#Manticore Arms

[scratching92]

Bit of a rushed sketch I did of my pilot's Manticore as a ref for a commission. Its name is Eye Of The Storm and it's equipped with a Torch, two Catalyst Pistols, and an Arc Projector on its back.

#Lancer RPG #HORUS Manticore #My Art #It's very rushed as you can tell #Two of the arms are wildly outsized relative to the rest of the mech #But I liked it well enough to share at least

[hyddedraws]

Coat of Arms commissions! Manticore design is a Flight Rising familiar, everything else are original designs :>

#my art #artists on tumblr #digital art #coat of arms #illustration #snake #griffin #manticore #hydde draws

[kamaluhkhan]

GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

read part one — THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader (afab, she/her pronouns)

summary: you were very angry and possibly still in love with luke castellan. kill him or kiss him — you still weren't sure what he deserved.

warnings/disclaimers: spoilers for season 1 of pjo + lots of book references. reader + luke are around 21 for most of this. rough? smut (p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, etc...) 18 + MDNI ! injuries + blood + violence. reader and others drink alcohol + smoke. lots of angst!!! luke + reader have matching tattoos. twilight + other pop culture references. reader kinda gives 'hell is a teenage girl in her 20s' vibes. maybe slightly toxic dynamic between reader + luke but we love complicated relationships ♡

author's note: thank u so much for all the love on part one!! i got a bit carried away with this one oops, but i hope y'all enjoy it :)

♪: "get him back" by olivia rodrigo

(i. he had a savior complex) 

if you were less consumed by anger, you might have noticed the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you. 

no one was supposed to go into the forest alone, but you were 17 and reckless and not at all concerned about breaking the rules, especially if it meant proving clarisse larue wrong.  

you ventured into the woods, farther than you'd ever been before, with nothing except your knife and a chest full of determination to prove that you were strong and brave just like any other demigod, regardless of if you had a cabin or not. 

you were younger then, less disillusioned, and more willing to buy into those fantasies of power and glory, spoon-fed to demigods as truth. one that you hoped to cross off that afternoon: being worthy of attention if you could sink your blade into the next monster that dared to cross your path.

everyone would see that you’re not just some little, powerless girl with no reason to be at camp. 

and, sure, there was a small but not insignificant part of you that hoped your mother was watching, that she’d finally notice how much of a hero you could be.

you could have died that afternoon. you put up a decent fight, but soon enough you found yourself fallen to the forest floor: blade down, broken arm, bleeding out. a manticore inches away from sending you to the underworld. 

you weren’t angry anymore, the adrenaline had left your body. you just were a scared child, silently praying to deities you hoped wouldn’t look away like they always do. 

i’m sorry, mom. i couldn’t do it. 

you closed your eyes, waited for your fate, and just when you thought all hope was lost — 

the sound of a sword ripping through flesh, an injured growl, and then nothing but your ragged breathing. 

your eyelids fluttered open.

it wasn't your mother, or any of the other gods, who jumped in to save your life.

standing in the middle of the clearing, gripping his sword, was luke castellan. 

he tucked annabeth’s invisibility cap into his back pocket and brought you to the infirmary.

"she's okay, though?" luke asked. he was watching you carefully, ashes from the manticore dusting his orange camp shirt. his arms were crossed, and it seemed that he managed to defeat the monster relatively unscathed.

lee fletcher, son of apollo, nodded as he set your injury. 

"nothing more than a broken arm and minor concussion. make sure your girl gets lots of rest, okay? no more monster hunting. probably has to sit out capture the flag tomorrow, too.”

you ignored the churning in your stomach when lee assumed you were luke’s girl. luke didn’t bother correcting him. 

lee left to get you some ambrosia to speed the healing process, leaving you and luke alone in the room. 

“you know, i’m not a damsel in distress you have to follow around, waiting to save. i’m not your girl.” 

“seriously?” he raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks became slightly flushed. “you would be dead if it wasn’t for me. i heard what happened with clarisse, but gods — you didn’t have to go and get yourself killed to prove something.” 

he was right, of course. part of you wanted to argue with him for always having to be the hero, but the fight lingering in your throat wasn’t enough to act on. you just sighed and looked away, feeling too impulsive and powerless and exhausted down to your bones. 

you felt the bed dip beside you, and then a hand on your shoulder. it was warmer than usual, but the calloused skin still felt familiar on yours.

“they’re not worth it, okay? that’s what you’re always telling me.”

luke’s voice was lower than before, a touch of bitterness laced through.

“yeah, well you never believe it,” you replied, voice hollow. “so why should i?” 

clarisse entered the infirmary before he could answer. luke was instantly on his feet, blocking you from her view, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“what are you doing here?” he practically growled. 

“i heard what happened,” clarisse explained, looking past luke to catch your eye. you waved at her with your newly applied cast. “i’m sorry about what i said earlier, if that had anything to do with it.”

at that point, you were still trying to figure out where you stood with clarisse. she had arrived at camp just before the new year. you’d been so used to new campers being younger than you, and it was nice to have someone the same age to be friends with. 

it wasn’t until the start of march, around two weeks ago, that ares had claimed her. ever since, there had been a newfound animosity between you, leading up to your explosive argument earlier that day. part of you had a feeling she was just trying to fit in with her siblings. it was a subtle thread woven throughout the camp, especially with the ares kids: this hierarchy of power according to the gods, with you on the lower end because your mother was only a minor goddess. 

needless to say, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before; it was just that the words pierced through your thick skin when coming from a friend. 

but the very fact that she came to visit you, that she apologized and seemed to regret that you’d gotten hurt, healed you more than the ambrosia lee was just coming back to give you. 

“thanks, clarisse,” you said after a mouthful of ambrosia. 

even with an established truce, luke didn’t move away from you. in fact, he puffed his chest out a bit more. 

“if you say anything like that to her again, i swear to all the gods —”

“i just said sorry, castellan,” clarisse scoffed. “now get out of the way so i can sign her cast.” 

clarisse attempted to move closer, but luke stayed planted where he was.

“you are not getting anywhere close to her,” luke warned. 

“easy, tiger.” you got up to put your hand on his arm, but luke jerked away from your touch. your fingers brushed against his skin however, and even that brief moment was enough to shock you with its temperature. you tried again, this time bringing a hand to his neck, and he let out a hiss upon contact. his pulse seemed quicker than normal.

“are you feeling okay?”

“i’m just fine,” he huffed, and stormed out of the infirmary.

a few days later, you were training with clarisse, when silena beauregard ran into the arena and interrupted you.

“it’s luke,” she coughed, out of breath. “he’s in the infirmary—”

you sprinted towards the big house before silena could finish her sentence. 

when you reached the infirmary, luke was being held back by lee and a few others, screaming that he needed to go find you or you’d die. he was holding his sword, and campers wrestled to remove it from his grip. the sleeve of his shirt lifted up slightly, and that was when you noticed it: a gash across his bicep, shallow, but turning a sickly green. the rest of his skin was flushed, his eyes frantically searching for someone — you — and he was breathing heavily between sentences.

it turned out that he’d gone the entire week with the wound festering. one of the manticore’s spikes must have grazed luke, and he hadn’t thought much of it because he was so focused on making sure you were okay. 

manticore poison could fuck with someone’s mind if not treated right away. worse: it could be fatal. 

despite your heart beating out of your chest and the chaos you walked into, you kept your voice gentle, but firm.

“luke.”

for a moment, everything stood still. luke froze, and the campers took the opportunity to get a better hold on him.

he blinked at you and shook his head. “no. no. you’re not her. i heard her screaming from the forest and - and she’s in trouble. i need to —”

“it’s me, tiger,” you assured him. 

you approached him carefully and, despite some whispers of warning, you gestured at everyone to let go of him completely. they might have had a point, because as soon as they did, the tip of his sword was dangerously close to your chin. 

“you’re not her,” he insisted. “you’re just some monster trying to trick me.”

you stood in front of him then, and slowly raised your arm to show him your cast. a few people had signed it — beckendorf, chris, clarisse, silena. luke had signed his name too, of course, along with a poor attempt at a cartoon tiger that made you all laugh. 

“see? it’s me. i’m okay.”

there were a few moments when you held your breath, feeling the celestial bronze dig into your skin a bit more. and then:

“it’s…you. you’re….okay?” 

luke’s speech was slightly slurred. he dropped his sword like it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds; it nicked you on its way down. you didn’t care though, because luke almost fell to the ground, too. 

you gripped his wrist to steady him. 

“you’re probably not okay, though,” you explained, well aware of the urgency of the situation. his pulse felt weaker by the second, his skin burning against yours. 

“i’m….i’m fine. i just need to — she’s gonna die if i don’t —”

“i’m right here. i’m here because you already saved me, remember? you saved me, but you got hurt.”

 he shook his head slowly, and his eyes started to flutter close. 

“no, i’m okay,” he breathed, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it. “i need to make sure y/n is okay. she needs me….” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, seeing him start to fade away right in front of you. 

you refused to lose hope. 

no — you wouldn’t watch luke castellan die.

“i’m here, luke.” you gripped his wrist even tighter to remind him.

“but —” 

“just rest for a minute, ” you insisted, guiding him towards a bed. “for me, okay?” 

as soon as you managed to get luke onto the bed and, more importantly, calm, everyone else sprung back into action. 

chiron was away for the week, so will solace — one of the younger apollo campers, but probably the best healer at camp — used some healing magic, while lee misted luke with cold water to cool him down and another kid dripped some nectar onto his wound.

luke hissed when the liquid seeped into his skin and reached out for you. you felt like the flesh might melt right off your bones, but you let him squeeze your hand for as long as he needed. somebody came around to put a bandage on your chin, too.

you'd always resented the gods, but that was the first time you'd really lost your faith in them. watching luke fight for his life even after saving yours, other demigods joining the battle, and you thinking: this is the life you cursed us with. you imagined the gods, with power to twist fate in their favor, simply enjoying a feast on mount olympus, hermes sipping nectar and not even aware that another one of his children is dying. you supposed your mother wasn’t any better either. her neglect felt like revenge for something you didn’t even know you had done.

after a while, the skin around luke’s wound lost its greenish hue. you released a deep breath when both lee and will declared that luke seemed to be on the mend — he just needed to get some rest, and, best case scenario, the poison should have run its course by morning.

you didn’t ask about the worst case scenario.

you estimated it was around 2 am when you heard luke’s voice again.

“cold,” was all he said through shivering teeth. 

you wordlessly grabbed as many blankets as you could, and tucked them around luke. you waited a few minutes to see if it helped.

“so - so cold,” he shivered again. you reached out to check luke’s pulse, and all you could find was the faintest heartbeat. his skin looked pale in the moonlight and now felt ice cold despite his high fever earlier. 

no one else was in the infirmary then. you were wracking your brain to remember what you had learned in demigod survival class about hypothermia. something about warm drinks? you ran to the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate — with cinnamon, just how he liked it. 

you whispered his name once you were back at his bedside. his eyelids fluttered open. you tried coaxing him to take the drink, but he wouldn’t even hold the mug. you didn’t think twice about climbing into bed next to him, gently sitting him upright against the headboard so that you could offer him tiny sips. you noticed then that he was still only wearing a tank top, so you took off your sweatshirt — which happened to be one of luke’s — and slid it on him. 

when the hot chocolate was done, luke sighed. some of the color returned to his face, and his teeth stopped chattering. 

“thanks, karma.”

you just hummed in response, setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you and twisting underneath the blankets. luke settled back down next to you. he brushed his thumb over the band-aid on your chin. 

“what happened? did clarisse —”

“easy, tiger. it’s nothing — just a little scratch,” you replied. 

you spared him from the whole truth. sure, there was a moment earlier when you didn’t know whether or not luke would hurt you. it was only a split second, because that wasn’t your luke. he shouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of something he did by accident, as a result of a poisoned mind.

“anyways, i should be thanking you. you’re the one who almost died saving my life. you were hanging by a thread just a few seconds ago. it seems like you’re not completely out of the woods yet.”

“well, i guess the fates are still deciding what to do with me.” he cracked a smile. 

it was a bit morbid, given what you’d been through the past 12 hours, and the fact that the manticore venom clearly hadn’t left his body completely. the possibility of his death had not completely disappeared, though you supposed that, as demigods, the risk always remained higher. 

fuck the gods. they weren’t your protectors. they weren’t your family. 

the campers who put their whole heart into healing you and luke, the boy who risked his life for you — they were your family. 

you took luke’s humor as a good sign. the luke castellan you knew — confident banter, radiant grin, heart of gold — was coming back to you. 

the luke castellan you would not allow die, even if you could still feel the cool bronze of his blade linger on your chin. 

(ii. he had an ego)

according to annabeth chase, it was statistically improbable for a demigod to reach drinking age. something always kills them first - a monster, a blade, a fatal flaw. the likelihood of survival only gets exponentially lower with each passing year.

she repeated that information to luke on the morning of his 21st birthday.

“thanks for the cheerful birthday wishes, sis.” 

annabeth shrugged and hugged him before walking back to the athena table to finish breakfast. 

"you hear that, tiger?” you pointed a syrupy fork at luke. “you are literally saying fuck you to fate, just by being alive." 

"that’s the way i like it," luke quipped, and stole a blueberry from your plate. 

"hey man, happy birthday." chris patted luke’s shoulder on his way to sit across from you and luke. "so, i just talked to chiron and he agreed to let us go out tonight." 

you smiled between bites of your pancakes, reaching over to offer chris a triumphant fist bump.

“nice work, rodriguez.” 

"we're going out tonight?"

you pressed your knee to luke's under the table. 

"of course we are," you hummed. "we have a lot to celebrate." 

so, you, luke, chris, and a few of your friends — beckendorf, silena, and clarisse — went into the city to celebrate. one of luke's favorite bands was playing, and you had managed to snag a few tickets. you'd all entered a bar confidently that night, the fake ids you were at once so giddy and paranoid about no longer needed. 

there were few times when you could all just kick back and have fun, without having to worry about the responsibilities of being senior counselors. that night, you were all itching for a taste of freedom. or, at least, some alcohol. 

"happy birthday to the one and only luke castellan: a hero by any other name!" 

everyone raised their shot glasses, echoed beckendorf's words, and threw back their drinks. 

the night became louder, more vibrant. yet, even as you laughed and drank and danced with your friends, there was a heaviness lingering in your chest.

for most demigods, birthdays were bittersweet. each one served as a reminder of time running out because of exactly what annabeth said that morning. most half-bloods don’t even live past their teens, let alone the age of 20. you had the blood of gods flowing in your veins, and your lives were influenced by sinister, divine forces from ancient times. you were the new generation of heroes, protagonists of those greek tragedies that made mortals weep.

there was no guarantee that this would last forever, but all of your friends —  the people you loved — had beat the odds. 

so, who would blame you for getting a little sentimental? 

beckendorf and chris had wandered off to play pool, in hopes of winning some bets and free drinks. clarisse was flirting with some girl who caught her eye, and silena went to grab some water after having danced for a bit. you and luke were still in the crowd, swaying to the music. for one glorious moment, you were just a group of twenty-one year olds enjoying a carefree night out. 

under the flashing lights, you stole a glimpse at luke. he wore a simple white tank top and ripped jeans, paired with a leather jacket and some rings he borrowed from you so he could, in his words, look more punk-rock. his curls were messy, his skin glittering with a thin sheen of sweat. the chain he layered with his usual camp necklace caught the multicolored light and highlighted the sharp angles of his collarbones. 

whatever aesthetic he was going for, luke looked good. based on various eyes following him throughout the room, you assumed others thought the same as well. it made you just a little bit furious, feeling that he wasn't only yours to admire. 

“you good?” luke’s voice cut through the noise, but he had to lean in close.  

his fingers brushed against the section of waist exposed by your cropped top. you’d gotten so warm that you had to tie your flannel around your waist, but luke’s touch sent a shiver through your body. it made you somewhat dizzy, feeling the cold metal of those rings on your skin. even moreso, when you realized how much you wanted to kiss your best friend, sink your teeth into his smirk and taste the mint chapstick and tequila on his lips. 

to be fair, you and luke had crossed that line before, and you were in the fields of asphodel ever since. 

not quite friendship, not quite romance. something deeper, more volatile and electric. 

you didn’t want to make things blurrier than they already were, though. whatever you acted on that night could have just been dismissed the next morning as a drunken mistake.

so, you just nodded at him and turned back towards the band as though you were never thinking about anything more than the music. 

after a few more songs, luke commanded your attention once more.

“hey, didn’t you once say you wanted to start a band?”

“what do i look like, a child of apollo?” you joked, but luke raised an eyebrow at you, clearly wanting a serious answer.

it was slightly alarming, how well he knew you; through your childhood dreams and down to your core. 

“in another life,” you conceded. “maybe.”

“in another life,” luke echoed. he leaned in close again. “you’d be a pretty hot drummer, and i’d be front row at every show.”

your lips could have touched if you moved your head just an inch, but he pulled away before you did. he was giving you that classic son-of-hermes smirk, the one that made everyone swoon. 

the thing was, you were sure that luke knew the effect he had on people. you had seen him continuously bask in the praise of chiron and other campers, always preening for the crowd's attention, as if he had to do anything more than smile. everyone loved luke — he was handsome, charismatic, strong.

and, yeah, you weren’t immune. your fatal flaw: not loyalty, or anger, or recklessness, but luke castellan’s charm.

you had to keep yourself grounded. it would be a bad idea to cross that line again on his birthday, right? 

luke licked his lips as you kept staring at him. you could tell he was waiting for you to do something. 

maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the rhythm of the music vibrating through your bones, but you started thinking — fuck it. 

before you could act on that impulse, some person with bright red hair stepped between you and luke. she introduced herself, telling luke she saw him from across the room, and she'd been watching him all night, and would he by any chance want to dance with her?

luke seemed flattered, interested even. he flashed her the very same smile he had just given you, which left a bitter taste in your mouth. you excused yourself before you had to hear them flirt even more. 

you walked over to silena at the bar. she had a half-empty glass of ice water melting in front of her, her attention somewhere else. you sat down beside her and followed her gaze to what — who — she was looking at. 

“if confessing feelings to someone is hard for aphrodite’s daughter, then there’s really no hope for the rest of us,” you tell her.

silena whipped her head towards you. her cheeks were flushed a light pink. 

“i - i don’t have feelings for clarisse.”

“lena, please. we all know. well, except maybe clarisse.”

“what?” she blinked at you, eyeshadow shimmering in the light.

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. the irony of it all: the head counselor of cabin 10  denying that she was in love with someone. “we talk about it all the time.”

“well,” silena huffed, cheeks now a bright red. “i guess i should tell you that the rest of us talk about you and luke.” 

you reached over to grab her water, your throat suddenly dry. 

“what about us?” you asked after finishing the drink in one long sip. 

“about how you obviously both have feelings for each other. half the camp already thinks you’re dating.”

you started to crunch on whatever ice was still frozen. 

“well, we aren’t.” 

that reality hurt more than the sharp pain piercing your brain from ingesting too much cold, too fast. you couldn’t even spot luke in the crowd — he and the redhead had probably gone off to some private corner. 

“people think love’s a joke,” silena sighed. “but they don’t realize how much power it can have over a person. it can make people —”

“cowards?” you suggested.

silena nodded solemnly. “cowards.”

neither of you said anything for a while, two love-sick half-bloods slumped over a sticky bar counter.

suddenly, silena sat up straight. she tied her black hair up into a ponytail. perfect, of course, along with her makeup. you were sure you had sweat off the glitter she had applied to your cheeks earlier. 

“i am not a coward.” 

without another word, silena got up and glided towards clarisse, and you were left with an empty stool next to you. 

part of you was proud of her for following her heart. the other part couldn’t stop picturing someone else’s tongue down luke’s throat. 

“can i get a ginger-ale, please?” you asked no one in particular, hoping that the bartender heard your request for something to ease your nausea. 

“you sure you don’t want anything stronger?” 

someone slid onto the barstool next to you. he looked around your age, wearing a navy and red rugby shirt. he had what looked like a pretty expensive watch on his wrist, and he was already leaning in way too close for a stranger. 

“i’m fine,” you deadpanned.

“oh, come sweetheart, it’s on me.” 

you scoffed at the nickname and shook your head.

the guy next to you didn’t care. he snapped to get the bartender’s attention. “two vodka tonics, please. that’s your drink, right? i’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

“dude, i said i’m fine,” you repeated through clenched teeth.

the bartender set two drinks in front of you and rugby shirt pointed towards them.

“well, i already got you a drink, so you at least owe me a conversation.” he slid the drink closer to you.

"i don't owe you anything." 

"oh, come on," rugby shirt cooed. "i don't bite." he slipped his hand underneath your skirt, nails scratching along the skin of your upper thigh, through your fishnets.

you growled at the contact and stood up abruptly, more than a little coincidentally knocked the glass over. the liquid splashed onto him. his flirtatious grin melted right off his face.

“jesus christ —you bitch,” he spat. “this is what i get for trying to be nice?”

“that’s what you get for trying to grope me,” you snapped. “but i could do a lot worse if you’re in the mood.”

his face was a pissed-off shade of red, his mouth formulating a response when —

you felt luke’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him. you side-eyed him, and ignored the hickey blooming at the base of his neck.

“is there a problem here?” luke’s voice was firm, steady. 

it seemed like all the fight left rugby shirt’s body, and he put his hands up in surrender. 

“oh, sorry dude. i didn’t realize she was taken.”

you rolled your eyes. figured that this guy would only back off if there was a jealous boyfriend in the mix. 

“it’s fine, i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“that’s for sure,” the guy continued. “your girl practically bit my head off for being nice and buying her a drink.”

your fingers tightened into a fist.

“that is not —”

“look, i gotta apologize on her behalf.”

“luke, what are you —”

“let me handle this, baby,” he hummed. “trust me, she’s normally a good girl. she just gets….harder to control after one too many drinks.” 

“i am this close to throwing my next drink at you,” you insisted. 

you weren't naive. you knew luke was putting on an act, but you weren't sure why he felt the need to appease this jerk and put you down in the process. 

you hated the way he was acting now — arrogant, condescending, borderline sexist. you wanted to storm off, you really did, but that would mean having to tear yourself away from luke, and.... you didn't hate the firm hold he had on you. 

he chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the guy knowingly, like they were the closest friends. 

“see what i mean?”

“that’s quite the firecracker you got there,” the guy complimented, as though you were a prize luke had won. “those are the ones you gotta keep on a tight leash, though.”

oh, your patience was wearing thin. if luke didn't take care of this guy soon….

“don’t i know it.” luke laughed when you barred your teeth at him. “look, we all came here to have a good time. why don’t you go join your friends again, and i’ll send over some drinks.”

rugby shirt looked at luke, then nodded. 

“alright. thanks, man. and sorry again for the….confusion.” 

luke extended a hand, and the guy shook it.

"no hard feelings. i'll be sure to keep her on a tighter leash, though."

rugby shirt walked away, laughing. you were just about ready to bite luke's head off.

you shoved luke away from you. your whole body felt like it was on fire. 

“luke castellan, i don’t care if it’s your birthday, if you ever talk to me like that again, i swear to all the gods —” you faltered when luke’s lips curled into a smirk. 

that smug, gorgeous, self-important smirk.

“what?” 

“i’m just waiting until you’re done chewing me out,” he said, clearly a bit amused. “you done?”

you hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “for now, i guess.”

“good, because we have about 2 minutes before our misogynistic frat buddy over there notices that something’s missing.”

he lifted his hand to show off the real prize of the night. 

“you did all of that….. to steal the guy’s watch?”

“well, duh. he was being a jerk and i’m the prince of thieves, karma. gotta use my powers for good.” 

luke winked at you as you stared at him in awe. 

“we really should go though. the others are waiting for us outside.” 

you jutted your chin towards the bruise on his neck.

"what about the redhead?"

luke flushed, adjusted his collar to hide the hickey. "i kinda lost interest when she said i was hot for an asian guy."

"oh." you ignored the triumph in your gut. "sounds like a jerk, too." 

"whatever." luke shrugged. "hard to find the good ones, right?" 

luke turned towards the exit.

"wait.” you tugged him back, and luke looked confused for a split second. “you're one of the good ones, luke castellan. did i ever tell you how incredibly happy i am that you were born?" 

luke grinned. "you could stand to say it more often."

his smile was infectious. you liked this side of luke: protective, mischievous, a bit of a trouble-maker. 

it made you want to kiss him all over again.

(iii. he lied without flinching)

you couldn’t find luke anywhere. 

he wasn’t at the climbing wall, or the arena, or the forge. luke seemed to have a knack at vanishing when you needed him most.

when you finally found him, he was outside the big house, in what seemed to be a somewhat heated conversation with chris and a new camper, ethan nakamura. 

ethan nakamura, son of nemesis. you were shocked when your mother’s symbol — swords crossed underneath a set of scales — appeared over his head after two weeks of staying at the hermes cabin. 

you were still getting used to having a younger half-brother. 

“hey,” you greeted the trio, slightly out of breath from running all over camp. as soon as you joined them, a silence fell over the group. “i was looking for you everywhere, tiger. what’s going on here?”

“actually, we were just —”

“nakamura,” luke spoke ethan’s name like a warning. 

“i’m just saying, maybe we should consider —”

luke cut ethan off this time with a sharp glance. 

“i already said no. end of discussion.”

“whatever you say, boss,” ethan grumbled.

the trio was silent again, and you eyed each of them suspiciously.

“okay, seriously. what’s —”

“we’ll talk more about this later, guys,” luke interrupted. his tone was commanding. ethan and chris dispersed. 

once they were gone, you furrowed your brows at luke, not sure what they would be talking about that could make him speak so harshly. 

“what was that about?” you asked for the third time.

“nothing important.” luke gave you a smile that seemed to stretch a bit thin. “you said you were looking for me everywhere. wanna go makeout in the hermes cabin? i’m pretty sure it’ll be empty this time of day.”

you shook your head, no matter how tempting the offer. the scene you walked into made you so uneasy that you completely forgot there was something important you needed to tell luke.

“percy and annabeth just iris-messaged me,” you explained. 

