#((The old drawing I had of her was... bad *shudders*))

[morganasirennether]

((May I present to you Jonathan’s sister, the infamous Cartha. All in full colour now! Gave her about page a update with this pick now added and, holy shit, it’s a HUGE improvement from the previous one.))

[babybluebex]

i’ve had this scenario banging around in my head since the movie came out but imagine a fic where the reader has a massive crush on angus but they see him kissing elise at the christmas party 😭 like i loooveee angst and i would write this fic myself but i lost my last neuron when i fell off an electric scooter and got a concussion 😔

oh no concussion!! :( i'm so sorry about that honey, hopefully this'll make up for that!//word count: 2.1k, tw for grief/loss

You couldn't help but notice the way Angus grinned when Ms. Crane said her niece's name. It was a real smile, not the firm, thin thing that he had given you at lunch— you supposed that he hated being stuck at Barton as much as you did, maybe even hating you in the process. Being the only girl at Barton was hard, but especially at the holidays, when you really felt like your choices were the school or a fucking grave. It hurt, sure, but that smile on Angus's face hurt worse.

Elise pulled both you and Angus into the basement, where children sat, doing crafts with paste and glitter and pom-poms, and you smiled at one of the little girls, playing a popsicle stick as a little doll. You heard Angus and Elise talking to each other as they crossed the room, and you lifted your eyes to him just in time to watch him raise his arms in a silly pose and pull a goofy face. You almost started to laugh at him, as per usual when Angus was doing his antics, but Elise laughed first. Her laugh was gentle, her eyes bright, and your heart sank. She really was beautiful, and she was creative and knew whatever painting Angus was talking about. She was something that you weren't, and you sighed gently. And, based on the way that Angus reacted to her, he wanted what she had.

You took to playing with the little girls, keeping an eye out for Angus and Elise across the room. He didn't look at you one single time, keeping his gaze on her the whole time, spreading paint around the page with his long, thin fingers. You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked, and you looked at the pair just in time to watch Elise lean over the table and press her lips to Angus's mouth.

Your heart stopped and your mouth went dry. Of course. After everything, all the time you spent with him, the tells of friendship and maybe more that was building throughout the vacation, he still chose her over you. Would anyone ever choose you? Even at your old school, you were cast aside, forgotten. You thought that there was something with Angus, little flirtations and lingering glances, you could have sworn there was something there, but apparently not. You rubbed your lips together and lowered your eyes, feeling hot tears prick to the surface, and you quickly got up from the short table and made your way upstairs. You needed the bathroom, or the kitchen, or somewhere where there wasn't other people.

Unluckily for you, as you pushed into the kitchen, you heard a shuddering sob, and you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Mary Lamb bent over the counter, crying. Danny, the janitor, who you had interacted with a handful of times, stood in the corner, obviously wanting to help her but not wanting to aggravate her.

"Mary?" you mumbled. "Everything okay?" Even in your upset state, you hated to see the strong and smart Mary in a bad moment. If she was crying, something was wrong.

She said nothing, drawing in a breath and weeping, and your heart clenched. You turned back out of the kitchen, going in search of Mr. Hunham, but before you could even think about his whereabouts, you collided straight into Angus's chest. "Oh, hey," he said with a crooked smile. "You disappeared really suddenly; you okay?"

Seeing his stupid smile made your tears return, and you struggled to breathe. You could worry about yourself and your complicated feelings towards Angus later; you needed to worry about Mary. "M-Mary—" you started, pointing towards the kitchen. "She's— Where's Hunham?"

"What about Mary?" Angus asked, looking past you to the swinging door of the kitchen.

"Where is Hunham?" you repeated firmly, and Angus's smile fell.

"I'll go find him," he mumbled, and you turned back to the kitchen without a word. Mary's head was hanging now, her tears dripping on the counter, and you carefully approached her. "Mary?" you started softly. "Do you want some water or something?"

Mary sniffled and shook her head, and you frowned. She obviously didn't want anything, and you took a step back as Angus and Mr. Hunham noisily bustled into the kitchen. One look at her had Hunham closing the door, and Angus stood in the corner, arms crossed, as he watched Hunham lay a hand on Mary's back.

You felt sick as you listened to her sob about her Curtis, the boy you never met but would always admire, and the group of you was quick to grab your jackets and decide to go home. You were glad; if you ever saw Elise again, you might have dropped dead. But, of course, Angus was whinging the whole walk to the car about leaving Elise behind. "I was having a good time!" he complained. "You can take Mary home and pick me up later!"

"Yeah, having a good time sucking Elise's tongue," you scoffed before you could stop yourself, and Hunham's head snapped to you with intensity.

"I can't believe you two," Hunham grunted. "This poor woman is bereft with grief—" Mary interjected that she didn't need anyone feeling sorry for her, but Hunham paid her little mind— "And all you can think about is that silly girl!"

"What did I do?" you gaped. "All I said was—"

"I heard you, miss," Hunham said. "Mary and I are going to get the car, and by the time we get back, you two had better fix whatever this is."

Your face heated up with shame and embarrassment as Mary and Hunham scuttled away, and you couldn't even bare to look at Angus. But you did, and you saw, on his pale and sharp chin, the smallest red mark, a cut, a nick from shaving. "You have a cut on your chin," you mumbled.

"I know!" Angus spat. "What's your fucking problem suddenly?"

"Hey, don't yell at me," you said quickly. "Look, I'm sorry that you're being pulled away from the love of your life or whatever, but you've got to start giving a shit about other people!"

"Like who?" Angus asked. "Like you?"

"Like Mary!" you said, even though your heart was screaming, begging for Angus to see you. For him to really see you, see through your timidness and shyness and see how badly you liked him. "Oh my God, this is her first Christmas without her son; Jesus Christ, at least act like you've got a heart inside your chest!"

"Why do you care so bad about her?" Angus asked. "And, for a matter of fact, why do you care about Elise?"

"Trust me, I couldn't give less of a shit about Elise," you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest in the cold. "But Mary, I... Fuck... My dad died in January. S'why I didn't wanna go home for the break... It would just be me and my mom, alone in our place, not being able to avoid the empty space on the couch where my dad should be. I don't know what Mary's going through, I'll never know how that feels, but... I get it. It hurts like fucking shit, and, like, you'll never understand how that feels because your parents are alive—"

"My dad's dead."

The way Angus venomously spit out his words made you feel rotted inside. "But..." you started. "I thought your dad...? Saint Kitts...?"

"That's just some rich prick my mom married," Angus said.

"So you should get it," you sighed. "The first holiday without family is hard, every day is hard, but Mary... I can't imagine how she feels, and I'm trying to be as sympathetic as possible, try to make it easier for her or something, y'know?"

Angus was quiet for a long moment, pressing the toe of his shoe into a snowy patch on the sidewalk. "I guess I like Elise because she likes me," he said softly. "S'not everyday I find someone who likes me."

"God..." you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. "Is that what that was?"

"Shut up," Angus sneered.

"Hey, easy," you said gently. "Angus, I..." You didn't know what to say to him. You had no idea how to start the conversation, let alone get to where you wanted to be quick enough— Hunham only parked around the corner, he and Mary should be coming back at any second— and you said, "Was that your first kiss? Just then, with her?"

"All-boys schools don't make it easy to find a girl to kiss," Angus mumbled.

You sighed heavily. Your eyes drifted down to a snowbank at the edge of the street, watching it glitter under the streetlamp for a moment, and, before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him and pressed your mouth to his, grabbing his upper arms to keep you upright with your shaking legs. He started for a moment, shocked and surprised, and his hands hovered above your hips, wholly unsure of how to proceed, and you broke the kiss quickly. His owlish eyes stared you down, his mouth open, but he didn't look upset.

"Say something," you whispered, and he let out a breath, the warmth of the air hitting your lips. "Fuck, please, just say something—"

He kissed you again. His hands grabbed your hips and tugged you against him, and you easily looped your arms around his neck and rose up on your tip-toes to reach his height. His lips were warm, if a little dry, and his nose bumped yours as he went to deepen the kiss, his fingers itching in the skirt of your dress. You smiled, unable to control yourself, and Angus did too, pulling away from your mouth.

"Oh," you whispered, and you smoothed your thumb across his top lip, wiping off a little bit of the rosy lipstick that you had worn to the party. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Whatever," Angus said breathlessly, his eyes soft as he gazed at you. "You taste good."

You chuckled lightly, lowering your eyes to his shoes. That shyness returned as your skin flamed, and you worried your bottom lip between your front teeth. "S-So I guess you see why I wasn't too jazzed about Elise," you said, trying to attempt a lightness in your voice.

"I'll say," Angus said. "How long have you liked me?"

"Since I met you?" you squeaked. "Since, um, I got sat in front of you in Hunham's class...? I don't know, it's dumb."

"Nuh-uh, that's not dumb," Angus said. "I've liked you for... I don't know, I guess since that first day too. We had, um, heard that a girl was coming to Barton, and I didn't really care too much, but I heard how much the other guys cared, and it... I don't know, it became a contest on how little I cared. But then I saw you... Heard you laugh... Watched you sneak a cigarette behind the bleachers during a football game..." You laughed, as did Angus, and his big hand came to cup your face, angling you to look at him. "But I think I really, really fell for you when I kissed her."

"Huh?" you asked, wrinkling your nose.

Angus rolled his eyes, obviously a little abashed by his admission. "Listen, I'm a teenage boy, it's in my nature to daydream about you," he started. "I had dreamed about what it would be like to be your boyfriend, to kiss you, to have my first kiss with you... Then, Elise kissed me, and, when I opened my eyes, I was sorta disappointed to see her and not you."

"Oh," you said softly.

"You went upstairs, and I went after you to try to talk to you about that," Angus said. "And then Mary, and... But yeah. I've just been too chickenshit to tell you before now."

"Well..." you whispered, listening to the quiet rumble of Hunham's car come from around the street corner. "Thank God for Elise."

"Don't you ever say her name again," Angus told you, and he leaned down to kiss you again. You were acutely aware of how Hunham and Mary could certainly see you two necking in the middle of the sidewalk, but you didn't care. Hunham said to work it out, and so you had.

The blaring of the old Buick's horn made Angus pull away from you, and you heard the window squeak down before Hunham shouted "Will you two quit and get inside the goddamn car?"

"Take it easy on 'em," Mary said as you slid into the backseat, followed by Angus.

"Yeah," Angus said. "Take it easy on us."

"I don't need your sass, Mr. Tully," Hunham said, glaring at you two in the rearview mirror. "Now I have to find a way to separate you two at night, no more sleeping in the same room, no more..."

You didn't care to hear Hunham's ramblings; you leaned your head on Angus's shoulder, you took his hand in yours, and you closed your eyes. Maybe the rest of break would be okay.

[thebearer]

Okay, I feel like Teddy would have broken bones throughout her childhood for sure. But like, imagine Carmy and reader being so worried when Teddy gets hurt each time, and like the one time when she breaks or injures something and she needs to have surgery for it how freaked they are about it and like Tina, and Richie and everyone is there waiting for her. And Teddy would totally beg Marcus to make her all the desserts for her while she recovers. Thanks! I got a little carried away, lol.

i feel like teddy, yes. like ofc she's accident prone (she's literally just a ball of energy lol) but imagine this... it's willow.

like willow is so calm and sweet, but she's so clumsy too. and for some reasons she's always the one getting hurt. mainly bc teddy is so rough with her, not even intentionally, like she's just more fearless and wild.

they're jumping on the trampoline, and teddy is going absolutely insane bc a trampoline??? fuck yeah. and she's bouncing with little four year old willow, who's trying to keep up but her sister (in classic older sister style) has double bounced her like seven times. there's a net and you're watching, warning teddy each time she gets too wild, but then it happens- in seemingly slow motion.

teddy bounces willow, who flies for a second, before falling back on her side, extending her arm to brace her fall. you hear the pop! and then a shuddered breath before willow is wailing, her arm hanging by her side, bone sticking against the skin.

you're nearly lightheaded, screaming for carmen, trying to get willow off the trampoline carefully. teddy is scared to death, of course, and is sobbing too. and carmen is so overwhelmed, walking out frantically to your scared tone and two sobbing babies.

you spend your night and most of the morning in the er, each holding a crying child trying to console them. they tell you willow's break was bad and she'll need surgery, which makes you want to cry now too. carmen looks like he might genuinely pass out because the thought of his baby going to surgery???? he's horrified. needs his emotional support pepto asap.

they get her in pretty easily, and your family and friends (most from the bear) come to see her, bring her gifts and things afterwards. willow is terrified, bright eyes just wide and skittish when they tell her she's going to take a nap and come back with a cast.

carmen opts to be the parent in the waiting room, agreeing to follow all the procedures just to keep her calm until they get her under because willow would not go back there without him.

you're smothering her face in kisses. "daddy's gonna go with you, and he'll be with you the whole time, wills." you coo, smoothing a hand down her hair. "you'll get a pretty blue cast on, and then me and teddy and everyone can sign it for you. and marcus will bring you cupcakes. how's that sound?"

willow is sniffling, shuddering breaths that have your heart breaking but agrees. carmen hugs you and teddy good bye before going with them.

you're thankful richie is there, a sentence you never thought you'd say. your thankful he brought eva to keep teddy distracted, and that he could talk to a fucking brick wall if he had to. thankful he was there to keep you distracted so you didn't keep checking the time.

willow comes back, still asleep, all bandaged and wrapped up in a sling. carmen looks like he might need to throw up, which he does, but he's relieved.

willow spends the next night in the hospital, surrounded by toys and balloons and flowers- and of course, marcus brings her cupcakes.

she gets her cast eventually, and carmen draws on it for her with a sharpie. it wasn't very good, in his opinion, a little difficult to sketch with the cast material and a sharpie but willow seems to love it. giggles loudly when he shows her the various animals he'd drawn for her.

teddy enjoys it too. especially because with the influx of "get well soon" toys, she gets to play with them too. opting to "help" willow, of course, since her arm was broken. willow doesn't seem to mind, playing with her free hand with her sister, and you're just happy she's feeling better.

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 18 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Masterlist of my other works.

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Marianne enters her room as the sun’s rays are just beginning to rise.

“Good morning, Rhaena,” she announces in a sing-song voice as she draws the curtains, “It is good to find you awake for a change.”

“Mmm,” she grumbles, still in the sheets, “Why are you in such a good mood? It is way too early!”

“It is a special day, don’t you think?” her lady walks to the edge of her bed, “It is not every day we get to witness a tournament. Besides…”

A lovely blush appears on her cheeks and Rhaena smiles from ear to ear, thinking she knows what it is all about.

“Daeron asked for your favor, didn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he did,” she confirms, blushing even more.

“I knew it!” Rhaena crawls through the sheets, excited, until she sits beside her friend, “Did you dance with him? What else did he say to you?”

“Not much, we just danced a couple songs because then he excused and went to speak with Prince Aemond. And then Prince Aemond abruptly left and you mysteriously disappeared from the banquet, anything you want to tell me?”

“I was feeling overwhelmed, to tell you the truth.”

“Overwhelmed,” her friend repeats, looking at her.

Rhaena sighs and tells Marianne about her conversation with Corwyn and Aemond’s threat from the night before, though she leaves out the detail of how close their bodies had been, of his fingers on her lips and… Rhaena shudders, pushing that memory aside.

“Clearly the prince is jealous,” Marianne comments, her voice more excited than was appropriate for the situation, “He forbade you from approaching ser Corwyn. That is…”

“An overreaction,” she replies, frowning, “He basically implied that I take my virtue lightly and that Corwyn and I are closer than we should be.”

“Well, yes, that was very out of line,” Marianne admits, “The prince should know that it is not your custom to act in such a manner. Ever since you arrived, and even before, you have always maintained an impeccable reputation. His concerns are unfounded.”

“They are,” she asserts vehemently.

“Still… it seems that Ser Corwyn has not understood that very well.”

Rhaena flops down on the bed, closing her eyes for a moment, “I did not expect him to throw all those things at me yesterday.”

“Did you enjoy hearing them?”

Her lady meets her gaze and it takes Rhaena a moment to respond, “I do not know,” she admits.

“That is a problem,” Marianne sighs.

There is a moment of silence between them, until her lady speaks again.

“I think… I think you should not jeopardize what you have built with the prince for… for whatever it is you feel about Ser Corwyn,” she dares to say, blushing as much as before, “After all, the wedding is in just a few days. Ser Corwyn will eventually return to the Vale and you will be Aemond Targaryen’s wife. Nurturing your old friend’s hopes will not change that fact”

“I am quite clear about that, Marianne, believe me,” she assures her.

Still, a lump form in her throat. She had spent a good part of the night thinking about Corwyn’s words. How much she would have given to hear them when she was still a free lady in the Vale! How much could have changed if the knight had confessed his feelings sooner. It is not like Rhaena hadn’t suspected it before. She herself, she thinks, had contributed to the affection between them growing over the years and transforming into something more.

But none of that matters now. Your friend is right.

“There is more,” she says, sitting back down, “Aemond said that Alyn requested permission to marry Baela.”

Marianne widens her eyes comically, but her response is interrupted by the maids bringing in trays of food and the dress from that morning.

“Leave everything here, I will personally attend Lady Rhaena.”

