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powderblueblood · 5 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ELEVEN — ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS

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summary: after you visit an old stomping ground to pad out your college resume and eddie agonizes about the what of what are you, you both return to the place where all this mess began--a classic harrington rager. content warnings: written in the immersive second person (you/yours), oc has a name, background and she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions. era typical misogyny, homophobia, general bad bitch scheming. mentions of drug dealing, sexual situations and strong language. minors fuck off. word count: 8.7k

Dear reader,

A while ago, I mentioned that thing that Joan Didion said about staying on nodding terms with the people we used to be.

Lucky for me and my once-fervent need to be inviolable from all angles, I have a couple of versions of Lacy I can choose from.

Depends on what I need from her.

The hot sprawl of the community hall drags your sense memory kicking and screaming back to age sixteen.

Scarlet nails tugged a rough line through your scalp, elevating your hair so high it might as well apply for zoning permission. An acrid blast of Aquanet settled right in your bottom lashes. Your mother loomed over your shoulder in the mirror, her cigarette ashing into some poor bitch’s retainer case.

“The way they run these things nowadays… it’s a disgrace,” she tutted, but not to you, “These girls are animals.”

That’s gotta be a fucking fire hazard, right?

“Well, if Lacy’s an animal,” a flame haired Ann Perkins guffawed, yanking a backcombed rat of your hair upwards—ow, “she’s a goddamn gazelle, Glory.”

“First kill?” You didn’t miss the smugness curling around her Elizabeth Arden lips, hunching your body glittered arms inward.

“No—god, no, I just mean with how graceful she is. My Carol, bless her heart, she’s got the coordination of her father after a slab of Old Milwaukee. You remember I told you about trying to teach her baton?”

“She sent it flying through the neighbour’s windshield,” you giggled fondly, recalling Carol telling you how much of a stupid cooze her mom was for trying to teach her in the first place. ‘Throwing some stick around—who does she think I am, Lassie?’

“Don’t smile,” your mom slapped your shoulder sharply, “It’ll smudge your gloss.”

You scrubbed it off in the bathroom moments later, reapplying a layer of scarlet lacquer you knew she’d call whorish. Too late.

Knocking back a swig of Diet Coke and two rainbow pills, you took the stage to claim runner up in the Hawkins division of the American Teen Princess pageant, meeting Gloriana’s seething scowl from the audience with your own Vaselined failure of a smile.

The lipstick had lost you the crown, of course. That was the winning theory. ‘If you’d have just done what I told you…’

The chemical sting of Aquanet still hurts your eyes, but you’re not the target this time.

See, a portfolio of writing is one thing, but the other thing that college applications generally look for is community participation. Volunteer work. Charity grubbing. And gracing Eddie Munson’s lunch table with your occasional presence apparently doesn’t count.

Just kidding. Kind of.

Point is, you needed something quick and dirty, yet passably prestigious, with people who would bend to your will. And there’s no one more malleable than insecure high school girls competing in a beauty pageant in small town Indiana.

“Now, Lacy, we are delighted to have you here helping out,” says Claudia Henderson, a one time multi-title holder (just short of Miss America apparently—‘But then they stopped giving homely girls a pass; poor Claudia never stood a chance,’ your mom had told you) and the kind of kindly woman that loves to clutch your arm while you walk.

Ordinarily, you’d be repulsed by such a gesture but you’re desperate.

Before you get a chance to gush falsely, tell her how grateful you are for the opportunity, Claudia cuts you off.

“But I do hope that this isn’t some covert effort by your mother to get back in our good books—because, golly, well, that bridge is burned!”

Of course. Your mom had attempted to sabotage Tammy Thompson’s performance portion by mixing a laxative into her milkshake, because a shit show like that would make your little poetry reading look positively Carnegie worthy. But she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough and got sniffed out by the pageant committee. So had Tammy, poor thing. Horrible day to wear white chiffon.

Incredible that it was that they were still hung up on, and not the… everything else you and your family had going on. You do a decent impression of cringing, looking at Claudia with mournful eyes.

“Claudia, I swear, this is all me,” you assure her, “The time I spent doing pageant prep was just so formative—I think I would’ve been a lot worse off facing, well, certain challenges without it. I’d really like the chance to give that back to the girls.”

Admittedly, your hours spent in front of the mirror training your face to look earnest for the interview portion hadn’t gone to waste on the stand during your father’s trial.

“That is just incredible to hear, sweetie. And between you and I, you’re really saving our keisters because the girl we had helping our hopefuls out with speech prep dropped out last minute!”

That’d be the current debate team captain, Kate something-or-other. She was easy enough to take out—posing as a concerned member of the local Christian youth group, you’d placed a call to her ultra-conservative parents about her hanging out with Billy Hargrove. Which was total bullshit, of course. Billy wouldn’t approach an ex-or-current band geek with a hazmat suit on. A shame, really. The band kids were the only niche that could rival Billy’s baseless horniness. His dream girl could be hanging out behind a trombone someplace, squeezing her knees together.

Anyway, did you feel great about selling Kate out like that? Honestly, you didn’t care about it too much one way or another. The maneuvre felt very classic Lacy, which was in part a little shameful and in part incredibly satisfying to know that, when it comes to manipulation, you’re still batting at a professional level.

Claudia wheels you and your elbow around the room, the oxygen thick with sweat and body spray and pageant application forms. A couple of the would-be queens catch your eye–homely girls, as your mother would call them, who were duped into their well-meaning parentals or sisters or guidance counselors into thinking that doing the pageant was a great way to make friends. A boost to their self esteem. A chance to really show the town what they’re made of!

Someone should tell them to run, but it’s not gonna be you.

“Oh, Lacy!” Claudia suddenly half-shrieks, halting you with a sharp tug, “Meet my special little guy! This is Dustin, he goes to Hawkins Middle. I like to bring him around to meet the girls so he learns how to treat a lady. It’s so important for boys, don’t you think?”

Yeah, start the little lotharios young. You tilt your chin in acknowledgment of the kid, who squints at you from under the rim of a ball cap. Claudia’s attention is diverted by some other poor bastard helping to organize this dog and pony show, but she keeps her hand firmly on your elbow. It’s starting to feel a little like you’re being led around the prison yard. You attempt a tight smile at her son, who’s still looking you up and down.

“Hey, I know you!” he barks– seems like lack of volume control runs in the family, “You’re Nancy’s friend. You slept over at the weekend. I’m Mike’s friend? I ate the green peppers off your pizza slice…? Not ringin’ any bells? Really?”

“Oh, right,” you lie, having no recollection of ever meeting this child, “Pleasure, sure.”

The way he’s surveying you is a little much. “So, what was up with that guy?” he asks you, tone dropping conspiratorially. You don’t know why, but you feel like middle schoolers shouldn’t be able to do that.

“Excuse me?”

“Me and the guys saw some scary dude climbing out of Nancy’s window. Is he–”

What’s up with kids and just having to say any old thing? What happened to being seen and not heard? What happened to being intimidated by your high school elders? If his mother wasn’t standing right next to you, you’d flip that little propeller cap off his head and tell him to go fetch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The kid cocks his head to the side. “Positive? Because it sure looked like–”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. –Justin, wow, you’re such a card, ha ha ha,” you slip your arm out of Claudia’s as subtly as a woman breaking into a cold sweat can, “Claudia, I’ve got to dash unfortunately, but you’ve got my number! Let me know when I can come and meet with the girls, won’t you? I’m so excited.”

You’re so absolutely fucking not.

Footsteps burn a hot trail through that creaking hall, not quite avoiding a couple of stares as you flit past. Of course, since Ray’s great return brought a whole new batch of grist for the Hawkins’ rumor mill, you’d been subject to more whispers than usual. Any move you made was in some way looped back to either groveling for the town’s forgiveness, assuming your father’s criminal crown, or generally being a case for pity or ridicule. Sometimes both, if people were really creative. Stood to reason that the only person you want to see is someone who’s lived with notoriety like that for most of their life.

Ivana has parked across two spots in front of the community hall, her green Buick gleaming under an unseasonable glare of sunlight. It’s still far too cold to have the top down like she does but she does and she sits bundled in the front seat. A leopard print fur coat, a cigarette, a pair of sunglasses perched in her platinum beehive.

“Christ, girlie, I thought they’d tied you to the stake in there.”

“My escape was narrow, as always,” you smirk, sliding into the passenger seat and tugging your own coat around you a little tighter. “What’s up with the exposure?”

“Feeling the wind whip your face is good for you, especially when you spend most of the day craned over books like you do.”

“This coming from the owner of the biggest bookstore in town.”

“Only,” Ivana corrects you, as she so often does, “Only bookstore in town. You saw what happened when B. Dalton tried to muscle in on my territory.”

“You admitting to knowing something about that mall’s fiery end, Ivana?” Horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia come to mind, but Ivana just cackles loudly and tears out of the parking lot at breakneck speed.

The frigid sting of wind on your face does feel fantastic, you have to hand it to her. Resetting your base temperature from boiling, where it’s rocketed between school and home and Eddie and everything. Much as it’s thrilling, exploring this new aspect of your… dynamic with him, on top of everything else, it’s a lot.

You’re not quite ready to classify your feelings about Eddie without your chest feeling like it’s going to cave in. Every other conversation winds up with your hands all over each other, clumsy in the communication of your unrepressed passion. And it is great, don’t let yourself be misunderstood, you crave it when it’s not happening, and boy do you beat yourself up when you stop it from going all the way but…

The tape keeps getting tangled. Like you’re playing the right song at the wrong part of the movie. It keeps coming out warped and rushed, and you keep feeling like somebody is watching you two.

You two don’t belong shoved into clandestine corners, making out on the sly. You’d been hiding the things that you care about in places like that your whole life. Your books and records under your bed, your clothes in the back of your walk-in wardrobe. Your thoughts in your journal. Your real face from your fake friends.

Eddie’s like a great, flowering plant that has spread his curling vines into every facet of your life, taking root right at the center.

He may not know it, he may be playing the part of being very understanding but he demands light and care. And dirt.

It scares you.

But that tearing breeze settles your nerves, and those are rarely settled around Ivana herself. She has a preternatural way about her. She knows just when to step out of the shadows and twist fate so your path gets a refresh. First, your job at the Bookstore. Now, letting you into her inner sanctum.

Brambles clatter against the green paintwork of the car as you careen down a backroad off of Holland. Gravel sprays as Ivana hauls you up her drive and you catch a fresh smell– to your immediate right, you’re looking out on the still, chilled expanse of Lover’s Lake. You breathe in that post-winter thaw, curling your wistful hands over the passenger side door and she seems to notice.

“Hell of a view, right?”

The slam of Ivana hip-checking her car door closed is the loudest sound out here.

“Peaceful,” you remark, following her up the sagging wooden porch. Another look over your shoulder. You were used to seeing Lover’s Lake from another part of the embankment, usually crowded with cars and beer coolers, bodies in bathing suits baying for attention. You’d been one once, trying desperately to look comfortable in your sweltering skin only to sneak off and take shelter in Main Street Vinyl.

The frigid water seemed more inviting right now.

Another house, this total slouch of a place, stares right at you from across the lake.

“Nice neighbors?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Ivana says, shoving the ancient front door open.

Following her inside, you have to suppress a gasp.

Ivana’s house is no mansion, but the way she’s filled it makes it feel like one. Under vaulted ceilings, everything seems to be cast in a rich, aquatic shadow. Tendrils of greenery embrace each corner and even hang from the ceilings. Threadbare rugs of once-moneyed origin muffle you underfoot. Chairs of velvet sag and every single goddamned surface is covered in tchotchkes, magazines, scarves, photographs. Even the Steiner piano. You catch a glimpse of the pictures in gilded frames as you slowly follow Ivana toward the back of the house–Ivana with equally glamorous looking friends, dancing at what you’re sure is Studio 54. Ivana standing next to Andy Warhol, a disgruntled looking Norman Mailer lingering in the background of the shot. Ivana on her wedding day. And second wedding day. And third wedding day.

Your chest throbs furiously.

You hear Ivana creek up the stairs and you’re not quite sure what the proper procedure is here– do you follow her? Would she push you back down the stairs if you tried such a thing? She’s always seemed like the type. Fiercely private. Only sharing the tiniest tidbits of this rich meal of a life she lived before she came back to Hawkins.

“Come on, girlie. I ain’t got all day.”

You take your opportunity and scarper up the stairs behind her. Eyes flit over even more photographs as you ascend, a smile of disbelief crossing your lips at the sawn-off shotgun mounted on her wall. Like she’s Annie Oakley or somebody. She could be. It’s evident to you now that Ivana has been just about everyone there is to be. It ought to intimidate you, really, bearing witness to someone who’s so successfully lived life before you’ve even begun to, but it doesn’t. The closeness, clutteredness, coziness of this house lulls you into a funny kind of serenity.

“I just don’t get you, Ivana,” you say, not entirely wanting to catch her in earshot as you float into her bedroom. Dark and plush, like everything else. A light comes on in her overstuffed closet.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Of course, she hears everything.

You approach the heaving wardrobe, hands running along silk, chiffon, velvet. Broderie, brocade, lace.

“How the hell do you go from having a full life like this,” you grip the sleeve of what could be one of Ivana’s three wedding dresses, “and end up back in East Jesus, Indiana? I mean you’ve–you’ve been everywhere. You’ve done everything. How can you stand it here?”

Ivana tilts her head at you from where she sits on the ottoman at the end of her bed. Canopy, naturally. She looks at you as if really taking you in for the first time. You shift a little, from one foot to the other. It doesn’t feel probing and accusatory, not like how your mother looks at you. More like she’s reading your palm.

“I wanted to come home,” she says, simply. “Had my fill. Got tired. Wanted to remember what fresh air felt like, and realized I preferred it to car horns.”

“But why not, like… upstate New York? Somewhere actually scenic and peaceful, why Hawkins, Indiana?”

“I wanted to come home, I said. Now,” she gestures to the masses of clothes, “You’ve got ten minutes. One outfit. Dig.”

—

“This is, like, beat for beat my worst fucking nightmare, I want you to know that.”

“You know what, shoot me down but I think you wanna go to this–I think you’re getting nervous because of how excited you are!”

Ronnie Ecker aims a finger gun right between Eddie’s eyes. “Name yourself, body snatcher. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend.”

She’s got him point blank on that one. He’s acting a little out of sorts–but, in his defense, he’s having, as Rick Lipton might call it, a total wig out. Eddie’s been invited to Steve Harrington’s kegger under absolutely no pretense (but he’s bringing a pocketful of drugs anyway, of course). Eddie’s going to see the (ex) most popular girl in school there, which’d be you.

And Dio willing, you two are gonna disappear into some side room where he’s gonna trace his leaking cock against every inch of your silky, perfumed skin while you hiss his name into the air like it’s the only word you deem worthy enough to speak.

It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s casual.

Eddie tries to shake that thought right out his head under the guise of turning to the mirror and fixing his hair. Fingertips raking into the waves, an attempt to make ‘em look less… or more… he’s got no idea. He’s got no earthly idea. So he huffs.

“What have I got to be excited about?!” Ronnie sighs dramatically, thunking herself into the nearby armchair in Eddie’s room that’s covered in clothes–outfits he’s tried on, like a different jeans-and-t-shirt combination will actually make a difference. “Don’t pretend like I’m not hauling ass to the first party of my high school career so I can be, like, a freak diversion while you two sneak off and–”

Amazing how Eddie’s managed to keep this secret from Ronnie for this long, but she’s got it pretty much sniffed out anyway.

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You, Eddie Munson, you’re gonna stand there, preening yourself in the mirror like a fuckin’ peacock telling me the eye contact you two have been making with each other since you ‘made up’ has been completely Christian-minded? Smell test certified?” Ronnie spits. “I just got into New York University, you little bitch! I cannot be fooled! You boinked and it’s scrawled all over your face in her lipstick!”

“Dude, do not say boinked–”

“You’ve greeted her carnally!”

“--who are we, Sam and Diane?”

“If everybody knows your name, man!”

Look, here’s the thing.

You and Eddie have been making out heavy, stolen moments in crooks like the newspaper room after hours, under the bleachers, the decommissioned bathroom, the driver’s seat of Eddie’s van, grinding it out harder than a couple of drumline dorkos from band which has led to Eddie wrecking a couple pairs of boxers a lot sooner than he’d like to. (Which you hadn’t laughed at him about–you’d liked it. It was so fucking hot that you liked it that just the thought of you liking it makes his breath snag if he thinks about it too hard.)

But. Skin-to-skin contact has been… frustratingly minimal, since that night in your bedroom.

See, it’s like, you get there. Eddie’s lips are edging south of your collarbone, his fingers digging into the flush of your tits through your bra and something snaps in you. You go from rolling those rapturous hips into him (god, fuck, don’t–) to tensing right up, looking over your shoulder, expecting to see a door creaking open.

Fear freezing the edges of your features, even if your touch is still hot on him.

“We should–” “... yeah. Yeah. Of course, Lace.” Eddie’s trying really hard not to be an asshole. But it’s hard when… you’re hard. And you, you get him fucking full mouth salivating, forged in the flames of Mount Doom hard. Those tight little skirts you wear are so much more enticing now that he knows what the heavenly enclave feels like underneath them.

Bu-ut.

Your paranoia is working overtime.

Your paranoia is making his paranoia work overtime.

Because, what if after all your dancing around each other, you don’t actually want him and you’ve got no idea how to let him down gently?

Which, Eddie reassures himself, does not track for you. It’d be pretty damn easy to think that your edges have softened with the events of the past couple months, but he’s had a front row seat to how you’ve shed your old edges to reveal different, weirder, more jagged edges. Edges he’s had a pleasure acquainting himself with. You’d have no problem telling him to take a short walk off Sattler’s Quarry if you wanted to.

Eddie adores that about you, the poor sucker.

Anyway, Ronnie Ecker. Dead to rights. Like always.

“If I tell you…” comes the measured grit through his teeth. “... you have to swear, Ronnie, I’m so goddamn serious–”

She hitches forward in her seat, eyes blazing. “Dude. Scouts. Whatever.”

Eddie’s shoulders drop and it all comes out in one big exhale as his rings drag down his cheeks, “GoodbecauseI’vebeenwantingtotellyousobadohmyGOD. Like, oh my god.”

“So full pen or–”

“Be a gentleman, Ecker, Jesus! But yeah, home fuckin’ run.”

“Good?”

His eyes careen back in his skull and he pitches his palms out like a Pentecostal preacher. “Words… evade. Infernal choirs sang. I left a part of my soul in her–”

“Nope, too much!” Ronnie blanches, waving her hands in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay, but Ronnie– you can’t say shit to her. Promise me.”

“Why? We’re friends too, unless you conveniently forgot again.”

“No, I know that, I just–” Eddie swallows, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His voice comes out small. “I don’t wanna scare her off. She’s fragile.

“She’s fragile? We’re talking about the same Lacy Doevski here, right?”

“Right, the one whose dad just got out of lockup. Fra-gee-lay,” Eddie emphasizes, notes of Old Man Parker, “It’s just… easier like this, right now.”

“Well… is easy what you want?” Trust Ronnie to come through with a gut punch out of left field.

Eddie’s mouth bobs open to fish out some bullshit answer, but not until his bedroom door flies open.

“Goddamn, kid, you gotta get the maid in here.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Al Munson props his hip against the doorframe, sucking all the air from the room. He looks better than the last time Eddie saw him, at least, not like he’s three days cokebent and clammy. More like he went someplace and got a shave.

“If you really didn’t want me comin’ round, you’d tell your uncle to start lockin’ the door. Now, you got something belonging to me– that Stooges shirt, where’s it at?”

A hot line of panic flares up the back of Eddie’s neck. Stooges shirt, darkened on the shoulders from droplets from your wet hair. Stretched over–

“I’unno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yes, you do, Eddie,” his dad says, crossing the bedroom’s threshold. Al’s got springs under the balls of his feet, moving with that irritatingly happy-go-lucky effeteness. “It’s my lucky shirt! I need that thing–”

“Hasn’t done you a whole lotta good so far, Allen,” Ronnie mumbles from where she’s bunched up on the armchair.

“Ronnie,” Al’s eyes narrow; they’ve never liked each other because Ronnie’s too goddamn smart for her own good and therefore uncharmable, “How’zabout that for a breath of stale air. Get up a sec, would’ja?”

“C’mon, we’ve gotta go anyway.” Eddie jerks his head toward the door and Ronnie scuttles out ahead of him. He pauses for a breath, watching his dad rifle through the rejected shirts slung over the armchair. “There’s nothing in here worth stealing, by the way. Just in case things have gone so far south already that you’re diggin’ in people’s pockets for spare change.”

Those cut-and-paste Munson eyes survey Eddie and he feels his fist flex. Al’s been a loose cannon lately.

“Big night?”

“Party.” He should know what that means.

“Well, Ed,” Al closes a few steps between them, and Eddie resists the urge to back up. Or wind up. His voice drops so that Ronnie doesn’t catch it. “When you’re ready to graduate from sellin’ ten spots at parties, you let me know. We got something prestigious brewing. Could be the makin’ of you.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, mirthful from his back molars. “Graduation’s a little ways off for me, Dad.”

He catches up with a tutting Ronnie, slamming the front door behind him and heading for the van.

“Seriously, dude, you got a case for a restraining order the way that motherfucker’s conducting himself lately.”

“I got a crowbar and a map of the Indiana Dunes that’d do just about the same thing, I just need a free weekend.”

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind them, and Eddie and Ronnie swivel toward it.

No stemming the smile that peels across his face, heart thud-thudding back into motion. A soothing cool comes over him at the sight of you, settling him right back into his body. You, dressed to the nines. You, coiffed up like you’re hellbent on making an impression. My little cold front.