“oh,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is their quest going alright?”

you repeated everything the kids had told you: medusa, the chimera, ares. clarisse maybe being the lightning thief. luke had to sit down on the stairs leading to the big house when you spoke that last part. you understood why — clarisse was your friend. 

sitting down next to him, you sighed.

“you don’t think….you don’t think it could be true, do you?” 

clarisse was hot-headed, sure, maybe a bit impulsive, but a war between the gods? that didn’t seem her style. 

you hoped luke would assure you, but instead he said:

luke ran a hand through his hair. “it would make sense.”

“what?”

he leaned in close, voice low.

“clarisse was there with us during our field trip to olympus in december. the gods are arrogant enough to leave their stuff in the throne room, and there’s not really any security. she could have easily snuck in when everyone was sleeping. clarisse….” luke let out a heavy breath. “clarisse is the lightning thief.”

“no. no. she wouldn’t —”

“it makes sense, karma,” luke insisted. he placed a hand on your knee. “clarisse is angry at the gods.”

“we all are,” you pointed out.

“well, sure, but her dad is ares. how else do you get the god of war’s attention if not starting a war?”

you took a second to process luke’s reasoning. maybe he did have a point. it was just that sharp pain in your chest keeping you from believing it. 

“we don’t know anything for sure,” you decided. “and until we do….we don’t tell anyone. especially chiron.”

luke squeezed your knee, gave you a reassuring smile. 

“sounds like a plan.” he moved in closer and whispered: “now, how about we sneak away, and i do that thing with my tongue that makes you squirm?” 

you felt something tighten in your lower abdomen. you and luke were still in the sneaking-around-camp stage of your relationship; you both got a thrill from it.

at the time, you figured luke was just offering you a much needed distraction.

he kissed just below your ear to sweeten the deal — and how were you supposed to resist?

you didn’t even question how luke knew when the bolt was stolen, let alone how he seemed to have the theft already planned out perfectly.

(iv. he hid behind a pretty face and perfect teeth)

 it had been a little over a week since people around camp — including percy, annabeth, and grover, who had gotten back from their quest — found out about you and luke, together. apparently your friends had a bet going, meaning that everyone other than silena was less than thrilled about your announcement. they warmed up to the idea since then.

it still felt a little bit surreal calling luke castellan your boyfriend. 

luke often played the role of the perfect demigod, the one everyone should strive to be. he paid extra attention to new campers and made them feel welcomed. he did his chores on time, stepped in if more hands were needed for kitchen patrol, and spent hours going through reports for chiron. he taught sword-fighting and encouraged younger campers to keep practicing. he did participate in the occasional prank, that mischievous child of hermes streak impossible not to indulge in, but it only made everyone adore him even more. because luke was responsible, but not boring. he was incredibly skilled and driven, but also gracious. he was sensible and charismatic. 

you watched that luke — camp half-blood’s golden boy, the hero everyone either wanted to be, befriend, or date — and you were in awe. mostly, you wondered how he managed to bury the anger and resentment you knew was churning inside him, the same anger and resentment you sometimes let slip through. 

no, you were not as careful as golden boy luke, who showed no malice towards the olympians. to chiron, to everyone else, luke castellan respected the gods, honored them in everything he did, and taught others to do the same. 

that was not the luke who sucked a bruise onto your neck while suggesting something even you might consider blasphemous. 

“we can’t just - uh,” you had to catch your breath when luke slipped his thumb underneath the band of your sports bra. “we’d get in trouble, tiger.”

you felt him chuckle against your skin.

“since when do you care about that?” 

“since the king of the gods would probably strike us with lightning, or turn us into some horrible monsters, or curse us if we were caught fucking in his cabin." 

"that’s only if we get caught." 

luke gave you that flirtatious smile, the one he now reserved only for you.

it was that smile that led to luke settling between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and fingers, his other hand digging into your thigh to keep you from writhing too much. 

zeus’ cabin was, of course, empty, since his only known child was turned into a pine tree. you and luke had tucked yourselves into the one corner where the giant statue of the god couldn’t see you, setting a sleeping bag down on the cold marble floor and your discarded clothes scattered throughout. the dome-shaped ceiling was decorated with an enchanted mosaic sky that seemed to move. the only sounds that echoed throughout the room were moans as your orgasm washed over you.

"you're so, so pretty," he mumbled, wet lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh. he stayed where he was, awfully concerned with lapping up everything.

you whined his name when you found him taking too long, already a bit sensitive and wanting him inside you.

it might have been your conscious, but you swore you could hear a storm brewing, the threat of thunder and lightning looming.  the mosaic sprouted some clouds, growing darker by the second as if a countdown to your doom.

luke, on the other hand, was acting like you had all the time in the world, and then some.

he paused after his name tumbled from your lips again, and you tugged his hair. he propped his chin on your stomach to get a better look of you. luke was gorgeous, with his mess of black curls, deep brown eyes a little more dangerous than usual, smirk shining with your come.

"yes, sweetheart?"

“get up here and kiss me,” you groaned. 

once again, luke took his sweet time. his mouth left a trail along your thighs and your hips, your stomach and ribs. it felt like he was worshiping every inch of your skin, scarred and uneven and tattooed as it was. luke took extra care in appreciating the sword engraved on your sternum, the tattoo that matched the one he had on his collarbone.

“hi,” luke whispered once he was face to face with you. 

“hey, tiger,” you matched the softness of his voice, contrasting the harshness that followed when luke crashed his lips into yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and once he sucked all the air from your lungs, you had to pull away. 

you informed him: “there’s a condom in my back pocket.”

“always prepared,” he noted with a smile, reaching over to get it.

you kissed luke again as he entered you, your nails scraping down his back. when he pulled away to look at you, you couldn’t meet his gaze. instead, you were mesmerized by the sharp contours of his body and the healed wounds that lingered, every scar that you knew by heart like they were your own. it might have been strange, but you had a favorite — the faint cut on his hip from when he, thalia, and annabeth were on the run and they had to jump a fence.

if luke hadn’t been thrusting into you, you would have bent down to kiss it. 

“eyes up here, beautiful.” 

when you complied, luke smiled and ran his thumb along your jaw.

“good girl,” he praised. “you okay if i go harder?”

you settled for kissing the scar on his cheekbone.

“yes,” you finally answered.  "please."

luke brought his hand down to wrap your leg around his hip before he started moving faster. your head fell back against the marble floor, but you didn’t care about the impact. you just focused on how good it felt to have luke inside you, his strong hand on your hip, his warm breath on your skin. 

after feeling you tighten around him, luke let go a bit more. he dropped his head between your neck and shoulder, his curls brushing against you. as he reached his peak, luke bit your shoulder, hard,  to keep himself from groaning too loudly. you could have sworn that you heard thunder at that exact moment. in fact, it seemed to shake the entire cabin.

luke seemed to catch the threat that time, too. 

there was no room for pillow talk as the two of you rushed to get dressed and get out of there before the king of the gods lost his patience and struck you with lightning, turned you into some horrible monsters, or cursed you. maybe all three, maybe something worse.

you slipped on your underwear and pants, but couldn’t find the top half of your outfit. 

“do you see my shirt there?”

luke had just pulled on his boxers when he turned and passed the item to you. you weren’t sure why he paused for a second while doing it. then, he whispered:

“shit.” luke’s eyes were glued to your shoulder, where his teeth had broken skin. his cheeks flushed a bright red. whether it was shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know; but you were slightly taken aback. “i’m, i’m sorry, i — i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never want to —”

you placed your hands on his cheeks. 

“hey.” you whispered at him softly, and it was enough for him to stop rambling. you could tell he felt guilty, though, since he refused to meet your gaze.

“luke, baby, look at me.”

when he finally did, your heart ached. 

it wasn’t like you hadn’t done similar to luke. you’d never broken skin, sure, but luke seemed to enjoy — really enjoy — whenever you used your teeth in the heat of the moment. you just assumed he knew you wouldn’t mind the same.

but, one bite, and luke was almost reduced to tears, all because he was afraid of hurting you. 

“it’s fine, okay? i’m fine.”

luke didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowed with concern. you kissed the crease on his forehead and reassured him once more that you were fine. 

 “if anything, consider it payback for the hickey i left that took a week to fade away.”

luke smiled softly at that, and you knew he was coming back to you. 

“you know, annabeth suggested that i go to the infirmary because of how it looked. i had to tell her i got it during sparring practice.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you laughed, and so did luke. 

thunder rumbled throughout the cabin once more, and you swore the clouds were growing darker by the second. 

you were about to finish getting dressed when he grabbed your waist.

“look, if i’m ever too rough whenever we’re —”

“sparring?” 

“sure,” he smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. “whenever we’re sparring, just promise that you’ll let me know.”

“of course,” you hummed. “only if you do the same.”

“of course,” he echoed, and he pecked your lips. “i think it’s hot, you know? when you feel like you can let go. when you mark me. i like everyone knowing that i’m yours.”

you bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

“well, i think it’s hot when you mark me, too. especially when you bite me,” you admitted. 

“don’t tell me you’re still into the whole vampire thing,” he teased.

“oh, please. you were as obsessed with it as the rest of us. don’t you remember?”

as if either of you could forget marathoning the entire twilight saga with your friends, the six of you squeezing onto the small couch in the big house, sharing one bowl of popcorn and endless cups of coffee to stay awake.

you shivered out of the memory when he brought his fingers up to trace the bite mark he had left on you.

zeus could have sent more thunder. he could have created a whole godsdamned storm, but you wouldn’t have cared.

luke was so close that you had nothing better to do than to close the distance between you.

luke got bolder as the kiss became more heated — he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping over the crimson liquid that emerged, the tang of copper invading your mouth.

“easy there, edward,” you joked, and felt him smirk against your lips before moving to nip at your neck. 

you trailed your hand down the front of his exposed stomach, outlining the contours and curves. with the moonlight reflecting in, accompanied by the crackle of lightning, it almost looked like luke’s skin was glittering.

“you’re so beautiful," you cooed, nails scraping against the tight muscles of his lower abdomen.

“this is the skin of a killer, bella!” he mimicked.

you laughed at the reference, but when luke seemed to realize what he said, you swore you felt his grip tightening on your hips, though you didn't know why.

“i never want to hurt you,” he finished the sentence you had interrupted earlier.

“you won’t.” 

at the time, you didn’t think he was even capable of such a thing. 

for better or for worse, that was the night you realized something.

you liked golden boy luke. or, at the very least, you tolerated him.

the rule-breaking, sin-committing, blood-sucking luke?

in the words of bella swan: he was the one you were unconditionally and irrevocably in love with. 

except your life wasn't some cliché yet endearing love story about fictional vampires and werewolves. 

it had monsters, too. you just didn't realize who they were until it was too late. 

(v. he made you look so naive)  

there was blood on your hands, but you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

yours or luke’s — it was a toss-up that made you more than a little nauseous. 

luke had stolen the lightning bolt. luke had tried to frame percy and start a war between the gods. luke had begged you to join kronos’ army with him. you almost killed him because of it until you realized that he left percy to die. 

you summarized everything to chiron and mr. d once you had made sure that percy was getting help in the infirmary. the scorpion poison was still putting up a fight, but percy was strong. annabeth was there with him.

dread simmered in the pit of your stomach just thinking about having to tell her everything, too — to see the look in her eyes when she hears just how much her big brother betrayed her.

“and you have no idea where mr. castellan could have gone?” chiron’s voice was stern, as usual. 

you shook your head, not particularly paying attention. you could still feel blood seeping from the blademark luke had left. 

“that’s awfully convenient,” mr.d scoffed.

you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“i’ve heard around camp that you and this luke were quite…. close,” mr. d said, pointing his can of diet coke at you accusingly. 

a wave of anger surged through you. it had been building in your gut ever since luke revealed his betrayal, and you didn’t care if it was a god who was on the receiving end of your wrath. 

“seriously? i saved percy and told you everything, and you’re here suggesting what? that i’m somehow a traitor, too?”  

“seems like the plot of a pretty twisted love story.”

your lips curled into a snarl, and you were about to pounce until chiron dismissed you.

you were in a trance for the rest of the day. chris was gone, too. ethan didn’t seem surprised. silena sobbed, clarisse comforted her, beckendorf cursed luke’s name. other campers kept asking about where their favorite counselor had gone, until they started growing weary of you.

because if golden boy luke was evil, what were the odds that his hot-headed, impertinent girlfriend was, too?

luke left you there, looking like an absolute fool for believing in him, trusting him, loving him.

you couldn’t unsee his blood on your hands. you might as well have been lady macbeth, desperately scrubbing out stains that would never leave.

vi. he was a vice you could never shake

calling all riot grrrls and punk rockers — this show is for YOU!!! come see the SIRENS OF NEW YORK perform THIS friday at joan’s bar ;)

the flyer was an obnoxiously vibrant shade of red and plastered throughout the neighborhood, and it did a good job. one of queens’ best dive bars was packed with people waiting to see the band perform: stella yamada on guitar, mohini banjaree on bass, sally mcknight on vocals — and you on drums. 

it was nice and still a bit new, this relatively normal existence with relatively normal people.

you couldn’t cut off the demigod side of your life completely. there was still a war brewing, and you were in regular enough contact with camp. 

but, you’d been away for a few years, trying to live the life of a non-halfblood in their early 20s. you had an apartment, a cat and a nice enough roommate. you were in school and working as a bartender to pay for rent and tuition. you had friends who, for lack of a better term, were normal. people who worried about paying off student loans and finding their passion in life, whether it be law school or feminist prose or angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion. people who spent their time in classrooms or tattoo parlors or their friends’ bathrooms at 2am while bleaching their hair after a bad breakup. 

sometimes though, usually late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life. 

you missed home. you missed playing capture the flag and training in the arena and having breakfast in the dining pavilion. you missed your friends, the ones you’d grown up with. 

you missed —

no. you tried not to let your mind wander towards him, or the consequences of what he did. you both drew blood the afternoon he confessed his sins to you, but he was the one who twisted the knife. he was the reason you couldn’t stand your life as a half-blood anymore. 

you just tried to focus on the mortal, mundane things that now composed your everyday life, like the stage you would be performing on in 30 seconds. 

before every show, your bandmates went through different degrees of anxiety. you didn’t get stage fright like them. they called you fearless, but the reality was that you had just gone up against much worse. 

and yet, that night, you almost froze mid-set, just as you started a cover of the joan jett’s “you don’t know what you’ve got.”

ironically, luke had gotten you a cd of this album for your 15th birthday. 

i was caught so unaware, when you made other plans.

think of the devil, and he shall appear.

it couldn’t have been him there, though. last time you heard of him, luke was growing kronos' army somewhere on the west coast.  

you pushed through, even though your concentration was shaken. 

i can’t stand to hear your name

you had to shake off the feeling of him watching you. 

it was just that — a bad feeling, right?

 you missed another beat, and mo turned around to give a concerned yet frustrated frown. joan had hinted that there might have been an agent in the audience, and you couldn’t afford to mess up. 

oh baby, you really blew it.

the song ended, and your blood ran cold.

it had to be a trick of the light, seeing luke in the crowd, but just the thought of being in the same space again made it impossible to be up on that stage, so exposed. 

as the band was getting ready for the next song, you slipped away, out the back door and into the alley for some fresh air. with shaky hands, you brought a cigarette between your lips and pulled out your lighter. it was a terrible habit, you knew.

those were always the ones hardest to quit and you needed a vice to keep you grounded. 

so there you found yourself, shivering in your black tank top, just cropped enough that the fishnets you wore underneath red leather pants were slightly visible. the bricks were cool against your back and you exhaled into the soft evening twilight when you realized it hadn’t been a trick of the light. 

“you look like buffy the vampire slayer.”

you rolled your eyes, because of course luke would do that. you were on opposite sides of an impending war between gods and titans, a world-ending conflict that luke directly enabled, and he led with a light-hearted comment like you were still the best of friends. 

as if you hadn’t been on the receiving ends of each other’s blades ever since luke revealed himself to be a traitor. 

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t kill you right now. ”

“because i’m alone.”

“you could still be here to kill me,” you reasoned. “or at least try.”  

after everything, you wouldn’t put it past him. you known him to do a lot worse, all to people he claimed to, in a past life, care about. 

luke tried again. 

“because you always liked a fair fight. i came alone and unarmed.” 

you scoffed, dropped your half-finished cigarette to the ground, and snuffed it out with the toe of your chunky patent boot before walking over to stand in front of luke. he put his hands up in surrender as you approached him. 

“if you’re not here to fight, then why are you here?” you demanded, fingers brushing against the switchblade in your pocket. you always kept a celestial bronze weapon on you in case you came across any monsters in the city. you looked at the one in front of you, and wished you had brought a bigger knife.

“i just….i wanted — needed to see you.”

your eyes grazed luke carefully.

he looked rough. deep shadows under his eyes, hair disheveled and partially matted down, shirt wrinkled like he’d been on the run for days. his hands caked with blood and dirt, his face, too. a nasty bruise on his elbow, and what looked like another one disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

you bit down the urge to care. you had to remind yourself that luke was dangerous, cruel, and heartless. you couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second, at least not without biting his head off, or at the very least the cut on his lip. 

“no. you don’t get to just —”

the door slammed open, echoed throughout the alley. stella poked her head out, guitar still strapped to her shoulder. from inside, you could hear the crowd cheering.

“jesus christ, y/n! where have you been?” 

“sorry, stel. i needed a smoke break and then i ran into a — ” your voice caught on the word friend. “luke.”

his name left a poisonous taste in your mouth, and you swallowed its bitterness. 

she saw luke then, who gave her that charming smile of his you hadn’t seen in forever. he extended a hand towards her, but stella just scowled at him and turned back to you.

“are you coming to finish the show?” stella demanded. 

“i need to deal with this,” you told her. “i’m sor—”

stella huffed and slithered back inside before you could finish apologizing. 

 “great,” you laughed cynically. “now one of my best friends is pissed at me, and i might get kicked out of the band. my luck just gets worse every time you force yourself back into my life, castellan.”

you weren’t quite sure how to make of the way he looked at you — maybe apologetic, possibly desperately, definitely some sort of disguise. 

“i know….i fucked up, karma.”

you glared at the use of his old nickname for you, feeling a shudder run down your spine.

“yeah, you fucked up. and now everyone, the whole world, is suffering the consequences. me, annabeth, your mom —”

“please,” luke begged once more, voice shaking now. “if you ever loved me —”

“don’t.” you barked. “if you ever loved me, you’d accept that the next time we see each other, it’ll be fighting on a battlefield. until one of us is on the ground, bleeding out, or never again.”

luke stared at you. you glared back at him. 

“sorry i’m late, lukey. did i miss much?” a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension. 

you turned and saw a cheerleader. she looked relatively normal, but the mismatched legs — one bronze, another furry — along with the red eyes and fangs gave her away. 

“you said you were alone,” you pointed out, tilting your head towards the monster. “looks like you brought company.”

“i didn’t,” luke insisted. “kelli’s been hunting me down.”

kelli pouted. “i thought we were playing hide and seek. but it’s over now — i win. please don’t be mad, baby.”

baby. you could have laughed. 

“i guess you moved on, castellan.” you meant your words to come across as mocking, so you hoped luke couldn’t sense the resentment behind them.

kelli giggled, and you thought your ears might bleed. 

“he sure did,” she cooed and moved closer to luke, running a long red fingernail down his chest. he pushed her away abruptly, and kelli pouted once more. “we miss you, luke. i miss you. please come back home with me.”

“that’s not my home.”

out of everything luke had said, those were the words that got through to you. you glanced at him once more — his hands curled into fists, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on yours, panicking and pleading at the same time. 

you had to give in to those pleading, panicked brown eyes. 

luke didn’t have any weapons on him. all you had was a tiny pocket knife and some combat skills you’d been maintaining through kickboxing classes with your roommate, but you were willing to put them to good use.

you stepped in front of luke. 

“listen — kelli, was it?” the empousa growled at you. “call me sentimental, but i can’t let you take him.”

kelli gave you a snarl, and you whipped out your switchblade. admittedly, it looked a little pathetic compared to her deadly fangs and sharp claws. 

“aw, cute!” she mocked, and then pushed you backwards. 

you expected to tumble into luke, but he had disappeared. seemed like you did make the wrong choice, to trust luke again. 

again — the worst, most sinister habits were the hardest ones to break. 

it briefly crossed your mind to chase him down after this for leading you into a trap. for now, you had a shapeshifting cheerleader to take care of. 

you managed to side-step kelli’s next attack, and sliced across her arm in the process. she shrieked. her hair bursted into flames, as if your day could get any worse. you tried to get another jab in, but kelli managed to be quicker this time. she punched you in the jaw, then kicked you, hard, with a hoofed foot, causing a dull crack to your ribcage upon impact. the kick sent you spinning towards the brick wall; it stopped you from falling, but knocked the air out of your lungs. you spat, your mouth thick with the taste of blood. your ears were ringing, and you couldn’t locate your knife. 

you were definitely out of practice. 

“kelli!” 

you both turned your attention towards luke, standing at the entrance of the alley with his sword in hand.

“luke!” kelli said like he was her long lost lover. she batted her eyelashes at him, the murderous grin she had given you melting away to something more enticing. “you came to help me finish her off.”

luke tilted his head. “not exactly.”

luke threw the sword towards you. despite a split second of surprise, you caught it; made a sharp diagonal cut. before kelli knew it, she was reduced to nothing but dust.

you dropped luke’s sword and fell to the pavement, adrenaline coursed through your veins from the first near-death experience you’d had in months. even with your body bruised and broken, fighting was a thrill like no other. 

luke came to kneel in front of you, sneakers crunching over the ashes of his ex-girlfriend.

“you said you were unarmed.” your voice sounded muffled. you spat out another mouthful of blood.

“half-bloods are walking monster bait. i’d be an idiot if i didn’t have any celestial bronze on me.” 

to emphasize his point, luke tucked your switchblade carefully back into your pocket. he moved his hand to the hem of your shirt. it was your instinct to keep him from lifting it up, and he stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“i’m just trying to see how bad it is,” he informed. his lips then formed a bemused grin. “besides, i’ve already seen everything.”

“shut up,” but you smiled weakly even if it made your cheek hurt.

the skin where kelli had kicked you was turning an alarming shade of purple. luke tried to touch it, but you let out a sharp breath when pain emanated across your ribcage, and he recoiled. 

“okay, we need to get you —”

“i’m fine,” you groaned. you struggled to stand up, but you urged yourself to walk away. in your mind, the scales were already balanced. 

the moral, logical side of you was in danger of yielding to the wicked desire you always tried to suppress — to be with luke, even once more, just like old times. your quest for vengeance could only be stopped by your hunger for something more, and you needed distance from him before you gave in too much.

“i don’t need your help,” you insisted. “i protected you from kelli, and you gave me the sword that saved my life. we’re even.”

you started to limp away, but luke grabbed your side before you could get too far. you yelped at the contact.

“sorry,” he winced. “just — let me at least get you to a hospital.”

“what do i look like, a rockefeller?” you scoffed, and then grimaced when it felt like a giant was crushing you from the inside out. “i can’t afford that. i have some emergency nectar and ambrosia at my place, anyways.”

“let me at least get you back there, then. please.” he grabbed your hand. “i owe you.”

looking into those deep brown eyes, something in your stomach snapped. 

bad habits were always the hardest to break.

“fine,” you coughed. “but one wrong move, and i swear: i’ll go full vampire slayer and pierce a wooden stake through your heart.”

luke nodded once, lips curling into a smile. “seems fair.”

you groaned as luke wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you steady, his hold terribly familiar as he carried you back home. 

(vii. he loved you — and you weren’t sure if that was a fact or a weapon)

your apartment was only a few blocks away. luke must have gotten stronger, because he was able to carry you up the fire escape to avoid too much attention.

“i’m not sure if my roommate is home,” you whispered as luke set you down on the carpet by your bed. “so we should try and be quiet.”

you told him where you kept the supplies. he snuck away and emerged from the bathroom a minute later with clean hands and a first-aid  kit.

luke knelt down in front of you. 

“can i take your shirt off?” 

you nodded, trying to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. you were so bloodied up, more so than you initially let on, so you let luke do whatever he needed to do. he took off your shirt, assessed your injury and apologized when the pressure from his fingers made you wince. he wiped the blood off your lips and coaxed your mouth open to feed you some ambrosia, offer you a sip of nectar. 

there was no doubt about it: luke was taking care of you.

at first, you imagined your bones stitching themselves back together, and maybe some pieces of your heart, too. 

what were the odds that he was manipulating you, though? certainly not zero.

and then you noticed something when he reached over to place the canteen of nectar back with the kit. he was moving slowly, his breathing shallow and fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

“wait. what happened?”

“nothing,” he winced. luke was always good at hiding his pain.

“luke.”

“it was a few days ago. a hellhound bit me when i was trying to escape from….”

kronos’ army. he didn’t need to say it for either of you to remember. 

wordlessly, you switched your positions, led him to prop himself up on the bed frame while you crouched in front of him. 

“can i take this off?”

luke nodded. 

the first thing you noticed was that his muscles were more defined, yet his body was more beat-up than you'd ever seen it. there was a pretty nasty bruise on his shoulder. your eyes traveled down to the bitemark at his hip, and the haphazard stitching job luke must have done to himself. it looked like it could be infected, and with the activity from today, it was no wonder the wound reopened.

like he had done to you just seconds before, you took care of him.

“so…how are our friends?” he exhaled as you ran a cloth over his skin to clean off some of the blood.

our friends. it didn’t feel right that luke could still call them that. 

“i’m guessing you know what happened to chris….” luke grimaced, and you hoped he felt a little guilty at sending one of his best friends into a madness-inducing labyrinth. “clarisse and lena broke up, and neither of them will tell me why. beck is doing fine, always coming up with stuff in the forges. i guess that’s as good as anyone can be now, inventing new weapons for a war none of us wanted.”

you couldn’t help but add that last part. 

“and the kids?” luke asked as though you were divorce parents and he lost the custody battle. 

you looked up at the gray streak in luke’s own hair, remembering that he had manipulated annabeth and percy to hold the weight of the world, a burden that they couldn’t seem to shake.

it made you more than a little uneasy, luke showing any sense of caring for the people he seemed to leave behind and hurt so easily. you wished he hadn’t been so tender and attentive, like all the fighting and animosity had been a bad dream. 

luke just had to make everything so complicated.

