#just decided right now that would be the case

[kairisea]

🌊𓈒𓏸Something New𓏸𓈒🌊

SUMMARY: You and Kinich are officially a couple, and despite the awkwardness of the whole thing (since you're both new at relationships), you wanted to get him something to show your appreciation.

NOTES: gn!reader x aroace Kinich, demiromantic/asexual, though neither is actually mentioned. Reader is implied to be a Natlan native. It's assumed you've done the AQ and his SQ, but should be fine to read without doing either

WARNINGS: None, really, just fluff

COMMENTS: I finished Kinich's quest, and fell deeper in love with him than I already was. So I wanted to write a fic in celebration of his release and quest! Though I must say, this is not the fic I intended to write. My brain wanted something else I guess.

Ever since you and Kinich started dating, things between you seemed awkward. It's not like you knew how to be romantic. And clearly, he was the same. You'd still hang out, and talk, and go places, but when it came to anything romantic, you both were hopelessly lost. Not for a lack of trying.

Ajaw would laugh at your every attempt at something romantic, as you failed spectacularly. Though if something got too corny or actually romantic, Ajaw would always become frustrated and leave. It was clear he just wanted to watch you struggle. He hated the lovey-dovey stuff.

You decided to ask your friends and research the subject, in hopes to become better. Your research led to a lot of fiction, which didn't seem like a good source of information to you. Your friends were able to give you some pointers, but they were mostly about flirting, which you thought was less than useful considering you were together already. Still, they at least had some useful tips.

So here you are, at a traveling merchant, looking through their stock. You're looking for something specific, and if anyone in Natlan would have it, it'd be a traveling merchant, since it doesn't grow here. The merchant seems to get a bit irritated, but then you lay your eyes on your prize. A Rainbow Rose. Native to Fontaine, your friends told you it was a symbol of love. Perfect to give to Kinich.

"I'll take one Rainbow Rose, please!" you asked the man.

"That'll be 7 thousand mora." he replied bluntly. 7 thousand?!?! you thought. That seems absurd! For one flower!? But it's not like I have any other options... You'd come all this way, determined to by a Rainbow Rose for him, and it's not like you didn't have the budget... you'd just have to cut out some other things off the list of things to buy.

You sighed. "Alright, I'll take it." Maybe you'd have been better going to Fontaine yourself, though going there probably wouldn't be an option even if you wanted to. You knew you could've tried haggling, but it was never your strong suit, plus this guy seemed pretty big, and you didn't want to anger him or anything. So you just handed over the mora.

"Pleasure doing business!" He seemed really proud of himself as he handed you the single rose. You debated asking for more, but you had only asked for one, and you were certain that's what he'd say back. Still, you had your gift. It was time to head to his house and give it to him. Let's just hope this didn't go horribly wrong...

You made your way to Kinich's home, building up the courage to knock. You wondered if he was even home. There was no way to tell without knocking, so that's what you did. You held the rose behind you, it had to be a surprise after all. You anxiously for an answer, thinking you had been right and he wasn't home. You knocked again just in case.

"Kiniiich! Are you deaf!? Someone's at the door! As a servant to the great K'uhul Ajaw, you oughta be quick to answer it!!!" You could hear Ajaw yell through the door. It was quite clear he wouldn't be the one to answer the door, but that was already assumed. At least you knew Kinich was home now.

"Calm down, Ajaw. If you're really that impatient you could've answered it yourself." You heard Kinich approach the door. Suddenly you were very aware of what you were about to do. Your nerves seemed like the could burst out of you at any moment. Your heart was running a marathon. As your thoughts were running, Kinich opened the door. "Oh, it's you. What brings you here?"

He seemed so calm. He never was really the type to be mushy gushy, and you appreciated that about him. Though it certainly didn't help your nerves. "Well, considering we're... well, partners. I wanted to get you something. To... show my appreciation! And... well... my love for you..." You trailed off in embarrassment, avoiding his gaze.

"Ahh, it's that human again! Well, do you have some entertainment for us? Another way to spectacularly fail?" Ajaw laughed. You and Kinich did not. "Or maybe you have a gift to offer to the Almighty Dragonlord, K'uhul Ajaw! Something to prove your worth?"

"They said it was a gift for me, not you. And don't make fun of us." He glared at Ajaw, and the saurian shut up with a 'hmph'. He mumbled something about disrespect, but you couldn't quite make it out. "Well? What do you have for me?"

You hoped Ajaw wouldn't make fun of you, and hoped Kinich would like it. "Well..." You pulled the rainbow rose out from behind your back, presenting it to him. "It's called a rainbow rose, from Fontaine. It... I heard it was a symbol of love... so I wanted to give you one." You looked at him from the corner or your eyes for his reaction.

"Hmph! I'm glad it's not an offering to us! A symbol of love? Tch. Perfect for you couple of lovebirds." Ajaw remarked

"We're hardly lovebirds, Ajaw. We're not that experienced. Besides, if you hate it so much, why don't you leave?" He queried Ajaw. "This is a lovely gift." He takes the flower from your hands. He didn't smile often, but you could see a small one on his face just then.

Ajaw hmphed away. "You like it?" you asked him, and he quickly nodded in response. "I'm glad." Suddenly, the 7 thousand mora felt entirely worth it. Though knowing Kinich, the next thing he was going to say would be-

"How much did it cost?" You sighed at his predictability.

"I'm not telling you this time. You don't have to pay me back, really." Knowing him, he still wouldn't accept that.

"If you won't tell me, I guess I'll have to find some other way to reimburse you." You knew he'd say something like that. You were also glad he didn't press on the price. Who knows what he'd say if you told him? "Why don't you come inside? I can get this flower in some water and we can... chill together."

"That sounds great." You tried not to seem too excited at the idea, but you couldn't hide your smile as you entered the house at his signal. You sat down on the couch as you watched Kinich pull out a vase, fill it with water, and put the rose in it. Afterwards, he came and sat down next to you on the couch. Once again, things were awkward. At least you got one good moment. Maybe this could be a good moment to loosen up?

"You two really are hopeless. Maybe I need to give you some pointers, because clearly you suck at this!" Ajaw seemed both annoyed, but also prideful, as if he really could teach you something about romance. Could he..?

I might end up making a part two to this, where Ajaw teaches you something, or you naturally learn it, and get more comfortable with Kinich. Idk, if you want to see a part two, let me know!

I also want to make a modern AU fic where you move in with Kinich, so let me know if you want to see that, too.

Also for the rainbow rose part, I want you to know I asked a friend for a number between 1 and 60 (hi friend) and they gave me 7 or 42. With 1 mora being 1 cent, I didn't want the poor reader to actually end up needing to spend $420 on a single rose XD If you're wondering why between 1 and 60, it's because 1,000 mora is the usual price for local specialties. But of course, there's someone in Ritou selling dandelion seeds for 60,000 mora, so that set my range for someone selling outside of a nation. Anyway just fun research stuff I spent too much time doing for little to no impact :) (Also yes that means the rainbow rose was $70 USD, pretty pricey if I do say so myself😬)

If you enjoyed this, feel free to learn more about me and what I do here! You can also see if my requests are open there if you want something yourself!

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Home to Thrive In

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!neighbor!reader

Summary: You still live next door to Tim Bradford's mother, and when he visits for the first time in years, you have to decide if you're willing to let go of the idea of him you fell in love with.

Warnings: spoilers/rewrite for 4x09 "Breakdown", angst, arguments, discussion of past abuse, r is Tim's childhood friend, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

A/N: It's late. This may be terrible. I will reassess tomorrow.

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Have you talked to Mom recently?” Genny asks. When Tim doesn’t answer, she sighs and murmurs, “Don’t know why I thought you would.”

“Isn’t it bad enough that you’re dragging me back into the Tom Bradford-centric world I’ve been trying to outrun since we were kids? Now you want me to tell Mom about everything that’s happened,” Tim argues. “I’m already working on a murder case that Dad hid for decades. I don’t need more family drama right now, Genny."

“She worries about you, Tim. Just wants to be part of your life again.”

Tim's phone rings, a saving grace, and he excuses himself as he pushes his chair away from the table and leaves his sister.

“Tim,” Lucy greets. “I brought Monica Ochoa back in.”

“The woman who was killed by the gun I found in my dad’s house. Why?”

“Because I knew there was more to her story. You- you couldn’t see past the version that you wanted to see.”

“What’d she say?”

“Your dad… Tim, Monica confessed.”

Tim hangs up on Lucy, walks directly past his sister while ignoring her questions, and gets in his truck to visit his dad. To see if he’ll tell the truth when he has no other choice or if he’s really the terrible man Tim thinks he is.

“You didn’t kill Frank,” Tim states.

Tom sighs before he counters, “Sure I did. Now, come on. Cuff me. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Monica confessed.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“Frank was beating her. She fought back. She shot him. She was terrified, so she ran to you. You came up with the burglary story, helped her stage the house, then you hid the gun in case the cops got too close, and you needed to frame someone else.”

“He was brutal, abusive,” Tom explains. “She deserves a medal for what she did.”

“He was abusive?” Tim repeats.

“What? You think I’m like him? I was nothing like Frank. I taught you what you needed to know, son. You’re a man now because of me.”

“No. I’m who I am in spite of you,” Tim replies. His dad doesn’t speak, and Tim nods as he adds, “Goodbye, Dad. I hope it hurts.”

In the hallway outside his dad’s room, Tim pulls his phone from his pocket and calls Grey.

“Bradford,” Wade greets as the call connects.

“I need to take some personal time,” Tim says instead of a salutation.

“Lord knows you’ve stashed up enough of it. Where are you going?”

“To see someone I should’ve visited a long time ago.”

“You did the right thing, Tim. Take your time and know we’re here for you when you get back.”

Tim ends the call, then texts his sister that he’s taking her advice. He hasn’t been home to his mom’s house in years, and he needs her, needs space from his family and his station, and needs to work through the events of the week on his own. Though he isn’t sure if he’s welcome or if his mother's new home will feel the same as it did fifteen years ago, Tim gets in his truck and drives toward the last place he felt at home.

Your evening walk is refreshing, and the sunset helps you focus on the beauty of the day as you wind down.

“Sweetheart!” your neighbor calls, waving from her porch.

“Mrs. Bradford,” you greet with a smile as you step onto her walkway. “How are you today?”

“Good, good. Talked to Genny earlier, she’s visiting Tim.”

You smile and nod, unwilling to touch the sensitive subject of Tim. Growing up with him, you saw the worst parts of his childhood, home life, and father, but that never added up to you. He ran away from his mother, from love and home just to outrun bad memories. A task you know to be impossible.

“How was your book?” you ask, moving away from Mrs. Bradford’s stressful family life. “Did you finish it last night?”

“I did. You were right, the twist at the end was a shock. I thought the vigilante did it!”

“Interesting,” you muse. “I was torn between him and the builder.”

Mrs. Bradford hums before her oven beeps.

“You take care of that,” you say as you wrap your arms over her shoulders in a quick hug. “We’ll talk about the book and start the sequel on Saturday?”

“Count on it. Have a good night!”

“You too!”

Headlights reflect off your front door as you push it open, but you don’t bother to turn around and see who it is. Two of your neighbors get home around this time, and there aren’t many visitors or tourists in your area. So, when you’re closing the curtains and notice an unfamiliar truck in Mrs. Bradford’s driveway, you decide to watch and ensure everything is okay.

“Tim!” Mrs. Bradford calls excitedly as the driver’s door opens. She rushes out and pulls him into a hug, and from the way he grips her and buries his face against her shoulder like he’s eight again, you know that this isn’t just a sorry I stopped calling, Mom visit. Something happened and that’s the only reason he’s home.

“Welcome home, Tim,” you whisper before you pull the curtains together and put the distance you’re used to back between you and Tim.

You kneel by your front door to tie your shoes. Then you untie them and loop the laces differently. Knowing that Tim Bradford is next door makes you hesitate to go outside. Yet, you don’t want to let him impact your life more than he already has. It wouldn’t be surprising to learn that his mother already told him about your downward spiral, how you fell apart when he left without so much as a word. As a kid, you fell in love with Tim Bradford, and you stayed in love with the idea of him in high school. Then, when he disappeared without a word or trace, and you only found out that he was a cop for the LAPD through his sister, you decided that the idea of him was as good as you would ever get.

“You can do this,” you tell yourself as you stand and lay your hand on the doorknob. “It’s just the man who has occupied your every thought for years. Just walk by.”

The magnitude of your mistake hits you in full force when you’re nearly past Mrs. Bradford’s fence. Tim says your name and your heart clenches at the realization that you remembered his voice so well. Years of hearing it in your dreams will preserve your memory like that.

“Tim,” you reply, swallowing as you face him. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“It wasn’t exactly the plan. Genny showed up and everything just kind of blew up in my face.”

Kind of like what you put me through, you think. Rather than saying it, you nod sympathetically.

“Did my mom… did she tell you about my dad?”

“Tim, your mom tells me a lot. But no one close to your mom has brought him up in years.”

“Wish my sister had gotten that message,” Tim scoffs.

“I hope you enjoy the time with your mom,” you interrupt. “But I’ve got to get going.”

“Right,” Tim agrees. “I’ll see you around.”

You nod but feel your chest tighten as you hope he’s wrong. Losing Tim Bradford again is not an option, so you refuse to let him closer than he needs to be.

“I didn’t know she moved with you, still lived next door,” Tim muses as his mother ushers him inside for breakfast.

“You don’t know much,” she points out, not unkindly but not untrue. “She knows more than you. I’ve told her everything Genny passed along. You were so close as kids.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees before he trails off. He remembers being friends, but not the kind of friends that would ask about each other. “I don’t think she wants to talk to me.”

“Well, you can hardly blame her.”

“What does that mean?”

Tim’s mother looks at him and presses her lips together. He has her eyes, but he doesn’t have her understanding or the intuition about people she tried to instill in him when his father wasn’t trying to teach him to be a man.

“If you can’t see it, Tim, it’s too late to explain it. She’s coming over for lunch and our duet book club tomorrow. You have thirty hours to read the book if you want to participate.”

“Thank you for letting me come home, Mom.”

She lays her hand on Tim’s shoulder and promises, “You’re always welcome here, Timothy.”

You knock on Mrs. Bradford’s door while Tim’s truck is gone. With one of her signature ceramic loaf pans in your hands, filled with your favorite cookies, you wait for the door to open to return her dish and offer some goodies.

“Sorry to…” you begin as the door opens. “Oh, Tim. Sorry, your truck was gone so I assumed your mom would be here.”

“She borrowed my truck to do something that she refused to have help for. Come on in.”

Tim opens the door for you, and for reasons beyond your comprehension, you accept his invitation and walk inside. After you set the pan on the counter, you turn around to leave, but Tim is leaning against the table and watching you.

“Enjoying your time off?” you question, wringing your fingers together behind your back.

“I am. Especially after the last case I worked on,” Tim answers. “My mom hasn’t told me much about you.”

You hum and look at your feet as you reply, “Not much to tell.”

“She seems to tell you a lot.”

“Look, Tim, I’m just trying to respect your boundaries. She told me that your dad was involved in something, a murder, but it’s not my business.”

“Frank Ochoa,” Tim interjects.

You furrow your brows as you ask, “Monica’s husband? But that was a robbery.”

Tim tilts his head to the side as he says, “My dad admitted to killing him. He was protecting Monica.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“What?”

Tim stands from the table, his crossed arms falling to his sides. “You knew something and didn’t tell anybody, didn’t you?”

“Tim, I-“

“Look, I’ve been lied to by too many people this week. You still have the same tell you did in elementary school. What did you know?”

You clench your jaw and step to the right to go around Tim, but he moves to block you, and rather than running into his chest, you retreat further into Mrs. Bradford’s kitchen.

“This case – the people there – have been lied to, we’ve been wrong, there’s been no justice for decades. And you’ve known something the whole time? How can you live with that?”

“How can I live with it?” you repeat incredulously. “How was I – a child, Tim – supposed to go to the police and tell them that I saw Frank beating Monica over and over? They wouldn’t have believed me!”

“You didn’t try!”

“Yes, I did!” you yell. Wiping the single tear that managed to escape in your memories of the only time you tried to help your neighbors, you lose some of your fight.

“Doesn’t seem like you tried very hard,” Tim adds under his breath.

You laugh once and shake your head. “I told the police your dad was beating you, Tim. You know what happened? They came and asked him about it. He denied everything. After they left, he took you out into the backyard and demanded to know who you told. So, see if you can wrap your cop brain about why I was scared to tell on someone else.”

“I didn’t know you-“

“You didn’t know anything, Tim.”

Tim scoffs and argues, “Oh and you know so much about who I am now because of what my sister tells my mom?”

“At least I talk to your mom, Tim,” you snap. Immediately, you regret it. “I’m sorry,” you offer.

“I couldn’t,” Tim defends.

“Did you try?”

Tim’s truck rumbles as his mother returns from the store, and you hold Tim’s stare until the engine shuts off.

“Can I leave now, or do you want to blame me for something else?”

Tim steps back and opens his mouth, but you storm past him before he can say anything else. You return to your house after you hug Mrs. Bradford and tell her about the cookies. The idea of Tim Bradford that you’ve clung to since childhood is growing fuzzy around the edges, and alone in your house, you cry over what he told you today, the mistakes you made, and the loss of the Tim you were born to love.

Someone knocks on your door the following morning, and you stare at it rather than walking toward it.

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” Mrs. Bradford calls.

With a sigh, you stand and invite her in, not caring if she notices your teary eyes or unusual attitude.

“I thought you might want someone to talk to. Somewhere away from my son,” she explains as she leads you to your dining table. “So, I brought food and company. Choose what you want.”

“It’s not just Tim,” you explain. “I mean… he was right, but it’s different.”

“Different than when you fell in love with him?” she guesses.

You look up at her, wide-eyed at her question. She smiles and gestures for you to continue.

“I’ve been dreaming about him coming back, thinking that we could pick up where we left off, but he’s nothing like what I remember.”

“Time will do that,” she soothes, taking your hand over the table.

“It didn’t do it to me.”

“Sweetheart… you didn’t let it. I love you, you know that, but you cling so tightly to the past, to the familiar, that you haven’t allowed yourself to adapt to the beauty of the growth and changes around you. Haven’t even let yourself show the woman you’ve become.”

You lick your lips before sniffling and asking, “What if I don’t like it?”

“But what if you thrive in it?”

Wiping the back of your free hand across your face, you clear your tears and nod. You know that Mrs. Bradford is right, but you also know that there will be pain in the beauty when you choose to move forward.

“Does he hate me?” you whisper.

“Timothy? I don’t think he could ever hate you.”

“He can sure blame me for a lot, though,” you point out with a wet laugh.

“Beating himself up over that at the moment, if you’re wondering. And, when you’re ready to talk to him, maybe you should try getting to know who he is today.”

You nod and pull a homemade candy from her special-made meal. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, are we going to keep crying over silly boys or try to solve a murder mystery on a pioneer plantation?”

Dressed in your favorite outfit, you shift from foot to foot on Mrs. Bradford’s porch as you try to get your courage up. Just as you lift your hand to knock, a throat clears behind you. You spin around quickly, then release a breath and press your hand over your racing heart.

“You could have told me you were back there sooner,” you point out softly.