“Shotgun!” you chirp, skipping toward the van in your spindly little shoes. Both Eddie and Ronnie are rendered speechless for a beat or two.

Shit, you look good.

“There’s only one fucking passenger seat!” Ronnie protests.

“Fine, Ronnie, I’ll sit in your lap– is that what you want?”

Eddie lets you two nonsensically bicker as he guns the van to life, sweeping out of the park in a thunderous roar. He’s trying to stay tuned into the conversation you’re having, he really is, but the way you’ve got your shoulders thrown back and cleavage thrust out, Ronnie squished beside you, is focus-stealing.

“Wait, you’re volunteering at the beauty pageant?” Eddie finally clues in, “Sorry, Lace, there’s no way that throwing glitter on bimbos in bathing suits counts as community service. Otherwise, I’d be ve-ry committed to my community.”

“Right?! Like, how did I get stuck with helping out Granny’s retirement home friends? I could be checking chicks for visible bra straps but I’m trapped with a bunch of senile losers that smell like clove suckers.”

“It’s not just an ogle-fest, you knuckle-draggers,” you roll your eyes, “There’s an entire interview portion, too. You know, where the judges have to pretend to care about what these girls have to say– and it’s my job to make sure they don’t sound entirely braindead.”

“You love an insurmountable challenge, huh, Lace?”

“Never tell me what I can and can’t mount, Munson,” you purr–he’s almost sure he hears you purr. The way you look at him over the center console, eyes all a-felined, does the job for him.

Ronnie keeps her mouth shut, and he silently thanks her for it.

Festivities are fully in swing as you all pull onto Harrington’s street–plus the festivity-specific problem of there being almost no parking anywhere. Cars of your classmates clog the tree-lined streets, along with the vehicles of the wealthier Loch Nora contingent.

Eddie slaps his hands against the wheel. “How the fuck does he get away with this shit?”

“Senior year pass,” you remark, “Plus, Steve’s always-AWOL parentals. Somehow, his shitty home life gives way to an endless well of sympathy on Richie Rich Row here, so he kind of gets carte blanche.”

“The world’s luckiest latchkey k–woah!”

Reeboked feet have to slam down hard on the brakes, as Eddie almost takes out Robin Buckley, hunching her shoulders and marching toward the Harrington’s porch. The screech of the tires almost sends her leaping out of her skin.

“Watch it, asshole! Pedestrians still exist, you know!”

“Sorry, Buckley!” Eddie calls out down the window wound low, “For what it’s worth, you’re blending into the tarmac just great!”

Robin scoffs and continues stalking. Your head snaps to Ronnie.

“Ron,” you simper, “Why don’t you go make sure Robin’s not suffering from post traumatic? I would be, if I almost got mowed down by this decommissioned tank.”

Her brow screws up like she’s about to answer, but genius little you, this works on a couple of levels. For one, your insistence that something will happen between Buckley and Ronnie if you keep pressing their heads together like Barbies, and for two… Half a second alone.

Half a second is all Eddie needs.

“There’s no way I’m gonna remember where I parked if one of you isn’t here,” he tacks on, as if he needs the support, “And she–” by whom he means you, “--has priors in this house. Off ya go, Ecker.”

Banished to the pavement, Ronnie snarls something about hurrying back, which you promise her that you will. Eddie doesn’t promise anything. If he had his way, he’d rare right out of Loch Nora and keep driving, you to his beautiful right and watch as moonlight started to pool in the window over your skin. Just keep turning the wheel, so he could keep looking at you.

You point out a spot a street over and Eddie kills the engine.

“Hi,” he rasps, angling his torso toward you. He doesn’t stem his smile.

“Hello,” you say in return. Your neck rolls against the headrest. You’re looking at him in a slow drip through your bottom lashes.

Eddie has to remind himself to breathe, and his first intake is kinda ragged. It makes you laugh, this little gaspy sound that sounds like a prelude to something else. Your stare breaks, gliding to the dashboard.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Let’s shall.”

Eddie snaps back to life, dashing out of the driver’s side to help you down from the passenger’s. Your fingers give his hand a little extra squeeze and he takes this very, very liminal opportunity to hold you at arms length, pirouetting you under his hand.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I had to!” he faux-apologizes. “Gotta test the durability of these shoes, in case you need to make a run for it later.”

Your laugh comes out uncorked and full-bodied and it makes Eddie feel like his head is levitating two feet above his neck.

“Relieving yourself of your hero duties already, huh?”

Silk spills over your curves, skirt billowing around your thighs as you move. That makes him feel very much in his body. You look ravishing, your hair crashing into a wave as you come to a smiling stop in front of him.

Eddie presses his mouth to your fingers, clasped around his hand, and hears the bubble of your breath hiccup.

“Not by a long shot.”

A warm berry encases your lips that he wants to see smudged. He wants to wear it on his collarbone like a second chain.

He wonders if he knows you look like you’re trying to get ravished.

Of course you do. There’s not a single thing you’ve ever put on your body that wasn’t on purpose.

Which, if Eddie considers it, now includes him.

You both barely remember to unweave your fingers as you approach Harrington’s house.

—

A meticulously curated outfit makes all the difference, especially if you’re reentering society. And you are, in a manner of speaking.

Returning to the scene of the crime, the inciting incident that saw you in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van the better part of a bottle of vodka deep and a bruise blooming. Bridges actively aflame between you and those you once considered your closest friends.

They’d given you the matches though. Flicked them at you, expected you to do nothing.

It occurs to you now, as a lingering touch stays between your and Eddie’s pinkie fingers and you cross the porch, that you hadn’t so much as looked in the rearview mirror to assess the damage. You looked through his windscreen as he drove you home.

“Divide and conquer?”

“I’ll find you.”

Eddie used to exist to you as an eyesore on the peripheries of parties like this. Here, where you always felt you were sitting alone on the observation deck, watching everyone else have fun and learning how to mimic it for your own gain. Patching yourself together. You felt him leering over your shoulder sometimes, separate from it too.

Now, he’s the boy spinning you around on the pavement, looking at you like you’re a whole person.

So this should be interesting.

The two of you shove past a couple of clumping bodies on the doorstep, eyes already starting to dagger in your direction. Into the foyer, towards the kitchen, those looks become more and more and more focused. Feels like you’re wearing piano wire for a choker.

‘What the fuck…’ ‘Remember the last time she was here?’ ‘Woah, smackdown rematch. Somebody get Carol.’

Eddie gets a little closer than he needs to, feigning a stumble into you, just to brush against your hardened shoulders and whisper, ‘Head up, queenie. It’s not like they’ve got a guillotine,’ before he disappears to make rent.

The smile you’re about to sneak to him dies on your lips as your name rings out from somewhere in the milieu, someplace near the kitchen.

“Lacy!”

All that cruising for a parking space and you hadn’t locked eyes on a Ford Cortina, had you?

The tardiest student enrolled at Amherst or wherever half-jogs toward you with a smile that makes your stomach lurch. Cold sweat starts to prick against your hairline. Excuse me?

“Oh! Hi!” you hit a higher octave than you were intending, for sure, you can tell by the look on his face. Eyebrows all shot up. “What the… fuck are you doing here?”

College guy shakes his head a little, confused. “You mentioned you were gonna be here.”

“...and you took that as an explicit invitation?” You’re still technically dating him, dumbass. Smile. “Just kidding! It is. Good. To see you.”

A cursory squeeze of his bicep. Christ, you’re bad at this when you’re not prepared. Extra bad at this when your first thought, when you’re doing bad, is where’s Eddie. When did that symbiosis develop exactly?

“Listen, can we go somewhere?” Oh, Jesus. “Talk? I tried to call your place a little earlier and–” Oh, Jesus! This guy looks at you with earnest eyes that you couldn’t tell the color of if you had a gun to your head. Bodies jostling around you, you make the choice to drop in and act a little left of sober.

“That sounds ah-mazing, but I do have to pee, so,” you shoot him a glimmering smile which ain’t takin’. “Grab me a drink and I’ll find you? Grab me a drink and I’ll find you.”

Bolt! You’re stepping over knees as you weave your way up Harrington’s impossible staircase to the second floor bathroom, downing a shot from a tray on your way. Five minutes inside Mrs Harrington’s immaculately designed proto-modern lavatory should give you enough chutzpah to take on the rest of this night, right? Maybe a fully clothed lie down in the jacuzzi tub.

The ten-girl deep line outside the locked door says different.

From the seventh spot, Carol Perkins cranes her perfectly coiffed strawberry head out and locks eyes with you.

No guillotine, huh?

—

Eddie’s gotta wonder, what the hell the Harrington household looks like when it isn’t throbbing with mainstream radio rock and gyrating teenagers. The house is a showroom of suburban perfection, but whenever Steve throws a party, it goes full bacchanal.

Tonight Eddie intends to take full and rapid advantage of the skewed consciousness of his classmates and copious amounts of jello shooters.

Like, yeah, Harrington might have graciously invited him and not directly asked him to peddle his wares by the pool like a fucked up candy stand, but you gotta seize opportunity wherever you find it. People see him here, they know what to do. They know his purpose.

It’s not as if Eddie’s here to mingle, okay?

Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.

The short term objective? Empty his stash, stuff his pockets and steal away with you into one of the billion bedrooms this mini-mansion holds. But, much to Eddie’s chagrin, that means fighting through the din of Cyndi Lauper and body odor first.

Conjured by his very words, Andy Sweeney swings right into Eddie’s path and yoinks the beer that Eddie was reaching for. The kid doesn’t even look beyond the brim of his baseball cap to notice he’s standing there. He’s too busy jawing with some other basketball tool.

“Lissen, man, say what you want,” Sweeney burbles, “but Princess Trailer Trash is still totally bangin’.”

Eddie’s ears immediately tune right into their garbled conversation.

“Pssh, dude, I don’t care what anyone says, she was frigid then and she’s frigid now. No way some overgrown virgin like Munson is splittin’ those knees open.”

“Still… bet she misses the finer things in life, y’know?”

“Tchyuh, like you, y’mean?”

“Nah, rich bitches like that get a wettie over the dumbest shit. Hey, how many glasses of Cristal does it take for Lacy Doevski to spread her legs?”

“I’unno, man, how many?”

“Well, if the first one has her face down in the pillow, how’s she gonna be able to tell?”

Bile scorches the back of Eddie’s throat. He doesn’t even mean for it, he actually means for a lot worse, but his hand goes right out and grabs the scruff of Sweeney’s shirt. The despicable little dirtbag. He yelps, a sound pleasing to Eddie but not quite pained enough for what this motherfucker deserves.

“What the fuck, freak?!”

Breath forces itself hard through Eddie’s nostrils. That they think they even have the right to talk about you like that makes him want to leave an Andy Sweeney-shaped hole in the Harringtons’ marble countertop, with some blood and teeth and viscera to match.

“Interesting observation, Andy. It’s incredible to witness how the minds of the shrivel-dicked work,” Eddie seethes, “I personally like to enact my violence face up. Seen Billy Hargrove lately?”

Sometimes, Eddie forgets that he’s actually scary looking. The hair shrouding his face, the big hulking rings, the unsuspecting strength he’s gained from hauling around kegs and amps and the weight of the world… Sometimes, it takes a stiffened flash and a sudden flash of fear in someone like Andy Sweeney’s irises for him to remember.

Sweeney stammers something between a no, please! and get off me!, fighting his own piss-pantsery in order to keep up appearances for his bros.

Eddie grabs the Miller High Life from his hand and shoves him back toward his friends.

“Champagne of beers. You understand.”

Sweeney spits, like physically spits at him. “Fucking loser!”

“Says the guy threatening to roofie a chick!” Eddie barks. “God, I know that your line of work doesn’t exactly require neurons but I’m begging you to rub your remaining ones together and see if it sparks some self awareness, Sweeney– go on, try!”

—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here.”

“Praying I don’t get a UTI, like everybody else in line.”

“You know what I mean, bitch.”

A category five sigh rolls your shoulders forward, hunching them further down the wallpaper you lean against. Carol has stepped fully out of the line, looking viperous but keeping her distance. Like you might have the good sense to strike back this time.

“Oh my god, Caroline, it’s a kegger. I don’t think you need to RSVP.”

“There’s a strict no freaks policy,” Carol The Bouncer says.

A one noted bark-laugh comes from the fifth position in the line. “Yeah, I think we’re getting a little lenient with that one these days.”

From the mouth of Robin Buckley, who stands there like she did at the last party, against her will but as living proof that even the worst people you knew might not be as bad as you thought.

I know Steve. He’s not exactly made for this crowd either.

“Stay out of this, Lesbo Baggins!”

“Hey!” You force your stiletto off the wall and lose your place in line, since Carol’s begging for it. Fuck that. No more shrapnel. “Leave her alone. This is between us, isn’t it? You and me?”

“And the rest of this town,” Carol’s upper lip curls.

“Refresh my memory,” you say, and the choking vice of Carol’s overly familiar body spray is threatening your jugular. You used to come home from her place reeking of the stuff; the kind of smell that transfers, and carried with it characteristics that you were once proud to have rub off on you. The misery, the misanthropy for everyone but your pocketful of someones. And you and Carol didn’t even like them, most of the time. United in smarting bitterness, the way that girls who want more but can’t seem to get it always are. “What’s the problem, Care?”

“The problem,” Carol snarls, “is you, Lacy. Think just because your daddy’s out of prison that everyone forgot what he did? What you did? I’m watching you, trailer trash.”

You’re close enough that you can see the clumps in her mascara. Why hadn’t she separated them with a needle like you taught her to? The Audrey Hepburn method. It had always freaked her out, you sitting there with a pin that close to her retina, but she’d never looked better.

Doomed to fail, without you by her side.

Spine straightening, you draw yourself over her. In your heels, borrowed from Ivana and gilded with her hardiness, you make Carol look small.

“Yeah?” your voice drops to gravel. “You like what you see?”

—

Brainless Hawkinsite pieces of shit can’t so much as muster a response before they lurch for Eddie. Who the fuck knows what cursed or blessed him with rhythm, but he dodges around the bustling kitchen island with relative ease, before he nearly knocks Steve Harrington himself straight through his own plate glass patio door.

“No runnin’ indoors!” Steve slurs in his face, so close that a fleck of saliva goes straight up Eddie’s nostril. Gross. He’s found a home in the welcome bosom of the jello shot, that’s for fucking sure.

“They started it!”

“I don’t give a fuck! Finish it!”

Gruffly, he casts an eye around the kitchen for those rogue ballsacks– they’d scarpered, probably spooked by the bellow of King Steve. Whatever.

“My attackers seem to have dematerialized, you’ll be delighted to know!”

“Why do you do that? Why do you talk like such a fucking weirdo, man?” Steve asks exasperatedly, clutching onto Eddie’s shoulder a little too roughly for his liking. Not that he’s keen on Harrington pawing him at all. “Like what d–... ughh, forget it! List-en! Where’s your weirdo girlfriend?”

“Ronnie’s not–”

“Who the fuck is–” Steve’s whole pretty boy face screws up and he lets out a genuine groan of anguish. “No, asshole, where is Lacy at?”

“How should I know?!”

“Because your nose is permanently wedged up her ass!” Steve yells, but something draws him back. “Or it should be!”

Incredibly puzzling wording. Eddie shakes his head, wide eyes bewildered at exactly what the fuck Steve wants from him. With a scoff, the man of the house walks into the body-to-body wedge of his hallway and runs, from what Eddie can see, right into…

Your little college boyfriend.

Now… what the sweet and levelling fuck…

Eddie Munson’s activating Shadow Arts, he guesses, because he dips as close to the two of them as he can get without being accused of tailing Harrington this time.

“...hey man, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Haha. Good to see you too, Stevie. Quite the turnout–you the big man on campus now or what?”

“I don’t know, it’s a party. I’m personally having kind of an evolution moment of my own. So. Fuckin’. Whatever.”

“... right.”

“How’s… fuckin’... whatever needledick school it is you go to?”

“Tch, man. I made it about a heartbeat and a hangover through the first semester before I dropped out. Came home around Christmas, much to the disgrace of my parents… But I’m havin’ an alright time, if you catch my drift.”

“Huh?”

“Y’know. High school girls. You can tell them anything, am I right?”

Shit.

Know what, though? Eddie, as he sees it, would be well within his rights to yuk it up at this pernicious turn of events. He’s had a bet running (with himself) that this eyesore in beige you call a college beau, with his ugly fuckin’ car and his stupid collared shirts and his Waiting for Godot or whoever, wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. And not just ‘cause of jealousy, no! Not entirely. Well, okay. But, riddle him this– instead of snorting it up good, thrilled to be able to rub your nose in it, that rotten coil of anger started shifting in his belly again. Why do you think that is?

It’s simple. Eddie knows it’s simple. Because Mister Faux Ivy League has wasted so much of your time.

Time that should have been yours and Eddie’s.

He’s gotta tell y–

“Hey, man. How’s it going.”

“Agh!” Eddie yelps, as running right the fuck into people is apparently the flavor de nuit. Ronnie stands, stockstill and deadpan, behind him. Flanked by Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove.

Eddie makes an exasperated noise of confusion, not even dignifying this apparition with a question.

“They wanna play beer pong,” Ronnie monotones. With a glance down, Eddie can see that her front overalls pocket is filled with empty beer bottles. Apprehension swipes at him. See, his good friend Ronnie? She’s a competitive drunk. She, drunk off Jeff’s dad’s scotch, once trash talked Keith from Palace Arcade to such an eviscerating degree that she got a lifetime ban and he left to work at Family Video. Over a game of fuckin’ Tron.

“We wanna play beer pong,” Hagan echoes.

Hargrove sucks on a cigarette, having finally regained the ability to open his eye. Tragic. “Pong.”

“Why?!” Eddie asks, but more like begs.

“Because they insinuated that I would lose.”

“And we’d like to give the future valedictorian a chance to prove us right,” Hargrove drawls, looking as if he’s trying not to admit to himself that he has to look up to address Ronnie. She’s got a head and a half on him, at least. So many complexes in such a roidy, mulleted package.

Eddie sees that his cheque is signed.

“... Fine. Your funeral.”

—

“All I see is some ex-relevant ex-cheerleader in somebody else’s moth eaten clothes.”

“This is Italian silk, you JC Penney clone-ette.”

“Oh, Italian like a meatball sub or Italian like the mob your dad is part of?”

That sets your teeth on edge. God, Ray Doevski wishes– at least there’d be some valor to it then, capos and all. The reality feels far less shrouded in intrigue. Grimier, somehow.

“Carol, you had the jump on me last time,” you grit, “but I’m stone cold tonight. Either see yourself down the stairs or I will.”

“Are you threatening me, freak fucker?”

“You’d love that, bottom feeder.”

“Lacy! Stop right there, y–”

Earrings clinking as you snap your head around, you watch as a thoroughly ossified Steve Harrington almost brains himself on the top step. Neither you nor Carol nor anyone else reach out to help him, caught red handed in the prelude to a catfight.

“Finally, Jesus!” Carol whinges, “Steve, she’s totally trespassing!”

Panic spikes across your shoulders, quills on a porcupine–are you actually about to get escorted off the premises? That’d be embarrassing, being double-shunned at an open-door Harrington kegger. Eddie hadn’t even managed that dire of a social faux pas and here you are, about to do it for the second time.

“Ow! Shut up, Carol!” Steve decides to steady himself by closing the span of his big hand around your elbow; you both stagger under his wheedling. He’s got a bottle of vodka, cracked, wedged in his other palm. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

And before you can make any attempt to yank yourself away, make a run for it in these stilettos you certainly cannot confidently lift knees it, Steve is pulling you in the direction of his bedroom. A choir of middle school-aged angels that all look like you are singing somewhere as Carol and every other girl in that bathroom line save for Robin enviously glare after you, but you can’t hear it due to being plunged into one of the deeper circles of hell.

“Steven, listen–” You’re not even entirely sure where the full-Christian-name-address comes from, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when you yank your arm free. “I wasn’t trying to start anything. Not really. I was just…”

Click. Steve locks his bedroom door and turns, staring you down. Well, the best that a drunk teenager with drifting irises could stare one down. You wonder how many Lacys he sees right now. You should ask him to count them, finger on his nose.

“You and I need to have a little chat.”

“You said that already,” but you can’t tell drunk people nothin’.

A remorseful edge around his attempt at a come-hither stare is making you feel a little icky, dawdling on the burning balls of your feet. He looks really bad, actually. The picture of someone trying to sift horniness out of grief or whatever. Steve thrusts one hand through his already scuzzed-up hair, the other jerking the bottle of liquor towards you.

“Have a drink, Lacy, Jesus. Relax, for once.”

You accept the bottle from him. Mostly because it looks as if he’s going to crack you over the head with it if you don’t. The vodka sears going down, same as last time, but there’s not the same urgency to meet everyone else on a level of functioning normal, party girl cool. If anything, the urgency lies in taking the edge off being here.

Particularly in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

Once upon a time, you’d have mown down half this town in your sporty little Porsche to be sitting right where you’re sitting. But now, under the weight of your own self and Steve’s breakup with Nancy, you’d rather be anywhere else. Anywhere.

“Sit down,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows draw in on instinct, very who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?

Steve scoffs, like he forgot to put on his concerned pantomime. He makes a pretty good go of it, slurring. “Please, Lacy.”

Your knees acquiesce, sinking yourself down onto his checkered bedsheets. The combination of that and the checkered wallpaper is creating an incredible cresting wave of claustrophobia.

“Listen, if this is about Nancy, if this is some harebrained attempt to marionette me into getting her back, I–”

“This is about you ‘n’ me, actually.”

Nope. Opposite day. Fucking Twilight Zone.

“No, it’s not,” you outright refuse. The mattress sags as Steve takes a seat beside you.

