#update- he has a satchel now

[m--bloop]

[bubblegump-1-nk]

Lost in Translation

pairing: Fem!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which you and Theo are best friends, and secretly in love. But when Theo accidentally overhears a conversation between you and Enzo, he realizes you might not feel the same way…

Note: Ok y’all I’m sorry I PROMISE this will be my last Theo fic in a little while, I’m really going to try to write for other characters (and dw I won’t cheat and write for Lorenzo’s other characters ;)). On that note, I am going on many trips this summer and don’t know how much I’ll be able to write so I just want to get this story out before I leave for my trip tomorrow. Update: I didn’t finish in time and I’m currently halfway across the world writing this, having been awake for 23 hours straight, so if it stops making sense towards the end, pls forgive me 🙏🏼

~~~

It was a particularly warm day in March, so you and your friends decided to carry out your free period by the Black Lake. The sound of the waves lightly crashing onto the shore and the light breeze dancing through the trees was enough to make you want to fall asleep on the plush grass beneath you, but Pansy’s voice brought you out of your dreamy state.

“Y/n?” She spoke again, when her voice didn’t get your attention the first time.

“Mhm.” You muttered from where you were laying in the grass, a smile small placed on your face as the sun hit your skin so nicely.

“Dreaming of Theo?” Hermione inquired, causing Daphne to giggle due to your friendship with Theo being a little too “friendly”.

You shot up and glared at the girls. “How many times do I have to tell you, we are only best friends.”

This caused Daphne and Hermione to laugh even harder, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“Ok, ok, whatever. Y/n, do you have the charms work?” Pansy asked, annoyed that her question had been ignored thrice.

“Yeah, I have it here.” You said, shaking your head to forget the altercation as you rummaged through your satchel.

“Speak of the devil.” Daphne said, causing you to look up.

Class must have gotten out already, hence why Theo, Enzo, and Mattheo were walking your way now.

You gave Pansy your homework and went back to resting on your makeshift grass bed.

“Forgot our invite?” Mattheo said, as the boys reached your group.

“You had class, idiot.” Pansy said, scribbling down your work.

“When has that ever stopped us.” Mattheo said, as he sat down and threw his tie off and gave Pansy a sassy look.

You felt your body being moved by strong hands you immediately recognized as Theo’s.

“Hey, you.” Theo said, as he looked down at you. He had moved you so your head now rested on his lap, a much more comfortable pillow.

“Hi Teddy.” You said, your eyes still closed.

“Theres other people here too, y/n”. Enzo joked, his mouth full with food.

“I know, I just don’t tend to say hi to people I don’t like.” You joked, making a face at Enzo.

He threw a piece of candy at you, but it was intercepted by Theo who put it in his mouth.

“What’s in the bag Mattheo.” Hermione asked, changing the conversation topic and drawing attention to Mattheo’s bag which was slowly and quietly jumping up and down.

“These idiots spilled some of our potion into my bag and it hasn’t stopped jumping since. You should have seen it before though, it’s calmed down a lot since then.”

Theo and Enzo began to laugh, and the rest of the group followed suit.

Theo’s hands were playing with your hair, like second-nature.

Enzo’s gaze burned down on the both of you, and you slowly made eye contact with him. You had drunkenly told Enzo about your feelings towards Theo after a party a couple weeks ago, when he brought you back to your room (a job that was usually taken by Theo).

—

“Careful, y/n, watch your step.” He had said, as he helped you back into your room from the Slytherin common room.

“Your the best Enzo, you’re really my best friend.” You had responded, turning to face him as you said it.

“Yeah you’re mine too y/n.” He said with a small chuckle. You two had known each other for ages, and your bond was like no other.

As he was helping you out of your clothes, you started to explain your feelings.

“Enzo, I can trust you right?” You asked, biting your lower lip.

He stopped momentarily, nervous. “Of course you can trust me, y/n.” He said, taken aback by your silly question.

“Ok, because what I’m about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone about. And I mean it. Not even your cat.” You said, turning to face him, your expression completely serious.

“O-ok, yeah. Of course.” He said, surprised by your quick change of tone.

“I mean seriously. If you told anyone it could ruin everything.”

Enzo gave you a skeptical look, what the fuck were you scared to say he thought to himself.

You took his silence as an invitation to speak again.

“I’m in love with Theo. And I mean really in love with Theo. I’ve thought about it for some time now and I just had to tell someone about it.” You rambled.

Enzo was silent for a moment, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Fucking finally you realize!”

—

“Mattheo, stop it! Do it yourself!” Daphne’s voice brought you and Enzo out of your shared daydream. Daphne snatched her potions essay out of Mattheo’s hands and slapped him with it, causing him to yelp out.

“Will you two stop it? Anyways, we better get going y/n.” Hermione said, collecting her stuff and getting up.

“Where to?” Theo asked.

“Harry and Ron are meeting us at Hagrid’s in a bit. We have to help him with some baby dragon he found.” You explained, getting up from Theo’s legs.

“Ok, see you at dinner then.” He said softly, helping you put your things away.

“See you.” You said to him, and then loudly to the rest of the group as you walked away with Hermione.

Theo stared at you as you walked away, his being consumed with you.

~~

Dinner was quick, and as you made your way out of the Great Hall, you detached yourself from Hermione, Harry, and Ron, to grab Enzo.

“Come with me.” You said, pulling him by his arm and giving him no time to ask questions.

You pulled him into your dorm room and closed the door.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m gonna stop being a pussy and confess! I’m tired of being hopelessly in love and I want to do something about it.” You explained.

“Fucking finally!” He said, repeating the words he had said that fateful night.

“And you’re going to help me practice.”

What..?” Enzo asked, a confused expression on his face.

“I need you to help me practice what I’m going to say. Please.” You said, throwing the last word in there to make it sound more like a question than a command.

“Ok yeah. Anything to finally get you two together.” Enzo asked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, I can’t do it! What if he doesn’t like me back, and then I ruin our friendship and I lose him completely. I’ll tear the group apart. I-I can’t do this.” You say, sinking down to the floor, your worries consuming you.

Enzo follows you down to the ground, and grabs one of your shoulders gently. His other hand lifting your chin to look him in the eyes.

“Y/n, I love you, but you’re being so fucking stupid right now. Of course he loves you, it’s so painstakingly obvious. I mean everyone knew before you two realized it. He practically crumbles at the sight of you talking to other boys. So please, just do this.” He explains, putting emphasis on the last sentence.

“You’re right. I- wait, he gets jealous when I talk to other guys?” You ask, diverging the conversation.

Laughter erupts out of Enzo, and it vibrates through out the entire room.

~~

Little did you know, Theo had had a similar conversation with Mattheo the night of that party a few weeks ago, which was the reason for his absence in taking you to your room

—

He was sitting on the astronomy tower, smoking a cigarette when Mattheo appeared.

“Party’s down there, mate.”

“I’m not interested.” Theo had said, watching as the smoke from his cigarette mixed from the smoke created by his voice in the cold air.

“Why’s that?” Mattheo asked, sitting down next to Theo and taking a cigarette from the open pack on the ground.

“I can’t stand it anymore. Seeing her with other boys.”

“Y/n?” Mattheo asked, in which Theo confirmed with a small nod.

“My chest physically hurts when I see her flirt with other people. I’m physically hurting knowing I can’t be with her. Knowing I can’t love her.” Theo explains, tears brimming in his usually stole cold eyes.

“Then tell her. I assure you she would much rather flirt with you than those tossers.”

—

So now, Theo was on his way to your dorm, excitement and fear teeming inside of him. He was repeating the speech he had prepared earlier with Mattheo over and over in his head, but he knew it was useless. He knew he would forget all of it the moment he looked into your angelic face.

He ran up the stairs to your dorm room, pushing people aside and muttering apologies as he did so.

He ran down the hallway, excited to get to your door. He finally reached the dark oak, but was surprised by the laughter he heard inside. That wasn’t your sweet laugh. It was loud and boisterous, a boys. Theo waited outside your door, listening in. Had he misread the signs?

“Enzo stop it. Stop laughing.” You said.

Enzo? Theo thought, confusion clouding his mind.

“Ok, ok, yep, sorry.” Enzo said, laughter still slipping out of his lips.

“I love you, ok?” You said, after slapping the side of his head.

“Finally you realize. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” Enzo responded, and Theo’s heart dropped. It dropped and dropped until he was sure it was laying on the floor somewhere. His throat closed up and mouth got all dry.

You were in love with Enzo? How could he have missed that? How could he possibly have missed that? Tears threatened to spill, and he was damned if he let anyone see him cry. He ran out of there as soon as he regained feeling in his legs.

Theo wanted to crawl into the Black Lake and drown. How could the girl he’s been in love with since he was a child love someone else? One of his best friends for that matter. Why was his life always so unfair?”

~~

“Ok, ok I’m ready.” You say, after having finished your little improv love confession with Enzo.

“Ok, so what are you waiting for?”

“Now? You want me to go now?” You ask, your eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening.

“Yes, now! Stop wasting time!”

“O-ok, ok, fine, I’m going now.” You say, reaching for the door. “Will you wait for me? In here, please.” You say, turning back to face him.

“Of course.” He said, a smile small on his lips as he crashes down onto your bed.

~~

You finally reached Theo’s dorm, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you knocked on the door.

It was strangely silent on the other side, until you heard footsteps reaching for the door.

You fought back the urge to walk away, your stomach was flipping and your palms were lightly sweating. Wtf am I doing? You thought.

“Yeah?”

You were taken aback by Mattheo’s presence, even more so by his face. He looked almost, unhappy to see you. Something you had never experienced.

“Is Theo here?” You asked, eyes trying to dart around Mattheo’s body to see inside the room.

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite understand, but it seemed angry.

“Nope. I’ll pass on a message if you want.” He said, uninterested.

“Er, no it’s alright, I’ll just come back later.” You explained.

“Or maybe not.” He said, closing the door in your face.

You stood there shocked, had he really just done that? What was going on? Where was Theo?

You concluded that he had probably been with a girl, thus his urgency and blocking you from seeing inside. Whenever girls got with the boys, they were typically jealous of your friendship with them (although you never understood because they were all practically your brothers), so perhaps he wanted you out before the girl got angry.

You left, walking back to your dorm. The confidence dissipating out of you, and you decided you would just do it tomorrow.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo was actually in the room, wallowing over his lost love.

~~

The next morning you slowly got out of bed, rolling around in your comfortable sheets as the sunlight seeped into your room. It was a slow Saturday and you had nothing planned other than a Ravenclaw party you were debating attending.

You slowly got yourself out of bed, reminding yourself of the large task at hand: tell your best friend your in love with him, no big deal. You got dressed and made your way down to breakfast, and you kept finding yourself wiping your sweaty palms against your shirt.

As you walked into the Great Hall and made your way over to the table, you noticed immediately that Theo was absent, and Mattheo as well. You quickly scanned the table to find Enzo and when you locked eyes, he gave you a sympathetic look followed with a shrug. You went over to your table and quickly ate breakfast.

The rest of the day was just as strange. You didn’t see Theo all day, which never ever happened. You two were practically attached at the hip. It was strange not having his presence around you, and you swear you were having withdrawal symptoms.

The strangest thing occurred towards the end of the day, when you were walking down the hallway and you saw Theo walking a ways away in your direction. But as soon as he saw he, and you swear he saw you, he turned sharply into the boys restroom, looking down.

~~

“Cmon y/n, please come!” Pansy said, trying to drag you out of your bed to go to a party with Daphne and her.

“I’m sorry, Pans, I’m just not feeling it.” You stated. You had been crying for a while, coming to the conclusion that not only does Theo not love you, he hates you.

“Ok, ok. But, if you change your mind, you know where we are.” She said, finally giving up and leaving your room.

~~

Enzo was leaning on the arm of a couch, drinking fire whiskey and laughing along to Draco and Blaise’s remarks.

The Ravenclaw common room had been expanded, yet it still felt stuffy with the huge amounts of people inside. Blue lights were dancing around the room and music was pumping loudly throughout.

Theo and Mattheo were sitting somewhere else, Theo stating he couldn’t stand even looking at Enzo or he would kill him. But eventually, he got enough drinks in his system, trying to numb the pain of his heartbreak, and got up to make his way to him.

“Wow, mate. Where you going?” Mattheo asked, grabbing Theo’s forearm.

“I’m not gonna lay a hand on him.” Theo said, glaring at Enzo and shaking his arm out of Mattheo’s grasp.

He took long strides over to Enzo, Draco, and Blaise, and his cup sloshed back and forth, liquid spilling over the sides.

“Hey mate.” Blaise said, him and Draco both unaware of any drama.

Theo nodded to him and Enzo shared a tight lipped smile, and looked down at his cup. The air was so tense it could’ve been cut in half with a pair of scissors.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Theo asked, after beats of silence and staring daggers at Enzo.

“Uh- I- my girlfriend?” Enzo asked, taken aback. The fear emanating from his voice at Theo’s violent look.

“Yeah, your girlfriend. Y’know, y/n.” He said, his voice laced with brutality.

“Y/n? What are you talking about?” Enzo asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

“I heard you talking to her. Saying how much you loved one another. Ringing any bells?”

“Wait, Theo, what the fuck are you talking about?” Enzo asked, Blaise and Draco listening in intently.

“Wow, you are a shit boyfriend. I fucking heard you saying how much you love each other when I was outside of her dorm. It was two fucking days ago and now you can’t even remember?” Theo said, his face fuming with anger.

“Holy shit, that’s why you started acting all weird? Mate, that’s not even close to what was going on.” Enzo explained, Blaise and Draco were watching like it was a reality tv show.

“Oh, so your love confessions were just pretend, or?” Theo said, talking to his best friend as if he was scum.

“Yes, you idiot! She was practicing what say to you!”

“What?!” Blaise said, covering his mouth when he realized it was out loud.

Theo blinked, looking around to all the boys. Mattheo had appeared when he heard the commotion getting rowdy.

“What..?” Theo asked, looking intently at Enzo.

“She’s in love with you! She asked me to practice what to say to because she was going to tell you. But then you got all weird and stopped talking to her. Now she’s sure you hate her and she’s been crying for hours.” Enzo explained.

Theo looked at him with blank eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” Mattheo said, pushing Theo towards the door.

Blaise and Draco cheered, and Enzo sat back releasing a breath, thankful that he hadn’t just been beat to death by Theo.

~~

“Go away Pansy!” You said, after a knock was placed on your door.

You had been laying in bed practically all day and were wallowing over your lost love.

“It’s not Pansy.” Theo said shyly.

“Theo?”

“Can I please come in.”

“Uhm, yeah.” You said, quickly sitting up and trying to make yourself look more presentable.

The door opened slowly, and Theo walked in, his face was soft and kind.

“Can we talk. Please.” He begged.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, eyes searching his face for a clue of what was to happen.

“I’m so sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were in love with Enzo and I- I just couldn’t handle seeing you.”

“What? Why would you think I’m in love with Enzo?”

“I came round to your dorm last night to talk to you, and I heard you and Enzo inside. You were talking about how much you loved each other. And I just, my heart broke. Because I’m in love with you y/n. I’ve loved you ever since I have known you and I couldn’t bear to be around you after hearing that you loved my best friend and that I would never have a chance to love you.” He ranted, tears coming to his eyes as he stood before you.

“Theo, I- I don’t love Enzo.” Was all you managed to get out, because your throat was closing in quickly now and tears were threatening to spill if you said anything else.

“I know that now.” Theo said, with a light laugh. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ruined everything between us but I want to make it up to you and if you still have any feelings for me at all, please, please tell me because I can’t go on pretending I wouldn’t burn the entire world for you if you asked any longer.”

You smiled, tears falling from your eyes.

“Of course I fucking love you! I’ve been in ruins thinking that you hate me, Teddy.”

He melted at the nickname and made his way over to you, sitting on your bed and wiping your tears from your cheeks. You both were smiling at each other, and after gathering yourselves for a minute, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

You laughed at the silly question, because, of course you wanted to kiss him and answered by smashing your lips onto his.

~~

GOD SORRY THIS IS SO LONG and the ending is super rushed because I didn’t want to keep writing

[mint-yooxgi]

{14} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Yeosang and Yunho)

Words: 8,901

Warnings: Allusion to assault/boundaries not being respected. Violence/Fighting. Brief moments of fatphobia and homophobia near the end (not done by any of the guys). I think that's all, honestly. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Oof, it's really been forever since I've updated this series... my apologies for that! Honestly, I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I might focus a bit of my attention to getting out a few more parts of this series over the next few weeks or so, but that's still to be decided. Anyways, a bit of a nicer, longer chapter update for you guys. I really hope you all like it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Mini Masterlist

“Good morning.” A soft smile tugs at your lips as you greet the two males already waiting for you at the entrance to your village. 

As soon as they hear your voice, they’re both turning to face you. A satchel is slung over your one shoulder, the material a deep green in colour as you adjust the strap lightly.

“Morning.” The corner of Yunho’s lips twitch upwards.

All you receive from Yeosang in a stiff nod in response.

Perhaps he’s not a morning person.

“Ready to go?” You inquire, looking between them both.

A grunt is all you receive from the shorter male as the taller of the two nods in response. You quirk a brow.

The first few steps down the path and out of the village are silent, each male settling in on either side of you.

“Have you both eaten this morning?” You inquire casually.

“Joong wouldn’t let us leave unless we had something.” Yunho hums in acknowledgement. “He’s always looking out for us in that way.”

The corners of your lips twitch upwards as you nod faintly, “He’s a good clan leader.”

Little do you see the way Yeosang’s one eye twitches at your words.

“Have you eaten?” Yunho’s tone is light, sparing a glance at you out of the corner of his eyes as you continue down the path.

“I’m not much of a breakfast person.” You reply, a simple shrug to your shoulders.

“You should eat something.” Yeosang’s first words to you this morning are terse, the male staring straight ahead.

“I will. When I’m hungry.” The corner of your lips twitch upwards in amusement.

“How far is it to Rose Village?” Yunho asks, keeping pace with you as he spares a glance over at his brother on your opposite side.

“About a forty minute walk,” you hum. “Five, if we were to fly.”

“So, we’re walking because…?” Yeosang’s brow furrows, finally turning to you for the first time today.

“You should learn to not always rely on your wings,” You reply, somewhat stiffly. This time, it’s you who doesn’t meet either of their gazes as you stare straight ahead. “You may not always be able to use them.”

“Well, I think utilizing our legs will be good for us.” Yunho grins, purposefully stretching his arms above his head. “It’s nice to get out of the house every now and then.”

“Yes, the world is quite beautiful, if you’re brave enough to explore it.” You hum in agreement. “It has much to both offer and to teach us.”

You see understanding pass over both male’s features.

“Hwa told Joong that you said you’re willing to begin training us?” Yunho attempts not to look too eager, but there’s a certain gleam in his eyes that you still pick up on.

“If you are all still willing to be taught-“

“Yes.” Yeosang clears his throat, noting the way both you and Yunho immediately turn to look at him. “Please.”

“Very well.” You smile faintly. “When would you like to begin?”

“As soon as possible, if that’s alright with you.” Yunho responds, a sudden giddiness to his steps.

“That can be arranged.” You nod once, firmly. “We can start now, if you’d like?”

“While we’re walking?” Yunho’s brow furrows.

“While we’re walking.” You confirm. “Though, I must say, learning is a collaboration, so you shouldn’t hoard what I teach you to yourselves. You’ll never grow as a clan that way.”

Yeosang’s breath catches slightly in his throat. “We understand.”

“No wonder San and Wooyoung have been so eager to share your teachings with us,” Yunho mumbles.

“My rule of thumb is: if you can teach someone else what you’ve learned after you’ve learnt it, then you understand the lesson being taught.” You say, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder lightly. “Everyone learns differently, and of course you can cater specifics to your own needs, but the base is usually the same.”

“You’ve been saying this whole time that you wouldn’t teach us, but you have been.” Yeosang observes. “Through them.”

“I take no credit for what you’ve learned from your brothers.” You shake your head. “That’s all from them.”

“Hwa’s got some catching up to do…” Yunho sighs, an amused quirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Something tells me that both him and Canary Man are getting the rundown on everything while we’re gone today.” You hum, somewhat knowingly.

“I don’t know how you did it, but there seems to have been a shift in Seonghwa over the past few days. Ever since he came back home from seeing you, it seems as if he’s calmer.” Yunho states, his gaze darting to you once more.

“All it takes is one moment of kindness to show you a new perspective on life,” you smile softly. “I simply extended a hand out to him, just as I wish someone did for me when I was in that situation. He was the one that accepted the offer.”

“When you were in that situation?” Yeosang is quick to catch on to your words.

“Your eldest and I are a lot more alike than you think.” You tell them. “I was in the exact same place as he was, once. I almost lost myself, and he could have, too. I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone go through what I went through without helping them.”

“You’re wise beyond your years.” Yunho praises.

“You make me sound so old,” your nose scrunches in distaste.

Yeosang actually lets out a puff of laughter at the way Yunho begins sputtering out apologies. 

“I’m just teasing you, Young One.” You chuckle. “I appreciate the compliment, all the same.”

The tips of his ears begin to turn red as he clamps his mouth shut.

Yeosang clears his throat. “Our training?”

“Ah, yes,” you nod. “How would you like to begin?”

“Shouldn’t you decide that for us?” Yunho quirks a brow, managing to get his bashfulness under control for the moment.

“I don’t want to be teaching you stuff you already know.” You shrug. “I’ve never seen you in a fight, nor do I know how strong your senses have become since the first time we met.”

“I thought you knew everything.” Yeosang blinks, almost innocently at you.

You laugh, “Not everything, Yeosang.”

You swear you see a shiver caress his spine as you say his name.

“Well, what do you know of our powers?” Yunho asks, nothing but curiosity shining in his eyes.

“If you’re incurring whether or not I know what type of dragon you are, Yunho, then you should be specific.” You shoot him a small look. “Speak of your own desires before you assume to know someone else’s.”

He swallows thickly. “Then, do you?”

“Do I, what?” You press, quirking a brow all the while.

“Know what type of powers I possess?”

“I do.” You hum.

He frowns, “How?”

You smile, almost tenderly. “Your youngest seems to enjoy talking about all of you to me as much as he enjoys talking about me to you.”

You hear Yeosang take in a deep breath beside you, almost exasperatedly.

“So, Jongho told you.” Yunho nods his understanding.

“For the most part,” you tighten your grip on the strap of your bag. “I can sense more than presences if I focus, you know.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Yunho breathes, a wondrous look shining in his eyes as he looks at you.

Yeosang lets out another puff of air.

“Quite a few things, actually,” you confirm with an amused grin. “But that’s not important right now.”

“So, then,” Yunho hums, his body half turning more towards you in eagerness, “What’s my power?”

Nothing but mirth dances within your gaze as you see Yunho practically vibrating with excitement as he continues to walk alongside you. Yeosang seems to have slowed slightly, his shoulders curling in on himself as he crosses his arms over his chest. A small frown pulls at his features, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks irritated.

You meet Yunho’s gaze.

“Earth.” You state. “Rather, the minerals that fill the ground.”

Yunho smiles, nodding quite enthusiastically along with your words.

“It’s very fitting,” you add. “From what some of your brothers tell me, you are quite a stable rock in their lives.”

His blush returns, Yunho suddenly wiping his palms on the sides of his thighs bashfully. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you chuckle. “Thank your brothers.”

Yunho spares a brief glance at Yeosang, noticing how the aforementioned male looks so irate.

“What’s the matter, Yeo?” Yunho’s head tilts slightly in worry. “You were probably the second most excited after San when we learned she would teach us.”

At this, your brow quirks.

Heat immediately flares to Yeosang’s cheeks, the male avoiding your gaze as he mumbles out a ‘just tired.’

“Well, it is quite early,” you hum in agreement. “We’ll be at Rose Village soon, anyways.”

“Is there anything we can practice while we walk?” Yunho inquires eagerly.

“Hone your senses.” You reply, almost instantly. At the way they both spare a curious look at you, you’re quick to continue, “You’ve been doing so already, that much I can tell. However, it isn’t enough. You,” turning your sharp gaze to the side, you meet Yeosang’s eyes, “should be able to sense things with the breeze for miles. It should get to the point where you don’t even need to expel any excess energy to do so; it should become second nature.”

He nods, eyes sharpening as he focusses on sensing the wind almost immediately after you stop talking.

“And you,” you turn your pointed stare to Yunho who straightens almost immediately, “should be able to sense the vibrations in the earth as to where your enemies are. Know your surroundings; hone your senses.”

“How do we know if we’re doing it properly?” Yeosang questions, his lips slightly pursed in concentration.

“You will feel as if you’ve become one with your surroundings.” You reply. “Having the powers you do helps tremendously, for when the time is right, such elements will feel as if they are speaking to you. Train your ears to notice the slightest of sounds. Train yourself to notice every scent in an area, and pick up on when they shift even the faintest bit. Trust your senses, and rely on your instincts. You’ll soon begin to notice things that were never there before.”

“And we’re supposed to do this while walking?” Yeosang frowns.

“The constant sound of our feet crunching the gravel is a good practice for a monotonous sound.” You go on to say. “It is repetitive, so you should be able to drown it out. You won’t always have time to gather your bearings while standing still. Search for the abnormalities within the constant, and you’ll master your senses much quicker.”

“I think I get it,” Yunho nods, almost absentmindedly.

“I know you’ve both already been expanding your sensory reach.” You comment. “It’s time to take it a step further. I have faith in the both of you. Don’t just think,” your eyes flash briefly as your head whips to the side, a bird taking off from a branch in the next second, “feel.”

Two nods are all you receive in response as the males begin to thoroughly concentrate on their surroundings. You can tell how intently they’re focussing, for they stare straight ahead, standing to their full heights as they continue down the path with you.

A small breeze picks up, and you can feel the ground beneath your feet beginning to hum with life.

“Good,” you nod casually. “Once you both feel as if you have a better understanding of our surroundings, let me know. I’ll test you.”

“Test us?” Yeosang’s head tilts curiously.

“I’ll start easy on you,” you grin, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “For example, there’s a squirrel somewhere close by. Find it.”

Both of their heads whip off to the right, a brow squirrel running down the side of a tree in the next second.

“Good.” You nod approvingly. “This is exactly what I mean. Everything is interconnected, and by the time you hone your sense, nothing will escape you.”

They both nod, soft smiles pulling at their features.

“This is also a good way to discern what you need to work on to hide yourselves better.” You continue. “Scent, sound, sight: everything can both work for you, or against you.”

“Now that you mention it, I can smell you a lot more, Yeo.” Yunho’s nose scrunches.

A small laugh escapes you, and you see the aforementioned male’s cheeks dusting red.

“Yeah, well, the sound of your footfalls are like a giant upon the earth.” Yeosang snaps back.

Again, you chuckle, noticing how Yunho’s ears begin to turn red once more.

“See, these are things you both can work on to hide yourselves better.” You spare a glance at both of them. “If you really want to test yourselves, ask Jaemin to track you. He’s the best of our clan.”

You do not fail to miss the way they both stiffen at your words.

“I don’t know,” Yeosang grimaces slightly, shooting a pointed look towards Yunho. “Wouldn’t want to stink him out.”

“If you’re worried if you smell or not, you don’t.” You reply, noticing how he falters slightly in his steps. “You actually have quite a pleasant musk, like fresh juniper and oak.”

Instantly, Yeosang’s spine straightens, puffing his chest out slightly as the corner of his lips tug upwards smugly.

Yunho, on the other hand, begins to pout.

“We’re almost there,” you comment, motioning ahead on the path with your chin.

Glancing forward, the two males can just make out the entranceway of Rose Village. Flowers surround the grand archway, and faintly, they can both begin to smell the pungent aromas drifting through the air.

“Who’s a better tracker, then? You, or Jaemin?” Yunho attempts to change the subject, if only slightly.

Your knowing smile says it all. “Do not forget that I was the one who taught him everything he knows.”

“Then, we should just ask you to track us.” Yeosang replies.

You shake your head. “You’ll never learn that way, and I won’t always be around to train you. My Neos are your best options if you even want to attempt to best me at anything.”

“Which is why you sent Woo and San to Ten and Taeil to start.” Yeosang hums in understanding.

“Exactly.” You nod in confirmation. “You should partner up with them if you want to learn how to better utilize your powers. If you want to hone your strength, ask Jeno to train you. He’s our strongest fighter.”

“Something tells me we’ll have to go through them before we can even get to you.” Yunho spares a look at you out of the corner of his eyes.

You meet his gaze, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“We’re here,” you pause just before the archway, observing the village with such a fond look in your eyes as you see people milling about just through the entrance. “Continue to hone your sense, you never know what you might learn.”

Without saying another word, you enter the village.

A smile pulls onto your features as you take in your surroundings. Many different stalls have been set up, lining the paths with different vendors selling their wares. There’s a fruit stand off to the side, a few different herb sellers, and multiple florists all chatting with potential customers.

Walking through the main road, you cannot help the wondrous shine in your eyes as you observe the daily lives of the townsfolk. That feeling of nostalgia that floods your senses almost serves to overwhelm you, your one hand tightening its grip on the strap of your satchel.

Little do you see the fond looks either dragon send your way.

“This way.” You voice lowly, shifting almost wistfully through the throngs of people towards the very back of the street.

Reaching the end of the row, the area opens up into a large square with a beautiful trickling fountain in the centre. Vines creep up the sides of the buildings, more flowers blooming from every angle and filling the space with vibrant colours of pink, purple, red, and orange.

There’s almost a renewed giddiness to your steps as you round a corner, more vendors lining the street. Your steps are precise and steady, heading directly to a specific counter right at the end of the row.

Silently, the two males follow but a step behind.

Two females can be seen conversing behind the stall counter. Both are quite tall in stature with dark skin. One wears her hair in tight braids, the tips resting just below her shoulders. The other has shorter hair, tight curls adorning the strands. Around their stand, three rambunctious children - two girls, one male - can be seen running around, hitting each other with different flower stalks.

Stopping in her tracks, one of the children seems to take notice of you approaching the stand. A large, dramatic gasp escapes her, causing her siblings and mothers to turn their heads in your direction.

“Auntie!” The little girl squeals, immediately running over to you with her arms outstretched.

The two males share a look as you wrap the little girl in your arms, picking her up and hugging her tightly as she giggles loudly.

“My goodness, you’ve gotten so big!” You grin, holding her against your hip as she rests her hands on your shoulders.

“What about me!” The other little girl says, tugging at your shirt lightly as she stands beside you.

“Yeah!” The little boy adds, standing tall with his hands on his hips. “It’s not fair you always pick up Delilah first!”

“Well, I do have two arms, Marcus,” you chuckle, shifting Delilah over slightly so you can pat his head affectionately.

Just as you go to reach for him, he runs away.

“No, wait! I’m too old for you to be picking me up!” He whines, hiding behind the stall counter with his parents.

“I’m not!” The other little girl says, running right into your arms so you can pick her up.

A moment later, and you’ve hoisted her into your free arm, giggles falling from her lips as she places a big kiss onto your cheek.

“It’s good to see you again,” the woman with the braids smiles kindly, an overtly affectionate look shining in her eyes as she stares at the scene before her.

“We’ve all missed you.” The other woman says, standing just a smidge taller than her wife beside her.

“I’ve missed you all, too.” You return their fond looks, nuzzling your forehead affectionately against the girl’s own.

They giggle in response, Delilah leaning into you further.

“Auntie, did you bring us anything?” She inquires innocently, blinking at you all the while.

“You know I always do.” You chuckle fondly, placing both girls back on their feet for the time being. “Jungwoo was very adamant about me giving these to you.”

“Oh, they’re from Uncle Jungwoo?” Marcus’ eyes instantly light up, coming back around the counter to stand before you.

Sliding the strap of the bag off your shoulder, you open the satchel. Reaching inside, you pull out three small wooden figurines. The deer you hand to Delilah, the eagle to Marcus, and the little dragon figurine you hand to the final little girl.

“Wow,” she gasps, nothing but pure awe in her eyes as she turns the figure around and around in her hands.

“Minnie, what do we say to your Auntie?” The woman with the braids smiles knowingly.

Immediately, the girl looks up into your eyes, a bright smile on her lips, “Thank you, Auntie!”

You chuckle, “Don’t thank me, thank your Uncle Jungwoo.”

“Auntie,” Marcus begins lowly, leaning into you as if discussing something secret. His eyes briefly dart past you to the two males still standing silently behind you. “Are you cheating on Uncle Jungwoo?”

