled at him once more, waltzing forward. “Cause the deal was set up through my father, duh.”

Jughead deadpanned, anger boiling in his veins quickly.

She piped up again, hand reaching out to land on his shoulder. “But before you get mad, yes, I remember that night. No I’m not trying to get anyone killed, but we’re having trouble, and the Serpents are the only gang in town still running guns.” He shrugged off her hand, putting another few feet between them. “And before you get even more brooding, I know all the details. But I didn’t know Archie was going to go. I made my dad swear there was to be no violence.”

Scoffing, Jughead turned his back to her. “We’ll see about that.”

Sighing, Sabrina sauntered past him, coming to stand beside her car. “Let’s go save the day Batman.”

Betty inhaled sharply, hands running up and down her arms to try and warm them from the chilly wind. It wasn’t a cold night, but she definitely should’ve worn a jacket or something, But she left the house in such a rush, the idea had slipped her mind completely.

Looking around once more, Betty sighed into her hands, tapping her foot on the ground below. She didn’t know how long she’d been waiting, but her fingers were too stiff to find her phone right now.

“He’s probably just running late,” she murmured to herself, letting out another wisp of breath into her palms.

“Or he stood you up.” A voice erupted behind her, deep and familiar. Betty turned and came face to face with Chuck Clayton, all star football player, team captain, and resident “good boy” among the masses. Sighing, Betty just turned back around, choosing to take the higher ground and ignore him. “You know, when I heard that the Jughead Jones had made such a fool of himself in front of the school just to ask you, Betty Cooper, out to prom. I was a bit taken aback. You see, I’ve always seen Jughead as a rival, in both women and school.” His voice was directly behind her, sending shivers down her spine that weren’t from the cold. “And when they told me he asked you to prom, I thought everyone was playing. You know, ‘the jokes on Chuck, we got you!’ sorta thing. But then I saw the video Reg took, and I just couldn’t stomach it.” His hand was on her shoulder then, sending warmth through her body at the contact, even though she didn’t want it to. He leaned down to whisper in her ear behind her, the proximity of his lips sending another wave of shivers down her spine.

“Then I found out it was all a bet. And the world makes sense again.”

The words froze her muscles, sent wave after wave of nausea through her stomach, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs. “What?” She squeaked out, voice a whisper compared to his.

“I said, “he spoke a little louder, a group forming around them now as he egged her on, “that the only reason Jughead Jones asked you to prom, Betty Cooper, was because he was in it for money.” A wicked grin crossed his face as her breathing began to speed up. “No one in their right mind would ever ask you to prom for any other reason.” His voice was cutting deep, a vicious onslaught of pain against her heart with each flick of his tongue.

“You’re wrong.” She pleaded, hands in tight fists at her sides. “Jughead is different.”

Chuck laughed then, a hearty laugh that had little emotion in it. “You’re right, Jughead is different. He only asked for $100. Anyone with a brain would’ve asked for triple that to put up with your boring ass for the night, especially since you won’t put out as well.”

Betty’s heart hammered painfully in her chest, her vision began to blur as unwanted tears threatened to spill over. She wasn’t going to cry, not in front of this crowd, or Chuck Clayton of all people.

“Aw, are you gonna cry?” Chuck cooed, laughter spread across the crowd of their peers.

Betty failed to keep her breathing under control, fingers clenching and unclenching in fists at her sides. Her vision was blurry and only getting worse, ears felt like water was in them. Without another word, Betty turned around and stormed off, ignoring the cat calls and Chuck’s voice from behind. She just needed to get away. Quickly finding her phone, Betty turned it on, the bright screen cutting through the blurriness with ease.

9:16pm

The time blinked begrudgingly at her, as if too mocking her shitty decision of a night. Sighing, Betty head in no particular direction, but only trying to get away from the looming music and crowd of people behind her.

Sabrina drove down an abandoned road, the gravel crunching soundly before the tires as they made their way to the deal location. She had tried to keep up a conversation with him during the ride, but Jughead would have no part. Just stared out the window and let his mind wander.

Why was Archie doing this?

Who was setting this deal up on the Serpents end of it?

A million questions swam through his brain as Sabrina tried and failed to keep getting him to talk. Finally the car halted, and Jughead was jerked out of his mind with a start.

Blinking, he looked around. But since they were seemingly in the middle of nowhere, he had no real idea what was around them. But off to the left were a few parked cars, some nicer than others. At the very end was Fred’s – Archie’s dad – old truck, and Jughead sighed with a bit of relief.

“I told you I knew where he was.” Sabrina’s voice broke him out of his temporary reverie. Shaking his head, he reached for the handle to open the passenger door when a loud bang resonated clearly through the calm night.

Shooting a quick glance at Sabrina, Jughead threw the door open quickly. “You said there was no violence!” He shouted at her before closing the door.

“I thought that too!” She squeaked out, shutting the ignition off before bolting out of the car to follow.

Jughead took off before she got fully out of the car, heading in the direction of the sound with ease. Panic rose high in his chest as a barrage of unwanted thoughts surfaced. A million different pictures ran through his mind from the night where Caleb was shot, his blood on Jughead’s hands as she took his last breath. Shaking his head, he picked up the pace before erupting in a clearing slightly illuminated by a few torches and solar lights.

A few guys stood around, looking tense and poised with pistols in hand. They quickly shifted their attention to Jughead once he was clear in the opening. Throwing his hands up high, he halted his tracks instantly.

“I’m unarmed, I swear.” He blurted out quickly, to no one in particular. When the guns trained on him turned back to their original target, Jughead took a deep breath and exhaled in relief.

Then he turned to see what the guns were trained on.

A few feet away were a few Serpents, guns trained on the guys across the clearing. Most had Kevlar vests under their jackets, but Jughead assumed only he knew that due to experience. His eyes looked them over, one at a time, making sure none were injured. The 4 closest to him were seemingly fine, so he sighed with relief before slowly walking over behind them. Archie stood at the end of the line, guarding the cache crate of automatic weapons with timid force. He didn’t look over at Jughead’s approaching figure, just tightened his grip on the hilt of the gun in his hand, eyes narrowing.

“Now where were we?” A guy from across the way called out, quirking a brow.

“We were just about to leave, since we can’t seem to come to an understanding.” Cobra called out from the line of Serpents in front of Jughead. He was a second generation, like Jughead, but much older and less friendly. He also wasn’t in line of taking an elder seat anytime soon, so Jughead assumed he was the one in charge of this undermining deal.

“I don’t really like that plan.” The man across the way retorted, cracking the bone in his neck so loud even Jughead heard it. He flinched at the sound, so eerily similar to a gunshot he had to hold himself from ducking.

“Well we don’t like getting surprised, so it seems we’re both in the rough tonight.” Cobra called back, jerking his head to the side at Jughead. Nodding in understanding, he made his was quickly to the crate and placed his hand on the strap.

“I wouldn’t do that son.” Another voice came from across the opening, making Jughead flinch from the crate.

“He can do what he is told.” Archie retorted, voice so deep even Jughead had to strain to realize it was his. Taking the signal, he reached for the handle once more.

Then the shrill BANG of a gunshot split Jughead’s eardrums in pieces as he fell to the ground, failing to regain his composure quickly. A flurry of gunshots echoed through his ears, but the sound felt like it was traveling through water. With the noise nullified, Jughead tried to sit up once more. Finally managing to get on his hands and knees, he surveyed the area.

A few Serpents stood, still shooting at the remnants of the other guys. One Serpent lay clutching his arm, blood spilling down his fingers quickly.

