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secret-third-thing · 3 months ago

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For Day 7 - AU of @officialfeysandweek

Rated T | Feysand | Read on AO3 (or under the cut) Warnings: Major character death, starvation, angst

Even at the end of this world, Rhysand is there.

Special thanks to @popjunkie42, @tunaababee, @chunkypossum, and @acourtofladydeath for beta-ing waaaaay back in Feb/March.

Feyre would die soon. The thought had finally crossed her mind a month ago as she caught sight of herself in the chilly bathwater. The water rippled with her movement, but she could still make out the sharp angles of her face, the dark circles under her eyes.

Tucked away in a remote, run-down cabin in the woods, Feyre was hungry and alone. Her family had been here not so long ago. They all had left their manor in the nearby town before the soldiers marched through to meet the oncoming fae warriors. Her sisters had gathered as much food as possible while Feyre led her limping father to the abandoned shack. For many days after, whenever Feyre searched the woods for rabbits to eat, she could see plumes of smoke rising over the village like grim, swirling ghosts unable to rest.

Today, she had woken up tangled in her warm nest of blankets and pelts. Her hands had been tucked beneath her chin, shoulders to her ears. The fireplace had long since gone cold, a blanket of ash where the last of the wood had been. She’d need some kindling to start the fire again for breakfast.

She stretched and rubbed the sore muscles of her shoulders. These days, Feyre was always sore, always having some nagging ache that reminded her that she was slowly fading away. Her stomach growled.

Feyre was lucky only to have herself to feed. Six weeks ago, she sent her sisters and father on the last caravan to the continent. With only three spots left in the wagon, her father had insisted she go in his stead. But Feyre was stubborn and had stayed, choosing to wait until the bitter cold or the invading fae had claimed her.

Feyre rummaged through the kitchen area, finding procuring jars and wrappings crammed into the cabinets. She discovered the last of her jerky, far less than she remembered having, and some bones for a broth. This wasn’t enough. She searched the cabinets one more time, sorting through each jar carefully in case she missed something. She rubbed her temple, remembering some dried rabbit, but maybe she had eaten it. These days, her memory seemed to be fading along with her.

Sunlight peeked in from under the window curtains, and Feyre pulled it back, munching on the remaining jerky. It was clear out, a rare sunny day. It wasn’t warm enough to melt the snow, but it would keep her warmer when she ventured out today. If the woods were still too dense, she could try her luck in the village. Perhaps the looters hadn’t managed to strip it bare yet.

After starting the fire once more and heating snow in the iron pot her family had left behind, Feyre took a bite of her jerky and ran her fingers along the edge of the table where she had painted foxgloves many weeks ago. The oil colors had been a gift from her sisters. Elain had brought it with them when they had escaped to the woods and had hidden it in her dresser drawer to give it to Feyre for her birthday. But when she learned that Feyre was not coming with them, Elain brought it out for her then.

Feyre had cried that final night together as she painted the dresser they had shared when they first moved in. Nesta, her oldest sister, had complained that the single bedroom now stunk of paint, but Feyre had caught her tracing the swirling flames on her drawer more than once before she left.

But now, Feyre was alone, and to stave off hunger, she had painted every inch of the cabin. She had started with the rickety oak dining table and then moved to the stones of the fireplace, then the cabinets, the wall. She would paint until her eyes were heavy and then start over again the next day. Time began to blur, and Feyre would wake up covered in warm blankets that she didn’t remember crawling into with paintings she only barely remembered painting- a field in spring, a vast blue ocean, a rainbow city, the night sky, and the twinkling stars. Feyre attributed the gaps in her memory to the lack of food. She rationed what little she had every day. It was never enough, and her stomach would protest by nightfall. But she painted. The eyes of her family. A fox in a flower bed. Giant sweeping wings stretching from one wall to the next.

Now, only the black and white paints remained. As she waited for the water to boil, Feyre continued her final piece: a portrait of herself in grayscale—what she remembered of herself, at least. Even without a mirror, she could tell how frail she had become, the bones of her wrists and hands now prominent. She imagined she looked wild, like she had crawled out of the woods a feral creature and holed herself away for the winter.

Feyre picked up the brush and swept it across the wall before her. Her knees ached as she knelt. Hair was easy; she could see it in her mind’s eye. But her freckles? The speckles in her eyes? She couldn’t remember those details. When she closed her eyes, she could envision her reflection in her late mother’s floor-length mirror. But whatever she painted would be an approximation. Maybe one day, when someone found her body, rotting and withered away, they would realize that she was the girl in the portrait. Her memory would live on in someone’s mind even if she never had known them. The thought brought her comfort.

Breakfast came and went, and Feyre’s stomach still complained, so once the sun had finally climbed the sky, she donned her too-big boots and woolen cloak. At least she would be warm. Grabbing her bow and the few arrows she had crafted a week ago, Feyre set out to see what she could find. If she could survive the winter, she’d be fine. But it was still early in the season, and she was already out of food.

Warm to the bone, Feyre stepped into the cold. Her breath clouded in the frigid air, and the winter nipped at her face. She rubbed her skin with her mittens, pulled the scarf her sister Elain had made over her nose, and headed to the village.

Even under the crisp snow, the evidence of the war was still present. As she approached, the trees turned dark, burnt by fire. The air still held a heavy tang of magic that tasted bitter against her tongue. Homes had crumbled in the attack, and the closer she got to the center of town, the more damage she saw. Broken arrows and weapons, damaged armor, bones. Would the homes of the wealthier families still be standing?

Feyre crossed through the center of town on high alert. The smell of fresh corpses tickled her nose as her eyes swept over the blood-streaked ground. There had been a recent skirmish here. She stuck to the walls, running between ruined buildings and hiding in the dark alleyways. Her heart was loud in her ears, and she feared that one of the immortal soldiers would hear her. There were fae fighting on both sides, some wanting to continue the enslavement of humans and others fighting for their rights. She hadn’t learned to tell the difference and didn’t want to take her chances.

When Feyre arrived back at the cabin, the sour feeling of defeat settled heavy in her stomach. She kicked off her soaked boots and hung her coat on a nail she had hammered into the wall. There was no way around the matter. She could try again tomorrow and the day after, but eventually, she’d become too weak to go out, and then all she’d do was tend the fire until her body gave out. This would be the first of her final days. Shame burned in her. A part of her had hoped that something would have changed.

She wiped the tears in her eyes away and changed into dry clothes. Her portrait watched her. That woman was her and yet not her. Portrait-Feyre smiled brightly, joyous and content. She was well-fed and spent her days painting and laughing with her family. She had found a place to belong. Real-Feyre longed to trade places with her other self, but magic wouldn’t save her now. She started the fire once more and tucked herself under the blankets for a nap. With no more paint, there was nothing to do but wait.

Time passed, and Feyre found nothing when she went to hunt. She grew weaker and more tired until the most she could do was burn what she had left to stay warm. And then she’d fall back into the abyss of sleep.

Upon waking, Feyre didn’t immediately notice the man standing in the cabin's living area. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stilled when she saw him. He was tall, with warm brown skin and hair as dark as night. He stood before the portrait, clad in unfamiliar black leathers. Feyre pushed herself up, looking for her knife, and the man turned around and met her gaze with sparkling violet eyes.

He was beautiful. More handsome than any man she had seen before. Her breath hitched as they took each other in. She wondered when he had come inside, how she hadn’t heard the door unlatch, or the hinges squeak as it swung open. And then she realized he wasn’t human. Not with that silence or those eyes.

“You’re fae,” she said, blood running cold. He smiled.

“I am.” His voice was silk against her senses.

He was taller and stronger. He could overpower her easily, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She sought out her hunting knife. It was still on the table. She was determined to get at least one good slice in before he ripped her head from her body.

“Are you here to kill me?” Feyre asked. The man - the fae, didn’t answer and turned back to the portrait she had painted. The joyous thing she had created from the remaining paints.

“This is new,” he said, stroking her portrait’s cheek. Feyre swore she could feel the ghost of a touch on her face. She placed a hand on her cheek, and nothing was there.

“Yes,” she said. Feyre let out a sigh. Maybe he wasn’t here to kill her after all. Or perhaps he liked to toy with his victims. He turned back to her.

“My name is Rhysand,” he said. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Feyre almost believed him. But his posture was too casual, and he was covered in warring leathers. He had no weapons that she could see on him, though she wasn’t so naive to think he wasn’t armed. Fae were armed by nature of being immortal, cruel beings. And there was one in her home.

Rhysand pulled out one of the two chairs at the table and sat on it, laying his hands on the surface near her knife. Feyre watched him with curiosity. His movements were too graceful, too eerie, but she took the opportunity to climb out from under the blankets and approach him.

“Why are you here?” she asked. She took the chair opposite him and tried not to flush under his intense stare. His name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Had her sisters mentioned him before?

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “For some time now. Your family is gone.”

“They left for the continent months ago.” she offered. “It was my choice to stay.” She swallowed hard as Rhysand considered her. She should have been more concerned, but it felt like someone had put a blanket over her brain, muffling her urge to grab the dagger lying in front of her. His silence was uncomfortable.

“I’m going to die soon,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to tell him. She stared at her hands. Her fingers were thinner than she remembered. “There’s nothing left to eat. Nothing in the forest or…” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say that. Maybe he would spare her? Or he would end her now, so the hunger didn’t wear her down until she perished, emaciated in the cold. That would be a kinder fate.

“Do you want to die?” he asked as though he could read her thoughts. Feyre looked back at the man, but he was now standing beside her, looking down into her eyes. She flinched, but he smelled of citrus and the sea, and it made her feel like she was somewhere else - somewhere less cold and less terrifying.

“No,” she breathed. She stood up to touch his cheek, and his eyes closed for a moment. Something in her chest stirred, not uncomfortable, just different. “I want to live,” she said. He took her hand in his own and held it there. His skin was warm against hers.

“The fae army will be here any moment now. They will slaughter everything in their way. Including you, Feyre,” he whispered. She trembled at his words, but he kept her hand there. “I can save you,” he said even more softly.

“How,” Feyre dared ask, fearing the answer would be her end. He said nothing. Feyre propped herself, ignoring the ache of her joints. It was far too late for her, and they both knew it.

“I wish I could take you to where I live. You’d be safer.”

“And where is that?” Feyre asked.

And then in her mind she saw a town, colorful and bright, with so many fae everywhere laughing, smiling. No one looked starved or sad or on the verge of death. She saw a giant river of vibrant blue, tall townhouses, art, then a view from above as though she was soaring above the rainbow city.

“Wait,” Feyre said, and she turned to the rainbow town she had painted on the wall weeks ago. It was the same as what she had just seen now. The same painted townhouses with pointed brown roofs and matching windows. “Have I seen this before?”

“Yes.” Rhysand’s voice was pained, shoulders sagging at the admission.

“I…” Feyre paused, her head aching. “Do I know you?”

“Yes. I’ve been here, day after day, keeping the worst of the fighting from you.”

“But why?” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, bile rising in her throat. The gaps in her memories, the vibrant dreams she had turned into paints. Was this all from him?

“You found me when you were hunting one day. You brought me back and healed me,” he said, grasping her shoulder. Feyre pulled away from him.

“But you couldn’t be bothered to take me away from here?” she said, voice smaller than she had ever known.

“You wouldn’t let me, darling,” he said. His voice was so gentle it was painful for her. “Kicked me out of the cabin for it. You said I was too weak, and you were right.”

“Why can’t I remember it?” she spit out. “Did you erase my memories? Why did you take them?” Rhysand’s face had gone pale, and he reached out but hesitated to come closer.

“If the fae found you and knew you had aided me, they would have tortured you.”

“Wouldn’t they torture me anyway? Aren’t they on their way here right now?”

“Yes,” Rhysand said. “And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I came to warn you. To offer another option.” Rhysand didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t need to. Feyre looked him over, the man - the fae - before her. It didn’t matter if she trusted him or not. He was her only option.

“Fine, but I want you to tell me everything,” she said. And somehow, she knew Rhysand could not deny her.

Feyre brought him before the fire, and he sat there, telling her the story of his home, of his friends and family. He dove into her mind and showed her the Courts, the endless seasons, the brilliance of the dawn and the day, and finally, how the stars twinkled and fell across the sky once a year, souls traveling to the next life.

“Will I become a star too?” she asked him after he had finished. She had laid down in his lap. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Yes, Feyre,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll see this world one last time before I’m gone.”

“I suppose so.” Rhysand ran a hand through her hair. It was gentle, like a lover’s caress. She wondered, as sleep drew near if this had happened before. If Rhysand had held her just like this. And finally, the gaps in her memory filled themselves in: Her dragging him into the cabin and nursing him back to health. The paintings on the walls. The shared meals. Fingers laced together. Rhysand’s smile. The laughter. The joy. That Feyre had existed.

“I’m glad,” Feyre said once she remembered. “That I wasn’t alone. That I’m not alone now.”

“Me too,” Rhysand whispered. The fire crackled, warming them to the bone.

Feyre closed her eyes and let herself drift to sleep in his arms, darkness overtaking her senses. She dreamed of him once more - the two of them in that beautiful town, surrounded by friends and laughing. They danced under the falling stars.

She felt something touch her mind, as soft and tender as a kiss. She welcomed the feeling, and then the world ended.

🔖 Tag List: @climbthemountain2020, @chunkypossum, @acourtofladydeath, @pippsmcgee, @queercontrarian, @cauldronblssd , @andrigyn , @afandomangel , @berryzxx , @rosesncarnations @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @books-books-books4ever , @tsunami-of-tears , @whisperingmidnights

This is not my usual fare, haha! Feel free to suggest what to tackle in my next sad fic < 3k.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #stt writing #it took all my self restraint not to write this thing from scratch #but i will do my past self justice by posting what she had written #even if im a better writer now #feysandweek2024

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wh0re43van · 1 year ago

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Maneater- (Jimmy Darling X Reader)

Summary: it’s your first week at the freakshow as a sword swallower and fire eater. Almost everyone has taken an immediate liking to you, especially Jimmy. (Literally only wrote this because I want to deep throat Jimmy)

Warnings: smut, blowjob, kinda public

Word count: 2.3k

I sit on the edge of the wooden stage in the main tent as I clean my swords. the small amount of afternoon sun leaks in through the openings of the red and white canopy, bringing the blistering Florida heat with it. I absentmindedly wipe the sweat on my brow with the same rag I’m sanitizing the sleek metal with, then immediately break into a fit of coughs as the fumes from the rubbing alcohol choke me out.

‘This heat is melting my brain’ I think to myself as I catch my breath as best I can in the hot sticky air. You’d think as a fire breather I’d be used to it, but this August haze is brutal.

Being from New England originally, this suffocating humidity is a far cry from what I consider comfortable, but a gig is a gig. Elsa was more than pleased to hire me when I pulled up with a unique act and my own caravan last week. I’ve worked with a lot of carnies in my day, but the group here is truly one of a kind. Almost everyone took an immediate liking to me. Ethel did her best to make me my favorite dessert as a welcome gift, Desiree insisted on taking me shopping, and Eve has let me sleep in her caravan with her for the week since mine isn’t yet hooked up to electric or water.

“Not even a dog should have to sleep in this heat without a fan,” Eve insisted. All the women have quickly become my closest friends, except for-

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Maggie’s shrill voice cuts through the thick air with ease as she stomps into the tent.

“What are you on about now?” I roll my eyes as I set my swords to the side, walking down the rickety wooden steps that creak under my weight.

Maggie has given me shit since the first time she saw Jimmy flirting with me, which was about 30 seconds after my arrival. Her and Jimmy seemed to have some sort of relationship which he assured was “purely casual”, but Maggie doesn’t seem to agree.

“You have Jimmy out there in this heat wave crawling around messing with your stupid trailer! He could have a heat stroke,” the ‘psychic’ scolds me. I step up to the mousy bitch, adjusting my bathing suit top and brushing the dust off my denim shorts.

“He volunteered to do that for me, so mind your own fucking business… Ya know, in all the carnivals I’ve worked at, I never met a medium that couldn’t take a fuckin hint,” I say lowly, glaring at her. Her face goes red with anger.

“I don’t see how Elsa could hire such an ill-mannered hussy. You surely aren’t doing any favors for the reputation of the show,” I can tell that she’s trying to remain composed, but her voice comes out a shrill whine.

“This hussy earned over 500 bucks in the first four days I was here,” I remind her, laughing at how stupid her attempt at a come back was. Maggie tilts her head and narrows her eyes.

