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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 28

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 28 - This Venerable One is A Little Confused

Elder Yuheng broke the rules and was punished. He might as well have sprouted wings. There was no need to wait until the next morning; Almost all the disciples of the sect had heard about it that same night.

Two hundred strikes; if he were replaced by any other ordinary person, they would probably be beaten to death. Even a cultivator isn't indestructible.

Xue Meng jumped up after learning about it: "What?! Master went to the Court of Discipline?"

"Young Master, go and talk to the Lord. He's already injured. How could he stand two hundred strikes?"

Xue Meng was going crazy: "My father? I can't. My father is still at the Snow Palace and hasn't returned yet. A carrier pigeon wouldn't even get there for another day. Why didn't you guys stop Shizun?"

Mo Ran and Shi Mei glanced at each other.

Stop Chu Wanning?

Who in this world could stop him?

"That's out of the question. I'm going to find him right now." Xue Meng roared and ran towards the Court of Discipline. Before he entered the courtyard, he saw a group of Elder Jielu's disciples blocking the entrance of the main hall, whispering about something.

"What are you standing there for? Move! Get out of my way!"

"Young Master!"

"Ah, the young master is here."

"Make way, the young master is here."

The disciples quickly separated and gave way to Xue Meng. The gate of the Qingtian Temple was open, and Chu Wanning was kneeling silently, his posture straight, his eyes closed. Elder Jielu, with an iron rod in hand, was reciting the laws of Life-Death Peak. Every time he finished reciting one, the iron rod slammed against Chu Wanning's back.

"The ninety-first law of this sect: do not indiscriminately hurt the innocent, and do not use cultivation against a mortal. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

"The ninety-second law of this sect; do not act arbitrarily, do not act selfishly. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

Elder Jielu didn't dare hold back and had to execute the punishment as he would with any other disciple. After more than ninety sticks came down, Chu Wanning's white robes were stained with blood.

Xue Meng respected Chu Wanning the most. When he saw this, his eyes went bloodshot, and he shouted: "Shizun!"

Chu Wanning ignored him. His eyes were still closed and he frowned slightly.

Elder Jielu glanced at the door and muttered: "Elder Yuheng, the young master is here."

"I'm not deaf, I heard him." Blood dripped out of the corners of Chu Wanning's mouth, but he didn't raise his eyes. "He's a noisy child, don't worry about it."

Elder Jielu sighed. ". . .Yuheng, why are you doing this?"

"Who is the one that is always punishing my disciples for being disobedient?" Chu Wanning said indifferently. "If I'm not punished today according to the law, how will I be able to face my disciples in the future?"

". . ."

"Carry on."

"Hah. . ." Elder Jielu looked at his pale, slender neck protruding from the edge of the wide collar that hung gently like thin smoke and asked: "Then can I at least make them lighter?"

". . . This is nothing more than deception." Chu Wanning said. "Don't worry. It's only two hundred strikes, I can bear it."

"Elder Yuheng. . ."

"Jielu, if you don't have anything more to say, carry on."

The iron rod finally fell again.

Xue Meng's voice was frantic: "Elder Jielu! Are you not going to fucking stop? Do you know the situation you've put me in? That's my shizun you're beating!!! My shizun!!!"

Elder Jielu had no choice but to bite his tongue and pretend he didn't hear him.

Xue Meng was about to explode: "Can't you hear me, old man? I'm ordering you to stop! You - If you dare hit him again, I'll, I'll, I'll—"

He thought for a while and couldn’t come up with anything to say. After all, he was only a fifteen-year-old boy. Regardless of the fact that he was "the proud boy of heaven," his strength and qualifications are far less than those of the elders. He could only blush and throw out an outrageous claim --

"I'll tell my father!!!"

Elder Jielu: ". . ."

Chu Wanning let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Ninety-seven strikes. Ninety-eight strikes. Ninety-nine strikes. One hundred sticks. . .

His clothes were torn and blood was glaringly seeping out.

Xue Meng couldn't hold back anymore. His eyes were red with anxiety, and he was about to recklessly rush in, but Chu Wanning suddenly opened his eyes. He waved his hand and a barrier instantly lowered, blocking the entrance. Xue Meng bounced back a few steps, almost falling to the ground.

Chu Wanning coughed up blood. He shifted his glare, narrowing his fierce phoenix eyes.

"Disgraceful! Leave!"

"Shizun!"

Chu Wanning sternly said: "Since when can the Young Master of Life-Death Peak order an Elder to bend the law for his own personal gain? Leave now!"

Xue Meng stared at him. His eyes widened and it looked like little beads of water appeared in them.

Next to him, Mo Ran stroked his chin, and the corner of his mouth was still playfully curled upwards: "Oh, that's not good. Little phoenix is going to cry."

Hearing these words, Xue Meng harshly turned his head and fiercely glared at Mo Ran. His watery eyes were red, but he kept any tears from rolling down.

He had no more objections and no more talk back.

He climbed up from the ground with a single movement. He lowered his head, grit his teeth and wiped the dust off his body. Then he knelt down facing the Qingtian Temple: "Shizun, I know my mistake."

Chu Wanning was still being tortured by an iron rod. His straight posture never wavered, but his face was pale, and his forehead was coated with a fine layer of cold sweat.

Xue Meng stubbornly said: "But I'm not leaving. I'll accompany Shizun."

He said while kneeling.

Mo Ran rolled his eyes towards the sky. Xue Meng, courtesy name Xue Ziming, the proud son of heaven, was only ever humble in front of Chu Wanning. In front of others, he was a phoenix, and in front of their shizun, he became a quail. If he wasn't positive that Xue Meng didn't like men, Mo Ran would start to suspect that this guy was probably in love with Chu Wanning, so much so that he would throw himself in front of death itself for him. If Shizun slapped his left cheek, then this little bitchy quail would humbly slap his right cheek.

Real convincing.

Like an obedient little puppy.

Although he despised him in his heart, he couldn't understand why he was feeling somewhat upset. Mo Ran looked at Xue Meng. The more he looked at him, the more uncomfortable he got and he felt that he could not let him show his loyalty alone.

Chu Wanning already didn't like him. If Xue Meng made such a fuss, does that mean Chu Wanning wouldn't be as harsh with him in the future?

So he simply went over and knelt beside Xue Meng.

"I'll also accompany Shizun."

Of course, Shi Mei also knelt down, and the three disciples all knelt and waited outside. When disciples under the other elders heard the circulating rumours, they all hurried to the Court of Discipline to watch the excitement.

"Oh my god, why is it Elder Yuheng. . ."

"I heard he went into a rage and beat a civilian."

"Ah! He's that cruel?"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. If Elder Yuheng hears you, he won't hesitate to whip you!"

Others: "Why is the young master kneeling?"

"Young Master Mo is also kneeling. . ."

Mo Ran was handsome and he had a way with words. He didn't know how many female cultivators he'd earned goodwill with over the years, but right now, there were several people who couldn't help but feel pity for him and whisper: "I feel so sorry for Young Master Mo. What should I do? Should we intervene?"

"We shouldn't concern ourselves with their shizun - disciple issues. Do it if you dare, I'm not that brave. Do you remember the senior sister who was whipped hundreds of times by Elder Yuheng..."

". . ."

The two hundred strikes were completed.

The barrier was finally removed.

Xue Meng quickly got up from the ground. He ran into Qingtian Temple and approached the scene. Seeing Chu Wanning's appearance, he cried out. He turned his head and grabbed Elder Jielu's collar. "You're dead, old man! Couldn't you have hit him a little lighter!!!"

"Xue Ziming." Chu Wanning closed his eyes, his blood-stained lips moving, and his hoarse voice carried a hidden deterrent.

". . ."

Xue Meng's knuckles creaked. He violently pushed Elder Jielu away, letting him go. This was when Mo Ran came in. He was still smiling, thinking that Elder Jielu must have taken into account Chu Wanning's status and wouldn't deal heavy blows. But looking down at Chu Wanning's injury, the smile on his face suddenly fell.

Didn't Chu Wanning tell Elder Jielu that he had a shoulder injury?!

The two hundred strikes had all more or less slashed across the older wound on his shoulder.

New wounds overlapped old wounds.

Chu Wanning, you. . .

Are you insane?!

His pupils shrank sharply, and a strong resentment surged into his heart.

Mo Ran didn't know what he was resenting, or what he was so annoyed about. He only knew that he felt a blazing fire in his gut, torching through all his organs. He was used to torturing Chu Wanning to death himself, crushing his self-esteem and tarnishing his purity. Mo Ran couldn't stand seeing injuries on Chu Wanning that were made by someone else!

He could move on from his past memories because Mo Ran subconsciously felt that this person was his. This person, whether dead or alive, hated or hated, was all.

He originally didn't care about Chu Wanning being punished because he thought that, since Chu Wanning was an elder, the two hundred strikes would hardly be considered a severe punishment.

At the very least, they would avoid the fresh wound on his shoulder.

But Chu Wanning didn't say anything! He didn't even mention it! What was this lunatic so stubborn? Why did he put up with this? What point did he so stupidly and stubbornly need to prove?!?

His mind was in turmoil. Mo Ran raised his hand to help him, but Xue Meng was already one step ahead of him. He took Chu Wanning in his arms and helped him up.

". . ." Mo Ran's hand hung in the air, and after a while, he slowly lowered it again.

He watched Xue Meng help Chu Wanning walk away, not knowing the feeling that was stirring in his heart.

He wanted to catch up with them, but he wasn't willing to move.

What happened in his past life was all in the past.

Nowadays, Chu Wanning was just his shizun.

Any chaotic, hateful, or intimate entanglement hadn't happened between them yet.

He shouldn't have such thoughts. Whether Chu Wanning was beaten by someone, supported by someone, loved someone, or was even killed by someone, it had nothing to do with him.

Shi Mei came to him: "Come on, let's join the young master and go take a look."

"I'm not going. It's enough having Xue Meng there. I wouldn't help much. Any more people would just create chaos." Mo Ran's face remained unchanged, but his heart was a bit confused.

He really didn't understand what he was feeling right now. What was this feeling called?

Was it hatred?

#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan #english translation #bl novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei

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britishassistant · 3 years

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I wonder what the supervillains (the dorm leaders) would do if they get switched with their other self in Twisted Wonderland.

They'll meet a younger Yuu calls them senpai and probably get shivers when they hear someone shout Prefect but then realize its Yuu's role in that world.

Bonus would be if Yuuken's there too, sharing the dorm with Yuu.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

I decided to take a little inspo from my Villainous Paranoiac series for this one! Not a whole lot, but the idea of Twisted Wonderland Yuu being put in the infirmary after the events of Chapter Five!

(Also consider it non-canon, since it kinda involves everyone’s identities being exposed!)

Basically imagine that the supervillains find themselves in what looks like a private school infirmary, late at night. The air is buzzing with a strange energy, almost like the powers back in their home world, but...different, somehow.

The room nearly empty, save for one occupant in a cot close to the door.

Poison Queen and King immediately begin bickering over whose fault this mess is, while Royal Flush tries to get them to keep their voices down or else they’ll be detected. Charon is half a minute from going to curl up in a corner, clutching his freeze ray like a lifeline, while Octo Dealer and Snake Charmer are busy inspecting their surroundings for anything of value or that can be requisitioned into a weapon on short notice.

Tsunotaro has wandered over to inspect the sole other living being in the room with them.

He is pleasantly surprised to see what looks like a younger version of the reporter he’s so fond of, fast asleep in the infirmary cot. Their cheeks still retain the last bit of baby fat from childhood, and there’s some acne left that will fade with age. He may give one cheek a gentle poke, just to satisfy his curiosity. The sleepy mumble they let out is a little more high pitched than normal, but that’s the reporter’s voice alright.

He is less pleased to see dark circles under their eyes, or the bandages around their throat that stink of medicinal salves. If this truly is a younger version of his child of man, then why do they look so worried, even in sleep? Why are they injured and sleeping in this place of healing in the first place? They’re a mere child, barely old enough to operate a vehicle or live alone. Their only worries should be trivial things, not whatever is causing this furrow in their brow and hunch in their shoulders.

The other supervillains have begun to migrate over to where Tsunotaro is crouching in silent contemplation. King flips his eyepatch up to get a better look, whistling lowly. Octo Dealer busies himself with refilling their water glass, sneaking glances at them as he places it within easy reach. Snake Charmer pulls their pillow more under their head from where it’s almost slipped off. Poison Queen straightens the arrangement of the very tasteful bouquet on the bedside table, so the flowers’ best angle is shown to the bed’s occupant. Royal Flush carefully tucks their covers in over them.

Charon takes a picture with his tablet.

He forgot to turn off his flash.

Yuu cracks their eyes open...

To see seven adults looming over their bed in masks that resemble the ink from the overblots that haunt the Prefect’s nightmares.

Cue terrified screaming.

Snake Charmer lunges forward instinctively to cover Yuu’s mouth—

It’s only thanks to Poison Queen yanking him back that he doesn’t end up with an arrow in the shoulder.

Several more follow the first one through the window above the prefect’s cot, cold iron sharp and perfectly aimed to seriously maim if the supervillains don’t immediately get away from the screaming teenager. Rook was lax in protecting the Trickster after VDC ended, assuming there was no more danger after Roi du Poison’s overblot was saved. He will not make that mistake again.

The infirmary doors burst open, a younger Yuuken in a sleep-rumpled uniform barging in from where he decided to sleep outside because Ramshackle felt too empty and quiet to bear, but was forbidden from staying in the infirmary himself. He only has a pillow, but he brandishes it at the strange adults, fully willing to defend his dorm mate in whatever way he can.

The vanguard appears in a flurry of bats though, too many to fight off, small and vicious and furious. Their commander materializes in the center if the swarm, hovering over the head of Yuu’s cot, pink eyes brimming with a cold rage that makes his small and cute form look like it’s bursting at the seams holding something much older and angrier back. He opens his mouth, fangs long and glistening—

Only to stop short at the sight of one of the supervillains. “Malleus? Malleus Draconia?”

Tsunotaro nods warily.

“Wh-What in Twisted Wonderland are you wearing??”

Tsunotaro ducks his head like a chastened child. “I could say the same thing.” He mutters sullenly.

From there the lights get turned on, and the seven supervillains are made to explain themselves to the sleep-deprived students and staff who trickle in to see what’s going on. All six dorm leaders and one vice dorm leader vanished from their beds, setting everyone on high alert until news of these...alternate versions spread.

It is very weird for the supervillains to see all their minions as teenagers (again in some cases). It is only surpassed by how weird it is for everyone else to see their dorm heads and vice head all grown up and adult, even if they are dressed weird.

Ortho still wants to shoot them with a beam until they bring back his nii-san. Luckily Charon is able to convince him that Idia should be fine if he’s in Charon’s lair—he’s got plenty of the latest games, manga and tech for him to play with, so that should keep him occupied for a while.

Sebek is in a state of Malleus awe. He has shut down and will not restart. Silver has taken to pinching himself just to make sure this isn’t a Lilia’s cooking induced fever dream, while Lilia himself scolds Tsunotaro that he raised him better than to go around watching people sleep like that! Tsunotaro tries to use the “but I’m a supervillain” excuse, only for Lilia to shoot back “and I’m a war criminal in some nations, what’s your point?”

King is enjoying watching the overgrown lizard get scolded. Now if only the tiny Ruggie would stop asking him what injury the eyepatch is for, and making remarks about how embarrassing it would be if it were totally pointless—King does not pay his adult self so much to put up with this shit. The baby Jack also needs to stop demanding to know if his adult minion self can pull a sled faster than a moose or something...

Jade and Floyd are attempting to wind up the adult Octo Dealer, trying to see how much they can get away with compared with the normal Azul. Octo Dealer is legitimately at a loss as to how this world’s Azul doesn’t keep them in line without letting them turn to a crime or two. Then he learns about Azul’s contract business and feels a pang of commiseration and understanding.

Poison Queen, Royal Flush, and Snake Charmer are unpleasantly shocked when their dorms address them by their respective secret identities in front of their fellow supervillains out of the blue.

Poison Queen has to put up with King’s uncontrolled laughter as he finally understands the full extent of the incident with White Neige so long ago, while Tsunotaro tries to tell him he liked Schoenheit in his role as the evil dragon prince in the GaoGao dramatization. Royal Flush is about two seconds away from throttling Octo Dealer if the bastard doesn’t stop trying to make a deal to guarantee his mother doesn’t learn about her son’s private activities. Snake Charmer’s just glad his civilian identity flies under the radar enough that Charon has to try and look him up to understand who he is (and fails because he’s not on school wifi and his cellular data is bust).

Poison Queen is also getting a headache from Rook rhapsodizing about how his villain form is another, enhanced mode of beauty he is fortunate to lay eyes upon, as if he hadn’t been willing to skewer Poison Queen along with the rest of the supervillains five minutes ago. He’s at least able to amuse himself by letting Epel run away with his speculations about how he’s the buff hyper-masculine muscle for Poison Queen.

Kalim is crying that Jamil had to resort to becoming a villain in his home world! He must be so sad if he has to do that! He’s mildly cheered up when Snake Charmer tells him they work together on schemes, and that Snake Charmer is actually reasonably happy with his chosen vocation—and then he begins panicking that Jamil will like that world so much, he won’t want to come back.

Royal Flush is glad his counterpart at least has good people around to look after him, even if it is odd to have young versions of Trey and Cater trying to mother hen him despite the fact that he’s the older one now. At least Ace and Deuce acting up seems more fitting now considering their age than it ever did on their adult selves.

Ace huffs a sigh and leans on Yuu’s shoulder. “This is a mess, huh Prefect?”

“You said it.” Yuu replies. “I just wanna sleep forever.”

The supervillains go still.

“I’m sorry,” Snake Charmer says carefully. “But isn’t Enma-san the Prefect?”

“No?” Yuuken replies, confused. “Yuu’s the prefect of Ramshackle Dorm. I’m their vice— or would be, if we had any other students apart from them, me, and Grim.”

