#if you saw this without puppet filled in no you didn’t <3

[xcosmicsans]

red :D

*insert “have you ever fallen in love” “five times a day” meme*

Also bonus pixel bulbasaur pokeball because I spent so long on it and I’m very pleased with how it came out so you will look at it

[lieslab]

Waiting for us

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: After going to a carnival and getting stuck at the top of a ferris wheel, you crumble in your boyfriend's arms.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 5K

Trigger warning: Heights, anxiety, depression, mentions of nausea, parental issues, child abuse and neglect, self-hatred, self-harm, and mentions of not eating.

A/N: To whoever requested this, I don't know how you feel about carnivals. I don't know how you feel about ferris wheels and heights either, so I guessed. One of my most precious memories is my local county fair during warm summer days. I hope this warms your heart as much as it warms mine <3

_ _ _

You were playing pretend again. You were like a dancer frozen in time and trapped in a music box. Life cranked the knob and the music twinkled in the background. You spun, not because you wanted to, but because you had to. 

Life was hard, it always seemed to be. The weight of mental issues on your shoulders made it worse. Around and around you went playing the game of life. However, lately, it was just…different. 

The gears in your music box had rusted over time. They creaked and your music was beginning to warp. Years of endless dancing made you grow fatigued. You could barely find the effort to keep going and yet, you continued on and on. 

You were supposed to be happy today. You were trying your best, you really were. Your boyfriend had the whole day free and the two of you were supposed to enjoy the carnival together. He met you at the door with a grin and you tried to return it, but something was off. 

He noticed how defeated you looked instantly, but he ignored it. Feelings for you were fickle and you tended to struggle with them a lot. Talking about them was difficult and it made you uncomfortable. 

He didn’t know what it was, but he knew that you were off. The brown bags beneath your eyes had shifted to plum purple. Your cheeks seemed a bit more hollow than usual. There was a lingering darkness that surrounded you, but he didn’t know how to bring it up. 

Feelings for both of you, it was a bit of a struggle. Neither of you wanted to be a bother towards the other. It was one of the things that you both needed to work on in the relationship. 

When you arrived, you had high expectations. You thought the situation would cheer you up, but it didn’t. Carnivals were supposed to be filled with bright colors. Laughing people and screams from carnival rides. The oiled scent of fried food and the bubbling of excitement flowing through your veins. 

Everything felt entirely different this time. The colors were more muted and the background sounds seemed faint. The scent of fried food made your stomach churn with nausea. You couldn’t imagine eating a single bite without throwing up. 

You felt empty on the inside and you’d felt that way for a while. After a slew of personal issues, it was difficult to find your happiness. Things tended to control you more than you wanted them too. You didn’t know how to stop it. 

There were eyelets in your limbs with strings laced through. You were pulled in different directions and none of those were in the direction you wanted to go. A puppet on a string, you struggled with everything. 

Beside you, the warmth of Seungmin’s hand clutched yours firmly. He let you through the entrance after the two of you paid and he stopped on the path that led down the way. 

“So what do you want to do first?” 

Your eyes scanned the area as you debated. The more you saw, the more you just wanted to go home. Your anxiety was growing with the more people you saw and it was overwhelming. 

“What do you want to do?” You asked. 

Seungmin clicked his tongue and glanced around the area. “Well, I suppose we can go on the ferris wheel if you’re not a chicken.” 

“I’m not a chicken and I don’t mind heights.” 

“That’s what they all say.” 

“Are you challenging me?” 

“It’s not a challenge if you cop out.” 

“Fine, let’s get wristbands and then we can go on the ferris wheel. Just for that, we’ll go on it more than once. I’m not a chicken.” 

“You’d look cute with tail feathers.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked with Seungmin towards a ticket booth. Since you planned to spend a few hours here, you both decided it was a better option to get wristbands. Who knew how many rides the two of you’d go on. 

After retrieving your wristbands, the two of you headed to the ferris wheel. Since the carnival was in a larger city, the ferris wheel was bigger too. Small colorful enclosed baskets went high up into the setting sun before they curved and came back down. 

Soon, the neon lights in the place would be turned on. Seungmin specifically brought you here for that reason. Everything looked better in the evening at carnivals. The neon colors popped and the air was electrified.

When neon colors clashed together with upbeat pop music and laughter from everyone, it was otherworldly. To experience something by yourself and yet everyone was experiencing the same thing around you in their own little bubbles, it was magical and he loved it. 

The cabins looked like hot air balloons. The wide tops bulged out with the help of curved titanium rods and the supporting frame. The baby blue frame had been detailed with royal blue shadows to create the illusion of a basket. 

Neon lights wrapped around the whole piece and glittered neon blue when the time was right. Other baskets were created similar and with different colors. The whole thing was much larger and more sophisticated than the average county fair ferris wheels with metal bucket seats. 

When it was your turn, Seungmin gently led you in front of him and let go of your hand. The attendant held open the small metal gate for you to climb in. Once you were in, Seungmin moved to the opposite side and sat down. 

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. You lied to Seungmin, you hated heights, but you knew that he liked the ferris wheel. Seungmin liked anything with beautiful detailing and photographic qualities. He was probably going to take photos of the view and upload them to Bubble later. 

A round table sat in the center of the two of you. You let your arms rest on it and let out a soft sigh as the two of you were slowly eased up. The soft breeze was enough to catch your hair and pull it back. When Seungmin realized it, he let out a small laugh. 

You pulled up your arm and let your chin rest on your hand. Trying to ignore the growing fear, you let your eyes shut. Seungmin pulled out his phone and began to snap photos. 

“I think I was wrong about you. It’s clear that you’re not a chicken.” 

“I told you,” you mumbled. Your stomach churned and the beginning of nausea was beginning to creep up. You forced yourself to suck in a deep breath and try to calm down. 

The ride kept going up and then stopping as more people got on until it finally began going up and didn’t stop. Your eyes squeezed shut tighter and you eventually shifted. Your palms dug into your eyes as you buried your head in your hands. 

The movement caused Seungmin to glance over. He frowned and spoke up. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I hate heights,” you mumbled. 

“Then why did yo-” 

“Because you wanted to see the view and I didn’t want to let you down. You were teasing me and I didn’t want you to think I was a coward.” 

“Baby, you know I was just kidding, right? If you would have said something, I wouldn’t have made you go on the ride. I could have gone by myself and gave you some money to go get a snack or something.” 

“I don’t want your money!” You snapped. The situation wasn’t such a big deal, but with everything going on in your life recently, you were upset. Things kept going wrong and the pressure gauge was beginning to crank up. How long were you going to keep things to yourself until you blew? 

Seungmin stared at you for a moment, unsure of what to do. There was more tension between the two of you. He couldn’t see your face as you hid it with your hands, but he knew you were struggling. 

The longer the silence went on, the more he realized he needed to say something. It was clear that you weren’t going to address the elephant between the two of you. Something was going on with you and if he had to, he was going to pry it from you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud creaking sound interrupted. Down below, someone screamed. Your hands jerked from your face and you looked around with wide eyes. The ferris wheel halted with you and Seungmin stuck at the top. 

Gears ground together and shouts filled the air. In the middle of your panic, you slipped your hand into Seungmin’s and he squeezed it back lightly. You sucked in a shaky breath and squeezed your eyes shut again. 

“What’s going on?” Someone shouted at the ride operator down below. 

The ride operator had hit the emergency stop button when things started to go wrong. He cupped his hands together and yelled back, so everyone could hear him. 

“I don’t know, but hang tight. Don’t worry, we’ll get it figured out soon enough. You guys might be stuck for a bit.” 

Around the wheel, there were a plethora of different responses. Below you, someone complained and another one groaned. Someone else tried to see the positive side of things and complimented the view. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept hold of Seungmin’s hand. 

“Are you okay?” Seungmin spoke softly. 

All you could do was frantically shake your head back and forth. Seungmin shifted in his spot and the cabin began to rock slightly. Your panic grew until the comforting scent of Seungmin’s cologne filled your nose. 

“Don’t worry, I’m right here, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around your neck and tugged you closer. Comforted, you buried your head into the side of his shoulder. 

With his other hand, he reached over and gently began to loop his fingers through your hair. The soft gesture always comforted you when you were struggling. You buried your head further into his shoulder, but it wasn’t enough. 

You wanted to block the world out and forget this entire thing happened. You wanted to be back on solid ground. You wanted the comfort of your bed. You wanted your heavy limbs to find comfort in the cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. 

“Come here.” 

You didn’t fight it when he gently pulled your body closer. The way he moved you around, you felt like a small child. His fingers found your hips and he pulled you onto his lap. Your legs straddled his and the table behind you pressed against your back. 

Seungmin shifted back and you fell back with him. Your head landed on the curve of his collarbone. His arms wrapped around the small of your back. Despite the horrific scenario, you found yourself being comforted. 

“Is that better?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

His left hand began to lightly draw patterns on your back. He could feel how tense you were in his arms. You were worked up about everything. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you and I won’t let go.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

The breeze picked up and swept your hair off to the side. Seungmin’s head rested back against one of the metal poles. In the distance, birds were happily chirping and unaware of your predicament. 

Seungmin was nervous, but he wasn’t outright terrified. He knew the ride operator was trained and the carnival had protocols in place. He knew that they’d know what to do to get them out of the situation safely. Besides, being worked up about it would only add to your stress. 

In his chest, your eyes were squeezed shut. You sucked in deep breaths trying to find rhythm in the madness. Your fingers clutched the back of Seungmin’s shirt. After a while, he began to hum, hoping it’d calm you down. 

When you began to relax, he let out a sigh of relief. He let his eyes shut and continued to find comfort in you. You were his warmth. You were there for everything for him and he wanted to be there for you too. 

“Baby, I think we need to talk about something.” 

You shifted your head with your eyes shut. Instead of being buried in his chest, your cheek pressed against it instead. You kept your eyes shut, so you didn’t have to see the staggering view down below. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t want to ruin our day, but I really think I need to talk to you about some stuff. I know feelings are uncomfortable for you, but over the past few weeks…no,” he shook his head. “It’s been longer than that. I should have brought it up, but you like your independence. I know you find it hard to lean on me.” 

A lump began to fill the back of your throat. Despite the closed eyes, you could feel the burn of tears welling up. You thought you were doing a good job, but clearly not. He knew something was wrong. 

“I don’t like seeing you suffer alone. You mean everything to me, you know? I’m sorry I don’t say it enough, but I mean it. I’m not good with words, but you make me feel mushy on the inside.” 

“Everyone says you’ll come around when you’re ready, but you haven’t. You just slowly keep getting worse and worse. I’m afraid for you, baby. I’m afraid something is seriously wrong and I know how you struggle. You’ll drown silently before you ever reach out for help.” 

“It’s partly my fault, I should have brought it up sooner. I just…” He trailed off and squeezed his arms around you tighter. “I’m so afraid of saying the wrong thing and losing you. So please, please tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can’t fix it, but you don’t have to do it alone.” 

Your breathing hitched as your fingers curled into him tighter. You weren’t sure how to get the words out. You didn’t know how to say it, but you had to try. He was right, you were tired of drowning. 

“Do you ever…do you ever just feel like everyone’s against you?” Your voice came out shrill. You tried to swallow to hide it, but it stayed there. “Like no matter what you do, you just can’t win?” 

“Sometimes, yes, but I remember all the good in my life and I focus on that. I cherish the little things I have and the relationship I have with the people around me. I have my band, my fans, and my family. Plus, I-” 

“They hate me,” you weakly got out. 

“Huh?” 

“My family.” 

Your eyes finally opened to view the scene down below. Your teeth sunk into the soft skin of your bottom lip as you tried not to sob. Below you, friends and families were gathered and laughing. 

You could see them now. The mothers on the carousel holding their kids up and making sure they’re okay. The fathers clutching the handles of the rides and screeching in delight as their child giggles beside them. 

The sickly sweet artificial taste of bright pink cotton candy melting on the tongue of a three-year-old. Above them, their parents beam and ask how it tastes. It’s the first time they’ve ever had something this sweet before. 

On the other side of the carnival, a grandparent is playing skeeball with their grandkid. The two are laughing and the grandparent feels like a kid again. The potential of winning a large prize makes them aim carefully and try their hardest. 

A couple is announcing their pregnancy to their parents right before they play mini golf. They’re all so thrilled, the parents are hugging and kissing. The soon to be parents are ecstatic and clutching tightly to each other via hands. 

Parents are everywhere. It’s the adopted kid who happily runs and leads his adopted father towards his favorite ride. It’s the stepkids who are warming up to their new stepmother. They’re nervous and looking over at their father for reassurance. He breaks the ice by buying them all lemonade and sprinkled candy apples. 

Families and parents were everywhere. Compared to what you went through with yours, this was like a mini trip to hell. You couldn’t help, but feel stung by defeat being here. In front of Seungmin, while admitting this, you felt three inches tall. 

Your limbs were weighed down with sadness and melancholy. The scene was beautiful up here and yet, you couldn’t help, but feel blue. The sky was filled with swirls of lavender and citrus oranges. Some god had blown the sky full of confectionary kisses, but you couldn’t focus on it. 

There was an ache in your bones and a longing. A longing for a life of love. Being in a romantic relationship didn’t fill the void left behind by parental issues and it never would. You could be in the happiest relationship and the hollowness could still creep up. 

Everyone wants to be nurtured and loved. Every kid deserves to be loved, but not every person deserves to be a parent. There are no regulations as to who can be a parent. For some, it’s the best thing to ever happen to them. For others, it’s a life-long burden. 

“Am I difficult to love?” You went on. “Is there something wrong with me? I don’t think my mother loves me very much. I thought I meant everything to her, but lately with her actions, she just…” You trailed off, unable to finish. “I just want to be good enough.” 

Seungmin’s heart cracked in his chest at your words. The ooze of hurt surrounding you filled the air and it curdled his marrow. You were the love of his life, how could someone not love you? 

It was like someone had gotten out the scissors and began to snip through his heartstrings. Every word you uttered, it was another snip and another gust of pain. How could your parents not love you? 

“Is that how you feel?” 

“I can’t handle it, Seungmin.” 

The use of his name and not a pet name was like a slap to the face. 

“It’s killing me and I-I can’t deal with it. How do I become someone else?” Tears started to drip down your cheeks. “How do I become better? How can I be a better kid? What am I missing?” 

“Do I need to act differently? Do I need to get plastic surgery done, so I can look better? I feel like my mother’s little barbie doll. She controls me, but she doesn’t really love me. I want to be loved. I want to be needed. I want to be wanted, and I-” 

Your voice broke off. Seungmin shut his own eyes trying not to cry at your words. He knew you had issues with your family, but he didn’t know it was this bad. You hid everything so well. You kept it from everyone and kept it locked away because that’s what good children did. 

Good children shut up about the abuse and neglect they received for the sake of their parents’ image. They uphold the look that their parents have conjured up. They do such a good job, you’d never know. 

You’d never realize those bags beneath their eyes are from lack of sleep. You’d never know how much they’ve been screamed at. You wouldn’t know how much they’ve destroyed themselves to keep their parents happy. A child will do anything to please a parent. 

On and on it goes until a child breaks. The moment you do, there’s a target on your back. You’re not strong enough, you’re not brave enough, you’re not smart enough, and you’re not good enough. Just wanting their approval, you believe them. How could you not? You just want to make your parents happy. 

But bad parents deserve to be outed. It is a privilege to have a child. You are creating the next generation. You have a choice in playing a role in what type of person you want your child to become. 

How dare you break them down into bits of self-hatred and disgust when somewhere out there, another mother would kill to have a chance to lift their child up. Someone out there dreams of telling their child that they are precious. Someone strokes the face of a child in their dreams and they will never have it. 

“It hurts. It hurts so much and I feel like I can’t do anything right. I can barely eat and I’m either not sleeping or I’m sleeping all the time. I feel like I’m slowly rotting from the inside out. I don’t know how to escape it. It got so bad the other day that I…I…” 

The words got stuck in your throat and they wouldn’t come out. It hurt to admit that everything got so bad that you needed some sort of release. Shaken like soda, you were ready to explode. Self-harming had always been a release for you. 

It made you feel like you were doing something right. You were punishing yourself for everything you weren’t. For not being good enough. For not being able to endure the pain. For not being strong enough. For being unloveable. 

Your blood was tainted with sadness. It oozed out bright red and all you could do was watch with a sigh of relief. For once, you were finally doing something right when everything else seemed to be wrong. 

You didn’t have to finish the sentence, but Seungmin knew. His arms tightened around you and he pulled your body towards him even more. He wanted to take it all away. He’d embody this sadness and soak it up like a sponge if he could. 

Your breathing grew ragged as you tried not to cry. You were outside, but there were people below you on either side. If you started to sob, you knew you’d gain their attention. Plus, it might stress out the ride operator down below. 

“Hey, hey, hey, shhh.” Seungmin’s hand comfortingly rubbed your back. “It’s alright, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

Your voice tightened again, “I just want to be loved.” 

“And loved, you are. It seems like I need to do a better job at showing you that because you don’t feel like it. You mean everything to me and I’m sorry your parents are that way.” 

“You’ve grown up and turned into such a wonderful person. It’s shitty that they can’t see that. Despite everything, you have turned out amazing. You have a golden heart. You’re precious on the inside and out.” 

“Do you really think that I’d fall in love with just anyone?” He continued. “I’m so picky with who I date that Lee Know believed I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life and then I met you.” 

“I’m a burden.” 

“If you mean making me stutter like an idiot and making my heart flutter, then yeah, you’re a burden. You’re a burden when you send me those goofy selfies and make me blush so hard that I can’t help, but smile because you look cute.” 

“You’re such a burden because every time you text me during rehearsals, I blush and look like an idiot in front of my band members. Do you know how many times I’ve been teased by the old man?” 

You sniffled. 

“Every time he teases me, I tell him that it must be hard for him. Not a single person has looked his way. Why do you think he’s always flirting with the fans on Bubble? He’s like a dog in heat. When he’s horny, everyone knows about it.” 

The sudden confession made you snort. Seungmin smiled and kept talking. “You’re my pride and joy. You know how you have your photocards of me in your wallet? Yeah, well, I made some of you.” 

“Really?” 

“Duh! I’ve gotta be ready to show off my significant other at all times. I could talk about you for hours. You know what?” 

“What?” 

“You’ve got me so smitten that I asked Hyunjin for date recommendations. You know how he’s the romantic one? Yeah, I caved. You’ve got me wrapped around your little fingers.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You sat up with teary eyes and another sniffle. Seungmin stared at you and gently brushed his thumbs beneath your eyes. “Oof.” His face scrunched up. “Crying doesn’t look the best on you.” 

You ignored his teasing comment. “And what did Hyunjin say? What was his suggestion?” You reached up with your palms and rubbed the wet tears away. 

“Look at me.” 

You pulled your hands away and glanced up at him. You didn’t have time to react as he cupped your face. Before you knew it, he tilted his head and connected your lips. 

Up above the world, the two of you shared a soft kiss. Your lips were seeped in salt from your tears, but he didn’t care. All your previous negative thoughts began to fall away. 

So wrapped up in everything, you forgot about the person who meant the most to you. You forgot about the joy he brought. You forgot how he seemed to melt away every bad thought and warm your heart. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he tugged your hips closer. 

“I got it!” A voice called from down below. There was a creak and the ride began to boot up. Around the two of you, there was a faint hum and the neon blue bulbs around your basket tinkered to life. 

You pulled away from Seungmin wide-eyed and breathless. The two of you glanced around and the ride began to descend. Seungmin’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist. 

“We’re going down?” 

“We’re going down,” he echoed. 

“Thank, fuck.” 

He leaned back when you let your chin drop to his shoulder. Your arms wrapped around his back and you let out a final sigh of relief. His hands found your back. 

“I know I’m not perfect and I won’t be able to give you what your parents couldn’t. I just hope you realize how good you are and how much you mean to me. Your parents are assholes and you deserve the entire world. I’d do anything for you.” 

“I just wish things were better with them.” 

“I know. The next time you feel like hurting yourself, please talk to me. I don’t want you to feel like that ever again. Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll make an exception and let you cuddle me.” 

“Really?” You pulled away from him with bright eyes and a smile. He nodded with a fluttering heart. You looked good with a smile. 

“Um…” Your smile fell. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. That was a lot and I-” 

“No worries, it’s okay. I’m glad we got to talk about it. You know how I said crying doesn’t look good on you? Your best look is the one where you’re smiling.” 

“What if I was wearing something ugly?” 

“Doesn’t matter, the smile brings it together.” 

“You’re being cheesy now.” 

“Hyunjin said being cheesy was good.” 

“You should stop getting dating advice from Hyunjin. I don’t want to date him, I want to date you. We should just do whatever you want to do.” 

“I’m so sorry this happened. Please forgive me!” The ride operator was incredibly apologetic as he opened the small metal gate. “Were you crying? I’m sorry!” 

“It’s alright,” you smiled at him and shifted off of Seungmin. 

The two of you left the basket and you were happy to finally be back on the ground. Seungmin linked his hand through yours and shook his head. “You’re right, I’m never listening to Hyunjin ever again.” 

“What do you want to do then?” 

“I want to go get us our favorite slushies. Try not to cry and season yours with your tears. I highly doubt salty slushies taste good and I’m not buying you another one.” 

“Touché.” 

He led you through a path of people and towards a slushie stand. As you passed a stand with fried food, your stomach loudly rumbled. Your cheeks went bright red as you mumbled an apology. You hadn’t eaten in so long that your hunger was finally starting to come back. You felt a million times better after the conversation with Seungmin. 

“Scratch that, we’ll get food and then we’ll get slushies. I bet I can eat more fried food than you.” 

“No way!” 

Seungmin smirked, “then prove it.” 

“I will!” You stuck your tongue out at him. 

Seungmin instantly jerked his hand up and gently pinched the tip of it. You pulled away and gagged. “Ew! Gross! You’ve got cooties!” 

“And now you’re infected too. Boo-hoo. Whatever shall you do now?” 

“Another kiss?” 

“Only because I feel bad for you. My kisses are rare, you know? My lips could warm the arctic if I traveled there.” 

“I hope you never read any of Hyunjin’s poetry again.” 

“Just for that, I’m telling Chan you want to call him grandpa from now on. Since you need a new family, he can be the first one to test it out on. Just wait until he hears about this. You’re never going to hear the end of it. I’m texting the group chat and maybe you can call Lee Know ‘kitten’ or something.” 

“Seungmin, no!” 

“Last I checked, I was your baby.” 

“Baby, no!” 

He grinned and took off into the crowd. You screeched and sprinted off after him. He pulled out his phone and dodged and weaved. You yelled after him, not caring that people were staring at the two of you. 

As you flew by an elderly couple, the pair watched you dart down the path. The woman laughed as she squeezed her lover’s hand. “I remember how those days were.” 

“We were just two young kids in love. I’m glad that it’s still playful and timeless as ever. I can’t remember the last time I ran that fast.” 

“Me neither. I treasure those memories a lot. We might not be able to run, but we sure can fly. I’ve heard they're letting adults ride on the carousel. Want to give it a shot for old times sake?” 

“Of course I do, darling. If it’s with you, absolutely. I’ve said it years ago and I’ll say it again, I’d do anything for you.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡|

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[worstamongequals]

What Can I Do

— That is the absolute last thing you need right now. Layla gently holding your face with her left hand, drawing soft lines to accentuate your eyes with her right, all while staring right at you with her lips slightly parted as she concentrates. No, no, absolutely not.

Layla El-Faouly x AFAB Reader

Warnings: swearing, smut‼️, oral, fingering, face riding, sharing a vibrator, infidelity (wedding day confessions; i don’t condone cheating ofc)

Word count: 3286

An AU where Layla and Marc’s wedding is set to happen after they get back from Cairo. You’ve been in love with Layla for forever, and as you get ready for her big day, she asks you why you’re not happy for her and Marc.

That night, you lay awake. Memories of her filled your mind and nothing you did could put them to bed. Layla, your wonderful, beautiful friend, is getting married tomorrow.

Today, you groaned, rolling onto your side and glancing at the green glow of the digital clock on your bedside table. 3:39 AM. She’s getting married today.

“To Marc.” You muttered aloud. “Fucker.”

