#it’s a burden to know the fate of everyone you care about is largely on your shoulders

[nightofnyx8]

Does spy x family/ twiyor give you fma/ royai vibes? I don't know if my brain is just addled by royai fic love, but they feel similar somehow.

Maybe it's the tragedy of war in both stories, the forbidden love (that's bound to happen between twiyor and if it doesnt I'll be mad) between two people with blood on their hands.

I've seen hilarious (sad) comparisons between Nina and Anya of cute girl and big white dog, but that's not really what gives me the vibes.

I'm now diving into the manga but I saw some spoilers for Twilight's rough past that made me go 'oh shit... things can get dark'.

I just want someone who's better at analyzing things and studying characters (love ALL your fics btw) to tell me if I'm out of my mind or point out what I'm missing.

*takes a huge breath*

OKAY SO LIKE I was totally against watching Spy x Family at first because it was "mainstream" (it was a very stressful semester of college in my defense) until I saw this fanart by @mochidoodle, twiyor paralleling that royai moment in fma. From that point on, I was a goner. So while I do mostly write twiyor fics at the moment, my love for them is largely colored by my love for royai.

First up, Loid and Roy. On the surface, very different people. One overthinks everything and plans to the tiniest detail, while the other lives off of 99% pure impulse. Loid is a very serious and private person by nature, and while Roy definitely has his solemn moments, it's kind of his whole game to act like the immature colonel playboy of the military before he brings down the entire government with his real motive ("surprise, bitches!"). The main difference I'd say is that Roy knows what he wants, and has a very clear goal how to get there. Loid doesn't. He's still torn between his mission and his family, and doesn't even know who he really is. Like we don't even know his real name lol.

Yor and Riza are also very different. Riza is the voice of reason with Roy (and he definitely needs it). Her personality is actually more aligned with Loid's in that way--quiet, serious, and reserved. Both are them are very good shots. However, she and Yor both don't very highly of themselves at all. Both of them are very compassionate and kind in their own way, and both of them have a soft spot for children. However, Riza's overwhelming guilt comes from her choices in the Ishvalan War, whereas I think Yor almost...intentionally blocks out the brutality of what she has to do to keep her brother alive.

Which brings me to the topic of war in both series (spoiler alert).

Both FMA and Spy x Family are very antiwar. Neither of them glorifies warfare. Casualties and consequences are not treated lightly. Progranda plays a huge role. Both series are trying to prevent another war from happening. For the sake of the argument, I'm going to refer to Yor as a soldier as well as Loid because she is still putting her life on the line for her country (she even says her job is comparable to that of a soldier in the manga). The biggest difference is that Roy and Riza chose to do the things they did in Ishval. Loid and Yor did as well, however it was more their circumstances that pushed them into that decision. Loid lost his mother as a child and crawled around in the streets for years before finally joining the military, only to lose everyone he ever cared about. Yor did it because it was only way to save her brother from literally starving to death. The war between Ostania and Westalis forced literal children to become soldiers (and that's kind of Endo's shtick--what war does to children). Roy and Riza...I mean, there's a reason why their fate is so tragic. They literally committed genocide. Yes, their reasonings are far more complex than this little lecture has room for, but it sufficeth to say that their burden is immensely heavy (I'm not even going to get into how Riza's burnt tattoo fits into the tragedy of their relationship and their choices because it's going to make me cry). But that is FMA's whole thing: Choice. What makes us root for Roy and Riza despite everything? Because despite impossible odds, they are working for a future where something like the Ishvalan War will never happen again, even if they end up being sentenced to death along the way.

Now going back to Spy x Family, the plot doesn't center around a global scale like FMA does. Yes, the tension between the East and West is a huge part of it, but most of the story is centered around one little family. It's important to remember that FMA isn't royai's story--it's Ed and Al's. Roy and Riza's character arcs are mostly complete even by the beginning of the manga. Loid and Yor's and Anya's are not.

But you really did hit the mark when you said royai colors our love for twiyor because both couples are two people who care very deeply for one another but can never be together. Roy and Riza can never get married due to military regulations. And the fake marriage between Loid and Yor will end once Operation Strix is finished (or so Loid thinks). But it's not really the mission or the military that's keeping them apart. One of my favorite royai authors @lantur wrote such an amazing royai fic outlining the fact that Riza being Roy's subordinate isn't actually the thing keeping them apart. Those two have such a painful, shared history. (I mean, he literally burnt the tattoo off her back after using the knowledge of it to commit genocide, for which Riza feels partly responsible). And yet they are fiercely loyal to each other. They don't need to kiss or fuck to know how much these two love each other. (On screen I mean...you cannot tell me they didn't at least have one night together).

With Loid and Yor, it's not nearly as heavy. But Loid (or rather, Twilight) does carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He feels it's his sole responsibility to bring about a world full of peace, and he will not deviate from that mission. But of course he's getting more attached (who wouldn't) and he's eventually going to have to choose between his forged little family and the rest of the world. To most, maybe that's a simple decision. But you have to remember that Twilight is one who is going to have to change the most out of the Forgers. His decision to love them changes everything. It actually brings up an interesting point if royai did have a child. Would they still choose to put themselves on trial if it meant the possibility of leaving their child an orphan?

Spy x Family is about, well, families. The strength that comes from when broken people decide to heal each other and create a future for their child that's bright and safe and warm. And that directly parallels with FMA because it doesn't always have to be blood-related families, but the bonds you choose to forge (pun intended). And though I hope for royai to have a nice, quiet life in the country somewhere, laughing and growing old together, it's left ambiguous for a reason. Twiyor on the other hand, well let's just say that my heart keeps telling me that their happy ending is coming, but they're going to have to go through a lot of pain and angst and denial of feelings to get there. It's a comedy, so I expect Endo will get them together eventually, it's the when that's the mystery.

So I guess to wrap up this very lengthy answer, while royai and twiyor are different on the surface, they are similar at their core. Fighting for a better world, creating their own families along the way, and sharing little moments of devotion through their daily lives. Because though the series is nowhere near being done, you know Loid would look at Yor like she's the moon and the stars once he finally realizes he loves her.

Thanks for letting me rant about something I feel very passionate about, and I'll probably add to it if I think of more reasons lol. I'm glad you enjoy my fics, that's very sweet of you to say! Have a wonderful weekend! <3

[starstwinkleplanetsshine]

Daughter of the Sea

New Fic alert!

I have been writing this in my head for over ten years. Actually sitting down and putting it on paper has been more emotional and fulfilling than I could've ever imagined. Meet Angie Jackson, a 14-year old who finds out she is a demigod and gets more than she ever asked for. Thrown into a world of monsters and gods and titans on the brink of war, with her twin brother (who she had no clue about) MIA from his Quest, she must learn quickly how to become the hero everyone expects her to be, before its too late.

This is a retelling of Battle of the Labyrinth and The Last Olympian where Percy isn't the only child of Poseidon, and doesn't have to shoulder his burdens alone.

I love Angie, and her story, dearly, and I have poured so much of myself into her. I hope you fall in love with her and her story as much as I have. Originally, I created Angie to play a very large role in the Heroes of Olympus series. However, I realized it made more sense for her to come in halfway through the PJO series. This fic (Daughter of the Sea) is the prequel work to the core of Angie's story, which is in HOO. In this story, you will see as Angie learns who she is, comes into her own, and becomes inseparable from her brother. In the next, you will see her become the hero she is fated to be. Without further ado, I welcome you into the world of Andromeda Jackson, Daughter of the Sea.

Chapter 1: I Walk into a Fireplace (Read on AO3 here)

Look, I didn’t know I was a half-blood. 

Growing up, a lot of adults would always call me special . They would gush to my adopted mom at parent-teacher conferences about what a hard worker I was, how I was creative and a great student and always ahead of my classmates. Apparently, I was a pleasure . To the other kids, though, I wasn't precious or special. I was just weird. A freak. A teacher’s pet and goody-two-shoes. So I got used to a double life of gold stars and straight A’s while getting pushed off the monkey bars. 

Recess was always the worst part of my day, and now that I was older, so was lunch. That was the only time I would ever get in trouble, even though I tried my best to keep my head down and stay calm when the other kids would pick on me. Sometimes I just couldn’t help it, though, and I would lose control and end up in the principal's office for giving my bully a bloody nose or ripping out a chunk of their hair. When asked why I had resorted to violence, I would reply with something along the lines of, 

“Suzie said my mom wasn’t my real mom,”

Or,

“Ally said ‘no wonder your real parents didn’t want you, freak!’” 

The principal would then give me a sad, almost sympathetic look, write a referral, and I would cry the whole way home. 

I knew what those kids said were lies—I knew my mom was my real mom even if she didn’t give birth to me. She had raised me ever since I was a baby and was the only family I had ever known. I knew she loved me, she told me so all the time. 

But I always had a nagging feeling that some part of the taunts were true. What if my birth parents really didn’t want me? What if they saw me and decided after a month or two that I wasn’t what they wanted, or that I wasn’t good enough, or worse, that they just didn’t love me? 

I always knew that I was adopted. My mom, Hannah, always told me that my birth parents did love me, very much, but they just couldn’t take care of me. She said they didn’t want to give me up, but they knew I would have a better life with different parents. 

I tried to believe her, but as the years went by, the voices of all those mean kids constantly ringing in my ears made it pretty difficult to hold onto that hope.

But maybe she was right–my life with my mom was pretty good (not counting the constant bullying and strange, scary creatures that only I could see).

Oh yeah, I haven’t mentioned that yet. 

I’ve been this way ever since I can remember. The earliest memory I have is from when I was around three, playing in our backyard. I was creating a concoction of mud, grass, and seeds when I heard a loud noise coming from the roof. When I looked up, I saw, clear as day, a beautiful white horse with black-speckled wings sprouting out of its back, just looking at me. Next thing I knew, I was climbing up a tree in an attempt to get onto the roof, causing my mom to rush out from the house in a panic, pulling me out of the branches while I screamed and cried that I wanted to see the pony. My mom then said that there was no pony on the roof, but I knew she was wrong. 

And that was just the beginning. 

I didn't see them all the time, maybe once or twice every month or so. Despite the infrequency, the sightings never stopped and I eventually just got used to them, learning quickly to keep them to myself. I couldn’t even share what I had seen with my mom, who would just write them off as my imagination, and I got called crazy by the neighborhood kids one too many times. I thought that after years of seeing creatures that looked like they came out of a sci-fi movie would prepare me for anything, but I was wrong. 

It was a hot day in early June and the heatwaves bounced off the boiling pavement and played tricks on my eyes. I had lived in Tucson, Arizona, for fourteen years, my entire life, so you would think the 120 degree summer days wouldn’t phase me anymore, but they were still horrible. It was the kind of heat that sucked every bit of moisture out of you and dried out your lungs. It was unbearable. Still, it was home, and I was riding my beat-up bike back from my best friend’s house, who luckily lived in my neighborhood. At 5pm it was cooler than it had been in mid-afternoon when the sun was at its height, but it was still far from comfortable, and I could feel sweat begin to trickle down my back, the low sun blinding my eyes. 

‘Only a few more blocks’ I said to myself, trying desperately to pedal as fast as possible. I couldn’t see the road well because of the heatwaves and sun, which wouldn’t normally be a problem except when an old woman is standing on the sidewalk directly in my path, which just so happened to be the case. She seemed to appear out of nowhere, and I slammed on my brakes, turning my handle bars hard, causing metal to screech and my tires to skid along the sidewalk. I stopped inches from the grandmother, and when I finally got a look at her face, I wondered if I had ever seen someone who looked so old. 

“My my, going a bit fast, were we?” The lady’s voice was slow and gravelly, her dour tone matching the look on her face. She wore a brown dress that was almost as wrinkled as her skin. 

“Sorry, ma'am, I didn’t see you. The sun–” 

“Ah ah, we mustn't go blaming others for our shortcomings. Right, Andromeda?” 

I stared at the woman in shock–I was sure I had never seen her before, but somehow she knew my name. My real name. 

“Right, sorry.” I straightened my handle bars and told myself she was just a crazy snowbird neighbor who must've heard one of the rare times my mom called me by my full name. “I’d better get home.” The way she was looking at me was starting to make me uncomfortable, and a feeling like an itching started in the small of my back and somehow I knew it meant I needed to go.

To my surprise, she put a wrinkled, leathery hand on my handlebars and gripped tightly so that I couldn’t move them. 

“Oh, my dear,” the itching moved up my spine to the base of my neck, “it’s rude to rush off.” 

“My mom expects me home for dinner and I shouldn’t be late.” The old woman’s platitudes were starting to annoy me, and it showed in the tone of my voice. I attempted to make a break for it, but she held on, stopping the bike. She was surprisingly strong. 

“Andromeda Jackson,” My eyes went wide–I never used my birth surname, and there was no way one of my neighbors would know it. I began to freak out and that itching feeling was getting worse and something deep in my gut was telling me to get out of there. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go just yet. There’s something I still need to know.” 

It was then that my ride home went from bad to really bad. 

The woman changed before my eyes, sprouting large, brown, leathery wings from her back and growing talons from her hands. She looked like a terrifying cross between a very large bat and a very old woman. I was too scared to scream. 

The creature was so close I could feel it's horrible breath on my face, and then it swiped at me. I reacted quickly, diving onto the ground onto a strangers front yard, the rocks digging into my skin. I hoped whoever owned the house wasn’t home, and by the time I rolled over to look for the beast, it was on top of me and I was sure I was about to die. 

My mind went to my mom—my wonderful, hard-working, loving mom-–and a new energy surged through me. My fear and confusion met with my anger and determination and I could feel a tension building inside of me, threatening to bubble over and spill out. I felt a tug deep in my stomach right behind my belly-button, kind of like being on one of those drop rides at a carnival but 10x more intense and way sharper, and I let out a yell.

The monster started to laugh before both she and I were pelted with water that sprayed from an out-of-control hose that had been lying in the yard. The water was more intense than it should've been, like the water from a firehose, and there was a split second where I thought the spray should be hurting a lot more than it actually was. It was the creature’s turn to scream, and something about the spray of the water on my skin gave me the strength to shove it off of me and roll away. I scrambled to my feet and held my hands up defensively, now ready to fight. But the monster just glared at me and growled. 

“My master’s suspicions about you were correct, Andromeda Jackson.” she surveyed me uncomfortably. “He will be most displeased. You’re lucky my orders weren’t to kill you—this time.” With that, she beat her large bat wings and hovered a few feet in the air. “I’m sure we will meet again, young one.” And with a final large beat of her wings, she soared away, flying low over me and messing up my hair with her talons as they barely cleared the top of my head. 

I stood there in shock for a few moments before jumping back on my bike and racing home as fast as I could. I ran into the house breathless, my face red and sweaty, leaving my bike strewn on the rocks in my front yard instead of putting it away. My mom jumped up from where she sat by the fire—why she had a fire going in the middle of an Arizona summer I never knew—but as long as I could remember, there was always a fire going in the house. Whenever I asked about it when I was young, my mom would say something about how important the hearth was to the heart of the home , and eventually I just stopped asking questions. After fourteen years, I was used to it. 

“Angie!” It was clear she could see that something was wrong. “Did you fall off your bike? Have an accident?” 

I stood staring with wide eyes and slowly shook my head. What could I tell her? 

“I–” My mom moved to me with concern, her hand gently going to my forehead. I pulled back in pain as she touched me, and when I saw her hands, there was blood on her fingers. The monster must've scratched me when it flew away, and I didn’t even notice. 

“What happened, love?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me.” My voice was small and I barely recognized it as my own. 

“Trust me, I would.” Something in the way she was looking at me made me want to trust her—but how could I?

“I…I can’t explain it.” She nodded as if she understood, which I didn’t understand. 

“Come to the hearth, I’ll put on a kettle and fix you up.” Sitting by the fire and sipping tea was always moms way to make everything better. The last thing I wanted was to be any hotter, but I listened and moved toward the flames. Strangely, as I sat on the ledge, I didn’t feel any heat. I let my eyes get lost in the fire, allowing myself to be mesmerized by the dancing and flickering oranges and yellows, and for the briefest moment I could’ve sworn I saw red, glowing eyes and a kind face looking back at me, but when I shook my head and opened my eyes again, it was gone. Maybe my head was hurt worse than I thought. 

Soon enough, I had a mug in my hand and a bandage on my forehead. My mom sat down and looked again at the fire beside her. 

“Angie,” her voice was gentle, “you saw something you can’t explain, didnt you?” 

I nodded, my eyes still fixed on my ocean-blue mug. 

“Something like a monster?” 

“Yeah.” 

Instead of acting surprised, she just sighed. “I knew this day would come.” Her words finally made me turn my head and look at her. 

“What?” 

“It’s hard to explain, but you’re…different.” 

“Yeah, I’ve known that for a while.” Let me tell you, it didn't feel great to have the woman who raised you call you different. 

“No, I mean…” She rubbed at her temples, as if the words she was about to say gave her a headache. “You’re not like other kids, other people. You’re–you’re not mortal.” 

I stared at her, not understanding. “How is that possible? What do you mean?” 

“Listen, everything I’m about to tell you is about to sound completely insane, and you’re going to think I’m crazy. But it's all true, and you have to believe me.” 

“Okay mom.” 

“I need you to promise you’ll believe me.” She held out her pinky and I considered it for a while. If any other person did this, I would push their hand back at them. But this was my mom , and something inside whispered for me to trust her. 

“Okay, I promise.” I linked my pinky with her, and she relaxed. 

“There’s no easy way to say this, so here I go—you’re a demigod.” 

“A demi-what?” 

“Demigod. It means you’re half-mortal, half-god.” 

“I know what it means, I’ve seen Hercules. I just didn’t know it was real .” 

“All the Greek myths are real. The gods, monsters, heroes. All of it.” I felt like my head was spinning, like my world was crumbling around me but also falling into place somehow. While everything was confusing, everything also was starting to make sense. 

“How do you know this?” I was gripping my mug so hard my fingers hurt, desperately trying to hold onto something solid. 

“That’s a long story,” she glanced nervously at the flames, “and I don’t know how long we have.” 

“Please, I need to know.” My mom sighed and then tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Someday, dear. Soon. But for now, we must move quickly. Now that you know who you are, more monsters will come—at least that’s what she told me.” She stood up quickly. “You have to pack.” 

“Pack?” My heart began to race. 

“Yes, and quickly. There is only one place you can be safe now, and it's time to show you.” She offered her hand and I took it numbly. “Take only what you need.” My mom pushed me toward the hallway and I walked slowly to my room, feeling like everything was in slow motion. I let my fingers trace along the walls and I wondered absently if I would ever see them again. My entire life was just flipped upside down, and now I had to pack? I wanted to scream and cry. I heard my mom mumbling to the fireplace, as she often did, and for the first time in my life I truly wondered why. 

It didn’t take me long to pack my life into a suitcase and a backpack. I only took the essentials, as my mom said, which ended up being some clothes, shoes, toiletries, a few trinkets, my favorite books (reading could be difficult, so I tended to read the same ones over and over), and my ADHD meds. When I walked back to the main room, my mom looked like she had been crying, and my heart sank. 

“I’m ready.” For what? I didn’t know. She turned to me and smiled the way parents do when they know they won't see you for a while. A lump formed in my throat. 

“Look at you…all grown up.” She walked to me and put her hands on my shoulders. “The place you’re going to is called Camp Half Blood, you’ll be safe there. You can train and be with other kids who are just like you. They’ll explain everything else you need to know when you get there.” Her eyes were glistening and she pulled me into a tight hug. 

“Why are you talking like this is a goodbye? Aren't you coming, too?” 

“I can't, honey.” Her voice caught, “I’m not like you, although I can see more than most mortals. Even so—it’s against the rules. I’m sorry.” 

Now tears started filling my eyes. 

“I won’t go, then.” 

“Angie, you have to. You’re not safe here anymore.” She pulled away and cupped my face. “When I took you in all those years ago, I promised her I would keep you safe. If anything happened to you while you were under my care I’d never forgive myself.” Tears were now falling down her face, and I could feel the same wetness on my cheeks. “Please, do this for me. Be brave–we will see each other again.” Her eyes were glistening but her smile was warm. I could feel the hot tears running down my face as I looked into the eyes of the woman who raised me, the only person who had ever truly been there for me. The only person who loved me. 

And as much as it hurt, I knew I had to go. We had made a pinky promise to be honest, and if she said Camp Half Blood was the only place I’d be safe, then I trusted her. That tingling returned to the small of my back, and I knew that also somehow was telling me to go. 

“Okay.” I said finally, my voice shaky. “How do I get there?” 

My mom let out a sigh as relief flooded through her body. Then she said something no mother has ever told her child. 

“Get in the hearth.” 

I stared at her in shocked silence for a moment before my words came back to me, “I’m sorry?” 

“Trust me, you’ll be safe.” 

“Mom, I don’t think—” 

“Here,” she cut me off and walked to the kitchen, grabbed a loaf of bread, and handed it to me. “Put this in the hearth and then repeat after me.” She looked at me expectantly, and I tossed the bread into the fire. As it blackened, my mom continued, “Oh Hestia, receive my offering.” 

“Hestia?” 

“Just say it!” It was clear I had limited time to do whatever it was I was supposed to do. 

“Fine! Umm, oh Hestia, receive my offering.” 

“Good. Now: I request your aid as Goddess of the Hearth.” 

I repeated her. 