Octo Dealer laughs, sounding slightly strained. “Ah, apologies, but you see, that isn’t possible. It can’t be. Yuu isn’t—”

“But I am the prefect, Azul-senpai.” Yuu the Prefect says. “I’ve–I’ve always been the prefect.”

There’s a stunned silence.

Royal Flush places his head in his hands. “What the fuck.”

Back in the Supervillain AU universe, Yuu the Reporter sneezes sharply while trying to wrangle five frightened teenagers, one frightened-but-playing-tough twenty year old, and one confused however-old-he-is-but-younger-than-Tsunotaro fae.

They wonder what the chill down their spine is.

316 notes · View notes

nextdoor-neighbors · 4 years

Text

It’s Always Been You

Request: @divergirl99

Hey could I get a Fred x reader where maybe the reader is ginny or Rons best friend since they were young and the weasleys are all protective of here especially the twins and maybe they find her upset cause he boyfriend cheated and Fred gets angry and ends up getting in a fight with the ex and then confesses?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, violence (punching), blood

You walk down the corridors of school, on the search for your boyfriend, Adrian Pucey. You have a free period - your last period of the day before dinner - and you know he does, too, which usually you spend together, but today, you can’t find him.

“Ron,” you call when you see your best friend, who’s walking with Harry. He looks up at the sound of your voice and smiles, turning to say something to Harry before making his way over to you.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Adrian? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Ron frowns. He’s never been a fan of Adrian, with him being a Slytherin and all, but considering Adrian has always treated you well, Ron has kept his mouth shut over the last few months that you’ve been in your relationship.

“No, I haven’t,” Ron says, “but I’ll let him know you’re looking for him if I do.”

You smile and thank him before continuing your search. You turn down a hall of empty classrooms, not sure why he would be down here, but you decide to look anyway. You peer into the classrooms, stopping abruptly when you stop two figures in one of them, locked in what appears to be a passionate snog session. You blush at catching them, averting your eyes, but quickly do a double-take when you think that you recognize one of the figures.

You know that messy black hair and Quidditch jumper all too well.

You shove open the door to the classroom, and the two jump apart in shock at the noise. You make eye contact with Adrian, your heart dropping to your stomach, and immediately turn to leave, tears already burning at the backs of your eyes.

“No, no, Y/N, I promise, it wasn’t what it looked like, I-” he calls after you, but you keep walking away, past the few other students in the halls with your head down and tears blurring your vision. You don’t know how to feel; you’re devastated, because you didn’t think he would ever do something like this to you, but you’re also shaking from your rage, and as much as you want to scream at him, you don’t think you can do so without sobbing. So, you opt for the silent treatment.

Eventually Adrian gives up calling after you, so, you hide out in the prefects’ bathroom for the rest of the period. You don’t want to show your face at dinner, in case he tries to talk to you, but the grumble of your stomach in the silent bathroom says otherwise.

You push yourself up off the cold tile floor, wiping your tears away as you gaze at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red and your skin blotchy from crying your eyes out for the entire period, so you splash some water on your face until you think it’s slightly less noticeable. At least, you hope it is.

You venture out into the halls, already dreading whatever you’re about to face. Your heart aches. You really thought he was a good guy, but of course, you were wrong. Per usual. You always had dated the wrong guys, who all ended up breaking your heart in one way or another. You thought Adrian would be different, and you’re beyond mad at yourself for ever thinking he would be.

You don’t think you’ll ever find a good guy. I mean, there is someone you’ve always wanted, someone who you think would treat you well, but he’d never want you. Why would he?

You avoid eye contact with anyone as you make your way into the Great Hall, finding your normal spot between Ron and Ginny. You had hoped they wouldn’t ask questions, or that you could play off your heartbreak well enough that they wouldn’t notice, but then again, you’ve been friends with the Weasley family since forever. They’re all very protective of you, especially the twins, who are two years older than you. Of course someone is bound to notice.

Sure enough, before you even fully sit down, George - who’s sitting across from you - says, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You look up at him, forcing a very weak smile and shaking your head.

“Nothing,” you say quietly.

“That’s bullshit,” Fred adds, his eyebrows furrowing in his concern, “You can tell us.”

You look at Fred, and just as you’re about to admit what happened, Adrian comes up behind him. You look up at him, and Fred must notice the change in your expression as your stomach twists, because he spins around in his seat.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Adrian asks. You fight the urge to start crying again as you make eye contact with him, instead, mustering up all of your courage.

“No,” you say, “Adrian, we’re done.”

You don’t even have to look at Ron, Ginny, the twins, or any of the other people listening to know how shocked they probably appear. You watch as Adrian’s face drops, but he doesn’t budge.

“Please, Y/N,” he practically begs.

“Do you not understand what no means, Pucey?” Fred replies before you can, getting up out of his seat and standing up, towering over Adrian.

Adrian’s face immediately twists into a scowl as he looks up at Fred. You can’t find the words to tell Adrian to go away or Fred that it’s okay, you can handle it, as you watch the boys with wide eyes, fearing what’s about to happen next.

“Stay out of it, Weasley,” Adrian snaps, before turning back to you, pleading again, “Y/N, you don’t understand. It was a mistake, and if you’d just let me explain-”

Fred keeps his eyes trained on Adrian, as if daring him to speak to you one more time. You find your words, as the entirety of the Great Hall is listening in on your conversation:

“I think I understand perfectly, Adrian, because there’s not much to explain about why I found you kissing another girl.”

“You did what?” Fred shouts, and you watch as he pushes Adrian with his hands flat on his chest. Adrian falls back, his face contorting in rage. At this point, the other house tables have erupted into noise, students standing up and trying to get a good look at the fight.

Adrian pushes himself up, rushing towards Fred, as Fred yells something about how he just lost the greatest thing that ever happened to him and how he’s going to pay for hurting you.

Adrian’s fist connects with Fred’s jaw, knocking Fred’s head back, but Fred reacts instantly, socking Adrian straight in the nose. The blood starts flowing from Adrian’s nose immediately, and you yell at them to stop, but neither boy listens to you as more punches are thrown.

Thankfully, a few teachers have made their way over, and with a swish of her wand, McGonagall separates the two boys. You stand there, your heart pounding like crazy in your chest, looking between Fred and Adrian, who stand a few feet apart, giving each other the death glare. Adrian wipes his sleeve across his nose, smearing his blood all over the fabric. You’re sure that he’s going to have a black eye tomorrow, as well. Fred, on the other hand, looks better off, with seemingly only a puffy, split lip.

You’re at a loss for words as you watch Fred and Adrian be escorted out of the Great Hall by Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. Fred looks over as he walks away, and you make eye contact with him for a split second. In that second, he looks you up and down before turning away. Your stomach flips at that, but in a good way.

You don’t know what to say to him later. Do you thank him? You know that Adrian will never bother you again, thanks to this, but you also know that the whole school is going to be talking about this: about Adrian cheating on you, and about Fred’s reaction.

Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed inside your chest as you think about that. Why did Fred react like that? I mean, you know he’s protective of you, but so are George, Ginny, and Ron, and they didn’t jump Adrian like that...

No, you shouldn’t get your hopes up. After all, you need time to recover from today, so you shouldn’t be trying to jump into anything else quite yet, either. But then again, it’s Fred. Your longtime crush, but also your best friend’s older brother. The one guy that you’ve wanted that you always thought was unattainable. He couldn’t possibly see you as anything more, could he?

You excuse yourself from dinner quietly, whispering to Ron that you’ll talk to him later. You’re hoping to find Fred whenever he’s done getting in trouble, but also, hoping to avoid Adrian. He’s the last person you want to see right now.

You hover around the area of Dumbledore’s office, and after several minutes, you hear footsteps. You peer around the corner to see Adrian, walking away from you, thankfully, towards the hospital wing, and Fred, headed towards you.

“Hey,” he says, quietly, offering you a small smile as well as he can, considering his lip is still busted.

“Hi,” you reply, still not sure what to say. You’re really not sure how to process anything that just happened, but you’re going to at least hopefully get Fred’s thoughts on everything.

“Hopefully that asshole learned his lesson,” Fred says bitterly as the two of you walk side by side down the empty corridor, “If he ever bothers you again, you let me know, okay? I’ll take care of him for you.”

“But why?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. Fred stops too, just looking at you, as if nonverbally asking you to elaborate. “Why do you care so much?”

Fred’s eyebrows furrow slightly, but he hesitates before speaking.

“You’re Ron’s best friend. Obviously I’d stand up for you, especially against a prick like Pucey. But...” he trails off, looking over you again. You stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He looks up to meet your eyes, and this time, angry Fred is gone, and in his place is hesitant, vulnerable Fred. Something that you don’t see often.

“I like you, Y/N. A lot,” he says, and your heart somersaults.

“I know this probably isn’t the best time to tell you,” he continues, “considering everything that just happened, but, I just... it’s always been you, and it pisses me off to see you fall for these guys who treat you like shit instead of like a princess, which is what you deserve.”

For definitely not the first time today, you can’t find the words to reply, but this time, it’s for a good reason. For a moment, you forget about Adrian, about your heartbreak and about the fight, and you cross the small gap between you and Fred, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

He tastes like the blood from his lip, but when you pull away, you smile, and he smiles back, almost in relief.

“Let’s get that lip of yours fixed up,” you say, “and we can talk more.”

“Absolutely,” Fred replies, reaching for your hand as the two of you start down the hall again. “I’m never going to let any guy hurt you again, Y/N. And I definitely won’t ever hurt you. You can trust me on that.”

And you truly believe him.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley one shot #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #fred and george #weasley twins #weasley twins x reader

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

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

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

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

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

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

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

#eris vanserra #autumn court #morrigan #a court of silver flames #long post #kp analysis #lucien vanserra #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lady of the autumn court #helion spell cleaver #acotar series #mtp

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candychronicles · 4 years

Text

bodyguard // s. todoroki

A/N: my take on the rockstar/band/performer au for bnharem! i’m not a big fan of au’s normally but this one was a lot of fun to write! todoroki is definitely ooc in this one but i took a lot of liberties with his character in order to better fit the au storyline.

CHARACTER PAIRING: Todoroki Shouto x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,091

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, gore, fighting, death, oral sex (f!receiving)

SYNOPSIS: you were in it for the money, he was an unhinged popstar. how could you two ever possibly get along?

want to read more rocking stories? click HERE !

the days at work were tiring, the nights even longer, but the pay was good and it was always satisfying to make a grown man cry as you knocked him to his knees and manhandled him away from your client.

Todoroki Shouto, one of the elite, the famed, the rich, and absolutely fucking annoying. sure, he was hot (anyone with an eye could see that) but he was just like everyone else in his industry: a cocky bastard. you didn’t mind his lifestyle too much except when it interfered with his job, like having to pry off whiny people who clung to him like their life depended on it, and for some, it probably did.

his biggest claim to fame was being in a now wildly famous band, namely the main singer. he was charming with a sultry voice and a personality that oozed confidence but he wasn’t always that way. in fact, he was originally a shy, anxiety ridden teen when he first joined, not sure how to use his voice or deal with people coming up to him in the streets. the life he lived was sheltered before that, training under his dad to take over the family business, but when sweet, innocent Todoroki confessed that he much rather be artsy and sing at the age of sixteen, things quickly changed for him. his father, Todoroki Enji, tried to convince him otherwise, told him that he didn’t know how the real world worked and that he would never be successful, but Shouto wouldn’t budge and eventually Enji caved in, or so it seemed.

Enji immediately enrolled Shouto in lessons, instructing him to shape up or ship out. if he couldn’t become successful in the industry, he would take over his father’s business instead, but that didn’t happen. Shouto excelled in lessons, blowing his instructors away with his timbre and control. he was a natural, and frankly, good enough to be a star. they weren’t so concerned with his stoic yet endearing personality. they had broken enough pop stars, molded them to be perfect model citizens, so what was one more?

the plan backfired immensely. as Shouto’s talent grew, Enji seeked out the biggest in the game, convincing them to give his son a chance at stardom. while reluctant, the board agreed, not wanting to piss off one of the most powerful men in Japan but were thoroughly surprised at the fact that his kid didn’t suck at all. in fact, he was actually good, really, really good.

they signed him immediately, whisking him away into the life of fame and fortune at the young age of seventeen. his range, the slight rasp to his tone and the ability to reach into somebody's soul and pluck the very feelings they try to hide so deeply from it’s depths pushed him towards the life of a rockstar. the freedom he had never been able to experience living at home pushed him over the edge and spiraled him out of control.

Todoroki drank, smoked, and fucked his way through cities big and small, getting himself into a lot of trouble along the way. the behavior went on for years, only getting worse as time went on. nobody seemed to be able to get control over the boy with the pretty hair and wild scar. after almost killing several women and one of his bandmates in a drunk driving accident, his team, label, and most importantly his father had enough.

the conversation between the two did not go well. Shouto was now an adult, legally free and clear from his father’s power. he had his own money, enough to live comfortably for awhile, even if he dropped the band, and all of the repressed rage, longing and anger that was pent up from his childhood. he was not stopping his lifestyle for anyone. that was, until you came along.

you were always a scrapper, getting yourself in trouble more times than you could count. it was just in your nature to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves and you spent many days on the playground beating up the bullies who picked on the sweet girl braiding flowers into her hair, or the boy who liked to play with baby dolls instead of trucks.

as you got older, your fights got fewer and farther in between, at least when it came to the public.

when you turned sixteen and kicked some kid who was trying to look up your skirt so hard in the chin that he saw stars, you were approached by a few men who slid you a card and told you if you wanted to make money fighting, come meet them.

you were a dumb kid and instead of running in the opposite direction and telling the police, you showed up at the seemingly dingy door behind the alley of a fairly run down ramen restaurant. knocking on the door and rocking back on your heels, you waited to see what would happen. it took a few seconds before a panel slid open, allowing you to see nothing but someone’s eyes peering at you in the mid-afternoon sun. hesitantly, you raised the business card in your hand, showing it to the person and jumping in surprise as the panel slammed shut and the door creaked open, inviting you in.

you nodded your head politely at who you realized was a rather bulky, burly man, before a woman dressed in a silky black dress plucked the card delicately from your hand and led you through the hallway. when she opened the door, you were taken aback by the scene.

people of all shapes and sizes stood cheering as two rather muscular men fought in an arena across the room. spit and blood flew across the floor as the two pummeled each other over and over again before one tapped out, the other man raising his fist in the air in victory. you stood, gaze fixed on the scene in front of you, blood racing at the thought of you being in the ring.

“addicting, isn’t it?” the woman whispered in your ear, a knowing smile on her face before she gently took you by the sleeve and guided you away from the screams and shouts into a private room that was much quieter.

you sat down in front of a man who was rather tall and thin, graying hair across his head and a clean shaven face.

“so, i heard you’re a good fighter. how good do you think you are?”

“uh-” you stuttered, not sure how to respond, “i think i can kick someone’s ass if i have a reason to.”

“is money a good enough reason for you?”

“money is a nice reward, yeah, yeah it is,” you confirmed, not pondering the question over for a second.

“good, you start on Saturday. come in comfy clothes that you won’t mind getting sweaty and dirty in. you’re my new ace, a secret weapon. give it six months time and you’ll be defeating guys like that out there in seconds.”

and defeat you did. over and over again, men, women, anyone who thought they were better than you were defeated by your own fists. you worked hard and then some, through literal sweat, blood and tears, to reach the status of champion of the underworld by the age of eighteen.

you were a wild card, unpredictable in your stature. you didn’t have hulking muscles and a sturdy frame, but what you did have was speed, the element of surprise, and the ability to calculate in a split second, all of which allowed you to defeat your enemies time and time again. this relative victory didn’t come without your share of sacrifices: hiding the bruises, blackened eyes and bloody lips from your family as you trained relentlessly, having to figure out a way to manage the steady flow of income that started coming your way as you fought in your first official matches, defeat after defeat as you trained, chipping a tooth and having it promptly filled in like nothing happened, having to learn how to disarm and fire a gun, work with knives and most importantly, losing a bit of your empathy along the way.

it came as no surprise when people who were much more powerful and much, much richer started taking an interest in you, placing large bets upon your head at some of the higher staked matches, a feat you worked your way up to after many years. you never failed to disappoint, knowing that these fights were the ones that mattered the most, the ones that brought you, and your boss, the biggest pools of money.

it was at one of these fights on a dreary, rainy night that you met Todoroki Enji, a hulking man that failed to intimidate you. you were used to people his size and bigger thinking he could take advantage of someone like you and it only made you chuckle thinking of how easy it would be to have him on his knees in seconds.

“i’ve made a proposal to your boss that he couldn’t refuse. he said he couldn’t and wouldn’t force you to do anything, but since you’re quite motivated by money, i think you’ll be intrigued by my offer,” he started, sitting down next to you in one of the VIP booths, sliding his business card on the table with a sly smile.

you were interested and entertained him, listening to him ramble about his shitty kid and his bad behavior. amused, you sipped on your drink as you absorbed his rants and whines about the negative reputation his kid was creating for himself, how he abused his freedom and power to the fullest extent and how his life was spiraling out of control.

“what does this have to do with me, exactly?” you finally questioned, setting your drink down and turning to face him, eyes met squarely with his own.

“i’d like to hire you to be his personal bodyguard.”

“sounds like he needs a babysitter, not a bodyguard,” you retorted, getting ready to stand up and move away from this blathering idiot.

when he spit out a number so outrageous, however, you sat back down, now thoroughly intrigued by the situation at hand. satisfied that he had your full attention, he went into details, laying down a fairly thin stack of papers in front of you as you listened to every detail.

“so let me get this straight. i’m to be his personal bodyguard, keep his shitty behavior a little more under control, whip him up into shape sort of situation. that’s it? and i’ll get paid that much for being a glorified babysitter?”

