#Cassius makes me feel that way too. except all the time. every time I see his name on the paper I frown | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sa-suga · 5 years ago

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friends with (economic) benefits

credits to @haikyuu-ink for the lovely title! (her fics are amazing and were what inspired me to try writing haikyuu imagines too, so definitely check her blog out!! i worship the ground she walks on tbh)

∟ iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader | teeth-rotting fluff, a lil bit of angst

warnings: swear words bc i apparently use them for humour now, haha shit

word count: 4k

masterlist

summary: there’s an alarming amount of couple’s discounts throughout the year, and you’re not one to turn down a discount, especially when you’ve got two guy best friends. it’s all in good fun till you realize - this was never an act for you.

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It starts like this - February 14th of your second year, forgotten mittens and your breath blowing out in puffs, the usual “shut up, Trashykawa” and “so mean, Iwa-chan~”, and a flyer in the window of a bakery that says: valendine, free hot cocoas for you and your sweetheart with any purchase!

Stopping to stare at the flyer, you consider your situation. Your hands are freezing. No amount of rubbing or sticking them in the pockets of your coat will change that.

“Y/n-chan?” Tooru asks when the two boys come to a stop behind you. “We just ate, and you already want a bun?” His smile turns teasing.

For once, you don’t rise to the bait. Hot cocoa. God, you could almost feel the warmth. Whipping your head to the side, you give both boys a critical once-over. Tooru squirms, clutching his ribs where Iwaizumi had given him a sharp jab. Yeah, no.

“You’ll do,” you decide, and promptly grab Iwaizumi by the arm.

“L/n, what-” Iwaizumi starts. Your left arm is linked with his, dragging him forward with you as you march through the bakery.

“A donut, please,” you tell the cashier - a boy who can’t be much older than you, and who looks like he would much rather be home than in the ghastly pink apron he’s wearing - confidently, “and we’ll take the free hot cocoas too.”

Apron Boy gives you two a critical once-over. “It’s for couples only,” he tells you, voice flat. “It’s written on the flyer-”

“-And we’re a couple,” you say, beaming. Next to you, Iwaizumi chokes, starting to splutter something, and you dig your elbow into his ribs. Apron Boy levels you an unimpressed stare. He’s really making us work for it, huh. While Iwaizumi wheezes, you look Apron Boy dead in the eye-

-And hook your right hand in Iwaizumi’s collar, tugging him down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Right, Hajime?” You smile sweetly at him. Your eyes promise murder if he doesn’t play along. Do it for the cocoa, you try to tell him telepathically.

Iwaizumi gulps. He can’t tell if his heart is beating too fast or not beating at all - all he feels is the brush of your hand against his neck, how soft your lips had felt on his cheek, and - shit, he thinks a little deliriously, because the hand you’d used to tug him down is now snaking down to rest lightly on his chest, right over his heart, and oh yeah it’s definitely beating, I think I’m dying, what the actual fuck.

“Y-yeah,” he manages to choke out, because you’re still staring at him the way you do when there’s clearly a right answer, and if he gives the wrong one he’s going to regret it for weeks. “We’re dating.” It’s a once in a lifetime chance, he thinks with a touch of hysteria, and reaches down for your left hand, now free, to lace his fingers with yours.

Apron Boy huffs, but turns around to fill two cups with cocoa. You turn to Iwaizumi with a smile.

“Mission accomplished!” You whisper in his ear.

(His breathing stutters. His face is remarkably red. You don’t notice either of these things, in the same way you’ve forgotten that Tooru is still outside the bakery, staring at your backs with the scheming look he gets when he’s planning out how to break an opposing team’s strategy, starting with their morale.)

You take your cocoa and donut, leaving the bakery with Iwaizumi’s arm linked with yours again.

(He’s warm. You try not to think too much about it.)

“Y/n-chan,” Tooru whines when you reach him, “if you wanted a fake boyfriend you could have asked me!” He strikes a pose, and you can almost see the shoujo sparkles, “It’d be an honour to be your prin-” He chokes off with a pained wheeze. Iwaizumi lowers his foot.

“Shut up, Shittykawa. She didn’t want to be mobbed by your fangirls.”

You smile. “Yeah,” you agree around a mouthful of your donut, then, as an afterthought, go in for the kill. “Not that I know what they see in you, Tooru-kun.”

You tune out Tooru’s splutters. The warmth of the cocoa seeps into your palm through the styrofoam cup. You offer the unbitten side of your donut to Iwaizumi. “Want a bite?”

He studies you for a moment, an expression you can’t decipher - you file it away in your mind, even as you tell yourself you won’t be mulling over it later, because there’s nothing to think about, nope - and you think he’s going to decline. You pout, but just as you’re pulling the donut away Iwaizumi lunges forward slightly in a sudden movement, and you freeze.

He takes a bite, small, almost courteous, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

“Thanks,” he says, and looks away. The moment - it wasn’t a moment, you argue almost immediately; he’s just a friend, and friends share food all the time - ends, and you lower your arm after a beat. Ah, you note faintly, feeling kind of detached from everything, as your mind replays the white flash of teeth sinking into pink icing, lingering on equally pink lips, it’s kind of warm again.

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For some reason, after Valendines, you see a poster boasting some sort of Couple’s promotion every time the three of you hang out.

No biggie, you tell yourself, as you link your arm with Iwaizumi’s, it’s a promotion, I have two guy best friends, it’d be a downright waste if I let this pass me by. You smile at Iwaizumi over the complementary bubble tea you’re sipping.

I can’t ask Tooru, I’d be mauled by his fangirls, I swear they’re everywhere, you think as you let your hand slip into a calloused one, and accept a waffle that was 50% off. Iwaizumi curses as he takes a first bite, the waffle fresh and warm. Carefully, you wrap the waffle in the napkin and tear it in half, offering it to Tooru. I’m just being economical.

Fuck, you admit finally, as you grumble through Iwaizumi’s ruffling of your hair. You glare up at him through the mess of your fringe, eyeing the amused lilt to his mouth and hoping he writes the flush on your cheeks off as a result of the lingering chill, I think I’m getting attached.

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Iwaizumi, for his part, learns to melt on the notice of an arm hooked through his, a (small, your hands were so small compared to his, fuck) hand on his back. He learns to turn his head for chaste kisses on the cheek, and develops the habit of pushing your bangs back to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. You had been Oikawa’s friend before you’d been his - first year classmates with a flair for dramatics, the both of you had gotten along like a match and a firecracker, or two bulls in a shop of fine china.

"You should confess, you know,” Oikawa mentions casually while they’re stretching after practice, and Iwaizumi flounders, puts too much weight on the setter’s back - Oikawa breaks off into a screech.

“Tch,” he says, letting up on his friend’s back, glad that Oikawa can’t see his blush. “Stop saying stupid things, Loserkawa.”

The setter laughs. “Y/n-chan’s asking you to pretend to be her boyfriend at least twice a week, who knows, you might have a chance, Iwa-chan!”

“Shut up,” the ace replies, and pushes Oikawa forward a little harder, drawing satisfaction from the squawk he makes as he’s forced to stretch further than he usually does.

It doesn’t mean anything, because you’re just friends, and he knows how frugal you are. Whatever this was, it was definitely in his head. You did it for your wallet; he’s just the bastard who takes advantage of it to hold your hand.

