#stranger things book of revelation

[henrysglock]

Do You Have A Minute To Talk About Our Lord And Savior: Vecna?

Specifically, I'd like to talk about Jericho, Book of Revelation, Paradise Lost, and the concepts of God and Satan as "good" and "evil", and try to decode who is who.

Let's start with Jericho, and go from there. Like everything else in Stranger Things, though...we'll loop back to the beginning eventually.

Season 5: Jericho

We all know about the nuclear disaster aspect, I don't think I need to continue beating that particular dead horse. (There are plenty of topics to beat into the afterlife. I witnessed a public beating re: production errors just a few days ago.)

I want to talk biblical.

I want to talk about the Battle of Jericho.

The Battle of Jericho is an old testament tale from the Book of Joshua, and there are some basics of the battle you should know:

The Israelites, who have been wandering in the desert for 40 years, prepare to invade and take the City of Jericho from its king. Joshua sends ahead 2 spies in preparation.

These spies are housed and hidden by Rahab, a prostitute. The Israelites promise to spare her and her kin for this, so long as she marks her house with a red cord.

The River Jordan dries up, allowing Joshua and his people to cross. The King of Jericho orders the walls of the city to be closed (This is important to note: He closes the walls. This is not a Rifts parallel. God opens the walls.)

God commands that for 6 days the Israelites march about the walls of the City of Jericho, one time each day. Then, on the seventh day, they are to march around the city seven times.

On this seventh day, seven trumpets are to be blown by seven priests from behind the Ark of the Covenant.

The Israelites do as God commands, and the walls of Jericho fall under the sounding of the trumpets and the cheer of the Israelites.

The Israelites kill all of Jericho's citizens except Rahab and her kin, who are accepted into their community. All of this per God's command.

Wow, that's a lot of sevens, a lot of miracles, and a lot of death.

Here's the thing about Jericho: It lay in a rift valley, and the area is historically prone to both earthquakes and landslides, which have been noted to block the Jordan for days at a time. The fall of Jericho's walls...could very well have been the result seismic activity.

If we take the recounting at face value, God likely triggered an earthquake, which caused the walls to fall.

Sound familiar?

What's also interesting about the Battle of Jericho is that there is no mention of Satan, the Devil, anything of that sort. It's just God vs Jericho on behalf of the Israelites. It's Old Testament (OT), and it's projected to have happened in 1400-1500 BC, whereas the New Testament (NT) material is all AD. (Jesus's crucifixion happens in 33 AD, and Book of Revelation is set in 81-96 AD.)

We know the OT God is highkey obsessed with 2 main things: Truth and Oppression. This guy hates being lied to, having oaths broken, being betrayed/deceived/not obeyed, etc. He has very strict commandments for his followers, and he isn't keen on people going against them. He hates human oppressors and is avid about punishing them in massively brutal ways (see: the Israelites and the King/People of Jericho). OT God is a wrathful God, and from the point of view of some...an oppressor himself.

If the other thing didn't sound familiar...boy...doesn't that one sound familiar?

Not gonna tell you who it sounds similar to yet, though. We'll save that for later. No biases in my house.

Anyway, that's all well before Christ figures and Satan as a major definable force against God. In fact, there's almost no mention of Satan as a physical adversary in the OT. "Satan" in the OT literally translates to just...adversary/traitor. There's no mention of the devil as a single entity. We know there's a fallen angel, Lucifer, a serpent in the Garden of Eden, etc., but Satan as a single, definable, physical adversary who physically fights God? Not a thing yet.

This is very different from NT literature, where Satan/the Devil/the Antichrist/etc. appear as physical figures. This is especially apparent in Book of Revelation, in which Jesus and the heavenly forces literally fight the demonic forces with swords.

This is where it starts to get spicy.

Book of Revelation

I'm just going to give you all the Cliffs Notes, because John of Patmos was definitely tripping balls...and I don't want to subject you all to that:

John of Patmos has a vision of the apocalypse: It's Jesus's second coming and the decimation of the Earth. (This is debatable historically, but for the purposes of this section lets take it at face value.)

He writes of his visions to the 7 Churches of Asia: Ephesus: "He who overcomes is granted to eat from the tree of life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God" - They are praised for not harboring evil, exposing fake apostles, and being a symbol of perseverance and patience. Smyrna: "Those who are faithful until death will be given the crown of life. He who overcomes shall not be hurt by the second dead" - They are praised for being rich in faith in times of hardship, and is told not to fear imprisonment for holding fast against false prophets. Pergamum: "He who overcomes will be given the hidden manna to eat and a white stone with a secret name on it." - They are praised as a faithful martyr, but admonished for sexual immorality, holding false idols, and holding the doctrine of both Balaam and the Nicolaitans. Thyatria: "He who overcomes until the end will be given power over the nations in order to dash them to pieces with a rod of iron; he will also be given the morning star." - They are praised for works of love, service, faith, and patience, but admonished for allowing a prophetess to engage in sexual immorality and holding false idols. Sardis: "He who overcomes will be clothed in white garments, and his name will not be blotted out from the Book of Life; his name will also be confessed before the Father and his angels." - They are told to strengthen their works in order to achieve perfection before God. Philadelphia (yes, Philadelphia): "He who overcomes will be made a pillar in the temple of God having the name of God, the names of the City of God, "New Jerusalem", and the Son of God's new name" - They are praised for keeping God's name holy, and is reminded to hold fast to what they have. Laodicea: "He who overcomes will be granted the opportunity to sit with the Son of God on his throne" - They are admonished for being lukewarm in their faith, reminded to be zealous. They're told to buy "gold refined in fire", white garments, and to anoint their eyes in salve so they may see.

The throne of God appears, surrounded by 24 elders. All of this happens before the throne of God: - The 4 living beings appear: A lion, and ox, a man, and an eagle. They are akin to biblically accurate angels, each having 6 wings and a multitude of eyes. - A scroll with 7 seals is presented, and only the "Lion of the tribe of Judah, from the Root of David" can open it. - The "Lamb of God, with 7 eyes and 7 horns" accepts the scroll, and all present bow before it.

The seven seals are opened: First Seal: White horse, Conquering. Second Seal: Red horse, War. Third Seal: Black horse, Famine/Hunger. Fourth Seal: Pale horse, Death. Fifth Seal: The souls of the martyrs, dressed in white robes, are told to rest until the martyrdom of their brothers is complete. Sixth Seal: A great earthquake, wherein the the sun goes dark, the stars fall to earth, and the sky rolls back like a scroll. Mountains are moved, and the people of earth hide within them from the "wrath of the Lamb". 144,000 Hebrews are marked upon their foreheads with the seal of God and sealed within the caves. Seventh Seal: Introduces the 7 trumpets, one for each of 7 angels. An eighth angel devastates the Earth with heavenly fire just before the 7 trumpets begin.

The angelic trumpets are sounded: First Trumpet: Hail and fire and blood rain upon the Earth and burn up 1/3 of plant life. Second Trumpet: A "great, flaming mountain" falls from the sky and devastates 1/3 of the seas. Third Trumpet: Wormwood, a great star, falls from the heavens and poisons 1/3 of all freshwater sources. (Radiationgate!) Fourth Trumpet: 1/3 of the sun, moon, and stars are darkened, casting the world into total darkness for 1/3 of day and night. Fifth Trumpet: The First Woe. - A star falls from the sky, and is given the key to the bottomless abyss. - The abyss opens, and the smoke of the giant abyss blots out the sky. - Locusts, in the form of humans with lions' teeth, wings like hoofbeats, and iron breastplates come and kill any who are not marked with the seal of god on their forehead (the 144k Hebrews from the 12 tribes of Israel). *** Sixth Trumpet: The Second Woe. - The four angels bound in the Euphrates are released to prepare two million horsemen. These armies kill 1/3 of mankind. Seventh Trumpet: The Third Woe, in preparation for the 7 Bowls. - The temple of God, in heaven, opens. There is lightning, an earthquake, and hail.

*** ST4 leaves off at the asterisks

The 7 Spiritual Figures, leading up to the Third Woe:

A heavenly woman is pregnant with a male child.

A dragon pulls stars from the heavens and awaits the birth of the child so he can devour it: The Archangel Michael fights this dragon, as it is revealed to be the devil. The dragon is cast out of heaven, and becomes obsessed with waging war against all the woman's offspring.

A Beast with 7 heads, 10 horns, and the names of blasphemy on his heads emerges from the sea: The people of the world follow the Sea Beast in wonder, and the dragon empowers the beast for 42 months. The Sea Beast goes on to blaspheme God's name and wage war against the Saints. He is victorious.

The antichrist/false prophet appears from the Earth: He has 2 horns like a lamb but speaks like a dragon. He instructs the people of the Earth to build a likeness of the Sea Beast, and all who participate are marked with the Sign of the Beast: 666.

The "One like the Son of Man", aka Jesus, goes and defeats the beast with the 144k Hebrews bearing the seal of God.

Heaven opens, and the 7 Bowls Revelation begins with the sounding of the Third Woe/7th trumpet.

The 7 Bowls Revelation:

First Bowl: "A foul and malignant sore" afflicts the followers of the Beast (Radiationgate Sweep!)

Second Bowl: The seas turn to blood, and everything in it dies.

Third Bowl: All fresh water turns to blood.

Fourth Bowl: The sun scorches the Earth.

Fifth Bowl: Total darkness and great pain floods the beast's kingdom.

Sixth Bowl: The Euphrates dries up, and the forces of good and evil prepare to face off.

Seventh Bowl: Another earthquake and hailstorm essentially flatten the surface of the Earth.

Aftermath Vision:

The Whore of Babylon and the Scarlet Beast are shown to John, revealing their identities and fates as such.

New Babylon is destroyed, and is mourned by its people.

Marriage Supper of the Lamb: Not a whole lot to say here, people praise God (...for decimating the Earth? Okay whatever floats your goat--I mean boat I'm not a satanist hahahaha what???)

The Judgment of the Beasts, the Dragon, and the Dead:

The Beast and the Antichrist: Both are imprisoned in the Lake of Fire.

The Dragon: He is imprisoned the Bottomless Pit for 1,000 years.

The Resurrected Martyrs: All of them live with God in peace for those 1,000 years.

After the 1,000 year time jump: - Gog and Magog: The dragon is freed, and goes on to deceive the corners of the Earth once more. He gathers them for a final battle against the City of God, and is defeated by heavenly forces, at which time he is cast into the Lake of Fire alongside the Beast and the Antichrist. - The Final Judgment: Death and Hades, along with the wicked who followed the Devil, are also cast into the Lake of Fire. This is known as the Second Death, and ensures that no more suffering or death may afflict God's chosen people.

New Heaven and New Earth:

After the fighting ends, the City of God meets the Earth and it's essentially a neat and tidy "eternal life, no more suffering, we're all in paradise with God" ending. The City of God is said to be a paradise for the pure and strong of faith, and God lives among them.

Phew. That was a whole fucking trip.

Most of it is a) allegorical and highly debated based on that fact, and b) highly disputed as to its accuracy as part of the Bible...because it was written by a second generation disciple 60 years after Jesus's death. On top of that, it just doesn't fit with the vibe of the New Testament. New Testament is very much about love and forgiveness, not wrath. Wrath is very Old Testament, which I'll come back to re: Brenner and Vecna...and Lucifer.

I'm not gonna delve into allegory tonight because while the Duffers are picking and choosing bits of the story, they seem to be taking it all very literally. That is to say, this isn't a perfect one-to-one, but what is there? Tells a story.

Let's review:

The 7 Letters: Max writes letters, a total of 10. However, we only focus on 7 of them: Steve, Lucas, Dustin, Mike, El, Will, and Billy. We don't know what they say inside, however it is interesting that Billy is the final letter, akin then to Laodicea (see: Laodicea's entry), which is essentially about lukewarm faith, white robes, and anointed eyes. Max lies to Vecna in her confession, wavers on whether or not she actually wants to die, and ends up in a white hospital gown with healing eyes.

The Living Creatures: - Lion: El in Brenner's lab has a lion doll - Ox: We've got a handful of cow references, the most prominent being 010 and Brenner's dog drawing. Funny how it all seems to tie back, huh. - Man: "He was nothing but an ordinary, mediocre man." re: Brenner and opening the Rifts. - Eagle: "Fly right, Bald Eagle!" re: closing the Gate.

The 4 Horsemen: - Chrissy: First, Conquest, our intro to Vecna Visions. - Fred: Second, War, our intro into the conflict between Hellfire and the Basketball Team. - Patrick: Third, Famine, presented alongside Hopper in Russia before the feast in The Dive (which is actually presented very similarly to The Last Supper). - Max: Fourth, Death, the fourth gate. 22 dead, and the death toll continues to rise.

The Fifth Seal: The martyrs are told to rest until the martyring of their brothers is complete. Max is in her white hospital gown, indefinitely in a coma.

The Sixth Seal: One of many great earthquakes in BoR, after which 144k Hebrews are sealed in the caves. We see one earthquake in the UD in The Dive, where Nancy, Steve, Robin, and Eddie are trapped in the UD.

The Trumpets: - First Trumpet: 1/3 of plant life is killed...I'm looking at the rot in ST2 and the dead flowers in ST4. - Third Trumpet: Wormwood, a great star, falls from the sky in and poisons all fresh water. The spores. Radiationgate. - Fifth Trumpet: The abyss opens, and the smoke from it blots out the sky. Fucked up "locusts" emerge and begin killing. The rifts open, and the smoke blots out the sky. Demo-creatures will spill out into Hawkins and begin killing.

This is where we leave off at the end of ST4. We have not met Satan yet. So far? It's all God.

God did all this, up until this point, as the beginning of a final reckoning for the sinners who populated the Earth. None of that was Satan.

Things do start to get complicated here...because we do technically have a false prophet of sorts. Jason. Jason inspires the people of Hawkins to go against the forces of good in the name of defeating the tragedy befalling Hawkins. He is killed by the Rifts. He is literally killed by a fiery pit. (More on this later, because it's more complex than it seems.)

What's spicy about all this is that...the forces of good are not the religious ones, the "pure" ones, the "normal" ones. They're the freaks. The "satanic cult". They're Hellfire.

So...What is going on in the house of commons?

If Vecna is meant to be Satan, the Antichrist, whatever...why is he so obsessed with truth, penance, and giving himself the artificial moral high ground? Why does he wait for a confession, explicit or implicit, to kill? Why does he torment his victims while claiming to be relieving their suffering?

Because he's punishing the sinners, and he's doing so under the guise of saving them/freeing them from their suffering. Punishing sinners is God's job, not Satan's. Satan punishing sinners is a misconception. Satan is being punished as much as anyone else.

Vecna has the ultimate goal of decimating the human world and remaking it into a "beautiful" place where he and those like him will never suffer or die. Vecna punishes people he deems to be bad until he receives an acceptable confession of guilt, and then he soothes himself about it by killing them and "relieving their suffering".

All things considered:

Vecna, 001, The One, is New Testament God...and plot twist: he's a wrathful dick who hides behind artificial morality...just like Old Testament God.

Okay...so what about Henry? Brenner?

In true Creel form...this is my first loop backward in time. I'm going straight back to the very beginning of Satan's story.

Let's talk Lucifer. God's most beautiful angel. Smart, powerful, capable...and cast out of heaven in disgrace.

His crimes? Daring to believe he and the other angels were equal to God, and later instructing Eve that she didn't have to obey God either, alerting her to the fact that God was hiding things from her. God didn't like that, and sent Lucifer to Hell as punishment.

I'm very very much seeing Brenner and Henry here. Brenner, a wrathful, controlling OT God. He shocks those who disobey (Henry), those who lie or whom Brenner would have you perceive as a liar (Henry and 002), those who oppress (002)...all while being an oppressor and liar himself.

Brenner also quite literally calls himself Papa. Abba. The Almighty Father...and he punishes Henry repeatedly and brutally for being a) uncontrollable and b) spreading information Brenner would rather keep hidden.

He takes away Henry's status as 001, gives him a fake name...and makes him watch as he oppress the other angel--I mean numbers through the same torment he once suffered with no way of stopping it. Henry himself calls it Hell. No one ever said Hell was literally and physically separate from Heaven. Hell is very much a state of mind, and experience. Victor is "still very much in Hell"...but he's in Pennhurst. Henry is in Hell in Brenner's lab. Hell is not a physical place, it is inescapable torment and suffering.

We also get many Lucifer shots of Henry during the Rainbow Room fight...but when his hair is in the Henry style. Not the swept-back Brenner style.

Example:

So Henry is Lucifer, then, right? He's definitely not God then, right?

Yeah. Exactly. He's the fallen angel, and he's also the serpent in OT God's garden of Eden, offering knowledge and awareness to the ignorant Eleve--I mean Eve. He inspires Eve--I mean Eleven to question Papa, who has trapped her in ignorance in the Garden of E--I mean Hawkins National Lab.

But...didn't we just say he's God? Well...no. Not exactly. I said that Vecna is God.

Are we ready for the mindfuck?

Henry and Edward, and the frankly unnecessary swapping in NINA.

As per Em's analysis of The First Shadow...it's highly highly likely that Edward Creel is Vecna, not Henry.

This absolutely tracks with multiple facets:

The cyclical nature of Brenner and one of the Creel boys re: behavior and appearance.

The inexplicable hairstyle change between whichever Creel is in the store closet and...whichever Creel is in the Rainbow Room.

The inconsistency between Vecna's retelling of his childhood...and the expressions of the Creel boy on screen.

Ok, so we've got Brenner as OT God the Father, clearly...but we have Vecna as NT God, 001, The One. That's two Gods in one timeline, and we can't explain how they all seemingly ended up in the same timeline...unless Martin Brenner, Edward Creel, and Vecna are the same person at different times in different circumstances. At least one of the Creel boys is shown to have time travel abilities. Martin Brenner, Edward (?) Creel, and Vecna behave very similarly. All this to say...they're very much seeming like the same guy. There is one God, and you shall not have any other Gods but me...and all that jazz.

Henry said he spent years with 001 in the Rainbow Room. Did anyone ever stop to consider that he may have meant that literally? Did we ever consider that we swap between Henry-hairstyle and Brenner-hairstyle throughout the Rainbow Room fight because El is being fucked with by Brenner/Edward/Vecna...and by extension so are we?

Some supporting evidence here: Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) is very much about swapping places and experiences.

To Summarize: Brenner/Edward are God and Henry is Lucifer. Hellfire club is the satanic cult fighting God....while being the protagonists who believe they're fighting a dark wizard because his actions are horrible.

A clue into this narrative fuckery is Will's painting. The Party is depicated fighting a red dragon, which reeks of the red dragon of Satan. This is likely the represent the fact that they all see Vecna as a demon/monster/Satan figure, despite his God-coding. They see him as Henry...when he is not Henry at all. Vecna is very much God-coded, but he's represented as Satan in Will's painting because everyone sees his deeds as evil...and they are horrible and unjust...and they're all pinned on Henry, our Lucifer.

If there is a physical dragon, it's not going to be biblical...because the biblical dragon does not exist here. There is no satanic dragon, we just discussed that. The dragon is going to be something else, and I'm going to touch on that later.

I want to bring in another source to speak to Henry's probable innocence: Paradise Lost.

Paradise Lost (documentary series) was an inspiration for ST4 and Eddie/The Hellfire Club, specifically in that Eddie was misjudged specifically based on his interests and the way he looks.

Paradise Lost, the docuseries, is about Damien Echols as part of the West Memphis Three, who were falsely accused of brutally murdering and sexually mutilating 3 local boys. The West Memphis Three were Damien Echols, Jesse Misskelly, and Jason Baldwin.

Paradise Lost was originally a poem about Lucifer and the fall of Man. Lucifer is presented as the tragic yet villainous protagonist. His motivations remain very much "evil". I recognize this.

However, the Duffers didn't reference the poem. They referenced the docuseries, in which our "satanic cult" was never proved guilty due to lack of evidence. Just recently, in December of 2021, evidence that was supposedly destroyed in a fire was discovered to have been kept and catalogued by the West Memphis PD (source). The lawyers of the West Memphis 3 now believe all of them may be exonerated when the DNA testing comes back.

We know Eddie is caught up in the timeline fuckery, given the age change between his physical age (19, likely) and his poster age (17), and he also has the whole satanic ritual thing, which wasn't the truth at all. He was trying to stop the murders. This ties into Victor's "demon", who we believe to be Henry based on how ST4 is presented to us on the surface...but based on the surface view, Henry would be Vecna and through him...God. That makes the demon label categorically incorrect. Victor also says he heard the voice of an angel, which drew him out of his trance. Lucifer was originally an angel. However, in the other retelling, Victor is freed by Edward (?) passing out. There is no mention of music.

The thing here is...we have no evidence which conclusively links Henry Creel to any of these murders. We don't have concrete evidence of anything, other than the fact that the murders happened and that a Creel was involved somehow. We don't see the killing of the children. There's no footage of Alice's death. We're not even given the Creel boy's name in the second retelling. We have no conclusive evidence that that's Henry. We do, however, see a blood-splattered 001 in the lab...and a blood-free Henry (?).

Just like the West Memphis Three, there's no evidence of guilt for Henry in any of the murders. However, we also don't see a concrete Henry again after the blood-free shot. It's highly possible that Edward (?)/Vecna killed him. We simply don't know what happened to him.

Lucifer may already be dead by God's hand. We just don't know.

I'd also like to point out a couple of details re: Paradise Lost and Stranger Things:

Jesse Misskelly: Miss Kelley, who was supposedly seeing all of Vecna's victims, and who wears a pendant of a clock on a key. She also shows up on the board beside the Library-Progress poster, the Drama Club/Monologues flyer, and the Tutors Needed poster. There's no evidence that she did anything wrong, and it's likely she doesn't know any more than anyone else, but it's suspicious that she's so connected to Vecna/The Creels in both plot and imagery. It makes you question the depth of her involvement.

Jason Baldwin: Jason Carver. The guy I said was a false prophet, but who I also indicated is more complicated than he seems. The thing about Jason is that he is not knowingly a false prophet. If he had all the facts, he'd likely be siding with Hellfire. He's trying to fight what he perceives as the evil in Hawkins...based on limited information. Even so, he's raising an army to fight the evil, and Vecna is aware of that because it's happening in Hawkins. Jason is an adversary. Adverary. Satan. He believes it's Hellfire who is responsible, that Hellfire is in cahoots with Vecna, who is perceived as Satan. However, Hellfire is anti Vecna. When Jason blasphemes Vecna via Hellfire...he's unknowingly blaspheming God. Thus, the fiery pit. There was no true false prophet, just some guy who went mad with grief and didn't have all the necessary information and wanted to fight the evil that killed his girlfriend.

Along those lines, I also want to talk about Nancy's beast.

Nancy's beast should at least be representative of Satan, then, right? Not necessarily. The beast in Book of Revelation is highly symbolic, and is thought to be representative of the oppressive Roman Empire.

There's one player everyone seems to forget in Stranger Things: The US Military.

The military, who consume most of our national budget like a gaping maw, and who are currently coming after the person committing murders in Hawkins. The believe it's El, but the person they want is Vecna. It's exactly the same as Jason and Eddie. They're all unknowingly coming after God while chasing someone who isn't God. Like Hopper says in ST1...they're chasing the wrong kid.

All those with the sign of the beast will be condemned. Guns don't work on Demogorgons. The military, who bear symbols that designate them as such...signs of the beast if you will...will be decimated.

That isn't to say a beast won't appear. It very much may, but it's not actually linked to Henry/Lucifer. The beast is more likely representative of the US Military as an adversary of Vecna, just like the dragon in the painting is only representative of Vecna via narrative fuckery.

The dragon in the painting will not exist in relation to Vecna/God, hence it doesn't appear in Nancy's vision. The military does exist as an adversary to Vecna/God, hence the beast appears in Nancy's vision.

Adversary. Satan.

In true Creel fashion, it's time to loop back to the very beginning of this post.

Jericho. The working title of ST5. What did I say about the Battle of Jericho?

There was no Devil. Lucifer exists vaguely, somewhere offscreen. We don't know where he is. Satan, though, simply translates to adversary.

It was just God, an earthquake, and Jericho.

There is no "Evil Devil" in Stranger Things' rendition of the Book of Revelation. Henry may exist, but he also may have been dead before the plot even began. We don't know where he is. Our figures of Satan are just a collection of adversaries against Vecna.

It's just Vecna, an earthquake, and Hawkins.

Right?

Well. We've missed a couple figures here, haven't we?

Jesus, the Archangel Michael, and the Holy Spirit.

Will Byers (Guillermo Maldonado?) and Mike Wheeler...and the Shadow.

This is where we come back to the tone of the Book of Revelation in comparison to the tone of the New Testament.

The Book of Revelation is very out of place in comparison to Jesus' teachings of love, peace, and forgiveness. God goes ham in Book of Revelation, to the point of frankly unnecessary pain, harm, and cruelty. So why would Jesus, Mr. "Loves Saves All", get involved in that? Why would Archangel Michael, "healer of the sick and champion of goodness", get caught up in that?

Logically, they shouldn't. Unnecessary cruelty goes against everything they seem to advocate for.

Everything Vecna does goes against everything Will and Mike stand for. Byler won't have a villain arc. Byler will not join Vecna. Jesus is not going to join God, here...and neither will Archangel Michael.

Archangel Michael fights Satan's red dragon, which we discussed as nothing but a narrative distortion of Vecna and Henry when present in Will's painting.

However, the painting is not biblical. Will didn't literally paint Mike fighting the devil. It's DnD. That dragon is likely Tiamat, the evil mother of all dragons. She is very similar in personality to the Whore of Babylon, who rides upon Satan's red dragon, and who reeks of Virginia...and by extension Karen.

Mike is fighting the mommy issues dragon. He's fighting the physical manifestation of his neglectful relationship with his mother, and Will is going to be be his side to help him.

Classic Byler W.

Finally...The Shadow, our Holy Spirit.

I'd like to call attention to some wording surrounding the Holy Spirit and the Shadow especially in relation to Jesus.

Luke 4:1: Then Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan River and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness.

Matthew 10:20: For it is not you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

John 16:5-7: Holy Spirit cannot come to help you until I leave. But after I am gone, I will send the Spirit to you.

Acts 2:1-4: Suddenly a sound came from heaven. It was like a strong wind blowing...The flames separated and settled on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit. 

In ST2, Will is possessed by the Shadow via Vecna. One might say he is full of the Shadow. When Will first sees the Shadow in one of his visions, there is a strong wind. He becomes more and more replaced by Vecna/the Shadow as time goes on. Vecna speaks through Will. Joyce asks "What happens when my boy is gone?"

In ST3, once Billy is all but gone, when Vecna can truly speak though him, he begins to send the Shadow to others. They were filled with the Shadow.

Then, in ST4, we see the Shadow in Russia. When asked about the freed/revived demodogs, the Russians say the Shadow "went into them". They were filled with the Shadow.