“they’re fine, all things considered.”

you didn’t offer anything more, anything less. 

he was quiet for a moment.

“you seem to be doing alright, though?”

you ignored the question completely that time, focusing on getting the job done. you gave luke some ambrosia and nectar, watched as the infection magically disappeared. the wound didn’t completely heal, and there were many bruises that lingered. you were about to give luke some more when he shook his head. 

"you should save the rest for emergencies," he suggested, chin jutting towards your diminishing supplies. "in case something happens."

"is that a threat, castellan?" you asked, only half-joking. 

"no." luke reached out to touch your face, perhaps a move to reassure you, but then he redirected himself. "besides, i'll be fine. just need to cover it with some gauze." 

"you should take a shower before, then. i'll see what we have to eat." 

you helped him up, and sent luke into the bathroom. you changed into clean clothes before going to look for some food.

the ambrosia and nectar made your body feel more powerful than it had in days, even before getting kicked around by a demon cheerleader. no wonder the gods felt invincible, if that was their diet. meanwhile, all you had in your kitchen was a half-empty box of cinnamon poptarts and packets of instant coffee. 

you could hear your roommate singing from behind her closed door. you were quiet in toasting the breakfast pastries, and then slithered back into your room to look for something that would fit luke.

luke didn't hear you knock, so you just entered and closed the door behind you gently. on the bathroom counter, you set a pair of sweatpants that an ex had left behind, along with an oversized shirt of yours. before you could leave, there was a knock on the door. luke heard this one, and poked his head from behind the shower curtain. you gestured at him that you’d take care of it. he nodded, and closed the curtain again.

"yeah?"

"do you have any tampons in there?" your roommate's voice was muffled through the door.

"yeah," you replied. "i'll be out in a minute."

"do you mind if i just come in now? i'm bleeding out, out here." 

you were about to protest, but the doorknob started to turn, and you panicked. you slipped behind the shower curtain with luke, who looked at you wide-eyed. you placed your hand over his mouth before he could say anything. 

you were lucky earlier, that stella's mind was so preoccupied she didn't notice how beat-up luke was. you didn't want to take another chance. you didn't need your roommate asking questions. 

once the sounds of shuffling through cupboards stopped, and you heard a small thank you followed by the door closing, luke bit your palm.

"ow!" you hissed, pulling away from him.

"she's gone,” luke shrugged. “you don't need to muzzle me anymore.”

you rolled your eyes. “i put some clothes out for you, and a clean towel.”

luke caught your wrist before you could leave. 

“wait. my shoulder is killing me. do you mind…would you maybe help me….” 

his question trailed off, and you furrowed your brow when he pointed the shampoo bottle in your direction.

“you practically carried me down 3 blocks and up 4 flights of stairs, but you’re too hurt to wash your own hair?”

“i guess the pain just caught up with me.” his cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “sorry, i shouldn’t have —”

something pinched in your chest, hearing him stumble for forgiveness, even if it was so mundane. you caught yourself saying:

“i’ll do it.” 

before you could decide if it was a bad idea or not. you got rid of your shorts and tied your shirt up around your waist to prevent the clothes from getting too wet. luke blushed even more at your panties and exposed stomach, as if he wasn’t fully naked — which you were, of course, trying to ignore.

neither of you said anything as you focused on the task at hand, massaging shampoo and then conditioner into luke’s curls until they were rid of the grime trapped within. all you heard were luke’s soft sighs as your fingers scraped across his scalp and steady stream of water hitting the bathroom tiles. luke seemed so relaxed that his eyelids fluttered closed, and he almost toppled over. with your own sudsy hands, you brought his hands to sit at your waist, steadying him. 

the space was a little foggy, slightly too warm. you and luke had been intimate before, but never like this. it was almost enough to make you forget.

once all the soap was washed away, you brushed your fingers over the scar on his face, down to the sword tattooed along his collarbone, before you realized what you were doing.

“sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand away.

“it’s okay,” he hummed, and he moved his hand up to brush against the very same tattoo you had on your sternum, touch burning through a layer of cotton.

you wanted his hands elsewhere — around your neck, between your legs.

the water was running cold by then, and it jolted you back to reality.

you had to keep your desires in check. luke was manipulative and cruel and ruthless — you were enemies, not friends or lovers. you weren’t supposed to want him carnally.

you reached behind him to turn the shower off without another word, and left the bathroom so he could get dressed. 

neither of you were armed, but the situation was dangerous. you were barely healing from the claw marks luke left on your life and yet…. 

part of you wanted him to dig his fingers back into those wounds — to feel him again, even if it bled you dry in the end. 

luke’s sword, backbiter, leaned against your windowsill, a menacing reminder of who he had aligned himself with. luke was essentially kronos’ right hand man. he was your enemy.

what were you doing, bringing him into your home, taking care of him and letting him do the same to you?

leaving yourself vulnerable to him, letting your guard down?

now that you thought of it, if his guard was down, you could probably grab your own knife and just —

you heard luke clear his throat and you turned to see him standing in your doorway, shirtless and sweatpants hanging low. it was embarrassing how much you wanted to lap up the drop of water traveling down his chest.

luke must have noticed, so cleared his throat again. your body felt warm all over when you met his gaze, and he gave you an annoyingly confident smirk.

“so, here’s the thing. i’m pretty sure you’re either thinking about wanting to kill me, or wanting to fuck me.” 

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but couldn’t help but play along. 

“sounds like you’ve accepted your fate either way.”

“well, i do have a preference,” he quipped. “i just don’t particularly care as long as it's in your hands.”

it didn’t get past you that luke was checking you out, too, eye trailing over the exposed skin of your legs and lingering on where the t-shirt hugged your chest. 

how bad would it be to, for one night, indulge? no concern about what was right or wrong, about titans or gods; no worries about what a prophecy foretold or which side of a war you’re on. 

just you and luke: giving into your own twisted desires, and dealing with the consequences later.

another droplet trickled down luke’s torso. it disappeared underneath the band of his sweatpants, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

you strode over to him, about to crash your lips into his when —

luke stopped you with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“no kissing,” he warned. 

“what’s the matter?” you smirked. “i thought you liked it when i bite. worried that you’ll turn away from the dark side if i do?”

luke swallowed thickly.

you were taunting him, relishing in how his breath caught in his throat and gaze seemed fixed on your lips.

it was cute, how luke tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but couldn’t hide the slight tremble in his voice. 

“no kissing. that’s my only condition.”

“okay.” you took off your shirt, positioned yourself on the bed to punctuate your point. “as long as you’re fine sleeping with the enemy, castellan.”

luke stared for a few seconds before accepting his fate. 

he caged you in with his arms, settling his hips between your legs. his lips traveled down your tattooed sternum, nipping and sucking and re-bruising your skin until he reached the waistband of your panties. luke pulled it up with his teeth, the elastic snapping back when he let go. you whined his name and he looked up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” his breath fanned over your navel, his nails digging into your hips as he waited for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel luke smirk against your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into it. you whimpered, and luke salved his tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. he positioned your legs over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him most.

luke manipulated his tongue and fingers in all the ways he knew ruined you. in return, you gripped his black curls, tightly, and uttered praise in all the ways you knew ruined him. 

“just like that, pretty boy,” you encouraged, practically melting into the mattress. it felt so good — dangerously good — to be devoured by luke. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

luke’s moan vibrated throughout your body and he became harsher, bringing you over the edge. he left a few more bites on your body on his way up to meet you and when he did, luke’s lips and chin were still shining with your release.

you leaned forward slightly to lick it up. you ghosted your mouth over his, and luke groaned when you pulled away.

“no kissing,” you mocked and ran your thumb over his tattooed collarbone. 

luke tightened his grip on your hips, surely leaving bruises for later. his eyes feral, his curls a terrible mess, when he grumbled:

“you’re such a —”

you twisted your calf around luke’s leg and you flipped your positions before he could finish his sentence. he grunted as his back hit the mattress. 

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll still take care of you,” you drawled, starting to trail your tongue down luke’s body, occasionally incorporating your teeth or sucking brutally, imprinting a constellation of bites and bruises. his skin smelled like your pomegranate mango body wash, and it was more than a little intoxicating.

you weren’t soft or gentle, because you knew how luke liked you — rough, raw, a little ruthless. luke once told you that the wounds you left on his body weren’t the type that left him bitter; they were the type of wounds he wished would never heal.   

in a moment of weakness, you left a kiss — just one — on the semi-healed wound on his hip. luke sighed at the gesture and reached a hand down to gently brush his fingers against your cheek. 

“i missed you so much, karma,” luke almost sobbed. 

slightly shaken out of your lust, you weren’t sure whether to smirk at the hold you had on him, or sob at the reality that you missed him too. 

sensing your hesitation, luke removed his hand and told you to continue.  

you made quick work of luke’s sweatpants. luke, already hard and throbbing, didn’t last long with your lips wrapped around him. you swallowed him whole, and then some. 

“always such a good girl for me,” luke praised when you were face to face with him once more. his thumb swiped over your wet lips to gather what you missed. you granted him access to push into your mouth, and luke groaned when you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his thumb clean. your teeth scraped the skin on his way out. 

what followed was a brief squabble over who should be on top. you won out. 

there you were, luke sitting up against the headboard, you on his lap with his length nestled in your cunt. you scraped your nails down luke’s chest, and then curled your hands around the base of his neck. he gripped either side of your waist, thumbs pressing circles into your back encouragingly. luke looked up at you in awe, desperate sighs leaving his mouth as you rutted your hips against his. it felt sinful and wonderful, feeling luke buried deep inside you again, stretching you deliciously. the two of you exchanging animalistic grunts as you used the other's body, chased your high.

when you rolled your hips into his at just the right angle, luke’s moans turned into whines. 

“fuck it. please — kiss me.”

you stilled your hips, and luke whined some more. “are you sure?” you asked, breathing heavily.

luke nodded and gently moved you to lay on your back with him hovering over you. he leaned close, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. 

“please,” luke pleaded once more.

his brown eyes looked down at you with such hunger and passion, something deep within you ached. 

you kissed each other harshly, then. you still tasted him on your tongue and yourself on his. his sharp nose cut into your cheek, mouth attacking yours and vice versa. your nails pierced the skin of his shoulder as he resumed thrusting into you at a vicious pace. luke kept gnawing on your bottom lip until he made you bleed. you groaned, and he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to savor your coppery taste.

yes, luke could also be rough and raw and a little ruthless — which you always loved. but you knew, regardless, you were safe with him in that moment. all he wanted was for you to feel good.

you yanked his curls to force luke to look at you. he whimpered at having to detach himself from your lips.

“i missed you too, tiger,” you finally admitted, calling him that old affectionate nickname you promised yourself you would never use again.  “i missed you so fucking much.” 

luke gave you that troublesome smile of his. you connected your lips once more. you wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer, and luke wrapped an arm around your back to do the same. 

it wasn’t long until you both reached your peak, collapsing back onto the soft mattress, chests heaving. you each lied down on your side, facing each other. you admired luke’s mess of curls, his swollen-kiss-bitten lips, the rose-petal bruises you had left.

you wished the post-sex haze lasted longer, but then luke had to disturb it by saying:

“what you said earlier — i never think of you as my enemy, you know.”

you sighed and covered your face with your hand. “luke —”

“never,” luke insisted. he inched closer, took your hand in his and held it to his chest. 

you were overwhelmed by his heartbeat, strong and fast, so you pulled yourself away.

“we’re fighting on different sides,” you pointed out.

you could’ve said more, but all the things that have been said and done already hung heavy in the air, reoccupying the space between you and bursting your brief moment of peace.

“but we’ve always been fighting for the same thing.”

maybe that was true.

in theory, you weren’t against overthrowing the gods. but you couldn't reconcile with everything luke had done, what he was willing to do. you couldn't let your friends and thousands of innocent people die in the name of divine beings who valued power and control over all else. you couldn't hurt or betray people you loved for the sake of revenge. you couldn't turn that love against them, the way luke had, in search of justice. 

deep down, you knew it wasn’t right to have him there in bed with you. if it was so wicked, sinful, treacherous — then why did you want him to stay?

“i’m not sure they have a word for what we are,” you concede, returning to the conversation moments ago. 

"i guess not."

you let luke bring you into his arms that time. you rested your head against his chest. his heartbeat still steady, but a little slower. you idly traced your fingers across the marks you left on him, and you avoided the ones you didn't.

"how's your shoulder?" 

"it's okay," luke sighed. he lifted your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "whatever we are: i love you." 

those weren’t the words that were meant to make you sick, but your stomach churned — with nausea or desire, you weren’t sure.

you moved to straddle his hips. your eyes glanced over a scar you didn't register until now. the cut you had sliced across his cheek that afternoon he tried to kill percy, and then ran away from camp. you had a similar one that he had given you during that same struggle. 

matching tattoos, matching scars. there really was no word for what you and luke were to each other. 

"i love you too.”

at some point throughout the night, with luke’s strong arms wrapped around you and your legs intertwined beneath tangled sheets, it occurred to you that luke must have tracked you down for a particular reason.

maybe he was here to convince you to join kronos' army, to help him overthrow the gods and burn the world as you knew it; maybe he was here to break your heart all over again, just for the sick thrill of it; maybe he did just want to have one more night together, enemies or otherwise. maybe, maybe, maybe.

luke’s soft snores lulled you to sleep, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the scales of justice.

you'd figure it out in the morning. then you'd decide whether or not he deserved a blade to the heart.

#i haven't seen the finale but from the gifs my heart is already broken #and here i am breaking it more <3 #luke castellan angst #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x fem!reader #saf writes #Spotify #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo show #pjo fanfic #pjo series

[persevereforahappyending]

Maybe in Another Life |1|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Slight Titans Curse Spoilers

Word Count: 3.7k

Note: This will be following more of the book plot specifically 3-5 so there will be slight spoilers as this goes on. If you've read the books, it will be obvious that I've shifted the timeline slightly.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

You were in position, arrow at the ready as you waited in the trees. Your sisters were around you, scattered throughout the woods as they awaited orders just like you. You watched as a couple kids fought the manticore, fought was being generous, they seemed to be losing. They were trying to protect some kids but ended up finding themselves caught between the monster and a helicopter, humans never knew when to mind their own business.

Finally, the horn sounded, your goddess gave the order and you and your sisters let your arrows fly. Every single one of your arrows pierced into the monster, into his arms, his legs, and yours found a home in his neck. You couldn’t help but smirk as you watched him stumble back.

The manticore roared, eyeing the woods, he didn’t need to see you to know you were there. He fired his spikes aimlessly into the woods, hoping to hit at least one of you. You smirked at seeing the spikes coming directly at you before notching another arrow and letting it fly. You and your sisters’ arrows intercepted every single one of the monsters’ spikes perfectly, disintegrating them in the air.

All the kids looked around confused, trying to see through the darkness of the trees. You and your sisters were never seen though, not unless you wanted to be seen. Your goddess signaled for you to show yourselves, you all rushed forward, ready to end the monster. Zoe was given the order to take the shot but one of the girls that had been originally fighting it jumped on its back, compromising Zoe’s shot.

You all waited, bows at the ready to get a kill shot of the monster, then Zoe finally gave the order. Once again you and your sisters let your arrows fly, each one nailing the monster in the chest and neck. The monster staggered back but he wasn’t down yet, he let out another roar before quickly jumping over the cliff, the girl still on his back.

“Annabeth!” one of the boys yelled, running forward as if he was going to follow her over the edge.

Your goddess mumbled something about mortals not being allowed to witness her hunt, then she raised her hand and the helicopter that had been hovering over them turned into a flock of birds. You smiled, shaking your head as you looked up where the helicopter had been, oh how you loved it when she turned people and things into animals.

“Zoe Nightshade,” someone said. You turned to see Zoe standing toe to toe with one of the kids you all had saved. When you got closer you couldn’t help but smirk, recognizing the girl.

“Thalia Grace,” Zoe said with an eyeroll.

“Well, well, well,” you said, slinging an arm around Zoe as you approached the group. “Look who’s no longer a tree.”

“Y/N,” Thalia said with an eyeroll.

You smiled; Thalia wasn’t your biggest fan, but she hated you a lot less than she did Zoe. Unlike Zoe you hadn’t done anything to directly make enemies with Thalia, she wasn’t the biggest fan of Hunters after her last encounter with all of you, but you also just tended to rub people the wrong way. Most people found you too intense and arrogant.

“Four half-bloods and a satyr my lady,” Zoe said, informing Artemis of the kids you just saved. You rolled your eyes, Zoe, always being so formal.

“Some of Chiron’s campers, I see,” Artemis said, approaching the group.

“Annabeth!” the boy screamed again. You furrowed your brow, that name sounded familiar. Your eyes flitted back to Thalia, that’s when it clicked, Annabeth had been the little girl traveling with Thalia and that boy from a few years ago. “You have to let us go after her!”

“I’m sorry, Percy Jackson, but your friend is beyond help.” You tilted her head at Artemis, she was great at recruiting young girls to the Hunt, but she really wasn’t the best with people, which was saying something because her and her brother were the most ingrained in the mortal realm, walking amongst humans more than any of the other gods.

Your ears perked up at the boy’s name, tilting your head at the one you now knew as Percy Jackson. You had heard of him, everyone had heard about him, son of Poseidon, another child of the prophecy. You looked from him to Thalia, realizing a child of Zeus and Poseidon now walked the earth again, either one of them could be the one from the great prophecy.

“Who do you think you are?” Percy questioned. You raised an eyebrow at the boys’ guts, he clearly had no idea who he was talking to.

“Watch your tone,” Zoe snapped, shaking your arm off her, quickly throwing a glare over her shoulder at you as she approached the boy.

You shook your head with a smirk. Zoe was your goddesses second and she was technically older than you, born a whole thousand years before you even. Physically though, she looked younger, she was stuck at the young age of fourteen whereas you were frozen at seventeen, meaning, you loved to treat her like a little sister.

“It’s okay,” Artemis said. “I sense no disrespect, Zoe.” She stepped forward so she could stare Percy in the eyes, but she never offered him a hand. “I am Artemis, goddess of the Hunt.”

“You’re a goddess, why can’t you go after Annabeth?” Percy asked once again, clearly having a one-track mind.

“She is gone, can’t you sense it?” You sighed, it was obvious the boy couldn’t sense it, he probably had no idea what he’d even be trying to sense.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Some sort of magic,” Artemis looked around, confused as to what kind of magic could make the girl disappear. “She’s vanished. But trust, if she can be found, I will find her.”

Percy didn’t seem happy about her answer, but he grumbled, having to accept that there was no way he’d be able to go after his friend. The conversation quickly turned to the two kids the half-bloods had been protecting, Nico and Bianca, orphans, demigods, their parent unknown. Nico seemed very into the idea of being related to a Greek god, it was a little concerning how excited he was. Bianca on the other hand had a more reasonable reaction, it was hard for her to deny the truth though after being attacked by a Manticore.

Artemis ordered for camp to be set up while she talked to Bianca. Zoe smirked as soon as Bianca agreed to the conversation while Thalia glared at her. You knew Thalia’s feelings on what was about to be discussed but at least she had the decency to hold her tongue this time. When Nico asked if he could join, Artemis had the decency to redirect his attention to the satyr friend of the demigods, Nico didn’t seem to realize he was being pawned off, all too happy to talk about his little figures and game with the satyr.

You made yourself scarce, moving as far away from the others as you helped set up camp. As you walked away you could already hear the bickering between Percy and Thalia starting, it seemed the friend they lost had been their mediator, it was only a matter of time before they tried to kill each other without her. You and your sisters worked effortlessly, the motions of setting up camp having become second nature, even without any sort of magic you had the whole campsite set up in minutes. One of your sisters blew the whistle, signaling for the wolves to come out. You glanced up to see Thalia and Zoe now bickering, you shook your head then went back to more important matters, giving treats to the wolves.

You watched as Zoe approached Percy then led him into the tent you knew Artemis was residing in. Zoe gave you a nod as they passed, you gave one in return before giving the rest of the treats to the wolf. You quickly brushed off your hands and followed behind Zoe and Percy. Once in the tent Percy took a seat next to Bianca, Zoe took a seat on Artemi’s right and you stood behind your goddess on the left. You eyed your guests, Bianca looking deep in thought, barely registering that Percy had sat next to her, her mind most likely playing over all the benefits of Artemis’s offer.

You stood dutifully to the side as Artemis explained her whole deal to Percy, he seemed confused by the whole ‘rejecting romantic love’ thing, he couldn’t fathom the idea of why someone would ever accept that. He wasn’t disrespectful about it though, you would give him that, most men when they stumbled upon Artemis or the Hunters they didn’t understand, didn’t try to understand, and it always cost them, Artemis made sure of that. You couldn’t help but smirk when Percy’s eyes widened when Artemis and Zoe started talking about the last boy to have seen your camp and how Artemis had turned him into a jackelope. Her turning boys into jackelopes was secretly one of your favorite things, there was a part of you that always hoped a boy would stumble upon your camp and she’d turn him into an animal.

You zoned out a bit, making sure you could still hear the conversation around you. Percy was filling in Artemis on the manticore and what he had said before you and your sisters arrived. Percy’s details were vague and confusing, but Bianca clearly had the better memory and helped fill in the gaps or correct Percy on wording if he got it wrong. You didn’t fully tune back into the conversation until Artemis said she must hunt this new monster.

“We’ll leave right away, my lady,” Zoe said. You stood at attention ready to follow them into the next hunt.

“No, Zoe. I must do this alone,” Artemis said. She glanced back at you to make sure you knew she was serious. You frowned, Artemis may have been a goddess but the idea of her going off and hunting this unknown monster didn’t settle right with you. Despite your reservations you honored your goddesses’ wishes and kept your mouth shut.

“But, Artemis-” Zoe did not keep her mouth shut.

“This task is too dangerous even for the Hunters. You know where I must start my search. You cannot go there with me.”

“As… as you wish, my lady.”

Zoe also having reservations about Artemis going off on her own didn’t settle your uneasiness. Zoe was a rule follower, she was the type of kid you hated because she’d rather follow rules than do something fun. You always followed your goddesses’ orders but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have fun. Usually, you were the one arguing with Artemis, respectfully, and Zoe would snap at you.

You continued to remain silent through the following conversation until Artemis asked Percy to escort the Hunters to camp Half-Blood. While once again Zoe went to argue with Artemis, you could only groan. You knew there would be no swaying Artemis on this decision, with her going off on a mission so dangerous that she didn’t even want her Hunters by her side, there was no question that she’d want to know you were all safe. As much as you hated camp half-blood, one of the only things Zoe and you ever agreed on, you had to admit it was the safest place for all of you.

You smirked when Artemis mentioned them having rebuilt the cabins that got burnt down last time because of the Hunters. “That was a fun time,” you mumbled. Artemis flicked you a glare and you raised your hands, silently agreeing to not set cabins on fire this time, at least you’d try to. You couldn’t make that promise and she knew that, the campers just had a way of irritating the Hunters, it wasn’t your fault with how you and your sisters reacted.

“Have you made up your mind, my girl?” Artemis asked, looking at Bianca.

Your eyes shifted to the younger girl, you knew before you all came into the tent that Artemis had been informing the girl of what it meant to be a Hunter and offering her a place. Percy’s eyes widened in shock, and he instantly tried to convince Bianca joining the Hunters wasn’t the answer by telling her how much fun camp was. Zoe was quick to shut that down by telling him being a Hunter can offer much more than camp ever could, such as immortality, and they’d be immortal unless they fell in battle, or they broke their oath.

“What oath?”

“To foreswear romantic love forever,” Artemis answered. “To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally.”

Percy’s mouth hung open as he seemed unable to process why anyone would choose that. You continued to remain silent while Zoe snapped at him telling him Artemis didn’t discriminate by birth and you all weren’t demigods. Which was true, Artemis accepted any girl into the Hunters, demigods, nymphs, mortals, literally anyone as long as they were willing to take and honor the oath. For those that broke the oath though… Artemis might have been one of the kindest gods around, but she was also one of the most unforgiveable, you had personally seen what could happen if a Hunter broke their oath.

Percy tried a new tactic, telling Bianca how Nico wouldn’t be able to become a Hunter. Artemis agreed with that but mentioned how Bianca could still see him every now and then. Bianca looked down at her hands, going over everything. Taking the oath and choosing to follow Artemis wasn’t an easy decision, especially to someone so young, you had seen many girls take it out of impulse and then fail to honor the oath later on. Artemis would accept any girl willing to take the oath at any age, she tended to like them younger though, before they could fall for boys and fall in love with someone. You were a rare case in that regard, you took the oath at seventeen and though some closer to the same age or even older than you had taken the oath before they never ended up keeping it.

You could understand Bianca’s predicament, you hadn’t had any siblings, at least you didn’t think you did. You had been with Artemis for a thousand years and you didn’t have many memories of your life before then, everything from that time slowly fading. You had seen girls with siblings take the oath before, it always took its toll on them. Artemis would allow the girls to visit their siblings from time to time, but time was always scarce, it could be a visit every few years and not last more than a day and while the girls would remain the same age forever, their siblings would age and eventually die.

“Is it worth it?” Bianca finally spoke up, looking at Zoe.

“It is,” Zoe answered. No one was more proud to be a Hunter than Zoe, it was why she had been with Artemis so long, it was why your goddess chose her as her second.

Bianca shifted her gaze to you. This happened almost every time, before a girl agreed she’d look to Zoe and you, you were physically the oldest and Bianca had been at Artemis’s side the longest, with you following right after. If anyone clearly thought this life was worth it, then it was the two of you.

“It might get weird hanging out with a bunch of people at least three years younger than me,” you joked, earning you a glare from Zoe. “But I have never regretted my decision.”

Bianca nodded, taking in both your and Zoe’s answers. “What do I have to do?” she asked, looking at your goddess.

“Say this,” Zoe said. “ ‘I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis.’ ”

“I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis,” Bianca repeated.

“ ‘I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.’ ”

“I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.”

“Now, once lady Artemis accepts the pledge it will be binding.”

“I accept,” Artemis said.

