#just dealing with this perpetually broken heart

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 5)

Lucifer/Reader — Lucifer wants you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for the smut. FINALLY

(Hope none of y’all were planning to actually get off though).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

“You want a… baby?” 

Lucifer looked as stunned as you felt. He reminded you of a spooked deer — frozen and wide-eyed as he waited for imminent death. Or more aptly a dying fish as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“… To hang out with?”

Lucifer found himself in your apartment for the second time, milling about beside your coffee table. He internally scolded himself for fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other, but it was either that or burn a hole in your head with his hopeful gaze.

“No!” He let out a pathetic laugh. “Well, yes, b-but obviously not just that! I know there’s more to it than just ‘hanging out’.”  

“I'm not stupid.” He chortled again before glancing at you. “… I’m not that stupid.” 

The King had the uneasy feeling that you might see right through him now; find that inkling of excitement still germinating in his breast, and change your mind. Or worse, you’d withdraw even more and he’d have to feel that dreadful, terrible, no good shame. 

He had practically skipped through the halls of his castle (unbeknownst to you) with the contract held tightly between his claws.  But as soon as he entered your fireplace, the excitement had curdled like milk. It was replaced by that shame when he looked at you and saw your ashen face. 

“Obviously you wouldn’t be doing this for free!” Lucifer gesticulated wildly. “You, you said you wanted to travel right? Right! If you agree, you’d get to travel wherever you want, whenever you want, no strings attached!”

“A-and also! No more costs, period! All your bills and expenses paid forever, in perpetuity, beyond the grave! Capitalism is a bitch? No, capitalism WAS a bitch!”

“No, no! Capitalism will be YOUR BITCH!” 

Your resigned countenance combined with the memory of his pitch made Lucifer flinch. 

——

You were never very good in a crisis. Or under a severe amount of pressure… or a moderate amount, in all sincerity. 

But you’d have thought, even with the prospect of homelessness looming over your head, that you’d have drawn the line at making a Deal with the Devil to avoid it. 

Or at least you would’ve taken more than the time it took to draw up a legal contract to accept your fate.

That time maxed out to 6 days. 

The scroll unfurled before you. It radiated an ethereal golden light, and lined with a litany of official statements occasionally broken up by blank spaces meant for a (second) signature. 

         Lucifer Morningstar was signed here and there, in the same glittery calligraphy as was on his business card.

‘This contract must be interpreted by the Governances of Heaven [Heofon, Himmel, Kem, ἄκμων, آسمان, अश्मन्] and any litigations associated with Hell [Hel, Hallju, Kel]…’

‘… By this contract, Party A agrees to carry the Seed of Party B, hereafter known as “Father”, to the extent of natural gestation as governed by the Law of Nature…’ 

‘… This union shall be recognized only within the parameters listed and not heretofore or after…’

The legal jargon was giving you a headache. You scrubbed a hand down your face, determined to at least read through it all and, if you couldn’t pick out tiny discrepancies, at least find any giant red flags. 

(Even if you’d already reserved the excuse that it was easy to be tricked by the Devil when the Devil was insanely good at presenting himself as a theatrical little man who wore his heart on his suit sleeve).

           Then again, would it not just be easier to sign away your life without regard to the consequences?

Lucifer twitched when you groaned on your seat at the table. “Problem?” 

You rose slowly from your hunched position to make eye contact. “… My pen isn’t working.” 

You demonstrated by scribbling randomly on the sticky notepad beside his scroll. Lucifer responded instantly, left hand flexing in the air and, with a flashy poof, snatching a fancy pen out of thin air. 

“You can keep it” He said, grinning as you accepted it with a sour look. 

“Thanks… show-off.” You began scribbling your name in half-assed cursive on every blank line in sight.

The grin on Lucifer’s face became borderline manic as soon as you’d crossed your ‘t’s and dotted your ‘i’s. His teeth glinted in the light from your cheap-ass lamp and it made you wince as you handed the rolled up document back to him. 

“Um, can we maybe skip the kissing stuff?” You asked. “I don’t really want to cut my tongue open.” 

His wounded expression tugged rather annoyingly at your heart. 

“Sorry.” 

The smile he gave your mumbled apology was strained at best. “No, no I understand. The fangs were daunting to me when I first got them, too.” 

You cocked your head, thoughts materializing like the web of a spider. 

“That’s actually something we should talk about.” You voiced your thoughts. “Are we compatible? Down there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean — you don’t have teeth down there, too… right?” You asked. “Or some kind of eldritch horror miasma that I can’t touch lest I fall into a coma from ecstasy? Or a tentacle?” 

“No!” Lucifer looked mortified. “Wh-what is wrong with you humans?!” 

“I’m sorry! I’m just asking!” You cried. 

You continued when his expression stayed stagnant. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you but I’m about to become intimately acquainted with… it, and I think I should be prepared!”

Your hellish companion stood, eyes closed, hands folded over his mouth as if in prayer. He breathed in slowly, then out. 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve been with a human.” He reasoned. “It’s good to ask questions. It’s—that’s a good one. Do you have any more?” 

That made you pause. There were millions of things you could ask the King of Hell and yet not one thing could properly formulate in your brain. 

“Um, I need a second to think about it.” You muttered. “What about you? My setup is pretty basic? I guess? I have a womb. At least I did, at my last physical a year and a half ago.” 

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile and there was an answering flutter from your stomach. “I know.”

Your eyebrows shot up and he immediately started babbling. “I mean! I know because the contract went through! The ink would’ve turned red… or disappeared… To be honest, I don't know. I haven’t made a deal in a long time, ha ha. But I remember something happens when there’s a technical issue!” 

“Ah,” You felt better with that explanation. 

Kind of. 

“I thought of a question, actually. Sorry.” You shrugged sheepishly. “It’s probably in the contract but…”

You swallowed down your trepidation. “… I won’t die, right?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, you faced the floor and missed the way Lucifer’s face fell. 

“Barring the normal risks that come with being pregnant, nothing else is gonna happen, right? Or if it does, it won’t be agonizing?” You asked quietly. 

A moment of silence passed before the ex-Angel’s fingers curled under your chin. Your head rose and you saw Lucifer's eyes soften from something sharper and more determined. 

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby.” He said firmly. “Nothing terrible will happen to either of you. I swear.” 

It was strange, the effect his words had on you. The jittery feeling in your chest slowly disappeared, and the tears forming in your eyes didn’t fall. 

“Okay.” You nodded with a barely there, watery smile. 

——

“I’m gonna turn off the lights, ok?” You said over your shoulder. 

Lucifer was undoing the last of the buttons of his dress shirt, vest and overcoat already laid neatly over your desk. He met your gaze, eyes bright. 

“Of course.” His close-lipped smile struck you, but you flipped the light switch before you could think on it. 

A lack of light did very little to suppress Lucifer. He seemed to glow like the star of his namesake, flourishing in the dark and hard to miss. You simply hoped, as you pulled at your sleeves, his shine wouldn’t illuminate the terrain of your body. 

Cold air hit your skin, goosebumps rose along your bare arms and shoulders, but you persisted. When everything was shucked save for your underwear, you moved to your bed and realized Lucifer was still standing at the baseboard. 

With arms crossed, you assumed the same position at the side of the bed. “Um?”

“Ladies first!” He chimed, as if reading your mind. 

You sighed, then slowly climbed onto the mattress and awkwardly pulled the comforter from under your butt. You settled and patted a spot in front of you. 

Hesitantly, Lucifer accepted the invitation, and he was sitting next to you before you could blink. 

No going back now. 

You shifted in your spot uneasily. Fuck, it had been a long time since you had sex. 

How did you start this shit again? 

No kissing — per your own request. You had half a mind to take it back while you sat there floundering, trying not to let the tangible awkwardness break your resolve entirely. 

You could do this. For a lifetime of no work, no bills, no cares. 

You could do this.

A bit of movement in the dark caught your eye. You glanced down and realized that Lucifer was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you. 

The laugh came bubbling from your throat before you could stop it. Reaching out, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward.

You could see his throat constrict as he swallowed and smiled questioningly. “What?”

Lucifer yelped when you laid back, taking him with you. 

——

“Ah! F-fu — Slow down!” You scolded, words muffled as you were repeatedly pushed down into the pillows. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you just,” Every word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips against the flesh of your ass. “Feel. So. Fucking. Good.” 

Lucifer moaned loudly as he continued to lose himself in the sensation. You could only groan, irritation building as your partner refused to give you even the most basic attention. The frustration peaked quickly, then unraveled as his pleasured moans and squeaks caused your stomach to somersault over and over again. 

You clenched around his cock when he whined, thrusting into you so deeply you felt the base of him stretching your hole that much wider. 

Well, fuck you for finding the sound of a masculine voice cracking the hottest thing in all of creation. 

But it was actually getting you there, so what were you complaining for?

          Eyes closed, you focused on the feeling, trying to jump off that precipice with only penetration. It reminded you of when you were a teen, awkwardly feeling around down there. Of trying to find the appeal in your fingers inside of somewhere so sensitive against the fear of hurting yourself. All while you worked yourself up with your own imagination. 

In a perfect world, you would’ve moved on from that stage of life with no repeat performances. Hopefully, it could still be salvag—

You gripped the pillows that hadn’t tumbled off the juddering mattress when Lucifer’s claws dug into your hips. He pulled you as close as humanly possible with a strangled yelp, shivering, shuddering, stammering incoherence as warmth flooded your insides. 

Fuck’s sake.

——

You were disappointed, but not surprised. All you could do after the fact was bury yourself in the covers and watch Lucifer catch his breath beside you. 

Not finishing aside, exhaustion from the entire ordeal made you indolent and your thoughts hazy. You studied your partner as he calmed down, clearly trying not to be too close to you now that the deed was done. 

Lucifer’s hair was in disarray, the space between his eyes and across his cheeks rosy like the blots parallel to his smile. 

“Hey.” 

Lucifer looked at you innocently, waiting. You could physically feel your walls crumbling down despite yourself. 

“Come here.” You murmured, hand sliding beneath the covers to touch that poreless skin. 

Damn you and your soft heart. 

‘Actually…’ You had Lucifer in your arms, his body still warm. Once he was in your grasp, the King melted against you. 

He looked a little afraid as you tilted him up by the chin to look at you. The Devil had surprisingly soulful eyes, questioning whatever you had in store. 

The tiny thought that he was being way too vulnerable drew a taut, uncomfortable feeling your chest. 

“Kiss me.” 

Lucifer blinked in rapid succession — surprise, wonder, confusion and hope bloom all at once on his unusual face. 

It made you laugh in the quiet, comfortable darkness of your room before you yourself leaned in and met his lips with your own. The line of Lucifer’s mouth trembled, but he reciprocated with only minor hesitation. 

* Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1,

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

[antimatterz]

I'LL BE BY YOUR SIDE.

dan heng x gn!reader

summary: fear of abandonment is terrible, but your lover is there for you.

cw: reader has fear of abandonment, dark thoughts, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

enyo's note: please, just please, don't come at me saying "this is toxic" or anything like that. this work is personal, so much that i'm hesitant to upload it but i still chose to do so in case more people are struggling with this. fear of abandonment is something serious and it's super hard to deal with. we don't choose to freak out when our person isn't near. we don't choose to need constant reassurance that they won't leave us. we don't want any of that. this is what it looks like for me on a bad day. feel free to come talk to me if you're struggling with the same !!

content under the cut | masterlist

lonely.

that's what you felt when you sat alone in the empty compartment of the astral express. there was no one, and that wasn't good for your mindset. you were restless, antsy, afraid, your mind wandering off to dan heng the entire time. it was always like that when he wasn't around you, but when you were utterly alone, it got severely worse.

nothing seemed to help; seeking distraction did nothing, it brought no peace to your mind to text march or himeko or anyone else, you couldn't focus on any activities, which let your mind roam endlessly.

where was dan heng? what was he doing? why wasn't he responding? was he okay? did something happen? was he going to leave you behind? your mind paused at the last line, realization hitting you like a truck.

the possibility was there.

leaving you was always an option, right? and to you, it seemed very likely. you weren't a fun and easy person; you were troubled, broken even. tearing at the seams almost perpetually. sure, you had your good moments, but did those make it worth to stick around? you had no idea, but the longer dan heng stayed away, the more you started to doubt his return. sure, you trusted dan heng – or you wanted to, at least. your fear of abandonment often wouldn't let you fully trust him.

everything was okay as long as he was with you, but as soon as he left to do something, fear crept up your spine, leaving you short of breath and extremely worried. bad habits awoke, you kept checking your phone, the express' entrance, every single thing that could hint at dan heng's arival was on your radar. it was tiring, so tiring, but you couldn't help it.

and you felt guilty. you just wanted to let dan heng live his life without having to consider you all the time. sure, he told you so many times that it was okay, that he chose to console you as anxiety struck, that you could text him whenever you needed him. but you refused; you didn't want to bother him. that would only drive him away eventually, right?

so you suffered alone.

your heart was beating frantically, following the cadance of your unsteady thoughts. it was pointless, it was useless, you were useless, you told yourself. couldn't even stand an hour without your beloved. what kind of toxic partner were you? it was certain, he was going to leave you sooner or later, just because you were a failure who could do nothing. everyone left, so why wouldn't he do the same?

tears of distress welled up in your eyes, and your breath stuttered. you felt truly alone, as if he had abandoned you already. maybe he really did, seeing how he left the express two hours ago. yet, you still refused to text him, despite the many times dan heng told you to reach out if you needed him.

you just couldn't burden him like that.

it felt like ages when the compartment's door slipped open, and footsteps came inside. you gazed up and found dan heng approaching you, and you swore you felt your heart levitate in your chest for a moment. relief washed over you and you wanted to jump up and hug the life out of your boyfriend. he was back!

it must've been obvious that you had been crying, as a look of worry ghosted over dan heng's features. his quiet grey eyes looked right through you, and he instantly knew what was up.

"y/n, i told you to text me if this happened," he lightly scolded you, pulling you to your feet and engulfing you in a tight hug.

"don't wanna bother you," you mumbled against the fabric of his clothes. "i don't want you to feel trapped just because i have separation anxiety."

"we've been over this, angel," dan heng sighed, his puff of breath rustling your hair. "you're too hard on yourself. you're not bothering me at all. i love you on good days and bad days alike, and as we enjoy your good days, i want to help you on your bad days. never forget that, love."

you breathed in his scent, relishing in the comfort it brought to you. he was with you again, he didn't leave, and he still loved you. with your voice still muffled by the fabric, you told him you loved him too, as you slowly felt the fear that had your body rigid diminishing. darkness slipped from your mind as dan heng held you closely, until all was good again.

"listen, angel," dan heng began, loosening the hug to cup your cheeks instead. he made you look at him, and his gaze was solemn. "i won't leave you. not today, not tomorrow, not ever in my life. and i will remind you every day. got that?"

you nodded, feeling as if you were on cloud nine. dan heng was right; you've been through so much together, he saw you on your darkest days, and he was still with you. if only you would remember that as anxiety rose, but such was wistful thinking. once you were alone again, the cycle would repeat itself, and you'd be terrified once more, as if the reassurance of today never happened.

fear of abandonment was painful, it tore you apart so often, writhing in your mind like a sick disease. but you had gotten lucky to find a patient lover, one who treated you right and never grew tired of reassuring you – as much as you needed.

it was true.

dan heng wouldn't leave you.

you smiled at him, and he offered you a faint smile in return. you knew he wouldn't move from your side today, and you leaned against him lovingly. another episode had passed, peace had returned.

it was okay.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #dan heng #— enyo writes #honkai: star rail #dan heng x reader #dan heng imagine #dan heng imagines #dan heng il #dan heng x you #dan heng hsr #hsr dan heng #fear of abandonment #separation anxiety

[bonefall]

I like both ideas, bc it provides an opportunity for the Dark Forest to evolve in some way; I really like the idea of Curl taking lead and trying to make the Dark Forest cats united (not for any real GOAL, but bc they're still clan cats dammit, and separated in little pockets they'll never be able to grow).

The camp one is kinda obvious- it was a place of horror, but they need a place to stay. She never came too close to the place until she realized that if she wanted to unite the cats into a group, they needed a camp. And Starclan (she hisses at the irony) knows she'll never do it on her own. She enters, and it terrifies her- before she knows it shes backing away and fleeing. Over time though, she makes it further in, stays a bit longer. She finds the dens are still pretty decent, and that her heart feels a lot lighter as she rips down and destroys the cage. She's elated to find hierloom tools in the camp eventually- some are broken, but can be fixed. She purrs as she thinks how happy Darkstripe would be to have some proper cooking tools. This was a place of fear and death, yes, but it doesn't always have to be that way, does it?

The dogs less so but hear me out. At first she is haunted by the dogs, downright terrified- the gnashing of teeth, the frenzied barks. It's not even anything she can think or dwell on; as soon as she hears the howling and barking, she's immediately running away, fleeing as far as her paws take her. She knows she'll never actually die here, but she's still so, so scared. Maybe she comes to the conclusion on her own, or maybe someone else points it out, but eventually she realizes what you mentioned. She saved her CHILD- she should be PROUD, not scared. This is her greatest moment- her death an irrelevant footnote compared to her baby's life. Idk *exactly* how it should go, but she confronts her fear, and manages to 'tame' it. She is no longer afraid, this illusion holds no power over her. Either they fade away and just stop existing without Curl's fear to feed it, maybe they turn docile and harmless, idk. No matter what though, i have a feeling that something like THAT will catch the eye of some DF cats, sorta like a Tiny to Scourge deal. "She got rid of her land mar" into "She destroyed the land mar" to "She KILLED her land mar"- even the first one has to gain her some respect frok the others, and gives her a solid footing to try and get cats together and united.

Ask was sent a while ago, and I've been looking at it since then. It's a really good pitch, and I had things to do, so I just passively chewed it for a while. Both ideas are really good; so I was trying to think of some way to get them together.

I think I've got a good thought now;

I'll make Curlfeather's Land Mar dog related.

But they're not the same dogs that actually attacked her (which, depending on how the arc goes, might ACTUALLY be apparitions from the Dark Forest which Ashfur dragged out for his schemes. Specifically they'd be Brightheart's nightmares.)

Curlfeather's Hounds are blind. They hunt completely through "smell," and they smell her fear

I can keep her Land Mar being quite unique by actually having it follow her. Instead of it being a place she's trapped in, she's haunted by random dog events which will inevitably interrupt any plans she makes.

So she's perpetually close to making the group that she wants, uniting these demons just because it's what she deserves, but she is forced to flee when her hounds find her.

The camp she ends up using doesn't have to be her OWN Land Mar; I have another cat who actually has a 1:1 camp as theirs.

Morningstar, the deposed leader of ThunderClan who refused to allow his cats to fight. His is simply his camp, on the day where Pearstar invented the Right to Challenge and killed him for his position.

Morningstar's also HATED in the Dark Forest, because of his pacifism. Thinking about it, it's actually a great parallel for what I'm planning with Curlfeather!

She has disdain for her father because she sees him as weak. Reedwhisker swearing loyalty to The Kin after being tortured was her catalyst for believing he needed to die; that RiverClan would have a sniveling, careless leader.

