#man this game's atmosphere is SO up my alley

[monstermonger]

Elden Ring sketchbook pages.

[justagirlwholikesadam]

The American: Visiting the Dursley

Remus Lupin x American! Fem! Reader

Summary: Sirius slips out a name that Harry has never heard of before. He wants to get to the bottom of it and wants to know who is this so called, Yankee.

A/n: I had comments on people telling me to continue this story. Here's chapter 2. I want to start off saying, I haven't read the books. I have seen the movies and I'm doing a bit of searching here and there but I'm making stuff up as we go so my plot can work. With that being said, don't come for me. Not sure how many chapters I'll be doing, really depends on the feedback. please read the tags before reading. Enjoy -L

Warning: mention of rape, breaking and entering, ANGST, MAJOR ANGST, weapon, reader has it rough, threats being made, mention of killing bad people, drunk Sirius, sad childhood, mention of child abuse, reader has a temper and bad childhood, NSFW, smut is here duhh we are with Remus

WORD COUNT: 10.7k

Chapter 2: Visiting the Dursleys

Stepping out of the grimmauld place, you walked beside Harry, down the steps asking him what kind of food he likes. Harry felt dumb for getting excited over a simple question. When was the last time someone asked him a simple question, he can’t recall. A question that didn’t have to do anything with the war or with magic. He hears Remus and Sirius behind him, shutting the front door. He was excited, he was going to spend time with his aunt and uncles. He was going to spend time with his family. 

“I have a place in mind.” You told him with a smile as you stood by him waiting for Remus and Sirius. 

“It’s a bit far so I’ll do the apparition.” You told the three of them. Remus held your hand as you grabbed a hold of Harry’s hand. Sirius held Remus and Harry’s hand, forming a circle. Harry watched as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Your magic was something he could feel, it vibrated off of you. 

In a flash, Harry dropped your hand and turned to see you had apparated them in the middle of an alley. 

“Come on, Harry.” You said signaling him to follow you. 

Sirius smiled to himself as he saw Harry’s eyes grow wide when they walked out of the alley to the busy street. Harry took in the crowds of people and the different colored signs around the streets. He had never seen this street before, the air was different as well. It looked too busy to be the streets of London. He passed by a hot dog stand and noticed people using  flip phones while waiting to cross the street. Harry looked ahead to see Remus and you holding hands walking, Harry grinned when he saw you speaking with Remus who looked over at you with a smile. He hasn’t seen his ex professor smile so much before. Remus' eyes were lit up and a wide toothy smile was on his face.

Crossing the streets, Harry feels Sirius nudge his shoulder and points at a mime standing by the corner doing tricks. Harry hears you call for him and he quickly walks up to you. Remus walks ahead of you and opens the door of a restaurant. Harry looks up the red neon sign on top of the glass door, Lucky’s Joint. The atmosphere was cool and reserved. There were a few people drinking while watching a game on the TV above the bar. Others were smoking in the corner while others were enjoying their drinks and food.

Harry looked ahead when someone called out your name. He saw you smile as you opened your arms for an elderly man who welcomed you. You hugged the old man, patting his back. 

“Oh my! Remus!” The older man walked towards Remus giving him a hug. Remus patted him on the back as well. 

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Lincoln.” Remus said as he pulled away. 

“It’s been far too long.” Lincoln told Remus and you, grabbing Remus’ hand and yours. Harry can see both of you meant something to Lincoln. The older man had white short hair and was shorter than Harry. He had a plump frame and wore dark dress pants with a blue button down shirt. 

“I want you to meet my brother, Sirius.” You said looking over at Sirius who was curious about this old man. Sirius shook hands with Lincoln, who raised his white bushy eyebrows in surprise. 

“And this is, my nephew, Harry.” You look over at him. Harry tried his best to blink the tears away. You called him, your nephew.

“Brother? Nephew?” Lincoln asked in a shock tone. 

“Yes. They live out of the country. They came to visit.” Remus said, looking over at Sirius and Harry, giving them a wink to play along. 

“Just here for a bit. Vacationing with my son.” Sirius told Lincoln, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“That’s fantastic. Enjoy your vacation. Now come. I’ll show you to your usual booth.” The booth was all the way in the back, giving them some privacy. 

“He has no idea?” Sirius asked and Remus shook his head while a waitress came and dropped some menus  on the table before walking away. 

“He’s a kind hearted muggle. Yank and I have been coming here for years.” Remus said while removing his coat before sitting by the wall. 

Harry sat down across from you next to Sirius. Harry froze when he saw you taking your coat off and saw a hostler attached to your hip. Sitting down, Remus passed a menu to you. Looking up to see Harry, he quickly glanced away from you. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked and Harry shyly looked at you. 

“You have a gun.” Harry whispered and you just smiled at his reaction. “I do. Every auror who does special missions in the states carries one.” You answered him. 

“You shoot Death Eaters with it?” You nodded. Harry looked a bit nervous so you took your gun out and took the magazine of the gun out. Pulling a bullet out you showed it to Harry. 

“This gun is just like any other gun. The difference is the bullets. The bullets contain a spell.” Harry's eyes widen as you hold it out in front of him. 

“This gun contains immobulus in each bullet. We use the gun when we don’t have our wand. The gun is our last resort and yes, to answer your question. I have used it. It saved my life many times before.” 

Harry grabs the bullet from your hand and looks at it. He stared at the bullet, the silver bullet shines and he sees the word of the spell engraved on the bullet. He holds it to Sirius who was equally curious about it as well. 

“What if it kills them?” Harry asked. “If you shoot them in the head or the heart then yes. It will kill them. We were taught to shoot them in the non-vital parts of their body until the authorities come and get them.” 

“But sometimes you have to shoot them down.” Your voice gets low and Harry notices the look on Remus' face. 

“Why am I not surprised that our Yankee has a gun.” Sirius said, making you chuckle as he passed the bullet to Harry. 

“I was just as surprised as you when they introduced me to it but it’s America, what do you expect? They love their guns.” You said as Harry gave you the bullet back. 

“You knew about this?” Remus nods at Sirius as you put the gun away. 

“Well, of course. I’m her husband. She taught me how to shoot the damn thing.” Sirius’ mouth dropped, not believing that shy and quiet Remus knows how to shoot a gun. 

“Nearly fell back when I shot it but I got the hang of it.” Remus said, looking over at you. 

“We have lots of catching up to do.” Sirius said, making you nod. 

“That we do. Harry, let me just say you look like James but your eyes are your mothers.” Harry smiled at you. 

“You really do.” Remus said as he grabbed your hand under the table while Sirius told Harry about James going on and on about Lily’s eyes when they were in school. 

Ordering the food and the drinks, Harry’s face hurt from all the smiling and laughter he was doing. You were a breath of fresh air to him. He thinks it’s because you treated him like an adult. You didn’t sugar coat things when Harry asked about Voldemort and stories about his parents. Harry listened attentively to every word you said during dinner. He can see the admiration in Remus’ eyes when you spoke about your job in the states. 

“You said only aurors who do special missions have a gun?” You nod at Harry’s question. 

“What kind?” You wiped your fingers with a napkin before answering. 

“Many missions that required protecting items or people. Sometimes very rich muggles, sometimes wizards or sometimes creatures. Others and I sometimes go out to look out for Death Eaters who have escaped the first war. That’s how we found out that he had been planning on using mind control on the muggles.” 

“He’s been planning other things, Harry.” You said softly.  “He thinks he will win this time around. He has already started making plans once he defeats us, not to take over London but to rule over everything.” 

“He won’t win.” Remus’ voice was firm and strong. 

“He won’t.” You agreed with your husband. 

“That’s right.” Sirius commented before looking over at his godson. “We are here with you, Harry. You are not alone anymore. We are going to stop him once and for all.” 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek to not cry. Harry had Ron and Hermione with him, but it wasn’t the same thing being with Remus, Sirius and you. Ron and Hermione were teens just like him. The three of them had no experience with dealing with war. You reach out your hand across the table to touch Harry’s hand when he doesn't respond right away to Sirius. Harry’s hand is so soft compared to yours and you hope he didn’t reject you. You were relieved when Harry grabbed a hold of it. His eyes looked down at your hand, to him your hands were like Sirius and Moody. You had light scars over your knuckles and he rubbed his thumb over the golden wedding band on your ring finger. You frown when Harry’s eyes begin to fill up with tears when you feel him rub a scar on your knuckles. Harry lets out a whimper when he remembers Cedric’ having a familiar scar like yours on his hand. He remembers because he was holding on to Cedric’s hand for dear life when bringing his dead body back home. 

“I just don’t want any of you to end up like Cedric because of me.” Harry whispered and Sirius was quick to pull him next to him. Sirius wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. 

“No need to cry, my dear boy.” Sirius told him softly as Remus grabbed a few napkins from the table sliding them over to Sirius. Harry still held your hand as you moved his plate away giving you space. 

“Harry.” Remus calls for him over the table. Remus’ heart breaks when Harry looks over at him with teary eyes. He swore that he saw Lily for a second but shook his head to continue. 

“You do know, Cedric’s death was not on you.” Harry was quick to shake his head. 

“Listen to me.” Remus said. “It was not your fault. No one knew he was going to be there. No one knew that he was coming back at that moment. Cedric knew the risk when entering the tournament as well. Peter was the one that killed him. Not you. Peter.” 

“He’s right, my sweet boy.” You said to Harry. You gave him a gentle squeeze on his hand. 

“What happened to Cedric was horrible. You shouldn’t have to experience that but Remus is right. This was not on you. I don’t want to lie to you, Harry. Yes, we may die, we may die tomorrow, in two days, in a year or we may die during the war but I can say this about the three of us.” You looked at Sirius and Remus then back at Harry. 

“Risking our lives for the greater good and to protect you is worth losing our life. We will help you defeat him.” Harry sniffed as Sirius kissed the top of his head. 

“You are not alone. We are here now.” Sirius whispered to Harry as you grabbed Remus with your other hand, the table stood quiet for a few moments. 

“Do you remember when James and you showed me how to ride a broomstick?” You asked Sirius trying to lighten up the mood, Harry seemed to calm down when he heard your question. Sirius lets out a chuckle before Remus does the same. 

“Oh Merlin! We tried to convince your aunt to join the quidditch team.” Sirius said, looking at Harry before grinning at you. 

“What was the first thing you said?” Sirius asked, making you roll your eyes when you realize what you had just done. 

“Do we have to wear those witches hats to start the broom?!” Remus answered in a high pitched voice making you gasp as Sirius and he started to laugh. 

“I didn’t know, okay! I thought it activated the broom. Back home all the witches had those hats on when riding the broom.” You tried to speak over Remus and Sirius’ laughter. You shook your head and looked over at Harry who was smiling again. 

“Your mother yelled at your father for laughing at her and made him wear a witches hat for the entire lesson.” Remus told Harry before looking at Sirius. 

“Let’s just say I did not play Quidditch after that.” You said releasing your hand from Harry. 

“You didn’t like it?” Harry asked as you pushed his plate in front of him. 

“To be honest, flying around and throwing balls was not my cup of tea but watching Sirius and James fly was something out of this world. I’ll never forget the time I saw it, I kept thinking to myself that this was just a dream.” 

Sirius continues to lighten up the mood by telling Harry about a quidditch story from the old days. Remus and you just watched happily as Sirius talked with Harry. Harry needed this, needed time together with his godfather. Time with his family, Remus and you both knew Sirius needed this time with Harry as well. Both of you can see how Sirius looks at Harry, it was the same way he looked at James all those years. James was there at a time when Sirius had nobody, no money and no home. James and Lily’s death had broken Sirius into pieces. 

Remus squeezed your hand under the table before bringing it over his lap. 

You look over at Harry who was finishing with his burger and fries as Sirius spoke. You stared at the scar peeking behind the strands of his dark hair. You felt an overwhelming sensation as you stared at the kid across from you. You can see glimpses of James trying his first greasy burger. You bit the inside of your cheek when Harry laughed at a joke Sirius had just made. 

You saw flashes of Lily, laughing. Harry’s eyes sparkle the same way Lily's did. You look away when you feel Remus gives your hand another gentle squeeze. Looking at your husband, he gives you a look. No words had to be said, you knew what Remus was asking. He was asking if you were OK, you just nod. 

Remus started to rub your arm under the table, it made you feel at ease. You missed Remus so much. You only got to see him after weeks of doing missions. You missed his warmth, his presence and his touch. It was hard at first when you left after being together for so long. You felt like you didn’t know how to live the first few weeks away from him. Remus and you were like a team from the very beginning, you met him. You had brought him up from the lowest point in his life and he did the same with you. 

“Dream team.” He would say to you. He said those very words to you when you left. You left because you needed the money. After everything, Remus and you were all alone. Barely making it by. No one wanted to hire a werewolf and he had refused to let you work because he knew deep down that Fenrir Greyback was still alive. Remus was in tears when he begged you not to work in London.

 “I can feel him for some reason when I’m a werewolf. I know he’s alive. Sometimes during a full moon, I hear his howl and if he is still alive that means you know who can still be alive. They can still be looking for you.” 

“Okay. I won’t work here.” You told him before hugging him. Trying to console him because he was in tears. As much as Remus tried to forget about Greyback, there was no point because they were connected to each other. Grayback was the one who bit Remus making him into a werewolf. They will always be connected.

Dumbledore was kind enough to contact the Ministry of Magic in the states. They knew about you and oh how excited they were to have someone like you over there because who shall not be named had died causing a few Death Eaters escaping from their homes to reside in the states and of course they were causing havoc. 

The money was fine and it helped with restoring the cottage, Remus and you lived there. It helped Remus get by, not as much but bearable. He always felt bad taking money from you, his hard-working wife, who was risking her life every day. He has done a few muggle jobs here and there but he will always get fired at the end for missing work too much after the full moon. Most of the money went towards his Wolfbane potion, such an expensive thing it is. It was something that you told him at first when giving him money. Remus didn’t want to take it, saying it wasn’t right and fair but you simply shook your head at him before telling him. 

“The thought of you being alone, not in your right mind while I am across the world hurts me. I won’t always be there during a full moon to hold you and take care of you but knowing that you have taken your potion. I know you will be alright and it makes me happy.” 

The days when you came back to the cottage was everything to both you. Coming home to Remus after a long mission was what you needed to come back. Meaning, missions were always physically and mentally utterly exhausting. You have seen death and destruction during your missions and sometimes you were the one to cause it. You have lost coworkers and friends throughout the years. Remus would hold you until the next day, allowing you to cry and scream. He would wake you up from your nightmares. This went both ways, you were so happy when you came back home when a full moon was going to happen. You enjoyed taking care of him, healing him and providing for him. It reminded you of  the old days when both of you were at Hogwarts. 

You would wipe the blood from his cuts on his body when the boys would bring him back from a full moon. You would ease his pain and anger when a full moon would be near. Remus would cast a spell for you to stop your bleeding nose or hold you after you were bullied. He’s been with you after everything you had endured in Hogwarts and your home. 

You looked over at Harry again, you saw he was done with his food and was speaking with Remus and Sirius. Looking out the window you saw the sun was setting, taking a peek of your watch, you let out a tsk. “I should take Harry back. It’s almost curfew over there.” 

Harry looked sad at this and you were quick to grab his hand that was laid on the table. 

“This isn’t our last dinner, you know. We are finally together again, all of us. Not trying to be the overbearing aunt but you can send me letters. Use the floo to come over. Maybe spend the weekend at our place, perhaps invite your friends over as well. Remus has told me good things about them.” Harry nods at you with a bright smile. 

All his life, his real family didn’t want anything to do with him. Petunia had never once made him feel this wanted and loved. He felt like this was a dream and he was scared that he would wake up soon and all of this would be gone. 

“I’ll take him back, you boys stay here.” You said standing up grabbing your jacket from the hook outside of the booth. Remus stands up to kiss your cheek, telling you to be careful as Harry said his goodbye to Sirius. 

Waving bye at Remus and Sirius, you walked out of the restaurant. “Wait, I have-.” You stuff Harry’s money back into his pocket. 

“No need, my dear.” You said as you signal Harry to follow you.  “Thank you for dinner.” Harry said. 

“Let’s walk for a bit.” You told him as you walked down the block. 

“I didn’t mention anything about my time in Hogwarts in the restaurant but if you like, I can tell you a little bit as we walk. Maybe one day, I'll tell you all about it.”  Harry nods at you and he notices how tense you became while stuffing your hands in the pockets of your coat. 

“I really didn’t have a good time at first in Hogwarts. I came in pretty late. In the fifth year, I didn’t know much. To be honest, I didn’t know anything about magic. I was an outcast and I was bullied because I was a muggle-born. It did not help that I was in Slytherin, how they hated me at first until they saw the potential in my magic. Some students were kind to me while others were just plain cruel.” 

“Did your parents know about the bullying?” Harry asked you as both of you crossed the street to a small park. 

Harry saw your eyes closed for a minute before stopping at the corner. “Not really, home was even worse for me.” 

Harry frowns as he looks up at you. “My mom died when I was young and my father was an alcoholic who liked to hit.” 

“You said he was, does that mean he stopped drinking?” Harry asked and you shook your head. 

“He died a few years ago. My father would’ve never stopped. I’m sure if he could, he would be drinking in hell.” You noticed the look in Harry’s eyes. 

“No need to look sad.” Harry lets out a deep breath. 

“When Remus said you had a rough life, I didn’t think it would be that. I thought it was only my family but not yours.” Harry flinched when you got close to him. You stared at his eyes and he saw your nostrils flare. 

“The Dursleys?” You said. “What have they done to you?” Your eyes grew hard when he didn’t say anything.  

“Harry! Tell me?” You asked him. Harry shook his head at you but the look in his eyes told you something else. 

“It’s over now. They don’t do anything anymore.” He lied. You pulled Harry into a hug and kissed the top of his head. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” He heard you whisper as he hugs you back. He shut his eyes tight as you held him, not caring that his glasses were pressed tight against you.  Harry looks up at you as you push his hair away from his face. You cup his face with your hands. 

“They will never touch you again. I swear it.” Harry just stares at you. You said it so nonchalantly that he almost believes you.

“People like us, we survive. We survive because we have endured it. We lived through that pain inflicted by others. Use that to your advantage, my dear.” 

“Don’t tell Sirius about it. I haven’t told anyone about it. I get enough pity and looks from people because I’m Harry Potter.” 

 “I know what you mean. Wanting to be normal, wanting to be like everyone else. The stares and the whispers.” Harry agrees with you with a nod. 

“They do it right in front of you so you can hear it.” Harry comments and it pained you that he had to deal with that.

Harry and you walked for a few blocks as you told him more about your time in Hogwarts. You told him how it was Dumbledore, who found you. Dumbledore was the one to take you away from your home and take you to Hogwarts. You told Harry that the whole experience felt out of this world. You were in your bedroom when you heard someone walk inside the apartment. Harry tried to cover his laughter when you told him you thought Dumbledore was a crackhead that let himself in and you had called the most powerful wizard an old man to his face. 

Checking your watch one more time, you told Harry it was really time to go back. Grabbing his hand, you apparated in front of Hogwarts by the gates. You walk up the hill with him, telling him about the first time you went to Diagon Alley. He smiled and he told you about his experience with Hagrid. Hagrid took him away from his family on his birthday. Standing in front of the castle, you hugged Harry one last time. You kissed his forehead as you said your goodbye. 

“You know I wasn’t lying about sending me letters and coming over. You can always spend the summer with me and Remus. I know for a fact Sirius wouldn’t mind if you stay with him. He said he was fixing the house for you to live with him.” Harry smiles. 

“Can I call you aunt or Yankee? Maybe aunt Yankee?” Harry asked and you answered with a yes. 

“Whatever you wish, my dear boy. I know Remus would love it if you called him uncle Remus or uncle Moony.” 

“Really?” Harry asked. “Yes, we may not be your blood family, Harry but Remus and I think of you as our own.” Harry remembers what Remus had told him about you fighting for him when he was a baby. 

“But, I must confess something to you, Harry. I need to say this because I don’t want to keep secrets from you.” You told him. 

“You can choose whether or not you still want to talk to me but I need to tell you that I have done things in my life that I am not proud of. I have killed and hurt people, bad people. The most despicable people that you can think of.” 

Harry watched as you looked over at Hogwarts with a sad look on your face. It was the same look Sirius had when he first saw Hogwarts again after 12 years. He saw tears rolling down your eyes as you looked at the castle. 

“I need you to understand I would never hurt you. I will kill myself before I ever hurt you. I needed you to know because there is a war coming and I will be something else when it comes. I have fought in battles over in the states, I have done things to survive, to ensure my safety and others. I don’t want you to think of me as different because of it.” 

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest while you spoke. By the look on your face, he knew you were telling the truth. 