You smiled at your new sister as Artemis and Zoe welcomed her. It was a big decision to make but the second Artemis accepted the pledge you could see Bianca physically relax. Bianca loved her brother, you gathered that much but not knowing their godly parent and growing up orphans for so long meant Bianca had to grow up fast, she spent her life making sure her brother was okay and doing what was best for him, never getting to choose something solely for herself.

You had to hold in another groan when Percy asked how all of you were getting to camp when Artemis informed him, she was going to ask Apollo. Zoe once again didn’t hide her distaste for the situation and did groan, thankfully she didn’t try and argue with Artemis about this. When you all left the tent and packed up camp, Zoe stood on Artemis’s right, her arms crossed as she glared up at the dark sky, just waiting for the sun god to show himself. You couldn’t help but silently chuckle at her.

You laughed at Artemis’s complaints about her brother always being lazy. When the sunrise eventually came a sports car came speeding down from the sky, parking not too far from your group. Apollo jumped out of his car happily greeting his sister, much to her annoyance, before waving a flirtation grin at all of you, like usual. Zoe glared at him, you rolled your eyes, and the other Hunters took a few steps back, getting as far away from him as possible.

You waited as Artemis asked her brother to take all of you to camp, watching as he quickly turned his sports car into a large bus. He smiled widely, gesturing at the giant bus. The Hunters quickly shuffled forward, throwing all their gear into the bus before making their way on it and all the way to the back.

“Here, sweetheart. Let me get that,” Apollo said, smirking at Zoe as he tried to help her with her gear. Zoe quickly ripped her bag away from him, clenching a fist.

“Brother,” Artemis chided, preventing Zoe from decking the sun god in the face. “You do not help my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart.”

Apollo sighed dramatically, holding up his arms as Zoe passed by, making sure to bump him in the shoulder on the way. Zoe followed the other Hunters, making her way straight to the back of the bus.

Apollo smiled widely when his eyes landed on you. You had your bag slung over your shoulder with one hand, looking unamused as he approached you. “Hello gorgeous,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “how’s my favorite Hunter doing?” Apollo smirked. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before elbowing him in the gut. He groaned but quickly recovered and threw his arm back around you, leading you onto the bus.

You were the only Hunter to not have complete disdain for him. Despite finding him annoying you were also the only one to entertain him. At first Artemis would always chastise him when he would flirt with you but after a few hundred years of never being swayed and only seeming amused by his failed attempts she eventually let it slide, she knew you’d never break your oath for her brother or any guy. Apollo also took the form of someone around your age, and you had to admit it was nice having that around sometimes.

“Okay, so who’s driving?” Apollo asked once you were all on the bus. He looked back at your sisters, you followed his gaze to see them all pressed together on the back bench, practically sitting on top of each other to get as far away from him and Percy as possible. You decided to humor him and take a seat up front with him, Percy, Thalia, Grover, and Nico.

Percy mumbled he was only fourteen when Apollo looked at him. He then looked at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he smirked. You answered him by scoffing, crossing your arms and turning your attention out the window. He then turned to Thalia who reluctantly took a seat behind the wheel.

After getting off to a rough start you had a death grip on the seat, glaring at Apollo as he casually shouted directions at Thalia. Percy was gripping the back of Thalia’s seat as he yelled directions at her as well, for someone who couldn’t drive he sure had a lot of opinions on what she should do. You weren’t sure what was worse, the fourteen-year-old yelling directions or the fifteen-year-old driving who had been a tree less than six months ago.

Thalia turned the wheel sharply, crashing you all right into the lake at camp half-blood. Everyone flung forward with a groan. You looked up to see Thalia gripping the steering wheel as she stared unblinking out the windshield. Apollo, completely unbothered by the rough landing, applauded Thalia on the back, singing her praises.

All of you quickly piled out of the bus, watching as Apollo took off, switching back to a sports car as soon as the last of your feet stepped off the bus. Percy and Thalia took Nico to go meet Chiron and inform him of everything that happened. You watched as Zoe led the rest of the Hunters off to cabin eight. With your bag slung over your shoulder you looked around at the camp, most of the campers not even awake yet or the few that were were sleepily making their way to get breakfast. With one final eyeroll you sighed and made to follow your sisters. You could only hope your goddesses’ hunt would be swift because you couldn’t imagine wanting to be at this place for more than a day.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #maybe in another life

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Night Shift

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 10,206

Rating: T (just some smooches but plenty of angst)

Summary: You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

A/N: Took a break from my long fics this week to deliver a long angsty Seb one shot. I heard Phoebe Bridgers cover Night Shift and became feral over it. Perhaps it needs a smutty part two???

Night One

“I’m so glad you were able to slip away from work for a bit.” Poppy says, pouring tea into your cup.

You smile up at the brunette girl, who still wears her hair in a cropped bob, albeit a bit more fashionable now that you’re in your twenties.  You miss Poppy’s presence in your life, but her career as a mazoologist and yours as a lead healer in the intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s has your schedules rarely crossing.  

“It’s nice to be out in the sunlight,” you say coyly, lifting the cup to your mouth. It's the truth–you haven’t been out to tea with a friend, dressed in a pretty lace gown in what feels like ages.  Your career usually has you in a tightly pulled bun, hair out of your face to focus on your patients, with bloodied aprons.  Magic can heal most ailments, but your ancient abilities make you the best bet for the most gravely wounded.  So much so that you’ve worked six nights a week every week for the past five years, sleeping during the day to make it to your overnight shifts at the hospital.

With few exceptions.

But there’s coverage today, giving you a rare Saturday afternoon off to enjoy the warm spring day.  You and Poppy are sitting outside a tea shop in Diagon Alley, catching up on all things personal, while people watching.  It’s strange, you think, to be surrounded by so many people.  You leave for your shift at seven thirty in the evening, when most people are getting home for dinner, and return to your flat far after everyone has left for work.  

Poppy had just started telling you a story about a wild herd of manticores she’d encountered on her travels abroad, when a familiar face walked up to your table.

“Merlin’s beard, I never thought I’d see the likes of you two ever again,” Andrew Larson grins.

“Andrew,” Poppy smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

There are obligatory kisses on the cheek as the handsome Ravenclaw pulls up a chair. “What are you doing in town, Poppy?”  

“Visiting my gran, of course.” She tilts her head towards you. “And catching up with friends.”

“And you, it’s like you’re back from beyond the grave.” Andrew shifts his attention, teasing you. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just busy keeping people from their graves, that’s all.”

“I’ve heard.” Andrew elbows you. “Youngest lead healer in all of St. Mungo’s.”

“Yet being the youngest earned me the night shift.” You wrinkle your nose.  “And very few days off.”

“How’s the auror office doing?” Poppy quips, leaning her chin into her palm.

Andrew shrugs. “Busy; we’re working on a big case right now, but we finally got a few hours off to enjoy lunch.  I was just heading over to the Cauldron, meeting Sallow and Clopton for a bite.”

You swallow thickly.  It’s been five years since you last spoke to Sebastian Sallow.  At this point, you can’t exactly remember how it ended, except that the two of you had screamed at one another.  You were fairly certain you’d thrown a book at his head, and he’d knocked over your favorite mug in the process. You still had it, the handle broken off, now used as a quill holder at your desk.

“Oi, Larson!  Quit flirting, we’ve just gotten a message. All hands on deck at the office.” 

Both you and Poppy turn to the voice; Everett Clopton is standing a few paces away, wearing a smart suit.  He still has his gold wire glasses, but he’s grown into them. He’s wearing a hat, tipping the brim to you both in acknowledgement.

You hate the way your breath hitches when you see their companion.  Sebastian is also dressed well, sporting a tweed three piece suit, shiny black dress shoes, and a gold auror badge attached to his lapel.  He meets your gaze briefly before looking back up to Andrew, who’s moving the chair back to its proper table.

“Emergency meeting,” Sebastian utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

Your stomach twists at the sound of his voice.  It’s no more than six words, but your insides feel like a wet towel being wrung out.  And Sebastian doesn’t even have the decency to look at you, avoiding eye contact with the person he considered his best friend for three years.  The audacity of him, to completely ignore the person who once held his fate in their hands–you feel the bile rising in your throat, swallowing down the anger that once consumed you.

No, you won’t let a tiny interaction with Sebastian ruin five years of hard work.  You stare at the cutlery on the table, willing him to leave.

Andrew Larson sighs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “It was good seeing you girls,” he smiles. “Hopefully I run into you again.”

The three boys–men, rather, you are all twenty three at this point–shuffle away.  

There is a heavy silence between you and Poppy, until she clears her throat.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, collecting yourself as you smile at her. “Perfectly fine.  It’s been ages, Poppy. We’re all over it.”

She grabs your gloved hand, pulling it towards her.  “You certainly are,” she says playfully, twisting the sparkling bauble on your left ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“I never get to wear it,” you admit sheepishly. It’s been a month since your engagement, and you’ve hardly worn your ring; your fiance’s parents are perturbed that the announcement hasn’t been posted to the Daily Prophet yet. Despite having courted for the last year and a half, it still feels like everything has moved too fast, like you’ve fallen off your broom mid flight. For the most part, your engagement ring is safely tucked in its box atop your dresser, at the risk of getting bodily fluids on it during your shifts.

“He’s a lucky man.” Poppy echoes, sitting back in her chair. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

You’re doing fine, you think.  You’re at the top of your field.  You have a fine flat in a nice part of London, and a promise from a man that’s kind to you.  The kind of man who waited for you to get off your shift to bring you breakfast, and took you to a nice restaurant on your Friday nights off. You hadn’t expected a pretty ring from him, especially since you only graced him with your presence once a week, but then again, your last relationship had taught you not to expect anything at all.

A flash of brunette hair crosses your mind; you blink away the thought.

“I’m happy.  Very happy,” you say simply, holding your teacup up to your lips again. “So about the manticores…”

You jolt out of bed, a blue wisp of a rabbit bouncing around your bedroom.  It’s rare to get a patronus message at this hour; it can only mean an emergency at the hospital.  It also must be bad, considering they’re calling you in on your day off.

Without another thought, you tumble out of bed, rushing to your wardrobe to pull out your clothes.  Your unit specifically wears a deep purple–dark enough to hide stains.  Your shrug on undergarments and petticoats, and a burgundy gown with a high neckline.  Your hands know exactly how to tighten your hair into a knot within a minute, having perfected the craft over the five years of your career. Your wand is stowed in your dress pocket; you’ll grab an apron at the ward.  Grabbing a fistful of floo powder next to your fireplace, you step in, yelling out for St. Mungo’s.

The ward is in a flurry as you step out of the flames.  A nurse hands you a white cotton apron, which you wrap around your waist as you hold your wand between your teeth.  There are men all over, gashed and bleeding, as other healers take their information. 

“What’s happened?” You bark at an orderly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Auror ambush by some ashwinders,” he says dryly. “It’s awful.  Lost a few–even more are bleeding.  It’s dark magic, some sort of spell to keep the wounds bleeding.”

“Of course it is, those bastards.” You mutter. “I’ll take the worst of them.  Can someone bring me a coffee?”

He nods, pointing over to a bay of beds a few feet away. “Those three–they specifically requested you.” He hands off the charts, promising a caffeinated beverage.

You’re about to start flipping through the charts when you hear your name.  Your head flies up at the familiar voice, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You can see Everett Clopton waving his hands at you; Andrew Larson’s voice is yelling behind the curtain.  And just your luck, a pair of black shiny dress shoes are dangling off the examination table, twisted in an unnatural way.

Before you even realize it, you’re running to them.  The charts are promptly cast onto the side table when you duck behind the curtain, a gasp catching in your throat.

Sebastian looks awful.  

Correction–Sebastian looks dead.

“He jumped in front of me,” Everett panics, his hands on his head. “He shouldn’t have–we were talking, we thought we were out of the thick of it–”

“He’s been hit badly,” Andrew interjects.  His sleeves are bloodied from trying to apply pressure to a gash across Sebastian’s chest, the blood seeping through his shirt and vest. “You have to do something,” he pleads. “He’s the best of us–we can’t lose him.”

“Move,” you urge the two of them.  They scoot out of your way, and you make quick work of Sebastian’s clothing.

Years ago, tearing off Sebastian’s shirt would’ve been done out of passion, out of love.  You push those thoughts out of your mind as you rip through his white dress shirt, which is sopping wet with blood. Sebastian’s skin is cold and clammy; even his freckles are pale, disappearing from his face.

“Get me some dittany and shrivelfigs,” you screech at the other healers. “And the blood renewing potions, please.” You run your hand and your wand over Sebastian’s wounds, uttering a healing charm. “Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur,” you mutter under your breath.  The spell isn’t healing fast enough, Sebastian is still losing too much blood.

You let out the  blue wisps of magic from your fingertips as you channel some of your ancient magic into the healing spell. You’re still mad at Sebastian, of course, but you’ll be damned if he dies on your watch.  

To your relief, the wounds start knitting themselves shut faster, but the scars look awful, all purpled and raised.  Another healer is next to you, urgently crushing the dittany and shrivelfigs into a paste–an idea you got from the patient lying in front of you during your sixth year.  You’d been battered so often during Crossed Wands, the two of you had experimented with salves and balms to lessen the appearance of your scars. 

“He appears to be stabilizing,” the junior healer claims. “Good job, as always.”

You suppress the choked out cry that’s stuck in your throat as you think of Ominis, and how he used to scold the two of you for experimenting.  He’d be thankful now that you did.

“There’s others,” another healer urges you. “We must move on to the next.”

You don’t want to.  Sebastian seems to be stirring, groaning as the healer rubs the salve onto the gaping wound that streaks across his chest.  You can hear Everett and Andrew crying and laughing on the other side of the curtain, exclaiming your name for having saved their partner.

There’s so much commotion, you could swear Sebastian uttered your name, but when you look back, his head is flat on the table, eyes shut.  The color is slowly returning to him, now no longer pale and gray.

“We have to keep him for observation,” you instruct another healer, handing her Sebastian’s chart. “I’ll check on him later.  In the meantime, there are others.”

Without another glance, you move on to the next bay.

“Excellent work as always,” your boss pats you on the shoulder. “You saved six good men tonight with your quick work.”

“I should just move into the ward,” you mutter under your breath before taking a large swig of coffee.  

Your dress is stained with blood, fingers aching from all the healing you’d done.  From the twelve aurors in the ambush, three had superficial wounds (Larson and Clopton included).  Two had passed in the field, another before you’d gotten to the hospital.  But all six of the aurors you’d treated, Sebastian included, were now tucked into private rooms, safe and breathing. You were keeping them for observation, unsure of what kind of curse the ashwinders had used on them.  Your ancient magic managed to seal the wounds, but all were badly scarring.  They’d all have to stay until you could rule out the cause.

After a much needed shower and an owl sent to your fiance, regretfully informing him you’d not make it to brunch with his parents, you start making your rounds. Most of your patients are sleeping deeply, others dizzily asking what happened.  You save Sebastian’s room for last; Clopton and Larson, faithful companions, are sleeping in chairs outside of his room.

You quietly shut the door behind you, gulping as you stare at the man laying in the hospital bed. His chubby cheeks are long gone, hollowed and chiseled by age. You’d laughed at him when you were seventeen and he claimed he had a beard coming in; now you can see traces of stubble lining his jaw. His unruly chestnut hair has been brushed out of his face in a way you know he’ll hate.

But you don’t know that, not truly. Because you don’t know Sebastian anymore.

“Oh Sebastian,” you tut, sitting at a stool next to his bed. You hover your hands over his body, a misty blue glow emitting from them. No internal bleeding at least. He’s had at least three blood renewing potions, and his breathing is steady. You would examine the scars across his chest and torso, but the thought of undressing him in his current state is inappropriate to you. 

You’re about to get up, leave him to his slumber when you hear it. He whispers your name in his sleep, head falling to the side. And instead of him being the one with a gaping wound, you feel like a hole has been drilled into your chest. 

Maybe you’ll ask for tomorrow off.

Night Two

You’d asked for the day off again, but the request was denied.  Begrudgingly, you dress for your shift, tucking your hair behind your ears as you walk with your daytime counterpart down the hallway.

“You’ve missed all the commotion,” your fellow healer gasps.  She’s filling you in on the day shift, and all that’s transpired since you left in the morning. “There was a memory charm laced in with that blood curse from the ashwinders—some of them have lost weeks, years of memories. Not recognizing their wives or their children; we’ve had to close the doors to all visitors.”

“That’s a nasty curse.” You mutter, flipping through charts. Only someone sick in the head would mess with memory tampering curses—you wonder why no one has petitioned for them to be banned. The long term care wing at St. Mungos is filled with too many people who’d tinkered with memory spells, and you sincerely hope none of the aurors under your care end up there.

“Terrible, of course. But it made for an interesting day.” She hums. “You should’ve seen Rowle’s wife, security had to cart her out after he called her the wrong name. Think he courted her twin sister too.” 

You laugh with her as you walk through the hallway, until your heart fills with dread.  

“How is Sallow?  The patient in 213.”

She tilts her head. “Fine I think–oh, he was asking for you.  Do you know him?”

You fight back the red flush that’s creeping up your neck. “We were schoolmates.” You say. Nothing more. Sebastian can’t be more, especially after you’d done such hard work to forget him in the first place.

After your colleague has clocked out and you’ve checked all your other patients, you quietly rap your knuckles against Sebastian’s door.  It’s late enough at night that he might be asleep already, and you can avoid the entire awkward conversation.

“Come in!” 

Shit.

You open the door, and Sebastian is staring right back at you.  He isn’t scowling like you thought he would be–his eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his lips.

“They told me you were working the night shift.” he says happily, scratching at the collar of his hospital gown. “I stayed awake.”

“Right, Mr. Sallow,” You say curtly, eyes down at the chart in front of you. “It is late, you should be getting rest–”

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he frowns. 

You look up at him, and instead of a grown man, you see the puppy dog eyes that got you in trouble the few years you had at Hogwarts. “Mr. Sallow, rest is essential to your healing. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you need to go to sleep.”

“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pet, it’s me.”

You inhale sharply, white knuckling the edge of the bed. “Sebastian,” you mutter (you hate how easily his name rolls off your lips still), “what year do you think it is?”

He rolls his eyes and chuffs. “It’s 1893, duh.”

“It’s not,” you sigh. “It’s 1898. You were in an ambush yesterday, and it seems the Ashwinders are using a memory curse as retaliation nowadays.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Really?  I’ve lost five damn years in my head?  What have I missed? Don’t tell me we’re not married yet.”  Only Sebastian could be jovial about such a matter; all the others were utterly distraught at losing their memories.

“Sebastian, darling, we haven’t seen each other in five years.” you confess, moving to the edge of the bed.  Your voice is quiet, and although it’s been ages since you last called him darling, you think it might be too much on his poor heart if you don’t. The poor man just asked if you were married, for Merlin’s sake.

His smile fades. “What?”

“We…we went our separate ways five years ago.” You clear your throat. “It…it was a mutual decision.” you lie.  Was it a lie?  You honestly can’t remember.

“I would never,” Sebastian bites back.  “I would never break up with you.”

“Darling, it’s been a very long time,” you say softly, wringing your hands together. “And I’m okay–you’re okay.  We’re both doing well…just on our own now.”

“I can’t–this doesn’t make sense,” he jolts away from your touch, and you flinch. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing?” 

You can recognize the tell tale signs of panic on a patient’s face, so you hurry over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of water.  Sebastian is too far away to see you slip the vial of dreamless sleep into the glass, swirling it into oblivion.

“Here, drink this.  You’ll feel much better,” you assure him. 

Sebastian absentmindedly takes the glass, gulping down the water as he tries to make sense of the current situation. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters under his breath as he starts rubbing his eyes.  He’s fighting the effects, and he looks up at you, a deep set frown on his face. “You dosed me, dammit.” The glass rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, where you scoop it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it's sincere.  But you’re not equipped to handle Sebastian in such a state–you aren’t equipped to handle him, period.  It’s been five years since you’ve had to mind his temper, and your heart can’t handle the pain.  

Before you know it, Sebastian is knocked out, the dreamless sleeping draught taking over his body.  With his eyes tightly shut, you can finally examine him.  The scars across his chest are still purple, bruises lining his torso.  Your fingers dance across his skin trying to heal him, but alas, they stay.

You make notes on his chart, letting the other healers know he may be groggy and upset when he wakes in the morning. Even though they’ve put a no visitors policy on the aurors, you remind them to call upon Ominis and Anne to see if they can talk some sense into him.  

The last you’d asked Natty about Sebastian, he was happy.  He was climbing up the ranks in the auror office, and he’d finally moved out of Ominis’s spare room.  You’d cut her off once she started telling you how he was dating–that you didn’t need to know.

That had been two years ago.  You wonder what’s changed since then.

Night Three

Your pleas for a night off have gone unanswered.  Your boss tells you that you’re too integral to the auror case to be gone for more than twelve hours.  

There’s a note left by your fiance’s owl; he’s sad you missed brunch, but he’s excited to take you out on Friday, your next scheduled day off.  His mother is insistent the two of you sit for an engagement portrait that will be posted in the Daily Prophet to announce your impending union.  You fold the note and toss it onto your desk; when you have a free moment, you’ll write a letter explaining that you would like a lengthy engagement.

Planning a wedding and working the night shift is just too much work for you.  You twist your large engagement ring off your finger and put it in its box before taking the floo network to St. Mungo’s.

You’re barely five steps out of the fireplace before a body hits you.  

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anne Sallow breathes, her arms enveloping you. “You saved him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Anne,” you sigh into her touch.  Similar to her brother, it’s been ages since you’ve seen her.  She’s still thin and delicate, but her bangs are long grown out. “What are you still doing here?  It’s so late.”

“Ominis and I wanted to catch you,” she claims. “The healers called us in to talk to Sebastian.”

“Right, I asked them to.” you say, smoothing your apron. “How was he today?”

Anne winces. “He’s…he’s still pretty confused.”

You give her a sympathetic smile, biting back the sarcastic words you had in mind. “It must be awful.”

Anne pulls away, digging her toe into the ground. “He keeps asking what happened between the two of you.  I’m not sure what to say.” she admits.

You bite your lower lip. “You can tell him the truth.  That we ended amicably.  That we were fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have disappeared for five years.” a voice says behind you.

It only takes you a second to recognize the rich voice of Ominis Gaunt.  Whirling around, you throw your arms around the tall blonde.  It’s been ages since you’ve given him a hug let alone seen him, so he chuckles into your shoulder when you grasp him.

“I missed you,” you pat his cheek.

“We missed you,” Ominis hums. “I’m surprised St. Mungo’s would call me; I haven’t been Sebastian’s emergency contact for a while.”

You furrow your eyebrows as Anne takes Ominis’s arm. Why wouldn’t he be his emergency contact?  Ominis is his best friend, and having been together with Anne for so long, practically his brother.

That’s a question for another time, you decide.

“It’s late, you two should be getting home.  Visitor hours are over.”  you remind them.

“I’m not leaving before you promise to see me again,” Ominis says sternly. “Five years is far too long.”

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Ominis, I’m sorry.  I just thought that when things ended, the two of you were best friends…”

“That was my decision to make,” he says softly. “Not yours.  I decide whose side I’m on.”

Ominis’s words warm your heart, but they also leave cracks.  Ominis and Sebastian were a package deal when you met them, and you’ve spent far too much of your time with the boys driving them apart. 

After much coaxing, Ominis and Anne take their leave.  You’re finally able to start your rounds.  Rowle is starting to regain his memories and they’ve allowed his wife back into the ward.  Travers still has a nasty gash on his leg that’s festering, but he’s otherwise remembering things from last week.  Cattermole is fast asleep, so you avoid his room to let him get some more rest.

Your hand falters on the handle of room 213, taking a deep breath before you push in.  Just as you thought, Sebastian isn’t asleep.  He’s sitting upright in bed, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at you.

“You’re looking much better,” you offer, shutting the door behind you.

“You gave me a sleeping draught last night,” he accuses you. “That’s not fair.”

“You were getting hysterical, Sebastian.” you remind him, flipping through his chart.  Nothing particularly new, and no memories back.  He’s spent the entire day asking for you, the chart says, and fighting with orderlies.  It mentions Ominis and Anne arriving, and that the two gentlemen had sharp words for one another. Ominis was right—he isn’t Sebastian’s emergency contact anymore. There’s an unfamiliar name, a woman.

“Open your shirt, please.”

Sebastian waggles his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure we’re not together?”

You roll your eyes. “Your cheekiness, I didn’t miss it.” you mutter, hands on your hips. “I need you to take your shirt off so I can check your wounds, you idiot.”

Sebastian gives you a familiar grin as he unbuttons his pajama shirt; he’s flexing his muscles, you can tell.  A pinch to his pectoral has him yowling, and he stops.  You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Perhaps we did break up,” he grumbles.

Sebastian’s breath stutters as your fingers prod at his scars. They’re still ugly and raised, but the color is improving. 

“I’m not sure there’s much more I can do,” you frown. “I think they’ll stay.”

“That’s fine,” Sebastian breathes. “You did always say you preferred when I was roughed up.” 

You give him a strained look. “Sebastian–”

“Please, listen to me.” Sebastian urges. “Ominis…he told me what happened between us. And I really, truly can’t believe we would let it get to that.” Your name is a gentle whisper from his mouth, and he pushes his brunette hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

You swallow thickly, backing up. “We were so young, Sebastian.  Let’s leave the past in the past, please.”

“Ominis and I haven’t spoken in two years.” Sebastian interjects. “He just told me.  Annie says we had a fight, and you were part of it.”

You turn around, shutting your eyes. “I don’t want to hear this,” you admit weakly.

Sebastian is rustling in his sheets; he lets out a low hiss as he adjusts his still healing torso. “If the version of me, the one that got cursed, isn’t talking to you, Anne, or Ominis…I don’t want to go back to that.  I don’t want to be that version of me.” Sebastian pleads. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to remember.”

“You have friends, Sebastian.” You remind him, turning to face him again. “You have friends, your job…” you trail off, picking up his chart again.  You pinpoint the section with his emergency contact; a woman who is likely sitting at home, worried sick over him. “You have a girlfriend, probably.  One who is desperate to see you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you try to imagine her, but your mind comes up blank.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian breathes. “She’s a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger,” you remind him. “Sebastian…I’m engaged. I’m getting married next spring.” 

