#never held it against them that they left. she just envied them a little. but she had to stay

[im-smart-i-swear]

What's Tashi's relationship with Webby and Taka like? Cause while I can imagine him being just as protective and smothering, as he's with Stick (maybe a bit less) I can't imagine Webby just letting him do it without having a thousand and one complaints, like I feel like she'll be much more assertive and confrontential than Stick is

thats a great question!!

first of all i think tashis relationship with stick specifically is a bit diffrent - idrk how to phrase it but basically tashi was his role model for a while and he had a lot of respect for him growing up. so theres this weird air of... expectation, almost? the two of them were really close when stick was younger and that coupled with how tashi still percieves him as a helpless confused kid makes their relationship a lot weirder...

with ryou (taka) hes obviously very protective and smothering, bc thats A BABY!!!!! ryou takes it well for the most part i think, at least before becoming a teen - hes the youngest, he likes attention and being papmered (most of the time)<3 also, by the time ryou is around 13-14 tashi is already starting to get a bit better after the whole stick fiasco, so its also that his older siblings sorta made his life easier? bc now tashi knows what he did wrong and is trying to not make the same mistakes again(not to say he doesnt fuck up at all tho!! he does! a lot!!! but at least its not nearly as catastrophic as w stick lol, and hes just one of MANY adults in ryous life, so it evens out more).

also, bc of how young ryou was, he didn't really fully comprehend just how bad tashi was getting at the time, and that helped him a bit? when we're young we dont really see our caretakers as people who are flawed and make mistakes. that comes w age. and i think it was very confusing for ryou to realise that the man who raised him since he was five is NOT some sort of a wise higher being but instead just. a messy guy. who is a bit cringe. so i think ryou lets him pamper him a bit (it helps that he is not that good w people and would rather stick to ppl he already knows), bc he knows neither webby or stickbug will let tashi do that. its annoying sometimes, but ryou is way better at establishing boundaries than stick was, so they get through it somehow.

webby has always been pretty independent (or at least tried very hard to appear as such) and she does NOT handle tashi being overbearing well AT ALL. out of the kids she has always had the least respect for tashi and the other adults in her life, so her relationship w tashi was a bit more levelled? equal? ever since the beginning she was pretty good at being assertive (and was a huge help to stick when he was figuring out the whole 'setting boundaries' thing), and that helped her wriggle out of tashis hold, at least partially. she was also whole-heatedly on sticks side when he was getting sick of tashis shit and she WILL yell at him whenever does or says anything stupid.

she still loves him tho. they all do, in diffrent ways, and they want him to be happy, despite his parenting being less than stellar a lot of the time. i think the thing that allows their relationships w him (and bud and soup too) to heal and strenghten in the end was them just simply GROWING UP. when the power dynamic of tashi as a caretaker was gone, they could finally start seeing each other as people! yay!!

sorry if this answer is more messy than usual lol!!

[sugarwavelove]

Dearest older brother...?

Notes: woke up from my nap and wrote this off the top of my head. Some of this is based off my own personal experiences. Not proofread.

Content to be found: 100% PLATONIC, implied bpd and ocd if you squint, unhealthy sibling dynamics (lmk if there's more I should add)

You remember asking Sunday that question all too well. And boy, how did you regret it. 

“Is it ok if I call you… big brother now?”

You so desperately wanted to have a caring family, siblings, but younger naive you clung to the wrong brotherly figure. 

He and Robin had such a tight bond, and you, being an only child, envied them. So when you were invited to playdates, you enjoyed every second being with them. 

The fond memories of you and Sunday supporting Robin's dreams. Sneaking into the kitchen to grab snacks without getting caught. You three grew so close, you practically were their third sibling. 

But happiness doesn't last long. The more you all grew up and followed different paths, the more distant you guys became. Of course, there are still attempts to meet up, but it was difficult. Most of the time, you were left behind with Sunday, the man you called big brother. 

Could you really call him that anymore though? He made little effort to keep ties with you. Check in on you. You understand that him and Robin obviously had a closer bond. Therefore, he'd pay more attention to her, but you? It's like he was trying to erase you from his life. 

No. That's not right. He distances himself from you and lets you fall into loneliness. Yes, that's true. But then why does he keep coming back every time you're at your breaking point? 

“What's wrong? You can always tell me anything. I am your big brother, after all.” 

It's the same thing every time. 

He asks you what's wrong. You break down. He consoles you. Then leaves and the cycle repeats. And every time you refuse to talk, he'll manipulate your emotions to speak and cause you to break down even more. 

Why would a big brother do this to his younger sibling? 

You couldn't take the emotional hurt anymore. It's like he just sees this as a game. He always uses the big brother card on you knowing it's your weakness. 

Things get worse though. Of course they do. 

You caught news that Robin has been found dead. That can't be right. It can't. You loved Robin as if she were your actual sister. Why did she die?? 

So here you are. Walking to the estate where Sunday should be. Why are you even going to him? You should be distancing yourself and be grieving alone. As much as he emotionally hurts you, you still care about him. As much as he abandons you, you always come back. 

As soon as you make it through his office doors, someone aggressively grabs you by the shoulders and backs you up to the nearest wall. 

It's Sunday. 

He's shaking, breathing hard, clearly angry, but hurt above all. He rests his head on your shoulder, still holding you but with less force. 

You've never seen him like this before. In the past, you'd occasionally see tiny outbursts when he couldn't get things the way he wanted, but he never displayed this much emotion near you. 

“...Don't leave me too” he said in a shaky voice, but you couldn't catch that. All you could hear was your heartbeat from the adrenaline of suddenly being forced against a wall. 

Out of genuine care you still held for him, you embraced him. He stiffened up but soon accepted it. 

No matter how much you regretted ever calling him big brother, no matter how much it hurt when he abandoned you, you couldn't find it within your heart to leave and move on. 

Comforting him was clearly a mistake. For out of fear he'd lose his only other sibling, he imprisoned you in a spare room in his estate. 

He still had to keep up appearances so you'd constantly be left alone repeatedly. The cycle repeats itself again. He'll come back home and comfort you for leaving you alone for so long, then leave again for a long period of time. 

You'd never escape. You had so many insecurities and were so emotionally constipated. Sunday made things worse. He just had to keep you somewhere where he knew he couldn't lose track of you and possibly lose you just like Robin.

You still loved him. You always would. And he in return would offer you the type of love you never got from your actual family, even if it was just for a bit. 

To you, he was your beloved older brother no matter what.

[livsoulsecrets]

Annabeth&Percy Fic - Nothing in the world belongs to me, but my love mine, all mine

Summary:

Annabeth in the aftermath of Luke’s betrayal, dealing with all she lost and finding some solace in what she gained.

““I just wanted to ask you something,” he started, looking to her once more, “and you can call me stupid for that, really, and I’ll probably deserve it, but… Are you okay?”

Annabeth couldn’t help it. She smiled.

“You’re right. It’s stupid,” she agreed.”

Read on AO3.

—

Annabeth didn’t sleep at all that first night.

She stayed awake in her bed for many hours, even after Malcolm lost his battle to sleep in his armchair across from her.

It had been kind of him to insist on keeping her company after the news about Luke’s betrayal spread through Camp, but there was not much he could do to make things better.

Annabeth did like her siblings and felt like most of them cared about her as well, but she had never felt close to them, not in the way she did with Luke.

She sometimes envied the easy camaraderie the Hermes Cabin shared, the clear affection Apollo’s children showed each other with such ease, or even the ferocious rivalry Ares’ kids had with one another.

Athena’s offspring were much more contained. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust one another. It was simply that they fended for themselves most of the time. They were too attached to their own tastes and beliefs, used to looking after themselves, and very introspective, so much so that it left little for them to bond over, unlike the other campers.

That was why her bond with Luke had always been so precious and permanent, unlike any others. Maybe it was because most of the other kids in her cabin left when summer was over, and Luke stayed all year-round. Perhaps their journey to Camp Half-Blood had just knitted them together in a way the rest of her siblings just couldn’t comprehend.

Before, when she thought of a brother, someone who was trustworthy and kind, she would think of Luke and his sword, cutting through a horde of monsters with one hand while the other held her behind him, protecting her with his own body. She would remember the nights they spent with Thalia around an improvised fire, huddled together for warmth, telling stories until the sun came up.

Now, for as long as she lived, when she thought of a brother, Annabeth would be reminded of Luke’s betrayal. She would be brought back to the exact moment Luke’s eyes flickered in anger as he attacked Percy, his sword descending into him and drawing blood.

Up until that point, she had been frozen, begging all the gods for the scene before her to be a deception, a misunderstanding. Only when Percy fell, clutching his arm against his chest, and grunted in pain did Annabeth snap out of her denial.

All she had was a split second to decide what to do. Who would she protect? Her brother, the hero that she had spent the last five years looking up to? Or the boy she met just a few weeks ago, who was as reckless as he was kind?

She threw the knife Luke had gifted her years ago with the precision he had taught her to have. It landed right across the expanse of his sword, just in time to stop him from slicing into Percy.

The memories came back in full force, and she pushed herself out of bed, desperate to get away from them. She looked out the window and found the sun had already come out.

She changed quickly and left her cabin in a hurry, not knowing where she should go. So, Annabeth just walked aimlessly, avoiding the sight of the packed Hermes Cabin.

She found herself near the lake and was surprised to find she was not the only one seeking its company.

Percy was standing near the riverbank in his orange camp shirt and jeans. She approached him slowly and silently. “Couldn’t sleep?” Annabeth asked once she was close enough to be heard.

Percy startled, turning to face her with a hand over his heart. When he recognized it was just her behind him, Percy lowered his hand with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, long night,” he replied.

She shook her head, crossing the distance between them. “I get it. Same here.”

They remained quiet for some moments, just staring over the expanse of the camp’s lake, shoulder to shoulder.

She felt Percy sneaking glances at her every once in a while, which didn’t help her overwhelmed mind calm down. “Just say it,” she urged finally.

Percy’s cheeks burned scarlet when he was caught in his act, but he was as stubborn as ever when he deflected her question with another, “Say what?”

“That you’re sorry,” she answered, “that you can’t believe Luke could do this, and I should have known it was him sooner–”

His eyes widened. “I wasn’t going to say any of that.”

She turned to face him now, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “What did you want to say, then?”

Percy shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, averting his gaze for a moment. Annabeth thought she saw some whirlpools forming in the river, but she didn’t have a chance to ask if they were a consequence of Percy’s troubled mind as he started talking again.

“I just wanted to ask you something,” he started, looking to her once more, “and you can call me stupid for that, really, and I’ll probably deserve it, but… Are you okay?”

Annabeth couldn’t help it. She smiled.

“You’re right. It’s stupid,” she agreed. Percy flinched but didn’t seem surprised by her answer. “But thanks for asking, anyway.”

He managed a small smile in return at that. “Sure.”

Annabeth didn’t give him an answer, as she couldn’t even tell how she really felt, but it was enough that he had asked.

“Is your arm okay?”

Percy seemed a bit lost at the sudden change of topic but managed to shake his head. “It’s alright. I took a swim before going to bed, so it helped.”

She nodded her understanding, and they remained quiet for some minutes, just looking at the horizon as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky.

“Can you help me with something?” Percy blurted out after a while.

She tilted her head and asked, “With what?”

“I wanted to train today. I feel like I’ll need it in the future, you know?” He kept his gaze on her, but it was clear he was nervous.

She knew Percy was dancing around the tricky subject of Luke’s absence, but that request just made it more apparent.

Percy had only ever trained with Luke before. And the reason he would need to train more than ever was Luke’s alliance to Kronos.

The pain that sparkled inside her at those reminders was nonetheless curbed by the satisfaction Percy had come to her to try and mend the gaps Luke left in his life.

He was trusting her to guide him through uncharted territory, seemingly unaware that she was just as clueless as him.

Here was Percy, asking her to train him, to teach him how to fight a friend turned foe. He still believed she had all the answers, even now.

It should terrify her to have that much trust placed upon herself, but it didn’t. For all the people who cultivated high expectations of her — her own mother with her fragile pride, her siblings with their firm belief she was perfect, even Quiron with his cryptic comments, Percy was the only one who seemed to only ever expect Annabeth to be herself.

And, to him, she was someone who could be trusted to find the answers to every problem in the world if she decided it was worth her time.

“I mean, just if you have some free time, like, if you don’t mind,” he added, taking her silence as a negative.

“I don’t mind.” Annabeth cut him off before he descended into nervous mumbling. “Let’s start it now. We still have time until breakfast.”

Percy smiled hesitantly at her, but his grin grew a bit wider when she rolled her eyes at him. It seemed awfully silly of him that he truly believed she wouldn’t spare him all the help he needed to survive after all they had been through.

She started walking towards the training area without looking back at him.

Annabeth still didn’t know how to even start preparing for what was to come or how to live with the gaping hole Luke left behind in their lives.

Her mind often worked on seven different fronts at once every time a problem arose, coming at it from every angle.

That’s what kept her up all night yesterday, and that’s what gave her the push to follow Percy and Luke into the woods when she realized something was off about Luke’s plan.

It had saved her countless times but also drained her in many others.

So, when she picked a celestial bronze sword from the camp’s collection and turned to face Percy, who was already uncapping Riptide, it was a pleasant surprise to find her mind narrowing down to the present moment. Her exhaustion and fear slipped away as she focused on the battle ahead.

Fighting demanded all her concentration, even if it was just training with a friend. It seemed to be the same for Percy, as he aligned his shoulders properly and took a deep breath.

“Ready?” she asked her friend, and the word no longer sounded foreign in her mind when she associated it with Percy.

“Born ready,” he said, as unserious as ever.

She was glad to see that, despite the burden the last few weeks had placed on his shoulders, Percy was still the same maddening boy she observed drooling in his sleep.

Annabeth plunged forward at the same time Percy did, and their swords screeched against one another. She pushed against him and dove, freeing herself from the lock.

Percy chased her when Annabeth was upright again, Riptide slicing in a curt arc that she had a hard time intercepting.

Percy was grinning now, and she had to shove an elbow into his side to distract him, both to gain her some time to attack back and to hide her own smile.

They had both lost so much, but it seemed they had gained something back as well.

“Focus, Seaweed Brain,” she mocked, and lunged at him again.

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

BALLERINA - Chapter Eleven.

A Jake Kiszka AU

Physiotherapist!Jake x Original Female Character

Previous Chapter.

A/N: Hi everyone, I am so happy to announce that Physiotherapist!Jake is back! I felt so bad for neglecting this little story so much but, finally, here we are with another chapter. There aren't many more left, so please bear with me!

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings for this chapter: fluff, angst, panic attack.

_________________________________

When the hunger for food overcame the hunger for each other, Iris and Jake finally detangled themselves from the mess of blankets and sheets and got out of bed.

She blushed a little when she remembered she was completely naked and he chuckled noticing her reaction.

He approached her and she lowered her gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with him.

His eyes were too intense.

He lifted her chin and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

“You are so beautiful” he whispered, and she blushed even more.

Then he kissed her and she almost melted against his plump lips.

She pressed herself more against him, wishing that his warm soft body could envelop hers completely and shield her away from all the harm in the world.

They almost lost their resolve to leave the room altogether when the sharp clattering sound of a pan hitting the floor downstairs in the kitchen broke the spell between them.

Jake chuckled and Iris quickly mimicked him as they heard someone curse loudly downstairs.

“My brother is so clumsy” Jake whispered.

“We better get downstairs quickly, I wouldn't want him burning the whole house down” He continued as he guided her gently inside the bathroom in his room.

Soft morning light was engulfing the room, making the light blue and white tiles glitter.

He turned the water of the shower on and retrieved some towels from a white cabinet in the corner.

Then he kept the glass door of the shower open for her to enter.

He was about to close it and leave her there alone when she grasped his wrist and tugged him inside with her.