So if it's Morningstar she ends up developing a bond with, they can help each other.

Morningstar can make her realize that her terrifying death by the dogs is something she can be proud of. That it isn't something to fear and revile, but a sign that when she was forced to choose between love and ambition, she chose love.

And Curlfeather can see that maybe people like Morningstar, who she'd always seen as weak, have wisdom she'd never considered. Uniting these cats isn't about power or recognition; it's just about helping to make everyone's lives better.

I can even keep the "empty camp" idea. Stepping into Morningstar's gloomy Land Mar, setting a little fire just to help with the mist, and realizing it's not all that bad. There's old tools laying strewn about, the dens are all in working order. We can make a proper home here, if we let it be.

There's probably a cage there because of Ashfur, maybe it's the one that he made the demons toss Rootspring into. Maybe I'll have the demons eventually trick Curlfeather's Sighthounds into Deadfrost's Labyrinth, if Shredtail's still around. He double-died in canon but I wouldn't be too opposed to killing someone else in his stead.

She'll also have to prove herself to the other demons. Most of them are pretty wary of "leader-types" after what happened with Tigerstar. Ironically the closest thing they have to a "leader" is Darkstripe because his soups are so good. If he doesn't like your vibe, you're cut off from the "Social Circle."

I need to make some sort of pun out of Rings of Hell and Social Circle. Social Ring of Hell.

#As opposed to the ''Alpha Baboons'' which I can't stop calling them in my head #the Alpha Baboons were the Tigerstar-supporters who made life in the DF unpleasant with their schemes and desire to haunt and attack-- #the living so they could dethrone or threaten starclan #I call them the Alpha Baboons because. Just like the case study of the alpha baboons who were bullies and ate poison trash and died.-- #--life got better in Hell after their double-deaths in the BOTTE. #There's a few Alpha Baboons still around but their number is smaller than Darkstripe's Social Ring. #So the gentler demons will be wary of Curlfeather until her intentions and personality is better known #BB!Dark Forest #Better Bones AU #BB!ASC #BB!Curlfeather #BB!Morningstar

[television-overload]

chance encounter

an X-Files Fanfic

Read on AO3

Summary: "Six months after becoming fugitives from the US government, Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter with someone that is very important to them."

Word Count: 6,556

Tag List (let me know if you want taken off or added!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @mulderscully @perpetually-weirdening @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

It was him.

There was no way to explain how he knew, but he did.

The little baby sitting in the puddle deep water at the end of the pool was William.

His hands, still chubby like they had been in his infancy, splashed excitedly, and Mulder could hear his squeals of delight over the sounds of the other children playing. An electric yellow swim shirt paired with a dinosaur-patterned bucket hat kept him shielded from the hot California sun, and he wore striped yellow and blue swimming trunks.

Mulder thought he'd never seen a swimsuit so small.

What were the odds that of all the places they could have traveled to, he was here?

They'd been on the road for 6 months, stopping at unremarkable motels and campgrounds all the way, never staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. It was a fluke they were even here at all.

Perhaps fate.

The hotel was certainly a step up from their usual accommodations, but Mulder had insisted. It was their anniversary, he said. Anniversary of what, Scully wasn't sure. The progression from coworkers to friends to lovers happened so gradually that it was hard to pin down a particularly important date for anything. But he wanted to celebrate, to find a brief reprieve from living in darkness, so they splurged a little on this modest, if slightly run-down, hotel by the ocean.

Where their son and his new family just happened to be vacationing.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about this possibility. In those nights where Scully was extra quiet, eager to fall asleep at the end of a long day, of course he'd lay awake and think, what if.

What if we found him? What if we saw our son again? What would we do?

The idea was so far-fetched that he hardly gave it any real consideration. His thoughts ranged from “steal him back, take him with us” to “pretend you never saw him and flee town.”

The urge to do the latter was strong. It was not safe here. They'd given him up for this very reason, what would be the point if their being here got him injured or worse? Was it really worth the risk to William? To Scully?

His next thought was 'Should I tell her?' Should he tell Scully he'd seen him? Would she want to see him too, even if from a distance?

The loss of their son had broken her heart. Broken his too, but not in the same way. She had spent months with him, almost a year, only to be forced to give him away with little time to prepare.

He knew she felt the loss like a phantom limb. Even all these months later, she still awoke with his name on her lips, panic written on her face as she looked around for him. It drove a stake through his heart every time, yet part of him felt he deserved it after leaving her to deal with it herself.

He watched the boy.

He'd only come out here to enjoy the sun, sit on one of the loungers for an hour or so while Scully took a nap in their room. It was a much more comfortable bed than they've had in a long time, though that wasn't saying much.

He hadn't bargained on having his whole world tipped upside down in the short time they were apart.

As stressful as it was, life on the road lended itself to relatively simple decisions. Fast food or canned? Motel or campground? Will you drive, or should I?

This was different.

Should he tell Scully?

The thought of keeping this from her made him feel sick. He couldn't do that.

Then again, would it hurt more to know? Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Mulder had never believed that, though.

The Truth, with a capital T, was the one thing that connected him and Scully. Though their beliefs and methods differed, they valued the Truth above all else. That was what drew them together. That was what propelled them forward, even now.

She had to know. She had to know her son was here, even if knowing might hurt.

She could make the decision for herself, whether she wanted to see him or get as far away from here as possible. It might be the last decision she makes as a mother, who would he be to keep that from her?

She might never forgive him.

Swallowing back emotion, Mulder stood to his feet, trying not to draw attention to himself as he made his retreat. His sunglasses thankfully hid the redness of his eyes, a small mercy in this endlessly unfair life.

He stole one last glance back at William. There was a chance this was the last time he'd ever see his son, his baby boy. If this was it, he'd treasure this moment for the rest of his life.

A woman dropped down beside William, showing him how to cup the water in his hands and throw it.

'A quick learner,' Mulder thought, watching as he gleefully tossed small handfuls of water in the air, giggling as it rained back down on him.

Okay. He could do this.

Find Scully. Tell Scully. Find Scully.

He rushed into the moldy-smelling hallway of the hotel, not bothering to take the elevator up to their floor. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time, finding himself out of breath by the time he reached the 4th floor.

He nodded politely at a passing family decked out in beach gear, not wanting to draw suspicion. Once they were gone, he gave a quick rhythmic knock on the door to let Scully know it was him, then slipped his key card into the slot to unlock it.

The room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight to block out the midday sun, and he could hear soft breaths coming from the lump on the bed.

His heart twisted involuntarily as it so often did when he looked at her.

“Scully,” he whispered, approaching the bed. “Honey, wake up.” He settled on the side of the bed, placing a gentle hand atop her shoulder and jostling her just so.

“Mm,” she hummed, curling into her pillow. A good nap, then. That was nice, at least.

He shook her again, saying her name a little louder. “Scully, you need to get up.”

This time her eyes opened, sensing the serious undertone to his words. He could tell she was waiting for bad news, for him to tell her they needed to leave again. Wanting to put her worries at ease, he tried to smile.

“What is it?” she asked, blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh—” he hadn't gotten this far in planning what to say. But she was waiting for him now, so he needed to say something quick. “Scully, I saw some people outside...”

“Government people?” she asked, sitting up suddenly, ready to start packing.

“No, not the government,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders soothingly. “Scully—it's William.”

He could see the moment his words hit her. She blinked, like she might think she was still dreaming, but she saw the truth in his eyes. Her expression shifted.

He wasn't sure what reaction he expected, but his first guess wouldn't have been anger.

“Did you know he would be here?” she asked, her voice laced with hurt and betrayal. “Mulder, I told you not to look into it! Why—Why would you...”

“I didn't know,” he promised, begging the tears in his eyes to keep from falling. He clasped her hands in his, pulling them from their grip on the fabric of his shirt. “Scully, I swear I didn't know. I was just out at the pool, and—”

“You're sure it's him?”

His heart broke looking at her. Equal parts hope and dread, she didn't deserve this.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“What do you think about that coincidence, huh?” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, we can't see him. It's not safe, it's not—”

“I know.” He didn't like interrupting her, but he didn't want her worrying unnecessarily about things she shouldn't. They had enough of that already, these days. If she didn’t think it was a good idea, he’d be okay with that. “We can leave, if you want. I just thought you should know.”

Her blue eyes met his, brimming with unshed tears.

“Is—Is he…?”

“He's beautiful, Scully,” Mulder answered her unspoken question. “He looks happy.”

She choked out a sob, and he immediately enveloped her in his arms, holding onto her tightly. She clutched at him like a life raft, and he ran his hand over her back in comforting circles, murmuring soft words into her ear.

“What do you want to do?” Mulder asked, knowing that time was ticking, and the little family might not stay out there much longer.

Scully sniffed.

“We could—we could go see him,” she said uncertainly, looking at him to decipher his thoughts on the matter. “From a distance.”

Mulder nodded, then stood, helping her to her feet.

“I'm with you,” he reminded her, grasping her hands tightly in his. “It'll be okay.”

With an arm slung around her shoulders, he led her out the door, this time opting to take the elevator down to the ground floor. Scully seemed nervous, almost frightened, and he didn't blame her. He tried to picture how he would feel if their positions were switched, and he couldn't imagine that he'd take it very well. Eventually, they reached the glass doors leading out to the outdoor pool, pausing for a moment.

“They can't see us,” Scully warned, looking anxious and ready to bolt, but she was glued to his side and scarcely able to move without his guidance. He nodded and took her hand, leading her out to a couple chairs in the corner, hopefully obscured enough by the shadow of the fence that they wouldn’t be seen. That bright neon shirt was still there, easy to spot, and Mulder felt tears rising to his throat again. This was the first time they had all three been in the same vicinity since those first few days when he was born.

He squeezed her hand, checking one last time to make sure she was okay. She searched his eyes, trusting him wholeheartedly, and he was certain he had never loved her more.

“Over there,” he said in a low whisper. “With the little hat on.”

Scully followed his line of sight, gasping when her eyes settled on the playful baby in the water.

What followed next was a sob, and he quickly lost his battle with the tears that stubbornly refused to go away. He wrapped his arms around Scully, offering her what solace he could, while his own chin wobbled miserably.

She alternated between sneaking glances at her son and crying into his shirt collar, muttering “Mulder,” desperately as he rocked her back and forth, his hand smoothing out her hair for her comfort as much as his own.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing her like that... it made it hard to stay strong, but he needed to be. For her. He closed his eyes, pleading with the universe never to give her this kind of pain ever again.

When he opened them again, his stomach dropped to the floor.

The woman he'd seen earlier was looking at them, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

He cursed under his breath, his arms tightening around Scully. She was in no state to leave. The best they could do was avoid eye contact and keep to themselves.

But it looked like that wouldn't be enough.

The woman, William's adoptive mother, whispered something to the man she was with, nodding in their direction. His concerned face matched hers, and he nodded. With a sickening lurch, Mulder realized she was getting out of the water, wrapping herself in a towel and heading toward them.

It was too late. They'd been made.

“Scully,” he said, alarm creeping into his voice. She only had a moment's warning before the woman was there, glancing down at them with a worried frown.

“Is she alright?” William's mother asked, empathy oozing from her.

Mulder hurried to compose himself, knowing Scully was a lost cause at this point. It would be on him to get them out of this.

“She's fine, sorry,” he managed to speak, wracking his brain for a believable excuse. Best to stick close to the truth. “We—We can't have children, so—” he nodded toward their son, hoping she could fill in the blanks.

Looking behind her at the boy in the water, her face eased into one of understanding.

“Oh, I know how that feels,” she said, smiling consolingly. “Our son over there is adopted. Every day we thank God for blessing us with him. He's our little miracle.”

Scully grips him tighter, barely restraining a mournful wail. His heart sinks, knowing this interaction isn't going well at all.

He presses a desperate kiss to her hair, wishing he'd never exposed her to this pain. Wishing they were alone in the confines of their hotel room or car so she could let it all out without arousing suspicion. Wishing this woman, as kind-hearted and friendly as she seemed to be, would leave them alone.

“Are you sure she's okay?” she asked Mulder, brows furrowing again.

His hand rubbed up and down Scully's shoulder, and he nodded. “She will be. This is—hard for her.”

“Okay,” the woman said, not sounding fully convinced. “Let me know if there's anything I can do. Like I said, I've been where she is.”

“Thank you,” Mulder choked out, eyes flitting about, looking for their escape.

Through the gate. Through the hotel. Down to the beach.

“Oh, sorry,” William's mother spoke, turning back instead of leaving. “I never introduced myself. My name is—”

“No!” Scully stopped her, looking suddenly panicked and alert.

The woman startled at the outburst, jumping back slightly.

“Mulder, we can't know,” Scully said, looking pleadingly at him. “We can't know anything, we can't!”

“It's okay,” he said softly, coaxing her back from the edges of a total breakdown. “It's okay.” He looked back up at William's mom, smiling an unconvincing smile. “I think we'd really better get going. It was nice talking to you,” he said as he helped Scully to her feet. “Come on, hon, back to our room.”

It was hard to move quickly with Scully desperately clinging to him, but it wasn't the first time they'd been in this position. Once they got back inside, he'd run her a nice warm bath and apologize over and over for everything he'd ever done to hurt her.

They just. Had to. Get. Through—

“Wait.”

He froze.

“You're—You're his parents, aren't you? The ones who gave him up?”

Ice water filled his veins. He could feel Scully shaking like a leaf under his arm.

“We really should be going—” he tried, refusing to turn back around.

Her voice was closer now. “You are. I—there's so many things I've wished I could ask you. At least let me thank you. Please.”

Against his better judgement, he risked a glance back.

“Mulder, we have to go,” Scully begged, now standing on her own and pulling him by the hand. His feet were rooted to the ground, unable to take a single step forward or back.

“Just wait a minute, Scully,” he said, his brain running a mile a minute to calculate the amount of danger each potential course of action held.

He met the woman's eyes, serious.

“Look, this is not easy for her. For us. Our situation right now is—” his eyes scanned around for anything out of place, “We—We really shouldn't be talking to you.”

The woman stepped closer still, a pleading expression on her face.

“It was a closed adoption, I know. But—”

“I'm sorry. We can't.”

Scully looked exhausted, frightened, and sick all at once. Every second they stood there chipped away at her, the anxiety sinking deeper and deeper into her skin.

“You're right about one thing,” Mulder conceded, glancing over at his son and drinking in his unconcerned, innocent features.

The next words nearly choked him with sorrow.

“He is a miracle.”

They were meant to be parting words, a reminder to this woman to never take what she has for granted, but before he could move, a hand landed on his forearm, effectively stopping him.

“We'll let you see him,” the woman offered desperately, near tears herself. “Please. Just a few moments.”

And with that on the table, Mulder was torn.

On the one hand, this woman had offered them something invaluable: a chance to say goodbye, something they hadn't been able to do properly the first time.

On the other hand, it would be selfish. To put their son and his new family in danger simply because they got caught in a moment of weakness... it was unfathomable. He couldn't be responsible for more suffering. He didn't think he could bear it.

“Please?” the woman said again, squeezing his arm.

He had a decision to make. Glancing once more at Scully's crumpled face, he caught sight of the slightest hint of hope. A barely-there gleam that he'd tear down earth and heaven for the chance to brighten.

His decision was made for him.

Cursing his lack of willpower, he turned suddenly to meet the woman's eyes.

“Not here,” he whispered sternly, pointing in her direction. “Give us half an hour, then come to room 409.”

“409,” the woman repeated, nodding. “We will.”

Mulder hardened his jaw, giving one final nod before collecting Scully and hurrying off into the building without another glance back.

“This is dangerous, Mulder,” Scully said worriedly as they passed through the hall, though he knew deep down she was relieved that she might get to see her son again. He only hoped that this risk would be worth it, that they'd be able to find some semblance of peace here and leave feeling less like a part of them was missing when all this was over.

As soon as they entered their room, Scully broke down.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she gasped, crouching low to the ground and covering her face with her hands.

He immediately dropped to his knees to help her up, ushering her over to their bed.

“Did you see him? He's gotten so big.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, a mix of happy and sad, and though he'd known Scully and her nonverbal cues for so long, he still wasn't quite sure what she needed right now.

“Yeah, I saw him, Scully,” he answered, pulling her into his lap and rocking her gently.

“Do you think they'll really come?” she asked, hopeful, but hesitant.

“We need to be prepared in case they don't,” he answered realistically, thinking of an entire squad of police cars surrounding the hotel with their flashing lights and sirens. “I can pack up the toiletries, you got the suitcase?”

She nodded, grateful to have something physical to do.

Mulder checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes. If they didn't come in twenty-five minutes, it was time to get out of dodge.

“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips. “I love you, Scully.”

“I love you too,” she answered, breathing deeply to calm herself. Checking one last time to make sure she was okay, he nodded and released her, each to their own assignments to ensure they were ready to make a quick escape if need be.

As the minutes passed, they became restless. They watched the clock, counting down the seconds until they should have arrived.

Their cutoff time came and went. Mulder was about to call it and give the signal to run, already gathering bags and suitcases, but the subtle knock on their door stopped him in his tracks. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing for Scully to stay quiet while he checked the peep hole.

The sight before him caused his shoulders to slump in relief.

“It's them?” Scully asked hopefully, reading his body language.

He gave a cautious smile back, then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

There they were, William’s adoptive parents.

And William.

It nearly took his breath away. 

This close. They were this close to him, after thinking they’d never see him again. He felt like a dehydrated man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis when he was sure he was going to die.

“Hi,” the woman said, looking more uncertain now that they weren’t out in the open. Her husband looked similarly guarded, but they were here, that was all that mattered.

“Uh, come in,” Mulder said, finding his voice.

He stepped aside to allow them entrance, and Scully immediately stood from her seat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands in front of her.

“I promise we’re not here to take him,” he assured them, closing the door behind them. “As much as we wish we could.”

Once the door was secure, he went to stand by Scully, placing a hand on her back.

“We were just passing through, I couldn’t believe it when I saw him sitting there in the pool.”

The woman nodded, still a little tense, but wanting to believe him.

“Small world,” her husband said, standing protectively next to his wife and child.

Mulder nodded.

“Look, there’s not much information we can give you. For his safety and yours, this is the way it had to be.”

“I always wondered where he came from,” the woman said. “I thought maybe a teen mom, or someone who just couldn't take care of him, but, you—”

“He was always wanted,” Scully spoke, finally able to speak for herself. Her voice came out strained, gasping for air between words. “I prayed for him for so long.”

Mulder's hand found hers, giving it a squeeze to lend her some of his strength.

“He was our miracle.”

The woman looked down, saddened by this news.

“But you were right,” Scully continued, steadying her voice. “We couldn't take care of him. Our life—it isn't stable enough for a child right now. It might never be again. So, I gave him up.”

“Didn't you have a family member who could have taken him? A friend?” the man asked. “Why a closed adoption?”

Scully shook her head, looking down at her feet. How she had wished she could have sent William to live with Bill and Tara, maybe even Charlie. But it wouldn’t have been enough. It would have only endangered more people she cared about.