That’s a lie–you and your fiance haven’t even discussed a timeline, but it seems more official to say it with a season.

The hope on Sebastian’s face crumbles, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You’re engaged,” he croaks.

“Engaged.” The more you say it, the more it’s real. “He’s lovely.  You would like him.” Now that's an even bigger lie–Sebastian would’ve called him a prat if he met him. You appreciate your fiance’s softness and meekness, especially after having been with a firecracker hothead for most of your teens.

Sebastian is crumpled in bed, twisting onto his side. “I’d like to go to bed now,” he mumbles.  It was textbook Sebastian–whenever something didn’t go his way, he’d turn away from you in bed like a petulant child.  It’s almost a relief to see that he does the same thing at twenty three years old.

“If you ring the bell, someone will come to aid you.” You wave your wand, dimming the lights. “You can ask for someone else, if you’d like.”  

Sebastian doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, and when he does ring the bell for assistance, he requests anyone but you. It’s stupid to be upset over, it’s what you wanted–for him to stop pestering you.  

But you have a nice long cry in the potions ingredient cupboard anyways.  

The rest of your shift goes by uneventfully.  Rowle has regained his memories and will be discharged in the morning.  Cattermole finally woke up from his deep sleep and he’s on the mend, moved out of the intensive care ward. Travers has also been discharged, prescribed a salve to make sure the cut on his leg stays clean.  It leaves Roberts, Jorkins, and Sallow as your only three patients left from the case, and perhaps now your boss will let you take a night off.

Night Four

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Sebastian says sheepishly.

“Whatever for?” You mumble, pressing a strip of gauze to his chest wound.  You’re trying a new salve recipe you’ve been working on, just to see if it’ll help break down the scar tissue.  His bruises are starting to go yellow, and if he works back up on his memory, Sebastian can be discharged from your ward.

“For being rude.” Sebastian sighs. “I’m…it’s starting to come back to me a bit now.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”

“We fought that night.” Sebastian swallows thickly. “You and me.  I can’t exactly remember what we fought about, but you threw a book at me.”

“And I hit your eyebrow.” You remind him.

“Lucky shot,” Sebastian rolls his eyes, and you have to suppress a laugh. He winces as you press the salve in; his body is still sensitive.

“I’m sorry for that.  I never got to apologize to you,” you admit, rubbing the mixture in. “But I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” Sebastian asks softly.

“For putting up with all of it,” you pat another piece of gauze over the salve.  Sebastian looks like a mess and he’ll have to sleep sitting up, but you’re hoping to salvage his handsome chest. There are a bevy of flower vases strewn across the room, and plenty of Sebastian’s favorite sweets piled on his bedside table.

“I see you had quite a few visitors today.” 

Sebastian nods, trying not to move too much. “Anne and Ominis again; he’s warming back up to me, I know it.” he brags. “Clopton and Larson too. I can’t believe I was paired up with two Ravenclaws as partners. That’s probably how I got all bungled up in the first place.”

“Everett said you were quite the hero,” you back away, admiring your work (and his muscles, he’s grown quite a bit since you last saw him).  “And they stayed the entire night when you first came into the ward, so I know they’re loyal to you.”

There is a silence between you two for a moment, until Sebastian breaks the tension.

“She visited earlier.” Sebastian echoed. “Rebecca.”

You turn away at the name; at least it’s not the girl you remember from your last argument.  “Rebecca is a lovely name,” you offer.  It’s all you can give him without treading into dangerous waters.  You’re engaged after all, and stuck patting balm into the chest of your former lover.

“She was distraught.” Sebastian hummed. “Hates the scars.”

You turn around, rolling your eyes. “She’s dating an auror, she should get used to it.” you scowl. 

“That’s what I said,” Sebastian laughs, trying not to move the salve covered strips. “But she wasn’t having it.  She was worried I would never look the same, so I broke up with her.”

You blink at him.  He seems completely unbothered.

“Sebastian!” You exclaim. “You shouldn’t break up with her over that alone.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Y’know, the boys filled in a few of the blanks for me.  Apparently, not very many people actually liked Rebecca and I together, so I guess it was impending anyways.”

You put your hands on your hips. “I cannot believe you broke up with your girlfriend because Everett Clopton and Andrew Larson told you to.” you shake your head. “She was your emergency contact, Sebastian.  You’ve probably been dating a while.”

“According to Clopton, I was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways.”

“Idiots, the lot of you.” You tut, washing your hands in the basin.

“We’d only been dating three months.” Sebastian interjects. “I put her as my emergency contact because I had no one else.  Ominis and Anne…well, they weren’t talking to me apparently.”

You don’t say anything, letting the water run over your hands.

“I guess I’ve been a real arse the last few years,” Sebastian echoes. “Everett said I hadn’t been quite myself since we…well, you get the gist.”

“Everyone is an arse when they’re eighteen,” you remind him. 

Sebastian snorts. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

“I think I might’ve been.” You chuckle under your breath. “Poppy always said I had a one track mind.  Only ever thought about myself, my career.”

“Well, it’s done a lot for you.” Sebastian offers. “Youngest lead healer in St. Mungo’s history.”

You roll your eyes. “The others think I’m a show off.”

“You’re gifted,” he shrugs, and a slice of gauze slips from his chest. “That’s all.”

“Lay back darling,” you advise him, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him comfortable. 

Sebastian does as you say, his hands balled up in fists at his side. “So, your fiance,” He trails off. “What’s he like?”

You purse your lips, pulling his sheets over his waist. “He’s nice.”

“Nice.  That’s it?” Sebastian snorts. “Surely he has some better attributes, you said yes to marrying him.”

“He’s calm, quiet.” you say, turning your back to put away the excess gauze. “He’s a junior secretary for the Minister of Magic.” turning back to Sebastian, you already know he has a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” you warn, wagging a finger.

“What?” Sebastian scoffs. “I would never say anything about an esteemed junior secretary,” he says dramatically. “Besides, you’re the one who thought it…”

“I didn’t think anything!” You laugh. “I just knew exactly what you were thinking.”

“And what is that?” Sebastian asks coyly.

“You were going to call him a pencil pusher,” you accuse.

Sebastian fakes a gasp, holding a hand to his chest. “My stars, I would never say such a thing.” 

“Stop it,” you laugh again, slapping his hand. “You’re ruining my hard work. I’ll have to do it again.”

“No,” Sebastian groans. “It’s cold.  I just want to put a jumper on, I don’t care about the scars.” he pouts.

“I need you to get better,” you hold your hands on your hips. “The auror office will have my head if I keep you here any longer when your colleagues are back home.”

Sebastian fumbles with the edge of the blanket. “And what would consider me healed?” 

“Well, I’d say besides the appearance, your physical wounds are fully healed.” You shrug. “But we can’t discharge you until your memories are back–or at least substantially returned.”

Sebastian is quiet, and he stays quiet until you finish putting away all your supplies.  You’re about to leave him, implore him to get some rest, when he clears his throat.

“Pet,” he says cautiously (he hasn’t used your old nickname since the second night of his stay).  

“Yes, Sebastian?” You ask, slipping your hands into the pocket of your apron.  When you look at Sebastian from the doorway, he doesn’t look like a twenty three year old man.  He looks like the Sebastian you used to know–the hotheaded eighteen year old who only ever got shy around you.

“Would you…could we be friends after this?” He asked lowly. “I know you said we haven’t seen each other in five years, and I know there’s some blame there on my end. But we’ve been through so much together, and you’ve saved my life.” he rambles. 

You once told yourself that if Sebastian Sallow ever came crawling back, you’d slam the door shut in his face.  The first year of your separation had been excruciating; the second had been dreadful.  Once you’d gotten on to your third year without him in your life, the pain had become bearable.  And once you’d gotten on to four years without him, you realized you didn’t think of him anymore.  In fact, you hadn’t thought of him at all until you saw him standing a few paces away from your tea table.

“Of course, darling.” You assure him. “Only if you promise me that you’ll actually sleep.”

Sebastian’s face lights up in a way you distinctly remember–the first time you’d seen it was when you arrived in Feldcroft to meet Anne when you were both fifteen.  He adjusts himself to the pillows as you wave your wand to dim the lights. 

You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh when you’re out of sight.  You feel guilty calling Sebastian darling again–you’ve never even blessed your own fiance with his own nickname.  And despite your refusal of the situation, you can’t help the shiver you feel at the base of your spine when you hear Sebastian calling you pet again.

Perhaps being friends is not a good idea.

Night Five

Sebastian is asleep when your shift starts, and you nearly skip over his room.  But against your better judgment, you push into the door, knocking lightly.

The brunette man is slumped over, snoring lightly as if he were waiting for you.  At the sound of the door, he jolts, rubbing his eyes. 

“Why can’t you be on the day shift?” he complains sleepily. 

You chuckle. “I can leave you, let you get some rest.”

“No,” Sebastian clears his throat. “I’d like you to stay.” He shrugs off his shirt, proudly displaying his scars. “They still look like hell, but at least they aren’t purple anymore.”

You stride over, running your hands over them.  Your ancient magic was able to overpower the bleeding curse, but Sebastian will forever have a dip in his chest and bubbled over scars.  They’re at least turning pink, a much better place than they were a few days ago.

“They look great,” you pat his shoulder. “And once we get your memories back in order, we can get you home.”

Sebastian gives you a strange look. “Ominis came again during the day…filling in the blanks again.”

“And?” You ask softly, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Why did we break up?” Sebastian asks firmly. “Can you tell me? And don’t give me the whole spiel about us growing apart.  I want the details.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. “We were eighteen, Sebastian. I was careless, you were lonely, we were both focused on our careers and not on each other.” Truthfully, you had spent years thinking of the many ways you’d address this conversation, how you’d confront him if you ever saw him again. Now five years later and after having almost witnessed Sebastian’s death, the downfall of your first love is easily compounded into one simple sentence.

“You started working the night shift,” Sebastian says.

“I started working the night shift,” you echo. “I wanted to rise up quickly in the ranks, so I volunteered. I was working so many hours, and you were gone during the day at your job, so we barely saw each other.”

“I asked you to take time off.” Sebastian adds.

“And I said no.” you admit. “I told you that you were being insecure.  That my job was more important, because I was saving lives.” It’s one of the few shames you’ve compartmentalized over the past few years–that you’d ever downplayed the importance of his career compared to yours.

“I went out that night.” Sebastian whispers, looking at his hands. “And I didn’t come home until the morning.”

“It was my only night off of the week, and you came home at four in the morning, stinking of firewhiskey and perfume.” Your eyes shut, replaying the awful scene in your head.

“Did I?” he croaked. “Did I cheat on you, really?”

“No,” You shake your head, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You said you could have.  You said you wanted to.” You add, rubbing the temples of your forehead. “That you were tired of living in half of a relationship, and that you’d wanted to kiss that girl.”

“You threw the book at me,” Sebastian says weakly. “And I smashed your mug.”

“I told you to go to her if you really wanted.” You admit. “And you left.”

“I stayed at Ominis’s that night.” he whispered. “I didn’t go to her.”

“I didn’t know that.  So I packed my things and left.” 

The silence hangs between the two of you, and all of the feelings you had at eighteen come flooding back.  After the fight, you apparated to Natty’s place, while Anne and Poppy had cleaned out your bits in the apartment. What was meant to be a one night stay turned into a week, and then more. After a month without word from Sebastian, you committed to the night shift, forsaking your friendships and social life for work.  Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and before you knew it, you were promoted.  Sebastian Sallow was a blip in your timeline, a faded memory of teenage love.  He’d been just a memory until you saw him in Diagon Alley.  Your heart hadn’t felt anything but anger towards him until you saw his shiny black dress shoes.

“Did we throw it all away?” Sebastian asks sorrowfully.

“We became the people we needed to be.” You remind him. “Look at you, an auror.  A damn good one.  The kind that jumps in front of their partner to save them from a curse.” you assure him.

“And you’re a healer,” Sebastian inhales. “A bloody amazing one, that saved my life and five others.  I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian’s lower lip wobbles, and you know your heart is in danger.

“You seem to remember quite a bit,” You point out. “More than you let on.”

“I was talking to Clopton about you.  We thought the ambush was over, we were trying to get to a floo point so we could get Larson’s leg checked out.” Sebastian says. “I told him how beautiful you looked, and that you looked happy.” his voice cracks. 

“Sebastian.” It’s not a warning, just a statement.  A week ago you would’ve never said his name aloud, let alone thought of it.  But it feels right rolling off your tongue.

“Everett said something about you being engaged.  It’s…it’s fuzzy from there on, but I remember the fight.  And I jumped in front of him, but not just to save him.” Sebastian says, his fingers drumming on his stomach.

“Why?” You almost don’t want to hear the rest. It might upend your life entirely.

“I jumped in front of him because I knew I’d be okay.  That you would probably be at St. Mungo’s when I got there.” Sebastian said weakly.  “And I’d get a chance to see you again.”

“Sebastian, we’re different people now.” You remind him. 

“We’re better now.” Sebastian says, giving you pleading eyes. “I was an idiot when I was eighteen; I thought I was being a man, but I wasn’t.  And I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been happy the past five years–there hasn’t been another woman who’s made me feel the way you do.” he confesses.

“It’s been too long,” you try to say, but you know it's no use trying to argue with him.  From your first fight in the Undercroft at fifteen to the fight that broke you two up, Sebastian has never backed down.

Before you even realize it, Sebastian has reached his hand out, taking yours. He’s rubbing your left ring finger–the one missing your large, ostentatious engagement ring.

“Don’t marry him,” Sebastian croaks. “Please, don’t marry him.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I understand you now.” Sebastian says. “I understand you in a way I didn’t when I was younger.  And that’s good–it’s good for us now.  It wasn’t the right time then, but we could try again now.” he pleads.

“Four days ago when you saw me in Diagon Alley, you could barely look at me.” You remind him. “I should have you committed to the memory ward at this point.”

“Four days ago when I saw you, I was sick to my stomach with how happy you looked.” Sebastian admits. “I saw you from a distance, smiling at Larson and Poppy.  I couldn’t look you in the eye after seeing you smile.”

You want to tell Sebastian that your fiance is a good man.  That he loves you, cherishes you, and doesn’t fight with you.  But you can’t help being nostalgic as you hold the hand of your first love, who is currently begging you to end your relationship to risk it all again with him. Whatever strength you’ve mustered together in the last five years is about to break as his big brown eyes implore you to stay.

“Your memory seems back to normal,” you change the subject, standing up quickly.  You tug your hand out from his, smoothing your clammy palms against your apron. “I’ll put you down for discharge in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Sebastian warns. “Don’t run away.”

“You ran away.” You remind him.

“And I regret it, every day.” Sebastian says mournfully. “You were my first love.  You were going to be my only love, and I fucked it up.”

“We both made mistakes, Sebastian.” You say, staring down at your feet. “You need to get some rest.  I’ll leave you be.”

He’s arguing as you step through the door, wringing your hands together.  The thoughts running through your head aren’t right–no, they’re crazy.  Except your feet keep walking towards the ward matron’s desk, gripping the stone top.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, frowning.

“I need to go home,” you confess, scribbling what little notes you have onto Sebastian’s chart. “There’s something I have to do.”

Thirty minutes later (your on call replacement is displeased to have been woken up late at night) you’re back in your flat.  Your mind is buzzing as you pace in the bedroom, thinking about the idea gnawing at your brain.

It would be insane.

You haven’t talked in five years.

He’s emotional after having been saved from the brink of death.

He broke up with his girlfriend on the spot, because she wasn’t you.

Sebastian is most well known for his unwavering support and adoration.  At least he was when you were younger.  Sebastian had always been encouraging, cheering you on through crossed wands, battles in the highlands, and even when you got your first job offer from St. Mungo’s. He’d been crazy about you–obsessed with you, even.  The two of you had been the couple of your year when you graduated.  

Sebastian had only ever faltered once, and it ended your relationship.

Don’t marry him.  

The words replay in your mind.  It makes you realize your stomach has flipped more in the last four nights than it has in years.  That your even tempered fiance, a kind but boring man, has not once made you feel what you’ve felt in the past week being back in Sebastian’s presence.

It is insane, you think. But you’d rather take feeling than nothing at all.

Digging through your dresser, you pull out the box holding your engagement ring.  

Night Six

It has been a long, long day.

What time you would have spent sleeping is spent assuring your now ex-fiance that nothing untoward has happened.  That you appreciate his kindness and companionship over the past year, but that you cannot lie to yourself. 

You cannot marry him because you don’t love him as you should.

You prepare for the night shift with a spring in your step, because when you get there, you’re heading straight to Sebastian’s room.  You’re going to tell him what you’ve done, and hope that he’s still feeling just as crazy as you. You pull your hair into its usual bun, wishing you could wear something a little nicer to what will be your reunion.  Sebastian used to love when you wore green; perhaps you’ll buy a green dress the next day you’re off.

When you get to the ward, it’s quieter than usual.  Holding your wand between your teeth again, affixing the white apron, your heart beats out of your chest as you approach room 213.  

This is it.  This is the start of the rest of your life.

You push through the doors of 213, but your breath stutters when you see the empty bed.  It’s stripped of any linens, and all of the flowers and candy boxes Sebastian’s colleagues sent are gone.

“Where is the patient in 213?” you whip around, grabbing the closest orderly.

They give you a curious look. “Discharged this morning–you put it in their paperwork.”

You swallow, and it feels like shards of broken glass are tumbling down your throat. “I…I did.”

“Isn’t today your day off, too?” They tilt their head at you. “Honestly, it feels like your head hasn’t been screwed on at all this week. Might want to take some focus potions, ma’am.”

“Uh, right.” You admit, turning red.  You were so excited at the prospect of seeing Sebastian again, you completely forgot that Fridays were your nights off from the ward. You were rather busy after all, imploding your life. “”Does it say who picked him up?”

They shrug, flipping through the charts again. “He was taken to his home in Diagon Alley by his sister and brother-in-law.”

You curse under your breath as you try to plot a plan.  There’s no way Ominis still lives in the small flat he had when you last saw him, and you have no idea where Sebastian lives.  The ward doesn’t have an address either, so you’re shit out of luck.

Unless…unless you were to find one of his loyal partners.

Apparition is frowned upon inside of St. Mungo’s, but you’ll take a scolding from the matron ward on Saturday. You immediately apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, where most of the ministry’s aurors spend their evenings.  You know this because you’ve been avoiding the biggest pub in Diagon Alley for five years, hoping not to run into your ex.

The crowd stares at you in your St. Mungo’s uniform; you push through throngs of ministry employees, all wearing fine suits and dresses from their day jobs.  Your eyes scan the room, heart losing hope by the second, until you spot Everett and Andrew sitting with a gaggle of your classmates from Hogwarts, Natsai Onai included.  Andrew elbows Everett at the sight of you, and Clopton beams as if he’s won a bet.

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, approaching the group. 

“Figured you might turn up.” Larson teased. “Gaunt, Clopton, and I had a bet on how long it would take.”

“What’s going on?” Natty asks, clearly confused. She says your name, tilting her head. 

“I need his address,” You gasp. “He wasn’t at the ward when I got there–”

“Anne and Ominis picked him up this morning.” Everett says, pulling out his wand and a paper napkin.  He aimed his wand at the scrap, delicately burning an address into the paper. “He doesn’t live far from here. Perhaps you’ll keep him from spending too much time at the pub now.”

“Who doesn’t live far?” Natty asks again, elbowing Andrew.

“Sallow, of course.” Larson winks. “You two had enough time to talk it through, yeah?”

“What the bloody hell–they haven’t spoken in five years,” Natty claims with wide eyes. She gives you a look, and you can’t do anything but shrug.

“Near death experiences will change you,” Everett says smugly, taking a sip of his tankard. “Well go on then, what are you still doing here?”

You mouth an apology to Natty; you’ll have to explain it to her someday soon.  For now, you’re pushing through the crowd, trying to get out the door.  Looking down at the napkin, Everett Clopton is right; Sebastian lives maybe a stone's throw away from the pub.  Your feet are pounding on the cobblestone of Diagon Alley, looking like a blue wisp to any passersby.  

Before you know it, you’re turning onto his street, with only the lamps in front of each door illuminating the numbers.  You stop, gasping for air, trying to find the right one.  Of course he’s at the end of the row, a dark green door with a gold knocker.  It’s late now, the sky pitch black, as you start pounding.

It takes only thirty seconds for the door to swing open; Anne is standing behind it, looking shocked.

“You’re here,” she breathes.

“I told you she would,” you hear Ominis yell from the inside. “Clopton owes me ten galleons.”

“Can I come in?” you ask.

Anne bites back a smile. “Of course you can.”

You walk into Sebastian’s home; despite having never seen it, it positively reeks of him. There are touches of him all over the house–from the books stacked in the hallways, to the shoes messily kicked in the parlor room.  He has trinkets from his travels on the mantle, and you can see he still leaves his teacups all over the house (something you once fought over–it seems endearing now).  

Ominis is in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise. “Took you long enough.” he says teasingly. “I was rather surprised you abandoned him last night.  He was absolutely bereft when we picked him up in the morning.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you admit sheepishly, digging your toe into the carpet. “I…I just had something I had to do first.”

“A break up and a make up in one day, you’re a busy woman as always.”

“Shut up.”

Ominis gives you a toothy grin; something he saves only for those he loves. “I missed you.” he stood, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can only hope Sebastian doesn’t bungle it all up and we lose you all over again.”

You press your nose into Ominis’s shoulder; it seems silly you ever thought you could live without this group of people in your life. 

“I thought you were mad at him,” you say, pulling back to look up at the blond.

“I was mad that he was being stubborn,” Ominis says softly. “That he wasn’t being himself, drinking every day and dating girls who weren’t right for him.  I told him he had to pluck up the courage to speak to you again, or get over it and make peace with his life.  He’s been rather stuck, as you can imagine.”

You have been too, you think.

“Is he upstairs?” You ask, turning to the slim staircase. Anne is standing next to the railing, giving a signature Sallow smirk.

“He might be asleep,” Ominis warned. “But he is. First room to the left.”

You squeeze his hand in thanks before walking up the stairs.  The floor creaks underneath you as you push in the door; Sebastian is laying in his bed, sleeping fitfully. You nearly knock a stack of books over as you kneel next to his bed; you also recognize the book on his side table, the spine dented from when you threw it at his face five years ago. It reminds you of the shattered mug you keep on your desk.  Perhaps you two have been subconsciously keeping pieces of each other around.

Sebastian stirs as you brush his brunette hair out of his face.  He opens one eye, then the other, blinking furiously as he tries to sit up.

“You’re here,” he groans, a hand flying to his torso. “Is this a good visit, or just a hospital house call? Because my scars are killing me now that I’m home.”

You give a watery chuckle. “It can be both, if you like.”  You pull the blanket aside, examining his puckered skin.  The scars will stay for good, but that’s fine.  You did always like it when Sebastian was roughed up anyways.

“You’re here.” Sebastian repeats, only this time it's softer.

“I had to go to the Leaky Cauldron to get your address from Clopton.” you admit, blue waves emitting from your fingertips as you try to take away some of the physical pain. “But yes, I’m here.”

“By the sound of our last conversation, I thought you were done.  That we were just going to have to live with our mistakes.” Sebastian breathes.

“I wanted to say more, but there was something I had to do first.” you sit on the bed; Sebastian adjusts to give you more room, taking your hands in his. “I had to give back the engagement ring.”

“You did?” Sebastian asks hopefully.

“Seeing you…being around you for the first time in five years…” You’re trying to compound all of your feelings in a simple sentence, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “It made me realize I just didn’t love him.” You confess. “I shouldn’t feel the way I’ve felt seeing you.”

“Pet,” he murmurs, putting a hand to your cheek. “You’ve saved my life. I can’t ask anything more from you.”

“Then can I?” You ask, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes as you place your hand over his. Sebastian’s hand is warm and familiar, fitting perfectly against you.

“Ask me anything,” Sebastian echoes.

“Let’s try again.” you whisper.  

Sebastian scoots over, making space on the bed for you.  You don’t care if anyone else has slept in it over the five years you’ve been apart; something about the way Sebastian melts against your touch tells you he’s only ever belonged to you in the first place. 

“Let’s try again.” Sebastian whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.  It feels positively electric, like it’s awoken something that’s been dormant inside you for five long, sleepy years.  You take good care not to press too much of your weight onto a still recovering patient, but Sebastian does everything in his power to draw you closer.  His hands start pulling pins out of your hair, the tight bun coming unraveled as he weaves his fingers through your tresses.

“You’re still healing,” you remind him as he starts working on the buttons of your dress. “And your sister is downstairs.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs into your skin, tugging your collar down to press a kiss at the base of your neck. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

You have, you think.  So you let Sebastian ravish you with kisses, blushing when you hear Ominis loudly call up the stairs that he and Anne are leaving.  You only leave the bed to unlace your dress, Sebastian eagerly watching as you strip the fabric from your body.  He groans in a good way when you press kisses to his chest, fingers dancing across the scars on his chest.  Not all scars would disappear, and there would always be reminders of the past.  But it was good to acknowledge them, to know that they were there, and that they were healed.  

The two of you stay awake the entire night reacquainting yourselves with each other’s body; the sun is streaming through Sebastian’s curtains when you realize you’ve been awake since Thursday night, running off adrenaline. Your eyes begin to droop as Sebastian presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Go to sleep, pet.” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

You’ll have to call in again, you think. You need an entire day of sleep after this week.  And the next time you get to the ward, you’ll turn in your official notice, asking to move to the day shift.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #Auror Sebastian #Auror Sebastian Sallow #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #writing-intheundercroft #this one got a little out of hand #should I write a smutty part two?????