Are we convinced yet? Do we need more? How about this:

The Holy Spirit acts at God's command; it is an agent of divine action.

The Shadow acts at Vecna's command; it is an agent of his action.

All this, all these hundreds of words to say a few things:

In Stranger Things, Jericho = Book of Revelation.

There is no "Evil Devil" figure in Stranger Things. God is the bad guy.

Vecna is God, and so is Brenner.

Vecna is most likely Edward Creel.

Via the canonical time-travel powers of at least one Creel boy, Edward Creel and Martin Brenner are likely the same person.

Henry Creel is Lucifer.

Henry Creel is also innocent.

We don't know if Henry's alive or not, and if he is alive we don't know where he is.

Mike's dragon is most likely Tiamat, the DnD Mommy Issues Dragon.

The Duffers ship Jesus and Archangel Michael. Deadass.

A few interesting but ultimately unnecessary details below the cut:

In 1984, the same year ST2 is set in, Depeche Mode released Blasphemous Rumors. It's a song about the perceived cruelty of God. In it, a girl attempts suicide and fails. She finds new life in the church, only to be struck by a car and killed. The chorus goes: "I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors, but I think that God's got a sick sense of humor // and when I die, I expect to find Him laughing."

U2 released Joshua Tree in 1987, the year ST5 is supposedly going to be set in and/or skip. It was immensely popular and jam-packed with biblical references. The Mormons (Suzie!) named the physical Joshua Tree is named after biblical Joshua...the same Joshua from the Battle of Jericho. Here's some more about The Joshua Tree:

Book of Revelation is a wartime piece. It's highly debated as to whether it's an actual vision, or if it's just John of Patmos, a second-generation disciple embittered by Jesus' failure to return as promised to save his people from the Romans, writing a fix-it fic where God brutally kills everyone except John's people. Is it a vision? Is it God? Or is it just the vengeance-porn work of a traumatized second-generation disciple who feels abandoned? No one actually knows. Is Vecna literally God? Or is he just a traumatized, abused boy who wants vengeance on the society that harmed and abandoned him? No one actually knows.

Kronos, in Greek mythology, is the god of time. He's the father of the Greek gods, all of whom he tried to consume. He is equated to Father Time in modern folklore. Edward (?) Creel has time travel abilities...god of time...Father Time...Papa...Brenner...consuming the Greek gods...consuming the numbers...just something to chew on.

Henry's costuming seems to be modeled after altar boy robes, both as a child and as an adult. We all know about the rape scandals with altar boys in the Catholic church. The Pope, God's official mouthpiece to the world, let it happen. Priests, also referred to as Father (cough Papa cough) were involved in raping boys...and the Pope covered it up. God, essentially, let it happen. Both our God figures being rapists, specifically of children/boys, may be a commentary on this scandal.

[pinkeoni]

Kind of related to my most recent ask but a book for one character now doesn’t negate the future existence of a book for another character, trust 🤞🏻

[slytherinslut0]

hey can you please do tom x hufflepuff reader hcs??

Tom Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader headcanons.

(A/N: idk how this ended up being so long. i got carried away. i love tom. i love his complexity. i could write about him forever. anyways, enjoy:))

tom riddle and a hufflepuff reader would be damn near polar opposites, and there are a few reasons why i say this->

tom is a very reserved man, yet undoubtedly driven by an ambitious and power-hungry nature, always seeking dominance and control in every aspect of his life.

hufflepuffs, on the other hand, are known for their kindness, their loyalty, prioritizing the well-being of others over personal ambition.

tom riddle is the type of man who is not afraid to deceive others for personal gain, while hufflepuffs value fairness and honesty in each of their interactions.

not to mention how tom is emotionally restrained, rarely displaying vulnerability or empathy, while hufflepuffs are known for being emotionally open and expressing genuine care/understanding for others.

i believe tom would be rather annoyed by hufflepuffs, perhaps even put off by their loud, outgoing nature, but i also feel as though he would respect them more than other houses because they are known for being more by-the-book.

i believe this pairing would be WONDERFUL for him, and i’d imagine it’d go a little like this->

perhaps you and tom would be involuntarily paired up for an assignment, an unlikely collaboration that tom figured would be an easy mark for him.

originally, he’d find himself irritated by your constant cheerful and optimistic nature; finding it rather absurd that you weren’t at all fazed by his cold, cunning attitude.

there’d definitely be initial clashes between the two of you, disagreements of methods, but tom would find himself stunned as you met every one of his suggestions with a positive, passionate attitude, not daring to get discouraged or frustrated with him.

your unwavering optimism would be shocking to him. especially in the face of his calculated cynicism. it’d be then, that tom would be astonished by your dedication and genuine passion for learning, a rare quality to obtain.

his initial cold, guarded demeanour would slowly begin to fade.

tom would find himself beginning to pay more attention to you, his curiosity extending to outside the confines of the classroom.

he’d begin to wonder if your genuine kindness is truly authentic or merely a manipulation tactic, leading him to question the sincerity of your character.

which he’d only question because that’s the way his mind works.

he’d never known someone so open and genuine like you. he’d convince himself you had ulterior motives.

however, tom would quickly observe that your authenticity extended universally, and was not just directed at him.

your small acts of kindness and interactions with strangers became evident, and he’d witness your unwavering positivity even in the most challenging situations.

he’d notice how thoughtful you are, how you’d spend your free time maintaining the Owlery, ensuring it’s well-kept and sanitary.

he’d watch you from a distance as you continually brought the owls food and water, giving them attention and love which was something you did upon your own accord, without expecting any compensation.

it became clear to him that you did these things because you genuinely loved to do them, not because you wanted praise for it. and at this, tom was completely taken aback.

your radiant smile, capable of lighting up any room, would become a revelation to him, leaving him puzzled about how he initially overlooked this aspect of your character for all those years.

it’d be here that inner turmoil would begin to brew within tom as he’d have no choice but to acknowledge your ability to see the good within everything and everyone, and especially within him. something not many people are capable of.

as time passed, you couldn't help but notice a gradual softening in him.

during your collaborative sessions on the assignment, he became more receptive to your ideas, actively seeking your thoughts.

surprisingly, he started engaging in conversations beyond the project, asking about your day and exhibiting small changes in his demeanour that were entirely new to you.

tom was breaking, his walls slowly being chipped away by your infectious smile and enthusiasm.

the unexplainable shift in his perspective both intrigued and unsettled him, as you became the catalyst for awakening emotions he never believed he could feel.

he’d try to fight back, he’d try to get himself together, but it was useless. you were in his head, and there was no getting you out.

however, given the fact that tom struggles with showing even the smallest amounts of vulnerability, he’d try to be as subtle as possible with his interest in you. hoping that you’d eventually catch on.

perhaps he’d begin with small gestures, like gifting you a book on rare and beautiful magical creatures, saying that he noticed it in the library and thought of you, believing you might like it.

it would not go unnoticed by you just how considerate this was, and just how much he’d begun to take awareness of your interests.

you found yourself engrossed in the book, a sight that never failed to bring a subtle smile to tom’s face whenever he spotted you across the hall.

observing you immersed in the pages made him quietly content, often requiring a conscious effort on his part to break himself free from the captivation.

his brain would be screaming, “what the hell am i doing?” but he wouldn’t be able to deny just how much he loved seeing you enthralled by the gift.

the feeling was intoxicating, and wholly unfamiliar; he needed more. he needed to do more.

perhaps the next move he’d make would be to gift you a rare enchanted plant, after having noted your love for herbology.

he’d present the plant to you in a subtle way, saying that he’d found it while taking a stroll through the forest and thought you’d like it.

he’d go into details about its properties, its rarity and how to effectively take care of it, even though he knew you already knew all of this.

he knew you absolutely loved the fact that he cared for these plants just as much as you did. this was all part of his plan.

and of course, at this point, you’d have the hunch that he was into you; but being as perceptive and intuitive as you are, you’d know that pestering tom or trying to force him to admit feelings would be useless.

the man moves at his own pace.

so instead, you’d invite him to join you as you cleaned the Owlery, wanting to spend more time with him. the two of you would gradually become closer and closer, tom’s harsh demeanour fading away with the wind with each passing day.

and even still, tom hardly made any advances. tom hardly wanted to put himself in a vulnerable position. he wanted to be sure you wanted him before he ever revealed his intentions.

if he was touchy with you, he’d never insinuate it was because he’s into you. he’d kiss you on the cheek after walking you back to your dorm for the night, and then act like nothing ever happened in the morning.

and this might have annoyed some, but not you.

you understood that this is how tom was, and you admired him for it. you were entirely understanding. you wanted him to open up on his own terms, and you were willing to wait for him.

eventually, tom knew he couldn’t hold back his feelings anymore. he knew he needed to make you his. he knew he’d do fucking anything.

and this feeling would only multiply as he spotted you across the courtyard, speaking to a boy from your house.

your smile was glowing, your laugh was radiating, and the feeling this sight inspired inside tom’s heart could have been enough to ignite the entire castle into pure fucking flame.

whatever he was doing at this moment didn’t matter anymore, he only had one objective in mind.

making you his.

without waiting for you to finish your conversation, he’d interrupt, stating he needed to speak to you.

you’d smile, sensing his urgency, and follow him over to the far side of the courtyard, looking out at the breathtaking view of the faraway valleys and mountains.

as soon as tom was content with your seclusion, he’d cup the back of your head and crash his lips to yours, kissing you with enough fervour to make up for all the days and weeks and months he’d wished he’d have made a proper move.

pulling back, he’d meet your eyes. “i need you to be mine,” he’d whisper, as though the words scared him. “you’ve made me feel things i’ve never known possible, you’ve broken me down without effort. you are the most beautiful, genuine woman i’ve ever met, and i have been falling in love with you for months…i can’t hide it anymore, i need you…”

the words would be music to your ears, the joy unfathomable.

of course, you’d be his.

[omens-for-ophelia]

"There is a love I reminisce, like a seed I've never sown...

...I wonder how it is I miss, these things I've never known."

'The Stranger' -Lang Leav

just another new AU idea I've had that will not leave me be ☠️

Book collector and conservator Aziraphale Fell comes across piles of old diaries and love letters all written by one A.J Crowley over 200 years earlier about a mysterious 'angel' - and it isn't long before he is feeling things that go far beyond just intellectual curiousity. But he can't be in love with someone who died centuries ago, can he?

(If you're interested in what the writing overlayed says, I've popped it below the cut ❤️)

the diary entry over top says (roughly)

"The house is almost complete, my angel. If only you were here to see it, and if only I were brave enough to tell you that it is all for you - all of it, every brick, board and nail is for you. I am hollowed and shattered by this longing. The soft look on your face when our fingers brush haunts me. Your smile when my palm grasps your own is a revelation. Does your pulse quicken in those delicate wrists, in those rare moments I am near? Can it torment you as it torments me? My every thought is turned your way, and with barely a touch you have crowned me a king among lovesick fools."

tagging my sweeties as always @ineffabildaddy @foolishlovers

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Lucien Vanserra could kill me and I would be honored. Cannon typical violence. Some angst. Lots of fun

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Lucien stood in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. Words stuck in his throat.  

You knew as his eyes roamed over your features that he was hunting for some mark of Helion’s that you’d inherited, whether it be the set of your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, or even the tilt of your sharp ears. But he came up empty. Whatever features you did share with Helion could have easily been shared by two strangers. It was how you’d gotten away with working with him at the Day Court and attending balls by his side. 

But there were some things that went deeper than skin and bones. He could barely make it out in the hum of your power and the faint, charming glow in your eyes. It was something that spoke of warmth and sparkling intellect. A sliver of the sun given form. 

You were Helion’s daughter. 

You were… you were his sister.

You cleared your throat and looked away. “I understand this must be a surprise. Perhaps not the kind of surprise you were hoping for.” 

“You’re my sister,” Lucien finally breathed out, and the wind, so harsh and biting before, ceased.

“Half-sister… technically.” 

“I don’t go by halves.” 

The sharp, sudden rush of cold air into your lungs had you shivering. Lucien noticed and without thinking he reached out with his power, wrapping heat around your body until you may as well have been perched in front of a roaring fire. His magic smelled like woodsmoke and balsam.

“You’re my sister.” He repeated the phrase a few more times, finding it more believable with each swirl of the words around his tongue. 

Elain had known this was coming and had given him a cryptic warning, but that did nothing to lessen the excitement spreading in his chest with each passing second. 

You watched him wearily, hands clasped over your body and eyes furrowed, like you couldn’t tell if he was upset. Which was ridiculous. How could Lucien ever be upset by this?

“You’re my sister!” 

A sharp laugh exited his body that grew and grew until you felt like you were floating on the waves of his happiness. He rushed forward, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Wind rushed past your ears as the world blurred. 

He gently deposited you back on solid ground.

“How old are you? How long have you known about Helion? Where have you been all this time?” He asked the questions in rapid succession, heart hammering away in his chest. 

He had a sister. A sister. 

“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”

He smiled. He’d always wanted a younger sibling. A younger sister to be exact that he could teach to fight and hunt and ride with more support than he’d ever been afforded. 

“I’ve known about Helion since I was little.” Lucien’s smile slipped at that revelation. “And I’ve been in the Day Court in one of the athenaeums. It was my home up until the point where Koschei burned down my house and I got saddled with Beth’s book. I’ve been here ever since. Although I never expected for any of this—” You gestured vaguely at the House, the sky, at Lucien, “to happen. Not that I’m upset!” You added quickly. 

“What was it like? Growing up in the Day Court?” He looked you up and down again, searching for scars or broken bones that had never healed right. But from what he could tell, you were whole. 

He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.

“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.” 

“Good.” He breathed out in relief. “Good.” 

Azriel watched everything from the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. The wind carried the tang of salt, opening his lungs and easing the pain in his chest that wrapped around him like a vice. He kept his wings pulled in tight and hands clasped behind his back. He was a slice in the fabric of the universe, unmoving and still. 

And he missed you. Gods did he miss you. 

“We shouldn’t stand so close,” Azriel murmured. 

His voice was ragged, filled with more gravel than the walkway that snaked through Elain’s garden. Weighed down with secrets that felt more like anvils. 

Elain dropped the empty bucket onto the deck followed by the clang of her spade. The shovel lay discarded in the field, the ground marked by neat lines of overturned earth. She cupped her hands and blew into them, breathing life back into her stiff fingers. 

Twenty minutes ago he’d seen you run beneath his window, racing towards the Sidra with your robes hiked up to your knees so you could try and keep up with Lucien’s long strides as he pulled you along by your hand, red hair streaming behind him like a bundle of ribbons. 

You’d been calling out for him to slow down, your voice loud and breathless.

And after everything that had happened, the things he’d seen, he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to the deck to watch you. 

Now you stood at the water’s edge with your hands outstretched, dutifully holding onto every stone that Lucien plucked from the river. Your head tipped to the side in curiosity.

His childhood in Autumn had not been kind, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been happy moments sprinkled in amongst the sorrow. There in the woods with bejeweled treetops and diamond glass rivers he’d learned how to swim and fish and hunt. He’d wrestled with his brothers, fallen in love, and gained the confidence and freedom to eventually travel the Courts and make his own way in the world. 

But you’d been lonely your whole life. Trapped indoors with nothing but your books for company. You’d never learned how to swim. You’d never dug through the soil for slimy worms to go fishing. You’d never fallen asleep beneath a glittering sky, fire smoke curling in the air and the taste of chestnuts lingering on your tongue and filling your belly. 

It had been a different kind of sorrow, but no less real. 

Lucien aimed to change some of that. Your mere presence beside him, as hesitant as it was, filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name. 

He had his trousers rolled up to his thighs revealing powerful legs and freckled, caramel-brown skin. He didn’t mind the cold waters rolling over his hands as he tracked the riverbed for the smoothest, flattest stones. Every time he looked back you were either watching him or examining each stone with narrowed eyes like you’d find some algorithm carved into their edges that would tell you what made them so special for the task at hand. 

Azriel couldn’t hear what you two were saying, and he didn’t send his shadows out to investigate, but soon you were tugging off your boots, then your socks, and tying the long length of your robes around your waist. You gingerly dipped your toes into the river and immediately leapt back. 

Lucien’s laugh rolled over the earth, full of warmth and joy. He was grinning so wide Azriel could see the whites of his teeth and his shaking shoulders.

Inch by inch you walked into the river up to your calves and Lucien dunked his cupped hands into the cold water. 

“Don’t you dare! Lucien!” 

Then you were shaking your head, slapping Lucien’s hands away with a shout when he tossed the water at your face, and threatening to launch the black stones back into the river for him to fetch. Your toes were already starting to go numb.

Azriel’s heart gave a painful lurch, even as he smiled softly at the sight of you. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” Azriel swallowed and turned his gaze down to where a plump sparrow was digging around in the grasses. 

Elain ignored him, dropping her arms onto the wooden railing and staring out. She let out a lovely, longing sigh and Azriel just knew she was strumming the bond within her chest to feel Lucien on the other side. 

The red-haired male looked up to meet her gaze and smiled softly. You also looked up, and then immediately looked away with rosy cheeks.

“Lucien knows where I stand. He… he’s finally beginning to trust me again.” 

He’d been so eager to give her his heart the first time around, and she’d crushed it beneath her dainty shoes, too angry at the life that had been torn away to look at the one she’d been given. This time around she was determined to earn Lucien’s love, no matter how easy he made it for her. No matter how many times he told her it wasn’t something that had ever needed to be earned.

“It took some time to gain that back.” She shifted. “But then again, we were lucky. We knew what we were to each other. You still haven’t told Y/n you’re mates.” 

“You know about that?”

Elain rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious, because it was. 

“I don’t think I can tell her, Elain.” 

“And why not?” 

Azriel hesitated. 

Here was a truth he hadn’t been able to express to his brothers — the truth they didn’t understand: They were good, decent males, and when it had come to their mating bonds they’d treated them with the respect they deserved. They’d been patient. They’d never tried to force a hand that wasn’t theirs. 

But Azriel was… wrong. In so many ways he was wrong. 

He either waited too long or he moved without thinking. He fell into obsession like a starling with clipped wings. He scrounged for scraps of affection where he wasn’t supposed to and brooded when it inevitably blew up in his face. He’d been trying to take his time with you. He’d been trying to do it right. He was… 

He was already in love with you. 

He’d been in love with you for some time now.

Elain smiled, still staring towards the river. 

She had loved Azriel once. Not in the way she loved Lucien and not in a way that had been good for them, but still it had been love of some kind. She could feel the waves rolling off his body as he came to his quiet realization, and it felt very different from the way he’d felt about her and very similar to the way she felt about Lucien. 

“I love her, Elain.” He whispered the words like they were fragile as spun sugar, ready to dissolve the moment they left his lips. 

“She’ll say yes to the bond. I’ve seen it.”

Azriel let out a broken, strangled noise and looked at Elain, begging for more. “Even after—”

“Yes. Even after what that boy made you do. Even after what she learned when she touched your hand.” She looked down at Azriel’s hands, leather gloves worn and supple. She gave them a squeeze. “A year ago I had a vision of a white bird flying out of the sun with a golden ribbon tied to one of its feathers. Its wings were dipped in ink so she could leave a trail along the ground for a beast of shadow to follow.” 

Azriel went still as death. “And then what happened?” 

Elain looked up at him, eyes glittering. “She flew to the base of a mountain, laid down, and has been waiting ever since. She’s been waiting for you. For someone who understands what it means to be lonely and what it’s like to hope for more.” 

And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more. 

More time with you. More unrestrained touches. More midnight conversations until your eyes were threatening to shut. 

Something changed then. Elain’s brown, doe eyes turned misty and flat. Her voice dropped and the hand she reached out to grab hold of his arm was cold as ice. 

“You need to be careful, Az,” she warned. “Don’t let her go into the mirror. She may not come out.” She clawed at his arms. “Az, you need to be careful. The mirror…” 

He gripped her shoulders, stabilizing her as she swayed on her feet. 

“Elain, what—” But her vision was already gone. No matter how hard she tried to hold on it was like trying to keep water in a cracked cup. 

Lucien kept his arm perfectly parallel with the earth, drew back, and snapped his wrist at the last second. The stone flew out over the glassy river and kept kissing the surface in weakening arches before it was eventually swallowed up in a dollop of salt. 

“Eight.” 

Lucien looked at you incredulously. “I counted nine.” 

“Eight skips,” you argued. “Males always overestimate.” 

“And what experience do you have with males?”

None. Except for that one glorious day you’d clung to Azriel like the world was finally peaceful. It was nowhere near the level of experience you suspected Lucien must have after centuries spent bouncing around from Court to Court. Nowhere near the level of experience Azriel or the others had when it came to touch. 

You bristled. “Enough.” 

Lucien smirked like he knew you were lying and held out his hand for another stone. Soon it too was lost to the river. 

“How many this time?” 

You twisted your lips to the side, but had to admit, “Nine.”

He was grinning. 

“Come on.” He held out his hand for you, beckoning you deeper into the river. “Your turn. Just like I showed you.”

“This is a terrible idea.” 

“Come on!”

“I will kill a fish, Lucien.” 

There was a playful roll of his eyes. “Y/n—”

“I’ll end up throwing a rock so hard into the water I’ll give an innocent, unsuspecting fish brain damage.” So what if you were being melodramatic. That did nothing to counter the fact that your hand-eye coordination was shit. 

“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.” 

Wrong.

You were gods awful at this. 

You tried your best to mimic the bend of Lucien’s spine as he let go of his stone, tried to mimic the way he curled his fingers against its rounded edges. But every single one of your throws was either too strong or too weak. Too high or too low. 

You chucked the last rock in your hand but the spin on it — or rather lack thereof — was abysmal. It plopped into the river three yards away with a splash. 

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as you stomped back onto the beach, swearing with every step as your robes dragged through the water behind you. 

You whirled around and kicked up river water in his direction. 

“Stop laughing!” A smile tugged at your lips even as you said that. 

“You’re doing very well!” 

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not!”

 “I didn’t grow up in the backwoods of Autumn. I’ve never done this before,” you grumbled, your words tinged with embarrassment. 

And thank the Mother you hadn’t. Yes, Lucien had always wanted a sister, but he flinched just to think of the horrors you would have faced if you’d both shared a mother instead of a father. The ways Beron would have bent you until you broke, especially as a female. Sold to the highest bidder and forced to have as many children as possible. A high-end, noble-blooded breeder.

Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. The smile slipped off his bright face. 

You stiffened. Some of the scars on Lucien’s body took on new meaning. 

“I’m sorry, Lucien,” you said. The fun of the afternoon, as embarrassing as it had been for you, fell away. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

You’d only heard whispers of the way Beron treated his children. Which could only mean that they’d endured infinitely worse. 

Lucien shook his head and more of his scarlet hair came tumbling out of his braid. He looked so much like Helion in the sun that you were surprised more people didn’t know. They had the same strong noses, the same build with their tapered waists and strong legs. They even had the same dimple on their left cheeks. 

But maybe Beron and his brothers had known, or at least suspected that he was different, and that had added to Lucien’s torment.

“Maybe one day you could show me though,” you asked hopefully when the silence was on the verge of becoming too loud, “I’ve never been to Autumn — I’ve not been to most places, actually — but I’d like to see it. I could show you the Day Court too.” 

He shook his head slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be a good idea — visiting the Day Court.” 

That was the issue you’d been tiptoeing around the last two hours. You both knew about Helion, but he was only aware of your existence, not Lucien’s. And it was one thing for you to be revealed as Helion’s daughter — there’d be gossip, attempts on your life, and countless marriage proposals. 

But for Lucien? He’d suddenly find himself face to face with the weight of a crown and an entire Court on his shoulders. You wouldn’t blame him for trying to avoid that fate.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Lucien… Why haven’t you told Helion yet? Beron’s been dead for years now, and I’ve heard only good things about Eris. That he’s honest and fair. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d punish you if you claimed your right to Helion’s Court.”

His bright eyes turned bitter, all laughter disappearing. He dipped his hand into the river, picked up a rock, and chucked it back in. Its edges were too ragged anyway. 

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?” 

You straightened up as if the answer were obvious. “Trust me, he doesn’t know. If he knew you were his son, he would have found ways to see you grow up. We might have even grown up together.”

 It was a pathetic daydream, but one you’d been thinking about. 

“You’re wrong!” 

The outburst was so sudden, so unlike the Lucien everyone else spoke of that you had to take a few steps back. Smoke rose from his clenched fists and his skin pulsed, glowing with an inner light like he was more ember than fae. 

He blinked rapidly then swore, brushing his salt-stiffened hair back. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have come. He didn’t come. He just left me and my mother there with that monster. He must have known what it was like — the things he did to her and the rest of us — but he never showed up. Not for my mother. Not for me.” 

“He didn’t know.” 

You repeated those words with the same conviction you had for everything else you knew to be true. You stepped closer and with the slope of the beach you could face him eye-to-eye. 

“Do you want to know how I know? My mother wanted nothing to do with him when she found out she was pregnant. He had to hear it from one of the healers.  And when I was born she forbade him from visiting, forbade him from even laying eyes on me, but he couldn’t stay away. He found ways to be in my life and protected me as best he could, and when Mom died and I was left on my own, he gave me projects with purpose so I wouldn’t crumble into nothing.” You stabbed your finger against your chest. “He did that for me. Is he a great father? Absolutely not. Is he a decent father? Maybe? Probably not, he wasn’t there most of the time. But he’s trying. I know it’s not the same and we’re still strangers and I understand if you don’t forgive him for abandoning your mother — I wouldn’t — but he would have gone for you.” 

You were breathing hard now. Lucien just stared with shiny eyes and unclenched fists. 

“And I think after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to know what it’s like to have a father who at least tries.” 

The world was too small right now. It was too big. The Sidra had soaked through your skin and your robes were growing heavier and heavier by the second, weighed down by salt water and time. 

“Would you at least consider telling him? Please?” 

Because another pathetic daydream you’d been thinking of recently was that one day it might be you and Helion and Lucien. An imperfect family, but a family nevertheless. That you might not feel so alone anymore. 

Lucien’s throat bobbed and he turned away from you long enough for the crisp wind to dry his tears. 

“Take off your robes. They must be soaked by now. I’ll make sure you don’t go cold.'” His voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “And I’ll look for more stones. No sister of mine is going to go through life without learning how to skip stones.” 

He threw that word around so casually — sister — like saying it over and over again would somehow make the hundreds of years you’d both spent on your own disappear. 

Clouds gathered steadily overhead painting the world with a wash of grey. But that did nothing to diminish the faint light that emanated from you and Lucien as you waded through the shallows and finally learned to skip stones. Lucien whooped, red hair streaming behind him, and you smiled as your last stone skipped twice over the river before disappearing beneath the surface. 

You leaned back in the tall, dying grasses and sipped on the cardamom tea Elain brought down from the House, listening to the many stories Lucien had gathered over centuries spent traversing Prythian and the Human Lands. You told him about The Alcove, Cherp, your mother, and the books you read, and he listened like it was the most epic tale he’d heard in his entire life. 

