#if this gets to 20k notes I’m muting it

[spoomkeearts]

I had a vision

Maybe I’ll draw it idk

#adventure time #ice king #simon petrikov #winter king #ice prince #ice queen #fionna and cake #if this gets to 20k notes I’m muting it #because wtf why y’all liking this #muting this now

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month. As always all my love goes out to every single author in this fandom who shares their work with us ♥

Stranger Than Larry Fiction | Larrysmomfics | [90k] It's been twelve years since Harry met Louis on TXF, became best mates with him, eventually falling head over heels in love with him. Six years post One Direction deciding to go on hiatus and now everyone is doing their own thing. All the boys have solo careers, some are touring, and with their busy lives in play, Harry and Louis have sort of grown apart. Harry's been filling the Louis void by devouring Larry fanfics, giving himself a chance to love Louis from afar in his own way. So far it's worked for him and he's content with his love of Louis being of the unrequited variety. That all changes, however, when Harry reads a particularly emotional and classic fic in the fandom, and he simply can't help but call Louis despite his sobs to tell him all about it, inadvertently sending Louis down the Larry fic rabbit hole as well. OR A canon-divergent AU where Louis and Harry read Larry Stylinson fanfiction.

Unrequited | babyhoneyhslt | [143k] Omega Prince Harry of England has been engaged to Prince Louis of France ever since he was a young boy. Having met him at four and forming a bond, Harry is upset to find that Louis no longer treats him like a friend, instead treating him coldly. However, Louis has his own dark secrets and Harry doesn’t know just how many dangers linger in French Court.

The Silver Dagger | babyhoneyhslt | [31k] After nearly being kidnapped by Prince Ben of Denmark, Queen Anne and King Desmond search for a safe place for Prince Harry to stay until they find him a suitor he likes. They choose the place no one would think to look for a prince, a pirate ship. Captain Louis Tomlinson is a privateer as well as a pirate, and is loyal to the crown, and so he vows to protect Harry to the best of his ability. With Harry kept safe on board The Silver Dagger, his parents work to find an array of suitors, but he just might find he wants someone else.

On That Note | allwaswell16 | [6k] Louis’ office job on an omega only floor would be absolutely fine, if not for the alphas he and his friends have to deal with in the building. But although they’ve never met face to face, the friendly notes sent between him and Harry in Purchasing help him get through the day.

Blue Moon | ishiplouis | [20k] What happens when Louis moves away from the busy city life to a small village in the middle of nowhere and meets Harry, the sweetest and most understanding Alpha? Will Harry be able to get Louis' walls down? Will he be able to adjust to the slower pace of life in the village and open up to Harry's love? As they navigate their new relationship, will they be able to overcome the obstacles from Louis’ past?

Wind beneath my wings | lunarheslwt | [91k] “You shouldn’t be here,” Harry gritted out, wild-eyed. “You should be scared of me.” Louis opened his mouth to speak, to cut him off, to disagree, but Harry was pushing. “I could hurt you.” “You won’t hurt me,” Louis said, simple and assuredly. Calm. “I’m capable of hurting you.” “But you won’t. That’s not who you are, Harry. I trust you,” Louis whispered. As an omega carer that works at a rescue and rehabilitation centre for feral alphas and omegas, Louis has experienced all sides of ferality. So Harry- a cold, near mute, non-receptive alpha- was a challenging case for everyone at Phoenix Rehab Centre. Louis wasn’t expecting to feel drawn towards an aloof Harry, or to form a slow bond with him. He certainly was not expecting for his entire life to change in unforeseen ways.

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) | nonsensedarling | [26k] When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. That changes when Louis sees his ex, who turns out to be Anne's future husband's son. Now, Louis wants to prove that he's an omega that an alpha could want, and Harry wants to get through this weekend without letting his best friend figure out he's in love with him.

We Don't Need No Piece of Paper (From the City Clerk) | 2tiedships2 | [26k] Harry sat on his bed and stared at the pile of luggage by the door. This was really happening. He was being shipped off to America to get married. In a matter of months, he would be bonded to an alpha his father had chosen for him. Someone that Harry knew nothing about. Not even his name.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly reads #my reads #larry fics #completed fics

[softlystarstruck]

✩ softly reading, aug 23 - 29 ✩

here are the drarry fics i’ve read this past week! quite a lot of fantastic short ones, some rereads, and lots of hot fics 👀 my lists now have a new addition- self recs! my friends hyped me up to include works that i published within the week, so they’re in blue :) hope you enjoy some of these! short & sweet and non-drarry under the cut

✩ - a fave | 🔥 - hot | purple- reread | blue- self-rec

spotlight rec

✩ sourdough by @academicdisaster24 [M, 17k]

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

why i rec this: this is probably one of my favorite drarry fics in existence, and i reread it regularly 🙈 the story hits every right note for me, and i ADORE this draco! it’s a wonderful comfort read that has depth, humor, tenderness, and an abundance of bread 💕

longer reads

✩ To Be Like Geese by @writandromance [M, 211k] (very strong contender for the spotlight rec because i adore this fic)

Harry thinks he should have expected some blood and screaming at any Hogwarts-sanctioned event, even almost a decade after leaving school, but the greater surprise is in witnessing Draco Malfoy come to the rescue. Draco thinks it’s just his rotten luck that Harry Potter's asked for his help. The rest is a love story.

✩ Heartache by @bixgirl1 [E, 25k]

Harry doesn't think about Malfoy anymore. Not really. Not intentionally.

✩ Recalibrate by saras_girl [E, 20k] 🔥

Sometimes, you need to step back and think about things from a new perspective. Other times, you’ve just got to open your eyes to what you needed all along.

✩ Pieces of You by @janieohio, podfic by PhenominalAsterick [T, 12k]

Harry and Draco have moved in together, but Harry is hiding the truth of his childhood from Draco. Draco struggles to understand until a phone call from Harry's estranged cousin changes everything. [Pod Together 2021]

Jailbait by @spindlekiss [M, 12k]

Draco thought of it as a life sentence, Harry thought of it as a challenge.

short & sweet

I’m Not In Your Dreams by ununquadius [T, 9.1k]

Draco has dreamt with Harry's voice since he was fourteen, so there's no doubt for him about who his soulmate is. Now, in their Eighth Year, Harry has finally dreamt with his soulmate's voice too. The problem is that Draco was born mute.

Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd [E, 8.3k] 🔥

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

The Mystery Beneath the Towel by @jeanm3 [E, 6.4k] 🔥

For a gay man, the men Aurors’ locker room was like a meat market. Or at least that was what Draco liked to think.

✩ A Virtue by @p1013 [E, 5.3k] 🔥

Harry thinks stakeouts are boring. Up until the point he doesn't.

✩ The Notion of Attention by @the-starryknight [T, 4.2k]

In the moments before Harry woke, Draco drifted through the little flat, puzzling over the little artifacts of Harry in every corner. Here are a few of the things that Draco learned: Harry lived alone. Harry was a good cook. He liked expensive coffee from that bodega on Horizont Alley and kept his flat perfectly clean. And he might be exclusively seeing Draco.

the moon between my hands by me [M, 3.7k]

Malfoy sits in the common room late at night, and Harry joins her. (They’re girls and they’re falling in love.)

✩ Together Like This by @shealwaysreads [E, 3.1k] 🔥

Draco attempts to prove to himself that he doesn’t deserve what he wants. Harry proves him wrong.

anticipation by me [E, 3k] 🔥🏳️‍⚧️

Sometimes, being married to Harry Potter goes a bit more like this: being stuck at an hours-long gala, schmoozing with rich purebloods in order to secure funds for the Potter-Malfoy charity foundation, delicately stuffing one’s face with hors d'oeuvres in order to avoid probing, gossip-fueled questions. All done with a plug up the arse.

✩ we’re so young, boy (ain’t got nothin to lose) by @swisstae [M, 2.9k]

“Then what, Potter? What do you want?” Malfoy’s voice is equally soft, almost a breathy sigh than actual words. And that’s the question, isn’t it? What does Harry want? He doesn’t know.

Show Me by @bangyababy [E, 2.5k] 🔥

On Harry and Draco's anniversary, they decide to try something new, but Draco won't do anything he isn't 100% sure Harry wants. So Harry tells him, every step of the way.

Delivering Desire by keyflight790 [T, 1.8k]

FLOO: The Food and Lifestyle Online Organization designed to deliver your every desire. Harry's a delivery boy, and can't wait to give Draco a package.

✩ we do this by @maesterchill [T, 1.7k]

There are so many good things about sharing a flat with Harry Potter.

✩ In Another Life by @bonesliketambourines [E, 1.5k] 🔥

Harry might have been temporarily de-corporealized, but Draco thinks he's as boo-tiful as ever.

✩ Phoenix in the Fire by @fw00shy [E, 1.4k] 🔥

Their first time was an accident. "Sex pollen," Draco claims, though everyone knows it was too much Ogden's after Puddlemere beat the Tornados 240-230.

Tinder Date Gone Wrong by @slytherinnbitch [G, 1.2k]

“Tell me he isn’t actually that much of an idiot.” Weasley says and shakes his head. “We all agree he is an idiot but why exactly in this case, if you don’t mind me asking.” Draco asks. “Because he clearly can’t see that you’re deeply in love with him, that’s why!”

non-drarry

✩ you are good by @academicdisaster24 [T, 969 words, wolfstar]

It had always been Sirius who could find him. Who could deftly untangle the web of emotions that often threatened to choke him, soothe and sweeten and soften all of Remus’ difficult edges and messy lines.

#softly reading august 2021 #softly reading #drarry #drarry rec list #drarry fic rec #hp fic rec

[jacaranda-bloom]

October Fic Rec

I’ve been super slack in doing my monthly fic recs of late (sorry!) so this list covers the last 3 months and there’s lots of lovely fics to devour!

In this instalment, there are fics from @lesbianiconharrystyles @kingsofeverything @mediawhorefics @lululawrence @harryanthus @evilovesyou @fallinglikethis @cocoalou @gaycousinlarry @comebackassholes @daggerandrose @allwaswell16 @sadaveniren @all-these-larrythings @wait4ever @jaerie @laynefaire @harrybridgers and @missandrogyny.

Thank you to all the writers for sharing their wonderful talent with us. Please don’t forget to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoy their work. 💜

New Reads

💜 Ever Since I Tried Your Way | @lesbianiconharrystyles / flowercrownfemme | E | 26k | June 2020 | 1940′s/50′s, farm/ranch, farmer Louis, farmer Harry, virgin Harry, gay cowboys, repression, internalised homophobia, hurt/comfort, gender exploration, marriage kink, feminisation, romantic face shaving, body worship, country music | As soon as I started this fic I knew it wouldn’t be able to put it down. It’s just... gosh. The writing is stunning and I was completely immersed from the first page to the last.

💜 Have Love, Will Travel | @kingsofeverything | E | 97k | Sept 2020 | road trip, camping, friends to lovers, smut, humour, youtube, POV Louis, slow burn | God, this story was everything I wanted it to be and so much more. Amazing relationship building and great communication. Hilarious, brilliant dialogue, heartwarming.

💜 Love You In The Dark | Perzikje | E | 10k | Oct 2020 | wedding night, arranged marriage, smut, dubious consent | Sexual exploration and first times. Check authors note.

💜 All These Lights | @mediawhorefics | E | 35k | Nov 2015 | ABO, X Factor, consensual under age sex, omega Harry, alpha Louis, angst with a happy ending, smut | I’m a sucker for a good ABO fic and this one didn’t disappoint.

💜 I Go Down Blazing, Feeling Like I’m Going Crazy (series) | @lululawrence | NR | 30k | Niall / Rory McIlroy | Oct 2020 | soulmates, famous/famous, singer Niall, golfer Rory, pining, diet angst, no smut, heartbreak weather, based on Dear Patience and Bend The Rules | This was my first time reading Niall/Rory and I adored it. Brilliant take on the soulmate trope too, heartwarming and tender. 

💜 Who Do You Burn For | @harryanthus | NR | 4k | Oct 2020 | strangers to lovers, implied/referenced drug use, references to addition | I am such a massive fan of this author and I will inhale anything they publish. More like poetry than prose. So evocative.

💜 Point. Drop, Call. | @evilovesyou / 4ureyesonly28 | G | 1.6k | Jan 2020 | summer, best friends, summer romance, first kiss, party games, mutual crushes, coming out | This was absolutely adorable and managed to provide a whole-ass story in 1,610 words. All the summer feels.

💜 Eat Your Vegetables | bananaheathen | M | 9k | Aug 2020 | soccer player Louis, nutritionist Harry, shopping, banter, sexual realisation, smut | This fic sucked me in from the very first page, so much so that when I went back to grab the link to add to this post I ended up re-reading the entire thing. So witty and sweet and all the goodness in the world.

💜 For Wanting | anonymous | E | 5k | Oct 2020 | post mpreg Louis, male lactation, body worship, lactation kink, strangers to lovers, neighbours, dirty talk | Really sweet and hot, beautifully written. 

💜 Pillow Talk | @fallinglikethis | E | 26k | Feb 2016 | friends to lovers, sexuality crisis, first time, mutual pining | I have no idea how I’ve never read this fic. Such a clever plot and perfectly delivered. Hot and funny and sweet and all the loveliness.

💜 The End | @harryanthus | T | 5k | Aug 2020 | post-war, selectively mute Louis, soldier Harry, psychological trauma, hopeful ending, non-specific time period | This is everything I usually avoid reading but this writer’s words just do something to my brain and I let down all of my protective barriers and dive in not caring about what I’m going to be faced with. I’m yet to be disappointed. When I read their fics I always feel like I’m floating or drowning or... I don’t even know how to describe it, but yeah. Wow.

💜 The Anticipation of Knowing You | @cocoalou / sweetrevenge | T | 13k | Sept 2020 | strangers to lovers, neighbours, pen pals, love letters, baked goods as a wooing technique | This was all kinds of lovely and funny and sweet. The premise is brilliant and I understand that we’re to be blessed with parts 2 and 3 in the near future, so yay!

💜 It’s Halftime. Are You Ready To Go? | @gaycousinlarry / momentofclarity | E | 12k | Oct 2017 | friends to lovers, awkward boners, pining, banter, flirting, dirty talk, body worship, smut, watching football as a seduction technique, Niall texts Harry terrible sporting innuendos to make him sweat, jockstraps | So fucking good. Sexy and cute and funny. Could read this one again and again.

💜 Salvation Let’s Their Wings Unfold | twoshipstiedup | M | 14k | May 2019 | angels and demons, heaven and hell, angel Louis, demon Harry, humour, fluff, romance | So much love for this fic. Way less heavy than the tags suggest. Niall is both supremely unhelpful and the captain of the ship as always. Fluffy and fun and romantic.

💜 Dom Louis (series) | @comebackassholes / dimpled_halo | E | 12k | Mar 2020 | dom Louis, sub Marcel, BDSM, kink negotiation | God. This series is amazing. Hot and sweet and nnnrrgggh. Really hope we get more in this universe.

💜 For You I’d Bleed Myself Dry | @daggerandrose / amomentoflove | E | 50k | May 2019 | vampire Louis, human Harry, soulmates, king Louis, angst, depression, blood drinking, past abuse, past kidnapping | I absolutely loved this fic. Beautifully written and so thick with emotion. Check tags, summary and author notes.

💜 Interview With The Vampire | @allwaswell16 | E | 4k | Louis / Robert Pattinson | Sept 2020 | ABO, omega Louis, alpha Rob, journalist Louis, actor, Rob, interviews, humour, bad cooking, bad flirting, scenting, knotting, smut | The rare pair I never knew I needed. Wow. Brilliantly told story. Cute and cheeky and fluffy and hot. Loved it.

💜 Fellowship of Eroda | @sadaveniren | E | 5k | Feb 2020 | dungeons and dragons, gaming, hate to love, BDSM, face slapping, facials, wrestling, choking, spanking, Louis is a brat, so is Harry a bit | Adored this. Such a clever plot and the writing is amazing as always.

💜 Brooklyn Saw Me | alreadyhome | E | 29k | Nov 2017 | homeless Louis, uni student Harry, no-graphic violence, homophobia, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, NYC | Painfully beautiful and so well written. Loved it from start to finish.

💜 It Feels Different When You’re With Me | @all-these-larrythings / rearviewdreamer | M | 45k | May 2020 | deaf Louis, sign language instructor Harry, slow burn, mentions of major character injury in the past | God. This fic is amazing. Gorgeous writing and so romantic and sweet.

💜 You’re Music To My Eyes | @fallinglikethis @wait4ever / recycledstardust | T | 6k | July 2020 | blind Louis, Be My Eyes app, volunteer Harry, TPWK | This fic is truly wonderful, romantic and so sweet. It even encouraged me to sign up for the app and I’ve taken two calls already!

💜 We’ll Be Alright | @jaerie | E | 20k | Feb 2020 | ABO, alpha Harry, omega Louis, major illness, sick Harry, sex therapist Louis, dubious ethics, sexual dysfunction, depression, recovery, mating, knotting, unplanned pregnancy | Gosh. So good. So hot. So lovely.

💜 Let Me Be Your Everlasting Light | @laynefaire | M | 12k | Aug 2020 | established relationship, northern lights, Norway, romance, proposal | Loved every beautiful word of this. So romantic and sweet. Can I go to Norway please?

Re-Reads

💜 Here In The Afterglow | @harrybridgers / fondleeds | E | 89k | Dec 2016 | 1970′s AU, small town America, gay rights movement, period-typical homophobia, strange to friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, bullying, high school | Re-read of an old fave which hits differently each time I revisit it. Hauntingly beautiful and heartbreaking in some parts, but ultimately uplifting and hopeful.

💜 Led By Your Beating Heart | @missandrogyny | E | 30k | Oct 2015 | famous Harry, non-famous Louis, Call or Delete, Cute Lou from the Loo, coming out, smut, banter, romance | Still one of my all time faves. The plot is delicious and the flow of the whole story just makes me smile throughout. I find myself going back to this one every few months. Romantic and fluffy and sexy as all hell.

💜 Is This Seat Taken? | Lainy122 | E 35k | Dec 2015 | famous Harry, non-famous Louis, popstar Harry, seat-filler Louis (eventually), Louis and Zayn make bets, penis-shaped cashew nuts, miscommunication, shitty PR tactics | One of my all-time fave fics. I must’ve read this one more than ten times by now and it never disappoints. Funny and sweet and hot.

💜 When The Sun Won’t Let You Sleep | @allwaswell16 | E | 30k | July 2018 | enemies to lovers, scientist Louis, scientist Harry, Antarctica, sexual tension, smut, diet angst | Such an interesting plot that is handled so beautifully. I adore all of this authors work but this definitely up there with my faves.

#November 1 2020 #fic recs #ficrectag

[love-a-little-less-archived]

So I decided that for my day nine, I’d do a list of some of my favorite fics to give the fandom authors some recognition. Of course, all of our fanfic authors are amazing and I’m so grateful that they do what they do, but these are just a few of my favorites. 

I tried to tag any authors that had a tumblr account, but it’s entirely possible I missed some, so if I did, sorry

This post isn’t super long but it’s pretty damn long so all below the cut

(also do note that my interest in bellarke is only a few months old so I have a lot more clexa fics than I do bellarke sorry)

Bellarke

Canon AU

Set The Dark On Fire by @talistheintrovert (complete)

Okay okay so this is a pretty dark fic, but god is it beautiful. After waking up from Cryo, Clarke and Spacekru try to figure out what to do about this new planet situation, but Clarke isn’t handling it very well and attempts a suicide. Like I said, pretty dark and serious, so if that isn’t your thing don’t read, but it’s amazing

Three Lives, Three Loves, One Face by @these-dreams-go-on (complete)

This fic has a ton of my favorite themes all mashed together and it’s amazing. Basically it’s similar to the Josephine!Clarke situation of s6, but Wanheda is an actual manifestation also inhabiting Clarke’s body so when Josie gets put into Clarke, Wanheda takes over and goes mass murder on Sanctum. Phenomenal fic, I’ve read it so many times and I adore it

Into The Anomaly by @fuckitup-in-style (WIP)

Time Travel AU!!! Starts after s6, but resets back to s1 canon divergence. The hundred all wake up on dropships and they all remember up until their deaths, and then it’s this thing where the mains all take charge and start herding up their crew. Just- if you like time travel fix-its, this is p e r f e c t please read it

And Now You’re Home by @asroarke (complete)

I just read this one recently and g o d is it amazing. After being left alone during Praimfaya, Clarke finds herself becoming desperate after being alone for so long. Until she finds out there’s been a grounder watching her the whole time. Grounder!Bellamy AU, with some accidental pregnancy that just makes it even cuter

Modern AU

I Found Peace in Your Violence by @eyessharpweaponshot (WIP)

I just found this fic a few days ago and holy shit is it a piece of art. I finally went through and read the entire 80k fic last night, it’s absolutely enthralling. Basically, there’s this gene called HTS and Clarke ends up having it, and so does Bellamy, and it’s just a beautiful story from both a romance and a plot standpoint. Such an interesting concept

our stars came in a packet of two by @millipop (WIP)

This isn’t a super long fic, it’s 20k right now and hasn’t been updated in a few months but what’s there is amazing. So the delinquent group is desperately trying to get Bellamy and Clarke together since they’re constantly denying their chemistry, but what the delinquents don’t know is that Clarke and Bell have actually already been together in secret and it’s such a fun fic, highly recommend

Don’t Wake Me, I’m Not Dreaming by grumpybell (complete) (I can’t find their tumblr sorry)

A very interesting AU where Clarke can see into other people’s dreams. She’s been meeting Bellamy in his dreams for years, him being the only person who could actually see her. Guess what happens when they meet in person? Probably not what you expect. Read the fic to find out, you’ll love it

reelin’ through the midnight streets by @detectivebellamyblake​ (WIP)

I haven’t finished this fic yet, but what I’ve read so far is wonderful. Basically Clarke, Bell and Octavia all grew up in a trailer park together, and eventually Clarke has had enough of her mom’s bullshit and decides to get out. Bellamy and Octavia go with her

Clexa

Canon AU

Broken Body, Broken Spirit by @vmplvr1977 (complete)

I love love love this fic!! It basically mashes together the worlds of The 100 and Deus-ex, and if you don’t know what the latter is don’t worry too much, the fic gives all the backstory you’ll need!! Basically Clarke gets severly injured and ends up with augmented limbs, and Lexa, thinking Clarke dead, has some pretty severe reactions to it all. Kind of an enemies-to-lovers, but it’s set after the s2 finale

Clarke Kom Azgeda by FMLClexa (WIP)

This fic combines so many of my favorite ideas it’s amazing. Coming back after a long hiatus, basically Clarke gets sent down to Earth alone and ends up in Azgeda territory. She’s tortured and trained into Nia’s top assassin for years, and eventually gets the order to infiltrate Polis and kill the commander. You can guess how that goes

A Riffle and the Sea by Follower_Of_Mania (complete)

I will say it’s been a while since I read this fic but it’s amazing. Another Clarke gets sent to Earth alone AU, but she gets adopted by Floukru and trained to be a seriously badass killer grounder, like even Lexa is pretty put off by her. Clarke and Lexa develop this really interesting relationship where half the time you can’t tell if they love or hate each other and it’s amazing

Ascendants by whiteleopard1124 (WIP)

So this isn’t entirely clexa, it’s also clarke x luna but it’s clexa enough. Basically Clarke and the hundred get injected with this solution before being sent to the ground, and it causes certain people to develop supernatural powers. But Clarke gets injected with a special serum that causes her to be extra-OP but like in a very very good way

doing the impossible (with you) by snowandwolves (WIP)

Another Time Travel AU where Clarke kills herself and, after having a discussion with the goddess of death herself, wakes up back in time. She (and her accomplices) work out how to rewrite their story and make everything go better than it did last time. One of the best time travel fics, in my opinion

Healer on the Ground by Owlmemaybe (WIP)

This has long been one of my favorite fics, I love AUs where Clarke turns grounder, and that’s exactly what this is. Basically Clarke has a healing talent, so she can heal herself and others on command, and during s1 gets separated from the 100 and ends up with Heda. Another fic that isn’t likely to get updated, but it’s 100k of goodness that you h a v e to read

Whispers In The Dark (Lead Us To The Light) by JadelynDeath (WIP)

This one also hasn’t been updated very recently, but it’s still 50k good words to enjoy. Wanheda!Clarke AU where Death is a real being and takes a liking to Clarke before she even touches the ground, and once on Earth Clarke is an absolute badass in leading the delinquents.