“I wanted to see where this was going,” Tim answers, closing his tailgate. “Listen, about the other day-“

You raise your hand to silence Tim and shake your hand. “I came over here to talk to you. About more than that. Do you maybe want to go somewhere to do that?”

Tim nods and opens the passenger door of his truck, offering his hand as he helps you in without a word. The drive to the local high school football field is quick but silent, and when you exit the truck and join Tim on the tailgate to watch the sunset, you take a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that with your dad, the house, Frank, all that,” you begin. “But I’m sorrier that I didn’t do more back then.”

Tim nods and says, “You were right. They wouldn’t have listened, or it would’ve spooked my dad and made everything worse.”

“I guess we’ll never know.” You look at Tim’s profile and ask, “Are you okay?”

“No,” he admits without hesitation. “My dad was protecting Monica. He never did anything to protect us, but his mistress – broke half a dozen laws for her.”

“I knew that, too,” you whisper. “My mom made me stop sitting by the door after that year, which was probably a good thing. Uhm, are they going to prosecute your dad?”

“No. Not on his death bad. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll get judged soon enough.”

You nod, your eyes still on Tim rather than the pink sunset before you. His eyes have teared up, and everything inside of you begs for you to just let go.

“Tim, you’re nothing like him. You know that, right?”

Tim nods a tiny movement that breaks your heart. This isn’t the Tim you remember, not the Tim from elementary school or the one who was punished for your ill-conceived attempt to help. Most importantly, you realize, this isn’t the Tim you’ve dreamed of loving. Tim Bradford, the man before you, is who you can love, want to love, and desperately, wholly, devastatingly need to love.

With a deep breath, you release everything you’ve been holding onto. Your grip on your dreams, on your memory of Tim and what you thought you wanted, and the moment that trapped you in your position of being terrified to do the wrong thing in your efforts to do good weakens, and you feel like a flower in bloom. Everything seems new, the possibilities are endless, and you’re a new person who isn’t afraid to do right, even when it terrifies you and carries the potential to break your heart.

“Tim,” you whisper.

He turns toward you, drawn by the tone in your voice, and blinks past his tears. You shift on his tailgate and raise your arms toward his shoulders. Tim leans forward and meets you halfway, pulling you into his lap as you collapse into a hug that heals the broken edges of who you are. With Tim’s arms against your back and waist, you feel more at home than ever, and he feels the same. His mother’s house was never the home he was returning to, but a pursuit for this feeling, right in your arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur against his shoulder.

He shakes his head, tightening his grip on you, and this version of you - unafraid, complete in Tim Bradford’s arms - is ready to thrive. You won’t heal overnight; neither of you will, but it’s a start.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Tim laughs against your neck before he pulls back gently to retrieve his phone from his pocket.

“My mom,” he tells you. “If you haven’t kissed her yet, what are you waiting for? Another set of wrinkles?”

You fail to stop the laugh that escapes at Mrs. Bradford’s bluntness. Then, you realize how glad you are that he’s reading her text messages.

“Well?” you ask. “Should we kiss or wait for more wrinkles?”

Tim pushes a stray hair out of your face and promises, “None of it was your fault.”

You nod and thank him, then brush your thumbs against his cheeks. “Last time we were on a field together, it was raining. I also wanted you to kiss me then.”

“You never told me.”

“How was I supposed to tell you that, Tim?” you ask. “I… I was caught up in an idea of who we could be, and I was scared to ruin it by doing something new.”

“And now?”

Rather than asking for what you want, you take it as you lean forward and kiss Tim. One of his hands moves to the back of your neck, and the first raindrop feels suspiciously like a teardrop as it runs down your face and onto Tim’s. You laugh as you run toward the truck doors, thunder rumbling as a storm approaches from the west. In the truck with Tim, you find yourself face-to-face with a better version of the dream life you craved in Tim’s absence.

Bonus:

“Get inside, it’s going to start raining again!” Mrs. Bradford calls from the kitchen when she hears the door open. “Don’t need you catching a cold on your time off, Timothy.”

You press your lips together and smile at Tim, who is drenched after offering you his jacket to hold over your head in a poor attempt to stay somewhat dry.

“She’s going to mother you, too,” he points out.

“Hey, I’m used to it,” you reply. “Like it, even.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Bradford murmurs as she appears in the doorway. “Go get dried off and change, Tim.”

After he disappears into his room, Mrs. Bradford offers you a towel and a change of clothes. She smiles as she leans in and says, “Flowers that thrive need plenty of rain to grow, you know.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 17: Everything Is Cursed

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: 6371 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

One question was bothering you. You had been through hell and you still hadn't received your reward. That inquiry was running in circles in your mind. There were many answers, but none were facts. What was happening? Why were you going through it? How long would it be until it was over? Many possibilities, none seemed to be the right one. It was a doubt that arose the morning after the small funeral you prepared for your sister.

There was a small chapel past the garden and crops behind the terrible castle. Its white facade, with a classical curved parapet and a red tiled roof, emanated serenity in the middle of hell. On top of the facade, the emblem of Sukuna’s kingdom rose towards the sky. Vines grew around the open arch that reveals its interior. That small place had existed since Sukuna conquered these lands. With no function for that small building, Sukuna decided to leave it as it was. Sometimes the servants would go there in their free time to pray for their souls in case they didn’t survive another day.

You carefully placed the golden urn with Yorozu’s ashes on one of the shelves. Uraume had given it to you the morning after your little expedition with the king. That morning, you woke up, surprised to be in your room in the castle. Apparently, you had fallen asleep while watching the sunset and the king had to carry you back in his arms. “How embarrassing,” you thought before getting ready for the funeral.

You put on the cap of your black cloak so that no one would disturb you as you dedicated a minute of silence to your sister’s soul with your cheeks completely dry. You had quickly accepted that she was no longer with you and that you couldn’t do anything for her in life. Now the only thing you could do was honor her short life. Everything had happened so fast. A couple of months ago you were crying from happiness to see her, and now you didn’t want to cry from disappointment.

You listened to Kenjaku give his class, but you couldn't pay attention. It had been a week since Yorozu's death and something was missing. The reason why you had committed that atrocity that you wanted to forget but would haunt you for the rest of your life. You tried to pay attention to your teacher, but that doubt kept pulling you into the limbo of probabilities.

“Once you understand your opponent's point of view, it is easier to defend your own position more successfully, especially because that's how you avoid misunderstandings and arguing about aspects that the other side hasn't really said,” Kenjaku explained while writing the keywords on the board. “That's why studying the rival is very important in the debate.” He turned around to find you lost in your thoughts. You looked at the board, but you weren't really reading what it said. “Do you have any questions?”

“Why hasn't the king proposed to me yet?” You asked him, coming back to your senses. Kenjaku looked at you confused.

“I meant about class…”

“Ah.” You quickly read what the board said about the steps to learn how to argue. “I have no doubts about that.”

Kenjaku had noticed your strange attitude for a couple of days now, but as you continued with your education without delay, he never asked you. He thought it was because you were still mourning your sister's death or sad about not knowing the true whereabouts of your sisters. The teacher smiled to himself, just when he thought he could read you like an open book, it turned out that he wasn't.

“So that's what's been distracting you lately?” Kenjaku inquired.

“Did I do something wrong? The king promised to marry me once I killed someone of my kind, but he hasn't done it yet,” you explained worriedly.

“Do you want to marry him that much?” Kenjaku joked tenderly. It was nice to see a girl completely in love.

“Of course,” you answered without hesitation. Your master smiled at hearing you so excited. “My sister died because of that, I better do it.” That was not an answer he expected to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“I lost Yorozu because of that deal. If Sukuna doesn't propose to me, I would have killed my sister for nothing,” you explained, crossing your arms in frustration. “Do you know why the king hasn't done it yet?”

Kenjaku's enthusiastic smile disappeared just like that day when Sukuna came back with you in his arms, completely asleep and, worst of all, without a ring on your finger. The king was stupid for not taking the opportunity to ask you to marry him after all.

“I have no idea,” Kenjaku answered. “Maybe he's been very busy.”

That could be a possibility. You hadn't seen the king as often as before. You used to see him at every meal of the day, in the afternoon when you gave him your daily report, and when he sometimes poked his nose into your education. Now, you only saw him at breakfast time because he spent the rest of the day locked in his office. You couldn't even report to him because he wouldn't let you in. It was strange how everything around you had changed after your sister's death.

"I hope he didn't scam me," you thought, holding your head in guilt.

"The king may be many things, but a scammer isn't one of them," Kenjaku, I assure you.

The door opened, interrupting the teacher-student conversation. You recognized almost immediately the naturally bitter face, the gray hair, and the dull uniform in dark tones. It was that new servant who was so kind to you. All you knew about him had been from Mrs. Inoue, who had told you that he was such a reserved, serious, and somewhat grumpy man. It seemed so strange to you that you never perceived it like that.

“Sorry to interrupt you. The king calls you to his office,” he announced.

“Maybe the time has come,” Kenjaku commented with a smile.

“Finally…” You sighed.

It was strange. Kenjaku thought you would be more excited about marrying the king. You studied complicated subjects that fried your brain, trained until exhaustion, and got ready early to please the king’s eyes. It made no sense for you to work so hard for this moment and not be excited.

Sukuna let them into the office. You and Kenjaku entered after bowing in respect to the king and his right-hand man, Uraume, who stood faithfully behind him. Sukuna’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. He gripped his pen tightly to mask his nervousness at being in your presence.

Returning to the castle after his failed marriage proposal, he carried you to your room as you snored softly. He gently laid you down on the bed so as not to wake you up. He took off your boots before tucking you into bed. He sat next to you to admire your calmness. Your chest rose and fell slowly to the rhythm of your breathing. Your eyelashes stood out more when your eyes were closed. Your half-open lips invited him to come closer to kiss you like that night you spent together. “Enough!” Sukuna scolded himself in his mind to stop and immediately leave your room so you could continue your dream.

Since that night, he realized that he can’t think coherently when he iswas near you, so he decided to take immediate measures so you wouldn’t distract him when working. It was frustrating how your mere presence could upset him like that. He had to fight with all his instincts to concentrate on what mattered most now, the future of his kingdom.

You and Kenjaku approached the desk. Quickly, you noticed a large black box with a gold engraving of roses on it. It was almost as long as the desk. That must have been the reason you had been called. It seems that this was not what you were expecting.

“Open it.” Sukuna ordered you.

You looked at Kenjaku for a second, worried about what might be inside. Your master patted you on the back a couple of times, inviting you to come closer. You worked up the courage to open the box without a hint of fear. The latches clicked open at the same time. You lifted the lid to reveal the immaculate treasure.

A beautiful rose gold bow that radiated a special aura against the light. Your mouth dropped to the floor as soon as you pulled it out of its box, along with its matching pink-dyed leather quiver. You never thought you'd see such a beautiful weapon in your life. You pretended to load the bow with an imaginary arrow to test it out. It was lighter than the one you had before, and you could tell it was made with the best quality materials. As you lowered the bow, you noticed a small detail. In the small hollow of the handle there was an engraving, a small daisy. You smiled at the cute detail. You thought it would have a rose, since it was a common symbol in the Sukuna kingdom, but daisies are cute too.

“It's a cursed bow,” Sukuna explained, catching your attention. “That means you can kill curses with it. Keep that in mind when you train with my soldiers.”

“What's the difference from a normal bow?” You asked curiously.

“This bow is infused with the cursed energy from Yorozu’s body,” the king replied bluntly.

“Are you saying that part of my sister is here?” You stammered. Everyone in the room could tell that you were about to burst into tears.

“Yes,” Sukuna replied in the same tone.

You hugged the bow to your chest as you sobbed softly, hiding your face behind your hair and the upper limb. A pang of guilt attacked Sukuna’s chest. He really thought you would like his gift, since you deserved a cursed weapon made especially for you, but it seems he was wrong.

“Thank you…” You sobbed. “Thank you for giving me something to honor her life with.”

You looked into his eyes with tears running down your cheeks and a nostalgic smile on your face. Sukuna’s heart quickly skipped a beat as he realized the true reason for your crying. His lower hands, hidden beneath the desk, clenched into fists to control himself. How could you play with his feelings without even trying? Sukuna Ryomen, the king of curses, the powerful tyrant and the commander of thousands, was being corrupted by a mere mortal.

He hated these feelings you caused him. You made him so embarrassed he looked like a tomato, you annoyed him so much, but he couldn't get mad at you, and now, you could manipulate him with a simple smile. He would lose his temper when he was around you and that drove him crazy. If you wanted, he would be in the palm of your hand. He had to keep you as far away from him as possible to prevent the situation from getting worse for him.

“Just go train already,” Sukuna ordered in a grumpy tone, turning his gaze to an empty document to avoid seeing you.

It was a shame he hadn't asked you to marry him yet, but the king really did look busy. You could see the physical effect that being locked up in his office for so long had caused. He had purple eye bags, his posture was stiff, and his eyes scanned the document lazily. “Maybe later,” you thought disappointed before taking the quiver with pink feathered arrows.

“Yes, my king,” you replied with a bow to leave.

“We must leave then,” Kenjaku made you second.

“Who gave you permission to leave?” Sukuna ordered him.

The master was surprised at that. You and Kenjaku shared a confused look, but you decided to obey the king so as not to cause any more inconvenience. Your legs walked as quickly as possible, closing the door behind you as you left the office. Sukuna’s hands relaxed as he no longer had to keep his emotions in check. After making sure you had already left, Kenjaku approached the king.

“Why so secretive, my king?” Kenjaku inquired curiously.

“It’s not a secret, it’s just that she’s not ready to know what I’m planning yet.” Sukuna got up from the desk to take one of the scrolls that were displayed on a bookshelf. He unrolled the scroll with a snap to reveal an updated map of the great world they knew.

It was a large map made from parchment and black ink with wonderful detail. It showed all the important kingdoms and places of interest that made up the world. The Kingdom of Sukuna and the Kingdom of Jogo were to the west, the kingdoms of Gojo, Geto and Yaga; to the north. The kingdoms of Zen'in and Nanami; to the east, and finally, the Kingdom of Tsukumo was to the southeast. Currently, the great tyrant owned the east and planned to expand soon.

"I'm going to declare war on the Zen'in," Sukuna announced, pointing at the large territory with his finger.

Kenjaku looked at him impressed, but not surprised. He knew that one day the king would not be satisfied with keeping the infested lands with only curses, so he would go to conquer human lands. Kenjaku glanced at Uraume out of the corner of his eye, who had not said a single word the entire time they were there. He expected nothing less from the shadow of his majesty.

“Wow, how ambitious,” Kenjaku commented while looking at the map. “May I know why you made that decision?” He returned his gaze to the king with curiosity.

“The Gojo Kingdom and the Geto Kingdom are allied, so an invasion could be complicated with my current troops. The Nanami Kingdom, Tsukumo and Yaga are small but distant. They will be my next targets once I have the Zen'in.” Everything the king said made sense, but there was still a small kingdom that was at the equator of the world to consider.

“What about the Kamo Kingdom? It is small and right in front of the Jogo Kingdom. It is the perfect target.”

“How many times have Commander Mahito and his troops tried to kill them?” Sukuna asked him seriously. Kenjaku gulped at that indirect accusation.

“I have already lost count, my king,” he answered, embarrassed by his comrade.

“They may be a small kingdom, but they are stupidly powerful. They are watching their lands at all hours for living so close to the Jogo kingdom. If anyone is ready for an invasion, it is them.” Sukuna explained. "As this is my first invasion into the heart of a kingdom, I have spent all this time carefully choosing my first victim. Because once I do, the other kingdoms will know what awaits them."

"If you have already decided, I am ready to obey your orders as always." Kenjaku gave a bow of respect that Sukuna completely ignored to look at the window.

"My plan will be carried out once I secure the life of my heir, in case everything goes wrong," Sukuna explained. "During that time, you will take care of the troops of the Jogo kingdom."

"And what about the education of the miss?" Kenjaku asked worriedly.

"I already have that covered." Sukuna answered.

"So what is the first step?" Kenjaku inquired.

“Wait for the Zen’in to make the first move.”

You left your room after finishing getting ready for the day of training that awaited you. You had decided that from now on you would use Yorozu's dresses to train since they were lighter than yours, perfect for moving with complete freedom. Archery is a sport that requires complete mobility of the upper body, so it is annoying to wear elegant dresses that require a corset. You were heading to the courtyard, moving your shoulders in circles to warm up on the way, until you ran into that kind servant. He was dusting off an obsidian vase propped on a marble column with great laziness.

"Did everything go well with the king, miss?" The man asked you when he noticed your presence.

"Yes, he gave me a new bow." You showed it to him to show it off. He was amazed to see it.

"It is very beautiful. It is made with the best fiberglass and carbon. It must have cost the king a good fortune." He explained as he took it to examine it carefully.

“It's obvious that you know about this,” you said, somewhat surprised, taking back your bow.

“Of course I know, I was a hunter before I was a servant,” he replied.

“Really?” You asked, fascinated. The gentleman was going to answer, but another servant, who was passing by, intercepted their conversation.

“Wasuke, leave the lady alone and get back to work!” The servant scolded him angrily.

“Shut your mouth, idiot!” Wasuke replied in the same tone.

That sudden change in attitude took you by surprise. Now you understood why Mrs. Inoue said he was a grumpy man. One moment he could be a kind man and, the next, someone extremely rude.

“In fact, he is working. He is going to help me train,” you defended him. “Isn't that right, Wasuke?” You gave him a knowing wink.

“Of course, miss.” He gave you a slight smile when he realized what you were planning.

The other servant rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came, muttering insults under his breath. Typical attitude for an 80-year-old man. You and Wasuke looked at each other knowingly before smiling at each other as if you had done some mischief.

“I shall warn you that I am a very strict master,” Wasuke warned you.

“Just what I need,” you told him. “My name is Y/n,” you introduced yourself with a bow of respect to your new master.

“Everyone knows who you are,” he joked. “My name is Wasuke Itadori. It will be an honor to train you.” You had a good feeling about this.

Wasuke shouted encouragements at you while you barely did push-ups. As soon as you reached the parade ground, he told you that you were the weakest woman he had ever met in his life, so he forced you to do different exercises to strengthen your arms, shoulders, and back. Your weak muscles could barely support the weight of your own body each time you climbed up, keeping your back as straight as possible. You sweated, even in places you didn't know could sweat.

“Lift that neck, lady! Even a little girl can do 30 push-ups!” Wasuke yelled at you, small drops of saliva escaping from his mouth every time he opened his mouth.

“That's what I'm trying to do!” You complained between moans of exhaustion.

“I don't want a try, I want you to do it!” Wasuke spat. “Three more!”

With the little breath you had left, you lowered your body. The grass tickled the palms of your hands, but that wasn't going to stop you. You climbed up with your back straight and then lowered yourself again. This was more complicated than it seemed. Wasuke kept yelling at you to finish the simple exercise with a good grade. When he said he was a strict teacher, he meant it. You did the last push-up and collapsed to the ground. You groaned in pain as you breathed in the freshly cut grass.

“Get up now,” Wasuke ordered you. You reluctantly obeyed. “Now you are going to hold the bow in front of you for 5 minutes.” That sounded simple.

You took your bow, extended your arms in front of you and held the weapon with both hands. All was well until your limbs began to shiver from the exhaustion of the previous exercises. You tightened your grip on the bow to keep it from slipping from the sweat. You didn’t think you could last 5 minutes like that.