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You like theatre. You’re only in your second year of high school, but your mind is mostly made up - you want to study literature in university, and maybe theatre arts too. There’s something about the ironies, the tragic endings that if you think about a little more, are actually inspiring in that they reaffirm the human spirit, that draws you in.

But you can’t act, for all your love for stageplays and dramatic flair. You teeter, endlessly, on the fraying tightrope between apathy (Brutus was stoic too, and a rather boring character compared to Cassius, in your opinion) and feeling too much (Caesar died for his potential, what a waste). You never could act, so you settle into the role of director in Aoba Johsai’s theatre club and write plays of romance and tears.

Method acting. If this was a play, then it’s the first that you’ve truly lost yourself in acting. Except it’s not so much that you’ve immersed yourself in it but that the role has eaten you up and spat you out, turned you inside out to bare your feelings to the burn of the spotlights.

(You can’t keep lying to yourself. This was never a question of immersing yourself in a role - your feelings have always been lying in wait, and it’s only now that they’ve finally crawled out of the concrete to wither in the face of the sun.)

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You’re walking home after school on a Monday with Iwaizumi. Tooru had a check-up for his knee, and you realize this might be the first time you’ve been alone with Iwaizumi for an extended period of time since Valendines.

“Man, I wish Tooru-kun would stop overworking himself,” you finally say, breaking the silence. Had it always been so awkward with Iwaizumi? Sure, you were slightly closer to Tooru, but you considered both boys as your best friends, no matter how much your friends in class liked to waggle their eyebrows and giggle excitedly whenever they came to pick you up from class for lunch.

“Hey, L/n,” Iwaizumi starts. Something in his voice makes you pause, and you look at him questioningly. He’s decidedly avoiding looking in your eyes.

“Why’d you call Oikawa Tooru-kun?” He finally says, then, seemingly only just realizing what he’d said, tries to backtrack, “I mean, I’m just curious, it’s not like I find it weird or anything.” He stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets, and - was that a blush on his cheeks? You resist the urge to rub your eyes.

You laugh a little. Of course not. You know how Iwaizumi is - shy for all his brashness, awkward for all his consideration. Of course it isn’t what all your shoujo manga would suggest.

“He asked me to call him that,” you answer, looking forward again, hand tightening on the strap of your bag, “apparently calling him Oikawa-kun makes it seem like I’m one of his fangirls.” Then, to alleviate the awkwardness, “And unlike you, Iwaizumi, I don’t constantly find new insults to pun with his name.“

Next to you, Iwaizumi huffs, and you let yourself smile. You’re nearing the crossroads between where Iwaizumi lives and you do.

“You can, you know,” Iwaizumi blurts out when you’re about to say something that’ll break your heart like see you tomorrow, or bye, I gotta go bury myself in shoujo manga when I get home to satisfy my unrealistic expectations, “I mean, you’ve called me that once.” At this, you peer up at him curiously.

“And we’re a couple, right, Hajime?” Valendines; hot cocoa and the reassuring beat of a heart under your palm.

God, you wanted to strangle past you.

You smile. Your heart fractures and shatters in a pretty firework of glass shards. “You can call me Y/n then. Bye, Hajime, see you tomorrow!”

You turn with a wave, leaving Iwaizumi staring at your back. Your roads split, and at the crossroads you cut your palms on the jagged edges of your heart.

(Iwaizumi is awkward. Iwaizumi is kind, and considerate, and everything you hadn’t known you wanted until you’d watched him serve a volleyball into the back of Oikawa’s head, and had felt his lips on your forehead.

Iwaizumi is awkward. Iwaizumi is kind. You are his best friend, and maybe your use of his last name had made him question your friendship.

Ah, you tell yourself, as you scoop fragments of glass into your hands and watch the way they reflect the sky above you in fractures, better by my hands than his.)

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If this was a play, then the climax comes when you least expect it, for all the buildup of suspense that had led you to where you are now.

In hindsight, you’re ashamed you didn’t see it coming.

You hide behind a wall as you hear a first year stumble through her confession - a blur of Iwaizumi-senpai and I really look up to you, you’re the ace of Seijoh’s volleyball team, I watched you play the other day - and try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You’ve made your peace, had made it since you realized that what you feel is more than momentary attraction to one of your annoyingly attractive best friends; you’ve patched your heart up with the glue the theatre club used for props, added a bandage when you realized your feelings still leaked through a hole in the bottom, and layered a band-aid over it for every time he hovers in the doorway of your classroom during lunch, every victorious smile he sends your way when they win a game (because of course you’d go to all of them, they’re your best friends, and that’s exactly why you will never risk ruining what the three of you already have).

You realize it doesn’t matter, because your heart is crumbling under its own weight, and no amount of glue or band-aids can stand in the way of gravity.

The first year finishes her confession, and you hold your breath with her, even though you know you should walk away.

Iwaizumi says something too soft for you to pick up, but when the first year thanks him for his time with a wobble to her voice, you know it’s a rejection.

(You feel terrible for the momentary lifting of your heart.)

The first year runs past you, and you brush off your skirt. It’s about time you left, Tooru will be wondering where the both of you are.

You take a step, and your foot knocks against a discarded soda can that you hadn’t seen.

“Y/n?” You whirl around, and Iwaizumi is looking at you, surprise on his face.

Shit, you think, this is the climax, isn’t it?

“Yo, Hajime!” You try for a smile, your voice light. It sounds a little unhinged. “Getting real popular, aren’t you? Tooru-kun better watch out, eh?” You take a step backwards, and the moment you feel your foot slip on the same soda can that’d been the trigger to this entire fiasco, you know: the universe really is gunning for the whole shoujo scene today, huh.

True to form, Iwaizumi catches you, lunging forward instinctively to pull you forward by your arm.

But he isn’t the ace for nothing, and those biceps and forearms certainly aren’t for show. As it is, he pulls a little too hard, and you stumble into his chest with an oof, only to trip over his feet and send the both of you toppling forwards with your weight.

Oof indeed, you think a little hysterically, as you raise your head to see Iwaizumi’s face inches from yours, cheeks flushed and lips parted from the shock of impact, your hand on his chest - it’s a very nice chest, you register appreciatively, with a touch of deliria. Your mind does the equivalent of a Windows shut down, complete with the dying cries.

“Y/n?” Oh, his voice is low, and rough, and very, very hot. You flush hotter than you thought was possible. “Are you okay?” His hand is on your waist, burning through the fabric of your uniform.

“Yeah,” you say, without feeling your tongue. Fuck, his collar is open. Again. Did he know how much he tormented the entire school population when he did that? Tooru had even hummed appreciatively the first time he’d popped a button while arm wrestling Makki, not that you know how the physics of that had worked.

“Um,” he says again, when you don’t move. “Are you sure?”

“Peachy,” you answer. Your eyes linger on his lips.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, sounding a little strangled. (He noticed. He’s trying very hard not to think too much about how one of your legs is slotted between his, and seeing your eyes drop to his mouth really isn’t helping.)

Then he remembers what landed him here in the first place (besides you literally landing on him, but he’s not thinking about that right now, nope.)

“How much did you hear?” The question brings you back, and you wrench your gaze away from his lips, because what the fuck, we talked about this, you’ve even exhausted your emotional wallet on band-aids, fuck.

“Uh,” you say intelligently, “everything?” You pause. Then, “She was cute.” I’m so glad you turned her down.