“Well, why can’t it be?” Steve’s eyes trail a sticky line up your bare arm as he lies back and props himself up, low on his elbows. However, it’s not eliciting the same amount of alarm that it would if someone like, say, Billy Hargrove were doing it. He’s pathetic, and not in a way you find enticing. “You ‘n’ me, it makes sense. Doesn’t it? Don’t you want it to?”

“No!” You balk with a little more fervor than a then-wounded looking Steve deserves.

“Why not?!” No one says no to the king, of course, especially when he’s this soused.

“Because…” You shake your head, legs crossing on Steve’s bed. A different draft of you, the idea of a girl you had long since scrapped screams at you from somewhere in the very back of your head. You’re ruining it, Lacy–everything we’ve worked for! “You don’t want me. You just feel sorry for yourself. And I’m…”

But luckily, he doesn’t catch the trail-off.

“I’m about to make you feel sorry for yourself,” Steve railroads you.

“How’s that?” Another slug of vodka…

“Well,” he struggles to keep himself propped up, “my girlfriend Eddie and your boyfriend Nancy? Recreationally copulating. How d’ya like that.”

… comes right out your nose.

author's notes: so i once again scrapped the idea of a mega chapter because i wanted to give you guys something in case i have to disappear because i start my new job tomorrow! sweating and pissing and crying. but being able to afford to move out soon will be good. anyway, i love writing a good party scene so expect this to leak right into chapter 12 too. onto the fun stuff: - naming carol's mother ann perkins is a not-so-subtle nod to parks and recreation but the characterization couldn't be further off lol - attention all american teen princesses, i found drop dead gorgeous in full on youtube - the debate team captain in question, kate something-or-other, is in fact the very same kate that appears in rebel robin as robin's now-ex best friend - doctor, she's self-referencing again, this time about the time ivana threw an olive at norman mailer - i had to look up the origin of the term 'boinked', and it turns out it comes from cheers! congrats sam and diane - boners forged fire to table straight from mount doom - fra-gee-lay. it must be italian - that's two for one LOTR references if you count lesbo baggins - i am once again pretending to understand things about dnd - i can't mention *jeff bridges voice* TRON! without watching clips of jeff bridges doing things. it's so cliche to cast him as my reefer rick but bitch the heart wants that's all for now, folks! thanks again for reading and pls do reblog and comment and send me asks and things to keep the spirit of this silly little story alive. we're amping up. love u hellcats x

#published by powder #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x f!oc #eddie munson fic #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress

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emilykaldwen · 6 months

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #my fics

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lubotomies · 6 months

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I Kinda disagree ( no hard feeling tho! I respect your opinion). However, you Hit the nail with the panel format issue, Dont get me wrong, telling an arc in few panels have also been used also in the eddsworld classic era before but it was fun to read cuz they weren't heavily storylin arc ( example : Mystery ) (1/2)

no worries about respect, people are bound to disagree! ^_^ i also love discussing things so heres a little bit of my perspective here (also sorry if this ask was a two-part i think my inbox ate the 2nd part of it)

i feel it would be better for these longer comics to be made into shorts instead of comics. the weekly upload of 4 panel story comics is a nightmare. ive criticised TBATF for the same problem, uploading 4-panel comics in what is meant to be an outrageously long webcomic with lore and a lot of events. theres already a remedy for this because eddsworld HAS done longer comics before, and even if it hadn't its never too late to break the imaginary rules v, not everything, especially longer ideas with dead air in the middle, has to be formatted as a four-panel funny

as for the comic itself

its bound to make fans incredibly impatient knowing the next 5+ weeks are going to be about this particular thing that has very little pay off

it feels worth mentioning the pizza time comic which is another 4 parter which lacked any substance and left a lot of fans incredibly disappointed. if you want to put your ocs into your comics as part of the crew there is nothing wrong with that really but youve got to understand that a lot of people are not going to be interested in the mishaps of oc 1 and oc 2 instead of edd and his friends in a series called Eddsworld

very long and i personally did not find it entertaining at all

the problem is definitely not that theyre multi-parters but rather that theyre not self-contained multi-parters. edd made plenty of multi-part comics! but each of them also work as stand-alones, see:

this style of comics, funnies, originates from news papers - so if you were going to make a multi-part comic you would HAVE to make it funny on its own because its no good to get the paper one week, look at the funnies and the funnies dont even have a joke (or at least not a joke thats funny without the extra context). people need to be able to tune in whenever and still get the joke. the modern multi-parters dont account for that and instead make the next part without consideration as to whether its REALLY funny enough to be made into a comic or not.

the comics are made so you can crack the jokes youd have a hard time putting in the show, either because theyre too short to be animated on their own or because the situation is too specific to be organically put in the show (like the rubber one above). if the comic isnt going to have a joke one week, maybe its better to store that in the idea bank for an actual eddisode!

#ask #a lot of beyond also just has a looooot of fourth wall breaking jokes which just dont tickle me

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umbracirrus · 23 days

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WIP Wednesday! 💛

So, I actually scheduled this to post on Sunday because I, as seems to be a trend with me at the moment, came up with a new OC - her name is Ragna Copper-Vein, and though she starts out as a bandit... she eventually ends up as Jarl Siddgeir's housecarl and partner :3

Here is an excerpt of what I have written in the run-up to her becoming his housecarl. For context, she was raised as a bandit at Knifepoint Ridge and tried to kill Siddgeir when he tried to have her camp eradicated for not paying him. She was arrested for it and is serving a life sentence, but gets a lifeline from Siddgeir.

I'm not sure if this will end up as a multi-chapter fic or a long oneshot when it's done! But it will be all done when I do go to post it.

Tagging a handful of people this time (with no obligations to post anything though!) @hircines-hunter (who has been listening to me go on about Raggy and Siddy on discord!!), @skyrim-forever, @thequeenofthewinter, @throughtrialbyfire, @bostoniangirl21 ,

@oblivions-dawn and anyone who wants to post a WIP!

Under a read more due to length 😊

--------

It had been a long few months for Siddgeir, and it had all started with the Empire deciding that they wanted to execute Ulfric Stormcloak in his hold. The sooner the war the better in his opinion, even better if the Stormcloaks were to be defeated with the death of their leader, because how in Oblivion did they expect to keep things running in Skyrim with what little money they would have once the Empire was removed?

He had allowed them to use Helgen, and he thought that would be the end of that, and things could finally get back to normality. Perhaps he could even begin pulling the strings to try and become the next High King – the throne of Skyrim was empty, and being a Jarl wasn't that hard, so surely being King would not be much harder?

He never expected to hear that Helgen got destroyed by a dragon, that Ulfric Stormcloak had escaped, and a majority of people within the walls of the town had died. That had been an absolute headache in trying to sort out, even with Nenya handling much of the paperwork and Runil tending to the dead.

After that, to the north, the Jarl of Whiterun suddenly started mobilising guards to the border of their holds in Riverwood. It was presumably as a result of what happened in Helgen to protect the people there, but it was something which had needed to be kept a close eye on for a while.

Then the bandits which he had so generously permitted to stay on his land for a fee had started holding back their payments. First Bilegulch Mine, followed by Knifepoint Ridge. The rest were keeping up – for now – likely because a message had been sent showing them the consequences of what was to happen if payments were to stop.

To top it all off? That woman from Knifepoint Ridge who had the gall to tell him that they supposedly had no money before attempting to assassinate him when he decided that they had to face the consequences. Supposedly she was behaving in jail, he had seen it himself on the few times he had ventured in that direction to ensure that the guards were not lying, but she had proven herself to be quite… volatile, based on her original attack. Who knew what other magic she could use? Who knew what other weapons she could have hidden away?

He still needed to figure out what to do with her too. Even for someone who attempted to kill him, he could use her abilities to his advantage… she would eventually be an asset to him. Nenya would no doubt be able to come up with something for her to do.

The only good thing which seemed to have happened for him over recent months was that he had a new Thane. A survivor of Helgen who had made quite the name for themselves in the weeks following the disaster, and had proven themselves quite handy with a blade – they had taught the bandits at both Bilegulch and Knifepoint a lesson for him, after all. They had also bought a plot of land in the hold, and was frequenting the city and its businesses often, or so he had been told.

He had found himself at the Dead Man's Drink a lot more often than usual as a result of it all. He'd also persuaded Valga to start stocking Black-Briar mead, which was something too. It was a lot easier to wind down with all of the nonsense that was going on with a real drink.

It was as he was returning to his longhouse after one such visit that something began to feel… wrong. As though there was another thing to add onto the pile of troubles in Falkreath.

He was proven right when he opened the door to his longhouse, and saw a group of guards gathered, with the sound of Nenya calling for them to make some space coming from somewhere within. He approached the group, and cleared his throat, which made the chatter stop almost instantly. A few of the guards stepped aside, allowing him to approach the source of the commotion…

Helvard was lying face-down on the ground, blood spread across his armour and the floorboards around him. A dagger was lodged into his back, pinning a sheet of paper bearing a black handprint to his body.

Somebody had assassinated his housecarl. He couldn't not have a housecarl!

"Where is the miserable wretch who did this, hm?" he asked, looking between Nenya and the guards who had the nerve to remain standing around. "Well?"

There was a nervous chitter from among the guards. "W… We don't know, my Jarl. He was found like-"

"Well find them! And get Runil and Kust to remove the body!" he snapped, which is all it took for them to spring into action and quickly make their way out the longhouse.

After that, he took a few deep breaths, before turning towards Nenya. "That could have easily been me, had I not gone to Dead Man's Drink," he stated, his brow furrowing. "If I was the intended target of the attack, I simply cannot go without a housecarl. What do we do?"

Nenya frowned, taking a quick glance towards Helvard's body before letting out a quiet sigh. "I don't know, Jarl Siddgeir…"

"Most of the guards have proven themselves incompetent from that little show a few moments ago, and aside from them not many people currently in Falkreath are warriors beyond the new Thane. Who else in this forsaken hold knows how to hold a blade?!"

"My Jarl… There is somebody, actually, though I do not know whether they would be willing or whether you would be too happy with them being your housecarl…"

"And who is it?"

"Your attempted assassin."

Siddgeir scoffed, before starting to laugh. "Ragna? Her? You must be joking."

"You saw what she could do when she tried to kill you… Perhaps with incentive, you could get her to use those abilities against those who wish you harm."

He brought his hand up to his chin for a moment, thinking the idea through. Nenya wasn't wrong… He knew that there was a reason he had kept her on as his steward when he was given the title of Jarl.

"Fine then. And if it does not work out, then she continues her sentence in prison. Come now, Nenya. Let's talk to her."

"N-Now?"

"Yes, now. The longer I am without a housecarl, the more danger I could be in."

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

It was late at night, and Ragna somehow found herself having trouble getting to sleep. Even with an actual bed in her cell now, she just couldn't seem to get comfortable – perhaps she had simply spent too long lying on the ground over recent years that it just felt odd to be using a bed now. It also didn't help that the guards appeared to be rather jittery, whispering to each other and constantly being on the move. Maybe something had happened. Or maybe they had finally noticed that the man from the cell at the other side of the jail had escaped after turning into a damned werewolf days ago.

All that she could really do was lie down with her eyes closed, arms folded behind her head with one of her legs propped up, trying not to focus on the hushed chatter outside the cell. However, she couldn't do that for long, the sound of somebody approaching the cell caught her attention, before they blocked some of the light from outside which she could vaguely make out through her closed eyes.

She opened the eye closest to the cell doors and tutted when she saw Siddgeir and Nenya stood there.

“What do you want, Siddy?” she remarked, hearing him scoff in disgust at the nickname. She'd figured out on the occasional visits to the jail he had made to check that she was behaving that he despised being called that, so had kept up with calling him that every time that she saw him.

“Well, I was going to offer you the opportunity to be free of this cell, but if you are to be like that...”

Freedom?

She sat upward on the bed, and properly turned to look at the pair. “Fine. What do you want, Siddgeir?”

He narrowed his eyes at the sarcastic tone in which she said his name. “Helvard is... Indisposed, at present. I need a housecarl.”

Nenya let out a sigh. “Helvard has been killed in a targeted attack,” she explained, her brow creased up in worry. “We are concerned that Jarl Siddgeir may also be a target, and decided that the best option with regard to his protection and Helvard’s replacement would be the person who got closest to killing the Jarl. You are quick, alert, and know how to use more than just a blade."

Ragna let out a snort as she raised an eyebrow. "Is this some sort of joke? I tried killing him, how do you know that I won't try again?"

"It would come with both a room at the Jarl’s longhouse and pay... You would also be free from this cell, effective immediately.”

She'd never had a consistent income before. It was... tempting. Incredibly so. Fenric would be rolling in his grave at the thought of her having actually done something with herself too… But it would mean spending the rest of her life in the vicinity of Siddgeir. Ironically the cause of the recent string of disasters in her life.

“So... One prison for another, huh? Shackled to Siddy’s side...”

“Ragna!” His voice was like a hiss as he glared.

“... Fine. I’ll do it.”

#meg has done some writing #skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim oc ragna #jarl siddgeir #siddgeir/oc #these two are problematic little shits in each others' vicinity. they're disgusting. they're perfect for each other #it's genuinely so interesting trying to write for a jarl who isn't balgruuf. neighbouring holds yet varying attitudes to their jobs entirel

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kamari333 · 2 months

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I'm Doing Commissions

So I'm doing a little Commissions Sale to try and earn some money. As of now, you can find a very nice sale going over on my Ko-Fi. I also do Commissions straight from PayPal, which, depending on what you want, might net you a better deal (itemization is a little different between PayPal and Kofi).

My Paypal prices are like this:

You can get "Roughs" for $8 per character. It's the structure and sketchwork that goes into every piece, and will come out as a monochrome export. The default color is 'blue' but you can ask for something else.

You can get solid Linework for +$10 flat.

You can get a Wash Render (it's where I use a textured brush that gives the watercolor or marker vibe) for +$3 flat. This pairs well with the Roughs, but it's rather nice with lines too.

You can get Flat Color for +$10.

You can get Cell Shading for +$7.

You can get Gradient Shading for +$10.

You can get Multi-Color Rendering for +$8. This is where I use different colors for lighting and shadows for those special effects.

I also offer a Character Study Bundle for +$15. This is a must if you want me to do an OC or some other character that I've never done before. It's a "rough" page with flat color and design notes. It may have several poses or design fragments.

I also offer a Comic Page Bundle at +$15 per 'page' + a 33% tax (my Cumulative Length Tax). This bundle slightly restructures the way itemization works: Instead of paying per character via the Roughs item, Roughs are a flat rate (+$8). Other things, like Linework and Color and Rendering, are priced like usual. You pay for as many pages as you want in your comic. A page is, by default, a 2400 x 1350 px canvas, and will include however many panels and characters as necessary to tell the story. Story will need to be discussed in advance to be sure it will fit in the number of pages you order.

I also offer a Lineless Color Bundle for +$30. This is where I repaint the entire piece so that it is completely lineless, using only hue and value to shape out the image.

On top of all of this, I am, as of now, offering a 33% discount on all subtotals through Paypal. I can provide examples of these services, as well as an estimated price, upon request.

Contact me directly if you want a commission through Paypal! :3 I am available through Tumblr, Twitter, and Discord.

#kamari333art #kamari333commissions

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icedmatchatae · 1 year

Text

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter IX: Hear Me Out

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: this was long for no reason lol, LOTS of crying in a one night, mentions of substance use and alcoholism, brief description of therapy, hints of depression and anxiety, the media is the absolute worse, mentions of panic attacks, a very emotional yet soft flashback, brief description of past infidelity (just want to hug oc :c), very brief mention of unexpected pregnancy (don't worry, it's none of them), insecurities on maintaining a relationship, Seojoon is back ayeee, verbal fighting

Word Count: 12.8k

Chapter IX: Hear Me Out || Series Masterlist

Settling down a glass of water and a plate of leftover homemade cookies in front of Taehyung, you both sat at your futon table, sitting across from one another. After you calmed him down, you knew he never wanted to be alone after an episode. You suggested bringing him home, but he refused and told you to not tell anyone what had happened. So ultimately, you brought him to your small apartment.

You still made sure that the unconscious men were still alive, and they all had pulses. The liquid that the first blacked-out men were on top of was soju. They probably would have forgotten what happened, so you escaped the premises holding a partially drunk Taehyung before someone caught you.

He muttered a thank you before drinking the water in one go and taking a cookie to help him sober up. Only the chewing and crunching from Taehyung cracked through the air as vocal silence was somewhat necessary after the events.

While he did so and stared at the bitten treat, you played with your fingers as you eyed around your apartment. Though he didn’t mind, you were a bit embarrassed showing him where exactly you lived. Everywhere screamed skeptical and empty. You couldn’t help but compare it with his multi-billion won high-security house with a fucking nice backyard.

“Sorry if…uhh, my apartment’s not much.” You didn’t know why you had to apologize for your living situation. It wasn’t your fault.

Looking up from the baked good, he found you and your cheeks fairly pink while doing your habit. He fuddled while lifting a brow. “You don’t need to apologize. If anything, I should be thanking you for bringing me here.”

“But still…you’re not used to this type of lifestyle.” You shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t even have a couch.”

“___, I could care less if we used the floor as a table or you used your hands to scoop the water I’m drinking.”

You nodded, staying quiet. However, you grew more lax with his reassurance, even letting out a sigh of relief. You watched him pop the remnants of sweet before taking another one from the plate. He looked rather functional, but of course, still infused with alcohol. You didn’t really speak after you sang the song together. He merely followed you silently while you said short instructions.

“How are you feeling now?” You asked softly, a tinge of worry dipped into your asking.

He stopped the cookie mid-way from his mouth before closing it. He placed the dessert back down and sighed, “Thank you for saving me back there. Who knows what would have happened to me if you weren’t there.” He pushed the plate away from him. “You didn’t need to though, could have left me to suffer the consequences.”

“Please, no. Taehyung, you were having a panic attack.” You disagreed, couldn’t even imagine not helping. “I couldn’t leave you like that. I would have done that to anyone.”

To anyone…right. The idol hummed, taking in your statement. “Guess you helped me escape from the law, my lovely accomplice.” He quipped with a smirk. You rolled your eyes before a small grin crept on your face. “You should know you’re still one of the only people who knows how to calm me down like that.”

Your lips faltered in confusion. “Who’re the others?”

“My mom, grandma before, and Jimin.” He replied. “I forgot about the song. It’s the most effective for me.”

You smiled, recalling the first time you used it. It was hours before the middle school talent show. The only reason why you did it was to distract him. He needed to focus on his mind away from his rough breathing. It was on a whim, but it worked great and now the song always calmed him down whether he went through an episode or not.

His list was expected as they were the most important people in his life. However, it was shocking that a specific person you thought of wasn’t on the list. “Not even Clara?”

Taehyung snorted as if you said a joke, “Please she doesn’t know anything about calming someone down. All she cares about is her image.”

Well, that was completely out of nowhere, baffled by his reveal. He spoke on it so casually, yet it was like a blow to his relationship. You couldn’t help but be curious as to why he might have said that, but you chose not to ask as it was the least of your worries right now.

Ignoring his comment, you decided to ask other questions that came to mind while you were on the bus ride home. “Before tonight, when was the last time you went through an episode?”

Tilting his head to the side, he stared at the wall across as he went through the folders of his memories. “Like a full episode, probably last year. Short breaths from time to time, but nothing too serious like tonight.”

“Taehyung…” You frowned, scooting closer to him. You kept your palms on your thighs when you kept your stare on him. His expression remained blunt, almost as if these mini-episodes weren’t at all concerning.

“No worries, ___. They weren’t big. When they happen, the breathing exercises help.”

“Could I ask what caused your last one? Wait, how’d you get into that situation?” Some things weren’t adding up. You were getting more and more perplexed.

He paused for a moment, gazing into your irises. You kept a worried demeanor as you waited patiently. The warm light of your floor lamp in the corner shined onto a side of you, cascading soft shadows of your side profile on the wooden ground.

“If I tell you, then I’d have to tell you things that I’m not proud of.” He explained softly, almost frightened that you’d want nothing to do with him. “You might hate who I’ve become.” His eyes filled with sorrow as he could feel the tears welling up again.

You sucked in your lips as you contemplated a move. Before you even made a choice, you crawled next to him before making yourself comfortable and sat, feeling the warmth he radiated. You looked up at his puzzled face. Before he could question, you motioned him to come and patted his lap.

Though stunned at your forward behavior, his eyes softened. You smiled tenderly and nodded, indicating it was okay. You did your motions once more before he placed his head on your lap, laying his body on the ground. Once his head settled, your appendages caressed through his ebony tendrils to soothe him, repeating the action over and over again.

“Taehyung, I could never hate you.” Your voice was so delicate, but held the heaviest meanings that Taehyung heard in a long time. “Though I don’t know what’s going on with you, please know that your resilience grows every day, more than yesterday, less than tomorrow. You’ll get through it.” You nodded to yourself, deep into thought. “You overcame so many things; bike riding, lighting, stage fright, endless training, close to disbanding. You’ve become successful and loved by many, Taehyung. You reached your goals! I would assume you’d be happier.” You sounded so positive, like how you were when you were younger, his little hope. But the familiar light only shattered him, becoming overshadowed by his intrusive thoughts. Only he knew it wasn’t all true.

With shaking lips, a cry escaped from his mouth not realizing that he was holding it in. You whispered caring nothings while you brushed your fingers into his scalp. His body pumping as his shoulders trembled as the sobs continued to fall.

It was at that moment he realized that you were probably gonna find out the side of him he has been trying to hide from you. The side that grew when you were gone in his life, the tragic shit of his life. He didn’t want to tell you, but he knew he could never lie to you. He trusted you.

He will always trust you.