Then Jughead’s eyes landed on the crumpled frame of someone so familiar, so close to home, he had to cover his mouth to stop from screaming at the top of his lungs.

A few feet away lay Archie, limbs unmoving as blood slowly began to spill around him. “No, no!” Jughead cried out, racing over to his friend quickly. Pulling him over, Jughead noticed the wound quickly. It was at his collar bone, a few inches from where his vest protected him.

“I’m sorry.” Archie spit out, blood spewing from his pale lips as he spoke.

“No, don’t worry. We’ll get you help, ok?” He quickly looked up and called for backup. Archie nodded slightly, eyes slowly closing. “No, hey. Look at me.” Jughead called out, shaking Archie slightly. “Talk to me man, you gotta stay awake. Tell me about Veronica, ok?”

Archie opened his eyes again, coughing slightly before smiling. “She’s great. Real pretty.” Jughead nodded, glancing quickly over his shoulder at the approaching car. Archie’s hand came to lightly tap on his shoulder, pulling his attention back. “Tell her I’m sorry..” Then Archie’s eyes slowly began to close, hand falling to his side.

“ARCHIE!”

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Blood Curse part 5

Find this on wattpad

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

A/N: This is kinda the single ladies girls squad chapter @queenmareena and @lilyharvord have requested. But there’s a lot of verbal slaying and sparring too. And pain. Yeah. And it’s super-long. Thanks @thomaven for advice^^ Enjoy~

Mare POV

In the end, Evangeline gets what she wanted and group of volunteers sets out to hunt for Maven. I’m one of them. But the boy king is astoundingly good at running away. We start with checking the breaches in the wall and the tunnels though there isn’t much to see, with the remains of the dead soldiers moved away. So, we run across the fields around the city, searching for Maven’s traces.

It’s strange to be here, when the memories of the battle in the blizzard still linger in my mind. But the sun is shining now, although not as hot as in Piedmont, and in some places, green grass is growing. Actually, if I turn away from the fortress, the landscape is weirdly peaceful. An unsettling thought, and the other members of the hunting party, most of them Silvers, seem to have almost similar feelings as they frown and move reluctantly. There’re no trails of Maven and his army to be found and probably, they vanished as they came. And why should they stay? It’s easy to forget that the war has ended when its dread loomed over us Reds for generations. Yet it was a ruse all along and the conflict was solved as easily as salt in water.

Maven’s and the Lakelanders’ retreat bring back the option of abandoning Corvium, an idea which was raised in the last meeting. Without the war and the choke’s trenches filled with soldiers, Corvium is just a huge but random stronghold instead of a death gate. It’s a reasonable plan, but it might be yet another trap by Maven to lure us away and to dissemble from his real schemes.

Evangeline, who was the first to volunteer, doesn’t give up so easily. Her dress is changed partly into an armour, partly formed into makeshift weapons and trinkets which she throws on the ground to use as anchors to jump away from. It’s almost like flying and I gaped when I saw it for the first time. Now, two hours later, I only glance at her every now and then, fascinated by the beauty of it and yet noticing her sombre mood. Fighting and using her ability seem like her only release and I can relate to that. While she still denies how fruitless this search is, I want to run to the electricon hill and call my lightning with Ella, Tyton and Rafe. Maybe they’re doing exactly that, only here instead of in Piedmont. So I spin on my heal and dash back to the city.

The huge breach where we fought catches my attention and I see Farley walking there, her hands on the wall. I go to her and she turns to me. She looks around as I approach her. “Hey Mare, are you alone? Good.”

I frown.

“Did you know,” she says, “there’s a Newblood in the Piedmont base who can control and shape rocks?”

I shake my head.

“That’s not surprising. He’s arrived recently with his family. He would’ve been very handy in this fight, of course. But he’s only fourteen and much too young for this.”

“Right,” I agree, and think of Cameron. She wasn’t much older when we recruited – abducted – her, and she needed a long time to arrange herself with the situation. We deserved her reproaches. We shouldn’t repeat this way of “recruitment” ever again. Then I work out why Farley was nervous before. “You don’t want the Silvers to know about this boy?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. The Silvers don’t have that kind of respect for childhoods, do they?”

From the corner of my eyes, I can still see Evangeline’s jumps. 

Corvium changes dramatically in the next two weeks and it turns more and more into a garrison, with almost relaxed inhabitants. At least they can feel like that. Enough Reds  - and some Silvers – start to believe in the alliance and it unsettles me how easily they’re convinced. I guess anything is better than waiting for death in the trenches or by Maven’s revenge. I can’t trust the idea that Maven will give up Corvium like this. Maybe it’s easier for the Red soldiers who are less tense and waiting for relocation, as that’s what’s happening. Farley is in charge of them and while she’s recruiting those willing to fight on and to become members of the Scarlet Guard, she often goes to Corvium’s sister city Rocasta where the released Red soldiers are stationed. Those who can’t live like this any longer. They wait to be relocated but that option has to be restricted, as both travelling and safe places are limited. Of course, most of them want to be with their families, but while we can’t force anyone to stay who’s willing to run on their own risks, if they returned to their homes, the shadow of rebel collaboration might fall on them, especially if their home town is loyal to Maven.

To my surprise, the Silvers don’t object, as long as Farley, General Akkadi and the other Red officers report on their numbers and the Silvers deem them high enough, high enough to build their joint army. While most soldiers cling to their own, one division is mixed where the Silvers include some Reds as officers among the Silver ones. It’s supposed to be a revolutionary project, but it isn’t, as Maven did the same thing with his Newbloods. Ironically, the joint army was Tiberias’s idea, as was the shadow legion a year ago. I wonder if that satisfies him, to somehow revive his concept and to train the soldiers himself. He seems to when he talks about them and he even dares to look at me more often during these reports. Those glances are invitations, I think, to come and visit their training, at best to stand beside Tiberias, the rightful king, and witness the cooperation of Reds, Silvers and Newbloods. Only that it happens on Tiberias’s terms, not the Scarlet Guard’s

I’ve carefully avoided to visit and I left the part of Tiberias’s Red partner as commander and trainer to a woman of Farley’s and Davidson’s choice. Her name is Saraline Barnes and spends her spare time often with Farley. They must have known each other for some time and that past connects them. With her, Farley seems almost girlish. I suspect Farley carries a photo of Clara around and has shown it to Saraline who’s happy for her, despite everything else. Saraline, a black woman, is a soldier of the Guard and has been in Corvium for months, almost since I’ve learned of my powers, and she’s as battle-hardened as Farley. As many of us are. I don’t know what she went through, but she has lost neither her assertiveness, nor the ability to smile for a friend, and I’m glad for both of them to have met again.

Instead, I end up training with the Newbloods. I think Kilorn would be disappointed with us Guards in Corvium. But I try to take his efforts to heart and sometimes go with Farley to meet with the Red soldiers. Fortunately, her commanding presence keeps them from treating me as either some kind of icon or a traitor. Or maybe I’ve finally become Operative Barrow to them, instead of the legendary Lightning Girl.

I reserve my lightning for the Newbloods and their commander, General Akkadi. She’s as authoritative as any of the Silvers. Her Newblood soldiers are loyal to a fault and she secures them places to live and train in as good as can be. I meet her during a bustling training session but unlike to actual battle, it’s possible to talk. She’s curious to learn about Guard members, such as me, as I’m curious about her. Her first name is Selene. She has bronze skin and is in her mid-fourties, although her hair is already grey and fixed in a long braid. She grew up in Montfort and tells me her ability is prophecy and for a second, I flinch, thinking of Jon. But she isn’t like him, she’s more like an Eagrie eye, a seer of the immediate future. She has a far greater reach than them though, and superhuman reflexes to act on her visions.

