#you pick this all up’ and she like gestured at All the Snow tracked in by (again) 30-40 children (a lot of snow)

[mobbothetrue]

i’m struggling to get to sleep a little, so i’m going back over childhood memories and stumbled across one that was almost a one hit KO.

I read a lot as a kid. My parents encouraged this, and got me a lot of books. Enough that, at one point, early in the morning and the only one awake, I was able to cover nearly every square inch of our living room in books. This probably led my parents to the realization that I, perhaps, had too many books, and we should get rid of some.

I was fine with that. I didn’t like to read books twice, you see, because I already knew where they were going and they didn’t entertain me anymore. That’s a philosophy that has changed, somewhat, with age, but that’s besides the point— there were a few books I wanted to keep. Strawberry Shortcake and something to do with mermaids. The few issues of the Beano I had. The Tin Soldier.

My parents boxed up a ton of books, and handed them in to my first grade classroom. Multiple large boxes of books. A comical amount of books. My teacher, Mrs. B, was very appreciative, But.

I don’t remember how this was uncovered. I don’t remember how I realized it, but… the tin soldier had been given away too. I didn’t mention it a paragraph ago, but it was my favourite book. I loved that book. It was about a tin soldier, missing a leg, in love with a princess or a ballerina. He got lost, or dropped, or maybe went on an adventure, I don’t recall, but in the end found his way back to the princess and was happy.

We did look through those boxes. Didn’t find it.

In sixth grade, I moved.

Well— technically, it was the summer between fifth and sixth grade that I moved. Still. In the years between, we never found that book. I had honestly forgotten about it. Sure, I had cried, but I did eventually find other books.

I guess word got around that I was moving. It was… something like the last day of school— not quite the end, but close. I remember snow on the ground, grey and slushy and mostly gone. I was just getting on the school bus to go home when Mrs. B came bustling out of the school.

She caught my backpack handle to get my attention, and I stopped on the steps of the school bus, looking down at her for what may well have been the last time I ever saw her. She had a book in her frail hands. The Tin Soldier.

She had never forgotten. She kept looking for that book. There was an apple sticky note on the front, addressed to me. It said some incredibly kind things, though most of the words are lost to memory. Encourage your creativity, I think, was the gist of it.

I just. Four years. She kept looking for that book for me for four years. I still have it, now, over a decade later. She must have had other, more important things to do. Four years! Where on earth had it been? I still don’t know, can’t imagine what could have possibly happened to it in the interim short of it slipping into a dimensional pocket. I loved that teacher.

#mobbtalks #not really a story with a point I suppose #my parents dd find another copy of the tin soldier for me after accidentally giving mine away #but the art was different and the story was slightly changed #other memories in this cycle include: spending recess stored away in a corner making an entire city out of little wooden blocks #attempting to do so again another recess only to have the teacher assign me as the buddy to the special needs kid. by which I mean she put #him in the same corner as me and told me to look after him #I remember being annoyed at having to share my city but he actually brought some really neat ideas to it #never really interacted again afterwards though. #I hated the teacher who was supposed to look after him though. she was an ass #like one day I came into school smiling and happy and kicked the snow off my boots Onto the Kick Snow Off Your Boots Mat #after like 30-40 other children had already done so- I was in the back of the line #and she came up to me and honest to god went ‘Why are you smiling.’ #so I said ‘today’s my birthday!’ because it was. I was probably turning seven #but that’s just a guess #and she said ‘I don’t care. do you think just because it’s your birthday you can get snow all over? I don’t want you to come to class until #you pick this all up’ and she like gestured at All the Snow tracked in by (again) 30-40 children (a lot of snow) #I remember scooping a couple handfuls outside and then shoving the rest under the mat because I’d be in trouble if I was late to class #went from smiling to tear streaked #… well that’s a sour spot to leave off a post about good memories on #uhhh what else can I recall #I used to get up super early but I’d get up even earlier for Christmas #one year I got up so early. I don’t know how early but I do know it was like WAY earlier than I had ever gotten up before #stared at the tree and the gifts underneath. considered if I could open one (just one!) secretly. decided against because my parents would #be so sad to miss any. stare at tree. stare at tree. vents make weird noise. oh shit the house is haunted and the ghost is gonna get me #ended up on the other side of the house wedges under a lawn chair (???? lawn chair = safety apparently) on top of a vent #(!?? the thing scaring me?!?) #and all three of our cats came out of the woodwork to square up around me. snooks who was honestly just the best no notes 10/10 cat #simba who’d wake me up on other days to beg for pets and then follow me around the house until other people got up #and Missy who Hated me and Hated Children and probably Hated Simba too (but not snooks because snooks was an Angel)

[venuslore]

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face. 

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors. 

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face. 

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up. 

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all. 

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later. 

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened. 

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway. 

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had. 

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face. 

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form. 

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be. 

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant. 

he could see you were in pain. 

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear. 

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe. 

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie. 

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this. 

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief. 

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning. 

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way. 

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand. 

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe. 

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you. 

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.” 

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway. 

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin. 

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin. 

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you. 

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile. 

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words. 

#— ꒰ ‧ ₊˚ vee daydreams ˖꙳‧ ꒱ #coriolanus snow ᰔ #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow one shot #coriolanus snow oneshot #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n

[ilovepedro]

mistletoe kisses | joel miller x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: M - 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.6k

Summary: You decorate the Christmas tree with some help from Joel and Ellie.

Warnings: established relationship, post-outbreak, Jackson era, canon divergent bc nothing bad ever happens to them ever 😁, sickening fluff, pet names (honey, darlin’, baby, babydoll, etc), allusions to smut, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: surprise!!! i know i said this would be up on the 22nd, but i’ve got something else that will be up on saturday 🤭 and i just couldn’t stop thinking about giving this man a happy ending, including healing and starting new traditions with his family 😔 i wish joel was real 💔 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @/saradika

Grumbling, he treks behind you, snow crunching beneath his work boots as he cautiously lugs the saw in his hands.

You’re rambling about finding the perfect tree in front of him, Ellie asking a million questions about the tradition.

He hadn’t expected, intended, to find a partner in Jackson. That is until he saw you, lugging a heavy crate of harvested crops across the town, your wagon having been broken. Tommy had told him about you, how you were single.

“She’s sweet as pie, brother. She might be good for you. Real pretty too.” Joel recalls the conversation he had with Tommy before he stormed off to the barn.

His Southern hospitality lay dormant until he saw you struggling. The urge to help creeped up on him. His typical quite observant demeanor tossed out the window as he approached you.

“Need some help?” He asks.

You wipe your brow, huffing before laying your eyes on the broad, handsomely rugged man in front of you - it’s Tommy’s brother. His name escaping you briefly.

You beam. “Oh. Sure. Thank you…” you trail off, slightly off guard by his kind gesture. His large gloved hand extends out towards you.

“Joel,” he finishes your sentence. “Thank you, Joel,” your hand shaking his, giving him your name. It rolls off his tongue with a certain sweetness, sending a flurry of butterflies to swirl in your belly. You knew of him, but knew he was also not a man of many words. You had yet to make acquaintances with him and who you assume is his daughter.

“You’re Tommy’s brother right?” You curiously ask, attempting to make small talk as Joel grunts while picking up the crate.

“Yes ma’am.”

Smiling at his Southern drawl, you run to help him carry one side of the heavy crate, feeling bad letting him do all the work.

“Uh uh, what do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, brow raised as you both stop in your tracks. “Helping you,” you state. He chuckles, shaking his head as he begins to walk.

“I asked if you needed help, darlin’. ‘Sides, what kinda man would I be letting a pretty girl like you carry all this shit by herself? My momma would have me by the head, ‘s for damn sure.”

You open your mouth to detest the notion that women need any assistance from men, but he stops you before you can.

“‘N I know ya don’t need any help from any man. You women are tough as shit, met a lota you over the years. Jus’ wanna help, ‘s all.” He kindly explains. You don’t understand why he wants to help, why he’s approached you specifically.

You’re aware that he’s typically very reserved, not leaving his house if he doesn’t have to. You’ve heard things about his past, and Tommy having confided in you at times, but the world has gone to shit. Who are you to judge? Everyone’s done some horrible stuff to stay alive.

He’s also painfully handsome. Opting to not object to his help and company, you sigh.

“Well, at least let me take some of the vegetables,” you protest, grabbing bunches of carrots. He chuckles quietly.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he mutters. The nickname catching you both by surprise as a sort of tension falls over you two.

Flashing him a grateful toothy grin, you gather the vegetables in your arms. He gives you a small smirk in return.

“So how are you liking Jackson? I don’t see you ‘round much,” you ask as you begin the trek to the dining hall.

“‘S good. Big change, learnin’ the ropes of patrol. Makin’ sure Ellie’s settlin’ in,” he states. “And Ellie’s…”

“My family,” he says firmly. You nod, internally assuming she’s not his biological daughter.

“Well, I hope you both settle in nicely.” He feels his heart soften at your kindness.

He thought you’d have shied away from him, that you’d have listened to what people are saying about him around town.

But you didn’t. You took to him kindly, warmly.

He’ll be damned if he told Tommy he was right about you, He’d never hear the end of it… but shit, was he right. You were so kind and open-minded, and so beautiful.

The both of you making small talk as you trek to the dining hall, Joel lugging the crate into the kitchen for prep as you follow behind. He places the crate on the floor with a grunt. You drop the carrots in the box afterwards.

Rising to his feet, he sighs as he wipes his hands on his jeans, you copying his actions.

“Thank you again, Joel. I really appreciate it,” you tell him again. “Ain’t no problem, darlin’.”

Silence fills the air, save for the clanging and clattering of utensils in the kitchen.

“Would you… would you like to have a drink sometime? As a, uh, form of repayment for helping me today,” you timidly ask. A small smile breaks out onto Joel’s face.

“You ain’t gotta repay me, darlin’. But I’d love to grab a drink with ya,” he says.

Smiling from ear to ear, you nod happily. “It’s a date,” you say, before slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes go wide. “I-I’m sorry. It’s not a date, it doesn't have to be. I mean, u-unless you want-,” you nervously ramble before Joel cuts you off.

“‘S a date,” he rasps. A soft smile on both your faces. The rest is history.

He wouldn’t trade that moment for the world, as he’s got you by his side now. He just didn’t expect that drink to lead him to trudging through the woods in the freezing early morning to cut down a tree.

He’d much rather be sleeping right now on his day off, but he can never say no to his girls.

Making your way through the woods, you and Ellie wind through the path while Joel stands and watches. There aren’t many trees, but just enough to scour from.

Not seeing any you like, you continue to walk down the path. “What about this one?” Ellie asks, standing next to a fir no taller than Joel.

Your eyes light up, a sparkly smile illuminating your face.

“It’s perfect. Great find, Ellie!” You yelp, high fiving the girl who’s equally excited.

“Hey, Joel!” Ellie shouts through her hands, her cheeks rosy and nose frosted. He clambers through the trees, saw in hand with his signature scowl. “Find one?”

“Mhmm,” Ellie says while beaming, you nodding in agreement. Joel sighs as he begins to saw down the tree. The trunk’s not very thick, the branches skinny, but still full enough to mimick the times before.

It falls to the snow covered ground, you and Ellie taking a few steps back. Joel stomps over to it, hoisting it up over his shoulder.

“Thank you, honey,” you whisper against his ear before placing a kiss on his patchy beard. His body flushing hot red from heat despite the cold air.

“Sure thing, baby,” he says bashfully, smiling a smile only reserved for you. Lacing his fingers with yours, you walk hand-in-hand back to the house with Ellie rambling ahead of you, vibrating with excitement.

“Joel, could you move it a little to the left?” You ask, hands clasped together over your lips. Joel grunts, red in the face as he shoves the fir to the left.

“A little more, please?”

Another grunt.

“A liiiitttllleee more.”

With a sigh, he shoves it once more.

“Perfect!” You clap. Joel rises to his full height, groaning as his bones crack and ache. You stride to him, leaning in for a kiss.

He could never stay annoyed at you.

“Thank you, honey,” you mutter with a dopey grin. Joel mirrors your expression, wrapping his hands around your waist and pressing his lips against yours. A saccharine kiss, your fingers curling in his grays.

His heart flutters as you sigh into him, your contentment radiating through your chest and into his soul.

When the fuck did his heart ever flutter?

“You guys gonna do that all fucking day or what?!” Ellie shouts, cutting ribbon and twine for the decorations.

You both startle at the sound of her voice, jumping in Joel’s arms. Joel glares at Ellie as laughter bubbles over your lips.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you call out. “Seriously, thank you, honey,” you tell Joel with a pat on his broad chest.

“No problem, darlin’,” he says softly with a swift kiss to your forehead before releasing you from his grasp. Joel strides into the kitchen to heat up some milk, with you rushing over to Ellie who sits at the dining table with an array of supplies.

You’re so good with Ellie, so patient with her while gently explaining how to string the dried oranges on the twine. She gets the hang of it pretty easily, holding it up and beaming with pride. Your giddiness mirroring hers, praising her as you waltz into the kitchen with Joel.

Placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you flit around him as you pop some kernels in a hot pan. Transforming them into popcorn to make more garlands, and working in comfortable silence alongside each other.

You dump the popcorn into a bowl, you place a tender kiss on his shoulder before returning to Ellie.

Joel feels warm, and it’s not from the heat of the stove.

He preps mugs of hot chocolate for all of you, the chocolate powder stale but still good - the novelty of the gesture still there and just as sweet.

Padding into the living room, the sight of you two making decorations at the table and placing them on the tree tugs at Joel’s heart strings. Remembering how he’d help Sarah decorate their tree every year. Swallowing his grief, he allows himself to enjoy this moment while remembering his daughter.

That’s something you’re teaching him - not to take moments, things, people for granted.

Despite the pain, he knows he’ll confide in you later tonight about it when you’re alone. He sets the mugs on the table, making you pop your head up to flash him a dazzling smile.

“Thank you, honey.”

“‘Course, baby,” he says with a wink. Your smile grows wider, Ellie looking up and rolling her eyes. She playfully gags, Joel smacking his lips as his smile morphs into a scowl.

“Knock it off, kid,” he scolds.

“You knock it off, old man. We’re working here, and you keep distracting my partner,” she retorts. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. You can’t help, but laugh at their banter.

“Sorry, Ellie. I promise I’m listening,” your laughter dissolving into giggles. Joel rolls his eyes before getting a fire going in the fireplace.

Standing back and taking in the scene playing out in front of him. Hot chocolate, a tree, decorations being strung upon it - how is this possible? What did he do to deserve this?

He shakes the thought from his head, not questioning the good thing – the very good thing – in front of him. Instead, he enjoys watching his girls flit around the tree.

Ellie excitedly attempts to place the makeshift star on the tree that she crafted out of some stray branches and extra paper she had in her sketch pad.

She can’t reach, being significantly shorter than the tree. Huffing in defeat, she shoots you a look - both of you thinking the same thing. She whips around, paper star in hand.

“Joel, wanna do the honors?” She asks, holding out the star. Joel swallows thickly, never having thought he’d be doing this again.

“Sure,” he softly says, taking the star from Ellie and setting it atop the tree. The three of you stand back, admiring your hard work in silence, as you tightly wrap your arms around Joel’s middle. He holds you tighter.

“Looks good,” he mumbles. You nod, soft smile on your face.

“Hell yeah, it does!” Ellie giddily yells before cutting off her next thought. “No way, is that hot chocolate?!” She shouts, rushing to the table to grab a mug.

“Yeah, careful kid, it’s still hot,” Joel warns, still wound up in your arms. Ellie blows caution to the wind as she gulps it down.

“Ellie, slow down! You’re gonna get a stomachache,” you scold lightly. “It’s hot chocolate! When the hell am I ever gonna come across this again?!”

“I’ll find some more, jus’ slow down! Gonna be all fuckin’ hopped up on sugar,” Joel begrudgingly says. Rolling her eyes, she glances at the clock. Her eyes bug out of her head.

“Shit! I told Cat I’d meet her at 6!” She shouts before gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, slamming the mug on the table.

“Be back later!” She says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Be back by 9!” Joel shouts. “Mhmm,” her tone dismissive. “I mean it, Ellie,” he warns.

“Sure thing, old man!” She says before reaching for the doorknob. “Ellie, 9 o’clock, okay?” You chime in, asking.

She turns around, taking in the both of you. “Okay,” she says with another roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh before heading out the door. It slams shut, making you and Joel wince.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Girl don’t listen,” rubbing his face as he grumbles.

“She’s just excited, can you blame her? Besides, she’s safe here, Joel,” you say, comfortingly rubbing your hands up and down his broad flannel-covered chest.

“I know. Just still getting used to all this,” he rasps. The two of you still stand in the doorway, wrapped up in one another before a grin breaks out on your face.

“Oh, could you help me with one more thing?” You beam at him. His brow quirks up in confusion. “‘Course, baby. What do ya need?”

You unravel yourself from his embrace, padding into the kitchen. He hears you clambering, his curiosity peaking. You return with something behind your back, smiling wider now.

Whipping the sprig of mistletoe from behind your back, you hold it above your head. His features softening.

Joel immediately recognizes what you’re holding, beaming at your antics.

“Could you help me hang this up please?” You ask, drawing out the last syllable, batting your lashes at him with a sly smirk.

“Y’know, if ya wanted a kiss, all ya gotta do is ask, babydoll,” he rasps as he takes it from you, not missing the chance to place a teasing kiss on your cheek. Waves of heat run through you from head to toe.

Joel hangs the mistletoe with ease on a nail that’s been conveniently placed above the kitchen entryway, right where you’re both standing.

You must’ve put it up there when he was on patrol a few days ago.

The red ribbon you tied around the plant stands out against the dark framing, the fire crackles in the background and illuminates the house.

“Well would ya look at that,” his voice low and husky as he locks his gaze with yours. A goofy grin on your face. “Huh. Guess you gotta kiss me now.”

“Don’t need mistletoe for that, babydoll,” he whispers. The two of you connect your lips with each other’s. Sighing into him, you finally have a moment alone with him today. You card your fingers through his hair, a satisfied groan escapes him.

You pull away breathlessly, both yours and Joel’s eyes heavy and glazed over.

“Ya know… Ellie won’t be back til 9. We’ve got some time left,” you teasingly whisper in his ear while he places a kiss to your neck.

“Lead the way, darlin,” he rasps, the two of you rushing upstairs.

just felt like writing some tooth rotting fluff for my Joely, i love him sm 😔

i hope y’all enjoyed! 🫶🏼 thank you for reading 🩷

tag list: @gracieheartspedro @sapphic-gardn @undrthelights @javierpena-inatacvest @nostalxgic @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @persephone-girl @harriedandharassed @its-nebuleuse

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 20 - Lavender 3

So. I know in my vote post. I mentioned that it probably won't have any Mihawk/Shanks. HOWEVER! My ass went and had to read some MiShanks stuff and now I can't get them out of my head. But I also do not want to leave Peppermint Tea behind because I love my little islander and her snowy devil fruit.

Anyways! I hope you enjoy the direction that I've chosen to go! I promise this will have a happy ending!

Warnings! Drinking! Shanks and Mihawk are mean and their past is peeked into!

Masterlist

A week is all it takes for Mihawk to track Shanks and his crew down. He finds the redhead in the cove of a chain of merchant islands near Sabaody and flairs his haki to get the Emperor’s attention. Shanks jerked his head up from where he’d been dozing in the mid-day sun. He rubs the crust from his eyes and gives the warlord a wide smile in greeting as he approaches.

“Hey, you! Just the guy I wanted to talk to,” Shanks smirks at his old friend, and he pushes himself up, leaning heavily on the tree he’d been dozing under. The warlord looks immaculate as usual, and Shanks doesn’t hide the way he casts his eyes over his bare chest.

Mihawk comes to a stop a foot away from the other man, far closer than he would usually deem to get nowadays. Dracule narrows his eyes at the other man, mood already soured.

“If you weren’t such a drunk buffoon, I would suggest a duel, if only so I could kick your ass,” Drcaule sneers at the redhead. The Emporer looks tired and hungover, not an unusual sight, though at least Shanks seemed sober enough to pay attention. It’s more of a struggle than it should be for him to keep his stance relaxed and nonchalant. Shanks knew more than anyone on the Grand Line how to push Mihawk’s buttons.

“Ohh, now you want to fight? You know I’d win, right?” Shanks sways straight, feet planted as his hand lands on the hilt of Griffon. The tension in the air skyrockets, getting the attention of the rest of the crew that lazes around.

The two of them had not fought since Shanks lost his arm, so having the Hawk's attention on him was riveting. He grins at Dracule, his own haki flaring in response to Mihawk's that is still raging at the redhead.

Beckman takes one look at the two men and rounds everyone up, directing them back to the Red Force. Who knew what was about to happen, and the first mate would rather not have any possible casualties if Mihawk and Shanks decided to actually duke it out.

Mihawk takes a half step forward, not backing down from the challenge that Shanks presents.

“I would like to see you try,” He sneers. Lip curling as he looks down his nose at the bum. The only thing that is keeping him from making mince meat of the younger man is a tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounds oddly like you, telling him how bad of an idea it would be to cause a scene. His snow angel surely wouldn’t be happy with him.

The two powerful men eye each other for a while, ready for the other to make the first move. Shanks sighs and removes his hand from his sword, shifting to gesture at the port town down the beach.

“How about we act like adults and go have a drink? My treat?” Shanks suggests, and Dracule huffs at him but dips his head in agreement. He follows Shanks back into town and to the first bar they come across. They order, and Dracule picks a table in the back, away from the rest of the patrons. Shanks pays like he agrees, and Mihawk takes that as a win.

“This is about that treasure, huh?” Shanks starts after taking a deep pull of his ale, “I just want to go ahead and let you know that you can’t make me stay away. She said that we’re more than welcome to come by her island.”

Dracule could strangle the smug prick across from him. Shanks speaks nothing but the truth, but Mihawk can’t help but bare his teeth in a silent snarl at the redhead’s self-satisfied tone, acting like he had already won whatever argument that had yet to be had. He hadn’t expected Shanks to bestow you with such a familiar nickname, and the older man doesn’t know how he feels about it right now.