The maids leave the room and the young women sit down at the table. Marianne wastes no time in bringing up the subject again, “That news is unexpected. I thought your sister would keep her… options open.”

“I thought the same,” she admits, “Though I assume it makes sense. One way or another, she has as much or more right to that inheritance than Alyn.”

Marianne nods and says after nibbling on her dates, “I met Lord Alyn yesterday.”

“Oh. Was he at the banquet? I don’t remember seeing him.”

“Perhaps because you left before he could introduce himself.”

“And what impression did he make on you?”

“He seemed… solemn. Quiet, serious.”

“Mmm,” Rhaena sighs, “Baela said he was a good person.”

“And during the days you two spent together, your sister never hinted at her plans to marry him?”

“Not at all,” she frowns, “Though perhaps I should have guessed. From what she told me of her life on the island, they clearly have a good relationship. Or I hope so, I wouldn’t want her to be forced into a union she does not desire, or for her to have made the decision hastily.”

“And what does the prince think of such a marriage?”

“I don’t really know, we didn’t have much time to discuss it,” she shrugs, “But I doubt the crown would object, I mean, what reasons would they have to do so?”

“None. It is just another union between houses, and we are in times of peace, right? There would be no point in refusing.”

Rhaena nods, though her lady’s mention of times of peace brings to mind Baela’s words about waiting for her chance for revenge. The girl watches her friend’s clear eyes, her expression relaxed and innocent as she sips her juice. Part of her wants to confess what her sister implied, to unburden some of her worries on a friendly shoulder, but she knows it’s better to keep quiet. And not because she doesn’t trust Marianne, but because it’s better not to involve her in whatever Baela’s plans are.

One more reason for you to have a serious conversation with Alyn Velaryon, she thinks.

“Rhaena? Are you listening to me?” The question snaps her out of her thoughts and she nods quickly, “We must hurry. We’ll have to take the carriage to the royal forest.”

Rhaena lets her friend take over, fixing her hair and selecting her jewelry, “I am sorry about the prince, but you won’t be wearing that butterfly necklace today,” she says as she puts a beautiful, albeit heavy, gold necklace with embedded rubies in her neck, “Yes, this is the one. It matches your dress.”

The chosen crimson and gold dress fit comfortably on her figure, leaving her shoulders bare.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” Rhaena comments.

“I hope Prince Daeron thinks so too,” Marianne ventures.

Rhaena links arms and they leave her room, “I am certain he will. Now, tell me, Daeron aside, who do you think will shine at the tournament?”

“Benjicot Blackwood is a strong contender.”

“Is Lord Benjicot here?”

“Lady Blackwood confirmed that to me yesterday,” Marianne nods. “Before I forget, we were invited to dine in her chambers today. Us, and Lady Redwyne, as well as my aunt, Lady Johanna.”

“I did not know your aunt was in the capital.”

“She decided to come and take the opportunity to find a husband for my cousin Tyshara. You will meet them tonight. My aunt is particularly interested in making your acquaintance.”

“No more than I am,” Rhaena assures, “Besides, I miss the conversations of the old ladies of the court,” she giggles

“You grow fond of them, don’t you?”

They both stop suddenly when a tall, burly man stops in front of them. It doesn’t take Rhaena long to guess who he is, and she doesn’t need to see the seahorse designs embroidered on the front of his doublet. The man is a younger version of her grandfather, Lord Corlys. The resemblance is so great that it astonishes her for a few seconds, leaving her speechless.

“Good morning, Lord Alyn,” Marianne greets with a kind smile

“Lady Westerling, Lady Rhaena,” he greets in a solemn tone

“Are you heading to the tournament, my lord?” once again it is her lady who speaks

“Indeed. And I was hoping to have my cousin’s company on the journey.”

His gaze falls on Rhaena, who had still been openly examining his appearance. Marianne strokes her arm and turns her gaze to her, who clearly wants to know if she will accept Alyn’s offer. Rhaena doesn’t particularly want to go with him, but she knows it would be rude to refuse, so she ends up nodding.

“Of course, my lord. If you both excuse me, I will find another carriage.”

Marianne leaves them alone and Alyn extends his arm to Rhaena.

“Thank you,” she says as they cross the courtyard of the Keep in silence and climb into one of the several carriages set to transport them to the tournament site.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, cousin,” Alyn says once they are comfortably seated.

“I say the same, Lord Alyn,” she nods, giving him a polite smile.

“I was hoping we could have a little chat alone,” he says as the carriage moves into motion.

“I hear you, my lord.”

“There is no need to be so formal,” he replies, frowning, “We are family after all.”

When Rhaena nods, there are a few minutes of awkward silence between them. She is aware that her cousin is watching her with apprehension, but she does not intend to say more. She does not know exactly why, and she does not like to think that she is being rude, but she prefers to let him make the effort to converse with her.

“I am sure you know that I will be the one to escort you to the sept on your wedding day.”

“I know that, and I appreciate your consideration.”

“Of course, it is my duty. Besides, it will be a pleasure to do so, of course,” he says quickly, frowning again, “I hope that these days can serve to get to know each other better, cousin. Surely your sister told you that you can count on me for whatever you need. Although you are a Targaryen, you are also part of the Velaryon family. And I want to make sure you are treated appropriately and befitting your position.”

Rhaena raises her eyebrows at him, fighting back the urge to ask where that sense of family was when he practically left her to fend for herself at the Eyrie even though, as lord of Driftmark, he could have welcomed her on the island as well.

Maybe Baela was enough for him, that pesky voice in her mind says.

“I appreciate your noble intentions,” she simply replies.

There is another moment of silence. Rhaena turns her face to look at the road and realizes that they have already left the city. The carriage sways as it makes its way through the rough stretches towards the royal forest.

“I would also like to take this opportunity to let you know that your sister and I…”

“Are you planning to get married?” she interrupts, turning to look at him, “I am aware.”

The shock is clearly reflected on his face, “Baela assured me that she had not told you about our plans.”

“Did you speak to her?” it is her turn to be surprised.

“We met during our journey on the Blackwater,” he replies, “She assured me that she had not been able to tell you about our coming wedding.”

“Was it really for a lack of opportunities or a lack of desire to convey the news?” she asks in a harsher voice than she intends.

“The circumstances of her visit were not appropriate. Your sister did not feel at ease in the Red Keep.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” she replies and then stares at him, “I want to believe that my sister is not being forced into such a union. I know that our situation is not ideal. We are nothing more than two young noble ladies with no parents and no other relatives, no lands or money. I hope you have not…”

“Taken advantage of the situation?” he finishes. To her surprise, a smile appears on his face, “I also know what it is like to be in a precarious situation. In a different way, of course, but I would not dare abuse my position to try to subdue your sister. I would not even try.”

Rhaena studies his expression for a moment, debating his honesty.

“I hope so,” she finishes by saying.

“We decided to marry because we feel a deep affection for each other,” Alyn says, “I assure you, cousin Rhaena, that I will make your sister happy, just as she makes me happy.”

His words ease her worries somewhat. She doesn't believe Alyn is lying to her, not when his voice sounds full of affection for her sister, but she intends to write to her anyway and ask for explanations.

“That is good to know,” she says simply, grateful that the carriage has stopped.

Alyn helps her down and Rhaena looks around at the numerous tents with squires, servants and grooms coming in and out to ready the horses. Everything is so colorful, everything seems so full of life and there is a clear excitement in the air that Rhaena can’t help but get excited. Maybe Marianne is right and the tournament will turn out to be more interesting than she imagines.

“Come, cousin, let me accompany you.”

Rhaena takes his arm and they walk over to where an oval stone structure, which she assumes is the arena for the jousts, stands imposingly. Several nobles are heading there as well, though Rhaena doesn’t stop to chat with any of them. And when her eyes meet Corwyn’s, she quickly looks away, remembering her conversation with her lady.

Rhaena bids Alyn farewell and walks up the stairs to the main platform. As she arrives, she notices that several members of the royal council, the high septon, and Queen Alicent are already seated. As is Aemond. Although his back is turned to her, nerves take over at the sight of him.

“Lady Rhaena, we were expecting you.”

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking up to the woman, “I am sorry I am late.”

The woman offers her a polite smile, “You are just in time, we have not even started yet.”

The Dowager Queen turns her gaze to the arena, where the banners of the contestant houses are already set up. Rhaena notices the slight tremor in the woman’s hands, who keeps fidgeting with her rings as she looks around apprehensively. The girl wonders if she is looking for Daeron.

“Surely Prince Daeron will show his talents this morning,” she is heard saying, “And the gods will watch over him at all times.”

Her words seem to surprise the Dowager Queen, who softens her expression and nods, “May the gods protect us all.”

Rhaena offers her one last smile before turning and finding her place. Though there are a couple of empty spots next to the council members, she knows she is expected to sit in the chair next to Aemond. So, ignoring the tingling in her stomach, she walks over to her cousin, sitting gracefully and smoothing out the folds of her dress.

“Good morning, cousin,” she greets politely, tilting her face toward him and offering a tentative smile.

“Rhaena,” he replies, looking back at her, “What caused you to be late?”

 “Lord Alyn Velaryon”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, clearly asking her to explain.

“My cousin wanted to introduce, and let me in on the news of his betrothal to my sister.”

“Did you question him about his motives?”

“I made my concerns known to him, yes,” she nods, “He assured me that they are unfounded. That he has under no circumstances pressured my sister into agreeing to marry him and what’s more… he told me that it is their affection for each other that motivates them to unite.”

“And you believed him?” he asks, curious, turning his body towards her.

“I found his words sincere, yes,” she admits with a sigh, “He takes it for granted that the wedding will take place, though I got the impression, from what you said yesterday, that the Crown does not seem to favor the union. You said that…”

“That it put more pressure on us,” he recalls, repeating his words from the banquet.

“How will…?”

Rhaena cuts off her question when a trumpet sounds, causing the arena to fall absolutely silent. Queen Alicent stands and walks to the edge of the platform, offering a smile to her subjects before speaking of the fortunate morning and the reason for the tournament. At the mention of their names, Rhaena and Aemond stand, taking a couple of steps to the edge.

“They are chanting our names,” she says with a smile, looking at Aemond.

He frowns, amazed to hear his name as the common people throw roses into the sand, smiling in his direction and shouting phrases that he can’t understand, but imagines are wishes for prosperity.

“Let us salute properly,” Rhaena whispers before clasping their hands and raising them, causing the people to cheer even more enthusiastically.

She waves with her free hand at each end of the arena, and although Aemond doesn’t imitate her, at least he doesn’t break contact abruptly, instead squeezing her hand gently, indicating that they should return to their seats.

Once seated, Rhaena tries to pull her hand away from the prince’s, but he doesn’t allow it. She looks up at him, amazed, but he ignores her, his gaze fixed on the sand and his fingers slowly caressing hers. The rough pads of his fingers forming patterns in the palm of her hand, sending a current of electricity to the rest of her body.

Rhaena swallows and tries to relax by looking at the tournament attendees. In the seats on the sides, the nobles are comfortably seated. She meets the gaze of Marianne, who is talking to a tall, attractive woman with dark hair whom she assumes is her aunt Johanna. Next to them, a young woman with blonde curls seems to observe everything around her with eyes full of wonder.

A little further on, Alyn Velaryon is talking to a man she doesn't know. A couple of steps down she finds Corwyn sitting next to Lord Tarly. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of them together and her suspicions increase when Lord Tarly appears to hand him a scroll which Corwyn quickly puts away in his doublet. Rhaena, who has not forgotten the insinuations the old man made while they were dancing, cannot help but wonder if they are partners in intrigue? Did they know each other? She does not have time to wonder more because she feels Aemond's penetrating gaze on her. “Who are you watching with such concern?”

“No one in particular,” she lies, turning to her cousin

“Mmm,” he narrows his good eye in her direction

“You didn’t answer yourself,” she says quickly, trying to divert his attention, “Why would Baela’s marriage mean more pressure on us?”

“Because if your sister has a son, a part of the kingdom would consider him the heir to the Iron Throne.”

His words take a few seconds to register in her mind. Finally, she makes a dismissive sound, “That is ridiculous. A son of Baela would have royal blood, sure, but he would be far below the line of succession.”

“Not to the noble houses who call my brother Usurper,” he replies harshly.

“Do you think they would rise up to place Baela’s son as king?” she asks in a small voice.

“It is a possibility,” he agrees, “At least the royal council thinks it is a risk we should not take.”

Aemond continues to speak, but she does not listen.

Was that what Baela intended? To marry Alyn Velaryon, a powerful and wealthy lord who would aid her cause in putting her son on the Iron Throne? Was that why she had insisted Rhaena to drink moon tea as often as necessary once Aemond started calling her to his chambers? Surely that was why she had arranged for a trusted servant to be placed in Rhaena's care. To ensure that she had no children. So that nothing would prevent her from placing her own on the throne.

The thought makes her sick. And, strangely, fills her with anger.

Why couldn’t Baela just accept her place? She was going to marry a noble and seemingly decent man. She could have a quiet, peaceful life, full of freedom and comfort. Why did she want to change it all? And especially, why did she want to take away her chance to have her son as the king?

You are being unfair, that little part of her mind says, but she ignores it. Her sister clearly believed her place was not in Driftmark, but in the capital, being the queen, as she had been urged to believe since her betrothal to Jace.

“Rhaena,” Aemond’s voice draws her from her thoughts, his long fingers squeezing her small hand and drawing her attention, “Do not be afraid.”

Their gazes meet for a moment, and unexpectedly, Aemond leans in. Rhaena’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to kiss her. For a moment, she wishes he would, even though she knows he wouldn’t dare. Not in public, not when… Her thoughts stop as she feels his lips settle near her ear, his warm breath brushing against her skin and causing it to tingle. Though it’s the words he whispers that truly make her heart pound with force, “It will be our children who inherit the throne.”

There is so much conviction in his voice that Rhaena closes her eyes. His lips brush her earlobe and a gasp leaves her lips, though thankfully there is so much noise in the arena that it goes unnoticed.

Aemond pulls away from her, and when he looks at her, there is fire in his gaze. And… desire. A desire that, she thinks, must be similar to what she is feeling. The one that makes her breath come fast and her lower belly seem flooded with a sensation she neither understands nor knows how to describe.

Rhaena looks away, embarrassed, though she notices Aemond’s smug smile. For once, she doesn’t care about his insolence. She chooses to take a deep breath and focus on the fight.

“It is Daeron,” she says suddenly, noticing the dragon-patterned armor of the knight advancing with his heavy lance to the platform.

“He will open the tournament,” Aemond replies with a frown, “Where is he going?”

“I think he is coming to ask a lady's favor,” she smiles

“Not yours, surely,” he mutters under his breath

Rhaena shakes her head and watches her cousin walk over to where Marianne sits. She can’t hear what he says, but she does not need to, because when he points his spear at his lady, she gives him a huge smile before taking the ornament she’s so painstakingly crafted and letting it fall to the base of the spear.

“That was lovely,” Rhaena sighs.

Clearly the people think the same, because they cheer with delight as the prince returns to his place, ready to face Lord Bar Emmon.

“I spoke to him about getting married,” Aemond surprises her.

“Did you?”

“I even mentioned your lady’s name,” he nods. “He seemed to favor the idea.”

“That is good news!”

The smile Rhaena gives him is so wide and sincere, the prince struggles not to return it.

“Do not get your expectations up yet just yet, I need to consult with…”

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, squeezing their clasped hands, “I appreciate the effort.”

The prince nods and watches his brother spur his horse to charge toward his opponent. There is a moment of tense suspense and he hears his mother’s gasp as lances ring out, a horse whinnies, and Lord Bar Emmon falls to the ground. Aemond turns to look at Alicent, who is pale and has raw fingers, but seems tremendously relieved. The people cheer as Prince Daeron emerges triumphant from the arena.

“That was intense,” Rhaena says from beside him

“He shouldn’t have participated,” Aemond grumbles

His betrothed watches him for a few seconds, “You are worried he might get hurt.”

He does not respond, but he does not need to, for Rhaena knows she is right.

The rest of the tournament passes between a succession of different knights, with Lord Blackwood and Lord Manderly standing out as favorites alongside Daeron.

When the last match is finally fought, Rhaena stands up, her legs feeling numb from sitting for so long. Aemond finally lets go of her hand, and follows her down from the platform.

After bidding farewell to the dowager queen, her cousin escorts her to the carriage where Marianne is already waiting.

“I did not expect the tournament to drag on so long,” she confesses as they walk, watching the sun already high in the sky.

“It gets tedious as the hours go by,” Aemond agrees.

“Well, we will just have to tolerate it for a couple more days,” she replies as she smiles at him, stopping near the carriage.

“Yes, just a couple more days,” he nods, looking at her and adds, “And then you will be my wife.”

***

Daeron is not looking for her.

At least not consciously.

Still, he is not surprised to find her in Maegor's Holdfast.

Hardly anyone visits the place anymore, not after what happened with Helaena, so it is the perfect spot to get away from everyone at Court for a while.

Ellyn Baratheon steps away from the windowsill and tilts her face toward him, her expression half annoyed and half relieved at the sight of the prince. Of all the members of the royal family, he was the only one she was glad to see. Though she knew better.