“If it pleases My Lady, let me pass unharmed through fire and be safely delivered to Camp Half Blood.” 

I finished the ritual and for a scary moment, nothing happened. My mom stared at the flames expectantly. And then suddenly, the flames went from yellow and orange to a cool blue, flickering with green and purple. Now, I’d always been told that blue was the hottest fire, but my mom seemed to be satisfied. 

“Okay sweetie, grab your things. It's time.” 

I swallowed hard. 

“How do we know it worked? What if I get burned?” 

“Angie,” my mom took my hand and I wondered how long it would be until she held me again, “you have to have faith. Hestia has been protecting you your whole life, she will not fail you now.” 

“But I don't understand—” 

“You will, all in the Fates timing.” She gave me another tight hug, letting go quicker than I wished. “Now get your things.” 

I did as she said, putting my backpack on and gathering my suitcase. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” My mom exclaimed as she rushed to our big bookshelf and grabbed the largest and heaviest tome. I recognized it immediately–a book of Greek myths. They had been my bedtime stories growing up, and I knew most of them by heart. While other kids got Cinderella and Charlotte's Web, I got Jason and the Golden Fleece and Princess Andromeda (my favorite, of course). “Take this, it will help you.” I had to hold it with both hands, clutching it to my chest. 

“Thanks, mom.” She nodded and looked to the flames, which were still flickering blue. 

“You’d better go, it's best not to keep the Goddess waiting.” 

I couldn't believe what was happening, but it was as if an external force was guiding me along when my feet could not. I stepped to the large hearth, and, feeling no heat, took a deep breath, thought here goes nothing , and stepped in. 

I closed my eyes and winced instinctively, but after a few scary moments I realized I wasn’t being burned alive. Sure I felt the flames, they were warm, but they didn’t hurt. I laughed in relief, but my mom didn’t look surprised. 

“I’m proud of you, Andromeda. I love you, and you always have a home here—remember that.” 

It was rare my mom called me by the name given to me at birth, and for some reason, hearing her say it now was confirmation that I was doing the right thing. 

“I love you too, mom.” 

And, almost as if on cue, a golden shimmer filled the hearth and obscured my vision. I felt like I was falling, like I was being pulled through time and space at a speed humans were definitely not supposed to travel. In a moment, I was forcefully pushed forward into a bright room, coughing and covered in soot, my hands gripping my suitcase and my book.

[whisper-and-tangle]

Silver and Elise's friendship in Sonic 06

heyguys do u ever think abt how silver has 2 protect his future from iblis adn thoheslonely and stuck inthe apocalypse he has one person he can trust. He has Blaze, and he trusts her so so so much. He has a friend- And then he meets Elise and seals the flames inside her. Silver has to protect his future from iblis, and he knows how difficult it is. He knows how painful it is. He knows what it's like- And then he meets Elise. She's going to have to go through the same as him. She's going to have to protect her present, she's going to have to keep Iblis away to protect everything. And she didn't choose this life- Neither of them chose to become the protectors of their times. It's just… a duty they believe they have to uphold. A cruel kind of fate. Silver sees Elise, and he knows what she's going to have to go through. He barely knows her, but he can relate to the pain she might go through- But there's a large difference. Elise's father died as the flames were sealed. She lost the closest thing she had to a friend- That one person you can trust when you're entrusted (Or, more accurately, forced) to protect your time. Silver had Blaze, but Elise…is going to have nobody until Sonic arrives. She's alone. So, Silver gives her what Blaze told him to keep; Something to help her, if he can't stay and help;

A lucky charm.

And then, in the present, he can help her. And he wants to save Elise to stop Iblis, yes, but also..because he cares about her. He's been- As far as he knew,- the only person (Save for Blaze, maybe) to bear the burden of protecting his time. Mostly alone in his pain. And then…he meets someone about to go through the same. He watches as he puts them through the same, as Elise's father seals the flames inside her. Silver watches the beginning of it all, and he knows what could happen to her. He, although barely knowing her, can relate to her. He wants to help her because he knows what it's like to be in a position similar to hers, and wants to help.

So he needs to rescue her. He's determined to help, to aid one of the only other people bearing a burden similar to his. One of the few people who can relate to his pain. His duty.

"Yeah… Just save her." Means so much to me. He wants her to be safe. He wants to help her with her pain. He wants to ease the burden. He doesn't want it to be so hard for her, because he understands. He relates, he knows what it's like to carry such a big burden on your shoulders.

He knows what it's like to supposedly be a guardian. To be selected by fate, or some other mysterious force, or perhaps bound by duty, to protect your time.

To protect everyone.

He had Blaze to help ease his burden, yet Elise lost her father just as she began to carry the burden of the flames.

She was lonely. Alone in her pain, alone in her burden. Sonic gave her freedom- He showed her life in a way that she'd never seen it before. He showed her a world of wonder, love, and joy. He showed her the world- And Silver experienced that same wonder when he saw the present for the first time, too.

Elise felt that wonder when she was no longer alone. She had a friend. Her very first friend. She, finally, had an escape, a way to ease the burden- Or run from it, distract yourself, even if just for a short time.

Yeah…Just save her.

Sonic is the cause of Silver and Elise seeing so much wonder in the world, and he is a big part of both their stories.

anywayUHMMM.UHMMUHMMM.SEGA PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSS LETTHEM B FRIENDS 🥺🥺girl like pls theyliterlay got like1 real interaction </33

[thehoneyknight]

Memoria, sketch pages 97-108

(Radiant Arc 10, 3.35)

(Pages 102-106 have a unique page format with two dialogues. For clarity of reading each separate dialogue will be done in turns and labelled as such)

Page 97

Radiance- Little Vessel, we convene once more. The Blessing that guards your dreams may not allow my light to shine within you but there remains a part inside that calls out to me- no matter your repressions. You are so resistant to embrace the light of dawn, to accept the rightful truth. Yet you reach out to claim it from the confines of your mind. Why keep up such pretences, Pawn of Wyrm?

There is only one outcome to these endeavours. The light shall be rekindled, reborn, remembered. One way or another.

Another within the Hive has accepted my guidance. The Hive will fall shortly, and to the cause of one who gave himself by choice. Perhaps when we next meet, little one, you will realise how right that decision truly was. You are too late.

-

Page 98

((Ch2.28))

I.Mato- You! You… are so much like him… Too much like him.

Oro was not one to make a hasty promise. And you- you were born to fulfil a promise. You… despite everything. You came back to finish the deed. Oro would have done the same. Oro would never have broken his promise. Never given up. Just like you…

There is only one reason Oro would break his promise… Oro is dead.

-

Page 99

((Ch2.29))

Mato- Why did you come back, little one?

((Ch2.30))

Mato- Why stir uncertainty within the purpose you were given? You could have freed yourself. … For yourself… ha. Perhaps I have mistaken you, Honey. You are not like Oro at all. You are like me.

And if so… where is that Vessel friend you once followed? Are you not trying to find the ones you care about too?

((Ch2.31))

-

Page 100

((Ch2.32))

((Ch2.33))

Paladin- I am.

((Ch2.34))

Mato- I am going to continue looking for Oro within the kingdom, despite what Vespa says. She is withholding something- I know it. I suppose we all suppress something…

…You’ve changed, Honey. When we first met at the Howling Cliffs that wasn't your name. I can guess that Vespa gave you your title- Honey Knight- but what became of Luma?

How far are you willing to change for her? What changes have you already undergone? I wonder, do you even know?

Luma. Make your own choices. You can change the future.

-

Page 101

((Ch2.35))

Hornet- I will let you carry your burdens, Vessel, but do not mistake that for my support. We all have our own futures to return to. Do not forget that.

((Ch2.36))

Comban- Be back soon.

((Ch2.37))

((Ch2.38))

-

Page 102 (Memoria)

((Ch2.39))

Luma- Remember me, Luma. You can’t deny the future. Luma.

((Ch2.40))

Hornet- I’ll not hold back. It is my duty to protect this kingdom’s future. The one to bear the Brand takes such a future for their own. This is my promise to the one you would call The Beast. This is my future.

((Ch3.1))

((Ch3.3))

Bardoon- A large choice you have made. Before you is another.

-

Page 103 (Memoria)

Bardoon- To seek the past and define a new future? To offer your heart to the inevitability? What would your likes pursue?

To see visage of collapse and try to change fate to one’s own anyway. There are dangers in such things. You were not chosen to bear the Brand, hrmm? Knowing this, would you try to claim your own path as Wyrm once did? Consider your truth. Is this future your motive, or something of one’s mind?

((Ch3.4))

Comban- Whah!

((Ch3.8))

God Tamer- You are not strong enough to protect your ‘friends’. You are not strong enough to protect everyone.

-

Page 104 (Memoria)

((Ch3.9))

God Tamer/Radiance- I will (Destroy/Take) my victory. By my own mind / Kill the empty one.

Comban- Everything will be okay.

Tamer’s Beast/Comban- Shell broken. Mind lost. Awoken by light? Forgotten and twisted. Instincts of combat as beared. Refusal of death / Denial of memory

((Ch3.11))

Scholar- You have two souls. We see neither soul belongs to you- no, we see the entirety of this soul does not belong to you. You are soulless. Yet you have soul.

Your spells, your souls. They do not complete you, odd bug. (twins of soul… lack one’s own at all…)

((Ch3.12))

Argent- Luma. Focus.

-

Page 105 (Memoria)

Argent- Sibling.

((Ch3.13))

((Ch3.15))

Quirrel- I ache for those places I could not have dreamt. Those places that call and I cannot remember.

((Ch3.17))

Paladin- I think a convergence of events has begun. It is only a matter of time until this old kingdom undergoes a change of fate. The Vessels returning, Quirrel seeking Monomon, the King’s Brand claimed. We will all play a part in Hallownest’s future, if we choose it.

The Dreamers gave their lives for the kingdom. To become a Seal. In a sense they are already dead. There is no way to wake up from that… There are no more loopholes left to use.

Comban- You just said the future was ours if we choose it. I choose that Herrah shouldn't have to die to stop the Infection.

-

Page 106 (Memoria)

((Ch3.20))

((Ch3.21))

Dailon- The Honey Knight will train their nail with me. It is clear even to me they are not strong enough to protect you all…

((Ch3.22))

Dailon- Now. Try again. Stronger! I won’t hold back!

((Ch3.24))

Paladin- You choose power and disregard the future for everyone else.

Dailon- What choice do you give Honey? What choice did you give the other Vessels caught under Vespa’s wings? Kilter? My daughter? Yourself?

You give Honey no choice in becoming the next Vessel for your Queen’s Blessing. You named them for how useful they are to you. Honey Knight. They are the ‘bridge between honey and void’, no? Are they all the same to a Queen? Those past Vessels failed. Died. Killed. Paladin. You cannot talk to me of choices.

Honey- I didn’t have a choice!

-

Page 102 (Honey)

Honey- Where would we be without the King’s Brand? What future would you have chosen without its light? We are almost at the end of your memories, Honey. And the future has only just begun.

-

Page 103 (Honey)

Honey- Together we can fight for the end of history. For new dreams of Hallownest. A new light.

For all the King’s Brand meant, it is not the honour of what has been done. He fought for a future unchanging. There must always be change. Change is what makes us alive.

-

Page 104 (Honey)

Honey- Stasis is binding. And for all in stasis, the King’s light was the seal. Sealing away the future. It is broken now. Changed.

You bear the light of choice, Honey. The light of a new future.

-

Page 105 (Honey)

Honey- It is your light, Honey! You are the light of Hallownest! And you have changed the future.

There is only one purpose left. The Black Egg can be opened. The Infection can be stopped.

-

Page 106 (Honey)

Honey- You know how to face The Radiance. You can reclaim light lost. You can be Radiant.

You can do this! And most importantly. You can be yourself. You can be Honey. You can be…

-

Page 107

Honey- You!

-

Page 108

Argent- We have always been a part of you, Honey. Even when we fought our selves. And you had no way to know. But we don’t define you. You are you. Honey is… Honey.

We will be united a little longer. Seek The Abyss for the power behind this unity.

Later, when this is all over. We can be together again. Apart. We hope to see you in the future. We entrust ourselves to you, Honey.

[banana-with-a-bow-tie]

It didn’t matter that Eve sinned first. It didn’t matter that she was the main player of the two in the temptation scene in Eden. Adam was held primarily responsible. Adam was the head of the home and he abdicated his responsibility to protect his wife from the attack of the enemy, to provide a corrective word for her when she was getting God’s Word wrong and to direct her back to the truth and away from sin. He dumped out and remained passive. She led him, the serpent led her and both rebelled against God. Nevertheless, God calls Adam to account first.

—Owen Strachan & Gavin Peacock, The Grand Design, pgs. 47

[vbpotter]

Malfoy (James Potter x reader)

Warnings: Angst 

A/n : I take requests <3

We all love someone . They say, that loving someone is the best feeling. They say that loving someone feels like you are floating in the air, their thoughts clouding your mind. They say that loving someone is peaceful, because you have finally found your home. They say that Loving someone is like having something to heal you, to carry you, to encourage you. They say that loving someone is worth living for. 

But, only a few people know what it is like to not be loved. Only some people know what it feels like. Only some people know how much it hurts. Only some people know how it feels to be ignored, to be the second choice, to not be loved by your family, to not be loved by the person you have handed your heart to. Only some people know how much it hurts to be not loved , to always be the second choice, to always be the least preferred one, to always be not enough, to always be a disappointment, to live with no love. 

Someone who knew exactly how it felt like was Y/n Malfoy. 

Yes..... Y/n Malfoy. 

The Youngest Malfoy of the family. 

Now..... Growing up as the only daughter of the family, and not to mention the youngest child would have been easy, right?  especially if you are from a rich family who has high standards and is very respectable, having elves to do your work left and right, to be raised like a princess?  

Yes.... She was raised like a princess..... But not a normal princess..... She was raised as Rapunzel. 

Trapped in a tower,  hidden from the outside world , learning everything that the people of the tower taught her, believing that what the people of the tower said was always true ..... Until one day, she decided to know what the outside world was. 

So she ran, escaped from under dozens of gazes, unseen. And..... For the first time in her life, she saw something worth looking at. 

She happily skipped around, looking at the trees filled with flowers, that were so different from the dark trees surrounding her Manor. She saw beautiful birds chirping , multi coloured birds that were so different than the white peacocks that she usually saw at Malfoy Manor. She saw the sky, light blue with different shapes of clouds floating in it,  it was so different than the dark ceiling of the Malfoy Manor. 

She smiled and ran,  admiring the scenery around her. That is when she reached an open area, that she guessed was a playground. She saw a couple with a young boy. That was the time five year old Y/n Malfoy met James Potter for the first time. 

Since that day, Y/n would sneak out from Malfoy Manor every evening for an hour, during the time when her mum was at her daily Tea Party with her friends, her father in his library and her brother playing the piano. 

She and James would play on the swings and chat happily. She even got to know his parents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter,  who were very happy that James had someone to play with ,since they lived in a large Manor at the edge of a small forest .

Everything went smoothly, until one day, her brother caught her sneaking out. That was probably the worst day of Y/n's life .She still vividly remembered her brother's harsh glare, her parents' disappointed looks and the punishment she received afterwards. That was the first time Y/n had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, not knowing that she would be receiving more of it in the future. 

The Malfoys were forced to move away , since - the Dark Lord ordered them to .

Malfoy Manor was then established at an even worse place, in the Middle of a Dark Forest , its location unknown to everyone. Even Y/n didn't know in which part of the world they were living in , but, the life of the six year old Y/n was already ruined. 

The next five years of her life were the worse. She felt as if she was trapped even more tightly in the tower, like Rapunzel. 

There were house elves around her room every hour of the day. She was forced to wear long and puffy dresses , which she hated . She was forced to go to fancy Balls and meet new people, mainly boys her age. She hated it, her parents were determined to get her married at a young age to a respectable boy form a  pure blood family, so that they didn't have to deal with her anymore. It was disgusting. They were trying to arrange or even engage a six year old with a boy her age, or even quite older than her. 

She hated their ideas. She would wince, whenever someone talked about Muggles and Muggleborns.....in such a way t-that even the worst person in the world didn't deserve to be t-talked to or about. She had snapped at such people many times, and she had been punished...... The same number of many times. So much, that the cruciatus curse didn't hurt her anymore. 

Her parents couldn't kill her, nor disown her. Because , the dark lord said that young children were valuable and that they would be useful for his army in the future .

Y/n still remembered ,the day when she was united with James Potter. She was on the Hogwarts Express , going to Hogwarts for the first time. Her parents had just lectured her about not to talk to 'filthy people ' and her brother had left her with a harsh glare , running towards the prefects compartment where he was to be sitting. 

Y/n sighed after her brother left her with another of his classic Malfoy glares. She looked around and headed forward, searching for a compartment with the least people or no people at all. She finally found one, only one person was sitting in there. 

" Hey! Can I sit here? " Y/n asked. The person who was staring out of the window looked at her, and Y/n felt her throat dry down when she was met by a familiar pair of Hazel eyes, only this time - they were covered by thick round glasses. 

"J-James ?" Y/n muttered, her voice shaking. 

" Y-Y/n?" The boy asked and Y/n felt a wave of Happiness overcome her. 

And then after years, the two long separated friends embraced each other in a warm hug. But, James didn't know that Y/n was ten times more happier to see him than he was to see her. 

As Y/n, now in her 7th year,  sat in the couch of Gryffindor common room, she felt herself smile as she was reminded of the memory. 

Y/n was sorted into Gryffindor, giving her parents and brother another reason to hate her. 

She and James were quick to become close friends again , and soon, they were joined by Sirius, Remus and Peter - the 5 of them, together being the Marauders. 

Since First year, James was obsessed over Lily , Y/n's fellow roommate. She and Lily weren't friends, per say, but - they didn't hate each other either. The two would always have small conversations and would often discuss their homework notes together. 

Y/n never opposed to the idea of her best friends chasing after Lily . She always encouraged him to go forward , she always encouraged him that he could do it . But , It was in her fourth year did she realize that what she felt towards James wasn't just friendship . She realized that the little weigh she felt on her shoulders after hearing him ramble about Lily  was not tiredness , she realized that the little churning of her stomach around him , the blush she got when he flirted with her without even realizing it .......all of it , was not just platonic ........at least not for her . 

But, she didn't act Bitchy like others would have in this situation. She didn't get angry when James ditched her loads of times just to try to spend time with the red Head. She didn't get annoyed when he treated her like one of the boys.

All she did was smile. She plastered a fake smile on her face and encouraged him to keep going, to try and get the Red Head. 

But, even though she felt the weight of the whole world on her shoulders, even though she felt her heart sink down day by day - she was happy. She was Happy for her best friend.She was happy when she saw him progress on the Red Head he had been chasing after, She felt happy when he was happy. And..... She knew that she shouldn't be Selfish. She had accepted her fate long ago, she had accepted that she and James weren't meant to be together. She had accepted that she had to stay with this weight her entire life. But a little part of her ...........It told her that she could at least hope  ...................But then , another part of her told her that she was useless and worthless, nothing but a waste of space . And Oh-How it crumbled her .

Despite it all, Y/n always stood by him. She stood by him when he cried , she stood by him when he felt like he was not good enough , she stood by him when he needed to hold someone ..........he held onto her and she never complained . 

James didn't know, but, he had landed all the weight of his life and feelings on the girl, and it broke her. But she still stood by him, every time, as a friend,  never asking for anything, never asking for more, never caring about herself, never wanting anything other than helping him,  even though her whole existence was the thing she needed help with.

She didn't only stand up alongside James. She stood up for Peter when he was bullied and body shamed for being fat. She comforted him when he cried. 

She stood by Remus when he felt like he was a monster. She was the one to help him along with the other Marauders during the full moons .She was the one who would heal Remus's wounds in the middle of the night, in the early morning, or whenever Remus felt like he wanted someone to heal is wounds and whisper soothing words in his ear. She was the one who taught Remus that you always have something worth living for, even though she herself didn't know why she was living. 

She stood with Sirius when he was disowned, when His Brother hated him, when Sirius felt like he was a mistake, a disappointment.

Despite, she never had anyone to hold onto . Her parents and brother , who were supposed to be her family, treated her like a piece of trash . She was alone , but she never showed it . Just because she didn't want to be a burden , just because she didn't want to be Selfish .

Sirius and Remus knew about her feelings for James,  the two could look through her smile completely. Peter was an oblivious person and he never knew what was going on, but still, the three of them always were there to cheer her up , but - none of them saw the completely broken her. 

Y/n looked around the Gryffindor common room she was currently sat in. She looked at the time and realized that the boys should have been back from their daily "boys time" by now.

Just as the thought crossed her mind,  The portrait hole of the Common room opened and in came Remus , Sirius and Peter,  laughing loudly. 

" Good evening, gentleman. You are 5 minutes late " Y/n said,  folding her hands over her chest and showing the three her watch. The three gave her guilty smiles and settled themselves on the couches around her . 

" Guys.... Where is James? " Y/n asked looking around. Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and avoided looking at her . Peter was sitting as if he didn't know what was going on , like always.

The next second The Portrait Hole opened and In walked James and Lily, their arms wrapped around each other and their clothes and hair looking disheveled and.... Both of them had the biggest smile on their faces. 