“I believe you. I believe you won’t hurt me, Yankee.” You smiled at him as you quickly wiped your tears away. 

“Go before you get into trouble.” You said waving goodbye at him. You were about to turn around when you heard him yell aunt. He gave you a last goodbye before walking inside. 

--

Remus and Sirius were still in the restaurant, they had ordered another round of beer when you walked back inside. 

“How did it go?” Remus asked you as the waiter came back with 3 pints of beer. 

“Good.” You answered them and thanked the waitress. 

There was a silence between the three of you and Sirius quickly rose up from his seat when he saw you started to cry. Remus made room for Sirius to sit down and tugged you close to him. Remus wrapped his arm around your torso, while you covered your face with your hands. Your shoulders shook while you sobbed. Sirius leaned his head against your shoulder. Dropping your hands from your face, you let out a deep breath. 

“I told him what I have done. Told him about the killing. He still called me his aunt afterwards. I thought I was going to lose him. I thought he was going to call me a murderer.” 

“You are NOT a murderer. You have done things to survive. For your team to survive. You have stopped people who have done terrible things. People who kill. People who raped the innocent. Harry is smart. He knows the difference.” Remus told you. 

“He’s right, Yankee. Harry knows. He has a good heart. He did a noble thing for Peter. Told me he didn’t think his father would have wanted his two best friends to be killers.” Sirius said softly and you felt Remus tense up. 

You look ahead and drag Sirius’ pint of beer in front of him. You gave thought to what Sirius told you. You shut your eyes when you remember James telling you something after your wedding. 

James had caught you watching Remus and Sirius dancing in the middle of the dance floor. You were leaning against the railing of his backyard porch. 

“How long have they been going at it?” You look over at James who was smiling at them. 

“For a while now, they are doing every song on the record of Queens.” You answered, making James laugh. He looks over at you. 

You raised an eyebrow at him when James kept looking at you. “You alright?” James nods and shoots a quick glance at Remus before looking back at you. 

“I’m just happy you guys are together.” You nudge your shoulders at James. “James, you are such a sap.” 

“I’m serious. I just know you’ll take care of him.” 

Looking over at James. His blue eyes shine with unshed tears. “You are the strongest person I know. I’m happy he has you. I was worried that after school is done he will be alone and have no one.” 

“I know he’s good to you. After everything I’m glad you are with Remus. He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. I was just so worried, especially with everything that happened. I love him, he’s my brother. Just as I love you, Yankee. You’re the sister I always wish I had.” You glance over at Remus who was bending down, holding his stomach in laughter as Sirius tried to do the worm.  

“I’ll take care of Remus if you take care of Sirius.” James gives you a smile. 

“Lily and I are going to ask him to move in with us.” You grew happy at that idea, you had no doubt in your mind that Sirius would refuse. 

Remus' touch made you open your eyes and you were back at the diner. You looked down at your own cup taking another deep breath, watching the foam on the beer before looking ahead.  

‘Don't worry, brother. I’ll take care of them and Harry.’ You said to yourself as you grabbed the handle of the cup. 

“I’m gonna kill that fucking rat.” You told Sirius and Remus then brought the cup to your lips. Sirius and Remus shared a look behind you, they knew you meant Peter. 

“We know.”  Remus and Sirius said simultaneously. They took a sip from their drinks as well. The three of you could have sworn the ghost of Lily and James sat across from the booth. James had his arm around Lily’ shoulder as they laughed. Drowning the pint, Sirius ordered another round. The three of you kept talking and drinking until late. Sirius, Remus and you were reminiscing about the past. Talking about everyone, talking about the pranks Sirius and James used to pull. Before you knew it, you were helping Remus carry Sirius back home. 

“He hasn’t had a drink in 12 years and now he’s a lightweight.” You said as Remus opened the door of the house. 

“He’s always been a lightweight, love.” Sirius gasps loudly before laughing out loud making you snort as you and Remus help him up the stairs. 

“You’re gonna have one hell of a headache, Pads.” You said as Remus opened the door of his room. Sirius let out a giggle when saw his bed and threw himself on top of the covers ignoring Remus calling out for him. 

“You need to change.” Remus told him as you started to remove Sirius’ shoes while Remus walked to the dresser across the room. 

“Just like old times.” You told Remus who walked back to you and laid a pair of pajamas on the edge of the bed. You dropped one of Sirius’ shoes on the ground before working on the other.

“Thank god, he doesn’t throw up like James.” You commented, making Remus groan as he remembers cleaning James' throw up. You had taken them to a bar in New York and it was the first time James and Sirius had tequila. 

“Let me get him a glass of water and a bucket just in case.” Remus said leaving the room as you grab a blanket from the closet. You walked towards him and laid the blanket over him. Sirius calls your name softly as you tuck him in. He grabs your hand. 

“I’m glad you're here.” You smile at your drunk friend. 

“I’m glad to be here too.” You said while unbuttoning  the first top buttons of his dress shirt so he would be comfortable. 

“We should change your shirt at least. Can you move?” You asked him softly before adding that he would feel much better with a sleeping shirt on.  You smiled to yourself when Sirius agreed with you. 

You grabbed the shirt, Remus laid out as he started to remove his jacket and button down shirt. You froze at the amount of tattoos on his body. He looked fragile and you can see his rib cage. You bite down on your tongue to not cry. Sirius used to be buff back in the day, he was more fuller since he played quidditch. You helped him put  the shirt on and he dropped back down with a sigh. You folded his dress shirt and jacket, you looked over at him to see him staring at the ceiling. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of Harry if the ministry finds me to take me back to Azkaban.” 

“Sirius.” You gently said bringing the blanket up to his chest. He looks away from the ceiling at you. 

“If they try to take you away again. I’ll protect you. I’ll fight them.” Sirius takes your hand with his, bringing it up to his chest. You can feel his heartbeat. 

“I missed you guys so much. Remus has told me so much and - and I  don’t want us to break apart. Stay with me here, the both of you. Don’t- please don’t go back to the cottage. Remus can use the basement when there is a full moon.” Sirius rambles and his words become twisted with tears that were running down his face. 

“I’ll speak with Remus about it, okay? You need to sleep now, Si.” Sirius nods at you as you wipe the tears from his face with your fingers. 

You hear Remus behind you and he placed the glass of water on the nightstand, he puts the bucket by Sirius’ side. You give a look at Remus when he notices Sirius was crying. 

“I’m going to get changed. Goodnight, Si.” You said patting Sirius on the leg and walking out of the room to Remus’ room. You shut the door when you heard Sirius talking with Remus. 

You hear Sirius begin to cry. “Don’t leave me alone. Please Moony. I want both of you to stay here.” You slowly walk away from the door. 

After calming Sirius down and waiting for him to fall asleep Remus quietly shuts the door behind him and walks towards the guest bedroom. Remus starts to unbutton his cardigan as he walks inside, shutting the door. He hears the shower is on, looking over at the bathroom door. He smiles to himself, he’s smiling because you’re here. 

He was happy when he received your letter, telling him you will be returning home. Dumbledore contacted the Ministry of Magic in the states, requesting your help permanently. Remus was surprised when you sent another letter saying you will be arriving a week late due to work. Nevertheless, you were coming back. Remus lets out a sigh as he sits on the edge of the bed, removing his watch and shoes. He hears the shower turn off. A few minutes later, you walk out of the bathroom with a white towel around your body. 

“How is he?” You asked, walking towards him, Remus grabs your hand pulling you closer to him. You stood between his long legs. 

“Sleeping.” Remus answers as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He can smell the body wash on your skin, your hair is damp and he watches the water droplets dribble down your arms. 

“I think we should stay for a while, love.” You nod at him, agreeing with him. 

“Yeah. We should. Seeing him crying like that hurts me.” Remus looks up at you. 

“It hurts me too. I feel stupid for not believing he was innocent. You were right all along.” Remus said, wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him, pressing his face against your body. You ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Do not feel stupid, Remus. At one point I thought he did it but it’s in the past now. Sirius is here with us now. Sirius is alive and we know who betrayed our friends. We know who the real culprit is.” You look down and held Remus’ face in your hands making him look up at you. Your chest tightens at the sight of his red eyes. He let out a soft sob as he shook his head. 

“He was all alone there. He looks so different now. So pale and skinny.” Remus’ voice cracks. 

“I know. I know but we will help him now. He won’t be alone anymore. We are here and Harry is with us. No more being alone.  No more. We are finally together, a family. “ Remus nods. 

“Together.” Remus said, you lean down to kiss him. You pull away to kiss his forehead then hug him again. 

“I missed you so much.” He tells you. “Me too, baby.” 

You feel Remus’ hand touch your bare legs. You truly missed him, it wasn’t the same. Your fingers, the toy you had wasn’t the same as him. He gently squeezed the back of your legs before making their way up to your hips under the towel. 

You wanted to tell him about Harry and what he told you about the Dursley. You wanted to do something about it. Remus kissed your arms that were over his shoulders. 

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks you in a worried tone. You weren’t surprised. Remus knew your body better than you. Plus it helped that both of you were bonded together. Remus kept looking at you and you grew anxious at your idea that you had. You just hope that he won't get mad at it. 

“Baby.” You smiled when he said that. You remember like it was yesterday when you first called him that when you started dating him. He had blushed at the word and asked you if that’s what girlfriends and boyfriends called each other in the states. 

“I have to tell you something.” You said in a shaky voice. 

--

The night was cold as you stood in front of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. You drew your wand out as you stared at the white front door. The locks undid itself from the inside out and the door opens. 

Walking inside you looked around, you heard snoring coming from upstairs. Shutting the door behind you, you walked further inside. You were about to make your way into the kitchen when you came to a halt when you stood in front of the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Staring at the door, you felt something heavy on your chest. That feeling was there, the same feeling that has helped you throughout your missions. Facing the door, you looked at the small lock on it. Pointing the lock with your wand, it unlatches itself and the lock drops down onto the carpeted ground. Pulling the door open, the end of your wand lit up. Your eyes grew wide when you saw a pillow and a blanket on a thin and raggedy mattress. Looking around you saw drawings taped on the wall with Harry’s name written on the bottom corner of the papers, you took a deep breath as you continued to look around and stopped when you saw three little toys, soldiers to be exact. Dust has collected over them and you took a step away from the cupboard. The door shuts itself. 

You hoped it wasn’t true. Your hands shook and you let out a sigh before slamming your fist on the door hard. You pushed yourself away from the door and walked into the kitchen/living room. You walked in front of the fireplace in the living room. Your eyes loomed over the picture frames above the fireplace. You growled at the sight of Petunia with her husband and her kid. All the pictures were of three of them. There were no pictures of Harry. 

You let out a shout as you waved your wand at the massive amount of picture frames above the fireplace. The frames came crashing down making noise, you look over at the frames hanging on the wall. There was no Harry and another crash came down. 

Vernon woke up from the sound of it. Petunia quickly woke up as well and told him to go down. Vernon got up and began to walk down the steps to the living room with Petunia behind him. There was another crash and Vernon decided to shout for the intruder to stop. Vernon froze when he walked into the kitchen/living room. It was a complete mess, glass from the picture frames were everywhere. The dining table was flipped over and the couch was ripped open, the white stuffing was pulled out. 

“What is going on here!?” Vernon shouted as Petunia walked beside him. She let out a gasp not because of the state of the room but because of you. You were sitting in front of the fireplace, facing them while you sat on a dining chair. You had a leg over the other as you leaned back. Vernon's eyes grew wide when he saw you had a cigarette hanging from your lips. 

“Petunia. You haven’t changed a bit. You still look like shit.” You said looking at Lily’s older sister. She wore a nightgown and hair rollers on top of her head. Vernon had a gray shirt and plaid pants along with a dark blue robe. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Vernon shouted making his way to you but you pulled out your wand and pointed it at him making him freeze. 

“You are one of those freaks.” He shouts at you as you blow smoke out from your mouth. He gets more mad when the ashes fall on the ground. 

“What do you want?” Petunia asked harshly, eyeing you up and down.  

“I know something.” Lily’s sister frowns at you as you stare back at her. 

“It has come to my attention on how you have been treating Harry all these years.” The married couple looked at each then down to the ground. 

“Not even trying to deny it?” You asked. 

“You listen here, you bitch. Get out of my house.” Vernon snapped at you and you laughed while throwing the cigarette in the fireplace. 

“I’ll leave after I’m done with you.” They jumped when they saw you disappear in mid air. Vernon shouted when he felt you behind him, your wand pointing at his fat neck. He raised his hands up, in surrender. 

Petunia was going to jump at you when you pulled your gun out with your other hand and pointed it at her head. She lets out a gasp at the sight of the barrel aiming at her.  

“Don’t you fucking dare. Stand by the wall.” You hissed at her without removing your eyes at Vernon. She obey and leaned against the wall behind you. 

“I want to know everything.” You said tilting your head at Vernon. He winced when he felt a horrible sensation in his head. You stared at him as you read his mind. Your teeth grinded together as you watched how they treated Harry. Locking him up under the stairs for days ends, sometimes without water and food. You gave him a frown when you saw how poorly they treated Harry.

Petunia saw your body shake as Vernon shouted in pain. “Stop it! Stop it!” She shouted and Vernon fell down to the ground. Your hand holding the wand dropped down to your side. The grasp on your gun tightened as you turned around to look at her.  

“Your own nephew, your flesh and blood.” Petunia flinched under your gaze. She started to cry when you cocked the gun and walked closer to her. You were standing right in front of her. 

“You really are a heartless bitch. You are filled with hate because you were jealous of Lily. Do you know how many times I comforted her because of you? She just wanted her sister to love her.” Petunia sobbed when she felt the barrel of your gun under her chin. You let out a scoff at the sight of her and for a second her eyes looked over your shoulders.  

“Run!” Petunia shouted and you looked over to see Vernon had gotten up and was now running to the front door. Vernon managed to open it and froze when he saw a tall man with scars on his face standing by the entrance. 

“Mr. Dudley.” Vernon’ eyes were wide when he felt something touch his stomach. The man was holding a wand. 

“Get back inside. Right fucking now.” You gave Petunia a smile when you heard Remus. 

Remus slammed the door behind him as Vernon walked inside backwards into the living room.  Remus looks at you and you allow him to look inside your mind. Petunia shouted when Remus let out a growl and grabbed Vernon from the scruff of his neck and slammed him against the wall. His hand wrapped around Vernon’s neck as the images of Harry being abused ran through his mind. 

Vernon flinched at Remus’ low growl. 

“I’m not the only one that is angry. Petunia, I can feel and hear his thoughts. He wants to kill your husband.” You whispered to her. 

“What do you want?” Petunia cried as she looked over your shoulder at Vernon. 

“Are you going to do what I say?” She nodded frantically as tears ran down her face. 

“You swear?” You asked as you moved the gun to the crown of her forehead. 

“I swear!” She shouted with all her might. 

“Next time Harry comes here. You will treat him like a son. Do you understand me if he comes to this place for any fucking reason you better treat him right? You will not lock him up in his bedroom upstairs anymore. You’re so fucking lucky you switch rooms because if he was still sleeping under the fucking stairs I would have blow your husband brains out.” Petunia sobbed at you but nodded. 

“I promise. I promise.” 

“Petunia if you lie to me and keep treating Harry like that.” You grab her chin, making her look down at you. 

“I’m going to take your precious son away from you.” You pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her. Petunia trembles against you as she sobbed. 

“You have no idea the extent I will go through to protect my loved ones.” You whispered in her ear. 

“Now, since we have that settled. I will know if you tell anyone about this and if you do tell anyone, even Harry. Your husband dies and your son gets taken away.” 

Remus looks over his shoulder as Petunia promises you. She’s sobbing and her cries started to get to him. His grip on Vernon tightened as Petunia cried out once more that she would keep promise. Remus glanced back at Vernon, his eyes hard and jaw clenched. 

“Let’s see how much you like it.” Vernon frowns at Remus’ words. You were about to leave the room when Remus forcibly pushed Vernon towards the stairs. The door of the cupboard opens by itself and Vernon is shouting as Remus pushes him inside. 

“I saw it was three days that you left Harry inside of here. Without food or water.” Remus said, placing his hands on the door after he shuts it close. Vernon’s shouting is muffled. 

Petunia cried as you walked away from her towards Remus. You saw him shut his eyes as the door locked itself, a golden line appeared around it surrounding the door. The line dissolved and he tried to open it. It was locked. 

Remus had always been good with charms. 

Remus felt your hand on his back and turned to you. Petunia is standing in horror as she watches the whole thing. She knew about Remus just as she did with you. Tall and lanky Remus was her sister’s best friend in Hogwarts. She remembers being so annoyed that she had to open the door of her home for him. Remus would visit Lily during breaks. She has never seen him look so angry, his eyes were filled with hate. The eyes of Remus Lupin practically glowed as he caught her staring at him. 

“After three days it will open.” Remus said before taking to your hand. 

“Say hello to Dudley for me.” You told her before walking out of the house with Remus. The front door shuts close by itself when both of you step out. Last thing you heard before leaving was Petunia banging on the door of the cupboard. 

Remus and you appear back at grimmauld, he opens the door for you and sees Kreacher standing on top of the stairs. He gives Remus and you a look of disgust before disappearing in mid air. 

“What an angel.” You said sarcastically while removing your coat, Remus doesn't say a word, he takes your coat and hangs it up along with his on the coat rack. 

You look over your shoulder to see Remus staring at the coat rack. His shoulders are tense and you hug him from behind, wrapping your arms around his torso as you lay your head against his back. You inhaled the scent of cigarette and laundry detergent on him. He was waiting outside the house in case someone had escaped. Remus was smoking as he watched you enter the home of the Dursley.  

“Thank you for coming with me.” You said as you felt him grab a hold of your hands. You were nervous he wouldn't come with you to deal with them. 

“I didn't want to believe it at first.” Remus’ voice crack. “When I saw his memories, I wanted to kill him. Kill him for treating Harry so badly.” 

“We could have raised him better.” You shut your eyes tightly letting him talk. Not being able to be Harry’s parent was heartbreaking for you but it broke Remus. The last connection he had of Lily and James was gone.

“We didn't have much but we would have done a better job than them.” Remus' body shook and you held him tighter. 

“We have him now. We have protected him from them. He has two years left until he can decide where to live. I think we scared the Dursley enough for two years.” Remus turns to face you. 

“Did you mean when you said that you would have killed him, you would kill the husband?” Remus asked and you looked up at him. You nodded at him. 

“I would have.” You said. “Seeing young Harry crying under the stairs-.” You shook your head trying to get rid of the thought. You were getting angry. 

“Watching him go hungry and that piece of shit taunting him.” Remus is silent and you can see he was thinking. 

“Are you afraid of me?” You asked him softly looking into his eyes, hoping not to see fear. You don’t think you will be able to handle it if Remus was afraid of you. Remus wasn’t kept in the dark from the missions you had done. He knew every person you killed and every person you prisoned. He was there in the states after a terrible mission went wrong years ago, he was told of the horrors you had endured. You were gone for four months before you were founded along your team. 

“No.” He told you, bringing his hands up to cup your face. Your hair was now dried and you wore an old sweater you took from him and a pair of dark jeans. 

“I can never be afraid of you.” Remus mumbled against your forehead then pressed a kiss against it.  His lips went down to kiss the side of your face, you shut your eyes as he rubbed your cheek with his thumbs as he continued to kiss you. He leans down to capture your lips. 

He drinks your moan as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He pushed you gently against the wall, he had you pin up as he pulled away from your lips. With his forehead against yours, he’s breathing heavily. 

“I missed you so much.” He whispers and you wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him. Remus whines as you make out with him. He smirked against your lips when he felt your hands on his hips, fingers making their way to his belt. 

You pull away from his lips to catch your breath, you look at him with hooded eyes as you undo his belt and unzip his trousers. 

“I missed you too. So bad, I would-oh god. I would touch myself with your sweaters back in the states.” Remus lets out a pleased groan as his fingers work with the button of your jeans. 

“Did you cum on it?” Remus asks as your mouth drops open when he slips his hands inside your pants. He licks his lips when he feels your soft curls on your mound. The tip of his fingers are wet when he rubs against your clit. 

“Yes.” You whine as Remus kisses your neck as his fingers swirled around your clit, pressing hard against it. You grabbed his arms when he nibbled on your neck. 

He moans when he licks the healed bite mark on your neck as he fastens his strokes, you blush at the sound of your wet cunt. Remus growls when your underwear restricts him from going faster. He removes his hand and quickly takes you to the living room. 

You push him on to the dark green couch that stood in front of the fireplace, it was on. Kreacher must have started a fire to keep the old house warm. Remus watches as you tip your shoes off. He blinks and he sees you have used magic to remove your pants and underwear before he can do the same thing. You got on top of him, straddling him. 

