#form of dread but its just delilah????

[katiefratie]

Laudna leaves.....Imogen follows this time thank fuck,

[quietblueriver]

A little Imodna fic re: Imogen’s trip through Ruidus and Laudna’s reaction to it. Angst and fluff and comfort bc they deserve it.

When the dream is over, Imogen has feelings about her trip through Ruidus, about what she wants and whether she’s wanted.

After the others leave, she and Laudna get some time to talk about it.

-

It’s quiet in their room.

Imogen’s curled toward the edge of the mattress, knees tucked up just slightly, the thick comforter keeping her almost too warm. Normally, she’d turn to Laudna, press close so that the cool of her body balanced out the heat of their bed. Tonight, she doesn’t.

She knows Laudna is awake, can hear the push and pull of thread through her latest project, feels the light touch of fingers on her shoulder every few minutes, gentle enough that they wouldn’t wake Imogen if she were sleeping. She’s not sure if Laudna thinks she is sleeping or if she’s letting Imogen pretend. Which is another way of saying Laudna’s either not paying enough attention to notice that Imogen is awake and caught in her thoughts or she doesn’t feel the need to check in. Either way, and despite herself, Imogen feels it like a slight.

A feeling that causes the weight of shame and an ever-lurking sense of failure to rise up and make the heat almost unbearable. She worms a foot out as quietly as she can, ears hyper-aware of the rustle of fabric she can’t stop.

Laudna’s sewing continues uninterrupted. Imogen’s chest grows somehow more full with her feelings and all the words she’s biting back.

Even now.

Even after their trials with Nana Morri, after all that angsting over honesty and communication and trust, Imogen is quiet.

There are options. She’d known that before they’d been thrown into a pit and attacked by murder wasps and tricked into doubt. There have always been options.

She could turn over. She could reach out her hand and grasp Laudna’s wrist and let Laudna see her eyes. She could ask Laudna to talk to her, could tell her about the thoughts circling and circling through her mind, the ones that have been there since that night in the basement with Delilah.

She doesn’t. She’s tired. And she feels, if she’s honest with herself (and maybe that was the exercise they all needed first, because Imogen’s fairly certain she’s not the only one of the Hells who has difficulty living in her own truths sometimes), like she has been the one bridging the gap, or trying to, without any indication that it’s welcome. Like her honesty and vulnerability have recently been met with hesitancy and hedging and eyes toward a future very different from the one that Imogen had thought they both wanted.

The doubt, an old friend, had begun growing louder in that basement with Delilah and had reached its peak tonight.

The question about giving in to Ruidus was genuine. They’d talked about it before and put it to the side, but now that they’re closer, now that they’re getting ready to really go and do this, it felt important to raise again. She wanted their opinions, because they’d just watched what happened if one of them decided to make a choice like that in isolation, and it wasn’t good.

She wanted to know what they thought, wanted to be as smart about it as she could be.

If you’d asked her, though, even the moment before the question left her lips, whether Laudna needed to be there for that conversation, she would have said no.

Because she knew Laudna’s answer. She saw Laudna’s face furrowing in reaction to her offering her soul on the Crimson Abyss, heard Laudna’s violent threats of protection on her behalf, felt the cold of her form of dread spread and snarling over her as they fought. She knew Laudna’s answer, and it was, “No.”

This was a given, because she loved Imogen more than she loved anything, and because even if Imogen wasn’t trying to be unnecessarily self-sacrificial, there was no denying that giving in could be dangerous.

Except it hadn’t been no. It hadn’t been no, and then, when she’d come back to herself, come back to the cold, exhausting world after feeling so warm, so whole in the heart of Ruidus, and told them just a sliver of it, it still hadn’t been no.

It had been, “If it’s what you want.” It had been, “I don’t want to hold you back.”

And Imogen knows that Laudna loves her. She knows, because Laudna shows her, has shown her, every day.

But the deep and sharpening doubt inside of her says confidently that the love they have for each other isn’t the same.

Imogen wants Laudna. She wants her in every way. There is no future for her, hasn’t been for a long time, that doesn’t have Laudna at its center.

There is nothing she wants more than a cottage with a horse or two and garden beds for Laudna, a porch with a little table where she can start her day with the sunrise while Laudna sleeps and they can end their days with the sunset together, a kitchen like Zhudanna’s, with a stove that works and favorite mugs and a window that looks out at the forest. A home that is warm and easy and theirs.

There is nothing she wants more than to be there, with Laudna. To kiss her good morning and good night and anytime in between. To love her for as long as she’s alive.

And yes, Imogen knows that Laudna loves her.

Long before she kissed her in that marketplace in Jrusar, Imogen knew that Laudna loved her in a way that nobody else ever had. A love so deep and steadfast and self-sacrificial that it made Imogen scared to express the nature of her own feelings because she was afraid Laudna would force herself into something she didn’t want just to make Imogen happy.

Without the circlet, she’d been able to hear the flow of Laudna’s thoughts, often, and understandably, preoccupied with the immediate dangers of their lives after joining the Hells. It felt selfish, in light of that, to ask for more, to put one more thing on her.

And she’d been afraid to say anything without certainty, without some kind of hint from Laudna that she wasn’t going to hurt Laudna and herself and everything they’d built together.

She’d gotten close, before the Solstice. The future they were imagining, the roles they played for each other, Laudna’s own words about Imogen and what she wanted—it closed the gap a little. Made it easier for Imogen to think that maybe, one day, she’d know they were in the same place. That it would be safe to tell Laudna that her love had at some point spilled over its neatly drawn box and had only kept spilling, running over the lines between friendship and devotion and desire until it was all one big pool.

The circlet might’ve made it harder. After all, it was the opposite of confirmation. But the split, her time in Uthodurn, it only made Imogen’s need, selfish as it was, stronger, and when she didn’t have the discouragement of what she thought was knowledge, didn’t have access enough to know that her own want, so fierce sometimes she could hardly think of anything else, was unmatched, she couldn’t keep telling herself the same story about waiting. Fear lost to love (to greed, to desire, to impulse) and suddenly she was kissing Laudna next to the bread stall.

And Laudna was kissing her back. And Laudna was touching her and telling her, softly and with the purpled blush that made Imogen warm and light with affection, that she loved her.

Imogen believed her. She had no reason to doubt her.

Except, of course, for the circlet. Except for the niggling, shameful, persistent voice that reminded her that she could be sure, if she just took off the circlet. That she could be sure, if she let herself explore. That it would save both of them pain if she took even just a minute to be certain that they were on the same page, that Laudna wasn’t just doing her another thing to try to make Imogen happy.

She’d never pry. But without the circlet, she could maybe just stumble into the truth. Fall on it the way she fell onto so many thoughts in the world.

It’s the ugliest part of her. The part of her that believed for most of her life that she knew people because she knew their thoughts, that she didn’t need to listen or to watch who someone was in the world because she could see the real them, the true them.

She knows better now. She knows that people can, and do, fight against their impulses and desires and the darkest voices in their minds. That people work to be more, and better, than their base thoughts.

The problem is, though, that sometimes they don’t. Sometimes people let their impulses lead them and they keep their mouths closed and their hands busy and suddenly you’re watching your friend explode into a million pieces, putting themself and everybody else you love at risk.

She would’ve known, if she’d taken off the circlet. She would’ve seen the plans and heard the reasons and she could’ve done something.

And yeah, it’s about trust. Of course it is. But it’s also about reality, and the reality is that people find it hard to talk about things, especially hard things, and with the Hells, that has the potential to be catastrophic. Has been catastrophic.

It’s easy, to let that logic lead her. She needs to take it off. For protection. For the people she loves.

But if she’s honest with herself, if she fights to be honest with herself if no one else, there are other, more selfish reasons why she sometimes wants the circlet gone.

The biggest one is lying right beside her, humming softly to herself as she works through “the difficult bit. Do you think green or orange, dearest, for the tail?” A question asked before Delilah’s appearance, Laudna’s eyes excited as she held out the options and Imogen kissing her in favor of an answer.

Imogen loves Laudna far too much to leave the worst parts of herself an opening, so the circlet had gone back on as soon as it had been just the two of them. Temptation removed. Laudna had watched but asked no questions and Imogen had offered no explanation and now she’s stuck here in this too-hot bed with her own rambling and pathetic thoughts, lonelier than she has been in a long, long time and looking for a reason not to run as fast as she can back toward the warmth and comfort of that place in her dreams.

Part of her understands. She’d sat, broken-hearted and trembling, on a floor in godsforsaken Whitestone and told Laudna that she loved her and that it was her choice, whether to come back. It was her decision, and Imogen would never ever try to take that from her, even as every part of her wanted to beg and plead and crack open in supplication.

Imogen had refused to be yet another person who denied Laudna a choice. If loving her had meant letting her go, then she would have done it, no matter the cost to herself.

So she understands, a little. If Laudna thinks that what she wants is to leave, to…join with? Return to? Whatever, with Ruidus, and she thinks she’s the reason Imogen is denying herself, then sure, Imogen can understand some of it.

But Imogen’s hopes for the future aren’t mysterious. Even before their kiss, she was clear with Laudna that what she wanted was her. She’d said it over and over again. She’d offered those dreams willingly, in defiance of every part of herself that told her it was foolish and dangerous and pitiful, that reminded her that building a future with someone else was a surefire way to end up like her daddy, lonely and bitter.

Her love won out, and, in the biggest gift of Imogen’s life, Laudna understood. Laudna wanted the same things.

Except maybe she didn’t.

She kicks her second foot out from under the covers, less concerned with the noise, and Laudna stops her motion for a moment, reaches a hand out to touch Imogen’s shoulder.

“Imogen?”

It isn’t really a choice, in the end. Laudna has called her, so she will answer.

“Hmm?”

“Are you…”

The bed shifts, sounds of Laudna putting away her things and moving until her body is against Imogen’s, the hand on her shoulder drifting down to rest on her waist. The cool press of her is such a familiar relief that Imogen almost cries.

“Are you alright?”

Yes. No. Of course not. She feels weak as the water gathers in the corner of her eyes and she bites back her instinct to snap. Anger is first, almost always, and tonight is no exception.

Love surges quickly and she lets it win, feels it temper in the form of an exhalation and the moment she needs to settle herself. Laudna’s trying. Imogen wants her to know, and this is the only way she can.

The metal of the circlet presses into her temple as she gives her body what it wants and shifts back, closer, holds Laudna’s arm to her with her own.

“Do you…do you really not…”

She clears her throat, embarrassed at the sadness and exhaustion that fill the gap left by her receding anger. She’s so tired, and she hates that they’re having this conversation. That they have to have it. That she can’t say what she wants. What she needs.

The question about Ruidus wasn’t a test. This one wouldn’t be either, but it also won’t get her what she needs.

She tries again. Starts with what she knows.

“I…I want you to want me here. With you.” Laudna’s grip around her tightens but she doesn’t say anything, and Imogen takes a second. She sighs out, forces tension from her shoulders and the pride from her throat, open and open and open for Laudna. Trust and honesty and communication. Gods, it’s fucking awful. She presses forward anyway. “It hurt me. B-badly, I think. When you seemed so ready to let me go to Ruidus.”

Nails, now, present but not painful through the fabric of her nightshirt and against her belly, and Laudna’s body tense against her back, and still she’s quiet. Imogen laces their fingers and brings their joined hands underneath her shirt, pressing Laudna’s palm to her skin and shivering as she gathers her words.

“I was tellin’ the truth, earlier. It felt good, bein’ there. But Laudna, I…” She squeezes at her hand and then lets go, pulls and pushes and turns until they’re face to face and she can put her palm against Laudna’s cheek, see the worry in her dark eyes. “I don’t know how else to make you understand that I want you. That I want my future to be you.”

Laudna’s mouth opens and closes and Imogen presses a thumb to her bottom lip and kisses her forehead.

“Sometimes I think I understand the way you feel about me. But the last few days especially, I…” She stumbles again, because they’ve already talked about that night, and she doesn’t want to do it again, although she will if she has to. “I just…” She closes her eyes for a moment and reaches past the sadness and into the fire, lets the slow and steady and bright flame of love and determination and want move her forward. “It doesn’t matter how Ruidus feels. Alright? What’s the moon to me if you’re not there?” She kisses her, hard and quick, and holds her eyes again. “It’s not home. It can’t be. Not without you.”

Laudna swallows and licks her lip and says, slowly, “I want you to have all the things I didn’t get to have.” The pad of her thumb runs underneath Imogen’s eye, turning until the nail is tracing her cheek and down her jawline, over her chin until it comes to rest in the center of her throat. She stares at it as she whispers, voice raspy with the strain of a rope long rotted, “Most of all, I want you to have choice.”

Imogen covers the hand with her own and brings it down, cradling it against her chest.

“I know. I know you do. And I do have choice.” She kisses her again, longer and slower. “I’m choosing you. If you’ll let me.”

She watches the emotions play themselves out on Laudna’s face, expressive eyes widening and crinkling, the corners of her mouth twitching with all the words she doesn’t say, preternaturally sharp teeth tearing at the skin of her lip.

“I can never quite believe that.”

Her lips taste of ichor even more than usual, the texture catching on Imogen’s tongue as she soothes the newly broken skin.

“I know. I know you can’t. But it’s true.” She bites her own lip and asks a question she hopes she knows the answer to. “Is it alright? That I choose you? Would you…would you choose me, too?”

Dark eyes soften and soften, a pair to the arm holding her close.

“Imogen. I chose you a long time ago. I’m so sorry, darling, that I’ve made you doubt that.” She runs her fingers through Imogen’s hair, lets them catch at the back of her head. “It’s beyond my understanding how lucky I am that you would choose me, too.”

It would be easy, to let it go. And maybe she could. Maybe they understand each other, this time. But they’re here, and she wants it to be the last time they have to be (at least for a while, gods help her) so she pulls on the last reserves of her emotional energy to say, “Can you…can you believe me? Please? Or…or maybe we can have a signal, for when you can’t? Because Laudna, I…it’s hard for me to understand that you want me, too. And when you…I can’t always convince myself it’s true, when it feels like you’re tellin’ me to choose somethin’ else.”

Imogen watches as Laudna’s eyes move almost absently over her shoulder before coming back, resolved, as the hand in her hair tightens. “Yes. I’m going to try to remember. This is…thank you, dearest. For telling me. I’m going to think about this more. We can…we should talk about it, again.”

Her displeasure at the thought must register on her face because suddenly Laudna is laughing and the hand in her hair has let go to come pat at her cheek as Laudna tuts. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

Imogen groans and buries her head in the crook of Laudna’s neck. Fingers return to her hair as she nods her agreement. She feels a tug on the circlet.

“Thank you for this, as well.”

Suddenly she’s pulling back, because this is important, because Laudna should know that…

”Laudna, I promise I’d never…”

She’s being tucked back into Laudna’s body before she can finish, lips against her temple before words are whispered into her ear. “I know, my love. I know. But you could, and it means something that you don’t. So thank you.”

She relaxes into the hold, noses into the space behind Laudna’s jaw and breathes for a minute before she kisses the skin there. And again.

Maybe it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for her mind to wander away from Ruidus and their mission and the conversation they’d just had. But maybe they deserve it. Maybe this is what it means, to choose each other even at the end of the world—that joy and desire get their time between exhaustion and fear.

So she doesn’t fight the impulse. “We should sleep,” she says, as she bites gently at Laudna’s neck, moves down to lick her collarbone.

Through a very lovely gasp, Laudna asks, “Forgotten the chasm already, darling?”

Imogen grins. “We should.” Her hands press at Laudna’s hips until she’s below her, bracketed by Imogen’s knees. “But I have another idea.”

Laudna laughs. “Can you be quick?”

Imogen pulls off her nightshirt and feels incredibly smug at Laudna’s wide eyes, the way her mouth is still half-open from her laughter, frozen there.

“Chasm answer? Or would you rather I…”

It’s her turn to gasp, Laudna’s mouth against her and her hands braced against the bare skin of Imogen’s back, nails dragging in that way that makes Imogen whimper shamelessly.