“you will have to protect him, of course. there are some crazy fans out there that climb windows, seduce themselves into his bed, stalk him, chase him down, but i don’t think it’s anything that, with your expertise, you can’t handle.”

you continued to ponder the situation before gesturing him to continue with his story. he rambled for another moment or two before picking up the papers and going over them with you: standard non-disclosure agreements, a detailed list of your job description and a contract agreement that he was subleasing you through your boss.

after a few minutes of reading the contracts over and discussing them with your boss, you agreed to the scenario, locking yourself into what would be a rather entertaining six months.

the first time you met Todoroki, he instantly tried to hit on you, but when his hand lowered down to grab your ass, you had him on his knees with his left hand behind his back before he could even blink. after that encounter, your conversations were curt. he knew what you were here for and he wasn’t about to let you get his way.

what he wasn’t expecting was for you to be so relaxed about the whole situation. he still drank, still partied, fucked almost whatever girl or guy he wanted, but anytime things got too out of hand, you stepped in, firm but gentle, guiding the crying groupies out of his bedroom after their time was over, driving him every time he got too drunk, cutting him off from any supplies when he was getting out of hand and most importantly, keeping him safe during his travels.

he never realized how much danger he was always in until you mitigated the problems with ease. he just assumed that being assaulted on the daily was something that came with being in the public until you broke some robbers finger when they tried to swipe the wallet out of his own back pocket. after that, he almost clung to you like a koala on a tree anytime he was out in public. you provided stability in a time where he was drowning in his own worries.

that didn’t mean he was ever nice to you though. in reality, he was actually sometimes meaner to you, the simple fact that some girl could be stronger than him set him off, always feeling on edge around you. you weren’t necessarily quiet, offering up any and all small bits and pieces about yourself that he ever wanted to know, but he never really knew you: not your last name, where you were from, if you had any siblings, parents, where you went to school, what your job was, who you were on the inside. it bugged him like crazy to know what your favorite color was and that you liked cheese on your ramen but not anything important, anything he wanted to know.

you liked to keep it that way, however, and would stay as friendly yet aloof as possible. this was a job to you, a job that would set you up easy for awhile and gave you a break from fighting for the most part. you wouldn’t admit to yourself that you liked the man more than you would’ve expected. you felt the way he clung to you as fans swarmed him, the way he always looked to you in reassurance as you walked the streets at night, hearing his sobs in the shower, sobs that were so broken and confused. it showed to you a side of him that was vulnerable, that showed emotion.

he broke down towards the end of your stay, realizing a little too late how much easier it was for you to do your job when he was cooperative and nice. in fact, he began to be more open about enjoying your company and spending time with you. it made it harder for you to continue with your job knowing you were falling for the pretty rich boy, for the man you were hired to protect, for the man who looked at you like you could do no wrong but vehemently would deny it. you began enjoying the little moments with him, the stolen glances, the laughing. you didn’t know what changed in him but you were glad he was someone you could get along with. underneath that crazy exterior, he was just a guy who wanted a friend.

your six months came up relatively quickly. it sucked that your cushy job living in five star hotels, eating decadent meals and working out in state of the art facilities would be over soon but you felt yourself getting lazy, weak and losing your rather sharp edge. it was time to get back into the grind and despite your heart panging at the fact that you would leave the pretty boy with the angry and sad heart behind, you were ready to go.

your last night of work consisted of the final show in Tokyo. tens of thousands of guests were set to attend what would be the bands biggest concert ever. you were calm, cool and collected as always, but the singer, not so much.

he spent the day pacing back and forth, warming up his vocals, hydrating himself, stretching and generally doing his best to calm his nerves.

in a rare act of affection, you reached out to grab your hand with his own, looking him dead in the eye and telling him that this night would be one he would remember forever; and you were right, just not for the way either of you thought.

the show went amazing, the crowd loud and receptive, the choreography flawless, the singing perfect. Todoroki ran off stage with the biggest smile he had ever seen and in his own rare display of affection, twirled you around with ease, adrenaline still pumping through his system.

you congratulated him on the great show and waited patiently for him to remove all the makeup and his costume. he emerged a little while later, hair flat against his head, wet from the shower, sweatpants and an inconspicuous gray hoodie donning his body. you bid a pleasant farewell to his bandmates before escorting him back to the car. he had requested that you drive him back to the hotel and spend one final night in the comfortable hotel beds before you headed back to your hometown.

when you arrived, however, things felt quiet, a little too quiet, and the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

“Shouto, you need to get into the driver’s seat right now, turn on the car and lock it. do not let me in until i tell you to. do not get out of the car, okay?”

he began to question you but before he had a chance to argue, you were pushing him out of the way as a knife sliced towards him, figures cloaked in black emerging from the shadows.

one, two, three, four.

you counted out the four assailants as you shoved Shouto against the car, prompting him to unlock and scramble in through the back seat. only when you heard the click of the lock did you breathe a sigh of relief and begin your attack.

the first man with the knife was tall and lanky, using his height to his advantage, trying to overwhelm you, but with a quick kick to the back of his kneecaps, he went tumbling onto his knees. now shorter than you, you were able to control him by grabbing onto the top of his head and slamming it into the ground, effectively knocking him out.

one, two, three.

the next man thought his muscles would save the day, but his size lacked any true speed, and you were able to land fingers to his eyes, a punch square to his nose. a quick chokehold and he was knocked out against the concrete as well.

one, two.

they both came at once, knives flailing in the air as they sliced your way. one managed to gouge out a chunk of flesh in your arm but you paid no mind, too focused on the task at hand as you grabbed the knife with your hand and used the other arm to knock into their elbow, making them loosen their grip enough to let go of the blade that you then embedded into their shoulder. the other assailant took your distraction to swing the knife your way and as you were trying to dodge the serrated edge, used their other fist to swing up into your chin. you felt your teeth chatter against each other, blood mixing with saliva as you bit your tongue. spitting, you slammed your hand down against their wrist, grabbing the knife with your hand and yanking, not caring that it sliced into your palm as you flipped the weapon around to shove it into their abdomen.

with both men distracted, you slammed your fist against the car door, telling Shouto to quickly unlock it so you could get in. when you heard the telltale click, you instantly dove into the backseat, yelling at him to lock it and drive as fast as he could back to the hotel. he did as he was told with an eerie calmness to him, backing out and around the attackers that were attempting to survey the damage that had been dealt to them.

once you had made the relatively quick trip back to the hotel, you hurriedly jumped out of the car, telling Shouto to carry his own bags so you could be on alert if anything were to happen, scanning each and every corner for a possible other attack. thankfully, everything was safe as you made your way into his hotel room.

you dropped him off quietly, not even attempting to walk into his room, but only fifteen minutes had passed before he was knocking on your door, a first aid kit he had gotten from the front desk securely tucked under his arm.

you let him in without a word, locking the door behind you and turning to face him. before you had a chance to ask what he was doing there, he had dragged you into your rather grandiose bathroom, sitting you on the steps leading up to the jacuzzi tub and pulling out the contents of the kit onto the floor.

he began by assessing the damage to your wounds, cleaning and disinfecting them before wrapping both your hand and arm rather efficiently.

“i had to wrap a lot of my own wounds as well as my siblings. dear old dad let the temper get the best of him sometimes and it wasn’t always so pretty,” he explained, teeth clenching together in an attempt to remain calm.

“thanks for this. i’m sure they’ll heal just fine,” you replied, not wanting to put him in a situation where he had to talk about his troubling past.

“you could’ve died protecting me today, you know?”

“that’s my job Todoroki. i was hired to protect you, i protected you, and i’m fine, thank you very much. this is not my first fight and it definitely won’t be my last.”

he sighed, rubbing his temples as he sat down on the marble floor in front of you, holding your wounded hand in his own, tracing the fabric that surrounded your palm.

“i recognized one of the cars in the parking lot. it was a company car, one of my dad’s cars to be precise. i know they can seem relatively inconspicuous but i memorized every car my dad ever had, big or small. it was definitely his car.”

you mulled over his words for a moment before sighing yourself, slumping against the stairs as your head rested against the rim of the tub.

“your dad sent those men, huh? that’s why you were so eerily calm driving away. you knew you weren’t really in any danger, that those men were secretly there to kill me,” you finally concluded, anger boiling deep within the pit of your stomach.

“yeah, i think they were. i don’t think dad is too fond of the fact that you and i got close. i-i like you a lot more than i let on, i’ve told him so. i thought that would make him happy, knowing i have someone in my life that i could rely on and trust, but he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t control you after these six months were up, think he wanted to teach me a lesson.”

“wouldn’t be the first time i’ve had a hit out on my head. this one, however, is probably going to be a lot tricker to deal with.”

Shouto sunk deeper into himself, body shaking with rage as he saw the fight flash in his head over and over again.

“i’m going to protect you. if you want to, that is. i’ll sign you on as my own bodyguard, however much money you want. i’ll be by your side always, make sure that nobody tries to kill you, tries to hurt you like that again.”

“i can fend for myself Todoroki.”

“it’s Shouto. and why won’t you let anyone else take care of you? listen, i know i’ve been kind of an ass but i thought we were at least friends, and yet i know nothing about you. i know your favorite color, your favorite animal, that you like sunsets and the rain and snuggling under comfy sheets at the end of the day, that your eyes sparkle when you get a chance to fight but secretly crave peace and comfort, but i don’t know who you are. your name, your story, why you’re really here.”

you heaved as you sat back up, staring him straight in the eye to find no malice, no anger, only confusion, empathy and maybe even a bit of longing. so you told him, you told him everything: who you were, what you were, where you grew up, about your childhood dog and all the scraps you had as a kid, how two strange men in suits approached you and groomed you to fight at the age of sixteen, how it was the only thing you knew how to do, the only thing you were good at, how you scared yourself sometimes because you enjoyed the pain that came with the fights. he sat there watching, eyes wide and unblinking as he absorbed every word you said, every bit of pain and anxiety, of longing for someone to love and understand you, of not having to fight all the time, of wanting to be vulnerable for once.

“let me take care of you,” he declared, standing up and outstretching his hand towards you, helping you up from the cool tile, hand coming to rest behind your head once you had steadied yourself.

he leaned forward, unsure and hesitant, before placing his lips against your own, soft and gentle, tasting of mint chapstick and coffee. you were unsure of yourself, awkward, full of aches and pains, wanting so badly to let go but never wanting to get hurt.

“it’s okay, you’re safe with me. let me take care of you, please.”

that was all it took for you to open up, looping your arms around his neck as he led you back to the bedroom, careful to not run you into anything. your knees hit the back of the bed and you reflexively tensed up, like a deer in headlights.

he shushed you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, heeding the bandage and wound underneath. you laid back after that, body attempting to relax as his hands ran themselves soothingly over your body, across your breasts, the flesh of your stomach, your thighs, the corded muscles in your calves, slipping your shoes off, your socks, kissing every inch of your body along the way, making sure you were comfortable. you shimmied out of your pants, your tight shirt, bra, underwear, finally bare for him to see, scars, bruises, all the imperfections of your life.

“so, so beautiful,” he murmured, taking his time to kiss every single blemish and scar that you had, wanting you to feel his dedication.

after what felt like hours of soft kisses, his thumb came to rest on your clit, rubbing in quick and precise circles, fingers gently parting your folds to press into your body, back arching at the feeling of him already.

“it’s all about you tonight, okay? just relax, let me show you how much i appreciate you.”

and appreciate you he did. he dropped to his knees, nose nuzzling into your pubic bone as he kitten licked your clit once, twice, three times, testing your reaction. you whined and squirmed at the feeling, already overwhelmed by his fingers lazily dragging in and out of you. you wanted, needed more, but Todoroki wouldn’t hear any of that. you deserved to be treated right, treated gently tonight, to allow your worries to melt away, if only for a few moments.

his fingers began picking up pace, pistoning in and out of you, his fingers curling in all the right spots, fists clenched into the downy comforter as you attempted to ground yourself from the overwhelming situation. his tongue worked against your clit, changing speed and pressure, trying to find what was the right combination to set you off, watching your every move intently as you squirmed around on the bed. before he even got a chance to get into a routine, you were already cumming over his fingers, creamy liquid coating the digits.

he hummed in contentment, pulling his fingers out to lick up the syrup, you watching with your pupils blown wide.

you went to sit up, body aching from the adrenaline of the fight, but he pushed you back down into the plush bed, tutting as he settled his head against your thigh, kissing, sucking and biting along the plump flesh, leaving little marks only he would know about.

his tongue began lapping at your clit again, this time harsher, more in tune with what your body wanted. you clenched your legs around his head, fisting his hair with your good hand as you tried to ground yourself yet again to reality. his velvety tongue felt like heaven against your body, coaxing moans and sighs out of your mouth. you felt your second orgasm hit you like a freight truck, tingles running up your spine. you tried to push his head away but he only held your body down, a frighteningly feral look on his face as he continued to lap against your clit, unrelenting in his pursuit to pull orgasm after orgasm from you.

after, two, three, four more highs, you couldn’t tell where one began and one ended, he was finally satisfied, pulling his face away, chin glistening in the dim light. your eyes were teary and red, overwhelmed by everything he had put you through. you had never been more satisfied in your life, and by the look on Shouto’s face, he knew it too.

your eyelids began to droop and your body relaxed into the mattress as you came back down into reality. Shouto shuffled around the room before settling you into your bed, tucking the sheets around your body and propping your head against your pillow.

he was enamored by your, by your story, how you opened up so willingly to him after tonight. nothing would get in between you two now. he was just starting to truly know you, know the real you, and nothing was going to stop him from wooing you until you were his, not even his father., and if her life was ever threatened again by him, well, Shouto would just have to kill Todoroki Enji.

#todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #shouto todoroki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bnharem collab

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slytherinsnekxvii · 4 years

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let's talk about severus snape. he's one of the most controversial characters the internet has to offer, with several blogs, channels and pages dedicated specifically to hating him, despite him having one of the most—if not the most—intriguing character arcs the series has to offer. so, as a result of me coming across far too many of said blogs, channels or pages, here's an extremely detailed explanation of why i like him and think he's easily one of my favourite characters :)

1. he's not that bad of a teacher.

just so you know, i'm a teenage girl fresh out of high school. so, my experience with teachers? still keeps me up at night :)

my family is pretty strict about religion. you can guess what that means. anything that was magic-adjacent, especially something that, god forbid, had an entire school dedicated to witchcraft and wizardry was a hard no if i wanted to have any sort of freedom over the media i paid attention to, and any opportunity to go about my life without being monitored to make sure i wasn't suddenly possessed or something. thanks to this, i ended up secretly reading the philosopher's stone in my last year of primary school. i would've been 11 at the time, just about to turn 12, so a little bit older than harry and co. going on what i'd heard from those who had already read the series, i went in expecting to absolutely despise this man. i went in expecting to read a demon. i finished the book and came out thinking... that really wasn't that bad.

my mom found out, so i didn't get to read the rest of the series until i ended up on the executive committee for my school's book club and my friends were appalled that i'd only read the first book. at this point, i'm still expecting him to get worse and... he just doesn't. when i was in primary school, i had multiple teachers break wooden meter-long rulers across my classmates' backs. the first time it happened, i was in infant year 2 (about 6/7 years old). i had teachers who would insult us, based on anything from hygiene to behaviour to intelligence if you looked at them wrong. my sister (who was three years ahead of me) had a teacher who kept her in hours after school was over because the teacher had a written a note in her workbook upside down, and when my sister corrected her, the teacher made her rewrite it, turning the book each time the note was written so it would never be done the correct way.

in secondary school, i had teachers who would actively humiliate us in front of the class if we didn't do as well as they wanted. i had teachers who would throw markers and whiteboard erasers at us if we did something they didn't like during class. i had a teacher who looked for a friend of mine who was petrified of attention and then mercilessly picked on her until she went to the bathrooms to cry. these are the kinds of teachers that i was used to. so, when i read harry potter and read snape, who would have probably been one of the nicer teachers i met in my lifetime, i thought to myself, he's really not that bad. he's just... strict.

antis claim that he traumatised every kid that ever went through his class, that he straight up abused them and... no. he didn't. all of them are comfortable talking back, they talk during his class, no one trembles when he walks past, except for neville, who usually bore the brunt of snape's anger because he was consistently messing up in a potentially lethal class.

after school, i hated the thought of formal education, so now i'm working until i feel ready to do university. coincidentally, one of my jobs is teaching maths and english to kids writing the end of primary and secondary school exams. given the sheer amount of annoyance i feel sometimes, i actually respect him for not being more harsh with them, especially when they're all running off into danger or exploding cauldrons.

he really isn't that bad of a teacher, and we know this, since his classes' owl results are said to be consistently good.

plus, he was written in the 90's when all this was okay behaviour for teachers. hell, compared to some of the teachers in text, given that he goes out of his way to make sure the students are always protected, he's a lot better than most people give him credit for.

2. i relate to him.

come on, the man grew up to be a dramatic, queer-coded, petty bitch who wears all black all the time and likely has at least one mental disorder. i'm a petty, emo bisexual with (actually diagnosed, don't worry) depression and anxiety and I'm in a theatre group. what did you really expect from me?

on a serious note, both of the schools i went to were considered "prestigious". i got into my primary school because of a teacher's recommendation (she was a family friend). the second school i got into was because i scored ridiculously high on the placement test that would determine which school i went to. in primary school, i was the poor, really awkward, really smart kid who got left out of everything, and my best friend was the only kid who was worse off than me.

in secondary school, i was just as smart as everyone else... but i was still poorer, and still more awkward and still got left out of everything.

i got that isolated feeling, that feeling of not being good enough, that feeling where life always seems to have it out for you and that's even though i still got dealt a better hand than snape ever did. so, i get it. i'm never ever going to have it as bad as he did, but i acknowledge what he went through and i sympathise, because i have a chance, but it only ever got worse for him.