Remus meets your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands rubbed your outer legs before pushing the sweater you had up, showing your bare chest. He groaned when he felt your bare chest, you didn’t put on a bra. The thought of you without wearing one made him grow harder. 

“Fuck.” You whispered, pulling away from his lips when he rubs your nipple with one hand. Remus licks his lips watching your pretty face. 

He feels your cunt against this groin, he’s biting his bottom lip when your hips swirled on him. It’s been too long, too long without you. Remus counted the days whenever you were to return back home. Days would be spent together, in bed and out of bed. Enjoying each other's bodies and minds. Remus felt like he was a teenager again when you removed his sweater and threw it over the couch. Remus’ mouth dropped when he saw your naked figure. He will always be amazed by it. 

You looked like a painting to him. Years working as an auror was shown on your body, there were few scars over your shoulders and arms. Some were on your legs and thighs. Scars from your childhood, is a reminder to Remus how strong you are, how you survived. Remus knows how many you have, he has kissed each of them. Just as you did to him. His heart fills up with warmth when he remembers the days after a full moon. You would kiss his fresh scars, kiss his lips and remind him how much you loved him. 

Remus watches you place your hands on his chest when you move your hips. Your wet pussy is soaking the crotch of his trousers. 

Remus grabs you by the hips and pushes you to rise up. He’s breathing heavily as he pushes his trousers and boxers further down. His cock springs out and he’s looking up at you as he teases your slicked lips with the head of his cock. You gasped when you felt his fat head rub against your clit. 

“Please.” Remus begs and you slowly lower yourself down on his cock. He helps you when you cry out when you slide down on his girthy shaft. He groans when your tight cunt clenches around him. His hands grips your hips, he breathes through his mouth, trying to calm himself, to not lose control and start thrusting upwards. 

“Oh baby - is so big.” You tell him with a high pitched whine. Remus groaned when you began to roll your hips, his hands on your hips started to help you to move up and down. He was getting impatient, he had to feel you cum in his dick. It’s been so long since he felt your cunt cumming on him. 

Moaning his name, you look down at Remus. He brings a hand to your face, pulling you down to lay your forehead against his. His eyes were wide as he stared at you while riding him. Your nails were digging on the shirt he wore. You imagined him naked, oh fuck Remus was still in clothes but you couldn’t stop. How could you stop when his cock is hitting you on your sweet spot. It made your toes curl up,  Remus started to speak in Welsh. His voice is low and deep, you clenched around him once more. 

You knew a few words here and there but hearing him speak in his mother tongue made your pussy drool. You rode him harder, the couch under him creaked. 

“That’s it. That’s it, yes.” Remus praised you as he kissed your neck. You cry out when you feel his teeth on your neck, throwing your head back when he grabbed your hips with both hands and pulled you all the down to his lap. 

A growl escapes from his lips and he begins to thrust his hips upwards. He struggles with his trouser now and you swore you can hear it rip. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. 

“Remus.” You cry out when he starts pounding you from underneath. Your clit is rubbing against his happy trail. You feel him deep inside of you when you cum. Remus is cupping your ass, squeezing it as you cum on him. Remus groans as he squishes his face against your chest. His mouth finds your nipple and he starts to suck on it while you twitch on his cock. 

Remus feels you gush in his lap and it makes him release his load deep inside of you. You feel his nails digging into your skin, you drop your weight on him and he welcomes it. Wraps his arms around your torso and pulls you close as he leans back on the couch. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, Remus is breathing heavily as he holds you. He hears your heart beating so loudly as he is still pressed against your chest. Your arms around his shoulder move up to his neck. He looks up when he feels you push his hair away from his face. 

“Fy nghariad.” (My love.) You whispered to him in welsh. 

---

Sirius wakes up with a massive headache. He sat up as he pushed his messy curls out of his face. Rubbing his eyes with his hands, he groans when he starts to remember last night. He was crying, Remus was in tears, Harry cried and you cried. Fuck, everyone was crying. 

But even with all the crying and the sad feelings. Sirius smiled as he remembered your words, back together as a family. 

He remembered Remus’ words before he fell asleep. His dear friend had grabbed his hands and assured him that they would be staying with him. Sirius' smile didn’t falter, he rose up from his bed and grabbed his wand from the night stand. He had no doubt, it was Remus who placed it knowing he was going to need it. 

Sirius opened the door of his bedroom and walked out. Looking down the hall all the way at the end. He sees the guest bedroom door is closed, he keeps walking to the staircase. 

‘I’ll let them rest.’ Sirius tells himself. Sirius knew that Remus and you would want to sleep in. He makes his way into the living room when he almost slips. He shouts loudly but catches himself in time. With his hand on the wall, he looks down to see a sweater. 

It couldn’t be his because he has never worn a sweater that wasn’t his quidditch sweater. Plus it was dark green, green isn’t his color. He looks around the living room to see other pieces of clothing around the living room.

“Ridiculous, this is. That werewolf and mudblood are messy and leave their disgusting clothes everywhere.” Sirius rolled his eyes and was about to walk into the kitchen when he noticed a pink underwear by the edge of the rug. 

His cheeks flared up in a blush and he’s about to continue on to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He yells at Kreacher to answer it as he walks into the kitchen. He gives a silent thanks to that old grouchy elf when he sees the kettle was on. He grabs a cup and a plate from the wall and Kreacher pops near him. 

“Master Black. Someone strange is here for the mudblood.” Sirius’ eyes darkened once Kreacher repeated that foul name again. He had to stopped it, if you going to stay here. He pointed a finger at Kreacher. 

“Stop saying that. I mean it.” Kreacher just bows and Sirius walks out of the kitchen to the living room. At first Sirius believes he’s still sleeping. There’s a man, a cowboy. A tall man with blue jeans along with a sliver large buckle belt and light beige color suit jacket, he has a brown cowboy hat on top of his head and it matches with his brown boots. 

“Howdy, there sir. The name is Miles and I’m lookin’ for Mrs. Lupin.” 

Before Miles, the cowboy can speak again. Sirius just yells loudly as he stares at the man in front of him. 

“YANNNNNNKEEEEEEEEE!!” 

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

[liveyun]

h a e g e u m | 01

banner by the lovely @archivededits ♡⁠˖

pairing. yoongi x female reader.

genre. mini series. crime au. angst. thriller(?). smut

w. (01) mentions of smoking, injuries, k*lling, corruption, injection (!!)

tags. @secfir

teaser | part 2

--

01. RED ALERT

--

She knew something was wrong when she looked at him in the CCTV footage frame by mind numbing frame,for the first time.

However, she her doubts were confirmed when she saw him—for the second time— in the alley near a collapsible gate—skinny, hunched,coated with crimson, smoking— and realised he was the danger rather than being in danger himself. The sort of danger which is fatal, the sort of danger which relishes in the blazing inferno.

The sort of fatal which increases your heartbeats, the sort of danger you know you're fucked up to feel your stomach churn with exictement. The sort of danger who was wanted all over the country, spreading his wings all over the nation with a rapid growth of that like a disease.

It fell upon her to banish the growth, and boy, it wasn't at all easy. It was the clash of opposite elements facing in a battlefield, the only difference being that there had been no swords and no bloodshed, well, not untill now.

Failures after failures. Injuries after injuries. Despair and despair, yet it felt all like a circus to him.

And the third time she saw him, was in her own custody, but she knew something about this man never changed ever since she first laid her eyes on him. Calm, cool and collected— somehow radiating off how much he's aware of his worth and how much of a pain in the ass he has been to finally get captured. But still, this was all but a game to him— something he plays everyday.

“didn't mean to kill the president, my bad. ”

His bloody wrists remains cuffed— she wonders silently if the cuffs burnt into his skin, for why his flesh seemed to be more than bruised, injuries were spread all over. But once again, that particular glint in his eyes told her that it was nothing new for him.

“ You didn't ? ” her reply comes back as a question, implied with a cool sentiment. His eyes rest somewhere down the table she's seated on, particularly on the gun that rests atop. However, his eyes slowly travels up to her own, and she is surpirsed to see how dark they are. The last time she saw them, they were…brown?

“ Remember to always have the lock on your gun always, officer. ”

“ Beating around the bush won't free you from here, D. ” a small laugh, a displeased one. A light exhale, and once again his eyes trailed down to anywhere but away from hers.

“ I always get away, officer. ”

His eyes flick to hers own, a certain hue of coldness flashing across. Maybe she was an officer, but the slightest of the shivers which ran down her spine was undeniable.

There was a thing to argue on : he was pretty. A criminal with a pretty face was dangerous, for why she sensed him as the danger in the first place. From the ridges of his brow to his feline shaped eyes, and the smooth skin had something to do with the carnal impulses this man had.

“ And how is that, if I may ask you?” No sardonic reply came back, not even a chuckle. His curled hair fell elegantly around his neck and forehead, and you wonder again if he knows how beautiful he is. You ponder that he does, the reason he's so cocky about himself in the first place.

“ You're rather nosy for a cop, officer. ”

“ It's my job to interrogate, D. ” And maybe this reply coaxed a small, harsh laugh at you, almost like a hiss. The atmosphere feels rather compelling for you, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that the atrocious behaviour has a single intention, and that is to piss the system off.

His eyes suddenly dart up to your own, and you see the malice behind them, floating in subtle threats. His face, slowly comes your view, dried blood sticking to the corner of his mouth. And his lips quirk upwards so full of amusement, that it did feel like a laugh, but it perplexed you, because a rather alarming siren within a distance was heard. A single commotion had your whole office premises in shambles, because this notice meant a single thing.

Red alert.

The man infront of you didn't react much, and this is the first time you've been called to the red alert. The superior authorities had some difficult time to actually acknowledge that you had caught hold of this hoodlum, or rather the most wanted criminal in the whole Daegu, they were totally astounded in their chairs.

You are totally aware of how treacherous possibilities may occur, now. You did feel dubious when you realised it been way too long for his side to respond,and you must admit that red alert was something you did not expect in the least.

Your phone buzzed in your trouser pants, breaking you from the reverie you had trapped yourself in. Not breaking any eye contact with him, you receive your call.

Lieutenant Police.

“ Officer, we order you to release him, right now. ”

“ May I ask for a reason why? ”

“ You don't ask for a fucking reason why when you're given a red alert within your premises, do you ?”

the voice growls like a mad man, and that voice does not intimidate you, not at all. Even when you know that the red alert is the last warning an officer gets. More of a do or a.. die situation, where you have to do what they instruct, or..

…your straw that you may not survive, and if you do, you'll no longer be accepted as an police officer. The situation is way too dangerous to keep hostage criminals like him,but it's been forty eight hours since you've captured him. Red alerts chime within four hours.

That means you're in grave danger.

Isn't he sitting infront of you already?

“ I still stand regard to my question, Lieutenant. ”

“ The Min Orphanage will break down our department if you don't fucking release the man right now. ”

Min orphanage ?

The man's brows pinch all of a sudden, the only sort of emotion other than sarcasm he has ever let out since. Do you see a flash of..concern in his features?

Your brain refuses to work, because in what actual ways would be a notorious criminal like him, connected to an orphanage, that too in such a way, that it seems like the orphanage is more inclined towards him? Your own brow pinches as you hear a sigh from the other side of the call.

“ Officer, you maybe are yet to realise how much in danger you're in, right now. ”

“ I’m just seeking for answers which have been unspoken and unapproached since, Lieutenant. ”

“ If you do not release him.. ”

there's a sickening silence which follows. However, you can hear chaos from the other side which is rare, because the upper departments are supposed to have a pin drop silence. His eyes never leave your own, and the ticking down of water droplets as Mother Nature starts pouring her soul out, you feel a light throb at the back of your head. His eyes are challenging, captivating, ironic because you're his capturer now.

He's intriguing in so many ways than one.

“ They're all little children here, and in no way we can take any particular option even if you had something on your mind, officer. ”

Another reaction. A light, unamused snort.

Another commotion. Muffled screams and yells are constantly changing their paces as you hear shuffling, and suddenly you're hearing vigorous panting from the other side, and a much older voice.

“ ____, I ORDER YOU TO RELEASE HIM, RIGHT NOW. ”

a voice you never expected to hear, not atleast now.

“ Supreme, he's a threat. A real danger if he's let out—”

“ you. are. ordered to let him go right now, because I absolutely cannot risk my team to sail closer to the wind because of your cheap ego. ”

his voice trembled with rage, and your throat feels dry to hear the screams echoing inwards to your own room. Bangs of gunshots and panicked screams as you hear the snaps of fire outside, most likely advancing towards your own room, now. Silent gangs like these get vigorous at times like these.

Cheap ego.

If your ego is cheap and this situation is playing with fire, you'd rather chose to burn your money to that burning whirls of arrogance. This wasn't easy, it wasn't easy to achieve the victory over the challenging, yet collected eyes of the gangster infront of you. If your team, or rather those puppets who shamelessly dance along to the beat they're instructed to, you'd wholeheartedly admit, that you were the only reason why he's here. Infront of you.

Alas, let people call you selfish and self centred, but you've learnt in this struggling world that if you're not so, you'd be used and thrown around like a rag full of holes. And even if your position is at stake, your years of hardwork going to vain because of this menace infront of you— you cannot help but risk that if you've reached till this far, you will ace your goals. You cannot be a sore loser in the end.

“ I’m not letting him free. ”

Silence, but chaos.

“ You're terminated from your position, Miss ___. ”

The call ended.

And so did your dignity as a police officer.

You close your eyes for a moment. You feel sick; it meant that you were no longer in charge of his custody, the head of your team, and no longer an official. No body would give a fuck if you make out of here alive, or if your dead body is dumped somewhere and you rot. No one would care.

You were ready for this exactly the moment you heard the sirens,but however maybe you weren't totally ready to acknowledge that. Your hands feel clammy by the time you put your phone on the table, and the unpleasant feeling of your hair sticking to your neck is creepy. You sigh, your whole life dedicated to your career was shattered by the system, just because you were inclined for the safety of your people..

..or maybe because you were just a mere puppet, too.

..or maybe you're blinded by anger to actually come out of your haze and take care of what's happening, but it's of no use; you're partially bounded.

“ Wouldn't that be a crime if you'd hit me now, officer? ”

his voice echoed in your ears, and the officer in the end hit you like a pan on your head. He sounded all collected and cool: much to the contradiction to the inner turmoil you were going through. Anger courses in your veins to see his bleeding lips quirk upwards at your misery, but again..is he really the one to blame?

He got what he wanted, the system got ehat they wanted, and even if you're reluctant to see anything else, you know you're the loser here. A sore loser. Indignation rises in your chest as you take a look at him, your head suddenly feeling lighter than usual. Your throat burns to speak, and your heart thrums in it's cage.

“ Thank you, D. ”

“ It'd be better if you start your countdown now, officer. ” his voice is barely a whisper as now there's a sudden throb in your head, and his voice a mere croak by the time you gasp to fill in air inside your lungs. Silence, it's a wicked silence as the murmurs deepen.

Your jaw clenches as you feel the sting, an overwhelming sting, your limbs feel numb, and the wider your eyes open, the blurrier it seems now. The room spins, as the yells increase and the rifles scream, they all turn to a crestfallen murmur.

Is this your end?

Your throat hurts, hurts, and its just an outline of his wrists, cuffed wrists, the mop of black hair, your identity card on the table, his wrists..something held within..what, what.. Your head ducks down in an immediate effort to get a better look, but lolls away immediately, too weak and throbbing to work, and everything goes black.

But screw that, you didn't see the injection needle pricking the skin of your thigh as he injects the whole of the syringe into your system skillfully with his thumb, his eyes burning with rage. The same shit eating grin on his lips, as he sticks his tongue out to lick the dried blood on his mouth.

“ You're welcome, officer. ”

[hongjoongsslvt]

One bite ||Jeong Yunho (MDNI)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho X Fem! Reader (Non-Idol AU)

Warnings: Vampire Reader, Demon/Incubus Jeong Yunho, Deaths mentioned, Mentions of Blood, Strangers to lovers, thats all i can think off.

word count: 1.76k

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I finally put my headphones down, recognizing that I had streamed for over 6 hours, which was definitely one of my longest streams. Leaving my gaming desk, I dressed in a black overside tee and off-white sweatpants, combined with shoes and a baseball hat. I look at the wall clock that hangs directly next to the front door.

2:13 am. A great time to go prowling around the city looking for some fresh blood.

This is the society in which vampires, demons, angels, and other races live in secrecy alongside humans. So it is inherently difficult to obtain adequate nourishment, especially for vampires, whose primary source is blood. Pacts play an important function in this context.

Pacts ensure that no race exploits other races in need of nourishment.

Vampires can feed on anyone of any race, but a pact-bound vampire can only feed on its pact mate; the blood of any other living thing becomes poisonous.

I wander around town alleys, watching intoxicated folks brawl and lie around with no care in the world. I never fancied alcoholic blood, but I'm not in a position to pick favorites. It's easier to feed off a drunk than a sober individual because there's no screaming or running away.

I take a turn down the dimly lit alley, looking around for individuals or surveillance cameras. None. I proceed a few meters forward and notice a strong stench of blood. The sweetest smell I have ever encountered in my decades of life.

I see two bloodied bodies: one tall, well-toned, and the other unidentifiable and clearly dead.

"Hey, "Are you Okay?" I ask the tall, toned man.

No response.

I let out a heavy sigh as I shred the linen at his thighs, sinking my teeth in, soaking up the wonderful blood and injecting a small quantity of my fluid.

Yes, vampires can inject fluid into the region to heal the bite mark and remove the evidence. While pure-blooded vampires can heal anyone, human or vampire, as long as they are alive, the other vampires can only heal less sever wounds, the bite wounds.

I cease feeding off of him, feeling full and satisfied, and wait for the fluid to work its job. I plopped him over my shoulder and walked discreetly back home, avoiding congested areas to avoid raising suspicions.

Placing him on the couch, I prepare the water for the bath while keeping an eye on him. It wasn't the finest idea to drag an injured stranger into my home, but the sweet, addictive taste of his blood overruled my reasonable reasoning. Well, if he is good and keeps his mouth shut, it will be a win-win situation for both; otherwise, what a waste of such sweet tasting blood.

I was quickly brought out of my thoughts as I heard the person groan and wake awake.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I inquired, studying his pale skinned face, which has the nicest but most gorgeous features. What a lucky find.

"Who are you?" the man asked, standing up, his body towering over mine.

"You first, because I am the one who saved you," I answered, looking straight into his eyes. His frightening atmosphere may have worked on others, but not on me.

"I am Jung Yunho," the man said, reclining back on the couch. "Is that enough?"

"Come on, I know that you are definitely not human" I say, checking if he takes the bait, "You gotta be careful, that body is almost unrecognizable"

Despite his calm demeanor, his face was filled with misery and hatred, and he spoke with a heavy sigh.

"I am a demon, An incubus to be precise, that body has brutally murdered my foster family"

"Rest easy, I made sure not to leave evidence" I remarked, setting down a pair of clothes and a towel, "Go get a bath, you are dirty, and I hate messy stuff in my room"

He nods quietly and enters the bathroom, while I clean the couch and vacuum the house.

3:44 am.

I plop down on the couch, searching through websites to update my book collection with new releases.

"I never thought your clothes would be almost perfect fit, how tall are you?" He asks, drying his hair with a towel.

Now that I can see clearly, this man is one of the most stunning people I've ever met, with breathtakingly beautiful body proportions and an ethereal face. I hurriedly return my gaze to the screen, hoping not to be caught salivating over his appearance.

"Probably 180 or 182 cm, so yeah, i am shorter than you by mere centimeters"

"So, since you knew my identity, its only fair to tell yours"

"I am Y/N, a Vampire, purebred," I add as I pay for the books I've opted to read. "Well known to people by the name Lynn, the streamer"

"YOU ARE THAT STREAMER??" Yunho shrieked, almost deafening my hearing; his eyes were filled with joy as he plopped right next to me on the couch, unwittingly releasing his tail and horns.

"You have no idea! I'VE BEEN A FAN OF YOURS FOR A LONG TIME," he said, going into detail about my previous streaming aliases and so on.

"Easy now boy, Put those horns and tail away" I say while asnwering his never ending questions.

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

I normally stream for 20 to 25 years before taking a break and starting again under a different identity so that people don't have suspicions about my race. However, it is only effective against humans, who have significantly shorter lifespans.

"I have a deal, Since you have no where to go, you can stay here, but in return, let me feed on your blood" I' proposed.

"You do realize that biting an incubus is equivalent to forming a pact?" He questioned back. "You have no choice but to feed only on me and same is the case with me"

I really screwed up; I forgot that feeding off a demon is basically forging a pact, now I am at the mercy of this Incubus.