A boisterous laugh escapes both you and the two females still standing behind the counter.

“Oh, no, Marcus,” you pat his arm assuringly. “Your Uncle Jungwoo and I are not together.”

“So, then, are these your new boyfriends?” Minnies ask, walking up to Yunho and tugging on the side of his pants. “Are you married to my Auntie now?”

You swear Yunho’s eyes nearly bulge right out of his head as he splutters over his own words.

“No, Minnie,” you chuckle, “We’re not married.”

“Why not?” Minnie turns back to you, blinking almost owlishly.

“Minnie, relationships don’t work like that,” the taller of the two ladies shakes her head endearingly.

“But you and mommy are married!” She scurries over to the both of them.

“That’s because we’ve known each other for a very long time.” The woman answers.

“Uncle Jungwoo and Auntie have known each other for a very long time.” Marcus voices.

“Not as long as Uncle Renjun, or Uncle Taeyong, though.” Delilah adds, matter-of-factly.

“My Neos are like family to me,” you explain softly. “Like my brothers.”

“What about Uncle Kun?” Minnie asks innocently.

“Children, that’s enough.” A sharp look is given to the three of them by the woman with the braids.

“It’s alright, Kamille.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You crouch down so you’re eye level with Minnie. “Uncle Kun finally found his special someone, and I’m happy for him. We agreed to just stay friends.”

“His loss,” the taller of the two mumbles.

“Trisha,” a sharp look is sent her way by you.

She shrugs, “Just saying.”

“Auntie! We have something for you!” Delilah exclaims excitedly, scurrying into the house behind the stall with the other two children in tow as they all remember their gifts for you.

You stand back to your full height, a curious quirk to your one brow.

The two women offer you knowing looks in response. Except, once they see what each of the children hold on their way back out of the house, they attempt to stop them. Only, they don’t manage to catch them.

“Mommy said these were your favourites, once.” Minnie extends a few flowers out to you, both Marcus and Delilah standing on either side of her doing the same.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see the children each holding out a few stems of bluebells to you with smiles on their faces.

A soft call of your name from Kamille sounds from behind the children. “We’re so sorry, we told them-“

“Did you grow these yourselves?” You cut her off, not even sparing her a look as your eyes begin to water.

Three proud nods greet your blurry vision, and your first tear falls. Softly, you grab the flowers from their hands.

“Look at you three!” You smile through the pain in your heart which suffocates you from the inside out. “You’ll be giving your mother’s a run for their money pretty soon. These flowers are beautiful!”

Happy giggles reach your ears, the girls twirling eagerly from side to side as Marcus avoids your gaze.

“Okay, children, why don’t you go grab some snacks for all of us at the bakery.” Trisha grabs a few coins and hands then to Marcus. “We have some things to talk about with your Aunt, here.”

“Okay!” Three cheers are heard as they all rush off down the street, disappearing into the crowd.

“I’ll go with them.” Yunho offers, already following after the three children.

Kamille simply raises an eyebrow.

“He heard the word ‘bakery,’ and now that’s all he can think about.” Yeosang sighs.

“I don’t blame him,” you wipe your tears from your cheeks, gazing almost longingly down at the bouquet of bluebells in your hand. “Rose Village bakery is one of the best around for miles. Seeing as he bakes, he probably wants to check it out.”

“Ah, found yourself a baker this time, have you?” Trisha jokes.

“I haven’t found myself anything.” You shake your head, a slight huff escaping you.

Both women finally step out from behind their little stall.

“It’s good to see you again,” Kamille says as she wraps her arms around you, making sure to avoid your back all the while.

“We weren’t lying when we said we’ve missed you,” this time, it’s Trisha’s turn to wrap you in her arms, hugging you tightly as you do the same back.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You pat her back affectionately.

“I thought you said you were going to come visit more often,” Kamille shoots you a playfully accusatory look.

“Yes, well,” you chuckle, motioning to Yeosang with your eyes, “Some things came up.”

“Oh, where are our manners?” Kamille immediately turns to the single dragon by your side. “I’m Kamille, and this is Trisha. We’re the Delaris’. Those three you saw earlier are our kids, Marcus, Delilah, and Minnie.”

Yeosang bows respectfully, introducing himself and his brother in the next moment.

“Yes, we’ve heard whispers about you Halas.” Trisha crosses her arms over her chest, a minor quirk to her brow.

“How did you-“

“The forest speaks in many tongues.” Kamille replies easily, moving behind her stall and rummaging around in a bin.

“You’re dragons?” Yeosang sounds more surprised than he figures he should be at this point.

“Not quite.” Trisha grins knowingly.

“They’re my oldest caster friends.” You explain, placing the flowers onto the counter before you.

Understanding passes across his features.

“Seriously, we cannot apologize enough about the flowers,” Trisha grimaces, her arms falling back to her sides.

“It’s alright,” you smile weakly. “At least they weren’t daisies.”

“But these were meant to replace daisies with-“

“Trisha!” Kamille’s sharp voice cuts her wife off as she pops back up behind the stand.

Both women spare a worried look in your direction, only serving to make Yeosang even more confused than he already is. At the pained expression you wear, nothing but concern pulls at his features, stepping the slightest bit closer to you. All he wants to do is ease your distress in whatever ways he can, his earlier irritation long since forgotten now.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve received bluebells from anyone.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. Gently, one of your fingers traces over a bloom. “They don’t grow on this side of the fjord. Naturally, at least.”

“We haven’t sensed any of them crossing over in quite a long time.” Kamille comments.

“They shouldn’t.” You meet her gaze, your eyes flashing. “Nor will they ever again.”

“What about Bokkie?” Trisha’s brow furrows slightly.

You simply shake your head in response.

Yeosang frowns.

“Anyways,” Kamille clears her throat. “I take it you’re here for your usual order?”

“I can’t come to see my old friends?” You tease.

“Hey!” Trisha protests. “We’re not that old!”

“You’re almost as old as I am.” You chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Give or take about a hundred years.” Kamille mumbles, a playful roll to her eyes.

Yeosang’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh, you’ve gone and stunned the poor baby dragon.” Trisha tuts, turning to meet Yeosang’s gaze in the next second. “Us witches know quite a few tricks to staying youthful, you know.”

“Of course, it helps to keep your nose out of trouble.” Kamille adds.

“You two, staying out of trouble?” You quirk a brow. “Unlikely.”

The two women share a look.

“Guilty.” Trisha chuckles, shooting a wink in your direction. “Now, come with me and I’ll help you get those herbs you like so much.”

A simple nod is all you offer her in response, following her into the house and chatting idly as you leave Yeosang with Kamille.

“Are you sure the kid is going to be okay with Kami by himself?” Trisha asks from over her shoulder.

“I heard that!” Kamille calls after you both.

You chuckle, “I’m quite certain Yeosang can handle himself.

Little do you see how the aforementioned male straightens slightly, the corner of his lip twitching upwards faintly.

“Alright,” Trisha chuckles, guiding you into the back room of the house where their rarer herbs reside. “Well, as always, you’re welcome to anything and everything you’d like.”

“I literally cannot thank you enough,” you smile, already harvesting some thistle wart from its pot. “Oh, actually, before I forget, I brought something for the two of you, as well.”

Pausing in your movements, you reach into your satchel once more and pull out two leather-bound books, and two small carved crystals.

“I finished compiling that tome you asked me the last time, and I think you’ll enjoy the other one, too. The crystals are a gift from me to you, as a thank you for everything you two have done.” You place each item carefully into her own hands. “They’re also good luck charms.”

Trisha places both books onto a side table before carefully examining the carved crystals. One is in the shape of an obelisk, symbols carved along its side. The other is smooth like a river stone, perfectly oval in shaped. Both are milky white in colour, and her eyes flash with understanding.

“Thank you,” she bows deeply before wrapping you in another hug. “You’ve always done more for this family than we deserve.”

“Nonsense,” you shake your head, holding her at arms length once she pulls away. “You guys are my family, not just My Neos.”

“Then, you know if you ever need anything, all you need to do is ask, right?” She quirks a brow at you.

“Of course.” You nod, quite firmly at her. “Know that the same is true of me with you.”

Trisha returns your smile.

A moment later, and you return to harvesting the plants scattered around the room.

“So, are you going to tell us about you and those Hala dragons of yours?” She inquires, somewhat knowingly.

“There’s nothing major, really.” You shrug, placing some herbs into your satchel. “I consider them my friends, for my part.”

“There hasn’t been a raid from them since they attempted to harm your village.” She observes, and at your mildly surprised look, she clarifies, “Renjun’s been by a few times with Johnny.”

“Has he, now?” Understanding crosses your features. “Well, they’ve certainly calmed themselves since I’ve met them.”

“Any of which your doing?” She leans against the side table, tilting her head in your direction.

“I do not control other’s actions.” Comes your quick reply, but even she can tell you’re now avoiding her gaze.

“Normally Taeyong joins you on a day like today.” She observes. “Yet, two Halas are here instead. Either he knows something we don’t, or he’s currently on his deathbed.”

“If you’re suggesting Taeyong set me up, you’d sadly be mistaken.” You reply, glancing up at her from the plant you’re currently harvesting. “The two of them simply convinced him to let them take his place. Which reminds me… Yongie said he wanted some more of your roses, if you’d be so kind.”

“I’ll let Kamille know,” Trisha hums, watching you carefully.

A moment of silence.

“I’m going to train them.”

Trisha blinks at you in shock. She clears her throat, “Are you sure?”

“I said I would.” Comes your resolute answer.

“You haven’t offered to train anyone since the Wolves-“

“I know.” You cut her off, exhaling a deep sigh as you stand back to your full height. “I can’t keep living my life in the shadow of his betrayal, Trish. I’m tired of letting it control me.”

“This is about more than just training, isn’t it?” Her tone is soft as she takes a step towards you, placing a gentle hand onto the side of your arm in comfort.

“It’s been over fifty years, Trish-“ your voice catches in your throat as she begins rubbing your arm soothingly. Tears begin to gather once more in your eyes, your own hands clinging desperately to the strap of your satchel. “I don’t want to watch my life pass by from the outside anymore. I want to start living again, and maybe-“ you swallow thickly, “maybe even learn to love again.”

She smiles softly at you, giving your arm a light squeeze.

“And honestly, Trisha,” you suck in a sharp breath, “I’m terrified. I want to believe him- I want to believe in him so badly, it hurts, but I don’t know if I can. And then what happened with Kun…” You trail off. “I can’t go through another-“ you choke on a sob, “I can’t-“

“I know, sweetie,” she coos, shushing you all the while as she wraps you in her embrace. “I know.”

“The most terrifying thought, though, is that I am.” You whisper lowly. “I am starting to believe him.”

“The one outside?” Her brow furrows slightly.

“No, his brother.” You shake your head.

“The baker?”

“No, their youngest.” You clarify.

A noise of understanding echoes in her throat.

“Why do you-“

“I think it’s more than just the youngest that’s making you believe.” She observes. “Sure, he may have been the catalyst, but I know you. Even you would have had a difficult time agreeing to let anyone but Taeyong come with you to see us today. Hell, even bringing them to this festival is something you would have denied to anyone whom you didn’t trust.”

You take a moment to consider her words. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you what you should do. Only you can decide that for yourself.” She says, pulling away to stare deeply into your eyes. “What I can tell you is this: you are not the same person you were all those years ago. You know both Kami and I strongly believe in things always happening for a reason, and perhaps what happened with Kun was meant to happen so you could find them. Perhaps letting yourself believe won’t be such a bad thing.”

You nod lightly.

“Besides, I can sense the magic of this youngest’s Drygg Promise all over you.” She tilts her head knowingly. “It’s the strongest, most sincere form of magic I’ve ever seen from anybody. Even from you.”

“He is quite convincing.” You chuckle fondly.

“Convincing, or sincere?” She squeezes your arm once more. “Come on, the kids should be back by now.”

“I’ll be out in a minute, I just have a few more herbs to get.” You tell her, noticing how she begins to head towards the front.

A call of her name from you stops her.

“Thank you.” You meet her gaze, clearing your throat lightly as you compose yourself. “For everything.”

Trisha smiles. “You know we’re always here for you. I think it’s time you let some new people in, as well.”

Without another word, or waiting for a response from you for that matter, she leaves back out through the front door.

Perhaps she’s right. Maybe it is time for you to allow yourself to grow and let go of your past.

Finally, you think you’re ready to move on.

Stepping back out of the house a few minutes later, you see both women conversing with Yeosang. The tips of his ears are dusted a faint red, and even you can see the way he seemingly lights up as soon as he sees you.

“There you are,” Kamille nudges your side gently as you come to stand beside her. “Yeosang was worried you got lost.”

“I was not!” His eyes widen, greatly scandalized by Kamille’s words.

“Right.” Trisha laughs. “And you weren’t just thinking about storming past us to make sure she was still alive.”

The way he begins to splutter says it all.

“It’s okay,” Trisha pats him affectionately on his arm. “We know the signs all too well.”

“What signs?” Yeosang shifts his gaze between them, a confused, almost defensive furrow to his brow.

The two women share a look. “Denial.”

“The kids aren’t back yet?” You cut in, glancing around the area briefly and not seeing them, or a much taller male in sight.

“Not yet,” Kamille shakes her head, a worried pull to her lips downwards.

“Not that we don’t trust your brother,” Trisha adds, sparing a brief look at Yeosang, “but they should have been back by now.”

Your head tilts, and you notice Yeosang’s does, too.

“Mommy!” A cry is heard just through the crowd, and you see both Delilah and Marcus pushing their way through the throngs of people.

Immediately, you intercept the two children, their parents at your side.

“What’s wrong?” A frown is prominent on Kamille’s face as she picks Delilah up.

“Where’s Minnie?” Trisha is quick to grab ahold of Marcus who clings onto her side.

“That new bakery lady won’t leave Yuyu alone.” Delilah pouts.

“She’s worse than when you and mom start making kissey faces at one another.” Marcus’ nose scrunches in distaste.

“Minnie’s trying to save him, but it’s not working.” Delilah adds.

“I thought Rylie was married.” Kamille says, more to herself than anything.

“I’m sure Yunho can handle a few flirtatious comments sent his way.” Yeosang chuckles. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

“He popular like that, or something?” Trisha quirks a brow, somewhat teasingly.

“Or something.” Yeosang grumbles.

“Didn’t take you to be one to get jealous,” you hum, and you notice how his cheeks begin to dust pink for the nth time today.

“I’m not jealous.” He grumbles, gaze flicking over to you every now and then.

“Mom!” Delilah whines. “This is serious! Yuyu is in big trouble!”

“We’ll go check it out. Don’t worry.” You assure them.

“Hurry!” Marcus begins to tug Trisha down the street. “There’s bad energy coming from him.”

The three of you share a look.

Almost instantly, you and the two witches take off down the row, pushing your way through the crowd.

“What’s going on?” Yeosang manages to just keep pace with you.

“Marcus can sense shifts in energies, it’s his specialty ever since he was small. If he gets a bad feeling, almost always something bad will happen.” You explain quickly. “Your brother may be in danger.”

Rounding a street corner, the crowd thins slightly. You can see the awning of the bakery in sight, and you hurry your pace, the others following behind.

The bell above the shop door jingles as you six enter the shop. The owner, Nina, sends you a warm smile from her chair behind the counter. Once she adjusts her glasses, she’s offering you a friendly wave in recognition. Age, it seems, is catching up with her. 

You have just enough time to wave back before your attention is drawn to the side where you see Yunho backed into a corner, the new girl - Rylie - holding him hostage with her arm beside his shoulder. The way she’s leaning into him, and his stiff demeanour, says it all.

“Mommy!” Winnie scoots out from between them, panic clear on her features.

Kamille is quick to embrace the girl, cooing at her to calm her down.

“Rylie.” Trisha’s stern call of her name has the women sighing dramatically before turning her head slightly in acknowledgement.

Still, she does not move from her position.

“What?” Nothing but irritation lines her voice as her gaze flicks over to your little group.

“Tell her to stop bothering Uncle Yuyu!” Winnie crosses her arms, frown prominent on her features.

Your eyebrows raise slightly at the name she calls him, mirth dancing on your features.

“You heard the little lady.” You address the woman before you, noticing how she purposefully trails her gaze over you in disgust.

“If he wanted me to stop, he would have pushed me away by now.” She retorts, rather pointedly.

“Actually, I’ve been asking you to give me space this whole time-“

“Shhh,” she turns quickly, placing a finger over his lips as she leans into him. “You don���t have to lie to save her pride. I know I’m a better match for you than she is.”

You blink, not being able to keep the appalled expression off of your features. Honestly, you’re more amused than anything, but you contain your laugh of disbelief for now.

You share a look with both Kamille and Trisha. You smirk.

If this is how this woman wants to play, then you’ll gladly succumb to her games.

“What makes you think I enjoy the company of men?” You quirk a brow, beginning to slowly step towards this woman. The way your suddenly hooded gaze remains locked on her has her faltering for a moment. “You caught my eye since I first stepped foot in this little bakery, here.”

“What are you doing?” Her brow furrows, and she takes a step back and away from Yunho as you creep closer.

“It seems to me you enjoy assertive people.” You continue to approach, backing her into the corner and away from Yunho. “I’m just emanating you.”

“Don’t come near me.” She pushes herself against the wall.

You stop in your tracks, leaving a good two feet of distance between your body and hers. You blink at her in curiosity, tilting your head all the same.

“If you wanted me to stop, you would push me away.” You throw her words back at her, making sure never to lay a single finger on her the whole while.

“Just leave me alone.” She spits.

“To be clear, you’re asking me to stop?” You inquire, staring straight into her eyes expectantly.

“Yes!” She hisses. “Do you not understand the word ‘no’?”

Your eyebrows raise, but you remain silent. Your expression says it all.

A scowl is pulling at her features in the next moment as she pushes past you, knocking into your shoulder quite harshly. “Fucking bitch.”

The sound of the bell jingling above the door is the only indication you have that she’s left.

“Oh, I suppose it is time for her break.” Nina hums, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Seriously, Nina,” Kamille sighs. “You should find better employees.”

The old woman either doesn’t hear her, or chooses not to answer as she begins humming a soft tune to herself.

You shake you head, turning to face Yunho in the next second. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” his reply is somewhat breathless as he stares at you, blinking to clear his vision soon after. He clears his throat, seemingly coming back to reality. “Yeah.”

Winnie immediately runs over to Yunho, grabbing his hand in hers.

“Uncle Yuyu, you promised to buy us flowers!” She begins tugging him towards the entrance.

You quirk a brow, “Upgraded to Uncle now, are you?”

He grins, a red creeping onto his ears. “It was all them.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Yeosang pouting.

“Hey kids, why don’t you drag Uncle Yeo along with you, too.” The corner of your lips twitch upwards knowingly.

“Okay!” Delilah immediately rushes over to Yeosang, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the door now, too.

“Have fun!” You wave them off, seeing as Marcus now holds the door open for them all.

The moment the door swings shut, the three of you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Crisis averted.” Kamille sighs, sitting herself down in one of the chairs nearest to her.

“Rylie has been a piece of work since she started here last month.” Trisha sits opposite Kamille, you joining them quickly.

“She new to town?” You inquire, noting how quiet the bakery is for a day like today.

“Yeah, her and her husband moved here about two months ago. She’s stirring up trouble wherever she goes, and we usually have to clean up the mess.” Trisha frowns. “Flirts with every male she sees, then usually her husband steps in to ‘defend what’s his’.”

You grimace, “Sounds like they’re both a piece of work.”

“You’re telling us.” Kamille nods. “We’ve had to step in a number of times before things get too out of hand. He’s already received two major warnings.”

“One more and we kick them out of here for good.” Trisha says. “Perks of being the heads of council.”

“You two run this village flawlessly,” you comment. “Of course you have final say. I’m honestly surprised you still let them live here.”

“Who knows, maybe we’ve become too lenient in our old age.” Kamille hums, the three of you sharing a laugh.

A few minutes later, the three of you are sharing a pastry, talking idly as you wait for the kids and the two males to return. The more you converse with your friends, the more your shoulders relax. Though, with the sound of the bell chiming above the door, and the ominous presence you feel entering the bakery, that happiness soon plummets into unease.

“That’s her.” You hear a harsh whisper behind you. “That’s the bitch that touched me.”

You nearly roll your eyes, but at the way the two women in front of you stiffen, you opt to sigh instead.

“Oi, you!” A loud voice draws your attention to the front of the bakery to see a burly man standing there. His arms are crossed as Rylie practically clings to his side, sneering in your direction. “You think you can just go around laying your grubby paws on my wife?”

“Actually, Sir, I never touched your wife.” You reply calmly, resting an arm over the back of your chair as you turn to face him. “It was your wife who continuously threw herself at one of my own friends, even after he repeatedly asked her kindly to stop.”

“So, you’re a fucking bitch and a liar?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Should have expected that from a fat queer such as yourself.”

Your head tilts slowly in understanding. “Do you have more of an issue with me because I’m fat, or because I’m queer?”

“A smartass, too? Damn, I’m going to enjoy knocking your teeth in.” He cracks his knuckles. “No, I have an issue with you. You came onto my wife, and now you’re going to regret it.”

“I have no desire to shatter your already fragile masculinity any further, Sir.” You reply. “I’m sorry you seem to be stuck playing your wife’s desperate, attention seeking games. The two of you should strive to do better.”

“How dare you!” Rylie seethes, but is soon consoled by her husband.

“Shh, Honey, I’ve got this.” He pats her shoulder before rounding on you. His furious expression says it all. “How dare you!”

“Oh, I think we’ve got a pair of parrots on our hands.” Trisha remarks. “Too bad they can’t remember any of the important lessons.”

“Yeah, like ‘final strike and you’re out.’” Kamille hums, shooting the two of them a pointed look.

“Like hell you can kick us out of this town.” The male spits, brow creased as his face begins to turn bright red in anger.

“We can, and we will.” Trisha replies almost instantly, no remorse at all in her tone. “We’ve already warned you sufficiently. Please do not make us mad. You will not like what happens.”

“Are you threatening me?” He straightens, hands balling into fists at his sides.

You stand calmly to your feet, returning the plate to the counter where you see Nina has managed to doze off. Soft snores fall from her lips, and you spare her a small smile before turning to the couple fuming at the doorway.

“Depends,” you hum, leaning back on the counter as your cross your arms over your chest. “Do you feel threatened?”

“By you?” The man scoffs. “Not likely.”

“You should be.” You smile, and you notice them grimace slightly at how unnerving you suddenly look. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my nieces and nephew are waiting for us to return to the festival.”

Just then, the bell above the door chimes and in walk both Yunho and Yeosang with the children in tow. A white pansy is tucked into Yeosang’s hair, just behind his ear. It seems to have been placed there very carefully so as to display his birthmark, and you just know Minnie probably had something to do with that, seeing as he holds her against his hip. Marcus holds onto Yeosang’s free hand, a yellow daffodil, a pink rose, and a sprig of lilac held in Marcus’ opposite hand. On Yunho’s back rests Delilah, her giggling suddenly cut short as she peeks over his shoulder to observe the tense scene before them.

“Auntie…” Winnie’s worried gaze is suddenly on you, and you notice how Marcus begins to tremble as he looks at the man before him.

“It’s okay, Winnie,” you smile assuringly. “We were just on our way out to meet you when Rylie returned with this fine gentleman here.”

The couple stiffens.

“Bad man.” Marcus begins mumbling, taking a wary step backwards. “You’re a bad man.”

“Don’t worry, Marcus.” You begin to usher both Kamille and Trisha out, you following close behind. “We’re finished here, anyways.”

Marcus immediately clings onto Kamille as she walks passed, Trisha taking Winnie from Yeosang’s hold instantly. You don’t even spare another look at the couple as you exit the bakery, both Yeosang and Yunho observing you carefully.

Only, you don’t manage to get very far outside of the shop.

“Don’t you walk away from me, you bitch.” The man grabs your arm, quite harshly at that.

Two low growls get muffled by the bustling sounds of the festival around you.

“Sir, I recommend you release my arm before you come to regret it.” You state calmly, angling your body away from him as a crowd begins to form around you.

“The only thing I’ll come to regret is not putting your smartass in your place.” He spits, tightening his hold over your arm.

You sigh, shaking your head as you slide you bag off of your opposite arm. “Trish, be a dear and hold my bag.”

Wordlessly, she grabs it from you.

You turn your full attention back to the man in front of you.

“This is your last warning,” you meet his gaze with a dark look of your own and you notice how he falters slightly. “Release me before you lose this hand of yours.”

“Like you could ever harm me.”  He guffaws, purposely raising his voice for the now growing crowd.

At the side, both Yunho and Yeosang stand, tense. They can barely keep their eyes from flashing, both males beginning to tremble in rage the longer they observe this scene going on before them.

Faintly, you begin to hear whispers around you, all in defence and worry of you and how often this man seems to pick fights with absolutely anybody.

“I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much when I knock you flat on your ass.” You comment.

He scoffs, “I’d like to see you try!”

The moment those words are out of his mouth you have him pinned on the ground, a light cloud of dust floating in the air. Your knee digs harshly into the man’s back, his arm twisted unnaturally behind him as you shove his face into the dirt.

Rylie’s hands come up to cover her mouth in shock, a silence settling around the crowd.

“I warned you.” You hum, almost condescendingly at the male beneath you.

A scowl is all you receive in response.

“Normally, I would have broken your hand for touching me, but I think the fact that you’re being kicked out of this village is punishment enough.” You spit quite harshly. “After all, you’ll need all the strength you can get in order to vacate the premises as quickly as possible.”

A moment of silence before a small cheer is erupting from the crowd, murmurs of glee reaching your ears. Many even go so far as to exclaim that this couple’s reign of terror is over.

“You bitch!” Rylie shrieks, running over to attempt to tackle you off of her husband.

Easily, you dodge her, watching as she trips over her husband’s legs and lands in the dirt beside him. Not even a second later, you stand, dusting off your knees all the while.

“Be grateful this is all that you’ve received from me.” You crack your neck, grabbing your bag back from Trisha in one fluid motion. “Now, I don’t want to hear you’ve bothered anyone else ever again, and you better hope I never see your faces around here again. You won’t like what becomes of it, then.”

Slowly, the man pushes himself to his feet, Rylie helping him stand all the while.

“Get back here, cunt!” He bellows, closing the distance between the both of you in a few great bounds and swinging for the back of your head with his fist.

A sickening crunch sounds around the area, followed by a pained filled cry and a high pitched shriek of horror.

Turning reveals Yeosang crushing the man’s fist in his grip, his eyes the darkest you’ve ever seen them before turning their natural gold. A snarl paints his lips as the man desperately attempts to break free from Yeosang’s grip, blood beginning to drip slowly into the dirt at the male’s feet.

“If you ever lay a hand on My Fated again,” Yeosang growls, voice ringing out loud and clear through the deadly silence that now surrounds the area. His eyes flash. “I’ll kill you.”

[omaano]

SW Hades AU Status Update

I wanted to make a dedicated post about what I’m currently working on for the Star Wars meets Hades AU that looks more consistent than just sharing bits and pieces whenever I’m tagged in a Last Line Challenge. Because what else do I have but the poly sketch requests and this AU for my weekends? (If nothing else I know that the Hades AU has got me XD)

For now Obi-Wan and Maul are stuck at the same stage: they are both lined, have their base colours down as well as the two adjustment layers of coloured lighting.

I suspect if I were ever to get through the agonozing few hours of shading Obi-wan’s face it would be mostly smooth sailing from there. The problem is that there are at least 2 - if not 3 - separate stages where the shaded face looks like I have no idea what I’m doing, and you need to get through the whole thing before it really comes together 😅 on the other hand Hades 2 has a lot of the directional shading I might need for his character art so that might help to get me there.

It also needs to be said that Obi-Wan comes with the extra disadvantage that is the entire background behind him. I’m really hyped to line it finally, it is quite a challenge, but at the same time I’m slowly coming to the realization that I have no idea how I will colour it. Hades backgrounds are so so pretty and full of details and gorgeous colours, and while I’m not delusional enough to think I could match that on first try… I still wish I could, you know? At the same time I will have to erase or recolour a lot of my lines, which will hurt quite a bit, I imagine. I’m so bad at killing my darlings 😅 also I hate laying down flat colours. I just find it very difficult to immerse myself in that process, while lining and shading can have their flow.

I had covered up so many lines and details in Maul’s spider parts it’s a miracle I didn’t cry XD However, tips on grouping my shadows and allowing the shape to speak for itself and the details in them are very helpful and on point.

Worrying over writing dialogue for them is also not as far down my to-do list as I wish it were. I have a good enough idea for a quip for Obi-wan, but Maul? He’d need a whole melodramatic rant of his own XD

Aphra has gotten some new lines and I had fixed the satchel I had forgotten the last time I shared the rough sketch for her, thanks to the new character art for Hades 2! Seeing Odysseus and Hermès’s updated looks were great helps here, so I might as well move on to lining her, and finally adding another female character to the roster on top of Ahsoka!

And then there is the biggest update on these little guys below! I will need to clean up the ones I had drawn for Cobb and Boba (and Din) well over a year ago, but with these my version of chtonic companions are done, and thanks to @lesquatrechevrons I have a full list of keepsakes for each character as well. I’m not very good at drawing these little tchotchkes (I say with Rex’s blaster right there LOL) but I hadn’t been very good at lineart or cell shading when I started this project either, so through forced practice I’m determined to change that :D

(It’s not a screwdriver under Boga, it’s one of Cody’s antennas. “It will grow back, don’t worry,” he says as he snaps it off his pauldron and hands it over to Din. Rex backs him up on that one without question. They can't lie for shit but trolling the shiny is their thing.)

Additional fun fact: the reason why I’d picked up the chtonic companions concepts was because I’d been poking at minor details in the background behind Maul (aside from the Chaos doors), and I started adding credits and recoloured nectar to the corner (before I realized that they wouldn’t be visible once the character interaction comes up oops), and I tried to figure out to whose keepsakes Maul would react favorably. I also mixed up companion dolls and keepsakes, so that’s why the Ahsoka doll came to being (I also forgot that that one belongs to Rex, and not Ahsoka herself but uh… they are close enough that they should count by proxy anyway. It’s not Obi-wan’s cup of tea and that should be enough!). Also bless @mapleowl18 for suggesting Lil Soka as companion for Rex ❤️

So this is the current state of this AU project right now. I have my lists and notes, a few scribbled pose ideas in my sketchbook for Sabine (she might be next, unless Bo and her Nite Owls make a comeback), Satine and Omega (with Batcher), as well as some angry scribbles and question marks for Quinlan (who has apparently made his way back into this AU even though he didn’t get a little icon of his own originally orz), and Obi-wan The Second that would stand with Cody post reunion, but I cannot make that one work for now 😅

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 5

A/N: Holy hell, this chapter got hands. I sincerely apologize for it taking me almost two months to update. Buckle up -- we got some unsettling bullshit brewing within this one. As always, thank you all for your continued support, and please mind the tags. Happy reading!

Rating: Explicit Word count: ~8.2k (I'm rounding up) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, minor character deaths, depictions of murder, dark romance, pregnancy mention (of course), manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, jealousy, abuse mention, minor references to suicidal ideation and overall mental health struggles Summary: Tav awakes after the events of the prior evening alone, confused. Having overheard a discussion between the servants, she makes her way down into the depths of the manor and uncovers a shocking secret.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

She awakens; startled.

Her eyes snap open and Tav springs up from the plush cocoon of linens she's wrapped in – white sheets and a cream colored duvet envelop her. She looks around, frantically searching a room that is unfamiliar. There’s a crick in her neck as she turns her head too fast. She winces then raises a hand to rub over the spot. Raised scabs cover the two signature pinpoints in her neck as she continues to soothe the aching muscle.

There's a heaviness to her head as the events of the prior night swim to the surface of her mind, panic starting anew. 

‘He bit me,’ Tav remembers, urgently. She extends both arms in front of herself for inspection, flipping them over again and again. At this moment, Tav cannot recall what her usual skin tone is – her chest heaves with labored breath as she looks hurriedly around the room for a mirror. In the corner, alongside the wall, sits a vanity. She bolts from the bed, rushing urgently to the mirror.

Grasping the edges of the vanity, Tav snaps her head up to meet the glass.

Her reflection…stares back at her.

Astarion had kept his word – he did not turn her.

She sighs, collapsing into the seat stationed at the vanity. Autonomic tremors wrack her body, adrenaline beginning to take effect. Closing her eyes, Tav focuses on her breathing. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, blowing it out through her mouth. Again. And again. As she rides the choppy waves of her anxiety, a sharp twist in her stomach has her laying a hand over her lower abdomen. With the palm of her hand, Tav rubs soothing circles over the plush softness of her growing belly.

“Glad to see you're okay,” she says affectionately to her stomach, lips curling up into a smile.