“I’m surprised you even charge money for your act since you prance around here with your tits out shoving shit down your throat for free,” she small lady growls, motioning to my bathing suit top for emphasis.

‘Damn’ I’m a bit shocked by this statement and it shows on my face, but I scoff before pulling the corner of my mouth into a smirk.

“Why don’t we ask Jimmy-“ I begin, but I’m cut off by Jimmy himself.

“Ask me what?” he smiles as he takes a gulp of water out of the glass in his hand. The energy in the room immediately shift as both of us turn to look at him, plastering fake smiles on our faces as we adjust our outfits and hair.

“Ask you, uhm, how you always manage to get such a crowd when you work the carousel. It must be all the girls wanting a ride with you,” I let out a nervous giggle, nudging the bitch to my side. She nods and laughs unconvincingly. At least we can agree on how embarrassing it would for Jimmy to hear us bickering over him like schoolgirls. Luckily, he seems none the wiser to the cat fight that he just accidentally broke up.

Jimmy chuckles as he walks up to us, leaning against the base of the stage. I don’t make any effort to hide my lingering scan of his body. His worn-out blue jeans and white tank top that’s clinging to his toned chest with sweat is covered in the orange dust of Florida’s crust. The veins in his arms are prominent on his slick sun kissed skin that’s dotted with smears of what appear to be grease.

“You’d see me blushing if my face wasn’t sunburnt as all hell,” Jimmy flashes his dimples as he runs his conjoined fingers through his sweat drenched curls. “I’m glad you’re here Maggie, Elsa’s lookin’ for ya,” he informs the blonde. She seems to be happy just to get the smallest bit of attention from the boy.

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you come to my caravan in a little bit. I have a surprise for you,” she says to Jimmy, but her eyes are locked on me, unfortunately for her, Jimmy’s eyes are also locked on me.

“Uh sure Doll, go on now. Don’t leave Elsa waitin’,” the boy says, eyeing me up and down with a grin as he motions his head towards the exit. Maggie smirks at me as if this is some kind of feat before walking out of the tent.

“So,” I smile as I boost myself up on the stage, dangling my feet over the side. “What can I do for you?” I bat my lashes at the sweaty boy.

“I need your pretty hands for one last thing and then you should have electricity,” Jimmy hums, then motions to my swords on the stage. “But if you’re trying to rehearse,” he walks over to the first row of collapsible wooden chairs, taking a seat. “I’ll take my payment in the form of a private show” he leans back, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow. I smile mischievously, standing up and grabbing the three dull swords.

“Well That’s not fair to you,” I tisk as the metal clanks in my hands in. “I’m not even in costume,” I smirk as I pace to the center of the stage.

“Oh trust me doll, this little number you have on right here compliments you just as well as that corset and stockings you dance around in,” he smirks as his drift from my legs to my face, earning a grin from me.

“Well I’m not gonna argue with that,” I laugh before clearing my throat, starting my monologue.

I tun through the first half of my 15 minute routine, Jimmys attention glued to me the entire time. He watches intently as I easily drop two swords down my esophagus, and twist them around before pulling them out one by one. My epiglottis burns as the metal slides through the small opening. I wipe the spit from my mouth, taking a bow as Jimmys applause bounces off the canvas walls.

“Thank You,” I giggle, my voice comes out a bit hoarse as I kneel down by my torches and lamp oil, then I notice I don’t have water to wet my rag. “Gentleman in the front row, could I borrow that glass of water,” I grin, using my ‘show voice’. He happily hops up, bring the glass to the stage. I crawl over to the edge, then sit up on my knees so that my face is even with his. “Thank you, sir,” I grin, holding Jimmys gaze as I take the cup from his hands, brushing my fingers over his.

“I’m honored to be involved in the act,” he breaths as he reaches out, running a thumb over my lip. I grin before licking a strip up the digit, making his eyes go wide.

“If You really want to be a special guest, come join me back stage,” I hum, leaning forward as I take his other hand in mine, tugging him a bit. Without a moments hesitation Jimmy hoists himself up on the stage and pulls me just behind the curtain before he crashes his lips into mine, pinning me to the wall

“You don’t know the things ya do to me, baby,” Jimmy pants against my lips as his hands grab at my body desperately. I giggle into the rough kiss and wrap my arms around his neck.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” I hum as I reach between us, running my hand over his obvious errciton. Jimmy moans, bucking his hips towards the contact.

“Can ya blame me?” He chuckles lowly before moving his mouth to my neck, leaving wet kisses over my sweaty skin. “It ain’t often that I get attention from a dime like you,” he chuckles lowly against my skin as his large hands grab my ass.

“I guess todays your lucky day then,” I giggle as I turn Jimmy around, pushing his back into the wall. “I just want to thank you for working on my caravan for me,” I purr as I slowly drop down to my knees. His eyes watch intently as I pop open his belt buckle. Jimmy swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his mouth hangs agape.

“It’s my pleasure, honestly doll. You don’t have to do this-” Jimmy protests weakly as he wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. His breath hitches when I abruptly yank his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, his heavy cock springing out of its confines.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I smile before licking a strip from base to tip, Jimmy sighs at the contact. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” I bat my lashes at him as he looks down at me, his bottom lip tucked under his teeth. “Plus id rather practice on you then those other swords anyway,” I smirk before taking him into my mouth.

He throws his head back, a low growl bubbling from his throat in satisfaction. Jimmy looks down at me with a slack jaw as he watches me take all of him in my throat until my nose is flush with the small patch of hair around his base. His hand finds its way to the back of my head as I begin bobbing up and down on him.

“Just like that, Doll… holy shit,” Jimmy hisses as his face contorts in pleasure. I giggle to myself as I wrap my arms around his legs, allowing him thrust into my face.

My knees dig into the unfinished wood of the stage- sure to leave splinters- as Jimmy violates my throat. His chest starts to heave as he finds his rhythm, filling the tent with low moans and my gagging.

I look at Jimmy through blurry, tear stained vision and I swear I could cum right now. His eyes are screwed shut as his mouth hangs open, letting out the unholiest of sounds I’ve ever heard. His strong arms, shiny with sweat, are flexed so hard that I can see veins popping out of them as he holds onto my hair like his life depends on it.

As Jimmy is lost in pleasure, completely oblivious to anything else around him, I hear shuffling in the side entrance of the tent. I’m about to pull away when I hear Maggie’s whiny voice.

“Jimmy are you still-“ she asks before she freezes, her face goes pale as her jaw drops. The boy doesn’t doesn’t even realize that he’s cutting her off when he moans,

“Jesus Christ baby, I’ve never seen someone look so pretty while gagging on cock,” his voice is breathy and low, but Maggie definitely heard because seconds later she shrieks before running out of the tent. “What was that?” Jimmy asks, slowing his hips, he looks down at me with glazed eyes, as if he’s in another dimension. I pull Away, gasping for breath as I take his slick cock into my hand, breaking the thick strings of spit.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” I giggle, still trying to catch my breath as I slide my hand over his length. “I just want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Can you do that for me?” I hum as I place his tip between my lips, licking lightly. Jimmys eyes flutter as he groans, watching me rub him over my lips.

“Jesus Christ,” is all he manages to groan before he’s thrusting back into my mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to reach his climax. Jimmy is a cursing, sweaty mess as his cock twitches on my tongue before shooting his sticky release down my throat. I moan at the sensation as he pulls out, falling limp against the wall. “Come here,” he pants out, barely audible as he grabs me up off the floor, pulling me into a wet sloppy kiss. I grin against his lips as hands move to the buttons on my shorts.

“Uh uh,” i tisk as i slap his hands away. He looks at me confused. “This was my payment to you,” I smile as I fix my outfit.

“And Im more than grateful,” he chuckles as he pulls his pants back up. “But id like to return the favor, doll,” he smirks as he reaches out to try to pull my into his arm. I step the side before turning to leave.

“Oh you don’t have time Jimmy. I think Maggie’s looking for you,” I smirk before giving him a peck on the cheek. I can feel his gaze burning into my back I was down the rickety steps and out of the tent.

#evan peters #evan peters smut #jimmy darling smut #ahs cult #kai anderson #kit walker smut #ahs fandom #ahs hotel #ahs asylum #ahs murder house #jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year ago

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The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Moodboard | Recommended Listening

Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey #bradley bradshaw x reader

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whateverisbeautiful · 6 months ago

Text

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#12: The Building (1.02)

gif cred: @nerd4music

It was such a welcomed sight to see Michonne build bonds with people who cared about her and her goals and even wanted to aid her along the journey. And the person she built the closest bond to is particularly good at building things himself and that comes in handy along the journey. However, things sadly take a tragic turn when Michonne and co have their first run-in with Rick's captors - the CRM 😟...

After parting with Nat's group, we see Michonne in the very scenario we saw in the TWD series finale as she takes out a walker and approaches a massive horde looking regal in her armor on the horse.

Undeterred, Michonne charges forward and it’s a great cinematic shot. Also, this is how you know she is crazily in love with Rick because she sees the largest sea of walkers imaginable and still intends to go through that biblical-sized horde to get to him.

gif cred: @chaoticroad

Michonne uses the scream sticks to try and create an opening in the horde but that gas man catches fire and explodes, knocking her off her horse and turning the walkers' attention to her.

She gets up and takes out her sword prepared to take out as many as possible which is wild and shows her ultimate determination. But fortunately, she doesn’t have to do any of that because Nat’s purple light toys part the walkers like the Red Sea.

Michonne turns around to see that Nat and co have left their group and followed Michonne to help her on her journey. And again, seeing Michonne receive genuine friendliness and support was super refreshing. 🙌🏽🥹

gif cred: @nerd4music

They sit by a fire at night and I love Michonne and Nat’s dynamic as he addresses her falling off the horse and her defending that she was knocked off. Their banter makes me smile. 😊 Michonne looks all cozy as she asks about the purple light and Nat explains he has a lot of toys and inventions. He’s clearly extremely smart and innovative.

Nat explains why he stayed in the caravan group for years and how he knew it was time to go a long time ago. Michonne thanks them and they thank her for waking them up to realize their community was not it.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

Michonne observes Aiden and Bailey and immediately picks up on something going on with them. Nat says, “I know how to build things and I know how to burn things. But it takes more than that at the end of the world. You showed them that. You showed me that.”

Look at Michonne always showing people the way and them knowing she shows them the way too. 🥰 And no one knows that more than Rick who told her that very thing in Say Yes and in his letter to her in the TWD series finale.

Then I love Nat saying, “We’ll take you as far as you need” Yes supporting her. 👏🏽😭 It’s everything Michonne deserves. And then I especially love Michonne saying, “When I get Rick, you’ll come back home with me all of you. You’ll be a part of it. It’s just gonna take a little building” I love it because she’s so hospitable and because she finally said Rick's name. I think it’s our first time hearing her say his name aloud since she found out he’s alive.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Nat excuses himself off to bed and Bailey says he’s going to get Aiden something to eat. Aiden tries to assure that she’s fine but Bailey is all lovingly determined to take care of her, and I know Michonne recognizes that type of love.

Michonne watches their exchange and says, “You’re pregnant.” Aiden confirms and says she had been craving honey and Bailey was determined to get it for her and surprise her.

Michonne listens and smiles hearing the story and it’s so bittersweet because I know this makes her think about how Rick wasn’t there during her pregnancy. 😢 You just know Rick, the ultimate gift-giving loverboy, would have searched far and wide to get Michonne whatever she craved when she was pregnant with RJ. And the fact that didn't get to happen is just...

Michonne, the always kind comforter, tells Aiden that she and Bailey should just head to ASZ now. Aiden is adamant that, “We want to be there when you find Rick” and I know a Richonner when I see one and this woman is a Richonner, y’all. 😋 She was eager for that reunion just like us lol. I know she can just sense that whatever love Rick and Michonne have is one they don’t want to miss bearing witness to.

Even when Michonne is adamant and says no they should go to ASZ, Aiden says, “We will. After you find Rick” and I’m glad that after it felt like characters were only allowed to directly say Rick's name once or twice a season after he left now we’re hearing Michonne and others just outright talk about Rick.

Michonne smiles and says ok as she warmly pats her and again I’m loving the friendships. But also Michonne is always right so…they probably should’ve just went to ASZ when she told them to because what happens next is pretty darn tragic for everyone involved. 😬

The next day Michonne walks alongside Nat as more of the group follow and Michonne playfully questions why so many people followed Nat if he only likes her, Bailey, and Aiden. Nat teases that the others have gone up a letter grade but not quite to like, which is a testament to Michonne’s likability that he wholeheartedly liked her so quick while others he traveled with longer are still not quite there in his book. Nat basically said...

Michonne smiles and asks, “Who else in your life?” and I just really like seeing characters talk to get to know each other. I feel like at some point in the main show it was starting to feel like characters didn’t talk like this anymore so watching Michonne and Nat’s bond build through these conversations was nice to see.

I like how Nat says “me” as someone he likes lol and he also says his mom. Nat gives insight into some of his backstory as he shares that his dad wasn’t in the picture since he didn’t want a ‘little’ little kid and he had a lot of bullies so he started burning things and blowing things up in the woods.

Then Nat goes into a story that I realized on my rewatch very much parallels Michonne in a really sweet way.

gif cred: @chaoticroad

Nat starts to talk about this guy Danger who his mom met and who became his stepdad. Who also became a stepparent to a young boy? Michonne.

Nat shares that Danger met his mom at a time when she worked a horrible job and “had one very troubled kid who hated Danger as soon as he looked at him.” Who also met her true love while he was in a very tough predicament and had a troubled kid who didn’t seem to like her at first? Michonne.

gif cred:chonesmint

Nat says, “And this guy, with this stupid name, looked at that and said ‘hell yes’.” Who also looked at a person who would run around a prison seeing things and a kid who initially tried to push her away and ultimately said hell yes to them and embraced them as her family? Michonne.

gif cred: @riickgrimes

I love how Danger and Nat's story connects to Michonne and Carl - one of TWD's best duos, besties, and mother and son.

Nat, whose a great storyteller, continues saying, “Anyway, he married my mom and right after he moved in suddenly Danger had these problems that he needed solved. You know like that he needed me to solve.”

That reminds me of how Michonne too made Carl feel like a valued member of the group and not just some kid to write off. She even told Carl info about herself first that she hadn’t yet told anyone else, like about her son Andre, because she cared to connect with him as a person.

gif cred: @thewalkingdeadgifs

Nat explains all the things he’d build around the house for Danger and then in a moment of great acting from Matthew Jeffers he begins to wonder if Danger really needed all that help or if he focused him up on how he can build things instead of burn them.

Nat says, “I guess that’s somebody else I liked” and Michonne says, “Sounds like you loved him.” Such a sweet moment and really well done in getting us to feel even more invested in a new character.

gif cred: @richardgrimes

I also really appreciate the way this pays homage to the beauty of step-parents who step up in a child’s life and come to mean the world to their kid. They could have made Danger a neighbor, teacher, uncle, etc, but making him a stepparent is definitely intentional here if you ask me. Because the great thing about TOWL is that every single scene is Richonne/Grimes family-related.

And hearing a story about a kid’s love for his great step-parent really reflects and pays homage to the great step-parent Michonne became to Carl and how he really loved her too. 🥲

I love how people stay telling Michonne life stories that parallel her own.

Nat’s friends tell him they love him as he tells them to shut up and then the love fest is brought to an explosive end as a helicopter flies over them.

gif cred: @perryabbott

It’s crazy finally seeing Michonne learn of the helicopters. They watch it fly and then Michonne quickly realizes this helicopter is here for nefarious reasons. She yells for the group to scatter as the helicopter bombs them with chlorine gas. The attack is brutal and has rapidly damaging effects.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne and friends just barely make it inside a mall and when they do finally get in, they place Aiden on the bed as it’s clear she’s not going to make it. The chlorine gas also had a bit of negativity-gas laced in it because these hopeful Richonners no longer think the mission to find Rick is worth the risk.

On her deathbed Aiden tells Michonne, “Go back to your babies. Don’t risk it” and it’s really sad because you know she knows she’s not going to live to see her unborn baby and she doesn’t want Michonne to miss out on seeing hers again.

Michonne knows a medical plaza where they might be able to get oxygen tanks because they can’t get air. Always the one willing to go, Michonne prepares to go back out into the toxic air and get the oxygen tanks and she tells Bailey not to fall asleep next to his girlfriend. That always stands out to me that Michonne advises this because it’s almost like she knows from personal experience that when you lose your soulmate it makes you want to just stop fighting and be with them.

