#((End of ACT 1))

[idril-la-wiccan]

Out of the Abyss - Act 1 Part 9 - Back to Square One

*~ Previous Part || Return To Prologue || (To Be Continued) ~*

*****

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[two-idiots-read-homestuck]

here we are!

-tool

[kc-the-writer]

23 October 1776

The morning sun crept across the room, warming the bed and causing the young man to stir. Despite the chill in the air, he found himself in fear of the heat on the mattress. In a flash, his mind returned to the flames that might have consumed him if destiny had not. Opening his eyes and taking in the reality of decadent new surroundings, he was confident his destiny had indeed found him. His eyes flicked to the bedroom door, one he had not yet crossed, and he wondered what new life awaited him on the other side.

"Found you!" Constance's voice chimed as she shooed a little black cat through the threshold of the bedroom door. "You leave the Lieutenant alone, now. The mice are after my pumpkins, and you're bothering him? We all have work to do, and this poor man has nothing to offer you. Shoo!" Hands full, she closed the door with her bare foot and muttered a curse at the curious feline. Despite the tray, heavy with breakfast and medical supplies, she moved with grace and purpose, as though mornings tending to the soldier had become a favored ritual. When she crossed the room to the desk by the window, the smell of warm cinnamon rolls wafted behind her, filling the space and Bradford's heart with comfort in the warmth.

Intoxicated by the scent of the tea and cinnamon, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. Constance had been an eternal reminder that there was comfort to be found in warmth. Bradford might have grown to fear fire entirely if not for the way Constance carried it so beautifully in her spirit. Even with the morning sunshine blazing through the window and catching her flaming red hair alight, he delighted in the flames that ignited the space around her. "Good morning, Doctor Constance."

"Just Connie, to you, for now. I take much more pleasure in making medicine than I would enjoy administering it. I cannot imagine the horrors the healers under my father's command must see," she shuddered. Taking her crystal bottle in hand and a seat at his side, she sighed at the warmth of the featherbed. "No, I do not think tending to soldiers would suit me at all. You shall be my one and only."

"I like the sound of that. And the smell of breakfast. In fact, I find I am more hungry than in pain. Would it trouble you too much if we were to eat before you got to work?" He asked, stomach rumbling beneath his bandages.

Frowning, Connie glanced at the tray. "I suppose I could dress for the day while you eat if it is a necessary change to the schedule. You do look terribly hungry. I can leave you to your buns if you wish. She stood from the heat of his bed, regretting it instantly as the drafty October breeze blew through her modest morning gown.

"Or, you could have breakfast with me? If you have not already eaten. You need not leave me to take my meals alone. I require very little privacy; in fact, I might enjoy the company. You've been my only visitor save for the priest. I found him presumptuous, reading me the last rites so soon," he rolled his eyes as he took the teacup from Constance's outstretched hand. "Awful sod, thought my life was ending. In ways, it did. I feel like a new man under your care."

"You flatter me, Lieutenant. Alright, scooch," she laughed as she settled into bed at his hip. She dragged the breakfast tray onto her lap and placed a cloth napkin over his. "I suppose there's no denying Verity's cinnamon buns to a man in pain. They do seem to be the cure for all my teas, and elixirs cannot heal."

Making no attempt to fill the silence between bites, Constance and Bradford gorged themselves on the steaming cinnamon bread. They found their minds too carried away by the buttery cream glaze to notice the sky had taken on a similar white shade before turning grey. Neither had a reason to see that the bed was no longer warmed by the sunshine but instead now by their proximity in the feather bed.

As a particularly raucous rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens, Constance flinched and found herself feeling surprised that Bradford had grown so accustomed to the sound. She imagined some, like herself, never grew out of expecting cannon fire. His fearlessness was enviable, though Constance wondered what horrors witnessed in battle had hardened him to the din. When she opened her lips to speak on the thought, she was disrupted by the flash of lightning and the immediate downpour of rain against the tar-pitched roof. "I suppose my duties in the garden will have to wait until tomorrow. That leaves me with very little to occupy my time this evening. How about a game of cards later? Perhaps you prefer chess?"