Sometimes you both went quiet. It was sobering to think about what you’d both endured alone without your true family. But still… it was good to have one another now. 

When you walked into the packed dining room — barefoot, salt-stained, and rosy from the cold — Lucien pulled out the seat next to him for you, surprising the grey Ione.

Elain dropped gracefully into the chair across from her mate, a knowing smile on her face. 

“Good day?” 

You and Lucien glanced at one another. His golden eye whirred and his russet eye gleamed mischievously. 

You folded your arms over your chest, forcing down the smile that threatened to make its appearance. “The worst.” 

“You’re just upset because you lost,” Lucien teased, casually draping his arm over your shoulder. 

“It was hardly a fair competition. You must have — what? — five-hundred years of experience against me?”

He clasped a hand over his chest. “You wound me, sister. Although, if you must know, I’m four hundred and seventeen.” 

“I’m surprised you’re not a sack of bones on the floor.” 

“I’m not that old.”

“I think I see a few grey hairs here and there.” 

Lucien scoffed, but everyone noticed when he absentmindedly touched his long red locks as the last of the dinner plates materialized on the table. Feyre reached over from beside Lucien and squeezed his hand tightly under the table. 

It wasn’t the drop of Helion’s magic that caused The High Lady’s eyes to glow so brightly. She was just happy. Lucien squeezed her hand back even tighter. 

Azriel was the last to arrive, appearing in the hallway in a swath of shadows like he was stepping out of one of your dreams. He must have flown home today. Mist gathered into droplets that clung to his skin and hair and eyelashes like a thousand diamonds. Not even the faint shadows beneath his eyes could distract from his beauty, and you felt that familiar wash of comfort flow over your body when you caught his scent. 

There was only one available seat left at the table. The one directly across from you and Lucien… and right next to Elain. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The seating arrangement was truly a horrible coincidence. One that no one seemed to recognize until it was too late and Azriel’s chair was screeching over the wooden floor. Both he and Elain shifted in their seats, quietly pulling them further apart. It should have made you feel better that Azriel was trying so hard to distance himself from Elain, but the only thing it emphasized was that they’d used to be so close. 

Cassian looked over nervously at his brother, but Azriel was as impassive as always. The room fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the clinking of silverware. If the House was a person, they would be sweating buckets. 

Cassian coughed and sipped his wine. “So… lovely weather we’re having.” 

Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, followed by rain that began plummeting to the earth in heavy sheets. 

Rhysand leaned over and smacked his brother on the back of his head and Cassian couldn’t even feign annoyance at that. 

“You never fail to have incredible timing, Cassian.” Lucien drank his wine deeply and some of the tension seemed to lift from the table when everyone noticed how happy he still was. The terrible things in the world had not lessened, but Lucien felt lighter than he had in decades.

In proper Helion fashion, he kept the pleasant conversation spinning over the table, ensnaring you with the stories he tossed back and forth with Feyre. 

“How was I supposed to know you’d be crazy enough to try and capture a Suriel?”

“What? Like it was meant to be difficult?”

Lucien smirked and crossed his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What were the second and third times then?” 

“The Suriel being a terrible busybody who was bored and wanted to spill gossip.” 

Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return. 

Azriel did what he always did and sat still and quiet as a mouse, eyes tracing over the flow of conversation like he knew who would speak before they’d even opened their mouths. But his eyes kept lingering on you, a smile tugging at his lips whenever one grew on yours. 

Lucien noticed it the third time it happened. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Until he found himself watching the Shadowsinger almost as intensely as Azriel was watching you. 

His grip tightened around his silverware. 

“I am not nearly as uptight as Gwyn says I am,” you muttered, pushing around the potatoes on your plate. 

You’d sunk into your seat when, to your embarrassment, the conversation had steered in your direction. Azriel had been the one to do it, casually dropping a comment about how much time you spent in Cagniv Library and the ways in which you’d already influenced the priestesses who operated there. It was the first thing he’d said all day. 

“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”

“That’s a lie, Nesta, and you know it.” 

Nesta did know it, but you’d been so quiet the past few weeks. She wanted to poke fun if only to make you smile. 

“Fine, that was an exaggeration. But you interrogated Farrah like she was a war criminal. Azriel would have been impressed.” 

“She’s the only expert on Cyerion Age Bauldish folklore and she was missing half the citations for her thesis! It took me ages to track down some of her sources.”

“She can’t cite a book that’s over 2,000 years old with no identifiable author. Or title. Or publishing date.” 

You grumbled under your breath. Something about, “Your library gives me anxiety” and “You’re making me look bad in front of Lucien.”

“Hmmm? Sorry?” Lucien tore his eyes away from where one of Azriel’s shadows had slid under the table and was now wrapping around the leg of your chair in an effort to gain your attention.  

You shook your head. “Nesta’s just trying to make me look bad.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Azriel said softly, so softly he probably hadn’t even meant to say the words aloud. He looked up from his plate, shocked to hear his own voice continue on. “Maybe after this is all done, you could take on the task of reorganizing Cagniv. I’m sure you’d be saving the next Librarian more than a few headaches.”  

Your wide eyes met his across the table and for a brief moment it was like you two were alone and teasing each other over tea in the middle of the night like you used to. Two shadows illuminated by candlelight in a Court that never slept.

You sat up a little straighter. “Is that a challenge?” 

Azriel smiled faintly, “Maybe. Although I’m sure Bryaxis would give you a run for your money.”

You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?” 

Rhys smirked, “He’s the resident shadow demon that lives on the bottom floor of Cagniv. He flew down once on a dare and he high-tailed it out of the abyss white as a sheet. He still doesn’t talk about it.”

“Fuck you for bringing that up, Rhys.” Cassian’s hand trembled as he brought his fork up to his lips, “You’ll never let me live that down will you?” 

“You… you have a shadow demon living in your library?” Your face twisted in horror and you slammed your knife down on the table, “Is that why a third of the catalogue is missing from the shelves? I’ve been searching for ages!”

And there it was — that faint twitch of irritation in your eyes that told Azriel you were already contemplating going down to confront Bryaxis yourself. He could imagine how you’d stand there with a hand tucked into your robes, swinging a lantern from the other as you bullied the monster into letting you move the volumes someplace else. How you’d lecture him on the importance of controlling humidity when it comes to parchment preservation, and perhaps how you’d begrudgingly agree that the creature’s darkness had protected the fragile books from light exposure. 

“I knew that’s what you’d focus on,” Azriel said. His voice was deeper than an ocean, and just as full of hidden meaning. He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile gracing his lips. “You just learned you spent months studying with a monster lurking nearby — a monster that has Cassian trembling in the corner—”

“I am not trembling—”

“And you’re not afraid at all. You’re… you’re incredible, Y/n.” 

You pursed your lips, tamping down the delight that threatened to spill over inside of you like champagne bubbles — light and airy and lovestruck. With only a handful of sentences, Azriel had you wishing that everyone else would just leave. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as Azriel kept looking at you. It was a quiet, intimate undressing without an inch of skin needing to be revealed. 

A tendril of shadow creeped up your arm and tugged your hair. The rest hovered shyly over a bag you recognized as Azriel’s, as if they knew they’d done wrong by ferrying it over from their master’s bedroom. But the timing was so perfect, how could they not? 

With you watching, they tugged open the strings and spilled the contents on the floor. 

To Lucien’s surprise, Azriel’s notorious stone-face went flush with color when he heard the thud of books and realized what his shadows had done. 

“Wait—Y/n—” His chair groaned in protest when he shot to his feet.

But you were already holding them in your hands. 

The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. Your favorite books in the entire world. Two copies each. One brand new, and one whose pages were already flared, leather spines lovingly wrinkled. 

Your breath caught in your throat when you flipped through Three Knocks for a Kiss and saw Azriel’s delicate scrawl on every page. Passages had been circled and underlined with his comments left in the margins. Small tabs of paper poked out with more handwritten notes. 

Azriel’s been reading these over and over again for months now. He bought them a week after you came to Velaris because he remembered you liked books that are well loved and full of memory. The nights he couldn’t sleep and dream of you, he’d perch on his windowsill and read until morning came. You’ve given him a peace he’s never known before. 

A kind of peace you thought you’d been alone in feeling. 

The scent of night-chilled mountains and parchment paper filled your nose. 

Azriel bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes focused on your hands now clutching the books like they were gold. 

“I remembered seeing them in your apartment. I was going to give them to you at some point but…” Azriel trailed off, then whispered. “I remember what you told me about your mother reading them to you.” I remember everything you’ve told me. 

“I can keep them?” Your voice was a hush over the room. 

You cradled them protectively against your chest, as if at any moment they’d be torn away from you. You’d been hesitant to buy new copies after the original ones had been burned down in the Alcove. Part of their charm had always been the memories of your mother reading them aloud like they were flowers growing from her lips instead of words, buzzing and honey-laden. The books felt different now, but they still felt like something. They weren’t sterile and blank. They were filled with Azriel and all the good memories he carried with him. Few and far between as they were. 

“They’re yours,” Azriel breathed, “All yours.”  

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer.

No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation. 

Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him.

They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper. 

Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta. 

“Here we go again,” Nesta groaned and looked at Cassian. You want to get her?

Yeah I got her.

You straightened up, pressing the books to your chest in confusion. What had started off as a graciously uneventful dinner had turned into a moment of beauty that you wanted to preserve for a little while longer.  

But everyone around you parted, leaning back in their chairs and pulling glasses of wine off the table before draining them in one long chug. Even Ione held her plate in her hands, popping a tomato in her mouth with interest. Mor looked nervous clutching a sweaty bottle of wine against her chest. Feyre and Rhys looked resigned and Lucien… Lucien looked livid. After all, he owed Azriel for the Blood Duel.

Cassian hoisted you out of your seat with his arms wrapped firmly around your middle and stepped back and out of the way.

Your eyes widened when Lucien stood up, skin rippling with light and power. He calmly rolled back his sleeves revealing muscular, scarred forearms, then took off his rings one by one and dropped them on the table. 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

He wanted to feel it when he beat the Shadowsinger to a pulp.

Oh… Oh shit. 

“Wait—Lucien!”

Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table. 

Azriel didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes didn’t even flicker in surprise. In fact, you swore you saw them flutter closed in acceptance. 

In another fight, Azriel might have had the advantage of wings and height, but Lucien had the wider build and the fucking motive. He slammed into the Shadowsinger’s chest and together they disappeared beneath the lip of the table before landing in a sprawl on the floor that knocked the air out of Azriel’s lungs. 

Cassian winced when he heard the first of Lucien’s blows land. 

“Let me go!” You kicked and squirmed in his grip, but you would have had more luck fighting a mountain. “Cassian, what the fuck?!”

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. But even I have to admit he had this coming.” There was another bloody crack. “Oh damn that sounds like it hurt.”

“Honestly, I didn't know he had it in him,” was Nesta’s only comment. Ione moved to stand beside the eldest Archeron sister so she could get a better view, a faintly amused smile on her face. 

“I did,” Elain said simply. That was one of the many things she and Lucien had in common. Their general patience and understanding could only stretch so far before snapping. “Ione, perhaps you should go upstairs.”

The older woman looked offended. “Why? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Such drama.”

When Helion had fought Azriel, there’d been an elegance to it — something altogether noble about the event as the two stared each other down as equals. 

This was nothing like that. 

Lucien was pissed and even Azriel had to admit that he really, really deserved this one. 

Lucien’s chest heaved, every blow of his fists against Azriel’s face punctuated by snarling words. 

“First you go after my mate—” Punch. “Then my sister—” Punch. Punch. “Are you—” Punch. “Fucking—” Punch. “Kidding me?!”

The last blow sent Azriel’s head snapping back hard enough to crack the floor tiles. Blood splattered from his nose like a spray of paint lobed at a canvas and Azriel knew from his sudden inability to breath that it was broken. 

“Lucien! Stop it!”

“We just redid the tiles,” Rhysand groaned, rubbing his temples. 

Lucien growled and grabbed Azriel by the front of his leathers, throwing him over and onto the table. The long mahogany table, shiny and expensive as hell, snapped in two with a deafening bang. Silverware flew into the air, catching the light like holiday tinsel. Porcelain plates shattered and Azriel finally groaned in pain from the harsh twisting of his wings. The fearsome Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court could only lay there as green peas rolled down on top of him, gravy sinking into his hair. 

“Not the table too,” Rhys whined. He’d had it specially commissioned for the River House. 

Lucien dragged Azriel off the glorified heap of wood chips before tossing him back onto the floor, fist raised in the air. 

“Alright! That’s enough,” Feyre said with a loud clap of her hands. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. I don’t want anyone breaking my house. Again.” 

The River House sighed in relief. 

Lucien paused just long enough for Rhysand to haul the redhead off his brother with little regard for anyone’s pride. 

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shoving Rhys away. “I can’t fucking believe this.” 

When Cassian finally let you down, you rushed over to Azriel’s side, swiping the handkerchief Rhys held out for you as you passed. 

Azriel sat on the floor, face impassive despite the brutal angle of his nose and the blood sprayed over his face and neck. You cradled his face, gently nudging it this way and that as you surveyed the damage. 

“Oh Azriel,” you breathed. 

Bruises bloomed over his cheekbones, muddy as paint water. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his split lips bled anew when he gave you a tentative smile. 

“Hi,” he murmured reverently, leaning against the palm you cupped beneath his jaw.

Lucien gagged. “Can someone rip my eye out again? Both this time, please?”

“Damnit, Lucien!” You held the handkerchief up to Azriel’s nose, trying to stem the flow of blood before it could continue dripping from his chin. “Don’t be an asshole.” 

“Really, Y/n?! You’re defending him?!”

Azriel wrapped one arm protectively around your waist, eyes narrowed in a glare. With the blood coating his face he looked positively murderous. Like he’d done the beating and not Lucien. 

“Don’t yell at her,” he growled, his voice dangerously low. 

“For fuck’s sake.” 

It had been a momentary outburst — a rare occurrence with Lucien that held no anger towards you. But you still felt the flare of Azriel’s power as shadows wrapped around you in a layer so thick you couldn’t see past your waist. 

“Azriel—” You didn’t want another fight. “It's ok.” 

“No. It’s not.” 

Lucien was a mixed bag of emotions and he felt a dozen of them go off at the same time like fireworks. There was rage at the male who had the audacity to lay a hand on you, who’d hurt you if the rumours in Velaris were true. A bitter desire for revenge that still lay heavy on his hands after the utter hell he’d gone through watching Azriel and Elain for years. Protectiveness over you — his sister. And a tiny sliver of shame that grew every time you prodded the Shadowsinger’s bent nose and winced. 

“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook. 

“Do I know what, Lucien?” 

He swore and looked at everyone in turn. The members of the Inner Circle were trying their damned hardest not to meet his eyes, nervously angling their gaze towards the ground or out the windows like the evening fog was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.

Fucking hell. You didn’t know.

Lucien reached down over your shoulder, grabbed Azriel’s nose and shoved it back into place with a loud pop. 

You cringed at the sound, but Azriel didn’t react. He was well acquainted with pain and knew how to hide it. 

He breathed through his reset nose, touching the swore flesh gingerly. “Thank you.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Lucien!” 

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. Elain chose that moment to quietly slide her hand into his from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder so he was surrounded by the smell of wildflowers. She tapped the center of his chest, right where he’d told her he felt anchored by the bond, and then looked pointedly to where you kneeled on the ground in between Azriel’s legs. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked lost to the world. Centuries spent relegated to the shadows as a Spymaster had wiped away his feelings, at least outwardly. But everyone could plainly see the way he kept his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your warm skin and the settling of his breathing the longer you held onto his jaw with careful fingers. 

Of all the people. It had to be him. 

“The Mother works in mysterious ways,” Elain whispered so only her mate could hear.

“Unfortunately for me.” 

Lucien took in a ragged breath and clenched his fists, waiting for the worst of his anger to fade away before he collected the books back into the discarded bag and held it out for you. 

A peace offering. 

You pulled Azriel back onto his feet, keeping one hand firmly clasped in his, and glared at your brother. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it. 

Your lips flattened. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Azriel?”

His mismatched eyes flared with irritation when they flickered to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel stood quietly at your side, his face a motley of red, purple, and blue. Still handsome though, much to Lucien’s annoyance. 

“I’m not going to apologize for that. He deserved it. I’m just sorry you had to witness it.” Lucien hesitated, then said, “Y/n, I’m not usually like this. I don’t want you to think poorly of me just because of… him.” It was taking everything within him not to use more colorful language to describe the Shadowsinger. “It won’t happen again… unless you ask me to… which I hope you do.” 

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know what anger looked like painted on your features, or sadness, and he didn’t want to. So, it was a pleasant surprise when you only rolled your eyes and muttered, “First Helion and now you. Fucking males,” before slinging the bag over your shoulder and tugging Azriel towards your room. 

The Shadowsinger trailed after you without a second thought, heart hammering away in his chest. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

Y'all I had so much fucking fun writing the Lucien/Azriel fight scene. And to think that for a hot second I considered not writing it because I was worried it would be too repetitive to have Azriel get his ass beaten by both Helion and Lucien. Azriel, you poor, poor man, I'm sorry to have put you through all this. But also I'm not sorry at all.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, please feel free to send me your thoughts!

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 4 - the last train home

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: you are kidnapped by grindelwald and theseus is stranded alone, unaware, at a train station--he's left to believe that you do not love him and you are left in enemy custody with no one coming to save you. the world always had a way of finding out what you loved and taking it from you. but you always found a way to hold onto hope until your hands were bloody, and you always hoped you'd still make the last train home...

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: hurt-comfort. romance.

warnings: none

part one / part two / part three / part four

author's note: yeah i wrote another long chapter again sorryyyyy! also there are no sexy times in this one haha.. this is actually the last part of this fic! taking requests for other theseus fics after. hope you enjoy :)

November, King's Cross Station

"Don't come. Don't come," Theseus thinks. "Be safe and happy and do not come."

And then, with a selfish tug of panic, he relinquishes the hideous truth of his desire:

"Come. Please come."

Theseus is standing at Platform 9 3/4, craning his neck over the crowds of wizards in their mismatched regalia, some in whimsical velvet robes and long caps and others in London business suits. The existence of the magical world alongside this one always did seem to him an impractical, impossible thing. Clunky and disjointed parts clacking together.

Until, until...

You. Muggle girl, born and bred, but you were the best wizard he'd ever met. The whole world seemed to make sense, suddenly, with your introduction into his life, these two worlds, magical and unmagical, were contained within your very existence, perfectly.

For the first time in his life, the thought of you brings him pain.

"She'll come," he thinks again. Banish the pain. Banish all that isn't useful or good.

The train whistle blows, his wristwatch reads 7:14. There's hardly anyone on the platform anymore.

He knew, knew that you wanted him too. Loved him. He saw it in your beautiful, hopeful face every time he reached out and touched you, you were so willing to fall into his touch, to surrender yourself. Sweet angel in his bed, in his arms.

"Last call!" A train attendant leans out from the car up ahead to shout it. Misery snakes around his heart. It's an icy and menacing revelation, that you might not choose to be with him.

He has never asked much of you, was always afraid to as your boss and your friend. But in these last days he's realized he's underestimated you, critically. He was so afraid of scaring you off he hadn't recognized that you don't scare easy.

He glances at the train attendant's cinched expression and then around the platform again, with blind urgency, eyes darting to every face, hardly seeing the strangers at all.

"I didn't push her too far this time. She'll come. She'll come."

"Last call!" The train attendant calls again, irritably. She's doing him a favor by waiting at all.

When Theseus steps up into the train car he politely apologizes to her. He even smiles charitably. She returns it with a blush, but rolls her eyes, taking his ticket.

He settles down and pulls out his book to read. Orders a coffee. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Theseus has always been a sensible man, a capable one. He'll tell Newt you didn't want him. He'll put his energy and efforts into the resistance against Grindelwald. He looks fine, and maybe one day he will be.

He knows, logically, that you will be too. But he cannot deny that part of him was left on that platform tonight, and he cannot deny that it might remain there for good.

----

January 

The woman lingers in the shop, her gaze flitting from shelf to shelf without much intention.

Theseus knows that he's ceased to be a novelty. Small as Hogsmeade was, he's been living there for a little over two months. The village's residents no longer looked to him or Newt, or Newt's "friends," with any curiosity or suspicion. If the woman is loitering around, it's because she wants to speak to him.

"Mrs. Beaumont," he inquires, trying to be as patient as he can, wiping his hands off on a rag before placing them flat on the counter. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh!" She seems relieved he's broached conversation, walking eagerly to the front counter that he's behind. "Mr. Scamander, I just wanted to say how very happy we are to have you and your brother here. Apart from the students, it always gives me hope, seeing young people and newcomers moving here."

He nods warmly, offers a closed-lip smile, but says nothing. He knows Mrs. Beaumont is one for long, chatty, pointless conversation. If he struck one up he'd never hear the end of it.

Theseus wants to close up for the evening. He wants to return to his living quarters at the inn. The potion shop was supposed to have closed ten minutes ago.

From Head Auror to humble assistant shopkeeper. If he thinks about that disparity too much he starts to go insane. Veritably insane. But he tries to rid himself of useless pride, something he'd been so occupied with before. Tries to remember what he's doing here, what's at stake. The position at the potion shop was just a cover. The evenings and long nights--that's when he, Dumbledore, and Newt did their real work.

Mrs. Beaumont shuffles out of the shop, made shy by her confession.

It's unseasonably warm for mid-January, the snow patchy, in wet-looking, thin sheets of ice spread over yellowing grass. Most days the sky is mercifully blue, bright and pale. But the sun still sets early, and it's a purple evening by the time Theseus locks up.

"Dammit," he curses softly. The key gets jammed in the lock sometimes. He's sure there's some way this could be made more efficient through magic.

The potion shop where he works is at the very edge of the village. The back window overlooks a white, roaring river that crumbles rockily down the hillside towards the Black Lake. Theseus starts his walk back towards the inn, back into town, unseeingly.

He knows the way so well by now that sometimes he just winds up in his room, with no memory of the walk at all.

Theseus looks forward to meeting up with his younger brother tonight.

Their relationship has improved, considerably, within the last two months. At nights when they have no other work to do and no Grindelwald-related assignments from Dumbledore, Theseus helps Newt on his book about magical beasts. Newt's notes were these soul-crushingly disorganized collections of writings and sketches, his findings all haphazardly piled together in a barely-bound journal. Theseus had been helping him turn his work into a more readable format, maybe something that could one day be published. Theseus had forgotten how much he enjoyed working with magical creatures in school, had forgotten that he was quite good at it too.

A loose paper currently adhering itself to his boot breaks him out of his reverie. It crunches when he tries to walk. He stops to kick it off, unsuccessfully. It looks quite old, half-torn and filthily brown, and a bit frozen as well. He leans down to pick it from his shoe with a grimace, lifting it up in curiosity.

WANTED.

The image of your face on the paper is enough to make him stop walking completely, stop breathing. At first he thinks he's hallucinating, he'd always known you'd come back to haunt him.

He's in an alleyway, one he doesn't take often, he doesn't know what compelled him to take this route today. He looks up in horror at the grey brick walls. They're plastered with the same, tattered poster of you, the one calling for your arrest, who knows how long they've been up.

WANTED: Have You Seen This Witch? Y/N Y/L/N.

Contact the Ministry of Magic immediately if you have any information concerning her whereabouts.

The posted reward money makes his stomach turn. But the sight of your face, that does something far worse to him.

The photo they used of you is from your first day at the Ministry. A cropped and zoomed-in image of you smiling, with eye-welling pride, in front of the huge wooden door to the Auror Office. In the image you move after smiling for the picture, you look around with an anxious, unsure sort of happiness. He draws his thumb over the dirty paper, the picture of your face.

This isn't possible. This can't be real.

He runs to the inn. His lungs are burning from the cold, dry air, but he doesn't stop. He pushes through the doors and Aberforth stands up from one of the tables by the bar, startled.

"What do you think you're-"

Theseus ignores him, breaking into the back room and falling to his knees before the fireplace. Wand shaking in his hand, he places a Floo Call to Thatcher Birchen. He's an Auror. More importantly, he was Theseus's friend from his Hufflepuff days. He wouldn't betray Theseus, not willingly.

When Thatcher's face materializes in the coals of the fireplace it looks unhappy to see him.

"Theseus, you shouldn't be calling me here. You didn't leave us on the best terms-"

"I know, I'm sorry. I wouldn't reach out if it wasn't an emergency."

"I'm not keen to talk to you regardless," Thatcher snaps. But he doesn't end the Floo Call.

Theseus realizes with a pang that Thatcher is scared. But Theseus doesn't understand why. He's diligently avoided all news press and talk about the Ministry these last two months, hoping to avoid you. No Ministry talk, no new editions of The Daily Prophet, just work with his hands. Moving a rag over the wooden counters at the potion shop, running the numbers and taking up accounting. Restocking boxes of ingredients.

This seems to him, now, to have been a great and careless mistake.

He thought you'd be running the Auror Office now, taking names, that Newt could reach out to you at a crucial, appropriate time.

"Did..." He has to ready himself to say your name aloud. "Thatcher, did something happen to Y/N? I saw a flyer today that said she's missing, that she is wanted under suspicion of espionage. Did something happen while she was working as an Auror?"

Theseus doesn't want to reveal too much. He's worried bringing you to the gala in Berlin and the Mausoleum in France that weekend in November might have already incriminated you.

"Theseus," Thatcher explains in a hushed tone. "Y/N Y/L/N never filled the post at all. I-I heard something about a potential offer the day you quit, but she disappeared that very night."

Theseus can hardly hear the rest of what Thatcher is saying, his whole body has gone numb.

"No one saw her in the weeks after her disappearance. It was assumed she'd taken up with Grindelwald. It had already been proven that she'd stolen some important documents from the Ministry Archives-"

"How?" Theseus's voice breaks on the word, miserably.

Thatcher sighs sympathetically.

"They found her wand and analyzed it. Found a spell that made copies of documents associated with the Ministry Archives. Hence the assumption, hence the wanted posters they put up a while ago..."

Theseus knows this could never be true. You and Grindelwald.

"What do you mean by 'found her wand''?" He asks with sudden, horrific clarity. You've been missing this whole time. Without a wand.

"That same night you resigned. They found it in front of Kings Cross Station."

The air is sapped from the room, Theseus unthinkingly flings some fresh coals onto the Floo Call with a limp palm, it collapses the shape of Thatcher's face and the call crumbles into nothing. He didn't say goodbye, he has to get some air.

He's so taken aback, reeling with nausea, that he has to brace himself against the wall with both hands. He keels over and dry heaves for a few seconds.

Two months you'd been missing.

And they'd found your wand at the station. You'd been coming, coming for him. This whole time he'd thought...