How did she end up here? Where is here? Peeling open her eyes, Tav gives the room an honest gander. It's not large, but not necessarily small, either. The room hosts hunter green walls with natural pine wood flooring. There’s a glass door to the front of the room, adjacent to the bed, with two smaller windows on either side; Tav can only assume it leads to a balcony. Beige drapes hang over the windows, parted gently down the middle and tied to the wall by golden holdbacks. There are plants – so many plants – throughout the room. Marbled pothos in hanging pots, a small belladonna on a stand; various other flora and fauna act as decor for the quaint bedroom.

She rises and walks back to the bed, noting that her belongings have been placed neatly along the bottom edge. Tav pokes through them, revealing each layer; her satchel, scarf, and hat are all present. Personal items are all accounted for as she rummages through her bag. It isn't until she notices her dress folded under her bag that she’s aware of her current attire. Somehow, she's now wearing a beige silk slip gown, the hem stopping just above her knees. The top and bottom of the dress are embroidered with white lace; a small bow is positioned right between the beginning of her cleavage.

Tav scans the room again and finds a matching bathrobe hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. She quickly gathers the robe and throws it over herself, catching from the corner of her eye, what appears to be a note on the nightstand adjacent to the bed as she turns around. A vase of freshly cut red roses also resides atop the table.

Tav picks up the note and inspects it. The handwriting is Astarion's – of that, she's certain. The note is addressed to her. It reads,

‘Tavaria,

My apologies that you will wake alone with only this letter  – I'm in rather high demand, today. I am hopeful this note will provide much needed clarification.

It seems as though we’ve had a repeat of our first encounter, yester eve. For that, I owe you an apology. I was overzealous. Truly, I'd forgotten how much I savor your blood, and just how easy it is to lose myself to it.

Rest assured, as soon as I'd realized you'd lost consciousness, I stopped. Everything. Nothing further occurred during your incapacitation. I gathered us both and brought you here, to your bedroom, to rest. I hope you don't mind my giving you a change of clothing; not sure how you'd feel about falling asleep in your day clothes. You did always make it a point to change before retiring for the evening.’

Tav smiles as she reads over the letter. He was right; she never fell asleep without dressing down for the evening. When he had asked her why, she'd told him that it would invite horrid dreams, were she not comfortable during sleep. 

She continues reading,

‘I've tasked Magdalena with helping you around the manor. You need only ask that of which you desire, and she will assist. I suggest taking your morning tea out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard garden. The roses I've left were cut fresh from one of our many bushes this morning.

Tav looks to the glass door leading out to the patio. She catches a glimpse of the small courtyard beyond the ledge of the balcony. Various shades of pink and red roses line the courtyard walls; they're no doubt the source of his gift.

Although the urge to sequester you all to myself is an incredibly formidable one, our time is sadly not yet. You are free to leave whenever you desire. Simply inform Magdalena of your wish to leave, and she will escort you.

I do hope you make a habit of coming to visit. It would be lovely to have you at future events.

I ever so miss having you near, my dearest spitfire.

A. A.

Spitfire – his old moniker for her.

The first time he saw her charge headfirst into a group of Gnolls, he bestowed that name upon her. She'd yelled orders from her frontal position to the back line, the pack dropping quickly from their combined onslaught. All piss and raw vinegar as she cut them down, screaming with each swing of her great sword. For Astarion, it was exhilarating to watch the woman he was newly involved with take the initiative. He would later tell her it was a deciding factor in how he inevitably fell for her.

Tav places the note back on the table, raising her head toward the windows. She approaches the door to the balcony, placing a hand upon the handle. It turns with relative ease and Tav pushes open the door, stepping out onto the patio. The sun bathes her skin in a comforting warmth and she takes a moment to enjoy the sensation. Despite it being morning, she can already tell the weather will be unbearably warm by midday. Yet, for now, this is fine. This will do nicely to help soothe her worrisome heart. At least, for a short while.

Looking out beyond the balcony, Tav is greeted with a full view of the courtyard garden. She sees the rose bushes from before clearer, now. Various colored tulips outline the brick path cut down its middle, along with lavender and catmint, creating a dazzling display of color. Tav closes her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. A sweet floral scent meets her nose and she instantly relaxes, shoulders falling into a more comfortable position.

She recalls Astarion's surprise when they reached Baldur's Gate. “You forget just how much color there is in the world,” he told her. Seeing first hand how much vibrancy the garden possesses, it's no wonder he speaks so highly of it.

As she looks down at the grounds below, Tav sees gardeners trimming hedges. A couple look up and wave, having caught her in their periphery. She waves back as a kind gesture, and returns back to the bedroom. There's knocking on the bedroom door – three short taps with the back of a knuckle, just as she closes the door to the balcony.

“Lady Tavaria? Are you awake?” comes a light voice from the other side of the door.

‘Magdalena.’

“Y-yes! I'm up,” Tav answers. She walks to the bedroom door but doesn't open it. Instead, she chooses to stand in front, awaiting a response from the servant.

“Ah, wonderful!” Magdalena exclaims jovially. May I come in, my lady?”

Tav worries the inside of her cheek, hesitantly raising a hand to the doorknob. The woman is harmless, she knows, yet her heart still wavers. With a brief shuttering of her eyes, Tav draws in a deep breath again and opens the door.

Magdalena stands just outside the door, a tray of tea and finger sandwiches in her hands. “Brightest of mornings, Lady Tavaria,” she greets with a short curtsey. Her signature smile is widely on display. “I've brought tea and some breakfast, at the behest of Lord Ancunín.”

Tav nods and steps out of the way, welcoming Magdalena into the bedroom. The older woman places the tray on top of a wooden dresser along the wall. “Thank you,” Tav says, walking over to the tray. 

Her stomach growls as she looks over the sandwiches. It dawns on her that she hasn't eaten since lunch the day before. As she reaches for a piece of sandwich, Tav notices a small scroll rolled up on the tray next to the tea pot. Choosing to forego food at the moment, she picks up the scroll and starts cautiously untying the binding. “What is this?” Tav asks, glancing up toward Magdalena.

“A scroll of Lesser Restoration,” Magdalena explains. “The young Master insisted you’d have need of it.”

Tav opens the scroll and reads over the incantation. During their travels, it wasn't uncommon for Tav to ask this of Shadowheart, especially after nights with Astarion. Shadowheart would scold her for taking things too far yet again with their vampiric companion, but would heal her, nonetheless.

“That's very thoughtful of him,” Tav answers, flatly. She recites the spell laid out within the scroll, a faint blue aura enveloping her. The scroll disintegrates within her hands as the aura clears. Her head suddenly feels clearer, her body stronger. Tav never quite understood how the spell works, but she chooses never to question it further. For now, she'll enjoy her breakfast, pouring herself a cup of tea before choosing a piece of sandwich.

Magdalena smiles again as Tav begins eating. “May I run you a bath?” she offers. “It will be done by the time you finish.”

“Ah, no,” Tav answers while chewing, raising a hand to cover her mouth, “that's quite alright. I think I'll just slowly get myself together.”

Their eyes meet as Tav lifts her head toward the older woman once more. For a moment, the servant's eyes glow. Tav furrows her brow as she studies Magdalena’s face. She's seen this look before, but not since Cazador was still master of the palace. 

Suddenly, it clicks.

She's actively conferring with Astarion.

Magdalena's eyes return to their usual hue almost as quickly as they changed. Tav resumes her breakfast, feigning innocence of her discovery. 

“Of course, Lady Tavaria. That would be no problem at all,” says Magdalena. The servant makes toward the bedroom door, but turns around before exiting. “Please feel free to call for me, if you have need.”

Tav nods again while taking a sip of tea. “Of course, Magdalena. Thank you, though there's one question I have.” She motions toward the note lying on the nightstand next to the bed, seeking to prove her prior theory correct. “Astarion said in his note that I may leave whenever I please.” She places her tea back down on the tray, locking eyes once more with Magdalena. “Is that true?”

A brief moment passes without a response. Faint glowing rings appear around Magdalena’s irises once again, then fade within seconds. “Absolutely!” the woman exclaims, positively. “You’re free to come and go as you please. Master Astarion would never keep you here against your will.” The smirk on her face is not her own but that of Astarion’s, a blatant display of his compulsion over the older woman.

Tav draws in a shallow breath, deeply unsettled. “Thank you, Magdalena,” Tav says quietly, placing her cup of tea down. Magdalena bows before taking her leave of the bedroom, the door shutting with a soft ‘click’ behind her. Tav stares at the back of the door, mind beginning to race. 

Why spy on her if she's free to leave? Why offer her accommodations if Astarion has zero intent to keep her here? She winces as a sharp throb shoots through her neck. The scroll may have cleared her mind, though his mark is still very much present.

“He's hiding something,” Tav says aloud, raising a hand to rub the side of her neck. The scabs brush along her palm as she smoothes over the skin. She begins to ponder the night prior. The look on his face… His liar's smile. Tav knows the look well. He's used it on her and countless others across the duration of their journey together.

But why? It's her, after all. He can trust her, can't he? He can confide in her.

“You left me, remember?”

The words echo in her mind. She hates to admit it, but Tav broke his trust just as much as he broke hers. The exact moment of Astarion’s triumph is when she pulled away. When he finally achieved all he lusted after, she left. Rejected entirely the man he became, truly, for her. Sold the very essence of his conscience in a diabolical contract to achieve the confidence, power, and strength to protect her, to protect them, for the rest of eternity.

She drops her hand to her stomach, rubbing over the small bump of her lower belly. That same circumstance is the exact reason she's in her current position. It surprises her, though Tav believes Astarion is still somehow unaware of her condition. If he were, he would have half the manor waiting on her hand and foot. The best clerics and healers would be brought in from all around Faerûn. But above all, he would demand that she stay here. Tav has little doubt he would be an attentive and caring partner. Yet, it would mark the end of her freedom. There is no doubt in her mind about that.

Tav inevitably makes her way to the bath, stripping herself of the silken nightgown. She cleanses her skin thoroughly with care, looking delightfully at the array of soaps and oils provided to her. When she steps back out, she assembles her outfit from the day before. 

With one more small bite of a sandwich and a sip of tea, Tav heads out of the bedroom and into the large hallway. She's unfamiliar with this wing of the palace – not somewhere that was accessible to during their initial visit. It's entirely possible Astarion had this built during the renovations, though the marble carvings within the walls state otherwise. Plush red carpeting lines the hallway, leading to a grand wooden staircase.

Looking around, Tav notes that there is barely a presence on this floor. She begins making her way toward the staircase, noting that even the floor below looks just as deserted. The gears in her head begin turning; where could everyone be? It's barely mid-morning – certainly the servants have chores?

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Tav hears soft echoes of voices coming from around the corner. She believes this to be the main floor of the manor. Is he having a meeting in the foyer? The ballroom? She travels down the hall and hugs the corner wall. Slowly she peaks her head over the corner. No one is present in the manor foyer, yet when she turns her head toward the ballroom, Tav quickly pulls herself close to the wall in an effort to avoid being spotted.

Cautiously, Tav again looks around the corner, staying as flush with the wall as possible. There's a gathering of sorts within the ballroom. Maids and servants are arranging table sets, ornaments are being strung from the walls. One servant is up on a ladder hand-wiping each crystal of the delicate chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. 

Ah, this explains why the manor is so deserted. They're all here, seemingly preparing for an event. Tav looks around and quickly notes Astarion’s absence, yet catches Magdalena fussing with another servant.

“Why’s it we who have to do all this?” complains the young man. He's tall, thin, with shortly cropped ears. A half-elf, perhaps? Maybe even less. “Why's the Master get to sit all pretty while we're here working?” He's holding a silver teapot, polishing it with a soft, white cloth.

“Oh, Thaddeus,” Tav overhears Magdalena sigh, “Lord Ancunín trusts that everything will be up to his expectations, so long as it is us who do this.” The basket she holds comes to rest on a nearby table top as she turns to her companion. “You can hire just about anyone to do anything. But those finer details that have people talking for weeks?” She raises a hand, wagging a finger toward the young man. “Those can only be found by knowing your clientele. And we do.” She nods her head. “He knows that.”

Tav begins to pull back along the wall but stops once she hears the young man speak again, “You know him a long time, don't you?”

“I do,” Magdalena answers confidently.

“Was he always this arrogant?”

The pensive look in the woman's eyes gives Tav pause once again. “He wasn't always in a position to be otherwise,” Magdalena replies quietly.

Tav finally pulls herself back along the wall, looking down to the floor. It's how he survived Cazador. The slavery. The whoring. The hunger. All of it. “Spite made me who I am!” She remembers the venom laced within those words, having pushed him too far. Her heart skips in her chest as it floods with unsettling heat.

“Do I really have to go down there?” the boy from earlier says from around the corner. “It's cold down there. And smells awful.”

Tav listens closely as Magdalena responds, “Oh fine, you don't have to go right now. But someone must go down before tomorrow night’s banquet.”

‘Down?’ Tav ponders. The only thing she remembers being under the manor is the crypts. Those were left empty after the ritual, having sacrificed all those lives in the Rite. Nothing remained but the stench of death and stale air. What could possibly be down there that they need to check on?

In a split decision, Tav peers quickly over the edge of the wall again. The path is clear; every servant is occupied with their tasks at hand. She then dashes to the opposite wall, hugging it close as she listens to the activity within the ballroom.

Nothing. Just the same chatter as before.

If she has any hope of making it to the crypts, Tav remembers she needs the ring. That accursed fucking ring, engraved with the Szarr family sigil. She doubts Astarion has changed the enchantment, as evidenced by the heavy metal doors of the ballroom. ‘But where to find the ring?’ she ponders. Tav recalls a matching set – one within Cazador's possession, and the other…

Godey. 

Astarion returned the duplicate back to fucking Godey. Or, really, what was left of him. Once obtaining Cazador's ring, he returned the prior to the skeleton before departing the palace. 

“I very much deserve the real thing. Not some cheap imitation,” he says. As Tav watches him kneel before the corpse of his tormentor, he gives pause. They’re the only two occupants of the room, the others choosing to stay above in the foyer. The room smells horrid; fetid. Nothing but the stench of death and decay permeates the air. Astarion sits with his head bowed low, hands balled into tight fists on his thighs. Tav refrains from speaking, letting Astarion have his moment. Eventually, the newly ascended vampire lord reaches into his pocket and produces the duplicate ring, dropping it within the pile of bones that was once animated. As he rises, Astarion turns to Tav and says, “I’m done here.”

She quirks her brow. “Are you sure?” Tav asks in concern. “We should really talk–”

“I’m done here,” Astarion repeats again, more sternly. He walks past Tav without making eye contact and heads for the stairs. Tav looks back at the room briefly before exiting, then follows Astarion up the stairs.

Looking around, Tav realizes the layout of the manor has changed. “But has he changed the structure underneath?” she whispers to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she finds it – a small stairway at the end of the hall leading down and–

‘Aha; there it is.’

Tav quickly scans the hall and upon realizing the way is clear, dashes toward the staircase. She hurries down the stairs, halting momentarily at the bottom to perform another quick surveillance of her surroundings. 

Having Astarion as a teacher certainly helped improve her stealth. His two-hundred years of experience shined brightest as he glided about the night, lifting coin purses and trinkets with finesse so smooth they'd all be right out of earshot when the shrills of the victims finally rang out. Tav would stand in awe as he'd then pawn the hot items, using every smooth edge of his perfectly sculpted face to its full advantage. It was often that he'd come away with more gold in hand than the others during these exchanges, leading to the group agreeing unanimously that Astarion barter with all merchants.

The way looks clear once more and Tav ventures into the hall. This floor looks little changed; the…entertainment…quarters are off to the left, which means the kennels are still to the right. Tav turns her head as she approaches the threshold of the kennels. The blood-stained mattresses from months prior are still strewn about the floor of the room, coupled with the shackles welded into the stone. What makes her breath catch is Godey’s skeleton, lifeless on the ground. It's laying in the exact same position it was left in when he was slain. 

Astarion hasn't touched it. 

No one has touched anything in this room, let alone on this floor, from the looks of it.

With a heavy sigh, Tav steps through the doorway and enters the torture chamber. The air still carries the horrid scent of decay, but not nearly as strongly as the months’ prior. She kneels before the pile of bones on the floor that once was Godey, and without much hesitation, begins rummaging around for the ring. She finds it under his ribcage, nestled between his pelvis, and quickly stashes it in her satchel. Tav tries rearranging Godey’s remains as respectfully as she can, then rises from the floor.

She's quick to leave the room, not affording herself a glance back, and slinks back up the stairs. A servant passes as she reaches the top of the stairs and Tav halts, watching them intently. Thankfully, they fail to notice her presence, and she continues up into the hallway. Her next challenge is to somehow sneak into the ballroom, to the doorway off to the left that houses the elevator shaft. Astarion taught her an invisibility spell during their lessons, though her grasp on the spell is crude at best, only being able to hold the veil for half its usual time. 

She'll have to be quick, is all.

Tav hugs the wall once more as she makes her way back to the ballroom. Silently she prays no changes have been made to that wing of the manor. She whispers the incantation for the invisibility spell to herself; her form blinks out of view and she dashes into the room. Holding her concentration as best she can, Tav nearly collides with a maid as she turns the corner. The spell flickers for a soft moment, threatening to collapse entirely, before she inevitably regains focus. She looks around briefly – no one within the ballroom seems to have noticed her mishap, and she quickly slips behind the door leading to the elevator, closing it promptly behind her.

Exhaling in relief, Tav releases the spell, retrieving the ring from her satchel as she walks toward the elevator. The gate opens as she approaches and she steps in. As she raises the ring to the corresponding sigil etched within the metal wall, Tav winces, hoping that the activation of the elevator doesn’t trigger an alarm. Ancient gears begin to wind, feeling the vibrations under her feet, and the gate closes. The elevator begins to draw down, and Tav sighs in relief.

The air shifts as she further descends down the shaft. An uneasiness takes root deep within her chest as the temperature shifts; she shivers, and suddenly, the elevator stops with a jump. The gate swings open and Tav steps off. She's assaulted by the scent of rotting organic matter and stale blood. Her stomach churns, half in nausea but also hunger. Curse the child growing within – already having such a twisted moral compass. Most befitting of the union between a vampire and a Bhaalspawn.

Her footsteps reverberate loudly against the tall stone walls of the dungeon. As she looks around, Tav realizes that this, too, has been left untouched during the renovations. Making her way to the main hall, she ponders where Astarion would keep his secret hidden, were there one. She turns off to the left and heads to where the remains of Vellioth lay; where most accounts from all prior lords of the manor reside.

Entering the stone room, Tav immediately notices the two sarcophaguses off to the right. They, too, are made of stone, their lids decorated with intricate carvings. She quirks her brow, drawing closer to the structures. These look new; a fine dust has settled on the ground surrounding each, most likely shaken off the while being placed.

A quick memory flits across her mind, of the two men mentioned within the Gazette. Evidence of fangs marks marring their necks, vanishing from the crime scene without a trace. Again Tav's stomach churns, queasily this time. 

Perhaps these are Astarion's new sleeping chambers? Her brain is trying to form a positive explanation. Maybe he's grown tired of satin and feathered beds, craving the comforts of solitude. 

She winces, seemingly staring out into nothing, and pulls her head to one side. ‘No,’ Tav thinks, ‘not after that particular event…’

She approaches the first of the tombs, cautiously extending her hands to the lid. With a breath, she pushes, the bellowing sound of stone grinding against stone cutting through the heavy silence of the crypt. Finally, the cover drops to the floor with a loud ‘thud’, the ground shaking briefly beneath her feet.

Closing her eyes, Tav leans forward over the lip of the stone coffin. She wills her eyes to then open observing the contents inside.

Her mouth drops open, breath arresting in her chest by what she finds.

Within the stone coffin lay a man in hooded black garb. Of elven lineage, most likely – not much older than a hundred. As she scans his form, Tav notes a discolored bruise on one side of the man’s neck. A trail of blood leads down his chest, obscured by the collar of his garb. Reaching into the coffin, she gently pushes the hood to the side, allowing her a better view of his neck.

Her pupils grow wide.

Within the blossomed bruise, two pin marks decorate the man’s skin. Tav raises a hand to her neck and traces the distance between each of her scars. She extends her hand over the man's neck, keeping her fingers aligned. 

She gasps – the marks line up near perfectly with her fingers. 

‘No…’

A surge of heat crawls throughout her body, her heart drumming loudly within her ears. Tav darts her eyes to the second stone coffin and sets to work on shoving off the lid. With one final groan from Tav, the lid hits the floor, ground shaking again from the impact. Quickly, Tav peers over the ledge.

Another young man in hooded black garb – a dragonborn. Tav reaches down to push the hood over, revealing the man's neck to her eyes. He, too, possesses the same pin marks as the first.

“Somehow I knew I'd find you here,” comes a smooth voice from beyond the corridor. 

Tav halts, a shiver running down her spine. She knows that baritone voice, all too well.

Him.

Footsteps echo off stone flooring, the sound increasing in intensity as he walks down the hall. He emerges from the shadows and into full view; he's chosen his red and black doublet today, with a simple pair of black slacks. His loafers are the same as the day's prior. Not a single strand of hair atop his head is out of place. Perfectly poised, per usual.

“Shouldn't’ve taught me your entire repertoire, then,” Tav retorts with slight annoyance, swiveling her head to address him over her shoulder.

He smirks as he closes the distance. “Half, little love,” Astarion chides with a wag of a finger. “I taught you half of what I know.” He stands just within the doorway’s arch, crossing his arms over his chest. Astarion then tilts his head to one side, pulling his face into a questioning scowl. “Why exactly are you here?”

Silence hangs heavy in the air while Tav conjures a response. She narrows her eyes, shooting Astarion a searing glance.

“You lied to me, Astarion,” she accuses, raising a finger at him. “And I knew you did.” Looking to the twin coffins lining the walls of the room, Tav shakes her head. “I overheard the servants talking about something here within the crypts, and I–”

Astarion drops his brow. “Who did you overhear?” comes his stern response, laced within a deep growl.

Tav shrugs her shoulders. “Does it matter?” she suggests. “The damage is already done, Astarion. I know the truth.”

He's quiet as she walks toward him; stoic. He stops breathing, having no true need of it, and he’s a living statue before her eyes. Ivory skin with just the faintest hint of life. Piercing red eyes. A strong, sharp nose. Hardened jaw clenched tight… 

Tav is quick to rid her mind of the creeping lust that threatens to bloom within.

“But what I don't understand is why lie to me, Astarion?” She continues to argue her point, pounding a fist over her chest. “What do you gain? What do you preserve?”

Astarion doesn't answer immediately, likely trying to piece together a sound reply. He shifts his weight onto one hip and sighs. “Has our dearest friend Wyllyam not told you of our arrangement?”

Tav shifts back a step, turning her face toward the side only minimally, eyes still fixated upon him. “What are you implying?”

Astarion’s resulting smile oozes malice. “Oh dear, you really don't know.” He drops his arms from his chest and closes the distance. Tav flinches as he leans toward her, dropping his voice to a purr, “And here I thought you were just playing the part.”

“Know what, Astarion? Speak plainly,” demands Tav.

Again, a momentary lapse in response. He stares blankly, expressionless as he says, “Awfully surprised this hasn't come up during pillow talk.”

Tav blinks in genuine shock. ‘Pillow talk? What in the hells–’

Suddenly, her brain mulls over the thought and she scowls. “Astarion, are you asking if I've ever slept with Wyll?”

He leans back, shifting his head again to one side. “I'm not quite sure, love,” he says, feigning innocence. “Perhaps you could tell me?”

Flabbergasted, Tav shouts, “He's the Duke, Astarion! I report directly to him!” She shakes her head in disagreement. “No, our interactions are strictly professional.”

“Of course, but old habits die hard, my dear. Surely you know that,” Astarion retorts.

The sentence churns within her brain. Tav recalls the events of their journey against the Absolute. Every dinner, every laugh, every intimate moment shared.

‘He can't possibly be referring to…’ 

Her attention snaps back to Astarion, who waits patiently as she unravels his meaning.

“We shared a kiss, Astarion,” Tav explains, mildly annoyed. “You and I pledged ourselves to one another soon after. You know this.”

“You both shared a rather intimate dance, as well.” He begins to circle her; Tav keeps her head on a swivel as she tracks his movement. “What else, I wonder, did you share in our time away from one another?”

“I already told you, our relationship is strictly professional. I harbor no additional feelings for Wyll.”

Astarion's raises his hands in defeat, bowing slightly at the waist. “I'll accept what you say as truth.”

Somberly, Tav looks toward the two stone coffins holding the unfortunate victims. “How does Wyll have anything to do with this?” she questions. “I doubt he'd take murder lightly.”

Astarion huffs a laugh. “Oh, my darling, how wrong you are. They aren’t dead.” Astarion moves toward the first sarcophagus, stopping just next to it. “And they're not innocent. I can assure you of that.”

She whips her head toward Astarion, bewilderment painted clear up on her face. “Not dead?” reiterates Tav. “Astarion, I'm sure of what I saw. Those two men are dead; gone of this world.”

“Did you touch them?” he inquires, lifting a brow.

“No,” she admits, shaking her head, “why would I?”

Astarion lifts his chin, nodding toward the coffins. “Touch them,” he dares. “Go on.”

Tav holds his challenging gaze for a moment before bowing her head. Cautiously, she walks toward the coffins again, choosing the one that holds the elven man. Quickly she looks to Astarion, who nods his head again in encouragement. Tav raises a shaky hand over the lip of the coffin, reaching for the young man inside.

The hand connects and her eyes grow wide.

‘His skin…it's…’

“Cool, but not chilled, yes?” Astarion comments smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tav quickly retracts her hand, shooting a heated glance at Astarion. “What the hells is this, Astarion?” she yells. “What kind of enchantment is this?!”

Knitting his brow, Astarion says, “Tell me, darling – does this satisfy your desire to paint me as some type of devil?” Slowly he stalks toward her, like a predator encircling their prey. Instinctively, Tav backs away, desperate to create more distance. “Does this prove your preconceived notions correct?”

“Astarion…” Tav says in a small voice, but she halts her retreat – a wave of rebellion overtaking her. She stands steady, watching his every movement.

He stops before her, heavy breaths rippling through his nostrils. “Will you fly from me again?” he asks, jaw tight. He leans forward, adding in a growl, “Do you fear me, now?”

He’s spiraling.

Backed into a corner, he's poised to strike. As she studies his face, Tav notes the tension set deep within his features. “...Not unless I have reason to,” she challenges. Tav narrows her eyes in question. “Do I?”

The tension eases somewhat, Astarion's face softening. He straightens his posture, placing a hand on the lip of the coffin for support. “Of course not,” he admits, looking off to the side. Astarion worries at his bottom lip. “I would see this entire city burn, if you willed.”

A cold shutter runs down the length of her spine. “I would never ask that of you, Astarion,” Tav states, cocking her head to one side.

“I know,” he smiles, lips pulling into a smirk, “but my offer still stands.”

Despite offering to raze an entire city in her stead, Tav realizes he still cannot call this what it truly is. 

Love.

How much he loves her. Loves the idea of them. His worst fear realized, Tav comes to understand, is her turning her back on him again. Walking out the door, never to return. Astarion still cannot admit to himself that he longs, desperately, for nothing more than them being together, for as long as the accursed Gods above allow.

But, she knows. She sees it – sees him.

Her eyes wander back to the elven man in the stone coffin. Tav turns to face the coffin and dips her hand once more, placing the flat of her hand against the man’s cheek. “How is it possible that they still live?” she asks, curious. “You bit them, didn't you? Drained them?”

“I did,” agrees Astarion with a slight nod of his head, “however, that's only the first part. They haven't yet reached the final act.” His chest rises as he draws in a breath, exhaling with audible force. He meets her eye as he says, “Currently, they lay between.”

Tav's jaw drops in silent question. “How do you mean between, Astarion?” she asks, mortified. “Are you implying they're in a sort of stasis?”

“Somewhat, yes,” confirms Astarion. “To create a vampire spawn, the victim must be buried under six feet of dirt. After which,” he continues, gesturing with a light twirl of his wrist, “they awaken the following night. Beckoned, by their new master.” A hollow look sets on his face, eyes dropping to the floor. “Bound to them. Forever.”

“This happened weeks ago,” Tav is quick to argue, the soft burn of panic igniting within her chest. “You've kept them here this entire time? In this state?”

Astarion shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance, adopting a sort of apathy as he says, “Not much else to do, unfortunately. Not until I decide otherwise.”

A heavy sense of dread looms overhead. Tav can hardly believe how seemingly detached he is from the severity of the situation – willfully keeping these men in limbo, until he, essentially, gets around to settling the matter. 

Completely at his mercy.

“This is hardly fair, Astarion,” says Tav, voice quivering.

“And what makes you think they're deserving of such a gesture?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Everyone is,” she states in an urgent breath, “especially in death.”

“You’ve no idea who your heart bleeds for,” Astarion counters in a low growl, teeth clenched.

In a display of confidence, albeit foolishly, Tav approaches the vampire. “Did these men give themselves to you willingly?” she asks, pushing forward. Taken aback, Astarion steps away. “Did they pledge fealty to you? Or did you take it?”

Still stepping back, Astarion says quietly, “That hardly matters.”

“No, that's precisely what matters,” Tav insists, forcefully. She halts her frontal assault, choosing to meet his gaze. “Answer me, Astarion – did these men give you permission to turn them?”

They stand, eyes locked in a heated silent exchange, before Astarion finally admits, “No.” it's a one word response, yet it holds the weight of an entire mountain within its meaning.

The fire within her chest threatens to burst into an inferno, and Tav can tell Astarion is feeling the pressure, as well. There's a sheen to his eyes that only appears before the fall. Before a breakthrough.

“Is that the sort of master you want to be?” she pushes. The consequences of such an accusation can leave her in the same position as the men in the coffins, though this is another test of their bond. “One who takes without consideration?” Tav continues. 

Can he withstand moral objectivity? Criticism? ‘Comparison,’ she thinks to herself, ‘to Cazador?’

“I would not wish to create spawn of those unaware of this life,” Astarion states mournfully.

“But if you complete the process, they become your spawn, correct?” infers Tav, continuing to lay on the pressure. “You would have the ability to compel them.”

Astarion shoots her a side glance. “I would never do that to them,” he snarls defensively, his limit quickly approaching.

“No, but you would still have the option. Just as he did. And they would know that.” Astarion's nostrils begin to flare as Tav encircles him, his face screwing up into a tightly disapproving scowl. “Just as you did.”

“Tav,” Astarion growls out in warning, fists clenching with fevor. He follows her path around him, eyes glued to her form.

“That at any moment,” she continues, “you could bend them to your will. Just as he did.” Astarion's chest is heaving by this point. Strong, ragged breaths tear through his chest.

Yet, Tav goes on. “How long do you think you'll have before they rebel? Before they seek to reclaim the life you unjustly stole from them?” Tav stops just before him, craning her neck to one side as she says, “Does that sound like a familiar story to you?”

“I am not him!” Astarion shouts, hunching over. His fangs are bared, his palms splayed wide. His eyes flicker a bright gold for all but a second, but it's a second too long for Tav to not take notice. Astarion drops to his knees and Tav backs away, startled by the display before her.

Astarion's nails dig deeply at the stone floor below. He's snarling – saliva now drips from his mouth as his body gives over to a fit. Panic settles within Tav’s chest, though her feet refuse to carry her any further away. Astarion whips back his head – pupils blown wide – and their eyes meet; a thin ring of ruby red encircles them. 

“Astarion…” Tav sighs. She eases herself to the floor, but doesn't reach for him. Instead, she sits attentively – an unspoken display of trust that he will not take advantage of her vulnerability. Hoping that somewhere, deep within, he's still the man she came to love.

A low rumble rises from Astarion's chest as he studies her face. His eyes roll into his skull and he sits back, blinking rapidly. Raising a hand, he swipes it down the front of his face, then shakes his head.

“...Are you back?” Tav asks, timidly.

Astarion gives a knowing glance, nodding his head in silent agreement.

“What was that?” she asks.

Settling his gaze on the floor, hanging his head, Astarion confesses, “I…I don't know,” His chest rises and falls with labored breaths. “Forgive me; I meant you no harm.”

Somehow, she knows. Trusts in the one impenetrable fact that he will always protect her. That no harm will ever come to her, either by his own doing or by others. Tav doesn't fear him, nor what he is capable of.

“I know,” Tav says, confidently. She holds out her hands, palms turned upward, in offer to Astarion. They don't have to talk about what happened just yet. For right now, they must move forward.