(my) Destruction Within Your Mouth by @entirelytookeen (WIP)

It took me so long to actually finish this fic once I started reading because oh my god the angst, it was actually too much for me. This is a beautifully written story, so many emotions, can’t recommend it enough. Basically, Clarke gets separated from the 100 and ends up temporarily mute while she’s taken in by Heda

She’s a maniac by ChocDog (complete)

Another big-time favorite, this has badass commanders Heda and Wanheda. The grounder culture is different in this fic, but in such a good way. They’re much more tribal than is portrayed in the show, preferring not much clothing, bloodthirstiness, but it’s amazing. Also Bellamy comes in and makes a fuss of things

Through the Looking Glass by RhinoMouse (WIP)

Role Reversal AU where Lexa comes down with the 100 and Clarke is a BAMF Commander of the grounders. It’s been a really long time since I’ve read this one but I remember loving every second of it. Faintly follows the s2 plot, but it’s different enough that not a second of it is boring

Can you See Me? by clexawarrior (complicated)

Okay so basically this story was discontinued, but the author left a summary of how it would’ve played out at the end, so it’s... complicated. But this is another one of my favorites!! Lexa was at the explosion on the bridge and got injured, Clarke brings her back to the dropship to care for her. A lot of sexual tension ensues

From The Ashes by ArchonsVoice (complete)

I love love love this fic!!! So basically the dropship landed in the sea rather than on land, the ship explodes, leaving Clarke stranded alone in the middle of the ocean. She’s rescued by a clan called Tseekru and after years of living with them, has a run-in with our one and only Heda and sets this whole thing going. Amazing fic, so many twists

Returning to Hell by ElseworldKara, littleraider99 (complete)

If you haven’t read this fic what have you even been doing honestly. Set two years after the s2 finale, Clarke leads the coalition beside Heda, and she’s returned to Arkadia to finally tell them to get their shit together or suffer the consequences. Very dark, a lot of character bashing on Abby, Bellamy, and others. An inspiration for many of my own fics

Then There Were Two by TheWorldNeedsMoreOctaven (WIP)

I haven’t read the most recent chapters of this, but it’s phenomenal. ABO universe where Clarke is the only omega sent down in the hundred (later followed by Raven), and they have to deal with the grounders and nature. It’s a lot more interesting than I make it sound, promise. Also very octavia/raven based too

Doctor on the Ground by @underneaththecovers-au (WIP)

Very angsty, very smutty fic. Clarke finds an injured Lexa while out of camp and takes her to the bunker to help her heal. Lexa pretends she can’t understand English, but even with the barrier, things get heated very quickly. You can imagine the chaos when Lexa’s secret gets out. Must-read

Modern AU

Vantage Point by thatoneloser_kid (complete)

This is pretty short, only 16k words, but god is it good. If you like dark!clarke, this is the story for you. Clarke, Lexa, Octavia, and Raven are all a bunch of criminals who run around- saving people?? That makes it sound like a superhero story but no, they’re all badass. Clarke is literally a psychopathic ex-assassin. It’s just an amazing fic

Are You A Kidnapper? (Because You Abducted My Heart) by 707 (complete)

This isn’t normally the type of fic that I like to read but I’m so glad I picked it up. So Clarke and Lexa have this hatred going on between them that’s actually just hidden attraction, and they’re finally forced to address it when they get kidnapped and locked in a room together. This fic has it all, fluff, smut, angst, an amazing plot, it’s just all around wonderful

Make Two Halves Whole by awkwardrainbow, Lexawoodz (WIP)

This one I also don’t remember all that much about other than that it was amazing. It’s been years since it was updated, though, so I doubt we’ll get any more, but what’s there is 80k worth of goodness. Clarke and Lexa meet online through Twitter, living on opposite sides of the US, but still manage to fall in love with each other

breathe into my lips the life i do not have by @ur-the-puppy (complete)

So this is another long-time favorite of mine!! It’s a 36k oneshot where Clarke moves into a house that ghost Lexa haunts but instead of being creeped out Clarke just starts chatting up the ghost and they become roommate buddies. Such a good fic, I highly highly recommend this one

You See the Smile That's On My Mouth (it's hiding the words that don't come out) by heartshapedcandy (complete)

Another fic I need to go back and reread, but I remember being absolutely absorbed in this fic!! Childhood friends to lovers AU, with a fuck ton of angst and confusion and oblivious pining dorks that you can’t help but love it to death. Also a lot of ‘’’’platonic’’’’ kissing

Other AU

Storm of the Heart by @cruellanita-bby (WIP)

Mermaid AU!! Clarke lives on an island where they grow up hating the mermaids that attack their fishing ships, and she hates them too until she finds Lexa the mermaid washed up on the shore, injured, and starts taking care of her. They fall in love and try to mend the relationship between their people. I’ve been keeping up with this one for a while, it’s so good, please read it

Hold Me Till The Stars Dim by @ur-the-puppy (complete)

I’m putting this one down here rather than in modern AU just because of how different it is from most modern AUs. Lexa goes camping with her friends out in the woods, some shit happens, and she meets what’s basically grounder Clarke, with a twist. This fic is so captivating, I loved it

You’re safe with me by I_am_clexa (WIP)

ABO modern AU where omegas are sold as slaves to alphas. Clarke is an omega who is bought by Lexa’s father as a gift to her, but Lexa doesn’t like the way omegas are treated and goes out of her way to give Clarke the best life she could possibly have

Other Pairings

Canon AU

Three Loves (Pieces Of Us) by @kendrene , @bae-in-maine (WIP)

Clarke/Lexa/Anya fic where Anya takes Clarke back to Lexa as a kind of prize, Clarke ends up making an alliance with the Trikru and maybe also falling in love with the commander and her general along the way. I’ve read this fic so many times, but it hasn’t been updated in years. It’s still 150k worth of amazing fic though

Twisted Steel by Steelehart (complete)

A clarke/raven fic where an explosion on the Ark leaves Clarke with two prosthetic arms. Follows fairly closely to the s1 plot once you get into it, but deviates in the later chapters. It’s an amazing fic I promise, please read it

Modern AU

and four makes home by @dreamsheartstory (complete)

This is over 300k worth of Clarke/Lexa/Octavia/Raven, which seems like a lot but I promise you it’s perfect. It’s been a bit since I read this, but from what I remember it’s your typical fall-in-love modern fic, just with the added angst of figuring out a four-way poly relationship

#fic rec #the 100 #takebackthe100 #bellarke fic rec #clexa fic rec #the 100 fic rec #t100 #t100 fic rec #favorite fics #favorite fanfics #the 100 fanfiction #clexa fanfiction #bellarke fanfiction #fandom #fandom appreciation #fanfiction appreciation #love.hundred

[the-darklings]

—𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓'𝒅;

—PART XV. | BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBER’D

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 20k+ (the longest yeah boi ever)

summary: “One day you will thank me for this.”

warnings: PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-destructive behaviour (aka your girl is absolutely going through it but it will get better), angst, swearing, some suggestive stuff happens in this one.  

notes: might have taken 3 weeks & lots of rage but WELCOME TO CHICAGO PART 1! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 13 | 14 | . . | 16 |

gif credit (x)

“Father, please—”

“Quiet.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the worst thing. He doesn’t have to. One word and it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.

You look towards Gianna but she looks only at her father, her expression blank.

Cassian is tense as a bowstring next to her. There is conflict in his expression but he is Camorra. He is sworn in and regardless of the friendship you’ve built—

“You will depart this household at once,” Giovanni says and steps closer towards you. His eyes are pitch-black. “Let’s see how long you last, viper. Your protection that was so kindly bestowed upon you by my son is hereby terminated.”

“Father, I can vouch—”

“I said quiet,” he speaks again, colder this time, and Santino’s mouth snaps shut at once. “You have done plenty already. I’ve just about had enough of your decadence, boy.”

Then, Giovanni D’Antonio’s head slants towards you again and he regards you like he’s considering whether it would be easier to kill you here and now or later.

“Hector.”

A dark shadow moves from behind the Camorra head, always the obedient dog, and halts at his side. Step is staring at the floor, stricken. Julian’s eyes are full of sadness, his shoulders curved downwards. Dario’s lips are pressed into an unhappy line, his knuckles popping from under his skin. None of them move or interfere. They know better than that. They are Giovanni’s men. They owe no loyalty to you.

“Yes, capo?”

“Get her out of my sight.”

Hector moves without hesitation. You don’t try to fight him when he grips your forearm, his cool rings pressing into the flesh of your skin.

Your eyes find Santino’s across the room. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can almost hear the grind of his teeth but he’s silent.

Something crumbles in your chest.

You had hoped that maybe—

“Move it, sweetheart.”

You turn to go.

“If you take so much as another step, Santino,” Giovanni’s merciless, soft voice reaches your ears and you almost halt. “The consequences that will follow will be of your own making.”

Silence greets every echoing step after that and no one tries to stop you.

Alone.

Again.

.

[NEW YORK CITY, 3.5 YEARS AGO]

Your eyes crack open and for a moment all you can see is blurred, muted colours above you.

The Continental room ceiling greets you like an old friend.

The sour odour of herbs and old sweat mixes in the air when you try to inhale and your face scrunches in disgust.

Your skin feels dirty and cold to the touch. You’ve spent the last several hours on the floor no doubt sweating out the toxins in your body while going through several fits.

Wrong dosage. Again.  

Trying and failing to roll onto your side, you huff a weak breath. Your throat feels raw and dry and you ignore the painful cramping of your stomach.

The elixir wasn’t clear enough again. You’ve spent almost two days trying to distil it till it was clear enough to mix and used the best alcohol you could find in the city—

Shit.

It doesn’t matter, you think and close your eyes again. You’re still delirious but there’s always tomorrow.

Welcome back, Kishi murmurs lovingly into your ear the moment darkness appears behind your eyelids.  

Your nightmares begin moments later.

.

You heave painfully, your shoulders curving harshly as you gasp for breath.

Wrong fucking dosage.

And too many zootoxins. Goddamn viper venom. Goddamn stupid chemistry. Acetylcholinesterases must be having a field day ravaging through your body as you stay curled pathetically over the toilet, losing whatever little water you had consumed in the last several hours.

Pathetic, Kishi hums from beside you, his ghostly hands caressing your hair soothingly. No wonder he left you. No wonder he doesn’t love you.

“Shut up.”

You suppose the blood you see should concern you.

It doesn’t.

.

You’ve kept the dress you wore to his wedding.

It still smells like him.

It torments you as much as it gives you comfort.

.

Foxglove is a remarkably beautiful flower.

It’s also a rather deadly, beautiful flower.

Cardiac glycoside.

Interesting.

You scribble a new formula, your brain aching but still functional after your last failure.

Too obvious? Perhaps. It lacks finesse, sure.

But you don’t care much for finesse anymore.

You just want results. And you will get them. Even if it means bleeding yourself and this world dry to get them.

You hate so beautifully, Kishi compliments with a sigh, his dark eyes glimmering in the low light.

You simply prepare yourself for another count of agony.

Such is the price to pay for power.

.

The dress doesn’t even smell like him anymore. It’s been months.

You still like to pretend that it does.

.

John.

You turn the viper ring on your hand.

John.

He’s not coming back, Kishi tells you from beside you and you both ignore how his throat spills blood. He doesn’t care about you. No one does.

“I know.”

His rough fingers caress your cheek.

You might be crying but you can’t be sure.

You’re at the bottom of the pit and there is nothing but darkness and quiet here.

Even if you wanted to get up. You don’t think you can.

You don’t want to, either.

Easier…

Easier to let things wither and die.

But I’m with you. I will never leave you, little viper. I will hate you forever.

Kishi rolls over, his fingers wrapping around your throat, his mouth a sneer, and his eyes dark. His throat is open, gushing, and red rains everywhere.

His hands tighten around your throat.

You don’t try to stop him.

.

Freezing water splashes against your face and body.

You wake up with a strangled scream, scrambling across the dirty floor.

A puddle of sick lays not too far from you and you blink away the wooziness, trying to locate a weapon. Your heart sits in your throat as you attempt to find the culprit, too, and your eyebrows knit when your eyes snag onto two men standing before you.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” Winston drawls, a hint of coldness lacing his scornful tone. “Saves us the trouble of cleaning up.”

Charon says nothing but the bucket in his hand paints him as the guilty party.

You try to wipe the water from your eyes but it takes several tries to lift your hands to your face due to muscle weakness.

“What—”

A weak croak and you pause, forcing your unused vocal cords to work.

Winston looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of you and approaches the window, pulling back the curtains with a swift jerk. Light explodes across the room and you flinch, ducking your head down as you block it with your palm.

“What are you…doing here?” you finally force out, your throat sore and blood stinging your tongue.

Ulcers from the chemicals. Great.  

“Considering that no one has heard from you in days, and you won’t let anyone inside without a threat of violence,” the manager explains, every word as icy as the last. “That left me with little choice but to check on you myself by forced entry. Do you plan to waste away here forever?”

The window opens with a crack and you shoot a glare towards Charon who moves around the room calmly. He opens doors and windows, letting the room air and you scowl at them both, still curled on the floor.

Your body aches and your muscles feel shaky with exhaustion. You haven’t left your room in days though. How funny it is that you feel more exhausted now than when you used to do jobs back to back with little sleep and danger around every corner.

“Get showered and dressed,” Winston instructs sternly, glancing at you only briefly and something in your stomach twists. Are you truly that repulsive to him that— “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. Charon, handle the rest.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Winston only manages a handful of steps before your choked words stop him dead, “You’re not my father. Don’t order me around.”

With your head bowed, you imagine your glare is even more vicious when he eventually does look back at you. His own expression is cool, composed as always, and he hums thoughtfully.

“No, I’m not,” he agrees easily, his expression as hard as his voice. “And be glad for it. Because I reassure you that if you were, I would not be putting up with this behaviour. Ten minutes, dear.”

Then he’s gone, and the distant clank of his shoes fades down the corridor.

You wish that didn’t sting but it does.

.

The first sip scorches through your throat and you choke down a mouthful, pulling the glass away from your lips with a grimace.

“What the hell is this?”

“Bruichladdich.”

Ignoring the agony in your mouth, you scowl at the man before you, and force yourself to take another sip. Winston’s frown deepens as he watches you shrewdly over his glasses. You don’t care much for it. With how strong this drink is, it will probably knock you out with a few more sips and that’s the goal. Better than whatever the hell this is.

Intervention, little viper, Kishi speaks from beside you and this time you almost jump for a different reason. Kishi and his torture belong in the pit with the rest of you. Not here.

The lounge is suspiciously empty as you and Winston sit facing each other on twin leather sofas. In fact, only Charon lingers by the bar and you know that Continental lounge is rarely this quiet.

“May I ask what it is, exactly, that you’ve been doing as of late?”

The question is restrained but something simmers in that gaze as he pins you under his heavy scrutiny.

“Working.”

Winston’s eyebrows jump. “Oh! Working. Is that what you call it?” he wonders coolly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks to me like you’re just poisoning yourself repeatedly.”

Scoffing, you lower the glass and ignore the frailness of your own grip. Your longer than usual nails tap against the glass and you force yourself to swallow over the pain in your mouth. Your tongue keeps poking at the little wound inside your cheek and a sting of copper follows swiftly after.

Your hands are as cold as your feet. Your hair still damp from a quick wash in the sink—because there is no way you could have forced yourself to shower today of all days—sits around your head like a crown of black ice.

Just like when I drowned you over and over again, Kishi recalls happily and you grit your teeth, turning to face the fireplace and soaking in its warmth.

“That’s how Mithridatism works, Winston,” you inform him, your voice still a husky, raw mess and you swallow another mouthful even though the drink goes down like a hot knife. Better to feel this pain. Something to ground you. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of how it works,” the man barely waits long enough for you to finish before speaking and you fall silent. “It’s an art of discipline and brilliance. Given a different set of circumstances, I might have even praised you on your foresight. However, given how idiotically reckless you are being that can wait.”

Your grip on the glass tightens and you drag your attention back towards him.

“Why am I here?”

“It’s your birthday,” he says tightly, his eyes flashing. “But you had no idea, did you?”

Oh.

No—no, you didn’t.

Time has become…nothing.

A stream of existing and not existing. Of being lost, adrift.

You miss the sun.

You miss the dream that you could belong. That you could be a part of something and have companionship and trust.

You miss him.

John. Your John.

You miss him so much it makes you feel sick with longing for something that will never be yours again. He’s happy. Happy without you.  

“I know what I’m doing.”

Quiet, hollow words. You both know that.

“You’re killing yourself.”

There it is. The thing he’s been trying to avoid voicing out loud.

His words devour everything. Even Charon goes quiet behind the bar and you stare at the manager blankly.

Raising your trembling hand, you drown another gulp of your drink before placing the glass on the table and standing unsteadily to your feet.

“No one would care anyway.”

You step past him.

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he calls after you, his mild words full of something you don’t dare to class as concern. Not from a man like him. “Don’t let it consume you,” he adds, quieter, when you fail to respond.

You don’t reply to that, either.

Nor do you believe him.

.

You find flowers in your room the next day. You had planned to get them for research into a potential paralyser formula that’s been knocking around your mind for a while now.

There is no note attached to them.

But you don’t need it to know where they came from.

You suppose it should make you happy.

But there is nothing inside your chest.  

.

Some nights it feels like your bones are made out of all the nightmares living underneath your skin.

Some nights you think you will swim.

Other nights you think you will drown.

And you know all about drowning.

.

Humming weakly, you shake the vial in your hand till the liquid inside goes from dark blue to red.

Finally.

It’s a potent, haunting sort of colour. Thick and striking as it rolls in the confines of the glass it’s encased in. It reminds you of—

Just like when you tore my throat out, Kishi mutters in wonder, leaning his face closer as he squints at the vial. Shoulder to shoulder. Your only companion. I bled red just like it.

He’s still bleeding. He hasn’t stopped bleeding. He will never stop bleeding.

And you can still taste it in your mouth. Except you’re no longer sure if it’s his blood or yours.

Toying with the pencil between your fingers, you roughly cross out Baba Yaga and write Kishi on top of the crumpled sheet of paper instead.

Then you tilt your head back and drown it whole.

.

There is everything and then there is nothing.

.

.

.

Distant voices. Urgent. Hands on you. Shaking, pulling.

Then nothing again.

.

“—cannot go on like this—”

“—there is nothing you can do, sir—”

“—dead soon—called—only option—”

“—use her—can’t—he will not—”

“He will.”  

.

You wake up bathed in sunlight.

It almost makes you cry because for a moment you can’t help but think that you’re dead.

A faint rustle of paper reaches you, and you slant your head weakly.

Winston sits on an expensive leather armchair, his legs crossed and pen between his fingers.

This isn’t the hospital wing that lives beneath the ground floor of the hotel.

You know this room.

You just can’t believe the man next to you is sitting here with you.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” is the first thing to leave your mouth. A half-forced whisper on your tender throat. “I wasn’t.”

It’s true.

But you have no idea how to convince him of it.

The air seems thick with a thousand unsaid things and Winston lowers the newspaper from his face, taking off his glasses and placing both on his lap.

His expression is empty as he examines you.

You curl further into the clean, crisp sheets around you as the silence continues. An IV is attached to your arm and you cringe at the sight of it. Your skin is suddenly so itchy you want to tear it away from you but know better than to try.

“I know you weren’t,” the man voices, at last, his words steady. “You were punishing yourself instead. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You believe that you’re not good enough—that you are deserving of pain. Better to make yourself hurt than to let anyone else do it. Am I wrong?”

Your eyes sting but you don’t speak, staring at his gleaming shoes.

“Are you hoping that you will drown everything else out?” he questions but it’s not accusatory.  If anything he sounds like he’s trying to engage with you in a way no one has before. “Never give someone else the power to destroy you. Hurting yourself will not erase what happened to you at Tokyo nor will it bring Jonathan back,” he continues, his voice grim after several moments of deafening silence between you.

You flinch at the name, your eyes closing in shame as moisture clings to your lashes.

Curtains flutter in the slight breeze.

Why did he bring you here?

“You will be staying here from now on.”

Your eyes fly open and your head snaps to him as panic fills your veins. “No—you—you can’t kick me out,” you mumble thickly, trying to rise, your fingers tangling between the sheets. You try and fail. “I pay for my stay. I—I haven’t broken any rules. You—”

Please, don’t throw me out. Please. I have nowhere else to go.

Winston’s expression creases. “I am not throwing you out,” he pacifies quietly but a shadow seems to have settled across his weathered features. “You are welcome to come back whenever you can afford it again.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and noting your confusion the man continues with a twist of his lips that would be biting normally, “When was the last time you picked up a contract, dear? It’s been months. Viggo Tarasov never gave you much to begin with and now…well. Your account ran dry two weeks ago. You likely have another two weeks at best before the Russian comes looking for you. He will expect you to pay up. It’s rather good that you already have your next job lined up though.”

That gives you a pause.

“What?”

Some of your panic has retreated but in its place blooms unease.

Winston tuts and stands to his feet. The newspaper is still in his hand and he slips his glasses into his pocket.

The look he gives you next makes you feel like you will have no choice but to comply with whatever he says next.

“You already know where you are,” he tells you knowingly, his eyebrow arching slightly. “Your employer is ready to see you.”

Santino D’Antonio hasn’t changed since the last time you saw him.

Which was before John and his wife. Before the wedding.

It was the night you decided to take a leap and hope for the best with your decision to come back to New York. Not like you could stay in Rome. Not with Camorra protection null and void.

Not with Tarasov demanding payment as usual.

Last time you saw him, Santino offered you to go to Paris with him. His own version of an apology. For not doing more to stop Giovanni. But no one could. The entire room could have stood in defence of you and it still won’t have changed a damn thing.

Last time you saw him, he had taken your hand in his and with that familiar arrogance and burning eyes and kissed your knuckles, asking only one question, “Come away with me, cara mia?”

You had refused him then.

And you would still refuse him now.  

You will always refuse him because he’s not John.

That thought makes something deep down ache.

The Italian rises when he sees you emerge onto the terrace.

Your arm is hooked around Winston’s as you walk. Normally, you might have commented on how seeing the manager of all the people here is hilarious. You know that there is no love lost between the two so the fact that they have gone through the trouble of collaborating on this…

Do they really think you’re that helpless?

A lost cause?

You don’t have enough energy to ask.

Every step closer is a metamorphosis of expressions though.

Santino seems to go through a thousand emotions in those several seconds it takes you to cut across the terrace. Your steps are shaky, your muscles aching, and you’re sweating.

A tart bitterness still coats your tongue and your grip on Winston tightens.

The older man presses closer—just a touch—but the silent comfort that gives you is immeasurable. Surprising.

Ares stands behind Santino and her expression is stoic as she takes you in. Unlike Santino, her emotions are guarded.

They both look ready for a funeral. The atmosphere that greets you is near suffocating.

You sit down awkwardly, practically falling into your seat as Winston sits down beside you. Santino is the only one left standing but he seems frozen in place.

You see his fingers flex, his Camorra ring gleaming in the golden rays of the sun when he finally lowers himself in the seat opposite to you.