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

The days passed pleasantly; I did my daily streaming, with Yunho occasionally joining in and playing with me. Well, thanks to him, more specifically for his honey sweet voice, which brought in more subscribers and hence more money.

Once a stranger, he now assists me with my daily activities and keeps the room clean. Despite being told that his voice and game play alone are enough to cover his living expenses, he persists on doing it nevertheless.

It's adorable to see him play with his Spider-Man-themed game station and his toy collection; the once-empty guest bedroom has become his land. I look around the house, only to realize that it no longer reflects my tastes, but rather 'our tastes'.

Yunho, the more I got to know him, the more perfect he appeared to be. He took sure to keep his blood in blood packs in case he had to go outside for longer than intended, brought back plushies or anything with phrases like "This looks like you" or "This reminds me of you." My life suddenly feels really lively, and I'm wondering how I've managed to remain alone for so long.

and by the time I realized, i fell for him. My first love.

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

One thing I've noticed about Yunho recently is that he's becoming paler by the day and spending most of his time curled up on his bed, and I haven't fed off of him in a long time. Unlike humans, I don't have to worry about a demon fainting or dying from blood loss, so I'd feed on him heavily at first and then stop until my desire returned.

"Yu, you gotta tell me what's wrong, I can't figure anything out unless you say so," I plead as I sat next his curled up figure on the bed.

"Its nothing, I am just having a little trouble, call mingi over and ask him to bring some meds yeah?" He whispered and shooed me off his room.

That's not it. I have to know what's wrong with him

I picked up the phone and instantly dialed Mingi's number.

"Dude, since you are the same kind as Yunho, tell me what's wrong with him" I said. "I know he spoke about his illness with you"

"Did you ask when was the last time he fed?" He inquired

Oh, the wheels in my brain started turning.

"Well he need to because the fluid provided by vampire is kind of like food to us incubus to live , but what we really need to stay healthy and replenish our powers is of course, sex" Mingi says.

"I'll call you back later," I quickly cut the call off.

"I have been feeding on him all this time and forgot that he needs to feed as well," I mentally slap myself before returning to Yunho's room.

"Yu, I have to feed off you," I add, to which he agrees and lies on his back, raising his wrist. "Do it"

I take his hand, but instead of biting my teeth into his wrist, I grasp both of his hands and straddle him. Yunho instantly stiffens and stares at me, puzzled.

"I really appreciate that you are trying to get me to feed off you, but Y/N, I want to do this with love, I dont want to just have sex for feeding, I dont want to impose on you and make you uncomfortable, I am fine with just your fluid" He looks at me with tears in his eyes.

"I love you Y/N, I genuinely do, I don't want to impose on you, you were there for me when I thought it was the end for me, and as time sped by, I got to see a lot of you. The streamer, the clumsy girl, the tech nerd, the loving one, Of course, you don't have to receive-"

I closed his mouth by kissing him. His lips felt unbelievably soft and full, and hot breath swept across my cheeks. It was a quick kiss, but long enough to let him know the feelings were reciprocal.

"I love you too, Yunho; only after meeting you did I realize that having a pact is a blessing, not a shackle; all of my lonely days are now replaced with joy and laughter; it's as if I've found everything I've ever hoped for in my life. You put life back into my spirit.

I grind my hips against him, leaning onto his body, unable to surpass the sweet whimpers.

"Yu, please~"

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

REBLOGGING IS MUCH APPRECIATED ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

DO NOT PLAGIARISE

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[roguishcat]

Conversations with a vampire - part 6/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter warnings: underage drinking, mentions of attempted sexual assault, self-blame, some canon compliant violence.

Chapter summary: Astarion's typical night is disrupted rather unexpectedly by Tav as she tries to deal with trauma in an unhealthy way.

Setting: Set before the events of the game.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N If you want to be on the tag list for this story or any others, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment.

The Flophouse was especially rowdy on this fine, warm night, if he said so himself. Patrons singing lewd songs and shouting, toasting whoever was paying for their drinks with much enthusiasm. The bar was already surrounded by a sea of drunks clamoring for attention as the bartender poured frothy ale expertly, maneuvering swiftly and swatting hands out of her way. The dim light of flickering candles and oil lamps, the distinctive odors of stale drink and greasy food, the tang of sweat, created an unmistakable atmosphere. It would be overwhelming to many, but not to him. These were his hunting grounds, and Astarion was more than familiar with the ebb and flow of bodies, the hushed conversations between the less-than-reputable types, the loud cheers and enthusiastic shouts of older men regaling their friends with stories from their youth.

Astarion quickly scanned the crowd, clocking in on a nervous tiefling clutching her friend’s elbow like a lifeline. She would do nicely.

“Hey everyone! Drink up! All drinks on me!”

He snapped his head to the side, in the direction of that unmistakable, annoying voice. And indeed, it was Tav at the bar, waving her arms over her head, drinking, and making a spectacle of herself. She looked like it wasn’t the first drink of the evening either, judging by the flush of her face and the slight wobble to her stance. Astarion knew that spawn could not realistically get headaches, but he was sure he could feel one coming on when he saw who was throwing the gold around and attracting too much attention to herself. He moved in her direction slowly but deliberately, dodging elbows and clammy hands.

“Astarion! Hey, it’s my friend!” she squealed in delight, almost falling in her haste to move towards him.

He steadied Tav, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Sorry everyone, this one is finished for the night.”

Ignoring the patrons’ protests and drunken threats, he half-coaxed half-dragged her out of the tavern. She didn’t put up too much of a fight, still clutching the bottle in her other hand as she followed him.

Pushing the door open, Astarion marched out into the back alley with Tav in tow, the girl stumbling gracelessly over the threshold.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” he hissed, putting his hands on his hips in a gesture somehow reminiscent of one made by a disappointed mother.

“Really? I don’t see you in a year and the first thing you do is scold me?” she giggled, taking another swig from the bottle. “Yuck, this is disgusting. Why do people even drink something so horrid? And damn, it’s chilly out here. Or maybe the room was just too hot?” She laughed between gulps.

If she found herself to be terribly amusing, he did not share the sentiment. Nor did he like to be stuck nannying her.

“Argh, sit down. You are cut off,” he grabbed the bottle and poured the wine out before she could grab it from him. “Wouldn’t want you to become a drunk, would we?”

“And why not? I’m already a little shit, a bitch, a bastard child. I think a drunk tops that list rather nicely! And anyway, don’t be such a grouch, I’m celebrating!” she plonked down beside an empty, overturned barrel, propping herself up against the wall.

“And what would that be?” Astarion sighed.

“Why, three nights ago I killed a man.”

She giggled again, but this time it sounded forced and a little manic.

Astarion waited for her to settle down before speaking. “I think I need a little more information than that.”

Tav exhaled with a kind of strangled, pained sound and seemed to visibly deflate after he spoke. She looked up at the starry sky, looking very pale in the moonlight. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the slight shaking of her fingers, goosebumps spread over her exposed arms. Her hair was cut off, uneven, as if someone hacked at it mindlessly. Come to think of it, this was the first time that Tav was not perfectly dressed and groomed. She was wearing a white sleeveless shirt, plain navy trousers and simple leather shoes rather than her usual finery. No wonder she did not stand out at the tavern.

“He is- was a regular at Sharess’ Caress. I saw him around before, sometimes outside in the street. I usually try to stay out of the way during the day, but occasionally I have to leave my room. I bumped into him once accidentally as I was leaving, apologized, and walked away. Since then, his eyes always followed me. He asked about me, was told that I don’t work there and that I am too young anyway.”

She paused, pulling her legs closer to her body, and resting her head on her knees. “I know it’s my fault. I could have asked a servant to bring me something, but I guess I just had to be independent, had to show I can do things for myself.”

She stopped for a moment and took a shuddering breath. “He followed me into the cellar. I just wanted to get something to eat without making anyone fuss. I mean, I am old enough to do some things for myself. And I- I didn’t hear him walking in behind me. The man swayed a little, as if he was drunk when he shut the door behind him. He didn’t smell drunk, though. Oh, no. When he pushed me against the shelves and tried to force my knees apart with his hand, his other hand squeezing my throat, he was very much sober.”

Tav licked her cracked lips and hugged herself. Astarion felt a little sick listening to her because he could guess where this was going. He was not sure if he wanted her to continue, but perhaps it was good for Tav to say this out loud. So, he pulled himself together and resolved to listen to what Tav had to say. If anything, this was his way of repaying her for standing up for him against the other spawn.

“I crashed into the boxes to my right,” she went on, “he loosened his grip. I- I saw a knife sticking out of the block of cheese and lunged for it. He pushed me down and tried to grab me again, but I kicked him in the face. I don’t think he expected this much resistance, wasn’t used to anyone struggling against him.”

“And then I was on top of him and I stabbed him, over, and over again,” her eyes were wide and she was breathing hard, looking forward but at nothing in particular. “I could hear someone screaming, didn’t realise that it was me. People came running, I was pulled away from the body. Someone forced the knife out of my hand. Then I screamed more and more, and I struggled and kicked. They made me drink something and then there was nothing.”

Her breathing was still labored, her short nails dug into her skin leaving crescent marks.

“When I woke up, I was back in my room. Breakfast and newspaper waiting at my bedside table. As if nothing had happened. If you are interested, the headline that day was ‘A wealthy merchant’s body found in the river mauled by an animal.’”

Astarion looked at Tav. She seemed so young, so fragile. It was difficult to believe that in a fight-of-flight scenario she chose fight. Who would have thought that Tav, the sweet, annoying, silly child that she was, was capable of defending herself against a much older and stronger assailant?

“There it is. I killed and got away with it. No consequences. No regrets. Because truth be told, if I could go back, I would have done exactly the same,” she said fiercely.

Astarion knew that she did what she had to do. She did what anyone with any sense would do. Yet, judging by the hollow, haunted look in her eyes, in spite of what she said, Tav did not look like a person who was certain that they had made the right decision.

Tav shook her head, as if trying chase away the lingering mental images. Astarion looked at her hair. The beautiful blonde hair that was ruined now.

“Ah, that’s my handywork,” she ran her fingers through the disaster that once were beautiful locks. “I am done with them dolling me up every day. No hair, no playing dress up, no reason for them to come into my room,” she said harshly.

“Well,” Astarion paused, choosing his next words carefully, “whilst this style is definitely a statement, I could neaten it up a little. Make it less obvious that you are not cut out for a career in hairdressing.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, “the scissors are in my bag. I kinda grabbed them and just shoved them in there before heading out.”

“Hoarder,” he joked weakly, taking the scissors out.

Astarion worked silently, being careful not to touch her any more than was required. It was quite surprising that she allowed him to do this at all. Then again, according to Tav they were friends.

 “I am never having sex, or getting married,” Tav said suddenly.

“I thought you were going to marry me. Tsk, so much for you keeping your promises.” He joked halfheartedly, but purposefully ignored the first part of what she said. There was no way he was discussing the birds and the bees with anyone.

Tav scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I dreamed of it when I was like twelve. I’m older now. And definitely not so naïve.”

She looked at him from underneath her long, light lashes. Astarion glowed under the moonlight, an ethereal being, beautiful and untouchable, unmarked by change and time. He was handsome, complicated and dangerous.

She didn’t want dangerous. She wanted simple and safe.

She must have said it out loud because he laughed, a sort of barking humorless laugh.

“My dear child, I promise you will find the silliest, richest oaf to marry. He will allow you everything, hang onto your every word, and count his lucky stars that you chose him.”

Astarion looked over his work. It looked much better than before, a kind of boyish pixie cut, which suited Tav, with her high cheekbones and large blue eyes. Her face was looking less and less childlike each time he saw her. It made him feel a little melancholy, seeing the inevitable changes and knowing that more were to come. 

“There we go, looking almost sophisticated,” Astarion handed her a pretty mirror lined with sparkly stones that he discovered in her bag as he rummaged about earlier.

“Thank you,” she exhaled, giving her reflection a quick glance before putting the mirror away. “I still look like crap, but have to admit, my hair looks good.”

“But of course, what else did you expect?” he scoffed. “My own hair is always impeccably styled.”

“That it is. Always just so. Really eye-catching,” she gave him a ghost of a smile.

Astarion sat down, folding his long legs under him. The two listened to the dissonance of sounds coming from the tavern, mixing with the noise coming from the streets. Life went on, their personal tragedies and struggles so unimportant, almost nothing in the grand scheme of things.

“Astarion, why do they do this to us?” Tav spoke softly, picking at the loose skin near one of her nails. She didn’t have to explicitly state who she was talking about. Astarion knew well enough who she was referring to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “They have power, and we don’t. And those with power can do whatever the hell they want. You will do well to remember that.”

“I suppose you are right,” she scrunched her nose and scowled. “But it isn’t fair.”

“You silly thing, if this world was built on the shaky foundation of what is fair or not, it would have crumbled long ago. It is idiotic to think otherwise. Life is about seizing control and taking what you are owed by force. By rising so high that no one can reach you.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but sometimes, when I am feeling particularly low, I wonder… Just wonder if my life would be different if they finally decided that I was useless enough that they could just toss me out. They, whoever they are, clearly don’t give a rat’s ass about me. So, maybe, just maybe… they will let me go.”

Astarion sincerely doubted that. He knew full well what it was like to be a plaything in fate’s hands. Masters did not just give up their slaves or toys. If they did not serve one purpose, there would always be another. But perhaps on some level Tav knew this too.

Astarion did not particularly enjoy this conversation, did not like the direction that his own thoughts could take, but he was somewhat grateful that at least she did not cry. He hated when someone cried around him. He did not have any emotional or mental capacity to deal with such displays.

“I hate it. I hate this ugly bitterness I feel. I worked so hard not to give in, not to accept the darkness that keeps calling to me. But it just keeps getting harder and harder,” Tav rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and yawned.

“Tsk, again with your cryptic remarks,” he clicked his tongue. “But if you must think of this at all, think of it as growing up, losing your naivete. But, unlike many, you haven’t lost your kind heart. That you should try to preserve. Gods know no one showed me any kindness before you came along with that healing potion.”

Astarion was not sure what compelled him to say this. Perhaps it was her honesty, the raw emotions. In a way, the similarity of their situations. Them not having any control over their lives, being tethered to places where they were neglected and abused. Yet, he almost immediately regretted saying the words. Luckily, Tav was asleep, having given in to her exhaustion. He was not even sure that she heard what he said. It didn’t matter though.

Astarion took an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket, slipping it into her brocade bag. Rising, he lifted her up and held the lanky teen close to his chest.

Had she been so thin before? He wasn’t sure, didn’t really notice until now.

Time to take her home. Or at least the only place she could call home.

Tag list: @ninty900 @ayselluna @dajeong @ravenswritingroom @misscrissfemmefatale

[bumbledees]

YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO STEAL MY OPEN TAGS <333

hmmmm oh choices choices, but I must say the title that most grabbed my attention is "Please Hang Up! Don’t Try Your Call Again"- I'm VERY CURIOUS.

:D <333 I LOVE TO PLAY TAG GAMES. and to hear other people talk about their wips!!

I'm also SO glad that out of all the fics you picked that one. It's one of the first SW fic ideas I had before Rumor Has It jumped my brain in a dark alley, and I really want to write it eventually. It is actually codywan this time, eventually. POV Cody and occasionally Ahsoka.

In which Cody does some breaking and entering, endures a month of the galaxy's most aggravating phone calls, fistfights the dark side of the Force, and accidentally fulfills a prophecy. Or: Chancellor Palpatine: Such a shame to lose our dear Commander CC2224. Cody: Stop telling people I'm dead! Chancellor Palpatine: Sometimes I can still hear his voice.

[snippet under cut]

"My General will come," Cody says, because the idea that Obi-Wan wouldn't is the biggest insult he's heard to the man in at least a year standard.

"The Force, my dear Commander, can hide a great many things from view," the hologram snarls. "He and your men will leave you for dead, and you will starve long before you can even attempt escape." With a spasm of blue, the figure disappears.

Cody can't help a frustrated hiss through his teeth. Food is his most immediate problem, despite the ominous atmosphere of the complex and the nightmare its comm system has on speed dial. Would a dar'jetti even need to eat?

Ooh, look at me, I'm a Sith, he can almost hear Waxer saying. I'm having evil rations for my evil breakfast.

His next thought--that he might never hear Ghost Company's nonsense or watch the 212th shinies earn their paint ever again--hurts more than he expects.

The battalion will be fine; they've got the General and a fine roster of veteran troopers to guide and protect them. But he can't give them up without a fight, and right now the mystery darksider is his only source of intel on... anything about this place.

Kenobi tactics almost certainly won't work here, so it's time to go Skywalker. Cody punches the comm button again, summoning up the tiny cloaked figure. "Hey fucker, I wasn't done talking to you."

The hologram is managing to look surprised without having any visible facial features, so Cody takes that as a good sign. The creepy artifact seems like it could be good leverage for a dar'jetti; he'll go for that first. "Do you want me to break your haunted triangles? Because keeping me here is how you break your haunted triangles."

[teddywesworl]

if you're still doing the wip thing... The last mile? your mass effect au makes me feral

I just tried to answer this and tumblr fucking ATE my response but yeah i'm working on it, it's set half at the beginning and half at the end of the Reaper War with the Hawkins assigned to Project Crucible (part 1) and the London assault (part 2). tonally it's very me3 so im gonna be kinda nervous about posting it, especially as it may require a MCD tag lmaoooooo (not them though. never them)

i have no idea when it's going to be completed, though, so here's a sizeable chunk of the opening, complete with epistolary-ish framing device to match DTA:

EDDIE 1

Fig. 1: Perspectives on Tayseri Ward, an award-winning photograph of the Citadel by acclaimed asari photographer Lidilya Ranis, ca. 2182. Note the near-atmospheric effect of the gas and dust of the Serpent Nebula creating depth of field between the camera’s lens and the Presidium Ring.

*

The Citadel is different than he remembers, but it’s also the same.

He and Steve see it differently. Steve thanks air traffic control in person on their way through security and comments on the Sur’Kesh native trees freshly planted in the commercial district. Eddie marks the C-Sec man tailing them while they eat tacos from a super gimmicky Thessia-Earth fusion restaurant and spots a pickpocket watching them from an alley. It’s a human girl, maybe thirteen. No visible tattoos or marks, but that doesn’t mean much when the kid is wearing a beanie and a scarf and a bulky jacket that’ll hide plenty of take. Eddie angles himself so the cop can’t see his face, makes eye contact with the girl, and shakes his head.

They’re in the Mid-Ward, a part of Zakera that Eddie should know intimately. It feels strange not to recognize the large majority of the storefronts, replaced as so many were in the aftermath of the geth attack in ‘83, but the longer he looks, the clearer it becomes that the bones are the same. Eddie rebuilds the map in his head from the position of keeper ports, maintenance panels, walkways—and vents.

He falls behind Steve just staring at a vent tucked between an Armax vendor and a pop-up shop selling the elcor equivalent of beer. Steve walks another dozen feet, maybe, before he notices Eddie’s not beside him and doubles back.

“You okay?” Steve says, fingertips brushing Eddie’s elbow.

Eddie shakes himself off and nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Um. I used to sleep in there, I think. I’m pretty sure that’s the one.”

Steve frowns, his eyes moving from storefront to storefront, gliding over the vent like it isn’t there until he remembers. “Oh,” he says. His hand slides down Eddie’s forearm, and he laces their fingers together.

Eddie feels oddly disconnected from his own body. He doesn’t think he would fit in that vent, now, but that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? That’s what a duct rat is. You stop being a duct rat when you can’t fit anymore. Or when the wrong fan powers up and chews you to pieces.

Eddie unfocuses his eyes and doesn’t quite look at the C-Sec man still pretending not to follow them. It’s a turian, hanging around some fifty paces behind them, and he’s obvious in a way that’s kind of aggravating, because turians make up something like half a percent of the Mid-Ward’s population, and the real residents don’t dress business casual. There’s a tension welling up, raw from the vents and the cops and the collision between memory and immediate reality. He bounces on the balls of his feet, indecisive. Then he squeezes Steve’s hand, locks eyes with the turian, and crooks his finger at the guy, beckoning.

There’s a strange hanging moment where the cop looks like he’s gonna try to disappear into the crowd, but then he accepts that he’s been made and approaches. Steve looks surprised to see him; his posture gets a little guarded, so Eddie squeezes his hand again.

“That’s close enough,” Eddie says at a distance of ten or so paces. He’s not in the mood for this, doesn’t feel like playing a game, so he just says: “Why?”

Steve stays quiet, apparently satisfied to let Eddie handle this.

The turian’s mandibles twitch. “I’m,” he says. “I don’t…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Why’d they send you?” he says.