I understand better what she means when I see her fight other Newbloods. Neither a strongarm, swift nor teleporter are able to lay a hand or foot on her as she dodges all their attacks. Instead she aims at their weak spots with an uncanny precision, often scoring a potentially fatal blow in seconds.

“Close combat isn’t everything,” I say when she leaves the ring.

“True, true,” she admits, unperturbed by my little tease. “But that’s not all I can do.” She smirks. “A battle is different, as being a commander is different. I can see the future of … the whole of the fight and of almost every soldier in my vision as well. So, I might order them to act as if each of them has my gift.

"In theory, at least. It’s hard to communicate and making them understand what I need them to do in the chaos. I’ve learned to deal with the distraction visions can be, but nothing is ideal.” A dry laugh escapes her throat. “If we had a whisper or someone similar, they might transmit what I see to everyone else, like a perfect conduit. If we could trust them, that is,” she adds, noticing my severe frown at the thought of a whisper among us.

Tiberias wishes for one as well, for very different reasons.

The idea of someone else in my head continues to make me shiver with horrible memories and I need several moments to focus again on the here and now.

Akkadi doesn’t touch me but turns around and squats in front of me. Her dark brown eyes are warm, but something more than compassion sparkles in them.

“There’s a woman in Maven’s army who’s like me,” she tells me. “A Silver, but maybe the most powerful eye there is.”

Ambition, I realize. The Silver woman wakes Akkadi’s joy about challenge and competition. “General Aude Eagrie,” she explains. “She has whispers to aid her. She’s the heir to her house and has been at the choke for ages, a venerable veteran. Yet she’s lost Corvium twice now.”

Akkadi probably desires to meet the Silver general in person and to duel her herself to examine who’s truly the better of them. I don’t know much about this Aude. I heard of some quarrel about the inheritance of the title of House Eagrie, the candidates being an eccentric young man, a lady with royal blood and a lady general who must be Aude. I wonder if her efforts in the fake war can really outbalance her long absences from court. Then I banish the idea. I doubt the family quarrels are severe enough to get them at each other’s throats and if we’re lucky, the High Houses are done with before the question becomes serious. The Eagrie title isn’t my problem, but I realize I’m still trying to memorize, analyse and use all information I can get, as I did during my imprisonment.

I slap my thighs, clench my fists and take a breath. I jump from my seat. “You’re impressing, General,” I say to Akkadi. “But now it’s my time to spar”. I catch Ella’s eyes from the other end of the gym. She nods and I faintly see she’s smiling as I move to the ring. 

The daily pre-lunch meetings of Red and Silver officers are another kind of battle. Although words and gestures are the only weapons, these discussions are fiercer than training. They’re pretend, of course. I understand that we sit down every day to talk as if we’re truly allies but we quarrel the whole time. If Davidson’s trying to deceive the Silvers through false promises and information, I’m unaware of his means. It’s like the people at this table deciding over the fate of Corvium are just actors in his play.

I don’t forget my suspicion but it’s no excuse from being unfocused in those meetings. People like the Samos’ or Anabel, who call themselves royals, are too dangerous to be disregarded.

But these table discussions are revealed to be fake and useless once you know about the subterfuge.

I almost pity Tiberias sitting at his place of honour. He’s learned to present a majestic image outside of battle by now, as he’s dressed in a tailored and bejewelled uniform. I’m not immune against his sight, as handsome as ever. But the longer I dare to look at him, the more I feel the sting. He’s the perfect Silver prince again, one of them, as if he’s never been a rebel. At least Maven is aware of the difference between truth and image whereas Tiberias seems – as if he likes part of it? No, that can’t be, I can see how uncomfortable he is beneath his regal mask. And it’s not like I’ve granted him a chance to be with me at other places than this table.

Tiberias remains silent for most of the time and lets his allies and new advisors talk, in some kind of imitation of Volo Samos. Volo, in turn, still prefers to have his son present his side, as if Ptolemus is some kind of apprentice prince.

“Maven is again on a tour across Norta and is difficult to locate in advance,” Ptolemus explains.

Maven’s probably inspecting his defenses.

“It’s likely he’s expanded his railway network,” he adds and then pauses. I see the interest on Ptolemus’s face. Despite his and Evangeline’s unrest during our first trip with the train, he’s developed a fancy for the vehicle. He clears his throat. “General … Farley,” he begins, “It’s no secret the Scarlet Guard possesses access over a railway network, too. It would be a great advantage to our alliance if we had the same means …,” he stops mid-sentence as he looks up from his papers and notices that Farley doesn’t even glance in his direction. She’s literally turning away from him, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turn white.

I realize she’s never looked at him when he talked. Ptolemus gapes and searches the table for reassurance for a second. All he gets is the steely expression on his father’s face. He can only continue.

“General Farley, I, in the name of my father, ask you for the locations as well as a map of the Guard’s trains.”

Finally, Farley turns with a swift motion into an adamant demeanour. “No,” she answers with a vicious smile.

Ptolemus blinks. “May I remind you we agreed to cooperate to tumble Maven’s regime? Withholding information -”

“I can’t remember a promise of sharing all of our assets and intelligence,” she interrupts him sharply. Her smile has vanished and is exchanged for an icy glare.

She walks a thin line between displaying the smallest shred of diplomacy and her outright contempt for him. Maybe it’s not the best course of action, but I can’t help feeling a little proud of her.

Ptolemus touches the bridge of his nose. “You’re obstinate. General. After all, we’ve done our best to support and provide for your re – ah, soldiers – “

“You mean we poor Reds should be grateful that you finally grant us enough food and good lodgings?!” I erupt. “Oh, of course, we’re barely able to take care of ourselves, are we?”

Ptolemus’s confusion is quickly replaced by angry indignation. “Indeed, we …, ” he starts to explain himself before his face changes into a sneer. “What are you even doing her, Barrow? This is a congregation of nobles and officers.”

His jibe merely fuels me. I grin until my scars hurt and turn to the future king of Norta. “Tiberias, what do you say to that? And I not allowed to be here?”

The way his expression changes when our eyes meet nowadays has become familiar, and it’s both hurt and satisfaction for the two of us. One after the other, disbelief, rejoice and then disappointment rush over his face. Then he regains his princely appearance and declares, “Mare Barrow deserves to be here and is a welcome member of this committee. She stays, as long as she wishes.” His grandmother frowns at this while Tiberias loses his seriousness for a moment and gives me a tiny smile.

I feel the corners of my mouth twitching as well. I turn away quickly. By now Farley’s aggressive posture has relaxed a little, but she’s still tense. I know she’s proud of her position as a general, but it’s not easy for her. She’s new to the job, and with Townsend dead, she’s the only Command general of the Scarlet Guard present in Corvium. She has to make these important decisions on its behalf in this volatile alliance and I’m not sure how much information she’s been able to glean from the secretive Command so far.

“So, we’ll do nothing about the trains?” Ptolemus asks into the silence, not letting go of his idea.

There’s no answer until a chair scratches on the floor and Davidson stands up. “May you excuse my interruption, your Highness. We should keep this option in mind. Sirs, madams, I fear we’re over the scheduled time already. If there are no other urgent topics,” he smiles excessively friendly, “I think we should return to our tasks at hand.”

Murmurs and relief replace the tension at the table. A few people voice agreement while others can’t wait to get up. I’m one of them. 