[probablyasocialecologist]

Israel, pound for pound, is the best investment the US has ever made. Israel is the purest expression of Western power, combining militarism, imperialism, settler colonialism, counterinsurgency, occupation, racism, instilling ideological defeat, huge profitable war-making and hi-tech development into a manticore of destruction, death, and mayhem. From Israel’s victory in the 1948-1949 war, US planners saw the country as a regional military power that could contain Arab military and political ambitions. Amidst France’s imperial sunset in the Arab region, the country aligned with Israel – trying to deliver a blow to Nasserist Egypt through the 1956 Tripartite Aggression with Britain and Israel, and armoring Zionism for its successful 1967 war against radical Arab nationalism in the frontline states. Green-lit by the US, the war left the Syrian Ba’athist fusion of Arab nationalism and Marxist-Leninism in shambles and slammed the Nasserist national development project. Israel also became a useful assassin, eliminating Arab radical luminaries from Mehdi Ben Barka to Ghassan Kanafani. From 1970 onwards, US military aid into Israel turned the country into a unique asset: an offshore arms factory; a regional irritant to Arab peace, stability, and popular regional development; a destructive gyro of world-wide counterinsurgency; a black hole drawing in regional surpluses and devoting them to endless defensive and offensive armament, away from social-popular welfare spending and non-military development. Uniquely, the US allowed Israel to keep the military aid partially within the country, slowly and steadily building up a massive military industrial capacity. Meanwhile, US-based capital inflows accelerated, taking advantage of Israel’s highly educated workforce in the defense sector, resting upon super-exploiting the Palestinian colonial underclass in other sectors. In return, Israel armed reactionary forces world-wide: from Argentina to Brazil to Chile, helping evade Congressional restrictions on arms shipments to the Nicaraguan Contras and advanced armaments to the South African apartheid regime. On a world scale, Israel has protected the political architecture of global capitalism. And its US domestic adjunct, the Anti-Defamation League, presaged wider Zionist capitalist investment in repression by carrying out wide-ranging spying on anti-racist, anti-Zionist, Arab-American and anti-apartheid movements.

#israel #palestine #zionism #geopolitics #usa

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Seven/ Part Eight (YOU ARE HERE)/ Part Nine

Ao3

Monsters aren't real.

The thing that's flying towards him is--a hallucination. A figment of Gareth's imagination.

The same way the feeling of time slowing to a crawl is just a trick of the light playing with his anxiety.

He'd be fine.

(It won't hurt.)

Gareth's limbs froze, locking him in place even as the manticore bore down on him.

Thankfully, Steve did not have that problem.

Gareth's shirt was snatched from the back, choking him as Steve yanked him out of the way.

It was just in time--the Manticore blew past seconds later, too-large body so close Gareth could feel the air move past him.

The stench was unimaginable.

A fuckload of noise exploded in Gareth's ears as time kicked back in. He fell hard, behind Steve as the older teen swung his nail bat with his left hand.

Huh. Gareth thought distantly as wood, nail and flesh connected. Steve's ambidextrous.

He never would have guessed.

Doesn't think anyone would.

(Should Gareth survive this, he will immediately tease Steve about it. Right after profusely thanking him for saving his life and having a meltdown about honest to God monsters existing in Hawkins.)

The fucker barked a noise, and the only comparable thing Gareth could relate it to was a seal--if a seal had played with some of the sound effect pedals the music store.

Maybe got run over by a car right after for good measure.

In one breath, the monsters' weird, elongated hand-paws raked lines through the floor.

In the next, a wing smashed high over Eddie's head. The finger-like claws at the crux of it pierced through Stewart's still-stuck door, balancing itself as it turned.

This brought the manticore's gore-filled hole of a mouth so close to Eddie's head Gareth thought it forfeit, and it was only Steve's interference that kept Eddie the Banished from being Eddie the Buried.

"Come on!" Steve bellowed.

He smacked the bat into the floor, as much a challenge as it was a distraction.

Thick saliva dripped to the floor in clumps as the manticore's head, a bulbous thing composed of five petal-like slices of flesh and too many teeth rattled in response.

A car horn trumpeted again--and if it was a warning it was one coming far too late.

The Manticore dropped its chest to the ground as it took the bait. A dark, black tipped scorpion tail rose over the back of the beast, stinger longer than Gareth's arm and wider than a sword.

Faster than Gareth could track, almost faster than Steve could parry, the tail lashed forward, stinger out like a lance.

(But Steve, wonderful, amazing, athletic Steve, caught and parried it with his bat.

Then and there, Gareth swore to never mock a jock, ever again.)

The bat met armored exoskeleton with a sickening crack!, the force of the hit shaking Steve's arms. His right foot slid back, biceps flexing as the stinger pushed against him, straining hard against nail and wood.

Steve grunted, shoes squeaking as he was forced to give ground, the Manticore overpowering him by the sheer strength of its tail.

The entire encounter had barely lasted a few seconds but without interference?

Steve would be thrown aside--and impaled.

Before Gareth could think about how stupid it was, he was on his feet and rushing to help.

He grabbed the fire poker off the ground and thrust it forward, towards the manticore's not-a-face.

Screamed “Go back to hell you piece of shit!” So loud his voice cracked.

It worked.

The beast flinched, tail rocketing back as it rose back up on all four paws, hissing in outrage.

Steve staggered with how fast the tail had moved, but caught himself, bat wavering in the air, and--

There was no reprieve.

No moment to breathe, because as soon as the stinger's gone there's a grotesque, hand-like paw swiping at them both.

Gareth fell back, only to realize he wasn't the target.

Steve was.

The claws flash in the flickering overhead lights and there wasn’t any time.

He's as good as dead and Gareth can't do anything to save him--

But Eddie can.

Sometime during the last few seconds, the older teen had pulled his knife. Jammed it deep into the back of the manticore's front leg, and twisted after the blade had sunk down to the hilt.

This, and the resulting aborted attack, saved Steve's life.

The thing wailed as the struck leg crumpled, sending the fucker’s head on a collision course with the floor.

Stewart's door jumped in its frame as the wing-claws, dug in deep into the wood, caught the manticore. Two flesh-petals scraped the floor, but the move kept it from falling-- at the cost of putting its full weight on the door.

A door already bowed. Hinges pre-fucked with, thanks to Eddie’s early meddling.

It didn't hold.

Hinges screamed as the wood bent, before gravity asserted itself and shattered it. Massive wood splinters shoot out in an explosion of wood, more than one piece embedding itself into the manticore.

Eddie scrambled backwards half turned to protect his head, saved from two large chunks of wood only by the grace of his thick leather jacket.

Several things happened at once.

The car outside honked a third time.

The manticore lunged.

And Eddie tripped.

One petal of teeth tore into him--a graze that left his leg a bloody mess and ripped a scream from his mouth.

Gareth and Steve both shot instinctively: Steve to attack the side of the manticore's head, Gareth to slam the fire poker into a wing.

(One second turned into three.)

The manticore in turn, leapt backwards, head shaking with the hit of Steve's bat--and Gareth had exactly one half-second to realize all they had done up until this moment was piss it off before the wing he'd struck swept out.

It struck him in the gut and Steve in the chest, sending both of them flying.

Gareth's back met the floor a second time expelling all the air from his lungs, vision going dark at the edges as his head hit the floor.

(Three seconds turned to seven.)

This time he physically couldn't move, too stunned as Eddie screamed Steve's name.

Stewart, Gareth realized, was screaming too.

(Seven seconds became eighteen, until Gareth's chest could take in air again, the loud ringing in his ears easing somewhat.)

He kept blinking, thinking the weird streaks of orange light was his vision blurring, until his brain kicked in and informed him that no, those were flames he was seeing.

Gareth pushed himself up on his elbows to find that reinforcements had arrived.

Flames flew in an arc as another on-fire tennis ball struck the Manticores side. The ball bounced, flames trickling down to the floor as the monster beast shrieked.

A third ball had it slamming itself into the wall as Gareth whipped his head to the opposite end of the hallway.

Tiff and Dustin were spraying a can of something onto a number of tennis balls--the ones Gareth knew Tiff kept in her car for tennis.

Lucas loaded one into his slingshot, drawing the rubber bands back and holding so that Jeff’s lighter could turn it into a proper weapon.

He launched it once flames encompassed it fully, and Gareth watched as it flew true.

Landed to the right of the muscular, lion--like chest, flames catching every piece of skin that was touched.

A part of Gareth expected this to only distract the fucker, the same way the pieces of wood sticking out of it’s sides had barely slowed it down--but fire, apparently was its weakness.

The manticore reacted like it was being burned with acid more so than fire, dropping and rolling and ping-pinging between walls as more and more of its wing was overtaken.

Its screams turned into rapid, wracked yelps, until finally it threw itself so hard into a wall that it fell through it.

For a moment a dark hole remained open.

Gray pieces of ash lazily floated out, giving them all a glimpse into a terrifying, dark blue forest, red lightning slashing the sky above before the hole re-sealed itself.

(It closed the way a wound did. All sides creeping in at a speed far too fast for human skin, but was just slow enough to make the wall appear like a living membrane instead of wood and plaster.)

For a long moment, the only thing Gareth could hear was all his friends' harsh panting.

"Did you kill it?" Stewart asked, head peeking around the corner.

Eddie looked to Steve to answer.

Which he did.

"Rule number two, man.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, trying to comb out the sweat that had collected at his temples after he climbed to his feet. “If you can’t see the body, it’s not dead.”

Stewart crept cautiously into the hall, looking as shell shocked as Gareth felt. "Why the hell isn't that rule one?”

"I don't know, the kids made the rules. You can ask them.”

Gareth’s head pulsed unhappily, but Gareth had other concerns as he made his way to his feet.

“How bad is it?” He asked as he made his way over, Eddie still on the ground.

“I’m alright.” Eddie lied, as if they all couldn’t see the sticky patch of blood on his torn jeans.

"Stop talking, start walking!" Dustin yelled at them.

“Eddie’s injured, give us a minute!” Steve yelled back. “God. Go make yourself useful and get my medkit!”

“I’m fine, it’s fine! ” Eddie yelled out right after, voice waspish in his pain.

It convinced absolutely no one, and in fact, caused several people to come down the hallway towards him.

Lucky for him, Steve made it there first.

Dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, he gently moved a ringed hand away from the wound, giving it a critical once over as Gareth and Stewart hovered.

“It’s not bad.” Eddie tried to argue, wincing as he poked around his leg, Steve continually having to bat his hands away. “If we can wrap it I’ll be able to walk out of here.”

“I won’t know until I see more of it.” Tiff said, Jeff and Grant right on her heels to circle Eddie and Steve. “But he might be right for once--there’s not much blood. You’re gonna lose the pants though.”

“Noooo.” Eddie said, in a poor mimic of one of his D&D voices.

“Not to rush you, but we need to get out of here.” Jeff cast an anxious look over at the wall, and Gareth nodded his agreement.

This wasn’t a safe place right now.

(Had likely never been a safe place, if it was birthing out monsters like the manticore.)

Steve looked up at Eddie, holding his gaze.

“Think you can hobble over to the cars if two of us help?”

He got a sharp nod back.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now hop to it.” Tiff said with a clap. Her voice was dry, tone almost sarcastic, but Gareth heard the unease in it

Not that anyone needed any convincing to get the hell out of dodge.

("I'm going to take up running." Eddie told him later, hands shaking from pain as Gareth drove Van Helsing after FrankenCar, Grant's Ford Escort

They had managed to wrap Eddie’s leg up in a quick bandage with the medkit. Gareth hadn’t truly been able to bring himself to look at the wound, but he’d caught a glimpse.

The fang marks stood out on Eddie’s pale skin, and ran in so many rows it looked like he’d shoved half his leg into a shark's mouth.

Tiffany insisted it was more horrific looking than it was actually horrific, and given Eddie had made at least three “am I gonna lose the leg, Doc?” jokes, Gareth believed her.

Still--it was weird, to drive Eddie’s van.

Weirder still to see Steve's Beemer (unnamed on grounds that Hellfire couldn't decide between the Batmobile and the BeemHolder) lead their little procession--though it had been a fight to get Steve to drive the car instead of ride along with Eddie.

"We both know you’re not seriously considering going running.” Gareth told him, voice shaking. “Which is unfortunate, because I'm going to make you anyway."

His fingers tightened hard on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to make everyone go running.”

It was a testament to how scared both of them were that they ended the conversation there.

No joke, no walking back what they'd said.

Running apparently, was back to being a core survival skill and Gareth very much enjoyed staying alive.)

xXx

Gareth hadn’t asked why the Byers house was the chosen place to regroup.

Had kind of assumed that it had been picked because Will’s mother wasn’t home.

Definitely was not expecting an adult to come flying out of the door with the air of a frazzled border collie, herding kids inside before freezing when she caught sight of Eddie.

Or rather: Eddie being carefully pulled out of Van Helsing by Steve and Jeff, cursing and whining the whole way.

“You big baby, you’re not that hurt.” Jeff huffed as Eddie’s squirming almost forced him to let go, resulting in Eddie gripping at Steve’s sweater like a liferaft.

“You can talk when you’re the one that got bit by a monster, Jeffrey.” Eddie snapped back, hopping on his good leg. “I almost died!”

“Steve said it just barely grazed you--”

“Steve was busy trying to keep it off of me to really notice what was happening! Unlike you. What were you doing, Jeff? Honking the fucking car horn?”

“I wasn’t the one honking--”

They continued to bicker as Miss Byers marched forward.

Gareth expected her to yell--and given the way Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her, possibly even deny them entrance.

Shoo them away or send them home.

It wouldn’t be the first time a member of Hellfire had been beaten, only for the adults around them to act like they were the ones causing trouble.

Instead, she earned Gareth’s respect immediately by moving alongside Steve and asking; “Is anyone else injured?”

Barely waited for the shake of Steve’s head before spinning on her heel and heading back inside, yelling all the way.

“Will, fetch me towels. Jonathan--get the medkit! ”

“No worries, Miss Byers. Stevie here already has one.” Eddie said, before his attempts to charm her fell utterly flat when he accidentally jostled his leg and hissed out a curse.

“Steve’s not as good as mine, hun.” Her eyes swept over his leg, calculating. “Is that bite what I think it is?”

“Related.” Steve answered, starting the lengthy process of getting Eddie inside.

“Shit.” She sighed, and for the first time that night Gareth realized she too, wore the same haunted look Steve did.

Which meant she'd believe them.

A part of him, the part who was still a teenager, a kid in his own right, relaxed that an adult knew.

As with most of Hellfire, Gareth didn’t typically trust adults, but his relationship with his own parents was slightly better than most of the others. It led him to such beliefs like that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of the monsters.

That he’d never face a thing like that outside of D&D, ever again. That whatever events haunted Steve would be handled by the proper authorities.

(That they’d be okay. Everyone would be okay.)

Sirens sounded in the distance, and even as Gareth walked inside the house he knew it wasn’t true.

Whatever all this was?

It wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Munson?” A rumpled Jonathan Byers said, blinking like an owl hit with sunlight as the Steve-Eddie-Jeff procession went past.

He got a half-assed roguish grin and a waggle of fingers while Steve rolled his eyes over Eddie’s head.

“What happened!?” Jonathan asked, as Joyce bustled past him, relieving Jonathan of the medkit.

“It’s a long story, but we have a code red at the lab.”

Gareth knew he was frazzled, purely by the fact his hands once again went to mess with his hair, right after helping Eddie down into a chair.

“Which they knew apparently.”

‘They’ was accompanied by Steve jerking his thumb towards the living room--where the kids were talking to themselves in a huddle.

Outside, the sirens grew louder.

Jonathan looked to the living room and back, before heaving a sigh so world weary it was almost impressive. “Of course they did.”

“Demodog?” Miss Byers asked as she laid out various medical supplies on her kitchen table, pausing every so often to stare at Eddie’s leg.

“It was a manticore!” One of the kids yelled.

Gareth wasn't surprised to learn some of the brats were listening in.

There was a pause, as Miss Byers stared quizzically at Steve.

“It's like a demodog but much larger?” He told her, making an awkward shape with his hands that explained absolutely nothing. “With wings? Oh--and a scorpion tail.”

“It was terrifying.” Stewart added in a mutter, all of Hellfire awkwardly camped themselves around Eddie.

Which wasn’t good, given the frown on Miss Byers face as she carefully cut away even more of his jeans and their shitty attempt at band-aiding his wound.

It was the face of someone who was about to cause pain in an attempt to heal, and knew it.

For all that he was their front-man and self-proclaimed shepherd of Hellfire, Eddie's pain tolerance was absolute shit.

The guy could take a punch well enough, and the rings on his hands meant business when he hit back--but when adrenaline wasn't flowing?

Eddie broke down faster than his van did.

This whole thing was a bit of a sore spot. Something Eddie had admitted once under extreme duress had come from his father repeatedly telling him a man needed to be tough, and a Munson man even tougher.

(The duress in question was during one particularly animated D&D fight.

Eddie had gotten too excited and slapped an open palm down on top of a pointy figure, embedded it well into his skin.

The incident had derailed the campaign entirely and caused Hellfire as a whole to learn that their fearless leader really hated people watching him cry.)

Needless to say, a room full of children, his friends, his crush, and one of said kids' mothers wasn't exactly an ideal set up for Eddie to lose it.

So Gareth set himself up as a sort of barrier, blocking Eddie's view from the living room (and hopefully, vice versa, before making eyes at his friends to do the same.

Thankfully Jeff at least, caught on.

Communication was given through pointed looks and nudging elbows, but quickly enough, Hellfire managed to make a decently solid barrier between the kids (and Jonathan, who was doing an amazing job of chewing out said children) leaving Steve and Gareth as the sole onlookers.

“Alright, someone start talking.” Miss Byers loudly commanded, as she finally unearthed Eddie’s wounds.

To Eddie, she offered a well-used bottle of Tylenol, muttering quiet apologies before she began cleaning his very gross looking wound.

“Hey--” Gareth himself muttered, half praying he’d magically think of an excuse for Steve to fuck off, only to realize Hellfire’s jock had actually moved into the kitchen.

A line of mismatched mugs and cups was taking form on the counter, and it took a minute of carefully looking anywhere but at Eddie as Miss Byers worked to figure out Steve was making hot chocolate.

Figured that was probably smart, given Grant looked so tense Gareth expected his head to explode at any second.

(The loud arguing from the kids as they tried to explain didn't help any.)

A thought that Jonathan also seemed to have, given he put on a voice that sounded far to fatherly for Gareth's comfort and bellowed;

“Alright, enough!”

--which at least got him the silence he wanted.

“One at a time!” Jonathan parented from the living room. “Will, you start. Dustin you’re up next, then Mike, then El.”

He put his hands on his hips and Gareth nearly laughed aloud, because apparently the children weren't the only ones picking up Steve's mannerisms.

“Start from when you decided to sneak out without telling anybody but Steve.”

“If it makes you feel better we didn't actually tell Steve.” Dustin chirped.

Jonathan stared at him, and judging from his face alone Gareth expected utter hell to erupt from his mouth.

Instead they got a sort of quiet: “That does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks.”

Steve scoffed from the kitchen in response, which thankfully covered Eddie’s pained hiss from where Miss Byers was patting hydrogen peroxide into his bite mark.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, the kids came up with their own order and as always, let Dustin and Mike be their talking pieces.

“Like we told everyone else, it started because Will and El sensed something--” One began, right as red and blue lights splashed across the walls.

The source of the siren--a police truck that, judging bu the loud crunch of tires sliding on gravel and a shriek of breaks--had arrived.

Several of the children (plus Grant) cursed.

“Who called Hopper?!”

“He’s El’s dad idiot, of course someone called him.”

“Come on Max didn’t we talk about calling people names--”

Eddie tensed, as did the majority of the room, as loud, pounding footsteps tore up the front porch.

“I called him.” Miss Byers said as she rose from her crouch, apparently done re-bandaging Eddie.

She weaved her way through the room and was nearly taken out by her own front door when it was flung open to reveal the man himself, who looked like he’d spent the night fist-fighting his way through a bar, in the dark.

“El?!” He bellowed, eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on her.

The relief was so immediate it seemed to make him slump for a second.

Or rather, long enough for him to draw in enough air to get out a proper yell. “Someone better start explaining, right now. Starting with you Michael Wheeler!”

It was only then, as the man himself stepped into the light, that Gareth finally figured out why he looked sort of--off.

Unreal even, like a figure stepping out of a dream and into reality.

Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police Department, was wearing Scooby Doo pajamas.

The top was a faded orange color, boasting an image of a footstep in the center of a magnifying glass.

The bottoms were green, the head of the famed Great Dane patterned all over.

Combined?

It was Gareth's last straw.

‘You cannot be having a panic attack over the Chief’s pajamas.’ A far away part of Gareth thought hysterically, as his vision kaleidoscoped.

God, was he so fucking lame.

#adopt a jock #pre steddie #steddie #gareth emerson #steven harrington #eddie munson #the hellfire club #the party #and #a manticore #0o0 fanfics #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #hellfire adopts steve #RIP to hellfire you had a good run not knowing about any of this lol #tw small injury mention #tw panic attack mention there at the end #cause Gareth just kinda paused his while fighting for his life lol

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Twisted Monsterland: Sleepy Birds

So…let’s talk harpies.

Without going into details about the overall species (I’ll save that for the baby monster bestiary I’m working on), I will say that harpies can be based on all species of birds. Falcons, eagles, and vultures? Sure, they’re more commonly known as the base foundation for the species, but they’re not the only ones! Crowley is a good example as a corvid harpy, and some of Rook’s siblings are based on birds of paradise like parrots and macaws! Some can even be based on delicate birds like the hummingbird~

Oof…just thinking about having to flap my arms that fast as a harpy makes me tired! 0.0

Now, you’re probably wondering, “That’s neat! But…where are you going with this?” And that’s a good question! Because we’re gonna talk about birbs~!

I’ve never owned a bird as a pet before, but my grandparents had one when we used to visit in my childhood. One thing I learned about birds (aside from the fact that we had to clap whenever their bird performed a trick on her own and someone saw it) is that one common thing bird owners do to calm down their feathery companions:

The “sleepy-time blanket”!

When the blanket goes over the cage, it’s supposed to mimic night time so the bird thinks it’s time to sleep. And when the cover is removed? It’s time to sing good morning~! Granted, it seems like this varies from bird-to-bird, but considering how often I’ve struggled to stay awake in school whenever the teachers used powerpoint slides in a dark room? Yeah, I get very sleepy in those cases. 😅

Now…imagine if Yuu discovered this by complete accident in the Monster!AU. >v>

////

Yuu: *hanging laundry out to dry on a bright, sunny day* “Hey, Grim? I need another clothes peg. The middle is sagging too much.”

Grim: “Yeah, yeah, here.” *flaps wings to hover next to Yuu, holding a bag in his paws* “Are we done yet? I’m bored…”

Yuu: “We’d be done sooner if someone hadn’t taken one of the bedsheets while the ghosts were collecting laundry and added one more load to wash and dry.” *unaware of a large shadow on the other side of the sheet, Yuu frowning as they go to take the sheet down and redo the arrangement*

???: “Bonjour, little Trickster~!”

Yuu/Grim: “Ack-!?!”

Crash!! Fwomp!

Grim: *pinned under Yuu* “Get…off! You’re heavy!”

Yuu: “Ow…sorry!” *climbs to their feet with a wince before turning to face the visitor now covered under the sheet* “Rook! You scared us half-to-death!”

*Rook doesn’t move, eerily silent as he stands there*

Grim: “Hm? Hey, wazza matter? You usually start talkin’ funny by now!” *huffs when he doesn’t get a response and goes to peek under the sheet* “Hey! Are you listenin’ to m…eh? Wait a minute…he’s asleep!?"

Yuu: “Huh??”

Grim: “He fell asleep standing! See?!” *yanks off blanket, pulling off Rook’s hat at the same time*

Rook: *straightens up with a blink, fluttering his wings before feathers settle down and he smiles* “Oh, there you are, Trickster. How are you faring this morning?”

Grim: “Mrah!? I thought you were asleep! What gives?”

Rook: “Hm? I was asleep? I don’t recall…”

Grim: “Yes you were! You were practically snorin’!”

Yuu: *picks up the sheet again, looking between it and Rook before slowly climbing back on the stepladder near Rook*

Rook: “Non, non, I promise you that I did not fall aslee-”

Yuu: *throws sheet over Rook’s head again*

Rook: “Mon di-!?” *freezes before slumping, standing in place in silence again*

Yuu: “…holy crap…I wonder if this’ll work on Ace or Cater?”

Grim: “What’s going on?!”

////

Needless to say, Rook was thoroughly confused by this until Yuu told him what happened. This also leads to a discussion on harpy parents using their wings to settle down rowdy chicks and restless hatchlings. Suffice to say, Yuu decided to run their own experiment on their fellow winged students. The results were…interesting to say the least.

Ace: Froze in place but was wide awake.

Cater: Fell asleep but collapsed on his side.

Leona: Blanket was torn to shreds from manticore quills. Hiding out in Diasomnia until he cools down.

Kalim: Normal blanket activates the zoomies. Introduced weighted blanket. Instant calm and Jamil is left baffled and grateful at the same time by this discovery!

Crowley: Fell asleep instantly. Sheets have been weaponized by the staff on occasion, so now he flies away at the sight of anyone carrying one towards him.

Seeing these results makes Yuu question what other animal reactions the students can possibly have. Meanwhile, their fellow students are warily watching the human scribble down notes in a notepad while carrying a jar of peanut butter.

Jack: “…why do you need me to be in beast form?”

Yuu: “I wanted to see something.”

Jack: “Okay…but what’s with the peanut butter?”

Yuu: “This? It’s just a tasty snack.” *opens it and scoops out a large spoonful* “See? Just regular peanut butter.”

Jack: “…alright.” *shifts into Fu dog form, nearly eye-to-eye with Yuu now* “Okay. What did you want to se—mfph!?!” *scrambles back after Yuu shoves the spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth, licking and trying to chew at the same time* “Blamph! Namf-nif-thaths?!”

Yuu: *scribbling notes* “Fu dogs react to peanut butter like dogs. Fascinating…I wonder if catnip affects manticore too?”

Ruggie: “Do you have some sort of death wish???”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #rook hunt #ace trappola #cater diamond #leona kingscholar #kalim al asim #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #chaotic!Yuu #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Stuck Outside

Characters: Reader, Niffler, Pickett

Warnings: Cuteness?

Summary: You were left behind while Newt entered the chasm to retrieve his brother. Fortunately, you were with two of his trusted companions.