“You say I’m resilient when I’m not.” He began with denial oozing at the words “You may think that my life has been nothing but glamorous with expensive name brands, International celebrity connections, and being loved by millions, from all my “success”. That my happiness is from all of that.” He chuckled, yet there was no humor in his tone. He bit his lips, quietly attempting to stop his sorrows. “But it’s not, ___.” He stabilized his breathing, feeling pressure in his chest. “I haven’t been happy for a while, and…and I don’t know what happened. I don’t know at all.”

He turned his head up so that he saw your face. Your arm hooked around the side of his face, your forearm feeling against his supple yet worn-down cheeks. Your digits were still attached to his hair. Your eyes were crystal clear, shining at him with the worrisome expression you’d been carrying since he saw you tonight. Yet you were getting confused, “What do you mean?”

The waves of sadness, the trickling of despair in his voice, and the tiredness against the hallows of his eyes and cheeks remained evident in the idol as he revealed what he has been dealing with for the years apart. His increasing anxiety and depression, therapy, the band, the scandals and cover-ups, and hurting numbness to his feelings ultimately resulted in his battle with substances and alcoholism.

Though he mentioned the overcoming of drugs and being clean for a year, the feigned chuckle in his voice indicated no other improvement to all the other shit happening to him. He still felt ashamed of what had become of him. V of BTS, Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, your Hyungie grew up in a reckless brain of disappointment behind all that fame, fortune, and success. The continuous pressure of being this inhumane super idol representative of his national country in the public eye when really he was a human man struggling to find himself and the joy that was once in his life.

Even instances where he almost ran into mayhem from his behavior. If his members, mainly Jimin and Jungkook, or his friends didn’t find him on time, the paparazzi would have arrived to mess up his reputation and possibly his life.

Through the pain seeping out his voice and the straining tears on his face, you could tell how much it was affecting him, giving a hard time to even say it out loud. You knew he hid something, but it was nothing that you expected. Yet you knew how much he feared, how much it hurt him, having the control of his life being taken away by something he loved doing.

You kept silent, listening to his speaking while patting his hair. Your pants were soaked by his tears. At times, he had to pause for a moment to let out longer sobs when the feeling got too much. Once it seemed his story met the end, he sat up from your lap to stare into your eyes with his dull ones. “All this love and support, yet I still feel fucking empty!” He raised his voice out of nowhere, making you flinch. Noticing, he apologized quietly through his pupils. He spoke softly this time, “It’s all too much to handle, and adding onto everyone fucking keeping their eyes on me like I’m some zoo animal or puppet to attend to their needs. I just hate it.”

Stillness met around you much longer than anticipated because honestly, you didn’t know what to say to him. You didn’t want to say something he might not want to hear. He might have heard it before and it probably didn’t work. When in doubt, sometimes silence and listening would be the best thing to do.

“___?” He called your name out so timidly. You slightly nodded, telling him you were still here with him. “You think I’m a piece of shit, right?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his accusation. “What? No, I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“Taehyung, I may have been harsh to you but I would never think of you like that.”

“Why not? There’s obviously something wrong with me.” He countered, not truly believing you. “All this shit is because of me.”

“No, nothing is wrong with you.” You fought back, shaking your head. “Things happened to you, Taehyung. You’re not what those events are.”

The idol kept his sodden eyes on you, hardening by the second. However, you too had your pupils focused on him, almost as if you were fighting to win yet your stare was much more gentle and empathetic. With that, it made him believe the authenticity of the words you were saying.

He softened his look and sniffed as he looked away to gaze over at your corner lamp. “You’re the only person who isn’t blaming me for my mess.” Turning his head back to you, he sighed “Whatever I do, I just feel like shit and get blamed. I feel lost and so tired of everything.”

“It’s okay to feel lost. You should give grace to yourself. I mean, you have been in the spotlight since you were young, so the pace is slower, unfortunately.”

“But how long am I gonna be like this?” He groaned in agony. Tears are physically drained out of him, but the redness pierced through his skin. “It’s been years!”

You thinned your lips and nodded, acknowledging his grief. “You should know I can’t answer that.” Though your answer wasn’t the best, it didn’t seem like he was bothered by it at all. “I know I’ll never be in your shoes and I will never know what’s going on in your head, but I do know how strong you are, Taehyung. You’ve always been, for yourself and others.” He remained quiet. But the dimming within the dark hues of his irises suddenly sparkled faintly. “It sucks and frustrating, and all these annoying shits because people don’t always understand you. You’re kinda hard to crack at times. Maybe that’s why it’s taking longer than usual. But those who truly know the lengths you have to take to overcome this. They will help you understand what you need to bring the goodness and happiness out of you.”

“Will I ever be happy, ___?” He spoke ever so timidly like he desperately needed an answer.

You leaned back, resting your palms on the hard wooden floor. “They always say good things will happen especially when you least expect it. It’ll come when the time is right.”

But you’re here now and you were the best thing that ever happened to me.

Taehyung had an exhaustive look within his gloom, taking in your words. It was true, not many people understood him especially personally. Even if they did, they’d argue his logic like he was wrong for that. So at that moment, he remembered how much you were the one true person that made him be seen. Exposed and vulnerable. You saw the real Kim Taehyung.

With that, you weren’t expecting the idol to crawl towards your form to wrap his long arms around you as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. His nose gently grazed your skin, letting you inhale sharply. Luckily, he was too deep into his thoughts so you placed your palm on his back before fully reciprocating back.

“Thank you.” The vibration of his voice moved through your goosebumps. “Thank you for your words, for saving me, for everything since you came back. Thank you for being here again, Blue.”

A subtle smile ghosted on your lips at the sound of the nickname, letting him get away with it only this time. “You don’t need to thank me. I’ll be honest when I say I hate it at times, but I’ll be on your side no matter what.”

“Really? Even when I fuck up? Or when the members are mad at me?”

“Well, yeah.” He parted away to look into your eyes. “I’ve known you longer than those around us. It’s your word against theirs; I would believe you than them.”

The way you explained yourself had Taehyung’s heart skipping in a fluttering rapid manner. You spoke so honestly, it said it all on your face too. The gentleness and reassurance he knew and loved.

“Of course, it doesn’t mean I agree with you. I’ll tell your shit with the back of my hand.” Though your words were hard, you continued that tendering tone with an empathetic smile that would make all living entities’ hearts melt. But the contrast made the idol let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head while you weren’t fazed at all. “I’m only being honest.”

“As you are,” Taehyung confirmed before biting his lip. He knew how late it was, but still rejected the thought of going back to his house…with Clara if she was back. He didn’t want the members or his friends to get roped into this because that would require him to explain what happened tonight. “Do you think I could sleep over here?”

You looked taken aback at his question, cocking your brow up. “Tonight? Here?” You asked, then he nodded confidently. “A-are you sure?”

“Please? After what happened…I don’t want anyone else to know and bug me.”

“But…” You had mixed feelings about his request. Sure, you had tons of sleepovers in the past but it was in the past. There were certain things to consider with your decision, and most of it had to do with your boundaries and your hesitancy despite your now willingness to fully accept him.

“Please?” He asked again, with so much vulnerability leaking out of that single word.

But after these recent events and the fact he revealed the darkness of his life update to you, all you wanted was for him to feel safe.

“Do you wanna shower too? I have a spare towel, but I need to dig for larger-sized clothes.” You got up from the floor and started heading down the hallway to your room. “I think I brought some of my grandfather’s pajamas by mistake.” Your voice echoed through your apartment.

Though you didn’t explicitly say yes, Taehyung knew the answer, making him grin like an idiot as he watched your form disappear into the hall. He then crawled up to follow you. It took him a couple of seconds to see where your bedroom was located as it was the only door that was wide open with the lights on.

Once he entered, he noticed that the only furniture there was a neatly made blue-sheeted bed and oak dresser. The surface of the dresser was filled with books, a jewelry box, empty cans of Coca-Cola, and various miscellaneous items.

You were living a very minimalist life, he thought. When the two of you were younger, you always decorated your room. You had a multitude of plush toys on your bed given by your grandparents, his parents, other neighbors, and him too. You liked to plaster pictures of family, him, and art, and posters of your favorite artists on your wall, and displayed your rock collection that remained in one corner of your room.

Nothing in this room screamed “you.” It felt very temporary like you weren’t belonging to this place.

Taehyung then turned away from looking to spot you digging through your closet. He heard you let out an “umph” before you sat back on the floor with a red sweater and a matching-colored pair of plaid pants.

“I was right! I did bring a box of his clothes on accident!” You smiled when you looked up at the idol standing. “They were supposed to be donations, but I grabbed them by mistake and just kept them.” You raised the clothes to him.

The idol gladly took them into his hands and grinned. “You know your grandfather is a very tall man. I don’t know if I could even fit his clothes.”

“Nonsense, I think you’re as tall as him now. I mean it has been some time.” You got up from the floor and let out a sigh.

“How is he anyways? How has he been since your grandmother passed?”

They were harmless questions that Taehyung asked as simple curiosity and wanting to know how your family was doing. But those very questions made your smile drop into a sorrowful frown.

Taehyung stared at you questionably at the shift in your mood. It seemed like your brain was gearing up, trying to process what he said. He didn’t think it was anything bad but with the slight thinning of your lips with your nostrils flaring, he felt like he said something wrong.

But before he could even defend himself, you nodded casually as you put back a small grin. “Oh yeah, he’s fine. Same strong, gentle old man. Just been busy with the farm and everything. Just thinking about him working in his old age frustrates me, you know?” You were rambling, and it happens because of three things: you got nervous, angry, or you were hiding something.

Taehyung immediately knew the choices but didn’t speak further. It has been a rough night for him and probably for you now, so he didn’t want to add more stress. “He should retire soon, or pass the farm to you or someone else.”

“Yeah…” You sighed, already wanting to change the subject. “You should go shower. Towels inside the hallway closet and I have a spare toothbrush under the bathroom sink.”

The idol nodded, “Maybe, you should go first. It’s late, and a school night. You also have longer hair than me, so it’d take longer to dry.”

Completely forgetting that tomorrow you had a morning class, you mentally cursed yourself. It was close to one in the morning, and usually around this time, you’d still study but you didn’t have the mental capacity right now. You were exhausted and needed to get as much sleep as possible.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Of course, Blue. I don’t mind, you’re literally housing me.” He patted your head as you stared up at him.

Your eyebrows pinched before you formed a pout. “I told you to stop calling me Blue.”

“It’s a force of habit.” He shrugged before squeezing your cheek. “Do you know how hard it is for me to call you by your name?”

“It’s not as hard, you know. A normal person calls me by my name.”

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m not normal or not. Blue will forever be your name for me.”

Though you’d normally get angry or show some type of anger, you were forcing yourself to suppress a smile at what he said. A smile that he noticed, so he didn’t take it as seriously.

“Whatever, Taehyung.” You shook your head before gathering up your clothes to shower and change.

“That’s not my name for you.” He denied.

“I’m not saying it. I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Now he was acting a bit playful, which you didn’t mind. “It’s Blue and Hyungie! Not ___ and Taehyung!”

“You can’t be serious. We had those nicknames when we were kids. We’re nearly in our thirties!”

“Does it look like I care if we’re almost thirty?” The idol reasoned once more. “You being Blue means so much to me. You, of all people, should know how much you mean to me.” He spoke gently when he explained himself, almost sensitive to this topic.

You didn’t know how to respond at that. Though you knew how much you cared about him, you didn’t know how much it was reciprocated back. You had partially low expectations now on how much importance you were towards Taehyung’s life.

So you honestly said, “No, I’m not sure about now…”

The devastation wasn’t enough to describe his expression. A bit of concern, a lot of worry, maybe even frustration. Whatever emotion there was, Taehyung felt worse, realizing the immense strain between you and him. You didn’t trust him, you didn’t know how much he cared and meant to you, it was almost as if every memory made was completely garbage to say the least. At least that was what he thought.

Before he could even say a sound, you quickly changed the subject. “I’m gonna go shower. Just make yourself comfortable.” You said in a rush as you collected some clothes and your towel hanging on the door knob.

Taehyung stood there dumbfounded and exhausted. There was too much to think about and all he wanted to do was not think. He just got to you, he shouldn’t be greedy with this.

While you showered, there wasn’t much for Taehyung to do. You lived in a rather infinite yet empty apartment. He roamed around your place about five times, so he was sure he saw everything you owned here.

Well, almost everything.

He was back in your room, eyes scanning the dresser. Items were still in the same position as he first saw them, but now he had more scrutiny, specifically for your jewelry box. It caught his eyes the most; it was worn down, graphics and patterns faded over time, yet still managed to keep its shape.

He soon realized it was the one his family gave you during a Christmas of your childhood.

The campfire that Taehyung’s father, Jitae, made blazed brightly outside in the back of their house. You, your grandparents, and his family surrounded the fire, taking in the warmth while being covered in jackets and snuggled in thick blankets provided by his mother.

While his siblings, with the help of his grandmother and father, were making s’mores and roasted marshmallows, you and Taehyung shared a blanket and sat in a large woven chair as he wrapped his skinny limbs around you for extra warmth and comfort. It was a relaxing Christmas Eve, and both families wanted to celebrate together because the more, the merrier. The bond was always strong between each other so it was only fair to do so with one another.

“Would you kids like to open one present before Christmas?” Taehyung’s mom, Miseon, asked with a smile. She already had two gifts while your grandmother had the other two.

The obvious answer was saying yes with immense joy in our tones. So when the two women distributed the presents, greedy hands from the Kim siblings snatched them right away. You, on the other hand, looked at his mom curiously when she gave you one.

“___, this is from us to you,” Miseon informed. “Gifts are never enough to show how much we truly love and care for you, dear. You’ve always been a great blessing to us.”

“HEY!” Sungyeon, the youngest of three, pouted. “That’s not fair!”

“Sungie, don’t be selfish.” Their mom scolded gently but her face showed all the strictness, which ultimately shut him up, and continued opening his toy. Then looked back at you with a more calmer and happier expression. “We hope you like it.”

Smiling, you proceeded to unbox your present. Unlike the others, the way you opened gifts was done in a very neat way. Peeling off the tapes on the sides, carefully slicing the wrapping paper, and sliding it off with precision.

Meanwhile, Taehyung shredded the paper.

You opened the lid which ultimately made you confused. You took it out and observed the outside of it. It was another box, yes, but it was light blue with gold accents around the surface, edges were also gold but felt like metal. The edges were sharp and crisped. Some of the gold engraved your initials on the top of the lid. It even smelled nice too.

You found the opening latch, which also had the option to put an additional lock on it. When you unlocked it, the top popped open surprising you in the process. Nevertheless, you were in awe. There were what appeared to be velvet containers and organizers within the box with a fairly decent mirror. But the thing that made you fall in love was the small ballerina pirouetting slowly as a toy box jingle of Swan Lake played.

“It’s a jewelry box,” Miseon explained to your confused ten-year-old self. “You can put your necklaces, rings, and bracelets in here for safekeeping. I know there’s that necklace your parents gave you and the bracelets you’ve been making.” You nodded as you unconsciously grabbed onto the flower pendant you still used and never took off. “You can put them in here, or any sentimental items you have.”

“Thank you, auntie! I love it.” You cheesed at the box. Anything they gave you, you always took it with pride and honor. Your grandparents watched with smiles as you touched and caressed your jewelry box. Taehyung even stopped to look at you and admire your gift, his present in his lap was long forgotten.

“You know ___, remember you can also call me mom.” Miseon reminded you. A while back, his parents asked permission from your grandparents if it was okay. Because you lost your parents at such a young age and the way you seamlessly meshed into their family, they both wanted to be there to support and love you as their own. Your grandparents were fine with it, knowing the trust that has been built through the years but it was only the matter if you’d accepted them.

“And call me dad.” Jitae chimed in as he sat on the edge next to you. You pursed your lips before nodding quietly, still not giving them a clear answer to their offer.

“Why do you want ___ to call you that?” Sungyeon asked with a hit of jealousy. “You’re our mom and dad, not hers!”

Then Eunjeong slapped the back of her younger brother’s head, making him wince in pain. “You dummy, don’t be mean! ___ doesn’t have parents, that’s why!” She meant well, but all the adults and Taehyung gasped, knowing how sensitive you were about the mentioning of your parents.

Taehyung slithered his arms around you before pulling you back into his body before you could even react, “Both of you, be quiet! I told you not to talk about that! Blue is sensitive, you know!”

“Now children, calm down.” Your grandmother stepped in, wanting to ease the tension between the angered eldest and the now frightened younger two. “Be careful with your words because they can hurt others. ___ does have parents, they’re just not here anymore. She knows that. And second—”

“It’s okay, grandma.” You interrupted your grandmother, making everyone crane their heads at you. You finally spoke after being silent, feeling it was right to do so. “Yeah, I know my parents are gone…I still miss them.”

“Blue, it’s okay. Cry it out.” Taehyung cooed, tightening his grip on you but his coddling made you laugh and shake your head before parting away from him.

“Hyungie, I’m not sad about it as much.” You reassured. “Besides, I have a family here!” You opened your arms, showcasing to those around you. “I have my grandparents…siblings…a best friend…” You turned to face his parents, showing all the love you had for them in your eyes. “Parents?” You said it so softly but it was enough for both of his parents to have tears in their eyes.

You got up from the chair to stand in front of Miseon and looked up at her. “I have a mom, but…you can also be my mom too.” You craned your head over to Jitae. “And you can also be my dad too!”

Your reveal made his parents rush to hug you with a strong yet welcoming embrace. You were squished between the two but felt the love they emitted.

Though you barely had time with your actual parents, you still held and thought of them very highly. You remembered what they did with you, how much love they had for you, and giving you what you wanted and needed. But the memories were fading as you grew older, the distance between them and you, their faces were only shown in pictures. It was harder since they weren’t physically here anymore.

You were finally willing to bring them in, willing for them to be part of your life from now on.

Sungyeon was about to protest but Eunjeong nudged him to be quiet to not ruin the beautiful moment.

Taehyung smiled at the innocent memory. You were always well loved by his family, his parents treating you as if you were their child and even taking care of you when your grandparents were busy. In some ways, his parents wanted you to be part of the Kim family.

His siblings seemed to love you more than they did with him, which never bothered Taehyung at all since he got to see that bright smile on your face.

Even after the falling, his parents or siblings would mention you from time to time, wondering if you were ever okay and doing well for yourself. They tried their best to contact you, but it seemed that you were incognito and keeping your distance. It hurt both ends, but at least they wanted the best for one another. You were also a memory for them since it’s been years since they last saw you or your grandparents.

Mindlessly, Taehyung opened the box which revealed pouches of earrings and necklaces and a row of rings. You know the typical items inside a jewelry box.

However, what caught his eye was a handmade craft he didn’t think he’d ever see again.

It was your friendship bracelet, also worn down, whithering over time, yet still intact. Despite a few chips, scratches, bumps, and a little piece of your initial charm missing, everything was there! He couldn’t believe that you still kept yours all this time. He never thought about you keeping yours, he assumed it was gone forever. But this was incredible for him.

Especially knowing that he too kept his.

It was kept in a box filled with childhood memorabilia inside his closet including the pictures of you and him through the years. Gifts, notes, letters, everything that he could bring to Seoul. During his training days, while everyone was asleep, he would read them late at night when he felt himself missing you.

Which was every day.

But after your friendship was over, Taehyung hid all those physical memories from everyone including himself. Though feeling so guilty and ashamed of his explosive younger self, he knew deep down he didn’t have the heart to throw away the box of you. Just the thought of it was a complete absurdity. He refused to erase anything of you.

Even now.

He had a sudden urge to open the box immediately once he gets home, without Clara of course. If she didn’t know shit about you, then she definitely won’t know about that box.

After washing up and getting ready for bed, the two of you were in pajamas. Taehyung sat on your bed, scrolling away on his phone. You went back to your closet, retrieving some thicker blankets. He heard ruffling before looking up to watch you retrieve one of the pillows on your mattress. You didn’t think much about giving up your bed for him, so you were getting ready to leave the bedroom before he stopped you.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, getting off of the bed to stand.

You stopped your track, giving him a confusing expression. “What?”

“Where are you going with that?” He worryingly nodded toward what you were carrying.

“Uhh, going to the living to make my bed?”

“Wha—___! Don’t do that.”

“Why not? I need to sleep somewhere.” You weren’t affected by this decision, but Taehyung begged to differ.

“Yeah, that’s why there’s your bed right here.” He said matter-of-a-factly.

“You’re the guest, Taehyung. You need to be comfortable.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you sleeping outside of the bedroom.” He reasoned softly. “No offense, ___, but your living room looks lonely…”

You snorted, “I think you’ve mistaken lonely for poor.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I’m teasing, Taehyung.” You rolled your eyes as you reassured him but he continued to look stooped and pouty. You decided to leave him be to walk your way to the living room. But before you can do so, Taehyung jogged up to you and took the blankets out of your hands. “It’s fine, I got th—wait, you’re going the wrong way!”

Carrying the fabrics, he settled them down on the bed. You followed behind and tried to get them back but he lightly pushed your face away. You were taken aback as you glared at him, having the urge to kick his shin but you held back.

“Don’t sleep in the living room. Stay here, I’ll sleep out there.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m gonna say no.” You ruthlessly shut him down.

“___!”

“No, Taehyung, you’re not sleeping out there. It’s rude for me to give you the floor, especially after your panic attack. I need you to feel cozy and secure.” You explained. “Do you still have trouble sleeping at night after an episode?”

“Y-yeah, but—”

“Exactly, so just take the bed. It’s already late, and I have class tomorrow. I don’t want to argue.”

Taehyung bit down on his lips, wanting to counter back. But he knew you were right. He always had trouble sleeping after his panic attacks. Even his doctor told him he needed to be as comfortable and relaxed as possible.

