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k-daydreams · 1 year

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The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: III. Bratty Behavior

Pairing: fem!reader x azriel, platonic!innercircle

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, trauma, reader being shitty, slow slow burn, mor and Cassian being readers moral sanity, filler chapter, grammatical errors lmao

Authors note: hellooo! So this is kinda a filler since what I was writing for this part was so long. Next part will really be juicy I promise! Thank you guys for so much love on the last part, I hope y’all will like this! Not a lot of Az has been in this part, mainly talking about him in 3rd person, but I promise hold on hope y’all get him in action in the next!! Lmk what you guys think

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

"Rhysand isn't impressed with Azriel," Mor declared, her knife slicing through a piece of meat. "To be honest, Y/n, I could genuinely throttle him." She took a bite of her food before continuing.

It was your first night back in Velaris, and the inner circle, along with the company, was aware of what had happened between Azriel and you. Well, at least what Cassian, Nesta, and Elain had witnessed. Rhys and Feyre hadn't approached you about it yet; Mor mentioned they wanted to spare you any further distress for the time being. Typically when one of the inner circle members had returned home from something, Rhys would have organized a celebratory family dinner, but he had decided against it for now. Instead, you and Mor dined alone in the House of Wind tonight.

Nonchalantly, you shrugged and took a sip from your wine glass. "Just another tantrum from that Illyrian man-child. Nothing new, really." You tried to sound relaxed, not wanting your friends and family to worry about you or the argument. You didn't want Azriel to know his words had cut you deeply or give him any satisfaction. You had already shown him just how much they had affected you. The impact was tangible—you had been restless, tossing and turning in bed for the past few nights, with no appetite to eat. Your homecoming was supposed to mark the beginning of your healing journey, yet here you were, starving and sleep-deprived due to the nonsense uttered by a man who thought he knew you.

Mor nodded knowingly, her napkin dabbing at her lips. "He had no right to speak to you like that," she said, her voice firm. "He knows that, no matter what, you're family. That's why we came back for you when Helion sent word. He knows we would do the same for any member of our family and to disregard you so quickly like that."

Disheartened, you let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mor. I knew we ended things on a sour note, but it's been nearly 60 years since then. I thought he would have moved on."

Her food momentarily forgotten, Mor nearly choked when you made that statement. "Please tell me you didn't just say that," she responded incredulously.

What do you mean?"

She stared at you intensely, her eyes burning into your soul as you went blank. "Seriously?" Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "I've seen you hold grudges for centuries, and yet you expect him to forgive you for an argument that happened over half a century ago?"

Both of you fell silent, studying each other across the table. Mor's loyalty to Azriel, despite never reciprocating his feelings, was unwavering—just as yours had been in the past. At times, it made you question if her feelings for him were truly nonexistent, like now. A queasiness churned in your stomach, and your head throbbed with a dull ache. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach hadn't been the best idea, especially when thoughts of Mor and Azriel intertwined.

You cleared your throat, a newfound coldness lacing your tone as you spoke up. "Every grudge I've held has been a result of something more severe than an argument," you stated, fidgeting with the table linen. "An argument, mind you, that happened because he didn't want me to follow Rhys."

Mor retorted sharply, "Look where that got you." Your heart started pounding, your ears heating. Your gaze dropped in her direction, and a familiar flame ignited within you. "What he did was fucked up, but Y/n, you can be a stubborn brat." You opened your mouth to object, but she raised a hand to stop you. "I'm not trying to be rude. I say this because I care about you. But it's time to own up to your mistakes. Only then, maybe, just maybe, you can find peace again."

Mor's tough love never felt good, but you knew it always came from a place of good intentions. Angry and devastated, you found it hard to accept hearing all that. Sure, you could be opinionated and stubborn at times, but reducing yourself to a brat felt unjust.

Draining your wine, you replied, "I had hoped for a civil conversation with him whenever we did talk." Mor looked skeptical, likely not fully believing you. You did have a record for the last century or so with picking arguments, you blamed being around Mor and Amren so much, and maybe a lot of repressed feelings.

Despite her irritation with you, Mor reached out and took your hand in hers, comforting you with gentle circles on the back of it, like a mother would. "When it comes to you, it seems his shadows turn to flames."

There was so much you wanted to say, but you remained silent, allowing her words to echo in your mind. You couldn't quite grasp their cryptic meaning, but you didn’t want to indulge in the topic too much longer. Mor let go of your hand, standing up. "Feel like grabbing a drink at Rita's?" she asked, her tone changing, a small smirk forming. A way to nurse your wounds.

Shaking your head, you replied, "Not tonight. I need to rest. Traveling today drained me. But thank you." You offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Sweet dreams, little star," Mor said, patting your head before walking away.

The once-dull headache now throbbed prominently in your forehead, and you cradled your head in discomfort. Mor’s conversation seemed to reflect the same argument you had a few days prior with Azriel. Though not filled with as malicious intent as his did, it still left you feeling just as scorned. The house cleared the table immaculately as you stood to make your way to your room.

The hallways were quiet and deserted, illuminated by the dim twinkle of faelights illuminating the red stone of the walls. Each light flickered slightly in your presence before dimming again, but you were too weary to care about such peculiarities of your powers. The House of Wind sprawled endlessly, a labyrinth of doors and spiraling stairs within the mountainside. A few new paintings and plants adorned the halls, likely additions from the High Lady and her sister, but it all remained as you remembered.

When you enter your room, a plate with an assortment of delectable cheese and crackers, accompanied by a tall, refreshing glass of water. Along with a small container of headache powder sat patiently on your bedside table. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you witnessed the house meticulously pulling back your sheets, reminiscent of the way it used to prepare your bed during your childhood days. Gently placing your night clothes at the foot of the bed, a smile of gratitude graced your face, silently expressing your appreciation to the house. It seemed that Rhys had been right about something you thought once you were in bed getting pulled into a restless sleep.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You trudged begrudgingly through the halls of the endless mansion. Feyre had roused you from slumber earlier that morning, informing you of a meeting with the inner circle in an hour. Though you harbored little desire to attend, it was the first order by your new High Lady, making it a matter of importance. You hated how far your room was from the war room. Wishing you had wings, even better, you wished you had a room closer to one of the rooms you frequented the most. Finally almost out of breath, you made it to the entrance. You stalked into the room, you found Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Azriel, and Mor already settled in their seats.

"Tsk, tsk, fashionably late to your first meeting?" Cassian playfully jabbed at you. Walking past him, you discreetly flicked the back of his head, eliciting a muttered "brat" as he dramatically nursed the imaginary injury.

Your steps faltered for a moment, as that word—brat—pricked at your annoyance. Not letting it fester too much, you take a seat between Mor and Lucien. Sitting across from Cassian and Amren, with Azriel positioned diagonally next to his brother, you could feel his intense gaze fixed upon you. Determined not to shudder or shift under his scrutiny, you resolved not to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Deep down, however, you couldn't deny the lingering care you held for him, or the way his presence had consumed your thoughts over the past week like a plague.

"I don't see Feyre and Rhysand, so technically I'm not late," you declared, a smug tone coloring your words.

"Actually, they had other matters to attend to," Amren replied indifferently. It had been less than an hour since you last saw Feyre, leaving you puzzled as to what could have transpired in such a short span of time. Cassian nudged your foot under the table, a silent reminder of his earlier warning. Narrowing your eyes, you retaliated by kicking his shin, relishing in his sharp intake of breath as he winced. "Relax, Y/n!" he exclaimed, while you concealed your smirk, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms.

"Must you be so childish?" Azriel's voice snapped at you, catching you off guard.

Cassian stared at his brother in shock, attempting to defend your actions. “Brother I had started it-“

Beside him, the spymaster exhaled, regaining his composure. "I don't care who started it; I want to get through this as quickly as possible.” he requested, his tone cold.

"Yes, please," you muttered under your breath. The shadowsinger shot you a look.

Though you sensed he had more to say, Amren began speaking before another argument could erupt, cutting straight to the point. "We haven't visited the Court of Nightmares in quite some time. It's about time we made an appearance; I'm sure they're on the brink of chaos by now."

Mor sucked in her teeth, and you could hear Lucien gulp audibly, clearly apprehensive at the thought. You bit your lip anxiously.

"I won't be able to attend. Rhysand, specifically Feyre, has requested that you, Y/n, take the reins tonight," Amren announced, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of missing out on the formal affair. Uncertainty flickered across the faces of those from the inner circle, unsure of how you would receive the order, except for Azriel, whose expression remained inscrutable.

You fidgeted with your fingers, picking at the hangnails. Before Amarantha, you had taken pleasure in Rhys entrusting you with these meetings, where you handled official business between the Court of Dreams and Nightmares. It had been empowering to witness your family obeying your orders, having spent so long following theirs, only to be shunned upon your return in the aftermath of one of the darkest days of your life. Your parents were ready to condemn you for treason when they first laid eyes on you. That’s when Rhys had appointed you as an emissary. Primarily since you had spent the most time in the court knowing the ins and outs, and as a sick punishment for your family.

Now, anxiety gripped you as memories you had desperately tried to suppress from your childhood. Those memories now attached with the new ones you sought to repress from your encounter with Amarantha. It became increasingly difficult to focus on Amren's words as your gaze wandered blankly through the expansive window behind her, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

"Azriel will be right beside you for protection throughout the night, Cassian will accompany Mor, with Lucien joining them," Amren continued, a hint of wariness in her words.

"Why-why can't Cass be by my side?" you stammered. "He's a general for a reason." You had an inkling to why Azriel had always been at your side when you’d be in charge of this responsibility, but you also wanted him nowhere near you. Didn’t anyone else think that him and you together was an awful idea at the moment?

"Because Azriel has a more intimidating effect on your family," Amren replied, looking knowingly at him. Azriel remained stoic, mirroring your own defensive posture—scarred muscular arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, stil as a statue. "As I said, it's been some time since we made an appearance. Who knows what they might do? We can't risk any harm coming to the Princess on her first days back at court," she added mockingly. Rolling your eyes, you fought the urge to offer her a vulgar gesture. For that remark alone, she could certainly go to hell.

"Cassian will come to fetch you later, so you can all gather at the townhouse and winnow together," Amren concluded nonchalantly. "Now, I need to speak with Mor and Cassian privately. You three are dismissed; I'm sure Azriel and Y/n are just itching to throw themselves off the dining room veranda by now." She said to you, Lucien, and Azriel. She was right about one thing, you thought to yourself, your chair scraping against the floor as you stood, eager to escape the war room as quickly as possible.

You closed the door to your room, and fell into your bed screaming into the mattress. You were frustrated, overwhelmed, and exhausted from lack of sleep. A small commotion on your nightstand made you jump, looking up, a medium box now laid on the stand. An envelope attached to a deep purple ribbon wrapped around the gift. You sat up, and grabbed it, opening the paper.

‘Give them hell tonight, you've earned it little star. -R&F’

Inside the box was a diadem of silver, stars of different shapes hung all adorning the chain encrusted in emeralds, diamonds of different hues, and sapphires for you to wear tonight. You sighed, a new feeling slithering through your veins. Maybe this was Rhysand’s way of giving you therapy. You all played a game and made a show down in the court of nightmares that the inner circle all got a kick out of at one point or another. Maybe playing the act was what you needed? You had let your mental shield down, letting your thoughts empty to nothing, hoping Rhys would be paying attention.

You planned this intentionally? You thought once your mind was blank.

Me? What would make you think so? Rhys purred in your mind.

You rolled your eyes. Mhm, you two just had to conveniently leave all of a sudden?

That’s a matter for tomorrow, just try not to torture someone to death tonight, especially not our spymaster. He taunted.

Your spymaster, no promises. You clarified.

Have fun, little star. You could feel him poking at your mind to signal he was no longer there.

You threw your shield up, and laid back on your bed. Tonight was going to be interesting.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You fixed your lip shine in the mirror, finishing the final touches to your look before a rhythmic knock on your ajar door sounded.

“You ready?” Cassian peaked before walking into the room.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He let out a low whistle as he examined you. “Your family’s not gonna like that.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” You smirked despite a brief heat rising to your cheeks.

The gown you chose was something you had saved for a trip specifically for the court of nightmares before you had been trapped under the mountain. The bodice had long sleeves and was skin tight, black crystal branches wrapping up your arms, and up your waist with thicker branches covering your chest. The skirt billowed with several layers of gossamer, much like the gown you wore in the day court just several days prior, but had slits dangerously high risking a reveal of your hip bones unlike the other gown. You wore the highest heels you had in your closet that were sure to make you grumpy just by standing in them for more than a couple minutes— exactly why you chose them. Then the diadem that Rhys and Feyre gifted you graced the top of your head and shimmered in the faelight of your room that flickered in your wake, when you felt the satisfaction from Cass’s comment.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “I don’t think I even like that.” Then he noticed the slits in the fabric. Rubbing a hand over his face in disbelief. “Mother of the cauldron Y/n, are you even wearing anything under that dress?” He made a face which made you laugh out loud.

“Pig, no need to worry about that!” You slapped his arm lightly before looping yours through it.

“You’re right I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. Cassian was always your comedic relief from your worries, and you were thankful that hadn’t changed. “Could you let Nesta borrow it?” He suggested cheekily.

You groaned disgustedly, “then I would have to burn it afterwards.”

“Good, I don’t want to see you in this gown again after tonight.”

“You’re not my father.” You teased as you two walked out to the balcony.

“Yeah but in my head you’ll always be like my little sister, no matter how much of a brat you are.” He nudged you.

“I hate that word,” you admitted, preparing yourself for flight.

He picked you up bridal style as if you weighed nothing in his arms. You adjusted the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up mid flight. “You know it’s true.” He said, his wings rustling, preparing himself.

You gave him a pointed look, “I’m considering it’s true.” Providing a pinch to his bicep. Without warning he took off into the night sky of Velaris, teasingly loosening his grip on you like he was going to drop you.

“If you keep hurting me, I’ll have to sic my mate on you.” A mischievous glint in his eyes.

“She probably knows you deserve it.” You watched the city below light up under the starry sky.

“Touché,” he smiled. He looked in thought as a silence fell over you two letting you admire Velaris below. You hadn’t had a chance to explore the city since your return, today would’ve been the day if it weren’t for the meeting in the court of nightmares. You could see the rainbow quarters perfectly from above and hear the music in the distance. The stars and moon were close to you as well, the music and being so close the light brought solace to any nerves you may have had. It prickled softly at your skin, seeping into your skin.

“I could guess one person who’ll be excited to see you.” Cassian broke the momentary silence.

“Don’t say his name,” you begged, seeing the angle he was trying to pull.

“Who, Azriel?” He grinned broadly.

“My peace is ruined,” you deadpanned, him chuckling at your disdain.

“Don’t let him being an asshole deter you. He’s been all bent out of shape since your absence. I think he’s just hurt deep down, and those little shadows that are always in his ear when you're around doesn’t help.”

You listened to Cassian ramble, confusion filling you. “You haven’t heard everything he's said to me.”

He relaxed a bit, soaring lower, the familiar townhouse now in your view. “I haven’t heard everything you've said to him either, and I don’t think it’s my business or my right to say anything on the matter given my record. Sometimes you say shit in the heat of the moment, sometimes you say shit to hide what’s actually going on underneath it all. One thing I know whenever it comes to you he’s always all up in arms. Not even Elain can do that to him. I didn’t even see him like that with Mor besides that one time.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, getting ready to land. You gripped his neck tighter, bracing yourself.

“When you’re not annoying, you’re actually wise y’know that?” You were in awe at his words. You weren’t sure how true his interpretation was, but for now it brought you slight comfort and ease about the Azriel situation. He landed with his wings slightly fluttering about, shaking off the wind of the night. He gently set you down, and you tried adjusting yourself now that you were standing. You went to fix the diadem, but Cass pushed your hand away lightly, doing it for you.

“I would hope so, year 600 is creeping up on me fast.”

You laughed softly, “you're about to be an old man.”

“Yeah let’s not talk about that, we’re talking about you remember?” He fixed a loose piece of hair that was out of place. “Try not to let him get to you too much tonight or at least channel it into you being all scary and brooding. I’ve missed you in court, it hasn't been the same.”