“I’m not here to warn you to stay away from the island, Shanks,” Mihawk clears his expression back to one of uninterest and shelves the earlier thought for later. The Emperor can see the displeasure lurking in Dracule’s ringed eyes despite his best efforts, “I’m here to tell you to stay away from,_.”

“I found her first, she is mine, and I am not going to let you of all people ruin the relationship I have with them,” Dracule continues, tone deadly and not booking any kind of room for argument. He sips his wine, finding it subpar, “That girl is worth more to me than any treasure in this miserable world.”

Shanks watches his old friend. He commends the usually monotone man for speaking about his feelings, but the redhead has a stubborn streak bigger than an island, “We’re pirates, Hawkeye. I don’t think I should have to remind you what we do with treasure.”

He lets the threat linger in the air, the tension borderline suffocating, before Shanks breaks it by sipping from his mug once more, “Anyone else I wouldn’t have any kind of reservations about taking what I want, but we’ve been rivals for a long time, and we’ve known each other for even longer Mihawk. What’s one more thing for us to scuffle over?”

“_ is not some kind of prize to be won,” Dracule grumbles, anger leaking over as his hand tightens around his glass. He must consciously think about loosening his grip, or else he would have sent wine and glass exploding everywhere, “And if she were, I have already won.”

Shanks purses his lips and sits back in his seat, amused at having gotten such a rise out of Hawkeye. He wasn’t about to give up, though, but also wouldn’t go behind the warlord’s back. He had too much respect for the other man. He sips his ale and then sets the tankard away.

“You can't be there all the time, Mihawk,” Shanks points out quietly, and his tone has shifted, more to one of careful understanding, “Your duties as a warlord pull you away from her, don't they? Leaving her vulnerable and alone for longer stretches of time than you like.”

Dracule says nothing even as Shanks lays his greatest fears on the table for all to see. The redhead isn't wrong, and just admitting that rankles the warlord in the worst of ways. However, Mihawk wasn't above putting your safety above everything else in his life. There would only be so much he and perhaps Perona could do if Big Mom somehow found out that you still lived.

“Do you know who she is? Her connections?” Mihawks asks the redhead and gets his answer when a dark expression crosses Shanks’ face, “And my involvement?”

“I knew the moment she introduced herself. Is that your reason for wanting her, Mihawk? Are you trying to atone for your sins?” Shanks sends the other man a mean grin, and Dracule matches the look with a glare of his own. Shanks can remember the day of your island's destruction and can remember the disappointment he felt when he found out that Dracule had left to help Big Mom. It's mean, and he feels guilty for bringing it up, but Shanks invested himself into your happiness the moment you told him that he and his crew were welcome back to your island.

“I don't have to explain my actions to you,” Mihawk sets his empty glass away, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms over his chest, “Besides, you have no right to judge any of what I do.”

Shanks is an emperor for a reason. He answered to no one, and while he wasn't a monster like Kaido or Big Mom, the redhead had skeletons in his closet like everyone else. He raises his hand in surrender, reluctantly agreeing with Dracule on the subject.

“Does she know about it?” Shanks pressed, and his brows shot up in surprise when the warlord sniffed and looked away from him. Shanks narrows his eyes, disbelief thick in his tone, “You really haven't told her?”

“No, and I have no plans of doing so, either. Why should I bring up painful memories when she doesn't even remember what happened to her?” Dracule draws and crosses his legs like he has done no wrong in the world, “It's best that she never finds out.”

“Oh, that way she can't get upset with you and tell you to leave,” Shanks summarizes and nods like it makes all the sense in the world, but Mihawk can see the tension in his smile and the sarcastic way he slaps his knee, “Smart man, Mihawk, keeping that away from someone you love.”

“I do not love her. She interests me, and we have a mutually beneficial relationship,” Mihawk snaps at the redhead. Panic had swept through him the second Shanks had dropped the L word. Dracule Mihawk loved nothing in this world. He only invested his time into interesting subjects, and you were the most mysterious by far.

Shanks snorts in amusement, eyes rolling skyward at how stubborn his old friend was. This song and dance were familiar, one that Shanks had the displeasure of knowing intimately. The Emperor can't keep the bitter tone out of his voice when he next speaks. Shanks can't help but want to be mean right now.

“Of course you don't,” He hums and sweeps his hand through his hair, leaving the red strands tussled, “Then you shouldn't have any problem with me wanting her, then, right? Since she just interests you.”

An image of Shanks and his angel curled up together in front of the fireplace in his home, you leaning into the bare chest of the redhead as he helps you sip from a shallow bowl of sake. He sees you pulling Shanks in for a kiss, a sweet one full of yearning.

The imagery has Dracule seething with a feeling he hasn't felt in longer than he would care to remember, though any normal person would call it jealousy. He sucks in a sharp breath and shuts his eyes, fighting to control his breathing and his growing annoyance. This insolence that Shanks wears like a second skin has always been able to set Mihawk off. How he once called this man more than a friend, Dracule didn't know.

Shanks smirks, self-satisfied at seeing the other man break even further at his scathing remarks. He thinks that Mihawk deserves it. He also thinks that the other man is a big idiot for not telling you about your past. That information belonged to you. You deserved to know about it.

“You will not touch her, Shanks,” Mihawk repeated, tone laced with finality. He was done with this sham of a conversation. He should have known that Shanks would push on this. The Emperor matched his own stubbornness.

“I won't do anything that _ doesn't want,” Shanks snapped right back, dark eyes narrowed on the other man. Dracule wasn't the only one tired of this back-and-forth. He softened after half a second, shoulders relaxing as he leaned forward and rested his upper body on the table between them.

“I'm not trying to take her away from you, Dracule. I want to help you keep her safe, but I'm not doing it for free,” Shanks murmurs, and Mihawk sighs heavily when he feels defeat creeping in. He does not want to admit that Shanks makes nothing but good points. Mihawk may not trust the other pirate, not any longer, but it could have been someone far more ill-mannered than the laid-back Emperor.

“I want you to tell me when you will visit her island. I want your word that this is for her, Shanks. That you are not just doing this to spite me. That you aren’t going to run away from her like you’re known to do” Mihawk demands, and leans forward, voice dropping and becoming deadly, “Swear it to me.”

The warlord is bringing up the past. A gamble, but it gets the younger man’s attention, and Dracule feels a dark satisfaction rip through him when Shanks sits up straight and looks at him in surprise, though hurt swims in his dark eyes.

Mihawk knows how much he is giving in and giving up with this, but your happiness and your safety mean more to him than little else. He would have to contend with Shanks for your attention, and he despises the hurt and anxiety that curdled in his stomach at the thought of you leaving him for the redhead. Shanks was nothing but selfish, a problem that Mihawk knew too well. Dracule didn’t want to have to share you with the other man, but this wasn’t about him. If you wanted Shanks around, then the warlord would not keep him away.

Shanks meets his golden gaze, any trace of humor or teasing attitude gone from his expression, and he offers Dracule his hand. He thinks back to a time before none of this would ever be necessary, a time when he and Mihawk trusted one another explicitly, and the Emperor dearly wishes for that closeness. Shanks wonders if the older man ever wants the same, “I swear that this is for _.”

Dracule eyes the hand that is placed in front of him. An old tension had settled in the back of his mind, one that Mihawk hadn’t felt in well over twenty years when the two of them had been far closer. He feels that tension shimmer between them, and Shanks’ hand is familiar and warm when Mihawk finally takes it.

Shanks curls his hand tight around his old friends, holding on far longer than necessary just to feel the heat of Mihawk’s palm against his own. He grins when he catches sight of the dusting of red on the Hawk’s cheeks when he extracts his hand. While there is still much to hash out between the two of them, the air has settled, and their haki smooths along one another as if greeting an old friend. Shanks leans forward, eyes mischievous, “Let’s have another drink, Hawkeye. My treat.”

Dracule hears that little voice in his head again, though this time it matches the troublesome tone that lingers in Shanks’ voice, but Mihawk finds himself listening to it once again as he leans back in the creaky bench and crosses his legs.

“Get me something better this time.”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #opla shanks #opla x reader #opla mihawk x reader #opla shanks x you #shanks x you #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #mishanks #mihawk x shanks #opla dracule mihawk #peppermint tea

[steveshairychest]

Robin is Prince Steve's court mage.

She's instructed to protect him, to aid him and, although it wasn't a direct order from the King, she's to be his friend.

Wherever Steve goes, Robin is right behind him. She's there when his father makes him pick a girl to be his bride out of a line up, she's there to hold him as he cries when his mother's illness finally takes her, she makes it snow in his room when they've had a little too much of his father's expensive wine.

And she's there when Steve finds the boy in the woods.

He's been attacked by wolves, his horse lay motionless close by, and there's so much blood. Robin doesn't know what to do. She stands there shaking as Steve jumps off his horse and goes to the boy's side. He's still breathing, he reaches for Steve weakly and to Robin's surprise, Steve brings his bloody hand to his lips and kisses it.

"You're gonna be okay, Eds."

Steve turns to Robin. "You have to heal him, Robin, please." He's crying, he's crying for this boy that Robin has never seen. She knows everyone Steve is friends with, it's part of her job, but somehow Steve has kept this boy a secret from her. "I can't lose him, Robs, please!"

"Steve, I- I'm forbidden to use my magic on people outside of the royal family. You know this. Come we must go." The words hurt to say, but it hurt more to see the tears in Steve's eyes as he looked at her incredulously, like he didn't recognise her.

"Go, Steve- "

"No, Eddie, I'm not leaving you." He leans down and kisses Eddie's forehead before looking up at Robin, his eyes pleading for her to help. "I love him." He whispers, almost like he's afraid anyone but them will hear.

This is news to her, as far as she knew, Steve loved Nancy. She'd think he was lying but she can see it in his eyes, in the way his hands shake as he carefully brushes bloody hair out of the boys eyes and whispers comforting words to him.

She shouldn't do it, she'd be whipped in the town square for using something as precious as magic on anyone that wasn't royalty but she'd be hurting Steve if she walked away.

Robin sighs shakily and then shakes her head. She's sworn to Steve and everyone that he loves, which now included this boy currently bleeding in her prince's arms.

"Fuck, okay." She drops down to her knees next to the boy that had managed to steal her best friend's heart and and gently places her hands on his gaping wounds. "If I heal you, you have to promise to keep Steve safe." The guy gives a weak, shaky thumbs up. "There's no doubt we are being watched. We won't be safe." She's looking at Steve as she says this, she needs him to know the consequences, she needs him to know that if she heals him everything is going to change.

If he wants to be with Eddie they need to flee.

They both know the King would rather have no heir at all then have an heir that defies him, that goes behind his back and falls in love with a nobody.

"We'd already planned to leave tomorrow." Steve doesn't look at Robin when he says this and it hurts to know that he's been keeping so many secrets from her. They'd sworn to always be truthful with each other.

And now Steve has a secret lover that he was planning to run away with on his wedding day.

God, did Nancy know?

This was supposed to be a fun ride through the woods. They were supposed to pick flowers for Nancy and have a picnic under their favourite tree.

Now, everything is going to change because of one boy.

"Kinda bleeding out here." Eddie chokes and weakly gestures to his wounds.

"Right, yeah, sorry. This will hurt." She closes her eyes, ignores the feel of his blood on her hands, and focuses on stitching him back up. They won't have long after this.

Every use of her magic is tracked by the King's mage, they'll see this as an act of treason. She may be Steve's mage but she's also sworn to the crown, her magic isn't her own anymore.

"Will you come with us?" Steve asks, he's got Eddie's head in his lap now and he's using his very expensive shirt sleeve to gently wipe the blood off his face. Eddie winces every now and then as Robin sews him back together with her magic, she's only done this once before and it was when Steve drunkenly fell down the stairs after his engagement celebrations.

"I can't come with you, Steve." She says quietly and pulls her hands away from Eddie. He's still covered in blood but he's been healed, she even took care of the illness she felt whisper to her from within him. She needs him healthy, needs him to look after her prince. "They can track my magic, I will just give you away." She stands up and avoids Steve's tear filled eyes, she needs to be strong.

She walks over to where their horses are waiting and rests her forehead on her horse's face to hide her tears. "You may take my horse, only I can track her and that way I'll know where you are. You can send letters to my mother's house, I promise to read them all."

Giving away her horse is a big deal and Steve knows it.

The white thoroughbred is her familiar and one of the last shape shifters in the kingdom, a secret they have both kept since they were children. She's Robin's heart and soul and now she's giving her to Steve.

"I'll keep her safe."

They don't say much while they saddle up. Robin knows that if Steve even as much as looks at her with those big, sad hazel eyes, she'll break down, she'll beg him to stay or worse, she'll go with him. Every part of her aches to stay by his side but she knows it won't end well. The King would find them in a matter of hours.

Robin whispers quietly to her horse, tells her all the places they will be safe, while Steve helps a sore Eddie onto his horse, Robin forget to mention that his body will ache for a few days. "Can't believe I'm going for a ride on Prince Steve's stallion." Eddie says cheekily, his hair is matted with his own blood and there's dirt all over him, but Robin can see why Steve chose him.

She wishes she had more time to get to know the man Steve loves.

"Don't say good bye." Steve whispers into her hair, his arms crush her into an almost painful hug but it's okay, she's squeezing him just as tight. "We'll see each other again. I swear it."

"My heart will be with you wherever you go." She whispers, it's taking every ounce of control she has to not fall apart in Steve's arms. Her whole life is being tipped upside down and there's nothing she can do to stop it. She wishes there was some way for them to stay, wishes her magic was strong enough to keep them hidden in the kingdom but it's not.

She'd seen the King's mage's crow fly over head. It wouldn't be long until her treachery was reported to the King, until the King knew that his son is in love with someone that won't be able to continue his royal blood line.

Eddie would be killed if they stayed. Steve would he locked away and Robin doesn't want to think about what would happen to her.

She pushes those thoughts to the back of her mind. She needs to focus on these last fleeting moments she has with her best friend.

"Is there anything else you've been keeping from me that you'd like to share before you ride off into the sunset with your secret boyfriend?" She jokes through tears. They pull away from the embrace and rest their foreheads together, just like they used to as kids. She doesn't know when it became their thing but it soothes her aching heart to just be in the same space as her best friend.

Steve huffs out a laugh and says, "I never loved Nancy, she never loved me. She has eyes for someone else. You should comfort her in my absence." Steve pulls back fully and winks, his lips pulled up in a cheeky smile.

"Oh my god."

"She speaks fondly of you. Very fondly."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner!" Robin's smiling now, a blush staining her cheeks as she playfully shoves Steve's shoulder, but then her smile falters. "Does she know you're leaving?"

Steve nods and kicks a rock. "She met Eddie last week, she told me to go, she's packing my bag as we speak but I guess I'm not going to have time to go back and get it." He reaches for her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. "That's why I wanted to go for a ride today, I was going to tell you everything and introduce you to Eddie but then the wolves got him." He looks over his shoulder at Eddie, who is talking to Steve's horse and sharing an apple with him. Gross. "Which I feel wasn't a coincidence."

Robin knows it wasn't a coincidence. Wolves don't live in this part of the woods, there's wards to keep them out. They'd have to be let in.

She doesn't want to tell Steve that.

So, she links their arms and walks him over to her horse. "He's a bit odd. Are you sure he's the one?" She says while watching as Eddie leans too far forward to feed the horse and nearly slips off.

Steve smiles fondly at him and nods his head, his crown glitters and catches the light that peaks through the trees. "I'm sure. You don't have to worry."

He hoists himself up on her horse and then leans down to press a kiss to Robin's forehead. "Take care of yourself, Robin. Thank you for everything. I'll see you again soon, yeah?"

They need to play pretend, need to ignore the truth that weighs heavy on them both.

That this really is good bye.

"I'll see you soon, my Prince." She whispers and steps away from the horse. "Tell me all about your adventures when we see each other again."

Steve inhales sharply and tries to hide the wobble of his bottom lip with a smile. "Until then."

And then they're off, riding side by side through the thick forest. Steve's laughter echoes around her as Eddie takes the lead and smiles back at Steve, his smile is bright and dazzling. He will keep her prince happy and that comforts her, even as she watches them slowly disappear.

She kisses three of her fingers and then blows the kiss out towards the retreating figure of Steve, her best friend, her brother, her soulmate.

"Good bye, my heart."

#DID ANYONE SAY FANTASY AU ?!% #this is really long im sorry #platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #steddie #st4 vol2 #fantasy steddie #eddie munson #stobin

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

Sequel to Monster Like Me

Word Count: 5170 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: mentions of prison treatment, self-hate, a gun, hanging, active murder scene, and (obviously) SPOILERS for Tim Burton's Wednesday tv show on Netflix. Note: NOT A TYPICAL HAPPY ENDING

Since their first encounter, (y/n) has found herself visiting Tyler more often than she would like to admit. The past twelve months have seen the two draw closer as they try to heal old wounds. But just when there seems to be a light at the very dark tunnel they both crawl through, a threat on Tyler's life forces (y/n) to choose whether to let justice reign... or embrace the monster inside.

Welp... guess I have to eat my own words because we're here now. That being said, thanks for the support on the first piece, people. I do appreciate all the love and nice comments and so this is for you since I can't get this story out of my head!

The snow crunches underfoot as they walk their daily route around the prison exterior.

It became regular every time she came to visit for them to go on walks. They had picked up the routine six months ago when the prison stopped putting him in straight jackets and the resident therapist suggested gentle exercise would do him some good.

When (y/n) had first heard the news, she hadn't hesitated to drag him outside to feel the summer sun on his skin. She would never forget the look that had blossomed on Tyler's face when he had stepped outside for the first time in who knew how long. It wasn't exact joy, more of an awestruck disbelief. Like a dream he never thought would come true.

Perhaps it was that very look that had been engrained in her brain from that day on that drew her back more often. Six months after her first visit she only returned twice: the first time was two months after, being her scheduled check-in with the boy for clinical reasons, the second a special request from Sheriff Galpin himself. But after six months, after that summer day, she found herself visiting more and more until she came by the prison once a week.

Every Thursday she booked off to visit. Although, (y/n) couldn't exactly deny it was just for professional reasons anymore.

'I think the weather has finally had enough of seeing our faces,' he says, his breathy laugh floating like a ghost past his flushed lips. His cheeks bleed a demure scarlet.

'On the contrary,' she counters, her eyes wandering across the white landscape surrounding them, 'I think it's rewarding us.'

'How so?'

'Don't you see it?' She gestures with her arms to the snow that blankets the ground, that nestles in the tree tops, that glistens in individual flecks off the remaining leaves. 'It's beautiful.'

Tyler huffs, only sparing the view a moment of his warm gaze before it returns to her, charming smile stretching his lips. 'Guess I hadn't noticed with you being beside me.'

Her cheeks flush. He's still got it.

The flirting wasn't a new concept to either of them. Between their snarky banter and clinical catch ups, they always managed to sneak in a comment or two that had the other blushing. It was like some sort of competition: who could rile the other up so much that they get turned on first?

But it was always something that appealed to their dark humour. Recently, though, the comments had become... sweet, nice even.

The worst part, however - the part that had her truly sick to the stomach - was how genuine he sounded. How she sounded in return.

Her gaze locks with his. Hell help her, no wonder even Wednesday fell for him for just a moment. His eyes, his hair, his voice...

He was intoxicating.

'Achoo!'

The sudden sneeze shatters the bubble the two had formed, forcing them to stop in their tracks and drawing their attention to the accompanying guard that walks twenty-odd metres behind them. It is the same guard that has accompanied them since they insisted on walking outside the prison yard. He looks elsewhere, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his coat casually. Despite his relaxed demeanour, (y/n) knows a gun hides within the giant pocket of his coat, ready to draw if Tyler tries anything.

There once was a time I was willing to pull a gun on him. In some sense, she still is. A gun (approved by the prison) lays in her own coat pocket right now. But things have changed. She is not so certain that she would be able to do it with as little hesitation as she once had, with as little guilt and regret.

Tyler pulls at the collar of his orange jumpsuit that is tucked under a tattered trench coat lent by the prison. More specifically, he pulls at the black shock collar strapped to his neck - the new substitute to the constant gene-repressant drugs since he has been on 'good behaviour' according to the prison warden and therapist.

'Might as well be summer with this thing on,' he says, his tone betraying a bitterness (y/n) had come to associate with the boy. 'Darn thing gives a whole new meaning to being hot under the collar.'

'Oh, don't lie,' she scolds. 'You're practically a Smurf you're that blue.'

'It's called the Prison Look, where orange and blue are the new black.'

Despite the dark meaning, an amused smirk twitches at her lips at the joke. But his shivering form prompts her to unravel the white scarf that warms her neck without a second thought.

'Here,' she says gently, raising herself onto her tippy toes to reach behind Tyler once, twice, then tug and tuck the reminder of the scarf into the top of his jumpsuit. For good measure, she tugs the tattered jacket as much as possible over the jumpsuit, as if to trap as much warmth as she could inside.

'There,' she breathes out, looking up at him once more. 'Now you won't freeze to death before they declare you fit to return to society.'

His eyes glow under the winter sun much like a fireplace. She senes his awe, his wonder as he scans her with those eyes. But she also senses uncertainty, doubt.

'I wouldn't waste your breath,' he mutters. 'I've spent six years here now, and not once have they indicated at potentially releasing me.'

'Because up until now you haven't given them a reason to consider it.'

'Well maybe that's because I never had a reason to consider it.'

The way he looks at her now, she swears he can hear her erratic heartbeat with his heightened hearing thanks to his Hyde heritage. His sadness and pain threatens to consume her, and she is oh so tempted to take it all away like he had begged for almost every time she visited.

Another emotion stops her, though. Between the sadness and pain, she senses a glimmer of light. And as she looks in his eyes now, she sees it.

Hope.

(Y/n) forces herself to breathe, to steady herself before she speaks again, not knowing where this conversation is heading. 'So you have a reason now?'

He doesn't reply straight away. Instead, his gaze flickers down to her lips then back up. It was only a second, but the movement has her breath hitching as he some steps closer to her.

Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

'Maybe,' he whispers, his words taking shape in the form of warm mist that grazes her lips. Like the first time she got this close to him, back in the interrogation room with only a gun between them, she finds herself wanting to lean in more to him, desperate to feel warmth, but more importantly his warmth.