Your mind wandered back to three years ago when she’d first suggested you get an apartment together. You were hesitant, but she couldn’t be more excited to be sharing a space with you. Her best friend! Her excitement dashed all the doubts in your mind, how could you tell her no? Shortly after you both had moved in was when she learned how terrified you were of horror movies. By the time It was over, you were begging to sleep in her bed. Your tone was joking, but she could tell you meant it, especially after you stuck your arm into the bathroom to turn on the light before going in, and again when you ran out of the room after turning the light off.

“Fine,” She had huffed playfully. “Just this once.” But then the next week, she suggested watching It Chapter 2. And the week after that, The Shining. And then one of the Saw movies. You couldn’t get that fucking puppet on the tricycle out of your head, and most nights, you found yourself crawling into her bed.

Your chest felt hollow as you remembered how warm and inviting the bed, and Layla, had been.

Layla had talked to you a couple days ago to confirm that you’d be there today, and you’d said yes without hesitation. But now… You weren't sure you’d even make it past doing your hair and getting dressed. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep and wake up too late to attend the wedding.

Layla, Layla, Layla.

Her name swirled in your mind, memories of her clear as photographs.

Layla pulling you onto a crowded dance floor, and with your body pressed against hers, you finally admit to yourself that you didn’t want to be just a friend to her.

The time someone mistook the two of you for a couple, referring to you as her girlfriend, and Layla didn’t correct them. Your heart swelled. It was around this time that you’d begun to convince yourself that you could do it; you could tell Layla everything. The thought of doing this didn’t seem so impossible now, and you’d started to feel like the reward greatly outweighed the risk. It would be so fucking worth it.

And back then, it felt so easy.

Layla had been begging you to go to the beach with her and after a few weeks of her relentlessly hounding you about it, you got some time off work, the two of you loaded the car up with all the standard beach necessities and drove off. She was driving, as usual. Layla was the safest driver you knew, both hands always on the wheel, never taking her eyes off the road. This gave you multiple opportunities to steal glimpses of her out of the corner of your eye. You loved when Layla drove. The energy in the car that day felt different and you had convinced yourself that Layla just knew what you were about to confess. You would tell her when you got to the beach. She pulled into a parking spot that was shaded from the sun by a large tree with drooping branches and the two of you took off your seat belts. Layla now had one arm resting on the center console and was using her other hand to check her makeup in the mirror. You took an imperceptibly (you hoped) deep breath, and gently placed a hand on her arm. “Layla?”

“Hm?” She turned to look at you.

You opened your mouth to speak but were cut off by a sharp buzz. Layla’s phone lit up, and so did her face. “Who’s that?” You asked, your confidence plummeting.

“I started talking to this guy, Marc,” Her gaze slid away from her screen and she met your eyes. “He’s nice.”

“Oh,” You plastered a smile on your face. “Good!”

“Yeah,” She shot you a small smile. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

And then Layla started bringing Marc around and you could hardly contain your jealousy, which made you feel awful when you realized that if you’d met under different circumstances, you and Marc probably would’ve gotten on really well. When Marc disappeared without warning, you felt guilty that your first thought was “Finally!” while Layla was devastated.

The guilt didn’t last long, though. He came back. Or rather, Layla found him. And she was upset, of course, but he explained himself away in that Marc-y way of his and things were pretty much back to normal. You didn’t know what happened in Cairo but it must’ve been pretty great for Layla to come back with an engagement ring on her finger.

Fuck Marc.

***

For five full seconds after you wake up, you are blissfully unaware of what the day will bring.

But then you remember.

And then you wish it was socially acceptable to miss your best friend’s wedding. Although… it was just going to be Marc, Layla, you, and Frenchie at a courthouse. It wasn’t like you’d be skipping out on a gigantic wedding party. Maybe society would be more forgiving in this case.

“Morning,” Layla walked sleepily into your room and plopped down onto your bed.

Beautiful as ever, in spite of the morning breath. Maybe a hint of apprehension on her face? But that was probably wishful thinking. “You look tired.”

“Wow, just what every girl wants to hear,” She grinned. “You don’t look so great either.”

You threw your arm across your forehead, covering your eyes. You must look like shit. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Cold feet? Maids of honor don’t normally get those.”

“Nah,” You said coolly. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t sleep either.”

“Ah, maybe you’re the one with cold feet?”

Layla shifted uncomfortably, averting her gaze. “We should start getting ready.”

“Mhm.” You sat up and let Layla take your hand and pull you out of bed.

The two of you took your time getting ready. Layla, you assumed, was moving slowly to make sure she looked perfect. Which wasn’t hard. Even before you’d had feelings for her, you knew she was gorgeous. You, on the other hand, were dragging your feet through the entire process. Anything to delay the inevitable.

“Want me to do your eyeliner?”

You gulped. “N-no.”

That is the absolute last thing you need right now. Layla gently holding your face with her left hand, drawing soft lines to accentuate your eyes with her right, all while staring right at you with her lips slightly parted as she concentrates. No, no, absolutely not.

“Why not?!” Layla turned away from the mirror and faced you, liquid liner in hand. “You look great with it!”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night, I might rub my eyes and ruin it.”

“You’ll be fine.” You’re sitting on a stool and she steps between your legs, lifting your chin and bringing the felt tip of the pen to your face. You worry, irrationally, that when she stands this close to you, Layla can see every (extremely gay) thought running through your mind.

“Can I ask you something?” She murmurs.

You’re looking anywhere but her face. “Mhm.”

“I know you’re not, um, excited, about today. About the wedding.”

The way she talks about her wedding as if it isn’t her own strikes you as odd.

“Is there a particular reason why?”

“No, Layla, I swear I’m just really tired, I think I need a new mattress-”

“Please,” She moves on to your other eye. “I’m genuinely asking. I want to know.”

“Well…” You hesitate. She may really want to know if you think there’s something wrong with Marc, but you’re positive that the real reason you don’t want her to get married has never even crossed her mind. “I just think that Marc’s kind of a bag of shit.”

She laughed then, harder than you’d seen her laugh in a while, and you smiled. “I do! He’s cool and all, but…”

“But..?” She presses, her eyes still crinkling into a smile.

“I just, I’m so much better than him.” You tried to sound as if you were just joking. “I’m better than him and I’m awful. So that’s a low bar. And you deserve better. The best.” Anything to keep her believing that you really had no problems with the wedding or Marc. You may not want her to marry someone else, but if you didn’t have the nerve to confess your own feelings, who were you to stop her? You couldn’t be that person, ruining what was supposed to be one of the best days of her life, when you knew you weren’t brave enough to risk getting rejected after telling her how you felt about her. You would much rather sacrifice a potential lover than lose a friend.

“Yeah, you are pretty awful.” Okay, ouch. But there was a small smile on Layla’s face. “What makes you so much better than Marc?”

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t drag you to a courthouse. I’d do the whole shebang.”

“The whole shebang?”

“Yeah. You deserve a million shebangs.”

“Well, I really don’t mind a courthouse wedding–”

You cut in. “And I never would’ve left you.”

“That’s different.” Layla’s voice took on a sharp tone. “You don’t know what happened there.”

“Sorry.” You felt small all of a sudden. Maybe you’d pushed too far. “I would if you’d tell me. You haven’t told me much since you got back.”

“You have your own secrets.”

There was something in her eyes when she said that. Something knowing. And still, you felt the urge to lie.

“I don’t. You’re my best friend, I tell you everything.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me the truth,” She looked at you in a way that was soft and sharp all at once. “Why don’t you want Marc to be with me?”

You frowned. She had this so backwards. “It’s not that I don’t want Marc to be with you.” You sighed. “I don’t want you to be with Marc.”

“That’s the same fucking thing–”

“No,” You said quietly. “It isn’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. For a good thirty seconds, she said nothing. “So, you…”

“Yes.” Your voice trembled.

“This whole time, you… Oh.” Layla looked down at her hands for a moment, playing with the eyeliner pen before setting it aside. “I didn’t think you thought about me like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I–”

“I never dreamed you would think of me like that. I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Now you were confused. “What?”

“I have wanted this for so long, but it didn’t seem like you felt the same, so I tried to move on,” She swallowed. “With Marc. And he’s nice, but he isn’t you. And for a little while, I thought, maybe… Maybe if you felt something for me, this would help you realize it. But then he proposed,” Layla paused and met your gaze. “And I thought that if you had any secret feelings for me, surely that would bring them to the surface. I was stupid to say yes to him, but I didn’t want to throw it all away. I was afraid to start over, he knows me so well. The only one who knows me better is, well, you.”

This… wasn’t at all what you’d expected. You cleared your throat, preparing to speak, but your mind was blank. It seemed to you as though no words were good enough to describe your feelings for Layla.

So you didn’t try.

You just leaned forward and kissed her. Layla’s right hand cradled you at the base of your skull and she slipped her left arm around your waist, pulling you to her until your bodies were pressed against each other. You laughed nervously as heat pooled between your thighs at the sensation.

“I’m going to talk to Marc and call the whole thing off,” Layla murmured.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.” You whispered.

“You aren’t. I should’ve done this a long time ago. This, and,” She gripped your hips and walked you backwards until you were at your bed. “This.”

“You don’t know how much I’ve thought of this.”

“I think I have some idea.” Layla pushed you onto your back and straddled you. A shiver ran down your spine when she leaned over and began pressing soft, wet kisses to your neck, collarbone, and chest.

You slipped your hands under her shirt and ran your fingers across the band of her bra. It felt lacy and you’d never wanted to see it so badly. Layla tugged her shirt up and over her head, casting it aside, before doing the same to you. You reached up and pulled her in for another kiss and she cupped your breast in her palm. When her fingers brushed delicately over your nipple you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp from escaping your lips.

“I thought of you sometimes, when I was with him.”

She began gently pulling your shorts down your thighs. “I felt so guilty but I wanted it to be you.” Your shorts were on the floor now, and Layla was settling between your thighs. “It was never better than when I imagined you were the one doing those things to me. And now look at what I get to do to you.” You felt her warm breath on your clothed cunt when she exhaled.

“Fuck,” You whimpered.

“You want this?”

“More than you know.”

She tugged your underwear to the side. “Tell me then.” You jolted when you felt her tongue sliding into the seam of your pussy. Everything was warm and wet. You ran your fingers through her hair, gently tugging on the curls to spur her on.

“I’ve wanted you since that first night we went dancing,” Her fingers began circling your clit and you whined. “When that guy thought we were girlfriends, it sounded good.”

Layla paused, her mouth leaving you, and you bucked your hips searching for any kind of contact again. “You should’ve told me then, we could’ve done this sooner.”

“Well, fuck, Layla, I didn’t know it was that easy.” You said sarcastically, making her laugh. Her eyes were practically sparkling when she asked, “Do you want my fingers inside you?”

“Yes.” You said breathlessly. “Please.”

“So polite,” Layla’s voice sounded like something out of a dream. She watched, entranced, as her fingers sunk into your cunt. “You’re always so sweet to me.” She could feel you squeezing around her fingers as she spoke. “You like that? Hearing me talk?”

“I like everything you do with your mou-” Your words failed you when she curled her fingers into you, reaching a spot that had you seeing stars.

She put her lips back to your clit, licking and sucking in time with the way her fingers stretched you open. Your legs began to shake around her and she used her free hand to hold you in place.

Layla put her hands on your hips and dug her nails into your skin as she fucked you with her tongue, making you whine out her name. Your hips bucked involuntarily and you felt like your body was on fire. You started thrusting upward, shamelessly grinding up against Layla’s face to get more pressure.

“Easy, honey,” Layla’s voice was silky smooth. “All you have to do is tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“More,” You blurted out. “Harder.”

Layla laid down next to you and pulled you on top of her. She grabbed your waist and urged you forward until your cunt was just above her face. You could feel her warm breath every time she exhaled and you knew you must have been dripping wet. “Go as hard as you want.” You hesitated for a moment, and Layla noticed. “Go on.” She said, wrapping her arms around your thighs and gently encouraging you to sink down onto her.

You gasped when you felt her tongue on you again. She moaned into you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body. You began to grind down onto her face until you found the perfect angle that had her nose rubbing against your clit. “Oh fuck.” You spoke through gritted teeth. “Layla, I’m not gonna mmph-” She dragged her nails down your back and you let out a low moan. “I’m gonna cum.” Layla hummed in response, and you almost lost it when you looked down at her. Her eyes were trained on you and she was looking at you like this was her whole purpose in life. With a cry, you started moving your hips faster, seeking the high that was almost within reach. You felt tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, and then-

Nothing.

Layla lifted you off her and you whined at the loss of contact. She leaned over and reached into one of the drawers on the dresser next to your bed. Your cheeks warmed when you realized what she was looking for. “Don’t you want to finish with me?” She smiled mischievously at you, your vibrator in hand.

“That- that would be,” You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Good.”

Her laugh was music to your ears. She clicked the vibrator on and placed it between the two of you before pulling you close.

“Hi,” You had a goofy grin on your face and you felt shy, even though you’d been riding Layla’s face a few moments ago.

“Hey.” Layla’s smile was just as silly. You placed both hands at her jaw and kissed her; you could taste yourself on her. You gently sucked on her lower lip and you could feel her smiling.

Layla closed the distance between you so that vibrator was pressed up against both of you, you both moaned. Your legs began to shake as you watched her grind against the vibrator and you.

You noticed the sweat beading at her forehead, the way her arms had started to tremble. Then she met your gaze. “Are you gonna cum, baby?” She said in a teasing tone. “It feels like you’re getting close.”

And that sent you over the edge. You wrapped your arms around her waist tightly, increasing the pressure of the vibrator against the two of you. Layla let out a cry of surprise, and then of pleasure.

The look on her face as she came was almost enough to make you orgasm all over again. The two of you sat there quietly for a moment, holding onto each other until you caught your breath. You smiled at Layla warmly before going to wipe yourself off and get a warm washcloth for her. You returned seconds later and began gently cleaning her up.

“So,” You broke the silence. “Would now be a good time to tell you that I kind of have a crush on you?”

“Oh my god,” Layla rolled her eyes and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “Really? No way.”

“Yes way! Wanna meet up after school and hug?”

She laughed and paused for a moment, before saying “I love you.” She leaned forward slightly and let her forehead rest against yours. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

You blushed. “I think I’ve probably loved you forever.”

“Silly, you haven’t known me forever.”

“Feels like it.”

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

hiiii, i sent in that tomboy reader request awhile back and absolutely loved it! thank you!!

also have another idea if you’re up to it:) eddie goes to get a tattoo done by a new artist at the shop and he instantly develops a crush on her and comes in as much as possible just to see her.

again, love your writing and no problem if you can’t get to this! hope you’re having a good day/night!!<3

hello again 🥰🥰 I’m gonna be honest, this is such a cute concept and i NEEDED to write a fic for it 👀 it’s also been a hot minute since i’ve gotten a tattoo so i hope i remember how all the set up and things are done 😅 i don’t love the ending on this one but i usually never like the ending i make up for the fic requests i get :p

Fresh Ink

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :p

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @hellfirewh0re @paola-carter @whiplaaaaaaaaash @ladyapplejackdnd @thatlonelypieceoftoast @efvyqrs @tayhar811 @wistfulwisteriawitch @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

Words- 3.3k

Just recently, you’ve finished up your apprenticeship at the local tattoo shop in Hawkins.

Months and months of having to tattoo countless couples names onto each other, tribal armbands onto guys who insisted they were tougher than they actually were, and every now and then you’d get something interesting like colorful flowers, bugs, or portraits and you were finally able to have your own clients and your own set up in the shop.

It was nice to be able to make your own space in the shop, filling your room with different band posters, incense, and little figures to really make the room yours. Not to mention all the new people you were able to meet working in the shop. Though there was one person in particular who really caught your eye.

He had come into the shop to get a tattoo done by your boss a few months back, a few bats on his outer forearm, and you were able to watch the whole time as your boss worked.

His name was Eddie, and you didn’t know very much about him, but you could tell from his aesthetic that he was probably into the same things that you were. Metal, horror movies, etc, and the few times you’ve been able to talk with him he seemed pretty nice, a bit shy, but nice.

As soon as he found out that your apprenticeship was over he started coming to you for all of his tattoos, and each one of them was always so interesting. A dragon on the back of his arm, a black widow on his collarbone, a hand controlling a demon puppet on his inner arm. And each time he was in your chair he seemed to take them pretty well too, no complaining, no crying, he winced every once in a while but that was natural for anyone getting a tattoo, and it was rare for him to ask for a break. Come to think of it, it was pretty rare for him yo say much of anything to you without you having to initiate the conversation first.

You figured it was just due to him being shy, when he came into the shop for the first time he acted exactly the same and you just assumed that’s how he was around everyone. Though you had to admit, it was pretty cute how shy he was, especially since he really didn’t seem like he was the shy type. But still, he was really the only ‘regular’ client you had, and you weren’t complaining about it.

Each time he came in you were always able to learn something new about him. He listened to the same music as you, loved all the same movies, and it was cute to know that he was a bit nerdy too since he told you all about DnD and Lord of the Rings. He was cute, but still, he was only a client.

Since you were still newly out of your apprenticeship, you didn’t get many appointments by request unless they were Eddie, and when you came up to the front desk to check your books you smiled as soon as you saw his name and the time for his appointment.

Your boss approached behind you and saw Eddie’s name written on the books and looked over to you,

“He’s coming in again? Isn’t that his third time in the last two months?”

“Looks like it. I don’t know, maybe he just likes how i tattoo, i’m the only person he comes in to see anymore.”

“You know, if i’m not mistaken, i think that boys got a little crush on you.” He nudged your arm and you laughed.

“He does not have a crush on me! He just likes my work, it’s not my fault he likes me better than you!” You nudged him back and checked his appointment time once again.

12:30.

“He should be here soon, i’m gonna go set up.”

“You want me to give you two some alone time?” Your boss called after you as you made your way back to your room.

You laughed and gave him the finger before walking into your room, grabbing the normal things you needed. Paper towels, caps, and you got your machine all ready to start as quickly as you possibly could after you got the stencil on.

You put a cassette tape into the stereo for some background noise as you waited and pulled out your flash books just in case he decided to pick one of those, though usually he always had something in mind for what he planned on getting.

You looked up from your set up and smiled as you heard the little bell on the door ring.

As soon as Eddie saw you he smiled, and you thought you could see the slightest tint of pink on his cheeks as soon as you approached him.

“Hello again,” You said as you looked up to him, “i didn’t think you’d be coming in so soon, is that last one even healed yet?”

“Sure is,” He lifted up the sleeve on his shirt and showed you your most recent work on him, the demon being controlled by puppet strings on his arm, “I wanted to make sure it was healed before i got another one.”

You giggled and led him back into your room, closing the door behind you to make sure your boss didn’t decide to walk in and interrupt your work,

“Seems like you just can’t stop getting them. What’re you thinking for this time?”

You sat in your chair and Eddie sat himself onto the black leather seat,

“There was actually one i saw in one of your flash books the last time i came in…” He grabbed the black binder in front of him and started flipping through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. It was a demon head, black and white with a bit of red in the eyes and on the mouth to look like blood. Definitely something that would fit Eddie,

“This one!” He held out the book to you and pointed it out, “I want this exact tattoo, same size, same color, same everything, and i wanted to get it right here on my chest.” He used his hand and showed you the exact spot he wanted it, right over his heart.

You smiled and took the book from him, taking the page out of the book before placing it back into its spot on your desk,

“Awesome! I’ve been dying to do this one, let me go make the stencil.” You said with a smile before walking out of your room and making your way over to the stencil machine.

Eddie took a deep breath as he sat there in the leather seat, looking around your room at the different things scattered all over the walls, smiling as he saw a few pictures of your previous work including one of the dragon on his arm. He loved getting to come in and see you, especially since every time he left he always had some new ink to show off.

The first time he came into the shop was to get his very first tattoo, the bats your boss did on his arm, and needless to say he was pretty surprised to see that there was a girl there.

He came in a few weeks prior just to meet up with your boss and tell him exactly what he wanted, and it was during those few weeks of waiting that you came in and started your apprenticeship. He wasn’t going to complain, who would? A pretty girl watching you get tattooed felt like a dream to him but for some reason he could barely say more than a few words to you without stuttering.

Eddie wasn’t shy, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t talked to girls before, but there was something about you that made him so nervous and so flustered that he just couldn’t help but stutter. Over the last few visits he’s gotten better with talking to you, i mean he’d be sitting in your chair for up to a few hours so he figured he had to get better at talking to you.

But he had found that as the two of you got to know each other better every time he was in your chair, his little crush soon turned into sweaty palms and deeper breaths every time your fingers brushed over his skin as you tattooed. As hard as he tried to, he just couldn’t get you out of his mind, and even noticed little quirks you did every time you tattooed. You squinted when you had to do a particularly thin line, you would lean in close and move the tattoo machine just a little slower than normal to make sure it looked perfect, and he noticed that when you were trying to focus your tongue would gently poke out between your lips just like he did. Little things here and there that still made his heart flutter.

His attention was pulled back to you as you made your way back into your room and closed the door behind you, showing him the stencil,

“How’s this? Need it any bigger?”

Eddie shook his head and looked up at you with a smile,

“It’s perfect.”

“Great! Alright, shirt off.”

He blushed and gently gripped the leather armrest in his hand,

“What?”

You giggled as you sat and put your black latex gloves on,

“I can’t do the tattoo over the shirt Eds.”

He laughed nervously and pulled his shirt up over his head, shaking out his hair as he laid it over his lap,

“Yeah, i guess you’re right. Sorry…”

You smiled at his nervousness, assuming it was just nerves from getting tattooed in a new spot,

“You alright? Nervous?”

He nodded and pursed his lips as you cleaned off the spot on his chest right over his heart, gently placing the stencil on and flattening it with your hand to make sure it was in just the right spot before slowly pulling off the thin paper, leaving the deep purple lines of the stencil still on his chest,

“You’ll be fine! You’ve been great all the other times i’ve had you in my chair,” You handed him a mirror, “how’s that?”

He smiled as he held the mirror and imagines how the tattoo would look once it was finished,

“Good.” He handed you back the mirror and you placed it back onto your desk as you filled the tiny plastic caps with black and red ink.

He was focused on everything around him, trying to not make it so obvious that his nerves weren’t from the tattoo, but from you being so close to him once again.

The way the leather moved as he adjusted himself up in his chair, the squeaks of the plastic wrap against the tray next to you and the clanking of the heavy machine in your hand.

You looked over to him once again and saw how he was fidgeting in the chair,

“You’re sure you’re ok? Need a break before we start?”

“Nope, i think i’m alright…” Eddie said with a smile.

You smiled back and moved your rolling chair up close to him, machine resting on the tray next to you as you made sure your set up was completely ready to start,

“If you say so… Here, try this,” You took the machine in one hand and turned it on to make sure it worked properly before dipping it into the black ink in the little plastic cap before you, your other hand taking Eddie’s and placing it gently onto your thigh, and the moment his hand touched you, you could feel it tense up, “It’s gonna be a different kind of pain than you’re used to, just squeeze if it starts to hurt too much and we’ll take a break alright?”

Eddie looked up to you and gave the soft flesh of your thigh a gentle squeeze,

“You’re sure? I mean i don’t want to do it too hard or anything, i don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh please, i’ll be fine,” You leaned forward and put one hand on his chest to keep him steady as the other brought the needle closer and closer, “I’m not made of glass. Ready?”

Eddie took a deep breath and nodded, and as the needle touched his skin, he carefully squeezed your leg.

“Fuck, that is a different kind of pain.”

You giggled as you slowly moved the needle over the outline, making sure that Eddie was keeping himself as still as he possibly could be as the needle dragged over his skin,

“Told you. But you’re taking it pretty well,” You removed the needle from his skin and wiped away the extra ink, dipping the needle back into the cap, “you’re usually pretty good in my chair, i think you’ll be fine.”

As you placed the needle back onto his chest, you made sure that each time you felt a light squeeze on your thigh you stopped to check and make sure Eddie was still alright. But each time, you noticed he started to relax himself in the chair, and though his grip on your thigh became softer he would still give it a light squeeze every few minutes.

Eddie wasn’t even focused on the pain of the tattoo anymore, the only thing going through his mind was the fact that you let him touch the soft skin of your thigh so easily. The spot that his hand was over moved every so often, memorizing all the little bumps and stretch marks that covered that area, and he just couldn’t help but squish and squeeze the soft flesh between his fingers.