“Thank you Cass, and I’m sorry for not visiting.” You said sincerely.

Pulling you into his arms for an embrace, he sighed. “I figured you needed space. There’s nothing wrong with that. Rhys went to the cabin after he came out from under there. You just went to the day court for almost a decade long sabbatical.” He shrugged casually. “You can repay me by training again once you’re settled.” You nodded, pulling away. He wrapped his arm around you, “C’mon we have a party to get to.”

Lucien, Morrigan, and Azriel waited for you two. Azriel was the first to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on floor into the foyer of the townhouse. His hazel eyes darkened, eyebrows slightly narrowing, and jaw clenched at the sight of you. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes traced your body, lingering at the top of the slits of the gown that could expose your hip bones at any sudden movement, before taking in your bare legs that were accentuated by the uncomfortable heels. You felt a warmth in your core that betrayed any ill feelings towards the spymaster, and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You never knew a look would be able to enthrall you so much and ignite such feelings.

He was in his more formal fighting leathers, muscles at full display even underneath the leather, his hair neatly styled back, sciphons glowing under the light of the common room. He was god-like, you couldn’t deny that. Not rugged looking like Cassian or as regal as Rhys, but he was beautiful. You wanted to be sick at thinking these thoughts. His shadows whispered in his ears as he stared at you. You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes as Mor approached you.

“Oh my, my fathers gonna croak, I love it!” She squealed looking at the patterns on your dress. “But we do have to get going, Y/n winnow Cass?” She looked at the male beside you.

You were about to agree, but Azriel spoke up. “I think I should be with her. Just in case. Amren said they’re possibly at a brink of chaos.” His voice was gravelly, and your heart pounded erratically at the huskiness in his tone.

“O-okay? Cassian, let’s come on then.” She looked at you, your eyes were wide in surprise.

Azriel approached you, and his scent of cedar and mist filled your senses making you want to melt even more. You only cleared your throat, straightening your back as his scarred arm reached around you pulling you closer to him as you got ready to winnow. You could feel the rough pad of his thumb near the top of the slit of your dress making your mind blank. His shadows swirled around your wrists in greeting for the first time since you’ve seen him, and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

Mor and Cassian disappeared along with Lucien right behind them. Azriel’s body heat and movement of his hand on your hip was making you flushed, unable to concentrate. Then his lips were close to your ear and you could feel his cool breath on your neck.

“Whatever happens tonight, don’t take it to heart.” The grip on your hip had tightened, and you could feel the sheath of truth-teller in your lower back.

You looked up to him, even wearing your tallest heels he had towered over you, observing the deadly calm on his face. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a second before flirting back to his intense hazel orbs.

You said barely above a whisper, scared your voice would betray your words. “You forget I’m great at this game, shadowsinger.”

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Aaaaand we’re off to the races besties!! I had so much fun writing this part! I hope you’re excited as I am for the next one!!

Taglist: @tcris2020 @rachelnicolee @thelov3lybookworm @bubybubsters @mich0731 @t0uch-starved-h0e @penguins-are-the-best @justagingerliving @brekkershadowsinger @jiinmii

If I missed any of you just lmk!

#azriel shadowsinger fic #azriel shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #feyre archeron #inner circle fic #nessian #azriel shadowsinger imagine #azriel shadowsinger smut #azriel smut #cassian acotar #pofa #morrigan acotar

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honorarysimp · 2 months

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Ramifications

series masterlist

(trigger warning - childhood trauma: mental and emotional abuse mentioned)

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Little hands bat at the large one wrapped around your arm, pulling you through the apartment.

“Uncle Derek stop-“

You’re brought to a halt as he stops, towering over you with a twisted expression on his face, “I didn’t ask for this just as much as you did, okay? I have one, simple rule, one that you can’t seem to get through that little head of yours”.

He then prods a finger into the side of your head, the faint smell of booze radiating off him, making your little nose scrunch as you try to shy away.

You’re not a fighter, how could you? He’s the only family you have, and maybe he’s right. Maybe you should stop asking.

When tears fill your eyes, he seems to soften a bit, sighing as he lets your arm go and drops to his knee beside you.

“Look squirt, what happened to your parents was… shitty. I didn’t ask to be stuck with you just as much as you didn’t ask to be stuck here with me” he says much softer, though his words still hurt your little heart.

“But we’re all we got, alright? So just… leave it alone, that’s the only thing I ask of you” he continues, trying to make the situation better by patting down your tousled hair.

You force yourself not to pull away, not use to his touch being so gentle “I’m sorry for asking about them, Uncle Derek-“

When you can’t choke back the sob, you hear him sigh heavily before patting your shoulder, and oddly you prefer it over him possibly even trying to hug you.

That might break you apart completely.

“Just let it go kid, sometimes we just have to accept things are what they are, even without a logical explanation” he tells you quietly, your crying slowly stifling to sniffles.

“Uncle Derek?”

“Yeah squirt?”

“Uncle Derek-“

You sit upright, his name in your mouth, but you swallow it and it drops like lead to your stomach.

You rub your eyes and glance over to Anika’s bed from where you’re lying on her floor, your designated spot any time you sleep over.

Buzzing on the carpet next to you is the alarm on your phone, you quickly shut it off and stand. Twisting your back and stretching, you let out little satisfied grunts as multiple joints pop across your body from all areas.

Double checking the time and wincing at the bright 8:04AM that flashes back at you.

Turning towards Anika’s bed, you nudge her, which only makes her groan.

“Can’t it wait another hour?”

“Do you really want to hold yourself responsible if I’m the reason I get arrested today?”

Anika doesn’t move, nor offer any more grunts of protest for a solid minute.

“We’ll stop at The Offering on our way and get free coffee, courtesy of my nonexistent uncle”.

“That’s considered guilt tripping” a pause, “and bribery”.

“Is it working?”

A beat, and then a sigh, shuffling from under the covers.

“Your coffee addiction needs looking into”.

“Take me to rehab tomorrow”.

____________________________________________

If you keep making a habit of breaking and entering, you might actually get good at this.

And with Anika’s help, it’s almost unfair. Her ploy is executed so well that neither of you miss a beat.

Hell, maybe you were born to do this.

Her idea had been to play innocent lost teenage girl, approach the guard at the front, and ask him to call her dad. To which she takes advantage of the moment he’s distracted, unclasping his keys from his belt and dropping them just outside the building as he escorts her inside, to a phone probably.

She plans on using your Uncle’s number, knowing damn well he won’t answer.

The morgue is completely vacant, a skeleton of a building. The inside is a stark, sterile place, filled with a cold, clinical ambiance. The walls are painted a pale, sterile white, and the fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare upon everything.

The long hallway that stretches out in front of you is lined with countless autopsy rooms, each one isolated and separate, with a sense of foreboding. The only sound that echoes through the hallway is the faint mechanical hum of medical equipment, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

“This is the part in the movie where people watching scream for the protagonist to turn around and leave” you mutter to yourself, hand tightly clutching the keys as you push forward.

As you push forward down the eerie hallway, the atmosphere becomes even more unsettling. The sterile, stark white walls seem to close in on you, and the harsh fluorescent lights glare down at you from above. The silence of the hallway is only broken by the soft footsteps of your feet against the linoleum floor, and the faint sound of medical equipment in the distance.

Despite the clinical sterility of the place, you can't help but feel a sense of unease as you pass by door after door of isolated autopsy rooms. The thought of what goes on behind those closed doors sends a shiver down your spine.

The relief you feel when you finally stumble upon the right room, marked "Files and Records," is palpable. Your heart is pounding as you fumble with a set of keys, trying each one in the lock until finally, with a satisfying click, the door swings open. The room is dimly lit, but you can make out the shapes of filing cabinets and boxes stacked up against the walls. The air is musty and old, and you can't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation as you enter.

“What the fuck is wrong with me” you mutter as you flip the light switch, goosebumps in your arms from the stale air of the room.

The room is small but functional, filled with rows and rows of filing cabinets that line the walls. In the center of the room are two desks, each one positioned against opposite walls, and on top of each desk is a computer.

The desks are cluttered with various papers and documents, and there is a sense of organization mixed with chaos. The air is heavy with the aroma of old paper and dust, and the fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare throughout the room.

You take a seat in front of one of the computers, your mind racing as you begin to dig through the desk drawers and folders spread across the top. You try to ignore the sense of unease that crawls along your spine and focus on the task at hand. You sift through papers, searching for any hint of a password or any clue that might help you gain access to the computer. Frustration creeps in as you search, the anxiety building as you struggle to find anything useful.

You lean back in the chair and survey the room, your eyes scanning the rows of filing cabinets and boxes stacked against the walls. The sense of frustration and helplessness weighs heavily on you, but you're determined to find something, anything, that might give you a clue. You get up from the desk and begin to rifle through the drawers of the cabinets, hoping to find a file, a piece of paper, or anything that might lead you closer to the information you need.

Your eyes land on a photo sitting on the desk, half-hidden behind a stack of files. As you reach for it, your heart skips a beat. On the back of the photo is a date, scribbled in faded ink. Without hesitation, you rush back to the computer, your fingers trembling as you type the date into the password prompt. With bated breath, you press the Enter key, waiting for a response.

As the computer unlocks, a wave of relief washes over you. You immediately open the command center and search for your father's name. The computer hums to life, processing the command as you anxiously wait for the results. Your heart is in your throat, your palms sweating as you imagine what you might find.

Your stomach sinks as the search results pop up, dozens of files bearing your father's name filling the screen. Your mind races as you quickly fish a flash drive out of your pocket and plug it into the computer. Your hands are shaking slightly as you transfer the files onto the drive, the sense of dread growing with each file that is copied.

With a sense of urgency, you unplug the flash drive once the files have finished copying, shutting down the computer and hastily exiting the room. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath as you scan the hallway, making sure no one has come by. The hallway seems eerily quiet, the only sound the sound of your own erratic breathing and the muffled hum of the air conditioning.

“This is too easy” you mutter to yourself, tucking the flash drive into your pocket before heading back in the direction you came.

But then again, who’s expecting someone to break into a morgue? Actually, you don’t want to think about that.

You hastily exit the building, dropping the keys just outside the door for the guard to find later, making your way down the street at a steadfast pace.

As you come around the corner, you find Anika waiting, just as planned.

“That guy was a fucking creep, you owe me big time” Anima hisses under her breath, falling into step with you, “did you get it?”

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up, giving her a grin “one step closer”.

____________________________________________

You’re pretty sure you’ve never been to this part of the city before.

But, as you continue forward with this ‘investigation’ as Anika so kindly put, you brace yourself for any possibilities.

The apartment building in front of you is a looming, dilapidated structure, its crumbling brick facade covered in graffiti and stains. It stands alone in a neglected, desolate stretch of the city, its shadows casting an ominous aura over the surrounding streets. As you sit staked out in your car outside the building, you can't help but feel a sense of foreboding and danger.

Yes, you heard that right, car. You've got your permit, and you practically raised yourself, so it counts. Besides, who is going to stop you? It's not your fault your Uncle left his keys out for the taking.

Not to mention, you think you're an excellent and safe driver.

The area is sketchy, known for its drug activity and violent crime. The darkness of the night only adds to the atmosphere of danger, making you tense and wary.

Why are you here? Because you and Anika spent the last two days going through everything you’d found, and oddly enough, every victim your father had signed off for had lived in this area. Not this building specifically, but a large majority in the complexes along the street.

It’s no surprise the police didn’t go snooping around, if they even made it this far. You’ve lived in New York long enough now to know what areas to avoid and what ones are safe, especially when it comes to contraband.

You’ve been here for three hours, and at this point you’re getting restless, what do you expect to find anyways? Sitting here watching won’t do you any good.

You have to act, you have to find something, this can’t all be for nothing.

So, you go to the only dealer you know, shifting the car into drive and heading back towards the inner city.

When you reach the Bailey residence, and are greeted by Quinn at the door, she grins and bear hugs you.

“Where the hell have you been? Ethan says you haven’t answered any of his texts, if you keep skipping class and it forces me into social interaction with normal people we’re going to have a problem-“

“Is Richie here?” You cut her off, her smile faltering as you step through the threshold, brows knitted together in confusion.

“What-“

“I need to talk to him” you say as you cast her a side glance, heading into the apartment, catching sight of Ethan sitting in the couch watching a movie.

For a moment, you feel that guilt, knowing he’s only just been let off house arrest after helping you and being caught by his own dad of all people.

Quinn follows after you and fires question after question. When Ethan sees you, he jumps to his feet with a swirl of relief, worry, and confusion on his face.

“GUYS. PLEASE” you snap, whirling on them, bringing them to a complete halt behind you.

“Just back off, alright? Stop hovering, Jesus Christ, I’m not made of fucking glass” you say a bit too harshly, and the way their expressions show it makes you hurt inside.

You don’t have time for this.

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and head in the general direction of Richie’s room, and they don’t follow.

You hear a “fuck off” when you pound your fist on the door, rolling your eyes as you try the doorhandle, finding it locked.

“Richie! Open the door, I need your help” you shout just loud enough for him to hear. He seems to register you aren’t his brother or sister, feet padding towards the door before the sound of a click from the other side.

The door opens, wafts of dank coming from his room as he leans against the doorframe, looking you up and down in ridicule “you? You need my help?”

“Believe me, it’s a last resort” you push the words through your teeth “I need you to get me in touch with your dealer”.

He laughs, hard, you don’t.

And when he also seems to realize this, his laugh fizzles out and his smile drops “yeah that’s not going to happen for an abundance of reasons-“

“Give it to me, or I’ll just tap your phone and get it myself” you say far too confidently, and with the way his eyes narrow you’re pretty sure he’s going to call your bluff.

“You need to be careful where you insert yourself” Richie says as he nudges his door open, heading into his room to grab his phone off his bed.

You stay at the door, “since when do you care?”

“You go knock on the wrong persons door, you’ll get yourself killed some day, but that’s your funeral” Richie says without looking at you, your phone chimes from your back pocket and you grab it to check the message.

Contact information.

“You owe me” Richie says as he drops down to lay on his bed.

“Consider it you repaying me for not ratting you out to your dad” you snark, turning on your heel.

You should come up with a better way on tracking down people, because you'll never stoop this low again-

“Right you just rat out your friends, right?”

You bite your tongue, because you know it isn’t the truth, and you don’t owe him an explanation anyways. But how he knows you’re the reason Ethan got in trouble is beyond you.

You don’t have time for this.

Without offering a response, or a thank you, you hastily exit. You don’t even think to check for your friends, nor do they show themselves as you let yourself out.

And you find out why, as your tunnel vision suddenly comes to a halt the moment you step into your apartment.

When you look up and find your three friends gathered in the living room, you can’t help but quip “is this about the cigarettes? I swear it’s just for the anxiety, and to be fair Derek shouldn’t be leaving them lying around-”.

“Don’t play with me right now” Anika says sharply, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

You stiffen, instantly becoming defensive “what’s your problem-“.

“You. You’ve become our problem” Quinn cuts you off, and when your eyes go to her you can’t help but take note that this is probably the most serious you’ve ever seen her.

Sure, you aren’t as close with her as you are Ethan and Anika, she flirts and you go along with it. But it’s a harsh reminder than she is a person with feelings, and she is in fact, also one of your closest friends.

“You’re going off the rails dude, we’re worried” Ethan tries the gentler approach, “I wouldn’t just get myself into trouble with my dad for nothing-“

“You knew what you were signing up for, you didn’t have to” your words are sharp, and you instantly regret it as Ethan’s demeanor shrinks just the slightest.

Anika strides towards you, now furious “do you hear yourself right now? Who the hell do you think you are talking to us like this? Were your friends and we’ve done nothing but support you and help you since-“

“Since what? Since I found out my Uncle might’ve actually killed my parents?!” You exclaim, boiling over, everything crashing down all at once in this moment.

"Yeah, well considering how much you act like you hate the guy, you sure are acting like him" Anika shouts back, taking a step towards you.

Silence.

Your hands start to shake, the slightest ringing in your ears as you take a very slow breath, "...excuse me?"