'You really think I can ever go back?' he asks, and the desperate plea in his voice is so genuine and hopeful it threatens to break her heart.

Based on his past actions alone, absolutely not. Nothing would ever be the same as it was back then. But many nights (y/n) had dreamed of Tyler, of him being released and starting over somewhere else.

Some nights she dreamed he would take her with him.

Wednesday scolded her any time she brought up Tyler in casual conversation, saying, 'You'll surely regret ever involving yourself with him.'

She knows he is trouble, that he still doesn't regret what he did no matter how sick it was. But that same sick, twisted part inside her couldn't find it in herself to care.

'Maybe,' she finds herself repeating, because she doesn't want to see his hope die in his all-consuming eyes. 'You're a good person, Tyler. It would be a shame to see you waste away because of someone else's choices.'

'A waste for who exactly ? Society? Or you?'

Before she can answer, an alarm pings inside her coat pocket. She waits a breath, thinking it is just her imagination. But when it goes off again, she forces herself to step away from Tyler - to let go of Tyler - and retrieve her phone from her pocket.

It is the timer she sets for an hour every time she comes. Time truly does fly when you're... occupied, I guess.

'Time's up?' Tyler asks, though he knows what the alarm means by now.

She nods, turning around to call to the guard. 'Ready when you are.'

He nods in reply, silently walking up to them to lead them back to the prison. Before he reaches them though, Tyler flashes (y/n) a sad smile.

'Guess I'll see you next week?' he asks, his voice a mixture of light amusement and hope.

The moment between them has passed, and who knows if she'll ever get it back. But (y/n) finds herself smiling in reply. 'Aw, you going to miss me or something?'