I follow Farley when we leave the conference room. This time, she storms off. Anger fuels her and while I feel my own upset about Cal, I cling to her. I see Cameron joining us as well. She wasn’t in any of the meetings, but she comes with us nonetheless. She looks worried. Farley stops and turns when she notices her. She snorts.

“Cole,” she barks, “you were more right that I would’ve ever thought.”

Cameron nods gravely but Farley sighs when she looks at me. “Those Silvers will always be a pain in the ass. Why can’t that little Samos bastard be dead already!”

I flinch at the mention of Ptolemus and it doesn’t escape Farley’s keen eyes. “Mare? Don’t you agree?”

I want to nod, to shout, yes, I want to electrocute him by returning to the meeting room immediately. But my memory remains, the promise I made to Evangeline. I shouldn’t care about it, as they haven’t ever cared about me. But I’ve seen the love and despair in Evangeline’s eyes that day and whatever I think of Shade’s killer, the idea of revenge becomes a double-edged sword.

I want to see him dead, sometimes all of them. But where would that end?

Love – loss – and despair are the emotions that show on Farley’s face now as well. I should’ve realized before. She’s raged against Evangeline and her parents before, but they weren’t the cause of her anger. I overlooked how deliberately she avoided Ptolemus’s sight. Because she wants to see him dead and shredded as much as I did.

“I … let’s go to your room.” I spin my head to stress the need for privacy, and Farley seems to agree, reluctantly. Her fierce expression doesn’t lose intensity once we’re in. Cameron still tags along, both worried and curious.

I take a breath but it doesn’t help me face Farley when I say it. “Evangeline freed me in exchange for promising not to kill her brother.”

I glance at her from the corners of my eyes. Disbelief washes over her. “How could you …?” she whispers, barely audible.

I stop eschewing her. “Yeah, I had the same thought. But what choice did I have?!”

Farley winces and inclines her head in understanding. Yet her anger doesn’t vanish. She’s the one to look away now, her hands on her hips.

“Farley,” Cameron calls out finally. Just her voice seems to level the heated mood in the room for a moment. I wish she would go on, but Farley speaks again.

“Then I’ll have to kill him.”

I’m used to her determination and relentlessness, but her thirst for revenge unsettles me. I shouldn’t judge her, I shouldn’t discourage her, but I remember too well how powerless I felt next to the magnetrons during the six months of my imprisonment and a part of me fears for her, despite her prowess in battle.

“Farley,” Cameron says again. “There’s more than murder at stake.” Farley glances at her, then clears her throat and blinks.

Pretty words aren’t much aid with such pain and grief as hers - or mine. It still gnaws on her, and I know nothing to do but say, “Diana. You told me it’s better to live for something.” I don’t dare to be plainer because she deserves better than to be berated about being overeager and rash or uncaring about risking her life and leaving Clara as an orphan. She must know this herself, even if I feel the need to remind her.

She gapes at first, then laughs joylessly. “Right, who says I’d die? Or do anything rash? The Samos brat isn’t worth it.”

To my surprise, Cameron says, “I’d help you.”

To my greater surprise, I add, “I would as well.” Both turn their heads to me as my bad conscience kicks back in. Yet deep down, the urge for vengeance has never left me.

I shake my head. “The goal is to end Silver monarchies. So, I’ll finish Ptolemus Samos well before he ascends another throne.” I almost expect another dirty laugh but Farley remains quiet this time. She merely nods with her arms crossed. Cameron starts to leave and I’m about to follow her, but then Farley closes the distance between us - and hugs each of us. Cameron seems even more startled than I but her expression softens quickly. “I’m your friend,” she says. “And we’ll end it.”

I hear Farley’s heavy breathing while she embraces me and I wonder if she’s fighting tears, and how many times she’s fought them in her life already.

“I wished so often – “ she murmurs. “I thought the greater good is enough, but – how  could I ever explain to Clara that he lives?”

I stroke her back. “I know.”

The harmonic moment doesn’t last long. We let go and smile at each other. Grimly. Cameron mentions something about repairs to be made and rushes off. She has found something else to do, while her life as a techie has given her knowledge she uses of her own terms now. I want to leave as well, but I’m less sure where to go. I hesitate, fumbling for words, and make some random gestures as I moves to the door.

“Mare, wait,” Farley’s voice cuts through the room and I frown at her sudden change of tone, her amusement gone. I turn to her, but she doesn’t continue. Not yet. I wonder if she still plots against Ptolemus and can’t let go so easily.

“I’m sorry, Mare. I should’ve apologized long ago,” she says instead and I blink in confusion. Farley lowers her head but her eyes are focused on me, as intense as ever.

“I have – I’ve never given you a choice either. I’ve lied to you, and used you, and it’s time to stop acting innocent and righteous about this. We need to be honest.”

I feel myself plummeting into a hole, into dark times I’m not ready to face out of a sudden. I don’t want to think about what she might mean, but the memory of that moment on the Blackrun, when we screamed at each other with Shade’s corpse between us, shoves itself into my consciousness.

Farley comes closer to me. “Mare? I’m sorry to throw you off your guard like this. I mean … I should just say it.” Yet she hesitates and her hand faintly brushes my shoulder. I take several breaths. My vision blurs and clears again and I lift my head to her. I stare back, knowing I should listen to her and be done with it. It’ll never be easy. I can deal with it, then I can still yell at her.

Farley seems to understand my agreement. She nods. “You might’ve figured out that I always knew that Shade wasn’t dead …  back then.” She has to clear her throat at those words. “I used your grief and anger to motivate you to join the Guard.”

She’s right, I’ve figured this out long ago but I had much greater worries during that time. And what is the point now? Shade is still dead and I can’t regret joining the rebellion. I regret many things, but not that. I shake my head. “Yes, that was heartless, Farley. I didn’t need that motivation and Shade should’ve known that, too. Because you did meet him while I was Mareena, didn’t you?”

She blushes at my indication and her stance wavers slightly. “Indeed,” she confirms, “we should’ve realized. But have you never thought it could’ve been different? I could’ve gotten you out of the palace if I’d tried, if you’d asked.”

“Since when do we talk about lost chances? I haven’t asked because I thought I was doing the right thing.” I cackle. “You don’t have to pamper me.”

She sighs but doesn’t relax. She isn’t done yet. “But I’m still a liar. I didn’t notice immediately, but once I did, I felt too coward to bring this up. That you believed me when I requested that money for transporting you and Kilorn. But I was joking. I would’ve helped you anyway. For Shade.”

Again, I need a moment to process her words. I understand all that could’ve been avoided if she’d been more honest and plain. How different everything could’ve been, if Gisa’s hand was never injured? Despite my former dismissal, I feel my anger rise. My life hasn’t been my own for such a long time. Maybe never. I ’ve been a pawn shoved back and forth by players other than me. I think about how Maven was made, no, all of us, myself included. Will it never end?

I bat Farley’s chest so she has to step back. Tears run over my cheeks as I spit at her when I yell, “you’re such an awfully good actress, Diana Farley! Are you hoping to manipulate people so you’ll get what you want?”

She has the decency to lower her head, but that only lasts a moment. She isn’t afraid to face me, she never is. My rage already starts to calm as reason kicks in. I know why she did all that and that she’ll never stop fighting until we’ve won. But that can’t change the way betrayal feels.

“I know what I am and what I’ve done,” Farley admits. “But even when you shout at me and resent me for this, and feel down because of me, we both know that you deserve better than play pretend. You deserve the truth, especially now. And I don’t want to be your friend if I lie to you.” After these words, she turns away.

