#stop putting the minds of dead people to work challenge impossible

[trans-duckling]

KakaGai Week 2024: New and Exciting

Words: 1,661 Pairing: KakaGai Promt: Arrogance

Kakashi jumped from one building to the next one, ignoring the fast-beating heart inside his chest as he moved towards Konoha’s center. It was strange, to be feeling again such a deep emotion as happiness after so long, but he had found there was no point in ignoring it.

Almost a month had passed since Gai and him kissed for the first time after an unusual mission in which the Hatake had participated as jounin rather than ANBU. Tension had been high, and by the end of it their nerves were so out of place that they had launched at each other as crazy teenagers —which Kakashi guessed they were, being sixteen and seventeen—, and kissing until their lips bled. He had ran away the moment he realized what they had done.

But that was the past. Gai, in his classic behavior, had looked for him and demanded a conversation after they moved on from the initial shock. And, somehow, the conclusion of that talk had been that they would keep doing it. Kissing. Nothing serious, of course, because shinobi rarely had time for relationships, but still… It was different from before. And Kakashi enjoyed it. A lot.

His feet came to an stop on a tree next to the building he was aiming for. Gai had told him he would be having lunch there with the team from his last mission —people the Hatake didn’t know or cared about—, and afterwards they could go training together. Normally, Kakashi would be too busy with ANBU missions for a plan like that, but after an incident about a week before, the Hokage had put him on leave for a couple of days. With so much free time, he had no reason to say ‘no’ to one of Gai’s challenges.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in that guy” one voice coming out from the establishment said. “Everybody who ever worked with him says he’s an arrogant and doesn’t know how to work in a team. He’s called ‘friend-killer’ for a reason, you know?”

“I would appreciate if you wouldn’t use that name to refer to my rival” Gai responded a moment after, voice tensed. “If you haven’t worked with him or know him personally, I don’t see why you should be giving your opinion.”

Kakashi could not see them, but he was pretty sure Gai was clenching his fists, probably ready to punch anybody that kept talking badly about him. He had said several times already that it was not necessary, but he continued defending him anyways.

“We’re just looking after you” another person said, probably a woman. “You’re a good person, Gai, we don’t want you to end like… her.”

As gracious as always, the Hatake’s memory was kind enough to bring back to the front of his mind the image of Rin being killed by his own jutsu. Maybe they did have a point. Everybody he had ever cared about was dead. Gai was probably safest if he kept away from him.

“I can assure you I don’t need your protection, less if what you want to protect me from is my rival. I’ll be leaving now. See you around.”

A moment after, Kakahi saw Gai’s figure coming out from the establishment and disappearing in a blink. The next second, his friend was standing next to him on the branch, expression more serious than what he remembered to have seen in quite some time.

“Are you ok?”

“How did you know I was here?” he replied, frowning. “You’re bad at feeling chakra, it’s impossible you noticed me.”

Yeah, he could see why people thought he was an arrogant.

“I don’t need to feel chakra to know when you’re around, rival” Gai explained as if that made sense. “I just know.”

Again, Kakashi’s dumb heart started to beat fast. He didn’t understand either why Gai had such power over him with just a few words. It didn’t make sense.

“So, are you ok?” he asked again. The Hatake just shrugged. “Come on, let’s go to a training field.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, jumping forwards the next moment. As expected, it became a race fast enough, one that he won just for half a second.

“GAH! I won’t lose the next time, rival!” Gai barked with a smile. “Now, do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“I know you heard what they said, Kakashi” the taijutsu master said, kicking a rock. “Surely you…”

“They are right, you know?”

“What?”

“I am arrogant, and people around me tend to get killed or just die” the Hatake repeated as if nothing. “You would be safer far away from me.”

He saw Gai’s eyes opening wide, his expression full of surprise and confusion all at once. It would’ve been funny, if not for the conversation’s topic. A deep breathe a second later indicated him he was about to become deaf.

“YOU’RE NOT!” his friend exclaimed, pointing at him as if he had been the first one to make those accusations. “You never brag about your capacities, or think that you’re better than everybody else! Maybe you were a little arrogant in the past, but… Not anymore!”

Kakashi just shrugged again. If he thought coldly about it, Gai was right in that aspect. He didn’t go around telling the rest of the people he was better than them, he was just direct when declaring facts related to their capacities. Sometimes, that implied telling somebody they were useless. One could accuse him of lacking tact, if anything.

“Rival” Gai called once again. “I’m being serious. You must know I do not think as those other shinobi. I know you. They are the arrogant ones for thinking they need to warn me about you when you have never met each other.”

“Fine” the Hatake huffed, wanting that conversation to end already. “Can we fight now?”

He acquired a fighting stance, but Gai just moved forwards to take one of his hands. Something warm filled his chest and belly, even when the only real contact he was having was through his naked fingers, the rest of the skin covered by protectors. It was absurd.

“And the other bit is a lie, too” the other boy murmured, looking down at their hands. “You’re not the reason why they died, Kakashi. And I don’t need protection from you. You, uh… Make me happy.”

He felt Gai’s skin warm up against his, which was a consolation because it meant at least he was not the only one blushing. The whole hormones thing was really an inconvenient when wanting to keep your emotions in check. Kami, he could feel his back sweating. Disgusting.

“Okay, Gai” he managed to said, removing his hand from the hold to recover some serenity. “I, uh, feel the same. Can we train, now, please?”

He really wanted that conversation to end. Yeah, he was not a friend-killer and he could be loved. Whatever. The Hatake just wanted to start moving so the adrenaline would put a stop to the hormones disrupting his normal functioning.

“Of course, rival!” the other boy finally said, jumping back and bringing his fists up. “Prepare yourself to be defeated!”

Gai ended up being the one pinned to the ground. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Even when training and time had made him stronger —also, bigger and taler than Kakashi—, the taijutsu master still lost the majority of their fights. Each time it was a little more difficult to beat him, though.

He was seated on top of Gai’s belly, one hand holding his arms over the other boy’s head while the free one pressed against his neck without the need to choke. It was evident the battle was finished.

Their breaths mixed with every pant they let out and their expressions quickly changed into something Kakashi had learnt to recognize as desire during the last few weeks. Feeling his face become red —hopefully dissimulated by the heat—, he retracted slightly back and let go of Gai’s arms. That turned out to not be a great idea, since his thighs ended up on top of the other’s lower body. Before the situation could become even more embarrassing, he got fully down of Gai, sitting on the grass and offering a hand to help him incorporate.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before they moved again. Kakashi thought it would be fairly easy to just launch forwards and do with Gai what he had already done with some targets on a mission. However, he also believed it was too soon for that. At least from his part. He was not ready for that level of intimacy. Not yet.

A warm hand came up to cup one of his cheeks, bringing him back to reality and to those deep dark eyes.

“Can I?” Gai asked, fingers brushing over his mask.

The Hatake nodded slowly, feeling the fabric slide down to his neck the next moment. As every other time they’d kissed, his friend took a couple of seconds to just look at him and care the newly naked skin. The warm feeling in his chest and belly came back.

Kissing Gai was messy and kind of a fight most of the time, their tongues battling inside the other’s mouth. This time, however, was different. Gai didn’t kiss him straight on the lips, but on the beauty mark next to them. Then, he moved to his mouth and brushed their lips together softly. Kakashi had to reach for his vest to ground himself as a new, intense emotion ran through his body. Slowly, they built up a rhythm that fitted both of them and didn’t feel like a battle. By the time they came apart for air, their breaths were even worse that at the end of their fight. They started laughing.

“You’re a very good kisser” the Hatake chuckled.

“Careful, rival, or I will become the arrogant one.”

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

First time doing an event, hope everything is alright and you got to enjoy the fic! :)

[alevolpe]

☆☮️ Minako and Ami!!!

Alrighty!!!

Ami ☆ - happy headcanon

I think everyone knows Ami has always struggled with understanding people. She loves to learn. She cherishes and strives in environments where applied learning is the one true key to happiness and success. Ami studies, Ami gets a perfect score, Ami sees the perfect score, Ami gets praised. Ami receives praise and knowledge. So, why couldn't it stay that simple?

She had secretly always found excuses. She was meant to be THE top tier student, she has to study, there's no time and she's only human. So when faced with the impossible decision of trying to find a balance for her life, she dove head on. Sleep, Study, Social Life. She convinced herself, that was her happiness.

The harsher truth was, trying to understand others, making friends, and learning how to become more approachable was just not worth it. She tried that once, she gained was a group of 'friends', but Ami wasn't stupid. A few study sessions in, Ami was nose down on a large stack of books, the only one at the table, homework abandoned. Everyone else walking around, chanting, TV blasting, various drinks spilling. That was the last time Ami spoke to those people and the last time they spoke to her, but not the last they spoke about her.

So yeah, those very few experiences had made it even harder for Ami to understand, even harder to care.

But sometimes, the hardest of problems have the most simple of solutions. And her answer came in the form of a simple and sincere smile. For the first time she saw a person smile and truly felt the happiness take a hold of her, before she even knew it, a tender smile growing from her own lips.

The sincerity of Usagi and Mako's friendship, I think, is what finally convinced her that maybe, maybe some people are truly worth it. It's worth to put in the work, because they'll happily and openly show you the results. No trickery, no roundabouts, just straight to the point. I want to make you happy. I can try to make you happy. You look, act and feel happy. It makes me happy.

it was a start, at the very least.

Minako ☆ - happy headcanon

I truly feel like Mina is on a constant high of Ultra Dopamine. Not to say she doesn't have her low moments, but you'll find her dead and buried into her 869th incarnation before she's willingly to openly acknowledge the misery of her own existence. That just ain't Venus, that just ain't Minako Aino.

She has duties, both as the leader and as a friend, but fuck if she isn't gonna find a way to make it fun for herself.

A friend is sick?! Minako 'the sexy nurse' Aino is coming over full throttle and full costume making sure that spotlight doesn't dare to stop tracking her for even one second.

Senshi training tonight?! She's the shot caller, arranging all the set pieces, challenging herself with mixing important senshi duties and important 'I must be entertained, me, Minako Aino duties'. Yes, Mars, 3 more sets of single leg squats, cause of course that is very important. For both duties.

My friends are dating, but they are soo awkward?! Nothing that a Firefly 5 Inch Glow In The Dark Dildo can't solve, all nicely wrapped in a surprise box so graciously gifted during dinner (spoiler: it didn't end well...).

Long story short, if Mina has to do something and that something isn't fun, she'll make it fun. Most times at the cost of whatever victims friends she has brought along.

Although there is one thing that has consistently granted Mina with an almost inexplicable sense of sole contentment: Exercise. Mina loves, loves, loves working out. While I see her as having more a gymnast body type, so preferring more cardio and mobility workout, she's not one to turn down any type of workout; Being for Sailor Business Training or just for herself to experiment.

Where these 2 aspects of her meet the best I think is her love of volleyball. Training her body, mind, hand-eye-coordination and team coordination in a beautiful package that still allows her to snatch that spotlight for herself and make sure the people's eye are glued on her for the rest of the game, if she so wishes.

Minako and Ami ☮ - friendship headcanon

Welp, I've actually written about this before, right here. But, basically out of all the inners I think the MinaAmi friendship is def the weakest.

For the longest time, they just straight out didn't like each other, they just never admitted it out loud, I even have them beating the shit out of each other one time. I hc Ami as autistic and that makes it quite difficult for her to understand Minako's intentions from her lack of a clear response in both expression and tone. Her actions really speak to Ami as bullying behavior and that's not totally off. Mina thrives on getting a reaction, so she's willing to go to places where a lot of people wouldn't, just to get a reaction out of people and the times she does it on Ami, it just ends up making her feel very uncomfortable and quite angry. The others do try to stop this from happening if they catch what Mina is onto fairly early.

TLDR: Ami doesn't like Mina because Mina acts like a bully, has unclear motives on why she acts the way she acts and is very much willing to make people uncomfortable to get a reaction out of them (this last one is quite skewed from Ami's perception, since she sees Mina teasing the others the way she does with her, but never puts together that the others 'most of the time' consent to the teasing and are even willing to bite back playfully). Mina doesn't like Ami 'cause she's boring. Ami is very simple on the outside, and while that can be quite the entertaining show, the well runs dry as soon as Ami stops giving Mina what she's looking for, attention.

All that said, I can see them becoming closer as the years run by and mostly as Ami opens up to new expressions of affection and care. Most of the merit going to Michiru, whom I can see making a genuine effort, in her unique Michiru way, to befriend Ami. And sort of succeeding?! Michiru is in now way direct, every word that departs her lips is carefully refined before being handpicked to form the most enigmatic phrasing any human being could ever hope to comprehend. Her expressions, a total enigma. Never has one seen a smile hiding so much mystery since the Mona Lisa herself. And yet, something grew, they are quite content in calling it a friendship.

Beginning to understand emotion without a direct and clear response was definitely a step forward in understanding the blonde leader, since I never see Minako giving up her teasing I think Ami would grow toward more of a competitive side in their late teens and early adulthood. Minako wants a reaction? My turn. I'll practice this new Sailor V game at the arcade until all the top scores look like this:

Mizuno A

Mizuno A

Mizuno A

Mizuno A

Mizuno A

"Wow, Ami I didn't even know you played this game. You filled up the leaderboard" Usagi gawked with staring at the old arcade screen.

"Oh, I had some spare time yesterday, so I spent a couple of hours playing. The game is quite easy once you understand the enemy AI and get a sense for the tempo of the platforming"

Mina was quiet. The expression of horror plastered on her face. One to rival her encounter with the Galaxy destroyer Warrior Sailor Galaxia. A couple of hours, I REFUSE! ICAN'T BE! Endless afternoons spent sweating money, tears and MORE MONEY, MY MONEY!! on achieving that leaderboard, just for a couple of hours to

… she dared to peek. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a sight of true defiance and treachery.

Sitting on the worn out leather stool. The genius, her teammate, her friend, sparing her a look. A barely perceivable grin.

Truly the start of a miracle friendship.

[just-horrible-things]

The Pursuit of Understanding

By the time Melis works up the courage to say anything, Tess is almost done. She’s bent over the limp body with the laser focus of an artist, stitching closed the crude incisions and tying the threads off one by one.

Melis feels a little queasy, watching.

“I don’t want us to do this anymore,” she says flatly. Tess doesn’t look up. “You don’t want me to learn medicine?” she asks, soft voice melodic as ever. “Not if it means — cutting live people apart.” “It’s not cruel,” Tess responds. “She didn’t feel anything. She’s not conscious.”

Indeed, the first thing Tess did when they recovered the injured pirate was feed deeply, until the crying and struggling stopped and the warm undertones of the woman’s skin turned to a dead, greyish hue.

“You don’t know that,” Melis challenges. “What if she’s still feeling it, but just too weak to move?” “She’s feeling no pain,” Tess responds with placid confidence. “I know, because I can fix that.” “What do you mean?” “We were engineered to be battlefield medics. I secrete a natural injectable opioid. I can show you, once I’ve finished these stitches. If you’d like. It won’t do you any harm.” “I don’t know why you’re bothering to stitch her up,” Melis grouses. “She’s going to die anyway.”

She does know why. Practice. 

“She has to die,” Tess points out. “She’d have killed us if she had the chance.” “Doesn’t mean you have to…. treat her like so much meat. I don’t like it.” “Okay.”

A shrug, and the would-be surgeon puts down the needle and thread. She lifts her victim’s arm, and puts her mouth to the inside of the shoulder. Her jaw moves as she bites down, and then swallows, and swallows.

Melis swallows too, trying to clear the bile from her throat. 

At least the poor woman is dead now.

Up close, Tess is almost impossibly slender – besides the slight swell of her engorged stomach. Her wrists are narrow as a child’s, her shoulders barely half the width of Melis’s. She looks like she should break in a strong wind. But Melis is acutely aware of the sharp talons that curve from her fingertips, the fangs behind her perfectly sculpted lips.

“I have to bite you,” she says softly. “The painkillers are injected like venom from a snake. But I won’t hurt you.”

Melis wants nothing less. It’s not consent but a panicked freeze that stops her from pulling away. Tess takes her wrist ever so gently and carefully pushes the sleeve back to expose the skin. Her claws touch lightly enough to leave no scratches. 

She can’t still be hungry, Melis tells herself frantically. She’s just fed, she can’t still be hungry. She’s never been anything but friendly towards Melis, there’s no reason to turn on her now…

The points of those killing teeth brush across the skin, then there’s a pinprick of pain, and then – 

– then a warm, tingling, intensely pleasant sensation that washes across her wrist and starts to creep back up the vein towards her heart.

“Oh,” she says, “oh, I don’t –” I don’t like that, she wants to say. She didn’t consent to this.

But she does like it.

It’s like soaking in a hot bath at the end of a hard day’s work, it’s like silk sheets against clean skin, it’s like – like nothing else.

In mere seconds it washes across her entire body. And with it comes the most profound sense of peace and well-being and oneness with the world.

“I’m not cruel,” Tess says softly. Her eyes are aquamarines, soft and lovely with gentle concern. “I’d never hurt anyone who didn’t want to hurt us. And they don’t suffer. It’s like they die when I bite them. They don’t feel any of the rest.”

Melis wouldn’t mind dying like this. Nothing could be bad, when the world is so beautiful.