The only time his mind went anywhere else was during the final touch ups of the tattoo, when you moved yourself closer and closer to him, making sure that each line and every detail was absolutely perfect.

The hand that was laid over his chest could feel his heart beat, and every time you moved just a bit closer to him or whenever he was about to give your thigh a squeeze you could feel his heart rate pick up ever so slightly.

Before he knew it, the tattoo was finished. And though he knew that it would’ve come to an end eventually, he didn’t plan on it coming so soon.

You sat back and admired your work, your eyes scanning over the lines on the sensitive skin of Eddie’s chest and gave it a few wipes to clean it up,

“All finished. What do you think?” You handed him the mirror once again and as he saw the tattoo on his chest he smiled.

“It looks fucking awesome (y/n), i cant wait for my next one.”

You giggled as you took the mirror back and placed a bandage over the fresh tattoo, wrapping it up with a bit of cling wrap to make sure the bandage wouldn’t move,

“Maybe you should let this one heal first before you plan the second one.”

“Nah, i’ll be fine. Like you said, i take them pretty well.”

You smiled and watched as he slipped his shirt back over his head, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed over the bandage on his chest.

“Well what do you think you want to get next time? I’m doing it right?”

“Oh absolutely, i don’t trust anyone else but you.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet,” You took your glove off and cleaned up your area before standing up and stretching, “but maybe you should wait a few weeks before getting another one, alright?”

“Yeah, i guess you’re right…” He stood there silently for a moment as you were cleaning up and as you looked up to him with a smile, he finally figured it was time to say what he really needed to, “Can i see you again? Like… before my text tattoo?”

You looked over to him and saw him rocking back and forth on his heels and the gentle blush across his face told you all you needed to hear,

“Are you asking me out Eddie?”

“I mean if you want to call it asking you out then yeah, but if not then i mean we can just hang out or something if you want to, but i don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything so i’m sorry if i crossed a line, i just think you’re really pretty and we get along pretty well so maybe-“

“Eddie!” He was snapped out of his quick trance by the sound of your voice, “You’re rambling,” You said with a giggle before approaching him and giving him and gentle kiss on the cheek, “and that’s really sweet, but i don’t think i should date my clients, you know?”

He nodded, and though he was upset at your answer, he understood and wasn’t about to make you do something you didn’t want to. He was just happy to still be your friend.

You led him out of your room and up to the front desk for him to pay and as you went behind the desk you checked your books once again, seeing that even before this appointment, Eddie had another one set up for a few weeks from now.

“You made two appointments? What happened to letting them heal before you go new ones?” You said with a giggle.

“What can i say, i like your work,” He took out his wallet and sifted through the few bills he had, “how much do i owe you.”

“It’s gonna be $200 this time.”

He took a few $20s out and handed them to you before taking another $100 out,

“Here, keep the rest.”

“$100? For a tip? Eddie you don’t have to give me that much!”

“Please, i’m insisting you take it, i really do love your work. Plus it’s a good excuse to come in and see you.” He said with a smile.

You smiled back and felt a gentle blush creep over your cheeks.

Though you had to see him as just a client, he was sweet. He was cute, and funny, and you got along fairly well, and to be honest you were even a bit upset to turn down his offer for a date.

You thought it over for a moment and you figured it wouldn’t be so bad to go on one date with him. And even if it didn’t turn out as well as you thought it would, you still knew that he was a sweet guy, and you wouldn’t be losing a client either if he liked your work that much.

He waved to you as he went to exit the shop but you quickly ran around the desk to grab his arm,

“Wait! When are you free this week?”

“This week?” Your question caught him a bit off guard, “Um… I think i’m free this weekend, Saturday i’m pretty sure, why?”

“Good!” You leaned up and gave him one more kiss on the cheek, “I’m off work that day. Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 is playing at the drive in and you’re taking me.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say, only nodding quickly with a big smile on his face, light pink at his cheeks,

“Saturday… Saturday! Yes, awesome, saturday, i’ll totally take you. I’ll pick you up at 6?”

“That sounds perfect! I’ll see you then!”

You waved to him as he exited the shop and smiled to yourself, thinking about how excited it was to actually be going out on a date with Eddie.

You had thought back on all the times he had come into the shop before. How shy he always was, how flustered he got around you, how kind and patient he was with each new tattoo you gave him.

He was perfect for you.

[nonalie]

Is This What You Wanted: Part 4 | Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You are wed to Aemond Targaryen, but you swore to yourself that you would never love him. Inspired by the song Is This What You Wanted, by The Last Shadow Puppets (and ofc episode 8 of House of the Dragon!)

Words: 2.5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

AO3

A/N: Part 4 is finally here, I apologize for the delay! I’m gonna be writing daily for NaNoWriMo through the entirety of November so expect more updates weekly (I have some ideas for one-shots)! Thank you so much for reading!!!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Relaxing on a pile of pillows on the ground, you warmed the soles of your now bare feet close to the dying fire. Uncomfortable shoes scattered across the room when you managed to lose them somehow as you were walking across the chamber, and the decorative headpiece discarded, slowly falling off the back of a nearby chair. The only sounds that seemed to echo through the now dormant castle was your laughter, amplified by the goblet of wine that had been filled and refilled multiple times over the past few hours.

Aemond stood up from his spot next to you, and you watched the pillows that had sunken into the stone floor under his weight slowly start to rise again. The fire roared up into the chimney as he added an extra two logs, wiping his hands on his trousers to clean off the shavings. He picked up the almost empty flagon of wine before making his way back over to you.

You reached your arm out to accept the wine being poured into your goblet, then waited for him to sit back down.

“Oh—oh,” you jumped up from your spot on the ground. “Do you remember when Helaena found that green beetle that couldn’t fly and Ser Criston stepped on it? I never heard her shout at someone like that before.”

“Good,” he smirked. “He deserves to be told off.”

Wine spilled over the edge of your goblet as you laughed loudly, causing you to gasp, but then switched back to laughter once more when you saw that Aemond still had the smirk on his face. You placed the goblet down momentarily and wiped your fingers on your gown, not worrying about stains since both were the same shade of red.

Refilling your cup once again, the flagon now empty, Aemond leaned over until both of your goblets were within an inch of each other.

“To our successful marriage,” he said. “And to my beautiful wife.”

“Thank you, my Prince.” You felt your cheeks redden as you clinked your goblet against his.

“Princess,” he said and put the goblet up to his lips.

You tried to hide the blush by bringing the goblet up to your lips, smiling as you sipped the maroon liquid.

The silence was calming as you both drank your wine. The fire crackled next to you, and the soft sounds of the city entered your ears. Aemond’s chamber faced the majority of the city of King’s Landing, and you heard the distant sounds of music echoing through the sandstone streets.

“Sounds like we're not the only ones celebrating tonight.” You instinctively turned your head towards the open windows as Aemond spoke. Feeling him shift next to you, you turned back around to see him standing up, his hand extended outwards. “Come on,” he said. “I'm sure we can do much better this time.”

You cringed slightly at his remark, remembering how you stepped on his toes not once but three times during your first dance. “I'm not the one who didn’t remember the steps,” you joked back but accepted his hand anyway.

Aemond led you closer towards the open window. While the sounds of the city were louder here, you still tried to stay as silent as possible just to be able to hear the music. Pulling you closer towards him this time, you felt his grip on your right hand tighten momentarily before he started moving. He had no problems remembering the steps this time as he delicately maneuvered you around the room, and you were able to avoid his toes without having to look down. The music outside started to quicken, and he obliged, spinning you around faster and making you giggle as you relished in him leading the dance. It made you wonder if his talents came from his expert swordsmanship; that was similar to dancing, right?

Though your thoughts of his elegance and poise made you lose your own balance, and on the third spin in the sequence, your back suddenly hit his chest, the impact causing you to take a quick breath. But before you could turn around to apologize, you realized that his arms had firmly encircled you.

The music still played outside but you could barely hear it over the beating of your own heart that echoed in your ears. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he angled his head down towards you, and for a second you thought that maybe it wasn’t your own heart beating that you could hear, but his own. Leaning your head back further against his chest, you looked up through your lashes to see how close he was. His eye was closed, and you felt his breath against your parted lips now.

You hovered there for what felt like an eternity, lips barely a centimeter from each other, before he slowly started moving again.

The music playing outside did not matter anymore as the two of you were now dancing to your own melody. Swaying gently along with the breeze that entered the chamber through the open window, your back was still up against his chest, and you were sure now that you could feel his heart beating through the soft black fabric of his shirt.

You finally turned to face him after some time. His eye now open and staring deep into yours, you continued to dance as the wind picked up. You heard the fire crackle as it hit the stones surrounding it, and the same gust of wind lifted the bottom hem of your skirts. A shiver ran through you, and you instinctively moved closer towards Aemond’s body, tightening your grip on his shoulder.

“Are you cold, My Lady?” A small smile decorated the corners of his lips.

“Yes, My Prince,” you responded. “The wind seems to have picked up.”

Aemond stopped moving, and you assumed he would step away from you. Releasing you from the warm embrace in order to walk towards the grand windows and close them. But instead he brought his hand up to your chin, still holding onto you with his other hand, and tilted your head back to look up at him. The smirk on his face never faltered as he looked lovingly into your eyes.

He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back—and then another, and another—until you felt yourself nearing the decorative half wall that separated his large oak bed from the rest of his chambers. He had dropped his hand from your chin by that point, but you were still looking up at him, not daring to break eye contact. At that moment you wanted to burn every inch of his face into your memory, as the look he was giving you was something that you had never seen before in anyone's eyes.

As you passed the threshold that divided the two rooms you instantly felt the cold wind cease. He led you backwards until you felt the solid oak hit the back of your legs, causing you to sit down at the foot of the bed.

The heavy black and red curtains that decorated the four poster bed were tied to the posts intricately, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he would close them for what happens next. You wondered if he would prefer to shroud the both of you in darkness, or if he’d rather look upon your face; a part of you wishing it was the latter.

His hand ventured across the side of your face, caressing your cheek before dropping back down to where the three clasps held your shawl in place. He unfastened each individual clasp slowly, not breaking eye contact. But you noticed that the smirk was now completely gone, replaced by a similar look to the one he gave you before he kissed you earlier that night. As soon as the third clasp was released, the shawl slipped from your frame and onto the feather mattress.

“Stand up.” Aemond commanded as he reached his hand out towards you once again. Obeying, you stood from your spot on the bed, not wanting to challenge the look that he was giving you. Your bare shoulders hit the cold air as you rose, and you watched as his good eye scanned down the length of your body, only now being able to truly take in the intricacy of your gown.

“Do you like the gown I chose, My Prince?” You asked.

His piercing blue eye shot back up to your face. “Yes,” he said. The smirk appearing again as he leaned down to your ear. “But what interests me more is how long it will take for me to remove it.”

There was no way to hide the deep red blush that instantly spread across your face this time, and he made sure of that. As soon as you tried to drop your head, his hand went to the side of your face, running his thumb over the redness on your cheek.

“My Lady,” he waited to continue speaking until you looked up at him. “Do you know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night?” He asked gently.

You nodded your head quickly, muttered a quiet ‘yes,’ and attempted to turn your face away again, but he stopped you.

He tucked a stray hair behind your ear carefully before speaking again, his words falling to a whisper. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

You looked back up into his eye. “I know.” Your voice sounded, barely a whisper too.

But that was all that he needed, and soon both of his hands dropped down to the ties on the front of your gown. He pulled on the ornate ribbons, releasing them slowly, and watching as the silky fabric began to slide off your shoulders, before it finally slipped to the ground, revealing the pearl white gown underneath. One hand caressing your face as he slipped the other hand in between both of you, weaving his fingers through the thin white cord which held the gown tight to your body. You felt it loosen with every tug until he pulled his hand away completely, holding the cord in his hand, now separated from the fabric. The last thing holding the soft tulle to your body was the red ribbon at the nape of your neck.

Taking one last look at you, Aemond leaned down and smashed his lips to yours. You felt his fingers pull on the ribbon, and soon after felt your gown pooling at your feet.

Deepening the kiss, a sigh escaped your lips as you reached up to run your fingers through his long white hair.

• • • • • •

The flickering candlelights of darkness were replaced by a soft warm hue that glowed on the outside of your eyelids. Peeling open your eyes, you realized that the warmth you felt on your face was actually the light of the morning sun entering through the still open eastern windows.

You looked around to find that you were laying down in an unfamiliar chamber, the light of the candles on the walls still quivering, melted almost entirely down to the metal spike holding them up. Blinded by the light, your attempt to take in your surroundings through blurry vision was thwarted. Shifting over slightly, you pulled the heavy covers up and over your eyes, trying your best to recall why exactly you were waking up in a strange bed.

Then the memories of the night before slowly started flooding back in, and the other party responsible for you waking up in the dragon’s den stirred beside you.

You were nervous to turn around, unsure if he was awake yet or not. And to be honest, you didn’t know which you would prefer. But you were starting to lose oxygen hiding your face under the covers, and you knew you’d have to come out sooner or later.

Peeling back the heavy sheet covering your face, you slowly moved it down to your nose—then down even further to your chin. Slowly turning your head over to the side once you felt him stop moving.

Aemond was splayed out next to you on his stomach, arm span covering at least two thirds of the bed. Only then you realized that you were cuddled up right on the edge. His white hair seemed to have wrapped its long strands across his face and neck, the hair by his nose gently lifting up and down to signify that he was in fact still breathing. You noticed that the black eyepatch was missing from his eye, but the left side of his face was buried deep in the pillow. He must have removed it at some point in the night.

Turning around to face him, you noticed that the calmness of sleep on his face erased all the signs of stress and tension that normally resided there. Reluctantly, you reached out your hand to move the stray hairs away, but as soon as your fingertips brushed over his cheek, he awoke with a start. Jumping up from where his face was planted in the pillow, he turned the left side of his face quickly away from you. But you had caught a glimpse of the blue sapphire that resided in the empty gap of where his left eye used to be, reflecting blue in the sunlight that was hitting the both of you.

“Please.” Sitting up, you reached out your hand toward him. “It doesn’t frighten me, Aemond.”

You watched him take a deep breath, and you realized how long it’s been since you’ve actually called him by his name. He closed his right eye, and turned slowly towards you, the sapphire catching the light once again. Placing your hand on his cheek just as you did the night before, you thought you could feel the deep blue color burning into your own eyes, reflecting the color back to him.

“You don’t frighten me, Aemond.” You said as soon as you saw his right eye look up at you.

You felt his jaw clench under your palm, and this time you leaned in to kiss him. The awkward positions of your bodies forcing you to adjust yourself until you were almost sitting on his lap, causing the heavy covers to drop from the tight cocoon against you. You weren’t expecting the chill that suddenly hit your body, reaching down with your other hand to lift the covers back up. But Aemond’s hand grabbed your wrist.

You felt the blush forming on your cheeks when Aemond’s eyes dropped down to scan over your body. The smirk that you had missed for the past few hours creeping up to the corners of his lips yet again.

“I don’t think anyone will be expecting us at breakfast.” Aemond said before leaning back into the kiss.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist: @tea-effect ; @missusnora ; @tachibubu ; @moonmaiden1996 ; @harrylines ; @nomugglesallowed ; @dragonismo ; @makaramosss ; @ephemeralninon ; @m1ndbrand ; @kyrieshoka ; @criesinsagitarius ; @tswiftsthings ; @merakiaes ; @betelrus ; @schnilipsel ; @fultimefangirl ; @rainazinha ; @elegantwoes ; @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz ; @cullenswife

[white-weasel]

Saw IV and V thoughts after my Saw Saturday movie viewing experience last night:

Really glad we got some new characters introduced into the series. It breathed a lot of life into things I feel like

Finally got to meet Hoffman and Strahm let’s gooooo! I knew that these were popular characters and honestly they did not disappoint

I cannot believe that John Kramer ate a fucking tape before dying. My friend and I were discussing how he did that so cleanly without gagging or choking and our only explanation is that he’s a throat goat

Rigg’s whole trial was rough man, but it was actually very interesting. Basically “You’re obsessed with saving everyone, so the only way you can win this gauntlet (and save your friends) is to let it go.” I think that this series of traps was MUCH more well done than the series of traps Jeff went through in 3 and they also did each feel like they were testing different aspects of the same “sin” so to speak.

Favorite of those trial traps was probably the one with the husband and wife and them being impaled. I thought it was clever in its theme and its conceit. Sometimes I look at some of these saw traps and go “okay so somebody just thought of the most fucked up thing they could for the shock value” but this was not one of those so I enjoyed that

The iceblock trap though? Amazing idea and execution on that shit. Just the concept of a melting block of ice slowly hanging someone while that melted ice water fills a pool that will eventually touch another person, thereby electrocuting them because there’s a current running through the pool? Very very cool. Plus the added mechanism that kills you if someone (Rigg) walks through the door. Very scary but very good

The puppet still makes me laugh. Him just sitting on the chair before (unfortunately) blowing up at Perez got me. My friend is convinced that I need a little Saw puppet for my apartment now, though I think having the actual thing and seeing it irl might freak me out

Not sure I *needed* to learn more about John’s past before his diagnosis and his descent into becoming Jigsaw, but I also didn’t absolutely hate it. I liked getting to see his ex wife at least and get an insight into his interpersonal relationships

I’m 50/50 split if I like John’s first victim being someone who personally wronged him and ruined his life. On the one hand, I think it does great to kinda show his own hypocrisy in all of this. He says it’s not emotional and these traps are meant to save his victims, and he does at least give him a way out, it did not seem like he really wanted to reform him and that’s interesting to me. On the other hand, I don’t think the movie presents this action or putting him in the trap this way so??? Yeah

My new motto for these movies is “If I don’t see you get murked on screen, you’re still alive somewhere.” Because I was *positive* Eric was dead before they revealed him, but, well, he’s certainly dead now I guess lol

The reveal this movie that it was all taking place at the same time as 3 and that Hoffman is Jigsaw’s apprentice was amazing. Absolutely brilliant, no notes at all

I really liked how Saw 4 and 5 basically felt like a TV show in that they were very obviously meant to be viewed together/feel like one continuous story. I’m assuming that production wise the studio knew that they had 4 and 5 guaranteed so they could leave some stuff for the next movie which I appreciated

(I’m assuming they knew they were at least getting a 6 too because we didn’t get any answers for what was in that box Jill got 👀)

Hoffman carrying that little girl out of the warehouse and being like “We were the only survivors :((“ only for Strahm to get wheeled out on the gurney literally seconds afterwards was so funny

Speaking of, I can’t believe Hoffman didn’t take Strahm’s pen from out of his pocket during the water cube trap. He took all his other stuff but it’s weird he overlooked that. Granted, I doubt that he knew that Strahm would perform a tracheotomy on himself but wow

I liked the backstory we got with Hoffman and how he came to know Jigsaw. The idea of a copycat killer designing his own “trap” but it really just being a way to murder someone he wants revenge on was marvelous. Then the whole part with John kidnapping him and teaching him his ways was also cool

(Hoffman tied up with the shotgun nestled right underneath his neck? Unfortunately kinda hot)

The trap gauntlet for the five people was fine. The first trap I was like “oh my god he’s telling you to all work together! Just go get your keys one by one or have someone get their key, unlock, and then get the next person’s after they’re unlocked” at least for that one though I can see why they panicked. The second one they had no excuses lol I literally said out loud “you can definitely fit at least two people in a cubby hole”. That one seemed sooo obvious, too obvious to at least not give it a try. I didn’t totally hate the set up though, just moreso me getting mad at horror movie characters lmao

And I get Hoffstrahm now lmao. Saw IV I was like “? They barely interacted what’s this?” And then we got the whole cat and mouse game in Saw V and went “Oh yup. There it is. Theres the dynamic.” Especially with the whole glass coffin bit at the end

Speaking of the glass coffin I loved that scene. Just the wasy Strahm shoves Hoffman into the coffin and you can see Hoffman start to gloat and taunt Strahm from behind the glass because he’s sealed his own fate? Amazing. No notes. I did have to look away at the end of the trap though because watching the Saw movies has taught me I cannot handle broken bones, especially when they are very prominent. As soon as I saw Strahm start pushing on the walls I went “I know where this is going” and dutifully turned my head away

Anyways Hoffman is an interesting new antagonist! I’m curious what’s gonna happen next in this little murder soap opera. Honestly, I hope that Agent Perez gets out of the hospital and fucks up Hoffman. She finds out that Strahm is supposedly Jigsaw, goes “wtf no I could never believe that” and starts trying to pursue the real killer

Current Saw movie ranking (giving this because I gave it to my friend after discussing Saw V and my thoughts on the franchise overall)

Saw (The og and the goat, don’t think anything will really topple this one. I was glued to the screen the entire time and loved how this one really focused on Adam and Lawrence, the people in the trap, rather than the killer himself. I feel a lot of future installments lack compelling trap victims which is kinda a shame)

Saw V (I liked the story of Hoffman in this and the cat and mouse between Hoffman and Strahm a lot)

Saw IV (This was a really well done trap gauntlet for the main portion of the plot and the ending reveal was so awesome. Lots of adrenaline pumping for this one, but it did get lowered because I’m still meh on a lot of the John Kramer additional backstory stuff atm)

Saw II (Saw II gave me so many issues ranking it because the final reveal was PHENOMENAL but the main game portion didn’t always work for me. I did like the idea of Eric’s game of just having to wait out the clock but I kinda count that as being a part of the final reveal and thus it can’t elevate the whole movie. There’s potential this and Saw IV could flip flop depending on my moods. This one just has higher highs but lower lows for me)

Saw III (I liked Amanda getting tested and the whole ending with the chain reaction of violence/death, but that’s about it. The main traps in this game did not do it for me, nor did the story connecting those traps. This one also just really felt that they needed to escalate the traps for escalation’s sake rather than to tell a compelling story, which I know is probably a dumb complaint for the gory trap horror franchise but idk I just didn’t like it)

[alchemistdetective]

It was that dream again. 

Crescent reliving one of the many different operations she went on with the rest of her team, one without really anything special to it, so the finer details of it having been forgotten to time. 

The people she saw outside of her own squad lacked detail to them, just vague humanoid shapes with hair and generic mix match of facial features of what they possibly could look like.

After all Crescent was trained to not really care about the people she had to fight on her missions, so why would her memories of them be better? 

Towards the end of the operation the fighting had ended and all that was left was the clean up, Crescent finding a girl huddling against a wall hoping not to be noticed. 

The orders were clear. No one here could be left alive, so Crescent knew what she had do to, raising up her weapon with her finger on the trigger. 

Just then, another girl came running in shielding the former with her body, she could of been an older sister, or a mother, or just a close friend, 

Crescent never really knew that detail, as she just knew she would have to eliminate both of them now, despite the pleas from the later girl not to, The fairy would start to squeeze her finger but stopped, looking at the girl once more.

But… unlike other times with this same dream or even with the other people in this same dream, the details of this girl shielding the other were much clearer. 

Long blonde hair that went past her shoulders that was in a bit of a messy state but still looking clean.

Her blue eyes looking directly at Crescent as the familiar voice was pleading with her to just let her go. 

She didn’t have to do this as tears were welling up in her eyes. 

No… it couldn’t be. Why is it her face? 

Why this time? Why now? 

Crescent’s knew her orders, she had to shoot, but the wavering of her finger made it hard to squeeze the trigger, making the thoughts of having to do this to her linger, making it harder to do what she had to do. 

—

“Aww, what’s wrong, Clementia? Getting cold feet again? What, couldn’t just put a simple bullet on someone’s head?“

“You…”

“Helia. We talked about this many times before. Clementia’s role in our team is to disarm and pick off important targets. Killing eyewitnesses and gathering materials from villages is our job.”

“Hee hee… You spoil her too much, Oberon. This isn’t her first, or second, or tenth expedition with us. If she’s not going to learn, then when? “

“… Do what you want. Let’s go, Nidhogg. We’re taking the other side.”

And with that comment, the Summoner took her wyvern and flew away, leaving behind just the pink fairy, and the blonde.

“…“

Biting her own lip, the hell fairy looked at her colleague, then looked at her terrified victim. Gun at the ready.

Her fingers were shaking. All she need was just pull the trigger, but… it felt heavy. Extremely so.

The one named ‘Clementia’ couldn’t break away from looking at her victim in the eyes. Filled with fear, begging for her to stop…

She knows this girl. But… she couldn’t think of her name. 