I move to her bed and sit down. I cover my eyes with my palms to stop the tears but of course it doesn’t work like that. I hear how Farley sits down next to me yet she doesn’t touch me or tries to comfort me in another way. Her presence has to be enough. Eventually, I uncover my eyes and see her open palm, outstretched like it’s an invitation. I take it and squeeze.

“I forgive you,” I say, as haughtily as possible with a tear-stained voice.

Farley squeezes back. “All of us have made mistakes and lost important things … and people. But while you and I and other rebels have fucked things up, not everything is our fault. In the end, it’s the Silvers who are guilty, and those are who we fight. We can’t forget that.” She sighs. “I’m just trying to be better.”

There’s grief in her voice. I realize how much she’s changed since I met her for the first time, how loss and love have shaped her anew. I suppose she wants to be a good leader, mother and friend. But I mourn how much pain she has suffered to grow to become a better person. And I know the same applies to me.

I lean against her. For the second time this day, we just hug and take comfort from each other. It relaxes me, calms me, but after a few minutes, I realize this isn’t enough. There’s still too much frustration boiling inside of me and I long for activity. I let go of her, rise and walk to the door.

“Where are you going?” Farley stands up as well and goes after me. I don’t turn to her.

“Do you intend to follow me all day now?”

She comes closer until I see her crossing her arms from the corner of my eyes. “Do you want to be alone?”

What do I want?

To see Maven’s corpse and I know I no longer have to fear him.

To slap Tiberias – Cal, and yell at him for his mistakes, half-heartedness and lack of compassion until he kneels before me in submission.

To have Cal kiss me, hug me, touch me, fuck me, until I’m burning inside and feel only love and passion instead of despair.

Or I just want to go out, grab Ella and have her teach me how to make a storm huge enough so I’ll feel nothing but its voltage and the electric current coursing through me.

Finally, I turn to Farley. “I’m going to train with Ella.”

She cocks her head yet abstains from the obvious reply, wondering if I’m not too keyed up to use my ability. What else should I do? Training, or just running, is the best way to calm me down. Physical exercise is the only thing that makes me sleep at night when I slowly get used to being alone again.

Before I say anything else, Farley gives me an encouraging smile. “I’ve nothing else to do. I’m coming with you.”

The gym is buzzing with excitement when we arrive. I make out General Akkadi fighting once more on the sparring grounds.

She has it harder today. Her movements to dodge her opponent’s attacks are slower, as if this duel has lasted for some time. Or the opponent is just stronger and more vicious because - to my astonishment - she’s fighting Evangeline.

I wince. I’ve no idea how she escaped her family and their Silver cronies and got past our soldiers patrolling these quarters. The crowd doesn’t seem to mind and watches in awe. It’s really the end of the duel. Akkadi closes the distance to Evangeline despite the metal shards hurled into the air. Akkadi snatches one of them and holds it against Evangeline’s bare throat while she punches her gut.

Evangeline stumbles despite her armour and Akkadi just turns and says, “I win,” as she leaves the ring. She sees Farley and me, grins, and greets us.

“General Farley, have I told you about my son yet?” I hear her say behind me because I find myself walking to the ring where Evangeline remains standing.

“Do you have the power for another duel in you, Princess?” I say. 

A/N: IDK if I can say this at another point, so I explain here. Akkadi has a teenage son who currently lives with her ex-husband. They’re co-parents and the son a Newblood too, a swift, and Akkadi thinks Farley would like to know about stuff like that. 

And I finally brought Saraline from Steel Scars back into the story.

@universegamer @clarafarleybarrow @mikey-waysjawline @redqueenfandom @xsonnydelavegax @wrenskonos @maudthebookeater @mayamalfoy @asewhj @clara-farl3y @tiygreen37 @maven-notmyking @a-gods-cursed @acourtofmareandcal @burnersbetrayal @didmavenkillyou--metoo

[dracimalfoy1988292]

Quince

It was her utopia. It was indeed, the happiest she had been since had figured out the truth about Baxtart's when she was eleven. As Joshua held her in his arms, they moved against the slow rhythm which flooded the hall.1

Elizabeth saw Pevlos and Melissa, looking as content as ever. They were dancing as well. In the front of the hall, instruments had been charmed to play by themselves and were carrying out a melancholic tune. The drinks were refilling themselves as the clear glasses loosely swayed in the students' hands. Elizabeth heard the door open, then noticed Joshua's grip on her waist tightened and he had gone tense.12

"You okay?" she whispered, taking her head off of his shoulder. His eyes were locked on something behind her.

"No," Joshua narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth turned her head around to see what he was looking at. There he was. Tom stood, leaning against the wall by the door. His jacket was hanging over his shoulder sloppily. His hair wasn't in tact as it had once been, for it hung loosely on his head. Elizabeth gently turned his head back to her.65

"He's probably here for Walburga," Elizabeth tried to explain. "Just let him go." Joshua's eyes softened and she felt his muscles relax. They continued dancing to the slow melody. As they gradually turned around, Elizabeth was able to see Tom, watching her from the entrance. He looked tired and stressed, of course, masking it over with a smirk. He was usually better at hiding his true emotions.30

"I don't like him, not one bit," Joshua muttered, grumbling as he was now the one facing Tom. "Why is he looking over here?"

Elizabeth looked past her shoulder, "Most likely looking for Walburga." Tom was looking at her and she knew it. Walburga was hard to miss and if he were truly looking for her, he would have found her.1

Joshua recaptured her attention, "No, he's looking right at us." He was right. Tom didn't even pretend he was looking somewhere else. "I'm going to tell him to leave," Joshua let go of her and began walking, but was soon pulled back by Elizabeth.13

"No, I'll just go tell him where Walburga is. That way, he'll get out of our hair and he won't go all mad because you aggravated him," she offered.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and finally answered, "Sure, go ahead. I'll get us something to drink." He walked away and Elizabeth budged her way through the crowd and met Tom.

"I don't think that one likes me very much," Tom nodded in Joshua's direction, showing amusement.35

"Why are you here?"

Tom looked falsely taken aback, "Me? I'm just enjoying the ball." Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows and and crossed her arms over her chest.

"How did you even find out about this?" she questioned.

"I wanted to talk to you about something and figured you'd be here. Certain people weren't very hush hush about this ball," he looked over at Walburga who held a goblet of Firewhiskey in one hand and the shoulder of an older Slytherin boy in the other.

Elizabeth remembered she was supposed to be in a fight with Walburga, "Can't keep anything to herself, that one."

"Another reason why the two of you aren't friends anymore?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I never said we weren't friends anymore."2

Tom looked annoyed, "Whatever, I don't wish to be involved in your female issues, but I do wish to speak with you about something."39

"What about?" Elizabeth looked back to where Joshua was pouring two cups of something. Hopefully it was Firewhiskey, because, boy, she needed some.1

"It's about what I discussed with Professor Slughorn," he spoke quiet and crisp. "I believe you'll be interested in what I have to say."

The Horcruxes. Elizabeth hadn't even told her parents about her own. Why did Tom trust her with that secret? "I don't think I have time for that, not tonight," she avoided the subject, for she knew that she couldn't keep the Horcrux to herself.

"It's in your best interest to listen to me, Maryn," Tom eyed her carefully. She could tell he wanted to ask her about Horcruxes. It was the one thing she couldn't lie about. The only reason nobody knew is because nobody ever asked.