Newt bursts into the room, Aberforth is standing behind him looking uncertain, alert.

"Theseus! Aberforth told me--But... What's going on?!"

Theseus stands and closes the door so it's just the two of them. He's wearing the apathetic, half-conscious expression of a sleepwalker.

Newt takes a seat in the wooden chair.

"Newt... Grindelwald has her. He's had her this whole time. Since the day I quit the Ministry."

"I..." Newt's reaction doesn't satisfy Theseus. He looks troubled, but only vaguely.

"Newt," Theseus starts again with newfound frustration, passion. "While we were laying low, writing your book, restocking shelves, while we were brought up to the castle at Christmastime, Y/N has been in his custody! Tortured, starving, alone, I don't know. When I think about it, it kills me. I can't handle it-"

"We don't know if she's even alive, Theseus," Newt says this rationally, albeit unhappily. "Grindelwald doesn't keep prisoners unless they are valuable, important. She might be dead. When I heard she wasn't promoted to an Auror in November-"

"November?"

Cold rushes into Theseus's veins. There is no silence as deadly as the one that follows. He can feel his blood crystallize and crack, it’s too bodily a sensation to even call it shock. It’s betrayal. 

“You knew?” 

All those months collapse into nothing, they mean nothing to him.

For so long Newt kept his distance, felt misunderstood by Theseus and their mother for the path he chose in life. And yes, perhaps Theseus did misunderstand, did judge him for it, never took his career or his interest in magical beasts seriously. Maybe he was berating at times, suffocating with his good, brotherly intentions, and they’d drifted apart as adults. 

But these last eight weeks in Hogsmeade they’d mended that, delicately, bruisingly, as one mends small bones, with small intrusions and concessions. Quiet conversations, sessions where Theseus helped him turn his work into something resembling a book, living together for the first time since they were children. 

But that means nothing to Theseus now, nothing. 

Newt doesn’t meet his eyes, the shame too heavy to lift his head. He’s sitting, hunched over in his chair like it is mounted to the floor.

“No,” Newt breathes out. “No, Theseus. I knew she never became Head Auror. I knew it went to… to someone else, but I didn’t know she was missing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice is torn-sounding. More hurt than enraged. "You didn’t even suspect—you didn’t reach out once?! I don’t believe you.”

“I swear it to you—“

“You should’ve told me.”

“You told me she didn’t love you!” Newt looks up at last, eyes wild with the panic of a cornered animal. “That she didn’t choose you! I-I don’t know what we could’ve done for her even if we did know…” 

That there is a new wound, it blackens Theseus’s heart to hear it.

“I know Dumbledore knows where Grindelwald is. Christ, it was Y/N who stole those documents from the Ministry archives, those maps! We can go to her."

Newt just keeps shaking his head at the floor. It makes Theseus want to go up to him and shake him.

"If it were me, Newt, you would’ve come for me….”

“That’s different. We don’t do these sort of rescue missions, they’re too dangerous. Grindelwald, he—he’s untouchable.” 

“You make me ashamed. You have always, always been braver than me. I didn’t realize it before, when we were kids, but you have. You were never a coward, Newt. Don’t let this fight change you.”

“Theseus, if we try to rescue her we will lose everything. I cannot risk this, cannot risk them.”

No one else is in the room but Theseus knows who he means. Jacob. Tina. And the other ragtag insurgents who have found their way into Newt’s crew over the last two months, who have decided to set aside their lives to fight.

Newt is staring at him pleadingly. Theseus feels he doesn’t recognize him anymore, feels as if he is standing in the room all alone. The space between them stretches and stretches until Theseus speaks again.

“No,” Theseus’s throat is dry, his voice subdued. He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t ask you to… I’ll go alone.”

“Theseus, please don’t—“

He turns and leaves, cutting the conversation short.

This has never been negotiable. He let you slip away from him once, asked you to, encouraged you to in his last letter.

He would not let you be lost again.

——— 

You almost miss being tortured. Well, no, that isn't true.

But anything seems preferable to this ever-expanding, engulfing nothingness. After that first week of torture and questioning in which you revealed nothing they wanted to hear (thankful that Newt had kept you in the dark), none of Grindelwald's followers entered your cell. They don't even feed you often enough to keep you alive, but it seems more like carelessness, derision for your muggleborn blood status, than like they are trying to kill you.

If it weren't for Queenie you would've starved to death.

The first time Queenie slipped into your cell to sneak you some bread you tried to kill her. Her reading your thoughts and reciting them aloud, frantically, as if they would save her or prove her allyship, actually did save her. She stunned you into a dumbfounded stupor. You'd never met someone with her abilities before.

She was a funny woman. A devoted follower of Grindelwald who revealed little and had an oversensitive disposition, but you soon grew to appreciate her clandestine visits. She was kind. Remarkably so. Not only for feeding you, but for sitting and talking to you at all. That was its own kindness.

You thought you knew loneliness before, but this...

You knew your mind was a hostile place, even before you were brought here. But being left alone with yourself was the worst torture Grindelwald could've thought up.

You distract yourself with your less injurious thoughts, and avoid thoughts of Theseus at all costs.

Those are so painful you dare not think his name. In your mind, a blotted, blacked-out figure remains in his stead, a hole you've torn out yourself. In those first days, you'd repeated his name out loud, like a mantra, and thought of him liberally and without pause, even while you were being tortured.

"Theseus. Theseus. Theseus. Come save me. Please, come find me."

What waste. No one was coming. All you had ahead of you was this nothingness.

Sometimes, lights move outside the slit in your wall--too pathetic of an opening to be called a window. You can’t even see out of it, it just lets in cold air. Those shadows and flashes of light are the only color in your world. Sometimes when you look down at yourself, even your hands look black and white, made sepia and sickly gray.  

The lights are sometimes orange, swooping lights, like arcs of fire being dropped overhead. Sometimes green, watery, glowing darkly like moonstone or bioluminescence. What you see aren't the spells themselves, but just the brilliance they cast into your room from the courtyard.

You don't know what Grindelwald is doing, what sort of spells are producing these bursting, sporadic hues.

You lie sideways on the floor and stare at them playing out against your wall, soft glowing spots sinking and rising.

They remind you of the magical lights, bobbing and hanging mid-air, that the Ministry decorated the Atrium ceiling with for the annual Christmas party. That was one year ago, though it feels like a past life, or a dream...

----

One Year Ago, December

You'd never heard the Atrium so full of people and life. It was usually bustling with conversation and noise, but this sort of noise, the happy noise of laughter and popping champagne bottles and high-spirited chatter, that was new.

You crossed your arms, glass in hand, watching contentedly from the sidelines. You never knew how to conduct yourself when Theseus was with Leta, you strangely felt as if you'd be caught doing something wrong. So you endeavored to avoid them both.

And besides, it had shocked you, the dull knife-turn of pain you felt watching him with her, talking to her in the corner at the beginning of the party.

You'd gone mute for the night, head swimming, gazing at the decorative lights floating overhead. All your thoughts felt buoyant, distant and hard to grasp, bobbing in and out. You knew you were spacing out, but you couldn't stop, maybe it was the mulled wine.

You had just turned down the promotion earlier that day.

"We're going to you directly to ask if you want it. We wanted to ask you first," the department head had said with great satisfaction, like he was delivering you a personal gift. "We know if it were up to Theseus he'd have you by his side 'till he retires!"

The last part was said with a half-joking laugh, but you'd tilted your head in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

The man scoffed.

"He likes you very, very much, Y/N," the man said, like it was obvious. "He's made that explicitly clear to his colleagues who were hoping to share you as an assistant early on. It was his express wish that you work with him alone."

'He likes you very, very much.'

The idea of being liked, chosen by him... It was like a shooting star crashing over your head, light falling around you in bright shards, fatal, dazzling, undeserved.

You startled when you felt a hand on your forearm.

"Y/N," Theseus said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are."

He'd been looking for you. The thought made your heart soar, felt like being chosen all over again.

There was a wild merriment in his eyes. You couldn't tell if he was tipsy or just happy to see you.

"Here I am," you echoed in confirmation.

"Dance with me?" Before you could answer he cautiously pulled both of your hands, winding his fingers through yours and slowly guiding your arms in and out to the rhythm of the song.

You couldn't help but give into him, smile, laugh, you were never not going to say yes.

"Where's Leta?" You didn't want to ask, to ruin the moment, but it seemed right to.

Theseus shook his head and made a tutting, disappointed noise, twirling you around.

You dipped your head back and the lights whirled overhead, too radiant to be stars.

"She left. She doesn't like to dance. Doesn't like parties, actually."

As if afraid you were going to leave him, as if just to hear your laugh again, he spun you once more, more vigorously.

"Dance with me, Y/N," he bemoaned.

You laughed again and let yourself be spun and caught by his arms.

"Aren't I doing that now?"

"Good," he said resolutely, pleased. His smile was infectious. "Don't stop."

You felt like a girl again, weak in the limbs and susceptible to all sorts of hope, the dangerous kind. His hands in yours, the dazzled look in his eyes as they beheld you.. You regretted nothing.

"I won't leave until you tell me to, sir." You added in the honorific sarcastically, to keep the tone light, but the look on your face was terribly earnest. "I promise. You'll have to send me away."

----------

You don't remember falling asleep while looking at the lights on your wall. You didn't mean to think about the Christmas party, about him.

More often than not, more often than even the nightmares about rabid dogs and black water rising and the orphanage, you dream about the last train home. About the night your parents died.

Your family was poor. You did not hold this against them. You were too young to do anything but love your parents dearly, indiscriminately. You were barely seven years old, but you worked most days in the factories of East London and were happy to help, to not be burdensome like the hungry, needy children in story books.

That evening after work you'd been distracted, playing with a stray dog with some other children, and you missed the last train home. You resolved to sleep at the station, flat on the ground of the platform, and take the first train in the morning.

Your parents had gone out looking for you and were killed in a nondescript alleyway, found with their empty pockets turned-out. You dream about that night, that platform on the London Overground, you fear missing that train.

And, now, that is not the only missed train that haunts you.

Someone's here.

You wake, instantly. Your eyes open with a dispassionate immediacy.

There's no train. Fingers twitching, you instinctually reach for your wand for what must be the thousandth time, to protect yourself. Its absence feels full-circle almost.

You remember how you couldn't sleep your first year at Hogwarts, you'd stumble to class with tormented little dark circles under your eyes. You were too terrified to sleep, kept fearing you'd wake up and be back at the orphanage, that it would all be taken away from you if you didn't keep your eyes open.

Strangely, since you arrived in this cell, you haven't had any trouble sleeping at all. You sleep most of the day away curled up on the floor like a baby.

"Queenie," you mutter, sitting up falteringly. "Watching me sleep, are you?"

Queenie is standing with perfect posture in the corner of your cell, by the door, wringing her hands.

"I don't know how you sleep like that, on the floor..." She seems genuinely upset when you look up at her. “You must miss all your things. Your home. Your family… I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. I was born with nothing, nothing. This room it feels…” You glance around, as if seeing it through Queenie’s eyes, seeing it for the very first time.

Metal chair with a missing leg in the corner. Filthy blanket on the floor. It’s more barren than awful, anyone could’ve lived here. 

“It feels familiar to me," you admit.

Queenie says nothing, eyes wide. Since you met her here, she’s never seemed at ease, never seems to know what to say. For a moment the two of you just sit there in vacant silence, neither of you really present.

"You don't say his name anymore."

You don't even want to acknowledge the comment, you stare at the corner of the wall and hope what she's said will just go away if you don't.

"Theseus," she says explanatorily, as if you didn't understand her. The word is an affront from her mouth, worse than a slap, it makes your stomach twist. You feel exposed. "Do you...Do you feel betrayed by him? That he hasn't come..."

You close your eyes to gather your bearings.

"No," you say. "It would be very strange, almost a pleasure, if anyone in the world could betray me. Stab me in the back. I don't trust or know anyone well enough for that. I wish."

You're trying to sound self-deprecating, maybe even funny, but there's no energy behind it.

Queen looks at you sadly, sympathetically. Sometimes you forget about her ability to hear your thoughts. How futile it is to lie to her now. It embarrasses you, that you still care what she thinks. That you're still attempting to shirk off your pain for her sake.

“But Queenie,” you turn your head to her, defeat written all over your face. “Queenie, my God, what am I doing here?”

Your life is in tatters again and you don’t even know why. They tortured and questioned you when you first arrived, but you hadn't seen anyone but Queenie since.

“You’re a spy. You were working with the Scamanders,” she recites this as if reading off a rap sheet. It’s clear it’s what she’s been told, and is the flimsy, defensive logic she’s using to justify you being here.

“So why hasn’t he killed me already?” You can’t help how lifeless your voice sounds, almost bored.

Too much pain is a deadening, desensitizing thing. At some point, it ceases to be effective. Grindelwald’s followers have pushed you past that point. 

Queenie’s expression shutters closed.

She always seems so conflicted, whether she’s helping you or following Grindelwald’s orders, there’s some secret turmoil eating her up inside.

“Please,” you say.

“Grindelwald thinks you could play an important part in his plans, in the Spring. It’s… Do you know The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus?”

You know it from school. You think back to the Lestrange Mausoleum, to what Newt told you. 

“Prophecy 20? But Credence he can’t be-“

“No, Prophecy 21.” 

You stare at her, not following. 

When she speaks it’s as if her voice comes from behind her, not from her. The prophecy tumbles from her painted mouth and fills the desolate cell:

“Come bleeding springtime,

come new leaves, come bone:

A lone daughter destined,

Without bloodline or home,

To transform darkest skies,

With great power, unknown.” 

She looks at you meaningfully. 

You scoff.

“Kill me then. That I am living…. Your Grindelwald is a fool.”

Queenie bristles defensively. “No! H-He is a great man who-“

You wave her off, weakly.

“There are plenty of muggleborn witches without homes, Queenie. Just head to the orphanage Hogwarts plucked me from in North London and you’ll see. The prophecy is not about me. I’m nothing special. I’m nothing…” 

You know your fatigue isn’t natural. Despite Queenie’s best efforts, you are malnourished. Made simple-minded and irritable because of it. Frail.

You don’t hide your spell of faintness as well as you hoped to. Your eyelids are low, sedated.

Ever the mother hen, Queenie rushes to your side, kneeling.

“Let me sneak in more food, honey. Just give me a moment, I can-“

“Wand,” you say, your voice battered and forceless. It’s a strain to lift your eyes to meet Queenie’s then, to open them. But you make a point to.

Your voice is feeble, but your eyes are challenging, fierce.

“Queenie, if you really want to help me, get me a wand.” 

“Y-You’re too weak. Even if I could get one to you, it would be too difficult for you to escape, to fight them, there’s—“

Your laugh is so deranged sounding, so sharp and unhinged that it silences her, cuts through the empty room bright and blade-like.

“Queenie,” you sigh. “Why do all wizards talk like that? Magic is the easiest thing in the world. Besides, you haven’t seen me fight.” 

-----

No one expects it.

You've been so docile and half-alive after being tortured, the guard who brought your meal is so confused he doesn't fight back at all, merely tumbles backwards with astonished, wide eyes until you're able to knock him unconscious.

When Queenie brought you the wand earlier that day you'd tried in vain to convince her to come along with you. To escape and return to her sister, Tina.

She hadn't even said no, she just said, "I'm sorry."

Your legs wobble with every hurried, barefoot step. God, you don't know when the last time you walked was, nevertheless ran. It doesn't help that the castle is foreign to you. Queenie's succinct directions did little to capture the sheer, gargantuan size of the building.

Turn left. Down the staircase. Turn right. There's a locked door at the end of the hall. There might be guards on the other side.

You recite the instructions again and again, more to stay sane than to memorize them.

You round a corner too fast and are met with three men, dressed in dark tailored-suits. You unleash three spells, one for each, quick, tearing through them before they can even turn. You don't breathe, you don't miss.

You feel sorry for it, but you can't afford to be delicate or careful or merciful. Every second you're here is a moment Grindelwald could realize what's going on and come kill you in a heartbeat.

Hearing the ruckus, another man comes flying down the main hall, snarling.

"Avada Kedavr-"

You spot the exit and don't stick around, ducking your head and tumbling out into the courtyard, twisting your ankle but not missing a beat.

You keep running forward, stumbling, half-delirious, out towards the main iron gate.

You're shocked to find yourself at the summit of some snowy mountain. The world is blindingly white. The building you've come from is some stony fortress, more grand than you'd imagined from the bleak confines of your cell.

The air is arid, thin and dry with brutal cold. It burns to breathe in. Cuts like sandpaper in your throat.

You have to get past the gate to surpass Grindelwald's anti-apparition charm.

Almost there, I'm almost-

With a jolt you turn around. You can feel him looking at you, feel the strength of his gaze with the same recognition of a prey animal realizing they're being watched, hunted.

Grindelwald.

From the high tower window his face has gone serene with fury. Almost blank. The look in his eyes is beyond angry, it is rage in its purest, most distilled form, he hardly moves.

You tear your gaze away and lurch your body through the front gate.

You don't know where you are, you thought about apparating to London, but that's the first place they'd go to find you again.

Then you think of Hogsmeade, but it fell under the same anti-apparition wards that guarded Hogwarts.

"Nearby, then." You direct your magic, channel and funnel it all in the direction of the place before the image of it is even fully formed in your mind. "Feldcroft."

In a cutting, dizzying whoosh you are spelled away.

Feldcroft was an inconsequential village of wizardfolk, small, rural, not too far afield of Hogwarts. You'd spent one summer holiday there rather than go back to the orphanage, after your first year.

You'd helped a farmer work his land during the long summer days in return for meals and lodging. You were twelve and it was the hottest summer of your life, you hadn't known Scotland could be so hot, but anything was better than going back where you came from, terrified you'd never find your way back.

Before you've even landed you realize your folly. You were too weakened by the torture and starvation, and too far away.

You hit the ground bone-breakingly hard, but you hardly notice that dull, throbbing pain over the sharper, louder pain of being cut to slithers. Your skin twists and tears away from itself, from your muscles, in spirals and stripes. You couldn't fully stick the landing, it's an imperfect apparition, and this is the consequence.

You cry out, a crumpled heap on the frozen ground, limbs twisted and bloody.

With a rapidly blotting vision you strain your neck upwards.

"Did I make it? Am I safe?"

You don't even recognize Feldcroft. Winter had stripped all the fields and mountains of life. Summer, your childhood there, it's all long gone.

Some prophetic witch destined for greatness.

You see the blurred legs of a man approaching. When he leans down to look at your face, your limbs twitch in agonizing protest, but you're too injured to move.

"Y/N?" He says.

You inhale sharply, in pained horror.

"Y/N, I didn't recognize you."

You still can't see very well, but the liquid panic in your veins dissipates at the sound of his voice. You know him.

You hadn't recognized him at first, but it was the farmer, Mr. Howell, from what must've been a decade ago. The old man who had taken you in that summer when you were twelve. You remember him being old then, but he looks impossibly older now, ancient, really.

You don't know what to do with the recognition, with this information, but it doesn't matter because you are bleeding out and, within seconds, you feel a sweet and pain-sapping unconsciousness take you.

----

When you wake your consciousness is a flimsy, fragile thing, like trying to float a feather in air. Your vision is black and brown around the edges.

You're in a bed and Mr. Howell is putting a kettle on. You feel worse than you ever did in captivity of Grindelwald, closer to death.

"It still looks the same," you say, rasping. "I didn't recognize the village, but this house..."

A swell of weakness overtakes you again and your vision almost blacks out completely before returning in a soft vignette.

You can see the farmer, Mr. Howell, staring at you from across the room, at your starved body, your bloodless face.

"What happened to you?" It's so direct a question it's almost startling, almost rude. But it's said with such genuine remorse and concern that your heart softens.

"I..." He licks his lips before starting again. "When I told Minerva I'd agree to take you in that summer... Well, I thought your life was so sad. It was sad you had no one to go home to for the holiday. That your life had been so hard, she told me, about the abuse... But you were so young, such a skinny, hopeful thing. So talented. And good. I was sure it had to get better."

You smile at him, it pains you to do so. The old-you would've bristled, pride scorched, at anyone pitying you. But now you can only smile.

"I always thought the same too, sir."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he asks earnestly. "If you are, you're always welcome back at the farm. You know that."

Your heart seizes, your eyes well. You haven't spoken to him since that summer when you were twelve, that September when you thanked him hurriedly and spirited off with badly concealed eagerness to rejoin your friends at Hogwarts, without a glance behind.

"Thank you. It's more than I deserve, but thank you... And, yes. I'm afraid I am in trouble. I've just been a prisoner of Gellert Grindelwald. I'm sorry, I should be leaving, he could come after me."

The man looks taken aback, but ignores your words and asks instead: "Oh, Y/N, you look so unwell. Should I call for someone up at Hogwarts? The hospital wing is obviously reserved for students, but I'm sure-"

"I believe I am going to faint now, I apologize." The words come out of your mouth in an embarrassed rush. The dark edges close in and swallow you up, life itself extinguishes like a candle.

------

Theseus towers over the students at Hogwarts, he tries his best to push his way through the crowded halls without trampling them.

"Professor Dumbledore!" He calls out, giving up. Getting the man's attention must be easier than reaching him at this point.

Dumbledore looks up, startled, from across the sea of black-robed students. He's standing in the doorframe to his classroom.

Theseus imagines how he looks in Dumbledore's eyes--helpless, drowned. Maybe insane.

When Dumbledore waves him over he continues to gently push his way forward.

"I love her, I love her," he's thinking with a plummeting urgency, each internal admission of "I love her" bringing him closer to tears.

"She's not dead. If she was I'd know. I'd feel it. I'd feel her leaving me for good."

"Theseus," Dumbledore shoos the remaining students out and shuts the thick wooden door once Theseus enters. "What is this about?"

Theseus swallows hard and holds Dumbledore's gaze, trying to effuse authority.

"I need you to tell me where Gellert Grindelwald is. Right now."

Dumbledore opens his mouth in a stunted exhale, at a loss for words.

"Pardon?"

"Y/N has been taken prisoner."

"So, what, you're going to charge in there, alone, against Gellert Grindelwald and who knows how many of his supporters?"

Theseus tries not to waver, but the panic is beginning to set in. What if Dumbledore denies him?

"If I have to," he says, purposefully.

Dumbledore walks over to his desk and sits on it, stunned.

"Theseus," he says. "I've known you since you were a boy. I-I'm sorry, but I hardly recognize you. Have you no appeal to reason?"

"None at all, sir."

Dumbledore laughs, and the sound confuses Theseus, upsets him.

"You love her? God, you really do..."

Theseus is willing to destroy himself for it, for you.

"Help me. Tell me where to find her, or I'll find her on my own."

The heavy creaking sound of the door being pushed open causes Theseus to turn in agitation.

A woman in a nurse's uniform glides right past him and up to Dumbledore.

"Albus," she says in apparent distress. Theseus can't make out the rest.

After a moment of the woman's whispering, Dumbledore turns to Theseus, looking at him in sharp alarm.

"What is it?" Theseus says, unkindly. He doesn't care. He just wants to know where you are.

"Fate," answers Dumbledore. The line of his mouth is grave but his eyes are twinkling. "We've had a request from a farmer out in Feldcroft. He says a former student has apparated onto his land and is in dire need of medical care, and protection. That there could be followers of Grindelwald's coming after her shortly."

Theseus doesn't dare breathe. Doesn't let himself feel the acute bite of hope nipping at his heels, at his heart.

"He says her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

--------

"Wake up, Y/N."

There are hands on your shoulders. Someone is touching you. Someone is-

Your whole body jerks awake. Your limbs are lashing out, fighting, before your eyes are even open.

"Get off me! Don't fucking touch me! Don't-"

"Y/N! Y/N, it's Theseus," Dumbledore is shouting. "It's okay you're safe-"

"What's happened to her?!"

Even his name didn't stall you, but the sound of his voice, pure and surreal, reaches you through the din of panic roaring in your ears. You exhale.

Once you've stopped kicking and struggling, the room comes into vision.

There are four people surrounding your bed. You're in Mr. Howell's house, of course, of course you are...

There in front of you are Professor Dumbledore, an older woman in a Hogwarts nurse uniform, Mr. Howell, and, impossibly, Theseus Scamander.

Theseus is staring at you, wide-eyed, like he doesn't recognize you. A dot of blood marks his temple, you wonder if it was you who did that just now.

"What's happened to her?" He repeats, his voice cracks. "What--Who did this to her?"

"She's been tortured, Theseus. And starved, maybe worse," says Dumbledore in a clipped, hushed way. "Please, understand, and give her some time to-"

"You're real," your voice is so quiet, so full of wonder, but it captures his full attention.

Theseus is holding his breath in apprehension. You're still staring at him in horrific fascination.

"This isn't--This is real?"

Theseus comes forward and kneels beside the bed, reaches for your arm. You can hardly look at his face, it's so startlingly beautiful. Dark blue eyes. The curve of his lips. It's really him.

"Y/N." He retracts his hand when you flinch, involuntarily. "Y/N, I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, I'm not gonna hurt you..."

You remember that you secretly love when he talks to you like this, whispers like he would to an animal he's trying to soothe, or like he's trying not to wake you. He's speaking so delicately, but you can hear in his voice how his heart is crushed.

Everyone is staring down at you in the bed. You figure you've already been treated from the wet rag on your sweaty forehead and the way every second more and more sensation returns to your fingertips and toes. Your body itches and tingles with a crawling warmth that feels like fever where your flesh has begun to stitch itself back together--the nurse's work, no doubt.

With every breath you return more and more to yourself, the dulled sensations of the world come back in startling pinpricks of color and sound and vividness. The parts of your consciousness that make you you flood back into the frail animal of your body.

"Oh," you say, with a groan, pinching your eyes closed.

Theseus looks startled, turning from the nurse to you frantically.

"Y/N! Are you okay, what's-"

"Oh, Theseus!" You sigh at last, and he looks back to you, his brow still furrowed. You smile at him, not caring how wretched and sickly you look, you're just so happy to see him. "Theseus, you came! I love you, I love you, I love-"

He throws his arms around you, leaning over the bed.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop smiling.

He won't let go of you, so you don't realize he's crying until you feel his shoulders shaking, the gentle rocking of his frame.

"You're supposed to be the one who is good at being in control," you murmur fondly.

When he pulls away he's collected himself, sniffles once and then groans.

"Oh, God. For a second there I thought you didn't recognize me, that you were scared of me."

"Not of you," you shake your head. "Of...."

The reality of your situation settles like ash in your mouth.

"Albus," you say, turning to others. "We need to go now. I escaped as quickly as I could, but they could follow me here any second. Please."

Dumbledore nods, and then whispers something to the nurse.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. But I don't believe you'll be strong enough to stand. Not yet."

"I've got it," Theseus says cooly, before you can even respond.

"Too weak to stand," you want to snicker but can't summon the energy.