It’s too late for lunch but too early for dinner. Wine and fresh coffee are always present on the heir’s table though—this you know to be an absolute that never changes.

“Ciao, cara mia. A pleasure to see you as always.”

You blink. Right.

“Santino.”

Those brilliant green eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with your vo—”

Winston clears his throat loudly and Santino falls quiet, frowning deeply. He tugs a napkin free and drops it on his lap carelessly, peering at you.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife but you simply stare at the table.

“I have a job offer for you, bella,” the man begins amiably, folding his fingers on the pristine tablecloth before reaching for a glass of wine beside him. He’s frustrated, angry even. The cords of his neck are tense and the subtle clenching of his jaw betrays him. The way he taps his fingers repeatedly against the table and doesn’t seem to notice even more so. “One that I think you will find most beneficial.”

New York is so damn noisy. The traffic reaches you even up here. It’s a serenade of concrete, shouting, rushing people, laughter, arguing—

“Bella? Are you listening to me?”

You blink again, squinting at him. “Sorry,” you mutter shortly, ignoring the way Winston is dead silent, Ares is glaring at some distant point over your head, and Santino is gripping the wine glass so hard you can almost hear the cracking glass from where you sit. “It’s been a rough few days. What,” you exhale, your voice raspy and try again, “What exactly did you want?”

The Italian’s head slants, his demanding gaze drilling into you with enough intensity to keep you focused for at least a second.

“A job,” he repeats, slower this time, his voice colder, too. “I will require you in Chicago in two weeks time. In peak condition. Which you are currently not,” he adds the last part with such deliberate slowness that your bristle, something flickering in your gut.

It lasts only a second before fizzling out.

Yet between the rays of the sun blinding you both, it’s hard to miss the way he latches onto that brief moment. His navy suit accents the severe curve of his shoulders and the unmissable tension there.

“Not interested.”

A furnace, a volcano—Santino D’Antonio looks ready to shatter this world under his too-expensive shoe. Something whispers to you that it’s not anger directed at you, however.  

Winston speaks before the Camorra heir can. “You need this job. It’s not a question of want or preference, I’m afraid.”

But you don’t want it.

Santino is just another reminder. A stark reminder that you don’t belong anywhere.

John didn’t want you, Camorra didn’t want you, Tarasov only needs you as long as you’re making him money, Winston is just doing his duty as the overseer of New York.

You belong in the pit with Kishi who seems absent for once.

Maybe it’s the brightness of the sun. He fears the light as much as you do now.

“It’s an undercover mission,” Santino endeavours to explain even though his voice is strained, deepening his accent. “Information gathering only. There are several individuals who have been, ah, causing problems for our trade as of late shall we say. It will be low risk, clean exit but no loose ends. What say you?”

He’s lying.

That’s for one.

Your eyes meet his stare and he leans closer like that can somehow keep your attention on him by doing that.

He’s lying.

So he either thinks you’re an idiot or he’s being purposely misleading due to Winston’s presence here. There is something else going on that he doesn’t want the manager of the Continental to know.

That calculating glimmer in his eyes is telling enough.

“No.”

You’re tired.

Downright, bone-weary type of exhausted.

Swaying, you stand to your feet.

“Tarasov is going to hunt you down—”

You don’t let Winston finish, turning to go. “I don’t care.”

A loud scrape of a chair fills the air and loud footsteps stalk after you. Deliberate. Furious. You ignore them, continuing on your way albeit sluggishly.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” Santino hisses from behind you, his fury spilling over. “Will you go cry a bit more about how your precious Johnathan left you? Will you just give up and go lock yourself away again?”

Your feet halt but you don’t turn around.

“D’Antonio.”

Winston’s warning is icy but Santino doesn’t heed it. That fire rages in him too brightly, scorching everything in its path. “When have you become such a coward, I wonder, hm? I knew a fighter, a tornado of a woman, now you can’t even look people in the eyes. Pity. To think that you have given up so easily—”

Fire doesn’t frighten you—it never has.

It’s a second, a breath, a heartbeat—

A blade stills against the curve of that elegant neck, and you stand face to face, seething when your eyes meet. It’s an echo from years ago, of your first meeting, and just like then Santino D’Antonio leans into danger, into the cold promise of death, into you and smirks. “Ah, there she is,” he purrs, enraptured, his voice a silky caress. “Are you going to kill me, cara mia?”

“I’m considering it.”

He raises his hand casually, stopping the guards who are no doubt ready to do their jobs and remove the threat—remove you.

“Yet you know that you cannot,” he dismisses, his voice still silky, smug. “For if you do the wrath of Camorra will rain down upon you till there is nothing left. Besides, it might be in bad taste to kill your host and friend, no?”

Friend?

You lean closer and Santino’s lips part at the proximity.

“I’m not staying here.”

His eyebrow cocks up and despite the residual anger you feel radiating from him, he still manages to sound effortlessly pompous when he speaks next. “You can’t afford to go back to the Continental,” he points out sharply and tilts his head, unruffled despite the bite of the blade against his pulse. “But if you prefer to sleep with the scum of this city then, by all means, be my guest.”

He’s right.

You have nothing. No home, no safe space to call your own, just nothing. John was your home once but he’s gone now, too.

For one hateful moment, you consider slicing Santino’s throat open just to have a quick out. But the truth is that you can’t.

He’s helped you too many times.

He helped John. He helped you. He gave you security when no one else could. He offered his hand despite everything—despite the fact that you still refuse to warm his bed to this day in spite of his clear eagerness for it. He keeps helping without pushing you.

For that alone, you know you owe him.

Ripping the blade away from his neck, you spin on your heels and stagger away, your skin damp with sweat.

Blood is rushing loudly in your ears and your tongue feels dry and bloated in your mouth as you stumble into the apartment. You manage a few steps before slumping against the wall, your breathing laboured. Wiping clumsily over your face, you take a moment to appreciate the suffocating silence your departure has left behind.

You linger just long enough to hear Santino’s clear, bitter command that rings like a death knell across the terrace.

“Postpone everything. We are staying in New York till this is sorted.”

.

You’re holding on.

But barely.

Just barely.

Maybe not even at all.

.

Winston leaves twenty minutes later.

He stops by the guest room you have claimed as your own and watches your prone figure on the bed.

You don’t turn to him, don’t say anything, either. You want to be angry that he’s as good as threw you out. That he’s forced you into this situation. That you found your clothes moved into the sleek closet behind you but not your solutions or poisons.

They don’t trust you.

They might believe the fact that you weren’t trying to end your life, but they don’t trust you not to do more harm.

The anger you felt only minutes ago in Santino’s presence has fizzled out and died. Darkness has cocooned you in its embrace once again even though something restless still scratches under your skin as always.

Even now, there is no peace.

“Let me come home.”

You don’t realise your slip up till you hear the older man exhale; a weary, ragged sound. You wonder what he must be thinking. If there’s some code he has to follow in a situation like this.

Home.

What sentiment.  

What’s the protocol for this?

“Your death will not be on my hands,” he says at last, cruel and kind all at once. “One day you will thank me for this.”

And then he leaves.

.

Ares knocks on your door by the time dinner rolls around.

You don’t answer.

She comes in anyway. Her stare as hard and uncompromising as always, and the dour expression on her face only makes you blink and press your cheek back into the pillow.

Dinner?

You don’t move.

She signs again.

Sits on your bed and repeats it.

And again.

You don’t move.

Eventually, she leaves and you’re relieved that she’s gone.

A distant, angry voice sounds from somewhere in the apartment several minutes later but it cuts out quickly.

Somehow the silence that follows is even louder.

.

You could leave. You should.

But there is nothing for you out there but death.

No weapons, no solutions, and a weak body.

You won’t last a day.

For one foolish, pathetic moment you consider calling John just to see if his number is still the same. If maybe—

You curl under the covers and sink deeper into the dark.

.

Ares comes to call you for breakfast the next day.

You pretend that you’re asleep.

She brings you a tray of food and leaves it on the table.

You don’t touch it.

.

You pick at some of the food eventually.

But you don’t leave your room, spending endless hours curled under the covers, thinking.

Let Tarasov come.

It’s finally perfect. The poison you’ve created just for him. Just a touch more lethality and it will be ready.

You can’t wait to see him erode into nothing.

When he is dead—and one day he will be—you will delight in every second of dizzying triumph that will follow the stilling of that dark heart.

One day, he will die with terror in his heart that wears your name.

.

John. John. John.

.

Kishi has been absent for so long that you’re surprised to see his grinning face appear in your nightmares.

Hello, viper. I’ve missed you so dearly.

He cups your cheeks, grinning wider, wider—

His face morphs. Raven hair. Dark, thoughtful eyes that you love—

John leans forward and sinks his teeth into your neck.

Blood spills down your chest.

Your scream is silent.

.

Hands try to hold you down as you trash, your skin slick with sweat, and clothes sticking to your skin.

“Wake up,” a voice urges. “Open your eyes!”

You do. A scream climbs up your throat but you force it down, your eyes frantically seeking the figure above you.

A familiar pair of green eyes stare down at you. Wild with an emotion you have no name for.

His fingers hold you by the forearms but his grip relaxes when he sees you’re lucid.

Gasping for breath, you twist from underneath the covers, shaking his arms off and dash for the bathroom. Your knees crack against the gleaming tiles and the content of your stomach empties itself in a brutal lurch. Next several moments are full of your suffering. Tears sting your eyes from the pain, and you bite your lip, your limbs still twitching as your stomach rolls.

You feel him hovering behind you.

“Cara mia?” there is a question in that breathless address but you ignore him. “Are you well enough to stand, at least?”

He sounds frustrated but his voice is still calm—just barely.  

Footsteps draw closer to where you lay half slumped over the toilet, your eyes closed.

You feel so drained that even tears won’t come. The skin of your neck feels dirty and torn. Faint traces of the feverish nightmare still cut into you and you shiver.

Hot fingers settle on your shoulder, light and cautious, and you snarl, jerking away from the touch. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re unwell,” Santino shoots back tightly, his eyes blazing and body rigid. He’s clad in only a clean, white shirt and trousers but you don’t care to ask what the time is. “What is happening? Is it the poison? Did you take something—”

“Shut up and get out!”

“You need—”

“I don’t need you!” you scream; a raw, awful thing that leaves you gasping. You want to claw at your own skin but can’t—shouldn’t. “I don’t need anyone,” you add in a broken, quiet whisper and it’s like that awful hotel room all over again.

His expression darkens, strains. For the first time, Santino D’Antonio looks unsure of what to do. It’s like that finely honed arrogance with which he carries himself has abandoned him. Here, in this cold, dark bathroom he simply glares down at you.

“Very well, bella,” he says, his words biting, low. “Wallow in your misery alone if you must. But we are eating breakfast together.”

The last part isn’t up for negotiation.

A brief spark of anger ignites, nothing more than a tiny ember. Egoistical prick.

No response greets him.

He lingers for a few, expectant moments but you don’t move. The only dialogue between you is your shallow breaths and the weight of his overbearing regard.

Go, leave. Everyone always does.

You don’t feel yourself drift away.

.

The next morning, it’s the blinding sun that awakens you once more.

You’re back in your bed.

At first, you think that last night was a bizarre dream until you rub your face, and catch a whiff of vinous scent staining your skin.

Santino.

There is a feeling—

It flees as everything else does now—too fast for you to grasp onto it.

You don’t get up for breakfast.

.

You don’t get up the entire day.

Or the day after that.

.

It’s been at least a year and a half since Tokyo.

Yet it still feels like you’re drowning.

Maybe you’ll never stop.

.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Your eyes crack open and you lick your cracked lips, turning towards the doorway.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him inside this room aside from that night when he woke you up from your nightmares.

He’s been sending in Ares to deliver you food and water, to try and engage.

“What?” you mumble, blinking sluggishly.

Santino stalks into the room and aggression lines his every step. He’s trying to control it, keep calm, and his hands buried inside his pockets say a lot. Behind him, Ares walks in with a tray of food. She moves closer towards you and places it on the bed before sitting down at the foot of it, the tray now between you.  

Much to your surprise, the heir of Camorra does the same.

He looks beyond uncomfortable, his mind clearly somewhere else, but Ares starts first by picking up a mango slice from one of the many plates, and placing it inside her mouth. She chews slowly and stares at you expectantly as she does.

She’s clad in dark burgundy today as is Santino and you know that colour holds a special significance at Camorra but you can’t think of one right now.

They’re both not used to this, you realise distantly, making an effort for someone.

This is weakness. This is something that’s ruthlessly crushed and disposed of at Camorra. Such...inability would never be tolerated.

Yet they’re trying.

Santino is scowling at a wall but he’s chewing his fruit obediently. Ares is doing the same.

It’s awkward.

No one speaks.

And yet—

Your fingers stretch towards the strawberries.

Santino’s eyes snap to your hand, focusing on the motion and you still briefly before pinching one between your fingers. Your head barely lifts from your pillow but you bring it to your lips, nibbling on it cautiously.

It’s delicious. Sweet and zesty taste explodes against your tongue the moment you bite down on it. It’s taken days for the wounds inside your mouth to close but now the full extent of your taste receptors seems to have come back.

No one speaks but the tension in the room seems to ease a touch as you continue nibbling away.

You manage three strawberries that morning.

Every single one of them feels like scarlet, gushing victory.  

For the first time in months, you don’t taste blood in your mouth.

You only taste the sweetness of life.

.

It’s hours later, long after they’ve both left, that information crawls up from the back of your mind.

An heir apparent and his right hand wearing burgundy outside of Camorra duties. No deaths, no coronation, no birthday or births to warrant that very deliberate choice of dress code.  

This is something else.

Burgundy they wore in a show of favour, companionship, respectful implication that they consider you an equal and are seeking an alliance.

All while you laid in bed with greasy hair, dark circles under your eyes, stale breath and vacant eyes.

Something deep down flutters at that. You try to grasp onto that spark with whatever little strength you still have left but it’s so hard.

Everything is so hard now.

.

Warmth.

Your nose presses into it, curling against it and you sigh faintly. There is something so comforting about having someone else in the bed with you—

Your eyes snap open and you scramble backwards, your legs tangling in the sheets.

Santino lays on the other side of the bed, one hand resting behind his head. He’s relaxed, his clothes immaculate as always—pale blue, cotton shirt and trousers, no doubt all designer—and Rolex gleaming around his wrist as he taps his fingers on his chest in a careless rhythm. His eyes drag slowly from the spot he was observing on the ceiling to you, and a slight smirk curves his lips.

A spark again and it flares enough to work your tongue.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks at the sharpness of your question and you don’t miss the trace of surprise in those green depths.

“This is my home, cara,” he says pleasantly, his voice a lovely roll of syllables, and you’ve forgotten how effortlessly charming he can be. “I am resting.”

“Get out.”

It’s hardly a demand. It sounds more like a strangled, detached whisper.

His eyes roll at that, effortlessly dismissive and condescending.

“Hm. No.”

You claw deeper to dig out that ember of your old self back. The one who would have sliced his skin for using that tone. Thrown him off the bed without warning and threatened him for good measure, too. If only to see that smug gleam in his eyes after. Listen to him throw a deliberate, heated comment about how attractive you are when angry while his eyes drag over your figure with obvious desire.

The same dance.

Always trying to get under your skin.

Even now.

“Get out.”

His eyes spark. Eager. Coaxing.

He sits up unhurriedly, his chin lowering as he looks you right in the eye.

“Make me.”

A deliberate challenge. Everything since you’ve come here has been deliberate. From his actions to his words. He’s trying to get a reaction. Even more so than he used to before. Before it was about him and his ego. Now you have no idea what he’s trying to achieve with his goading.

“What are you doing?” you demand even though it sounds faint and takes more effort than it’s worth. “Trying to piss me off on purpose?”

He leans closer and your eyes narrow when you come face-to-face. This is the closest he’s been to you in months. Since Rome. Since before whatever little control you had got buried with your heart at John’s wedding.

“Yes, cara, indeed I am,” he admits easily, shameless as always, facing you unflinchingly because it’s who he is. He never shies away and expects the same from you. “Be angry with me. Rage, yell, scream till your lungs give out. Anything is better than this.”

A knot forms in your chest at his angry, disgusted hiss at the end. At the way he waits, agog—waits for that fire to rise up and match his own.

Play with me, come on, those eyes say and you stare at him flatly, your mouth tilting downwards.

“What do you know about it?” you breathe quietly, and there is a muted sort of rage there. It prickles your skin, and your fingers knot in the sheets beneath your palms. “Poor little D’Antonio with his mean daddy who won’t shower him in praise. You have it so hard. Mansions and cars and a mountain of wealth. Freedom to do whatever you want.”

If he wants to play this game, you will indulge him.

His expression smoothens, growing colder at your words, and he leans back a touch, his chin tilting. The moment of almost ends and the cool, collected heir is all that’s left.  

“So quick to pass judgment, cara mia,” he points out softly, icily. Still, his eyes drag over your weary features and there is determination there. “Join me for breakfast.”

“Why?”

His lips curve and he leans forward without warning again, his breath tickling against your ear. “Because I asked nicely and I rarely do that, no?”

You shove him back with your hand and he hums, seemingly entertained.  

“Asshole.”

He stands to his feet, not a stitch out of place, and stretches to his full height, glancing at you before offering you his hand.

You ignore it, pulling the covers back yourself as you stumble to your feet, trying to find your balance.

“Better,” you hear him acknowledge, and flip him off without looking back as you stride towards the bathroom on shaky legs.

His chuckle sounds immediately, pleased, and you make sure to slam the door shut extra loud behind you.

You didn’t have to get up. You didn’t even think you had it in you to do so.

You cup your hands around that ember inside your chest protectively and soak in its warmth.

Just for a little while.

.

“You’ve gotten worse.”

Stabbing a fork into the fluffy pancake on your plate, you don’t answer.

The sun is bearing down on you both, warming your neck as you sip on your juice without engaging him. It tastes good. Freshly squeezed and organic no doubt—only the best for the Italian prince.

Santino exhales forcefully. He’s not used to being ignored and he doesn’t like it.

Good.

“You weren’t like this when you were staying with us,” he tries again and you ignore the resentment you can hear coating his words. “He did this to you.”

Your head lifts, your mouth a hard line, and find Santino half leaning across the small table towards you. He always does that you realise suddenly. Like he’s being dragged closer by an invisible rope.

He’s right though. Even if you hate the fact that he is.

Camorra for all its awful brutality and endless ambition had been a safe haven. It had been routine and focus and purpose. Most days you were so busy you had no time to think about anything else. You were hunted and wanted to change that.

So you shed your skin—the skin that was soft because you hadn’t realised just how much John had shielded you from before—and became a hunter yourself.

The Hunt had been a poetic slaughter—a baptism of blood.

Giovanni D'Antonio allowed you space under his roof because you had been relentless. So relentless to return the favour that with time he might have even offered you a place in his ranks and tried to buy you out from the Russian.

Camorra had been a twisted hope of belonging somewhere.

It had been friendship and hope.

Had.

“Why burgundy?” you ask him instead because it’s been plaguing you. “I have no position of power for you to seek an alliance with me.”

He blinks, exhaling, and then his mouth quirks. His features soften a touch and you ignore the fact that he appears beyond pleased with you.

“You remembered.”

Only because his family and the endless list of traditions and laws infused into the very foundation upon which that empire of blood and bones stands is fascinating. You’ve always been eager for knowledge because that’s what keeps you alive and both heirs had obliged you happily.

Many things they kept from you because you were still seen as an outsider but it hadn’t mattered.

Santino never lacked enthusiasm when it came to you wanting to know more about Camorra.

Because he’s proud of his family. Because he’s proud of his position in it. Because if he’s capable of love you think that Camorra might be the only thing he truly loves.

But articulating all that seems exhausting so you offer him a half-hearted shrug in response.

Still, this seems to have brightened his previously foul mood and he rests his chin on his folded fingers, his elbows digging into the table as he peers at you. His ring glints in the sunlight, momentarily distracting you.

“My intention is exactly what you think it was,” he reveals calmly. “I need you to come with me to Chicago, cara mia. This job is rather important to me personally.”

“Important enough to lie Winston about it.”

His smile is slow coming this time around and all teeth. A sinful, wicked soul residing inside a shell of a man with golden skin, dark curls and piercing eyes. Handsome, dangerous package. A temptation very few have resisted, you know as much.

“Perhaps,” he purrs gently and you force yourself to lower your eyes back to your food. “But I need someone like you. An individual who can deliver and be discreet about it. Besides what Winston doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, no?”

I need you.

You wonder if he’s realised that he’s said it twice in a span of less than five minutes. There is no emphasis on words or deliberate pauses. No indication at all that he’s said them on purpose. In fact, he appears entirely focused on your conversation, his voice smooth and steady.

“What is it?”

He seems even more pleased with your show of interest.

“It wasn’t entirely a lie, bella,” he says breezily, leaning back in his seat as his hands lower back onto the table. “It is undercover. Every five years operational managers from our world meet for a conference of sorts. Everything from food to clothing to weaponry is discussed. Hands are shaken, deals are struck, ah you know how it goes, cara, no? This year this very special event is being held in Chicago. We will attend it.”

You stare at him as you chew and swallow before forcing another bite of pancake into your mouth. You feel full already but you’ve only eaten half of one. You can—need—to eat more. Easier to do so with this distraction, with those eyes tracking every bite you take.

“You need me to kill someone.”

Not a question and those round, pleasant features draw into something remote, downright chilling. In that look, you see something else, something bloodthirsty. It makes you remember the words you associated with his name before your first meeting.

Charming. Power-hungry. Not to be trusted.

Fitting even now.

No, looking at him right now, it’s more fitting than ever.

“Yes,” he admits lightly with a pleasant little hum but his eyes rage. “And I want him to suffer.”

Interesting.

“I could go in alone—”

“No. You will never make it. This is a High Table related event and the security there will be unlike anything you have ever encountered,” he rebukes, and his words wash over you with the intent that tells you he’s been waiting for this moment for a while. “My name is your ticket inside. But most importantly Continental style rules apply. No bloodshed. It’s neutral ground for trading. No one can know it was you or the consequences will be...severe.”

There is more he’s not telling you.

“What do I get in return?”

Santino D'Antonio raises the espresso cup to his mouth and watches you over the rim like he’s already won. “1.5 million USD, cara mia. Agree and it’s yours. You have till twilight to decide.”

.

Charon stands beside Winston as the manager goes through the documents in front of him.

The concierge notices you first, his glasses reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace as you approach.

Winston’s attention follows several seconds later and the man straightens when he sees you, slipping his glasses off as you halt before him.

You haven’t seen him in days. Almost two weeks, in fact.

He takes you in with a critical eye before gesturing to the unoccupied seat opposite to him.

Slipping smoothly into the space you both observe each other for several moments.

“So,” Winston begins, his tone loaded. “Is signor D’Antonio dead or did you finally grow weary of his company?”

That almost makes you smile.

“Neither.”

A twitch of his expression but it’s so slight that you can’t quite read it.

“Yet here you are,” he notes calmly and something lingers in his tone, in his gaze, too. “Out and about. Looking better as well.”

Do you?

You don’t feel like it but you haven’t been feeling much of anything lately.

“I need access to my room,” you decide to cut to the chase and tap your fingers against the table as your eyes slide around the room. Few pairs of eyes skitter away under your attention. Good. This is the legacy of your bloodshed. “I need to prepare.”

Winston exhales and his regard changes. “You agreed then?”

You don’t look at them but you can tell both men are tracking your every breath. “In theory.”

You don’t elaborate further because Winston knows better than anyone that business and confidentiality are key.

“Wonderful. Though I would take this moment to remind you what kind of man you are dealing with.”

Your eyes slide back to him and you do smile this time even if it feels hollow. “You mean the very same one you threw me at?”