But the last time he felt that away after an episode was sleeping with Jimin, and the last other person to do that for him was you. And with you, it’s different.

“Fine, I’ll take the bed.” He ultimately gave in, which satisfied you. But then he said, “But if I need to be comfortable, then I don’t want you to stay in the living room. I’ll feel unsettled knowing you’re out there.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Why?”

“I just am! I feel bad too, you’re uncomfortable in your apartment.”

“I’m not, I actually sleep on the floor from time to time, intentionally and unintentionally because I pass out after studying.” You simply said, but you don’t seem to get his point.

“Don’t sleep in the living room then.” He pressed onto you.

“Then where am I going to sleep? The bathroom?”

“Here.”

“What do you mean here?” You further inquired, wary of what he meant.

“I mean here.” He pointed down, motioning to the room. “You can sleep on the bed with me too…” Your eyes bulged out of the sockets, making him realize what he said. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that! Just sleep! Just sleep.”

“Taehyung…”

“You don’t need to sleep on the bed, it was just a suggestion. I swear! Want you to be comfortable too.” He defended himself. “If not, at least sleep here on the floor.”

“Do you think that I would be comfortable sleeping here? What if I’m not? Even after you said that.”

Taehyung’s mouth opened then closed, struggling to gather his words. He didn’t think about that, and now he felt like an asshole wanting what he said. “D-do you feel uncomfortable at what I said? I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention. Really, I—Good night then. Sorry again.”

“Don’t be sorry, Taehyung. I get what you mean, and I’m not uncomfortable.” You promised, lightly smiling. “I don’t mind but I didn’t want to suggest it.”

“How come?”

“Are you really going to ask me that?” You rolled your eyes, thinking he wasn’t being serious. But when he stared curiously at you, he didn’t understand what you meant.

Today was too long for you. However, though you were exhausted, your mind was wide awake, recapturing all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. That also included what went through your head while you were away from him.

You didn’t want to have this conversation yet, but maybe this will make him understand how you feel and your boundaries. That way you’d feel a little lighter and not have to worry about it from now on. “Taehyung.”

“Hmm.”

You wanted to be direct, and as clear as possible. “Were you really trying to kiss me?” More forward than that. “Actually, scratch that. Why were you going to kiss me?”

Okay, he didn’t expect that to come out of your mouth, especially now. Yet he knew exactly what you were talking about. The question now was what was he going to say? How was he going to respond?

He thought long and hard as you anticipated his answer. “Uhh, I don’t know.”

You blinked, “you don’t know?”

“I…I don’t know, ___, or at least I don’t know how to put it into words.” He shook his head at himself, gathering his feelings. “I guess I was… at the moment? Look, ___, being with you always made me feel right. It reminded me of how we were. I’d hold you, kiss your forehead, temple, cheek, anywhere really.”

“So you were wanting to be like old times?” You wondered, still puzzled.

“Kinda? Well, now you know the shit I’m in, so hanging out with you felt like going back in time when nothing was like this. I felt so alive, and safe. Like I wasn’t V, but Kim Taehyung.”

That still didn’t answer your question, especially when you wanted to say that he was going for your lips than your cheek or head. It didn’t matter as much right now because he said something else that sparked your interest. “Our past was innocent and young, we didn’t know anything! That’s why it was like that and unfortunately, Taehyung, we’re older. Our younger selves would have never known what was happening with us and between us. We can’t sink into the sand of our memories. That’s how people aren’t able to move on.”

“I know, but all I want is to feel happy again and the only times I truly felt it was when I was younger.” He sounded like he was begging, but you didn’t know to who.

“How do you suppose to do that then? You can’t go back in time and relive your prepubescent self.”

He chuckled lowly, “I can’t go back, but I can make new memories. Hopefully, they’re happier and less traumatizing.”

“I do want you to have that too. Don’t think about happy memories, focus on happy experiences in the present.”

“Maybe, especially when you’re back.” He shrugged.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” You sighed, not wanting to hear that.

“I know, but knowing how you were in my past when I was enjoying life, helps to hope for those “joyful” experiences.”

You mumbled incoherent sounds before grabbing the blankets to prepare your makeshift futon next to the bed. Slumber was slowly getting to you and you wanted to mentally cry at the time—close to three in the morning and you had to wake up at six to get ready for your 8 AM class, then work. Yup, the day was nearing. Should you skip it? No, that would be a waste on your loans.

As you mentally prepared yourself for the morning, Taehyung got into the covers and cuddled with the single pillow he had for the night. His head could sleep without it.

He watched you place the layers of blankets down on the floor. As he did so, he recapped what you both discussed earlier. Now it was his turn to ask some questions, but he forgot to do something first.

“I’m sorry, ___.”

You finished the last layer before you turned, spotting him laying on his side holding a pillow. He too had the face of defeat, but yet he continued when you kept your silence.

“I’m sorry that I tried to kiss you. It wasn’t my intention to, I don’t know what came over me. Nonetheless, it still happened and it got you angry.” He explained, cautiously and neatly. “I also want you to know how much I value you and our relationship. I never want to hurt you. Even get you angry, but that always happens.” You nodded calmly, taking it all in. “I still want your friendship. I’ll do what it takes. Please don’t give up on us like that. I’m stupid, but I’ve been like that and I’m trying.”

Taehyung waited fearfully for your response. You appeared composed and unaffected, but that was probably because you were so tired to feel any rigorous emotions right now. You just wanted to go to bed, but you knew you needed to say something.

You closed your eyes and exhaled before peeling them open, “Taehyung…if I say yes, there need to be boundaries.” You finally replied.

His face scrunched at your request. “Like what? We’ve never had something like that before.”

“Well, it’s now. Don’t think about the past right now.” You shook your head. “We’re older, so there should be respectful walls between us.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, understanding your needs. “I’ll be respectful. I’m sorry again for trying to do that.”

“As long as it never happens again, and besides you have Clara, remember?” You mentioned, putting a distasteful expression on him. “You don’t wanna ruin your relationship over someone like me. Don’t wanna follow that same route again.”

Your words piqued his interest, “Again? What do you mean again?”

Fuck, you slipped that out so casually, exposing yourself in front of him like that. “Huh, oh, nothing. I…yeah, nothing.”

“___, it doesn’t sound like nothing,” Taehyung said, maneuvering himself to get a good look at you. He rested his elbows on the mattress, cupping his cheeks. He observed your avoidance, eyes roaming everywhere else instead of him. “___, what happened?” He had to think again. “If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.”

You sighed, shaking your head. You finally gazed at him, his stare so attentive towards you. “You’re not overstepping…it’s just…I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try your best. Say it ugly if you have to.”

“When you tried to kiss me or something, I got triggered.” You tried to find the words, biting your lips as you thought about how to approach this. “I was…scarred in the past.”

Furrowing his eyebrows together, Taehyung questioned. “What do you mean? What happened? Were you okay?”

“It’s done and over, but it still makes me unsettled.” You explained. Taehyung waited patiently for you to continue. Though he stared in silence, his aura encouraged you to be vulnerable in front of him…like the old times when he made you feel safe and sound as you used to tell him everything.

Well, not everything.

“It was back in undergrad, but uhhh, when I was a freshman, I dated an upperclassman.” You exposed yourself. This was something you hated thinking and talking about, but it was also something that needed to be clear and said, especially to Taehyung.

You dated someone?? That surprised him. Not saying he never expected you to date, it just surprised him that you actually dated someone. He had so many questions—who was he? What did he look like? What was he like? Did he ever savor your glory? Did he ever laugh the way he did? Was he ever part of your story, one that Taehyung gave up on long ago? Did he fill in his part?

Then again, you said you were scarred, so that fueled some fire within him, getting irrationally upset about this unknown dude.

But he stopped himself and asked, “Wait, you did?”

You nodded calmly as opposed to his shocked yet steady demeanor. “He was a TA for a class. I asked for help, and it happened. He was sweet, nice to me, and brought me flowers a couple of times. Guess you can say he was my first boyfriend, well, a lot of my firsts…”

Taehyung frowned, his mouth curling down deeply. There were visions in his head he wanted to push away. “So what happened?”

“What he didn’t tell me was that he had a girlfriend.”

“Wait, so he cheated on you?!”

“No, he cheated on her with me.” You said flatly, but your heart squeezed from the visceral memory. You breathed in and out carefully, hoping you weren’t going to cry over something stupid years ago. You shouldn’t cry over that man. “I was the other woman, yet I did not know of it for like almost an entire year. No one even told me, so who knows if others knew this whole time.” Your fists clenched as you pulled your legs to your chest. “Eventually, she and I found out but she put all the blame on me and spread a rumor around campus that I was a home wrecker. They broke up, but I guess my reputation got destroyed. Or even worsen? I didn’t have any true friends even before that. Civil roommates, but that was it. Everyone knew me as the home wrecker so…”

You were also tired of crying about that horrific past, yet it still haunted you. When it happened, it felt like everything was your fault. What was worse was that you had no support system anymore. Everything you did, through college and other hardships, you felt incredibly alone and lonely. Those years truly felt the lowest for you.

The tears escaped without your permission, but you didn’t bother wiping them away because if you did, you’d acknowledge you were crying. But Taehyung wasn’t going to lay there and do nothing, so he scooted off the bed and sat next to your makeshift futon. He pulled you into him as you sniffled and the streams continued down your cheeks, also staining his shirt. He rubbed your back and wiped the tears for you.

“Taehyung, I promise this isn’t meant to guilt you but I wished you were still there for me.” Your lips quivered, breaking both of your hearts at your sad confession. “Everyone hated me. It was so hard without my best friend.”

Yet Taehyung felt the guilt eating him alive. He left you alone, with no one by your side to protect you. He wished he could cry because seeing you in this state would leave him sobbing like a baby, but it seemed the tears and overwhelming events restrained him from doing so. He hated seeing his Blue sad.

“I’m so sorry again. I still feel like shit about what happened.” He said, holding you tighter in his arms.

“It’s whatever already.” You sniffed, letting it go as it was the least of your concerns at this point. You quietly apologized for ruining his sleepwear, but he didn’t care. “It did hurt, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”

He did have his reasons, but it wasn’t the time to say so he nodded. “That’s horrible though, what you experienced. I’m sorry you had to go through with that.”

“I was a stupid teenager who didn’t know any better,” You reasoned. “I think I was too focused on the fact that someone actually liked and wanted to be with me. It was like a miracle.” You lightly joked at the end, but Taehyung took it seriously.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Taehyung, I wasn’t necessarily a catch, even back in Geochang.” You told him. “I mean my first kiss was even made into a joke. In general, I never had someone who truly loved me in that sense.” He stayed silent as he looked at your reddened face. You didn’t bother to notice his expression directed at you, as you went on. “When I was with him, it felt exciting at first. Only now I realized how much I kept saying yes to him because I thought he loved me and I didn’t want to make him upset.”

“Why?”

Your teary eyes met his hardened ones before you simply answered, “If I made him upset, then he’d leave me.”

The air grew slightly thick from your response. It was unintentional, yet intentional. You’ve said so much, yet so little. Taehyung realized now that there was much more you haven’t spoken about the in-between gap. While he spoke up, you chose to stay silent. Yet everything that has happened without him, like this experience, made a clear effect on you, and somehow also bit him in the ass.

He wanted to stir the conversation slightly, otherwise, the night will become light in no time. “You were still in Geochang, right?” You nodded tiredly. “Who was this fucking son of a bitch? Do you remember his name?”

“Kim Minjae.”

“Wait, I know that fucker. We were on the same soccer team. I’m gonna find him and bea—”

His response made you chuckle softly, patting his head in delight. Your smile eased his temper, despite biting his tongue. “Taehyung, it’s okay. You don’t need to do that because he got a teacher pregnant and is now working as a fisherman to pay his child support. I think he knows what he’s done.” The universe was on your side this time. You also remembered being flabbergasted but lowkey satisfied when that drama spread from the college to the entire town of Geochang. It was not pretty at all, but it got your name out of everyone’s mouth.

“Still, you were all alone and you went through that unnecessary shit.”

“Yes, but I overcame it. Well, not really. You just saw me cry over something that happened when I was 18. But my skin and heart are tougher, harder to break through.”

“Nah, I could poke you and know that you’re the biggest softie I know.” He cooed, causing you to roll your eyes but grin lightly.

“Anyways, I’m saying this because though we were friends again, we shouldn’t be so affectionate with each other.” You revealed. Though his touch comforted you, you pulled and moved away from him, giving some space in between.

But Taehyung appeared insulted and hurt. “Why? That’s how we always were.”

“Yes, but I’m sure no one else would understand.” You countered, scratching your neck. “Your members, friends, Clara, might get the wrong idea, and…I don’t wanna end up in that position again. Even though nothing’s happening between us and I’m sure your actions mean well, but for my sake. I-I’m scared.”

Was it asking for a lot? Maybe. But you needed to get it out of you. This may be a sudden realization as to why you weren’t as sure about bringing Taehyung back into your life. You’ve seen those articles and comments media and some fans put out for the world to see. People misinterpreted things all the time, or worse, warped them as bait to cause drama.

Though Taehyung understood what you meant, that didn’t mean he liked hearing it. He always took pride in your bond with him, something that no one ever quite understood and instead led to various assumptions. Yet most of the time didn’t bother to care and went along with your day.

Boundaries were never discussed, but that was only because they never existed between the two of you! Although if the memories weren’t mistaken, oftentimes, there were restrictions.

But this was slightly new territory for you and Taehyung. A rather comfortably uncomfortable situation. Nevertheless, it needed to happen to make this work for your strained relationship.

Taehyung sighed before nodding in agreement, “Okay, for you. But can I at least hug you?”

“Sure.” You shrugged. “Friends hug.”

“How about sleeping on the bed?”

“Taehyung, that’s pushing it.” You said sternly, suppressing the light grin on your face. Taehyung always did reason with you.

“Hey, I slept on the bed with my members and friends!” He argued back. “We even cuddled with each other.”

“Taehyung, I’m serious.” You groaned, raising your voice.

Taehyung laughed a hefty one out loud, almost sounding forced which frightened your irritable and tired state. You stared with eyes wide bewildering. “I’m sorry, but I’m getting tired of you calling me Taehyung.” He brought this up once again.

You raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s your name!” Seriously, why was he taking this so seriously? It was getting quite bothersome.

“But you call me Hyungie.” Taehyung sounded as if he was correcting you condescendingly. You were about to throw tired hands, but he continued. “And you’re my Blue. Look I know I keep bringing this up and you’re probably annoyed, but it shows the importance to me. You’re important to me! More than you know, and not doing it creates distance from us, which makes it so weird. I’ll try but I’m not used to it. I know you don’t trust me either, hell, I don’t trust me either but please have faith in me. Compromise with me!”

“Taehyung, we talked about this. I-I’m not ready for that, please understand. Little by little.” You wanted this to be over, at least for the night. It was late and you needed to get up early. “I’m trying, okay? I want to trust you, but again, there needs to be boundaries. I’m not doing this as a punishment.”

“But—”

“If it must happen, fucking just call me Blue. But I won’t call it back. No, absolutely not. I can’t.” You stood your stance, shaking your head. It was too much for you. “That’s my compromise and that’s final.”

The draining stare you offered him with no budge had him fear you slightly. You were always a scary one especially when you get upset with him. It was rare, well before, but it triggered him to stop his whining and give in to what you voiced out. It had to do for now…

“Okay, that’s fine…” He sighed as he dramatically turned his head to the side to stare at your dresser, pouting like a child. He wasn’t completely satisfied, but this was what he could get. Yet the faint grin plastered on lets him side-eye you in glee. “…Blue.”

You rolled your eyes once more before pushing him off your futon. He laughed as he crawled back into bed. “Okay, that’s settled so let’s go to sleep. I’m tired, I have to wake up early.”

“Are you sure about sleeping on the floor? The other side of the bed sure feels—”

“Taehyung, for the last time and I’m not fucking repeating myself, I’ll be fine sleeping down here. Take all the bed space or don’t, I don’t give a rat’s ass right now.” You snapped back, throwing whatever he had to “convince” you out the window. “Good night, okay? If you still have trouble sleeping, you can have my pillow too.” You grabbed your cushion and handed it to him.

“No, thank you. I need you to be comfy too.” Taehyung quickly denied it before getting into his sheets and hugging his pillow. “This is more than enough. Thank you for everything again. Thank you for opening up to me too.”

“You’re welcome.” You yawned widely as you scratched your head. “No problem with that…It was nice letting it out. Haven’t talked about that in a while. Hope tonight wasn’t that intense for you.”

“I’ve had worse nights.” He said lightly. “But man, Blue, no offense you probably have bad taste men.” He joked; the playful gleam sparked through his reddened eyes as he finally laid his back on the mattress.

“Don’t even talk about that.” You groaned, knowing he was probably right. You too laid down and were about to go to bed. “Don’t make fun of me right now, I’m sensitive.”

“Okay, I won’t. I promise.” He grinned, yet you stuck your tongue out to him. “Again, I’m sorry you had a bad first love.”

Now it was your turn to laugh forcibly to which Taehyung grew confused. “Luckily for me, he wasn’t my first love, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t be caught dead with that assumption.” You scoffed as you closed your eyes. Sleep came sooner than imagined that you didn’t realize what you said, too drowsy to notice.

Suddenly Taehyung was energized again, curious about your statement. “Really? But you said you had so many firsts with him.”

“Dates, relationship, sex, heartbreak,” You mumbled languidly, listing while pondering the thought. “First love wasn’t on the list.”

“Then you had a first love?” He questioned.

You only let a groggy noise, but it confirmed his inquiry.

“T-then who was your first love?” For an odd reason, Taehyung felt nervous asking this. Despite being best friends, the two of you never discussed each other’s love lives. Well, there wasn’t any on both sides, to begin with. He knew about your first kiss before and first boyfriend just now, but never knew anything about this. Maybe it was someone within the ten years apart? But you would have mentioned it, right?

Judging by the timeline of this boyfriend, it was when you first entered college so you were still young and most likely eighteen. That could mean your first love was way before then. If he analyzed his thoughts deeply and if the timeline was correct, you might have loved someone when he was still around.

Then the question now was who?

But no answer came from the other end.

When he turned his head, he found you knocked out spreading arms with long strands all over your face. He figured how tired you were, having done physical, emotional, and mental labor through the whole day so he lets it be.

His hand reached out to push back your hair away from your face, revealing your soft and relaxed expression. Your nose scrunched at the touch, but back to its resting state. He watched your chest rise slowly, lips slightly apart with the low sounds of your snoring escaping your mouth. Yeah, you were definitely gone.

He grinned to himself before saying, “Good night, Blue.” His back ultimately pressed down to the fabric as closed his eyes. Once shut, he realized how badly he too needed to rest.

Despite that, the question remained in his head and led to his dreams.

Though rushing this morning, you carefully placed the delicious breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. You woke up a little earlier than usual so you could rush down to the nearest convenience store to get some breakfast for yourself and the sleeping Taehyung.

Well, more so for him. A protein shake and breakfast bar usually sufficed for you. After an intensive night, you assumed he needed some sort of joy in the morning, and what better way than to cook him chocolate chip waffles and cut strawberries on the side?

You never cooked this much even for yourself, but you weren’t complaining. You thought of this as a warming gesture and an apology for leaving him alone in your apartment. Which by the way, you were about to miss your bus ride if you didn’t leave within the next ten minutes.

You placed a metal food net over the dish, then wrote a little note for him and placed it under the cover. You went back to your bedroom to retrieve your backpack and textbook but also noticed Taehyung sprawled out like a starfish on your bed. He held a pillow to his side while the other one was under his head and was placed by you when you woke up. You also added another layered blanket for him. You spotted his signature pout resting on him with his curled strands falling on his forehead.

The sight of his slumber had you smile pleasantly, relieved that he slept soundly and comfortably the night through. Granted, a little over four hours have passed since the two of you snoozed away but you still considered it a win.

He’ll manage around your living spaces without you and would most likely leave an hour or two after. You didn’t have much to entertain him here. You also won’t come back until late in the nighttime after your shift anyway, so who knows when will be the next time you’ll see each other?

But you hoped that it wouldn’t be as long as before.

Taehyung woke up in an empty apartment. Your makeshift futon had been folded and tucked in the corner near the closet. This morning was rather cold. He noticed one of the blankets you used on top of him and your pillow under his head. You did all of that without even waking him; though he was too deep in sleep to even hear you.

Once he brushed his teeth and splashed his face with some cold water, he walked towards the kitchen. Sunlight peaked through your window and reflected over the whiteness of your walls and somewhat empty apartment.

As he scoured around, he finally spotted a metal cover on the kitchen counter. He went over to pull it up, revealing the waffles with melted whipped cream and strawberries. Immediately, his mouth watered at the sight. He didn’t know how long it had been out, but he didn’t care any less. It was close to noon and he needed something to eat.

He then saw a note next to the plate. Picking it up, he read—“Sorry for leaving you here alone! I didn’t want to wake you. I have early classes and then I’m going to work. I won’t see you today (unless you stop by at the shop). Please enjoy your breakfast and I’ll see you soon! :) P.S. Feel better too <3<3!”

A smile crept up on his face, chest warming up at your kind gesture. He appreciated that in you. You probably had a busy morning, which surprised him that you had the time to make this.

Nonetheless, he devoured his breakfast, a little cold and mushy but the taste surpassed expectations. While he savored the last of the sliced fruit, he noticed all these unread messages, missed calls, and voicemails from Clara. He grimaced deeply. All her messages were repeated lines of “Where tf are you?” “Why aren’t you picking up?” “Who are you with? Seojoon oppa??” “I called Seojoon oppa and he says you’re not with him. Tae, where are you?!?!? And who??” “You shouldn’t have gone without me knowing!” and “Tae, I swear to God if you don’t pick up, I’m calling the police.” The last one typically held no threat because he knew she threw that in a bunch of that through the years.