"I knew that was some bullshit prophecy," you mutter, lifting your arms to help Theseus, who is leaning by the bed to pick you up.

He stops. So does Dumbledore. They're both frowning.

"What?"

"Oh," you huff. "Grindelwald thinks Tycho Dodonus's twenty-first prophecy is about me. I'm supposed to be this great witch with the power to transform the world, didn't you know?"

There is a beat of shocked silence before Theseus begins to laugh, heartily so.

You scowl. "Why is that funny?!"

"It's not funny," He caresses your face affectionately with the back of his hand. "It's just that I knew it. I always knew you were destined for greatness. Of course there's a prophecy about you. Of course the world saw you coming..."

Your heart sputters dutifully, weakly. You're torn between leaning into the feeling of his hand on your face and turning away, protecting yourself from what you cannot have.

It still feels so ruined to you. You know he must be doing this out of pity. Out of guilt.

It had been more than two months since he asked you to come with him. Who knows what he's been doing, what he thought of you now...

Your eyes prick with tears at this realization.

You see him through the lens of the memory even as he stands before you. You remember shaking his hand on your first day at the Ministry, dancing with him under twirling lights at the Christmas party, his booming laugh, his gentle chuckle. The warm, growing feeling in your chest knowing you were the cause.

You remember laying naked with him in bed, his broad hands, the barely-there freckles at his temple, the light-colored hair trailing down from his navel, the way he held your legs up when he made love to you, when he was inside you, spreading them, always trying to get deeper, closer. It should be vulgar, the memory, but it doesn't feel that way to you. Every moment of it felt clean, bathed in light and goodness.

Your heart pounds heavily, pathetically. As he helps you up from the bed you have the sickening feeling that you are saying goodbye.

Your vision swoons, sways like an overhead light. Your legs tingle, half-numb.

"I-I can't stand," you whisper. In a swift motion Theseus scoops you into his arms, bridal style.

He has to hold you sideways and duck his head to get through the narrow doorframe, he's so tall. You're asleep again, this time safe in his arms, before you're out of the village, before you can even tell Mr. Howell thank you.

Goodbye! You think. Goodbye...

------

You’re on a train again and Theseus is holding you. You hardly feel the rumble of the train car on the tracks, hardly feel anything at all but his arms around you.

“Where are we going?” You don’t even care, it’s almost perfunctory that you ask. But some distant part of your brain tells you that it does matter where you are, where you’re going in the world. 

“London. You’re weak, we need to take you home.”

Home. You feel so little affection for your apartment that you’re barely able to make the connection.

“I don’t have a home.”

“We can go to mine. We can go anywhere you want.”

“I want to go…” You feel breathless, feeble. Delusional. “I want to pretend that we’re on a different train.”

“Hm?” Theseus strokes your shoulders, your back comfortingly. Since he met you, all he’s ever wanted to do was hug you, hold you. It’s as if he was meant to, how good it feels to be doing it now. 

It's a terrible thing, how badly he wants to kiss you. But he's willing to wait.

“Can we pretend that I made it on time?" you say. "That I made it to the platform, got on the train that day in November and we’re in it now… Pretend that you’re still asking me to love you and that I said yes.”

He turns to you then, you’re still slouched in his arms. You’re looking up at him so brokenly, there’s hardly any of you left. No sign of that headstrong girl who withheld herself from him so vigorously, who built up walls around herself so high no one could hurt her again. 

“Y/N…” The words have been stolen from him, his heart swiped from his chest at the sight of you, at the knowledge that any part of you believes that he might not want you anymore, might not feel the same.

“Y/N, will you love me?” His voice is a quiet, determined plea. “Will you say yes? I am asking you now. The offer still stands, it always will.”

It's Theseus, your handsome, wonderful Theseus, asking you this. He was the best man you knew, but, even if he wasn’t, you couldn't help but love him. It wasn't a choice for you anymore.

Your lip trembles, but you somehow manage to get the words out without whimpering, without collapsing into him outright.

“Yes,” you say. “Always.”

--

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // SIX

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Two separate encounters with two different Firebenders yield revelations of the sort you are unprepared to face.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i have been writing like crazy recently AHAHA but anyways apologies in advance to anyone expecting anything different from this 😫

“I’m so sad that the break is over. It wasn’t nearly long enough,” Jia-Li said as the two of you returned to your room for the first time since you had left it for Ember Island.

“Our beds look a lot smaller in comparison to the ones on Ember Island,” you said. Jia-Li snorted.

“That’s for sure. And did the room shrink while we were gone?” she said.

“It definitely looks like it,” you said. “At least we don’t have class until tomorrow.”

“Do you think Ty Lee is back yet?” she said. “We should go to the market. It’ll be fun.”

“I should probably do some reading so that I’m ready for tomorrow,” you said.

“Don’t be a spoilsport! I doubt you forgot anything in the short time we were gone, seriously. You’ll be okay if you skip out on reading for one day and come enjoy yourself with the rest of us,” Jia-Li said.

You gave the stack of books on your desk a longing look before nodding firmly, knowing Jia-Li was right, and furthermore that Ty Lee would agree with her. It was just as important for you to socialize as it was for you to study hard, and going to the market wasn’t so time-consuming that it would leave you unable to do anything for the rest of the day.

“Alright, but only if you don’t complain about me reading tonight,” you said. “The book I’m on currently is really interesting.”

“What’s it about?” Jia-Li said.

“The history of Ba Sing Se,” you said. “Since I was found there, I thought that learning more about it might spark some memories in me. All things considered, it’s not as boring as one might expect. The chapter I’m about to start is on the royal family and the construction of the palace.”

“To be honest, I don’t see how you find that so fascinating, but if that’s what you like, then who am I to stop you? Sure, you can leave the candle burning a bit longer in order to finish your chapter if we get back too late,” she said.

“Thanks,” you said. “You are the best roommate ever.”

“You flatter me,” she said. “Open up, Ty Lee!”

“What if Kaho is the one at the door?” you said, grabbing her hand to stop her from continuing to bang on it. Jia-Li huffed at you.

“She’s not going to be back until the evening. Don’t you remember how much she was bragging about having to stay late to submit her official reports from the meeting and all of that?” she said. You let go of her hand, for you did remember that. Once freed, Jia-Li continued to knock.

“Coming!” a muffled voice said, and then the door was swinging open to reveal Ty Lee, who was standing on her hands for some reason. “Ursa! Jia-Li! What are you guys doing here?”

“We wanted to ask you if you would come to the market with us,” you said, twisting your neck so that she would come into proper perspective. To your chagrin, it did nothing but make you dizzy, so you gave up and decided to just look down on her upside-down visage.

“Sure!” she said, rocking herself onto her feet and standing properly. “How were your breaks?”

“They were good,” Jia-Li said. “Very relaxing, but way too short.”

“We did see you at one point,” you reminded her. Ty Lee giggled.

“Right, at that stupid party! I heard you guys ended up partaking in the festivities, if you’re catching my meaning,” she said.

“Yes, that’s right,” you said. Jia-Li grinned, flames dancing in her palm before she curled her fist and extinguished them.

“It was fun,” she said. “You were on to something, Ty Lee. It was exactly what we needed.”

“Jia-Li’s brother was not happy with us when he found out,” you said. “But it’s fine. He’ll make up with her, I’m sure, and as for me…it’s fine if we never speak again.”

“Onto the next,” Jia-Li said. “It’s alright. You win some, you lose some.”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “What about you? What were you up to when you weren’t on Ember Island?”

“Strategizing with Azula, mostly,” Ty Lee said. “You know, she killed the Avatar around when Zuko took over Ba Sing Se.”

“Really?” you said. Ty Lee nodded.

“Yup, I saw it myself! He was about to go all glowy-white-eyes on her, and she just shot him with lightning before he could,” she said.

Killing an Avatar as a normal person was unheard of, and Princess Azula wasn’t even a master yet. She was clearly a prodigy, but you knew from Ty Lee that she was still training, though her training was so advanced that it was theoretically impossible for normal Firebenders such as Jia-Li and even Kaho to accomplish. The fact that she had done something as legendary as defeating an Avatar without full mastery of her element spoke to her skill and talents, and you swore then and there to never get on her bad side.

“That’s insane,” Jia-Li said. “I always knew she was on another level from the rest of us, but I didn’t realize until now just how large that skill gap was.”

“Mhm, but for some reason, she’s gotten to be crazy paranoid recently. She’s convinced that he’s not really dead, and she’s been losing sleep over it,” Ty Lee said. “It’s tainting her victory, and she’s been meeting with Mai and I nonstop on what we should do in case he proves to be alive.”

“It’s better to be prepared than not,” you said. “Though she probably doesn’t have much to worry about. If the Avatar was alive, he probably would’ve made himself known, don’t you think? I doubt it would be easy for an Airbender to hide himself, especially not one as powerful as the Avatar surely is.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her, but she’s still worried,” Ty Lee said. “So my break was mostly work, except for that one weekend on Ember Island.”

“That’s a shame,” Jia-Li said.

“Next break, I’m going to sleep the entire time,” Ty Lee vowed. “Every day I’m at the school serves as a reminder of why I dropped out in the first place, and I need my body and aura to recover from this kind of environment.”

“I always forget you did that,” you said.

“Why’d you come back?” Jia-Li said. “It’s obvious you hate it here, and you have a place in the palace already, so it’s not as though you’re going to climb the ranks socially by attending.”

“Simple! I’m here to keep an eye on Ursa!” Ty Lee said. “Not that she needs it, but Prince Zuko asked me to come along and help her acclimate to the environment of the academy, since we weren’t sure if she’d be able to handle it or not.”

“That’s a lot more logical than you suddenly developing a passion for the scholarly pursuits, which is what I had previously thought was the reasoning,” Jia-Li said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever develop that,” Ty Lee said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll leave the academic stuff to Ursa.”

“Me, too,” Jia-Li said.

“Hey, come on, guys. Reading is fun,” you said, though it was obviously unconvincing, as both of them made faces at you. “Or not, I guess.”

“Let’s stop talking about school, please,” Ty Lee said. “It’s bad enough that we have classes tomorrow. We don’t need to ruin our free time by thinking about them now, too!”

“It’s not a problem for me,” Jia-Li said. “Maybe Ursa will have some difficulty, though.”

“Shut up! No, I won’t!” you said. “You won’t hear me speaking about school for the rest of the outing.”

“Does that include whenever you drop your random little factoids to explain whatever’s going on at any given time?” Jia-Li said.

“Hopefully not,” Ty Lee said. “I’d be way too confused without her narrating everything.”

“True,” Jia-Li said. “Okay, you can talk about those, but no more explicit mentions of the academy. Or of reading. Or of other things along those lines.”

“I already agreed!” you said. “Honestly, you guys have such a low opinion of me. Anyways, do either of you have anything specific to get at the market, or are we just wandering around?”

“Maybe I’ll get a new hair ribbon, but I’m not particularly attached to the idea, so I’m alright no matter where we go,” Jia-Li said.

“I don’t have anything I need, so we can go look at the hair ribbon stalls if you want, Jia-Li,” Ty Lee said.

“It’s the same for me,” you said. “Besides, it’s not like I really have money to spend, which means I’ll just admire the different shops, so I have no particular preference for where we go. Lead the way, Jia-Li; you’d know the market best, anyways.”

“Ty Lee probably knows it pretty well, too,” Jia-Li said.

“Nope, I ran away to join the circus, remember? I haven’t been here for a while! Even when I came back to the palace, I was always with Azula and Mai, and they’re not really the type to enjoy walking around the market, so it’s been a bit,” Ty Lee said.

“Then it really is up to me,” Jia-Li said, straightening her shoulders and nodding firmly. “Follow me, girls!”

You and Ty Lee marched after Jia-Li as she strode towards a stall decorated with hair ribbons of every shade. Some were patterned the way Kaho’s was, whereas others were solid-colored, like the one Jia-Li tended to wear. All of them were beautiful, richly made and finely dyed, and you could not help running your fingers over a few of them in appreciation.

“What do you think of this one?” Jia-Li said, holding up a red ribbon that had white flowers embroidered on it. “The one I have right now is so plain.”

“It’s very nice,” you said.

“I like it!” Ty Lee said. “You should get it.”

“Do you think so? Let’s see. How much is this for?” Jia-Li said. As she began to argue with the merchant about the price, you found yourself wandering off, observing the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, the different vendors and their goods, the mothers with their little children rifling through their purses full of gold coins, the serious soldiers standing at attention in uniform — and the not so serious ones with their helmets off and tucked under their arms as they talked to each other. Though the market was so large in scale, it was more like a collection of small, intimate snapshots of domesticity than a grand, epic portrait woven together out of perfectly conjoined parts.

There were so many different stories happening at once. People cried and laughed and argued and bantered on these streets. They lived their lives, unknowing of what would happen to them next or what those at their sides were going through. It was one of those mundane sort of miracles, the sort that were so commonplace that nobody would find them miraculous unless they stepped back and thought about them for a moment.

“Did you hear the news?” someone said to you. You tilted your head at the woman, who had her hand held in front of her mouth politely. “Apparently, there’s a prisoner on the loose!”

“What? In the capital?” you said. She nodded.

“Word has it that he deserted the army during the fall of Ba Sing Se and was promptly captured by Prince Zuko, who sent him to prison. But now he’s escaped! It’s all so frightening,” she said. “Be careful. You’re a student at the academy, aren’t you? My daughter is in her first year there, so I recognized the uniform. You should hurry back to the campus — it’s much safer there.”

“Thank you for the warning,” you said. “I hope you stay safe as well, madam.”

It had been an odd encounter, but for some reason, it wasn’t the random nature of the conversation that made you uneasy. Such things happened at markets, and especially because you apparently went to school with her daughter, it made sense that she had approached you. No, it was the story itself that you were worried about.

The History Mistress had never mentioned anyone deserting the army, besides the former General Iroh. That meant that this escaped prisoner, whoever they were, must’ve been some foot soldier so unimportant that they were not even worthy of the simplest sentence in your lectures, but that begot another question — how had a simple foot soldier escaped a Fire Nation prison?

The haggard man in front of you walked with a limp, and the exposed skin that you could see was littered with scars. Unlike what you would’ve assumed, though, the scars were clearly not from burns. They were cuts, deep lacerations that stood out red and furious against his arms, his neck, his ankles and even his face.

He must’ve been in a terrible battle, but for some reason, no one paid him any mind. The crowds parted around him before melting back together, like he had never been there in the first place. It was only you that followed, you who was entranced, matching his every step with your own. There was some burning desire in you that needed to follow him. You couldn’t place it, couldn’t understand its origin or any part of its existence, but you just knew you had to fulfill it. So you went after the man, growing steadily closer and closer until you could hear what he was muttering to himself.

“Gave everything…fought for that damn prince…what does it get me? Going to kill that girl. Going to kill that girl. What does it get me? Gave everything for that damn prince. Going to kill her. I have to kill her,” he said, over and over, repeating the same phrases on loop.

“Excuse me, sir, but are you alright?” you said when the two of you reached a dead end and the man stood still, facing the wall, continuing to say the same breathless things.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew someone was following me. We Soldiers of Agni, we know these things.”

“Soldiers of Agni?” you said. The man still did not turn around, pressing his hands against the stone wall and resting his forehead against it. “They’re all dead, sir. They fell during the invasion of Ba Sing Se.”

“And don’t I know it!” the man said. “We gave everything for that prince, and what did it lead us to? Death! Death, you foolish girl, all of my comrades are dead! I’m the only one who survived that wench’s onslaught, but instead of being treated as the hero I am, I was renounced as a traitor. Prince Zuko took my status as a Soldier of Agni away, and he threw me in some dungeon to rot. Tell me how that’s fair!”

“I think you’re confused, sir,” you said, stepping away from him, questioning your own instincts for landing you into this situation. Because this was definitely the prisoner that the woman had been talking about, and since that was the case, you were almost certainly in danger. “Prince Zuko would never do something like that. He is a kind and just person. He even saved me!”

He spun around. “He saved — you!”

Before you knew it, there was a blast of fire heading directly for you. You barely leapt out of the way and readied yourself to fight, but even if the prisoner was telling the truth and he really had once been a Soldier of Agni, his reflexes and musculature had faded during his time locked away. No matter how much he tried, nothing but wisps of smoke escaped his hands, and he shouted in fury before rushing at you.

“What are you doing?” you said as you began to run as well.

“I’m going to kill you!” he said, his voice breaking as he did so. “You took everything from me, so I’m going to kill you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” you said in distress. “I’m just a student at the Royal Fire Academy! I haven’t taken anything from anyone!”

“Is that where you are now, you sly witch?” he spat. “It wasn’t enough for you to destroy us all? You have to infiltrate our nation, too? Get out of here, scum!”

“What are you saying?” you said.

“My comrades are dead because of you,” he said. “I’m in prison because of you. I have to — I have to get justice. If that Agni-damned Prince Zuko really did save you, if he really is just letting you walk around and pretend to be one of us, then the Fire Nation is doomed. I have to do what I must for my country! In the name of Fire Lord Ozai, I will kill you, once and for all!”

“Huh?” you said. “I was a prisoner in Ba Sing Se! I don’t have the faintest clue how I could’ve killed your comrades.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You don’t have to lie in front of me. I was there, wench. I know what you really are,” he said.

“And what might that be?” you said, skidding to a stop before you crashed into a wall and turning to face him, getting into the hand-to-hand combat stance that you had been trained to adopt at the academy.

“The—” Before he could finish, his eyes widened, and then he was falling over. It was Ty Lee; she had jabbed her fingers into his pressure points in a quick but familiar succession, and now she was standing over him, disapproval etched on her face.

“Ursa! There you are!” Jia-Li said, rounding the corner and almost tripping over the fallen man. “Who is that?”

“He’s an escaped prisoner,” you said. “He claimed he used to be one of the Soldiers of Agni.”

“I thought they were all dead, though?” Jia-Li said.

“They are,” Ty Lee said. “He must’ve been rambling about nothing.”

“Definitely,” Jia-Li said. “What Soldier of Agni would just faint like that for no reason?”

“It wasn’t exactly for no reason. I used my chi-blocking to take him out!” Ty Lee said.

“Chi-blocking?” Jia-Li said as the man groaned, beginning to wake up.

“It’s a pretty useful skill,” Ty Lee said. “All sorts of applications. It can temporarily take away bending, incapacitate people, and more! It’s the way for nonbenders like me to level the playing field and stand a chance even against the strongest of benders.”

“That’s why you aren’t afraid of Kaho!” Jia-Li said.

“Yup!” Ty Lee said.

“Who are you girls?” the man said groggily, pushing himself to his feet.

“I thought you knew who I was?” you said. “You said so yourself!”

“How would he know who you are?” Jia-Li said.

“No idea, but he seemed pretty sure just a second ago,” you said.

“For some reason, I think I do,” the man said. “But I don’t know how or why. There’s just a blank spot in my memories. I can’t — I can’t remember anything.”

“That’s strange,” Jia-Li said.

“He must’ve hit his head when he fell,” Ty Lee said.

“Right,” you said, though when she stooped over to pick the man up and bring him to the nearby soldiers, you narrowed your eyes at her.

You knew that chi-blocking sequence. You knew it well, because Ty Lee had used it on you before, still used it on you even now. You had never questioned it much, never found any merit in doing so. Ty Lee was infamous for being an airhead, so you had always put the strange ritual down as another one of her oddities. But what if it wasn’t? There was no way that the man had hit his head hard enough to forget everything so quickly, especially not when he had been so confident only seconds prior.

The more likely scenario was that Ty Lee had somehow blocked his memories when she had blocked his chi. It made the most sense, but if that really was the case, then what motive did she have to do the same for you? It was uncomfortable thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop the question from reverberating around your mind for the rest of the day.

Was Ty Lee the reason you didn’t remember anything?

That night, when Jia-Li was asleep and you were getting ready to settle in bed yourself, there was a knock on your door. Quickly blowing out the candle and making sure that the door was locked, you leapt into your bed and pulled the covers over your head, squeezing your eyes shut and pretending to be fast asleep.

“Ursa?” It was Ty Lee. “Are you awake?”

You knew what she was there for. It was about the time for her to — if your assumption was correct — block your chi, and possibly your memories. You had never protested, and you didn’t want her to grow suspicious of you in case that led to her taking even more drastic measures, but you also knew you had to avoid her for the time being if you ever wanted to remember who you were.

Just for a couple of days. You only had to stay away from her for a couple of days, and if nothing changed, then you would return to her side and act as if you both were friends once more.

“Are you and Ty Lee fighting?” Jia-Li said the next morning. You were currently suffering from a massive migraine, massaging your temples as you tried to block the light from hitting your eyes, but you managed to shake your head in the negative.

“No, we’re not,” you said. “Why?”

“You didn’t talk to her all morning, and you sat next to me instead of her, the way you usually do. I think she was a little sad about it,” Jia-Li said.

“I just have a really bad headache,” you said.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Jia-Li said. “If you can’t handle class, I’ll tell the Etiquette Mistress. You’re already her favorite pupil, so she shouldn’t mind.”

“No, I’ll go,” you said, knowing that it was of the utmost importance that you didn’t go anywhere alone. It would be an opportunity for Ty Lee to chi-block you again, one you did not need to create, not if you wanted your experiment to be successful. “I’m sure I’ll get over it with something to drink.”

Yet, despite the cups upon cups of water you chugged, it didn’t do anything to dissipate your headache. It was like there was someone pushing on your brow, crushing your head together, the heaviness seeping down behind your eyes and into your jaw. You thought you might be close to implosion, but there was never a moment of relief. The pressure just kept mounting and mounting until you really did wish for someone to take a hammer to your skull and break it open so that you could finally be freed from the pain.

“Ursa, Jia-Li,” Kaho said as you entered the classroom, her voice filled with venom. “I can’t believe you’re daring to show your faces today.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” you said, far too preoccupied with your migraine to temper your irritation with your usual politeness. “We’re students at the academy, the same as you, Kaho.”

“I thought you might be ashamed of yourself after your performance during the break, at Ember Island,” she said.

“What performance?” you said.

“You destroyed my house!” she said. “I know you all did. You and that group of losers from the beach, whoever they were. My brother told me all about it.”

“Your brother’s the biggest fool I’ve ever met,” you said. “Followed closely by Ruon-Jian. Neither of them recognized the prince and princess even when they were right in front of them.”

“Don’t call my brother a fool,” she said.

“It must be a familial trait,” you continued.

“Ursa, what are you doing?” Jia-Li said.

“I have way too much of a headache to deal with her squealing right now,” you said harshly. “Chan is an idiot and we helped destroy her house. It’s true, but it matters little to me, and I wish she’d just go and wallow in her misery somewhere far from where I am!”

“You’re playing with fire,” Jia-Li fretted. “Quite literally.”

“Can you just leave me alone for once, Kaho?” you said.

“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” Kaho said. “You’ve taken my spot as the top student, and you’re favored by Prince Zuko, so you believe that makes you my superior. But there’s one thing that you’ll never have.”

“And what might that be? An insufferable attitude, or a particularly hideous—” you were cut off by Jia-Li slapping her hand over your mouth.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Jia-Li apologized. “The migraine is making her delirious.”

Kaho ignored her, staring directly at you, the anger which she was so well-known for blazing to life in her irises. It was the same way she had glared at you after defeating that one underclassman in an Agni Kai. It was the same way she glared at you every time you corrected her in class or got a better result than her on an exam. It was the same way she glared at you whenever you received a letter from Prince Zuko while in the dining hall.

She hated you. You had known this for some time, but you had never understood it until that moment. Kaho despised everything you were, but more than that, she despised that she was jealous of you. She was used to everything going her way, and yet, here you were, a girl who had no memories and no background and no bloodline, taking without difficulty everything that was once hers.

It should never have been yours. To Kaho, you were nobody, a girl from rubble who stole everything from the rightfully deserving. And now here you were, insulting her in front of everyone, clearly rising above the place she had designated for you in her mind. It was an offense of the highest order, and in that instant, you came to the conclusion that you would not escape unpunished. Kaho would no longer allow you to walk over her without retaliation.

“Firebending,” Kaho said. “That’s what I have, and I will always, always be your better, because you can’t even bend.”

“Maybe not,” you said, swallowing and then deciding that if you were already doomed, you might as well have the last word. “It makes it more embarrassing for you, though, doesn’t it? That a nonbender has beat you so thoroughly in everything else? That you can only cling to your bending to maintain your sense of superiority?”

“That’s it,” Kaho said. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“You’ve really done it now, Ursa,” Jia-Li groaned. “Don’t even think of asking me to be your proxy. I don’t have a death wish.”

“I do,” you said. “And I’ll save you the trouble. I challenge you to an Agni Kai, Kaho.”

If an Agni Kai was declared, classes were suspended so that the school could watch. Though they were so brutal in nature, they were actually encouraged by the administration, as they served to weed out the weaker students, leaving behind only the strongest, the best of the best.

At present, the field where you and Kaho were going to fight was utterly cleared, though staff and students alike gathered on the edges to watch the event. It had been anticipated for some time, this clash between the two top students of the academy, even if one of them couldn’t Firebend.

“You’re seriously not even calling a proxy?” Jia-Li said.

“Who would I call?” you said, rolling your shoulders. “She’s beaten every girl at this academy already, and I’m not about to beg the prince to save me.”

“Let go of your pride for once and do exactly that!” Jia-Li said. “You couldn’t even take me in a fight, so you can just forget about facing Kaho.”

“Actually, she can manage,” Ty Lee said grimly. You didn’t know where she had come from, but there she stood, her face set, her posture stiff. “Ursa. I don’t know why he said it, but for some reason, Zuko seemed to think that you were strong. Stronger than the rest of us, in fact.”

“He told me as much,” you said. “I don’t know why he said it, either, but for some reason, I don’t think he was lying. At least, he seemed to really believe it, which means there must be some thought behind it all.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a prodigy with weapons on par with Master Piandao himself!” Jia-Li said. “Against someone like Kaho, you either need to be a bender or have unusual skills the way Ty Lee does. Can you claim either of those things?”

“I don’t know, Jia-Li,” you said. “I don’t think so. Yet I have to do this all the same. She’s gone unchecked for far too long.”

“And you’ll be the one to check her?” Jia-Li said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I wish you had just gone to the infirmary like I had told you to!”

“Let’s go, Jia-Li,” Ty Lee said. “It’s time. Good luck, Ursa.”

Another pang. You forced yourself to smile through the pain, not wanting to show weakness right when you were about to get into a fight. Ty Lee smiled back, though Jia-Li did not muster the same energy, wailing despondently about how she was going to lose another roommate as Ty Lee dragged her off the field.

“This is your last chance, Ursa,” Kaho said. “If you fall to your knees and grovel, if you accept your place in this world, and if you renounce your ties with the royal family, then I will spare you.”

“I cannot do either of those things,” you said. “And you cannot ask me to.”