They both laughed and she gave him a soft peck on the lips before they both started washing themselves.

Iris took advantage of the moment he closed his eyes to wash his hair to admire his body in all his naked glory without being afraid of getting caught.

He stood there before her, strong but soft in all the right places, making her mouth water at the mere sight of him with his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted as he lathered his hair with shampoo.

His back was slightly arched as his hands rinsed his locks and, for a moment, Iris found herself envying all the little suds that, from his head, slowly traveled down his body.

With his eyes still closed, he turned his back to her and she almost whimpered at how broad and sturdy his shoulders were.

She shivered when she saw the faint pink lines that her nails had drawn on his skin the previous day and her knees almost buckled as memories of the actions that had caused those lines flooded her memory.

She had never felt something remotely close to this with anyone else. It was a constant need of closeness that possessed her whenever she was with him and a heartwrenching need of him when, instead, they were apart.

Her body and mind tingled when he was in the same room as her, missing his touch even though he had just held her close.

He was like a drug for her, the more she had of him, the more she needed.

As her eyes traveled lower down the curve of his ass, she involuntarily licked her lips at the sight, feeling the impending need to bite his skin.

But the sound of him clearing his throat startled her and broke the spell.

Her eyes met his as he was already watching her from above his shoulder and with his back still turned to her.

Soon he was before her, pressing her flush against the cold tiled wall and sucking a dark mark gently on her neck, that would join the many others he had already left all over her body.

“Seen something you like?” He whispered before taking her lobe in his mouth as his hand traveled south, from her shoulder to her waist.

She moaned and shivered at the sensation and just when his hand was about to reach between her legs again, Jake's name being shouted by a male voice interrupted them.

“I need the fucking water to wash the dishes, turn that damn shower off” a muffled voice said angrily from outside the bedroom door and Jake groaned in front of her.

“I'm going to beat his ass when I see him” Jake groaned and muttered under his breath and she giggled.

“Sorry baby, we better get out of here before he comes barging through that door.” he went on defeated.

But, before she could exit, he stopped her and his hand traveled down her injured leg, touching the skin gently and checking her scar once again.

She hissed at his touch and his eyes met hers, worriedly.

“Are you ok? I didn't go too hard on you, did I?” He asked, his voice serious and tense.

“No, Jake, I'm ok, my skin is just a little more sensitive there, that's all” she answered truthfully, trying to ease some of his worry.

He tried to say something else but she interrupted him with a quick peck on his pouted lips.

“I'm ok, Jake, really” she whispered onto his lips and he sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

“Let's go, I'd like to introduce you to my brother without being naked.” He said chuckling.

Finally, they exited the shower and he wrapped a soft towel around her with a peck on her wet shoulder, before starting to dry his hair and body with another towel.

Once they got dressed, she started to feel a bit nervous about meeting his twin and as if he could read her emotions on her face, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind and squeezed her gently, reassuring her with sweet whispered words in her ear.

She shivered as his damp air touched her cheek

“Don't be nervous, baby. Everything is going to be alright.”

Then he opened the door of his room and grabbed her hand, guiding her down the stairs

Silence met her ears and she wondered if someone was still in the kitchen after all.

When they entered the room it was evident that someone had been there, but now it was clean and empty.

A plate full of steaming pancakes laid on the counter together with a bowl of ripe strawberries.

Next to it there was a slip of paper with a note.

“I'll be back in a sec. Dig in, they get cool quickly!”

Jake handed her a plate full of pancakes and strawberries and her stomach growled loudly making her blush.

Iris wanted to wait for him to fill his plate too before eating, but he was quick to give her the go ahead with a whisper into her ear.

“C'mon baby, you don't have to wait for me to eat. You need your energy back” he said suggestively from behing her, gently caressing and grabbing her ass with one hand while the other plucked a strawberry from the bowl and placed it in front of her lips.

His hips imperceptibly pushed hers against the counter and she shivered.

She turned her face enough to look him in the eyes before biting down on the ripe fruit he was holding between thumb and forefinger.

A few drops of juice from the strawberry trickled down her chin and he licked it away from her skin quickly, before it could drip lower.

She closed her eyes as his tongue glided slowly over her skin and almost dropped her plate on the floor.

She was losing herself in his presence when the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door startled her.

She jumped away from him as if she had been burned and he chuckled softly watching her compose herself at record speed before meeting whoever was entering the house.

What she didn't expect to see when the front door opened was a little puppy. It was trying to run inside and failing, slipping on the wooden floor with its leash absolutely knotted all around its little body and paws.

Then she heard a boisterous laugh and a male voice reprimanding the puppy for being so clumsy in a sweet sing-song voice.

“Wait, you little devil, you are going to hurt yourself. Give me a minute and I'm setting you free” the voice said in a sweet tone.

The noise of paws on the floor never ceased but suddenly the puppy was free and it came barrelling towards Jake.

It was a little brown brindle pitbul puppy with an hint of white on chest and paws and a little pink collar with a fuchsia heart-shaped tag.

Jake knelt down and Iris did the same.

He scratched the puppy behind its ears as it wagged his tail like crazy and tried to jump up and lick his face.

“This is Rose” he introduced the puppy to Iris and it jumped up to her face and licked her nose.

She chuckled and tried to scratch her neck but the dog ran away suddenly towards the person that was approaching from the hallway.

Iris and Jake straightened quickly and were met with who she recognised from the picture she had seen in the living room to be Jake’s twin.

He looked a little taken aback, because of course he didn't think that his brother had company.

But he recovered quickly. He had a sweet smile on his face as he extended his hand towards her to introduce himself.

“Hi. You must be Josh” she greeted him as his warm hand wrapped around hers and squeezed, firmly.

“And you must be Iris, Jakey here told me everything about you.” he said and his smile deepened when he saw the blush starting to cover his brother's cheeks.

Iris saw as the brothers’ eyes met as if a silent conversation was taking place in their minds and suddenly Josh’s smile turned into a smug grin and he spoke again.

“Honestly, you are almost everything he talks about these days. This explains everything, that's why you took ages to come downstairs, isn't it, brother?” he said with a little chuckle as he noticed the absolute death glare his brother was sending him.

Iris blushed at his words.

The two boys looked very similar, but yet they couldn't be more different. Josh had a head full of fluffy curls that reached past his ears and stuck in every direction. And his smile was infectious, his perfect white teeth showing and his eyes glittering in the soft morning light.

Iris noticed the same dimple that Jake had pop out on Josh’s face and suddenly she was hit with a realization and her mind did a double take.

They were identical twins.

She already knew it but then she saw it too and it made her brain go blank.

It was a sensation that she couldn't explain.

Josh looked like the definition of happiness. It definitely radiated off of him and even if she barely knew him she could feel it.

Jake interrupted her mind trip, handing Josh a plate full of pancakes. Iris suspected that that was Jake's attempt to make his brother finally shut up so he couldn't embarrass them both further.

The three of them sat at the table and started eating the pancakes that Josh had cooked so kindly while he told them everything Rose did when the two of them were outside. That included trying to eat a rock that he had to yank away from her mouth, barking at leaves falling from a tree, getting scared by a bumblebee while sniffing flowers and almost killing Josh by tangling the leash around his ankles before chasing a poor leveret for ten minutes straight.

The way Josh told those stories made Iris practically cry with laughter. He was so theatrical and expressive that she couldn't help it.

“That's why she was so tangled up in the leash when we got home. I was chasing her while she was trying to catch that poor leveret and when I caught her I carried her home in my arms but she kept trying to wiggle out of my grasp and she kept tangling herself every second more.” He said while the puppy moved in a circle on the floor while trying to catch her tail.

Jake called her and she ran towards him, placing her paws on his thigh and barking when she saw that he was holding a strawberry for her.

The three of them continued eating and laughing at Rose's antics while chatting about anything and everything.

Iris loved seeing the brothers interact, showing her more about their relationship. She could see that they got along really well and were fond of each other despite they tried to pester themselves quite often.

Suddenly, Jake's phone started ringing, startling Rose that growled and fled to her dog bed next to the sofa and hid behind it.

Jake furrowed his brows thinking about who might have been, then stood and turned to grab the phone from the shelf where he had put it.

When he saw who was calling his face fell a little but he didn't say anything.

He answered and left the room with Rose close to his heels.

Iris finished eating and stood to bring her plate to the sink and wash it, but Josh quickly stopped her with a warm hand on her arm.

“Let me, Iris. You don't have to. I'm doing it myself” He said, reaching the sink and placing his brother's and his plate inside alongside hers.

“So, Jake told me you are a ballet dancer. You really look like one, your posture is perfect.” He said, making her laugh.

“What's your favourite ballet?” He asked curiously, while he washed and rinsed the dishes.

“Oh, I really don't know, I've got so many.” She answered simply, while grabbing a dishcloth to help him dry the dishes despite his complaints. He really didn't want his guests to work.

“I really look forward to seeing you dance soon, Iris” he said sweetly and her mind started reeling.

He sounded so confident and she absolutely wasn't. She really tried not to think about it too much.

“I'm not really sure about it” Her eyes lowered and she felt her bottom lip tremble slightly.

As Iris placed the dishes on the table she saw as his eyes drifted to her leg, where her bare skin was left exposed by the shorts she was wearing.

The two ugly scars glowed pink under the bright morning light and she couldn't help but feel self-aware about them.

His eyes quickly diverted from her skin but he sensed her discomfort and felt the need to say something.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He said, his voice was sweet and comforting as he reached for her shoulder, squeezing lightly, but his eyes depicted worry. She didn't know why but, as he went on talking, she understood.

“I still remember that day, you know?” He said in a whisper.

“Jake called me briefly after your operation and I could feel the immense worry in his voice. I could tell he was shaking, at least his voice was. He spent most of the days after your operation at the hospital. I think he did it because he tried to keep himself busy working and coming home meant he had to rest and inevitably relive those moments. After a few days he told me that you were a ballet dancer and that he made a promise to you to help you go back to dancing.” Josh said her with a fond smile and she bit the inside of her cheek not to cry.

“I'm sure of it. My brother never breaks a promise” he added and winked, making her heart swell with love for Jake and her cheeks tinge pink.

Iris was about to reply when Jake entered the kitchen with a defeated look in his eyes.

“It was a call from the ward, there is an emergency and they need my help in an operation. I have to go. I'm so sorry, Iris.” He said dejectedly.

“Don't worry, Jake. You don't have to apologize” she told him honestly.

He went upstairs to grab his things and in a few minutes he was ready.

He approached her and kissed her deeply, stealing her breath away, not caring that his brother was there.

Iris blushed and he chuckled at her reaction.

“I'll be back as soon as I can, baby. If you want you can stay here. I know you love reading, there are plenty of books in the bookshelf for you. Make yourself at home, alright? And if you want to go home, Josh will take you.” He said sweetly, stroking her hair before turning to speak to his brother.

“Josh, remember that today the courier is delivering those guitars I told you about. Please bring them to the music room when they arrive. I'll check those out later.” He said while moving towards the door that led to the garage.

Josh and Iris heard him shout a rushed “Bye!” before slamming the door of his car shut and driving away.

Iris helped Josh clear the table and then sat on the couch with him and Rose where she asked him about himself while scratching the little dog behind her ears.

He told her that he worked in a record and film shop in town and that his dream was to become a great director.

Now she understood who all of those vintage film posters on the walls belonged to.

She asked him what his favourite film ever was and he started to list all his all time favourites and explaining to her exactly why he was choosing them.

Suddenly they were interrupted by the loud noise of the doorbell ringing.

Rose started barking but didn't move from her bed while Josh stood to go check the door.

“This must be the courier Jake was talking about earlier” he said, while he disappeared down the hallway to reach the front door.

Iris heard Josh chat briefly with the man outside his door, thanking him and a minute later he came back with a big box in hand.

“I'm going to bring this upstairs into the music room and open it to check if everything is alright. Then I'll be back” he said and started climbing up the stairs.

She relaxed back on the sofa but was startled by something, or rather someone, jumping in her lap.

Rose was demanding her attention rather effectively, by constantly biting a very loud neon pink squeaky ball.

She let it fall on her lap and Iris grabbed it, gently throwing it a few meters away.

She threw it everytime farther and the dog didn't miss a throw. She kept retrieving the ball and bringing it back to Iris.

On the last throw, unfortunately the ball bounced down the opposite hallway and rolled down the stairs that led towards the garage.

Jake had probably left that door open without noticing when he went away

The puppy refused to go down there, probably afraid of the stairs, and started whining over her lost ball, barking from time to time.

Without thinking, Iris decided to go down there to retrieve it.

She scooped the puppy up in her arms and brought her down the stairs. Then she let her roam free in search of her toy.

In the meanwhile, Iris took a look around the big garage. She saw the empty spot of Jake's car, right near to the stairs and, next to it, there was what she assumed was Josh’s car, a white Jeep.

On the farthest side of the room there was also a big pile of boxes on top of something covered with a thick old-looking blanket.

Rose was quick to find her ball under the white Jeep and she eagerly brought it to Iris, letting it fall at her feet. Then she looked up at her expectantly with her sweet big brown eyes and her tail wagging at full speed.

Iris threw the ball a few more times but suddenly the dog got distracted by a loose thread in the old-looking blanket and started playing with it, biting and tugging at it, forgetting the toy altogether.

Iris started laughing at the puppy's antics as she tried to tear off the loose fabric that was too hard to break.

Instead, the dog ended up making the blanket fall on the floor.

And what Iris saw underneath, petrified her on the spot.

Panic started constricting her lungs and she wasn't able to breathe anymore.

Her head started spinning, her hands were sweating and her ears ringing.

For a long moment her mind was completely blank as her eyes focused on what was before her, failing to truly comprehend the real extent of what she was looking at.

Then she fell on the floor, with her head in her hands as harsh silent sobs started shaking her entire body.

Memories washed over her like a flood of biblical proportions, making her feel like she was drowning. Their weight was holding her down like a giant rock tied to her ankle.

But then she realized what she needed to do.

She needed to get out of there.

Immediately.

And never ever come back.

At that moment, she felt something warm press against her cheek.

Rose.

The puppy was licking her face, scared of her intense reaction and her strong emotions.

Iris gently picked her up and stood, suddenly regaining enough clarity of mind to leave that place altogether.

She climbed the stairs and laid the puppy down gently in the corridor.

Josh was still nowhere to be seen. She could hear his steps above her in the music room. He was talking to himself too but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

She walked in the kitchen, grabbed her purse from the table and silently made her way down the stairs that led to the garage after closing the door to stop the puppy from escaping.

She pressed the button to open the garage door and once she was outside, she ran away as fast as her leg allowed her.

She didn't look back, the tears steadily streaming down her face almost blinding her.

She didn't even realize she had made it in her apartment, climbed the stairs and entered her flat.

Only when the front door finally slammed shut behind her she allowed her spent self to fully break under the extent of that terrible discovery.

She crumbled on the floor and started crying all her tears, her leg burning because of the effort.

And once tears didn't come anymore she laid there, listening only to the faint sound of the clock on the kitchen wall ticking and the deafening sound of her heart shattering in her chest.

As she drifted into a dreamless tortured slumber she wished to disappear forever into the ether.

_____________________________________

Next chapter

Taglist: @gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jessicafg03 @doodle417 @hellowgoodbye @ejoygvf @jaketlover @jakekiszkasbabymama @objectsinspvce @indigostreakmorgan @witchofendora @myleftsock @gretavanshmeat @gretasfallingsky @giraffehippy @jennasometimesreads @katiegvf @sinarainbows @laney_gvf @themorningbirds @starcatcherchords @lipstickitty @meetingthestardust @joshskittytickler @livkiszka @twistedmelodies @ignite-my-fire @gvfmarge @writingcold @brujamagik @edgingthedarkness @gold-mines-melting

[use-your-delusion]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 : 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬:

" Soon enough, the suspected bounty hunter pulls his horse to a stop, a Tennesse Walker with a pretty brown and white coat. His rider slides off as he comes to a stop, and your eyes stay trained on the man as he enters your campground, his eyes taking note of your horse and belongings all left behind beneath the canvas of your tent.