'You know I will. You're the only monster like me I know.'

~~~

(Y/n) cannot drive to the prison fast enough.

A week has passed since their walk in the snow and she can no longer deny her excitement she feels with every impending visit. But this morning she received a call from a certain Sheriff Galpin that melted her mind into irrationality.

She doesn't bother correcting her park as she pulls up to the entrance of the door, nor does she bother locking the car, for she is already racing into the foyer.

'Where is he?' she declares as she enters.

A guard immediately stops her as she attempts to pass through the declaration zone. 'Ma'am, you need to go through standard procedures before you are allowed through.'

'You have no right to do this to him. No right!'

'What is going on?' It is the warden. He's a tough and burly-looking fellow, his stature emphasised more so by the petite figure of the prison therapist that follows behind him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

(Y/n) turns to him, fury coursing through her like wildfire. 'That's a question I should be asking you. What is going on with Tyler?'

He releases an exhausted sigh, but she senses no regret or guilt from him as he says, 'So you heard. Sheriff Galpin, no doubt.'

She nods, and it takes all her self control to not punch his pudgy face in. 'He's so close, sir. I respectfully ask that you rethink this course of action.'

'I'm sorry Miss Addams, but it's not my call. The higher ups still consider him a danger that needs to be stopped.'

'He hasn't turned, let alone hurt anyone, in six years! He hasn't done anything to warrant your distrust.'

'And in those six years he also hasn't done anything to warrant our trust, either.' It is the therapist this time, her clipped words clinical and heartless. 'I'm sorry, but his lack in progress is unsettling, and I'm afraid he cannot be saved.'

(Y/n) cannot believe what she is hearing. Each word they speak breaks her heart a little bit more than she liked to admit. 'So you would subject a 22-year-old boy to be executed like some medieval criminal?'

When Sheriff Galpin called her saying Tyler was to be hanged today, she never could've expected the panic and terror that floods her entire being now, that turned her veins icy and halted her heart for only a moment.

She knew from the start that this would always be Tyler's end. Even as they drew closer and she hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't happen. But she should've known better, even as her judgement had been clouded by emotions.

She should've known that monsters don't get happy endings.

(Y/n) turns her blazing gaze upon the therapist. 'And you're one to talk. Isn't it your job to help people like him? To fight for every life?'

The therapist smiles sadly at her, her calm demeanour angering (y/n) more. 'You don't need to feel guilty for him, (y/n). We both did our best. Some people just don't want to be saved.'

'Miss Addams,' the warden stepped back in, 'it is not our decision to make. I am simply following orders.'

Furious tears threaten to sizzle down her cheeks as she looks between the two. Logically, morally, what they are talking about doing is right. The clinical, factual side of her is partial to those demise.

And who doesn't love a good hanging?

The hollowness behind the clinical facade, however, is so strong that she feels as if she is being torn in two. But she is surrounded, she is the minority in this majorly wrong operation.

She sucks in a deep breath, blinking rapidly to force the tears away. 'Of course. But... can you show me to him? Perhaps the thought of death row will make him see some sense. I'm sure his dad would appreciate that closure.'

The warden contemplates her for a moment. She doesn't look away from his scrutinising gaze. She doesn't even blink. My sister and I are more alike than I thought.

A moment later, the warden sighs in defeat. 'Of course, Miss Addams. If you'd care to follow me...'

The walk to the yard is blurry, (y/n)'s mind numb with defeat. When they finally reach the open area, the sight of the huge hanging platform doesn't bring her the joy she thought her first official hanging would bring.

The ones she and Wednesday subjected their dolls to as children don't count.

Instead, she resists calling his name when she sees Tyler being lead towards the stairs that will lead him to the platform. Which will lead him to his imminent death.

'Hey!' The warden holds a hand that tells the guards to stop. When they do, he turns back to (y/n). 'You have two minutes.'

She nods her thanks before jogging over to Tyler, the guards escorting him taking a few steps away to give them some privacy.

'Hey,' she says.

'Hey,' he replies, lips twitching with the itch of a smile though his eyes don't reflect such casualness. They are almost as dead as the day she first visited him a year ago. No fireplace warmth to take away the sting of Winter's cool breath blowing through the yard, through her clothes.

She doesn't know where to begin. For a year, she has stood by this boy. For a year, he has shown that he is still the kind and loving boy she first met all those years ago. For a year, she has spent her time and attention and - dare she say it - heart to heal this boy, only to realise somewhere along the way he was helping her heal too.

And now he will be slaughtered like some farm animal.

For a girl who prides herself on her eloquent and succinct way of speaking - how her tongue was more like a rapier, and wielded words with deathly precision - she now finds herself in the most discombobulating situation where she cannot speak her mind.

'I just heard this morning,' she says, the words coming out strained like she just ran a marathon. 'I came as quickly as I could. I... I...'

'It's okay,' he offers, noting her struggle for the right words. 'Honestly, I didn't expect you would come.'

Her brows scrunch with confusion. 'Why wouldn't I come? It's the day I always come.'

He shrugs, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle ever so slightly. 'Don't know. I guess... If my own dad wasn't going to come to my hanging, then why would you?'

It is the genuine tone of his inquiry that makes the statement all the more heart breaking. He is almost nonchalant about it all, his face a rigid portrait of nothing. Void of emotion, his exterior is the perfect deflection of the deeply hurtful emotions that lurk in the shadowed parts of his heart.

(Y/n) tries to remain relaxed in the face, cool and collected in her stature. But when she speaks, her words are tighter than she intends. 'But I am here,' she finds herself saying, stepping closer to him and placing her hands on his. As if her presence alone isn't enough to convince him of the reality that she truly is there, standing by him.

His hands are ice under hers. Perhaps that is why he takes in a sharp breath before huffing out a quiet chuckle. It isn't joyous, nor sad. It is a melancholic sound that echoes in her heart in a way she doesn't appreciate.

'You are certainly one of a kind, (y/n) Addams,' he says, and it relieves her to see some life return to his chestnut eyes. 'And seeing as I'm now on death row, I see it only fitting that I tell you my one regret in this miserable, horrible, bleak life.

She cannot help but roll her eyes. 'Oh don't be so dramatic. Don't tell me now, of all times, you have grown a conscience.'

'Come on, I'm trying to be serious for once, Addams. Can't you let me have this one?'

She wants to playfully argue more, wanting to draw out these two minutes as much as possible, but can't find the words to do just that. So instead, she breathes out a shaky laugh and concedes her loss with a nod.

'Fine. What is it?'

The chains rattle again as he reaches into one of the pockets in his jumpsuit, his hands rifling around for a second before pulling back out. As one hand clenches tightly around something when he is finished, he uses the other one to pull her own hands out in front of her. A conglomeration of emotions shoot through her every fibre as his fingers brush her palms, gently open and letting the small object float softly into her awaiting hands.

It's a small square piece of paper, with white on one side and on the other side-

No. Not a piece of paper.

(Y/n) recognises the object now. It's a photograph. Of the two of them. Well, sort of.

The image itself is blurry, like the photo had been taken while in motion. Usually an image like this would make her cringe, having spent countless hours researching and practicing and taking notes on taking the perfect shot. This photo disregards all the rules and formats of proper photography.

Despite the poor quality of it, the smiles both her and Tyler wear are clear as day. She remembers the day it was taken. It was about six months ago back at the beginning of summer when she had brought in her camera because why not, and Tyler had managed to steal it from her bag without her looking.

The picture captures the moment she had realised and had tried to tackle the camera from his grasp but he would not relent. Somewhere in the chaos of it all the picture had been taken. After taking her camera home and looking through her photos, seeing that one in particular brought an unfamiliar yet familiar feeling into her heart. She didn't know what it was, but she knew she wanted Tyler to have the photo. So the next visit came, and she gave Tyler the photo.

She hates how her throat constricts at the sight of the photo once more, how she feels herself slightly shaking at the thought that he kept it all these months, right there with him.

'That I couldn't give you more moments like this,' he mutters so deathly quiet (y/n) thinks for a moment she imagined it. 'After all, there are not many monsters like us in this world. Perhaps if I hadn't been so pre-occupied with Wednesday, with all that drama back then... perhaps things would've been different for us.'

It confuses her when a water droplet plonks onto the picture in her hands. Until she raises a hand to her face and feels a wet trail from her eye run down her cheek and chin and realises that it is a tear.

She is crying.

The last time she cried was six years ago when Wednesday battled Crackstone at Nevermore and somehow came out of it alive.

(Y/n) finally looks up at Tyler to find a similar mixture of shock and confusion on his own face, probably also not expecting her sudden reaction.

She's aware they have no time left, so she swallows the threat of more tears and nods in agreement. 'Yes. Yes, I believe they would've.'

Footsteps draw closer to them, and suddenly Tyler is being taken up the stairs of the platform to be fitted with the noose. (Y/n) looks up but isn't really watching, her mind racing with thoughts, her heart thumping too loudly and with too many emotions. What she wouldn't give to feel someone else's emotions right now.

It is true what they say: the quiet ones usually are the ones that feel the most.

She watches as the noose is fitted around Tyler's neck, how the executioner hides behind a black cloth so he remains an unnameable murderer who kills in the name of justice.

Justice. She used to believe in justice. It is why she agreed to help Tyler in the first place. It is why she didn't argue about Tyler's treatment at the prison for so long. But where had it gotten him? No trial, and an unfair execution of life.

'I truly am sorry, Miss Addams.' (Y/n) hadn't noticed the warden come up beside her, the therapist in tow. 'But people like him... well, people like him just can't be saved.' They look up at the platform too, but now she looks at them, irritation morphing her features.

'He didn't even get a fair trial,' she mutters, because that is all she can manage without screaming. 'Sounds like you didn't want to save him rather than the other way around.'

The warden huffs but doesn't spare her another look. 'Look, if you think a psychotic monster with no regrets about killing can be saved, then you're just as crazy as he is.'

His words aren't meant to mean much; a simple, blanket statement at best. But there rings a bell of truth in them that flips a switch inside (y/n). Like when one turns off the lights of their house to go to sleep, all thought and feeling disappeared, leaving a void of darkness of hollowness.

With the light gone, there's nothing stopping the monster inside from coming out to play.

She turns her head with a cool grace to look upon the platform. The executioner is ready to pull the lever, Tyler is set to fall. On the warden's call, it will all go to hell.

(Y/n)'s hand slips into her coat pocket, fingers folding around the desired item like it was made for her hands alone. 'You know what, warden?' she says, voice as steady as her grip.

'What?'

'I think you might be right.'

A gunshot rings through the yard before he can say the word, and another follows close behind. The warden and executioner both hit the ground simultaneously, identical shots in their heads.

The therapist screams but is cut off as (y/n) fires another bullet and finds its target too. The surrounding guards of the yard run towards her, their stunned hands fumbling with the guns they never thought they would have to use that are stuck in their holsters. But she clocked them all the moment she stepped into the space, and she is pulling the trigger faster than they can call for help.

Fifteen seconds. That is all it takes before the yard is quiet once more.

The void suddenly closes up, and the lights inside her turn back on. A tightness constricts her chest like a python constricts its prey. Ever so slowly, her heart aches more and more at the horror around her, the horror she brought upon them all.

I turned it off. The realisation is both terrifying and exhilarating, fuelling her with a kick of adrenaline that spurs her towards the platform stairs and up them. She finds Tyler's face in front of hers before she can fully comprehend what she is doing.

'(Y/n),' Tyler says, his eyes wild and cloudy - a reflection of the confusion and shock she senses from him. 'What are you-'

'We don't have much time,' she says, bending down to the executioner to fish through his pockets. She eventually finds a set of keys and returns to Tyler to work on his wrist and ankle shackles. By a miracle, the key fit the key hole of the shock collar around his neck, too. It makes a heavy thudding noise as it hits the wooden platform. Once he is free, she throws the noose off his neck and pulls him off the trap door. 'Other guards will have heard the gunshots by now. We've got to move.'

'Wait.' Tyler's grip on her forearm is both strong but gentle, firm but comforting. His eyes search hers, however, much like a bloodhound, his gaze insistent and headstrong. 'Care to explain what happened just now?'

'Tyler, we don't have time for this.'

'Fine, let me rephrase: Tell me what in the hell just happened, Addams.'

She looks frantically around. No guards yet, but she knows they will be there soon. But when she looks back at Tyler, she cannot find it in her to deny his eyes.

'I turned it off,' she says so quietly it is almost a whisper. 'I turned my humanity off... and on again.'

Tyler looks her up and down, his face relaxing with shock and surprise and something else she can't quite put her finger on. 'I thought you said you couldn't do that.'

'I couldn't... until now.'

'How, then? Why?'

'Seriously, Tyler? Can't we talk when I get you out of the prison?'

'Wait, slow down. You're breaking me out?'

She rolls her eyes. Her patience is wearing thin. And so is their time. 'Damn, I would've thought me killing a bunch of people then breaking you out of chains would've been a big enough sign, but I guess not.'

'But why, Addams? Why didn't you let me d-'

'Because I love you, damnit!'

The silence that stretches between them is weighted with the echo of her words, bouncing off the walls and tiles of the yard and coming straight back to them. Only their heavy breaths from their heaving chests breaks up its monotony.

Tyler swallows thickly, his voice tight with an invisible restraint. 'You what?'

She clenches her jaw with a force so strong she might've broken her teeth had she not opened her mouth to reply. 'I know I shouldn't... but I couldn't let you die, Tyler. Not when I know you're good deep, deep inside. Not when you've worked so hard for a second chance. Not when I still needed to say that I love you.'

Her gaze falls from Tyler's prying eyes over the edge of the platform. Pools of blood bloom around each corpse's head, and from the angle and height she stands from, the whole thing looks like a painting.

It is a sick and twisted outlook, but one that she cannot help but relish in knowing this is all wrong wrong wrong. She knows her humanity is back on because she can feel. Tyler's shock, the confusion and panic of close by prisoners. She even senses the emptiness where emotions should've been in the corpses, their hearts still and their souls long gone.

But among all the emotions she feels, cannot find it in herself to feel sorry for any of it.

'I never thought I'd fall for anyone,' she continues, turning back to Tyler. 'Let alone you of all people.'

Something shifts in Tyler's demeanour as they lock eyes. His gaze darkens as he steps closer, and she senses another emotion festering inside him. This time, however, she knows what it is. It is the same emotion she's been feeling for a while now unknowingly. But she recognises it all the same.

Want. All-consuming and disorienting and intoxicating want.

'And who am I? To you?' His breath fans her face he is so close, his voice sultry and promising danger. But despite the lights, the monster is inside the house now. And it lives for danger.

'A monster like me,' she breathes out before Tyler grabs the back of her head and slants their lips over one another.

A primal hunger courses through her every nerve as she grabs at him, her hands not seeming to pull him close enough despite how their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The taste of mint and fresh air taints her lips as she tries to devour him, her hunger for him insatiable. She senses the feeling is mutual as he kisses her with just as much fervour and want.

His hands in her hair and down her back, his lips on hers, the groans and growls that escape him when she bites his lips. It is simply delectable.

But underneath the hunger and desire, there is a genuine passion that burns so intensely it pulls a squeak from (y/n). What they feel is true and raw and overwhelming right despite the wrong circumstances. A sense of relief and joy overwhelms her at the thought.

The door to her home has finally been opened to guests and she is just so happy to have a friend.

A monster like her no less.

When they pull apart, all she wants is to pull him back in for more. It doesn't help that his eyes burn with life again despite the lustful darkness that surrounds them. 'You are... full of surprises, (y/n).'

She can't help the small smile that twitches at her lips at the tone of surprise. 'As usual, you underestimate me, Tyler.'

'Something I will never do again.' He pulls her back in for another mind-numbing kiss, but this one is backed by relief and a gratitude that threatens to break (y/n)'s heart. When he pulls away, he keeps their foreheads touching, his panting breath hot against her cold skin. 'I never thought I'd find someone like me, someone with a monster inside them.'

'I guess fate works in mysterious ways.' Distant, muffled shouting echoes down the hallways that lead into the yard. (Y/n) pulls away from Tyler, her mind racing with plans on how to escape this place. Well, there is no going back now. 'Come on, lets get out of here.'

Soon enough the news will get out: Prison staff killed in monster breakout. She knows Wednesday will never forgive her. Her family will never forgive her. But she has never felt quite right playing the role of the good guy.

Perhaps she was always meant to play the villain. And with Tyler by her side, she finally feels at home.

The monster inside has been unleashed, and she has no plans on locking it up ever again.

#wednesday netflix #wednesday #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin #netflix #Wednesday addams #Tyler galpin x Addams!reader #villain lover #enemies to lovers #romance #netflix wednesday #teen romance #slowburn #hunter doohan #writing #my writing #fanfiction #wednesday fanfic #fictional boyfriend #trauma #family trauma

[redredredisdead]

Wildflowers and wild songbirds

Warnings: Mostly just intense fear from Lucy Gray

Word Count: 2259

Chapter 1

She ran. Ran like a fire was licking at her feet. Her feet barely touched the ground as she fled from the chaos that the seemingly peaceful afternoon could bring. The echoes of the gunshots still rang through her ears, the memory of the moment was all she could think about besides running. But now she was alone in the wilderness. A wilderness she hadn't been in since both her parents had been alive.

The Mockingjays still following her seemed to mock her panting others the gunshots and a few even mocking her singing. She never minded the Mockingjays but now she wished she could get a few moments of peace. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest, reminding her of the likely fact that Coriolanus Snow was still trying to track her, to kill her. That little thought made her keep running, no matter how much her lungs burned. It didn’t matter what she faced in the arena, Coriolanus scared her more than any tribute. 

Coriolanus Snow. A boy she loved. A boy who claimed to love her, and maybe he did, but she would never know. She shook the thought of the man with the cold, icy blue stare and focused on the ground before her. So she ran, ran until she couldn't. She ran until her lungs threatened to burst. She ran until her legs gave out.

Her body shook with exhaustion, and if she was being honest, also fear. She lay there vulnerable and exposed, surrounded by the golden hues of the setting sun. And despite herself, despite the fear that coursed through her veins she managed to close her eyes. She told herself that it would only be for a few minutes. But once her eyes closed she couldn’t stop herself from going gentle into that good night.

She stirred from her unconsciousness as the light flickered through the thick canopy. Confusion clouded her mind before the memories of the day before came rushing back. But before she could gather her bearings, voices broke through the silence, which all but startled her awake.

Panicked and slightly disoriented, she scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering against her chest. She recoiled instinctively, fear was pulsing through her much like the day before. As the voices got closer she quickly rose to her feet. If her presence wasn’t known before it definitely was now. The noise she made caused the group of people to look over in her direction. 

There were four of them, three boys and one girl. They all had guns, all of which looked primitive like the type that were produced during the Dark Ages. They all looked at her very confused. If her times in the games taught her anything it was to think fast. Quickly and with trembling hands, she seized a nearby rock and hurled it at this group of strangers barely missing one of them. 

“Stay back!” She yelled, her voice hoarse. She picked up another rock. “I won’t go back! I won’t”. There was no doubt that her voice sounded fearful. The group all looked at each other before the girl sighed and stepped forward. 

The figure lowered her gun before speaking, “Listen we don't intend-”

This time her aim was true as it hit the girl on the shoulder. “Ow! Why-Why did you do that?” The girl seemed more confused than mad or hurt. 

“Stay back!” She repeated, her voice trembling with adrenaline and fear. She clutched another rock, her knuckles white. 

The girl stepped forward cautiously, raising a hand in a pacifying gesture. “We don’t intend any harm,” she began again, her tone calm but cautious. She watched as understanding crossed her face. “You're from the districts…aren't you?” 

Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, her mind racing Memories of the arena and of Snow flooded her thoughts, each one a lesson in survival.

“I can’t trust you,” she replied, her voice wavering but determined. “I’ve been tricked before.”

The girl gave her a small smile before taking another step towards her “I can imagine. But we aren't like them.”

Her grip on the rock loosened slightly, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Could she dare to believe them? Could she afford not to? The weight of yesterday clung to her.

She took a hesitant step back and lowered the rock but she was still ready to throw it again. In response the girl gently and slowly put the gun on the ground. “There, now you” the girl said slowly.

After a moment of hesitation she mirrored the action. The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly. 

“I don't want any trouble, but I won't hesitate to defend myself” She said as the girl approached. She kept a watchful eye on the rest of the group. 

The stranger nodded in understanding as she approached “I get it, we all do what we have to do to survive. '' They weren't far apart and though she felt safer than earlier she still had her guard up.

A moment of silence passed between them, the only sound was the gentle breeze rustling the grass. The girl walked a bit closer before offering her a hand “What's your name?”

“Lucy Gray Baird”

And that was how you met her.

Your small patrol group ended up taking her back to town. She was currently in a small empty shack scarfing down food. You sat a little ways off staring at said shack deep in thought. What to do? What would happen to her? This had never happened before. 

“She's an interesting one isn't she?” You hear the voice of Eddy. He was the ‘leader’, well at least as close as this group had, also known as your uncle.

“I suppose” Your gaze was still fixated on that shack.

He chuckled a deep chuckle, “Well I'm afraid to say that you have a new job” You shake your head already knowing what he’s going to say, “Yes. Figure out why she's here, that’s all I ask” 

“I could tell you why,” You say firmly. She was just a scared girl who was running, from what you weren't sure

“You don't know that for sure,” He said gruffly before shaking your shoulder “Now go.” He said leaving no room for argument. 

With another sigh you stand up from the chair, “Fine.” 

You stride towards the shack, the uneven wooden planks of the patio creak beneath your boots. As you approach, the scent of stale bread and dried meat wafts through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest. 

Pushing open the worn door, you step into the dimly lit interior. The room is sparse, furnished only with a crude wooden table and a few rickety chairs. At the center of it all sits the mysterious woman, her back turned to you as she continues to devour her meal with gusto. Clearing your throat to announce your presence, you watch as she stiffens slightly before slowly turning to face you. Her gaze meets yours, and you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of her stare.

“Miss Lucy Gray,” you say as a small greeting before moving to one of the empty chairs that was as far away from the food as possible. You were always taught to never get close to an animal that was eating. “I'm here to talk”

“Talk about what?” Her accent was strange, you were sure yours was strange to hers as well. After all, self isolated groups tended to create their own dialects. 

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, observing Lucy Gray's puzzling demeanor. Despite the simplicity of her surroundings, there's an undeniable aura of intrigue surrounding her.

"You’ve caused a big upset, Miss Lucy Gray," you begin making sure to choose your words with care. "People are concerned you see? People around here are easily scared. Some think you’re here on Capitol orders."

“And what if I am?” She asks in a slightly teasing tone, a stark difference from every other word that crossed her mouth.

You find yourself smiling slightly, “Well I know you're not,” you slightly lean forward. “Call it intuition but you don't seem like the type”

She let out a soft giggle that echoed through the dimly lit room. “Intuition? Darlin’ your reading far to much into this” 

“Perhaps…” You say all but ending the conversation. 

She hums and leans back in her chair. She hums a song that is vaguely familiar, like a song from your childhood that you never hear again but can describe to perfect detail. 

“Say,” You begin, “How does getting out of this windowless shack sound?” 

“Amazing” Lucy Gray states with a small smile. 

“Alright then,” You say standing.

She follows after you quickly, “This isn’t you just trying to butter me up is it?” 

“Slightly,” You say, glancing at her, “But I also just want to get out of this damn shack,” She lets out a laugh as you open the door.

“Appreciate the honesty…how’s your shoulder?”

“Just fine, don't worry about it” You say, placing a hand on her lower back to make her take that final step outside. You retract your arm as she does.

As you step out of the shack, the cool breeze greets you, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. You take a deep breath, savoring the feeling of freedom that comes with being outdoors.

The girl beside you smiles, a real open smile.  “Last time I was this far north was when the Covey could still travel freely…everything out here’s so different than in District 12.”

You watch as her gaze wanders over all the small cabins that line the clearing and at the people who have yet to notice her presence. “Let’s go before they mob us” You smile, leading her down a narrow path that winds its way through the trees. "Nature has a way of changing, yet staying the same," you remark. "It's comforting in a way, don't you think?" 

She nods, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Definitely. There's something about being out here that makes everything else seem insignificant."

“And you find that comforting?” 

She just shrugs and begins to hum again. The sounds of birdsong fills the air, and the rustling of leaves accompanies your footsteps. The world feels alive and vibrant, a stark contrast to the stifling confines of the shack.