He gives pause at her gesture, but then readily accepts, enclosing his hands over hers. They aid one another in rising off the floor and stand, keeping their hands interlocked just a moment too long.

Tav speaks first, saying, “You have to do something with them, Astarion. You can't just leave them here and pray they'll go away.”

His hand finds one of hers again, entwining their fingers once more. “...What would you suggest I do?” he asks, unsure. Astarion looks to her from under his lashes, brow knit tightly in a concerned scowl.

Tav squeezes his hand encouragingly. “Show them the mercy you wish was afforded to you.”

Astarion lifts his head, eyes widening as he looks to her. “...You would allow such a thing?” he asks with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Tav brings their interlocked hands to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his. “I support you doing what's right, Astarion.”

His eyes flutter momentarily, somewhat surprised by the intimate gesture, before he dips his head in a short nod. “Fine,” he says, “I'll do it.” 

Releasing his grip on her hand, Astarion moves to the coffin holding the young elven man. He reaches for his side, under his doublet, and Tav hears him unsheath his dagger from its hilt. Seconds later, Astarion pulls it free from his hip with a skilled jerk.

With a shaky breath, Astarion takes the opposite hand and begins tracing down along the breast bone of the unconscious man beneath. He feels, under the pads of his fingers, for each intercostal space, stopping once he reaches the fourth. Now moving his hand slightly to the left of the sternum, he dips his fingers again to confirm proper placement. The man's heart beats slowly under his touch; Astarion releases his breath, and looks again to Tav.

Tav sees the trepidation in his eyes. He's asking silently, again, for her permission to continue. If what he’s about to do is tolerable. Will she turn and run if he goes through with this? Would it be too much for her to witness him at his worst? 

She nods almost instinctively, taking notice of her own heightened state. There once was a time when the call of blood and sinew thrilled her; though now, the adrenaline coursing through her veins exists for a different reason entirely. Her heart beats strong against its cage, flooding her ears. 

Astarion means to kill these men. Mercifully, yes, but kill them, all the same. And she's allowing it. Encouraging it. Guiding his hand toward a path of resolution. A chance at redemption for his soured soul, all but forgotten by every God.

It's no matter to her, really – she longs to be his sanctuary. The savior of his damned existence. She wasn't strong enough then, during the ritual, but by the Gods she will never make that mistake again. Stop at nothing now to save him. To give him a new chance at life.

One where they all can exist together. Him, her, and the blossoming love that grows within.

Receiving the answer he sought, Astarion turns his attention again to the man’s chest. He raises the dagger, replacing his fingers with the tip of the blade. He pauses for a second, then begins pushing the knife forward.

A deep, agonal groan rings loudly against the crypt walls the moment Astarion's blade pierces heart. A shiver passes over Tav as she traces the movements of Astarion's arm. He twists the dagger within the elf’s chest, another garbled sound slipping past the young man's pale lips as Astarion carves through myocardium.

Astarion stands, near perfectly still, in the same position until the sound dies down. Only then does he pull the dagger free. He wipes the flat of the blade against his thigh, moving toward the dragonborn in a seamless transition.

A final groan spills from the older man. It reverberates within the crypt, drifting off into a dull dum. Astarion carefully removes the blade from the man’s chest, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor with a loud ‘clang’. Astarion drags a hand down the length of his face and begins stalking backwards. “It's done,” he comments, turning on his heels and heading toward the exit. His head hangs low as he passes Tav.

She hardly acknowledges his passing – she’s too transfixed on the scene before her. 

Finally, the two men lay dead. Her nose picks up the faint scent of their blood as it slowly trickles from their wounds, though the smell is not as fragrant as that of a fresh kill. The scent envelops her once more and her stomach lurches in disgust.

‘It's rancid!’ she cries to herself. Tav places a hand over her abdomen, rubbing soothing circles over her belly, hoping to calm this sudden wave of nausea.

The crushing reality of the situation begins to set in. Tav had encouraged Astarion to show these men mercy. Mercy that wasn’t shown to him. She knew he'd likely choose this option, but the why escaped her. 

Until now.

“Astarion,” she calls out in a shaky breath, beginning to understand, “does this mean you…?”

Astarion halts just before stepping beyond the room's threshold. He turns slowly, looking at Tav as he says, “I'm holding a charity ball tomorrow evening. In Wyll's honor.” His voice is flat – devoid of its usual flair. “You should come. Speak with him. He can explain this better than I could ever hope to try.”

He's already rebuilding his walls.

Tav shifts to meet his gaze. A single tear tracks down Astarion's face and he quickly wipes it away, but she sees. Sees the bob of his neck as he swallows. Finds the hollow look in his eyes as he meets hers. “You did the right thing, Astarion,” she states, trying to provide reassurance. Give him an encouraging hand.

Yet, he's quick to refuse it.

“Then why doesn't it feel that way?” Astarion confesses, sternly. He promptly turns again and heads once more to the doorway, disappearing beyond the threshold.

Tav stands alone within the crypt. Her knees suddenly grow weak as the evening's events finally catch up to her. She guides herself softly to the floor, supporting her weight on a single arm as she leans to one side. Tav brings her other hand to rest over her chest and feels the crazed beating of her heart. The crushing weight of the evening settles deep in her bones.

Part of Astarion…wishes that were him.

[stargirl-writes]

[chapter three] the secret history of anakin skywalker

common ground

pairing : assasin! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 2.1k

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sypnosis

you have only known one truth about this war, the republic and the seperatists are two sides of the same coin. but now, your master count dooku has disposed of you after your consequent failures. his betrayal fueled your thirst for revenge. and in the cruel twist of fate, you have found yourself with an arrangement with the enemy. general anakin skywalker is willing to do what it takes for the republic to win, even if it meant dealing with you, his nemesis.

chapter summary

a clue tipped by the jedi council leads anakin skywalker back to your cell. now his anger has passed, he wants to clarify the terms of your new alliance.

on the way to nal hutta, anakin skywalker steers the conversation to his fascination over your beliefs— which legitimizes the doubts he's been having about the republic.

warnings : involves spoilers for star wars 'the clone wars' episodes 15-16. i also used some lines from 'tales of the jedi' episodes 3-4, so spoiler warning too?

notes : hi doves! i'm going to try to update every week on wednesdays pst 😄 a lot of talking for this chap but we'll be back to more action on the next one i promise !

likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated!

"Remind me again how the Jedi Council tracked Hardeen so quickly?" You asked.

The sniper had been identified. Rako Hardeen. You recalled the name as a bounty hunter you probably have commissioned before.

"I don't know" Anakin Skywalker answers, too casually to have been a lie.

You sigh, you'll have to trust the Jedi Council's clue, despite your doubts.

Like Skywalker had promised, he appeared in your cell the moment he got a lead.

When he enters— you can't help but brace yourself, half-anticipating the voracious Jedi to come swing a lightsaber again. It's hard to shake the feeling entirely when only yesterday, he was so latched with a rage that almost killed you.

Even Skywalker acknowledges your reaction. You caught him looking at your hands— as if he was checking if it trembled. Like he was expecting you to be scared.

But in the light, he no longer looked... dangerous. No trace of the unstable warrior, or the angered boy. You allowed yourself to breathe evenly.

You'd never forget what he was, what he's capable of. What he'd been trained to do—what he almost did.

But at this moment, he was... fine.

You tugged your hair back, tying it away from your face. If you were to head at Hardeen, who managed to kill a jedi, you can't have your hair be a distraction.

"Nal Hutta, that's where they say he is" Skywalker briefs.

You nod in comprehension, tucking your hands in your pockets, feeling awkwardly empty. You wished you had your satchel, everything you'd need would be neatly prepared in there.

You turn to face the jedi— giving him a long look, wondering whether it would be worth the effort to ask for your saber back.

It would be stupid to go to a fight with nothing.

"If you want to find a low life, you'll have to start at a saloon" You began as casually as you could. "Unfortunately, Nal Hutta isn't really fond of me" You said with a deliberate slowness, just in case he hadn't caught what you were hinting at.

Skywalker crosses his arm— you prayed to every God for a small mercy.

But then he spoke "Lucky for both of us, you're a master at escaping" with his lips curling to the side.

"Though I admire the attempt"

You rolled your eyes. "C'mon, you have to give me a chance to defend myself"

Skywalker's playful grin melts, and your heart thuds, your thoughts reduced to a list of words; dangerous, unstable, full of rage.

He looks down like he'd find the words on the ground.

"About that" He begins. You recognize the expression on his face as a semblance of shame, or regret, perhaps.

"I'm not going to hurt you" His eyes pressed on yours "So stop looking at me like that" He exhales.

His words made you flinch, you glance awkwardly behind him, unsure what to say.

Skywalker seems to see your reluctance and his jaw clenches. "I was wrong to accuse you, I don't know what came over me, it was like all that anger..." He drifts off

Your eyes narrow at his hesitation. Maybe he's not yet made peace with the rage he displayed. Maybe he thinks denying it would not bring it to life.

"I overstepped, I won't do that to you again."

He moves towards you— determined to commit to this informal apology. His blue eyes continue to study you, waiting expectantly. You could almost feel his gaze on your skin.

"Alright" you answered.

You wondered if it had been the right thing to say. You could push away your anxieties, for now. Utilizing Anakin Skywalker would prove to be at a larger advantage than trying to pursue your revenge alone.

Besides, he's already doing this alone. Away from the Jedi Council and the Republic's righteousness.

You pondered on his moral code— you definitely have never seen any jedi exhibit such blurriness.

But perhaps your old master was right when he taught you that you can get any man to do anything— if you convince them it is moral.

You could almost laugh at the irony. You and him were the same— in that manner. Driven by the need for justice.

You for yourself, and he for his fallen master.

Though the thought of being in the same room as him will always make you uneasy, you'll have to adapt.

Skywalker's gaze softens. "I realize we have to set some terms if we were to work together"

"I'm surprised you thought as much" You couldn't stop the retort from escaping your lips. "My freedom. I told you I want a full pardon"

Skywalker leans his back to the wall behind him.

"But since, apparently, I'm not in Jedi or Republic custody, that is no longer a possibility" You proceeded.

"Clever" He remarks "But not to worry, wraith, I can take you out. Besides, to their eyes, you're still on the run"

You raised an eyebrow, not quite following what he had planned.

"If somehow, I had found you and theoretically killed you, they'd be off your tail" He says cajolingly.

"That's your brilliant plan?" Your voice raised in disbelief.

"Tentative" He defends, pursing his lips. "Of course, I could still choose to turn you in if things go south"

You sigh. A full pardon will grant you peace outside the war. A fake death is not secure. But then again, you can't just... try to appear as some twisted hero willing to aid the Jedi to atone for all you've committed. It doesn't equate...

"Right"

"You don't trust me, that's the smartest thing you've done yet, seeing you rarely reason" You didn't back down from spiting.

"But, you'll have to trust my decisions, even when you don't trust me." You named your term.

You waited for him to react, but he only nodded.

"And Dooku. You'll leave him to me" You stated finally.

Anakin Skywalker studies you. You curse the Gods for enabling him to access the force, for allowing him to know the grief that was fuelling you.

Then the silence hung, too prolonged— too tense.

"Now will that be all or should I take a pen to write your long list of demands?" He says light heartedly.

Looking up, you forced a smile"My weapon would be nice"

Skywalker smirks "Absolutely not"

A ship waited for the both of you in the hangar.

You tugged on the robe Skywalker gave you to conceal your face. Skywalker did not bother to find one your size, you recognized from the color that it might have been one of his, so the robe hung past your knees and just above your ankles. You can't find the point to complain, as long as it does its job.

The hatch opens and you step inside, the Jedi following closely behind you.

Skywalker sits down by the cockpit, starting up the engines.

Soon, the ship exits Coruscant's atmosphere and jumps into hyperspace. You sat down to the seat next to him, Nal Hutta is in the outer rim territories, it would take some time.

You could feel Skywalker studying you. He didn't really take shame in staring.

You tried to brush it off, but when you can no longer stand it, you speak up "Something in your mind, Skywalker?"

His lips curl to the side, as if he was amused by how he was irking you. He leans his back against his chair, facing you.

"No, I was only wondering why exactly you aren't welcome in Nal Hutta"

"It's a long story" You answer.

"It's a long flight, delight me"

You blink, an idea of wanting to jump in outer space instead of enduring his intense gaze crossing your mind. Not satiating his curiosity would just mean he'd keep finding other ways to annoy you.

"It's Huttese territory. Dooku thought assigning bounty hunters is below him, so he sent me to find them. Because the credits are high, they'll compete" That much you could say.

Skywalker tilts his head, "Then what, you didn't meet your end of the deal?"

"No" Your eyebrow raised at his presumption. "I needed to hire who's most competent and I had to filter out the... excess. Think they took it personally"

He huffs a laugh. "Right"

The silence hung, Skywalker's gaze falls to the interwoven stars zooming past as the ship travels through space.

"It doesn't make sense that Count Dooku would want to kill Obi-Wan. I always thought he somehow had some reservation for Master Qui Gon's padawan" He ponders.

"Why the sudden need to go so far?" His eyes painted grief.

You pursed your lips, unsure whether it'll console him to know Dooku is just plain heartless. It felt like it would only add to his anguish.

"My master—" You pause.

"—old master" You clarified. "does not like appearing weak after a loss, so he'd counter attack to fiend strength"

"So, he really has abandoned you then?" His eyes narrow in focus, registering what you said, perhaps thinking you were the 'loss' Dooku suffered.

"Umbara was a crucial supply route. Millions will go into famine. If he wants the Confederacy to believe in him still, he'd have to find a way to keep their faith" You answered, the images of the fallen city plaguing your mind.

"And his solution is to kill a jedi?" Skywalker's voice was covered in spite. "I don't understand why you'd want to follow him"

You swallowed, "I fought for the Alliance. Not for Dooku"

Skywalker shifts in his seat, eyes intent on you. He was so close you could make out the two new scars by the end of his chin. "And what, now you want to appear as some twisted hero by killing your master? Won't that just guarantee the Seperatists will fall?"

His words stung. Your shoulders tense and your fingers grip the insides of your robe.

"You're a soldier, I wish I had your simplistic view" You retorted. "Why do you think so many systems allied themselves with the Confederacy of Independent Systems?" You deflected.

Skywalker does not answer.

"These systems, most of them are not developed enough to have a government. So they do not have someone representing them in the Senate, and when they do, these Senators live lavishly in the Coruscant, corrupting their planets of its resources." You lead on.

"Besides, the Republic only caters for the systems who can afford to have a government. The very reason the movement was even born is because they hoped to reestablish a system that would care for all. That would serve the people of the republic not the senate and its senators."

Skywalker's jaw clenches. "Waging a war will not solve the problem"

"Yeah?" You challenged his view, "And I suppose we can trust the Senate to hear us above their own interests?"

Recognizing the subtle manifestation of his doubt, you pressed on "The corruption in the Senate fails the ideals of the Republic it represents, I'm sure you've taken notice"  Your eyes dared him to contradict you, but he looks down.

"And the Alliance will find a way to have someone else lead, it'd be best to, Dooku's strategies are not really helping in communicating the reason for our resistance."

You lean back on your seat, taking a moment to breathe more slowly. You fought for the Alliance, it was something you once believed in.

Maybe, he really thought it was just plain black and white before.

"I still don't think leading with violence is the answer" He makes up his resolve.

You sigh. It would be hard to make a person who grew up sheltered with Jedi ideologies to understand.

It would be easier to accept that the 'Seperatists' Alliance is purely wrought out of wanting to usurp the current Republic, that it is inherently evil. The truth of it being a united movement of people hoping to find salvation from famine, slavery, and death is unsettling.

You don't expect Anakin Skywalker to understand; the Maker granted him an excess of obliviousness you wished to have.

"This is a war" You answered plainly, not denying your side's faults.

"Yeah, no kidding"

The board lights up, indicating you were nearing Nal Hutta. Skywalker presses on the controls to take the ship out of hyperspace and soon after, you land on the planet.

Your mind went over Skywalker's hesitance. Perhaps, he wasn't so blind to completely dismiss the Senate's corruption. At least, his sense of justice isn't entirely based on the Republic.

You don't intend to enforce your beliefs to him, only to make him admit to the truth of the hypocrisy of the 'good side' he was fighting for.

And this exchange resonated that he is not entirely closed off to the idea of it.

He's not impersuadable. And for that, you'll go with him.

taglist : @etheriaaly @nyaaaaa008

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© to @cafekitsune for the borders!

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 5. Everything (he) is blue

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

A/n: a random fact about me is that French is my third language, although I am a bit rusty from the lack of usage. Also, I opted to remove one whole chapter (for those who noticed). The original chapter five was in Spencer's pov but I wanted to stick to Cleo's for the whole Act One. Have this idea that Act Two, the groveling and angst, would almost all be in Spencer's pov.

A/n: Will be updating both my fics next week. Work has been busy lately so I’m using this weekend to draft up some more chapters or maybe even finish writing everything and queueing it here

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"It is such a mysterious place, the land of the tears." - The Little Prince

She was out on another dinner date with Joe when her phone rang.

“Hey Pen, what’s—”

“Spencer was kidnapped—” Penelope frantically stated, no pleasantries given. 

The bustling noise inside the restaurant all became distant. She felt blind-sighted. Even with her gifted IQ, her mind couldn’t process what Penelope said. It couldn’t be, she thought. Maybe if she denied it from reality, it wouldn’t be true. 

“—Cleo, are you there?” 

She felt the string around her eyes, a sign for an onslaught of tears to come. “Pen-Penelope, can you tell me what happened?” 

“We—I can’t go into details,” Pen rushed out “But the team found him and he’s back home, alone, and as a friend of his and yours, I felt it was only right you knew.” 

“I’ll go to his apartment now. I don’t think he should be alone,” she thanked Penelope and hung up. 

“I am so sorry to cut our date short, Joe, but Spencer needs me,” she explained, grabbing her purse and shawl to leave.

Joe stood up and gave her a quick hug. “I understand, call me when you can, okay?” 

With a kiss on the cheek, she exited the restaurant and flagged down a taxi.

———

“Spencer, are you there?” Cleo knocked on his apartment door. 

Silence.

Opening her purse, she cursed when she realized the spare key was left back in her own apartment.

“Spencer please, it’s Cleo,” she knocked again. 

There was a light shuffling from the other side and there he was, Spencer, looking ragged and worn down to his very bones still in work clothes. He silently stepped aside, allowing her inside. He then proceeded to lock all his deadbolts in place. 

She noted the haphazardly thrown blanket on the sofa and the tossed satchel on the floor.

“Penelope called,” she stated as an explanation. 

“Oh.”

“Are you—are you okay?” 

He grimaced and shuffled to his barely furnished kitchen. With his back turned, he located a mug and filled it with water. “I’m fine, really,” 

Without a word, she discarded her purse and shoes on the foyer and approached carefully. Taking the mug from his trembling hands, she squeezed both reassuringly. She was no profiler but she knew the signs when he tells a lie but she didn’t want to press. Didn’t want to push him off the precarious cliff edge that he was on, not unless he was ready. 

“I believe you. What do you say we get you out of these clothes and into a warm bath?” 

“Please,” Spencer whispered. His body seemingly curving in on itself, wanting to disappear into oblivion.

Cleo guided him to the bathroom, only letting go of his hands to set up the bath. Clothes now on the floor, sans his underwear, Spencer stepped into the bath and hugged his knees close to his chest.

“Let me help you, Spence,” she suggested, bringing his shampoo and scrub towel close. 

He nodded. 

Seemingly lost in his own mind, she gently lathered his wavy locks and massaged his scalp. Once his hair was finished, she took the towel and proceeded to scrub around his arms and shoulders. She noted a series of purple bruises on the inside of his elbow. 

Oh. 

At the moment, Spencer looked so small and helpless. Her heart twinged in sadness, willing the burn in her eyes to go away. She has never seem him like this, not once. Not when he retold his own experience with high school bullies. Not even when he failed his qualifications and the FBI took away his gun.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again. 

She dropped the towel and cupped Spencer’s cheeks with both hands. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Look at me, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” 

Taking note of her state of dress, his hazel eyes leaking tears. “I’m sorry, Cleo, I-I interrupted your date with Joe haven’t I?” 

“It’s alright. You need me, I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else,” she reassured him, running her thumbs in soothing circles on his cheeks. 

The emotional wall broke and Spencer started sobbing.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s going to be alright. Everything will be alright. Let’s get you dried off and into bed, okay?”

“No, not yet,” he sobbed out.

“Well, I’ll read you a bed time story in French, I know how much you like that,” she tried to bribe. “But it has to be when you’re tucked in bed.” 

The pause in reply was enough for her to take that as a yes. She stood up and took a fresh pair of underwear and his fluffy purple striped robe, waiting for Spencer to follow suite. 

He stared at her, blinking owlishly. “Can it be your choice of story?” 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

He acquiesced, taking the robe and underwear, and slowly walking out to his bedroom.

She quickly drained the bath tub and collected all the clothes from the floor. By the time she was finished, Spencer was already dressed in a pair of his pajamas and staring blankly at the wall.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” she coaxed him to lie down. 

Once he was tucked, blanket reaching his shoulders, and Cleo lying on top beside him with her head on her hands propped up, she stared at him with somber eyes.

The quietness enveloping them both.

She took a deep breath and started reciting The Little Prince from her memory.

“Lorsque j’avais six and j’ai vu, une fois, une magnificent image…” 

Spencer closed his eyes and reached for Cleo’s hand. Seemingly, his own anchor to the reality. 

“…J’ai ainsi eu, au cours de ma vie, des tas de contacts…”

She continued on for at least 10 minutes, wanting to make sure he had fallen into deep slumber. Slowly, she pulled her hand away to get up but his grip further tightened and his eyes shot wide open. 

“Don’t leave me alone, Cleo, please,”’ he begged.

“I won’t, I promise,” Cleo shuffled to make herself more comfortable. “I’m staying right here, I promise.” 

“…mon ami sourit gentiment, avec indulgence…” Cleo continued on the story. 

Spencer closed his eyes, assured she wasn’t going anywhere. 

Cleo continued on, up until she herself fell asleep with her hand tightly in his own.

———

She woke up to a whimper. Blinking the sleep away, she turned towards Spencer still asleep but whimpering and mumbling ‘no’ again and again, stuck in his nightmare. 

“Spence,” she gently shook his shoulder. “Spencer, wake up,”

He bolted up right, gasping for air. He flinched ever so slightly when he felt her hand touching his, still not back fully back to reality. 

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe,” she reassured again. “We’re safe here at your apartment.” 

“I dreamt that I was back there,” Spencer sobbed as he went in for a hug. “He wouldn’t stop—wouldn’t listen.”

Cleo soothed his hair, pulling him down back to bed and close to her chest. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Spence, it’s alright.” 

“I shouldn’t have ran ahead without back up. I shouldn’t have split up with JJ,” he rambled on. “He kept injecting me with drugs to numb the pain. I begged him to stop over and over. I didn’t want to take any of them, I swear.”

She tightened her hold on him a little more. “It’s alright Spencer, I understand.” 

Under his breath, he kept apologizing over and over until falling back to a dreamless sleep.

She choked back a sob, not wanting to disturb his sleep. She wished she could take away his pain. Take away his memories—memories that he’ll never forget. Memories that he’ll relive in his nightmares. She wasn’t a religious type but she was willing to kneel down and pray to any gods to take away Spencer’s pain and give it to her instead. She’ll do anything, anything at all, just to make sure this sweet and perfect being who has inevitably captured her heart and soul, doesn’t get hurt ever again.

[fanaticsnail]

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 3

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: Being called to a small island in the east blue, you enjoy a day out with your five-year-old niece. Her line of questioning has you question some moments yourself, your checkered past revealed to her in no uncertain terms.

Themes: Unrequited requited love, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship, friends to lovers, found family dynamics, love over time, (smut, mdni 18+, NSFW - chapters will be marked accordingly), love-making, angst, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language. 

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The next three years flew by, each of you experiencing the time catching up with you. Uta was now a small five-year-old, Shanks was no longer a teenager, and you were rapidly approaching your thirties. 

Each time you were called to get an update on your niece, you smiled at the information given to you. Benn Beckman was always on the other end of the transponder, his yearning and longing from afar only growing in fondness for each moment that stretched between you. 

He had begun sending you trinkets alongside his letters: a shell from the Red-Force's new birth port, a small bottle of rum he purchased to drink with you of an evening over the shell. He'd send you pressed flowers, sweet-smelling perfumes, and he'd even begun sending you jewelry. 

He would never explain the gifts to you, just uttering a simple: “Uta said you needed it,” or “Uta wanted to buy it for her ‘Pretty Aunty'.” You had an inkling that Beckman was using Uta as an excuse to buy you pretty things, but chose to remain silent. Considering Beckman had never lied to you, you couldn't quite gauge how he was able to do so now. 

Mihawk had also opened up over the years, sending several gifts here and there for Uta, all symbolic of Kuraigana and who he was to her: her favorite uncle from the land of gloom. 

It was well past ten o’clock in the evening when your personal shell shook with a lively bounce, prompting you to get out of your settled position in your bed suite and gather it. After placing it in your ear, you were not expecting to hear soft sobs falling into the receiver end of the call. 

“Pretty Aunty?” a small voice whimpered from the other end. You immediately sat upright in your bed, glaring at your wall as you answered. 

“Uta, is that you my love?” you asked her. She responded with a soft sniffle, biting back a sob as she continued to talk into your shell. 

“C-Can we have girl time?” her soft song called on your heartstrings, prompting you to begin readying yourself to flee from Kuraigana to come to her aid. 

“Sweetheart, where are you?” you asked her, slipping out of your nightdress and pulling on your traveling clothes. 

“It's in the east-blue,” she whimpered into the mouthpiece, “Dawn Island, Foosha Village in Goa Kingdom.” 

You began gathering a satchel bag, hurriedly placing a few of your essentials within the canvas and slinging it over your shoulder, “Talk to me, Uta. Tell me what's going on so I can get ready to see you.”

“I just miss my favorite pretty aunty,” she wailed, “And I want you to be here with my favorite uncle. I want you both together.” You hesitated, looking at your clock face to read the time and current date. 

“Oh, sweety. I don't think Mihawk will be back-,” you attempted to relay while fastening your shoe, but Uta never gave you the chance to finish that sentence. 

“-Not Uncle Mihawk,” she sniffed, hardening her resolve, “I want you with Uncle Beckman. He misses you so much, and it's really hard to watch.” 

You dropped your shoe, your foot falling onto the floor as you adjusted your earpiece. Hastily recovering, you slung your satchel over your shoulder. 

“Gorgeous girl, I don't know what you-,” you began, again halted by Uta's hardened determination. 

“-He misses you so much, Pretty Aunty,” she hurriedly spat. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she inhaled through her nose and continued, “He thinks about you all the time. He always asks me what I think you'll like, and makes me choose things to buy you.”

You smile at this knowledge, shaking your head before collecting your thoughts and relaying your words. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you hummed at her, sighing and shaking your head, “Uncle Becks and I are very good friends. I miss him too, sometimes.”

“Then why don't you come with us?” She whined, “Why do you always stay with Uncle Hawk all the time? Are you and Uncle Hawk married? Captain Shanks says the only way a pirate makes a home on land is sometimes when they find someone they like enough to marry.” 

You bit back the urge to laugh, struggling to contain a few escaped snickers. 

“Sweet pea,” you inhaled a deep breath, “Uncle Hawk is the world's greatest swordsman. He stays here at Kuraigana to hold that title, and because it's his home.”

“Did you marry Uncle Hawk, Pretty Aunty?” she asked sternly. You could tangibly feel the holes she was burning into you through the transmitter, the rage of the five year old physically scorching you. 

“Uta, I work for Uncle Hawk,” you informed her, calmly, “I live in Kuraigana with him to make sure he's safe. Also, between us girls,” you draw the mouthpiece in closer, “Uncle Hawk gets very lonely.”

“But I’m lonely,” she uttered with somber defeat, “There's only men here, and I need girl time!” 

You giggled, taking out a piece of parchment from your desk drawer, and hastily scribbled on tanned note paper. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” you finally inform her, “If I sail for two full days, without any sleep,” you smiled into the snail, “I’ll be in Goa Kingdom before you know it.”

“Yes!” She exclaimed gleefully, “I'll tell Captain Shanks! I'll tell the crew! Uncle Becks will finally stop being so sad all the time!” 

“Uta, please,” you hurriedly attempt to snuff out the growing embers of her joy, “You can tell Captain Shanks, but can we try to keep it a surprise?”

“Oh, like a secret?” Uta asked you, her curiosity ticking up in her cadence. 

“No, sweety,” you giggled, “Secrets are to be held forever, surprises are to be revealed later.” She hummed at that explanation, opting to instead elevate her spirit once more. 

“Okay, okay, Pretty Aunty,” her voice began buzzing once again in excitement, “We’ll be in Goa for maybe another week. I am so happy you're coming!” 

Making your way to the front door, you hung your note depicting your absence from Kuraigana to Mihawk should he arrive back to the high-keep before you. Exiting the castle, you readied your personal sailboat and began the tireless journey of traveling, sleeplessly, for two full days. 

In those two full days, Uta had never been so excited. The entirety of the Red-Hair crew noticed the subtle jump in her step, the hum in her voice and the smile on her lips. By the time midday managed to hit its peak, she rushed down to the docks with a thundering pace. 

“Oi, Uta!” Hongo called after the child, immediately turning from his reclined position and racing after her. It was his turn to watch over the child, and this was a job he took absolutely seriously considering her tendency to sprint. 

It was no use calling after her, Uta picking up her pace and propelling her body like a cannonball fired from a barrel. Hongo was breathless when he reached the peer, his eyes widening when Uta jumped into the arms of a crouching woman, hooded and cloaked. 

“Pretty Aunty!” Uta cried, burying her face in the crook of your shoulder and sobbing loudly. 

“Gorgeous Girl,” you hummed down at her, your eyes closed and lifting her to your standing height, “You're getting so big now, but I can still lift you like this.”

Uta continued sobbing into your shoulder, her smile burried against your neck as you soaked in her embrace. Fighting back a release of emotion yourself, you gulped back your sob and opened your eyes to see the shocked face of the Red-Hair Pirate, Hongo. 

“Doctor,” you hummed at him, your sultry voice smiling at him. 

“Secretary,” he blinked back his surprise with a small smirk, “Captain know you were coming?”

“I'm not certain,” you admitted, looking down at the emotional child in your arms, “Sweetheart, did you tell your Captain I was coming?”

“Mm-mmm,” she shook her head in denial, “A surprise.” You sighed an “Ah,” in response, smiling back up at Hongo. 

“Evidently not, Doctor,” you nodded with a soft shrug, “Why don't we go and tell him all together, hm?” Uta nodded into your chest, kicking her legs lightly and wriggling in your arms. 

“Let's go!” She squealed, grabbing at your hand and prompting you to hurry after her. Hongo huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head and trailing behind you. 

As you approached the tavern at the top of the hill, laughter and clinking of glasses reverberating within the wooden walls. Uta released your hand, rushing in towards her red-headed adoptive father and tugging at his white shirt. 

Shanks lay leaning on the bar, laughing at a joke told by Yassop and clapping him on the shoulder. He turned down to the child, who clutched at the base of his shirt and yanked for him to stoop to her level. 

You took a moment to look around the tavern, noticing a green haired hostess scuttling around the room and tending to collecting tankards and empty bottles. You turned to see Lucky Roux diving into a large smoked lamb leg, Hongo tapping him on the shoulder and informing him to slow down to ease digestion. 

Several of the red-hair crew were scattered, all men entertaining a coupling counterpart aside from both Yassop and Shanks who remained conversing with Uta. Your gaze scanned over the room, finally halting on the burly figure of the man you had conversed with for the past five years. 

Beckman hunched his body against the wall, his arm extended over his head as his eyes twinkled with flirtatious mischief. A woman coyly batted her eyelashes, hiding her giggle behind her hand at Beckman's words. He reached forward, tucking her hair behind her ear, an act that the woman playfully swatted away with her lips pursed in mischief. 

You shook your head with a soft smile, looking to your toes before turning your attention towards your adoptive niece and approaching her father in a slow and steady step. 

“Captain Shanks,” you uttered in a low voice, his head immediately spring up from Uta with his left hand clutching Yassop’s shirt. 

“P-Pretty lady,” he stuttered out, his body lunging forward. He staggered in his movements, collecting your left cheek in his right hand with his calloused thumb tracing a soft circle over your jaw, “Y-You’re here? Why are you here? Did something happen to Hawk-Eyes? Is he okay-?”