“Okay.” Iwaizumi takes a moment to process this. You’re still on him, your (stupidly cute and small) hand on his chest. He closes his eyes for a moment. To whatever entity lies up there, don’t let Shittykawa pick the photo for my funeral.

He opens his eyes, fixes you with a stare. “Okay,” he repeats, and he sounds as lost as you are. Then, very seriously, he says, “Feel free to slap me,” and leans in.

He goes slow, not that it matters, because you’ve lost all control of your body. You couldn’t move even if Oikawa was aiming one of his jump serves at you right now.

An eternity passes before his eyes close (the part of you that’s still capable of thought mourns, because his eyes really are a very pretty shade of olive green, and- oh fuck, his lashes are longer than yours, that’s unfair, what the actual fuck), then his lips are on yours and whatever part of your brain that had been running on fumes and hysteria dies.

It’s the barest touch of lips, a shy glance that can’t even be called chaste. Iwaizumi lingers in your space for a moment, then pulls away completely.

You reach out on autopilot, hooking your hand in his collar (like on February 14th, which feels like a lifetime ago at the same time it feels like it was just yesterday), and bringing his lips to yours in a messy clash of noses and teeth. You feel him stiffen, then he’s leaning in, his free hand reaching up to cup your face. He tilts his head slightly, and oh, your noses aren’t in the way anymore. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Iwaizumi’s hand on your hip tightens.

The sting jerks you back to the present, and you lurch away from him in a sudden movement, pushing him away with both hands on his chest.

“Y/n?” You cover your face in your hands, because Iwaizumi sounds thoroughly gone. “Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry, I should have asked, are you okay? Fuck, I really am sorry-”

You slap your hands onto his mouth. “Shut. Up,” you huff, flushing so much you think you might pop a blood vessel, or maybe a very important artery. But when you steal a glance at him, Iwaizumi looks so stricken, so guilty, and you realize what this must look like to him.

“Wait, no-” You take your hands off his mouth, waving them around in your haste to explain, “I liked it,” you say finally, and blush hard enough to make you light-headed again. “It’s just, it was my first kiss,” here you look away form him in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your face again. “And I probably really, really suck,” you finish lamely, muffled by your palms.

Silence. You try not to overthink it. You fail.

Just when you’re about to apologize and maybe run straight into a river, surely there’s one nearby, warm hands circle your wrists, and Iwaizumi gently pries your hands away from your face. (You resist. It makes no difference. The man is the undisputed champion of arm wrestling in Aoba Johsai, and maybe all of Miyagi, though you don’t know if he’s ever challenged the ace of Shiratorizawa.)

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he tells you, “And I’m really, really glad I’m your first kiss.” He leans in, and this time you’re the one to close your eyes.

The kiss lasts a little longer this time; he coaxes your lips open, and you let yourself be swept into his rhythm. When he pulls away, you finally open your eyes. He’s looking at you, and you realize - oh, so that’s why it’s called eye contact. He’s as red as you feel, and every nerve in your body is fizzing under his gaze.

“So, uh,” Iwaizumi blushes, and you resist the urge to pinch his cheeks, “Like you heard me tell her, I really like you.”

Wait, what?

“What?” You say. You hadn’t heard that.

Iwaizumi looks at you with dawning embarrassment. “I- she asked if I rejected her because of you and- and I said yes?” His voice breaks on yes.

“Oh.” Then, as your mind slowly knits itself back together, you squish his cheeks between your hands, lean your forehead against his, and say with all the calm you don’t feel, “I like you too, Hajime.”

He flushes. It spreads downwards to his neck, and your eyes follow it unashamedly. There’s nothing to lose now - sometime during the emotional roller-coaster that you’ve yet to come down from, you’ve both moved till you're basically sitting on his lap.

“Date me?” Iwaizumi asks, “please?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. “Please,” you tease.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You like it when boys are polite.”

You blink. It takes you a while to remember. “Were you listening in on the theatre club?”

A pause. An uncertain, “No.”

You smile, feeling fondness bloom in the space between your ribs. “We were discussing the characterization of the prince for a play, dumbass. Besides, I like you, Hajime, even if you swear.” You don’t know how much I swear when I think about you.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes into your neck, then in a flash of movement he’s pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

From your right, the sound of a picture being taken echoes.

Both of you freeze. The position you’re in probably looks very compromising, you realize with horror.

But when you turn, all you see is Tooru, his phone held before him. Silence stretches between the three of you.

Tooru is the first to move. “Oops,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, and takes off in the opposite direction. Hajime curses and picks you up - wow, that’s hot, you think - setting you gently on your feet before he takes off after Tooru.

“Fucking Trashykawa, get your ass back here!”

You laugh as you watch them streak over the courtyard. “Get him, Hajime!” Then, because you can, you let a wobbly smile take over your face and let the giggles spill from your (no longer virgin) lips.

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It ends like this - February 14th of your third year, mittened hands holding yours (because you’d left your mittens at home again), “wah, I’m the third wheel now, aren’t I~”, “then go home, Lonerkawa, we won’t miss you”.

“False,” you pipe up, “We’ll miss you, Tooru-kun, but not terribly.” Hajime huffs in amusement and presses a kiss to the top of one of your hands.

You love what the three of you have - they’re your best friends, and the fact that you get to kiss and cuddle with one of them only makes it better.

(The curtains fall, and you run off the stage and into a bakery, asking for a milk bread - to appease Tooru, and also reassure him that they really do love him, you know how he can get insecure sometimes - and the free hot chocolate for couples.)

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imma just be honest and say this is very self indulgent HAHA, i love the fake dating trope, i love food, and i love iwa so <3 here, have this 4k words long behemoth

my first ever haikyuu fic!! i’m aware there’s lots of room for improvement, and i’m open to feedback so ,, maybe hit up my inbox? 👉👈

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edit: if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please send me an ask!

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuucreations #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#iwaizumi hajime #kyouka writes

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mjvnivsbrvtvs · 4 years ago

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2000 words of (checks notes) hbo rome, but Antony captures Brutus alive and no one is quite sure what to do with that. mostly unedited, sort of heading in a direction for sure.

Cassius is dead.

And,

well.

Brutus is alive.

For whatever reason, Antony had decided to drag him back to his camp, and he sits in Antony’s tent like a child waiting to find out what punishment is going to get doled out while listening to Antony and Octavian shout at each other from some other place in the encampment.

Cassius is dead, and Brutus feels like he was cheated out of being able to take the honorable way out. Instead, he was ignobly marched back across a never-ending field of bodies, a prisoner, maybe something worse. To step between bodies of the men he commanded to their deaths felt like the worst kind of cowardice.

Cassius is dead, Brutus has the blood of his brother-in-law under his nails, and he feels inexplicably jealous.

The yelling stops, and after a moment, Antony steps back inside.

‘Great news!’ he says cheerfully. ‘You won’t be dying today!’

Brutus stares at him. Antony looks back expectantly.

In the back of his throat, the decorum that dictates social niceties threatens to claw its way out of his mouth, to show the appropriate gratefulness.

Cassius is dead, and Brutus wishes that was his fate as well, so he swallows hard and says nothing.

When it becomes clear that Brutus won’t say anything, Antony pulls a seat over and sits across from Brutus, uncharacteristically serious. ‘I know that this isn’t really ideal for anyone,’ he says, looking Brutus in the eye. ‘But it is better to survive. Think of your mother, how much better it will be for her to get a letter from you than to receive one from me announcing your death.’