Y/n saw , as James led Lily towards the girls' dorm staircase . Lily whispered something in his year and the both of them giggled . Lily plated a kiss on his cheek , and then giving him a wink-she left , leaving James behind - Who's face was as red as Lily's hair.

He stared at her all the way until she disappeared . Then , he turned around swiftly - Smiling so widely that it looked as if his cheeks would split in half .

"SHE SAID YES! SHE SAID YES , GUYS!!!!!" James Shouted , his voice shaking a bit due to happiness .

In a second , Remus and Sirius's heads snapped towards Y/n - giving her sad looks . But , the reaction from her was not what they expected .

She smiled. And it wasn't a fake one - it was a genuine one . 

Y/n felt her heart clench at James's words . But , she noticed how happy he was , she noticed how happy she made him . And in that moment, she completely accepted the fact that he loved Lily , and that the two belonged together . She accepted that Lily made him happy . She was happy that her friend finally found someone he deserved , finally found someone worthy of Him . Y/n always knew that she didn't deserve him , she didn't deserve to have him in her broken life . Even though she was distraught , her best friend's happiness was all she needed . And she smiled. She smiled because he was happy , she smiled because she finally figured it out , she smiled because she knew that he would be happy . And Y/n would do anything , anything to bring her friends happiness , even if it meant giving up her own . 

" Ooohhh ..............Congrats , Romeo " Y/n said enthusiastically , smiling up at her best friend .

Part 2 coming up..........

[beanieman]

I Made Some YTTD OC’s And Backstory Because I Was Bored. I Am Cringe, But I Am Free.

Five years after the massacre ending, Sara and Nao finally manage to fully break away from ASU-NARO’s control. It was learnt with the game’s end that Sara was supposed to become heir of the company that destroyed her life, but Nao helped her escape that fate.

Without their heir, the floormasters come up with a plan. A replica death game will take place, and Sara will be replaced by the winner. That lead’s to them kidnapping twelve people, each one meant to replace a role played in the previous death game. However, without having enough time to fully study the participants personalities, and the research department going seriously downhill with Gashu’s death, things get very off track.

With some backstory out of the way, let’s talk about the roles they’re supposed to play vs their actual personality. 

The Teenage Girl And Who Is Supposed To Be The Leader - Danuja Tachi is our protagonist’s name. She’s quiet in nature, but has quite a large friend group that she enjoys hanging out with on weekend’s. She tends to get pulled along with their antics considering she hate’s making decision's, which is fine by her. Danuja is the type that would rather observe then participate, and she’s quite the pushover in most areas. However she’s a very empathetic, and good at bringing the group together considering she’s used to being around so many people. 

Her Best Friend - Eiko Sugimoto is Danuja’s frenemy. They’ve known each other since childhood, but have fallen into different path’s as time goes onward. Eiko has a loud and stubborn personality, the opposite of the girl she once knew so well. Because of this they clash often, but an underlying care is present in their dynamic. 

The Mentor - Ryo Nakamura is the game’s first victim. Dying in the second trial when Amaya (The young grieving girl) votes for him, he hardly gets a chance to know everyone before he goes. The role of mentor he was supposed to play was left empty, and his serious and stoic personality hardly had time to shine. Though he did try to look out for Danuja before his death. 

More Undercut

The Antagonist - Naoki Aikawa is the games biggest mistake. Kidnaped to take the place of Shin, the only trait they share is their loner nature. Despite usually enjoying being alone, Naoki is exceptionally brave and doesn’t mind standing up in time’s of danger. He understands the stress everyone is under, and doesn’t want anyone besides himself to carry that burden. Naoki falls into the role of group leader quickly, and lead’s them through the first main game. Of course, this draws the ire of the floormasters who see him as getting in Danuja’s way. Maybe that’s another trait he shares with Shin, his bad luck. 

The Young Grieving Girl -  Amaya Chinen is fourteen years old, and the biggest handful you’ll ever meet. Her sister died when she was young, and it led to her acting out in many ways. Stealing, graffiti, setting fires, you name it she’s done it. When you first meet her she come’s off a remarkably sweet, but that opinion is quick to change when she steal’s your wallet and calls you dumb for not protecting it better. She’s blunt, rude, and cold. Despite supposing to take over Kanna’s role, she’s actually this game’s antagonist. 

The Sports Player - Isamu Kobayashi belive's in teamwork before all else. He belive's the way out of the death game is full cooperation, and is quick to over share about himself because of it. He’s always trying to find allies, and encouraging other’s to do the same. He has a fiery personality and has no intention’s of playing the kidnaper’s game. At least, he belive's in all this until he gets the sacrifice in the first main game. 

The Musician - Takara Fueki is this stories loner. She like’s to be by herself so can practice her instrument in peace. She play’s the violin primarily and is a classical musician. She’s always the last to speak up in discussion, and honestly doesn’t know what’s going on with the group most of the time. Though this changes as time goes on. She’s pretty serious, at least in a life or death situation, and is always looking for an escape when she’s not practicing. In the ending’s were they do escape, she’s the main cause. Takara also canonically has autism. 

The Artist - Mayumi Fukumoto is still feeling the consequence's of the last game. The game masters aren’t happy about Nao surviving, and it’s taken out on this girl who find’s herself to be quite unlucky. She’s a gloomy and morbid woman, who often paints and talks about subject matters like death. However she’s the kindest person in the death game, and would do anything for anyone if you just ask. She’s very protective, and let’s a few members of the group sleep in her room so she can guard them while they rest. Even the group’s outcasts Amaya and Ikuye (The Murderer) she look’s after. 

The Teacher - Tomo Shima is a home economics teacher. He’s taught many years, and has a very blunt attitude because of it. He’ll always tell you how he feels. Regardless if he’s beaming with pride for how well you did, or disappointed because he knows you can do better. He genuinely care’s for anyone younger than him, and he has two children of his own at home. He has the tendency to take kids under his wing, and he end’s up taking the role of Danuja’s mentor when Ryo fails to live up to the task. 

The Young Bubbly Boy - Genki Ando will always give you a smile. He’s a playful boy who like’s making friend’s and drawing picture’s on the nearest available surface. He’s very agile, tends to be the one who can dodge traps the easiest. While he was supposed to be taken under the wing of Danuja, he finds himself closer Mayumi who he admires. 

The Murderer -  Ikuye Kutsuki is a man known for something terrible. He accidentally killed his friend while trying to show off a knife throwing trick. He never saw a day in jail due to his very wealthy family pulling some string’s, and he act’s like it. Coming off as spoiled and entitled, it’s clear that he doesn’t feel much remorse from his crimes as he’s done many talk shows and podcasts about his “experience”. It’s only when he’s put in the death game does he learn to value life, and the length’s he’d go to protect those he grows to care for. 

The Stalker - Thankfully, Hiroki Gato isn’t an actual stalker. Turn’s out those are hard to find on short notice. He’s a private detective who specializes in cases of affair’s. Out of everyone in the death game, he’s the most emotional both in personality and the choice’s he make’s. He’s the most likely to see an AI as a person, and to make his emotion’s known. He’s pretty skittish and just wants the game’s to be over. It’s notable that he doesn’t seem able to comprehend the idea of death. 

That’s all I have for now! I’m already attached to these guys and may make more content with them in the future!

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

What I Want - Part 2

AO3 Link

Chapter Title: What I Need

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: Following the awkwardness of the night before, you go to an old friend to try and process your feelings for Crosshair.

Click here for Part 1

Warnings: 18+, a bit more frisky business but not full on so rated 18 just to be safe. Swearing.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Notes: You ask, you get!! Thanks so much for all the support and love for part 1 ❤️. As a thank you, I bring you part 2, I hope you enjoy! If this one takes off a bit as well, I do have an idea for a little bonus chapter around the Bad Batches' reaction. As always, feedback/comments are massively appreciated along with reblogs. Fic is below the cut off, thanks for reading!!

Taglist: @aerynwrites @shannon-lynn-21 @saltywintersoldat @tired-night-owl @wille-zarr

A comm alarm beeped softly, slowly pulling you out your slumber. Giving the device a sleepy glare, you shut it off and huffed back onto your bunk. Wrecker’s snores were echoing off the small ship barracks, you rolled your eyes at his sleeping form across the room as you swung your legs over the side of your top bunk. Below you, Tech slept soundly, he managed to fall asleep with his goggles on which were now sitting wonky on his relaxed face. He also had a datapad clutched to his chest, almost like a teddy bear, which made you chuckle to yourself.

You’d barely slept after getting back from the mission but being a General stopping over on Coruscant meant rest would be a pipe dream. Your alarm was set to get you out of bed and ready for the first of what you were sure would be a hundred and ten briefings today. You were always happy to shoulder the politics for the team, removing that burden from Hunter so they could keep to themselves. But today, you could really do without it.

You looked over at Hunter and Crosshair’s bunks, the former sleeping up top with an arm over his eyes. Probably to block out the few small coloured lights on the ship that shone from critical systems, preventing the room from being truly pitch black. You didn’t envy Hunter’s enhanced senses, they seemed to cause him quite a bit of discomfort when they weren’t on missions. You should probably pick him up an eye mask one of these days.

Below him, Crosshair slept with his back to the open room. One of the few times you ever saw his body relaxed was when he slept. You cringed as you remembered yesterday’s awkwardness with the sniper and mentally cursed at yourself for causing, what was, an easily avoidable situation.

Shaking your head you jumped silently off of your bunk, mindful to not wake any of the batch. You gently removed Tech’s goggles, placing them in their usual spot before moving over to grab some fresh robes and head for the fresher. Today was going to be a real drag.

—————————————————

“Hey! Look what the Lothcat dragged in” someone called after you as you trudged up the steps to the GAR Headquarters. You turned around to see none other than Anakin Skywalker jogging up behind you.

“Nice to see you too Skyguy” he chuckled at the nickname as he threw an arm around your shoulders.

You fell into companionable chatter as you made your way to your first meeting, the dark halls of the military headquarters looking indistinguishable as you attempted to find the correct room. Members of the Coruscant Guard patrolled the halls, nodding politely to you both as you strolled past.

Eventually you found the room where Mace, Plo and Luminara were waiting, along with some clone and human high command. You stood outside the door for a moment, readying yourself to seal your fate of being talked at for a solid eight standard hours.

Eventually you caved, mostly as you were on the verge of being late if you debated standing outside any longer. Begrudgingly, you sat through briefing after briefing. All the voices and different rooms blending into one grey blur as you tried to take in what information you could, but your tired and stressed mind was having none of it.

While it was nice to catch up with some of the other Jedi, you always felt a bit out of place among the perfect members of the council. More so now than ever.

You ended up wandering back to the temple with Anakin where you both retired to his room and you flopped down onto his simple bed with a whine.

“Okay, what’s going on? You’ve been off all day” Anakin was the closest thing you had to a brother, you trained as Padawans together and due to your similar age you became fast friends. You knew about his marriage to Padme and decided that if you could offload your dilemma on anyone, it’d be him.

“I fucked up” you groaned out from behind your hands.

“What’d you do?” Anakin replied in a playful tone.

“I might’ve got a bit hot and heavy with one of the clones in my squad, led him on and then cut it off” Anakin raised an eyebrow at your confession. “And now he’s pissed at me”

“Why?” You weren’t entirely sure which part of that entire thing he was questioning.

“Because I started the whole thing, I wanted it. Then all of a sudden I did that whole guilty Jedi, must follow every word of the order thing, gave him some pathetic look which said really sorry I can’t have attachments mate, hope you understand. He called me out on it before I could even utter the banthashit excuse and then he stomped off and hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“In his defence, seems like he was probably wound a little tight” Anakin replied with a chuckle which you just groaned at.

“He has every right to be pissed. Hells, I would be if the roles were reversed. Whats with this whole self-righteous act us Jedi have going on?”

“Look, it’s hard being a Jedi at the best of times. It takes an inhumane amount of self-control, which is why its not a path for the weak. But being a Jedi while at war… it’s a lot. You’re emotions are running high, you’re forming bonds with soldiers on the battlefield that you shouldn’t be, but none of us can help it because it’s uncharted territory. Maker knows I’d hunt down anyone who hurt Obi-Wan or my Captain. Yes, It’s not the Jedi way, but neither is fighting a grand-scale war.” Anakin’s eyes were alive with emotion as he spoke, be he quickly caught himself and then it was gone.

“My point is, don’t beat yourself up so much. No one is getting kicked out the order or in his case reconditioned if that’s what you’re worried about. Figure out what it is you want, and then just be discreet about it” you looked at Anakin like he’d grown two heads, he just winked at your confused stare.

“Okay let’s keep it simple. Are you attracted to him?” You thought back to the night before and firmly nodded in response.

“Do you like him as a person?” You pondered his question.

“Well, it’s Cross. I wasn’t sure if he even liked me for a long time. He’s closed off, anti-social, but he’s also a good guy, cares about his brothers, has saved my ass multiple times, and he is kinda funny in his own, snide way” you rattled off with fondness in your words.

“Well then I suggest you go and talk to him.” Anakin replied, giving you a knowing look when he spotted the small smile on your lips as you spoke about the sniper.

You took a deep breath, glad to have finally gotten that off your chest and feeling content that you now knew what to do next. “Thanks, Ani”

“Ugh please don’t call me that” he moaned back, apparently only Padme was allowed to get away with that one.

————————————————

Your walk back to the Marauder felt like it dragged on and on. Your brain ran over a thousand scenarios of what to say, how he’d react and you were about to short circuit. There was so much risk, so much possibility, that you did your best to shut your mind off and let yourself handle it in the moment. These things never went as planned anyway, it was best not to guess.

The large door to the ship hissed open, your boots clanking on the metal surface as you cautiously walked into your home. It didn’t take you long to find Crosshair, he was sat in the main hull methodically cleaning his hand blaster. Everyone else must’ve been asleep. He was just in his blacks, the material hugging him in the most wonderful way, it’s like whoever designed those things was trying to trip you up. The contours of his arm muscles flexing as he worked, his strong chest looked practically chiselled at the heart of his lean frame. You had to force yourself to calm down a little bit.

“Uh, hey” you greeted awkwardly. “Mind if I join you?”

You took his silence as a well he’s not saying no. He didn’t spare you a glance as you walked in and took a seat opposite him. As a General in the GAR, you rarely got nervous. War, as a concept, was simple. You knew your purpose, your objective, you had a job to get done and you’d do it. The risks never stopped you, rather they fuelled you. Probably why you’re such a good fit for the bad batch.

But this right now, personal feelings, not knowing where you stand with someone you care about. Because if you were honest, you really did care about Crosshair, the same as you did the rest of the team. You’d only been with the squad just under a year but you’d gladly lay down your life for any of them in a heartbeat. If you could at least get back to where you were before the other night, you’d be over the moon.

You weren’t used to being so nervous, you let your hands fiddle with you dark Jedi robes as you readied yourself to speak again.

“Look, I’m not here to throw some crap about being a Jedi at you, I promise. And I’m sorry for trying it before” he still didn’t look at you, finding his blaster much more interesting. But you could tell he was listening, you had his attention. Might as well keep babbling.

“In terms of an explanation for what happened yesterday, well I guess I panicked.” You sighed as you tried to find the next words “The way you made me feel that night, I… I’ve never felt like that before and everything i’d been taught over the years screamed at me that what I was doing was dangerous and wrong. I now realise that I’m just an idiot. I make my own decisions and I… uh -well, I stick by that one, starting something that is.” Still nothing.

“I know this is probably a long shot. But in the interest of being transparent” you rambled “uh… if you want to go down that road again, I’m up for seeing what happens, can be as casual as we like. I promise I won’t freak out on you again.” You chuckled and thought you almost spotted a slight pull in the corner of Crosshair’s lips “But if you want to go back to how we were before, I’d also really like that.” You watched him for a while as he gave no acknowledgement of your words, his cleaning finished as he now gave the weapon a once over in his hands. Having said everything you needed, you got up from your seat, looking away from him.

“Well, if I can do anything else, let me know” you turned on your heel to leave, feeling slightly defeated but glad you’d at least made the first step.

“I could think of a few things” he finally spoke as he leaned back into his seat and continued to stare at his blaster, still not meeting your gaze.

Well that caught your attention, you turned back around to face him as he carried on ignoring you. While his tone was unbothered as he spoke, you knew him just enough to know his words held a meaning. He was playing with you, back to his usual teasing and you could’ve laughed at the relief that washed over you. This you could work with. A cheeky idea popped into your head and you’d decided to run with it.

“Oh really?” Throwing caution to the wind, you strode over to the sniper slowly. His gaze finally meeting yours after all this time, watching you as you got closer and closer. Practically drawing you in with his amber eyes. You pushed him back by his chest, creating enough room so you could straddle his lap. “Care to elaborate?”

He huffed out a short laugh at your words, his face overall unbothered but his eyes, they were burning into you. “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ll figure it out”.

You hummed in response, deciding to kick things up a notch you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing your faces just breaths apart. “Something like this?” You asked, pausing for another second before bringing your lips to his in a surprisingly soft and gentle kiss. You felt his hands come up to rest on your back, pulling you closer as you continued your slow dance. This was so different from the other night, where before there was desperation and lust, now there was something more… tender, passionate. You were quite glad you weren’t standing as the way he moved against you would’ve definitely made your knees weak.

Dragging yourself away from his lips, you searched his face. His mouth pulled into a barely there smirk “That’s a start.”

“Who said I was finished?” And just like that, the last few strands of tension between you both snapped and you relaxed in his arms. You fisted your hands into the front of his blacks and pulled him back to you, his tongue slipped between your lips, curious and demanding. He was everywhere again, filling your nose with the scent of the standard cheap GAR soap but mixed with something earthy, something so distinctly Crosshair and you couldn’t get enough.

You could tell why the Jedi order frowned upon such activities, kissing Crosshair was intoxicating. You couldn’t think of anything else other than the handsome clone in front of you and just how much you wanted him in that moment.

His hands wandered lower and lower down you back until they rested comfortably on your backside, pulling you further up his lap. Feeling mischievous, you started trailing kisses along his jaw. Setting a teasing, languid pace as you mapped out the spots that made him squirm. Crosshair was never a man of many words, so you made it your mission to see just how vocal you could make him.

As your lips met his pulse point, he gave a loud exhale and you smirked in victory against his skin as you continued the onslaught on his senses. You definitely seemed to be doing something right as his hands found themselves in your hair, clutching slightly and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you. Even while trying to gain the upper hand in the situation, he always had some control over you. It was maddening in the best way, setting your veins alight with desire.

Determined to get another victory you traced your tongue against the base of the side of his neck and trailed it all the way up to the bottom of his ear, which you teasingly took into your mouth, teeth grazing the soft skin. A strangled moan escaped the clone and that was the moment where you knew you were hopelessly and utterly gone. Your mind filled with nothing other than wanting to be closer to Crosshair.

“Not very Jedi of you” he commented, slightly breathless when you finally stopped teasing him and came back up to meet his eyes. Looking down at where your bodies were pressed against one another, you chuckled.

“What exactly about this situation led you to believe I was ever a model Jedi?” You smirked, though it was only visible for a second before his mouth was back on yours, devouring you as his hands greedily roamed your body.

You continued making out like teenagers for most of the evening, taking the time to explore each other, enjoying the closeness. Contentment settled over your body, almost as if this was were you were meant to be. If Crosshair’s arms were where you belonged, well, you could think of worse places to be.

Back to Part 1

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[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember​ Prompt # 8: Contagious

Title: Unexpected Developments 

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Prompt inspired by @chezsnez ​. The prompt: “What if in P&P when Jane gets sick at Netherfield, the other guests catch her cold and Lizzie ends up having to take care of Darcy. Kinda like enemies to lovers but with enemies to caretaker.” Thank you as always for the wonderful ideas, my friend!

Jane Bennett’s cold has spread to all the guests at Netherfield, hitting some worse than others. How will Lizzie respond when she finds proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy sneezing miserably and running a fever?

Elizabeth stepped out into the hall, closing the door on Jane's sickroom behind her. Jane was lying down to rest, so Lizzie was left to her own devices for the next hour or two. With no obligation to visit with the rest of the guests today, she had decided to wander a bit to stretch her legs and familiarize herself with more of Netherfield. As she walked, she let her mind wander as idly as her feet.

"We're certain to never be asked back here again," Lizzie sighed to herself after a bit. While Lizzie herself didn't much care, Jane and her mother would be devastated.

The cold Jane had caught on her ill-fated horseback ride to Netherfield had proved to be very contagious. Charles and Caroline Bingley had succumbed to it quickly. At luncheon the day after Elizabeth arrived to care for her sister, the siblings were seen to have dark circles under their eyes, with nostrils tinged a raw-looking pink. Caroline was forced to press a handkerchief to her dripping nose more than once through the course of the meal, while Charles kept painfully coughing into his. Caroline retired immediately after the meal, complaining of a headache and did not return. Charles sent his apologies down just before supper, saying he too had taken ill and would be staying in his room. Walking past Caroline's door later while checking on Jane, Lizzie heard her sneezing so miserably that  Eliza felt a touch of sympathy for the unpleasant woman.

Mr. Darcy had been the one to carry the news of Bingley's illness to the rest of the party, but Elizabeth had hardly seen him since. She gathered he was either passing the time in his own room or else keeping Charles company. It seemed his immune system was hearty, for he hadn't seemed ill when she had last spoken to him. 