3. i genuinely enjoy his character.

this dude went through absolute hell for basically his entire life. the best years he had were probably when he was neck-deep in the group of people who hated witches and wizards like him, but somehow managed to treat him better than the good guys.

all of that, and he still manages to be one of the most entertaining motherfuckers in the whole series, with one of the most interesting character arcs ever. it's the witty lines, the sheer dynamic of his character, the change from the twitchy, hypervigilant kid from the slums to the adult that managed to spy on the Dark Lord himself and save the wizarding world in the process, while still being a hot mess of a person. it's the managing to get shit done while everybody hated him and everything was going to hell. it's the everything, and i haven't even talked about how badass he is.

come on, potions prodigy turned master, exemplary duellist (cough, cough, winning 4-on-1 vs McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn, and leaving a scratch on nobody, while managing to not take a single hit himself, cough, cough), spellcrafter, spy and one of the only wizards to ever figure out unaided flight. dark arts master, proficient at healing (dumbledore would've been dead a lot sooner, if it weren't for him, most likely). he's one of the most powerful wizards of his time. i've said that any universe where he's actually a bad guy—or just legitimately loyal to the death eaters—is a universe where voldemort wins and this is why. if he was motivated by literally anything other than lily, the wizarding world was more than likely fucked.

the point is, i just think he's neat.

4. spite.

every time i appreciate snape, a snater feels like someone is walking over their grave. every time i appreciate snape, a snater turns blue out of sheer rage. every time i appreciate snape, a snater loses their mind looking for their non-existent reading comprehension.

the spite in my veins is tempered only by the broth of instant ramen and ungodly amounts of sugar, and i'm going to use them all in my mission to cause antis pain when they refuse to acknowledge their lack of critical thinking and analysis skills.

so, yeah. why do i actually like snape?

tl;dr: he's not that bad. for a teacher written in the 90's and compared to teachers i've had within the decade, the guy's just strict. sure, he's a dick (who i personally think is hilarious), but he always makes sure the students are safe and he didn't leave any lasting effect on any of the students. he's really not that bad of a teacher. and hell, he's not even that bad of a person. i fully admit that he was an asshole and i entirely believe he was prone to self-destructive behaviour, but he still tried to atone for his mistakes and he did, is the thing, even though the odds were stacked more or less completely against him. i like him because he entertains me, and because i relate to him, as a teen who went through some shit and probably would have joined up with some bad people if it weren't for my friends and family, and as a teacher who really can't stand my students sometimes. i also like him because it irritates people who don't like him :)

also, istg if any of you respond to this with "bUt hE was ObseSsED with LiLY and just WAnTEd to FUCK hEr," i'm crawling into your bedroom window with the most unrealistic, mangled interpretations of your favourite characters and making sure they haunt you in your dreams. meet me in the fuckin' pit, babe. reread the series, actually think about it and come with receipts that aren't Voldemort, because i don't think you want to have the same opinion as the character who canonically doesn't understand love, now, do you, sweetheart? when you do that, then, and only then, will i consider entertaining your bullshit :)

that's about it from me, thanks for reading!

#severus snape #pro snape #why do people like snape?#i can't speak for anybody else but here's me #i probably left something out since i haven't written a good essay since my literature exam #but it's fine #let me like my chaotic bastard son in peace please #snape #snapedom

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

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History of Us Part 35- The Storm

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

The plan, both that of the reunion squad and that of the pro heroes, goes to shit almost immediately. Your father is a smart man and the compound reflects that. Almost immediately upon breaching the entrance, the pros realized that the information they had on the building’s floor plan was incorrect. They were also wrong about the compound solely being occupied by you, Dabi, and your father. Several lower level villains have been kept on retainer precisely in case of a situation like this. Not only had Shoto and the others not been able to sneak past the pros to try and find you but the pros had actively requested their help as things rapidly devolved.

Then your father finally made his appearance in dramatic fashion, and that’s when things really went downhill. Literally half the compound was blown sky high as your father released a massive flurry of shadows racing out to push back the heroes. Several of the pros on scene are immediately knocked out of commission, leaving the smaller villains to run into the city and cause trouble. Tamaki is one of the first to recover, quickly organizing some of the remaining heroes and sidekicks into squads to track down the villains now racing towards the more densely populated commercial area nearby. “I’m trusting you to handle Black Storm,” he tells Endeavor. The older man only gives him a nod before Tamaki is off to try and minimize the damage being done.

Shoto starts to worry as he realizes he still hasn’t seen you but before he can begin searching properly a familiar voice stops him in his tracks. “There you are little brother, I was worried you might not show,” Touya grins. Shoto’s eyes narrow at his brother, his quirk itching to be released as he stares him down. “Where’s (y/n)?” Shoto all but growls. “You sure she even wants you to find her?” Dabi teases, his amusement at the situation palpable. “Absolutely,” Shoto replies without even a hint of hesitation or doubt. “Tell you what, prove you really are dad’s perfect little experiment and beat me. If you can do that much I’ll lead you right to her. I’d hurry if I were you too, her daddy dearest didn’t take too kindly to finding heroes at our door and poor (y/n) is his favorite punching bag,” Dabi grins. “With pleasure,” Shoto growls before lunging forward.

This is a disaster. You’ve managed to only bump into one sidekick who’d made it deeper into the remains of the compound but even that small fight had been enough to aggravate your injuries. Your vision swims as you rush towards the sound of the fighting. You know your dad’s been using quirk enhancing drugs lately and the pros aren’t prepared for that kind of firepower. You want nothing more than to just sit down, close your eyes, and try to heal yourself, maybe even take a nap, but there’s no time. You’re the only one who can stop your dad now. You know it in your gut. So you push through the pain and the slight dizziness to keep moving. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as a series of explosions shakes the compound, followed by an all too familiar battle cry of “DIE!” Fear surges through your veins like ice. You’d recognize Bakugo’s voice anywhere and even if you couldn’t there’s not exactly a ton of explosive heroes who threaten to murder villains out there. Bakugo would never come alone, which means more of your friends are surely in the fray and in danger. You grit your teeth, focusing on them and your determination to save them, and start running towards the commotion glowing only faintly but enough to hold you together.

Shoto has never fought this hard his entire life. He lands hard on his side but quickly rolls to recover and get back on his feet. He throws up a wall of ice, partly to slow Dabi’s progress as he comes surging towards him, but partially to stave off the after effects from using his left side so much. Sweat pours off his forehead as he desperately tries to hold off from overheating. As Dabi burns through his ice, Shoto launches himself forward to meet his brother halfway. He’ll be damned if he loses this fight. He has to get to you, especially if what Dabi said about your condition is the truth. For a single moment Shoto manages to pin Touya down but before he can do anything more he notices Dabi’s gaze is focused not on him but something off to the side. “Your girlfriend finally joined the fray,” Dabi grins, causing Shoto to immediately snap his head that direction to find you. Relief floods him at seeing you alive but he’s snapped back into the moment as Dabi suddenly engulfs the two of them in flames, causing Shoto to rear back with a curse. “Don’t get distracted baby brother, this fight isn’t over,” Dabi taunts as he uses Shoto’s momentary distraction to get the upper hand. Fire and ice both emerge as Shoto is filled with another wave of determination. He’s so close to getting you back, he won’t let you slip through his fingers again.

The chaos is even worse than you thought when you finally get to where all the fighting is. All around you your friends and various pros are battling villains. Buildings further down the street are burning where Tamaki is trying to keep the villains contained to a smaller area. To your right Shoto is locked in combat with Dabi and frankly it takes your breath away. Shoto is magnificent. You’ve never seen him look so resolute before and you distantly wonder if that’s the real reason Dabi exposed your location: to see this side of his younger brother. You probably could have stood there just watching the two of them forever but a loud crashing noise to your left jerks your attention away as you watch Endeavor hit the ground hard after your father had thrown him. Your stomach sinks when you notice what rough shape he’s in. You knew this would happen the moment you found out your father was using quirk enhancers but it’s still unnerving to see the number one hero struggle so much. You look up to see your father grinning like a mad man, clearly delighting in the pain of a man he once claimed to love like family. More importantly, however, you also can see the characteristic black veins crawling up the side of his neck. Steroids or not, your quirk still comes with a price. Your father is just about to deal what looks suspiciously like a fatal blow as he gathers a large mass of shadows into both hands but before they can reach Endeavor you jump in front of the fallen hero and unleash your own blast of shadows to dissipate your father’s.

You think you hear Endeavor say something behind you but the words fall on deaf ears as you watch your father’s face twist into a grimace of betrayal and rage. “I should’ve known you’d choose them,” he spits before unleashing another torrent of inky blackness shooting towards you. You widen your stance to brace yourself and then unleash your own torrent back with your right hand, using your free hand to brace it. “After all I did for you, this is how you repay me? You traitorous bitch,” he accuses, his voice roaring over the sounds of battle around you. Rage burns through you at his words and you embrace it wholeheartedly as you continue to push back against him. “All you did was abuse and traumatize me,” you bite out. Your head is throbbing but you can’t let up, not now, not when you’re so close to ridding yourself of your father for good. “I did it to make you stronger! You could’ve been the most powerful person in all of Japan, we could’ve built an empire together!” he responds, as if somehow that justifies how he’s treated you; as if that empire wouldn’t be built atop the corpses of innocents. “I am strong. Stronger than you. In spite of you, not because of you,” you shout.

After that final declaration, you’re done talking. Instead you close your eyes, grit your teeth, and you think of every single time your father abused you, every time you lashed out at those you loved because of the trauma he ingrained in you, every time you suffered because of his crimes. You think of your poor mother who works double and triple shifts so she can provide for you. You think of that fateful day your father brought you into work and traumatized you out of his own selfish desire to mold you into what he wanted you to be. You think of all of the pain and hurt and anger and you pour it into your quirk even as black veins start to crawl up on your own skin, even as they climb up your forearm, then your shoulder, then your neck, and onto the right side of your face. Your entire right side feels like it’s on fire but you push and push through until you finally start to feel the resistance from your father giving way as his quirk overwhelms him. You hear yelling and it takes a minute to realize that the raw, pained sound is coming from you as you push and push and push until finally you feel the resistance fade completely and the shadows you’d sent out connect with your father. You gasp as you finally release your quirk although you notice the right side of your body is still on fire. Your head feels fuzzy and your vision is definitely swimming but you push through it. You have to make sure it’s over. Your father sways on his feet, eyes empty and black veins completely marring his face. After a moment his body collapses to the ground completely limp and relief floods through you.

It’s over.

It’s finally fucking over.

As the adrenaline slowly starts to drain out of you, you hear someone call out your name. They sound panicked. Why do they sound panicked? You turn to the source of the voice slowly as the world starts to spin around you. You vaguely recognize Shoto’s alarmed face as he sprints towards you before everything goes black and you collapse.

A/N: This took me literally all of yesterday to write and was difficult to start but holy shit am I happy with how it turned out. We’re entering the home stretch ladies and gentlemen.

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @shot0stea @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen @cinnamonruts

(Bold means I couldn’t tag you)

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brokenangelwings22 · 3 years

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Here's probably my only entry for IHweek. I've finally returned to writing. This is an excerpt from chapter 2 of my story Come Back Down to Earth. You can read the first chapter either on AO3 or FanFiction

Confession (IHweek 7/4) Please enjoy!

Chapter 2: Crawled In and Never Left

Give me the chance to tonight

I'll prove to you what's in my eyes

(It’s My Turn To Fly - The Urge - Titan AE soundtrack 2000)

Ichigo considered himself a reasonable man, but his patience was growing thin with his roommate.

“C’mon, man! You had a solid chance with Hime last night!” Renji pleaded with him. “Why are you so obtuse?”

“That’s an awfully big word for you.” Ichigo rolled his eyes at his friend. “Ever think of taking your own advice with Rukia?”

Renji let out a long suffering sigh. “You’re both hopeless, and therefore perfect for each other.”

“I’m perfectly happy with how things are with Hime. I don’t want to chance it.”

Renji pulled out a box of pretzel sticks from the cupboard. He fixed a concerned look on his face, and the seriousness unnerved Ichigo.

“Look. I’m not gonna force you. Even if I think you’re absolutely nuts not to. I will, however, point out that you’re an idiot for not telling her how you feel.” Renji pulled out a piece of pretzel and pointed it at Ichigo to emphasize his thought. “You’re gonna lose her one day if you continue to be ridiculous.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes as his scowl persisted. “You think I am not aware of that?”

Renji placed the stick between his teeth and grinned toothily. “Yup!”

A sleepy noise came from behind the two men just as Ichigo opened his mouth to snap at his friend.

“Mm morning guys,” Orihime yawned as she stepped into the kitchen. “Any coffee? It’s too early.”

“Sorry Hime. Were we too loud?” Ichigo asked, his previous scowl morphing to something more kind.

“No,” she murmured. Her voice was still thick with sleep. She stumbled a little, bumping into Ichigo. “Oh hi wall. You smell nice.” Orihime leaned into his chest and snuggled him.

There was a strangled sound from Renji as he watched the young woman wrap her arms loosely around Ichigo’s waist. Instinctively, Ichigo wrapped his arms around her to steady her.

“Renji,” Ichigo said softly as to not disturb Orihime. “Please brew some coffee for her.”

“Jeez if I had known that Hime could instantly dissolve your sour mood with an embrace, I’d handcuff you both together.” Renji grumbled and shook his head, walking over to the coffeemaker on the counter.

Ichigo hummed a distracted acknowledgement as he idly stroked Orihime’s long auburn hair. She snuggled into his broad chest further. “Thanks. I’ll move her back to her room.” He was already moving towards the living room as he heard Renji’s snarky reply.

“Oh take your time. I’m merely here to serve.”

~*~*~*~

Ichigo sighed heavily as he stepped out from Orihime’s room and shut the door behind him quietly. He turned to walk down the short hallway, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw his two friends standing a few feet away with evil grins on their faces. Squaring his shoulders and fixing a glare at Renji and Rukia, he taunted “Don’t you both have something better to do? Like, absolutely anything?”

Rukia’s grin sharpened further. “Nah, we’re more interested in heckling you.”

Ichigo grumbled, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. “Yeah yeah. You’re both insufferable.”

He flicked Rukia’s forehead and smacked Renji’s upper back swiftly as he moved to leave.

Rukia’s retort was loud as she declared, “And YOU are the annoying brother I never asked for and yet somehow got!”

Renji’s muttering was barely noticeable under the small woman’s rage. “C’mon, Rukia. Let’s leave him be.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, stepping around the ornery woman and made his way to the kitchen. Of course, Renji was right. It annoyed him to no end that he hadn’t spoken with Orihime about how he felt towards her. Hell, if he were being honest, he knew that he was in love with her at first sight.

She’d stumbled into his dad’s clinic, buckling under the weight of her brother’s prone body. This girl, only 12 at the time, carried her six foot and change older brother from the scene of the car accident all the way there. She was battered and bruised from the wreckage too. It broke him to his very soul when he had to tell her that his father was unable to save Orihime’s brother. The ambulance Isshin had called to rush him to the trauma ward of the hospital had simply not gotten there in enough time.

He did his best to console Orihime, who collapsed in a heap on the clinic floor. Her clothes were soiled with dirt and caked in her brother’s blood.

Yuzu had entered the room, and with a kind and understanding voice, ushered the broken girl to the bathroom to wash up. Orihime stayed at his house for several days, mostly walking around with mechanical movements, much like a zombie or a robot, just going through the motions of a semblance of normalcy. At night she’d cry herself to sleep. Ichigo stayed by her side when she was awake, and would help her to bed when she could barely stay up right.

Slowly, but surely, Orihime processed the loss of her brother. Ichigo stuck to her like glue, promising her and to himself that he would always be there to protect her. Orihime professed her gratitude to him soon after she moved back to her apartment, telling him that she was eternally grateful for everything he had done. As time went on, they became inseparable. They went to the same middle school and then high school, which introduced them to new friends that they quickly established into a tight-knit group.

Orihime had grown up beautifully. Her smile, warm and bright, had the ability to render him speechless and lightheaded. He felt invincible and vulnerable all at once. Far too many times, their friends would catch him when he was slack-jawed and mindless, teasing him mercilessly when Orihime wasn’t looking.

He began calling her ‘Hime’ their senior year. He hadn’t meant to, but it just slipped out. She had been followed by a group of boys who often flocked around her, taken by her beauty and her curvaceous body. One of them had ventured to put a hand on her shoulder without permission and Ichigo had snapped. Any restraint he had frayed instantly and before he understood what was happening, he had slammed the cretin against the wall and threatened him.

“You don’t touch women without consent, especially Hime.” He growled at the other guy, clenching the offending limb.

Orihime had called his name softly, telling Ichigo to let the man go, and he had simultaneously dropped him and her request. Ichigo made it a point to be by her side every chance he had. To protect her, love her from a distance if need be. It was enough, at that time.

But once Ichigo, Orihime and their friends entered university, the strain to keep a tight seal over his feelings became increasingly more difficult. His best friend flourished in academics and her social life expanded to include other people outside of their small group. With that also came obstacles, and Ichigo had to fend off more than a few of Orihime’s admirers.

Ichigo gripped the handle of the carafe of coffee angrily at the memory. The steam and scent of the hot brew brought him back to the present. He sighed after loosening his grip and poured two cups, adding cream and sugar to Orihime’s.

Soft footfalls behind him reached his ears, along with a quiet yawn. A grin spread on his lips as Orihime came into view.

Orihime blinked away the remnants of sleep from her eyes, smiling brightly at Ichigo when he offered her the cup he’d gotten for her.

Taking a big sip, she sighed happily. “Thanks, Ichigo. You always know how to make my coffee just how I like it.”

Ichigo smiled gently at her, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well, after knowing you for ten years, I’d like to think I know you well enough to get your preferences right.”

Orihime giggled and gazed up at him from behind the mug pressed to her lips. “You do, and I’m grateful for that. Lord knows why Rukia insists on adding extra sugar and Tatsuki puts in too little cream. You are a hero among men, good sir.”