“Can I ask you something?” You tried to distract your brain from the exercise so that time would pass faster. “Why are you here? You look quite young compared to everyone else.”

Unlike the other servants, Wasuke was the youngest of them all, like you at the time. Most servants were between 60 and 80, he looked to be under 50. He had gray hair but still had dark hair, wrinkles from age, but he didn't look like a raisin, and sometimes he didn't hear well, but he was still strong.

“Do you want the truth?” He asked you. You nodded.

The truth was something he had a hard time telling. He was always a good liar to protect his family, especially his daughter. He didn't want her to live in fear because of living in a commune that was in constant danger of being attacked by a curse. His lies were the cause of his only daughter's giant curiosity. 

“My daughter died because of a curse. My wife committed suicide because she couldn't bear the mourning," Wasuke confessed with all the sadness in his heart. "I was a coward and couldn't follow the same path. That's why I'm waiting for the king to decide when it will be my time to join them." Your heart broke when you heard that. It was a tragic fate to suffer. "It's only fair that I too die at the hands of a curse. It's the price I must pay for not protecting my little girl." 

You knew perfectly well what he was talking about. There is no worse feeling than the helplessness of not being strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough to protect what you love. You had lost your family by not being able to fight adversity. You couldn't even protect that child at the harvest for a day who was killed by your lack of courage. You tightened your bow again, this time, out of frustration that both of you had to go through that.

"I'm so sorry," you stammered. You didn't think his answer would be so heartbreaking.

“Don’t apologize. Life is cruel by nature,” Wasuke sighed.

“Still, I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I know what it’s like to lose your family.”

“I know, Miss.” 

Wasuke remembered seeing you cry and scream at the sky for your sin of killing your own blood. He had never seen a person suffer so much physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Even though he was behind the strong walls of the castle, a giant window separated them, and he had a deafness problem, he could still hear the powerful wails of your soul in mourning. Your palms open like books, the blood splattered on the canvas that was your body, and your face in sorrow. It was such a powerful image that he doubted he would ever forget it.

The loud bells woke them both from the memories of their sad pasts. It was the alarm announcing an invasion. This was the second time you had heard it in your time in the castle, and you had an idea of ​​who it could be. Several armed curses ran towards the castle entrance through the battlements that were on the walls, while incoherent instructions were shouted to you.

“Don’t let him pass!” A strong-bodied curse ordered as he summoned a dark screen that slowly covered the entire castle.

“We must go!” Wasuke asked you before taking your arm. You were going to follow him, but you remembered what Sukuna told you on your first day of training:

“In case of an invasion, you will need a cursed bow that allows you to use special arrows to kill curses and use it against sorcerers.” You tightened your grip on the cursed bow he had recently gifted you.

“You go. I will stay here as reinforcement,” you told him, removing your arm so he could leave alone. “Tell everyone to prepare to escape if it gets worse.”

“Are you sure, miss?” Wasuke asked.

“It is an order,” you said, sure.

Wasuke looked at the entrance one last time and nodded, accepting the order you had given him. He returned to the castle at a quick pace to do what he had just been asked to do. You looked ahead before pulling an arrow from your quiver to load your bow. You were completely alone in the courtyard, as all the curses were either outside the castle or on the perimeter. You could only hear the war cries of the curses. You gulped, shaking at not knowing what was going on the other side. You had an idea, but you weren't sure.

The screams turned into wails in a moment. You gripped your bow, mentally preparing for your turn to engage in battle. Though, you were sure you wouldn’t be alone. There was Kenjaku and Uraume to fight next to you. Sukuna can defeat any enemy in the blink of an eye. He would take down this strong foe, wouldn’t he?

The curse screen dissipated into the air, announcing that this curse was annihilated. The chains of the drawbridge began to jingle, and the castle gate swung open. The large bridge fell into place, the ground beneath your feet rumbling. It shook you completely, staggering you in place. You tightly gripped your bow and aimed it at the invader. “A man?” you thought, faltering in your shot.

A tall man, great posture and immaculate aura, walked in confidently, leaving all the curses behind, turning into ash. His spotless black boots thudded against the thick wood, announcing his arrival. His splendid bottle-green military uniform had several gold medals decorating his chest, a black leather belt, and dark pants. He smiled proudly as he combed his blonde hair with black tips back with his fingers.

“Oh?” He stopped upon entering, staring at you in disbelief for a second, as if he had entered the wrong house by accident. “Where is the white-haired guy of questionable sex? He is the one who always greets me,” he asked, confused.

“Did you kill all the curses?” You asked, surprised to see so much ash evaporating into the air.

“You must be new.” The man smiled and confidently approached you. Not knowing his intentions, you stretched the string to load the bow to its limit, but this did not make him stop. “It is a very large weapon, do you know how to use it? I could teach you.” He spoke to you as if you were stupid. You frowned further, this stranger's attitude starting to bother you.

You had recently realized that people like him were the type you disliked the most. Self-centered people who think they can do whatever they please. Yorozu had given you the tools to deal with people like this. You forgave her because she was your sister, but him? This guy was a complete stranger to whom you owed nothing.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” You questioned with the most demanding tone you could fake, you had copied it from Sukuna from hearing it so much.

“I am Commander Naoya Zen'in,” he announced himself with a proud smile. “So I was right,” you thought.

You had only been a servant in the castle for a short time when you heard that name for the first time. You were washing the king's long robes in the backyard with a few other maids. Your fingers were beginning to wrinkle like they do from being in the soapy water for so long. The quiet and the voices of the gossiping maids kept you company. The little peace of the task was interrupted by the alarm bells that echoed throughout the castle. You stopped at the strange noise, having no idea what you were supposed to do.

“An invasion,” one of the servants announced, surprisingly calm.

“Do you think it's Naoya Zen'in?” Another servant, one who had been in the castle the longest, asked, somewhat excited.

“Winter is almost over, most likely,” Her coworker answered, wiping her hands on her apron after finishing her task.

“Who is Naoya Zen'in?” You asked them, butting into the conversation.

“A very handsome commander from an enemy kingdom who comes every year to deliver a letter to the king,” the first one answered. “Let's go see him,” she invited you to go with them to the entrance of the castle.

“No, thank you. I still have to finish washing this,” you politely declined.

The three ladies quickened their pace to find out if it was the man they could see annually. You looked at them curiously. “Was that man so attractive that you had to see him in person?” You wondered. Now you were curious to see this man, but you had a task to finish. You dipped your hands into the soapy water again to try to remove the stubborn blood stains from the king's white robes.

Now you understand why this man caused such a stir among the maids. Someone with such a presence had not been seen since Geto Suguru's corpse appeared in these parts. You looked towards the window that overlooked the great hall, a small group of ladies greeted Naoya from the safe point. The flattered young man returned the gesture.

“Women being women,” he sighed with a big smile. “Anyway, I have an important letter from Zen'in.”

“You can give it to me and leave,” you told him without lowering your bow.

“I think you don't understand your position as a female,” Naoya came closer without a hint of fear nor respect for you. “You're not going to be able to stop me.”

“No!” You shouted, making him stop at the loud objection. “You're the one who doesn't understand.” You lowered your torso so that the arrow's trajectory would change from his torso to his face. “One shot, and you're a dead man, commander Zen'in.”

Naoya smiled at the offense. Not because of the clear threat of death, but because a woman thought she could be a match against him. You and your pink bow were nothing compared to him. A replaceable servant couldn't be in front of a great commander of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world. He was about to teach you a lesson, and it would be the hard way.

"Are you sure you don't want me to save you? I doubt a girl as weak as you would survive long here," Naoya offered, giving you one last chance to redeem yourself.

"I don't need you to save me," you spat angrily.

"Fine," Naoya pulled a knife from his back, spinning it in the palm of his hand to wield it. "Whatever you say."

You let go of the rope when you clearly saw his intentions to hurt you, and the arrow flew into his face. He dodged it with his knife before lunging at you in the blink of an eye. Before you knew it, he was already on top of you and his knife was already at your throat. It had all happened too fast. You had no idea how he had reached you so quickly. The blade swung down as Naoya's smile grew wider. You raised your hand to deflect it, but it wasn't going to make it in time. It came so fast that you couldn't even close your eyes to await your fate.

Out of nowhere, a gigantic fist sent Naoya flying, completely away from you. The powerful commander ended up being slammed into the nearest wall. Naoya groaned in pain before falling to the ground. You were perplexed at how bizarre that had been. You touched your neck on instinct, you didn't have a scratch on it. You sat down on the grass to look around for your unexpected savior.

At first glance, he looked like any other human, but up close, things were different. He was a curse with skin covered in stitches as if his body was made of patches. He had long, blue-gray hair that reached past his neck, and was divided into three large locks with bows at the ends. He also dressed like any other human. He was wearing a black shawl that separated into three pieces on the left sleeve and matching pants with white shoes.

“I'm just arriving, and they're already welcoming me with a sorcerer to kill, how fun!” The curse exclaimed as excited as a child in the park.

Naoya stood up with difficulty, dusting off his uniform. You stood up in the same way to retrieve your bow and load it with another arrow. You approached the curse with confidence, since it had saved you, even if it had only been for its own entertainment.

“Are you okay, miss?” The curse asked you with a big smile without taking your eyes off Naoya.

“Yes, I am fine. Thank you,” You told him, along with a small bow. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mahito, I am the commander of the Jogo kingdom. You must be the lady that the king ordered me to protect.” He introduced himself. “Did the king ask you that?” You asked yourself surprised. “So let me take care of this stupid sorcerer.”

“Who are you calling stupid, you fucking curse?!” Zen'in exclaimed before launching into combat for a second round.

Mahito pushed you away suddenly to transform his arms into two tentacles with dozens of knives on them and run towards his fast opponent. Naoya's knife challenged Mahito's along with the clicking of metals. The curse laughed as if it were a game, angering Naoya even more for underestimating him. They were both moving at speeds your eyes could barely keep up with, but you loaded your bow with another arrow anyway. You tried to aim for Naoya, but he was stupidly fast and Mahito was in the way. “Maybe it’s best I don’t get involved now,” you thought with some disappointment.

Mahito changed one of his tentacles into a large sword that fell on top of Zen'in. Naoya barely dodged it, his breathing ragged from the cursed energy he was expending by keeping his technique active for so long. "Who is this guy?!" He thought annoyed before moving away with a couple of backflips until he landed on his feet.

"Fine, you win..." Naoya took the envelope out of his jacket and threw it at you like a ninja star, landing on the grass in front of you. "Just for today," he said before running towards the nearest wall to climb it and escape.

"Oh, not so fast!" You exclaimed annoyed before pulling the rope.

You looked for a target before he left your sight. You focused on his back, which was the area that was free, as he climbed the wall as if he were an agile ant. You let go of the rope and the arrow flew through the air. Naoya saw it coming and dodged out of its path, but the arrow unexpectedly changed its trajectory and stuck in his back. Naoya bit his tongue to stop himself from letting out a cry of pain and continuing on his escape route. In less than a second, he had disappeared from your sight and Mahito's.

"Ah, the king is going to scold me for running away!" Mahito whined, disappointed in his efforts.

"How come that arrow didn't stop him?" You asked yourself confused. Clearly, it hit him, but he still slipped out of your hands like a damn cockroach.

"Those Zen'in have a very strong pride. That's probably what it was," Mahito complained. "But you're very good." He gave you a thumbs up. You smiled slightly.

You looked back at the card that was lying on the grass. You picked it up to examine it. It was a brown envelope with the Zen'in Kingdom's crest stamped on a wax seal at the opening. A purple orchid on the stamp decorated the envelope, giving the package a more elegant touch.

“Gimme that,” Mahito snatched it from you, ready to open it.

“You shouldn't open it,” you warned him. “It's for the king.”

“It's from an enemy,” Mahito said as he looked for a way to open it without destroying the contents. “It could contain poison, activate some bomb or a weird technique they made up. Believe me, these Zen'in are capable of anything.”

Mahito pushed you roughly to get you away from the possible threat. You had no choice but to listen to him. This was an unusual curse. He had a playful attitude, very different from what you imagined a commander should have. You covered your ears as soon as he finally opened the envelope, in case it was a bomb. Instead of a glass or smoke bomb, it turned out to be a confetti bomb. It shot towards Mahito's face, surprising him immediately, as a colored piece of paper fell into his eye.

“Oh!” You quickly approached him. Mahito rubbed his eyes in an attempt to get it off. “Let me see,” you asked.

You grabbed his chin and pulled his hands away to meet his different eyes, since his left eye was navy blue and the other, gray. Even though it was a strange looking curse, his eyes were very pretty. You blew into his eye so that the paper flew away. Once near the tear duct, you reached for it with your thumb to remove it completely.

Your touch was very kind and warm. Mahito was so used to humans treating him so badly that it was a little uncomfortable for him that you were treating him so calmly and with such appreciation. He now understood why Sukuna had chosen you as the future queen, you were a special human.

“That's it,” you smiled at him. “What does the letter say?”

“You read it, my eye hurts,” Mahito reluctantly gave it to you, rubbing his injured eye.

You opened the envelope to check its contents. You thought it was a declaration of war or some important meeting, but no. Nothing like it. Your mouth dropped to the floor as soon as you saw what it was.

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

Tag list: @bbnbhm @pxnellian @kbirdieee2540 @konigswifeyforlifey @kyo-kyo1 @calico-cheriies @imas1mpp @alone-the-honored-one @vlads-dracula3 @bigraga-sk @neeke-lilac02 @shaazd @airandyeah @energiepie @awkward-walking-potato @delightfully-studying @catobsessedlady

(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[hunnyswift]

prologue: i died on the altar

summary: this was supposed to be the most wonderful day of your life; you were marrying the man you wanted to spend forever with. that was until you were standing at the altar , hand in hand with bradley , that he decided to make this day the worst of your life instead.

cw: profanity , accusing bradley of cheating ( he would never! ) , being left at the altar , mentions of canon death of a character , mean!reader , and i think that’s it!

casting: chace crawford as danny , michael b. jordan as harrison , zac efron as casey , jamie chung as cierra , and bianca santos as liv

18+ minors dni

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

you were standing in your childhood bedroom , looking out the window into the backyard that had been transformed into your dream wedding. there were flowers , friends , and family scattered all around. it couldn’t be more perfect weather , sun shining bright but not so much to where you’d be sweating through your white dress.

the only other person in the room with you was your mother. until you heard a knock on the door , you rush to it , opening it wide and smiling when you saw your best friend. “danny! i thought you were going to be late!” you laughed , yanking the man into a hug, “i’m completely ready and you’re just now getting here?”

danny walked into the room , kissing your mother on the cheek. “connie forgot the rings , so i had to run to mom and dad’s before the ceremony. sorry for taking so long,” he explained , sitting down on the edge of your bed and taking you in. your hair was done , makeup perfected , and the dress “wow , you look sublime , squirt.” you blushed , swishing around the bottom of your dress for effect.

“oh ya know , just getting married. gotta try and look good so he doesn’t run,” you joked , sitting down next to him, “mom , give us a minute?”

your mother smiled sweetly , nodding at the two of you before taking her exit from the room. danny could feel the nerves coming off of you. it was making him nervous , and he wasn’t the one getting hitched. “i think bradley is cheating on me.” you blurted , your hand flying up to cover your mouth. it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“what the hell are you talking about?” danny catechized you , eyes going wide as your mouth.

“he’s been acting weird. not normal wedding coming up jitters weird. like standoffish and elusive and secretive. and i think he’s cheating,” you rambled on , breathing coming quicker than before, “and even case and harrison have been off. i just feel like there’s this big secret i’m not in on , and it’s that bradley’s cheating.”

danny grabbed your hand and looked you in the eyes. “trust me , bradley isn’t cheating on you. there’s no way. he’s probably just got a surprise for you as a wedding gift or something,” he’d explained , trying his best to calm your nerves, “look , it’s five til , he’s on his way downstairs any minute , and you’re going to walk down the aisle to him and get married , y/n. this is just nerves.”

you take a deep breath with danny , closing your eyes and breathing out slowly. “you’re right,” you decided. bradley wasn’t cheating on you. you were nervous and coming up with disasters in your head to fuel the fire in your stomach. “okay , okay. go! i’m gonna wait for my dad to walk me and then get married.”

“atta girl!” danny cheered , hopping up from the bed and kissing your temple before rushing out the room and down to his position.

as the door clicked behind your man of honor , you stood in the mirror , checking over everything. your hair was done , your makeup was set , your dress was perfect , and most importantly , your fiancé was downstairs waiting to marry you. your eyes flicker to the ceiling for a moment , “thank you , carole and nick. we love you,” you whispered , holding onto the necklace bradley’s mother left for you.

they’d be so happy to know you and bradley did in fact end up together.

a knock at the door pulled you from your moment of silence. “princess? time to get hitched,” your dad smile came from behind the door , peeking his head around the corner.

just like bradley’s mother , your father was just as adamant about you two getting together. he helped raised bradley , knew he was a good man. he let him into the family with no problems , always hoping you’d fall for bradley like he had. ron loved bradley like his own. it almost seemed like he was more excited for the marriage than you two were.

“i’m ready , daddy,” you beamed , leaving the room with your arm in his, “brad waiting for me down there right?” you laughed lightly.

your father let out a hearty chuckle with you , helping you down the stairs. “i might just have to kill him if he wasn’t.”

he was.

as the song started playing , you and your dad made your way to the bunches of flowers set up behind your groom. there he was , standing with his hands behind his back , tears in his eyes , and the biggest smile on his face.

you finally reached him , your smile matching his , practically blinding your friends as family as they watched the two of you almost kiss out of instinct.

“you look perfect,” you whispered , tears coming to your eyes, “everything is perfect.”

“you’re perfect,” bradley sighed , holding your hands in his. god , he hated himself right now. you were perfect , the exact person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with , but he knew in that moment it wouldn’t be long enough. convinced he was destined to have the same fate as his father , bradley couldn’t leave you alone that way.

there was a moment of silence as you both took each other in and everyone settled in their seats. “can we —“ bradley cleared his throat , his words coming out far weaker than he expected, “can we talk really quick? in private?” he asked , eyes pleading and watery.

“honey , we’ll have plenty of time for that after we get married. time and place,” you giggled , thinking he wanted to take a few moments for a quickie upstairs. while that was true , you looked beautiful and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander and think about how amazing the night could end.

“no , we need to talk first,” he reassured you , hands squeezing yours far too tight.

your eyes darted around , looking at casey and harrison behind your groom before meeting bradley’s gaze again. “okay?” you mumble a quick sorry to the pastor and start to walk back down the aisle with bradley , whispering you’ll be right back to your guests.

once you get into the house , bradley lets out a deep breath , like he’d been holding it in all morning. “are you okay? what’s going on?” his back was to you , hands planted on the kitchen island as he focused on his breathing. “bradley thomas , what is going on?”

he finally turned to look at you , the tears running down his face far different than a few minutes ago. these ones were filled with regret , a deep seeded sadness that you’d only seen once or twice before. “i can’t marry you.”

you didn’t hear anything after that.

you were right. you told danny you had a gut feeling. you knew something would go wrong. you knew it. after years of being together , today was supposed to be a dream and with just four words it’s your worst nightmare.