"Anika-"

She holds up a hand and Ethan instantly cuts his own sentence off, deflating as he looks from her to you, and when no one else speaks. You do.

“How fucking dare you. I’m suffocating over here, I have been for years! I am nothing like him! My Uncle doesn’t give a shit about me, my estranged family wants nothing to do with me and I don’t know why. My parents were murdered, and I don’t know why, but as of right now I’m pretty sure it’s got to do with my Uncle covering up some shady shit”.

Ethan and Quinn exchange a look, and you can tell Anika is trying to keep a steel expression and hold you accountable for how you’ve been acting recently.

“That doesn’t give you an excuse for treating us like shit” Anika says sternly, which makes you clench your fists at your side, “you’ve always been impulsive but now you’re just being reckless, this isn’t like you”.

It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault.

You scoff, trying to shove past her “of course you don’t understand, you have the picture fucking perfect family that actually loves you-“

“Yeah, and they love your stupid ass too, if you’d get your goddamn head out of it for five seconds to remember everything they’ve done for you” Anika barks, grabbing your arm and pulling to make you turn to face her.

And that. That breaks you. As flashes of memories from your childhood flood your brain, your furious Uncle and all that time of isolation.

You know she’s right, and that hurts more.

“Don’t-“ you rip your arm free, chest heaving unevenly as your bottom lip quivers, eyes filling with tears as you point a trembling finger at her, “don’t fucking touch me like that”.

The regret in her eyes is instant, but she doesn’t back down, instead she moves forward and pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs taking a full pause as everything just stops for a moment. Even when you’re hurting, beyond angry, confused, and shutting down, they’re still here.

They see you. They see you falling apart, and they’re still here, they see you going nuclear and they’re reminding you who you are.

You aren’t your past, you aren’t the trials and tribulations you’ve gone through, you aren’t your parents or your Uncle.

It isn’t your fault.

And you fall apart, your hands clawing at the back of her shirt as your knees buckle, a broken sob ripping from your throat.

And Anika holds you, dropping to the floor with you, your cries muffled against her shoulder. And then Ethan is there, and Quinn, circling you as they surround you with their love from all sides.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” you manage out between breaths, face twisting as your chest caves in from the swirl of emotions overwhelming you.

“We got you” you hear Anika murmur, “we’ve always got you”.

You aren’t alone, you’ve never been alone. You are loved, and you aren’t a burden.

At least, not to them.

____________________________________________

Your friends weren’t entirely in agreement to your methods of gathering information, but you never really fell in line with rules and regulations anyways.

However, after having been enlightened by your barbaric and brash behavior, you put yourself in check.

So after a bit of a plan is formulated, you set out.

Yes, getting answers and finding some sort of inner peace is important, but you’re fifteen for Christ sake.

There’s far too much that you’ve felt within your lifetime already, and to be frank, you want to close the chapter. Put an end to it, let the dead rest where they lay.

An individual of logic, and rationality you are once again, somewhat.

You never knew your parents, murdered before you reached your second birthday. Fact.

Your Uncle is blacklisted from the family for reasons unknown, refuses to talk about what happened, and thus isolating you from the rest of your family with no say on your part. Fact.

Your Uncle hates his sister, your mother, also for reasons unknown. Fact.

Did he kill them in some ploy? Revenge? Money? Only to get stuck with you?

Or is there something bigger at play, and perhaps, your Uncle traumatized you so badly so you wouldn’t go digging.

For your own safety? Or is that a stretch, hoping a man who never once gave you the time of day, might actually care for you on some twisted and toxic level.

Yeah, no, he’s a piece of shit. No need for euphemisms at this point.

At least he taught you how to use it as a tool of intimidation, probably the only thing he ever taught you.

It took a lot, a lot of convincing to let you walk into that warehouse alone that night, after linking up with the dealer you were put in contact with no thanks to Richie.

You’d casually told him you needed to speak to his boss, wanting in on the underground workings so to speak. Money is always the best ploy, because everyone needs it. You’re pretty sure the guy had no idea how old you were, but considering you’re from New York and plastered on your most boorish persona.

He didn’t question it.

But now that you think about it, you’re beginning to question your own judgement as he leads you to armed men at the front of a sketchy warehouse, they’re at least triple your size. He tells them why you’re here, which has them exchange a look before taking over, a curt nod indicating you follow.

You’re nervous. Reflecting. Subconsciously grateful that your friends rattled you up enough to get your senses back in order, else you’d be completely fucked right now.

Everyone you walk past is eyeing you, your first thought has to be your age and stature, but there’s other factors you consider as well.

You pray this works out as planned.

As you are escorted through the warehouse, you are surrounded by armed men, their weapons hanging heavily at their hips. The atmosphere is tense and ominous, the only source of light coming from the dim, hanging light bulbs that hang from the ceiling. The walls are lined with storage crates and shelves, creating a labyrinth of dark shadows that seem to swallow up the light.

The air is thick with the scent of musk and decay, and you can feel the eyes of the armed men on you, watching your every move as you are led further into the dimly lit maze.

The armed men move silently in front of and behind you, their footsteps barely making a sound on the concrete floor. The only noise is the soft shuffling of your own footsteps and the occasional sound of creaking metal coming from the boxes and crates stacked around the warehouse. As you make your way deeper into the labyrinth, the sense of uncertainty and danger grows, making your heart race and your palms sweaty with fear. Every corner you turn, every shadow you pass through, could hold something sinister lurking in the darkness.

In an attempt to self sooth, you start humming Hotel California, which inadvertently reverberates through the space around you.

“Knock it off, kid” one of the armed men grunts, breaking you out of your momentary trace, unable to help the subconscious look you judgementally send his way.

“What? Not an Eagles fan?” you remark, which has him look forward again as you continue along.

“I don’t like football”.

Your mouth opens, the words don’t come out, and honestly you’re too taken aback by just how badly he’d mistaken what you’d said. You don’t even bother correcting him, blowing quiet raspberries instead rather than wasting your breath.

As you enter the next room, you are directed towards a tall, imposing figure standing by a large table. His muscular frame, and deep scar runs down his face, adding to his intimidating aura. Every inch of him exudes power and ruthlessness. His gaze is fixed upon the money he counts in his hands, his eyes cold and unreadable as you approach.

His towering presence makes the room feel smaller, and the atmosphere is tense as he regards you with a steely gaze. The flicker from the light above casts moving shadows across his face, making him look even more ominous and dangerous. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, and a chill runs down your spine as you stand before him, feeling like a mouse cornered by a lion.

Despite the intimidating presence of the tall figure, you force yourself to stand tall and hold his gaze. He drops the wad of cash on to the table and looks you up and down, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, before breaking out into a loud, almost cruel-sounding laugh.

The man laughs louder, clearly amused at your attempt to get involved in the drug dealing business. "So, a toddler trying to get into the game," he says with a sneer. "You're underestimating the risks. This isn't a playground. It's a dangerous world, and you're not prepared for it. Kids like you are nothing but a liability"

You bristled at his words, feeling the sting of his condescending tone. But you stand your ground, your eyes meeting his defiantly. "Don't underestimate me," you say firmly, your voice steady. "You have no idea the thing I’ve been through, the things I’ve seen, what all I’ve done to get to this moment. Right here."

The man's condescending smile falters for a moment, his gaze studying you closely. For a brief instant, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes, almost as if he’s seen something in you that he never expected. He leans back against the table, his arms crossed, as he regards you with a new level of curiosity.

Good, you have his attention, now all you need to do is hold it.

You notice the change in the man's demeanor and decide to test the waters, subtly complimenting his reputation. "I've heard stories about you," you say, your voice low and deliberate. "About the grip you have on people in New York, the way you manipulate the system to your advantage. It's impressive."

He scoffs again, clearly trying to downplay your comment. "What would a kid like you know about the things I’ve done?" he says, his tone dismissive. "You're just a kid playing at being grown-up. You don’t know anything about this life, about the things I’ve had to do to get where I am."

You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves as you prepare to drop the name that you hope will bring the man's attention to you. Letting the silence hang in the air for a moment, you meet his gaze directly, your voice steady and confident. "Everyone in New York knows your name," you say, emphasizing each word. "You're a legend in this town. Mickey."

As soon as you say his name, the man's demeanor changes completely. All the false charisma and snarky attitude disappears, replaced by a look of annoyance and disdain. He straightens up, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you with a cold gaze. "How do you know my name?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

The tension in the air is palpable as you stare him down, the room falling quiet. You take a step forward, your voice firm and unwavering. "You know, Mickey," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I may be just a kid, but I know more than you think."

The air between you and Mickey is thick with tension, the silence in the room growing even heavier as you take a step forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. As you speak, his eyes flash with anger. "You think you know something, kid?" he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing but a scrawny little punk who's in over your head."

The room is tense as you take a step forward, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. Your voice is firm and steady as you speak, your words laced with sarcasm. "I may be kid right now," you repeat, "but I know and am capable of more than you give me credit for. And let's be clear on something, Mickey. I didn't come here to play games. I came here to make a deal."

As you strongly follow with the words "blackmail, on a charge of double homicide," Mickey’s expression hardens even more, his body going rigid as if you've put him in a metaphorical chokehold. The atmosphere in the room becomes charged, the sense of danger and tension reaching a new level. His eyes narrow, and a flash of anger passes through them as he regards you with a steely gaze. Silence hangs in the air like a heavy blanket, the only sound the steady breathing of the armed men standing around you.

Mickey looms over you, his towering frame casting a shadow across your small form. A crazed, almost feral gleam enters his eyes as he stares down at you, the corners of his mouth curling into a sinister smile. "You think you can threaten me, kid?" he laughs, his voice thick with menace and eyes narrowed, “you think I haven't killed countless people to get what I want? You’ll have to be a little bit more specific.”

It’s hard, not to buckle under that scrutinizing gaze, how he is three times your size and easily could overpower you and do God knows what.

But you’re use to this kind of intimidation tactic, and didn’t come all this way for nothing.

“Feldman”.

Mickey's expression morphs from one of psychotic glee to a sudden, unsettling stillness, his laughter stopping mid-note as your name registers in his brain. For a moment, he stands there, completely frozen, and then he throws his head back, a maniacal cackle echoing loudly in the room.

His laughter is chilling, the sound of it echoing off the walls of the warehouse as he throws back his head, cackling loudly. The sound is almost animalistic, filled with a gleeful malice that sends shivers down your spine. It's a sound that speaks of a man who is utterly devoid of remorse, a man who takes pleasure in the pain and suffering of others.

The cackling laughter stops so abruptly you get whiplash, his face becoming a mask of cold control once more. He regards you for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he pieces together the puzzle. Then, in a quiet voice, he asks, "Pause. Your parents... You're their kid, aren't you?"

His lip curls into a cruel smile, his eyes taking on a dark, malicious gleam as his voice takes on a mocking tone, continuing to speak, “right right right, you were that God awful shrieking in the background as I put a fucking bullet in mommy and daddies head for backstabbing us” he snarls, head slightly rolling as if reiterating the story was an inconvenience.

Then he fixes you with a look, head slightly tilted and a sour look on his face “and clearly nothing has fucking changed”.

“Fuck you asshole-“

You stop short, your mind slowly catches up to his words, the implications of his story sinking in. Confused and growingly concerned, you ask, "Wait... what do you mean, 'backstabbing'?"

Mickey begins to pace around you, his demeanor becomes more and more unsettling, the air of menace thick and electric. He begins to explain the story, his voice taking on a venomous edge as he describes your father's situation. "Your old man... he was a drug-addicted mess," he says, his tone dripping with malice. "He owed us thousands, and we were collecting, found a way to have him repay us in… little favors. But then he decided to get righteous and refused to cooperate with us anymore."

He continues circling you, his gaze flicking over your face, searching for any sign of emotion. As he speaks, his voice becomes almost gleeful, as if he's enjoying the power he holds over you. "But we couldn't just let him get away with it," he says, almost gleefully. "So we figured the best way to get to him was through his wife."

He stop right in front of you, his grin wide and his eyes cold “and well, when that didn’t take…”

For a moment, he takes a step back and makes a gun, complete with the "pow" sound, before throwing his head back, his laughter once again filling the room. The gesture is casual, almost chilling in its simplicity.

As he continues his laughter, you glance at the armed men standing nearby, but they show no reaction to the story or the man's performance. Their faces are schooled, almost emotionless, as they stand silently and watch the scene play out. The lack of emotion in their eyes adds to the unsettling atmosphere of the room, making you wonder what all these men have seen and done.

Okay, now is not the time to panic, as you come to realize just how bad of an idea this really was.

You take a moment to compose yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat, before meeting his gaze and asking, your voice steady, despite the sickness you're feeling inside. "So you admit it... you admit to killing my parents?"

Mickey's composure snaps as you ask your question, his expression darkening into anger. He suddenly lunges towards you, grabbing your wrist with one hand and pulling out a knife with the other. He raises the knife menacingly, his eyes filled with venom as he yells, "ENOUGH! I’m growing sick and tired of all the goddamn questions”.

He looms over intimidatingly, towering above you as he sneers, his face contorting with sadistic rage as he says “considering you won’t be around much longer to bother me, I’ll let you die knowing that they didn’t kill themselves, no no no. It was me, because I wanted to. Because it’s fun, because I can”.

Despite the fear and the sick feeling in your stomach, you gather the courage to speak up, asking a question that's been burning in your mind. "S-so that’s it? Was it a hit? Were you hired to take out my parents?"

He growls with annoyance, digging the tip of the knife into your forehead with irritation. "What part of 'I killed your parents' didn't you understand, huh? Are you listening to me, kid?"

Do something. Say something. Fuck it, time to alternate to plan B.

Despite the fear and anger bubbling up inside you, you force yourself to maintain a cool facade, hiding the nerves and uncertainty just under the surface. You reply, your voice steady and firm, even as you're shaking inside. "Yeah, I heard you loud and clear."

The man is caught off guard by your sudden change in demeanor, but no chance to process as you land a swift kick between his legs. He lets out a guttural gasp, his eyes widening in pain and surprise, knife falling from his hand and clattering across the floor. He doubles over, clutching his crotch, as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

You don’t wait to see his reaction for long, immediately taking advantage of the situation. You turn and bolt, darting through the warehouse as fast as you can. You hear him bellowing out orders behind you, his voice filled with pain and anger, telling his men to apprehend you.

You weave and duck through the chaotic scene, dodging obstacles and furniture as best you can. The sudden sound of gunshots rings out behind you, echoing loudly in the empty warehouse. Bullets whiz past you, missing you by mere inches, as you keep moving, knowing that stopping would be a death sentence. Every movement feels like a matter of life and death, the tension in the air thick as you keep up the mad dash to escape.

Shooting at an unarmed minor? Yeah, these guys really don't give a fuck, you'll process this later.

The adrenaline pumps through your veins as you run, your heart pounding in your chest as you push your body to its limits. You've never moved this fast in your life, but the sounds of footsteps and gunshots behind you tell you that your pursuers are closing in. Every muscle in your body screams in protest, but you don’t dare slow down. The fear of what would happen if they caught you fuels you to move faster, even as they gain on you.

In the heat of the moment, you see an opening in the space between two large wooden boxes on the shelf running parallel through the warehouse. Thinking quickly, and hoping your pursuers won't spot you, you bolt over to the gap and squeeze through to the other side, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The rough wood scrapes against your skin as you duck between the boxes.

As you push yourself to the other side, your already shaky footing falters, causing you to stumble and catch yourself on the rough wood. The wood digs into your palm, causing a sharp pain to shoot through your hand. You let out a small gasp of pain, the cut stinging as the adrenaline is temporarily overshadowed by the sudden injury.

The sight of blood dribbling down your arm causes your heart to skip a beat, and you scramble to put pressure on the wound, clutching it against your chest. Ignoring the pain, you push yourself to run once more, your feet pounding against the warehouse floor as you race to find a way out. Hoping that your pursuers haven’t found a way to cut you off.

Your heart sinks as you reach the end of the aisle, coming to a sudden stop. Your gaze flicks around the space, desperate for an escape route, but there's nowhere to go. The dead end walls loom in front of you, trapping you between them like a rat in a cage. The feeling of dread fills you as you realize you're cornered, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your heart pounds in your chest as one of the men grins and taunts you, "No where to run now."