“-He’s fine, Captain,” you hushed him, raising your left hand to collect his right, “He's away from Kuraigana presently, off collecting some easy bounties to add to his hoard of treasures and to keep his skills sharp,” you removed his hand from your cheek, continuing to clutch it within your own, “And he's doing remarkably well.”

“Oh,” Shanks sighed in relief, before furrowing his brows in confusion, “But if he's thriving, why are you here?” Understanding his chain of reasoning, you smiled with tight lips before leaning in towards his face. 

“Uta called me on my personal transponder,” you uttered, pressing your lips against his cheek in a chase kiss, “Said she needed ‘girl time’ with her favorite aunty-.”

“-That’s not what I said!” Uta cried in frustration, breaking you both away from your trance and glancing down at the pearl and ruby-haired child. 

You softened your smile, pulling away from Shanks' cheek and crouching down in a low stoop to greet Uta. You claimed the young girl’s hands within your own, nodding to her for clarification. She gulps back her courage, hardening her features and grimacing. 

“I said I needed my Pretty Aunty to have girl time,” she pouted, glancing between your eyes and Shanks’ hazelnut orbs, “And that she needs to see Uncle Beckman because he's lonely and sad.”

Both you, Shanks and Yassop drew your eyes over to Benn Beckman as he stooped down to whisper into his companion’s ear. The three of you raised your eyebrows, all exchanging knowing glances between you as you watched his descent. 

As Beckman collected the woman's lips beneath his, her willing lips smiling against his as the kiss lingered on. Eyes widening at witnessing Beckman’s flirtatious advances collect it's due reward, you looked down at your niece who was glaring at him with utter anger. 

You shook your head at Uta, darting your eyes between hers and softened your expression further, turning her chin to meet her gaze. She continued to pout, frowning deeply at you. 

“Seems Uncle Beckman is not as lonely as you thought, sweet pea,” you giggled at her while scrunching your nose, “What would you like first?” Uta, her orbs looking up at you through thick red and white eyelashes, looked hopefully up into your eyes. 

“He told me he missed you!” Uta growled, looking to her dad, “Did Uncle Beckman lie to me? I thought he liked Pretty Aunty! He told me-.” You waved your hands, regaining your niece's attention with your genuine smile. 

“-What do you like to do on this island?” you asked her, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a playful dab on the nose, “I haven't been here before, and I would love to see some of the sights.” Uta lost her train of thought, eyes now filling with hope. 

“Can we go to the salon?” she squeaked out rapidly, “Do nails and hair? Maybe some makeup? Can we go shopping, get snacks and clothes? Can we-?” 

“-Uta, please!” Shanks huffed out a loud laugh, “Your pretty aunty has only just arrived, let her rest a bit before shooting questions at her.” You laughed alongside him.  

“Truthfully, Captain,” you rose from your crouch to meet your smile with his own at eye level, “I came here knowing what I was in for. With your permission, may I take my niece for the remainder of the day?”

“By all means,” he smiled at you, gesturing to the door with his right hand, “Enjoy what's left of the sun. And you,” he snapped his head over at Hongo, “You owe the lady your gratitude for getting out of uncle-duty, Hongo.”

Hongo closed the gap between you, collecting your right hand in his right and stopping down to place his lips on your knuckles. You felt his gratitude from the lengthy kiss he pressed against you, finishing the first kiss with three rapid kisses to follow in its stead. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled against your knuckles, his warm breath tickling your skin. 

“Go and have a drink, doctor,” you suggested, “You've earned it after that quick sprint.” He rose from his stoop, eyes meeting yours with a soft smile as he released your hand. You quickly turned to see Shanks and Uta in a soft embrace before she ran to your side. 

Reaching out your hand to her, you quickly wave to Shanks, Yassop and Hongo before leaving the bar; just as Beckman and the woman on his arm approach to get another round of drinks. 

Beckman ordered his usual beverage, and something similar for the companion who said she could handle it. Relinquishing a small wad of Berry, he reached for the drinks and clinked the rim against hers. While she looked towards her friend, who was currently seated on the lap of Limejuice, he noticed Hongo drinking a shot of tequila with Yassop and Shanks. 

“Hongo,” his gruff voice called over to them before turning to the lady at his side, “Sorry, doll. Would you excuse me for a moment?” She shrugged him off, enjoying a sip of the drink and feeling the subtle burn in her throat. 

He immediately marched over to the doctor, his hand cupping his shoulder and turning Hongo to face him. 

“Steady on, Beckman,” Hongo frowned, shrugging off his arm and raising the short glass to his lips, “What's gotten into you?”

“Where's Uta?” he barked lowly, his gaze pointed and accusatory, “You were on next rotation, where is our niece?” Shanks placed his right arm over Beckman's forearm, drawing his attention to the redhead instead of the doctor. 

“She's safe, big guy,” Shanks smirked, gesturing for another round for the three of them, “She's in very capable, and extremely attentive hands.”

“If you've palmed her off to the woman in Mount Colubo for the day-,” Beckman threatened, Shanks laughing into his shot-glass, downing the drink in a single gulp. 

“-Absolutely not, Becks,” Shanks finished his drink, ordering another with salt and lemon this time, “Someone made the trip especially to see her here. Someone you affectionately refer to as ‘Darlin’,’ when you call her.” 

Beckman dropped his glass, the container shattering at his boots as his mind raced with several questions. The ones eclipsing the more mundane: ‘how did you get here?’ and ‘is everything okay with Mihawk?’ were of ‘did you see him flirt with another woman?' and ‘did you see him kiss her?’. 

“She saw, Becks,” Shanks broke him from his trance, prompting him to look up as his captain began sweeping at the glass by his feet with a wicker broom, “You've spoken of your conquests in the past with her, why should seeing it in action be any different?”

“Because I don’t want her to think less of me-...” he quickly stifled his words, wincing as his captain's grin spread up his lips as fast as lightning. 

“Oh, Becks,” Shanks taunted him with a slow mock, “I thought you had a little crush, but come on man. It's been years!” Beckman chose to remain silent in lieu of spilling more of his heart. 

“Is it a curiosity, a small infatuation?” Shanks prompted, placing a replacement beverage in Beckman's hand once the glass was cleared, “Or are you in love with her?” 

Beckman looked at the glass, his lip quipping up in gratitude for the replacement and the clean up before he carefully responded. 

“I am in love with her.”

Shanks lulled his head on his shoulders, his elbows anchoring on the bar top as he slunk back into his rounded seat. 

“And what are you going to do about it, Becks?” Shanks asked again, leaning his head on Yassop’s shoulder, “Wanna take a vow of celibacy at sea like our sharpshooter here?” Yassop shook his head, smiling with his mind swimming with thoughts of his wife in Syrup Village. 

Beckman was perplexed. He was bewildered. Some could go so far as to say he was disorientated. The rush of admitting this unrequited love aloud to anyone other than Uta had him discombobulated, especially due to the fact that Shanks had not said a word against his confession. 

“Still with us, Becks?” Shanks asked, waving his hand in front of Beckman to regain a sense of attention back. Snapping back to his present tense, he shook his head at his captain and downed his drink in a single gulp. 

“She's with Uta, havin’ girl time?” Beckman asked, Shanks nodded in response. Taking a moment to pay a handful of Berry to the bar, Beckman purchased a round of drinks for his date, her friend, Limejuice and Shanks. 

“Her name is Belmira, the friend with Limejuice is Dahlia,” Beckman informed Shanks, placing the tray of drinks in his hand and ushering him over to her, “Give her a drink with my apologies, Captain. I'm gonna do somethin’ about it.” 

“That's my first-mate,” Shanks smiled, accepting the drinks and gleefully approaching the table with Dahlia, Limejuice and Belmira. As Shanks began offering the woman Beckman's apologies, Beckman was already out the door and walking into town. 

Enjoying the salon first: hot combs, scalp massages, aromatherapy and waterfall conditioning were offered to both yours and Uta's scalps. You both relaxed into the experience, enjoying catching up on times lost between you. Your hands were always clasped tightly around one another's, your seats pushed flush together so you could talk closer. 

Next was stopping for a small snack, both enjoying a quick sample of local fruits with ice cream before gathering some chicken smoked on skewers. You informed Uta you would both be eating something a little heartier later in the evening, but you enjoyed indulging your niece on her impulses. 

Dresses, skirts, pants, socks, shoes and jewelry was next: all catered to Uta's unique taste. She picked out a few items for you to try on, her small hands raking at your freshly dried hair to style it up before releasing it with a nod. 

Walking hand in hand, you approached a small vendor selling books with sheet music, all easy to decipher and follow. You purchased a small collection of them for Uta to take back to the Red-Force, adding it to the growing number of items you'd purchased for her. 

Uta arched her back and stumbled in her footing briefly, her eyes drooping from the sheer amount of walking you did together, always hand in hand. You approached the docks, both your ship and the Red-Force remained rocking lightly with the tide. 

“Pretty Aunty?” she asked suddenly, her voice slow and cautious. She gave your hand a gentle squeeze to halt your approach. 

“Yes gorgeous girl?” you replied, scrunching your nose and looking down at the young girl at your side. Her eyes held curiosity, but also an air of precaution. 

“Do you like Uncle Hawk?” she asked in a low tone, “Is that why you stay in Kuraigana and not come with us? Do you kiss him sometimes?”

“Uta!” you shook your head with a small laugh, “Absolutely not, sweet girl. While I do love Uncle Hawk, our love is not the way you think,” you confessed to her. 

“I don't understand,” she shrugged with a soft pout. You rolled your shoulders back, huffing out a breath before leading her down to sit just before boarding her home at sea. You crouched in front of her, holding her gaze at eye level. 

Attempting to commence your history, easy enough for a child to comprehend, and condense several brutal steps and details, you pursed your lips. 

“Uncle Hawk and I fought each other a few times,” you admitted, gauging her comprehension by carefully looking in her eyes, “I won once, he won once. One day after that; we fought so hard, I ended up needing to see a special doctor to fix me up.” She nodded, waiting for more of your history to be shared with her. 

“Uncle Hawk took me to the doctor, and waited for me to wake up to talk with me,” you continued. “He offered me a choice to leave a very, very bad person who had me do very, very bad things.” You shuddered at the memory that still caused your blood to run cold. You shook off the feeling, continuing to relay your explanation to the young child. 

“I love him for that,” you admit to her, “Uncle Hawk showed me mercy where he had every right to make my heart stop. I have been living in my home in Kuraigana ever since, and I truly enjoy helping him remain as the World's Greatest Swordsman.”

She hummed, taking in the information like a dry sponge soaking up warm water. She allowed several moments to pass before she asked a pointed question. 

“Do you kiss him like Uncle Beckman kissed that lady?” Uta narrowed her eyes, your comprehension of exactly what she was asking finally dawning on you. 

“No, gorgeous girl,” you shook your head, “Uncle Hawk and I do not kiss. I make his coffee, I prepare his schedule, he cooks for me, and he shares wine with me. We do not kiss, we do not hold hands. We are both very good friends.”

“But aren't you very good friends with Uncle Beckman? Don't you love him too?” Uta said quickly, her line of reasoning quickly turning into an interrogation. You rolled your head on your shoulders, eyes closing and lips smiling. 

“Uncle Beckman and I are excellent friends,” you nodded, lowering your head below her eyeline and collecting the bags beside her, “I have known him for longer than I knew Uncle Hawk-.”

“-Do you want him to kiss you like he kissed that lady in the bar? Do you love him?” Uta hurriedly spat, weaseling the truth from you in a similar way you managed to do so in your own childhood. You laughed joyfully, shaking your head at her question and taking a moment to think about it. 

Teetering off your laughter, you looked down at the pouting child. Uta's hands were folded over her chest, her brows in a deep frown. Whispering in the native Kuraigana tongue, you tucked her hair behind her ear, “I love Beckman more than he's fully aware. He's had my heart the moment he placed you in my arms, beautiful girl.”

“I don't understand when you speak that language, pretty aunty,” she grumbled, swatting your hands away from her face, “Can you tell me what you said?”

“Of course I love him, Uta,” you shook your head, “I love all of the Red-Hair crew, including their little musician. Now, let's put your clothes, toys and makeup away before we go back to see them, okay?” You ensured there was no air for misinterpretation, looking at Uta's large eyes as she took in the information. 

After taking a small breath, Uta stood on her feet and let you lead her and her items to the Red-Force and down into her room to put it all away. 

Unbeknownst to you, Benn Beckman hurried back to the Red-Force immediately after bidding Shanks a hasty farewell. He bathed himself, washed his hair, sifted through his wardrobe to find his best clothes, and began shaving his face out on the deck with his shirt folded neatly beside him. 

When hearing your chatter and approach, he hastily wiped the suds away from his face, checking himself over in the deck mirror for any scruff he missed. He scowled when he noticed a small tuft of hair on his jaw, hastily drawing up his barbering blade to scrape away the coarse fuzz. 

He heard every word spoken, every soft giggle from you, and every pointed word from Uta. The interaction drew a smile up his lips, all grins and soft laughs, until the mention of love and kisses caused his heart to stumble. 

The thought of you and Mihawk together romantically had never crossed his mind until now, truly ignorant to the reason you remained in Kuraigana. He knew you had been injured badly in a large fight with Mihawk, but never truly knew the reason you followed him. 

When Uta asked you if you wanted him, if you loved him, he was frozen in place. He wanted to give you privacy to answer, but his heart was screaming at him to hone in on your response. Ears straining, he barely caught your voice whisper to Uta in Kuraiganian. He could admit to himself, his Kuraiganian was seriously lacking, but he did manage to pick up just the smallest phrase. This phrase had his shoulders fall in relief, his breath stolen from his lungs and his eyes clench tightly shut in bliss. 

“I love Beckman,” you said, his mind repeating your soft whisper to Uta as a musician would repeat a favored section of their skillful melody. He translated that one phrase as he placed a cigarette between his lips. 

“I love Beckman.”

[starsstuddedsky]

Chapter 1 - The Mistake

reader x jihoon

masterlist | Chapter 2

summary: when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt

or, a serial dater and a pessimist fake a relationship in the vain hope that nothing will go wrong

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, lawyer au, coworkers to lovers??? friends to lovers???? fake dating!!!!!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, food, bad decision making

wc: 3.9k

a/n: thank you all for being excited!!!! the first part is mostly the same as the teaser though there’s been some minor grammatical edits! I’m can’t believe it’s finally being dropped!!! I hope you all enjoy the chaos!!

updates: every tuesday

taglist: open! send an ask or comment!

If Jihoon was stopped on the street and told to name three facts about you, he could probably do it. He doesn’t know your favorite color, or what you ate for dinner last night, but he knows where you went to school (since it’s been the same school as him since elementary school) and where you work (since it’s the same law firm he works at). He might struggle for a bit for a third fact, but eventually he’d settle for this: you are hopeless when it comes to love. 

Unfortunately, Soonyoung isn’t asking three facts about you, he is asking what Jihoon has planned for your anniversary. Jihoon blinks at Soonyoung, standing beside his table. 

“My anniversary?” 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “With yn?” 

He runs a mental check of any possible thing that Soonyoung could be referring to, then checks his calendar on his phone. Both come up empty. 

To be honest, Jihoon would be more surprised if there is something he’s forgetting. Despite knowing you for so long (in the way that he’s grown up with you but hasn’t had an actual conversation with you since he was seven), he’d never call you his friend; at best, you're a coworker. 

But the way Soonyoung is looking at him now makes him wonder if he’s forgotten something, and worry that whatever he’s forgotten is important. 

“You don’t have anything planned?” Soonyoung says, loud enough for the couple sitting at the table across from Jihoon look up. Soonyoung doesn’t seem to notice. “Dude, it’s been a whole year. I can’t remember the last time yn has had a boyfriend for a full year, you have nothing planned?” 

Boyfriend? Jihoon stands up, snapping his laptop shut. “Look, I don’t really know what’s going on, and quite frankly, I don’t have time for it. Tell yn, or whoever is behind this prank that it’s not funny and to grow up.” He leaves Soonyoung standing there frowning, leaving the coffee shop and pulling his satchel over his shoulder. 

It’s a short walk from the coffee shop to the firm, and Jihoon uses it to think things through. Here’s what he knows: 1) Soonyoung is your best friend since middle school, 2) he isn’t the type to lie about this for fun, and 3) you have sworn off dating (a fourth fact!). So either A) Soonyoung lied (uncharacteristic) or B) you’ve lied (not out of character for you, you are a divorce lawyer). He figures the second option makes the most sense, though the why still troubles him. He waits for the elevator, staring at his distorted reflection that makes face shrink and his ears look comically large. 

The doors open with a small ding and a stream of people flow out. Jihoon politely steps to the side to let them through before getting on. Thankfully, it’s a much less crowded ride up, only a couple other people, none of whom are going to the firm on the nineteenth floor. Jihoon is able to focus completely on the person he otherwise has spent very little time thinking about: you. 

Despite knowing you for so many years, Jihoon really couldn’t say much about you (see above limited list of facts). What he does know is mostly filtered through Wonwoo, whose office is next to yours and separated by rather thin walls. Jihoon didn’t expect Wonwoo to be into gossip, especially since he’s known you since law school and actually calls himself your friend, but Jihoon has heard more about your love life than he ever wanted to. That’s why he knows of crucial fact #4: You have sworn off dating. 

He knows—from Wonwoo—that after your third boyfriend in as many months, you gave up on ever being able to balance dating and work, tired of having your heart broken over and over again. According to Wonwoo—who allegedly heard this from you over the phone with your friend (which Jihoon thinks is at the very least an invasion of privacy, but Wonwoo argued you were on a personal call during work hours so it’s free game)—you cited your failures in love to your own tendency to “catch feelings too fast” (he isn’t sure if Wonwoo was quoting you or using his own words, but they stuck with him). From Wonwoo’s lamenting, he knows that you’ve since sworn off dating, giving up on the pains of failed romance. So why does your best friend think that you’ve been dating him for the past year? 

He isn’t thinking when he walks into your office without knocking. You’re on the phone, though you hang up quickly when he walks in. You’re frowning, and he wonders if Soonyoung was on the phone when you hung up. You stand as he pulls the door shut behind him. 

“I can explain,” you say, confirming his suspicions. “It’s not what you think.” 

“Oh, so you haven’t lied to your friends and told them we’re dating?” Jihoon says, folding his arms. 

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” you mumble. 

“It is bad,” he says, shaking his head. “Honestly, you’re lucky I don’t report you to HR. This is borderline harassment, you really should know better.” 

“I know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Seriously, did you think you could get away with it? Soonyoung went to middle school and high school with us, surely you knew this wouldn’t last,” he says. “What were you going to do at a reunion?” 

“Well, I didn’t go last year,” you mumble. You leave out neither did you, but when you meet his eyes, he can tell that you aren’t totally beat. Not yet. 

“I just thought you were smarter than this,” Jihoon says. “I mean, we don’t know each other well, and I know you never scored as high as I did on tests, but I didn’t think you’d be this stupid.” 

“I get it, you think I didn’t think this through,” you say. “I really am sorry, but I don’t have the time to listen to you lecture me for a full hour, so can you at least make it quick?” 

Jihoon blinks. “Why?” He says, more statement than question. “Why did you lie?” 

You sigh, slumping into your chair. “Long story very short, I had a few too many bad relationships and I decided I wasn’t going to date anymore because apparently I have a tendency to fall in love with brick walls.” 

Jihoon figures it’s a bad idea to tell you he already knew that, opting to nod so that you continue to explain. 

“The problem is, pretty much none of my friends believed that I would actually be able to keep it up,” you say. “They thought that I’d fall for the first person that gave me an ounce of attention. The thing is, it actually did work. I haven’t been on a date in a year, and I think it’s been really, really good for me. But my friends didn’t believe it. 

“So I lied. I told them I started dating someone from work, and I did think it through: I said someone from the firm, since they don’t know anyone, and because my mystery boyfriend is a lawyer, they weren’t surprised when he was busy all the time and couldn’t come to anything. Plus, since it was someone from work, I could say that we had to keep everything quiet because I told them dating wasn’t allowed. Everything was perfect, actually.” 

Jihoon can almost see your logic. Almost. “Why me?” 

You’re quiet for a long moment, staring at your closed laptop. “They wanted a name, and yours was the first I thought of, and then the lie just sort of took on a life of its own.” You have the audacity to smile. “Did you know that you’ve been in love with me since elementary school?” 

Jihoon scoffs. “There’s no way they believed that.” 

“You’d be surprised,” you say, with a fond smile. It vanishes when you meet his glare. 

More than anything, Jihoon is confused, but the one thing he is absolutely certain about is that he doesn’t want anyone walking around thinking he’s dating someone that he isn’t, especially not when that someone is you.

 He can’t think of anyone more different than him; your office is testament to that, filled with all sorts of knick knacks and brightly colored pillows, mugs from around the world strategically spread around your bookshelves, which hold a combination of books on law as well as classic novels and collections of stories. He remembers that before you went to law school, you majored in English. Pride and Prejudice sits in between a copy of War and Peace and Beowulf, with a bright red glass ornament keeping them upright. 

He thinks about his own office. His only decorations were at the insistence of Seungkwan and Seungcheol: a plant that Jihoon was actively trying to kill (and starting to suspect is fake), a set of colorful highlighters that he would never use that Seungcheol said “brightened the room,” and a framed photograph of all of his friends at Seungkwan’s graduation. The last piece, a gift from Seungcheol, is the only one he will admit he doesn’t mind having in his office, but he could live without everything else. He doesn’t know how you manage to work with so much going on in your office. 

But the biggest difference between the two of you, Jihoon realizes, comes from a fundamentally different understanding of the world: while you seem to find love in everything (and everyone), Jihoon simply doesn’t believe it exists. 

.

.

The street lights in front of Joshua’s building are out, again. It used to set Jihoon on edge, but he’s come to expect it more often than not, and waits patiently as he rings the buzzer to be let in. 

He’s also late, again. The door swings open and he waves at the man behind the front desk. He should know his name with how often he visits Joshua’s apartment. There’s no one in the lobby and he gets to ride the elevator to the sixth floor alone. 

Mentally, he prepares himself for the chaos of the night. It’s been months since everyone has been able to get together (and even then, Wonwoo had to cancel because there was a complication in his case that left him stuck at the office even later than Jihoon). Still, the rest of the group—Joshua, Seungcheol, and Seungkwan—were finally able to meet up, which means that the night is going to at the very least be interesting. 

They didn’t wait for Jihoon to start drinking. He has to knock three times before the door finally swings open. Unfortunately, Mingyu is behind the door, and he practically lifts Jihoon off the ground, wrapping him in a hug. Jihoon has met him maybe six times but apparently that means that he’s close enough for a suffocating hug. 

“I haven’t seen you in six months!” He shouts, dragging Jihoon inside. The rest of the boys, in varying degrees of intoxication, tackle him as well. Seungkwan is close to tears, babbling in his ear about how long it’s been, and Seungcheol is one step away from kissing him on the cheek (Jihoon dodges it). 

Joshua is clearly more sober, settling for a quick hug when he finally disentangles himself from the others. 

“Work was good?” Joshua asks. 

Jihoon shrugs. “Work was work.” 

“You’re late,” Seungkwan says, still clinging to Jihoon’s arm. 

“You should be grateful I came at all,” Jihoon says, though he doesn’t push Seungkwan off. It isn't worth the effort when he knows that he’ll latch on again as soon as he can. He still shoves Mingyu before he can take his other arm. 

Jihoon lets Seungkwan drag him onto the couch. It’s long past dinner time, but there’s still plenty of snacks laid out. Despite the faulty lighting outside, Joshua’s apartment actually looks nice. He’s traded cheap beer for a growing collection of wine next to his bookcase that is no longer solely populated by fantasy books. Jihoon still has his doubts about the quality of the wine. 

“You’re still coming Saturday, right?” Seungkwan says, resting his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” he says, pushing him gently on the forehead to get him off his shoulder. “Just like when you asked yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.” 

“Well, it’s not like you always show up,” Joshua says. He sits on the other side of Jihoon, the rest of the boys spreading between the couch and floor. Mingyu stretches out on the floor, long limbs resting in front of Jihoon. 

“I come when I say I do,” Jihoon says, lifting his feet so they are resting on top of Mingyu’s shin instead of beneath them. 

“Except for Johnny’s wedding,” Seungkwan says. 

“And my birthday,” Seungcheol says. 

“Oh, and that one time we went to dinner to celebrate your promotion,” Joshua says. 

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Jihoon says. “Out of my control.” 

“I’m telling you, if you just went on one date, it would fix everything,” Seungkwan says. 

“Here we go again,” Jihoon mutters. 

“No, no, the logic is there!” Seungkwan says. “If you actually dated someone, you’d understand that you can’t just blow things off, that other people’s feelings do in fact matter.”  

“Plus you wouldn’t be such an uptight little bitch,” Seungcheol says. “What?” He asks when everyone stares at him. “It’s true.” 

Jihoon shakes his head. “I don’t know why you all are convinced that my love life is why I’m like this. What if this is just who I am?” 

“Did Jihoon just admit he’s an ‘uptight little bitch’?” Mingyu asks from the floor. 

“I thought it was an accepted fact,” Joshua says, then apparently realizes that he hasn’t had enough alcohol to excuse rude comments because he takes a very long sip of his wine and looks anywhere but at Jihoon. 

“Anyways,” Seungkwan says, smacking Jihoon’s chest. Jihoon thinks it was meant to be a reassuring pat. “We’re getting distracted from the really important things.” 

“Which are?” Joshua asks when Seungkwan trails off into silence. 

“The fact that Jihoon has never once been on a date,” Seungkwan says. 

“And you guys wonder why I always ditch,” Jihoon mumbles. “Besides,” he says. “I have been on a date. Multiple dates.” 

“Those don’t count,” Seungkwan says. “We set them up.” 

“A date is a date,” Jihoon says. “How does that not count?” 

“Okay, there’s a date and there’s a date,” Seungkwan says. “You go on a date because your friends set it up and it’s too late to say no, but you go on a date because there’s something else, a feeling, a— a—”

Jihoon frowns at the stuttering man beside him. “How much have you had to drink?” 

“Let the man speak!” Joshua says. “He’s got a point!” 

“What point?” 

“You!” Mingyu says, lifting his leg to bounce Jihoon’s feet. Apparently his alcohol impaired brain thinks this is hilarious because he does it a couple more times until Jihoon digs his heel onto his thigh (and maybe a little too close to his crotch). “You, Lee Jihoon, have never told someone how you felt. Actually, have you even felt anything before? Seriously, I mean, I haven’t known you nearly as long as these idiots but have you ever told them you love them? Or even care about them?” 

Jihoon looks around, Seungkwan at his side, Joshua on the floor leaning against the coffee table, Seungcheol on the far end of the couch, and Mingyu, who’s managed to lift his head off the floor. Though no one else says anything, he can tell they agree with Mingyu, waiting expectantly for him to admit that he has a problem. 

And that’s when Jihoon realizes he knows exactly how you felt: cornered with no hope for escape because the people you care about most in the world are convinced that your lack of a love life is somehow congruent with your happiness. Though it’s still just as ridiculous to him, he understands it. And even though there isn’t a drop of alcohol in his system, the words are out before he can stop them. 

“I have been on a real date,” he says. “Multiple actually. With the same person. Because I’m dating someone.” 

Jihoon has been friends with the guys (with the exception of Mingyu) for the better part of ten years, some of them even longer. He knows them better than his own family, and he knows that when they are quiet, it never bodes well. 

Joshua is the first to break, unsuccessfully attempting to hide his snort as a cough. It devolves from there, Seungkwan practically shrieking with laughter while Seungcheol pounds the arm of the couch so hard Jihoon worries it’ll break. He lifts his feet off of Mingyu because the larger man is bouncing them with his laughter. 

“I am!” 

“Sure,” Seungkwan manages through tears. “Just like Mingyu has a real job.” 

“Hey!” Mingyu says. “You were one of my references!” 

Seungkwan waves his hand, leaning fully onto Jihoon, whose patience has begun to wear thin. “Seriously, though, you expect us to believe that?” 

“Yes!” Jihoon says, because there’s nothing he can do but stick to his lie. “I have been seeing someone!” 

“And they’re real? A human being?” Seungcheol asks, then pouts when Jihoon smacks his knee. 

“Yes, they are real, and yes, they are human,” Jihoon says. For some reason, he thinks about your smile (not that you’ve ever directed it towards him). “And they’re… nice.” 

“Wow,” Joshua says with a whistle. “You heard it here first: Jihoon’s definitely not made up date is real and human and nice.” He ignores the glare, running to the kitchen to get another wine bottle instead. 

“So, does this very real, nice, human date have a name, or do you need more time to make one up?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Yn,” Jihoon says. “From work.” 

“Yn, like yn ln?” Joshua asks, returning with a very full glass. 

“Yn? Why is that name familiar?” Seungcheol asks. 

“Didn't they go to the same college as us?” Joshua asks. 

“And law school, right?” Mingyu says. Jihoon curses his friends for having such good memory and caring about his life. 

“Wait, aren’t they the person that you went to school with ever since you were kids and you said something like ‘they’d fall for an lemon if it tasted sweet enough?’” Seungkwan asks, sitting up. 

How his drunk little brain could remember that specific phrasing is a mystery to Jihoon, but he grits his teeth and says, “That was a long time ago. They’ve changed. I’ve changed.” He rolls his eyes at Seungkwan’s laugh. 

“You’re really going with this?” Joshua asks. 

“Going with what?” Jihoon asks with a sigh. “I am dating someone! I don’t know why you all find this so hard to believe!” 

“Okay, for starters, you didn’t tell us that you started seeing someone,” Joshua says. “And you also have only ever said bad things about yn.” 

“Okay, well, despite what you all apparently think, you aren’t entitled to every tiny detail of my life,” Jihoon says. “But we started dating a month ago.” The lie comes easily now, though a small part of him is screaming that this is all a mistake and he’s going to regret all of this. He pats it on the head and pushes past it looking for good things to say about you. 

“What about yn?” Mingyu asks. 

“What about them?” 

“You know, why you like them,” Mingyu says. 

Jihoon’s face curls into a scowl before he can stop it. 

“Okay, since feelings are hard for you,” Joshua says in a rather patronizing voice, “why don’t you tell us something about them? Anything.” 

“Anything?” Jihoon studies his fingers, thinking about his very short list. He can’t talk about school (Fact #1), or work (Fact #2), or even your pitiful romantic life (Fake #3), because apparently they already know about all of those. There’s no way he can talk about Fact #4, so he’s stuck scrambling to put two thoughts together while they all stare at him expectantly. 

He can see their already limited belief beginning to wane as the silence continues, so he blurts out, “Yn has terrible taste in music.” 

“Worse than you?” Seungkwan asks. 

“Shut up.” He knows that he needs to change topics before they ask who exactly you listen to and he’ll really be screwed. He thinks desperately of every time he’s seen you over the past twenty years. He remembers when the office ordered burritos, and tries to remember the color of the sauce you chose. Red, right? “They like spicy food. Like, really spicy food. And…” 

And despite all your heartbreaks and failed relationships, not only in your own life, but in negotiating divorces every other day, you still somehow believe in love. That’s probably the thing Jihoon admires most about you, but he doesn’t think he should say it now since it would (accurately) imply that he still doesn’t believe in love. 

He settles for, “they see the world differently,” because that’s basically the truth. 

Joshua takes another long sip of his wine while Mingyu lays back on the floor, breathing slowing. Seungkwan tucks his head back on Jihoon’s shoulder. It’s clear they still don’t believe him, at least not fully, but for the first time tonight, Jihoon has told the truth, and that seems to be enough to at least shut them up. 

Jihoon starts to feel claustrophobic with Seungkwan still clinging to his arm and giggling, pushing him farther into the arm of the couch. The reality of what he has said hangs over his head like a fuming storm cloud that hasn’t dropped its load yet. But it hangs low, dark and churning with lightning and thunder that warn the destruction of anyone foolish enough to get stuck below it. 

Apparently that isn’t enough to stop his mouth from saying things before he can really think it through. In his final act of this magnificently idiotic night, Jihoon adds, “And they are coming with me on Saturday. As my date.” 

Seungkwan gasps. “Seriously?” 

“Can you get another ticket?” 

“I can do anything if you are actually bringing a real live date!” He jumps off the couch, diving for his phone (Joshua catches him before he faceplants and manages to distract him from whatever drunk texting he was about to attempt). 

Jihoon is finally free to breathe, looking up at Seungcheol to find a strange look in his eyes. “Is this a good idea?” 

Jihoon almost laughs. If only he knew the half of it. But he doesn’t know, which just means that he’s looking down on Jihoon, so he shrugs. “It’s beyond time for you all to meet them.” 

Seungcheol shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. He’ll be the hardest to convince, too busy thinking he knows better than everyone. Maybe he does, but Jihoon will be damned if he admits it. 

Jihoon needs to leave before he says anything else dumb. He stands up from the couch and immediately finds himself on the floor. Mingyu. He had forgotten the tall idiot had fallen asleep right underneath his feet. Now Jihoon is on the floor next to him, listening to the rest of his friends howl with laughter while Mingyu blinks and frowns. As if he hadn’t thoroughly embarrassed himself already. 

Plus there’s the fact that he somehow needs to figure out how to actually ask you to be his fake date for the indefinite future.