You move quickly and quietly then, keeping your footsteps quiet as you round behind him. He was crouched down, rummaging through your belongings. Anger flared inside of you - trying to turn you into the law was one thing, but going through a lady’s things while she’s not home? That was just disrespectful.

As you near, he held something in his hand that made your heart clench, making it almost painful to breathe as you raise the pistol in your hand, cocking it behind his head.

“Drop it.” "

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7K ish

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of domestic violence in this story! Lot's of it! As well as the death of a child, and general violence from RDR2 <3

Don't ever force yourself to read what you aren't comfortable with.

A cigarette hangs loosely from your lips as you raise a match to light it, inhaling deeply as the tobacco smoke fills your mouth and lungs. The match still burns, a bright, orange ember against the midnight blanket above you. Its stars shine down on you, almost mocking you in a way as they twinkle and rejoice with one another.

You wish you were a star. So far up in the sky that nothing from this plane of existence could touch you. Instead, you would be the one looking down on the world. Judging the poor souls who sell themselves to the devil to get by. Humans were nasty creatures. Lying, stealing, robbing, killing. All of it. Horrible business that you dream of getting away from, as if the opportunity would ever be so kind as to present itself to you.

Another drag of your cigarette, another minute of the stars judging you.

The moon sits high up on her pedestal, illuminating the world beneath her. She outlines the ridges and valleys of your face, obscured partly by the hat you wear. It had been your fathers; aged and worn but still as loved as the day he had given it to you. Two feathers were tucked between its ribbon, blowing in the wind that passes through your camp.

To think that this was your life now - you went from having everything, from being the woman others envied with your husband and son, a fine house and a fine source of income. Then it was gone, leaving you living out of a tent, cooking poor cuts of meat over a campfire. The only living thing that didn’t want to kill you nearby was the Andalusian who was absentmindedly grazing on a patch of grass, unaware of the danger he was in.

His dark bay coat is illuminated by the orange bath of light the fire gives off, its flames flickering high into the night sky as you stare wistfully into them, wishing you could wake up tomorrow and be anywhere but here.

All your life you’d sworn you’d never kill anyone, whether they deserved it or not, but in the past month or so that promise had been quickly thrown out the window and left to the wolves. Your body count was growing steadily each day, by no choice of your own.

Bounty hunters, traveling from all over trying to bring you in, dead or alive, as the posters read.

You’d learnt fairly quickly how to shoot a gun, and how to shoot one well, at that. Your husband would’ve had your head if you’d ever thought of using his rifle, and a part of you wanted to laugh at how he’d react if he saw you with it now, like an additional limb to your body. The other part of you saw no reason to laugh at anything anymore though, and so you didn’t.

Your face is solemn as you sit, losing yourself in the hypnotizing flames.

Your breath hitches as a flock of birds erupt from a tree, a little further down the trail of the mountain, and slowly you rise to your feet, grabbing the rifle without even thinking about it. Someone’s coming. The sound of heavy hoofbeats grew closer and closer, reaffirming the suspicion. Without thinking about it you throw the gun over your shoulder and run to the cover of some boulders behind your camp, crouching down low in the shadows as you wait for the bounty hunter to arrive.

Your hand swiftly moves to your holster, pulling out a cattleman, also having belonged to your husband not too long ago.

Soon enough, the suspected bounty hunter pulls his horse to a stop, a Tennesse Walker with a pretty brown and white coat. His rider slides off as he comes to a stop, and your eyes stay trained on the man as he enters your campground, his eyes taking note of your horse and belongings all left behind beneath the canvas of your tent.

You move quickly and quietly then, keeping your footsteps quiet as you round behind him. He was crouched down, rummaging through your belongings. Anger flared inside of you - trying to turn you into the law was one thing, but going through a lady’s things while she’s not home? That was just disrespectful.

As you near, he held something in his hand that made your heart clench, making it almost painful to breathe as you raise the pistol in your hand, cocking it behind his head.

“Drop it.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Valentine was a dump, as Arthur had come to work out. Instinctively, his nose scrunches up at the smell of livestock and manure, although he was sure the smell was getting to the wagonful of girls behind him more than it was getting to him.

“Could pick yourself up some bounties in there Arthur.” Uncle nudges him, pointing toward the local jailhouse. Posters were lining the walls but he shakes his head and looks away.

“Got better things to do then go on wild goose hunts.” Arthur responds, his shoulders and jaw tight from holding onto all of the tension of the past couple of weeks.

As the wagon pulls to a stop, the girls filter out, all smiling and laughing and discussing what trouble they could get into in the town. It made Arthur chuckle, their eagerness to go and charm some poor fool into handing over his wallet.

The ground beneath his boots is soft and muddy, but he walks through it without complaint, trailing behind uncle as he complains about one thing or another. The general store sits in front of them, a small building about as run down as the rest of Valentine.

The wooden boards of the structure are weathered and rotting, and Arthur tips his hat at the two men who sit in front of it, lazily smoking their cigarettes.

“You need anything Arthur?” Uncle asks as the two men stepped inside, offering tight smiles to the man behind the counter.

“A drink, if I’m supposed to be putting up with you all day.” Arthur grumbles, walking over the rotting floorboards towards a shelf, with fine whiskeys and bourbons on display.

He reaches for a cheaper bottle of whiskey, taking it to the counter and digging through his pocket for a money clip.

He’s low on cash - the gang's money, along with most of his own, had been left stashed in Blackwater, and there’s no hope of retrieving it any time soon.

While he was a halfwit, Uncle hadn’t had a bad idea when he’d pointed out the bounties to Arthur.

“Hey Uncle,” Arthur calls across the store to him after tucking the whiskey away safely in his satchel. “Keep the girls outta trouble, I’m gonna go have a look at the bounty posters.”

“Thought you said they were ‘wild goose hunts’.” Uncle laughs, mocking his earlier words in his best impression of Arthur.

“Shut up old man.”

He exits the store and unhitches his horse - a Tennesse Walker he’d stolen from some O’driscoll. He wasn’t Boadicea, but he was doing the job for now.

The thought of Arthur’s former horse bought a low, sinking feeling to his gut. There were few things he got to call his own and care about in his dying way of life, but that horse had been one of them. Everything he did, and all the women he saw come and go- Mary, Eliza, she was there with him through it all.

Pulling up in front of the Sheriff's office, he hitches the unnamed horse. At this rate, it’s name was gonna end up being ‘Horse’ if he didn’t think of something better soon.

As he approaches the door, yelling can be heard from inside.

“C’mon! Just head up there and try again, would ya?” A man’s voice asks, almost begging.

“You outta your mind sheriff? Four of us went up there to drag her in and I’m the only one who came back! I don’t care how much your payin’, find someone else to bring the crazy bitch in.”

The second man burst through the door, almost running into Arthur before shooting one last dirty look at the sheriff and walking away.

The sheriff had his hand pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing and muttering something incoherent under his breath, but when he notices Arthur approaching he perks up, a bright, fake smile overtaking his features.

“You a bounty hunter boy?” The sheriff asks, standing up to greet him.

“I can be.” Arthur shrugs. “For the right price.”

“Two hundred dollars sound like a good enough price for you?”

A low whistle left Arthur’s mouth. “Two hundred? You gotta damn serial killer you want me to bring in or somethin’?”

“She may as well be. Nasty woman, that one is. Her poster’s over there on the wall. Y/n Cole.” He points in the direction of a cork board, and sure enough a poster is pinned to it.

“Wanted dead or alive?” Arthur asks, pulling it down to get a better look. A photo of a well put together woman was printed on it, beneath the large sum of money. She was wearing a fine dress, decorated with lace and frills, her neck adorned with an expensive looking pendant, and some silver earrings dangled from her ears. Her hair was curled and pinned back into an impressive up-do, and she looked more like the wife of a mayor than she did a serial murderer. “She don’t look very dangerous.”

“That’s what all the other’s said.” The sheriff sighs dejectedly. “Don’t put anythin’ past her though, she’s been guttin’ the boys like pigs up there. Crazy bitch.” The last part was muttered under his breath, and Arthur was unsure of whether or not he was meant to hear it.

“What’d she do in the first place?”

The sheriff lets out a humorless laugh. “Killed her husband and her son. Shot them both in cold blood. When the in-laws confronted her, she shot them too. She’s been hiding up in the Grizzlies for boutta month or so now, and any man who goes up there lookin’ for her doesn’t come back.”

“Sounds like quite the risk you got me takin’ than sheriff.”

“Pretty little wad of cash will be waitin’ back here for you if you do it though. Shoot her, stab her, tie her up and drag her back here kickin’ and screamin’, I don’t care how you do it, just bring us that Mrs. Cole and we’ll pay for your troubles.” The sheriff shrugs with a sly smile.

Arthur mulls it over for a minute, studying your portrait. You were a pretty woman, he realized, put together and wealthy too, by the looks of it, how hard could it be? The reward was highly encouraging too, two hundred dollars would make quite the difference for the camp, and it would make Dutch pretty happy too.

“Alright.” Arthur mumbled, tucking the poster into his satchel. “You said she was in the Grizzlies?”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Told you to drop that, Mister.” You reiterate your words, pressing the cold barrel of your pistol against the back of the man's head. He drops the photograph, and his hands come up in surrender as you use your free hand to reach into his holster and pull out his own gun, tossing it away into the snow.

Despite the darkness, you train your eyes and ears into the surrounding forest, listening out for any other presence. No one else had ridden up with the man, but none of the other bounty hunters had come alone so far.

“Where are your friends?” You ask, still scanning the area in search of other men. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest - he seemed far too relaxed for a man with a gun to his head. Something had to be wrong.

“Came alone.” He mutters, before letting out a grunt as the heel of your boot came into contact with the middle of his back, harshly. He’s a strong man, but the kick takes him by surprise and he tumbles forward, landing face first in the snow, your gun never leaving the back of his head.

“Bullshit.” You hiss, landing another harsh kick to his side. “If you came alone then you’re an idiot.”

“I am an idiot, lady!” He protests, hand coming to clutch the side that had just met the end of your boot. “Now stop kickin’ me!”

You still, listening out for any sign of company, but you’re only met with the sound of insects and the crackling of your campfire. Your horse, Shergar, lets out a short whinny, pawing at the ground and clearly annoyed by the strangers presence - a mutual feeling.

“You’re really alone?” You ask, unable to stop the tone of confusion from seeping into your voice.

“Yes goddammit. Clearly a mistake on my part.” He sounds more inconvenienced by the situation than anything, like he was being pickpocketed rather than held at gunpoint.

“Clearly.” You agree with him, your voice quiet. “I gotta admit, I don’t really know what to do now.” You say to him, almost laughing. “Most the time, about five other men come runnin’ outta the bushes, guns ready and knives out. You really were stupid to come alone, y’know?”

“I realize that now.” He rolls his eyes, trying to find a way out of his situation. “Look, you can kill me if you want, but the only thing that’s gonna do is send more men up here on a witch hunt for you, and they won’t mind bringing your limp body back to Valentine.”

“None of the others have managed to so far.” You shrug. “Don’t see why I shouldn’t leave you here with a bullet and keep runnin’.”

“Cause your luck is gonna run out soon, lady.” He points out. “That or you can let me bring you in while you're still breathin’.”

“Bring me in alive today so I can swing tomorrow?” You ask with a humorless chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

“You really are a piece of work, huh?” The man asks, his blue eyes shining with something unreadable.

Before you can respond to him, he flips you over, diving for you and knocking you into the snow. The ice burns your face as you writhe and struggle beneath him until he has you where he wants you. He has you on your stomach, his knee pressing into your back to hold you still as his hands fight against your own to wrestle the gun out of your grip.

“Hey!” You yell out as he manages to wrangle it away from you, placing it into his holster to replace his own gun that you had thrown into the snow. Your hands blindly dart out behind you, trying to reach for him but he keeps his strong hold on you, and one of his large hands comes up to catch your wrists together and pin them on the snow in front of you. “Get off of me!”

“I didn’t like laying in the snow either lady, suck it up!” He retorts as he digs through his satchel for something with his free hand, and you feel your heart drop as he begins looping rope over your wrists, tying your hands together before getting to work on your feet.

Before he can start, your legs come upwards, and your feet come into contact with the man’s head, knocking his hat into the snow and eliciting a yelp from his mouth.

“You really are a crazy bitch.” He yells at you as you roll over onto your back, grinning up at him with a dangerous glint in your eye.

“And you’re a damn idiot like the rest of ‘em!” You shout back, spit flying from your mouth as you let out, perhaps the most ill-time laugh in history.

You aren’t quite sure why you’re laughing, maybe from anger or sadness, or from the dread of the gallows that were waiting for you, but you laugh, your head tilts back to face the night sky where the moon sits and watches you from her pedestal.

Your laugh soon turns into a choked sob though as you bite your lip and shake your head. “Do you feel big and tough, huh? Sending an innocent woman to her death?”

“You ain’t innocent.” The man shakes his head, spitting a bit of blood from his mouth. It taints the snow with its crimson color, ruining the innocence of the white sheet. “You killed your son Mrs. Cole. Did you feel big and tough while you shot your own baby? Huh?”

The world around you stops for a minute as anger clouds your mind, and you grind your teeth together so hard you’re surprised they don’t break.

“I have killed many people, but my son was not one of them.” You spit at the man through your clenched jaw. “You don’t know what the hell you’re on about, bounty hunter.”

“All I know, is that they’re gonna give me two hundred dollars for bringin’ you in. Innocent or not.”

“I’ll double it!” You say, not even thinking about the repercussions of your words as the reality of your situation dawns on you. This man holds your life in his palm - he chooses whether you live or die right now, and for the first time since you’ve been hiding out here, you’re powerless and at the mercy of a bounty hunter. “I’ll double what they pay you to let me go.”

He stops fussing with the rope at your legs at that, narrowing his eyes as he looks at you. Without his hat on, you can clearly see his face now. He looks to be mid-thirties, although he’s aged from the sun and the stress of his life, you’re assuming. His eyes are hooded, the bright blue color peeking out from beneath his strong brow bone. A couple days worth of a beard has grown along his jaw, enough to hide his lower face but not enough to hide the sharp jawline, or the scar on his chin.

“What did you say?” He asks quietly.

“I said, I’ll pay you double.” You reaffirm, your eyes pleading as you meet his own. The ice blue color gives away no indication as to what’s going through his mind, and in that moment you gather he’d be a great poker player.

“You’re gonna pay me, four hundred dollars, if I let you go?” He asks incredulously.

Now that he says it out loud, you realize how impossible your promise is, but nonetheless it looks like your only chance of surviving him.

“Yes.” You nod with a thick swallow. “Four hundred dollars.”

He lets out a low whistle, thinking about it. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I am innocent. And I’ll pay you to prove it.”

“And how can I be so sure, Mrs. Cole, that you’ll actually pay me. That you won’t run off the second I cut these ropes.”

“I’ll stay with you. Pay you back as I make the money.” You say, all but begging the man who appears to be considering your offer. “Most bounty hunters are travelers. I’m guessing you’ve got a camp set up somewhere too that you’re livin’ out of.”

“I might.” He shrugs. “But then what? I take you and your promises back to my camp, and then you run off in the middle of the night? You can’t be trusted. You’re a murderer.”

You weigh out your options, wondering what you could do to convince him. You had nothing of value on you, nothing of monetary value at least. The only thing you could offer him as collateral was something you would rather die than part with, but at this point, you dying was seeming more and more likely.

“Untie me.” You say softly, holding your hands out towards the man. “Untie me and I’ll give you some collateral.”