After a while, you reach a clearing overlooking a vast expanse of rolling hills and meadows. The sky above is painted in shades of orange and pink, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the landscape.

"Wow," Lucy Gray breathes, her eyes wide with awe. "This place is incredible."

You nod, feeling a sense of pride at having brought her here. "It's one of my favorite spots," you admit. "A place where you can forget about the troubles of the world and just... be.” You say feeling stupid at your poor explanation.

“Gosh, the grass is so green here” She says, basically falling into the grass. 

“When our people first came here some flowers were so tall, it’s said a man on horseback would only show his head.” You say sitting down beside her. “In the summer the uplands-” You say pointing to the tops of the hills, “The grasses become strewn with lilac, it’s a smell unlike any other, and later on in the season Indian Paintbrush grows in red an yellow wherever the sun hits. So if you think this is pretty then…” You trail off. 

“Sounds wonderful,” She says simply. You couldn’t tell if she was fully listening.

“In June however the grass turns brown but not really,” She lifts an eyebrow at you, “It’s more gold and saffron and red…more of an indescribable color,” 

She nods in understanding. “Is it like that in the Districts?” You ask politely, giving her room to speak.

“No…mostly buttercups and daisies” She says her accent thick. “But not always…water comes in thirty year cycles,”

“Describe it,”

She glances at you before turning her attention back to the horizon. “Well I don't know much personally but everytime I talk about the landscape to someone older than me they always give me an earful,” You let out a breathy laugh at that.

Her lips twitch up, “There’s usually 5 or 6 good years and the land is covered in bright green grass. Then there’s the 6 or 7 pretty good years and then the dry years would come. The land dries up and the grasses head out leaving great big dry patches of grass and leave the streams dry as bone.” 

"It sounds like a dance," you muse. “Like a waltz”

She nods, her eyes shining. "A dance indeed. And we're but mere spectators, witnessing the rhythm of the land."

“Interesting way of saying that,” You say staring at the way the setting sun casts its different hues onto Lucy Gray’s face. 

As if to explain herself she says “I'm a performer…or was,” a sadness crosses her face.

“I liked it” You say absentmindedly. 

“Thanks-”

"No, thank you for sharing that with me," you say gently, cutting her off. She smiles a soft smile. 

With those words hanging in the air, you both turn your gaze back to the horizon, appreciating the land. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, painting the landscape with hues of gold and saffron, you let the worries of everything slip away.

A/N:

No idea how long this little idea of mine is going to last or how long it will take between chapters but I hope you enjoyed! <3

Also if anyone would like to be added to a taglist just let me know!

#lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #lucy gray baird #lucy gray my beloved

[aquietwritingcorner]

Hockey

@tmnt-event-blog

Title: Hockey Challenge: TMNT-Event-Blog’s “Snow Day Play” Bingo Card (Leonardo) Prompt: Hockey  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 579  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: PG/K+  Characters: Leonardo, Casey Jones Warning: NA Summary: April certainly didn’t expect this when it came to a certain turtle in blue, and hockey.    Notes: Ten points to whoever can correctly guess where I pulled all the hockey players’ names from. (Hint: it wasn’t from hockey players)    AO3 || ff.net

___________________________________

Hockey

“Whoo! Yeah! That’s right! That was a great shot!” Casey cheered out.

“A great shot?” Leo shot back. “He only got that shot because there wasn’t a penalty called!”

“A penalty?” Casey looked over at Leo like he was crazy. “How in all a’ everything can you think that needed a penalty!”

Leo gestured at the ice. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t a check! That was obviously too aggressive to be a check!”

“If you think Williams can’t handle a baby check like that, then maybe he needs to get off the ice!” Casey shot back.

“Oh yeah?” Leo said. “Look at Braginsky’s record! He had a history of ‘accidentally’ injuring his opponents! The refs are biased!”

“You just can’t handle that your team is doin’ bad this year!” Casey shot back. “You shoulda never traded Vainamoinen!”

“Yeah? Well at least we didn’t lose Oxenstierna!” Leo shot back. “He left on his own!”

“You take that back!” Casey said, bristling.

“Why?” Leo challenged. “You know it’s true!”

From her kitchen, Raph, Don, Mikey and April watched as the verbal argument broke down into name calling, Leo and Casey getting in each other’s faces, spouting out figures, stats, and rumors about hockey teams and players.

April blinked. “Huh,” she said. “I never would have guessed that Leo of all people would get this worked up over a hockey game.” She glanced at them. “Honestly, I’d have thought it would be Raph.”

“Nah, I like football better than hockey,” Raph said.

“Still,” April said. “Leo? Really?”

“Oh, he’s always liked hockey,” Mikey said. “I just don’t think he’s ever had anyone to yell about it with before.” He cocked his head to the side as he watched Leo and Casey move incrementally closer together. “I think he’s having fun.”

“It started when we were kids,” Don explained. “Leo was having a hard time with math, and we had recently gotten a TV.”

“He means, that he had found a TV, fixed it, and figure out how to get signal,” Raph said.

“Best day of my life,” Mikey said, putting a hand over his heart and looking up dramatically.

“Anyway,” Don said, giving his brothers a look, “we very quickly discovered sports and were immediately hooked. In an effort to get Leo to practice his math more, Master Splinter gave Leo the task of watching various sporting events and keeping track of the points. But the only sport that was really playing regularly at the time was hockey.” Don shrugged. “It worked to build his math skills, but it also got him invested in the game. He’s been a fan ever since.”

“Interesting,” April said, “I—”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of a plastic bowl and snacks hitting the floor, and furniture scraping.

“Hey!” she yelled, immediately heading towards Casey and Leo who were tussling now. “Not in my living room! I’m not afraid to kick either of you out!”

The tussling immediately stopped as both Leo and Casey looked up at April from the floor. Hand on her hips, she tore into them about spilling things in her home lecturing them even as they let go of each other and started picking up the snacks. Of course, it didn’t stop the muttering under their breath at each other as they threw insults back and forth when they thought April couldn’t hear them—and it definitely didn’t stop their grins as they did it.

#tmnt-event-blog #snow day play #hockey #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2k3 #2k3 Leonardo

[bluejaysandblackbats]

into the silent land

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Willis Todd is arrested before he can cheat Two-Face and be murdered in this AU. He regains custody of his twelve-year-old son, Jason, and they rebuild their relationship. Can Willis make up for his mistakes, or is he doomed to repeat history?

(The title comes from a line in the poem, Remember, by Christina Rossetti).

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Willis Todd, Original Character(s), Faye "Ma" Gunn

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent AU, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Willis Todd, Willis Todd Redemption, Mentioned Sheila Haywood

Chapter Three: Thermostatic System

Jason wore Willis’ other coat while walking to the home improvement store. “I’ll give you a cut of my check for helping out on this job. Okay?” Willis replied as he held Jason’s hand. The snow let up as they trudged through the remaining thick Gotham slush. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Do you think Ms. Cobb is pretty?” Jason asked. Willis stopped in his tracks. “I think she likes you.”

Willis kissed the top of Jason’s head. “It’s not that simple, Kid. What’s all this about anyway? Do you think I’m lonely?” Willis asked. Jason tugged his father along. “I know it’s cold, but it’s a valid question.”

Jason squeezed his hand. “Are you lonely?” Jason asked.

“Nope. I’ve got everything I need right here,” Willis smiled. Jason frowned.

“What if she wanted to go on a date with you?” Jason asked innocently. Willis chuckled.

“Jason, she’s your teacher. That’s complicated,” Willis explained, “I want to be your dad right now. I don’t need anybody but you.”

“She won’t be my teacher next year,” Jason mumbled. Willis frowned.

Willis stopped once more. “You want a mom, don’t you?” Willis asked. Jason looked down at their feet. “Hey, it’s okay. I won’t be upset if you tell me the truth.”

“It’s not going to be the same. I know it won’t, but—.”

“I’ll write your—. I’ll write Sheila, okay? Maybe she’ll come and see you. I won’t promise Sheila will because it’s been a while. Don’t get your hopes up because I haven’t written her since you were two years old,” Willis interrupted. Jason’s eyes lit up. “And before you ask, no. Your mom and I aren’t getting back together. I want to write her because you should see her. Sheila lives out of the country, so she might not get the letter for a week or two.”

“Where? Can I write her something, too?” Jason asked. “What’s she like? Do I look like her at all?” Willis nodded.

“Spitting image of your ma. And yeah, Jason, I’m sure she’d probably answer a letter from you over a letter from me any day. Also, the last thing I heard, she was in Ethiopia,” Willis answered, “You smile like her.”

“I do?” Jason asked. Willis pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a photograph from behind Jason’s picture. “You can have it.”

Jason held the picture in his hands, staring at the picture of the blonde woman holding him in her arms. Jason didn’t move or speak. Willis picked him up, carrying Jason over his shoulder as he stared at his mother’s photo. In a sweet, simple gesture, Willis rubbed his son’s back. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world,” Willis whispered, “Now, are you still up to help me install the new window at Ms. Cobb’s?” Jason made a soft noise.

“Dad?” Jason whispered.

The light changed, allowing Willis to cross the street. “What’s up, Pete?” Willis asked.

“What if I write her and she doesn’t like me?” Jason questioned.

“It’d be her loss. You’re the best kid ever,” Willis complimented.

The store seemed mostly empty. “Have you ever put a window in before?” Jason questioned. Willis nodded.

“I used to do stuff like this a lot. Maybe one day, when we get on our feet, I’ll be able to move us out to the countryside and build our own house from the ground up,” Willis suggested.

Jason smiled. “Like cowboys?” Jason asked.

“Yup. But we’d be cool cowboys with a muscle car and take road trips to California,” Willis replied, “Remind me to buy stamps at the store later on.” Jason patted Willis’ shoulder, letting Willis set him down.

Once they crossed the parking lot, Willis and Jason entered the store. Willis stuffed his hat in his jacket pocket. The store was much larger than Jason had imagined. He looked around at the signs in the store. Jason stood on his tiptoes. “You can look around, but I need the measurements from your pocket,” Willis replied. He reached into Jason’s coat pocket and patted Jason’s cheek. “It’s alright. Meet me over by the windows later.”

Jason nodded, separating from his father to look around at bathroom fixtures. “The thermostatic shower system is expensive, but it’s pretty cool,” the man in the aisle noted. Jason looked up at him and turned to walk away. “Sorry, you just-. You looked familiar.”

Jason stopped and stared at the white-haired man. “What’s a thermostatic system?” Jason asked.

“Well, it’s all about the temperature control. A manual uses a mixture of hot and cold water, while a thermostatic system has a pre-set temp. So, say it’s a frosty day like today. A manual system wouldn’t adjust for that, while a thermostatic system would take note of how frosty it is outside to maintain its set temperature,” he explained. Jason’s eyes widened. “It’s pretty cool.”

“Are you a plumber?” Jason asked.

“I’m a bathroom fitter. I take people’s bathroom designs, and I install everything. I’ve put in everything from saunas to rain showerheads. Sometimes I come in here to check out whatever cool new fixtures they have,” the man replied, “I used to do this with my son when he was little.”

Jason nodded. “I’m here with my dad. He’s going to teach me to replace a window,” Jason smiled. The man nodded.

“Pete, you’ve got to see-.” Willis stopped in his tracks and yanked Jason away from the older man. “Go stand by the basket.”

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Jason asked as he walked toward the end of the aisle.

“Billy, this—. Is this your son?” the man questioned. Jason stopped walking and grabbed his father’s hand. “You named him Peter?”

“I don’t have the time to do this right now, Dad—.”

“Grandpa?” Jason asked.

Willis scowled at the man as he hid Jason behind his back. “Billy, I’m sorry. You know I am. I’ll always regret that I couldn’t take you with me,” the man apologized, “He’s twelve… Isn’t he?”

“Yeah… So?” Willis replied.

Jason peeked around Willis’ side. “I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t know he was yours, Billy. We were only talking about the bathroom fixtures. That’s all,” the man explained.

Willis softened. “Jason, this is your grandpa, Pete. I um—. I’ve got to get a basket. I found the single-hung window, and I’m going to see if I can find some caulk. Uh—. Dad, you can talk to Jason until I come to get him. If that’s alright with Jason, of course,” Willis offered.

Jason nodded. “Dad, are you sure?” Jason asked. Willis nodded.

“My issues with him aren’t yours. It’s okay. Don’t take him anywhere outside of the store, Dad,” Willis commanded before leaving Jason with Pete.

Jason reached forward and shook Willis’ hand. “Nice to meet you, Grandpa Pete,” Jason whispered.

“Nice to meet you, Jason. So, what grade are you in? Twelve is junior high, right?” Pete asked.

Jason nodded. “What was Dad like as a kid?” Jason questioned.

“He was painfully shy, always off by himself fixing things. Billy was the sweetest one of our children—.”

“Dad’s not an only child?” Jason interrupted. Pete chuckled, shaking his head as he reached to mess up Jason’s hair. He stopped himself when he realized Jason was serious.

“He didn’t tell you about your uncles?” Pete questioned. “Well, they grew up—. Billy wasn’t like his brothers. He was a dreamer and a tinkerer. Sensitive.”

“Dad? Sensitive?” Jason scoffed without meaning to. “I mean—.”

“No, it’s okay. Billy had to grow up rough, and that was my fault,” Pete replied. Jason frowned. “He’s raising you on his own, isn’t he?” Jason nodded. “What’s it like having him as your father?”

“He doesn’t yell anymore—. I don’t think he does. He hasn’t since I’ve gone home with him. It’s only been—. Dad is the most talented guy I know. He can do anything,” Jason answered.

Pete smiled, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “Hey, Jason, this is my card. If you ever want to call me and talk—. Tell your dad you have it.”

#fic #into the silent land fic #batfam #Jason Todd #Willis Todd #Original Character(s) #Faye “Ma” Gunn #Fluff and Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Canon Divergent AU #Father-Son Relationship #Good Parent Willis Todd #Willis Todd Redemption #Mentioned Sheila Haywood

[master-kohga-dating-sim]

Gently Now

surprise fanfic for @bugger-loz!!! i came up with this idea literally like an hour ago loll but i didn't want to tell you because i wanted a blind reaction,,, anyways here's some eepy snrrrkkk mimimimimimi dad sakiru and baby temple bosses :3

Word count: 611 Characters: Sakiru, Kohga, Colgheri, Gohrra, Moruka, Gyba Warnings: none

Crickets.

Crickets, all around, singing to the deep blue sky. It was funny- Sakiru thought they couldn’t survive in the snow. Had they changed in the ten thousand years he had been gone? Were they in the napping spot instead of the highlands? Probably not, Kohga couldn’t lay eyes on a bug without squealing for Sooga to come step on it.

His thoughts were interrupted by Gohrru stirring in their blankets. He moved a segment of his arm to make sure she wouldn’t fall before sinking his head against the head of his lounge chair again.

Kohga rose up from his cushions, rubbing his eyes through his mask before stretching out his arms and yawning. He looked up to see Sakiru, still stargazing even after all the kids had fallen asleep. “Ah, hey Sakiru. It’s getting pretty late, you know. I’m gonna head to bed, I’m exhausted.”

“Mmh, yes. It’s been a very active day for you, I’m sure.”

“Hey! I do a lot of work around here, you know! It’s not easy being top banana!” He carried his voice with him as he picked up his plushies to go inside, but went quiet when he passed by Sakiru and the kids. He stopped in his tracks, just looking at them. “...They really are sound asleep, aren’t they? Didn’t think that all that…” He gestured vaguely over Sakiru’s body. “...Stuff could be that comfortable.”

Sakiru gently brushed his hand over Colgheri’s feathers. His little body felt so small and delicate compared to Sakiru’s solid form. “The blankets cushion it.”

Despite his organs not being in their original places, they still worked constantly in their jars. He could hear them if he was quiet enough; bubbles, rumbles, squeaks, a slow and steady thump. Without the flesh to muffle it anymore, it was easier to hear his organs than others. “...I wonder if they can feel my heart beating.”

“There’s a… heart? In… there..? Actually, you know what, not gonna question it anymore. Yeah, there’s a heart in there. Sure.” He started to walk again.

“Good night, Kohga.”

“Night.” As he left, Sakiru could’ve sworn he heard him whisper good nights to his plushies, too.

Once Kohga was gone, the night went quiet. The crickets had settled to the back of Sakiru’s mind and let him more clearly hear the soft snoring of the heirs.

Colgheri was curled up in his left arm like a baby sparrow in a nest. Gohrru was laying over his chest, supported by Sakiru’s right arm and his little sister Gyba. Moruka had used its lack of bones to squish itself between Sakiru’s head and shoulders. All of them were wrapped up in the Yiga Clan’s finest wool and linen blankets.

Sakiru’s body didn’t long for the vulnerability of sleep anymore. He was a machine, and machines didn’t need to rest. But the peace of this moment… it was something different. It reminded him of all those peaceful moments eons ago. It made him think of the smell of night air and the softness of cushions and the taste of dessert still on his breath. And when all of those things happened at once, he had only ever done one thing. And what a lovely, relaxing feeling it gave him.

Moruka nuzzled the underside of Sakiru’s jar. His skull slowly settled next to them as the lull of sleep pulled him in.

Although he couldn’t feel temperature anymore, he knew that the heirs could. He could only imagine how cozy and safe it was to sleep like this. For once, he wasn’t trapped upright in that stone temple as his vision faded out. He was warm.

Yes. Warm.

#legend of zelda #loz au #totk au #dark disciples au #master kohga #colgera #colgheri #marbled gohma #gohrru #queen gibdo #gyba #mucktorok #moruka #seized construct #sakiru the alchemist #fanfic #fanfiction

[akatsukirites]

Eighth entry for @sweetspicybingo - Hot Bath !!!! OMG JUST ONE MORE TO GOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Narutoverse | KisaKonan | G |~1000 words

Konan wades through 100 cm snow drifts, ignoring the radiating pain in her legs. They're only in Frost Country and it's been six days since they set out. They'll never make it back in time. She'll have to cut through Fire Country. Konan plans five different routes while Kisame silently follows. Although her cloak and hat reveals little of her condition, Kisame is certain that The Pace Is Slowing. And even if Konan knows that, she can't stop. If she stopped, she might not be able to continue. Instead, she pushes chakra down her legs, trying to get the blood moving quick enough so she doesn't freeze. 

"Konan-san," Kisame calls out, voice dying in the snow. He repeats it until she turns her head back, stopping in her tracks. "We should find someplace to rest."

The pause in her step was a mistake. A dull ache stings her thighs.

She snaps, "Why, are you tired?"

The edge in Kisame's reply feels like razor wire.

"If you keep pushing yourself, you're going to die." 

Konan rolls her eyes. I can't die. Yahiko didn't. I won't either. He'll find a way to make me useful. "We're not stopping."

('Make sure she comes back alive, Kisame.'

'If she can't handle herself, she shouldn't go at all, Leader-sama.'

'Konan is more capable than you think. She just doesn't know when to stop.')

He draws Samehada for emphasis. "Yes, we are. Or do I have to cut your legs off and carry you myself?"

Konan's voice drops to a dangerous whisper, gritting her teeth. "How dare you threaten me." She takes two steps towards him, readying herself for–  But she trips on a rock beneath the snow. Her gait falters and before she can pick her other leg up, she hits the ground, succumbing to a blissful darkness.

Kisame wants to roll his eyes at the pathetic display but instead he sighs and picks her up, lightly smacking her cheek– cold and delicate. The haze in her copper eyes tells him that the blood dripping from her nose is unlikely to be a concussion. Just pushing her chakra reserves too far.

"Don't fall asleep out here." He says, unceremoniously throwing her over his shoulders. Samehada whines for a fresh body. Kisame half-growls to it, making sure it knows not to leech what remains of her chakra stores.

He returns to the main road. With some luck, he finds an inn that will take a mysterious fish-man and his seemingly-kidnapped bride. Despite that, it's annoying to deal with the innkeeper's stares; and more so when he asks for two rooms. Nevertheless, the old woman says nothing, not that Kisame gives her any room to question him anyways. All he says is,

"Bring tea. And draw a bath."

Konan doesn't protest when Kisame finally sets her down. She gathers what's left of her pride and arranges her things until he shoves a hot yunomi in her hands.

"Drink." Gruff, but covering something else up.

The tea is shit, but it's warm. The inn he found is shit too, but it beats making camp in the snow. The innkeeper brings them food, a simple bowl of oden that brings her focus back. She expects Kisame will scold her, but he never does. The bamboo screen slides back again to take back the dishes; a gray head bowed low to the floor. The woman tells them the bath is ready and in deference, Kisame gestures for her to go first. 

To her surprise, the bath is scented with jasmine oils. One of her favorites. It's scalding hot, penetrating her calves with a wonderful numbness. If she just concentrates on the heat, she can almost make the stinging in her legs disappear. She sinks into the wooden tub, humoring herself with the idea of relaxing. The thought doesn't last long.

"You can't interrupt a woman bathing, don't you know that!?" A clamor outside the door and a slap against thick fabric.

Outside, Kisame wrinkles his nose. 

The old woman, seeing the look of confusion on his face, slaps his arm again. "It's not proper!" She grabs the clay jar out of his hands. "Give me that." Scolds him and shoos him away. "Out! Out!"

Kisame's heavy footsteps fade down the hallway. What is it he meant to give her? Moreover, she'd never heard of it being improper to interrupt her bath. Yahiko and Nagato did that constantly in their youth. Perhaps he is also used to such camaraderie. The innkeeper clears her throat and opens the door.

"Madam." She says politely, looking down and holding the jar out. It's no bigger than the tin of miso Konan carries in her supplies. "Use these salts in your bath. It'll help soothe any aches you might have."

Grateful, she takes it, and smiles when she opens it. Inside are odorless, white flaky crystals of magnesium. She dumps the whole jar in. Normally she uses this for Nagato when he's sore from the machine. He says it helps, so perhaps she can also find success. Time passes. Gradually, the pain subsides. Whether it heals or simply masks the symptoms is a mystery to her. Konan is no medic-nin, no matter how much she patched Akatsuki up. (Come to think of it, Akatsuki has been without a proper medic for quite some time.) She thinks perhaps she's not cut out to do these kinds of missions. Maybe she should concentrate her efforts more at home. Maybe she should follow through on her promise to Yahiko that she would look after Nagato. He's supposed to be the bridge to peace, isn't he?

Yet, there is so much outside the electric walls of Amegakure. Places where it never rains. Places where dreams illuminate the sea. Places where she finds refuge, even in a howling storm, and for once– doesn't have to look after Nagato. Soon, she'll be too old to marry, not that she wants to anyways. Her intention is to remain at Nagato's side until death. 

Right?

(And when that happens? What then?)

The mere idea that Nagato would leave her too is unsettling. She shifts her mind to easier topics; her temporary partner for instance. Cold and brooding, much like herself, keeping to himself. Good at taking orders. Good at sweeping her off her feet when she's too tired. Bad at making tea.

Yet, in all of this, perhaps both their shells are starting to crack.

#sweetspicywinter #yunomi is the term for the japanese-style teacup #the one that doesnt have a handle and burns the shit out of you #[♣️–vdwrites] #♣️–kisame #♣️–konan #naruto fanfiction #kisakonan #konan #hoshigaki kisame #♣️–challenge #konan pushing herself too hard is a trope i apparently cant get go of #i think ive written it in all my AUs #john also has to yell at me to get me to take a day off lol #also lol @ these two #SEE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN U JUST TEACH KIDS TO BE ASSASSINS #ZERO SOCIAL SKILLS #this ending is shit i know #i could literally go on for another 500 words with just what is going on in konans lil head

[sullustangin]

Little Boss

A/N:  So this is another prompt fic for @frutepye​ (I know I’m being as slow as molasses about these, but life  ~vaguely gestures ~~).  Here’s a fic about Blizz reuniting with Eva and her dislike of being called “Commander.” Some dialogue is drawn from the mission.  I apparently have some Jawa headcanons, so they’re in there too.

This can be 100% be read as the prequel to Theron’s adventures in Hello. 

I will give a minor content warning for Eva’s mental and physical health issues after carbonite.  They are mentioned, but not the focus.

Rating: PG (for the abovementioned)

Time:  Just after Chapter X of KotFE

Word Count: ~ 3000

~~

Hey, Commander Captain,

One of my smugglers recently stumbled upon a piece of tech we've never seen. We tried to get the thing working, but none of us can figure it out. When we brought it to Doc Oggurobb, he just rambled on about how it "defied all precepts of engineering" or something.

Whoever made this thing obviously has a way with tech. Seems like it's changed hands a lot, but I managed to track it all the way to a salvager on Hoth. Might be worth talking to this guy to see where he got it. The Alliance could use an inventor with a knack for doing the impossible with limited resources.

Hylo

Eva Corolastor harumph’ed at the corrected title – which was a bit ridiculous, now that they were months into this whole ‘end Arcann’ op.  She wondered if Lana had instituted a template for official Holo-Net mails within the network, and Eva’s insistence upon ‘Captain’ had thrown everything into disarray.  Sort of like her insistence on not living in the Commander’s Executive Suite and not being an armchair general.

“You’re very uncooperative.”

“That’s what you get for making a smuggler the savior of the galaxy.”

Eva looked at the bizarre little machine in the holo that Hylo had attached.  A strange sense of déjà vu came over her – this was familiar. Eva’s lips twisted into a frown.

She should be able to remember.  She should.  

Picking up the pieces after carbonite was difficult enough on a physical level.  The loss of memory and the dissociative episodes were another layer of awful.  Eva tilted her head to look at the holo again, trying to give her brain a good shake to trigger some sort of recall.

Nope.

Didn’t recognize it by sight.

Time to go to Hoth. Eva consulted the shared calendar Theron had set up for all of the major players in the Alliance, including himself. As much fun as they’d had on Hoth keeping each other warm during a recruiting trip, Theron had cordoned himself and his data off from everyone; he was on Odessen but strictly “no contact” until he finished his latest data dive.

Well, that left one other obvious candidate.

**

“No trees.”  Bowdaar reiterated his complaint from the last time they were on Hoth together, but he also gave praise.  “Cold still feels good on the fur – never hot here.”  

“Glad you’re looking on the bright side of things,” Eva said as she cinched her parka a little tighter around her.  The cold seemed to find every little hole, every gap in cover and capitalize upon it.

…It wasn’t because she was uncomfortable.  No. One of Valkorion’s little games was to mess with her thermostat; her core temperature never dropped to dangerous levels, so she was never hypothermic, really.  But he certainly gave the illusion, with full body shivers, blue lips, and the agony of never being warm.  Theron was a pro now at thwarting it; the Emperor hated him around. At the same time, because “cold” was now a default setting, it was all the more dangerous for Eva to be on Hoth.  She had to be triply careful in suiting up.