It was… L… Li…

“Tskm useless. You hesitate too much. Your fingers should be quick, just like an artist drawing a stroke on a piece of paper. You want to give them mercy? Finish it without them feeling pain.”

“Like this.”

“LILY!”

CRACK!

“A…Ah…”

All Helia did was move her fingers, and the girl’s neck snapped.

The girl muttered a single word as she fell, tears rolling down her eyes.

“… Why?”

And just like a puppet, she was discarded… right in front of the sniper’s eyes.

~*~

“Ha!… Ha… haa…”

Waking up, the girl was drenched in sweat, heart racing and trying to catch her breath. Her vision was blury, her chest hurts…

That familiar dream yet again… She was all too familiar with it, and yet, Crescent could never get used to it.

“I… haven’t had that dream for a while. But…“

… 

Best not think about it too much. What… time was it?

3:48 AM.

… Barely enough sleep. She only slept for about 2 hours. Maybe she worked a bit too hard yesterday.

…

Might as well try sleeping one more time, and pray she doesn’t dream that again.

It’s the only thing she could do right now.

[separatist-apologist]

Cruel Summer

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Summary: It was supposed to be a summer trip around Europe before Elain Archeron settled into life as a post-grad. It was supposed to be nothing more than a 2,000 year old wall built by a long dead Roman Emperor. It was supposed to be fun.

So why is Elain Archeron trapped in a strange world filled to the brim with magic and men in masks who refuse to let her leave? Something isn't right and Elain is determined to get to the bottom of her accidental shift in the world.

Or die trying.

Outlander-ish IDK you know what you're getting from me at this point just come inside.

Chapter 4: Meet Me In The Pouring Rain

Read more: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | AO3

What happened next was a blur. She remembered hands on her body, pulling her upwards. Their concerned faces melted into each other until they were nothing. She didn’t know when she stopped screaming and became mute. Maybe when the ambulance arrived and the man who stepped out, unmasked, with his regular features, peered at her and said, “I recognize you.”

She was taken to a hospital and poked and prodded and fussed over. Dehydrated and traumatized, a doctor had announced, not to her but a police officer guarding her. They had questions. 

Who took you?

Where did you come from? 

Where were you?

Can you remember anything?

It went on for years—or maybe hours—before a harried, furious Nesta stormed into the room and shooed them all out. Feyre was just behind, still wearing her paint splattered overalls while Nesta looked as if she’d run from a courtroom. Perhaps she had. Feyre had curled up in the hospital bed with Elain, pleading for her to tell them where she’d been. 

Six months. 

We thought you were dead. 

Just tell us something—anything.

Elain said nothing. Every time she closed her eyes she saw it all like a blur. Andras, Bron, Hart. Tamlin and Lucien. Rhysand. Their magic, their bodies, their world. Mates. Elain let herself think the word only once, afraid she would break down in ugly, gasping sobs if she really let herself think about what happened to them. The fate awaiting them. 

Nesta took over, snapping and snarling at the police until they backed down. They all imagined her trapped in a basement somewhere, forced to do ugly, terrible things. Elain knew what they’d say if she ever told the truth, how they’d say she was crazy and lock her away. 

It was Feyre’s persistence that wore Elain down. Trapped in that little hospital flipping through the same six channels, Feyre murmured, “Harper said you disappeared from a village.” Elain turned her heavy eyes to her sister. 

“But they found your phone by Hadrian’s wall,” Feyre continued, her voice soft and without accusation. “It was like you dropped it. There was an investigation afterwards. Nesta paid for a private investigator when we got nowhere with the police…the tour guide said you got on the bus but never got back on. By the time we figured that out and found your phone, you’d been gone months. Did…did Harper cover for you, Elain? Did you run off? No one would be angry.” “No,” Elain finally managed. “I didn’t want to leave.”

That relieved Feyre. “Where were you, Lainey? Just…anything.”“Kidnapped,” she whispered, tears flooding her eyes. “I loved him.” Feyre hugged Elain but she didn’t understand. Stockholm Syndrome, they said. They looked for any place Elain could have been held and she knew they wouldn’t find it because it was gone. Lucien was gone. Their bond was an empty cavern in her chest, a gaping wound nothing would fix. Certainly not the anxiety medicine they’d pumped her with in order to get her on a plane. 

Chicago in winter was brutal. After six months of perpetual spring, the cold was a shock. Nesta and Feyre watched her carefully, bundling her against it. They shoved her in a cab and drove her to Nesta’s high rise downtown. 

She let them move around like a puppet, pushing her this way and that. Down frost covered sidewalks and into musty elevators before depositing her in a clean, neat bedroom that was all wrong. 

“Did you call him?” Feyre whispered, watching Elain stare at the Chicago skyline with unseeing eyes. A beat, and then, “She said she loved him.”

“He’s on his way.” He turned out to be Graysen, who arrived the next morning with a drawn, pale face and terrified eyes. “Elain,” he whispered, crossing the room and sinking to his knees. “Baby. You’re alive.”

He buried his face in her lap and wept while Nesta and Feyre kept watch. 

“What happened?”

Elain just stared. All wrong. His handsome face, his light brown hair tousled from the frigid air blowing of Lake Michigan, those soft brown eyes…Elain missed vivid red, the russet and gold, the fox mask…

“Talk to me,” Graysen pleaded but there was nothing to say. Elain turned back towards the sunlight until Gray stood, padding to her sisters.

“Maybe she needs a doctor–” “She needs quiet.” “She needs sleep and some peace. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.” “She looks so hollow.” “You should know…she said she fell in love with her captor. I think…I think she might be mourning him.” “What did they do to her?”

Gray came every morning with a sweet cream cold brew and a piece of lemon loaf. He didn’t dare ask her what happened again and instead caught her up on what she’d missed. Drama from college, couples who’d broken up or gotten together, the weddings she’d missed. He stayed for only an hour, sometimes showing her photos or amusing videos.

In the afternoon, Feyre came from class to talk about the art program she’d gotten into. Paris, Feyre said nervously. She’d spend the summer there, maybe longer if she loved it. Should I go? If I leave, will you be okay? 

At night it was Nesta shoving food in her hands and dragging her around the building she lived in. There was a gym—you love to run, remember— and a pool—get in the water, Elain—a grocery store—would you like to bake something—and a rooftop garden, dead for the winter. Everything was a memory. 

Andras jogging the well worn path over the grounds, upping the difficulty until she could keep up. Andras, his strange beast mask and his sandy blonde hair removed from his head. 

Tamlin, telling her the story of his parents in that pool of starlight and coaxing her in so she was forced to experience it. How he’d smiled, if only that once. Had been at peace.

Bron and Hart, following her about the garden, two burly warriors grinning ear to ear, happy to hold what she plucked from the garden. Listening as she explained the language of flowers so they might use them to woo women.

Lucien, in the kitchen, hovering over her as she guarded her lemon loaf. Shoving some in his mouth without meaning to, inadvertently cementing the now hollow bond between them. How she’d delighted in feeding him, jamming whatever she’d made against his lips until he opened, always amused, never angry. 

“What do you need, Elain?” Nesta begged during that first month. She had to be watched. Elain was too tempted to do something foolish, to take the elevator up fifty stories and step off that roof. To end it all and start over, to look for him in the next life. The only thing that stopped her was the hope she’d see him in this one. Somehow, some way. Elain would wait fifty years if she had to.

One month stretched to two, and then four, then six. Feyre was leaving and Elain had begun to unfurl herself from her grief. She had a routine again. She did her yoga in her room, eyes closed to listen to the quiet chatter of Hart and Bron asking if their form was improving. She took the elevator to the gym and ran, changing her course, her pace, her difficulty while imagining Andras’s pleasure. She’d leave for coffee after that before returning home. She’d begun watching television. It turned off her mind, let her lose herself in more acceptable way. She knew Nesta was relieved to see her doing something. 

Feyre came that last night with takeout and a demand. “I need to know what happened to you, Elain. You don’t have to tell me everything—” “You wouldn’t believe me,” Elain said quietly. Nesta, standing in the open kitchen behind the dining room, stilled.

“Try us,” Feyre murmured. “It can’t be worse than what the police are suggesting.” “They say you left on your own accord. That you were panicking about your marriage and ran off with some man,” Nesta added, leaving the glasses of wine on her marble countertop. Elain had never truly appreciated how beautiful Nesta’s apartment was, with its solid wall of glass, it’s open concept and it’s pretty sand and cream interior. All tastefully done as if it were created for a magazine spread. Nesta curled on the L-shaped couch opposite Feyre, resting her head on the back. 

“Harper said you vanished from the village at night but the last time your phone was on was two days before,” Feyre continued, laying the facts out for Elain. “And the tour driver said you never returned on the bus.” “If you ran off with someone, we won’t be angry—” “I didn’t,” Elain protested softly, hands twisting in her lap. “It’s crazy, it—” “Just tell us!” Feyre pleaded. “We spent months looking for your body and you turned up in a strange dress with pearls in your hair and you were screaming like your heart had been ripped from your body. No one saw you there. No coat, no injuries—” “It’s the wall,” Elain whispered. “It…” God, it sounded so crazy. She swallowed. “It’s a portal or something. I wasn’t kidnapped I was just gone.”

Feyre’s silvery blue eyes slid to Nesta. “A portal?” “I’m not crazy,” Elain whispered. Nesta rose from her spot on the couch and walked to her room, bare feet slapping against the hardwood. A moment later she returned with a garment bag—Elain’s dress and shoes. 

“When you got back, I had these shipped off for testing. I thought maybe there would be DNA or a manufacturer or anything that could explain where you’d been. They told me they’d never seen anything like it. No idea what it was made of. Couldn’t say where it came from. No time period, no known fiber…just you in a strange dress wandering the English countryside unharmed.” “Because I was somewhere else,” Elain said again. 

“Tell me,” Feyre all but ordered. “Just tell me all of it. I don’t care how crazy it sounds. Tell me from the beginning, Elain. I need to know.” And Elain did. She told them every moment she remembered, every escape attempt, the men she’d befriended, the curse she’d tried to help break. Of Lucien, her soulmate trapped in this other world, bound to a mask and how much she’d loved him in the end. How maybe she’d loved him the entire time. How he was probably dead, now. 

And at the end, Feyre and Nesta were curled beside her. Feyre said the only thing Elain had wanted to hear since she returned home.

“I believe you.”

~*~

Lucien had expected to feel pain. He had braced himself for the empty end of the bond, the darkness of Elain he’d always be looking for. Could have lived an eternity that way, always tugging against nothing. Maybe she might have felt it too. The hope would have sustained him.

He hadn’t been prepared for the shredding threads and the violent break or the agony that followed. There was nothing where life had once been and Lucien could not stand it. Trapped beneath the mountain, Lucien was tempted to claw at his skin to see what was left. Ash coated his tongue and lead filled his throat. Every waking moment was consumed by the memory of those six months. 

He could not forget them though he was desperately trying. Six more months beneath the mountain, bound to Amarantha’s sick whims. She was scouring for the human Rhysand had told her about, for Elain Archeron who did not exist because Lucien had freed her. And so instead, Amarantha had taken another girl, carving her to nothing.

Lucien drank more than he didn’t most night. He drank until he felt nothing at all and when he couldn’t chase away his crushing misery, he tried to fuck it out, or fight it out. That was how he’d dealt with Jesminda—fucking, fighting, drinking. Why should now be any different? Elain might as well be dead. For all he knew, she’d forgotten him already, had already moved on. Lucien would be grieving her until he died.

The year mark was particularly brutal. Something was happening in the outside world, something Amarantha had been planning a long time. Tamlin was still the last hold out, utterly silent in his throne beside her, still masked for his defiance. He would go to his grave in that mask, his tongue safely secured behind his teeth. 

It was another night of forced revelry and pretending like half the courts were planning another revolt. More dead High Lords was the only likely outcome, though Lucien admired their nerve. Spring, like Autumn and Night, was not participating. Unlike Autumn and Night, it was only because Tamlin was never not being watched by Amarantha. Lucien was well on his way to utter oblivion when commotion at the tunnel that led to Spring silenced everything but the music. 

Amarantha, who’d been toying with Tamlin, stood to look at what the Attor had brought her. Lucien, too, shoved to the front of the gathered crowd. A human woman in the strangest clothes—tight, stretchy black pants and an equally tight, stretchy long-sleeved top with odd, laced up shoes—lay in a heap. For one terrifying moment all Lucien saw was that golden brown hair, braided back off the woman’s hair. She lifted her head and Lucien recognized her features, even as relief washed over him.

Not Elain. But related to Elain, certainly. Freckled, blue eyed, her hair a shade or two darker than her sisters and still there was no mistaking that heart shaped face, those full, pink lips, the burning hatred blazing in the woman’s eyes. 

“Are you lost?” Amarantha asked with a grating laugh. The rest of them remained silent, utterly curious as to what she was doing here.

This Archeron stood, brushing dirt off her pants. “I’ve come to claim the one I love.” Lucien looked at Tamlin, his gaze wholly fixed on the human. Did he recognize her, too? Amarantha was amused, demanding to know who, exactly, she loved. And Archeron pointed straight at Tamlin, a rookie mistake. Did her sister know she was here? Had Elain sent her? Lucien was dying to ask a million questions, questions he knew he’d never have a chance to. 

“You aren’t by any chance, sweet Elain Archeron, are you?” The girl lifted her chin in defiance. Stupid. Brave, but stupid. 

Amarantha couldn’t resist a game. They were all bored. It was a way to mess with Tamlin, to create a little chaos and perhaps prove once and for all there was no escaping her authority. She offered the woman a riddle—laughably easy and disappointing when she didn’t get it—-and three tasks on the full moon of each new month. The girl agreed and for her trouble, was beaten to a bloody pulp. 

It was the first night he didn’t get drunk. He waited until no one recognized he’d gone, slipping into the cell of the human woman who did not belong. “You’re not Elain,” he told her by way of greeting. Her nose was bloodied and broken, eye swollen. She looked up at him, wincing through her injuries. Lucien went to her, crouching in the dark. The cell reeked of rot and misery, was damp and cold and dark. He didn’t envy this girl or the choice she made.

“Hold still,” he murmured. She winced, gasping when he pushed her nose back into place, using a little magic to help with the pain and the healing of her face. Not entirely—Lucien remembered how slowly humans healed. But enough that it wouldn’t pain her. 

Still crouching, he studied her face. “You’re not Elain.” “I know I’m not,” she whispered. “We’re sisters.”

“Which one?”

Her eyes searched his for a moment. “Feyre.”

“Why are you here, Feyre?”

She frowned. “Elain told us where she was…what happened,” she added pointedly, eyes roaming the mask on his face. “I came to see if she was telling the truth.”

“And that led you to this?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “I couldn’t get back. It was a door for Elain but for me I think only one way. I’ve been here for weeks trying to figure it out. I found the estate she lived in and met some of the servants…I guess…maybe I’m supposed to be here? Maybe if I do this, I can get back home.”

Lucien wished he could say that sounded reasonable. He was starting to think the Archeron women were insane. “You’re going to die here, Feyre.”

“They said Tamlin was the person Elain was falling in love with before she left,” Feyre murmured as he stood. Lucien went still. “But he’s hardly Elain’s type.”

“And what is her type?” Lucien couldn’t help but ask.

“Someone who would help.” Fuck. He whirled around. “I fixed your nose, didn’t I?”

“Pretty helpful,” Feyre agreed. Lucien hesitated. 

“I’ll help when I can. This is a dangerous game and you’re a human…” he swallowed hard. “How is she?”

“Miserable,” Feyre replied. “She didn’t speak for months.”

Poor Elain. “I’ll help you,” Lucien said again, his motives utterly self-serving. “And if you survive and go back…will you tell her she can come back? Only if she wants.”

“I will,” Feyre agreed. Lucien exhaled a breath, hope blooming in his chest again. 

“Let's get you out of here.”

~*~

“Have you heard from Feyre lately?” Nesta asked Elain as spring approached. A full year had come and gone and somehow Elain had survived it. Lucien was still in her dreams, still haunting her memory and yet she found it was easier to breathe again. Possible to smile, to laugh, to find some joy in the world, dimmed as it was. 

“No, actually,” Elain replied, frowning at the screen of her phone. She’d found a job, part-time at the same museum she’d once been meant to work in. It wasn’t full-time fashion work but it was close and Elain hoped if she worked hard she might rise through the ranks until she was curating collections on her own. Her and Nesta were still living together and though Nesta insisted on paying the majority of bills, Elain bought food and other things so she didn’t feel so much like a charity case. 

“I know Feyre is a free spirit but she usually checks in.” “She’s probably fallen head over heels for some Frenchman,” Elain replied with a soft smile. Feyre was open like that. “Give her a little time.” “Yeah,” Nesta murmured, flopping on the couch beside Elain. “She ghosted me for nine months her freshman year of college, so I guess this isn’t unusual. I just thought after everything that happened she’d be more mindful.”

“Let her have fun,” Elain replied, editing the video she’d taken of the train that morning. She was creating a video diary, just in case she ever saw Lucien again. It was all she had left and, perhaps, a poor way of coping. She wanted to show him her world and by documenting all the things he’d never seen, she felt almost connected to him, despite the missing, aching, bond in her chest. 

She was a traitor for moving on, for finding joy. For coping to get through her day. 

“Are you still going to the aquarium tomorrow?” Nesta continued, kicking off her heels with a grimace.

“Yep.” The aquarium with Gray, to be exact. He’d never stopped coming to see her even when Elain thought it would have been easier for him to move on. Graysen had remained, earnest and steadfast. And Lucien…Lucien had told her to marry him. Have his children. Elain wasn’t sure about all that. Gray was…Gray. Nice, steady, reliable. There wasn’t the same passion but there never would be. There was just the crushing misery and the missing. 

Graysen met her in the lobby, casual in his buttoned up coat. “I have a car,” he told her, rubbing mittened hands together. It was snowing gently atop two day old, mushy, brown ice and though Chicago wasn’t particularly lovely, seeing the grime recovered in clean powder soothed a small ache in her stomach. 

When Graysen said he had a car, it wasn’t his car but sleek company car with a driver already waiting. He slid into the back with Elain, thigh pressed against her own, arm slung over the back of the seat. He exhaled when the cold biting air was sealed behind the warm door, kissing her temple absently. 

“You look nice,” he told her. He always said so, even when she’d been wasting away in that chair, unshowered and unkempt. Things were better now and perhaps she did look nice. Elain tried hard not to examine herself in the mirror. She wasn’t sure she’d recognize what she found.

Elain put her head on his shoulder as they navigated the stop-and-go traffic of the city. “You do too.” It wasn’t hard to please him. Graysen beamed, looking down at her, his mouth close enough she could have kissed him. Once upon a time she would have. Elain could remember a version of herself that had reveled in the taste of his mouth, that had liked nothing more than the hours they wasted making out until she was breathless, her lips chapped. She didn’t dare now—not yet. 

Not until they wandered the dim halls of the aquarium, peering through thick glass at a water world so unlike their own. Amid the fish and the glimmering blue, Graysen pulled her against his sweater clad body. One hand cupping her face, he said, “I’d like to kiss you now.” And Elain tilted her head with silent permission. Eyes closed, his mouth found hers and for a moment there was nothing at all. Just the sweet slide of his lips, warm and familiar, against her own. The memory of the night in the tent flooded through her, of Lucien’s slow exploration and Elain’s whole body ignited like before. It was dulled and yet she surged upwards on her tiptoes, hands reaching for Gray’s face. Pretend, this is pretend—and yet she didn’t care. She could pretend if it meant she felt anything but the constant, choking misery. It was Lucien’s unmasked face she touched, his hair she ran her fingers through. His tongue sliding into her mouth, his arms holding her against him.

And when it ended with a panting, “What was that?” The disappointment flooded back in. The wrong face, the wrong mouth, the wrong everything was looking back at her with open excitement. She needed to be touched, she reationalized, lowering herself back to her feet.

“I missed you,” she said though it wasn’t true. 

“Come home with me tonight,” Graysen whispered, his voice thick. “I’ll cook…”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her stomach curling and twisting at the thought. “I would like that.”

What she liked, when she reflected on it later, was how easy it was to pretend he was Lucien. The moment she closed her eyes Graysen was just a body that Elain could project all her fantasies onto. He walked her into the bedroom, pulling at her clothes while shedding his own. Light totally off, bathed in utter darkness. She could only feel his skin, his mouth, his hands. It wasn’t right—Graysen spent no time between her legs and Lucien never could help himself, and the slide between them was different and yet it was enough. She’d come, tears burning at the back of her eyes which Graysen assumed were joy. He was happy, too, peppering her with soft kisses and the reassurance that his feelings hadn’t changed. That he’d wait as long as she needed him to. Elain wanted to tell him she hardly deserved that sort of devotion, that no one should wait on her. 

Instead, she let him hold her until she fell asleep. Let him make love to her in the early morning light, eyes clamped shut tightly the entire time. She wondered if he noticed, what he made of it. Graysen took her home, kissing her again and again and again in the lobby. His relief poured from him in waves. 

“I’ll call you later.”

Elain nodded, trudging back upstairs where Nesta was waiting, clad in pajamas, eyes strange. “How was last night.” Elain could only nod. She thought if she opened her mouth to say anything at all, she’d break down sobbing. Nesta sighed. 

“Come here.”

Elain curled on the couch, head on her sister's shoulder. 

Saying nothing at all. 

~*~

Lucien tapped his foot impatiently. Soft chatter cut through the cool autumn air. Lucien would never be used to that, to the seasons of Velaris. He didn’t belong here, was only allowed as Tamlin’s pretend emissary. Working on behalf of the male who’d killed his friend, who had given up Elain’s name to his greatest enemy. 

Greater good, was what Feyre had said. And fuck him, but Lucien and Feyre had become friends during the misery that punctuated her three months beneath the mountain. She’d gone back to Spring with him in the aftermath, had allowed Lucien to try and take care of her. It was a doomed proposition given Tamlin inability to control his temper and that scheming bitch of a priestess. Still, Lucien had tried, with Bron and Hart, just as they’d done for Elain.

And in the end, Feyre had left too. Not back to her world—she hadn’t been able to cross once the High Lords granted her. Feyre, for whatever reason, was meant for this place. Feyre hadn’t grieved the loss of her home, her family, her life the way Elain had. She’d grieved the loss of her humanity, the horror she’d witnessed, the blood on her hands….and it hadnt’ been Lucien to pull her from it but Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. 

Mates.

What were the odds? Two human sisters with two fae mates? He assumed the other must have a mate lurking in Prythain too, not that either would ever know. He didn’t pity that male, not while he was walking around with the crushing emptiness still. Lucien turned, intending to leave. If Feyre couldn’t arrive on time, why should he wait on her? He was up to his eyes in shit, what with Tamlin’s stupid bargain with Hybern and the ressurected human Jurian prowling Spring with Dagdan and Brannagah and Ianthe swanning about, serene as poison, still haunting his steps, still reminding him of what they’d done on Calanmai—

Feyre appeared from mist and shadow, lovely as dawn with her glowing immortal face. “Sorry,” she said, her voice hardly sorry at all. Friends and yet…and yet Lucien suspected he ranked at the very bottom of this Archeron’s priorities. That she knew he offered his loyalty in part because he loved her sister—a sister Feyre very much wished he would forget. “How is Spring?” “It’s only a matter of time before they take down the wall,” Lucien told her, not bothering with pleasantries at all. She reeked of her mating bond, of her new life in Night Court and if he spent too long talking, he’d find himself burning with anger and jealousy. “They’re back in the estate discussing how best to proceed but Tamlin took him to all the weakest places.” If the wall fell, Elain would never return and Lucien, stupid as he was, was desperate to see her again. Beside that, the wall falling made it possible for Hybern’s massive army to sweep against the humans, to slaughter them without impunity and snatch their lands. 

Lucien knew, from the fire burning in Feyre’s silvery blue eyes, that she wanted to see Spring fall, too. Lucien was the only thing keeping that court on its feet. Perhaps Tamlin deserved a coup, deserved her fury and hatred given what he’d done to her, how he’d hurt her just as he’d once hurt her sister. Not now. Not when Spring’s forces were the only thing keeping Summer and Autumn from finding an invading army knocking on their door. Feyre wasn’t from their world, was too impulsive, too sure she was right, too indulged by her mate who wanted to see Tamlin suffer, even if it damned them all. 