Waiting for Newt to rescue his brother was a painful task. Teddy was making some small noises from his locked cage for a few minutes now as you paced.

“I know it’s been a while.” You answered. “I can’t imagine that they’ve made it easy.”

The guard grunted, looking from the niffler to the human. “You can understand that thing?”

You glanced at him for a split second and sent the man a scathing look. Pickett piped up from her side of the cage and you turned your attention to the bowtruckle.

“Nothing will happen to Newt, I promise.”

Teddy chittered and you scoffed. “No, you can’t can’t take a trip to Gringotts if something goes wrong.”

You were already stressed about not being there to help and Newt’s beasts weren’t helping. You continued to pace and noticed an orange crab-like creature scurrying across the floor until it slid beneath the metal bars and into the deep prison cave. 

At first you didn’t think much of it but when you caught a glimpse of its stinger, it clicked! It was a manticore. You had documented the fearsome critters a few years ago for Newt’s book, recalling that they travel only with the mother beast, dislike bright lights, and there could be thousands at a time. 

Fearing that that was what lurking in the cells beneath, you ran towards the gate and grabbed the bars only to receive a sharp jolt which threw you a few paces back.

“Damn it!” you cursed.

Stepping close once again, you were careful not to make contact and instead cupped your hands around your mouth. Taking in a deep breath, you let out a high-pitched whistle that bounced down the cavern walls. You paused and then repeated the sound twice. 

It was a warning call that you and Newt had established, to the untrained ear it sounded like a noise but to Newt and yourself, it was a message.

Manticore. Swivel.

Suddenly, you were grabbed by the back of your shirt and pulled backwards by the guard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He growled, shoving you back towards the desk. “Your friends are as good as dead.” You smacked into the edge of the hard stone and rubbed your arm as the man turned his back to eat. 

If you had your wand on you, you would have turned him into a toad.

Pickett chirped. Escape?

You scowled at the man’s head and turned your gaze to Newt’s critters, shooting them a wink. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts x reader #newt imagine #newt x reader #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander x reader

[mamawasatesttube]

‘Hey, you’ve got something on your face. Here, hold still…’ prompt :3

As far as "ways to spend a Saturday night" go, Kon would rank this around a two out of ten. Not great. Definitely could be worse (he could be actively dying again!), but hoo boy, is there still a lotta room for improvement.

The enchanted robo-chimera slams its tail into his side. Kon goes flying with an oof, all the breath knocked out of his lungs, and slams into a wall, where he crumples to the floor, dazed; magic makes this bitch actually able to land a hit on him, and it sucks.

God, he's gonna feel that later. He sucks in a breath—

"Kon!" Tim cries. "Look out!"

—and barely has time to throw his arms up to shield his face before the robo-chimera's on him again, circuits in its damaged outer skin sparking. It snaps at his head and catches his forearm instead, snarling; Kon snarls right back as he forces his TTK into the circuitry and forcibly snaps its jaws back open.

Keeping his TTK inside the magic is like trying to hold two repelling magnets together, though, and the second his concentration slips, it throws him out. He barely has time to throw himself down; steel jaws snap where his head was a moment ago.

Sweet. Dodged that (cool!), but now the damn snake tail has his right leg (not cool!) and it's heavy and the magic burns, and—

Okay. So The chimera's got his legs pinned against the floor, the back of his hips digging painfully into the concrete wall. It roars in defiance at the sky, tail lashing, and Kon slams a fist into its shoulder. His TTK shoves its way into its joints, dismantles something that makes it stumble, before the tail lashes and squeezes hard and he cries out in pain, and the enchantment boots his TTK right out again.

Well, if he can't TTK it apart, he can always do this the old-fashioned way.

"Kon!" Cassie screams from across the hangar bay, where she's wrangling the magic robo-hydra. "Hang on, I'm—"

She doesn't need to do anything. Kon braces himself against the faux-fur-coated steel leg he just broke, shoves upwards, and sinks his teeth into the robo-chimera's throat.

It's harder than biting down on metal normally would be, but it still gives—fabric and steel and wires, that's what he's looking for, the wires—all breaking under his teeth. The shock sends reverberations up his jaw into his skull, but he gets a good grip on the cables that must be running this thing, snarls, and rips its fucking throat out.

The enchantment fights him, but it's no match for the full force of a pissed-off Kryptonian. Metal groans and screams; a great, heaving shudder runs through the chimera's entire frame, and then it collapses. Kon shoves it off himself and clambers back to his feet, spits out a mouthful of metal, and glares down at the sad, sparking heap.

On the other side of the hangar bay, something explodes, presumably Cassie's hydra. Kon glances over, sees that Cassie herself is fine, and kicks the sparking snake-tail off his foot. He turns, dusting off his jacket, and scrubs a hand over his mouth. Everything tastes of iron.

Tim swings down from the rafters and alights right in front of him. He stumbles slightly before getting his bearings, and Kon narrows his eyes—that's not normal. Is he hurt?

"Are you hurt?" Tim asks. His gloved hands reach out, skim down the sides of Kon's arms, as if he can detect any hidden injury with only the barest idea of a touch. The white lenses of his mask stare deep into Kon's chest like he's trying to see right through his skin to his ribs, his heart. "Did it get you anywhere?"

"I'm fine," Kon dismisses. "Just a couple scrapes 'n' bruises or whatever, nothing major. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Bart took care of the manticore before I even had a chance." Tim hesitates for a moment, still standing right there in Kon's space; he stares up at him with those unblinking lenses, then swallows hard. "You, uh... you've got something on your face. Here, let me..."

He reaches up with the edge of his cape and, with a gentleness that's almost ludicrous after how hard Kon just got smacked around, wipes his cheek and jaw. Kon's heart flutters in his chest.

The cape itself, of course, is black, so he has no idea what might have been smeared on his face. Tim looks satisfied after a moment, though, dropping it and stepping back. "There," he says. "Was a bit of grease. And lubricant from the ball bearings. I think."

"Right." Blech. Kon's mouth still tastes of metal. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Tim says. But his heart rate is strangely high; Kon eyes him with suspicion. If he's hiding an injury, he swears...

On the other side of the hangar bay, there's a second explosion, followed by Bart's holler of "YEAH, BABY!". Kon glances over his shoulder to see him and Cassie high-five.

"Guess we just need to go take care of that enchantress now," Tim says, and grapples up into the rafters again before Kon can so much as agree.

Fine, Kon supposes. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get Tim back to base—he'll just have to pin him down for a proper examination later.

#rimi writes #timkon #tim #kon #yeah theres enchanted robots based on greek mythology or some shit like that going on here. dont worry about it #the point is kon ripping out a robot-lion's throat with his teeth and tim having a religious experience about it.

[zepskies]

Being Human – Part 2

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: Thank you for your lovely responses on Part 1!! I'm very excited to bring you the next chapter of Being Human.

Chapter Summary: You know that Alec is hiding something, and it’s more than the fact that he’s been dating another girl behind your back. [Set during 2.11]

Song Inspo: “Sailing” by Avant

Word Count: 6,200

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, two-timing (don’t worry), mentions of Manticore’s training (torture), hurt/comfort, mega feels, smuttishness.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: The Only Place

Alec showing up at your door unannounced isn’t anything new.

This time, however, he comes bearing a raw chicken in a plastic bag and a sack of potatoes. Your eyes go wide as you let him into your apartment.

“Where the hell did you find that,” you gesture at the chicken. In this economy, it might as well have been a five-pound lobster with a side of caviar.

Alec waggles his brows at you and flashes his familiar grin.

“Farmer’s market,” he says. “I fought some rich lady and her Pomeranian for this.”

You extend “gimme gimme” fingers at the bag as you lick your lips. You two are going to eat good tonight. You can even use the bones to make soup for the rest of the week.

Still, something niggles at the back of your mind.

“But this must’ve been so expensive. You didn’t have to do this,” you say, looking up from the bag of goods to your boyfriend’s face. He gives you an easy smile as his arm hooks around your waist.

“Don’t worry about it. I won a few pool game bets off Sketchy. Not to mention a couple of his paychecks,” Alec says.

His smirk makes you shake your head, but you wonder if he’s telling you the truth. He always seems to have cash to spare, despite the fact that he’s only been working at Jam Pony for a few months—barely making minimum wage.

Regardless, you start to prepare the chicken with what seasonings you have in your pantry while Alec peels the potatoes for you. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

Not for the first time, you wonder how he really lives. You’ve never been to his apartment before. Despite being friends with Max (there seems to be history there), he just got to Seattle a few months ago. And as for family, he claimed he had to leave home.

“It was what you’d call…an unstable environment,” he’d said. 

That, you could understand. Your own father had died when you were fairly young. After the Pulse, a virus had swept through and ravaged your hometown in rural Massachusetts.

Unfortunately, a shortage of antibiotics at the local hospitals left your mom without much help to fight off what ailed her body. You’d spread her ashes in the Charles River, where she used to love to paddleboat with you when you were a kid.

Then, you’d packed up what little you had and left the East Coast to make a life for yourself out here, alone. The city had been a challenge for you at first, being a smalltown girl at heart, but the hustle and bustle distracted you in a way you’d needed.

Now, Seattle has become your home, for better or worse. 

Alec knows all of this about you. He knows about your guilty pleasure of fried eggs, rice, and Vienna sausages: one of the ultimate struggle meals. He knows you love ice cream so much, you’d eat it for breakfast if you could.

He also knows you wanted to be a veterinarian, of all things, before the pulse. Now you have no hope or prayer of ever affording college, even if you tried.

But Alec…he still largely remains a mystery to you, no matter how deep he’s wedged himself under your skin.

“You’re really concentrating on that chicken,” Alec says, but his voice startles you, as it’s suddenly very close to your ear. You jump slightly as his arms wrap around your frame from behind.

You giggle a little, but you tilt your head to allow him access when his lips find your neck.

“Have I thanked you for this yet?” you ask. “I can’t remember the last time I had honest to God poultry…that also didn’thave a 50% chance of being radioactive.”

You feel the shape of Alec’s smile against your skin.

“No, as a matter of fact, but feel free to express your gratitude sexually,” he rejoins.

You have to laugh in earnest at that. You wash your hands in the sink before you turn in his arms and take his face gently in your hands. You bring him down to you for a sweeter kiss than he expected.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips. “It’s nice, having someone who thinks about me.”

His brows furrow a bit at that. He didn’t think bringing you an unexpected meal would be all that impressive, but…he also knows how long you’ve been alone.

For reasons he can’t tell you, it makes a twinge of guilt hit him behind the ribs.

All throughout dinner, and afterwards, Alec is hooked on the familiar soap opera playing on the TV in the living room. You both are sitting on the couch, but you’re half watching him, amused by his reactions. He’s absolutely glued to an episode you’ve already seen.

“You’re even more obsessed than I am,” you tease.

Alec spares you a wan look. “I just wanna know whose baby it is.”

A teasing smile forms across your face as you shift onto your knees and lean over to him, as if whispering a secret in his ear.

“And it’s actually twins,” you tease.

His expression of enrapture shifts with a wry edge. 

“Twins, huh?”

That seems to take him out of his enjoyment, somehow.

You frown a little. “You okay?”

“Always,” he responds, glancing at you. He visibly lightens up, pulling you into his lap with a muttered, Come ‘ere.

You giggle at his manhandling and oblige him with a few stolen kisses.

You feel bold enough to push him back to lie on the couch, and he actually lets you. His hands find your hips while you move to straddle his. Your fingertips drift down his chest as you consider him with a tilt of your head.

“Why haven’t I ever been to your place?” you ask. You draw an imaginary pattern across his chest, grazing him with your nails. His skin prickles under his clothes, but he stares up at you and shrugs without giving into your distraction.

“What, do you live above a strip club or something?” you add, smirking.

Alec’s expression matches yours as he squeezes your hips. “I like coming to you.”

Letting out a breath through your nose, you lean down and try plying him with slow, nipping kisses down his jawline, then his neck.

“Hmm, I still think you’re evading,” you say between kisses. “Tell me. Why haven’t you invited me back to your apartment?”

“Aren’t you getting demanding,” he teases back, even though his breath hitches when you nip a bit harder, just under his ear. Your deft hands run over his chest, toying with his senses. Already the scent of the soap you use has invaded his nose, like it always does. Jasmine.

“You knew this about me,” you say against his skin. He feels the movements of your lips like an added tease.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. His smirk deepens. “Not gonna lie, I kinda like it.”

You smile. “So answer the question. Or do I have to punish you?”

Fuck, sweetheart, be my guest, Alec thinks. But he forces himself to focus on your words, reading between the lines of what you’re really fishing for.

“My place isn’t all that safe,” he says.

You snort. “Safe is relative in this city. Besides, I thought you said my apartment was questionable at best.”

“I said you needed better security.”

“You’re my security.”

Alec’s smirk returns at that. “Is that all I’m good for?”

“Better than a doorman,” you joke, leaning down to him again. “You deliver right to my door.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Alec says. Your lips find his in a kiss, and they lure him back into the pull of you. How easy it would be, just to let you “catch” him. Every night. Every day. 

Your arms cage his head as you finally lay down on top of him, slowly rolling your hips against his. Both of you feel his hardness twitch against your thigh. You smirk against his lips. 

“And right on time,” you quip. 

“All right, that’s enough outta you,” Alec says, and he claims you with a more demanding kiss. His fingers sink into your hair tightly.  

But you press your hand to his cheek, making him pause for a moment. The amusement fades from his eyes the longer he stares into yours. You’re not teasing or joking anymore. 

You lower down and kiss him with meaning. With tenderness. 

You don’t know how it makes that coil of guilt grip him like a vice.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you mutter.

Your exasperation has reached an all-time high.

You’re really trying not to clock this bitch in the throat. When she grabs you by the hair, however, you have no choice.

Your punch lands squarely up the bridge of Marina’s nose with a crack that makes even Original Cindy wince.

You feel sick to your stomach.

Not just because your coworker and former friend Marina has stumbled to the floor, looking up at you with ire and a bloody nose. But because you just found out that you and Marina have somehow been dating the same man.

Alec had been standing off to the side with a semblance of concern behind his eyes (but mostly shock). You turn to him next, and he freezes. All the nearby Jam Pony employees watch the scene as you grasp Alec’s arm and warn him with only your eyes—it’s in his best interest to follow you to the lockers.

He acquiesces, even though his shifty eyes say he wants to bolt. Cindy’s shaking her head with a flat expression. Max is outright glaring at him. Sketchy is grinning, shoots him a thumbs up as the two of you pass by.

Alec heeds your unspoken demand, but he crosses his arms once you let go of him.

“Apparently, Marina claims you’re her boyfriend,” you accuse. You press two fingers into his chest. “Despite the fact that you’ve only been dating her for what, two weeks tops? A relief to me, since I thought we’d been dating for almost two months.”

Alec laughs nervously and rubs the back of his head. “Well, you know, we never did say that we were exclusive—”

“Did you sleep with her?” you ask.

He falters at the look on your face. So incredibly hurt, but still holding out a sliver of hope.

The longer he stays quiet, the more that too starts to dim.

You can’t help yourself. You slap him across the face.

Alec takes the hit, making it look like it actually hurt him in the way he snaps his face to the side. He’s more shocked than anything, though he knows he doesn’t have a right to be.

Your lower lip trembles, but you also gasp with a wince and hold your hand, because somehow his face felt like a slab of iron. Shit! Does he have a metal plate in his head or something?

Alec sighs. “You okay there?”

He reaches for your hand, but you back away from him.

“Don’t touch me. Never touch me again,” you say shakily, through tears.

You don’t want to admit that your heart is breaking. You fucking idiot. You should’ve known your instincts would be right about Alec McDowell.

You grab your clipboard and your forgotten backpack from the floor by your locker, and you walk away from him before your tears start to fall.

In the aftermath of the fight, Normal raises hell about the fact that Marina’s quitting. You can’t really give a shit, but you’re not about to follow suit. You’ve never, and will never let a man get between you and your money.

You take your deliveries for the morning and start on your route.

And if you have to park your bike in an alleyway to cry without the prying eyes of your coworkers, then that’s your right as a woman.

Alec hides it well, but inside, his chest aches the way his face should. He doesn’t altogether know or want to think about why.

So he worms his way into a delivery run with Max to distract himself (and to escape Jam Pony HQ). Max gives him hell, as expected, but he tries to ignore her and get this job over with so he can drink himself into a stupor at Crash tonight.

…Or try to. Getting drunk is a difficult feat with his genetics, not to mention a very expensive pastime.

Right now, he and Max are riding their bikes through the richey rich side of town, so at least it’s cleaner. Manicured hedges and tall gates surround every house here. It’s almost kind of familiar, though he’s too focused on following Max to care much.

“I mean, it’s not like I intended to date ‘em both at the same time,” he defends himself. “And then when it turned out I was dating them both at the same time, it’s not like I didn’t intend to tell both girls about the other one. …You know, eventually.”

It’s like the universe itself calls himself out on his lie when the front tire of his bike skids. He pulls to a sharp stop in front of an iron gate and falls over onto the asphalt, but his reflexes are quick, and he picks himself up with a forced spring in his step.

“But let’s be real for a moment, shall we?” he says. “I mean, suppose I did tell them. What would happen, huh? Same thing. Big fight. Lots of anger and resentment and recriminations, and then who wins? Nobody.”

Max continues to watch him with a deadpan frown. “Well, at least in this case, you won.”

“Exactly,” Alec smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His expression falls anyway. “Well, no. Seeing as though neither of them will be likely to speak to me, which makes any kind of sex a virtual impossibility…at least for a couple of days.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Clearly both of them lost their damn minds to even give you the time of day.”

Alec has a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, but it’s waylaid by a memory that used to make him smile. It now just settles heavily in his chest.

Two Months Ago...

Just then, the bartender slides you a beer you’ve already ordered. You thank him and give Alec a smile.

“Got it covered, thanks,” you reply, sipping the froth off your drink.

Alec sighs and crosses his arms. “When are you gonna stop putting the freeze on me?”

“When I’m not part of your internal checklist of Breasts on Legs,” you answer.

Alec scoffs and holds his chest.

“That’s hurtful,” he claims. “It really is.”

But he shifts toward you in his seat, cutting off your smile. You tense up and blush at his proximity, making his grin deepen.

Damn, she smells good, he thinks.

“Besides,” he says, “I always save the best for last.”

He knows he’s making you nervous in a good way. He can sense it, though you eye him wryly. He means to go in for the kill, but he’s thwarted when Original Cindy slides into the seat on your other side. She tosses you a wink, the way women do when they have their own unspoken language.

You then smirk in Alec’s face.

“Keep trying. Maybe someday I’ll lose my mind,” you say, with a teasing raise of brows.

He’s still amused as he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. Insulting, yet, still somehow endearing.”

He means it. Every time you turn him down, he’s genuinely disappointed.

But if you ever change your mind, he’ll be right here waiting.

That memory falters as Alec stares up at the familiar mansion. He just doesn’t remember that he’s been here before—not until he rings the doorbell. That sound dislodges a fragment in his mind.

One that makes him hide from the surveillance cameras on instinct. It has him throwing the package over the gate and grabbing Max to guide her away from the house before they’ve been able to get a signature.

And a name rings through all the clutter. A name that was once seared into his mind is wrenched open like a badly sewn wound.

Rachel.

You don’t see Alec for a few days. Which is good, because you’ve been avoiding him. 

Until he finally shows up for work, and somehow, he looks off. He lacks the jovial, devil-may-care attitude he wears like a second skin. 

He glances at you down the line at your locker, catching your gaze.  

You still can’t bear it. You turn your head away, feeling like a coward. You hear his locker door slam loudly and he leaves without even getting his schedule from Normal. 

You rest your head against the cool metal of your locker.

“Where the hell’re you going, mister!” Normal calls after his former favorite employee.

Despite your better judgment, you sigh and push away from your locker to face your boss.

“He’s got a stomach bug. Real nasty,” you call out.

Normal’s frown deepens, but his expression softens from his hardened edge.

“Oh. Well…that’s all he needed to say,” he sniffs. He hands what would’ve been Alec’s load of packages onto Sketchy, who gives him a flat look.

“Go, get to work. Bip, bip!” Normal points a finger at him, then dismissively at the door.

Sketchy rolls his eyes, but he makes sure to send you a “thankful” look before he heads out. You give him a sardonic smile. Serves him right for taking Alec’s side in this whole messy situation, like the man children they both are.

Original Cindy comes to your side and lightly bumps your hip. She’s a strong support as always, and you give her a small smile.

“Come on, boo. I’m buyin’ your drinks at Crash tonight,” she says. You loop your arm through hers.

“Thank God for you, OC,” you breathe, though with a smile that feels a little more like yourself.

“Ladies night, it is,” she snaps playfully.  

And if that’s what tonight is, then you’re going to look good. No ratty jeans and boots meant for walking. After work, you dive into the depths of your closet and find an old favorite of yours: a black leather skirt and a lacey top, open-backed and a sweetheart neckline. You complete the look with a pair of heeled ankle boots and the only shade of red lipstick you own.

You just don’t count on Alec wanting a night out too.

He hangs out at Crash all the time. You can’t be surprised, you remind yourself, when you spot him at the bar. Except he doesn’t wear his usual suave confidence. No, he’s hunched over a glass of whiskey as he sits alone in front of the bartender. He doesn’t even notice you, Max, and Cindy as you guys claim your usual table in the back.

You can’t help it though. Your eyes keep drifting back to him.

Both Max and Cindy catch you, with something like sympathy on the latter’s face.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Cindy remarks. “Anguished, and all Heathcliff-like.”

She’s right, you think. He’s been like this for days.

Max seems to know him better than anyone. You turn to her in askance.

“This isn’t just because of…what happened, is it?” you say.

Max sighs and shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

But she’s either unable, or unwilling to give you any more to go on.

…Goddamn it, you think, as you contemplate doing something stupid, like going over there to talk to him. You know you shouldn’t give him the time of day, but God help you, you still care about this asshole.

You heave a sigh. “I’ll be back in a few. And if not, I give you full permission to haul my ass out of this bar.”

“Don’t do it,” Cindy advises, with the tone of someone who knows you’re not going to listen.

You get up from the table and give your friends a placating hand. You roll your shoulders and force your feet to move—towards the bar.

The seat to Alec’s left is empty, and you take it. His gaze slides toward you, and he’s forced to do a double take. His familiar once-over has you almost smirking, but even that is missing something. It’s like something sucked the life right out of him.

He gives you a haphazard smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thought you weren’t talking to me,” he says.

“How many of those are you going to drink?” you ask, gesturing at the third glass of whiskey in his hand. He glances down at it, then at nothing as his gaze travels away from you.

“Until I can’t feel the burn anymore,” he replies. Even his voice isn’t like him, dull and wry.

You hesitate, but you surprise even yourself by offering an olive branch.

“Look, if you want to talk about what happened…or anything else—” you try, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking at you again. “I should’ve made it clear from the beginning that I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

Your heart plummets. Your mouth works past shock and fresh hurt. You fight the sting in your eyes as your mouth flattens.

“So, you and I were just casual,” you confirm. “None of it meant anything to you?”

He looks over at you and pins you there. There’s a glimmer of something behind the cool green of his eyes. Like maybe part of him wants to rebel and give you hope. 

He stays quiet. 

So with tears in your eyes, you close out your tab, and you leave the bar to go home. You can’t even bring yourself to look over at your friends. You’re too embarrassed.

Meanwhile, Alec focuses on the contents of his glass, even though he knows nothing will ever be enough to numb him. 

Now that Manticore’s psychological reprogramming has crumbled, now that he remembers what happened two years ago—and what he did—nothing will make his fractured, bloody insides feel like nothing ever again.

Max and Original Cindy see the entire scene play out from across the bar. Cindy shakes her head with a hum of disappointment that black women have perfected.

Max’s answer is to get up, with much the same reluctance as you had, albeit for different reasons.

“I know I’m gonna regret this,” she sighs.

“Take your time,” Cindy says. She already has her flirtatious eye on another woman by the pool table.

Max smiles in amusement and leaves her friend to her business. She goes to her fellow transgenic and slips into the same seat you occupied moments before. Alec barely looks up at her.

“Call me crazy but I get the feeling you’re in some kind of jam,” she says. “More than just about your messy ex situation, though that was a nice cold shoulder you gave her.”

“Okay, you’re crazy,” he replies, raising his glass back to his lips.

Max presses her luck, asking about the locket Alec has always kept. At Manticore, he’d kept it in his shoe. He’d pull it out at night and try to remember why it was important, but he never could. All he knew was that it made him feel better, and he’d go to sleep easier.

Max saw it on him days ago. And now they both know it had belonged to Rachel Barrister, daughter of Robert Barrister. The man Alec was once sent to kill.

He’d both failed and succeeded.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Max,” Alec says snidely. “Stay out of my business.”

“Fine,” she says, but part of her still worries about him. And she worries about you. “Look, I know we don’t always get along—”

“Nicely understated,” he cuts, and sets down his glass a bit too hard on the counter. The bottom of it fractures. “Barkeep!”

“But if you’re in some kind of trouble and you need my help, then you should ask now, and not when it’s too late and everything’s all messed up, like you usually do,” she says.

“Well, I appreciate the offer, Max. I really do,” he says dryly, “but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“You know, I would, see, but…you wouldn’t understand,” Alec says. He points out that Max and the rest of her little X5 friends left Manticore (escaped) when they were kids. The truth is, she has no idea what he’s endured ever since.

Manticore cracked down on the next series of X5s like him, and every series afterwards—they all paid the price for what Manticore saw as the failure of Max’s unit. Lax training. Traitors. Deserters. 

Alec didn’t see it at the time, not completely. He now knows just how deeply fucked up he was.

And is.

There’s no fixing it, like there’s no use trying to fix a broken toy.

So Max eventually walks away from him, just like you did. Just like he should have done for Rachel.

He knows he hurt you, but he also thinks it’s working out better this way. Better that you walk away from him, before he gets you hurt even worse.

It happens in stages, the way Alec’s memory unlocks. 