It feels like Antony is attempting something like reassurance, like he’s worried Brutus might take the stylus off the desk and shove it through his own neck (he had thought about it, and immediately discarded the idea) but all Brutus can concentrate on is how much he doesn’t want to think of his mother.

Every personal betrayal, every manipulation at the hands of his own mother comes to the forefront of his mind and he can feel his expression twist into something bitter. ‘I’d consider it a personal favor if you would tell her that anyway,’ Brutus finds himself saying, and Antony laughs, sharp and surprised.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you to be cruel,’ he says, leaning forward.

‘You know, I never really wanted this?’ Brutus says, because now the words won’t stop spilling out of his mouth, ‘but she used my name, and Caesar couldn’t trust me after that.’

There is some emotion that Brutus can’t identify in Antony’s gaze, something quiet and calculating, not unlike a predator considering how to cast judgement.

‘You helped kill him,’ says Antony, tone neutral.

Brutus looks away, and back own at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore, but on that day, he wasn’t sure they would ever stop. Cassius might have put the blade back into his hands, but he was the one who grasped it and drove it into the body of a man he had once considered to be like a father.

Abruptly, he wonders if Octavian is somewhere on the other side of the material of the tent, eavesdropping on them like some kind of ghost.

‘I did,’ agrees Brutus, because there’s no sense in denying it or trying to claim some kind of innocence to the act. It runs in the family, even if he tried to deny that legacy before. He won’t try to pass blame for the action now. ‘You should let Octavian do whatever it is he wants to do.’ He sits up a little straighter and narrows his eyes. ‘What do you gain from this anyway? What benefit am I to you?’

Antony leans back, posture open and lazy. It’s not sincere, Brutus knows. It’s the false nonchalance that Antony presents the world when he wants people to look a little less closely, to take him a little less seriously, all the while planning out a series of strategies in the back of his mind.

‘Do I have to have an ulterior motive?’ asks Antony. ‘Maybe I just want to ruin Octavian’s day for a bit.’

He stands up before Brutus can reply, and begins to walk back towards the tent flap. ‘You’ll be staying here,’ Antony informs Brutus. ‘There are soldiers on guard duty, so don’t think about trying to escape.’ He looks at his desk, to the stylus, and after a brief pause of consideration, crosses the space in two easy steps to grab it. ‘Remember!’ he says, grinning. ‘Tomorrow’s a new day!’

Then he’s gone.

And Brutus is once again left with his hands, and Cassius’s blood.

•

At some point in the night, Brutus falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he is in Antony’s bed, with absolutely no recollection of how he got there. His hands, Brutus notices as he sits upright and pushes the blankets off of him, are clean.

‘And he lives!’ says Antony. He’s sitting behind his desk, watching Brutus from over top the paper in his hand. His tone is jovial, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘If you wanted to go back to sleep for another hour, I won’t tell: it might be the last time you’ll get the chance to sleep in.’

The entire exchange is baffling.

The expression on Brutus’ face must convey as much, because Antony laughs. ‘Just because you are my prisoner doesn’t mean it has to be painful for us both.’

Brutus arches an eyebrow at the use of the possessive and makes a note to eventually find out the specifics of what Antony and Octavian had been fighting about. ‘I think you'll find that sentiment goes against almost every expectation someone might have if they found themselves held captive by a political rival,’ points out Brutus.

‘I like to think of us as people who could have been political allies under different circumstances,’ counters Antony. ‘We did work together for some time.’

‘I think’ says Brutus slowly, ‘that you have some ulterior motive you’ve been angling towards for some time.’

Silence, except for the general ambience of a military encampment the day after a resounding victory. Conversation, men looking forward to returning home, the sharp crackle of an early morning fire. Life goes on. When the sun comes up in full, the bodies left on the battlefield will begin to stink and decay under the full force of the heat.

The fight in Brutus, the revulsion that he will be used for another person’s end goals again, fades out of him, replaced with a quiet grief at the thought of the men he led to their death.

Antony snaps his fingers.

‘You look like you’re thinking unhappy thoughts,’ says Antony. ‘Do not. It’s always better to live. If you must spiral into melancholia, wait until I’m gone.’

‘Besides!’ continues Antony. ‘Soon we will be back in Rome!’

Brutus can’t think of anything he’s looking forward to less.

•

Brutus wishes more than anything that Antony had just given him a sword so he could fall on it.

Currently, the feeling is driven less by a sense of duty (what kind of man begs for mercy? comes the voice of his mother. I didn’t beg this time, mother, he would say in reply) or the open wound of loss, but instead by an intense awareness that he does not belong in this place anymore but more importantly

annoyance.

If he thought he would have to wait around to see what Octavian and Antony were arguing about back in Philippi, he was wrong. The second Antony had set foot in Rome, with Brutus half a step behind him, Octavian immediately launched into an impassioned speech that started with, ‘You should be grateful to Antony, if it were up to me, I would have taken your head displayed it for all to see,’ (poetic in a grim sort of way, thinks Brutus) and ended with:

‘Don’t get too comfortable. You belong to Antony now, and he’ll do with you whatever he wants.’

It’s clearly meant to be some threat, but it’s laughable because Brutus knows this, everyone who’s heard about the outcome at Philippi knows this, there’s probably creative graffiti about it already going up on the walls of the city, and Octavian says it like Brutus hasn’t spent the last week trying to puzzle together why Antony wanted him alive so badly.

The facts of the world are as follow: the sun rises in the east, it sets in the west, Octavian has only become more insufferable over the years, and Brutus belongs to Antony now.

The only person who doesn’t seem to be aware of this is Antony, who continues to act as though Brutus is more of a peer that he had a minor disagreement and has subsequently forgiven.

‘It’s been nice catching up with you, Octavian,’ says Antony with a smile that conveys that the entire exchange has been anything but nice. ‘But I have things to do, matters to attend to.’

Brutus says nothing.

Octavian levels him with one last bitter look before turning around and leaving the room.

‘Well!’ says Antony after a moment. ‘That went as well as to be expected. I have a feeling he thought I’d have you executed somewhere along the way back.’

‘He’s not the only one,’ comments Brutus dryly, and Antony punches him in the shoulder good naturedly.

‘I love that grim sense of humor you have,’ he says. ‘Come on, let us go home. I’m fucking exhausted.’

•

Home, it turns out, is Pompey’s villa.

Or more accurately: it’s Antony’s now.

Brutus can see it on the walls, in the décor, in the choices of fabrics and design. It’s alive, it’s vibrant, it’s a complete antithesis of everything Pompey stood for.

He likes it.

‘So-’ Antony starts to say, at the exact moment Brutus says:

‘What’s your endgame here, Antony?’

It’s a recreation of the morning in Philippi: the open, if somewhat confusing, amicability that doesn’t quite meet the eyes. The sense that Antony is thinking of things in stratagem, planning for some kind of outcome no one has even thought to imagine, much less prepare for.

The villa is nice. Brutus likes what Antony’s done with the place.

He also feels very much like he’s walked into the open mouth of something with very sharp teeth, and if he must be assigned a role in whatever Antony is gearing up for, he would at least like an idea of what’s to come.

Whatever Antony is searching for in Brutus’ eyes, he must have found, because the tension in his jaw disappears.

‘Some other time,’ he says finally. ‘Not today.’

There’s a promise in between the words.

Brutus tries to feel grateful for that, at least. It’s hard, because once, before all of this, he used to be--

•

--a person.