“I will not be gentle,” Kaho warned. “I was kind in my last Agni Kai, so perhaps you think that you will get off in a similarly unharmed way. If that is the case, then I want you to know that you are wrong. I will burn my victory into your skin so deeply that you can never look into the mirror without being reminded of the day you angered the wrong person.”

“My head is already full of pain, nearly to the bursting,” you said. “What is one more wound? Do your worst, Kaho. Even if I lose today, I will still have won in the end.”

“And how is that?” Kaho said. You grinned at her.

“Because I’ve shown everyone else at this academy exactly the sort of person you are,” you said. “You can’t beat a nonbender at anything else, so you have to challenge them to an Agni Kai in order to cling to the last threads of your former glory. You’re really very pathetic, and no matter how thoroughly you burn me, you can’t change that.”

“Did no one ever teach you to hold your tongue?” Kaho said, taking a deep breath, fire flickering at her fingertips.

“Certainly, at some point, someone must have,” you said. “But I shouldn’t know when or who or what the purpose of the lesson was. Don’t you recall that I have no memories?”

No one could say that Kaho wasn’t talented. The way she used her Firebending was like an extension of herself, as brutal and efficient as her clinical personality. It wasn’t that she was incredibly powerful — she just did not waste even a drop of energy, focusing her entire being into her forms, which were done with a clear accuracy that was difficult to dodge.

She punched a lick of fire at you, deadly hot, the air shimmering in the aftermath of it as it dissipated into nothingness, barely avoiding singing the edges of your clothes. You employed every trick you had learnt, for the longer you could draw out the fight, the worse it looked for her.

It was a game that you could not win. It was a game you were destined to lose, but — and maybe this was your past knowledge speaking — you had to play along. The outcome was determined, but you still had to play.

“Why did you come here?” Kaho screamed, her careful control slipping the more times she missed burning you. It was like her words drove a knife through your head, and the only reason your faltering was not a fatal blunder was because she, too, was growing more and more errant in her strikes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re the one trying to immolate me!” you said, sweat pouring from your brow, your shirt sticking to your collarbones and your pants clinging to your legs. “Why don’t you raise that question to yourself?”

“You!” she said. “Why are you speaking so elegantly? Are you mocking me?”

“Of all the things, you choose to criticize my manner of speaking? Your sense of prioritization is as horrid as your personality,” you said.

More fire. This time, the hem of your shirt did catch alight, but you put it out before it could reach your skin, so it didn’t count as a first burn. It did, however, mean two things: you were getting tired, and Kaho was losing even more of her composure.

“You came here,” she said. “I was alright before! But you came here and decided that everything I had was yours. My place in society, my standing in the school…the happy ending I was born to inherit has all gone to you!”

“Happy ending?” you said. “Do you think I care about something as superficial and fantastical as that? I don’t even have a beginning! Have you ever taken a second thought about your hatred? You can choose the direction of your life, Kaho. Whether happy or sad or anything in between, you know who you are. I do not have such a luxury. You resent my friendship with the prince, but if I do not have him, I have nothing left of my past! I helped destroy your house, yes, but at least you have a house — and it was only one of many. I don’t even have a shack in the woods to call my own!”

“Exactly,” Kaho said. “You should be begging on the streets, yet you are here. But no longer. No longer will I allow you to exist beside me, as if we are equals.”

Your eyes widened as her words sank in. This wasn’t just an Agni Kai anymore. She would not stop once she burnt you. It didn’t matter how completely; you had been wagering that you could eventually heal from whatever she inflicted on you. But, according to Kaho, she was not planning on you ever healing. She was planning on you dying.

Without Kaho’s fire, the air was almost cold. Goosebumps raised on your bare arms, though whether it was from chill or fright, you were not sure. Kaho was incredibly still, her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, centering herself, drawing strength from the core of her bending — her breath. Everyone else was silent, though you thought you could hear someone, perhaps Jia-Li, repeating a prayer to Agni frantically, begging him to protect you from Kaho’s wrath.

You did no such thing. There was a voice in your head, whispering past the pain, telling you that Agni was not your god. You could not pray to him. You could not pray to a lord of destruction. You could not pray to the deity who had ruined your home.

You did not question this voice, though by all rights it was contrary to the little you knew of yourself. You were a Fire Nation soldier. Agni had not ruined your home, he had saved it. He was the one whose banner you had fought under. He was the one whose name you had been tortured in. He was your patron.

No. He was not. He was Kaho’s. He was Zuko’s. He was Jia-Li’s. But you were not a Firebender. You were something else. What? It was inexplicable, but your bones resonated with that truth as the effects of Ty Lee’s continuous chi-blocking began to crumble, your headache finally alleviating as you had your first breakthrough.

Kaho opened her eyes, and then fire gathered in her palms. You stood your ground this time, rooting yourself into the dirt of the field, and as a wave of fire rolled towards you, destroying everything in its path, you cringed back and screwed your eyelids together but refused to move. This time, you would not move.

Right when the blistering temperature got to be too much, it was cut off, asphyxiated before its source could reach you. Then Kaho was hurling insults at you, calling you a mongrel, a filthy half-breed, a daughter of mud. You cracked your eyes open, wondering why she did not attack you once more, why she had ceased her assault at the instant before she would have won for certain.

There was a large wall of stone erected before you, shielding you from Kaho, impenetrable by even the hottest of fires, which certainly she did not possess. That wall had not been there before, and the names which Kaho was calling you suddenly made sense — because you had created the wall. It was yours.

You were an Earthbender.

Within seconds, every single person that had borne witness to the Agni Kai was slumped over on the ground, including Kaho herself. Ty Lee used her momentum to flip over the wall, dropping to her feet before you and crossing her arms.

“You knew,” you said. “The entire time, you knew.”

“No,” she said. “Not exactly.”

“You’re the one who’s been blocking my memories, though,” you said. “Right? You would block my chi so that I couldn’t remember my past or use my Earthbending.”

“That’s right,” she said, bowing her head. She seemed apologetic, but nothing resembling pity filled you. The only emotion you could muster was disgust.

“Why?” you said. “What could have convinced you to do something like that? I thought we were friends, Ty Lee. Was that all a lie? Were you only staying close to me so that you could keep suppressing my memories?”

“No!” she said. “That was the reason at first, but I like spending time with you, Ursa. You really are one of my friends.”

She reached out as if to embrace you, but you took a step backwards so that she could not. She pulled back as if you had wounded her.

“My name isn’t Ursa, is it?” you said. “Who am I really, Ty Lee? Tell me the truth.”

“I have no idea,” she said. “He didn’t tell me anything about you. He just said it was for the best if you didn’t remember anything. I was so afraid the whole time, I thought Azula might be angry if she found out, but he was always so kind to me when I was younger that I thought I owed him at least this one favor…”

“Who?” you said. “Who is he? Who demanded you keep my memories from me?”

She gave you a miserable look. “Zuko.”

“That liar,” you said. It wasn’t just anger for the specific betrayal; there was some old rage quivering in you. You hated him. You hated him. You couldn’t say why, but you hated him. The ground shook, and Ty Lee glanced around nervously, but you paid her no mind. “He lied to me! He pretended like he cared, but the whole time, he was the one who did it! It’s his fault that I’m like this!”

“Don’t be angry,” Ty Lee pleaded. “I’m sure he had a reason. Just talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll explain!”

“Explain?” you said. “I don’t want to hear his explanations. I want him to pay for what he did!”

Another stake driven into your mind. It was your chi, you presumed, chipping away at the place where your memories were stored. There was still nothing concrete, but a sense of claustrophobia was creeping over you. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be somewhere else. You were supposed to be doing something, but Zuko — Zuko had snatched you away from that fate.

“Ursa,” Ty Lee said.

“Stop calling me that,” you said. “It’s not who I am.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to call you,” she said, clearly near tears. “Please calm down for a little bit. I blocked everyone’s chi in time; no one will remember this happened, so take the moment to settle and think things over. There’s no rush.”

“You can’t just do that,” you said. “You can’t keep blocking people’s memories at whim. They’re not yours to play with like that. Anyways, won’t they remember again? Are you really going to go around once a week and block everyone’s chi?”

“I was quick enough, and it was a small enough memory, that just one time will be sufficient,” she said. “No one will know what you’ve done, and I promise I won’t block your memories again if you stay.”

“I can’t trust you,” you said, straining with all your might to drive the stone wall back into the ground. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”

Dust flew up everywhere, but once it cleared, the field looked placid and undisturbed — barring, of course, the scorch marks left in the wake of Kaho’s attacks.

“What are you going to do now?” she said.

“I’m going to my room,” you said. “You can go ahead and tell Zuko I can Earthbend again. I’m sure you’ve been keeping him updated this entire time, so I won’t stop you.”

“He’ll want to come visit you,” Ty Lee said. And, because you did not want her to get in trouble, because despite what she had done there was still fondness for her buried deep within you, you only sighed and then nodded.

“Then he’ll do just that, I’d expect,” you said. “Goodbye, Ty Lee.”

You weren’t sure if she knew what you meant by the farewell. Maybe she did. For her own sake, you hoped she did not, or at least that she pretended that that was the case. She had in the end only been a tool of Zuko’s, so though you did not forgive her, you did not hate her, either.

Perhaps by a stroke of good fortune or perhaps by design, Jia-Li did not return to the room before dinner. This allowed you to collect your meager possessions, shoving them in the bag you had brought with you to Ember Island. Changing out of your uniform, you bit your lip before placing it in the trash. It was beyond salvaging, and besides, your time as Ursa was over. Now, you had to leave behind the life that the prince had created for you and figure out who you were, what your own life was like.

Fastening a cloak over your shoulders and tossing the hood up over your head to further disguise yourself, you slunk through the dormitory, staying in the shadows and hiding whenever people passed. In that manner, you managed to escape detection, reaching the academy’s aviary before anyone noticed you.

“Bian,” you whispered to your messenger hawk. She was instantly awake, cocking her head at you. You shook your own at her in the negative. “I don’t have a letter for you. There’s no one left for me to write to. I just wanted to tell you something: I’m leaving.”

Even if Bian had once been meant to be Prince Zuko’s, you had difficulty thinking of her as anything but yours. She was your friend, yourhawk, and though she was of the Fire Nation, of your time as Ursa, you could not let her go without saying farewell first, the way you would with the rest of it.

“I can’t tell anyone else,” you said. “It’ll just put them in danger. I can’t even say bye to Jia-Li. She’ll think I just ran away for no reason, and she was too loyal of a friend to deserve that, but I cannot implicate her in my defection from the academy. She’ll be the first they question, and I don’t know that she’ll lie convincingly enough to escape suspicion. So, then, when she says she has no idea where I’ve gone, she has to be telling the truth.”

Bian cooed at you; well, maybe calling the throaty sound cooing was being generous, but there was no other way to describe it, and the sentiment was the same. She was trying, in her own way, to comfort you, and you extended your arms to her perch so that you could rub the soft, tiny feathers of her cheeks.

“Thank you for being my hawk,” you said. “Be good for whoever owns you next — unless it is the prince, in which case I give you full permission to bite his fingers whenever he tries to give you letters.”

With that, you turned around, your hands dropping to your sides as you walked, then ran out of the aviary. If you turned around, you would cry. If you turned around, you might not ever be able to leave, so you sprinted until you reached the stables where the various animals belonging to the academy were kept.

Passing by the sleeping dragon moose and the corral of komodo rhinos, you ducked into the stall of one of the mongoose lizards. Throwing its saddle on, you patted it on the forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you said, swinging on and kicking it forwards. “I promise you can go home once you get me out of the capital.”

The mongoose lizard was fast, but more than that, it was stealthy and could traverse many kinds of terrain. Scuttling through the campus, it climbed the walls at your direction, though it was obviously unsure, as it had been trained not to leave the academy, even when given the opportunity.

Looking up, you saw a shadow cover the moon briefly, and you furrowed your brow as the dark shape came hurtling down towards you. The mongoose lizard continued to dash through the streets of the capital, and you used your hands to shield your face from the incoming projectile.

You needn’t have. At the last moment, it flared its wings, landing gently on your shoulder, careful not to dig its talons into your flesh despite the subsequent loss of balance.

“Bian?” you said. She nipped your shirt collar like she was chiding you for daring to leave without her. You laughed in relief, scratching her crest. “Oh, my dear Bian. I should never have tried to go without you. Thank you for finding me.”

She hopped off your shoulder, sitting on the pommel of the saddle, surveying the terrain with the regal bearing of a figurehead. With her at your side, you weren’t quite as lonely, and though it was selfish of you, you were glad that she had made such a choice, that she loved you enough to follow you away from the comfort of the aviary.

You traveled for a while at top speed, but once the mongoose lizard began to show signs of fatigue, you reined it to a stop. Whistling for Bian, you slid off of the beast. It made a clicking noise at you, and you smiled at it.

“Thank you,” you said. “You have done your job well. You may go back now.”

Without hesitation, the mongoose lizard spun and headed in the same direction it had come from. You didn’t wait, either; the palace certainly had methods to track you, so it would be a folly for you to stay in the same place for too long.

When the search began depended on Jia-Li. If she reported your disappearance immediately, then you were in trouble, but you sensed she would not. You had a habit of coming back to the room later than her, so she’d likely not realize you were gone at all until she woke up and saw your bed had remained undisturbed the entire night.

That left you with a window of time in which you could eat and sleep. After that, you had to walk to the nearest village and appropriate a new mount that could get you even farther from the academy and the capital and Prince Zuko’s grasp.

“It’s just so strange,” you said to Bian as you made a small fire using kindling, the way you had been taught in the academy. “If I’m an Earthbender instead of a former Fire Nation soldier, then there really is no explanation for any of it. Why did he abduct me? Why did he order my memories to be subdued? What significance did I hold?”

If she knew anything about the heart or mind of her former master, she did not reveal it. Rummaging around in your bag for the bit of food you had scrounged up while packing, you chewed on it pensively before pulling out the book you had been reading.

Opening to the page you had left off on, you promised to only finish the chapter on the royal family before you went to sleep. Maybe it was foolish to sacrifice any of the precious little rest you could get, but you longed for something to soothe your mind, and you thought that reading, as a familiar habit, might accomplish that goal.

The last ruler of the Earth Kingdom was the 52nd Earth King, born Kuei. He is famous only for his ineptitude. Ascending the throne at the age of four, he was a puppet monarch for much of his life, until the day he was deposed of by Prince Zuko and the Fire Nation forces. 

For some strange reason, there was a lump in your throat reading about the 52nd Earth King, as if he was someone that you greatly missed. But that was not even the oddest thing — it was the next passage that made you truly gasp. Memories upon memories poured in as you read and reread the paragraph, which was more of a footnote than anything.

The 52nd Earth King also had a younger sister, though no one ever saw her. A nonbender like the king, Princess Y/N remained shut away in the palace her entire life, reputedly for her own protection. Because of her fragile and essentially invisible status, her own subjects mockingly referred to her as the Glass Princess.

She, along with her brother, was killed during the fall of Ba Sing Se.

[beautifulhigh]

It just occurred to me that the polo scene doesn't get much love as it should. I know it's very short but just the thirst in Alex’s eyes, the way you can see his mouth dry while watching Henry ride that horse and his oh so sexy smile. I feel like that scene required a major dissection, and no one does it better so I came calling.

You know what? I'm doing this one now. I know I said I would do a meta on Henry Fox and I would do a meta on the New Year's Eve party but this is in my inbox now and yeah, let's talk about the polo scene.

(I'm also doing this now so I don't have another thing on my To Do pile, and your kind words made my shitty day a little better so thank you.)

Short scene, not a short meta.

In the book when he and Henry are in his bedroom, Alex has this little moment of clouds parting, sun beaming, angels chorus revelation:

In an instant of sudden, vivid clarity, he can’t believe he ever thought he was straight.

And while movie!Alex doesn't have the same bi awakening that book!Alex does. this is very much his moment of "oh I am very not straight at all" and that is valid of him.

(As this is a Jen meta, we shall also be talking about everything else because you do not analyse a text in isolation.)

This interview talks about the editing of the polo match:

Nick [Moore], my new editor coming in, took a look and he says, “I wanna try something with that polo match.” He spent a weekend of his own time doing something, and then he was ready to show me. He sat me down and said, “I’ve done something crazy.”

And we went from filmed scripted scenes and a lead in, to "bagpipes intensify" and it works SO well for where these boys are in this new stage of their relationship.

Our establishing shots are of the teams, the horses, the uniforms. This is Henry's world and Alex is about to step into it (which is a reversal of Henry at the NYE party - I swear I will write that meta once I have all the gif posts I want to link to) and it's all quick cuts and sharp transitions and moving shots. The pace has been set for Alex to enter.

We pick him out in the crowd but he's lost as quickly as we spot him. He's one of many here and it's all too quick to stay with him.

Firstly, you will never convince me that he didn't pick the tightest trousers he could find. Henry's comment about him being a mouthful is foreshadowed, right there.

ANYWAY

He walks in, he's looking around, he's doing up his jacket as a form of protection. Alex is the proverbial fish out of the proverbial water (and I have a meta about water if you're interested) and we're straight back in with the quick edits. Horses, polo sticks, this is not a game most people know how to play. Alex certainly doesn't. He's doing up his jacket and he is uncomfortable.

He is not a stranger to a suit, and that is certainly not something that is ill fitting. It is circumstance, not clothing.

And then we get our first clear shot of Henry. Only it's not clear, not at first. He literally comes into focus.

Stick aloft, mouth open, like he's a walking riding metaphor.

And Alex's face changes.

Yeah. He is definitely not straight.

From then on we stay with Henry. We, in Alex's viewpoint, have found him. And so we track Henry through the game and it's just generic horse legs if we're looking at anything else. The only player we/Alex see is Henry.

Here, Henry is leading. Going in first, checking it's clear, knowing Alex will follow him. Henry leads, Alex follows. Into the garden, into the bed, into the sexual component of their relationship. Alex admits to Henry right from the start that this is new to him:

“I’ve, uh,” Alex begins. “I’ve never actually done this before.” “Alex,” Henry says, reaching down to stroke at Alex’s hair, “you don’t have to, I’m—” “No, I want to,” Alex says, tugging at Henry’s waistband. “I just need you to tell me if it’s awful.” Henry is speechless again, looking as if he can’t believe his fucking luck. “Okay. Of course.”

When it comes to being with a man? Henry leads, Alex follows.

And then the pacing and editing kicks off. We intercut to the tempo of the bagpipes between the match and the hook up and Henry is leading the charge on both.

He's in charge and Alex is LOVING it:

Turns out being on the receiving end of Henry’s royal authority is an extreme fucking turn-on.

This is risky and the most dangerous thing they have done so far. Amy walking in on them in the Red Room is one thing - book!Alex is VERY thankful for the staff NDAs when it comes to what they know about him and Henry - but neither of them care here. And Alex is very much letting Henry take the lead and set the pace.

Which, given how long Henry has wanted Alex, wanted this, and how he's not able to live and love (at this point) as openly as Alex is, giving Henry this control means that not only can Alex continue his education in this mlm era of his life, but he's giving Henry all of the freedom he can. God Bless America or something.

We intercut the make out scene with shots of things being hit, the hard slamming of one thing against another, of riders in saddles. The hands may be a metaphor for sex in the Paris scene but we have it here as well.

Alex is fully on board by this point and he's not letting Henry set the full agenda. In his White House bedroom we got the scene of Henry going down on Alex (and there is no way that it was a one-way exchange given how long they were there) so now? It's his turn.

My favourite editing choice?

We then cut to Henry's arse bouncing in that saddle. If the Paris scene is making love? This is them fucking. Henry is bouncing away, riding for all he's worth, chasing down his singular aim with precision and determination.

It's innuendo at its finest.

I love this shot. We're looking up at them - we're just like Alex who is now looking up at Henry due to his new vantage point (#NoLongerTaller) - and we see Alex is fully crowding up into Henry's space. And they are right by the door. There is no cover, no escape. Anyone coming in has fully caught them. Please let there be a PPO or a Secret Service be just outside. Please. For their sanity if not mine.

But even if there isn't for some insane reason, they don't care. They are so lost in each other, so caught up in this moment, that they aren't FSOTUS and the Prince Of Wales. They aren't boys with status and expectations. They're just two consenting adults who are testing the boundaries of what public indecency actually means.

They are really going for it now. Henry's arm is tensed with the effort of keeping Alex close, his hand is splayed on Henry's back to give him contact with more of him. They are not letting go. Diving all in like it's a nod to the Olympic event where they met in the book.

And when they come up for air it's because Alex is... well... about to go diving.

Those fingers make VERY quick work of the belt and what he is doing with his hands and those fingers is further evidence in the "this is them fucking" category.

And then the frame which I'm guessing inspired Cordelia's ask to me:

LOOK AT THAT FACE. Look at those fucking eyelashes. But Alex is wanting and he is wanting hard for Henry. Pun intended. He's got a plan for this, he's got a To Do list for those Very Bad Things he promised/threatened Henry with all those weeks ago.

And it will have been weeks. The State Dinner was around February time based on the texts (end of January at the latest) and then Henry says the polo match is "next month" (which would put it end of February, early March because we would not say 'next month' if it were next week, regardless of when the month starts) and so it's been weeks since they hooked up in Alex's room. Weeks of having to just text and email and maybe venture into video calls.

None of that would compare to being together.

This is the first time that Alex has gotten his hands on Henry since his bedroom and he's desperate to get more than his hands on him.

And this shot as Alex pulls Henry's trousers down is fucking pornographic. Matthew López, did you direct Nick to act like this or was it his choice? Go watch his expression as Alex is pulling the offending clothing out of the way and tell me that this isn't pornographic.

And then we cut to the not-at-all subtle shot of Henry well, making the shot. With ease and power and the ball shooting out of frame. Something something orgasm metaphor something release.

There's even a little wisp as he makes the shot. If this post isn't flagged for mature content I'll be surprised.

Next shot?

Congrats on not getting caught, on the sex, on the most smut-filled-while-almost-fully-clothed-sex scene I've ever had the joy of frame-by-framing through.

Alex is doing up his tie again but he's not uncomfortable. And Henry is so fucking happy I could cry. Because he just hooked up with this guy, in semi-public, and got away with it. They are firmly in Henry's world here, a world where he can't be out and proud, and he got to have something he wanted. And, maybe crucially, no one knows about it. His privacy is intact.

But more importantly, this thing he's got with Alex is something. It's not a one night stand. Alex came here specifically for him, because he asked him to. Because Alex wanted to see him, be with him. This wasn't an obligation, this wasn't something set up by anyone for show and to do damage control. This was for them, and them alone.

Look at these smug bastards. Look at them. Gettin' their rocks off and making puns about being hungry and eating like they didn't just devour each other.

BUT

I gotta bring the feels here 'cause it's me.

Henry attended the State dinner because he was expected to, because that was in place before the New Year's kiss. It was an obligation and in both the movie and the book he had been ghosting Alex. And then Alex grabbed him in the Red Room and they hooked up and at the end of that scene Henry nervously asks Alex if he wants to be his guest at the polo event. Alex doesn't actually say yes - he says he doesn't know how to play polo, there's a comment about it being safer if he's on the sidelines - but leaving aside any fear that he would stand Henry up this is the first time they have made plans with the intention of seeing each other, of being together in this way.

This is, for want of a better term, kinda like a date.

Alex turned up, Henry put out, and they're very much committing to seeing where this path will take them. (Forever. It'll take them to forever.)

Alex isn't straight, Henry is very much in love, and they're embracing that giddy phase of a relationship where you just can't keep your hands off each other. And we fade from this to Paris where they're on another kind of date and then there's another kind of sex scene and it's a speedrun of their relationship on screen like they weren't indulging in foreplay with all the text flirting.

Which, by the way, don't think I didn't notice that Henry's jersey number was 4. Four-play indeed.

(Thanks for this, Cordelia, I needed something like this to soothe my brain.)

[henneseyhoe]

Freaky Girl

Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS:real ghetto. Y’all know Tyrone a hood nigga anyway. Spit(obvi), Short, not a complete smut buttt it’s still nasty.

SUMMARY: Tyrone gets the rest of his soul taken(if the government didn’t already do that for him)

Ps.I lowkey wanna make this longer into a full smut but idk lmfao

(Gif cr: @tishrivers <3 )

✮✮✮✮

Music with bass boomed through the car crowed street, the neighborhood cul-de-sac he pulled up in being as active as the hood usually is. The place wasn’t run down, but you could tell a couple illegal activities took place here more than often. He was no stranger to environments like this at all though. He grew up around it. Only problem was, this wasn’t his hood, so he was careful.

He made sure not to wear any alarming colors, even leaving behind the blue flag he’d usually wear in the back of his pocket, hanging out for any nigga to see. Not tonight though, he wasn’t even trynna be on that. A nigga couldn’t imagine getting clapped in somebody else hood just for wanting to get some pussy from this fye bitch a few blocks down. He honestly could have just walked, but he wasn’t feeling the idea of freely walking somewhere without his ‘heat’. Especially not around no damn crackheads.

Speaking of said ‘fye bitch’, she was in all honesty more than that, but he knew nothing apart from how some cornbread fed ass shordy he met at a party a month ago wanted what he had in them dickies cargo pants. She was pretty, both street and book smart, but the important part was that she was down for whatever a nigga offered.

He had heard about her around before, but he never really looked into why she was talked about other than the fact that she, again, had a fat ass and use to deal with some known nigga from across the states. Last reason he didn’t give a fuck about actually. All he thought about was if she knew how to take dick or not.

He exits his car and locks it, making his way into the neighborhood fully with a gangster lean in his walk. Like he had something in them pants that could cripple a bitch. All he could smell was weed smoke and burning wood. passing by residents and other guests who had came there for completely different reasons. Feeling cautious, he clutched his belt anytime he felt eyes on him. You could never be too careful.

Finding the girls house, he shakes his head at the hot pink painted front door, making it the only one to stand out apart from all of the other duplexes.

Laying a knock on the door, he leans against the porches iron railings and waits, which felt like forever in his case, though it was only a minute that passed. The door swings open, revealing the thick girl in boy shorts and a cropped tee that was fitted against her breasts, the deep split in the middle already giving him a show. It was obviously cut after being bought, the bottom of the shirt being tacky with loose threading that reveled a bit of her under boob.

“Bout time, nigga. Thought they got yo ass or sum” she moves from the door to let him in, walking back to wherever she came from. He walks in, his eyes fixated on the movement of her ass in those shorts. He couldn’t wait to see how it moved without the shorts restricting her.

He blew off at her comment. “Got? Never that, that ain’t me. A nigga had other things to do, shordy”

She turned to him, her eyebrows cockily raising. “Better than me?”

Silence was passed around with that question lingering around his head, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips as he thought, kicking the door shut with his foot then reaching for his belt.