Several days had now elapsed since the onset of Jane's illness, and the eldest Bennett sister was doing much better, and in fact really had no need of a caregiver anymore, though she had said more than once that she was glad Elizabeth was there for the company. With any luck, the sisters would be able to go home in a few days, as long as the others had recovered as well. Elizabeth found this thought encouraging as she continued to explore. 

Eventually she came to a hallway at the far side of the house that she was sure would be a dead end and likely empty, but she preferred to look at it anyway, for perhaps it would have a nice view out the window. The hallway was in fact a dead end, but was far from empty.

Coming around the corner, she stopped short, for at the end of the hallway and facing the window was Mr. Darcy. With some amusement she realized he was about to sneeze, for he was hunched over with his handkerchief pressed to his face and his breath hitching desperately.

"Heh-ZZZIIIH'shieww! HIIHHK'choo!" He did his best to muffle the sound into his handkerchief, but was mostly unsuccessful. The sneezes were wet and miserable-sounding, and while Elizabeth couldn't see his face, she could imagine his equally miserable expression, for he sneezed like someone with a thick, burgeoning head cold.

She had a choice to make. She could very easily walk away and pretend she had seen nothing, leaving him and his cold to their own devices. After all, the fact that he had hidden away in this corner indicated that he didn't want to be discovered, and while he had been overall civil to her since she had come to stay here, his haughty pride and past treatment of her were not quickly forgotten. Or, she could offer him aid.

"Hih'GEHH'shuuh!" This 3rd sneeze, whether part of the trio or on its own (it was hard to be sure) was the most desperate and miserable sounding of them all. His shoulders slumped wearily as he tended to his nose in the aftermath, and she thought she heard him say something like "ick" as he did so as well.

"Bless you, sir," said Elizabeth boldly, coming fully into the hallway. He leapt around as if he'd been shot, his face reddening. She could see him frantically trying to think of a way to explain himself.

"My apologies," he muttered at last, gruffly. "That was most undignified."

"You have no need to apologize, for you didn't know I was here. It is I who should apologize for startling you. However, I wanted to ask after your health, for you sound most unwell."

"I am fine," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable. Looking closer at him, Lizzie saw the flush over his face might not be due entirely to embarrassment, but perhaps also to fever, for his eyes had the same unhealthy cast she had seen in Jane's eyes only a few days before. He was also swaying slightly where he stood, and had a dampness of sweat along his hairline.

"Might I offer to accompany you to your room, sir? You look as if you needed to lie down for a spell."

"That is… unnecessary. I can…." He cut himself off with a rough cough. She could tell he was desperately trying to think of an excuse as to why she shouldn't be the one assisting him. However, they both knew that Charles was sick (quite sick, if the murmurs she'd heard from the staff were to be believed), and that all the servants were overworked as it was with taking care of their master and his sister. 

"I'm sure you're quite busy with your sister. You need not concern yourself with me," he finally rasped. 

"On the contrary, she is resting peacefully, while you are positively trembling and look to be on the verge of collapse from fever. Take my arm and we shall see you to your quarters."

Mr. Darcy hesitated another moment, still casting around for some excuse. Knowing what needed to be done, Elizabeth moved to his side and gently linked her arm around his. She felt her heart flutter as their hands made brief contact. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that this was the first time they had touched. She had certainly imagined it occurring under different circumstances. Shaking away such thoughts, she started to walk, leading the much taller man toward his quarters. Mr. Darcy was enough of a gentleman to follow without further protest. 

As they walked, both of Mr. Darcy's arms were occupied, for the hand that wasn't linked with Elizabeth's was busy pressing his handkerchief to his face. Every few steps his shoulders would twitch, either from a stifled cough or a thick sniffle. She could sense he was desperately trying not to sneeze again. Between that and the fact that his large form was positively radiating heat, Elizabeth found herself quite distracted by him, and watched him intently out of the corner of her eye. The walk was a quiet one, for Elizabeth didn’t want to burden him with conversation when he was clearly otherwise engaged, not to mention ill.

They made it to his room without interruption, sneezing or otherwise. She allowed him to open the door, then she ushered them both in, with more than a little awkwardness on all sides. Mr. Darcy went immediately to sit on his bed, sinking down as if compelled by gravity, leaning his head into his hands as he continued to tremble.

"A headache troubles you as well, then?" she asked after observing his motionless form for a moment.

He nodded pathetically, not looking up. Out of nowhere, and startling them both, his breath hitched violently before a pair of sneezes erupted out of him. Thankfully they were directed at the floor. He pressed his damp handkerchief to his nose hastily, glancing at her and looking embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he muttered thickly, which was followed up with a cough.

"You need not waste your breath asking forgiveness every time you sneeze when you have a cold, for you have precious little breath to spare as it is. However, I must ask, why did you not alert someone of your illness? You are quite unwell, Mr. Darcy. Anyone can see it plainly."

"I did not want to be a bother, as everyone else was also ill. I thought it best to tend to myself."

"Whether or not you alerted someone, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed today. You've certainly made yourself worse by doing so."

He only groaned softly.

Elizabeth sighed to herself. "Please, if I may, let me help you feel more comfortable. You need to rest."

Hesitantly she approached him as he looked up to finally meet her eyes. With a gentle touch she guided him to sit up straighter, then deftly removed his cravat. She sensed more than heard his sigh of relief once it was off, and found herself letting her hand rest on his hot cheek under the pretense of checking his fever. He seemed to enjoy the touch immensely. Her eyes lingered on his face as he sat with his eyes closed, and many thoughts and feelings competed for space in her mind. She did her best to suppress them all.

 After a moment though, she broke the spell, and continued to help him remove his jacket, waistcoat, boots and stockings. He assisted as best he could with these attentions, but said nothing, merely following her every move with his guarded, intense gaze. Once the garments were set aside and he was looking much more loose and comfortable, if also embarrassed to be seen in such an undressed state, she pressed a glass of water into his hands and watched as he drank it down.

She took the glass from him, and setting it down, took up a cold, wet rag. She placed it against the back of his neck and was rewarded with a relieved sigh. From there she bathed the rest of his neck and the bit of chest that was visible, ensuring her gaze stayed far from his, but unable to help a bit of a blush creeping over her cheeks at such acts of intimacy with such a person. With continued gentleness, she pressed him back against the pillows. The movement of course made him cough pitifully. Soaking the cloth once more, she laid it on his forehead and left it there as she straightened the pillows around him.

That done, they simply surveyed each other for a moment. Mr. Darcy looked ill and altogether unimposing, lying in bed as he was, with tired circles under his eyes, a hacking cough, and a dripping nose.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked hesitantly.

"Some," he grunted. "Now that I'm lying down."

"Excellent. Are you hungry at all? I think perhaps you should eat something."

His intense stare and large, warm presence were making her nervous all over again and causing her to seek escape from the small room.

"I suppose I could eat," he murmured.

"Yes, good. Then let me go fetch you some soup. I'll be back soon." She bustled out of the room immediately, a blush rising to her face, of uncertain cause. She did her best to quiet her racing thoughts as she sped toward the kitchen.

Mr. Darcy, for his part, was totally smitten with her. He was now convinced her fine eyes were the centerpiece of her completely wonderful countenance and figure. He watched the space where the corner of her skirt had disappeared intently, waiting for her return and recalling again and again the feel of her cool hand on his face.

(Part 1 of 2)

[cakesunflower]

a court of golden shadows: elain archeron and azriel endgame

so this is like an 11 page paper i wrote on why i think Elain Archeron and Azriel from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses are endgame. i made a joke on twitter that i’d write a proper MLA format styled paper on them because i love them so much and a bunch of my moots convinced me to do it so here i am.

this is for the Elriel lovers like myself. if you read it, which you don’t have to, please refrain from commenting anything negative. everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this whole essay is just my opinion on it. so if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

keep in mind, it’s LONG.

         A Court of Golden Shadows: Elain Archeron and Azriel Endgame

Sarah J. Maas’s fantasy series A Court of Thorns and Roses displays epic, world-shattering love stories among the thrilling action and fantastical elements present throughout the novels, as seen in the romance between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and, most recently, Nesta Archeron and Cassian. Two sisters have already accepted and embraced the (so-called) rare mating bond with their respective counterparts, yet the question remains on what is to happen with the middle sister, Elain Archeron, who apparently has a mating bond of her own with Lucien Vanserra, but has not, for two books and a novella, made any indication of accepting it. However, Elain, in her quiet, gentle way, has shown to be more attentive towards the Night Court’s resident Shadowsinger and Spymaster, Azriel. Who, in turn, has notably started to move on from a five-century long love harbored for another female and gravitating towards the last remaining Archeron sister.

It can be said that the concept of the three Archeron sisters all ending up with the three Illyrian males is a cliché, but if done right, they can capture the reader in their grasp—one that no one would want to get out of. Taking a look at the novels, particularly starting from the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury, since this is where Azriel’s character is introduced, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Maas has been laying the groundwork for Elain and Azriel—or Elriel, as I will refer to them throughout this paper—to be a couple from the moment they met, whether these hints are subtle or obvious. In chapter 24 of ACOMAF where Feyre, the Illyrian faes, and her sisters have dinner together, we see tentative interactions between Elain and Azriel, despite the two of them having just met and Elain, as a mortal who grew up with stories of the terrors of faeries, seems to look towards the spymaster more. The first glimpse of their interaction, no matter how small, is shown on pages 253-254 when “a faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork”. Though this moment can be overlooked, it is only the first of many oncoming moments of Azriel noticing Elain and her actions, a subtle hint of the spymaster’s attention towards Elain. The focus of attention is returned when Elain then turns to Azriel a few pages later, wanting to know more about their ability to fly, even so far as going to say “That’s very beautiful” when Azriel describes Illyrians as being “born hearing the song of the wind” (256-257). Additionally, there are two moments in this particular chapter where Elain, in some semblance, looks towards Azriel as a way of relaxing herself. The first is noted when Azriel’s attention is said to be on Elain, and he offers her a “polite, bland smile”, and Feyre notices how Elain’s “shoulders loosened a bit” in response to it (256). Rather than looking towards Feyre for indicators during an unexpected dinner with faeries, Elain seems to be more drawn to looking at Azriel, which is shown once again in the following passage: “Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well” (258). Elain tends to check everyone’s reactions to the circumstances to determine the levels of tension in the atmosphere, but she truly seems to be put at ease when she notices Azriel’s own relaxed state, once again indicating the attention she pays to him from the moment they met.

The first three books in Maas’s series are told through Feyre’s perspective, so it can be said that our perception of and desire for Elain and Azriel getting together is skewed because of the point of view we are given. I, however, consider this to be a moot point because Feyre’s character is the type to notice everything around her. She comes to grow close to both Azriel and Cassian, and with Elain being her sister, the reader can depend on Feyre as being as much of a reliable narrator to tell us exactly what she sees and how she sees it. With this in mind, some of the examples given will be from Feyre’s own musings, but it is important to note that she, more than once, groups Elain and Azriel together. This is shown when, in chapter 49, Feyre is distracting Rhysand as she tries to take care of his wounds and muses about her sisters visiting Velaris. There, Feyre mentions to Rhysand, “I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”, before proceeding to think to herself—and the reader, “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together” (487). Of course, this observation is followed by the acknowledgement of Azriel quietly loving Mor, as he has for centuries, yet what we don’t know, during this, that this wouldn’t remain an issue for long.

Moving on to focus on the third installment of the series, A Court of Wings and Ruin, there is a solemnity surrounding Elain, who, at the end of the second novel, was forcefully turned into fae against her will. After the transformation, Elain has become a shell of who she used to be, trapped in a state of deep mourning of the humanity she lost, of the love of her fiancé she inevitably lost, too. She doesn’t eat nor does she speak to anyone, an empty yet no less beautiful version of herself as her Cauldron given powers, unbeknownst to everyone else, manifest. But even in her state, in her indifference towards her mate Lucien and yearning for her human fiancé Graysen, Elain managed to acknowledge Azriel. He is gentle with her, much like everyone else, as he carries her into the townhouse, smiles, inquires if she’d like for him to show her the garden. And although he stands tall, intimidating in his fighting leathers and large wings, Elain does not recoil from him in fear or shyness. Instead, she takes the arm he offers her and, although it is unsure if she is looking at his Siphon or his scarred hands, she still utters “Beautiful” in response to him (254). Even when life has unexpectedly turned bleak for Elain, even when the world loses its color in the aftermath of the trauma she suffered, in that moment, there was a glimpse of who she used to be as she found beauty in nothing but Azriel.

This same chapter is followed by an insightful conversation between Feyre and Rhysand, triggered by Feyre watching her sister and Azriel. Feyre notes how at odds Azriel looks sitting in the garden next to Elain in his armor, yet she still questions, “Why not make them mates?” (257). This spurs a significant conversation between the High Lord and High Lady, where readers are given some more history on mating bonds and introduced to the prevailing concept of rejected bonds. Rhys provides examples of ill-chosen bonds, such as his parents, who were mates yet their relationship was not ideal in the least. Here, we are told that sometimes fate, the Mother, whatever chooses two mates can be wrong in its pairings, and it is rare for the bond to bring together “true, paired souls” (258) like Feyre and Rhysand. It has been established that the female can reject the bond, and while the male may feel the tug of it, it’s their burden to push through it. Maas spends an entire page or so talking about the concept of ill-chosen or rejected bonds, so it would be naive to look over these details if they weren’t placed in the storyline for a reason. Elain and Lucien may be mates, and Azriel (at least currently within the book) may be in love with Mor, but the idea of free will is not something to be so easily dismissed. Elain already had the choice of her humanity, her mortality, ripped away from her—it’s doubtful she would let this pattern continue.

In chapter 24 of A Court of Wings and Ruin, when Elain is having her first conversation with Lucien, she states, “No one ever looked—not really” (252), and although here she is referencing Graysen, this statement comes around a few chapters later. In chapter 27, Elain walks in on a conversation amongst the Inner Circle, and Azriel was the first to step forward as he noticed something amiss. His observations and questions when he says to her, “[But] you heard something else” and “What did you see” indicate that he, unlike Feyre and Nesta, believes that Elain’s riddled musings have a deeper meaning and need to be heard. The scene ends with Feyre looking to Azriel, noticing that his “hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away” (287). Azriel didn’t brush off what Elain said, because while her sisters thought Elain had gone mad, Azriel listened to her—he looked. He looked past her “too-thin body” and read between the lines of what she said, and knew there was more than what meets the eye. He looked, which was exactly what Elain had wanted.

This is repeated in chapter 32, when Elain brings up another queen and no one is quite sure what she’s talking about, except for Azriel, who steps forward and gently prods Elain to elaborate. Even Lucien watches Elain warily, questioning if they need to help her, yet Azriel is firm in his assessment that Elain doesn’t need help, that they need to be the ones who need to listen, before ultimately determining that she does, in fact, have powers and is established to be a seer. So while Lucien “stared and stared at [Elain], as if he’d never seen her before”, it was Azriel who actually looked at her and saw what no one else was seeing, whose acknowledgment of her gift and the attention he brought to it from everyone else “freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in” (336).

The idea of Azriel truly looking at Elain transitions into him looking for her, too. But first, another example of the former is seen in chapter 63, when Feyre, Nesta, and Amren hear the call of the cauldron in the middle of the night. They wonder about it, question why they three heard it because they were Made, not noticing that another who was Made was missing from their group. That is, until, Azriel asks, “What about Elain?” (560), and he is moving alongside the sisters to inspect Elain’s tent, only to find her missing. Azriel notices Elain—whether she is present or not. And so the concept of Azriel looking for Elain is introduced when they are discussing Elain’s rescue from Hybern in the following scene:

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”” (563).

There was no hesitation on Azriel’s part in being the one to get Elain back, but there was obvious rage, as noted, in his gaze at the very idea of Elain having been kidnapped. A silent, lethal aura surrounds the shadowsinger that can be so clearly picked out within that scene, showcasing Azriel’s unwavering determination in returning Elain, even if it meant slipping into the heart of enemy camps—especially if it meant that. And throughout the dangers and urgency of this particular mission, when they do reach Elain, Azriel takes a moment to be tender towards her as he “gently removed the gag from her mouth” (573) and asks if she’s hurt. Elain, in turn, is shown to be “devouring the sight of him, as if not quite believing it” before she says “You came for me” (573). Elain looks at Azriel in wonder and disbelief, and this reaction hints towards how she feels drawn towards him. In their very first meeting during the dinner in the Archeron house, Elain looks to Azriel for reassurance, for judgement of the situation, and in the event of her rescue, she finds that same kind of comfort on a far more intense level. Because here, he truly is her rescuer, appearing in front of her to save her from the dangerous hands of their enemies and bring her to safety. And Azriel, in this sense, is devoted to her, holding up his fierce promising of getting her back. Even when he was injured, Azriel held onto Elain, refusing to let her go even while getting shot at and chased, and when they landed in their own camps, the first thing he claimed was for someone to get the chains off of her, rather than even mentioning his own injuries. This just reminds us of ACOMAF when Elain was being dragged to the cauldron and Azriel wasn’t even conscious to witness it—there is no doubt that if he was awake—and uninjured—he would’ve done all he could to save her. Maas robbed us of that type of scene.

Furthermore, evolving from the concept of Azriel rescuing Elain, we get another significant scene between the two of them that displays the kind of trust these two characters smoothly and effortlessly developed. On top of Elain accepting Azriel’s offers of taking her to the garden, a silent indicator that his company was one she enjoyed, Azriel shows a great act of trust to Elain as well when, in chapter 69, he offered her the use of his beloved knife, Truth-Teller. This blade is Azriel’s most prized possession, and to offer it to Elain to bring her the same kind of comfort and safety that we have seen she finds in Azriel himself portrays the trust he has in her—and his desire to protect her. This is emphasized when Rhys tells Feyre, “Never. . . I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife” (610). Even Cassian was stunned that Azriel would let someone else use Truth-Teller, which is significant to note given that he has not let even Cassian nor Rhys—his brothers he has known for centuries—even touch it. And Elain, who had refused to take the knife Cassian had offered her, ends up accepting Truth-Teller—because it’s Azriel’s, and because through the short time she’s known him, he is someone she has poured her trust into and understands he wouldn’t lead her astray. And he didn’t, for it was Elain who “stepped out of a shadow” (653) and used that very same blade to kill the King of Hybern. A temporary gift, given from Azriel, that she used to put an end to one of the greatest threats to both the human and faerie realms.

In the post-war novella A Court of Frost and Starlight, Maas furthers the Elriel endgame agenda by continuing both subtle and blatant hints in their favor—and not just through actual interactions between the two. The concept of Azriel avoiding Lucien because of his mating bond with Elain is important to remember, for it will come back around later. But in this novella, we see it when Rhysand asks Azriel if he keeps an eye on Lucien, given that he is the spymaster. Azriel, in turn, informs him that he does not track his movements, because “He is Elain’s mate” and “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him”, which Rhysand, since this is shown from his perspective, notes is because Azriel does not want to be aware of if and when Lucien seeks out Elain, and what they do together—if they do anything at all, given Elain’s tendencies to utterly ignore Lucien (70). Rhysand questions Azriel’s motives on this, but doesn’t get a response, but there is an understanding of Azriel’s intentions behind it. Not only does he want to remain ignorant of the forced bond between Elain and Lucien, but a big motivator for him is also Elain’s privacy, which he doesn’t want to intrude on—ironic, given that he is a spy, and it’s his job to know of others’ movements and thoughts.

Another example of Azriel very subtly showing his blossoming feelings towards Elain is when he unforgivingly states that if Lucien were to kill Elain’s ex-fiancé, then “good riddance” (71). He was well aware of how Graysen treated Elain after finding out she was fae, is the one who sits with her in the gardens because he is a comforting presence for her in the face of mourning, so he understands her. This idea is repeated in Azriel’s bonus chapter in A Court of Silver Flames, when Rhysand catches Azriel almost about to kiss Elain—that is definitely to be unpacked later—and warns him that Lucien has the right to invoke a Blood Duel to defend the mating bond, and Azriel does not hesitate, is confident, when he retorts that he would easily defeat Lucien, would have no problem in pulling Elain out of a bond she doesn’t even want.

The novella also includes some more obvious, sweet moments between Elain and Azriel, ones that show Elain’s own growing interest and feelings towards Azriel. Like in chapter 12, when Feyre notes that when Azriel enters the room, she feels Elain freeze at the sight of him, and then Elain proceeds to be almost in a trance when Azriel, after she greets him, moves towards her and takes the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands and says he’ll take care of it for her (105). This scene then continues when Elain hurries off to make herself more presentable, and rather than letting others dive into the food, Azriel stops Cassian from putting food on his plate and all but commands him to “wait until everyone is seated before eating” (106). Rhysand informs Feyre that this sudden reaction from Azriel stemmed from the treatment his mother received as a near servant, but it can also be tied to how Azriel keeps aware of Elain and the recurring theme of looking after her in any way. He notices her, just as she notices him, a subtle way of this being present in Elain’s solstice gift to Azriel. She doesn’t get a gift for Lucien, her mate, but does get one for Azriel, one that makes him laugh in a way that, Feyre notes, she’s never heard before. A genuine sort of joy breaking the cold, indifferent mask of the shadowsinger as he accepts and cherishes the gift Elain gave him—the extent of which we see in his bonus chapter, where it is revealed that he looks at the small vial every night before going to sleep, a not-so-subtle showing that Elain is the last thought on his mind before he descends into slumber.