He considers it for a moment, eyeing you carefully, like he was trying to pick up on a lie or trick, but eventually he pulls a knife out of his belt and cuts the rope from your hands. “Don’t make me chase after you.” He warns as you stand on shaky legs and make your way to your bedroll where the man had been digging around earlier.

You drop to your knees, quickly finding what you were after, laying right where he had dropped it. A photograph of your son, when he was only two years old, held up high in your arms as you planted a kiss on the side of his cheek. A wide smile was covering his features, and in the photo your eyes are crinkling with a happiness they haven’t known in a long time.

“Here.” You begrudgingly hand him the photo. “It’s the only photo I have of me and my son. It’s the most important thing in the world to me. I get that back when you get your money. And if I run, I’m leavin’ that behind as well.” Your words are soft, almost defeated as he gently takes the photo from you.

His brows are furrowed as he inspects it, running his thumb along where you stand in it. After a moment, he must deem it worthy because he tucks it away safely into a pocket on the inside of his jacket.

“Grab your things Mrs. Cole.” He says softly, making his way over to his discarded hat and placing it atop his head. “You’re comin’ back to camp.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“You never told me your name.” You point out as the two of you amble side by side, Shergar traveling through the mountain ranges with ease after having spent so long up here with you. The bounty hunter's horse, on the other hand, was skittish, hyper-aware of his surroundings and the cliff edges that surrounded him. A couple times his foot had slipped and a sharp whinny had escaped him, his head throwing back high in the air with the whites of his eyes showing, clearly unnerved this far up in the mountains.

It wasn’t just a fear of falling though, occasionally a wolf howl or a roar from a bear could be heard, causing Shergar to prick his ears nervously towards the sound and add a slight spring to his step, eager to escape the predators.

“Arthur.” The man grumbled, blowing his breath into his hands and rubbing them together to warm them up. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Arthur Morgan.” You tested his name on your tongue, the name slipping out easily.

“And I know your name, Mrs. Cole.”

You shook your head. “That’s my married name. I have no business using it anymore.”

“So what do you want me to call you then?”

You told him your name, your real name, from before you made the terrible mistake of marrying Evan, and he repeated it with a small nod, as you had done with his own earlier.

The sun was up now, beating down on you harshly but still not enough to melt the ice that ran cold through your veins. You had grown used to the freezing temperatures after spending so much time up here, but you could tell Arthur wasn’t enjoying himself at all.

His blue coat was wrapped around himself tightly, the collar brought up to protect his neck from the biting winds.

“You couldn’t have picked a warmer spot to hide out?”

“Not many people wanna come up here unless they have to. Figured it was safer for me than some place down there.”

“Suppose.” He hummed. “You would’ve been up there during that god awful storm then?”

You snorted. “Yep. Though that was the end of it for me. I could barely see three feet ahead of me let alone find or cook food. That and the fact that I probably got hypothermia.”

“Yeah it was like that for us too.” Arthur said solemnly. “We were camped out by Colton for a week or so, me and the rest of my…” he trailed off. “Family.”

“Not a nice place.” You offered. “Hell were you doin’ up there with your family anyways?”

“We’ve both got our secrets.” Arthur shrugged, and you gathered that you wouldn’t get anything more out of him.

“I suppose.” You agreed.

“I mean, I’ve got my secrets.” Arthur corrected himself. “Your crimes are plastered all over the state.”

“I didn’t kill my son.” You said harshly.

“What about your husband? And his family, huh? Suppose you didn’t kill them either.”

“Like you said, Mr Morgan. We’ve both got our secrets.”

The ride continued in silence, a tense air settling over the pair of you as the snow gradually melted away. The mountains grew smaller and smaller behind you, and the air grew warmer. Birds sang and deer hopped about, taking off as you and Arthur trotted beside one another along a makeshift dirt road.

You crossed a shallow point of a river, the water coming up and splashing against your legs and tickling the underside of Shergar’s belly. It washed away the mud that had been caked against his hide from weeks in the mountains, where the only creeks and rivers were frozen or too cold and dangerous to enter.

“Nearly here.” Arthur’s low drawl broke you from your thoughts as he steered off of the road onto a worn trail through the grass. It led through forest for a few yards until you spotted a clearing up ahead, where wagons and tents were set up like a miniature village.

You could hear voices, men and women, even a child, all talking and laughing with one another.

He pulls to a stop before you completely leave the safety and privacy of the woods, a somewhat concerned gaze on his face. His eyes are narrowed and you can see he’s thinking hard about something with his parted lips, his tongue coming out to dart them with moisture momentarily.

“Y’know how we mentioned those secrets that you and me both got?” He asks, turning to look at you and you narrow your eyes.

“Yeah. Why?” Worry seeped into your tone at his own. For a man so sure of himself, he almost seemed hesitant to bring you into the camp.

“This- This family of mine ain’t the best, ok?” He started, stumbling over his words a little. “You owe me four hundred dollars, but that means you also owe Dutch Van Der Linde.”

Your eyes widened. You’d heard that name more and more frequently in your travels lately, and not for anything good.If you could remember correctly, him and his gang were wanted dead or alive for some ferry robbery gone wrong down in Blackwater. Come to think, you’d also heard Arthur’s name thrown around a lot.

“You- You’re in the damn Van Der Linde gang?” You asked, your tone growing in pitch as your arm comes out to slap his bicep.

“Hey, what-”

“You murder and rob your way across the whole country, you’re wanted dead or alive and yet you come here and you judge me for my crimes? Crimes I didn’t even commit!”

At your voice, heads turn in your direction, curious gazes from the women, and bloodthirsty, threatening looks from the men. From behind the trees they still can’t quite see you properly, something Arthur is thankful for as he slaps a hand across your mouth, your hot breath escaping your nose and fanning across his fingers as he shoots you a warning glance.

“Keep your damn mouth shut.” He warns with a low voice, his eyes shooting back to the camp where everyone seems to have gone back to their business.

When he’s sure you’ll stay quiet, he removes his hand from your soft skin, his mouth opening and shutting while he tries to find the right words.

“Look, I’m not gonna take you to Valentine, and neither will Dutch when he hears about our agreement.” Arthur says pointedly. “But there are other men in this camp, who will jump at the chance to hand you over for two hundred dollars, so you keep your mouth shut, ok?”

“Ok.” You nod, feeling a growing pit in your stomach. Suddenly, you were unsure of whether or not coming here was truly the best idea. Maybe you had been safer in the Grizzlies. Maybe you should have taken your chance to run, leaving your treasured memory behind in Arthurs pocket.

As if he could read your thoughts he sighed, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I’m gonna keep you safe here, ok?” He promises, and you can see in his eyes that he truly means it, although you know that to him, it’s nothing more than keeping the promise of four hundred dollars safe. “But not even I am gonna be able to stop some of these men when they learn the truth ‘bout you.”

“What are we gonna tell ‘em then?” You asked, throwing a worried glance at the camp. “They’re gonna wanna know who I am and what I’m doin’ here with you, won’t they?”

“Yeah they will.” A frown overtook his features as he continued to think. “Alright, we’ll tell ‘em your name is Miss Flinders, from Strawberry. Your daddy just got eaten by a bear or somethin’.”

“A bear?” You ask incredulously, one eyebrow raised. “If my daddy managed to get eaten by a bear, he might just be more of an idiot than you.”

“You got somethin’ better?” Arthur asks, a little offended that you hadn’t liked his suggestion.

“Yeah, I do.” You roll your eyes. “Miss Flinders from Strawberry was running away with her fiance, planning to elope. He took her money and left her stranded. You found her in the hotel there, with nothing left but her horse. Her family won’t take her back, and she’s got nowhere else to go.”

“I personally like the bear, but whatever works for you, Miss Flinders.” Arthur says in a mocking tone.

“We ain’t doin’ the bear.” You deadpan.

“Fine.” The outlaw relents. “But I found Miss Flinders like a drunken harlot begging for money on the streets. I was like her knight in shining armor, offering her a bed and some warm food.”

“Yeah you’re a real gentleman, Mr Morgan.” You draw out his name sarcastically.

“Don’t push me girl.” He warns. His voice had a way of sounding more dangerous than the growl of a wolf, you had come to notice in the short time you’d spent with him, and for all of your confidence you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you, leaving you swallowing thickly from his threat.

When he’s satisfied with your reaction, he gathers up his reins and spurs the Tenesse Walker forward, leaving you to trail behind.

“Uncle Arthur!” A young boy's voice is the first thing you hear when you emerge from the clearing, hiding in the shadow of the man in question.

“Jack!” It’s quickly followed by a stern woman’s voice, and you catch a glimpse of her grabbing a hold of the boy's forearm, dragging him off in the direction of a campfire, a pot of something cooking over it.

“C’mon.” Arthur says to you, dismounting from his horse and waiting for you to do the same.

You can feel curious gazes meeting you as you walk through the camp, Arthur’s hand finding its way to the small of your back to guide you.

“Keep your head down.” He instructs, his tone low as you near a group of men.

“Brought a whore back Arthur?” One of them lets out a drunken yell and a laugh, and you can hear the others laughing and whooping. 

“Shut your mouth Micah.” Arthurs all but growls back at him as you continue to walk through the camp.

Some women offer you odd glances, looks that hold curiosity and even jealousy to some degree as you’re guided to a wagon with a canvas awning. Beneath the awning is a cot and a few other assorted pieces of furniture, holding belongings you can only assume belong to Arthur.

“Just stay here and sit tight for a minute.” Arthur tells you when you reach his wagon, giving you a small push toward the cot that was set up there.

“Where are you goin’?” You ask, making no move to sit down. It felt wrong to intrude on his space like that, whether he’d given his permission or not.

“Gotta find Dutch.” He explains. “Tell him about this agreement of ours.”

“Wouldn’t it be best if I came with you then?” You frown a little, not liking the idea of the two dangerous men talking about you and your bounty while you weren’t there. On some level, you know you can trust Arthur to a degree - after all, he’d had the opportunity to hand you over for the money, and he hadn’t taken it, but you were still doubtful, especially if Dutch Van Der Linde was going to have some hand in your fate.

You’d heard of the notorious outlaw, even before you were on the run. Robbing, murdering, leaving a trail of death and destruction everywhere he and his gang went. And yet, when Arthur, his right hand man came to get you, you weren’t met with a cold, heartless man who wanted to trade you for money at the first chance you got. Instead, he was open to your suggestion, and accepted it, albeit begrudgingly. 

Of course you still owed him money, and lots of it, but he knew that would take time, and he would need patience, but in the meantime you would still be provided with warmth, food and protection from other hunters, something you were beyond grateful for.

“No, just stay here a moment. It would be best if I spoke to him alone.” Arthur sighs, a hand running down his face, as though he were deep in thought. And you suppose he is, how is he supposed to explain to his boss that they had two hundred dollars sitting in their camp, just waiting to be collected on, but they weren’t going to touch it in hopes of it giving them four hundred? With no plan or promise as to how you were gonna get that money?

It makes you wonder on some level why he hadn’t just handed you in when he had the chance to. It would’ve been easier, surely, than going through the trouble of bringing you here and convincing Dutch to let you stay. Of course the promise of double your bounty had some role in it, but now that you knew of the gang, you were confused. They could’ve gotten that money easily if they kept up old habits, which you were sure they did.

Arthur leaves you then, leaving you to awkwardly take a seat on a cot you could only guess belonged to him.

You hate to be nosy, but you aren’t left with much else to do as the rest of the camp carries on its life around you, occasionally throwing you a curious look. Instead of staring back, you let yourself gaze around Arthur’s makeshift room. You take note of the photos he has sitting on a nightstand beside the bed, one of them being a portrait of a beautiful woman with dark hair, perfectly styled behind her. He also has an assortment of weapons lying around, from guns to knives to ammunition. It makes you wonder what sort of business the gang has been getting up to since disappearing from Blackwater, but you figure it’s nothing good.

There’s a large tent set up in the middle of the camp, and you can see the familiar figure of Arthur talking to another man, an imposing looking man who you can only guess to be Dutch Van Der Linde. He’s smoking a cigar, and his face is set into a deep frown as Arthur speaks to him. You watch them with curiosity. Arthur has taken his hat off now, revealing his sandy brown hair that could probably do with a trim, and you watch as he runs a large hand through it, touselling the once smoothed strands.

With your eyes stuck on Arthur, you don’t notice as Dutch turns his head to set his gaze upon you, not until Arthur follows where he’s looking and then you’re quick to divert your eyes from the two men to the sight of some birds beyond them, nesting far up in the trees. Your heart pounds against your chest, trying desperately to leap out as Arthur places the old hat back on his head and makes his way across the camp to you.

Was he going to tell you that you were welcome to stay? Was he going to tell you to pack your things and leave? Was he going to tie your hands together and haul you all the way to Valentine to hand you over for the money? Possibilities run through your mind like a horse running from a wolf as Arthur approaches, and you can see Dutch in your peripheral vision watching the two of you like a hawk.

“You can stay.” Arthur nods his head at you. “Dutch is ok with it, but he wants to speak with you when he has a chance. Make sure he can trust you and all that.”

“I-” your throat runs dry at his words. You weren’t sure if it was from relief of having a place to stay, or fear of having to speak to Dutch Van Der Linde. “Thank you.” You settle on saying, your lips pursed together as your eyes meet Dutch’s from across the camp.

“It ain’t a problem.” Arthur says as he begins moving around his space and picking up several items you couldn’t quite make out. “You can handle yourself and a gun well, Dutch thinks you’ll be good to have around, once we know we can trust you. Until then though-” Arthur cuts himself off as he throws a handful of things towards you, “-you’re my responsibility.”

You furrow your brows and begin to sort through the things he threw at you, finding a bar of soap, some rags, and an old blanket you could use as a towel.

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?” You ask with a small chuckle as you stand up, cocking your head to the side to gaze at the man expectantly.

“You don’t stink, you just look like you could…” He trails off, thinking of a nice way to phrase his next words. “Freshen up.” He settles on. “And maybe run a comb through your hair as well.” He mutters, one of his hands absentmindedly reaching up to brush against your knots.

“Hey!” You say, a little offended, and you lightly slap his hand away. Despite your show though, you don’t protest when he adds a hair brush to the pile of items he’d handed to you.

“You got clean clothes on your horse?” He asks, ignoring the look you tossed his direction.

“What’s wrong with the clothes I got on?” You ask him, furrowing your brows.

“They’re still wet with snow.” Arthur says, like it should be obvious. “But if you wanna sleep damp, that’s your choice.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you do still feel the dampness of the snow on your clothes, sticking to your skin uncomfortably. It was normal in the Grizzlies - there hadn’t really been any escaping it, but now you were dry, and much warmer than you had been in the mountains, and the thought of dry clothes that would stay dry made your stomach flip with excitement.

“Yeah, I got clothes on Shergar.” You answer him as the two of you make your way to where the horses are hitched.

“Kinda name is that?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows as the two of you unhitched and mounted your horses.

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “It was his name when I got him, and I liked it.”

“Fair enough.” The man agrees with you, tugging on the reins of the Walker beneath him before gently spurring him forwards.

“Where are we headed anyways?” You ask Arthur, following him on the Andalusian, your hand reaching down to scratch at his neck with your nails.

“More private area of the river.” Arthur explains as the two of you trot out of the forest and onto the worn down dirt path. “You can clean yourself up a bit, and I’ll make sure no one else comes by.”

“So when Dutch said I was your responsibility, he just meant you were becoming my own personal little bodyguard?” You joke, your lips curling up into a smile as you turn your head to meet Arthurs gaze. You can tell he doesn’t want to smile but he does, shaking his head as the two of you trot.

“You’re worth four hundred dollars darlin’.” He explains to you, that low drawl sounding both threatening and alluring at the same time. “Of course you’re gonna have someone followin’ after you.”

The truth behind his statement stung a little. At the end of the day, these people could feed you, give you a place to stay, and keep you safe, but they weren’t doing it for you . They were doing it for your worth. After so long of being by yourself though, their motives didn’t matter to you. As long as you were safe and warm.