As Michonne wheezes her way back inside the mall with the oxygen tanks it's unfortunately too late. She finds Aiden and Bailey both have turned. Nat is still alive, surrounded by fire and Michonne keeps Bailey from getting to him. This fire yet again speaks to the message of how fire both destroys and saves.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Nat thanks Michonne because he couldn’t bring himself to take out his close friend and then he too expresses that he thinks the rescue-Rick mission is futile as he says, “She was…she was right. When you can, you need to go home. It’s been too long...He’s gone” The way he says 'he’s gone' I was like damn they really dropped the mission quick. But not Michonne tho as she adamantly says, "No."

Because see, while the episode may be called "Gone", Michonne knows her man is not gone. Rick is still out there, she still feels him, and she is still fueled by that belief. It’s just now the trifling CRM has put a delay on things. A year-long delay. 😣 The CRM has to burn for that among many other things.

So now Michonne is stuck in this mall - but even here in these circumstances, we get to see the resilience that is Michonne Grimes. Because this journey isn’t over until she says it is. 😌👌🏽

#richonne #towl #reveling in richonne #1.02 #RIR (12)#the ones who live #twd towl #michonne grimes #rick grimes #rick x michonne #twol #michonne #rick and michonne #twd: the ones who live #twd #richonnefandom

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wheels-of-despair · 30 days ago

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Home Alone Together Pairing: Ralph Penbury x You Summary: When Ralph's family left to spend Christmas in Paris, they forgot one thing: Ralph! Good thing you're there to take care of him! Words: 12k

Note: As you probably suspected from the title and ripped off tagline, this is inspired by Home Alone. It is a one-shot, and not connected to my Worth It-verse. The reader is an adventurous young lady who happens to be the caretaker's daughter. Don't think too deeply on it. Just have a fun Christmas adventure alone in a big house with a pretty boy and a pair of uninvited guests who deserve what's coming to them.

The Penburys are spending Christmas in Paris.

Once upon a time, the entire family would gather at their country estate for the holidays. Penbury Manor was always beautifully decorated, with red and green and gold and ribbons and bows and countless Christmas trees all throughout the house.

Ralph Penbury quite enjoyed that as a child.

But as Ralph and his twin sister Victoria grew, Penbury Christmases changed. Their father passed away, and their mother began spending most of her time traveling and dallying with much younger men. Their cousins had grown up to have homes and families of their own, and no longer came to visit for the holidays.

You'd think that with the family branching out like that, Penbury Christmases would become smaller and smaller. It was quite the opposite, really. After leaving school, Victoria found that she couldn't function without her ten best girlfriends at her side, and a houseful of strangers to keep them all entertained.

Life was one big never-ending party for Victoria Penbury, but her twin brother Ralph often found himself feeling lonely. There were always loads of people around, sure, but could any of them be truly considered a friend? Did any of them know anything about him, other than the fact that he was a Penbury and would surely foot the bill?

Two weeks ago, Mother sent a telegram inviting the twins to Paris for Christmas, to meet her new beau. Victoria had squealed with joy and rushed out to shop for new dresses. Ralph was hesitant at first, but eventually warmed to the idea. Surely Mother wouldn't allow Victoria to bring her mob of hangers-on. Perhaps they'd have a nice family holiday for a change. Meaningful conversation! People who mattered! And at the very least, delicious buttery croissants!

And then Victoria decided that since she couldn't bring her entire entourage to Paris, she'd take them to Penbury Manor for a few days. Ralph had always liked the country manor where he spent his summers and Christmases as a child, so he piled into a car and joined the caravan headed for the sprawling estate.

On the first day, he had fun.

On the second, Ralph began to wish he'd stayed in London.

On the third, he locked himself in the library.

On the fourth, Victoria berated him for being a horrid host and demanded that he join everyone for the gift exchange. He put aside his book and reluctantly agreed to join them for dinner and a party in the great hall.

Ralph, as always, felt as though Victoria's friends were merely tolerating his presence. What was wrong with him? Did he frown too much? Was he too intense? Was it obvious that he'd rather be elsewhere?

He hadn't always been this way.

Sometimes Ralph grew sad, remembering the happy person he used to be. He used to love parties and fashion and making friends. And then he fell in love with someone who despised him. The words "get fucked, creepy stalker freak" still echoed through his mind when he thought of her.

Ralph Penbury had loved her with his whole heart, and his whole heart had been shattered when she rejected him. He even tried to join the French Foreign Legion as a distraction, but they didn't want him either. He hid in a hotel until the girl whose name he could not speak and her friends vacated his family's London home. And then he returned to it, a changed man. A broken man. A man who would never love again.

But a man who must still do what his sister demanded, or he would never hear the end of it.

He made an effort to look engaged throughout dinner, and joined the party afterwards. He watched Victoria's guests unwrap gorgeous gifts from a sickeningly expensive shopping spree; trinkets and jewelry and cigars and chocolates and liquors. Ralph almost forgot to be cynical for a moment, while he watched people's faces light up during the opening of the presents.

When the fun began to wind down, someone brought Ralph a rather large box. He was confused. He and Victoria had already exchanged gifts; monogrammed pyjamas of the finest silk that they planned to wear tonight, for their final night at Penbury Manor. They had more presents for each other reserved their real Christmas morning in Paris in a few days. What was this?

"Open it, Ralph!" someone exclaimed.

He looked to Victoria.

"Go on!" she encouraged him.

He untied the bow and removed the lid from the box. He stared downward, unsure of what he was looking at.

"Show us, Ralph!" called out a voice from the crowd.

Ralph reached into the box and pinched what he assumed was the edge of the contraption - some sort of harness, maybe? - and lifted it into the air.

Everyone laughed. Ralph didn't understand. He looked up with a furrowed brow, hoping someone would explain. The crowd's laughter intensified, and once again, he looked to his twin.

"It's an electric belt!" she cackled. "It can stimulate you in ways a woman can't!"

"Or won't!" someone chimed in.

Ralph's head whipped toward the crowd, wondering who said that. What would he do if he found them? He felt his eyes fill with angry tears, and he hated his stupid body for cursing him with this ridiculous reaction.

"Oh, Ralph, don't be so bloody sensitive," Victoria scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "It's all in good fun!"

Ralph dropped the electric belt back into the box, trying not to let his tears fall. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Aren't you going to demonstrate for us?" someone called from the crowd.

"Drop your trousers and show us how it fits!"

"It's the closest thing to a woman's touch you'll ever feel!"

"Treat it right and perhaps it'll love you back!"

The laughter got louder after each comment.

Ralph threw the box and the awful gift to the floor and rushed from the room with tears streaming down his red face. He ran until he couldn't hear the laughter anymore.

Was this the only reason Victoria wanted him to join the party? So she could humiliate him in front of all her friends?

He wished all of these horrible people would just disappear. He never wanted to see their stupid, sneering faces ever again.

Ralph is cold.

He pulls his blanket up to cover his frozen nose, and suddenly his feet feel a chill. He cracks an eye open and glares at the plush duvet that's not doing its job…

But it's not the duvet that belongs on his bed.

Because he's not in his bed.

He's on a sofa in the reading room next to the library, and this blanket is not providing the kind of warmth he needs right now. Why is it so bloody cold? Why has no one stoked the fire? It's completely died down!

Ralph sits up and wraps the blanket around himself, trying to soak up all the heat it can offer through yesterday's clothes.

Wait. Why isn't he in pyjamas? Why isn't he in his bedroom?

Memories of the night before come flooding back, and Ralph's heart sinks. Not only did he receive the most humiliating gift ever given, but he cried about it in front of everyone. How is he supposed to face those people now? He covers his burning face with his frozen hands.

At least one part of his body is warm.

Eventually, Ralph accepts that he can't hide forever. Is it too late for breakfast? He glances at the clock and winces. His grandmother would have his hide for sleeping this late. He'll probably have to fight for scraps at the lunch table at this hour.

Ralph slips his shoes on his frozen feet and trudges down the stairs, blanket still around his shoulders, trying to convince himself that last night wasn't that bad. Perhaps he could laugh it off and pretend he'd purposely given them a show. Or maybe something more exciting had happened since, and no one would even remember the electric belt or the crying boy that no one would ever love.

He braces himself and reaches for the double doors leading to the dining hall, taking a deep breath and pulling them open.

The room is empty.

Not one straggler. Not one plate. Not one crumb.

Even the Christmas decorations are gone.

It's like no one has been here at all.

Ralph hurries through the main floor, checking every room for a sign of life. He finds nothing.

Has his wish come true? Has everyone disappeared?

He walks back up the stairs, determined to check everything. The bedrooms, the bathrooms, the study, the library, the drawing rooms, the billiards room, the attic. What sort of prank is Victoria playing on him?

Ralph decides to start on the far end of the hall. Last night, there was a Christmas tree in front of this window. Now, there's not even a stray pine needle. What the devil has happened to his house?

He peeks into every room, finding no evidence that anyone had been in them at all. All the bedrooms look as pristine as they had when the group arrived. The trees are gone. The hanging mistletoe and the holly bouquets. The candles in the windows.

Baffled, Ralph starts the journey up the attic stairs. Victoria knows that he's feared this place since he was a child, so perhaps this is where she told everyone to hide. Would she be surprised that he came looking for her up here?

Last night, Ralph had hoped to never see any of his guests again… but right now, climbing those steep steps to the dark, drafty attic his cousins used to lock him in, he almost wishes he had someone there with him.

Could Ralph Penbury truly be alone for the first time in his life? At his own request, even? The thought sends a terrible chill up his spine, making him squeeze his eyes shut and pause to grasp the handrail out of fear of falling down those awful stairs.

When the chill passes, Ralph wills his legs to take him to the next step.

Where he collides with something that shrieks.

He's falling, falling.

And someone - or something - is falling with him, down those steep attic stairs.

You feel as though you hit every step on the way down those damned stairs. When you finally come to a stop on the landing, you notice the groaning body next to you. You rise to your knees quickly, wincing at what will surely be a bruise, and check on the person.

Your heart stops when you realize who it is.

Ralph Penbury, the young master of this house.

Your employer.

Well, your father's employer.

You've just thrown your dad's boss down the stairs.

"Mr. Penbury, are you alright?" you ask, fearing the worst.

He opens his big brown eyes and stares, and your stomach flips.

"Who are you?" he asks.

You struggle to remember your name. When you tell it to him, he doesn't react. "The caretaker's daughter," you clarify.

Your father has been the caretaker of Penbury Manor since before you were born. He manages the grounds and the house when the family is not present, which is most of the year. He'd gotten a telephone call a week ago telling him to call in the staff and decorate the manor for Christmas. You walked to the main house this morning, wanting to see it one last time before the staff ripped down all the decorations and headed home for Christmas.

You and your father live in a small cottage on the edge of the property, which is your favorite place in the world. Until tomorrow, probably, when your father is given the sack and you're both tossed out into the street for mangling the man of the house.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask again.

He keeps staring. Does he have a brain injury, you wonder?

"Are you?" he asks, finally.

"A few bruises, but they'll fade," you smile. "Are you hurt? Would you like me to call for a doctor?"

Mr. Penbury shakes his head. You stand, offering him a hand to help him up. He stands without taking it, trying to brush the wrinkles out of his clothes with a rapidly reddening face.

"Where is everyone?" he asks.

"Miss Penbury and her guests left very early this morning," you tell him. "There was a storm, and they didn't want to get snowed in."

"Snow?"

"Lots of it," you confirm.

"When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

You gesture to the window, and he shuffles over to it. Mr. Penbury gasps when he sees everything covered in white. He stays there for a full minute, staring out at rapidly falling flakes. When he turns back around, there's a sad expression on his face.

"They left me?" he asks pitifully.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to," you say quickly. You have no idea if it's true, but the poor man looks utterly heartbroken. "There were a lot of people in your party, getting everyone packed and into cars in the snow was utter chaos."

His brow furrows.

"May I call a car for you?" you offer.

He nods and turns back to the window. You pretend not to hear him sniffle.

You enter the study a few doors down, where the nearest telephone is located, and pick it up. The line is dead. You nearly run into Mr. Penbury again coming out of the room.

"Sorry!" you breathe, narrowly avoiding him. "There's something wrong with the telephone, I'll try downstairs."

Mr. Penbury follows you to the next telephone. After three with no tone, you turn to him with a grimace in the office by the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, sir. The lines must be out of order because of the storm."

What are you supposed to do with him? You can't just leave him here alone. He'd have no idea how to take care of himself. He's probably never stoked his own fire in his life. You also don't really want to walk home in the snow. It's coming down so hard, you couldn't see your hand if you held it out in front of you.

You'll just have to coexist until one - or both of you - can leave.

"The staff cleaned through the night and went home early this morning, while the roads were still passable," you explain. "I stayed behind to finish up a few things, since I live nearby and can walk home when it stops snowing. I'm afraid it's just us, but I can get you anything you need."

An awkward silence fills the room.

And then the lights go out, leaving you in the dark.

You carefully feel your way through the maze of furniture and pull the curtains apart, giving you just enough light to see him hovering by the door.

"What's your favorite room in the house?" you ask, digging through the office in search of a flashlight.

"My what?"

"Your favorite room," you say again, checking the desk drawers. "Your bedroom, a drawing room, one of the lounges?"

"Why?"

"Because that's where you can stay until the storm passes," you explain. He stares at you blankly.

"Why one room?" he asks.

Is it not obvious? You stop your search, gather your thoughts, and explain calmly.

"Mr. Penbury, it takes a full staff to keep all of the fireplaces lit. Since it's just the two of us, we'll stay in one part of the house and focus on keeping it warm there."

He blushes, his face glowing in the gray light.

"The library."

You wince. That's a horrible choice.

"Mr. Penbury, that's a large room with a lot of windows. It'll be quite drafty. Might I suggest something smaller, so it's easier to heat?"

"My bedroom?" he mutters.

"Excellent choice," you smile, resuming your rummaging.

You should've just told him that's where he should go to begin with, but dammit, you can't tell a Penbury what to do. People like this must be gently guided, so they can let themselves believe everything was their idea. You don't spend a lot of time with people like him, but you think you navigated that quite well.

"Aha!" you cry, clicking on a clunky flashlight.

You pull the curtains closed, already feeling the draft from the exposed window, and exit the room. Mr. Penbury follows closely, muttering a "sorry" once or twice when he steps on the back of your heel in the dark. You lead him through the massive estate and into his bedroom. You quickly start a fire, and when it's large enough to provide warmth, you step away and turn around.

He's still hovering by the door.

"I'll take the one next door, if that's alright?" you ask. "So that I'll be near if you need me?"

He nods.

You smile and squeeze by him, lighting another fire in the other bedroom and taking a moment to warm your hands. The staff let the fires die this morning. A chill has crept through the house since, but you haven't really felt it until now.

Tea would be nice.

Your stomach rumbles, and you place a hand on it as if to silence it. You wonder when Mr. Penbury had his last meal… probably dinner last night? You hurry downstairs and fill a basket with food, lugging it back upstairs toward the two warm bedrooms as quickly as you can.

When you reach the last step and move onto the landing, a movement ahead catches your eye. Mr. Penbury has just closed his door. He's been watching for you. You'd hoped to make lunch in your room and present him with something already cooked, but now you're drawn to his door.

"Mr. Penbury?" You knock lightly. "Are you alright? Did you need something?"

The door slowly creaks open to reveal a narrowed eye.

"You left."

"Only briefly," you smile, holding up your basket. "I've brought us lunch. Are you hungry?"

He hesitates, but nods. He steps back and opens the door the rest of the way. Oh? You follow his lead and come into his bedroom, brushing against him when you pass and feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. Stop that. You hurry toward the fire, so you can pretend that's what caused it, busying yourself with the kettle first. Your tea can steep while you cook.

Mr. Penbury sits on the sofa at the foot of his bed and watches your every move. You're annoyingly clumsy under his watchful eye, but you manage to put together a decent meal. Well, at least it's hot. You put the food on plates and hold yours, glancing to the door. Can you go?

Mr. Penbury gets up suddenly, surprising you by clearing off a small bedside table and dragging it toward the fire. He places it between the sofa and the fireplace.

"Please?" he asks, gesturing to the seat next to him.

You smile and rise, putting both plates on your tiny table. You consider sitting on the edge of the sofa and staying as far away as you can, but you don't want to seem rude. You don't want to appear too forward, either. You sit where you can reach the table but not touch him.

You look from your plates to him, and you both hesitate. You feel like something should be said. A prayer? A toast?