“what?” you choked out , tears filling your eyes once again, “what do you mean?”

“i can’t — i can’t marry you,” he repeated , looking down at his feet. how could he possibly say all of this and not look at you?

“look at me and say it again,” you demanded , chest rising and falling quicker with your uneven breaths. it took a moment , but his brown eyes met yours and he repeated the words , softer this time , but just as clear. “why not?” he turned away from you again. “why the hell not , bradley?” your voice was louder now , anger seeping through your words just as much as the hurt and confusion.

“i don’t want to,” he lied, “i don’t want to get married anymore ; i don’t want to be with you.” if you didn’t kill him , he thought he should maybe do the job for you.

“so…” your turn to take a deep breath, “after eleven years together , you’ve decided in what? the last twenty-four hours you’re over it? you’re just willing to throw everything away for what?” you were trying to figure it out , but bradley wasn’t giving you anything. he stood silent , eyes fallen on the floor once again , where he stared at your heels that carole wore on her wedding day.

“i’ve gotta focus on my career right now , honey,” bradley groaned at the lie, “getting married just isn’t what i need to do.”

“oh , my god! are you kidding?” you laughed , hands resting on your hips as you look to the sky in disbelief, “are you hearing this?”

“i’m sor—“

“shut the hell up,” you barked , finger pointing at bradley like a gun, “your — wow , your parents would hate to see you right now,” you scoffed , shaking your head violently.

“excuse me?” both of your tears had dried , exasperation and hurt flowing between you two in words now.

“you want me to repeat it? your parents would be disappointed , bradley. i mean , can you imagine having to go home and tell that what you’re doing to me right now?” it was mean , cruel even. you knew that , but you couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

“okay,” bradley hummed , taking a few steps away from you.

the silence was killing you , and him. a knock on the back door pulled the two of you out of whatever was going on. “hey,” casey peeked his head in the house, “slider’s asking what’s taking so long?”

“shut up and go back outside before i kill you , casey,” you growl , head turning to him quickly. yes , your anger was slightly displaced , but it’s not like he had no idea what was happening. the red eyes bradley adorned were clear , and your makeup was mussed up from your own tears.

casey’s eyes glanced between his best friends , turning to look outside at the waiting crowd. “i know , but people are getting impatient?”

“tell them she’ll be out in a second,” bradley spoke up , voice uneven as ever. your friend nodded , closing the door quietly behind him. you both watched as he went up front and explained to the guests you two were taking a moment to yourselves. “i think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” he stated , going back to your conversation before the interruption.

“you saying you can’t marry me is the worst thing you’ve said to me,” you replied, “guess we’re both hitting lows today.”

“guess so.” it almost came out as a laugh. truly , the situation wasn’t funny , not to bradley and not to you. “i’m gonna get my stuff,” he announced , pointing over his shoulder to the guest room he was set up in for the day.

your face was still hot , breathing shallow. “bradley?” a whisper left your lips , getting him to stop and look back to you again. he took a step toward you again , scanning your face for any idea of what you might say to him now. “if you do this , there is no fixing us. you leave and we are over.”

“baby , we’re arguing in the kitchen we grew up in on our wedding day with all of our friends and family watching from the windows,” he sighed, “we’re already over.”

your eyes wandered to the backyard seeing that bradley was right. everyone was looking , trying to decipher what was happening to the happy couple. thankfully , your yelling wasn’t heard , but the tears were seen.

bradley began his way up the stairs to pack up , but you follow closely behind. “tell me about the moment you knew you wanted to marry me,” you requested , wringing your hands together as you stood behind him packing his bag.

“y/n , please don’t make this harder than it already is. please,” bradley begged , pausing only for a moment before resuming his getaway.

“please , bradley? one last time?” you hoped he would tell you the story.

it was one of those weekends that danny had managed to come out to your college campus. it was a surprise ; he just showed up to the house you all lived in with a bag packed and ready to party. you , bradley , danny , harrison , his girlfriend cierraa , casey , and casey’s new girlfriend liv were all pregaming at the house before heading to the bars.

“you know , i don’t think i’ve ever seen squirt say yes to a free beer and not bring it to you,” harrison laughed , watching you making your way through the crowd back to the boys with liv and cierra behind you. you all had beers in your hands , all of them meant for your boys. you carried two and laughed harder than the other girls.

“i’m gonna marry that girl,” bradley smiled , eyeing the way you moved around everyone else on your way back to him like always.

“it was as simple as that,” bradley shrugged , sitting on the bed now, “i mean , i always knew , but that moment in time i knew.” your eyes were flooded with tears once again as you stood in front of bradley.

“so what’s changed?” you asked , lowering to your knees as you tried to find bradley’s eyes again, “why don’t you know anymore?”

“all i know is that i can’t marry you , squirt,” he answered with another shrug, “oh , i want to. i really do , but honey , i can’t.”

his hands found your face , swiping at the tears that were running through your makeup as you sniffled. “why? i just don’t understand why,” you cried , holding onto his wrists tightly.

“i can’t,” bradley simply said. he couldn’t marry you , and he couldn’t tell you why , and he couldn’t bear to watch you cry any longer. “go , baby. they’re all waiting for you,” he tried to smile , nodding his head in the general direction of the wedding to not be.

“i don’t want to without you,” you sighed , getting more comfortable on your knees. you didn’t plan on leaving this room unless it was hand in hand with your fiancé. “i love you , bradley.”

“oh , god. i love you too,” he replied softly , pressing a kiss on your lips so soft you don’t think your brain even recognized it until it was over. you chased him , leaning in for another which he gladly gave you. “i love you enough to let you go , so go. please.”

your eyes stayed closed , but you felt bradley shifting and standing up to continuing grabbing his things. it took you a minute to stand. you dusted your dress off and turned around not saying another word as you left the room and headed back outside.

at that point , everyone was mingling again as they waited for the wedding to go on. the second you opened the back doors , all eyes were on you. one look at your face and everyone’s gaze turned empathetic rather excited.

“everyone—“ your voice cracked, “you can all go home. the wedding’s off,” you announced. the only person you could bring yourself to look at was your father. in a flash , slider was rushing past you and running on the stairs to find bradley— to kill bradley.

danny , cierra , and liv all came to your side , pulling you around the front away from the prying eyes of your guests. “c’mon , babe,” cierra whispered , wrapping you in her arms.

you could hear the yelling from upstairs all the way outside. it was your dad. bradley was silent. “where do you want to go?” liv asked , looking around the small group just as casey and harrison found you all.

“what happened? what’s going on?” harrison questioned ; he had no clue. casey was quiet. danny was on the phone , texting your mom small updates as your friends all talked.

“bradley left me,” you deadpan , your face now void of emotions just like your voice, “we’re done. it’s all over.”

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

yallllll it’s finally out. it’s a long one , but i wanted to fit it all in for chapter one. lmk what you think<3

[missmarveledsblog]

It's only pretend right? ( Bucky barnes x reader ) part one

summary : bucky (more so steve) agree's to be Y/N fake boyfriend for a week at her families ranch , he discovers his best friend left out some part that not all of her family is accepting of her but bucky is gonna be there every step to show them why she the best .

warnings : none well some shitty members of family , slow fast burn , idiots in love , mutual pining ,

A.N : this has been on back burner for so long so decided to let her out , sort of goofy love story some angst thrown in but mostly fluffy our dear bucky deserves that

The sun gleamed through  the sky as most of the team enjoyed the rare time off, that was until her screams rang out through the compound sending him to break out  into a sprint to the noise. He moved so fast it could have been compared to pietro maximoff  not that he cared for anything like that , not in these moments . Due to the universe and its cruel ongoing joke  , he was expecting the worst case scenario. Was she taken? , fighting against assailants? Was she hurt? It all came to his mind as he ran toward the source of the noise and yet in an instant that fear melted away when he heard her giggles and laughs looking in with now amusement. The sight was something James Buchanan Barnes couldn’t help smile so widely at .  There he watched as three  avengers stood like naughty children trying not to laugh at their own actions covered in ice cream and god knows what else. . 

“ Now pretty girl not so funny now is it?” Sam teased. 

“ What is going on here?” Bucky crossed his arms. 

“ Well little miss here thought it was funny when poor stevie here fell spilling ice cream all over himself” sam started. 

 “ Actually you laughed first. If I can remember , I may have given her something to laugh at. "Steve chuckled. 

“ He hit him right in the face with ice cream” she fell into Steve in a burst of laughter. “ So I showed her how it felt,”Sam nudged her.  

“ Literal children '' Tony rolled his eyes looking at the earth's mightiest heroes covered  head to toe in a now melted sweet treat.

 “ Hey in my defense I came in to make the team  something to  cool down. They insisted on helping” she held her hands up. 

“ Well that defense goes out the window when you're the one who tripped cap” tony smirked .

 “ you little..” Steve began chasing her . 

“ language” she giggled, rushing to get away from the super soldier which usually wasn’t an easy feat but the ice cream that covered the floor both helped and hindered her escape.

“ Bucky help” she ran into the men's arms , a  both sudden and most welcomed action. 

“ Leave my doll alone punk” he carried her out chuckling when he turned his head to see her sticking her tongue out at his best friend. 

 “Very mature” steve copied her action. 

“ Just friends my ass,” Sam called.

She didn’t hear the words , still now aimlessly talking about her sister's new dog but bucky heard. A phrase he wished he could say was fact but it wasn’t because they were just friends . How he wished he could call  the most beautiful being he’s ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on in all the years he’d been alive . how even something as hearing her voice made his worst days the best. How her laugh was in his own words definitely heaven sent. In four years , 2 with shield and 2 with the team  he had studied every detail of the woman at his side , first because he didn’t trust new people then it was because he actually wanted to get to know her , the more he found out the more he fell for her. All her mannerisms he knew so he could tell when she wasn’t having a great day and he made it his mission to make it better. How she bristled like a kitten at the sight of John Walker,  something he found in common and found adorable all in one. 

If anyone were to ask James Barnes to describe his perfect woman that description would have been Y/N L/N because to him she was perfect. How she cared so deeply about those around her friends , family or even a casualty in a mission. That soft , sweet side  along with the spitfire , kickass , stubborn and oh so sarcastic side that could rival stark in every way. She was serious when it came to missions but would be the first to cheer up and make everyone laugh after the mission . so it wasn’t hard at all for Bucky to fall for the woman. What he found hard was trying to express how he felt. When he went to tell her how he truly felt, suddenly he felt  like he had swapped bodies with pre-serum Steve back in the day or the spider kid. Words would sometimes fail to even come out his mouth which was better when the words jumbled or stuttered , a stumbling mess that ultimately shut him up changing the topic completely.

 “ So now I got the time off and all well I have to go for like a week and need to find a date in the next 24 hours” she sighed knocking the man back to earth completely confused to what she was talking about.

 “ Sorry, what doll?” he shook his head. 

“ My family reunion is a big deal sort of thing , my sister and brother both proposing to their girlfriends” she laughed . 

“ hey bucky can go… sorry” steve winced seeing her jumping at his sudden appearance. 

“ missions ?” she rolled her eyes.

 “ Thor and Loki will be here,” Steve shrugged.

 “ Well then settled i’ll be your date” bucky smiled awkwardly wanting to kiss his best friend's ass .

 “ wait really … oh my god thank you bucky i’ll make it up and promise not to be the world worst fake girlfriend , ok i gotta pack you should do the same, oh nat waiting for me and i need to shower” she beamed almost skipping off to  her room .

 “ i’ll help him out” steve called . 

 “ Your welcome jerk,” the blonde chuckled before walking ahead toward his best friend's room while the man in question tried computing what the hell happened .     

“ what the hell happened you” nat chuckled sitting on the bed looking  her best friend walking in covered in god know what.

 “ food fight with cap and bird brain” she shook her now stiff hair. 

“Steve tells me Bucky is going to be your fake boyfriend for the week” she wiggled her brows.

 “ yeah let me shower first and freak out about that after” she ran into the ensuite heart pounding.  Nerves coursing through her  as she had to pretend to be in love even though she was definitely not going to fake it.  Since day one of meeting James Buchanan Barnes , well had her hook line and sinker. How could he not the man would cause a nun to sin with how hot he was. Pair that up with caring , understanding and all around amazing well she never stood a chance. Now she was going to spend the week pretending , almost having a taste of what it would be like to be the one he called his .  even thinking of it made her knees weak and yet she shook it from her head knowing natasha was sitting outside on her bed. Scrubbing her hair as she giggled while sprinkles fell at her feet and enjoying the mobility of her hair again . 

While only across the hall Bucky Barnes was panicking as he thought of the whole thing once Steve filled him in on the conversation he missed .

 “ This is perfect. I mean you could  make this the week you confess and finally get your girl” the blonde beamed brightly.

 “ or completely screw up and lose her completely because let's be real with my life that is the most likely option” he pulled the case out. 

“ Aye my man finally got the girl '' Sam cheered as he walked into the room 

 '' One shut up she could hear you and two I'm a fake boyfriend” he hissed, shutting the door  . 

“ well put on a good show that she will want the real thing… not like that not already of the case” he mumbled .

 “ ok sit we can do this, '' Steve led him to the bed, pulling out clothes and a couple of suits .

 '' What if I screw this up so bad she’ll quit the team and I'll never see her again” he stood pacing while the other two men rolled their eyes .

 “ or you’ll see what we see '' Steve mumbled but the man before them was too lost in his head to pay attention  to the non stop hints they tried to but he never did so it wasn’t anything new .

  “ ok so the clothes end will be sorted and tony agreed to the time off well he told me to tell you not to waste it” steve smirked before heading off into the bathroom . “ Clint said he can drop you both off before he heads home so flights are covered,” Sam added . 

“ Ok man, think of this week , where you don’t have to hide those feelings where you can act around her like you’ve always wanted to act” Sam turned, seeing Bucky still freaked out. 

“ What if I make her uncomfortable?” he asked. 

 “ i’m not saying bang her on the spot  i mean little thing like when your trying to hide the fact you stare at her like stark looks at his suits or pepper” sam rolled his eyes.

 “ he’s right Stark loves those suits and you love Y/N'' Steve teased throwing the bag of toiletries into the suitcase.

 “ this can be good … or it's going to be a complete disaster” .

“ how the hell am i going to do this… is it too late to fake my death and start a new life” she asked pacing while Nat and now wanda took the task to pack her suitcase.

“ No faking your death” nat rolled her eyes as wanda giggled .

 “ how the hell am i going to convince my parents i’m with bucky but not scare off my best friend… male best friend” she corrected herself after nat shot her a look. 

 “ Be the way you guys are already,” Wanda winked.

“ be serious here i don’t want to lose my best friend.. You know what i mean” she rolled her eyes at nat. 

“ You won't ok ,  you couldn’t lose Bucky even if you tried. '' Nat smiled softly  just like the guys, the woman before them was completely oblivious to what was in front of her.

 "I'd cancel but i can’t miss my brother and sister's engagement .. to separate people we ain’t that far down south '' she clarified  hearing the words coming out her mouth . “ We know what you mean , look, just use the time to get the taste of the experience” nat said. 

“ Maybe your eyes will finally see,” Wanda whispered under her breath.

 “ hopefully we can sell it enough so my aunts and uncles finally stop with their matchmaking and finally like me   i mean one of their blind dates brought me to a strip club was fun i mean  he even gave me my own ones but that doesn’t scream marry me , ”she winced as the two women fell into a fit of laughter. 

“ Is that why I keep finding glitter on you?” Nat wiped tears from her eyes.

 “ Yeah, that courtesy of candy , we’re friends on facebook , great gal was gonna hire her for peter's birthday next month actually ” she smiled. 

“ You'll kill the kid,” Wanda snorted. 

“ Hey, death by candy is a way to go,”she winked. 

“ You realize she and Peter are the same age and now i don’t know if you want bucky or candy” nat teased. 

“ Ok enough on my bi curiosities of my new stripper friend , how am i going to survive a week of pretending to be in love but not in love with my best friend … nat stop glaring you know what i mean” . 

 “ This is gonna kill me”she fell back onto the bed. 

Ten minutes he must have been standing at the door paralyzed nerves taking over and words escaping his mind to why he was there. 

 “ Just knock man this is pitiful , to think this is the once feared winter soldier can’t even knock on chicks door” tony rolled his eyes as bucky glared at the man. “ oh for fuck sake , thank me later terminator , don’t screw it up” was all the billionaire said before thumping the door and running off a bucky stood looking down the hall to contemplate how this was his life.

 “ fucking asshole should of kill him instead of how… how are you doll you busy” he caught himself as she looked puzzled at the man. He could hear the laughs before the two women came to view .

 “ shes all your barnes” nat winked letting him only confirm more people were aware of his feelings .

 “ Tell candy we say hello” Wanda snorted as she followed Nat down the hall. “Candy?” he arched his brow. 

“ my new erm .. stripper friend .. come in “ she cleared her throat trying to ignore the glint in his eyes when she said it.

 “ what… actually tell me another time I'm here to go over a back story like the way we do on missions so I don't say the wrong thing or we get caught out” he smiled softly as her own feature light up at the suggestion . 

“ You clever son of a bitch” she danced excitedly. The little drawl in her voice came out more when she was either happily excited or pissed off. 

“ i didn’t even think of that , i mean you’ve met my parents not my siblings so sorry for that .. you’ll understand when you meet them” she snorted leading him into the room and toward her sofa . 

“ Ok so obviously we met at work which I think my mom and dad just wanna prove i am actually an avenger” she chuckled. 

“ Who asked who out?” he asked softly.

 “Well I mean you asked me out cause if my aunts think the other way around they will think you're desperate or held hostage they have old way of thinking on somethings” she winced.

 “ Ok deal , how long have we been together?” he asked . 

“ Six months it's not too long to wonder why we aint been announced and not too short for you to meet the family” she nodded.

 “ PDA” he coughed, hiding the nervous break in his voice.

 “ Whatever you're comfortable with, we don’t have to go full PDA  so I won't jump you during family dinner” she teased . “ Well I mean we cuddle and hold hands all time so that part ain’t so hard right ” she added her cheeks flushing.

 “ No, it's a fine doll, I mean it’s kinda handy knowing all about you , well I thought I did until the whole stripper thing” he laughed.

 “ Hey candy is an artist and everything huh? My my bucky barnes i didn’t know you were a fan” she teased . 

“ says the one with 50 pictures next to my exhibit” he countered .

 “ Hey, it's not my fault bird brain can't take a good picture anyway, shut it before I can  switch you out with candy” she stuck her tongue out .

 “ I mean you could but do they know her like they know me” he asked . 

“ unless they frequent strip clubs when they visit.. Ok i grossed myself out”she scrunched up her nose at the thought while bucky though she was the cutest thing to ever exist.

 "Go on doll hit the hay Clint is bringing us so you know it’s going to be early as hell” he stood kissing  her head  before walking out the room while she in turn fell on to the bed knowing the star of the dreams she was going to have was just across the hall.

[twst-drabbles]

Kalim 9

Summary: You sit on the fence, relaxing with a drink at hand as you wait for Kalim to come with his colorful parade.

(Kalim certainly brings a certain energy to everything he does, huh?)

It’s early in the morning, just past the pink of dawn as you settled on the edge of your stone fence. You don’t have to worry about falling, since this wall’s pretty wide. So you settle back on your hands, just letting yourself watch the sky as it does it’s nice colors.