“Hell nah”

✮✮✮✮

“Fuck—suck that shit” he exhaled, milky white smoke floating from his lips as he slowly leans his head back and entangles his hands in the girls Fulani braids. He was deep down her throat as if there was nothing blocking him from going further, and she was taking it. Imagine throwing a sausage down a hallway.

She licked and sucked along the shaft of his dick like it was hydrating her, her only goal being to get him off at the moment. Pulling him out of her throat, her hands wrap around his thick, long pipe, stroking him while her tongue worked on his balls, using her spit to get it sloppy, how he liked it. She used so much spit that the waist band of the front of his pants was wet down to the zipper.

He could still hear the loud trap music from outside and his high was hitting just right, making the music seem like it was put into some kind of filter. Like his brain chopped and skrewed it for him, his own remix featuring the wet sounds of the girls throat swallowing him whole.

She continued to slurp him up, shamelessly looking up at him with her beautiful slanted eyes, her wispy, recently done eyelashes complementing the shape. Usually girls teared up when giving head because of the pressure, but Y/N? Not one tear could fall from her eyes while doing one of her favorite things; getting some cut.

Feeling him pulse in her throat, she smiled with him still there. He could only look down at her in awe, taking another hit of his blunt to refill his lungs , but to also distract him from busting already, though that was the inevitable once she hallowed her cheeks and tightened her lips around the base of his dick, sucking like she was attempting to pull the nut out of him, which didn’t need much of an attempt since he was already ready to bust back to back in any hole she offered tonight.

He gripped the couch cushion underneath him with his hand, almost dropping his blunt as she sucked up and swallowed every bit of the sweetness he gave her. Not being able to take anymore of the suction, he pulls out of her mouth with a grunt, his hand moving down to grip the base of his dick as more of his essence spurted out onto her plump lips till that was all he could give from that one session.

“Gahdamn” he sighed, still holding himself until the sensation of her mouth went away, leaving his dick continuously bobbing up and down in jerks just from the sight of her. She only hummed out a soft ‘Mmmm’ as she rubbed the rest of his nut along her lips, giving it a gloss like sheen. That made him go crazy, starting to get him hard all over again. Her tongue danced on her fingers, moving the muscle up and down her middle finger and swirling around the tip of her long and exaggerated acrylics.

They were red and curved, decorated with white painted on flowers. It reminded him of the designs back into the 90s.

Standing to her feet, she removed the crop top she wore, releasing the gift given to her by whatever woman who birthed the freak. He would have thanked her momma if he knew her.

✮✮✮✮

Me cause I had that damn song on repeat while writing this 🤭

[say-al0e]

Sweet Thing

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: A lazy summer morning with Eddie means lying in bed, listening as he plays guitar. It’s not your fault he looks so pretty doing it.

Warnings: Unprotected p in v, very very light choking, a little overstimulation, mentions of drug use, AU in which Eddie (finally) graduated, mention of handcuff usage, a little dom!Eddie (though switch!Eddie is referenced).

Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k (I was so close to staying under 5k!)

Stranger Things Taglist | Stranger Things Masterlist | Accepting non-smut requests for Eddie and Steve!

The summer air was stifling, sticky and warm despite the open window and small fan whirring loudly in the corner of the room. A faint herbal scent, combined with a mixture of other scents you’d come to associate with Eddie - cigarette smoke, green apple shampoo, patchouli cologne - enveloped you each time the pitiful breeze blew and had you melting into the sheets as time slowly ticked away.

Eddie spent most of the morning stretched out beside you, scribbling lyrics in a composition book that had seen better days and plucking at the strings of his guitar. There wasn’t much else to do, not in Hawkins, but it wasn’t as if there was anywhere else you’d rather be.

Tendrils of light filtered in through the open window, illuminated the organized chaos that was his bedroom and cast shadows across his face. He was aware that you were watching him, tilted head with a lazy smile - and the occasional pout, eager for a kiss - every so often, but said nothing as he reveled in your attention.

For a few blissful moments, you traced his profile - the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his lips wrapped around the butt of a cigarette - before your gaze began to wander.

He lounged shirtless beside you, skin decorated with contrasting black ink and a smattering of purple and pink bruises left in the shape of your mouth, your fingers, your teeth. His chest rose and fell steadily, breathing easy despite the humidity, while your own breathing began to grow shallower.

There was something about him, bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, still disheveled from the night before - dark hair a messy halo, lips still swollen from your kiss, pajama pants slung low on his hips - that made your heart skip a beat. It set your skin alight, warmed you in a way the heat outside couldn’t begin to touch, and made you desperate to reach out and touch him, just to remind yourself that he was real.

Though you’d spent the better part of the weekend tangled together, a mess of limbs and sheets, there was no shame in the desire you felt. Eddie wanted you just as much as you wanted him, reveled in the weight of your eyes roving his body and took pleasure in showing off the marks you left behind. He took pleasure in knowing that he drove you wild - pride in the fact that you’d gotten comfortable owning your sexuality with him - so you made no effort to hide the way that you felt.

Fire coursed through your veins, simmered low in your belly and singed you from the inside out, as your gaze fell to his hands. His fingers moved effortlessly, plucking at strings with a practiced ease, and you shifted to press your thighs together as flashes of the night before flickered in your mind. 

Eddie spent the entirety of the movie - some blockbuster neither of you really cared much about - with his hand between your thighs. His eyes remained on the screen, careful not to draw attention, as he worked you up time after time, stopping when your breathing hitched and your fingers dug into his forearm. His smirk grew with each disappointed whimper, with every scathing look you shot him, but you knew that he would make up for it.

He spent most of the night giving you the orgasms he denied you in the theater - two in the back of his van, still in the theater parking lot; one on the couch, too desperate to have one another to make it to his bed; and more than you could count when he finally got you between his sheets, back where you felt you belonged - and you woke with an ache between your thighs that he seemed all too proud of.

Still, that did little to dull the desire you felt for him as you watched his fingers move across the neck of the guitar.

His rings were gone, tossed onto his dresser, but that didn’t matter. His hands still transfixed you, sent a shiver down your spine as you recounted the moments he spent mapping your body with them, and though you’d both jokingly sworn to keep your hands to yourselves for the day - you knew that it was impossible, just as he did, but that never stopped you from pretending - you shifted closer in hopes of having him break first.

As the bed dipped, soft brown eyes flickered to yours. They were half-lidded but keenly aware of the emotion flickering across your face in the way that only he seemed capable of as the corner of his mouth curved into a lazy smile. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, Eddie leaned over to drop another half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray before settling with his back pressed to the wall. “C’mere.”

There was no need for further instruction - you knew exactly what he wanted - so you readily maneuvered your way between his spread thighs, back pressed to his chest, body caged by his, and smiled as he settled his guitar across your lap.

Your scrambling was eager, almost desperate, but there was no shame in how quickly you obliged him. There were moments of push and pull - moments he pushed, eager to have you on your knees, happy to oblige his every whim; moments you pulled, desperate to see him wide-eyed and blushing as he begged for you - and with the heat you felt consuming you, you were glad to let him push if it meant relief.

As you settled between his thighs, a quiet hum of encouragement, followed by a mumbled, “Let’s see what you’ve got, princess,” set you in motion. 

It was a struggle to remember all that Eddie had taught you - he was a good teacher, never too technical, never annoyed when you got it wrong, but he tended to throw quite a bit of knowledge at you all at once. Still you began plucking at the strings, just to feel his smile as his lips brushed the back of your neck.

Warm hands fell to your thighs as you racked your brain for the chords he’d taught you. Eddie’s fingers, steady and practiced, idly brushed the soft skin of your inner thighs - littered with bruises in the shape of his mouth, his fingers - as he rested his chin on your shoulder. This was far from the first time you’d ended up in this position and, desperately, you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last as Eddie hummed along to the barely recognizable Ozzy song you attempted to play.

Eddie’s presence made it difficult to concentrate on a normal day; the intensity of his gaze so clearly focused on you, the warmth of him bleeding into you as he spent nearly every moment touching you, the unique scent of him. Feeling him envelop you completely - body pressed firmly against yours, hair tickling your neck with every tilt of his head, warm breath fanning across your skin, fingers brushing dangerously close to the flimsy layer of soaked cotton covering your cunt - made it nearly impossible.

Each chord seemed worse than the last, each note sharper and more disjointed, and Eddie noticed. “Am I distracting you, princess?” His voice dipped lower, a quiet rasp that simmered low in your belly, and forced a sharp exhale from your lungs. It sent goosebumps erupting across your skin and made the ache between your thighs grow that much stronger.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the smirk on his lips, the way his eyes glittered mischievously, and shifted to ease the ache between your thighs. Before you could feel anything resembling relief, Eddie’s grip on your thighs tightened to keep them parted, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he leaned in to nip at your shoulder.

“Of course not.” The refutation sounded weak in your own ears, a breathless huff he was sure to see right through, but you were stunned you were still capable of speech as he nuzzled your neck. “I’m just hot.”

Eddie hummed, a thoughtful sound that vibrated against your skin, as his fingers trailed higher. The calloused digits ghosted along the band of fabric at the juncture of your hip, traced the path his lips blazed the night before, while he tilted his head to meet your eyes. “Mm, can’t have that.” His fingers trailed higher, bypassed the place you so desperately wanted him to touch, and stopped to trace the hem of your - his - t-shirt. “As hot as you are in my clothes, maybe getting you out of them will cool you down.”

There was no desire to tease, no effort on your part to throw a scathing taunt at him, and Eddie bit back his laughter as you nodded. “I think you might be right. Maybe you should help me out of it. Just so I don’t overexert myself, you know?”

“Of course.” The huff of Eddie’s laughter tickled your skin but you could hear the pleased lilt as he slipped his hands beneath the fabric. “Can’t have my girl suffering.”

Occasionally, Eddie took his time with you. He drew out the experience, made it last as long as he could get away with, and as his fingers brushed the sliver of skin just above the waistband of your panties, you knew that this would be one of those times.

Neither of you had anywhere to be so you reveled in his touch, sighed as his hands mapped your skin, and bit your lip as he began to inch the fabric up your torso. His lips brushed the column of your throat, the back of your neck, the sliver of skin exposed beneath the collar of the shirt; his teeth scraped the sensitive juncture of your neck, grinning when you gasped.

“Lift your arms for me, sweetheart.” 

Instantly, you shifted the guitar to a stable position and lifted your arms, just as he requested. Eddie hummed, pleased, and continued bunching the fabric higher and higher. His fingers left a trail of fire in their wake, searing the path they mapped across your skin as they brushed just beneath your breasts. He paused for a moment, eager to cup them in his hands - fingers tweaking the stiff peaks of your nipples, lips curving into a smirk when you made a soft noise of pleasure - before he tugged the fabric up and over your head.

“Let’s make a deal.” The words, though clearly spoken, made little sense to you as the entirety of your focus fell to Eddie’s hands cupping your breasts. He lazily brushed his thumb along the skin, occasionally brushing a sensitive nipple, as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Play me a song,” he began, grin growing as you huffed, “any song you want, and if you can make it through the whole song without missing a chord, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“If I can’t?”

There was little chance you’d make it - not with him so close, with his body so warm and his fingers so insistent - and you both knew it. So it came as little surprise when he shrugged. “You’ll just have to give me what I want instead.”

In almost every case, you wanted the same thing. No matter how the encounter started, it was nearly guaranteed to end in blinding pleasure. Eddie never left you wanting - never put his pleasure before yours - so giving him what he wanted was no loss to you. 

“Any song I want?”

Eddie hummed his confirmation as his hands began to trail down your sides. His palms slid across your heated skin, touch a familiar comfort that had your head spinning, as he used the leverage to pull you further into him. The press of his warm chest to your back, the heat slick skin warming yours, derailed your train of thought as you reached for the guitar.

The first note filled the room, masked the quiet sounds of your breathing, and you wondered if he would remember to put on a tape before taking what he wanted - what you both wanted. The noise complaints never bothered either of you but it had been so long since you’d heard him clearly, moans and groans and whimpers of pleasure unaccompanied by Black Sabbath or Metallica or Megadeth, that you hoped he wouldn’t.

Though he’d taught you a handful of his favorites - Ozzy, mostly - he’d learned some of your favorites, just to teach you. And as Crimson and Clover began to fill the room, Eddie laughed quietly. “Joan Jett? C’mon, princess. Thought I taught you better than this.”

His taunt was soft, playful, and you paid little attention to the words in your ear as the rasp of his voice hit you square in the chest. It contributed to the slick gathering between your thighs, the warmth dampening your skin, the heat rushing to your cheeks. There was little you could say without exposing how gone you already were so you simply shot him a look and continued playing.

For a few moments, Eddie remained relatively still. His hands remained on your hips, fingers idly brushing your skin - pinky occasionally dipping lower to brush the cotton band at your waist - as he sang quietly. Though it was distracting, you decided you could live with it, especially if he continued mumbling lyrics in your ear and nipping at your skin as you desperately attempted to focus.

“You’re doing good, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice was a low rumble, reverberating through his chest and rattling your nerves as he exhaled - the same heavy breath that so often followed your lips wrapping around him.

“Talking to me or the guitar?” The taunt surprised you both, though it was easy to hear the quiver in your voice as you barely held yourself together.

Eddie nipped your shoulder, teeth sinking into the soft flesh momentarily. The sharp sting drew a quiet gasp, only to meld into a soft sigh as he soothed the mark with a soft press of his lips. He shifted behind you, smirked against your skin when you inhaled sharply at the feel of his arousal pressing into your lower back, and hummed. “You know I’m much nicer when I’m talking to the guitar, princess.” 

“Eddie.”

The warning edge in your voice made him laugh, a quiet huff of air that fanned across your skin and set your nerve endings alight. Though there was no real power dynamic in your relationship - you both gave as good as you got - this was his moment. He’d taken the reins, was guiding this encounter with his hands and mouth, and there was no need for him to remind you of that as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

As you attempted to focus, fingers clumsily plucking at the strings - chords slightly off but none missing, yet - Eddie spread your thighs a fraction wider. His fingers brushed the top of your mound, ghosting over the skin as he hummed along to the music, and your body tensed as you prepared for him to finally touch you.

Instead, he stilled. His fingers brushed your skin, warmth bleeding into you as his thumb dragged along the cotton. From the corner of your eye you could see his smirk and you bit back a huff as you continued playing.

The closer you drew to the end of the song, the more Eddie began to move. The hand on your hip drifted up your side, fingers brushing your heated skin, stopping when he reached your breasts. He cupped one, fingers tweaking the hardened bud beneath his fingers, as the fingers just beneath the band of your panties began to dip lower.

Calloused fingers brushed your slit, gathered the slick pooled between your thighs, as Eddie exhaled heavily. A quiet moan escaped before you could stop it, desperate and keening as you shifted into his touch, while he pressed his thumb to your clit.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Eddie sounded awed, as if he couldn’t believe watching him had gotten to you like this, but you both knew better. The nights after his shows, nights after Hellfire, nights after parties - observing him, seeing the beautiful man you were lucky enough to call yours, was enough to set your whole body alight.

Abandoning the guitar was almost too easy. 

As Eddie coated his fingers with your slick, spread your folds and bumped your aching clit with each brush of his hand, everything outside of him ceased to exist. The feeling of his fingers kneading your breast, his chest pressed to your back - each noise he made reverberating through your chest - and his arousal pressed to your lower back overwhelmed you.

Your hand fell to his thigh, fingers gripping the worn plaid of his pajama pants, while he nuzzled your neck. “So good, just for me. Love it when you let me make a mess of you, sweetheart.”

The words rattled around your brain, echoed in your ears and settled low in the pit of your stomach as his calloused fingers teased your entrance. His thumb found your clit, rubbed achingly slow circles, as he mouthed at your pulse point. “Love seeing my good girl get filthy, just for me.”

“Eddie, please.” The plea came out as a whine, sharp and piercing as Eddie continued to tease. “Please touch -“

Before the words fully tumbled out of your mouth, a rush of jumbled pleas, his fingers dipped lower. He pressed them inside, buried them to the knuckle, and nipped at your neck when a broken moan replaced the rest of your sentence.

Eddie tutted as the hand at your breast lifted to settle over your throat. He never squeezed, never cut off your air supply, but you both liked the thrill of feeling it rest there. His fingers pressed the pulse point, felt your heartbeat hammering away beneath his touch, and he hummed. “We’ve been at it like rabbits and you still can’t get enough of me. Who would’ve thought the pretty little good girl was such a nympho?”

His fingers pressed impossibly deeper, curved in search of that little spot that had you seeing stars, as you moaned. There was no shame in how much you wanted him - no shame in how often you wanted him - and you knew that the ego boost would make the moment infinitely better for the both of you.

A keening moan escaped, high-pitched and breathless, as Eddie’s thumb pressed your clit. “Only for you, Eds,” you swore, nails certainly leaving crescent-shaped marks in his thigh. “You’re the only one I want. Please!”

The quiet noise of approval nearly escaped your notice, quiet beneath the ragged sound of your breathing and the barely audible noise of Eddie’s fingers pressing into you, but the change in his pace did not. His fingers worked faster, pressed harder, as his thumb rubbed frantic circles over your clit. 

“Are you close, princess?” Words failed you - replaced by whimpers of his name, keening little noises that had him groaning in your ear - but your frantic nod was met with a coo. “You wanna come? Soak my fingers, ruin the sheets?”

Just as your orgasm began to crest, as your fingers dug into Eddie’s thighs and your head rested on his shoulder, he removed his hand. Bewildered, your eyes snapped open and you tilted your head to look at him. However, before you could voice your outrage aloud, he lifted his fingers to his lips and shot you a wink as he cleaned your arousal from them, before reaching for your chin with spit shiny fingers.

“You missed a few chords, princess.”

The reminder drew a whine from you but Eddie quickly silenced it with a searing kiss. His mouth pressed to yours, lips still kiss-swollen from the night before, and you could feel his smile when you sighed at the feeling. There was no use in whining, no use in begging; when Eddie got an idea in his head, he was determined to see it through.

Instead, you succumbed to his wishes - certain that he would give you more than enough in return for the denial - and whimpered as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Without your notice, he shifted to place the guitar beside his bed - eager to keep it safe from harm - before pulling away to search your eyes.

When he found no hint of hesitation on your face, no indication that you would cut and run the moment he asked for what he wanted, he grinned.

“Hands and knees for me, sweetheart.”

There were few moments Eddie asked for anything other than missionary or cowgirl - he preferred seeing your face, liked to watch your eyes flutter shut and your lips part as you moaned for him, liked seeing the way your eyes went all glassy and your expression as you came - but as rare as they were, they were always fun.

A small part of you wondered if he would grab the handcuffs still carelessly tossed onto the nightstand after their use the night before - or maybe the bandana he sometimes used to keep you quiet, especially if you’d already gotten one noise complaint - but he made no effort to grab either as you maneuvered yourself into position on jelly limbs.

Eddie clambered after you, settled behind you with a groan at the sight, before reaching out. Calloused fingers brushed your heated skin, traced the length of your spine, before palming your ass. Eddie gripped the flesh roughly, fingers digging into the sensitive skin, before hooking his fingers into the cotton band at your waist.

As he dragged the cotton of your panties down, freed one leg at a time - tossing them someplace neither of you would find, lost to the ether of his room - he made an appreciative noise.

His fingers swiped your dripping folds, nudged your clit with the tip of one, before he pressed himself closer. “So fucking good for me,” he mumbled, not sounding at all as if he were speaking to you. It was beneath his breath, a praise lost to the noise of your bodies moving together, but you keened, just the same.

“You ready for me, baby?”

A warm hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the flesh in an attempt to anchor himself, as Eddie awaited your consent. Words seemed nearly impossible, more effort than you felt capable of, so you nodded eagerly. 

Eddie pressed forward, guided his cock through your slick folds - coated himself in your arousal - before notching the head at your entrance. As eager as you both were, desperate to feel one another once more, he took his time sinking into you. The stretch of his fingers prepared you but there was always a slight pinch that dissolved into the most pleasant ache when he buried himself to the hilt.

Calloused fingers brushed at your skin, traced patterns only he could decipher, for a moment as you adjusted. But when you shifted your hips, eager to feel him move, Eddie took the hint.

With Eddie, sex varied. He could be soft and slow, sweet when he wanted to be. He could be silly, teasing you with goofy faces and tickling fingers. He could be submissive, big brown eyes staring up at you as he waited for your next move. But when he felt the need to take control, to brand his fingerprints into your skin and leave you aching for him, those nights were the most memorable.

He began slowly enough, pressing into you as deep as he could with slow, even strokes. His fingers stroked your skin as he spoke, rambling compliments that made your heart soar. But that never lasted very long. Gradually, his pace grew more frantic; harder thrusts, pressing deeper as one hand slipped from your hip to the juncture between your thighs.

Eddie pressed the pads of his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbed frantic circles in time with his thrusts, and swore each time you clenched around him. The denial made you sensitive, had you on edge almost instantly, and Eddie could tell with every keening moan of his name you released.

The orgasm you were barreling toward made your limbs unsteady, had you shaking in his grasp, and Eddie laughed as your arms gave out and your face fell into the pillow. The hand on your hip moved, rubbed your back in a soothing motion, but his pace never faltered.

Until he stopped completely.

As you clenched around him, release so close you could feel the tingling in the tips of your fingers and toes, Eddie pulled out, laughing when you whined, and tapped your ass with a heavy hand. “C’mon, princess,” he urged, voice sounding just as wrecked as you felt. “I got the prettiest girl in the world, gotta see that pretty face when you come for me.”

It made sense - given his history, you were wondering how long he would last before switching positions - but you couldn’t help the pout on your lips. “Can’t feel my arms.” Eddie laughed, used to your dramatics, and easily helped you onto your back before settling between your spread thighs. 

One hand fell to your hip, fingers digging into your overheated skin, as the other wrapped around his cock. “Take me so well, princess,” he praised, eyes glassy as he took in the sight of you spread open beneath him. You were a debauched mess, hair and makeup ruined, but Eddie looked as if he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. “Pretty little cunt was made for me.” He tapped the head of his cock against your clit, laughing when you jolted, and tilted his head to study you.

He smirked at your gasp - still somehow floored by the words that spilled out of him in the moments he took control - and shuffled closer. “Please, Eds.” Your moan had him inhaling sharply, desperate to keep himself together as he stroked his cock - still slick with your arousal. “Fuck me. I wanna come. Please, make me come.”

“Sound so pretty begging for me, princess. How could I say no to that? Fuck. My good girl, always asking so nice for what she wants.” He pressed forward, sank back into you in one quick stroke, and moaned as you clenched around him. “I’ve been mean, huh, princess? Denying you twice. How about I make it up to you?”

The glimmer in his eyes told you exactly what he had in mind but as desperate as you were to come, you could only agree. “Please, Eds. Make me feel so good. Wanna come for you.”

“I got you, princess.”

Eddie resumed his pace, hips rutting into yours as he pressed you into the mattress. He settled most of his weight over you, leaned in to nip at your neck, and you reached out to tangle your fingers in his hair. Your orgasm quickly built back up, burning white hot in your veins, and this time, Eddie did nothing to extinguish it.

“C’mon, princess,” he urged, voice low as he lifted his head to search your face. “Come for me.”

With a cry of his name, your release finally hit you. Eddie’s pace never faltered, his hips and fingers continuing to work you over, as he tilted his head to get a better look at you. “There she is,” he cooed, voice a ruined rasp. “Fuck, look at you. So fucking pretty.” He huffed with the exertion, his voice breaking in a few places as he spoke, but that did little to shut him up. “Shit, you’re perfect, princess. So fucking good for me. Wanna feel you come again. You can do that for me, right?”

The overstimulation was prickling at your nerves, a live wire to your skin with every snap of his hips and brush of his thumb, but the pleading look in his eyes - and the white-hot energy coursing through your veins, setting your entire body alight - had you nodding. “For you.”

He leaned in, pressed his mouth to yours in a messy clash of lips and teeth that only vaguely resembled a kiss, but you used the grip on his hair to hold him closer as he rocked into you. He eagerly swallowed your desperate moans, the breathless whimpers rising in pitch with every brush of his thumb, and nipped at your bottom lip when you began to clench around him once more.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he encouraged, eyes blown wide as he took in the disheveled state of you. “C’mon, princess. One more for me. One more and I’ll come for you. Where d’you want it, baby?”

“Inside, please. Eddie, please!”

The second release hit you harder than the first, knocked the air from your lungs and turned the edges of your vision white. A keening noise escaped you, sharper - higher, louder - than anything you’d heard from yourself before and, vaguely, you knew there would be a noise complaint awaiting his uncle when he returned home. But that thought quickly disappeared as Eddie continued to mumble praise in your ear.

His hips stuttered, pace faltering slightly as your release triggered his own, and you matched his moan as he spilled into you. He buried himself to the hilt, fingers digging into your hip - likely leaving behind perfect little indentations of his fingertips - and groaned as he dropped his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “Good morning to you, too.”

Weakly, you tugged at the locks of hair between your fingers and groaned when you felt Eddie’s cock twitch at the gesture. “And you called me the nympho,” you teased, voice shattered.

Eddie lifted his head, eyes narrowed as he took in the state of you, before he grinned. “Maybe it’s just because it’s you, princess. Everything about you gets me going.”

“Mm.” You gingerly ran your fingers through his hair as he shifted - drew a huff from both of you when he pulled out. “And here I was, thinking that you, like, loved me or something.”

“Of course I love you, princess.” He was quick to say it, ready to provide any assurance you might need, but when he saw the sparkle of mischief in your eyes - the teasing glint that lived for riling him up - he rolled his eyes and pulled you into his chest. “Even if you can’t go more than a few hours without jumping my bones.”

“Y’know, one day, we should make a bet. See who can last longer.”

Eddie hummed, pretending to think about it, before tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’d kick your ass, sweetheart. But not today, though.”

“In your dreams, Munson.” Realistically, you knew that neither of you would last - as much as you loved Eddie for his personality, the little things, and as much as you loved spending time with him doing nothing in particular, you truly enjoyed your time spent between the sheets as much as he did - but that would be saved for another day. So, instead, you agreed. “Not today, though.”

There was time to be made up for - months you’d missed out on due to school - and celebrations to be had as Eddie had finally graduated and would be joining you in Indianapolis in the fall. For the moment, all that mattered was the sweet thing you had going on.

___________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Okay, I swear. The next fic is not gonna be smut. It’s gonna have a real plot. And it’s gonna be for Eddie. I just gotta. Write it. It’s not my fault he's so fucking pretty. With those eyes and that face. Ugh.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter​, @hunnybunimdun​, @breathinfive​, @s-u-t​, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d​, @rae-iin​, @pennamesgame​

If you’re not tagged, it’s because Tumblr wouldn’t let me!