“That's something we can't disclose,” Mulder answered for her. “But someday, when he asks, I want him to know...” He breathed, summoning the strength to form the words. “I want him to know that we loved him... so much.” With each breath he took, tears filled his eyes, clogging his throat until he wasn't able to speak anymore.

They would always love him, for as long as they lived. Giving him up wasn't going to change that.

“Well,” William's new mom said through tear filled eyes. “I can't tell you how much it means to us to have him.” Scully bowed her head, nodding along with a steady stream of tears. “I promise to take good care of him. He'll be safe and happy with us.”

“Thank you,” Scully whispered, unable to look the man and woman in the eyes.

“We've been worried about him,” Mulder admitted, “hoping he was alright...” He checked in with Scully, reading her like he was so good at doing, before deciding it was safe to speak for them both. “I think, seeing that he is... is a huge weight lifted off our shoulders.”

Scully gave a nod in agreement, looking up at Mulder with something of a promise. A promise that they would be okay, eventually.

“I can't imagine what you must have gone through,” the woman said. “But we are so thankful. He—I don't suppose you want to know his name?”

“No,” Scully said quickly. “I—we can't. I couldn't handle the temptation.”

The temptation to track him down, just for the chance to see him again.  That was a dream that could never be.

“What did you call him?” the woman asked, and Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again, letting her know it was okay. It was a common enough name, there couldn’t be any harm in telling her the truth.

“William,” she answered. “His name was William.”

To hear it spoken aloud after all this time was a relief. It had been almost taboo the past six months, too painful a word to be uttered. But now, there was something freeing about letting his name hang in the air.

Letting go, Mulder realized. They had to let him go.

“Well...” the woman began again, smiling at them reassuringly. “William is such a bright and curious child. He loves building towers out of blocks and throwing things at it to knock it down. He—He has this stuffed fox he takes everywhere. They're practically inseparable. His first word was 'mama'. He likes watching baseball and hockey with his dad. He—He's everything we could have hoped for, and more. So, thank you. Thank you for making such a beautiful child for us to love.” Her eyes shone with happiness, the kind which Scully wondered if she’d ever felt. “I knew you had to be remarkable people, because he's a remarkable child.”

“And now we know where he gets those lips and that hair from,” the father added, lightening the mood as much as possible, under the circumstances. “He's covered in sunscreen, must be your genes,” he said, nodding at Scully with a smile. And wonder of wonders, she laughed, a sudden, unexpected thing, and leaned into Mulder's side.

“We should let you go,” Mulder said after a moment, hating that it had to be done. “We'll need to be heading out soon.”

“To where?”

“We can't tell you that.”

Will's adoptive father's eyes met those of his biological one, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Adjusting her hold on William, the woman spoke, glancing between them as she did.

“I wouldn't feel right if I didn't give you a moment with him.”

Scully's head snapped to attention.

“You've already sacrificed so much,” she continued, “And I trust you. You're doing what's best for—for William. I know you have his best interests at heart.”

Mulder wished, wished, wished he could honestly say it was in William's best interests to be with him and Scully... but it wasn't. The truth of their reality was such that it could never be. Not through any fault of their own as parents—but because of external forces working against them, desperate to tear them apart and leave them with nothing.

But they had failed.

Because what they had was more than nothing. They had each other. And though they would have to live with the knowledge that a part of them was missing, maybe after today they would be able to make peace with what they do have. To live life to the fullest given the circumstances they've been forced to survive in.

In truth, he hadn't felt this hopeful about the future since the moment Scully first placed his son in his arms. There was still a mountain of hardships to surmount, but it didn't seem quite as impossible as before. And it was all thanks to a chance encounter with their son, at the precise moment they needed him most.

“We'll leave you be,” Will's mother spoke, checking with her husband to make sure he agreed. “If you need us, we'll be downstairs having some coffee.”

Scully's brows slanted in worry. “You don't have to go, it's okay,” she said, wanting to stop them.

“You deserve some time alone,” the woman said kindly, shaking her head. “I can see how much you need it, dear.”

Scully's chin wobbled, dangerously close to another round of tears.

And then she was coming toward them, William perched on her hip. She deposited him right into Scully's disbelieving arms, and Mulder immediately felt his throat close, the sight one he'd seen almost every night in the most heart wrenching of his dreams.

This was what he'd hoped to come home to after his time in the desert. This was what kept him sane between bouts of torture in a prison cell. To see it now was equal parts fulfilling and painful.

“I can give you something, a guarantee we won't run off with him,” he choked out, working to free his wrist from his moderately expensive watch. William's dad reached a hand out and stopped him.

“We trust you,” he said with a sad smile. “We'll be back in an hour. Please, take all the time you need.”

And with that, they left the room.

As soon as they were gone, Scully's head dropped to rest against the strawberry blond locks of their son, and she let out a sob.

“William,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his head. He seemed unfazed, and part of Mulder wondered if he still remembered her. If deep down, he knew this was the woman who had once fed him from her own body, sung him to sleep in an off-tune melody, soothed him when he had nightmares...

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

The same couldn't be said for him, however.

“I can't believe this, Mulder,” Scully cried, her tears falling into his downy-soft hair. Mulder led her back to the bed, sitting beside her with their son on her lap. “Did you hear what they said? He's so much like you, watching sports on TV, knocking his blocks down... He'll be throwing pencils at the ceiling in no time.”

That brought a small smile to his face, and he leaned to his right to press a kiss to Scully's forehead, his hand falling into place on their son's back.

William leaned away, taking in the new faces with a curious tilt to his head.

“Hey, bud,” Mulder said, offering him a finger to hold. For all the time he'd spent thinking of what he'd say to his kid if given the chance, he was coming up short now that he was face-to-face with the reality. “I missed you so much,” he managed to say, “And look how much you've grown!”

William reached out, holding his hands up in front of him, and Mulder's heart leapt. Glancing at Scully for permission, he slid his hands under his arms, lifting him to his chest and nuzzling him close.

“Oh, Scully,” he said, beginning to cry again, feeling the weight of William on his chest, real and tangible. “Sometimes I thought it was all a dream. But we have a son.”

It was hard to think of him out in the world, when he was hardly more than an idea. But now—he had face to put to the name, a personality to remember. He had a son.

She nodded, watching them with a watery smile. He pulled back just to look at him again, to memorize those chubby cheeks and the way he smelled. The precise shape of his eyes, their color, still the same as his mother's.

“I'm so glad we stayed here, Mulder,” Scully whispered. “To think I tried to talk you out of it...”

“Fate was working its magic, Scully,” he said, cutting her off. “This was meant to be.”

For the next hour, they played on the floor together, using Mulder's keys as a toy to hold William's attention. He was walking now, and took turns toddling between them, excitedly holding the TV remote in one hand and squealing when they praised him for successfully making it without tripping or falling.

For a while, they could almost forget this wasn't real. That they weren’t on borrowed time, already risking things they shouldn't be for this blissful moment of being a family.

Mulder got to see Scully as a mother. She saw him as a father. Finally, they had the chance to step into those roles, feeling fulfilled in ways they never could have imagined. It went far beyond any truth that once lay hidden in the X-Files. Nothing in that office of theirs could have given them purpose like this. Only each other, and the life that was formed out of the love that was sparked right there in the basement of the Hoover building so many years ago.

Mulder had always wondered how it would sound to hear the words “da da da” come from a child's mouth, and to know they meant him. Though his babbling wasn't intentional, merely a repetition of the same syllables “da” and “ma” over and over again, he was soaking it in. Committing it to memory. Praying—because only something like this could drive a man like him to prayer—that his son would think about him. Would think about his mother. That he'd grow to know and understand and appreciate the heartache they suffered at giving him away.

That maybe he'd love them too, despite never knowing them.

And maybe.

Maybe.

One day, they'd see each other again.

It was getting late. Scully could tell it was past William's bedtime. She laid him on their bed, and laid down beside him on her stomach, content just to look at him and be near him for however much time they had left.

Mulder joined her on the other side, resting a hand on top of William's gently rising and falling belly.

“I love him more than I ever knew was possible,” he whispered, and noticed as Scully wiped away a tear.

“It hurts, knowing we have to say goodbye.”

Mulder nodded, reaching a hand over William to rub circles on Scully's back.

“But not as much as it hurt before.”

Mulder remembered how Scully screamed, when he first found her in that dirty, abandoned house in Georgia.

“Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby.”

It was different now.

This time, it was on their own terms. Their curiosities were satisfied, the things they always would have wondered about.

Who he resembled more. What his voice sounded like. His smile and his laugh when he was happy. The way he scrunched his face when he wasn't.

But above all else: would he be okay?

And now that they knew without a doubt that he was? They could let him go.

As much as any parent could let go of a piece of their soul, their own flesh and blood.

He would always be a part of them. They would always wish things could have gone differently. But at least now, Mulder had had a chance to say goodbye. At least Scully wasn't being forced to leave him with little warning, worrying that she was abandoning him to an unknown fate.

A blanket of peace fell over this humble, outdated hotel room. And for the last few minutes they would spend as parents together, Mulder and Scully counted themselves lucky. For this time was a gift, far more than they could have ever hoped to receive.

The same knock from earlier sounded, and a heavy feeling settled in Mulder's chest. He dragged himself away from the bed, while Scully lifted the sleeping William into her arms and held him close.

“How did he do?” their son's mother asked, looking perfectly at ease in a way that calmed and reassured him.

“Great,” Mulder answered. “He—He's perfect.”

The time had come. Scully knew it too. They'd already stayed longer than they should have. He knew there was a long night of driving through pitch darkness ahead of them, and he really, really didn't want to go.

But he had to do what was right for his son. That was all he ever wanted to do, as a father. He just didn't want to be the one to break Scully's heart all over again.

“I guess this is it,” Scully said, sounding calmer than he would have expected. He knew her, though, and he could see the emotions brewing beneath the surface.

It would be a tearful night for both of them.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she said to William's new mom, stepping fatefully toward her. But before she could pass him over, she paused, looking down at him for the last time in her own arms. “William?” she spoke, her voice strained. “Mommy loves you.”

“Daddy loves you too, baby boy,” Mulder said, never having referred to himself as such before, but wanting to know how it felt.

He cupped the sleeping child's head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then another, not able to convince himself that each would be the last.

“I'm so sorry, William. Be good for your mom and dad, okay?”

Scully leaned against him, her strength beginning to wane.

“Goodbye,” she said, kissing him desperately all over, playing with his socked foot and each of his tiny fingers. “I want to believe I will see you again someday.”

As they passed him over, together this time, William's new parents smiled tearfully.

“If—If he suddenly gains an interest in Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster,” Mulder began in a worried, cautionary tone, “just buy him some picture books. He'll be okay.”

Though it easily could have been a joke, no one laughed. In fact, the man and woman nodded, taking his advice to heart. He felt better knowing their son would be accepted, no matter who he grew up to be. The child of the FBI's most unwanted was sure to be a bit of a loner.

“And tell him he'll grow into his nose. Sort of,” he added, this time eliciting a small smile from Scully.

“I promise, we'll tell him every day how loved he is,” the woman vowed. “I'm glad we met you.”

“I'd call it a God-given miracle,” the man said, and he reached out a hand to Mulder to shake. “Stay safe,” he said, then catching sight of Scully's necklace. “We'll be praying for you.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Mulder's arms suddenly felt empty. He could see Scully felt the same, wrapping hers around her own torso just for something to hold. He enveloped her in an embrace, holding tight to keep both her and himself from chasing after them.

“Bye,” the woman said over her shoulder, her worried eyes unwilling to turn away from the sad couple they'd met. She gave a small, consoling smile, and lifted William's pudgy hand to wave goodbye.

Mulder and Scully waved half-heartedly in return, smiling as genuinely as they could, and watched as they disappeared through the door.

Once they were gone, Scully turned into Mulder's chest and held tight. His cheek rested on top of her head, and they swayed, silent but for the sound of the ocean nearby.

“We're gonna be okay,” Scully said at last. “Mulder—”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with sincerity and love.

“We're gonna be okay.”

#x files #txf #xf fanfic #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #msr fanfic #post-series #the truth #william mulder #jackson van de kamp #chance encounter

[lover-of-mine]

So i was thinking earlier, and if you've been around here any length of time you know i think about that cemetery scene a lot, because narratively it's a very interesting scene because it changes the tone of their relationship in comparison to the rest of the show really, and it's a fascinating choice in the context of the episodes before. Even the whole point of the conversation happening at a cemetery where they're visiting someone who didn't die on their watch. But i have a tendency to look at that scene from Eddie's eyes because when you look at it along with all of Eddie's reactions surrounding Buck's death and the reactions Eddie was having to Buck's words, that feels like a breakup. It feels like we are watching Eddie's heart break in real time, yk? BUT Buck is very purposeful in that scene too. He's basically daring Eddie to say something but Eddie just thinks that he needs to agree. And if you look at it that way and think about it as Buck asking for a reaction, you can argue Buck feels rejected there too, even though Eddie thinks he's being supportive. They are saying things and they are being misinterpreted. Both of them leave that talk with different views of what happened. And that's VERY interesting with how strongly the show pushed Buck, Eddie and Chris as a family unity in the episodes before and, well, i dont really know how the show plans to recover from that. If they plan on addressing it at all. Like, that was a breakup. But if it's a breakup where both of them think they got broken up with, how do you come back? You need to acknowledge it in some way. Even more with the space that was put between the two of them. But it's a good thing because the space can be used for some individual growth they need to do in order for the relationship to actually work long term. Mainly Buck learning to deal with his own feelings and asking for things and Eddie stopping assuming he knows best and making unilateral choices for both of them with the "I knew you wouldn't" excuse (and Buck stopping letting him get away with it). And the only way they come back from it in a satisfying way is for them to actually acknowledge the fact that they are not actually in each other's minds and sometimes things will get lost in translation and that addressing them doesn't need to be a public blowout (I think there's a lingering thing about how the last time they truly were on different sides of an argument, things got completely out of both of their control). The only way to bring them back is to talk about why there's space in the first place. And well, I live in delusionland, I will always look at things in a narrative lens trying to figure out how does that further the plot in a way that gets them together. And if the cemetery is really supposed to be seen as a breakup of sorts, unless they are planning on perpetually separating Buck and Eddie's plots (which particularly, I think it's a dumb move, not even just as a shipper, but because they have a fascinating relationship no matter how you look at it and losing that would take a toll on the overall way to look at both of them), they will have to talk about it. That scene is too long and too purposeful to be the type of thing that will be ignored.

#or maybe it will never be talked about and this is the downfall of buddie #anyway #i typed a version of this on the tags of my previous set but tumblr ate half my point kspakapakapa #so have this now #buddie thoughts #at this point I should have a cemetery tag lol #911

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 1

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Dieter Bravo X OFC

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Series Rating: Explicit (18+)

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Quote: “Why the hell do I keep doing this to myself? I hate it.”

I sat preparing for my latest virtual meeting to discuss the final report that I had sent to the company I was currently working with. I work as a Technical and Organizational Consultant for one of the largest consulting firms in LA. While I loved what I did, I hated the people part of my job. People could be combative or downright insulting when they didn’t like what I had to say about their company or their role. For someone with high functioning anxiety, these meetings could be literal torture. After reading through my report for the third time that morning, I sat back in my chair staring at the wall, unblinking. My right hand was sitting just below my collarbone with fingers lightly tapping on the curve of my shoulder. It was one of my many nervous habits. Outwardly it just appeared that I was deep in thought. On the inside, I was working myself up to a mild internal panic attack that never had any obvious signs to the casual observer. I could feel my chest tightening and my heart was starting to pick up pace. I took a deep breath and tried to relax a little. 

My phone buzzed on the table. It was a text message from my best friend, Lauren.

LAUREN: I swear the nerve of some people. I had a lady criticizing everything I said during my stained-glass workshop this morning. Like, why are you even here if you know how to do it already?!?! Respectfully ma’am, please go back to your bridge. What a ducking troll. Anyway, long story short, I’m done early. I’ll be there soon with coffee.

LAUREN: Damn you autocorrect. Let me be angry! 

I laughed to myself. She was such a nut. 

ME: Lol! Can’t wait to hear all the gory details of how that worked out for her. Come on in. I’m about to jump on this virtual meeting so I can get yelled at. 

LAUREN: Engage bitch mode. You’ll be fine and they will regret their existence. 

ME: Don’t worry, you know my face is in perpetual bitch mode anyway and I can’t seem to fix it. At least I have that going for me. 

LAUREN: I am happy you are finally embracing it. 

I set my phone back down and joined the meeting. I could always tell who was going to be the problem as soon as we got started. This time it would be one of the division heads, Mr. Smith. He wasn’t fully engaged with the small talk and pleasantries while we waited for everyone to join. He looked agitated and fidgety. I had a feeling he would be a problem when I was on-site for the visit. He didn’t like all the questions and was reluctant to provide details on his processes. Once everyone joined, we immediately dove into the report and discussions about ways to improve the company. 

Lauren walked in just as we were getting to the part I was dreading. She set my coffee to the side of my laptop and sat opposite me at the table, scrolling through her phone. Intently listening to the drama unfold. 

Mr. Smith interrupted me as I began going over my findings for his area.

“Sorry, to interrupt…,” I could feel the tension form in my jaw. I could only imagine what my face looked like. He continued, “I don’t really think this is necessary. I’ve got everything figured out with logistics and it seems to be working pretty well. I don’t understand how making all these changes and getting some fancy software is going to do anything but cause more issues. If we are trying to save money, how is spending more money going to solve whatever perceived problems you think we have? I am not even sure why we wasted the money for you to tell us things we could have figured out ourselves.” 

I hear Lauren mutter, “oh he is about to find out” as she shakes her head from across the table. 

I took a deep breath and slowly bobbed my head up and down. Everyone on the call was completely silent. The owner of the company, Will Stevens, looked completely mortified. 

I smiled, “Mr. Smith, I don’t feel the need to explain why I’m qualified to do what I do and I’m not going to. What I will come back with are facts. This company currently has a 1.5 star rating for shipping times. When you have companies regularly shipping within 2 business days, don’t you think up to 2 weeks for your items to ship is a little excessive? That isn’t going to keep customers coming back. Furthermore, there are a high number of complaints indicating that part of your customer’s orders arrived incomplete, or no order arrived at all. There are also a high number of complaints relating to poor packaging and items arriving broken. Now, forgive me if I am wrong, but the logistics of these issues is your area, correct?” 

Mr. Smith sat there wide eyed and gave a slight nod. Clearly my point was being made. I could see Lauren in my periphery pumping her fist in the air and trying so hard to keep her laughing quiet. 

“Now, your current method of using spreadsheets in a share drive that everyone has access to is a little antiquated and doesn’t properly track orders. Not to mention the human error that goes into everyone accessing and editing that spreadsheet. That may have been doable when the company was small and just getting started, but not now. You have expanded too much. Add all that to manually requesting each shipping label online from the carrier resulting in incorrect address entry and you are failing before you even get started. If you use custom software that handles all this it will cut out a lot of the steps, increase shipping time and accuracy of orders, while also automating a lot of the steps. Therefore, increasing overall productivity and customer satisfaction and leading to more sales. This is only a small piece of the puzzle. All divisions need to be better streamlined in different ways, so they work better as a unit. Quite frankly, your division needs the most work in order for all the others to fall in line as they need to. Now, do you have any further questions you would like addressed Mr. Smith?”