"I think I should be getting back...Joshua is probably wondering whe-," she started, but was cut short by Tom grabbing her arm and pulling her to him.2

His teeth were gritted, the frightening look returning to his face, "I did not ask."38

"The bloody hell are you doing, Riddle?" Joshua growled from behind Elizabeth.8

Tom's smug grin returned to his mouth as he let go of Elizabeth's arm, "Just having a little chat with Miss Maryn." Elizabeth was looking at her shoes.

"You need to go," Joshua commanded loudly, causing couples around them to turn their heads and stare at the commotion.

"No, I was just about to have myself a glass of punch," Tom retorted with a cheeky smile. Elizabeth could see his hand above his pocket, his fingers coiled around his wand.35

Joshua clenched his jaw, "Leave." Elizabeth gingerly looked down and saw Joshua holding his wand and aiming it at Tom. She felt obligated to stop him.

"You don't really want to do that, Corrington," Tom nodded at his wand. He didn't look one bit scared of dueling with Joshua. Elizabeth really wished they wouldn't because of the hexes she had taught Tom. They would surely take out Joshua or cause him the worst pain imaginable.4

"Please don't," Elizabeth whispered, mostly at Tom, but she figured Joshua interpreted it as towards him.

He lowered his wand, "Fine. Let's return to those drinks." He took Elizabeth's hand and began walking away. As he did, he stumbled forward, releasing her hand from his. She turned around and saw Tom, pointing his wand at Joshua's back.

"Never said I wouldn't," his words slithered like a serpent between his lips. Elizabeth reached for her own wand and aimed it fiercely. By then, all students had their eyes on the two. She knew he couldn't do it. Elizabeth was the only one more powerful than him in that hall and he wouldn't risk it. His eyes narrowed as if he were waiting for her to make a move.38

Elizabeth looked to her side and saw Joshua laying on the ground, stirring groggily as the effects from the hex wore off. As he regained consciousness, he staggered to his feet and pointed his wand again. Elizabeth lowered hers.

"Arrogant twit," Joshua mumbled under his breath. He flung a non-verbal spell at Tom along with a grunt. Tom blocked the spell nonchalantly with a wave of his wand.6

"Is that the best you've got, Corrington? Been with that one for two months and still can't perform a decent stunning spell? I've had one conversation and look where I am now" Tom pointed at Elizabeth with his wand.1

Joshua looked at her, "What is he talking about?" His deep eyes sparkled and a bruise had been formed on his cheek.5

"I-I don't know," she stammered. "Let's just go."

Joshua lowered his wand and put his hand on the small of her back. "Just a small friendly duel," Tom addressed the confused students with an arrogant upturn of the lips. They laughed as if it were simply a friendly duel. Elizabeth wished it were only that.

Her and Joshua walked back to the refreshments table. They sat down and Elizabeth sipped on her cup timidly. The thoughts running through her head were incomprehensible, even to her. Joshua finally spoke, "Is something going on between you two?"

"No, of course not, why would you think that?" Elizabeth could barely keep herself from breaking. Her palms were caked with sweat and she nervously rubbed them against the sides of the chair.

He sighed and ran his hand through his golden locks, "You're always with him. The other day, I saw you sitting with him at breakfast, before you came to me. I thought it was just you talking about Walburga or something, but it's just been too consistent."

"If you knew Walburga like I do, you'd know that it takes real convincing to get anyone, let alone Riddle, to ask her out," Elizabeth tried to explain. "Matilda and Melissa are doing it too, I guess you just don't notice it as often."

He let out a heavy sigh, "I don't care if you talk to him, but just let me know that you truly don't feel any emotional connection to that monster."52

Elizabeth couldn't. She couldn't deny her feelings toward Tom. She knew they weren't neutral so why did it even matter? "I don't have any feelings toward him other than annoyance and hatred," she lied, nearly letting her voice crack. "He's an awful human being and I want nothing to do with him."

"You don't know how wonderful that is to hear," Joshua gave a small grin. Elizabeth felt so awful lying to him. Her insides ached like they never had before. They both took a sip of Firewhiskey.32

"This was such a delightful evening," Elizabeth changed the subject.

"It really was," he replied, half-heartedly. Did he know that she was lying? She looked out at the students who were dancing without a care in the world. A quickly paced song had come on and the people began to swing dance. Matilda's blonde hair was bouncing as she danced rapidly with another boy. "That looks thrilling," Joshua commented as a girl was nearly thrown into the air by her partner. The Firewhiskey had kicked in and everyone was active as ever.

"I say we give it a go. Have you ever swing danced before?" Elizabeth asked, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her.1

"I did once at my muggle aunt's wedding," he recalled. They both walked out to the dance floor. Elizabeth and Joshua joined hands and smiled at each other, then began abruptly as the song hit a new beat. They spun around in a tight circle and then dipped her down, pulling her up quickly to him. Their faces were only one apart from each other. The next part of the dance was the lift. Elizabeth was afraid he wouldn't be able to pick her up, but before she could do anything, she was up in the air, above everyone else. Her body gracefully came back down into Joshua's arms and they continued spinning and dancing.37

Elizabeth saw Walburga's shiny black hair, followed by her slim, tan arm drawing another boy out into the core of the crowd. She couldn't see who it was. Every time she was spun around to face Walburga's direction, someone was blocking the boy. Elizabeth had an awful feeling about who it was.15

At the sharp hit of the beat, Elizabeth met the cold eyes of Tom. He was dancing with Walburga. Elizabeth was both amused and oddly jealous. She felt anger boiling inside of her. Just as she felt she couldn't get any more emotional, the door opened once more. Elizabeth resisted the urge to pinch herself awake, hoping it was all a dream. But no, Asher Bennett was standing right there. She looked away and continued dancing, watching him as he walked over to the food table.77

The trumpet flared as Elizabeth was lifted into the air once more. She could feel beads of sweat dripping down her back, but she kept dancing. Swing dancing was exhausting. The constant, rapid movement was more than she could handle. Strands of hair that had once been in her bun were falling out as she spun ferociously.6

Joshua locked his hands on hers and she looked at him with a confused expression. "Saw this one at a party once," he started.

"What?" Elizabeth yelled frantically over the music.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall, just jump!" Joshua yelled. Elizabeth jumped and before she was aware of what he was going to do, she was nearly upside down, flipping around his shoulder. Her feet landed with a thud and for a lack of wanting to embarrass herself, she kept going. The song slowed down and so did they, panting as the instruments finally concluded the tune. A slow song came on and many of the girls took that opportunity to go off to fix their hair. Elizabeth did the same. As she was walking over to the hallway that must have included a lavatory of some sort, Matilda grabbed her arm.5

"Oh, that was so delightful!" she exclaimed. Her small face was beat red and her golden hair was frizzy and worn. The flowers had fallen out of both of their hair.

"Did you see Tom dancing with Walburga?" Elizabeth asked as took her hair out of the bun.

Matilda frowned, "Yeah. I wanted to ask you about that. I know Tom didn't make us seem as if we were fighting for Walburga."

Elizabeth sighed and realized there was no point in lying, "How'd you figure it out?"

"I saw them dancing. There's no chemistry or anything between them. I know that you know what's really going on and I want you to tell me."

"Alright, but not here," Elizabeth whispered.

"We should go to the lavatory. Not the one here, but the one down on the first floor," Matilda said. "Nobody ever goes in there because that girl is crying there all the time."47

Elizabeth let her hair hang at her back. Matilda was tying hers up in a ponytail. They both passed through the protection charm and exited the ball. Elizabeth and Matilda took off their shoes and tiptoed down the hall in their stockings so they wouldn't be heard. The light from the torches flickered against their faces.