Ichigo’s smile widened at Orihime’s playfulness. “I try my best, m’lady.”

“Where are Rukia and Renji?” Orihime asked as she looked around the kitchen.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Hopefully somewhere off annoying someone else more deserving.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Orihime snorted bemusedly, shaking her head in disbelief as he tried to sound convincingly bored and grumpy. She raised her hand to place it on his right cheek in a fond manner.

“What am I going to do with you?” Her question came out more flirtatious than she intended.

Ichigo’s eyes widened at her sweet gesture and instantly leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and revelling in it. He had never realized how touch starved he truly was until Orihime would step into his personal space with her warm smile and kind gaze. It was as if that one thing, a fleeting brush of her fingers, or a soothing embrace had the ability to heal his wounded heart or eradicate any scar left on his soul.

Losing his mother at such a young age had made him a hardened and angry child. He blamed himself for her death, believing that if he had done something, spent more time with her, taken care of her and his sisters more, that she may very well have recovered from cancer. But his father had explained to him many times that the disease was caught too late, and the malignancy had metastasized from her cervix to her uterus and ovaries very quickly. Ichigo was still struggling with the loss of his mother two years later, when Orihime stumbled into their clinic with her brother.

He’d figured that no matter how miserable and heart wrenching it was, he had found purpose in consoling Orihime. It gave him unbelievable strength to bond with her over the loss. Helping her ultimately helped him as well in the end. The desire to be with her only grew. It had crawled in and never left. He’d become greedy for it, overthrown by his desperation to be close to the light that was Orihime.

She continued to lightly graze his cheekbone with soft brushes against him, her warm fingers causing pleasant tingles on his skin.

Orihime cupped the side of his face as she watched in awe how he was drawn to her touch, feeling the soft smile that pulled at his lips. When he raised his hand to place it over hers, she felt herself being pulled by an invisible force, almost magnetic. He had always been like that, and she adored being the one that he let in entirely. She stroked his cheek and began to pull her palm away until he held fast to her. His eyes fluttered open, and the look he had in them made the breath catch in her throat.

“Ichi-“ she murmured breathlessly.

The raw emotion that flashed in his dark amber gaze made her spine tingle, her heart stutter and her cheeks warm. He had the ability to render her tongue-tied with the flicker of something deep and foreign to her. Ichigo pulled her into his arms, finally allowing her hand to move, and she found herself slipping it to the back of his neck and burying her fingers into his soft hair. He wrapped his arms about her, pulling her to his lean, muscular body and sighed happily as Orihime sifted her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp comfortingly.

Orihime pressed her ear over his heart, as he towered over her five foot one frame. The thumping, strong sound of it beating quieted her mind immediately. He slid his hands up and down her back, and she felt herself melt into it.

“I… I just need this, Hime.” Ichigo’s whisper filtered into her ear as he pressed his lips to her temple, sending a shiver through her body. Though quiet, she heard the fervency in his tone. She nodded against him, continuing her movements through his hair. She felt him shudder in their embrace and the breathless ‘thank you’ that he uttered.

“Were you thinking about something?” Orihime whispered back, her eyebrows drawing inwards as the possibility fluttered through her mind.

Ichigo nodded, letting out a stuttering sigh. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m better now.”

She hummed thoughtfully at his response, resigning herself to his simple answer. She wouldn’t push him further.

Finally Ichigo pulled back from her to look her in the eyes. His gaze was still intense, as it flickered with what she could only identify as resolve and something far much more akin to what she assumed she wore as an expression often in his presence. It made her heart skip a beat and her mind to race at the possibilities.

“Hime,” he murmured. The way he said her name was like an urgent plea. It caused her stomach to swoop down like she was on an out of control rollercoaster. She waited on baited breath as he gathered his thoughts.

Ichigo’s mind was restless. His need to put into words how he felt about her, loved her, desired her rushed through and permeated the recesses of his brain. He should’ve been used to the intensity of it by now, but he most certainly wasn’t. The way she watched him gave him strength to form the words, stilling the overbearing thoughts warring to leave his mouth.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. His simple response was anything but, knowing deep down that this could make or break their friendship. The smile she gave him nearly shut down his brain entirely.

“What took you so long?” Orihime breathed before Ichigo’s mouth was on hers, his lips holding nothing back as kissed her with all the desperation and hunger of a man starved. The radiating joy splashed over the burning desire thundering through his veins.

Orihime parted her lips as she let out a sound that would’ve embarrassed her outside of this situation. Instead, she felt exhilarated to an immeasurable degree. Her body quaked at the reverence and pure heat he poured into it. It was as if the dam of years of keeping everything bottled up in fear of losing each other burst and flooded them all at once.

She clenched her fingers in his hair as he delved his tongue into her mouth. Orihime felt her body fight between melting and being drawn taught, like a string on a bow. Ichigo’s hands slid down to her hips, flexing and gripping at her flannel pajama pants and flesh. She angled her head when he held her firmly, seeking out his tongue with her own.