Multiple staff members were clearly trying to stifle a laugh, including the business owner. Mr. Smith sat with his mouth agape for a brief moment before responding with, “No, I think that covers it.” Then he proceeded to turn off his camera and eventually left the meeting as we worked through some strategies and plans for moving forward. As soon as I logged off and closed my computer, I let out a shaky breath. I needed a drink after that one. In my mind, I immediately started running through everything I had said, second guessing myself. What if I was wrong about something? Should I have been so blunt in my response? 

Lauren pulled me out of my thoughts. “And that my dear is why you are so badass. The nerve of that guy! I bet he won’t talk down to anyone like that ever again. Maybe he can hook up with the troll lady from this morning. I think they were made for each other!” She said and laughed at her own joke. 

I stared at her for a minute. “Why the hell do I keep doing this to myself? I hate it.”

“Because you make a shit ton of money and you’re good at it.” Lauren says with conviction. 

I rub my face with both hands and look up at her through my fingers, “I don’t know what I want to do anymore. I just feel lost. I think I’m hitting my mid-life crisis. This is not where I saw myself at 38 years old.”

Lauren looked at me with concern, “you absolutely cannot be talking like that. You are my life advisor and supposed to have your shit together.” Her look quickly changed to amusement. She was trying to cheer me up. 

“I’m sure once things settle down with the divorce and everything, you’ll figure it out. You’ve just had a lot of changes recently and need time to adjust.” 

“The divorce is final. It’s done. As of Monday,” I said with a deadpan look.

“Oh. Well, that’s good! Right? Now you don’t have to have anything to do with that asshat anymore.” 

“Yeah, I guess. I just don’t know myself anymore. He really fucked me up. I don’t know how to be on my own. I mean, we had been together since college. I basically molded myself and my life around that asshole. I just don’t know where to start.” 

I got up and poured myself a very large glass of wine, which had become routine as of late. Lauren stared at me disapprovingly. 

“It’s a little early in the day for that, don't you think? Maybe stick with the coffee.” 

“Coffee doesn’t have the desired effect. Besides, I might need to lay off the caffeine. I can’t sleep as it is. I’m not even sure how I’m functional if I’m being honest. I think my anxiety may be getting worse too. I’m fairly certain I almost had an actual panic attack the other day because I couldn’t handle picking out clothes for work. Who fucking does that? I’m literally second guessing everything I do.” 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. This is all on him. I just wished you had been open with me about the way he was treating you sooner. Maybe I could have talked some sense into you years ago. I feel like I’ve been such a shitty friend because I didn’t even realize what was actually happening. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Lauren, stop that. You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to. I was really good at hiding it. That part is on me.” 

Lauren had been my saving grace the last six months. We had been best friends since high school, and she was literally the only one I had left. I lost touch with most of them when I married Justin, which was by design as I realized many years later. Everyone else that came into my life after that was his friend first. They got me by default and dropped me as soon as I filed for divorce. I was starting over in all aspects of my life and it was terrifying and depressing. Luckily, I had Lauren to help me through everything and keep me sane. 

My phone rang. It was my boss, Aubrey, calling. Most likely to see how the meeting went this morning. Aubrey and I had a long history and tended to be pretty blunt with each other. She was a little older than me, but not much. I had been her TA back when she used to teach college courses. We became close and I looked to her as a mentor in my early years. I was one of the first people she brought on board when she opened her own consulting firm. 

I moved the phone to my ear as I answered. 

“Hey, I was just about to…” she cut me off before I could finish the sentence, “so I heard your meeting went well.”

It was a statement. I couldn’t read much from her tone, but I didn’t think she was mad. 

“Yeah, I mean, you know, the usual stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I just got off the phone with Will. He says he has a job opening. He joked about hiring you full time.” 

The phone was loud enough that Lauren could hear the conversation. She started to chuckle. I rolled my eyes at her and started pacing around the kitchen. 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear he is down an employee. Did he say who?” I said with thick sarcasm. 

“A Mr. Smith I believe. Apparently, he turned in his resignation as soon as your meeting was over. He refuses to learn new software. Will said it saved him the trouble of firing his ass, so that made his day.” 

“Well, I’m happy to be of service then, I guess,” I said flatly. She laughed at my tone. 

“Well, now that you’re wrapping up that account, I would like to talk to you about the next one. I know it’s kind of last minute and completely out of your service area, but I need my best one on this. It’s a big contract and without saying too much to cause some bias inclinations on your part, they possibly have some issues that I don’t trust anyone else to handle. I need someone who won’t be bullied into submission or be afraid to say what they are thinking to the CEO.” 

“So, is the CEO on board with this? Or…? I’m not following.”

“Yes, the CEO is one hundred percent on board. He is actually an old college friend and trusts that I will send my best to handle it. He has suspicions about some things, which I have asked him to not discuss with you at all, by the way. I made it clear that you do not like knowing personal suspicions before your evaluation.” 

“Ok. This sounds like it’s gonna be a blast. That’s sarcasm by the way in case you missed it.” I sighed heavily, “So, out of my service area…where is it exactly?” 

“It’s in New York. I’ve had your flight scheduled for Sunday. First class, I might add. You will be there until the following Friday.” 

“Waaaait a minute! New York?!?! That’s WAY out of my service area and you know I hate flying. That’s literally the farthest away from where I’m currently at. No way. I’m not doing it.” 

“You took that well. Can’t wait for the updates. I’ll have the details sent over and I will talk to you next week.” Then she hung up. 

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at it in utter shock. “Fucking bitch. Did that really just happen?”

Lauren ran over to me with a concerned look on her face and turned me toward her, “What’s wrong?!?!”

“I guess I’m going to New York.” 

“I thought you didn’t have to go anywhere you couldn’t drive to?”

“Apparently, it’s a special account. I knew it, I am going to lose my shit.” 

“Well, maybe while you’re there, you can find a hottie to entertain you. I think getting laid would do you some good. Seriously, how long has it been?”

I gave her an annoyed look and sat back down at the table. “We are not talking about my sex life right now and that is out of the question. A man is the last thing I need right now.”

“I’m not saying you gotta keep him. It’s just for a night, or three.” She shrugged and smiled at me. 

“You are so ridiculous. As your life advisor, I totally do not approve of that type of behavior. Is that the shit you're doing these days?”

Lauren feigned shock that I would even suggest such a thing. 

“Absolutely not. I am not that type of girl. I am looking for a serious relationship. I just haven’t had any luck with that. The dating pool around here is sooo ridiculous. The last guy I thought might be decent, gave me a belt buckle as a gift on our last date. Initially I thought it was a neat and unique gift, but I think it was just his weird way of saying he wanted to get into my pants. So, I dropped him real quick.”

I gave her a blank stare for a few seconds, then doubled over in laughter. Tears started to pour out of my eyes, and I was gasping for air. Because of the serious way she said it and the look on her face, I absolutely lost it. 

Lauren stood there with her hands on her hips giving me a sour look. 

“He seriously gave you a belt buckle?!?!” I said through laughter. Once I calmed down a bit, I asked, “what the hell did it look like? I hope it was at least expensive.” 

“I don’t know. It was gold, oval, and bulky. Very tacky. Not something I would ever actually use. I don’t even wear stuff like that.” 

“Well, thanks for the laugh. I needed that,” I said as I chuckled. 

She huffed then sat back down across from me with her elbows propped on the table. 

“That’s enough about me. Back to you. Seriously, if you find a guy to waste some time with while you are there, go for it. Please don’t spend the whole week working. At least get out and explore the city or something.”

“I never have time for any of that when I am doing visits. I’ll have a lot of stuff to review. You know that. This seems like an important contract too. I need to focus. At least it will be a decent distraction and get me away from here for a bit. Maybe it will do me some good.” 

“Well, when you get back, we are doing something fun. I don’t know what, but it’s happening. I will plan a girl’s day for us.” 

“Greaaat. I can’t wait.” Lauren looked offended and I laughed. “Well, I guess our lazy Friday evening has been ruined. I need to pack and prep,” I said as I downed my glass of wine. 

“I’ll help you pack. I’ve got to make sure you’re looking hot.” 

I rolled my eyes at her as I got up and started walking to my bedroom. “Stop that shit. I’m going to work, not looking for a one-night stand.” 

Lauren followed behind me as she laughed. “Hey, you never know what destiny might bring your way. Don’t knock it.”

She spent the next several hours helping me pack and picking out my clothes for the week. I am pretty sure she snuck some unnecessary items into the suitcase, but either way, I was thankful for her help. It was less decisions I had to make and then question later. 

I spent Saturday prepping and reviewing the documents that had been sent in advance. They were pretty thorough, containing organizational charts, job descriptions, operations manuals, financial processing details…the list goes on. Pretty much anything I might need, they sent. At least they had it all on paper and I wouldn’t have to document as much during the on-site visit. That was a relief. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I wasn’t sure what the big deal was with this one. 

On Sunday, I was a bundle of nerves. I hardly slept any and was dreading the five-hour flight from LA to New York. I was actually wishing I had talked to my doctor about some anti-anxiety medication. She had offered it in the past, but I declined because I hate taking any kind of medications unless I absolutely had to. I have been determined to deal with things without being medicated. I also tend to have weird reactions to meds. I really could have used it at that moment though because I absolutely hate flying. I had a large glass of wine before the Uber picked me up in hopes it would help me relax. I’m not sure it made much of an impact. I was a hot mess throughout the whole boarding process. A/N: Don't worry, Dieter makes an appearance in the next chapter.

NEXT CHAPTER

#pedro pascal inspired #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal Fanfic #PedroPascal #Destiny & Deliverance Series #pedrostories #Pedro Pascal Character #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #romance #orginal story #original fiction #original works #mental health #Pedro Pascal x ofc #Pedro Pascal Fic #dieter bravo #dieter x ofc #pedro boys #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Notes: My humble offering for @elucienweekofficial. This fic is a post-ACOSF story — and very close to my heart as it’s based on the very first one-shot I’ve ever written.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

Chapter 4 - Fill Me With Your Poison

He came to her in a dream.

Every night, she would go to bed empty and wake up unchanged—would wake up to find out none of this had been some vile, cruel nightmare. It was simply…real.

The War had wrecked the last of it—her old life. For weeks after the Darkness, Elain wasted and wasted away—the visions consumed her, each one worse than the other. They pulled her back into the murky waters or burned her hands under a scorching fire; they cuffed her wrists in heavy chains or set her free, dirty and naked as she fell to the cold ground. She hurt, deeply and thoroughly, but the only lifeline that had ever appeared was that shimmering, golden thread as it offered to lead her into the light.

Elain had not once reached for it. Her hand felt heavy every time she’d lifted it, unable to reach the only thing that could ever save her. Something weighed on it, solid and cold—an iron ring wrapped around her finger, a reminder that she had lost and it was only fair that she’d lost herself too.

There was no going back. Rhysand had told her this gently shortly after they’d arrived, her nightgown still wet and clinging to her trembling body. To her limbs, longer and somehow more lithe now than they’d ever been. Even broken, she could feel the strength thrumming within her muscles, compelling her to move the mountains and shake the earth. To use it to fight, to set every last one of her instincts on alert, to get Feyre back and avenge everyone that had ever hurt Elain and her family.

Elain had never been a warrior. It’s what Feyre had become, though only after seeing her rampage in front of the King, Elain had realised that perhaps a warrior was what her sister had always been. Elain did not want to rage, did not want to avenge—she wanted to go home and live the life she’d been meant to live.

But that home hadn’t welcomed her back.

I am not marrying you, it had said. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.

With Father gone, and her fiancé despising what she’d become, Elain was left with no one—no link back to the life she wanted, only the visions showing her the life she would have. A bird soaring in the sky, its cries of pain carried through the wind. A lake, deep within the forest, dozens of swans floating atop it, all covered in the stench of rotten earth. A box, built from a hardened onyx, resting beneath the murky waters, singing an ancient, eerie song.

It was when she saw the box that he found her. He inhaled the fresh, salty scent of the tears she’d stained the pillow with night after night as though they were the sweetest nectar, a smile slowly curling the corners of his lips. He stood by her bed, but Elain knew he wasn’t there, not truly—her gaze was clouded by a fog, thick and oozing that dark, mouldy scent. Like he’d just stepped out of a lake.

Elain was not afraid—he was only a vision, after all—though she paled at the sight of him. He looked like a man—like a male, she reminded herself bitterly—but there was no denying the creature that must’ve lurked beneath his handsome face. He was handsome—his earth-black hair curling at the nape of his neck, a singular, silver streak swept back from his face. Sharp, high cheekbones and a thin mouth, as though perpetually tightened to keep his secrets inside where they belonged; pale skin, like a swan’s coat, and, finally, the most hypnotising of his features: his eyes, narrowed silently on her, shining a rich, mossy green.

She waited for him to speak—waited for his voice to dim into the fog, they way all voices had in her visions: always trying to tell her something, yet never patient enough to truly let her hear. But the male stood by her bed watching her curiously, head tilted an inch to the left as though he could not quite figure out how, exactly, he should look at her.

Elain sat up, pressing two fingers to her stinging cheeks, still raw from the salt she’d cried out before sleep enveloped her at last. “Who are you,” she whispered, the words not quite a question—as if, deep down, Elain already knew the answer.

His smile grew.

“Tell me your name,” she said louder, though her body shrank into itself as she realised that, vision or not, this male could probably kill her if he only pleased.

But then he stepped back into the fog, his figure melting back into the dark mist, leaving only that scent and the silky sound of his voice as he told her, “All in good time, my sweet.” The room sounded with laughter. “All in good time.”

After he’d left, Elain slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

The nightmares returned all too soon, though, Graysen’s face tormenting her ruthlessly as he repeated the words over and over in her head. I don’t want you. Not you. Never you.

He would not take her as she was—as the lie she’d become.

Gray, she sobbed back to him as she slept, it’s still me. This life, this body—I want you. It’s always been you.

Take that ring off, he said, not hearing her at all.

Elain refused him every time.

The rotten male returned when she was taken. They’d put her in chains, just as her visions had warned her but she never understood, too lost in the fog. The ice-cold metal—iron, she’d realised, an irony that nearly brought her to tears—burned her skin, leaving it raw and stinging as if she’d been put under the Cauldron’s lethal waters again. She kneeled, waiting for something—anything—to help her. And he listened.

“Look at you,” he murmured, as though the sight of her captured brought him pain. He dropped to one knee in front of her, a phantom knuckle brushing her cheek. Elain shivered. “Who dared?”

Elain rasped, “You know who.”

He hummed, her answer apparently what he’d been hoping for. “The wind may call you the Cauldron’s blessed, but earth whispers of your torment, Elain Archeron.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

He smiled sadly. “And I hear every word.”

Elain looked deep into his green eyes. “What do you want from me?” she asked, because there had to have been something. He’d sought her out for a reason, or perhaps her vision had invited him in—but, Elain realised as he calmly returned her stare, his reasons hardly mattered. He was here, when everyone else was not. She was no longer alone.

The male said, “I only wish to give your heart what it longs for.”

“I have no heart,” Elain whispered. “Not anymore.”

He chuckled, as if the horrible words amused him. “You think you died, Elain, but if there is one thing in this world I know, it is Death. And, I can assure you, it has not found you yet.”

Elain felt it, then—that thing thrumming under his skin, the creature she knew she’d Seen before but had never truly reached. It sang the same melody the onyx box had—old and yet familiar, something she knew she would greet one day at the very end.

A low purr sounded in his chest, as if he’d heard the snapping sound of her realisation in his own head. “Say it.”

“You are a Death God,” Elain breathed, a term she’d heard from her sister once but hoped she would never have to hear again.

He looked delighted. “My name is Koschei, and I am Deathless. I come not from this world, Elain, but all the worlds beyond it, and their powers flows through my veins.” He smoothed a hand over her wrist, the heavy chain around it suddenly light at his touch. “I can help you.”

Elain swallowed. “I am beyond help.”

“Perhaps to your High Fae friends. Or even your captivating sister,” he mused, briefly gazing off to the distance, as if all his plans laid there waiting. Then, Koschei looked at her again. “But not to me.”

Elain froze, the very air in her lungs hardening into ice.

The Death God smiled. “I can give you what you wish for, Elain,” he said. “I can give you everything.”

“How,” she managed to choke out.

His palm covered her own, and Elain’s chest fell with a breath, the touch resembling burying her hands into soil. There was a time when Elain had gardened—even in their time of struggle, in the most vicious poverty, she would find ways to plant seeds of hope in the small square of land by the cottage. But then Elain had drowned, the earth too damaged, too ruined to ever invite hope inside it again.

But now, Elain had this. Him.

Perhaps she could garden again.

“I’m going to need your help, little Seer,” Koschei murmured, his mossy eyes still fixed on the iron cuff on her wrist. “And when your destiny is fulfilled, I shall offer you all that the Cauldron has so brutally taken. I shall offer all that you deserve.”

Elain sucked in a breath.

Koschei met her gaze. “I shall give you your humanity back.”

He rose to his feet, that fog thickening around him again. “Wait!” Elain called after him, desperation building in her chest. “What must I do?”

He only smiled. “I will see you soon, Elain Archeron.” He looked over his shoulder, a flicker of disdain flashing through his features before he looked at her again. “Fear not, my sweet. Help is coming.”

When her sister stormed in with the shadowsinger, Elain realised Koschei was right.

Help was coming, she thought, looking at her wrist, free from its chains long before the two of them arrived.

And then, Elain could finally live.

———

Feyre studied the map, dread continuing to build in her chest. Her finger grazed the small mark pinned to the northern territory indicating Windhaven, the war camp well-hidden between the mountains, never to be spotted by the untrained eye. The tattoos atop her skin swirled at the touch, as though they, too, could somehow sense the unease building underneath the perpetually frozen ground.

Nesta had just winnowed away, her usually guarded expression replaced by the same emotion Feyre couldn’t seem to shake. Cassian remained, his tall, broad frame leaned over the parchment as he looked up to meet her gaze. “Rhys?”

“He’ll agree,” Feyre said without a shadow of a doubt. “It’s not Rhys that’s the issue.”

Cassian grunted his agreement. “Will he be back by nightfall?” The Illyrian Steppes laid on the other end of their court—as far away from Velaris as possible, perhaps—but it wasn’t distance that posed the problem for her mate, but the warlords, seemingly as intent on a civil war as their counterparts in the mountains.

Feyre opened her mouth when she felt it.

The bond gleamed in her chest like starlight, twinkling softly as the sky began to darken. The scent of citrus and sea salt infused the evening air, and Feyre took in a deep, deep breath.

He was home.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Rhys said, entering the study, though the smile he flashed them both did not meet his eyes. Feyre reached out to squeeze his hand, and Rhys pulled her in to his body, pressing a warm kiss to her temple.

She placed a hand on his cheek. Are you okay?

Rhys brushed his fingers through her hair, watching as it fell down her back in soft waves. I am now.