Winston’s expression doesn’t so much as shift. “Do you expect me to apologise? Because I have no intention of doing so,” he voices curtly and you don’t feel surprised by his words. “I took a gamble that paid off. But Santino D’Antonio is vain, bloodthirsty and arrogant. You would be wise not to trust him.”

Typical Winston. Always three steps ahead of everyone else.

A small scoff escapes you at his words and you lean back into the comfortable, plush seat. “Believe me,” you state coolly and tap your foot against the floor, once and then again. It takes a lot of energy—just like this entire trip has with your weak muscles and heavy head—but you force yourself to do it anyway. “He’s at the very bottom of the list of people I would ever trust. I know what he is.”

Just as monstrous as the rest of you. Maybe even more so.

But you’re not here seriously considering his offer because he asked nicely or offered you a mountain of money that will feed Tarasov’s greed.

You’re here due to the unspoken thing you can’t help but wonder if he’s even aware of.

The initial two-week deadline is up in less than two hours and yet he’s made no other preparations. Has taken no extra precautionary measures in case his plan backfires and you don’t agree. Despite how he keeps stressing that this job is so important to him, he’s waiting on you.

In Camorra, there is no such thing as “irreplaceable”. If someone is unavailable or incapable other options are sought out with startling ease.  

He believes that you will do it.

It’s not about his need for you.

It’s that belief.

It…

It makes you want to fight, too, and you don’t know why but you want to at least try.

Winston takes a sip of his drink, considering you and bobs his head once. “Good. It’s still better than being alone.”

He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a keycard, sliding it across the smooth mahogany table. Something in your chest ceases at the sight of it, at the fact that he’s had it on him this whole time.

“You figured that I will agree.”

It’s not a question but he still replies with a calm, “Not at all. I hoped that you won’t disappoint, of course,” he notes and there is a brief glimmer of a smile before it’s gone. “And you haven’t.”

You’re both quiet for several moments after that. Charon says nothing as always.

Your unsteady fingers wrap around the card eventually, and you stand with a nod in their direction, straightening.

“Charon. Winston.”

The older man salutes you with his martini. “Bonus fortuna.”

You turn to go and wonder what it means that men like Winston and Santino D’Antonio have more faith in you than you do.

LaGuardia airport appears in your sights half an hour later.

Santino’s men greet you at the entrance of the airport.

Private check-in, private everything. Security is nonexistent when you’re flying with a man of such power and influence.

Ares greets you outside the private jet and you watch a slight grin transform her steely expression into something a bit more cordial.

He is waiting for you inside. Good to be working with you again, pretty viper.

She goes slower than usual so you catch everything, and you appreciate it because you’re still learning ASL. Not to mention the fact that it feels like your brain is just barely functioning.

“Likewise.”

Climbing up the stairs, you nod at the flight attendant who beams back you when you pass her to get inside.

Even the vast, luxurious space can’t seem to contain Santino D’Antonio and his larger than life presence. Every line crisp and tidy, he hardly looks any different than usual. But tinted shades hide his eyes as he stares out of the window. Those long, graceful fingers tap restlessly against the table and you take him in for several stolen seconds.

His head snaps in your direction when you enter the plane and he stills at the sight of you.

You can’t see his eyes as you approach but feel the intensity of his regard all the same. “1.5 mil was it?”

You both know it’s not about the money. It never has been with you. But it’s easier to pretend that it is. If only because that’s safe and familiar.

Santino slips off his sunglasses with a slight chuckle, looking up at you from beneath his lashes as you plop down tiredly in the seat opposite to the heir. It’s like sitting down on a cloud.

He folds the shades and hooks them on his shirt pocket with practised ease. He seems to have a penchant for making every little gesture appear effortlessly elegant and pretentious at the same time.

That little quirk of his lips remains though.

“Indeed it was, cara mia,” he says and extends his hand towards you. “A deal is a deal.”

You grasp his warm hand in yours with the intention of shaking it but as always Santino acts on his own accord. He lifts your palm to his lips and kisses your knuckles instead, his heated breath tickling your skin as he peers at you. That ghost of a smirk is softer this time, and you pull your hand back with a roll of your eyes.

He considers you for a moment before glancing over your shoulder and nodding only once. Behind you, the crew prepares for take-off.

“How long were you going to wait for me?”

Santino’s head slants in thought but his expression is serious. The switch surprises you somewhat but you wait, ignoring the fatigue in your bones.

Ares passes you both with a wave and two guards behind her, heading towards the back of the plane without so much as a backwards glance and you blink.

Deliberate again. Clearly, Santino has something he wants to discuss in private.

He appears deep in thought, going between looking out of the window and you as the jet leaves the ground below. It’s a smooth and trouble-free take off because Santino always hires professionals of the highest degree. Certain things are routine with this man and there is a certain degree of comfort to be found in that.  

“You lied to me.”

It’s been long enough that his voice startles you and your muscles tense, your mind immediately flying to all the weapons you have on you.

He seems to notice the way your body locks up just for a moment before relaxing again and his gaze darkens.

“What?”

“When I check in after you left Rome,” he begins and you suddenly understand what this is about. “You told me that you were back at the Continental safe and well. Working.”

You did.

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort tightly, guarded. “I was working.”

“Oh? Is that so? Work.”

Ignoring the scorn in his voice, you give him a fair warning, “If we are to do this job together,” you state icily, a warning ringing through your words. “Then you don’t ask me anything. Better yet, don’t talk about the past at all.”

That dangerous flame licks across his features, tightening his expression. For a prolonged, charged moment you simply survey one another. He saw it after all. How terrible it can be.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the flight to Chicago.

.

The presidential suite is as grand as all other places Santino usually stays at.  

The spacious, high-ceilinged room is located on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking over the beautiful ravine that is Lake Michigan.

The sleek, white walls somehow manage to add dimension to an already large square footage by still remaining welcoming. Decorated tastefully with glossy cabinets, lavish loveseat and colourful armchairs to not detract from the massive canopy bed sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The velvety covers and plush cream pillows have never seemed more inviting and your eyes linger on it the longest.

There’s just enough bold colour sprinkled through the room to remove the clinical factor such bright space might bring to mind, and you peek an adjoined en-suite bathroom hiding behind one of the doors you walk by.

It’s curious how despite Santino’s life back in Italy being rooted in tradition whenever he stays anywhere else, he always chooses modern, contemporary designs.

This is the height of luxury—a welcoming card, cuvee white brut champagne, fresh fruit and chocolates already laid out in a neat manner—and behind the connecting door to your right lies this room’s twin image.

“We can discuss further details tomorrow, bella,” Santino says but doesn’t look at you as he does so. “You should rest.”

You wonder if he can tell that you’re standing upright by sheer will alone. There is a tremble in your knees as you move and your steps are heavier than usual.

You’ve grown weak.

The muscle that has been forged through years of brutal training has softened and diminished.

When did you allow yourself to become this?

When did you let Kishi win?

Never give someone else the power to destroy you.

But you have done exactly that. No matter how much you’ve been trying to dress it up, this fact still stands.

You have been punishing yourself.

It should make you feel something, you imagine. Furious, upset, determined, sad.

Anything at all.

Instead, you just feel tired.

Tired and cold, and like something has been raked right out of you, leaving a hole behind that might never be filled. A hole that you can pour happiness and hope and sadness into and it still won’t matter. Because nothing can fill what’s bottomless. Nothing can fix something like that.

You want to try but—

But you’re not sure if you’re strong enough.

Nodding your head, you head towards the bed without a word.

Santino slams the door to his half of the suite with enough force to rattle the hinges.

.

Water slides down your throat, scratching and tearing at your vocal cords as you choke on your screams.

You’re jerked back by the hair and Kishi smiles, caressing your cheek with stiff, cold fingers.

Your hands are dirty, viper, he hums lovingly and grabs you by the back of your neck, you are dirty. Time to get you clean.

You jolt into wakefulness as hands drag you forward abruptly and your forehead connects with a solid chest instead.

“Calm, shh, you are awake,” a voice urges with gentle but instant fingers digging into your shoulder blades. The comfort of that touch is so familiar that deep down it makes you gush with agony, some distant loss you can’t name. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

“John,” you sob, blindly clinging to that warmth, to silent strength there. “John.”

The figure freezes, tenses. A few shallow breaths follow and then a hand settles on the top of your head. Those muscles relax gradually and careful fingers stroke your hair. Soothing. Slow.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” you beg weakly and cling tighter, tighter because you love him so much and it hurts— “Please don’t leave m-me.”

That grip tightens and holds you closer, cocooning you in warmth. For once, the ever-present chill in your soul seems to ebb, fade just a little.

“I won’t, amore,” he reassures softly. “I won’t.”

You believe him.

.

You dreamt of John last night.

Of comfort and him staying. Fingers smoothing over your hair in that achingly familiar manner he used to touch you with when it was just you two alone. When you managed to mangle that iron-like willpower of his by leaning into him, seeking him out.

Remembering that warmth makes you both devastated and happy. It’s like a soothing balm against wounds that refuse to heal. But it’s also a knife cutting deeper and deeper.

You swore to yourself that you would let go but—

That, too, is hard.

A folder slides across the table surface and towards you, hitting your hands and you jump in your seat, rigid.

Ares shoots you an apologetic look as she goes to stand in the corner of the private breakfast room, clasping her hands in front of her, and you squint at the folder, forcing yourself back into reality.

“What’s this?”

“That, cara mia, is information about your target,” Santino explains over the rim of his espresso but his tone remains dispassionate. There’s something odd about him today but you don’t care enough to ask him. “Read it carefully.”

Opening the manila folder, you move several pieces of paper aside, blinking at the pictures of a stern-faced man. They’re black and white but they reveal a male who looks no more than five years older than Santino, his features handsome in a hard, rugged sort of way. His short hair is either brown or black and though all photos are too far away to be able to tell for sure, his eyes appear dark, too. Brown or hazel if you had to make a guess.

He’s handsome, but there is something about his features that makes you think of Tarasov. Makes you think of enough charm to get by but preference for brutality instead.

His face tells you that trusting this man would be unwise.

“Who is he and why do you want him dead?” you question after a moment of analysing the pictures.

Rafael Conte

A part of you can’t help but wonder what this man has done to evoke the wrath of the Camorra heir. Though, as always, it likely has something to do with greed and egos.  

Santino doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he spreads jam across his toast but there is something…violent about the way he drags the blade across the perfectly toasted surface. Something about the way his hair is unstyled today and a few messy, loose strands fall into his eyes. Something about the way his movements are jerkier than usual, less refined.

He’s back in a full three-piece this morning but a voice at the back of your mind whispers armour. Because this is different from those two weeks you spent at the penthouse. He rarely wore a suit at all during that time. There was something more open and casual about him then.

“Oh, you aren’t killing this man,” he finally speaks and you frown minutely at the way he lowers the butterknife back onto his plate a little too loudly, then sighs, and looks up at you with forced calmness. “We will be using him to get to your actual target. We need to be very careful about what we do here, cara mia. This man can lead us to the man he serves, and it’s him that I need you to dispose of.”

Still frowning, you look back towards the pictures. Santino’s attention lingers on your face but you ignore it.  

“Why wait this long?”

“What do you mean?”

Your head slants and you regard him with a knowing, calculated look. Santino doesn’t answer you, however, he simply stares back, and the look in his eyes challenging. You know he wants you to engage and so you do. After yesterday, after that fleeting memory of warmth, you feel like you have the strength to do so.

“Why wait for some obscure event with a ridiculous level of security when you could get rid of this man on a Tuesday afternoon while sipping lemonade in your parlour?”

Because that’s easy and clean. Because he won’t have to lift a finger and get needed results unless—

“Tell me, bella,” Santino begins, interrupting your racing thoughts and his index finger traces the rim of his cup lazily. “Have you heard of an organisation called the Black Dragon?”

Your tongue works quicker than your mind. “John—”

The words die in your throat; a feeble, pathetic crumbling of syllables.

The temperature inside the bright, sunny room seems to fall by several degrees.

Santino’s fingers are still, his attention focused on his cup. His toast remains untouched.

Forcing down the lump in your throat down, you force out a strained, “He’s told me about them before. Private organisation. Janitors of the High Table, right?”

“Indeed,” he intones coolly in reply and taps his fingers again, more agitated this time. “We are here to kill its current leader. A man by the name of Andre Boutin. The issue, however, is that if you search for a definition to word ‘paranoid’ in the dictionary that man’s name will be under it.”

He lifts the cup back to his lips again but those bright viridescent depths zero in on you. A shadow lingers across his features, and once again you can’t help but feel like he’s not being completely honest with you—there is more to this than he’s letting on.

“He never leaves his secret little lair unless the High Table forces his hand,” Santino continues and cuts a neat piece of his toast before biting into it. It doesn’t surprise you that like a true, refined heir he chews and swallows before speaking again. “Hm, but he will have to attend this event. Signor Rafael is his right-hand man. Aside from the standard proceedings, there will be…exclusive invitations into certain circles. We are to get Rafael’s attention and penetrate his. That’s the only way to get to Boutin, bella, and it’s crucial we do so. Tomorrow will be our only chance.”

“No traces?”

His eyes narrow and he nods his head once, dead serious. “None, not even a whisper of one,” he says solemnly, his heir ring tapping against the ceramic of the cup once, twice. “You are to be beautiful but harmless. I know Rafael personally. I will get you close enough.”

But he never places himself in the firing sight. Never dirties his own hands. Just how desperate is he to see this man dead to do so now? At an event that will have so many eyes from the highest circles of those under the High Table on you no less.

“You mean you need me to act as your whore,” you deadpan and go on before he can interject. “You need me to fool them, pull the wool over their eyes. But what if someone recognises me?”

Santino looks like he’s biting back a sigh and inclines backwards into his seat, staring at you. Those loose curls fall into his eyes and for a moment they distract you. “I would prefer if you did not use such…phrasing, but I suppose in a sense, yes,” he tells you and you stab a piece of melon with extra vigour before placing it between your lips. For the briefest of seconds, the man before you focuses on that tiny little movement before his attention shifts. “I also recognise the, ah, dangers. It does seem likely someone might but I’m not trying to hide you, carissima. You have spent a year with my family. You by my side is no longer a novelty. It might even be expected in certain circles.”

He pauses at that, his lips parting like that realisation is just hitting him, too.

You by his side is nothing new. You by his side. He says it with such ease, such boldness—like it’s as obvious as the sun rising every morning.

A silence that follows those words is different somehow. Almost like you have both become intimately aware of each other’s presence in your lives and all the time you have spent together.

“You don’t want this attached to your name,” you say frankly, at last, forcing casualness into your words. “Only a handful of guards with you. All this secrecy. This goes beyond killing a lackey of the High Table. What did this man do, Santino?”

Because he would never take such a personal risk unless he had no other choice. But that’s also why he needs you. A clean, untraceable kill. Even if people were to suspect him there would be nothing to stick on him personally. Clever, unprincipled bastard.

“That,” the Italian mutters, his voice wooden. “Is of no importance. You are here to kill Andre Boutin and that’s all that matters. Do you think you can you do that for me, bella, hm?”  

This is personal. That much you do know.

But something about this challenge fills you with determination to hold onto that warmth from last night.

Maybe wherever John is, his spirit is still looking out for you.

So for now at least, you decide to let the topic go. He does have a point after all. You’re not getting paid to ask questions.

“Sure I can,” you demure slyly and smother your grin against the glass of juice in your hand. Santino blinks, seemingly taken off guard by the unexpected teasing, at your spark of energy. “Anything specific wardrobe wise you want me to wear? Aside from the obvious.”

Something bold yet tantalising enough to make most people in that little get together hate you and want to fuck you in the same breath. Such is Santino D’Antonio’s way. He has to court attention at all times. You cannot be seen as less. When it comes to appearance Santino never spares expense. What a spoiled prick.

His gaze sharpens at your words, and that heat returns as he scrutinises you.

He hums quietly, his eyes dragging over your figure before saying, “Green. Wear something green,” he instructs lightly and when he meets your stare next, you do feel something inside you settle and still. “But I need them to look at you and feel like they can’t breathe.”

Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.

He hasn’t.

You had wanted to say that to Santino last night but couldn’t.

John hasn’t—

But hasn’t he?

It’s a destructive cocktail of anger and bitterness and doubt churning deep inside your chest. A part of you misses John with an intensity that shakes your bones; fracturing them and unmaking them with swift, expert proficiency. Another part of you hates him. He let you believe that he loved you but then chose another woman over you the moment a possibility of a normal life came up. Better drop the dead-weight. Better to erase the messed up, traumatised weakling from his life. Be done with it.

No, John hasn’t robbed you of anything.

He gave you a different sort of fire.

A flame of rage and longing all fusing together to create something far more devastating.

But last night…

You’ve almost forgotten what that’s like—being carefree, smiling, doing something so simple yet freeing.

Santino D’Antonio had given you a moment of yourself back without realising it. You’re not quite sure what to do with that knowledge. With the memory of your messy dance and that whisper of wonder in his eyes as he took in your smiling expression.

A knock resonates again your door and your head slants in the direction of the sound. “Come in.”

Ares pokes her head in first before stepping into the room already dressed in a tailored suit. It’s a dark, patterned number mixing black and deep grey tastefully. The black shirt she wears underneath is neatly pressed, and the pin she bears under her throat in an illusion of a tie is of Camorra making. She looks amazing and carries herself like she knows it, too. Dark makeup around her eyes accents the piercing nature of her blue eyes and you click your tongue.

“Trying to outshine me?” you joke but she doesn’t reply, taking in your appearance as well. Smiling, you run a hand down the body of the dress and towards the shimmering skirt. “What do you think?”

Her eyebrows jump up deliberately, staying that way as she signs with her eyes still on you. You fulfilled the brief.

You’ve certainly tried.

Your hair and makeup have all been done by expert hands because you didn’t trust your own. Not right now. Not with muscle weakness and the tremors.

You’re glad that this mission is not an active job that will require fighting your way out of a situation. Right now, you can admit—even only to yourself—that you would be more of a liability than an advantage in a physical fight. You can’t be seen shedding blood at this event and perhaps this is the best kind of job to ease yourself back into things.

That dedication to see an assignment through was bred into you by John, and now that you’re here no matter how empty things might feel, a part of you wants to see it finished no matter what.

It’s refreshing.

Wanting something.

“Where is Santino?” you ask her, turning to go, double-checking all your weapons—what few you could sneak in—are all on you. “I haven’t heard him in his room.”

Ares waits for you by the door as you approach, shrugging. He went ahead. He will meet us there.

“Is Piero with him?”

Ares nods and you both leave the room together, heading down the hallway.

Another security measure. Every invited person is allowed to take but one guard with them. Two, if they come with a plus one which in Santino’s case is you. A measure introduced to appease the inherently paranoid nature of the people attending but also avoid any potential…disagreements. When you have one guard you are far less likely to start making a nuisance of yourself.

A car is waiting for you outside when you and Ares exit the foyer, and you know the venue is only fifteen minutes drive from the hotel. You’ve made sure to analyse the site as much as possible.

A hotel and casino in one, Paradise has served as a hotspot and neutral meeting ground for anyone seeking an audience with Chicago’s Outfit and their Boss. The word is that you either make a deal with them or you don’t leave Paradise alive.

You suppose it’s just your luck that Chicago Outfit and Camorra have a long-running alliance from as early as the bloody 20ties era. Back when Italians have first set their sights on powerhouse cities like New York and Chicago amongst others, waging deadly wars amongst each other for territory.

An enemy of a friend is always good to have, Santino had told you with a secretive little smile and a dangerous air of viciousness thick in the air.

You can’t help but wonder if this has—to some degree—been planned for even longer than you first suspected.

If this gathering only happens once every five years and always in a different city and continent, just how long has Santino waited to put this plan into action?

Chicago. A city ruled by an Italian-American crime syndicate and ties to Camorra.

The Black Dragon. Janitors of the High Table. Trained killers who answer only to their leader and the Table.

You. A mission to kill the current leader Andre Boutin. A man who always hides as if fearing something.

What did this man do?

How do the puzzle pieces fit together?

The car rolls to a stop and you blink out of your stupor, glancing ahead and see Ares turn towards you from the front seat.

Ready?

You bob your head once and inhale deeply, letting the oxygen sit in your lungs for several seconds while she exits the expensive vehicle and opens the door for you. You take her offered hand with a silent squeeze of thanks.

From this moment on, you are no longer you.

Your heels hit the damp pavement and the Vipress steps out.

Ares shadows your side as you trek up the extravagant staircase to the Paradise hotel, ignoring the flurry of snowflakes that settle in your hair. The attendants greet you both, checking your name on the guest list, then weapons, and you’re both ushered inside with polite, stiff nods. Your coat gets taken at the door and you dip your head in a cool, disinterested manner—just enough to appear polite.

Ares is a silent phantom by your side.

The gathering has started already. S will be waiting for you by the staircase to the ballroom. You both need to be seen.

Should we not go straight for the target?

S believes appearing innocuous first is your priority.

Your eyes sweep over several individuals around the foyer who shift at being caught staring, clearly uncomfortable at your signing, and you suppress a remorseless smile. Good.

Santino wasn’t exaggerating though, most people around are unfamiliar to you. These people are the wheels that keep the underworld business rolling but they are not Tarasov or Giovanni. These people are at the top of their own food chain but under the Table, they are specks only.

The grand staircase leads up a level where the hotel rooms are located and downstairs where the ballroom and casino can be found.

Ares moves a step behind you as you descent slowly, taking your time with the gown and the shoes. A dull twinge of weakness still locks your knees and you force yourself to focus on your every move.

Just like the woman behind you warned, Santino waits a little away from the main staircase, chatting with the burly, brown-haired Piero in hushed voices.

He’s striking tonight.

Admittedly, Santino always looks good—he takes special pride in his appearance, you know that much—but today he made an effort and it shows.

The suit he wears is as dark as the richest night, tailored to fit him to perfection, and the light reflects a peculiar shine of the material whenever he moves. His hair is neatly combed and those unruly curls pulled back but you can already see a few rebellious strands trying to free themselves. The white shirt he sports under the suit is blinding and a satin bowtie rests around his throat, pulling the dignified image together.

His black dress shoes might as well be mirrors.

Santino looks like an arcane, sinful dream and you know many recognise the Camorra heir as he stands there with an air of effortless arrogance.

His eyes flicker away for a second, scanning the room and snag on you just as you reach the final step, your dress skirt dragging down the polished marble and falling against your legs as you walk with deliberate slowness towards the heir.

Santino doesn’t have to fake his reaction and that’s good—too many eyes on you.

He stills and you note the slight downwards dip of his shoulders as if whatever oxygen he did have in his lungs has fled.

His lips parted, he watches your approach unblinking and with pulse-pounding sort of intensity. He doesn’t bother masking the raw desire in his regard, either, and there is a nudge of surprise when you feel a flicker of warmth in your chest in response.

You’ve missed this. Being seen by someone. Being desired openly and without shame.

Not pausing, you walk right up to him and wrap your arms around him, resting your nose against the smooth skin of his neck.

Santino goes stiff with surprise and you tilt your head so your lips brush against his ear, “There are eyes on us. Wrap your arms around me right now,” you direct quietly and pull him closer with a smile. “Touch me as if we’re lovers.”

He does.

His right arm snakes around your waist before trailing up your back, his burning fingertips brushing against your bare shoulder blades. His breaths are shallow but he leans in and presses a brief kiss against your shoulder as his hand drags back down the arch of your spine. Slow, wanton. You have to suppress a genuine shiver despite your best efforts to play your own little act.

Pulling back, you remain right against him, meeting his stare and Santino’s eyes wander over your features, guarded.

The reservation is surprising. Is he gauging what he can get away with without you snapping at him?

He gave you a brief, a job to do. You intend to fulfil it. The last thing you need is to be caught as well. That means playing the part to perfection.

“Looking quite handsome, darling,” you tell him with the slightest curl of your mouth. Your fingers skim over the velvety material of his bow tie and you glance at him from under your lashes. “Am I to your liking tonight?”