“Hush, now. We’ve done quite enough talking, don’t you think?”

It’s breathed into the skin of her shoulder, and Imogen can only nod, pulling Laudna closer and letting herself remember that she can have this, forever, if she chooses.

[sparring-spirals]

my heart is just very warm. with how laudna came back. With Laudna coming back mostly un-breathing. With Laudna coming back just right. (A little fucked up.) With dark memories and bad memories being overwritten by sun and color and light and new growth. You do not erase, the old memories, the bad things, the awful. But you overwrite it.

You overgrow it.

Laudna, cheek against the tree that loomed over so much of her past, and, its warm. Its sorry. Its magnificent. Laudna, embracing the tree, letting the warmth overtake the cold, the wind and laughter drown out the creaking and swinging ropes. Kids screaming with laughter instead of with fear. Laudna, embodying the tree, every inch of that usual horror creeping through her veins, except when she calls it forward this time- the mourning veil (Delilah's mourning veil), crumbles away.

The tree- not just any tree, this tree, the tree. Seeps into its place.

(And trees represent so much! Trees as regrowth, rebirth, as wisdom and endurance and roots that can choke out life and cast shade, that soak in sun, that creep like fingers, that can contain toxins and blight and ruin. That can kill. And that can nurture life, represent it. That recover and regrow, and endure, and. Grow. They grow, they change with the seasons. They are so very alive. Even after they die, crawling with bugs and organisms and potential. They're alive.)

Her form of dread takes on the elements of the tree. Still a form of dread. The form is hers. The dread is not, not anymore. (But it's under her control).

Laudna came back a little wrong, maybe, but that's how they loved her. That's how she loved herself.

She is still scary. She is fun scary. But she's still scary. Isn't that wonderful?

[fluidstatick]

i don't know why imodna shippers are so excited about the ring moving to the Marriage Finger.

Ok, that's a lie. I know exactly why. But I respectfully disagree with their excitement. Frankly, I saw the ring on That Finger, and got Very Sad.

Imogen: I don't believe you're a dead end, but that's up to you. I'm going to miss our cottage.

Laudna: *crying harder than we've ever seen before*

Laudna's new outfit, like her new Form of Dread, is Just Delilah. The high collar, the green choker. The golden bustle and exoskeleton-like corset. The hair, the balloon sleeves, the twilight colored skirt.

And consider: Why does Delilah want all the power that Laudna is feeding her? To take over the world, yes. But more importantly, to Revive Sylas. Once upon a time, Delilah told the hells she wanted to wipe the planet clean, bring Sylas back, and repopulate Exandria with him. He's dead, but she's still married to him. Delilah has stolen Imogen's ring, because Laudna believes Imogen isn't in love with her anymore.

Laudna swears she isn't a liar. But she can't look in the mirror with any clarity, or she'd have realized that promises and apologies aren't enough to hold back the singleminded determination of a freight train.

Ashton was half right, but their Int and Wis are still pretty low. Laudna knows she's the villain. But they were wrong about one crucial detail: She can't wield that knowledge in her favor. Not the way Ashton did. Ashton only Believed they were the villain. They held that belief close until FCG and the others snapped them out of it.

Laudna doesn't have that luxury. The Hells are going easy on her, because her sky high charisma is doing its job, and their fear of harming an ally is pulling their focus away from the huge pink beholder wailing and hissing in the middle of the room.

It's just Delilah.

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e77

"You volunteered to be the recon team that goes to the moon" what a fucking sentence.

Laudna, Fearne, and Imogen go wandering around the castle. Laudna guides them; she wasn't just someone who got picked by Delilah, she would also often take refuge in the tunnels beneath the castle and steal things from it like a mouse in the walls. She also says that she was "captured" before being brought to the dining hall, rather than having been invited there for a nice dinner like she'd said before.

Imogen summons a reiloran to..... unlock a door for her. She's able to summon multiple types of reilorans; this one is a Hexmind, and I'd guess that this one has skills, another type has melee attacks, and a third has ranged attacks.

In the room that Delilah used as a bedroom, they find a hidden chamber: it's filled with strangely-shaped furniture, desks, contraptions, equipment -- like a laboratory. More than that, it was a torture chamber, with refined residuum dust all across the floor and hungry shadows. Initiative!

Laudna's ability is actually called hunger of the shadow-shard. It allows her to absorb the target's soul, and deals 4d8 necrotic damage on a successful melee attack. The creature takes no damage (it's immune to necrotic), and recognizes Delilah within her -- the form of dread looks more like Delilah than ever before, with a choker around her neck and a second pair of shoulders over hers.

As the shadows fall, they all hear a voice: "Loyal servants of the castle. They were all useful subjects." It's Delilah's voice, emanating from Laudna. "It's interesting; you found some of my old additions to the castle grounds. A place to keep Sylas to rest, a place to experiment -- it's nice to see it again. [What am I to you? Are there others like me?] There are no others like you. [So I'm your only thread to the material world.] As I am yours. You have been dead for a very long time. I am the only thing that keeps you here. So let us put aside these strange and unnecessary quarrels and instead,maybe, do some great things together. I'm sure you've many questions -- well? What is it you wish to know?"

What are you after? I wish nothing more than to see history come to its natural close. I want to outlive this world, to uncover its mysteries and keep them to myself. What's so wrong with that?

You may live to see the day, then, unless you help us defeat Predathos. I do not push against your goals. Truth be told, Our interests are quite aligned. I leant you my gifts because you need them and I need you; I should hope thta offers you some solace. [Vecna] has little to gain from the destruction of the gods; I gave up everything to create one. His power is through you, as well. He -- I -- do not wish to see that taken by the enemy of ancient insolence.

And if Vecna goes away? So do we.

Delilah wants Laudna to devour more magic -- she recalls absorbing the gnarlrock, the soul from Bordor, the hunger. Life, power -- and if Laudna grants enough to her, she may be able to separate their souls while keeping Laudna intact. With a new body and new power, the first thing she would do is to bring Sylas back.

"I didn't choose this!" "No. But fate's a fickle mistress, isn't she?"

Delilah also senses that Fearne has the potential to become something terrible and beautiful, a meeting of realms. She recalls looking through a mirror into possible futures,

Imogen, she says, is the child of the god-eater -- "fate itself fears you, and rightly so. No one knows the limits of what you can do, what you're capable of if you should find out... where one like you would normally draw the eyes of the gods, you are anathema to them. You might be the one to choose the future of this world, if your mother doesn't make it first."

"Imogen, I need you to make me a promise. If something happens to me, the greatest honor you could give would be to move on. To be happy. To live, to live! I am quite literally a dead end. If anything happens and I become her little puppet, I trust you to make the right choice." I don't know why but this feels..... unearned, somehow.

Scavenging the room, they find nothing of use.

As they leave, Delilah creeps into Laudna's mind again. "Let us work together. Despite everything, I do care for you." "Let's do beautiful and terrible things together."

And to break!

The morning opens with a lovely little speech from Orym to Fearne. "I got you something." "What?" "I stole it!" "What?!" He gives her the spyglass he stole from the skeleton pirates!

For Chetney, he's doing this because he wants to go to the moon, yes, but also because he wants to be remembered. He's getting old, so he wants to leave his mark on the world -- for him, it's about legacy, planting seeds in a garden he'll never get to see. (i'm SORRY--)

Orym wants to avenge his husband and Derrig, wants to protect the Tempest, yes -- but if his life is lost in defense of all the lives on Exandria, or in defense of the Bells Hells, then it is well-spent. "But what about you? What's your happy ending?" "Tomorrow."

It's snowing in Whitestone, and Ashton doesn't know what sledding is. They decide to take the day to have fun, to remind themselves that they at least love each other even when they don't like each other, and to remember why they're not gonna kill each other when the stupid decisions eventually come.

Allura and Cassandra are supposed to arrive in the afternoon, so the Bells Hells disperse throughout the city to spend the time.

Imogen goes to the temple of the Dawnfather. It's certainly interesting that, between the structure of this temple, the attitude and vocabulary of the arbiter, and the General Vibe of the Place, this place is the most like a real-life Christian church I think we've experienced in Exandria thus far. Regardless, there's a massive difference between the way the Dawnfather's temple receives a non-believer versus temples of, say, the Matron (who has twice granted literal visions to people who have never once prayed to her).

But she prays anyway. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I hope you know we're trying to fix things for y'all, and if everything goes right then hopefully you'll have the power to help us in return. I'm not looking to make any deals, I know that's not something you're supposed to do with gods, but I could really use your help with her -- I know you're more powerful, I know you are, and I guess I could call that faith. But anyway, I'm gonna try real hard to help you. Thanks." She leaves the door slightly ajar as she leaves, and glancing up, she immediately sees the snow-dappled statue of the Matron looming over the graveyard, over the figure of Vax'ildan, the cold vision of death. A raven takes off into the snow. There is no warmth, and there is no response.

Orym heads to the Whitestone expansion of Gilmore's Glorious Goods. The storefront is bare, picked clean by the war effort. He buys 3 basic healing potions, a potion of heroism, and some pastries from Pike's bakery.

Ashton and Fearne go on a walk to the clocktower. "Could you imagine being so pasionate about your life that you'd do something like this? Up until recently, I would've said no... if everything goes terrible, your Nan is going to miss you so much. But if everything goes terrible, no one's gonna miss me, because everyone who would care would be right there with me."

y'all my Rockwild heart is thriving-- "well, when I said sister, you know I meant... I mean, you're hot and otherwise, you've got it going on--"

fuck. Ashton trusts someone. They trust Fearne to make the right decision, and they trust themselves to let Fearne make the right decision, and they are so convinced that they were never meant to have anything but if Fearne survived and they didn't they know that someone will miss them.

but Ashton wants Fearne to be their acomplice in allowing them to absorb the second shard, even against the will of everyone else in the group, just because they think that it is what's meant to happen. they want it to be Fearne and them alone, when the transfusion happens, because they don't think Fearne will try to stop them. "do what you can, and if I'm not okay, it's not your fault."

"Well, I-- I think you're pretty hot too." And Fearne runs the fuck away

They reconvene in the war room with Cassandra, Percy, and Allura.

I'm not transcribing all of this, there's a ridiculous amount of information here, so here are the highlights.

Residuum seems to be mostly unaffected by the solstice, and it is very uncommon for people to understand the workings of complex machines, so Percy offers a way to scramble their automatons to cause a distraction (and suddenly, this ornery old man has a Christmas-morning sparkle in his eye); they're essentially arcane EMPs. There are only 2, and FCG takes both.

They've also agreed that an onslaught of magical illusions would provide sufficient distraction en masse. It sounds like Allura will be the point-person for this, and on top of her being a 20th-level wizard, her magic will be amplified by the nexus point at the key.

The Hells are given a number of magical items: 2 scrolls of mass nondetection; 1 scroll of greater restoration (for Ryn); 1 scroll of dimension door; 2 potions of greater healing; 1 potion of superior healing; 1 potion of speed; 2 potions of gaseous form; and a bejeweled baking sheet worth 1000gp (the material component for heroes' feast).

Next is the matter of Ludinus' vest and the titan shard. First, the place: at the prompting of Cassandra, Percy leads them through well-carved, well-guarded pathways to a chamber; there are researchers here, in this cavern crowned by massive roots, and they climb the steps of the Ziggurat.

(I cannot believe that Travis resisted the urge to use grim psychometry on this place--)

I also can't believe that the Bells Hells are just...... okay with Ashton and Fearne doing this alone. They're not even questioning Ashton's extremely shifty behavior here, insisting that everyone goes away before someone puts the harness on. It legit feels out of character for them to just leave (especially Orym, with his absolutely ridiculous passive insight, and Percy, who's about to leave two near-complete strangers to do whatever they will at the top of this ziggurat).

There's something that's just so incredibly frustrating and wrong about this encounter and I really don't know what it is.

Ashton puts the harness on, and Fearne puts the crystal into it. They feel warmth in their chest, and it begins to blossom -- warm to hot to burning -- the golden fractures on Ashton's skin glow orange. The heat feels like something is trying to awaken, like a second heartbeat, a dormant organ -- it flexes, their shoulder lurches, and the heat goes there. It cracks and falls, shatters on the ground. "Don't you dare--"

The heat spreads, and through Ashton's grin, their ear shatters on the ground. The gold is molten, running, the rock of his skin is smoldering. The crystal loses its color, crumbles, and falls away; Ashton's chest is glowing like a furnace, their body expands slightly, and with each lurch -- like an earthquake that changes tectonic plates -- parts of them fall away.

Ashton fails a saving throw, they close their eyes and look to Fearne -- where their eyes were, there are coals that emit burning light, their body shakes -- another shift, their chest expands, and their right arm falls and shatters.

They start to run up the ziggurat. Ashton staggers toward FCG, FCG puts up a death ward, Fearne casts aura of life, Imogen uses telekinesis to keep Ashton together. None of it's going to work, Ashton is going to fucking die here -- and as much as I do think that Orym, Laudna, and FCG acted incredibly out of character, I also think that, with the context of Molly's death, Matt is giving a fucking masterclass in acting. I genuinely cannot tell whether he's legitimately distraught about Ashton definitely dying here, or if he's putting on a show because he knows that Ashton is coming out the other side of this changed.

"You are a man, currently holding two bombs on the verge of detonation." The gold parts of his body glows bright-hot, his face tenses, and beams of sheer white light shine into the roots of the Sun Tree and Ashton shatters -- until his ring of temporal salvation pulls him back together. They have five rounds to keep them up for.

Their only hope right now is to keep ahead of the damage, but Laudna has already given up and is trying to drag Imogen and Chetney back out of Allura's protective sphere even though she has some perfectly good healing spells in her arsenal. The party is in triage mode, they're throwing everything at this, but they only have a few more rounds to go, and Chetney and Laudna have done absolutely fucking NOTHING.

"Have you not realized that I'm a hypocrite?!" Ashton my beloved

FCG's aura of vitality is saving the fucking day here, and this only supports my hypothesis that it is the best fucking healing spell in the game.

"anyone wanna use up any more healing spells they have here?" Laudna, who has wither and bloom: *silence*

with everything that Matt has said, doing this should've killed Ashton instantly. But because of 2/3rds of the rest of their group, and a couple lucky rolls, and an overpowered spell or two--

"There's a moment where you think he's gone. And then, he erupts in steam, filling the entirety of the ziggurat with mist. You pull back, the heat burning your eyes, and you can't help but cough -- and as it passes, you look over and see Ashton there, cooling. Unmoving."

Ashton sits up, and where their arm was, there is a heavy, muscular, molten-rock arm replacing what they lost. It glows, and where gold once was, there is now just cracks of orange in the crust atop magma. "Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for saving me." Fearne just kicks him in the face with a hoof. "I am never trusting you again!"

They stand beneath the roots of the Sun Tree, and for whatever loss this place has seen, at least something was saved here.

[pennamenotfound]

Pokemon Teams for Bells Hells

I just... I just really like pokemon and cr so instead of doing my homework I picked out teams for them. Rules were no legendaries and I didn't want any repeats among the teams. So, here we go.

Imogen: Alakazam for her telekinesis, Zebstrika because she's a horse girl and for the lightning, Musharna for her Dreams, Hatterene because of her whole witchy vibe plus her aversion to other people's emotions being Too Loud, Espeon because of her basic psychic powers, lastly Lunatone for the Ruidus stuff. She's had most of her Pokemon since she was a kid in Gelvaan. Her starter would be her Zebstrika which she raised from a Blitzle, but she would've gotten her Eevee when she was pretty young, too, and it would've evolved when she met Laudna and left town. Musharna has been with her since she first started having the dreams, and she caught her Hatterene as a Hattena who allowed itself to be caught since they were kind of kindred spirits who both hated other people's emotions in their head, and Lunatone has just kind of... been around for a while. She catches Alakazam later as she travels with Bells Hells.