Daeron sits across from her, and the young queen chooses not to look at him, so she turns her gaze toward Blackwater Bay. For a long moment, a comfortable silence settles between them, until he breaks it.

“It is good to see you out of your chambers.”

Ellyn does not answer, she only nods and listens to him sigh before insisting.

“Are you hiding from the Court?”

The woman closes her eyes for a moment, “From my sisters, mainly. They are driving me crazy with their attentions.”

“I know well how it is,” Daeron smiles, “Your absence was felt at the tournament.”

“I doubt it,” she replies, shaking her head, “Lady Rhaena seems to monopolize the attention these days.”

The prince does not miss the bitterness in his sister-in-law’s voice, “You are the queen. We will always love…”

“No, please, Daeron, do not continue,” she cuts him off, finally looking at him. Her dark blue eyes two wells filled with impatience and pain, “You do not need to comfort me. I know well how things are.”

I know what a failure I am, she thinks, looking back at the river.

“I am so sorry about what happened, Ellyn,” the prince’s voice sounds genuinely sad, “I was hoping this time would be different.”

“You and the entire kingdom,” she replies once again, full of bitterness.

Ellyn closes her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek, but she wipes it away quickly.

She does not plan on crying in front of Daeron. Or in front of anyone else. She’s had enough of that.

When she opens her eyes again, she examines the prince more carefully. He is still wearing his armor, which shows a dent in his thigh.

“Did you have any luck in the tournament?” she asks.

“I did.”

Her eyes drift to the crown of blue flowers in his hands, “Who?”

“Lady Marianne Westerling”

“Good choice,” she replies, feeling a strange lump in her throat, “She is a good girl.”

“I know,” Daeron admits, his voice filled with sadness

Her brother-in-law’s hand finds hers. It is barely a touch, an innocent caress, but Ellyn can’t bear it.

“Daeron, no,” she replies, pulling her hand away

“Ellyn I…”

Against her better judgment, she looks at the prince. His violet eyes look pleading and also helpless.

“Go tend to that wound,” she replies, pointing to his side, where a spear has clearly pierced the flesh and drawn blood.

Her voice is quiet enough that Daeron doesn’t insist.

Ellyn looks back at the bay and feels the prince’s gaze on her for long seconds, until she hears his heavy feet start moving and leaves her alone again.

***

She immediately takes a liking to Lady Johanna Westerling.

Rhaena is enjoying her conversation with the lady of Casterly Rock, who entertains everyone at the table with her anecdotes.

“I can tell my aunt likes you too,” Marianne whispers at her side as they eat dessert.

Once Lady Redwyne’s guests have dispersed into the drawing room, the woman approaches Rhaena.

“I admit I am pleased with you, Lady Rhaena,” she says bluntly, “You are exactly what people comments of you”

“I am glad to hear that, Lady Johanna,” she admits with a smile.

“And I am glad my niece has a fine lady to serve,” she comments as they walk around the room, “I was hoping the same might be true of my daughter.”

“I would be honored to welcome her as one of my ladies.”

“I do not think it would be the best fit for Tyshara,” she replies with a sigh, “Court would provide too many distractions for her, and I am sorry to say that she is not as sensible as her sisters. She needs a husband with character.”

“That is what you came for, is it not?”

“As well,” Lady Johanna admits, “Any suggestions in the matter?”

“Oh no, my lady, I dare not name anyone.”

“Well, you should. Soon the noble ladies of the realm will seek your counsel in that regard.”

“It seems to me that that falls within the queen’s duties,” Rhaena denies.

“Ah, our queen!” Lady Johanna sighs, “Such a young woman, and so unfortunate. The gods can be cruel in their ways.”

Rhaena does not know what to say, so she only nods.

“I hear that Marianne hopes to marry Prince Daeron.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“It was not necessary,” the woman smiles, “I only had to see her at the tournament this morning to see her obvious longing.”

“It is a match I would be pleased with,” Rhaena comments.

“It would please me as welI,” Lady Johanna nods, “It is good to strengthen ties between allies. The crown needs it.”

“Perhaps you should look among one of your allies for Lady Tyshara’s future husband.”

“I had thought of Lord Velaryon, but it seems he is already betrothed.”

“Yes, I found out recently.”

Lady Johanna examines her curiously, “Young Lord Royce is a good candidate.”

“Oh yes, Lord Robb, I know him,” she says quickly, “His father is a good man, honorable and…”

Rhaena begins to tell her about her experiences with House Royce during her stay in the Vale.

“Do you think your aunt would really send your cousin so far away?” she asks Marianne as they walk to her chambers.

“If she thinks it necessary, yes,” her lady replies.

“But the Vale?” Rhaena frowns. “The Lannisters aren’t very well liked there.”

 It doesn’t make much sense, she thinks. Great lords usually preferred to marry their daughters to their closest vassals, thus reinforcing the loyalty of lesser houses to their own.

“Well, nothing is set in stone yet, maybe not… Hey!”

Marianne lets out a little cry of protest as a small boy, clearly a servant, runs through their midst.

“How rude,” she comments, watching the boy walk away quickly. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he wanted to give me this,” she whispers, showing her the parchment the boy had skillfully placed in her hand. “Who is it from? Prince Aemond?”

Rhaena places her fingers on Marianne’s lips and they almost run to her room. Once inside, the girl opens the seal and reads the letter. The message is short, and as soon as she reads it, he crumples the parchment in her hands and throws it into the fireplace.

“Why…?”

“It is from Corwyn,” she replies.

“Why is he writing to you?”

“He wants to see me,” she explains, her breathing labored and her body shaking. “He wants me to meet him in the godswood at the hour of the wolf.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm sorry it took me so long to update, this past weeks were rough. Hopefully you're still into this story, which I do not plan to abandon. Let me know what you think so far? thanks for reading!

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[seenoversundown]

Amongst The Stars: Chapter Three

Josh x Quinn (Nonbinary OC)

Warnings: Misgendering of a nonbinary character, Men (that’s it. That’s the warning), Wallet chains, Jake being Sweet. Word Count: 4.1k Summary: Josh has always loved love,  and he's finally found it. Buuuut, he can't exactly tell anyone. Join him as he navigates the ins and outs of his sweet, secret romance. Author's Note: We are officially on our regularly scheduled programming. Every monday, babies. I hope you all enjoy this one and the little dual POV action. I just had to get quinn back in there for a little bit at the end :)

Can't Take My Eyes off You - Frankie Valli  “Pardon the way that I stare There's nothin' else to compare The sight of you leaves me weak There are no words left to speak”

I can’t stop thinking about Quinn after they leave. Every little thing I do draws my mind back to them. I know it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t be, but I am jealous of their partner. God, Josh, you sound insane. Pining for a person you’ve met one time, being jealous of their partner. Their partner doesn’t respect them, so their partner doesn’t factor in. Sometimes, I wish brains functioned like an etch-a-sketch because I try shaking my head to clear those thoughts, but it doesn’t quite work, and I end up with a minor headache. Oh well. I walk back up to the front of the store, disinterested in actually working now that my day has been positively derailed by a lovely and mysterious person in a pair of beat-up Doc Martens. 

I stand by the front registers, waiting to greet customers as they walk in. Hobby Lobby has never been my favorite place to work, but it really isn't so bad when you're a manager and can choose to fuck off on the clock if you want to.Which I do. I want to fuck off on the clock badly. I look down at my watch, noting that I only have 20 minutes until I can clock out for the day. There's no sense in starting a new task, I smile to myself. I'm pleased I've managed to time my “greeting responsibilities” so well with the end of my shift. I stand around for a minute, bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, and I let my mind drift back to Quinn. Their lips looked so plush and biteable. It should be illegal that they nibbled their lips in front of me while I didn't have the option to offer my assistance. 

I ponder their lips for another moment before my mind slips back to their concerning comment. “He’d done a lot worse for less…”  My eyebrows furrow as I try to imagine a situation in which I would be anything short of sweet and kind to Quinn. 

I meander out of the first set of sliding doors and step into the area where only the ugliest furniture goes to die. Goin’ to the Hobby Lobby lobby, I sing to myself as I take stock of the atrocious seasonal items that no customer would ever think to purchase. That's a lie; old women exist. I walk the area and make a mental note to bring the feather duster out tomorrow to tackle the growing piles of dust that inhabit the, reasonably, rejected items. I run my finger along the gilded frame of one of the paintings that’s propped up atop one of the fucking ugliest baby pink chalk-painted tables I've ever seen. Of course, it's chalk paint, I shudder. My thoughts return to the painting; it’s massive, at least two and a half feet long—a highland cow with fluffy hair covering its eyes and an inexplicable crown of leaves resting upon its stupid little horns. 

“Oh, Bessie,” I whisper, pulling my finger back from the frame and examining the dust that came with it. “They could never make me hate you. I may hate everything in this sad room, but never you.”  I decide to check the markdown schedule tomorrow because, as much as I love this goofy little cow, I will never take her home at full price. I do have some standards. 

As I'm about to turn around and head back into the store proper, I hear the entrance door slide open as a man about my age, give or take, walks through. 

“Oh! Hey, man. Welcome to Hobby Lobby,” I greet him.  “Lookin' for a dude named Josh.”  Me? I take a second to look him over. Curly, blonde hair that sits a bit too close to his eyes. Nondescript black tee with baggy jeans. A wallet chain attached to his belt loop. A fucking wallet chain. What year is this? Well-worn Adidas sneakers. He seems safe enough. A bit worse for wear, but he doesn't seem scary. 

“Ah, yep,” I stick my hand out, offering it in greeting, “that’d be me!” He looks at my outstretched hand and scoffs.  Okayyyyyyy, maybe I misjudged.  “I just wanted to talk with you, man to man.”  “About…”  “About you flirting with my girlfriend,” he cocks an eyebrow.  “Not sure what you mean, champ,” I let out an awkward chuckle.“Don’t pull that shit with me, man.”  “I’m afraid I really don't know what you're talking about. I haven't said more than ‘hi, welcome to Hobby Lobby’ to a girl in weeks.”  “So, you're gonna act like you have no idea who Quinn is?”  I narrow my eyes,  putting two and two together. This is Quinn’s shithead partner.  “I don't think they’d appreciate you calling them your girlf—” “I don't exactly care what she’d appreciate right now,” he cuts me off, “I'm here to talk to you.” 

Oh, so he reallyyyyyyyy doesn't respect them. Noted. 

“Yeah, so,” I roll my eyes, “you can talk at me, but you're not talking to me until you show some respect.”  I watch his face contort in confusion, quickly morphing into anger. “Why should I respect you?” He spits out quickly.  “Are you delusional? Just stupid?”  I can't help but laugh at the look on his face  “I’m not asking you to respect me,” I continue, “I'm asking you to respect your partner. It’s ridiculous that you're in here, trying to talk to me ‘man to man’ while you're misgendering them.”  I watch as realization dawns on his face.  “Come on, you know I didn't mean that.”  “I’m assuming you’ve been with them long enough to know better,” I watch his eyes slowly shift away from mine, “not that length of time has anything to do with respect.” 

His eyes fall to the floor, properly chastised. 

“I—”  “For what it’s worth,” I cut him off, “from the few minutes that I talked to Quinn today, in a purely professional capacity, I think they deserve better than whatever it is you have to offer.”  “Hey—”  “AND, don't forget that they’ll realize that one day. And when they do, someone will be waiting to treat them better.” 

I check my watch.  Time to gooooooo! 

“Anyway,” I pause, narrowing my eyes at him in a silent gesture to get his name.  “Craig.”  “Anyway, Greg, my shift is over. I don't intend to mention this to Quinn the next time I see them, and I’d suggest you don't either.” 

I turn on my heel and book it to the break room, practically sprinting by the time I make it to the double doors. I push through, throw my smock on one of the hooks above the time clock, and punch out. Finally, finally, I sit on the worn-out leather couch across from the lockers and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in. 

“What the FUUUUUUUUUUCK,” I lean my head back and groan. 

I didn't have “getting accosted by a fucking freak” on today’s bingo card, but I suppose I'll have to tick it off regardless. Who does he think he is? Who do I think I am? I don't talk to people like that. I pull out my phone and send a text to Jake, chuckling at his nickname in my phone. I'm five minutes older, and I will never let him live it down. 

Me: I think I messed up  Kiddo: Elaborate on that?   Me: No 

I slide my phone into my pocket and stand up from the couch, shaking some of the nervous energy from my limbs. I’ll explain everything to Jake when I get home; I just need him to know I may be in a mood. 

I let out a long sigh and slowly made my way out to the front of the store, praying to whatever gods existed that Craig would be gone by the time I got there. I thank all my lucky stars as I walk out of the first set of sliding doors and find myself alone. I glance once more at my girl Bessie, then head out to the parking lot. I glance in every which direction, ensuring that Craig isn’t hiding anywhere, waiting to pop out and murder me. Perhaps I am being dramatic, but my gut tells me you cannot trust someone who wears a wallet chain unironically. And I always follow my gut. 

I make it to my Jeep truck and sigh as I plant myself in the driver's seat, connecting my phone to Bluetooth and clicking into my Apple Music Discover Station. Occasionally, I find something new that I enjoy. The opening notes of a pop song filter over the speakers as I back out of my parking spot and pull through the parking lot. Sam would hate this; I’ll have to add it to the bar playlist. 

I bob my head to the music, driving down the road back to my apartment “I’m your dream come true when it's on a platter for you…” For some reason that brings Quinn to the forefront of my mind, I can’t help but think about what a piece of shit Craig was to me today. I hope he’s better to them, but something tells me he isn’t. The things they said about him today…My stomach clenches thinking about it. Someone like Quinn deserves the world, and Craig is obviously not giving it to them. I could. Okay, no, that’s crazy. 

I sigh, pulling up to the stop sign next to the bar that Jake owns. We’ve lived in the apartment above it for years, but the prior owner finally decided to sell it, and Jake took him up on the offer. Jake got a job down at the docks when we were freshly graduated from high school; he decided he didn’t care about college and just wanted to set himself up with a good job that would pay him enough to put money back in savings and have a little spending money on top, and in Portland… That’s the docks.  Not that he ever needed spending money; he didn’t (and still doesn’t) ever do anything for himself. He’s always been too busy taking care of everyone else. I can’t even remember the last time he took a nice girl out for dinner. 

I pull into the back side of the parking lot and slam my car into park, practically jerking my key out of the ignition and running through the backdoor of the bar, ready to see my twin after the horrendously long day I’ve had. 

“Uh, hey, bub,” Jake greets me from behind the bar with a confused wave.  “Hey, kiddo,” I sigh, sitting at the bar top, “can I get a salty dog?”“Sure thing, gin or vodka?”  I raise an eyebrow at him, signaling he doesn't need to be in customer mode with me.  “Surprise me.” 

I watch as he takes a bottle of Tanqueray gin from the top shelf, pours a measure of it into his cocktail shaker, and then adds grapefruit juice, lime juice, and ice. He shakes it, then strains it into a highball glass rimmed with salt and slides it over to me. 

I take a sip, and, of course, it's delicious. Jake indeed found his calling here — no one on this earth can make a cocktail like he can. 

“Perfect as always, Jake.”  “I don't make them any other way,” he starts, “now, wanna tell me about how you ‘think you messed up?’”  I slam back the rest of my drink and shake my glass, asking for another.  “Slow down, you're gonna drink me out of house and home,” Jake scolds, but prepares another one, nonetheless.  “I need a little help loosening my lips.”  “Get real, you've never had an issue talking in your life. If anything, you're too good at it.”  I roll my eyes but secretly know he’s correct. I'm a known yapper.  “I resent that, you know.”  “And I don't care, stop changing the subject.”  “Fine,” I huff, “I got into a fight with a customer today.”  “Physical or…”  “Verbal, obviously. Do I look like a scrapper?”  He chuckles, wiping non-existent dust off of the spotless bar top.

“Anyway, some crazy dude wearing a wallet chain, of all things, came in and yelled at me for hitting on his partner.”  “What?”  “Yes, Jake. A wallet chain. In 2024. I was baffled, too.”  “No! Not that, you weirdo. He yelled at you for what?!” “Oh, he thought I was hitting on his partner.”  “Well, were you?”  I sit and think for a moment. I wasn't not flirting with them, but it wasn't my initial intent.  “Maybe a little,” I sigh, “I didn't realize they were in a relationship. And I do have eyes. They were too cute. I had to try and shoot my shot or whatever the kids say.”  “You’d ‘shoot your shot’ with a wall. I’m honestly shocked this is the first time this has happened.”  “I resent that, too.”  “Add it to the list.”  “Anyway, I think the guy was just insecure. But I may have been rude to him.”  Jake slowly blinks at me.  “You were rude?”  “I know,” I laugh, “he just brought it out in me.”  “How rude were you?”  “Well, I jumped his ass for misgendering his partner.”  “That's not exactly rude,” Jake jumps in, “it’s quite the opposite, I'd say.”  “I’m sure he didn't feel that way.”  “Why do you care? You did what was right; plus, it’s not like you'll ever see this dude again. Hell, you probably won't even see his partner again. No harm, no foul.”  My stomach flips at the thought of not seeing Quinn again. We don't have time to unpack that. 