“You know I ain’t gonna run off.” You say to him after a minute of tense silence. 

“How can we know you won’t?” Arthur asks incredulously.

“You think I’m gonna leave a bed, warmth, and a steady supply of food? Or that picture you’ve got of mine?” Your heart aches a little as you think back to the photo you had given Arthur of yourself and your son.

Subconsciously Arthur reaches his hand up towards his pocket, brushing his fingers over it as though he was making sure the picture was still there. You note that when you’d given it to him, he’d placed it in his coat pocket, and now as he rode beside you in nothing but his work pants and black button-up, he still had it on him. 

The thought of him moving it onto his person made you worry a little less - at least you knew it would be kept safe, but still the fact that he held your most prized possession worried you.

“We’re here.” Arthur’s voice cuts you off, and he pulls his Walker to a stop as you near a concealed run off of the river. “Go clean yourself up.”

He turns the horse so that his back is to the river, and wordlessly you make your way towards it, shutting your eyes a little as the setting sun reflects off of the water.

For about the first time in a month or so - you feel safe . You have food and water waiting back at camp for you, and one of the most dangerous men in the country is currently keeping watch as you bathe, which in itself is a luxury you hadn’t been able to have in some time.

Perhaps this is a turning point for you, a chance to turn around the pitiful life you’re leading so far and make it into something worth so much more than just surviving to see the sun rise tomorrow. Perhaps you will be given your chance to prove your innocence, and tell the story of a woman who wanted nothing more than to avenge her son and was sentenced to death over it.