A sense of doubt starts to creep into your mind, and you begin to question whether your plan will even work. The men look intimidating and powerful, their arms muscles rippling as they stand menacingly around you.

“This is the part in the movie where-“

"NYPD! FREEZE!"

The command rings out through the warehouse, and in a moment of disorienting surprise, multiple law enforcement officers appear, shouting the order to 'freeze'. The armed men are caught off guard, their smugness instantly replaced by confusion and worry. Some of the men raise their guns instinctively, but the armed police quickly take control, shouting at them to lay down their weapons.

The scene dissolves into a high-stakes standoff, with weapons raised and tension thick in the air. You clutch your wounded hand to your chest, the blood still trickling down your arm as a mix of relief and trepidation washes over you. The two factions are at a standstill, waiting to see who will make the first move.

As the officers maintain their steady pressure, the armed men realize their disadvantage. They glance around warily, their previous confidence now replaced with a tense, calculating gaze as they assess the situation. The realization that there's no escape starts to sink in, and a few of the men drop their weapons in surrender.

One of the men makes a quick decision, turning towards you and aiming their gun. The trigger is squeezed, and a loud shot rings out, its sound echoing through the warehouse. Your heart skips a beat as adrenaline surges through your body, bracing for the potential impact.

To your surprise, the shot never makes contact with you, instead you hear the sound of the man's body hitting the floor. The officers promptly leap into action, rushing forward to apprehend the rest of the men and handcuff them. The air is electric as they secure the suspects, the chaos slowly being brought under control.

Your body trembles with adrenaline, your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears that it nearly drowns out the surrounding sounds. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the shock of the situation making it difficult to stay composed. The scene around you is a blur, the mixture of relief and fear coursing through your veins as you try to process what just happened.

An officer tries to approach you, moving closer with a concerned expression, but you instinctively flinch away. The trauma of the situation has rattled you, making you jumpy and guarded. But as the officer speaks gently, you slowly start to come back to reality, your tension easing ever so slightly.

“You look rough kid” the Officer says, offering a smile that’s both sympathetic and a somewhat attempt to be friendly.

You laugh, your eyes finally focusing back in, you notice he’s probably one of the younger Officer’s out of everyone currently scrambling about around you.

“Says you, McDreamy” you shoot back, and he laughs almost like he’s heard that reference countless times.

“I prefer Officer Kincaid, now do you want to go get that patched up or keep making a mess of my crime scene?” He says with a more genuine smile, and it’s about this moment that you remember your hand is bleeding profusely.

Adrenaline, you beautiful, beautiful lady.

____________________________________________

The next few hours are a blur, hand stitched and wrapped, but hey you always did think having a hand scar would be sick as hell. You were told it won’t, but the thought is there.

You saw Mickey getting hauled into the back of a cop car earlier, and you didn’t miss the sinister sneer he shot your way.

It shouldn’t worry you, but it does, because men like him don’t forget backstabbing. You’ve been informed of this just recently.

As of this moment you’re sat in the precinct, Officer Kincaid had already gotten your statement and you’d already answered all their questions.

But you had one last thing to do, and it very well may be the end of you as you know it.

“Now tell me why the hell I shouldn’t kick your ass across this entire city for how thoughtless and irresponsible you were tonight?”

That voice, ah, it instills the fear of God in you.

“Mr. Bailey I can explain-“

He’s beelining to you with a condescending expression, and to be honest you prepare for the worst.

Which is why you’re frantic, almost dropping your tape recorder as you fish it out of your jacket “I have a confession on my parents murders!”

Instantly his expression drops, confused, and then mortified “do you not realize you just as easily could’ve joined them tonight? Huh? The hell is wrong with you!”

Everything in you sinks, the scrutiny tearing at your insides as he continues even when your hand remains outstretched.

“I’ve got my fucking kids to worry about as it is, but when one of them calls and all they give me is an address to possibly find your dead body at-“

Okay, to be fair, at this point you just disassociate. You’re used to this, being yelled at, chastised and scolded. In his defense you deserve it because yeah, you could’ve died tonight. Or worse.

But the plan had worked, and that what matters, right?

You tune back in at the wrong moment.

“-you know the position that could’ve put me in? To think I might have to tell my own kids their best friend-“

But then he stops, almost like the word ‘died’ catches in his throat, and that alone makes you look up.

And that’s when you see it, the worry, the fear. He’s not hounding you because he doesn’t like you, he’s hounding you because he’s a father.

That breaks you.

The sudden wave of emotions crashes down on you like a tidal wave, the adrenaline giving way to a whirlwind of feelings. The realization of the gravity of the situation sinks in, and you find yourself overwhelmed as the events of the past week replay in your mind.

Your vision begins to swim, your breathing growing more and more labored as the pressure becomes too much to bear. Without warning, the dam breaks, and the breakdown takes over your body. You suddenly find yourself sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face.

As you break down, he quickly steps up, moving closer and gently guiding you into his arms. He holds you protectively, his voice soft as he tries to comfort you. "Goddamn it... come here. You're safe," he says, rubbing your back soothingly. "Just let it out. I've got you."

His embrace is firm but kind, the strong, protective grip bringing much needed comfort to your shattered state. The fatherly energy he gives off makes you think maybe there is someone you can go to who will shield you from harm and provide comfort in the face of chaos. In that moment, you find yourself clinging to him, feeling the weight of your emotions starting to subside ever so slightly.

As you finally calm down, the officer slowly lets go, gently checking to make sure you're alright. He looks you over carefully, then gives you a small smile. "I'll only say this once but," he says with a hint of admiration, "you're one tough son of a gun, y'know that?"

The sudden laugh escapes your lips, mixed with still lingering tears that you hastily wipe away. Embarrassed and feeling a pang of vulnerability, you try to maintain a brave face, not wanting to seem weak. "Born and raised right here in our fine city that is New York," you mutter, a shaky smile playing on your lips.

Mr. Bailey nods, his gaze shifting to your tape recorder still clutched in your hand. A curious smile appears on his lips as he tilts his head towards it. "A confession huh? Where the hell did you even get that fossil of a thing" he teases gently, his tone light.

“Don’t be mean, it’s younger than you” you shoot back, which has him barking with laughter you’ve never heard before.

It’s in this moment, you begin to wonder if maybe you’d severely underestimate and misjudged Mr. Bailey.

But then again, it’s safe to admit to yourself how deep your trust issues go due to the hand that your parents and Uncle played in fucking you up.

Maybe it’s time to, you know, pull your head out of your own ass like Anika said and go see a therapist.

That’s when you hear a deep voice call your name, once and then twice, you look up to see the last person you ever expected to see here.

And when Mr. Bailey straightens up and stiffens next to you, you know what’s coming. He stands and strides towards your Uncle with purpose, it makes you want to melt into your seat into nothing.

Cease to exist all together.

Maybe you can find a phone, calm your friends, which you’re pretty sure Mr. Bailey already told them you’re okay, you lost your phone in your getaway earlier.

It’s hard to hear, but just by reading their body language, you can tell your Uncle is getting a far worse ass chewing than you got. It gives you sadistic pleasure knowing this.

But then he looks over, and your intestines twist uncomfortably. He never cared about you, you were always a burden to him, an inconvenience. Given he never hit you, hurt you in any way physical, as a matter of fact that’s the problem.

He did nothing. Nothing.

And with that thought, follows the next, which is the realization that he had done nothing. He’d been accused of murdering your parents, reputation ruined by rumors.

Maybe he’s just broken too, and didn’t know how to heal. No, that’s no excuse for how he treated you-

“Hey squirt” his voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up.

He’s stood a few feet away, wringing his jacket between his hands in front of him. He looks exhausted, dare you think he even looks worried.

Good, motherfucker.

“Why are you here” is your first words to him in over four months, knees tucked up to your chest as you mold yourself to the leather seat you’re sat in.

You see Mr. Bailey off a bit of ways away, talking to another officer, but he’s watching. It brings you some ease.

Derek has yet to reply, clearly not sure why he’s here either, at least you assume he mustn’t.

“I got your call” he starts, which doesn’t make sense because you never called him, it’s only when he elaborates that you understand.

“I never thought I’d see that landline number pop up on my phone again, I know it wasn’t you but… I knew I needed to come back to make sure you were alright”.

Anika’s call to him from the morgue, that makes more sense. But he recognized the number, which means your dad must’ve called him from there all the time.

And then, you realize something horrifying, he’s talking about your parents.

“Why” you spit venomously, the swirl of your emotions in your chest are currently not in favor of him “you never gave a shit before.”

“Because not giving a fuck kept you safe from the truth, alright?” He snaps back, that familiar tone makes you wince involuntarily. Eyes down casting, which he seems to notice as he sighs and deflates.

“That’s such bullshit, Derek” you mutter, and he doesn’t offer a reply, he most likely agrees with you.

So when he sits next to you, it takes everything in you not to physically shrink away from him.

“You’re a perfect mix of them both” he tells you, looking to a spot on the floor between his boots, “the woman I hated… and the man I loved that was taken from me”.

Now that, you were not expecting.

And he knows it, as you snap your head up, your brain starting to hurt. Is he implying what you think he’s implying? How much more don’t you know?

You say nothing, in fear he’ll stop talking if you do.

“I’ll give you the bare bones, prestigious and over the top religious roots is where we come from. I met him in my frat at college, he was…” Derek has a ghost of a smile on his face, it almost hurts you “everything to me.”

Then his expression falls, eyes glazing as he seems to lose himself in the memories, “when it got serious, I brought him home to meet the family. Our relationship was under the radar of course, and when your mom met him it just… shattered everything”.

You swallow hard, trying to categorize and work through all the new information. It still doesn’t excuse his actions, but you’re now starting to understand him for the first time ever.

“They hit it off, he broke it off with me, they got engaged. I begged him not to do it, she overheard, told everyone I was trying to seduce him, called me a-“ he stops, face twisted sourly, “I got blacklisted from the family from that moment forward. No chance of telling my side or defend myself, nothing”.

That hurts, because now you really see the bigger picture, “and when they died… everyone thought it was you” you say softly.

He looks up at you, eyes red and rimmed with tears, and if you weren’t already overwhelmed you are now. You’ve never seen this man cry before.

“Another chapter of my life ruined by something I didn’t do, at least this time I could tell my side. When the jury ruled me innocent, CPS came to me, told me your dad had signed me as your legal guardian if anything ever happened” Derek continues, which that alone has your eyes widening as you sit back.

The small action makes Derek laugh, gesturing vaguely with his hands “yeah you’re telling me, I shit my pants, I never thought-“ he stops and shakes his head, sighing as he looks back down again.

“I didn’t want you at first, and I know you know that, but… it wasn’t you. It was never you, it was them I held a grudge against. To do that to me, and leave me with their spawn felt like a slap to the face-“

“It’s not like I asked to be born” you say defensively, which has him give you a look that reads ‘stay with me, I’m getting there’.

“I owe you more apologies than anyone walking this planet, you didn’t deserve any of that” he says slowly, as if the words taste like sawdust in his mouth “telling you I’m sorry wouldn’t suffice-“

“-not even close-“

“But I’ll do better” he looks to you again, sitting up straight, and all you can feel is panic.

Or just maybe, maybe it’s hope, but you’d be a fool to think so… right?

“Don’t bother, you’ll disappoint us both” you mutter curtly, years of neglect and abandonment making the beating in your chest claw its way up to your throat.

He makes a face, and then there’s an awkward pause of silence, and then… you both laugh.

A broken child, a lost soul, deeply damaged if you’re honest with yourself.

But not alone.

previous.

AN: shout out to all the anons who helped me build this prologue brick by brick.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #pip anon

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mayxo-hxh · 5 months

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As autistic coded as Illumi is, he is also EXTREMELY Bpd coded. Here's a thread abt why that would be, from a person with bpd. 🧵

Everything about his character screams a person that feels so so much but forcefully tones his feelings down so hard to the point where they seem nonexistent.

On the exterior he seems like he couldn't care less about most things and is a very calm and controlled person. However, his emotions shine the brightest when the topic of interest is a person he cares about.

This is ESPECIALLY shown in the election arc where he reveals much of his emotions to the audience. He gets two whole bloodlust scenes this arc.

One with extreme anger

and one with extreme joy.

When Hisoka provoked him, it took absolutely zero transition for him to immediately spike his bloodlust and aura to GREAT amounts to the point of engulfing the entire MOUNTAIN and reaching Killua from SO far away.

And in the same exact second it happened, it ended just as quickly the moment he noticed Killua running away. That is a CLASSIC negative mood swing example if I've ever seen one. One extreme emotion in one second, gone in the other.

On the other hand, his second bloodlust had a small transition, one that still did not give you the expectation of what truly came after.

He is seen watching Killua on his phone and the moment Nanika healed gon, showing Killua can use her on command with no consequences and also showing her immense power, he was absolutely overjoyed. So much in fact that he exploded in maniac laughter and aura a second after merely giving it a small laugh.

We get a hint at his bloodlust incoming in that moment, but NEVER predict just how MUCH would actually come out. Classic euphoric mood swing number two.

When he encountera Killua with Hisoka in the background at the end, he is pretty much shown going through the five stages of grief in mere minutes the moment his own butlers turn on him and allow Nanika to come out.

denial, anger, depression...

bargaining.......

and finally, acceptance. acceptance that he was going to be traded by killua not only for a friend, but for the rest of the family's lives.

He was so very clearly unhappy about it at the beginning, yet came to acceptance in mere seconds the moment nanika came out. He bargained with himself, Killua shouldnt be able to wish twice, then accepted. even if he could, thats okay. go ahead, kill me!

and then theres also the way he just switches from a very :DDD to >:| mood in like one panel short hello he is so coded

Even more; Usually bpd is either caused through trauma or inherited. and you can definitely argue that illumi went through enough "training" for the former but. is his behavior not. familiar to yall. not at all???? im just saying......... I know someone else in the zoldyck family that has intense mood swings!

if there is one person in the family that shows their unfiltered emotions and switches from being calm to screaming in distress in a single second, its going to be this woman. she gave birth to a son thats a literal copy of her. she ctrl c'd and ctrl v'd.

and i dont exactly know what this next one has to do with the thread but why was bro normal for one second then turned into this i mean im not complaining hes still hot and ill claim him as my bpd son regardless

anyways yes this was the thread have fun with this interpretation slash analysis however u like 👍

#hxh #hunter x hunter #illumi #illumi zoldyck #my post #my analysis #hxh analysis #hunter x hunter analysis #character analysis #bpd

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shradsmanifestt · 1 month

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hi, im sorry for bothering u right now. ive been asking around for advice everywhere because i really need all the help i could use right now. my anxiety is flaring up like crazy because my results come out tomorrow and im so scared because if i mess this up then my future is ruined. my mental health has been horrible and that has severely affected my grades but in most asian countries they dgaf about that and basically think it's nonexistant for minors so ofc i'm still undiagnosed, and if i were to apply to a uni i wouldnt get any good chances anywhere. if i could just get 3 Bs in my AS levels it would be okay or else i'd have to retake it and it's super costly here.. i don't wanna put my family through that because they'll talk me down, degrade me, destroy my self esteem which i've managed to build back a little. they were like this since when i was the topper and thats what made me burnout. undiagnosed adhd, trauma, depression also contributed to it

im applying the law, but instead of the feeling of success that everyone else gets i feel panicked. the 'feeling' people usually get when they're in the wish fulfilled state, the feeling of accepting it and it being real—im not getting that. i dont see a clear picture when i visualize. every time i try to, i end up breaking down and feeling like a failure... but I'm still trying to go on because why is it that the people who hurt me and practically ruined my life get to live successfully, while i suffer? thats not fair... i promised myself that if i could just get 3 Bs, ill turn my life around and work really hard... but is it over for me? i want to win, im trying to, but im scared

im trying my best to visualize myself getting 3 Bs, reenacting my friends faces when i get the results, praying to God and thanking Him for blessing me and continuing to bless me, but there is this fear still lingering at the back of my mind... i feel like I'm not doing it right. i have like one day left and I'm so nervous. im going over posts, tweets, and every time I feel a little better, it all comes crashing down because of doubts. theres only one thing one my mind right now: 'how am I gonna turn it around in one day?' i know that the 3D does not matter and that everything is done in imagination, but here i feel like its not done in imagination either

right now nothings clicking in my head, whatever i read is getting scrambled in my mind, i feel so lost and empty. could u please tell me what to do in this specific situation? u can be as harsh as you want if that's what's needed to get the point across. im really sorry for the bother and id be really grateful if u could please help out, ive never been this desperate before... my life cant be over before it even started

Hey love,

I get you, I really do but trust me when I say this.