"I can't see anything," Matilda whispered.

"Lumos," Elizabeth whispered. The portraits yelped at the two girls, for the light was blinding their eyes. Elizabeth put her wand under a fold of her dress to dim the light.

They walked down many stairs, which clunked and shifted around them. Finally, they entered the first floor lavatory. The girls sat down with their backs leaning against the wall.

"Now can you please tell me what is going on?" Matilda pleaded, exhausted from the long walk.

So she did. Elizabeth ended in tears and Matilda was holding her hand.4

"Beth, I'm... I'm so sorry. I can't believe what you've went through," Matilda uttered, sniffling. "Losing your brother... and I can't believe that you still are sane after all of that."

Elizabeth hadn't told her about the Horcrux. She couldn't, even though Matilda had never once spilled one secret. Still, if Tom attempted to use Veritaserum on Matilda, he could find out. "I'm fine now. I had a whole summer to cope with it."2

"So you do know Asher?" Matilda asked Elizabeth in between sniffs.

She nodded, "I don't have any interest in reconnecting with him... none at all." Elizabeth looked Matilda in the eyes, "You have to promise you won't tell Walburga or Melissa any of this."

"Oh Beth," Matilda's eyes expanded to saucers, "I wouldn't even tell Dippet if he threatened to suspend me." She squeezed her hand, "Your secrets are safe with me." The small dimple in Matilda's right cheek reappeared as she gave a reassuring smile.17

The two girls both stood, wiping their tears. As they did, the door opened. On impulse, and risk of it being a teacher, Elizabeth and Matilda ran into the cubicles. Elizabeth wished they had been in the same one, but they had separated in the rush. She put her feet up on the toilet seat and saw Matilda do the same. They held their breath.

Various clunks and noises of stone moving echoed throughout the lavatory. The knot in Elizabeth's stomach tightened. She could feel her dress becoming wet in the toilet bowl, but she kept quiet. A cold, slithery voice spoke, not in English, but in an unknown tongue.44

It continued and Elizabeth tried her hardest to hear who it was, but she couldn't make it out, for they had turned all of the faucets on to mask out the voices. It continued on for what felt like hours. Elizabeth's feet had fallen asleep and she saw a pool of water drifting towards her on the floor. Whoever had turned the sinks on was letting the lavatory flood.

The noises finally stopped and the faucets squeaked shut. Stone moved again and then there was silence, followed by the sound of footsteps splashing through the puddle. They heard the door close.

Elizabeth gripped her wand and put her feet down quietly. Matilda's feet gracefully splashed to the floor. They both opened the doors and walked out to the area which contained the sinks. It looked normal, except for the flood.

"I don't like this, Beth," Matilda clung behind her as she held her wand out in front of her. "Can we just go back to the party?"

Elizabeth hesitated, "You go ahead, I am too worn out. I'll just head up to bed."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

She nodded nonchalantly, "Of course."

Matilda hugged Elizabeth as they exited the bathroom, "Get some sleep, we are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow."

"I thought we weren't allowed?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Oh shoot, well, let's do something fun then," she smiled. "Love you, Beth," Matilda waved goodbye over her shoulder as she walked back silently in the direction of the party.13

Elizabeth walked back quickly to the dormitory. Her hair was a mess and her dress was soaking wet from the knees down. She whispered the password and entered, letting the door close behind her. Of course, Tom was sitting in his chair, still having his dress robes on, his jacket hanging over the arm of the chair. He turned around when he heard her.9

"Oh," he turned his head slightly, "Hello there, Maryn."

"Enjoy the ball?" Elizabeth asked sarcastically, leaning against the wall by the stairs.

Tom smirked, "It was delightful, although, I could barely escape Miss Black." Elizabeth chuckled. "You look like you enjoyed yourself. Why have you returned so early?"

"I got tired," she replied.

"Slumber does sound most promising now, doesn't it?" Tom closed his book.

She nodded.

He stood, "I think I'll be getting to bed also." He walked past her and halfway up the stairs, then stopping. "Goodnight."

Elizabeth nearly gasped as he continued walked. She should have known. Who could it have been other than him?

His slacks, they were completely drenched from his mid-calves to his ankles.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The French Connection - Chapter 8

A HardyxMiller AU

Ellie Miller is left to go on her honeymoon alone after a devastating secret about her fiance comes to light - halfway through the wedding ceremony.  Sitting in St Pancras International in London waiting for her train, she runs into none other than her uni rival/best friend Alec Hardy, on the run from his own recent heartbreak.

They decide to make use of Ellie’s pre-paid trip, rekindling their friendship and escaping real life; yet, it turns out their years at uni are the hardest to outrun. Based on this prompt from @timepetalscollective  

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday.  Beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma

This fic will remain at a T rating, but there is some steam.

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

The phone ringing jolted Ellie awake, and she swatted blindly towards the nightstand until she found it, bringing the handle to her mouth.

“‘Lo?”

“Bonjour, madam, your requested wake-up call,” the entirely-too-perky woman from the front desk chirped, and rather than respond verbally, Ellie just groaned and hung up.

“Wha’ was that?” Hardy grumbled from somewhere next to her, one arm flung across her hips.

Ellie buried her head in the pillow, too tired to think.  “Wake-up call.”

“Why?”

“Fuck if I know.”  Then she gasped as his lips found her neck.  “That wasn’t an invitation!”  She only recognized her poor word choice when he tensed, pulling away.  “No, wait,” she protested, rolling over and directly into his chest, unaware he was so close.  “Hi.”

His grunt sounded particularly pained, and she attributed it to her wine hangover why it took so long to understand the reason.

“Ooh, sorry,” she grimaced, easing her knee away from his groin and nuzzling into his neck in apology.  “All right?”

Taking a few deep breaths he slowly relaxed, and she felt more than saw his nod.  “I’ll be fine.”  Tentatively he wrapped his arm around her, making her sigh heavily.  “Why did we need a wake-up call?”

“‘Cause we have to check out at ten, and be on an eleven o’clock train,” she murmured, drowsy.

“What time is it now?”

“Eight.”

He yawned, cuddling her closer.  “Plenty of time.”

Ellie drifted, too tired to wonder at how right it felt pressed against him, skin to skin, limb to limb.  For as thin and bony as he looked, he was surprisingly comfortable to rest against.

Eventually he began to shift, and she blinked awake.  “Wha’s wrong?”

“Loo.”

She obligingly rolled away, shivering at the shock of cool air slipping beneath the covers, startling her awake – and then reality began to crash down around her ears, as she started to process what precisely had happened the previous evening.  And at midnight.  And early this morning.  If her shoddy memory served, they’d woken twice for more… enjoyable activities.

Oh, shit.  Shit, shit, shit.

Bolting upright, she had her dressing gown belted and was starting to pack by the time he emerged from the bathroom, though she couldn’t keep herself from scanning his nude form.  God, he looks good.  Stop it, Eleanor!

“We should really start getting ready,” she said brusquely, turning her back on him in an attempt to resist jumping him.  “It’s already after nine, and we still need breakfast.”

She waited with bated breath to see what he would say, and was disappointed when, after a moment of silence, she peeked over her shoulder to find him merely pulling on his pants and beginning to pack himself.

Have I made a horrible mistake?

-

The feeling of déjà vu was almost visceral as Hardy sank into the aisle seat on the train.  Much as it had been the week before, things between them were awkward and stilted, and he was frustrated that all of the ground they’d gained had vanished so easily.