He licks his bottom lip and his sizeable pause generates amusement deep down that you don’t let anyone see. For once the man with a silver tongue has nothing to say.

“Yes, amore,” he says thickly and his stare doesn’t stray from you. “You are breathtaking.”

Clever bastard.

He might as well be undressing you with his eyes but that’s the point.

The black gown you wear glimmers like a thousand little jewels—and indeed every inch of the light material is stitched with little gems that depending on light reflect silver or dark green. The dual-chrome aspect makes every step you take a visual feast and thin spaghetti straps made out of strings of tiny gems glitter in the light as well. The cut at the back of the dress dips all the way to your lower back and Santino’s fingers press into your skin. Tracing, lingering.

Leaning back slightly, you reach for your clutch, pulling out a silky piece of cloth that matches the reflective green of your dress.

Santino’s hand still rests securely against your lower back, and you peek at him as you place the handkerchief in the otherwise empty suit pocket. With delicate fingers you smooth the pocket square into neat lines, dragging your palm deliberately down his chest after. You stare at each other for several moments, ignoring everyone else around.

Well, not you. You’ve already counted the exits and the guards present with every guest in the nearby vicinity. Taken stock of most of their weapons, too.

Who is the biggest threat? John’s low voice questions in your ear and you take note of that as well. Keep them in your sight.  

Santino, on the other hand, looks like he can barely recall where he is.

“Shall we?”

Before he can answer another voice speaks first.

“Santino D’Antonio. It has been a while,” a deep voice calls with an accent you can’t quite place. It almost makes you think French but there is a sprinkling of something else there. “Giovanni couldn’t be bothered to attend himself?”

There is an accusation in that question and you control your expression. Letting surprise show now won’t be in your best interest. You are a shell, a plaything, a snake in the garden.

Still, not many would have the guts to speak like that about Giovanni D’Antonio—and to his son no less.

You only turn towards the owner of the voice after Santino does, and his grip on you tightens briefly before relaxing. You’re still practically hip to hip and behind you, Ares and Piero slip closer; a subtle manoeuvring.  

Tucking yourself into Santino’s right side, you give him room to shake hands with the man who comes to a stop before you. He’s taller and broader than you both and that handsome but stern face makes your instincts prickle in real life even more so than the pictures did.

“Rafael,” the Italian greets smoothly, and yet you can hear the subtle contempt in his tone as he drops the man’s hand. “Always a pleasure to see you. Father could not attend. Business with the Triad, I’m afraid.”

You have no idea if that’s true or not but regardless Santino says it with enough conviction that even a priest would believe him.

Your mark doesn’t look convinced though.

Rafael Conte in his immaculate grey two-piece suit eyes Santino with cool disdain that hides behind a ghost of a smile. Clearly, there is no love lost between the two. So much for knowing the man personally.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” he states flatly, and his dark eyes slide towards you. He looks you up and down like a butcher assessing livestock and you work to keep your expression open and friendly, shy even. “Your plus one, I assume.”

“Wonderful, is she not?” Santino poses icily and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Rafael’s eyes linger on the skin of your thigh that peaks from between the slit in your dress. Then they drag towards your hips and deep plunge of your neckline before he finally meets your stare. The entire assessment lasts no longer than a scant few seconds but whatever he observes he seems to find lacking.

“Not your usual type,” he intones in deliberate, clipped Italian. “Couldn’t find an attractive model to fuck instead?”

The air crackles with tension as two men stare at each other, silent.

This isn’t going like expected, so reading the situation and its potential deterioration, you decide to gamble, “Actually,” you begin sweetly, in equally deliberate Italian, and Rafael’s attention snaps to you. “Most nights I fuck him so thoroughly that he doesn’t want to leave the bed the next morning. Isn’t that right, Santi?”

You’ve never called him that before and you sense the minute twitch of his muscles in reply.

His fingers sink into your hip firmly but his words are calm, genial. “I have nothing to complain about,” he admits mildly, turning to look at you and you meet his reticent gaze with a slight, coy smile. “You always impress, principessa.”

Turning back towards your mark, you find those inky eyes focused on you and blink innocently.

“This one has a mouth on her,” he says, his words terse and he looks you up and down again. “Might get her into trouble one day.”

Santino smiles but it’s more of a predator baring his teeth in warning as he presses you closer to him. “Ah, it’s a rather delightful mouth I reassure you, and I could never resist a bit of danger, Rafael. You know how it is.”

The muscular man scoffs. “Your lack of self-control is well known, D’Antonio,” he notes briskly, and the sarcastic bite of his deep voice is offset only by the easy smile he flashes you both. It softens his forbidding expression but doesn’t hide the contempt. “I certainly hope you’re here to do some actual business instead of wasting everyone’s time. But do enjoy your evening,” he adds with a purse of his lips.

He brushes past your party without another word, every step purposeful and you can practically hear the grind of Santino’s teeth beside you. Placing your hand on top of his, you pull his attention towards you.

“A dance, darling?”

He doesn’t reply, simply wrapping his arm tighter around your waist and leading you both towards the ballroom where the main event is being held. Behind you, Ares and Piero fall in step behind you.

The room itself is massive and decorated in tasteful greys and silvers—Chicago Outfit’s colours, you recall. A canopy hangs across the ceiling, a million tiny fairy lights creating an illusion of the night sky. Your gaze swings towards the massive dance floor where a glistering chandelier hangs suspended above the already dancing guests. In fact, the vast space is already full of people milling around and chatting business. Champagne, whiskey, bourbon and wine are only a couple of the drinks you spot being poured around the room. Later, when the masks fall away, you know everything from cocaine to ecstasy will be served just as openly.

Across the room, you spot the entrance to the private casino section but know that it won’t be in use till later. After these civilised people do their song and dance of being normal.

Santino cuts straight towards the dancing guests, only giving Ares and a vague tilt of his head to indicate that the plan is now in motion.

The said plan was always to catch Rafael’s attention here. Running into him this early had never been part of your previously discussed play.

A strain weighs across Santino’s face when he pulls you on the dance floor just as the live band finishes playing a song and starts another.  

His arm settles around your waist and you step closer towards him, your fingers lacing together.

He settles you into a rhythm smoothly and you spin across the shiny floor with other patrons.  

“What was that?”

His quiet, indignant question doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his attention remaining on the attendees and you fight back a sigh.

“I was getting his attention,” you murmur in reply, giving his palm a measured squeeze. “Now we’re on his radar. He will watch us twice as often. We will dance and dine and have a great time,” you explain evenly and that familiar focused calm thrums through you. When your eyes meet next, you add a meaningful, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Hand in hand, you spin in a slow circle and his eyes find yours.

“Trust is not a currency I deal in often, cara mia.”

You part, your palms grazing as you circle each other, and you hold his heavy stare.

“See how this whole trust thing works is that you have to give some away before any can be given back,” you remind him when he pulls you back to him, and this time you stand close enough to smell his cologne and count his eyelashes as they flutter when he fleetingly looks towards your lips. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

He notices the mocking edge to your words and his eyebrows arch slightly when he draws you closer.

“Are we not friends, bella?”

You give him an honest answer. “Hardly.”

Something flickers across his expression but it’s gone in an instant and his answering smile is uncaring, forced.

“Such a cruel tongue you have.”

Smiling pleasantly, you hum, “I keep it especially sharpened for you.”

This time, the sharpness recedes and something more honest is left in its place as Santino dips you and unlike last night, this time you’re ready for him. Perhaps the awkward practice paid off after all.

The world tilts and then he pulls you back to him, an array of colours blurring your sight, and for the briefest of seconds, all you can see around you is him. Him and the crooked dip of his grin as he peers at you.

“I have missed this,” he admits in the space between you but even over the dancing guests and the music, you hear him. “This you. Could she perhaps be persuaded to stay, hm?”

It would be so easy, you can’t help but think, allowing yourself to tangle in his web. Allowing yourself the privilege of forgetting John and Kishi and Tarasov—of forgetting every dark shadow that haunts you. He almost makes it easy. Easy to breathe and forget. But you now know what it is to be broken apart when you allow someone else to complete you.

Never again.

Never with a man who will no doubt exchange your company for someone else’s soon. Winston had a point. Santino’s favour is bound to come with an expiration date. One day, he will grow bored of you or resentful because he’ll realise that you will never give him what he truly wants.

One day, inevitably, he will let you down. Replace you. Leave.

It’s simply who he is.

Pivoting on your heels, you turn your bodies in a different direction, your steps unfaltering as you move across the floor.

Santino blinks, his silent scrutiny letting up as he squints at you.  

“Are you trying to lead, cara mia?”

“Not trying,” you murmur slyly under your breath, a slight smile lingering across the seams of your mouth. “Succeeding.”

The soft set of his lips part and this time his grin shows teeth, dimpling his cheeks. He swiftly pushes your bodies apart, spinning you, and your skirt flares around your legs before he yanks you back to him, your bodies colliding. His arm envelops you immediately, keeping you pressed to him and the warmth of him seeps into you as he watches you through hooded eyes. His thumb caresses the bare skin of your lower back and a shiver crawls down your body as your warm breaths mingle.

You’re out of breath due to acute exhaustion still gnawing at your bones but—

“I could give you anything you want—anything at all. Power, money, jewels, pleasure,” he whispers faintly, leaning closer, and you fight to ignore the sultry drag of those words. “The world. All you need to do is ask.”

With his power—with the power he might still inherit—you imagine he could.

But—

“And what would you want in return? For me to be your pretty, obedient pet?” you whisper back but your voice lacks all the heat his has. Something far more critical twists your words and you meet his gaze, your faces inches apart. “Warming your bed whenever you feel like it until something more exciting comes along? No, I know how this game works, Santino. Men like you collect women and use them to appease your overinflated egos until we’re no longer interesting to you. Then you throw us out like trash. Even though the problem is rarely us but rather your inability to emotionally connect with another human because all you want or care about is fleeting excitement of the chase. Cheap sex on the side. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m no one’s pet.”

His jaw clenches, a ripple of emotions flitting across his features.

“I don’t want a pet.”

Low, wary.

But you push because you don’t believe him. Trust his word even less despite the fact that any and all promises he’s made so far, he’s followed through with.  

“Then what is it that you want?”

He stops. You’re the only two unmoving bodies in a sea of movement.

Those vivid green eyes glow with something you have never seen before as he studies you.

It is desire but—

He reaches up and caresses your cheek; nothing more than a whisper of a touch.  

“You.”

A breath rushes out of you.

A lump forms in your throat but you don’t move or speak. It’s like you’re both locked in your own private little bubble and the sheer intensity of Santino’s gaze leaves you with no escape. Your muscles seem to have stiffened up with disbelief. He’s always made it clear what he wanted but…

“Santino D’Antonio! It’s good to see you again.”

He exhales and whatever it was that you saw only moments ago is gone, leaving a far more familiar sight of a proud Camorra heir behind.

He turns to greet an unfamiliar man approaching, his grip on you loosening but not dropping entirely, and you remind yourself that you are nothing to him. Nothing more than an object of desire, a trophy to win, a conquest his damn pride won’t allow him to drop till he succeeds.

You hate the fact that for a second—just one—you had believed him.

Your eyes flicker over the crowd, a blur of faces, before a large man next to a bar catches your attention.  

Rafael Conte takes a slow sip of his drink that dark stare boring holes into you.

Your lips curl.

.

Santino does talk business.

He really has covered all his basis and found a legitimate reason to be here—be here and appear unsuspicious as well.

Camorra is one of the wealthiest families in the world and there are plenty of individuals eager to do business with them.

Santino talks—ruthlessness and charm weaving effortlessly—shakes hands and deals business. Number start blurring somewhere in their millions.

You stay by his side through it all. His grip around you is resolute, secure. It’s surprising how natural the fit is, comfortable. Especially because any and all foreign touch since Tokyo makes your skin crawl with disgust. You’ve only ever fit this well beside John but thinking about him now stings terribly so you push the thoughts of him away.

Instead, you focus on your role entirely. Submerge yourself in it so wholly that you can almost believe that’s truly all you are: your job.  

A mindless girl who is desperate for any scrap of attention from the powerful, handsome man beside you.

Fingers ghosting over his neck, leaning into him, giggling in his ear and playing with his fingers—you embody the desire you’re supposed to represent. Santino’s replies are rarely verbal but any and all attention from you always seems to distract him, shattering his concentration.

His fingers rub circles against the swell of your hip in response, and other times he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His cool Camorra ring grazing the skin of your arm as he traces random patterns on your skin.

People stare discreetly. You know by this point more than a few have recognised you. No one dares to comment though.

You imagine that to them you look completely caught in each other. Sharing breathing space and suggestive whispers; heat and something carnal, something only lovers could ever fully grasp.

Buying into the rampant tension between you must be easy.

You succeed in your mission.

Two hours in, a waiter approaches a spot where you and Santino sit—you draped over his lap and arms around his neck while he discusses weaponry with some Romanian crime syndicate representatives—and delivers a scrap of paper with a simple message.

Join us for poker and business, D’Antonio. Your plus-one can come along as well.—R

.

You’re in trouble.

Big, fat trouble.

Not because Santino is gambling three million away—though you imagine losing that won’t be in your best interest—but because this intimate setting is even more intimate than you ever would have suspected.

No guards, for one.

The game itself is between six players—counting Santino—in a small closed-off booth section of the casino. Your game is not the only one ongoing but you doubt this kind of money is being thrown around anywhere else. Every man playing seems to have brought their plus ones as well, including Rafael himself. A tall, stunning woman with glossy black hair, beautiful brown skin and shrewd almond eyes.

The problem is that unlike you, these women don’t have to pretend. Their interest is genuine, and when twenty minutes into the game you notice zippers being unzipped and hands starting to wander, you feel something inside your chest shrivel up.

Santino’s grip on you remains and you find yourself clinging to him for a different reason. At first, you play at being shy, burying your face against his neck. He notices, dragging his long fingers down your leg gradually, trying to calm you, as he considers his cards silently and takes another drag of his cigar. He’s purposely trying not to draw attention to either of you. It both amazes you and gives you a sense of reassurance. Perhaps there are some lows that even he won’t stoop to.  

The only issue is that Rafael Conte won’t stop staring at you.

He knows that you’re not too drunk or high enough to stop your hands from exploring. He’s been keeping track of your leisurely sips of champagne the entire evening. If he doesn’t suspect something is not right yet, he will soon. He’s smart. The same chilling, ruthless smart that reminds you of Tarasov.

If you don’t do this…

It all would have been for nothing. Another failure. If Rafael suspects something is amiss, if he thinks that you are here for any other reason other than being Santino’s lover—

You will never get access to Andre Boutin.

Fuck.

Something cold and slippery rolls inside your stomach at the muffled groan a man closest to you lets out, and the woman wrapped around him titters.

I—

You can do it, John reassures you gently, gripping your shoulder but you blink and it’s Santino’s hand on you instead.

Your eyes meet in the dim light and his hooded gaze is solemn, cautious. He, too, can see how this situation is escalating. Either you adapt or retreat.

All this preparation. You can’t help but wonder if he would still force you—

Fuck this.

And John.

And Santino.

And Kishi and Tarasov and every other asshole that’s ever hurt you.

They can all go to hell.

You’re more than this.

You didn’t survive Tokyo and John’s abandonment just to break apart now. To fail yet again.

Enough.

Enough.

It’s not real, it’s just an act.

Shifting, you practically straddle Santino and feel his breath hitch when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head back for better access. Your lips press against his jaw, neck, your other hand tugging on his bowtie till the silken material comes loose between your fingers.

His pulse pounds against your mouth and you kiss that golden skin, sucking on it, your lips tingling. You’ve never been physically this close to him before and the heat of him envelops you, his free hand sliding up your back and settling against the arch of your neck. Those strong digits sink in, firm and eager, but he doesn’t push you closer until you lean into him further. You’re chest to chest. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp deliberately and a small sigh escapes him, warming the blood in your veins.

“D’Antonio.”

Tugging on his shirt, you undo the first two buttons in a second, peppering eager little kisses against the curve of his collarbone. The scent of his musky his cologne sinks into your senses, making your head swim and your lips part, your tongue swiping against the skin—

Santino’s hand tangles in your hair and he pulls you back, his wild stare pitch black. With your fingers buried in each other’s hair, you gaze at him for a heated moment, and he at you. Reaching out, you let your fingertips lightly trace up his neck, pausing on his adam’s apple. You draw a lazy circle with the tip of your nail and his breaths grow heavier. Leaning even closer, you let your fingers trail up his chin before your thumb settles on his parted lips.

He’s staring up at you like he has never seen a sight more divine, more sublime, and the heat between you is sweltering.

You’ve forgotten what it is to feel like you’re burning, igniting, coming apart.  

“D’Antonio.”

This time his self-restraint doesn’t hold, he jerks you to him till you’re fully on his lap, your foreheads almost touching as you eye each other. His fingers slip from your hair, dragging downwards till he’s grasping the side of your face, his own fingers mapping the shape of your lips as he guides you closer. Like a magnet, you follow his pull. Your mouths hover over each other and the tip of your nose nudges against his cheek, mirroring his eagerness. You grasp onto his hair firmer, those strong strands like silk in your grip. If you pull hard enough, if you kissed him, would he moan—

“D’Antonio, do you mind?”

The haze lifts and you see Santino blink as if snapping himself back to reality, his breaths are laboured, heavy, and you know that you’re hiding him from sight. This slip-up, this moment of hungry eyes and needy touches, is for you alone.

He looks you up and down, as if memorising the sight of you like this—so close to being his—before licking his lips and swallowing as he gathers his composure. His elevated breathing and blown pupils betray him, however. His appearance is dishevelled in that gorgeous, seductive sort of way and a stab of satisfaction follows the realisation that you did this to him.

He slides you carefully to one side and you release your grip on his hair, wrapping both arms around him instead as you smile slightly.

The Italian doesn’t look away from you, giving Rafael only a distracted, “Hm?”

“Make your next play, then feel free to fuck her if you must,” the man drawls, and you focus on Santino and his hair and his eyes because the careless way Rafael speaks about you sets your teeth on edge. Keep calm, keep calm, this is not Kishi. “In fact, after that little display, I’m pretty sure I won’t mind a sampling myself. See if she’s really all mouth.”

Your nails sink into the back of Santino’s shoulders and it takes sizeable effort to keep that bashful smile on your face. The heir finally looks away from you, his attention turning towards your mark, his features hardening.

“Come again?”

Rafael Conte chuckles, a rumble of a sound that unsettles you. “Don’t be shy, D’Antonio,” the man speaks, amused. “You do mine and I’ll do yours. What do you say? Unless mine is not to your liking? I can get another one in here. Two? I’ve heard you’re into that.”

No one else in the room so much as shifts or protests. This is a typical party code for them. Swapping deals, drugs, women, and whatever else they please.

Your skin crawls, those words dousing whatever heat your moment with Santino has managed to awaken in you.

Don’t let him talk about me like that. Don’t let him touch me. Don’t, don’t, please don’t—

Those words burn at the back of your throat and you grit your teeth to hold them in. You can’t risk breaking character like this but—

Kishi grins from the shadowed corner of the enclosed room and you suddenly feel sick.

Santino is quiet for a moment.

You watch his side profile with a halted breath, and another beat of silence follows before a slight smile finally tugs one side of his mouth upwards.

It’s a dangerous, dark thing and your stomach twists into knots.

Please—

“No one touches my woman,” comes his silky, cold declaration and those long fingers rest on the bare skin of your thigh; possessive, protective. “No one.”

The terror and revulsion in your veins ebbs, ebbs, his words echoing—

You don’t care about how untrue they are. That you both know that you’re not his in any sense of the word nor will you ever be.  

The conviction, the threat, the protection—those are real.

For the first time since Tokyo, since John, you don’t feel alone.

A peculiar sort of hush falls over everyone at that.

“In fact, hm, why don’t you go and freshen up, principessa?” he suggests and lifts your chin with his index finger so he can look you in the eyes. “I’m almost done here. We can go back to the hotel after. I’ve missed those pretty sounds you make when I’m inside you. Yes?”

He can see it.

And feel it, too.

The way your skin has gone cold and clammy. How a tremor shakes your muscles. How you grip onto him but your eyes keep skipping towards every shadow in the room. How your serene, sensuous demeanour is no doubt splintering right in front of him.

He’s giving you an out.  

Your nails sink into him briefly and you force yourself to act, force yourself to continue on.

Cupping the side of his face, you press a lingering kiss to his cheek. There is nothing sexual about it. Only a distinct feeling of gratitude that strums through you with the same intensity your earlier interaction did.

Your eyes flutter close briefly, the tip of your nose pressing into the smell of his aftershave, and you image to everyone else it might look like you’re simply clinging onto him, unwilling to be parted.  

Standing on stiff legs, you straighten your spine, and don’t flinch as Santino continues the performance, staring up at you, lowering his cards so he can touch your knee. He rubs a soothing circle there and his lips twitch.

“Don’t take too long now, hm?”

Your hand trembles when you reach for him, and you hope that the darkness of the room helps to mask it. Despite that, you still manage to swipe back unruly strands of his hair that have fallen into his eyes. Like a refined feline, he arches into your touch, a faint smirk appearing, and you rearrange your facial expression into something unassuming.

Trying to speak fails, so you simply dip your head once, and pull away from him. It takes everything you have to keep your footsteps steady and unhurried as you exit the small room.

The world around you splinters.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Look at you.

“Shut up.”

It’s a choked, weak mess of an exhale. It hurts to talk and you grip the sink harder, your knuckles straining under your skin as you wheeze.

Your frightened eyes reflect in the mirror and you note how your expression crumbles in despair. Just hours ago, you had looked at your reflection in the hotel room mirror and felt beautiful for the first time since Tokyo. Since something was tarnished and stolen away from you.

Now mascara smears under your eyes and your waxen expression betrays you.

You need—

John.

You need John.

I need you. I need you. Where are you?

Kishi sinks his bony fingers into your arm and you flinch, jerking backwards. The incandescent bathroom lights scorch behind your closed eyelids, and you grapple for the running tap, letting the freezing water pour over your hands.

It hurts more, petrifies you more, but it also keeps you lucid, coherent enough to hear the bathroom door opening behind you.

“So—sorry, it’s busy! Could—could you please use—”

“The Vipress.”

You freeze.

You’re trembling but your head tilts upwards, and in the mirror reflection you see Rafael Conte leaning against the bathroom door with his arms folded over his chest.

Those dark eyes narrow and the grin on his face makes you become terribly aware just how unprepared you are for this type of confrontation. He’s taller, stronger, and heavier.

While usually, that would hardly bother you—both John and Cassian have taught you plenty of ways to take down individuals who severely outclass you in a physical sense—that was then.

The husk of a person you have deteriorated to is not as confident in her skills.

How he even found you is beyond you. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, didn’t bother finding Ares in the crowd of people because she was instructed to mingle and collect information. You purposely didn’t go in the casino bathroom or the one right outside the ballroom. You went through the bother of trekking halfway across the hotel just to find a secluded bathroom far away from the main event.

Just your goddamn luck.  

Keeping him in your sight, you straighten.

Where is Santino?

“The viper that never strikes twice. I wondered why D’Antonio would bring you,” the man says after you keep silent and his smile turns more cutting. “But then I realised that this might be something more than just business.”

“This—this is neutral ground,” you force out, trying and failing to keep your voice even. “There is nothing—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man snaps, stepping from the door and you twist around, glaring at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know he’s up to something. You will tell me what, or I will send your head back to Viggo Tarasov as a present.”

Your hand flies down but he’s faster.

A pistol appears in front of your face just as your fingers wrap around a blade strapped to your inner thigh.

“I don’t think so,” the man growls and steps closer. “Drop it.”