So, why are you here so early in the morning, when it’s not even a day of hiking? Simple. Kalim called you the week before about his plans. He was rambling and you didn’t exactly catch the reason why he’s celebrating, but you did catch that he was going to do a parade. As much as you like to do your own thing, you rarely find any reason to say no to him. Yes, yes he can be exhausting, but rarely do you ever leave him not feeling satisfied.

Anyways, you’re pretty sure that there isn’t a special occasion or holiday that would warrant Kalim’s need to make a parade happen, but Kalim is as Kalim does and he usually does what he wants. No need for reason, so long as it plants smiles in peoples faces and hearts.

You heard little grunts as Ace and Deuce lugged themselves over the edge of the fence.

“Shouldn’t you guys be sleeping right now?” They’re even wobbling about like they’re ready to conk out. They flopped on their backs, clearly exhausted and tired. They probably heard you waking up in the morning and just decided to follow, just in case. Guard dogs to end, these two.

You pulled out a clean napkin you had in your pocket and placed it over those two. They didn’t so much as squeak.

You grabbed your drink and took a long sip. As soon as you finished, that’s when you picked up a multitude of voices. Off in the distance, at the end of the road, an orange light blasted up into the as a flare would. It burst into an array of flowers and sparks, quiet and gentle, bright like fireworks, but without the loud sounds.

Kalim was the first face you saw, riding on his magic carpet, waving at you as droves upon droves of people followed behind him. In perfectly practiced form, the mages behind let their magic sing. They crafted glitter, pretty sparking lights, and delicate images.

For all your apathy towards magic, you have to give credit where credit’s due. These mages have such fine control over their magic that they can practically make paintings in the air. It can’t be an easy feat.

And, well, you can’t help but notice that Kalim has taken your request to heart. This celebration, this parade marching down your street as Kalim flew this way and that, dancing upon his carpet, was very quiet. No louder than the claps of your hands, really. The magical fireworks are a little much, you’ll be honest, but it’s tolerable.

Ace and Deuce have fully fallen asleep, and this quiet parade has not woken them up, funnily enough.

“So? What do you think?” Kalim flew up close to you, legs crossed as waited for your response with wide, expectant eyes.

The sun was well up in the sky, and yet somehow, Kalim seemed brighter.

“I liked it,” you said with a smile, “It was very fun. Thank you, Kalim.”

[herearedragons]

The Hanged Man (Chapter 4: In The Wake)

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

The house was still burning when they left.

No one came to try and fight the fire; no one came to speak to them as they watched the flames, or as they walked away. But the village was wide awake, every house full of anxious minds; more often than not the curtains were drawn and the shutters closed, but Selene knew that there were eyes in every window they passed by.

At least some of those people must have been awake when the fire started. Some of them must have known exactly who did this. Selene could have found out everything about the attempt on Edér's life right there and then, simply by listening a little closer.

But there were many of them, and their anxious curiosity was laced with painful fear — and she was already in pain again, her headache back in full swing and her entire upper body starting to feel the aftereffects of Edér's borrowed strength.

She didn't have the endurance for it. Not right now.

That was the limit of a cipher's abilities: you could convince a mind, for a time, that its body was capable of more than it thought — and, for a time, the body would play along, but in the end reality would always return.

Still, in this case it was worth it. She'd pushed both herself and Edér, but in the end it meant that there were still two of them, when there could have been just one.

Now that the initial rush of adrenaline was wearing off, Selene was slowly coming to terms with that thought.

She'd almost lost her witness and her main ally. She didn't, but it was far too close.

Someone — multiple people working together, from the look of it — had made an attempt on Edér's life, while fully aware that he was under her protection. She'd announced it before the entire village, save for Algar, and even he was informed later.

This only made sense if the group that did this stood to lose more by letting Edér live than by making an enemy out of her.

Which only made sense if —

The realization cut through the haze of pain and exhaustion, sharp and bright.

Edér could help her. It wasn't just a matter of her intuition; someone else was afraid of them working together.

This meant two things.

First, she was on the right track with the investigation of Lady Ygrid's murder.

Second, they would try again. If Selene's presence didn't scare them off, failure wouldn't either.

Which meant that she couldn't let Edér out of her sight.

He was walking silently by her side, his grief for his childhood home a dull ache in the back of her mind. Still, compared to what she felt — what he felt — as they watched the house burn, it was almost nothing.

Maybe she wasn't being a good agent when she chose to grit her teeth and sit with him instead of stepping away and taking stock of their surroundings. Sacrificing her own ability to function for the sake of comforting someone; Lady Webb might not have approved, had she known.

Selene remembered having a tooth pulled once, when she was younger. The actual pulling wasn't bad, a fellow cipher holding the pain away from her just like she did for Edér just now, but after it ached and ached and ached. Edér's mind as he stared at the flames felt a little like that: a deep-seated pain left in the wake of something gone.

But it weakened somewhat when she took his hand, and for that reason, she couldn't regret it.

Near the end of their walk to the Black Hound — Selene decided they'd both stay in her room for the night; she would figure out a new arrangement for Edér in the morning — Edér's thoughts stirred, alerting her that he was about to speak up.

She turned to him a second too early, before the words even began to leave his mouth, and realized her mistake when she saw him flinch.

He recovered quickly, and said:

"Guess you knew I was gonna say something."

Selene just nodded; there was no reason to dwell on it.

"You know what, or? — "

"I'm still not reading your mind. I just felt an intent."

Edér nodded.

"Alright. Well, I just wanted to ask…"

There was a pang of hesitation in his mind; he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to his question.

Still, he continued:

"You must've read a lot of minds in Gilded Vale, by now."

"Not as many as you might think," Selene said. "But some."

"See anything in there that could explain… that?" He gestured vaguely behind them, where the orange blaze was still visible in the distance. "Why they hate me that much?"

His voice stayed mostly steady as he asked, with the smallest crack at the end, but Selene could tell that he had to make an effort to keep it that way.

The pain in his mind was familiar in a way she did her best not to dwell on.

"What happened yesterday, it made sense," Edér said. "Wasn't a great morning for me, but at least I saw it coming. Been eighteen folks there before me, I'd be Nineteen. But burning…" His voice trailed off; he shook his head. "No one's been burned alive in Gilded Vale before, not as execution. What'd I do to be the first?"

Selene hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right way to word her answer.

"I don't think it was an act of hatred," she said finally.

Immediately, Edér's mind bristled with irritation, telling her that she chose wrong.

"Right, 'cause burning down a house is how you show neighborly love. The boarded up windows are a nice touch; really lets 'em know you care."

The pain behind her eyes flared up.

Selene took a deep breath.

That was on her. She couldn't respond with irritation in turn; they were both hurt and exhausted and coming off a near-death experience, and were about to spend the rest of the night in the same room.

Don't get angry at him. Don't get angry at yourself for messing it up. Just keep talking.

"If it was about hatred, they would have done this a long time ago," she said. "Maybe during the first purges, or after Swithin's hanging. But what's the point in mob violence when your target is standing with one foot on the gallows already?"

Edér grimaced briefly at the mention of Swithin's name, but didn't say anything; the sound of his thoughts didn't betray extreme discomfort at her knowing the story, just a sense of regret.

And then came her question, and finally there was something else in his mind except for seething emotion.

He considered her words.

"Maybe they thought I was gonna get away?"

Selene nodded.

"And why would they think that? Forget what we know; no one heard me tell you I know you're innocent. I made sure."

She kept her voice low as she said that. They were walking through an emptier part of the village, and, while Selene didn't sense any immediate attention, the quiet meant that their voices would carry further.

Suddenly, Edér stopped in his tracks. Selene stopped too, and watched his expression shift as he put the pieces together.

"…'Cause they also know I didn't do it," he said. "And they need me gone."

For a second, his mind was still hovering between doubt and certainty, and then the decision was made; Selene could almost see the scales tip.

Edér's hands balled into fists at his sides; when he spoke again, his voice was low with anger, not unlike what she'd heard in Pasca's memory when he talked about Raedulf.

"They were covering it up. That pigshit burned my parents' house down to cover up his crime."

He was referring to Raedric. It seemed that he had made up his mind about who was responsible for Ygrid's death, which was fine; being objective about the case and the available evidence was Selene's job, not his.

"If that's the case, he made a mistake," Selene said.

"That he did," Edér agreed grimly. "Think I've got some words for our esteemed lord, when I see him next."

"You'll have to keep it to just words, unfortunately," she said, aware of the violent intent stirring in his mind. "Any more than that, and I'd have to take you in along with him."

Edér raised an eyebrow:

"You could look the other way? Blink real slow?"

She shook her head.

For a moment, it seemed as though Edér was about to say something else, but then he just sighed and nodded, resigned.

"Alright," he said. "But we're gonna get him."

"We will," Selene said. "Do you want to know what the killer's real mistake was?"

"Not finishing the job?"

"Revealing their hand. Wanting you gone so badly means that as long as you're alive — " Selene pointed at him — "there's a threat to them. There's something you know, or something you are, that can lead us to answers."

"Well, that's something," Edér said, uncertain. "Wish we knew what that was."

Then, he frowned:

"Hey, you okay? You look... kinda shaky."

He was referring to her hand; for as simple a gesture as it was, pointing at him required a significant effort on Selene's part, and her entire arm trembled as she did it.

Gods damn it. She must have seriously overtaxed either Edér's body or her own while dealing with the fire; the kickback from borrowing someone else's strength was usually not that severe.

"I'll be fine once I rest," Selene said.

☾

By the time they got to the inn, Edér was the one carrying Selene's still-damp cloak because she'd dropped it on the way, her hands shaking too badly to maintain a proper grip. She couldn't grab a door handle either, and had to let him open all the doors.

She pushed down her frustration and the tiny tinge of dread at her own helplessness at a moment where they could very well still be in danger, and led the way to her room.

The Black Hound was quiet at this time of night. There were some restless minds awake, people peering out of windows at the fire in the distance, but the anxiety here was much lesser than near Edér's house: less people, more distance, less information about what exactly was happening.

No one was in the common room or in the hall upstairs, which was great.

Once they were in the room, Selene had Edér lock the door and check that the window was still latched shut, the same way as she left it. The room wasn't too cold and the glow of her own hair gave them more than enough light to see, which spared her from having to ask him to light the fire.

Only when the arrangements were more or less to her liking — and she was sure that she wasn't detecting any minds with ill intent in their immediate vicinity — did she allow herself to sit down on the bed, wrap her aching arms around herself, close her eyes and exhale, slowly and loudly.

Everything hurt: her eyes, her arms, her chest, the space between her ears. Edér's thoughts weren't as painful anymore, at least; the worst that was reaching her was vague concern, which paled in comparison to everything else.

Selene allowed herself the luxury of self-pity for a second, then took a deep breath and told Edér:

"Look in my bag on the desk. There should be potions, small vials of clear liquid. Get me one."

He nodded and went off to rummage in her things.

Selene hadn't brought a lot with her: a change of clothes, spare bullets, some snacks, basic hygiene supplies and her medicine. Anything beyond that she could either do without, or purchase on the spot.

The medicine was what Edér was looking for. It wasn't rare for a cipher to need some sort of medication to help with the more unpleasant side of their powers; some suffered mood swings, some had trouble focusing their attention or falling asleep, and some, like Selene, had to deal with pain and exhaustion.

She didn't like resorting to the medicine, which was the reason for it being packed away in her bag and not in one of her pockets or in a belt pouch, where it would tempt her at all times. Depending on the severity of her pain, the medicine would either take it away entirely or make it far more tolerable — but as a side effect, it would dull her cipher senses, too. In most circumstances, that was a bad bargain.

But right now, the pain was making thinking difficult, and Selene needed to think. She needed to make a new plan. To review evidence. To make sure Edér was alright.

"Found it."

He approached her with a vial of the clear potion. Selene nodded her thanks and attempted to take it from his hand, only to discover that effort was beyond her at the moment.

Edér ended up having to tip the vial into her mouth, just as she did with the healing potion after he'd burned himself. He noticed the similarity as well; setting the empty vial aside, he said:

"Well, guess we're even about nursing each other back to health now. Feel better yet?"

She was, in fact, starting to feel better; the medicine worked fast. First, the painful knot behind her eyes came unwound; then her upper body began to relax, her mind released from whatever self-destructive loop it was caught in.

Selene nodded.

"Thanks."

Edér stood silent for a long moment; at first she didn't understand why, and then he said:

"Black bones, I really am dumb, aren't I? All that, and I hadn't even thanked you for saving me. Again."

Selene looked up at him. With the sound of his thoughts muffled, it was impossible to tell what was happening in his mind, but he looked as tired as she felt. He'd wiped most of the soot off his face as they walked, but there were still black smears left, and his beard and hair looked several shades darker than they did during the day; his eyes were still bloodshot, irritated by smoke.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't mind the lack of thanks, but it was nice of him to say something.

"It's fine," she said. "I did what I had to. If anything, I wish I could have prevented it in the first place."

"Well, I wish Waidwen had stayed at home and kept growing vorlas." Edér shrugged, exhaustion clouding anything else that might have showed in his voice or expression; Selene wasn't sure what exactly he meant to convey. "I'm still here, and I could've not been, so, thank you."

He settled heavily on the opposite end of the bed; the frame creaked faintly as he sat down. He stared into the space in front of him for a moment, then buried his face in his hands with a weary sigh, elbows resting on his knees.

"I'm sorry about your house," Selene said.

"Thanks," came the answer, flat and muffled between his hands.

She leaned her back against the wall and stared at a corner of the ceiling, both unsettled and relieved by the rare blankness of her own mind.

It was strangely peaceful, sitting together in silence. Whether it was the lingering excitement of a successful rescue, the relief of both of them still being alive, or just a natural extension of her sympathy towards him, for a moment Selene felt a weird kinship with the man sitting next to her.

Her thoughts went back to the first glimpse she'd caught of his mind, back by the tree.

There was the cold, and the irritation, and the fear. The knowledge that he was innocent.

And flashes of a memory from years ago: a man and a woman, unarmed, struggling against two armed and armored guards in a small one-room house.

They had killed those guards.

They were defending a Hollowborn.

Edér had wondered aloud why Selene was so willing to involve herself in his fate, and she had no doubt he'd wondered even more in his thoughts. To him, there was no reason for anyone to ever want to help him.

But many would say that there was no reason to defend a soulless infant, and Edér did it anyway. Even if Selene couldn't admit to him that she knew that — and she couldn't, not while he was still a subject of Raedric's and her suspect — she kept this thought in the back of her mind.

Those with sympathy for the broken beyond repair were rarer and rarer in the Dyrwood nowadays, and, if Selene could save even one of them, she owed it to herself to try.

And she had to admit it: she liked Edér. He was a quicker thinker than she'd expected, brave enough to speak his mind, and resilient in the face of pressure that would have caused many others to snap.

She wanted to see him survive.

Selene thought again about the pain that felt familiar; the thought of his that she had caught and discarded immediately, fearing to hurt herself if she examined it closer. With her mind numbed by the medicine, she could allow herself to face it, for a time.

See anything there that could explain that? Why they hate me that much?

The betrayal of learning that your community wants you utterly and entirely gone, every trace of you. As if you had never existed.

It was a shame that Edér had to experience that, too.

Just as her thoughts started to spiral, going further down the path she usually kept closed, his voice pulled her back to reality:

"…There's something I'm wondering about. How'd you find me?"

Selene looked over. Edér was still sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, his face no longer in his hands; his expression was still weary, but more focused than it was before. He'd pulled himself together, for now.

"I was on the edge of town, checking the horse lead," she said. "Then I saw fire in the distance, and ran to see what was happening. Once I got close enough, I knew that it was your house, and could sense your mind inside. You know the rest."

Edér hummed in acknowledgement.

"Nice trick, that; talking inside my brain. Blocking my pain, too. I still don't get the thing with the cloak, though."

"I borrowed your strength. Convinced my own mind for a time that it was in your body, which is stronger and can do things I normally can't. Usually I'd explain before doing this, but…" Selene shrugged, and felt a pinch of relief when her body didn't protest at the motion. "There wasn't much time."

Edér's brows knitted together in a frown as he — probably thought about her explanation, but, again, she couldn't know for sure.

Now that the pain relief had fully set in, she was already missing her telepathy.

Eventually Edér nodded, to himself more than to her, but it seemed like there still was something on his mind.

Finally, he said:

"It's funny, you know; twice now you showed up just when I was sure I was about to see the Wheel. That kind of luck… Hel, it's almost enough to make me think maybe my god's not dead after all."

Once again, Selene couldn't tell the intent behind his words. Was he just sharing an insight? Asking her to reaffirm his faith? Something else?

Still, she had to respond somehow.

"…You think Eothas sent me?"

The corner of his mouth curled up into a mirthless smile.

"Don't think there's anyone left who can say for sure what Eothas did or didn't. But you, well, you're the closest thing to a miracle I've seen in a long time. Trying to figure out how I should feel about it."

Me and you both, Selene thought.

All she could say for sure was that Edér wasn't mocking her when he said that, and that his uncertainty seemed genuine.

"Well, if a god did send me, it would have to be Ondra," she said after a few seconds of silence. "And I don't think she'd do that."

"'Cause you think she doesn't like you being in Dunryd Row."

"No. Because I used to serve her, and then turned away from my duties."

The words left her mouth before she could think better of it.

Selene wasn't sure what she was doing. Sure, she felt some sympathy for Edér, but this — she didn't talk about this. She just didn't. Even without the headache that would usually accompany those memories, just a vague mention was enough to conjure a sinking feeling in her stomach.

But it was too late to question herself, because she did say it.

Maybe it was the medicine clouding up her thoughts, but, for some reason, some part of her felt like he'd understand.

Edér was watching her intently; it felt that way, at least.

"What happened?" he asked.

The sinking feeling got worse. For a second, she could almost taste briny water in her mouth again, but taking a deep breath was enough to make that disappear.

"I was unhappy," Selene said. "I got tired of drowning everyone else's sorrows. When I said that I was going to leave the temple, some people tried to stop me by force. I still left, but it wasn't pretty."

That was an understatement, but the full details didn't really matter.

"Ondra never spoke to me," she said. "Not when I was devout; not when I began to question; not when I was getting sick from doing something I didn't believe in anymore. Every single person I knew was certain that I was chosen, but I don't think she ever cared about anything that happened to me."

After a moment of hesitation, she added:

"I want to believe that Eothas is different. Maybe all of them are; maybe Ondra is kind and caring, just not to me. I don't know. I just know that if anyone comes to me looking for the gods' wisdom, I can only disappoint."

She hoped she'd be able to leave Edér with some hope for his own faith while also letting him know that he wouldn't find any answers with her.

She had no way of telling if it worked; his expression stayed attentive and guarded, and she couldn't tell whether there was acceptance or disappointment on the other end.

"Well, that's honest at least," Edér said. "I appreciate that."

And then:

"Wasn't right what those folks did, trying to get you to stay. Thing with faith is, you can't force it on people any more than you can force it out of 'em."

For reasons Selene didn't fully understand, breathing became difficult for a moment.

She nodded, hoping that would suffice as a response, and, seemingly, it did. Edér's eyes crinkled as he gave her a brief smile; this time, there was no bitterness in it.