“I’m just borrowing the bodies. I’m doing it for us, Melis. I want to be able to help you, if you’re ever hurt.”

Tess cares for her, and Melis can’t understand how she ever doubted her.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I can do it where you don’t have to see. I never wanted to upset you. But you understand, don’t you?” “I understand.”

Of course she does. Anything for Tess.

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17​ @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13 @big-galaxy-chaos @mggskneescrews @youabitchhhh @spencersjello @moonlight-2-6 @starrylang @foreveryoungxx3 @spencerreidscoffeecup @morganwilliams  @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gubswh0re @mrsobrien888  @umbreonwolfy 

TAGS NOT WORKING: @ayla-1605 @loveeee@2134 @emilyprsntiss

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[thomacrumbs]

vincit qui se vincit.

various boys (albedo, diluc, aether, xiao, childe, gorou, kazuha, thoma) x gn! reader. fantasy! au. blurbs, mostly fluff. nouns used: sorcerer (childe) & witch (kazuha) w/ gender neutral pronouns. ♡s & ↻s appreciated!

notes: i brainrotted. i was listening to joy's album while writing this ^^

albedo.

the great alchemist albedo is just a myth, or so people think. cursed to live forever as a spirit bound to a teapot by a witch, he sits, bored out of his mind, on the shelves of a dingy antique shop. until one day, against the warnings of the antique shop owner, who warns of bad luck & misfortune, you purchase the quaint teapot & rescues him from his prison. he clatters menacingly on your countertop, only to be ignored by you for days on end before you finally lift the lid off the teapot, releasing his spirit into the realm of the living (its not as bad as it sounds. he is neither threatening nor scary). he doesn't have the heart to tell the human he's grown quite fond of that he's slowly disappearing.

diluc ragvindr.

the ludi harpstum is a festival of wine & song, celebrating the long history of the city of mondstadt, filled with games & song. this year, it seems like the knights of favonius has gone all out with their preparations, even calling in the famed circus of performers that has travelled every corner of teyvat, wowing people with daring flips mid-air, disappearing limbs & tight-rope on the thinnest of threads. the music & laughter of children is so loud that you could hear it from the windows of the dawn winery. an unwilling diluc is dragged against his will to at least view the once in a lifetime circus act, only to be charmed by the cute magic performer who winks at him from the stage as poker cards fly into the air. suddenly he finds himself going to bed thinking about them and wakes up in cold sweat wanting to talk to them. but, the ludi harpstum is only 15 days, can he catch you before you slip through his fingers?

aether.

yeah. maybe you shouldn't have tried to summon a guardian angel, but to be fair your friend put you up to this. now this blonde biblically inaccurate angel is bound to you by contract, and you have another headache to worry about alongside your minimum wage job, messy apartment and the neighbour from next door who keeps taking your flour. not to mention his constant rambling about his sister who you've unceremoniously torn him away from, and suddenly you're repeating this entire ritual, because you cannot say no to those eyes (and maybe you did want to impress him, what about it?) it didn't work, but he doesn't seem that peeved, especially when he settles on your bed after you've fallen into deep sleep, pressing a kiss to your forehead and affectionally calling you cute. he is your guardian angel, at the end of the day.

xiao.

you're the famed dragon rider in the skies of liyue. the winner of several races, competitions & illustrated celebrity in the devoted dragon owner scene. afterall, you ride the only remaining off-spring of morax, a gift from the emperor himself. you boast that no one else could tame your dragon except for you, and for a long while, this seems true. it blows curling flames at anyone who dares come close & curls it spiked tail protectively around you to ward off any unsavoury people. that is, until an unknown melody that carries over the wind calls your dragon down from the skies, and suddenly you are hurtling through the skies at insane speeds.

childe.

he came to liyue for one reason only (two, actually, but morax is dead now, so no boxing him), to challenge the great sorcerer branded by the archons. he's heard about their miracles from a young age, the ability to call down thunder from the skies, resurrecting the dead, moving the entire earth with a simple flick. the only obstacle in his way is that this sorcerer is near unidentifiable, with not even a name to put to a face. imagine his shock when the very sorcerer saves him from certain death, and he finds out they're not an old man hobbling around with a cane, but a young person around his age. oops can't fight if you're too distracted by how good your opponent looks. damn they look good kicking my ass i should do this more often.

gorou.

his dog has had enough of his single shit, crying into an empty bowl of icecream after watching the notebook, wailing about how he "wishes that were him". the animal whisperer who likes hanging around the local dog park is very surprised when they hear a yapping dog bark that his owner needs a significant other stat, he's desperate and alone, applications open please help my mess of an owner. but hey, you aren't complaining, he's pretty cute, and you find it cute that he tries to stop his tail from wagging whenever he sees you.

kazuha kaedehara.

from a young age, he's heard of the immortal witch that hides in their cottage in the thick of the dark forest nears the borders of inazuma. and nothing stops him from pounding on the door of the run down cottage, not even the animate vines that snap at him and trees that uproot themselves to stop him from advancing further. afterall, an immortal being must know the answer to bringing back someone from the dead, right? he near sobs when they tell him that it's impossible, the dead have to stay dead. he doesn't understand at first, but the witch is kinder than he expected, helping him through the memories, painful & happy. but he doesn't miss the flit of pain behind their eyes whenever he talks about losing someone, afterall, time is cruel to all.

thoma.

thoma thinks he's being seduced. afterall, isn't that what sirens do? sing of a pretty future, the numbers to win the future lottery. even though thoma has never won the lottery with their numbers, he stills himself entranced & walks down to the beach everyday to listen to them talk & sing, sitting on the edge of the rock as cold water clashes with his temperature that naturally runs high. finally, he gets the courage to confront them- he doesn't want to fall in love because of magic, that's not right. only to be met with a confused look, you're a half human half mermaid, not a siren. thoma fucking dies of embarrassment when he realises that he was simply in love all along.

[walkerwords]

“Hey Brother” Carl Grimes & Sister!Reader

GIF CREDIT: @thetruthwecanthandlee​

REQUEST: From anonymous: “Hello! Just wanted to let you know that your writing is amazing! Also, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to request a Carl x platonic reader where the reader is either his older sister or his close friend and she intervenes when he's about to be bitten, saving his life. You can decide if the reader dies as a result or not, I just think Carl deserved better than he got. If you don't feel like writing this, no worries!”

Word Count: 2748

Warning: Swearing, Angst

Song I Wrote To: “Hey Brother” by Avicii

Note: Carl is not someone who I generally write, but I do like Chandler and the character so I am giving it a shot! 

----------

Even after years of being out in the world riddled with the Dead, you never got used to the groans of Walkers. 

Stepping over one rotten corpse, you encountered another. You held your weapon in your hand, an old fire ax you had found in Woodbury when rescuing Daryl and Merle. Being a firefighter was something you once really wanted. However, when the world ends, becoming a civil servant becomes impossible. Still, being able to wield the equipment did put a smile on your face most days. 

As the Walker approached, you jabbed the crowbar end of the fire ax into its skull. Kicking it away, you continued moving the woods that surrounded Alexandria in search of your brother, Carl. When the turn happened, you had been with Carl and his mother, Lori. Your dad was in the hospital after being shot on the job and you had come home from college to help Lori with your younger brother. 

You and Lori had never gotten along and you didn’t know if that was because she never liked your mother, Dianne, or because Rick had tried everything to keep you in his life. Regardless of what Lori Grimes thought, you weren’t going to let anything happen to Carl and you had kept the promise. 

Even now. 

When Rosita told you that she had seen Carl leaving Alexandria earlier, you had grabbed your weapon and went in search of him. Right now was not the time for him to be out beyond the walls. Not when Negan and the Saviors could show up at any moment and make another move against you and your allies. With Rick and Michonne out in the world as well and Daryl being difficult, you had to be the one to drag Carl’s ass back home.

Negan was a headache for you, but you had a feeling that he wasn’t the worst thing out there. When he had killed Glenn and Abraham, you hadn’t been there. You had been with Tara and Heath, searching for supplies. After finding Oceanside and losing Heath, you had arrived home with Tara to a grieving family and a missing Daryl. 

The first time you had met Negan, Carl had almost shot two of his Saviors. You had arrived just in time to grab the gun from him before he could. That was when Rick introduced you to Negan and he had offered you his hand. Not wanting to piss him off any further, you had shaken his hand, squeezing a bit too hard. He had seemed amused by you, but also wary. Growing up on the streets of Atlanta, you knew how to survive and you also knew how to deal with power-hungry men. Negan concerned you, but you weren’t afraid of him. 

Carl, however, had another opinion. At first, the teenager wanted nothing more than to fill the man with bullets, but after his outing to the Sanctuary, he seemed to have a change of heart. Carl had come to you only a few days earlier and proposed an idea of a truce. He didn’t think the fighting was going to stop any time soon and while you agreed, you knew Negan would never agree to it. The war would only end when either he or your father was dead. 

When you had told Carl this, he had stormed off annoyed. As the older sibling it was your job to tell him how the world worked and when it came to men like Negan, you either had to kill him or appeal to a new side. That was where your plan came to mind, but you knew that Carl would never go for it. 

You didn’t even want to know what your father would think about it if it came up in conversation. However, for now, you had to focus on finding the kid before he did something even more stupid considering the last time he had gone off, he had attacked the loading dock of the Sanctuary with a rifle. 

Shouldering your ax, you picked up the pace a bit. 

“Carl!” you yelled, hearing your voice echo off the trees. “Carl!” 

The woods answered with silence and you could feel the anxiety growing in your gut as you searched. Climbing up another small hill, you finally heard a commotion in the distance. Not knowing what you were running towards, you sprinted through the dying land. Nearly tripping on roots and downed Walkers, you came across a scene that made the air fly from your chest. 

Carl was on the ground as Walkers pinned him down. There was another man nearby, exhausted and trying to get to his feet. Charging forward, you swung the ax, taking off the head of the Walkers closest to Carl. Another grabbed you, baring its teeth and you slammed your boot down on its jaw, separating it from its head. A third Walker then grabbed you and took you to the ground. Shoving your arm under its chin, you managed to get enough leverage to push it off. Your shirt sleeve tore from the force and then blood sprayed you as you pierced its skull with the steel weapon. 

Laying there for a second, you turned to look at your brother who was looking over at himself in worry. “You good?” you asked, your eyes also scanning his body for cuts or bites. 

“All in one piece,” he said with a relieved sigh. “You?”

“Pissed that I just washed these jeans,” you said with a huff as you sat up, pushing the corpse off your legs. Getting to your feet, you offered your hand to Carl who took it and stood up with your assistance. “Who’s this?” you asked, gesturing to the timid man. 

“Siddiq,” Carl said. “He needs our help.” Sighing, you glanced between your brother and the newcomer. 

“Carl, we shouldn’t be taking in strays when we are at war,” you said, needing him to understand. 

“Since when did we stop helping people? I thought that was what this place was all about,” he argued. 

“Last time we helped people, they sent us into a lion’s den that eventually pissed off the leader of the Saviors. We have to be careful and you know it.” 

“I’m not okay with just turning the other way anymore,” he said. 

“Carl…” you began, but he wasn’t done. 

“Aaron helped us!” Carl said. “He brought us here and he saved us when we were starving and on the road. Jesus helped us when we needed food, Ezekiel, too! We took in people at the prison and even helped Gabriel when nobody wanted to. We help people, that is what we do.” 

Looking at him, you started to see more of your father in him by the moment. When he was younger, all you could see was Lori, but in the new world and as he matured, he was beginning to act and look more like your father every day. 

The looks weren’t the only thing that he had from Rick, he also had his heart and while your father’s head was a bit all over the place at the moment, you knew that he had always stood by the fact that people were needed for survival. 

“You’re right,” you said and then took off your canteen from your belt and offered it to Siddiq who took it timidly. Carl nodded to him and he began to drink the cool water. Letting him recuperate, you turned back to your brother. “I know you want to help people, but going off on your own right now is suicide.”

“Because of Negan?” Carl asked and then shook his head. “He would never hurt me.”

“How are you so sure about that, huh?”

“Because he has had lots of opportunities and he’s never done it. He just likes to piss me off and make jabs, but he won't kill him.” 

“Negan may not be the one to worry about. I’m sure there are plenty of Saviors out there that would love to see Rick’s son on a pike.” Carl frowned at that. “Look, just think before you do or you’re going to end up dead and you’re going to be taking down any new friends with you,” you said, pointing to Siddiq. 

“I don’t want to hear this,” Carl said, turning away. 

“I have an idea that may sway Negan,” you said and he paused, turning back to look at you. “Though, you and Dad may hate it. Well, I know for a fact you’re going to hate it.” Carl furrowed his brow as he looked at you, trying to see where your head was at. Then, he remembered the comments Negan made about you when he first met you and the jokes he said in front of Amber and Sherry when he went to the Sanctuary. 

“No,” Carl said quickly. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” you challenged. 

“You want to marry him,” Carl said and you sighed, hating how well he knew you. 

“I don’t want to do anything, Carl,” you said. “But yes, that was the idea.” 

“No,” he said again. 

“It would work,” you said with a shrug. 

“Bullshit,” he countered. “We don’t even know if he’d even want that and then what? You basically sell yourself for a ceasefire that’s not guaranteed to even happen. Then you’d be a damn prisoner in that place.”

“Daryl got out, so can I,” you argued. 

“He got out only after one of Negan’s wives felt she owed Daryl! This is the most ridiculous plan you have ever had!” he shouted at you. Siddiq had taken a few paces back to give you and your brother some room to talk, but he was looking more nervous every time one of you went up an octave. 

“This is my decision, Carl,” you said, lowering your volume a bit. 

“What would Mom think?” Carl said, crossing his arms. His eyes were boring into yours, almost pleading. With a shrug, you brushed off his question. 

“Your mother never fucking liked me,” you said with a scoff. 

“She treated you like you were one of her own, especially after the Turn.” 

“No, she didn’t,” you disagreed, “and I’m not. I am not her daughter, but I am still yours and Judith’s sister and Dad’s daughter. It is my job to keep this family safe and if marrying Negan is the way to do it, then so be it!” 

“Who says it's your job to be a martyr?”

“Me,” you argued, sounding very much like Dianne. 

“And you think Negan will keep you safe?” he asked, throwing his hands up. 

“He has to have some kind of honor, right?” you asked, thinking of the broad-chested man with a habit for bloodshed. 

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who says I do?” you asked. “Carl, I don’t want to do it, but if it stops more people from dying then isn’t it worth it?”

“You have already made too many sacrifices for this family,” he said, his tone softer. “Ever since the world turned, you have been putting yourself in danger. You were the one who stopped Shane from going after Andrea on the farm when he was going crazy; You were the one who exchanged yourself for Maggie with the Governor; You were the one who tried to take Noah’s place at Grady trying to save Beth; You were the one who nearly died trying to get Cyndie to work with us in the war. When are you going to stop trying to fix everything and start looking out for yourself?”

“Says the one who hitched a ride into the Sanctuary and went all Al Capone on Negan’s men,” you reminded him. 

“I was angry,” he rationalized.

“And you don’t think I’m not? I’m furious! When I found out what he did to Glenn and Abraham, I couldn’t breathe. Then the way he gutted Monroe in the street as if he was nothing more than a sack of meat? Fuck, Carl, I have never felt more anger towards anyone.”

“Because he’s killed people?” 

“What? No, not because he’s killed people, we’ve all killed people. I’m angry at Negan because he made me realize that this is how humanity is now. I was happy to keep believing that we could get back to who we used to be, but let’s fucking face it, humans have never been saints. Negan proved that to me.”

“And yet you want to marry him?”

“I want to stop him from killing more of us! I want the damn fighting to stop and if there is even a chance that it does with both him and Dad alive, it’s worth it because if I’m being honest, Carl, I don’t see us winning this war.” 

“You have to have faith,” he said and you snorted. 

“I stopped having faith the day the fire fell on my city,” you said. 

“I’m willing to fight him,” Carl said, stepping closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to be the only one to make sacrifices.”

“But I can’t let you,” you whispered. “Judith needs you, Carl. She needs you alive and fighting for her future.”

“She needs both of us,” he urged. “When I was growing up, you were a hero to me. All I wanted to be was like my big sister and I know now that to do that, I have to tell you when it's time to stop taking on the world alone. When the prison fell and we lost you, I thought I’d never see you again. When we found you with Maggie, I promised I would never let you go again. Don’t make me break that promise, please.”

“Carl, stop,” you said, running a hand over his face, just below his bandage. “You’re giving me way too much credit, kid.”

“You deserve it,” he said. “You’ve never let me down, but if you go with him, you will. We’re Grimes, and that means we don’t take shit from anyone. Alright?” With a deep breath, you swallowed thickly, looking at your baby brother for a moment, trying to take in his newfound resilience and courage. It warmed your heart. 

“I was going to say that it’s your time to step up as the older sibling, but it looks like you already have,” you said through a thick voice. Carl rolled his eye. 

“Shut up,” he said as he tugged you into a hug. You wrapped your arm around him, clutching him close to you. 

“I love you, Carl,” you whispered in his ear. 

“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” he said. “And don’t start thinking you're out of a job just yet just because I stopped taking orders from you. I’m happy with being the middle child for now.” Pulling back, you nodded to him, adjusting the brim of his hat. 