The water from the tap keeps running noisily, and you try to calculate how quickly he would be able to pull that trigger. Would you be able to throw your blade faster? Or would he react quicker?

Don’t let him corner you, John warns sternly, or you will lose.

You let the blade drop. Rafael marches towards you, shoving the barrel of the pistol under your chin, tilting your head. He glowers at you, the heavy set of his eyebrows pinching. “Why are you here?”

“Get fucked.”

His palm connects with your cheek, a flare of agony numbing the right side of your face. He jerks you closer by the hair, pressing the barrel painfully into your cheek.

“I will blow your fucking brains out, princess,” he warns harshly, and shakes you once, your teeth clenching. “Is D’Antonio really worth dying for? Answer me!”

Your knee drives between his legs and you duck when his grip on your hair loosens, ignoring the painful tear. You strike his arm, the pistol slipping but he grabs it just before it falls, kicking you in the stomach as you slam against the sinks with a loud thud. You gasp in pain, trying to grab onto the edge of the basin to straighten yourself, but your weak muscles struggle to obey and Rafael grabs you by the throat. He slams you into the mirror and then again.

And again.

The mirror cracks and you choke down a sob of pain, everything blurring.

“You know,” the man pants, and his grip on your neck tightens, choking you. “I expected more from John Wick’s partner. His little protege. But you’re pathetic.”

He slams you against the mirror again. “Tell me what D’Antonio is doing here,” he demands, giving you another shake and you feel something wet staining the back of your head. “Tell me or I will drown the truth out of you.”

A handkerchief gets pushed into the sink, trapping the still pouring water, and you let out a whimper of pure terror.

No—no—no—

Rafael grasp you by the back of your neck, and you kick at him but your muscles are frail with exhaustion and panic, failing you when you need them most.

The man hits one of your legs and you crumple, your face flying towards the half-full sink as you let out a sob. No matter how much you struggle or try to push yourself back, you’re not strong enough.

Another brutal shove downwards.

You’re never—

The bathroom door slams open with a deafening bang.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

A slight chuckle against your neck. “D’Antonio. Slow as always.”

The grip on you loosens and you slump to the floor. Footsteps step over you, but Rafael’s gleaming shoes don’t miss your trembling digits. He steps on them on purpose and you flinch as the sink overflows, spilling water all over the white tile floor.

“I will skin you alive for this.”

You can’t remember ever hearing Santino so furious before.

“Sure you will,” Rafael remarks and the mirth in his voice is clear. “You know my father always told me to never trust you D’Antonio’s. He said that you all have the devil in you. Especially your psychopath father and that frigid bitch you have for a sister. You’re just the leftover people tolerate because they’re scared of your father. After San Diego, I knew my father was right.”

“What’s the matter, old friend,” Santino wonders in Italian, his voice honey and rage all at once. “Can’t handle a bit of competition, hm?”

Your forehead slides across the tiles when you turn your head, a wall of tears blurring your vision as you try to blink them away. Violent shivers wreck your body as water roars in your ears and your body convulses. Blinking, you try to tighten your bruised fingers into a fist. It’s then that your eyes snag onto an object an arm length away from you.

“I sure can. Because I don’t fear weak fuckers like you,” Rafael shoots back coolly and you hear the cocking of the pistol as he aims it at Santino. “I would be lying if I said that I will not enjoy this.”

Santino.

A meeting in a church.

“I always get what I want.”

A favour without a charge.

“I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

An offer of help.

“You can stay with me, cara mia. My home can be your home. It will not be for free but no harm will come to you.”

Burgundy suits.

“I need you.”

Arms around you, something in his eyes you have never seen before—something genuine.

“You.”

You slam into Rafael with full awareness of what this will mean.

“Fear me.”

You plunge the poisoned blade deep into his neck.

. . .

an: can you believe Santino D’Antonio really hit that high this early on and then....just never been able to hit it since lmao. amazing. anyway whooooooooooooo babey!!!! if you read this in one sitting, please pat yourself on the back, soldier. sorry that I didn’t have time to reply to everyone about the last chapter. life has just been a big ‘ol mess as you all know, and I’ve been really busy and blocked so if this chapter reads funny....well then......though, as always, I’m super excited to hear your thoughts. :D

as always you’re all incredible, amazing, and the best so please take care of yourselves! <333 

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick fic #santino d'antonio imagine #riccardo scamarcio #fanfic #fic: children of ares

[aiden-png]

Heyy, is there any way for you to possibly share your planning/outlining process? I’m having a lot of trouble myself figuring out how to write my fic, it’s all just out of order and all over the place, and I feel like knowing what you do might help a bit

omg sure!! I know how to outline a few different ways and jump between the methods depending on the story, length, and how much planning is actually needed to achieve my goal. I don’t typically outline unless I’m setting out to write something over 20k words or I have an idea that relies on a series of interconnected scenes (like a 5+1 for instance)! I’ll continue below the cut...

when I’m ‘outlining’ for a multichapter fic below 20k, my notes are pretty simple and typically look like this (example from “5 Times Wild Did Something Wild”): -collecting bomb arrows while it’s raining -electrocuting a group of enemies during a lightning storm -deflecting guardian lasers with his shield/cryo-launching a guardian and sniping it midair -riding a Lynel and killing it from close range* -setting up a trap and killing a Yiga in disguise elaborately* -getting stabbed/shot and pulling the weapon out of himself to finish the fight

these ‘bullet outlines’ are really good for laying out scenes, story beats, or chapter summaries for multichapter fics. when I write a short oneshot however, my notes are 1-5 sentences that summarize the entire plot or the prompt, and I add more notes if necessary when I sit down to start writing. for example, the prompt outline for “Hero Through the Ages” was this: Wild is reverted back to a child and everyone expects him to be rowdy and impossible. Instead he’s entirely mute, very stoic, extremely well versed in swordsmanship, and acts like he’s a knight.

however, when I’m outlining a longggg multichapter fic, I have two methods I really enjoy using and tend to pair them together. first is the summary method, where I write out an overview of what I want the story to be like in paragraph form. it ends up looking like a Wikipedia summary for a book or film when it’s done, but the reason I like this method is because it allows me to brainstorm on the page and develop my ideas where I can reference them again. these methods are supposed to be rough at first and get developed further later, so the next two examples are plans for a fic that ultimately went in slightly different directions by the end! here’s the beginnings of a paragraph outline for my BotW fic “A Major Test of Strength”: Link has been training for a few weeks since defeating Vah Naboris so he has all the supplies and strength he needs to take on Calamity Ganon. He learns of a Spring of Wisdom (or smth actually not in canon) that is said to have healing/restorative properties and it’s suggested that he travel there to try and regain the last of his memories. Sidon decides to tag along to help/see if he can finally work up the courage to confess his feelings to Link. When they get there Link not only gets his memories of this life, but of all other timelines restored at once along with his abilities. Every Champion had a power, and Link always thought the swordsman didn’t. It suddenly makes sense why everyone has believed in him without question since he awoke: Link is the strongest Champion, and he’s just now reached his full potential. Before Link can begin to train his new powers the Yiga stage a plot 100 years in the making, putting Link, Sidon, and the whole of Hyrule in danger. Link has a time limit to face Ganon before the barrier breaks now, and he’ll need all the help he can get to make it there in time.

from the paragraph-style outline I can make a scene-by-scene or chapter-by-chapter (or even act-by-act) outline which is the second method I like, though I have a hard time writing things I know the endings of. I typically outline as I go after the midpoint of a fic so I don’t lose interest, and will place filler estimates for how many chapters will be in the climax and resolution. working from story beats in this case is a lot easier for me, so I’ll make a bullet list where I describe the exposition in quite a bit of detail, summarize to the midpoint, more briefly summarize to the climax, and then stop outlining. it looks sort of like this (same fic as above): 1- Link hears about a Shrine* that is said to help connect those to their past or smth and it’s in the Laynaryu Mountains. He decides to go for it, as he’s still missing a lot of his memory (he’s not super distressed by this, he knows himself and he’s content, he has more important things to handle, but he hopes that the final piece in his puzzle may help him defeat Ganon). He travels to Zora and Sidon insists on traveling with him, it’s not far after all 2- they travel to the location and become close along the way 3- when they arrive the place is surprising and Link emerges from the Shrine with far more than he expected. A Yiga had tailed them, and upon seeing Link’s powers, quickly teleports back to their base 4- Link spends some time training to grasp his new powers and finds himself drawn to Sidon more and more. The Yiga commune with Ganon 5- the Yiga stage an ambush on Link as he travels, kidnapping him and Sidon. The Yiga preform a ritual in front of Hyrule Castle where Link was knighted at the blood moon to rend Link of his powers and Sidon rescues him too late, the Yiga and any information they had disappearing 6- Link and Sidon travel to visit the Great Deku Tree as Link looses his strength, hoping to reverse the spell 7- Link and Sidon make it at the last minute and are shown the secret location of the Temple of Time, where Link completes the ritual, and is sent back in time to before the kidnapping so he can continue his training 8- Link prevents Sidon from being kidnapped with past Link and they journey to Satori Mountain to stakeout the ritual site so they can disrupt the ritual before it’s too late. they talk and share secrets and both realize how they feel 9- Link and Sidon successfully intervene and the two timelines collapse, merging, until Link awakes in the Temple of Time in a fixed timeline with the triforce and knowledge of his powers and his love for Sidon. He confesses instantly 10- epilogue? Link and Sidon share a peaceful day months after calamity ganon’s defeat, Link training future soldiers and running errands for citizens of Hyrule while effectively retired, Sidon and him officially courting, and everything right in the world

there are a lot of different outlining strategies beyond these that you can use too! there’s a flashcard one, where you write out important events and scenes on cards and organize them in whatever timeline you feel works best. there’s the in depth outline, where you summarize the scenes and events in every chapter from beginning to end (this one helps a lot with keeping consistent chapter lengths and maintaining plot threads). when I use an outline, to make sure I don’t forget what I’m supposed to be writing for each chapter, I’ll write myself notes at the end of the doc that I can glance at as I’m typing. I’ve also used the editing method, where I’ll read and edit the previous writing session before starting the current one so I don’t lose track of where I was. when writing a long piece, it can be helpful to stop in the middle of a scene that excites you, so you have the motivation to return later to finish it! it also works well to finish an entire scene or chapter before stopping so you don’t have to read back to start writing again, but since I tend to write every single day until a fic is finished I don’t have a lot of issues picking back up where I left off.

just remember, the outline is only a tool for you to use! it’s not set in stone, it doesn’t have to be neat or completed--the only thing that matters is that it helps you better write your piece. it’s perfectly fine to diverge from the outline when writing, or to edit it as you go! and outlining definitely isn’t for everyone, I rarely use one because I feel it limits my own creativity in some regards. flying by the seat of your pants when you write is a perfectly valid method too, so stick with what makes you comfortable and what works for your style--and remember to have fun! I hope this helped answer your question! :D

#thanks anon! #aiden writes #outlining #I hope this is helpful! #it took me years to figure out methods that worked best for my writing style so playing around w a few different outlining methods #will help you figure out which one works best for you! #I only really plan or outline when I have a hard time visualizing where the fic is going to go tbh #so I've been outlining a lot recently for two longfics and I still don't know how long either will be XD #outlining also helps writing a longfic not be so scary or overwhelming #you can get lost writing so easily and lose motivation or inspiration--so keeping notes or an outline really helps !

[disabledrunner5]

Canton and Runner Five relationship Headcannons:

Because I realised I hadn’t done enough of these even though it’s been like 20 missions since Canton Five died (I’m on S3M19). Also this is a long one so he prepared:

Canton Five was the second person to ever meet Runner Five. I’m talking even before the apocalypse.

Because Canton Five, aka Joel Bright, is Five’s dad.

Five and Canton’s relationship was a really close one, pre apocalypse. Five actually got on better with her dad than her mum (partly because her mum was constantly worrying about her and being overly worried about her when her dad was treating her like a normal child) but that didn’t mean Five didn’t love her mum as well.

The two of them were a team.

He was the one who encouraged her to pursue acting when she got a taste of it when she was eight. (Probably because he was in a band in uni that was semi-professional and he gave up that life to have kids and always had a soft spot for the arts despite being a history teacher).

Canton was probably the most encouraging parent EVER!

Taught her to not let anything get in her way, even her physical and invisible disabilities.

The apocalypse happened and they were separated as she assumed her dad had been killed from what she saw on the kitchen, when in fact he’d just been knocked unconscious by her zombified mum and had a nasty cut on his head from the fall.

Five ends up in Mullins, thanks to her uncle (her dad’s brother thankfully happened to be in the area when the apocalypse happened and rescued Five and her younger brother and took them to Mullins where he was scheduled to be transferred to the next week, being a high ranking officer and therefore had clearance to do that) and Canton ended up in New Canton pretty quickly after banding with a couple of survivors after somehow escaping his zombie infested Villiage without being bitten and became runner Five.

Canton spoke highly of his kids at New Canton, thinking they had both died in the outbreak, and he did have friends there (Lem and Archie), although he doesn’t agree with most of New Canton’s methods and he was actually planning to defect to Abel after Chris Mcshell (another of his friends he made at New Canton) does it but he’s on the advisory council so it’s a bit more difficult to defect.

The two Runner Five’s had several almost run ins with each other (during the 5 and 10K runs in S1).

Until the 20K runs.

Where they meet for the first time in months and it took all Canton’s power not to just pull his daughter into a hug and never let go, even when she clearly didn’t want to let on that they know each other for some reason he didn’t know (she was still terrified that Van Ark would catch on, and do something- even back then, Five was extremely cautious and concerned about Van Ark)

Archie, Maxine and Sara still catch that they’re father and daughter pretty quickly though, especially since Canton actually muttered Five’s name under his breath when he met her and it’s pretty obvious when you see them side by side.

Canton is surprised to find that Five is selective mute because she was not before Z-Day, just extremely socially awkward due to her autism.

Like with Sam, Canton’s one of the people she finds it eay to physically talk with as in she can actually make words when she talks to him. Because you know, she’s his daughter.

He’s distraught to find out that his youngest didn’t make it past the first few weeks of the apocalypse but it’s kind of confirming what he thought had happened to both of his kids.

Canton figures pretty quickly that Five belongs at Abel. He sees how her face lights up like a Christmas tree when she’s with Sara and Maxine and when she sees the gates of Abel. So he makes it a note to try and defect ASAP so that he can be with his daughter. Doesn’t tell anyone about this plan though.

Then Abel township gets blown up. And he’s the one who convinces the council to let Five stay, citing there’s no proof she was the one with Lem’s earpiece.

Father daughter arguments in those weeks are fairly frequent because Five is traumatised and is assuming her friends are dead for like a week. And Canton is trying his best but in his daughters eyes he doesn’t understand.

“Alicia Emily Bright! You need to listen to the advisory council”

“Don’t call me that! And no I don’t- they‘re the ones that allowed the zombie attack to happen! They seiged Abel!”

“Five, sweetheart, it’s okay to be upset and angry, I know exactly how you feel but don’t take it out on people who are trying to help-”

“Help? How are you helping? How is anyone helping? You didn’t watch your home get blown up by a rocket launcher and watch all your friends die!”

They always apologise pretty quickly though.

When Five is reunited with Sam and the rest of the gang, Canton Five doesn’t witness it as he’s preparing for the London mission the next morning.

Before he goes to London, Canton promises Five that he’ll ask to move to Abel once he’s back from London so that they can be a proper family and made her promise not to get into ANY more trouble whilst he was away. (Also he really wanted to meet this Sam Yao bloke she’s been on about since she arrived at New Canton).

He gave Archie a envelope to give to Five in case he didn’t come back, it was his last wish. Archie let Jamie know about it in case she didn’t come back from a run.

Five tells Sam that her dad’s Canton Five after the first mission of series 2. He’s overly happy that Five still has family left although he was probably a bit worried that she’d leave Abel when Canton returned.

Canton’s last thought before he died was about his family.

Meanwhile, whilst her dad’s in London Five’s dealing with; almost being murdered by Nadia, Archie dying, being captured by Van Ark, experimented on, Sara dying and Simon betraying them.

But the only reason why she’s carrying on and hasn’t properly broken from the trauma is that she actually has hope that she can make it out alive because her dad is still alive and she can actually see a future with her and him, together again as a team.

then she adds Scraps the puppy to that future when she finds him.

She adds Sam to that list eventually after they get together when she arrives home from destroying Van Ark. and she actually can’t wait to introduce him do her dad.

Then the mission with Paula happens.

Five goes into shock when she finds out from Tony what happened to her dad, until she’s writing the report for Amelia, and Sam comes into check on her, then she just starts crying before she even realises it’s happening.

Paula takes over writing the report, much to Amelia’s displeasure and Sam spends the entire rest of the day and night comforting and holding Five in the comms shack away from any interruptions as she just lets it all out (luckily, Jack and Eugene had finished broadcasting Radio Abel by then or trying to anyway so they didn’t have to find somewhere else).

Jamie gives Five the envelope in the end.

Inside was a video tape recording from her dad and a her mother’s silver crucifix chain.

She now wears that chain on her neck everywhere.

Her and Sam listened to the video recording in Comms the night after Canton Five’s memorial, over some chocolate (a stash of Curily Wirlies and Dairy Milk bars) and with Scraps the Jack Russel Terrier laying at their feet.

And while I won’t go into what it said (I’ll do that in a fic), it told Five to keep living for him and to not let him down.

And five’s not going to let her dad down, wherever he may be.

#runner 5 #runner five #zombies run #abel township #sam yao #5am #canton five #new canton #headcannons #zr spoilers #spoilers #zr season 2 spoilers #ZR season 1 spoilers #zr season 3 spoilers

[thoseindarkness]

DtD News Nov 2020

Thank you to anyone who came back for this nonsense. For brevity I have an announcement that I want to make up front. I didn't have room for it last month so I pushed it back, but I can't anymore. I had to make one major revision to the published story. I want people to know about it.

This is the TLDR version. I tell a more in-depth story at the end.

ANNOUNCEMENT

The summary: I had a bad outline walking into writing Mistrust Goes Both Ways. I ran into a problem mid-story. Instead of stopping and taking the time I needed, I challenged myself to creatively solve my way out of my problems. I re-started with about half of what I'd written, published Mistrust Goes Both Ways, and restarting my outline with high hopes.  I was proud of myself for rising to the challenge.

Despite my best efforts, it didn't work out. In the end, I had to scrap my outline. I was able to structure the end I was going for and spent the end of 2019 trying to link the first two stories to the ending I wanted. It wasn't working. Then TRoS. Then COVID. Here we are. In June, I started experimenting with scrapping Mistrust and restarting from Read Between.

Mistrust Goes Both Ways will not be part of the finished story when I'm done. I know some of you love it. I love it. I have no intention of taking it down. I might, for a short time, when I'm posting the final story. I'll let you know if that happens and it will go back up afterward. I don't have specifics as there's no point planning for it now.

For right now, nothing is changing on my AO3 account. Feel free to read and comment to your hearts content. I promise it will stay up forever to remind me that some mistakes are worth sharing with others. I learned good lessons from this mistake. It stays.

That being said I think I owe you an actual update on the progress of this story.

WHAT THE HELL I DID THIS MONTH

After my first update I needed to re-integrate with Reylo friends. Funnily enough, that pulled me into another fic. I've been working on that between following this election. Now that it's called I can get back to writing. I tried a couple of times since I voted on Oct 30th, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about.

Thankfully, I've also begun doing more social/political essays lately. I'm not sure what overall form or shape those may take and I haven't published any. Still, I was creative and I did plenty of writing. Interestingly, all this political focus is good for Deceive the Deceiver. Spinning and listening to conspiracy theories is a big part of weaving a world like this one. A great deal comes from my thoughts and perceptions of the real world.

WHERE DTD IS

As of right now I am in the process of first drafting the entire story with Read Between as the starting point. That is, every one of the short stories in the series. What I'm doing is somewhere between a history, an outline and random scene writing. All of these elements are currently strung together in one long, continuous, chronological, first draft. It's everything from the history before Read Between (which starts in the 1930's), all the way to the final scene of DtD.

I'm taking all the good ideas I've created in the last couple of years and re-organizing them into a first pass. It's the skeleton and some of the meat now. I'm slowly building out now that I have a blank-er slate. It's about choosing what works and what doesn't.

I call it accordion writing. It just gets bigger and bigger. This outline will later level up into the first full story drafts for each part. I've got so much history when I finish this I might… I'm getting ahead of myself. Don't want to give too many clues away.

Another interesting thing that's happened recently is I've started pulling bits of other fic ideas that I’m just not gonna finish. A big chuck of the history I stole from a modern/academia AU where Ben and Rey are history students specializing in the ancient Jedi religion. Another was a complication between characters came from a canon story where I wanted to paint the relationship with a new layer. We'll see if I can pull that off.

I spent a lot of time prior to this year focusing on the heroes but my villains hadn't gotten much love. Filling in the history has given me a chance to flesh out the villains. All their moves and countermoves, woven through the bits I already have, are spinning a pretty tapestry. Oh, the villains are so much fun to write!

This other fic came together in the same sort of accordion fashion and it's been fun working through the kinks in the process now that I've seen some of the weak points on a scale like DtD. I think I've mentioned, but this is a writing experiment for me and I'm most invested now in improving my process and clue-threading with DtD. This other fic is helping me test it on a smaller scale.

Not that this needs to get any longer, I'm just going to throw pretense out the window and go with complete vanity. If you don't give a wet shit about my life (and I don't blame you) you have reached the end of your journey. I hope to see you next month. If not, then I leave you with this parting:

May we meet again in our next fandom, through mutes and not as rival shippers.

The following is the ridiculous story of my ups and downs with Deceive the Deceiver. I figure if I explain to you how much I'm invested in this story some of you will stop worrying that I'm going to abandon it. Trust me. I'm not.

This tale stretches from NANOWRIMO 2018 and the prompt that started it, through the ups and downs of 2019 and 2020, to the writing of last month's letter. Buckle up. I love bumpy rides.

DtD: from NANO '17 to COVID-19

This story truly starts in December 2017 when I drenched the seat beneath me during Last Jedi. I'm a TLJ shipper. I got caught on the thirst train. It hit a time when writing was becoming a really big part of my life. I've been writing since I was a kid. I stopped for a while and came back to it. It's a long story. Ultimately, I'd started writing a lot a few years earlier. A mix of fic and originals but I was running into problems so I start reading a bunch of books to get better. TLJ lit the fires. NO joke TLJ came out on the 15th. I have pages of writing from the 20th.

2018 was Reylo year! I was already on Tumblr for my previous fandom (Batman comics). I found Reylo AU week which is in August. I submitted a story for that. It was the first fic I published for Reylo. Fast-forward August to November. I'm in the Writing Den on Discord and someone throws out this spy prompt. People start running with. Throwing ideas around. One of those was the snuggie in Mistrust! I have that conversation saved and story spots for each crazy thing they threw out. Finally, I said I'd do it!

Mind you, this is November 2nd. Nano has just started and the event is about "turning off your internal editor." This prompt consumed me. I was trying to keep up with SpaceWaffleHouseTM that first year. I did, btw. We both crested 100,000. It was my first Nano. Word count is not my problem. Organizing my crazy ambitious ideas is my problem. Some of that 100k was other stories, like Custard which I wrote half of in November and the other half Jan/Feb 2019. Most of it… probably 80k of it… was DtD.

Read Between the Lies is currently 33,710. I wrote at least 20k of that during that first Nano, as well as outlines and scenes for what I thought would be the starting point. I remember wanting to write Read Between to "get into their headspace" by writing their first meeting. I didn't think it would become a whole story. I was just going with it then. Any idea that came to mind.

I took December 2019 off for a few reasons. Some personal. Some burnout. I'm one of those people that can use writing to relieve stress, but I was so exhausted from that month-long writing sprint. By the last week I was dragging to get the final four or five thousand words to hit 100k.