Cassian offered them a strained smile. “Bad?”

“Bad,” Rhys agreed, stepping forward to examine the map himself. “But the good news is, they will not make the first move—unless Devlon provokes them, I suppose.”

The Night Court’s General frowned. “How did you manage that?”

Rhys only smiled, his thumb brushing the back of Feyre’s palm. “I wish I was able to do more.” Her chest hurt as he looked at her, violet eyes dim. “What did Nesta say?”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “She wants to go fight the warlords themselves.”

Rhys chuckled.

“I told her,” Feyre started, “to send Azriel instead.”

Her mate let out a long, long breath. “I see.”

“You don’t agree?” Feyre asked, more curious than anything else.

“Oh, I do,” Rhys said. “But it’s not my agreement you should be worried about.”

As if unable to help himself, Cassian chuckled. “You and Feyre seem to be of one mind.”

Rhys smiled at that, some of the usual light returning to his gaze. “That we are.”

Feyre turned to Cassian. “I think we should also send Gwyn.”

A glimmer of surprise passed down the bond. “Oh?”

Feyre explained, “She’s a Carynthian, is she not? And a Valkyrie.” Rhys nodded, something like understanding beginning to appear on his face. “I can’t possibly imagine a better fit.”

“I would agree,” Cassian said, his voice tight, “But Devlon despises her—and so do the rest of the warlords.” His eyes seemed to darken at that. “I don’t know if sending Gwyn could do us any good at this time.”

Feyre shrugged. “Perhaps she’ll see it fit to dispose of the problem, then. Good riddance.”

“Indeed,” Rhys said, his laughter shimmering down the bond. Feyre smiled.

“I will speak to her, then,” Cassian declared. “But if she doesn’t agree, Azriel will have to go alone.”

Feyre hummed. “Something tells me that she will. And if she does, I have no doubt Azriel will, too.”

Cassian snickered. “You have no idea how right you are,” he said, then looked out to the garden, already veiled in shadows from the falling night. “I’ll see you both tomorrow—unless…” he hesitated. “Unless there’s anything else?”

Rhys clapped his shoulder. “Go home, brother. We can worry about everything else later.”

Cassian nodded—and with that, he was gone, the sound of his wings cutting through the air echoing into the room.

Rhys stayed quiet until it faded. “Bed?”

Feyre sighed, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her at the question. “Please.”

They walked upstairs hand in hand, Feyre silently inviting him into her mind, letting her mind drift as her mate watched her memory of the meeting. She could feel how tense he was from the way his back stiffened, powerful muscles shifting under a simple, black jacket. The one thing the Illyrian warlords had in common, it seemed, was the apparent distaste for unnecessary pomp.

What do you think? she asked him when he was done.

His chest heaved with a breath. I think I’d like to lay in bed with you and not think about it for a while.

Thank the Mother.

Rhys chuckled. After you, High Lady.

The night had not yet even fallen, but sleep threatened to swallow her whole as soon as Feyre’s back hit the soft blankets of their bed. How was your day? Rhys asked, lying down next to her, and she shifted to accommodate his large wings. Other than the civil war looming over our heads? she asked. It was fine. Although… she sighed, letting her eyes close for a moment. I worry about Elain.

Oh?

Finding a Dread Trove is no easy task, Feyre argued. And I know Nesta had managed it, but…I don’t know. She had training.

There are other ways to gain strength, my love, he said with an emotion that made her chest full. She rolled over to her side, finding Rhys already facing her, his eyes gleaming slightly as their gazes locked.

I know. After a while, she added, I’m glad she’ll have Lucien with her.

I’m not sure if either of them would agree.

Feyre huffed. Probably not. But this is more progress than any of them have made in over two years. Elain hasn’t even left the Night Court save for the human lands during the War. And Lucien…I feel like he’s everywhere, and yet somehow never where he’s supposed to be.

Rhys considered her words with a low hum that seemed to take root in her very bones. Playing matchmaker again, Feyre darling?

She traced a finger over his wing, making him shudder at the contact. Maybe.

He took her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. Don’t worry about Elain. I’m sure the Day Court will hold the answers we all need—and perhaps some of the answers she herself is looking for. He closed his eyes, as though sleep had begun to slowly tug at him, too. And when the Trove is found, we’ll be ready.

Do you really think the Trove will help us kill Koschei?

Gwyn said the ancient Seers used it to find answers in the future. I can’t imagine anything more helpful to us right now.

He was right—if Elain had somehow managed to find the Bone, there was a chance for this war to be prevented entirely. Stopping Beron would be one thing, but a Death God—not even Prythian united as one could stop Koschei with their weapons alone. There had to be something—anything—and perhaps the future held the answers.

She was so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed Rhys was staring at her again. I thought you fell asleep, she told him.

Rhys’s question surprised her entirely. Do you think we should tell Lucien?

Feyre stilled. You mean…?

Yeah.

I…don’t think so. No, she decided. Not while Beron is still alive.

Helion? Rhys asked.

He’d probably invoke the Blood Duel.

That’s an Autumn Court tradition, Rhys reminded her.

Feyre shrugged. I think he would see it fitting.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Beron needs to die—and quickly. He added,  I’ll contact Eris in the morning. He should know—perhaps not the whole extent of it, but whatever we can tell him. His help might come in handy if… If there was another war. If all their lives were to be put at risk again.

Feyre sighed. I hope Elain knows what she’s gotten herself into.

———

Elain was breathless.

She had never seen a flying horse before—a Pegasus, as Lucien had explained to her on the way, though now that she’d seen one, Lucien’s description hardly seemed to do it justice. The beast was at least double the size of the horses she’d once ridden back home. With Graysen.

She quickly dismissed the memory, cataloguing it for later. She would often shuffle through them before she slept, allowing her mind to wander into the future when she could finally do it all again. She’d imagine herself on Graysen’s doorstep, her ears round and skin flushed, watching as his eyes widened in shock. You’re back, Elain, he would say, his mouth agape. You came back to me.

Soon, Elain thought, then looked back up to the sky.

The chestnut-coloured Pegasus was the High Lord’s favourite stallion’s, Meallan’s, mate. Elain watched as the beast proudly roamed the clouds, wondering how liberating it might feel to be so close to the sun. The horse neighed softly, as though in confirmation—as though it had somehow heard her words from above.

Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she tore her gaze off the sky—only to find Lucien staring openly at her, his eyes shining and lips parted slightly as he took her in.

“What?” she asked, the question coming out a tad more rudely than she’d intended.

Lucien didn’t seem to mind. “You’re smiling,” he said quietly.

Elain smothered it quickly. “It is improper to stare, you know.”

He cleared his throat, as if a veil had just been lifted from his mind. “You will find in our time here, lady, that I am many things—and proper is certainly not one of them.” There was an insinuation to his words, an air of promise that made her heart quicken, the golden creature inside her stirring to life and begging to play.

Elain gritted her teeth. “Stop calling me that.”

Lucien, the bastard, ginned. “Seems to me like being improper might just be the one thing we have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” she told him tightly. Lucien’s smile only broadened, and he opened his mouth, a retort no doubt ready on his tongue when a rich, smooth voice sounded behind them, wrapping itself around Elain’s skin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Helion Spell-Cleaver said, sunlight dancing in his golden eyes. “Emissaries.”

Lucien turned to face the High Lord, offering a brief nod. “Just guests,” he corrected, making Helion smile.

Elain had heard about the male from stories, but seeing him up close seemed to have even more of an effect. Helion Spell-Cleaver was, to be put quite simply, the sun personified, its light seemingly carrying his every step. She had no doubt those warm, golden rays coiled beneath his dark skin, thrumming gently with the kind of power that she’d only ever felt from Rhysand, ancient and passed down through generations, each one stronger than the other.

As welcoming as he appeared, the High Lord’s eyes remained sharp as they descended upon Elain. Her skin seemed to tingle under his assessment—and Elain stiffened as realisation slammed into her like a solid rock.

Helion’s power was the study of the very magic itself. There was little in his title to be left to interpretation—he cleaved spells, even those oldest and most complex, by feeling the various cords of magic lying beneath the surface and cutting through them, one by one. To Elain, it only meant one thing.

She was in danger.

If Helion could break the spells, he could surely detect them, too—which meant that the bargain she’d struck…

Elain stopped moving entirely.

“May I introduce you,” Lucien said to Helion, pulling her out of her haze, “to Elain Archeron.”

Helion stepped in closer, an easy smile still playing on his handsome features. “I’d be lying if I said I have not been waiting to meet you,” he told her, reaching to plant a courtier’s kiss on her hand, “Lady Elain.”

Lucien’s answering smile was a thing of mockery. “Oh, trust me—she is no lady.”

Helion pulled back, brows high with amusement and a somewhat incredulous expression. It was then that another fact she’d omitted came into Elain’s mind.

Everyone knew what Elain was to Lucien, and what Lucien was to her. An ill-fated match, two people tied to each other by some cruel joke.

Mates.

Lucien seemed to realise it, too, because he composed himself quickly, supposedly not ready to answer questions neither he nor Elain did not have the answers to themselves. Ever the emissary, he slipped into another topic with ease, “I assume you received my letter, then?”

Helion turned to him. “I did. My libraries are at your disposal, as they’ve always been for our allies at, ah…” His gaze swept over their unlikely pair, “the Night Court,” he finished with a smile.

It could not have been more ironic. The two of them looked nothing like Night’s envoys, none of the court’s usual sparkly fabrics and glinting jewels in sight. Elain had opted for a corseted dress—a terrible choice, she understood as quickly as she’d arrived—but it was so much like the gowns she’d used to wear back…back then. It only seemed fitting that, in a place meant to hold all the answers she was seeking, she ought to bring a piece of her old self with her. Now, though, with her hair pinned up and her gown making every single one of her breaths fall flat, Elain just looked…out of place.

Lucien, on the other hand, seemed to have prepared exceptionally well.

Had she not been avoiding him like the plague, Elain might have even asked him for advice. Lucien, to give him credit for something, had been dressed immaculately every time she’d seen him—which, by her own fault, had perhaps not been too often, but enough for Elain to decide if there was one good thing about the male she had no interest in, it was decidedly his fashion sense.

His usual fitted jacket had been replaced by a sleeveless tunic of a gleaming ivory, parts of it tucked in lazily into long, flowy pants of the same colour. The V-like shape cut the fabric down to his chest, revealing a golden-brown chest sculpted just as ridiculously as his arms—strong and muscled, and shimmering softly under the sunlight. His typical boots, modelled excellently for hunting, had been replaced too—a pair of golden sandals in their place, just barely visible under the pants flowing with his every step.

Combining comfort with elegance was clearly the fashion standard in Day—with its High Lord, too, draped in loose garments of white, the only difference being the hems lined with a vibrant, sapphire thread that brought out the shade of his kohl-lined eyes. She suddenly felt warm, a new heat rising to her cheeks—she’d never been known to fail when it came to such occasions. She suddenly felt like a little girl again, nine years old and overflowing with her mother’s too-long pearl necklaces as she’d sneak into her evening balls.

She wanted nothing more than to be shown to her chamber—where, hopefully, she could ask the staff if anything could be prepared for her last-minute—and go to bed in preparation for the day ahead.

Except, as she now noticed, the sun was still shining through the open archways carved into the walls of Helion’s palace, warm and golden, eager to play with her every step as the High Lord began leading them from the gates and through the main hallway.

“How is it still day here?” she asked him curiously.

Helion waved a hand, summoning the same bright light that poured in—a miniature sun of its own, glistening in the palm of his hand. She could’ve sworn she heard Lucien mutter a prayer to the Mother beside  her—something about the High Lords and Cauldron-damned show-offs—though Helion did not seem to heave heard as he explained, “While the Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature, we at the Day Court like to hoard our sunlight for a little longer.”

“You’re the one keeping the sun up?” Elain asked, unable to wrap her head around the magnitude of such power. Helion hummed, apparently thoroughly pleased with her surprise. “My ancestors have been doing it for millennia—it is only fair that I keep up the tradition. It’s quite simple once you get the hang of it, really. I’ve been able to hold the sun for about an hour longer before I ascended my father’s throne.”

Lucien rolled his eyes.

“You must hold great power,” Elain praised, if only to aggravate him further. Helion’s mouth curled, and he opened his mouth when—

“Thank you for having us in your home,” Lucien cut in, Helion’s golden eyes flickering to him curiously. “It’s been a while since I’ve last been here.”

“Indeed,” the High Lord angled his head, dark hair spilling over his shoulder. “I hear you’ve been keeping to the human lands. Such a shame your allies could not make it here today.”

“The Wall has not been down for long enough,” Lucien said calmly, though she’d caught a hint of a strain in his voice. “Their trust will need to be earned.”

Helion hummed his agreement. “Perhaps tomorrow will be a good start.”

The sunlit hallway of pale, luminous stone led them to what Elain could only assume was the guest wing, large enough to fit in the entire River House judging by its impressive size. It seemed only fair, she supposed, given that the palace was not only the High Lord’s primary residence—but the home to his grand library, where scholars from all over the world would travel to to seek the precious knowledge it offered.

They stopped in front of a tall, ornate door when Helion said, “I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you adjoining rooms. Though,” he added, his brows high as he looked between them, “if there are any complications, do let me know at breakfast tomorrow. If you’ll care to join me, of course.”

Lucien nodded, Elain parroting the movement. She supposed she had no choice.

Helion looked at Lucien. “I understand this is a matter of discretion—you were impressively vague in your letter, well done,” he added at Lucien’s arched brow, “so I did not request for a scholar to assist you in your research. I must say, though, that the topic of your investigation has piqued my interest immensely, and I would be more than happy to discuss your ah, findings afterwards.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Lucien added dryly, which, for some reason, had only made Helion smirk.

“Of course you will,” he said smoothly. “I think you will find, Lucien Vanserra, that my knowledge could be of great use to you. What’s a little trust among friends, after all?” winked.

“Are you suggesting you might have a lead for us, Helion?” Elain asked, the High Lord’s gaze twinkling at the question.

“I’m suggesting I might be able to help you get started—if you trust me enough to share what it is precisely that you’re after.”

“Alright,” Lucien said, resting a casual hand on the golden doorknob to their chambers. “Perhaps you could help me with a personal question of my own, then.”

Elain stilled.

“Is it pertinent to your current research?” Helion asked.

“No,” Lucien said, though there was something about the quickness of the dismissal that made Elain doubt the word. “I simply want to see if your knowledge truly is as…impressive as you lead us to believe. Trust goes both ways, does it not, High Lord?”

Helion smiled openly now. “I always knew I liked you.”

Lucien’s answering smile was tight. “Perhaps, after all of this, I’ll be able to share the sentiment.”

Helion shook his head with a chuckle. “Ask away, son. I am incredibly curious to learn the nature of your problem.”

Lucien frowned, apparently not entirely sure what to make of the nickname. Still, he continued, “There is…an object.”

Elain’s eyes widened slightly. Was he…?

“An old family heirloom,” he clarified, a lie so blatant Elain knew with unwavering certainty what, exactly, Lucien was talking about. Even Helion’s brow flicked up, perhaps surprised at the idea of the one and only Lucien Vanserra, Autumn son in exile, keeping a remnant of his family history.

Lucien continued, “It has been…charmed,” he said. “Sealed—and impossible to open.”

Elain’s heart thrummed in her chest. The box.

Lucien had the box.

The one thing she’d been after—the price Koschei had asked for all those months ago when he’d found her in Hybern’s war camp—the same thing that Vassa had stolen, was now in the possession of none other than her mate.

Why do you need it? Elain had asked once, her own visions unable to provide the answer.

It is the key to my power, Koschei purred into her dream, caressing. It holds the thing that’s most precious to me, locked away by my siblings in a pathetic attempt to stifle me. My very soul, he said. Take it from my firebird thief and bring it back to my lake—and I shall return what was once lost to you.

Steal? she breathed. You want me to steal your soul from Vassa?

My firebird took it from me as I liberated her from the bounds of my lake, he said, a new, pulsing anger creeping into his tone. It is how she had repaid me for my good graces. Bring it to me, little Seer, he added, that voice softening as he crooned, and you will be human again.

“Have you tried your fire magic?” Helion’s question took her out of the memory. “If it’s a family heirloom, I would imagine a magic specific to your ancestry to be the key.”

Lucien chewed on his lip, Elain’s eyes now trailing the movement as she waited for his next lie, “The magic that bound it is…different. Ancient.” He took in a breath. “I can only speculate, but my guess is that it was done by an external magic, done to spite whoever owned it at the time.”

Helion’s gaze drifted, the High Lord deep in thought. “It is cursed, then” he mused lowly, Lucien tightly nodding his confirmation. “Bring it to my study,” he told him. “I will have look at it first thing tonight.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing. Had Lucien brought the box here with him? A new hope filled her chest, replacing the fear her ticking clock had installed deep inside her, even louder now that she’d been made to leave the manor.

But Lucien was already shaking his head. “Out of the question. The object is not with me at the moment.”

Shit.

“I’m afraid a curse like that could only be cleaved under my magic’s scrutiny,” Helion said earnestly, disappointment already shadowing his features. Something told her the High Lord enjoyed this—the research, the mystery—saw it as a form of art, even. “Ancient magic had been known to only react to the power my line and I have been fortunate to possess.”

Something lit up deep in the corner of her mind, the same one she’d been ignoring ever since she had become Fae. Something that pushed itself onto her tongue before she could even think to stop it. “That’s not entirely true,” Elain spoke up.

Both males’ gaze flickered to her in surprise.

“That night,” Elain explained, casting a quick glance at Lucien, who stiffened immediately—as though the bond itself had told him what she spoke of. “In Hybern’s castle, you freed yourself from his chains. To—” her throat strained. “To get to me.”

Lucien only looked at her, and Elain realised this was the very first time either of them truly spoke of that night. She returned his stare, wishing but unable to look away, like a light pulling a ship to shore.

She was going to retract her statement—tell them she’d simply gotten confused and disappear into the darkness of her chamber—when Helion spoke again, his voice strangely quiet, “Explain it to me.”

Elain peeled her eyes off of Lucien, seemingly frozen in that utterly Fae sort of stillness, and looked at Helion. “I…may be blurry on the details. But I remember the King leashing Lucien and Tamlin to the ground by a strange, white-hot magic. And then…” and then they’d dragged her under. Elain was not going to speak of this now. “All I remember is a loud snap—and a flare of light. And then Lucien was beside me.”

“What…did the magic look like?” Helion asked carefully, and Elain frowned.

“I—bright. Iridescent,” she added, feeling a little stupid at the lack of knowledge she’d just revealed. Feyre would’ve remembered the exact shape—the scent, the shape it had taken—and painted it afterwards. Elain loosed a breath. “It felt warm. It…it shimmered on his skin,” she added quietly, praying that, in his strange daze, Lucien did not somehow hear her despite standing a mere two feet beside her.

Helion’s face was unreadable as he looked at Elain, unblinking. Then at Lucien, his gaze resting on his scarred face for a long, long time.

“Is there…something wrong?” Elain asked slowly.