Ichigo was quickly lost in the taste of her skin, the sounds she made and the feel of her. His nerve endings felt like they had caught fire. It was a sensory overload in everything Orihime. If he didn’t think he was greedy before, he certainly was now.

~~~(TBC)~~~

I certainly hope you all liked this! I should have the chapter finished bit up fairly soon. Thanks so much for reading!

Also— I’m uncertain why this isn’t showing up in the tags, so I’ll try it again.

#ihweek2021 #ichigo kurosaki #orihime inoue #ichigo x orihime

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secret-engima · 3 years

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Snippet of Saving the World for Fun and Profit

(In which Torchdad is Not Pleased™ and Neo gets busted)

...

Roman Torchwick wasn’t certain if it was possible to be more upset and anxious and angry all at the same time as he watched the bullhead finish settling on the ground with a grumbling wheeze of machinery. Chasing rumors of Neo’s movements for days, watching the Underworld itself reel in shock over Marcus Black’s death —that Neo had likely had a hand in—, then the world reel over the murder of Haven’s headmaster —which he was also pretty sure Neo had had a hand in, thank’s a lot, tip from an old work buddy in Mistral—. And now, after all that, favors spent and night of sleep lost and lien lost from canceled operations and Neo just- came back to Vale like she expected not to be noticed.

Like he hadn’t had every member of his network watching the skies and ports for a bullhead of that make and model, like he hadn’t been theorizing about and preparing for and raging internally over whatever —whoever— had dragged Neo into this insanity. He could feel his hand going white-knuckled on the handle of Melodic Cudgel. There were top quality rounds loaded in it, ready for a fight, and he had several vials raw Dust tucked into his pockets to use as makeshift --and more powerful-- grenades. The moment Neo was back at his side, he was finding the person who had blackmailed her into this —made her cry and run and steal and kill without daring to stop and tell him why— and making an example of them. He wasn’t a king of the underworld by a long shot, but he was still Roman Torchwick and he was hardly some small fry who could be jerked around on a leash or have his partner stolen from under his nose without consequences.

The door hissed open, but no ramp lowered, this model was too old to still have a working one probably. Neo jumped down, turning to face the interior so quickly that he knew she hadn’t seen him yet. Roman took the opportunity to examine her. Physically she looked … surprisingly alright. No major injuries or signs of bandages, no bruises or flickers of Aura trying to heal wounds he couldn’t see. Hush was clean and folded on her back as she raised her hands as if to accept something from inside. So she wasn’t alone. The person jerking her strings —or someone also working for that person— was in the bullhead with her. Good. He was going to have a talk with the next person he saw come out of that ship-.

Tiny hands took Neo’s and Roman felt his world pause when a little girl hopped down with Neo’s help. The street rat couldn’t have been older than nine, probably closer to seven or eight. Bright green hair, dark skin, an eye color he couldn’t quite make out from this far away but definitely on the darker end of the spectrum. The girl smiled up at Neo, all sunshine and mischief and trust, like Neo could do anything, then the child waved to someone else inside and another brat hopped out, this one a scraggly boy with silver hair and a lean frame that moved like he had training. The boy didn’t bother taking Neo’s hands, and the moment he touched dirt he seemed to pick a verbal fight with Greenie.

Neo was still facing the interior of the bullhead, arms out, and Roman wondered if now he would get to see the puppet master —who collected street rats apparently, and that was sending up red flags in his head, because Neo was his and not up for claiming—. Instead, even tinier hands emerged, these ones wearing gloves, and a moment later Neo was catching a four year old and lowering him gently to the ground with a smile.

What. In the name of the Brothers Grimm. Was going on.

Neo set the child down and fiddled with her scroll. The bullhead door closed and it didn’t power on for another flight, which meant that … seemingly … no one else was inside. The two older street rats had clustered around the littlest of their number, talking to him and coaxing him up onto the silver haired brat’s back for a piggyback ride. Roman caught part of Neo’s words as she signed, something about being on their best behavior when she introduced them to-. To him. She was planning to bring them to him. Planning to come back.

“This is going to be hard enough to explain without you making Roman mad, Merc, Em. Got that? Don’t make him mad.”

Roman let his shoes clack audibly against the pavement of the port, swinging his cane to rest against one shoulder as Neo stiffened and whirled to face him. The two street rats exchanged looks while the toddler just blinked at him in surprise. The dark skinned girl chuckled nervously, “Uh. It kinda looks like he already is?”

“Greenie over there is right.” Roman called across the distance in a deceptively light tone, the one he used right before blowing someone’s brains out for making a crude comment at Neo or ruining one job too many, “Points to her for observational skills. So, Neopolitan,” Neo cringed at the use of her full name and the three kids shot her wide-eyed, worried looks, “care to explain what has been happening the last week and a half? Hmm? Like, I don’t know, where you’ve been and what you think you’ve been doing?”

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Team Gremlin verse #roman torchwick #dadwick is maddddd #also oscar is 6 #but he be teeny #so roman thinks he's younger

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alienheartattack · 3 years

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To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

#snk 139 #snk spoilers #snk leaks #snk fanfiction #alienheartattack writes

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antoni-anxiety · 3 years

Text

Tommy is babey, literally tho

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Run. Run. Run was all that could go through his mind right now. Dream was chasing Tommy. Tommy just wanted to get away from there. Dream blew up Logstedshire; Tommy had nothing to lose, apart from his life apparently, which was what he was running for right now. After about 15 minutes of a very close chase between Tommy and Dream, Tommy seemed to outrun the elder, which he was ever so thankful for.

After running so far, Tommy was exhausted and rightfully so; he almost just died. He was so, so cold, he was stuck, surrounded by snow. The boy decided to walk north for a bit further, in hopes that he would find rescue, and just as he hoped, he did. In the distance, he saw a small spruce cottage, with smoke erupting from the chimney, signaling that someone lived there; whoever it was, Tommy prayed that it wasn’t Dream. Uh oh. His vision became dotted and he could barely see, that probably wasn’t good. Right as he reached the front door and was about to knock, his legs collapsed and his mind went blank. He had passed out.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Technoblade finally had some time to himself. He’s been busy breeding the hounds and organising all day and he hadn’t had much time to relax in a while, and therefore he was now all cozy next to his fireplace, reading some books on greek mythology. He was pretty relaxed, well, until he heard a thud at his front door that is. He contemplated leaving it however his curiosity got the better of him. As he opened his door, he saw someone laying on the front step, ‘There’s no way that they’re older than 16.’ he thought to himself. Now, Techno is a ‘lone wolf’ as some might call it but he wasn’t gonna let some malnourished kid freeze to death on his front step. The man maneuvered the boy from outside onto his small couch; now that he got a better look at the boy, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

This frail, skinny boy was his younger brother. Worry filled Techno’s eyes, even though he pretended that the younger annoyed him ever so much, he had a soft spot for him, the kid could brighten anyone’s day by just saying hello. He had no idea what happened but that kid who was a ray of sunshine suddenly looked as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks and if anyone were to merely touch him, he’d crumble right then and there on the spot. Techno didn’t really know what to do except make Tommy comfortable until he woke up, and once he did, he’d ask him about everything. Techno couldn’t help but wonder what Tommy had gone through before he was there, ofcourse, he knew about Tommy’s exile but if it was like when he was exiled for the first time, Tommy wouldn’t be like this. Techno scoured his mind for what he knew of Tommy’s latest exile; Dream was to look after him, well clearly he wasn’t doing a good job. Oh fuck. Dream must have been abusing his little brother. With that thought, Techno stood up in rage. He was gonna kill that green bastard. That was until he heard stirring and a small whine from the couch. Whipping his head around, he saw Tommy try to sit up and ran over to him. The second that Tommy saw him he immediately started panicking. Techno being the awkward man he is, hugged Tommy in attempt to calm him down. This was gonna be a long night.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Tommy opened his eyes to be in an unfamiliar place, so of course, his first instinct was to panic. He sat up as quickly as he could and looked around, he saw his older brother approach him. Still in his tired state, his mind was all over the place and all that was going through his mind was ‘POSSIBLE DANGER. RUN’. Before he could process what to do and where to go, Techno had seemingly sensed his anxiety and hugged him tightly. The physical affection seemed to do its job and calm the younger down but it also made him feel loved, something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. The overwhelming emotions made the boy burst into tears, something in his mind seemed to shift, it made him feel younger. However, that was utterly absurd, it must’ve been the stress getting to him. Oh no. Tommy realised what was happening, he almost forgot that he used to do this to cope during all the wars. Of course, nobody knew about it, he’d be caught dead before he let anyone know he regresses; however, his mind was too foggy right now to tell what was happening and therefore reciprocated the hug. Techno was surprisingly a good hugger, and when he finally let go after 5 minutes of a silent hug, only filled with Tommy’s little sniffles, the younger slightly whined at the loss of the calming touch. When Techno looked at Tommy’s eyes, something about them was.. different. They were filled with a somewhat childish innocence which made Techno suddenly feel so protective of him. Tommy seemed to come to his senses and tried to get out of headspace, which he somewhat succeeded at, and immediately apologised to his big brother. ‘I’m s-so sorry Techno- fuck- Imma go, imma go now,’’, Techno was now worried for his baby brother so he couldn’t let him get off the hook so easily. ‘Hey, Toms you’re not going anywhere, you’re clearly ill and I’m worried, tell me what’s going on, hm? You usually wouldn’t burst into tears just like that..’ Techno stated with clear worry in his voice. Tommy was contemplating just lying to Techno but he knew that it wouldn’t work. For someone who barely socialises, Techno is really good at reading people just like open books, so Tommy decided to, reluctantly, tell him about his regression above all of his other issues, seeing as he was already on the verge of regressing again. ‘Uh so about the crying thing.. have you ever heard of fuckin.. Age regression or little space of some sort?’ Tommy just hoped that this wouldn’t go badly. Techno of course, read a lot, so he had the general grasp of what Tommy was talking about, he guessed that his little brother regressed, and he couldn’t lie, just the thought of it was utterly adorable. The piglin hybrid noticed that he hadn’t actually answered Tommy’s question and nodded, ‘So.. you regress? I know a little bit about this stuff, do you wanna be little?’. If he was being completely honest, Tommy had no idea that Techno would be acting this accepting and.. caring? He subconsciously made the choice that Techno was friendly and it was okay to regress around him, and he gave a small nod, on the edge of completely slipping.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Techno sat himself comfortably next to the younger boy, looking at him in awe; the boy was only 16 and he’d gone through multiple wars and several betrayals, he was so very strong, Techno couldn’t even begin to describe how proud he was. ‘Hey buddy how old are you feeling?’, Techno got a reply of Tommy shying away into his hands and raising 3 fingers. ‘Very small then hm? We should get you into something into a bit more warm, you look quite chilly buddy.’, Tommy made grabby hands at Techno and how could he deny such an adorable request? Techno lifted the skinny boy and brought him to his bedroom, placing him on his bed. Techno once again couldn’t help but get upset once again that his former friend hurt his baby brother; Tommy could have gotten frostbite or hypothermia with the tattered, thin clothes he had been wearing in such a cold biome. Techno finally fished out some joggers and a red hoodie he hadn’t worn in a long time. When he turned back from his closet to his bed, the sight he was met with nearly gave him a heart attack with how pure and adorable it was. Tommy was sat on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and played with his fingers softly, a tiny smile painted on his face. Sadly, this is the happiest Techno had seen Tommy in months, or years even. Techno sat on the bed, next to his younger brother, and helped him get dressed, slowly and carefully, making sure that he didn’t startle the baby. Techno picked Tommy back up and placed him back on the sofa; the two were just cuddling, that is until they heard the front door open. Tommy curled himself into a ball, while Techno protectively placed himself in front of him. The older was slightly relieved to see Phil in the doorframe, however he didn’t know how their father would react to Tommy’s regression, or whether Tommy would even want him to know: Techno could tell that Tommy was very shy and secretive about it. ‘Hey Techno, mate, who’s that?’ Phil asked, clueless about the stress that his sons were in because of his presence. Techno was almost physically sweating with the pressure being put on him, he awkwardly replied ‘Oh uh, hey Phil,’ Techno looked to Tommy who looked terrified. ‘Hey Toms? It’s just Phil, you’re okay..’ Techno whispered to the boy in attempt to calm him down; it seemed to work quite a bit. Unfortunately for the boys, Phil heard what Techno said and jumped at the opportunity to talk to his youngest son, ‘Did you say Tommy? Hello Toms, what’s up?’. Tommy froze and slowly looked up at his dad, tears gathering up in his eyes, Techno noticed and went to comfort his little brother. Phil was beyond confused, and did what anyone would do, ask what was going on. Techno looked to Tommy for approval before telling their dad, to which the boy nodded. With the knowledge Techno had gathered, he tried his best to answer Phil’s question; Phil is a nice guy, he helps anyone who needs it, and so he knew of quite a few coping mechanisms, and this was one of them. The eldest seemed to grasp onto the idea surprisingly quickly, and was immediately helping Techno coddle the younger. Neither of them could deny, the baby was adorable, babbling to himself and chewing on his fingers, which wasn’t exactly sanitary but adorable nonetheless. With the three being fully aware that Ghostbur wouldn’t mind this version of Tommy, and would have fun taking care of Tommy, Techno and Phil couldn’t help but hope that their family could grow close once again. Philza was sure to never let his baby boys go again, they would all rekindle their relationship with each other day by day, and soon were a fully functioning family once again.

#agere community #sfw agere #sfw little blog #sfw #sfw little community #mcyt age regression #dream smp agere #agere mcyt #mcyt agere #little!tommy #cg!techno #cg!philza #dream smp age regression #dreamsmp

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fuabloboi · 3 years

Text

The Treehouse

Day 2 of @petopher-events March 2021 - Kid fic

1982

“Hey! That’s my tree!” Chris peeked down, rubbing his face with the back of his arm as he heard a high-pitched fierce voice.

He groaned, running a hand over his short bristly hair. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Chris had just been beaten to a pulp by his father, and he was aware that if Gerard saw him cry, he would be battered all over again. He had ended up on a sturdy tree in the preserve after sneaking out the window, silently sobbing to himself. There was nowhere else Chris could have gone. If he tried to run away, Gerard would have still found him and he would have been returned to the Argent household by someone else. Sadly, his father had way too much influence over the county and its people.

“Shut up, it hasn’t got your name on it.” he shouted back.

“As a matter of fact, yes it does.” the voice cried out in reply.

Chris turned his head and caught sight of the initials ‘P. H.’ engraved onto the bark. He almost fell off when he faced forwards and saw a little dark-haired boy with big blue eyes perched opposite him.

“See.” he tilted his head.

“Well, now it’s got mine.” Chris muttered, fishing the pocket knife he carried everywhere and carving his own initials leaving a gap next to the other.

The boy rolled his eyes but outstretched his arm, “I’m Peter. Are you- are you okay?”

“Chris,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand, “And yeah I’m fine.”

“Don’t look like it.”

There wasn’t a single day he didn’t have a black eye, a bruise, or a cut. Gerard always found some reason to punish him and not even his own mother could do anything about it. He wasn’t even sure of how he was alive at that point.

“It doesn’t matter.” he replied hastily and asked, “How old are you?”

“Six.” Peter told him and continued, “What about you?”

“I’m twelve. And how’d you get up here so fast?” Chris inquired since he was confused as to how a six-year-old could race up such a tall tree.

Peter’s deep blue eyes briefly flashed in a golden yellow, and Chris realized that this kid was what Gerard wanted him to hunt down; a werewolf. However, unlike the vivid picture of bloodthirsty savage werewolves and their young that Gerard had painted in his head, the boy didn’t seem like a threat at all. Chris saw him as a human, not a monster.

Peter gasped suddenly, “You’re one of them aren’t you?”

“One of who?” he raised an eyebrow.

“The Argents.” the boy stated calmly.

Chris flinched and nodded at him. He had expected Peter to be afraid of him, and even run away, but he hadn’t. He sat completely unfazed and Chris was surprised.

“What are you doing here?” Peter questioned again.

“Nothing really. It’s peaceful up here and I like it.” he lied. Peter didn’t need to know why he actually came there. Chris wasn’t even sure whether the wolf would have understood if he had been honest.

“Cool!” the boy stared at him before exclaiming with a grin, revealing the absence of a few teeth, making Chris smile as well.

“Hey!” Peter greeted, hurtling up the tree and settling in front of him.

“Hey, Peter. What’s this?” Chris smiled at the boy and asked when he held out an energy bar packed in a blue wrapper.

“What it looks like, obviously.” he regarded, waving it, “Take it. I got it for you.”

“Me? Why?” he said, taking it from the wolf’s hands and tearing it open.

“You ask too many questions. I brought it thinking you might be here when I came.” Peter answered, digging into another energy bar that he had kept in his pocket.

“Well, thanks.” Chris replied, taking a bite.

He knew his father would have him whipped for accepting food from a werewolf without a second thought, but he was too famished to care. Gerard didn’t only beat him, he also starved Chris as punishment. The bar tasted like heaven and he wolfed it down. He was more than glad that Peter had brought it for him and yet he was also puzzled.

“You were hungry, I sensed it yesterday.” Peter revealed, licking his fingers.

“Really?” Chris said and stuffed the wrapper in his jacket pocket, “Why did you bring it, though? Why did you trust me? You know I’m… one of them.”

Chris didn’t even want to mention his own last name. He detested being an Argent and being referred to by that name.

“You smell nice.” Peter responded matter-of-factly, but Chris was confused.

He had loathed his own scent, however, with time he had grown accustomed to it. Chris knew he smelled of dried blood combined with sweat and he was pretty sure that didn’t smell nice. Horrible and disgusting seemed more likely.

“Excuse me, what?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Ta said that people who smell nice are good people and I can trust them.” Peter explained.

“Ta?”

“Talia, my sister. She started taking care of me after Ma and Pa- after they went to a better place.”

Everyone had heard the term ‘a better place’ at some point in their lives and that was when Chris pieced it together. Peter wasn’t just any ordinary werewolf who lived in Beacon Hills.

“You- you’re a Hale.” Chris stated wide-eyed.

“Yup.” Peter said bobbing his head.

It had taken place about a year ago when he was eleven and Chris could remember it clearly. Gerard had gloated to his fellow hunters about his achievement of being able to capture and kill both Richard and Emilia Hale, the two oldest members of the family, who were also widely known in the supernatural world. He had seen them briefly and to him, they seemed like genuinely pleasant people. His father had told him that Chris wasn’t old enough to understand, but he was sure that Gerard wasn’t doing something right if he could so heartlessly torture him. He had come to acknowledge that Gerard had the best interest to no one and only for himself.

1986

Chris yawned, his legs dangling from the tree and Peter was munching on an apple, murdering it with his fangs. The wolf was taller now and his hair had grown, the fringe covering his forehead and just above his eyes. It had been a gloomy day and Chris had made it to the tree right after training. He had been beaten again and his body had ached so much that he struggled to get on the tree, but Peter had helped him up and offered an apple.

They had been meeting every day for four years now and Gerard, thankfully, hadn’t suspected a thing. It was most probably since his younger sister Katherine had been born three years ago. The young wolf would arrive with food and they’d sit there together, sometimes talking and sometimes silent.

As a result of their conversations, Chris had discovered that Talia, Peter’s older sister was the alpha of the Hale pack and was the mother to a little wolf girl named Laura. He also found out that Peter was prone to have fits of rage, destroying his own toys. However, Peter had mentioned that he felt comfortable with him and Chris had never witnessed such behavior from the wolf.

“Christopher?” the boy called out.

Peter had begun to call him ‘Christopher’ instead of what everyone else called him in his life and Chris found that amusing. He liked the boy and he didn’t mind meeting him each day for the rest of his life. Chris wondered whether things would change by then, whether he’d escape Gerard and there would be no more hunting, a world where he and Peter could meet freely, no violence, no death, just peace, and happiness.

“Yeah?” he replied lazily, yawning again. Chris was still tired and he needed to nap. He couldn’t do that at home, and as uncomfortable as it would be, Chris felt like sleeping up on the tree.

“What do you think about a treehouse?” Peter suggested with a grin, chucking away the remainder of the apple.

“I like that.” Chris smiled, “But… only if you help me build one.”

Peter rolled his eyes and groaned, “Of course you’d say that. Fine, I’ll help.”

“Great. We start tomorrow. I’m gonna nap.” he muttered to the wolf before closing his eyes, cozying himself on the not-so-comfy branch.

“Well, I’ll be here protecting you.” Peter said and Chris laughed a little.

“And what are you going to do if someone tries to kill us?” He opened an eye to look at the Hale.

In an instant, Peter drew his claws and tried to growl menacingly. Chris thought that it was adorable.

1988

“Christopher!!!” Peter exclaimed, jumping off the tree and launching himself onto Chris, wrapping him in a tight hug. The wolf was twelve and several inches shorter than him but was obviously stronger than most kids his age.

“Peter, woah geez I’m human.” he laughed, stuck inside the rib-crushing hug.

“Happy 18th Birthday! Well, late birthday.” the boy shouted, hugging him tighter.

“Thank you, kiddo.” Chris groaned and Peter let go of him, grinning.

It had been Chris’ birthday the week before and he had been in Japan, doing his first gun deal with the goddamn Yakuza. Gerard’s idea of a birthday present was putting him in a near-death situation and Chris wasn’t even surprised. The experience had been extremely unsettling and so terrible, that he wanted to forget his 18th birthday. He had informed Peter about it a few days before but not many details as even Chris had been unaware of what he was going into until he had made it to the venue.

“What happened? You look pretty shaken up.” Peter eyed him, suspiciously.

“Yeah, it wasn’t that great. It was a gun deal with the Yakuza and it didn’t go that well, but I’m alive, right? So that’s what matters.” Chris managed a weak smile. He knew he couldn’t lie and Peter was always worried about him so he kept the details of figures materializing out of the shadows with swords similar to ninjatos to himself.

“The ya- what?” the wolf blinked at him.

“It’s like Japanese mafia, Pete.” he answered, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Woah geez. Are you hurt?” Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nah, nah I’m good.” Chris smiled. He was telling the truth in a way. Though he was injured then, he was better now and he was used to the pain regardless.

“Well enough of that. We’re going to have a proper celebration.” the boy smirked and Chris wanted to facepalm himself. He was sure that Peter would have planned something. It was just the way he was. Chris had never wanted anything for his birthday but the wolf would get him small trinkets and he appreciated it very much.

Chris had genuinely been surprised when Peter had introduced him as his best friend to the rest of the Hales. Peter’s sister Talia had dinner prepared and even baked a cake with ‘Happy 18th Birthday Chris!’ on it. Peter had made him what seemed like a bracelet with a little piece of wood shaped like a tree, which Chris assumed was to signify how they met. He had almost cried at the Hale House. He had never been so happy and no one had ever done anything so amazing for him. The Hales had treated Chris like he was one of their own and given him a birthday that he would never forget. The next morning Chris had sneaked back into the house, and Gerard hadn’t noticed his disappearance as always.