He didn’t even bother going through voicemails because they’ll be repetitive and hearing her whining voice was not something he wanted to hear. Everything was so peaceful and relaxed for him up until now. Ugh, he was frustrated, his mood ruined by her constant bickering and overpowering control.

Right there, he decided to ignore it all. Knowing her, she was either working or probably at their shared house waiting viciously for him to come back home. Thus the idol decided to not go home and headed over to Seojoon’s.

The younger man knew his older friend had a day off—his Wooga Squad had a shared calendar to know their schedules. What better way to spend his day than to bother Seojoon.

“Bro, where the fuck were you last night?” Seojoon questioned as he plotted on his couch with Taehyung spread comfortably on the side of him, both had strawberry and banana smoothies on hand provided by the idol. “Clara called me like five times in panic wondering where you were.”

Taehyung sipped on his drink quietly and casually before rolling his eyes. “It seems she always runs to you when she needs help trying to find me.”

Seojoon kept a glare at his friend, shaking his head. “Duh, because you fucking disappear like Houdini.” He gulped his smoothie before proceeding. “Also I guess she’s more comfortable with me than the others.” He referred to Wooshik, Hyungsik, Sunghwan, and Joohyuk.

The idol eyed his friend, hardening his bothered stare. “Right…she’s not as close with them, I guess.”

“So are you gonna tell me where you went?” The actor settled his drink on the coaster on his coffee table. “How about this? Did anyone else know where you were?”

Taehyung bit his lip, contemplating if he should tell him. His panic attacks weren’t a secret. He was open enough to tell his friends about his experience episodes but none of them ever were there to see it happening. But the idol might as well tell it, right?

“Yeah, I was with ___ last night.”

Seojoon cocked an eyebrow as a wave of questions flooded his brain. But he only asked, “What happened?” He didn’t want to say beyond what he thought.

“Well, we made up.” Taehyung leaned forward, hunched over as he looked at his smoothie. “Uhh, there was more to it.”

“How so?”

“Last night, I got, uh, hammered.” The idol began. “To the point where I got into a fight.”

“Oh my God, Taehyung! Are you okay?” Concern washed Seojoon’s face as he scanned through his friend’s features, then he saw the bruising of his knuckles. “You don’t look too bad, but still. You broke your streak, you were doing so well. How did it happen?”

“Same thing on how most of my fights happen,” Taehyung huffed.

“What led you to that then?”

“I don’t know…I was really sad and hurt, and I hated what was happening with me and ___.”

“But you said you made up.”

“Yeah, after she found me knocking three dudes down, then I threw up and had a fucking panic attack.” The younger man sighed, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It was the worse one yet.”

“Oh, Tae.” Seojoon’s voice softened. “Did you manage?”

“More than manage because she was able to help me get back down.” The idol also settled his drink down before meeting his friend’s eyes. “I was still scared, so I didn’t wanna go back home and asked her if I could stay the night.”

Seojoon nodded softly, going into deep thought. “Anything else?”

“I told ___ about my shitty life, literally everything.” Well, almost everything. “If I wanted her to still be in my life, I didn’t want to hide that part, or whole, of me. ”

“How’d she take it?”

“Pretty well, I guess. She opened up to me too.”

“Well, that’s good…” The actor did his best by being supportive, but he was also a worried friend. “Did you tell Clara this? She’s probably worried sick.”

“No,” He scoffed. “Pissed me off with all her calls and text.”

“Taehyung, you know she’s concerned for you. Even if she’s gonna be more in distress when you tell her about your panic attack, she’ll understand.” Seojoon reasoned.

“No, she won’t.” Taehyung disagreed. “Because all she’ll ask was where I was, and if I tell her I was with ___, she’s gonna flip shit. She can’t even handle my panic attacks, so in my head, it’s like what’s the point?”

“Why are you making this difficult?” The older man complained yet it was said in a collected way that Taehyung never deflected on yet.

“Because she’s difficult and will never understand my perspective.”

“Aren’t couples supposed to have good communication? What’s wrong?”

His relationship never had the greatest communication, he couldn’t lie about that. But for the past year, it has gotten worse despite the somewhat progress Taehyung achieved. Her presence was getting too much for him. It overwhelmed all aspects of his being. He never felt like he had a rest from it. Something always happened and either side, mainly him, got drained.

He needed to get away.

Suddenly Taehyung had an idea, disregarding Seojoon’s question. “Hyung, can I ask you a favor or two?”

“So you never bothered to answer my calls, had me anxious, then you fucking come home after disappearing for almost an entire day with no clear explanation, and now you’re telling me this?”

Taehyung’s jaw clenched, pushing down what he wanted to yell as he continued to pack his luggage. “Fine, you want an explanation—I had a panic attack and I didn’t want to be home, so I rested at Seojoon’s house.”

Clara’s anger diminished went she heard those words. She started looking at him pitifully, which Taehyung never wanted from her. “Oh, Ta—”

“Save it.” He interrupted as he finished packing his clothes. “While being away, I realized that I need space.”

“W-what do you mean?”

He breathed out annoyed as he threw back his head to calm himself. “When I have panic attacks, you don’t know how to deal with them or even help me properly. You just fucking leave while I’m over there alone.”

“W-w-well, I want to but you told me to just leave you alone!” Clara tried to defend herself.

“Because saying the words ‘calm down’ and ‘relax’ to a distressed and anxious person is not helpful. Better to be alone than to hear that crap.” Taehyung responded as he left the bedroom to grab his beauty products from the bathroom, but not without Clara following his tail. “Besides the point, I realized something or I’ve been realizing.”

“What?”

“I know I’m not the best communicator, but I’m getting sick and tired of you breathing down my neck. If I don’t even talk to you for like an hour, I get hit with two hundred calls from you. You were never one to be needy. Why now?” His voice was stable and direct like he had practiced. He grabbed his items, then went back to the room.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Clara scoffed as she walked behind him.

“Well, it feels like it.” He muttered as he put his products into pouches. “I can’t do anything without you watching my every move. I feel like I can’t be me right now, especially in my home.”

“So what then? Is that all that you’re going to say?”

“No, like I said I need space, which is why I need time away from you.” Once he had everything, he zipped up his luggage and pulled it to stand up. “I’m going to stay with Seojoon Hyung for a while. I need this.”

He then remembered something. He rushed to his closet and rummaged through his clothes and shoes before discovering his box filled with old memories. He quickly uncovered the lid and searched through many memorabilia including the pictures of the members and you. Finally, he found what he was looking for—his friendship bracelet.

Old, scruffed, but surprisingly, in pretty good condition where Taehyung puts in on and admired the handmade accessory for a while before he took a couple of childhood pictures of you and him for the road. He sneaked them in his pants pocket, then went back to his baggage.

Meanwhile, Clara was too busy with her feelings and thoughts to even question what Taehyung was doing. “Are you breaking up with me?” She asked in a whisper. “Please don’t. We can make this work. We—”

“No, I didn’t say that. I said I needed space. I wanna be by myself.”

“But you’re with Seojoon Oppa.”

“He has his own things to do, so I won’t even know he’s there,” Taehyung responded as they headed towards the hallway into the living room to get to the front door. “Remember a couple of sessions ago when my therapist told me to try and be alone since I get overwhelmed by the slightest of things?” She nodded. “Well, I want that right now. This is all too much for me. I’m not at my limit, but it’s getting there.”

Clara pursed her mouth. They both knew she didn’t like this one bit. She finally had Taehyung around, enjoying his presence and it was being taken away from her by the same man. But if this needed to happen to make this work, then so be it.

“If that’s what you need, then I’ll give it to you.” The socialite willingly accepted. Of course, either way, Taehyung was still going to do it. “But at least call me while you’re away.”

“Clara…” They reached the front door, now facing each other. One looked desperate while another looked depleted.

“Or at least text me! A simple good morning and a good night is fine too!” She pouted, still wanting a smidge of contact with her boyfriend.

Taehyung exhaled. Now he was taking pity on her, but in this case, she liked it. “Okay, fine. Good morning and good night. No more, no less. I’ll be okay and safe. If anything, call Seojoon if you need more updates.” He patted her head gently, staring blankly.

“I’ll miss you.”

“…Miss you too.”

“I love you, okay?” She tippy-toed to kiss him on the lips before hugging him tightly.

Taehyung reluctantly reciprocated it back, embracing his girlfriend for the last time in a while, “Okay, love you too.”

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edensrose · 8 months

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˚◞❀˳ a proper farewell

god that title sounds dramatic as fuck so let me just clear things up immediately: no, I'm not leaving tumblr, I will still be very manageable to reach and interact. what I am drifting away from is the tolkien fandom — and since this place, despite my hardships, has meant so much to me - I decided to give it a proper little farewell, to the people who made everything count. along with a little explanation for my decision while shedding light on my experience. ( I'll try to be brief )

I joined the tolkien fandom while writing for thranduil, it's here I gained my following in the fanbase and things went quite smoothly. however, upon beginning to write for mairon, then melkor and then later the ainur — I saw an increase in hate anons. something I have experienced before, natural of a multi fandom blog, but never to this degree. initially I assumed it was because I was simply growing larger as a blog, and perhaps that is the reason — but from what I noticed, I was battling with a bunch of chronically online people who simply could not handle my love for. . . "problematic characters"

I never understood it, really. I never saw other ainur blogs getting the hate I did - I guess I'll truly never know. had I done something? was my writing just not good enough? were my vibes off? over the time I've been called things like two faced, fake, a romanticiser of abuse, lazy for not filing out requests, been told I shouldn't write reader inserts, told to kms and other graphic incidents ( such as people sending death threats and actual gore to my inbox ). this branched from burner accounts to anons, and I could just never understand why me. a quick gander at the #clownon tag and you'll find some of the instances in which I've been harassed.

I genuinely thought my writing was the issue.

which demotivated me from writing for quite some time. could I have turned anon off? sure, but that would have meant that the anons I'd frequently interact with would most likely not come around anymore. it meant a decline in requests, it meant just a crippling factor to my blog in general, so I chose to ignore. but it got hard to eventually. I was bullied for liking a god with big wings just because for crying out loud.

I've tried to fake being okay. fake being strong and unwavering about the hate, but I just couldn't anymore. and that's okay.

it wasn't all tears and hardships though. I have made very good friends through the tolkien fandom, many of which I consider close. from @bluezenzennie to @kiatheinsomniac — @a-contemplation-upon-flowers , @cilil , @someoneinthestars and so so many more. it'd take me forever to tag and honestly my heart is squeezing so much listing these few down already. they made fandom fun, whether it was our silly little play fights or collabs or you name it. those of you that have spent time to tell me about your day on anon or send in the nicest of things. I haven't forgotten them, and I cherish them, but it's time for me to go

am I sad? fucking of course. a part of me found so much comfort here and in these characters. I've spent hours on end developing lore for aus or designing aesthetics for writing — just writing and pumping out content or blogs, everything and anything I could do. and while I don't regret those times - the way I've been treated in response hurts. which is why I've made this decision.

I'm growing as a person too. I'm writing a book now, I've got an oc blog to promote that book that I'm working hard on ( @valentine-cafe ) , things are looking good. does this mean I'm just gonna disappear? of course not. I plan on staying around, getting back into request writing ( for other fandoms ) and still interacting and supporting my tolkien moots and friends. will I be writing or creating content for tolkien? probably not. at least not in the foreseeable future. the characters I once loved and cherished have now been ruined for me. I've been made to feel embarrassed for loving manwe and namo to the degree that I have, and I don't see myself being able to write for ainur without thinking of all the shit I've gotten for doing so.

regardless, I'll be here still. and while I might not be your local valarfucker anymore, I hope to be your rose still 🩷 thank you so much for two and a half years, I love you all dearly

#˚◞❀˳ 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 '𝒏 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆 ﹕ psa ꒱ ₊˚⊹#actually cryinh my eyes out ahhh #tolkien

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nkirukaj · 1 year

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I Want You, Simon

So here’s the deal, I’m in love with Simon Petrikov and I need more content of him existing in a romantic sense, so I’m writing a multi-part fic.

Pairing: Simon Petrikov x Fem! OC

Warnings: implied sexual feelings I guess?

Genre: Angst and Fluff I guess?

Word Count: 1.07k

(Sorry, I’ve never done this before lol)

Simon Petrikov was tired. Traveling the multiverse trying to save the world of his new adopted daughter and looking for the love of his life that had become a cosmic deity, Simon didn’t really know what to do with himself on th regular. He spent all this time being poked and prodded at his work/home, and since having weekly meetings with the Minerva bots, and moving to a more secluded area; he noticed that his restored sense of self didn’t cure his loneliness. Maybe it had something to do with him not leaving the house after moving, and not calling anyone? Eh, probably not, right? Everyone has their own issues to deal with, they didn’t need to be burdened with his.

Sitting on his couch finally watching something other than ‘Cheers’ is where he was when he got a call from his first adopted daughter, Marceline.

“Simon!” she said in that same warm tone she always used when speaking to him, it always made him smile

“Hi Marcy,”

“So I’m performing at the Candy Tavern tonight, you gotta come see me!”

“Of course Marcy, I wouldn’t miss it for anything!

“Great, I’ll have a surprise for you when you get there!”

“A surprise? Wait Marcy hold on-”

“K bye Simon, see you there!”

He slunched down into his couch knowing that whatever she had planned for him was something he was sure would throw him for a loop.

Walking through Ooo was a new experience every time he did it. On this walk, he noticed a butterfly with a happy face on it. It filled him with a sense of comfort, seeing it flutter.

When he arrived, he slipped through the crowd towards the bar and ordered his usual. Of course he was willing to support Marceline in any way that he could, but he wasn’t feeling as social lately. He scans the crowd to see all types of beings, non-humans and humans alike. After all this time, he still felt slightly out of place. Through the busy noise of the packed tavern and the dim lights, Simon was able to focus on the spotlit stage, and the sound of a finger tapping on the mic, center stage.

“Hello Candy people! You all know me! I’m Marceline the Vampire Queen”

Many cheers are heard throughout the venue “But for the first time ever, I will be performing with the wonderful and talented Samira!”

Simon’s eyes darted over to the woman ascending the stage stairs. Short with long, curly, black hair, brown skin and…thick. She wore a neon green crop top, with a slightly longer orange cropt top underneath, jean shorts and a black wired necklace.

“Hi, I’m Samira, you might know me, but I’m here to sing a Pre-Mushroom War song, backed up by the one and only Marceline!” Her voice was rich and smooth, not soft, but with a bit of a raspy quality that made her seem hard, while her words made her feel soft.

Simon’s eyes were wide and fixated on this mystery woman.

“Who is that?”

“Dude, she just said her name,”

Simon did not respond, only kept his eyes on this woman with a thickness he had never experienced.

“So let’s get this started!” Marceline shouted before strumming on her axe bass.

An employee removes the mic stand and Samira presses on her necklace and her voice echoes throughout the venue.

Welcome to your life

There's no turning back

Even while we sleep

We will find you

Acting on your best behaviour

Turn your back on Mother Nature

Everybody wants to rule the world

She sways her body to the music and his eyes can’t help but follow.

It's my own design

It's my own remorse

Help me to decide

Help me make the

Most of freedom and of pleasure

Nothing ever lasts forever

Everybody wants to rule the world

Thick, thick, thick. That’s all that was running through his mind. He felt his face go hot and his throat fill his collar. He tried loosening it with his finger, but it did not help. What is going on?

There's a room where the light won't find you

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

When they do, I'll be right behind you

So glad we've almost made it

So sad they had to fade it

Everybody wants to rule the world

I can't stand this indecision

Married with a lack of vision

Everybody wants to rule the—

Say that you'll never, never, never, never need it

One headline, why believe it?

Everybody wants to rule the world

All for freedom and for pleasure

Nothing ever lasts forever

Everybody wants to rule the world

The music fades out slowly and Samira stands center stage with Marceline as they bow together.

“Goodnight y’all!” Marcy shouts at the crowd

with another strum of her ax bass. Samira waves at the crowd and descends the stairs. Marceline plays her out.

“I love you Samira!!” Candy people shout “Samira!!”

Samira navigates the crowd, walking closer towards Simon, and he turns his face to hide the red overtaking it. She walks past him, slightly bumping his shoulder and doing a double take towards him that he doesn’t notice. And exiting the venue. Simon shivered from the touch. He lifts his head slowly reeling from either the performances or the drinks.

“So what’d you think Simon?” Marcy threw her arm around Simon’s shoulders

“Who was that?” He turned toward her and ran his hand through his hair

“Dude,” said the same Candy Person from before, “Is this guy listening?”

Marceline laughs “Who, Samira? She’s a friend of mine from the Human City. Surprised you’ve never seen her. I’ve been teaching her old songs but this is the first time I’ve played with her. She’s a really great singer, right?”

“Well yeah, but she’s so-“ he cuts himself off from not knowing what words to say

Marcy smirks and raises an eyebrow “She’s so what Simon?”

He shakes his head, as though to clear it. “Nevermind. I have to go. Great show.” He later Marcy on the back then scurries out the door.

The cool air greets him like an old friend, he basks in it, cleansing himself of the thoughts he’d had just a minute prior. After his fourth or fifth exhale, he felt a slight weight on his shoulder, and as he glanced at it, saw the same butterfly from earlier.

Chapter 2

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harmonytre · 5 months

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What to Expect Coming Up

I am still sick, but thought it’d be fun to mention all the projects I have going on and my sort of process.

I’ve gotten into the flow of 3 art -> animate an hour -> 3 art -> reference sheet; and repeat! Now the “3 art” doesn’t include warm-ups, which I’ll discuss in a moment. This usually varies but does have a pattern of priority to it.

Commissions (none atm, but one has discussed interest) -> Deadline art (contest entries, featured character, birthday gifts) -> “Required” art (raffle prizes [2 remain], Benrey project, 11 Bulbasaur gifts, 42 late Artfight attacks) -> Other stuff

When it comes to warm-ups, I’ve gone 32 times in a row of purely HLVRAI. It’ll still be thrown in the mix, but I’d like to add Pokemon and OCs as a chance too! Warm-ups include any requests I get, and those increase in chance the longer they’re there. Meanwhile there’s still the chance my random wheel will choose something like “Sunkist” three days in a row lol.

Now to discuss all the projects! First off, my next three art will be: raffle prize, a small special RTVS animation, and a doodle of my next hyperfixation which I’ll then open up for requests as well!

HLVRAI

“Cabinet Man” Animatic: A more long-term project that’s fully storyboarded so far, but I plan on making rendered (or at least colored) illustrations for.

I have two parts in my Multi-Animator-Project! One part is Benrey and Gordon focused, while the other part is Tommy, Bubby, and Coomer focused, so I get to animate the whole Science Team and that excites me!! (One part still open by the way, hint hint.) The MAP itself is a third of the way complete let’s goooooo!

Other animation projects include: “Two Birds” Tommy and Benrey friendship animatic (fully written), “Eighth Wonder” Tommy animatic (just an idea, focusing on the others first), and occasional clips or mini animations.

Benrey Fanart (and then the other characters too!): I have 12 people left to reach out to, but I gotta do it slowly so my account doesn’t get shadowbanned again (that was scary ngl). But once I do, the sign-up post will be updated regularly as I work and I’ll DM everyone individually as I finish theirs!

@sweetvoicecafe ! I am very excited to get this up and running! I have 3 references remaining, and then I can work on the introductory comic. (I mayyyyyyyy call for voice actors.)

HLVRAI-based OCs: This is a more minor thing, but I want to finish 9 more designs before Artfight, as I’ve only finished Joshie.

Pokemon

It’ll be a while longer until it’s ready, but I’d like to restart my Shiny Living Dex Challenge. And it’ll no longer be discord only, I’ll extend it to tumblr as well! Especially since there’s art prizes involved.

I have 11 remaining Bulbasaur/Ivysaur/Venusaur gifts to finish!

The occasional warmup, request, doodle, etc.

“Close Up Meme” Phanthop AU Animatic that I would love to polish and color.

“Never Love an Anchor” Hop and Leon animatic that I have indeed started (just an animatic this time, not polished)

I’ve started releasing collab (with @mr-web ) Art Podcasts on my youtube channel hint hint ;)

Misc.

Streams: Over on my Twitch (same name): I stream weekly (maybe more, depending on my new work schedule, just finished moving after all). At the moment, I’m taking turns with Half Life (nearly done with game one) and Omori (collab with Doglord15). Soon it’ll (hopefully) include Pokemon, but I’d also like to try Undertale Yellow, Portal, Hollow Knight, and more! As well as a return to art streams, that’d be cool.

Artfight Prep: I am mostly done, but remaining I have: 3 SVC refs, 9 HLVRAI OC refs, and fully updating my spreadsheet, which will also be updated on tumblr! (I may do this today, as it’s something I can do while bed-ridden.) Plus the 42 leftover revenges.

Among Us “Bark Bark” Animatic: nearly 3 years in the works but it’s chugging . . . there were complications with the cameos involved that hurt my motivation and the progress, but it’s still in the works haha…

“Haunted House” Vent Animatic: This is 2/3s of the way complete! As it’s something personal, I worked on it quickly after a certain event, but I’d still like to finish it. <3

New Hyperfixation: Surprise reveal! It’s Wreck-It Ralph (and specifically Hero’s Cuties). It won’t be a huge thing, but I’d like to doodle here and there, open requests for it, and draw up three AU designs that have been in my mind for nearly 13 years.