The High Lord of Day twitched—actually twitched as he turned to her again. “This…” he cleared his throat, shaking off a strange raspiness that had found its way into his throat. “This is more complicated than I thought. I’m afraid,” he gave her a sympathetic smile before glancing at Lucien again, “I’m going to have to…research this further.”

Elain looked at Lucien, who blinked as she met his stare, a similar clarity returning into his own. He coughed before he said to Helion, “Take your time.”

Helion nodded. “In the meantime…the library is yours to use. Have a pleasant evening—the sun will be setting soon.”

Elain watched with a frown as he hurried away, his steps echoing quietly through the corridor. Only when they faded away did Elain turn to Lucien. “What was—”

But Lucien had already disappeared into their chambers, he, too, seemingly eager to forget about everything and let sleep welcome him at last.

Elain sighed at the thought. It would appear sleep would not come for her as easily.

Not when, as she made way towards her adjoining room, her steps were carried by the sound of his heart, beating rapidly through the stone.

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @labellefleur-sauvage @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

[blackthornv]

TWP: my arthurian headcanon pt.4

Oh, please, we all knew it would come to this, there's no mystery here. Also i don't know a lot about this arthurian character so i'll just go with the basic stuff.

Tiberius Nero Blackthorn, fifth of the Seven Blackthorn Siblings: there's just no way he wouldn't be Merlin. It's impossible to not make comparisons between both these characters intellect. Merlin is one of the greatest warlocks in the history of literature, with immense power and wisdom. He is mostly represented as a mentor to many of the others characters in the Matter of Britain such as Morgana Le Fey, the Lady of the Lake, Lancelot and King Arthur (ah yes, our Arthur).

Ty was introduced to us as an erudite and later on he went pursuing his dreams to be a (sort of) investigator in Scholomance - the most refined manner of education Shadowhunters allow in their midst. (Let's get it out of the way: Ty is the greatest student in the history of Scholomance. Source? I don't need one. Shut up.)

He also has began his introduction to (forbidden) magic in QoAaD and we can tell by Livvy's PoV that he - they - are exploring the magic that remained after his attempt at necromancy. I might be biased (and so what if i am?) but he does always find a solution to the problems he faces (even death lol) and so far things are going alright for him except for... the poorly acknowledged matters of his heart.

Okay, maybe to say he doesn't acknowledge his feelings is a bit harsh, but he certainly doesn't let himself process it. I do believe that some of the fault here is at his older siblings and parents. I understand that they did the best they could for him without actually understanding why they always thought Ty to be sensible, it's just i can't help to feel like the excessive coddling might have done him harm when it comes to get in touch with both his and other people's feelings. For all my previous thoughts on how Ty might be depriving Livvy from her freedom by keeping her around even though she clearly doesn't belong anymore, i believe Livvy held him back in the past.

All that to say: Merlin's ending is usually marked by his death/entrapment after he falls madly in love (let's ignore that he fell for the Lady of the Lake). The intensity of his feelings ended up making him careless in his approach and blinded to anything else. As a result of that, he was trapped in a lake - condemned to drown perpetually with his feelings.

Ty wronged Kit. I understand how they were both coming from difficult moments and how delicate the situation was but i still think Kit was right in all the decisions he made to keep a distance between himself and Ty.

Ty knows a lot but he will not learn how to deal with his feelings by staying locked away in the Institute or pretending to move on at Scholomance. He didn't allow himself to go through his grief when his twin died, when Kit was there offering comfort, companionship and love - but now Kit is gone and in this scenario he has removed himself from the equation is a much more drastic way than Livvy because he chose to leave. He doesn't give Ty any other option than to feel the ache of his broken heart - of their broken hearts - created by this oppressive absence.

In the end, his twin hovers above his shoulder as a ghost but it is Kit who haunts him.

#ty blackthorn #kit herondale #livvy blackthorn #twp #the wicked powers

[kuroosdarling]

Each Time You Fall in Love

Cigarettes After Sex (2017) series m.list

suna x reader

word count: 900 words

cw: heartbreak, big feels, hurt/ambiguous comfort ending

a/n: working on a lil side project while im doing my series hehe i needed an angsty outlet so here we go >:)

It’s only been a week since Suna suddenly dropped your heart on the pavement, leaving it lying there in the cold. He made it look so effortless, like it was something he had done before and had no problem repeating history. The two of you weren’t even dating, and yet, here you are with a broken heart accompanied by a spiraling mind.

This always happens. Always getting lost in your thoughts, letting them consume you and rip you apart from the inside. It's as if you didn’t have any control over them, all you could do was ride out the wave and hope you’d wake up from this nightmare.

The optimistic side in you always whispers sweet nothings on how it won’t last, it’ll get a little easier everyday. Desperately trying to caress your fragile heart in hopes of kickstarting the healing process.

The other part doesn’t even know why it bothers. 

Two sides, one coin. On paper, it looks pretty cut and dry. The logic is there, you can see it so easily which only makes you feel worse. Do A + B and eventually you’ll get C. But it’s not that simple. It’s not as simple as executing the equation and calling it a day. Woohoo, problem solved. No. It’s never that easy. Just getting up is hard, so how were you supposed to move on and act like everything is normal. All you could do was fixate on the fact that he isn’t here anymore. You risked your friendship and lost. What happened, happened and now you have to deal with the fallout of it. Everyone else gets to go through their life seemingly happy and content while you are frozen, stuck in the perpetual agony that is your mind.

Jealousy always made a guest appearance during these episodes. It was hard to not let the green monster take over. How was it fair that he didn’t have to sit with this heavy feeling? How do others get through it so easily? What was this big secret that no one bothered to let you in on?

And with jealousy came guilt. It nawed at your soul, making you feel guilty for things that you don’t even have control over. Telling you endless lies about how it was your fault, how you shouldn’t have gotten so attached, how you should’ve known better.

The worst part of it all was how comfortable it felt. It had been awhile since your last heartache, but it was like riding a bike. Not something you could ever forget. Settling back into your old habits, isolating yourself so no one could judge you and your chipped soul. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t curse him. How had he managed to reel you in whilst keeping you at an arm's length? All the honey-coated words he poured out for you were nothing but lies, or something he was used to spoon-feeding girls. 

But at the end of the day, you couldn't help but miss him. Miss his soft touches, miss his stupid little giggle he’d let out when it was just the two of you, miss his inncesstant need to take photos of the two of you. Someone like him was rare, he just got you in ways that no one else had. You had hoped you were the same for him, but obviously, you weren’t.

All your bad days had ended up with him holding you securely, softly whispering so many encouraging words in your ears that it flooded your mind, causing everything else to be silenced, drowned out by his comforting lullabies. And now, it ended with you under the covers alone in your bed, letting out the tears you refused to let anyone else see.

The twins had been blowing up your phone since everything went down, but you couldn’t find the strength to answer them. How could you when you were the one that made it weird, that shifted the group dynamic. Eventually, it was easier to keep your phone on do not disturb and hope that they’d wait for you.

Suna couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t go any longer without talking to his best friend. He had been stupid, yes, but it was his fear that drove him away from you. Letting his fear take control while he sat back and enjoyed cruising on autopilot. It was a time where he could squash down and bury his feelings while also embracing you at the end of the day. Committing to you would’ve been a disaster, could he even be enough for you? It would’ve been selfish to keep you, to hold you back.

But he couldn’t hide it from himself anymore, he loved you. He loved you so much that it consumed him. His mind was plagued by you, tormenting him with your sweet smile and your equally sweet, loving words. The fact that he was seconds away from having you all to himself was driving him into insanity. He threw it all away and for what? Because he was scared? He decided that it was better to take a chance at his happiness instead of mulling over all the swirling thoughts that swamped his brain.

So that’s how he found himself at your doorstep, ready to give you his bleeding heart and all the fears that came with it. 

taglist: @crystal-lilac @hyeque @kennedy-brooke 

#suna x reader #suna angst #suna rintaro #suna fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #[εїз] - aims writes

[lafemmecleopatra]

No longer a spoiled girlfriend

My (now ex)boyfriend ended up being a sociopath. I won’t go into details.

I remember reading here on Tumblr that dating rich makes sense because most men are awful and this is sort of an insurance that your time will be worth it. While I can’t agree more, when I met my boyfriend I felt in love, and didn’t even knew or thought about how much he was making. I was in love. But I think I was subconsciously biased because yes: he was making good money, and he spoiled the fuck out of me. Our first two years were heaven.

Now here’s the thing. When he left me as if I meant nothing, it really did not matter to me that he had money. At that moment, or that week, or that time, it didn’t matter that I had been “compensated” for my time with him, that I got rent paid, travels, Michelin restaurants, uber eats all the time, school paid, financial help, gifts, etc., because of course, I am human, and I genuinely loved him to death, and it hurt. Nothing of that mattered to me because I was in shambles carrying the pieces of my broken heart in my hands.

But here’s the deal. Now that I’m recovering, now that I’m lifting myself up, now that I’m working out of the broken heart, I can say this: I am happy I didn’t lose money on a man. He was an idiot, so you know what? I’m glad he left me. And I’m glad I got those trips, and my rent paid, and everything else, so I don’t have the feeling that he used me, because at least we both got something out of this relationship.

This is not my fault. Blaming women for “picking the wrong man” is a misogynistic patriarchal lie, which has been forever told to perpetuate society’s ugly little habit of enabling men’s shitty behavior. It happened this way, it is what it is. I’m not ashamed of having loved because it’s part of the human experience. I’m not ashamed of having felt in love. That I believed him. That I loved him so much. He should be the one ashamed of not treating me as he should have, because I loved him in a way he didn’t deserve

So even though at that moment I didn’t care about money, I do now. I am glad he spoiled me, I am so fucking glad I got “compensated”. And you know what? Next time, I will go bigger. This time it was 250k, alright then next time I hope to make it 350k. Or 400k. Or more. I dont know, and I dont need to plan right now, I dont want to date for a while.

But I’m glad I could keep this as a lesson: even the nicest man can fuck up, and fuck you up, and fuck things up. They are wired for it. I’m not even kidding. We are raised differently, society is fundamentally and completely different if you are a man. Women are portrayed as objects, as advertisement, served in silver plates for men to have a pick. They will never see us the way we see them simply because it’s impossible to break concepts we have had all of our lives and we keep perpetuating. Men will not change. The way they see us won’t change. So why should women change? I will forever look for a man with a provider bone. Forever look for a man that will spoil me, and treat me like a princess, because honestly I deserve it. And because there is just absolutely no guarantee in this world that a man will not fuck you up, no matter how great he seems to be.

I am grateful for this moment, I am grateful for the teachings. Because there were moments when I felt guilty that he was working so hard and spending so much on me. Because I’m too fucking nice. And I shouldn’t be. I’m glad this happened because now I know I deserve to aim much higher, and I deserve more. More money, more gifts, more spoiling

Cheers to me and my healing little heart, and cheers to all women for surviving the patriarchy 🥂 We deserve to be spoiled

#the end of an era

[terrence-silver]

Do you think that Terry would have a 'brat kink' and enjoy being a 'brat tamer' to his beloved? What kind of fun-ishments would he delight in giving to beloved?

---

Funny that, because Terry is something of a brat himself as well as a tamer.

And tame he will, because he is bratty, regardless if beloved is.

I mean, look at this man and tell you don't see it:

I do feel his brat-taming tendencies and dominant streak, sexually or otherwise, come about especially because Terry Silver is a control oriented, petulant, sadistic, playful, impish, competitive, 'I always win, consequences be damned' type brat at heart (especially in the 80's) who always gets what he wants, be it via sheer physicality, manipulation, copious amounts of money, sleek strategizing, bribery of others, unethical tendencies, talking and cornering beloved into things, intimidating them into things, making it seem like things are their idea when they aren't and expertly gaslighting them into believing so to be true; but yeah, hottake, Terry Silver is the brat --- so much so, that nobody else needs to be one because his own tendencies occupy a pretty wide space anyway, by default, and his need to be in charge and always come out on top and get what he wants, silently or very loudly depending of the situation and the manner of individuals he is dealing with, is so grand that anyone can seem like a brat next to him if he is keen on (falsely?) ascribing that role unto them (and distancing the label from himself) even when they aren't doing anything inherently bratty. Beloved doesn't need to be there mouthing off to him with pigtails or wearing a stereotypical pair of white stockings, c'mon now. Maybe they merely gently disagreed with a thing --- like one time --- and there it is, The Brat Emperor Valley-Boy Billionaire himself might see these as a direct challenge to his authority to be immediately, or in due time, depending of what Terry's current appetite for playing is, quelled, alongside with cleverly convincing beloved that they're being bratty for merely, say, expressing an opinion, in any manner of circumstance, in any out of the bedroom --- in social or sexual settings; no matter. After a while, with enough mind-games, beloved might be there truly thinking 'Gosh, maybe I am a brat?', all while not having done a genuinely bratty thing in their life, and of course the true brat of the situation, who is Terry, enjoys that immensely, finding a keen satisfaction in it. Because, if beloved is perpetually seen as a '''brat"" then that surely leaves endless space and opportunity open for discipline on account of literally anything without any rules, regulations or moral boundaries save the ones Terry deems fit, no?

And these are fun-ishments indeed.

Means he can put them over his knee for merely looking in someone's direction.

And then so very fun fun-ishments.

Where he can forbid them from anything he so pleases.

Anything, anywhere.

Beloved is a brat, after all, and brats need to be tamed and re-tamed, right?

Nicely and properly broken --- and he's just the man to do it.

#tw; sadism #tw; manipulation #tw; brat-taming #tw; sub / dom #tw; dominance #tw; submission #terry silver #terry silver x reader #kk3 #cobra kai

[twistedgardens]

Baby, It's Cold Outside: Cater Diamond

Content:  dry humping, gangbang, oral (male and female receiving), unorthodox use of Cater’s magic, degradation, use of pet names like “babe” and “love”, photography, multiple handjobs, double penetration, anal

🔞 18+ Only Content Below the Cut! Minors DNI!🔞

You messaged Cater through Magicam. You stood in the Mirror Chamber for a while. Despite being indoors, you couldn’t quite shake off the cold. Cater arrived about twenty minutes after you sent the message and was about to ask someone else for help. He stepped through the mirror just in time.

“Yo, what seems to be the problem?”

“Ramshackle has no heating and I can’t find Grim anywhere. Do you guys have a place for me to crash for the night? If I stay in Ramshackle, I’m going to freeze to death,” you answered.

Cater thought a moment before replying. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any guest rooms now and the dorm rooms are pretty full. I could ask Deuce and Ace if they wouldn’t mind sharing a space with you, but their room’s pretty full as it is. And I doubt you’d want to couch surf with three guys in the same dorm room.”

“You’re right. Sorry to bother. I’ll…try and find somebody else.”

“Whoa, whoa, now. I didn’t say that. We don’t have any guest rooms, but I wouldn’t mind sharing my room with you. It’s just for tonight, right? We can totally have a sleep over. I’m sure Riddle wouldn’t mind the last-minute guest. He wouldn’t want you to freeze out there,” said Cater.

“Let’s hope so. The last thing I need to deal with is having Riddle blow another gasket and overblot because of broken protocol. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate to get out of the cold,” you said.

Cater guided you through the mirror portal. You quickly shed the layers of wintery fashion as you walked through Heartslaybul’s perpetual spring time pocket realm. Cater helped you slip past the parlor where many of the students were chatting, studying, and playing card games. He guided you up a flight of stairs. Cater led you to his very own dorm room. You made yourself comfortable in a large chair after dumping the bulging pile of coat and things on a separate one.

“I’ll be right back,” said Cater. He disappeared behind his door.

You heard his footsteps leave the hallway. You remained where you were as you tried to warm yourself. You chucked off your boots and tore off your water-logged soaks. Your poor toes felt prickly from being so cold. The worn-out boots donated to you did little to protect your feet from ice and snow as evident by the slight discoloration in your toes. You rubbed your feet together with your hands, trying to get rid of that aching feeling in your toes. Cater returned with good news, and bad news.

“Good news is that Riddle thinks it’s a good idea for you to spend the night. It’s supposed to get wild out there tonight,” said Cater.

“I hope Grim found himself a place to stay warm. What’s the bad news?”

“The bad news is…that there is literally no other place for you to stay other than my room. Nobody else is volunteering to bunk with you for the night.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. Sorry about this,” you said.

“Sorry? I get to have a sleepover with a pretty girl. Don’t feel sorry.” Cater winked.

He showed you to his room. Cater’s room was clean and well-organized, more so than you expected. There were a few odds and ends that gave away his personality. A skateboard against the wall, a camera by the bed, and pillows and a rug that sported emoji faces. The bedsheets reminded you of his bright hair. Cater fished out some pajamas from the large white and red heart-shaped wardrobe and he handed them to you.

            “How about you hop in the shower to warm up? Don’t worry. I’ll stay right at my desk doing last minute homework. You’re free to wallop me if I fall into temptation.”

            “Temptation? Like what? Sneak a peek while I’m in the shower?”

            Cater did not reply. He went over to his desk like he said he would. You hesitated on the spot, but slowly made your way to the bathroom. You were sure to lock the door before undressing. The hot shower was a wonderful relief to your chilly, aching body. Your shower warmed up and relaxed your muscles just right. By the time you stepped out, you were born ready for bed. You caught Cater climbing in already. He had changed his clothes since you stepped into the bathroom, which was courteous of him.

            “I…I won’t take up much space, will I?” You asked.

            Cater chuckled and patted the space on the bed next to him. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

            Butterflies swarmed your stomach. It wasn’t the promise of Cater keeping his hands to himself, it was the idea that you didn’t want him to do that. You crept over to the four-poster bed and slid under the covers. Cater put his back to you, reached over to the lamp on the desk beside the bed, and pulled the cord, sending the room into darkness. You curled yourself into a ball around Cater’s blankets. They smelled clean, but more importantly they smelled just like him. You couldn’t help yourself from pulling the blanket up to your nose and inhaling deep.

            You and Cater spend several restless minutes in bed before he rolled over. He pressed his torso to your back. You stiffened against him, frozen. When you seemingly didn’t react, Cater took it one step further. He wrapped his arm around your waist. Above the covers that is! Aside from that, he was a perfect gentleman. He fell asleep sooner than you did, or at least you think he did. Cater’s breathing certainly became more slower and more even as if sleeping. You now lay wide awake with his arm wrapped on top of you (with the covers between you)!

            You felt him breathing against you. Shallow breaths ghosted across the top of your head. Though the blankets kept your warm, it was Cater’s body heat that turned you into a sweaty mess. Your borrowed pajamas soaked up your sweat as you suffered under the blankets. You could have, no! Should have kicked off the blankets and not shared them with Cater at all if the heat proved too much for you. But you didn’t want to do that. He was so close. You took a shower, so why was Cater the one who smelled nice? You couldn’t tell if he smelled like bubblegum or a cinnamon latte. Instead of falling asleep, you pulled yourself against him. Underneath the blankets, you pressed your back against his chest, and your ass against his crotch. You wriggled and writhed for a few minutes trying to get your own rocks off while feeling guilty about it, when Cater’s arm squeezed you. He stopped your motions and brought his other arm around you to cage you against him.