“Yeah, you're probably right. I’ll never see either of them again and, as of right now, he hasn't reported me to corporate. So, no need to stress.”  “Exactly right, bub.” 

I finish up my drink and set the glass down. 

“Thank you, Jake.”  “You don't have to thank me, I’ll always be on your side.” 

I reach out and pat his arm. 

“Also,” Jake starts, “I don't know the situation, but it’s pretty serious if you actually act rude to someone else. So, don't discount those feelings.”  What is he saying? I fix him with a confused look.  “I don't understand.”  “Look, Josh,” he sighs like he’s preparing to explain physics to a five-year-old, “I’m not telling you to get in the way of their relationship. But, if the opportunity to explore this arises, don't let that opportunity go to waste. It’s no small thing that you felt connected enough to this person to do what you did today.” 

“You know, I did tell the guy today that if he doesn't treat them right, someone else will be there waiting. Maybe I’m that someone.”  “You could be, if that's what you wanted.” 

I simply hum a response. Jake has given me too much to think about. 

“I appreciate you lending me an ear, brother,” I shove my stool back from the bar and stand, “but I have chores to take care of upstairs. Text me if you need a hand down here.”  “Will do.” 

I open the door to the apartment that Jake and I share above the bar. Home sweet home, finally. I kick my shoes off and walk into the living room, planting myself on the couch, thinking about Quinn the whole time. Something about them piqued my interest. I can't help but feel that if we’d met at a different point in time, we’d be together right now. That's ridiculous. You've spoken to them for a total of 3 minutes. 

It is true that I've only spoken to them for a few moments, but I noticed them the first time they ever came in while I was working. I've watched them from afar, hoping to find a way to actually converse with them. I was shocked when they found a way to converse with me first. Jake may joke about how I’d hit on anyone, but that's not true. I’m nice to everyone, and I'm flirty with a lot of them. But Quinn is different. And it's unbelievable that I feel that way. I don't wink at every single person I see, nor do I tell them how important their work is. I certainly don't get into verbal altercations defending other people. Verbal altercations are reserved for when someone is talking shit about my family. So, what makes Quinn different? I keep replaying our interaction in my mind. I got butterflies when they complimented my tattoo. I was practically shaking when they pulled me in for a hug. I was angry on their behalf when they insinuated that they don't have people who support them. 

What. Makes. Quinn. Different. 

I never act this way about strangers, but it's as if their soul called out to mine, and mine answered. It's the only way I can explain the way I handled Craig. I called him GREG just to piss him off. I never do shit like that. But he was an absolute chode. He kind of deserved it. I can internally debate whether he sucks or not all night, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t speak like that to people, and if Quinn, sweet, curious Quinn, weren’t involved, I likely wouldn’t have spoken to him that way either. Regardless, I really need to find a way to get closer to Quinn. Good job; that sounds so creepy. What I mean is that I feel a soul-deep need to know this person. I don’t know in what capacity because it seems as though I’m entering their life a little late for it to be romantic. Which is what I want. But I could be just in time for friendship. I’ll take it if they truly want to extend the offer, but only time will tell. 

When Craig makes it back home, shopping bags in tow, Willa and I are roughly two and a half sheets to the wind. 

“Well, well, well,” Willa points an accusatory finger at him as he walks through the door, “The prodigal Greg returns.” I can’t help but snicker, knowing how much it pisses him off when: 1) Willa is here without warning 2) Someone calls him by the wrong name. 

“Hey, Willa,” He plastered on a pained smile. Willa turns to look at me, shock written on her face. That may be the nicest he’s been to Willa in months. Craig walks into the kitchen and places his bags on the counter. 

“Didn’t realize you were going to be here,” He half shouts from the other room, “But you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you want.” “Does he even know how to cook?!” She whispers. “He knows how to heat food up,” I shrug. “I’m making Eggplant Parm.” My eyes light up. It’s my favorite meal. “Maybe this is his way of apologizing,” I whisper to Willa.  She rolls her eyes but cuts me a devious look. “That sounds great, Craig. I’d love to stay if you’ll have me.”

“You girls just stay in there, and I’ll have it out in a jiffy.” “Jiffy?” Willa mouths, fighting back a laugh. “Girls?” I mouth back, shaking my head, and Willa’s face instantly sours. She knows that Craig has a hard time with my pronouns and prefers to ignore my identity. This is a regular point of contention in my relationship with Craig and, by extension, my relationship with Willa. I don’t understand why he does it, and she doesn’t understand why I let him get away with it. I don’t understand why I let him get away with it. He is quite literally just a man. 

Willa and I fall into silence for a moment before she grabs my hand and stage whispers just loud enough that Craig may hear. “I bet Stock Boy wouldn’t misgender you.” I hear a small crash from the kitchen, and I clap one of my hands over her mouth. “Stop!!”

I feel her tongue dart out and lick between my fingers, and I let out a squeal. I pull my hand back from her mouth and wipe it on her shirt. “You are an absolute monster. I’m not sure why I allow you to call yourself my friend.” “Oh, Quincy,” she lets out a cackle, “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.” 

I roll my eyes, but it’s true. She is the only thing that has kept me sane since we moved to Maine. She’s my rock. Kind of sad that your own partner isn’t your rock, Quinn. Willa picks up our empty wine glasses from the coffee table and shoots me a wink before heading into the kitchen. Surely, this will be fine. Willa trapping Craig in a room could not possibly cause anything terrible to occur. 

I can hear their muffled voices just enough to make out their conversation. ‘So, Craig. What did you get up to after Gamestop?’ I wince, waiting for his response to that emphasis. Willa has always been phenomenal at telling him that she knows precisely when he’s messed something up.  ‘Oh, uh. I just stopped by the grocery. Wanted to make it up to Quinn.’ Interesting.  ‘You were gone an awful long time to have just stopped at the grocery.’ ‘Mmm, yeah, well. I had to figure out what to make and how to make it. I’m not exactly a chef over here.’  ‘That’s an understatement,’ I wince again. What is she playing at? This situation is already precarious. ‘But, I suppose you get half of a point for trying. We’ll see.’ 

Willa walks back into the living room with two more glasses of wine for us. 

“He’s–” She starts at full volume before I shush her, connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Once the music starts playing at an acceptable volume to cover our conversation, I motion for her to continue.  “He’s lying. I can smell it on him. He didn’t just nip over to Hannaford and come home.” “I mean, obviously. He was gone for like three hours.” “You don’t care that he’s literally lying to your face.” “Technically,” I poke her side, “he lied to your face. And no, not really. If he came home and decided to be sweet for once, I’m not gonna question what it took to get him there.” “Quinn,” She says softly, reaching a hand out to pat my leg. “I know, Wills. But, just let me have this for the moment.”

She hums a non-response and drops the conversation. 

I should have questions. I should care. But, if he’s going to be sweet, I’ll take it where I can get it because these moments are becoming fewer and further between. 

“Dinner’s done,” Craig pops his head into the living room, “Y’all’s plates are already on the table.” Willa and I scramble to the kitchen table.  “Thanks, babe.” I kiss Craig's cheek before sitting down. “It looks great.”  “Anything for you, babe,” He beams. 

I see Willa’s lips quirk up in a slight grin and brace myself for whatever she’s about to do.

“So, Quincy. I’ve got a photography project I’m working on, but I need some supplies. Wanna come to Hobby Lobby with me tomorrow?” I let out a massive sigh as the color drains from Craig’s face, and I begin mentally preparing myself to do damage control, but Craig impresses me.  “That would be nice, Quinn. Y’all can get out of the house for a little bit. I’ll stay behind to clean up around here.” 

Willa sits in shock, clearly not expecting that response. 

“Oh, and Willa,” Craig smiles at her, “If you want to stay over tonight, I’ll take the couch. Don’t want you to drive home after you’ve had all that wine.” 

Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. 

Even if Craig has decided to be a bit nicer after his moment earlier; I still can’t help the little shock of excitement that rushes through me at the thought of being able to see Josh again so soon. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I want to learn more about him. He’s the most compelling person I’ve met in a long time, and perhaps he feels the same about me. 

I’m excited to see if our friendship may blossom. 

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posting

Her baby is three years old now. He speaks all the time now. He sings loudly, places his eyes to the grass and explores the world at ground level. He spends time alone outside, because there’s no one else to play with. Rose is spending time away from Lior, because it’s noisy there and she doesn’t like people asking about her child. Since Winry left for Central, Rose and her son have been the only residents in the house. Occasionally Alphonse returns, and she likes spending time with him. Mostly he just plays with the baby, though, and she likes that even more because it means that she can go to sleep, instead of playing with her baby all day long. One day Alphonse came back home, and he dropped his small suitcase in his room without hugging Rose because she doesn’t like to be touched, and then he came back downstairs to greet Rose’s little boy. “Wow,” he says, later, to Rose. “I almost didn’t recognize him. He’s grown so much.” Rose smiles and nods, but she also hears what he doesn’t say, because she thinks it every time she looks at her child. He doesn’t look like her. His hair is jet black, and his skin is slightly lighter than hers. It’s as if the color of her skin was mixed with white, with paleness like that of a bone. His eyes aren’t even the same as hers, and that’s why Al didn’t recognize him. Sometimes, Rose wonders about the name of her baby’s father. All that she can remember she has tried for many years to erase, and she can barely recall her pregnancy, much less the baby’s conception. But she remembers the birth. She remembers the birth clear as day. When people ask about her child, which they all too often do, she just smiles slightly and shakes her head and looks down and says, “We don’t see the father,” and she lets them think that she was a whore. When she thinks of her past, however, she prefers being thought a prostitute, as opposed to a Holy Mother. There is nothing holy about her. Her child, maybe, but not her. She doesn’t let people touch her. No one but her baby, because her baby needs her. Alphonse realized it quickly, faster than anyone else. He never even sits beside her. She is grateful for that. Winry, on the other hand, it took her a year or two to finally understand. She would always take Rose’s arm, touch her shoulder, her back gently. Even when Rose obviously shuddered, Winry continued to do it, and Rose was too terrified to ask her to stop, because then Winry would know. It wasn’t as if Winry didn’t know already; everyone knew. Everyone who didn’t know either figured it out or was told in hushed tones by one of those ubiquitous gossip-mongers. But Winry thought she was helping Rose, she thought she was providing reassurance and comfort. All Rose really wanted was to be left alone with her baby. With Alphonse too, maybe. She likes Alphonse. It’s been years since she brought him home from Central and he feels like an anchor, something to tell her that everything is going to be alright. He tried to teach her baby alchemy once. Nothing dangerous, just how to draw a pretty circle. When he left, Rose sat down with her little boy and she showed him a drawing of the circle. “This is bad,” she told him, because she didn’t know what would happen if her baby, in years to come, discovered the talent for alchemy. The list of State Alchemists who had been present in the attack on Lior was short, and she didn’t want to know who it was. His name, yes. His face, his past, no. The possibility that he may be alive, that he may have a family, terrified her. She’s baking a cake for her baby because she thinks it’s his birthday. She’s not sure, because no one ever told her the date on the day she gave birth, not Scar, not Dante, but it feels like around this time of year. She doesn’t tell him, though. She writes Happy Birthday on the cake, but because he can’t read it, he doesn’t know. “What does that say?” he asks, pointing to the letters on the cake. Her face burns with guilt, and she replies, “It says I love you.”

[ocean--grey]

Day 16: Future

Word count: ~750

“D’you think you’ll ever do it?”

“… Do what?”

Lister gestured at the expanse in front of him with a sweeping motion. “Y’know. Go out in space. Get off Earth, have a few weeks out on Mimas, or Titan, or whatever. Just explore.”

Lise pursed her lips then grinned from where she laid next to him, and gazed up at the night sky herself.

It wasn’t like either of them could see any stars. There were few places where that was possible, nowadays. Maybe some of the most secluded spots of Earth’s surface, far from the sprawling cities. Any part of the sky within a hundred miles (at least) of Liverpool was no doubt a hazy orange-grey, even on the clearest of nights. It’d been like that for decades at that point.

Lister only had one very, very faint memory of seeing the night sky, unimpeded by the glare of Liverpool’s light. It must have been when he was four, maybe five, when his Gran’d taken him to visit some old friend of hers. He remembered watching as the haze of the city gave away to dark grey, then black, then to pinpricks of light splattered like drops of paint across some great aerial canvas.

The night sky above him now? Well, it was frankly boring in comparison.

Dragging his eyes away from the muddy orange of the sky, he turned to Lise, who’d picked up their conversation again.

“Hm. I’ve always kind of wanted to go Callisto myself.” She shrugged at his raised eyebrows and continued, “Heard they’ve got a great music scene up there. Maybe Ganymede. I can’t really see myself going further than Jupiter, to be honest.” She shivered slightly, drawing her coat further around her. “Where d’you want to go?”

Lister stretched him back as he unfolded one of his arms from behind his head. Reaching out, he draped it on the ground behind Lise’s shoulders so she could lay back on it. She muttered a quick “thanks, love” and nestled her hair into his neck.

“Dunno where I’d go really. Probably only go as far as the Moon before getting homesick. I know they say Earth looks better looking in on it from space, but honestly nothing beats actually living here for me.”

Lise’s hair bumped against his cheek once, twice, then three times, as she mulled it over.

“Okay. Yeah, I get that. So… where would you go, then? If you don’t leave Earth, that is.”

He felt Lise turn to him slightly, body still facing the sky but with her nose resting on his cheek. He could feel her breath across the side of his neck, could see her eyes tracing his features. All of a sudden he felt exposed, open, laid bare for her to analyse every atom of his soul.

“Honestly?”

“Of course. I won’t judge you – too harshly, at least. I promise”, Lise grinned. She reached up and squeezed his hand with her own.

“Fiji.”

“…Huh.”

“Or – or, I’d stay here. ’n Liverpool. Just makes sense, to be honest. I’ve lived here all my life, right? I know it as well – actually maybe even more – than the back of my hand. It jus’ makes sense to me, I guess, to stay here.”

“Why Fiji, then?” Lise squeezed his hand again, possibly reassuringly, her grin falling into an equally amused smile. “Seems a long way from here, even if it isn’t as far as Jupiter or anything.”

“Land’s cheap there. I could, I dunno, build a house there. Make a farm, something like that.”

“Isn’t Fiji partially underwater? I guess you could have a fish farm or something, though.”

Lister sighed. “Dumb pipe dream, I know. I guess there I’ll be able to see some stars, at least.”

“But you’ll still be on Earth.”

“Yep, that’s the plan.”

Lise reached over and traced Lister’s jaw with her index finger, kissed his cheek. “Guess you wouldn’t make a good astro, if you think you’d get Earth-sick that bad.”

“God no,” Lister shuddered, “sounds like an awful job. Stranded in the void for months on end in a small tin can? Barely touching ground except for a few days each time? I don’t know why anyone’d willingly do that.”

“Guess it’s cheaper than travelling the commercial routes. I’ve also heard it pays well.”

“Not in a million years! Except if I was previously stranded on Io or something. Apparently there’s nothing it really offers except for a bunch of active volcanoes.”

“Well,” Lise kissed her cheek again, “at least you’re not anywhere but on Earth right now”.

[saturnville]

make luv.

pairing: tariq st. patrick x black!fem!oc summary: he has to remind her of the love he has for her. warning: 18+ smut. (can’t believe I did that). loss of virginity. language. cute fluff.

“It’s not a game, baby. I’m on you for real.”

She found him hard to believe. He was a lot like his father—in ways both good and bad. She knew the reputation he had of juggling different women for his own gain, just like his father. She regretted throwing it in his face during an argument, but her points were valid. She was scared to be juggled and dropped without a care.

“Say that to the women who are ready to drop their draws when you walk in the room.” She saw the irritation etch into his features at her statement. It wasn’t her intention to get him riled up, but it was the reality of their situation. He had girls wrapped around his finger and seemingly couldn’t shake them off no matter how he tried.

Tariq shrugged. “They not relevant. They’ve been cut off for a minute now. I don’t want them, I want you, and I swear on everything, this shit between us isn’t for show, it’s not fake. I only want to be your man, for real.”

She felt his strong arm wrap around her waist. The metal band of his watch cooled her warm skin and she shuddered lightly. His fingers trailed over her backside, gripping softly. She melted into his touch. Seductive old school music helped mold the mood he intended to create.

“I need you to understand something,” his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. They traveled down to her neck, his tongue massaging the sweetest part of her skin. Her eyelids fluttered. “You listenin’?” She hummed lowly.

“Stop worryin’ about other women when I’m not worried about them.” Her skimpy shorts were tugged on by his thumbs, yet his hand made no entry into them. “Stop worryin’ if what I feel for you is real or not ‘cause it is. Stop worryin’ if I’m fuckin’ another woman ‘cause I’m not. It’s all about you.”

Her left breast was stroked by his fingers. She whimpered. “I’m not checkin’ for anybody but you. You understand me?” No words. Just breathless pants and moans, small whimpers of his name. He pinched her nipple and her jaw fell slack.

“Yes, baby…”

He led her to his bed, her back against the freshly washed linens. The kiss they shared was far from the ones they’d previously shared. It wasn’t hot and fervent like a wildfire. No clashing teeth and battling tongues; it was gentle, passionate, and full of adoration.