“How long?” she asked. Lucien shrugged. Hybern claimed to have the Cauldron in tact and yet none of them had seen it when they’d gone to his palace. No proof, no trace. 

“If he has the Cauldron like he says? It could happen at any moment. If he doesn’t…the wall is old magic. It would take someone like Helion Spell-Cleaver months to unbind it. The same, I imagine, is true for Hybern.” Rhysand, of all people, was trying to wrangle six other High Lords into fighting a war when they all vividly remembered how he’d treated them beneath the mountain. No one had escaped his cruelty unscathed. To hear Rhys and Feyre say it had been a mask, that he’d done it for personal reasons to keep the people he loved safe, well…Lucien wondered if Rhys or Feyre understood how much worse that made things? They’d all had people they loved, people they lost in their fight. Even Beron hadn’t aligned himself so closely or carefully as Rhys had done. 

“We’re looking for allies on the continent,” Feyre told him, interrupting his own bitter thoughts. “But I was hoping you might do something for me?” “Name it.”

Feyre’s relief was palpable. “The Cauldron was made…and surely can be unmade, too. Will you talk to Helion Spell-Cleaver about it? He won’t let us in his library—” For good reason.

“And I thought perhaps you had a contact or a friend…” Lucien did. He nodded. “I’ll talk to her. There’s no one smarter in Prythian.” Feyre’s eyebrows raised and not for the first time, Lucien wondered what her own world was like. Feyre was always so caught off guard when a female ranked highly. “Her?”

Lucien nodded. “Yes, Feyre. Her. She is my only contact in Helion’s court.” He didn’t bother to mention that he’d once asked her for help breaking the agreement Feyre forged under the mountain with Rhysand, the one that ordered her to spend one week for the rest of her life in his court. He doubted Ferye would appreciate knowing he’d done that, though in retrospect it had been done out of care and concern.

“You’ll let me know how things go in Spring?” Feyre hesitated. “Is she still there?” Lucien tensed. “Yes.” “I’m going to kill her someday,” Feyre murmured. Lucien shrugged his shoulders, hoping he hid his irritation well.

“Not if I do it first.” Feyre didn’t know what Ianthe had done to him, only how she’d convinced Tamlin to align with Hybern. Foolish, power hungry bitch. And fucking Tamlin, so broken from fifty years of Amarantha, of his people trapped beneath the mountain while he continued to live like a High Lord…he just didn’t care. The mountain had wrecked whatever goodness remained in Tamlin, hollowing him out until he was merely a shell. It might take centuries before his friend was ever right again.

He’d all but handed control of his court to Ianthe, who ruled almost as High Lord. Lucien was her only resistance, leaning on the good-will he’d earned from Tamlin’s warriors and his people and the trust he’d built as emissary, to keep her from taking complete, unwavering control. She couldn’t fuck him into submission which seemed to put her off. Ianthe was disgusting, foul, and would have been whether he’d ever known his mate or not.

“I’ll let you know how Day goes,” Lucien murmured, drawing a breath of air. “And if all else fails…I’ll meet you on the battlefield.”

“Let's hope it doesn’t come to that,” Feyre murmured.

But they both knew it would. 

It was only a matter of time.

~*~

Nesta paced through her living room. Back and forth, back and forth. Spring had faded to Summer and Feyre hadn’t responded to any of their calls or texts. Elain had emailed the university only to learn Feyre hadn’t registered for classes in almost a year. She hadn’t done more than a week of her summer abroad before she stopped showing up. They’d dropped her from their roster and wanted someone to pay them what she owed.

Elain leaned against the kitchen counter, fully aware of what Nesta was thinking. First Elain. Now Feyre. 

“Maybe she eloped,” Nesta breathed, eyes wild. Elain looked down at her hands, at the manicured, rounded opalescent pink she’d had done only days before. It was coming on two years that winter. Feyre had been gone, somehow, eighteen of them and Elain suspected she knew exactly where her younger sister had gone. Elain drummed the tips against the marble, relishing the soft clacking. 

“I don’t think so.”

Nesta’s head snapped to Elain. “She wanted to know. It would be so like her to go looking…to see if it was true.” “She didn’t come back,” Nesta whispered. The thought had crossed Nesta’s mind, then. That Elain’s story wasn’t just a traumatized mind trying desperately to make sense of horror but actual truth. If anyone was brave enough to ignore everything Elain had said, to walk over an enchanted wall to try and break that curse herself, it would be Feyre. 

“Maybe she found something worth staying for,” Elain replied. Of them all, Nesta was rooted strongest to their world though, had someone asked her that two years before, Elain would have said it was her. She was exactly where she’d started—she had her full time job at the museum now and Graysen was going to propose again, it was only a matter of time. She had friends, her old life, all the things that mattered to her. 

And if Nesta had asked her to go back, Elain would have in a heartbeat. Would have turned her back and stepped directly into danger, if only for the chance to see Lucien again. She was starting to think she’d dreamed him up, that he hadn’t been real. A perfect man in a mask? It was something from a fairytale. 

Nesta drew a breath. “I’m afraid to call the police again. They already think…” They thought Elain was crazy, that she’d made the whole thing up. Harper certainly helped that theory along with her stupid lie. For the life of Elain, she’d never understand why Harper waited so long to tell someone. Harper had been the only person not to reach out, going as far as blocking Elain entirely. She’d stayed in L.A., and Elain had heard from some of their shared friends that Harper, too, thought she was crazy. 

Maybe she was. 

“What if we went?” Elain asked, working to keep her voice measured. “Just to see?” Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “So you can vanish, too? Leave me— no.” Her sister drew a ragged breath. “Not until I try a few other things, at least.” “Okay.” Elain was agreeable, even as hope began to claw in her stomach. “It was just a thought. Maybe she eloped.” But they both knew Feyre hadn’t. She would have told them, if only to warn them of a new, European guest at Thanksgiving that year. And Nesta, so wrapped up in making sure Elain was okay, had missed all the signs that Feyre had disappeared. Elain knew Nesta would punish herself in her quiet, simmering way. Nesta, who had been forced to all but mother Elain and Feyre when their own mom died and their father withdrew. Nesta who had packed their lunches and forced them out of bed, who had cleaned and signed report cards and looked the other way when Ferye came home with a backpack filled with stolen food.

How Nesta had clawed her way through school, had earned perfect grades, perfect scores, for this perfect job. Nesta would never know hunger or cold or fear ever again. Elain wondered if the glass walls overlooking the city reminded Nesta of how far she’d come.

Of what she could lose, if she wasn’t immaculate. 

Elain left Nesta for work, pulling dresses from the seventeenth century from their boxes in the basement to photograph. She was digitizing their archive so though the dresses remained carefully kept in the museum's massive collection, people could see everything they had, along with Elain’s write-ups. Sometimes all she knew was the fabric and the time period but other things were donated by people whose ancestors had worn them, or wealthy and royal patrons that had been painted in the gown. 

The work quieted Elain’s mind, focusing her only on the task. There was nothing else—no missing Feyre, or Prythian, or curse—just her, just this. 

Graysen was waiting to pick her up, lovely in a navy suit. Sometimes when she looked at him, she almost forgot about life before. Her heart was an ugly, shattered thing and Gray was trying so hard to knit it back together.  Only Elain knew he couldn’t, that there were things missing he could never give her. And still, she’d promised Lucien to live her life. As she walked to him, rising on her heeled tiptoes to kiss his mouth, she wondered if he had survived. If Feyre had truly gone back, had broken that curse. She couldn’t imagine Tamlin and Feyre falling in love—ripping each other to shreds, though…that was a real possibility. 

“Good day?” he asked, leading her down the carved steps to the packed sidewalk where his car sat, technically double parked, not that Graysen cared. Elain smiled, letting herself slide against his chest, to revel in the heat of him. She liked being touched and Graysen was always willing to oblige her. 

“Good day,” she agreed, pushing down her worries about Feyre. Graysen wanted to wine and dine her and Elain wanted to pretend a little. She smiled and laughed and genuinely enjoyed his company. She wasn’t a monster. Gray was a good man, a good boyfriend and Elain had wanted him for a reason. Even haunted by a ghost, by a man who, for all she knew, had died months before, couldn’t chase those old feelings away. 

Just as Gray couldn’t compete. Not by a mile, not by a lifetime. Each new time, eyes shut, was a little worse than the last. Elain knew one day she’d find herself lying beneath him unable to pretend any longer. This distraction with Graysen had a time limit, was rapidly unspooling. She wondered if he felt it, too. Wondered if he recognized the soft, moving distance that had begun, two continents slowly drifting apart. If he did, he gave no indication. Only easy smiles and sweet kisses before he sent her on her way.

Back to Nesta, in workout clothes and a tight smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Elain replied, walking to the kitchen for her bottle of homemade lavender syrup, a holdover of her time in Prythian. She’d developed a taste for the tea…or occasionally, the syrup poured directly into her coffee. “Are you asking me to workout with you? Because you know I had squats.”

“No,” Nesta replied. “Okay, let’s go back to that wall.”

Elain nearly dropped her bottle. “What?”

“If you think Feyre is over there, I want to know. I want to see her with my own two eyes. All of it,” Nesta added, those silvery eyes gleaming. “Otherwise I’ll never sleep again.”

Elain had to swallow the excitement burning in her gut. “Nesta I…” she cleared her throat. If he was alive, she knew she’d stay. “When do you want to go?” “Tomorrow,” Nesta said. “I already bought the tickets.” Elain was breathless with hope.

“I’ll start packing.”

~*~

“When I agreed to help, this wasn’t what I meant,” Arina complained, dressed in Day Court white gold. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the female outside of dresses. Lucien could admit she looked good in the leather, her blonde hair tied high off her face. 

“Well, it wasn’t what I meant, either, in all fairness,” Lucien agreed, crouching in the forest. Something strange was afoot, some manner of creature he’d never seen stalked the once lovely Spring Court woods. The wall was gone, and with it, his hopes of ever seeing Elain again. Lucien hated the flicker of relief on Feyre’s face when he’d told her weeks before. He didn’t need her ability to read minds to know what she thought. Elain was safe.

Without him. 

He shook his head, clearing himself of Elain. They were in the thick of it now, battling for their very existence on every end. Morrigan had gone looking for the ancient warrior Drakon instead of him, who’d been left instead to help wrangle his fucking brothers into tracking the goddamn Cauldron. 

They knew Hybern had it, had used it to destroy the wall. He would use it again when the mood suited him. While Rhysand and the other High Lords—Tamlin included—advanced towards some inevitable end, more than a few of them were sneaking around the outskirts of the war, trying to hobble Hybern’s army before it could decimate them all. Lucien and Arina were just one of many pairs, tracking over vast tracts of land for anywhere Hybern might have hidden it and anyway to access it. 

Breaking the Cauldron would take world ruining power, far beyond anything he or Arina possessed. That wasn’t their job. Lucien’s job was merely hunting. Easy enough. Arina, who wasn’t a tracker, had come for another reason she was quietly avoiding.

His eldest brother was lurking in the woods, had been eyeing her ever since Lucien brought her to that High Lord’s meeting. Arina wanted to avoid him and as consequence, got stuck working with Lucien, a perpetual buffer for his brother's advances. 

His head turned at the soft sound of padding on the soft earth. Not fae or human—those steps would be heavier. An animal, then. Not Eris’s dogs, left safe in Autumn. It took Lucien a moment too long to realize they weren’t tracking anything at all. They were being hunted.

“Run!” he ordered seconds before snarling ripped through the dusky silence. Arina didn’t need to be told twice, sprinting in the opposite direction, her magical, Day Court gifted wind billowing around her. Lucien grabbed her wrist, winnowing a short distance so they could move quicker, leaping through the air to stay just ahead of Hybern’s massive, fleet footed beasts. 

He had no though as to where they were going, only that he could hardly lead them back to their camp, where they’d have to fight the snarling, snapping creatures with no warning at all. He might dislike his brothers, but even that was a step too far.

“Lucien!” Arina screamed when more winnowing darkness intercepted them. Lucien used a pulse of power to blow whoever had come—not the fire he meant to call but blinding, burning light.

“What was that?!” Arina cried, pulling him aside so they could continue fleeing. “That’s not Autumn.” It was sunlight. Lucien didn’t have time to unpack what had just happened, couldn’t waste a moment thinking about it at all. He knew who had been in that icy winnow, had recognized the golden blonde hair and the silvery blue robes. Ianthe. 

Lucien would rather see his body shredded to bloodied ribbons than be caught by her. He knew what she wanted, what she’d do if she ever got her magical manacles around his wrists again. Lucien felt his sword heavy at his side. 

“Don’t leave me–” “Call for Eris,” he ordered, acknowledging the thing Arina thought she’d kept hidden. Lucien recognized that look on his brothers face, the way Eris watched her move, trying to pretend she was nothing at all. “I’ll find you.” “Lucien—!” But snarling beasts forced Arina to keep running, to leave him standing in that forest clearing somewhere between the mortal and fae lands. Sword drawn, chest heaving. He could hear her dress dragging over the few leaves, her steps hardly careful. She wasn’t special, her blood just barely magical, her skills just notably fairy. Her beauty poison, uglier than Amarantha. 

She appeared, hood flung backwards, nose bleeding from his pulse of magic. “You waited,” she purred, some small hope gleaming in those teal eyes. They drifted to his drawn sword, drawing her lips into a frown. “To kill me?” “Surely you knew that,” Lucien replied. “Have I not made my feelings abundantly clear?”

He looked pointedly to the broken, ruined hands at her side, unhidden despite the flare of her sleeves. Destroyed by Feyre when she’d come to Spring hoping to reason with Tamlin and found him instead trapped against that tree. They’d killed Brannagh and Dagden instead before fleeing, leaving his home behind. Lucien, holed up in Day Court, working on behalf of Night Court…exiled from Autumn, complicit in the destruction of Spring…he pushed those thoughts aside. 

“I recall you enjoying Calanmai,” Ianthe replied casually, the frigid, stupid bitch. Lucien’s growl stilled her, reminded her that no amount of good breeding on her part would help her win this fight. He was a High Lord's heir, the son of Autumn and she had only what the Mother above willed. 

“You remember what you want,” Lucien replied. He’d been out of his mind, an animal without thought. Coming to and realizing what she’d done had been brutal and Lucien had not been kind. Ianthe wore his bruises around her neck for weeks, had been saved only by Tamlin himself. There was no Tamlin to save her now. 

“I didn’t come to argue,” she pouted, keeping a healthy distance between them. “I came to make you an offer.” “I decline,” Lucien replied immediately. “I want nothing from you.” She raised her eyebrows, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re so sure I could offer you nothing. I want to make a trade. One week, like Rhysand did, wasn’t it? One week of your life a month.” Lucien stepped forward lightly. “I’d rather eat my own heart.” “Don’t you want to know what I could offer?”

“You have nothing I want.”

Her smile was amused. “No? What about immortality?”

All he had to do was step through the world, winnow behind her, and drive his sword through her throat. He inclined his head. “I already have it.”

He went to make the jump, catching her by surprise when, in one smooth moment, he was standing behind her, the bite of his blade digging against her throat. “Not for you,” she choked, writhing even when blood began to drip onto her dress. “For Elain.”Lucien nearly dropped Ianthe. “What did you say?”

“I have her,” Ianthe managed, trying and failing to shove against the arm that pinned her to him. Her heart pounded wildly, her terror sweet on the air. “I could make her immortal.”

“You lie,” he replied. It wasn’t possible. The wall was gone and so was Elain. She’d merely gathered that information from Dagden, was toying with him like she always did.

“Hybern has her and her sister,” Ianthe tried again and Lucien, furious and terrified all at once, removed her head from her body before she could say another word. Warm blood spilled over the scaled black armor he wore, her body falling like a puppet cut of its strings. He turned, intending to find Hybern, to see if Ianthe lied, when snarling and screaming drew his attention back to the task at hand. Lucien took off, leaving Ianthe’s body for the crows, praying Arina was okay. Eris would never let him live if she died. 

He didn’t need to worry at all. Arina lay flat on her back, blood droplets sprayed over her bronzed skin. And his brother…fuck. Eris’s skin was a match for the red of his hair, his fluttering cape. Flame licked the sides of his face, his hands, his body, shining from amber eyes, marking him as the High Lords heir, the future of Autumn. Scattered at his feet were the torn pieces of Hyberns beasts, flung about in chunks, as if they were little more than toys Eris had tired of. Lucien had seen those things take down five hundred year old warriors and yet Eris had merely ripped them to nothing with his bare hands. 

Eris turned, every inch a predator, stilling at the sight of Lucien’s approach. Arina was panting, her heartbeat wild and unsteady, green eyes wholly focused on his brother. “He…he killed them,” she whispered, her words cracking with some emotion Lucien couldn’t read. It seemed to snap Eris back to reality. All at once his posture shifted, his magic winking out with a breath. He walked to Arina and offered her a blood soaked hand and she took it, rising to her feet. 

“Did you finish her?” Arina asked, still clasping Eris’s hands, still looking at his brother as if it were the first time she’d ever really seen him. Perhaps it was.

“Ianthe is dead.” He didn’t dare tell them what she’d said about Elain, about Hybern having her. “I need to go back to camp.”

Eris nodded, pulling his hand from Arina’s. She’d go with Lucien and they all knew it. It wasn’t a question, not when Lucien winnowed them back to the sprawling tent city where thousands of warriors from every court waited atop that hillside. Marching, for the some of them, to death. Lucien deposited Arina with Helion’s camp, wondering if she’d tell the High Lord what came from his hands that day. It didn’t matter, he decided. Let Helion untangle that mess later. Lucien needed Feyre.

She was watching, arms crossed over her chest. Staring at nothing, at what they all knew was coming. Another day of marching, of waiting.

“Ianthe is dead,” he told her. 

“Can I?” Feyre asked. Lucien swallowed, inclining his head so Feyre could peer into his mind. Could see what Ianthe had said, could hear her. Feyre’s face paled, eyes looking into that rapidly darkening distance. 

“She’s a liar,” Feyre said. 

“And if she’s not?” Lucien could only swallow his fear, imagining Elain trapped in that camp, subjected to that Mad King’s whims.

“We’ll find her,” was all Feyre said. “And kill him for daring to touch them at all.”

~*~

Nesta and Elain marched quietly towards the wall, taking the same path Elain and Harper once had. No tour guides, no witnesses, only the first rays of dawn greeted them and their approach. Nesta’s steps slowed as they made that ascent upwards. Elain was hit with deja vu, dressed in quarter-sleeves and yellow. She’d been careful with her hair, pinning the sides back, had spent all night working on her face. Wanting to be lovely, for him to see her and recognize her.

Nesta was more practical in her athleticwear and nice tennis shoes. Elain had nothing but her fully charged phone in her pocket while Nesta had a bag slung over one shoulder, long hair pulled in twin french braids. “I don’t like this,” Nesta whispered. “It feels…” Wrong. Elain could feel the pull again, the soft tugging urging her forward. Elain reached out her hand, ignoring how Lucien’s words urging her to live her life without him echoed around her. “Elain,” Nesta whispered, grasping her hand. Too late. Elain pressed her palm to the rough stone. Nesta came with her—Elain heard her eldest sister scream as they tumbled, the grass giving way to leaves and wood and rot. A familiar lilac breeze was tinged with something new, the air heavier, muskier. 

No naga greeted her, no masked warriors coming from the gleaming shadows. Still, Elain swore she knew the way as she righted herself, brushing leaves from her dress. That spring weather was almost a relief, the shimmering, golden light peeking through the leaves above warming her trembling body. 

“Oh my God,” Nesta breathed, standing quickly. Wisps of brown hair framed Nesta’s elegant face, eyes wide with stunned wonder. “I thought…” Elain didn’t let herself feel bad. It was an insane proposition to begin with and yet Elain felt vindicated, in a strange way. She reached her hand for Nesta’s, smiling too bright. “Come on. Let me show you where I was.” “We’re only here to find Feyre,” Nesta reminded her. Elain didn’t bother to argue. She wanted to see Feyre…and Lucien. God, how badly she wanted to see his face, to hear his voice, to refill the miserable, aching void she couldn’t shake inside her chest. She knew she’d beg and scream and plead to stay with him, even if it meant he remained lovely and young and beautiful while she aged and one day died. Time apart had given Elain clarity. Better to spend what little time they had together than waste it miserably apart. 

They didn’t get far before a fae male, casual in his appearance, stepped from the shadows. Coal black eyes glittered against shoulder length onyx hair and bone white skin. “Are you lost?”

“No,” Elain said quickly, well aware of the horror that could come from being too friendly with one of these men. 

He stepped a little closer, watching them with amusement. “On your way to Spring…you crossed the wall, I take it?” “Yes,” Elain agreed. “We’ll just be on our way.”

“To see the High Lord? No need. I can take you.”

Nesta grabbed Elain’s wrist as dread pooled through them both. He peered at them as if he could sense the lie.

“Unless, of course, you’ve come to see someone else?”

“Feyre Archeron,” Nesta said too quickly. Elain sighed but the man’s whole body shifted.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He spoke directly to Nesta then. “I know the Cursebreaker well.” Elain ignored the whispering voice telling her to run. “She broke the curse?”

His smile was practically feline. “She did. She’s fairy now. Would you like to see her?”

“Yes,” they said in unison. He extended a hand.

“Let me take you to her. Feyre and I know each other very well.” “She’s…what’s your name?” Nesta asked, inching a little closer. He smiled. 

“No name,” he murmured. “Though, I suppose they call me Hybern.” “Nes—” something metallic shoved itself violently against Elain’s face, suffocating her, dragging her towards darkness. Elain recalled that map in Tamlins study, the strangely familiar landscape of England and Scotland that denoted Prythian, and the neighboring island of Hybern. She didn’t know anything about their people, of this man named for the place itself. She only knew he did not belong.

And then she knew nothing more, at least for a time. Elain awoke alone, hands bound behind her body in an empty tent. She was secured to the middling support so tight she could barely adjust her shoulders. Elain was not alone. A woman watched with strange, teal eyes and pretty golden hair. She turned when Elain groaned, the full weight of her gaze settling on Elain’s chest. She had the phases of the moon stamped over her forehead, centered with a cerulean stone. Silver blue robes clung to a curved body, a hood thrown from her head of soft curls.

“Elain Archeron?” she asked. “Are you hurt?” “Where am I?” Elain asked, not bothering to answer. The woman—priestess, if she had to guess—walked slowly, dress swishing about her legs. She crouched beside Elain, caressing her face.

“Safe,” she said. Elain pulled at her wrists but said nothing, waiting for some sort of explanation. “I don’t suppose you know me. You were here before my time. My name is Ianthe, I’m a priestess in Spring Court.”

“Tamlin?” she asked dumbly, trying to shake the last vestiges of magic from her senses. 

“Yes,” Ianthe agreed. “He is the High Lord who brought me to Prythian…it is his court I serve.”

“Can I see him?” Elain asked. 

Ianthe nodded. “In time. He has been inquiring after you, too. I’m surprised to see how…fevered he is given he sent you home.” “And Nesta?” Elain asked, ignoring whatever this woman was trying to ask without just directly saying it. 

“Safe. With Jurian,” Ianthe added, as if that name meant anything to her. “We’re waiting on the human queens to arrive before we release you.” “How long?”

“Hours, perhaps? If that, even. They’re quite eager to meet the Cursebreakers human family. We all are…though you’ve been here before but when I went looking for you, there was no traces. Curious.”

“I guess,” Elain winced, tugging at her hands. “Will you untie me?”

Ianthe didn’t budge. “Where did he hide you?” Elain pulled again. “Nowhere. Ask Tamlin, he’ll—” “Not Tamlin. Lucien. Where did he hide you? I have been looking for you since Feyre first claimed to be you.” Their eyes met. Lucien. “You know Lucien?” Her mouth curled into a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Very well. We are…intimately close.”

Elain was going to be sick. He’d taken a new lover, then. She could hardly be angry, not when she’d been with Graysen and yet…and yet Ianthe was so fairy, so lovely and fairy and immortal. Had it been a difficult choice, she wondered? “Can I see him?” “He doesn’t wish to see you,” she murmured. “But I could not resist seeing the human he hid from Amarantha. Just once, anyway. He wishes for me to forget you…just as he has.” Oh God. Elain tried so hard to keep her face from betraying how badly that hurt her. 

“Where did he hide you?”