Also, what I had by the end (no internal editor) was a bird nest of ideas that had too many beginnings, not enough middles, and endings to go around. I knew one thing right away: I knew I had more than one story. There were so many fun ideas. I figured, what the hell. I knew another thing right away: the prompt was at the end of the story. Like, the very end. Like, the last short story. Or the second to last short story, at the earliest. That hasn't changed. Ever. That's just where it ended up.

Between January and April of 2019 I touched DtD a few times. I kept coming back to it, reading through it, trying to untangle it. I made new notes on the stories. Expanded ideas. Tried to structure it. I figured out a bunch of good notes, but no real substance. The hardest thing was figuring out where to start! Did I:

(1) Start shortly before the prompt with Ben/Rey's relationship established and fill the story with the history?

(2) Start a lot earlier and build Ben/Rey's relationship from the beginning I'd written in Read Between?

If I'm being honest, Read Between was a lot better than I thought it would be and I didn't want to get rid of it. For a while I was thinking of publishing it last as a "prequel" if people liked the series.

Funny enough, the turning point happened May fourth weekend 2019…

In the week leading up, I was struggling through another story and decided to take a break for the weekend. I'd start writing again on Sunday when I met with my writing group. I met them through Nano. We used to meet at Panera. Now they meet on Discord. They mostly sprint though and I'm not a sprinter. I miss Panera. Anyway.

May 4th was a Sunday (look it up). I gave myself a writing break for the weekend and marathoned Star fucking Wars. It was nerd weekend. I was going to nerd out. I wore exclusively SW gear all weekend. I remember it well. It was the start of something fucking magical in my life.

Have I mentioned recently I really love this story. Trust me I will fucking finish it. Oh my god the demons won't leave until I do. Get them out of my head…

I had a pretty rockstar weekend. I believe the reason I skipped the PT that weekend was because I'd watched it the month before or so. Right after finishing the Clone Wars animated series (which is awesome and I strongly recommend both it and Rebels). I skipped them and SOLO.

Starting with R1, I went through in chronological order. I stopped at RotJ. I was with my family on Saturday and they were playing RotJ in the living room during the party. We talked about my marathon. My mom came over to my apartment after. We watched RoTJ properly. Then Force Awakens. It was too late by then to watch TLJ. I know I went straight to bed after my mom left on Saturday night.

Somewhere during or right after TFA I started thinking about Deceive the Deceiver. I don't remember what sparked it. I went to bed thinking about DtD. I know this with 100% certainty because I woke up thinking about again on Sunday and I thought it was quite odd.

I dream about this story in a way I have only dreamt about a precious few. Technicolor folks. It keeps me up at night.

I went to my writing group with (a) no plan for what to write, (b) a gordian knot that I had yet to untangle, (c) a sudden urge to re-read it. I opened my notes and read DtD through all our sprints. I read most of it during that writing session. We go about three hours.

That night I had Game of Thrones at my parent's. It was the (spoiler alert) episode where Arya kills the Night King. I remember because two minutes into the episode my brother's car broken down a few blocks from our apartment and we had to go help him. Derailed the whole night (this is foreshadowing).

Side note: I live with my younger brother and he's the best roommate I've ever had in my 35 years of life. Love you, Mo!

The episode was recording so we ran out. Had to leave the car in a parking lot. Someone had already helped him push it out of a puddle but my brother was soaked to mid-calf and the engine was shot. We dropped him off at home and I rode back to my Momma's crib to watch GoT. It was only the beginning of a wild night.

I went to bed late. I had to get up a few hours early to deal with the car before work started for either of us. I guess we were both hoping to avoid taking the day off. That wasn't going to happen. I drove home but I couldn't sleep. That crazy episode and the fact that my brain was already on fire with DtD.

I spent the wee hours finishing my re-read through the rough draft of Read Between the Lies. It saw my starting place. I started writing. I wrote through waiting in a parking lot, for the tow truck, in my car, at 6 am, with no sleep. I did a voice recording as I drove from the parking lot to the mechanic where the driver was taking my brother's car. I thought about it the whole way back. I sat on the sofa a wrote some more when we got home. I went to bed at 11 am and I'd written 10k more words for Read Between the Lies.

Somewhere between the chaos of May 5th and the official publish date on June 5th, Read Between got written. I know it didn't take too long. I remember sending it off to beta (by my amazing beta team on 1 & 2: Em, Jen, and Sai) and immediately pivoting to my outline. I slapped that together far too hastily and kept moving. I was going on holiday in the UK (I'm American and I'm ashamed) in early August so I planned on trying to publish Part 2 when I got back. At the very least I wanted it ready for beta.

Also some to admit, around the middle of 2019 I was fatigued with the fandom. We were hitting a lull. I was psyching myself up for the end and the exit. I was trying to clean house. I wanted to push out unfinished fics. To make them work. There was a lot of that mood from me in 2019. I was trying to make everything work. It's why Read Between came out, and that was a good thing. It's also why Mistrust came out, and that was a bad thing.

With that mentality looming, tough outline in hand, I started writing Mistrust before the end of May. I hit my snag sometime during the period I was publishing Read Between because by the time it was all done I knew I wasn't going to have a finished story by the time I left for London. I would figure it out when I got back. I picked up another project to distracted me from my problems for a little while. That is going to be an original if it's anything. One day…

At some point after I got back I started focusing heavily on problem solving. I had two stories already and a number of plot threads I had to resolve. I have heavy, heavy, heavy notes from September to December of 2019. Lots of possible ways to run this story. It sucks that a lot of that stuff isn't going to make it, but I'm recycling shit every day and I learned so much about the characters/story in that four month period. It really shaped the finished product in an important way.

This period is where I started to look at the bigger structure and how I was going to solve specific plot problems in each short story to bring the whole together. That focus on the different parts is important because it was the last thing on my mind when TRoS happened.

December 20th (the release date) is my birthday. My ass drove up to one of those Reylo-only screenings and I was surrounded by amazing people as I watched a movie that ruined my 35th birthday. Thankfully, I spent it in incomparable company. Thank you to all the hosts and super special thanks to Jen. Not only was she a DtD beta on both, she invited me. Thank you love! You are the reason I still remember that trip with joy.

Side note: I no longer hate TRoS. I've made my peace with it. I'm a far happier person now.

Needless to say, the only Reyloing I did in January of this year was venting frustration. Then I took a few weeks away from the fandom. I'd done my purging into the void. I knew other people still needed the space to vent but I had to get away. Once the toxin is out I couldn't let it back in.

What occurred starting in February of 2020 was a series of situations in which, every time I logged into Twitter I was faced with the kind of vitriol in the fandom that I don't need in my life. Some of it was still TRoS stuff, even as late as May. I'm not judging, I'm just saying, with the world on fire (literally), I didn't need it.

I don't think I have to explain why I've avoided social media like the plague since early this year. I live in America. If you heard anything about our recent President I don't have to explain any further what this year has been like. That has been par for course all over the world.

So here's my secret to happiness. I don't fux with the trolls. Do not engage. Sometimes that means radio silence. I'm breaking that silence because I want you to know 2020 has not destroyed DtD. It's only leveled shit up.

I have pretty much been working on this story consistently since March of this year. I go back and forth with reading, history, documentaries. I'm learning to wield many new weapons. They take time to settle in. DtD is the de-stressor I go to in between the real shit.

Sometime in June I was screwing around with the order of the parts. I had worked out the end but I was trying to bridge the gap between the ending I was certain I needed to get to and the two beginning stories I'd already published. I couldn't bridge the gap. It had been a year since I published Read Between and it wasn't working. Then I had an epiphany.

What if I got rid of Mistrust? Read Between is a pretty blank slate. I didn't want to re-write it and I still don't. I have no intention of getting rid of Part 1. I may clean it up and add some stuff at the very last minute, but it will be right before the new stuff drops as a pre-cursor to the flood of subsequent stories. I may add a few new clues or alter a scene or two, but I have plenty of room to move with it exactly the way it is.

What does that mean for Mistrust Goes Both Ways? To make a long story short, there was no good way for me to continue with what I'd published and still write the story in my head. I'm sure there are cool places to take the existing story, but that's not what I'm trying to do. In truth, I should have left 1 and not published 2 when I hit a snag. Lesson learned.

In June I basically threw Mistrust out and asked myself, "Now what?" I have months of great ideas rife for reshuffling and no restrictions on how to bridge the gap from 1 to the ending I wanted. But the end had shifted.

That brings us up to speed. The last thing I did before taking a much needed break was get through 90% of the history in my accordion outline/draft. I poured the foundation that was missing. I walked away in early October and let it set. I'm going to button up this other fic I'm working on and then go back to DtD and check the foundation I laid.

I'm very confident that not only will it hold, but that with fresh eyes and the fun side stories I've had the chance to lay to rest, I will finally be able to start building the finished products on top of it.

IN CONCLUSION

I'm still as excited as I've ever been for this story. It frustrates me all the time, but that means the medicine for my soul is working its magic. Change it painful, but pain is transformative. I've embrace changed. That ache is just a sign the muscles are getting stronger. Growing pains. As I learn to live with them in my family, my country, and my job, I find that life's lesson's often end up reflecting in every place in our life if we but open our eyes to look.

Growing pains exist in my writing process too. They are as transformative in this corner of my life as they are in every other. They have revealed as much about me as a person in my writing as they have in my politics. They have taught me how to compromise with my family as I learn to compromise with my characters. As I consider how people treat each other I am reminded that struggles in understanding our fictional counterparts may shine a light on our struggles to understand our truer selves.

Take care of yourselves. Once you've got that covered, if you can, take care of each other. Feel free to poke me and say hi. If not, until next month.

Fari.

#deceive the deceiver #reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fan fiction #modern au #spy au #fan fic #fan fiction

[aro-aizawa]

Tell us about your AUs!! I’m curious!!

!!!!! an interested person???? hi anon i love you know that i would die for you without hesitation. bless you for letting me gush over my aus. this might be a lil messy (and long holy shit) considering im answering from my phone but from memory here are my aus (which i aint gonna lie are mostly either angst, hurt/comfort or canon divergent, or a mix of the three) in no particular order:

edit: now that im on computer it’s all under the cut but here’s a quick table of contents:

the one where hisashi is a pro hero

the one where hisashi is a villain

underground gladiator arena kidnap fic

the one where aizawa is inko’s brother

MUTE TODOROKI

izuku is related to all for one

gamer au

the one where uraraka is the protag instead

hp au

disney aus galore

the Spite™️ fic

the one where hisashi is a pro hero

heads up in literally none of my aus is midoriya hisashi a good parent. i mean in canon we know exactly three details about him being his name, his quirk and that he works abroad. that’s it. so, i don’t really like “good parent hisashi”. this au is basically ‘hey what if izuku got a fire quirk from his dad’ combined with my own personal views on fire, and then also deciding ‘wait what if hisashi and endevor did the same shit’. so it’s basically an au where izuku is in the same situation as todoroki.

it’s….kind of complicated now that it’s written down. in my head its p straight forwards?? anyways, basically my view on fire is that it absolutely shouldn’t be demonized as much as it is. because without fire, life couldn’t exist. it’s warmth and life and beauty. i just…think that view of it is perfect for izuku, and i always wanted to try my hand at fire quirk izuku.

also one of my few aus that’s actually gonna have a ship focus?? in that it’s tododeku but honestly knowing me i might end up accidentally dropping that aspect of it like i tend to do a LOT bc of my inability to write crushes (im an aro who’s never had a crush so me writing romance is…awkward at best lol)

the one where hisashi is a villain

i have……admittedly a lot of versions of this au. it’s by far one of my favourites to think about, for several reasons actually, mostly bc of angst but also because the hurt/comfort potential there is incredible.

my most current version of this au though plays with the idea that in the mha society those with ‘villainous’ quirks get discrimated against and pushed so the only chance they do have to survive is to turn to villainy. in this au i play with hisashi and inko’s quirks a little to make them more villainous and easier to discriminate against, for example hisashi can cremate anything he touches into ashes at will, and inko can minorly manipulate the limbs of other people although she’s mainly limited to pulling them towards her or pushing them back.

in this version, izuku is quirkless and still goes through ua determined to change the way that society works and right the wrongs in how it’s set up while also proving that quirkless people aren’t useless. a lot of dadzawa in this one because it is my w e a k n e s s. there’s a few other elements thrown in there, but overall that’s the basic jist of it.

underground gladiator arena kidnap fic

one of my darker aus where a group of villains kidnap kids who took the ua exam to create an “everything goes” fight club that customers can watch and occasionally participate in.

my general idea for this was “the sports festival is pretty brutal when you think about it. it’s almost like everything but killing goes” and then i thought that in a superpowered society there is no way there isn’t any kind of underground fight club where people can go full out w their quirks.

hence this au was born! the kids who’re kidnapped w izuku have been constantly changing over the ladt year or so that i’ve had this idea but rn i decided on having shinsou, kaminari, mina, tokoyami and yaoyorozu w him. the rest would be filled w ocs bc the villains weren’t dumb enough to kidnap all of the heroics students, just a handful.

bearing in mind the kids are all taken a couple days after the entrance exam so they’re not familiar with each other and izuku is the only one familiar w a pro hero and that’s a secret. not to mention he’s only used his quirk once at this point, and he has no access to recovery girl’s quirk so he has to figure smth out IMMEDIATELY or he’s completely fucked.

the one where aizawa is inko’s brother

look if you inspect my aus carefully you’ll see a theme and that theme is i fucking love aizawa. anyways, in this one izuku has a pretty powerful nullification quirk and is trained by aizawa. aizawa and inko have like an eight or ten year age difference, so they weren’t all that close until inko reached out when izuku was eight.

i’ll admit this is one of my lesser developed aus but it’s canon divergent with a focus on izuku hoping to be an underground hero. and due to his quirk and that aspect of his personality, it kind of changes a lot of things??? potentially a short(ish) au if i ever got round to writing it out. maybs about 20k-30k words idk.

(this is mostly born bc i feel like people forget that there’s only a fifteen year age difference between aizawa and izuku for a number of reasons. also bc inko/aizawa….is kind of weird in my mind. definitely not a fan :///)

MUTE TODOROKI

look i fucking love mute aus okay, but when i was trying to apply it to the mha universe i started thinking “holy shit todoroki could definitely be mute” or smth and ever since this au is close to my heart.

basically when poor rei burned lil shouto, she mentally scarred him into mutism. ever since the kettle incident, shouto can’t speak a word. endeavor is told by the doctor that although nothing physically is wrong, shouto is mute. endeavor is a DICK and p much decides he’ll just wait it out for shouto to finally talk bc he’s just being childish (basically he’s ablist and doesn’t let todoroki learn sign. which is bullshit but doesn’t majorly effect him bc he’s homeschooled until high school anyway).

it’s sort of canon divergent but also maybe a complete au??? in that there’s no league of villains. when all might fought afo the first time he succeeded in putting a stop to the villain and killing him. izuku still gets ofa, but he’s not the protag of the story, this time it’s todoroki.

anyways, ua sees that todoroki is mute (which isn’t registered and completely unknown to the general public) and doesn’t know sign language (resorting to notes and/or charades if he needs to communicate something), and decides to investigate that shit.

endeavor eventually gets what he deserves bc the trash bag can go rot in hell, and that’s p much all i got aside from the class realising FAST they need to adopt and love todoroki so there’s a lot of wholesome bonding there.

izuku is related to all for one

admittedly this one is one of my most underdeveloped aus but i still love it all the same. basically my take on it bc the whole ‘afo is hisashi’ thing kinda weirds me out considering afo is at least 200 years old. in this au he’s izuku’s grandfather and inko is his daugther who escaped him and lives in hiding.

i haven’t decided whether i want this au to be my take on izuku having afo or if it’s another quirkless izuku au. i haven’t gotten very far into it, all i know is that afo has no emotions and he’s a heartless bastard (me hating the dad for one trope w a passion) so there’s sort of MAJOR angst potential if i decide to go down that route.

gamer au

izuku’s quirk is that his life is a game. that’s….that’s it. if you’re familiar with sword art online, it has a lot of influence from that w/o the characters or plot or pervertedness or incest because what the fuck sao was so bad with all those. still pissed bc outside that it had potential and i think abt that a lot.

anyways, so y’know how in a lot of rpgs there’s the hud w stats and an inventory system and abilities?? well apply that to izuku and he’s p much that. the world “autosaves” whenever he sleeps, but he can’t manually load a save. if he dies he starts over from his last autosave.

bc of his access to abilities and stuff, he has the potential to be powerful bc hey he can basically do magic, but at the same time he just healed his body completely by drinking this drink he made w herbs and shit last night. also he can carry a ludicrous amount of shit that couldn’t possible fit in his backpack but apparently he’s got seventeen cheese wheels in there and room for half the classroom furniture too.

izuku sees the world w a hud which would be annoying but it’s normal for izuku. in fact, he sort of hates watching tv because the hud doesn’t appear on the screen and it’s so weird and bizarre he doesn’t really like it.

i haven’t planned anything but details of the quirk bc it can get waaaay too overpowered too quickly and hhhh i sort of burnt out of different ways this would effect canon, so i didn’t think abt it. but i did figure out that izuku would have so many gaming analogies for his friends and be into like a thousand different games.

the one where uraraka is the protag instead

born when i was complaining about how shitty horikoshi is at writing his female characters i brainstormed this au in a discord server where i overhauled canon w a more badass uraraka. (and she doesn’t even get ofa!!! she’s just badass on her own!!!)

basically bc she’s a lot more confident and determined in this au she influences a lot of her classmates. the other girls are a lot more active in their actions and are more than just the background characters. uraraka’s full strength is explored and i think i planned for her to win the sports festival bc she deserved it.

also inspired by the idea i had of pro hero uraraka kicking a lamp post down on her own strength and using it to put a comet home run on a villain like she did in the battle trial. bc holy shit that’s a fantastic mental image.

basically my “mha girls fucking rule and fuck horikoshi’s shitty writing” au

hp au

ah yes, finally we get to my take on the most generic of aus. basically i just wanted todoroki in hufflepuff to piss off endeavor and basically loving it bc he befriends izuku in it. i definitely haven’t developed this au outside of worldbuilding in how i’d combine the two universes whilst fixing both jkr and horikoshi’s bad writing.

i actually wrote a snippet that’s somewhere on my blog that i can’t link to now but you could probs for search it. but this was basically born from me getting angry at people putting the kids in the wrong houses. im a firm believer that izuku fits in nearly every house but hufflepuff and slytherin suits him the most while todoroki is ABSOLUTELY a hufflepuff. i wanted some platonic tododeku bonding so i put izuku in hufflepuff. uraraka is slytherin, iida is gryffindor, and it’d be too messy to list all the kids so i won’t.

but!! what im most happy w in this au is how i incoporate mha stuff into it. like how hagakure isn’t actually invisible she just got permanently hexed by her brother to always be unnoticed so you can never know what she looks like or where she is. tokoyami has a bird head due to a failed attempt at becoming an animagi. its permanent and although he could get it fixed, theres actually a number of wizards w the same thing do there’s a lot of animal like wizards. shinhou comes from a pureblood family thats been known for their dark magic, even though the last four generations haven’t been dark wizards the wizardinv world is convinced he’ll be a dark wizard too but shinsou wants to prove them wrong. amajiki being a metamorphmagus who shifts his limbs into animals when he’s nervous. etc etc. i have too much worldbuilding and no plot lmao.

disney aus galore

one day i thought up abt three different disney aus for the mha universe but my first idea was a little mermaid au for momojirou w momo being the princess and jirou being the mermaid.

except besides the basic premise i p much scrapped the whole movie in that jirou learns sign language to talk to momo and the two play music together. jirou plays piano or w/e whilst momo sings. it’s v gay. theres a ball and they dance and then kiss. i never wrote it out bc i didn’t wanna add conflict in it but never got round to actually writing it lmao.

but i thought up a tododeku tangled au, kiribaku cinderella au, tsuocha princess and the frog au, and a couple others that i didn’t plan out fully. still close to my heart if i ever manage to get round to writing them out. each would probs either be a long shot at 7k-15k words or a short multichapter fic at 25k-30k words.

the Spite™️ fic

the fic where i get pissed at every shitty thing about horikoshi’s writing. izuku gets mad at all might for his views on quirkless people and gets into ua on his first try. izuku rightfully does not take bakugou’s shit and calls him out at every opportunity. bakugou’s actions have repercussions. all might gets punished for almost letting bakugou kill izuku in an exercise.

izuku gets pissed over a lot of shit basically. also at one point he either punts mineta into the sun or loudly and publicly makes the argument that mineta should be expelled from ua including evidence and testimonies from the girls. and he encourages nearly all of them to get better costumes.

i haven’t actually written much abt it but if there’s smth i got pissed @ horikoshi for smth in canon it’d be address in this fic bc oh boy am i never spiteful so it’s kind of theraputic to write even tho i haven’t done it in a while.

uh….i have a lot more but man i think i’ve been writing this for like an hour or two idk im gonna finish this before the app crashes or smth. thank you for letting me ramble this got long oops sorry.

#shut up danni #mha #danni’s aus #hhhhh im passionate abt many of these aus as you can tell #this is a free pass to tell me which/if you’re interested in btw #long post

[nebulous-frog]

The Next Night Ch. 2

Summary: Germany in 1937 was a hard place for anyone “different”. Dan just wanted to live his life, fall in love, and die surrounded by family, but his particular community was too “different”. Dan found himself hiding, wishing for a better world, maybe even finding it in the eyes of an unlikely savior.

Chapter 1 Masterlist

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings (this chapter): Swearing, Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Holocaust, Nazis

Word Count: 4277 (This chapter, 6625 overall)

Challenge: 20k History Challenge

Genre: Holocaust, Slow Burn, Angst

Author’s Note: I have done extensive research, and I know what I’m talking about, although some facts have been skewed for the purposes of the story. I have taken college classes, written college essays, and spoken with people whose close family members were forced into the Nazis’ armed forces.

NEITHER DAN NOR PHIL IS A NAZI IN MY FIC OR IRL. If I had made them Nazis in this fic, it would be tagged, but they’re not so it isn’t. 

Please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and should not be viewed as factual information about Nazi Germany. If you want that kind of information, DM me and I’ll be happy to direct you to my sources.

Again, many thanks to the lovely @pedestriansquirrel and @auroraphilealis for betaing! I love you both <3

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

I was so afraid this was the end for me. I was sure of it. Just like all the awful stories, I would be sent away to God-knows-where and suffer until I died. I still don’t know how we managed to keep me safe…

As Dan trembled in the corner of the closet, he heard the soft scuff-click scuff-click of the officer’s boots on the hardwood floor. The sound stopped, placing the officer somewhere near the middle of the small room.

Dan couldn’t breathe.

This is it, oh god, this is it. The Gestapo is here, right in front of me, and he’s about to take me away. They’re so ruthless, I’ll never survive. Oh god, there’s no way out, no way-

“I can hear you shaking,” said a quiet, deep voice.

Dan froze, his hands clenched tightly together around his shins, and his chin digging into his knees. Thoughts of all kind flew through his mind, ranging from I’m about to die to Maybe there’s a chance I can sneak past him to Why did I have to come here tonight of all nights, but he couldn’t focus on any of them closely enough to carry out the thoughts.

Scuff-click scuff-click scuff-click click. The footsteps stopped right in front of Dan’s hiding place.

Dan’s breath caught, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from making any noise.

Shit, no, no, no, turn around! Leave!

A torch flicked on suddenly, blinding Dan. He hissed in a breath and put up a hand to shield his eyes.

He couldn’t see the officer, but he knew he had been found.

“Please, don’t hurt me!,” he cried. “I’ll come quietly, please! I promise I’ll never go to a bar like this again, I’ll marry a woman and have strong German children, just please let me go!” Dan babbled hopelessly. Empty promises and desperate pleas tumbled out of his mouth like a waterfall.