Antony shows him to one of the rooms, makes some remark about not leaving the villa, with a side glance at Posca, who does his best not to meet Brutus’ eyes, which is understandable. Antony takes off, and in the absence of anything else to do, Brutus decides to try and reinvent himself.

He can no longer be Brutus, descendant of a king killers. He is no longer a reluctant, albeit talented, politician, following in the footsteps of all the other politicians that came before him. He’s not even entirely sure what his status as a citizen of Rome is. In lieu of death, Octavian might push for exile.

The only concrete fact about himself now is that Antony wanted him alive, and so he belongs to Antony.

The lack of solid ground to stand on makes exile a tempting thought.

At some point in the afternoon (no further along in the process of reinvention than when he started) a young woman stops by: Cynthia, if Brutus recalls correctly. One of Antony’s slaves. She asks if he’s hungry, if he’d like an apple and--

--for a moment, Brutus feels like he’s returned to Philippi, standing defeated, surrounded by bodies. The dead don’t eat, they need coins for the afterlife, not food, the dead don’t eat, and he’s not a person anymore--

--Brutus says yes and follows her.

•

Antony is exhausted.

Octavian, he knows, is planning something. There is something ugly and spiteful inside of that youth, Antony can’t stand to be around him, no matter how much Atia dotes on him.

When Antony returns back home late in the evening, he’s greeted with the sight of Brutus sitting on one of the couches, peeling an apple, while Cynthia stands nearby, slicing up a pear. He pulls the heavy fabric of the toga off his body and casts it across a chair, making his way towards the two.

Draping himself along the couch next to Brutus, he leans over and says, ‘Slice off a piece for me.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Posca watching the scene unfold from the quiet shadows of the evening.

Brutus cuts off a part of the apple so that the slice is stuck on the side of the blade, and holds it out to Antony, like this is an everyday occurrence, like Brutus isn’t pointing a knife at the person who owns his life.

He realizes it, a moment later, and freezes, but before he can course correct, pull back, apologize, Antony leans forward and bites the apple slice right off the sharp edge of the knife.

Brutus stares at him.

Or, more specifically, Antony is delighted to note, he stares at the line of Antony’s throat, his gaze lingering for just a second too long.

#politics as an eventual vehicle for unhinged flirting tbh #the apple thing is the set up for some light knife play #brutus: hm. this is closer to the stage and the blood would be real. do you want the blood to be real antony?#a tag for writing #i have absolutely no idea if i'll finish this but the longer i type in the tags the more fond i become of it so #magic 8 ball says: Very Likely #followed by: maybe when i get my laptop uh. working better???? i think ive discovered what's wrong #and again: i will be SO annoyed if i need to replace my graphics card #but i think it's just that something got corrupted somewhere and if i nuke that out of orbit i'll be good again #honestly i should probably defrag my laptop while im at it #just. get it all out of the way. spring cleaning maintenance in the middle of summer here we go #uhh. technically this should go in the #gabriel fucks around with hbo rome

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

Text

Sanguine Nocturnus | 2

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Couldn’t leave y’all hanging a week without meeting our main character, now could I?

It was rare that he woke to an empty bed. Rarer still that he woke feeling as though every cell in his body was vibrating. Checking the time on his phone, he sat upright and looked around, keen eyes searching the pitch-black room for any sign of his previous night’s companion. His two dobermans, Phobos and Deimos, marked the spot, the dogs framing the corpse of last night’s entertainment. She’d been a pretty thing, fresh into her 20’s, and still so naive that she’d hung on every word he’d whispered in her ear.

At least she didn’t die a virgin.

Bending down, he picked her up easily, slinging her over one shoulder as he made his way to the cold room. Too restless to take care of her immediately, he slipped her into one of the five drawers built into the wall and locked the room behind him. By the time he made it back upstairs to shower and dress, her face was already a half-forgotten memory in his mind.

Deciding on an all-black ensemble with a ruby-toned, velvet brocade waistcoat, he showered, dressed and stepped onto the wet cobbles of Rome’s quiet streets, still feeling as though electricity was coursing through him. The moon hung over the Pantheon, looming and casting a reddish glow on all below it.

Feeling none of the restless energy dissipate despite the fresh air, he turned in the direction of the Vatican, needing to take the edge off.

He’d been a customer of the club for years; ever since it opened in fact. Over the thirty years Romulus had been serving the public, the staff had come and gone, but thankfully the owner had stayed the same. Nodding to the man as he came in, the owner automatically motioned for the bartender to set up his drink, knowing his most loyal patron only ever drank one thing; Sanguinem. A blend of wine and other, more secretive ingredients, it was the oldest drink the owner ever kept in stock. The owner had tried it once or twice, always wincing when the metallic taste hit his tongue, always confused by the popularity of the drink among many of his patrons.

He sighed as he took a seat at the bar, his blue eyes gazing up at the artwork that adorned the walls. Seldom seen when the club was in full swing, the paintings were recreations of those who had encountered a brutal end. Everyone from Marie Antoinette to Kurt Cobain lined the walls, their images altered to show them post-mortem. Sometimes gruesome and always detailed, each painting was a one-of-one, and if times ever got tough, an easy sell to a discerning collector.

As the name suggested, Romulus’ atmosphere evoked the age and bloody history of the city it called home. Dim lights, chaise lounges, and arched stone ceilings all lent to the feeling like one were in the catacombs beneath the city. Most nights, the place was flooded with red neon, the gleam of the lights off the dance floor emanating to every other corner of the establishment.

For a Saturday night, the place was oddly vacant, until he remembered that tonight was All Souls’ Day and most of Italy was either in church or in their homes, celebrating the holiday. He had never had much respect for religion, especially Catholicism; as far back as he could remember, the church had been the instigator of more deaths than any other group in the world.

“They can all go fuck themselves,” the patron muttered under his breath before taking his first swig, the bartender giving him a look as though the drinker had just murdered his mother. The owner smiled, knowing the man was referring not to the employees of the club, but to the religious fanatics that kept most of the country in church on a night like this.

“Non è cattolico.” The owner told the bartender, explaining the man’s religious views to the slightly offended man, who nodded in understanding as he connected the cussing to the holiday.

“Non cattolico a tutto.” The patron agreed, his tone low and sharp, his accent different than that of his fellow countrymen.

“Thank you for the drink, old friend.” The man said as he took his final sip, standing to his full height before extending his hand to the owner who shook it happily, his smile filled with the usual wonder that came across his face whenever he observed his patron up close. Although years went by and the world changed, his loyal customer never seemed to age a day.

No money was ever exchanged, the owner having long ago gifted his patron with a lifetime supply of Sanguinem in exchange for a certain…favor he’d needed done.

Herminius Calvisius, Henry as he was known these days, had indeed done a few favours for a select few in Italy over the years. Personally, he adored when said favours had to do with the Vatican, for he loved the food there; if you could call it that.

Food for Henry was not exactly appetizing fare for most others he resembled. Henry's idea of a meal usually consisted of a glass of Merlot followed by a pretty young thing looking for a good time around one of the dark alleys surrounding Vatican City at midnight. He never failed to get a laugh out of the shock that came from the Swiss Guard when they would find the woman the next morning, pale as St. Peter's Basilica, with the exception of two gentle circles in her throat.

Yes, he was un vampiro, as they liked to call him; a vampire.