She was right. He did understand; the part of it that she could bear to share, at the very least.

Maybe saying it was a good idea after all. It wasn't exactly relevant to the case, but, still, the two of them were in this together; a small show of trust could only serve to make their cooperation easier.

The strange tightness had disappeared from her throat at this point, so Selene spoke up:

"We should rest; there's still time until dawn. Take the bed, I'm fine sleeping on the floor."

Edér shook his head.

"Make it the other way 'round," he said. "No disrespect, agent, but I'm not letting a lady sleep on the floor."

Despite herself, Selene chuckled.

"That would have been very polite of you, had you not almost burned your face off less than an hour ago," she said. "You're more hurt than me, and you need a good rest for the healing to fully set in. Besides, I'm going to stay awake for a little longer, go over my notes."

From his expression, it seemed that Edér wasn't fully convinced, but he didn't keep arguing.

"Alright. Wake me if you change your mind, or if there's trouble."

"I will," Selene promised, and stood up.

As she did, Edér regarded his own filthy, charred clothes for a moment, and then said:

"…Yeah, Pasca'll kill me if I let that touch her linens. Think I'm gonna have to take those off; don't know what your sensibilities are, but you might wanna shield your eyes for a second."

She nodded:

"I'll give you privacy."

Selene sat down at the small desk on the other side of the room — conveniently positioned so that her back was turned to the bed — and took out her journal again.

Hearing shuffling noises behind her as her co-investigator and official suspect presumably stripped down and got into bed, she briefly reviewed her earlier notes: the notes she took at the crime scene, a recollection of her conversation with Pasca, and some inconclusive notes about the notable lack of recent hoofprints and horse excrement on the outskirts of Gilded Vale, as well as a lack of eyewitness accounts of a woman riding into town. There was also a proper case summary now, written just after her conversation with the innkeeper, and a single, mostly empty page dedicated to her investigation of Hattorn's fate.

"'Right, I'm decent, kinda," Edér's voice sounded behind her back. "I'll have to get new clothes from somewhere tomorrow, else this investigation's gonna get real awkward."

"Good point."

On a new page, Selene started making a list. First item:

Get Edér a change of clothes

"Know who can help with that?" she asked.

"I'd ask Pasca."

"Alright." Selene noted it down.

She mulled the next point over in her mind for a moment, before putting down:

Move into a room for two

It wasn't ideal — her pretense of still suspecting Edér would definitely suffer — but after tonight, she couldn't see a way to keep him safe outside of her presence.

What else?

Search the remains of the house

That was just practical. If any of Edér's things happened to survive the fire, he should have them.

There was maybe one other thing she could think of regarding the consequences of the house fire.

"Edér, is there a healer in town?"

"Not anymore," he said. "Left a couple years ago, once Raedric got too crazy for her tastes. No one was brave enough to take up after her. When someone gets real bad, folks trek out to Anslög's Compass to see her."

No active temple, no healer: Gilded Vale wasn't too kind to the sick and injured.

"Alright then."

She'd have liked to have Edér checked for lasting damage — a single healing potion should have fixed most of it, but the effects of those often varied — but it seemed like that wouldn't be easily possible. She'd just have to trust that the potion sufficed, and keep an eye out for symptoms that said otherwise.

For now, this seemed like a good plan.

"You should try to sleep," Selene told him. "Let me know if my hair is too bright."

It's been a complaint in the past, when she had to share rooms with others: not in the temple — she's always had a room of her own there — but later in Hadret House, when she was in training. She'd learned to cover her hair and horns to let her roommates sleep.

"Nah, I'm fine. Goodnight."

With that, there was a shifting noise — probably Edér turning away — and he fell silent.

Left to her work, Selene started writing a record of the house fire by the light of her hair. Once that was done, she did her best to extract points of interest from her own story, and listed them in a small neat column next to the broader account:

Multiple perpetrators

Windows were boarded up, fuel and kindling was used — time and preparation, premeditated

Likely multiple eyewitnesses, but no alarm was raised. Might be able to extract perpetrators' identity from witness memories

Working version: meant as a cover-up, not mob violence. Whose orders?

About midway through that list, the familiar all-encompassing noise of active minds started trickling back into her awareness, bringing an aray of distractions, but also palpable relief: it was good to have her most important sense back.

With it came the hum of restless thoughts from where Edér was supposed to be sleeping, betraying the fact that he was wide awake.

Reasoning that the way he spent his resting time was none of her business, Selene ignored the noise and moved on with her work. Still, she couldn't help but be aware of it: a buzz of anxiety just loud enough to be heard.

There was a feeling underlying it that wasn't quite pain, but something similar to dragging your hand through gravel; a sharpness that wouldn't let his thoughts rest.

Following an instinct, Selene closed her eyes for a moment and saw flashes of something: a grey, cold night from long ago, soldiers bundled up in their cloaks, resting their heads on their packs, trying to fall asleep. There had been word of Readcerans nearby.

The grip of a sabre in her — his — hand, the awareness of his shield within reach, not knowing whether it would do him any good if an ambush sprang on them while he was still asleep.

Selene opened her eyes, resurfacing, and exhaled slowly; she had held her breath during the vision.

She didn't mean to dive in; if she did, she'd be breaching her promise. But the thought seemed to find her, rather than the other way around; did that still count?

Either way, she now had an idea of what was keeping Edér awake.

A lingering echo of his thoughts told her that it wasn't a rare occurrence, and that normally he'd reach for his pipe and whiteleaf to lull his mind back into behaving.

It wouldn't be good for him to spend the rest of the night without rest. The healing would take better after some sleep, and, considering the circumstances, Selene needed him to be sharp tomorrow.

"Edér," she said quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah." A shifting sound as he turned to face her. "Need something?"

Selene turned to him as well and found him sitting up, looking at her.

The cold white light of her hair picked out scars across his upper body. There were many, which made sense for a soldier: thin lines and jagged shapes, faded, but still visible. Something made her linger on that for a moment, wondering how many of those scars already existed by the time the night from the vision came around, and how many were acquired after.

Selene pushed the thought out of her mind. It didn't really matter; her thinking was probably just being affected by the memory she'd picked up.

She focused. She needed to tell Edér something.

"Since you're awake, I just wanted to say. Whoever set the fire will probably try again; from here on out, we'll only be getting closer to answers, and they'll only get more desperate to stop us. I'll be surprised if that's the last attempt we see on one of our lives. Yours more likely than mine, since Dunryd Row will have questions if I don't return."

Even before she finished speaking, she could feel Edér's anxiety stir — and yet outwardly, his expression had barely changed.

That was why she needed her telepathy.

"Should've said so sooner," he said. "Nothing lulls a guy to sleep like a promise of murder."

"Well, they will try. But they won't succeed, and they won't get as far as they have today, either. I'm not leaving you alone anymore, and when it happens, I'll be ready."

Edér raised an eyebrow:

"You'll be watching over me, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," Selene said simply. "The harder they'll try to get rid of you, the harder I'll fight to keep you around."

Remembering their earlier conversation, she added:

"Not because any god told me to, but because it's the right thing to do. In fact, if a god spoke to me right now and told me not to, I'd do it anyway."

There was the tiniest thrill of dread in her stomach as she spoke the second sentence. She'd blasphemed many times in the past — against Ondra, and against other gods on occasion — and, as freeing as it felt, the very next emotion she felt was always the fear of retribution.

Still, Selene meant what she said. And no retribution came this time either, just like all the times before it; more proof that the gods probably couldn't care less.

Edér stared at her for a long moment; so long that her attention began to drift away, and had to be wrangled back into focus. She was probably getting tired too.

"You really mean it, don't you," he said. "You'd really do it."

Selene nodded.

In the light of her hair, she saw the corner of Edér's mouth twitch, and then he ran a hand over his face and shook his head, silent.

"Well," he said finally, "Guess the least I can do is pay it back. Whatever you need for this case, you can count on me to help. And I know you've got your cipher stuff and all kinds of training, but, for what it's worth, I'll be looking out for you too."

He was sincere, and Selene thought that it was only fair to respond with sincerity in turn.

"I need it more than you know," she said.

Edér nodded, a serious look on his face; the sound of his thoughts told her that he had noted her words.

She could feel things shifting in his mind, folding into patterns.

The gravelly feeling was gone. He'd sleep fine now; even if Edér himself couldn't tell yet, she could.

Selene tried to speak, and found herself yawning instead; just as well — her body was making the point with her.

Edér gave her a look.

"You still working on your agent stuff?"

"I'm just about done."

"Good. You'd better catch some sleep too."

It didn't take her long to figure out her bedding situation; the carpet in the room was thick and reasonably comfortable to lie down on, and Edér insisted she take the pillow from the bed, at least. Normally, her cloak would have made a great blanket, but it was still miserably damp, hanging from a hook on the wall; Selene had to make do with some of her spare clothes instead.

By the time she'd fully settled down, she could already hear Edér's thoughts slowing. He'd be asleep before she was.

Selene closed her eyes, and hoped that there was a decent amount of time left until dawn.

[sanderssidesthehouse]

Sanders Sides Ranked: Flirting???

Why do I have “For Legal Reasons This is a Joke” stamped on the front here? Because I get to saying some shit later that is NOT meant to be taken seriously. I enjoy saying words recreationally and making bits, not everything I say all the time is an accurate representation of my thoughts or beliefs and I just want to make that clear when posting on the piss on the poor webbed site.

Sorry, Logan. I don’t think he cares actually, but just in case. I would [verb] you. I also don’t think he cares about that, but just in case.

Also after adding the text on Logan's picture I decided I should add a little blurb to every slide so you can tell exactly how not biased I am.

When trying to decide on widespread appeal I had to acknowledge that most people would probably find him kind of annoying, which is his right, for sure, but then I had to gauge how annoying and how much that mattered and it took me a while.

For niche appeal, I just think that most theater kids™ don’t want to [verb] other theater kids™. They do [verb] for sure, but mostly because they can’t get anyone else because they’re theater kids™ and I think other insecure people mostly want to give him a hug.

(I was a theater kid but not a theater kid™, though I knew some. I just want theater kids™ to know it is their right to be insufferable.)

He's really kind of got two tricks, one is being dad and the other is being sad. I think I'd like to give him a Patt-on the head. If you're into that, though, hopefully you're also into frogs.

Look I was at one point part of all four niche appeal groups and I’m still part of two, this may be a targeted attack, but I caught myself in the crossfire.

Putting Roman in there was a joke bc you cannot tell me you don't classify what Janus was doing as flirting and it worked very well on our prince.

And unrelated to the ranking, I just get jump scared every time I see what Janus actually looks like bc he has long hair to me now. Where are his beautiful locks? Who cut my wife's hair?

Ok look. Quality of banter. We ALL saw his episode, ok? That was NOT top tier creative work. Granted he’s been locked in the basement for a long time so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t change the facts. 

For his blurb I was between what I wrote and something along the lines of "I would forcefem him" and I don't think either of those convey to you how not biased I am but just know that I adore him.

I had a blast making this, I kept cracking myself up, which means probably zero other people think it’s funny but here we are.

I actually went into this thinking I would have Logan as the worst and I thought Roman and Janus would tie for best so I’m glad to see we all have the same general consensus. It looks like this list would go Roman, Janus, Patton, Remus, Virgil, Logan.

I did my best to cut out any egregious swearing and anything explicit so I hope everyone can appreciate my sacrifice /j. Thanks for joining me, argue about it in the comments and reblogs. (<- Also a joke, please be nice.)

[lailawinchesterr]

remedy (vii) — sam winchester

> prev, masterlist

summary: somethings just aren't meant to be, and you can't force them— tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing, angst, 6k chapter (yeah it needs a warning).

You don’t text back for two days, and he ignores you. All of a sudden, it’s ‘we need to talk’. No way, man; an idiot can see this is a breakup text if they look at it for a second too long. And you’re not stupid enough to end something that means this much to you over the phone. 

If he decides you’re boring, or you’re not it, or whatever, he can say it to your face—

Your phone is ringing.

Worst case scenario, he calls you names, best case, he says it’s not you; it’s him. Maybe switch them around?

Maybe you should change your number.

Maybe you should answer. You answer. “Sam, hey.”

“Hey, you okay? Were you asleep?” Maybe if you say yes, he’ll feel stupid breaking up with you while you are half asleep. 

“No.” You’ve never been good at lying to him. “Do you need anything?”

“Sweetheart, what’s with the silent treatment?” oh, great, now he wants to talk about it? It’s been two days, he didn’t bother then— God, what is happening to you! You’re acting like such a bitch, right now, like all the times you’ve yelled at your friends to stop being so annoying with their boyfriends, and now you’re doing the same. 

“Sorry, uh— yeah, no, I guess I was just being silly because you didn’t call when you said you would.��� Your voice is so timid, you wouldn’t believe it if someone said it was you. Sam has responsibilities, such as finding his dad and taking care of Dean, and you are being petty. Fuck this whole thing, this isn't you, why are you suddenly changing around him (without him here).

“It's not silly. I just had something to take care of that night and forgot to tell you.”

“Why'd you pretend? Why not just tell me the next day?”

“I thought you forgot, I didn't wanna remind you; besides, it was one call, I didn't think you’d care.” Where in your exterior of panic did he get ‘wouldn't care’ from? Unlike Sam's tendency to just ooze nonchalance, always seeming uniquely unbothered by this entire thing, he wasn't like this when he was next to you, in fact, he used to care more about your feelings than you did.

Is this what distance is doing to the both of you? Ruining Sam's gentleness and consideration? The things you liked about him from the start? Love about him? God, it's like your parents all over again. You love your father, of course you do, he’s an incredible dad, but he was disappointing as a husband, and you fucking swore that you’d never marry someone like him, even if you’re as physically far away from marriage as possible with Sam, it doesn't mean you’re wrong for thinking of your future with him.

“Baby?”

“Right. Sorry. It isn't a problem, you're right.” You never were as strong as your mother.

“Okay, but I'll text you next time. Promise.” You nod, noticing your nose burning and your vision getting blurry for a second before you breathe. This is not worth crying over. You've always given your entire being into every relationship and lost yourself halfway through, you told Jess that this was different, that Sam was different. But Sam is just like every guy you've ever liked, he's normal, caring, and sure, a little different in the sense that he's not a dick to other people and doesn't curse at you because of how you feel– okay so he's very different, but you aren't. You’re trying so hard to hold yourself back from thinking of those three words, from being all in for once, but you can’t help it, and you’re fucking mad at Jess for being right. Sam lost you. He went to a different state and is staying there for weeks, and it's okay with him. It should be the same way it should be for you, but it isn't. It was never going to be.

Your feelings were never going to be like his, and deep down, you knew that, Jess knew that. And you let it happen.

Fuck you’re crying. Fuck he’s calling out your name. “Sam, I'll call you back, okay?” And you hang up to his protests.

He didn’t cause this, you did by being so fucking careless with the most crucial thing in your life– your heart. And men will always be men. They'll forget to call, or they'll move to another country or state for work, they'll have girl friends that they hang around, and you will never be able to deal with it. 

It's terrifying to think about because you spent your senior year of high school making damn sure something like this would never happen, you didn't breathe near a boy, and you worked your ass off both in school and out of it to have achievements you can add to your transcript. Your first two years in Stanford have been spent right here in your apartment (or the first one was in the dorm), away from anyone who could ruin your progress– then Jess introduced you to him, and so what? She's introduced you to anyone she's ever hung out with. But you knew Sam was different. You knew everything about him was different the second you were both in the car alone, and you let all your nerves go so that you could sit in the passenger's seat and talk to him.

That should've been enough to scare you the hell off. He’s older and more experienced, and you promised you wouldn’t do this– you threw it all out the window the second he asked for your number.

He’s calling, your phone's ringing, and you know it's unfair to him, God, you know it is, but how unfair is it to whatever’s left of you if you answer? 

After an extensive crying session, you pick yourself off your bed and get on the desk for some serious study time. All your best studying has been done with your eyes bloodshot red and your heart broken. It doesn't take a few hours to finish and revise your assignments, and then you make flashcards for the chapter you (daydreamed during) missed last week. It's the most productive you've been this year. You're not complaining— until you are because Jess is barging through the door, and she doesn't yell, ‘honey, I'm home’, which can only mean she spoke to Sam. She knocks on your door twice before slamming it open with a frown. 

“No, because what the actual fuck do you mean you're not answering any of our calls?” Oh, she's worried. You shrug, pointing to the phone that you shut off and abandoned on your bed a few feet away. “How many times have I told you to stop shutting your phone off if you're not going to keep your laptop open? What if your parents call and you don't answer? They can't exactly just knock on your door.”

“I texted them before I shut it off.” She lets out an exasperated breath, walking over to you.

“What about me? Why didn't you text me?”

“I forgot, Jess, I'm sorry, it's no big—” Before you can even finish your sentence, you're hit with an insane case of deja vu, except it's more like your brain stops working. You genuinely did forget. It wasn't like you'd hurt your best friend on purpose, but she doesn't look like she forgives you or, quite frankly, even cares. And you're repeating his words right back at her.

“No big deal? Seriously, what has gotten into you? First, you don't listen to me about Sam– you actually fight me about it, then you ruin it! Sam is racking his brain thinking of what he did wrong, and all he came up with is that he forgot to call once. Tell me you are not being bitch to Sam because he goddman forgot!”

You're not surprised by Jess saying it any more than you were scared when you did. You already knew it was irrational; you're overreacting and rounding up all the bad things happening since you've known him to justify it. But you're not stupid, you know Sam doesn't deserve it, you just– honestly, you didn't think he'd call Jess or care that much. 

“I'll call and apologize—”

“No, God, no, this isn't what this is about,” she sighs, her voice quieter and pensive as she sits on your bed. You turn the chair around to face her. “Babe, talk to me. What is going on with you?”

“You were right.” You can't cry again, and you're not in front of Jess about something you're ruining yourself. “It's too much, I just can't do it, Jess. You were right—”

“Come on, babe, no, you fought for him, you convinced me he's right for you, what is this about?”

“I just can't be okay with it, every time something happens, I just— I'm scared it'll all go to shit, so I can't focus on anything, but the second I closed my phone after I hung up on him, I felt like— it was closure. I'm not scared anymore. I can focus and see everything clearly when I'm not…”

“When you're not in love with him.” You don't meet her eyes, instead, they pan to the floor. Yeah. You were scared to say it, but Jess certainly isn't. She won't shy away from the truth for your benefit; maybe that’s why talking things out with her always works for you. 

“Jess, you were so right, and I'm sorry I didn't—”

“Hey, don't be stupid, no. I didn't mean it— I never wanted you to do this. Sam is good for you, and you are great for him. Me and Gen, we talk about the two of you all the damn time and how incredible Sam treats you, how thankful and accommodating you are to him. I didn't know that that's what you were thinking.”

“I fell in love with him in a month. I can't, I just can't be like this again. I can't keep doing this and–” Yeah, you can feel your tears deep in your chest, and it doesn't matter what Jess hears or sees, you just can't keep going like this, “— I keep losing myself, and I accommodate to him and I want to please him and I shut up when I'm sad because what if he doesn't want to hear it—”

“You know he–”

“I don't care! I don't care how good of a person he is, unless he pulls it out of me, I don't… God, I'm so high maintenance, and he's too comfortin– Jess, I'm done. I can't keep…” She frowns, and you notice her red cheeks as she opens her arms for you. You oblige, moving off your chair and next to her on the bed, your head on her chest while her arms wrap around you. It never hurts less, and the fact it never fucking might scares you more than you thought was possible.