Tariq nudged her thighs open with his knee and was pleased when they lazily feel open to make room for his body. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies like it was foreign territory—and it was. They’d never had sex, and they’d come close, but it manifested from lust and tension. This time, everything was slowed, calculated, and purposeful.

“Can I?” Tariq tugged at her clothing. She nodded with a soft smile and allowed for him to rid her of his shirt and her little shorts. He found himself in awe of her, as if he hadn’t seen her in such a vulnerable state many times. Still, he reacted all the same. From the beauty marks that decorated her face to the roundness of her stomach and the plushness of her thighs. He eyed the golden anklet wrapped around her ankle and smirked.

His lips trailed down her body slowly. No shudder or shake went unnoticed. She sighed softly. Her hand took purchase on his head, where she nudged him toward the love between her legs. They’d only gotten to that point few times before, and he’d been itching to please her again. It was no better time.

He rested her legs over his shoulder, nibbling at the insides of her thighs. They began to stutter to a close at the sensation of his teeth grazing her skin. He held her legs open.

He caught her eyes for a moment. They were filled with desire, desire solely for him. Tariq hummed in satisfaction and used his dominant hand to caress her heat. Her hips jerked at the sensation and a gasp fell from her lips. “Keep quiet,” was all he said before his tongue found her bundle of nerves.

“Baby…” she whimpered and moaned uncontrollably. She couldn’t give a damn about his expectation for her volume. He would know how he made her feel. His name came from her like a prayer as she pressed his face further into her sex.

He soon added two fingers to increase her pleasure. Her back arched toward the ceiling. Her plush thighs began to tighten around his head and she pushed his head away but he wouldn’t budge. Forcing her legs open, Tariq licked and sucked along the treasure between her legs. Her songs were music to his ears and made his insides dance.

He got lost in providing her pleasure that he didn’t realize how her body shook, how her soft moans turned into high pitched screams, and how her fingers dug into the side of his neck.

Her body stilled and an elongated moan came from her. His eyes were trained on her as she came from her intense release. She whimpered at the removal of his fingers from her, and welcomed his body on hers when he crawled between her legs.

“You okay?” Tariq nipped at her lips and neck.

She nodded. “Mhm. Now I just want you to make love to me.” His eyes snapped up and met hers.

“You say that now, but will you be cool with that decision tomorrow?” The last thing he wanted was for her to say something in the heat of the moment then regret it later. It would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her, if not more. He wouldn’t regret a thing.

She said nothing verbally. But her hands trailed up his physique and she pulled his wife beater over his head. Her manicured fingers crept down the planes of his stomach into the waistband of his sweatpants. Tariq’s breath hitched when she palmed him. His face rested in her neck as she continued to stroke him. Her hips jerked at every low whisper of her name into her ear.

“Fuck me like you love me, Tariq. Do you?”

“I do…” Slowly, he pulled away from her to rid them both of the remaining of their clothing. He leaned over to dig into his dresser for a foil and tore it open with his teeth. She lay comfortably beneath him, anticipating a feeling she’d never felt before. “You sure?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

Slowly, he pushed into her. A low wince came from her. Her hands flew to his shoulders and her nails dug into them as he continued to move. Tariq kissed along her lips, face, and neck, whispering sweet nothings to redirect her focus from the stinging between her legs.

“Fuck…” he muttered once she got comfortable and encouraged him to move. His grip on her waist was firm; she’d have crescent moons in the morning. “Damn.” She was fluttering around him and he was weak in the knees.

“You feel so good,” she whispered into his neck. She littered kisses that would result in bruises in the morning. She felt him losing control. The way his arms shook, how his strokes began to get sloppy and sporadic, he was close. And so was she. Her body became warm, her legs felt tight, and a pressure in her stomach bubbled by the second.

“This mine, baby?” He thrust into her with an unfamiliar force. Her hands clawed at the sheets beside her and her head rolled from side to side. It was too much. She couldn’t make out coherent sentences, so she nodded to the best of her ability. “All yours.” Her hand came to his stomach to push him away and he moved it, intertwining their fingers next to her head.

“Tariq!” she squealed. “uh, right there, baby.” A grunt came from him and he used his thumb to stroke her bundle of nerves. The act alone sent her into a new realm. She’d never felt a pleasure like that before. So much love and adoration shown in an act she was grateful she waited on.

Tariq prepared to pull out, but she locked her legs around his hips and captured his lips with hers with a whine. A breathless chuckle fell from his lips in response to her action. Their mouths moved together like perfectly partnered dancers, in sync and never out of it. Just as quickly as she came, he did too , her name sung like an old hymn. Her hands massaged his back to calm him.

They stayed connected for a few moments, eyeing each other like the lovesick teenagers they were. Her thumb drummed down his full lips, which captured it teasingly. She couldn’t help but giggle to herself as she caressed his face with a trembling hand.

“Lemme get you cleaned up, mama.”

[…]

The shower they shared was filled with teasing touches, intoxicating kisses, and loving stares. She understood why people got so attached after making love to their favorite person. She couldn’t have seen herself sharing her first time with anyone else.

“Did you not get enough?” she laughed as she brushed her teeth. He was behind her, brushing his own, but not without caressing her towel-covered body.

“Never gon’ get enough of you.”

[…]

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked her. There was a hint of nervousness in his tone that she picked up on immediately. She lifted her head from his chest and smiled with a nod.

“I feel great.”

“And you know I love you right?” he said, budging her side. She laughed and nodded again. “Just makin’ sure. You seem to forget.”

She kissed his cheek softly. “I love you, too.”

[friendly-books]

Dresden files Cold days live blog

Dresden files Cold days

“Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness, Monarch of the Winter Court of the Sidhe, has  unique ideas on physical therapy.” pg. 11

Mab and therapy don’t go together

Time to look up what The Cat Sith is

I already love Cat Sith and Harry’s dynamic

“The last time I was at a supernatural shindig, I got poisoned and then everything there tried to kill me. So I burned the whole place to the ground” pg. 31 Bianca party Harry’s rap sheet with parties is terrible. Why do people keep inviting him to parties. It never ends well.

“Wait for instructions. Follow instructions.”

“I’m not good at either of those things” pg. 33 Ha

Harry’s birthday!

“She’d been, ah, vajazzled” pg. 50 Ha

I love Harry’s telling off of Maeve

“I’m never really comfortable with parties.” pg. 58  Yep and I predict that this party going as bad as well as all the others disaster)

Eldest Gruff!

Oh no Eirkling isn’t he still trying to kill Harry?

“You are such a fanboy, Dresden.” pg. 65 Yep and who wouldn’t fanboy over Santa?

“Not till after Halloween. Enough is enough, I’m drawing the line.” pg. 66 Ha

Alright something is up. No one is telling Harry anything

Cool that Eldest Gruff used his ears to indicate where Sarissa went

“Ask the Red Court about it. Oh wait” pg. 76 Ha I probably shouldn’t have laughed at that

“Build a man a fire and he’s warm for a day.” I said “But set a man on fire and he’s warm for the rest of his life.” pg. 77 Ha and nice Pratchett reference

“I had one advantage: I was used to competing out of my weight class.” pg. 89 Yep

Go Sarissa!

“Kill my daughter. Kill Maeve” pg. 103 What

“Wait. Your job is…You’re BFFs with Mab?” pg. 115 Ha

Toot toot!

“One day,” I told myself “one brave and magnificent day, I will actually be cool.” pg. 129 Ha and I think you’re cool Harry

Bob!

The Winter mantel sucks

“-but he’s still kind of a friend.”

Bob made a gagging sound. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Dresden.” pg. 141 Aw come on Bob I like Harry being sappy

“while Mab bestrobe me, her naked body strangling me, ranking my thoughts out through my eyes,”

“I shuddered and forced the memory away.” pg. 148 This is terrible please get therapy. If I say it enough times it’s bound to happen

“I know how to kill an immortal.” pg. 149 Oh boy

“It’s when the world of the dead is closest to the mortal world. Everyone-everything-standing in this world is mortal of Halloween.” pg. 152 Of course it’s on Harry’s birthday

“Is that going to happen to me?” pg. 156 Poor Harry you’re not going to turn out like Slate

I agree with Bob talk and trust your friends Harry

Go Toot Toot!

Molly!

“I swear, this stupid town. Why does every hideous supernatural thing that happens happened here? I’m gone for a few months and augh. Be right back. Grrsdll frrrsl rassle mrrrfl” pg. 196 Ha

“I looked around. It wasn’t home, but…it was in the in the right zip code. And it was maybe the single sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.” pg. 197 Aw :)

Thomas!

“You. Moron

You idiot.” pg. 212 Yes Thomas call Harry out

“Yeah,” I said. “I missed you, too” pg. 215 Aw :)

“If your new boss wanted you on the island, wouldn’t she just have told you to go there?” Thomas asked

“Seems like,” I said. “Taking her orders is pretty much my job now.”

Molly snorted

“Maybe I’ll grow into it,” I said “You don’t know.”

Thomas snorted softly” pg. 221 Ha

“Upon completion, I had dubbed it the Whatsup Dock, and Thomas had chucked me twenty feet into the lake, thus proving his utter lack of appreciation for reference-oriented humor.

(And I’d thrown mine forty feet out with magic, once I got dry. Because come on, he’s my brother. It was the only thing to do.)” pg. 223 Ha

“My brother is…geosexual.” pg. 227 Ha

“I don’t know what these are.” pg. 232 What Bob doesn’t know?

So the original Merlin built Deamonreach and Eb has his old journals

“The guys in the White Council who didn’t like me were going to turn purple and start frothing at the mouth when they found out.” pg. 252 Oh yeah definitely some frothing

“No wonder my grandfather had looked stunned when he’d seen what I done with Deamonreach. Or maybe less “stunned” than “horrified” pg. 252 Yep

“IT BURSTS FORTH FROM YOUR SKULL.” pg. 254 Oh no also that’s kinda like Athena. Is Bonnie going to be born in this book?

I love that Deamonreach also calls Molly grasshopper

“He’s one of mine,” I said in a hard voice. “You hurt him and you can forget me helping you.” pg. 256 Yay glad Harry protects Bob

“LESSER BEINGS ONCE KNEW TO RESPECT THEIR ELDERS,” said Deamonreach

“I respect the crap out of you,” Bob complained. “You want my help, and I’m telling you how. Now turn me around.” pg. 258 Ha

“So Lara got in bed with Marcone?”

“She tried,” Thomas said, “but Marcone kept it purely business. That’s two men who have turned her down in the same century. She was annoyed.” pg. 286 This is glorious! I want Harry and Marcone to happen purely for how funny it would be. Imagine if it happened how embarrassing it would be for Lara. Two men who turned her down in the same cemetery get with each other. Hilarious

Fix! Is Fix and Harry going to fight?

“You uh, looked kinda cozy, man. With Mab. On the stone table.”

Sealing a contract like the one with Mab isn’t something you do with an impersonal handshake. I felt my cheeks heat up. “Oh. You saw that.”

“All of Faeire did,” Fix said.

“God that’s humiliating” pg. 296 I legit winced when I read this. Ouch it’s terrible. I hope Jim puts this in here to show that what happened to Harry was bad and Jim addresses it. 

I hope Harry talks to Murphy and see Maggie

“Wait a minute…We’re his flunkies.”

“You, maybe” Thomas said sneering. “I’m his thug. I’m way higher than a flunky.” pg. 324 Ha

Vadderrung!

“What do you need?” Vadderung asked

“Advice,” I said “Of the price is right”

“And what do you think a significant price be?

“Lucy charges a nickel”

“Ah,” Vadderung said. “But Lucy is a psychologist. You realize that you’ve just cast yourself as Charlie Brown.”

“Aurg” I said” pg. 318 Ha

“I will accept your offer of one favor-and-a nickel.”

“I told you. I don’t have a nickel.”

He nodded gravely. “What do you have?”

I rummaged in my pockets and came out with the jeweled cuff links from my tux. I showed them to him.

“Those aren’t a nickel” he said soberly. He leaned forward again as he had a moment before, and spoke slowly. “What do you have?”

I stared at him for a second. Then I said, “Friends.”

He sat back, his blue eye all but throwing off sparks, it was so bright.

“Thomas,” I called. “I need a nickel.”

“What?” Thomas asked “In cash?”

“Yeah”

Thomas reached into a pocket and produced a bunch of plastic cards. He fanned them out and showed them to me. “What about these?”

“Those aren’t a nickel,” I said

“Oh for goodness’ sake” Molly sighed. She reached into a pocket and produced what looked like a little old lady’s coin purse. Then she flicked a nickel toward me.

I caught it. “Thanks. You’re promoted to lackey.”

She rolled her eyes “Hail, Ming” pg. 320 Ha

“So if I go back in time and kill my grandfather, what happens?”

“He beats you senseless, I suspect” Vadderrung pg. 323 Ha and interesting that Vadderung knows that Ebenezar is Harry’s grandfather

“Birdbrains” pg. 326 Ha

Oh no Mac’s bar

“Thomas showed his teeth in a predatory grin. “I’m leaving bigger tips from now on.” pg. 336 Ha

“You will come with me”

“Isn’t that what Mab said. Harry?” Thomas quipped

I kept my hand shielded from Sharkface with my body and gave my brother the finger.

“Look, Spanky,” I said to Sharkface. “I’m a little bit busy to be tussling with every random  weirdo who is insecure about his junk. Otherwise I would just love to smash you with a beer bottle, kick you in the balls, throw you out through the salon doors, the whole bit. Why don’t you have your people contact my people, and we can do this maybe next week?”

“Next week is your self-deprecation awareness seminar,” Thomas said.

I snapped my fingers “What about the week after?”

“Apartment hunting”

“Bother,” I said. “Well, no one can say we didn’t try. See you later.” pg. 342 Ha

“You have no place in this watcher.” pg. 342 Oh interesting name for Mac

Very cool that Harry that punched Sharkface through his own fire

“Man, the yahoos I scrap with never seem to anticipate that tactic.” pg. 346 Ha

Outsiders come to play

“And you enjoy driving authority figures insane,” Thomas said

I shrugged “I watched The Duke of Hazzard at a formative age,” I said. “Of course I enjoy it.” pg. 357 Ha

“Victor Sells the Shadowman,” I whispered “Agent Denton and the Hexenwolves. Leonid Kravos the Nightmare. My first three major cases.”

“Yes” Lilly whispered “Each of them was tainted by the contagion. It destroyed them.”

I put my hand on the rail and leaned against it. “Fourth case. Aurora. A champion of peace and healing who set out to send the natural world into havoc.” pg. 373 Oh possession? And conspiracy? Since the first case!?

Why are we trusting Maeve?

“I want the throne.” pg. 381 I don’t buy Maeve never struck me as someone who wanted the throne. But the Fae can’t lie something is up and I’m suspicious. I need a bulletin board and red string go full conspiracy theory

Hmm I’m rereading this exchange. Lilly seems uncomfortable with telling the truth but Maeve doesn’t.

Okay the facts as we know them now

Mab wants Harry to kill Maeve

Lilly believes there’s a contagion that changes people

Lilly hasn’t examined Mab

Maeve has and claims Mabs infected

Outsiders are in this book

Harry isn’t infected

Could Maeve be infected and that’s why she can tell the truth? That would also explain why she wants to kill Mab. Could it have something to do with the Outsiders? I don’t have any strong evidence so it’s a bit tin foil hat theory so far.

Ace?! Why are you doing this?

Murphy!

“Be silent, mortal cow.” pg. 395 Rude

“Hey,” I said innocently. “Weren’t there seven of you guys a minute ago.” pg. 398

“Hey,” I said, in the same tone “Weren’t there six of you guys a minute ago.” pg. 399 Ha

Butters!

“Any kind of iron gets under my skin, it seems to disagree with the Winter Knight’s bundle of awesome. Takes the gumption right out of me.” pg. 407 Oh interesting I wonder what other Fae traits Harry has now?

“Isn’t she Catholic?” Thomas asked. “Don’t they have a guy?” pg. 412 Ha and Harry is scruffy homeless Jesus

“Wow seriously, PT?” Butters asked. “How long?”

“Eleven weeks” pg. 412 I would have loved to see actual PT and not Mab trying to kill Harry

“Check out Dr. Marcus Welby, MD, here?”

“I’d  have gone with Doogie Howser, maybe” I said

“Split the difference McCoy?” Thomas asked

“Perfect.”

“You’ve been shot!” Butters repeated, exasperated

Thomas shrugged “Well. A little” pg. 416 Ha

Aw no one trusts Harry :(

Whoa there Harry let’s calm down. That’s definitely the Winter Mantle influence

“Translate that from nerd to English, please.” pg. 434 Ha

“I didn’t add in the third reason not to contact the Council-when they found out about my relationship with Mab, the monarch of a sovereign and occasionally hostile supernatural nation, they would almost certainly panic and assume that I was a massive security risk. Which would, for a variety of reasons and to a variety of degrees, be an accurate assumption. And now that I thought about it, given how my, ah, induction had been psychically broadcast to all of Faerie, there was no chance whatsoever that the Council didn’t know.” pg. 436 Why would Harry be a security risk wouldn’t he be more of an ally for both? Wouldn’t he make the alliance stronger? Also that’s  creepy that the White Council knows about how Harry became the Winter Knight

“And my body abruptly went numb and useless from my stomach down.” pg. 442 Oh no

So how does the Winter mantle and Harry’s paralysis work? Does the mantle negate the paralysis but Harry still has it?