Tonight however, the meals would be scarce, and since he was quite selective of his dinner—despite favouring the occasional streetwalker—Henry found his feet guiding him towards one of the few places where blood was a commodity.

Located just outside the Porta Settimiana, the old villa was vast, and most found it disturbing, in a way they simply couldn’t define. It made the hairs on their arms stand, and quickened their step, but if one were to ask, not a single soul could say why they avoided the piece of history.

To Henry, it was like gazing on the picture of heaven.

It was the first place he had deemed worthy enough to call home after he became immortal, and it had yet to lose its value in his eyes. Prying open the gate, which badly needed oiling, Henry smiled as he saw Brutus stand from the front door to greet him.

“Hello, boy. It’s been ages, has it not?” He greeted as he pet the mastiff that eagerly sniffed him for bones.

“None today, boy, my apologies.” Henry’s lips turned downwards at the same time as the dog’s, both spending a few more silent moments together before the large black door of the Italianate house was opened.

Had a human have witnessed the action, their blood would have run cold, for like many of the other houses of the period, the front door of this one was unbelievably heavy, usually taking the strength of two men to open. The hand that gripped it however, was delicate, manicured and thin; precisely the hand belonging to the woman he had come to see.

“Lucrezia, my love, hello.” Truly, being in her presence over the years had provided Henry with a great many memories, and fond ones at that, something which was scant for one such as himself.

“Hello, my little hermit.” She smiled. Others in the Roman coven had always called her grin wicked, but to him, it was beautiful and warm; one of the few smiles that had ever pervaded his dreams, turning nightmares into impish fairy tales.

Lucrezia, as her name would suggest, was also Italian, and although younger than him, she had seen the days when Rome ruled the earth—or what was known of it at the time. She had seen several Caesars come and go, and had been just outside the senate when Julius himself had met his end at the tip of Brutus’ blade.

Her hematite locks descended past her shoulders in loose waves, only serving to accentuate impeccable bone structure, a creamy complexion, and burgundy lips she methodically painted every time she awoke. Henry could tell she was feeling dramatic today, as she was wearing an old Roman gown, given to her by a courtier during the reign of Octavian.

“What’s the occasion, Lucy?” Smiling at the intended reaction he got at the nickname, he did not hesitate to kiss her cheek in pardon.

“I do hate it when you call me that, Henry; Makes me sound like a child.”

Indeed to any onlooker, she might be confused for one, Lucrezia having been made an immortal at the tender age of twenty. He did not know her then, but news of her beauty spread quickly among the covens of the Empire, her likeness drawn on both papyrus and walls alike, so that any who felt the need could gaze upon her visage. Henry smiled, remembering how the portraits did her little justice when he finally gazed upon her in the flesh.

“If you must know however, I had company over just an hour ago, and there’s some very exciting news coming from the coven.”

“Will I have to be there?” Henry rolled his eyes, knowing that any news from the coven could only be one of two things; either there was to be a new celebration, or one of the elders had gone to ground and a new one had been chosen to take his place.

“Hush. I haven’t even told you the news yet. Marius was lovely enough to come and keep me company tonight on such a dreadful holiday, and since he had just been to the house, he was brimming with new gossip that I just had to hear. Apparently, Cassius has decided to sleep, and a new elder will be taking his place. According to Marius, this one is…different.”

“Different how?” Henry asked, his interest piqued despite his detestation for any and all gossip to come out of the coven he had so long ago abandoned in favour of a life less formal.

“Well, first off he’s apparently quite…awe striking, fear-inducing, etcetera. A real Roman sculpture is how Marius described him. And secondly, he’s of the…Greek persuasion, if you will.”

Her grin became even more deviant as the two headed inside towards the parlor, Lucrezia immediately pulling a decanter off a small flame and pouring two glasses of blood so good, the scent alone was enough to make Henry’s head spin.

“A boy lover?” He asked, looking curiously at his companion. It was not uncommon for those of his kind to frolic with their own sex, but among the elders and those next in line, it was a rarity, simply because it was a public imbalance among the sexes of the coven and their kind liked nothing more than to appear egalitarian.

“MAN lover, actually. If Marius was looking at the right man, then apparently our next elder has already found a companion in Fares.” Henry raised his eyebrows, indifferent to the news.

“Where do you find them?” He asked, tipping his glass in reference to the fine liquid he soon after began pouring down his throat.

“Oh, you know…The old money, the papacy, the brothels, the usual.” They shared a laugh, both knowing that no matter what a person’s station in life, their blood did little to hide their history.

“Well, my dear, for someone as young as you, you have fine taste.” And with that, he took a full drink, feeling his body reconstitute in seconds.

“Back to this fledgling, my love, and pay attention. The ceremony is taking place two nights from now, at the house, and yes, you must attend.”

Henry tried to hide his annoyance at the fact that despite severing ties to the house, he was still required to go to such frivolous functions, for the sake of tradition alone. For all he knew, the fledgling was already in power, probably getting the youngest members of the house to do his dirty work for him.

Above all though, he felt bitter that despite his lack of connection, he had yet again been passed over as elder of the coven. It was not as if he were the youngest of vampires. Over 2,000 years old and plenty educated in the ways of the coven, Henry found it an insult to be passed over time after time; it was one of the many reasons he’d separated himself from their ancient ways.

“How old is this boy lover and what’s his name?” Henry asked, feigning interest for Lucrezia’s sake, only mildly interested in knowing whether this new elder was an acquaintance or not.

“He is a 26, and his name is...Gab-No! Gregory, from what Marius could gather. Do you know him?”

“Is he Italian?” Henry asked, knowing that the chances of this man being familiar to him would increase tenfold if he was of Roman descent.

“When have you known the elders to ever pick a foreigner as the next in line? Of course he’s Italian.” Lucrezia laughed, thinking Henry foolish for even entertaining the notion.

“Well, there was the time when we put in a Frenchman, temporarily. That didn’t go over too well though.” He reminded her, every member of the coven all too eager to forget that one particular mistake in their history.

“And you said he was my 26? As in, older than me?”

“No. 26, as in he was born yesterday,” Lucrezia’s eyes went wide, her gaze speaking volumes to Henry as she took a sip from her chalice. He, like her, was scandalized that they’d pick someone so young to their ways to be the next leading elder.

Licking his lips, he tried to remember all the faces he had come across in the last three decades, linking each to a name and finding that none of them matched the one he’d been given.

“Unless my memory deceives me, or he has changed his name, I do not know him.”

“Pity, for I was hoping you’d introduce me.” Lucrezia grinned, a single line of blood falling from the corner of her lips, making her indeed look like a celluloid vampire.

Finishing off her chalice, Lucrezia’s blue-green eyes turned to the night beyond her window, Henry smiling as he sensed where the night would go.

“Everyone’s tripping over themselves, naturally; either in love with his youth and beauty, or wanting to maim Cassius for choosing a fledgling who hasn’t even weaned yet, as far as Marius could tell.”

“It’s little wonder Cassius decreed you--” Lucrezia stopped short, her eyes traveling up and over the lip of her chalice, a devilish smirk exposing her fangs as she waited for Henry’s reaction.

“Decreed me to what, Lucy?” Henry asked with a warning tone, one eyebrow raising as he waited for her to spill the rest of the gossip she’d received second-hand.

“Decreed that you will be his tutor in all things...Vampiric.” Her delicate fingers slipped through the air, creating a ballet all their own and momentarily distracting Henry from his own ire.