You lift your teacup, and he does the same. What do you say?

"To not being alone during the storm of the century?" you smile.

Mr. Penbury smiles back, teacups are sipped from, and lunch is eaten in an almost comfortable silence.

When your plates are empty, you excuse yourself to return them to the kitchen and take care of a few chores. You wind through the house, making sure drapes are closed and doors are locked. The staff goes to great lengths to keep the Penburys warm while they're here, and you worry that he'll find out how drafty this big house really is and think it's your fault.

Your constant movement does little to warm you. When it starts nearing dinnertime, you grab a few extra blankets and bring them to the pair of warm bedrooms who'll have inhabitants. You toss half on the bed you can't wait to fall into tonight, and approach his door.

A knock at the door makes Ralph's heart nearly leap out of his chest. He gets up from the sofa by the fire and drops the blanket he's had on his lap for hours, hurrying toward the door. Things have felt awkward with the caretaker's daughter so far, but Ralph is grateful to have her back. He hates being left alone with his thoughts.

He swings the door open and finds the girl standing there with an armful of blankets.

"I thought you might like a few extra blankets," she smiles. "It's only going to get colder as the evening goes on."

Thank her, his brain screams! Invite her in to warm up! Wrap her in one of those blankets! Make her tea!

"Thank you," Ralph mumbles, reaching for the blankets and promptly dropping one. She leans down to pick it up, re-folds it, and hands it to him. He hugs them to his chest.

"I'm going back to the kitchen to fetch dinner before it gets any darker," she says, her voice like warm honey. "Is there anything particular you'd like tonight? That can be cooked in a bedroom fireplace, I mean?"

He'd watched her create a hot meal out of nothing hours earlier, and been absolutely fascinated. He'd sit quietly and watch her do anything, if she let him.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Ralph shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

"Alright," she smiles. "I'll be back soon."

She turns, and Ralph's spirits sink when he realizes she's leaving him again. He's surprised to find words forming on his tongue.

"C-can I come?" he stutters, mentally kicking himself. He starts to close the door, hoping she hadn't heard, but she turns around and catches him.

"Of course, Mr. Penbury," she smiles. She has the most wonderful smile. Shut up, Ralph! He scurries out of the room and to her side, and she looks down. So does he. He's not wearing shoes. His face burns. "You'll want to dress a bit warmer, Mr. Penbury," she says gently. "It's very cold downstairs."

Ralph returns to his room and contemplates jumping out a window. But he glances back to the girl standing outside, looking kind and understanding and not rolling her eyes or laughing at him. He puts on his shoes and a jumper. He doesn't know what the maid did with his coat when he arrived.

He walks toward her, but before he can exit the room, she enters. He freezes. She shakes out one of the blankets she'd brought him and wraps it around his shoulders. Her scent fills his nostrils. Her hands almost touch him. He has to work to control his breathing. Why is he behaving like a lovesick schoolboy? Or worse… his old self?

"There we go," she smiles. "Are you ready?"

He nods, unable to speak for fear of a marriage proposal rolling off his stupid tongue.

She pulls a flashlight from her pocket, flicks it on, and starts walking. He follows her down the stairs and through the house and into the kitchen. Ralph has only been in here a few times in his life. He gets to hold the flashlight while she works. She grabs the basket from earlier, filling it with this and that. He keeps the flashlight trained on her, trying to anticipate her every move so that she's never left in the dark.

He stays close when they go back upstairs, and enjoys watching her make dinner. In silence, of course. Ralph doesn't think he could make a sound if he wanted to. She serves him excellent, strong tea that warms him inside and out. Dinner is wonderful. He'd seen her hesitate at lunchtime, about sitting next to him on the sofa, but she sits a little closer this time. His heart flutters.

Stop that.

When the plates are empty again, she stacks them and puts them in the basket. Ralph feels a sudden panic when she stands.

"You don't have to go yet!" he says, with a little more force than he meant to. He should go throw himself down the stairs.

She hesitates, then sits back down on the sofa and smiles politely.

Ralph has no idea what to say to her. He wanted her to stay, damn it all, it's his job to give her a reason to! Speak! Ask her questions! Tell her a funny story! Anything!

"Did you find something to do this afternoon?" she asks.

What did Ralph do this afternoon? He thinks… oh. He thought. He thought about his humiliating gift, about everyone laughing at him, about everyone leaving him. Was it on purpose, or did they genuinely forget about him? Which would be worse? He thought about the girl who broke his heart and opened his eyes and changed his life. He thought about the caretaker's daughter, and how kind she's been to him. And how pretty she is when she smiles. And how that stupid lovesick little boy he once was would be planning their wedding by now.

"I read a book," he lies.

"Oh?" she questions. "What did you read?"

Damn.

Ralph Penbury, who's read four books during this trip and thousands of others in his lifetime, cannot name a single title.

"Er… it… it wasn't very good." His face is definitely too red to be just from the fire. She knows he's blushing. She knows he's a liar.

"Would you like to go to the library and pick out another?"

"N-no," Ralph stutters, biting his tongue for failing to cooperate. "Not tonight."

"Alright," she says. "Why is the library your favorite room?"

"Pardon?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows.

"I asked about your favorite room earlier, and you said the library," she reminds him. "I was just wondering."

"Not the library, exactly," he begins, "the reading room beside it."

"Oh?"

Ralph nods. The library itself is a vast room, but the cozy chamber beside it is packed with comfortable couches and plush chairs and reading lamps. Hardly anyone ever goes in there.

"I quite like that room myself," she admits. "The painting above the fireplace is one of my favorites. If I'd known that's where you meant, we could've set up camp in there."

"This is fine," Ralph says quickly. He can't imagine the torture of trying to sleep in the same room as a woman he can't have.

"I suppose you're right," she smiles. "Sleeping in a bed is surely more comfortable than even those lovely sofas."

"That's where I slept last night," Ralph confesses.

"I can't believe no one spotted you," she says, her face falling. "Were you by the fire?"

Ralph nods.

"Maybe it had gone out by the time someone came to check," she muses.

Ralph shrugs.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Penbury. Things were hectic when your sister decided to leave. It was a flurry of packing and panicking, and after everyone left, frantic cleaning so the staff could leave before the snow got too deep. But I promise, sir, I'll get you out of here and on your way to rejoin your sister as soon as I can."

What if Ralph doesn't want to get out of here? What if he wants to stay with the nicest person he's ever met, and he wants the snow to keep falling so they're trapped in here for months? Is that long enough to make her love him? Would he have a chance if he were the only man in miles? Or would she brave the elements to get away from the creepy stalker freak in under a week?

Ralph Penbury wishes he could manifest a physical version of the person he used to be, so he could beat it to death. That obnoxious, irritating, stupid little boy who used to fall in love with every girl he met is starting to narrate his every thought. He's not that person anymore!

She gets up to stoke his fire. The flames rise, and the room gets warmer, and she turns to him with a comforting smile.

"I suppose we should get to bed," she says. "If you need anything at all, Mr. Penbury, I'm right next door."

How is he supposed to sleep with only a wall separating them?

"You can call me Ralph," he says to her retreating back. She hesitates, hand already on the doorknob, and turns to him.

"Are you sure, Mr. Penbury?"

He nods.

"Alright, then," she says softly, turning the knob. "Good night, Ralph."

Ralph melts at the sound of his name on her lips.

"Wake up!" a voice hisses.

"No," you grumble, snuggling deeper into the magnificent bed you've claimed for the night. You're warm. You're comfortable. You're having a good dream. If you're left alone, you might be able to finish it.

"Miss!"

You sigh, cracking one eye open to see Mr. Penbury standing beside your bed.

"What's wrong?" you mumble, closing your eye. "Did your fire go out?"

"There's someone in the house!" he whispers.

"It's just the wind, Mr. Penbury," you explain, hoping he'll go back to bed and leave you alone to finish your dream.

"It's people," he says, his voice hushed but frantic. "I heard men talking."

Your eyes shoot open.

"Where?" you ask.

"Downstairs," he breathes.

You roll out of bed, into the frigid room whose fire has long died. It must be nearing morning now. You hold out a hand, gesturing for him to stay put, and tiptoe out into the cold hallway. You stop at the top of the stairs, listening close…

Men. Talking loudly in a downstairs room. You creep down the stairs silently, one at a time, hoping to pinpoint which room they're in. A bottle smashes, and a light illuminates the hallway below. The lounge. They're drinking. They've started a fire. They don't know anyone else is here. You come back up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Ralph hisses, hugging himself for warmth just outside your bedroom doors.

What would those men do if they knew the master of the house they broke into was still here? Unarmed? Unattended? No security, no staff, only you. Ransom? Torture? Murder?

You have to protect him.

You walk to the nearest window and pull the curtain aside. How did those men get here? Surely not by car. The snow has stopped coming down, but it must be knee-deep out there. You can't tell the driveway from the lawn. They must have walked. You could probably make it home in this, but you don't know if Mr. Penbury could. And even if you did, you'd leave a trail directly to your father's cottage. You'd have the same problem with the stable, or one of the outbuildings. Plus, you'd probably freeze to death outside tonight. You cross the floor and approach him.

"Mr. Penbury, I need you to put on warm clothing and come with me. Carry your shoes; we'll make less noise without them."

He nods seriously and returns to his bedroom.

You enter your room, quickly making the bed and gathering the dinner basket and a few blankets and your shoes. You'd slept so hard, you let the fire die; which you now realize is a good thing. When you close the door, the bedroom looks like it hadn't been slept in.

You slip into the room next door and make Ralph's bed too, pulling off the extra blankets and giving them to him. You pick up your basket and gesture for him to follow. You lead him down the hallway and into the study, closing the door quietly behind you and locking it. You approach the second bookcase and feel along the second shelf.

Click.

The hidden door cracks open, and you pull it the rest of the way. It's pitch black inside. You feel for your flashlight, cursing yourself when you realize you left it on the bedside table. You step inside to put your things on the floor, then come back for candles. There's an antique candelabra on a side table that'll do. You light three of the five with a pack of nearby matches, thinking that'll be enough for now.

Mr. Penbury stands frozen, arms full of blankets and mouth gaping.

"It's alright," you whisper, giving his jumper a gentle tug. "Come on." He follows you inside. You latch the door and turn to him.

"We'll be safe in here," you tell him quietly, placing the candelabra on a desk. For how long, you don't know. Surviving tonight is the current priority.

"What is this place?"

"I'm not sure," you whisper, taking the blankets from him. You put them on the ancient moth-eaten sofa, all except one. That one, you wrap around his shoulders. He's shaking. "Well, it's an office, I suppose. I don't know why it needed to be a secret. Come, sit."

You both sit on the small sofa carefully, hoping it doesn't creak too much. It doesn't.

"How did you know it was here?"

You bite your lip, contemplating how much to tell him.

"I just found it one day," you answer. "The house is full of hidden rooms and secret passageways."

"I didn't know that," he says.

"You're only here for a few weeks per year," you remind him. "I've lived here all my life."

"You know my house better than I do," he says, with a hint of embarrassment.

"I could show you," you offer.

You've been obsessed with uncovering the secrets of Penbury Manor since you found that first secret door in a wardrobe when you were twelve. You've always taken great pleasure in knowing more about this house than its owners. Why the hell did you just offer to share your life's work with him?

"Really?" he asks, his eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the candles. You can't stop staring into those black orbs.

"Really," you confirm, feeling oddly calm.

Something crashes from below, and you both jump in surprise. Right. Intruders.

"We'll stay here for tonight," you whisper. "Hopefully, they're just vagrants who will move on after they've raided your liquor cabinet. Let's hope they don't find the key to the wine cellar."

Your attempt a joke does not land.

"If they don't clear out tomorrow, maybe the phone lines will be fixed, and we can call the police."

He rubs his hands across his face.

"Mr. Penbury," you begin.

"Ralph," he reminds you, dropping his hands to his knees.

"Ralph," you repeat, reaching out to place your hand on his. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"This is my house," he argues. "I'm the man. I should be protecting you."

This man is the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"And I know this house inside and out," you remind him. "Perhaps we can protect each other?"

He considers it.

"Alright," he finally agrees.

"We should rest," you say quietly. There's nothing else to do. "Maybe they'll be gone when we wake up. You take the sofa, I'll take the floor."

"Nonsense," he argues, getting up and moving to the hard wooden floor. You let him lie there for a moment, seeing the regret on his face even in the dim light of the candles.

"Alright," you play along, draping him with one blanket and lying down on the sofa with the rest. When his teeth start to chatter, moments later, you've had enough of your game.

"Given that the situation is possibly life or death and I doubt the usual rules apply, would you mind sharing the floor?" you ask. "The sofa stinks, and the blankets will go farther if we combine them."

"Y-yes," he shivers.

"Rise, Sir Ralph of London," you joke. He does.

You lay half of the blankets down and pull the pillows off of the sofa, dropping them where your heads will go.

"Lie down," you instruct.

He does, and when he's settled on his side, you cover him with the other two blankets. You blow out all but one candle, since it's not providing much warmth anyway, and crawl into the makeshift bed beside him.

He's still shivering. So are you.

"Would you think me unladylike if I came closer?" you ask.

"P-please do," he shudders.

You scoot just a little closer, not quite touching, but very aware of the warm body next to you.

"We're going to be alright, Ralph," you whisper. "Rest."

He falls asleep before you.

Ralph Penbury has never woken up with a girl holding him before.

The candle has burned out, so he can't see her.

But he can feel her.

They're still on their sides, but their bodies are pressed together under the blankets. She's slung an arm across Ralphs ribs. Her cheek rests on his chest, her hand on his back. Would she be angry if he did the same? He eases his arm over her, careful not to touch anything inappropriate, and tests his weight on her side a little bit at a time. She doesn't wake and yell at him or tell him to stop touching her. He can't help but smile.

He should be frightened. Terrified, even. There are intruders inside his house. He doesn't know who they are, or how many there are, or their intentions, or when they plan to vacate the premises.

But how can he worry when there's a beautiful woman holding him?

After Ralph's last misadventure in romance, it had been become abundantly clear to him that no woman would ever love a creepy stalker freak. He'd given up. When he stopped begging for attention, he stopped getting it. Were it not for Victoria needing him to sign an occasional cheque or provide a laugh for her friends, he might be forgotten altogether. Hell, she did forget him. She left him behind on the way to their Christmas vacation with their mother.

The girl with her arms around him nuzzles her face into his chest, and he stops caring about Victoria.

She's taking care of him. She fed him multiple times. Brought him blankets and built him a fire. When there was danger, she brought him to safety. She's keeping him warm right now. She did all these things without being asked. This is not her job. She's not employed by the Penburys, is she? Only her father, Ralph thinks. Perhaps she's taking care of him because she thinks she has to. Or because she's a good person. Or because he's useless and pathetic and she feels sorry for him.

Or maybe… just maybe…

Ralph is cold the next time he wakes. He reaches out for her in the dark, wondering if she'd turned in her sleep, but his hand hits a cold blanket.

She left him.

Even in his half-awake state, Ralph's heart sinks.

He finds her pillow and brings it to his nose, breathing in deep. He can still smell her. He pulls the covers over his head and hugs the pillow to his chest, wishing it were her instead of the faint scent of her mixed with the ancient dusty fabric.

A nearby click makes Ralph's heart pound. He stays under the blankets, frozen in fear, trying to hold his breath so he won't be discovered. Footsteps. A scrape. A sigh.

A soft chuckle?

Ralph pulls the blankets off of his face to see that she has returned, and that the room is no longer a black void. She has a flashlight now, and she's smiling down at him.

"Good afternoon," she whispers.

Ralph sits up in the chilly room, pulling a blanket around himself.

She starts unpacking a sack and her pockets, placing tinned food in a neat row. Ralph watches curiously; how did she carry all that? Where did she get it? Did she really go out there with them?!

When she finishes unloading, she joins Ralph on the makeshift bed, sitting across from him and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She's wearing socks; no shoes.

"I have a plan," she whispers.

You wish you could ignore the curiosity eating at you and focus on the warm body holding you tight. But you can't stand not knowing what you're up against. What Ralph is up against. You have to go look. You ease out of his grip and venture out of the hidden room behind the bookcase.

It must be daytime; you're able to see where you're going with the help of dull grey light peeking in from around the curtains. You slip into the secret staircase behind the tapestry and pad quietly down the stairs. Two men, surprisingly well-dressed, are passed out and snoring on the sofas in the lounge. They appear to be traveling light. Perhaps they're not planning on staying long.