“Toots jaw just about dropped off of his head. “Wow” pg. 446 Ha

“Celery,” she replied promptly, “Cheese. Green tea. But mostly celery.”

“How random“ pg. 448 Ha

“Ebenezar, when he taught me, had been very serious about making sure I learned the proper names of things” pg. 452 More Harry and Ebenezar lore!

“Titania” pg. 454 Oh is this the best idea Harry? I’m pretty sure Titania still wants to kill you.

“You who slew my daughter,” Titania said quietly. “You dare summon me?” pg. 457 Oh no

“Boink and let boink, more or less.” pg. 461 Ha

What is this talk with Titania?

“Flashy entrances” pg. 464 Ha

“Hell’s bells. Elder Gruff had spoken to my behalf? I owed that guy a beer.” pg. 466 That’s nice that Elder Gruff

Nemesis sounds scary

Harry’s grave

“If working the spell from your own grave on Hallo-freaking-ween wasn’t deathly” pg. 472 Spooky

“Mother Winter, I summon thee” pg. 473 Harry again is this really a good idea?

Yay Harry used his Will and Soulfire. So cool that Harry breaks the art k of Will from Mother Winter

“She lost her walking stick” pg. 492 Mother Winter had a walking stick?

“Two-thirds of the Winter Court will be under its influence.” pg. 495 If Mab really was under the influence then I feel like we would see that. And Mab seems normal for Mab

“Holy…Outsiders? Mab’s fighting Outsiders?” pg. 503 Really? This also leads credibility to my theory because it Mab was controlled by Outsiders then wouldn’t see have let them in already and if Maeve is controlled she’ll need Mab died in order to become queen and let them in.

“To protect all of you from the Outsiders, mortal.”

“Then why does Titania have hers?” I asked

“To protect all of you from Mab.” pg. 506 Interesting

“Welcome, Warden Dresden, to the Outer Gates.” pg. 511 Cool

“They’re a…they’re supposed to be a metaphor.” pg. 512 Ha

“You are the help”

“We’re in trouble” pg. 519 Ha

“It had obviously been uncomfortable for them.” pg. 525 It was only uncomfortable for Lilly

Oh no Harry’s friends

“kittykittykittykitty!” pg. 536 Ha

Whoa there Harry that’s the Winter Mantle talking maybe calm down

Mouse!

I love Mouse and Harry’s interaction! Mouse is the goodiest boy

“Mouse thinks Andi should be locked in the garage at night, until she learns not to get abducted.” pg. 550 Ha

So I’ve been thinking about how Maeve is probably has the contagion. I wonder how she got it? It reminds me of an infection. So who infected Maeve? Did…did Lea infect Maeve? She was incased in ice for a while back in proven guilty. But then how did she get infected?

“Client had lost a kid or something to some half-assed wannabe warlock. He had cheesy dialogue and everything, was gonna sacrifice the kid with this big cheap, spiky knife.” pg. 553 Ha and a call back to Thomas’s story. Looks like there’s two canon warehouses in all of Chicago. The street wolf warehouse and now this warehouse. :)

“I hadn’t burned down a building in ages.” pg. 555 Ha

“Hell’s bells. That looked awesome.” pg. 558 Ha

“Goddammit!” I snarled “I just got played again! I am so sick and tired of this backstabby bullshit!” pg. 560 Poor Harry

“That was interesting. Why hadn’t Mac been tied up? Or if he had, how come there wasn’t a mark to show for it? Either way, that was odd.” pg. 561 Interesting

So cool that Harry created an iceberg that lifted the whole building out of the water! Harry’s so powerful

“Butters turned toward Molly with absolute murder in his eyes.” “I hate this” Butters said, his voice boiling with anger” pg. 572

Whoa there Butters and Molly how about everyone chill and check on everybody for injuries

Yeah Ace has good reason to hate Harry

“She was there when I cut her mother’s throat. I don’t know if she was conscious, if she saw…but what if she did? In my head, I’ve  run this scenario about a thousand times, and if she saw me and started screaming or crying” pg.585 Poor Harry poor Maggie :(

“You embezzled funds from the White Court to get me a present?” pg. 590 Ha

Molly got Harry a duster! :)

“The Wild Hunt is coming” pg. 595 Oh no

“I’d just put a bullet in the Erkling on Halloween night.” pg. 607 So cool

“Tonight we hunt Outsiders!” pg. 615 Yeah! Let’s go!

“You want me to drive into lake.”

“You have to admit,” I said “it isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever asked you to do. It isn’t even the craziest thing I’ve asked you to do tonight.” pg. 617 Ha

“Wizard please” pg. 623 Ha

“planted a kiss right on the mouth.” pg. 624 Yes!

“And I laughed. As if some freak who had never loved enough to know loss could tell me  about pain.” pg. 631 Yep

“Thrice I bid you thee! By my name I command thee: Tell me who you are?” pg. 632 Yes go Harry!

“Go ahead! I shouted. “Go ahead and eat me! And then we’ll see if you’ve got the stomach to keep me down!” pg. 635 Yes let’s go!

The Erkling is so cool

“The real Cat Sith wouldn’t be having this conversation with me, ya know. He’d have killed me by now.” pg. 645 Yep that’s not Cat Sith

WAIT

WAIT A MINUTE

Maeve has to be the one behind all of this because Molly becomes the new winter lady. It just took me till chapter forty four and 80% of the way through the book to remember that Molly becomes the next Winter Lady oops

“Like she did when you infected Lea.” pg. 647 :0 I was right

“I love nights like this!” he bellowed “I love Halloween!” pg. 652 Well I’m glad someone is having fun because Harry sure isn’t

“We were cruising down the surface of Lake Michigan, and it was chock full of monastery goodness-and we had just left the Wild Hunt.” pg. 653 Oh no

“You are so hot right now.” pg. 654 Ha and yay

“Warden,” he said

“Asshat” I replied” pg. 665 Ha

“You’re trying to recruit me?”

“The offer is made,” the Walker said. “We always appreciate new talent.” pg. 665 Harry is drowning in job offers

“I’m no one’s puppet,” I said

The Walker actually barked out a short laugh. “At what point have you been any thing else?” pg. 665 Ouch poor Harry

“Stay there. You will not be molested.” pg. 665 Was that really the word choice you used?

“What else did I have?

I had friends.” pg. 666 Yay!

“Get rocked,” I said, and pulled the trigger.” pg. 670 Yes!

“And for the first time in a decade the Winter Knight and Summer Knight went to war.” pg. 686 Yooo

“I felt sick, like I was fighting a blind man.” pg. 691 Ouch

“Lilly” I said wearily. “Listen to me. We’ve both been set up by Maeve.” pg. 699 Yep

Poor Lilly

Harry’s putting the pieces together

“Fix looked at me, dirty, naked, shivering, burned, bruised, covered in soot and ash.

“Fuck,” he said” pg. 710 Ha

“My daughter is in town” I said in a whisper

He blinked “You have a…?” pg. 711 Harry told Fix about his daughter?! Why? How many people now know about Maggie?

Thomas!

Yes good mud plan everyone.

“My dress? You were wearing rhinestones. And nothing else!”

Maeve’s face contorted in rage. “They. Were. Diamonds.” pg. 733 Ha and Sarissa and Meave have to be sisters

“Hell’s bells you’re identical twins”

“Not identical twins” they both said at exactly the same time, at the exact same tone of outrage. They broke off to glare at each other.” pg. 734 Ha and they’re twins even better

“Where is her love? Where is her fury? Where is her anything?” pg. 737 Poor Maeve

“Mab! Mab! Mab! I summon thee!” pg. 739 Harry is just summoning all the fae

“Cease. This. Rudeness. At once.” pg. 741 Oh Mab is mad. I love that Harry called Maeve’s mom on her

LILY! Ahhhhh what just happened? Is Lilly ok? She’s gonna live right? Right? She can’t just die. Where did Meave get a gun? Was Lilly shot in the head? What about Fix? Who would be the next Summer Lady if Lilly dies? What’s happening??

“Fire flicked to life over the late Summer Lady”

“Directly to Sarissa” pg. 745 Poor Lilly poor Sarissa :(

“Sarissa wasn’t the only Faerie vessel on the hilltop. She was simply the one Meave had been meant to see.” pg. 748 Molly

This is how Molly becomes the Winter Lady?!? So much death why?

“Then I thumped back the hammer on the little gun and put the barrel against Mab’s forehead.” pg. 753 Harry what are you doing? It’s so cool though 

“As far as your career as a mentor goes, you grew into much the same image as DuMorne.” pg. 756 Mab did not just go there. Harry should punch Mab. I should punch Mab let me at her >:( hiss Harry and DuMorne are nothing alike

“Deamonreach,” I said. “If our guest pulls that trigger, take her below and keep her there.” pg. 758 So cool!

“The one given to her by the Red Court at Bianca’s masquerade. That was how the Leanansidle was tainted-and your godmother spread it to Maeve before I could set it right.”

“Oh” I said. I’d been at that party” pg. 761 That party! It’s been over a decade in universe and it still has repercussions. It started in book 3 and it’s now book 14. That’s 11 books! Did Bianca plan for this to happen when she gave Lea the athame? Did Bianca know? What was her plan? Like her plan has backfired on her.

First the vampire war

Second half turning Susan which led to the destruction of the Red Court

Third the gravestone gift helped Harry in Ghost story

Fourth the Athame definitely cause problems for the fae but Lea hit her revenge

Did Bianca know that the athame would taint Lea with the Outsiders?

“I was mortal once, you know” pg. 761 Oh interesting

“You meant me to have the Wild Hunt.” pg. 764 So cool

“His face seemed leaner, and for that instant I saw Vadderung’s wolfish features lurking inside Kringle’s.” pg. 764 Ohhhh

“Stared closing up the minute she was done.” pg. 767 Oh interesting so Mac definitely isn’t human

Ouch Murphy and Harry’s talk :(

“So goddammit, don’t you start taking the highway to Hell. Because I’m going to be right there with you. All the way.” pg. 773 Aw :)

“But I can’t help but think that Fix is going to hold you responsible for some of what happened last night.” pg. 775 Yeah :(

“And it’s got nothing to do with facing Molly’s parents?

“And it’s got nothing to do with facing Maggie” pg. 776 Thomas calls out Harry

“Thomas ignored me and gave me a rib-cracking hug.” pg. 777 Aw hugs :)

“There was a storm coming.” pg. 778 Spooky

Final thoughts

Such a good book. I liked the fights. I thought the book was funny. Answered questions and gave me more. Poor Mab, Meave, Sarissa, Lilly, and Molly. No Bi Harry moments. Hopefully there will be more in the next book. I’m glad Thomas is doing better and he and Harry reconciled. I would have liked to see more actual PT. Yes I’m that sort of weirdo :) I liked Cat Sith. I don’t like the Winter Mantle. No dad Harry moments :( Presumably Bonnie will be born in the next book. Can’t wait to meet her!

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

Kharish + 12 please!

12: candles

It took all they had to wedge a barrier up. Looking at it, from town, it doesn’t look nearly strong enough, flickering thin and translucent around the silent stone towers, a pale aurora across the sky behind mocking the staunch silhouette, and the faint glow of that awful sickly blue light pulsing still from the pinprick of the broken doorway, where poor Savos—

With a start, Colette blinks, her own smudgy, hollow-cheeked reflection briefly in focus in the window instead—ghoulish—she twists away from it and scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand. There was nothing to be done. There was nothing to be done. Even if any of them had been faster it wouldn’t have mattered, the way he crumpled easily as paper in the air, wrung out like an old rag, the snow below sizzling red.

“Mistress Marence?” She looks up. Kharish, with the split lip she wouldn’t let her touch—she’s thinking of them all in wounds, now. Mirabelle and the knee she twisted because she wouldn’t move until they’d shoved the last student out the gate. Faralda and her wrenched shoulder welding the iron shut in a grim fist. Urag with his hand and cheek studded with broken lens glass. Tolfdir’s bloody nose and violent tremors, seizing the whole damned bridge—“Yours went out,” she realizes Kharish is saying, one hand cupped around the flame of a short, stout candle.

She isn’t smiling; hasn’t, really, since she left to chase after the Synod. Something else that’s broken.

“Here. It’s better when it’s not so dark. How long are you going to be up?”

“How long are you going to be up?” It sounds an accusation. Colette rubs at her eyes again, starting to stand. She might mean it, if she isn’t careful. “I need to—”

“Everyone’s fine for now. It’s alright.” Kharish sets the candle on the round little table next to the one that’s already burnt out and lowers herself into the chair across from her. “You did a good job.”

She huffs a breath, hard enough the weak flame shudders. “Don’t. Don’t, really.” Her gaggle of adepts handled themselves better than she’d been afraid they might. Setting fractured bones and stitching shut gashes is one thing; it’s far and away another when you know the face under the blood.

“I don’t think the Hearth has seen this many people at once in an age.” The candle is almost shorter than the one that’s gone out, liquid wax pooling in the deep center well of it, threatening to drown the wick. She catches her eyeing it—puts out a hand to draw the flame a little higher. “Sorry, it’s—I know.”

Movement out the window. The uniformed silhouettes next to two more familiar shapes standing in exhausted attention at the foot of the bridge. Like a vigil. Like a wake—

Colette leaves the chair with an abrupt thmp to stand over her, takes her by the chin. Eyes darting to affix her gaze to the ceiling, Kharish goes very still, already half-braced. It doesn’t look as bad, with the blood cleaned off her mouth, but as soon as she touches her it becomes apparent she’s bitten her tongue too. Not clean through, and she’s been talking still, but it must hurt. “You should have said something.”

“What, for this? Not worth bothering anyone with. Especially with others worse off who had the wherewithal not to put their faces right in the way of flying stones.” There, just a twitch of a smile, rueful. “And I—thought I could try to fix it myself. Clearly couldn’t quite manage, though.”

“You haven’t even got a mirror,” Colette scoffs. “Stop talking a moment. —you need to be able to see what you’re doing. And of course it’s harder to do for oneself.” Flesh threaded into alignment, she pulls with one quick sharp movement, watches her lip knit back together and the startled gag she tries to stifle as her tongue does the same in her mouth. “Because you always know when to flinch.”

She lifts a hand towards her own face, running her tongue over her teeth—touches her wrist instead, fingertips light, just above the end of her sleeve. “Thank you.” She does smile, now: not as bright as it ought to be, but no less warm, a candleflame of her own. “I’ll have to see if I can find a mirror to take with me before I go.”

Of course it’s real. The woman doesn’t have a smile that isn’t real. Only—shaded differently. It would be easier if there were even one she didn’t mean, in some way or another.

“You shouldn’t,” Colette says suddenly. She lets go of her face, retreats for the chair, where her hands might burn less.

Her smile, too real, too soft, flickers with the wavering shadows. She would have already left if they hadn’t asked her to wait for morning. As if thin ribbons of daylight will make the destination forgiving. As if she’ll take the sleep. Here, instead, with her, with a candle more liquid wax than wick. “Who, then?”

No one. No one else. Is it so selfish, to want nothing changed, to want no one lost—her knuckles are white, fingers locked around each other. The dark robes of the Archmage going impossibly ever darker, sticky and staining under her useless hands. She can’t mend what isn’t there. What good is a body made whole again if it’s been left emptied?

On the teetering wooden table, silent as the dead, the light drowns.

[x-ceirios-x]

old friends and familiar faces

in which Magnus saves Alec’s life but stops to say hello to an old friend

cw: probably cursing, description of injuries

The doors to the infirmary swung open with a flourish of red and blue sparks. Magnus, face taught and makeup slightly smeared, emerged from behind it and looked to Isabelle immediately. “Your brother is stable,” he said, voice thin and, evidently, tired. Rowan watched as his posture slowly relaxed, the adrenaline from saving Alec’s life dissipating. “You’re welcome.”

Isabelle clasped her hands over her mouth, letting out a shuddering breath. “Thank you, I—thank you so much.”

Rowan stood up from the wall, groaning in pain with the wound on their hip. They had an iratze on it and it was covered with gauze, but it still hurt to move. And because of where it was, it wouldn’t scab over right when they walked. 

Magnus’s gaze snapped to them, though he spoke to Isabelle. “Just know you owe me a favor, dear,” he said, tone softening the longer he relaxed. “But it’s no matter. What—” he glided across the room towards them— “is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” they muttered, biting their tongue. They didn’t particularly want to be in debt to a warlock whose payment is in IOUs, but they didn’t hide the pain when they moved very well. They shifted their weight onto their other foot and grit their teeth. “I’m fine.”

He looked at them expectantly, through his mascara-brushed lashes. They wondered how he was so comfortable wearing makeup—it was impressive. There were many things about Magnus Bane they were impressed with, though saying it would warrant a cold glare from Maryse. They did enough to piss her off, lately. “You very clearly are not,” he said, offering his hand. “May I?”

Isabelle shot them a wide-eyed look that screamed just do it. She was worried about them, too, now that Alec was in stable condition. They all barely even had time to consider their own injuries when they were so worried about him. “I’m going to go get everyone something to eat,” she said, running off to the kitchen. 