"Poker is my game, but there is so much one can learn about his opponent in a game of chess. I accept the challenge," he smiled, lighting up at the idea of having fun. A month had passed since his last night of games. He wondered if Bennie and Marcus had abandoned the city with the others and what had become of the home the men shared. It seemed unlikely he had a home to return to. At least, he knew that in the confines of the stately bedroom, he had one friend left in the city. "Tell me you will be gentler with me in a game than you are with your tonic?"

Reaching for her crystal vial, Connie shook her head. "No games until you have taken your medicine and I have changed your bandages. So far as gentleness goes, I'll make no such promises in chess: no mercy, no retreat, no surrender. You understand how I was raised, sorry. But I promise to go easy with the medication where possible. I am trying to adjust the recipe so that it doesn't feel so -"

"Tortuous?"

Connie's expression softened as she pulled the cork stopper. "Indeed. Now, let's look at what progress we have made under the batting," she said as she began to unwind the white strips that had covered his blistering wound.

With each inch of exposed skin coming into view, Bradford grew more surprised by the efficacy of his healer's care. What was once charred beyond recognition had now glowed pink and tan. Pearlescent white scars streaked down his limb, but he knew the severity of the burns he experienced should have robbed him of it entirely.

Pleased with her work, she smiled at his bare arm and helped him sit up fully. "Now, let's look at those ribs," she instructed, unlacing the corset she had tied him into to keep his bones in place as they healed. Bradford looked down at his bare chest, stunned to find the bruising had long since faded. "My God."

"Goddess, if you must, but Connie will do," she grinned. She was clearly impressed with her tonic. "I believe you've earned your dignity back and will no longer need to sleep in my corset. The arm needs more of my special recipe, but I believe we can change the ribs to salve alone. A new bundle of dandelions is drying in the cellar as we speak. This one will not burn, only a tingle," she promised, warming the cream between her hands before placing them on his torso.

Moving slowly, Connie worked her fingers into his flesh, down to each aching muscle. From his collarbones, she worked down to his chest, and with a swift dig of her thumb over his heart, Bradford felt it start to beat faster. As though she had willed it, restarted it, vexed it to beat only at her command. There was no stopping the sigh of relief that escaped his lips at the sensation.

Working to his ribs, she lingered over the ones that had suffered the most, careful in her touch as promised. "Beautiful," she whispered as she ran her fingers down the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his breeches. Feeling an unfamiliar heat rising to her cheeks, she looked into the surprised brown eyes looking back at her. "That is to say; you've healed nicely, Lieutenant. I've done excellent work."

"Indeed you have," he sighed as he lay back on the pillow. If he had been capable of forming a thought, not one image or idea that came to him might have been enough to move the blissful smile from his lips. Perhaps if he'd opened his eyes, he might have been able to change his expression before it was forcibly changed as his features twisted at the feeling of the healing tonic seeping into the scars on his arm.

"You will be well enough soon. I will not need to touch your arm. I just ask that we test your strength. Your arm looks to be healing properly, but let us see if you can squeeze my hand. Ready?" Connie laced her fingers through his and waited.

Finding his breath after the shock of the treatment, Bradford agreed and curled his fingers around hers. A jolt of discomfort moved from his wrist to his shoulder at the movement. "Good, again," his novice healer instructed. With each squeeze of her hand, he felt more robust and capable. Only then was he convinced his limb would be saved. "Wonderful," Connie sighed, returning his squeeze. "It seems we have made remarkable progress. That's all the torment I will inflict upon you this morning. Medically speaking, of course," she smirked. "I'll return in a moment with the chess board, she said, rising from her place at his side and collecting her supplies. "While I am in the library, would you like a book? Something to keep you occupied?"

"A book would be such a delight, even a newspaper if you have one. What do you read?" He asked, finding himself genuinely curious. He hoped, after all, that she did read. He had heard that it was uncouth for ladies of her standing to do so, but something about her contained wisdom hard to find outside of a glorious story of a romantic heroine.

Returning to him and lowering her voice, she grinned. "I cannot bring you a newspaper. I steal them from my father and burn the nightly evidence of my thievery. In the future, I will be certain to bring them to you before I do. At present, I have just finished reading a story of a young servant girl; her employer is relentless in his attempts to coerce her to surrender her virtue. Oh, but it ends so happily," she sighed.

"I prefer the happy ending to the newspaper if you are certain it is no imposition. I cannot bear the papers and the state of this war," he looked past her, watching as the rain fell from the gables. His eyes fell closed in discomfort at the rumbling of the distant thunder.