Yeah, Jihoon is pretty much screwed.

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part II: blackwater i

originally posted on 22 february 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: you start to settle in with the gang, making some friends and some enemies. As you acclimate to your new life, parts of you miss the freedom of solitude, while a new feeling drives you towards companionship.

a/n: chapter two is here! For those of you that missed the post, I will be updating this series with a new chapter every wednesday. I'm super proud of this one. Thanks to @margowritesthings for being my beta reader, biggest supporter, and my ride or die

SERIES MASTERPOST

"The hell did you buy in there anyway? A book?" You ask, trotting closer to Arthur and Boadicea to peek over his reins. There's a little leather bound book in his hands that he angrily stuffs into his satchel. You’ve both just left the general store in Blackwater after picking up some supplies for the good of the camp. You have no money, but Arthur had brought camp funds to purchase supplies for everyone. While in the store, he’d found a small leather bound book, and you’ve been thinking about it since you both left the store.

"Ain't none of your business lady, now let's get back." He huffs, spurring Boadicea into a canter past the old withering Blackwater church. The sound of hooves on dirt is loud as you push the horse, gripping tightly onto the saddle horn for extra stability.

"Well if it's none of my business, you shouldn't have bought it in front of me. That's on you." You counter, curious if Arthur even knows how to read, let alone enjoys it. You’ve only been with the gang for three and a half days, but in that time you’ve been able to observe the other gang members. Mostly, you’ve stuck to yourself, eating and working alone unless Ms. Grimshaw makes you work with the girls. But in that time, all you’ve seen Arthur do is physical labor, like chopping wood, going out on jobs, or planning with Dutch and Hosea. You had wrongfully assumed he’s the type of man who only entertains himself with liquor, women and fighting. Every day you seem to be proving yourself more and more wrong. 

"I bought it in front of you because I have to take you with me. You're like a goddamn pet, take my eyes off ya for a second and you're starting something. Dutch didn’t want you causin’ trouble so he told me to keep an eye on ya." 

Fury bubbles in your chest at the new information. This is about that big ugly bastard, what's his name. The past few days you've spent at their camp all he's done is sleep, drink and annoy everyone. He hasn't changed his sweat stained blue flannel since you've been there, and his big brown draft horse has never left the hitching post. He had made some rather crass comments about Arthur bringing you back and you punched him right in the face for it. Nearly knocked him on his ass. It got an amused chuckle out of Arthur, but the other gang members weren't too pleased about you strutting into their camp and starting fights. He started it, you just finished it. But of course you, the newcomer, are to blame and now you need a babysitter. 

"Gonna keep an eye on me, that's it? What- you're gonna sleep next to my bedroll too? Make sure I don't go out and start beating up the folk, even the ones that need it?" You growl, irritated with Dutch for giving you a chaperone, and at Arthur for being the chaperone. 

"If that's what it takes to keep that damn temper under control then, sure" Arthur laughs.

"I guess I'd rather go buyin' romance novels with you then sittin' back there with some of those fools." You bite, cantering towards the opening of the camp. 

"I- dammit woman, it ain't a book. It's a journal. Lost my old one some months ago in a fire.  I saw this one and I just picked it up..." He says. 

You're utterly shocked. He journals? A new little layer of this big tough outlaw falls away and you can peek into the man inside. He goes around saving women in distress and writes about his feelings? Well shit. 

"Never took you for a writer, Mr. Morgan, but it suits you well. Maybe one day you'll have to let me peek in there, see what goes on in that head a you-" 

You stop in your tracks at the sound coming from camp. It's a rat-like voice with a greasy, nasty vocabulary. He's yelling, harassing someone for something. It's an unfamiliar voice and you spur the buckskin faster after Arthur to find the source. Arthur doesn’t look entirely alarmed, more annoyed, as if he knows the voice. When he sees the worry on your face, he’s quick to respond.

"That's Micah… you steer clear of him, alright?" He asks, to which you don't answer.

As your horses slow, stepping into the camp, you hop down from the saddle, tossing your reins over the hitching post and jog into the open area filled with tents. 

"The hells goin' on now? You've been back five goddamn minutes and your stirrin' up a ruckus." Arthur calls out from beside you. 

A medium height, blonde man with a nasty smile and pale blue eyes turns around, running his fingers over his thick mustache. His red shirt is stained with what you assume to be the beer that he reeks of. It has filled his stomach, giving him a drinker’s gut and painting his nose with red blotches. Just the sight of him has you backing up a few steps.

"Awe, didntcha' miss me, Morgan?" He asks sarcastically, holding his arms out in mock disbelief. 

Arthur sports a deep scowl as he glares at Micah, stepping towards him. It's then that Micah notices you standing beside Arthur. You're much shorter than him, but you hold your chin up high, shoulders pushed back. Micah’s lips curl up in an eerie smile as he runs his eyes over your body.

"Well who might you be, madam?" Micah sneers. Pure anger and aggression pump through your veins as he slowly rakes his eyes over your figure. Then his eyes move around to the people in camp, lingering on Arthur's. 

"She claimed? You Morgan's whore then? Say, you think he'll share you with me?" Micah laughs maniacally, bending back and resting his hands on his gun belt. His blonde hair is filthy, his teeth even more so, everything about this man repels you. He's a snake, a shifty rat and you can see it from a mile away. 

"I ain't no one's whore." You squint, wishing to just take this bastard out and be done with it. 

"Careful, Micah. She'll tear you a new one." Arthur warns, seemingly hoping that you will. God, he would love to watch you beat the shit out of Micah. He'd pay to.  

Micah seems to be amused by this, laughing loudly and glancing around the camp to see if anyone heard Arthur. He doesn't believe for a fraction of a second that you could best him.

"I ain't afraid of an itty bitty lady," Micah steps forward, glancing down over you before shifting his eyes and addressing Arthur,

"She'd look real pretty on her knees for me, wouldn't she Ar-"

You knee him as hard as you can, right in the groin, causing him to bend at the waist and groan in pain. 

"Y-You bitch!" He yells, right before you slip a pair of metal knuckles that were in your pocket over your fingers and punch him square in the cheekbone. The knuckles cut up his face, blood trickling down his cheek before he falls over, completely knocked out cold. You're a small woman, but with some little adjustments, you're stronger than the men. You slip the knuckles off, sliding them back into your pocket and tapping them for good measure.

"Tried to warn the bastard…" Arthur sighs, grabbing Micah by the feet and dragging him towards the outskirts of camp where he'll probably wake up later. You realize that you'd gained a bit of a crowd, blushing as you look around and see several pleased faces. You remember most of their names. The red haired Irishman, Sean steps over to you, proudly slapping you on the back with a huge grin. 

"Ha! Ya knocked him right on his ass ‘tere! So much for an itty bitty lady, eh?"

A blonde haired woman, a little taller than you comes over with a big smile. She’s under the arm of a young gang member, you think Lennys his name. 

“Well I’ll be damned! Hell yeah, It's good to see another badass woman around here, I was gettin’ tired of puttin’ all the boys in their place.” She laughs, pulling Lenny behind her and moving forward to hand you something. It's a five dollar bill, and you reach out to take it, confused. 

“We had a bet that someone was gonna knock him out soon as he got back. Entertaining us with a show like that? You deserve it. I’d do anything to see that bastard get put down by a lady.”

You smile up at her, nodding to the stranger as you place the bill in your pocket. 

“I'm Jenny by the way. Say, you're new as a shiny penny, figures these boys can't control themselves. Buncha assholes, especially Micah. He gets his fill of torture from all of us though, don't you worry miss." Jenny smiles at you, her blonde hair frames her freckled face beautifully. 

"You wanna come officially meet the girls? We can get you set up, get you a tent and some new clothes. Figure you wanna get away from Mr. Morgan over there for the day, he's a sour bastard." Jenny yells the last part in Arthur’s direction so that he can hear. 

“You’ll hear no argument from me on that account, ma'am.” Arthur quips, dropping Micah into the woods,

You eye Lenny and Jenny, a little unsure. It's hard for you to trust people, especially other outlaws but they seem kind enough. You turn your neck around to see Arthur, the only one you've really interacted with besides the two men you knocked out, and then you look back to Lenny and Jenny. They're both young and bright eyed, hopeful. It's a change you're grateful for, albeit not used to. What could be the harm?

"Alright then, the girls…" You whisper nervously. You've seen a few other women walking through the camp in the past four days, and they've eyed you with curiosity but none made a move to interact with you. You'll never show it but you're a bit nervous. You keep to yourself for the most part. You've had to because you have no one else. But that's changing. 

You follow the two past a few tents, and to a wagon with a few boxes sitting around to be used as chairs. Wolf pelts and blankets are stacked into a makeshift bed on the ground under a hanging canvas. As you take in the little details of the camp, you don't miss the way Jenny and Lenny's hands intertwine, and you smile for it. It's apparent that someone has been through a lot of effort to make the camp homey. Fluffy pelts line the seats and chairs, beautifully decorated animal skulls top some of the tents and each person’s designated area is filled with their personal preferences and belongings. Pictures and books line the little tables and crates around the place and boxes of beer and whiskey as well. It really is a home. 

There's a wagon with canvas material making a little lean to, and under it sit three girls. The first one to notice you has short blonde hair and a contagious smile. There's wonder in her eyes, and optimism. 

"Well hi! We was wonderin' when we'd get to meet you, we could barely hold back from goin' over there but we didn't wanna push ya! Say, you’ve been here just four days and you’ve already knocked down the two biggest bastards here. First Bill and now Micah? I like you already!" The blonde haired girl says before adding, "Oh, I'm Karen by the way. And this is Marybeth and Tilly.” She adds, pointing towards the other girls who smile and wave coyly. The girl furthest from you with dark colored skin and braided hair that collects into a low bun, Tilly, speaks up.

“Don’t be shy, we don’t bite. Well Karen does, but only when Ms. Grimshaw comes around. Doesn’t seem like you’ll be dealing much with her though. You gonna run with the men like Jenny here?” Tilly asks, nodding towards Jenny. You notice the contrast in their attire. Tilly, Marybeth and Karen are wearing dresses, apparently you and Jenny are the only two women who work out of camp. You haven't thought much about what your role will be in the camp though.

“Uh, yeah I guess I will be. I haven’t thought about it much though, just gettin’ here and all…And I’m only stayin’ till I'm back on my feet, so I’ll do whatever needs done till I get enough money to head somewhere else.” You mumble, looking down to your raggedy clothes. The girls grow a little quiet, sensing your dilemma before Jenny speaks up. 

“Well for now, you’re stuck with us! C’mon, we’ll get you some new clothes and have Ms. Grimshaw set you up a tent. I assume you’ll want a tent by Arthur, y’know with him bringing you in and all.”

— —

By nightfall you have three new pairs of jeans, two black and one blue, four new shirts, dark green, white, black and red, and a brand new pair of boots. They’ve accommodated you well, and you try not to think about your growing debt to the gang. 

Your tent is nicer than anything you’ve had for a long while. It's a white canvas ‘A frame’ tent with a nice sized cot, a wardrobe and a nightstand. The girls have given you some blankets and items to decorate around the place and it looks good, it’s rather cozy. Currently you sit cross legged on the cot, writing in your journal. The soft glow of candlelight alongside the campfires outside provide enough light for you to write without straining your eyes. It's a beautiful night, and owls hoot as warm wind blows across the Great Plains, it's a perfect moment. 

It’s the fourth day I've been here, but today was different. I met Jenny, and she introduced me to a few others. She’s a lot like me. Jenny doesn’t follow the rules, she makes her own way. I admire her for that. And Arthur? Well, I haven't  seen much of him. He’s been working on some big job with Dutch, and they’re keeping it real quiet. Oh, and he journals too, he picked one up in town today. Never thought a man such as himself would take to journaling. There’s a heart in there somewhere, deep down as it may be. I guess he’s like me in that way…

You startle at the sound of a knock against the beam of your tent. You jump a little, reaching down to your holster before you realize it’s only Arthur. 

“Shit, sorry. You scared the hell outta me. Ain’t used to livin’ with other people.” You laugh, folding your journal shut and tucking your pen into the book’s spine. Arthur is leaning against the tent beam with two bowls in hand, it looks like he’s washed up, probably in the lake or the river, but he's wearing a clean black stand collar shirt and a new pair of jeans. His wet hair drips a little, and the smell of soap travels to your nose.

“You’ll get used to it. Here, I brought ya some dysentery.” Arthur jokes, holding out a bowl of Pearson’s stew to you. You take it, grateful for it even though it tastes awful. 

“Thanks. Here, come sit, keep me company.” You scooch to the other side of your cot, once again sitting cross legged. 

“Well I ain’t no good company miss, I can promise you that, but sure.” 

Arthur sits down on the cot, and it dips under his weight. He watches you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then glances at your book while you both eat. 

“So what were you writin’ in that book a’ yours?” Arthur asks, nodding towards your leather journal.  

You crack a smile, prodding at the mushy soup with your spoon. 

“You really wanna know? I'll show you mine, but you gotta show me what's in yours.” You offer with a raised eyebrow. Arthur’s cheeks glow a little red and he scratches at the back of his neck.

“Well I just got it today, and I ain’t put much in it yet.” Arthur says a little awkwardly. You take note of his embarrassment, and make a mental note to peek the next time he has it out.

“So how's it been so far? The camp I mean. Everyone treatin’ you well? I'm sure you’ll give ‘em hell if they don’t.” Arthur asks, looking to you, before bringing the metal bowl up to his lips and drinking down the broth left over in the bowl. You can’t help the smile that brightens up your features while you nod. 

“It’s been good. Jenny’s real nice, I like her a lot. All the girls are kind too. I ain’t talked to much of anyone else, well besides Micah, is he alright by the way?” You ask, hoping you didn’t kill him. You don’t really care if the bastard is dead or not, but killing him on your fourth day in the gang would not help your chances of getting along with Dutch. 

“I think he left for a while, didn’t wanna come back and be the camp idiot for gettin’ beat up by a little lady-” He starts before you interject. 

“I ain’t a little lady.” You bite. Arthur chuckles, putting his hands up in mock surrender. He disagrees, you are a little lady, but he also wants to keep his head. 

“Whatever you say, miss. I'm partial to keepin’ your fists far away from this old mug,'' Arthur's smile falters for a moment, and he looks over to you with sincerity, “but I'm glad to hear you’re settlin’ in alright.”

You nod, unsure of how to respond as you extend your arm to place the empty stew bowl on your nightstand. Arthur takes it out of your hand instead, standing up and stacking your dishes on top of his own. 

“Well I’ll leave you to it, I don’t wanna take up anymore of your time,” He tips his head to you, “Goodnight miss.”

“G’night Arthur.” You watch his back as he leaves your tent and returns your dishes back to Pearson’s table. 

You think of him as you dress down and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a long time since you’ve enjoyed someone’s company. He intrigues you. There's so many layers to Arthur Morgan, and you find yourself wanting to peel them back and discover the man at heart. You toss and turn in your bed, angrily fluffing your pillow and tearing your blankets off of your bare legs just to pull them back on again. Despite the new bed, and the tent, you find yourself  longing for the freedom of the grass, you miss the stars. 

With a sigh, you reach down onto the grass below your bed and grab your boots. You swing your legs over the edge and pull them on, not bothering to dress yourself half decent. The shirt you’re wearing is a man’s, it's huge on you, but Jenny figured it would make a good night shirt. The white shirt swallows your figure as you step out of your tent and into the night. Everyone has gone to bed already as you tiptoe to the outskirts of camp. There's a dark forest at the edge, and maybe it's your exhaustion, but you find it enticing. You walk through the grass, wishing that you could feel it on your feet. It’s only been four days, but dammit, you miss the freedom. Solitude can be a beautiful thing, you’ve found out. And even though you’re glad to have been saved by the gang, parts of you ache to return to the wilderness. 

You slip your cowboy boots off, abandoning them on the ground between you and Arthur’s tent. They slump to the ground, spurs clicking as they hit the floor, and you step into the trees.

You pick wildflowers, humming and singing to yourself as you pluck their stems from the earth and add them to your collection. The breeze is warm and it flutters through your hair. A few times you feel eyes on you, but you dismiss them as animals lurking in the night. Some find the woods as eerie and unknown, but they’ve always been your home. You make a little bouquet of wildflowers, they're all different colors and sizes, and you hold them up to your nose and inhale that deep, specific scent. Lastly, you lay back on the grass, holding the flowers in your hands and look up to the stars. 

“A coach and six white horses,”

You twirl a poppy between your fingers, bringing it up to your nose before you continue singing,

“Blacks and bays, dapples, and grays,”

 You bring your knees up, crossing your legs as your hair splays out in the grass.

“All the pretty little horses…”

You’ve always been on your own, and this will be hard. Acclimating to a new place, with new people, and handing your control over to a new leader, all of it has you nervous, uneasy. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay. A part of you, the part that led you into the forest, begs for your freedom back. And yet a new feeling piques your interest as well, and it scares you. You look up at the constellations, tracing the big dipper with your eyes and grounding yourself with the familiarity. This new pull… it’s dangerous. You’ve distanced yourself from others for a reason, and yet here you are, breaking all of your rules.

—

Arthur’s eyebrows draw together as he leans up on his elbows in his cot. He’s been unable to sleep tonight, too distracted with the Blackwater job, and with you to get some shut eye. He’s stirred up by some quiet click noises, followed by some shallow singing. The song reaches his ears and immediately he recognizes it. It's “All the Pretty Little Horses,” a lullaby his momma used to sing to him when he was a kid. There’s some emotion there that he pushes down, sitting up to peek out of the open tent. 

And there you are. 

Arthur's smile is bittersweet as he watches you, laying in the grass in nothing but a goddamn shirt. Because of course you're the type to pick flowers, barefoot in the dead of night. Of course you’re the type to sing to the stars. He chuckles to himself, and doesn’t even think about it as he grabs his empty journal that he’d bought in the morning. He rests the leather book against his knee, leaning over to grab his pencil off his nightstand. As he does so, his eyes collide with the framed picture of Mary. Arthur sighs, gently grabbing the corner of the frame and tipping it so the picture lays face down. 

“Long time ago now…” Arthur whispers, lingering over the photo for a moment before grabbing his pencil. 

He doesn’t think, he just draws, starting with your legs that are crossed over each other, your torso and the flowers in your hand, and then your face and hair as you look up to the stars. He hums along lowly with your singing as he finishes up his sketch. There’s an incredible amount of detail to the picture, and he tries not to think about why that is as he adds a note to his sketch. 

She’s a lot like the stars in a way, I’ve realized. A force, fiery and burning as a flame, not to be reckoned with. She’s got no ties, she’s on her own. And yet she’s kind, singing and picking flowers in the middle of the damn night. She's something else, that woman. 

[samders-sides]

The Hunt for Prince Roman - Chapter One

Summary: Roman has been in the Imagination for two weeks straight and Virgil has grown concerned. What starts as a welfare check on the wayward Prince turns into a full on quest to find him because things…are not adding up.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51469459/chapters/130071607

Note: Hi! I am back again. I have two WIPs on here but this walked into my mind and I spent the weekend writing pretty much all of it… Will be updating twice a week until it is all posted on Thursdays and Sundays. Also I'm not great at titles. If anyone has any ideas I would be happy to hear them!

Chapter One: The Begining

It had been two weeks.

Virgil shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, shifting his satchel strap to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and moodily glaring at the scene. There were many places that he liked to while away his spare time. Cuddled up into the smallest ball imaginable in the soft armchair in the living room with his headphones on; sitting on the benchtop while he supervised Patton baking in the kitchen (ready to jump in at any notice with a fire extinguisher, should one be needed); sinking into a warm bubble bath…

Virgil smiled at the last thought. For his birthday, one of the gifts he had received was his own bespoke brand of bubble mixture, which, when mixed with water, created large sparkly purple and black bubbles. Blackberry and lavender scents soothed his nerves, and he swore that the bath water would remain the exact right temperature, no matter how long he soaked his troubles away. Roman had really outdone himself on that one.

Roman. Virgil’s frown returned to his face. The reason that he was here, in the imagination, instead of literally any other place that Virgil would care to be. His skin c­rawled.

Roman had been acting strangely since…well Virgil couldn’t quite pinpoint it exactly. He had been so focused on the threat of Janus, Remus and the Others, and the stresses of a once-in-a-lifetime global pandemic that he hadn’t paid enough attention to the three knuckleheads in the light. Recent events sure had blown his failure on that point wide open.

The wedding was a big one, that had felt like an atomic bomb going off in the mindscape. In the space of a day everything had turned upside down. New friendships. New rules. New high score in Candy Crush…one big gaping hole in the fabric of his close-knit family. And maybe the hole itself wasn’t new but it sure as hell wasn’t anything like what it is now. Virgil could name a handful of days that were so significant in their lives to have had as big of a fallout as that one.

But pinning it all on just one (freaking terrible no good) day, was just one more mistake Virgil had to chalk up on his list.

Virgil shook his head and started walking. He was here for a reason.

Two weeks.

Two weeks with no Princey.

Lengthy absences weren’t necessarily unheard of, or even rare – especially when they were between major projects or Princey was working on something big. He was still functioning, Thomas still had his fanciful thoughts, reckless romantic urges, his ego, and his creative spark. They could all feel Roman’s presence in the mindscape, like he had sprinkled glitter over everything. Patton still set the dinner table for four. There was a growing pile of books outside of Princey’s bedroom door that Logan had come across and thought would be of interest to the creative side. Virgil still peeked into his room on his nightly rounds of the mindscape. Usually, the Prince would send some sort of message to them by now though.

“He’s probably just busy defeating some illogical amalgamation of fictional and non-fictional creatures and has lost track of time,” Logan had said, his voice clipped as he turned the page of his book, not even looking up at Virgil. Logan had said something further under his breath about the creative sides’ appreciation for time and schedules, but Virgil had chosen to ignore it. Instead, Virgil’s eyes had flicked to the four empty coffee mugs on the table, and the glass of red wine in the logical sides free hand, then to the clock on the wall which read 11:46 am. A feeling that Virgil could not quite place welled up within him.

“Yeah kiddo, Roman just needs some space at the moment, I’m sure there is no need to worry.” Virgil turned to look at the other side in the living room, Patton. Virgil had a retort ready to snap back about how could you claim to know anything for certain especially about Princey, but it died in his throat as he took in the newest addition to the father figure’s ensemble – a clumsily made yellow friendship bracelet. Virgil knew what feeling had been welling up inside himself that time.

Virgil blinked himself back to the present, not for the first time since the scene from earlier had occurred. One at a time. He had to sort out these buffoons one at a time before they destroyed themselves and Thomas. Something in his heart of hearts told him that Roman had to be top of his list.

He had appeared on a hill in Roman’s side of the imagination and had immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The weight in his gut lessened just a fraction.

The grass was an impossibly perfect shade of green, and the beautiful baby blue sky held no clouds. There were forests to the right and left of him, an expansive ocean behind him, and towns littering the path up to a magnificent Disney castle ahead of him. Cartoonishly cute birds and animals filled the scenes, and the ambiance could only be described as magical.

This hill had become a favourite spot of Virgil’s, on his journeys here. A large cherry blossom tree grew at the crest, with brilliant gardens radiating out around it in ever growing circles, paths weaving their way through the beds. Gardens weren’t entirely strictly his vibe, but Roman had created this one just for him. The flowers were all different shades of purple (with a few tasteful black roses dotted about here and there) and Roman had fashioned a bench underneath the cherry blossom tree, which was always in bloom. It was a peaceful place at a strategic vantage point so no one could sneak up on him while he was there. It was perfect.

Virgil had wavered here for a few moments, his eyes staring at the table in front of the bench which was set up with a Battleships board.

Roman and Virgil had tried chess, but admittedly Roman had struggled with the rules. The Game of Life had stressed Virgil out with the inevitability of death and taxes. Neither of them would ever emotionally recover from that Monopoly game…

Battleships was as much skill as luck. It had been the perfect medium to bridge the gap after Virgil had been accepted.

At least the imagination seemed to be in good nick. In ways that Virgil had yet to understand (and that Logan would kill to know), the imagination was inextricably linked to the Creative sides and their emotions. For the first time, Virgil started to doubt himself and his mission. If the imagination was this picture perfect, maybe the wayward Prince was fine. Maybe Patton was right…

And it was that thought that hardened Virgil’s resolve to continue, as he steadfastly made his way along the cobblestoned road to the first small town.

Since the wedding, and especially since the mall, Virgil had been spending a lot more time with Roman than he ever had before – including in the imagination. It wasn’t entirely his cup of tea but Roman had kept things low-key for him.

The imagination was always in flux, but there were a few constants. “Video game logic” is what Roman had dubbed it. The first golden rule – walk to a location and find a person to ask a question of. A tavern or a brightly coloured shop were your best bets to find such a person. Virgil’s gut said that he would find the Prince at the castle, but the imagination had spat him out onto that hill for a reason. Virgil had long since learned to trust Roman’s guiding hand when it came to the imagination.

And so, Virgil walked into the quaint town of Brightstar.

Roman had eagerly walked him through Brightstar before, and it was a favourite setting of Virgils’. The small French village had a beautiful fountain marking the centre of town, with cobbled streets reaching out from the fountain like a star. The houses had thatched roofs and were built with stone. It was very Beauty and the Beast.

Which is why Virgil frowned when his feet left cobblestone and hit a tar sealed road.

Brightstar was a hive of activity – which was not unusual. What was unusual was the kind of activity. People in high-vis-vests scrambled about in teams. One team hauled a massive machine down the cobbled streets, covering them in tar. Virgil wrinkled his nose at the smell. Another team were pulling up streetlamps and connecting them to electricity. The crew clapped as the first bulb flickered to life.

Virgil broke off into a run, his anxiety flickering to life. There were only a few streets in between him and the town centre and he didn’t stop until the water fountain came into view, blessedly untouched. Virgil slouched and clutched a stitch in his side, cursing Thomas for not going to the gym more often. The city centre had already been paved and electrified, but the local vendors and citizens seemed unbothered. Virgil took a seat on the fountain and dipped his hand into the cool water, forcing his breathing to come right and his heart rate to chill out.

Everything is okay.

Once again, Virgil chided himself. It was silly getting himself into a panic over nothing. Roman decided to update and change his realm almost on the daily, why was he so panicked over him deciding to update the facilities in Brightstar? Virgil tried not to feel too disappointed. It’s not like he was invested in the old school cobble streets at all…though they were far more his aesthetic than modern paving systems. Didn’t Logan once say that the old Ancient Roman roads were far better quality than anything we could construct now? Virgil looked up from his spot at the fountain and saw that another team of workers were replacing a thatched roof with tiles.

“Howdy stranger.”

Virgil just about fell backwards into the fountain, only just managing to catch himself in time. One of the workers had come over to him while he was contemplating the meaning of change. Virgil hurriedly stood up and tried not to look like he had just let out a screech that a banshee would be jealous of.

“Urgh, hi there.” Virgil grunted, shoving his hands into the safety of his pockets. The worker was clearly of elvish origin if his pointy ears were anything to go by. He had an orange hard hat on his head, green eyes, and a kind smile. He clutched a clipboard against his portly stomach and rocked back and forth on his feet.

“Sorry there friend, didn’t mean to startle you.” The man gave a reassuring smile. “The name is Bertram.”

Virgil sighed.

“No problem, er, Bertram.” Virgil cast his eyes about nervously. This was it; he was sure of it. He had found a person, now, to get the right question. “What’s going on here?”

“New orders from the big guy in charge, massive infrastructure upgrades realm wide and we have a week to do it! Management, eh? In truth, I liked the old look, but not complaining here. It makes sense to move away from combustible materials like thatched roofs. Never know when a dragon will take a special interest in our little old town eh?" Bertram laughed as if he hadn’t just made a joke about a dragon burning his home down. Virgil doubted he would ever understand the folk in the imagination.

“Management…yeah.” Virgil swallowed. He didn’t know why he was so anxious talking to a person that literally did not exist. “So, the Prince has done this? Is he around?”

“Where have you been?” Bertram laughed again. “We don’t have a Prince anymore.”

Virgil’s blood ran cold.

Next

[slime-the-awesomeguy]

hguvbhghn so much write

coughs up little ball made purely of digital letters and tiny green apples (whole)

i dont know if we've seen Wren b4,, so here he is!!... i have yet to update his design a bit

===

Wren had his head hung over his shoulders as boredom overcame him, seeing as he'd been waiting for quite awhile. He stared at the grassy, warm-toned ground, subsequently sighing with an unamused expression, before hearing some footsteps off to the right.

He'd tilt his head to get a look and see a familiar figure, scowling lightly as he fixed his eyes on Sir. He scooted over, adjusting his bag and straightening his posture to be fixed up against the back of the bench he'd been sat on. Sir would have been making his way through the park, humming softly before spotting his brother on the bench. He put on a smile and made his way towards Wren, subsequently sitting down once he got there. Sir leaned against the back of the bench with a relaxed demeanor, waiting for Wren to initiate some form of a conversation; Whether it be a 'hello' or something along those lines, he just waited patiently.

"... Hey. " Wren muttered, keeping his eyes off his sibling and focusing on the nearby creek running under a small bridge. He didn't want to see Sir, but he felt it had been too long since the two talked. "Good afternoon, Wren!" He greeted back eagerly, starkly contrasting Wren's quiet demeanor. "It's nice to see you again!... I'm sorry I never got to apologize after the fight we had at Jovial." He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward expression, though trying to keep a warm expression.

Wren would roll his eyes lightly in response, fumbling with the strap on his bag. "It's... Whatever." He'd mutter once more, barely keeping his voice over a mumble. Sir was used to it, but it didn't exactly change how guilty he'd feel knowing Wren wasn't exactly open to talking to him. Especially considering the fact that he'd felt he failed as both a sibling and some sort of parental figure for Wren. Sir couldn't help but frown a little, glancing off to the side and examining the ground. He slowly reached into his own little travel bag and pull out some cherry shaped and flavored gummies, handing the plastic packaged item to Wren. "Here," He started, putting his hands in his lap once Wren took them. "I saw them at a store and remembered you liked cherries, so I thought you'd like them!... Err.. Unless you don't like them anymore, it has been awhile." Sir chuckled, smiling gently.

He'd hold the bag for a few moments, soon opening it and taking one out. ".. Thanks. " He stated, before eating it and placing the baggie in his satchel. "..So... What'd you want?" He asked plainly, not bothering to meet Sir's gaze. "Oh! Right, haha! Well,,... Ehhmm.." Sir would nervously fidget with his tie, glancing off to the side before returning his gaze toward Wren. "I did just want to say sorry.. I do know you're still upset for what had happened but--..." He'd soon be interrupted, frowning lightly. "Don't tell me how I feel." Wren spat, clenching his jaw slightly and scowling. "I'm not forgiving you." He responded with a huff, crossing his arms and glaring off to the side. He didn't even wanna think about it, or hear Sir speak. He was practically a traitor, and stupid, and so easy to hate with his stupid smile. Sir always tried too hard, never left things alone even if they needed to be left alone. He was annoyingly anxious and always asked stupid questions. AND- "Listen.. I know, what I did was... a bit unwise ,but knowing what I know now.. It's better I hadn't taken you with me... Though, letting you stay with dad those couple years wasn't the best choice either." Sir sighed softly, watching as Wren's tensed frame would soon soften, though keeping the upset expression. He didn't respond, although.

Sir would soon smile lovingly and sit back, looking towards the woods in front of them. "... You know you're allowed to tell me what I did wrong,, right? No one's really around us, and it's nice to finally be... Well, out in nature." Sir chuckled, glad to be able to be somewhere else than his work or his apartment. Wren spoke up after a few moments, mumbling under his breath. "..Maybe-.. We shouldn't--.. I just- You-" Wren began to uncross his arms, fidgeting with the strap of his bag and staring at the ground. " Grhhnn.. Have you even gotten better? You left with zero warning besides a small goodbye, change your name, move several states away and then-- DISAPPEAR!! You just.. Cut contact! Especially after all the stunts you pulled and everything you did to dad and mom and-" Wren looked up, staring at Sir. His demeanor had changed and he had a saddened expression on his face filled with guilt and regret, holding a hand over his mouth. He couldn't bare to make eye contact with Wren or even say anything.