            “Babe, it’s not nice to tease me.” Cater husked against your ear. Warm breath slid across your cheek.

            “C-Cater!” You couldn’t wriggle your away out of his arms even if you wanted to.

            “You do feel really nice, though,” Cater whispered. He rocked his hips against your ass. After a few soft thrusts, you felt him harden against your lower back. “But don’t start what you can’t finish, love.”

            You rolled over to face him. Once there, you reached for him and kissed him. Cater wasted no time reciprocating. You locked lips with each other. Swapping spit and licking each other lips and teeth, the situation quickly spiraled into a frenzy. You clawed at his back to grip his nightshirt for support. Cater rolled you beneath him so that you lay on the mattress and looked up at him. Cater wore a devious smirk on his face.

            “You planned this, didn’t you?” You snickered as if it wasn’t exactly what you were hoping for.

            “What? Are you complaining?”

            “No,” you shook your head. “I was just wondering what was took you so long.”

            Cater licked his lips. His thumb ran along your bottom lip. Unable to control your urges, you took it into your mouth and suckled on his digit.

            “So naughty! Whatever am I going to do with you?” Cater asked.

            “You could start by fucking me,” you said boldly.

            “Just me?” He said.

            “What do you mean? Of course you!”

            “I mean…” Cater paused. “I would be lying if I said there wasn’t anything that was preoccupying my mind when it comes to you. Though I doubt you’d be up to the challenge.”

            “Oh? And what could you possibly have in mind?”

            Cater leaned down. His knee pressed between your thighs, exactly against your cunt. His arms caged your head in on either side. He stared down at you with intense green eyes.

            “I want to slide into all your holes while you stroke me. I want to use my signature spell and make so many copies of myself that you won’t know what to do with yourself except enjoy all of me fucking you at the same time. I get so hard just thinking about it.” To emphasis his point, Cater rubbed his hard cock straining against his pants between your thighs.

            You whined at the feeling of his turgid member against your cunt without being able to do anything about it or feel him fill you up. You rolled your hips against his. Your eyes closed for a few moments. The second you did so, your imagination went wild with half a dozen Cater’s stuffing every hole you’ve got and making you stroke his clones’ cocks with both your hands. Your mouth watered at the idea. When you opened your eyes again, Cater’s face appeared blood red even in the shadows.

            “O-Okay,” you whispered.

            “Okay? You mean you—”

            “Yeah. I…I want to feel you everywhere too. You can be rough or as gentle as you want. Just…fuck…just fucking fuck me already!”

            Cater smirked. He reached into his drawer for something. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

            He set aside a bottle on the desk next to his bed before getting up. Cater dragged you with him for some reason. He took the magic pen laying on a pile of textbooks. With a quick flick, one Cater Diamond turned into five. The original Cater was the only one wearing a pajama set, which he already started to unbutton.

            “We’re about to make your wickedest dreams come true. Just don’t complain when you can’t walk straight in the morning, love,” said original Cater, who now unfastened his silk nightshirt all the way and discarded it on the floor.

            The other Caters, who’d been dressed in their gym uniforms, started to undress too. You trembled on the spot to the point your knees threaten to buckle. When Cater and all his copies were naked, it dawned on you that it was your turn now. You reached for the buttons of your own pj’s only to have one of the clones (or perhaps the REAL Cater) stayed your hand. He shook his head. Another Cater slid in front of you and did the honors himself. Cool air soon hit your chest. Your nipples puckered at the sudden brush of air when freed. One Cater each leaned down a bit to pop a nipple into his mouth and suck. Your fingers threaded through their hair, one hand on each. You ran the tips of your fingernails over their scalps. Another Cater came up behind you and untied the drawstring on your waist. The silken fabric fell away with a little effort. You kicked the garment out of the way.

            “No bra or panties? #Scandalous!” It wasn’t the Cater behind you sliding his hand down to your pussy who said that.

            The unmistakable click of a camera phone caught your attention. Your head snapped to one of the Cater’s standing nearby holding up his phone.

            “C-C—” Your voice stopped short and turned into a lewd moan. The hand edging south delved between your legs and found your clit. The Cater behind you rubbed circles on your clit, forcing your thighs to clamp around his hand.

            “Don’t worry, babe. These pics are just for me,” said one of the clones. Or Cater himself. You couldn’t tell anymore. The real Cater might have even been the one snapping pictures of you getting your breasts sucked on and pussy played with at the same time.

            The Cater fingering you and playing with your clit pulled your head towards his with his free hand. As you bucked against his hand, this Cater kissed you on the mouth. You moaned into the kiss. The clones who sucked on your breasts ran their hands up and down your body. Goosebumps crawled along your skin in their wake. Cater, the one kissing you, sealed your mouth with his as your moans grew louder. The other Caters joined into in playing with your pussy and fucking you with their slender fingers. Without removing their mouths from you, three sets of hands brought you over the ledge, screaming into that one Cater’s mouth. Your hips thrust against a hand. Your eyes rolled as electric pleasure coursed through you and burst at the base of your spine. Your cream dripped down your thighs in shiny rivulets. Fingers pulled out of you, each wet with your juices. Another Cater, you were beginning to lose track, got down on his knees and licked up the juices running down your legs. Other copies supported your legs and back as the kneeling Cater brought his tongue up to you dripping cunt. You doubled over when he sucked on your still sensitive clit. You creamed all over his mouth within in minutes.

After letting you have several minutes to catch your breath, you stumbled back over to the bed where Cater and his magical clones joined you. One of them grabbed you from behind and wrapped his arm like a vice around your midsection. Someone squeezed your plush thighs and spread them apart. You couldn’t tell who it was though because your eyes had closed shut due to the pleasure coursing through you. When you opened them again, another Cater was settling himself beneath on the bed with your legs straddling him. A hand slipped between your legs.

            “You’re so wet. I bet it’ll slip right in, won’t it.” Cater nibbled on your earlobe.

            Your legs were trembling too much to move on your own. The Cater resting below you stroked his cock as another clone helped you climb onto the former’s hips. His cock slipped in without effort. Your head rolled back towards your shoulders when you felt so pleasantly full. What Cater lacked in girth, he made up for in length. He filled up your pretty cunt quite nice. You didn’t need to be told to start moving. You started to ride his cock while he gripped your hips. It didn’t take long before one of the Cater clones pressed his hand between your shoulder blades to press you forward. Your heart leapt in your throat. He squirted something into the palm of his from a plastic tube before tossing it onto the bed. This Cater spread a cool gel around and inside that other hole of yours. You couldn’t stop shaking your hips, getting high on the thought of riding two cocks at once. A third clone joined you on the bed, kneeling near the shoulders of the one whose cock you were riding. His hand pressed against the back of your head and guided your mouth to his turgid cock.

            One cock in your cunt, another in your ass, and choking on a third. Was this heaven? White hot heat spread throughout your body as the Cater clones took turns thrusting in and out of you. You gripped the sheets for a while until your knuckles ached. As soon as tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks, your hands were yanked off the bed. They weren’t left unoccupied for long. Two more clones wrapped your hands around their cocks to stroke them to the completion.

            “Look at you go, love. You look so good taking all this cocks. If I’d known you were a cock-hungry little slut, I would have done this a lot sooner. Taking them all at once like a champ.”

Cater whose cock you were taking down your throat pulled out his phone. The camera’s flash erupted in front of your eyes every few minutes while he snapped pictures of you choking on his cock.

“Don’t worry. These will be for my eyes only.”

He moved the camera when he had enough pictures and started filming.

“What a cute little porn star,” Cater cooed.

Your body was rocked back and forth and rocked into. Hands, too many to count, caressed, pinched, tickled, grabbed, and pulled. Goosebumps crawled over your skin. Your moans were stifled by Cater fucking your mouth and throat. The clones who had you stroking their cocks groaned as they finished, cumming on your hands. Those who were still fucking you double-downed on their efforts to make you cream on their cocks. Your eyes rolled back as you clenched down on Cater’s dick. Your cunt spasmed around him. Eyes fluttered closed for a moment as your orgasm took over your brain.

Cater shoved your head against his groin as he emptied himself down your throat. You swallowed. The other clones finished not long after. Cum splattered and spilled down your lower back, between your legs, and down your chin. You were sticky, tired, and dazed by the end of it. Cater’s clones disappeared, leaving the real one behind to clean you up and tuck you into bed.

“I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” Cater asked with you wrapped in his arms.

Putting clothes seemed silly at that point. You enjoyed touching him and being touched. You curled up against him. Under the covers with him, you forgot completely about the cold. There was no other place you’d rather be.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #cater diamond #twst cater #18+ only #minors do not interact #minors dni

[storiesbybean]

Cared For (Part 1/Preview)

Silco x F!Reader + lil Jinx

Description: Having a kid and knowing how to take care of them was very different, maybe a hired nanny wouldn’t be the worst thing for the king of Zaun

A/N: if you guys like this I’ll make it into a full part maybe multiple parts of y’all really like it. :)

part two

Word count: 1098

————————————————————————

Thwack! Snap! A brief moment of reprieve before another assault of bullets from the popper gun in Jinx's hand. The irritation was evident in the vein above his right brow twitching, yet her soft laughter was a cushion to his wrath.

“Jinx, sweetness, can you please stop,” Silco tried to be gentle with her. She was just a child but there was a certain image he tried to maintain and having the electric blue ball of energy glued to his side raised suspicion in his cut throat persona. Oh but that giggle when she climbed up on his desk to sit in front of him was enough to let her get away with murder. The soft apology following the laughter eased his anger. Work for now was on pause as the makeshift family had a heart to heart about how they didn’t have time to play.

-

Weeks of back and forth trying to balance an empire and childcare left Silco running ragged. That’s when one of the perhaps braver goons mentioned the possibility of a babysitter for her. It had been said as a slight toward the orphan but the idea of someone else taking care of Jinx for even a few hours so he could get the big stones rolling into place. It seemed like an excellent idea.

Placing an ad was a no go for Silco. It was too open and could lead to a mole or worse someone coming for his throne. The only logical option was agency. Private care for his sweetness, someone he could have monitored outside of working for him. The list of names and qualifications the woman at the desk had given him was long. Some weren't equipped with the skills for a special girl like Jinx, others looked just as equally untrustworthy. His new daughter was so important that this sitter had to be flawless. Only the best for her, always.

-

The contract came in the next day. It read less like a work contract and more like a list of demands. Your agency had said the client was an influential figure so speaking of the job was not to happen. The child had a list of traumatic experiences and learning barriers but nothing that a skilled nanny such as yourself couldn’t handle. The father wanted his daughter to learn to read and write and all the other necessary skills to be a functioning citizen when the time came. The job was to start later that day, an “employee” of the father would come to get you around midday and take you to their home. All seemed to be in order with the request and the payment being more than sufficient, all it needed was your signature and to be dropped off at the agency which had only been a few blocks away. Simple enough.

After dressing for both work and a stroll along the street you were off with your head held high. Even with the dense air and perpetual grime of the Undercity threatening to invade dare you touch the outside surfaces it wasn’t a terrible day. No rain or overly noisy neighbors today. It was pleasant, almost enjoyable to walk the neighborhood you’d lived in since a small child. Folks said hi as you walked past, most kept their heads down per the usual friendliness they could spare. A few of the younger residents ran a muck chasing each other around until they stopped by to wave hi and ask if you had any more of those sweets your mother would send you.

“Not today. Check back in tomorrow and I might have something for all of you.” Your words sparked a howl of excitement in their lungs and hope in their eyes. Seeing them so excited made the gloomy atmosphere seem a little brighter. “Now don’t go injuring each other today. No one wants to deal with a broken bone today.”

As fast as the stampede of children rolled in they were back on the move leaving you clear to walk into work. The lady at the front, Juil, looked over her pointed glasses at you vaguely gesturing a greeting before she went back to her scheduling. The agency wasn’t extremely busy but it had enough foot traffic a lot of the people who worked there weren’t long without jobs. Most carried two. Odds and ends for one and the contracted work as the other. No one was lucky enough to be full time in only one job.

“I stopped by with my portion of my contract. Same spot as usual?” Your voice barely registered to Juil when she gave a soft nod, eyes still glued to her planner. “Okay then, well, I guess we can talk later. Have a good day?” A hum of acknowledgment was your farewell from the front desk. Not a chatty one that Juil.

-

When they said someone would collect you, you thought they meant in a civilized manner not with a bag over your head. Trying to fight the strong arms that guided you was futile. They were faultless in their job. It wasn’t a long walk but a walk nonetheless till a door slammed shut and the sack was removed.

“Glad to see you in one piece. I swear once we’re more on our feet I’ll just give you an address to find us at.” That voice. It sounded so familiar. It carried from just beyond the light in the room. Floating by you in a way.

“What do you want? I’m not trying to cause trouble.” As hard as you tried your voice wavered slightly. Had someone really just picked some random nanny to murder. All that work to kill you in some, some place! The snap of thick soled dress shoes brought the fear of death straight to your brain causing your eyes to dart around frantically to see your captor. That’s when you saw it. The fiery ember of the eye of Zaun, Silco. It shone bright at first before he stepped into the harsh above lighting. They worked with the aura of power he held, cutting deeper shadows into this angular face making him look twice as scary.

Silco leaned down slightly to look you in the eyes. Ever so slightly a mischievous almost threatening smirk tugged at his tightly set mouth. “Did you not read the contract? I thought your résumé said you could read.” The jab made you shake your head letting a soft ‘I can’ leave your nearly petrified state. “Ah good in that case let’s get you set up with Jinx!”

#young writer #original work #fanfic #arcane fic #arcane silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco fanfic #slow burn #jinx and silco

[pineappleliar]

I just rewatched Revenge of the Sith and was suddenly struck with a theory I needed to share with the world.  So Padme’s ‘death by broken heart’ is obviously a dumb move done for the Doylist reason of getting the Skywalker’s mom out of the way for the OT to make sense, but what if we’re reading her cause of death wrong?  In the film, Anakin’s surgery and the twin’s births are happening concurrently, implying that the two events are happening at the same time. We are told by the med-droid for Padme that while she is physically healthy, she still seems to be dying for no discernible cause. Meanwhile Anakin, who is mostly 4th degree burns, is miraculously alive against all odds.

Let’s also remember that the film makes a point of seeding the fact that the Sith know how to perpetuate life unnaturally, and that Sidious specifically knows this ability.

So, given that Anakin was also closely bonded enough with Padme to receive visions of her imminent demise (and also his kids are currently in her), what can we infer?

I’m split on two options relating to the same basic premise: one more likely and one more tragic. The first is that Sidious did use the life perpetuating techniques he learned from Plagueis, but instead of saving Padme he siphoned the life from her into his new Apprentice, killing her in the process. This would be the most likely outcome; it removes a pesky bond Sidious would have to deal with, it keeps his long term investment alive, and we know he knows how to do something involving keeping a person alive unnaturally.

But wouldn’t it be more fucked up if Anakin did it himself, in the throes of agony post-burning, trying to find any way to stay alive? A mind in a frenzied state, reaching out to the brightest, most unprotected light in it’s vicinity and *taking* it. The only real supporting evidence for this one would be that Palpatine specifically mentions that *Anakin* was the one to kill her post-resurrection, but Palpatine is the most liar liar to ever lie so this option is mostly riding of sheer tragic irony. Padme’s last words are that there’s still good in Anakin, as he’s actively killing her, it’s terrible and I love it.

#star wars #star wars theory #Anakin #Anakin Skywalker #padme #palpatine #’like she’s lost the will to live’ eat my shorts #that’s your Opinion and frankly it’s bad #This may be some common theory that already exists #but I thought I’d share anyways #timescale of surgery -> waking up is unknown #but if the time frame is short enough it’s weird Palp knows Padme is dead #curse you Star Wars and your inability to ever put events on a calendar

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

"I hate them."

"Who?" 

"Your stupid siblings and Simon and Clary." Magnus whined. 

Alec chuckled and ran his fingers through Magnus's hair. He took the hair tie from his right wrist and gathered his boyfriend's hair, and put them in a bun. 

"Why do you hate them?" He inquired. 

"They can't sleep without each other."

"Simon and Clary can't sleep without each other? I knew they were too dependent."

Magnus smacked him across his chest. 

"I meant Clary and Jace. And Simon and Isabelle." He said, his voice low. 

Drunk Magnus said the most random shit, so Alec was used to it. 

Alec was glad that Magnus looked relaxed today. He had been going through a difficult time because of him lately.

"You hate them because they can't sleep without their partners?" Alec grinned. 

Magnus looked up at him, and Alec noticed how there was no warmth in them. Just emptiness. 

"No. I hate them because I can sleep peacefully without mine." Magnus slurred his voice barely a whisper. "You're away for so long that I..I can sleep without you. I have to."

Alec's heart broke at that. He knows it’s not something Magnus would ever say during the light of the day.

The realisation that Magnus had been hiding all of this only caused him pain.

"Baby I-"

What was he supposed to say to something like that?

Before he could even think of a reply, Magnus had already fallen asleep against his chest. 

He bent down to plant a kiss on Magnus’s head when he heard his voice, broken and barely audible.

“I feel so tired.”

And all Alec could smell was alcohol and heartbreak in the air. 

-Alec is a soldier. Magnus is a two times Grammy award winner- but mostly, he’s a perpetually stressed boyfriend. He also develops a few unhealthy coping mechanisms for a hot minute.

POSTING ON SUNDAYS FROM 8TH MAY 2022.

Note: This fic deals with issues of alcoholism and PTSD. If this is a trigger for you, please read at your own discretion. Your mental health is more important than fanfiction.

Thank you for the prompt @thelightofthebane 🌻

#Magnus angst my beloved #the only thing you need to know is that I intend to project all my issues into this fic #love really hurts without you #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #lrhwy #my writing #malec fics #shadowhunters #alec lightwood bane #malec soldier fd au

[queenmayor23]

Love In The Dark (Fire and Rain)

Batman's neighbors, The Drakes, were secluded billionaires. Bruce invited them on vacation in an attempt to merge the companies. A missile hit the plane, leaving Bruce as the sole survivor and Ra's al Ghul's most promising prodigy to take the place of the young Tim Drake. After years of sidekick training, "Tim" picks up a street rat Jason Todd stealing hubcaps off the Robin Cycle and forms a relationship with him.

~Years Ago~

---Gotham City---

There was a knock on the door, steady and hard.

"Coming!" The owner of the shitty upscale apartment yelled, but it wasn't fast enough for the beggar, so there was another knock, this time louder.

"I said, "Coming!" Give me a minute to get to the door." The door was swung open. "What the hell do you-"

A freshly turned eighteen-year-old stands there, his black suit soaked from the pouring rain. "Missed you at the funeral, Dick." He spoke monotonously as if all the color was drained from the world, and there was nothing but grey.

"Tim."

"Doesn't matter. I missed it too. Didn't even see the body. When I got there, he was putting the shovel into the ground to mark the headstone."

The only person he could confide in wasn't there for him, which hurt him deeply.

"Bruce said it would be better for you if we didn't make a big deal about it."