“Fair enough,” you said, wiping at invisible tears on your face. Finally realizing Siddiq was still standing around, you snapped out of your thoughts. “You should take him back home,” you said with an awkward cough. “He does need help and we should do it, you’re right. As always.” 

“You’re coming too?”

“In a bit, I’m going to do a final sweep, just in case anyone else is lurking around,” you said and he nodded, picking up his gun that had fallen when he was accosted by the Dead. 

“Come on, man,” Carl called to Siddiq. “Hey!” he called to you as you turned toward the South. “No, Negan,” he said, his face pleading. 

“I won’t,” you said with a sigh. “I promise you.” Carl smiled at you softly, happy with your answer. Carl helped Siddiq as they headed back to Alexandria. You watched him walk away until the trees swallowed up the pair. 

The lump in your throat was suffocating as you struggled to stay on your feet. Carl was right, Grimes never gave up, but sometimes they didn’t have a choice. With a shaky breath, you pushed up the sleeve of your right hand, the one that the Walker had torn. Through fresh blood, you could make out a double crescent shape wound in the tanned flesh of your arm. 

The bite was burning as blood streamed down your arm and dripped off your fingers. Repressing the urge to scream in sorrow, you tugged your sleeve back down and with glistening eyes, looked back towards Alexandria.

“I’m sorry, little brother.”

TAGS: @thanossexual​ @felicisimor​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @lucillethings​ @stark-dreams​ @huffledor-able541​ 

[for-ests]

Waiting Game: Ban x Reader

Summary: friends with benefits can only drag on for so long when both parties have gotten over their past lovers and are faced with death. (honestly don’t know what this drabble is but enjoy the nymph lore) 

Warnings: smut, mentions and descriptions of death 

Wc: 5, 049

It was entirely impossible to resist Ban’s advances. 

It took all of your willpower to keep your distance, to pretend he was nothing more than a friend, and to pretend that each smile he directed your way didn’t pull violently at your heartstrings. 

Yet, the two of you danced around the thin and dangerous line of friends with benefits. Ban loved another, and so did you. 

The years of pain and suffering you had endured just trying to forget your past lover had worn you down. Your first beloved was dead, leaving a hole in your heart that felt like it would never be repaired. 

Your story was far less epic, and far more grim. You were nothing but a forest Nymph, even if you were designated a princess. That title meant nothing when the kingdom you had been expected to rule was wiped off the map by the Holy Knights. 

You had nothing to run back to. You and your people scattered desolately across the continent, desperate to cling to any prospering landscapes and vegetation. That was where you were strongest, but even then, it wasn’t much. 

That’s why you had immediately devoted yourself to Meliodas’s cause the moment he saved your life. And years later, when Ban found his way back into the group, you felt yourself wanting to devote your heart to him. 

Strangely though, devoting your body was easier at first. Pretending that you could never feel love for a person again was easier. You would lose yourself against Ban’s lips, and find an exhilarating high you had never known before. 

None of the other sins knew about your late night escapades with Ban. Nobody even suspected that you would be interested in him. How could you, a ‘dainty’ and ‘helpless’ Nymph even handle someone as strong and powerful as Ban? 

Truthfully, you had been searching for someone that refused to treat you as if you were fragile. You relished in the toughness of Ban, the complete and utter control he exerted and how he refused to be gentle with you. You were simply attracted to him because he was the only one who put his needs above others. 

That was the only reason, right? 

It was hard to remain neutral about your relationship with the Fox Sin. He would treat you like you were just a hooker who had found your way into his bed at night, but then treat you like the princess you rightfully were in the morning. 

All your life you had been protected, you had been cherished, and you had been taken care of. And Ban, he only took care of himself. At least at the start of his relationship with you. You found immense pleasure in being treated like a rag-doll, you loved the feeling of his fangs scraping your delicate sin. Love bites and bruises were welcomed, as long as they were able to be concealed. 

Your secretive relationship with Ban had been going on for months, and now it was starting to take its toll on you. You were starting to slip up every day, making your concern and feelings for him known to others. 

It had always been hard to face the reality of your situation. But now that you had found a welcoming group with similar goals, you were starting to deeply care for them. When you stood by their side in battle, the constant fear of death weighed down on your shoulders. You weren’t as strong as them, you weren’t nearly prepared enough. You were weak with how much you cared. 

And if they left, you would have nobody. Now, you were vulnerable. 

Especially Ban. Watching him fight that day had brought tears to your eyes. The Holy Knights had been keen on ending your life, yet the Fox Sin had sacrificed himself to save you. Even if he was immortal, the pain he must have felt from the blade piercing his heart was unfathomable. Yet, he had done it with no hesitation for you. 

Every time you closed your eyes, the scene of his potential death seared through the darkness. You could hardly remember what happened after, but you knew you had screamed at the top of your lungs, sprinting towards him in horror, knees buckling underneath you. 

Your comrades had been baffled at your outburst. And you knew if there weren't greater challenges to face, they might have even asked you about it. 

Elizabeth had. She caught you right before you closed your bedroom door. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” 

Without needing to ask, you knew what she was referring to. You had always kept your cool, you had always been focused in battle no matter whose life was at stake, even your own. Yet your inner turmoil had become too much to conceal. 

The panic that was visible in your eyes had caused Elizabeth to shudder. She recognized the look on your face to resemble her own when it came to Meliodas.

“Yeah, I'm alright.” You managed a smile. 

The princess sighed. “I’m finding that hard to believe.” 

Opening your door further, your shoulders slumped in defeat. “I just had a wakeup call today.” Though your words were short, they came out soft and forthcoming. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elizabeth tilted her head, fidgeting with her fingers. She was already dressed in her nightgown, all prepared and ready for a peaceful slumber. You knew if you admitted what was racing through your mind, she would also spend all night worrying about it and comforting you. 

Yes, you did. You really wanted to, but fatigue was starting to invade your senses. Your love for Ban could be confessed another night. 

“I do, Elizabeth.” You exhaled in defeat. She had definitely figured you out. “I’ll talk to you about it later… I just need some sleep right now.” 

“I understand-” She reached for your hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Her kindness astounded you. It astounded you so much that you were left speechless. It reminded you of the kindness your deceased sister used to radiate. The memories overtook you before you could stop them. It had been so long, it had been years since you had felt like this. 

Elizabeth released your hand and gave you a weary smile. She was drained as well. The princess turned slowly, and retreated back to her bedroom. 

“Thank you.” You called after her. The two of you had a lot more in common than you were willing to admit. You were just frightened of the pain you would feel when she was no longer with you. Everyone you had ever cared about had died. One less person to care about would equal one less heartbreak. 

Yet, you were starting to realize your attempt to push others away wasn’t working. Even if you didn't want to care, you still did. There was no escaping that fact. 

“Of course, Y/N.” She whispered, then closed her door. 

The lamp on your bedside table was dim. For a moment, you stood in the middle of your room. You wanted to sleep, you were incredibly drowsy, yet your brain refused to rest like your body so desperately craved. 

You spent a couple minutes reorganizing the few items in your possession. Anything to keep your mind busy, anything to not think about your horrifying past, anything to not think of him. 

Him. Ban’s face flashed through your mind. For the first time, Ban was the only man present. Your cravings for your past lover were starting to diminish. You still missed him more than anything, yet you took comfort in the fact that you might be moving on. 

He would want you to be happy. Even if your happiness was rooted in another man’s presence. 

The clanging of dishes emitted from downstairs, causing you to turn towards the door. The lights from below shone through the wooden panels. Without sparing a second more to think, you reopened your door. The only person awake would be him. 

The other sins had retired to bed, leaving Ban to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Knowing you wouldn't be able to sleep unless you talked to him, you tiptoed down the stairs to join him. Your thoughts were in shambles and you were searching for comfort. Temporary or not, you needed something. And Ban was the only one you were comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. 

“Hey there.” You whispered once you rounded the stairwell and into the restaurant portion of the building. 

Ban glanced over his shoulder and found you waiting patiently. Smirking, he turned to face you fully. “Why are you up? I assume it's not to help me with dishes.” 

Briefly, his eyes lingered on your somewhat exposed body. Your bedtime attire, though loose and comfortable, still managed to accentuate your frame. 

“What if it is?” You teased, lightheartedness filling your tone at the sight of him smiling upon your arrival. He had probably been expecting it, knowing you. 

You had hardly spoken during dinner, all you had mumbled was a thank you before retreating back to your bedroom. Everyone had noticed it was a stark contrast from the heavenly taste his cooking provided, one that you complimented time and time again. 

Ban could tell something was wrong when you still seemed distressed despite a full belly. 

“Then show me, come help.” He turned back around, calling your bluff. 

You obliged without another word. The faucet was streaming with water, and you took charge of drying the dishes after Ban scrubbed them clean. 

Sometimes chores was all it took to silence the calamity of your mind. Even if Ban was part of your distress, you found comfort in his company alone. 

That was what you had sought for, yet now that you were by his side again, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act now that he had seen the desperation in your eyes. 

Did he think you were insane for caring about him? 

The silence between you and the Fox Sin was deafening. You could tell there was a lot on his mind because of the way his eyebrows were narrowed. If it was even possible, the way he scrubbed the excess food off the plates was frustrated in nature. 

Minutes passed, the night stretching on. At this rate you had become too timid to speak, sheepishness gracing your features as you tried to decipher what he was thinking. 

Ban handed you a cooking pot, it was large and bulky, causing your hands to touch his as you took it from his grasp. You could feel his gaze on you finally, the intensity of his eyes seeming to bore holes into your skull, threatening to uncover what you were feeling. 

“What happened to you today?” He asked. 

Sighing, you averted your gaze to the damp towel in your hand. “Nothing Ban, it’s okay.” 

Ban paused until you finished drying off the rest of the dishes. He shut the sink off and wiped his hands clean. 

“You cried.” He said, as if you didn’t know. “You were afraid.” 

It was hard to remember that you had never cried in front of The Sins before. You had been alive for over two hundred years and developed a hardened shell. For decades you hadn’t shed a tear in front of another, yet witnessing Ban risk his life for you caused you to snap. 

“I’m always afraid.” You deflected his attempt once again. 

“You don’t need to be, Y/N.” His voice resembled tenderness, an emotion he rarely displayed. 

Despite the softening of your heart, you glared. “Why?” 

“Because I’ll protect you. I can’t die.” 

Faltering at his bluntness, you turned away. He had to be toying with you, like he always did, like he always had. “You can still leave, Ban. You can still be taken away from me.” 

The anguish in your voice was evident. It was becoming hard to speak, the fear of losing everything you had with him over something as simple as being honest was unbearable. 

Suddenly, Ban grasped your shoulders and forced you to face him. He tilted your chin up, his eyes seeming to burn with a passion that surpassed the normal lust you had become accustomed to. “I wouldn’t leave you.” 

“Am I supposed to believe that?” You tried desperately to fight off his advances. You didn’t know why, you just didn’t want to admit something you would later regret. Ban didn’t care about anyone but himself. That was what it came down to, you didn’t want to fall in love with someone who would never be able to love you back. “All I am to you is sex. That’s how it’s always been and how it will always be. You can spare the theatrics before they suspect it.” 

Now, Ban was starting to unravel the fervent need that had been stirring inside him for months. He wanted you more than anything, he needed you—yet he was fighting against himself. He didn’t deserve you, someone as pure and innocent as yourself had already let him take advantage of your body for far too long. 

Yet Ban couldn’t stop. His selfish nature was overpowering, encouraging him to take your heart as well as make it his own. The Fox Sin wanted you all to himself and wouldn’t be able to handle the repercussions that would follow if your head was turned by another. 

Ban knew he was going to lose you if he didn’t do anything. And the thought of losing you was something he couldn’t bear. There was still so much you had to offer, so much you had to teach him, so much love you were offering with every longing stare and every touch. 

So, he begged. It felt strange to care for someone like this again. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what needed to be said except the obvious truth. “After I took a spear in the chest for you? After you held me in your arms and cried? That’s all you have to say?” 

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Tears were threatening to pour over at this point. 

Why couldn’t you say it? Why couldn’t you come clean? You were not a prideful person, you were always honest and open. Yet still, as the confession perched on the tip of your tongue, you struggled to even breathe. 

After the awkwardness of your previous insult had passed, Ban’s forehead rested against your own, the weight of him sending shivers down to your core. His skin against yours would always be enough, no matter your relationship. Was a wish like that even allowed? Were you allowed to be as greedy as him? 

With a quivering lip, you finally met his gaze. Red hues stared back at you with an unmasked intensity, hands finding their way along your jawline, easily cupping your cheeks in their entirety. He smirked when he realized they were burning. 

This time, you refused to look away. Say it first. You dared, finally coming to realize that he was thinking the exact same thing as you. Be a man and say it first. 

“I love you, Y/N. Is it not obvious?”  

Your eyes widened. The way they had when you watched him stumble to the ground, a spear protruding through his chest, the consequence of caring for someone. Everyone you had ever loved met the same fate. 

Though you suspected he might, hearing him finally admit it was in its own league of shocking. A tear spilled over your eyelid, and as you struggled to think of something to say, you felt it roll down your cheek. Ban moved his thumb and wiped it away. “Say you love me too. I know you do.” His tone rose with conviction, his grip tightening with each second of silence that passed you by. 

“I-I do.” You whimpered, blinking profusely. “I love you too.” 

Immediately, the Fox Sin relaxed against you. Before you could make another move your entire body was embraced, engulfed by his own. 

Neither of you spoke, both of you wondering if the other was completely over their past lover.  You were, and Ban was too. Neither of you would have confessed a lie and proclaimed it the truth. 

It had already taken so long to get to this point that there was no use to deny it. 

He held onto you until your tears evaporated. Breathing in his scent was enough to pry you from your never-ending thoughts, a scent that was similar to evergreen and hickory. Home. It was your home. 

Eventually, like he always did, Ban pulled away and lifted your chin up with his finger. “You’re mine now.” 

“I always was.” You revealed, trying to hide the desperation that threatened to pour over. Resistance had always coursed through your veins, with everyone and everything, until you had met Ban. It had taken all of your willpower to conceal your feelings until this moment. Every moment you had spent by yourself was spent wondering if you truly loved him. No matter how much you hated it, every time you came to accept that you were. 

And now, all you could think about was consummating this moment with him. You wanted to engrave the yearning you had always felt into his mind, so deeply, so forcefully, that he wouldn’t be able to think of anyone else. 

Ban’s throaty chuckle was heavenly. “Don’t say things like that. You are the most interesting, undecipherable woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Why are you just telling me this now?” You stared up at him with heavy lidded eyes, skin tingling by his proximity alone. 

How could Ban convey the reasonings behind his actions? No one had ever understood his thought process. He hardly did, he would never be able to figure out why he hadn’t told you sooner. The easiest summarization he could think of was that he hadn’t realized his own feelings until it was almost too late. Once he glimpsed the terror in your eyes, when he felt your rejuvenating touch while he was on the verge of death-- was the moment it all made sense. He was fighting for you, instead of him alone. Ban had risked his life for you. 

When the spear plunged deep into his chest, knowing you were safe, tranquility had washed over him. “I had to give my all to make you mine.” The Fox Sin said with the utmost honesty. 

Indirectly referring to your own actions, Ban’s reasonings made complete sense. But now, that didn’t matter. How you came to finally become his was no longer a question now that your wish had come true. 

You loved him. Ban was the reason you were able to love again. 

“Give me the rest.” Your once limp hand balled his shirt into a fist, tugging him down and over you. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, all you could do was show him. You would give him your everything from this moment forward. 

“As you wish.” He smirked, trying to muster up the persona he had presented to you for months, yet his heart had softened, and his movements became tender. Ban wanted to fuck you until you could hardly stand, but this time he would be there to take care of you afterwards. He would wake up in the morning with you in his arms. 

When your lips finally pressed against his, all your previous worries, your fears, and your baggage melted with his touch. Nothing else seemed to matter. 

“I'm going to have you right here, right now. No buts.” He craned his neck down, attacking the sensitive, delicate skin of your neck within the next breath. 

Your head tossed back with a gasp, allowing him direct access to every inch. One arm looped around your waist, while the other took one sweep of the clutter across the wooden bar. Before you could process what was happening, he had swept you off your feet and onto the countertop. “I don’t care if they hear. I don’t care if we get caught.” 

With one swift movement, he gripped the hem of your pajama shirt and tore it in two. 

"Ban! please..." You whimpered as the cold air swirled across your normally covered parts, which were quickly devoured by the burning sensation of his mouth. Immediately you succumbed to the lust and couldn’t muster up a protest about the article of clothing he had just destroyed. 

Quickly, he tugged off your shorts, almost ripping off your panties as well. You gasped, sliding your hands all over his torso, wanting to feel every inch of him. It had been so long, way too long.

You slipped off his shirt before his hands grasped your hips and pulled your bum to the edge of the bar, your lower portion only remaining in place against his body. 

Anticipation was dripping between your thighs as Ban leaned fully over you, flattening your back against the glossed over countertop, kissing you deeper, his tongue swirling forcibly inside your mouth. He fought for dominance, trailing his hands slowly up and down your sides, grasping your skin with need every time a short gasp left your lips.