@theairshipexperiment : Yes yes, I knowwwwwwwwwwwww y’all are mad at me. It’s been three years and I still get people upset that it hasn’t continued. It’s not completely canceled, just very very slowww. I’m nearly done writing chapter 3, but that means there’s 7 chapters to go. At least I’ve started giving myself completely random reminders for times to write haha. It’s my only writing project atm, but writing takes so much more effort from me than art, I’m sorry.

@absurdamongus : Very low on my list, but I still enjoy their designs and would one day like to continue finishing their refs and maybe reopen an ask blog. An animated series would still be cool, but it’d be a long way off if so.

So yeah, a lot of projects and a lot of excitement! I’m going at a fair pace (when I’m not sick) and art continues to be my passion! <3

#hlvrai #pokemon #among us #ocs #artfight #wreck it ralph #HarmonyTRE

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youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms · 1 year

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Don't Let Me Go

Words: 10,245

Warnings: language, talk of alcohol/alcohol consumption, regret, Leon being a dick but for a kinda good reason, people may be mad at reader cause of what she does but whatever idc this is my fucking story, maybe ooc characters and probably bad writing

Resident Evil Masterlist Main Masterlist Join My Taglist

This also was originally written for my OC Tiffany (Whose info on her/original story will eventually be available on this account @imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters )

Leon and Hunnigan are PROBABLY OOC (as I suck at not being able to keep them from being OOC)

Actually find it fucking insane how long this thing is all together

This is it in multi-part form: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Reader and Leon are partners with their job (have been since 2004/2005) and is insinuated to be around the same height as Leon

Y/N/N/N means the nickname of your nickname (or just another nickname)

Not Proof-read and I think it can be seen every once and a while (I know you can see where my brain couldn't function how to write the scene so I just guessed and hoped for the best)

Can be read as its own story or as a sequel to You’re About To Lose The Best Damn Thing You’ve Ever Had

Losely has themes from the songs Never Say Never by The Fray, No Surprises by Radiohead, Afterglow by Taylor Swift, and Look After You by The Fray

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

January 21st of 2009

Y/N sat in front of the computer with Hunnigan as they went over the assignment before she was supposed to leave in 2 hours. Usually, she would be sitting with Leon on Hunnigan’s other side, but this wasn’t a usual case. They were working with a mix of BSAA Agents and STRATCOM agents. 3 of each, minus Y/N who was the leader of it. So in all, it was a team of 7. Overkill in her eyes. But that wasn’t her job. Her job was to get the assignment done and come back alive.

The only reason the two organizations were forced to work together was because they both had interest in this case and decided that they needed to use both intels for it to work. Over in the Rockies in Northern Canada, parts where there were little inhabitants, people had gone missing before showing up with remnants of a strand of the T-Virus in them. BSAA had found the base back 2 weeks ago while STRATCOM had been keeping a close eye on Dr. Taylor Lewis. Someone who used to have ties with Umbrella in their Europe branch.

So when it was proposed that the two organizations team up, everyone was skeptical. Truly, the only people in the BSAA that got along with them at STRATCOM was Chris. Of course, she was sure that Jill did, but she died back 2 and a halfish years ago. But eventually they all agreed and started working on the team. 3 of the BSAA best people (minus Chris because he was already on an assignment) and 3 of STRATCOMs best (minus Leon because...well she didn’t know why he wasn’t), plus Y/N as the leader. BSAA wasn’t happy that they weren’t leading it and she knew they only tolerated it since it was the President's order for her to be the lead. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the new guy. He wasn’t Graham, the one she had grown accustomed to the past 4ish years. Hell, she never could remember his name, she just knew that Benford was the Vice and he was one of Leon’s friends.

Leon.

She hadn’t seen him much since the start of the year. Since the...break up. And she hadn’t even been avoiding him this time. It just was as if he was never in the office the past 20 days. Not that she had been keeping count! Because she definitely hadn’t been! She just did the math in her head at the moment.

“So, we have some time to spare, want to tell me why Leon sent in a new partner request? You finally ran him away?”

Y/N sighed and flicked a random small balled up piece of paper off the desk. “I don’t even know what happened. Everything was good one second then the next it just...” She trailed off, unsure as to what to say.

“Wasn’t?”

She nodded at Hunnigan’s word. “Yeah. I don’t know what happened.”

“Did someone find out?”

“Find what out?” She looked at the FOS Agent, who gave her a ‘don’t-lie-to-me’ look and Y/N sighed again. “I genuinely don’t know. We were training one day, and I had knocked him down, so he had pulled me with him, which led to us making out. But we were the only ones in the training room and even if someone did walk in, we were hidden by some equipment. The only thing that would have been heard would be our kissing. But that could be any two agents! So I don’t know why it would have knocked him so out of sorts!”

“Cameras?”

“That one corner that isn’t covered by them is where we were. We always trained in the corner.”

“That could be it then. Someone put two and two together and threatened to expose it.”

The slightly younger girl groaned and laid her head on the desk in front of her. “Why couldn’t he have told me? It’s not like I would have freaked! Him doing what he did caused more damage anyways.” She sat back up and ran a hand through her hair, “Where the hell has he been anyways? Haven't seen him since he broke it off and requested a new partner.”

“His own mission. One that I actually can’t tell you about, unfortunately since it’s a gray area on you two being partners.”

“Is he at least okay? Concerning that he’s been gone so long.”

“He called me yesterday saying everything was fine, but he still wasn’t sure when he would return. But it could be a concern as he mentioned he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to call again. He’d try to ping a location, but if we get nothing, wait a week before extraction.”

“Back to the partner comment you made, I just don’t get why he broke up with me and requested a new partner. All he had to do was one and I would have been just fine.” Y/N laid her head in her hand, “I honestly just wish there was a way that we could’ve stayed together and be partners. That would be my ideal situation.”

“Hm, I think, the keyword really is think, there might be a loophole.”

Y/N perked up at that, “Whaddya mean?”

“I think there’s some rule that says you can if you meet certain requirements. I can always look for you, it’ll give me something else to do than make sure my two favorite humans don’t die on different missions.”

Y/N smiled, “If you wanna, I’m fine either way. Leon will do what Leon wants to do and I won’t stop him.”

“Whatever you say.” Hunnigan glanced at the clock on her computer before continuing, “Better let you get ready. Don’t want to keep the BSAA guys waiting.”

Y/N laughed as she stood, “What can they do? Mission won’t start without me there.”

Hunnigan gave her a smile, “I’ll look that up for you and update you on what I find. Don’t die before I get you an answer.”

Y/N smiled, “No promises darling.”

--------

February 18th of 2009

Y/N wrapped the jacket closer around her and made sure the mask was tucked in so she wouldn’t freeze her face. Her shotgun was drawn as she looked out the scope, still no heat signatures could be found. They had been there for 4 weeks now and still nothing.

But, what had happened in those four weeks since the mission had started, 3 of the men had died. One of her own and two from BSAA. She felt bad about the last BSAA kid because even though he was one of the best they had available, he was a rookie. She believed he had only been there for a year, a year and a half tops. So he was the only one out there for the BSAA and had little experience. He was just an excellent fucking shot and took directions well (literally what his file said). And she had found it to be true. Even in the snow, he could find the target and shoot them down.

He was the only reason they hadn’t all died that night.

Since they had gotten there, more and more sunlight was available, but it still didn’t last half a day. And while temperatures were warming up, they still were freezing their asses off. Plus, it didn’t help that Hunnigan had just warned them a snow storm was possibly on its way in.

2 weeks in, she was happy that they were almost done with their trek through the mountain. She was really starting to hate those snow-mobiles. And then around 3 days later, when they came into contact with their agent that had been giving the intel, the remaining 5 members of the team began the stake out to find where the Doctor was and how the people were being infected. But now here they were, around 10 days later and still nothing. No sight of Lewis or of any habitants of the small village that if she was to be honest, she had no clue existed before this.

That was, until she moved her scope to face more towards the West. She adjusted the sight and zoomed in where she thought that she saw movement. And when she was able to focus her sight, she saw that there was a group of bodies standing in one of the buildings. She switched over to night vision and saw that they were just barely too far off for her to make out who it was. She carefully snuck closer, jumping to the top of the abandoned building by her.

She looked again and was able to see that it was Lewis with 2 other people. She didn’t recognize either of them, but one of them looked eerily familiar. But she was sure whoever the two were, they had been gathering the people to be injected with the virus.

She grabbed her walkie from her side pocket and pressed the button to call for her team. “Dream Team, come in this is Condor 2. Over.” Dream Team was something that one of the BSAA Agents had suggested for them to call themselves rather than the boring Snow Squad that they had originally been assigned. And while she was technically Flake 1, she was used to always being referred to as Condor 2, so she asked for when it was just to them or to Hunnigan, say Condor 2. Otherwise she was sure that she and Hunnigan would get thrown off.

“This is Flake 2. I have the rest of the team with me. What do you need? Over.”

“Lewis and two men are in a building three down from my location. A house down from the original spot. I see them talking, but no one else is there. Over.”

“What do you want us to do? Over.”

“Start the plan into motion. I’ll follow and see where Lewis and her men head. Do nothing until I say so, unless you get under attack. Understand? Over.”

“Is that a direct order, Flake 1? Over.”

She sighed, Stacey hated this. She knew he did. Hated that someone who had been there for less time than him was the leader. He was the only one who refused to call her Condor 2 and kept Flake 1 and made sure everyone went by their actual callsign and not the one that they wanted. “Yes, Flake 2. It is. Now do you all understand? Over.” She heard a range of everyone, including Stacey, say they understood. “Good. I’m contacting HQ. This is Condor 2 over and out.”

She reclipped the talkie and grabbed the other one that was specific for Hunnigan. She looked back in the scope and saw that Lewis and the 2 men were exiting the building. She quickly pulled the gun away to follow behind them. When Hunnigan answered, she heard the lady’s voice in her ear piece.

“This is Hunnigan, Condor 1 is here with me.”

Y/N internally groaned. Why was Leon there? Was he even allowed to be? So many questions ran through her head, but she didn’t ask them. She just nodded and ran towards the direction she saw them heading. “Fine. Lewis has been found. I’m following behind on foot. The rest of what remains of the team are getting ready for my word to follow. And--fuck.”

She ended the call before Hunnigan could say anything and made sure Hunnigan couldn’t immediately call back after she had turned a corner to see a fairly large group of military looking people. She turned back and jumped into the house that had an opened window. She snuck over to another before she looked out the window to try and count how many were there. But she was stopped before she finished when someone looked in. She quickly slipped down, trying desperately not to be seen.

And she was sure she got away with it. That was, until her walkie went off and the BSAA kid could be heard practically yelling through it. And when she heard the words he was saying, the blood that was barely not cold already, went frozen in her body.

The kid was freaking and she could hear the guns in the background. Apparently Lewis and the men knew they were there. They knew she was watching. It had been a trap to get her away. She wondered how it was possible, until it registered to her that it was the electronics. And then she realized who the other guy was. She had dealt with him a few months ago with Leon. The two had been separated and had to pray that they would make it back to the other without any guidance from anyone as to where to go because the man could track any electronic waves.

But unfortunately for her, the man outside the window heard it too and had slammed it in. She gave them no chance and immediately grabbed her gun and shot them. Thankfully she was able to get a headshot, even with him moving and her shaking, gloved hand. But it only gave her enough time to disconnect her electronics and toss everything but the small remote that gave her the ability to ping a quick location. She ran up the stairs, trying to find an alternate way out, but realized she was blocked in. her chest tightened as she realized how badly this could end for her.

She grabbed her submachine gun and aimed it at the stairs, getting ready for anyone who was going to come up. She let out a shaky breath as she heard the door being broken down and the sound of someone running up the stairs. She never had been so thankful that she never fucking used these fuckers so she was loaded on bullets for it as it felt for each guy she killed, double the amount came back.

And unfortunately, she was so focused on the stairs, she hadn’t noticed the sound of someone taking apart the roof and jumping down. Her mind had barely registered the sharp pain in her neck before she was surprised when they grabbed her from the back and her mind just blanked. Forgot how to fight back, forgetting almost every piece of training she had. She didn’t know what to do and wasn’t used to this. Whenever her fight or fright kicked in, it was always fight. She never got scared. But for some reason, she did this time.

As they pulled her to the ground, her body felt incapable of fighting back. As if someone had left her out in the freezing cold with not enough clothes. She wasn’t able to move or even scream when she felt the knife stab into the top of her sternum and start to drag down. The man on top of her only stopped when the sound of a whistle was heard through the air. It was as if the second that went off, every man and woman there were called to go somewhere else. The knife was pulled from her as she walked away and she slowly regained the feeling in her body.

But as she regained that feeling, she felt how deep the knife had gone. She felt the blood falling. She slowly moved to grab the bandages from her side pocket. They weren’t much but she knew it was all that she had. She grabbed it and tried to remove her clothing, not caring that her entire body was freezing from the temperature outside. She didn’t care that her bandaging was horribly done and that it wouldn’t do much.

All that she did was grab her clothes and quickly layer them back on. All she did was wobbly get up and leave the scene. Trying to get further and find out where all those people had gone. And she prayed that it wasn’t fucking bingo.

----

Leon’s POV

Leon, who had only been there because he was going over a report with Hunnigan, head snapped over towards Hunnigan the moment that Y/N ended the call. Worry spread through his body as they were unable to contact her back. He felt his knee unconsciously bouncing up and down as the computer kept beeping. He knew that he technically had no reason to be worried. Now, thanks to his own doing, all she was to him was another Agent. Not his partner. Not his girlfriend. Not even his friend. (Of course he didn’t know that the last part was all on his own)

“Why is it doing that? Why can’t you get back to her?”

“She blocked me from calling. Which means one of two things; she needed no distractions or she had to go semi-dark. I’m trying the other 4 members of her team and if they don’t respond, it means that they had to go dark too.”

Leon bit the inside of his cheek. He knew that the team originally consisted of 7 plus Y/N/N. The original 3 BSAA and 3 STRATCOM had been reduced to 1 BSAA and 2 of their own.

If he was going to be honest, Leon didn’t care about the team, he just cared about Y/N and if she was okay. He hadn’t meant to do what he did then just disappear. He meant to break up and let her be for a few days, a week tops, then talk to her. But then he got called in and had to leave immediately. He knew from Claire and Hunnigan both that she didn’t understand why it happened or what caused it. Which he knew was his own doing. He should have told her. He shouldn’t have just said that they weren’t gonna work out. Especially since on their previous mission together they had a run in with Ada.

But that wasn’t why he did it. No. It was because Stacey had been that person who they thought walked in. And as they had exited the training room, had messaged Leon to remind him that fraternizing with your partner was against the rules. He knew he should have just told Y/N why he was doing it, why he pulled away and why he treated her like shit for so long. But he couldn’t. He was scared that if he had, she would have argued with him and said it was fine. That they would figure it out together. It’s how she was and he knew it was.

Of course, he still felt horrible for what happened on New Years, he shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up just to crush them the following days. He shouldn’t have treated her the way that Ada would treat him. Shouldn’t have done something that would make her feel like he was using her in the moment because he needed something just to hurt her later.

----

December 31st of 2008/January 1st of 2009

Leon had gotten to her apartment earlier that day to help Y/N put up the decorations. But the entire time all that he had said to her was when he asked her to hand him something or made a comment about getting a drink or going to the bathroom. And then once Chris had arrived, surprisingly being the first, he had gone to talk to him. He had seen her leave from the corner of his eye, knowing she was changing out of the pajamas she had been in all day.

He had no idea what she was going to come out in, but as she came back from her bedroom, a glass of champagne having already been downed, he knew it would be hard to keep himself under control. He noticed that she was wearing that top she had not-so-secretly bought a few weeks ago. Or at least he assumed it was. He had never seen the one she was wearing and he knew she hadn’t worn that one top yet. It was paired with her stupid jeans that fit her perfectly and those stupid heels that he loved on her because for some reason it always turned him on when she was practically a head taller than him. He saw her necklace was the one he bought her for their first anniversary in 2007. The rings were the ones she always wore and he noted that she wore the bracelet that she had owned since highschool on her right wrist, opposite of the watch he got her back in 2006 after her previous one got destroyed on a mission. Thankfully it was her birthday too so he didn’t have to deal with her arguing too much so he could argue that it was a gift for her birthday and she couldn’t turn it away.

He remembered how she kept saying he didn’t have to and that it must’ve cost a fortune. He had just shrugged it off and said he knew she needed one and he thought she liked that one. And even now, over 2 years later, he still hasn't disclosed the price of it. Something he’d never do because he knew she’d give it back and feel horrible about it. Knowing the only reason she had accepted the necklace was because it was their anniversary and she had gotten him something he knew was expensive as hell.

But even then, he didn’t talk to her. He didn’t go near her. Even as the rest of the group got there. He occupied himself with drinking and talking with people. Even as he saw the look of desperation on her face as she talked to Jess and Claire. Even as he watched her walk back to her room with a face full of complete defeat written all over her face.

No. he stayed talking with Chris and her brother Joe while he knew she was likely standing in the bathroom that connected to her bedroom. While he knew that she was probably doing anything to distract herself from how he had been ignoring her. He knew she could hear him talking and laughing with them. He knew that it seemed like he was happier with everyone except for her. But he wasn’t. He hated this. Hated this hell he had created by not doing it already. This hell he had created for both of them where he knew she was feeling like a deflated balloon that he didn’t want anymore. When that was the complete opposite of what was true. God did he want her. God did he not want to have to hurt her this way. All he wanted to do was hold her and tell her it would be okay.

Let her convince him that Stacey wouldn’t out their relationship and they would figure it out.

He got pulled out from the conversation when he heard a faint sound of something crashing in the back. He wasn’t sure if others had heard and chose to ignore it, or if it was just him who did since he was the closest to the hall. He stood and excused himself saying that he was gonna go check on her since they hadn’t seen her in a bit.

When he got to the back of the apartment, he looked in and saw that it had just been the cup that held their toothbrushes and pastes. He watched as she leaned down and grabbed the fallen contents. He realized that she didn’t even notice him there until she jumped as he laid a soft knock on the door.

He laughed softly, like he always did when she did this. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” As she placed the cup back where it went, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The jolt from her didn’t go unnoticed and his face went from one of playfulness to concern. “Hey, you okay?”

She nodded silently, and he saw that she was trying to keep her breathing steady. “Yeah. Sorry. I think I’m just getting tired. My body isn’t used to not having to be on edge 24/7.”

He knew she was lying. He could tell it in her voice. But he still cracked a small smile in an attempt to calm her down. “Can’t disagree with you there. But you seem genuinely freaked, like after a mission.” The smile switched to one of concern, “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

She nodded and turned to him, giving him a smile of her own. “Yeah. I am Lee. Promise.” Lee, the nickname she gave him after their first mission together when she got a concussion. He remembered that his name kept blanking on her (as did most people) so she just referred to him as Lee as it was all she could remember and it had stuck. He noticed as she looked down at her watch before looking back at him, “Hey, it’s 11:59, we should get back in there.”

He was about to go to move some hair from her face, but stopped before he even reached his hand. He knew it would leave her even more confused when he broke it off. He knew it would make it harder for him if he continued to act like a boyfriend. So he kept on telling himself that he was being a friend. Friends treat friends this way. He could still be this way with her even when he calls quits to save her reputation. “Are you sure? It seemed like you had left for a reason.”

He knew from the look on her face that he was the reason and it hurt. At first it was because he hated that he was treating her like this, leading her on. But then it was because he couldn’t feel that way. He had to pull away from her so it would hurt less when he broke it. But he felt his resolve falling and knew it was close to breaking.

“Yeah. I’m perfectly fine. I just needed to get away for a moment. You know how I am.”

He knew it was a lie. He knew she lied about something he wouldn’t call her out about. He studied her face and saw that she was doing everything to show she wasn’t lying. He knew she knew he was doing this. But he said nothing. He didn’t put her on the spot. Call her out. He just let her do it. Especially as everyone in her living room began to count down.

However, neither of them moved as their friends began down from 10. This was the closest he had been to her since Christmas. It was taking everything in him not to kiss her. Everything in him to not grab her face and pull it to his. But that entire work he was putting in was thrown out of the window the moment she brought her hand up and brushed some hair out of his face. And as she leaned in to him when their friends reached one, his thoughts to push her away were thrown out the window. As she placed a kiss on his lips. He heard nothing as he felt her softer lips on his own chapped ones.

As she pulled her lips away from his, any control that had been left there disappeared as his hands on her cheeks and he slammed his back onto hers. The moment she let out a tiny gasp, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. He felt her arms wrap around his neck as he began moving them to the sink. Only stopping when the back of her legs met her sink.

He pulled away for a moment, just to bring his lips down to her neck. And between kisses he asked a question that plagued him since he saw her come out in it. “Is this...a new...top?” He heard her humming in response, eliciting a small chuckle from him. “Is that a yes baby?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft and breathy, just above a whisper and he held back a groan when she did.

“I like it. You should wear it more.” He carefully moved her arms up so he could pull it off. His lips lingered on her collarbone, close to the center by her sternum, as he breathed in her perfume. It was a warmer one, a mix of vanilla and spice. He recognized it as the one he bought her back when she dragged him into Victoria Secrets when they were having a sale. He remembered her arguing with her that she wanted to buy it so they agreed that he’d buy her that and she could buy him whatever cologne he wanted. Which just happened to be the one he was wearing tonight.

His lips continued down her body as he got other noises from her. He only stopped when he heard a gasp, immediately pulling his lips away from her. His eyes looked over to see Y/N's sister-in-law standing there with a hand over her mouth.

“Shit, I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve known what you two were doing when you didn’t respond. Fuck, I’m sorry. Um, Joe and I are heading out. I don’t wanna overwork my sister too much by watching the kids after she had a long week. But we had fun. I’ll see you later.”