“Base official was very helpful.  Camp is where it should be,” Bowdaar crooned as he pointed a hooked claw in the settlement’s direction.  

“Well, we did blow up the giant death machine that was threatening them.  A little gratitude goes a long way,” she gaily responded. “C’mon.”

Eva and Bowdar crunched along in the snow toward the Jawa encampment.  Eva reached up to her earpiece to adjust the language settings to ‘looser translation.’ 

Jawa language constantly shifted depending on who did the most business with the Jawas in question.  It was a simple thing if they worked with those who spoke Basic, but once they started communicating with Hutts, Wookiees, Trandoshians – anyone who didn’t or couldn’t speak Basic – their language evolved and reformed itself to suit needs.  What was ‘precisely correct’ last year might not be this year.  

It wasn’t the words that caught her off-guard.  It was the voice.  Jawas did have distinctive voices, despite the stereotypes.  This one was a little raspy and their accent was more neutral  -- not leaning Pub or Imp.  (Yes, Jawas did have accents too.)  

“Jreely!  Blizz need new roto-hammer!”

Bowdaar pulled up short alongside Eva.  “You hear it too.”

The Jawa apparently known as Jreely responded rather petulantly, “What Blizz want Jreely do about roto-hammer? Blizz build only one.  Why anyone else make stupid roto-hammer?”

Bowdaar and Eva exchanged a look, and both smiled, in their own ways.  It was Blizz!  He’d been on Gronn’s crew, but the crews of Virtue’s Thief and Ash Angel had gone more than a few rounds in a cantina and worked a few ops together.  Corellia, Makeb, Rishi, even Yavin 4, and some time in between.

…even though the last one, Gronn wasn’t around anymore…

Eva shoved that thought away – he was dead, but she was still alive, and so was Blizz, and he would totally want her to –

“Roto-hammer only stupid to stupid-Jawa like Jreely.  Do exactly what Blizz want, not like stupid Jreely!”  Blizz shook a finger at Jreely who signalled his surrender with a wave of his hands and a slouch in his robe.  

Blizz seemed to realize, at that moment, that he had an audience.  He startled at the long shadow cast by Bowdaar and used his hand as a make-shift visor to stare up the 10-foot-tall Wookiee.  But about halfway up bandoleer, Blizz’s bright yellow eyes jumped to Bowdaar’s right.  

“LADY BOSS!” he exclaimed with a jump.  “Oh! Lady Boss!  Lady Boss!  Lady Boss finally find Blizz!  Jreely, look, it Lady Boss, Blizz Boss friend.”  Impatiently he motioned Eva down toward him.

At his request, Eva crouched down in the cold snow, and Blizz bounced into an embrace.  

Jreely was thoroughly unimpressed.  Jawas typically did not like people bending or crouching down to talk them, but apparently, Blizz felt Eva’s arrival merited an exception, at least for a minute.

“Glad I found you, Blizz. Didn’t expect to find you back here on Hoth, of all places.”  Once the hug was done, Blizz motioned for Eva to stand back up.  As she did so, Blizz gave Bowie’s shin a gentle punch, and the Wookiee’s huge palm came down to give Blizz’s head a good thump.

Eva’s shattered memory offered up a fragment of an early night at one of the few surviving cantinas on Corellia.  “Jreely – wasn’t that the name of the guy who sold you out?”

“Yup!”  Blizz slapped Jreely on the back so hard he nearly knocked the other Jawa over.  “Jreely think he be better off with White Maw, but he wrong.  Blizz think Jreely learned lesson, so Blizz help Jreely escape.”

“You were always a sweetheart, you know that?” Eva said with a smile.

The mumbling that ensued indicated that Blizz still didn’t know how to handle compliments from Lady Boss, and this time it was Jreely’s turn to slap him on the back to reboot his system.  “Where Lady Boss been?” he finally asked.

Eva froze.  What a simple question.  What a complicated answer.

Bowdaar, who’d mastered the art of schmoozing at his Platform Six Cantina, cut in gracefully. “You hear of the Outlander, the one who slew the Emperor?”

“Blizz has.”

“You know of the great Star Fortress over Hoth that fell?”

“Blizz make big credits from salvage!”

Bowdaar whickered and asked, more quietly, “You hear whispers of resistance, led by the Outlander?”

Blizz and Jreely both looked around, checking for nosy listeners in.  Then both Jawas nodded in unison.

Eva waved, half-heartedly.

Blizz considered this for a good minute.  “Lady Boss never abandon friends.  Blizz think dead… but now not.”  Then he asked, concerned, “Lady Boss in jail?”

“Something like that.” They could go over the specifics later. “What have you been up to, these past five years?” Eva asked instead.

Blizz brightened up at this shift in questioning.  “Blizz own boss now.  Have crew and everything!  Blizz crew hutn scrap and salvage and Hoth have lot of both, so Blizz build base!” Blizz turned to point toward a larger structure further back in the encampment.  “Blizz make sand crawler into white-sand crawler!”

Snow, Eva mentally corrected the translator.  

“It…um… not finished yet. Blizz think maybe parts lost rebuilding!” Blizz tried to minimize the technical snafu…and the obvious problem of it being a sandcrawler, not a snowcrawler.

Eva reassured him, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.  In the meantime, I could use your help with something.”

“Blizz always ready to help Lady Boss!”  Blizz motioned excitedly with both hands.  “Blizz happy Lady Boss come back and find Blizz.  Boss want Blizz and crew to help hunt bounty?  Help smuggle salvage?”

Eva reached into her interior parka pocket and pulled out the device that had puzzled Hylo and the rest of the Alliance base.  “Seen one of these before?”

Blizz peered at the device for a split second before grabbing it right out of her hand.  “Oh!  Blizz been looking for that!  Blizz thought Blizz lose forever on shaky-planet that fell apart.  Thanks!”

Makeb – good times there, Eva … sort of recalled.  She remembered the feelings better than actual events, but that was progress.  

“You know where more tech like this exists?” Eva asked, not bothering to fight for the item back.

Blizz looked up at Eva almost quizzically.  “Of course Blizz know.  Blizz make this for cleaning.  Make things not stick to other things.  Blizz finally keep grease out of robes again!”  

Before anyone could stop him, Blizz spun around and attached the device to Jreely and activated it using a datapad.  There was an audible ‘ZAP’ and ‘SIZZLE’ and Jreely took off like a blaster bolt.

Bowdaar huffed, the equivalent of a Wookiee laugh.

 “Still works!” Blizz happily reported.  “Blizz want to thank boss for bringing Blizz stuff back. Blizz work for boss free of charge! But… um…

Jreely screeched from somewhere behind a tent, “FREE?!  FREE!?”

Blizz ignored him.  “Blizz need to finish job Blizz doing here first. Blizz always finish job like Boss taught.”

Eva gave him a half-smile at the memory.  “Just like Gronn taught.”

Blizz nodded vigorously. “Important Jedi-man hire Blizz and crew to hunt little box he leave in starship dead-place.”

“A little box?” Eva knew that there were … recorders?  Holos? Something that Jedi and Sith looked for all over the galaxy.  For some reason, the sands of Tatooine popped into her head.  She’d have to go back to the ship’s logs for this one.

“Yup!  Jedi-man tell Blizz where to find little box, but when Blizz and crew look ship gone!”  Blizz gestured out in the distance to the starship graveyard of Hoth.  “Blizz think what left of White Maw pirates maybe salvage wreck.  It strange though.”

“How so?” Eva asked, pulling out her macrobinoculars to get a preliminary scan of the wreck sites. The snow and the pirates had probably completely changed the landscape of Hoth over the last few years.  Add on top a blown-up Star Fortress, and stars knew what everything looked like now.

“White Maw sloppy. They only take best parts and leave rest – not usually take whole ship.”  Blizz shrugged.  “Blizz not even find loose screws!”

“Out of character for them,” Eva said, scanning the horizon.

“Blizz make things to help crew hunt.  Boss give to crew, maybe show new hunters how job done?”  The voice was exceedingly hopeful.

Eva tore her eyes away from their task. “Are you delegating, Boss?”

The Jawa laugh was gratingly high-pitched, but from Blizz, it was endearing.  

**

After giving her condolences to Dakk’ik over his lately deceased whomp rat, Eva hailed “Boss” on the holo comm.  Before she could get a word in, Blizz burst out, “Blizz have news!  Blizz crew find lead on little Jedi-man box!”  Bowdaar’s datapad buzzed with received coordinates. “Blizz spot little Ug-man poking around starship dead-place, so Blizz follow and find whole crew of Ug-men stealing salvage!  They have ship that Jedi-man say he stash little box in!  Blizz going take posse and get box.  Boss want to come?”

“Sounds good.  We’ll meet you at the camp.”  

Blizz clapped his hands twice, and the signal faded out.  

Bowdaar grumbled, “Ug-men?”

“I’m thinking Ugnaughts. Corso and I ran into a bunch of them on Coruscant.  Kind of like Jawas, but they often have a purpose and a plan to everything they do – not as… creative as Jawas.  They take a lot of pride in their work.”  Eva pulled out her own datapad. “Wonder what they’re working on out here.  And for whom?”

Bowdaar pushed the datapad back toward her parka.  “Detective work can wait until you’re in a warmer place, Little Girl.”  

She must have been looking a little blue, she realized.  As in cyanosis, not sadness.

**

The cave where the Ugnaughts had set up shop was indeed warmer on the inside compared to the harsh environs of Hoth’s surface.  Blizz and his crew were particularly enthusiastic and zealous about wiping out a rival team.  “Hah! Stupid Ug-men!  That show them not to mess with Jawas!”  Blizz patted Eva’s thigh.  “Lady Boss was great.  Blizz miss helping Lady Boss!”

Before Blizz could get too carried away, Jreely staggered over with the weight of what appeared to be a holoprojector in his hands.  “Boss, Jreely find little box like- Jedi-man want!  Look!”

Blizz inspected the device before making a disdainful, untranslatable noise.  “Look old and cheap.  Guess Jedi poor.  Blizz hope he have credits!”   Blizz carefully put the holoprojector down on the cave floor and pulled out a direct-line holocomm to his buyer.  

Eva watched as the signal came to life, but no visual from the other end appeared.  Odd.  

“Hello!  Hello!”  Blizz hailed the buyer.  “Jedi-man? Blizz have good news!”

“Are you calling from a bathroom?”

Eva felt her heart flip. She darted a look at Bowdaar, who stared in surprise at the holocomm

Only so many sentients sounded like that and would say something like that – and they knew one of them.  

Jedi-man, a holo-projector – Eva’s mind put the pieces together even as he continued to speak.  “I mean, I felt that we would speak soon, I’d hoped sooner.”

There was the con. That voice he’d used on her and Akaavi while pretending to be a full-fledged Jedi.  

Eva smirked as she leaned toward Blizz’s comm unit.  Using her best Port Nowhere customer service voice, Eva said, “Your device is safe and we’ll return it shortly.”

“Uh, that’s great.”  The man on the other end suddenly sounded uneasy again – like he knew what he heard but didn’t quite believe it.  Then the moment was gone.  “Wait, you didn’t open it, did you?  Don’t open it,” he quickly insisted.

Blizz stared at the comm unit.  “Um, Blizz not open yet.  Just find thing.  Now Blizz curious.”  His eyes darted over to the device on the ground.

“Don’t open it!  I-I won’t pay otherwise!!”  The stutter was marked, and it reminded Eva of the time Akaavi put fear of all things holy and unholy into him for looking at her wrong.

Good times.  Better times.

Eva couldn’t stop the grin from coming anyway, nor the impulse to torture Guss Tuno for a few minutes. “Sounds like this night be worth something to another buyer,” Eva said in a stage-whisper to Blizz, who rocked back and forth on his heels in silent laughter.

“I SERIOUSLY DOUBT IT!” came the shout right over the line. “It’s… uh… sentimental.”

Now Bowdaar had to take a walk up to the front of the cave before he starting laughing.  “I bet it is” was the last comment Eva heard before he disappeared around the bend in the cave.

Blizz tilted his head, as if doing the credit math in his head. “Blizz think this cost extra.  Jedi-man never say Blizz can’t open and now Blizz be up all night wondering.”

“WHAT?”  But then all too quickly, the Jedi-man said, “Okay, okay, okay – Fine!  Just get it back to me soon. Unopened.  And don’t think I won’t know.  I’m a Jedi!”

And before Eva could say anything, before she could let Guss in on the joke, he cut the comm link.  “Guss!” she said, too late.

Then Blizz remembered the voice too, and he shook the comm unit frantically, to no avail.

The conversation was over.

Blizz jabbed at the device several times before looking regretfully up at Eva.  “All gone.  Sorry, Lady Boss.”  

The cave lights they wore on their parkas gave the cave an eerie glow, and their shadows played across the walls in the still.

Guss was alive, but he’d slipped right out of her hands.  

…but Guss was alive, and that beat the hell out of the alternative.  “I’m guessing your contract involves a dead drop?”

Blizz nodded, apologetically.  

“Eh, we’ll track him down. He’s slick, but as subtle as a shriekhawk.”  Eva gave the holoprojector a nudge with her foot.  “And we probably shouldn’t open that.  There’s probably something dirty in there.”

“Blizz think seal is intact – should be clean!”  

Eva stopped him before he could touch the holoprojector.  “I’ll explain later.  Good job on a contact well done – with bonus credits.”

That made Blizz jump excitedly.  “See! Blizz do good work still!  Lady Boss ready for Blizz and crew to come work for Lady Boss?”

Eva paused and then asked, “You sure?  You got this whole operation on Hoth – you are your own boss.  Don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“Yup.  But Hoth boring.  Lady Boss and Boss never boring.  Blizz know how to do good for Lady Boss!”

Eva grabbed key card from her parka pocket.  “Feed that into any nav computer you can get your hands on, and it’ll take you and the crew to my base.  We’ll take it from there.”

Blizz happily accepted the card, and it disappeared into his robes.  “Hmmm.”  Blizz’s mind was already on the next thing.  “Lady Boss Outlander.  Boss always been Blizz boss.  Lady Boss is Boss friend.  Boss gone now.  But now Blizz boss.  Lady Boss is Blizz boss friend?”  

Eva nodded to confirm.

“…so Blizz still call Lady Boss?”

Eva gave him a smile. “Sure beats ‘Commander.’”

~~

I hope this brightens your day, @frutepye !  For Blizz’s arrival on Odessen, read Hello. 

#swtor #swtor fan fiction #blizz #bowdaar #oc: eva corolastor

[separatist-apologist]

Last Young Renegade

Summary: A war on the continent is looming. A Death God approaches, his curse slowly unravelling. A firebird screams through the night.

And Elain Archeron can see it all.

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | AO3

Chapter Summary: Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you

“Don’t. Move,” Lucien ordered, his body pressing her into the ground. Elain squirmed, trying desperately to free herself from the frigid snow and failing miserably. Lucien caged her against him, head pointed through the trees at some danger she couldn’t see. 

“Lucien,” she breathed, clawing at his tunic. “Lucien, please—”

His hand came to her mouth roughly, silencing her plea. She’d seen this all before. When? Remember! Her mind screamed desperately, writhing to keep him from doing what fate demanded. She bit at skin, tears sliding down her cheek to pool against his gloved hand. 

Don’t do this, please don’t do this—

Light flooded the dark, pouring from Lucien’s body like he’d become a living God, the sun itself. Writhing darkness demanded this sacrifice, that he unravel this spell. In the distance, a man's voice screamed for Lucien to stop. She didn’t recognize it, didn’t know who called for him. Elain broke free of his hand on her face.

“Lucien, stop—”

Power radiated around them, erupting like a volcanic blast. It was too much—Lucien was only one man. 

“Run,” he gasped, fingers curling in the dirt. The small part of him that wasn’t living sun was composed of dying flame. Elain reached for his face, fingers burning when they touched. 

“I won’t leave you.”

“Go,” he shoved, his body shuddering. The wind picked up, swirling around the pair of them. 

“You’ll die.”

Lucien’s face shifted and morphed, back into the shadowed, fanged darkness she’d seen before. He laughed, the sound high pitched and cruel. “You better run, Elain. He’s coming for you—”

“ELAIN!”

Elain jerked, not of her own accord. This time, instead of standing at the top of a terrifying drop she’d been attempting to crawl into the fireplace. Her nightgown had caught fire for the briefest of moments before Lucien shuttered it, holding her tight against his chest. 

“What are you dreaming about?” he demanded. 

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” he snarled, dragging her back to bed, arms still firm around her. She didn’t protest or pull away, not when he all but dumped her back to bed, his body close enough to touch. “Are they dreams or are they visions, Elain?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Nightmares, I think.” After all, that same face had appeared twice now. “Visions feel like memories…” and her dreams felt real, as if they were happening while she was in them. 

Lucien reached for her face, sighing softly. She let him tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, comforted by the gesture. Hold me.

“Do you need anything?”

“A glass of water?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded. Lucien nodded, rising from the bed to track it down. By the time he returned, glass in hand, Elain had settled just enough to not beg him to wrap her back up in his arms. 

“Were you having nightmares at home?”

“Sometimes,” she murmured. Not like this. It pacified him enough to lay back against the bed. 

“I’m thinking I should tie you to me,” he mumbled. “Before you hurt yourself.”

“That’s not necessary,” she whispered, turning her back to him, but who knew. Maybe it was. Lucien had killed the fireplace, leaving the room to be warmed solely by him and his magic. How long could he sustain that, she wondered? 

As it turned out, Lucien couldn’t the moment he fell into a deep sleep, a fact Elain learned when she woke up with her head buried in his shirted chest and his arms wrapped around her so tightly there was no possible escape. She didn’t want to. His scent enveloped her, lulling her back to sleep. She nuzzled closer and wondered if they couldn’t just have this while maintaining their polite, occasionally combative distance during the day. 

“Elain,” Lucien whispered, his voice rough from sleep. “Do you intend to stay in bed all day?”

“Can I?” she asked without thinking about what she was asking. After all, he was still holding her against his body, hadn’t moved an inch despite being awake. There was no pretending they weren’t laying together like this.

“I’m supposed to go hunting with Gunnar.”

Right. 

Carefully, Elain rolled out of his grasp, certain she felt his own hesitation. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Did you have any more nightmares?” he asked, stretching his body now that he was free of their embrace. 

“No.”

“Interesting,” was all Lucien said before he rose from the bed and vanished into the bathroom. He was in there long enough Elain abandoned her own plan to bathe, deciding she’d just wait for night to fall. 

Dressed and up for the day, Elain skipped the dining hall, still exhausted and a little raw from the night before. Let Lucien work a little of his magic on the hunting trip. She was certain he’d come back victorious and handsome and all the women would fawn all over him until—

“Elain?”

Arina poked her head from the library door, beckoning Elain to join her. “Gunnar is prowling this morning. Don’t let him catch you alone.” It was the first words Arina had spoken to her since she’d arrived. Elain closed the door softly to the library, surprised to find they were the only ones inside. Unlike the rest of the palace, with its bright, open windows and glimmering surfaces, the library was dark and filled with very old, very polished wood. Arina was the brightest light in the room, her dress a vibrant green despite the otherwise dim surroundings. 

“He’s grabby,” Arina added with irritation. 

“He asked for someone pretty,” Elain told her. Arina rolled her eyes.

“He should look at his own wife, then. She would be back home.”

“This whole court makes no sense to me,” Elain admitted. “Everyone is constantly fighting or…”

“Or fucking,” Arina supplied with amusement. “Yes, I’ve noticed that too. Not that Day Court doesn’t have its moments, but it’s not encouraged with quite so much quiet cruelty as it is between Hilda and Gunnar.”

“You’re not tempted?”

Arina scoffed. “I’ve slept with Helion,” she said, clearly proud of that accomplishment. “Have you seen him?”

Elain frowned. “Once, I think?”

“You should come by and look again. Not one male here can measure up with their clothes on.”

“Maybe they have some hidden talent,” Elain dismissed, trying to recall how they’d gotten on this topic to begin with. Arina’s eyes sparkled, her body swaying as she walked through the stacks to her little workstation far in the back.

“Is that what Lucien has? Hidden talent? He is all the females speak of. Just this morning at breakfast I heard a play by play of how good he looked sparring yesterday. Shirtless,” Arina added.

When had he done that? Elain sighed.

“And they’ll never know.”

“Yes, the famous mated pair. How they hate you.”

“They don’t hate me. They just wish they were me,” Elain replied, her feelings hurt only a little. “And they’ll get over it.”

Arina nodded. “True…do you suppose they’ll be over it before or after the festival in Volta this weekend?”

“Festival?”

“Yes. It’s the perfect place to dig up a little dirt…not that you’re trying to do that, of course. Curious, how you, a total stranger, have made yourself indispensable to the queen so easily.”

Elain shrugged. “I’m friendly.”

Arina looked down at her book. “Of course. I wasn’t saying otherwise.”

Elain turned her back, intending to warn Lucien if anyone accosted him with their mouth at the end of the week it certainly wasn’t her. She’d almost forgotten Arina’s casual suspicion when Arina called, “Helion warned me about you.”

Elain froze. “Warned you?”

“The Seer,” she whispered softly. “With her Vanserra mate. What the pair, you two are. Lucien, with his fox-like reputation and you, a female gifted magic by the Cauldron herself.”

Elain turned, hiding her panic. “What are you talking about?”

Arina smiled, reclining in her chair behind a sack of books. “You aren’t the only one looking for things, Elain. I could help you, if you trusted me.”

“I’m just here to get to know Rask.”

“Of course. And I’m only here to study this ancient curse. Just two females from Prythian doing exactly what their High Lords asked of them.”

Elain leveled a stare. “And what, exactly, did Helion ask you to do?”

Arina only grinned. “What, indeed?”

LUCIEN: 

Was it wrong to look forward to the evening specifically to pull Elain into his arms and unpack his stupid fucking day? Lucien suspected the answer was yes and yet, when Elain crawled into bed looking exhausted and clean from the bath she’d just taken, Lucien lunged, dragging her against him.

“I figured you’d tie a string around my wrist or something,” she grumbled, though she didn’t pull away.

“This is easier…and is less of a choking hazard,” he added, thinking of how she might try and hang herself if she had another of her nightmares. The thought was sobering. Elain sighed, eyes focused on the ceiling overhead. 

“I’m starting to think you were right.”

Lucien, distracted by her hair spilled across his chest, nearly missed what she said. “Oh?”

“I’m so out of my depth here. They split us up and I don’t know who I can trust. And it doesn’t help that all I hear about his how much the other women–”

“Females. People are starting to wonder where you come from. I am a male, you are a female—”

“Well, where I come from that's a degrading way to talk about people,” she hissed, twisting in his arms. “Like we’re dogs or something.”

Lucien smothered a smile. “Yes. Humans and their civility.”

“So, you’re, what, an animal, then?”

“Yes,” he agreed with no small amount of satisfaction. He was tempted to offer to show her just how much of an animal he could be but didn’t dare push his luck. Not when they were almost friends. Lucien didn’t dare give her a whiff of wanting to court her lest he be rejected. Again. Elain was figuring herself out, figuring this world out. If all he ever was was this—the male who kept her from killing herself while she worked through her nightmares—maybe it was enough. Having her in some capacity felt infinitely better than not having her at all. 

“Did you learn anything?”

Lucien’s face darkened. Gunnar had all but demanded he let Lucien take a shot at Elain all in good fun. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Do you think Gunnar really wants to ally with Koschei?” she whispered, as if Gunnar might spring from beneath the bed and hear them.

“No,” Lucien murmured after a moment. “I think he is weighing the safety of his own people against the future of our world. What I do think is he wants to take Montessere and wants to be sure we won’t step in with the Cauldron and obliterate him off the map.”

“Something is off,” Elain told him, snuggling just a little closer though he didn’t think she was even aware she did it.

“How much of the future can you see?”

“Don’t ask me that,” she said quickly, eyes finding his. He was tempted to ask what she knew—what she was hiding. He could feel her tension rolling off her in waves. 

“I thought we agreed to no secrets?” His words were light, almost teasing for all the good it did him. Elain closed her eyes, drawing a soft breath. 

“We barely know each other, Lucien.”

Her words were a slap in the face. For one, she was laying in his arms, tucked against his body. He wanted to remind her that he was the only thing standing between her and a literal king strolling in on her while she bathed each morning and had, on two occasions now, stopped her from injuring if not accidentally throwing herself off a mountainside.

“Right,” he agreed, swallowing all his hurt and resentment. Part of him wanted to pull away, to let her deal with this on her own. She would have deserved it, he thought. Maybe even wanted it. Why was he supposed to be her emotional punching bag?

Lucien kept her pulled against him, face smothered in her hair. “Not going anywhere.”

She reached for his wrist, brushing her thumb over the skin.

“I know.”

He had the sense something wasn’t quite right somewhere in his dream. Right before the bond winked out and the usual glow in his chest went dark, Lucien’s eyes opened of their own accord, the hair on his arm standing at attention. Lucien turned his head, eyes scanning the dark room for the intruder. He almost expected to find a rogue male creeping in hoping Elain was alone.

A soft wind blew through the room, curious given all the windows were closed. He began to untangle Elain from his arms to walk through the room, just to be certain they were alone.

The bond faded to nothing and Elain twisted in his grip, her eyes devoid of life again. They were blown out, near black where even the whites should have been.

“Elain–”

She scrambled for him, all but screaming as she lunged and toppled him to the ground. She was so little, hardly a match for him at all were it not for the glinting silver and green dagger in her hand. Lucien hadn’t realized she was armed when he fell to the floor but when her blade pierced his stomach, he was more than aware. 

“Cauldron, Elain,” he groaned, catching her arm roughly when she made to bring it back over him. He could see the blood lust on her otherwise empty face. “Elain, it’s me—”But maybe she knew. Maybe that was the point, maybe she’d hidden that dagger on purpose.

Despite the blood leaking from his body, Lucien managed to pin her beneath him. It was not how he’d imagined this moment—Elain had been writhing from pleasure and not the urge to see him dead. 

Lucien ripped at the bond, hands holding her wrists, his thighs clenched painfully around her torso. “Wake up,” he ordered, letting the magic lace his every word. He hadn’t expected it to work so well and yet all at once, Elain went limp. Lucien pried the dagger from her hand, throwing it across the room with a clatter. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded when she began to push against his grip.

“Nothing, just a dream–” she gasped when she saw him, blood still pooling from his wound.

“Of course, it’s just your run of the mill nightmare, you know, up until you stabbed me,” he retorted, trying very hard not to shout. Elain burst into tears, arms wrapped around her blood stained nightdress and though he was the one with the punctured body, Lucien felt as if he’d done something unforgivably wrong.

“Elain, please. Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” she whispered, going to the bathroom for some towels. He’d need more than that. Lucien managed to get to his feet, ignoring the white hot streak of pain that lanced through him.

He used his magic to suck up the puddle of blood on the floor, sparing them both from an awkward conversation in the morning, though it did little to stop the dripping trail behind him as he made his way for the tub. 

Hauling off his shirt, Lucien thought it looked worse than it was. “Where did you get the blade, Elain?”

He needed to know if she’d intentionally hurt him. If Elain had brought the dagger into the bed, Lucien had every intention of sending her back home in the morning with a warning that she needed to be better guarded while he worked. He wasn’t going to entertain her if she was trying to harm him. He couldn’t deal with the implication that his mate had tried to kill him on purpose, that she’d waited until he fell asleep…that she hated him so much she’d rather see him dead. It made Lucien’s chest ache, not from his wound but the realization she would never accept the bond. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, tears pouring down her cheeks. She couldn’t take her eyes off his stomach, off the smeared blood still sliding off his skin. “In my dream I…”