“They didn’t say,” says the cop. Eddie’s not sure he believes him, but at least he’s not playing completely dumb.

“Get out of here,” Eddie says. “Tell them you were made. Also tell them the Alliance doesn’t appreciate C-Sec harassing its N7s on shore leave.”

The mandibles twitch again. Turian hearts aren’t quite like human hearts, but the rhythm of this one changes enough to confirm Eddie’s suspicions that the guy at least didn’t know who Steve was. “Right,” he says. Leaving is an awkward thing, but he manages it, walking off in a straight line.

Eddie sighs when he’s gone.

“How long’s he been there?” Steve asks.

“Since security,” Eddie replies. “Fuckin’ amateur hour, sending a turian. Especially since there’s a ton of human cops now.”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “You ready?” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and it’s the truth. He wasn’t sure it would be, when Hop offered to call in a favor, when the message hit his inbox, or even when he stepped out of the Hawkins airlock and onto an Alliance dock this morning. He just kept saying yes and moving forward because he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t.

He keeps holding onto Steve’s hand as they move through and past the crowds toward Oji Way Warehouses, a row of storage units guarded by sectional doors and the occasional krogan hired gun. One such krogan, a scarred old brute with a cracked green frontal plate, approaches to grunt at them about what they’re doing down here, to move along if they don’t have business.

“We do,” says Steve. “We’re looking for somebody.”

“That so, soldier boy?” says the krogan. Eddie ducks his chin to hide a smile, because yeah, even in civvies, Steve sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Munson,” says Steve. “That’s the name.”

The krogan turns his head to get a better look at them out of a single eye. “What d’you want with Wayne?”

[lumosatnight]

Untagged Fest 2022 Favs!

I'm a little late to the party, but I wanted to make a list of some of my fav fics from Untagged Fest 2022 run by the HPFC server. All of the stories were originally published without tags, so it was a WILD ride reading them the first time. You never knew what you were going to get! It was such fun fest to be a part of, and I'm super excited to share my fic as well :D

—

🔒 we begin in the dark by @allalrightagain [Regulus/Peter, T, 3.5k] 🔒 Such a good angsty AU. Regulus and Peter make quite the pair in this. I love how they work together behind the scenes. 'For the greater good' indeed.

“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” — Albus Dumbledore …there are those who would beg to differ.

🔒 The measure of monsters and their men by @bluesundaycake [Remus/Severus, M, 4.6k] 🔒 One of my ABSOLUTE FAVS. The atmosphere, the Victorian Era grime. Such a great detective story featuring Snupin and monsters roaming the streets.

What makes a monster, and what makes a man?

🔒 Where You Belong by @bluestringpudding [Severus Snape, T, 6.1k] 🔒 Creepy, disturbing, may give you nightmares. Would I read it again? HELL YES. In this fic, Severus Snape sees and, yet, doesn't see.

When Severus sees the Marauders acting even more suspiciously than normal, he decides to keep an eye, and a note of what they are up to. But some things are better left unseen.

🔒 Reset to Default by @mugsdontlie [Antonin/Thorfinn, NR, 6.3k] 🔒 The pairing I never knew I needed and now I'm OBSESSED with. Bad boy Rowle is my new aesthetic, as is pining Dolohov.

Hermione obliviates them, then what happens?

🔒 Where the Wild Thyme Grows by Lunatik_Pandora [Sirius Black, M, 7k] 🔒 Detailed world-building, The Witcher vibes, fantastical setting. I'm waiting praying for a sequel!

Everything has its price - the question is whether one is willing to pay it.

🔒 Child's Play by @nanneramma [George/Oliver, M, 1.9k] 🔒 The formatting of this fic is so creative. I feel like I discover something new on every read-through!

A game of Quidditch, and some news.

🔒 Introducing: Dead Poets Society Comedy Club by Halliwell19 [Harry/Ginny, M, 3.6k] 🔒 BEST TWIST! BEST HUMOR!

What happens to Harry when Ginny takes him to the new Comedy Club in Knockturn Alley?

🔒 Undone by @diana-skye [Pansy/Ron, E, 3.1k] 🔒 The smut is HOTTTT. We love a bossy, yet caring, Ron and a Pansy who's a bit of a mess.

Or, perhaps she’s just as evil as before — she looks at him with the same glare, won’t stop insulting his dancing, and doesn’t even apologize when she treads on him with her stiletto — but it’s more that he doesn’t mind. Suddenly she’s less vicious snake, more lightly homicidal kitten. Practically cute.

—

And I can't forget about my fic for the fest! Genderbending galore with Detective Dumbledore getting ensnared in Professor Riddle's web. I had a lot of fun coming up with names 😂

🔒 Wicked Hearts and Calculating Minds by @lumosatnight [Dumbledore/Riddle, T, 5.2k] 🔒

There’s a serial killer on the loose in Magical Britain. Detective Dumbledore is brought in to apprehend them, but she didn’t expect for things to get quite so complicated or for the new DADA professor to be quite so… intriguing. Can she catch the killer in time? Or will she be caught in the process?

—

Read more fest fics in the Untagged Fest 2022 collection on AO3!

[spamtonology]

hi its the same anon here Again (i think i can just call myself sm anon so i dont have to introduce myself every time)

I just wanted to talk about how spamton's complex character and personality is generally greatly written making him very special character, as promised in last ask

When first encountering, hes only shown as a silly weirdo Trying to scam kris, but after you enter his shop (Which not everyone did while their gameplay) youre introduced to his darked side... Hes a lonely and desperate man, with very impulsive decisions and with his mind fixated on strange robot in queen's basement, the feeling around spamton immedietly changes from funny haha meme scammer to "oh my God. He is NOT ok" but Even with such weird and uncanny atmosphere, spamton still tries to be hopeful and funny, example the famous KEYGEN bit where he's parodying youtube poop video, or how generally hes generally making jokes relating to his possible Trauma (i wanna talk about that later possibly too. Special interest moment) or When he's Talking about freedom and heaven, as much as it all sounds concerning, i think he shows euphoria and hope (Which is more sad to think about after we later see how he ends up)

Thats what make him So special i think!!! Hes scary, hes probably sad alot too, but hes also hopeful!! He has so many dreams he wants to accomplish!! Even if its shown trought being absurdly desperate and strange, spamton hopes, he has good hopes, which WE know he doesnt achieve in the end, but he believes his life can get better, he never gave up, and kept going till the very end (and what he did with kris wasnt good btw, what i mean here is that hes just very hopeful and believes hes going to have better future, not choosing good ways to achieve it thought) and i think toby fox did generally amazing job making spamton character

I have So many thoughts i wanna share about spamton.... But i dont wanna write too long asks!!! Im probably just gonna write few diffrent asks someday yas (Also theres a chance i didnt properly write things i was thinking about So it could lead to some misunderstanding, if any confusion please lmk!!!)

Hello again! As for an identifier, I have seen anons use an emoji symbol as a way of identifying themself, you could use one! Any is good.

Something that’s notable about Spamton’s character is that he is almost entirely skippable: if you defeat him on the first fight, he will complain about how rude the player is and leave for the rest of the game, therefore locking his story out. It’s very interesting that the only way to proceed with his arc is to accept his deal and show him mercy!

So, yes, if all the player did was defeat him and move on, the player would simply see him as another weird quirk and not think much else of it. They would be missing out on his story. While the notion that he’s purely comic relief is blatantly false, I can’t say it comes from nowhere, people who only defeat him and move on probably do think that.

The shop isn’t where everything begins to unravel, it’s actually earlier on, first in the alley when you see a poster of “BIG SHOT AUTOS” where Spamton’s face from his better days can be seen.

And shortly after meeting Spamton you can also mention his name to the Addisons, their responses vary and some simply don’t have any lines programmed.

The encounters in his shop are probably the closest you can get to knowing Spamton as a person (outside of NEO), and here is definitely something deeply wrong with this man. At one point he shuts down and appears to be taken over by a different entity, asking if anyone can hear “them”. Asking him about the Knight causes him to glitch out and the option is replaced with “friends”. He also seems to shut down at the mention of Mike.

Both the shop itself and his sprite in the shop have an uncanny feel and look to them, and the “exit” button is replaced with “RUN AWAY”, heightening the fear the player and/or Kris feels around Spamton. Sure, he’s funny, but he’s also deeply unsettling, and Toby does such a good job at balancing out these aspects of his character.

That ending of the NEO battle when he’s so happy the strings are finally being cut, then all goes silent and he flops motionless to the floor, is one of the most jarring things Toby has ever created. It doesn’t help that it drags on for a relatively long time, so you’re forced to look at the “corpse” on the ground there.

He might seem hopeful, but I think it’s more desperation than anything. He is definitely stubborn and determined to reach NEO at all costs, in such a desperate way that he’s willing to do anything for it.

What do you mean by “good” hopes? As in, morally good? I would say his hopes are rather selfish, but understandable otherwise. He only ever wanted to be free, and was willing to cheat, lie and manipulate to get his way to freedom. As a failed salesman and overall unpleasant person, that’s the route he decided to take rather than seek better, safer alternatives that wouldn’t further damage his reputation.

But...Well, it’s perfectly understandable to feel sympathy for him. When he’s written that way, and you know his backstory, you almost just want to give him a hug, and it can be rather disarming which is why it’s so important to look back at the canon source and analyze his canon behaviors, not what fanon says he should act like. One can feel great sympathy and understand that what he did was not good.

He needs a break. Some reprieve. He gets consequence for his malicious actions, but no closure for his want of freedom.

Death of a salesman, indeed.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 3 - Chess

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48

CH 3: Silco and Mel Medarda negotiate a peace treaty. An unexpected condition is thrown in.

Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay) God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way) Chance is the only game I play with, baby We let our battles choose us

~ “Glory & Gore” - Lorde

The meeting is at the Riverside harbor.

Ordinarily, it is the liveliest hub in the Undercity. The merchants are the second-earliest risers—that is, second to the rats. The harbor vibrates with the music of boundless industry. The clanging of crates stripping off their metal clothing to unveil their wares. The riot of seafarers swapping prices in dozens of different languages. The skillet-fried sunfish and steaming mussel-soups at the stalls; the shrill calls of the gulls circling for easy snacks.

It's a chaotic microcosm of Zaun. Hard bargains struck, a knife up every sleeve, the air bleeding with fragrance and filth.

But oh! What cornucopia.

Now the harbor is nearly deserted. The exoskeletons of burnt-out ships cast massive shadows. Here and there, stragglers ply their trade. A clutch of sumpsnipes strip metal off a bomb-scored motorcar to resell at the black-market. In the feeble glow of a street-stall, an old woman skewers live eels on stakes to sell to passersby. Clusters of young men and women crouch in fire-gutted alleys, passing bottles of local rum.

A few of them stare in shock as Silco’s armed entourage stalks past. Others call out—cheers that hold the same savagery as curses.

The revolution has stoked the fierce fire raging inside every citizen against Piltover. The atmosphere is still volatile as a powder-keg. The least friction between Zaun and Topside could ignite into a fray.

Piltover's envoy—ten men flanking one woman—stay tensely rooted.

The harbor was their appointed spot. But Silco has barely kept to the appointed time. They are in Zaun's territory now. Let them wait. Let them stew, and sweat and second-guess. Whatever gives his own network the extra leg-up to surveil the surroundings. His teams have already made two circuits of the harbor, one wide, the other narrow.

Now they meet in the middle: Zaun with its colorful coterie of cutthroats fanned out into a claw, Piltover with its darkly-uniformed soldiers in rigid marching rows. Each party keeps their hands open. A peaceable sign, or the absence of its opposite. They each watch the other, a crisscrossing connection of sharp gazes.

Chess sequences. That's how the game is always played.

A half-minute ticks by. Then Silco deals the King's Gambit. He steps forward, a measured tread of footsteps and a piercing directness of eye.

"Councilor Medarda," he says. "Apologies for the delay."

It is a perfunctory pleasantry. So is Medarda's nod, languid as if passed over the rim of a champagne flute.

"An Undercity custom, I take it?"

"Zaun, if you please."

"Zaun. Of course." Her voice, all suave vowels and sumptuous consonants, is devoid of humor. "Please accept my congratulations. New nation. New notions of timeliness."

"In the Fissures, we move at our own pace."

"Shall I synchronize my watch?"

"You esteem your time so highly?"

"Or yours." A tart smile touches her lips. "You're a busy man, of late."

Silco meets her gaze with a sedate veneer, but a crooked twist to his mouth.

The opening bell has rung. The game begins.

A strip of sunlight flashes at the smog-hazy horizon. It silhouettes Medarda in gold. In the squalor, she is splendidly incongruous. Looking mint, as Vander used to say of an attractive woman. Her gown is of clinging off-white satin, with dapples of red, like parchment under a downpour of blood. The fabric, hand-woven textile from the Undercity's mills, probably cost real blood in every stitch. Her hair is twisted up off her neck in a sheath of dark rich curls, and the tips of her bare shoulders gleam like the golden geometry embellishing her skin, everything shellacked from the charcoal scrubs and mineral clays in the Undercity's mines.

In every player's arsenal, there are a variety of weapons. Silco doesn't miss the sartorial message Madarda conveys. Wealth and style—but also Piltover's indispensable commercial ties with the Undercity. It strikes him with a bitter breed of poignancy that this woman is the end product of his peoples' toil: a pureblood feline grown sumptuously glossy on their suffering.

Whereas Silco's own wardrobe, rather than the upshot of that suffering, is its well-tailored symptom. A cutthroat secondhand couture of worsted suits lined in Kevlar, silk cravats edged with garottes, high-buttoned boots with steel-plated toes. In Zaun, stylishness does not serve as a signpost of idleness. It signals threats subdued and obstacles surmounted.

It symbolizes survival.

"How was your journey downriver?" Silco asks.

"Eventful."

"No unpleasantry, I trust?"

She tilts her chin. "Five checkpoints. Each with full body searches. Until I showed the guards your seal. Then it was like an escort to a Demacian gala."

Keep it that way, is the cautionary message.

Silco's smile twists deeper. "Well, you're certainly dressed the part. A Vyx label, I believe?"

"Just what was on hand in my cabin."

"Oh, indeed? We value the patronage."

"And we, the effort."

"It's a living." He gestures along the riverwalk, washed in the first faded waves of sunlight. "Shall we?"

They stroll shoulder-to-shoulder. Their entourages follow at a distance, each keeping a radius of space as if readied to draw their firearms. Neither Silco nor Medarda pay them much mind. They make small-talk, permafrosted politeness layered over sharp-edged wariness, each feeling the other out.

Strangely, they've seldom crossed paths beyond rare glimpses at Topside soirees. Silco despises pedigrees; she disfavors parvenus. Her reputation as a disinherited Noxian heiress with a chip on her shoulder is well-known among men-about-town. But it barely compares with her reputation among Topside's political players as the steel dagger in a velvet glove. Diplomacy is polished into her bones. She works by clouding judgement with a tweak of that Minerva's brow, and swaying emotions with a purr from that Venusian throat.

Ah, but what are honeyed tactics in the Undercity? Simply a confection to suck all sweetness out of.

"Candidly," Silco says, "I am surprised they sent you. I was expecting the Wonderboy."

Or the Yordle. Do they bob like a cork if punted into the water? Or sink to the bottom? Silco has always wanted to seize Heimerdinger by a fistful of fur and find out.

Medarda neither bobs, nor sinks. She meets his good blue eye, and extends an exquisite hand. "Disappointed?"

"On the contrary."

They shake hands. Silco's own is hard and chilly; it envelopes hers, the sharp phalanges pressing into her softer flesh like something locking its jaws. Medarda's smooth face shows no discomfort. Instead, she holds onto his hand and turns it over, eyeing it like a palmist.

"So many calluses," she says.

"A commoner's lot."

"Miner's calluses. Knife calluses. But here—" Her fingertip traces the rough joint of his middle finger. "A scholar's callus."

"Reading my future?"

"The past yields more wisdom."

"A regressionist and an oracle?"

"Merely well-informed." She detaches but stays within arm's reach, regarding him with hazel eyes that appear golden in the slow-creeping sunrise. "After the recent furor, the Council delved into your background. Their efforts yielded little. I took the initiative to do my own digging."

"Did you strike gold?"

"Not enough to write a novel. But certainly a synopsis." She measures him with a dark ascent of lashes. "Perhaps you'll be so kind as to fill in the gaps."

"I will do my utmost."

She keeps her eyes fixed on him. Her manner is all playful refinement; beneath that, it is reflexively probing. Tossing pebbles into the stillness of the blackwater; seeing what leaves a ripple. Silco knows she expects him to play the game accordingly. Mutatis mutandis, as the saying goes.

She doesn't realize such games are topsy-turvy in Zaun.

"You're a self-made man," Medarda says. "Undercity born and bred. You've made a fortune in the steel industry, with an extensive operation of integrated mills. Some say you have a virtual monopoly in contracts to supply Ionia with warship metal."

"Piltover cold-shoulders Zaunite businessmen. I must meet the rising demand elsewhere."

"The breadth of your assets is impressive. But your origins are modest. You were the youngest of three sons, from a hardscrabble fishing district north of the Bonscutt Pump Station."

"Somewhere between nowhere and Das ist mir egal."

She stares at him. "You speak Va-Nox?"

"My mother was Ionian. From the Sotka River in Zhyun. The Void Wars left their language a bastardization of colonizer and colonized."

"Indeed. Family records state that she fled her war-torn island with nothing but the clothes on her back. She settled in the Sumps, where she met your father, a riverman by trade. He patrolled up and down the watercourse circling the Old Hungry. On clear nights, it was his duty to haul out wreckage that had fallen into the river."

"By wreckage, you mean bodies."

She blinks, but doesn't balk.

"One thousand. That is the number of bodies Daddy dragged out of the river before his death. Suicides, drunks, children. Each one doomed as soon as they quaffed the toxic run-off from Piltover's factories." Silco's smile shows no nastiness. Yet the lulling calm of his tone is edged with something sinister. "I was three when I first saw the river's capacity for ruination. Thirty-three when I experienced it firsthand. It discombobulates human beings into shapes that defy description." He sketches a little nod, deference with overtones of derision. "But please go on."

Medarda levels an unflinching look. "You were six when your father drowned in the harbor. There were rumors that he was murdered."

"Shipping magnates don't care for backtalking unionists."

"Your older brothers passed soon after. A blaze tore through your neighborhood. Entire tenements gone up in smoke. In total, nearly eighty families perished. You and your mother escaped unscathed. A year later, the Coroner's inquest unyielded evidence of poor insulation and mass overcrowding in the district."

"Parsimonious slumlords and public safety? Poor bedfellows."

Tactfully, Medarda says, "I'm told your mother suffered a … collapse… soon after."

"Collapse?" Silco repeats with a flat scoff. "Mother went bat-raftered barmy. The Asylum of the Irreparable took her away. She stayed an inmate for the next fifteen years." He shrugs. "I'd visit her on holidays. Wished she'd die, truth be told. I think we'd both have liked that. But bodies can be stubborn."

For a moment, Medarda's expression shows the sweet bareness of shock. She recovers with swiftness.

"By seven, with no living guardians, you were sent to the Hope House Orphanage. By twelve, you volunteered to serve in the mines. By sixteen, you'd cut your teeth on smuggling and racketeering. That same year, you were arrested for stabbing a Patrolman to death. Owing to a self-defense plea, you were released into the care of the Hölle Correctional Facility for juveniles. There, you enrolled in several educational programs—and excelled. By age nineteen, the Warden himself penned a letter of recommendation on your behalf.”

Silco tilts his head in remembrance. “Warden Lascelles. A good man.”

“You have fond memories of him?”

“Fond isn’t the right word. He was, de facto, my jailor. But he understood the impact fatherlessness and a lack of support has on Undercity youths. He preached a firm voice for morale, and a soft hand for discipline."

“His style seems to have agreed with you. Your transcripts from Hölle are exemplary. You even wrote a series of short stories and essays, that captured the mood of the Undercity. One, titled A Death in the Pilt, attracted notice from Piltover's Ministry of Education. That year, the Academy of Piltover accepted you into its school of commerce to meet the Fissures quota."

"Admitted, yes. Accepted? Never."

Her curlicued eyebrows arch. "You found Piltover's hospitality lacking?"

"Topside lets you sit at the table," Silco says mildly. "It never lets you eat."

"Trouble filling your belly?"

"Or my wallet. A bright mind is no currency in the City of Progress. What buys true respect are connections. I began at the very bottom, the lowest of the low. That made me nothing, in the eyes of patrons. To get anywhere in Piltover, you must be next-to-nothing. But that is the privilege of those ensconced in Topside's embrace. The rest of us fall through the cracks."

Medarda's lips pucker slyly. "You sketched a similar narrative in your speeches."

"My speeches?"