Begging for more, your legs snaked around his waist, bringing his manhood against your already exposed cunt. He groaned in response, his lips curling against your breasts as he peppered kisses around your hardening buds. 

Ban was never this attentive. He hardly paid attention to foreplay, and now that he finally decided to make it all about your pleasure, he was becoming addicted, knowing if you didn’t stop him he would be able to torture you all night. 

“Now, Ban.” You pleaded, bringing your hand to smooth through his hair, intertwining your fingers through his locks and forcing him to move his face towards your throbbing cunt. 

The Fox Sin removed his lips from your skin to catch his breath, a little surprised himself at how rough and desperate the two of you were acting. His eyes grazed your neck and chest, which were already blossoming red with love bites. 

Ban’s warm skin was burning against yours, hands grasping, jaw clenching, as he paused to take in the moment of you sprawled against the bar’s surface. Your hair fanned out over your shoulders, eyes glimmering with an emotion he would have never expected to be directed his way. "Ban..." You purred, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him satisfy you. To tease the Fox Sin further, one of your hands reached up and began to thumb over your nipple, which was still wet with his saliva. You wanted him inside of you so badly, your thighs twitching with urgency. “Please take me.” 

"God...You're so sexy." He obeyed your command for the first time, swirling his tongue around your entrance until it was drenched with him. You moaned loudly at the sensation of his tongue swirling inside of you, lips sucking and puckering over your cilt, preparing you for his staggering length, a length that would have you begging on your knees within a moment's notice.  

You wanted to be the one to dominate, but the way he had you positioned left no room to protest. With hazy vision and flustered cheeks, all you could think about was him. Heaving out breaths of pleasure from his stimulating actions, you watched Ban slip his belt off, letting his pants fall to the ground and pool around his ankles. Wanting to keep you writhing for more, Ban spread your legs apart and stuck two fingers in, pumping them wildly, while staring deeply into your eyes.

He stroked his length with the other hand, undeniably turned on by the sight of you in such a mess, all for him. Ban could never get tired of the way you squirmed underneath him, begging for more.

"Don’t be too loud." The Fox Sin whispered. 

“I c-can’t promise that...The others might hear-” You tried to protest, until you felt his hands curling around your bum. 

“Shut up-” He demanded, pulling his fingers out and sticking them inside your mouth. Your back arched against the counter, wishing you could hold onto something for support. “You can’t ignore me all day and expect me not to punish you.” 

You nodded in reply as Ban took initiative and curled his hands around your bum until you were utterly submissive in his grip. 

You felt more delicate tonight, your senses heightened from the intensity of the previous battle. Your emotions were also swirling, Ban had been in danger before, and the thought of losing him had somehow shattered your heart to an extent you hadn’t expected to be possible. 

His large, calloused hands took hold of your hips next, steadying your entrance to align with his cock. 

“Be the good girl for me that you always are.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut in obedience, Ban hoisted your legs up farther and around his waist. With a snap of his hips, he was buried deep inside your pussy—only groans of ecstasy leaving his lips at the way your walls held onto him so tightly. 

You arched your back again in response, arms reaching out for something to grab onto, his cock sheathed deeply inside you, past the places his fingers couldn't reach. Just as you began to gasp from the pain of his size, Ban clamped his hand over your mouth and flattened your body against the counter. 

"Mph!" Your cries of pleasure only heard by the man who was causing them. He thrusted in and out quickly, light moans escaping his lips each time he pounded into you.

Your screams were muffled into his hands. "F-fuck... Ban...!" You latched onto him as his thrusts reached deeper, your body shaking from the power. All you could hear was the sound of his skin slapping against yours, remaining quiet, taking all of his strength as each thrust promised him unmatched ecstasy. 

Ban looped one of his arms around your torso and pulled you up towards him. Your lips met him in a kiss, one that was sloppy and rough, but one that sent a wave of burning passion down your spine. 

“I love you…” You whimpered with each gasp. “I love you Ban, only you can make me feel…” 

“I know.” The Fox Sin grunted, sliding you off the bar and into his arms alone. 

You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut from the intense amount of pressure. "Oh my god.." you lamented, grasping his shoulders for support. You sunk down on him until it was painful, until you were full with his twitching length.  

You were dripping, making it easy for Ban to thrust as softly as he could. He gripped your ass, cursing loudly as you bounced on top of his cock. You moaned his name over and over again, a stream of curses following as your body began to tremble on the verge of your inevitable orgasm. 

“That’s it.” Ban encouraged, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Come all over me like you always want to.” 

His pace gradually gained speed, causing you to lose yourself completely. For support, your arms reached up to curl around his neck, one hand finding basis in his hair and the other digging into his shoulder blade. 

"Ban!" You whimpered loudly, on the verge of screaming out in pleasure, the motion and the length of his cock sheathed inside you becoming too much to handle in the helpless position. 

“I’m cumming…” You threw your head back, choking out the confession as your thighs twitched in response. 

"That’s it… you’re so fucking tight." Ban grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead from his erratic, yet rhythmic movements. Though you had become limp from your orgasm, he continued his pace, his thrusts became harder and faster, both of your moans mixing in with the others as Ban started to reach his high. "Say my name.." The baritone in his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Ban!" You whined at the feeling of him so deep inside you, each plunge causing your entire body to bounce violently against him. Barely having time to recover from your last orgasm, you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, your walls tightening. "Ban...oh my god!!" You finally yelled, unable to control yourself from the quick pace, causing you to orgasm once again all over his cock.

“Yeah…Fuck yeah.” The fox sin whispered. “I’m gonna fill you up.” 

“Please…” You begged, somewhat terrified of the repercussions of letting him finally consummate your relationship. Ban had never released inside of you, but at this point, you were physically hurting for his seed. 

“I love you.” Ban moaned, thrusting into you one last time before following through with his promise. You felt his seed shoot through you, causing you to shudder. Your eyes met Ban’s, red eyes rolling back, relief engulfing his expression.

Breathing heavily, Ban set you back against the counter gently. Your legs shook as he slowly pulled his length out, warm liquid immediately dripping from your entrance. A few minutes passed in silence, the two of you reminiscing of the sinful acts that had just taken place.  

Neither of you had to outwardly admit that you had just participated in the best sex of your lives. 

“Sleep with me tonight.” You said, tiredness washing over you within seconds. Sex with Ban had always been quick and secretive. Now, you wanted to wake up next to him and not regret a single thing. You wanted his arms wrapped around you all night, the safest position you could ever hope for. 

Ban bent down and picked up your clothes from the ground. Handing them to you with a smile, he shook his head, managing to laugh. “I was going to whether you asked for it or not.” 

“Oh?” You tilted your head, snatching the garments away from him. The Fox Sin had genuinely smiled. You could only remember him doing so a handful of times, most of them masking an alternative motive. But this one was unmasked, truthful, and loving. 

Without another word between the two of you, Ban whisked you away in his arms and carried you into his bedroom. And from that night onwards, that's where you found yourself every night.

[cloud9in]

The Half of It - 2 (Poppy x MC)

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

HIGHLY recommend you read/re-read part 1

No warnings this chapter

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 2: How to write a love letter 101

 “In love, one always starts by deceiving oneself...and ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls romance.”

- Oscar Wilde

I was tasked with what was probably the hardest piece of writing I’ve done in all of my years of highschool, and I wrote eight different versions of the analysis on David vs Goliath my freshman year. That’s besides the point, it wasn’t like any normal research essay. No. For some reason I found that my one and only letter to Poppy would have to be the best thing I ever wrote in the entirety of the universe. Too bad I had to make it sound like it was written by Carter, that big stupid jock. You can guess how severely depressed I became after reading what he had initially written…

 “Dear Poppy, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d want to know you, because you are smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl. But even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.”

 Bea reads off the paper, turning her head with cringe and confusion at the confident jock sitting next to her. Carter smiles, “She’s all three, like you know all three backs of football. The running back, the fullback-”

 “Thanks for clarifying...:”

 Carter stares awkwardly, waiting for her to continue on. And Bea does, with a big ass sigh.

“...About me. Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma...who’s dead now...Never mind about my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime?

 CJ, school quarterback.”

 Bea takes a good five minutes to compose herself. Yeah this was definitely gonna be a long week. She lowers the paper slightly and turns to Carter, a puzzled look in her eyes. “So what you’re trying to say is-”

 “I’m in love with her.”

 That confession definitely would have sent her sprawling a few feet back if she hadn’t been sitting. Love? What was love? And why does she despise it now that Carter has mentioned it. 

“...Have you ever spoken to her?”

 “Well...no, I’m not good with words. Besides, would I be here with you if I did talk to her?”

 Bea rolls her eyes and huffs exhaustingly. “Carter, you're not in love. You’re just stubborn.”

 “No I’m not! It’s love, I know it’s love. Love feels different, it doesn’t feel...real. It almost feels impossible. But we indulge in it because of the thrill, the adrenaline of chasing someone mindlessly...and wanting to be present in everything they do. There’s that ‘what if?’, the question that could make or break that love. Even if the ending isn’t what you had hoped for, at least you know how it felt to feel so much joy, so much want.”

 Carter stares up at the ceiling in thought, his eyes seem to be unfocused, staring at nothing and everything. Bea gazes over at him in part shock and part admiration, a smile painting her face. “...Wow.”

 “...Hm, yeah. I heard it in a dating app commercial once.” 

 Bea gasps and smacks Carter repeatedly with the letter in her hand, clearly disappointed. 

 “Wha- Ow!”

 “And here I was thinking you were being original.”

 Bea eventually sits back in her seat, her shoulders slumping as she reads the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it. That was the problem though, it didn’t make sense, well maybe the fries part did, but the blonde had a lot of work to do. Carter watches her silently until he can’t hold back the lingering question in his head. “...Haven’t you ever felt it? That screwy feeling that love gives you? Poppy makes me feel screwy.”

 Bea continues to read, her eyes glued onto the words that are slightly falling out of the printed lines of the notebook paper. But her mind is fully elsewhere, she heard his question loud and clear. The only thing she could muster was an annoyed “no” in efforts to not become vulnerable.

 He intertwined his hands together, leaning back on the bench. “...Oh I get it, you’ve never been in love have you?”

 Bea’s legs were already one step ahead of her mind as they sprung her out of the seat. She grabs her bag and swats the papers in Carter’s direction, a scoff leaving her lips. “You want a love letter? I’ll give you a love letter!”

 “Yeah but will it be something that makes her fall in love with me and not walk away like you’re doing right now-” Carter’s voice rings out hurriedly yet Bea can’t hear anything except the pounding of her heart getting louder as she stalks out of the church. Love, love, love, what even is it? Will I ever feel it? There is nobody who could make me feel-

 The blonde was cut abruptly out of her thoughts as she crashed into someone, who was most likely on their respective part of the sidewalk. All of the materials in her arms fell to the concrete and Bea rushed to pick them up, “I’m sorry I-”

A familiar blonde set of locks and porcelain skin came into view and she immediately stopped and looked up. Poppy’s eyes were already boring into hers, a look of slight concern, and maybe annoyance? on her face. 

 “...I’m-I’m Bea Hughes…” She could only stutter, all those moments that she pretended to talk to Poppy in her room were definitely not paying off. 

 But maybe it did pay off because a small smile, masked with sparkly pink lip gloss started to form. Poppy bit her lip as her eyes crinkled with amusement, “...Yeah I know. You’ve only been playing my dad’s services on Sunday for, like, four years. He does favour you...even if you are a heathen.” Poppy peers over at the church that Bea had just come out of and raises an eyebrow in curiosity. She picks up a stray book from the ground and grins with an impressed look. “Remains of The Day...Loved it. Mr. Stevens is quite the character.” Okay, so Poppy has great taste in literature, that’s another thing to add to the list that Bea totally doesn’t have stored in the notes app of her phone. Listen, she has to write a love letter to Poppy Min Sinclair, so every piece of information is vital. 

 Poppy hands the book to Bea, their eyes never leaving each other while standing up. Say something Bea. Anything. It’s almost like the strawberry blonde was waiting, hoping, for her to speak . 

 But she said nothing. No, all the insecure blonde could do is stare into Poppy’s eyes, almost as if she wasn’t afraid to turn to stone. 

 The sound of car tires scraping against the pavement caused Poppy to break eye contact before smiling one last time at Bea. “This is me.” Bea watched the shorter girl stroll past her so casually, the complete opposite of what she was feeling in the moment. She didn’t speak until Poppy closed the car door and the driver took off, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “I’m Bea Hughes? Really?”

 ***

Bea sat in front of her tv, a pen and notepad in her hand. She couldn’t think of anything to write down. How do you write a love letter, or a confession? This is the one thing she had trouble writing. The tv blasted on with 1987’s “Wings of Desire”. Bea cocked her head to the side when the man started to profess his love. She put her pen to the pad and started writing. 

 Poppy,

 You don’t know me, and truth be told I see that as a good thing. You know that saying, there are plenty of fish in the sea? Well I am not a fisherman, nor do I think you are a fish. Letters are not the form of communication that I would personally prefer, but I am the one writing to you. So no more complaining. I think you are interesting. Like a book I want to read. I’d even read the author’s notes at the end just to get every bit of you. I don’t desire a lot of things, but I long for a wave of love to swell up in me. That’s what makes me so clumsy: the lack of pleasure.

 Yours, 

Carter 

***

Bea pushes down on her pedals, pacing her breath with each turn of the wheels beneath her. The voice of Carter appears as he races behind her, careful not to send her flying last time. Then she’d never write a letter again.  “Bea! She wrote back!”

 The blonde pulled the brakes on her bicycle so hard a wheel might have popped off. She was out of breath but suddenly the reason for it was different. Bea grabs the letter from Carter’s hands and makes haste to read the words she imagined would sit on the paper. 

  Carter,

 I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’t have plagiarized him though.

 -Poppy 

“Who’s Wim Wenders and why’d you cheat off of him? Bea I looked up what plagiarism meant.”

 “I didn’t cheat off of him!...Okay maybe I did but this is a good thing!”

 “HOW?”

 “It’s...it’s like a game. She’s challenging us..but in a good way.” Bea nods to Carter but also to herself. There was a response. She didn’t think that Poppy would write back but she did and it has changed Bea’s outlook on everything. She was in, and there was no way it could stop now. 

 “So...are we back in the game?” Carter’s words jumble Bea out of her thoughts and she stutters, “Yep..yes we are.” No you are. “We are definitely back in it.” Nope just you Bea. 

 Bea leaves Carter with an awkward fist bump before peddling away, her mind racing with a million thoughts. But they always seem to close back into one familiar blonde who danced and did everything Bea couldn’t. She sighed, the adrenaline pumping its way out of her lungs. 

 “Game on, Poppy Min Sinclair.”

***

 Bea spent the following days perfecting her next letter to Poppy. This one would be more heartfelt, and less cringe and plagiaristic like her last one. It would come from her and only her...but for Carter of course. The thing is, when Bea started writing again, she didn’t think about the fact that Carter would take credit for everything on the paper, and that he would be the one that develops a *possible* relationship with Poppy. Maybe she didn’t want to think about that part, but the other parts brought just the right amount of serotonin to make her shitty day better. Everything she read, everywhere she went reminded her of the strawberry blonde, and of the unfinished letter. Bea attempted to step into the life of Carter’s and speak like a jock would, without making him seem like something he is not. But that was hard. Because it was her words, her mind. Carter would take that from her, even if it was unintentional. 

 It didn’t help that Carter didn’t want them to be seen together in public. He would slide to the opposite end of the bench in the church when his football buddies would come in. Bea didn’t take it personal. She of course had other things going through her mind. 

 It took 7 days. One week. To finish the second letter, a very short one. Bea wouldn’t describe herself as a perfectionist, but every word that Poppy would read had to be perfect.

Dear Poppy,

 Okay you got me…

 Now that that’s done, let’s start over yeah? I’ll start by saying that I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17 and I’ve lived in Farmsville my whole life. I hang out with my friends, I keep my head down. I’m a simple...guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. But I don’t. I have a question for you, please answer it in any way you want. Are you happy where you are right now?

 -Carter

Bea sat in the church, silently tapping away at the keys of piano, a simple soft melody following the nod of her head. Carter had found her like that but didn’t want to disturb. Except, Poppy wrote back again, so this was big news. They both sat in confession booths as Bea read the letter quietly, her hand gripping the edges a little too harshly. 

Dear Carter,

 You know that it takes eleven muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from...well yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. And I find myself doing that a lot. So yeah..believe it or not, I turn to other people’s words too. 

 When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but sometimes I am, but that’s why you’re even writing to me right? I mean my image is what gives me attention, I’ve grown used to that fact. When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in, “i like you”, but like them as in, “i am like you.” You may think I’m different, but I’m like a lot of other people. Which makes me kind of no one. It looks like I’ve found my place but I really haven’t. Just a girl who’s lost in the mix. I don’t know why I feel like I can tell you this, but you provide the sort of safety I always craved. You’re interesting Carter, I like you. 

 -Poppy 

Bea read the last sentence more times than she should’ve. Carter watched her silently as she stared into the lines of the paper, maybe hoping that more words would magically appear. The blonde couldn’t describe the feeling in her chest, but it hurt. Physically. 