Fully agreeing to his preference, Connie offered another gentle squeeze to his fingers. "I can certainly understand. It must be so different; living in the garrisons is one thing– fighting in the streets must be another. You've been brave, Lieutenant. You have earned your escape into a good book. Though, I confess, you are the first soldier I have met who acted with any rationality in matters of work and war. When my father was injured, getting back into uniform was all the man could want. His desperation nearly drove poor Verity to her wit's end," she blushed, ashamed to speak poorly of a man who commanded respect everywhere but his own home. Though, the house where he lived was hardly his own.

"Perhaps I might be eager to return to the streets if I had not enjoyed such great care," his thick brow arched as he met her gaze. "You are performing miracles, Connie."

Pulling her hand away, Constance averted his gaze and tucked a rogue curl behind her ear. "Not according to My father. He fears I will fail to have you in fighting shape before Christmas.

"Will you?" He asked, fear now spreading through him, his ribs aching, and the thought of war sent his heart racing faster than it had under her touch.

Afraid to look up from her bare feet, Connie shook her head. "Not if I can help it. It would be a shame to see you spend Christmas morning loading ships or marching into battle. If I can keep you in my bed and bring cinnamon buns to you, I will. Perhaps, I might even find a stocking to fill for you."

"I cannot imagine your father allowing it. It seems impossible to envision the Christmas spirit outweighing his penchant for battle. Sitting at the piano singing hymns while Verity roasts a goose- I cannot see your father in sight," Bradford chuckled sadly. Returning his gaze to Constance, he shrugged, "Was he always a soldier?"

Constance tried and failed to remember a single Christmas spent with her father. There had been plenty of roast goose, Bradford had been right about Verity, but memories of Major Fosythe rarely came in pretty packages. "He was, indeed. A good one, too. One of the best. He will spend the holidays awaiting orders and will expect you to do the same. You see, my father can seem cruel. I suppose the same can be said for all soldiers. Though, if I may confess, I might have liked to have been one. Tell me, Lieutenant, is it not grand? It must be wonderful having something to fight for!"

Shaking his head, realizing how long his dark curls had become since he was bedridden, Bradford searched for the words. Not wishing to argue, not wanting to trod on her way of life, he spoke gently. "My experience was far from grand."

She found herself genuinely surprised at his words. "Then, why? Why do you fight?" None of her father's most prized men had dared speak of war as though it had been anything worse than an inconvenience. To the soldiers, it had been an honor. To the priest, war had packed his churches with mothers and wives awaiting word from loved ones, happy to give to the collection plate as though it would save their sons and husbands. To the doctor, the war started a boom in business for his crude prosthetics. To the merchants, perhaps the most fortunate of the bunch, the war had meant more wealth than peace could ever hope to offer.

"I donned that uniform for the same reason most other young men do. Simply because I had no other choice," he answered after taking a moment to find the truth. Honest words falling from his lips felt as wonderful and strange as the touch of her hands on his chest. He found himself wanting more of the sweet taste of truthful words.

Carefully considering his words, Constance backed away from the door's threshold, reluctant to leave for the library before asking one final question of him. "Then, Lieutenant, what if you could do anything you wanted? How would you live if you were stripped of your uniform for good?"

Thinking back to his dying wish, recalling his desires as the boot pressed down onto his neck, he smiled. "Connie, all I want in this life is what you have. A beautiful home, a trusted servant, and a daughter as whip-smart as your father has. More than that, I want a tradition. Not based on violence or lies. I want the roast goose, the hymns. I want peace. A real family."

Constance sighed sadly, imagining the happy family in the portrait in her father's study, filling the room with hymns and indulging in Christmas pudding. She wondered if she may ever know the joy of tradition he had described in his wishes. "You shall start a grand tradition, indeed."

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x02 - “Watch It All Burn”

[raepliica]

one of these nights

[claraoswalds]

This is a brand new science for me, and I love it. The language of luck. 'Cause what is a coincidence but a form of accident? Two things bumping together unexpectedly. Like you and me.

[pavuk-starsymbol]

ISATober day 5: Touch

(If only someone would touch you to make sure you're real!)