This notion of the two of them looking after one another in their own ways is again repeated in A Court of Silver Flames in the following passage on page 221:

Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.

Throughout the friendship they have formed, Azriel becomes a kind of protector of Elain’s, deriving from her being a part of their Inner Circle as well as the notion of Azriel’s own personal feelings for her. He is so obviously shown as going on the defense at the news of Elain getting into any kind of fight, of Elain potentially being hurt. It’s repeated on page 233 when Elain and Nesta are arguing, and after Nesta utters a nasty comment that lands on Elain like a blow, there is an acknowledgement of the “shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”. The shadows, of course, are Azriel’s, ready to jump between the sisters and defend Elain from Nesta’s verbal attack, to once again be her protector.

Of course, we can’t forget that Elain has a mate in Lucien, and how it seems to offer the enticing forbidden love trope between her and Azriel. We see a hint of it in A Court of Wings and Ruin, when in chapter 24, Lucien can scent where Elain had gone off to and who she’d gone with, in this case having it be Azriel, and he’d nearly snarled until Rhysand assured him that Azriel wasn’t the “ravishing type” (254)—although I think we can all agree that he most likely is, but wouldn’t even dream of it in terms of the state Elain was in at the time. Maybe it is the mating bond or maybe it’s both Elain and Azriel’s quiet personalities—or perhaps a combination of the two—but the shyness that has them looking at each other and then looking away continues. On page 467 of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian notes how Elain nods shyly towards Azriel, who in turn offers her a small smile that she quickly looked away from, prompting Cassian to be puzzled as he wondered, “Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long”. Elain doesn’t look away from Azriel because of the bond, but perhaps because she is well aware of her feelings for him and, for the moment, is too shy for them to be known, especially by Azriel.

The mating bond between Elain and Lucien does serve as a barrier between her and Azriel, though. This is particularly present during the Winter Solstice, when a layer of Azriel’s character specifically has been peeled back to show his feelings for Elain. Like on page 597, when Elain is laughing at Nesta, the older Archeron sister notes that “Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it”. And if that wasn’t enough, Nesta watches as Azriel’s “gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting”. This is perhaps the most prominent moment of both of their feelings being reciprocated by the other, because Nesta notices the way they look at one another, as if they both see past the person they put in front of everyone else and truly see the other. And even Nesta understands that there is something deeper between the two, even if they themselves haven’t figured it out yet, when she approaches Azriel where he stands by the doorway and, when asked why he doesn’t sit, responds with a “pretty lie” of his shadows not liking the fire. But Nesta looks to where Elain is the one sitting by the fire, and why Azriel chooses to stand as far as he can, because it is “his secret to tell. Never hers” (600). Just like that, Nesta is aware of Azriel’s feelings for her sister and, perhaps, her subtle way of comforting him was her showing her approval.

We get a deeper insight of this scene in Azriel’s bonus chapter—an entire chapter that allows readers to see exactly how he feels about Elain, and that she returns those feelings, too. It is confirmed that Azriel stands by the doorway, away from Elain, because Lucien is in the same room, and the sight and scent of their mating bond is one that Azriel cannot stand. Because the female he feels deeply for, according to fate, “belongs” to another male and he needs to put distance between himself and the two of them when they’re in the same room. Yet, the mating bond doesn’t prevent Azriel from thinking of Elain, from fantasizing about her every night. He goes from being shown as relieved when Rhys tells him he doesn’t have to buy the sisters presents for the Winter Solstice in A Court of Frost and Starlight, to actively buying her a beautiful flower necklace that she would no doubt love. Their secret exchanging of gifts leads to an epic, steamy, full-of-yearning almost first kiss that shows so clearly that Azriel’s feelings for Elain aren’t unrequited, that she, just like him, is desperate to give into what’s been brewing between them for so long. Yet it’s all cut short when Rhys interrupts Azriel, reminding him of a mating bond that Azriel’s painfully aware of—and confidently willing to pull Elain away from if Lucien decides to invoke the Blood Duel. Azriel’s questioning of the cauldron, wondering why it picked three sisters and had two of them end up with his brothers while the last remaining one was mated to another, is not him declaring that he has a right to Elain. This is him questioning the powers and forces that no one truly understands, this is him questioning from a place of heartbreak, wondering why, yet again, he was the one left behind. It happened when his father imprisoned him, forcing Azriel to delay in his training as an Illyrian, it happened when the female he spent centuries loving never once returned the same kind of love, and now it’s happening again. Azriel does not believe he deserves Elain—it goes against his character, because he is self-deprecating, does not think he truly deserves anything good and worthy. He is simply questioning why his choice doesn’t ever seem to matter, and why Elain is yet again left having her decisions being taken away from her.

Because the matter of choice is a prevalent, significant theme for the two of them. For Elain, she was never allowed to truly make a choice in her life. Her mother’s death, her family falling into poverty, turning into High Fae, losing Graysen, the mating bond, her father’s death—these were all huge, significant life changing moments that she had no say in and was forced to endure, completely upending who she was and how she lived. But there is one choice Elain can make, and that is to reject the mating bond with Lucien. There are so many examples throughout the books where Elain turns away from Lucien; she doesn’t express any interest in him—it’s like he doesn’t even exist to her. There is utter indifference on her end, despite any effort made by Lucien, and that in itself is Elain choosing to all but formally reject the bond, however that may come about. There is a moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin in chapter 54 when Elain, while pleading with Graysen, claims, “I belong to no one. My heart belongs to you” (498). Of course, Azriel has nothing to do with what Elain was saying at the time, but her declaration of this speaks to her character and how dearly she holds onto the idea of being with someone of her own choosing, with someone she loves. This can further be developed into the idea that although fate, the cauldron, the Mother may have chosen Lucien for Elain—a pairing that can, ultimately, be ill-chosen—Elain would not give it the time of day unless it’s what her heart wants. And from what we have seen so far, her heart wants Azriel. She chooses Azriel over Lucien, and that holds significant weight to her and, I imagine eventually, to Azriel as well.

Azriel, who has not been other people’s choice. Azriel, who was imprisoned by his own father, who was rejected by the Illyrians. Azriel, who has spent five centuries loving Mor, who will never love him the way he did her. And it’s saying something, isn’t it, that he has finally stopped yearning for her, and that it was Elain who he is enraptured by? Even Cassian noted that the way Azriel used to look at Mor have become few and far in between, telling the audience that the spymaster has finally begun to move on, or already has, from Mor. And Elain wanting to kiss Azriel confirms to him, in particular, that he is her choice as well. And she is his, as further confirmed when Azriel tells Rhys he has no problem engaging in the Blood Duel with Lucien if it means freeing Elain from a bond she doesn’t want, and allowing them both to dive into the choices they clearly want to make.

Truthfully, there are many examples throughout the books where I can talk about Elain rejecting Lucien. She cringed away from the very first time he touches her in ACOMAF—though, granted, it happens right after she comes out of the cauldron. She is unsettled when Lucien tugs on their bond, saying that it felt as though he pulled on a thread connecting to a rib, which sounds painful and nothing like the comforting bond readers have seen between Feyre and Rhys. Elain doesn’t buy Lucien any presents for solstice, and the first present he got her, gardening gloves to prevent her hands from tearing, are ones she doesn’t use. Because she would much rather feel her hands get torn up while she’s working in her garden, uncaring if they scar, which in turn is a reminder of Azriel’s scarred hands and how she found them beautiful. And for those who wonder about Azriel giving the necklace he got for Elain to Gwyn, it is important to note that he tells Clotho to give it to any priestess who would want it, and merely mentions Gwyn by name because he trained her, because he was the one who rescued her after an attack, and she is the one he knows most familiarly by name because of it. At the end of it, Azriel only wanted the necklace gone because he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember that the female he wants, wants him back just as much, but he was all but forbidden to pursue her. Once again, a choice that was taken away from him, and giving the necklace away is far easier than keeping it and remembering how he couldn’t be with Elain. At least for now.

Throughout the novels, there are many symbols that hint towards Elain and Azriel being together, but that is a paper for another day. This one’s goal was to simply point out the many physical and emotional indicators of the way the two of them are drawn to one another, despite the obstacles that are thrown their way—the biggest one being the mating bond no one asked for. There is comfort in the relationship they have, an ease you wouldn’t expect someone with Elain’s light to find in Azriel’s darkness. He offers her comfort in shy smiles and soft looks, and Elain does the same for him, which we see in the act of his shadows disappearing around her. These very shadows provided him comfort when he needed them, were his friends in his prison, and them leaving him when Elain is around is a sign of the contentment Azriel feels, because he doesn’t have to protect himself in her presence. Azriel loved Mor, and it has been noted that he lights up when she is around, and Elain is the only other person he reacts similarly to—because Elain is who he wants now that he has moved on from Mor. It’s important, isn’t it, that Elain is who pulls Azriel away from the centuries-long love he’d been lost in? That she is who he looks for, thinks about, wonders after?

Elain has found comfort in Azriel’s darkness, and he has found peace in her light, and so how could they not defy what’s been expected of them and rewrite fate to fit the choices they make themselves?

[dingdonghyvck]

Still Into You || Lee Haechan x Reader

Summary: Not a day goes by that Haechan’s not into you.

Genre: Angst

Pairing/s: Drummer!Haechan x Lead Vocalist!Reader, Minor College Student!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, suggestive, mentions of sex and a few sex jokes, alcohol and cigarettes, cheating, manipulation of feelings, angst, and a few others I probably forgot to mention.

Word Count: 4.9k-ish

So I’ve been seeing a lot of Haechan drummer au’s on TikTok, so I thought fuck it and made one! I hope you like it :)

You can read Part two here: The Only Exception

“Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together,

I need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better.”

Donghyuck's pretty sure that you're the only person from high school that he still bothers to be around, it's been approximately 9 years since the day you two met. 9 years since the day he awkwardly sat next to you in seventh grade, 9 years since the day you drew dick doodles in his notebook as a form of icebreaker since you didn't know any other way of talking to him. It was safe to say that he was more than surprised to see flying dick doodles in his spiral notebook when he got back to class after lunch, still he was somehow amused by the scribbles and the little message you left him introducing yourself.

He immediately talked to you the moment you came  back inside the classroom with your earphones in. He still remembers it so clearly, the way you offered him the left piece of your earphones so you two can listen to music in secret, the teacher had already arrived and you two didn't have enough time to speak to each other. Donghyuck would say it was fate, others would say paramore's just too mainstream, but he didn't care. A cute girl liked the same bands as him, so he made it his goal to get closer to you.

And so you two bonded over music, something you both loved with your whole heart and soul. It was through countless concerts and after-school trips to the record store that got you closer and soon enough you two started messing with GarageBand, creating a few silly songs that were the epitome of teen angst, it was always in good fun. But Donghyuck suddenly came to you with a brilliant proposal one calm afternoon when you were hanging out his room.

"So there's like a battle of the bands at school every year... You sing right? Do you feel like making a band?"

"Yeah, sure..." You had shrugged mindlessly while painting his pinky finger black, mind a bit pre-occupied with what was happening back at home. But Donghyuck takes no notice from this, it was a simple reply but he didn't bother to press further, he could just rally up a few of his friends to start up this band, and if you ever do complain he can also scream blasphemy in your face. Plus he was enjoying the calm atmosphere, so he didn't want to ask any more questions. Well it was as calming as it could get since All Time Low was blasting through his bedroom's speakers, volume maxed out to the point it could make anyone’s ears bleed.

It took him quite a while to fill in missing band mates since you two weren't the most liked people at school, but eventually after a few persuasive talks over milkshakes you two have built a band by the end of February, a little too late for the battle of the bands event. But you all decided that it would be fun to congregate as the band geeks instead of going back to being the outcasts of the school. So practices were held in your basement everyday, you insisted on it since you were trying to spite your parents as much as you could, you hated your life at home, but you could bear the presence of your family if you had some friends around.

Skip a few years and here you are again as "The Innocents"—you honestly don't know why you agreed to the stupid band name, but you lacked the creativity and energy to argue with a caffeinated Donghyuck at 4 am when he had proposed it to the group chat. Although Hendery had complained fifteen times before practice that day, everyone still ended up in your basement, practicing for the annual battle of that bands event your school held, a final hurrah before ending high school.

Donghyuck loved playing the drums, he was drawn to the instrument since a young age so he did he have a natural sense of beat and rhythm. But what he liked the most was the view he got from the back. Not only could he watch the whole band work around the stage, he also had the best view of you. He enjoyed watching you jump around, how you would sometimes lick the side of Jeno’s face whenever you felt a bit mischievous, the way you would laugh at the middle finger he'd throw at you, the way you'd practically lay yourself down the center of the stage as you sang your heart out.

You naturally had the talent, that much was certain. Donghyuck always felt entranced whenever you took on the stage bravely, being the frontman was of course the most challenging position of all. But the way you handled the spotlight made it look so easy, as if you were made to be holding a mic since birth. It was as if you were dancing your own symphony and the rest of the band was nothing but a harmony struggling to follow through since your energy was too overwhelming at times.

But somehow you always made it work, no matter how much your band mates hated it, there was always something unique about the way you presented yourself onstage, demanding the audience's attention. No one was brave enough to even try being in your position, so they had let you bask in the limelight for the most part. But there was particular day you seemed different, as if you had been tuned down. There was something wrong and it was obvious enough to everyone that Jeno had to make up an excuse to leave early with Hendery. They had left abruptly to let you talk it out with Donghyuck, since well, he's your best friend.

Little did they know that you two have been casually fucking for the past year since the time Donghyuck confessed his feelings for you. You haven't given the relationship between you two a label since you weren’t really one to be tied down, but he was glad enough to be even be able to hold you.

You reveal to him that your parents were about to get a divorce, and as much as a shock it was to receive this news, what shocked him more was the moment you sat on his lap. You two were still situated in front of the drum set, but Donghyuck didn't seem to mind. So he helps you take your seat, arms wrapping around your waist as your fingers find its way onto the little hairs at the back of his neck, Donghyuck gulps when he sees you bring out a stick of cigarette.

"What? I'm stressed," You smiled wearily as you lit the cigarette. You take a sharp inhale before blowing the smoke to his face, he scrunches his nose.

"Are you sure you're okay? divorces can be-"

You cut him off by placing the lit cigarette to his lips, the tiny smirk on your face made him frown. You raised an eyebrow at him while you waited, you really didn't feel like talking about your parents, so you evaded it the the same way you'd usually evade him whenever he brought up anything about feelings. He paused for a moment to look at you before inhaling from the cigarette, immediately coughing afterwards. His eyes a little teary as he muttered a small "jesus christ”, you giggled before taking his face into your hands. You push back a few strands of hair as you admired his forehead, he had done nothing but stare back at you.

"Don't tell me you'll leave me too" you whispered as you nuzzled your nose against his neck.

Donghyuck lets out the breath he was holding, gently caressing your backside as he chuckled, finally relaxing into your arms. He knew that it was wrong for you two to not speak about your personal lives that much, since it was pretty obvious you were having troubles at home. But he knew how much you hated to feel feelings, so he never overstepped boundaries. He lets you be for the most part, except for times he reminded you that it’s okay to open up to him. You were always quick dismiss him, telling him you were a big girl and you didn't want to bother or burden him. As much as he'd like to keep insisting, he'd rather just leave you be.

"If I say I love you will you stay forever?" you mumbled as you kissed the mole on his neck, smudging a bit of lipstick on his sun-kissed skin.

Donghyuck felt his heart drop to his stomach,  taking your face into his large palms, caging you into his gaze to see if you were joking, or if you had any doubts behind your gaze. but he was met with the softest gaze he's ever seen on you. Your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks, the little black heart you drew in this morning was smudged to a dot on your pretty face. And a few might say you looked like a mess as tears rimmed your eyes, donghyuck could only think about how much he wanted to kiss you.

"You'll always have me" he whispered, bringing your face towards his. It felt hot, too hot that his skin actually felt like burning the moment your hands touched his backside under his shirt. the kiss was passionate, filled with so much heat and lust that it felt dangerous, he was seconds away from being burned alive; but you suddenly pulled away.

"I love you," you whispered against his mouth, lips brushing past each other as each syllable left your mouth. Your nose gently touched his as you breathed him in, gripping onto his biceps as best as you can, desperate in needing to feel him against you.

Donghyuck does not reply, he simply brings your lips back to his. And as much as he wanted to be more gentle, to take his time with you and make you feel how much he worshipped your body, but your passion burnt too hot that he couldn't smother it. He lets it consume him, his whole being as he loses himself in you, too consumed by your flare and embers to notice how he was slowly burning himself out, that he himself was going to be smothered by you.

“It's not a walk in the park to love each other.                                      

But when our fingers interlock, can't deny, can't deny, you're the worth it.”

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this!?" you screamed, eyes reddening from stress as you pulled at your hair, hard enough to rip a few strands out.

"Johnny's just a fucking friend!" you continued, about to leave the room to run away but he cages you against the wall, hands gripping your shoulders harshly, he was bound to leave marks.

"Baby i'm pretty sure friends don't suck each other off in restaurant bathrooms" he snarled, his voice masked with so much venom that if it were a different person they would be quivering with their knees buckling, but you were different, so you stood your ground.

"I already said I love you what do you fucking want from me?" you laughed coldly, crossing your arms against your chest.

"Love... I'm your boyfriend, I don't know how fucked up your brain is, but don’t tell me you don't know what a boyfriend is." he groans in annoyance, pushing himself away from you. The fighting had been so frequent that you two would be at each other's throats more often than not. The added stress from university and his side jobs was finally ticking him off, he was at his breaking point and he didn't know how long he could still be with you when you were blatantly cheating on him.

"Let's break up then." you muttered, looking down at your feet.

"Fine." He mumbled in defeat, taking a seat on the couch. He buries his face into his palms, trying his best to calm down while his breathing increased. He didn't realized what he had agreed to until he heard his door slam shut. That was the moment he knew he made a mistake, he had let you go too easily. You on the other hand, couldn't help but be the happiest you've been the whole week, finally free. And while Donghyuck was left to try and fix what was left between the two of you, you were out to get coffee, living freely as if nothing had happened.

“Cause after all this time                                         

I'm still into you...”

You sang with the tiniest smile, hiding behind your bangs as you tried your best to jump around the stage and keep eye contact with the blonde male sat front row. It's been 8 months since you and donghyuck broke up and yet you've already found a new boy, some dude you accidentally spilled coffee on. Some random dude who asked for your number and you easily said yes, some random dude that caught your eye. Although it's been months since the breakup, Donghyuck couldn’t help but feel bitter; you had broken his world in half and somehow you still looked fine.

A normal person would walk away. A normal person would leave you and realize how toxic and dangerous you were to the people around you, how you pushed everyone away the second they get too close. But somehow Donghyuck was different, he doesn't know why or how he's doing it, but he sticks by your side. Agreeing to still be in the band and staying as friends, since of course we all fuck our best friends once in our lives right? But like the dumb lapdog he was, he accepted your apology at 12 am in the morning when you showed up drunk at his doorstep. Maybe it was the side of him desperately clinging onto you, looking for some sort of closure or any sign of you regretting the breakup, but months had passed and the days seemed normal for you.

He knew how wrong it was, don't mistake him for someone who's stupid enough to let a girl trample over his heart. He somehow just couldn’t keep away, you had broken him to the point that he didn't want anyone else unless it was you. It really was all so stupid in retrospect. He's handsome, irresistible, and incredibly hot so he could easily grab anyone he wanted but somehow he always ends up pining after you.

No matter how many girls and guys he sees he always ends up in the exact same spot, in the back, sat on his drum set to watch you jump around and light up the stage. But this time you brought a whole different aura, it was his first time seeing you shy. Was it that random Mark guy you started seeing? It's not likely that you'd let the guy stick around, you hated being tied down.  Yet Donghyuck feared this was different, since well, you really seemed off this week since you met Mark.

You don’t even show up at his place shit-faced at 3am every weekend anymore. You even attended some of your classes because Mark would be in them. You smoked less and it seemed like you were finally getting your life together. Did this stranger have that kind of effect on you? Nevertheless Donghyuck could feel the anger bubble in his stomach as he hams up his drumming, annoyed and frustrated at how hard you were to read. he didn't notice that he had been banging at the drums so loud that it muffled out your singing, confusing both Jeno and Hendery who were eyeing him from the sidelines. This continues until the end of the song, but you didn't seem to mind since you decided to ignore it, busy staring at Mark as he smiled shyly at you, raising his glass as you continued to sing your heart out.

“I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you, I'm into you.      

And even baby our worst nights I’m into you, I'm into you.”

After the last set, you were gulping down the beer Jeno handed you, messily wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you looked for a blonde college boy in the crowd. It wasn't long until you're met with the cutest smiles, his shy eyes hiding behind his glasses as he complemented how great you were, it was his first time watching you sing.

"I wasn't that bad was I?" you asked, giggling playfully, you placed the empty bottle on the counter behind him.

"You were great! the best even," he chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you, his scent engulfed you. You gladly tucked yourself into his arm, you fitted perfectly.

"Mhmm? Then why can't you look me in the face?" you challenged, laughing at the way Mark coughed up his drink from embarrassment.

"Well I don't usually see you dressed up.... like this" he mumbled shyly, of course he hasn't. What you were wearing wasn't necessarily your Sunday's best. You’re pretty sure Mark's father, who's a pastor, wouldn't be too happy to see you showing up for a family dinner in a lace crop top and ripped skinny jeans.