Magnus watched her go, then turned back to them. With a sigh, they took his hand. “I seriously hope she doesn’t cook,” they said, limping into the infirmary and leaning on him as little as possible.

He smirked at their comment. “Is she that bad?” 

They scoffed. “You have no idea.”

They reached the first bed inside the room and sat, leaning against the wall behind the headboard. Magnus looked surprisingly worried as they did, but they grit their teeth tight and dealt with the pain. “I’ll warn you, it’s not pretty.”

He shrugged. “After what I just saw, I don’t think your little flesh wound will bother me much.”

In agreement, they slid the corner of their waistband down far enough to show the gauze—it had little red spots on it and a poorly drawn iratze poking out from the top of it. 

“I’ve never met a shadowhunter who draws such messy runes,” he said, slowly peeling back the tape and gauze. 

They winced as he moved, but the pain was over fast enough. “I’ve never met a warlock with a copy of the Gray Book. Learn something new every day.”

He smiled at that but didn’t look up at them, only focusing on the task at hand. His hand hovered over the wound and blue and red sparks appeared again, though this time they were much smaller and contained. The feeling was odd—similar to a bandage being put on slowly, but it was tingly, like when their arm fell asleep. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but a weird feeling. 

“I don’t think I ever caught your name when your friends crashed my party,” he spoke up after a moment. 

They paused momentarily but eventually settled on the idea that making idle chatter with the guy who was healing their wounds wouldn’t hurt anyone. “Rowan,” they said, glancing over at Alec a few beds down—he looked like he was sleeping peacefully, which made them relax a little. As long as they could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, they’d be content. 

“Lightwood?” he asked. 

They shook their head. “Ashfair. The Lightwoods are better family than mine, though.”

He hummed in reply. They watched his face—it looked like he was thinking, carefully considering his words. They had no idea why. “Why is that?” he asked like it was asking their favorite color. Whatever this warlock’s deal, he was certainly curious. 

They scoffed. “Long story. Not really an important one—all that matters is I’m here and I found my own family.”

“A hard lesson for someone your age to learn,” he said softly, almost like he was speaking about something he remembered. They wondered what living for so long was like—to have hundreds of years of memories must be overwhelming. Magnus spoke again after a moment, a soft smile on his face. “It seems like the people here care for you, though. That’s always good.”

They shrugged with one arm, trying to keep the injured side of their body still as he worked. “Alec, yeah. I fight with Izzy a lot, but I chalk that up to living together. It’s petty stuff. I don't talk to Jace.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I sensed some tension there when we met. Care to share? A love gone awry?”

They scoffed at his question. “You could say that. I started dating him when i was thirteen and we broke up three months ago, so…”

He hummed and nodded. “Not a fun experience to live with someone you don’t exactly like, is it?”

Rowan chuckled and shook their head. “It’s not, is it?”

They chatted for a little while, even after he finished working his magic. They didn’t look down at the wound much until Isabelle came back, empty-handed and slightly panicked. “I can’t find Jace,” she said quickly, heels clicking on the tile floor. “Or Clary. They’re gone.”

Rowan sighed and began to stand when Magnus put a hand on their shoulder. “You have to rest long enough to let the magic kick in, dear. It’s like a bandage that works a little faster—it’ll heal the top before it heals everything underneath.”

They rolled their eyes—staying in bed, injured was never their favorite pastime—but stayed put. “Izzy, we’re all injured. I don’t know where they went, but there isn’t a lot we can do in this condition.”

As she walked closer, they could see how torn up she was—this wasn’t just about Jace and Clary missing, but about the feeling of possibly losing Jace after they found out Alec would be fine. They noticed her digging her nails into her palm and they sat forward, enough to extend an arm out to her. It was rare Rowan was affectionate with anyone but it didn’t bother them in the slightest when Isabelle lunged into their arms, hugging them tightly. They laid their arms around her shoulders and leaned their head against hers, watching Magnus over her shoulder. 

His face softened as he gathered his things. Isabelle clung to them, deep, shuddering breaths coming from her like she was trying to hold herself together. “I’ll take my leave. I left my personal number, dear—do call me when Alec wakes up.”

They nodded and watched as he stalked off, only pausing in the doorway to say, “do say hi to Jensen for me.”

Rowan nodded nevertheless and turned their attention back to Isabelle. She seemed a little more relaxed now, but they still held her, relaxing slightly as the adrenaline wore off from the day. “He’ll be okay,” they muttered. “Everyone will be. Jace always comes home. We always come home, right?”

She sniffled and nodded, pulling away to dab at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. “Right. Of course,” she said, nodding. 

They offered an encouraging smile, thinking quickly of a way to make her laugh. “Do you remember that time, when I was probably eleven, that I ran away in the middle of the night because I was pissed off at my dad?”

She made a noise—somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but they assumed it was closer to the former. “Oh—by the Angel, mom was so mad. She was mad at your dad, too, and so were Dad and Hodge. They were just worried about you, though.”

“Oh, that explains the harder lessons for a week,” they said, dry sarcasm heavy in their tone. “But hey, I came back, right?” She nodded so they continued. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Isabelle hugged them again, arms around their middle and head resting on their shoulder. They were usually terrible at comforting people, but whatever they said this time seemed to help. Isabelle was so strong, so seeing her so distraught unnerved them, but they could deal with those feelings later once everyone was home safe. Maybe, just maybe, that included Clary, too. They’d grown a little partial to her, though admitting it was out of the question. 

Magnus’s conversation with them played back through their mind. The Lightwoods were their family, and there was not a person in the world who could change that. It was moments like this that, despite the petty fights, reminded them that Isabelle did care about them as much as she did anyone else. 

Their mind wandered to the rest of the conversation. As he left, he mentioned Jensen—they didn’t remember mentioning having a brother, let alone his name. Maybe their memory was a little fuzzy from the pain (and it had never been good in the first place), but they were almost certain they never mentioned his name. 

So what the hell did Magnus Bane know about their baby brother?

[arthyritis]

A Wonderful World (Welcome Home/Puppet Friends AU) - Chapter Seven

"Just a little lower!" Sweetie instructed Ren, who was lowering Yay into the waste paper basket by a scarf wrapped around their middle. Ren followed her words, lowering Yay until their arms could reach the papers and mess them around.

"I don't see anything, Sweetie," they said, their face morphing into a frown through the mesh of the basket. "Phoebe's writings, some missing poster drafts, a page of old homework. No Pip."

"Please. Look closer," Sweetie begged, pressing her nose to the outside of the basket. The mesh was so tight it was impossible to see anything specific.

Zero stood next to her, their hand on her back rubbing gentle circles. Besides Pip and Phoebe, Zero was Sweetie's next best friend; they were everyone's best friend. They took care of everyone in special ways. Their bigger body was perfect for cuddles, shade, and more. But their best quality was how comforting and soft they were with just their body language. Sweetie smiled at them.

"OH! I think I do see something, actually!" Yay exclaimed, twisting in the makeshift harness. Ren dropped them just a little bit lower and their hand grabbed something. "Pull me up, Ren!"

The pig puppet did as asked again, pulling Yay the entire journey up to the desk with ease. She sat down and untied the scarf, trying to see what Yay was holding, and her eyes widened when she did.

A small piece of purple plastic, as small as a broken pencil lead. Ren didn't like the look of that, but was distracted as Sweetie climbed up the wall of pegs to the desk, stumbling dizzily for a moment before crawling the rest of the way over to them.

"What is it? What is it!"

Phoebe turned over on her bed to watch, too. She was highly confused, the explanation Sweetie had given her highly condensed to just the bare details, but her interest was piqued by the shouts nonetheless. The puppets were all shielding whatever Yay had found, so, as quick as she could, she got back into her wheelchair and went over to the desk, helping Zero up along the way. "What did you find?" she asked sleepily.

Yay held their hand out, and Phoebe's brow scrunched in concentration. "That's..."

"A piece of Pip's hearing aid. He did fall into the basket. But where did he go from there?"

,

"So, Wally told me you're coming to the picnic this weekend, Pip," Eddie spoke, covering his mouth politely as he chewed.

He was almost finished with his second plate of macaroni and cheese, while Pip had eaten one and put the plate in the sink already. Julie was fighting herself on whether to go back for thirds or save the leftovers for later.

"Oh, yeah, I am." Pip smiled easily. "Arts and crafts and food. It sounds like fun."

"And games!" Julie shouted enthusiastically, ultimately losing the battle with herself and scooping just a little bit more food on her plate. She really liked her own cooking, though admitted she wasn't as good as Poppy's baked goods. "I help set up the games and stuff every time. New games, known games, even some really cool games from other places! Oh boy, remember last year that game we played with the water balloons?"

"When Frank got one right to the face?" Eddie shuddered. "Yeah, one thing I'll never forget is their reaction." His southern accent was deep as he talked, and Pip admired it somewhat. All of the neighbours here were so unique but at the same time...

Eddie reminded him of Yay, with their shared clumsiness and ability to chat and chat and chat, and Julie reminded him of Sweetie, both sweet as a button with seemingly unlimited amounts of energy to boot. They made him miss sitting at home and having tea parties or drawing with the two smaller puppets, but it didn't feel as bad, anymore.

"Speaking of the picnic, I've wanted to ask ya somethin', Pip." The little button eyed puppet looked over at him, but Eddie couldn't hold contact, standing to take his plate to the sink. "I was wondering if you'd wanna help out with anything. Making a banner or placemats, maybe? You're an artist, right? I saw the little doodles outside; they weren't just Julie's."

Pip flushed, nodding even though Eddie couldn't see. "I draw, occasionally. I'd love to help out."

Julie finished her plate in record time, smacking her hands on the table in her excitement. "I can help after I'm done the games list!"

"Sounds good!" Eddie said, clapping his hands. "Well, I've got to head out of town for the rest of the day, but I'll be back tomorrow. Maybe you two want to draw up some designs for that banner, or soemthin'?"

"Sure, Eddie."

"Have a good trip, don't fall!" Julie laughed, and Eddie laughed with her, tipping his hat politely. "Bye, Eddie!"

"Bye, you two!" And he was out the door.

,

Julie and Pip got to work on some more drawings after Julie had found some loose papers to draw on.

It was getting a little late, not quite dinnertime, when there was a knock on the door and Julie went to open it. Pip sighed, assuming it was the same puppet who'd apparently taken it upon himself to collect Pip almost every day, but then it heard a different voice and softened.

"Hello, Julie. Eddie told me Pip was here. I need to talk to him."

"Oh, hi, Frank! It is!" The door closed. "We're just drawing, if you want to join."

Frank walked around the corner into the living room, their frown replaced by an almost straight, disinterested look. They were wearing a tan coat and hat and held a net and empty container. "I don't have time for that right now. Can I talk to Pip alone please?"

Julie nodded and skipped to the kitchen while Frank set down his bug-hunting supplies and stood in front of Pip, who was watching with interest and a bit of concern.

"What's the matter, Frank?" it asked, pushing the drawing it was working on away.

It had doodled various butterflies and filled the page, but didn't feel like colouring them.

Frank sat down in a nearby armchair, pinching his nose and looking mighty tired. "You'll have to forgive me if I leave out any details; it's been a long day. But... I heard Wally and Barnaby talking earlier and thought you might find the information beneficial."

That's where Pip noticed how ragged Frank looked. His coat was buttoned up the wrong way, and his hair was pushed up under his hat messily.

He'd rushed over here just to tell Pip this information, whatever it was. Pip found that sweet.

"That doesn't sound good. Why did Julie have to leave?" Pip asked, looking toward the kitchen vaguely.

"Because I assume you haven't told them about any of this stuff with you, and I cannot handle their energy and questions right now." Still pinching their nose, Frank took a deep breath. "Wally was telling Barnaby about your chat this morning. About telling you why you're here. It's not true. Not completely, anyway."

Pip's ears rang and it stared in silence until they stopped. Odd. That had only happened this morning when it'd left the tap running.

"I had my doubts it was the full truth," it admitted, blinking to clear its head. "Did he say the actual reason?" It already wasn't that hopeful, but the twisting shake of Frank's head doused any hope it may have had.

"I think he knew I was listening."

"Oh... is that bad?"

"Well, he's not dangerous or anything, but it's not good, either." Frank left it at that. "Now, about the picnic Eddie's hosting. It'll be in Home's backyard, that's where we host all our events, just given the nature of the house. It's alive, it likes to be included."

"That makes sense, I guess," Pip mumbled, brow furrowed. "Why are you bringing this up, suddenly?"

"Because it might give us a chance to investigate." Frank's frown shifted up into a small smile.

Pip didn't peg him as a mischievous type if it was being honest, and it was just another reminder of his own friends. Ren was responsible, but ultimately she really enjoyed a bit of trickery every now and again.

The button-eyed puppet nodded, smiling, too. "Okay... but wouldn't it be good to have some help? I think Julie would be perfect for this."

Frank's hand rose to their hat, adjusting it as they peered toward the kitchen. "You're right, she'd love in on this, but as much as I love having another Lepidoptera lover in the neighbourhood, this isn't where you belong, and she wouldn't understand that. It should be our secret, at least for now."

Pip couldn't help but agree with that logic.

,

They said their goodbyes, and after a couple more drawings it was time for Pip to return to his house; another knock on the door signified that, Wally standing there with his hands tucked behind his back, his little black shoe tapping the ground. He stared straight into Pip's soul.

"Ready to go?"

"Bye, Julie!" Pip said with a wave, the pink puppet waving back enthusiastically with a drawn-out, "Byeeeee!"

Wally walked alongside Pip in silence, and Pip noticed that ringing again. He stopped in his steps, watching Wally walk a few more ahead before he realised they weren't together anymore.

"What's wrong, neighbour?" His voice sounded muffled, further away than he was, and almost completely overtaken by the ringing now. "Puppet?"

All at once he pulled himself back to the present. His head felt light and he was dizzy. Maybe that fall his first day was just now hitting him. Did he have a concussion? Should he see Poppy?

Wally's voice called him back again and he started walking to catch up.

"M'fine," he said, passing by and hoping Wally couldn't tell otherwise, the smart guy he played.

"If you say so, neighbour," Wally shrugged, falling back into step beside him. "So, how was drawing with Julie? She's my favourite artist in the neighbourhood, other than myself. It's why she decorated so much of your house."

Pip glanced up at Wally sideways. Part of that was news to him. "You draw?"

"I paint," Wally nodded. "Still-life portraits, things for my neighbours. But my favourite thing to paint is apples, with all of their intricate details and blemishes. They're very interesting if you look at them long enough." Pip couldn't hold in a laugh, and Wally looked surprised. "What? It's true."

"It is true, that's why I'm laughing. Phoebe has said the same thing about her drawings for art class. Though, she was a bit more sarcastic about it, you sound genuine in your love of apples."

"I am very genuine about my love of apples. They're a lifeblood." Wally's eyes were wide as he explained. "There are apple trees all around Home. One might think it's because I planted them, but they've been here a very long time, and they're important to the neighbourhood's maintenance."

This felt weird, Wally being so talkative. But then again, Pip was chatting its heart away back. Maybe this was just how Wally was like with his neighbours once they got used to being here...

Was it used to being here? This day seemed to be proving that all too quickly.

"Something on your mind?" Wally asked, but Pip just pressed its lips together and shook its head. Wally pointed to the house they were at, and Pip hadn't realised they were here already. "Good night, Pip."

"Night, Wally." Pip walked into its house and closed the door with a smile.

It made a quick dinner of pasta and sauce and then got ready for the night, walking around its bedroom and grabbing pyjamas after realising it'd been wearing the same clothes for three days and that probably wasn't normal here like it was at home. Everyone else seemed to change every time he saw them, at least, but no one had pointed it out.

The pyjamas were light blue with clouds, and actually a little bit big, but it found it liked that as it held them in front of itself in the mirror. It then took off its yellow and white shirt carefully. It hadn't seen itself like this in a long time...

The scars on its chest showed to it first and it held its breath. They weren't battle scars like its friends, not in the traditional sense, anyway, but it didn't like to dwell. It pulled the shirt up the rest of the way, revealing the heart patch also on its chest, but more upper middle than down by its ribs where the scars were.

He buttoned the short-sleeved shirt onto himself quickly, then pulled on the shorts and tied them at the waist. They were soft and comfortable, and he smiled again.

What possessed him afterwards, he didn't know, but he put the receiver of the phone back onto the base before he hopped into bed, then took his hearing aids off to lay more comfortably against the pillow. The world was immediately silenced, and he was already asleep by the time the phone rang with Wally saying good night a second time.

[elfcollector]

drown pain effectively

rating: Teen

relationships: Zevran / Warden, platonic Warden / Morrigan and Warden / Alistair

warnings: Panic attacks, implied violence

summary:  Alia Tabris finds herself panicking while infiltrating the Arl of Denerim's estate to save Queen Anora, haunted by memories that she hasn't dared to share. The others needn't understand to help, however.

"My friend, you need to breathe."

Zevran curses himself almost before he can process why — some part of his mind processing, past the Crow training that demands he focus only on the job, that Morrigan calls only one person her friend, and that is Alia. And that means, of course, that Alia is not breathing.