Laudna: Banette for the puppet imagery, Trevenant for her form of dread, Spiritomb as Delilah's lingering presence, Mimikyu because she's supposed to be basically a copy of Vex, plus the way Mimikyu's disguise breaks reminds me of how Laudna dislocates all her joints, Umbreon mostly to fit with Imogen's Espeon but also for the Cool Goth Vibes, and lastly Vullaby as a Pate stand-in. Eevee would've been her starter, with the rest of her mon coming to her after she got Delilah'd except the Trevenant, which she would've caught after she was resurrected in Whitestone and has her moment with the Sun Tree.

Fearne: Dubwool because Goat---though I did struggle between this and Gogoat, Dubwool's fluff and cooler horns cinched it for me---Grimmsnarl for her Feywilde weirdness, Meowscarada for her rouge vibe plus for some druid stuff---Flower Trick is literally a perfect move for her---Scovillain for the grass/fire mon-Wildfire Druid nexus, plus it's the kind of weirdo pokemon Fearne would love, Pelipper for her shoebill wildshape, and Monferno as a Mister stand-in. Wooloo would've been her starter, though she would've gotten her Impidimp from Nana Morri pretty young, and she would've caught Mister as a Chimchar when she first took up her druidic ways. The rest she catches when she's with the Crownkeepers and Bells Hells.

Orym: Falinks because he's a soldier who works well in a team, Lucario because he's so empathetic and upstanding as a fighter, Lilligant because he's so dextrous and because of the flower, Breloom sort of as a way to pay homage to Seedling, since I think Breloom can stretch out its arms, but also just for the plant vibes, Sawsbuck as a sort of Ashari connection what with the seasons, but also because it's a normal type as well as grass to show he's just a guy, and Absol because of his bad luck and bonkers high perception. His starter would've been Shroomish, and he'd've gotten his Lilligant and Lucario when he became a Tempest Blade, the Sawsbuck as a Deerling when he left the Ashari for the first time, the Falinks when he was with the Crownkeepers, and the Absol came to him when he lost Will and Derrig.

Chetney: He was the hardest because I really wanted to give him more grass types for the woodworking vibe, but really only Shiftry fit. Then I gave him Smeargle because he's an artist, Lycanroc Midnight Form for his werewolf form, Zoroark because he can be invisible which is kind of like Zoroark's Illusion, and because it feels very roguey, Gengar because I wanted a ghost type for all his blood curses, and it seemed the best fit, and it can also be invisible, and Drampa because he old. He would've started catching pokemon when he was an adult, so he wouldn't've had a starter, but his first would be Smeargle, then Seedot which he would've raised into a Shiftry, then his Lycanroc would've come to him when he was bitten and he would've caught his Zoroark and Gengar as part of his bloodhunter training, and Drampa... honestly was more of a joke but I guess he would've caught it when he was with Bells Hells.

Fresh Cut Grass: First of all, Gholdengo looks a lot like him, so they get one, and then they get a Blissey and Indeedee (female) because of the healer thing, plus with Indeedee there's this whole service thing, plus both of them give me therapy vibes, Klinklang because he robot, Rotom Heat for his easy-bake oven, and Morpeko for their stress induced rage mode. Morpeko is the starter, then he catches Indeedee and Klinkwhen he's with Dancer, Blissey when they're with Ashton, Gholdengo starts as Gimmighoul in its roaming form, where it just has the one coin, and he gets it when he starts believing in the Changebringer, which evolves when they first talk to her, and Rotom Heat when he gets the oven installed.

Ashton: Obviously he's got an Obstagoon because they're punk as hell, then a Graveler for the barbarian made of rocks angle, a Gigalith for the crystal in his head, Tinkaton for the hammer plus the added bonus of him having a mon that kills Corviknights (big bird) when he's close to FCG (hates birds), Golurk because it has that crack on its chest which reminds me of Ashton's cracks, and finally Gallade because they're trying to be a fucking hero now. The starter is Geodude, which he receives from their father shortly before The Incident. He gets a Galarian Zigzagoon in the Greymoore State Home. Geodude evolves into Graveler when Ashton changes into his rocky form we know them as now. As a note, they caught a Pancham when he first started running with the Nobodies, which evolved into Pangoro as he got good at it. He obtained his Golurk after Milo put them back together, and caught the Tinkaton soon after. The Gigalith was a gift from Milo, a sort of 'sorry you lost all your friends in a really traumatic way but here's a Roggenrola I still like you' kind of thing. He switched the Pangoro out for a Gallade when he decided they were going to be some kind of hero now.

Bonus: Less detail I'm tired now and they're not core members, here we go.

Bertrand: Mr. Rhyme lol he old. He'd also have a Sirfetch'd.

Dorian: Swablu. I just think he'd have one can you imagine softboi Dorian with a Swablu? So cute! And he'd have an Altaria now that he's stronger. He'd also get an Audino for bard reasons.

Yu: I know I said no repeats and I did give Chetney a Zoroark but Yu breaks all the rules so they get a Zoroark. I honestly don't remember enough about Dusk to give them a serious pick.

Deanna: Comfey. She's a healer, plus can't you just imagine little Deanna with her little Comfey? I think she had it before she was resurrected, too, and the Comfey was waiting for her.

F.R.I.D.A: Okay so I was thinking Hisuian Decidueye because it's kind of roguey and ranged, but it's a bird, and FCG hates birds, and as they're in love, I don't think that would work. Then I thought maybe Mienshao, because I liked the fluid, dextrous fighting, but something wasn't clicking there. Then I thought maybe Darmanitan. I liked the idea of something used as an ancient defense. Pick your favorite of the three.

Prism: Mismagius for the wizard aesthetic, and then Corvisquire for Mother. Just imagine little Prism in the Shadowfell (or Shadow Realm, as Emily calls it) with a Misdreavus!

Deni$e: Liepard simply because I think she could fight with it or like just look super fucking fly walking down the street with it and Deni$e is all about the high feminine energy.

Bor'dor: Mabosstiff. He's endearing and he'll lie on the ground during a fight but he's also still dark type. He's waiting for the moment to strike. Okay I know Mabosstiff is supposed to be like a mob boss but he's also the only dark type dog that looks like he could pull off the Bor'dor heel turn. Also how could I not give him a dog?

Hope you enjoyed this long ass post, and feel free to give your own suggestions in the notes!

[thisisnotthenerd]

laudna’s form of dread is now a manifestation of the sun tree, and no longer the veiled ghost. she’s also seemingly without a patron at the moment, given that we haven’t heard from delilah in a while.

full offense to delilah, she doesn’t need more screen time. i would love it if bell’s hells actually managed to stamp her out of laudna. i’m sure they could make a full storyline in arc 3 about squeezing her for information on the assembly and fully purging her, but i think it would be cool for laudna to go somewhere else with it. to feel safe drawing on her warlock powers and to know that she’s no longer the contingency plan of the person that she was collateral damage for.

the idea here is that laudna starts drawing on the sun tree. it doesn’t quite hit the qualifications of a celestial patron even though it was blessed by pelor, so i don’t know how it could be made into a warlock patron without homebrew. also. celestial warlock is heavily based on light and radiance, so you’d get a fun little juxtaposition of a shadow sorcerer pulling on something that makes her do radiant damage. i would probably pull a few druid spells, but that feels like it’s encroaching a little bit on fearne & orym’s territory, so maybe not.

think about it. when you die, your body starts to feed the earth and decompose. the sun tree was dead/dying in the presence of the briarwoods, and came to life again during the revolution against them. it lived in her head just as delilah did--perhaps after being raised, and knowing it can talk, laudna can make conversation with something else that lived in her head for years.

i think its request would be to plant saplings of it, the way keyleth did in zephrah. give the sun tree a chance to spread beyond whitestone and take in the light of other places. funny little way to do this: laudna lays down & goes to sleep at night--in the morning she has to disentangle herself from a bed of roots.

[jadequarze]

I saw that your mythology au art of Fearne have lots of fire! Is she a deity of fire? If so, does that applies to volcanoes as well? Feel like she would have a bit too much fun with it...

As for Laudna, i know she's probably the deity of death, because of her wonderful but very dark design. I know someone else asked if she was also associated with nature, to fit with her new tree form of dread in canon, and that made me wonder if she's also responsible for winter? I feel like its kind of the mix of death and nature! Plus the white and softness of snow with her dark and angular aesthetic? Nice.

In general, yes. CHAOS (within reason of course). Next question.

YUP! She's a mix between death and nature. Decays, regrowth and all that stuff. Just most mortals thinks of her as a bad omen, due to certain individual *cough cough* Delilah *cough cough* who has a powerful reach. Due to that reason, her very being and form gets warped and changed due to the peoples influence surrounding her.

[utilitycaster]

It seems Laudna's Patron has changed (her Form of 'Dread' now resembling the Sun Tree) and that she's now a pact of the chain Warlock (Pate coming to life). Any theories/hopes/thoughts on what/who her new Patron might be? Because it's the Sun Tree my first thought is Pelor...but without really squinting at the associated domain of "life" as kind of "rebirth" in Laudna's very specific case, it's hard to see him making sense as a Patron of an Undead Warlock.

I honestly think it could just be the Sun Tree, who is a sentient entity of considerable power in its own right; to use another example, Galdric, who is associated with the Raven Queen, is a valid patron in and of himself.

But yeah I personally would rule that the warlock subclass would need to change if so. I don't actually know what the intent is with Laudna's build going forward, given that Delilah isn't fully eliminated but is perhaps diminished beyond the point of being able to be a patron and given that she seems to still be a Hollow One. Giving away the bloodwell vial seems like a sign she'll be leaning more into warlock to me, but it could also be a matter of attuned items management given the ring of protection.

If her patron is the Sun Tree, then Celestial seems like the logical warlock subclass because I agree Undead makes no sense. I'll admit, if there is no change to anything mechanical - warlock subclass nor being a Hollow One - that seems somewhat disappointing to me - but also we (understandably) really didn't get a chance to clarify mechanics yet.

[critical-derolo]

Laudna's never hurt her before and, technically, this doesn't hurt. There's no pain, no ache in her head that reverberates down her spine. No buzzing so loud she can't even think, no sharp, stabbing blindness that goes beyond what anyone should feel in their head. Not an oppressive wall of noise that is all-consuming, slowing pressing in, in, in, trying to crush her until she's nothing but a burning nerve in agony.

It's not any of those things.

It's the opposite.

Laudna - Imogen's music, her gentle melody - is silent. Utterly quiet and untouchable, unreachable. Gone-

She didn't know it was a risk. How did she not realize it was a risk? They made jokes! They made jokes about the dead woman because Laudna already got back up. She got back up, she brushed herself off, Death tried to take and she said "no thank you, darling, I've much to do." Imogen thought that was where it began and ended.

"Give her back to me," she chokes out around the lump in her throat. The tears fall fast and messy, so fast that they get caught in her eyelashes and she can barely see the figure standing before her.

Tall and dark and silent. So, so silent.

Energy crackles down the sorcerer's arms, arcing down the path of her scars. Bolts of chaotic light jump between her fingers as the red storm rages behind her ribcage, a shallow breath all that keeps it from being unleashed on the world. A storm that would scream and thrash and shatter and tear through anything it touched.

Would consume just as much as the silence.

Imogen shakes her head, teeth clenched so hard it makes her jaw throb. Her hand lifts - fast as lightning, a finger pointed. A focus point for the chaos - for the pain begging to be released. "She isn't yours," Imogen warns as the light swallows up the colour of her eyes. "Give her back to me."

"Or what?"

Imogen's eyes flutter.

It isn't Laudna, despite using her voice. Not really, there's no lilt to her words. No playful tease to them, not even the impassioned venom she spits when she's angry.

But it's still her voice and it soothes Imogen. Enough that 'Laudna' can step forward and lift her elongated hand through the shadows. Ichor bleeds from her clawed fingers, leaving traces on Imogen's cheek as its caressed deceptively softly. The sorcerer sucks in a quick breath and instinctively leans in, arcs of electricity jumping in her eyes. She stares up and up and up, 'Laudna's' spine stretched out in her Form Of Dread, a veil of black fog covering her face. Imogen's hand presses through it, dense and cold like a misty night in the cemetary. Her humming fingertips touch the warlock's cheek, her scars lighting up enough to cast a reflection of light into the pits of darkness that are the woman's eyes. The smile on her face is - wrong.

Walking nightmare or not, Laudna's smile was never cruel. It was kindness incarnate.

And that makes it all the more apparent that this isn't Laudna.

Imogen tugs the woman closer to her, until the fog of her veil drifts into the sorcerer's face. She summons her most truthful promise. And threat.

"Or I'll break the world to get her back."

Behind the veil, Delilah blinks.

[sugarushsuga]

In Your Own Words - CH. 13

Genre/Au's: Rom-Com, fluff with bits of angst - Coworkers!AU; enemies to lovers; Journalist!AU

Paring: RM x Reader

Words count: 6.588

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Cursing; Mentions of pregnancy;

Synopsis: After graduating your dream was to become a journalist and work to one of the biggest magazines in the country. But that pretty dream does not translate perfectly to reality. The magazine is on verge of bankruptcy, great journalists are moving the rival magazines and not being replaced, your boss is a jerk who doesn't even know your name. Fate seems to be toying you around to its own pleasure, can you take control of your life and achieve your dreams, or you are going to be carried away by fate's plans?

Author note: This fanfic follows the world of the Brazilian production Procura-se um marido series. I do not own the series or original content.

@hannahbee12719 always making the best banners for me❤️

←Previous | Masterlist | Next →

It's okay, calm down. Everything will be fine. It's going to be okay! You repeat non-stop that Monday, while You are untangling your hair, getting ready to go to work. You made the right decision. You mean, break up with Namjoon before the situation got even worse, you mean. End whatever it was that was going on between you before you got even more involved and ended this story in a pile of shards instead of a heart in your chest.

You know that, technically speaking, he was the one who put a full stop, but this detail is irrelevant.

Namjoon disappeared from the wedding after the argument. As far as you know, he hitchhiked back with Hoseok, which only proved your theory that something was wrong, very wrong in the world. Sabrina and you stayed for the lunch wedding on Sunday even though You were too moody and depressed to have fun. Delilah tried to talk to you a few times, but you dodged, that beautiful reminder of long legs how the devil flees the cross. No, you didn’t want to talk to her. You wanted to talk to your grandmother, but she was too busy—or too furious that you broke the cup—to give you attention.

You couldn't tell Sabrina anything because you knew what she would say: you ruined everything! Just like grandma said you would.

Shit! sometimes Grandma Cecilia scares you with her prophecies. So, there you are, getting ready for the moment you dread so much. Finding your ex-lover in the terrifying boss form.

You arrive a little late, but you notice the tense atmosphere as soon as you set a foot in the newsroom.

“What happened? Any new tragedy?” You ask Natacha.

She looks up from the computer screen. “Before it was! Is Namjoon…" She hesitates for a moment, looking for the right word, but ended up shaking her pink hair. “I don’t know what he is. It's not even nine in the morning, and he already yelled at the top of his lungs, yelled into the phone, kicked over a chair and told Yoongi to shut up twice.”

"Hmm... he looks depressed," You cheer. Not that You want to see him suffering or anything like that.

Cracks of shards came from the head-editor's office. Through the window that separate his space from the rest of the mortals, you see Namjoon gesturing, and he looks like yelling at someone on the phone.

"I think it's more like the son of the devil," counters Natacha.

“The agenda meeting is going to be great,” Ella grumbles as she passes.

You go to your desk, occasionally glancing at your boss, who is still arguing on the phone. You slung your bag over the back of your chair, smooth out your pencil skirt before sitting down and crossing your legs under the table. While waiting for the computer to come to life, you discreetly watch his office out of the corner of your eye. Namjoon has turned off the phone and stares at something on the back wall, hands on his narrow hips. He leans his head back, aiming at the ceiling, then rubs his hand over his face, as if trying to get rid of something that torments him. Then he turns around and his gaze meets yours. You shiver at the coldness in him. He looks away and gather some papers, heading for the meeting room.

You quickly divert your attention, trying to look busy and praying that he won’t come talk to you—although a little bit of anticipation burns in your heart.