You tiptoe to the nearest telephone, hoping for better luck today. On your way, you feel a horrible chill just before finding the broken glass. They'd broken a window to get in. You shiver and check the phone in the hallway, which is still dead. At least there's a flashlight in the table underneath. You pocket it and proceed to a ransacked kitchen. The men had raided it and had themselves a feast. Even after they'd eaten all they could hold, there was still a considerable amount of food. What if they stayed until it was all gone?

You fill an empty flour sack with things that can be eaten without cooking. Is that enough? You add a few tins to your pockets. You and Ralph Penbury may die by these criminals' hands, or freeze to death while trying to escape, but you'll be damned if you let him starve.

You make it back to the hidden stairs without incident, climbing them quietly and re-entering the room behind the bookcase.

You turn on the flashlight so you don't step on him, and find that Ralph has curled up in a ball on the floor and pulled the blankets over his head. You let out an unintentional chuckle at how adorable he is. You hope he hasn't missed you yet. You'd like to crawl right back into bed and not have him notice you left at all.

He pulls the covers off of his head and looks up at you. You've been caught.

"Good afternoon," you whisper.

Ralph sits up, eyes still puffy with sleep, and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. You quickly and quietly unload your pockets, feeling a chill now that the adrenaline of sneaking around is wearing off. You sit across from him on your makeshift bed, covering yourself as well.

"I have a plan."

"Where did you go?" he whispers.

"Downstairs," you answer. "There are only two of them, and the way I see it, we have two options. Would you like to hear them?"

Ralph nods.

"Option One, we leave. We can wait until dark and slip out of here and try to make it to my father's cottage. It'll be cold, and it'll be hard, but we'll be safe there. And it's closer to the road, so it will probably be easier to send for the police." You give Ralph a moment to contemplate before continuing. "Option two, we stay in here for another day or two, and maybe they'll leave after they've filled their bellies. And even if they don't, if I'm not home by Christmas Eve, my father will know something is wrong and come to investigate."

What kind of choice is this? Freeze to death outside, or hide out in this secret room with a girl who makes him feel like his old self? A desperate, puppy-like persona that constantly begged to be loved? Perhaps freezing to death is the more humane choice.

"How about we eat breakfast before we decide?" she prods gently. Ralph nods.

They share a cold breakfast with a single fork. "I swear, I thought I grabbed two," she apologizes. Ralph swoons, and he hates himself for it.

"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Penbury?" she asks, after breakfast is finished.

To freeze to death, or huddle for warmth on the floor with a woman who isn't openly repulsed by him?

"It's too cold out there," he mumbles.

She smiles, and Ralph feels his stomach do a somersault. He wishes someone would punch him there.

And then she gets up and walks toward the entrance, and Ralph panics.

"Where are you going?" he asks. Please don't leave me, he thinks.

"To get us more blankets," she says, like it's obvious.

"It's not safe out there!" he warns in a hushed tone.

"They're asleep," she says gently. "I'm just going to grab a few more from the wardrobe at the end of the hall. I won't be gone long. I promise."

In Penbury Manor, the end of the hall is a long way away.

"I'm coming with you," he insists, rising to his feet.

She looks stunned for a moment, then reaches for the door.

"We must be swift and silent," she whispers. He nods in agreement.

She puts her ear to the door before opening it. And then she cracks it open and peeks outside. When she decides it's clear, she reaches back for Ralph's hand. He takes it and tries not to pass out.

She pulls Ralph out of the secret room behind the bookcase, and they cross the floor and and unlock the study door and enter the hallway in their socks. She's right; they're virtually silent without shoes. They arrive at the wardrobe quickly, and after a heart-stopping creak of its door, she begins piling blankets in Ralph's outstretched arms.

She takes an armload herself and eases the door shut, then leads the way back to the study. When they get near, Ralph hears voices. She stops, panic on her pretty face. He can see her making quick calculations, and she begins to rush toward the study door. Ralph follows as quickly as he can, ducking into the room just in time.

She drops her blankets on the floor and gets the door closed just before the voices get near enough to understand. She winces as the lock clicks, listening closely at the keyhole to see if they heard it.

"You hear somethin'?"

"Only an egghead who won't shut his mouth."

Ralph carefully places his blankets next to hers and joins her at the door, putting his ear to it to better hear the intruders.

"Would you look at the size of this place?"

"Like a royal palace."

"Are those Penny people royal?"

"Nah, just rich."

"And stupid."

Both men laugh. Ralph fumes.

"When do you think they're gonna come back?"

"The floozy said it's a summer house. I bet they don't spend a week a year here."

"You really lucked out with that party invitation, eh?"

"Damn right I did. How long do you think it'll take us to strip the place?"

"Years?"

"Years!"

"I see twenty gold things right here in the hallway! We'd be rich with just what we took from the room we came in!"

"As soon as this snow clears, we'll get Jasper to bring the truck, and we'll all be set for life."

"All thanks to those idiot twins flaunting their fortune!"

The men cackle.

"I'm not sleepin' on a couch tonight, look at the size of them bleedin' beds!"

"These must be the master bedrooms, they had me in some cupboard on the other side of the house. Cheap bastards."

Ralph's face burns. This was a guest. A person Victoria invited to spend Christmas with them. Now he's in their house, planning to rob them blind.

"This one's mine!"

"This was my idea, I get the biggest bed!"

"You don't know that this one's the biggest!"

"Neither do you, now get out and find your own!"

Her hand touches Ralph's shoulder, and he jumps. She puts a finger to her lips, telling him to shush, and gestures to the room behind the bookshelf. They pick up their blankets and tiptoe into the secret room again, latching the door and sighing in relief.

She turns on the flashlight so he can see her face and steps close. Very close. Ralph looks into her eyes, which are full of rage.

"Option Three," she whispers angrily. "We make them leave."

You've always had Penbury Manor to yourself.

You'd explore the house while your father made his weekly inspections or stopped to fix things. When you were twelve, you found a secret door in a wobbly wardrobe. It was the most wonderful discovery an adventurous girl could make, and you immediately became obsessed with finding more. The next was a hidden staircase. You shared your findings with your father, who encouraged you to record everything. Random testing soon turned to careful mapping. And so while he worked near the main house, you were allowed to explore. And explore you did.

You found the hidden room behind the bookcase when you were sixteen. It became your office; the place you stored your maps and diagrams, where no one would ever find them.

The secrets of Penbury Manor have been yours since you were a child. Shouldn't it feel odd to be sharing them with someone now?

You light the candles and spread your maps across the floor to show Ralph Penbury, the man who would one day own this house, its many secrets. How many centuries had Penburys owned this amazing property without knowing the half of its most wonderful features?

The ignorance stops with Ralph.

You show him how to get around the house undetected, explaining how to find and open and close hidden doors. He listens intently, like he's genuinely trying his best to absorb a decade of discoveries in just a few hours.

Because tonight, when those criminals rest in warm and comfortable beds that they were not invited to sleep in, you and Ralph will attack.

You will not tolerate these bastards' disrespect of this house, or its contents, or its owners. Penbury Manor is a work of art, filled with architectural wonders and centuries-old treasures and the memories of generations. Ralph Penbury, who will one day be its master, will have an appreciation of his family home that few of his ancestors have had.

Because this house is going to protect him tonight.

He's surprisingly resourceful for a rich boy who's never had to lift a finger. You go over each section of the house, starting with the wing containing the rooms the intruders are occupying, and come up with a brutal battle plan. You are going to war with these men.

They'll never know what hit them.

Ralph Penbury is in the presence of a genius.

Imagine, exploring and creating maps in your spare time instead of silly things like gossip or shopping. She's nothing like anyone he's ever met. He is fully aware that he is hanging on her every word, but her every word is bloody brilliant. Ralph feels like he's going to war, but he's not frightened, because she's on his side.

He feels alive when they're together.

They spent a long afternoon whispering and planning and taking a break to enjoy a delightful dinner out of a tin with their shared fork. Ralph has never been on such a grand adventure in his life.

"Are you ready for this?" she whispers.

"Yes," he answers.

She leans over the desk and blows out the candles with her perfect mouth. Ralph wishes he could kiss her.

"We're going to be alright," she says, touching his arm softly. "Just stick to the plan."

Ralph nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll ask her to marry him. What adventures they could have together, with her brilliant mind and his unwavering devotion! Never a dull moment, from the wedding to the day they're both laid to rest beside each other in the Penbury family plot! This could be an epic love, the kind of love people write stories about, the kind of love he's always wanted!

Shut up, Ralph.

She pushes open the door, and they step outside their hiding place to set their diabolical plan in motion.

Ralph may have needed a tiny bit of instruction on the practical side of things, but all in all, he's quite an excellent partner.

The traps are laid. Now you just need to give your uninvited guests a little nudge toward the door.

You stand in the hallway, staring at the two doors to the bedrooms the criminals have claimed. You can see the fireplaces burning in the cracks under the doors. One of them is snoring loudly.

You turn to Ralph, barely a silhouette in the shadows concealing you.

"Count to a hundred," you remind him. He nods and tiptoes toward the hidden stairs that lead to the attic.

You make your way down the hall to enter the room next to the snorer. You push the curtains open. The moon is bright, giving you plenty of light to do what you need to do.

You open the wardrobe. You feel around the back of it, finding the crack and prying it open. The wardrobes of these bedrooms are connected through a hole in the wall. If you're small enough, you can slip from one room to another. But you don't need to get through. You just need to leave a gift. The next layer of wood gets pushed open. And just like that, your hand is inside the wardrobe next door.

You reach into your pocket and extract a music box, winding it quietly. You hold the crank still until you get it in place in the bottom of the wardrobe next door. You let go, and music starts playing. You back out and pull the doors shut quickly, then seal the wardrobe.

On a girl's vanity table, a music box is a sweet and joyful tune.

But echoing in an otherwise empty wardrobe, in the middle of the night, in a house you've broken into? Terrifying, hopefully.

The snoring stops.

You rush from the room and into the hallway, ducking into a dark alcove on the far end of the hall where you can't be seen. The light of the moon seeps in through the windows above the grand staircase, illuminating the hallway outside the bedrooms housing the invaders just enough for you to watch.

But you don't hear movement. Shouldn't he be tearing apart the room by now, trying to find what's making the noise? The door opens, and a man slips into the room next door. You hear yelling, but can't make out the words. The other man, apparently angry about being woken up, throws his partner from the room. He hesitates, but goes back into his own.

And then more noises come from the floor above.

Ralph has done his job of making the ancient rocking horse rock, the tops spin, the balls bounce, and turning on the electric toy train. What good fortune, to have your guests choose rooms just underneath the attic playroom!

Both men run into the hallway, looking all around them for answers. The sound really carries in this big empty house. You enjoy watching their confusion, but wish they'd just get going already.

They start to argue again when the shock of the noise begins to wear off, but a great rumbling sound soon drowns them out.

Marbles. Ralph has dumped a box containing hundreds of marbles down the stairs, and they make an absolutely fantastic racket. They bounce off each step and the walls and each other on their way down those steep attic steps, and it sounds like a train is roaring through the house.

A hand touches your back, and you turn to see an out-of-breath Ralph. He'd slipped down a hidden staircase after releasing the marbles, arriving just in time for the show.

The criminals run for the grand staircase.

Unfortunately for them, you and Ralph have used thread to install a tripwire at the top of it.

The trespassers go airborne when they trip, one of them actually going tail over teakettle in mid-air, then bounce down the stairs, thudding and grunting the whole way.

You and Ralph approach the stairs when it goes quiet, seeing that one of the men has landed on top of his partner in a heap at the bottom. Neither of them move for a moment.

Are they dead? It hadn't been your intention, but that would really simplify things.

They part with a groan. You reach for Ralph's sleeve and tug him backward, into the shadows.

There's grumbling from below, and grunting, and a pained gasp. You get brave and step closer to peek, seeing them both slowly limp toward the front door. The one in better shape goes back to the lounge they stayed in on their first day to fetch their bags full of stolen goods. Can't leave empty-handed, of course.

The pair hobbles out of the doors and toward the front steps.

Which you and Ralph doused with water, which has now turned to ice.

That was his idea.

You hear a scream, and scurry to a window.

"Excellent plan, Mr. Penbury," you admire, watching the two thieves try to separate their tangle of arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs.

"Couldn't have done it without you, darling," he says proudly.

You turn to him in the light of the moon and smile. He really is quite handsome. He meets your eye, but you turn back to the window before you get carried away. The thieves are struggling for each step in that deep snow. You watch them become smaller and smaller.

"Do you think they'll freeze to death?" he asks.

"At least they won't go hungry," you smirk. Ralph snickers.

You'd swapped their sacks full of stolen treasures with tinned food.

"What do we do now?" Ralph wonders.

"Hm…" you hum. "A toast to a job well done?"

"I've got just the thing," Ralph smiles. "If you'll come with me?"

You grab a flashlight and follow him down to the wine cellar, where he selects a bottle. You know nothing of wine, except for the dandelion wine that your father makes once a year. You don't care for it.

Ralph pours two glasses when you return to the kitchen, and you raise them into the air.

"To us?" Ralph asks.

"And a job well done," you smile.

This stuff's not so bad.

Ralph was feeling warm and fuzzy and far too relaxed by the time the second bottle of wine was opened. They'd moved from the kitchen to the reading room, and were happily lazing on the plush couch closest to the fire. It was daylight outside, but their sleep schedules were somewhat off-kilter. He didn't mind.

"What would you be doing right now if you were in Paris?" she asks.

"Wishing I'd stayed in London," he grins, taking a drink.

"And if you'd stayed in London?"

"Wishing I'd gone to Paris."

They make eye contact over their glasses and dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"There's just no making you happy, is there?" she teases.

Ralph stops laughing.

"I am happy," he realizes. "I can't remember the last time I was this happy."

"That's the wine talking," she says, taking another sip.

"No," he argues, feeling shockingly sober. "It's not the wine."

"No electricity, no telephone, a home invasion," she smiles. "What's not to love?"

Love. The word, coming from her perfect mouth, knocks the breath from his lungs.

"Have you ever been in love?" he breathes.

"Have you?" she asks without answering.

"I used to fall in love five times a day," he whispers, feeling hollow inside.

"What happened?"

"Lauren." He hasn't spoken her name since he left her that stupid letter and tried to join the French Foreign Legion. He didn't burst into flames or tears. Her name can't hurt him anymore. "Lauren happened."

"What did she do to you?" she asks sympathetically.

"She opened my eyes."

And closed his heart.

Has it been opened again?

"I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he finds himself saying. He's never talked about Lauren with anyone. Not even Victoria. "I would have done anything for her. I would have given her everything she wanted. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to make her love me…"

Get fucked, creepy stalker freak.

"She did not reciprocate."

Is that Ralph's pain reflecting in her eyes, or does she look that sad for him?

"In fact, she openly despised me."

"She was a fool," she whispers.

"It was my fault," Ralph shakes his head. "I was so desperate to be loved, I smothered her. I was unbearable. Any girl would have done the same." His face burns at the memory of how annoying he'd been. How he'd followed Lauren around like a puppy and driven her away by being so pathetic and desperate and disgusting. Get fucked, creepy stalker freak. "Faster, even. I was a stupid, naïve little boy. I know better now."

"Everyone wants to be loved, Ralph," she says softly.

"No one wants to be loved like that," he argues.

"Is that a fact?"

Ralph looks up.

She smiles slyly and empties her glass, leaning forward to put it on the table with a clink. Ralph does the same, although he's not sure why.

He wants desperately to lean in and kiss her, but he doesn't dare.

Or does he?

"You know what we should do?" she asks.

Kiss until they run out of breath? Keep warm with a loving embrace? Grab another bottle of wine and disappear into the bedroom for the rest of the week?

"What's that?" Ralph asks, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"Decorate."

"Pardon?"

"We should re-decorate," she smiles. "There's still a Penbury at Penbury Manor for Christmas, and all the decorations have been put away. It's a disgrace."

Ralph laughs. And then he realizes that he's never decorated for Christmas before. He'd just wake up one morning and find that his home had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The idea of doing it himself, especially with her help, is exciting.

"Let's do it," he grins.

They leave their warm fire behind to climb the grand staircase and the steep steps to the storage room in the attic and rifle through the boxes that the staff had packed up just a few days before.

"These are beautiful," she notes, stopping to admire a bauble with a Victorian scene painted on it. The real beauty is the way she handles everything so carefully. Unremarkable decorations he's walked past a hundred times seem so precious in her hands.

"We'll need a tree," he says.