 “Uh...can I text her now?”

 “Too soon.”

 “No, I'm gonna do it now.”

 Bea felt herself starting to get frustrated, but calmness always overtook any other feeling she had. She was taught to be rational.

 “You do that and she’ll think you’re just like everyone else.” You’re not like anyone else Bea, she needs to know that. 

 Carter lets out a heavy sigh and pulls out his phone. Bea felt a buzz in her pocket and pulled hers out as well. A message pops up alerting Bea of another income of $50 being sent to her. 

***

 Bea slogged through the crowded halls trying to find the exit but before she can walk any further, a firm hand grabs her and pulls her into a familiar classroom. The blonde turns to scowl at the perpetrator which was probably Bradley, but instead she sees bright red lips and black glasses. Ms. Kingsley. But she doesn’t look too happy.

 The older woman holds up a paper which Bea recognizes immediately as her letter to Poppy. How in the world did she get that? 

 “So...this is why half my class is failing their essays?”

 Bea could make a snarky comment back to her, but the sight of the letter sends her thoughts spiraling once again. She lets out a defeated sigh. I mean how did this woman know she’d  written that letter? Ina Kingsley knew everything. “Look...I’ll be reopen for business soon enough.” Bea starts to turn to leave and looks at Kingsley one more time. “I can’t do this for much longer.”

 Bea couldn’t hold in her feelings for much longer as well. But not even Kingsley knew that. She walked out of the classroom with her head down, hoping to avoid eye contact with the one she wanted to see the most. 

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

End Note: Part two is here woah. Thought it would never come. 

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii  @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings @straightlikewetspaghetti 

[cupcakemolotov]

Match My Heart to Yours

Okay, since the Exchange reveals have been pushed back until Thursday (for very, very good reasons) I have decided to post a tiny thing to hopefully tide people over. I do sort of intend to write more on this, but I have been stalled for a few months which means I need to change things up. So here is the first bit, hopefully you all like it!

You can also read it here on A03.

Synopsis: Enzo has an plan. Caroline has some serious doubts, because first all, werewolf, hot or not. Alpha, even. A political marriage to a man with his dimples seems like a terrible idea.

                                                            -

Caroline paused, chopsticks hovering over her container of fried rice. Across from her, Enzo looked relaxed, no real tension visible as he reached for another eggroll. “Excuse me?”

“Gorgeous…”

She narrowed her eyes at his placating tone. “I should have known your offer to pick up dinner two towns over was a bribe. You don’t even like Chinese food. You cannot be serious.”

Her witchy best friend would walk through fire for her, but perfect egg rolls an hour after they’d been picked up should have dinged as an obvious bribe. Though this was not nearly big enough. 

“Would I have made the drive if I wasn’t serious?” Enzo asked, sighing when her expression didn’t budge. “You know what I do. What I really do.”

Her gaze dropped to his wrist were a tattoo wound along the bones and tendons, the ink black and red, starkly visible against the olive of his skin. Usually he used the modern advances in makeup to hide what no magic could, because sometimes people were less understanding about this particular quirk of his magic than others. She’d never had a problem with it, but she was human and had no desire for his services. 

Caroline speared a piece of shrimp and narrowed her eyes in warning. “I am very aware of what you do with your magic when you aren’t perfecting fireballs and lightning strikes, Enzo. No need to be rude.”

“Care…”

She chewed carefully, giving herself a moment so she didn’t do something stupid like throw the food at him. The wood floors were brand new. “I’m human. No witchy bloodlines for ten generations or more, and definitely not a werewolf. São Paulo proved that. In spades. So, seriously, there is zero reason for your magic to like me for this.”

A faint grimace. São Paulo had not been a good time. Not for anyone. 

“You know it doesn’t always work like that,” he said patiently, dunking his egg roll repeatedly into the sweet and sour sauce, his expression wry. “Sometimes my magic has a mind of its own.”

She rolled her eyes. “Enzo, tell me something I don’t know.”

A small laugh escaped him. “True.”

“Have I ever done anything, absolutely anything, that would make you think I’d want to have a matchmaker stick their nosy magic in my life?” Caroline set her chopsticks down and started closing containers, her appetite gone. 

A sigh. “No.”

“Damn straight. Isn’t there some kind of ritual involved? Blood magic? The romance novels I read on this subject insisted consent was a factor and blood had to be given willingly, much to the displeasure of several southern mamas.”

He deliberately finished his eggroll, sauce-soggy rice paper and all, chewing methodically. “Normally. This isn’t a… usual situation.”

“Normally?” Sitting back, Caroline waved her hand. “The food buys you an explanation. So start talking.”

Enzo leaned back, chair creaking, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Look, you’ve been in Europe the last, what? Six months?” 

“Eight, and should I be hurt you weren’t counting?”

He snorted. “You spent the last eight months chasing diamonds. Busy enough you even stopped answering texts in a timely manner, so I imagine you haven’t kept up with what’s been going on.”

“Excuse you? What text did I not respond to?”

“Emoji’s are not words, Caroline.”

Caroline pressed her chin to her palm, gaze narrowed. “Stop being old, Enzo. And let’s be clear. It’s not like I was chasing just any diamonds. These were expensive. The kind of expensive we peons can never actually afford to legally own.”

Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen your rate sheet. You do just fine.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you, I do very good work. But what does my previous job have to do with the completely ridiculous proposal you brought me?”

“Mason died.”

Caroline arched a brow. “Yeah, I saw. That was impossible to miss. International news, all those TV Pundits talking about who would take over as the US Alpha, blah blah politics. Since he had the bad taste to die outside of a challenge fight, I didn’t have time to worry about it.”

Enzo put the plastic lid back on the sweet and sour sauce, his expression unhappy. “That’s the problem. He did die in a challenge fight.”

“Huh?”

He sighed and pushed his chair back. “This is a bit of a complicated story. As nice as these chairs are, something a little more comfortable might not be adverse.”

“You’re not getting any of the beer in my fridge until I’m sure I’m not kicking you out.” She narrowed her eyes. “The odds are not in your favor.”

“Cruel, but I suppose well deserved.” His chin tipped towards his car, expression amused. “Is now a good time to mention the cheesecake in the trunk of my car?”

“Enzo!”

He laughed and sauntered into her living room, flopping his favorite squishy chair. Caroline picked the couch. She motioned for him to start talking, and he slouched a little further down.

“Look, a lot of this isn’t common knowledge, alright?” Enzo grimaced. “Though it should be and I’m not sure how much longer they are going to manage to keep a lid on how badly the Council screwed this up.”

“Cover up?”

“Among other problems.”

“Mason was their darling.” And, she knew, some factions had whispered, their pawn. She reached up and shoved her bangs back to hide her wince. “Losing a wolf so pro-witch would have been a blow. Losing the top Alpha who was also pro-witch is a political travesty.”

“Political travesty or not, Mason’s dead, and they’re going to have to deal with the new Alpha. He isn’t known for his tolerance.”

“Most werewolves are suspicious of magic,” Caroline pointed out, curling one leg underneath her. “Can’t really blame ‘em, with how they ended up as werewolves. Vengeance, magical curse. That sort of thing tends to sour peoples opinions, and then you know centuries later, they really improved things with their required silver legislation.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong, but that’s not the kind of tolerance I am talking about.” He leaned back against the chair, and lifted his foot towards the coffee table, pausing, gaze darting towards her narrowed eyes. His foot thumped back against the floor. “The short version is that Mason was challenged, he lost, and the Witch’s Council, for lack of better words, bungled the announcement.”

“How do you bungle an announcement? Challengers have official channels they have to go through and everything.” She pointed at the TV. “They’ve even started wanting to televise the damn things, like it’s some kind of wrestling bout and not a fight to the death.”

Enzo rubbed a hand down his face. “From everything that I’ve been able to tell, Mason just… didn’t expect to lose.”

“That makes no sense. Mason wasn’t young, even by werewolf standards,” Caroline said slowly. “There have been rumors in Europe that he should have been disposed of as much as a century ago. They aren’t really sure why the packs here haven't risen up against him, particularly after the whole issue with his nephew abducting his bride after she’d been paired by the matchmakers to someone else.”

“Tyler Lockwood leads more with his dick than his brains,” Enzo agreed. “And that should have weakened Mason politically, spurring a few challenges. That it didn’t…”

“It’s only been ten years, and that isn’t that long for a werewolf,” Caroline pointed out. “It’s reasonable that the family of the disappointed groom would just now be in a position themselves to pick a fight. Hayley’s family is old blood but not particularly powerful.”

Enzo gave her a dry look. “When do werewolves ever wait to pick fights?”

“When they are going up against the top Alpha in the US and need public opinion behind them. The general public expects a dominance fight or a natural cause of death for all alphas,” she said dryly. 

He nodded in approval. “For someone so disparaging of politics earlier, you do have an excellent grasp of the situation.”

Caroline tossed a cushion at him, which he caught with a grin. “Please, my Mom was the Sheriff and Dad, well, you know Dad. Conspiracy theories and hatred of anything that so much whiffed of the unnatural. But none of that explains what actually happened?”

“We think Mason was using magic to win his challenge fights.”

Her lips parted. “But that’s… the packs would riot. Because something like that…”

“It’s something the Witch Council had to be involved in.”

She inhaled sharply. “That would be a disaster.”

“It is a disaster,” Enzo said bitterly. “There have already been two executions, and several investigations are still pending. We’ve managed to convince the new alpha to hold back the public announcement, but he’s losing patience. We need a solid infrastructure of a plan in place, because humans don’t do well with surprises of this kind, and right now we’re barely holding the alliances together.”

“And what?” Caroline asked exasperated. “The remaining Council has decided to hire a matchmaker? They think since the new Alpha is single, they must be in want of a partner? You’re going to announce the change of leadership, the challenge fight, and then announce he agreed to be matchmade?”

“Something like that.”

“Who is going to trust the Council after something like this?” She shoved her hair away from her face. “If I was the Alpha, I wouldn’t touch anything that they touch with a ten foot pole. That includes matchmaking.”

“I wasn’t hired by the Council, though a couple of my… co-workers have taken those contracts.” He seemed to consider his words and then shrugged. “I was hired by Bekah.”

“Rebekah Mikaelson?” She said, brows arching high. “Why is she involved in this? And I thought you two didn't get along. The last time you were in the same room, she lit your precious robes on fire.”

Enzo’s mouth curved into a slow smile full of male satisfaction. “She’s an odd one, but it’s not the worst way I’ve had someone flirt with me.”

“And the time she declared matchmaking the worst magical school in existence and she hoped you did the world a favor and never reproduced?”

“Charming, isn’t she? I don’t think she really likes children in general.” He looked unbothered. “The bit about my magic was just an attempt to be clever. Her insults have gotten better the more she gets to know me. I appreciate her dedication to getting my attention.”

“Yes, and that is what I am going to put on your gravestone. You finally got the attention you always wanted.” Caroline shook her head. “Insults and spells aside, why did she hire you?”

“Because the Witch Council is right, in a way. It’s going to come out that Mason lost a challenge fight and the witches tried to cover it up.” Enzo reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “A werewolf who is newly matched has more appeal than a single one, and it’s not a terrible way to divert the press.”

“Is he worried about appeal? Why are you worried about his appeal?” She threw up her hands. “He killed Mason. He is now unequivocally in charge. Why does appeal matter?”

“We need stability.” Enzo’s face went grave. “We can’t afford a year of dominance fights when we’re already struggling with sorting through Mason’s people for traitors. Announcing a match buys us time.”

Caroline froze. “You want the year truce.”

“We need that year, Gorgeous. I’m not sure we’ll survive without it. Pairing off the new alpha? It’s the only way we’re going to get it.”

“And you want me to marry him? Why?”

“Why not you? You’re smart, resourceful, and not bad on the eyes. That you're from a small town will add to your appeal. Small town girl meets werewolf Alpha, and it’s a match. People will love you.”

“I’m a Finder, Enzo. That’s not exactly the most politically correct of jobs.” Her gaze narrowed. “Am I even going to be able to keep working if I agree to this?”

“Once things stabilize, sure, why not?”

“You’re really selling this.”

Enzo shrugged. “You know that one of the true weaknesses of Mason’s was that he refused to find a mate or even attempt a match.”

There had seemingly been a good reason for that. Werewolves were blessed with supernatural strength, a lifespan that more than tripled a normal human’s, and were highly territorial. Most of the time, those instincts could be driven towards their pack and maintaining the careful balance that the world existed in. A werewolf in love was a dangerous creature. Werewolves fighting over their lovers more so.

It was why Enzo’s magic existed. 

“Uh huh,” Caroline drawled, unconvinced. “You're really going to tell an Alpha he can’t claim what’s his unless he agrees to a match, the very thing the last alpha decried as unnecessary. How’s that going? I bet not well.”

“The sooner you say yes, the better, then.”

She glowered at him, but he looked unrepentant.

“Seriously Enzo, matchmaking magic or not, this cannot be your best plan. I cannot be the absolute best idea you have for this.”

“Why not?” He leaned back. “From where I’m sitting, it’s a fantastic plan.”

Caroline’s jaw dropped and she stared at him. He was serious. She knew that set of his jaw, the glint behind his eyes. Matchmaking wasn’t a science, it was magic. A fail safe, a terrible and beautiful promise: that somewhere out there, somewhere, maybe, a soulmate existed. And if you were lucky enough, maybe magic would find them for you.

“Enzo, seriously this time. Why even ask me? You know I’ve never been interested in matchmaking with a werewolf or witch. I like my life.” She spread her arms to include the house. “What you're asking me to do, asking of me, it changes everything. Why?”

He was quiet for several moments, his gaze unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was strangely serious. “My magic likes the match.”

She considered that, shifting to hug her knees to her chest. She’d been friends with Enzo since she was seventeen years old and she’d dragged his half unconscious body out of a car wreck that should have killed him. In turn, he’d been there for her when her mom died and her dad disappeared. He’d helped her get established in her career of choice, even though he’d been disapproving of the reasons why she’d chosen to go into it. 

She trusted him. 

Enzo liked to hide what he could do because he was so good at what he did, and she’d seen him drunk more than once post-match. His magic was not… unkind, but it wasn’t easy, what it demanded of him. To put two people together, with the intention that they’d make a relationship work for possibly hundreds of years. The weight of success and the pain of failure were both so heavy. 

Enzo did not match lightly. 

His magic liked the match. 

Her stomach flipped as she really considered what that meant. No such thing as soul mates, Enzo always insisted, just the endless probabilities of human lives narrowed to a single red thread between two people. And here, he said, was her chance to see if this probability would work for her. 

She couldn’t decide what that made her feel.

“You swear this isn’t about Dad?”

A tip of his head. “While I have no compunction about putting a few hundred werewolves between you and whatever mess he left behind, it’s not about him. You were right. My magic should never have considered you for this. You’ve never wanted to find a match, and honestly, I’ve always liked that about you. And nothing about this is going to be easy. But when Rebekah brought me his blood, all my magic could see was you and the potential you two had together. I could no more deny you the chance to say yes than breathe.”

She groaned under her breath. “This could be a disaster. You know I hate politics, and I’m an only child. I’m terrible at sharing. He’s alpha. Nothing he does is his alone.”

“I know. The circumstances are unusual, so they’ve been willing to negotiate generous terms if things don’t work.” Enzo grinned. “No one wants to trap either of you, not when all parties know that magic isn’t infallible.”

She eyed him. “I don’t like it when you think you’ve got it all figured out.”

A laugh. “Come with me to New York. Give it two years. A year for the truce, a year to fortify whatever weaknesses his enemies attempt to manipulate. At the end, if you want out, no one will stop you. I’ll dissolve the marriage myself. No loopholes.”

Enzo never dissolved marriages. That, more than anything, told her how serious he was about giving her an out. How badly they needed to truce. 

“I guess you really do have this all figured out.” 

“I wish I did, but we both know that’s impossible with something like this. I can only read the magic, and tell you what I see. But I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He smiled ruefully. “We’ve gotten good at hiding bodies, what’s a few more?”

Caroline wasn’t sure she should have found that comforting, but she did. “And just who am I agreeing to consider marrying?”

Enzo suddenly coughed and stood, a familiar hint of devilment twisting his lips. “Klaus Mikaelson.”

She spluttered. “Klaus Mikaelson? You want me to marry Klaus? He killed Mason?”

His smile widened. “Yes.”

Caroline gawked at him. Before she’d gone to Europe, Klaus Mikaelson had been the third most powerful Alpha. Young, handsome, devastatingly charming, he made people forget just how terrifying he could be with a pair of dimples that raised the blood pressure of every woman past puberty. 

He was also Rebekah Mikaelson’s half brother. 

Enzo had been entertaining her for years about the Mikaelson sibling dynamic. Klaus had not been spared in those stories, and while she’d never met him, she knew two very important things: he was built on lines that had always, always snagged her attention, and the sharp temper of his wolf, the brutality of his temper, hid a clever, agile mind that made him dangerous to underestimate.

“Enzo!” She protested. “Klaus?”

Sliding his hands in his pockets, he spun towards her door. “Yup.”

“Just where do you think you are going?”

Enzo tossed her a grin over his shoulder. “To get your cheesecake. You didn’t think I lied about that, did you? And you might as well fetch me that beer. We both know I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

Caroline stared at his back as the door clanged behind him, heart hammering in her throat for a hundred reasons she couldn’t explain.