This is your second chance at life, with Arthur Morgan watching over your back to make sure it isn’t taken from you too soon.

~~~

Any feedback or comments are MORE than welcome, and would help me a great deal with motivation to not completely abandon this, however if you're more of a sit back and enjoy the show kinda reader, I completely understand! I am too on some level.

Anyways, I plan on following the order of the missions, obviously starting with Chapter Two at Horseshoe Overlook, and then just moving chronologically and maybe twisting a mission here or there. I also have a few plans on things to add in because why would I ever make life easy for my characters???

Lots of love <3

[lestappeninchidents]

My god, you guys are not ready for your future fic update !!! Thanks to @axerocknroll , I think I’m writing the most beautiful lestappen of my life. I'm very emotional while writing it and I even have tears in my eyes because I'm so proud of what I'm doing. 😭🥹

I have for now 13 pages and more than 6300k, and it’s just the begging of the story and the idea that inspired me. 🫢🫠 I’m so exiting to share with you this.

I know you didn't get the fluff you deserved in my previous fic, so here you go!! We have a Charles all in love and completely overwhelmed by his feelings for Max, we have love meetings like I've never written and religious symbolism for sensual things. We have art references too. ❤️❤️

I’M FREAKING OUT THAT YOU DON’T LIKE IT!! 🫣😭

Here a little snippet. It’s just the begging of the request, there’s so much more before and there’ll be so many more afterwards for the whole idea of @axerocknroll.

Austria 2022 (and memories of before), a podium that luxury would envy :

The nightly meetings after the days of racing, in small restaurants or pubs, had increased their relationship a little more. It made them into something, as imposing as the moon, that Charles didn't even fear to be seen late at night in public with Max. He even became proud of it. His heart became like marshmallow every time he had these thoughts and he asked for more every time. Especially with the moments of euphoria and pain that had broken his heart and left open wounds to Charles' soul. Max became his serenity, always camouflaged when he pricked himself or was pricked too hard against the field of roses that offered itself to him this season.

Charles found himself thinking several times, after one hand had caressed a drop of sauce on the corner of his lips by the thumb of the other and the looks that held the secrets of the world, that the house was Max. His soul and Max's were fused together at the heart, like atoms that attract and detach.

Max will be his undoing, he said to himself one day after he had stuffed himself with too much pasta after the Imola Grand Prix and his heart had stopped for a nanosecond when Max told him what Sassy had done to his simulator. They had been in a small Italian restaurant that Charles knew and knew he could trust not to be disturbed by him and Max.

The light was subdued, as if lit by candlelight which gave an air of Beauty and the Tramp. Almost kissing thanks to... no, because... no, thanks... in short, to a spaghetti that would bring them together without realizing it. The Ferrari driver had taken precautions to be at the back of the restaurant, in a corner that was a little more subdued than the others, with the soft, slow Italian music that would camouflage the last indiscreet ears. Everything seemed perfect. The race awaited them tomorrow and Charles was in the best conditions to play the podium, with Max who was supposed to offer him a great battle. Tonight, they would enjoy a sweet night, profiling the path of their flirtation, and tomorrow the protégé of the tifosi hoped that they would be able to close their weekend in the best way before taking the plane.

"...if you had seen this, Charles! The menace that she is, jumped on the screen while I was showering, like she knew what she was doing. The cunning one! I'm sure she's the one who lost me the race in Miami, I couldn't train properly at the apartment. She took advantage of the fact that I forgot to close the damn door, which never happens to me, to sneak in like the little devil she is. And then..."

Charles watched the tagliatelle wrap around his fork energetically, because of the story he was telling. The divine carbonara sauce that the predestinato had already been able to taste several times, had made its way onto the freckle on Max's upper lip. If at this very moment Charles could paint the scene, believe him, it would be obscener than any nude that art could count, and will count in the future. Obscener than Courbet's The Origin of the World, more obscene than Manet's Luncheon on the Grass which had shocked the crowd at the time, even more obscene than Rodin’s bronze Iris, Messenger of the Gods which was even more equivocal than The Origin of the World.

If Charles Leclerc had been able to paint or sculpt Max Verstappen at that very moment: the Academy of arts, the World, the public, the Formula 1 fans, the teams, and the Universe would have half covered their eyes; so violent would the divine be to contemplate for their retina. Which would have ended up burning their eyes, like a solar eclipse. So much the better. Charles would rather keep it to himself, in his Pandora's box, which only he could open and unleash when he wanted to.

Was it wrong if Charles was dying to literally sit on Max's lap, in full view of everyone like an exhibitionist, and lick the little piece of sauce obscenely for several minutes? Then, to feed him and Max on these same strong thighs that he was dying to bite, to suck, to knead and to lick until the groin to make Max crazy. Just like he had done a few months earlier at that party.

Oh, yes. It was the most tantalizing fantasy he'd ever had in his life and especially one that had given him an erection so quickly, right in the middle of a restaurant. His legs tightened to keep anyone from noticing his unchaste thoughts.

[podcastkevin]

Hi! Can you do an imagine where Addison’s (zombies) younger sibling is asexual and aromantic, and feels left out with everyone partnering up?

I did my best with this. I'm still new to writing for the asexual umbrella. I did so much research to not mess anything up. The reader is the same age as Zoey but aged up to be like the cusp of a teenager. Takes place after three cause that's where a lot of couples happen, hope it's okay that R is an alien descendant like Addison.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Seabrook, the streets buzzed with the energy of Valentine's Day. Couples strolled hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the gentle breeze. But amidst the festivities, Yn, Addison's younger sibling, felt a pang of loneliness gnawing at their heart.

Yn leaned against a lamppost, watching as their friends and neighbors paired off, lost in the magic of romance. He knew that no one would be available, Zed and Addison were out on an ice cream double date with Bonzo and Bree while Wyatt and Willa took Aspen and Eliza to their den. Yet, for Yn, the idea of romance held little appeal. As an aromantic asexual, they often felt like an outsider in a world obsessed with love, football, and cheer.

Suddenly they heard someone yell their name. They noticed it was Zoey across the street. She seemed to notice Yn's despondent expression from across the street. With a sympathetic frown, she dashed over, determined to lift their spirits.

"Hey there, Yn! What's got you looking so down?" Zoey asked, her bright eyes filled with concern.

Yn sighed, running a hand through their newly blue hair. "I just… I feel left out, you know? Everyone's so caught up in their relationships, and it feels like I'm just… here."

Zoey nodded understandingly, her mind racing for a way to cheer up her friend. "Well, how about we do something fun together? Let's celebrate this love holiday Zombien style!" She cheers, smiling when she makes Yn laugh. Yn always laughed at the species name the zombie called them after Yn became an alien, like their sister.

Despite Zoey's efforts to distract them, Yn couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as they passed by couples exchanging heartfelt gifts and affectionate gestures. But Zoey was determined to keep their spirits high, Yn slowly realized that there's no need to feel left out when he has other forms of love, like the abundance of platonic love they have towards Zoey.

With each passing moment, Zoey's infectious energy began to work its magic. She regaled Yn with stories, cracked jokes, and even convinced them to join in on a spontaneous dance-off in the town square.

As the night wore on, Yn found themselves laughing freely, the weight of loneliness lifting from their shoulders. They realized that, in Zoey's company, they didn't really need romance to feel happy and fulfilled.

"You know," Yn said, a soft smile gracing their lips, "I'm really grateful for you, Zoey. You always know how to make me feel better."

Zoey beamed, her own heart swelling with affection for her friend. "And I'm grateful for you, Yn. You're like family to me."

As they walked home together, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, Zoey couldn't resist the urge to show Yn just how much they meant to her. With a gentle hand, she turned Yn's face towards her and pressed a sweet, meaningless kiss to their cheek.

Yn's cheeks flushed pink, a warmth spreading through their chest at the gesture. For the first time that evening, they felt truly content.

As they parted ways, Yn couldn't wipe the smile from their face. This Valentine's Day may not have been what they expected, but thanks to Zoey, it was one they would never forget. And as they walked home, surrounded by the quiet of the night, Yn felt a newfound sense of happiness blooming within them. They may not have a romantic partner, but they had something even better—a friend who knew them like the back of her hand, and whose love was more meaningful than any fleeting romance.

The one actually scared me, and I was hesitant to post it, I hope this is okay I'm so nervous I wrote something wrong, please let me know.

Reposts, feedback, and comments on my posts are welcome, I overthink a lot and would love to know your thoughts but you don't have to imma go pass out (Go to bed) now.

[sizzleissues]

We were always doomed (1/3)

Alternative direction for the finale - Adrien is rescued.

Read HERE on AO3 or below

There was a boom somewhere in the building. Sirens startled Adrien out of a nightmare he couldn’t seem to shake, followed by another crashing sound. 

They were like footsteps echoing through his heart, catching in his throat. The threat in his mind breaking through its barriers and lumbering toward him.

Adrien looked at a worried Plagg, pushing his back against his bed and braced for whatever was coming. Each breath left him hungry, choking on something poisonous in the air, a worry that breathing couldn’t medicate. It felt like this was the catalyst. The end was coming.

Dust exploded out as the wall in front of him fell. A room identical to his revealed itself at the otherside, two figures standing in it, barely visible through the haze. 

“I’ve come to rescue you.”

A voice said. Its owner was a smear of purple. Beside them the other figure scoffed.

“Because I suggested we should.”

The dust settled and revealed Kagami glaring at Argos. His cousin turned to her, silently mouthing something. 

“What was that? Speak up,” She said. Argos glanced back at Adrien and then stepped close to Kagami. He spoke in a hurried whisper that Adrien could just hear.

“I said I’m sorry for that. I was going to rescue him after.”

“He’s in danger too. He can’t stay here.”

Argos pursed his lips for a moment before turning back to Adrien.

“We’re rescuing you now so pack up, we’re getting far away.”

Adrien didn’t move from his position against the wall.

“Why am I in danger? Why are we? What’s happening?”

“We really don’t have time-.” Argos said.

“I’m not moving until you tell me.”

Argos’s nostrils flared and he looked ready to strangle someone. Kagami rested her hand onto his shoulder and Adrien watched the tension melt. They had achieved a closeness in a such a short time that Adrien envied it. They had the ease of being accepted.

“We have to tell him. It's only fair,” She said.

“Fine.”

Adrien sat up as Argos and Kagami climbed over the fallen wall and into his room. Argos dropped his transformation, sitting on the far end of the bed as Félix. Kagami hovered near.

“It's time we let you in on the family secret. The reason I took the peacock in exchange for so much.”

“Which was a dick move and there were better ways to do it,” Kagami added.

“I know that now, but I cannot change the past but I can ensure a future.” Félix faced him with an earnesty he’d never seen on his face. “I needed the peacock to protect all of us in this room. Do you know what its power is?”

Adrien knew of course. The power of emotion, creating sentimonsters from strong emotions much like the butterfly made akuma’s out of its victims. 

“I’d change the wording there,” Félix said. The alarm kept wailing but in the room it couldn’t be more quiet.

“What.”

“I can read your thoughts- not all of them- just the highlights. You said ‘monster’ but we are not monsters. We are beings. The peacock can create life.”

“What are you saying?”

“You, Kagami and I are sentibeings. The peacock created us and can take us away just as easily. That’s why I took it. To keep us all safe. And we need to go because unlike us, you don’t have your amuk.”

A force yanked him at the neck, plunging him into a nightmare. 

It had changed.

A cataclysm blossomed in his hand, a solid white mass instead of its usual bubbly black. It swelled to the size of a football, consuming his arm. It sickened him.  

He tore his eyes away from it, to Hawkmoth holding Marinette limp by the collar. In his other hand he held a feather. 

“Is this all you are? A pathetic feather, so easily swayed. Go on, little kitty, release it. Kill her.” 

The mass enveloped them all. His vision dimmed until all he could see was her crumble. 

And Adrien screamed. 

“Adrien!” Félix yelled, by his side. He’d crossed the distance and tore his hands away from his head. “It's a dream. It's not real.”

Adrien tried to take a breath, tried to forget the way his hand had moved against his will and he’d been forced to watch her turn to dust.

“Where is my amuk?” He whispered, lifting his head.

Félix shot Kagami a sidelong glance.

“Your dad has it.”

Adrien didn’t have time to consider the implications. The control his father wielded. The exact reason why his father would have a sentimonster to control.

“Is it safe on him?” If Monarch could somehow steal it to use against him, he couldn’t take that risk.

Félix didn’t answer for a long time. It was Kagami who crouched at his bedside that answered.

“It isn’t. Your dad is-.”

“Monarch,” Adrien finished. It made so much sense.

It made everything so much worse. His heart felt tempted to sink back into the waters of his nightmare and drown but he couldn’t give up right now.

“I have to go.”

“You can’t. We need to get you away while Gabriel enacts his final plan. Ladybug will know what to do.” Kagami sounded confident, Félix looked less so. 

“I have to go.” He repeated, stressing the importance. He couldn’t outright say it but he saw them understand. 

He pushed off his bed, neither of them making an effort to stop him. He got to the door, the explosions had flung it open, before either of them spoke.

“ Chat Noir - and Ladybug- will stop him,” Félix said. Ladybug came as an afterthought. Adrien smiled at his cousin.

“He’ll try.”

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

Chapter 16 of UDLTTOM has been experiencing some delays…& I made a meme about it 😆

A brief snippet from said oneshot:

“You don’t truly believe all that pureblood rhetoric, do you?” Henry Evans regarded Tom Riddle pointedly as he leaned against the wall of the outside courtyard. He stood, half cloaked in shadow, illuminated only by the lit torches casting a faint, warm glow over half of his face, the right side where the jagged-edged curse scar slashed through his brow. That same brow arched as Tom shrugged.

“Do you?” The headboy asked his smaller housemate instead.

Evans snorted, his opinion on it made abundantly clear by the soft sound of dissent. The younger boy held out his hand for the lit muggle cigarette pinched between Tom’s thumb and index finger. Tom passed it to him, exhaling slowly as the other boy brought it to his soft, supple mouth for a puff.

Two months ago, Evans wouldn’t have dared to do something so intimate, so sensual, as share a muggle cigarette in a dark alcove of one of Hogwarts’ outside courtyards. He would’ve rather tried to burn him with it. Sometimes, Tom was sure the thought still crossed his mind here and there.

It was a look, narrowed green eyes, a firm press of those pretty lips into a frown, jaw clenched as he bit back the urge to lash out with that sharp tongue of his. Sometimes Tom liked eliciting such looks, and went out of his way even to get that reaction. He was past pretending he didn’t enjoy the heated words that left the boy’s mouth when he was in a foul temper. The way they lashed out, quick and lethal, cutting under his skin in a way that no one else had ever managed.

Sometimes Tom wanted him to let loose, to hurt him, make him bleed because it made him feel something. An acute sense of vulnerability. A feeling he hadn’t felt in such a long time. Perhaps never to the degree that Evans was able to illicit. It was a different sort of feeling. Something new. Something exciting. It made him feel on the days when nothing else could.

Sometimes Tom was sure he made Evans feel too. Watching as Evans exhaled a cloud of smoke, Tom’s gaze was drawn to the slight pucker of those lips wanting. His curiosity was burning, an urge to touch, to taste kept nagging him in the back of his mind. An intrusive thought he couldn’t quite shake. He had only been half listening to this conversation about their other housemates in seventh year. Evans had been snickering at Abraxas Malfoy’s essay topic on muggleborns and where their magic originated from and his inane theory that it was stolen from the pureblood families.

With no sense of propriety, Evans had laughed straight in the Malfoy heir’s face. Unable to resist poking a dozen holes into that theory within a minute all the while jeering. This, of course, made Malfoy feel like a fool. A fool he was, but rarely was he made so acutely aware of the fact and Evans might have as well carved the word “dumbass” on his forehead and shoved a mirror in his face for his utter lack of subtlety. The Slytherin headboy had been forced to separate them before a scuffle broke out in the middle of the Yule Ball.

Now here they both stood wearing their nicest dress robes with a lit cigarette passing between them in the snowy, disused courtyard far away from the ball attendees and patrolling school faculty members. Evans' hair was a mess. It was always a mess. But even with that Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion Lyra Burke had wrestled into it, that bird’s nest of curls had only managed to be tamed for about an hour and a half. Wispy, stubborn flyaways were springing up in every direction and Tom wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked.

Another intrusive thought, a memory, a remark Burke had made came to the forefront of his mind. She had said: “He’s got the kind of hair you just want to run your fingers through.” A little flash of envy coiled in his gut knowing that Burke now knew full well what it was like to run one's fingers through that wild mess of hair.

Tom fingers itched as he took back the cigarette and put it to his lips.

“Why do you go along with it?” Evans looked up, brushing one of the flyaways away from his cheek.

“Go along with what?” Tom looked down to those unwavering green eyes. Piercing green. Knowing green. Evans' expression flattened; unamused at Tom’s attempt at deflection.

“You know what.”

“Some battles are better lost,” he answered.

[boundinparchment]

Deus In Absentia - V

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. Reposted from my previous blog, @/zhonglis-empty-wallet AO3

“Archivist, pack your things.”

The sentence, not the knocking that preceded it, broke you out of a stupor one early morning.  Your coffee, still hot, had yet to properly kick in.  You looked up from your written plans for the day to find Dottore in the threshold, one hand in his coat pocket as the other remained poised from his knock on the door.

“I’m sorry, Lord Harbinger?” You asked, confusion lacing your words.  

“Krupp seems to think Mondstadt is a worthy investment of my time.  It’s important for you to experience such negotiations and understand the role we play in the Seven Nations.  Your attendance is required.  We leave in two hours.”

You held back the twitch at the corner of your nose as best you could.  You couldn’t just leave the nation at a moment’s notice.  How absurd.  He had you on five different projects as it was, all of which were time-sensitive at his own request.  No wonder everyone found him so infuriating (to say nothing of the ego clashes you heard rumors of with the other Harbingers).

Such an entitled and rude egomaniac.

But at least he’s done everything himself, you caught yourself thinking.  With no help from a Vision.  Tsaritsa’s favor or not, that has to count for something .

You answered, “Yes, Lord Harbinger,” before you lifted your cup to your lips.  You drank until Dottore’s footsteps receded, the hot liquid dancing on your tongue, bitter and creamy.

Comforting.

It never lasted for long.

_______________________

Mondstadt.

You knew of it.  You’d exchanged a few letters with the Librarian of the Knights of Favonious on occasion.  But it was one of the few places you’d never actually been to.

The wind was fresh and carried a floral scent you couldn’t quite place.  Birds sang different songs and the sun actually felt warm .  It reminded you of Liyue a little but crisper, greener; that comparison vanished once you reached the city gates.

The Land of Freedom was lax with almost everything.  Guards waved the carriage on without so much as a frown, children screamed and laughed as they ran off to follow a ball.  Citizens made small talk in the street, unbothered by the faint breeze nudging hats and collars.  Decorations were plentiful, streamers and flowers and stalls.

In Snezhnaya, moments such as those were always accompanied by the crunch of snow underfoot (or under hoof) and the faint smell of honey and melted butter.  Fewer laughs, fewer smiles; those back home had more to lose.

You pulled away from the window when you noticed a frown across a mother’s face at the emblem on the door as she led her children inside.  Well, at least not everyone was lackadaisical.  

You couldn’t blame her, not really.  Especially not when the figure sitting next to you was scowling at every living person the carriage passed.

Krupp was seated on the other side, assuring the Lord Harbinger that such a trip would be worth the time away from the lab.  The adjutant must have missed when Dottore plucked two small pieces of material from a case in his pocket and tucked them into his ears soon after climbing into the carriage days earlier.

A smart idea.

You envied him for it.

After all, you read every book you managed to pack and it was impossible to transcribe when the roads were hardly more than worn earth.  Inevitably, all that was left was conversation.

“Ludi Harpastum is Mondstadt’s annual festival for the commemoration of the Anemo Archon’s teaching of wine-brewing and living freely,” Krupp remarked.  “It is the land’s most prominent celebration.”

“How kind of them to consider those from other nations.”

Your words were more bitter than intended in the hopes that Krupp would, in fact, stop talking .  It took everything in you not to bash your head against the sidewall.  

The driver had impeccable timing; before Krupp could continue on, the carriage stopped in front of a large building with spires and beautiful windows.  If you understood Krupp correctly, Pantalone reserved the hotel indefinitely for Fatui use.  You’d yet to meet the Ninth.  Or any other Harbinger for that matter.

Thankfully, there was time to rest before the festivities that night, hosted at Monstadt’s Dawn Winery.  You’d seen the watermarked header on correspondence, on occasion.  Documents from three years prior.  Their contents…well, you weren’t quite sure what to make of them.

Once in the safety and relative privacy of your rooms, you collapsed on the bed, intent in taking advantage of the quiet.