1992

“Christopher!” Peter yelled, and he could detect the excitement in his voice, “I did it!”

Chris sniggered as he slipped the wolf figurine that he had been carving for the past hour into his left jacket pocket. He sheathed the knife in his boot, stepped out, and settled on a branch before hanging upside down to greet the wolf.

“I did my first evolved shift!” he panted as he came to a halt.

It took a while for Peter to come into view and Chris shut his eyes when he did, almost plummeting onto the ground below.

“Why are you naked?” Chris groaned.

“What do you- have you seen wolves wearing clothes?” Peter whined back.

“Go get yourself some clothes or I’m leaving.” he said, with his eyes still closed.

There was another whine from the younger boy and it made him snicker. He loved how Peter could always lighten up his mood somehow. It was good and he felt lucky to have the wolf in his life. It had been ten years since they had met and Chris’ life had changed for the better though his father still made his life a living hell. Peter made him forget all of it when they spent time together.

“Ughhh will you come with me? Please, please, pretty please Christopher?”

“Fine.”

Chris landed onto his feet with a flip without opening his eyes and Peter snorted, before snarling. When he glanced in the direction of the sound, Chris saw a wolf with dark black sleek fur. He lowered himself onto one knee so he could run his hand through Peter’s coat. He let out something like a satisfied purr and Chris got back onto his feet. Then they were off, sprinting through the preserve back to the Hale house. Peter was quick, but Chris managed to keep up with him.

Once they had arrived at the residence, Peter shot up the stairs to his room. He came back down in his usual V-neck and jeans with a pout. His hair was shorter now and in a mess as always, yet Chris considered it to look good on him. The two of them went back to their tree, this time walking slowly.

They spent the day chasing each other around through the trees. Chris felt like an idiot for playing, but he was having fun and soon he became comfortable. It was pretty late when Chris was feeling exhausted, so Peter decided that they should take a swim in the lake. They fooled around for a couple of minutes and it was when they dried off to get dressed that Chris remembered about the wolf he had carved. When they got back to the treehouse, Chris had gifted the figurine to an astonished Peter. The wolf had adored it from first sight and thanked him endlessly. Since it was dark, they silently lied down next to each other on the wooden floor. Chris was an adult so he knew that Gerard didn’t give a damn about him as long as he was at the house in the morning.

“Christopher, can I say something?” Peter suddenly spoke up.

“Yeah?” he responded, turning to the side and propping himself up on his elbow.

“I- I- it’s hard to say.” he chuckled lightly, “Never mind.”

“Just go on Pete.” Chris hummed at the boy.

“I- I like you. A lot. You know- more- more than just a friend. I- I just didn’t understand it before.” he mumbled, stuttering a little.

Chris sighed, closing his eyes and lying on his back once more.

“Peter, you’re sixteen. What you feel- it’s not love. It’s just something you feel at this age as you grow.” he explained, “You will know what it’s like to be in love when you’re older, but this as much as you think it is, it isn’t.”

“Okay.” said Peter, softly and Chris flinched as he detected the hurt in the Hale’s voice.

‘I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey’ from David Bowie’s Lady Stardust started ringing in his head, because that’s exactly what he was doing now.

He had acknowledged that there was more than just a brotherly affection he felt towards Peter. He wanted to wrap the wolf in his arms, love him and protect him, but it just wasn’t right. Peter was a sixteen-year-old. He was still a boy in high school while Chris - he was twenty-two; an adult. Chris was disgusted by his own self for the attraction he had to the teenager. It may just be a six year age gap, but Peter was a kid and he wasn’t. It was wrong and Chris detested that he couldn’t view Peter as just his best friend anymore.

Even if their ages weren’t a problem, anything else between them would only give Gerard more reason to harm Peter if he found out. Chris didn’t give a damn about what happened to him. He needed the wolf to be safe no matter what and it would break him if Peter was hurt. It was a sacrifice that he had to make, so they wouldn’t lose what they already had. To Gerard, it wouldn’t be just about loving a werewolf, but also about loving a man.

1993

Peter was already at the treehouse when Chris got there. They were still the best of friends even after the confession from Peter almost a year ago. Things remained just the same and the younger boy didn’t make any advances. This day Chris had news. News that was going to change his life and possibly affect their friendship as well.

“Hey, Pete.” Chris greeted as he settled himself opposite Peter on the wooden floor.

“Christopher.” Peter smiled at him. He had grown into a beautiful man now and Chris still could recall the six-year-old with the missing teeth. Chris had literally watched him grow through the years.

“I’ve- I’ve got news. I’m getting-” he started to say, but was soon interrupted.

“Married next week,” Peter finished his sentence and Chris frowned, “What? All of the supernatural world knows. A hunter family visiting Beacon Hills? It’s obvious. Besides, news spreads around here fast.”

He stared at Peter with his jaw dropped and then nodded. The wolf was right about all of it and Gerard had planned it to be a grand wedding. The funny thing about that was the fact that Chris had never seen the girl he was going to marry or even heard her name. Obviously, Gerard was doing it for his own benefit. He pondered over the question of what it would be like to live with a stranger for the rest of his life.

“Yes.” he said, confirming what Peter had said.

“Well, I’ve got some news too, Christopher.” Peter spoke again, his tone slightly somber.

“What’s that?” Chris inquired.

“I’m leaving. For college that is.” his voice was soft, and Chris couldn’t believe that he had forgotten. Of course, Peter was going to leave. He had mentioned that he was contemplating that decision some time ago. Maybe Chris had been thinking that it wouldn’t come to that.

“Where to?” he asked the boy.

“Oh, that- no idea yet. I’ve got a little more time.” Peter grinned and Chris cracked up.

They spent that entire day together as there was a possibility that it would be the last one they could meet each other freely. It was as much as he could have. Though Chris loved him too, they would be star-crossed lovers and he just wanted to save Peter from that pain.

1998

“Daddy, where thish?” the little dark-haired fair girl in Chris’ arms chirped.

“We’re going to see my good friend, Ally sweetheart.” he said, kissing the top of her head. She was four but insisted on being carried and Chris just couldn’t say no.

“Okay, Daddy.” she hummed, resting her head against his collarbone.

It had been a long while since he had gone back to the treehouse. Chris had become busier with the business and had the responsibility of sustaining a family. Besides, Peter was away as well and he missed the wolf dearly. It was tough at first, not being able to meet his best friend, talk to him or hear of how he was doing. Even if it got easier with time, the Hale was on Chris’ mind every single day and the feelings were still there though he was a husband, a father.

Talia had secretly informed Chris that Peter would be returning to Beacon Hills because she had figured that he’d want to see the wolf again. She didn’t know of his feelings but knew how close they had been.

“Peter!” Chris called out when he arrived at the tree.

“Christopher!” there was a roar and Peter landed, leaping off the tree. Allison stared in amusement.

Chris caught his breath when he got a proper look at Peter. His hair had grown slightly, but it was still the gorgeous mess it used to be. He hadn’t changed much, but Chris could see that Peter had matured, despite the goofy grin on his face. Peter wasn’t a boy. He was a man. It hurt Chris. Seeing the one he always wanted. The one he couldn’t have.

“And who is this angel, then?” Peter spoke first, beaming at his daughter.

“Allison, my daughter.” Chris smiled at the Hale, “Allison, this is Peter, my best friend.”

The words sounded almost bitter in his mouth. Best friends. That was all they could be, but at least they had that.

“Hello, Allison.” the wolf said, waving at her and Chris removed her from his chest, holding her towards Peter.

“Hi, Peter.” she chuckled at him.

Peter raised an eyebrow and Chris insisted with a nod. The wolf gently took Allison into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck instantly. He gazed at him, thrilled. Chris was glad that Allison was comfortable with him since every time Gerard was nearby, she’d break down crying. He didn’t blame her and kept her away from the man as much as he could. It was also amazing to see Peter so happy after years of not meeting each other.

They chatted as Peter gave Allison a piggyback and played with her, fooling around. Chris got the idea that Peter was great with kids and then realized that he was already an uncle to a sixteen-year-old girl, a ten-year-old boy as well as a four-year-old girl. He tried to picture what it would be like to raise a child with Peter, but soon let that thought go because it hurt too much.

As they talked, the wolf revealed that he didn’t want to go to law school, since he didn’t want to stay away from the pack for much longer and didn’t need a job for himself. He also wanted to be where Chris was. That piece of information made Chris feel better and even if they couldn’t hang out in their treehouse, there was a chance they could run into each other frequently.

When evening arrived, Chris decided that it was high time to leave. His wife Victoria would be paranoid and there was no cell signal in that area. Allison also seemed to be exhausted after playing. They had stayed there for a good amount of time. Before they said their goodbyes, Chris wrapped his arms around Peter and pulled him into a tight hug. He gently ruffled his hair like he did when they were younger, earning a snicker from the Hale in return. It had been forever since they last hugged and Chris missed it more than he could fathom.

“Hey, sweetie. I need you to help me.” Chris told Allison as they got to the edge of the preserve.

“Yes, Daddy?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Can you promise me that you won’t tell anyone about Peter? And if someone asks where we were, will you tell them we were at the park? Can you do that for me?” he requested. Chris had wanted Peter to meet Allison and he knew what could take place if anyone else found out about that.

“I promise. I will do that.” she grinned at him and then frowned, “But why?”

“You’ll understand when you get older, sweetie.” Chris pressed his lips to the side of her head.

“Okay, Daddy. Park.” she yawned, falling asleep on Chris.

2003

Chris crept down the stairs with his flashlight, trying to make the least sound possible. It didn’t take him long to make out Peter and Derek hiding in the dark.

“Pete, Der?” he whispered to them.

He had managed to shake off Gerard and the other hunters before making it to the Nemeton. Peter had brought him there a couple of times and he figured that it would be where Peter and Derek ran off to. Though it would take the others a while to find the Nemeton, Gerard wouldn’t stop at tracking the wolves down, so Chris had to make sure they got away safely. He didn’t want to see what would happen to them otherwise. Peter was usually up to no good and Chris made sure to keep an eye on him as much as he could. It also didn't help that there were three other werewolf packs in Beacon Hills at the time. It could be a jackpot for Gerard.

“Yeah?” Chris heard Peter’s voice answer him, but his tone was more of a question.

“You have to get out now. Gerard- he’s coming.” he informed them and, both Peter and Derek slowly made their way towards Chris.

“Hey.” Derek said, his expression showing slight fear. The boy was about fifteen.

“Hey, Der.” Chris replied with a smile and glanced at Peter. He swore that the older wolf only got more attractive each time he saw him, which really wasn’t much. They met, but not as frequently as they used to and it almost tore Chris into pieces. He missed Peter terribly and when he lay in bed at night, Chris knew that he wanted Peter next to him instead of Victoria, and she was aware of that as well. She didn't know about Peter, but she did know that Chris wasn't exactly in love with her since it was the same with her for Chris.

Peter moved forward to hug him but Chris deflected it by grabbing his arm. He pouted and groaned.

"Peter, seriously, you need to be more careful. Gerard is so much more on alert these days and I- Peter- I don't…" Chris tried to say and faltered because the lump that formed in his throat didn't allow him to speak further.

Peter put his arms around Chris, wrapping him into a tight hug, "Don't worry, Christopher. I'll be fine."

"Don't you 'I'll be fine' me, Peter. I always worry about you. Promise to me that you'll take care." Chris told the younger man, ruffling his hair.

"Yes, I promise." he mumbled, resting his chin on Chris' shoulder.

Chris wished that the hug could go on for longer. However, they had to get moving now and hugs were for a later time. He pulled away from Peter begrudgingly before it got to the point that he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the wolf. It felt like torture.

He led them out from what looked like a root cellar as quickly as he could. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around just yet. Chris glanced at Peter.

“Yeah, I don’t hear anyone. I think we can get back home safely.” Peter said, reading Chris’ mind, “Der, go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

The teenager nodded and hurried off, disappearing among the trees.

Peter gazed at him, “I’ll see you around I guess.”

“Remember your promise?” Chris asked the Hale.

“Yes, Christopher. I promise I’ll take care.” Peter answered with a smirk and then he was gone, leaving Chris all on his own by the Nemeton.

2004

Chris’ heart was heavy in his chest. He had contacted Peter a few days ago and asked to meet him at the treehouse. He and Victoria had decided to leave Beacon Hills and stay away from Gerard. Victoria didn’t want Allison to be exposed to the supernatural and Chris didn’t either. Chris was sure that Gerard would try to snake his way into the little girl’s mind and twist her views like he did with his younger sister Kate. Even if Gerard didn’t take that route, Chris didn’t want Allison to live through a childhood similar to his. He didn’t want his daughter to grow up to hunt those similar to Peter. Those two were the people in Chris’ life that he loved the most and it would kill him if something happened to either one of them.

He climbed the tree and got himself onto the treehouse to see that Peter was sitting there waiting for him.

“Christopher, what’s going on? You asked to meet me.” Peter said, studying him intently.

“Yeah, Peter, I have news.” Chris told him with a sigh.

Peter raised an eyebrow, rising to his feet, “News? Last time you said that you were going to get married. You’re not getting married again are you?”

Chris chuckled softly, shaking head at the wolf, “No, Peter, I’m not getting married again. I’m- we- we’re leaving Beacon Hills.

“Leaving? You’re going? For how long?” Peter inquired, astounded.

Chris shrugged. They weren’t sure whether they’d ever move back and that was what hurt the most. He would likely never see Peter ever again. Though, Chris was ready if that was what it took to not have to watch his daughter hunt down Peter and his family.

The wolf launched onto Chris, taking him into a tight hug. Chris stumbled backward, but regained his footing and wrapped his arms around Peter. His heart shattered when he heard a sniffling sound.

“Hey, Pete…” Chris choked out the words, stroking Peter’s head with one hand and rubbing his back with the other.

“I- I know we haven’t seen each other much lately, but- but you’re my best friend. You- you were always there for me for most of my life.” he mumbled, “I’ll- I’ll miss you, Christopher. What will I do without you?”

“I’ll miss you too, Pete, but that’s how things are. I’m sorry. I just want you to be safe. You’ll do great without me, I’m sure.” Chris said to Peter, ruffling the younger man’s hair.

Peter silently clung to him a little longer and then finally spoke, “Promise me you’d at least let me know you’re alive from time to time?”

“Promise.”

They spent the rest of the day walking through the preserve that had been a home to them. Chris tried to take it all in before he left. The preserve had been his sanctuary and had given him his best friend.

2011

In just one night, Chris’ entire world crashed down upon him as he watched helplessly. It started off when Stiles had implied that Kate had set the Hale House on fire and unfortunately, it all made sense to him. The idea that someone of his blood was the reason for the demise of a family that actually cared about him, made his blood boil. His younger sister was the reason that Peter was so badly injured and in a vegetative comatose state. The sole reason Chris had left Beacon Hills was to make sure that Peter would be safe and if he had remained there, the wolf would be happy and full of life, while the other Hales would still be alive.

It had gotten even worse subsequently when it was revealed that it was in fact Peter who was the alpha. The bloodthirsty alpha committing all the murders in Beacon Hills. The alpha that Chris had returned to Beacon Hills to hunt. His best friend was the alpha. His beloved Peter was the monster that Chris was attempting to kill.

That wasn’t all. Peter had murdered Kate, ripping her throat out with his claws, that too in front of Allison. Then Peter had been set on fire before having his own throat ripped out by Derek, right in front of Chris’ eyes and he just stood there, unable to do anything. Everything he was used to and everyone he had known was different and he assumed that was what pain did to people.

Chris wished he could have done more. He could have intervened. He could have tried to help Peter this time. But he didn’t and so now here he was at an unholy hour, back at the treehouse, sobbing to himself exactly like he did twenty nine years ago, except then there was no treehouse then. Chris could remember how he had cried when he heard about the fire and that was nothing compared to the pain he felt this night. Chris thought about how could have saved Peter from his fate, but this time he had lost Peter completely and his mind wouldn’t stop recalling the six-year-old with the missing teeth, the crazy mischievous teenager that would joke around with him, the man Chris had deeply fallen in love with. It was like a hole in his heart, one that could never be filled.

Peter was gone and Chris didn’t want to believe that. It was Peter. He didn’t just die. He just couldn’t. Chris hated everything, he hated everyone including himself. He didn’t give a fuck anymore. Nothing mattered any longer.

This was exactly what Chris had tried to avoid and all he had done was fuel it. Even if it wasn’t directly, Chris was still to blame. He had failed everyone and he wondered what Peter had been thinking when he saw Chris standing there, doing nothing for him. His best friend, not lending a hand when he was dying. Had Peter given up on Chris as he died? It broke him into pieces.

Chris looked over at where he had carved his name next to Peter’s and he raised an eyebrow. Maybe his vision was blurry from the crying but he could make out a plus sign between their names. He rubbed his eyes and looked again to see just that. Had some kid found their treehouse and done that?

Or had it been Peter?

Had the wolf still had those feelings for him from almost two decades ago? Had Peter still loved Chris despite the rejection, despite Chris getting married to a woman? Had Peter yearned for him when he was away from Beacon Hills? Had Peter carved the sign between their names because it was his little secret since no one would know what it meant and since he thought Chris wouldn’t see it as he wouldn’t come back? Did Peter love Chris as he lay on the preserve floor, seconds away from his death? Chris would never have those answers because he was too late, too idiotic, and foolish.

His heart ached even more. If Peter did love him, he would have died thinking that Chris never felt the same way about him, though in reality, Chris did. He wished he would have just told the wolf the truth and then explained why they couldn’t be together.

Chris glanced at his watch, realizing that it was almost 3 in the morning. Here he was mourning a werewolf while his family mourned his younger sister. He had to get back home. Although his heart was in pain for someone else, Chris had his duties. He ran his hand over the carvings of the tree and drew back his sleeve, exposing the wrist he wore Peter’s gift and kissed it. Chris had worn it every single day of his life after receiving it and that was all he had of the wolf now.

Chris wasn’t sure whether his life was getting worse or better. First Kate, then Peter and now Victoria. However, Peter was back and it drove Chris mad. He had mourned for the wolf, cried his eyes out wishing he could have saved the wolf and hating himself for doing nothing. Then Peter had emerged out of nowhere at the warehouse and Chris couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt stupid for crying and he had been right when he thought that Peter didn’t just die. The fact that Peter had returned to the world of the living the exact night Victoria died baffled him. It was as if the universe willed it.

He found himself in the treehouse once again after Allison had fallen asleep. Chris was happy, and yet so furious. Couldn’t have Peter said something? Couldn’t he have left Chris a sign showing that he was alive? Chris wasn’t crying this time. Instead, he had settled on the floor with his head against the wall, eyes closed, rubbing his forehead trying to make sense of all the different emotions churning inside his system.

There were a few creaks accompanied by a shuffling sound and then a voice said, “Christopher, it’s me.”

There was no way Chris didn’t recognize that voice. It made him feel like his heart was about to melt. He opened his eyes to stare right into Peter’s, drowning in the beautiful blue ones that Chris had always had adored. The wolf was sitting in front of him, cross-legged. There was stubble on Peter’s face now and he was as gorgeous as always. Chris wanted to kiss the heck out of the man.

“I fucking hate you.” he mumbled, before springing towards Peter and into his arms, taking him into a bone-crushing hug. The familiar scent felt like home and Chris was warm inside. He melted into Peter as the wolf hugged him, gently rubbing Chris’ back, and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Chris had already forgiven the man before the apology and pulled away to look at him again. He couldn’t begin to describe how much he had missed Peter. To Chris, it had been like an eternity until he had seen Peter again. Peter smiled at him and Chris was smiling back naturally, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He peeked at the carving and Peter cleared his throat.

“About that… It’s probably not the right time to tell you this, but I’m not sixteen anymore, so I’m sure it’s real.” he said, and produced the wolf figurine Chris had given him.

“You loved me?” Chris asked the wolf.

“No, Christopher I love you. Always have and still do.” Peter replied, taking Chris’ face in his hands.

He wasn’t sure if he was hearing wrong. Peter had loved him all along.

“But- but you didn’t…” Chris tried to say.

“I knew you must have a good reason to hide it and just stay friends with me, so I didn’t say anything again. I could still smell it on you though. Talia was the one who told it to me because she could smell it too. Heck at first, I didn’t know and I couldn’t stand myself for falling for my best friend. I was confused why you didn’t want something more between us, but I understood eventually. And now we’re here, Christopher. What have we got to lose?” Peter spoke softly, looking into his eyes and stroking his cheek.

Chris was kissing Peter before he knew it, letting loose of all the emotions that he had been bottling up for years. He had never thought this day would come, and he tightened the hug, not wanting to let go of the wolf. He couldn’t let that happen again. Peter was kissing him back passionately, and Chris got lost in all his feelings. It felt good. The taste of Peter’s lips on his, the wolf’s touch against his skin, the warmth. He pulled back, resting his head against Peter’s neck.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this but was glad that there was a chance for Peter and him. Chris could be with the one he had truly loved when he was a boy. It was possible now, though it had seemed impossible back then. They could still have a future. Peter held Chris in his arms as they stayed in the treehouse in silence. They didn’t need to say anything.

When Chris had run off to the preserve twenty nine years ago and sobbed to himself on this very tree, he had never imagined that it would lead him to happiness.

#petopher events #petopher edit #peter hale x chris argent #petopher fics #my fanfiction #teen wolf

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

Okay

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Characters: Will Halstead x Halstead!Reader x Jay Halstead, eventual Casey x Reader

Warning/s: kidnapping, assault, drugging, fire, guns

Word Count: 2,542

Request: If you’re still taking requests can you do a jay x will x sister reader were she ends up getting kidnapped then they save her but she’s badly hurt and they freak out and worry about her when she doesn’t seem like herself please?

Summary: Reader has a comfortable life in Chicago and works a safe job at a library in town, but her life is thrown upside down when she gets kidnapped on her way home from work by people who want revenge against her brother Jay Halstead.

You didn’t really seem to fit the Halstead mould, the your oldest brother, Will, was a doctor, your other older brother, Jay, was a detective, and you, well you were a librarian. Will and Jay hadn’t always been around, Will had gone to New York for his medical degree and Jay had left to fight a war, you didn’t hold any ill will towards them for that, but someone had had to stay in Chicago to take care of your parents, especially when your mom got sick. So that fell to you, the youngest child, which was honestly fine by you, you hadn’t had any big plans for your life anyway, and you enjoyed what you did now... or at least, what you did now was safe and kept a roof over your head.