He stood as he watched Jessica leave the room and felt Y/N/N's head fall on his shoulder. He listened as she ranted about how embarrassed she was by what just happened. How she had been hidden for nearly 30 minutes and then someone came to find her, just to see her making out with her boyfriend. So fucking embarrassing.

He laughed lightly and joked, “At least we were just making out and not actually having sex.”

She groaned and buried her head in his chest, “I did not just say that out loud, did I?”

He missed the top of her head, “It’s okay.” He pulled away before leaning down to grab her shirt from where he had thrown it on the floor and handed it to her. After she slipped it on, he kissed her lips again. “You know I love you, right?”

She smiled and looked into his blue eyes, “Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Good.”

This was going to hurt when he finally did it.

Leon knew that she wasn’t asleep as she laid by him. But he stayed quiet. He knew tonight would haunt him. He was supposed to be pushing her away. Not drawing her back in and making her feel better while he was just going to hurt her in the end.

----

January 3rd of 2009

He knew she was hurt. He knew she was trying not to cry. Leon knew how mad and confused she was. He knew. He knew her too well. He knew that she understood none of it. Even after he explained. He knew that she saw him as the one for her because he knew she was the one for him. But he could stop. He had to end them so neither...no so she didn’t get her reputation ruined. He refused to let anyone think that the only reason she gets chosen for assignments is because they’re together. He refused to let anyone think of her as anything but the fucking amazing and talented agent she was.

He had promised her back years ago that he would never hurt her. That he would never be the one to break her heart. That he would be there by her side no matter what. But then here he was, breaking her heart and about to leave her.

In the end, all that he could say was, “I’m sorry.” And “You don’t deserve this.” He reached to grab her hand in an attempt to comfort her, but she jerked it away. Which he understood. He deserved it. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved better than him. “You deserve better than this. Than me. Than our fucked up situation.”

“But Leon, I like it. I love you. I don’t care about the secrets and the lies. I just want you. Leon, please.”

“I can’t.” He stressed, he still hadn’t said what Hunnigan had told him when he asked what would happen. That was why he was doing this. He had to protect her.

“Can’t what?” Her voice was stretched, he knew she was trying not to cry.

For a brief second, he thought that he shouldn’t do it, but as he saw her face, saw as she was breaking, he decided to do it. “Can’t ask you to possibly give up your job because someone found out! Watch as you have to get reassigned because Hunnigan already confirmed that it would be you. Watch as your life completely changes just so you can be with me!” He ran a hand through his hair, “That’s why we’re done, Y/N/N. Why we have to be. Both in this relationship and in our partnership for work. I already sent in the request for a new partner.” He hadn’t said that last part to her yet. But it was true. He did it yesterday. After she had left the office for the day.

“Leon.”

He ignored her as he walked to her door, he was planning on just leaving, saying nothing else. But as his hand reached for the knob, he stopped, “I’m really sorry Y/N/N. Truly, deeply, sorry.”

He walked out after that. But he didn’t go far. He stayed there in the long hall. He brought a hand up to his mouth to stiffen the sobs that were threatening to fall. He felt his chest tighten as he heard her scream and a crash. He knew she was angry and upset. He knew she was blaming herself. And it took everything in him to not open the door and agree with her that they’d figure this out. That they’d find a loophole. That they’d be alright.

----

February 18th of 2009

He shook his head, trying to forget that last time he saw her. Instead, he became hyper focused on Hunnigan trying to contact anyone on her team. The difference between her and them was with them, it called, but no one answered. He felt himself picking at the calluses on his hands, a bad habit that she always noticed. A habit that whenever she saw, she would take his hands into hers and hold them. He ran a hand through his hair as the nerves built up again when it went off that she disconnected herself from being able to be contacted.

He hadn’t even noticed Hunnigan talking to someone through her mic set until she said: “Do you want me to assume her and her team are dead, sir?” He snapped his head to her. What did she mean by that? Why would they assume that Y/N was dead? She just went dark. Since when has it been the procedure to assume death when gone dark. “Of course sir, I’ll keep watch and will let Agent Kennedy know.” Leon narrowed his eyes at Hunnigan as she turned to him. “They want me to keep an eye out for if she pings a location in the next 48 hours. If not, then you’re being deployed to finish the mission and if you come in contact with her, call for an evac for her. But shoot to kill if she’s been bitten.”

Leon looked away from Hunnigan. He wasn’t sure if he could do that. Shoot to kill Y/N. Personal feelings aside, they had been partners since she joined back in 2004. Since right after he got back from Spain. Hell, she would’ve been with him if she hadn't had to get her appendix taken out and miss training causing her start date to be pushed back to where it was around 48 hours before he got back from Spain with Ashley. He had known her for 4, going on 5 years now. How could he shoot her, even if it was for the greater good? He felt his chest tighten and--

“Leon? Do you understand?”

He looked back at Hunnigan and nodded silently before getting up to leave the room. He couldn’t be there anymore. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He practically ran through the halls, not caring who looked at him. Only able to catch his breath when the cold February air hit his skin. He heaved, his hands on his knees and he leaned forward. He couldn’t do it. He knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He knew that he would get in trouble. But he would rather get in trouble for not doing his job than have to shoot her.

He just prayed that she pinged to prove she was alive. And that if he ever got sent in, he would find her. Alive or dead but not bitten. Not turned. He’d rather find her already dead than have to do it himself. He would never be able to live if he broke her heart and then killed her.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to live with himself if he broke her heart and then found her dead.

--------

February 28th of 2009

36 hours after she went dark they received the first ping. 11 days had passed since and they had gotten 8 more pings. Leon was at his desk, waiting for Hunnigan to tell him they got the next ping. But as the sun went further and further down, they still had got nothing. He kept telling himself that she was okay. That maybe she just forgot or wasn’t somewhere where she could.

He kept telling himself that it was okay and she was alive. That he had no reason to worry. That she would make it back to them alive.

--------

March 2nd of 2009

Leon looked out the window of the helicopter he was on. 4 days had passed since her last ping. Since they last heard of her being alive. They had sent him in the early hours of the morning to go finish the job and find her. They told him to not have hope she’d be found alive. The cold was horrid and she was supposed to be back by now. It was doubtful she’d have enough heat stored to survive.

But he ignored them. He ignored their warnings and pushed them away as he climbed down and off the heli and walked the remaining mile to the village her team were meant to be staying at.

It took him almost no time to find the abandoned snow-mobiles they had ridden to get there. Took him almost no time to walk into the small place they were staying to find the rest of her team all dead. But still, there was no sign of her. No sign that she had even been there recently. He told Hunnigan and she responded that she’d send someone once they found Y/N. As he exited the house, he grabbed the keys to be able to use one of the vehicles.

He drove through the town until he reached the point where she had gone dark at. It was by a larger building that stood out compared to the rest. But that wasn’t where she had left at. She had left off in a small home by it. He walked in and looked around, finding her tracker and communication devices in a box that had been covered in snow. A few of the windows had been shot through, he assumed it was from her. He walked up the stairs and saw that there was no way out from there. If she had been in there, she had left the same way she went in.

He walked out of the house and was about to get back on the snowmobile, to head to her last pinged location, but he realized that it was inside the large building and he would have to walk it. The sun was going down as the time passed 6 PM as he jumped the fence and ran around trying to find her, shooting those infected that got in his way. Which he was surprised wasn’t that many. He had expected more to be there, but it was like someone had already gone through and killed most of them.

He ignored the fatigue that grew as he ran closer and the sky got darker. Or at least he assumed it did, there were practically no windows in this place so all he had was his watch to tell the time. He ignored the gnawing feeling he had that he was going to find her dead. That he came all the way to bring her home alive that he’d have to do it dead. That he kept telling himself that she’d be alright and he could apologize. He could tell her what Hunnigan told him when he got back. So he could apologize and let her scream and yell and choose what to do.

So he could know if there ever would be a possibility that they could have made it. That they could have done more if he hadn’t let the possibility of what could've happened take control of his life.

As he grew closer and closer to where she had last pinged, he felt his heart drop further and further into his stomach as he saw more and more blood covering the floor. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t hers. It was someone else's. And he wasn’t entirely wrong as he grew closer. A body laid on the ground, he could tell the blood wasn’t even an entire week old so it had to be from around her last ping. He placed his boot at the dead and grimaced as he recognized him as the guy from last summer.

That told him why she went dark.

He kneeled by the body, looking for what caused the bleeding, finding a few bullet holes. They weren’t accurate and he could tell that whoever shot them had a shaky hand. Making him doubt it was Y/N. One thing he knew he could always count on was her steady aim. Rarely would she hit a target in the wrong spot on accident. It was always on purpose. But, he knew the bullet holes. It was with a Lightning Hawk. It was like how he always had his Matilda, she always had a Lightning Hawk on her.

He stood up and continued on, looking down at the small device to see how much further and realized that it was to his left. He turned and saw a door drawn shut. He put the device away and grabbed his gun out from its holster and carefully opened the door. He swiftly turned to walk further in, something that at first seemed futile as he didn’t see her. But as he walked further in and looked around, he saw remnants of her having previously been there.

He kneeled by her clicker that had been pinging her location when she told it to was on the floor with some of the layers she had been wearing when the mission started. But what scared him was that there was a bandage covered in blood that looked like it had been sitting there for a few days. If it was her blood like he thought, that would explain why it looked like someone had shot the guy shakily and unsure. And so that nausea grew as the gnawing feeling that she was dead came back to him.

He shook his head of those thoughts and got up, looking around the room more. As his eyes scanned, he saw that there was a trail of blood that led to one of the walls. When he got closer, he saw the faint marks of what he assumed had been someone moving the cement. He put the flashlight between his teeth and holstered his gun as he began to touch around, trying to find a weak point in the wall. When he did, he pushed in until it started moving. Once it was opened enough for him to slip through, he grabbed the flashlight from his mouth and upholstered the gun.

He pointed the gun forward and slipped through the crack, he walked with cautious footing. He still found it rather suspicious that he hadn’t had to deal with much since he had gotten there. His senses were on high alert, feeling like there was a possibility of him getting attacked at any point. He walked down the dimly lit room, turning the flash on and off so for the case of someone watching him, there was a possibility of him throwing them off.

But any want to not get caught and have the element of surprise immediately left his body when he heard gunshots down the end of the hall. He ran as fast as he could and slammed the door open, gun ready to shoot. But when he got there, he saw that Dr. Lewis was already bleeding out on the floor, but still reaching for her own gun. As he approached the woman, he looked around and saw Y/N laying on her stomach, gun on her non-dominant side, in a corner. And as much as he wanted to check on her first, he ran over to the doctor and kicked her gun as far away from her as possible.

He kept his gun up and stood over Lewis, the barrel of the gun pointed at her head, daring her to do something. But all she did was laugh before coughing up blood. “You...you really think this...this will be...be the e-end? You...you killing me? Think it...it will bring that little b-bitch ba-ack.”

He knew he was supposed to bring her in alive. So they could question her. But Leon just couldn’t. He knew she had been experimenting on children more than she ever had with adults. The information Y/N had found and sent in before she went dark proved it. And something, some part of him, felt like no one who did that to kids could live. Maybe it was his belief that he still was doing this for Sherry. He knew she was an adult now and that she doesn’t need his protection anymore, but it didn’t stop him from making it his main reason.

With his gun still smoking, and Lewis’s eyes going blank with death, he pulled it down. “Still stops you.” He looked up when he heard the sound of an alarm going off and his vision was encased in red. He should have known that killing the head would do this, but he didn’t give a shit. All he cared about was saving her. He ignored the blaring alarm and robotic voice saying that the building will self-destruct in 10 minutes.

He turned to run back to where Y/N was lying. As he got closer to her, he could see she was slipping in and out of consciousness. When he reached her, he placed a gentle finger where her pulse would be, he knew he should have kept his eyes trained on Lewis, in case she turned herself into something, but he didn’t. His eyes were trained on Y/N. She was covered in sweat and blood, hair clinging onto her. Her breathing was labored and she barely was able to keep her eyes open. He turned her to her back and immediately saw what the reason for the bleeding was.

A large gash that went down her sternum. There was dried blood all around it and he saw that shittily done bandage that had moved. It was surely infected and was probably the reason for her sweat. He grabbed his device to call Hunnigan and requested a medical evac. He found Y/N and she was alive. They were in the building, but he was going to try and get her outside. Hunnigan informed him that she already sent one the moment he said the rest of the team was dead and they were 5 minutes out.

The moment the call ended, he gently moved one of Y/N 's arms around his neck before putting his arms under her body. Placing one securely under her knees and the other behind her back and under her other arm. He heard her groan in pain as he started to carry her out. Trying to figure out how to get to the roof.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Y/N/N.”

“Leon?” Her voice was hoarse, barely there.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me. I got you. Medic is 5 minutes out, okay? I’m gonna get you out. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Leon, please, just let me go.”

He shook his head, “No. I’m not doing that. I’m not letting you go. Not anytime soon.”

“But it hurts.”

He looked down at her and saw her eyes were closing again, “I know. I know it does. But I need you to keep your eyes open for me, alright? I know it’s gonna be hard, but I need you to do that.”

“But it feels better that way.”

He kicked a door open that led to stairs, “I know it does Y/N/N/N, I know. But I really need you to keep them open. Just until the evac gets here. Once they get us, you’ll be alright. You can close your eyes. Just keep them open till then.” Y/N/N/N. A nickname he came up with once when they were both drunk and abnormally clingy to one another. A nickname that he only used around her when he was close to breaking.

But she nodded, “Okay, I’ll try.”

He smiled down at her, “Good, try.”

He knew if she wasn’t injured and delirious, she would be yelling and screaming at him. So a part of him was happy she was, but most of him was scared that they medic wouldn’t get here in time and they would be fucked. That the team wouldn’t get there and he would lose her. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lose her. Not yet. Not now. Not when he had so much apologizing to do.

So when he made it out of the maze of a building, he let out a breath of relief when he saw the helicopter landing. Never in his life did he think he’d be so grateful that living Agents were top priority. That they’d rather lose the dead bodies and explain to the families that there was no body than possibly lose someone that could still be of use to them. Of course, he knew there was also the likelihood that they had sent two helicopters.

As he got to the Helicopter, he passed her body to one of the Agents in it before jumping in himself. And as they flew off, he helped close the door that he had jumped in from. For a moment, he stared at the window to see the sun coming up in the distance as the building exploded. But only after a second, he turned back to see the two medics already hooking Y/N up and getting her the help she needed.

He slumped down into one of the small chairs, leaning his head against the cool metal and silently watched as they flew to a hospital in Vancouver that was used to STRATCOM and the BSAA.

--------

March 9th of 2009

Y/N's POV

Beeping. That was all she could hear. Her entire body was sore, feeling like she had been dropped from the top of a building. After a few moments of trying, she finally was able to open her eyes. But she instantly regretted it as the bright fluorescents welcomed her. She groaned as they tried to adjust to the brightness. She looked around and suddenly realized that she was in a hospital. That was the reason for the beeping as she realized how hooked up she was.

Her throat felt dry and like something had been pulled from there. She moved her head to the side and let out a shocked gasp when she saw who was by her. She thought she had been dreaming. That the fever she knew she had from the infection that she knew had happened from the terrible keep of her cut had made her imagine he was there. That he had been the one to save her.

She felt her hand move to reach out to him, but she dropped it when she heard the sound of the door opening. A lady, probably around her grams’s age, walked in. She had a soft smile on her face when she looked at Y/N and walked closer to her. Y/N watched as the lady began fiddling with one of the bags that she assumed was liquids to keep her from getting dehydrated.

“You’re very lucky that boy got to you when he did.” The lady turned to her, “He’s a keeper, that one. He hasn’t left this hospital except for the one time me and another nurse forced him to get a hotel and sleep properly.”

“He’s just my partner--no, wait, he...I don’t know.” It hurt to speak, it felt like she hadn’t used her voice in years.

The lady raised a brow, “I doubt whatever he did will last long. You’ve been here a week and he’s had chances to go back to DC, but he’s stayed here.”

“Where is here? And what day is it?”

“You’re in Vancouver, it’s March 9th. Do you know the year?”

“2009?”

“Good, who’s your President?”

She genuinely had no idea. Graham had ended his Presidency a few months ago and she still had to learn the new guy's name. Only did she know the Vice-President. “I haven’t learned his name yet, but the Vice-President is Adam Benford, he used to be the CIA Director.”

“Hm, I guess that works.” The nurse chuckled, “You sure know a lot about him.”

She looked at Leon, “Yeah...the two of them are friends.”

“I should have expected that. Well sweetheart, we have you on a morphine drip to--”

“I-I can’t have morphine in large doses. It affects me worse than dilaudid.”

The lady took a look at her file and sighed, “Well I be damned, the nurse who did this completely ignored that it says no morphine.” She looked at Y/N, “I’m going let the head nurse know and we’ll get you switched onto, dilaudid you said? It works with no issue

“Yeah, every time it’s worked in the past it's been with no issues.”

“Alright.” She wrote something down, “I’ll be back in a few.”

Y/N nodded as that lady walked out of the room. Her eyes went back to Leon, who was still asleep in the chair, but she noticed how one of his hands was sitting on top of the bed, like he had been holding hers while she was out. She gently took it in hers and brushed her thumb over the top. She wondered if Hunnigan ever found a loophole for them to work. If she ever found a way that she could use to show Leon they could have worked.

She watched as he stirred, his eyes slowly opening and blinking to adjust to the bright lights. He groaned before looking at her and she watched as he straightened up and took her hand in his own. She watched as his usual emotionless face turned to one full of emotions.

She gave him a soft smile, “Hey Lee.”

He moved the chair to be closer before he ran a hand over her, moving hair from her face. “Hey beauti--Y/N/N.”

She moved her hand to go back to rubbing the top of his, “You can call me beautiful. You got me out of there after all.”

“You scared me, y’know? I thought I had lost you there and I wouldn’t be able to tell you how sorry I--”

“Don’t, please. Just...just don’t. I don’t want to think about that. You’re here, that's what matters. That shows that you really care, even if you can be annoying about showing it.”

He gave a small smile, “Yeah, but I really am sorry for not...talking to you. It was fucking Stacey who walked in and he threatened to expose us. I just didn’t want your life to get fucked over.”

“Why would mine?”

He sighed, “Hunnigan said that unfortunately, STRATCOM would rather lose you than me. So if they had found out, they would have displaced you. Put you in another department or place you with one of the other offices. But we wouldn’t be able to see each other anymore.”

“And you were scared I would argue and say it was nothing.”

“Yep.”

She looked over to the other side, “I hate when you’re right.”

She heard him chuckle, “It’s a rare feat, but one that can happen.” She looked back at him and smiled, but the smile fell as she began to think. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you call for a new partner?”

He let out a big sigh, “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing your broken face everyday. Be right by you, pretending to be a supportive friend while you move on.”

She scoffed, “Yeah, me moving on would’ve taken a lot. Trust me. I even asked Hunnigan to find loopholes in the rules for us to be together.” She sighed, “I guess she never found one cause she never told me.”

He laughed awkwardly and she raised an eyebrow, “Well...that’s not necessarily true.”

“What?”

“She found the loophole after you went dark.”

“And she told you?”

“So I might have come in drunk one day, felt bad because I did that because I drove drunk, and asked her to drive me back to my apartment. It was like I could hear you in my head getting mad, not because I showed up drunk, but because I drove drunk. So while she was taking me to my place, I might have spilt that I fucking hated what I did to you and wished that there was some fucking way for us to work and she might have told me the way it could. The small loophole that you asked her to go looking for.”

“What is it?”

“A lifetime commitment that we both said we weren’t ready for.”

“Kids?”

He snorted, “No. Not that.” He moved and dug in his pocket before handing her a small dark blue velvet box. She felt her heart in her throat. “Yeah...that’s the commitment.”

She opened the box to see the ring. It was simple, not over the top. Two diamonds with a sapphire in the middle on a silver band. She let out a shaky breath before looking at him, “When did you get this?”

“Um...a while ago actually. Last summer, I believe.”

She laughed slightly, “That was why you asked me what my ring size was.”

He laughed as well, “Yeah, I expected you to catch on.”

“But...that was before we talked about marriage.” She looked at him, “That was why you asked me, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged, “I realized that I would rather have a possible answer than make you uncomfortable.”

She smiled and for some reason, she leaned over to him and kissed his lips softly. “Why don’t you ask me now.”

“What?”

Her voice was soft, “Just ask that four word question.” She brushed some hair out of his face, “My answer won’t be dependent on it being the only way for us to be together and work together.”

He smiled, “Y/F/N, will you marry me?”

She smiled, “Yes.” She kissed him again, “Y’know, I would have said yes if you had asked me at Christmas.”

“Really?”

She nodded, “Mhm, that was around the time that I realized that even though marriage is a big commitment and we both have our issues with commitment, I was sure I would be able to fully stay with you. Was it partly because you’re the only guy I’ve ever been with that can handle me when my brain can’t function so I just shut down? Possibly. But it also had to do with the fact I can’t see myself with anyone else but you and every time I imagine a future, you’re always there.”

Now it was his turn to brush hair from her face, “So we could have avoided these past few months if I had just looked at the handbook for a loophole?”

She nodded, “Yep. But that doesn’t make me love you any less.”

He laughed, “Good.”

She closed the box and handed it back to him, “Hold onto it for me until we head back to DC.”

He took it and placed it back in his pocket, “I love you, you know that right?”

“I questioned it for a while, but yes, now I do.”

He laughed, “Good.”

They were silent for a few minutes until she looked him dead in the eye, “Can you promise me one thing, Leon?”

“What is it?”

“Never let me go, please? Promise me if you ever start to get insecure with anything in our relationship that you will tell me and we work on it.”

He smiled and kissed the top of her hand, “I promise.”

She smiled, “Good.”

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