"It's how I usually dress for the gigs, it's not ugly is it...?" you pouted, and as much as you hated acting cute, you loved watching Mark squirm.

Mark wasn't even able to reply when your band mates' presence was made known by  Hendery who ordered everything available in the bar. You couldn't help but giggle while watching your friend drink shot after shot, he offered you some but you declined since you didn't want to get shit-faced in front of Mark, you were better than that. You knew he was totally out of your league, being the perfect christian college boy studying english literature, he's probably the type who'll marry a pretty trophy wife that will give him three beautiful kids. You didn't even know why Mark gave you a chance, you were practically trash on the side of the road compared to him.You were struggling enough to get by with the gigs and college funds, but he doesn’t seem to mind when you would come up empty-handed during dates, he would gladly spoil you— so consider yourself lucky.

"Hyuck you're not looking too hot" Jeno says it while checking the drummer’s temperature, the brunette simply pushed his hand away, trying his best to avoid your gaze.

"I'm fine" he rolled his eyes, opening a few buttons of his silk shirt, grabbing the attention of some of the ladies near the bar.

"What do you mean? Hyuck's hot as fuck!" Hendery shouted, most probably drunk. Jeno tries to pull the shot glass away but it only ends up spilling all over the counter, Mark scrunches his nose in disgust.

"Wouldn't you know?" Hendery continued pointing towards you, he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Mark's arm drop from your shoulder, you suddenly freeze from his comment.

"Yeah wouldn't you know sunflower?" Donghyuck smirked, eyes meeting with those of Mark's who looked uncomfortable. You tried shooting him a glare, telling him to stop ruining your night, you wanted to finally shoot your shot with Mark. The blonde made you feel different, he made you feel stable and safe, it’s been a long time since you last felt this way. You didn’t even know you were still capable of developing feelings and you haven't felt this way towards anyone so you really didn't want to mess it up. But to your anguish, Mark's curiosity got the better of him.

"Oh yo wait, so you two... were a thing?" Mark coughed awkwardly, his hand going to grip your waist which made you perk up.

"Yeah we've known each other for quite... some time, so it's natural that we've tried stuff" Donghyuck shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets to hide the way he's balling up his fists.

"Yeah but that was like a decade ago, we don't really-"

"Pretty sure 8 months isn't a decade long love" Donghyuck raised his eyebrow, a little smirk makes his way as he sees Mark's grip on your waist falter.

"So do you two still...?"

"No! No, never again... Why would I when I already have you?" you immediately cut Mark off, he's startled by your reply but he still smiles at you, not as bright as the ones he'd shoot you when were onstage. There was a long awkward pause but thankfully Mark speaks up.

"Well! I have like four essays due tomorrow, so I'm gonna have to head out. Want me to drive you home?" he offers, and you were about to accept but you saw Donghyuck raising an eyebrow at you so you stop yourself.

"I would but... We still have a second set, I... I'll call you" you said worried that he'd be turned off with the idea that you had slept with your best friend who you're still friends with by the way, but he simply shook his head as if he was telling you to not worry about it. He kisses your forehead gently before saying goodbye to the rest of the boys. You watch his retreating figure but you weren't able to see him exit the club's doors because it's not long before you feel a strong grip on your left wrist and you're being dragged to somewhere.

“Let 'em wonder how we got this far,

'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all.”

Donghyuck leads you to the club's dirty bathroom, lowly lit with the purple and pink lights. He locks the door behind him but the vibrations of the club's speakers pounded against the door, it was still just as deafening as it was outside. Donghyuck stares at your face for a moment, thinking of what words to say. He watched the way you pursed your lips, you probably were thinking the same, so he beats you to speaking.

"Second set? I'm pretty sure we're done for the night sweetheart-" Donghyuck's stopped mid sentence by your hand coming across his face with a harsh slap, he smiles sadistically when he looks up at you.

"Yeah there's no second set but I had to tell you this" you said, eyes lit with a fire he's never seen before.

"Don't. Ruin. Mark. For. Me." you spat as you pushed him with your finger, backing him up against the club's door. His smirk finally falters, he looked just as confused and annoyed the day you two broke up.

"What? Everything I said was true, doesn't he deserve to know? Let him wonder how we got this far... If he ever doubts your feelings for him, then he doesn't deserve you"

You think about how it's actually the other way around, because for the first time in your life, you're finally making a change for the better. Since your abusive past and your parents' divorce you had always been problematic. Rebelling against your mother since she had refused to accept to support your band. You lived buck-wild, mostly relying on Donghyuck for sustenance. You thought your hate for the people around you was reasonable because of your parents, so you closed off everyone, including Donghyuck. You rebelled and used people as much as you liked, you thought it was only fair you'd reciprocate the hurt the world had given you. But after meeting Mark, it felt like a breath of fresh air, he made you feel alive, like you still had a chance to do the right thing.

"I just don't want to ruin things with him, he's... different" You whispered softly, gripping his silk button-up. Donghyuck laughs cold at this, switching your positions so that you were the one with your back against the door, he cages you against it, making you feel small as he traced your jawline.

"What? are you into virgin college boys now? do they turn you on that much?" he chuckled wickedly, his eyes stared deeply into your own.

"We both know you're never capable of love princess, you like playing with feelings. Because in the end, I know you'll end up breaking this boy's poor heart because that's who you are..." his voice ends up becoming a whisper in the end, his lips inching closer to yours, and without knowing it he presses his lips against yours.

To your shock, you kiss him back for a few seconds but realize what you were doing. You pushed him away to slap him again, he holds your palm in his hand, he harshly holds your wrist against the door. You try to wriggle free from his grip but you stopped when you looked at his face. He had his forehead against yours, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes were closed but you could hear his sniffling as he tried to collect himself. It was now that you finally realize how much you had hurt him. You didn't know that he was this affected by your break up since he had easily agreed to it. You were also blinded by your selfishness, your anger towards the world that you didn't know you were already hurting someone so important to you.

So you soften up, remembering that this broken guy who stood before you was still your best friend. Your best friend who stayed with you when you were at your worse, your best friend who loved you unconditionally even if you drove everyone away.

"That's exactly who you are, you're a heartless monster." he cried, you silently agreed with him but you kept your mouth shut, willing to listen to him finally tell you his feelings. You have been an asshole for most of your life, and you knew it, so you thought this was the least you could do for him. You didn't think much of Donghyuck’s feelings in the past, so it was only hitting you now, he had truly loved you. Even if you were the most flawed person. Even if you were the sad little girl who was too scared of the world, the little girl who believed that everyone was out to get her. He had loved you fully, through and through, even if you had intentionally cheated on him.

"I'm sorry" you whisper, finally realizing how cruel you were these past years. You hated yourself, you truly did. You hate yourself for playing with his feelings, for leading him on when you didn't really have feelings for him back then. You used him for your enjoyment not thinking of his emotions, you used him as an escape from your reality, your troubled past. You truly were a monster and it was finally made clear to you.

"Then take me back," he whispered, he sounded so broken that it took a while for you to register what he said. You didn't reply and he looks up to meet your gaze and your heart breaks.  

"After all this time, I'm still so into you, so please... just give me a chance to be yours again" he begged, you knew he was ready to beg on his knees if it weren't for your current position, you could feel the shiver run down your back because of guilt.

"Donghyuck." you sighed as you took his face into your palms, you look into his eyes and you could see the glimmer of hope behind them, hoping that  you were about to say yes to his offer, but to his disappointed you only caused more heartbreak.

"I really really like Mark... and you were probably right, I'm so fucked in the brain that I didn't even think of your feelings back then. Of how real your emotions were for me, I thought we were just casual, but it seems like you really..." you trail off thinking of the right words to say

"loved me. I'm so sorry for being a fucking asshole, I have no excuses. Being hurt by my parents gives me no reason to hurt you back, so you don't have to accept my apology, I don't deserve it... But I’m doing what I think is best for us right now, I'm kicking you out of the band"

Donghyuck's eyes widened at this, his hands desperately clasping onto yours as he tried to bring his lips back to yours. He didn't know why he was trying to kiss you, probably it was because of the alcohol in his system, or most likely desperation. But all he knew he wasn't ready to let go, to say goodbye to you just yet, so he tried grasping for any piece of you he could as you removed his desperate hands from your body, both of you crying as you tried to push him away for good.

"What do you mean? why do you keep pushing me away like this?" he cries out as he hugs you, you pat his back.

"Because this is wrong, and it's time for you to be happy." you freed yourself from his weak grip, he tried to fight back but you insisted, it finally hit him that this was inevitable, it was finally time for you to say goodbye.

"Thank you for everything" you whispered, and with a final slip of his grasp you were gone. You had opened the door and left him in the bathroom, broken and lost.

“Yeah, after all this time, I'm still into you.”

Part 2

[cozycryptidcorner]

To Train Up a King, Chapter 1/5

Note: For this story, I'm going to do something a tad different. Instead of a full 10k multi-chapter story or a single oneshot, I'm going to do about five episodic 1.5k chapters that capture very short snippets of these character's lives as an experiment. I'd like to see if I can pull off full character arcs with that kind of restriction. There will be smut chapters that are longer (I think, I have them planned anyways), but the bulk of their relationship will kind of be like tv show episodes. 

Prince Naga/Assassin Reader

Chapter content: sfw, no warnings besides some innocent breaking and entering, and one decapitated head :)

He’s just as beautiful as the songs say.

This isn’t the first time you’ve crept up onto Shahira al-Malik’s balcony, flush with vines and florals, just to catch a glimpse of the famed bastard prince, but you’ve never done so intending to reveal yourself. Tonight, he’s hunched over a large, intricately carved and gold-gilded chest, silver-blond hair billowing out with the night breeze. You think he might be asleep, his scales glittering in tandem to the stars as you shift your view in the moonlight.

His room could easily swallow the entire apartment you hovel up in, large, sweeping ceilings with jeweled mosaics covering the floor and walls. Despite its majesty, you know it barely holds a candle to what the rest of the palace offers, a biting commentary to just how little he is valued in the family. Despite the bed being large enough to host a variety of characters, he seems to be satisfied with hunching over that chest, made of simple wood, an arm crossed over the top to keep his head off the distorted surface. His tail lays limply on the floor, twisting and crossing at odd angles.

Creeping around the capitol as natural to you as breathing, so even though you stand in full view of the room, he has yet to notice your presence. The bag hanging from your belt is heavy, you are careful not to drop it as you unstrap it from your waist, and even though your fabric rustles and your boots scrape at the floor when you shift, he still doesn’t raise his head.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat, and that catches his attention, head jolting up, body tensing. When he finally spots you looming over him, bag in hand, large, wicked knife at your hip, he slithers back, mouth opening to shout for help. Calmly, you raise your hand, showing you hold no weapons, and press two fingers to your mouth as a gesture of silence.

“Who are you?” He asks, but still loud enough to get attention from the guards he still thinks are posted at his door. Despite the low light, you can tell that he must have been crying, lips swollen, nose and the crescents beneath his eyes a deep purple.

“Do not be afraid,” you say, hoping to soothe his nerves with a neutral tone, “I am the assassin one of your brothers hired to kill you.”

His viridescent eyes widen with fear, his chest quaking as the idea of his shortened mortality reverberates through his soul. There are strange marks on the underside of his wrists as he raises his hands outward, as though trying to give you some wordless order. Instead, though, he’s yelling, “guards!”

He’s scared, you think, satisfied. His brother, the cocky thing, didn’t show the same fear even at his very end. “Your guards have been removed from duty for the night.”

He knows that you hold his fate in your hands, back pressing up against the chest as his tail folds itself out in front of him, as though trying to keep his vital organs guarded. As you watch him, letting him steep in that fear for just a moment more, he seems to accept the fact that he’s about to die. No whining, no pleading, a grim sort of terror keeping his body still, despite the fact you’re so much smaller than he, almost as if he’s well aware that you are so much more than your size and strength.

Satisfied that you place a healthy amount of fear in his mind, you throw the bag, and he flinches as though it might explode.

Keeping your tone soft and gentle, as though speaking to a child, you prompt, “go ahead. My gift to you.”

You don’t know what he might think is in there, but judging from his trembling fingers as he undoes the ties, you suppose that he might consider his death is inside. The moment he pushes the thick fabric open, though, his eyes widen and his chest heaves. Slowly, unsurely, he pulls his brother’s large head out from the bag, features so similar to his it could almost be like looking in a mirror.

His voice trembles as he asks, “why?”

“He wouldn’t give me what I wanted,” you say, taking a step back. “You can.”

“And what do you want?” He’s trying very, very hard not to allow his voice to hitch.

You pause for a moment, wondering how you’ll be able to put it into words. It’s a complicated thing, your desires- for you have many, and some are of greater importance than others.

“I will tell you later,” you promise, taking another step back. “This will not be the last time we meet.”

“Wait!” His voice trembles, traces of panic thick in his mouth. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? I- I could be the one to fall for his death.”

Ah, so his mind decides to start working again. You suppose you don’t blame him, you did catch him at his weakest, and you almost owe him some reassurances. Ensuring your movements are nothing like your usual quick and off-putting cadence, you tug at the scarf around your head and mouth. Just below your left eye, you have a large, gaping scar that almost looks like a cartoonishly drawn teardrop from a time when your reflexes weren’t as quick, and your sneaking skills weren’t as honed.

“How-” he starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“A knife,” you say, holding out your hands. “I will rid you of the head. The body will be found in the desert, plundered by bandits.”

It’s almost like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders, one much more severe than the thought of death. You know that his path to the crown is that much clearer; though the second prince would put up more of a fight than the first, it’s still one less that he has to worry about. When you take the bagged head back, he’s staring at your face, intently, though not just at the scar.

He’s trying to commit a murderer’s face to memory, you tell yourself, even though his quizzical expression looks more confused than focused.

As your fingers brush together, though, he blurts out, “you’re my age.”

You blink, almost taken off guard. “How do you know?”

“Your face,” he says, eyes roving over your features. “And voice. You’re not much older than I am, aren’t you?”

Everyone knows how old the princes are; even a crowned bastard like him gets fanfare and feasts when his birthday comes around, the bells in the mosques and cathedrals chiming once for every year he has been alive. You know you’re roughly his age, but your birthdays come and go without you even knowing the precise day, no fanfare, no gifts.

“I suppose,” you say, strapping the bag back to your hip, “though it doesn’t matter.”

“Everything matters,” he says, retreating back to a safe distance as though unsure of how much longer his good fortune will last. “I should thank you for not killing me.”

“You should,” you say, “that would have been the easier thing to do.”

“Then, why didn’t you?”

You pause for a moment, not entirely sure of how to put into words why you didn’t. Defiance, maybe, you never did like how pompous and sure of himself the first prince acted. It is definitely not self-preservation; this is possibly the most foolish thing you’ve done since you broke into that knife-obsessed banker’s house.

Finally, you settle on a simple enough statement: “I’ll tell you later. Goodnight, my prince.”

You hear him follow you as you leap from his balcony, watch him search for you in the shadows. From your perch among the trees and stones, pressed up against the outer walls of his small garden, you wait until he retreats back into the safety of his room.

[cosmicjoke]

Levi and Zeke:  Their similarities and the Fundamental differences between Them:

I’ve recently been having a discussion with @ourmondobongo, and it’s spurred me to want to kind of analyze further the fundamental and philosophical differences between Levi and Zeke.  I know I’ve gone into this thoroughly already, but my discussion with ourmondobongo has really made me want to delve in even deeper.  First though, let me thank them for, as always, inspiring such insightful discussion among the fan base!

Some really interesting ideas were posted here, about Zeke’s experiences growing up in Liberio informing his world view and his views on the worth, or rather, lack thereof, in human life.   ourmondobongo suggested that, because of Zeke’s experiences with his parents, utilizing him as a tool for the Resistance, and his subsequent utilization by the Marlyean army as a tool of war, it ended up warping his perception, and influencing him to believe that all human life is inherently worthless unless it can be molded into a tool or a weapon to further some goal.  I agree with this interpretation of Zeke’s mindset and what shaped it.  This is undoubtedly how Zeke views the world, and humanity as a whole, and he’s deemed, because of his own suffering, brought about by his experiences affirming this world view, that life is not worth living.  Because he sees life as without value unless one can make themselves useful in some way, in his view, the suffering inherent in that makes life fundamentally pointless and meaningless and not worth the effort.

Now, where I diverge slightly from ourmondobongo’s view on this is in relation to Zeke’s influence upon Levi in the final arc, or rather, what they say about Zeke’s philosophy overriding or undercutting Levi’s own.  They said that Levi’s belief in an intrinsic value in human life is bombarded and undermined during the final arc of SnK, Zeke’s own belief in the worthlessness of human life being affirmed to him again and again by the chaos and destruction around them, the rightness of his philosophy and belief that this sort of destruction can only stop with the eradication of the Eldian people being confirmed.  But see, the thing is, I don’t think Zeke is at all showing Levi something new, or something which he hasn’t already known all his life.

Zeke claims that his experiences in life make him uniquely suited to understanding the conflict between Eldian’s and Marleyeans, and that his experiences make him uniquely capable of knowing how to solve that conflict.  But Zeke is nothing if not a unfailingly self-centered egotist, someone driven purely by selfish, egotistical viewpoints, unable and unwilling to perceive anything outside of his limited world view.  His life ISN’T unique, his experiences AREN’T unique.  They’re, first of all, shared by every single Eldian on both Marley and in other countries around the world.  Further, and more importantly to the point I’m about to make, they’re shared by Levi.  

Zeke grew up being treated and regarded as a second-class citizen, relegated to a limited area, an internment zone, which he wasn’t allowed to leave unless given direct permission by the powers that be, and regarded as something less than human by the people of Marley.  Well, these are all things Levi himself experienced growing up too, and, I would argue, to an even more extreme degree than Zeke.

Levi grew up in the Underground, a sprawling, subterranean city filled with the so called “dregs of society”.  A place where the poor, the persecuted, the sick, the dying, the deviant and the criminal were either forced to flee to, or more unfortunate still, were born into.  All this underneath the Capital of Paradis, Sina, the richest, most exclusive district inside the Walls.  A place where the elite of society lived and worked and raised their families in wealth and luxury.  The irony of the poorest, most poverty stricken area inside the Walls being directly beneath the richest, most affluent area inside the Walls can’t be overstated.  

Perhaps most relevant to note in this comparison between Zeke’s experience growing up in an internment zone and Levi’s growing up in the Underground, is that the people of the Underground were not only considered second-class citizens, but relegated to something even below that, considered not citizens at all.  They were literally denied citizenship within all areas above ground, within the Walls, and if they somehow managed to make it to the surface, and were found out, they would be promptly deported back to the Underground, where they would continue to be denied any and all rights given to the people up above.  And, it can be easily argued, that the people of the Underground were treated in many ways significantly worse than the Eldian’s inside the interment zone in Liberio.  The people of Liberio seemed relatively well provided for, able to find work, able to earn a living, able to have homes for their families and put food on the table, essentially allowed a sustainable and comfortable life, if one burdened by outside prejudice.  They weren’t made to live in squalor.  Largely, no doubt, because they were seen as an unwanted, but useful resource for the Marleyean government.  The people of the Underground were provided no such provisions.  They were viewed as simple refuse, society’s unwanted and unneeded surplus.  Poverty and depravation ran rampant in the Underground, a lack of resources and support from above resulting in high crime rates and desperation, to things like murder, prostitution, violence and other sorts of criminality.  Further, leading to things like rampant orphaning of children, likely due to starvation and disease claiming the lives of parents, etc...  It was a place literally cut off from the sun, a world of perpetual darkness, sickness, poverty and dire straits.  They received no aid or support from above, were not provided any of the benefits or privileges of the people on the surface, were not offered any sort of path to success, or betterment of their lives.  They were just plainly rejected and left to the whims of fate.  This alone makes it a more difficult and desperate place than the interment zones of Liberio, for even there the Eldian’s were given opportunities to improve their lives through the Warrior Unit programs.  

You might try to point out that Zeke’s experience differs from Levi’s in how he was taught that he, and on his assumption, every other Eldian, would only ever be seen and treated as a tool to be used for some greater gain, and that Levi, at least, had the love of his mother, and Kenny to show him the ropes of how to survive in a place as ruthless as the Underground, and so Levi couldn’t possibly understand what it means, the way Zeke does, to be seen as a tool, or to be deemed worthless outside of ones utility.  But I would counter this simply, by saying that Levi grew up, spent the first, several years of his life, in a brothel, where the very mother who loved him also worked as a whore.  Through this experience alone, it can be easily assumed that Levi was exposed to repeated instances of his mother being EXACTLY used as a tool, as an object who’s sole purpose was to give men pleasure.  From his birth, then, Levi was exposed and taught the brutal lesson that the sole most important person in his life, his mother, the one person we can assume was the only positive influence and relationship he had, for the first, several years of his life, was seen and treated by everyone else as nothing more than a tool for their basest and most perverse satisfaction.  I can scarcely imagine a more horrific or cruel example of a young child being taught the same lesson Zeke seems to think is unique to him alone, that people’s lives are worthless outside of what use they can provide for someone or something else.  Beyond that, Levi was again forced to face a situation in which he and his two, closest friends in Furlan and Isabel were used as tools by other people, recruited by Lobov to kill Erwin and retrieve from him an incriminating document, promised, if they succeeded, citizenship above and a handsome payday, only to find out later the entire scenario had been set up by Erwin himself to press Levi and his friends into military service, to be used as tools in the fight against the Titans.  Both of these are prime examples of Levi being faced with the lesson that he and those he cared about were seen by people above ground as nothing more than tools, to be used at their disposal.  So this was a concept Levi was already well acquainted with by the time Zeke showed up, a merciless lesson in the harshness, violence, brutality and suffering of life.  Zeke didn’t experience anything Levi didn’t in turn, and in many ways, with greater extremity.  