Ignoring the fact that he still wore pants, Lucien reached for the tap and turned on the water. “Yes?”

“I was stabbing Hybern again,” she said, shoulders shaking. “I was trying to keep him away from Nesta and Feyre, I…I didn’t mean…”

Lucien exhaled. “So, just so I understand. Your nightmares compel you to hurt someone. Yourself…and now me, the only person keeping you from hurting yourself?”

Elain nodded her head.

 “And you don’t see a problem with that?”

She wept harder. “I do, I just—”

“Tell me what you’re dreaming, Elain,” he ordered again, pouring every ounce of magic available to him into the command. She was his mate. Lucien thought she’d have to obey, or at least, would buckle beneath the weight of his command. He was still bleeding, half naked in a tub of pink water while Elain stood in a ruined night dress that was coated in his blood. His instincts were running a river, demanding he kill something to protect her and it was with disappointment that he realized she did not feel the same.

He watched her struggle against the command, her legs shaking until she collapsed to the floor. Only then, knees drawn to her chest, did Elain begin explaining the dreams. Lucien tried to pretend her nearly launching herself into oblivion for Graysen didn’t hurt every last feeling in his body, worse than anything a knife could have done. 

Her next dream was worse than the first because it implied she was lying, in some respects, because she worried he might die. It was the first time Elain dared to make eye contact with him.

“It’s only a dream,” he said, uncomfortable as fuck in his sopping wet pants and his still aching wound. “My magic is hot but it’s not light—”

“I’ve seen it,” she interrupted with a miserable whisper. “In Hybern…you used that same power.”

Lucien shook his head. “That was just the mate instinct.”

She didn’t look convinced and to be fair, neither was he. Not when Elain just knew things she shouldn’t. It was too much for one night.

“And this last one?”

“I told you. It was like I was there again. I only realized it was you...or, I guess, not Hybern when I saw that awful face.”

Elain gulped down air between sobs, letting herself absorb the full weight of what was happening. Lucien couldn’t bear it. “Hey,” he murmured. Elain buried her face in her knees, shaking so hard he thought she might break apart. It was with a pained grunt he managed to haul himself out of the tub and raise her chin. “No harm done. Look, I’m already healing,” he added, rising up on his knees so she could see the wound knitting up before their very eyes. 

“I could have killed you.”

“No, Elain, you could not,” he replied frankly. “Not unless you get a lot better at aiming and a lot stronger.”

She sniffed. “Really?”

“Yes,” he agreed solemnly. “Please don’t cry. I’m not angry, just worried. I want to help you and I can’t when you keep secrets. You can trust me.”

She nodded, letting him wipe at her eyes. “Maybe I should sleep in the closet—”

“No,” he said too quickly. “You’ll stay where I can keep tabs on you. Whatever magic this is, I’d rather you stab me every night than hurt yourself because I can’t get to you in time. Swear it,

Elain. Swear on the bond between us—no more secrets.”She pressed her lips together in a maddening line and Lucien, sopping wet and bleeding, felt his heart crack. 

“Okay.”

She looked at him, eyes wide with true fear. “Okay?”

“You’ll go home tomorrow,” he groaned, hauling himself to his feet. 

“But you’ll stay?” she asked, clambering up with him, hand on his elbow to steady him. “How is that fair—”

“YOU STABBED ME!” he snarled furiously, yanking his arm from her grasp. “And want to sit there and say you can’t trust me! So yes, Elain. You’ll go home and that’s where you’ll stay. I’m done.”

“You’re done?” she squeaked from behind him, so very small and sad and miserable. Lucien’s rotten heart shattered a little more, demanding he turn even as he hobbled back to the bedroom for a clean shirt and a dry set of pants. 

“What else can I do, Elain? How else can I prove myself? I’ve stayed away, I’ve given you time and space. I’ve tried to learn about you, tried to prove myself and at every turn you throw up wall after wall, shut every possible door in my face. How can you ask me to let you stay when there is a very real possibility you will one day throw yourself off a ledge—” his voice cracked, betraying his very real feelings. “And I won’t get there in time?”

More tears slid down her face and Lucien very much wished he’d never told her he was done with her. He wished he’d just kept his mouth shut and made her get into the bath with him, had washed his blood off her skin and tucked her back into bed.

“I said I was sorry–”

“It’s not enough, Elain. You’re going home.”

“I’ll tell you!” she gasped, as if the words were physically painful to her. “No secrets,” she added when he turned. “Please don’t send me back.”

He sighed. “Elain–”

“Please,” she begged, her tears dripping down her chin to mingle with his blood on the cold floor. “I’m trying, Lucien. I can try harder.”

He couldn’t stop himself then, crossing the distance between them to pull her against him. Elain’s whole body shook, weeping soft against his aching, bleeding chest. “I’m trying so hard,” she sobbed, arms folded between them. “My whole life was stolen from me.”

He pressed his face into her hair, blinking back his own urge to cry. “I know.”

“Everyone acts as if it was fine, like I should be grateful. Of course Nesta and Feyre figured it out—they were miserable when we were human, but Lucien? I was so happy.”

For just a moment, he tried to really imagine it without letting his own jealousy get in the way. He could remember how he’d felt, making his own plans with Jesminda. How he’d proposed, the dreams he’d had, the plans he’d made. Stolen in one horrible moment, changing the entire trajectory of his entire life. He felt haunted, even then, by the ache of it all. The what might have been. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Elain didn’t acknowledge his words but she did uncurl her arms to hold him, her grip so tight his ribs protested. It wasn’t a declaration of undying love or even a real promise of friendship. But in that ugly, terrifying moment, something shifted between them.

And Lucien thought even the Gods themselves noticed.

ELAIN:

A new emissary had arrived. Elain was avoiding the commotion, grateful for new blood to distract people from Lucien. If she had to field one more question about his penis, she thought she might scream. Surely there were more fascinating ways to spend a persons time than sex? Only, in Rask’s court, all the females had was their scheming. The fun seemed to be getting the male beneath them and not the actual act itself. Hardly a feat given how none of the males respected the females they’d married enough to pose a true challenge. 

Elain was avoiding them all. No one knew what had gone on between her and Lucien two nights before. She’d caught him in the bathroom, shirtless, peering at his stomach in the mirror for any sign of the wound but just as he’d promised it would. It didn’t stop the guilt she felt from beginning to fester beneath her skin. She wasn’t sleeping, terrified of what else she might be capable of. Lucien kept her tight against him but what good was that when she could materialize weapons from nothing? What stopped her next nightmare from offering up an ash arrow and plunging it into his heart. Elain understood why Lucien had to go.

He was keeping her from finishing what the dreams were trying to start. It would have been better to let him take her home and at the same time, far worse. She knew Feyre would overreact and Rhysand would give her the Nesta treatment—locking her up somewhere she couldn’t be hurt, watched every moment of every day by one of the members of his court while he tried to figure out what to do with her.

At least Lucien didn’t care if she walked away from him. At least Lucien offered her space and understanding. She was starting to suspect he was a good man—male. She didn’t know what to do about that. 

“There you are,” Arina’s voice fluttered through Elain’s thoughts, dragging her back to the present. Elain was hiding in one of the spires, tucked into a window ledge with her book. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Lucien is, too. He’s worried,” Arina added without her usual mischief. Elain sighed, closing her book gently in her lap. 

“No need. I’m just avoiding the new emissary.”

“You and me both. Beron is so absurd,” Arina grumbled, helping Elain back to the slippery opal beneath their feet. 

“Beron is here?”

Arina scoffed. “He wouldn’t dare. Helion is practically breathing down his neck. There’s some old feud between the two of them and Helion is just looking for a reason to start a war with him. No, he sent one of his obnoxious sons, likely to torment Lucien.”

“Which one?” Elain asked, well aware she had no idea who any of them were outside of Eris. Arina shrugged delicate shoulders, tugging on the golden chain around her neck. “I didn’t stick around to see. Lucien asked if I’d seen you and then Zosia started touching the buttons on his jacket and—”

“Right. I get it.” And then Arina had come to Lucien’s rescue and the two had teamed up to find Elain. Elain ignored the way her stomach clenched at the thought of Zosia's fingers on Lucien's clothes. “We should go and check him out, just to see.”

“He’s almost certainly here to spy on us,” Arina grumbled. 

“All the more reason to see what we’re up against. I think I can handle one more Vanserra.”

“You have the only decent one,” Arina murmured, nodding her head without looking at several passing courtiers, all eyeing her with hungry interest. 

“None of them appeal to you?”

“If I’m setting down, it’s with some High Lord’s heir,” Arina said with a wrinkled nose. “Maybe Tarquin.”

“He’s not heir. He is High Lord.”

“Even better,” Arina agreed. “I met him on his pleasure barge, you know. Elain, you would have died. Imagine—”

“Elain Archeron.” A smooth, masculine voice slid over Elain’s skin, drawing her steps to a total halt. She knew without looking who was just behind, listening to their conversation with amused fascination. Elain turned first, gazing into the handsome, angular face of Eris Vanserra. He might have been utterly bored were it not for the interest in his amber eyes. He stood like the first born son—heir apparent, for all it mattered—might. Dressed immaculately in a buttoned jacket of green, his black pants tailored perfectly. He’d cut his auburn hair since she’d last seen him, the short sides and longer, pushed back top making him seem more handsome and regal. Golden earrings adorned his pointed lobes and several heavy rings on his broad, fair hands made them seem bigger—more powerful. 

“I didn’t think you were allowed out of the basement,” Eris continued, eyes flicking towards Arina’s still turned back for only a moment. “Something, something, keep the princess from the evil Vanserra, something something. Am I right? Isn’t that how the story goes?”

Arina turned then, green eyes narrowed to slits. Eris looked again, shifting ever so slightly before his eyes came back to Elain. She supposed that was all the acknowledgement he’d offer the beautiful female from Day Court. “Imagine my wonder and surprise when we learned not only had they freed you from your prison but they allowed you to wed.”

His lips curled over his teeth. He knew they were liars, had been in Hewn City not six months earlier dancing with her sister. 

“Right after Cassian wed Nesta,” Elain replied, careful to keep her voice easy and soft. “You remember my elder sister?”

Eris didn’t react to the barb. “Barely.”

“What brings you to Rask? Are you going to join us in the tulip fields?” Elain asked, inching just a little closer. Eris looked down at her, his expression utterly unreadable. “It would be so nice getting to know someone in Lucien’s family.”

“I’ll bet they eat you up over here, don’t they?” he sneered. “You’re such a sweet little thing.”

Elain made her eyes big and round. “Yes.”

“I’m not so easily manipulated, Elain Archeron,” Eris all but whispered, stepping into her personal space. 

“It’s Elain Vanserra,” she replied just as softly, daring to meet his leveled stare. True surprise flickered in his gaze, just enough for Elain to know she’d gained the upper hand, if only for a moment. 

“Lady Vanserra,” he murmured, glancing towards Arina as he said it. “That sounds nice, don’t you think?”

“You should go back home,” Arina said instead, ignoring his words. “You have no business here.”

Eris looked down at Elain. “And leave my baby sister to the wolves? I think not. Tell Lucien I said hi.”

Eris turned heel, leaving the two standing just outside the Great Hall to watch him go. Arina seemed to exhale a shaking breath Elain hadn’t even known she’d been holding.  “He’s such a bastard,” she whispered. 

“He can’t find out what we’re doing,” Elain agreed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How do you plan to keep him from poking his nose into everyone's business? They’ll take one look at him and…” And spill their guts just to get him out of his clothes. Elain thought Eris didn’t seem the type. There was something lifeless about his face despite his sneering countenance. As if he wore a mask and if she peeled it away, she’d find a trembling little bird just behind.

“I’ll occupy Eris,” she said, recognizing something about herself in the eldest Vanserra. It was in his eyes, though Elain didn’t know what, exactly, that thing was. “At least long enough for you to work on that curse.”

“I could work on it for a century,” Arina grumbled. “And still, I’d be staring at gibberish.”

“I’m starting to think it was a mistake coming here,” Elain murmured, staring at the empty space Eris had once been. Arina, her eyes vacant, nodded her head.

“I think so, too.”

LUCIEN:

Eris’s voice was like being doused in frigid water. “I hear congratulations are in order. Mother is going to be so put out when she learns you didn’t even send an invitation. Wedded, little brother. And here I was thinking you’d never get over—”

“Don’t you dare say her name,” Lucien warned, facing off with his eldest brother in a stairwell while he looked for Elain. Eris clicked his teeth, shaking his head.

“Well. Elain is far lovelier than I remember. I suppose that’s the glow of newly mated love, though. When did you find the time?”

Lucien knew Eris didn’t need to sniff through the lie—his brother had gone to visit Vassa and Jurian merely a week before Rhysand had offered up the mission. Lucien had strolled from his bedroom to find Eris toying with a dagger at the breakfast table, filled with endless questions about Koschei’s fortress. 

“Why are you so worried about what I do and don’t do with Elain? Disappointed she couldn’t reject you, too?”

“We have that in common, I suppose,” Eris grinned, following behind Lucien as he began to jog down the stairs. “Given Elain didn’t accept shit and we both know it.”

Lucien spun, slamming his elder brother against the tower wall as hard as he could. Pressing his forearm against Eris’s windpipe, Lucien growled, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eris shoved, knocking Lucien back a step. Adjusting his jacket, cheeks flushed, he said, “I’ve been around too many mated pairs. I know the scent well enough. You’ve got these dumbfucks fooled because they’re too ignorant to recognize what an unsatisfied female looks like.”

Lucien swallowed the urge to shove his brother down the stairs. Eris tugged at his cuffs, the picture of wounded nobility.

“I didn’t come here to fight you.”

“Why did you come?” Lucien demanded. “Tired of fathers boot on your neck? Hoping to breathe a little freely?”

Eris’s rage was a real, simmering thing. Lucien knew exactly how to get beneath his Eris’s skin, after all. Eris hadn’t always been such a piece of shit—there were moments Lucien could recall almost loving Eris. Eris had been a man when Lucien was born and as a boy, all he’d wanted was to be his older brother.

But Eris could be cruel, just like their father and Lucien loved his mother far too much to mold himself in Beron’s image. It had always been the difference between them. Eris wanted to be High Lord and, as consequence, was willing to do anything to get it. And Lucien, who watched Eris chip away at his soul in service of that goal, had learned too young he had no interest in that sort of power.

He did understand one thing, though. Lucien knew the lengths he would personally go to keep Elain safe, and killing Eris ranked very, very low. He wondered if his brother didn’t recognize the bent in Lucien’s thoughts. “I’m not going to tell anyone about your dumb fucking lie. I don’t care enough about your love life to make a spectacle of it. Although,” he added after a moment, “Mother was hurt you didn’t tell her.”

“How could I? Father opens all my letters,” Lucien snapped. “It’s not as if she would have been allowed to come. I’m dead, remember?”

“If only,” Eris mumbled. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here or will I be forced to guess? Don’t make me guess, Lucien. It’s so tedious.”

“I’m here because Elain wants to see the tulips.”

If looks could kill, Lucien thought he would have fallen dead at the bottom of the landing. “Yes, your fascinating mate said as much. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. She invited me to join, you know. Don’t tempt me.”

“If Elain wants you to join us, who am I to deny her?”

A strange look passed over Eris’s face, so fleeting Lucien might have imagined it had his brother not said, “Of course. She is Lady Vanserra, after all.”

Lucien halted, turning his head ever so slowly to look at the hatred burning in Eris’s eyes. “You should have kept her Archeron,” Eris whispered, hands clenched to fists. “Father will–”

“Father can get fucked,” Lucien snapped, his heart pounding in his chest. Lady Vanserra was his mother, had been the derogatory name Beron called Amera anytime she displeased him. Lucien hadn’t thought of it until it was Eris speaking that hated title, his whole body rigid. “I can call my wife whatever I like.”

“And here I was, thinking you two had true love,” Eris sneered. “Did Rhysand force her hand like mothers—”

Lucien slammed his brother back against the wall, fingers curling so tightly around Eris’s throat he could feel the furious flutter of Eris’s pulse. It was only a moment before power exploded from Eris, pushing Lucien back. They might have been boys again, squabbling angrily in the Forest House, shoving and pushing and kicking with their autumn kissed power.

Only, it wasn’t just fire pouring from Lucien’s hands. Eris noticed it too, drawing back when a pulse of bright yellow slipped from his gut, slapping Eris hard in the face. Lucien looked down at his hands, recalling what Elain had said. I’ve seen it. 

Eris blinked, smoothing over his features as if nothing had happened at all. It would be useless to ask his brother what this was, not when Eris might tattle to Beron…not when the magic in autumn might be shifting, might be reconsidering which brother might inherit the throne. Lucien drew back an instinctive step. If Eris suspected he wasn’t next, he’d kill Lucien without blinking an eye.

“You should take your pretty little mate home. This is no place for her.”

Lucien turned his back to Eris. “What the fuck would you know?”

Eris didn’t respond, not that Lucien gave his brother a chance to. With Eris here, everything was more complicated. It was almost worse, in some ways, than having Beron. Lucien could maneuver around his father, could predict what Beron might do, the ways in which he might act. Eris had always been his own agent of chaos, enforcing their fathers will with his own particular brand of cruelty. 

More and more, Lucien wondered if the whole mission wasn’t doomed from the start. Gunnar was more interested in chasing skirts than talking politics and Lucien and Elain were slowly unraveling. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, was barely eating. She kept up her appearances but Hilda had pulled back from Elain once Arina arrived, content to sit upon her throne and watch her court with near sullen eyes. Lucien could sense her resentment and wondered how Gunnar didn’t recognize his wife’s own anger even when it looked him so brazenly in the face.

Maybe Eris was right, in his own stupid way. Maybe it was a mistake to keep Elain somewhere like this. Lucien could still see the fear in her eyes when he’d said he meant to take her back, her soft desperation. She’d been trying too hard, in the aftermath, tiptoeing around him when he wished she’d go back to arguing with him. 

He found her at the dining table picking at a cucumber salad, a vision in a sky blue confection. “There you are,” he murmured, dropping heavily into the chair beside her. Elain looked over with heavy lidded eyes and to his secret surprise, scooted her chair close enough she could rest her head on his arm.

“Can we go upstairs for a while?” she murmured, fork all but clattering to the table. “Will you watch me sleep?”

He would have crawled over hot coals if she’d asked. “Yeah,” he agreed, pleased when she all but batted her pretty little eyes at him. Elain let him keep his hand in hers, perhaps unaware he was stroking his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist. 

“Eris is here.”

“I know,” Lucien grumbled, leading her towards the stairs. “I think we’ll participate in the festival and then get away to the tulips for a few days. Come back and see where we’re at and if it's even worth staying another month.”

“And if it’s not?” she whispered, tensing with every new step forward.

Lucien kept his shrug too casual. “There are other places we could visit. I am emissary, after all.”

“You’ll bring me with you?”

“Until you demand to return home,” Lucien agreed, his heart fluttering in his throat. He would do exactly as he promised even as he hoped her opinion of him might shift, might become more curious and less mistrusting. 

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Elain said, her words cutting through his hopeful thoughts. “I hate Velaris.”

“You don’t hate–”

“Yes I do,” she replied, yanking her hand from his grip. Lucien had to suppress a smile, trotting after her into their shared bedroom. “I hate how everyone is always watching me, how they follow me around. I’m never alone unless I’m in my room. They just assume I must love it because they do but I don’t even like starlight,” Elain added. “And it’s never warm enough, the water is always cold, and—”

“It’s not home,” he finished, noting the way her body practically sagged with relief.

“Exactly,” she agreed, plopping onto the bed with a loud sigh. “Nothing about this life is. I’m so out of place. I don’t know where I belong or even who I am…”

Lucien’s chest ached. He couldn’t help but join her, sitting on the edge of bed, his thigh practically touching her own. “I feel the same way.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Maybe we’ll just live like nomads for the next century. Bouncing from place to place, trying to figure out what feels right.”

Elain smiled. “I’d like that. I want to see more of this world. I’ve only ever seen Velaris…and now this place.”

“We can remedy that,” Lucien assured her. “You’ve got centuries, you know. You don’t need to make a decision about your life right this second.”

Her eyes settled. “Even about…this?”

“Especially about this,” Lucien lied. He wanted her to pick him so badly it made his teeth ache. “I got three centuries to be stupid and run around. If you need just as much time, take it. I’ll wait.” Elain took another breath but her eyes were light again. Warm. Happy, even. He’d done that. It bolstered him. “I thought you wanted to nap?”

“I do,” she said with the sweetest sigh. “Tell me about Eris, first.”

Lucien flopped back onto the bed, head tilted to look at her. “What do you want to know?”

Elain grinned. “Everything.”

ELAIN:

Life at court had settled into a routine, strange as it was. Elain woke each morning for breakfast before the ladies decided on what games they wanted to play. Lunch inevitably broke up a near faight between two females who were almost certainly arguing over a male that did not deserve their attention and by the time the afternoon rolled around, everyone was a little drunk and back in good spirits.

Everyone but Hilda. Hilda presided over them all, indulging in their games and soothing squabbles but underneath it all, Elain recognized the near dead eyed dread she stared into. Elain knew that feeling too well. It was what kept prompting Elain to sit beside Hilda, to include her in the gossip, even when Hilda hardly seemed interested.

Not until Eris arrived, anyway. Elain had seen the way Hilda watched the Autumn court heir stroll through court, murmuring to her husband as they left. “Eris Vanserra,” she murmured, her words soft. “I met his father once.” Elain turned to look. “Oh?”

“He’s not half as handsome as his sons,” she said, not for the first time. “He was very married when I met him…for all that it mattered.”

Well. That was disturbing. Elain looked over, suppressing the urge to gag. “I hear he’s terribly unkind.”

“Oh, that he is,” Hilda murmured, examining her nails. “You know how those Vanserra’s are. I wonder what his eldest son is like.”

Elain cleared her throat. “Do you want me to ask?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. He is a pretty diversion, though. Unmated?”

Elain almost choked. “Eris? I doubt he has a mate anywhere in the world.”

“He needs someone powerful,” she mused and Elain, so utterly disturbed to hear anyone speak about Eris that way, could only nod her head. 

“You know what we should do?” Hilda announced, silencing the ladies in the drawing room they were all lounging in. “A dance. Tonight,” she added pointedly as if the room hadn’t erupted into squealing giggles. Any excuse to get dressed up and drink was well worth the revelry. Elain would have been delighted, too, had she not known the true purpose of the dance. All that effort over Eris Vanserra?

Elain was dying by the time she found a bewildered Lucien wandering towards their bedroom. “Did you hear the queen has ordered a ball?”

Elain nodded so exuberantly that Lucien’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you know?”

Elain shoved him into their bedroom before breathlessly declaring, “Hilda slept with your father.”

Lucien blanched. “How awful.”

“She liked it. She said—”

Lucien held up a hand. “Do not tell me what she said. He’s been married to my mother for six centuries. Hilda is barely older than six decades. When did she find the time?”

Oh. Elain hadn’t thought to ask. “She didn’t say.”

“A mercy, I suppose. What does that have to do with tonight?”

“She’s interested in your brother.”

“Ugh,” Lucien grumbled. “I have to dress up so she has an excuse to seduce Eris? Lets stay in—”

“You stay in,” Elain interrupted blithely, walking to their shared closet for a dress. “I want to see if she’s successful.”

Lucien cringed. “You like Eris, now?”

“When did I say that? I only said I wanted to see if this seduction is successful. Hilda is so…” She didn’t know how to finish that. Hilda was so strange. Icy and cold one minute, open and warm the next. She’d told Elain about her task for Arina saying she wanted Elain’s opinion…and then never spoke of it again. It was almost like having a friend, almost the illusion of trust. Elain frowned. 

“There is a festival in Volta this weekend, too.”

“Yes,” his voice grumbled from behind the closet door. “We have a full social calendar, don’t we?”

“When were you thinking of going to see tulips?” That was what Elain really wanted. A chance to escape court, to spend a day or two in nature. Perhaps they could sleep in another inn, if only to get away from the headache inducing atmosphere Hilda and Gunnar had created. 

“I don’t know,” came his muffled reply. Elain’s fingers hesitated over the dresses. Lucien was busy, she reminded herself. He hadn’t come here to show her a good time, he’d come here to do a job. Now Eris had arrived and Helion was meddling and their jobs were more difficult than before. She tried not to let her disappointment overwhelm her but if Elain was being honest, she knew part of what she wanted was to be alone with him. No females constantly touching, laughing, lurking. 

It was a foolish thing to want.

Elain emerged with a deep hunter green gown, laying it across the neatly made bed. “Well. I still want to go.” Lucien glanced up from his chair, the letter in his hand slipping for a moment. “We will. I just don’t know when. Or how. When I brought it up, Gunnar wanted to make a whole trip out of it–”

“No,” she breathed, heart pounding. “They can’t come.”

“And then, of course, you invited Eris.”

“I wasn’t being serious,” Elain protested. Lucien went back to his letter, a muscle jumping in his jaw. 

“I’m sure you weren’t.”

“Are you mad?” she gaped. Lucien didn’t acknowledge that, though his knee began bouncing. He was. Elain huffed a loud breath, abandoning her dress and her mate—the infuriating, stupid, arrogant male—to their bedroom. She’d find Ione and Zosia and see if they wanted to play a game of bowling, one of the more favorite games at court. They might want Lucien, which annoyed her, but when he wasn’t around she found their company more than tolerable. 

Elain made it all the way to the bottom of the steps before she was intercepted by a different Vanserra. He opened his mouth to offer some snide comment. Elain cut him off. “Oh, be quiet.” His eyebrows shot upwards. “Careful of your claws, kitten.” “

Remember what I just said, Eris?” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood for your word games.”

“Okay. How about a direct question? What the fuck are you and Lucien doing here?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, alone in the empty corridor though she doubted they would be for long.