“He didn’t,” Elain managed, swallowing the urge to scream. “I just left.” “You’re a liar,” she crooned softly. 

“Ask him, then,” Elain demanded. “You know him so well, he should have no problem verifying the truth.” She brushed a knuckle over Elain’s cheek. “Would you like to know what he said, when I told him we had you? That you were going to die?”

Cold skittered over her skin. Elain could do nothing but listen, even as Ianthe stood, looking down at Elain with pitying eyes. “Nothing at all,” she finally said with a curling smile. “He said nothing at all.” Elain inclined her head against the pole, closing her eyes. She tried to imagine it, Lucien, with his teasing eyes and his easy smiles with nothing to say. Lucien, who’d once punched his oldest friend in the face for leaving her to die, who had put himself between Rhysand to try and keep her safe…could so much have changed in just a year and a half that he wouldn’t care? 

No. 

Elain couldn’t feel that bond anymore, still missed the snap of him, the constant awareness of his feelings and yet Elain knew Lucien. If he knew she was here, he would remain silent only to keep her safe, to help. He wouldn’t leave her to die. 

Not that it mattered any, when several nervous servants stepped into the tent hours later, their legs manacled in iron. Human, just like Elain, pallid and trembling as they untied her. A fae man stood just at the door to guard, watching with hungry eyes as Elain was stripped bare and redressed in plunging crimson after washing her with cold, harsh rags. Heavy black clips were pushed against her hair, a devil's crown set atop her head as she marched through a well organized, sprawling war camp. War. Hybern was in Spring…and she was walking past rows upon rows of soldiers with that same bone white skin, those same beatle jewel eyes. 

Nesta was waiting in a crown of thorns and the same too exposed black, hands and feet bound and gagged. Hybern had created a stage of sorts, a twisted throne set atop a wooden dais. No priestess, Elain noted, though just a few feet away was a long, wooden rack holding a whimpering, naked human wood, her body stretched across all four corners. 

Too late, she knew, they never should have come back. Cursebreaker? Of what? 

A crowd of gathered women in heavy dresses not unlike the ones she’d spent days cataloging. Human Queens, watching at the foot of the dias as Elain was dragged forward. Not to Hybern, who relaxed casually in his suit of black, but towards a massive iron Cauldron filled to the brim with black, smoking water.

Nesta immediately began to thrash, causing several soldiers at the periphery to reach for her, restraining as they shoved a gag in her mouth. “More human women?” one of the older Queens asked, her tone dripping with disdain. “How many are you going to demand us watch die?” Elain dug her satin slippers into the hard ground, searching the night for anything that might save her. Only violet stars winked back, the only beings left to witness this horror. Hot, massive torches lit her way forward, pushed and dragged with punishing fingers.

“These are no mere humans. The Cursebreaker has sisters. They’re strong, like her. They can withstand immortality. You will see. Put the prettier one in first.” Nesta’s muffled screams shattered the silence. Elain looked around one last time as she was hauled off her feet, all but carried to that massive pot. A man with soft eyes and flat lips stood to the far side, regret glimmering in his gaze. No Tamlin, like Ianthe had said. No Lucien, no Feyre, just a crowd of curious, black armored soldiers and these hungry women hoping to see her die.

Elain’s feet hit the edge of the Cauldron as she writhed. “No,” she breathed when her feet splashed against the cold surface. Soft, phantom talons grazed at her feet, drawing her downward. Elain couldn’t beg for this to stop, could only suck down one last gulp of air.

Nesta’s terror was the last thing she ever saw. 

~*~

They marched at dawn. Cassian and Azriel had scouted ahead, had finally found Hybern’s place of choosing, his final stand. They would fight in the valley between the hills. No sign of Nesta or Elain or anything that might prove what Ianthe had said was true. It both gave him hope Elain was still safe in her strange world and disappointed him that he’d never see her again.

“Do you think they’ll attack today?” Feyre asked her mate, peering into the distance at that still slumbering army. Rhys merely shook his head.

“They’ll take their time. As should we.” The day was wasted putting up tents and getting settled. Everyone was on edge. It was no small battle, no teasing or games. This was the fate of their lives, their world. Lucien, too, was thinking about it. He wondered if that was what drew Eris to him, face contemplative as he sat beside Lucien’s fire. Eris, ever the show off, stoked the flames with a mere flick of long fingers, eyes far away.

“I heard what you did in the woods. It is only time before father learns of it, too.” “It was nothing.” “It was sunlight,” Eris said carefully. “And that doesn’t belong to Autumn.” Lucien heaved a sigh. “Well…I suppose you know, don’t you? Which courtier am I to threaten on pain of death, then?”

“A courtier no more,” Eris all but grumbled. “But High Lord.”Cauldron boil him. “That complicates the threatening.”

Eris nodded. “Mother cannot leave and I trust you to be discreet regarding this. I have convinced Arina not to go to Helion. Not yet, anyway. Not until I can be sure father won’t harm mother.”

“Accidents happen in battle all the time,” Lucien said with a shrug.

“There would be a revolt if I slaughtered the High Lord with his back turned,” Eris replied. “Even I am not so clever.”

“I would do nothing to harm mother…and I hardly need a father,” Lucien said, contemplating just how, exactly, Helion and his mother had managed to be together often enough a child had come of it. “Another father, anyway.” Eris stared into the fire until it danced for him, twisting and writhing, honored to be seen by him at all. Lucien watched with the same fascination he’d once felt as a boy. Eris’s magic was so strong, so potent. Lucien had only a drop of what his brother carried in his veins. Lucien supposed now he knew why. A High Lords son, but not the one he’d thought. One day he’d have to begrudgingly speak with Helion about it, before the moment, Lucien was content to stare at that dancing flame until Eris stood and it all but winked out, exhausted to ash. 

Feyre came to rejoin Lucien when dusk fell. No Rhysand, no Night Court circle of friends and dreamers. Just Feyre, tired, weary, ancient and exhausted despite her youth. “Ianthe would lie to trick us,” she began, elbows on her knees. 

“I know.”

“She would say anything to draw us out, to back us into a corner and kill us one by one.”

“I know.” “I’m so afraid she wasn’t lying,” Feyre finally told him, resting her head in her hands. “That he’s doing something terrible, that–” “Stop it,” Lucien interrupted, his chest painfully tight. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“I—” Feyre stilled, ear’s shifting in the wind. Lucien stood. He’d heard it too. Something was rumbling in the ground, something terrible…unnatural. Feyre joined him, walking through the camp with everyone else, sword in hand. Hybern was mobilizing, was going to attack against the cover of night. It was cowardice, a crime banned in their own rules of engagement. Not that Lucien expected Hybern to care. 

“Holy Gods,” Cassian whispered, all seven of his red siphons gleaming as the ground between camps ripped itself open and the dead began to rise. It was an army of bones, of mindless, rotting flesh clawing its way from the dirt, called by magic none of them could feel. It was, all at once, a mad scramble to organize, to ready themselves when the majority of the camp had been all but ready for bed. Lucien stayed beside Feyre, watching as a sea of bodies he would never have known lay in that valley righted themselves into regimented lines. Not all held weapons and some were little more than bones held together by invisible strings.

They were ready by the time the ground stopped moving and the soldiers—thousands of them—stood ready for orders. Lucien’s heart hammered and it would have been a lie if he said he wasn’t scared. He could see his brother in the distance, making up the flanking side, cape fluttering as he watched. On the far other end stood the father he’d only just learned of, gleaming helmet of feathered gold, waiting for what would come next. 

Screaming. Vengeful, hateful, female screaming ripped through the silence. It was as if the mother herself looked at what she created and found it horrifying beyond measure. Perhaps she did. The very sound chilled Lucien to the bone. Every dead soldier snapped their heads, turning to look to Hybern. Marching on Hybern. 

“What’s happening?” 

Lucien didn’t know who asked. Fire erupted at the heart of Hybern’s camp, bright and brilliant. It was as if Beron himself stood within its flames, commanding that flame to the Gods himself. The scene unfolding was pure, undiluted chaos. Something was happening within Hyberns ranks. Someone had turned on him. Lucien could only stand in wonder at the sound of terrified screaming as that undead army began to sweep through the night, punctuated with more exploding flame that seemed to be moving in a line, sweeping through the camp. As if someone ran with a torch, lighting whatever they found indiscriminately. It was hardly the actions of someone skilled and yet Lucien couldn’t help but admire their nerve.

“Should we do something?” Feyre asked but Rhysand shook his head with amusement. 

“Let them destroy each other…we’ll pick off what remains.”

That scream ripped through the world, raking its claws down their senses. It was a language all its own, one they understood too well. That fury touched something deep in Lucien’s soul and he wondered what anyone could have done to elicit such a sound. It took them all a breathless moment to recognize what was striding among the dead, parting them like the sea. Bathed in silver flame, a sword slung over her shoulder, was a female in smoky gray, her hair wild around her sightless face. Feyre screamed then, hand pressed to her mouth. “Go get her!” she ordered. Cassian plunged into the fray before anyone else, wings tucked against his back as he pushed through that massive army of the dead trying so hard to surge into Hybern. 

Feyre was at the edge of the hilltop, eyes searching desperately. Lucien tore his eyes from that terrifying female form to follow Feyre’s gaze. It was the fire that drew her. “Oh Gods,” she whispered, trembling so hard Lucien wondered how she stood. It took only a moment before Lucien understood what Feyre already knew. 

Ianthe hadn’t lied. It was the eldest Archeron, made just as Feyre had once been that Cassian had gone to intercept and it was Elain, holding a burning torch in a sparkling white dress splattered with red. Tamlin was just beside her, his beastly form rising to her shoulders. Elain whipped her head to that army of dead, screaming lost words to the chaos of the night.

“Get her!” Feyre screamed again, to Azriel who plunged into the night. Elain cocked her head to the sky as Lucien bellowed her name, his terror clawing in his chest. She didn’t react as she slid her fingers over Tamlins fur.

And vanished into the night.

~*~

Elain would never forget how it felt to die. It was not peace, was not a soft and gentle rocking but burning and reforging. It was airless, lightless agony, stretching over an eternity. Elain did not beg for herself as she writhed, but for Nesta, whom she’d dragged into this mess. Spare her. Let it be easy.

And the darkness had begun to purr, a cat curling about her legs. Comforting her, easing her transition into immortality, not death. Elain would not die, not as Ianthe had promised. She pushed against that darkness and something sparked in her stomach. Some new magic that did not belong and yet as she swam towards that pinprick of light, Elain understood this was a gift. It was hers.

She tumbled from the Cauldron to general appreciative murmurs. “I suppose the Cauldron did not like you in red?” Were Hyberns' very first words. Elain pushed herself upwards on shaking arms, looking at the sparking cut of white now gleaming against her glowing skin. “What did I tell you? For the strong, it can be done.”

Elain met Nesta’s eyes.

“Put the hellcat in.”

Elain could only watch, helpless as Nesta was all but shoved in. Nesta, who had fought so hard for her normal life and her good job and her peace. Who had taken care of her when everything went wrong, had made no demands on Elain as she healed. It was Elain’s fault she was in, Elain’s fault when Nesta pointed that finger, as if she were marking Hybern for death. He chuckled, watching her with interest. With amusement and, perhaps, as Nesta finally vanished, lust. 

He’d looked at her, Elain realized, the way too many men had over their lives. Like Nesta was something to conquer, something to break. Something he might enjoy bringing to heel, proof of his masculinity. And Nesta, Elain knew, would kill him for trying. She hoped to watch. 

Nesta emerged as Elain had—spluttering and soaked, her dress a smokey shade of glittering gray. Nesta’s silver blue eyes seemed to burn with fire, her hatred evoking amusement from the king. “Perhaps I should put you in my tent.” Nesta screamed softly, pushing him back against that twisted throne as she gripped Elain’s hand. Arched ears, that glow of immortality…and that fairy way of shifting from flesh to fur. She’d accused Lucien of being a monster, once. Nesta seemed to embody it, her fury speaking to something primal in the soldiers around them.’

“Take them away,” Hybern ordered softly as those foul, human Queens turned to look at him, hope blazing in their ugly faces. Elain hoped they burned in hell for this, that they never had a moment's peace. They were tied back to that post, the same Nesta burned through the very second they were alone. 

“Something happened,” she whispered but Elain wasn’t listening. The wind was chanting. Elain, Elain, Elain, it murmured against a vision of burning fire and howling wolves. Twin ravens swooping through the sky…or men, with wings, but that couldn’t be right? Coming for Nesta and her army of the undead, pulling her screaming into the sky.

Images continued to assault Elain throughout the day, shifting into nothing until she wasn’t sure what was real and what was the new magic writhing in her veins. From the vacancy in Nesta’s eyes, Elain knew she did the same. No one came to check, no one brought them anything to eat or drink or offered even a measured look of kindness. Afraid, she knew, though she wasn’t sure how. Elain just knew, the way she knew someone was walking towards them and the way she knew they would not spend another night in this camp. 

“Tamlin,” she murmured mere moments before the High Lord stepped in. Unmasked. He was lovely, stunning in the fading light of day. Elain had been unprepared to see him without the green and gold covering his face, drinking in the tanned, chiseled features of his face. “Elain,” he breathed, looking to Nesta who remained utterly still. “Bron and Hart are waiting for you.” No Andras. That hurt was scabbed over. “Your sister too. Elain I…” he took a breath, offering her his hand. She took it without hesitation—she’d forgiven him long ago. “I’m sorry.” “I know,” Elain agreed. Nesta had risen to her feet, eyes gleaming with that silvery fire. Tamlin took a halting step backwards but Nesta wasn’t coming for him.

“Get her out of here.”

“We’re going together,” Elain replied firmly. Nesta had been here all of two days. What did she know about this place, this life? Beneath them, the ground shook with rumbling violence and Nesta grinned. It was a thing of hunger, of that writhing need. What had the Cauldron found when Nesta had gone in? What had it given to her?

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Nesta murmured. “Can’t you hear, them, Elain? The dead they…they whisper to me.”

“Elain,” Tamlin murmured with alarm. It wasn’t the dead that whispered to Elain, but the world itself. Elain, Elain, Elain, the wind chanted softly. It was that same cold wind she’d felt the first time she ever went to the wall though she hadn’t possessed the ability to hear what they said. Now, though…now Elain knew. 

“This place is dangerous,” Elain whispered, blinking away the vision of Nesta commanding that terrible, rotting army. 

“So am I.” Nesta strolled from the tent and the ground shook again. Elain went for her sister only for Tamlin to catch her around the waist. 

“They’ll kill her,” Elain writhed. Tamlin’s eyes gleamed green with hate.

“Then we give them a distraction.”

Tamlin strode to one of the torches, igniting the tent she’d just come from. The blaze roared to the sky, drawing anyone who might have noticed Nesta walking towards the steep hillside. Tamlins body shifted into a terrible beast as tall as her, a creature of golden fur and the horns Andras had once worn. A tribute to his High Lord, she understood. 

Elain took the torch from Tamlin’s terrible paw, beginning a run of carnage and fire while the ground beneath them groaned and shrieked. She could hear that terrible army, clawing towards Hybern. Revenge for what he’d done to them, for turning their trip through Spring into a horrible nightmare. 

They burst from the side of the army just in time for that terrible winged beast to swoop over the sky. “Something is coming,” she murmured, inclining her head towards the massive creature. Tamlin growled. 

“Let’s go,” he grumbled. Hybern had no interest in chasing her down, not when they realized Elain holding that fiery torch was merely a distraction for Nesta’s horrific screams of vengeance and the army she’d set upon them. More beasts took to the air just as Tamlin winnowed her away in warm, lilac scented air. 

Elain slammed to the ground, knees nearly buckling at the sheer force. A hand caught her arm, drawing her up.

“Lady Elain,” Bron murmured, no hint of a smile on his face. And Elain, eyes bouncing from him and Hart, flung her arms around his neck. Unmasked and lovely and familiar Bron in his fighting leather. Her friend. 

Hart’s blue eyes widened. “What happened to you?” he asked, eyes taking in the unmistakable glow of immortality. 

She hadn’t meant to cry. Elain blinked and Hart’s face crumpled. “Lady Elain,” he murmured, brushing a hand over her hair. “Let me go get Lucien.”

“Please,” whispered.

Hart vanished, along with the rumbling and Elain buried her face in Bron’s shoulder.

And waited.

[gammija]

The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.

[the-broken-truth]

The Dollmaker's Healer - Yandere Donna Benevieto x Reader (Part 1)

Memory is both a blessing & a curse - both helpful and hindering - both a miracle and a burden. You remembered how you come to be in the village - One of your late relatives passed away and bequeathed to you their Romanian Estate; you didn't even know that you were of Romanian Descent. Well - you knew your surname had a Romanian meaning but you didn't take much thought into it. Along with the estate - there were a few vaults and chests your late relative hoarded; making one of the richest residents in the village.

After meeting with the lawyer and getting your plane ticket - you traveled to Romanian's Village and was taken to your estate by a horse-pulled carriage.

The Estate was massive - tucked away in the Misty Valley with trees surrounding you; located on the edge of the cliff where the waterfall roared. The estate was about 3 stories - complete with an attic and a basement that was converted into a training room/herbal lab; that was your favorite part of the house. During your time in O/S (Orginal State), you spent a lot of your time hunting with your uncles or making salves and elixirs with your aunts from various plants; documenting the effects to know which were needed at which times.

To your uncles - you were the Bearer of the Eagle's Eye: You saw the furthest and could nail prey from as small as rabbits to as big as elk with a single arrow.

To your aunts - you were the Mistress/Master of the Gardens: Able to identify any kind of plant without fail. You got the best of both worlds and it came in handy considering that you were more attached to the wilds than civilian life.

With that memory of how you come to be here first in your mind, another come - the first time you saw the veiled woman and her puppet. You were standing on the back patio that overlooked the forest below the cliff your home sat - the fog was light this morning and you were just basking in the beauty when you looked to the side and saw another estate on the other side of the opening, sitting on the other waterfall's cliff. - it was grand but not as grand as yours. On the other estate's patio - you could see a figure, dawned in a black dress with a veil covering their face and - was that a doll upon their lap? You watched them for a while before the doll - it moved on its own, getting out the other person's lap and the two of them looked in your direction before disappearing into the estate. You thought about what the carriage driver told you - The L/N Estate was close to the House Beneviento - the current and only head of that family was Donna Beneviento, also known as the Dollmaker. You didn't think anything of it and went back inside your home to make some new healing salves you came up with.

A few months had passed since you first come to the village - you knew nothing here was normal: Lycans attacking at times, mutated wolves coming up out of nowhere, and then...there were the Daughters of the Castle - you encountered them a few times but you were able to defend yourself; sometimes leaving with a bite or a few scratches but it was never too bad.

One morning - you noticed that you were out of meat and grabbed one of the purses of Lei from the chest and put on your cloak before heading out the door. At this time - you developed of a bit of a reputation: You've used your salves for the people of the village and the sick got better, the hurt was relieved of their pain, and the restless was sleeping soundly; you made it into a bit of a business and it was very profitable. Everything was going great...until...the moment you met them.

"Excuse me. Are you Y/N L/N of L/N Estate?" A low voice called out behind you as you paid for your meat from the butcher. It was her - the veiled woman and beside her - clenching onto her dress - was the small doll you saw with her that day.

"Yes. I'm Y/N. May I ask who you are and what business you have with me?" You asked her.

"My name is Donna Beneviento - Head of House Beneviento. I came to find you because...I was hoping you could help me with my problem." Donna spoke in a low voice.

"What kind of problem?" You ask.

"It's her scar." The raspy voice of the doll called out - causing you to look at her. "She has a scar upon her face that she would love to be rid of but nothing she tried in the past seemed to have worked." The doll spoke.

"I'm guessing you're her companion? What's your name?" You asked the doll. The Doll and the Dollmaker were surprised - you weren't frightened by a talking doll?

"Angie. My name is Angie." The doll spoke. "You do no fear me?"

"At this point, I've seen a lot of things, Angie. Nothing really surprises me anymore here. So - what can you tell me about the scar?" You asked.

"It's...more of an infection caused than a common mortal wound." Donna's soft voice spoke as you stood back at your height to speak to her.

"An infection. Wait - was it caused by a Cadou?" You asked with a raised eyebrow - making both the doll and the dollmaker gasp.

"You know about the Cadou?" Angie exclaimed.

"Yes, I've dealt with a few cases of Cadou Scarring during my time here in the village. I made an elixir - while it can't get rid of the Cadou itself, it can make it so small that it gets rid of the scarring it leaves behind." You said with a smile.

"You...You can get rid of the scarring without getting rid of the Cadou? I...This is what I need - when can you do it?" Donna's voice was a bit louder - laced with hope that she could be free of the horrible scar without getting rid of the gift her mother gave to her.

"I have some vials of Cadou Represser at home; I don't feel quite comfortable allowing unknown people coming to my home but I can to yours - if you're comfortable with that. It will take 3 does - each a week apart." You explain.

"Yes - I can accept that. When can you come to House Beneviento to give me the first dosage?" Donna asked, her hands trembling with excitement.

"Once I'm done here - I dropped the food off at home, grab the vial and a fresh syringe, then meet you both at House Beneviento. Is that alright?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I...Yes. Please do come." Donna said as she gave a slight bow and turned on her heel before walking away with Angie at her heels. You smiled at the thought of aiding someone else with your knowledge and continued shopping - completely unaware of the smile and blush the veiled woman hid.

[A While Later]

After returning home and placing the food in the proper places - you made your way down to the Elixir Lab - that's what you liked to call it - and opened the cabinet to get a fresh bottle of Cadou Represser along with a fresh syringe - the cap securely over the needle to make more it was not contaminated by anything. You placed the two in your baggy jacket pocket before leaving your home once again. You began your journey to House Beneviento - crossing the wooden bridge that looked like it could collapse at any moment to the misty forest full of hanging dolls; you just looked at them and continued on your way until you came to a large grave surrounded by at least 20 smaller ones - looking at the gravestone of the large grave, you noticed that half of it was gone but the surname remained.

'Beneviento.' Sadness grasped your heart as you realized what you were looking at. 'Her family's massive gravesite. She really has no one besides Angie and her adoptive mother; that poor soul.'

You closed your eyes and brought your hands together in front of your chest in a praying manner - praying for the departed Beneviento Family & Donna's Happiness; no one should be as alone as she was. You finished your prayer and continued on your way - completely unaware of the porcelain eyes watching your move since you walked in the forest.

Upon arriving at the Beneviento Manor - you wanted up the wooden stairs to the door and knocked.

"Who is it?" The voice of Donna called out from behind the wood.

"It's Y/N. I'm here to do the treatment." You responded.

"Oh, please come in; the door is unlocked." Donna called out again.

You opened the door and saw Donna sitting in her wooden rocking chair near her round table; a cup of tea cooling by her side.

"Hello, Ms. Beneviento." You greeted as you made your way over to the veiled woman.

"Hello." It was simple and soft but you couldn't say anything about it.

With her permission - you lifted her veil to reveal her face and the Cadou that covered the right side of her face. Donna waited for you to utter about how horrifying she was but when she looked at your face, she saw the light blush creeping across your face. She asked if you were alright but all you said was: beautiful.

It was her turn to blush now.

No one ever called her beautiful - especially after seeing her scar. Donna felt a fluttering feeling in her stomach and warmth in her chest but she said nothing. You apologized for staring but she said it was alright; you thanked her before you gathered the supplies you brought with you and began your work. Filling the syringe with the liquid, you informed her that it would be a small stick and maybe some discomfort but it would pass in a few moments - she understood and you injected the Cadou Scar with the tip of the syringe and slowly injected the liquid until it was empty. You gathered your stuff but looked into the eye of the woman with a smile.

"I understand your reason but you really shouldn't cover your face, Lady Beneviento; you're very beautiful." You said with a smile.

"You... Do you really think I am beautiful?: Donna asked as you lightly dabbed the injection spot with an alcoholic wipe to make sure the injection site wasn't infected.

"Of course you are. You're a little different but that just adds to your beauty." You replied as your rose to your feet, gave her a polite bow before turning to leave but was stopped by her voice.

"Wait... Do you have anything else you need to be doing at this moment?" Donna asked.

"Not today. Why?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Then...would you like to stay for tea?" Donna asked as she gestured her hand to the teacup.

"I would love to." You answered.