It sorts through the psychological methods of torture and erasure Manticore used to try and scrape the Barrister assignment from his mind. Not only did it not work, but Manticore still won. No matter what he does, he can’t block out the pain or the rush of memories. He can’t not feel. 

It’s a frustrating state of being for a soldier. 

Alec’s laissez faire way of coasting through life after Manticore burned down was his version of stoicism, of surviving. 

But if this is living, then he doesn’t want it. 

That’s why he loses focus. He runs headlong into the trap his rational mind is warning him of—into that mansion, where Robert Barrister has led him with the torturous siren song of Rachel’s favorite piano sonata. The very same one he taught her, just two years ago.

Alec wants to rip the notes out of his head, but he still goes to the house.

Somehow, a fifty-five-year-old man gets the drop on Alec, a soldier. A transgenic. 

Barrister knows who and what he is. He’s been in the game long enough against Manticore to know who he used to sell his products to, but he can’t quite pull the trigger on that gun, even though Alec goads him on. Shouting at him to do it. End his misery. 

Rachel. 

Max saves his ass again. It’s a frankly embarrassing number she’s racked up on that count, as she stuns Barrister and knocks him out before he can deliver the kill shot directly into Alec’s temporal lobe. 

Alec doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care, until Robert tells him where she is, upstairs in her room. Alec travels down the familiar corridor, and he sees her again. 

Rachel. Oh God…

She’s wrapped up in wires because of him; in a coma, slowly dying for the past two years. She pulled her father from the car that was meant to explode and end his life. Rachel fell. 

Alec sinks down into a chair beside her bed. For a moment all he can do is stare at her pale face.

Because of him. His job. His mission, that he couldn’t complete, because he tried to save her. It was too late, she paid the price, and it was all because of him.

Because he couldn’t fight the training drilled deep into his mind. He couldn’t fight his captors, not hard enough.

She paid the price. 

Alec sits at her bedside for as long as he can. He slips her locket back into her cold hand. He holds her as close as he dares, and begs for forgiveness through near-silent tears. 

“I didn’t understand,” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t understand…how much I loved you.”

Alec attends Rachel’s funeral, a few weeks later. He stands almost a quarter of a mile away, but he can still hear the service. He goes to her grave, and he accepts the caustic words from her father. 

“Never come back here,” Robert hisses. “I wanted to kill you. I hated you that much. But I’m still her father. I want her to be proud of me…and I don’t want to be like you.”

Alec silently accepts this. He knows what he is. Now, he knows what he’s done is unforgivable. 

He also knows it’s time to let her go. 

So he says a silent goodbye before he walks away from the grave and the cemetery. He intends to go home… 

He doesn’t quite make it there.

Alec is forced to walk through a torrent of rain. He barely feels it beating down on his head, back, and shoulders. 

Somehow, he ends up dripping wet at your apartment. His tall frame takes up your doorway when you open it to him. 

This feels familiar, you think, as you take him in. Once again, you’re dressed in just your pajamas of choice: a loose shirt over a pair of shorts. Your hair is tossed into a bun. 

You aren’t sure if it’s rain or tears dripping down his wet cheeks. His eyes are red enough to convince you of the latter. 

“What’re you—”

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is a hint unsteady.

Your mouth falls open the slightest bit, but eventually, you sigh.

“Alec,” is all you can say. Go away, are words you can’t force past your lips, even if you have every right to say them.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I uh…I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You don’t know?” you repeat, your eyes widening incredulously. 

He shakes his head, but he aims to leave. This was a mistake, he thinks.

You don’t know what to make of him right now. Hasn’t he hurt you enough?

He seems different though. He looks like he’s one step shy of falling apart, and you’ve never seen such rawness in his eyes.

Something inside you breaks, and you grab his wet hand before he can escape down the hall. You’re persistent in leading him inside your apartment, where it’s warm. You offer him some dry clothes he left behind last month.

After he gets changed, he sits on your couch with you. His silence is so confusing, you’re not sure what to do. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Me,” he says, chuckling humorlessly. “I’m what’s wrong. I uh…I should go.”

He gets to his feet, all twitching nervous energy, and again he tries to leave. You feel compelled to stand with him and follow him to the door.

“Wait,” you say, holding the door closed. Your hand lands on his arm, imploring with everything you have. “Alec, just tell me what the hell is going on. You’re scaring me.”

His eyes drag up your body, and slowly meet yours.

I didn’t understand…

Alec can’t help it; he raises a gentle hand to touch your cheek. You don’t deserve someone like him wrecking your life. He can’t be fixed, and he doesn’t want to break you too. 

You hold his hand to your face. “Alec. Talk to me, please.”

In your face, he finds concern and the threat of tears, and his heart continues to hemorrhage. 

There’s still room for you there. You’ve carved out a place in what’s left of it, without him realizing. He’s getting better at seeing the warning signs. 

You let out a shaky breath. “Just tell me the truth. Are you in trouble? Are you here because you have nowhere else to go, or—”

“Honestly, yeah,” he finally admits.

You deflate in response. What the hell?! 

Now you’re just about ready to push him out of your apartment and warn him that he better not come back. His grip on your arms stops you.

“This is the only place…” he continues, his jaw working. “Can’t seem to move my feet anywhere else.”

He means what he says, even if it’s not coming out right. After seeing Rachel’s prone body in her bed, coming back to face you is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. And yet, there's nowhere else he could go that felt right. He meets your eyes and notices the way you’re holding your breath.

“Uh, I kinda lied to you before,” he confesses. Your brows raise at that. 

“When?” you challenge.

He licks his dry lips. “At the bar. Last time we met.”

“So when you said,” you struggle to articulate it, because just the thought of it still hurts. “What you and I had…that it didn’t mean anything…”

His hands slide down from your arms, to hold your hands in his.

“I was an idiot. I didn’t know what it meant,” Alec says. “I do now.”

Your eyes flood with tears as you let go of a heavy breath. Alec releases your hands to hold your face with shaking hands. In turn, you hold his wrists steady. 

"You really hurt me, you know," you say. Your voice is a near whisper, but your words cut into him all the same.

"I know," he replies, as his thumbs caress your skin. "I'm sorry about that. About everything...which is why we probably shouldn't do this."

He really says that, even as his hands drift down to your neck, where he can feel your pulse beating and picking up speed. Alive.

“What?” you ask, with genuine confusion. You pull away from him a little, frowning up at him. "Then what are we doing right now? Either you want to be with me, or you don't, Alec."

His eyes meet yours.

You’re so real, so honest. Alec starts to think, to understand that this is what lured him in. It had him coming back to you every time you turned him down. It kept him coming back to you when you were his. 

She can still be yours, he thinks. It’s a selfish thought, but here he is.   

So he draws you in and kisses you deeply.

He doesn’t know how this can still feel right, even though his chest pulses with pain. But maybe, being with you is a different kind of pain. Maybe it’s not pain at all. 

You asked him for the truth though. He can’t give you everything, but he can give you one piece of the puzzle; perhaps the only one that matters. He parts from you, opening his eyes to find your face. Your eyes are still closed, and when you open them, you start to blush. 

It almost makes him smile, but his brain is still warring with his heart.

“I’ve only ever cared about one person in my life…and I lost her,” he says. “I’m not good at this.”

“How,” you ask, a bit hesitantly. “How did you lose her?”

His throat is tight. It’s all so fresh, he doesn’t even know how he gets out the words.

“She died,” he admits.

Your expression falls, and you shake your head.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, holding onto his shirt. “I’ve lost people too.”

He thumbs at your cheek. He sees your sympathy so clearly across your face, though he doesn’t know how you can still give that to him. It goes against everything he’s ever been taught, and everything he’s learned in order to survive. 

He can’t help but let you back in, just like you’re about to do for him.  

“It’s really this simple. If you want me to forgive you, if you really want to be here, with me, exclusively…then all you have to do is stay,” you say at last. Your lips press together for a moment. “But if you play me again, Alec, I swear to God—”

“No. No swearing’s necessary,” he says, and kisses you again. He’s surprised he’s able to smile, just a little, and he does so against your lips. 

You break from him to grip his shirt and glare up at him. “You understand me?”

Alec’s smile deepens a fraction. He brushes your hair away from your face. 

“Indeed, I do, Miss Ma’am.”

It takes you a beat, but you roll your eyes, despite a lingering blush.

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he starts to tease. “You seem to like giving out orders, I just thought you’d like a title change to go with it.”

You slap his chest half-heartedly. “Shut up.” 

“See? More demands,” he quips. “I don’t know if I can work in this environment—”

You pull him down for a kiss to shut him up indefinitely. 

And like it so often has, it leads into your room with the two of you falling haphazardly into your bed. He situates himself between your legs and traps you underneath him as he kisses a wet path up your neck. You arch against him and your hands dive under his shirt to help him wrench it off. 

It’s all very fast, and a bit frantic until he has you naked underneath him. 

His hand finds your cheek, touching softly, like he’s afraid to break you. There’s pain in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Your brows furrow, though you caress a hand up the back his neck. He shudders when you unintentionally brush his barcode. 

“Alec, what happened?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He wishes he could tell you. He wants to tell you…everything. It scares him, because he also wants to run out of here, putting as much distance between himself and you as possible. 

But again, he’s selfish. This time, he understands why his heart is pulsing with both pain and longing when he stares into your eyes for too long.

“I can’t,” he says. “Not tonight… Can we just focus on the good part here?”

Despite yourself, you smile with a small huff. You take his face in your hands and bring him down to meet your searing kiss. 

The good part, indeed.

AN: And here's an angsty Part 2! lol Let me know what you think! 💜

You might want to buckle up for where we're going next...

Next Time:

He takes one corner of your towel and peels it off you slowly, until your body is bare for his gaze. His eyes take in every inch of you before they make it back to your face.

He smiles, taking down the messy bun from your head to have your hair fanning wildly across his pillows. Your hands move across his chest and further down, but he puts a stop to your exploration. He grasps your wrists and pins them down to the bed with a strength you can’t escape.

You raise your brows. “Alec?”

“Trust me,” he says, dipping down to kiss your neck. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

You suck in a breath. Far be it from you to argue with that.

“Is this one of those sexual favors?” you tease. He laughs against your skin.

“You’re about to find out.”

Keep Reading: Part 3

Series Masterlist

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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Alec M. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

@waters-2567 @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @honeybabycherry @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @nancymcl @idiotdyslexic @heartlessdelusions

#The Only Place #Being Human #Part 2 #alec mcdowell #alec mcdowell x reader #alec mcdowell x you #alec mcdowell x female reader #smuttish #max guevara #original cindy #DA 2.11 #the barrisford agenda #Dark Angel #Jensen Ackles characters #Jensen Ackles #zepskies writes

[n6918]

Emerald has recently gotten ahold of Grimm Manticore venom, which when diluted properly can serve as a very potent aphrodisiac. She has big plans for it, but unfortunately, Oscar mistakes it for some harmless energy drinks and downs more than the recommended dosage, increasing the poor farmhands libido tenfold. Looks like Emerald may have bitten off more than she can chew with him…

When Emerald had walked in and saw Oscar with the empty glass of manticore venom she knew she was in trouble. The hazy green tint to his eyes and lustful look at her had told her what his intentions were. But she never imagined that it was going to be this strong, or that being on the other end of an aphrodisiac induce lust could be so overwhelming.

"Oscar! Oscar rest please!? I can't come anymore OH GODS!" Emerald pleaded with him. It had been four hours now and the farmhand only seem to be getting started. Her clothes had long since been tossed to the side so that he could have more easy access to her beautiful dark skin. Onto which he had written and drawn several things with markers that were in the room; including a few pine trees and a tally mark of how many times he had orgasm inside the former thief. The most prominent of all being the words written above her breast, which simply said 'PINES'.

"Oscar? Just a minute please! I just need a minute TOOOOFUCKKKKK" was all the words she got out. Oscar was holding her legs together as she lay on her back, keeping up a murderous pace as he fucked her extremely sensitive pussy. Her hands desperately searched for something to hold onto, but only found the bedsheets as the pillows had long since disappeared. Leaving her with nothing as she began to shutter and climax from his latest round of fucking.

"FUUUUCK YEAH!" Oscar moaned out at the top of his lungs. Bottoming out in her and he came again from her tightening up around him. Looking down at her fucked silly face he could only feel his farm to asking for more. But being the good boy he was he let go of her legs and pulled out for a moment. walking over to the bathroom he got a large glass of water and drank one down for himself, before filling another and walking over to Emerald and handing it to her. He watched as she drank it down quickly after realizing what it was.

Picking up the marker he added another telemark to the set already on her lower abdomen, well he lined himself up again between her legs. Taking hold of the empty glass as he quickly shoved into her and watched her surprise as she shuttered in response.

"Oscar wait i ne-" Emerald with silenced by his lips colliding with hers as He pulled her into a deep kiss well he began a new rhythm to his pleasure. She was so exhausted at this point that she could not stop him from his aphrodisiac induced lust. Her legs and arms just lay next to her as he played with her breast and pounded away with his hips on her abused cunt. she could already feel herself approaching another peak as he kept up the steady pace, fucking her much more romantically this time to spice things up.

As he pulled away from her lips for a second and towards her ears she couldn't of expected the words he was about to say. "Your going to be such a good mother for my kids" He whispered into her ear as she felt his heavy balls slap against her taint. That breeding kink of his that Ruby had warned him about was really strong apparently. 

#rwby smut #mine #emerald sustrai #oscar pine #n6818 asks

[yarnpenguin]

Astarion always joins Gale for breakfast. Because, like, of course he does. They sit and talk while Gale eats, and Astarion doesn't need to sleep as long as Gale does, so he's been awake for hours.

Gale gets up to take his dishes away to the kitchen. Astarion goes to sit down in Gale's study.

Tara arrives. She jumps up onto the end table next to the chair Astarion is sitting in.

"Astarion."

"Tara."

"You're still here, I see."

"You didn't get eaten by a manticore, I see."

Her hackles go up. His fingers clutch at the arm rest. They glare at each other.

Gale wanders in, carrying a tray of tea. "Tara! You're back, it's so good to see you. And it's wonderful that you and Astarion are getting on so well, as always."

"Of course we are, Mr Dekarios." She reaches out and places one paw gently, so gently, on the back of Astarion's hand.

He hisses, softly, between his teeth, because he feels claws digging ever-so-slowly into his skin.

#bloodweave #baldurs gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #astarion bg3 #tara the tressym #look they're both felines I don't think they'd get along #they'd be jealous of each other #fighting for Gale's affections #sniping at each other constantly #but Gale would be completely OBLIVIOUS #because his bestie and his man are getting along so WELL #while they're being so polite to each other through clenched and very sharp teeth

[vexwerewolf]

I’ve been wracking my brain for a while to try and make a Melee and/or Grapple Manticore build. Just standing directly next to things and being a menace. I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on something like this. Thanks for reading regardless if you respond to this one. Love reading your stuff.

Luckily for you, this concept did spark joy.

-- HORUS Manticore @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Blackbeard 2, HORUS Manticore 3, IPS-N Tortuga 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Improved Armament, Titanomachy Mesh [ TALENTS ] Duelist 3, PANKRATI 2, Skirmisher 2, Brawler 1, Combined Arms 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:19 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:9 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:10 SENSE:10 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe HEAVY MOUNT: Nanocarbon Sword [ SYSTEMS ] Synthetic Muscle Netting, Lightning Generator, Beckoner, Siege Ram

I call this one YOUR PUTRID FLESH WITHERS UNDER THE UNBLINKING GAZE OF MY DIVINE CONTEMPT. We're making a Manticore build; this is not the place for subtle or pithy names.

This is a melee-only build, which I normally recommend against. I think it's good for a build to have at least some sort of ranged attack capability, but in this case, there's just no room for it. We're ride or die here, and diluting the build by hedging our bets is just going to tip the scales towards "die."

You are not particularly fast, so we've got the Pankrati valiant charge and Beckoner to help you close gaps. What you want to do at that point is slam in as fast as you can and try to connect with a Main melee attack (Duelist gives you an accuracy to help with that) - not your Heavy, one of your Mains. You then immediately use Duelist 3 to spend the Blademaster die you just earned to free-Grapple the target, and then you use Titanomachy Mesh to follow up the free-Grapple with a free-Ram (and because they're Grappled, Brawler 1 turns on, making your Ram more accurate, and because being Grappled causes them to become Immobilized, Pankrati 1 also turns on, making your Ram EVEN MORE ACCURATE). Knock your enemy Prone but do not knock them away.

To summarize: your target has taken Main Melee damage from you, become Grappled, then been rammed Prone. Because Grappled causes Immobilization, they cannot use their regular movement to stand up from Prone, and because of Synthetic Muscle Netting, unless they're larger than you, they cannot ever gain control of the grapple.

If they don't have weapons or abilities that knock you away, they have two real options to get away from you. The first is to spend a quick action trying to escape the grapple, which they can fail, wasting the action entirely. Even if they succeed, they still either need to crawl away provoking your Overwatch (use your Heavy for this) or use their entire regular movement to stand back up, then their other quick action to Boost away, again provoking your Overwatch.

The second, if they're the same size as you or larger, is to Ram you back. This is more effective, since your Evasion is low, and knocking you away will break the grapple. This still only leaves you one space away from them, which is still within Threat of your Nanocarbon Sword, and unless they have a modifier that deals damage on Ram (which, to my knowledge, no vanilla NPC does), they've spent 2/3rds of their turn just getting 1 space away from you and standing upright. If they decline to move away from you, you can just stand up on your turn and Skirmish 2 spaces towards them to do the whole thing all over again.

If they are a melee class, their best bet is to focus you down, but with 2 Armor and resistance to two types of damage, that's harder than it looks - and if they're focusing on you, they're not attacking your team's squishies, which is the whole point of the Defender class.

If they're a ranged class, they're fucked. With you up in their grill, their attacks against everyone including you become inaccurate. Artillery NPC classes don't tend to have much HP, and rely on staying far away from players. If a weapon has Ordnance, they can't even fire it at you at all if they're in engagement.

On your next turn, if your target is still grappled, activate your Lightning Generator, and then Barrage. Your attack sequence looks like this:

Chain Axe -> free Ram (Duelist 3), no knockback -> free Ram (Titanomachy Mesh), no knockback -> Nanocarbon Sword

Against unarmored targets, this has a damage floor of 9 assuming all attacks hit, and will slam for 5 even if all your attacks miss. Lightning Generator will do different amounts of damage depending on whether you're in the Danger Zone, but Charged Exoskeleton will always trigger off of Lightning Generator (if you choose) and will always deal 2 AP.

Note that if you're in control of the grapple (which, thanks to SMN, you usually are), you can still make your standard move. This means you can drag your victim 4 spaces towards or away from your friends.

When you turn on your ult, enemies have an even more miserable time, because now not only are there two forms of damage you're resistant to, you're also resistant to Heat (which means you can Overcharge for half price). Worse, any Heat or Energy damage you take now increases a doomsday clock.

Be warned that this build only has 19 HP, and even with 2 Armor you're not going to last forever, but on the other hand, enemies must focus on you or you'll just be able to tear them apart one by one.

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #manticore #ra #mecha #lancer builds

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Card

@jegulus-microfic March 3 Word count 976

Previous part First part

Regulus woke with a start. He’d cuddled into James’s side, and Sirius had his head on his shoulder. He pulled his pocket watch from his pocket and gasped. He needed to go. He was almost certain that his house was watched, and if he kept going awol, they’d soon get suspicious. 

He gently moved his brother’s head off of him and let it loll back onto the sofa. He reluctantly moved away from James. 

James’s eyes fluttered open. 

“I need to go,” He whispered to him. James looked at him with sad eyes but nodded. James leaned forward and pulled Regulus back to him, kissing him sweetly on the lips. 

“I did not need to wake up and see that.” Sirius groaned from beside them. Regulus ducked back down and kissed James more passionately. James resisted at first but soon got swept up in the moment. 

Sirius smartly did not comment a second time. “Tomorrow night, meet at Evan’s?” 

“We’ll try and come up with some ideas by then,” James told him. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Sirius mumbled from the cushion he was hiding behind. 

Regulus apparated home. He made sure to make his movements sloppy, pretending he’d been out drinking. He even tripped up one of the steps for good measure. 

“Master Regulus, you’re home.” Kreacher met him at the door, flinging his bony arms around Regulus’s legs. He made Regulus jump. So much had happened since the previous night. 

“Yes, Kreacher, I’m home.” He reassured the now sobbing elf. “Could you make me some tea before bed, please?” The elf immediately released Regulus and rushed into the kitchen to make the tea. Regulus was struggling with how much emotion Kreacher was showing over him. 

Kreacher reappeared with a sliver tray piled high with Regulus’s favourite tea and an array of sandwiches and cakes. “Kreacher, you didn’t need to go to so much trouble.” Regulus smiled down fondly at the little elf. 

“Master Regulus returned to Kreacher. Kreacher is overjoyed. Kreacher wishes to spoil Master Regulus.” 

“Okay, Kreacher. I’m going to go up to bed now.” He tried to take the tray from Kreacher, but the elf danced out of his way and headed up the stairs. Regulus didn’t bother fighting and just followed after him. 

The tea warmed him and made him feel more relaxed. He ate all the food Kreacher had provided. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. Once he finished, he pulled the locket out again and stared at it. It would need something powerful to destroy it. He thought perhaps Manticore venom, but he wasn’t sure how to get any without raising suspicion. He’d check the family stores in the morning incase an ancestor had hidden away a vial. 

He took Sirius’s walkman out of his bedside table and put on the headphones, letting Marc Bolan’s voice lull him to sleep. 

Kreacher went all out for breakfast. Creating far more food than Regulus could ever eat by himself. He sat and made his way through a plate of sausages and eggs to appease the elf. 

After he repeatedly told Kreacher that he couldn’t eat any more food, he went to the Black family potions store. 

The cold stone room was lined with shelves set into the stone. Lines and lines of different-sized glass vials and bottles. Regulus peered at the faded labels with wand light and finally found what he was searching for. He couldn’t believe his family had this. He took the dusty vial from the shelf carefully. He held his wand up to the vial of Manticore venom only to discover it was empty. “What savage put this back on the shelf empty!” He exclaimed, cursing his ancestors. He shoved the vial back on the shelf, ignoring the irony in his action. 

He went up to the library and began searching through his books for anything that might help destroy the Horcrux.

“Master Regulus, you asked Kreacher to remind you when you wanted to leave for Evan Rosier’s house.” 

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

They were all waiting for him. He pulled out the locket and showed them. 

“That’s Slytherin’s locket!” Evan exclaimed. Barty and Pandora looked closer at it and agreed with Evan. 

“Yup, that’s old Zar’s locket.” Barty looked at it impressed. Regulus and James recounted their adventure to rapt attention. 

“You guys are insane.” Lily gaped at them. 

“We still need to figure out how to destroy them. I thought Manticore Venom, but my family stores are out.” 

“Same here,” Evan said. 

“Don’t look at me. Muggle-born remember. My family barely has spices for cooking, let alone Manticore venom.” They turned to look at Barty and James. 

“You’d never catch my father with that,” Barty told them. 

“Yeah, I doubt my parents would have any, but I can check.” James shrugged. 

“Well, that means we need to come up with a fallback plan,” Regulus said. “I think Fiendfyre would work, but it is incredibly hard to control and would draw a lot of attention.”

The room was silent for a moment before Barty started talking. 

“You know how they always said there was a beast Slytherin left beneath the castle in a secret chamber before he left?” He pulled out a card from his pocket that was covered in notes. “I’ve been thinking about it. Slytherin was a Parselmouth, right? So what’s the betting this monster is a snake? You know, something only the heir can control. So I did some digging, and I think I know what it might be.” He paused dramatically. 

“Tell us, Barty,” Regulus’s mind was running through all the magical serpents.

“I think it’s a Basilisk. And I bet its venom could destroy all these Horcruxes we are meant to be tracking down.”

The room was completely silent as Barty’s words sunk in. 

“Dirty great snake,” Sirius grinned madly. “Bring it on!”  

Next part

#March 3 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #regulus black #james potter #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #sirius black #kreacher #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #pandora rosier #lily evans #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #regulus x james #regulus and james #james and regulus #james potter x regulus black #card

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

Beseeching (Hades [Disney] x Reader):

You sprang through the bushes, sending leaves and twigs flying in all directions trying your hardest not to look back at your quarry. You were panting hard, if you weren't such a magical creature then you would have been completely out of breath but somehow the little breath you had left kept you running. Your legs were aching a little but you needed to find a way out before you were caught. 

You then made the mistake of looking back to see the raging manticore was behind you; still doing his best to catch up with you. 

Shit! 

You put on a big burst of speed with your dryad strength and bounded over the river. You stumbled a little as you hit the landing and then continued with your sprint. You cast back another glance to see the manticore had easily caught up with you now only metres behind you. Panic seeped in your veins. You needed to escape.

Wait! 

“Hades!” you screamed as you leapt far over a fallen oak tree. “Please, I beseech you. I need you! Help ME!” 

As soon as you finished your rushed prayer, a ringing noise filled your ears. Not like bells but something else, like you had lost your hearing slightly. The air around you suddenly grew warm and then hot. A burst of fire exploded behind you making you stumble and fall. You landed hard on the ground with a grunt and looked back to see what had caused the sudden implosion. A tall, dark figure with bright blue flames for hair stood before you. Smoke curling around the feet. Hades had arrived. The manticore came to a screeching halt, stopping just in time. A fireball began to curl itself into manifestation in the god’s pale grey-blue hand. 

“Never.” he hissed. “Touch. My. Girl. AGAIN!” 

With the final word, he threw the fireball with one swift throw and it hit the manticore, hard in the face. The hybrid creature shrieked at the impact and leapt off and away into the darkness of the woods, snarling. 

Hades turned and looked at you in concern. “You okay, babe?” 

“Y-y-yeah. I think-think so.” 

He swooped down downwards you with a blur of smoke and brought you into his arms bridal style. “Next time, let me go with you.” 

“I will.” you agreed as he turned and teleported back to the Underworld 

He did not let go of you for the rest of the day. 

(The End)

#disney hades #disney hades x reader #hades x reader #disney hades x you #hades x you #hades x y/n #disney x hades x y/n #hercules 1997 #hercules disney #hercules disney 1997