Anyone trying to claim, also, that Zeke had no positive influences in his life like Levi did would be wrong.  Zeke had Mr. Ksavar, for one, and his grandparents, for another.  Mr. Ksavar asked nothing of Zeke, merely showed care and concern for him, and a desire to spend time with him, playing catch.  It was Zeke who offered to inherit the Beast Titan from Mr. Ksavar, not something forced on him.  And while Zeke’s grandparents may have tried to enforce Marleyean history on him in regards to the Eldian’s, they did so out of love for him, in a misguided attempt to PROTECT him, because they cared, not because they were trying to use him in any way.  

My point in talking about all of this is to draw a parallel between Zeke’s life, and Levi’s, and then to demonstrate how, despite deeply similar life experiences, the two of them diverge in vital and fundamental ways which, more than anything, can only be attributed to their strengths of character and natural inclinations as people.

Essentially, the gist of my argument is this.  Zeke is a bad person.  Levi is a good person.  And there can be no excuses, or influencing factors found in either of their lives to credit for the way either of them turned out, other than themselves, other than their own natures.

Because Zeke let his life experiences twist him into a heartless, emotionless, unfeeling sociopath who murders other people without remorse, and regards other human lives as meaningless, worthless trash, expendable and disposable as a means to his own ends.  He let his experiences in life serve as an EXCUSE for his natural cruelty.  He chose to view the lives of others only through the prism of his own experiences, and cast a judgment upon the worth of those other lives.  The true reveal of Zeke’s megalomaniacal egotism is in how he finds himself unable to separate the lives of others from his own.  In how he’s unable to view the lives of others as anything other than an extension of his own existence.  Because he deems his own life worthless, then so too must be the lives of everyone else.

Levi, then, is perfectly his opposite.  It isn’t because of Levi’s life experiences that he’s turned out the way he is.  It is IN SPITE of his life experiences that he has.  Everything Levi’s ever experienced in his life, according to Zeke’s philosophy, should have turned him into a monster.  He should have come out of the Underground a sociopathic, unfeeling, brutally uncaring and violent man, ready to take from and use others for nothing more than his own, personal gain, because that was the lesson his life had taught him.  Because that was what he’d been shown over and over again.  That life is cruel, and ruthless, and uncompromising in its unfairness, and that to live is to suffer.  And yet, Levi came out of the Underground with a greater capacity for compassion, feeling, love and kindness than any other character in SnK.  He continually and routinely, throughout the series, demonstrates an incredible empathy, consideration, sympathy, generosity and understanding for other people.  He is immensely accepting and nonjudgmental, and always, always goes out of his way to express gratitude towards others for their own sacrifices and efforts.  He does his absolute best to protect the lives of others, constantly putting his own at risk to help others live, constantly putting his own at risk to save whoever he can.  Constantly and consistently, Levi places the lives of others above his own in terms of worth.

And here’s the thing that makes Levi most remarkable of all.  The thing which demonstrates beyond any shadow of a doubt the immense strength of his character.  Levi very well knows that life is cruel, that life is brutal, that life is unfair, and that often people die for no damned good reason at all, that they suffer for no reason at all.  He very well knows that people are breathtakingly cruel and terrible to one another, that people treat one another in unspeakably horrific and unforgivable ways.  He very well knows that the dream of a lasting and peaceful world, a lasting peace between humans, is nothing more than a pipe dream, an unrealistic, unattainable ideal.  A fancy only a child should genuinely be able to believe in.  And yet, once again, despite KNOWING this, despite every lesson and experience in his life impressing this awful reality upon him again and again and again, Levi still does everything within his limited power to ease the suffering of others, to improve their lives, to protect them and show them kindness, to help in any way he can, whichever way he’s able.  Despite knowing the futility of life, the pointlessness of suffering, the injustice of other people’s cruelty, despite knowing these things INTIMATELY, Levi still has in him an open, generous, kind and caring heart.  Levi still has in him a deep, unending well of compassion and an unwavering desire to protect and better the lives of all the people around him.  It isn’t even Levi’s own dream that he fights for, it is the dreams of OTHERS that he fights for.  He can’t ever fully embrace this notion of a peaceful existence, free of violence and deprivation and cruelty, because he knows too well the way of the world.  He’s been too mired in the indifferent reality of nature and the human condition to ever, really believe it.  But in spite of that, IN SPITE OF IT, he fights to protect that dream and belief that others carry, that others strive towards, that others commit themselves to.  He gives everything he has, every piece of himself, to protect a dream that he himself can’t even fully believe in, and for no reason more than that it is something which gives others hope, something which gives other’s a sense of purpose, something which one day, possibly, however slim the chance, might come to pass.  

It is all in spite of Levi’s experiences in life, all in spite of his weary and cynical understanding of the world and the people in it, that Levi commits himself to kindness, compassion and the chance to help others, in whatever ways he can, even as he knows deep down the ultimate futility in it, even as he knows his own, relative powerlessness in the face of nature’s unyielding and uncaring apathy. 

And that really is the fundamental difference between Levi and Zeke.  Two men who have experienced such similar lives, and who have learned early on their lives the cruelties of existing in this world, but one who reacts to those cruelties with defiance and courageous opposition, standing in the face of overwhelming odds, while the other yields to it and lets it excuse his cruelty in turn, bowing to its power and letting it consume him. 

[wlntrsldler]

treacherous (j.p one shot)

PROMPT: based on treacherous by taylor swift. slight enemies to lovers? James Potter and Y/N can’t stand each other until they get to know each other. 

A/N: does not follow the timeline at all. the events are not accurate but let’s pretend for the sake of the fic lol. 

WARNINGS: mentions of death, a bit of wolfstar, and some sexual tension (brief)

WC: 5.6K+ (this is my longest fic yet omg) 

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

-

treacherous (j.p one shot)

“You’re so goddamn reckless.” James hissed, slamming his fists down on the kitchen table. “You need to wait for my command. This wasn’t a solo mission, Y/N/N. We work as a fucking team around here.”

“If I waited for your command, Prongs,” you replied, rising from your seat. You acknowledged his nickname with a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew you had to listen to James because everyone listens to James but you knew your plan would work. “We wouldn’t have gotten the mission done.”

“You went rogue!”

“But we got it done, right?” you seethed, eye drilling holes in Prongs’ skull. You felt Sirius offer a comforting hand, placing his on top of yours. Your eyes flickered to look at your best friend, features visibly softening. You sighed, slowly feeling yourself come down from your anger. “That’s the important thing, Prongs. I’m done talking about this.”

“Yeah we got it finished but at what cost?” James pushed, not backing down from his dominant exterior. “You could’ve died, Y/N. We don’t trade lives around here.”

“You don’t have to act like you care about my well-being, Potter,” you spat, starting to limp away from the briefing. You sustained some minor injuries because of your decision but you knew you’d do it again if it came down to it. “We all know you just don’t want another person’s blood on your hands.”

It was a low blow. Everyone in the house knew that James was feeling guiltier and guiltier everyday because of the events that happened over the past few months. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, his fight with some Order members— all of it was finally taking a toll on James. Maybe it always did take a toll on him and he just never showed that it did. Nobody really knew what the last straw was but now it was obvious— James Potter was tired, worn out, almost defeated in nature. 

Yeah, what you said was a low blow.

James gulped, demeanor changing after your words rattled the room. Remus looked at James apologetically, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t expect that from you, nobody did. Lily cleared her throat, fixing the scattered parchment on her side of the table. Sirius stood up and patted James on the back, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. 

“Right, uhm..” he started, blinking back the effect of your words. “We can revisit this some other time. Great job today.”

James left the room without another word, your voice taunting him as he walked further and further away from the team. Is that what you really think of him? A leader, if that, who only cared about not being the person responsible for another death? Did you think that he didn’t care about you? That you were just a number to him? 

Obviously you didn’t. You knew James Potter was a good man, deep down. You could see it in the way he put everyone’s needs before his. He wakes up every morning and gets everything done so the rest of you wouldn’t be burdened with such mundane things. James Potter cooked meals, cleaned the house you all shared, and bought groceries on the weekends because he thinks that you all fighting with him is something he can never repay you for. James Potter thinks that your trust as a team— as a family— is the most important thing in the universe and he’s so thankful that he has you all by his side, even if the whole world disagrees with your cause. James Potter is a good man. 

You had a loud mouth. You found yourself, more times than you’d like to admit, scolding yourself after you let your mouth run amuck. This was one of those times. You let your anger get the best of you. The only reason why you even got angry with James in the first place was his lack of trust in you. Did he not think you could complete the task successfully? 

“Y/N?” A voice from outside of your room called. You tried to get up from your bed, cursing as the pain shot through your right leg. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah,” you yelled out, realizing that it would be better for them to let themselves in rather than you try to open it for them. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, chuckling at your pained expression as you sat up in your bed. You glared at him, propping your injured leg on top of a pillow. “You good there, sweetheart?”

“Just dandy.” 

He sat next to you, careful not to touch your leg. He smiled at you, sadly, and you knew what was coming next. A lecture as to why you should apologize to James or at the very least take his point of view under consideration. This was almost normal, and it was definitely expected. You and Sirius grew close, attached to the hip at times, and he was the one who would typically talk some sense into you. You knew that he and James were the blueprint of what an everlasting friendship should look like so you listened to him. Rarely were you ever the first one to apologize, though, but you knew this time was going to be one of those times. 

“What you said to James..” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “I think he kinda took it to heart, Y/N.”

“I know,” you sighed, acknowledging your mistake. “I don’t know why I even said that.” 

“You don’t like to use your brain when you’re angry.” Sirius responds, laughing slightly. You push his shoulder playfully. “Just apologize to him, Y/N. You know he means well.”

“I know he does.”  

“So I’ll leave you to it then,” he announced, getting up to leave your room. “He’s in his room, locked himself in there since the meeting.”

Ouch. You felt the guilt start to eat you up. Sirius shot you a warm smile before shutting the door behind him. Groaning, you lifted yourself up, trying to ignore the swelling in your leg. Was it the smartest idea to walk on an injured leg? No, but you were never one to have smart ideas anyway and today’s events made that clear.

You started to make your way down to James’ room but stopped when you saw him exiting the bathroom. You began to walk towards him, gasping in pain when your foot landed the wrong way. 

“Goddamnit, James!” you shuffled towards him, gaining some speed. He stopped to see who was calling him. His face paled when he realized it was you and continued to walk towards his room. “Will you wait for me?”

James stopped in his tracks, feeling bad that you were chasing him with a bad leg. He waited patiently as you limped towards him, an annoyed look on his face. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You blinked, not expecting the harsh tone he was using. No matter how many times you and James argued and were at each other’s throats, his harsh tone always surprised you. He raised his voice, yeah, sure, but this— this was different. You tried to ignore it, knowing that you probably deserved this. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said earlier.”

He froze up, looking down at his feet. He glanced over at your leg, red with bruises littered over your skin. God you were lucky you didn’t die, he thought. James shrugged, “I don’t care, Y/N. Is that all?”

“Well, blimey,” you snorted, already putting up your harsh exterior, “I was trying to be nice. Get that stick out your ass.”

“Are you done?” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” 

That was it. 

James walked away and entered his room before you even moved. You were left to crawl your way back to your room, quite literally. Half way through, the pain in your leg traveled to your hip and you gave up on walking. Remus found you dragging your body across the carpet and took it upon himself to carry you back to your bedroom. You thanked him, half-heartedly, not being able to forget James’ hurt expression from your sorry-excuse of an apology. 

-

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were all supposed to win the fight. You were supposed to reconcile and have a drink at the house, continuing to dance the night away. You weren’t supposed to lose. 

Half of the people you knew were gone. Poof. Like they never existed. 

You, Lily, and James stayed in the Potters’ home, resting after a long day of fighting. Dumbledore left to check on the Order, or what was left of them. Molly and Arthur joined him. Peter was— Merlin knows where. Sirius left to check on Remus. The world seemed so quiet. Empty. 

“It’s not the end,” Lily tried to say, looking between you and James. She paced the floor, unsure if she even believed her own words.

There hasn’t been much spoken between the ones who survived. You started to wonder if you were one of the lucky one who survived or if this fate was more unlucky given the circumstances. You lost people you called your family. You all did. 

This was a battle none of you expected. It was a surprise attack on the Order during a time when you all had your guards down. One minute, you were all in the backyard, excited as the Weasley’s announced another addition to their already large family. People were dancing, cheering, drinking, and for a moment it seemed normal. 

And then they came. They slaughtered everyone that they could. You were lucky enough to get out before it got too crazy. You ushered the young kids into the room, casting protective charms as you held onto Percy Weasley with your other hand. You watched people fall. You heard people scream in terror as they were being tortured. You shielded the kids from looking out the window, afraid that if they were to see something so traumatizing, they would never recover. You were sure it would take years before you would.

“I’m gonna help Euphemia out,” Lily announced, getting up from her seat. You knew there wasn’t much that Euphemia needed help with, Lily just felt restless and she wanted to do something that she could control. 

James nodded silently, staring at his shaking hands. There have only been a handful of moments where you’ve seen James Potter— confident, self-assured, James Potter— doubt himself or be nervous. 

The first time was when he put on the Sorting Hat in your first year and he pleaded the tattered hat to place him in Gryffindor, though the hat knew better than to place him anywhere else. Then, second year came around and you four found out that Remus was a werewolf. You accidentally overheard their conversation, and it confirmed the suspicions you’ve had for a year. The third time was in fifth year when Sirius made the stupidest mistake of his life and told Snape about the Whomping Willow. He was afraid he’d lose his second family because of it, and he knew that Remus’ anger was justified. And the last time, before today, that you’ve ever seen James Potter nervous was in seventh year. It was the day after his date with Lily— a date that took him years to convince her to go on— and he realized that they were not compatible at all. Poor bloke was afraid to hurt Lily’s feelings and when he finally told her, she laughed and said, “I know, Potter. I’m glad you see it now.” 

Now, you were alone with a terrified James Potter and you didn’t know what to do. You stared at him from across the room, unsure of your next step. You cleared your throat, “Do you need me to do anything, Potter?” 

“Huh?” he looked up, eyes weary and mind jumbled. He registered your question and he shook his head, “No, I’m alright. Um, are you going to be staying here tonight?” 

You gulped, “Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I don’t really have a place to stay, but if you want me to leave I’m sure I can stay with Remus and Sirius.” 

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” James replied, quickly, getting up from his seat, “I’m sure mum and dad won’t mind. Please, make yourself at home.” 

“I appreciate that,” you sent him a tight-lipped smile and rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes, ignoring the pain that shot up your leg with every move. 

“I’m gonna help mum.” 

“Okay.” 

He left you in the room, rushing to help his mother, but you had a feeling it was to save the both of you from the awkwardness of the situation. Sighing, you began to make your way to your room upstairs. You were half way out the room when suddenly, the room was filled with your friends. Some of the remaining members of the Order popped in, stopping you from completing your plans. 

“Well, welcome back everyone,” you remarked, sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you.”

James, Lily, and Euphemia all entered once they heard the commotion. James stayed by the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched Dumbledore take center. Lily and Euphemia sat beside you, on opposite sides. Euphemia gave your leg a light squeeze and a kiss on your temple. 

“As you all know, today’s attack caused mass casualty,” your old professor started, eyes flickering to empty spots in the room that the old members used to occupy. “To prevent such things, we will assign teams to designated areas. We can no longer put all our eggs in one basket. We need to prepare.” 

Dumbledore continued, “Euphemia, you and Fleamont stay with Mad-Eye. He needs your expertise. Remus and Sirius, your flat is near the Black family home, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, “Wanted to be close, just in case.” 

Regulus. Sirius wanted to be close to look after Regulus. 

The old wizard nodded, “Very well. You two stay there and make note of any movement. We suspect they’re having meetings there. Lily, Dorcas, and Peter, you three will be taking care of Hogwarts students who live in the muggle world. They’re in Hogwarts for sanctuary, but since Minerva and myself are going to be preoccupied, we need you to make sure they’re safe.” 

“What a reunion, aye gang?” Dorcas chuckled, though her laugh was empty. Lily snorted, shoving her lightly as a move of endearment. 

“James and Y/N, we need you two here. This will be our headquarters.” 

Sirius scoffed, “Professor, are you sure you’d want to pair Prongs and Y/N/N? We’ve already lost a lot of Order members and I’m afraid that if you pair them, we’ll lose one more. One of them will end up killing the other.” 

“Shut it, Pads,” you glared, scrunching your nose, “I’m sure Potter and I can be civil.” 

“I can be,” James added, side-eyeing you. 

“What does that mean?” you questioned, squinting your eyes at the boy by the door. You began to get up but Euphemia stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“James,” she said, warningly. 

“Alright,” Dumbledore clapped his hands, calling the attention back to him, “I expect you all to be at your posts by tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Our numbers are dwindling by the hour.” 

By 11PM, the house was empty. It was only you and James left. You locked yourself in the comfort of your room, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. The house was unusually quiet. There was no loud laughter coming from the living room— four boys who had to grow up too fast. You sighed, swinging your legs down the side of your bed, wincing as you forgot about your injuries. 

“Fuck me,” you muttered, closing your eyes for a moment until the pain subsided. Once it became bearable, you slipped on your house shoes and made your way down the stairs. You tried to tiptoe down the stairs, not wanting to wake James and go through another awkward encounter. However, once you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you realized your efforts made no sense as James leaned against the cold counter, a cup of tea in hand, and his glasses fogged by the steam from his drink. 

His eyes flickered over to where you stood, suddenly making you feel self-conscious. You were wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a large t-shirt that you were sure once belonged to Sirius. James raised his cup a bit as a sign of acknowledgement. 

You smiled awkwardly and poured yourself a glass of water, “What are you doing up?” 

“I reckon for the same reason you are,” he replied, taking a sip from his tea. James snickered, “Nice shirt.” 

“It’s Padfoot’s,” you chuckled, “Don’t tell him I still have it.” 

“Actually,” James started, placing his drink down. He faced you, “It’s mine. I let him borrow it and I asked for it a few times now. He keeps telling me he’ll give it to me later but I had a feeling he was stalling because he lost it. Mystery solved.”

You blushed, “Sorry, did you want it back?” 

“No, it’s alright. Looks good on you,” he coughed, ducking his head to hide the slight blush on his cheeks, “Can’t sleep?” 

“No.”

James nodded, “Yeah, me either. You can sit with me for a bit, if you want.” 

You pondered it for a moment until you finally decided that a conversation with James Potter was better than staring at an empty ceiling for the rest of the night. You limped to the seat in front of him, clutching your glass of water like a lifeline. 

“Are you still hurt?” James questioned, getting up to help you to your seat. He held your arm as you sat on the chair. Once you were situated, he knelt beside you, inspecting your leg, “You are still hurt. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. “We all had bigger things to worry about.”

“Why didn't you just cast a spell on it?”

“I’m not the best healer around,” you admitted, looking down at him. 

If it was any other circumstance, you would not have admitted your shortcomings to anyone— especially not James Potter. But perhaps it was the toll that the war had put upon you or the tiredness in your system… Or perhaps it was the way he was staring at you from his position on the floor, eyes wide with worry with the candlelight reflecting off his glasses and the look of absolute beauty on his face, that made you become so brutally honest. 

“And why didn’t you ask one of us to help you?” 

You scoffed, “Well, none of you are licensed healers, either. I figured I’d just live with it until it healed the muggle way.” 

“Always so prideful, you are,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. He muttered a simple incantation and then studied your once injured limb. “There. Better?”

You looked down at it, pleasantly surprised that it was indeed better. You nodded, a skeptical look on your face. James dusted off his pajama pants and made his way over to the seat he occupied before. You tilted your head, “Where did you learn that?”

“I learned for Remus,” James said, “After his transformations, sometimes he would still be in pain from turning so I learned a few things to help him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t but Remus always says that just the thought that I wanted to help him helped with his recovery. Load of rubbish, I say but who am I to decide that, right?”

“Wow.”

James laughed at your reaction, drinking from his tea once more. A playful smile appeared on his lips, “I do have a heart, you know. I’m sure everyone else can see that but you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know you have a heart, Potter. That’s not why I can’t stand you.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Well, Godric, where do I start?” you hummed, a laugh escaping your throat. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, smirking at your answer. You bit your lip, “Let’s see… you’re arrogant, cocky, obnoxiously loud. You act like you know everything, all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up. James’ tongue poked out to dampen his cracked lips, “Don’t hold back, I guess.” 

“Shut up,” you chuckled, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?” 

“Because you hate me.”

“Come off it,” you stared at him, shaking your head. “Why do you really hate me?”

“Seriously, that’s it. I only act like I don’t like you because you don’t like me. I don’t actually hate you, you know.” 

You were in shock. Your voice came out as a whisper, “Really?”