She puts the ornament down and smiles at him.

"The trees that were taken out are in a pile behind the shed. Perhaps we can brave the snow and rescue one."

"Or cut our own," he says dreamily.

She chuckles.

"You, Ralph Penbury, are going to venture into the forest and chop down your own Christmas tree?" she asks with amusement.

"Why not?" he challenges. "Do you think I can't?"

"I said nothing of the sort," she smiles, standing. "Let's take these downstairs and bundle up. We've got a tree to acquire, Mr. Penbury."

Ralph picks up a box and follows her downstairs with a grin.

They deposit their decorations and find coats. When they're properly bundled, they head out the back door and to the shed for an axe. There's a mountain beside it; the discarded trees, under a heavy blanket of snow.

"Are you sure you don't want to take one of these instead?" she asks. "The ones in the middle are probably dry. All we have to do is get one out and take it inside. We'll be back in front of the fire in no time."

Ralph looks from the pile of trees to the forest in the distance. It's a long way. It's a lot of snow. It would take up a lot of time that he'd rather spend sitting in front of the fire with her. As if to steer him in the right direction, the wind picks up and makes his face sting.

"Alright, fine, you win," he sighs.

She laughs and kisses his cheek.

Suddenly, the wind doesn't bother him so much anymore.

You're so glad you talked Ralph into rescuing one of the old Christmas trees instead of walking all the way through that deep snow to the forest and cutting another one down.

You struggled to liberate a dry one from the middle of the pile, but it was a nice one. Barely damaged in the extraction. You carried it back to the main house together, laughing all the way, and decided to put it in the reading room beside the library.

Ralph seemed clueless when it came to decorating, but once you got the tree on a stand, he picked it up quickly. You hung the ornaments, popped corn and taught him how to string it with a needle, and decorated the mantelpiece.

When the boxes were empty and the room was festive, you collapsed on the big comfortable couch together with two cups of hot tea. You sat quietly and sipped for a while, enjoying the company and the decorations.

Dinner was made over an open fire and eaten in front of it. Another bottle of wine was opened. There were tidings of comfort and joy. This would likely go down in history as the best Christmas you'd ever experienced.

The lack of sleep (or the amount of wine you've consumed today) is starting to catch up with you, but you're not ready to turn in yet. You're not ready for this wonderful day to end.

And then you get a brilliant idea.

"Should we get comfortable down here, or go upstairs to bed?" you ask.

"Bed, I suppose," Ralph yawns.

You tidy your mess and head upstairs. He begins to drag his feet when you reach the second floor, like he isn't really ready to turn in. You enter his bedroom and light his fire, taking your time and making sure it's just right before turning to him.

"What if they come back?" you wonder.

"The burglars?" Ralph asks. You nod.

"What if the snow is too deep or it's too cold and they double back and find us?"

It's a genuine concern that you probably should have considered earlier, but you were busy drinking and decorating and having fun.

"Perhaps we should stay together, so we can protect each other?" he suggests, having fallen into your trap perfectly.

"We can barricade the door," you suggest.

"We'll be safer that way," Ralph agrees.

He looks as happy as you feel.

Ralph Penbury has never been so happy in his life.

He can't believe that it was only a few days ago that his sister humiliated him in front of all their guests and left him behind.

Now, he's lying in a soft bed in front of a crackling fire with a person he can't seem to take his eyes off of.

What a magnificent turn of events.

They'd had a grand adventure. They'd protected each other, and battled villains, and downed a few bottles of wine, and decided that maybe they should stay together tonight, just in case the intruders come back. They'd lit a fire, moved a heavy dresser in front of the bedroom door, and crawled under the covers. Together.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he mumbles, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"So do I."

Ralph's heart stops.

"I've had the time of my life with you these last few days, Mr. Penbury," she smiles sadly. "I don't know what I'll do with myself when you're gone."

The thought of going back to London and leaving her behind had never crossed his mind. In fact, he hadn't thought about what might happen after this snow melts at all. Ralph hasn't worried about what Victoria might think, or his mother, or her father. Ever since he crashed into her on the attic stairs, he's been completely unbothered by anything that exists outside of this house.

"Do you want to know why I was here when you found me?" she whispers.

Ralph nods, suddenly much more awake.

"I wanted some time alone before seeing my family on Christmas," she explains. "Just a few days to myself, to prepare for the constant barrage of questions about why I'm still unmarried and childless. That's all Christmas is for me anymore. A chance for my relatives to remind me that I'm a disappointment."

Ralph reaches out and wipes a tear from her cheek, letting his hand linger on her smooth skin.

She lets him.

It pains him to see her upset. Physically pains him. He'd do anything to see her smile again.

"What do you want for Christmas?" he asks.

He waits on bated breath while she thinks. He'll buy her anything her heart desires. Take her anywhere she wants to go. Write her a cheque. Anything at all to stop those tears. The corner of her mouth twitches into the tiniest of smiles. Another tear falls. Please darling, Ralph begs on the inside, tell me how to help you.

"All I want for Christmas is a few more days with you," she whispers.

Tears suddenly sting at Ralph's eyes, too.

And then his lips meet hers.

"Ralph," you whisper.

He moans and nuzzles his face into his pillow.

"Ralph," you try again, tracing his ear with your finger.

He shudders and smiles. He's awake, he's just ignoring you. Two can play this game. You lean over and leave a trail of kisses up his jawline.

"I want to show you something," you whisper in his ear.

This gets him to crack an eye open. You grin and stand, pulling the covers off of his bare body and exposing him to the cool morning air. He shrieks and curls into a ball. He's so adorable, you could burst.

"Come on," you urge, holding out a blanket you intend to wrap him in.

Ralph pouts, whines, and then drags himself out of bed trying (and failing) to conceal his smile. You wrap the long, fluffy blanket around his shoulders. He blushes. You put an arm around him and lead him to the window. He shuffles in step with you, his blanket trailing on the floor behind him.

You pull the curtain aside.

"It's snowing again!" Ralph exclaims.

"Looks like I got my Christmas wish," you smile, leaning your head on his blanketed shoulder.

There will be no traveling in this. No cold vehicles, no condescending relatives, no overcooked pudding. It's just the two of you, spending Christmas alone together in the most amazing home ever built. You couldn't have asked for more.

"What about my Christmas wish?" Ralph asks.

You'd gotten so wrapped up in exploring each other, you'd never asked him what he wanted. You lift your head and look at him guiltily.

"What do you want for Christmas, Ralph?" you breathe, absolutely ashamed of yourself for not asking sooner.

Ralph's face splits into a grin.

"You."

Before you can react, Ralph opens his arms and pulls you to him, wrapping you both in the blanket. You laugh, letting your arms circle him to get even closer.

"Looks like you got your Christmas wish, too," you smile, looking up into those beautiful brown eyes.

"Do you think…" he begins, almost fearfully. "Do you think you could learn to love me?"

Ralph Penbury has no business making your heart flutter like this.

"I think I already do," you whisper.

Ralph's eyes fill with tears. His mouth crashes to yours.

Maybe by the New Year, you'll have mastered kissing without crying.

#writings of despair #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters

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vermilionsun · 6 months ago

Text

I've seen everyone post their Touchstarved MCs, so I thought why not show you mine as well :)

(Aka, can you tell I'm indecisive?)

Akachi: The Unnamed

“I prefer to count my blessings.”

Pronouns: she/they

Birthday: January 16th — Firstborn; The date the priests took her in

Appearance:

Hair: wavy, mid-thigh length / later shoulder length, white

Skin: very very pale

Eye colour: Gold

Height: 174 cm / 5’7’’

Personality: Benevolent Deceiver — The Sun

Likes: Board games, drinking competitions, children, fairy lights, dressing up, perfumes and nice scents

Dislikes: bad-smelling things, being underestimated, rudeness, being unable to control themselves, the Senobium’s Abess

Fatal Flaw: Can’t seem to break free of their past

Other:

Thinks of their little group as a found family

Isn’t as hesitant with her hand movements since they grew up unafraid of the curse disguised as a blessing

Isn’t that much into romantic stuff — sure she might fool around a bit with Leander and Kuras but they have made sure they knew beforehand

Have shamelessly commented on Leander’s abs more than once

Loves playing with the children of Lowtown

Considers becoming a teacher someday after getting rid of their curse

She has made living arrangements with Kuras opposed to staying at the Wick (later), but then again, they hang around there more often

Mourns their childhood

Has said “I swear upon my name” when mad multiple times out of habit

Had a mental breakdown once after a very bad encounter and ended up cutting her hair (cutting their hair was forbidden during their days at the temple, and at that moment they felt the need to do something to regain some sense of control over herself), until Aeron found and comforted them before anything worse could happen

Is both super open and very secretive about what they went through in the temple, depends on their mood, honestly

The moment they learned there is an Abess in the Senobium, she immediately got a very bad feeling about the place. They try to excuse it to their past experiences with the cult’s Abbot, but their feelings have never proved her wrong.

Background:

The priests found her in the wastelands surrounding the temple. Some priests argued they were born of the Allmother’s opposing deity, and wanted to sacrifice them in her name, but most were against it and thought of them as a divine gift.

She grew up as a gentle, kind child, but was denied contact with the world outside the temple. That didn’t stop her from periodically escaping to see travelling troupes.

One day, a mage arrived and went berserk the moment she saw them, telling her she had been lied to and revealing the truth of their curse, claiming they raised a child with the same exact curse. The priests escorted her out immediately but it was too late. Akachi escaped that very night.

Arrived in Eridia with the caravan

Relationships:

Kuras — liked

Finds him generally pleasant and amusing, albeit a little scary. If either ever has free time, they take each other on long walks.

Leander — close and disliked

Can see right through Leander’s charm, but plays the whole “how was I supposed to know about how the world works when I was locked away in a remote temple?” innocent card. She knows something's wrong and if they aren't proven right by the end of her stay in Eridia, they swear upon themself she’ll turn back to the temple and curse them out. Truth be told, they find Leander's desperation to get close to her funny.

Vere — close

Has to resist banging their head against the nearest surface whenever he opens his mouth, but finds it very difficult to do so. Hates herself for grinning at his stupid jokes and definitely doesn’t enjoy going shopping with him… or gossiping… or—

Ais — liked

Drinking buddies. With him, Akachi found out she’s practically immune to alcohol. One time she carefully entered the Seaspring, only for Ais to pull them out as soon as he saw her. For some reason, he seems incredibly protective over her after that.

Mhin — liked and disliked

Doesn’t mind them around. Neither seems threatened by the other, there is just this odd dynamic where they can’t figure out what they want from each other

Stats:

Strength — 1

Luck — 3

Wisdom — 3

Empathy — 4

Astuteness — 4

Flower: Snapdragon (Carnation) [True flower — date flower]

Aeron: The Hound

“If I could turn time back, I simply wouldn’t.”

Pronouns: he/him

Birthday: August 19th — Second Born; He chose the date he made his first kill

Appearance:

Hair: wavy, short, dirty blonde/brune

Skin: tan

Eye colour: Gold

Height: 182 cm / 6’0’’

Has a healed scar on his right cheek and a few faded ones on the rest of his body

Personality: Miscellaneous Harbinger — The Moon

Likes: Books, dogs, music, good company, origami, Mhin

Dislikes: Incompetence, loneliness, someone—or even worse he himself—hurting his family

Fatal Flaw: Always believes he takes the best course of action, even if he doesn’t

Other:

Is actively trying to quit smoking

The moment he had money in his hands, he went into the first bookshop he found in Lowtown and bought a book

The best shoulder to cry on & is a cuddly bear

Has earned the title “mother hen” from a few people

He fell for Mhin almost instantly

Stays at the Wick with Arioch

Aeron is the most protective of the three, watching over the other two despite being the middle child

Has become an errand boy and picks up orders for the Wick

Soft spot for that one macabre–themed bakery hidden in a corner of Lowtown

Generally tries to start fresh, avoids committing crimes anymore and hopes he can find a cure at some point

But if needed, he will punch a bitch without hesitation

Always carries a weapon with him, out of habit—usually a handy dagger

Background:

Grew up with a group of orphans in the streets of another city, which they had to eventually abandon due to the increase of Soulless.

Arrived in Eridia with his best friend, who then betrayed and stabbed him, leaving him to die in an alleyway.

Thankfully, that alleyway was the one behind the Wet Wick, and Leander found him quickly.

Relationships:

Kuras — liked

He and Kuras don’t have a particular relationship. They greet each other, maybe engage in small talk once in a while—probably about novels. Aeron’s a frequent visitor to the clinic, either for errands or tending attention to any injuries. Kuras’ also the one who encouraged Aeron to pursue a relationship with his siblings

Leander — close

Good friends. Leander saved him, got him a place to stay for free and even a job right after he was betrayed, effectively saving him from an alternative timeline of chaos and bloodshed that would have gotten him killed. Aeron came to realise that soon enough and promised to repay Leander as soon as he could… except for the drinks; those are, again, on Leander, right?

Vere — liked

Loves this bitch to death, for fuck’s shake. The banter is top tire and so is the unhinged flirting. Of course, they both eye someone else, but practice never hurt anyone, did it?

Ais — liked

The moment Aeron saw Princess, he was on his knees petting her and cooing at her, which immediately put him on Ais’ good side. He doesn’t mind pet sitting this “adorable fluffless ball of sunshine,” as he has called her. Despite all that, Ais is a bad influence for him when it comes to smoking. But, Ais is also his to–go person to help hide a body, if he ever needs it again.

Mhin — liked, developing to close

“Oh damn,” were Aeron’s first words when he saw them. Not quite a romantic at heart until that very moment. Loves to tease them, hoping to get them flustered or at least get pinned to a wall by them again. Mhin seemed to actively try to avoid him at first, then they warmed up, until they pulled away and the cycle repeated itself over and over again. But that’s fine; Aeron doesn’t mind waiting.

Stats:

Strength — 3

Luck — 2

Wisdom — 1

Selflessness — 3

Reading — 4

Flower: Sunflower (Gladiolus) [True flower — date flower]

Arioch: The Alchemist

“Isn’t life too short to be sad?”

Pronouns: they/them

Birthday: June 30th — Third Born; The date their “mother” told them they were born

Appearance:

Hair: none/bald

Skin: dark

Eye colour: Gold

Height: 165 cm / 5’2’’

Is blind in his left eye due to an experiment going wrong. The colour hasn’t changed much, but it looks more faded

Personality: Unforgiven Innocent — The Star

Likes: Dancing, bubbly potions, bad jokes, sweets, journaling, earrings, Kuras

Dislikes: silence, small spaces, lemonade, Vere

Fatal Flaw: They trust way too easily

Other:

Sees Kuras as a father figure

and also helps him around in the clinic

Gives the best gifts

Has a snack with them at all times

Always perches in a high place whenever possible. Like, they never sit normally. Is that a bird? Is it a plane? Nope! It’s Arioch sitting on a random rooftop!

Has developed abandonment issues

Often suppresses their own emotions and thoughts, maintaining such strict self-control that it occasionally leads to overwhelming impulses to violently destroy something

Once upon a time, they accidentally left their journal unattended and a very sneaky and totally mysterious individual made quick, yet very detailed, sketches of everyone mentioned in there on Arioch’s extra sticky papers

Stays at the Wick with Aeron

Background:

The exiled mage found them abandoned in the wastelands as a baby. She decided to take them in the moment she saw them and raise them as her own

They found out their “mother” was cultivating them as a test subject through some forgotten notebooks. They couldn’t even finish reading before they bailed out of there with what little they had on them that moment.

They literally walked to Eridia, surprisingly without trouble, although they might have noticed some turfs of red hair suddenly appearing here and there as they were getting closer to the city

Ended up stumbling in the Seaspring’s temple

If they had flipped to the last pages, they would have seen her regret and abandonment of her original plans.

The mage was searching for them until the day she died, yet never found them. The closest she got was when she came across Akachi’s cult temple.

Relationships:

Kuras — close

Has grown attached to him. Not in the “I always wanted a father,” sense but in the “you make me feel comfortable enough and you take care of me and we don’t mind me being myself,” kind of sense.

Leander — liked

They find him a little pushy and overdramatic, but other than that they have no reason not to like him yet. It’s nice to let go of those damn bandages for a few moments… or hours—

Vere — disliked

Avoids him if they can. They get an uncanny feeling, like the foxian resides in every shadow they pass. Too much knowledge has hurt them in the past, so they simply don’t want to know whether they’re being hunted down like prey or they're just delusional.