"Before the Day of Ash. You rose to prominence as an outspoken advocate for Zaun and Piltover's separation. The spokesperson for the youth wing of The Liberated Lanes, with a treatise published by clandestine press, titled Pay the Lessons Forward. I took the liberty of skimming through its pages.” She quotes, “’In the call for resistance, there is no profound difference between a layman and a soldier.’”

Silco nods gravely. "A frank assessment of our situation."

“It would seem so. Your words struck a nerve—or tapped into a vein—for many Undercity dwellers. Street-corner vigils. Sit-ins. Protest marches. Your presence was invariably linked to each. The then-editor for the Sun & Tower Newspaper attended your rallies. He called you, and I quote 'A dangerous ideologue whipping the underclasses into a frenzy with illusions of victimhood.'"

"The article did say something to that effect." Silco blandly feigns nostalgia. "My small claim to fame."

"Or infamy. On the night known as Bloody Sunday, tensions boiled over. Enforcers were anonymously tipped off about smuggled artillery in the Temple of Janna. They raided the building with flashbombs. In the explosion, fifty-five worshipers—including thirty-two women, twelve children—were killed. Rumor has it one woman was paralyzed below the waist by a bullet. Instead of calling for an ambulance, the Enforcers beat her to death."

"After taking worse liberties."

"How do you know that?"

"I entombed her ashes afterward."

Medarda stares in finely-diluted disbelief. "You knew her?"

"Somewhat." Silco's good eye is unnervingly blank, reflecting nothing. "As per common law, at any rate."

On Medarda's expression, the barest twitch of alarm. But her gold-dark eyes stay guarded.

"No artillery was found at the Temple," she says. "The Enforcers were never indicted for the attack. For the Undercity, it was the last straw. Five months later, the Day of Ash began. A mob gathered at Bridgeside. You were in top form. Your speech was exceptionally fiery. A call to arms. Payback for desecration—then, now and always. It whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Once Enforcers arrived, the scene erupted into a bloodbath. Afterward, there were barely any Undercity dwellers left. The few who survived were arrested and summarily sentenced. You were among them."

Silco nods minimally. "Three years in Stillwater."

Three years. Enough to pare a scholar into a scourge, or grind a warrior into a worm.

That's what the three years—marked by failure and fatherhood—did to Vander. In Silco's absence, the righteous rage had drained out of him. In its wake was a soppiness that reeked of self-hatred. And for what? The deaths of friends and families? The loss of old loves? As if succumbing to the status quo would honor their sacrifice.

To Silco, it was the cowardliest rationalization. Far better to honor the fallen by carrying the torch of revolution in their name. Turn Piltover into their funeral pyre. That's what a revolution was at its core. Not blood or brick or mortar. It was an act of love. A natural cataclysm, with the capacity to sack cities and birth civilizations in the same breath.

Medarda swallows, a subtle movement of her satiny neck. "After that?"

"Hm?"

"After the sentencing. What then?"

Silco leans an elbow alongside the dock's walkway. His other hand trails lazy-fingered over the railing; pockmarked in rust. He rubs his fingertips together, then dips them into his coat to withdraw his silver cigar case. In the background, Piltover's bodyguards snap into alertness.

Silco stops halfway. A smile tugs the split scar on his upper-lip.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Medarda proffers the faintest frown. "I beg your pardon?"

"If I smoke? A wicked habit, but one I cannot forgo at this hour." He dips his head to light up, his pomaded hair picking up the diffused sunrays in a blood-red patina. Smoke curls from his parted lips; Medarda coughs delicately. "Oh dear. Allergies?"

She disguises her distaste with a twitch of her nose. "A potent tobacco."

"Zaun's own brand. Brightleaf."

"It lingers."

"Hmmm. Like bloodstains on a good suit."

"Have you much trouble with the latter?"

"I'd lead a blessed life indeed, if that qualified as trouble." Silco tips his head back, expelling a sharper stream of smoke. "Now where were we?"

"After the Day of Ash." Medarda slinks closer. Her fingertips trail along the railing until her hand nearly meets his own. "You were sent to Stillwater. What happened?"

"I served my penance. The guards at your prison are miracle workers. Truly. They change a man to his marrow." He removes the cigar, contemplating it with an idle roll of his knuckles. "When the rotting slop cores a hole through your gut, they slug it out of you in a river of puke. When the darkness closes in after lights-out, they keep you company in your cell. When the winter nibbles chilblains into your feet, they strip you naked and drag you outside to remember that life could be much, much chillier."

Medarda doesn't flinch. But her hand slips nervelessly off the railing.

"Afterward," Silco says. "I returned a reformed man. I wiped my hands clean. I put my nose to the grindstone. I pulled myself up by the bootstraps. All the things Fissurefolk do, to drag themselves from their natural state of undeservingness. So they may one day—a fortunate day!—look good, upstanding citizens like yourself in the eye."

She stares at him, disturbed or dubious, it is hard to tell. "Simple as that?"

"Simpler."

He tenders the cigar toward her. A pantomime of politeness—Care to try? She shakes her head.

"There remains a shadowy chapter in your life," she says. "I've heard only rumors."

"Oh?"

"Perhaps you'll confirm or deny them. Give me the proper… elucidation … to understand you as a man."

Silco's shrug is a shameless lure. "Whatever helps us see eye to eye."

Predictably, she pounces. "What about your eye?"

"Mine?"

She challenges him with a bold once-over across the dark disfigurement of his face, hidden beneath ashen layers of make-up. "You had a brother-in-arms. The cocky fist to your crafty tongue. You preached revolution from the pulpit. He pummeled revolution into the streets. Old mugshots and police reports mention your boyhood of shared misdeeds. They called him The Hound."

"Man's best friend."

"After your release, you had a falling out."

"All bark, no bite."

Medarda sidles closer. The heat of her body radiates through her gold-speckled gown. Silco takes in the spray of subtler gold on her cheekbones. She smells headily of hot-house hyacinths.

"They say," she whispers, "that he gouged out your eye. And you, his heart."

"Sick dogs deserve mercy."

"They say he left behind an orphan. A troubled girl."

"The Lanes are full of them."

"She was special." Her voice descends into a hush of intimacy. "You took her in. Kept her close amidst a campaign of terror."

"Raise a boy, raise terror at every turn. Raise a girl, and terror becomes you."

"You trained her for years. Not just to fight, but to do what you do."

"I taught her to survive. To never back down. To always win."

"And to unleash chaos on Piltover."

"Chaos is never unleashed," Silco says, their eyes locked from inches apart. "It surfaces wherever injustice takes root."

"And does she share your dream?"

"As she's shared far worse."

Silco's cigar glows red; a wisp of smoke curls from the side of his unscarred mouth. He thinks of Jinx, that night. The pale cleverness of her hands across Fishbones. The eye-searing blueness of her flying braids. The glow of Piltover's wreckage touching the curve of her tearstained cheek.

(We showed them, didn't we, Jinx?)

Victory cost dreams. Dreams cost blood. Blood cost love.

But what did the love of a father for his daughter cost?

He senses Medarda's deep-set scrutiny. The sun expands hazily behind the harbor's jagged escarpment. He glances off, smoke twirling from his untasted cigar. One careless hand meanders along the other's sleeve, smoothing the cuff so the barest half-inch of embroidered fabric shows. It seems like a self-soothing tic disguised as vanity.

Except it is just theater. Offering Medarda the illusion of power—then snatching it away.

In an eyeblink, he swivels.

"Shall we end on a cheerful note, or a bloody one?" he says.

"I—what?"

"Not to cut the reminiscence short, my dear. But the breadth of my life bores even me. The worst way to charm a man is to remind him how heavy his years weigh. And the best rule of a negotiation is to know when to stop belaboring."

He glides closer, Medarda sways back, and he glides closer still. Then—oh my!—she is snatching at the hem of her fabulously unfeasible gown to steer away from a puddle of dead seagull rotting on the cobblestones. Her dainty shoes skid. She barely keeps her balance. Her fingers flutter in the air, the fleeting impulse for a handhold.

Silco's cold fingers fold through hers. The grip is cocksure as a frigging in a Sumpside street-corner. She startles, he steadies her. They disengage with a mutual swiftness: affront on her part, amusement on his.

"Watch your step," he says. "Rough roads in Zaun."

Medarda squares her elegant shoulders. Her poise isn't gone. But it is off-center. Silco knows why. He is not acting according to her private script; he is not adhering to the rules of engagement.

Worse, he is no longer languishing. He is looming.

Bright fingers of sunlight poke through the smog to trace the harbor: all bullet-pocked scaffoldings and scorched ship hulls. In the intensifying glow, the ravages of war are irrefutable. Medarda's eyes pass over them, and Silco's scarred visage. A vein rises and falls in her throat. It seems to dawn on her that she's not drifted downstairs on silk slippers from her warm boudoir to her basement. She's entered a different society, with different rules.

A blind spot in the shadow of civilization.

Silco takes in her discomfort with relish. Dilettantes and despots—they both seek novelty for its own sake, a temporary rescue from their privileged bubble of boredom, which is the profoundest (the only) horror they must endure. They descend en masse to disaster zones. They gawp through prison bars at inmates on death-row like monkeys at the zoo. They size up the madmen in the padded cells of asylums like ghouls at a party séance. The reduce the victims' suffering to comedy and censure, cabaret and consumption.

Then they move on, while their leftovers are left to rot.

Medarda—prodigy of Piltover—is no different. She deigns her presence as a fragrant cloud of charity, with Zaun no better than dung under her shoe. She thinks to reopen the wounds of Silco's sad history, then wield her own attentions as a benevolent balm. His selfhood is an oyster she wants to crack open, to slurp up what's inside, leaving him an emptied husk that does her bidding.

Such sweet delusion.

Whatever she finds inside of Silco is enough to consume her entirely.

"I give you full credit," Silco says. "You blended record with hearsay most cleverly. The rest? She filled in for you."

"I'm not sure what—"

"Her. The girl staying with the Kirramans. Lapping up Piltover's kindness, in exchange for dirt on the Lanes." He flicks his cigar over the railing. "Well, every guttersnipe deserves a day in the sun. Just as Piltover deserves its nose rubbed in the dirt."

"I hardly think—"

"Ah, ah. No belaboring." He gives her a slithering stare-down. "Now listen closely, my dear. I enjoy your wit and your dimples. But I don't have time to play with you. What do you have in mind with this parley? Beyond purveying children's games?"

"I am purveying peace."

"Not payback?"

"One needn't describe it in such terms."

"A little of each, hm?"

"Or something longer-lasting." Keeping a smile in place, she closes the space between them. "Our nations needn't be at an impasse. We can help each other."

"I'm not sure I follow you," Silco says, though of course they both know better.

"It's quite simple. The girl under your charge stole something from us. Used it to tear down our city. We could demand her as tribute. One terrorist as recompense for months of mutual terror. But last time—" Her eyes shade a fraction. "—you esteemed the bargain too little."

"Talis demanded too much."

Too much for a deal struck too late. Jinx is born to blaze through Zaun's history as a miracle, not a martyr. Weighed on the cosmic scales, her crimes are barely a fraction to Piltover's crimes against Zaun. Their inhumanity, their indifference. Never a finger lifted; never a moment's mercy. In taking Jinx, did they expect Silco to show mercy in turn?

(I won’t lose my child again.)

The strangling blackness returns to his chest. Pressure thick as drowning.

Quietly, Medarda says, "I think I understand."

"Oh?"

Something drains from her eyes: a gloss melting into gentleness. "A child's life, for any crime, is no even trade."

"You demanded it, all the same."

"It was a bargaining counter. But those, I find, are best suited to tangibles."

"So what is the new tangible in question?"

"The Hex gem. We would see it returned. In exchange—" her small hand rests on his forearm, "— Piltover will support Zaun."

"Once, you buried us under hostility. Now, you'd bind us through humility?"

"On the contrary. We will recognize Zaun as a new nation. We will help to rebuild it into an equal. You're at a vulnerable juncture. We can ease the transition through aid and access to our Gates. Establish a mutual prosperity between our citizens. A paradise—each in our own image."

Her gaze holds a magnetic glow of goodwill. Meanwhile, Silco feels the bullet click into place within the inner-chamber of his own skull. He gives her the first truly genuine smile that has stretched across his features in nearly three months. It isn't a pleasant smile.

"Your family," he says. "They hail from Noxus. Correct?"

Medarda nods, then blinks down at her hand on his arm. Through her fingertips she can feel it: the low-down vibrations of something monstrous uncoiling inside.

"What's it like?" Silco wonders softly. "Banishment for having a spine of watered silk instead of steel? Perhaps if you'd profited from your family's lessons, you'd have kept an eye to the horizon—instead of your coffer. Then again, Piltover has blinded itself with hubris for years. We are simply its rude awakening."

Medarda darkens and draws away, her eyes flashing.

Much better, Silco thinks.

He is too old—too damned rabid—to be led by his cock like a cunt-struck mongrel. He'd known from the beginning that she would choreograph the meeting on her terms, then offer a backhanded peace-deal like a benevolent mistress doling out scraps, while letting Zaun believe it was a banquet.

Zaun is done being Piltover's mongrel.

"It isn't cowardice," says Medarda, "to prevent more killing."

"My, aren't you the pristine pot to my tar-black kettle."

"What do you mean?"

"You had the temerity to regurgitate my life like a storybook. Yet you never noticed?" His accent carves itself into a cultured contempt that mimics hers to the letter. "My life is any Zaunite's life. My driver's, my lieutenant's, or my bootblack's. Piltover doesn't look us in the eye when it kills us. But it kills regardless—with dirty water, toxic air, gridlocked housing, rigged ballots, and Enforcer's bullets. Now you dare to offer us decolonization through political dependency?"

"Aren't you guilty of the same?" Medarda's gaze, which was golden gentleness a moment ago, is now a tigress' glower. "The Shimmer you've crippled the Undercity with. The terror you wield to keep them in line. The crimes that corrupt the very core of your shining vision."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, eh?"

"Nor good a pretext to do evil."

Silco smile becomes a mouthful of shark's teeth around a throatful of blood. "Ah, but what is evil? A game of semantics. Kick a man to death and you're a murderer. Enslave an entire nation and you're a conqueror." His good eyelid shades to a death-pall. "Surely, your mother taught you that lesson? I've met her a time or two; proselytizing for peace isn't her style."

Medarda's eyes flash brilliantly.

Silco enjoys the effect. Poised, she is attractive as an architectural edifice. You take a roving eyeful and move on with your life. Angry, she is erotically charged, and vulnerable as an exposed vein.

He can imagine how many men have dreamed of stripping away that lustrous façade to sink their teeth into the hot throb of tenderness beneath. He wonders how many more have imagined her as he can: on her elegant knees, her throat baring itself and her lips wet and distended to take what he drives inside.

"Pity," he murmurs. "It seems her lessons didn't stick. Personally, I'd pack you off to the trenches until you learned, and never forgot. You cannot create a perfect society with your eyes wide shut—while shit soils your feet. You want Paradise? Such things aren't built on lofty ideals. They are made in naked ambition, and war, and blood."

"Until there is nothing left."

She doesn't raise her voice. But the ferocity of her tone rips the words into a snarl.

Silco's polite smile becomes a lopsided rictus. Go on.

Medarda drags in a slow breath. Her anger, no longer held at a dignified distance, now suffuses her entire body like a sunlit aureole.

"I am trying," she says. "To protect both our interests." Her hands make supple curving motions in the air, describing a set of scales—or a pair of wedding rings. "We were once a unified nation. A marriage of equals. Now every moment Zaun stays separate from Piltover is moment of peril."

"Marriage? Do they beat and rape their spouses in Topside?"

She doesn't balk at the depthless hatred in his voice. Her expression is grave.

"Today, you celebrate independence from Piltover," she says. "Tomorrow is another story. A nation forged in war remains at war. The Undercity's loss will briefly unbalance Piltover. But we have the Hex Gates. The resources and international goodwill. We will recover. Zaun will not."

"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"I know that in destroying the Bridge, you have dealt yourselves the cruelest blow. The Council is already on the warpath for reparations. They will enforce sanctions. They will pressure our neighbors into doing the same. All of these are serious barriers to Zaun's growth. Remember—a newborn is most vulnerable in its first months of life."

"Now we've been demoted from battered spouse to newborn?"

She shakes her head, subtly seething. "Jeer your fill. But you are burying yourself in a hole."

"A hole has two ends."

"Isolation or Hell? Then the Fissures are doomed."

"Are they?" He tilts his head. "You destroyed our trucks, but not our depots. You burned our ships, but not our harbor. You stole our wealth, but not our mines. You've certainly not killed our potential. A population of multitalented, highly skilled and ruthless workers. Unlike Piltover, we eat, sleep and bleed innovation. You gave us no other choice. In time, we have the capacity to become a free trade zone."

Medarda's lip curls downward. "Perhaps so. But in the interim? You'll need more than schemes and Shimmer. More than your chem-barons' checkbooks. A nation needs roads, rails, flyovers, highways. It needs schools and hospitals. It needs a lynchpin of humanity. Not this den of wolves you seek to create."

"Wolves are loyal. I can't say the same for foxes."

Something in Medarda's face occludes. It is brief, but not beyond Silco's threshold of perception. On himself, such displays are farcical diversions. On her, he senses something different. The perfect mask of diplomacy dislodged by a moment's doubt.

Slowly, she says, "I'm asking you to reconsider."

"Fall in line, rather."

She shakes her head. Her mask is back in place, but so neutral that she seems to be effortfully clutching it.

Silco says, "You're taking a lot of risks, my dear. Some might argue that, with the blow we've dealt Piltover, things are irreparable between us. You should cut your losses. Cut us loose. Yet you refuse."

She smiles, but it doesn't sit right on her face. "We are the City of Progress and of Principle."

"Is that right? Or—"

"What?"

"Are you trying to prove something?" His tongue flirts absently around his mouth; a rake of incisors and chipped teeth. "Trying to earn someone's respect? Show them that diplomacy is the best recourse. The fox can outwit the worst of the wolves."

"What would you know of that?"

Her words are modulated but also fiercely wound. Her fingers trace the gold ring on her left hand—the Medarda crest. Silco takes it in, and knows he is on to something.

"I think I understand," he says. "If Piltover chose, they could defeat Zaun without bloodying their hands. Get Noxus involved, perhaps? They've a mighty army. They'd thrash us soundly. But what then? Piltover would be in Noxus' debt. In time, the City of Progress would be the City of Paupers—its funds drained and its potential decimated. Just like any Noxian colony. And should Demacia enter the picture? Well." He spreads his arms. "You'd start another Void War. All because we dared to shove your boot off our necks."

"It needn't go exactly as you describe."

"It needn't. But is the risk worth it?" His voice drops conspiratorially. "I'm told you've a taste for risk. But not for war. You're one of those decaffeinated Noxians. Conquest-free, low on bloodshed, with civilized traces of mercantilism. But scratch deeper beneath the surface, and your neurosis is based in guilt. You believe in taking responsibility. In showing mercy."

Caught between self-revelation and self-protection, Medarda scowls. His words have struck a nerve.

"In that case," Silco says, "I have a proposition."

"What?"

"Zaun will not return the Hex gem. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Under Piltover, we've already possessed so little. However—" He crooks a sharp-knuckled finger. "We will offer reparations. Safe passage to refugees; secure zones for diplomats. Mercy, in exchange for access to the Hex Gates."

Medarda tosses her bejeweled head in defiance. "Ludicrous! The Council will never accept."

"Would they prefer more bloodshed?"

"Now you threaten us?" She lets off a sweetly gilded laugh. "Zaun hasn't the manpower to lay siege to Piltover. Nor the weapons to sustain it. We would outlast you in a month's time."

"Or perhaps we'd ambush you from the inside." Silco bares his crooked teeth. "Remember, we are a den of wolves. You've starved us and suffocated us. But you've taught us to survive, in spite of yourselves. Piltover has a reputation to uphold as a beacon of fairness. Fairness doesn't factor into Zaun's vocabulary."

A hot silence grips the air. Silence like a strangulation.

Medarda struggles against its pull. "You are bluffing."

"Then call it."

"You'd sacrifice your people for pride?"

"You'd sacrifice yours for mercy?"

"War is never mercy! Curbing bloodshed is!"

"Well then."

Silco takes a step closer. Before she can recoil, he snatches her dark hands and brings them up to frame his pale neck. Lets her feel the beat of his pulse in the veins. Her wrists are satiny-hot in the callused cold of his grip. He feels the rapid thrum of her heartbeat in his fingertips.

Their eyes lock. The expression that skims Medarda's face is fleeting. But Silco sees something there. Shock, disgust. And fear that veers into a speechless subspecies of fascination. Like a nymph looking into the mouth of a deepsea monster, its jaws laid open, teeth glinting in the aquatic twilight. Her hands roving deeper inside.