+++

You both fall asleep like that on your bed, your head on her chest and her embrace warming you, it makes you curse yourself for waking up at three. You were in a deep sleep, too. Thankfully, she still is, so you grab your phone and head out of your room, turning off the lights behind you to– oh fucking SHIT.

“Sam!” You scream, a hand on your racing chest. You're already wincing at the thought of waking Jess up, but you don't hear anything except a change of rhythm in her snores. You’re panting as you take a step back from him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We finished early,” He lies, his eyes on yours. He’s a good liar, you have to admit, even if you can see right through it. He takes a step closer, examines you, and places his hands on your shoulders as he does before pulling you in close. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

That's— what on earth is happening right now? “Were you crying?” He furrows his eyebrows, fingers wiping under your eyes even though your tears dried hours ago. 

“Yeah, but that— Sam, what are you doing here?” You repeat, still starstruck. You like surprises when you know they’re coming. Like not knowing where you're going for dinner or not knowing what type of party someone is planning for your birthday, but this? It's very not cool. Extremely terrifying.

“I just told you we finished the case early.”

“You— what about your dad?”

“Dad left us a clue, well, he left Dean something. We went to find him in Blackwater Ridge, and he left something for Dean there about where to find him next. It's a couple of states over, and when I saw that this isn't a two-week kind of thing, I told Dean to bring me back here.”

“Sam it's been five days—”

“I know. I know, but you— trust, right? Technically, I made it back before the end of the week, so even that promise I kept…” and it's a weak attempt to lighten the situation with his hands still lighting your body on fire. You're not angry with Sam, of course you aren't, you never expected that you'd be with him every second of every day, you even knew that in less than a month you'd have to go back home for the summer vacation— it was never Sam's fault to begin with. It's yours. Your heart, your stupid, childish feelings, because despite being emotionally intelligent like almost everyone you've ever known has told you, and a damn hard worker to get into med school a year early, your feelings are where you draw the line.

“Honey, were you crying?” He should probably stash the monikers away for the time being if you're going to be able to do this.

“No— I mean, yes but it's fine I had Jess here.” You don't mean to sound bitter but it seems as if he took it that way because he frowns and nods slowly in a manner that pains you. He doesnt deserve this. He doesnt, hes been so fucking good to you, he cares about you, he—

He’ll never love you the way you love him. If you break it off now it's better for the both of you, he won't have to deal with a crazy girlfriend and you won't feel your heart shatter every time he forgets to call or goes out with Lily. This is good.

This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

“Sam.” You say with a breath, suddenly self conscious of your hair, is it messed up? And the makeup you slept with (though you're not too worried with it being Jess's and all her stuff is waterproof). “I— uh, we should probably go to sleep. I'm still tired and you just came back, right?”

“Yeah, but if you want to talk about something, anything—” Why is he making this so hard?

“No, no, we should just… wait, did Dean bring you here, with your bags? You don't have your car?” He confirms your words and you groan, walking past him to the kitchenette, opening the fridge door to hopefully find the iced tea you hid from Jess. Thank god for blueberry iced teas.

“I can go back to my apartment, it's no problem,” And you freeze your movements as you curse yourself under your breath. That isn't what you meant, you're just very overstimulated and there's too many thoughts going on in your head, you wish you could calm them down, and now sam is staying over, and he’ll probably expect you to crash with him in Jess’s room. 

“Sam, ‘m sorry, it’s just I’m so tired—.”

“No, I get it. It’s fine, a cab—”

“What? No, I mean I’m sorry for being bitchy, I just wanna head to bed, that’s all. And I’m not hauling you into a cab, we’ll take Jess’s room… unless you wanna be alone?”

You look up from your drink to gouge his expression and he shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “‘Course not.”

Great. “Okay, you wanna drink something?” 

At his refusal with a short ‘thank you’, you tell him you’ll be in the room in a moment which he takes as the dismissal it is, shutting the door behind him so you’re completely alone in the living room. Kitchen. What the fuck ever this is. 

God, this is— you brush your hands through your hair shutting your eyes aggressively. You’re okay. It’s okay. The earth is still spinning and you haven’t failed any of your classes— and Sam is here and he’s being a loving boyfriend saying he misses you, what is wrong with you?

You decide that enough thinking’s enough as you drown the rest of your drink and enter the room with soft footsteps. Sam’s sprawled out on your best friend's bed and you check yourself out in the mirror quickly to see that, surprisingly, you look somewhat decent. You shut the lights off before you get in the bed, lying on your back just as Sam is. 

Is it rude to sleep on your side? Definitely is. You can’t find it in yourself to care as you do it, moving the covers so they aren’t all on your side, and sing yourself to sleep because what the hell else are you supposed to do after today?

+++

Waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and maybe even food? Yes. Always. Please. 

You don’t waste a second getting off the bed, not like you’re getting any more sleep with the sun filling the room with a warm, golden glow. You shut the blinds off for good measure before freshening up in the bathroom quickly, not wanting to miss whatever was happening in the kitchen outside.

The second you open the door you’re engulfed in the scent, though this time you notice how sweet it is. You smile as you look over and see— oh. Right. You forgot. That’s why you’re in Jess’s room.

Jess is sitting on the counter while Sam cooks, what you assume are pancakes, on the stove. At the sound of the door, they both face you, Jess quickly running off the counter and into your arms. You reciprocate in no time, squeezing her tighter. “You okay?” She whispers in your ear, as good of a friend as ever.

“‘M okay. Please stay today.” When you pull away, she nods at you, like it’s a given then drags you to where she was sitting, right next to Sam. His smile pulls at your heartstrings and he leans down for a kiss that— there’s no way you’re not kissing him back. Your left-hand lands on his bicep as you steady yourself. When he pulls away, he doesn’t go completely, his face inches from yours, and he steals another quick one. 

He’s back to cooking as he mumbles, “Missed you.” 

What’s happening right now?

What on earth is happening right now?

You’ll think about it when you’re more awake. Or at least when you have food in you. 

“Jess, what do you have planned for today?” you ask, your hand still on him as you rub it absentmindedly.

“I have classes— so do you, Sam!” Isn’t Jess a year younger than Sam? you never noticed how much she knows about the graduating class despite not being a part of it. She reads your mind like she's always done, “Gen’s with him, ‘sides most of my friends are from his class.”

Right. Gen. you should probably apologize to her for stealing her girlfriend for an entire night. Only god knows how she’s coping right now. When you glance at Jess you notice her surveying you and Sam, so you quickly take a step back to remove your hand.

“What about you, Sam? Any plans?” She listens, leaning over the island that separates the small kitchen from the living room, “other than class obviously, which you will be attending— by the way, Lily is so fucking pissed at you, dude.”

Sam throws his head back with a groan, “i know. She wont stop texting.”

That’s reassuring. He continues, “But I don't think I’m up for anything today. I’ll go the classes and talk to lily about finishing the project next week. You think she’ll understand?” His eyes catch yours and you feel obligated to answer with a quick nod. 

He’s back to flipping pancakes that look surprisingly delicious considering you’ve never once seen him cook before. Though, in your defense, you’ve usually eaten out for every dinner and breakfast you spent together. Which now that you think of it, isnt cost-effective. Someone should chek on your bank account. Not you, obviously, but someone should.

“It smells really good.” you compliment, gesturing to jess to bring you a brush, which she complies, leaving to find one. “Where’d you learn to make food like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, i used to read lots of books growing up, guess i picked up some cooking ones.”

“Really? That’s nice. Dean mustve been real lucky having you try out recipes.” you joke, dipping a fork into the batter to try it. ‘S horrible, just like you expected. It isnt cake batter, it wont taste good, and you knew that— doesnt mean you wont try it.

“Yeah he didnt really, i mean i never actually cooked or anything, just read them and when i got the apartment with Gen i started cooking more, turns out its something i like.” oh its cute to think that coming to stanford, getting his own place with gen, had opened up this kind of opportunity for him, and it has you wondering what else he did when he was younger. Youd hardly spoke of either of your childhoods— mostly because as much as you love your parents, you dont like thinking too much of how they were when you were younger, and apparently that lead to not asking about sam’s. Hes never talked about his mum, now that you notice it.

Is she out of the picture? Are you even allowed to ask? Did you want to ask considering whats been on your mind since yesterday? God, you dont even know if youre going through with it. Hes here and hes cooking breakfast, kissing you, holding you— why would you want to let that go?

“Here, whore.” jess emerges from her room, throwing the hairbrush.

“Thanks, slut.” she smirks, plopping onto the couch and you catch the look of surprise on sam’s face. “What? Whats wrong? We’re joking its just a thing we do.”

“No, i now, just didn't know you do that. Never heard it before.”

“Yeah, i don't even know how it started but it's cute.” he agrees leaning down for another kiss which you, stupidly, let him do. Your hand comes up to brush against his cheek before you remember the object you’re holding and disconnect, sitting on the counter, brushing your roots so you can tie your hair back with no fly-away strands. “You okay?”

You nod, not quite meeting his eyes as you focus on making sure your hair is perfect without so much as a phone camera. “Really?” He prodes, “you don’t look it. You’ve been weird since yesterday, did I do something?” Oh, did you ever, Winchester . 

“No, Sam, ‘m fine.” He sighs but lets it go. It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for a stack of pancakes to finish cooking and Sam serves it on the counter next to maple syrup and some chocolate sauce he says he found in the fridge (you made it a few days ago but didn’t like it). 

Thankfully, everyone enjoys the food, and Jess seems like she has a lot to say about him skipping out on you, then coming back all of a sudden, for losing communication with her— she doesn’t bring up yesterday at all which helps you relax since you’re not even sure what you’re going to do anymore.

It’s ten by the time you’re all done and the dishes are in the sink, you (like a fucking idiot again) kiss sam’s cheek, thanking him excessively. “I’m glad you liked it, it was my first time, I think.”

“You think?” He takes a step closer, both hands coming to rest on your waist as he nods. Why does he just love talking when you’re close to each other? Don’t people have conversations a few feet away anymore? Not possible?

“Yeah, I’m not sure if the first time counts, ‘nothin like what you had today, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, it was amazing.” You wish you could say you missed the faint blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t, and it did nothing but make you want to kiss him more.  “When do your classes start?”

“Two hours.” You frown, looking behind him at the clock you have hanged up. 

“Seriously?”

“Dead.” You groan, looking around to find his bags on the floor on your front door, “I already packed.”

“I didn’t know you unpacked.”

“I didn’t exactly, just got some stuff out for this morning, but I’m ready to go, I’ll see you later today?” 

You tilt your head after he kisses it, and you watch him walk away. “Today? What’s today?”

He shrugs, carding the duffel, “nothing specific, just thought I’d see you. If you want.”

If you want. Do you want? “Sure, we’ll see.” He nods, uncertain, before he yells out for Jess who rushes out of her room to hug him, muttering about ‘not being sure if she’ll ever see him again considering he likes to disappear’. 

Couldn’t have said it better, Jess. You don’t have any classes today but some studying would do you good so you lock yourself in your room for an hour before Jess barges in and you’re more confused to find she’s not at Sam’s than you are to see her in lace lingerie. Because. What. The. Fuck.

“Jess!”

“Do I look pretty?” She teases, twirling around like a Disney princess, before going for something more R-rated, playing with the waistband of her panties. “Was gonna wear it last night for Gen, so I wanna surprise her but I’m scared black isn't my color.”

“Slut! Absolute slut. You’re showing me your girlfriend’s outfit? Sluttiest whore there ever was.” She giggles, walking over to your desk, “black is definitely your color, babe, you know that, don’t worry about it, Gen’ll love it.”

She still seems hesitant, but because Jess would rather kill herself before ever giving you reason to comfort her, she changes the subject, closing your books, “okay, tell me about Sam.”

“What about him? He’s in class— or has class in an hour, just like you do.”

“You’re breaking up with him?” You shrug, leaning back in your seat, “what do you mean,” she repeats your gesture mockingly, slapping your shoulder, “man up and choose a side.”

“Not a man. And besides, he doesn’t know so—”

“Stop being like this,” she scolds, crossing her arms in front of her chest, though it does nothing for her modesty, not that you care, “I know you and you can’t even fucking focus on anatomy. Come on, you need to do something. Talk with Sam or stop trying at all, there’s no other option and you know it.”

“Yeah well the two options suck.” You groan, slamming your head down on the desk. “I—”

“You love him, yeah.”

“Do you… think he does too?” You mumble against the desk before hearing her sigh. And it fucking breaks your heart to hear it indirectly. She hasn’t said anything even yesterday. She didn’t deny it, but she didn’t confirm that your fears are valid— she is now. She’s telling you again, as if you haven’t repeated it like a prayer in your mind, that you’ve just gone too fast. 

“Sam cares about you, you know that, baby. I mean, he just cooked breakfast after staying the night. You guys shared the bed— he wants you, loves having you around.”

“But doesn’t love me.” You look up at her, already being sure tears will stain your face any moment now. 

“It’s not even about time, it’s just— you’re scared and you’re letting it affect everything else in your life.”

“Isn’t that normal—”

“It isn’t. You know it isn’t. Me and Gen spend almost everyday together, but I know my place in her life, as her friend, girlfriend, lover, that’s all I am. At least for now, till we’re done with college and then me and her will figure it out. You’re different, you’re thinking of the future all the time and you’re overthinking what he says when he’s not here, and Sam's been doing things that don’t sit right with you— I know he has, don’t tell me he hasn’t. The first night you spent at his apartment when we told you about Lily I knew something was off. You don’t deserve to live in fear and anxiety because of a man being in your life. And it isn’t Sam’s fault, maybe— it’s not yours either, but it’s just not the right time.”

What’s worse, hearing what you want to hear or hearing what’s honest?

+++

“Hey, Sam. I know you’re in class right now so just, call me when you’re done, we need to talk.” You wince at the last phrase, regretting it already. You’re about to put the phone down when it starts to vibrate with a call from him. Huh.

“Hey, baby, I’m done with class, I was just speaking with the professor. I haven't listened to your voicemail yet, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes at the lie, your breathing heavy, “just need to see you. Or actually,” you can’t bring him in blind, “it is something. Just, when can I see you?”

“Oh. I have a few classes then the project with Lily, so maybe eight?”

“Is there— when’s your next class?”

“Few hours.”

“Can we meet up now?”

“Is it important? because I don’t wanna cut it short and I don’t want to be late for class.”

“It’s important but it won’t take long.” He sighs, probably at your vague answers before deciding to meet up with you in your apartment. Like the gentlemen he is. That you’re leaving. 

You call Jess the entire twenty minutes it takes him to knock on your door and she helps your through it all, the same way she has the second this started.

He greets you with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and somehow that eases your worry. At least he knows something is coming. You close the door behind it and gulp before you let go of the knob and lean against it, not sitting down. He’ll probably want to leave anyways. 

“What’s wrong? Is this about why you’ve been acting this way since yesterday?”

Maybe. Why does your mouth stop fucking working the second you actually have to say something? How on earth is that fucking fair. “It’s not fair.” Oh, great. There goes your speech.

“What’s not—”

“It’s not fair to us, what’s happening right now so I think we should just, you know, like not be together.”

Like, not be together? Way to show off how much of a seventeen year old you actually are.

“What?” He— Sam looks genuinely confused and that’s not something you anticipated. 

“Breaking up. I’m breaking off what we’re doing because it’s just not working.” And that seems to register for him, finally and lets out a defeated breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“I knew it was coming, I just have no fucking idea why. Why you’ve been so— I just need an explanation.” 

“It’s everything, okay? It’s my fault, I started this knowing I wasn’t ready for a relationship and you’re great, Sam, but it’s not what I need right now.” You’re not sure what you’re saying half way through, this is not the script you rehearsed and he’s furrowing his eyebrows at you, shaking his head as if to say ‘bullshit’. “It’s a lot of things that we just can’t change about you and about me, we’re just not supposed to be together.”

“Don’t give me that crap, what can’t we change? And why can’t we change it?” He’s frustrated, not exactly angry and you wish you could gauge more of his feelings than just that but the truth is you’re radiating fear and anxiety that you can’t focus on anyone else’s emotions. “And why are you so tense?”

“Because I’m—”

“Breaking it off doesn’t mean you have to be shaking.” His voice is slightly raised so he cuts himself off, taking a breath before taking a step towards you, “You shouldn’t be shaking, okay? It’s fine, I respect your decision, but talking about this is also important.”

“But it’s over, right?” He tilts his head in confusion. “I mean, because, you’re not trying to convince me or anything, you’re just asking.”

“I’m not, what does that even mean? Do you not want me to fight for us?”

“Fighting for us would entitle fighting me, so I don’t think so. I’m sure this is the right thing to do, Sam. I’m very sure—.”

“Why?”

“Because of a—”

“Real fucking answers.” You flinch at his tone, supporting your weight on the other leg.. 

“A lot of what you think is okay and normal just isn’t with me. Like hanging out with Lily or leaving out of nowhere with Dean—”

“We talked about both of these things before I decided on them! Do you just keep a list of all the things I’m doing that you slightly disapprove of?”

“No, but it’s still early and this just shows we’re not for each other.”

“What about the things that show that we are? Studying at the apartment, the dinners, what was all of that? If you’re gonna make a list at least make it fair.”

“This isn’t a list!” You huff, angry at this point and you move away from the door so you’re not standing face to face, “it’s what I think is right. And I can’t live like this if I’m going to have to be okay with all of these things.”

“Live like this? You’re making thsi sound like—”

“—that’s just the way I see it, Sam.” You’re not sure what you would do if you hear him mock your overthinking. Mock marriage and your future.

“Well it’s wrong. I think we’re good for each other when you aren’t getting in your head about everything. You don’t have to think about things so intensely, and I’m not brushing your feelings aside, I get that they’re there, but if you keep giving them more than they deserve they’ll eat at you.” 

“So will being with you.”

You’re a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them. You’re starting to think that just isn’t true. And it’s starting to sink in as you watch Sam scoff out a breath, his hands covering his eyes as if he’s willing the entire conversation away.

And you’re starting to think it’s not true when he makes a move to leave the door.

And you’re sure it’s not true when you let him leave without a word.

part eight (epilogue); honey, you're familiar.  

title: all my habits came back around (calgary by tate mcrae)

as we near the end of this thing I made that you guys decided to care about, I want to say thank you. I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot, and here we are over thirty thousand words later. I'm so grateful to this fic for how much it has allowed me to interact with the fandom and the amazing people in it.

on another note, this is not the end— don't worry— though this is exactly how I wanted the fic to go because when I wrote this, I had a very specific character in mind: one who is self-sabotaging and constantly struggling with an internal battle, she's complicated. While, of course, she will figure that out, it won't be now, and it won't be with Sam.

this doesn't spoil anything for the last and final chapter, but I did want to give some of my thoughts + I'm a sucker for reusing the first words of the first chapter in the end if you guys noticed + swear this series is a happy ending just wait!!

tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats 

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

[mariacallous]

California Gov. Gavin Newsom signed a bill Monday aimed at advancing the restitution of Nazi-looted art, as well as personal property stolen during the Holocaust and other eras of political persecution.