That's how it began - ever since the treatments started: you would go over to Donna's house just to see her and Angie, the two of them seemed to lighten up whenever you came around. During the second treatment, Donna asked you about her personal life - mainly: If you had a lover at home? This made you blush and Donna looked at but annoyed but when you said you didn't have a lover, she seemed to relax. After the second treatment - the Cadou was more than half as small as it was when the treatments started. Donna would ask you to stay more and more often, even when you had other clients to tend to - she was always upset when you had work but she didn't let her emotions get too involved...until that day.

It was a few days before her last treatment - the Cadou was so small that it only covered her right eye - the two of you were sitting and drinking tea and eating lemon cake squares; you made some and thought Donna would like one so you brought some over. Donna was talking about a new doll she was working on but when you didn't engage in conversation, she looked at you and saw you were zoned off somewhere. She gained attention once again and asked you what was on your mind - you informed her you met someone in the village.

This made her drop the cup in her hand, making it crash against the teacup platter resting on the table, shattering both.

"What do you mean - you met someone?" Donna asked with a low voice.

"Well - her father was one of my clients and she was thankful for my help. I ran into her in the village a few times running errands and she and I have been hanging out." You said with a blush on your face - this angered Donna more.

"But...Why would you need to hang out with her when you have Angie and me? Are we not enough for you?" Donna almost hissed at you.

"Well, she seems nice and we have a lot in common. She wanted to take me out to dinner tomorrow - it will be like our first date." That made something in Donna snap.

"A Date? With her?" She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just what I said - you will not date this woman. You will not see her again." Donna said.

"And just who are you to tell me who I can or cannot see? My Mother? Donna, I'm a grown (Man/Woman), I can see who I want." You protested.

"I said you're not allowed to see her again; just listen to me and leave that woman alone. All you need are Angie and I." Donna said as she rose to her feet and made her way over to the stairs but stopped when you spoke again.

"Donna, you can't tell me who to see. You don't own me." You said.

"You need to listen to me - you are not allowed to see her again; just let it go." Donna gripped the rail of the stairway.

"You know what? I think I've been here for far too long to the point you think you can tell me what to do like you own me. I think I should leave." You walked to the door and reached out for the handle when the air suddenly got heavier.

"No. Don't...Don't leave me... You can't leave me, Y/N. Please." Donna called out as she began walking over to you but you kept your distance.

"No, I need to leave. I'll see you in a few days to finish the treatment but after that - we are no longer friends, Donna." Those words made Donna's blood freeze.

"No... No. Don't say that!" Donna's face raised as she lunged forward and grasped Y/N's hand. "Please, don't leave; I need you, Y/N. You can't just leave me." Donna begged.

"Watch me." You removed her hand walked out the door, slamming it behind you.

Donna fell to her knees and hugged herself, sobbing and begging for you to come back, to hold her and tell her you wouldn't leave her.

"Don't you understand, Mommy?" Angie's voice called out. "It's that other woman, she's making them think they don't want to be with you. If she wasn't in the way - you and Y/N would be together."

"Yes... I know it's her fault." Donna clenched her head and started laughing to herself. "She wants to take them from me. My Healer, my light, my love. But I won't let her. Don't worry, Y/N; once that weed in our garden is ripped out...it will just be us....Forever."

[hongnanglen-arina]

Someone better | Yoon Jeonghan

Genre: angst

Pairing:  idol!Jeonghan x female reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1k

A/N: Hey there! Hope you’re all feeling good :3 this is just a little drabble.. so.. nothing special haha. for everyone who doesn’t like reading angst, i promise you there’s something good at the end. sending you virtual hugs!

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

the first 9 months were like those perfect k-dramas you had seen on netflix. where the man was careful, helpful and overly romantic with a slice of humor. it seemed as if he could read your mind, always a step ahead before you even spoke it out loud. yoon jeonghan was the perfect boyfriend.

you respected times when he texted you less because of his crazy schedules. on the other side, he understood if you couldn’t answer right away when you were at work. with your friends you said it was like a dream come true. that your significant other made you feel loved like no one else did before. never did you reveal his identity. that was the reason why your parents didn’t know that you’ve been seeing someone in the first place. you always thought that someday the time would be right and although you were scared of the moment it would go public, you strongly believed that you two would still made it.

after the first 9 months, he got extremely busy. or at least that’s what he told you. you tried your best to adjust to his schedules, rushed over after work or even got up from bed to spend at least a couple of hours before he had to leave for a week again. his texts became shorter and the information about his free time came more sudden that you didn’t have the time to plan things. at one point you felt as if your time together were just booty calls.

you even confronted him and told him about your feelings and at first he understood and reassured you that he would be more careful but those were only empty words. 

when the others sent messages to you from time to time, you often wondered what schedule your boyfriend could have since he always left you on read during those times. besides some photoshoots, he always had work with the other boys. but since they always answered that jeonghan was in his room or outside without the boys, you became worried.

first you thought it could be a surprise for you like in those k-dramas but there was no anniversary to celebrate and when nothing happened after another 4 months, you somehow got ready to be told to split up.

you haven’t seen him in 2 whole months and when you had struggles to distract yourself in your free time at the beginning when it started, it scared you how easily you adjusted to the thought of breaking up.

you loved him and you were sure he did too. but whenever you thought about all the beautiful female idols they would meet during promotions or shows, you couldn’t help but understand the possible change of heart. they had everything you hadn’t. whenever you saw yourself in the mirror or in photos, you never thought that you were ugly or fat. but it was hard to deny the fact that those idols were so unbelievable pretty and every men’s dream that you would never be able to compete against them and win.

another 3 months had passed and as you were munching your self-made brownies, all of a sudden you got a message from seungkwan with a short ‘sorry’. followed by a ‘i’m really sorry noona’ by vernon. leaving you baffled, you instantly thought that something bad had happened, so you sent a question to jeonghan but he didn’t reply nor read it. since you had their manager’s number for emergency cases, you quickly dialed his number.

“it’s me, y/n. did something happen?? is everything okay with jeonghan?”

he hesitated but after he cleared his throat, he softly said, “he’s fine. I’m sure he will text you soon….. y/n?”

“yes?”

“I’m sorry. take care, yes?”

he didn’t give you the time to ask what he meant because the call was cut off right after his last word. although jeonghan must be fine because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to text you but you were still speechless and worried. why did they all apologize? what happened?

you weren’t able to finish your brownies. the worry filled your whole senses that your gaze was fixated on your phone nonstop. 

3 hours after your call with their manager, jeonghan sent a text message to you. you swallowed thickly when you saw the long text.

[jeonghan] hey y/n, sorry for being so mia. i just needed some time thinking about what i want for my future and what’s the best. sorry, for not discussing it with you but it would have been hard.. maybe it’s not sudden or a surprise because i know girls have some kind of sense boys don’t have but i have to end our relationship. i loved it and love you and honestly i still do love you but i found someone who i feel more comfortable with and i don’t feel so bad leaving her alone for longer. i know you suffered when i was too busy meeting you so i hope you will find someone else soon that has more time and treats you like the princes you are. maybe, maybe one day… we can meet again and then i will introduce her to you. sorry again and take care. good bye.

you were ready for a break up but when it actually happened, you were heartbroken. something in you hoped that your feelings lied to you, that you worried for nothing and that everything was still okay. but then again, the beginning of your love story was too good to be true. it was too perfect.

opening the weverse app while slowly little tears formed in your eyes, you absentmindedly went through the members posts when all of a sudden your eyes grew wide.

jeonghan had posted a photo just 18 minutes ago.

the caption read: nice to meet you, i’m jeonghan oppa’s girlfriend doljjong.

scrolling down so you could see the photo better, you nearly dropped your phone.

it was a photo of a cute puppet house. nice decoration with the earlier introduced ‘girlfriend’. her face was friendly and she wore a hat.

“s-so…. this is the reason?” you murmured, unsure what to say and think.

yes. this was a photo of doljjong. jeonghan’s new girlfriend. a pet rock.

[animefreak1145]

The Irony of Adler and Bell

Call of Duty: Black Ops Analysis of Adler’s Brainwashing

It’s me again. And I’m here with another analysis! This time based solely around Adler. It’s always about Adler. But also Bell.

And this is about the brainwashing of not Bell, but Adler.

We have all had our theories since we first saw Adler getting tortured in the Cinematic Warzone Trailers, shown in Season 3 of COD:BOCW. Our suspicions growing when we see Sus Adler™️ doing what he does best in Season 4 by stealing an important looking chip within the crashed satellite that was taken down. (Also, Hudson, what is wrong with you letting Adler be cleared for a mission when he was just rescued like two weeks ago?!)

And although we did not see him in Season 5, we can all gather that anyone could be potentially brainwashed if you have a certain brand of earpiece. (Woods and Stryker appeared unaffected despite having their own earpieces). So the naive hope and calming words to others that Adler being different and strong is out the window. All it takes is hearing the numbers. What do the numbers mean, Mason?

Besides Bell wasn’t your average run of the mill agent either. An amazing decoder and created codes(I am with the theory that Bell did create the codes for Perseus that we have to decrypt in the game for Operation Chaos and Red Circus) with a brutal close combat skill as well as charming based on how one could talk to everyone and be a social butterfly. Also, able to handle and withstand torture after one hour of leaving Cuba despite previous injuries AND be able to go to Solovetsky/Duga and able to aim and shoot despite having a needle shoved in their eye a few hours earlier.

Bell had crazy skills. Just like Adler does. Bell was brainwashed. So is Adler.

Confirmed with this bundle that will be released. Thank you to @reclaimedbythesea who first found it and pointed it out.

We have the confirmation—the amazing, horrible, war criminal man we all love has become an agent of the man who he swore to chase down and capture/kill for longer than a decade. (Adler said thirteen years in COD:BOCW universe, so 1984 it would be sixteen years. Sheesh. Correct me if I’m wrong. I may be mistaken.) Is it wrong I kinda find it funny? Especially since he did the same thing to Bell—believing it to be necessary. Just as Stitch I’m sure finds it necessary.

It’s just a big brainwash back and forth between these two countries, a race to see who has the most mindless agents on their side in the end. But we’re not focusing on that.

We’re focusing on how Adler’s karma finally caught up to him with all his war crimes. We can infer that he hasn’t just done a cruel action like that to Bell, but to others. “Whatever it takes.” That’s his motto. He’s messed up other’s lives—hundreds, maybe even thousands. The Vietnam War has a deep dirty history, such as the real operation of Fracture Jaw, Operation Ranch Hand with the use of Agent Orange, the Mai(My) Lai Massacre and who knows how many other operations that would/did affect civilians. Not that I would see Adler doing anything like the massacre, but you can’t expect me to not believe that he may have been involved with Agent Orange somewhat? And who knows what other operations and missions he’s done as a CIA agent after the war?

My point is, the man has been gathering karma for awhile. Not just with Bell(I am aware he had his orders in the war, I’m just saying I’m not sure if he feels much guilt about some said orders. Guilt I believe he may has, but I’m not sure it’s a high degree.) Of course, Bell isn’t a saint either. They were willing to kill millions with Perseus after all. A wayyyy higher body count than Adler. And who knows what Bell did with Perseus even before the Greenlight plan? Didn’t seem to mind millions blinking in an eye, so must be pretty cold or delusional about the whole free world killing their country thing. Thank you @yunatheintrovert for this post pointing out and showing a hint of just how not good a person Bell was.

I’m not going to say they deserved what happened to them due to Adler. I feel for Bell. I really do. Just like I can’t say if Adler deserves it for everything—just can’t say that because I’m not at liberty to judge other’s actions and claim what is deserved and undeserved. Leave that to judges.

But now I’m going to point out certain things—other things. Such as what I think to be Adler’s “new” name. At least to those in the Perseus Collective/Stitch.

Do I realize that “Cipher” may just be what this awesome skin is called? Yes. Will I rather ignore it and rant about the name for two ten minutes? Also yes.

On to the analysis!

ci·pher/ˈsīfər/: a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

This first definition is what we can all gather of what the numbers represent—the code and simultaneously the key of brainwashing others in earpieces with just a certain order of number together.

Stitch and co. used said numbers on Adler, so why not call him Cipher? The Code? Funny, cause he killed Bell—the Decoder. Maybe Bell would’ve helped him out if he didn’t kill them.

Another hammer to the irony of between these two.

But no. The name gets better. Second definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/: a person or thing of no importance, especially a person who does the bidding of others and seems to have no will of their own.

PAHAHAHAHAHA! *clears throat* Now, this, this is what I think Stitch calls some true vengeance. Not only did he get to torture the man who did the same to him before, but made Adler a shadow of who he was before. A husk. Nothing really there. “Whatever it takes” indeed but for the opposite side now—a puppet with numbers for strings. Stitch did a good job in naming Cipher—I mean Adler. We don’t even know how far Adler shall go now, will the CIA have to kill him or will they be able to recondition him when/if they capture him? Will he even be the same? Nope.

Why do I find that definition funny? Well, I think Adler had a multitude of reasons for naming Bell, Bell. Just like Stitch did with Adler. And not just the obvious reasons of him ringing the bell at them to condition them as he was torturing/brainwashing them(we love Pavlov!). Let’s get the first definition out the way.

bell /bel/: a hollow object, typically made of metal and having the shape of a deep inverted cup widening at the lip, that sounds a clear musical note when struck, typically by means of a clapper inside.

I wonder if anyone knows where I’m going with this or I’m starting to seem like a madwoman.

I’m going to ask you guys to focus on the word, “hollow” for me. Hollow, as in not filled. There’s something in the bell alright, but it doesn’t do enough to fill out the hole does it? Like Cipher is now made a husk. Bell was made hollow—only a little bit filled with the little memory they got back before they were killed(maybe they weren’t, let’s just go with it for now). Or perhaps just a bit filled with false memories of Vietnam, of camaraderie. I doubt Stitch did anything like that.

Also, Bell is just an instrument for someone else to play. Play the right tune, and the Russian agent will do anything for you. Right, Adler?

Cipher is the puppet, just doing what he’s told when they give the orders. No will or thought. Just how Stitch likes it.

I’m not done yet! Second definition!

bell /bel/: a. A stroke on a hollow metal instrument to mark the hour.

b. The time indicated by the striking of this instrument, divided into half hours.

Another play on words of Bell being struck(jabbed with needles) to do what needs to be done. But it also represents the limited time that Bell has. Bell needs to help to stop Perseus and quick, Adler will make them go faster if needed by putting the highest dosage as possible without killing them to accomplish it. Or maybe it’s also a representation that Bell does actually have limited time left—Park did say MK—Ultra will be hard on the body physically and mentally. Perhaps MK-Ultra was slowly killing us and Adler just decided to give us a mercy kill while he was at it as he “tied up our strings.”( @cryinginthebackseat does point this out in their Adler/Bell story, go check it out!)

Let’s focus on the instrument thing again though, but back to Cipher. The third definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/ : a continuous sounding of an organ pipe, caused by a mechanical defect.

Oh man. Sounds like Adler is being played like an instrument too, continuously due to all the numbers and how the numbers can be everywhere if one is in the armed forces since they all use earpieces. Interesting shape too, a pipe. Long and thin and has two holes, a beginning and an end but which one is the top or the bottom? The beginning and the end? We don’t know how far Adler will go like this—as Cipher. It will eventually come to a point, where something squeezes within the pipe and manages to get out. Maybe. Or maybe Adler is just forever defected, like the definition suggests.

Not quite Adler anymore and just Cipher.

Just like Bell will always just be Bell. The other self practically gone.

It seems these two will always somehow reflect and affect one another, whether one is dead or not.

I swear I love Adler, so don’t mind some of my dark humor about him and this situation he’s in. It is pretty funny. At least to me. Stitch is funny. And petty.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

@salvija @smokeywhalee @quizzyisdone @efingart @samatedeansbroccoli @weirdoartist21 @tr1ppylady

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 20

Shit goes sideways for y/n and Hannibal as they search for Will. 

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon 

Trigger warnings: stalking, threats of violence, implied threats of sex abuse

Your text notification sound rang over and over. You pulled yourself out of the abyss of sleep, slowly regaining your lucidity. You checked the time. 3:45AM.

The room was dark, a plush blanket was draped over your body, and Hannibal was nowhere to be seen. It was clear he had no intention of waking you up. You resigned to chew him out about that later. For now, you had to attend to what seemed like the thousands of text messages piling up in your notifications. 

But they weren’t text messages. They were comments on all your reddit posts. Dozens of them, all from different burner accounts, and they all said the same thing. 

u/lostlamb928723: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

u/fallenone736139: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

u/ledastray372935: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

You threw the blanket off your legs, scrolling through the overwhelming mass of biblical spam. You saw the silver lining immediately: Chase wouldn’t be fucking with you if you weren’t close. 

“Hannibal!” You called out, eyes scanning the dark house for any sign of him. He wouldn’t have gone to bed. You let the blood return to your legs before standing up, stretching and searching the house. 

You could hear the beginnings of a storm brewing outside. The ambient pitter-patter of rain was usually a source of comfort, but the abrupt claps of thunder out of nowhere put you on edge. You tiptoed around the massive house, eyes up for anything out of place. 

“Hannibal?” You whispered, peering through the threshold into the kitchen. You hadn’t noticed how scary his kitchen was until then. It was large, cold and uninviting, especially when it was only illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, over and over and over. More of the same, no doubt. 

A hand found your shoulder and you jumped out of your skin. You screamed. It took a second to realize that it was just Hannibal, and not your sleep paralysis demon come to life. 

“It’s just me, darling.” He soothed, putting both hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Fucking hell, Hannibal.” You cursed, trying to catch your breath. “Maybe you could have at least answered when I called your name.” 

“I’m sorry.” He stroked your hair, knowing it would soothe your nerves. "I was in the office and I couldn't hear you."

"Why is everything so dark?" You asked.

“The storm knocked out the power about half an hour ago." He explained. The nuances in his voice suggested that this was only one of several inconveniences. "I was hoping it would be back on by the time you woke up.” 

"Damn, just when I thought we were getting close." You muttered, pulling your phone from your back pocket. "Here, take a look at this-"

You unlocked your phone and showed him the mass of notifications.

"Strange." He commented. "How are you getting notifications if the power is out?"

"Huh." You furrowed your brow and looked at your phone. “If the power is out, that means the Wi-Fi is down, right?” 

“Thus the source of my confusion.” He said.  

You opened your phone and saw that you were getting four bars of WiFi. “Then how on earth are all these notifications coming through?” 

“Your cellular, perhaps?” He asked, looking over your shoulder.

You shook your head. The network was just a strand of ten numbers. "No, this is... a hotspot? Is your phone putting out a mobile hotspot?” 

"I'm afraid not." He lowered his head. “Would your phone connect to a hotspot being put out by some random source?” 

“I don’t know, I-- Wait.” You cut yourself off. “Oh no.” 

“What is it?” 

“Hannibal, call Will’s phone.” You said, frantically.

He was compliant, but he could never be comfortable taking orders from someone without knowing why. His motions were slow and he let the silence linger, urging you to fill it with an explanation.

You rubbed your temples. "When I was in Wolf Trap, Will set up a hotspot for me to call my mom. My phone probably recognized it and connected automatically when the power went out."

A distant, but audible rumbling came from just outside the front door. He caught on as soon as the sound hit his ear. A peek out the window confirmed your worst fears. A phone with a shattered screen was laid directly in eyeshot. You could make out Hannibal’s call icon. 

“Shit.” You cursed. “They found us.” 

Like clockwork, your phone began to ring. An unlisted number appeared on the screen. You looked at it, and then back at Hannibal.

"Answer." He said. "Let him think you're alone."

Hesitantly, you slid the green answer icon across the screen and put the caller on speaker. 

“Hello?” You answered, your voice trembling. 

“[F/N] [L/N].” Will’s strained voice croaked from the receiver. “My favorite sinner.” 

You shared a look of relief with Hannibal. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Will, oh my god, you’re alive!” 

“So you believe in god now?” Will said through his teeth. You weren’t talking to Will. You were talking to Chase. Will was just his current in a long line of surrogate bodies he used and disposed of. 

“Chase,” Your voice lowered with severity. “If you hurt him, I swear to shit, I will not hesitate to paint the walls with your insides.” 

“Be careful little ears what you hear, be careful little ears what you hear” Will read off. “For the father up above is looking down in love...” 

“Chase, you sick fuck.” You shouted. “Pull that dick out of your mouth and talk to me yourself.” 

“If you want to talk to me...” Will struggled. “Come here yourself.” 

You looked at Hannibal for any sort of direction. In your silence, Chase continued to make his puppet talk. 

“Since you seem to be having some trouble finding me,” Will said. “The directions are on your boyfriend’s phone. I left it on the porch for you.” 

“Yeah, I found it.” You spat. 

“Next time, don’t leave yourself so vulnerable by posting on public forums.” He said. “Some psycho may have found you before I did. Oh, and [F/N]?”

“What?” You snapped. 

“No cops. No FBI.” Will said, pain in every word.

You just couldn't take it anymore. "What the hell do you want from me?"

“I want to have a conversation about god’s true love.” Will wretched as he spoke. You had a sickening feeling that Will was privy to what that 'conversation' would really entail.

You wanted to vomit. You could picture the look on Chase’s face, flashing his unnaturally white teeth at the idea of finally having you. Doing fuck-knows-what to you. Using Will’s mouth to say it. Tormenting the man you’d come to love. You channeled your disgust into rage. 

“I’ll see you in fucking Borrasca.” You snarled. 

[avada-kedavrugh]

How stupid you must be?

Pairing | Tom Riddle x Reader 

Genre | Angst (cheeky lil bit of making out)

Words | 2323

Warning | Making out, mentions of death, very unhealthy/abusive relationship that I do not endorse AT ALL but I just find it interesting to write. <3

How stupid you must be.

Tom’s hand slither around your neck, ever so delicately like a snake entangling its prey marvelling at each drop of fear it evoked, his fingers gracing the expanse of your skin like you were a porcelain doll, exquisite, dainty and so fragile in his touch. You are so small against him as he towers over you, your body quivering against the wall from the toxic mixture of anticipation, lust and fear that welled inside you, staring up at him with a look of complete adoration. The very touch of his cold fingers around your throat is so empowering, so overwhelming, so shattering as it destroys every barrier in your mind and subdues your entire being to his control. His dangerous gaze on you, searing through your mind, simultaneously imploring you to delve in closer with sweet nothings calling for you to give yourself to him, and screaming warning signs of ‘danger’. But it’s already too late for you as you’re faltering, falling, fading into his touch, unashamedly losing whatever part of you clung to sanity, replaced with the sheer desire, yearning, desperation for his lips to devour you, to take the final step of consuming you and leave you an empty shell.  

Within the eery silence of the dark closet, your own thoughts echo in your mind, as you silently plead with him. As if hearing your desperation, his hold on you tightens, teasing you with the searing touch of his fingers as his eyes look down on you with a cold, dangerous look. Your eyes flicker with infatuation and your cheeks flush a soft, pink hue, in a way that would be almost endearing, perhaps, if Tom was capable of love. If he was capable of love, he’d be ensnared in your affection and devotion, allow himself to shrink into your touch and be consumed by you, let your unceasing attempts of warmth to burn through him, act as the furnace that would cause his heart to shudder to life. Instead he found the way you looked at him repulsive, your looks of adoration received by a look of apathy, at best. Sometimes, he struggled to bury the contempt he felt towards you and he’d snap. He’d feel his eyes blazing with disgust, the dark look screaming ‘i hate you’ in what was both a shattering roar and a shivering whisper.  

Out of your lips slips a moan, your teeth quickly baring down on your soft lips in a feeble attempt to hide your sheer desire, bashful and ashamed of the effect he had on you. The sound echoes through the closet, burrowing itself into every crevice of the room, slipping into his ears and drilling into his mind, quickly registering as a sign of your weakness, of his absolute control over you. Although he will never love you, he relishes in the dominance he has over you, knowing this is only just the start of his strive for power. He felt no remorse, simply enjoying the incentive your weakness brought, grip tightening, his ring indenting itself into your skin and knuckles turning white whilst pressing against the silky expanse of your throat.