“Really yeah,” he shrugged, as if his confession was nothing, “You love Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and all our friends like they’re family to you. I can tell you’re a genuinely good person with how you treat the most important people in my life. I can’t hate a good person.”

You pursed your lips, “Well, I only dislike you because you act like I’m not a good witch.” 

“What?”

“Come on, James,” you gestured with your hands. “You act like I’m a bloody awful witch and an even worse person. Always have since we were in Hogwarts. I just always assumed you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

James was baffled, “Are you being serious right now?”

“I mean, yeah,” you began to explain, thinking back to the many moments in the past where he made you feel that way. “I remember when we first all found out about Remus. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but you still followed me for two months to make sure I didn’t say anything because you didn’t trust me. Or whenever Sirius would tell you to ask me for help on a prank that required some advanced charms, you would refuse to let me participate like I couldn’t possibly be any help to you. Or more recently, when we had that task to do and you blew up on me for not following the intended plan. You don’t think I’m capable.”

“Y/N, I never thought I made you feel that way,” James frowned. “I was just really scared for Remus. Even as a second year, I knew that he was going to be my best friend for life and I just wanted to protect him. I didn’t let Sirius drag you into our pranks because I knew you were aiming for a spotless record at Hogwarts. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble because honestly, a prank that didn’t end with at least one of us in detention was a failed prank.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, “I didn’t know that was where your mind was.” 

“Yeah,” James continued, “A-and as for the last task, I just didn’t want you hurt. We’ve lost enough people already. I’d hate to lose you, too.” 

“Careful, Prongs,” you teased, swirling the water around in your glass, “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.” 

“I do, yeah,” he admitted, “I’m quite fond of you.”

The both of you stayed silent after those words left his lips. It wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. It was the first time you two had a proper conversation and you learned things about each other that you never imagined. James continued to sip on his tea and you stared at each other from across the counter. You smiled at him, admiring the redness of his cheeks.

“Well,” you finally said, standing up. You placed the empty glass in the sink and made your way to the stairs, “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

James smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Prongs,” you returned his smile, turning your back on him. Before you reached the first step, you turned back around, “James?”

“Mhm?” 

“I think I can grow quite fond of you too.”

James’ eyes flickered from his tea to your face, his cheeks completely flushed pink by now. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, trying to suppress his smile. He chuckled, shaking his head, making his curls bounce around. You willed yourself to remember that image because it was the first time that you truly saw James Potter for who he was. 

-

Over the next few weeks, you and James began to grow closer. Your late night conversations almost became mandatory. He began to leave a cup of tea for you across from him where you sat the first night. It took him precisely three nights to finally make your cup the way you liked it without being told. He started to light the fireplace in the living room after seeing goosebumps rise on your skin a week and a half after the first night. Then by the third week of your traditions, he began to walk you up to your bedroom door to wish you a goodnight there. 

Sirius and Remus didn’t come to check in until a month later. Sirius, as always, made himself feel at home by raiding the kitchen and eating the food that you and James made earlier. Remus laughed from the living room, muttering about how Sirius acts like he doesn’t feed him. 

Sirius sat beside James, peering over the pile of parchment on the side of his desk. He nudged his best friend’s shoulder, “Surprised you and Y/N haven’t killed each other yet.” 

James blushed, “She’s not so bad, Pads.”

“Oh, I know that,” he hummed, taking a bite out of the biscuit in his hand, “Glad you know it now, too.”

“I never thought she was bad,” James frowned, placing his quill down to properly talk to Sirius, “Why does everyone think that I do?”

“Prongsie, darling, you would always shut up whenever she’d walk in. You’d avoid her like the plague.” 

“I just knew she didn’t like me, that’s all. Figured that if I shut up, she’ll see that I’m not so bad.” 

“Huh… Why did you want her to like you so bad anyway?” Sirius asked, sitting on the desk now, disregarding the work that James had done. He waited patiently for James to answer, but the answer never came. Instead, James’ cheeks flushed pink and the boy tried to hide his flustered expression by pretending to massage his temples. Sirius’ eyes widened and he jumped off the desk with excitement plastered over his face, “You fancy her! Merlin, how did I not see it before?! You fancy Y/N/N!”

“Will you—” James shushed Sirius, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. He was starting to draw attention to himself. James saw Remus stare at the two boys, puzzled as to why Sirius was running around like a dog. James wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into Padfoot just to swing his tail around. “Will you calm down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, his lips still twisted in a large grin, “You fancy Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, I do,” James was embarrassed now. He didn’t expect to come clean to Sirius like this— not in the middle of a war. “I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, you know, even back in Hogwarts! I just never did anything about it because she hated me. I mean, really, genuinely, hated me. Then we got to know each other over this time and— I don’t know, Pads. She’s great.”

Sirius smiled so hard, James thought his lips would tear apart, “Yeah, she bloody is. Are you gonna tell her?”

His eyes widened at his best friend’s words as he frantically shook his head, “Merlin, no! Of course not! We’re in the middle of a war, Pads, and I’m sure she barely tolerates me. I doubt she’ll like me.” 

Before Sirius could reply, you appeared behind the two boys, an eyebrow raised, “What are we talking about gentlemen?” 

“Nothing!” James exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck in fear, “Sirius was just saying how he needed to get home. Right now.” 

“Is this how you talk to your best friend that you haven’t seen in a month, Prongs?” 

Remus entered as well, laughing as he spoke, “Come on, Sirius. We do have to head home now. Nice to see you both.” 

“Always a pleasure, Moony,” you smiled, hugging them both before they apparated out of the house. You poked James’ cheek, “So what were you really talking about?” 

“Guy stuff,” he lied, returning his focus back to the parchment that Sirius messed up. 

“Guy stuff?” you snorted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. James visibly gulped, all the color draining from his face. You cocked your head, not letting go of his face, “We’re lying to each other now, Potter? Shame.” 

“‘M not lying,” he said, voice shaky. You were so close to him. He could smell the strawberry chapstick you dabbed on your lips. Godric, your lips looked so kissable. 

“Yes you are,” you tutted, your palm now cupping his jaw. You didn’t even realize how intimate this move was, too busy looking into his eyes to notice your movements, “I can tell.” 

“How?”

“You can’t look me in the eye,” you stated, eyes flickering to the different features on his face. You never noticed the small freckle on the bridge of his nose or the small, fading scar on the left side of his lips. “Whenever a good man is lying, he can never look at someone in the eye. So tell me, James, what were you guys talking about?” 

James still refused to look at you in the eye. He couldn’t bring himself to because he knew you were right. The minute his eyes met yours, he would crack like an egg. Instead, he focused it on your parted lips, feeling your breath tickle the tip of his nose as you spoke. He mumbled, “I can’t tell you that.”

You didn’t know what came over you but when you spoke again, your voice came out as a sultry tone— breathy and slowly dragging your words, “Please.”

James’ eyes immediately jumped to look at yours once he heard the tone of your voice. He’d never heard you use that tone before and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him weak in the knees. And for the sixth time in your life, you saw the nervous James Potter again. In a moment of weakness, he spoke, “You. We were talking about you.” 

“Me?” you asked, shocked by his revelation. Your hand that was once cupping his face was now hanging off his shoulder. You twirled a curl on the nape of his neck around your index finger, slightly tugging it. It took all of James’ willpower not to groan at the pressure. “What could you have possibly been saying about me?”

“How utterly insufferable you are,” James nudged his nose with yours, tilting his head the slightest bit. His tongue poked out of his lips, licking them in both nervousness and excitement. 

“I’m only insufferable because you make me this way,” you tilted your head the opposite direction. Your lips were moving towards each other with every breath you took. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You let your lips ghost over his, before pulling away. You opened your eyes to taunt him, a mischievous smirk on your face. You pulled away from him, untangling his hair from your finger. 

“See, you’re proving my point. You’re insufferable,” James said. 

And with that, he pulled you by your waist, a surprised squeal left your mouth. He placed you on his lap before he kissed you. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His lips melted with yours, tongues shying away from each other until he finally had the courage to caress yours with his. James squeezed your hips, pushing you down his lap. A soft moan escaped your throat and that brought James back to reality. 

Before things could escalate, he pulled away— lips bruised and completely out of breath. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip. He returned the favor, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to continue without telling you,” James confessed, “I like you. A lot, actually. I don’t want you to think this means nothing to me because it does. I-I hope it means something to you, too. If it doesn’t, let me know because I don’t want to do this if I’m just setting myself up for failure here.” 

Your features softened at his words. You cupped his face in your hands, once again, and kissed the tip of his nose, then each cheek, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. It was an innocent one, less steamy and passionate than the first, but lovely regardless. You intertwined your fingers with his, “This means something to me, too, Potter. You’re not the only one who feels that way.” 

“Really?” he asked, now grinning widely. He connected his forehead with yours, chuckling, “Who would’ve thought we’d get here?”

“Not me,” you giggled, “However, don’t think I won’t bicker with you now that I know you’re an incredible kisser.” 

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around you. “But now, I can just kiss you to shut you up.” 

You pretended to think about it for a moment with a fond smile, “Hmm.. I suppose that’ll work.” 

James pulled you closer to his body, looking up at you as you sat on his lap. He murmured into the skin of your neck, “See? Insufferable.” 

[honestlyfrance]

just feel; let’s exist

ship: sam/bucky

warnings: hurt/comfort, suicidal implications

summary:

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

or

Bucky tries to keep Sam grounded for the night.

—■—■—

We’d all like to know what’s it like living in the Avengers Mansion secluded in the vast forest, the same mansion that you could only reach with a rocky dirt path, the same one where it stretches with its landing strips and pools, the same one where it looked more like a castle lost in the 16th century than one in the 21st century, and the same one where the sunrises were almost as perfect as the ones in Wakanda. Despite this description, Sam Wilson would tell you it was a noisy place, always full of fights and silent conversations—other times it’s a game of cat and mouse on who can eat the last platter of brownies before the super-soldiers can get to them. 

Everyone wanted to know what it felt like to live at the top of the world, unbothered and untethered. Not even touched by the weather, god gifted and forever immaculate: What does heaven feel like? They’ll say it tastes like copper blood, everlasting and stained. Others would say that heaven does not exist, and it’s hell on earth in the Avengers Compound; constant tension in the hallways, there’s always a reason for thunder to break through the walls and shatter the mirrors. It doesn’t sound like heaven, and maybe it shouldn’t be called as such.

Most nights it did feel like heaven on earth, when the room was just the right cold, the water pressure was just right, and the hallways were peaceful as it can be on a Thursday, it’s almost as if you were on top of the world. Damned those who think not, it was better when it was empty and vast as it should always be. 

It was always so full of life, and other times it was full of sorrow, resentfulness, and even, death.

This was one of those nights, the nights when Sam feels decayed and broken to the bone , almost numb at the overriding sensation throughout his body. It should’ve been illegal to feel this way, empty and vulnerable to even air, feeling as if you may crumble at the very touch of kindness. It shouldn’t be like this, but it always has to be; c'est la vie. What can anyone do?

Sam sat on the rounded couch in the vast living area. It had high ceilings, two chandeliers hanging precariously with its heavy diamonds and crystals; the couch was in an unlevel flooring, shaped for the large rounded velvet couch; the moonlight was streaming in the drawn open French windows that reached the arches of the walls; the rose bushes were in full bloom in view of the windows, full and lovely; the TV screen was sat atop a long desk, decorated with picture frames of the members of the Avengers all smiling and serious; the room was dim lit except for the moonlight, and there’s an uneasiness in the room. It was nearing midnight, and Sam didn’t make any plans to go back to bed.

Everything seemed to swallow him whole, and the vastness was only eating at his sides, bringing him down just to build him back up again with hope; it’s a sickening plot to take him down but his mind was almost peeling at the seams, and there’s a need to kill his overwhelmed senses before dawn, because there’s a ticking in his head that he had interpreted as a ticking bomb that would implode him and his thoughts when the sun would rise.

It’s saddening, how the world could beat him down into a pulp, taking his mentality and sensibility. The world has stripped him down to the bone and left his soul to burst into flames, an open-to-all show for the world to see. This is your Captain America! and you’ve let him burn to ashes! The world has left him to drown like an Icarus, burnt to a crisp and broken like glass. Nothing could ever piece him back together except for death, and even then it wouldn’t be the same. There’ll be an aftertaste in his mouth that would taste like gunfire and carcasses, and he wouldn’t be able to wash that foul taste without burying himself six-feet-under.

In the silence of the mansion and the dimness of the night, it’s here that he let himself daze into nothingness, feeling the void wrap itself into his bones, etching his fate with a pen-knife and salt, embracing his wounds as if the Mona Lisa to its Louvre. Sam lets himself decay with the stars, and if his fate leads him into his bed, then so be it; he’s lived long enough, won’t that mean he’d die short enough?

The silence seemed to ring in his ears, and there’s an ache in his chest he couldn’t cater to; it seemed too far away for him to reach, and if it was close enough for his fingers to grasp, it would turn futile. He would let it be; who’s going to tell him otherwise? There’s not a person in the world who decided to let Sam thrive, and even if they did, it was obviously not enough. Sam knew his worth, but did he know this could save him? Months of spiraling into the void, Sam has finally recollected and called himself “extinct.” Reminiscing would lead him nowhere, and the happy thoughts he had clutched onto had become stone; Sam did know his worth, but it only became his enemy.

Sam knew what it meant to know things and had felt things to conflict it, in the end burying himself in his own grave from the pressure of the world. Life has offered him endless tragedies and he has offered nothing but service, ruthlessly nice and angelic to the halo and wings, and it’d be a shame to have him drown in Atlas and the world’s burdens, but that’s what people make him do; stripped down to “support” and “partner” all in one, the world will forever see him in this facade.

As the ache in his chest began to sear him, Sam suppressed his cries to beg mercy at the world; he’s been abused to the bone that he’d let himself get down on his knees to beg for a sliver of mercy from the world. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw at every sensation he felt. There was the need to numb himself, and he’d do that even if he has to physically hurt himself, to ache at the skin— yes, maybe that would work…

Footsteps approach Sam, breaking his soliloquies. Sam was left with ragged breaths, wiping his tears away with his bare hands when Bucky Barnes had plopped down right beside him, invading his personal space. Bucky was panting, wiping his forehead with a face towel before facing Sam with a splitting grin; it disappeared when Bucky saw the red in Sam’s eyes, and so Bucky immediately gave the man some space.

“Hey,” Bucky gently spoke, his hands wringing in between his thighs, “You— You don’t have to say anything,” he put on a small smile for Sam, but the man only sniffled, turning into convulsive sobs, “Do you want me to leave? I can give you more space. Do you want me to stay? I have some, uh, few ideas to get your mind off things…”

Sam turned to the rough fabric of the couch for comfort, crying into it as he choked on his sobs. Bucky sat beside the man, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the backrest of the couch; he had fear glinting in his eyes as he watched one of the strongest men he knew break down in pieces. There’s an unmistakable anguish in the air, one that brittles the strong with crashing waves, and Bucky feared for it.

“What do you need right now, Sam,” Bucky whispered into the darkness, and there’s a softness in his tone that just breaks Sam even more.

Sam looked up from his arms, a glare burying Bucky to the ground as he says, “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,”

Bucky took a double-take, but nonetheless nodded carefully, afraid he’d hurt Sam even more. There’s an unspoken rule about comforting someone: Don’t hurt them even more . Bucky stood up, arms in awkward positions as Sam went back sniffling into his arms. Bucky’s heartstrings chimed to the tune of a love song, one that sings just for Sam; there’s now the only goal he had in mind: make Sam happy .

“Everyone’s fragile, Sam,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, but Sam must’ve heard it, because he stopped his whimpers and stayed robotically still, “Their brokenness only depends on how people handle them,”

Sam looked up, his lips twisted as his eyes searched for something in Bucky. “Stay,” he whimpered.

Bucky warily comes back in his seat, Sam inching towards the warmth of Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist as the man leaned into Bucky’s body, nestling his head on Bucky’s chest. They lied down like this for minutes long, feeling each other’s breathing blend into each other. Bucky tries to even his breathing, already fearing the way his own heart beats deafeningly into the night; does Sam hear the fear and anxiety Bucky feels for him revibrate in his chest, or was Sam too deep into his thoughts to feel anything outside of him?

Bucky planted a soft and gentle kiss on the top of Sam’s head, and Sam instinctively groaned at the action; Sam’s body reacted by burying himself deeper into Bucky, as if it was still possible. If anything, they were practically connected into each other, atoms sharing and merging with one another they wouldn’t be surprised if they had melted into each other's souls by dawn.

Dawn .

Sam lifted his head, and Bucky whimpered at the loss of heat. Sam set his hands on Bucky’s knees as he blinked at the darkness, trying to figure out the murky shapes in the living area; he almost jumped when he saw something move in the darkness, only to realize it was Natasha Romanoff’s cat, Liho, moving around by the carpet. Bucky watched the back of Sam’s head, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to decipher Sam. It seemed like everyday that Sam was jumpy and spaced out, almost like an astronaut from the many times he’s been into the void — Bucky just wanted to bring him back down with him on Earth.

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

Liho is now on the other end of the couch joined by the other cats, Alpine, Goose, and Figaro; so that’s what those menaces do at night.

Bucky sighed, bringing back his grip on Sam’s shoulder, easing out the ache of the world out of him; if it was only possible. Bucky wished it was that easy, because Sam didn’t deserve an inch of this bullcrap, however the world seemed fit, angels just don’t need the burden of Atlas as if it wasn’t from different religions in the first place. If there was just a magic word Bucky could say to bring Sam back down on base, he'd make a song out of it— Anything. Anything that would give back Sam his control, Bucky would pick it out from hell itself if it could bring Sam peace and comfort.

“Why do I bother,” Sam murmured, his voice raspy and ragged.

Bucky hesitantly set his forehead on Sam’s back, breathing in the scent of him; he exhaled, saying, “We bother because we care,” he breathed in once more, his eyes shut closed, “Sometimes we care too much to feel anything. Which is why we rest… Feel… Breathe in…”

“I know,” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, staring into the void of darkness as his idle hands grew sweatier and colder, “I… I can’t seem to do anything right now…”

“Then let’s just exist, Sam. Come back down for you.”

Bucky rested his head right on Sam’s back, eyes upwards as he heard the mewling of the four cats approaching them. They both chuckled at that, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning and had rested just for the two of them. Sam lied back down, bringing Bucky down with him; Sam curled himself deeper into Bucky’s chest as the other rested his feet on top of the mahogany coffee table before them. Liho finds a spot between Bucky’s legs and Alpine is soon behind him; the other two cats, Bucky thinks, should scram before the two of them do anything more.

They sat down for a moment, overwhelmed by the silence to move, and it feels nice to have the weight be lifted from one’s chest; there’s a pang of pain to breathe but there’s also the love that revibrates within the heart, and it blares so loudly between these two it shouldn’t be hard enough to stay oblivious to this. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Bucky whispered in Sam’s ear; Sam hummed in acknowledgement, “I know. I know it’s hard, and it’s fine to be fragile,” he rubbed circles on Sam’s back with his palm, then his fingers, feeling Sam sigh deeply into his chest, “One thing I’ve learned is that… You should just exist. Alone or together, any is fine; just breathe and feel, Sam. The pain leaves like a bandaid,”

It’s probably near two in the morning when Natasha emerges from her bedroom on the other side of the mansion to retrieve Liho, scooping up the noir feline from Bucky’s legs. In exchange, Natasha had brought the two a blanket, and apparently Bucky had requested to bring his laptop and secret stash of champagne. No sooner had she left with her cat, Goose had followed as well, meowing all the way down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Sam drawled out, suppressing a grin as Bucky laid out the blanket around them.

Bucky had set down his laptop on his lap, opening up a browser and going incognito; Sam watched Bucky enter a website that had too many ads for one’s liking, entering a movie title that had only disappeared from the cinemas just yesterday. The movie began to play and Bucky raised the volume, Alpine setting her paws on his arm as he did this. Chuckling, Sam popped open the champagne with surprising ease, laughing fully as some of it spilled; Figaro crawled on top of his legs, and Sam had run a hand across his cat’s fur as Bucky snuggled deeper into the duvet.

They took turns drinking the alcohol straight from the bottle, and no sooner had Bucky seen a smile form on Sam’s face, all gap-tooth and wide, it was too beautiful to miss, even in the darkness. Everything fell back into place, but there’s a new atmosphere surrounding them as explosions and guns blared from the speakers, their two cats purring in the background making everything harder to move, and their breathing was too close to each other to ignore.

They didn’t know who was the first one to lean into the kiss, but they both knew they wanted this. Long and languid  kisses ensued between them, and Bucky’s advice ringed in their heads: Just feel , and they did; they felt each other’s skin against each other as their hands found their way to cup the other man’s cheek and bring them closer with a hand on the neck. They rested against each other’s foreheads as they breathed heavily, eyes still closed as they let the taste of the other be ingrained into their heads, never wanting to forget what love finally tasted like: it tasted like champagne turned into wine and the living room into an abandoned movie theatre, and it felt ten times colder but they were too warm in their hearts to complain.

They stayed like this for another movie, just existing together and alone, and if the world has decided that enough was enough and that they should break apart, just know this: though they were both fragile, in each other’s presence they felt too strong to even believe they were weak in the first place. Dawn had just arrived, and they could say they’ve stayed for another day.

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.