“He has no power to do so! Lucrezia, tell me this is another one of your humorless jests!” He finally barked, teeth bared as he stood and began to pace around the room.

“I’m afraid not, my darling. If Marius was correct, the decree came with an ultimatum as well. Come to heel, or…”

“That pompous bastard. He knows full well what he does. I knew it would be another century of trouble once he rose. Had to get one last kick to the teeth in. I swear, if this is still because I told him his mother was a beautiful as a donkey’s prick, I will have his head while he SLEEPS!”

“Easy, Centurion. It’s generally frowned upon to decapitate an elder nowadays. Come, let us slake your lust elsewhere. I ordered in.” Her smile turned even more secretive as she rang a bell next to the snifter, Lucrezia’s gentle hands pressing Henry towards the area of the parlor that she’d long ago turned into something more closely resembling an Andaruni.

Slipping her hands into the collar of his jacket, Lucrezia helped Henry undress before allowing him to do the same to her, the sweet tone of her giggle as she spun out of her dress completely dissipating any of the lingering anger Henry felt. When they were both nude and relaxed among the many cushions that separated them from the floor, Lucrezia’s day man sent in a feast.

“Twins! Lucy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Henry’s eyebrow raised for a very different reason as both he and Lucrezia opened their arms for the two young blondes who had been ushered in, bare, and more than a little tipsy if their footsteps were anything to go by.

“What did you give them tonight?” Henry questioned with a chuckle, reaching up and catching one of the girls before she could crash headlong into the low table that held a variety of accoutrements for pre and post-dinner. Undeterred, the woman found her way easily into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did a sloppy grind of her hips against his hardening shaft.

“Just the usual. Bit of Absinthe, touch of Laudanum for the nerves.”

“I owe you dinner.” Henry smiled as he sank into the girl in his arms, watching as she arched back instinctively against the exquisite pleasure he provided.

Moans filled the air before a deathly silence blanketed the villa, two more souls joining the countless others being prayed for on that sacred night.

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #sanguine nocturnus #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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benisasoftboi · 4 years ago

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Unorganised thoughts on Trails of Cold Steel III:

...I’m gonna need like a week to process that

I guess I know why people hate George now!

Could really use a good old reset from KeA right now

This is the best game in the Cold Steel series so far. Easily

I... there’s no way they’re all really dead, right? This series has been completely toothless about killing anyone who isn’t a villain until now, no way they’re permanently killing someone who’s been here since practically day 1, no way. Show me a body

And even then I’ll doubt it with all these revivals happening all over the place

‘He’s HIDING’ I sob as I apply clown make-up

Ben Diskin did not need to go so hard on the voice acting at Millium’s death he did not need to do that to me

My god when Angie drove into the graveyard and my PS4 popped up a little notification telling me it was a blocked scene, the tension in me... and I never saw that coming, I’ll have to see if it was foreshadowed at all by replaying CS1 and 2 some time

I saw Lughman being a baddie a mile away (a mysterious professor turning out to be evil in a Trails game? UNPRECEDENTED!) but he’s Alisa’s dad!?

Neat writing trick actually, since they probably knew we’d guess the former, they blindside us with the latter

I can’t express how happy it made me that the Rufus battle was Machias Jusis Elliot. My dream team!

Estelle and Joshua got mentioned so much I figured they’d make a surprise appearance at the end and save the day

So. Characters:

Rean: Rean is once again moderately more interesting than he was before, but still the least interesting person in the game. I guess he’s got some guilt that’s actually justified now, that’s cool?

I ship him with Crow, not because the pairing really appeals to me that much, but because being shipped with Crow would totally piss Rean off and I find that extremely funny

His relationship with Altina is the best relationship he’s ever had with a female character and it is 100% because she’s the only girl he’s never ship teased with

(I don’t have an issue with the concept of ship tease itself, I have an issue with Rean-ship tease because 1. I still truly do not understand why so many girls like him so much and 2. None of it will ever canonically go anywhere)

(Seriously I’m so tempted to write a breakdown of why every other guy in Erebonia is more desirable than Rean)

Juna: I like Juna. I realised early on that she and Kurt remind me of Estelle and Joshua, without being carbon copies, and that’s good. I also think her relationship with Rean was really interesting - ‘I don’t know how to feel about you because you saved my life, but it also wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for your country’s actions, which you’ve played a major role in - but now I’m being forced to confront that you’re a human being too’ is a really complicated situation for her. It’s a lot more interesting than ‘I don’t like you because you accidentally got a face full of chest’, Alisa

I also really liked using her, I ended up loading her with the Platinum Pecky Medal and defensive stuff, and she was a wall, she took an S-craft from Arianrhod in her stride! My buff girl!

She should’ve just been the new protagonist ngl

Kurt: Kurt had a lot to live up to, seeing as his brother is my favourite minor character. And oh does he succeed, Kurt is my favourite of New VII, he’s a good straight man, he’s great in battle, I like his arc, I like his friendship with Juna, I like Kurt

Altina: I was not sure about Altina just... being a student now. But damn if she didn’t have the best character arc in the game. I only did her final bonding event on a whim, but it’s the best one I saw. My girl Allie deserves the damn world

I really, truly believe those three have a bond as well, they’re very well written as a group. This was a problem I had with Old VII, the fact that so many of them just... didn’t have relationships with each other. How do, say, Fie and Machias feel about each other? I have no idea. But this group has a fantastic dynamic and it makes that ending so much more effective

It’s like I praised Crossbell for, really - having a small core group is much more manageable in terms of giving them all equal screen time and getting me to care about them

Musse: Uh, kind of one-note and annoying, honestly. I don’t hate her or anything, but like... she’s either Being Mysterious or Hitting On Her Teacher (I hate it I hate it so much). It’s just hard to care about someone who’s clearly so fake, I guess? I’m definitely interested in her, but like... I don’t really like her

Ash: Poor boy. I thought Ash was such an interesting character (and man do I love having someone around who does not like Rean, and never really changes his mind about it). Ash is very well done imo

Alisa: Alisa is good when the issue is her family drama, and is so goddamn boring when it comes to Rean. Nothing new there

Elliot: I love his little ponytail I love it he’s so cute I want to hug him so bad

Laura: Winner of the ‘best new outfit’ award (was never that fond of her war outfit, but this one is perfect). Still good, but not notably so. I feel so bad for Laura, she tries so hard to matter, but she’s by far the character you’d have the easiest time lifting out of the game

And while I love Elliot... same situation really. You could go back to the start and have one character named Elliaura who likes swords and music and has two big-shot dads, and you wouldn’t lose much

Machias: Took down Rufus, yeah, destroy your best friend (boyfriend)’s evil family! Winner of the ‘worst new outfit’ award, AGAIN. Also winner of ‘dorkiest S-craft’. I did his final bonding event first, and according to Playstation trophies it’s the least popular one! Stop sleeping on my boy Machias guys, I know he was annoying in the first game but I love him :(

Gaius: Special award to Gaius for finally being interesting! Boy’s a Gralsritter now, did not see that coming!