Last night was a mistake, he was disappointed to realize.  It shouldn’t have happened.  It had been good- no, great, in the moment, but if it put them back at square one or worse, it wasn’t worth it.  I don’t want to lose her again.

He glanced at Ellie, watched her stare out the window at the bustling platform.

How do I fix this?

-

Ellie spent the hour-long train ride out to Chessy glaring out the window, wracked with indecision.

On the one hand, it had been an incredible night, full of vulnerability and heat, and in that sense, she had no regrets.  It had been a release she needed in several ways, and she was immensely proud of herself for not crying, though she’d been on the verge a few times.  And Hardy… she bit her lip, hoping the flush she felt creeping over her face wasn’t visible.

Mhmm.  Either her champagne-soused memories of graduation night didn’t do him justice, or he’d significantly improved his technique in the intervening years.

And yet…

Her five-year relationship had only ended a week ago, in an unnecessarily dramatic and traumatic way, watching the man she loved be arrested halfway through their vows.  It had been devastating, soul-crushing, and sent her into a tailspin questioning everything.  This… this thing with Hardy, the man himself… he meant too much to her, and she was terrified that it would just turn into a rebound, and that wasn’t what she wanted.

Plus, he just got out of a relationship himself, she had to remind herself- that was why he’d been free to come on the trip anyway, a suspension for punching his girlfriend’s side bloke.  Are we just reaching for what’s familiar and there?

He didn’t seem any different than he had been at uni, maybe a little older, a little more tired of life, but then again he’d always been good at hiding himself.  Just look at how I had no fucking clue about his mum dying.

I don’t know what to do.

-

They were staying on-property, their hotel only steps from the train station so they walked, dragging their luggage behind them.  Hardy had never been so grateful for wheels on suitcases in his life, as they bumped along the path to the hotel’s front doors.  Ellie strode determinedly ahead of him, and he let himself indulge the desire to study her.

While he generally considered himself not to be a fan of people in general, something about this woman had captivated him from the moment they’d met on the first day of classes and held his attention ever since.  She was bright and bubbly, a big personality that wasn’t terribly overbearing, but underneath the soft exterior was a solid steel core, one more than capable of taking a hit.  The only woman in a class of thirty men, she’d leaned into the femininity, making herself stand out in pastels and skirts – which had only served to stun the rest of them when it came down to the wire, when they finally saw the grit and determination lurking beneath.

He’d never been fooled by the show.  After all, he’d done the same thing, hiding his true self behind a suit-and-tie uniform, rough Scottish accent, and a dead-eyed glare.  Over time he’d committed himself so thoroughly to his armor that sometimes, in the dead of night, he wondered who he was without it.

This trip, without even realizing it, he’d broken free.  When he’d tried to wear a suit on their first morning Ellie had nearly busted a gut laughing, forcing him into what she deemed appropriate clothes.  The only time he’d worn a tie was to dinner several evenings, and only when she was dressed up herself.

It felt strange; he hadn’t gone so long without wearing a full suit since leaving Glasgow, but it also felt freeing, somehow.  He felt free with her, able to forget life’s trials and tribulations awaiting him back in Sandbrook, had barely thought about his career despite the danger it was currently in.

He was too caught up in her.

Following her into the hotel he nearly tripped over her when she stopped dead, biting back a curse.  Then he looked up, taking in the lobby, eyes widening slightly.

Shit.  This is something else.

“It’s like a palace,” Ellie breathed, wonder in her voice, and despite himself, he had to agree, lacking a better description.

Three stories high it looked like a Georgian mansion, with white-painted wooden panels.  Bright and open, the focal point was the main staircase, going straight up to the first floor and a landing before splitting off and reach for the second floor.

A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling, and even he had to admit the entire effect was fairly spectacular.  Exactly the kind of overwhelming extravagance one would expect from Disney.

“Not bad,” he just shrugged when she looked at him though, repressing a smile when she huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine, mister unimpressed.  I’ll go get us checked in.”  Ellie wandered over to the right where reception was, abandoning her suitcase, which he promptly rolled closer to himself before continuing to look around.

For being a Saturday the lobby was fairly empty, though he supposed most guests were likely already in the park.  He was just thinking This could be a hotel anywhere, what makes it so special? when he realized that nearly every piece of furniture contained something Disney.  The hall table, one of the first things in line of sight walking through the doors, had two glass cases on it – one containing Mickey Mouse in a wizard’s outfit, the other Pinocchio.  Really?

“Isn’t this beautiful?” Ellie gushed, appearing at his elbow.  “Here, your MagicPass.”  She forced a card into his hand, the size of a credit card but blue and gold, containing the outline of the castle.  “It’s your room key, ticket to the parks, FastPass, charge card… pretty much all you’ll need while here.  Don’t lose it.  Our room is ready, d’you want to go up?”

Hardy swallowed harshly, looking into her face.  She was doing her best to be jolly and excited, hiding her worries, but he knew her better than that, could see the tension and exhaustion beneath the surface.

“Sure.”

As they headed for the lift he wondered what would happen when they reached the privacy of the room, how she would react.  Ideally, they’d lie down for a nap, or possibly even a cuddle, but his instinct told him the moment had passed, at least for now.  Everything that had happened under the cover of darkness would be forgotten for the time being, swept away, and she would be too filled with anxious tension to allow either of them a moment’s rest.

Twenty feet down the corridor they stopped at a door, Ellie using her ‘MagicPass’ to unlock it, and he held his breath as she pushed it open.

-

Ellie bit her lip, wondering if she’d made the right decision as she swung open the hotel room door.  She’d booked the least expensive option room-wise for this leg of the trip, intending to spend more time in the parks than in the room.  When checking in she’d had an opportunity to switch to a room with two double beds rather than the single large double bed that she’d booked.

It had felt like a test put forth by the universe.  Switching to the two beds was the smart thing to do; it said that what had happened had been a lapse in judgement, that she had no intention of letting it recur.  Keeping the one bed would mean willingly sharing a bed with Hardy, and allowing for the possibility of a repeat performance.

Dragging her suitcase inside she kept her back to him, waiting to hear his reaction, entirely uncertain of whether she’d made the right choice.

“One bed,” he said neutrally, and something loosened inside her chest.

“Yeah, I couldn’t get them to switch it,” she lied, hoisting her suitcase onto the bed and unzipping it to unpack.  “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Hardy lifted his own luggage next to hers, unzipping it, and she took a moment to stare once he’d thrown back the top.  Inside everything was perfectly arranged, neatly organized and looking professionally packed.

Then she looked into her own, where everything was thrown in haphazardly and chaotically, and drew a shuddering breath.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Fine.”  He turned towards the bureau just as she tried to move past him towards the bathroom, resulting in them crashing into each other, his bundle of clothes falling to the floor in favor of grabbing her waist, keeping her upright.

“Thanks for the save,” she whispered, momentarily stunned by the near-fall, painfully conscious of his hands on her hips, her own on his biceps.  They were impossibly close, chest to chest, hip to hip, and her eyes unwillingly darted to his lips and then the bed behind him.

Hardy merely grunted, fingers tightening, drawing her closer, and she went willingly.

Please.  She was so lost in his eyes she didn’t immediately recognize the beat pounding through her.  Please, please, please.  Say you want me.

They grew closer still, a breath apart now, heads tilting, and her eyes slipped closed.  Just a little closer…

Time seemed to stand still, the only sound their shaky breathing and the pounding of her heart, a wonderfully impossible moment.  They say Disney’s the happiest place on Earth, she thought distantly, waiting for his lips to meet hers. 

I need some happy right now.

No, that’s not true – I just need Alec.