“Tom-” A guttural moan rumbled from your lips, desperation dripping from the very sound. His stony look flickering with amusement; with the knowledge you were defenceless against his hold, your mind falling into a dark abyss that matched your pupils – thick molasses, dilated, faltering at his every move. Secretly, he savours the sight, his lips curling into a sinister smirk as he watches you unfold against him, trapped between him and the wall, knowing that even if he let you go, you would stay there, hopelessly waiting for him to return your feelings. You allowed yourself to be a puppet, directed by his simple touch or a mutter of words, completely consumed by him. Lavishing in this knowledge, he set himself to tease you, make you ache with your utter lust, dipping his head down as he brought his lips dangerously close to your ears.

“Now, I’ve never seen someone so desperate,” The warmth of his breath tantalising against your skin, his words erupting from his voice in a sadistic purr. “How stupid you must be.”

How stupid you must be.  

The statement sounded in both of your minds. Tom’s lips twisting into an even crueller, ever so tantalising smile, while your heart was being thrashed and you felt your stomach momentarily dip.  

How stupid you must be. Completely subservient to the man who held you pinned against the wall, who belittled you and shamelessly looked at you with total contempt. The man was able to cause the pool of rich, luxurious heat sprouting in your lower stomach with just a single touch while at the same time, with just a simple statement, he had caused a churning pit in your stomach that made you wish the ground would just swallow you up right there, taking mercy on you and saving you from the agony he caused. You knew your heart belonged to him. 

Like many complicated things in life, it began innocently, coy glances at a cute boy during classes, feeling flustered around him, laughing as you told your friends about your attraction to him, becoming hopelessly drawn to the mystery that surrounded him. Tom. The tall, dark-haired, dark eyed Slytherin boy surrounded by his friends that all looked up at him with expectation. Who would you be to ignore your innocent, school crush? So, the chaste glances turned to watching him during classes, to trying to talk to him, despite his disinterest, to following him through the corridors. All in - as you told yourself several times - a desperate attempt to help him.  

Along the path of simple curiosity and attraction, you found yourself thinking of him more and more, every second of your day your mind would wander and lead you to him. At first it scared you, so you forced yourself to distance yourself from him. Without him you sank into a seat of sadness, staring into the dark gloomy depths of your drink, while your friends chattered around you, excitedly gossiping about whatever interested them. Wherever you were, sitting in the great hall with your friends or sitting alone in the library, that feeling of emptiness clung onto you. So, when your eyes glanced over him as he walked past, feeling your heart shudder to life, you gave yourself the little treat, let your eyes linger for a second longer, and then another second longer, then another second, and then another, and another, until every time you saw him you allowed your eyes to fix on him – his image imprinting onto your mind. Just seeing him filled you with a euphoric high and who would you be if you denied yourself the feeling? You convinced yourself it was fate, that your life was tied into a hangman’s knot with his. Curiously, one day, he returned the interest, tipping the earth of its axis and letting you fall into his arms. And that was the day, you allowed yourself to become his servant, become besotted him, allowed your obsession with him to begin to ravage you. And now, you knew he wasn’t human – not really - and knew he wasn’t capable of love, yet you’d sacrifice everything just for a simple kiss.

In retrospect, early on, you caught glimpses of something sinister lurking within him, his heartfelt words jumbled with a tone of hatred and his eyes occasionally flaring with something bordering loathing. Maybe, you stayed with him because you wanted to help him or, maybe, you stayed with him because of some sadistic voice that sung in your head that urged you to comprehend him, take him apart and reconstruct him secret by secret, just to know the very truth behind Tom Riddle and who he really was.

How very stupid you must be, your heart fluttering in your chest at his touch despite the obvious torment of his words, returning his sinister look with a look of full-blown lust, the darkness in your eyes caused by your pure desire while his was caused by something far more twisted. How very stupid you must be to allow yourself to slump against him, allowing his rigid body pressed against you to hold you up, his hands clutching your neck and keeping you afloat, the final restraint stopping you from falling into complete delirium.

“Tom, please-” You whined, a painful, raw, raggedy sound. Begging for the cushion of his lips. All of you hoped for the release of his animalist desires on you, for him to shed his cruel exterior, to reveal his raw being to you, bare his soul to you, allow you to squirm your way in, embrace him for who he was, love him, care for him. Caress every wound on his soul, kiss it better and make his heart feel something. For you. You stared at him hopefully, eyes twinkling with some innocence that you desperately clung to, slowing being chipped away every time you worked out what he’d done. His grip on you went slack, the colour returning to his knuckles, your lungs unexpectedly filling with oxygen you didn’t even know you needed as you breathed him in.  

Your eyes dancing with dreams, the dreams you replayed in your mind when the sky got dark, when your dormitory grew still, while your mind was too loud, your dreams embraced you like the warm arms of a mother, coddling you, soothing you into a calm slumber, a lullaby of dreams that would never happen, the dreams of Tom Riddle. Tom’s eyes lacked such excitement, instead they stilled with a vacant expression - one you found rather serene – as he took in the sight of you. Your heart unashamedly raced, desperate for you to reach out and press your lips against his. Risk your life just for the caress of his lips against yours.

His body pulling away from you, letting you to fall back against the wall. His smirk souring into a look of disgust, eyes full-blown with revulsion and contempt, looking down on you as if you were the most disgusting beetle on earth, as if all you deserved was to be stamped on. He moved forward again, this time his lips grazing your ears as he whispers “I don’t need you anymore Y/N.”

Your heart continues its shameless rampage within your chest, thundering against its weak confines, threatening to breakout and escape into Tom’s hands - where it knew it belonged. How very stupid you must be. It was too late for you now, you knew what his words meant, knew the threat they held within them, yet as his hot breath moved away from you, your hands desperately moved to grab onto him, your fingers hopelessly dragging against the material of his shirt, failing to cling onto anything, clawing at the air between you.

He was looking over your small form, taking in each detail of you for one final time; you were his obedient servant that he could manipulate to do his will. You, such a meek being, that seemingly devoted your life to his. Had become entangled, enchanted, encapsulated with him, by him, completely submitting yourself to him all for the human feeling of love. He knew you would do anything for him yet he knew that human feeling inside you, that clung to its innocence, unmoving from its claims of compassion, was stronger than your fragile feelings for him, one wrong move and it could easily overcome your devotion for him and leave him at risk. Something jolted in his heart. And then he did it.

Lips barrelling towards yours. Smashing against your soft lips. Teeth clashing. Like two starved animals that hadn’t eaten in days, absolutely ravenous from hunger, finally given a measly morsel between you. One of his hands wound itself around your neck again, all delicacy thrown aside as he roughly held you up by your throat. His nails attaching themselves to your skin, ripping into your skin so violently, leaving behind imprints at his very touch. Slamming your body against the wall and pressing his form, so crazed in its frenzy yet so rigid, against you. You took your chance to savour him, memorising the feeling of lips against you, the feel of fingers wrapped around your neck. Your mouth opening, tongue pressing against his mouth, desperate to taste him. The concoction of unrequited love and lust had left you famished, and now your body drowned in the touch of Tom Riddle. He was blessing you with what you had always wanted. Quenching the aching feeling that had laid dormant inside your lower stomach for months, incited only by him and growing more dangerous as he disregarded your desires. Yet, niggling in your mind was the emptiness of every touch, every taste, every movement. His sexual ferocity felt more like a primitive instinct than a conscious desire.  

How stupid you must be.

He was going to kill you.

He had used you and tossed you aside like a doll. And every step of the way, you lapped it up like a desperate puppy, hanging at the edge of his every word, the promise of his touch having the power to control you. Inside your heart swelled, as his lips thrashed against yours in their rampage, ever so desperate, like prey entangled within a snake. The warmth pooling through your entire body, drowning the remnants of sanity, and sending you into delirium. How stupid you must be. He was going to kill you and yet, he was kissing you. For the first time, your final wish and he was kissing you, for the last time. Buried under his ravenous lips an uncontrollable grin broke out from your own, torn and bleeding. A grin that pressed against his lips. A grin that mirrored the euphoria that filled your soul.

Maybe he did love you.

[thequeenb]

Come Back

This is part 3 of the series because its highly requested. Part 1 and 2 are here for you to read.

I watched Poppy get out of the limo gracefully as she has always been. She was perfect in every way, people here aren't used to this type of women. From head to toe she was beautiful, from the way her hair fell to her shoulders to the way she was standing, eyes looking at me intently.

Everyone was stunned but i am not surprised. Charlie gasps as she takes my hand in hers tagging me away from the crowd. My eyes are lost in hers, just like every movie everything stops. My heart is pounding but I can't quite know how i feel. As Charlie pushes me away from her i can see the disappointment all over her perfect features

Why she follow me? Why is she here? How did she know i was here? And most importantly what do i do now? Before my mind start overthink Charlie looks at me worried

"I am sorry this is all my fault i thought it was a celebrity i didn't knew it was your ex"

Right my ex. Is this the right word? I cant quite tell to be honest. We have been through so much that we didn't had time to label our relationship nor we had to. I felt anger when the painful pictures came back in my mind. If our relationship meant even a little bit to her why would she let us fall apart?

I frown and Charlie hugs me tight without another word. She always knew what to do and how to read my eyes. Her hand draws small circles on my back and i take a deep breath

"This wasn't your fault. I am surprised she even knows where Farmsvile is" my bitter chuckle fills the air "i always wanted to take her here, show her the real world without any masks covering our every decision"

Charlie listens to me like always. I miss Zoe though, she is as supportive as her but she always knew the New York world better than Charlie

"Why do you think she is trying to find you?"

I bite my lip in thought wanting the answer to this question but for now its unknown

"Well i blocked her number..her instagram, her Twitter account, her Facebook account her-"

"Woah there" Charlie says laughing "you are such a drama queen no wonder the big city treats you well"

"I wish it did, so many things changed so fast. The way i dress, the way i think, the way i make decisions, everything" i hide my face in my hands unable to get a hold of my emotions

"Well you better make a fast decision because miss Barbie is coming our way right now" i quickly fix my hair and wipe my tears not wanting Poppy to see how hurt i am

She approaches carefully and so sure of herself but knowing her i sense the hesitation in her expression.

"Could we have some privacy?" Poppy asks and Charlie gives me the "should i kill this bitch" look. I nod reassuring her its fine

"If you hurt her more i will throw you to the pigs" Charlie says giving Poppy a sharp look before walking away

Poppy mutters something under her breath, probably something like 'gross' or 'ew'. She is hesitant to sit next to me but I don't mind it. Taking a deep breath i try to not cry

"Look Bea, i won't waste your time because you already hate me but everything you saw has a story behind them" her expression changes, i am sure she replay the events and honestly so do i. The difference between us is that she feels sadness and i am blinded by rage

"Oh i am sure it does. I will make a guess and say that you used me all this time and i was just a puppet in your stupid game" i stand up unable to be close to her

"Oh please what would i gain from you? Being with a farmer girl isn't exactly appealing to any advantage" she stands up too, her eyes a wild fire ready to spread

A farmer girl..not appealing. Bravo Poppy, break my heart a little bit more

"Wow really? Last time i checked a farmer girl made you feel loved, a farmer girl took you to nice places and a farmer girl held you while you complained about your family!!" I raise my voice even though i have all the right reasons, still i can see how surprised she is by it

"I could have anyone i want if i snap my fingers but i tried to protect you i never wanted Carter-"

"Oh really?? The what the fuck is this pic Poppy?" I shove my phone in her face and i can see clearly her anger building in

"You don't understand, i am stupid i even came to this disgusting place to find you" she grabs her bag fixing her hair trying to make a dramatic exit

"Oh seriously? Well i am sorry this doesn't meet your standards i am sure you enjoy the city where nobody gives a shit about you or use you for your name" i grab my bag too and this time i walk away without looking back

Suddenly i stop my tracks but i don't turn around to face her "And to think i wanted to show you where i grew up" thats all i say before my tears fell from my eyes. I change my pace going faster in hope she would chase me but she doesn't.

The fresh air hits my face and i feel safe knowing nobody will judge me here. Walking a little further i finally arrive home where a familiar smell greets me. My mother is making my favourite food, father is feeding the chickens and Charlie waits for me on the porch

I put a fake smile on my face as i approach "well that went better than i thought" sarcasm was always my way to cope with my emotions

"You will share the details later right now we should eat the stew while its hot come on!" Charlie leads me inside the house and it feels good to be surrounded by welcoming faces

The day passes fast and i jump in my bed. I am so exhausted, who knew dealing with my emotions would be so tiring. Before i close my eyes i check my phone in hope Zoe texted me but i know she is busy. I close my eyes hoping the pain will stop and the new day will start better.

The sun hits my face and i groan in annoyance when i hear a knock at my door.

"Sweetheart should i come in?" My mother comes inside my room and i sit up trying to understand why she woke me up at..8:00 in the morning?? Ugh a girl cant get her beauty sleep

She sits beside me cupping my face in her hands. I missed her touch, she always made me feel better about myself and my problems no matter how sad i was feeling

"You have visitors outside waiting for you but i was adviced to not let you look through the window" my mother chuckles "now get ready they waited long enough"

I smile putting all my energy into getting out of my warm bed "fine fine only because i know Charlie will want to do something crazy"

I get dressed and run downstairs. I open the door only to be greeted by Charlie and.. Poppy??

"Goodmorning Princess i am sorry to wake you up so early but we have cows to milk" Charlie winks at me but my attention falls to Poppy who's wearing a simple T shirt and..boots? What is happening?

"Don't look at this city snob like that it took me 1 hour to convince her to wear these"

Poppy rolls her eyes but i laugh, its a once in a lifetime opportunity to see her this way, ah how i would love to take a picture and post it everywhere

"Show me your world" Poppy says giving me a small smile and for the first time i can see all the effort she put for me. I mean the outfit says it all, and the one and only Min SinClair will do farm work? Now thats some change

"I chuckle walking towards the farm "Well then show me how sorry you are" i say throwing a bucket at Poppy who looks at it in disgust

"I swear Hudges if you-" but Charlie push her in time and honestly this is the best sight ever. Poppy pouts but bites her tongue

"Lets go city girl show me what you got" Charlie and i laugh and surprisingly Poppy joins as she hides her face on my shoulder

"I missed you" she whispers only for me to hear and i smile letting my bad thoughts on the side for once seeing where this will take me. I hold her closer as we walk into the sunrise ready to share a piece of myself with her.

Tag list: @mvalentine @otakufangirl-12 @princessstellaris @indecisive-choices @i-loveeveryone @kiara-36 @ognenniyvolk @somewillwin @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @ghalind @sergeant-pepper-loves-choices @dibberdipper @aiswood @alexlabhont @dopeyouth @tyrils-star @alexroyard @uselesslesbianfr  @wolfietheduckyou @somin-yin

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1 & Part 2

Part 3/3:

Nines froze as the human’s body melded to his. Gavin kept his eyes shut and his lips moving. Then what he’d been bracing for finally came.

Pain.

Sweet glorious pain, blossoming everywhere Nines gripped his body. Gavin was sure that his lips would bruise under the pressure of the reciprocal kiss… that his rib cage would shatter if Nines held him any tighter… that his lungs would burst if they didn’t fill with air soon…

A wolf-whistle broke through the stunned silence in the yard.

Gavin pulled back, light-headed from the rush of oxygen and drain of adrenaline. He didn’t fall though. Didn’t even move an inch. Strong arms and a heated gaze kept him pinned.

//

\\

“Of all the things in the world… why coffee?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Gavin tucked his head into the crook of Nines’ neck, cuddling closer.

“Hmm… I think weird working hours made me actually need the caffeine… but the bean snobbery just came with the rest of my superiority complexes.”

Nines laughed. It was more of an exhale than an actual laugh, but Gavin was thankful for it nonetheless.

“And you?”

Nines kissed his forehead, prolonging his answer as much as he could before finally relenting with a sigh.

“The reason you’re asking… is because running a café is just about the last thing you’d expect an android like me to be doing. And… that’s your answer. That’s exactly why I wanted it.”

“To subvert expectations…?”

“To not be the terrible thing I was meant to be.”

Gavin’s breath hitched at the depth of emotion in Nines’ voice. He didn’t dare look up to meet his eye and settled for pressing his lips to the razor-sharp jawline.

“I dunno what kinda code runs through you, but believe me when I say you don’t have it in you to be… terrible.”

Nines scoffed at that.

“How can you say that after all the shit you’ve seen me do.”

“I can say that after all the shit I’ve seen others do. Fifteen years on the job, remember? I can vouch that righteous anger is one of the least terrible things out there.”

When Nines didn’t respond, Gavin decided to move the ship out of uncharted waters. He propped himself up on an elbow and ran a hand down the android’s smooth chest.

“In fact, I think it’s downright sexy.”

That did the trick. Nines pressed Gavin into the mattress with a low growl and rolled over him, clamping his mouth over his throat. Their hips aligned and the conversation ended.

//

\\

“Ralph tried hard but the machine is not working. Ralph is stuck.”

“Move. Let me see.”

Gavin took the filter holder and disconnected it from the espresso machine with a firm tug. He leapt away in shock as water came rushing out. That was absolutely not supposed to happen.

“Er… I’ll get a mechanic friend to take a look later. Why don’t you go check on inventory?”

Ralph shuffled away with a thoroughly sceptical look in his eye. Gavin sighed openly once the android was out of earshot.

The café was in shambles.

The vandals may have gotten as good as they gave�� but they’d left their mark. Even with insurance, there was no way such a new establishment could financially recover from a setback like that.

Nines said nothing but seethed with his usual brand of silent, impotent rage.

Unable to bear the slammed car doors and dismissive grunts any longer, Gavin had taken a solo day off to come down to the Calypso and see what could be done.

Not much, without a boatload of money, it seemed.

He sat down with a sigh and Ralph brought over a cup of coffee. Black. A pour-over. He set a bowl of runny eggs and a small basket of bread down on the table too.

Gavin looked up in surprise. Ralph shrugged.

“Nines is telling Ralph that you left without breakfast. Ralph’s equipment is all broken so Ralph just made something simple.”

Touched beyond words, Gavin motioned for Ralph to sit down with him instead of scurrying off into the shadows as per his usual habit.

He took a sip of the hand-poured drip coffee and broke a piece of the bread, dragging it through the eggs, European style. It was utterly homely and reminded of him of some bygone era that he’d needlessly bypassed. He looked up and met Ralph’s mildly unsettling stare.

“So… why the name Calypso? There’s nothing beach-themed or Caribbean about the place.”

“Nines chose it. After the Greek goddess.”

“Huh. And she was the goddess of coffee? Did they even have coffee back in those Hercules Orgy Olympics days?”

“She is a sea nymph. She detained the mythic hero Odysseus on her island for seven years.”

Gavin’s brows furrowed as he swallowed a mouthful of fresh bread.

“Did you bake this?”

“Yes. Ralph is baking daily. Ralph does it first thing in the morning at five. It is very calming to knead the dough and hear the birdsong.”

“It’s phcking delicious. Leavened perfectly. Now back to the name. This goddess nymph creature. She doesn’t sound very nice. She trapped this hero dude, right? Reminds me of my ex. Why name this pretty café after her?”

“Ralph can only imagine that Nines’ fascination with Calypso is the ambiguity of her nature. She can seduce and manipulate, but she can also heal. She is neither good nor evil.”

Gavin drained his coffee and sank back in his chair contemplatively.

“What do you think she is, Ralph?”

Ralph’s LED flickered and his eyes dipped to the table. He knew what Gavin was asking.

“Calypso is immortal. Calypso cannot help but fall in love with every sailor who lands on her shores. Calypso dreams of an eternal husband but lets Odysseus go when it’s clear he wishes to return to his wife. Well, maybe only when the Gods commands her to… but she releases him without harm!”

Gavin waited. Ralph’s head snapped up and he spoke in a short burst.

“Calypso is mythical. It does not matter what she is. Nines is real. Nines is good. Very good. Honest and honourable! Ralph will do anything for Nines!”

Gavin leaned back in his chair with the satisfied smile of an experienced police negotiator who’d gotten exactly where he wanted to.

//

\\

“What the hell is this? Where did you get so much money from?”

Nines’ amber LED cycled furiously as he took in the sight of the restored café. Ralph was humming to himself as he proudly polished the knobs of their repaired espresso machine.

Gavin led Nines by the hand to look at the repainted walls… the new furniture… the new crockery replacing what had been smashed…

“How…?”

“Oh I just embodied my inner Gen Z and tapped into the power of social justice.”

Nines looked thoroughly nonplussed.

“Crowdfunding, baby. I set up a link and Ralph told everyone on Twitter what happened to him and the café. Well, showed them, more like.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling and his LED slowly returned to a calm blue as he understood… but when he looked back down, his expression wasn’t any less troubled.

“Okay I just saw it. Edited footage from his optical units and a tearful testimonial. Ethically questionable, but clever.”

“Super effective. We overshot our target by a couple hundred bucks.”

“Hmm. People are kind.”

“Yes. They’ve actually done more for you. Look. Connor gave me this earlier today.”

Gavin reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. Nines’ eyes widened as he spotted the official seals of the Mayor’s office, the Manfred Estate and New Jericho.

“Someone started a petition… to let you back behind the helm of the Calypso. It really took off. I don’t know how you didn’t hear-”

“I muted any mentions of myself and the other RKs from showing up in my newsfeed.”

“Then this makes for a good surprise.”

Gavin gently pushed the envelope into the android’s hands and watched him open it with a precise fingernail flicked under the wax. He scanned the contents of the letter in a split second and let it fall through his fingers.

Without warning, he scooped Gavin up and set him down on a polished table for a deep kiss of even deeper gratitude. Ralph turned his back on them with a bashful giggle.

//

\\

“Baby.”

Nines didn’t respond.

“Hey baby?”

“Hmm...”

There was an intensity to the grumble that had Gavin second-guessing whether to persist. Being Nines’ lover didn’t exempt him from the consequences of asking stupid questions.

“Your thoughts are fucking loud. Just say whatever you want to.”

“Oh. Um… I was actually wondering… I mean, you don’t have to tell me… but like why… um…”

“Why haven’t I turned my badge in yet?”

“Yeah…”

Nines turned on his side and brushed the back of his hand over Gavin’s cheek. The intimate gesture sent a thrill through the human despite how much more intimate they’d just been in the recent past.

“Because I haven’t decided what to do next.”

Gavin’s brows knitted together.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you going to take back your business?”

Nines’ wan smile told him all he needed to know.

“Why?”

“It’s doing really well in Ralph’s hands. He’s capable. He’s creative. And I don’t think it’s fair for me to go back and get in his way all of a sudden.”

“He needs you.”

“He absolutely doesn’t. It’s his café. You helped him get back on his feet and he’s going to be fiiiiine without me.”

“Is it because you don’t wanna be her anymore?”

Nines scrunched his nose up in confusion.

“Who?”

“Calypso. The siren who trapped the Oddball.”

That earned Gavin a heartfelt laugh.

“Odysseus, Gavin.”

“Yeah. You were like Calypso and now you’re letting go of the coffeeshop because you figured it wasn’t meant to be!”

Nines frowned and pretended to check the human for a temperature. Gavin swatted his hands away with mock petulance.

“Fine, I’m probably way off the mark. You tell me what the deal is then!”

Arms snaked around his waist and pulled him flush against the android’s defined chest. Lips brushed the shell of his ear and when Nines spoke next, it was in the huskiest of undertones.

“I’m Odysseus. Not Calypso.”

The realisation was painfully obvious in hindsight.

“I’m the one who’s stuck on an endless journey home. I’ve faced a hundred artificial trials and tribulations. I’ve been a puppet at the hands of false gods. I answer existential questions to prove my self-worth every single day.”

Nines paused to gauge Gavin’s reaction. When he received none, he pressed a brief kiss to the human’s bare shoulder before continuing.

“It’s been a long journey. But not a pointless one. Every metaphorical island I’ve visited has granted me something. From literally running into Ralph in an old building… to defending our turf from other stray androids… getting ourselves off the street… setting up a café from scratch… being arrested on opening day… ending up on the police force with you…”

Gavin recognised that as his cue to squirm around in Nines’ arms and peck him on the lips.

“So who’s Cyclops?”

“What?”

“The story’s starting to come back to me now. Your boy Oddy fought a one-eyed monster on one of the islands he went to. Who’s the Cyclops in your story?”

Nines huffed another breathy laugh.

“Markus, probably. Connor is definitely Helios.”

“Who’s your wife?”

“Definitely not you.”

Gavin elbowed him in the ribs. An action that had more repercussions on him than Nines.

“So which island are you off to next?”

“I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. I might already be home.”