He turns on his heel, hears Alistair follow suit only a moment later, and sees that his Warden is bent and leaning against the wall, one hand pressed to the stone while the other grabs at her knee to keep her small body upright. Morrigan bends beside her, unfamiliar affection and concern in her dark eyes. Alistair rushes to Alia's side after only a moment, while Zevran glances quickly back towards the door they entered through, then across the others in this hallway. No one around to see this, now. It would be dangerous for all of them — especially Alia — if any of the humans at Arl Howe's estate saw one of their supposed guards in this state.

"Lia — Lia, what's going on?" Alistair's voice is a degree too loud and two degrees too frantic, but not half as sick as the worry making a home in Zevran's chest, now that he doesn't have anything to distract. He moves closer, hovering just beside Morrigan, not sure if he should be closer. He feels wrong - footed, ill with concern and the word he avoids thinking, unsure of what kind of closeness is his right. She wears his earring, had asked if it was a proposal, but to love and be loved is so new. He isn't sure how to be useful to her this way, instead of simply killing all who are fool enough to oppose her.

"I — I can't — fuck ——" The Warden gasps, breath shuddering. "I didn't — realize it would b - be so — ba — bad being back in th - this fucking estate."

"Back?" Zevran and Morrigan ask at once. Alia crumples further into the wall, Morrigan barely catching her. Her face is pale, lips nearing purple.

"I can't —— I can't...." Her voice breaks like rotted wood, this pain damp and old; her hyperventilation gives way to quiet, desperate sobs. Practiced, like she knows she's not allowed to cry too loud.

"Alia, what do you mean 'back?'" Alistair presses, and Zevran scowls and pushes past him, closer, gripping Alia carefully around the waist to help her straighten. It doesn't work — having two supporting her, instead of just Morrigan at her elbow, seems to steal her strength, and she goes near - limp in his arms.

Morrigan voices the offense Zevran feels. "Alistair, now more than ever you ought to at least pretend at anything resembling intelligence or tact."

"Hey, what —"

"Both of you, be quiet," Zevran hisses, gently tugging Alia from Morrigan's arms and properly into his. She looks down at nothing, trembling, eyes wide and unseeing. He knows so little of her past, despite how much of his she's seen — she was born in the Alienage, yes; she'd broken into tiny pieces when she realized the Alienage was being purged, nearly vomited into the shitty Denerim alley he'd tugged her into before her horror could draw attention to the hunted Warden. He's seen the simple ring she keeps on a chain under her clothes, tucked against her heart, has not asked what it means or why she grips it so tightly, holds it to her lips when she thinks no one is looking. He'd watched her heart break and her teeth bare when the Spirit asked if she'd failed a stranger called Shianni. Alia has experienced great harm, long before he knew her, long before he could kill the ones who hurt her. He wonders what she has experienced here, and if the person who did it yet lives.

He's keenly aware of the fact that every moment they stay here is a moment a guard or servant might wander into this hallway, might put Alia at yet more risk. "Alia. My dear Warden, look at my face." She shakes her head. "You are strong. You can bear it." She raises her head. Her eyes don't focus, but it's a start. He tries to school his voice gentle. "We need to move to an empty room so the humans don't see you. Do you think you can tell us which is empty?"

Her eyes widen, lips parting to reply; nothing escapes. She has the keenest senses of them for when others are nearby — training or magic or both, he doesn't know. Her eyes close again, brows screwing shut; after a beat, she nods towards one of the doors. Morrigan takes Alia back into her willowy arms as Zevran moves closer, checking only briefly; he trusts Alia, no matter how panicked she may be. Within only a moment, Alia's been guided into the empty storage room. Alistair closes it behind them and stands there, like a guard. Morrigan releases the Warden — hesitantly, Zevran notes — back into Zevran's arms, but hovers close. Alia manages to stay upright this time, even when Zevran's hands find her biceps and slide down to tangle their fingers together.

"Breathe with me?" he says.

He inhales slowly, not breaking eye contact once he has it — she tries to follow the instruction without needing to think about it. Someone has done this with her before, Zevran thinks. A parent, a sibling, a lover. Did someone hold her like this, after whatever suffering was inflicted on her at this place? Her breathing is still stuttering and desperate, too fast, but his breath seems to help. Her hands leave his, raising and clinging clumsily to his body while his resettle on her waist. Morrigan and Alistair watch, saying nothing.

"Are you with me, Alia?" Zevran asks after some time, when she seems calmer. She nods, not seeming sure, her eyes wide but no longer darting.

"I — I'm here. I'm here." Her voice breaks once more, head ducking as the tears start back. "In this fucking place."

None of them ask this time. "You're not alone," Zevran says instead.

She crumples further, but then says, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm — okay. I'm okay." Another ragged inhale. "You're all okay. I can — protect you. Everyone."

Zevran doesn't understand, but he nods anyway. "You're very strong. And so are we all, yes? It would take a great deal more than mere human guards and yet another human despot to harm us."

She actually laughs at that, breathless and guilty, but it's something. The earring glints when she cards her scarred hands through her hair. Zevran feels something shift in him and can't name what.

"I — please help me," she says softly, looking down. Zevran sees Morrigan and Alistair stiffen just barely. She's never asked any of them for help before. "I'll — I'll be strong. I'll keep it together. But I — I'll need help. I hate this place." The shame in her voice is as thick as the desperation. It's strong to ask for this, he thinks, but it must not feel that way. Maker knows he couldn't do it. "I won't — f - fuck up. I promise. Help me and I won't."

"We're all in this together," Alistair says the same time Morrigan says, "We shall."

Alia's eyes raise back to Zevran's, searching, desperate. Tears still run down her cheeks. Something inside him is screaming in a way he doesn't understand. He thinks he might crack at any moment. He says, "Of course, my Warden."

[sunnetrolls]

Hostage Crisis

don't read on my desktop theme. have a gdoc instead

words: 1103

tw: kidnapping

starring: brief appearance of tertet @contrastparadoxx

It’s funny, you think, how an android can still manage to be so internet stupid. 

You’d think they would come with built-in web safety behaviors, but all it really took to catfish this poor girl was a fake Chittr account with a couple dozen bot followers and two days worth of fake account activity. In reality, you had just lifted some pics off of a random guy’s Instagrub and done just enough impersonation to convince one Xinxiu Xamidi to look out for you at a party she had mentioned earlier that night. 

It was trivial, really. You didn’t even have to get off the couch.

The highblooded bouncer at the door lost his morals when you handed him enough cash, so you didn’t even need to try and disguise yourself to do the actual deed. All you had to do was wait in an alleyway for her to be led right to you, under the guise that she had to wait here for her ‘friend.’ The only thing missing was the silver platter. 

You’re glad that you don’t plan on actually hurting her or anything. 

She’s so small compared to you. Not quite as small as your matesprit, but damn close. You cover her mouth with one hand about the size of her face, muffling any noise she would make when you hoist her up with your other arm and carry her off. She thrashes in your grip, but not even her robotic strength can free her; you might not be a real drone, but you’re not built half bad either. 

Regardless, you do try to make the trip to your destination as quick as you can. You’re definitely not particularly discreet, carrying a struggling girl, and would really prefer to encounter as few trolls as possible. 

At least you’re not far from the lab. 

She starts to still when she realizes where the two of you are headed. After all, this is home to her. Or perhaps she recognized the make of the drone carrying her off. 

You don’t remember if she’s old enough to know you. You don’t care either. 

The only caveat in your plan is that Xamidi Biotechnology is still wrapping up the workday when you arrive. Shocked employees scatter away from you as you make your way to the elevators down to the Chimera lab--none of them brave enough to be a action movie hero, apparently. 

Finally, when you get to the elevator, you speak. 

“I am going to set you down. If you bolt, I will kill you. Got it?” You speak slowly, carefully. 

She nods. You set her down, and she does not bolt, but you keep one hand around her neck and shoulders just to make sure. Maybe she does have some sense in her programming after all. 

You both take the elevator when it arrives. You can feel her shuddering when you push her ahead of you--how did he even do that, make her capable of quivering in fear? She’s an android, you think. Made of metal. It feels pointedly unnatural for her to be so convincingly troll-like. 

None of this is natural, really. You don’t dwell on the thought long. 

“Xamiiiidiiiii.” You call out in a lilting tone, loud enough to echo through the mazelike halls. The loud sound makes a couple of drones in cells wake up and smash to their doors, enraged by the unwelcome stimulation. Hopefully that ruckus will draw him to you even quicker. 

“I know you’re down here!” Your voice is unmistakable, a deep scratchy rumble that couldn’t belong to anyone else. 

You shift your hold on Xinxiu’s shoulders to her neck, then lift her up. Her hands reflexively fly to yours, trying to pry it away, even though she doesn’t actually have a windpipe to cut off or lungs that need air. You lift her up until she’s level with your head, opening your jaw to cradle her valuable memory boards between your teeth. 

The doctor finally swings around a corner, obviously startled by your sudden appearance. You can practically see his mechanical heart skip a beat when he processes the scene in front of him: his daughter, terrified for her life, one crunch away from death. 

“Listen to me,” you still enunciate your words slowly and carefully, “I need something from you. But I need you to swear on your daughter’s life that you will do it as I ask, with no complaints or sabotage, and you will not trap me in this prison ever again.” 

“I-- yes, anything you want, please--” Wow. You’ve never seen the famously cool-headed Xuange Xamidi this frazzled. He must really care for his daughter, huh?

“Promise me. And know that I will kill you if you break it.” 

“I promise! I promise I’ll do anything you want me to, just please let her go, please.” 

You sense something around the corner, just out of view, around the bend he came from. It crackles with energy, enough to confuse your sensors and prevent you from getting a good read on its form. 

“What is that. What is with you.” 

“Wh-- my assistant?” 

“Let me see them. I don’t trust you.” 

The lab assistant in question steps slowly out into the opening of the hallway. Sparks crackle between her horns. 

“Good. Don’t move.”

“I need you to…” you trail off, unsure of how to even say what you need, “I need you to fix my matesprit. Nobody else has the skills I need.” 

“... Fix? Is… Are they a drone? Android?” 

“No. I could get any mechanic to fix those issues. But her-- she was mixed with a lusus when she pupated so she’s built wrong. Or, not wrong, no, just… Badly. She hurts all the time. I want you to fix her.” 

“Oh… I-- I can do that, yes. I can do that. Of course I can do that.” 

“But don’t you dare try anything--” 

“Of course not, of course not!” 

“... She would rip you apart worse than I would if you did.” 

You lower Xinxiu back to the ground. 

“When I come back with her, you will help her, yes?” 

“Yes. You have my word.” 

You let go of her throat. She immediately launches into her father’s arms, who is immeasurably relieved to have her returned safely. You can sense the mechanisms in his body facilitating the reaction. 

You slowly back up towards the elevator, eyes locked on his lab assistant, making sure she doesn’t attempt anything to hinder you. Once you’re a safe distance away, you turn and make a swift exit from the building to go fetch your beloved.

[original-orbus]

I put this on A03 as well, but i'm posting it here too because reasons

Honestly, I typed all of this up at like 3 am after working a 8 hour shift and melting my brain with various doom scrolls. Despite all this stuff working against me, this is somehow the best piece of work I have created in recent Years. Its bad, but its mine. There will be problems and contradictions. Idk, I'm rambling, i don’t know what this is supposed to be.

Being a child of Hades comes with a variety of Ups and Downs. Sure you wield incredible power and respect(?), But you have to deal with the fear in peoples eyes, regardless of how much you’ve helped them. Sure Poseidon and Zeus Kids are feared as well, but there's just something about Hades kids that people just can’t get over.

Kenneth had spent almost half of their life living underneath the fearful eyes of their fellow demigods, and yet it was still something that weighed down upon them constantly. Perhaps that's why Kenneth found themselves wandering the streets of Chicago all alone on a snow filled night. Despite everything these streets did to them in their youth, somehow it was one of the few places Kenneth felt comfortable enough to let the mask fall ever so slightly and truly process everything. It was far enough away from camp that no one would see them, and everyone they once cared about in Chicago and long moved on or forgotten about him.

It was while Kenneth was lost in thought, that they would eventually find themselves across the street from their old family home, a place that despite providing just as many if not more bad memories than at camp, still brought them back to the good old days when nothing mattered more than getting first in the relay race at school. However Kenneth was always unable to take that next step, unable to deal with the emotions that would try to wrench themselves free if they were able to see their mother’s face again. A mother who would have given the world to protect her little baby, but was unable to do anything in the end.

At the end of the day, It was like a snowball going down hill, once it had picked up enough speed and mass, there was nothing that could have stopped the crash landing at the end.

Kenneth would let out a long breath as they took a final glance at their old home and felt the shadows shudder beneath their feet, before breaking their sight (?) away and continuing through the streets. Following a long familiar path to them, walking along the path towards their old elementary school, Bits and pieces of memory popping up in the back of their mind as they took in the once familiar, but now changed scenery.

They had just barely left this school when they had run away from home, believing it to be the only avenue available to them after everything came to a head. Thinking back on everything now, after everything they've seen in recent years, the problems from their youth seems so small and insignificant now. Back then it was Grade school crushes and Multiplication, Now they had to deal with Monsters and Gods. Alongside that, being expected to support everyone else without being given any support in kind.

Kenneth would settle themself down onto an old swing set and letting their feet drape across the ground as they gripped the cold metal chains, Frost sprouting from their fingertips in kind. Letting a weight fall down off their shoulders, Kenneth would lean back on the swing and look up into the sky, snowflakes drifting by and slowly piling onto the ground beneath.

There was just something about a snowy night that gets one in the mood for feeling sorry for themselves. Kenneth would let their eyes close in response to the snowflakes as the shadows started to once again rumble beneath them, creating waves that ripple throughout the webs of shadows upon the ground.

Kenneth didn’t know how long they sat there, just relaxing and letting off a bit of steam, before their phone vibrated against against their thigh, drawing them out of their stupor for a scant few moments. Forcing themself to sit up, a single person came to mind about who would be texting them in the middle of the night, Josephine, A daughter of Poseidon, and perhaps the only other person at Camp who might be able to relate to Kenneth.

Josephine: Hey Ken Ken, I stopped by your cabin on the way to the lake, but found you weren’t home. I’m going to assume you went out and lost track of time. If or when you get back tonight, let me know. We need to talk.

Kenneth would stare at the screen for just a few moments before pushing off of the swings and promptly falling forwards, Sinking into the darkness pooling beneath their feet, and once again feeling the ever familiar comfort of the shadows wrapping around their body and rapidly transporting themself to another location.

Alright, i think thats a good place to call it. Maybe i’ll make more of this, but this is kind of a Precursor/Prologue to the Story of this Hades child. Maybe i’ll write the next part, or skip forwards in time. I guess we will find out

[sarahlizziewrites]

Find the Vibe Tag

I love this game! I was tagged by @my-cursed-prince to find the vibe 'iconic siblings creating mischief' in my writing. I don't think I have any sibling interactions (yet) in my writing - lots of my OCs are only children, like me! But Lance and Sitora have good sibling energy. This is the scene where they have to pretend to be a couple to buy a magic item.

“Let’s test it out. I will utter the command word, you will speak your desired recording. The recording can only be a handful of words, or a few seconds of another sound. The commands are in Old Dwarvish, so they may take some getting used to. Alright?” They both nodded. “Giscrib.” He spoke the guttural word into the stone, and the rune flashed yellow briefly. He held it out to them. Sitora opened her mouth to say something she thought might make Lance laugh, but he beat her to it. “Love and kisses, my snookums.”  She bit her lip, hard, to stop herself from laughing. She couldn’t look at Lance, because she knew she would break. She held a hand to her lips, trying to play it off as a heartstruck lover enamoured by the message of desire. She hoped it was convincing.  With an elegant arched eyebrow, the elf cleared his throat and continued. “To play the recording, simply say: kwethan.” The rune on the stone lit again, and it began to emanate with Lance’s voice, small and tinny: Love and kisses, my snookums…Love and kisses, my snookums…Love and kisses, my snookums… Sitora could only handle so much more hilarity before she ruined their whole plan. [...] They left the shop and made it a few yards down the street before they both doubled over in pent-up laughter. Lance had to rest some of his weight on Sitora’s shoulder as his mirth threatened to topple him.  Wiping away tears, she finally said: “‘Love and kisses, my snookums’? Has anyone ever said that in real life?” Lance drew a hand across his face, stretching out a jaw sore from too much laughter. “Ohh, I’m sorry. It’s all I could think to say.” “Weirdo,” she said playfully, gently slapping his arm. She shuddered with the memory of how wrong it felt to call her friend those faux-romantic terms of endearment, and to hear them from him in return. “I have to tell you,” she said, placing a hand with some seriousness on his shoulder. “All that…that was not…” she waved her hand, trying to settle on the right words to explain it. Eventually, she said: “I’m gay.” In lieu of any kind of surprise, Lance offered her a blinding smile. He slotted his arm back into hers, drawing her close and starting them down the street again. “Me too, Sitora,” he laughed. “Me too.”

I'm going to tag @vacantgodling, @sam-glade, @lizadomuch, @talesofsorrowandofruin, and anyone else who would like to - as always, no pressure!

Your vibe is: 'so bad it's good'.