[hillbillyoracle]

Some Thoughts on Why White Pagans Need to Heal Their Relationships with Christianity

Note: I've been trying to write a piece like this for months and the only way I know how to write this is to be very vulnerable and personal. So just please keep that in mind as you read this. It isn't very refined and it's something I'm still very much in process with, to borrow a phrase from my charismatic Christian upbringing. It's more a diary entry than a finished piece and none of these thoughts are original or eloquent. My hope it's helpful to see someone thinking through these things though.

If you're white and you don't want to further colonization and imperialism in your spirituality, then going back to Christianity in some form is pretty necessary; to do the work of decolonizing it's doctrines and to prevent taking from traditions that aren't ours.

This is just the conclusion I've arrived at after a lot shadow working in and around both my ancestors and my religious trauma. My ancestors aren't all white Europeans. But given that I'm white and I don't have any way to carry on the traditions of those that weren't, I feel like the best way to honor those non-white ancestors is to go back to the spiritual traditions I do have access to and doing the work of reshaping them into something less harmful.

I have read and intellectually understood that culture forms the foundation of spirituality and that when you remove something from it's originating culture, that concept or tool no longer works properly, if at all. In working with my non-white ancestors, I really got it on a practical and emotional level. There was this sense that they'd love for me to know their traditions but that it required an understanding that just isn't possible for me given my upbringing and disconnection - "you don't know the words and there's no way to find a person who can teach you" as one ancestor put it. It was an important reminder that "this isn't for white people" isn't merely a categorical assertion but a cultural and practical one.

They've generally asked I stick to practices I have a cultural grounding in when honoring them, even though it is not theirs - the cultural and linguistic element is that important to them. They would rather an authentic expression of gratitude and care through a ritual that isn't theirs rather than an imitation of one that is or being left out of my practice all together. Which makes sense to me in a relational way I hadn't fully grasped before.

In working with my white ancestors, I've come to more viscerally understand that the present understanding of Christianity is wildly different than other historical understandings. One thing that surprised me was that some of my more recent ancestors have expressed more discomfort around my queerness and transness than many of my older ancestors but both root their understanding in the Bible. I enjoyed one ancestor who, when I explained that I'm partnered with a woman, to mean that I would have a life of service - "no men to distract you from God" - which I mean is not wrong on several levels. It really highlighted for me that Christian doctrine is far more flexible than I'd initially thought. It challenged ideas I'd picked up through traumatic religious experiences. So much of what I'd assumed was Christianity itself seems to be more Christianity right now.

The historical angle is really important me. One of the things that drove my interest in Paganism was trying to understand what came before Christianity, to connect with whatever had been cut off in that process. The more I've come to learn about imperialism within Europe - how various empires conquered and destroyed localized traditions indigenous to parts of Europe - it clicked for me that my white ancestors did to others what had been done to them. It is intergenerational trauma in a nutshell.

It's also striking to me that so many people term the traditions pagans pull from as "dead" religions or at the very least "not living". For years I took that to mean they were "safe" to take from, that I wouldn't hurt anyone by doing so. But I hadn't really understood the weight of what "dead" meant - that there was no one left alive who could teach me, that I can't live in a context where all of the beliefs, tools, and traditions make intuitive sense. And if it was important to my ancestors who had had a connection to their traditions, then what was I missing by reanimating these traditions without that link?

I don't have a full visceral understanding of what I'm missing to be honest. I have a feeling that'll develop as my practice evolves. But that question alone has marked a pretty important change in how I understand myself spiritually.

The living and cultural element to my practice is more important to me now. For me, just given the family, community, and area I was raised in, that means Christianity is the living tradition I have access to and I've been revisiting it. I was reading an interview the other day with someone who is both a Catholic theologian and a practicing Buddhist. I liked the way he put it when he referred to Catholicism as "one of his sources of wisdom". That better captures my relationship with Christianity that's been unfolding over the last few months.

Making sure that intergenerational spiritual trauma stops as much as possible with me is really important. I had mistakenly thought that meant abandoning Christianity all together, that it was the problem. Which in hindsight, is fucking wild - I hugely fucked up there. There's nothing stopping me from just enacting the harm I learned in the context of Christianity in a different context, a Pagan context. It doesn't get to the root of the issue. At the end of the day, I just want to be sure I do not use my religion, any religion, to further the harms of structural inequality and colonial oppression. That's the goal.

In reading around about this, I've come to feel pretty strongly that one of the best ways to work toward that is to strive toward animism. Animism has been a great antidote to the spiritual entitlement that colonial religions cultivate (including white paganism). Animism also builds a relational spirituality rather than a goal/individual centered one. White paganism isn't inherently animistic since white culture teaches values that undermine quality relationships - individualism, competitiveness, and seeking domination of some fashion in order to feel safe. An animistic lens requires you unlearn those values and cultivate new ones - mutuality, respect, and accountability.

So all this is to say that given my current understanding, I think trying to build a practice out of New Age concepts while trying to avoid appropriation sounds impossible and hellish. I also think it doesn't deal with the work that needs done. I'm choosing to take an animist lens to the living traditions I do have to see if that's a better space for both my spirituality and my evolving understand of decolonizing to grow in.

People will rightly question my use of the term "shadow work" given this perspective. Shadow work is a problematic term for a lot of different reasons that are beyond the scope of this piece.  Where I'm at with it right now is that most western religious traditions seem to have some understanding of what we might call shadow work which points to it being important and useful. However they all used different terms given their contexts so I'm still unsure of what term might be the most appropriate given where I'm at. So for right now, you might see me use it less in the title or body of work I write from here on out, but I still might use it as a tag to make it findable. There's a good shot this doesn't go far enough and I'm not sold on this approach. Just know it's something I'm trying to figure out.

So that's where I'm at right now. I think white pagans really need to be more serious about animism at minimum and hopefully also looking at the role living religious traditions play in their current practice as well. I think white pagans' unhealed reactivity around Christianity too often serves as a justification for spiritual appropriation and furthering colonial harm. Changes are definitely needed. What that looks like in practice for individuals will likely vary a ton. I'd love to hear from other folks doing work in this vein. What's worked for you so far? What hasn't? Where are you in the process?

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Saved

Summary- 2.6k Bucky x You. Based on a ASK from anon-Hella Bi Bitch. Hydra tramautized you and you go to Bucky for comfort. Angst/Fluff. Also written for @jtargaryen18​ 4k Challenge. 

“Sweetheart. They are not coming.” Brock leered over your face, his hot breath washing over you, and it was almost impossible to miss the leer in his brown eyes as he cupped your face. If you had the capabilities, you would jerk away, but you were strapped down. All over, even your head was strapped flush to the hard metal table. The only thing you would do that would be satisfactory was work your mouth, draw up that last bit of spittle you had left and spat at him, making him curse while jerking back. 

It would be worth the pain he would cause next, knowing that at least he couldn't break you, just tie you down. Captain would be here soon, Iron Man, Natasha, Bucky… someone, someone would come for you. 

Brock retaliated by slamming an open palm across your face, biting back a cry, a burst of blood interrupted from your nose, racing down your face. 

As parched as you were, you welcomed the hot iron taste swarming your mouth, even through the pain. 

“Rumlow! You will step away from the girl. We need her.” 

Dread filled you as his face went from rage, to a cold smirk, pulling away from you. “Don't worry sweetheart, once they are done breaking you, you and I are going to do great things.” 

Your eyes flickered to the Hydra Agent, laying out his supplies, tools of pain and vials of poison to flood your system. Nauseated, you looked back up to the ceiling, and squeezed your eyes shut, clamping your mouth shut. Tears welled up, you would probably be gone, dead before the team would find you. It was what you hoped for now. 

You would rather die then let them turn you evil. Wasn't there a saying? You either die a hero or turn into a villian. You prayed, prayed for death instead. 

A year you were tested on, preyed on until you became a shell. Moved from base to base, handled by various people. None had a shred of kindness, and Brock especially took joy in your torture. 

He was able to use the various instruments, had access to your cell whenever he wanted. Your personal bodyguard, your personal hell. In these times you sink away from yourself, your body started to work on their command, your mind an empty shell of your former self. Intelligent? Yes, but yourself, no. 

It wasn't complete yet, there was still a shred of you left. Holding on, barely. 

Your rescue happened one sunny afternoon, but you weren't to ever know this. You were deep underground, away from air and light. They had just dumped you in your cell when there coms went off. To weak to pay attention to the Hydra agents fear as they hurriedly locked you in, you crawled to your cot and folded yourself onto it. Another day of survived hell. Squeezing your eyes shut, you really just wished for it to end. At this point in any manner. So much pain. To much.

Alone for a while, you start to drift off into nothingness when metal on metal jolted you awake with a terrified whimper. You heard the clang on your bars and lifted your head up to see Bucky trying to see who was curled up on the cot. 

“B-b-bucky?” You eased up slowly to make sure you weren't seeing things, and then right next to him Steve stepped up, flipping his shield to hang on his back. 

“Doll, we finally found you.” Bucky exclaimed with relief, grasping the bars and wrenching them as hard as he could, the metal whining in protest, but it wasn't strong enough to hold him back from what he wanted. 

Steve kept a watch of Bucky's six, speaking into the com at his ear. “We got her, Bucky is collecting Y/N now, have the jet ready Clint. Nat, you just about done? Sam, cover us when we come up."

“Five more seconds and data is secure, Tony can blow this hell hole to dust.” 

Bucky's arm went around you for support as you went to stand, sore from earlier, he saw you hobble forward and he swept you up. 

“Just faster this way Doll, come on Steve. Before Stark gets trigger happy.” Bolting for the nearest set of stairs, everything became a blur as Bucky and Steve bolted from the building. Hiding your face in Buckys shoulder, you never did see that sunny afternoon. 

A shadow passed over Bucky and Steve bolting across the ground, and when you glanced up, lifting your head off Buckys shoulder, the flash of red and silver covered out the blue sky above, and you smiled to yourself, between Sam, Steve and Bucky, you were safe. Exhaustion dipped your head back to Buckys shoulder.

It wasn't long till you were back at Stark Towers, which hadn't been your home in a year. Bucky carried you down into the medic bay with Sam close by. The rest of the team went to debrief on the mission, knowing you were taken cared of. Bucky easily set you down on the table, hovering nearby, he seemed hesitant to leave you, you who were so quiet, so shut down. Sam hovered close by, his jaw clenched. Quiet at well. Not knowing what to say or do, You just stared at the floor till Bruce came in. 

“Give us some privacy Bucky? I need to give her a full examination.” Bruce said softly, and your eyes welled up with tears, hiding away from them both. Bucky shook his head in refusal. “I'm not leaving her alone.” 

“Okay, but on the other side of the curtain, if Y/N needs you, she will call you.” Bruce looked over at you to confirm that was okay, and you nodded, still unable to look at any of them. Your shame and fear pounding at you. Sam clasped Buckys forearm, nodding his head to the door. "We will just be on the other side." When Bucky stepped on the other side, you could see the worried look flashing across his face, somewhat in recgonition to your pain. Sam gave you a slight nod, and a smile of encouragement.

Why couldnt you be stronger? 

The start of your recovery was rough, locked in your room a lot. It took some time for you to open back up to the team. Bring a sense of normalcy to you again. Your normal for the past year has been to be tortured. Everyday life was a lot. Things so simple, like going to get a glass of water, took all your willpower to do. The team, they did everything they could to make it easier.  Natasha and Clint immediately made you a part of their movie nights. At first you would sit stiffly away from them, not wanting to be touched by anyone. But soon you loosened up. Curling up against Clint while his arm draped over you, your feet in Natasha’s lap while she painted your nails. “How are the nightmares Y/N?” Natasha would ask, and you could feel Clint tighten his arm around you slightly, listening. It was no secret, your nightmares were a nightly occurrence, often waking up screaming and trying to hide somewhere in the room. 

“They are fine, fewer and fewer every day.” You lied, covering your shame. 

Steve, you often went with Steve out for walks where he would find some subject to draw. You would lay in the sun, while your friend sketched away at some piece of nearby building, sometimes a landscape. Once he even did you while you were sitting a bit away, catching your profile watching the clouds above. Often you two would sit in easy silence, not needing to have long intense conversations, you were just happy to be with your friend. Once in a while you would ask him. “Steve, you think I can join the team soon?” 

The blonde man would hum, and his blue eyes would shift over towards you a moment before going back to his paper. “Y/N, don't rush it. You were there for a year. I'm not putting you in the field before you're ready. Here, what do you think?” He would flip his pad around and of course it was his way of saying, No. Not Now. Maybe not ever.

Sam often had you over to his apartment to help with meals. You figured it was to make sure you were eating properly. At least one square meal. When you asked him, he scoffed. "Actually taking these cooking classes, I make enough for two. Lets face it, your better company then I could ask for. Besides Steve and Bucky are not adventurous like you. They wanna boil everything." Sam snorted, stiring his jambalaya. "Chop this up." He said quickly, handing you a knife. You always felt safer with something, Sam noticed this the first time you joined him, and you flinched when he drew out a butchers blade. From then on, you were set on chopping duties. You began to really look forward to cooking nights with Sam.

"No girlfriends to have cooking dates with?" You would tease when you set to chopping and Sam would give you that grin of his.

"Sure, I just test them on you first Precious. Gotts make sure they are decent enough to feed to others."

"Yea, I'm real Precious if your using me as a gineau pig." You stick your tongue out st your friend, but secretly you don't mind.

Tony, he was more energetic. Often you would be sitting down in his workshop, laughing at his attempts to improve the Ironman suit. It became a habit to keep a fire extinguisher nearby. “Tony, I don't think you should try this.” You said warily as he put on his new thruster boots. “Aww come on, what's the worst that can happen?” He grinned, and winked. 

He ended up shooting around the room like a balloon just untied, crashing into walls and bouncing off the floor. When he finally came to a stop, his feet were on fire. 

Jumping down with the extinguisher, you yelled “Tony!” and covered him with the foam, once it ended and the billionaire blinked it away, swiping the foam off his face. 

“I had it under control Y/N.” 

“Sure you did.” You squirted him one last time to retaliate before putting it away, and holding your hand out to him, helping him up. 

“Payback Y/N, payback.” Tony glared before pulling you into a hug, getting you covered to. At first it was fine, until you didnt feel Tony anymore and you struggled. Tony immediately let go, and you covered your face in shame. “Im sorry, I'm so sorry Tony.” He shook his head and gently grasped your wrist just enough to uncover your face. “Y/N, it's okay to feel like that. I should have asked first.” You gave an apologetic smile and he winked. The good thing with Tony was that he moved on from your attacks like they never happened, and for that you were forever grateful to your friend.

Bucky, he was the only one that you would find wandering late at night, like you were. When everyone else was fast asleep, you would be pacing the tower, afraid of sleep. It would happen, eventually. Your body would give into its demands, and you would go under into your nightmares. But until that happened though, you found ways to distract yourself. Sometimes it was video games on mute, you would bake muffins for the teams breakfast, get lost in Tony's library he allowed you access to. It was in these wanderings you found Bucky, bumping into him in random places. 

Eventually you two started to really get to know each other. Your late nights would be spent together. You opened up more and more, talking about what Hydra and Brock did to you during that year, Bucky making similar confessions while you two sat outside, away from the confines of the building. Quite a few times you both watched the sun start to come up far off to the east, and Bucky's arm would settle over you while your head tipped onto his shoulder. 

“Buck, I don't know if I will ever just be okay. Steve doesn't seem to think so.” 

“Doll, I came back from it.” He simply said, and you looked up at him, giving a half smile. 

“Your stronger than me.” 

His brow arched as he looked down at you. “That's not true. I had help, Steve, Shuri. I could have never done it alone. Why I know you will come back from this. Your not alone.” 

It gave you something to think about the rest of that day. 

You were so tired after two days going, you couldn't help but pass out, exhausted. You fell into bed in your sleep shorts and a tank, curling up while the world faded away. 

The nightmares though, flashbacks of all those times you were helpless, unable to fight back and could do nothing more than hold back your screams. It never helped, they still fell from you till you were horse from it, rolling from your bed as visions of various doctors plagued you, Hydra Agents beating on you, and Brock he was always in the darkness, watching with anticipation. When he would finally step from the shadows, you knew it wasn't just a nightmare anymore. It was hell. It was what sent you hiding while you were still sleeping. 

This night the jarring motion falling from your bed woke you, before Brock could get to you. Covering your head, you sobbed into your knees, so completely at a loss of how to fix yourself. Your shoulders shook, and you huddled there on the floor for a moment till your legs and back started to ache from being hunched over. Sniffling, you grasp the side of your bed and pull yourself to sit on the edge, wiping the tears from your face. The room felt cold. Reminiscent of your time with Hydra. No warmth, dark shadows stretching like they were reaching to claim you, in which you withdraw your feet off the floor, trying to talk yourself through what you felt was another oncoming panic attack. You had to get out of there, there was no way you could sleep in here tonight. 

Grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders, you edge around your bed, trying not to let yourself get psyched out that Brock might be hiding in your room, he wasn't. He couldn't. It was impossible to break into Stark Towers, right? Into the living room you went, looking over your shoulder at what was your bedroom. Even your couch felt too close to the memories. 