Namjoon heads straight for the meeting room, through the door almost with a bang, and disappears inside. You looked at the clock. There are still fifteen minutes before the meeting starts.

Ella gives you a questioning look, Yoongi is looking at Julia without understandment, Natacha looks around the room with wide eyes. Irene and Youngjae abandon the new toys sent by a sex shop. Where it is Hani?

"What do we do now?" Natasha whispers to you.

"I think..."

The meeting room door swings open. Namjoon shoots the team with the look. "Is it too much to ask for my incompetent journalists to show up to the fucking meeting?"

"... we should go there. Like, right now" — You end up pouting.

In exactly twenty-three seconds, all the reporters are seated around the long table. Namjoon is at the head, standing.

"I hope you understand that I'm the boss of this shit, not the owner of it." he starts.

Everyone nods, afraid to open their mouths. Even Yoongi looks apprehensive.

"Veiga just called," he goes on. “For the second time today. The article about the diversion of money from the public coffers to the senator's account was vetoed."

"What?!" Yoongi spreads his hands on the table.

"It seems that Veiga and our corrupt senator are close" — Namjoon explains, turning over some papers in front of him. "He doesn't want anything related to the case to appear in the magazine."

"It's an absurd! This is hiding the facts from the people. It's censorship!

"And what do you think I was doing until now, yelling into the phone, Yoongi?" Namjoon spits through his teeth. "Veiga doesn't want to know. The magazine is his. Nothing about the case will appear on our pages. But look from the positive side. He wants the magazine full of trivia. Even suggested an article about traffic,” he finishes, smiling wryly.

"He must be crazy!" Yoongi mutter, flushed with anger.

"Yes. But it's the madman who pays your salary, so unless you want to put your notice, as Hani did, do as he order."

"Did Hani quit?" Irene asks, dumbfounded.

"She got an offer from her competitor," Namjoon explains impatiently.

"Oh no! Did she go to TopNews too?" Ella wants to know.

Namjoon just nods.

You're not sure why that bothers you so much. You liked Hani, she is fun and would definitely be missed, but that isn't what pesters. Suddenly TopNews seems almost a physical presence in Just-Facts, like an executioner ready to do its duty.

"Holy shit!" Yoongi lets go, dropping into his chair. "Everyone is going to disband for that shit magazine?"

"Is it?" Namjoon questions, placing his hands on the table and staring fixedly to his most renowned journalist.

"No, and you know it," Yoongi answers firmly. "But you can't be serious about vetoing the article. You know it's good, I have evidence, one exclusive with the senator. I bet Veiga has his ass stuck."

"It's no use, Yoongi. I tried, believe me. Just prepare an article about anything else. Now the next subject." He turns his head until he finds you. There is nothing but professionalism there. "Y/n, do you think you're fit to take on a column?"

You blink. About five times.

"What's it?"

He huffs, avoiding your gaping gaze. "Do you think you're ready to take on a column?"

"Y-yes." - Oh my God! Is this really happening?

"Excellent. I want you to take over Hani's column."

You stop breathing.

"Hani's?" You ask too loudly. “Like… writing about sex?"

"Some problem?"

Oh, none. As long as Hoseok, Uncle Vlad and Grandma Cecilia didn't read the column. Maybe if you use another alias...

“The Zodiac continues to get rave reviews,” he continues. —"You'll have to stick with both tasks for a while, until I find a substitutes for both."

That's when you understand where he is going.

"And once you find it, you'll fire me," You manage to say without screaming.

"You'll know if I ever intend to fire you, you can be sure of that,” he snaps, avoiding eye contact. "I'm planning to open a new space, something current that talks about nothing, about everything, anything of interest of young people. From the emails I've been reading, I think you have a direct channel with them. When I find an astrologer and someone with at least the basic knowledge of sexual behavior, we will discuss the matter again."

You blush for a number of reasons, but mostly because Namjoon has hinted you don't know anything about the topic. Yoongi doesn't even have the decency of trying to stifle his laughter, as Ella and Irene did. Namjoon pulls out one of his sheets and huffs angrily.

“Ella, please, what were you thinking when you wrote about Angela Kim's mustache?"

"Hey, she has a mustache!" Ella replies, balancing the pen on her finger’s lips drawn in line.

"And six lawyers too," Namjoon continues. "Congratulations, you got another case."

"But she has a mustache! Just because she's rich, I must pretend I don't see that caterpillar. Do me a favor..."

“You already know the procedure. Our lawyers will guide you, from that you don't throw shit on the fan anymore. Julia, stop crying or get out of the room, for God's sake! It's getting on my nerves."

Julia sobs loudly, covering her mouth with her hands and tries to compose herself. At the end of the meeting, people elbow their way out of the room before Namjoon remembers something else and decides to give more scolding. Staying at the end of the line, looking at the man making notes in the margins of a document, oblivious to everything around.

Ella is the last to pass, and you already have your hand on the doorknob to close the door after leaving, but you can't move on. Not before asking:

“Why are you doing this?

“Be more specific, Y/n. I don't have time for guess games" — he grunts, not bothering to lift his head.

"I'm talking about the column. Why did you decide to hit me right now?"

He doesn't take his eyes off the paper to answer. "It makes a difference?"

"For me it does. It seems very strange that just now you are willing to give me what I always wanted. Are you trying...”? You don’t have the courage to continue.

"Trying what, Y/n?" He lifts his head and looks at you with contempt. "Oh! Do you think I'm trying to pamper you for some reason? I don't want anything from you. You clarified your point on Saturday, and I finally understood. I'm giving you the opportunity to take over Hani's column because I thought that text of yours was good enough. And, as you can imagine, we don't have cash for immediate hires."

"Only that?"

His eyes narrow behind his glasses. "You are funny. When we were involved, you didn't want to talk with me about work, because you were afraid of taking advantage of being my lover. Now that all that hell is over, you complain that you don't need to worry about that detail. Do you know what you want, Y/n?"

The sadness you feel at the resentful tone in his voice eclipses your pride. “I was hoping that we could live together in peace, continue to be friends,” you mutter.

“You don't want me as a friend. Neither as a lover, boyfriend, neighbor, or anything that puts you within five meters of me." — he remembers, without even blinking. "Close the door behind you."

You throat feels tight, as if a block clogged the air passage. You don't want things to end this way. However, you can't close your eyes. You can't pretend you didn't hear him say to Delilah, he didn't want you. What is happening now, that devastation inside you, as if all your pillars are crumbling, is proof that if you had let your relationship go deeper, the end of it would have killed you.

It was the right thing to do, but doing the right thing isn't always painless. On the contrary, hurts, bleeds, burns.

You miss him. Not the man who had just spoken to you in that room, but the fun, caring guy you had grown to like and to admire. The world won't end because he is walking out of your life, but it will become cold and empty.

Your eyes start to itch, you hurry out of the meeting room, heading straight to the bathroom. You go into a stall and sit on the toilet seat, hugging yourself and sobbing loudly, trying to ease that burning in your chest, but to no avail.

You reach for the metal paper bin to get a piece of toilet paper to blow your nose, but it’s empty. "Damn it!" you cry even louder.

A thin, delicate hand appears from under the cabin partition. "Don't cry, Y/n."

"Oh, Julia." You take the roll of paper she offers you and hug it, as if that would make you feel better.

“He's been treating everyone badly today. Must have had an awful weekend.” she assures you.

Then the next door opens and seconds later you hear a knock at the door of the booth you are in. You release the latch, still sitting on the toilet.

"You look… awful," she notes as she opens the cabin door.

You shrug.

“I've discovered that I'm not lucky with men. I decided to become a lesbian."

She laughs lightly, leaning back against the partition. “Namjoon must mean a lot to you. Did he... go back to Alexia?"

You shake your head as you blow your nose. “He got involved with a cousin of mine. You believe? The guy goes with me to a party and melts into smiles for another woman! But that wasn't the worst. I heard Namjoon say he doesn't want me. Not that it was a surprise, I already kind of knew, it's just that... deep down, I was hoping that... you know." — you lift your shoulders, desolate. "I'm an idiot, aren't I? Only myself to fall in love with someone I know will come to nothing."

“You need to cool off,” Julia says, dampening a paper towel on the sink. "Get royally drunk, lick your wounds, and move on."

“What bad advice."

"I thought so too." She approaches and carefully pass the moist paper under your eyes, probably smudged with mascara. "But it was you who

told me that, remember? And, amazingly enough, it worked. I am fine, much better now. You will stay too."

You suddenly feel like you were going back in time. As if the months didn't have passed, everyone saying you would be fine, right after you caught Jimin between the neighbor's breasts. And, amazingly, people were right. You were fine. Not right away, but after a while. After Namjoon

invaded your life. And now he is leaving, and you would have to start it all again. Only this time alone.

Completely alone.

"You didn't look good in the meeting room" you tell Julia. "The Hani's exit shook you up a lot."

“I wasn't prepared to lose another friend. she didn't tell me anything. I was taken by surprise."

"Me too."

Deciding to forget about Namjoon, you get up with Julia's help and, after redoing your makeup, you dive into work and spend the rest of the day keeping busy. Which isn't so difficult, since Liz has received over two thousand messages, and you need to think about the article about

sex. But you can’t concentrate. You scrolled through the mailing list without actually seeing nothing for like five minutes. A little pink square on the left side of the screen warns you that you have to cover the car repair check that day.

Yeah, as if money popped into your account like that, out of nowhere...

You watch the calendar more closely. Two lines up, the number five is highlighted. Oh, crap! What did you miss?

You click on the number and look at the caption.

"Oh. My. God."

You do and redo the math at a frantic pace. For eight times! You are on the 17th, that is, twelve days away from the 5th.

Twelve days.

Two whole weeks.

"No!"

The days drag on. The hours do not pass. You don't want to live anymore. You suspect that your co-workers think you are with intestinal disarray. That alone would explain the thousands of times you run to the toilet for the past three days, hoping to find something that didn't have slightest sign that it would appear.

You are late. Fifteen days. The rectangular box with the pregnancy test is still intact inside your bag. You can't even look at it! You didn't tell Sabrina about the delay, as she didn't sleep at home for the last two nights. You also can't talk about it with anyone at work for several reasons. And you can't bring yourself to go into the bathroom and put an end to that uncertainty of fearing the result.

Namjoon remains in his furious state, yelling and lashing out his frustrations in anyone who looks at him. At that Thursday meeting, he looks even more disgusted than on Monday—especially after that you told him that you haven't done the zodiac or came up with anything for Hani's ex-column, but luckily the redhead had left two articles to cover her abrupt departure —and talking to him about what is troubling you seems like such a good idea just as committing suicide.

But it is your only alternative. Besides, if you really are... Oh my God, you can't even think about it... But if you were, he'd is also responsible. It isn't fair to have to deal with everything alone. He has the right to know and to decide whether or not to be part of the life of the...

Images of a chubby little baby plays in your mind: fair skin with fine brown tufts on her perfect head, large, round, eyes like yours, the half-debauched smile — still toothless — just like her father's, the plump little fingers...

You shake your head, determined to put an end to this situation. Regardless of the outcome, you are adults to bear the consequences. At least you hope you are.

You discreetly watched you colleagues. Everyone looks busy. You launch a look at Namjoon's room. He is engrossed in something on the screen of the computer. Keeping your eyes on him, you get up and grab some old papers from your table and head to his room. You stop in front of the door, steeling yourself. Your hands are shaking slightly, and you have no idea how you are going to get into it.

You hit.

Namjoon looks up from the monitor and, after a moment's hesitation, orders you in. You close the door carefully as you walk through it, hugging the papers you have in your hands, as if they could protect you from the icy gaze of the man behind the desk.

"Is that the Zodiac?" he asks sharply, indicating the papers on your arms.

“No.” It is irrelevant to tell him I haven't even started. How could you? You head was turned to your uterus and what could be inside. “I need to talk to you, Namjoon."

He looks at you, an eyebrow raised. "That I had already deduced."

You look back at the closed door, wondering if you haven't made a mistake and what were the chances of slipping out of there without him noticing. The odds aren't very good. So, you approach the table and settled into the chair in front of him. The brown eyes are glued to you, curious and impatiently, his fingers drum on the table.

"And then...?" he urges.

"I don't know how to start…" You declare, staring at your knees.

“You had no difficulty in verbalizing what was going on in your head last Saturday. Nothing you say will surprise me."

"Then well, I'm late,” you blurt out, your voice cracking.

He just smiles, ironic. Nothing worried. “I was at the meeting, Y/n. I already told you I want the zodiac by six. So, I think you better get back to your desk and get started."

"No." You shake your head apprehensively. "I'm not talking about the column, although it is also late. I mean I'm late, Namjoon. My... period."

"Aaaah." And then his eyes lose focus.

It seems you are still able to surprise him, after all.

You wait restlessly for an answer, whatever it is, but it doesn't come. He just looks at you as if he doesn't see you. You realize that you are holding your breath in anticipation and let it out forcefully. It brings him back from wherever he was.

"How much time?" He wants to know.

"Fifteen days."

"That much?"

You nod.

"Have you taken a test yet?" he asks, in an almost complacent voice.

You shake your head.

"And why not, Y/n?" And there goes the complacency.

“Because I was scared."

He takes a deep breath, the features of his face softening slightly. “Don't worry,” he says in a gentle voice. The one he used with you when you were out of the magazine. The one you haven't heard in the last week and which you have missed so much. “You're not alone in this."

You stare at him, dumbfounded. You knew he is a guy of principles and such, but you are no longer together — even though you have never been in fact—and he knows you had made plans with Jungkook in the past, so you were already more than ready to respond, with the greatest outrage, that yes, he is the father—that is, in case you are really pregnant.

"What's it?" Namjoon asks, scrutinizing your face carefully.

"You... aren't you going to make a scene and rant that you have nothing to do with that, that the father can be anyone and I should be damned?"

"No," he replies simply, folding his hands on the table.

"Why not?"

“Because if you're really pregnant, that child is mine."

"How can you be so sure?" — Oh, shut up! Which side are you on?

He fights a smile but ends up losing the battle. “Because I know you, Y/n. Because despite all the madness that happened between us, I know I was the only man who came to your bed in the last months."

“I thought you were going to yell at me when I told you,” You confess, running your fingers along the edges of the pages in your lap.

"You didn't think so, or you wouldn't be here now. How about I buy one those drug tests and put an end to the suspense once and for all?"

You curl up in the seat. “I have one in my bag. I've been walking it up and down since I realized the delay."

"Well... what are you waiting for?"

"But what if it's positive, Namjoon? What if I'm... pregnant?"

He stares at you for a long moment, and you try to guess the direction of his thoughts, but his face remains impassive, giving nothing back.

"Then you and I are going to sit down and talk," he clarifies under his breath.

"And then you're going to yell at me?" You want to know, hopefully.

He pursues his lips, holding back a stubborn smile. "Why do you want me to yell at you?"

"I don't know. I think because I saw how Hoseok reacted when he found out about Lorena's pregnancy"

“I would never yell at you for that. I already told you, you didn't do anything alone. I'm as responsible as you are. This is" — he pushes his glasses up using the indicator — "if there is anything to be held responsible for. And we will only know the answer if you take the test."

It's cool. You can do that. Just go into the bathroom and that's it. You don't even have to look at the result. Namjoon can do that for you. You get up hurriedly and is surprised when he does the same.

"I'll walk you to the bathroom," he warns.

“Oh, I don't think so. People will be surprised."

He frowns. "You're right." He looks at his watch. “Get your things. Go home. It's almost the end of the day anyway."

"Uh... not to be boring, but that will also make people wonder."

Then Namjoon says the only thing that would make you agree to leave early and with him, leaving a trail of gossip that only God would know what consequences would bring.

“We'll do this together, Y/n. I don't care what others think. You are all that matters to me now."