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Heroes of Millennium (HoM) AU

Act 1: What was left behind. - Part 1 <- Part 2 <- Part 3 <- Part 4 <- Part 5 <- Part 6 (here)

Act 1, Omake 1: Master of Time - read here

Act 1, Omake 2: Barrier Team. - read here

[yyoati-cas]

Guys I am going crazy a bit after the arcane act 3, but like I feel like it’s pretty heavily implied that Jayce and Viktor was something something… I know they’ve paralleled Mel and Viktor a lot before but they did it again in episode 7, VERY CLEARLY IN JAYCES MIND MIGHT I ADD. And the whole ending scene of Viktor and Jayce bro.

I feel like Jayce is very heavily implied to have feelings for Viktor and Mel that are very alike and I really don’t feel like I am reaching with that at all

[psqqa]

yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.

phoenix wright

phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright

phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright

phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright

phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright

phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright

phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright

phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright

phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright

phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright

just

phoenix wright

crunchiest man in the world

and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him

[mipexch]

magic is fuel??? hatred is magic??????

[saturdaysky]

a little morning pick-me-up

-

A morning on the way to Baldur's Gate. The party booked themselves into an inn and enjoyed real beds, hot baths, and privacy for the first time since the Nautiloid.

Gale and Mayhew shared a room, of course. They were filled with the relief of surviving the shadows and the glow of finally getting together, so their private room was probably a blessing for the whole party, honestly.

-

This was some ascended anatomy practice! Referenced some great stock from @null-entity.

[foolsocracy]

[violetcoloredskies]

idk how much more of this I can take

[sage-nebula]

It blows my mind that in 2024 there are still people who want to be like "it is 100% all Vi's fault that Jinx is the way she is" or "Jinx is 100% just an ax-crazy hell monster that Vi needs to be saved from" when the entire point of the show is that, yes, both sisters are flawed human beings who have made mistakes, but the true failure lies not with them, but with the overall system that was destined to fail them at every step.

This is most obvious with Powder, who shows signs of her psychosis within the first opening beats of the show, the little scribble hallucinations popping up between her fingers. Powder's mental illness is genetic. Trauma exacerbated her symptoms, but the illness was always there. And there are absolutely no resources in Zaun to give her the care she needed to healthily manage that illness. And the solution isn't "make her a Piltie instead," because Powder wasn't the only Zaunite with mental illness. The problem was that Zaun was in that state of poverty, police brutality, and systemic oppression at all. Powder was failed by by the social structure that killed her parents, that parentified her sister, that ensured she went hungry, was constantly at risk of police brutality, and had no means of accessing adequate mental health care. All of THAT is what led to Jinx.

Oh, and speaking of parentifying her sister — this system failed Vi, too. Not only does Vi also have hallucinations, but Vi never got to be a child from the moment her parents died. She had to be BOTH sister AND surrogate mother to Powder. No, Vander never told her to, but he also does spell it out. Powder, Claggor, and Mylo follow her every word as the oldest. She was their leader. And for Powder especially, she was all they had left of their biological family. Vi stepped into the role willingly, but at an age so young she had no idea what it was she was sacrificing. What she HAD to sacrifice, after her parents were killed, after she and Powder were, yes, rescued by Vander, but Vander could only do so much and had two other kids besides. Vi was only 15 when Powder accidentally killed Vander, Mylo, and Claggor; despite having to sacrifice her childhood, she was still a traumatized adolescent. She should have been allowed to act like it. But the systemic oppression and structure of the Piltover - Zaun setup didn't allow for that. It certainly didn't do her any favors when an enforcer's idea of saving her life was to leave her to rot in a cell indefinitely. The system failed Vi, too. Just like it failed Powder.

Arcane is a tragedy. It's a tragedy in all aspects, but it is primarily a tragedy about two sisters. And the fact that some people want to wholly blame one sister is just beyond me. They've both made mistakes. But they also both had the decks stacked entirely against them from the beginning. That's what makes it a tragedy. It didn't have to be this way. And yet, there's no other way it could have ended.

[strawberrybyers]

LMFAO the stranger things crew are so funny 😭 they’ve been filming for months with fans and paparazzi taking pics and videos, but of course right after we get pics of byler; now everyone on set wants to be proactive about leaks,, like if byler is not endgame then why are they always so afraid of us knowing anything about them 😂