_______________________

Mondstadt felt…provincial compared to Snezhnaya.  

No artillery weapons, no mechanisms to make merchant’s lives easier, no presence of the Archon except for the statue outside of the massive cathedral at the summit of the city.

The Land of Freedom gave more of an impression of being the Land of Neglect.

And yet the people still worshiped Barbatos wholeheartedly, if they chose to do so.  Blessings passed from one pair of lips to another with ease, with care, with love; as light as the breeze that danced through the night.

The house at which the festivities were held was modest by Snez standards.  Quaint.  There were city houses larger than the Dawn Winery Estate.  But it was certainly more than anything you would have ever expected to own, to live in.  You wouldn’t know what to do with all of the space.

Your party, led by Dottore, was one of the last to arrive.  You were only walking in when you heard the tail-end of a speech by the man you could only assume to be the master of the house.  Red hair, fine clothing, and an air of certainty.

Dottore’s mouth twitched as he and Krupp exchanged a few words.  You caught the gist: the boy looked just like his father.

“It’s been a while, young Master Diluc,” Krupp said jovially as he approached the host, arms out in gratitude.  “I can’t help but feel impressed with this party.”

Dottore continued walking, bumping Krupp’s arm in the process, without even so much as bothering to excuse himself.  “I have some business with this seneschal of yours.  Bring him to me.”

Krupp let out an uncomfortable laugh and glanced your way for assistance; it fell on those around a Harbinger to save face and grovel for them, you were learning.  Diplomatic relationships were maintained by those who did the work, not the ones who did the talking.  When you didn’t move, too uncertain of the situation, Krupp continued.

“Apologies, young Master.  The fault is mine alone.”

The young man turned his gaze onto you and then Dottore, the slightest twitch of a brow crossing his face.

“Master Krupp, I believe I haven’t been introduced to this honored guest and your colleague.”

“Allow me to formally introduce my very humble master, Il Dottore.  My master is one of the Eleven and the very champion who defeated Ursa the Drake.  A heroic feat that is, of course, well known to the people of Mond.”

Dottore’s smile never reached his eyes, as usual.  He knew the gestures but not the soul behind him.

You were beginning to wonder if he had one.

“It’s an honor to have you in our midst,” Diluc replied, his tone a touch flatter than before.

Before Krupp could continue, a man with long blonde hair approached, dressed in the formal wear of a member of court and interrupted.

“There’s no need to trouble the head of this manor, Master Krupp.  I am Seasmus Pegg, Seneschal of Ordo Favonious and the one you seek, Lord Dottore.  Like Master Diluc, I am extremely honored to have you here as our guest.”

Somehow, you expected such diplomatic affairs to be less…confrontational.  A tension danced in the air, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Lord Dottore,” the Seneschal continued, “a personal visit speaks of matters of grave import.  To leave other guests in peace, perhaps we can move to a more fitting locale.”

The Mond leader looked to the master of the house.

“Pardon my rudeness, Master Diluc.  A private place, if you would?”

“Dawn Winery shall accommodate your requests, seneschal, but under a small condition.  Please grant me a seat at your meeting.”

Before anyone could object, Krupp crooned, “Of course, young Master.  Thank you for your kindness.”

“Good.  Follow me, then.”

The meeting room was somehow worse than the party.  While the tension before was awkward, it was now downright unbearable.  Why were you even here?  Should you be taking notes?

With an addition of the quartermaster and cavalry captain, one Kaeya Alberich, Krupp got straight to the point before everyone was settled.

“We, the Fatui, are hoping to expand our ranks,” Krupp began.

He droned on for a moment before Kaeya interrupted with a pointed question regarding why come to Mondstadt for recruitment.

Dottore sat quietly, arms crossed, seemingly almost bored.  He didn’t once interrupt the back-and-forth, allowing his adjutant to do everything.  

“This sounds like a blood tax paid with the lives of our children,” Kaeya stated, tone as icy as the Vision at his hip.

Something clicked in your mind.  The three of you weren’t here for recruitment to the ranks and certainly not with the security of Mondstadt in mind.  Krupp had been hoping to pull the wool over their eyes and obtain more children for…

It was so painfully obvious.  It took everything in you to keep your spine straight, metaphorical mask in place.  

“That is definitely not what we intend to call this,” Krupp’s words were tight, enunciated in such a way that did nothing but admit the very claim they deflected.

“That’s all I need to know,” the cavalry captain sat back and gestured to the others on his side of the table.

All you could hear was the drumming of your blood in your ears, your heart beating so hard that you thought it might make its way up your throat.

Ever a kind host, Diluc diffused the conversation when Krupp demanded an answer, turning everyone’s attention back to the festivities they were absent from.

Dottore clicked his tongue and insulted their host in return, citing boredom.  His favorite excuse for getting out of anything, be it a meeting with the other Ten or a mediocre meal.  The Harbinger rose from the table and left the room without bothering to see whether you or Krupp were following.  You excused yourself before leaving the room and heading back to the party.

That…wasn’t exactly diplomacy, you mused.  It was more like strong-arming.

The Harbinger fumed, his fist clenching and unclenching the entire way.  Krupp’s grovels fell on deaf ears for most of the way.

“They can’t afford to refuse our offer.  I’ll force them to fold!”

Dottore’s anger finally met its final flare and he snapped, “You better, Krupp!  You’ve wasted enough of my time!  Go and do something before my patience runs out!”

The Harbinger stormed off, all the while the sea of people parted to get out of his way.  A scene.  One you were growing used to but at least then, it was at home .  Not abroad.  Not when every action reflected the opinions of Snez and the Fatui themselves.

Not that you cared.  You were a mere bookseller, in the grand scheme of things.

Krupp was immediately taken with a nearby glass of wine and you have no interest in drinking.  Nor rubbing elbows or networking or whatever it was people did at these things.

Air was a better idea.

_______________________

You found Dottore at the edge of the nearby lake, his gaze upwards on the floating platform you always only saw the peaks of.

Celestia.

Home of the Divine.

When you approached, Dottore’s head turned to look, red eyes murderous.  Recognizing you, he turned away, but didn’t shun your presence. 

“An absolute waste,” he snapped.  “Poor wine and poorer outcomes.  Days of work lost and for what, Archivist?”

“I wouldn’t call it a total waste,” you offered.  “If anything, you know that Mond is far less naive than the nation is often led to be.”

The Harbinger let a breath out of his nose.

“They’re more naive than you think.  Vision-wielders are nothing more than self-inflated fools that put their stock in the Archons as if Celestia has everyone’s best interests in mind–”

Dottore trailed off, his gaze falling from the floating island and off to the side when a branch snapped nearby, as if someone hadn’t been watching where they were walking.  A figure holding a lantern was sneaking around the back of the manor and making their way into the basement.  Before the door shut behind them, the stranger turned, and you briefly glimpsed Krupp’s mustached face.

“What is he doing?” the Harbinger muttered. 

After a few minutes, there was faint shouting, one voice distinctly Snezhnayan.

Before you could ask, Dottore grabbed your arm and pulled you in the direction of the shouts to get a closer vantage point.  He opened the door, revealing a stone staircase, the light at the bottom only just visible. The air smelled faintly of mist grass, a scent you were all too familiar with nowadays; the same smell lingered after Dottore and any other member of the Fatui used a Delusion.  

A Delusion?  Here?

Another shout from Krupp, but his words were clearer.  He would tell his attacker everything .

Dottore’s footsteps were silent as he began to descend the staircase.  He gestured for you to follow without looking back.  Fighting wasn’t your strong suit by any means but you also didn’t want to get caught outside looking like a thief.  The hosts here didn’t trust your party as it was; no point to give them another reason, you rationalized.

“What is Dottore doing with these kids?” 

The voice was almost familiar, but not quite.  You couldn’t place it.  The accent wasn’t quite Mondstadtian, but it wasn’t trying for a Fontaine flourish, either.  Odd.

“Mas-Master’s planning to—“

Just as you rounded the final curve in the stairwell, you saw a flash of silver over Dottore’s shoulders.  Krupp never finished his sentence, words instantly silenced by a sickeningly wet sound.

“Useless menial with loyalty issues,” Dottore droned.

The attacker’s face was obscured by a mask but you saw hair that vibrant and fiery few and far between.  On the stranger’s wrist was a red gem, bright and glowing with energy.  So it has been a Delusion after all.  Was that really…?

“Just to let you know, breach of confidence will result in immediate removal of files. But the loss of this menial is happily balanced out by this unexpected finding.  That “Vision” you’re wearing is indeed interesting.”

Dottore straightened his shoulders, his dual catalysts adjusting their aim along with him.

“I’d love to indulge this some more,” his tone turned sweet, even excited.  “But that’s it for now.  Keep up the good work and hone your unimpressive skills.”

The weapons disappeared as the Harbinger turned around and began ascending the stairs without looking back.  You were beginning to finally get used to it.  Dottore’s voice echoed down the stairwell.

“Farewell.  I can see a bright future ahead of you.”

He was giddy.

Thrilled.

The only other time you saw him this happy was when someone managed to bring a Ruin Hunter into his lab in one piece; disabled but still functional.

His laugh was blood-chilling.  You suppressed a shiver.

“This trip has proven rather useful, Archivist, you’re right!  Krupp deserves something for his hard work!”

Dottore paused and you almost bumped into him as you finally managed to catch up to him.  Between his height and enthusiasm, he was cutting through the path back to the main city at an alarming pace for someone who wasn’t running.

“Ah, right, Krupp has been neutralized,” he snapped his fingers, as if just recalling the past few minutes.  

His words were so lighthearted, bordering on cheerful.  As if he hadn’t just murdered a man with a single blow.

“As I said before, Archivist, you’ll know when I’m dissatisfied.”

[justanotherfanwriter]

devotion

something for @soulxmakaweek I saw the first prompt was devotion and ran with this Bad!Ending au I came up with. It's an idea I'd want to flesh out more, but I feel this is okay for a prompt week! :)

fair warning this is a one-sided soulxmaka fic, but I love when devotion turns into an unreciprocated obsession. So, expect angst.

t/w: gore, violence, murder (but at the very end)

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

Maka wasn’t the same after the moon, though, to be fair, none of them were. She hid it well, the slight shift in her personality, the distant stares, her moon bathing. Soul only knew because he heard the way she cried at night when he was stuck fighting his own demons that never quite went away, tucked in the shadowy recesses of his mind, begging, pleading, to come out.

If insomnia hadn’t plagued him, he would have believed all of her heroic puffery, the way she stood at Kid’s side, proud against his naysayers, and her belief in the change they were set to make after the battle on the moon.

The way her gaze flickered to the moon was just a trick of the eye if he didn’t know the way she cried.

She lasted three weeks—and so did he—before she cried herself sick, and he found her in their shared bathroom, her head in the toilet, retching up mucus and lingering specks of black blood. No words were spoken between them as he grabbed her hair and held it for her.

She was sick until the sun came up, and when they fell back against the bathroom wall, sitting together on the floor, tired but not sleeping, she finally spoke, voice cracking, “I just want them back.”

She didn’t say their name, but he knew she was referring to Crona. It was the way she had said them as if said with reverence, referring to a god and not the monster their friend had become. No, them was not used to symbolize the thousands that had lost their lives, but the one who had sacrificed theirs for them all.

The sound of her voice pierced his heart, breaking it in two, confirming everything he had dreaded, and knew, and ignored, and he fought hard against the lump in his throat because that was how he spoke of her, and he understood what it meant.

He wouldn’t be getting what he wanted, but that didn’t matter, did it? He had made a promise a long time ago, hadn’t he? When he said they wouldn’t be like her parents. Of course, liking her had never been the plan—nothing had gone to plan—but he wasn’t the kind of guy to go back on his word.

“What? You’ve already given up?” He said to the tile floor, speaking gruffly as he swallowed his tears. He stood up, offering her his hand, “Don’t be stupid. We’ll get them back. I promise.” 

“How?” She stared up at him, her hand hesitating above his own. She looked drained and defeated and every bit as heartbroken as he felt, staring down at her.

“Why are you asking me?” He snorted, rolling his eyes, envying someone trapped on the moon, “You’re the smart one, remember? I’m just the guy who saves your ass when shit hits the fan. So do what smart people do, okay?” He took her hand and yanked her to her feet, “Go read a book.”

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

Maka took his advice very seriously. Textbooks, tomes, manuscripts, scrolls (cursed and uncursed), newspapers, academic journals, and stray internet conspiracies she had printed out littered every free inch of their apartment dedicated to the Gods, the Occult, and Madness. She worked tirelessly, leaving no stone unturned.

From the little spot she had left him at the kitchen table, he’d stare at the sheer volumes of books with wonder. They were like a fungus that only continued to grow. Even his bedroom was unsafe from them. There was a time, years ago now, when her book hoarding was a point of contention between them, and he had forced her to sell a few for extra cash. That had been before she had met Crona. Now, he wouldn’t even dream of it. Sometimes her books were the only thing that kept her going. Not even he could rouse her from her grief anymore.

As the years progressed, Maka had only become more desperate. The world around her had moved on from Madness, adjusting to their new normal, which now included witches, a few werewolves, and one black moon.

Except for him, of course.

He had a few romantic partners in the years that followed the War on the Moon in a self-antagonizing quest to be rid of Maka. It didn’t work. At one point, he was gone for two years. He left without a single word, and when he came back, he was surprised to find she hadn’t even noticed his absence, while he, on the other hand, noticed every single second.

She had smiled up at him from a circle of books like he had only popped out to run a few pointless errands, and his heart had ripped apart and stitched itself back together again in seconds. He looked around their cluttered apartment and asked if she had seen Blair.

“Uh, I haven’t,” She blinked, “but let me read you this. I think…it may be something.”

“When did Blair leave?”

Maka twirled her finger in one of her disheveled, matted pigtails, reading the passage out loud around the pencil eraser she was chewing. She didn’t bother to answer his question. In fact, she acted as if it had never been asked. The most he could hope was that the cat had made it out alive, that he wouldn’t find her buried under a pile of books.

He never did find out what happened to Blair in the two years he was gone. Instead, he sighed, pushed the kitten out of his mind, and slumped his bag down to the floor before turning to pick up the spoiled plates of food she had piled and misplaced on the stacks of books.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let Maka die this way. So, he didn’t leave again. He stayed.

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

Kid wasn’t the only god people prayed to, though obviously, he was well worshipped. There were many gods and goddesses that had domains in this world. Some governed over concepts like death, their only absolute order in the chaos of life, other gods represented the seasons.

Some were equated to the Moon.

Maka had become the Moon’s most zealous follower. Every new moon, she paid tribute, lightening candles and whispering prayers. Swirling clouds of incense would fill their apartment, turning her into an ethereal misty mirage.

Maka didn’t make the same tributes to Kid, but this didn’t offend their Death Lord. It wasn’t uncommon for Kid to turn sacrifices, precious goods, and money away. Sometimes Death was a blessing, but he preferred letting nature run its course.  He was only interested in the people that defied him.

It always boggled Soul’s mind that Kid was a friend and still his timeless enemy, but in the end, what did it matter? He wasn’t afraid of Kid. His demons lived in his head, not on a clock, whispering insane circumstances, trying their hardest to draw him back into the black room. He resisted, but nights were still hard, listening to her cry over the moon.  

His friends were more supportive of Maka’s religious obsession. Tsubaki still lit a candle at her brother’s altar for the moon without fail every evening. Black*Star thanked the shadows when she was in earshot. Patty and Liz would occasionally moon bathe with her to keep her company. Kid couldn’t do much without disturbing the power balance between all things, but he didn’t chastise her when she used DWMA resources to further her research.  

Soul, on the other hand, did not participate in her religious endeavors. It was his one act of defiance against her, and if his friends noticed, they never said anything.  

Soul prayed to a different goddess entirely. She was a sound. A “G” note. Solid and reliable and there. If he prayed hard enough, maybe the mirage of her, the ghost of her, haunting these halls filled with books and eye-stinging smoke, would become solid again, forced out of the shadows of the moon and back into the sun where she belonged.

Thoughts of that once-sunny girl consumed him when he stared at the moon priestess on top of their apartment roof. She was whispering a mantra to the rock above them as she held her hands out in prayer. She looked so delicate, bathed in the rays of the weak moonlight that still penetrated the black shroud covering its face, that if he reached out to graze his fingertips down the spine of her back, he was afraid his hand would pass right through.

Instead, he watched her from the stairs, memorizing the lines of her, the sharp angles, and soft curves, remembering when she was once brighter than the sun.

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

There was a monk who, according to legend, knew all things. Kid had heard of him once, stating that his father had spoken of the man with venom in his voice. A rare mortal who had defied death and gotten away with it. He knew nothing more, or rather, he disclosed nothing more and, with remorse in his eyes, turned Maka away when she begged.

She, along with Black*Star, was still his best agent. Her obsession to free Crona had spurred her up the ranks of the DWMA Agents, allowing her more access to classified information. He, of course, followed after her.

When Kid turned his back on them, she cursed his name and left in a storm of rage. This wasn’t abnormal. She oscillated between denial, anger, and depression, and bargained whatever she could to gain favors, holy or unholy. Acceptance, he noticed, was never in the queue.

She pulled a few of those favors she had long since gained and found the Monk Who Knew All Things. Soul had never doubted her ability to do so, but it seemed that others hadn’t either. A group, a splinter cell of some sort, had been watching and waiting, allowing her to do the hard part and crack the code, and then swooped in at the last second to steal her prize.  

It was futile on their part. Together, he and Maka cut the group of men down without hesitation, and Soul enjoyed the sick feeling of them being sliced open. The black blood sang, and the room came nearer, but he had learned to ignore its call, focusing only on Maka and what she needed.

A blood bath laid in their wake, and resting upon a rock, waited the monk. His beard was well-trimmed but long. He was old but not frail. And in his eyes was the sweetest sorrow Soul had ever beheld.

He stayed as a scythe as Maka explained herself and her righteous cause.

“Tell me,” She begged, falling to her knees. He slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground. He no longer complained when she did that, instead mourning only the loss of her touch. He could have transformed back into a human, but because she had not requested he do so, he stayed as a scythe within hand reach.

“Please,” She continued to plead, “how? How do I free them?”

The old man thought for a moment, staring up at the Black Moon, “It used to be such a lovely sight.”

“It still is,” Maka sneered. “Now, tell me. I saved your life; you owe me that much.”

His gaze fell back to her, and he sighed, “There’s nothing a mortal like yourself can do. This is a job of a god. Of divinity.”

This chilled his blood and reminded him of a recent conversation he had with Tsubaki prior to their trip. She had grasped him by the elbow and stared at him seriously with more authority than he had ever had the pleasure of seeing in her.

“Then, I’ll become a god,” Maka hissed, nonplussed by this revelation. “Tell me how.”

“I know that look in her, Soul.” Tsubaki had stated, “I’ve seen it in Black*Star—”

“You already know,” The Man Who Knew All Things said with a sad shake of his head, “and I beg that you do not follow this path.”

“It’s too late for that,” Maka spoke softly with tears in her eyes. “I promised them I would get them back.”

Madness was an interesting concept. Power, greed, order, grief. Just about anything could drive someone mad, and with the lingering pulses of Asura still permeating their atmosphere, Maka was—had been—at her breaking point. Once a beacon of human endurance, even she had lost herself in something.

Though he was still a scythe and could not see the look in her eye from the ground where he lay, he could feel the energy of her soul through their wave link singing a broken, mournful tune. It awoke something deep in him, and his soul began to reach out, harmonizing every other broken note as something dark pounded on the locked door in his mind.

“—she is going somewhere you cannot follow—” Tsubaki had warned him.

He had no time to react when Maka snatched him from his place on the ground and brought him down on the Man Who Knew All Things.

“Maka! No!” Was all he could cry as his blade caught the old man’s neck, slicing it clean off. She let go of him, and he went flying away, innocent blood staining his blade as he again clattered to the ground.

It was silent as the head of the monk rolled to a stop before her, and as he transformed back into his body, she covered her mouth in horror and shock, falling back to her knees with a horrible moan before crying out mantras and prayers to her Moon and its inhabitant, pleading for mercy and forgiveness, and a way to get Crona back.

He only felt sick. He had no prayers to whisper. Maka, his beloved, dearest Maka, had just committed the worst taboo. She had reaped a pure soul, one not on the Shinigami's List, and she had used him to do so. They had defied Death himself, and Soul knew Kid would not forgive her, not for this.

He should have run, like the coward he knew he was, but as tears streaked down his own face, he stayed. He had made a promise like that to her once, hadn’t he?