Ais — liked

Definitely wants to see Princess again, but is too afraid to leave the city for now. Ais is all but encouraging them not to visit. They like to joke around with him, though Ais’ violent… solutions are stirring something in them they’d like not to name

Mhin — liked and disliked

They are each other's confront person. They will cuss each other out, then sit at the stairs behind Kuras’ clinic and feed the cats while chewing on sweets. Arioch is Mhin’s first taste of what a family would look like.

Stats:

Strength — 2

Luck — 5

Wisdom — 2

Kindness — 4

Confidence — 3

Flower: Peony (Rose) [True flower — date flower]

Timeline of events:

The triplets Akachi, Aeron and Arioch were born and left in different places (January 14th)

Aeron begins his journey to Eridia with his best friend

Arioch finds out the truth and runs away to Eridia

Akachi finds out the truth via Arioch’s “mother” and runs away to Eridia

Arioch stumbles upon the Seaspring temple

Aeron is betrayed and stabbed & Akachi’s caravan gets attacked

Leander finds Aeron and tends to his wounds, Kuras heals Akachi, Arioch stumbles upon Vere

Arioch gets a room at the Wick and stays there till nighttime

Akachi meets with Leander & then Vere, before heading for the Senobium

Akachi meets with Ais

Aeron wakes up and settles down at the bar, soon meeting with Vere and Ais

Akachi gets attacked again by the Soulless, meets with Mhin and returns to the Wick accompanied by Mhin and Kuras

At the same exact time, Aeron is drinking green booger–shots at the bar (still bandaged up), Arioch descends the stairs and Akachi enters the Wick.

They all just freeze, staring at each other

“Is that a new trend? Foreigners dressing up with bandages, looking all mysterious?” Vere breaks the moment

It takes the three a while to figure out what the actual fuck before Ais casually mentions: “You could be siblings. You kind of look alike. Not to mention…” your curse isn’t said, but heavily implied

Dynamics:

It does take them a little while—especially Aeron—to make a decision on how to move forward.

Arioch knew the moment they made the connection that they didn’t want to lose a potential bond.

As for Akachi… she’s always wanted siblings, so why not give it a shot?

All three just want to protect each other from what they went through

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the-one-who-acts · 17 days ago

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Sons of a Merciful mother and a Vengeful Father

==================================

- Born after the Eclipse of a Blood Moon, Baal being born first and Aym being born second;

- Aym had to be resuscitated after being born, his father managed to wake him up and he cried along with his brother and mother, the State of his birth was due to a heart condition that is a result of cross breeding between mortals and deities, with the father being a demon, Aym was gifted a strong cursed aura, but at the price of his heart aching after performing any attack;

- Baal has a sharp sense of direction, being able to sense the fervour the runs through every living being's body within the blood flowing in their veins, it can make him overwhelmed when sensing too many sources of fervour at once, resulting in Baal being almost always near Aym, who's fervour is so strong it overpowers any other in their surroundings, but it's familiar enough to not make him overwhelmed;

- The two were taken by Shamura once Forneus managed to travel within the caves and crevices of Silk Cradle, both victims of poisoning by the beings that lived there, the Spider said that the Kits would be given new life, but said life would not be one with their mother, but her former God, as much as it pained Forneus to let them go, they would at least be alive and well;

- The two kits reminded Narinder of his siblings a lot, Aym had the temper of Heket and Loudness of Leshy, while Baal showed the patience of Shamura and the creativity of Kallamar, it both hurt and healed the open wounds within the death God's heart to see such familiar mannerisms;

- After their defeat by the Hands of Lambriel, the brothers were separated in a realm between life and death, Limbo and Purgatory, the Spiritual and living matter, a world that was not easy to comprehend, but their inner demonic instincts came in handy, both being able to be easily summoned by the Lamb once they saw the Crimson sun and the Crescent moon calling for them;

- In the One who Acts, Aym and Baal are hunters for hire, they search and fetch any items and people for a price, Yarlen hired them once he saw their mother's caravan and the two getting ready for yet another outing, until the Panda begged the brothers to find his sister Jalala, they do so and manage to locate the cult where Yarlen is residing, Lambriel's Cult. The siblings actually start hanging out there more often than usual, Lambriel takes note on the Cats getting aquanted with some of his followers.

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl au #towa au #aym and baal #cotl Aym #cotl Baal #cult of the lamb aym #cult of the lamb baal

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sendpseuds · 4 months ago

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Oh no I’ve figured out the Twister au—

If it were up to Anakin, he would never return to Oklahoma.

His mom is gone, his step brother never liked him anyway, his team is—

But when Padme surprised him with plane tickets, calling it an engagement gift and squealing about how excited she was to see where he grew up— Anakin couldn’t find a good enough excuse to say no.

Now, staring at a familiar caravan of ramshackle vehicles on the side of the road, Anakin thinks maybe he should have told her the truth.

Because the truth is, if it were up to Anakin, he never would have left Oklahoma in the first place.

If it had been up to Anakin he would be in the back of that beat up bus searching for the next big storm.

If it were up to Anakin he would never have walked away from the two things he loved more than anything.

But it hadn’t been up to Anakin.

No, Obi-Wan took that choice away.

“It’s an incredible opportunity, Anakin, think of what you could do at a school like that.”

“But I belong here, chasing storms.”

[even then he hadn’t been able to say “I belong with you, Obi-Wan.” Even now he doesn’t think it would have changed anything.]

“I can’t make you go. But I won’t let you back on this team until you come back here with a degree.”

Anakin hates him.

But when his eyes land on the figure tinkering with the same damn satellite dish they’ve had forever, a shock of fire red hair glowing in the Oklahoma sun, Anakin thinks that may not be as true as he’d thought.

#idiots in love #but add tornadoes #padme is definitely the smartest person in this au #pretty sure she’s the one to tell Obi-Wan that Anakin is in love with him #because idiots #twister au #obikin #drabbles

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theflowerofthecommonwealth · 8 months ago

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Power Armor Punch Part Sixty Eight

Masterlist

Teshteal: *hides behind Gardio suddenly, sniffing the air to see if this person's friend or foe*

Gardio: *not sure why he's hiding suddenly since he knows the smaller man can easily kill a horde of super mutants*

Joyce: (Immediately notices and turns to face Teshteal, worry on her face) “Teshteal….?”

Donovan: (To the crew member) “Safe trip?” (Extends his hand for a handshake)

Crew Member: (Grips Donny’s arm with hers, flashing a friendly smile) “The waters got a little rough, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.” (Gestures behind her at the rest of the crew members who are starting to unload) “We’ve got everything on the list- along with some gifts from friends.”

Donovan: (Begins walking closer to the boat) “Is that so?”

Teshteal: *eyeing up and down the crew member. So far he smells the sea and the typical smell of gun powder that many a caravan person has. Hisses* Gifts? *listening and sniffing for anything that could be a bomb or a trojan crate*

Gardio: *notices Joyce's concerned look and extends a reassuring hand* He's likely on guard because it's a new person... *To crew member after adjusting his hat* Mind if I and my associate inspect the crates?

Lucille: *quietly blinks into the water as the lullaby ends, not sure how to handle her now relaxed and still state*

Ma: (Softly, like a mother speaking to her downhearted child) “Something on your mind, love?”

Lucille: Just not used to being this relaxed. *shrugs*

Ma: (Grabs some conditioner and a comb) “Is that so? You’re on the road a lot I take it?”

Joyce: (Inches closer to Teshteal, holding out her hand to him) “It’s okay- they are good friends of ours….” (Glances back at the boat) “Really good friends….”

Crew Member: (So confused about the glowing ghoul and the strange hissy gremlin behind him) “Uh…..” (Turns to Donny with wide eyes)

Donovan: (Shrugs his shoulders) “I mean…. It ain’t like they're hiding anything.” (Gestures at the crew members who are beginning to unload the boat onto the dock) “We’ve known these guys all their lives- their parents and even grandparents too.”

Boat Captain: (Waves to Donny from the top of the deck)

Donovan: (Smiles and waves back) “Yo Trenton! Ya didn’t happen to pack a bomb on the boat, hm?”

Trenton: (Shakes his head) “And hurt dear old Mama Evie? You think I’m trying to get my head to be served on a platter?”

Goats: (Bleat from inside the boat as if confirming the captains words)

Lucille: *nods* Very. I have settlements to maintain- *tenses up, remembering all the work she has to do on quite a few settlements* I need to get back to work soon-

Ma: (Frowns slightly hearing that) “Honey, remember what I said about slowing down to give yourself time?”

Teshteal: *slowly eases out from behind the large glowing one detective with extreme caution*

Gardio: *to the crew* If you say so. *still watching warily like the gargoyle he is*

Joyce: (Reaches to take her boyfriends hand, looking between both him and Gardio) “….Is something wrong?”

Crew Member: (Still looking at Donny nervously as she rushes to follow him) “Protective much?” (Gestures at the two newcomers who seems extra wary and cautious) “Are they…..?”

Donovan: (Shakes his head as he takes a crate from a crew member that hands it to him) “Nah, but you guys didn’t hire anyone new- right?”

Crew Member: (Also shakes her head) “Nope. Some old sea dogs as it’s always been.”

Donovan: “Good.” (Motions with his chin to a spot on the ground) “Just leave the crates and boxes there- and I’ll bring ‘em inside. You know how Ma likes everything organized.”

Crew Member: “You’re sure Donny…? We can help with the sorting?”

Donovan: (Remembering Jasmine and how jumpy she is) “Nawh- I’ve got it. Besides, don’t you guys have other places to be?”

Teshteal: New people. I need to be careful that they aren't vault operatives or that I don't hurt innocent people.

Gardio: *to Teshteal* They seem like decent people-

Teshteal: *shakes his head* Not just that, I sense... something off out here. Hard to place right now. *tail twitches anxiously*

Lucille: *quietly* This isn't enough time...?

Ma: (Smiles sadly down at her, gently squeezing her hand that she never let go of) “No my dear- three days is not enough for what you went through and neither is one soothing bath.”

Lucille: That's what worked in the past. I don't see why it doesn't work now. *shrugs*

Joyce: (Looks around at the people helping with unloading the cargo) “But what’s wrong about this?”

Trenton: (Comes out with a small bundle- too small to be a baby but it’s some sort of little creature) “Joyce? Sweetheart- look who’s here.”

Joyce: (Eyes widen as she begins to approach the boat captain instead, carefully taking the bundle from him)

Donovan: (Stopped helping with unloading the crates just to watch, smiling at his little sister)

Joyce: (Squeals with excitement as she beams down at the little bundle) “Ohhhhhhh!!!! She’s adorable!!!”

Teshteal: *ears perk up and and curiosity gets the best of him so he carefully approaches Joyce to see what... or rather who she's holding. He completely forgot her question already*

Joyce: (Beams up at her boyfriend, leaning towards him to show her little bundle of joy)

The Bundle: (Contains the tiny wiggly form of a baby panda ferret who’s no older than eight weeks old)

Joyce: (Squeals as she coos down at the little noodle, scratching under its chin) “Isn’t she just the cutest!?!?”

Trenton: (Smiles at Joyce and backs off to talk with Donovan, his face getting slightly more serious)

Ma: (Tenderly as she pets Lucille’s hair) “Oh honey- that ain’t a good way to function. It is like I said before- you’re human and it’s not fair to treat yourself as less. You need rest, for both your mental and physical health.”

Lucille: That's lovely and all but I have people who depend on me. They need supplies- Defenses! I can't just lay around for a week when they're waiting on materials that could very well save their lives!

Ma: (Raises a brow at this) “Huh, If I didn’t know any better I would say you sound like you’re raising a bunch of orphaned children. Are that weak and helpless? Isn’t there someone else who can give them a hand? You’re just one person, sweetheart. You can’t do it all.” (Fearful that Lucille will crumble again under more pressure)

Teshteal: *eyes go big- as large as saucers- at the teeny little panda noodle. He resists the urge to pick her up and lifts her up above his head in awe* A little baby panoodle...! *cupping both sides of his face, trying to contain his joy. He forgets about his apprehension completely thanks to the precious little ferret*

Joyce: “Panoodle!!!!!” (Looks like she’s attempting to contain her joy just as much as Teshteal, giving a bunch of little kisses down to her new baby)

Pirate: (Running and jumping around to greet everyone as if they were old friends, tail wagging like crazy)

Trenton: (Beckons Donovan to follow him while Joyce is distracted, picking up a crate of food that is meant to go inside)

Donovan: (Gives one quick look to his little sister as he also picks up a crate to carry inside, following the captain) “What’s up?”

Trenton: “I’ve got something for ya….”

Lucille: *purses her lips in thought and goes silent in thought for a moment. Quietly* Who's going to build the defenses...? The walls...? No one else does it but me... *head spins as she begins to spiral from how much the Commonwealth depends on solely her*

Ma: (Squeezes Lucille’s hand again as even more worry floods her face) “My sweet…..” (Gently cups Lucille’s cheek with her other hand to try and get her attention before she loses the young woman) “Lucille, look at me please.”

Lucille: ... *looks up ever so slightly, her mismatched eyes trying to focus on Ma despite her spiraling thoughts on all the responsibility thrown on her*

Ma: (Gently strokes Lucille’s cheek with her thumb, her face soft and comforting) “Are you with me, sweetie?”

Teshteal: *cooing at the tiny panda noodle. Doesn't believe he's seen anything so cute in his life*

Joyce: (Moves to huddle in closer to her boyfriend again so he can get a better look at the little wiggly gal) “She’s so little!!!” (Slightly holds the bundle out so Teshteal can hold the baby if he wants)

Donovan: “Good or bad?”

Trenton: “Wish I could say good news- but sadly it ain’t…..”

Donovan: (Feels a weight of dread and exhaustion build up in his chest at that) “Oh…..”

Teshteal: *takes the baby panoodle into his arms and gently nuzzles her soft fur with his nose* So soft and sweet! *stops for a moment, admiring the adorable ball of fluff* What are you going to name her?

Joyce: (Proudly) “Gertie!!! She’s from the same mother as Gilbert!!!”

Gertie: (Gives a very tiny lick on the gremlins nose, her little paws poking out of the swaddle she’s in)

Donovan: (Sets the crate down on the kitchen counter, walking over to check on the slowly simmering pot of broth)

Trenton: (Looks like he’s dreading to bare whatever news he has to the ghoul)

Jasmine: (Whimpers ever so slightly in her sleep, also feeling a heavy load start to weigh down on her shoulders and ropes snag at her ankles- trying to pull her down in her dreams once more….. But she can also feel something else…. Something she can’t quit put her finger on…. But it’s present)

Teshteal: *giggles at the tiny ferret kiss* Awe! He's got a little sister now! *gently holds one of her tiny paws in his fingers* Wook at her wittle hands!

Joyce: (Practically shining brighter than the sun itself) “She’s so stinking cute that imma die!!!”

Gertie: (Looking between the two squealers curiously, so confused on what’s going on)

Crew Members: (Keep unloading all the goods and eventually they stroll on out with a half dozen or so sheep and goats with their young, the creatures bleating as the clamor along)

Jasmine: (Attempts to free herself from the chains that are tying and pulling her down as she feels the crushing weight of the world on bare down on her shoulders- partly recognizing that she’s dreaming and her troubles are manifesting themselves into it. She struggles for a bit, tears forming on her waterline and she’s about to scream with frustration but then she feels like what seems to be a gentle kiss on her head from behind and she freezes- hearing a low hum in the distance of her dreamworld)

Teshteal: *blinks for a moment, tail twitching upward when he realizes something. Whispers* I think we might be scaring her with all our cooing. *to the baby ferret as quietly as he possibly can* Sorry.

Joyce: (Hums lowly as her emerald eyes widen) “Ooops…..” (Reaches out to gently stroke her new baby’s face again) “Sorry Gertie….”

Gertie: (Also licks Joyce’s fingers with her tiny tongue when she can)

Lucille: Trying to be... *thoughts race on what settlement still needs what resource and how many turrets she needs to assign to another and so on...* Hard to stop when it's all you've been able to think about for the last year and a half....

Ma: (Softly) “And you do it all completely on your own? For over a year and a half now?”

Lucille: *nods grimly* No one helps...

Ma: (Heart just about snaps all over again and she has half a mind to go down to these settlements and give them an earful because poor Lucille seems to have enough trouble as it is) “It really is no wonder that you’re so overworked. But I’m sure we can work something out that doesn’t involve you trudging all around to try and fix everyone’s problems.”