"And you listened? You know how I feel about Jason. You were my only friend for the longest time, and you knew everything. Things Donna and Garth wouldn't fathom to think about me. The three of us were brothers first, no matter Jason's feelings." He was speechless. His mouth was moving, but no words or sounds came out.

"Tim. I'm sorry-" 

"Are you? You've yet to let me in despite the pouring rain and the cold front. You've barely said anything besides your notecards Daddy put together for you. Dick, I went and looked at the cameras. I watched as he dug, dropped Jason's body, covered it, and cried for two hours. He obviously is dealing with it very roughly. So rough that the phone lines are down at the manor, even the emergency line. He sealed off the entrance from the Cave and locked all the gates after I left."

"I'm-"

"STOP SAYING I'M SORRY! Hug me. Ask me if I'm okay. Be Jason's brother. Be MY brother." The young man screamed, surely waking everyone on the floor.

Dick Grayson refused to touch Tim, not only because Bruce told him to, but if he did, he would be no help to his little brother. Dick knew Tim was hurting, but he didn't need the screaming to realize that. Despite his face being covered in rain and his hair drenched, Dick saw the single tear fall out of Tim's eye, and from that, his emotions weren't far behind.

"Fine. Just thought you would be better than him. Guess not. If you need me, fuck off." Tim turned around and headed back onto Gotham's streets.

He landed at the back entrance for the Nest. He inputs his code.

"Invalid entry."

He tries again.

"Invalid entry. Please try again."

He punches the console and makes another attempt.

"Invalid entry."

"Override 01"

"Voice recognition required."

The angry, broken-hearted ex-Robin deepens his voice until it is unrecognizable, nearly a growl, and he speaks. "I'm Batman." The Bat Symbol spins as it loads, and the screen glows green.

"Access granted." The elevator doors open, and he steps in, going to the residential floor.

It was dark. The only light was from the perpetual fireplace in the center of the floor and the illuminated glass placards. Tim walks to the kitchen pulling a glass and the "secret" bottle of whiskey from under the stove. He pours a drink and powers through. Then another. And another. And another. He makes one more drink and saunters back to the living room, and there it is, five sheets of glass, one representing each bird-themed hero. The blue Nightwing, the red "RR", a black spraypainted "R", a blue dove, and a red hawk. It all reminded Tim of what he had lost. Dawn left because she tried to get Hank clean, but he kept sneaking it behind her back. Dawn confronted Dick about the situation. He decided that as long as Hank could adequately do the job, he could stay, so she left. Jason was dead. Hank was probably doing a line of cocaine while shooting himself up with heroin. And it was all because of Dick. If Dick would've helped, they would be one happy bird family. Since he didn't, one was buried on this stormy night, one was knocking on death's door, another was dying a fate worse than death, and the other didn't want anything to do with them.

"Aargh!" The glass went flying across the room. Nightwing's panel was down, and the blue spotlight used to color the glass reflected through the window to the city. Then Tim picked up the bowl of decorative rocks from the coffee table. He and Hank thought they were stupid when they moved in, but Dawn liked them, so Hank changed his tune, and the impressionable Tim did anything to be like the cool kids. Dawn was gone, and so was Dove's panel, the white light untamed. Hank was off his rocker, and his panel soared to the floor in pieces. There was no Robin anymore, so they would have to replace it. Tim just made the contractor's job easier. The shattered glass on the floor was the pride and joy of the Nest just moments ago. When they installed it, Jason wanted to personalize his because he was an outcast. Dick allowed it after explaining why Hank couldn't do his design of a big red penis. On dark nights, you could see the symbols in the night sky. To some, they were symbols of hope. Others, chaos. But if you were looking for that hope tonight, all you would see was some lights and a red "RR" backlit by a gold luminescence.

Tim screamed and cried, breaking the dishware until nothing was left but the one glass and the bottle he had been drinking all night. It was nearing empty, and Tim could barely see straight. That's when he heard the 80s rock coming from down the hall. Tim gulped the rest of the bottle like it was the only thing to keep him going.

He slowly made his way down the hall, tripping and stumbling along the way. His training with Batman prepared him for the most potent Fear Toxin but not the 60-year-old whiskey. He listened to the soft music get louder. Then, Tim drunkenly pushes open the door revealing Hank Hall in a tank top and shorts. He sits on his bed, pulling the rubber band tight with his teeth, getting ready to insert the needle in his arm. 

He looks up to see the new adult bracing himself against the doorframe. He releases the tension on the band and drops the needle on the bed. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?"

"Ju-just taking the edge off. You know, doing the fun part of grieving where you drink until you feel like a fish. What's that you got there? A little heroine? What-whats got you down in the dumps? It can't be Jason because the only person who's allowed to grieve him is me. That memo came from the big bat himself, so don't worry, I got it all handled." Tim walks into the room and picks up the needle. "Don't want to accidentally sit on this, so I'll take it off your hands." Tim walks away, heading out of the room. Hank gets up, chasing Tim down the hall and into the lab seeing all the damage passing the living room and kitchen.

"Give me the needle, kid. You're hurt. I get that. What's in that syringe is something stronger than street drugs." Hank tries to talk Tim down as he ties the rubber band around his bicep.

"I'm not a kid anymore." Tim chuckles. "I don't think I've ever been a "kid". Except when I first met you guys, but what kid goes out in the middle of the night on patrol. I was raised to kill. Something like death shouldn't affect me like this."

"Death gets us all. Nobody can run from it."

"That's where you're wrong, Hanky Panky. See, there's this thing called a Lazarus Pit, and the man who raised me... Not the bat fucker but Ra's al Ghul he- he used it to keep himself youthful. He let me use it a few times. Without it, I- I would have never made it to Gotham. But I'm here. Crying like a little girl because my best friend is in the ground when there is a Lazarus Pit under WAYNE FUCKING MANOR!"

"Wait?" Hank starts to think but is too slow for Tim. 

"That's right! Bruce could've brought Jason back to life if he wanted."

"Does Dick know?"

"Who cares? He's just going to say some bullshit about Bruce not wanting to make a big deal about-"

"Stay here." Hank runs out of the lab, and Tim twirls the syringe in his hand. He strides over to the computer, and Tim places the contents of the syringe into a vial, taking the vial to the scanner. After waiting a few seconds for the scan, the computer analyzes the particles showing the genetic sequence of the serum.

"Mirakuru. Genetically it looks like Bane Venom or that weird formula Mark Desmond created." Tim researches the serum, articles, database archives, and encrypted files flood the screen. "Mirakuru is a super-soldier serum created by the Japanese during World War II that causes enhanced physical abilities once injected. Use of the serum can risk death or warp the person's mind and personality, driving the subject to insanity, aggression, and hostility." He finished reading. "Sounds like a regular day in Gotham."

Tim takes the vial from the scanner and inserts it into a syringe gun. "Let's warp my mind." Tim injects himself with the serum causing him to convulse for a moment before regaining control of his body.

Tim goes to the Bird House, a room designated for their suits, and takes a pistol from Searcher's suit. Then, he calls the elevator and leaves the building.

Hank ran back to his room, looking for his phone. He finds it and dials the last number he called.

"Dammit, Dick, pick up the phone!" After several forwards to voicemail, he calls another number.

"Hello?"

"Thank fucking God you got service on that damn island."

"Hank? Wha- How did you get my number?"

"That doesn't matter right now. You need to ask for the keys to that invisible jet because Tim is off his fucking rocker."

"Hank, Tim is grieving. We all are. He not only lost Jason, but he lost his team too. Light did a number on all of us. So Tim throwing a tantrum or two is understandable."

"Disbanding the Titans, I get. Drinking his problems away, I get. You didn't see how he wrecked the living room and the kitchen. You didn't see how drunk off his ass he is. He's craving drugs. He has drugs. And you know how anti-drugs he is after the Stephanie Brown situation."

"Where would he get something that would actually affect his body? The street stuff isn't going to cut it."

Hank sighs. "He got it from me."

"Are you serious, Hank? You know what, why did I think any higher of you? Of course, you would call someone else to clean up your mess. Dawn was right about you." The phone call ends.

"Shit."

Hank searches his phone for another number to call, and he hears the elevator's ding. He darts to the Bird House and calls the elevator, but it returns vacant. The undone strap of Pat's holster gives him cause for alarm. Tim hated using guns. He called them a coward's weapon, one of the few things he and Jason actually fought over. Jason had a black eye for a month and was pulled from patrol for insubordination, but Tim snuck him out. Hank runs to the lab seeing a used gun on the table and the screen showing his Mirakuru research. Hank calls Zatanna Zatara a last-ditch effort to stop his friend.

"Zee, I know you can't bring anybody from the dead, but if you could, right now would be the time to do it. Tim is out on the streets and about to do some damage. Not including he injected himself with a super drug. I'm going after him, but please, you're the last person I know who can help him."

"You're right. I can't bring back the dead, but I can give him some comfort. Find Tim and get him alone. I have a plan."

In the dark and damp streets of Gotham, the rain had stopped. Tim wandered in his soaking wet clothes picking fights with anyone he deemed worthy of one. He walked the sidewalk in front of an alleyway where a man held a couple at gunpoint. A shot rang out. The two men stood there in fear holding each other close, shielding their eyes from their horrifying death. After realizing they were unharmed, they opened their eyes. They saw their attacker standing still and a bloodstain growing on his shirt. The man dropped to the ground; the couple looked up and saw Tim's silhouette illuminated by the blinking streetlamp, still holding the gun as if he were waiting for a glamor photo.

The burlier of the men tried to focus his sight on his hero, but Tim was gone. Walking further down the street, Tim is run over by a guy in a red hoodie running down the road. "Hey!" Ignoring the call, the guy continues running. In his anger, Tim chases after him. After running for a few minutes, Tim sees the assailant run into an abandoned building. "Got you now fuck face."

Tim holds the gun tight in his hand and slowly enters. "You forgot to say sorry. You fucking lowlife."

Stalking further into the building, Tim comes to a wall and hears music on the other side. He follows the wall to find a door, and after the count of three, he kicks the door in. It was a barroom, and at the sight of the gun-wielding young man, everyone cleared out. The band leaves their instruments in a hurry to escape the possible gunfire. Tim scans the room looking for the guy he ran down, but he's gone.

"Am I at the seeing things stage?" 

Tim walks behind the bar fixing himself another drink. 

"If you get to drink, then I want a beer."

Tim lets the words enter one ear and exit the other. "I am definitely hearing things." He pours the whiskey into a glass and fixes himself a bowl of fruit from the fridge under the bar top. A song begins to play on the drums. It was Jason's favorite song from Hank's playlist, a point of contention between the two during parties at The Nest. But this one song was the musical opinion they agreed on.

"Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad. I'm hot for teacher. I've got it bad, so bad. I'm hot for teacher."

It was his voice. It was THE voice. It was Jason's voice. Tim turned around and looked at the poorly lit stage, the lights obscuring the face attached to the drummer's body.

"No. It can't be. Bruce refused to put you in the pit. Zee can't bring back the dead, and Zatara has been missing, so I will ask you this once. Who are you?"

"It's me-"

"Bullshit!" Tim screamed, squeezing the glass so tight it cracked, spilling into his palm. He put the glass down on the bar top, wiping the wasted alcohol on his pants, which were still uncomfortably wet. It was like he took the polar plunge challenge fully clothed and never dried off.

"It's me whether you believe me or not. I'm here to give you closure." The drummer stands.

"Give me the wrong answer, and I'll shoot. How did you die?"

After a few breaths, the voice, who may or may not be Jason, responded. "Joker's girlfriend kidnaped me, and about an hour later, Joker took a crowbar to my face and blew up the building on top of me." There was a slight beat before the gun clip was unloaded on the stage. The drummer jumped down in the nick of time, dodging bullets aimed at him, although sloppily.

"Jace never called Harley the Joker's girlfriend. He either called her Harley or the Queen of Arkham." The guy took a couple steps towards Tim, and now in the light, Tim could see his face. The face that matched the voice. Jason slowly moved toward Tim, the gun aimed at his heart.

"You don't want to do that, Red. Put the gun down. You hate feeling it in your hand. You-"

"Take another step, and I'll shoot!" Tim was so distracted he didn't hear the round of police sirens going off outside. 

"Red, calm down. You don't even know if I'm even real. Look at yourself. If I were alive, I would be so pissed. You made a promise to me. Do you remember what it was?"

"I promised to not let you become something you're not. You're not your parents-"

"So, do you think this stunt your pulling is honoring that promise?"

"That was for you, not me."

"And you held me accountable. For everything. Cleaning the bikes, making sure the oil was changed on the BatMobile, and polishing boots, even Dick's from his Robin days. I had protocols in the BatHandbook memorized more than Alfred, and on top of that, I was training, doing chores, out on patrol with Bats, and going to school."

"You think I wasn't doing my fair share of tasks?"

"I know you did. That's why I admire you so much. I never loved you." 

Tim's face didn't show it, but he was stabbed in the heart. Was it true? Did Jason never love him? What about at the stadium? That was more of an order. Had Tim been fooling himself all this time? Reaching for something that he would never have. Was love an unachievable goal for an assassin like him? All of these questions and thoughts ran through his head. Suddenly a boom made him flinch as three thugs came into the building, entering the barroom.

"Put the gun down, kid. I don't wanna hurt ya."

The men entered the room. Muscular tough guys, with physiques rivaling Bruce and Hank.

"Are they real?" Jason said out loud, but who he said it to could be brought into question.

In his reckless mind-fogged state, Tim aimed the gun at the mobsters and pulled the trigger. When nothing came out, he grabbed a barstool and swung it against one guy's face breaking it into pieces. Then, Tim took two of the legs and used them as batons. It was a scary and bloody scene. When Tim was done, they weren't breathing.

Outside, more police sirens approach the building. An unmarked vehicle came to a halt. An older man steps out, walking with a cane. Hank turns around, sees the man, and instantly fends him off. 

"Commissioner, I know what this looks like, but we-"

"Hall, I have reports of shots fired and a trail of people severely beaten within an inch of their life. Whoever is in there has to pay."

Hank sighs. "How we looking, Zee?" 

Zatanna stands facing the door, eyes as bright as the moon and her gloves glowing to match. "Stable on my end."

"Oracle?"

"It's bad, Hank. The cops need medical attention. If it weren't for Zatanna's spell, they would've been dead. You have to keep my dad from going in there." Oracle speaks from Hank's earpiece.

"Commissioner, I need you to hold your men back. We almost have him ready to come out."

"Who's in there? Two-Face? Mad Hatter? Zsasz?"

"I can't tell you at the moment."

"Why?"

"You're not going to like who it is, and I'm not letting your daughter blame me for your blood pressure being higher than Wayne Tower."

"For God's sake Hall, I have people in there, and if they don't come out, I go in."

"I am begging you for ten more minutes. We have everything under control."

Commissioner Gordon sighs, knowing the stakes of keeping his officers in the building. "You have ten. One second more, and I'm pulling the plug."

Back inside, Tim sits the bodies on the wall, having them lean on each other for support, and throws the empty gun on top of them. He turns to Jason. "Now, where were we?"

"The highlights were me saying I never loved you, you threatening me, and questioning whether any of this was real. You're hopped up on Mirakuru and drunk out of your mind. Ooo, what if it's a spell?" Jason says with a slight grin on his face.

"Bringing Jason back is out of Zee's wheelhouse. And there's no one else who can do that."

"She is becoming a master of illusion. She should take that act on the road, like her father. Well, that didn't end too well for him. Hopefully, she can do better. Now that I think about it, Zee never did find Giovanni? She probably would have if she had her team behind her. With all of those Bat resources at your disposal-"

"Bruce looked for him. We all did. It was like he vanished into thin air, but with magic involved, he could be anywhere."

"The tech genius believing in magic isn't that funny. No, what would really be funny is if this was all a dream."

Hearing this, Tim was taken aback. Could this be a dream? When did it start? Was it after the building? Was it when he watched Bruce bury the body? Is he laid out on the floor in the lab with a needle in his arm from the Mirakuru?

"If this is a dream, there's only one way to wake up." Tim takes another wooden stool, smashes it like the first time, and picks up the leg with the sharpest end. He swings it around in his hand for a moment. Tim grips it tightly and proceeds to impale his chest. After a loud response to the pain, he twists the wood beam deeper when another voice enters the room. 

"Stop."

Tim looked to the door to see the woman he called his sister dressed in black and red leathery armor. 

"Nyssa?"

"Father has requested that you return immediately. Your time in Gotham has expired, and you shall resume your duties with him, Al Layl."

Al Layl was a name that became foreign to Tim, but that's how he knew everything had happened. That the pain he experienced was not something he conjured as a punishment. He looked about the room and saw the bodies he piled together. 

"Nyssa, I did-"

"There is no time for apologies. You are an assassin again. Act like it." Nyssa pulls the wood from Al Layl's chest and patches it up for travel. 

"Are we done here?"

Nyssa's eyes pivot to Jason. "Yes, we-" A crowd of gangsters floods the room aiming weapons at Al Layl.

"Hands where we can see them."

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Hank runs in after them. "Zee, drop the spell." Then, in a blinding light, the barroom returned to an empty warehouse. The gangsters turned into GCPD cops wearing SWAT gear, including the ones in the corner. Al Layl saw everything for what it was, but one thing stayed the same, Jason was still there looking confused.

"It's okay. You can take it off now!" Hank yelled across the empty space. 

Jason scratched at his neck, peeling off his skin to reveal himself. "Nice to meet you, Timothy."

"Christopher Chance, the Human Target." 

"In my flesh."

"All this-"

Hank interrupts Al Layl, talking straight to Nyssa. "He needs to get out of here now, or Gordon will arrest him. Jet's waiting on the roof."

Hank, Chris, and the police officers walk out of the building. "Where is he?"

"I told you, Commissioner. We had everything under control." From the corner of Hank's eye, he sees Chris and Zatanna meet Dick Grayson behind one of the tactical trucks. Dick makes eye contact with Hank, and Hank somberly and inaudibly mouths, "Thank you," Dick nods, leaving the crime scene with Zee and Chris following.

"Under control? Explain "under control" to the families that I have to tell that their son or daughter won't come home because they're dead!"

"Whelm yourself, Gordon.."

"You know what? I'm done. Done with you, with Batman and his Robins, the Tit-" Gordon grabs his chest dropping his cane, and his breathing falls short. 

"Commissioner?" Hank notices the sweat covering his face and hands. Gordon begins to fall, but Hank moves closer, catching him. "Medic! I need a medic over here!" Hank yells as the paramedics ride away the officers that Al Layl piled up.

"Gordon. Gordon? Say something, Jim." Jim doesn't move. He takes a breath, but when his chest falls, it never rises again.

"Hank, what's going on? Hank, talk to me." Hank heard in his ear, forgetting Oracle was on the other side.

"The Commissioner is down. He's dead, Barbara."

#gay #titans hbo max #titans #nightwing #hawk and dove #wonder girl #donna troy #aqualad #zantanna zatara #oracle #ra's al ghul #nyssa al ghul #batfam #red robin #red hood #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #barbra gordon #commissioner gordon #hank hall #dawn granger #arrowverse #cw arrow #slade wilson #deathstroke #grief #we are robin #dr. light #max mercury