"...Was what we even know the truth..?"

Wren's voice asked somewhat shakily, of which snapped Sir out of the small spiral he was pulling himself into. "Wh.. What?" Sir responded, pulling himself to look at Wren. "I.. You just-.. We-... Listen,, he's been lying, hasn't he?" ===

cpoguhs and smiles not my best work but this was just a one off situation i thought would be fun to write!!! yippie yahoo!! this is missing so much context but ooooo maybe i'll come back with more ooo spooky haejhhehee idk if this is even canon but maybe it will be ahehehehee @therealjackdsaf

[clovermarigold]

Daggers & Daffodils Chap.19

Dagur x Reader

Yay! longer chapter and a faster update! I'm finally getting into a better headspace and am enjoying writing again.

Thanks for reading. Also, for anyone interested in AOT, check out my mafia Erwin Fic.

"Tuffnut! * ACHOOO! *" you scream at the blond as the poor Gronkle you were trying treat's rash was interrupted by Ruff and Tuff's prank, replacing your herbs with weeds that triggered your allergies. It's been three years since the war with the Berserkers and a lot has changed. Snotlout is working at the armory, the twins much to everyone's chagrin have pledged themselves to Loki, Fishlegs is a history teacher now, Astrid has told you she plans to join the Berk guard. The atter being something she has yet to tell Hiccup, which left slightly anxious to see how he would react. You had continued your training under Gothi and finished your studying of human medicine. Beyond that, you were learning and inventing medicine and cures for dragons, as well as documenting dragon behavior with Fishlegs. You had even managed to train Scabbard to be a sort of emotional help assistant, helping to calm both human and dragon patients (and even yourself on rough days).  

It seemed like everyone in the group had found their place in the world, all that is, except for Hiccup. You loved your brother, but at the end of the day you had new responsibilities.  You could see that he was struggling to keep the group together. In the beginning, once the war had finished, you and the others had explored every corner of the archipelago and found every known dragon to ever exist. Hiccup still believed there were more dragons out there but with no signs for years, everyone just sort of moved on, all but Hiccup that is. You were worried how the only group member that still went looking with him (Astrid) leaving would affect him.

Wiping your nose and eyes you walked home, calling it quits after the twins' stunt left you puffy eyed and pink nosed. Placing your satchel on the table you stretched out the tension built throughout the day. When the sound of the door opening caught your attention, you didn't need to look to know it was your brother. "Hey Hiccup, how was your day?".

"Yeah yeah fine" he said quiet and defeated making you stop your stretching to watch his slightly hunched over form march to his room with Toothless in tow. Silver Tongue let out an almost questioning coo laced with his regular sour attitude. "I'm not sure bud".

"Hiccup, is everything alright?" you ask knocking on his door. "Yeah, just a long day" the tone of his voice made it obvious that it was a lie, but you didn't want to push it. "Ok... Is it ok if Scabbard sleeps with you. She's a bit upset with Silver Tongue right now, I think she could use some space" the room remained quiet until the door cracked open just wide enough for a small dragon to crawl through. On cue, Scabbard scrambled through, ready to put her newfound skills to the test. "Atta girl. Come on Silver Tongue, let's go to bed" you turned only to see that he had left for your room a while ago. "You suck" you sigh.

The next day was made up of finding and sorting all the herbs the twins had replaced and hidden around Berk. "Y/N!" you heard Astrid call for you as you were half inside a barrel trying to reach the bundle of cloves Ruffnut had no doubt hidden there "Yeah?".

"We have an emergency". You pull yourself out and dust your hands on your apron. "What is it. Did the dragons eat something?".

"I need you to promise you're not going to freak out" Astrids request made you uneasy. "Ok?" Astrid took a deep breath and looked you in the eye, "Dagur escaped outcast Island". Your stomach sank as you were hit by a wave of dread. Dagur was free? As in, roaming the archipelago to do whatever he wants?

"Y/N, breathe" you hadn't noticed you were holding your breath until Astrid put her hand on your shoulder. You thought everything was over, that you wouldn't need to think about that man and his stupid face ever again. Scabbard was quick to jump into action, crawling up onto your shoulder and purring while filling your ears with the sounds of strong steady breaths for you to copy. "Are you ok?" Astrid asks hand on your back, to which you nod.

It's been three years since you last saw him, and the last thing you said to him was a panicked "hi". Seriously you couldn't have even bothered to say "Hey Dagur, you're cool and all, and I really like you. But you tried to steal my brother's dragon so I'm going to have to throw you in prison now" granted that wasn't much better, but you could have said literally anything, and it would have been infinitely better. He was probably on his way to get revenge on you and Hiccup along with the rest of Berk.

Wait a minute... NO nonononono! You. do. not. like. Dagur. Astrid pulled you out of your rambling thoughts when she dragged you along to the old academy so Hiccup could brief everyone on the plan. You could feel everyone's eyes on you when you arrived, but you were too in thought to acknowledge it.

"All we got out of Johann before he passed out was this: Dagur escaped from Outcast Island by commandeering his ship. He threw Johan overboard about here" Hiccup said gesturing to a large map.

"So, what you're saying is Dagur could be anywhere by now" Snotlout crossed his arms. "Well, technically, yes".

"Oh" Snotlout smiles "Great great great. SO that just leaves -- I don't know, let me think about this-- THE ENTIRE OCEAN TO SEARCH!" he screams "No thank you".

"Master Hiccup" Johann greets. "Johann, you're awake". "And feeling much better, thank you for asking. More importantly, I have more than a strong suspicion where our nefarious foe may be heading" he says waving his hand over the edge of the map. "Outside the archipelago?" Hiccup asks.

"No! Just inside the fog bank on our outer group of islands". "We've never been out that far".

"When Dagur commandeered my precious ship, he also came into possession of a very important map-- one that leads to a graveyard of ships hidden in that fog bank" Johann says distressed only for Snotlout to interrupt. "Wow! That's the first place I'd go" Snotlout says laced with sarcasm.

"Can I hit him?" you look to Hiccup who put his head in his hand at your anticks.

"If I may be allowed to finish?-", "Johann, last time we allowed you to finish, we ended up on Breakneck Bog. So, no-- no finishing. OW!" Snotlout stopped as your hand swung down hitting him on the back of the head.

"Enough!" Hiccup called, "What's so special about the graveyard and why would he go there?". "Well, you see--" Hiccup put his hand up to cut him off, "The short version please".

Johann's face fell as he did what even Odin would not think possible; Summarize, "It's where I store all my treasures and wars". The groups jaws dropped, and eyes widened at his words. So short, so precise, and to the point. "Wow, concise, to the point. Who knew he had it in him?" Tuffnut gasped.

"Johann, is there anything else?" Hiccup asked.  "As a matter of fact, there is one ship you must avoid at all costs. It's called... the Reaper. Riddled with booby traps from stem to stern. Barely made it out with my life the only time I dared venture aboard".

"Ok, Toothless, let's go. Unless of course, any of you can make time out of your busy schedules to capture a dangerous maniac?" It was obvious that the rest of the group was already in, and despite your concerns, you knew you couldn't let them do this alone. "Right then. Saddle up, and we'll head out".

You would be lying if you didn't say the flight over was somewhat fun. Hiccup had you do your old formations and like before Snotlout didn't listen. It was familiar, comfortable even. "So, Y/N" Snotlout began to ask, and you prepared for something stupid. "Are you sure, you're gonna be ok locking up your boyfriend again?" your eyes widened and grip on your saddle tightened. "Woah!" snotlout screamed as you flew Silver Tonge into his side, nearly knocking him off. "Alright alright! I get it, touchy subject" he scoffed.  

Astrid and Hiccup shared a concerned look before Hiccup spoke, "Y/N, if this is too much, you don't have to do this. We can handle Dagur". "No. I'm fine".

It was night by the time you reached the fog banks, the water littered with wrecked ships. "I knew it. I knew there was more" Hiccup said. "Some of these ships, I've never seen anything like them before" Astrid chimes in. "Ok, everybody fan out. If you see any trace of Dagur, send a signal".

With a deep breath you wing left, separating from the others. Silver Tongue growled lowly as you swept through the fog, "Easy boy, I know, I don't like this either", maybe you should have brought Scabbard, she would do a much better job at calming him down. At the very least you know Dagur isn't here.

Landing top of a ship you meet the others. "No sign of Dagur" you say as you slide off of your saddle. "Looks like we got here first. What's the plan?".

"We wait". "Wait a minute. For how long? This Fog really gives Meatlug the willies" Fishlegs asks. "He's right, the low visibility is putting Silver Tongue on edge" he hasn't stopped looking around since you got here. And you can only imagine it will get worse when Dagur shows up, seeing as the two didn't leave on the best terms. "They have a point" Astrid says, "We can't wait around here forever". "Well, we can't just leave Johann's treasures here either. Dagur will steal them".

"And use the profits to build a new armada" That wouldn't be good. One Berserker armada was enough for your lifetime. "Not if we steal them first" says Ruff followed by her brother. "That is the dumbest idea I've ever heard. I hereby disown you!".

"Actually, you know what? I sort of like it" Hiccup says. "Welcome back to the family" You could swear you feel a headache coming on from their idiocy.

"Here's the plan: we search the ships, gather up Johann's treasure, and take it back to Berk. But keep your eyes open for Dagur, he could show up at any time" The sounds of loud hissing interrupted Hiccup as giant eels launch themselves onto the Reaper. "Silver Tongue!" but it was too late. The dragons had been spooked off, taking off, all except for Toothless.

As if things could be worse, several eels began to wrap themselves around one side of the ship, causing it to tip vertically. "The eels are pulling the ship down!" Fishlegs yells as you all begin to slide down the deck. "Fishlegs, grab my foot!" Snotlout yells in a rare moment of courage after he gets a grip on the ship. And like a chain each of you grab onto the other's feet, much to Snotlouts pain.

"We're gonna live!" Tuff cheers enthusiastically. Astrid, who is at the end of the chain, however, and gripping onto your feet begins to slip. "Astrid!" you look down to see as she loses hold of you. "Most of us are gonna live!". Hiccup and Toothless dive into the water after her, blasting the eels under water and pulling her out, scaring the eels away and causing the ship to rock back onto its hull.

As you each pulled yourselves up from the ground you clutched your ears at Snotlouts shouting. "Pardon me, does anyone else think that Johann could have warned us about I don't know, THE GIANT SCREAMING EELS?!".

"Snotlout would you relax" Hiccup scolds, "The dragons will be back. In the meantime, we stick with the plan. We find Johann's treasure, quietly". Snotlout frowns and stomps away, each of you splitting up to search a ship.

Once you had found an unoccupied ship you made quick to check the captain's quarters, which yielded no treasure. The hull, however, was a different story. Creeping down the stairs a gently as possible did nothing to silence the loud creak of the boards. "Odin's beard" you said, your jaw practically on the floor. The hull was filled with chests overflowing with weird green ores.

"What are you?" you inspect the ore; it was definitely not from the archipelago. The sound of a creak sounded behind you, someone is here. Quickly you draw your sword and crouch behind one of the larger chests.  

"Check down there!" with a grumble, another voice trudged down the stairs. "Nuth'n but more of the green stuff" the oafish voice called to the other. Peaking over the chest you looked the man up and down. Until a small sigil caught your eye, Berserker. The other voice called down, "Well, start loading it up".

"Damn it" no way to sneak out of this one.  The Berserker took three steps towards the chest to your immediate left, and you used this to your opportunity. Quickly you pounced on him, covering his mouth so he couldn't scream as locked your legs around his throat. He flailed around for around a minute and a half when he stopped moving. "What's taking so long? Hurry up!", "...".

"Did you hear me? I said, Hurry U-" The Berserker was interrupted by a large brick of green ore hitting him square in the face as you rushed up the stairs. You ran as quickly as you could, trying to use his disoriented state to your advantage but unfortunately, he wasn't the only Berserker on the deck. "Damn it" you were met face to face with five Berserkers two of which had crossbows now pointed at you. Begrudgingly you dropped your sword and kicked it over. leaving your hidden dagger in your boot.

"Sir" one of the Berserkers greeted, looking behind you. Turning your head, above you next to the ships steering stood the source of all of your problems.

Sarcasm spilled from your every pore "Oh well isn't that just perfect".

[loreleismusings99]

Two Body Problem

Ch 2

[Masterlist]

Mark's having a crisis and doesn't understand Shakespere references.

You and Mark have an impromptu duel, and a much needed heart to heart follows.

AN: turns out the energy and motivation was there to write more. As always, let me know what you think, and thank you for taking the time to read this 💚

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"What the fuck-" 

Mark shuts the door to his and Colin's apartment and lets his satchel slump to the ground with a dull thud. 

"What's got you out of sorts now?" Colin calls out from his room next to their small kitchen after turning down the The Dead Kennedys album he's playing. Mark walks further into the apartment and searches around in their fridge for something to sip on while updating Colin on the state of the crisis he's been in the throws of since the little grading session he had with you the previous night. 

"The bane of my existence for this past year is driving me up a wall," Mark settles on a Pepsi, and plops himself down on their couch he brought over from an estate sale in Evanston. "I made the most inconsequential of mistakes during my office hours and they just had to show up just to correct me in the most humiliating way possible--in front of a student no less-" 

"By embarrassing, do you mean actually embarrassing, or are you just upset at being wrong and getting called out on it?" Colin asks bluntly. 

"Dude, whose side are you on?" Mark scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, I didn't know there were sides again." Colin retorts before standing up from his chair and leaning in the doorway leading out of his room and sighs. "I thought you two were getting along, what happened?"

Mark groans and runs a hand down his face. "I don't know... I feel like getting under eachother's skin has become a habit at this point. Like, if feels weird to be civil." Mark says into a swig of Pepsi. Since the two of you met, the both of you have always been all teeth and snark, finding new ways to raise the others blood pressure. Trying to turn that around now, however advantageous it was, felt like trying to fit a square peg through a round hole.  

"These things take time, you know." Colin says with a raised eyebrow. "You need to actually bond with them, make an effort to get along before you can expect them to do the same." 

"I wish it were easier; sometimes it's impossible to figure out what's going on in their head..." Mark sighs out dejectedly as he props his feet up on the coffee table. 

Colin considers Mark for a moment before asking, "Have you maybe tried asking them? What's going on, I mean; how they're feeling?" 

"What, and let them know I might care about them?" Mark let's out a deflated chuckle before uttering a soft "no thank you." As much as he dispised you, Mark found himself thinking a lot about you in a way he wasn't used to. When he met you, he mistook you for an undergrad with how uptight and nervous you seemed, but after seeing you in his advanced controls class and watching you pick appart his work with the precision of a surgeon, he quickly recalibrated his perception of you, having proved yourself to be quite the formidable force in Northwestern's academic ecosystem. You were the kind of person who let their work speak for itself, and you had the chops to back it up too. Hell, he'd maybe even allow himself to admit how much you intimidate him if it wouldn't bruise his pride too much-

"Therein lies the root of your troubles, mon frère-" 

"Ugh, please don't psychoanalyze me-" 

"You're afraid of getting to close, of what you'll find if you take the time to actually delve into what you and others are feeling. Maybe start there, and you might actually get somewhere with them and you can stop all this-" Colin gestures wildly at Mark who's somehow wriggled around so that he's lying face down on their couch, thinking that if he isn't looking at Colin then what he's saying will somehow be less correct, "melodrama and strife-filled grumbling. Hopefully sooner thather than later, though, I need you at your best for trivia tonight." 

Mark groans into the seat cushion currently molded to his face, "fuck, that's tonight?"

"Sure is, Mr. Benedick of Pauda. but you should be just fine, considering your area of expertice. Tonight's theme is the planets apparently," Colin calls out his response as he starts walking towards their kitchen to pick up an apple.

Mark turns his head and shoots Colin a confused look before asking, "...The celestial bodies or the orchestral suite by Holst?" 

"Could be either--no further clarification was given." Colin shrugs. " But between you and Meghan, we should have both bases covered" He says, referring to a mutual friend in the music department.

"Well, at least we have Meghan..." Mark sighs into the couch cushions again, and Colin rolls his eyes. "God Mark, If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're lovesick over your so-called 'rival'" Colin says with a chuckle. 

"Well, it's a good thing you know better, then." Mark's mumbles into the cushions, sending Colin into a laughing fit. 

☆☆☆

"Please, you gotta help me out! You dont have to join, it'll just be for tonight, I swear" Hana hangs onto your hands, walking backwards as the two of you stroll through the quad, on your way to different classes. 

"What happened to your girlfriend, Vanessa? Doesn't she usually go with you to trivia night?" You question, raising an eyebrow at how dramatic she's being about this.

"Yes, but she's dog-sitting for her Aunt in Hinsdale and won't be able to make it tonight. Hence my dilemma." Hana planted herself between you and the path to your destination and rested her hands on her hips. "Please? It'll be fun, and it's for a prize, we'll split it with you." 

You considered her for a moment before sighing and conceding, "fine, but you're buying me dinner while we're there." 

Hana clapped her hands together, "Deal!" She then looked down to her watch as the union bell rang throughout campus. "Shit, I'm late-" starting to jog away she calls over her shoulder, "I'll see you tonight! Thank you!!" 

You let out a sigh of resignation before continuing back on your path to your signals and systems class. 

Trivia. Seems easy enough. She said that the theme was "planets" so it shouldn't be too difficult; you work at the Adler planetarium, so you already had knowledge to work with under your belt.

A rogue thought runs through your mind as you walk into the ECE building, I wonder if Mark's gonna be there. Heh, it would be lovely to get the chance to wipe that smug look off his face again. Thinking about his face, though, proves to be a dangerous line to cross; you find yourself reminiscing about the night previous, remembering the heat radiating off Mark's body as he finished your work on the whiteboard. He smelled faintly of cinnamon sugar(which surprised you, you didnt expect him to be into more gourmand sents, let alone sweet ones). He has flecks of brown suspended in his mostly green irises, so rich in color they almost looked russet in the study room's florencent light, and his flaxen hair looked so soft--

You shook your head in an attempt to free yourself from spiraling down that train of thought. You can't let him effect you like this, that way lies madness and possibly ruin for your reputation. Feeding into that gives him the upper hand, which is, of course, unacceptable. You took your usual seat in the classroom and took out your laptop. 

Hopefully this lecture'll be sufficiently distracting...

☆☆☆

The sheer volume of people and conversation happening is bordering on overestimating as you walk into the busy bar Hana directed you to when you asked where this 'trivia night' was. You shuffled past full tables and busy servers until you found where Hana, and a friend of hers--you think their name's Booker?--are seated. 

"Oh, thank God you made it, we're about to get started-" you set down your bag and look up, expecting to see Hana's face but instead locking eyes with a pair of viridecent ones. You can feel you heart drop to your stomach as the realization that Mark is also here sets in.

"You've got to be kidding me." The two of you utter at the same time. You feel a hand on your shoulder and whip your head around to see Hana with an apologetic look on her face. 

"I didn't know he was also going to be here, he isn't around every time." Hana says, trying to console you as youtpull your chair out from the table. 

"It's fine," you take your seat at the table and look up at Mark, smirking at him with a competitive glint in your eyes. This just got a lot more interesting. 

"What is carbon dioxide!" You say forcefully after hitting your team's buzzer. The past 10 questions have been about various planets in the solar system and you and Mark have been dominating the field . You look to your right at Mark to see his reaction; his hand is a mere milimiter above his team's buzzer; the overly confident smirk he started the game with is still present, but he's getting fidgetty. You're making him nervous. Good.

"Correct! Now, moving on to the Red Planet with this next question: Martian regolith has many things in common with that in the red rock canyon on Earth save for its lack of biological material and the presence of this compound that makes it marginally toxic-" Mark reaches for and hits his buzzer before you get the chance to hit yours. 

"What are perchlorates!" Mark calls out and you sit back dejectedly in your chair; whatever. I knew that, I could've totally answered that. 

"Correct!" Mark also sits back in his chair, but in relief. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at you with a... genuine smile on his face? The look in Mark’s eyes hold less of a boasting, and more of a hopeful air to them. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it looks like he's looking for a sign of approval. You were glaring holes into his skull before, but seeing the look in Mark's eyes causes your frown to soften into a soft and muted surprise. This moment is broken not 1 second later though when Mark twists his face into an impish grin and sticks his tongue out at you. 

"Wha- the audacity-" you say scandalized and look away from Mark, hoping he doesn't see you trying and failing to suppress an amused grin of your own at the immature gesture.

The two of you go back and forth answering questions until the questions run dry and you stalemate, your teams running out of time to do a tie-breaker. The two groups start to pack up and pay their respective tabs, and you gather up your bag onto your shoulder, saying goodnight to Hana and Booker (who verified that was, indeed, their name just before the game started) before making your way out of the bar.

You're walking down the sidewalk towards a bus stop shelter before you hear your name being called out behind you. You turn to see Mark jogging to catch up to you, and you pause to let him. Mark starts walking with you and asks, "where are you headed? You aren't headed back with Hana?" 

"No, I live in uptown--Hana's headed back to Evanston." You respond taking out your phone to check the time while you pull your coat tighter around you, trying to block out the cold Chicago wind. 

Mark is silent for a moment, considering you with an indicernable look--the same one he had the previous night when you two parted ways at the library. He looks out at the traffic infront of the bus stop shelter and sticks his hands in his pockets before asking, "that's actually where I'm headed too..." He trails off, looking lost in thought. 

You Interrupt his pondering by asking, "oh, okay. speaking of that, actually, where's Colin? Isn't he headed back home too?" raising an eyebrow in confusion up at him. 

Mark looks down at the concrete. "Nah, he's headed out with Megan and her partner to spend the night at their place to work on an assignment together. Some paper about the bubonic plague and secular mideval music?" He answers questioningly and looks up from the ground and at you, and you're suddenly reminded of the weight of Mark's presence. He doesn't really tower over you--in fact, he's only a few inches taller than you--but he'd be hard to miss. He stands with an air of poise you didnt expect after meeting him at that mixer only a few months ago now. He's surprisingly still; it took you a while to notice, but over time you discovered that Mark rarely moves unnecessarily or accidentally. Every gesture, every step he takes is effortless and made to look laissez, but are undeniably efficient. Around you, though, he's different; he loses the choreographed air to his movement and it makes every movement he makes around you feel monumental. Like you're a planet whose movements cause ripples in the fabric of his space time. 

"Oh." You give a muted response and look away from him, the intensity of...whatever is happening to you right now becoming too much. Mark picks up on this and leans away from you slightly.

Mark looks quickly behind him then back at you as he says, "Hey, I can take a different route back; there are other ways outta downtown-" and you cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. The contact sending a bolt of energy up your arm and straight to your chest.

"No no, it's okay. It's probably for the best that we go together anyway. Safety in numbers, right?" You look at him with the friendliest smirk you can muster. It takes a noticeably long eat of time before Mark answers, seemingly distracted by something.

"Yeah...Yeah, of course." You nod at this and return your hand to your pocket. Mark looks past you and down the street before saying, "looks like our bus is here." The two of you show your student IDs and find a couple of seats in a well lit corner of the bus. The two of you sit in silence for a beat before Mark speaks up, finally breaking the silence.

"So... have you heard that Winston's moving to UChicago in the Spring?" Mark looks over to you as you turn your head to give him a confused look, wondering what he could possibly be getting at. 

"I actually haven't--different department, remember?" You respond with a smirk.

"Ah yeah, well... supposedly they offered her more funding so she's taking her lab and students with her--at least the ones who want to leave." 

"Facinating." 

"Yeah, indeed." 

The two of you sit, silently looking at each other, before the both of you burst out in a fit of laughter. 

"God that was... possibly the worst attempt at small talk I've ever heard-" you choke out in-between laughs and gasps of air. 

"Well, you don't exactly make it easy" Mark laughs back. And you frown slightly, finally starting to compose yourself. 

"What do you mean?"

Mark pauses and lets out a laugh before looking first down at his hands, then up at the empty seats infront of you. "...It's hard to tell what's on your mind sometimes; I'm, uh... I'm used to people being a lot easier to read than you are." Mark looks over to you on his left then back down at his hands, which have started to fidget with a red REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag attached to his key ring. "Which leads to me trying to talk to you about gossip in a department you aren't even in." He let's out with a scoff and looks out the bus windows infront of you two as the city lights zip past.

You take him in visually for a moment, considering what he just shared with you. First the prospect of being hard for him to read makes you proud, but that quickly gives way to a surprising melancholy. You find yourself kind of wanting him to be able to read you. To share with him as much as he shares with you. Finally you break your silence and ask him, "why Botany?"

"...What?"

"Why Botany? What calls you to it? What makes the hours of writing and literature review worth it?" 

Mark looks at you and considers this for a moment before answering. "You know, I actually studied engineering in undergrad? Well, molecular engineering. There's something very profound in building something--starting from the bottom up. your effort and energy turning into something tangible that can interact with and help the world.

During the pandemic, I picked up gardening with my dad and I got that same feeling. I realized that nature's an engineer too; it builds these wonderful structures and systems around us. Systems we can find novel uses for and are beutiful in their own right." He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and laughs. "You're probably gonna think this is corny, but the prospect of getting to build something with that, to make it easier for someone to get food and water here on Earth or elsewhere..." Mark trails off looking out into the distance behind you before meeting your eyes. "That's, honestly,  incredibly thrilling. Not just to build using nature, but to build with nature. To work together with it." 

When Mark talks like this, it's like a mask slips off and you can see the inner workings of his mind. His motivations, his love, his fear, his joy, all layed bare to you. "Thats not corny at all." You respond with a soft smile before you begin to share yourself. "...One of my earliest memories is watching lighting strike a transformer outside my bedroom window as a toddler. I remember feeling like time slowed down, like I could feel it's power through the window pane. I watched the bolt travel down the power cables and shut off power for my entire block and the next neighborhood. It felt like magic. That something from the sky could effect the light bulbs, the tvs, the family computer. Could be powerful enough to tear the sky apart just to seek ground.

When I learned we could harness what causes it to power the world, to make sand think and calculate, to even help fix something wrong in us, to give someone life again... it feels like the closest humans can get to being superheroes. Magicians pushing electrons around to get us to the Moon, or to monitor someones health. I don't think enough people realize that we aren't that different from a circuit. Humans have more in common with the machines we build than we realize. That the heart's a capacitor driven pump. That technology isn't the antithesis to all things natural. That it is natural." 

This time you look down at your hands and let out a scoff. "It's funny how ironic that sounds." You run a hand down your face before continuing, "especially considering how hard this all has been." 

"What do you mean?" Mark asks carefully, tilting his head to see your face better. 

"...I, uh, don't come from a long line of academics like you do," you laugh out, "I've no guide or blue-print to follow. No-one to teach me but experience and my advisor. I'm the first in my family to get into a PhD program. Which comes with its own set of expectations and pressures." You pause for a moment, looking out ahead of you before continuing, "It's hard to feel like I even belong here sometimes..." you hear Mark turn in his seat so that he's fully facing you now. He says your name and you turn to look him in the eye. 

"When I say this, know I mean this with every fiber of my being: you deserve to be here. More than most of the people that go here. You're fucking brilliant. I know we get under eachothers skin just a little-" 

"Understatemt of the century-" 

"Would you please not ruin the moment we're having right now?" Mark interrups you back with a laugh and you laugh with him. "You're one of the few people I really have to use my brain for when I'm talking to them. You're too good to mess up around. You make me actually try." The bus's automated announcement calls out your stop and you tug on the stop signal cable. "And, I hope I do the same for you, at least."

The bus stops and the two of you stand to disembark. As you start walking towards your building, you look up at Mark and say, "you do.... Probably more than you realize." 

Mark looks down at his shoes and sways to bump his shoulder into yours, a goofy-looking grin lighting up his face. His shoulders warm and feeling it against you is surprisingly grounding.

Mark walks you up to the entrance of your building before saying goodnight and walking off in the direction you presume his apartment building is in. You close the door and start walking down the hallway leading to the elevator before pausing to process what just happened. You used to hate Mark. He used to be an obstacle in your path. A distraction at best, and an active hindrance at worst. Now, though, you can't find it in you to conjure up the malice you used to feel for him. What's taken its place is this warm feeling of... comraderie? Mutual understanding? Fondness??? You take a breath before running a hand down your face and walking up to the elevator doors. 

"... what the fuck..."

[musewritingsforyou]

Changed

Summary: Spencer gets out of jail and reunites with Y/N but is afraid he has changed too much.

Warnings: crying, angst, mentions of prison, mentions of injury (very minor)

words: 2.4 K

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Gn!Reader

A/N: its been a while so I thought I would write a single chapter thing to please the people. if anyone has any cool ideas for another single or even a multichap lmk, I would be happy to oblige.

*I do not own any CM characters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I scurried around Spencer and I’s apartment hastily grabbing his old satchel and tossing a jacket into it. Even since he left for prison this was the only bag I would use, no matter how many things I had to carry I would only use his satchel. It was just a way for me to be with him even if I couldn’t really be with him. The first visit anyone from the team had with him he made them promise that they wouldn't let me go see him. He said he would call me when he could, and he did, or tried too, but after a week the calls stopped. JJ assured me that he was okay, she continued to see him once a week and would always call me and update me every chance she got, but it just wasn't enough. I needed to see him.

So today, I woke up. I called the prison to let them know I would be visiting, and I packed up to leave. I was more nervous today than I was on the day he was put in there. That day I was so confident that he would be fine, I thought it was a cut and dry thing and he would be home for dinner that night, but he wasn't. Just as I put my hand on the doorknob to leave I heard a ring come from my phone inside Spencer's satchel. I looked down at it to see a picture of JJ holding Henry lighting up my screen in the dark of my apartment.

“JJ, hi, I was about to call you actually, well sort of, i'm on my way to see Spence and I know he didn't want me to come, but I think I have a way to get him out of there and I just need to be the one to tell him you know?”

She was silent on the other end for a second before taking a very deep breath.

“Y/N, he's here.”

“What do you mean he's here, are you at the prison?”

“No, Y/N, he’s at the BAU, he's been out for a day”

Right away my mind went to all sorts of places I knew it shouldn't.

“Why didn't anyone tell me! What, does he not want to see me! Is he even okay?” I was screaming into the phone even though I knew it wasn't fair to her. Whatever this was, it wasn't JJ’s fault.

“Hey, hey! Don't go there, it wasn't like that I promise. As soon as we got him out we had to throw him into a case, he wanted to call you I promise but, Y/N, it was about Cat.”

“He was out for less than a day and that bitch tried to take him away from me again? Where is he, he couldn't have called me?”

“It wasn't just about Cat, it was about his mom, listen she's fine now, everything’s okay, but I need you to come get him from the BAU. he needs you to take him home. He needs you”

“I’m on my way”

It was those last three words that got me out of my head. Who was I to be angry at him when poor Spence had gone through so much. Still with his satchel on my shoulder I finally left our small apartment. Barely moved into before he was taken from me so abruptly. It just wasn't fair, the universe had it out for him I swear, first his mom gets sick, and then when he goes to help her he’s almost killed, and then he was convicted for something we all know he would never in a million years do, he won't even tell me what happened in there because it was so bad, and then he finally gets out, unbeknownst to me, is thrown into a case before he can even call, has to go back to that horrible women who tears him apart. Even just thinking about it makes me cry for him. He didn't deserve any of it.

I wipe a few stray tears from my eyes as I step into the car and put his satchel on the passenger's side of the car. I look up at the picture of him I placed on the console and place it back in my bag, ever so ready to replace it with the real thing.

“I'm coming Spence”