Tsubaki’s voice continued to echo in his head, “—and you will lose yourself entirely if you do not resist her.”

He sucked in a breath and knew their friend was right. A decision had to be made, but unfortunately, as he looked over at Maka, he knew he had already made his decision a long time ago. He didn’t fear death, he had his own demons, and they were devoted to a girl who was devout to the Moon.

He opened his mouth wide as Tsubaki’s warning played on repeat and swallowed the Monk’s soul whole. He stood there a moment, feeling it slither down his throat. The texture was the same as always, and for a moment, he was overcome with this incredible realization that a sound soul was no different from the unrested.

Slowly, he crawled his way toward Maka. When he reached her, he pulled her shaking form into his, and she didn’t resist as he began to rock them gently, smoothing down her hair. “Shush, shush, it’s okay.” He cooed, “We’ll be okay.”

He pulled away from her slightly and pressed their palms together as if in prayer, and slowly, so, so slowly, spoke as he finally started to feel the effects of a sound soul course its way through his body. He had been wrong, mistaken. A sound soul was not the same as the unrested. The black blood consumed it with vigor, and he knew now his hunger would be satisfied with nothing less.

“I told you, didn’t I?” He said barely above a whisper, looking past the tears in her eyes, as he shifted his fingers, interlocking them with hers, “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[gayvillainera]

❤️ first kiss / realization — Danbecca

This one took me a minute because I had SO many ideas for how this could go, but I'm happy with what I finally decided to write. (Also I'm incapable of writing concisely so enjoy!) Thank you for the prompt!!!!

Ms. Danvers left the party when Rebecca did. Mrs. Abrams released her from observing and training every night when Mrs. de Winter insisted she was needed elsewhere, and the night of her first ball at Manderley was no exception. Ms. Danvers didn’t envy the other servants one bit, though she knew they’d be compensated with leftover hors d’oeuvres and hours of late-night gossip.

By the time Rebecca had wished her guests off to bed and checked in to make sure the cleaning duties had been divided and taken care of, Danny had readied everything for her nighttime routine. It pleased her to see everything laid out in order, to know that the night had gone exactly to plan.

Of course, she only had a moment to appreciate the neatness of her handiwork before her hurricane of a mistress burst through the doors, shattering the calm but warming Danny’s heart just the same.

“What a thrill! What a success! Do you know,” Rebecca said breathlessly, “that we have eight people staying who were planning to leave hours ago? And that’s on top of the ten we were already planning to host. Before Danny could ask, she held up a hand. “Mrs. Abrams is taking care of them all, don’t you worry. She told me she’ll walk you through it all in the morning. You’re with me tonight.”

Before Danny could cross the room to unlace her dress, she pulled it halfway over her head, too excited to wait. And of course, the dress stopped moving with her arms pinned behind her, trapping her in a sheath of fabric.

She squealed and Danny rushed over to her, trying not to laugh.

“Let me.”

“Oh but Danny, leave it. I’m trying out a new fashion, can’t you see?”

“If you’d just let me, you wouldn’t—”

“I’m just too excited – I couldn’t possibly wait—”

At last, she stopped squirming and let Danny take over. The best thing about Rebecca, Danny thought, was the way she could be so unaware of herself and the effect she had, half-naked and laughing like this. She practically glowed, and yet this was no performance. There was no one here to flirt with or charm with her banter except Danny, who needed no charming. This was simply who she was: beautiful, carefree, and lovely.

And one of the best things about Danny was that she didn’t ogle, not even a little. She did her job, working at the tight closures with nimble fingers, and simply let the awe glitter inside her as she finally slid the dress over Rebecca’s head.

But then they came to the moment after – the dress bundled in Danny’s hands, both of them pink-cheeked and bright-eyed with mirth, fueled by the afterglow of the party – and their gazes sparked with some new understanding, something like the crest of a wave about to break, and then—

And then Rebecca was kissing Danny. It was a chaste, girlish kiss, sweet in the surprise of it, but Danny met her in the middle, ready for her. She was never surprised by Rebecca any longer, having been in her service for nearly a decade now, but she’d only gained a half-second of anticipation before it happened. She had no time to understand, only to respond on instinct, and instinct drew her to Rebecca as strongly as the sea was drawn to the shore.

They crashed together again, once, twice – a sudden sensation of Rebecca’s tongue wet against Danny’s lip – and then Rebecca pulled back. Her eyes were still closed, and Danny enjoyed the second of watching her smile, the tiny movements of her face and shoulders as she composed herself.

“A favor,” said Rebecca, “for all your help with the party.”

“A very valuable favor indeed,” murmured Danny. “It’s well received.”

At that, Rebecca winked and turned around so Danny could help her out of her shift. Danny was sure she was blushing terribly. She wanted to press her knuckles into her lips and giggle like a schoolgirl, but she only smiled wide at the back of her lady’s head and began untying her underthings as duty dictated.

They didn’t speak of the kiss again that night, but only beamed and cut their eyes at each other, communicating in the silent ways they’d learned over the years. And when Danny was finally released to bed at four in the morning, she walked straight past the group still celebrating in the servants’ parlor, wishing them good night. She didn’t need camaraderie or drink tonight – Rebecca’s kiss still glowed softly on her lips, and nothing else would touch its magic for a long while yet.

[graylinesspam]

Attending galas was one of the bigger perks of joining the Wayne family in Selina's opinion. The children were never so enthused as she was, but that mattered little to her. Selina was a woman who loved to be seen.

Even and especially if that meant being draped over the arm of a handsome man. She had always believed that the natural counterpart to stealing was flaunting. Why have what others cannot envy?

So as the boys tugged their ties and bemoaned their state of dress Selina was primping. Smoothing her hands down the length of her white satin bodice. The gala tonight was sea themed so she'd had Bruce commission something special for her. It was a faithful recreation of Christian Dior's 1949 dress Junon. The large scalloped skirt details that would have looked very tacky in any other style shined just the way that Dior had designed them to with over three thousand hand sown sequins. Over every white petal curve blue and white sparkles caught the light like drops of water.

She'd had her hair jelled into finger waves; little black curls left plastered to her forehead. She was only waiting for Bruce to deliver her jewelry.

"Any idea what he's picked out?" Selina asked Dick as he leaned against the wall beside her mirror.

"something extravagant I'm sure" he sighed

Selina and Bruce had a game they played, where he picked out her jewelry and she always complained that it was too plain. Selina was the kind of woman that would always be dripping in diamonds if she could. And Bruce while rich had old fashioned tastes.

"well I hope that he'll do better than a string of pearls, I can't let every old biddy in the building out do me in that respect."

Dick cast an uncomfortable look to Barbara, his date, who Selina could see through the mirror was pulling long white opera gloves on.

"The Waynes don't wear pearls." Barbara corrected while she ran a hand over the chain of sapphires that sat snug round her neck.

Selina paused as she was putting away her lipgloss. "oh, I see. Well, all the better. everyone else will be wearing pearls, and when I won't be, it'll be easier to show them up."

Bruce appeared then at the top of the stairs in his dark blue suit A White satin box in hand. Everyone stood back as he descended the stairs and held the long rectangular box out before him.

He lifted the lid and revealed the necklace. It was sizable. Three long rows of rectangular cut diamonds encased in silver made up a two finger wide chain that plummeted low and embraced a massive blue diamond, like to hands cradling it gently with softly curling fingers.

The entire setting was breathtaking but not so much as the center diamond that was almost as large as Selina's palm. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of such an impressive stone.

When Bruce secured the heavy thing around her neck she couldn't believe how well it all went together. The light muted color of the diamond made it somehow less overpowering to the outfit than a sapphire of similar size would have been. But it shined with the dress as did her gelled hair and shiny lips. It was utterly perfect.

"No earrings to go with it?" She teased instead of admitting defeat.

"what earrings could possibly compare?" Bruce replied.

outfit under the cut

listen are these wildly out of the box items to style together? yes, but Selina is a go big or go home kinda gal and I think this fits her literally to a T.

[doctors-star]

before the beginning

“Are you quite sure?” he says, trying not to look around at the house in case his glances should look doubtful. Unfortunately, he simply is somewhat doubtful of the wisdom of this idea; happy as he is for Peter to be surrounded by other people for the uncertain length of time he will be out in Herefordshire, the May household is already a large one and the May house is not. Peter is already looking slightly daunted by the noise and debris left by various young women between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two, and he’s barely made it past the front door. For good reason does Lesley usually visit them at the Folly, rather than the other way around. And then, of course, there is Molly at home with the dog, probably too well-trained to be cursing their names, but entirely possibly slightly distraught at being left alone. In truth, he is a little distressed at leaving her. It has, after all, been some time since he last did.

“Oh, yes,” Lesley’s mother says cheerfully, weaving in amongst the chaos with expert familiarity to deposit Peter’s bags on the stairs, ready to take the next person to come downstairs out at the ankles. “I’d hate to think of him rattling around in that big place on his own, and he’s a good lad. It’ll be lovely to have him over.”

“We’ll look after him,” Lesley’s dad says - a little wryly, like he too can see the madness that has been made of his home - and claps Peter on the shoulder in a display of manly solidarity. Peter manages a smile, but little enthusiasm; Lesley just rolls her eyes.

“Well, I do appreciate it,” Nightingale says, tucking his amusement into the corner of his mouth where only Peter and Lesley can see it. Peter narrows his eyes, aware he is being laughed at, but his mouth compresses against a grin all the same. “It shouldn’t be for very long, anyway.”

“I should hope not!” Lesley’s mother says, catching Lesley’s head in passing and crushing her close to press a kiss to her head. Lesley squirms uselessly but ultimately must submit to this display of parental affection; Peter looks at him suspiciously, as though to ward off any similar instincts in him. They are neither of them very tactile, even less so now as Peter gets older, but sometimes he does envy Mrs May for her easy affection. “You fetch those girls home, and you’ll be back before we know you’re gone. Peter, I’m putting you in Tanya’s room; Lesley, Tanya’s in with you. I’ll go and make up the beds.”

“Mum!” Lesley objects sharply, unfolding from her slouch against the wall to stare after her retreating mother at this abject betrayal; her father, wisely, beats a hasty retreat towards the living room, leaving them all in the hallway to say goodbye. Lesley huffs enormously. “I don’t know why everyone’s worried about you,” she says to Peter mutinously. “You get your own room.”

Peter holds up his hands defensively. “It’s not my fault. You’re not pinning Tanya’s inevitable demise on me.”

Lesley folds her arms and looks up at Nightingale. “I refuse to be held responsible either,” he says quickly.

“Then don’t be long,” she replies darkly, which is probably the closest he’s going to get to affection from Lesley these days - she’s going through a rather grumpy phase at present.

“As you like,” he says mildly. “Right - the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll get back. Be good,” he tells Peter, more from some kind of parental instinct than any expectation otherwise; Peter rolls his eyes. “Call me if you need anything; I really shouldn’t be long. Don’t let Lesley kill her sisters.”

“You never let me do anything,” Lesley says, trying to hide a grin.

“I know. Look after yourselves.” And then there’s really nothing more to say, except goodbye.

“Good luck,” Peter offers. “You - look after yourself too. See you in a bit, then.”

And then Nightingale reaches out to squeeze his shoulder bracingly, but doesn’t quite make it. Peter ducks in underneath his arm, snakes one arm around his waist, and leans into his side in a sort of half-hug, half-tackle. Nightingale manages to coordinate his arm into wrapping around Peter’s shoulders quickly enough for a brief squeeze before the boy pulls away, resolutely refusing to make eye contact.

“Right. Bye then,” Peter says, still looking anywhere but at Nightingale.

Lesley tips her chin at him in a sort of salute, grinning at Peter’s behaviour.

“Bye, then,” he says, and smiles all the way to the M40.

[dangaer]

such a laugh that spills from her lips is more than enough to startle him, staring a little dumbfoundedly out of bewilderment he knows he shouldn't falter to given the willingness he had held to hear such a noise once again and he's quick to stifle it all with a quick hand running through his own hair, the smile that graces his features in response a mask to whatever kind of consideration or distaste he might take in comparison to his relief in turn. he mirrors her with his nails tapping against the wood of his desk, chuckling, but he finds himself seemingly more relieved —— which he finds himself thankful for, actually, given the fact that he should hear the response of a woman who has only been treated in kind by him above the subjects who claim to follow his order piece by indescribable piece.

and to come to understanding he does, a moment of consideration within his head despite the contentment that rests upon his features instead and really he can't tell what he was originally expecting which may help to explain why there's a lack of further shock that grapples across his feature when he considers the fact that the girl who came back believes even he deserves a second, chance, towards the largest mistake he will sure to have ever been made despite the fact it has cost her all their greatest memories all the same. the fact that she believes one should never be scared of the opportunity to change feels like an uncanny grief if he were to lament on it slightly further but when he is privy to the rest of it ... it's the kind of thing that feels said to make him feel better, truthfully. what remains left being the decision of whether or not he can learn to follow such a mindset or if he thinks he needs to repent on it, as if it comes down to him above her in the ill-twisted fate of her own previous life.

——— still, maybe that's a choice that has to come to him later, making his choice further down the line in secret. they have the time for it and right now she has asked him a question more serious than before: was it only me that felt that way? and that's all it takes for the heat to raise across his cheeks once more, a quick change from the polite persona he'd forced himself into becoming once more; the least he can do is answer with the actual truth, he knows. a fair exchange, an eye for an eye ... but he doesn't know how to, expression fluttering and sentences rather forward before they've even broken out of his throat to the point he wonders if saying it will push her into agreeing too fast. he doesn't know how to, but he supposes even she will see the beauty in him trying to give it a shot.

❛  ah, the way you mentioned things working out the first time, i really thought you could tell it as such. ❜ another grin, softer but rather relieved; it makes him feel embarrassed to openly mention it, even more so now she remains so close. he should just be thankful that he has received a second chance where some others may have not, can not, could not in the ways she suggests —— and he can tell he is, truthfully. but even the prince of hell indulges in his sins / even the prince of hell responds to pride and envy all the same.

❛  my first chance with you was already full of good things, so i don't suppose i saw them getting any better. as all do, the both of us had things we couldn't agree on, but still ... it wasn't like they weren't resolved quickly enough, given our circumstances. ❜ a moment of silence. he feels rather self-conscious and he's aware of how much it shows, but despite that ... there's still that lingering sadness. nostalgic over a time that hadn't quite ended and he has the opportunity to do over once again, an aching in his chest the moment her blood had stained across his palms. the forearm in her hand twitches, briefly. just how is one to explain it so well? ❛  humanity has— will always be a beautiful thing to me, the way they grow and change despite the bad circumstances hey be given, but i never realised the strength they held until i met you. curiosity is a trait we both share, and maybe with you i am supposed to find a way to use it singularly for the better. ❜

❛  this could be our long year together for good. ❜ slightly louder than his usual tone, words wavering in reprieve. he knows better than to hold all the sympathy, far from painting himself as the victim, but there's no denying the way the weight that leaves from his chest, stones crumbling now he doesn't bare their brunt as wholly. ❛  where would you like to go? with me, you have the entire devildom as your oyster. ❜ that's how they say it in the movies, he thinks. / @redemptioninterlude (cont'd for beta editing purposes!)

[cursed-dream-cb]

○Lonely Boy○

The day I realised I was cursed… I  remember it so clearly. Heh… how could I possibly forget? It was the first time I fell for someone… 

Yet another couple, a perfect match. Yeonjun smiled at them as they told them that good news, thanking them for the advice he has given them. It was a wonderful feeling, being in love. He would know. 

For the first time in his life, he laid his eyes on someone who made his heart flutter, burst from his chest and beat with so much emotion that he couldn't help but smile whenever he saw him in the halls. Was this it? Was this the emotion he had been helping others to find all this time? 

He wasn't sure at first. Crushes come and go, surely he was the same? Yet… each time their eyes met, Yeonjun couldn't help but smile. His would cheeks would burn from just how long he held his grins. His heart would beat so fast it would hurt and his head would spin with thoughts of the man he had fallen for. 

What was he meant to do? Despite his title of Cupid, he had never once found someone that felt right for him. He longed for him. Every day and every night each thought was plagued by him. He lived and breathed him. 

He was all he wanted. He was all Yeonjun knew he needed. It was unbearable. The boy grew sick with envy any time his gaze met another. The anger he felt when he would talk to anyone else was unmatched. He was his but he just hadn't realised it for himself. 

You're Cupid… He thought to himself. Come on Yeonjun, just follow your own advice. Just talk to him…

It was a trial, working up the nerve to speak to him. No matter how many times he tried, he always seemed to miss his opportunity. Words would fail him. His vocabulary left him the moment he was close, replaced with a slew of pathetic gasps and whimpers. By God, it was unbearable. 

A single breath around him would cause his lungs to flare or his head to cloud with doubt. He thought if he just avoided him, the feeling would go away and yet they followed him everywhere, burdening him to no end. Just the mention of the boy would cause him to choke on the emotions he had bottled up over the weeks he had dreamed of him. 

Was this love? Was this what he was helping people achieve? 

Standing was a chore. He could barely walk let alone speak. His legs felt weak and could only carry him so far before he had to lean against something and rest.

Maybe… Just maybe, if he could get him to fall for him, he would finally be relieved of his misery.

Yeonjun looked sick. Nay, the boy was barely alive. His pale skin was covered in veins, his breaths were short and staggered as if he were grasping for what little life he could hang onto. It deterred even the kindest souls in his school. However, he was determined to end this nightmare. 

There he was… the boy he had spent days… weeks… months longing for. A glowing beacon of perfection and charm. 

A coughing fit erupted from the weakened boy seconds after seeing him but he persisted. Clutching the wall for support, his legs hobbled him closer until they were finally faced to face. The boy of his dreams. 

"Shit…" His voice was as angelic as ever. His eyes were wide, sparkling as they always had. "You don't look so hot shouldn't you go to the nurse… hey, wait, you're Choi Yeonjun, right?" 

He… He knew his name? And he smiled when he said it… Yeonjun could feel his spirits being lifted and for the first time since his illness had taken over, he cracked a small grin. 

"Cupid, right? Aw, this is perfect! Look I need a huge favour," Yes, yes anything for you! "There's this girl in my class, god she rocks my world! But I have no idea how to ask her out." 

A… Girl…?

"Think you could talk me up a bit? I really want to take her on a date." 

No… No this is all wrong! 

A girl… A girl! Who? Since when? Why not Yeonjun? 

He stumbled away from him, his first scrambling for something to hold. Why, why fuck why! It was as if all the pain he had felt came crashing down on him in just a few minutes. From head to toe, his body burned, a pain so immense words couldn't describe shooting through him. 

"Holy shit! Dude are you okay?" 

Yeonjun could barely lift his head. He couldn't even scream, withering in agony before the boy who had caused it. Tears flooded his cheeks as sharp gasps left his mouth, the most he could do in search of a cry for help. 

"Fuck, stay here I'll go get-" No! No, he couldn't leave him here. Not like this. Yeonjun grabbed his hand, holding it as tight as he could. 

He clawed at his throat, angry red marks setting in while he struggled. If he could just say it… If he could just confess…

"I-I… l-l…" Come on Yeonjun! "I…" COME ON! "I love you!" 

Silence…

Bitter… Painful… Silence. 

The boy looked down at him. His eyes were wide once more but not from intrigued or excitement… but from uncertainty. His mouth hung open and not a word came out. Yeonjun shook his head and no matter how much he pleaded for him not to go, his hand slowly slipped from his cold grasp. 

He had been rejected. He had been left to suffer by the boy he thought would be his everything… 

"N-No… g-god please, don't go!" 

And he stopped… 

The boy froze in place, confusion filling the faces of both students. Was he going to stay? Had he realised what he had done to Yeonjun's heart? 

The other student stumbled back. His throat seemed to go dry, judging by the way he gulped and his eyes flickered towards his hands. “W-What the…” Slowly, the colour began draining from his body and yet, his panic didn’t last long. Apathy overtook him, his face blank as the life left from his gaze completely. 

He was just… nothing. There was nothing there. No panic, no fear, not even a shred of irritation he was… emotionless. 

It was that day that I learned as easy as it was to fill people with love, joy, ambition… I could just as easily take it away. I was stupid, I knew why I fell for him but I was too overtaken by emotion to realise I was hurting myself… I haven’t fallen for anyone since. But hey, if I can’t have love, at least I can help others find it, right?