Your brothers didn’t mind that your job wasn’t heroic, they actually prefered you far away from the front lines, and you couldn’t blame them, there’d been a lot of tragedy for the Halsteads, and you didn’t plan on being the next casualty.

Well, you may not have planned to be, but whoever grabbed you and pulled you into a moving van when you were heading home from your usual week day shift clearly hadn’t gotten that memo.

One minute everything was normal, the next everything changed.

Your attacker wore a mask, and he wasn’t alone, there was at least one other person in the back with you and someone was obviously driving. You tried to kick and scream but they overpowered you, securing your hands and feet. The last thing you remembered before everything went dark was an odd smelling cloth being forced over your mouth.

By the time you woke up your head was pounding and your mouth was dry, your ankles and wrists chafing against the ropes that tied you to a beam in the room you were in, where ever that was. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but as your eyes slowly focused in on your surroundings you noticed a small window on the opposite side of the room you were in, the night sky partially visible through a crack in the newspaper that had been used to cover it up.

This was bad, very bad, you thought, panicking as you tried to desperately to free yourself from your restraints, which actually seemed to do more harm than good. Taking a very shaky breath you tried to focus, breathing in and out of your nose slowly as you though of what Jay might do in this situation. Jay... he’d come for you, with the full force of the Intelligence Unit behind him; it was a comforting thought, and one which enabled you to steady your heart rate enough so that you could hear your own thoughts without it pounding in your ears.

You could see stairs on the otherside of the room leading up, you were definitely in a basement, but there wasn’t much down here besides a broken games table, and a washing machine and dryer that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years - somewhere abandoned maybe? a foreclosed house? God a drug den even? This place clearly didn’t have a white picket fence outside, and the thought of who might be staying here, who might be staying here, who might have taken you, had your mind racing...

The sound of a door opening snapped you out of your thoughts, jumping as someone came stomping down the stairs, phone in hand and paying you no attention. He was a heavy set man, white and maybe middle aged, and you didn’t recognise him from anywhere. His face was uncovered, which was bad, you knew enough to know that if your captures didn’t go to lengths to hide their identity, then you probably weren’t making it out alive to ID them. What you needed was time, you thought as he slid his phone back into his dirty jean pockets.

“Good,” he said, approaching you as you tried to shuffle away, your wrists and ankles burning from the strain, “you’re awake.” He pulled the gag down from your mouth so that it hung around your neck and stepped back again as another man came down the stairs. He looked considerably younger than the first man, but still in his late 20s at least, leaner and with much more hair, but the family resemblance was clear, father and son you guessed. Which meant the third guy was probably a brother, or uncle.

“You gonna call him now that she’s awake?” The younger one asked, and you had a sinking feeling you knew who they were going to call, your cop brother.

“Yeah,” he dug a phone out of his pocket, but it wasn’t his own, it was yours. “Get her to unlock it.” He passed the phone to his son who approached you, grabbing your hair to make you look at him.

“What’s the password?” He demanded, giving your hair a rough tug as you struggled in his grasp.

“Go to hell,” you tried, your voice audibly shaking with fear. He let go of your hair and back handed you across the face, your cheek stinging with the contact as he grabbed you again.

“Try again,” the father said and you nodded, telling him the number combination to unlock the phone, if you were braver you might have held out, but you weren’t trained for this, you were a librarian for God’s sake.

The phone started ringing and your brother’s voice came through on the other end, “hey Y/N, I’ve been worried, you were supposed to come to Molly’s but you didn’t show, everything okay?” You opened your mouth to say something but the son shut you up, the father taking the phone from him as another man came down the stairs, gun in hand, and definitely another son.

“I’m sorry detective, but your sister can’t come to the phone right now, she’s a little tied up,” he said.

“Who the hell is this!?” Jay demanded, “where the hell is my sister!?”

“Someone who you owe Halstead, you took my son from me, destroyed my family, and now I’m going to do the same to yours,” he said venomously and you swallowed a large lump in your throat, the pit in your stomach growing painfully large.

“If you harm a hair on her head-” Jay began but the man cut him off.

“Do you remember my son detective? You put a bullet in him! You took my Joseph from me, now I’m going to show you what that pain feels like!” He yelled, face going red with rage. The son on the stairs had come down and his father snatched the gun from his hand. “This is only a taste of the pain you put my family through detective.” He pointed the gun and fired, pain shooting through your shoulder and your entire body as you cried out.

“Y/N!” You heard Jay yell frantically, but it was drowned out by your own screams.

“You’ll never see her again detective, just like I’ll never see my boy and my sons will never see their brother. Just remember Halstead, this is on you.” He grabbed your shoulder and squeezed the wound, making you cry out again. “Goodbye.”

“No, no!-” Jay was cut off as the man hung up, dropping the phone and smashing it beneath his heel. The gag was put back on your mouth, but it wasn’t necessary, your vision was blurring and you passed out from the pain.

You were beaten, bruised, bleeding, so groggy that it had taken you a few seconds to realise what had finally pulled you from your unconscious: the room was on fire. That’s right, you thought, your mind still foggy from the beating, and the smoke probably, they’d doused the room in gasoline when they’d left.

You struggled to move, realising they hadn’t even bothered with your restraints when they left you for dead; it was too hot, you couldn’t breath, could barely think as the flames got closer to you. You tried to crawl to the stairs but you saw that they had collapsed, the wood hadn’t stood a chance once the gasoline was ignited.

You stayed as close to the floor as you could to breath clean air, not that you could stand up if you tried. Darknessed threatened to overcome your vision as you tried to stay awake, soundlessly screaming for help. There was movement at the top of the stairs, muffled noises, and the last thing you remember before unconsciousness claimed you again was strong hands pulling you out of the flames.

They told you that they’d managed to work out who the perp Jay shot was, that they’d found a car that had been reported stollen by someone matching the description of one of the sons outside a gas station leaving town and caught them before they could make their getaway. But by the time they found out where you were, everything was up in flames. 51 had arrived at the scene at the same time as Intelligence, and Ruzek and Atwater had had to hold Jay back as Casey and Stella had come in to get you out. You had minor burns and smoke inhilation, they told you, three broken ribs, a broken ankle, severe bruising and laserations, a deep gash on the back of your head, and of course, you’d been shot.

Will had filled you in the best he could after you’d finally woken up. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and you’d needed emergency surgery to save your life. You’d been in and out for a few days after that, when you were awake you were so hopped up on pain medication that you couldn’t tell if you were just dreaming.

But you were fully awake now, and very much aware of the ache in every body in your body, as your brother spoke. You didn’t say much back to him, or Jay, or anyone who came and went, you just felt numb.

You’d grown up knowing all the dangers in the city, in the world, but you’d always been pretty sheltered by your brothers, and to go through what you did... you felt vulnerable, bare, like your world view had been stripped off and you were left seeing the true horrors around you.

“Y/N,” Will said, touching your arm to get your attention. You jumped and he pulled back, face stricken with emotion as he looked at his little sister, God you must have looked as bad as you felt, you thought, turning to face him to show you were at least listening. “We’re going to keep you here a couple more days for observation and then discharge you in the morning okay?” You nodded, “you can go home then, or stay with me or Jay if that’s what you want,” another nod, your eye lids getting heavy again all of a sudden. Will noticed and stood to leave, kissing you on the top of the head. “I love you Y/N, I’m so sorry- it’s going to be okay, I promise, just rest for now.” You knew he meant it, you knew he believed it, but you weren’t sure you believed it too.

It’d been a few weeks since the incident, your arm was still in a sling but most of the damage was fading, the external damage anyway. You’d stayed with Jay for most of the first week out before you forced yourself to go home to your apartment, but you still slept with all the lights on. You didn’t know when you were going to stop feeling this powerless, but you’d recently been starting to think that the way to get some control of your own life again was to take charge of something that you could do. You didn’t want to go back to the library, you’d spent the past week shelving books the best you could with one hand, but it felt wrong, you wanted to do something more, something to help people, like you’d been helped when you needed it.

You were meeting your brothers at Molly’s, and you’d finally made up your mind on the way over, you knew what you were going to do to take charge of your life again.

“Hey, there she is!” Jay waved to you from where he sat at the bar and patted a seat next to him, “Will’s just chatting to Maggie he’ll be over in a minute, want a drink?” He was trying to sound normal but you could tell it was strained, he’d been beating himself up for weeks about what had happened to you, blaming himself even though there was nothing he could have done differently, nothing he’d done wrong.

“I’ll just have a water, thanks,” Stella nodded to you from across the bar and went to fetch one as you took your seat.

“You good?” Jay asked, giving you a careful once over.

“I’m good Jay,” you said softly, squeezing his hand as your drink arrived. He opened his mouth to say something else but you shook your head and said more confidently, “I am.”

You could tell he wanted to say more but at that moment Will came over and took a seat on the other side of you. “Hey, glad you made it, I was beginning to think you would show.” He patted your arm, the same concern in his eyes that Jay had.

“Why would I not? I am the one who asked to talk to you guys you know.” You smiled.

“Uh-huh we know, is everything alright?” Will asked.

“Yeah you said you had something to tell us,” Jay sat up straighter, and both men got very serious.

“Relax, I’m fine, it’s nothing bad,” you reassured them before continuing, “I know I haven’t really been seeming like myself lately, and I know you guys are worried, but I just needed you to know that you shouldn’t be. I’ve needed some space to think things over, make sense of what happened-” Jay cast his eyes down guiltily and you grabbed his hand again “-and I’ve come to a conclusion, I’ve made a decision about my life that I think will really help me move past this.”

“Oh?” Will said questioningly, “you’re not like, leaving Chicago are you?”

“No, nothing like that,” you said, “I’m quitting the library, not right away, but it’s time I do something else with my life, something more impactful, like you guys.” Jay and Will shared a worried look.

“Are you sure? After what happened, don’t you want to be somewhere safe?” Jay asked.

“I was somewhere safe when what happened happened Jay,” you told him, “and I can’t go back and pretend nothing happened, I want to move forward, make a difference,” your voice was confident and steady, “I’m not a kid anymore, this is my decision, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I know it’s the right one.”

“Okay,” Will conceded but Jay still shook his head.

“What did you have in mind?” He asked, “what, cop?”

“Doctor?” Will followed on.

“No,” you shook your head and smiled, “I’m gonna become a firefighter.”

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prismatales · 4 years

Text

Bitter Memories

First of all I'd like to thank @bnhabookclub for allowing me to join their server, thanks to them I got the chance to meet so much wonderful people that helped me out with this request. I'd like to thank @honeytama and @samanthaa-leanne for beta-reading this for me as well! You guys were some great help!

Now time for some sibling bonding between The birdbrain and his baby chick!

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS, INJURIES, MENTIONS OF ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL, ANGST, FLUFF.

Your lungs felt like they were burning with each step you took, blood pressure reaching a terrifying level from the adrenaline running through your veins in a desperate attempt to reach a certain room.

The only command your brain seemed to understand was to look for HIM.

If there was something you absolutely despised was hospitals, the smell of medicine that overwhelmed your nostrils was despicable, hearing the wails of people as they lost a loved one always sent shivers through anyone's spine.

You rushed to the main desk, slamming both hands in front of the receptionist before asking for Takami Keigo's room, at first she only gave you a look, believing you were nothing more than a fangirl who happened to find out the winged hero had arrived to the hospital due to his injuries from the last mission.

Imagine her surprise when you showed her an ID with the same last name as the current number two hero, that seemed to do the trick as she swiftly began tapping away on her computer with nothing but embarrassment on her face at the idea she almost told one of the hero's relatives to scram.

She didn't bother to say anything as she saw you running away to see him as soon as you were told in which room he was recovering.

The sound of your own heartbeat felt so loud and heavy against your ears it could almost be heard by anyone who happened to get close, the few nurses, doctors and patients that happened to pass by only say a blur passing them like a gust of wind.

Nothing mattered to you in that moment but a single goal, to find your older brother.

Hawks may be a pain in the ass most of the time who's always teasing you or trying to scare away any guy who happened to look in your direction for more than two minutes.

He may have abandoned you with that pair of alcoholics you had the unfortunate luck of call "parents".

He may have left you behind all those years to become a hero.

But in the end he was still your older brother, the same dork that kept trying and trying to spend time with his little sister, even despite the may times his calls were ignored and sent over to voicemail. The same guy who got nothing but corn chips as birthday and christmas gifts and posted it on his twitter account with a smile at his sister's antics.

The same guy who had your back during that mission where you got severely injured, and that almost cost you the one thing that allowed Takami Y/N to follow the path of a hero...your wings.

Doors kept going and going one after another in a seemingly endless row as you ran around the halls.

424...425...426....

426! That was the number! The words "Takami Keigo" written neatly underneath.

You stood in place for a minute....gasping for air and feeling like someone had rubbed sandpaper inside your throat from how parched it felt, but that didn't matter in that moment, the only thing that really mattered was knowing your brother would be alright.

Knocking gently on the door before stepping inside didn't prepare you for the sight laid in front of your eyes.

There in a hospital bed sat your brother looking outside through the window, bandages littered almost his whole body as well as a good portion of his face from the way the left side of his face was also bandaged.

But what really knocked out all of your breath and caused bile to rapidly rise up your throat was the one thing that made people recognize Keigo as one of the best heroes all across Japan, the lack of those beautiful vermilion wings that grew on his back felt like a bucket of iced water had been thrown on your back.

"...Keigo?"

His head, which had been tilted up while admiring the world through the other side of the window, slowly turned back towards you, seeing the left side of his face, including his eye covered in bandages didn't help soothing the growing pit inside your stomach.

Keigo's eyes no longer held that characteristic mischievous energy of his, but they still had faint traces of that comforting warmth he always held for those he held close to him.

"...Y/N?"

Somehow hearing him call out your name instead of that annoying nickname you absolutely despised and he always used just for the sake of riling you up made a huge wave of pain crash into your very soul like a tsunami, never in life did you ever thought there would come a day where not hearing Keigo calling out for his "baby chick" would end up feeling this horribly painful.

Running up towards him caught Keigo off guard, more so when he felt the warmth of your body envelope his upper half and the way your whole body trembled like nothing but a mere leaf in the middle of a storm, somehow it made something inside him break, hands wrapping around your own shoulders to return the embrace before burying his face down.

In that moment Keigo realized just how touch starved he really is, all because of all those years of ruthless and rigorous training his younger self had to endure to become not a hero, but a weapon for a broken system.

"...Was it worth it Y/N?" He murmured sadly in the collar of your sweater, that voice was not Keigo's, but that of a broken man who's life had lost its whole meaning in a matter of hours, after all...that's exactly what happened to him when Dabi burned down his wings to nothing but ashes.

Keigo's words were confusing, but even though you tried to pull away to take a look at him the hold he had on you wouldn't budge.

"What do you mean Keigo?"

His whole body began trembling, for a second it almost seemed like he was the younger brother, the one seeking for the protection one could only get from someone as close as an older sibling.

"I know what you had to endure because of me" each word Keigo muttered made his voice slowly start breaking bit by bit.

"Having to grow up surrounded by trash bags and beer bottles scattered all over the floor, endure all of the yelling and the fighting..." You only held him tighter into your own body, knowing what exactly he was referring to in the first place.

"And after our old man was arrested and Ma left?...you had to deal with that asshole all by yourself 'cause nobody else believed you"

"What are you talking about birdbrain? are you high on morphine or something?" you had a suspicion of where this was going and tried to find a way to change the subject, but Keigo didn't budge one bit.

"Aika, that darned foster sister of yours, I know how much she enjoyed to bother you and make you cry...How she always said your whole family abandoned you"

Of course he knew about that...How the only child of that foster family disliked you, hating the idea of having to share her parents with someone that wasn't even related to them.

Every time Keigo would come to visit she'd try to get his attention, having similar ages made her develop a crush on your brother, and when his visits became less frequent she made it her goal to make your life miserable, spewing cold harsh lies about Keigo getting tired of coming to see you, in the beginning her words would only end up being ignored.

However bit by bit the cruel whispers slowly began digging deep inside your heart, despite knowing she only said those thing to hurt you. It was more painful having to wait for Keigo's visit while sitting outside, sometimes even for hours just to realize he didn't show up that day.

Even though you tried hard not to, slowly her words began corrupting the image you had of Keigo, until eventually you started becoming bitter towards him.

It went on for years, and every time you tried telling on her with your foster parents they only brushed it off thinking it was only an exaggeration, Aika was cunning after all and only did this when your parents were not around, or would whisper those cruel words lowly enough for only you to hear.

Aika didn't see it coming when after a fall out with one of her friends, said girl told everything to Hawks after being rescued by the hero during a villain attack, her friend knew you were related to said man because Aika always complained about her annoying foster sister to anybody nearby, much to their annoyance.

Neither she or her family expect the number two hero himself to come into their home shortly shortly after you moved into the dorms, much less with proof and witnesses of everything she had said and done to his sister over the years, saying her parents were upset was putting it low, they were livid to find out what their "sweet" daughter had been doing for years.

The shame when they realized all those claims were true was suffocating, neither of them could even see the hero eye to eye as he gave the young woman a cold harsh glare, all she could do was grit her teeth in rage and shame knowing she had been caught.

"How did you find out?" Just hearing the name Aika was almost enough to make you want to cry, you'd never forgive that girl as long as you lived...

"I found out through some of her friends, you should have seen their faces when I arrived at their home and confronted her" He chuckled dryly, still bitter at the idea that girl kept bothering you endlessly even after you got accepted into UA.

"You don't have to worry about her anymore baby chick" His hold became softer, and so did the pressure inside your chest when that little nickname came out of his mouth, had he seen the pained smile on your face his brother instincts would have probably kicked in into high alert.

"Just tell me you didn't threaten them" Keigo pulls away to give you an offended look that quickly morphed into a teasing smile.

"What do you take me for? Some kind of monster?" His hands ruffles your hair "I just had a talk with them, besides her parents did more than enough if I do say so myself, you should have seen her face when they took away her car keys, some spoiled brat you had to deal with over the years"

You huffed in agreement, remembering how she always kept whining to your foster parents to give her money so she could go shopping with her friends, and the glare she sent in your direction if they ever told her to take you along for the day.

"You know, having to deal with our parents and her made me stronger, I may have resented you for a long time Keigo...but I can't really say that I actually hated you in the first place"

His expression changed in an instant, eyebrows furrowed in frustration over the fact you kept trying to lighten the subject.

"Y/N, you were a child, you didn't need to be strong, you needed to be safe and I failed to do the one thing your brother should have done all those years ago, protect his little sister"

The room went silent for a minute, neither you or Keigo said anything else for a while, he knew he was right, you knew he was right, but it's not like you could turn back time to fix everything that went downhill all those years ago...

"I failed you Y/N, but lord help me if I'm not going to make it up to you for everything. Whenever you need help with something, no matter what it is, homework, internships, hiding a body" The last one was obviously a joke by the sound of his voice "just come looking for your big brother"

It was like a switch had been flipped inside your head, all those years of pent up frustration directed towards Keigo disappeared in an instant, even if you tried to force yourself to feel mad it was impossible.

Not like you had anything to be mad about anymore...

"Then...I want to do the same for you birdbrain" Your eyes traveled to the bandages adorning his back, and he knew in that instant where the conversation was heading. Hesitating filled your thought for a minute before mustering enough courage to ask him about it.

"What did the doctors say...about your wings?"

He didn't answer for some time, and it worried you that somehow the question may have made him upset, but then he finally replied with a tired look on his face.

"They...don't think my wings may grow back again" He sounded lost, and in a way he was, it was because of his quirk that the hero commission took interest in him to begin with, the same reason they took him in to train as one of their best heroes to exist, the very same reason he had left you behind in the first place.

Hawks was their best agent... but now he was Hawks no more, he was just Takami Keigo, nothing more than just another civilian to them, someone that had to be protected from villains.

The only purpose they had for him was completely gone.

"Is there anything they can try? Maybe Recovery girl can do something about it?" You couldn't let this go so casually, there had to be way to help him out.

"I'm sorry baby chick...but I guess...this is the end for Hawks" His retort was heartbreaking, everything he had worked so hard for was gone in a matter of hours, and there was nothing you could do about it...

There may not be a way to help him out, but there was definitely no way you'd let his legacy die in vain.

"If there's nothing else to help bring them back..." Slowly you started speaking, voice full of determination made Keigo look back at you in surprise once you continued with your speech.

"...Then let me be your wings..."

There might be no way to bring his wings back, but that didn't mean Hawks was gone for good.

You made him a promise you intended to keep no matter what.

No longer after that day filled with pain and tears...years later when a new generation of heroes rose up to protect the world...A new Hawks fleed high through the skies with nothing but a single purpose, her one and only goal was hard, but nothing could bring her down.

To defeat those who brought pain upon this world and protect those people in dire need of help.

If there was something Takami Y/N knew better than anybody was to be strong, and she would use that very same strength she maintained over the years to keep her family's legacy alive.

MASTERLIST

@t-amajiki @undead0relived @shoobirino @bnha-ra @godtieruwu @mysticalite @bnhabookclub

#mha imagine #bnha imagine #mha imagines #bnha imagines #bnha hawks #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo #reader insert #sister reader

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