THIS SHIT IS REAL AF. Manifestation is real af. It's as real as the fact that you are a human being. All you have to do is trust yourself that it is already done. If good results is what you want then that is exactly what you'll get. You need to choose to stop having doubts because it is already done. That is the simplest answer I can give you. Persist on what you want.

I am glad to tell you this but I just got test results for a major exam held in my uni today and I got into the 95th percentile just by saying to myself that my super power is aptitude tests and that I already scored great. In my friends group only 3 of us were eligible and I have 70+ more marks then them as well. If I can do it, you can do it. You need to stop doubting yourself. Atleast stop doubting manifestation. Cause at this point you're only gonna manifest your doubts.

I'll give you a scenario - If you're worried about getting bad grades, Trust me when I say this you're gonna manifest exactly that coz you will manifest exactly what you assume. You can choose to stop that right here, RN. Choose to accept that you got great marks. I mean don't even like aim for B's go for A's. I don't care even if you left the paper blank coz if you assume you're the topper, that is exactly what's gonna happen.

If you do get bad marks and I'm gonna be harsh here - You're the only reason why! You're gonna manifest exactly what you assume to be true even if it's good or bad. Your sc mind don't differentiate btw what's good for you or what's bad for you. It only knows what you feed it.

You got this, TRUST ME

Love, Shrads.

#law of assumption #loassumption #loa #affirm and persist #loa tumblr #neville goddard #consciousness #loa blog #loatwt #imagination #affirm and saturate #saturate your mind #shradsmanifestt

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raidark · 2 months

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I'm trying to imagine what could be the wildest and most ridiculous change Condal and Heiss could make in HotD and I just had a revelation.

Why did they make Aegon and Viserys (children of Rhaenyra and Daemon) so young? Why are they nonexistent in the series despite their importance at the end? Especially in the case of Aegon the Younger, who was shaped into the person he was because of what he saw!

The answer is easy. Because they're going to kill Aegon in season 2 to subvert expectations! :O

Instead, Jace will survive to the very end of the dance (but not Vermax ofc dragons need to die. Also who cares about Vermax), see the deaths of all his family and successfully ascend to the throne without opposition like he wished, shattered by trauma AND changing his name to Aegon III Targaryen.

Someone will wink to the camera and say "history will remember the bastard prince Jacaerys died in the Gullet and instead Aegon the Younger sat the throne".

But at least he'll get married with Baela and have children with her! So happy ending, right? Right?

Viserys' return? Actually, the amazing revelation that Luke actually survived!

After falling from the sky he just lost his memory, living as a common fisherman until he was found out by some knight and presented to the King. Condal will say "that's mentioned in the book actually! we are so faithful to the book"

Luke recovers his memory and Jace "Aegon" and Luke now named "Viserys" hug each other! End!

Jsjsjsjs I'm laughing a lot thinking about it.

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Could you do something like Eddie needing to go to hospital for some minor injury or illness and Steve just having a complete trauma response of oh god last time he was in hospital he nearly died (and wayne being the one to reassure him bc we love uncle wayne in this household)

I must live in the same household as you because I include Wayne in things just to have him be supportive even when it doesn’t make sense to the story 😎

“It’s just a quick trip.”

Wayne was trying to reassure Steve. Trying being the key word.

Eddie was asleep, as he had been for most of the last three days.

His fever was getting higher instead of lower and he hadn’t been able to keep any food down for more than two of the last three days.

His water intake had gone nonexistent, too.

He was pale and sweaty, but visibly shivering anytime Steve looked at him.

It was probably just a really bad flu, but it didn’t help that he’d only been out of the hospital for four months and was still technically recovering from bat bites and nearly bleeding out.

“But what if it’s not?”

Wayne looked at him sadly.

“Son, he just needs some fluids and maybe some better meds than I can get at the drug store without a prescription. He’ll be feeling a bit better within a few hours if we take him.”

“But-“

“Steve. I promise I won’t let nothin’ happen to our boy, okay?”

Steve felt his heart clench at the words.

Sometimes he forgot that Wayne almost lost his only family, his son in all ways but genetics.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“Think you can carry him to the truck?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie woke up twice on the way, trying his best to give Steve a smile, but failing miserably.

When they brought him back to get an IV started, Wayne went with him, but Steve had to wait in the waiting room.

Wayne kept checking in, though, letting him know every 30 minutes how things were going.

He was grateful that Eddie had someone like him.

He was grateful he had someone like him.

Four hours later, Wayne was walking out the double doors with Eddie, who was able to stand, but not support himself.

An improvement is still an improvement, though.

“Eds, feeling a little better?”

“Feel like a million bucks. No need to worry.”

Which is what he said when he woke up after his week-long coma.

Steve burst into tears and Wayne gently smacked Eddie on the head.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“What?!”

“Let’s get you home before Steve ends up havin’ a breakdown in the waiting room.”

Luckily, they made it home before Steve really did break completely down.

But at least this time Eddie was awake and holding his hand, talking to him like nothing was wrong.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #headcanon #mentions of illness

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quitealotofsodapop · 9 months

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Honestly if it were up to Macaque he'd adopt Bai Zhe right then and there. Dame with Wukong. The problem is, Macaque is technically legally dead. Or at least, he legally doesn't exist at all since he died in the Tang dynasty so there wouldn't be records for him at all. Wukong is not much better because while he does have a lawyer for things like copyright and such... he still spent 500+ years in near isolation and doesn't technically exist in the legal system either outside if being represented by a lawyer of some sort. Not ideal for adopting a child, especially since adoption would include things like home visits, employment, a shit ton of paperwork. Luckily PIF cab get him in contact with Fire Star and Gold Star owes him for the whole... Mountain thing. Between those two he's able to at least legally adopt her in the eyes of the gods, but the eyes of mortals are a little different. It ends up being this weird situation where Bai He is being fostered by Pigsy and Tang while Wukong goes through the legal BS that is trying to get custody of a human girl when he is effectively a myth as far as mortals are concerned.

Then there's the matter of Bai He's possession. Possession of a demon is, sadly, not as uncommon in the LMK universe as you'd think it is, and it has lingering effects beyond just the trauma if done for an extended amount of time. The LBD had, effectively, turned Bai He half ice demon by possessing her for nearly a year. This means someone is going to need to tea h this little girl how to control her previously nonexistent magic.

Wukong's and Macaque's earth-legal situation is like that one joke in SU:

Especially seeing how Bai He has been declared Missing for the last few months - I'm not sure if the Metropolis CPS has a protocol for dealing with possession victims. Just walking up to anywhere and saying "Yeah, she's my kid now." wouldn't fly in the mortal realm.

I feel like Pigsy and Tang wouldn't mind fostering Bai He while the monkey duo sort out all the legal nonsense. It kinda makes the two nostalgic for when MK was smaller. I feel like they already got used to the kid showing up almost every day to eat noodles (a new comfort food for her since it was the first thing she ate after LBD left her body) and pet Mo.

I also love ideas where Bai He's possesion leave her with demonic abilities - mainly ice powers and maybe some bony markings on her body. Beyond the usual hurdles of adapting to become something other than human, Bai He takes it in her stride.

Bai He, making her eyes glow blue with power: "You're gonna have a Bad Time." Macaque (is training her): "...Is that a pre-battle call you've been working on?" Bai He, now embarassed: "No... its from Undertale." Macaque (knows she means a video games): "Oh. What does the character do after saying that?" Bai He, excitedly: "He grabs your soul and destroys you with magic bones and giant skull lazers for hurting his family!" Macaque: "Wicked."

Despite being opposite elements, I could see Redson and Nezha helping Bai He out with her new powers. They remember having an element they can't control. Plus the little girl is like a sister they never had.

#slow boiled stone egg au #lmk aus #lmk bai he #lmk ldb's host #sun wukong #shadowpeach #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #dad sun wukong #dad macaque #lmk tang #dad tang #lmk pigsy #lmk dadsy #lego monkie kid #lmk

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validdisaster · 18 days

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I Probably Won't Watch MisMag, But I Think I'm Glad It Exists?

I don't know if this is a valid feeling or some kind of misplaced trauma reaction, but when I hear American leftists/liberals joking about jkr or performing reparative or critical versions of Harry Potter, I sometimes feel a deep... I dunno, unease? I could be wrong, but I'm not sure a lot of international people really understand the kind of grip she has on the UK.

This is a country where transgender people were banned from the panels and review boards for the 2024 Cass Report that would define how trans children were treated in schools, the healthcare they have access to, and the support they have, then gave recommendations that will pave the way for making it more challenging for trans people as a whole to move through society with general dignity, respect, and essential medical care. Meanwhile, the new (leftwing) prime minister, who has refused to make any declarative claim about his beliefs on transgender people, made special time for a meeting with jkr in a bid for votes just a few weeks before the election to assure her he would do basically whatever she said to 'support women and girls' (whatever that means to a woman who has designated herself the arbiter of who is 'too masculine' for girlhood). Now, I'll be honest, that was before her descent into minor Holocaust denial and the Olympics bollocks, but long after she started paling around with people in far-right white supremacist circles. Her voice was considered more important than any medical professional who happens to be trans.

Personally, (and this is just my anecdotal experience) I've had family members, colleagues and even an ex-partner parrot lines almost word-for-word from her essay as an excuse to get away with some pretty nasty behaviour, despite never having read it and not knowing where that was where it came from - that's how much she has permeated British society. I have a difficult, strained, or nonexistent relationship with people who meant a whole lot to me and I don't know if that would still be true if J K Rowling hadn't decided to go off one day. People hurt me who might not have. She's able to use the fact that she's the writer of the Harry Potter books as a kind of cover to gain this legitimacy that lets people hand-wave away or not look closer at some of the most unambiguously bad stuff you can do and say. Again, I do have to say, I'm from a not-very-liberal area and the work I do is mostly manufacturing or call centre (so full of not-very-liberal people). Idk if other parts of the UK are different, but I sure as shit can't afford to live in them.

This might be a personal despair that I need to work through, but I'm just not sure any reparative stories set in echoes of Hogwarts can possibly do any good. She's still here, she's still hurting us, she still has more of a voice in British politics and discourse than the rest of us working together can possibly muster and her past seems like more of a shield to the bad things she's currently doing than something that can be reimagined correctively.

To be fully clear, I'm not criticising the mismag crew here, and I'm not criticising international folks (trans or cis) for not knowing the detailed minutia of what's going on in my very unimportant neck of the woods. I'm just trying to work through my feelings about a person who's done a lot of demonstrable harm to me and mine, and the kind of casualness that I feel like her impact gets treated with sometimes.

I get the sense that a lot of (particularly cis or non-british) leftwing circles treat her like such an obviously-bad punchline gremlin that they forget she's still a bogeyman to some of us, I'm still scared of what she'll do next. And it's weird to see people having fun in the funhouse-mirror version of her passion project. Maybe it's jealousy. I loved Harry Potter and Hogwarts for a long time. Maybe I just miss feeling safe there.

I hope there will be a day I feel safe enough to laugh about her. Maybe it's not such a bad thing that other people are there already?

#misfits and magic #dimension 20

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hiorintruther · 2 years

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Given that Blue Lock is an in-universe reality show with (apparently) millions of worldwide fans, that implies the theoretical existence of a Blue Lock fandom and, by extension, Blue Lock fanfic.

What kind of mischaracterisations do you think in-universe fans have of the various members of Blue Lock? Which ships would be popular? This is an rpf situation so what sort of drama goes on surrounding the very existence of bllk fanfic? Does the fandom have pockets which behave like other rpf fandoms such as Kpop and streamers? How much does Reddit fucking hate the stans? I NEED ANSWERS!!!!!

Firstly, the fandoms tagged in fics would be a mix of: Football RPF — all media types, Blue Lock (Football RPF), Neo Egoist League (Football RPF) and BLTV (Football RPF).

Common fandom-specific tags include: ‘Referenced Professional Footballers’, ‘No Beta We Die Like Kunigami Rensuke’s Ratings’, ‘Not Safe For Ego Jinpachi’s eyes’ and ‘Author Uses Football Not Soccer’.

Platonic relationships are pretty common in the fandom, with the most popular ones being ‘Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness’, ‘Meguru Bachira & Lavinho’, ‘Yoichi Isagi & Noel Noa’ and ‘Yoichi Isagi & Rensuke Kunigami’.

Personally I think the most popular ships (as of right now) would be Kaisagi, Kainess, Reonagi and Ryurin. Bachisagi would be practically nonexistent because fans wouldn’t have seen them interact much. Only old fans know they were basically unstoppable together during the U-20 match. Most fans joined during the NEL, after the show started streaming.

Noel Noa gets shipped with Lavinho but only because he’s always the dad in fics who needs emotional support. In these fics, Isagi and Bachira are always the gremlin step brothers who scheme their not-dads into getting together.

There’s a ship war going on between the kaisagi and the kainess shippers. There’s also a third party which is against real-person shipping but is fine with rpf in general so Bastard Munchen for them is a hodge-podge, falling apart at the seams found family trope. The same goes for all the other teams but the Bastard Family TM is the most popular one.

THERE ARE SO MANY FOUND FAMILY AUs. Popular tags include: “Noel Noa Is A Tired Dad”, “Isagi And Kunigami Are Brothers”, “Kaiser Is The Rich Cousin” and “They’re A Family Of Bastards Your Honour”.

There’s definitely fandom drama around the ethics of reading and writing fanfic. General consensus seems to end up being that non-ship fics are technically fine. Shippers still do their thing though because they’re impossible to get rid of.

The fandom ‘cinnamon rolls’ are definitely Bachira and Ness. Ness especially get mischaracterised as an ‘innocent, fragile flower’ that Kaiser has to protect. Bachira is most;y just characterised as Lavinho’s protege who is a happy lil sunshine with no flaws. Nagi also nearly falls into the ‘cinnamon roll’ category because he’s quiet and gives off ‘uwu’ energy (according to his stans) but slightly less so.

Rin gets the most x readers written about him. He beats everyone else except maybe Kunigami, who is a close second. They’re always characterised as the ‘bad boys’ and are the kings of Wattpad.

Sae gets inserted into Rin fics all the time purely because they’re brothers. Because he doesn’t appear in the NEL, his fandom interpretation is COMPLETELY off. Fans have basically turned him into a completely new, fictional character, he’s that different. He’s always dating Shidou though — Ryusae is a rare ‘it’s probably okay to ship this’ ship because literally everyone is convinced they’re actually dating irl.

If Kaiser is in the fic, his tattoo is usually brought up either as some kind of trauma-related thing or, in fantasy AUs, as a cursed mark. Fans have written whole ass essays about the symbolic meaning of his tattoo and how it can relate to fics.

Some of the more popular fics in the fandom, by kudos, include:

the obligatory fantasy AU where all the teams are kingdoms — 240k words, major character death, hurt no comfort (one of the fandom’s ‘cinnamon rolls’ dies in the third act).

the obligatory university/college AU where for some reason the university uses the US system despite none of the characters being American, each team is a different frat house and the fic is 25/? chapters, 32k words.

A Fluff And Angst, completely unrealistic found family “they all live in one house” fic where Noa adopts Isagi and it’s tooth-rottingly sweet but it’s clear that the author has been through some shit and is drawing from personal experience when writing. All the kids from Blue Lock and Bastard Munchen are like 10 years old. Noa is shipped with Lavinho and people choose to either ignore it and enjoy the fluff or are active shippers — 56k words, 19/22 chapters, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced child abuse, Noel Noa Is A Tired Dad.