~~~~~~~~~

The drive from our apartment to the BAU is particularly long, but it seemed even shorter to me this time. Maybe I was speeding, who knows, but I was almost surprised when suddenly I found myself in the parking garage outside of their buildings, as if my brain had decided it wasn’t important to focus on driving when there was something more important to come.

I grabbed the brown satchel and threw it on my shoulder before running into the elevator and frantically pressing the level six button repeatedly. Spencer's voice in my head chuckled, you know that wont make it go faster, right? He's so close. I couldn't help the tears that started to fall again as I took shaky breaths to calm myself. I didn't know what sort of pain he was in right now, and it wouldn't be fair of me to make him have to take care of me. I wiped them off again as the elevator stopped on floor six. I waited impatiently for the doors to open and tears started again no matter how hard I wanted them to stop. And then the doors opened.

It was like I was seeing him for the first time all over again. He had obviously heard the elevator ding and began walking towards it as the doors were opening slowly. So when, finally, the doors were opened all the way he was facing me, battered and bruised and opening up the glass doors I had seen him behind many times before.  I was frozen as I looked at him. He was there, he was my Spencer but, different. I took one step out of the elevator before I just stopped breathing all together,. He walked toward me still with the whole team behind him, sorry looks on their faces. I finally unfroze and ran the distance to him, throwing myself into his arms. It startled him and he flinched but wrapped his arms around me automatically.

“It's you,” I said in between sobs and he nestled his head into my neck.

“Its me”

I continued to cry as he held me. When I finally lifted my head from his shoulder I looked at his team, who were staring lovingly back at me. I looked at all of them and mouthed; thank you, before pulling back from Spencer to kiss him. His lips were chapped and mine were salty. But the love that he put into that kiss was more than I had ever felt from him. When we finally broke apart I clung to him as we walked into the elevator. The entire interaction was about ten minutes, all of which were just me crying as he held me. Ten minutes seemed like a lifetime to me.

In the elevator he was silent. He looked down at the floor, obviously deep in thought and I just started at him. The more I looked the more worried I became. For each second I looked at him I saw one more cut, one more bruise, one more scar that wasn't there the last time I saw him. Even though he didn't look up at me or even speak at all, he put a hand on the crook of my elbow like he always used to and held it tight for the entire walk back to the car. He still had a slight limp from the incident last week. It served as yet another reminder to me that the Spencer I’m with right now is not the same Spencer that i knew before.

The drive home again felt short. He never spoke and neither did I, but I could feel his gaze on me as I drove, just trying to tell if I was really there. When we made it up the stairs to our apartment door he stood behind me and stared at the door. When I opened it with my keys and held it open for him he shook his head quickly as if trying to wake himself up from something and then finally walked inside. Every move he made was like he was afraid of hurting himself or me.

“Go sit, i'll make you something to eat”

I wasn't going to say it for fear of sounding like a grandmother, but he looked very thin. I mean I love my string bean boyfriend don't get me wrong, but this wasn't healthy.

I reheated him some Rossi pasta leftovers that I knew he would love before placing it in front of him at the counter. I sat on a stool beside him and got a comb to work through his hair. He ate tentatively but seemed to relax as I brushed through his hair. The comb did nothing so eventually I just worked my fingers through his curly locks, trying to bring more comfort than fix it.

That entire night we didn't speak at all. Well, he didn't. Every once in a while I would talk to him, just one sided things, i'll go clean up, why don't you get changed, let’s go to bed. And finally when we laid in bed I moved all the way onto his side and tried to have as much of me touching him as possible. He touched my back carefully, like he was afraid of breaking me. Eventually I fell asleep, but I don't know if he ever did. At some point I suppose he must have because he woke me up screaming. Rocking himself back and forth with glassy eyes and heaving.

“Spence? Spencer, you're okay! Look at me hey,-” I moved so that I was sitting in front of him but was careful not to touch him.

“You're okay, i'm right here, it’s okay” the screaming stopped but the glassy look in his eyes stayed and he still cried and rocked back and forth. He looked so..pained. After he had stopped screaming I placed a tentative hand on his arm careful to do it slowly so I wouldn't startle him. He flinched and looked at me with terrified eyes.

“Don’t, please, don’t.” I took my hand away but started to cry.

“Spencer, you aren't going to hurt me, it's okay.” he shook his head and looked almost angry through his tears.

“You don't. You don't know that.” so that's what this was about.

“Of course I do. I know you, and you would never hurt me, I know that.” I was crying but trying to keep myself calm so i wouldn't startle him.

“Do you know what I did today?” he raised his voice a little and his eyebrows pulled together.

“Did JJ tell you that she had to pull me off of Cat?”  i could feel my heart breaking into pieces, he wasn't just scared of hurting me for nothing, he had actually hurt someone.

“Did she tell you that I put my hands around her neck and shoved her against a wall? Did she tell you that I wanted to- no, that I would have killed her. If she wasn’t there to pull me off I would have killed someone. Did she tell you that?”

I sat there in shock not knowing what to say. She hadn't told me.

“Spencer you had good reason, anyone who’s been through what you have would-”

“Would what? Kill someone?”

“Spencer I know you wouldn't hurt me!”

“No, you don’t! Prison changed me, Y/N, i'm not the person you loved anymore!”

“Don't you dare say that! I love you Spencer! I love you now and I loved you then, you are the same person that I loved!”

“No. no i’m not. The Spencer that you fell in love with would never have done that. Would never have done this.”

He gestured to me, we were both crying fervently, covered in salty tears and snot. I was still sitting in front of him on the bed.

“Don't tell me that it didn't change me. It did. It did change me.”  

“Fine. it changed you. It also changed me. And you know how it changed us both?” I looked him dead in the eyes and placed a hand on his cheek wiping away a few tears.

“It made you more compassionate. More observant. It made you even more.. You. and it only made me love this new you more. So yes, yes it changed you, but that doesn’t mean I don't love you, that doesn't mean you are suddenly less deserving of love! I love you Spencer Reid, and I won't stop doing that just because you went through hell! You got out! And I am here! So why don't you just shut up and let me love you!”

He was silent for a couple of minutes after. We had both stopped crying. He placed a hand on my cheek just like mine was on his and looked me in the eyes with a small smile.

“Well, what's that for” I was still crying a little but when I heard him chuckle it took all of my tears away.

“Well, you told me to shut up and let you love me, so that's what I'm doing.”

he laughed a little, but bit his lip after he said it, trying to make himself stop laughing. But as soon as he said it I started laughing. The both of us laughed at each other. Snot covered and torn apart, but somehow still laughing.

“You know, I threw a book today” he laughed and pulled me into his chest where I looked up at him.

“A book? My goodness, maybe you aren't the same man after all!” I laughed at him and he shook his head as he smiled down at me.

“Nah, same man, I felt really bad afterword and made Garcia order another copy”

We both laughed and he kissed the top of my head. He slid down so we were both laying down in bed again. After a few minutes I noticed that his breathing was slow and steady. He was asleep. Peacefully asleep. I looked at him from his chest and with a small tear on my face kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you Spencer Reid. Always”

[supremeuppityone]

Klaroline fanfic update: Perhaps One Day

Working on a sequel to my Klaroline one-shot, Chapter 14 - Loyalty’s Price, in Perhaps One Day. Here's a quick peek:

Chapter 22

“The children were playing hoodsman’s blind — thou would raise rebellion over such a trifle? ‘Tis a prideful creature that dwells in thy stony heart, Lord Lockwood,” she scoffed, ignoring her handmaiden’s startled gasp as she reached for the small satchel tied at her waist. Pressing a handful of coins into the disgruntled lord’s palm, she crowed triumphantly, “There. Now thee has coin enough to purchase an appropriate embellishment — for once.”

            Klaus’ lips twitched in mirth at the brash woman’s bold defiance. Enchanting creature. He recognized the Lockwood surname and recalled they were minor nobles whose grasping aspirations far exceeded their worth. Unimpressed, he turned his focus back to the young woman, his curiosity piqued.

            Lord Lockwood snatched the coins with a beady-eyed, greedy manner that belied every unseemly whisper Klaus’ spies had informed him of regarding the Lockwoods. He growled, “Thy comely visage does not forgive such an inappropriate tongue, Lady Forbes.”

            Klaus felt his own growl rumble low in his chest and he moved forward instinctively, ready to rescue the maiden if Lord Lockwood proved to be an unscrupulous cur as well as a beef-witted oaf. He then paused as he considered Lockwood’s words. She was a Forbes. They were said to be artless sycophants whose loyalty to Mikael would not be swayed. He would call for their heads after Mikael’s defeat. And yet...