“You first, big brother,” she replied with mock sweetness. Eris opened his mouth when the sound of chattering interrupted them both. Soft, serious voices prompted Eris to grab Elain around the waist, hand against her mouth, as he pressed her just behind the corner of another hall.

“Shhh,” he whispered, turning his head to listen. Elain was tempted to bite his hand, to lick his skin if only to annoy him. Why was he touching her? She didn’t like how the Vanserra’s were so comfortable putting their hands all over her body. 

“And the mortals?” That was Gunnar’s whispered, soft voice.

“Dead. Easily killed,” scoffed another male. Elain’s eyes shot to Eris.

“Marcellus,” he whispered against her ear. 

“All of them?” Gunnar was prompting something that eluded both Elain and Eris. Marcellus chuckled.

“Do you truly wish to know?”

Eris and Elain looked at each other. Yes.

“I suppose not,” Gunnar agreed to their combined disappointment. “So long as everything was cleaned up.”

“It is as if they never existed.”

“And what of the…”

“We’re finding it…difficult…to penetrate their borders. Several soldiers have returned with their minds addled. Confused,” Marcellus added pointedly. “It is as the Autumn Lord said.” Elain looked at Eris accusingly. He merely shook his head, a tendril of his auburn hair sliding into his eyes. Beron, he mouthed. 

“Interesting. Is there no other way in?”

“No. Our ship did not make it to port. It simply vanished,” Marcellus said softly. “Prythian is hiding more secrets than their emissaries suggest.”

“I will speak with Elain Vanserra this evening. She is not as well-trained as her slippery mate,” Gunnar murmured. 

Marcellus’s dark, appreciative chuckle made Eris’s lips curl over his teeth in rage. “Let me know if you want any help.”

“She might like it,” Gunnar agreed, his voice traveling further away. “If I can get him away from her.”

“He is quite rabid,” Marcellus agreed. “Leave him to me.”

Eris and Elain listened to their fading steps and their crude jokes as to what, exactly they might do if they managed to separate her from Lucien. Elain’s heart pounded in her chest, loud enough she knew Eris could likely hear it. 

He dropped his hand from her mouth. “Meet him tonight,” Eris breathed, pushing away from her to run a hand through his neatly coiffed hair. “I’ll keep watch. Meet him and tell him—”

“What have you told him?”

“Nothing,” Eris gasped, his amber eyes wild with alarm. With anger. “I was sent to watch Lucien, I didn’t…this is…” it was so odd, seeing the silver-tongued Autumn heir at a loss for words. Eris pressed his fingertips against his lips. “They’re trying to get into Rhysand’s territory.”

“Yes,” Elain agreed. She knew why, of course. They believed he held the Cauldron. Eris narrowed his eyes. 

“What will it take for you to trust me?”

“Centuries, I would imagine,” she replied blithely. “I don’t believe you wouldn’t let them drag me off if it suited your goals.” Elain pushed past him, intending to leave Eris standing there alone in the hall, to tell Lucien everything. Eris’s hoarse voice stopped her. “I tried to stop him—the last time.”

Elain turned slowly. She had no idea what Eris was talking about. “Why didn’t you?”

Shame flooded Eris’s expression. “Beron, I mean. I was sent away, I…I should have known it was a diversion. I truly thought Beron would let them leave. You don’t understand…” Eris trailed off for a moment. “It solved his problem when it came to Lucien. One less son to consider, one less brother vying for the throne. I was naive…I thought he’d be glad to see Lucien leave.”

Oh Gods, she thought softly. Eris was going to tell her something Lucien had never shared, something no one had ever told her. It was a violation. She ought to have stopped Eris. Elain couldn’t help herself.

“Maybe you hoped for that, too.”

“I didn’t,” Eris said, surging forward, one hand thrown out to stop her from leaving. “I wanted him to marry her, I swear—”

Elain shook her head, forcing her expression to betray nothing but condemnation. “Are you sure, Eris?”

His anguish unmasked him, made his own hollow, empty darkness so obvious. There was no amusement, no sneering nobility. Only a male who had bore centuries of horrors and was crumbling beneath his guilt. “When I learned, I wrote to Tamlin and begged him to give Lucien sanctuary.”

“Does Lucien know this?” 

“No,” Eris rasped. “He believes me complicit…that I wanted to see her die.”

“And did you?” 

Eris shook his head. “Beron should have killed Lucien if someone had to be punished. She…she was an innocent.”

Elain meant to turn her back on him, haughty in her judgment. Eris knew it, saw what she felt burning in her eyes. “There were six of them,” he whispered, so soft she barely heard him. “And only one of me. I lost three brothers that day and I have not forgotten it.”

Eris looked as if he might shatter, as if those words were something he’d only ever dared to think. Elain closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Tell me you’ve come to help.”

“I came to get you out,” he whispered into her neck. “Father would kill you just as easily as he’d killed her. I cannot stand it.”

Elain rose up on her tip toes and kissed Eris’s cheek. That was what she’d seen, earlier in the week. Their shared grief and guilt, the knowledge they’d failed their siblings through inaction and ignorance. Maybe it hadn’t been malicious, but someone was still hurt and someone had to carry that blame.  “I’ll meet Gunnar tonight on one condition. Well, two, I suppose.”

“Name them.”

“Don’t let him take me somewhere you can’t see,” Elain said immediately. Eris nodded, smoothing his hands against his jacket when she stepped out of his embrace.

“And the other?” Just like that, his mask of nobility had slipped right back over his face.

“Forgive yourself, Eris.”

His mouth fell open, eyes filling with some emotion she couldn’t read. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Elain swallowed.

“I know you will.”

LUCIEN: 

Lucien didn’t want to be at this party. He didn’t want to watch Elain and Eris, dressed in complementary shades of green, dance about the glimmering marble floors like prince and princess of Rask beneath that massive crystal chandelier. He couldn’t stand the hungry way Gunnar kept his eyes on Elain’s lithe body, eyes roving the smooth curves that her off-the-shoulder dress clung to. 

“Lucien Vanserra,” breathed a familiar voice. “You owe me money.”

Lucien glanced over at Arina, Day Courts wiliest scholar. More politician than anything, her presence signaled nothing positive. Not that Lucien didn’t know he was in deep shit with the arrival of Eris. He sighed.

“You knew I wasn’t good for it.”

“Maybe I’ll pawn it off your wife,” Arina teased. “She’s surprisingly sweet. How did you convince her to marry you?”

“She took pity on me, as I’m sure you could have guessed,” Lucien agreed. “Speaking of, I think I need to steal her from my brother before he gets her so drunk she can’t stand.”

Arina waved him off, her eyes lingering on his brother. Lucien didn’t dare considering why, not when she’d have to compete with Hilda of Rask. Instead, he merely cut into the dance between his mate and Eris without preamble or apology.

“Spoil all my fun, why don’t you?” Eris grumbled while Elain grinned. 

“Jealous?” she taunted, her cheeks deliciously flushed.

Was he so obvious? He opened his mouth to argue when he caught that sparkle in her eyes. Teasing. She was merely giving him a difficult time. “Hardly,” he lied. “I merely can’t stand the sight of you making Eris so happy. What are the two of you laughing about, anyway?”

“He is telling me the most delightful stories of you as a boy,” Elain replied, pulled close to his body, the scent of her exertion was maddening. The salt of her sweat combined with the usual sweetness of her skin offered the most tantalizing hint as to what her arousal might smell like. Lucien tugged her closer still, one hand on the curve of her waist, the other laced through her fingers. The steps were second nature, were as easy as breathing. Better, he thought with dizzying amazement. Elain moved with a fluid grace, like she floated in the luminescent air. 

“What stories is he telling?” Lucien asked, his voice too breathless to be the mocking sneer he’d wanted her to hear. Elain looked up through those thick, dark lashes and fuck what was wrong with him? Lucien cleared his throat.

“He says you’re afraid of heights—”

“You knew that,” Lucien interrupted impatiently. Not with her or her enjoyment at his discomfort but his own reaction to her nearness. She was in his bed. Why did the sight of her obvious joy make him feel so undone, so tightly wound he might combust? 

Bond, it’s just the bond, he lied, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The music slipped from one song to the other and Lucien didn’t let her go, not when other partners swapped out, just as breathless as him and Elain. Marcellus was coming towards him and Lucien knew the asshole was going to want to talk about going to the border, of showing them what had happened. Lucien swallowed the growl.

“Go,” Elain murmured, disentangling herself from his arms. “I’m sure Eris has more stories about your blanky.”Lucien spluttered a stammering non-response, noting Elain’s bright delight when she realized Eris had not made that up. Eris sauntered over, two crystal goblets of wine in hand, and offered one to Elain. He dipped his head, speaking words so quiet Lucien couldn’t hear over the playing orchestra. Elain grinned and Lucien couldn’t deny what he felt.

Burning, all-consuming, overwhelming jealousy. They were so at ease, so jovial and friendly. He’d spent five years trying to get her to relax around him and Eris could sweep in and in the span of a week had managed what Lucien never could. Elain’s easy touches, her pleased smiles…her laughter.

“Vanserra,” Marcellus snapped. “Do you have a moment?”

He really didn’t and yet could he do? Demand Elain not talk to his weasely, two-faced brother? Lucien turned his back and swallowed the ache, the hurt, the everything roiling around within him. The thought that his mate preferred his older brother made him feel wildly inadequate. She didn’t mind him because he was a Vanserra, then. She only minded it was him.

“Have you considered coming to the border with me?” Marcellus began, walking Lucien towards the far table where piles of food and wine sat, far from the dancing and the merriment.

“I have,” Lucien replied dryly, pouring himself a near full glass. 

Marcellus was clearly irritated, waiting on Lucien’s response. “And?”

Lucien shrugged, practically pouring the wine down his throat like it was a shot of liquor. “You haven’t told me the purpose. I was there when our own wall fell, I am aware of the ramifications.”

“I would think you’d like to see the conditions of the mortals,” Marcellus replied casually. Testing. Lucien didn’t dare look at him as he shrugged again, instead pinning his gaze on Arina, floating towards him in a bright gown of teal.

“I don’t particularly care.”

Marcellus’s lips curled upwards. “No? And here I was thinking you didn’t want us to invade.”

“I don’t,” Lucien replied. “Another war would be costly and messy and send the wrong message to our own home which is still rebuilding. I don’t want to be drafted into another war to quell a human uprising. What I want is some fucking peace.”

“Come to the border with Gunnar,” Marcellus murmured. “Let us show Prythian what peace—and alliance—could look like.”

Lucien looked over at the blonde male. “Okay,” he agreed. “No females.”

“A wise decision,” Marcellus agreed with a smile, just in time for Arina to snag Lucien’s elbow.

“Can I steal Lord Vanserra?” she asked, her voice easy despite her tight eyes. Marcellus nodded, the picture of courtly grace.

“All yours, lady.”

Arina wrapped her arm through his. “Where is Elain?” she questioned softly, drawing him across the open ballroom like two lovers taking a leisurely stroll.

“With my…brother…” Lucien trailed off as his eyes swept the room. His fleeting victory with Marcellus was immediately dampened when he realized neither of them were dancing. There was no laughter, no touching…they’d left. Lucien’s jealousy was an out of control monster, forcing his steps to quicken as he strolled out of the ballroom.

Lucien froze at the end of the hall, pivoting to turn towards the steps that would lead him to his bedroom. Elain, eyes closed, hands gripping Gunnar’s tunic, was pressed against the wall. The King himself had one hand pressed against the papered surface just beside her, half caging her with his body. His mouth covered hers, his free hand holding her face, fingers carding through her hair. Elain wasn’t kissing him back but she wasn’t moving, either. She looked asleep.

Arina grabbed Lucien’s arm to keep him from walking in on it, hand pressed to her mouth. Lucien, mouth dry, could only watch his mate allow whatever was taking place to occur. Gunnar tilted her head, pulling his mouth back for a moment. Elain gasped as if she’d been holding her breath.

“Come upstairs with me,” Gunnar whispered. Elain blinked her eyes, lips parted. Lucien’s stomach slapped wetly at his feet. She was going to agree, was letting him take her hand–

“Elain!” Eris snapped, breathless and disheveled. “Come here.”

Elain blinked again, blowing out a breath. Gunnar’s lip curled over his teeth but Elain darted beneath his arm, all but throwing herself in Eris’s arms. “Your majesty?” she asked, as if she couldn’t quite understand what she was looking at.

“Vanserra,” Gunnar snarled. Eris, holding Elain against his chest, offered Gunnar a cool, calculating look.

“Your wife is looking for you.”

And then, without another word, Eris swept Elain away. Gunnar’s growl of frustration bounced off the high, arched ceilings. Lucien grabbed Arina, pulling her into the light, his face utterly casual as they began walking. Gunnar rounded the corner, steps halting for a moment. Lucien’s eyes slid to his face, the picture of ignorant civility. 

It was Arina who stilled, who dropped into a soft bow. “Majesty,” she murmured. 

He merely nodded curtly before stepping past them. Arina watched, head inclined.

“What was that?” she whispered when he left.

What, indeed?

#elucien #elucien fan fic #elain x lucien #elucien fanfiction #surprise! #i was thinking about this fic last night #plotting it out in my head #thought why not

[carry-on-my-wayward-gays]

Merry crimmus have ranchers!!!

“Daddy- look, it's snowing!” Lola cheers. She drags a still half-asleep Jimmy towards the window and bounces, pointing and gesturing towards the blanket of white outside.

“Mhm..” Jimmy nods, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up a little more. “Real nice, pumpkin.” He mutters. “How ‘bout you get dressed, an’ I'll take you outside so you can play.”

That sends Lola squealing excitedly and running up the stairs again. This at least gives Jimmy enough time to make himself and Tango some coffee. Which is good, considering Tango comes padding into the kitchen shortly after the pot is done.

“Morning, buttercup.” Tango kisses his cheek and pours himself some coffee, not noticing the snow outside the window. “You sleep well?”

“Mhmm.” Jimmy nods, finally awake enough for conversation. “Lola wants to go outside an’ play with in th'snow.”

“Wait.” Tango pauses and looks out the window. “Holy shit, that's a lot of snow…”

“Yep.” Jimmy snorts under his breath. “You wanna take Lola outside?”

“Fuck yeah.” The both of them knew it was mostly for Tango to play in the snow. He was like a kid when it came to that.

So the both of them got bundled up, and Lola bolts out the door before either of them could. She looks so happy like that, throwing snowballs at both dads, falling back into the snow and giggling.

Jimmy's heart melts at the sight of it, his daughter looking so full of joy while in the snow. And Tango was getting in on the fun too. He was playing with her, the two of them having a blast, while Jimmy stood on the porch and finished his coffee. And at a point, he set his mug down and just watched.

Until a snowball got hurled at his face. A loud “Oh shit- !” came from Tango, and Jimmy looks up to see both his husband and daughter as frozen as the trees. Tango's hands covered his mouth and Lola tried her best not to laugh.

Jimmy doesn't say anything. He just walks down the steps, calm as can be, and picks up a handful of snow. He packs it into a ball and chucks it at Tango with accuracy that shocks everyone but him.

Tango sputters and shakes the snow from him, breaking into a laugh as he reaches for more snow. “Oh you're in for it now-”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with laughter, and covered in snow. Jimmy at least brushes the snow off of all of them before they step inside. He'd just cleaned, and he didn't want any snow being tracked into his house, thank you very much.

But hot chocolate was made, and instead of coats, they were bundled into blankets. “Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Lola pipes up, and Jimmy shoots a look at Tango before he could say anything.

“She's too young for Die Hard, baby.” He rolls his eyes. Tango pouts, but doesn't say anything to try and convince Jimmy of otherwise.

“I wanna watch The Year Without Santa Claus!” Lola giggles and reaches for the remote immediately.

The day winds down like that, with Lola curled up on one side of Jimmy and Tango on the other, both comfortable and content as can be.

And Jimmy thought for a moment. This is what life was all about. The little things.

Nothing else mattered in this moment, just his husband and daughter. Their own perfect little family.

AWWWWWWW AKSJRKDKFNFNCCJ THANK YOU SUGAR(/p) THIS IS SO CUTE AND FLUFFY I LOVE THEM :((

Die Hard is a Christmas movie btw I will die on this hill. Maybe Lola can watch it next year :3c This made me so happy thank you lub you <3

#should i make an answer tag? #shadow likes this thing #roxie-roo

[samsaurwrites]

[ Morbid Fixation, Chapter 1 "Quiet (Screaming & Thrashing)" ]

“This will be good for you,” your therapist had told you, twirling a pen around graceful fingers, watching you with a steady, unnerving gaze. “Being alone in a new city is never easy,” she had said, “and this will give you a chance to meet some new people.”

You're sick. Rotting from the inside out.

(And so is he.)

◦ | Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Blood and Injury, Unreliable Narrator, Eventual Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no beta we die like reader

Read here or on AO3.

It’s snowing outside. Dull and dreary, the snow whirls by in a blur that barely registers. The dull rattling of the train, the constant bobbing and swaying, the ache in the balls of your feet—it’s the only thing keeping you awake at this point.

Your eyes feel heavy, swollen. Tired.

It’s hard to focus. On anything.

On everything.

Noise floats past you, around you. Heard without being processed. Like fingertips, grazing your skin without really touching. It’s a hazy mix of idle chatter, of rhythmic thumping as the train wheels glide across the tracks. Of muffled music, leaking through cheap earbuds, and howling winter winds.

You glance down at your watch. Rub at your eyes until the numbers bleed into focus.

This is a mistake.

“This will be good for you,” your therapist had told you, twirling a pen around and around graceful fingers, watching you with a steady, almost unnerving gaze. “Being alone in a new city is never easy,” she had said with a soft smile, “but this will give you a chance to meet some new people.”

People just as fucked up and numb inside as you are.

You arrive almost before you realize it. Caught up in the mass exodus that spills out of the train—it’s sweltering, suffocating. Caught up in the burn and sting of the wind against your cheeks.

Razor sharp. Like needles pricking your skin. Over and over and over and over—

It hurts.

(‘This is an opportunity,’ she had insisted.)

—it feels good.

This is a mistake, you think while you stare up at a building nearly as dreary as the snow beneath your shoes, stained dark with dirt and grime. This is a mistake, you think again while you bend down to scribble your name on the sign-in sheet.

Your fingers shake. From cold. From a nervous energy you can’t quite get rid of. Your name come out scratchy, nearly illegible, the last in a line of ten or twelve.

You add your phone number. Your email.

The scratching of the pen against the paper makes you cringe. Makes the throbbing in your head worse. Almost unbearable.

You could be at home right now. You could be under the blankets. Curled up on your bed or your shitty old couch, picking at a box of left-over take out, drowning out the noise in your head with the noise of the TV or your shitty upstairs neighbors or your shitty AC unit that rattles when you crank up the heat. 

A waste of time.

The community center is quiet. Old and cramped inside, dim and dull. It’s too cold, you think, and it smells like moisture. Like mildew. Once you finish writing, the woman behind the table stands, smoothing her skirt.

“Follow me,” she says and offers you a smile, too warm, too bright for this place.

You hate it.

She ushers you down the hall and into a large communal space at the back of the building. Matted carpet gives way to old and yellowing linoleum. There’s a similarly dingy kitchenette, off in one corner, counters lined with cheap cupcakes, cookies, and instant coffee. The old couches and armchairs have all been pushed to the edge of the room, making room for the ring of plastic folding chairs in the center.

You rub absentmindedly at your arms, shifting your weight as goosebumps prick and ripple and refuse to go away.

“We’re almost ready to get started, so,” she gestures to the circle, “sit wherever you like.”

You make your way over to the chairs, pulse thudding painfully in your temples, so loud you can barely hear the flickering buzz of the fluorescents above you. You pick one at random—one as far away from the other occupants as possible.

A waste of time. A mistake—

You avoid eye contact, settling down with a wince as the chair squeaks, legs scraping against the floor.

—thud, thud, thudthudthud.

You don’t know why you came. Can’t remember.

You glance up at the clock, directly above a bulletin board plastered with old posters and advertisements. Anxiety claws at your chest like a wild animal, shredding your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Just as you start to work up the nerve to stand, to jump up and get the fuck out of there, the woman from before sits down and calls everyone else over to the circle.

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe—

You can’t stop it, can’t help it—the staccato sound of your shoe bouncing against the floor. Can’t stop picking at your fingernails while the others introduce themselves, voices all monotone and miserable and cold.

Their names wash over you like vapor, flitting through your mind like smoke, too thin, too hard to hold on to—they dissipate, slipping like sand through your clenched fists.

It takes you a moment to realize they’ve gone quiet.

That they’re waiting on you.

Your head snaps up and you go stiff. Trapped in the intensity of the man sitting across from you. His eyes are the first thing you noticed. Cornflower blue and raging in their silence—zeroed in on you.

His stare frightens you, sends you into a stammered offering of your name.

“And why are you joining us today?” the woman prompts, smiling softly.

“Sometimes I think about killing myself,” you blurt, unable to tear your eyes away from him. From the dark hair that hangs in his face. From the way he sits, hunched forward, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, looking down his nose at you with a terrifying, twisted kind of interest.

The woman blanches, launching into some sort of disclaimer or reassurance you don’t catch, something you can barely even hear past the ringing in your ears.

This is a mistake, this is a mistake, this is a mistake.

You keep doing it. Keep staring. Keep feeling tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. Keep bouncing your heels. Keep spiraling and scratching at your cuticles, keep picking at the hangnail on your finger until it throbs and bleeds and you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth.

You look down, at the blood that wells there, and you don’t look up again.

Not until it’s his turn.

His voice is low. Gruff.

You don’t know why, but it sends a shiver down your spine. A twisting fear that grows and blooms in your stomach and tells you to run. Begs you to.

But you don’t. Not yet. Pinned in place by his stare. His eyes—so violent in their familiarity. 

His name is the only one you remember. The only one that registers.

Gyutaro.

Thank you for reading! 🥰 You can check out my other writing here, on tumblr, and here, on AO3.

#oops forgot to ever post this here #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x you #gyutaro #gyutaro demon slayer #demon slayer smut #kny smut #fanfiction #smut #my writing

[knickynoo]

12 Days of Ellex: Snow

For @inevitablemoment 's challenge.

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

I told you so.

Alex bit back the words he so desperately wanted to send Ellen's way, instead opting to burrow the lower half of his face deeper into the scarf wrapped around his neck. It was far too cold out to start an argument.

It was true, though; he had told her, starting from the very moment she suggested the two of them get bundled up and go for an evening stroll in—what was then—the light flurry that had started.

He'd told her it wouldn’t remain a flurry for long. He'd told her it was predicted to pick up strength. He’d told her they’d probably end up slogging their way home in near-blizzard conditions. She’d dismissed all his warnings and insisted the whole thing would be romantic.

And now here they were, fighting their way against the frigid wind that whipped at their faces and bit straight through Alex’s far too-thin gloves, numbing his fingers. A large snowflake flew directly into his eye, increasing his already high levels of discomfort exponentially. He blinked hard, imagining himself back at home, sitting by the warmth of the fireplace and watching Wall Street Week. Now that sounded romantic.

“Oh, Alex, isn’t it just beautiful?”

Alex did a double take, wondering if his elaborate scarf, hat, and hood combination had caused him to mishear the question.

“Beautiful? Ellen, it’s miserable out. It’s got to be, what, thirty degrees? Maybe high twenties? And with the wind chill factored in, it’s probably—”

“I know, but doesn’t it look beautiful? Look at the way it’s glistening on the branches.” She gestured a gloved hand toward a snow-covered tree illuminated beneath a street light.

It looked like every other snow-covered tree Alex had ever seen. He huffed, his breath instantly turning to a large cloud of smoke in the air. He stared at the tree for what he figured was an appropriate amount of time before continuing on down the sidewalk at a quick pace.

Behind him came the crunching sound of snow underfoot as Ellen hurried to catch up. Her hand snaked its way into his coat pocket and found his own, giving it a squeeze.

“Come on, Alex; what’s the rush?”

“Ellen,” he sighed, stopping in his tracks and turning to face her. “I love you, and I love being with you. But I’m half frozen to death, I can’t feel my fingers, and all I want is to go home.” He nodded his head toward the end of the block. “So, let’s go, alright?”

Ellen freed his hand, allowing him to go on ahead, which he did with only mild feelings of guilt. He wondered if maybe he should slow it down—take hold of her hand again and try to make the best of the experience. Grin and bear it. But a walk in a blizzard just wasn’t his idea of a good time, “romantic” as Ellen seemed to think it was. He’d make it up to her once they got back to his house. Light the fireplace, put on a record, make her a cup of tea. That’d do the trick.

Alex was swiftly ripped from his thoughts as something hit him squarely in the back. Turning around, he was met with the sight of Ellen fighting to stifle a laugh, her hands already making quick work of forming another snowball.

“What are you—”

She whipped the snowball, Alex just barely able to dodge it. He stumbled backward, nearly falling off the curb and into the street. Regaining his balance, he saw that Ellen was stooped down, gathering more ammunition. Even through the steadily falling snow, he could see the glint in her eyes.

“Ellen,” he cautioned, pulling his hands from the warmth of his pockets to hold them out in front of himself, a stance of both protection and warning. “Ellen, you’re better than this.”

She flashed him a smile. “Am I?”

Wham! A direct hit to the chest. He brushed the snow from his coat and gave her a pointed look. “This is childish.”

Ellen reared her arm back.

Alex took off at a run down the sidewalk, or, as much of a run as he could manage in such weather. At least he’d been smart enough to exchange his dress shoes for sneakers before they’d left on their walk. Still, he knew he wouldn’t gain much headway—Ellen could outrun him any day.

She caught up to him before he could reach the corner, Alex’s shoulders stiffening in anticipation of another snowball being hurled his way. Instead, he found himself being tackled onto a nearby front lawn. Ellen, of course, managed to keep herself upright, and Alex pushed the hat from his eyes just in time to see the satisfied smirk his girlfriend wore as she stared down at him.

“Got ya, Keaton.” She removed a snowball from her jacket pocket, crumbling it above his face—the icy bits immediately working their way under Alex's hood and beneath his scarf, freezing him further. After a brief moment to process the injustice of it all, he propped himself up on his elbows to deliver a glare her way.

“Ellen,” he began through chattering teeth, “I highly suggest you start running.”

She did, sprinting across the street, her bright laugh echoing in the otherwise silent world around them.

Alex scooped up an armful of snow, working quickly to fashion snowballs as he scrambled to his feet and began chasing after her.

Sometimes, he figured, it was okay to be childish.

#Ellex12 #12 Days of Ellex #12daysofellex #family ties #alex p keaton #apk #ellen reed