Several one-shots involving the ‘brothers/cousins’ Isagi, Kunigami, Kaiser and Ness all doing random shit together. Usually the fics are either from Isagi or Kaiser’s perspective and you can tell which authors prefer the Blue Lockers and which ones prefer the German players — usually 3-6k words each.

A long-distance relationship Kaisagi AU named after a Glass Animals song that gets so popular it crashes AO3 twice- (sry I’ll stop, that would be rancid).

A Manshine City found family AU where Reo and Nagi are characterised as brothers to the nth degree, Chigiri is the golden child and Chris Prince is the uncle who didn’t want to take them in but had to and slowly grows to love them as if they were his own kids. The grown-up mentors all have weekly brunch down at the local diner where they talk like gossiping aunts — 19k words, 5/? chapters, Manshine Triplets, Reo And Nagi Are Twins, Chigiri is also there tho!!! Give Chris Prince A Break.

The aforementioned AU where Bachira and Isagi trick their not-dads into getting together — 16k words, 4/10 chapters, Fluff And Angst, Slow Burn.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #I wanna know what the in-universe AO3 page for Blue Lock (footballer RPF) looks like!!!

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starsreminisce · 4 months

Note

what are your thoughts on the dynamics of the archeron family

Short answer: A lot of boundaries are blurred, and both Feyre and Nesta were parentified, leaving all of them struggling to understand how to be sisters to one another.

Their journeys in the books are directed toward three main goals: healing a wound caused by their mother, fulfilling an aspiration from their father, and reassessing their feelings and roles towards each other. Interestingly, their mates provide them with what they always longed for from their father.

While both Papa Archie and Mama Archie failed their daughters, Mama Archie emerges as the biggest villain throughout the books.

The idea of the books ending with their mother's vision fulfilled—having all her daughters stay together—is scream-inducing, considering she is the most toxic person in the series.

In contrast, their father's hope for them is much more positive and meaningful, as they work towards building a better world—a vision that began with him urging Feyre to leave.

Long answer:

When I see their mother, it's on sight.

Feyre and Nesta have said nothing good about their mother. Yet, their father seemed to love her unconditionally, and when she passed, compounded by a series of unfortunate events, he was unable to provide and be the parent his daughters needed.

A hard lesson someone might never fully learn is that parents are just like their children—human, flawed, and burdened with their own unhealed traumas and poor coping mechanisms. The concept of mental health awareness was nonexistent then. Many people have suffered and died, yet the five stages of grief were only published in 1969.

While Papa Archie should have done x, y, and z, and should have been the parent he ought to be, the story began precisely because he didn’t. There would be no ACOTAR if Feyre had not learned to hunt and provide for her family.

Moreover, there would also be no ACOTAR if Papa Archie had told Feyre to obey the promise made to her mother. I headcanon that he was either glamoured or his mind was heavily altered because the Papa Archie in the cottage and the Papa Archie in the manor upon her return seemed completely different.

“Feyre,” my father said. His fingers trembled as he grasped my gloved hands, but his eyes became clearer and bolder than I’d seen them in years. “You were always too good for here, Feyre. Too good for us, too good for everyone.” He squeezed my hands. “If you ever escape, ever convince them that you’ve paid the debt, don’t return.” I hadn’t expected a heart-wrenching good-bye, but I hadn’t imagined this, either. “Don’t ever come back,” my father said, releasing my hands to shake me by the shoulders. “Feyre.” He stumbled over my name, his throat bobbing. “You go somewhere new—and you make a name for yourself.”

It's not about what you did then, it's about what you'll change now. I've seen the criticisms about how he didn't do enough, how performative bringing the fleet was, and so on. But consider what Papa Archie was going through: the love of his life died from a disease, they had been in debt for at least three generations, and the answer to their money woes sank. He had three beautiful daughters entering society, where dowries were crucial—Nesta received her first proposal at fourteen. He was then beaten by his creditors until his knee broke. So not only was he physically incapacitated, but his reputation also suffered, making it impossible to gather funds.

I would give Papa Archie some grace for not being able to be the parent his daughters needed. However, I see no redemption for their mother.

Feyre's journey involved learning to prioritize her own needs over being the family caretaker. Nesta's journey involved unlearning toxic patterns and channeling her energy into something that gives her a sense of purpose. Elain’s journey, considering she was described as her mother's doll and urgently needed a match before her beauty faded, hints at what her story will entail.

It’s interesting that their father’s aspirations in the first book seem to weave into their stories and are reflected in their mates.

He told Feyre to make a name for herself, which she did as the Cursebreaker and the first High Lady in centuries. Her mate, Rhysand, provides her with the support and partnership she always needed.

He told Feyre, when she asked him to intervene in Nesta marrying Isaac, that if it was love, he couldn’t talk sense into her. I really love this quote from him:

“We need hope as much as we need bread and meat,” he interrupted, his eyes clear for a rare moment. “We need hope, or else we cannot endure. So let her keep this hope, Feyre. Let her imagine a better life. A better world.”

Nesta's mate, Cassian, loves her unconditionally, especially during times when she feels undeserving of such love. Despite Nesta's deep-seated hatred for her father and his actions, his death impacts her profoundly. Despite all her resentment toward him, she is faced with the reflection of his love for her. Cassian doesn't see Nesta as flawed; rather, he sees someone who hasn't yet learned where to direct her strength and passion.

It's not surprising at all that the mate of Papa Archie's beloved daughter, his princess, is someone who can genuinely attest to his goodness and deep love for his daughters. This affirmation comes after he undertakes the quest of finding Vassa, a mission directly influenced by Elain's vision. It reflects Papa Archie's attentiveness to Elain's thoughts and desires, showcasing her father's ability to listen to her and include her in his plans and aspirations for the future.

Now, for the sisters themselves.

The dynamics between the sisters are evolving as they confront their long-held resentments towards each other, stemming from the failures of their parents.

This process is particularly evident with Elain in SF, where her arc seems poised to explore her transition from being perceived as just a "doll" to becoming someone whom their father treated as more than that. Elain's unresolved conflict with Nesta over the dread trove suggests that her book may delve deeply into this aspect, especially given the significance of the mask in HOFAS. Ember's parting words to Nesta about finding her own path resonate strongly, particularly in the context of Nesta's identity as Elain's protector.

Feyre's relationship with Elain appears more ambivalent, characterized by a sense of companionship rather than a deep bond. This sentiment is echoed in Rhys's criticisms about how Elain is treated, as seen in the bonus chapter.

Rhys raised a point that Elain might be afraid of disappointing Feyre, and it prompts speculation about its meaning. Could it be that Elain fears disappointing Feyre by rejecting the bond? However, considering it's Elain's bond, this interpretation seems perplexing. Alternatively, Elain may be aware that accepting the bond with Lucien could mean eventually leaving the Night Court, given Lucien's status as an heir. Such a decision might further fracture the notion of the sisters staying together, adding to Elain's apprehension about disappointing Feyre.

While Feyre and Nesta seem to have healed and strengthened their relationship, it remains unclear how Elain perceives her sisters and their protective tendencies towards her.

Their mother's toxic notion of them staying together contrasts sharply with their father's hope for them to create a better world, a dream for which he ultimately sacrificed his life. This suggests that staying together doesn't necessarily mean living under the same roof, and that sibling relationships can flourish when each member has their own pursuits.

Lastly, the deliberate withholding of their parents' names raises questions. Perhaps SJM is saving the revelation for a pivotal moment, similar to the unveiling of Aelin's identity in TOG.

I used to meme that SJM just doesn't provide names and yet in TOG, it shows just how much weight she actually gives them.

This could indicate that revealing their identities holds significant narrative weight and may contain spoilers crucial to the story's progression.

Thanks for asking!

#sorry anon but I have a lot of thoughts lol #elucien #feyre archeron #elain archeron #nesta archeron #acotar

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k-daydreams · 1 year

Text

The pursuit of Feeling Alive: I. Intro

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader, PLATONIC!IC x reader

Warnings: trauma, swearing, pining, angst?

Word Count: 4.8k

Author note: this is my first acotar fic! It was originally going to be a singular self indulgent azriel fic, but I can’t ever get to the point and I got too many ideas. Definitely not very canon with the timeline of series I think lol, just going to throw that out there. I’ve already rough drafted another chapter and thought I’d share the work on here. Feel free to share your thoughts! If you’d like to be added to a tag list let me know!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Internally, you teetered on the edge of a nervous breakdown, ready to tear yourself apart from within. Externally, you wore a mask of cold calculation, hoping no one could detect your distress and near senility. Earlier in the day, your cousin Mor had mentioned that her high lord and your other dear cousin, Rhysand, had matters to discuss with your high lord, Helion. The reason for their meeting was of no concern to Mor to bother filling you in.

Your heart thumped against your chest, unsure of what to expect. It had been over fifty years since the Day Court and Night Court had engaged in official business since the end of Amarantha's reign of terror. You had seen Rhysand during the time under the mountain, where you spent nearly half a century with him until Feyre saved Prythian. Still holding visits with him after to report to him along with Mor, thanks to her frequent visits to Helion. However, the rest of the court, especially those you hadn't met since after Amarantha and Hybern, remained a mystery, with only Mor's updates for context.

Following your time under the mountain, you chose to reside in the Day Court under Helion's rule as an emissary between the two Solar Courts. It served as a means to shield yourself from feeling too deeply, allowing you to focus on healing from the traumatic events you endured during those fifty years. There were other matters you had yet to confront and come to terms with, voluntarily choosing to ignore them. By hiding away and conducting your business mainly with Mor and Rhys, you could maintain a sense of avoidance of your once home.

Now, in the dining hall of the palace where Helion and his inner court resided—including yourself—you found yourself on edge. Regardless of the pressing matters at hand, your high lord insisted on hosting a dinner for his court and other high fae to publicly display the alliance between the Night Court and the Day Court. Standing next to Helion's chair in the center of the room, you observed the lively chatter among the gathered individuals.

Your hands were clasped tightly in front of you, nervously inspecting your gown for nonexistent dirt, attempting to conceal your jitters. The gown itself could remind anyone of the place you resided and wanted to consider your new home. It was an off-the-shoulder nude gown with gossamer sleeves cascading around your arms. The bodice, nearly transparent, accentuated your bust, adorned with soft gold crystals intricately arranged over your body. The long skirts consisted of layers of gossamer, featuring two long slits up the front that revealed your legs. You appeared ethereal and angelic.

"You seem on edge," Helion called out to you, pulling you out of your internal thoughts. Your eyes scanned the room, observing every movement, before turning your attention to the main entrance. He gently traced his finger beneath the dainty black diamond bracelet adorning your wrist, bringing your attention back. This bracelet, along with matching pieces around your neck and ears, showed your affiliation with the visiting court. You wore them out of respect for your older cousins, never daring to show your true affection openly—a facade to conceal your true self. You knew they would appreciate it if they noticed.

"The Night Court was your home, was it not?" He questioned, his tone casual, as he glanced over his shoulder at the other members of the inner court to make sure they weren’t listening. Adjusting his shirt cuffs to his well-matched button-down very similar color to yours, he exuded regality from head to toe.

You mumbled stoically, "Was." Clearing your throat tentatively, your eyes returned to the main doors. "This is my home now, serving under your rule. I can't afford to be anything but cautious when the Night Court wishes to discuss an unknown matter."

You didn’t miss the way his eyes rolled. "Always playing this game, aren't you?" Helion scolded playfully. “There's no need to keep up the act. Rhys's actions beneath the mountain spoke volumes for our court."

You thought to yourself, 'But my actions don't, and I'd rather keep it that way.' Aloud, you replied smoothly, "One can't appear too soft when the Night Court steps through that door." The lie slipped easily from your lips.

"Are we referring to the whole court now or the spymaster we both have eyes for?" Helion hummed, reclining slightly in his chair as he took a sip of fae wine from his chalice-like glass. Damn him.

"I have no eyes for any man, particularly not a brute Illyrian man. And especially not one I've been watching wrestle with my cousin since we were young children," you retorted, feeling a surge of unease and clenching your jaw at the assumption.

"That's a match I would give up all my powers to witness," the handsome, dark-skinned lord purred, his words aimed at you.

You wanted to snap at him, your patience wearing thin at the mere mention of the tall Illyrian warrior. However, you managed to keep your composure in check. "It's hardly a match; Rhys won every time."

As if on cue, you felt the energy of several individuals entering the palace. Rhysand always loved a dramatic entrance. "Excellent, our guests have arrived," you murmured, straightening your shoulders as best as you could.

Helion followed suit, sitting more upright in his chair at the center of the hall. The rest of the inner court took their positions standing.

The sentries opened the doors for the guests. Morrigan was the first to enter, her golden hair elegantly curled, and she delightedly took you in before blinking a few times, returning to her sultry expression. Her red gown fitted her perfectly: a strapless piece that flowed around her as she walked. Following her was a sight you hadn't expected since hearing the gossip from Mor—Lucien Vanserra, adorned in deep autumnal colors that complemented his complexion and long, tidy red hair. He was an old confidant of yours when you had stayed in the spring court. You couldn't help but find it amusing, but you maintained a composed demeanor, concealing your bemusement at how out of place in the night court he seemed.

After Lucien came two beautiful high fae women. The younger one on the left wore a flowing champagne pink gown that accentuated her slim waist and showcased her porcelain fair skin. Her light brown hair was adorned with crystals and flowers, and she wore dainty opal teardrop earrings that complimented her brown eyes. On the right stood another woman in a form-fitting navy dress that subtly shimmered with every movement. The gown highlighted her curves and bust, while a sapphire-like sciphon necklace adorned her neck. Her darker brown hair was elegantly pinned up with a silver circlet. These must have been the High Lady's sisters, Elain and Nesta, whom you had heard so much about. Nesta's eyes had a hint of danger and coldness, while Elain's were filled with awe as they observed the dining hall.

Cassian followed the two women, and you discreetly coughed to suppress a snort. He appeared cleaned up, wearing a navy tunic and dark linen pants, with his hair slicked back and neatly tied. This was a different version of him from the rugged general you were accustomed to, not dressed in his usual fighting leathers to a formal affair. His siphons were cleverly disguised as jewelry pieces, and he had politely tucked back his larger wings. He seemed out of place as much as Lucien, but his mischievous eyes locked with yours, indicating he might have had similar thoughts about you.

Before you could even see her, you sensed Amren's piercing gaze from behind Cassian's towering figure. Her glowing silver eyes held an inscrutable expression, and her lips formed a slight grimace. She wore her usual grey color in a slip gown that elegantly draped down in the front. Though not dressed as extravagantly as the others, her presence demanded attention. A touch of red lipstick and a slightly tousled hairstyle were enough to enhance her beauty. You could see the rest of Helion’s inner court murmur from your peripheral, the usual whispers about the millennia’s old creature stalking towards them.

Rhysand made his entrance with the high lady from beside him, exuding confidence and power. He wore his customary dark attire that accentuated his commanding presence. His violet eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention to Helion. Feyre held her head high, a diadem hanging on the crown of her head, and her hair half up half down in loose waves. Her dress off the shoulder shone in sapphire crystals making it look like stars had been entwined on the gown. She was gorgeous as a mortal even when she was malnourished when you saw her under the mountain, but as a high fae she was even more devastating.

Last of the group, you spotted Azriel, his shadows swirling subtly around him, and your breath caught in your throat. His shadows slinked up his dark tunic clad shoulder seeming to whisper in his ear. He looked over at you making eye contact discreetly. His features were hard but something unreadable in his eyes as he observed you. You didn’t miss the slight bob of his throat as he looked quickly away to a distant corner in the room acting stoic. His hair was pushed back showing his sharp jawline, and you could see his tattoos peeking out his shirt. His silent and brooding presence always managed to unnerve you, unable to get a good read on what could’ve been going through his head. You refused to let your guard down, not wanting to think about the shadowsinger that stood mere feet away. This had been the first time you have seen each other in person since you were able to leave under the mountain.

The Night Court all stood in front of Helion, and he bowed his head in greeting. You did the same along with the rest of the inner court. The introductions began, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Helion gracefully welcomed his guests, exchanging pleasantries and acknowledging the significance of the meeting. You observed the interactions, keeping a blank face despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. It felt like you were looking into your old life from the outside watching the inner circle, and your heart ached for a second.