The light wobbled as the officer reached out for him, and Dan flinched away. He tried his hardest to melt into the wall, flailing his arms slightly to try to find enough purchase to just get away somehow. But there was no where for him to go. There was nowhere for him to hide.

“No! Please! Please let me go! Please! No!” he cried, his voice louder still, his promises turning into pleas for his life.

The officer grunted, and spoke over Dan.

“Shhh, stop! I’m trying to help you, but you need to be quiet!” he hissed. “I’ve sent the man that was outside the door away, but someone could walk past at any second. You need to trust me,” the officer whispered frantically. He crouched down to Dan’s level, torch shaking wildly with the movement.

Dan stopped babbling for a moment, eyes wide, though he kept trying to back away from the officer.

If I stay quiet nobody else will know I’m still here, and then maybe this man will just have his way with me and then kill me, Dan thought wildly. If I keep yelling, someone will come and take me to my death.

I’m going to die. Either way, I’m going to die. Dan started breathing harder, still pushing himself as far back into the corner as he could. I’m going to die in this shitty bar. If I don’t try to get away, this man could do anything he wants to me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He could touch me or kiss me or make me do god-knows-what for him and there would be nothing I can do.

I’d rather be killed.

“No!” Dan screeched, terror filling him anew. There was no way in hell he was going to let this man get away with raping him. “Somebody help! He-“

Suddenly, the officer slapped a hand over Dan’s mouth, muffling his cries and cutting off his pleas for help.

Dan began to thrash violently. He desperately grabbed at the hand covering his mouth, trying to pry it away so he could be heard. High-pitched screams of terror left his throat, the sound muted but still strong. His legs kicked out as best they could, mostly just kicking the boxes and shelves surrounding him. It didn’t matter if Dan could actually throw the man off him if someone could hear the ruckus and come running.

“Kid, I’m trying to save your life!” the officer growled. “I’m going to get you out of here and I’m going to keep you safe, but I need you to stop right now,” he hissed again, this time his voice sounding far more serious, and just this side of desperate. He was leaning forward farther now, putting some weight into his hold over Dan’s mouth to brace himself.

The words were not reassuring, and Dan kept struggling, now attempting to bite the hand while screaming.

Keep me safe? Get me out? He must think I’m stupid. I know he’s about to rape me or kill me or worse. He’s lying. I can’t trust him. I don’t care how genuine he acts, I will not let him take me.

The torch lowered a little as Dan flailed, just enough so that Dan could faintly see the man’s pale skin and gleaming eyes. He could also sort of see a hat, but it didn’t look anything like a Gestapo hat. It looked fairly… common- average, even- for the hat of the “secret police”.

As the light stabilized again, Dan could tell that the hat was definitely not the secret police. It was too round, and it looked more like a bowl than a hat.

Dan stopped screaming and kicking, but kept his hand on the officer’s arm. Could it be possible… the man was speaking the truth?

He stared at the officer warily.

I don’t think he’s Gestapo. Maybe I should hear him out, at least…

Hesitantly, Dan nodded his understanding, and the officer carefully removed his hand.

“Thank you,” the officer sighed, clearly relieved.

“You’re- you’re not Gestapo?” Dan whispered cautiously.

The officer shook his head. “No, I’m just local police.” He glanced back towards the closet door for a moment, as if the real Gestapo would barge in any second. “The Gestapo makes us do their dirty work sometimes. I see it as an opportunity to save people.” He gave Dan a look that Dan took to mean People like your sorry ass. “Now, are you in, or do I really have to arrest you?”

Save people? That can’t be true. Why would anyone try to save someone like me?

“Why are you saving us?” Dan challenged quietly. Mostly, he was just stalling for time, but he also couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of an officer in this regime being kind to anyone. He genuinely wanted to know.

The officer gave Dan a rueful smile. “Let’s just say that not everyone agrees with our charismatic leader, and not everyone is a perfect German.”

That was bold. People have been killed for less direct statements. He’s either truly against the Reich, or he’s trying very hard to trick me. Dan stared into what he could see of the man’s face, trying to figure out if this man could really be trusted.

Why would he take this lie so far? At this point, he’ll get in trouble for wasting time if someone comes in. Is he trying to get me to lower my guard so he can use me and throw me away? But he seems so sincere about trying to save me...

Dan recalled the tales of people being arrested and sent away. Tales of people who survived, only to return home as empty shells, flinching at the slightest noise or sudden movement. He shuddered, then took a deep breath.

If he’s really not Gestapo, maybe I’ll have a shot… what do I have to lose?

“I’m in,” Dan whispered. “What do I do?”

The officer smiled slightly. “That’s the spirit,” he praised. “I need you to stay here, stay quiet. Don’t move until I come back, do you understand? I’ll keep the other officers out of here in the meantime, alright? I promise, I’ll keep you safe and I will get you out.”

How is staying here supposed to help me at all? If he found me so easily, surely someone else can, too. How much authority does this man even have, if he thinks he can keep the others out until he’s ready to come back? Why the hell am I trusting him when I don’t know him and his job is to send me to people who will literally end my life?

But what choice do I have?

Dan nodded tentatively.

The officer nodded back.

“Good. I’m Phil. What’s your name?”

Dan stared, distrust clear in the way he kept his body as far away as possible.

Should I really tell him my name? What if he turns on me?

Dan attempted to shuffle back farther to give himself room to think. He couldn’t move more than he already had, so he tried to take comfort in the feeling of the wall at his back.

But then again, I still have nothing to lose. If I’m trusting him with my life, I might as well trust him with my name.

“Dan,” he eventually muttered.

The officer- Phil- offered Dan another smile, this time more genuine and understanding.

“Well, Dan,” he began, “don’t worry. You’ll make it out.” Phil reached out with the hand not holding the torch and brushed his fingers against Dan’s cheeks gently.

Dan flinched.

“Try to keep the tears away,” Phil murmured, dropping his hand. “There’s no use crying, now, and you’ll look less suspicious later.”

Dan blinked at the words, then reached up to touch his face.

When did I start crying? He wondered.

Dan rubbed away the tear tracks as best he could, watching carefully as Phil stood to leave. The man fumbled with his torch a little as he straightened up, but the light remained on Dan’s face.

“These raids usually take an hour more to finish up, and then I’ll have to leave the building for a short time, and then I’ll be back,” Phil explained, turning a fierce look onto Dan. “Under no circumstances do I want you to leave this room without me. If it seems like it’s been too long, you’re probably wrong.” Phil asserted this with a final nod of his head. Then he dusted off his jacket, and turned and walked towards the door.

The torch turned with him, leaving Dan trembling under the weight of darkness.

Panic bubbled up in him again as shivers ran down his spine. It’s too dark. I can’t stay in the dark. I can’t see, oh my god, no, please!

“Wait!” Dan blurted before he could stop himself.

Phil turned to look at him again, simply raising an eyebrow in question.

Tentatively, Dan asked, “Could you- maybe- leave the torch?”

Phil furrowed his brow.“What for? You have no reason to turn it on once I leave, and any light from under the door would be suspicious.”

But I’m afraid of the dark, Dan thought. Especially now. It feels like the walls are closing in but leaving me exposed at the same time. I need that light to keep me grounded.

Dan racked his brain for a better excuse than a pointless fear. Fear would have to be his new normal.

“Yes, but if someone comes in, maybe I could hit them over the head with it and then run away,” Dan suggested, already knowing it was flimsy.

Phil stared at Dan, obviously not buying the excuse. Both of them knew that, if anyone other than Phil came in, Dan would never be free again. He clearly wasn’t a strong enough fighter to avoid an officer, and he probably wouldn’t be able to bring himself to hurt someone else, anyway. Dan would get beat up, arrested, and sent away.

But rather than tell Dan off for being a ridiculous coward, Phil’s lips quirked up in a sad smile.

“Sure, Dan,” he said softly. Phil crossed the small space of the closet again, and handed Dan the torch, then walked back to the door. Before Phil could leave, he glanced back at Dan one more time, hand on the doorknob. “Good luck,” he whispered. “And I’ll be back soon.”

Phil waited for Dan to switch the light off, then he slipped out the door and walked away.

Scuff-click scuff-click scuff-click…

Dan kept the torch off, but held it tightly in his hands. He knew he shouldn’t turn it on, just in case someone could see a glimmer of light outside the closet door, so he had to satisfy himself in the comfort that, at the very least, he was holding something that could have given him light if he hadn’t been trying to hide.

His thoughts began to wander, touching on his current predicament.

I’m trusting Phil, but he’s out there, pretending not to know I’m here while he arrests people I’ve seen before, maybe even talked to once. His job is to send people to their deaths, to places so horrible that nobody can fathom what happens there. But he chose to save me. Is he saving others, too? Are there other closets with men hiding away, waiting anxiously for Phil’s return? If he saves anyone else, will he forget about me?

That made Dan start thinking about his future. He wanted to avoid those thoughts, since the idea of what his life was about to become seemed too horrifying, but he found himself falling into a spiral of unpleasantness in his own head.

What if Phil never comes back? What if someone else finds me first? I can’t get arrested- that’s a death sentence! I’ll have to use the torch, I guess, but I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think I’m strong enough or fast enough to be able to hit a police officer and knock him out. Even if I do manage that, what then? Steal his uniform? These are local police officers, so there’s not a chance that they’d see me and assume I belong. I’d have to run, but I don’t know if that’ll be possible, either. My legs are already cramping up here. It’s just like when we used to play hide-and-seek back home, but more terrifying.

With the thought of home, Dan managed to successfully distract himself from his future, although this new line of thought wasn’t much better.

I miss home. I wonder what my parents are doing right now, and what they’d do if I get caught. Would they be told about me? Would they know that I got arrested at a bar like this? I never got the chance to tell them myself, so it’d be a shock. I bet they’d be disgusted and horrified. They already support the Nazis and all they do, so they’d turn against someone like me in a heartbeat. Who would want a son who loves other men? They’d think the police were doing them a favor. Maybe it’s better I get caught now so I don’t have to face them later, when I fail to get a girlfriend and then a wife. When I never have kids. At least I wouldn’t have to see their disappointment…

Dan was clutching the torch so tightly his fingers were numb. He was shaking, unable to control his body in the face of such strong emotions of guilt, fear, and regret. He didn’t want to be a disappointment to his family, but he didn’t want to die.

He cursed his decision to come to The Bird’s Nest tonight, cursed the Nazis, cursed himself for his attraction to the wrong sex. Just hours ago, Dan had been at peace with his homosexuality, firmly believing it was not his fault and there was nothing he could do to change it, so he might as well live into it. Now, however, in the face of persecution and death, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have tried harder to change himself. After all, he was only in this mess because of his attraction and his decision to act on it. Very few people approved, and Dan had known that. He had known that it was illegal. But he had tried anyway.

You idiot. This is all your fault, Dan thought to himself. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, and he rolled his eyes at himself. Stop it! Crying will only make this whole thing worse and you won’t be able to fix your mistakes if you can’t get a grip.

The internal torture went on for what felt like forever. Back and forth, Dan’s mind tried to convince him that he was about to die, and then he’d try to think up plans so he could live, then he’d remember how unnatural he was while he tried to fight back and tell himself that he couldn’t do anything to change who he loved.

The noise from outside the closet got quieter and quieter the longer Dan hid. The screams and shouts of terror were overpowered entirely by authoritative commands to Stop right there or Kneel or Get off the floor and take it like a man, fairy. Dan mostly ignored the noises, half because he was too caught up in his own terror, and half because he had the tendency to flinch violently at every slur called. He was worried his flinching would knock something off a shelf and lead to his discovery.

On the one hand, Dan was relieved when he noticed the yelling had almost entirely stopped. If the yelling was done, there must not have been much left for the officers to do. Phil would come back soon and rescue him, hopefully, and Dan could forget this ever happened.

On the other hand, the quiet outside the closet meant that the police would be doing their last few sweeps of the bar, hunting down any remaining patrons in every nook and cranny. Dan could easily be found and taken away in this time. It was also quiet enough to let Dan’s thoughts warp and twist into even more horrible scenarios and futures that he desperately hoped would never come true.

Shivering in fear in the corner of the closet, Dan waited for something to happen, for the door to open and set him free, or set in motion the last days of his life.

Scuff-scuff-click-click scuff-scuff-click-click scuff-scuff-click-click… Two sets of footsteps approached. Dan’s heartbeat quickened impossibly.

Two people? Did Phil betray me, or did something happen to him? What’s going to happen to me? They’re going to find me, oh god, oh god-

The closet door opened with a long groan. Two backlit figures stood in the light of the doorway, and Dan cowered backwards. He couldn’t see their faces, so he had no way of knowing who it was.

“I found one in here earlier, and left him so he wouldn’t be a nuisance to the rest of us,” a voice that sounded like Phil’s told another officer.

“Where is he, then?” a different voice asked.

Someone stepped into the closet, and moved closer to Dan’s corner. As they approached, Dan felt himself begin to panic more and more.

What is Phil doing?! Did he sell me out? What’s the point of that, he could’ve just arrested me earlier! Why’d he get my hopes up so much like that? I need to do something and save myself.

Steeling himself, Dan tightened his grip on the torch, and began to raise it above his head to hit the person who was coming closer to him. It wasn’t until the last minute that Dan realized it was Phil for sure, but that didn’t stop him from his determination to do something.

Phil noticed Dan’s raised arm at the same time as Dan noticed Phil, and his eyes widened. He reached out and ripped the torch from Dan’s hands, shaking his head as frantically as he could without the other officer noticing. Confused, Dan allowed Phil to take hold of the light, and did his best to remain quiet.

Phil bent down then, and grabbed Dan firmly by the collar, hoisting him up to drag him from the closet. Dan yelped in fear, horrified that his trust, his moment of hesitation, had been all for naught.

As Phil picked Dan up, however, his lips came right up to Dan’s ear.

“Trust me,” Phil whispered carefully. “I know what I’m doing.”

What choice do I have? Dan thought, wilting into Phil’s hold. It’s trust you, or get locked away.

Dan allowed Phil to roughly yank him into the light of the hallway in the bar, deciding not to put up a fight. Part of that decision was because of Dan’s dwindling hope, but it was mostly the realization that he and Phil were the same height, which would make it very difficult for Dan’s scrawny form to win a physical fight anyway.

Despite how Dan’s legs felt weak and unstable after sitting in the cramped corner of the closet for so long, his legs managed to hold his weight enough to keep him standing, but walking would be difficult, just as he had feared.

I guess there’s no chance for me to run.

“Here he is,” Phil grunted, shaking Dan a little for emphasis. He’d pulled Dan’s arms behind his back, keeping his hands together so Dan couldn’t move enough to break himself free. “I’ll lead him out while you take another look around for any other stragglers,” Phil declared authoritatively.

The other officer, who Dan could now see, nodded in response. “Yes, sir,” he replied with a salute. Then, he walked off down the hallway to complete his orders.

He was supposed to save me! What is he doing? I need to get out of here. I can’t let him arrest me. Dan pulled hard at Phil’s hold, frantically trying to escape. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him! I’m such an idiot! What am I going to do now? What is he going to do now?

“Let go of me!” Dan cried, still attempting to wrench his arms free of Phil’s grasp.

“Shut up,” Phil snarled threateningly. He pushed Dan forward, forcing him to walk away from the closet.

“What are you going to do to me?” asked Dan, his voice quivering in fear.

“You’re under arrest, fag,” Phil barked loudly, making Dan flinch. In a quieter voice, he said, “Don’t ask questions, just follow my lead.” As Phil spoke, he dragged Dan down the hallway to one of the exits.

A few other officers littered the building, but they took no notice of Dan or Phil. It was a typical scene during a raid- a policeman leading a terrified prisoner to the cart that would take the group of prisoners away.

Except Phil didn’t lead Dan to the already-packed cart. As soon as they exited the building, Phil turned left instead, and rushed down the alleyway, away from the street, shoving Dan along in front of him. He whispered frantic instructions to Dan as they moved.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to leave you here, and you’re going to walk four blocks straight ahead, then hide near the rubbish in an alley on the right. I’m going to make sure everything is done here, then I’ll come back for you.”

Dan did his best to nod his head in understanding, even as the words whirled past his head so fast he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to remember them all. Would he end up in the right alley? What if Phil couldn’t find him?

Phil kept talking. “Unfortunately, at least three other officers could have seen your face, so you’ll have stay in hiding for a bit. At least for tonight, I’ll take you and hide you in my flat. We can talk more then, but for now you need to go. I promise, everything will be okay if you do what I tell you to do.” Phil said all this in a rumble of a voice as he continued to push Dan towards the end of the alleyway.

“The important thing to remember right now is that you cannot run. If you start to run, someone will chase after you. As it is, the only people that saw your face will be exiting on the other side of the building, so no one will be able to tell you were in the bar unless you’re captured. Understand?”

Dan nodded frantically. How often does he do this? He seems to have experience with enough past failures to have perfected this method.

“How long should it be before we meet up?” Dan asked, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. He was still running high on adrenaline and fear.

Phil stopped walking, keeping Dan close. He turned and looked Dan in the eye, slight concern seeping into his expression despite a wall of intense focus. “Hey,” he murmured softly. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. You will be safe.” Phil stared intently into Dan’s eyes, trying to see if Dan really believed him. Apparently, he decided what he saw was close enough to what he was looking for, as he answered Dan’s question. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes. Now go.”

Dan slipped his trembling hands into the pockets of his trousers as soon as Phil released them, trying to appear calm, then he began to walk straight down the street in front of him, never looking back.

Chapter 3

#phan #phanfic #holocaust au #angst #panic attacks #the next night

[issasdrarryficrecs]

Anonymous asked: Hi! Got any good (and possibly long) fics for someone who is new to drarry? Thanks!

Hi anon, I’m sorry this is late. I took a super long time to put together this very long list. These are my own favourites. I don’t know how many words is long for you so I’ve assumed you mean more than 10k. This is in alphabetic order instead of my usual order (shortest fic at the top). Also, my links are at the sides of the titles instead of the bottom. Are you ready? Let’s go!

19 years by shilo1364 [88k] Read on AO3

Summary:

19 years ago, something happened between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy - but the only one who remembers is Draco himself. He plans to carry the secret to his grave, but his careful plan is soon turned on its head. It’s bad enough that Draco is returning to Hogwarts as a professor, so soon after his divorce, even worse that his son Scorpius has befriended fellow first-year, Albus Potter. But when he realizes that Harry Potter, too, has returned to Hogwarts, newly-single, Draco fears for his sanity.

Meanwhile, first-years Albus and Scorpius navigate friendship, classes, and getting their idiot fathers together. They are joined by their mothers, Astoria and Ginny, retiring professor Minerva McGonagall, newly-minted professor Teddy Lupin, Headmaster Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Lawyers Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger, a handful of scheming first-years, and the inimitable Luna Lovegood.

Against All Odds by [53k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Beauxbatons is hosting the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe, and Harry has promised to enroll Teddy as his birthday present. Meanwhile, Draco is stuck in his office, putting together the first ever Quidditch Summer School for children from all over Europe during, when he should be enjoying summer holidays.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound [149k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Annus Mirabilis by Ren [39k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry and Malfoy are trapped at Hogwarts around the time the school was founded. Stuck with a different way of doing magic, with no chocolate, and with each other, they have to find a way to work together if they want a chance to go home.

Between Ink And Blood by Candamira [18k] Read on AO3

Summary:

“Yes. Just – how did you know? I didn’t know myself that I want a tattoo until I saw the Hungarian Horntail,” Harry said. Druid shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, my magic sings to me and then I just know. It’s a druidic gift passed on from father to son since the early days, together with a message every male in my family gets as his first tattoo.” He showed Harry the inner side of his forearm. The dark green of the calligraphic writing stood starkly against the pallor of the skin: Be careful with the lines you draw because there is a secret world between ink and blood where they will come alive.

Black Truth by InferiorBeing [104k] Read on FFN

Summary:

And, with bated breath, Draco traced the silver line down one more step in the family tree. Draco Lucius Malfoy… the third full blooded Veriae in the Malfoy family… and future life mate of Harry Potter. 

Bond by AnnaFugazzi [173k] Read on AO3

Notes:

I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn’t make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I’m afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn’t try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn’t succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.

the title tells the story for this one

Crossing Lines by Ren [47k] Read on AO3

Summary:

While investigating a ring of smugglers, the Aurors receive a tip saying that the European Express is being used to move contraband across state lines. To solve the case, Harry has to unmask the smugglers and find the hidden contraband before the luxury train reaches Bulgaria. Draco Malfoy is also on board… but that’s just coincidence, isn’t it?

Dear Diary by AWickedMemory (ReadyPlayerZero) [20k] Read on AO3

Summary:

// This can’t possibly go worse than the last time I kept a diary. //

After the war, Harry picks up a journal to write in… and it writes back. Luckily, it’s not a Horcrux on the other end this time.

Draco’s Boy by emphathic siren [186k] Read on FFN

Summary:

A mysterious little boy named Harry moves in next door to Draco Malfoy, and he’s determined to make him his friend and learn all of his secrets. Years later, he’s determined to make Harry more than a friend.

Exit Wounds by StarAndMoon (TheDarkestStar) [21k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry and Draco are placed in one hospital room and team up to investigate a murder.

Freudian Slip by jennavere [10k] Read here

Summary:

Two years after graduating from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is still obsessed with Harry Potter. Fed up, his father makes him get therapy. 

Irresistible Potion by Rhysenn [123k] Read here

Summary:

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn’t always bring death – there are other ways to suffer and live. 

Malfoy Child by Vorabiza (Biza) [94k] Read on AO3

Summary:

A potions accident turns Draco into a four-year-old and Harry takes over his care for the next four months.

Mental by sara_holmes [186k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

Reparations by Saras_Girl [87k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

Running on Air by eleventy7 [74k] Read on AO3 or FFN

Summary:

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Secrets by Vorabiza (Biza) [395k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Beginning with Draco’s unexpected arrival at the Dursleys, Harry’s summer after sixth year becomes filled with activity and many secrets. As his summer progresses, Harry generates several unexpected allies as he finds himself actively becoming the leader of the Light side.

Somebody to Love by khasael [31k] Read on AO3

Summary: 

Draco’s life after the war is quite different than it used to be. When he finds himself cursed, with little hope for lifting the spell, he sets out to make the most of the time he has left. Getting to know his Aunt Andromeda and his young cousin Teddy feels like a good thing to do, even if it can’t help him in the long run…or can it?

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl [15k] Read on AO3

Summary:

When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story.

The Darklist by Cheryl Dyson [91k] Read on FFN

Summary:

When Draco Malfoy, wanted criminal, strolled into the Ministry to give himself up, he seemed destined for Azkaban until he offered to hand over information to avert an upcoming crime. Of course, he refused to divulge that knowledge to anyone but Harry Potter.

The Light More Beautiful by firethesound [81k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter’s help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn’t been enough to dim Draco’s obsession with him.

The LipLock Jinx by Cassis Luna [21k] Read on FFN

Summary:

It’s a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It’s just Harry’s luck that he’s in love with Draco.

The Thread Through the Labyrinth by mindabbles [11k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry was twenty-one the first time it happened; he was twenty-one and falling in love for the first time. It seems he’ll go back, travel through time, until he finds the anchor that keeps him here.

The Venice Job by nishizono [25k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (faithwood) [21k] Read on AO3 or FFN

Summary:

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that’s ever so cross.

Two Sides of the Same Coin by noiselessheart [117k] Read on FFN

Summary:

Harry and Draco find out the hard way that the line between hate and love is a fine one, and that somewhere between the Battle of Hogwarts and being thrust back together as Hogwarts eighth years, they may have just crossed it.

What We Pretend We Can’t See by gyzym [131k] Read on AO3

Summary:

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

#issasdrarryficrecs!asks #drarry #draco x harry #harry x draco #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry fic rec