The legislation is a response to a court ruling that allowed a work by Camille Pissarro to remain in a Spanish museum instead of returning to the heirs of its original owners. The 1897 painting, called “Rue Saint-Honoré in the Afternoon, Effect of Rain,” belonged to Fritz and Lilly Cassirer, a Jewish couple who sold it under duress to escape the Nazis.

The painting by Pissarro, a French Jewish impressionist, now hangs in the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza in Madrid. The museum has claimed ownership of the work under a “finders keepers” law of property ownership that is unique to Spain.

In January, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals was instructed to decide the case according to California state law. But it ruled that, even according to California, Spain’s legal system took precedence. “Rue Saint-Honoré,” according to that decision, belonged to the museum.

The new California law, signed at Los Angeles’ Holocaust Museum, clarifies that California law should take precedence in local Holocaust art restitution cases. It allows Californians “to bring an action for damages or to recover artwork or personal property, as defined, that was stolen or otherwise lost as the result of political persecution.”

According to the law, “California substantive law shall apply in actions to recover fine art,” and that “the true owner cannot be divested of ownership without actual discovery of their rights in, and the location and possessor of, the artwork.”

The legislation could send the decades-long ownership dispute over the Pisarro painting back to the courts — and award the painting to the Cassirers’ descendants.

“As a Holocaust survivor, the proudest day of my father’s life was in 1947, when he became a U.S. citizen,” David Cassirer, grandson of Fritz and Lilly Cassirer, told the LA Times. “He would be so happy, and grateful, that the people of the state of California have taken action to ensure the return of looted art to its rightful owners.”

Spain is one of the original 44 international signatories of the Washington Principles, a 1998 framework for restituting artwork stolen during the Holocaust. In 2018, Stuart Eizenstadt, the Secretary of State’s special advisor on Holocaust issues, named Spain as one of five countries that fell short on its commitment to the Washington Principles.

Authorities in New York City and around the world have made renewed efforts in recent years to restitute art that was sold under duress due to Nazi persecution. Earlier this year, 21 countries agreed to new standards in art restitution at a conference marking the 25th anniversary of the Washington Principles.

“Restitution is important, not just to get people their property back, but because it is a way to examine the true realities of the Holocaust and keep those facts in the public consciousness,” Sam Dubbin, an attorney representing the Cassirer family, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “It’s stolen property. It’s the Holocaust, which makes it 1,000 times worse, but it’s still fundamentally stolen property. And no one should be able to keep stolen property.”

The oil painting was bought directly from Camille Pissarro by German Jewish industrialist and art collector Julius Cassirer, who passed it down to his son Fritz and his wife Lilly. Lilly was forced to sell the painting under duress in 1939 for about $360 at the time in order to obtain an exit visa for England. The money was then deposited into a bank account that she was not permitted to access.

The painting made its way around the world over the next several decades, eventually landing in the collection of Baron Heinrich Thyssen-Bornemisza, a Swiss art collector and the heir to a German steel fortune. Thyssen-Bornemisza sold his collection to the Kingdom of Spain in 1993, which established a foundation and museum in Spain in his name.

The Museo Thyssen did not respond to a request for comment.

After he learned of the location of the Pissarro painting, the couple’s sole heir, Claude Cassirer, sued for its return in 2005. He died five years later, and now his son David, his daughter Ava’s estate and the Jewish Federation of San Diego County are handling the case.

“For survivors of the Holocaust and their families, the fight to take back ownership of art and other personal items stolen by the Nazis continues to traumatize those who have already gone through the unimaginable,” Newsom said Monday. “It is both a moral and legal imperative that these valuable and sentimental pieces be returned to their rightful owners, and I am proud to strengthen California’s laws to help secure justice for families.”

[cyclone-rachel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kara Danvers & Querl Dox Characters: Kara Danvers, Querl Dox Additional Tags: One Shot, One-Sided Kara Danvers/Querl Dox, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kara Danvers is in the Phantom Zone, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mentioned other characters - Freeform, Supergirl (TV 2015) Season 6 Summary:

Or, Kara finds herself in the Phantom Zone again.

But this time, someone else is with her.

[froggychair05]

I love symbolism :)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rich for a Night

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!detective!reader

Summary: To catch a thief targeting wealthy couples, you go undercover with your husband Deacon.

Warnings: fluff, Deacon & r are held at gunpoint, a Bugatti gets wrecked :(

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (1x19 "Source")

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you lament. “The robberies always occur after big events, dinners, charity galas, but there’s no other connection.”

“Catering company?” your desk neighbor suggests.

“Different for every event. No one worker has been at every event. Planners have alibis, there’s no similarity in looks or where victims live, even banks. The only lead we have is wealthy couples getting robbed, sometimes at gunpoint, after an event.”

You drop your head into your hands as you reconsider the entire case. You’ve looked through every guest list, and everyone has alibied out, even though only a few couples overlapped and attended every event. They got robbed, too, as it turns out. The first two robberies had a connection: they both banked at the same place, but after that, the connection disappeared.

“It has to be someone near the events,” you murmur. “Maybe it’s someone who has access to Los Angeles socialite calendars and is just hanging around the events and picking people at random.”

Your phone rings, and you sigh before you answer, “Detective Kay.”

“Detective, there’s been a murder,” the caller says.

“Let me get you someone in homicide.”

“No, this is related to your burglary case. Or at least that’s what the homicide detective thinks. It looks like a robbery gone wrong.”

“What’s the address?” you ask as you pick up your cell phone and keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

On the drive into the hills, you add this new twist to your thoughts on the case. You agree that this location, the schedule, and everything about the setting of the crime match your investigation. The murder is either a progression or a mistake. Maybe the burglar was interrupted, or the victim tried to stop him. Before you can create too many theories, you arrive at the scene and flash your badge to enter the house.

“What have we got?” you ask the homicide detective surveying the scene.

“Forensics is going over everything now, but it doesn’t look like anything was taken. Single gunshot to the chest was our cause of death.”

“Nothing was taken?” you repeat. “Then why do you think this is related to the thefts?”

“Because of that,” he answers, squatting as he points under the makeup vanity. “A bag filled with jewelry pushed just out of reach. Almost like a dying woman was trying to protect herself and her home.”

“What else did you find?”

“Not much. Seems like this happened pretty quickly. Alarm was disabled at eleven-oh-five p.m.”

“After the murder mystery theater on the yacht,” you add. “Date night gold for the rich.”

“Hence, why we think this is your case, not ours. They’ll try to recover the bullet during the autopsy and run ballistics.”

“Until then, it’s mine to decipher. Thanks, detective.”

“Could I make one suggestion?” he inquires as he removes his gloves. You nod, and he says, “This seems like the perfect opportunity for a UC. Even if you don’t come face-to-face with the burglar, you get to know a bit more about the victims.”

“Even more if you go undercover yourself,” your partner adds as she walks into the house. “Progression or accident?” she asks, pointing to the victim.

“I can’t go undercover,” you argue.

“Why not? You get to play dress up. Plus, you’ve got a tactically trained and incredibly attractive husband you could take with you. No one would question your right to be there with Deac’s old money vibe and your, well, everything.”

You look around the scene, a luxury environment as an outward acknowledgement of all the victim worked for, or as it may be, didn’t work for, and decide it truly is your best option.

“I need a Rolex.”

Browsing the rows of the evidence locker with a small box in your hand, you wonder why so many rich people get arrested. So far, you’ve gathered a Rolex Daytona worth at least $100,000 and three pairs of sunglasses from Cartier, Ray Ban, and Dolce and Gabbana.

“Perfect,” you whisper as you find an envelope with a Tiffany ring and a pure obsidian band.

With these accessories and the dresses your contact who works with the UC division is procuring for you, you do not doubt that you will fit in. You still need a car, but you know just the people to ask about that.

“I need to check these out, Ally,” you request as you slide the evidence onto a desk. “For case 9212024.”

“No problem,” she answers as she begins logging case numbers and photos into her computer. “Who’s the ring for?”

“My husband.”

“I pity the criminals you’re after.”

“At least they’ll get a nice view while we put the cuffs on.”

“What are you doing here?” Rocker asks as you enter SWAT HQ.

“Lovely to see you too, Donovan,” you reply with a smile. “Do you greet your wife like that?”

Rocker shrugs and hugs you quickly before he directs you to where 20 Squad is reviewing warrants.

“Sergeant Kay,” you call as you enter.

“Oh, hi!” Street greets.

“This is a surprise,” Deacon says as he moves around Street to hug you.

“I have something for you,” you begin. You pull the obsidian ring from your pocket and lift the Cartier aviators from your side. “A proposal.”

“Is this a married couple thing or am I just confused?” Street whispers.

“You don’t want me to answer that, playboy,” Luca replies, slapping his back.

“Why?” Deacon questions, smiling even as he narrows his eyes at you.

“It’s just a date,” you promise.

“To do what?”

“I’m still working the string of burglaries targeting rich couples. We’ve got tiny leads that add to enough of a clue that I want to go undercover at the next big event to try to find something. I have to work faster because a woman was killed during a robbery last night.”

“Why not take someone more familiar with the case?”

“Do it, Deac,” Street whispers. “Just for the watch.”

“What watch?” Deacon asks.

You lift your hand to show the Rolex Daytona hanging loosely around your wrist. “There’s a look to people like this. I’ve got everything except a date right now, and you’re the best option for more reasons than I can list, Deac. If you can’t, I get it.”

“No, I want to,” he states, taking the sunglasses from your hand and sliding them onto his face. “Let’s catch a burglar.”

“Oh, that’s just not fair,” Street complains.

“Street,” you call. “I need something from you and Luca too.”

“Alright,” you announce after you secure your earrings. “We just moved here from New York, have our accounts set up, moved into a newly renovated house in the hills and are scoping out the local charities because we’re budding philanthropists.”

“And luring a thief,” Deacon adds as he gently tugs the strap of your dress to straighten your neckline.

“Mostly that.”

“I’m following your lead tonight, detective.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Your ride is here,” Street says on the other side of your door. “And you’re welcome, but don’t get used to it. Luca and I may be brilliant, but we’re not get a free Bugatti loaner every week brilliant.”

“I never said it had to be a Bugatti,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I can hear you, ya know,” Street calls. “You are wearing a wire. So, keep it PG, Deac.”

Deacon smiles as he leans toward the tiny microphone hidden in the seam of your dress strap and answers, “10-4, good buddy.”

Street groans, and you gently push Deacon’s shoulders to straighten his tie. He looks good, though you expected no less.

“Let’s be rich for a night.”

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Napier,” the chauffeur greets as he opens your door. “Beautiful car. It's number 17,” he adds as he hands Deacon the card to pick up the car after the event. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Deacon answers, nodding as he shakes the man’s hand and passes a $50.

You wait on the curb as Deacon rounds the back of the Bugatti and wraps his arm around your waist.

“If he scratches that car, Street will kill me,” you say through your smile.

“Good thing it’s not Street’s car,” Deacon replies. “Let’s go, Mrs. Napier.”

You smile while you loop your arm around Deacon’s bicep and follow him into the concert hall. Innumerable couples are finding their seats and milling around the open area of the hall as they discuss charities, recent events, and bank account balances. With Deacon, you have no concern about looking out of place, and your confidence is assured when three different women look over at him. One of which looks away from her husband to do so.

“Good evening,” a woman greets, smiling as she approaches you. “My name is Andrea Campbell and I’m hosting this evening’s event. Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t recall meeting you.”

“No, ma’am, you haven’t,” Deacon says, carefully extracting his arm from your hold as he offers to shake her hand. “I’m Dan Napier and this is my wife. We just moved here from upstate New York and wanted to see the charities of Los Angeles.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Mrs. Napier, I am an advocate for women in philanthropy, so if you have any questions please do not hesitate to contact me. I truly hope you enjoy this evening’s show and the presentation.”

“Thank you,” you offer before Andrea is called away. Once she’s out of earshot, you stifle a laugh and whisper, “I’m surprised she even saw me.”

“Mrs. Napier, is it?” a man asks, allowing as he pauses directly at your side, out of Deacon’s reach. “My associate Andrea mentioned that you were here. I believe you recently opened an account at my branch of United Banks. Hopefully you can spare some time soon so I can show you around LA.”

He walks away before you or Deacon can speak, and you’re left to watch him and wonder why he chose to acknowledge you.

“Think he’s a suspect?” Deacon murmurs into your ear as you turn toward him.

“No,” you answer, moving your professionally styled hair as you shake your head. “Just a man with a roving eye. We have no evidence that our guy goes after women any more than men.”

“But he killed the woman last night.”

“The husband called it in, though. He was in the house when it happened. Said they were both tied up and she managed to get free and went into the bedroom to confront the thief. He’s scared, he doesn’t like being watched. Nothing like that guy.”

Deacon nods and pulls you close, smiling before he kisses you quickly. You slide your hand into his and follow him to your seat.

During the concert, nothing of note occurs. Even after it ends, you’re welcomed to Los Angeles by several couples, but no one sticks out as a possible suspect. So, disappointed and back at square one, you exit the concert hall and stand at Deacon’s side as he asks the chauffeur to fetch the car.

Just as the Bugatti pulls up, the man who parked your loaner car moves behind Deacon and presses a gun against the small of his back.

“Get in the car, Mr. Napier. I’d hate to shoot through your wife’s pretty dress,” he demands quietly. “Now.”

Deacon moves his hands slightly to show the man that he’s unarmed and mumbles, “Okay, okay.”

“In the car, Mrs. Napier,” he demands, jerking his head toward the passenger door.

You nod quickly, wearing faux fear on your face as you get in the front seat. Deacon sits in the driver’s seat beside you as the armed man slides in behind him.

“Nice car,” he applauds. “Now drive to your house. Either one of you moves for a phone… if you even adjust the air vent, I will shoot you both.”

You don’t think he will, not somewhere as noticeable and closed-in as the car, but you nod and pretend to swallow a sob as Deacon pulls the Bugatti out of the short driveway.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man begins as Hondo speaks into your earpiece to alert you that he’s behind you in an unmarked car. “We’re going to go into your house, you’re going to turn off the alarm and get out of my way, and I’m going to take whatever I want. Understood?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Deacon replies.

The man presses the gun against your temple and yells, “Understood?!”

“Yes,” Deacon answers quickly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as his hands remain firmly at 10 and 2. “Understood.”

“I trust you, Dan,” you whisper as his left hand shifts slightly. “And everything you’d want people to do.”

“Shut up!” the man demands, lowering his gun slightly as he looks between you and Deacon.

“I trust you, Daniel,” you repeat softly, hoping your wire picks it up.

“I hope you don’t regret that,” Hondo answers in your ear. “Turn one light too early if you mean it, Deac.”

Deacon’s jaw clenches as he approaches the last light before your turn.

“This way is faster,” he tells the thief as he hits the blinker but doesn’t move.

Hondo’s engine revs as he increases his speed, steering his car to the right to perform a PIT manoeuvre.  When his front bumper collides with the side of the Bugatti, Deacon releases the wheel and turns toward you. He grabs the man’s forearm and hits it against the passenger seat as you retrieve your service weapon from your ankle holster. The car slides to a stop against the curb, and the man drops his gun, then begins crying as you level your aim at him.

“You’re under arrest,” you tell him, panting as you try to catch your breath and lower your heart rate.

“Who are you?” the man whimpers as Deacon holds his arm between the front seats.

“Detective Kay, LAPD,” you answer. “This is Sergeant Kay. And the man about to pull you out onto the pavement is Sergeant Hondo. LAPD SWAT.”

“Wait,” he interrupts, sniffling. “You’re actually married?”

Hondo rips the door open before you can answer and grabs the back of the man’s shirt collar to haul him out of the car. He looks through the open back door to check on you and Deacon, then clicks his tongue.

“Luca and Street are not going to be happy.”

You tip your head back against the headrest and groan.

“Congratulations, Detective Kay,” Deacon says.

He smiles as you turn in the seat to face him.

“I love you,” you tell him softly. “Even more without the expensive jewelry.”

“But I look good in the sunglasses, right?”

You laugh and nod but point out, “We didn’t need them for a concert at night, though.”

Deacon laughs with you, and as the approaching police lights reflect around you, you know your life is richer with Deacon than with any material belongings you could ever borrow or earn.

[thevoidstaredback]

I'mma rant for a second.

Someone please validate me.

I think I'm beyond justified when I say that no one listens to me.

This show (Come From Away) is running for three days. I've had the five shifts (4 on the weekend, 1 Friday) for three weeks. Counting my conversation with my parents a few minutes ago, I have explained what this show is, where I am, what it's about, and the history behind it 23 times.

6 times to my mom

4 times to my twin

2 times my older sister

3 times to my dad

8 times to my grandparents

What the actual duck does a girl have to do to get someone to listen to her?

All I'm asking is that people make an actual effort to remember what I tell them, especially when I talk about something I love.

My coworkers (4 of them) have asked what I know about it, and they all remember the basics of what I told them. They even listened to the soundtrack like I recommended!!

My sister won't even take ten minutes to listen to two songs with me. My mom doesn't even remember what the first song is called (I've told her 5 times now). I know for a fact that none of my family will listen to the music on their own.

I just want to share what I'm passionate about. I want others I know to share in the joy I find in this show and others.

And, y'know? I keep finding that this is a reoccurring problem. I can't bring it up to anyone, though, because they all tell me that I'm overthinking it or looking too much into it or seeing things that aren't actually there.

Humans are designed to pick out patterns in everything. We pick them out and we create them.

I see a pattern, I point it out, and I get told there's nothing there.

Either I'm gaslighting myself or everyone else is gaslighting me.

Someone please validate me. Please tell me I'm not crazy. Please put a name to these feelings because I'm going to shatter if someone tells me one more goddamn fucking time that I'm seeing a pattern where there isn't one.

I would cry like I want to, but that would ruin my make up. I have another shift in about 2.5 hours, and I don't have my makeup back with me, so that's a no go.

I'm gonna go read. Thanks for listening

[anxiously-sidequesting]

To me personally malistaire is the funniest and most pathetic villain wizard101 has ever had AND I MEAN THAT SINCERELY!!! Between doomed children who have been manipulated, groomed, and isolated into becoming products of their environments, someone scorned who has been punished unfairly by having your biological heart torn out your chest and turning your children and all of reality against you to satiate their own ego, a nonhuman entity so powerful and so clueless they unintentionally threaten the lives of everyone around them, Malistaire FELL DOWN BRO. Like yeah you're bitchless now. You and me both. Get in line. Everyone in this room is bitchless. We are ALL living that ✨💅🏾💃🕺 Single Life™. You are a middle-aged man. Cope

[dirtytransmasc]

self indulgent got concept.

Ned brings Jon home, Cat hates the boy, everything stays the same... until Robert Baratheon is charging through the halls of Winterfell looking for the babe, ready to butcher the poor thing where he lay helpless in his cradle.

in a matter of moments Catelyn learns three things:

The babe was never a bastard, Ned had only lied to her to protect Jon, and that she would die before she let Robert lay a finger on the babe she'd previously wished death upon.

cue Catelyn Stark snatching Jon from his cradle, holding him, protecting him, loving him as she would her own son, risking it all to keep him safe, all care for herself thrown to the wind.

like they say, what a mother's love holds no bounds, and what it makes her capable of had no limits.