It wasn't even a thought, you eased into the hallway and started down familiar doors. Steve, Natasha, Wanda… when you paused in front of one. It had no special markings, nothing to signify to any other that it was a special door, but for you it was. Hesitating for a second, you reached out and gave a quick rap of the knuckles, waiting. 

Bucky heard it, that quick knock knock. He never slept deeply, always aware of his surroundings, years of training and his own deep rooted fears that something was going to happen. When he opened his door to you, the blanket you had on you just about swallowed you, and your face peeked out, red rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. He knew you had been crying, were about to start crying as you were standing there. Bucky stepped back to let you in. 

“Sorry Bucky, I just… don't want to be in my apartment tonight.” Your head dropped as you stepped in, and he softly shut the door behind you. 

Standing there for a moment, you didn't know where to go from there, and he stepped in closer, encircling his arms around your cocooned blanket and you could feel the rush of a sob squeaking from you, pressing in against his t shirt. Bucky tucked you in close, feeling his own eyes prick with tears feeling you break in his arms, your shoulders shaking and even the blanket couldn't seem to keep you feeling safe now. But his arms did. They were strong and hard, encircling you. “Come on Doll, your exhausted I can feel it.” 

You didn't struggle as he led you down the small hallway to the back bedrooms, and  expected him to put you in a guest room that you knew all these apartments had. But he didn't. 

He brought you right into his room, and sat you on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you okay unwrapping from this?” He questioned, his hands resting on the blanket where you clutched it around you like a protective shield. You sniffled and dried your face on it momentarily before nodding, letting your grip go. He eased it off, and folded it. Resting at the end should you want it back. 

“Give me two seconds Doll.” He disappeared into his closet and with the door half shut, pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers, and switched out his tear wet shirt for a dry one. When he came back out, you were right where he left you, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, and your fingers clasped in your lap. When he came around and stretched out, half propped up on pillows, you looked over your shoulder at him. “Can you leave the light on Buck? Just a little bit?” 

“Of course Y/N. '' Reaching to the lamp, he turned it on a softer setting and saw you visibly relax your shoulders as you looked around, and could still see all the corners of the room. Pushing back to get in the bed, you tucked yourself in against your friend's side, letting your head fall to his shoulder. 

“They must have been pretty bad this time.” Bucky said as he lifted a blanket over the two of you, and you nodded. “I kept seeing Him in the dark, coming for me.” Bucky was well aware who you were talking about, having shared with him before some that had happened to you. You lifted Bucky's arm and placed it around your shoulder, his palm pressing against your arm and tucking you in closer, dropping the softest of kisses on top of your head. “Even when I was awake, it was like he was just out of sight, waiting for me to drop my guard.” 

“We won't let him get to you Doll, not again.” 

There was a soft shuffle of blankets as you got comfier against him, and your arm locked around his middle, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

“I know Buck, that's why I came to you.” 

[96dys]

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

taglist: n/a

masterlist

00 | prologue

you often wondered what it would’ve been like. what kind of life would you have lead if you were born just a lifetime ago? your mother used to tell the strangest stories about her childhood, stories that often made your head spin. putting on a clean set of clothes and eating a full breakfast before getting on the bus to go to school each day. that all seemed so impossible, so out of reach. what if that were you?

then, when she was just seven years old, everything changed. the war altered everything. all you’ve ever known is poverty; if the world would ever see better days, you’ve completely lost hope. you grew up sleeping on the thinnest mat every night, right next to your younger brother. then, in the morning, you would split the smallest chunk of bread, only to wash it down with the murky water your father had collected the day before. even boiled clean, it never ran clear.

your parents would go off to work each day, but very little money was ever seen. survival was far more important; your mother would much rather be given vegetables, bread, or even soap in return for weaving bags and baskets for whoever came to her. your father would work on cars for a few dollars a day. no one really drove where you lived, but the rich often employed men to do whatever odd jobs their business required. tenvack manufactured cars, and so your father worked at their nearest factory, building them piece by piece.

school wasn’t an option. times have changed the slightest bit, and although you only have two volunteer teachers at the tiny makeshift schoolhouse now, there were none when you were growing up. instead, you and your brother canvassed the town in search of plastic bags, as well as whatever else you could find that looked usable. your mother would always call it treasure, but you knew better. you watched her sometimes while she worked, tearing the bags into strips and stretching them out in order to weave whatever she could.

now there was no treasure left in your life; that candle had burnt out so long ago. it fizzled out when your family did, leaving only the smallest wax drippings as proof they were ever even there. a few of your brother’s books, your father’s tools, an old bag your mother made—that was all you had left. for the longest time, a life that was already so bleak had completely faded to grey.

you were familiar with death. there was so much sickness and poverty that people in your neighborhood often died. it was so common that anyone who disappeared for more than a day was assumed dead, to have succumbed to one of the many illnesses that lived in the meat and in the water. the grim reaper was no stranger to people like you, but it’s different when he knocks on your door.

you didn’t eat meat. it didn’t sit well in your stomach, and so you ate vegetable scraps on the nights the rest of your family shared the smallest piece of beef amongst themselves. to this day, you’re not sure if you’re thankful for this or if you resented it. you don’t think about it often; you can’t. you choose to remember the good in their hearts instead of the days they spent coming to a slow and painful stop.

your head was spinning, but you thought of them then, as the light began to shine. it was so painful to look at, you had to squint through watery eyes just to make out the figure leaning over you. in that moment, you thought the grim reaper had come back to collect you too.

keeping your train of thought on the rails was difficult. every time you tried to concentrate on the the figure, it was like you were being forced to think about something else. so many things were running through your mind, too many to distinguish one from another. but still you watched with burning eyes as he backed away. you could’ve sworn you heard him talking to someone, but you weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you.

suddenly, the light went out.

doyoung closed the trunk, sighing to himself. he hated what they were asked to do, but at the same time, he was thankful you didn’t struggle or try to fight. he didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.

“she’ll probably fall back to sleep,” he told jaehyun. he didn’t have very much experience with whatever new experimental drug his partner had been given, but you looked so out of it, he doubted you would be fully conscious for a really long time. at least until they reached the seo residence. “i don’t think we’ll have to give her any more.”

jaehyun only nodded. capturing you was very taxing mentally, but orders were orders. life working for johnny wasn’t perfect, but he had a roof over his head and food to eat. jaehyun felt like he was losing a piece of himself when he snuck up on you, and his heart completely shattered when he forcefully took you into his arms, but he did it because he didn’t want to become like you—always wondering if you were even going to be able to eat that day, never able to sleep without fear of being attacked in the night, having to fight tooth and nail just to survive. he hated the task, though he enjoyed his life more.

he tossed doyoung the keys before making his way to the passenger door, which had been left open since they pulled the car over.

funnily enough, no one liked this arrangement, not even johnny. you were to be his girl, his wife, but his hand was forced just as much as doyoung and jaehyun’s. tied down by years of tradition and vicious family members, he had no other option but to select his bride. he’d put it off so long already, it would’ve been a matter of days now before one of his uncles challenged his position as head of the family business.

just like jaehyun, he’d been living in wealth for so long that the idea of living a life of poverty scared him more than shattering his morals.

[spookyboywhump]

Death

Oh boy here we are. Here’s what I have to present for the @summer-of-whump day 12 prompt Death, aka, the prompt that made me want to take on this challenge. I feared I wouldn’t be done with it today but he we are, with that sweet sweet emotional whump

CW: Parental death, sibling death, child abuse, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, brief mention of deadnaming, all of it is under a cut because Eli’s mom starts off mean right away

***

“You know, for a long time, we thought you were going to be stupid.”

Eli looked up from the paper he was working on, taking a moment to process what his mother had just said. She usually didn’t talk to him much when he came to visit, ever since Everett had stopped coming she’d gotten even colder towards him. He spent most of his time working on homework in between getting her anything he could and doing favors for her, especially with finals coming up fast. He put down his pencil, sitting up straighter in the chair he sat in beside her bed.

“Why… why do you say that…?”

“You didn’t talk when you were little. I don’t think you did until you were three or four, no matter what we tried. We started to think you would never learn.”

“I talked to Everett…” He didn’t have a lot of memories that far back, but he remembered babbling away to Everett, and going silent when his parents were around. According to his brother, his first word had been an attempt at saying his name, but it came out as “Ev’ett”. He shorted it to Ev to make it easier on Eli.

“That’s what he said too, but we never heard it. You didn’t start talking to us until just before your father left.” He resisted the urge to make a sad joke about driving him away.

“Oh… I don’t see how that could’ve meant I was stupid…” He muttered, looking down at his paper again.

“Clearly it didn’t. I was so relieved that you turned out smart. Your brother tried his best but he was never really good at school, not the way you are.”

“I… thanks…?” He wasn’t sure if it was exactly a compliment or not, it was always hard to tell with her.

“Speaking of your brother,” She said, and he tried to hide the pain on his face when she turned to look at him, “Have you heard from him…?” She asked, sounding hopeful, and it broke his heart.

“No, I’m sorry…” He said softly. She looked even more upset, and he felt sick with guilt. He knew what happened to Everett, of course he knew, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he’d heard the news, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his mom the truth. He didn’t know what it would do to her, to hear that her favorite son was dead.

“I wish he were here…”

“I do too.” He wished that more than anybody else, he would’ve given anything to have Everett there. He felt like he needed him more than ever now that he was gone. He felt worse and worse when he looked at her, she looked sick and upset all the time, she was sick, and he couldn’t imagine what she must’ve been feeling, not knowing where Everett was. Eli had been wrestling with it ever since he found out, he didn’t know if it was better or worse to keep the truth to himself.

“He was always easier to talk to than you.” She said, a bitter edge to her voice that made his heart sink. He opened his mouth but didn’t have anything to say, his hand clenching into a fist. “I wish he were here. Whatever happened to him, it should’ve been you.” She said, giving him a look of pure disdain. “I’d trade you for him in a heartbeat.”

He didn’t say anything at first, stunned into silence, frozen in place as her words sunk in.

It should’ve been you.

You should be dead, not him.

She’s right.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his things and furiously shoving them into his backpack. He was shaking, a wave of anger washing over him.

“Fine.” He said, hardly even in control of what he said. “I don’t need to be here then.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder, not even looking at her as he left. She was calling his name- not his name, it had been changed for two years now and she still didn’t bother, which only made him angrier. She didn’t sound apologetic, just irritated, which drove him away quicker, storming out of the room and leaving the hospital.

He was shaking with anger as he waited at the bus stop, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d pissed him off this much. It likely wasn’t even that long ago, but this seemed to have finally crossed a line, being the worst thing she’d said to him thus far. He couldn’t brush it off, the words felt like a weight on his shoulders, It should’ve been you.

The bus ride home was a blur, lost in his own miserable thoughts. He was getting more and more upset the longer he dwelled on it, and by the time he got home he was slamming the front door behind him, doing the same when he walked into his bedroom, throwing his backpack on his bed so hard it smacked against the wall. At least he didn’t have anything valuable in there.

He dropped onto his desk chair, taking his phone from his pocket. A part of him still desperately hoped he’d check it and see Everett’s name pop up, but of course there wasn’t anything. He dropped his phone onto the desk and tested his elbows on it, burying his face in his hands. For once he was so mad he couldn’t even cry, which was extremely rare for him. He just sat there, trembling, trying and failing to calm down.

She’s right. She’s right. It’s should’ve been me, I shouldn’t be here, I don’t fucking deserve to be here.

After some time he grabbed his backpack, pulling out half finished papers and a textbook, trying to distract himself. It wasn’t helping as much as he wanted, but it was still better than nothing. He just needed time to calm down, he knew that. He got mad at his mom all the time, but after a day or two he’d be over it, or at least, too tired to care anymore, and then he’d be able to go back, and the cycle would repeat.

He knew it wasn’t his best work as he did it, but at least it was mind numbing enough he finally stopped shaking. He took a quick break from it after a few hours, wandering around the small apartment, searching through the kitchen for something to eat. He didn’t find anything, and he tried to tell himself he wasn’t hungry anyway, eventually returning to his room.

The words didn’t leave the back of his mind but as the hours passed he grew more and more numb to them, filing them away with the rest of the hurtful things she’d said to him. Disappointment, unwanted, annoying, needy, “Should’ve been you”. He could imagine how angry Everett would’ve been to hear that, he would’ve comforted him, he would’ve spoken to their mother about it. It wouldn’t have fixed anything, but at least he cared.

Eli considered himself an atheist, but he found himself wondering if there was some sort of afterlife the way some people talked about it, about loved ones watching over you. He wondered if such a thing existed, and if it did, if Everett had heard that. He almost hoped not, he didn’t need to be worrying over Eli anymore. There wasn’t anything he could do now anyway.

It was late that night, he was only still awake because he knew trying to go to bed would make everything come back, make him feel even worse. At some point his phone rang, causing him to jump, startled by the sound. Nobody ever called him but Everett and their mom, he didn’t recognize the number immediately but he answered anyway with a hesitant, “H-hello…?”

Whatever he was expecting to hear, it wasn’t what the person told him. In fact he seemed to only pick up on the important parts, everything else drowned out by the pounding of his own heart.

”She’s not doing well”... “Should come say goodbye”... “best to do so as soon as possible…”

He wanted to say that was impossible. She was fine when he left that afternoon, there was no way her condition could’ve gotten that bad that quickly. No, it wasn’t impossible, there had been a scare before, but that’s all it was, just a scare, something she recovered from. Surely she’d recover from this too, right? She’d recover and they would go back to having a tense relationship. A part of him felt tempted to go though, just in case.

“Whatever happened to him, it should’ve been you.”

“I can’t.” He blurted out. He didn’t have a reason for it, while he was typically good at lying he was at a complete loss here. “I can’t.” He repeated, and without waiting for them to respond, he hung up, sitting there as silence settled over him. He was shaking again, he realized, and he set his phone down on the desk, taking a slow, shuddering breath.

He couldn’t do it right now. He knew he couldn’t see her without breaking down completely, without snapping and starting a fight. Quite honestly though, he didn’t want to see her anyway. He usually minimized the things she said to him, brushed them off and told himself they weren’t that bad but this was bad. She didn’t know what happened to Everett, she couldn’t have known what she was saying, but still, when she said the words “it should’ve been you” all he heard was “you should be dead.”

He knew that she was right. He agreed completely. But that didn’t make it easier on him, and that didn’t make him anymore inclined to see her in what may be her final moments.

He stayed right there all night, sitting cross legged in his desk chair, tense and angry and upset. The sun was rising and he was still sitting there, knowing he should be at the hospital, knowing he should be more worried than he actually was.

It was exactly 7:32 a.m. when his phone rang again. He was numb when he answered it, and deep down he already knew what he was going to hear.

”I’m so sorry”... “We did everything we could”... “She’s passed away.”

***

It seemed as if he had shut down, because the reality of her death didn’t hit him until months later. By that point he’d started working, moved into a new, nicer apartment, he didn’t have to rely on his father anymore which meant they never spoke.

I’m completely alone.

He was laying in bed, staring up blankly at his ceiling. He still hasn’t unpacked most of his things, the room was filled with boxes. He really only had his bed and his desk, his clothes, and his important stuffed animals. His apartment was silent, the walls were thicker in this building so he couldn’t hear every little thing going on around him.

I don’t have any family. Any friends. Just myself.

He clutched his shark close in one arm, and the other hand tightly gripped his blanket. Tears welled up in his eyes, all the pain and grief he’d bottled up since Everett’s death finally overflowing.

I’m all alone.

My family is dead.

It should’ve been me.

[deliciousdetectivestranger]

Summary: When Clave-in-Exile and Downworld answer Seelie Court's request to meet, Ash Morgenstern is declared as King of Seelie but he is challenged by Kit Herondale who announces his legacy. As the boys duel for the crown, secrets start coming to light. But will all these secrets be welcomed?

Known Secrets are Revealed

The mundanes of New York could tell something unnatural was happening in the city. Everyone was keeping track of the thick tension which had settled the city as the fog surrounded England during the Industrial Revolution, anytime now it would happen.

What they didn’t know was that it had begun a long time ago. For weeks New York was being shrouded deeply by the Warlock, Nephilim, and Fae wards. A few hours ago, the parley of Seelie Court had arrived in Central Park with the Seelie Queen herself at the centre. They had been greeted by the Clave-in-Exile, Werewolves, Vampires, Warlocks, Unseelie Court, and Wild Hunt. Confusion had spread through the lower ranks of both sides at such a huge and varied receiving party. It wasn’t as if a war was in talks or were the Nephilim still ruminating over the parley conducted by Horace Dearborn and Oban of Unseelie Court had resulted in the majority of Nephilim leaving their beloved Idris to Cohort.

Even though Alec Lightwood-Bane was now the Consul his ability to put up with bullshit was still low. He had refused the talk, talk, talk, and do no work attitude of the Clave. This was a difficult beginning for them. He was not going to make it impossible by allowing his shadowhunters to whine, refusing to do what was expected, and just being unhelpful to spite others. With Diego Rocio Rosales as the Inquisitor, his load had lessened a lot.