[dearsnow]

THOUGH I KNOW MY HEART WOULD BREAK

Part 1 || Part 2

- your best friend has come to collect you after your first true night out, and you can’t keep your feelings in any longer (patrick verona x gn!reader, angst that will be resolved ⚠️ strong themes of alcohol / being drunk and smoking, there will be a second part)

word count: 1,187

a/n - aaa my first patrick fic!! i’m definitely going to make a second part because i absolutely cannot leave this unresolved lol. lightly inspired by “francesca” by hozier :)

Partygoers whirl around you, blending flesh with flashing lights and the strong smell of alcohol. You laugh at the feeling of people brushing by your shoulder, the slight touches sending shivers through your skin. You’ve had way too much to drink, and you revel in the feeling.

God, you never knew how good being drunk felt. That’s the problem with never getting out- you won’t get to experience how light your feet are after a couple glasses. You hardly even notice the arm slung around your shoulder.

“There you are. God, you got me worried sick! I can’t leave you alone for one night, can I?” The man half-grins. You instantly recognize him. It would be hard not to, with his brown curls and gorgeous smile.

“Patrick! What are you doing here?” You slur, melting into his touch. Your best friend has come to rescue you. The thought, slippery and soft, sets butterflies loose in your stomach. Patrick Verona is at a party for you. And you love him more than your voice could ever say.

“Oh, you know, just to mingle.” You begin to nod before he cuts you off. “No, I’m here to take your ass home.” His expression turns sullen as a hint of worry lingers in his eyes. His eyebrows are pinched, and it takes your last drop of willpower to avoid reaching up to smooth them with your thumb.

You scrunch your nose. He’s yelling over the cacophony of noise in the background, but his voice is all you can focus on. “But I’m having fun for once in my miserable life.” You poke his chest. “You can’t take that away from me, not right now.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going home. Your goody two-shoes butt will not appreciate waking up in a stranger’s house.” You frown. “Trust me.” He’s speaking a bit quicker than normal, but you’re so focused on how his eyes reflect the light that you barely notice. Nothing in the whole entire world is prettier than this moment. Not the mountains, or fresh dew, or that perfume bottle you saw in a thrift store once. He is beautiful.

You let out a sigh, slightly disappointed that you won’t be able to revel at the strobe lights for much longer. The mess of color around you was abstract art in your mind, a canvas splattered with paint. In any case, however, you will always follow Patrick. Even to the ends of the Earth.

“Ok…” You trail off as he leads you out of the stranger’s house. He’s been smoking again, as told by the lingering scent on his shirt. You’ve always hated his smoking. The smell, however, lights some sort of fire inside you. You just wish it didn’t hurt him.

When you get outside, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. The night is cold, but the stars are out. They twinkle above your head, and your breaths form clouds in the air. The noise of the party is muted, and the sky is spinning, and Patrick is worriedly waving his hand in front of your face.

That’s really the last thing you remember before you’re walking through your front door. Your parents aren’t home, thank God. There is no chance they would be happy with this situation- you, drunk, and Padua’s most feared boy bringing you home.

“Careful,” He mutters as you stumble into your bedroom. How he got you in a car is a mystery, considering the fact everything in your line of sight is blurry. You could hold a book two inches from your face and not be able to see a word. You sit down on your mattress, patting the spot next to you. He sits, and you feel the familiar little jolt in your abdomen that you always feel when he’s close. You can hardly look him in the eye; not just because you’re drunk, though that is certainly a factor.

Your room is dark, and your floor is messy, and so is his hair. You suck in your breath. You want to say something, anything, and your mind can only come up with one idea.

You need to do this. You’ve been thinking it for so long, and he deserves to know. Something in your mind is telling you not to, but the liquid courage in your veins is telling you ‘yes, yes, a million times yes’. Even though it might break your heart, the words slip past your lips like a snake to hang in the heavy air.

“I love you.”

“What was that?” His eyebrows raise as he looks at you like you’re insane. That didn’t really come out of your mouth, did it?

“I love you, Patrick. Always have.” You smile, eyes slightly unfocused. “In a more than friends way.” He can smell the alcohol clinging to you, and he hates it.

He laughs, though the sound is laden with sorrow. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, I really mean it.” You put your hand over his warm ones, and he doesn’t pull away.

He’s been waiting for this moment for the entire time you’ve known each other. He loves you so much it makes his heart ache. He knows the sound of your voice like his own, and he’s convinced your hands fit his like they were always meant to. Patrick fears that his head might explode until he realizes one sad little thing. It was too soon, too intoxicated, and too uncertain.

“Get some rest, girlie. I’ll find you in the morning.” He stands up, eyes burning. He needs a smoke, a drink, and a place to let himself feel the self-pity coursing through his veins. This means nothing, he tells himself. You make a pitiful sound, trying to follow him, but he can walk faster than you can stumble.

You’re so drunk you probably don’t even know what you’re saying to him. He can’t accept it, and he can’t reciprocate. If he did, he would be the biggest douche in the world. The kind of douche that preys on his drunk friend the minute they say something they would never mean while sober.

You grip onto his t-shirt, but he gently pries your hands off. You’re near tears now, and you wish he would just stay. Why can’t he, you wonder. You love him. You love him so much, so intensely it puts poetry to shame. You love his cologne, the way he speaks, his humor. You know him so well you could find him in any life, and your hands do fit his like gloves, and he can’t just leave you like this.

But he won’t let your drunk words ruin what you have. It’s too precious to be tossed out after one little slip-up. He’s not one to scare easily, but this moment is more terrifying that anything he has ever had to do in his entire life.

He needs to leave, and he needs to pray that he can get over this.

As he closes your bedroom door, separating you from the only boy you’ve ever truly loved, he mutters, “I hope you don’t remember this tomorrow.”

[henrysglock]

me watching tumblr figure out that ST5 is going to be the apocalyptic nuclear fallout season as if I didn’t predict and explain exactly that all the way back in December:

[k5ashe]

malicious

taking care of your anaemic roomate

mdni: dark content, mentions of degrading nicknames, abusive and toxic relationship

starring my twink malewife Nikolai ^^

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"Fyodor-?" Your sweet voice rings in his room as you walk in, opening the curtains. It's 10 AM, a perfect Sunday morning. "Wake up, it's already 10. How long are you gonna stay coped in there?" Your tone is slightly strict, nagging him for being such a bed bug. You sigh when he pulls the blanket over him, reluctant to get up. "Do you want me to splash water on your face again?". At the mention of water, he gets up, staring at you with a scrutinized expression.

"It's my day off. Go away." You huff at his cold tone, opening the window and letting sunlight in.

Its been 5 months since you started living with him. A medical student with basically zero income- you needed a cheap place to stay, which wasn't hard when you found Fyodor. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Discovering he was anaemic was easy- there were signs. The first was how cold he was- just like his demeanor. His finger tips felt like ice against your plump skin. His eyes seemed tired, a yellowish hue in them. So, when he fainted while working, it didn't surprise you.

"You know, you should stop being so mean to me". You jokingly say, earning a glare from him. He slowly gets up, gulping down water. You stare at him for a second, before making his bed up.

Huh? Blood? You freeze, looking at his undershirt. The sleeves were ripped, as if surviving an assault. Half of the buttons were either ripped off or broken in half. What makes you erk was the humongous blood stain on it, the stench making you crill your nose up. It takes you by surprise when he suddenly grabs the shirt, yanking it from your hands.

"Fyod-" "Did I ask you to make the bed? Stop pissing me off first thing in the morning."

You're taken aback by his strict tone, taking a step back. He enters the washroom, slamming the door shut. You huff, making your way over the kitchen.

You're left alone the whole day, the man not bothering to come out his room

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

Ring. Ring. Ring

You get up, startled by the sudden series of bells chiming. You hurriedly open the door, still half sleepy. "Who is it-...?". Your eyes meet one of a confused man. Long, white braided hair- spreading along him like an expanse of white scenery. He tilts his head, looking down at you with a grin.

"Wow, Fedya has a girlfriend? You're pretty, miss." Eh? A girlfriend? You shake your head, confused. "I'm his roomate. Who might you be?". At your question, the man fakes a disheartened smile, clutching his shirt. "How cruel, my dear Fedya hasn't mentioned me to you even once? Ah, well. He is an asshole, so." You fake a smile, looking at him. "He's not home right now. Is there a message you want me to pass down, sir-"

Oh, Lord. You freeze at the sinister smile the stranger gives you, his lips stretching wide. The lips, typically drawn in a tight, thin line, seem to stretch unnaturally across the face, forming a grim, twisted expression that appears almost predatory. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, but there's no warmth or sincerity in the gesture. Instead, it exudes an aura of calculated malice, as if the person behind it is relishing some hidden agenda or reveling in the discomfort they are causing.

"Ah, how cute. Staying with a criminal-" Before he could complete what he was saying, you slam the door in his face, dropping to the floor. Your heartbeat is the fastest it has ever been. In a second, you're sprinting, closing all the windows in the house and double locking the back door. You hug yourself, wrapping yourself up in sheets, hoping to find some comfort.

Till dawn, the image on that smile haunts your mind.

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

"Fyodor? Your friend came to visit you." He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze from the book he was reading. He's silent, signalling you to continue.

"He has really long, white hair. Honestly, he scared the crap out of me. He startes grinning like a madman and he said I'm living with a criminal. People these days are-"

Huh? You shut your mouth when you see his expression. His eyes are wide, staring at you as he's seen a ghost. You shiver.

"And he kept calling you Fedya". He gets up, grabbing your shoulder. You look at him, confused. " Fyo-". His hand chops down on your neck. You gasp, feeling immense pain run through your spine. In a second, you're out cold.

".. You know too much."

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

As you woke, your heart pounded in terror. Chains bounded your wrists and ankles, trapping you in a dim, foreboding room. Panic surged through you as you struggled against the cold metal, realizing you were captive and alone, mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

"You're up"

You lift your head, heart dropping to your stomach when you recognize the familiar face. The tired eyes, purple hair. "Fyodor-?... Why are you-.. "

And then it all comes down. The countless blood stains you found on his shirt. His absence of days, stretching to weeks. How he hated you grabbing his phone. At a point, this should have deemed suspicious to you. But, love makes you blind, right?

It was like love at first sight. His tone was oddly gentle and he was more open to you. His build was slim but he was strong, strong enough to grab you when you almost fell from the couch. You felt nervous under his gaze. When your eyes met, a rush of nervous excitement fluttered in the pit of your stomach, mingling with the undeniable pull of attraction. It was as if time stood still, the world fading away around you as you became lost in the depths of his gaze.

"... Will you kill me too, Fyodor?". Your sweet voice rings through him again, and he clenches his teeth, almost holding back. His hand grabs your chin, tilting it up. You smile at him, a genuine one.

"I love you, Fyodor."

He stares at you, silent for a moment before he slowly starts laughing. He laughs and laughs, the sound cold and humourless. "Oh, my beloved. You really are a dumb whore, aren't you? I already suspected you were one. But this? Heh. What an idiot."

…Huh? You look up at him, freezing. "What are you saying….?"

He stands up now, walking to where you sit on the floor. A harsh smirk is on his lips now, and he stands above you, looking down at you with a twisted expression. "Look at you... you honestly can't see why I picked you? A dumb slut is what you are. And you're mine to play with, after all. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought you were smarter, but, clearly not. You're nothing but an idiotic whore."

"But-" Your voice cracks. "I love you, Fyodor. I love every single moment that happened between us. There’s no way all that was fake." You say, crying.

"Oh? You love me?" He grips your hair now, pulling you up to your feet. He smirks as his eyes stare darkly into your own, almost sadistically amused by your words. He's always been cruel, but... never to this degree. "My dear, look where it's gotten you, hm? You're at my mercy... do you really think confessing to loving a man like me will do you any good?"

You gasp for breath, tears streaming down your face. "Play with me, Fedya". You say, tone almost desperate. " Just don’t leave, Fedya-"

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

"Oh, my..."

His expression goes a little dark now, almost predatory as he stares down at your desperate, pathetic form. Staring down with cold dark eyes. "Does the little plaything want attention? Tell me, slut. Are you that starved for it? Is that what you so desperately need from me, hm?" His fingers toy with your breasts, playing with it almost teasingly.

You shiver, a moan slipping through when his tongue swirls against your nipple. His hand gropes your breasts, which fit perfectly in his hands.

"... Please- make love to me"

He freezes, before letting out a deep rumbling laugh. He unzips his pants, grabbing your chained ankles and spreading your legs.

"You're the one who asked for it".

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

hi guys! I really put in a lotttt of effort in this fic. Hopefully, you all like it

[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 1/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Story Chapter list

This is from an ask someone sent to me privatly. I liked the idea so much that I decided to make multiples little chapters. I think I will write two other chapters after this one. Keep in mind that you'll need to read the main story, When Night Comes (Linked aboved) to understand this. :)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Reading under a dimly lit candle was an activity Dorian quite enjoyed when he was on his own. It gave him a moment to ponder on things and relax. As the night wore on and the hours melted away, he found himself lost in contemplation, the outside world a mere whisper in the recesses of his mind. His husband and daughter, out attending to their nocturnal needs, left him to his own devices, a scenario he relished.

Soon, however, his moment of quietude was abruptly disturbed by a person knocking at the door downstairs. Startled from his reverie, he glanced at the clock, puzzled by the uncharacteristically early return of his family. Concern etched his features as he pondered the reason for their abrupt return. He wondered if perhaps something had happened. Before he could ponder further, a soft servant's voice echoed from below, announcing the presence of an unexpected visitor. Setting aside his beloved books, he rose from his comfortable armchair and made his way down the creaking stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the house.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of heartbeat. His senses on high alert, he tensed, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the stranger before him. The individual had yet to be invited in, but he knew that even an uninvited vampire was not to be trusted.

The woman's presence exuded an aura of refinement, her brown locks cascading gracefully around her face, which bore the hallmark crimson hue of a recent feeding. Despite the evidence of her nocturnal activities, she appeared immaculate, a testament to her self-discipline and restraint. Her poised demeanor hinted at years of experience, suggesting a vampire of considerable age and standing within their society. Yet, for all her apparent prestige, he found himself unable to recall encountering her at any of the prestigious gatherings that dotted their social calendar.

More striking, however, was the peculiar sensation stirring within him, a faint echo of recognition dancing at the edges of his consciousness.There was a form of familiarity there, he knew that woman. From where, he didn't know. And that was a scary thought.

He stood there in front of the door and she just looked at him and smirked, having seen a form of curious recognition in his eyes. "Leaving a guest outside, how impolite."

Summoning his resolve, he met her gaze squarely, his voice edged with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. "Who are you?" he demanded, his words echoing in the dimly lit foyer.

In response, she offered a chilling laugh, her demeanor unyielding in the face of his inquiry. Clenching his jaw in frustration, he awaited her response, steeling himself for whatever revelations lay ahead. "You may call me Elizabetta," she declared, her voice dripping with an icy arrogance that sent a chill coursing through him. "Your younger sister."

 It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath in the wake of her revelation. A sensation long forgotten, buried beneath the layers of his immortal existence, clawed its way to the surface, reminding him of the vulnerability that lingered beneath his immortal facade. His mouth went dry, parched as if he hadn't tasted blood in months. With each futile attempt to form words, his throat constricted, constricting like a vice around his vocal cords. Finally, in a barely audible whisper, he dared to voice the question that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"From the same sire?" he inquired, his voice barely more than a hoarse murmur. He cursed himself for stating the obvious, for grasping at straws in the face of this unsettling revelation.

She acquiesced curtly, "I was turned twenty two years after you. Mikhail took me in, taught me everything. May I come in? We have some matters to discuss."

The urge to slam the door shut, to banish this unwelcome intruder from his threshold, surged within him like a tide of fury. He harbored no desire to revisit the memories of his sire, to confront the horrors of his transformation that still haunted his darkest dreams.  Memories of the red glow in the night – the pain, the screams, and the thirst, and then the blood and rain on his shivering form – came flooding back in. 

Yet, somehow, with all that, he found himself inviting her in. With a grace that belied her vampiric nature, she stepped across the threshold, her presence casting a dark shadow over the once serene atmosphere of his abode. She looked around the entrance hall in wonder, appraising the manor critically. Seated in the tea room, the air thick with unspoken tension, they were served tea, a customary gesture of hospitality that she regarded with thinly veiled disdain.

"The food of mortals," commented his guest with a small sneer, "Whyever would you waste your time on such things, brother?" The taunting way in which she said the last word did not go unnoticed. She had been aware of his existence while he had never thought of this possibility. She tried to assert her dominance, even in his own home.

“I have the money to spend on such things,” he bit back easily, then he chuckled. “I suppose some aren’t as fortunate." His quip earned a sour grimace from his sis– the woman, a silent acknowledgment of his victory in their verbal sparring match. Yet, beneath her veneer of disdain, he sensed a simmering resentment, a jealousy that threatened to boil over at any moment.

As the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock, their gaze locked in a silent battle of wills. Dorian savored the taste of his tea, a calculated display of indifference in the face of her scrutiny. He set his cup down with a light clank and joined his hands together.

"While this meeting was pleasant, if you do not have anything to say to me – "

"What is so special about you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with bitterness as she voiced the question that seemed to have long plagued her thoughts.

He sneered, "What are you saying?"

"He speaks of you often, constantly, ‘My greatest creation.’ he says," she announced, jealousy contorted with her sharp features, "I have been present; you haven't. Why are you his favorite?"

Dorian's laughter rang hollow in the stillness of the room, a thin veil masking the unease that gnawed at the edges of his composure. The notion that their sire maintained a watchful eye over him sent a shiver down his spine, stirring dormant fears that he had long sought to suppress.

He put a hand on his chest. "Oh, dear sister," he cooed mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he feigned pity. "Is that it? Are you here because our oh so esteemed sire does not give you the attention you desperately crave?" His words, laced with false sympathy, cut through the tension like a knife, a calculated attempt to deflect her accusations.

She gritted her teeth angrily and clenched her fists. Dorian remained steadfast in his resolve, unwilling to be drawn into her petty grievances. "Why you?" she asked again.

"I am afraid you are simply inadequate," he said with a shrug. He loved the sight of her face turning red in rage. It was such a delightful thing to see. But as satisfying as her reaction might have been, Dorian knew that this confrontation served no purpose, that her presence in his home was an unwelcome intrusion. She held no information that should concern him. He wanted nothing to do with his sire, he wanted no reminder of him yet this woman was waltzing in to involve him in her irrelevant problems. "Leave " he ordered.

"You were never -"

"I don't care!" He finally snapped loudly, losing his composure and revealing more than he intended to, "He left me! I barely know anything about him!”

But before he could gather his thoughts, a voice cut through the tension, drawing his attention away from the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume him. Turning towards the sound, he found himself face to face with his beloved partner and their daughter, the unexpected sight grounding him in the present moment.

"Papa, who is that?" A small yet confident voice asked. He straightened himself and turned around in surprise. There stood his daughter (Y/n) and his partner placed protectively in front of her. Dorian hadn't even noticed their return.

"Oh, nobody starshine," he assured her. He sent a glare at the lady. "She will leave soon."

"So the rumors are true," commented the woman as she looked down at the small girl. 

"You indeed sired an immortal child." There was glee and triumph in her eyes.

At these words, Killian whispered something in the girl’s ear and (Y/N) opened her mouth to argue, but he sent her a look before leaving the room soon after. Dorian sent him a thankful look; this should not concern (Y/n).

"Leave at once," he repeated once again with more insistence.

“It is a good thing, I suppose, that I had preemptively warned the Night Council about this. You have been summoned to appear in front of them for the crime of siring an immortal child," she declared, her tone devoid of remorse as she extended the damning missive towards him.

As the letter changed hands, Dorian felt a surge of dread wash over him, a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

[hopefulromances]

Omg imagine Jamie with a partner who collects flowers to put in her book. so when Roy and Jamie are out training in the morning Jamie looks for flowers and picks them and Roy’s like wtf and then Jamie explains that his partner collects them. So Jamie comes home with a coffee and a flower you don’t have yet ever noting.. ahhh I don’t know if this is good or not

THIS IS SO CUTE SO SO SO CUTE

Here's a little baby drabble

"What the fuck are you doing?" Roy barked when he realized Jamie wasn't behind him.

Jamie was walking through the garden of some stranger's house. He was parading around, carefully stepping over bushes and flowers.

"Gotta find a new flower," he said simply, looking around himself.

Roy grunted and rolled his eyes. "Look Jamie, you can garden in your own time, now we have to finish our run."

Jamie waved Roy off. Roy looked around and huffed, crossing his arms as Jamie continued to step around the garden.

The porch light flicked on, and a middle age man opened the front door.

"What are you doing in my garden?" He asked, looking between Roy and Jamie. "Hang on, you're Roy Kent!" Roy growled. "And you're-"

"Jamie Tartt, yeah, can I take this flower," he pointed at a weird looking purple flower that had several thin petals sticking out from its purple bud.

The man shrugged. "Sure."

"Mint, thanks, mate!" Jamie reached down and delicately picked the flower. "What's it called?"

The man came over and took out his glasses to look at the flower. "Oh, good choice, that is a Spider Daisy, a lovely color, the latin name is Osteo-"

"Cheers, mate, gotta dash," Jamie cut him off, stepping out of the garden and starting his jog again, carefully shielding the flower in his grasp.

Roy let out a sigh, thanked the man, and started to run off after Jamie.

...

You woke up to the sound of your alarm at 7:30 in the morning. It was criminal to be awake this early, especially when Jamie wasn't home yet. You grumbled and shoved your face back into the pillow.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Jamie was calling your name. You only let out a loud grunt in return, hoping he'd come in there and drag you out of bed.

The first thing you felt was his lips on your temple.

"Morning, love," He chuckled, brushing his fingers through your hair.

"Mmmm," you groaned back.

"I brought you something."

You rolled over onto your side and saw him holding out a cup of coffee. You let out a muted squeal of glee as you shuffled to a sitting position. You took a long sip of the coffee before letting a lazy smile come onto you face.

"Better?" Jamie chuckled.

"Better," You responded, nodding. "Morning, Jamie."

He grinned, leaning into towards you. "Morning."

You cupped his jaw as he leaned in to kiss you. This was a beautiful way to wake up wasn't it. You couldn't imagine a better way to wake up.

"I, uh, got you something else," Jamie mumbled. It was then you noticed he hand an arm behind his back. You cocked your head, motioning for him to continue. He pulled out the flower he'd picked up.

You're eyes widened as you smiled. "Oh, wow! It's gorgeous!"

You put aside your coffee to delicately take the flower with both hands. Jamie looked at your face as you gazed at it, reveling in his success in making you light up.

"The bloke said it was a Spider Daisy," Jamie told you, glancing between you and the flower. "I thought it looked cool."

"It does," you echoed. You traced the flower and it's interesting shape and look. "I'll press it right now."

She handed the flower back to Jamie and flew out of the bed, now suddenly much more awake. Jamie laughed as you ran to your desk and pulled out a book. You weren't wearing pants, your hair was wild, and he was pretty sure that was a wine stain on your shirt but he didn't care, he thought you looked beautiful.

You flipped through the pages, full of different flowers and dates.

"This one is so special, Jamie," you mused, coming to sit next to him on the bed. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, babe," Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He was aiming for your lips but you were too excited to press your flower and turned away. He grumbled and flopped back on the bed.

This was so cute! I hope you enjoy!

[skywalker1dream]

part of the stuck with the stranger series

Title:Unexpected Connections

part one | part three

note: hello, how are you guys hope you are having a good day or night, my day is fantastic so far I driking my second cup of coffee exams are coming and writing those fics kind of helping me to relive my stress (even tho I have so little time for myself) so this is part 2 of stuck with the stranger and I changed many things cause I didn't liked my previous writing and add plot twist too ( I don't know if it is a good plot twist tho my friend saw it coming mile away, but maybe its because she knows me better then I know myself, okay I won't bore you even more and I hope you like it <3

Summary: Carlos Sainz and the reader's romance takes an unexpected turn when it's revealed she's the little sister of Carlos's best friend, Lando Norris. As secrets unravel, they must navigate the complexities of their relationship. Will love conquer all, or will fate intervene?

warnings: none, I guess?

The first date with Carlos was like stepping into a fairy tale. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the intimate restaurant as you sat across from him, lost in conversation that flowed effortlessly between you.

"So, tell me something about yourself that I wouldn't learn from twitter," Carlos said, leaning forward with genuine interest.

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his easy charm. "Well, I have a secret talent for making the world's best pancakes," you confessed with a grin.

Carlos's eyes lit up with amusement. "Really? I'll have to put your skills to the test sometime. My pancake game could use some serious improvement."

The laughter that followed was infectious, filling the air with a sense of warmth and comfort. As the evening progressed, you found yourselves diving deeper into conversation, exploring topics ranging from your favorite childhood memories to your wildest dreams for the future.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye, and before you knew it, the restaurant was closing around you. Reluctantly, you and Carlos said your goodbyes, promising to meet again soon.

........

On your second date, Carlos surprised you by taking you to a local amusement park. The sound of laughter filled the air as you rode roller coasters and indulged in cotton candy.

"This is amazing," you exclaimed, your heart racing with excitement as you clutched Carlos's hand tightly on the Ferris wheel.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Carlos replied, a smile playing on his lips as he looked at you fondly. "I've been wanting to take you here since our first date."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, you leaned against Carlos's shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. In that moment, surrounded by the bright lights and joyful laughter of the amusement park, you knew that this was where you were meant to be.

The evening ended with a cozy dinner at a nearby cafe, where you and Carlos shared stories and laughed until your sides hurt. It was a night you would never forget, a perfect blend of excitement and intimacy that left you craving more.

.....

dates followed, each one more memorable than the last. From picnics in the park to late-night stargazing sessions, you and Carlos reveled in each other's company, savoring every moment you spent together.

One evening, Carlos surprised you by taking you to a quaint bookstore nestled in the heart of the city. You spent hours browsing the shelves, exchanging book recommendations and sharing snippets of your favorite passages. It was a simple yet meaningful date, one that allowed you to connect on a deeper level.

As you walked hand in hand through the quiet streets, the night air filled with the soft glow of streetlights, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the man beside you. In Carlos, you had found not only a romantic partner but also a kindred spirit, someone who understood you in a way that no one else ever had.

.....

But amidst the blissful haze of new love, there was a looming complication, one that neither of you had anticipated. It all came to a head one week later, on a race weekend, when Lando brought you to the paddock, and Carlos's world collided with yours in an unexpected twist of fate.

As you walked through the bustling paddock beside Lando, Carlos's familiar figure came into view, his brown eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of you.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion as he approached.

Before you could respond, Lando stepped forward, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Carlos, meet my little sister," he said, gesturing towards you. "She wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Carlos froze, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in the span of a heartbeat. His gaze darted between you and Lando, realization dawning on him like a bolt of lightning.

"Your sister?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... but I had no idea... that you....."

You watched as the shock registered on Carlos's face, his features contorting with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

In that moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The revelation had shaken Carlos to his core, casting a shadow over the fragile bond you had built together. And as you stood there, caught between past and present, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store for you and Carlos.

.....