Eventually, it was time for you to step forward and join the introductions. As you approached Rhysand, his gaze never wavered from yours. His lips curved into a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the past. You stood before him, your heart pounding, but your expression remained composed.

"High Lord Rhysand," you greeted him, keeping your tone neutral and titles formal. "It has been a while."

His voice was smooth as he responded, “Y/n, always a pleasure. Allow me to introduce my wife and High Lady, Feyre.”

You bowed respectfully to the High Lady. “I am in awe, Feyre Cursebreaker. What an honor to have you grace the Day Court with your presence.”

A smile graced her lips in response. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I have heard so much about you, Y/n.” She took your hands in hers, and you were taken aback by the warm informal gesture. Your gaze fell upon the intricate tattoo adorning her hand and forearm, and in that moment, your heart swelled with joy for your cousin, and you dared to steal a glance at Rhys. His eyes were already fixed on you, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle hints of tenderness and anticipation shining within them. You were so happy for him.

The formalities continued, and you exchanged polite words with Lucien, Elain, and Nesta. You longed for a chance to sit down and talk with them, to hear about their experiences since being freed from the cauldron. Your gaze wandered momentarily to Lucien, who stood near Morrigan, his amber eyes briefly glancing in your direction. A flicker of recognition passed between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared history. You had both suffered under the rule of the Spring Court, and it was a trauma you preferred to keep buried for now. But you couldn’t deny that you treasured the moments the young emissary had kept you sane within the trauma.

You stood next to Helion along with another Day Court emissary as Rhys, Amren, and Helion discussed some political topics. Deep down, you yearned for a moment alone with the inner circle, away from the prying eyes and expectations. But for now, you had to focus on the diplomatic matters at hand and navigate the complexities of the gathering. As the conversations flowed around you, you remained attentive, gathering information and assessing the dynamics between the courts.

Throughout the evening, conversations flowed, alliances were strengthened, and unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You played your part, engaging in polite conversation and maintaining the facade of an emissary, all the while battling the internal storm raging within you. It was beginning to wear on you though. Watching from afar at how Mor mingled with Nesta and Cassian. The Illyrian man had his arm around the oldest Archeon sister as they nodded and chuckled at Mor, and you wanted to smile. You had never expected Cassian finding a mate before you, but here you were.

A lot has changed since you had left indeed, and the longing you felt came back.

“You’re not my prisoner, you know. Feel free to mingle,” Helion’s voice chimed from behind, breaking through your thoughts.

“Isn’t that a bit informal?” you responded, sipping your glass of wine.

He arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “To talk at a party?” He snatched your wine from your hand.

You turned to face him, reaching for your half-filled glass that he held teasingly away from you. “Ah, don’t you think it’s a bit informal for an emissary to get drunk?” He added a playful spark in his eyes.

“To drink at a party?” You volleyed back, grinning mischievously as you continued your playful struggle for the glass.

“Why don’t you practice the talking part with Rhysand?” Helion suggested, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It seems like he’s eager to have a word with his dear cousin.” He gestured subtly behind you, and amidst the revelry and banter, Rhysand and Feyre made their way toward you both. However, before you could react, your gaze caught Azriel’s intense hazel eyes from their table behind the approaching couple, where he sat next to Elain. His massive wings appeared tense and uncomfortably confined by the chair. Elain chatted with him, but it seemed his attention was elsewhere, fixated on you. His shadows still whispered in his ear as one crept across the table.You resisted the urge to shudder, maintaining your composure, and quickly turned your attention back to Helion, whose grin remained firmly in place.

“Helion, may we borrow Y/n for a moment?” Rhysand inquired, one eyebrow raised, his gaze flickering between you and Helion.

Helion practically pushed you into Feyre’s arms. “Go ahead, I was just informing her that she’s free from her duties until later!” he announced with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The tips of your ears burned with embarrassment as you realized his intent to encourage your mingling.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you replied, bowing your head with a touch of sarcasm. Rhysand extended his arm, and you looped yours through it, allowing him to guide you towards their table. A nervous gulp betrayed your anticipation.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, her tone gentle and caring.

“May we speak on the balcony?” you requested, your voice filled with meekness.

“Of course, it’s getting a bit warm in here,” Rhysand agreed, leading the three of you towards the balcony bathed in soft faelight.

You all leaned casually against the balcony railing, observing the lively feast taking place inside.

"How's the Day Court treating you?" he asked in a relaxed tone, as if to put you at ease. Away from prying eyes, you felt your shoulders relax. It felt good to be with your cousin where you both didn’t have to wear a mask.

"Well," you replied, "the Day Court doesn't quite compare to the beauty of the Night Court, but the days are undeniably bright." You struggled to find a suitable comparison for the Day Court's allure to the Night Court.

Rhys and Feyre almost snorted out their wine, their amusement evident. "I wonder why," Rhys sarcastically murmured.

Choosing to ignore your cousin's comment, you continued, "I've been making progress translating some texts for the court, and delving into a lot of reading.”

It seemed as though the High Lord and Lady expected to hear more and urged you to continue, but they realized you had nothing more to share.

Rhys cleared his throat. "Wow, that sounds like quite a lot," he remarked. You could tell he wanted to throw a snide remark, but a warning look from his mate kept him at bay. Where was Feyre centuries ago when you always found to be the butt of your cousin's jokes?

You shrugged. "Keeps me distracted." From your vantage point, you had a perfect view of the inner circle's table. Mor, Amren, Azriel, Lucien, Nesta, and Cassian were all seated there, drinking and picking at their food. Helion even made sure Amren had a chalice of beast's blood. You missed being a part of that group, laughing and sharing moments with them. The only person in the Day Court you truly felt comfortable with was Helion, and even that remained behind closed doors.

"Come home," the words made your shoulders tense. It wasn't your cousin who had spoken, but Feyre. You looked at her, finding understanding in her eyes, as if she knew what you were going through.

Your gaze wandered back to the inner circle. Your eyes fell on Azriel, who was listening with a ghost of a smile on his lips, as Cassian animatedly spoke, his wings flaring about and nearly knocking over Lucien's wine glass. The group tried to hide their laughter while Amren scolded them. Azriel's shadows discreetly moved the glass out of Cassian's wingspan, hiding his amusement.

"They miss you," Rhys genuinely expressed. "I miss you, and even the House misses you." Tears welled up, tightening your throat. "He won’t say it out loud, but he misses you too."

You didn't need to be told who he was. You knew.

"I didn't even say goodbye," you spoke with a heavy heart, guilt washing over you.

"That was over fifty years ago, Y/n," Rhys reminded you gently.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We have texts for you to translate if it’s a means to keep you busy, we could even have you train with Madja. Want an apartment on the opposite side of town from the House of Wind? Consider it done. Desire a cottage in the middle of nowhere? It's yours. Just please, stop running away," Rhys pleaded.

You felt tears welling up, but you willed them away. "I... I just can't leave," you stammered. You could feel your heart torn.

"You can," Feyre said sympathetically, holding your hands. "Helion asked us to come and talk to you."

"We won't force you, but he mentioned that you've changed in the last few years," Rhys added. Feyre's grip on your hands tightened.

"Please talk to them maybe and think about it?" she requested. You knew she meant the inner circle.

Biting your lip, you contemplated. "I'll find you in a bit. I need some time alone."

With a nod, Rhysand and Feyre understood your need for solitude. They exchanged a brief glance before making their way back inside, leaving you alone on the balcony.

Leaning against the railing, you let the cool evening breeze brush against your skin, smell of wildflower and honey in the air, the quietness of the moment allowing your thoughts to swirl. Images of your past, the friendships you had forged and the bonds you had left behind, filled your mind. The longing in your heart grew stronger with each passing second your family stood in the same room as you. A longing you pushed deep down when you were still under the mountain, uncertain of seeing your loved ones again.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to not let tears slip. It was true that you had changed over the years, that the weight of your experiences had shaped you into someone different. But running away had only prolonged the pain, and you knew it was time to confront it. If your cousins had endured the pain, you were sure you could too.

Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the railing, determination igniting within you. You couldn't stay on the sidelines any longer. The inner circle had always been your family, even if circumstances had driven you apart. And now, as you stood on the cusp of a decision, you realized that it was time to bridge that gap.

Stepping back inside, you navigated through the crowd, searching for the familiar faces you had missed dearly. You found them at their table, still engaged in their playful banter, laughter filling the air. Taking a deep breath, you approached, your footsteps faltering only slightly.

As you reached the table, a hush fell over the group, their gazes turning towards you. Azriel's eyes locked with yours, and the shadows around him seemed to ripple, as though mirroring the tumultuous emotions within you.

"Can I join you?" you asked softly, your voice carrying a blend of trepidation and hope.

The response was immediate and overwhelming. Cassian's boisterous laughter echoed as he clapped you on the back, nearly knocking the breath out of you. Nesta's sharp gaze softened for a brief moment, Elain offered a warm but wary smile, and Lucien's amber eyes held surprise. Morrigan's voice was a welcoming melody as she pulled out a chair for you, and Amren, in her own enigmatic way, nodded approvingly.

Taking your seat among them, you couldn't help but feel a sense of homecoming. And as you settled into the comfort of their presence, you could feel your frozen heart just dethaw slightly.

“Y/n, I knew you were always shy, but around us?” Mor teased you endearingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You look so beautiful tonight!” She gushed, her words filled with genuine admiration as she played with a strand of your hair. “The dress would be better in a darker color though.” She whispered the last part so only you and the inner circle could hear, her voice laced with a conspiratorial tone.

“The gown color does wash you out,” Amren chimed in, her bored expression not fully hiding a hint of amusement.

A laugh bubbled out of your chest, surprising even yourself. "Not the first thing I thought I would hear from you in years," you quipped, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Amren raise her glass to you before taking a sip of the thick liquid in the cup.

“Better than that raggedy spring court piece you came back in, though," Rhysand interjected, his voice filled with playful banter as he and Feyre settled into the extra seats at the table. The original inner circle chuckled at the memory.

Despite that being one of the worst days of your life, you couldn't help but smile too. The shared laughter brought a warmth to the air, softening the edges of past wounds.

“You should’ve seen the dress I came to the Night Court in," Feyre chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Another monstrosity by Ianthe," Lucien muttered into his glass before taking a sip, his voice tinged with a touch of disdain. Your eyes widened at the snide comment, but the group erupted into laughter, momentarily forgetting the weight of your burdens.

As the night wore on, Helion raised his glass, signaling a toast to the alliance between the two courts. The hall fell silent, and you raised your glass as well, a faint smile playing at the corner of your lips. The toast created a joyous noise as everyone in attendance drank, and the music started playing. Mor instantly beamed and grabbed Feyre’s hand, followed by Elain, leading them to the dance floor. Rhysand and Lucien joined them, their steps filled with a carefree grace. Cassian took Nesta’s hand, and they followed suit. Amren excused herself to converse with the emissary from the Day Court with a request of Azriel to accompany her.

You turned to Mor, insisting you would join them shortly, as you wished to find Helion. She nodded understandingly, giving you a knowing smile as she disappeared into the swirling crowd. You made your way toward Helion, feeling the warmth of the night and the drinks starting to loosen your tongue and heart.

“Do you wish to get rid of me so easily?” you feigned offense, walking up to his side. The merriment of the evening had given you a newfound boldness. Your body hadn’t felt this light in ages. Your gaze met his, and a flicker of understanding passed between you.

Helion shook his head, a gentle smile gracing his features. “No, darling, never. I just think your heart belongs somewhere else.” His words were filled with gentle encouragement. He patted the arm of his chair, offering you a seat upon the rest. With an eye roll and a smile, you accepted, settling into the plush chair arm.

"Your presence is lovely, your duty is commendable, but I couldn't sit here watching you turn to stone any longer," Helion continued, his voice filled with genuine concern. His finger absentmindedly found the wrist under your bracelet, his touch a feather-light brush against your skin. A wave of warmth washed over you, and the faint scent of wildflowers drifted through the air.

"Besides, maybe it's time you face a certain Illyrian man," he whispered discreetly, his words carrying a hint of suggestion.

You looked at him, confusion swirling within you. His eyes subtly glanced over to the corner, and you followed his gaze. Azriel stood behind Amren, his intense gaze fixed on Helion and you. His jaw was clenched, and his wings were taut with tension, as if holding back an impending storm. The sight of him sent a jolt of both excitement and apprehension through your veins.

"I can't ignore those ravenous stares, knowing he wants to rip me to shreds, and not in the way I like," he added, teasingly toying with your bracelet as if oblivious to Azriel's presence. The Day Court High Lord knew exactly what he was doing it seemed. Azriel couldn’t have been glaring at Helion; it had to be you. Memories of your past argument with Azriel flashed through your mind, the intensity of the argument still fresh. You had both nearly destroyed each other. You hadn’t ever heard you two speak so many volatile and vulgar things— especially at each other.

"I could never forgive him for what he said," you sighed. "What's even worse is that I can't forgive myself for what I did, not only to him, but to my family. I feel responsible for my ex-husband's actions towards them." You admitted, realizing that you had never spoken those words aloud before.

Beside you, the lord sucked his teeth in retort. "You can't blame yourself for what your father put you through by selling you to that pretty little beast." He sat up straighter and looked at you earnestly. "Nobody blames you, Y/n." You found yourself unabashedly staring back at Azriel as he was still looking at the interaction between you and the high lord.

“We all carry burdens from our past, but we mustn't let them define our future," he said gently. "You were caught in a web spun by others, but you have the strength to break free. It's time to forgive yourself and embrace the healing you deserve."

You nodded nimbly, biting your lip in contemplation. You would always hold gratitude for Helion. His kindness you’ve experienced for the last several years was more than what you deserved and needed, but he still provided it. If you returned to the night court you wouldn’t have known where you stood in the court. What your rank would be, what your friends thought of you, and where to even pick back up in your life. You just knew you haven’t felt this alive in awhile, and you craved the feeling.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

[x] next chapter

Let me know your thoughts, and feel free to like and reblog! I might change the title but that’s tbd.

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princeescaluswords · 5 months

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The Respect She Deserves

Another day, another WTF take from a member of the Sterek fandom. Apparently, members of the Sterek fandom are leaders when it comes to giving Allison Argent the 'respect she deserves.'

Okay.

The next time you're reading a selection of Sterek fanfictions, count how many of them have their Stand-In with a Stiles Name Tag echo Derek's first season trauma-powered fear and hatred of Allison. Tally up how many times the story blames Scott's desire for Allison as one of the reasons Derek fails or calls Scott stupid for loving a hunter, even though everyone is aware that Allison didn't even know werewolves existed or that her family hunted them until the end of episode 10. Is the 'respect she deserves' being treated as if her last name is the only thing about her that matters?

The next time you're reading a selection of Sterek fanfictions, count how many of them describe Allison's relationship with Scott as 'puppy love' or as something that is 'on-and-off.' Notice that Allison's relationship with Isaac is seldom, if ever, described like that, because the main thing for these respecters of womanhood that marks her relationship as immature and ephemeral is that it is with Scott. Notice how often her relationship with Scott (and thus her decisions) are demeaned in order to compare it with the glorious so-slow-burning-it-is-nonexistent maturity of the Sterek relationship. Is the 'respect she deserves' being treated as if her primary romantic relationship is inherently childish?

The next time you're reading a selection of Sterek fanfictions, count how many of them snidely insinuate that the basis of Allison's relationships is lust rather than actual love. See how many times they remark on how easily Allison and (usually but not always) Scott engage in public displays of affection, where they make out in front of other people or sit on each other's laps constantly or disappear into a quiet corner even during tense times to engage in carnality. Allison and Scott (as well as Allison and Isaac) do engage in physical intimacy during the show, but it is never in public (Silverfinger (3x17) doesn't count) and the only time it backfired was when Scott and Allison made the mistake of falling asleep after sex while watching Jackson in Frenemy (2x06). Is the 'respect she deserves' being treated as if she is a sex-crazed slut?