You nod and let him approach, opening the door and stepping to the side, giving you passage. You stop at your desk just to turn off the computer and get the bag. As you had predicted, all eyes are on you, even more so after Namjoon takes you by the elbow with touching gentleness and leads to the elevator. It is a relief when you enter the metal box and the doors slam shut, exiling you from the band of onlookers who, you are sure, will call the bets.

You are shaking from head to toe, absurdly tense at the prospect of the result to be positive. What are you going to do? How will you face a pregnancy alone? How can you have a child with a man who doesn't want you? You don't even have a career, damn it!

Namjoon heads towards your car.

"Keep calm." He strokes your arm gently, as if he wants to warm you up with it.

“It's easy to say. It's not you who's going to throw up for nine months and then have a baby ripping your body to get out."

You get in the car and unlock the passenger door. He sits next to you, slamming the door hard. You start up and start to maneuver.

"You're right," he agrees. "But I'll be by your side to hold your hair when you're throwing up, and when it's time to give birth, I'll force the doctor to fill you up on pain drugs. Then I'll hold your hand until you wake up."

You are already on the busy avenue. You want him to continue talking. Its sooths you.

"And how are you going to make the doctor dope me?" — you want to know.

“I'll threaten to put an embarrassing picture of him in the magazine, of course."

You end up laughing.

"And how are you going to get that picture?"

“Breaking into his house in the middle of the night while he's on call. I'm going to take advantage and hijack his diploma. In case he doesn't give in to the blackmail with just the photo."

"It's a good plan, but after that you'd be arrested, and the baby and I would have to bring you cigarettes on Sundays."

“That I would trade for prison security, to keep my masculinity intact. You know how it is. I'm a very attractive man,” he jokes.

Oh, you know that very well.

“Three years later,” You say, “you would get out of jail for good behavior and would be unemployed. Baby and I would have to sell candy at the light sign."

“And no serious media outlet would give me a job, which would force me to accept the offer of some unreliable rag."

“But since you made a lot of contacts while you were in jail, you would investigate an old unsolved case and find out the whole truth."

"What kind of case?" he wants to know.

“Hmm… a crime involving a famous football player of fifty's...?"

"Nice!" His eyes gleam. "And I'd get good money for it, because it would sell it to all the media and recover my good name. But I would not accept any of the millionaire job proposals, because after being in prison, I would want to see the world. So, I would take you and the baby and take you to live with me in Indianapolis. Where a scout would see me riding through the city streets in my Ducati and invite me to be a MotoGP rider. But I wouldn't win a single race."

“I'm not so sure about that. You drive like crazy. I think you would be a good pilot, but I wouldn't like it very much. I would be worried if you got hurt."

"Would you?" He asks, looking surprised.

“Of course, Namjoon! Do you think I wouldn't get mess up every time you climb on one of those things that fly at two hundred miles an hour, protected only by a helmet? I am already distressed here where, thank God, there are traffic laws to stop you from going over 120 an hour."

"Are you distressed? Because?"

Because that's what a woman in love does, you want to add. You blush when you feel his eyes on you, waiting for the answer.

“Because… I… It doesn't matter, Namjoon." You shake your head.

The silence that follows is harrowing. You try to pay attention to the traffic and not further worsen the situation by crashing the car. Twenty minutes later you park in front of the building. You turn the key and pulls the handbrake, but you don't move an inch more. Your life could be about to change, how can you get out of the car and face what is to come? having a baby is part of your dreams, but at a more opportune time. When you are financial stable, with a job you are proud of and a man who knead, for example.

“Let's go upstairs and get this over with, Y/n. You look about to fall apart, and I'm not the right guy to pick up your wreckage."

Only at that moment the coldness of the last few days become perceptible in his tone of voice. And it is a shame because you were missing him to death.

Namjoon. Oh my God, you separated the two. Bad Namjoon and Good Namjoon. How the Doctor and the Monster. Or Clark Kent and Superman. Although the last ones are pretty cool... and very cute. Just like Namjoon.

You follow him out of the car, always keeping one step behind, until you arrive at Bea's apartment. Yeotan greet you, and you take all the time in the world to play with him.

"Come on, Y/n, don't be a coward," he teases, nodding his head to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“I'm scared,” You whisper.

He seems to understand the torment inside of you, his face darkens but his voice is sweet by saying: "Want me to come in with you?"

“Oh my God, Namjoon. Of course not!" But that is all that you needed.

"I'll stay at the door then, ready to greet you when you leave."

"No. I can't do that," You object, embarrassed. "You wait for me here in the room. I'll be back when everything's ready."

The exam box feels like a tambourine in your shaking hands as you make your way to the bathroom. Two minutes later, you return to the living room, where Namjoon is waiting for you on his feet, trying to look calm and collected, but that little V between his brows he gives it away.

"What's up?"

"You have to wait three minutes. I can't look." You hand him the baton.

He takes it, calmly. You back away, standing in front of the window, next to the still messed up by the plastic parts, dining table counting the seconds. When you reach one hundred eighty, you force yourself to face your future, literally in Namjoon's hands.

"Positive or negative?"

He is studying the white stick from different angles, then scratches his head, He adjusts his glasses with his index finger and frowns. "Hmm... I'm not sure. How do I know if it's positive?"

“One line and I'm screwed,” you explain. “Two, we're free."

"Right. And a line and a half?" He raises his confused eyes to find yours.

"How so?"

“There's a line and a half here."

You hurry across the room, picking up the baton, and studies it. "Shit! Didn't work."

"Are you sure you did it right?"

You narrow your eyes. “Peeing on a fucking stick is no secret, Namjoon."

He shrugs. "It must be defective. I'm going to buy another."

You drop on the couch and buries your head in your hands. "I can't believe that when I finally got up the courage, this crap decided to fail."

"It happens. Wait here. I'll go to the pharmacy and be right back."

He is already leaving when you call him back.

“Namjoon…” He turns, eyes bright, anxious. It looks like he is hoping for something, but you have no idea what it could be. "Thanks."

The glow fades a little. “The responsibility is also mine. You didn't do anything alone. I am not going leave you alone at a time like this."

In that instant, you feel proud to have slept with Namjoon.

All seven times.

Namjoon walks into the house with the bag on his wrist and, without saying anything, hands you the test.

"Ah, well... it's just that I don't feel like peeing right now."

"Y/n!" he scolds, frowning.

"What can I do? I just did it now. Nature needs to act huh?"

“Let's give nature a hand."

And with that, he makes you drink two big glasses of water and a can of soda. About half an hour later, you go to the bathroom again, but this time he follows.

“I can't with you here." You stand still, hips resting on the sink, arms crossed, looking at the huge man inside the cramped bathroom.

"It's ridiculous for you to have a fit of embarrassment over a pee, considering everything we've done in bed."

Your face heats up until you can feel all the veins pulsing under your skin.

“I'm not going to pee with you looking at me and that's it."

“I'll never understand you…” He shakes his head, but leaves. "I will stay out here. Do everything right this time."

"I did everything right the first time!" But just in case, you read the instructions that came with the test.

This time, when you open the bathroom door, Namjoon is waiting for you there and he just stretches out his hand, aware that you won't be able to look at the stick that can change your whole life in three measly minutes.

Too impatiently, you go to Bea's tidy kitchen, opening the cupboards looking for something to eat, and you end up getting a tin of biscuits. Namjoon follows you, standing there leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you swallow one cookie after another.

"I eat when I'm nervous," You explain with your mouth full, and he chuckles softly.

"You can relax. Two lines,” he mutters a minute later.

"Oh my God. I'm not pregnant!" You sink into the cream chair, dizzy with relief, and let your head drop to the massive table. A hint of disappointment lurks in your heart as the image of the perfect baby starts fade from your mind until it disappears for complete.

“This deserves a celebration,” you say, straightening up, but your voice sounds a little... despondent.

“Of course, of course. Let's celebrate." Namjoon is still staring at the stick and doesn't look relieved. He looks…disappointed too. But he quickly composes himself and smiles, only it is a kind of weird smile, it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you for being a nice guy and sticking by my side all the time." You thank in a whisper.

“I couldn't have acted any different."

"I know it. You're a decent guy, Namjoon."

"Am I?" His forehead creases. "Are you sure? because on Saturday you didn't seem to know about it. By the way, on Saturday you seemed to believe that I was everything, but decent."

“Look, let's not talk about this now, okay? “You stand up. "I do not want fight with you again."

“Just explain your logic to me, Y/n. I need to understand. How can I be decent now and such a scoundrel on Saturday?"

Here's something you also want to understand.

“You were such a sweetheart to me today, and I hated these last few days, the way how you treated me. Please, can't we forget a little bit about what happened and continue as we were a minute before?"

He blocks the way with his body when you try to pass him. "Answer my question."

"I don't know, okay?" You yell. "I can't understand you. Simply I don't understand you! Maybe you're crazy, maybe bipolar. Or maybe the problem is in me. Maybe I'm really the immature girl you keep saying that I am."

"I'm glad you finally realized that" he says, and the defiance gleams in his sneer.

He is teasing you on purpose. And you, stupid, fall for it.

"Yeah, I figured it out," You roar, feeling the blood bubbling in your veins. "I realized that you're a cocky, too old asshole for me. Who is looking for a mature woman, someone on your level? Like Alexia, for example. I imagine kidnapping a dog sure tops the list of mature acts of an adult. Or maybe you prefer Delilah. You looked like you have a lot in common at my cousin's wedding, a party at which you were my companion. You two have more in common than I realized. Especially the taste for boredom!"

"That's what I intend to do," he replies, straightening his shoulders, looking very pleased. “I can't wait to have a grown-up conversation. Something that hasn't happened since you came into my life!"

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kim! My sincere apologies for my youth. I can't do much about it. As for the mater of me in your life, I can solve it right now." You walk past him with your head held high, glaring at him.

He doesn't return nothing, just that coldness that drives you crazy. A slight pull on his jaw betrays that something in him is also about to overflow. And because of it you stop, realizing that there is nothing you can say, it will do no good to offend him, hurt him—or punch him so that he can stop being such an idiot. None of that would make you happy.

"I sincerely hope that one day someone can make you truly happy." Your voice shakes. “I always knew that this someone wouldn't be me."

Something changes in his face, in his posture. It is as if he had been punched in the stomach. You walk past him, heading over to the couch to grab your bag.

"Wait, Y/n," he calls in a gentle tone, sounding almost regretful.

"No." And you run away before he sees the tears that are starting sting your eyes, behaving just like the immature little girl he believes that you are.

Ⓒ 2022 Sugarushsuga, do not copy, translate or repost.

[exultedshores]

🔥 + delilah copperspoon? :0

(Send Me a 🔥 + a Topic, and I’ll Tell You My Honest Opinion About It)

Love to hate her, hate to love her.

Really, my opinion on Delilah changes on a day-to-day basis. Some days it’s ‘yas queen empress slay’, other days it’s ‘fuck the witch bitch’.

Because on the one hand, I feel sorry for her, and I admire her refusal to lay down and die. Her childhood was hell, she lost her home and her mother and her whole future just because Jessamine told a single lie. Everything was taken from her, and she responded not by letting it drag her down, but by clawing her own way right back up. She used the Mark to its full potential, formed her own coven (whose aesthetic slaps), devised a plan to get her throne after all, and even dragged herself out of the Void to try again after her first plan failed. She’s fierce, she’s tenacious, and she’s a badass, and I love that about her.

But on the other hand, I think she’s entitled and delusional. Jessamine’s lie about Delilah breaking that vase might have been what got her kicked out of Dunwall Tower, but it’s painfully obvious that Euhorn was just looking for an excuse to be rid of his illegitimate child. She was never going to be allowed to come to court. She would never have been able to rule. She wasn’t recognised as a Kaldwin, and Euhorn was never going to (Euhorn Kaldwin, by the way, can go suck an egg). The fact that she blames Jessamine for all of her own misfortune and feels like she deserves the throne really downplays her sympathy factor for me. Not to mention that she proves in the second game that she makes a positively dreadful Empress.

I think the worst thing about Delilah, though, is how she treats Breanna after you neutralise her non-lethally. Delilah and Breanna’s relationship was one of the biggest redeeming factors about Delilah to me, at least at first. Breanna clearly loves her, not just as an Empress but as a person, and I think Delilah cared about Breanna too, as much as she was capable of. But the fact that Delilah “doesn’t think [they] will speak again” after Breanna loses her powers, god but I hate that. Breanna risked so much for Delilah, loved her, worshipped her, and the second she’s not useful anymore, Delilah just casts her aside. Delilah was everything Breanna had, as per her own admission, and Delilah just does that. It pisses me off every single playthrough.

And I’m also not a fan of Delilah’s own non-lethal ending. Just like Jindosh’, I feel like Delilah’s ‘punishment’ is very much disproportionate to her crimes – except where Jindosh pays far too much, Delilah pays far too little. She stole the throne, is responsible for the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of people, and as punishments she gets to… live in her ideal world. It’s not the real world, granted, but still. Delilah gets to live out her perfect life inside that painting, being adored by everyone as she believes she should be, and that always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Still, all of that said, fuck Euhorn Kaldwin most of all, though.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 35

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: getting back into the swing of things, darlings; we have a tag list, let us know if you want in on that business.

Warnings: the usual swearing

Abstract: Let me take you honey, where the scene’s on fire, And tonight I learned for certain that the blues expired.

---------------------------------------------------------

Freddie Mercury absentmindedly stroked Delilah’s fur. She looked up at him with mostly love, some concern, and a dollop of annoyance; his fingers would play down her back, twirl around her tail, then creep up to her head, where he’d scratch behind her ears, and resume the whole process from the start. He was stuck in a fluffy loop of thoughtfulness tinged with avoidance. He didn’t want to think, but in not wanting to think, he was, indeed, thinking of just that which he didn’t want to think.

“Bloody paradoxes even when those rhythm and blues boys aren’t around…” he said to Delilah, all fire and dread.

She meeped in sullen agreement. Fuck those boys, she seemed to say.

“You’re right; they are fuck boys.” Freddie preened at her.

Delilah meowed back: that’s not what I said, and you know it.

But Freddie was lost in thought again. Memory has many paths, and whether we like it or not, we will walk those frosty paths forever. And Jim was a breath full of arctic air, freezing his lungs, making him pay attention.

Jim kept buzzing around his mind no matter what he did. He was metallic cold pinpricks in his mind. Sweeping little icicle jabs reminding him of earlier tonight and that absolute joke of a dinner party. This record was already a disaster and a single note hadn’t been recorded. Maybe none would be at this rate.

Delilah mewed at him again. She always understood; this is why she was his favorite. He didn’t hold with not having favorites. Favorite were his specialty. Even with pets he had a favorite; he assumed, if he and Jim ever had children someday in the far future, he’d have a favorite kid among them, too. Freddie clung to favorites like most people clutched to dreams; it was, perhaps, his never-ending drive to banish loneliness from his life. A favorite person, a favorite pet, a book, a film could erase every nagging insecurity from one’s mind. For, even surrounded by love, or by people, there he was, that gnawing wolf of loneliness lurking in the back of his mind, hunting him, waiting for a true solitary moment to make his deadly strike. Right now, he felt keenly aware of his emotions. He was disappointed in himself, which only helped to serve his feelings of isolation. An emotion worn like a cape, designed to keep others from getting too close. He couldn’t hide his feelings well—Jim would say he couldn’t hide them at all. And, as was so often the case, Jim was right. Jim was always right.

And Jim had been right earlier, too. About the fight. Well, about both fights.

Jim and Freddie didn’t fight a lot. They had discussions where honest and difficult ideas were exchanged and embroidered upon with care and delicacy--with politeness, tact, and artistic flairs. They didn’t yell at each other.

Yelling was something other people did to each other.

They didn’t need to yell to hear each other. They always heard each other. Yelling was an unknown rarity, like vintage wine from France, or fainting in front of a piece of art, or getting goosebumps from a piece of music; experiencing these everyday things, otherwise usually commonplace, but when arranged in the perfect way, in a singular way, they transcend their objectivity to become feelings; they became tangible emotions captured by space and form made always accessible, permanent, and sublime. However, when these rare events happened, it was just as profoundly shocking as finding Freddie and Jim in a screaming match. Which is exactly what had happened earlier this night. They had yelled at each other, and paused knowing it wasn’t necessary, normal, or right. Yelling wasn’t art, it was something dark.