"Show mercy," Silco whispers. "Curb the bloodshed."

Medarda sucks in a shaky breath. Her pupils are dilated around golden threads of iris. Their gazes stay fused in a frozen loop, two animals sizing each other up. But when Silco's good eye drops to Medarda's mouth, half-parted and inches from his, her paralysis breaks and she jerks away on a strange noise, equal parts choke and snarl.

"You—" she says.

"I, what?"

She suppresses the adrenalized tremor racing through her body. "You are intractable."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment." Her voice smooths over at the last word; a forcible repossession of self-control. "Eliminating you will not solve the crisis."

"Then what will?"

Medarda searches for something inside of herself, then shakes her head. Regret, refutation. Her eyes drop a few degrees to stare down at the graceful clasp of her own hands. The Noxian ring glimmers in the gloomy daylight.

"I make no guarantee," she says.

"Hmmm?"

She draws in a breath, then releases it steadily. "I make no guarantee that the Council will accept your proposal."

"Let them consider it."

"Letting them agree to our parley was a feat in itself."

A surreptitious smile edges Silco's lips. Hmm. A two-pronged goring in a lambskin sheath: appeal to his logic by reminding him of Zaun's precariousness; appeal to his emotion by claiming that she is in his corner and has already worked wonders on his behalf.

Well, she's good. He'll grant her that much.

"What do you suggest, then?" he asks.

She lifts her chin; a gentle summons. "A treaty."

"Entailing?"

"Peace."

"My dear." He starts to smile, then cuts it off with a warning stare. "Learn to be more explicit."

"Zaun's terms and Piltover's, merged into one. Zaun will keep the Hex gem. But we must have its surety that it will never be weaponized against us. Zaun will have access to the Hex Gates. But Piltover will have its just desserts through reparations. We will grant Zaunites amnesty for war crimes. In exchange, Zaun must host Piltovan journalists safety within its borders."

"You mean tattlers and spies."

"The price of freedom, First Chancellor."

"Or its worst impediment."

A corner of Medarda's lips curves. "Except Thyself may be/Thine Enemy—"

"Captivity is Consciousness," Silco says, deadpan. "So's Liberty."

Silence creeps like the coronal threads of sunlight through smog. Medarda blinks, then catches hold of herself.

"I confess, Chancellor, I had you somewhat typecast."

"Oh?"

"I didn't consider poetry to be your speed."

"A bit of poetry never hurts the shank end of a revolution."

"Then we are in accord?"

"I leave our future—" he says, mock-graciously, "—in your soft hands."

One of Medarda's brows spasms. Then she glances off, but not before Silco glimpses a private frown. As if she's taken his full measure, as surely as he's taken hers. She meets his eye again, and her face smooths itself, once more a study of serene sophistication.

"Thank you for attending the parley," she says. "First Chancellor of Zaun."

"A privilege, Councilor Medarda."

They shake hands. Their arms slide into synch, fingers interlocking. Two players after a satisfactory chess match.

Except, like before, Medarda holds onto his hand, and turns it over in both her own. Her smile holds no edge. Her eyes glow warmly: sunshine and honey.

"I'd like to make a small request."

"By all means."

"It will prove pivotal in convincing the Council of your good intentions." Her hands are a coaxing squeeze around his own. "It involves a citizen of Zaun."

"Anyone I know?"

"A mutual acquaintance, in fact."

A chill of premonition rises. Silco smiles, thinly, "Whom might it be?"

"The girl at the Kirraman's home. Violet."

Silco's expression snaps shut with a renewed charge of hostility. Suddenly he is all venom, as if his body is a siphon for the blackened ichor trapped within Zaun's core.

"What of her?" he hisses.

Medarda drops his hand as if singed. But her eyes stay glued to his, because the waters are chummed and the net is unfurled, and there he is: caught.

"She is a former citizen of Zaun," she says. "She asks to visit the Fissures."

"To see the corpses?"

"To see her sister."

"She has no sister."

"She does." Demurely, "Shall I be more explicit? Your daughter. Jinx."

[thesophiades]

[Review] The Second Floor

The Second Floor by litrouke

I’m pretty sure this creator is more well known for their game 10 PM- which was that charming little experience of speaking through pictures and signs to a caretaker as a little scared boy. The Second Floor is a pretty sharp deviation from that cozy, (if slightly ominous in terms of wondering what the original trauma was and what on earth the older brother(?) does in his spare time) tight knit experience. Think: roaring monsters, picking your way through poorly lit backrooms, and timidly ransacking the dead.

I liked it a lot. I was a little hesitant going in- I’m a little picky when it comes to zombie media. I don’t really enjoy the shoot em up’s and lean more so on having fun with systems management ala Project Zomboid, and the fussiness of keeping someone alive at the end of times. That meant this game was right up my alley! It is very accurately billed as ‘atmospheric zombie horror.’

Something I’d really commend the piece on was making me feel genuinely on edge and nervy about what to pick up. The threat of being bogged down by too much scavenged nonsense and eaten alive by the dead was really convincingly conveyed, and I found myself picking through rooms and circling back to swap out better items, or foregoing what would have been a ‘nice to have’ but not a ‘need.’

The game actually closes out before you’re given a chance to see if what you hauled out was actually useful or not, and there doesn’t seem to be a penalty for if you decided to be silly and only scoop up heavy towels or something, but I enjoyed the openness to allow your own curation of what you felt was useful. I mostly focused on water, a bit of food, random little tools, some clothing, a touch of medicine and self care items (like soap) and still came in at a cool 71%, while being pretty conservative and leaning more on the water.

I liked being able to make up a little backstory in my head as to why my character was stuffing what they did into their backpack, and imagining them fumbling around to store everything efficiently while tensely on edge and unaware of what was waiting in the rooms to be looted up ahead was wonderful. I feel sort of bad for my character, since I forced them to find all of the bodies, no matter how much they complained about the smell- but the deaths were very touching, and trying to piece together who they might have been before they met their ends was really immersive.

The tile approach was nice for guiding me about, since I fumbled around like a bit of a fool while clicking towards the letters blindly. I’m not really a hardcore gamer or anything, so I tend to be a bit slow on the pickup- having the letters signal goals of where to go alongside the compass system made it a hell of a lot easier to orient myself around the rooms.

The helplessness that underpins the piece -not having much by the way of weapons, needing to get out before it turns dark, the fear the character has and reluctance in approaching the bodies- helped set the stage for me nearly jumping out of my seat at the roar of the monster stuck behind the door. Knowing it was in there and between me and the exit made me rush through the rest of the rooms, petrified it would bust its way through- kicking up the ante several notches. It was a good transition to the mad scramble for your life after you choose to get the hell out of dodge with your goodies- from the tense, slow build up of anxiety and nerves in shuffling around items and trying not to stare at dead bodies, to the sprinting for your life like a mad man while cursing the weight of water.

I would recommend playing The Second Floor if you like: piecing together environmental storytelling cues, and enjoy more of the inventory management fussiness of zombie survival horror rather than a bloody brains bashing in fest.

[thunderous-wolf]

Drunk Dazed

Installment 2 of my series of "Thoughtz"

Note: "Thoughtz" is a compilation of drafts of fanfic that I've had in my notes for a while. They're unedited and most are unfinished. Since I do not feel motivated enough to finish them, I'm posting them all for you to read. Enjoy~

Midnight Escapade

Part 1 of 3

Pairing: no relationship, but features Bangchan and fem!reader.

Plot: You find yourself in a strange world...

Warnings: its supposed to be a little confusing, violence, guns and shooting, death, an implied "not-so-kind" man

a/n: This was a goofy project inspired by a friend that consists of three separate stories tied together. Just like a dream, they don't have a clear plot and are strictly for fun.

Please DO NOT copy, translate or steal my works.

You woke up to find yourself standing behind your best friend, Lisha, in a unfamilliar hallway somewhere. You can hear music coming from the room at the end of the hallway, and the door was slightly ajar. From what you've gathered, it looks like a dance practice room.

After coming closer, you recognize that Red Lights is playing. You stopped right where you were. No way were you gonna watch that, you'd die from blushing as red as a beet. But Lisha, with unknown strength, pulled you along with her. We walked - or rather, dragged - along the hallway until we came to the door.

You were about to open the door when suddenly the ground beneath you gave way, and you were plunged into darkness.

You fell on something slightly soft. You jumped up, thinking it was Lisha, and after some examination, it was just a couch. Lisha had vanished into thin air without a trace.

A spotlight above you flickered on, revealing three doors infront of you. There were no other exits in the room, leading you to believe you had to go into one of the three doors to escape.

The first door was an old wood door (some might even go as far as saying it's mahogany). There was a small gap between the door and the floor, and you could feel a crisp night's breeze seeping in from it.

The second door was lit up with neon signs. It looked like it belonged to a night club. It was very dark tinted glass, and if you got close enough you could barely make out dancing lights from within. You could feel the vibrations on the door that were caused by the thumping music from within.

The third door - and by far the most odd one - was made of steel. It was painted stark white, and the paint was chipping off from the years of usage. One piece of paint in particular was getting on your nerves. You reached out to pick it off and immediately drew your hand back. The door was so cold it almost shocked your hand. Unlike the first door, it didn't have cold air flowing from it.

You stepped back. How were you supposed to know which one would lead you home? Although, you could just poke your head in each one and see which one looked most promising. So that's what you did.

However, your plans didn't factor the possibility of you being sucked into the atmosphere. Literally.

You had chosen the first door (as result of a game of eeny meeny miny moe) and were immediately thrown into the inside when you opened the door wide enough for you to fit through.

Beyond the door, you had stumbled upon an alley. It was late at night, the moon was already high in the sky. Looking up at it, you see that it's a full moon. However, it was the weirdest full moon you've ever seen. The clouds surrounding it were purple, making it cast purple rays of light onto the ground.

You hear shuffling coming from behind you, and you turn around to see a figure walking towards you.

As it came closer, you could see it was a man, in his mid forties, who was certainly not a sight for sore eyes.

"Hey there, pretty lady. Why don't you come with me and we can have some fun~"

"Dang it." You whisper to yourself. "Umm, thank you for the offer but I'm not interested." You say as politely as you can. You don't need to offend him since that could make it worse.

You slowly back away, but he mirrors your movements. His strides are bigger than yours and he's gaining on you. You were about to turn around and run when you suddenly hear a gunshot. You whip your head around to see where the shot came from.

On one of the rooftops above you, stood a younger man standing with his back to the moon, holding a really cool looking gun. There was a painful thud behind you and you whip your head around yet again to see that the man following you fell to the ground with a bullet hole in his chest. Blood was around around him and you stepped back to avoid getting any blood on you. You looked back to see if the young man was still there, but just as your head turned, he jumped off the roof. He quickly disappeared in the endless streets without a sound. Soon, you found yourself alone once more.

Part 2

[dahstev]

SwampCon

I went to SwampCon on Sunday as this is my first-ever convention. I felt the atmosphere was lively, but Saturday was probably better since I had to miss it due to cramming for an exam which sucks. Overall, it was an enjoyable experience and the event showed how it brought the community together as a gemeinschaft from many different age groups and allowed people to freely express themselves in cosplay. There was no judgment at the convention, but when I had lunch in the Reitz Union food court, many passersby were looking at the cosplays. Not sure if they were interested or disgusted. Anyways, I saw families with parents bringing their children which shows their suppurative nature. Compared to many of the anime we watched in class, parents usually don’t agree and reject the idea of cosplaying in general. People went all out with cosplay such as characters from Naruto, Sailor Moon, Genshin Impact, and Chainsaw Man. Many of the outfits were elaborate, and I respect the amount of time and effort placed into an event. Since I’m not into anime to a large extent yet, I felt out of place when walking around while wearing a plain outfit.

In the Artist Alley and Vendors’ area, it was cool to see what they had to offer. The Artist Valley had handmade products, such as soaps and candles, and commissioners for art. There were many fan-made works, and this reminds me of the discussion on Genshiken about how cultural capital is made into official capital. This applies to the Vendor area as well where accumulated official capital allows them to continue cultural capital, a legitimate occupation. I felt that there was no fandom gatekeeping, as talked about in class, with everyone being open to discussing. This could be due to the smaller population of individuals into anime compared to urban cities where anime is prominent such as Japan. In the end, I had to prevent myself from buying things because they were expensive. But at the same time, there were other anime that I didn’t know what I was looking at half of the time. The next stop was the Maid Café at noon, and they were transitioning so everyone had to wait. After being seated, I got to strike up a conversation with random people at my table. I was hoping to expect more in terms of food, but cake and lemonade were sufficient since food was running out. There was a performance onstage that I didn’t know what the track was, but it seemed popular as many were cheering, and was interesting to watch. The last stop, where I spent most of my time, was in the VR room. I had a blast as this was my first time in a VR environment. The experience was immersive, and I came back multiple times for the different games they had to offer (escape room, zombies, archers). After a few rounds and back in the “real” world, I had to make sure the things I touch were physically there such as the handle rails for the stairs. It just shows how easily the mind can be manipulated. I can see why such people in SAO would enjoy MMORPG games despite the risk involved. VR is nowhere near the level of the NerveGear and I already have trouble separating the two environments.

I believe that SwampCon should be more public about the convention and promote it because I didn’t even know it was a thing at UF until this class. Even though I am fairly new to anime, I enjoyed it and will attend in the future.

^ Maid Cafe

^ A classmate from high school

[cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc]

One more time

Summary: Alex regrets ever saying yes. All he wants is a second chance.

Trigger warning: Mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, swearing, angst

Author's note: my first piece off hiatus !! - you're a twitch streamer in this fic but it won't come up too much :) hope u like it <3

Based on: Break My Heart Again - FINNEAS

you sigh. your ex-boyfriend called again. you've been ignoring your phone for 5 minutes now. was he really this desperate?

you pick up your phone and slide the green button.

"what do you want, alex?"

"___, you picked up!"

he sounded extremely relieved, like he needs you to breathe.

"i did, now what do you want?"

alex sighed and leaned on a wall in his bedroom.

"can i come over? there's some stuff i still need to pick up."

you suck in a breath sharply. the air is thick and tense.

"no."

you clench the phone you were holding and bit your lip.

"i don't want to see you right now."

alex closed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall.

"i understand, you need time."

there was silence for a moment. neither of you wanted to say anything.

"if you want to come over that bad you can get your things tomorrow morning."

"sounds good. i'll be there around 11, okay?"

"fine."

"good-"

you ended the call.

"-bye..."

alex let his arm drop beside him. his eyes were watering, but he wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it's his fault, he knew. but why is he still so upset? he shouldn't feel like this - it's is his own doing, after all.

~

you open the door to your home. alex was standing on the porch with a few empty bags in hand. the morning sun blinded you slightly, making you squint at the man in front of you.

"hi ___."

"hello, alex. all your belongings are on the couch.

"great, thank you."

~

he looks over as he's folding a shirt.

"what are you looking at?"

you say without looking away from your laptop.

his face was getting red slightly from embarrassment.

"nothing, you seem busy."

alex directed his eyes back to the clothes in front of him.

"otherwise you would've said something about me."

alex snickered slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

you sigh, holding your face in one of your hands.

don't say it. ___, keep it in. there's no point in fighting him. ___-

"if i wanted to make a comment it'd be about the fact you can't keep your dick in your pants."

god damn it, why did you do that?

he fell quiet. you hated his guts, but even you felt kind of bad for being so blunt with it.

a part of you still loved him. his loud, yet charming laugh. his sweet kisses. his adorable clinginess. his blushing face when you teased him.

you shake your head, trying to physically get rid of your pity for him. he doesn't love you anymore. he shouldn't, and neither should you.

~

after filling the bags with alex's belongings he stood up and wiped his forehead. you waver from your work and look him up and down.

"you done?"

you asked him. he turned around and gave you a weak smile.

"yeah, i think so."

"good, you know the way out."

you turn back to your computer.

"___, wait. can i ask you something?"

you make eye contact with him, fully aware it makes him nervous.

"what do you want?"

alex took a quick breath.

"can we talk sometime?"

you look at him like he spoke an alien tongue.

"why the hell would i?"

"i want to talk about what happened between us. i hate that our relationship is so sour."

he set a step forward.

"i just want this to end peaceful - or at least neutral."

"why the fuck would i want to be peaceful with you of all people?"

"i hate ending things on the wrong foot, you know that."

alex stands his ground, making you livid.

"then we make up, and then what? you'll just break my heart again!"

you stand up, simultaneously pushing the chair away with your legs.

"then i can lay awake and think about why i even let you inside my house again in the first place?!"

if looks could kill, alex would be on the floor.

"fine. if you don't want to, then i guess everything will just stay the way it is."

alex turned around and grabbed his bags. there's no way he's getting through to you right now.

"oh, so now it's my fault?"

you slam your laptop and walk away from the table.

"well, i'm so sorry for being angry at you for cheating on me!"

you don't hold your anger in anymore, he crossed the line.

"i never said that, ___!"

alex yelled to match your energy.

you took a step back. the audacity to yell at you in your house.

"out. now."

alex grabbed the second bag of clothes and without a word walked to the front door.

"goodbye, ___."

alex pushes the door open and steps outside. you go after him but stop at the doorstep.

"fuck you!" you sob out. you grab the doorknob and slam the door shut.

your knees slowly got weaker and you sit against the front door, shutting your eyes.

~

it's been a month since you've seen alex. you've blocked him on everything since then.

you were doing a q&a on your twitch channel and everything was going well. chat was filled with questions and you answered the one's you could.

your thoughts were somewhere else, though.

you still miss him, you really did. alex used to watch your streams all the time. he sent you donations with cheesy pick-up lines, he called you during streams to make fun of you for dying in a game or just to chat while he's bored.

but that didn't happen anymore.

you realize you haven't said anything in a while and you apologize. your chat was spamming purple hearts and 'are you okay?'

"ah, sorry everyone, i'm still tired from yesterday. i think i'm going to end the stream for today, thank you all for coming!"

after saying goodbye you turn off your computer.

why are you still so obsessed over him?! he cheated on you! he even tried to cover it up with a bullshit story about "not being the first to kiss her," and "she forced me to," like someone would believe a lie like that.

yet, you still love him. something inside you wants to believe him, like he really was telling the truth.

~

the next morning you open twitter and scroll for a bit. you made a tweet earlier in which you stated you weren't going to stream today.

you looked at the trending topics and saw your name in bold letters. you clicked on it and read the first tweet that popped up.

'i really hope ___ is doing better, they looked so sad on stream :('

an image was attached to it - a screenshot from the stream you did yesterday where you were mindlessly staring at your computer screen.

you sighed. at least they're not thinking too deep about this.

you scroll further down, replying and liking a couple tweets saying you were alright, thanking them or cracking a joke. this should keep them off your back for a while.

after scrolling for a bit one tweet catches your eye. you clutch your phone as you read the comment.

'kinda obvious they miss quackity :/ it's a good cover-up story tho '

~

alex was staring at his ceiling. he'd seen the tweets about you - about him.

he hates this feeling. he hates the fact that he knows what you're thinking. he hates that he knows it's his fault. he didn't mean to. he didn't.

"come on, alex. you know you want it." the woman said.

"i told you, no! i have a partner!" alex pushed her away for the second time, trying to find a way past the girl and out of this small alleyway. he should've never gone to this stupid bar.

"tch, whatever. but know you'll regret rejecting someone like me!" the girl pushed him to the brick wall and fixed her dress as she walked away.

alex fixed himself for a minute and walked past the bar and into his car. he pulled out his phone and shot you a quick text.

'hey bb i'll be over in a few :)'

'don't come back.'

you responded almost immediately. alex froze as he looked at the screen.

'wdym?'

'you know damn well why'

you sent him a photo of him next to the bar in the alley. the girl was all over him while her lips connected lustfully to his.

'it isn't what it looks like, i didn't start any of this!'

you don't respond. alex tries to send you another text when an error pops up.

'unable to send message. user has blocked you.'

~

you hover your hand over your phone's keyboard. you thought anbout alex's offer to talk, and decided that maybe it was a good idea after all. you couldn't get your mind off him, you thought that hopefully getting some closure could help.

but how were you going to ask him? 'hey, i know i blocked number like a month ago but can you to meet me at some random park? see you there!'

after typing and deleting multiple texts you eventually landed on a message.

'hey alex, i've been thinking about your offer to talk it out, and i wanted to ask if you're still up for it?'

you send it and immediately turn off your phone and place it on the coffeetable in front of you. you did it, finally. you fall back on your couch and pull your knees up to your face, waiting for a notification.

after a nailbiting five minutes a light emits from your phone. you pick it up and read the name calling you. 'alex'. you take a deep breath and answer the phone.