The next time you're reading a selection of Sterek fanfictions, count how many of them come out and say that Allison is a b*tch because of her actions while being manipulated by Gerard. After all, she hunted down her classmates! Compare that to how the Hale betas are described, who also hunted down their classmates on Derek's orders, including the point where Erica bashed Stiles with a car part and left him in a dumpster or Isaac attacked Allison and Stiles in Scott's house or when they bushwhacked Scott (again on Derek's orders) at the ice rink. Once you're done with that, compare the way Derek's bad decisions and violent behavior is excused due to his family's deaths and Stiles's insecurity and aggressive lashing out is excused due to his mother's death, but Allison's vulnerability and overreaction to her aunt being murdered right in front of her and her mother committing suicide on her bed fails to generate any sympathy whatsoever! Often, these stories only talk about how she's going to have to work to make up for what she did wrong (as she said in the show) and even then Stiles will never trust her again. Is the 'respect she deserves' being treated as if the terrible tragedies that befell her -- members of her family dying -- cannot be considered anywhere near as exculpatory as similar white male pain?

It might take you a few seconds to figure out what the original fan meant by the Sterek fandom giving Allison the 'respect she deserves,' but it should be clear in the end. They would never have paired her with the Latino flop they despise because the show treated him as if he was "The Only One that Mattered!" The Sterek fandom, to prove that point, highlights how terrible it is for Allison to not be single so she could focus on making it up to the Hale Family for the actions of her family members. When her relationship to Scott isn't being insulted and mocked, only then can she full her best destiny: serving as fire support for the glorious return of the Hale Pack (while graciously forgetting all of Peter's serial killings, Derek's biting of her mother, and the Hale betas trying to execute her friends on the basis of an old wives tale and a crappy test.) Find a Sterek story where Allison's relationship to Sterek covers anything more than her being a military asset or a penitent. They are certainly out there. Somewhere.

#allison argent #derek hale #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #fandom misogyny #teen wolf fandom misogyny

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garbinge · 3 months

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Opening Up (3)

Angel Reyes x OC Isabeth ‘Izzy’ Flores 30 Day Fic Challenge (20/30)

Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Sorry I missed uploading two days! I've been in a bit of a mental rut and just haven't opened my laptop but back at it with the rest of these 30 day fics :)

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Trauma. Bad Thoughts. Series Finale Spoilers. Mentions of blood, violence, abuse, assault, murder. Arguments. Heavy topics discussed.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @kmc1989 Continuation from Wanderlust (1) and Library Day Care (2)

Despite the summer months being well and over, the sun hadn’t really gotten that memo. The coastal heat in La Paz was still just as brutal in October as it was in June. Angel spent most of his day outside in that heat, but he didn’t mind the slightest. This job brought him everything he needed. Besides the paycheck, the job gave him a place to live on premise. A modest two bedroom cottage that although could have been toured in less than a minute due to it’s size, was exactly what the two Reyes boys needed. Maverick wasn’t exactly in the market for a huge room being only 2 and with the extra cash Angel was bringing in and using to spoil his young son, it would have soothed the desire anyways. It was much better than the house he had been renting before, and now he only paid a fraction of that, only having to shell out for the utilities, not the space itself. The location of the ranch overall felt like he was in his own planet, so far away from the world he used to be in. It was peaceful, it was beautiful, it was honestly everything he could ask for, but it didn’t stop the memories from sneaking their way in. As he’d work in the field, throwing seeds or harvesting things, his mind would suddenly start to sneak away from the task at hand. At first it’d be peaceful, thinking of Maverick, how his day at the library was going, how big he’d been getting. Then it’d move to dinner, what he planned to make or pick up, then it’d quickly go from there to the kitchen in his childhood home, where he’d remember his mother cooking for them, talking to them about the steps she’d take to make the perfect meal, he’d see himself, as a kid, at that kitchen table watching his mother intently, then see his brother, not far off from Maverick’s age on the seat across from him. It’d be almost instantly where the scene of stabbing the knife into his gut flashed in his mind, which would follow by the gurney with his father being brought out, and his mother on the floor of the carniceria. He’d try and shake the thought, bring himself back to the nature surrounding him and his list of tasks. When it’d be time to move onto the livestock pastures, or repairs, he’d be relieved. Those two tasks tended to keep his mind off his thoughts, it’s why he’d always jump at the mention of them.

As he’d head down to his truck to drop Maverick off at daycare, he’d always stop into the main office to get his list first. The de Valle family had welcomed the Reyes boys with open arms. The matriarch of the family, Paulina, always mentioned how her and her mother would gladly watch the boy if ever needed while Senor de Valle himself even mentioned bringing him to the few school field trips that would come to see the farm. They’d often ask him down to dinner on the weekends, and sometimes he’d oblige and join the family and other farm employees.

Currently he should have been picking up today’s list and making his way down to his truck with Maverick to drop him off at daycare but, today was a little different. Angel had already woken up early to get started on a few things that were always better to get done before the sun was up. With Maverick asleep, and a baby monitor on full blast at his hip, doing the work in the few fields in his backyard was his way of getting a jump start on his day. Until the thoughts got the best of him and time became nonexistent. Angel stood practically frozen as he remembered the blood all over the floor, it became like a wallpaper in his brain, EZ’s voice echoed in his head. “Tell your boy about me. Tell him about mom.” It was then that the bloodied wallpaper in his head turned to a different one, one with more memories tied to of him as a boy. The shop, where he practically grew up, ruined by one instance. He couldn’t help but to worry that what his mind was, ruined by the instances that he could blame no one but himself for. Selfish worry quickly turned outwards as he thought about his own kin, how would he grow up, would he be ruined by the memories of his past, the memories his father gives him? It was then that the crying from the baby monitor pulled Angel back to the weeding he was currently doing. As he came more to it, he saw the sun rather high and it was at that moment, he realized, he was late.

Quickly he ran back to his cottage, mere feet away and went to the bedroom where Maverick had woken up rather crankily. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay, daddy’s here.” Angel quickly bounced the boy up and down in his arms before moving to get him changed and ready for the day. His eyes constantly glanced at the clock now as the minutes passed and the later he became.

His normal entrance into the library of holding Maverick’s hands and lifting him a couple inches off the ground was not possible in this moment, he replaced it with a quick pace so he could get to the children’s section quicker.

“You’re late.” A familiar voice spoke up without even looking at Angel. Izzy was heads down into some paperwork at the children’s circulation desk, the sign in sheet still sitting on the counter but looking almost full.

“I know, I’m sorry, I got–” Angel stopped as he realized what prevented him from being on time. “I lost track of time.” He moved Maverick to one arm as he quickly put his information on the sign up sheet.

“You know, I pass the ranch on my way into work. We could pick Maverick up for you. Even drop him off.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus was on the stuff in front of her as she moved a few stacks of papers around and continued writing things down.

“I couldn’t ask that.” He shook his head, adjusting Maverick in his grip.

She smiled at that, “Good thing you didn’t ask.”

“Izzy.” He said as his head fell to the side begging for her to be serious for a moment.

That made her look up and almost widen her eyes as she took in the sight of him. He had dirt everywhere, his shirt, his face, his arms, and his eyes looked tired and tormented all at once.

It was instinctual to ask immediately if he was okay or what happened, but she bit her tongue and just stepped out from behind the desk to take the young boy into her arms.

“I live in La Huerta, right of 286. I pass El Ranchitos everyday, it’d be no issue to add 5 minutes to my commute to pick Maverick up and drop him off.” Her voice was sincere but serious too.

Angel clearly didn’t know what to say, so Izzy just kept talking. “Look, you don’t have to make the decision right now, I’ll bring him home tonight and you can let me know then. I’m happy to do it.”

Angel just nodded, still stuck in whatever frozen state his body was in but just when Izzy was about to ask him if he was okay to drive he was quickly planting a kiss to Maverick’s head and moving right back the way he came in.

____

Izzy pulled up to the ranch to see Angel waiting at the entrance, leaning on his truck. He pointed to where she should park and jogged over to her driver’s door and opened it for her.

“What service they have here at El Ranchitos.” She joked as she stepped out of the two decade old Xterra.

“It’s what they hired me for, welcoming service.” Angel joked back and looked over the car. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks, it was my dad’s.” She hung off the door frame of the car as she looked at it. “Been through a lot but I keep her as up to date on repairs as I can.”

Angel peaked in through the open door to see both kids in the backseat and waved. Maverick kicked his feet and giggled, waving back quickly at his dad and then pointing to the girl next to him and saying her name a few times. “Abrielle, Abrielle, Abrielle!”

Angel let out a chuckle. “You guys have time for a quick tour of the farm?” He turned to ask Izzy.

“Yea, don’t see why not.” She shrugged and closed the door before opening the back seats to get the kids out.

“You can let ‘em roam. Maverick kind of knows where to and where not to go, Abrielle will stick close to him anyways.” He said as they began the trek up the dirt road.

Angel showed them the livestock barns, the open grazing fields, showing the kids horses, goats, and cows. He let them sneak into the garden, and made each one of them promise to not say anything because Senora De Valle took her greenhouse very seriously. And after that, he picked a couple strawberries for the kids as well as Izzy. They ended their tour at the general store, which was closed but Angel had a key.

“Figured, you could grab whatever you wanted for dinner.” Angel lifted his hands up and pointed around the store. “My treat, as a thank you for today.”

“I thought that’s what the tour was for.” Izzy was already looking around at what she wanted to grab for dinner for her and her daughter.

Angel just laughed and shook his head, grabbing his own food and then placing a hundred dollar bill near the cash register, which Tatiana, the store manager would have known was Angel’s doing.

“We can eat up at my place, it’s a two minute walk from here.” Angel pointed up the hill.

Izzy nodded, giving her young daughter a piece of food to hold and eat as she trekked up the hill.

“Holy shit.” Izzy mumbled under breath as she reached the top of the hill to see Angel’s small cottage, more open fields, and the most beautiful sky as the sun began to set.

“Ain’t bad, right?” Angel laughed before nodding his head so the woman would follow into the home.

It wasn’t long until the kids were passed out on the couch, the remnants of their different dinners all over the bar counter where Izzy was currently sitting sipping the last of her soda while Angel leaned up against the back counter of his kitchen, the fridge directly to his right, and the living further out to his right.

“You want a drink?” Angel used his foot to kick open the fridge, and leaned forward slightly to look in at what he had. “Have beer, wine, water…” He began to name off.

“Cerveza, por favor.” She spoke so fluently it took Angel by surprise hearing it, he was so used to talking to her in English.

He grabbed one for himself and pointed to the sliding door connected to the living room. “Sit outside?” He asked, already walking over.

Izzy followed him, still in awe of the view he had here.

“It’s pretty amazing isn’t it?” He plopped down on one of the lawn chairs that sat on the small patio deck. “Hard to believe this is my life sometimes.”

“I get that feeling.” Izzy was nodding as she slowly moved down to sit in the chair and looked out across the field.

“I’m sorry about this morning.” Angel brought the beer just shy of his lips before he apologized and then quickly brought it to his mouth right after to stop any other words from coming out.

“You think anymore about my offer?” As hard as it was to not look at how beautiful the sky was, Izzy pried her eyes away to look at Angel.

“Feel like all I ever do is think.” Unlike her, Angel couldn’t look over at her, his eyes were still looking out at the field, the very field where everything started this morning.

“Well maybe you should turn that thinking into talking.” Izzy had a bit of an attitude in her voice, not a harsh one, but more of an obvious one.

This got Angel’s attention. His head snapped to look at her, a confused frown filling his face, clearly picking up on the tone.

“All I’m saying is, it’s not good to keep it bottled in. The thoughts. You gotta get them out.” She shrugged, casually bringing her legs up to sit criss crossed in the adirondack chair.

“And you?” Angel matched the tone she had earlier. “Who do you talk to?”

“God–sometimes.” She tossed her head back and forth and smiled “Myself.” She nodded so confidently. “I journal.” At those last two words she had pointed her hand with the beer in it like it was a forgotten thought.

“You tellin’ me I should journal?” His eyebrows were furrowed but also raised.

“I’m tellin’ you,” she mocked his language before returning to her own, “that you need to do something. Keeping it inside is going to kill you.”

Angel laughed at that. The idea that now, where he was at in life, his thoughts would be the thing to kill him. Not an enemy, not his club, not the cartel, but his own fucking thoughts.

“You suggestin’ I talk to you?” His voice had humor in it, it was deflection and Izzy knew it which is why she didn’t give in to it.

“Doesn’t seem like you have many other options.” She turned her head to sarcastically look around.

Angel smirked again, deflection still coursing through everything in him. “But you talked to yourself, or God.” He was leaning forward now, his hands resting on his knees, almost as if he was antagonizing the girl. “Oh and your journal.” He pointed to her copying exactly what she did earlier.

Izzy stood up, finishing the beer in a huge chug before turning around and staring Angel down directly in his eyes. “I did that shit because when I came here, I had no one. It was me and my newborn. So yea, Angel, I made due with what I had.” She broke her eye contact and went back inside, tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin and moving to grab her daughter from the couch.

“We’re gonna head home.” She stepped back out onto the patio, her bag on one shoulder, and an asleep child on the other.

Angel realized he fucked up the minute she was getting up. His head was starting to hurt between the thoughts and what just occurred. And now the headache was filled with regret and stress.

“Give me a minute, let me just put him in his crib and I’ll walk you to your car.” Angel didn’t let the woman answer, just stepped inside and quickly moved Maverick to his bedroom before meeting Izzy back outside.

The walk down to the car was silent, only the sounds of the birds and bugs as the night started to settle around them along with the crunches of the dirt below them. As they approached her silver SUV, the sounds escalated to car doors opening and the clicks and snaps of car seats and seatbelts.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry.” Angel spoke up when Izzy was turning back around from strapping Abrielle in and lightly closing the car door.

“Don’t worry about it.” Refusing to make eye contact she moved from the back seat to the driver’s door.

Angel grabbed the door as she opened it, hoping his hand resting on the frame would get her to stop for a minute and look at him. “It’s just hard. I come from a place of not being able to trust anyone, trusting the wrong people, and just keeping a lot internal so it’s just tough for me.”

Izzy turned around now, her body was inches away from Angel, the tension growing immensely as she stared up into his eyes, trying to fully grasp what he meant and was saying.

“My father was killed by a cartel hit squad, the person that killed him was looking for me, because I was pregnant with his child and planning to run away.”

It was a sentence that lacked any detail at all, it was simply fact and really only said to make a point. Angel was lost for words, he could tell Izzy had a past, but he hadn’t expected it to be that dark.

“So when I say I get it, Angel, I get it.”

It was then Angel realized that she already knew, she knew where Angel came from without him having to say a word. She might not have known the names and the logistics but she could pick out the similarities between them easily.

“I was in an MC–motorcycle club, we had a deal with a cartel–worked for them, it ended bad. Lost my family, everyone except Maverick.” Angel offered up his story, similar to Izzy’s lacking all the detail but just something so she knew he was open to talking to her.

The silence felt heavy and very apparent to Angel after he spoke up. His thoughts racing a mile a minute, was this the wrong decision, should he not have said anything. But then Izzy cut through that tension.

“Looks like we have a lot in common.” Her face was still stiff, it was a side of the girl he hadn’t seen but he realized it was likely a part of her that was entirely who she was for a while based on what she told him.

“If you’re up for it still, I’d love to take you up on what you said, picking Maverick up and dropping him off?”

“Depends.” Her looked hardened even more. “Are you done?” Angel wasn’t sure what she was asking and apparently his face said that for him because she spoke up again. “Is that part of your life done, Angel? The MC, the cartel?”

He felt sick thinking about it, all the death, the blood, the loose ends tied up. “It is.”

“I can’t get involved in that again.” Her face had loosened up from his answer, but she still wanted to make her point clear.

He nodded and then frowned. “Involved?”

That’s when a small smirk flashed across her face for a moment when she looked down at the ground but then straightened out when she looked back up at him. “Yea my offer depends on if you plan to actually treat me to a proper dinner on your back patio.” Angel’s eyebrows raised, a little in shock and the corner of his mouth turned up as he nodded.

“Yea, yea I think we can arrange that.”

#mayans mc #mayans #mayans fanfiction #mayans fanfic #mayans fx #angel reyes #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes x oc izzy #oc izzy #mayans post canon

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