But Jim had been right: Freddie should have done something to defend John, and the simple truth was that he hadn’t done anything for John. In the moment he had defended Jim instead, when that wasn’t what Jim needed nor how Jim had seen or understood the action. Jim didn’t need protecting; Jim wanted to protect, and Freddie had stomped all over that impulse, and while doing so he had left John to Roger’s wrath and guilt. And now here he was alone, sulking, not knowing if John was okay, knowing Roger had temporarily lost his mind, and knowing he needed to resolve this argument with Jim instead of ignoring it. John had suffered so much in the past few years, and now right when happiness was falling into his grasp once more, would it be swept away because of Roger’s impertinence and his own failure to act appropriately? But should he have let Jim have a go at Roger? If he had allowed it, wouldn’t Roger be in the hospital now? Jim was a bruiser--it was one of the things Freddie loved about him the most. And the press, god, if they heard about this incident...

Freddie knew he needed to process all of this. And to do so, he needed a friend; he knew precisely who he needed to call.

He scooped up Delilah in his arms and flitted out of the bedroom, wrapped in his sunset kimono. He left their bedroom where Jim was peacefully dozing, lost in some dream. Kittens and cats followed in Freddie’s wake, padding after him as if he were the pied piper.

“Hello little, darlings.” He called softly to them.

Delilah looked down on her fellow pack, secure in the knowledge that she was the favorite.

Retreating into the kitchen below, he picked up the receiver of the phone. He dialed a number, and waited, hoping they’d be awake, and knowing better.

A frenetic voice answered, “I hope you, whoever’s calling this number, of all numbers, knows how to use a watch, and can read it.”

“Skip it, Sharon; it’s an emotional emergency.”

“Isn’t everything an emotional emergency with you?” The voice had softened, recognizing the voice on the other end, but kept its rapid-fire nature.

“Darling, that simply isn’t fair, and you know it.” Freddie was smiling, though; he knew Sharon was smiling, too.

“Meet at the one place with the pancakes I like in twenty minutes, love?”

“The one with the sprinkles and ice cream?” Freddie asked.

“That’s the ticket, sugar bear.”

“You’re still dressed?” Freddie was trying to suss out Sharon’s state of intoxication, but it was a pointless inquiry; he knew his friend of old, and knew their scandalous and scintillating habits as well as he knew his own.

“Bold of you to assume I’ve been to bed at all.” There was that wry humor Freddie so cherished in his unparalleled friend.

“Alright,” Freddie said, quite mollified, “see you in twenty, Sharon.”

“Ta-ta, Melina.”

Freddie had picked out a booth in the back. He adjusted his tight yellow jeans, made sure his navy leather jacket was carefully folded on the seat next to him. He fiddled with the coffee cup in front of him, all nervous energy and anticipation. He straightened his white and red Flash Gordon shirt. Waiting for Sharon to stumble in, he gazed at the menu, even though he knew it by heart. This was their favorite haunt in the wee hours of the morning, in the between times when it is both night and morning simultaneously.

The bell above the door tingled, and his friend staggered through the doorway. Freddie still enjoyed some anonymity--his friend, did not. He was wearing a striped red and black blazer, with a gaudy straw hat, navy slacks with a high cuff, and a white button-down with a pearl embellished lapel so ostentatious it could only belong to one person. Freddie did like the shoes though; they were bright red jewel-encrusted oxfords.

People stared as Elton John gazed around the diner. He spotted Freddie Mercury, and headed to the back like a race car.

“Sorry I’m late, Melina.” Elton said, bending down and kissing Freddie’s cheek.

“You’re not late, Sharon.” Freddie said lightly, not critically.

“Oh, I’m not? I feel late.” Elton said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe I’m remembering another time. The time before. Last time. Maybe I’m a traveler of time.”

“Nope; you were on time then, too.”

“Well, excuse me for being perfect.” Elton said, smiling at his best friend.

“You’re excused.” Freddie said, observing the man across from him. “You are coked out of your mind, though.”

“I’m always coked out of my mind, next observation, please.”

“Fair enough.” Freddie said dancing backwards from that sticky wicket.

“You’re the one that stopped using.”

“I’m the one who fell in love and realized I didn’t need it to be happy.”

“This old tune again?” Elton sighed. “Did I really come here, out of my house, away from my vodka and tonics to hear this? I was perfectly happy there. Perfectly. Happy.” He was slowly standing up.

“No, please, sit back down. Stay. I need your advice.” Freddie put a hand on Elton’s, and his face changed.

“I was only joking.” Elton said, slipping back down in his seat. “I’d never leave you, Melina.”

“I know; I just wish you believed the same about me never leaving you.”

There was a thick silence in the air. It had the stench of an old argument around it, one that wouldn’t be settled for many more years.

“What’s going on, love?” Elton adjusted his white glasses, waiting.

The waitress approached them, then, carrying a couple plates and a tureen. She started unloading her burden, and slowly backed away from the table, smiling bemusedly at the couple in the booth.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you.” Freddie explained.

Elton was pouring a tureen of hot fudge over his pancakes topped with rainbow sprinkles, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and caramel glazed pecans.

Freddie dug into some eggs and toast. “Jim and I had a fight.” He admitted eventually, jamming up his buttered toast.

Elton stopped eating and sparked his true blue eyes onto his friend. “Sure sure sure.”

“We yelled at each other.”

“What?!” Elton looked like he didn’t believe Freddie; Jim and Freddie yelling at each other was simply unprecedented.

“Well, it didn’t start there. It started at a meeting for the new record.”

“Ah,” Elton took a bite, “Guessing it didn’t go well, then.”

“No, it did not.” Freddie groaned. “It ended with Roger saying something unforgivable to Johnny, and with Roger getting punched out by Johnny’s new girl.”

“Okay...” Elton put his spoon down. It clanked with a final note, a gong hit, a gunshot. “You’re skipping a few important details. Rewind and play again. From the beginning. From the top.”

“So, since you missed my party, you missed everything, apparently that has led us to this moment.”

“Go on,” Elton was tapping out a tune with his spoon and Freddie’s jam knife.

“John met this girl at the party. Very smart, very stylish, very sweet.”

“Sweet but punchy?”

“Yes.” Freddie laughed. “He certainly knows how to pick them. Anyway, they hit it off in a real way, a genuine way we hadn’t expected.”

“She found the pilot of his soul.”

“Yes; and he her’s. Except, he didn’t tell her about Veronica.”

“Well, it was the worst day of his life. I was there. It was--it is still hard to discuss for him.”

“Well, Jim told her all about it.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Fine? I guess? It doesn’t feel relevant to the fight.”

“Well, maybe not to your fight, but it is definitely pertinent to the fight Deacy and this girl are having now…”

“Right.” Freddie agreed, not having thought about that particular aftermath to be reckoned. “Anyway, darling, Roger was, unbeknownst to us, freaking out over his own feelings for this other woman, Lydia.”

“Really? Roger? Feelings?”

“I know, dear, it’s a fucking mess.”

“I’ve missed a lot; I’ll never skip one of your honky shindigs again. Scouts honor. I’ll come in kicking--spurs not optional.” Elton held up his hand and resumed eating his pancake dessert.

“Well, Roger showed up to the dinner meeting, saw this woman there with Deacy and said something about Johnny replacing Veronica already. It was truly horrid.”

Elton sat back in his seat, staring at his friend. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have punched him myself.”

“Well, that’s what Jim wanted to do and I stopped him; so y/n, Deacy’s girl, did it.”

“You stopped Jim from doing something about Roger mouthing off some trite sewage, and so y/n did what all of you should have been doing?”

“Yes, and then we--Jim and I--had a blow out over it.”

“And now you want to atone for it.”

“Yes.”

“Forgiveness is the easy part; asking for it isn’t.”

“I’m aware.”

“You don’t like being wrong.”

“Who does?” They smiled at each other.

“Well,” Elton he waved a hand vaguely in front of Freddie’s face. “I think the solution is pretty obvious. Clear as a bell. Right there in front of your very fine mustache.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Tag List:  @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum​ @obsessedwithrogertaylor​ @groupiie-love​ @partydulce​ @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr​  @psychostarkid​ @teathymewithben ​@smittyjaws​ @just-ladyme​ @botinstqueen   @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder​ @maxjesty​ @deakysdiscos​ @yourealegendroger​ @marvellouspengwing​ @molethemollie​ @deakysgirl​ @arrowswithwifi​ @tardisgrump​ @mikey-sway

[hollandroos]

Run To Me; Part Five

You do not have to read this first book to read this one! - There are a lot of dad/mafia series, so if this seems similar to yours then message me for credit.

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun: Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.13 Pt.14 Pt.15 Pt.16 Pt.17 Pt.18 Pt.19 Pt.20 + NSFW Alphabet with Mob!Tom

Run To Me: Prologue Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Words: 5k - Notes: I know this isn’t exactly what you guys wanted for this chapter but it was soo long so I had to split it in half!!!

Read on Wattpad! + Playlist!

-

Rain stained the glass windows, sliding down the clear screen slowly- much slower than the hasty mobster that rushed around his room to collect his things. He had to stop every few moments to straighten out his hair that he’d admit, was a little overgrown at this point. Strands hung over his face in locks that could no longer be called curls from the number of times he’d run a hand through it.

Tom couldn’t see the rain because even at twelve fifteen pm he had his curtains pulled shut tightly, relying on light from the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling directly above his bed, red silk sheets practically glowing thanks to the white light.

Tom stared himself down in the body length mirror, wondering if even the simple pair of denim jeans and the white shirt he wore was too much- or was it too little? He wanted to make a good impression but not come off too strong.

It was dead silent in the room apart from the odd creek as he paced back in forth in the oversized bedroom and the gentle tap of the rain outside, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him not to go- it was loud and screeching and wouldn’t give out. He’d given in to that voice on many occasions and each time it had landed him in the dumps. Only once did it actually do something good for him.

It was his father's voice. Clear as day- and as assertive and condoning as ever.

The only time his father had ever done anything good for him was the day he sat down with your parents and signed away both of your rights to fall in love on your own terms. As awful as it sounded, the arranged marriage that simultaneously destroyed and opened new doors had taught Tom what it was to be loved and to be in love.

Then again, if that contract was never signed then Harrison wouldn’t be dead-  you wouldn’t be riddled with PTSD and the last six years would’ve never happened and Tom wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity and the odd empty bottles behind closed doors. Yet again, he probably would still be wallowing in self-pity and you’d still be far away from the other.

Standing beside his bed, Tom’s hand hovered over the gun that rested on the cabinet before he curled his fingers around it. With the weapon heavy in his hand he stuffed it in the nearest drawer with slight hesitation beneath a layer of socks. It was unusual for Tom not to have one sitting at his waist, not even arm's length away to be without it felt like a part of him was missing. He felt only a little bit more vulnerable.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Do you need to take a weapon with you everywhere?” You give him a lopsided smile, watching Tom shove the weapon into the side of his jeans.

Tom grabs one of your hands and pulled you closer until you were merely chest to chest, the only thing separating the two of you was a thin layer of clothing. “It’s for protection, never know when someone’s going to attack.”

“And someone will attack you in the middle of the street? Tommy, there’ll be people everywhere.” You say, breath tickling his lips. Tom was able to smell the mint you’d taken from his drawer when he wasn’t looking.

A grey beanie sat on your head pushing strands of hair down flat against the side of your face, a pair of woolly gloves cover your fingers because no doubt they’d turn a sickly shade of blue the second you walked out of those doors.

“You never know, sweetheart. If something happens I need to be prepared.” He tries to convince you but knew it was failing drastically when you only shake your head, one hand snaking to his waist where your fingers wrap around the base of the gun.

Tom swore he’d never moved so quickly before, one of his hands reaching around and grasping yours that was prepared to pull the deadly weapon out of his jeans.

“Just this once- for today. We’ll leave it here.” You push, eyes widening- your eyes were one of his weakness, he swore the damn things went on for miles. “If someone attacks us then I’ll take them out myself- Haz has taught me a lot, you know!” You grip tightens around the gun, fluffy gloves beneath his hands making it almost impossible for him to take you seriously.

He slips his lips between his teeth, a deep sigh exiting his lips. “Sweetheart-”

You stop him, raising a brow. “Tom?”

The gentle hum of a song playing from the radio can be heard as you stare up, eyes filled with pure persistence boring right into his. “One time- We’ll leave it here just this once but if I die it’s on you.”

“Got it, sir.” You salute, black glove knocking the woolen beany and Tom removes his hand, allowing you to pull the gun out of the waistband on his jeans. It weighs you down only slightly. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Sir, now?” Tom smirks, chuckling lightly as you run a clothed finger over the two letters engraved into the item. T.H.

“Oh be quiet!” You mutter, escaping his arms with the fully loaded weapon still in one hand. It didn’t dawn on you what the weapon could do. For a moment you felt so content that you almost forgot about the black gun that stared you straight in the face on the day of your mother's death. “Let’s go!”

As Tom stood still, staring into the drawn that held the one thing he kept closest he was able to hear the gentle ‘pitter-patter’ of the rain hitting the wooden decking, making Tessa perk her head and pad over to the curtains that were still pulled shut. She nudged one with her nose, allowing only a smidge of light to poke through but considering the weather the only light was grey and muggy.

The rain wasn’t odd in London, in fact, that got it quite frequently but today it felt different. Maybe today Tom was hoping for a little sunshine- a little change.

Your cheeks were icy cold, the tip of your nose a different shade than the rest of you as you walked through the packed streets. Tom was tenser then usual, his grip on your hand not faltering once while he kept his back straight- eyes hard.

You notice everything and while you tried to ignore it at first, stopping to look at things in shops and on stands it began to get annoying when he barely gave you anything more than a little nod or a peck on the cheek.

But still, that didn't stop your lips from curling into a smile at the sight of a family of ducks including four ducklings wandering down the footpath, or a mum pushing her twin daughters in a pushchair, briefly muttering the words ‘Emily and Delilah.’ The girls wore matching winter coats that went up to their jaws, a string of saliva falling from one’s mouth as she mumbled something incoherent.

Tom would admit that it was one of the most beautiful sites he’d ever seen and yes, he’d seen a lot. But seeing you smile as much as you could despite the cold, small strands of hair blowing over your eyes every few moments and cheeks struck pink he couldn’t help but feel some of his nerves melt away like snow.

“Tom?” You say, a frown forming when your husband doesn’t seem interested in a street show you had chosen to watch.

“What?” He mutters- not harshly at all. It was the fact that his words held no emotion.

“Look at me,” You tempt him, halting your steps. People begin to walk around the two of you, dodging you like a bullet. Your covered hands go up to his cheeks, cupping them with your hands and Tom’s cheeks that were tinted pink bask in the sudden warmth. “Nothing's going to happen.”  

He felt almost naked without the weapon in his back pocket but seeing your soft eyes, gentle and calm he couldn’t help but want to enjoy this day. Still, Tom wasn’t going to completely lower his guard. “I know, I’m going to try.”  

Tom still couldn’t understand-  It wasn’t that he couldn’t accept the fact that he had a kid- a living, breathing human because he accepted it the moment he heard the name slip from Aiden's lips like a curse. A wave of protection washed over a heavy amount of confusion and shock.

It was a beautiful name, five letters long with three vowels and two syllables. It reminded him of flowers, roses to be specific and the fiery red one’s that were planted in his backyard.

He smothered out the shirt, knowing that the cleaners had done an immaculate job but Tom found himself fidgeting with the hem, soft cotton creating friction between his fingertips as he stared down at his feet- Tom didn’t think, not even allowing a thought about how his room was colder than need be or why was Tessa sniffling at a spot in the corner of the room.

It was a day that he should’ve been excited for, yet the mobster felt an overwhelming sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was nervous beyond disbelief, a feeling he only felt for a while after you left but now it was back- somehow having found its way back in his life like a pest. It ate away any and what little contentment he may have felt before.