"hi alex."

"hey ___, it's been a while."

you sit up straight, preparing yourself for the conversation you're about to have.

'yeah, you can say that."

the atmosphere was a lot less tense than you expected. it was weirdly... comforting? you can hear alex's raspy voice through the phone. has he been crying?

"i saw your text, you wanted to meet?"

"yes, i did. i wanted to get some closure, at least."

alex chuckled, his laugh making you a little flustered. trying to brush it off, you laugh with him.

"what's so funny?" alex asked.

you rolled your eyes and smile.

"you, dumbass."

he gasps cartoonishly loud. his goofy personality is something you could never get enough of. maybe you were wrong after all.

"ok, but seriously, when do you want to meet?"

he gets back on topic. you snap out of your smile and remember why he called in the first place.

"right, right. i'm free this whole week, you can choose when."

after some planning and back and forth, you decide to meet at a small family-run café in the afternoon. coincidentally, it's the same place you two had your first date.

~

you settle down at a table on the terrace of the café, the sunday sun greeting you warmly. you were a little early, so you decided to think of some questions. it didn't take you long to come to a few, though. your main question was the photo. what was that all about?

as you were handed a menu you saw alex walking on the pavement fidgeting with his fingers.

"hey! sorry if i'm late, i took the bus instead of my car."

he took the seat parallel to yours and exhaled.

"oh no, you're right on time. i was just a little early."

the waitress gave alex a menu and disappeared into the establishment. you both decided to stay quiet before getting on topic. neither of you want to start the conversation.

after both ordering and having surface level conversation for a while silence fell. you both know why you're here, it feels off to talk like nothing ever happened.

"okay-"

"so-"

you both start at the same time. alex awkwardly chuckles while covering his mouth.

"you first."

alex proposes. you nod and like magic lose the somewhat content mood you had prior. you steadily breathe in and pull out your phone.

"so, first things first; my main goal is to get closure and an explanation - there's no point in lying to me."

alex hums in agreement. you could tell he was nervous, you knew him better than anyone. you tap on your screen a few times until you reach the photo that was sent to you.

"now, i want a clear answer. what happened that night?"

you ask him firmly as you put your phone on the table to reveal the image.

"that's my ex-girlfriend."

alex said. you raise an eyebrow - his ex? you've heard some wild things about her and her antics, which is exactly why alex broke up with her in the first place.

"she said she wanted to ask me something in private. my dumbass said yes, because i can't pick up on context clues, apparently."

you cross your arms and lean back on the chair.

"you got that right."

alex looks up from the photo and makes eye contact with you.

"long story short, she pushed me to the wall and kissed me. i tried to push her off but she didn't let me go. after shoving her, like, twice she finally got the hint and left."

~

"so she set you up?"

"she hasn't changed a bit since all those years."

you say with a hint of condescension. his explanation made sense, and from what you heard he wasn't lying. your gut told you to believe him, yet your mind had an itching feeling that there was something else.

"are you sure that's all?"

alex flinched slightly.

"y-yes, ___. i don't know what else to tell you."

you mess with your hair a bit, clearly conflicted. there was nothing else, you knew that. but your brain wouldn't let it go. you decided it's better if you just sleep on it.

"alright, then.-"

you grab your bag and stand up.

"-i think we're done here."

alex stays seated and looks up at you.

"yeah, i think so."

you pick the phone up that's laying on the table. you pull out your wallet and put a $5 bill under your teacup.

"goodbye, alex."

"wait!"

alex stands up and grabs your wrist, the gesture scaring you little bit.

"are you still mad at me?"

those eyes. they're so pretty, almost sparlking. you snap out of it when he lets go, just realizing how weird it is to grab someone's arm out of nowhere.

"sorry, my bad. i wasn't thinking."

alex scratches the back of his neck.

"i'm still deciding if i can trust you, but i appreciate you showing up, at least."

"that's enough for me."

alex smile at you, not trying to pry.

"goodbye, ___."

"goodbye, alex."

~

you heard the chirping of the birds outside your window and groan. why is it already morning? you sit up and grab your phone from the nightstand next to your bed, the phone reading 11:23 - tuesday - xx-xx-xxxx.

you sigh and fall back onto your bed. you've been thinking about alex for a few days now, still not getting him out of your head.

after going downstairs and eating some toast you pull out your phone again, the clock now reading 12:44. you look through your contacts and eventually land on his name.

you hover your hand over the green pixels while sitting down at the dining table. you swallow audibly and click the call button.

it goes once.

it goes twice.

"___?"

'Hey alex, i wanted to ask you if you wanted to meet up again?"

ty for reading <3

m.list

taglist: @adoring-ghost @sakisaralazy @for-memories-sacrifice @ialexabsuniverse @shiyanchan @bioluminescentfrog @esylwen

reblogs >> likes !

[itsevanffs]

Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

[tiedyemillenialbullshit]

Nightmare

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Avenger Reader Word Count: 3,431 Summary: Your best friend finally comes to visit the compound after you join the Avengers. What starts out as a fun night out, quickly turns dire for you and Bucky. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Feelings, Mentions of Alcohol and Drugs, PTSD/Nightmares, swearing

“AHHHH Y/N!!” You hear her before you see your best friend running towards you, not a care in the world that your entire team has also turned around to watch you two galavant towards each other like long lost sisters.

You catch Sarah in your arms and spin her around.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re FINALLY HERE! And you’re early! Holy shit like I can’t believe you’re finally here in New York!! Let me introduce you to the team!” You grab her arm after she starts to show hesitance in meeting the Avengers all at once.

“Are you sure they have time? I don’t want to be a bother,” she says sheepishly.

“Oh my god Sarah, I talk about you all the time! They’re just as excited to meet you, come on.” You both walk towards the team still staring at you both near the entrance to the compound doing a quick debrief of a not-so-successful mission the day before.

“Guys, this is Sarah. Sarah this is-“ she cuts you off. “I know who you guys all are. It’s so nice to meet you! I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.” Everyone grins and introduces themselves to your best friend.

Nat smiles at you both, “On the contrary, you’re coming out with us tonight! No if’s, and’s or but’s”

Sarah seems to suddenly catch a second wind from her long flight and lets out a squeal of excitement.

You’re the newest to the “official” team, even though Steve and Fury had been trying to recruit you for years. You didn’t like the idea of the world knowing about your skill set and preferred to live a quiet life back in California. Ever since moving here, you’ve felt like maybe you weren’t home yet. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, but you missed your little house hidden in the outskirts of the National Parks in California. You missed the sun, the familiar smell of your patch of paradise and the general sense of room back home. Most importantly, you missed Sarah.

You were reluctant to invite her out to New York at first, but now that things seemed to be going smoothly, you sent for her via a car and private jet thanks to one Mr. Tony Stark. He was more than happy to help you out given your fresh and maybe sometimes bumpy arrival to the Avengers.

As everyone filed inside to break away before the evening festivities, Bucky caught your arm.

After holding you back for a second he said, “Hey, I can totally hang back tonight if you’d rather just be with Sarah and the team.”

You realize what he’s getting at. He also has some lack of feeling settled at the compound. It was something you bonded over when you first arrived. You both had similar pasts, even though they were at the same time lightyears apart.

“Buck, no. I think we’re all going out to Bleaker’s tonight! What’s a better way to get to know the team than bowling, beer, smoking inside, beer, old arcade games, more beer and maybe dancing?!”

Bucky gives you a quick glare out the corner of his eye before wrapping his metal arm around your shoulders to lead you inside after everyone.

“Fiiiiiiine, but I can’t promise I’ll behave.” You giggle, but suddenly feel a couple sets of eyes on you.

“And what do we have here?,” Tony asks with a smirk across his mouth. Sarah seems to be in the middle of an engaging conversation with Steve, so you don’t seem to have an easy out of this encounter. Bucky quickly drops his arm and steps a foot away from you.

“Uh, nothing. Y/N just seemed like maybe she wasn’t feeling well.”

“But I’m fine so here we are - have you seen Sam? Nat? Wanda? I told them we should be ready in a few hours and I jus-“

“Oh for Christ’s sake guys, your secret is safe with me,” Tony winks at you knowingly. You decide to take that as the end of the conversation and rush over to join Sarah.

“So! You have muscles.” Sarah says clearly at a loss of words looking at Steve in a tight shirt.

You and Bucky share a giggle, but pull Sarah away and save her from further embarrassment.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Sarah is about as red as a tomato as you drag her upstairs away from the awkward encounter. Steve looked a little flustered as well, which you file away in the back of your brain.

“Who cares! Let’s catch up and get ready for tonight.” Sarah is your best friend for a reason. Even though it had been 6 months since you last saw each other, it was like it was yesterday. You two spend the next few hours catching up, gossiping about each other’s families, friends, ex-boyfriends, etc.

“So! How are we doing in the boi department?” You turn around and face Sarah at the inquisitive tone in her question.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m good, I’m… I’m doing great, I mean yeah I’m good. WHY?” You’re stuttering and you don’t even care it’s obvious you’re blushing.

“Oh, you know. I mean, I’ve only recently met a few super soldiers, but I do think I can tell the there’s a spark between one and someone else.” Sarah so wants you to spill the tea but you promised Bucky you’d keep it quiet.

“Let’s just say things are developing and whatever you’d like to take from that you may.” You both launch into a giggle fit of her guessing and you denying certain aspects of Bucky Barnes.

When Wanda wanders into your room a few hours later, she starts laughing at what she sees. “You know you two are wearing like the same thing, right?” Exchanging confused looks at each other, you reply with a “AND?!”

Sam follows in with a smirk of his own. You’re bracing for his jokes but instead says “damn, OKAY! Everyone’s looking sharp tonight. Y/N, have you seen our bionic man around? Is he coming? He better come out tonight or I swear to…”

After Sam leaves to go find Bucky, the three of you wander down to find Nat and start the evening off with a shot or two. You aren’t much of a drinker, so one is enough for you. You much rather enjoy the company of your friend Mary Jane.

The team is getting silly with each other in the kitchen and quickly the room is filled with people yelling at each other to pregame harder, laughing when Nat’s little sister challenges Sam to a chugging contest and wins.

You feel a large hand at the small of your back. You can smell his cologne and know who it is immediately.

“Well don’t you look dashing tonight Sargent Barnes.” You lean in on impulse but stop yourself just as the girls turn around to see who you’re talking to.

“I was just going to say the same thing to you, sweets.” He mumbles in your ear before removing his hand and walking over to Sam.

The alcohol decides to hit you then, leaving you feeling empty that he’s not standing next to you anymore. Neither of you had wanted to have the “conversation” but you knew you were head over heels for him.

“CABS ARE HERE” screams Sam.

“Sam. For the love of God, stop watching Jersey Shore.” Natasha jokes to him.

At the same time Steve screams, “I understood that reference!” Eye rolls are exchanged as you all make your way outside.

The atmosphere is buzzing and you’re so excited to not just be out with your team, but to also have the only bit of family you had with you as well. You finally felt at home, at peace, and were ready for a fun night out.

Bleaker’s is one of those hole-in-the-wall dive bars that from the outside seems like a hard pass, but once you’re in, there’s no other place you’d rather spend a Saturday night. It’s true it started as a bowling alley in the 60’s. That still remains. What’s newer is the arcade in the back, where the old salon used to be. Jimmy bought the space next door, blew out the wall and filled it with arcade games that sometimes work and sometimes eat your money.

After years of being regular patrons, he knows your team well. The minute you walk in, he starts up all your favorite drinks.

“Ah! My best customers! I had a feeling I’d be seeing Earth’s mightiest heroes tonight.” You line up at the bar for whatever Jimmy decides you’re drinking tonight.

“Ah yes, two vodka on the rocks for my little Russian assassins. Sam here’s your vodka red bull which I don’t think you need, but here we are. Steve! Your drink of choice: an Old Style. Wanda, a cosmo for my favorite witch. And who do we have here, Y/N?”

You’re already both in hysterics at the old man behind the bar giving everybody a hard time. “Jimmy, this is my best friend Sarah. She’s visiting from California for a few days.”

“And whatever the lady wants can be put on my tab…” Steve butts in. Sarah immediately turns red but says “well in that case I’ll have vodka soda with lime please!”

Bucky has come up behind you and now you’re both laughing and watching the two of them stare at each other like no one else is in the room.

“Oh no, what did you do Y/N?”

“Let it play out, he’s not completely tripping over his words yet, maybe he’ll finally land a good girl.” You hush to Bucky.

Jimmy stares as well in amusement. “And you two? Your usual?”

“Yes’sir!” You shout over the growing music. Jimmy hands you each a jack and Diet Coke. You tell yourself it’s okay because it’s diet, but you know that’s a bunch of bullshit.

The other great thing about Bleaker’s? The dance floor downstairs. You always joke around that it seems like a nightclub that never closes in Amsterdam or something, but you’re serious. It could be 3 pm and sunny and you’d never know. It’s in the basement, it's always dark and the music is almost always too loud.

Usually that would gross you all out, but the energy tonight is pushing you all downstairs.

You reach back and grab Bucky’s hand not really caring who sees. It’s been months of sneaking around and either everyone knows and is playing it off like they don't or you’re really good at hiding it. Regardless, you’re over hiding. Maybe showing a little PDA tonight will get him out of his shell.

Sarah and Steve are no where in sight, assuming they’re ahead of you, you follow the team downstairs.

Minutes turn into hours. Everyone is dancing, laughing, sweating, screaming the lyrics to every song, and for a little while you can forget you’re a group of superheroes, and can just be normal 30-something year-olds.

You mostly dance with Bucky and quickly realize he’s a better dancer than you thought he would be. Those moves from the 1940’s must still be relevant in some way today, because the way he's grinding up on you and not caring if anyone sees just does something to you.

You work the room, finding Sarah, Wanda, Nat, even Steve for a song before you realize you don't see Bucky. You give it a few minutes thinking maybe he is in the bathroom. After 15 minutes though, you grab Steve’s attention and motion for him to check the bathroom while you check outside.

You race to the alley where you find Jimmy on a smoke break. “Hey Jimmy, have you seen Bucky? I can’t find him.”

“Oh yeah, doll, he took off in a cab about a half hour ago. Looked real flustered, but I didn’t want to press.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You thought you felt his mood shift about an hour ago, he was becoming stiff and quiet. You thought maybe he was just drinking a lot but now you’re realizing the loud music, strobe lights and base must have been triggering him.

“Ugh I’m such a bitch,” you huff as you send Steve a S.O.S text.

You: Hey, Jimmy said he just left. I'm sure he's heading home. I'm going to go find him.

Sire Captain Rogers: Go ahead. I think Sarah and I can find something to do while you find Buck. ;)

You: Yeah I’m sure you can.

You: BEHAVE. She’s my best friend.

Sire Captain Rogers: I know Y/N, don’t worry about us. Let me know when you find him.

You lock your phone and hop in a cab back to the compound.

No one is up or around when you enter through the front. The kitchen has been cleaned up, the dishes done. Probably thanks to THURSDAY, Tony’s beta bot for “cleaning up after you assholes trash the place.”

You smirk and head for the elevators. Heading straight to Bucky’s room, you can tell his light is on but something seems off. You don’t like to use your powers on friends or in the compound, but you close your eyes and reach out with your mind to find his aura. Your eyes snap open. You don’t sense him, you just see red.

Taking this as a good excuse to break into a friend’s room, you burst into the room to find it in disarray. Everything is toppled over, broken glass is on the floor, the bathroom light is on, but all you can see is his blood on the door and the floor. You’re panicked, trying to piece together what happened.

Again, you close your eyes and reach out for the familiar energy of Bucky. You find him in your room on the floor.

“What the fuck?,” you mumble and sprint up the stairs to your apartment. You shoot Steve a text on your way up.

You: Found him, looks like a bad one. I’ll let you know if I need you.

Sir Captain Rogers: Thanks Y/N. I’m just a call away, let me know if you need anything. Night.

Upon entering, you sense he’s in distress. His heart rate is elevated, he’s incredibly sweaty and is panting like a dog.

“Bucky? Buck, it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky stirs and jumps into a defensive standing position quicker than you can blink. You flip the lights on with a “BABE. Baaabe, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re in the compound. You had a nightmare.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide and alarmed, but you can tell the moment he recognizes you.

Rushing over to you, he takes you into a big hug. “Oh my god. What happened? Are you okay, did I hurt you?”

“No Bucky, no I just found you a minute ago. You had another bad one, what do you need me to do right now for you?”

Bucky stands back and rubs his swollen eyes. “I need to shower, can you help me?”

Typically, this is where it gets exciting, but you knew what he means. Water grounds him. He doesn’t feel like he’s falling in water. It helps him visualize the stress washing off of him.

You help him strip and get in the shower, but before you can even take his jeans off, he jumps in and pulls you in with him. You realize how desperate he is for whatever he’s feeling to pass and your heart sinks.

You’re both standing there, almost fully clothed holding each other. This is the worst you’ve seen him in a long time.

“I’m so sorry if I ruined your night, Y/N. The base sounded like the train, the lights looked like the machine they used on me, what the fuck.”

You aren’t sure what to do so you decide to sit on the ground and pull him down with you. You position yourself behind him so his back is in your chest. Even though he’s so much larger than you, he sinks down enough for you to reach over his shoulders and hold him.

“It’s okay Barnes, just breathe with me. You’re safe. You’re with me, and we’re home. Nobody is going to touch you. I’ve got you, you won’t fall.”

You take in deep breaths so he can match your breathing.

After about 45 minutes, the hot water is out in the tank. Bucky sits forward and turns towards you. You want him to lead right now, so you don’t say anything. Neither does he, but the look in his eyes are telling you something about tonight is different.

With a soft smile on your lips, you cup his cheek until he is really looking at you. “Hun, let’s go lay down, ya? Let me help get you dried off.” Bucky hates when you fuss over him, so when he doesn’t argue, you know to be extra gentle with him.

After getting him up and out of the shower, you think skin-to-skin contact doesn’t seem sexual right now, it feels intimate in a grounding sense, and you know that’s exactly what he needs right now. Bucky seems dazed, almost like he got hit too hard in the head. You yourself are of course a tad over-served, and are quickly realizing the adrenaline of this entire situation is rubbing off.

You get Bucky into bed and turn to make sure his phone is plugged in and that he has a glass of water, but he grabs your wrist before you can move away. “Just leave it, it’s fine.”

“Buck, just let me-“ he grabs your wrist harder.

“Y/N. Please just stay here. Please.”

The entire time you’ve been together, he’s done a lot of things but begging you for anything is not one of them. Suddenly the phone and whatever hell else you were doing doesn’t seem important anymore.

You climb into your usual spot next to him and decide maybe you’ll try to get him to open up. The moment the back of your head hits the pillow, Bucky is facing you. His pleading eyes seem like they want to tell you everything that’s going on in his head, but you know pushing him to talk will just make the nightmares come flooding back too soon.

Instead, you decide to lay on your back and pull him to lay on your chest.

“Just listen to my heart beat, Bucky.” You hear him take a deep breath and settle into your chest.

You start and stop yourself from trying to say something comforting. You’re terrified to say the wrong thing at such a crucial moment. Typically these bad episodes are reserved for a Steve house call. You realize as he’s settling into a comfortable position that he hasn’t asked you to call Steve yet. Bucky trusts you in a way you didn’t realize until now.

You don’t know when, but you start humming the first calming song that comes in your head.

I’ll be seeing you In all the old familiar places That this heart of mine embraces All day through

Bucky picks his head up to look at you. Oh fuck.

“Where did you hear that song?,” he says to you with shiny eyes.

“You sing it all the time when you’re concentrating. I looked it up and added it to my ‘bath time/relax’ playlist. I didn't know Billie Holliday was a favorite of yours."

Bucky was looking at you like maybe this was the first time he saw you, like really saw you. “My mom used to sing that around the house when she was missing my dad.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I can hum a diff-“ you’re cut off with the most searing kiss Bucky has ever given you. He’s crying when he pulls back to look at you again. “Will you keep singing it?”

In that small cafe The park across the way The children's carousel That chestnut tree, the wishing well

By the time you finish the second verse, he has physically relaxed in your arms. You continue rubbing your hand up and down his back and shoulder, stopping to play with his long hair every once in a while.

I'll be seeing you In every lovely summer's day In every thing that's light and gay I'll always think of you that way

“I forgot how much I love hearing this song sung around me.” Bucky whispers so quietly you almost miss it.

I'll find you in the morning sun And when the night is new I'll be looking at the moon But I'll be seeing you…

You stop your caressing when you feel him sit up on one arm.

He leans down to kiss you but stops short to whisper “I love you Y/N.” You kiss him back and wrap your arms around his shoulders, and when you say “I love you too, Bucky,” you’ve never been more sure of something in your life.