Jasmine: (Her hands that were once firmly clasping Nicks shirt start to move a bit to grope behind him despise nothing being there) “Mhmmm……”

Dogmeat: (Sniffs the girl when she does this, whining softly)

Jasmine: (Eyes sparkle in her dream world as the humming gets closer and it’s unmistakeable of what it is to her) “Mamá…..” (And just like that- the weight starts to get lifted off her shoulders and her ties start to become undone)

Nick: *to dogmeat calmly* I see it, boy. Problem is- I don't want to wake her. *senses the presence himself, though for him it's more like an unknown source of heat or warmth other than the sun*

Gardio: *observing from the distance. From the sound of things, the goods involve livestock and he doesn't want to risk contaminating them with his radiation*

Teshteal: *gentle smile, or as gentle as it can be with his sharp teeth at Gertie*

Lucille: Good luck getting people to listen... If it's not farming or guard duty or some other slightly menial task, then it's all on me to keep up these places.

Ma: (Huffs slightly when she hears that) “Well that sounds to me plain unfair on your side. They cannot really expect one woman to help now can they?”

Gertie: (Licks her nose as she gazes up between Joyce and Teshteal, seemingly unbothered by Teshteal appearance since he’s friendly)

Joyce: (Nose scrunches slightly) “I think Gilbert isn’t going to be too happy- he’s spoiled that way.”

Jasmine: (Shakes off her remaining shackles in her dream and looks around with wide kitten eyes) “Mamá!!!!” (She listens for the humming, but it sounds like it’s coming from all directions so she picks one and starts running) “Mami!!!!!” (She feels another soft breath and kiss on the back of her neck this time as she runs- fueling her determination. She misses her mother so damn much….)

Dogmeat: (Noses his way on in closer to the teen as she continues to try and grab something behind Nick while kicking her feet)

Nick: Oh- Hold on, doll... *wraps his arms around her to keep her from knocking the both of them off of the lounge chair and starts rubbing her back to soothe her excitement*

Teshteal: *quiet huff* What is Gilbert to do? She'll have to live in the same house. *emphatically raises his hands, as if performing a fool in a play shrugging off a joke or a jab*

Joyce: (Giggles at Teshteal, squeezing Gertie’s bundle slightly) “You’re right. He’ll have to grow to love his little sister. Besides- I’m sure she smells like their mother.” (Sniffs the little noodle to confirm her thoughts- Gertie smelling exactly like baby Gilbert when she first got him)

Lucille: *shrugs in defeat* Apparently, they can... Doesn't matter. I like building-

Ma: (Shakes her head in disapproval at these people as she mutters something under her breath, tapping the bottom of Lucille’s chin) “I’m sure you do honey- but too much strain on one person will cause them to crumble. So no- they can’t be asking you to do everything for them. You have your own life to manage too.”

Jasmine: (Somewhat feels Nicks gentle rubs in her sleep, but she cannot really contain herself as she feels the softest of touches caress the side of her face and she runs even faster towards a bright beacon of light in the distance. Behind her she can almost hear and feels her troubles calling out to her, but the light is driving it all away for her) “Mamá!!!”

Nick: *confused- she's usually only this active in her sleep when she's having a nightmare and yet, she doesn't seem distressed*

Teshteal: *sniffs* She does smell kind of similar to the little guy...

Gardio: *still still as a statue. One would assume he is one*

Joyce: (Takes in a deep inhale of Gertie, rocking back and forth happily) “Baby ferret smell!!!”

Lucille: *mutters quietly* What life... I had a life before the war and now what? I blew up the institute- but that's all I'll ever be known for.... *splashes the water in a fit of frustration* The one who obliterated the boogeyman of the commonwealth while graciously giving homes to those who need them.

Ma: “Correct me if I am wrong- but I believe that ‘your life’ consists of the same people who helped talk you out of ending it so soon and have taken care of you.” (Tenderly rakes her fingers through Lucille’s purple hair) “They make up your life and you make up theirs in turn. That is what family is. You take care of one another and watch each others hearts and wellbeing.”

Lucille: *eyes sting with tears. She tries to hide it by averting her gaze. She doesn't know if she has the strength to return the favor to the people who do care... And now she wonders if she's failed each and every one of them, now*

Jasmine: (Hums along with the song the voice of her mother is singing- recognizing it immediately as one of the many lullabies she’d sing. It twists her heartstrings a bit, but she cannot help the smile on her face) “Mami….” (She stops running but doesn’t stop squirming to escape in real life, closing her eyes to bask in the warmth she’s feeling throughout her body)

Nick: *still holding his squirming daughter as still as he can. He keeps petting her back to comfort her*

Ma: (Smiles kindly down at the young woman) “You know- people often ask me why I do what I do. Why I devote everything I am to being a caretaker and mother when I seemingly get little in return for walking sometime walking into a blaze that could leave me with less than what I had before. What they don’t understand is that I do get something in return each and every time. I get the irreplaceable joy of seeing my babies and loved ones flourish and glow over time even in the tiniest ways. That will fill me up more than gold and glory ever wil even if it’s in the tiniest of ways like a simple glitter in their eyes in the morning at breakfast or the peaceful look on their face as they sleep in comfort.” (Gently taps the bottom of Lucille’s chin once more before she moves her hand up to tuck her short hair behind her ears even if there isn’t much to do so) “That’s what any good parent wants from their kid. I can say that your father is no different. And if I end up with taking a hard loss or a couple of hits, well then so be it. Love is the sacrifices we make for each other anyways. And if you’re wondering what you’re sacrificing here for this love- it’s that little piece of you that you keep trying to hide away from everyone. That little piece of you that’s human, tired and just wants peace and rest. Yes, that piece of you that you think is unwanted and not worth it is still precious because it’s a part of you, my love.”

Teshteal: *eyes sparkle at how loving his girlfriend is over this small creature*

Joyce: (Bounces and pats her little bundle of joy- then glances back at the house) “I wonder how we should play this out with Gilbert….”

Jasmine: (Mumbling hoarsely as she paws midair) “Mamá…. Come back…. Please….” (Kicks her feet a bit harder) “Lo siento Mami, lo mucho siento. Por favor….. Don’t leave me alone- you know I hate it….”

Translation: “I’m sorry Mommy, I’m very sorry. Please.”

Dogmeat: (Sniffles the squirming girl some more with big puppy eyes of confusion and concern because she’s making strange sounds)

The Voice: (Whispers ever so softly and comfortingly into the broken teens ear, wrapping her up in a hug of warmth and security) “Chiquilla bonita. Llegaste del cielo en un tren del amor. Tu alegre sonrisa. Me enseña en la vida, el camino mejor….”

Translation: “Pretty girly. You arrived from heaven on a train of love. You’re happy smile. It teaches me the better things in life.”

Jasmine: (Feels her heart both flood with overwhelming joy and crack into a million little pieces when she registers that- having not understood why her mother had been so adamant on singing that song to her during her prewar days…. But now it’s just becoming clear. She has to find her mother- she has to say sorry) “I’m sorry Mamá…..” (She hugs her dream self tightly and rocks back and forth on her feet, taking a couple of slow steps to follow the voice but once again it’s coming from all directions)

Nick: *whispers* What's going on in that pretty little head of yours...?

Teshteal: Hrm... Slowly? Like a cat?

Gardio: *nods*

Lucille: *lips tremble before burying her face in her hands. She wishes she COULD rest but the consequences of that feel too great*

Ma: (Softly) “Whatcha thinking about, my sweet?” (Gently allows her hand to rest on Lucille’s shoulder, looking on at the young woman with concern and understanding)

Lucille: *voice cracks as she cries into her hands* I... I can't just drop everything to rest-! I can't- There's so much I need to do- people could die without me- *sobs, deep down wanting to rest but it seems like an impossible task*

Joyce: (Glances between Gardio and Teshteal) “I suppose so- but knowing my little stinker he’ll come running the moment he senses someone else taking up my attention then throw a tantrum.”

Teshteal: So then we show him immediately-!

Gardio: Carefully-

Teshteal: We carefully show him immediately! *Beaming from ear to ear*

Jasmine: (Mewls like a lost kitten looking for their mother because she essentially is, her dream self wandering aimlessly through an empty field to find a dead woman whom she swears she can feel in her heart and hear in the distance. She smiles despite being lost- because she knows that her mother is close by and wouldn’t allow anyone to lay a finger on her child) “Where are you?”

Ma: “Oh cariño…” (Her mother instincts take ahold and she immediately drops to her knees besides the poor young woman, gently draping her arm around Lucille’s shoulder to pull her into a hug that she can easily pull out of if she desires) “Sssssh, it’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure things out all together. You can only shoulder so much on your own until you crack and crumble- but that’s what your family is here for.”

Teshteal: So then we show him immediately-!

Gardio: Carefully-

Teshteal: We carefully show him immediately! *Beaming from ear to ear*

Joyce: (Turns back to the lighthouse in thought, then back down at the tiny kit once more) “Well- he’s gonna have to at least tolerate her. Hopefully he quickly learns that there’s plenty of love to go around. Plus it’s not good for ferrets to be alone.”

Teshteal: *making kissy faces and baby noises at the baby ferret... his ears pick up a rustling noise in the distance of the woods but the size tells him it might be a wild animal of some kind*

Jasmine: (Suddenly perks upright from Nicks chest as if she was summoned, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders so she can steady herself as her big magical doe eyes scan the area expectingly. They gloss over both Nick and Dogmeat as if they weren’t there- obviously she’s looking for something else) “Mamá…..” (She can still feel the warmth in her heart and the prickle of a ghostly kiss on the back of her head….. But where is her mother?)

Nick: *looks where she is. His sensors pick up a faint impression of... something but it's hard to get a reading. He briefly considers heading to Acadia for calibration if not for Jasmine's behavior. Kindly, out of confusion* What about her, doll?

Lucille: *sobs into the older woman's arms*

Ma: (Locks Lucille into her strong and comforting embrace that many people had sought solace in before) “Sssshh, it’s okay. Just let it all out.”

Jasmine: (Pouts a bit when she can’t find her mother, then she tilts her head at another prickle on her cheek. She then makes grabby hands up in the air while leaning over the side of the chair, almost like she’s trying to leap out of her fathers arms)

Nick: Woah, hold on there... *pulls her back a little, unsure exactly why she's trying to leap out of the seat at nothing. Granted, it seems better than the wild thrashing from before, but it doesn't make him any less concerned about her current behavior*

Gardio: *decides that the two lovebirds should be fine so he walks back to the lighthouse to try and be of some help. He approaches the two men* If there's any cargo that isn't food or livestock to haul in or set up, I'd be willing to help.

Donovan: (Looks frazzled about something but slowly nods his head, a bottle of broth in hand) “Yeah…. Yeah, that would be nice thank you….” (He walks over to the other ghoul, holding out the bottle to him) “Give this to Detective Valentine before you go, please.”

Trenton: (Leaning against the wall, looking down in deep thought, staring Donny’s expression of worry)

Gardio: Will do. *gives an affirming nod then gives Donny a reassuring but heavy pat on the shoulder, giving him just a little radiation as a boost to help ease his frazzled nerves before he heads on up to the roof*

Donovan: (Gives a weak smile at Gardio as he leaves, then sighs heavily)

Joyce: (Goes back to squealing happily over the little one) “Oooooh, she’s too perfect!!! I can’t get enough of her sweet little face!!!”

Gertie: (Gazes up at Teshteal and Joyce, licking her nose some more)

Teshteal: *licks his own nose with his long tongue to mimic Gertie*

Gertie: (Seems fascinated by the two people in front of her, especially by the strange gremlin man mimicking her by licking his own nose)

Joyce: (Giggles some more, this time at her boyfriend) “Ack, you’re cute as well!!!”

Jasmine: (Whines when she’s kept from leaping into the air but she doesn’t seem too upset, just tries to do it again while still making grabby hands at nothing)

Nick: *sighs, knowing if he tries to snap her out of it, she'll just grow more distressed* I can't just let you go- you might hurt yourself... Maybe your mama will come closer to hold you.

Gardio: *walks up the stairs to the roof and raises an eyebrow in confusion at the girl making grabby hands in the air. It's a stark contrast to the screaming and thrashing from before. He very carefully approaches and speaks calmly so he doesn't spook her* I have broth for her.

Teshteal: *turns to her and licks his nose like he's some sort of big cat then makes a tiny chirping noise with his mouth- being the silliest of sillies to make his angel laugh*

Joyce: (Shrieks with laughter at her goofball of a boyfriend, putting a hand over her mouth to try and muffle her laughter that can be heard across the ocean)

Teshteal: *grins at how much that simple noise made her happy* I could gobble her and Gilbert up like a couple of extra big noodles! *Playfully licks his lips*

Jasmine: (Looks over at Gardio when she hears his voice and blinks slowly, then turns to her father, then back to the space up in the area she was looking at) “Mamá….” (She wiggles in her dads arms, patting on his shoulder to try and make her let go, then makes her grabby hands to be picked up by whatever she’s looking at)

Dogmeat: (Whines with confusion, trying to lick the girl)

Gardio: *finally next to the chair. He sets the bottle down next to Nick* Here... Do you think she'll drink it in this state?

Nick: I haven't a clue... *to Jasmine* Hey, kitten. Do you think your Mama would be happy if you drank this broth? *picks up the bottle and holds it up* I think she would. *gently smiling at her*

Jasmine: “Mamá….” (Takes her eyes off the air with a wistful and somber, deep longing look in her eyes, letting her hands rest back on her Dads shoulders as she turns to look at him. She tilts her head to one side, then seems to register that it’s him and she breaks out into a warm smile)

Nick: *smiles just as warmly back, relieved to se that she's isn't suffering for once* It's good to see that smile. Would you like some broth? *Offers it to her once more to see if she'll take it or not*

Gardio: *amazed that the girl looks so at peace. He glances over at the spector she was making grabby hands at a second ago*

Nick: *thinks to himself* So he can see it, too? Well that means it's not a simple calibration issue...

Jasmine: (Softly) “Daddy….” (Gently presses her forehead to his while putting a hand on his cheek, sighing softly, not acknowledging what he’s offering her)

The Object: (Appears to be a misty ball of white light up in the sky, now fading out so it’s almost completely transparent)

Nick: *sighs and sets the bottle down* I suppose not... *Reaches up with his bad hand and strokes her cheek, then attempts to brush a stray hair from her face* Hey, kiddo.

Gardio: *watching as it disappears, wondering what or who that could have been... Whatever it was seemed to have a calming effect on the girl. Quietly he turns to and starts for the stairs* I'm going to help Donny. I promised him that I'd help.

Jasmine: (Hums happily in greeting, sighing as she slinks down to rest her head against Nicks chest, listening to the soothing sounds of his inner workings while the sun shines over them. She’s still tired, like her body is light years away from being fully recharged)

Joyce: “Oooohhh- I so hope they get along well!!! I would love to have a ferret snuggle session!!!”

Teshteal: *looks up and notices Gardio's left* We should... Probably go back. Dio left- *slight panic enters his voice* Why did he leave-?

Joyce: (Looks around) “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe he went to help Donny with the stuff.”

Teshteal: Yeah... *Shaking a little. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end again* I don't feel safe out here, though... Let's head back. *Turns to the lighthouse*

Joyce: (Seems concerned but she follows along) “Errrrrm…. Okay then. But can I ask, why don’t you feel safe?”

Teshteal: *glances at the ship* I don't know those people. I don't know if they're from that hellish place. *Already walking along*

Joyce: (Walks alongside him, confused) “What place? These our Ma and Donny’s friends, they’ve known them for a long time.”

Donovan: (Already putting away some of the stuff he brought in, raising his head when Gardio pokes his head in) “Handed it off?”

Gardio: As good as done. She still seemed sleepy though... *Fully steps into the kitchen* What do you need help with bringing in?

Donovan: (Rubs his forehead for a moment, then starts walking to the door past Gardio) “The stuff with the storage labels go into the basement, the kitchen labels go the kitchen, and the rest into the living room. Mama will sort them out later.”

Jasmine: (Her eyes click up to her father as she rests, lifting a hand to gently touch the side of his neck where there’s a large gash, humming a bit sadly and with concern)

@lucilleandherrobots

#So uh I decided to make my characters have a more prominent Mexican background.#Because I was so pissed at Disneys Primos and said; “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”#Jk jk. But I’m still doing it and changed some of the old dialogue to reflect this.#So uh yaaaaay- diversity!!!#I am so excited to show off the pretty colors and good food.#And the SPANGLISH.#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #nick valentine #fallout oc #fallout original character #fallout roleplay #fallout rp

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