Tom took one more glance at the Rolex, gold band indicating Twelve twenty-three and with bruised knuckles, he picked up his coat and slung it over a shoulder, keys smacking against his phone. He almost wished he hadn’t gone as hard as he had on the punching the night before and ended up damaging himself even more- his brothers always warned him that one day he’d break his knuckles on that bag. With an increasing amount of feelings he couldn’t quite decipher, he only gave himself a little bit more time before he ended up with an injury such as that.

Maybe it would scare her- the marks that stained his fists. Tom had never really thought about being a dad before and he didn’t think he was going to become one straight away- he had no idea what to do and how to act. At four years old he didn’t know if she still drunk from a sippy cup or if she could say more than five words without messing up.

But he was willing to try.

-

“I thought you wanted to get yourself dressed from now on?” You tease, seeing Rosie sitting at the bar stool still in her pyjamas. She struggles to get the metal spoon to her lips, chocolate flavoured milk drips down her chin.

“Don’t feel well.” The little girl mutters, hands moving across a piece of what was once pure, white paper a little sloppier than normal.

You move towards your daughter, cotton pyjama shirt sitting over a pair of ankle length pyjama pants. “Stomach ache?”

She shakes her head, hair that she’d obviously tried to put up herself bouncing around. “Throat hurts.”

Gently, you put a hand to her forehead feeling that yes, it was far too hot for your liking and her flushed cheeks and along with the fluffy blanket she had tightly wrapped around her shoulders all indicated towards a cold or the flu. Your heart aches for a moment but Rosie doesn’t look too bothered by the sickness and she continues her usual morning routine- consisting of a scribbly drawing and a bowl of her cereal of choice.

You flick the kettle, taking the piece of toast that you’d previously been eating and take another small bite from one of the corners. A dollop of raspberry jam sits on your tongue, much colder after being refrigerated then the toast that had only popped out of the toaster minutes ago.

It’s the perfect mix of sweet and sour.

“I can’t send you to daycare sick like this, Roo.” You speak up, noticing the little orange fish on her piece of paper.

“I’ll stay home.” She tells you. Rosie mindlessly brings the glass of orange juice to her lips and takes a mouthful before going back to her chocolate cereal.

“I have plans today, important ones.” You say, ignoring the way your heartbeat speed up slightly at the thought. “I can cancel…” You debate it for a moment. Maybe it was a sign, something telling you- no, pushing you to cancel the plans that were a bad idea in the first place.

For a moment your daughter's symptoms distracted you from the pit of nerves bubbling away in your stomach. It was never the plan for her to come along, the meeting meant to be between Tom and you- a simple meeting where you could discuss guidelines and learn to trust each other again but you could only imagine that the boy was itching to meet his daughter- if he was still the same Tom you knew.

A part of you wanted to take the girl sitting on the bar stool into your arms and never let her leave, to shower her rosy red cheeks in kisses and tickle her sides until spurts of laughter were falling from her lips. Maybe it was selfish but you didn’t want to share her just yet- merely wanting to grip every little moment with the four-year old that you could before she was fed up with you.

Physical affection was a scary thing and considering it came few and far between and while hugs and cuddles from Rosie were always welcomed with open arms- you craved another kind of touch, from someone with hands as soft yet calloused as Tom’s. Your heart ached for it.

“No!” Rosie blurts out, “I come.”

“You’re sick, Roo.” You try to tell her but she only shakes her head. “You can go to grandads?”

“No!” No seemed to be Rosie’s favourite word at the moment. She was using it whenever she could, maybe to the point where it was becoming too much. “Not grandads’. I’ll come with you.” She tells you, almost as if it were a demand. She shakes her head, sniffling lightly as she feels a small trail of snot begins to run down her nose. “Take me with you.” She looks up, “Please.”

Crossing your arms, you admit that you want to shake your head and say no to the girl but she only stares up with hopeful eyes, sippy cup in one hand. “Are you sure? It’s always warm at grandads and I can give him-”

“I wanna come with you, mum.” She admits, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand.

“You want to come sit at the cafe with me?”  You watch as your daughter replaces the red pencil for the blue one, beginning to color in what could either be a sky or a river. “Oh, now I see.” The corners of your lips turn upwards as you let out an exaggerated sigh. “Coffee today, is it?” You ask playfully, Rosie only screws her face up and sticks her tongue out.

“Gross,” She giggles. “Hot tocalet.”

You finish off the last of the toast,  jam somehow sticking to the tips of your fingers despite the fact that you’d been more than careful. “I don’t know if it’s the best Idea for you to come. I can just make you one when I get home!”

You look over, seeing that Rosie had dropped the pencil and was now staring into her bowl of soggy cocoa pops drenched in milk with a scowl, her lips pursed together tightly before a sneeze slips her lips- making her jump back suddenly. A few pencils fall to the floor, scattering around the tiles and Peter wooshes to the back of his tank to hide.

“If you do come, however.” You continue. “You be good, got it? No complaining that you want to go home- unless I ask you to start crying.”

Rosie takes a moment to process your words before her frown turns into a grin, pearly whites peeking through.

“Can Peter come to?” Rosie gets her hopes up for a moment, eyes boring into the circular fishbowl that sat on the kitchen table during the table and her bedroom at night.

You shake your head. “Peter needs to sleep. He’s still tired after Coral kept him up last night- plus he needs to settle into his new home.”

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you check for a message from Aiden. For some reason, you actually wanted one just to know if he was okay or at least alive. All ten messages and eleven missed calls to him went unseen- or they seemed to. There was only a message from a work friend asking you to take her shift next week and while your boyfriend's lack of response didn’t surprise you seeing as it was most likely Tom’s doing, you felt a tug in your chest. Something almost indescribable fairly lost between disappointment and frustration.

“True.” She mutters with a mouthful of cereal. You didn’t have the heart to tell the four-year-old not to talk with a mouth full of food as she sat with flushed red cheeks and a stuffy nose. “I’m finished.” She shows you the empty bowl, only a few cocoa pops stick to the side and you nod, taking the glass out of her hands before she can shatter it.

But it’s you that shatters it. The glass slips, tumbling to the floor and hits the tiles with a solid ‘smash.’ The loud noise echoes throughout the kitchen, bouncing off of the four walls and hitting you with an impact that would have knocked you off of your feet if you didn’t feel almost glued to the spot.

“Shhh, angel, I need you to keep quiet” Tom placed his hand back over your mouth, only tighter this time knowing that you were about to put up a fight but he had little time to explain. His other set of fingers wrapped tightly around his gun and the shock of the situation was still setting in.

He dragged you into the nearest stall and shut the door carefully, making sure not to flick the lock so it wouldn’t look occupied. One second you were washing your hands at the sinks, humming a soft tune and the next you were pressed up against the cold, tile wall.

Your eyes widened when you realized what was most likely happening, hands tightly gripping his wrist as you breathed in deeply through your nose, struggling to get the oxygen to your lungs. You couldn’t speak, but you did look up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You were sure you looked unkempt but Tom didn’t think so, too focused on what he’d seen outside of the bathroom.

Two figures wearing all black, hair thrown into dirty old caps despite the cold outside. He was sure they held weapons, more than the one small weapon that was currently in his hand.

“I need you to be quiet, okay? I think we’ve been compromised” His voice was barely louder than a harsh whisper and despite your small protests that sounded muffled underneath his hand, it was completely silent, Tom could practically hear your heartbeat and in fact-, if he slowed his breathing enough he could feel it.

Slowly, he removed his hand, keeping a firm grasp on his gun and placing a finger to his lips indicating for you to stay silent, which of course, you didn’t do.

“T-tom, what’s actually happening, are we okay?” your voice was shaky, only slightly louder then what he had been and you cursed this bathroom for being the first restaurant bathroom you’d ever used that hadn’t had music.

“We’ll be okay, but I need you to do what I say”.

You felt it again- the feeling of not being able to breathe. It was so sudden, everything washing over you so quickly and you swore you were back there because that event was only one of the many that were imprinted in your brain. Burned. You weren’t even able to focus on the shards that swarmed around your feet or your daughter that jumped at the impact and now stared with wide- glassy eyes.

It was a domino effect- one of the many events that led to the biggest one. Your mind swam with thoughts about what you could’ve done to prevent all of it, what Tom could have done instead of pulling the trigger so quickly and if there was any chance- any possible way you could go back in time and fix everything. They were insane thoughts that pestered you much like the birds at six am.

You remembered the side of the bathroom stall cold against your back, Tom’s hand somehow even colder over your mouth as you struggled to get air into your lungs. There was the feeling of being trapped and absolute panic and vulnerability as the door to the room was shoved open- what was up with Tom and others breaking into the ladies room?

“Mama?”

You look up suddenly, eyes no longer cast down at the kitchen bench and desperately needed a wipe.

“Yeah- shit, yeah I’m here.” You mutter, looking down. You’re almost lucky that none of the shards had pierced your skin and crouch down to pick it up.

Rosie tries to look over but fails, pouting slightly when she realizes that it was one of her favourite bowls besides the barbie one but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sneezes gently, strands of hair falling over her face. She’d much rather make a remark about the curse word but once again, doesn’t.

She jumps off of the stool, landing with a small ‘Omph’, groaning when the ground shock leaves her feet aching for a solid moment but doesn't complain- she’s tough, always has been. “I’m going to get myself dressed today!”

The words are muttered as she yells across the table, already on her next mission as she pads down the hallway to her room but you only nod, picking up glass shards with shaky hands.

What were you doing? Did you want this? What if he was more dangerous then before and got your daughter into trouble-

It was hard to explain exactly what you were feeling- surely there wasn’t any concoction of words that could describe it. The only word that came to mind was anxiety and even that didn’t explain the extent.

-

Rosie stuck her clothed thumb between her teeth and sucked gently, ignoring the small ache in the back of her throat that made her want to cry- as well as her nose that was sore and itchy from blowing it on tissue paper all morning. Also, she had to ignore the fact that the fluffy gloves she wore made it much more uncomfortable but her mom had demanded that she leave them on.

She shivers when a gust of wind brushes past her, despite the fact that her mommy had dressed her up in her warmest pair of pants, at least three layers of shirts including a thermal and woollen jumper that made her look like sheep and a pink beanie with a flower on the front. She hadn’t agreed to the woollen jumper and pants that were an ugly shade of blue but it was better then going to grandads.

The girl loved the cold weather for some reason, but not when she was sick. There was something so special about jumping in puddles and getting mud everywhere. She loved covering her purple and blue gumboots in mud and searching through the icky water for worms-  but her mommy didn’t think it was so fun- not when she was the one that had to clean the soggy clothing.

Rosie sticks a foot into one of the puddles, her little black bootie turning an even darker shade of black and she giggles, looking at her reflection in the puddle. Rosie didn’t like her curls very much so she liked that the beanie pushed them down, flattened out the frizz.

“Roo, what’re you doing?” You ask, sighing in relief when you find your daughter a little closer to the restaurant then you’d asked her to wander whilst collecting your things from the car.

“Puddle.” She cheers, reaching down to smack the water but you grab her hand before she can. The small girl squeals when she finds herself in your arms instead of ground level, seeing as she was only seconds away from touching the dirty rainwater.

“Not with the gloves on, missy!” You tell her. Rosie nods down at her clothed hands, grey gloves covering her bandaged hands.

“Next time,” She whispers under her breath, rosy red cheeks as she brings a gloved hand to her face and tries to rub her eyes but it merely fails. The girl rests her head on your shoulder, tired eyes fluttering shut as you cross the road.

You found that since having a child, mundane tasks like this become simply more stressful. Cars that only came from two ways were considered ten times more dangerous and you refused to cross until there was a gap that allowed a safe crossing- especially with her in your arms as she was.

You get to the other side and put the girl down, getting down to eye level to straighten out her coat and take off the beanie that sat on her head. Rosie reaches for it immediately and you pull it away

“It’s rude to wear hats inside,” You remind her, fixing her hair that stuck to the side of her face. “Right, remember what I told you.”

Rosie nods. “Be good. Make talk and be nice.” She seemed proud of herself and sends you a crooked smile. “He might be ner-scared.”

You were unsure how Tom was feeling right now but if you were him you’d be shaking, hands clammy and mouth dry. You were still stuck on whether or not this was the best thing to do, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. You were trapped in a familiar haze.

“Think you can do that?” You ask.

Rosie nods her head once more, seeming sure of herself.

Maybe the small talk with your daughter was a way of trying to calm your nerves and a  seemingly successful one at that, but as you get down on one knee and look at her eye to eye you find yourself feeling nauseous to the point where you swear for a single second that bile was resting in the back of your throat.

Sometimes something can happen that's so bad, so goddamn horrible that it feels like nothing good can come out of it and in no way can things get better, because they simply can’t, right? You want to lock yourself in a room and bury yourself under layers of blankets until you can’t be seen. That feeling in the pit of your stomach keeps growing until you’re stuck in a cycle of feeling bad, dwelling on events that are most definitely dwell worthy but things keep getting worse until bang- the girl in front of you struggling to stand straight and trying to keep the cheeky smile off of her face was the result of a selection of bad events. She was proof of pushing through. Literally? Figuratively?

Not all were bad. Meeting Tom and falling in love wasn’t bad until it was.

It was good when it was the two of you laying in bed on a week day, you trying to convince him to stay in for a little longer as he muttered something about meetings. It was good when he’d pull you into his lap after a tough day and run a hand through your hair, playing with strands and ranting on about his day. And it was good when he’d try his very best to make a meal himself. Despite the burnt potatoes and over seasoned vegetables the boy could actually cook.

And it was good when Rosie was placed in your arms after a seven-hour labor, little cries piercing yours and the nurse's ears but no one said anything as warm, salty tears slid down your cheeks. She had already been wrapped in a little, pink blanket, small head poking out the top but you already knew that she was precious- you came to that sudden conclusion the moment you saw the very first ultrasound picture.

But when it was bad, it was bad. It was gunshots and screams ringing through your eyes. It was broken hearts and tears for all the wrong reasons. The bad never came directly from Tom who despite his exterior, had a heart of gold that had beat for you day after day. The bad came from those that were hungry for vengeance and vengeance they got when they put a bullet through the skull of a good man.

For five years the topic of Rosie’s dad never came up. Not even as she lay in your arms as an infant- you didn’t bring him up. It was an awful case of being in denial about the entire situation.

“I love you.” You tell her without really having to think about it. One of your hands come up to take hers, the wooly glove warm against your own hand as you stand up from your crouched position.

“You told me that before.” She giggles, voice slightly stuffy thanks to the cold.

“Did I?” You look down once more, a cheeky smile masking the nerves threatening to spill as you grip the door, tugging it open and allowing your girl to walk in first, her hand still in yours. “Princess Roo.”