When the Seelie Court had requested the parley Nephilim and the Downworlders had instantly gone on high alert. After all, it was Seelie Court that had aided Sebastian Morgenstern and his Endarkened and they had never apologised. These days the Shadow World trusted the Unseelie Court which had been kept hidden and the tales of its cruelty reaching young ears but had transformed greatly under the rule of Kieran Kingson. The Unseelie Court participating in the change with immense enthusiasm as they too had been exhausted from living their lives like that.

Of Course, the beautiful but treacherous Seelie Court had shown their cards one by one but to their eternal frustration their opponents were completely nonchalant about it, some even appeared bored, something which their dramatic souls just couldn’t bear. The knowledge that Seelie Court and the cohort were in cahoots was a surprise. Though for years now they had been aware that the CohortChort had been watching them, all thanks to the spying done by the ghost of Livia Blackthorn in March 2013. Though the only people who truly knew from where the information had come up were Livia, her twin brother Tiberius Blackthorn (then a centurion in training), Christopher Herondale (the Lost Herondale), and Magnus Bane (the High Warlock of Brooklyn). Magnus had declared that they couldn’t tell the truth as it will endanger Livvy along with Kit and Ty, who had tried and failed to do the necromancy, but one day in the future Livvy would get the credit she deserved while Kit and Ty would be punished for the punishment they had in store.

Janus and Ash Morgenstern were also not a shock. Janus when he had tried to spy on the AU version of himself and his friends had also kissed Clary Fairchild. She had later teased her fiancée of his odd behaviour earlier the evening but had received a negative. Suspicious the couple had discussed this with their friends and had wondered if someone was taking their obsession towards Clary and Jace towards a higher disgusting and concerning level ore this was an atrocious prank. But they were unable to draw out his motives until Maia Roberts had complained that one of her werewolves had been missing for days and they hadn’t been able to find her. Thanks to Magnus’ magic they had found her dead body and of a fae boy who had been identified to be of Unseelie Court. It had worried them greatly but not much as Alec who had recognised the couple from an outing with his family. When Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn had visited the New York Institute as the last stop for their Travel Year, they had concluded that this Jace was Jace Herondale but from Thule. He had been Sebastian Morgenstern’s right hand, someone who after seeing and participating in the unending massacre of his world had lost his sanity and was a danger to them. And if Jace of Thule was here then Ash Morgenstern might be here as well.

What had shocked them was the betrayal of Lily Chen and her Vampires. After the Seelie Queen had removed the oblivion placed on her she had remembered her promise to Janus of Information in return for Raphael Santiago of Thule. Lily with a heavy heart and guilty conscience had aided the Seelie Court.

The Seelie Queen indicated towards her son and said, “By my blood, he is the heir to Seelie, by his father, Sebastian Morgenstern’s blood, he is a shadowhunter, by Lilith, the Mother of Warlocks’ Blood, he has been blessed by the Fallen Angels, and by the Unseelie King Arawn’s experiments, he holds many gifts. I am here to announce his rulership and to should anyone present know of any reason that Ash should not be the King, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

“We should hire her to conduct our wedding ceremony,” Simon Lewis Lovelace muttered.

Isabelle Lightwood nodded her assent. “With fair folk arranging our wedding it will be bold, beautiful, and dangerous.”

“Not unlike both of you.” Cristina Mendoza Rosales pointed out. The couple shared a smile, ignoring the exasperated looks sent by their friends.

Drusilla Blackthorn hearing this exchange added her own two cents, “You guys should make themes for each program. The wedding ceremony will be of shadowhunter style of course but have the reception in Star Wars theme” Jace groaned. “And how about the rehearsal in the horror theme. You’ll start a new trend.”

“Why horror theme? To depict the horrors of marriage?” Thais Pedroso questioned her friend and received a stink eye for her sarcasm and lack of support to Dru’s schemes. Emma and Jace could sympathise with her for having parabatais who never appreciated their grand plans.

Alec ignoring the childish squabbling taking place behind him spoke out, “I gather that you want your son to be the King but what of Ash? What does he want?”

Silence fell in the park. No one had expected this. Ash Morgenstern was the son of Sebastian Morgenstern and Seelie Queen, grandson of Valentine Morgenstern, would of course be a discriminating, bloodthirsty, power-hungry character. But at Alec’s question, they all had to agree that they were being biased. Once upon a time, Downworld had stood against Nephilim and also to the different factions of Downworlders, Shadowhunters too had butchered them kept their remains as trophies in their houses, even today their Vampire alleys had turned out to be traitors so, no they couldn’t say that they knew anything about Ash Morgenstern.

Ash eyed Alec, a golden metal band hid his forehead, his face blank but his Fairchild green eyes were of a predator honed by the years of captivity in Unseelie Court, surviving in Thule from his own AU father and of the politics in Seelie Court where honeyed tongues had poison and beautiful faces hid grotesque personalities.

“I request you, Consul, to not try to create a rift in between my mother and me. If there had to be a rift it would have appeared years ago. I have heard a lot about you from the rumours and from Janus who had you as a parabatai but knows nothing about you. You are a stranger and why should I believe a stranger’s word over those who are dear to me?”

“Well, I’ll thank the angel that you’ve thoroughly understood the basic instructions given to children.” Kit Herondale said. “At least we won’t have a Snow-White situation on our hand.”

Titters could be heard as the tension slightly lowered.

“Watch it, boy!” Janus growled. “Your sanity ought to be questioned for making merry of such important occasion.”

The Seelie Queen frowned as she stared at Kit. She didn't see any kind of resemblance between him and Jace Herondale then why did he look so familiar?

Kit rolled his eyes. The blasé persona achieved after spending years at Shadow Market, the tumultuous times in which his Nephilim heritage had revealed and of course the Herondale he was made a striking combination, hiding a brilliantly sharp mind which could see through every single of actions of his enemies.

“You were born sometime before 2009. You should be in 3rd grade now not going on and declaring yourself as King. Have you even completed today’s homework? You are spoiling your son too much, your majesty. He will turn out like Draco Malfoy like this.”

Laughter was clear this time. Ash’s lip curled at the comment. Someone *cough*Simon*cough* even did an improvised ‘My mother will hear about this.’

“He is right.” Ty Blackthorn spoke up. “His age by Fair Folk standard and by ours presents an anomaly. You can’t expect us to see this as anything more than a farce.”

Kit beamed at him before recalling himself. Ty didn’t even spare him a glance.

Livvy who was floating in the middle of both of them fell to her knees and held her hands above her. Glancing at the sky she beseeched, “Grant me the serenity, Raziel . . . this is turning worse by the moment.”

At that, both boys glared at her.

“Ty, the question is not about age but maturity.” Ty’s boyfriend Anush Joshi said.

“Yeah. But we do need to come up with something for this. What if tomorrow Ash calls us to announce he is making his child the ruler? Fae do age rather strangely. Surely there must be something to do.” Mark Blackthorn crowed.

Hong Yeon Woo of Seoul Institute raised replied, “Due to the unique age calculating system used in my country, Koreans consider a year in the womb as counting towards their age, so every one is one year old at birth. Everyone gets one year added to their Korean age on New Year's Day. But internationally it’s bothersome.”

“In Romania, many old families consider their members one year older each time their birthdays come up.” Casimir Munteanu of Craiova Institute answered.

“See? We need to do something about this. Truly mundanes always have answers to any kind of situations.” Mark gleefully said. “And we shouldn’t hesitate to take their lead. We already have Nephilim currency with our Consul on it.”

Alec groaned. Those had been truly trying times.

“In case the nonsense is finished, Consul either swear your allegiance or we shall have to drench this park from Summer to Autumn,” Janus called out.

The threat didn’t go unheard. Clary and Julian felt sick at this horrible implication to their painting. Kit exchanged a look with Tessa and Jem. They both were concerned but Tessa gave Kit a determined nod and Jem squeezed his shoulder supportively. There was no doubt in them for him only love and trust.

Before Alec could say anything, Kit interrupted. “We won’t swear our allegiance.” His joking demeanour had vanished. “For I do have a reason why Ash shouldn’t be King.”

Everyone looked at him curiously. The Seelie Queen got a sinking feeling as she once again looked at Kit.

“To join their Courts together Seelie Queen and Unseelie King made a truce that the child born through their union would inherit both the Courts. They had a girl named Auraline, the First Heir. The king who wanted a son was displeased but still kept her away from the Queen who was incensed to be parted from her daughter. Then there was a prophecy that the First Heir upon reaching their full power all the Faerie would fall under shadow. The King was enraged and the Queen was terrified. The war between the Courts grew even more fierce as the people thought that the First Heir was cursed. Auraline who had never even asked for the powers or the prophecy scared for her life escaped to the mortal world which she found beautiful. The Unseelie King however did send Riders of Mannan after her. She visited the Shadow Market where Downworlders and Mundanes unaware of her birth never called her cursed. Decades later she fell in love with a magician at Shadow Market known as Roland the Astonishing. He too had a secret of his own. As they both confessed how they were wished dead for crimes, not of their own they decided to run away together. Auraline through her Faerie powers made sure that Roland lived longer than most mortals. They had a child together and then finally even Auraline’s powers couldn’t keep death away from Roland. When Roland died, Auraline chose to be with him.”

One could hear the leaves rustle from the breeze as the parley intently heard Kit. The Seelie Queen was expressionless but internally her heart ached at the injustice done to her daughter. Jace and Clary wondered why Kit knew First Heir’s story in such detail. Mother Hawthorn connected the dots and as she looked at Kit, all she could remember were the rumours of when he had been found in LA’s Shadow Market where he had been kept hidden and not long after had left with the couple who had visited her years ago. He hadn’t been seen since then. He too had been forced into hiding just like Auraline. She was just glad that the love between Kit and the couple was real. It was what Auraline had deserved and thankfully Kit had received.

Kit continued, “Auraline’s child had a child. And so it went. There is still a First Heir in the world.”

In unison, the parley gasped.

“Tobias Herondale and Eva Blackthorn’s child, Ephriam was secretly taken to safety by Catarina Loss before the unfair justice of Tobias’ crime was carried out by the Clave. The line from Ephriam is known as the Lost Herondale. His grandson was Roland Loss. For those who don’t get it, he was also known as Roland the Astonishing.”

Kit’s last comment undoubtedly made things clear to all. And panic started to replace the tension. ‘What now?’ was the biggest question in everyone’s mind.

“The First Heir Line and the Lost Herondale have intertwined ages ago. Hunted by the Riders of Mannan, unwanted by their people, shunned by the Courts and the Nephilim, they found their refuge in the Shadow Markets.”

Hypatia Vex, Juliette the Queen of Bueno Aires Shadow Market, Mother Hawthorn along with other Shadow Market denizens couldn’t help but smile.

“I am Christopher Jonathan Herondale. I am the Lost Herondale and the First Heir of Faerie.”

At once shouting began from both sides of the parley. Confusion, fury ran rampant. One thing was in agreement that they all had been blindsided.

Kit looked unconcerned though his hand was on his double-aged straight sword. Tessa and Jem shifted into a battle stance. Emma and Julian slowly inched towards Kit. Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor added wards in front of Kit. Kieran made a motion and the Unseelie guards split in two one surrounding Kieran and the other unsurely moved towards Kit. Cristina and Mark though didn’t move from beside Kieran. Livvy hovered above Kit but not before shooting him a betrayed look, which her younger sister was sporting too. Helen and Aline standing beside moved to shield them.

Out of the corner of his eye Kit saw that Ty was unsurprised. “I have been wondering how you made the Riders’ horses disappear that day in the Brocelind Forest.” He answered at Kit’s questioning look. Livvy and Dru shifted their glares to him.

"You did hit one of the riders with your slingshot." Kit spoke as he remembered.

Alec, Jace, Clary, Isabelle, and Simon couldn’t decide which one of them was more shocked, especially considering Magnus was unsurprised. Jaime Rocio Rosales standing beside his brother couldn’t deny that Kit was really and truly intriguing. That day in the LA institute’s library he had given Eternidad to Cristina, Mark, and Kieran, he was curious about the boy who was distinctly not a Blackthorn yet he fit in them just like Kieran. It was later when he had visited Diego in New York, he had learned who that boy was.

A growl interrupted the noise. It was Janus. He barked to Kit, “Where is the proof? How do we know you aren’t lying?”

Jace cut in, “How do we know you and Ash aren’t some faerie illusions forcing us to do your bidding”.

As Janus glowered at him, all Jace could think was how close he had come to share this man’s fate. He grabbed Clary’s hand, his palms sweaty but she only smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

Ash’s voice brokered their attention. “Then Christopher, why don’t you and I duel for the crown?”

“Well Asher, I find it difficult to finish my daily chores, there is no way I am going to shoulder the burden of ruling a realm.”

Anush goggled at him, Jaime choked, Julian nodded prompting an amused smile from Emma, Livvy and Dru facepalmed, Ty, smiled a little, Jace was ready to make a smartass comment was silenced by Alec and Clary.

“We will duel Christopher. Duel to death for the crown.” Ash snarled. His eyes narrowed at Kit.

The parley wondered what would be the outcome. They couldn’t decide between Ash and Kit both scions of important Fae ancestry but shadowhunter blood ran through their veins as well. The Seelie Queen was trying to gather her wits. She was not fond of Nephilim and definitely not of Herondales but she couldn’t ignore how Kit bore such a strong resemblance to her Auraline. Absently she wondered if the magic they had done on Auraline had passed down to Kit as well.

Kit tilted his head and after thinking for a moment sighed and nodded. Panic and excitement ran through the parley. The Seelie Queen and the Downworlders and shadowhunters who knew Kit started speaking at once. Only Jem and Tessa were quiet. They squeezed his shoulder and then stared directly at Ash.

Both blonde boys moved towards each other effectively silencing the parley. They drew out their swords and circled each other. Finally, Kit stepped at him.

“He shouldn’t have made the first move.” Jace concernedly said.

Janus chuckled at Kit’s impatience and inexperience.

But as Ash moved to block it was clear that Kit had feinted throwing him off guard and moving closer to the Seelie prince. Kit’s blade was about to slice Ash’s side but using faerie speed Ash swiftly moved. Kit circled Ash so he was always at his back, the latter after few moments stopped turning.

“Christopher’s fighting style is unique,” Anush noted. Ty observed Kit and wondered if he was mixing Mundane, Shadowhunter, and Downworlder styles.

When Kit lunged at Ash who readily parried him and moved so he could end the distance in them and draw him in a space where he could control Kit. Ash started moving faster, his moves rougher, all his blows landing heavily on Kit.

It was clear to viewers that though Kit fought unusually he did lack Ash’s training and experience as well as his savagery not to mention stamina.

Bored and smiling a smile sported by his grandfather and parents Ash moved to land a fatal blow on a panting Kit but he sidestepped just like Ash had done earlier. Ash couldn’t stop himself in midmotion and Kit moved closer, when he hit Ash’s hand with his sword’s hilt. Ash winced and that time was enough for Kit to twist his hand, remove the blade from it. Reeling him in Kit sild Ash’s sword at the back of Seelie prince’s neck and then pointed his sword at his throat.

Once again silence reigned as Kit panted and Ash stared at him wide-eyed. They could hear Janus cursing, Emma and Jace whooping, and Simon cheering, “That’s our Aragorn.”

Kit raised an eyebrow at Ash who had no way to move without getting his head chopped off. But Ash was not just a shadowhunter he bore many more powers which Seelie Queen had advertised when she had introduced him. So, he raised his hands and blasted Kit with a huge fire of darkness.

Screams erupted as Kit slammed against a tree and fell on his stomach unmoving. Before anyone could move to help him, Janus barked orders and Seelie forces surrounded Ash and Kit, but they did look reluctant. While they didn’t like Kit for the First Heir prophecy, taking orders from Janus who didn't have a speck of Fae blood in him irked them.

Ash leisurely walked towards Kit and picked up both swords. As he reached Kit, he prodded Kit with his foot further infuriating Kit’s friends and allies. But Kit made no move to get up. Ash’s brow furrowed and taunted Kit, “What happened? Ran out of your tricks? This was a duel for the crown of Seelie, it was never going to be of just our swordsmanship prowess. Powers are also to be tested but you didn’t use them. Either you can’t use them or the shadowhunter blood ran true and the First Heir doesn’t have powers. Well, which one is it?”.

There was no answer. Ash got on his and hit Kit with his sword’s hilt on his shoulder. He turned towards Janus moved towards them. Just then Ash heard a moan and turned towards the sound. Hidden by the Seelie guards who had their backs to the boys, Ash leaned over Kit so no one in the parley could see when Kit’s blue eyes opened and he grabbed Ash’s wrist tightly, a smirk on his lips.

Everyone looked away when a blinding white flash lit Central Park. When they finally regained their sights, terror filled them as they realised that Ash and Kit had disappeared.

Hello everyone, I hope you'll enjoy this. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback and constructive criticism. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist or removed from it, inform me.

taglist: @immortal-enemies @khaleesiofalicante @radisv @dark-artifices-only @beclynn-herondale @herondaletessa @chibi-tsukiko @ask-the-shadow-world @allysbookshit @themimsyborogove @kit-and-ty-fic-recs @hardlymatters @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @shadowhunting-hooligans @pjo-tsc-trc-otherthingstoo @the-blackdale @kitandtyarelife @merry-thieves

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!