Remember that updates are partially dependant on your response (as well as my love for writing these) ♡

Pt.6

Tags: @draqcnheartstrinq @hollanderheart  @peters-vlogs @no-aaaahhhh @underoosie @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @kaciidubs @spidey-pal @call-me-wisegirl @khai-day-the-13th @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic  @panicatttckiss @marriedtopeterparker @stormyparker @mysticsthinking @elyshugh @spider-mendes @girl-in-the-chair @sort-of-pretty-in-pink @bloom003-blog @nextkaratekid @saracastickid @prof-scribbles @holyrose96 @riverdalemami @strangerthantheflash @sams-hollands @tiau-man @tiny-friggin-human @thollandtrash @amidblogger @tiau-man @zseonlydavinci @therealme13posts @zseonlydavinci @httpmcrvel @acciorinn @shakespeare-and-shenanigans @satellitesweetpea @maddie-leighhh @spideymanss @stephie-senpai @sherizaraiyah @tomsh0lland @spidey-pal @casualprincess77 @starlightfound @fandom-feathers @spidergirlwanab @smileyhollander @notthepersonyouwerelookingfor @tomhollandsworld @necromancer-inwell @doloreatroce @hottrashformarvel @fragcc @woosh-pear @spider-mendes @softhollandhoe @ill-be-your-temporary-fix @thegirlwiththestories @elyshugh @stilinski-parker @misscookie-monster16 @amidblogger @lovelynerdytraveler @tmrhollandkay @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @thedoctor-and-her-fallenangles @peachesnmei  @ocaptainmycaptainrogers @fuckmerunningtomholland @chingonaconcha @johannaapagan @tomhollandsmouthfr0g @cielofiorito @crazy-bout-books @my-peter-parker @thehollandfam @its-peter-fucking-parker @lostnliterature @sarcasticsara04 @a-bit-of-contained-galaxies @why-am-i-here-again-shitheads @micki-smiles @unreasonablyexcited @kasylikescookies @tomsspideysense @spideyhoecoming @crescentstarknight @its-obrosey-bitch @marvelspidey-tomholland @madnessmads30 @slickerbeans @sholla4-314 @littlemarvelqueen @ashesandfire @deleteidentity @wildefire @penisparkernmj @wastedheartnat @holland-homecoming @oraage @potato-galaxy @oliveheckingflounder @obsessed-fandoms @rumoured-whispers @tomblrholland @abbytheninja @petersunderroos @huggingholland @trashqueenbitch @theamuz @min0100 @inspiredbynewt @downeytownn @webslingerholland @lovisoverrated @6years-7days @abbytheninja @taybugstuff @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @tomshufflepuff

BAK: @aussie-mantle @highladyjel @revivalbenito @spider-mendes @iris1697 @theamuz @zseonlydavinci @bridiereads @sophie2003003 @parkeret @baby-baker @marvelgladers @dreamsofbeingsomeoneelse @sighaislin @marvel-zip @oreosrockover18 @whystopkeepon@barnsism @trashqueenbitch @gab-spidey @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @peterparkerdeservesbetter @ambrosmar @calmdownyall @xxxxdelenaxxxx @deadlyaffairs @stop-wonder-think @butcanyoujustimagine @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic @highladyjel @study-at-the-disco @r-i-d-g-e-s @giuliavxox @dreams-in-different-colours @spideynblackcat  @vividcelestia @okayypotato @unknxwn-intrxvert @highkeymood @tra2embrel shqueenbitch @imahuricane @thefanbasewhore @lyssilinn @thebittygirl @spn-worm @theamuz @hollandsmuse @theromanmockingbird @revivalbenito @asfaraslifegets @avahodge @eternallovers65 @rosecoloredshawn @spoofagoofonyou @soldmysoultofandomshelp @wintersoldierbaby @lizzie-143 @laucontrerasv @heavydartysoul @noakantor14 @themegatron1999 @galcxykisscd @majestichoechlin @yellow--inlove  @fragcc @chasingsuperheroes @petersunderroos @letrashailen @eclecticbooktaster @hiccups-are-better @bubbles1642  @lydiasobrien @qtest-trash @carrotsunshine @ccold-as-ice @friedwhisperstheorist @moopai @naria-hime @dafnouche @ellebella1238 @ashram12 @jasxn-txdd-8-14 @laucontrerasv @lovee-roaslie @anytimebitches  @teenage-book-lover @moopai @bored-green @curlshawnholland @tryn25 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @lowkeyspideyyy @fandomnerdsarecool  @fvckjamesbarnes @taylorjrs13 @cthoodaf @modern-day-citrus-cowboy @hellodarknessmysweetfriend  @hailhydrabarnes @overdramatic-teen @spideyboiiiiiiii @baileyxrudesalx @briefzipperapricotbagel @parker-underoos @officialchainreaction @aubreylovesthegames @shipitliketheussenterprise @your-1up-girl @peterparkerstolemyheart @dej-okay @0hanx @all-my-friends-are-german @captain-loki-xavier @teenwolfsdream @hazydespair @rosecoloredyelyah @shipitliketheussenterprise @death-gives-free-hugs @justanotherfangurlz @paigeypooo @rose4958 @tommyswolves @spideyboiiiiiiii @idkanymore-lol @space-starz @its-justmaya @fuckmerunningtomholland @shoytai @accio-chosen-one @beccababy2003 @thomaslefteyebrow @softhollandhoe @so-many-freaking-ships @triedstudent @roses-hxlland @fortheloveofdougnuts @penguinsparker @minishala @dej-okay @thestoriofmylife @maakeme-up @ofmusicandbooks @angiegami @aylone @fangirly27 @ginapeanutbutterbean @softpetcrparker @loveablesocio @kneelbitches-ftloki @cutehollands @whymarvelwhyy @spcesebstn @danieeeeeeereyy @livingincompletesilence @whovian1077 @austins-baby-girl1233 @wirth-jackshit @verypolicecollector-843ec253 @milkywayheartcupcake @simple-slytherin-artist @yikies15 @littleladdty @truthfulchange @laucontrerasv @stuck-in-wonderland @tswiftownsme @antaraxy @live-in-the-now10 @yikies15 @theholyholland @obsessed-fandoms @1life-4hope @delusionsofnostalgia @minipeach101 @shilohrudd98 @sterolinelover13 @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @lorewin @castellandiangelo @the-crime-fighting-spider @justagirlwho-believes13 @therealwatermelon @wrandi55 @hither-to-undreamt-of @emaywhyayy @magical-fandoms @stuckonswan @etudaire @magical-fandoms @emi-holland28 @unreasonablyexcited  @thumper-darling @lill-ana  @mmeyers915 @maddieisdreaming @avengersgirllorianna @natasha-hoemanoff @take-a-look-the-invisible-girl @teamfreewillatefobatthedisco @xgreenpandax @gladerofcabin4  @loveyourmockingbird @rinnysblog @thenameisdani @capamericaevans @xoxohollands @emily-antognoli @redickystuff @yagirlspiderman @canyounotkaia @xstarbae @fvck-this-shiit @drxgnel @iamanhotcheeto @jcy-jcyyy @calumhood0824 @izzy206-2001 @superimpossiblecollectordaze @x-parker-holland-x @sydsimss @sp00der-m00n @sci-fibitch @kneelbitches-ftloki @untainted-memories @obsessed-fandoms @burn-brighter-than-fire @louis-tomlinson-is-fucking-hot @brookesamford @errorloadinghappiness  @titankilling-longtermbootycall @kayaaaa @always-late-worth-the-wait @starsandjimin @drxgnel @penisparkernmj @dunbarxmendes @themollyfritz @tomsfireheart @lavavampin @spoookygirl666 @lill-ana @webslingerholland @toeholland @queenophelia @so-many-freaking-ships @a-bit-of-contained-galaxies @spookyskeletonsposts @itsjusttrash23 @rougedemigods @spiderdudeparker @soda610 @missybroox @cam-piper1998 @theactualscarletwitch @aesthetic-fan-96 @sophie-rebecca17 @angelfiregaming @aintnoladyjustgrizzly @tom-parkers-girl @queen-rcm @xxqueenofdemonsxx @playbillsss @extra-terrestrial-et @ghosthiam @i-the-fangirl @peacefulpeonies @spacedoutsher @adi-elese @wastedheartnat @spideyboiiiiiiii @theofficialhufflepuff @peterismyspideybaby @exorcismes @southsiderepresent @talk-geek-to-me @catlover092402152 @phandicktrash-1 @fnosidam @starlightfound @loser-marsh @hollandxlans @live-4-happiness @annascorpia @xxqueenofdemonsxx @litospants @phandicktrash-1 @lolpeterparker @yourwonderbelle @socially-collapsed @deleteidentity @hollandahlia @elizabethrheeder @justalittletumbleweed @wastedheartnat @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @rumoured-whispers @dej-okay @loverholland

[r-ahh-mi]

#6?? If you’re still doing those ofc

SORRY this took so long, but here it isss. This is written in Freddie’s POV and is set in a period where he is not in a relationship with anyone. I kind of don’t like this, but, I also do lol so here ya go! Hope you enjoy xx

6). “I need a place to stay.”

________________________________________

Freddie:

Don’t get me wrong, I felt loved and I wasn’t in any sort of self destructive mood, nor had I ever been..unless you count the obscene amount of vodka I just ingested, but that’s besides the point.

It had to be the dreadful London weather that was putting me so off; yes, that’s got to be it because there was no need for my feelings to be this intense, in fact this could be the most extreme loneliness I had encountered yet. Everyone was moving on as they should; obtaining wives and children and becoming more indulged with their families, music taking a near by, but still, back seat, which was only natural, i know this darling, but you see I couldn’t understand where they were coming form.

Mary was married, Brian and Roger all had children, or if you were John, you’d be married with multiple children by now. Me, I had myself and all the ‘others’ I strung along for when I found them of use. Yes, i’m sure that sounds harsh, but it’s genuine; they were there for my pleasure whether that be friendship, sexual purposes, or just to fill an empty room with conversation, I always came with back up.

However, today was much different. Despite my dearest efforts, no one was available to fill this questionable void that my mind was so craving at this very moment and I was left with me, my thoughts, and my now empty glass of clear liquid gold. I hated it. I didn’t like silence at all, in fact, I thrived in the most rambunctious of scenarios and environments, which i’m sure you very well know, but did you know that I enjoy my quiet? God I love my fucking quiet when I have some one to share it with - does that make sense?

If it were me and you in a room, no words, I’d be comfortable, but this bloody quiet all to my lonesome was eating me away and making me think; god forbid did I need to do anything but think right now when I felt so alone.

There was one more person whom I knew I could pick up the phone and ring, but surely he was busy. Surely he was in that club again, where i’d first laid eyes on him, or maybe he was with that boyfriend he claimed he had; to me it seemed like the perfect excuse to evacuate the cheeky conversation I had started up with him, but, to each his own I suppose.

Thankfully, someone at the club seemed to be familiar with this gentlemen, resulting in me getting his contact information and meeting up with him on several more occasions. Might I add, a boyfriend was absolutely never spoken about when these, ahem, meetings, we had, occurred.

Bloody hell Fred, just scramble on over to the phone already and be clingy. You know you want to.

The subconscious never seems to hold back what so ever, isn’t that quite entertaining? Guess i’ll have to keep them around because it was the push I needed because indeed I wanted to be clingy as long as I could have him to cling on to just for an evening.

I picked up the, now crumbled up and stained, piece of paper with the ten digits scribbled sloppily upon it and moved my fingers in a circular motion against my, to die for, antique telephone.

The damn thing surely was broke because the ringing and, seemingly, endless ringing kept going on and on before I nearly slammed the thing down onto its receiver, that is until a husky Irish accent greeted me cheerfully.

“Hello?”

“Jim.”

The man chuckled for a second before sighing, not a dreaded sigh, but more of a contented sigh; I found that reassuring.

“What can I do for your Fred?”, those Irish tones danced into my ears and I could feel my cheeks warm up. Being a hopeless romantic can be absurd, but someone has to do it, or rather, be it.

“I need a place to stay.”

This time, Jim let out an even louder chuckle, sending a large grin to my, not so normal, teeth as I quickly fought to cover them with my lips, even though I was the only one in my presence, at least for now I was.

“That giant mansion you live in would say otherwise, i’m sure.”

He wasn’t wrong, I didn’t need somewhere to stay, but i’d rather be in someone elses safe space, whether that be a home, a bar, a studio; somewhere that meant something to someone, other than my home that was filled with equally good and sad times.

“I understand it sounds crazy darling, but…”, I trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No Delilah is sleeping and far, far away from my tongue, thank you!”, this time we both indulged in a round of laughter with one another.

“You are always welcome around mine, you know that Fred.”

I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me, but my body was naturally responding for me at this point as I twirled the phone chord around my pointer finger.

“So, I can come over then?”, I spoke quietly.

“Of course Fred, whatever you need.”

[thetakenpokemon]

Interlude II - The Truth is ‘Out’

[PoV: Delilah]

When Maria brings down the surrounding barrier, I still couldn’t help but stay rooted in place. I mean, can you even blame me? I just watched a fight that I never expected to be so...intense?

No, that’s not the word.

Powerful.

And from what I can see, everyone else is feeling the same way. However unlike everyone else, I’m the one that ends up speaking first.

“Holy shit.” I state more than say.

This suddenly gets people talking, loud cheers and surprised shouts fill the air as everyone fully grasps the situation. Near me I hear Samantha start arguing with a smug Gustav. But I don’t really care about the surrounding people as of right now, what I DO care about...is Bladesong.

I start pushing people aside, quickly making my way through the crowd before finally breaking the ‘ring’ around the cyborg and Deoxys.

“That...was amazing!” I exclaim loudly, a smile finally working its way onto my face. “I never realized you could do all that, Bladesong!”

Said cyborg looks at me, her expression becoming surprisingly sheepish. “Well...” She says uncertainly, caught off-guard from the compliment. “I...never quite realized it myself, to be honest.”

“There’s a particular saying that is sometimes quoted where I’m from, and that is ‘knowledge is power’.” Chimera comments, making me flinch upon being reminded that he’s here. “However for this situation? The knowledge of power is the truest form of power.”

I knew what I was getting into when I walked up to Bladesong when Chimera is right next to her, but...I’m still on edge.

...

No, I...can’t live like this. My ties with the GoT are already done for, I...might as well as tell Chimera in-person. It’s...the right thing to do.

I clench my hands together and turn to the Deoxys, my jaw setting. He’s looking straight at me coolly, his eyes narrowed slightly.

“I know you have something to say to me, Delilah.” He says, making my breath catch in my throat.

Bladesong looks at me, and then at Chimera. She crosses her arms and furrows her brows, an unimpressed look forming on her face. “Chimera, enough of this.” She says with annoyance. “If you’re not going to tell her, I will.”

...Huh?

The Deoxys shrugs his shoulders. “Fine fine, I’ll tell her.” He turns away and walks over to his robes, which is laying on one of the few untouched spots on the ground. Upon picking it up he proceeds to put it on. “I am well aware that you’ve been visiting Bladesong, Delilah.” He tells me.

I feel my body lock into place, my blood freezing to a halt. “W-What?” I manage to say through stuttering lips.

With his robes on properly he pulls up his hood. “I don’t think there’s a need for me to repeat myself.” He look at me, his eyes showing no source of anger.  “And isn’t a need to tip-toe around me either.”

I...still can’t fully wrap my head around this, he knew??

“H-How?” I manage to ask.

At this point he’s smirking, I fully bet he’s smirking with the way his eyes narrow. “I’ve been given an anonymous tip.”

Bladesong rolls her eyes at this, but says nothing.

At this point I should be shaking in my boots, and in a way...I kinda am. But one thing is still making me very confused, and it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem angry...at all...

“Am...I in trouble?” I finally ask the dreaded question, my body visibly shrinking away because in all honesty... I’m not sure if I even want to know the answer.

Chimera crosses his arms and...shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

My legs feel very weak all of a sudden, so weak to the point where I’m forced to sit down on the ground. I feel faint, faint with...relief.

“Even though you did go behind my back, overall your visits have been very good for Bladesong.” He continues, in which said cyborg nods her head with a smile. “In fact, because of you she chose to join the Guardians of Twilight. So with all of that, I actually have you to thank.”

Is...this really happening?

I’m not gonna get kicked out of the GoT?

I’m not gonna lose my job, I’m still gonna have a source of income as well as a place to stay??

I feel something wet on my cheeks, and upon touching them I realize that I’m crying again.

“Did...I say something wrong?” Chimera asks Bladesong, looking at me with concern.

The Gothitelle shakes her head. “No, you said the right thing.” She kneels down next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, you’re gonna be okay.”

You know what? I don’t care that I’m crying. I don’t care that I’m doing this in front of so many people.

I’m not in trouble, I’m not gonna lose anything. I’m still gonna be a member of the GoT.

I’m happy as-

...

My eyes widen as I suddenly realize something, and all of my happiness left me in an instead.

I told Euterpe that Ren’Gul had a thing for her...right in front of Ren’Gul.

“Oh my Arceus...” I whisper. “I really am gonna die.”

At this point, Bladesong and Chimera share a look of confusion.