And of course it happened off screen. Because god forbid interesting stuff happen to Gaius when we’re actually around

Oh also goddamn, that is a beautiful man

Emma: Don’t really like the new outfit. It’s kind of remarkable that she’s so important but I keep forgetting she exists. Exposition witch who sometimes just doesn’t deliver the exposition I guess

Fie: Still my fav girl. Wish there had been more focus on her feelings about her dad coming back to life. Like that she’s a bracer

Jusis: Wasn’t sure how to feel about his newly close friendship with Millium because I was concerned that I was meant to ship it (by far my least favourite thing about this franchise is that that was not an unreasonable concern, as it wouldn’t even be the most inappropriate relationship in this game alone). Very, very glad it was confirmed sibling-y (not that it’s stopped them before). He didn’t really get to do anything else, sadly, but he’s good as always

I did the Purebread contest with him, and he made bread from coffee beans Machias gave him, the Ferdibert Fire Emblem energy-

“What are you doing underneath this scarlet Pleroma Grass?”

Milliam: :(

Sara: Doesn’t get much to do because this cast is bloated but like, I still really like her :)

Towa: Someone needs to check on Towa all her friends are dead or evil the poor poor girl (or uh. I guess Crow isn’t... hmm.)

Angie :(

My kids Tita and Agate are back and completely overshadowed by people teasing this almost 30-year old man about being in love with a 17 year old that he’s only ever claimed to see as a sister, I swear to god

The orbal gear looks so goofy lol

Stop mentioning Schera as just being ‘totally here, just off screen, ha ha’ give her a model! Have her be here!

Don’t get me wrong, I loved seeing Josette again, I just don’t get... why? Why is she here?

Tio is back! And so is Randy, as a major character! I’m very very happy, I love them both

Michael’s fine, I guess? He’s kind of bland but I guess that’s kind of the point and I like him just fine. He serves his purpose well

I’ve never really liked Claire all that much, but she’s fine in this one again I suppose. A bit disappointed by the Lechter reveals really, I had expected more, to be honest

Aurelia is a fun character and I enjoy her as the principal. Want to see her fight Cassius

Want to see Cassius

I love my girl Annabelle, but she’s the only reason I didn’t get all the character profiles (how was I meant to know I could even go to the highway at that point hmmm Falcom!?)

They picked a good selection of returning Thors students. Even Dorothee isn’t as annoying as she used to be. Hilarious that she’s the only one who didn’t get a profile

Juna gave a great big speech about how awesome the SSS are and namedrops everyone EXCEPT WAZY! My FAVOURITE Crossbell character! So offensive!

Oh speaking of offensive I took Machias to the Mishy show and was told he and Rean did a Mishy dance but they didn’t show it, what the hell-

Playable Olivier! Olivier back story! I could write a goddamn essay on why Olivier is such a great character. Glaring at you Falcom

I miss Mueller :(

Ada Grant is wonderful and I want better things for her

Rufus is a damn great villain just because of how much sense his actions suddenly make when you know that one little detail of him not actually being Jusis’s brother

I hate Cedric but like, in a way where I’m having fun hating him. That little bitch

Literally what do you even actually want Osbourne

I still cannot stand Elise. Something I realised playing this game is that one of the things that stops the Estelle and Joshua relationship from being as weird as it could be is that they don’t look at all alike, it’s very clear they’re not related in the slightest. Elise and Rean look like they really could be siblings, and come to think, so do Lloyd and Cecile. Which is also teased, to a lesser extent. It would be so much less uncomfortable if they just swapped Elise and Alfin’s models ngl (though still not good)

inb4 the final plot twist of the whole series is that Estelle and Joshua actually were biological siblings all along

This game looks so much better than its predecessors. Having the models being a little rounder and softer looking makes it look much more like an updated version of the original style than the complete departure that was CS1 and 2. Every time there was a flashback, Rean would be like ‘back then...’ and I’d feel compelled to say out loud ‘when we were shiny, and looked bad!’

‘Evil ancient magic corrupts people into making them do bad things!’ is... honestly a bit of a cop out that I did not expect from this series

I found Rean telling Patrick ‘leave room for Aidios when dancing with my sister’ extremely funny. Rean would totally be a Christian summer camp counsellor in the real world

I honestly would have enjoyed it a lot more if Alfin decided to cause a scandal and have her first dance with Elise, but we can’t have such luxuries I suppose

When you get that book on dystopias, very clever to put the author on the last page. Seeing the name Gideon gave me such a start

Racquel was easily my fav new location

Leeves > Trista no doubt, maybe I’m just biased because it looks a lot like the village I grew up in but it’s just such a nicer design

Also the branch campus > main campus purely for being smaller, making the filler segments between field trips more bearable

I prefer the longer but fewer chapters set-up, I think

There’s so many sad faces in this write up :(

Back when I played Sky SC, I said something about how one of the themes is ‘you are not defined by your trauma’. I now think it would be more accurate to say that the theme of all the games (but especially the Sky arc) is ‘don’t let your worst experiences define you’

Because there are characters who define themselves by their traumas and worst experiences - and those characters are all villains, or miserable, or both. Like, they don’t phrase it as such, but the requirement to be an Ouroboros enforcer is ‘have trauma and define yourself by it’

And both Joshua and Renne’s arcs are about learning not to do that

Equally, the idea that ‘it’s much easier to not to define yourself by your trauma when you have a good support system that wants the best for you’ is a big theme as well

I just think that’s a really interesting idea for a JRPG series to tackle, idk

I can’t believe I’m at the last game! This series has been my life for the past near-half a year, what do I do when I finish it?

...go back and play Sky FC, maybe?

#trails of cold steel 3 #trails of cold steel #trails series #kiseki series #erebonia arc

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an-absolute-travesty · 4 years ago

Text

Royal Screw-Ups

It’s time, the final chapter is here

*Sobbing*

I won’t get too sappy on you guys here, since I got pretty sappy at the end of thing on Wattpad

But yeah. Thanks if you’ve been reading this long. I have more plans for this world (i have some plans for a few oneshots) but for this moment, we are closing out this story

If you’re looking for the rest of the story, it can be found on my wattpad @ohwowhatethis, under the tags “kotlc fic” and “keefex” on my blog, or under the cut on my pinned post

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed, just for this story or as a whole): @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percabetn @vibing-in-the-void @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42 @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e

Chapter 8:

Word count: 3,677

Warnings: swearing, cassi-ass being an ass, destruction, fire, chaos, etc.

Three months of planning later, servants scurried around the property in preparation for the ceremony the next day. A glass dome had been built in the center of the property to house it.

Tam and Linh had arrived soon after they had their first meeting, luckily Tam and Fitz weren’t as lovey-dovey in real life as they were in their letters. However, Marella and Linh very much made up for it. The moment they met the guard and the princess had a connection, the sweet talk was almost too much to bear.

In fact, all of them had grown quite close over the past months. Who knew low-level treason could bring people together so.

Of course, not nearly as close as he’d like with a certain person, but closer for sure. Every week they met back up at the library to work out bumps in their plan, clean up the absurd amount of paper Keefe used in drawing out his first plan, or just sit and talk. Today would be their last before the big day.

Keefe watched over Dex’s shoulder as he made his final tinkers on the device he had been working on.

“How’s it looking Techmaster?”

“Eh, having more metal makes everything easier but...it’s one use only, so I can’t test it. We just have to hope for the best.”

“Well, I have faith in you. Your genius brain could make anything.”

Dex rolled his eyes. Keefe wanted to subtly touch him to see if his blatant flirting had been noticed, but it felt wrong to. He had been stuck in the dark for the last 3 months.

Everyone else ran their lines around the room. Everyone besides Sophie who, as typical of her, looked half way sick in the corner.

Keefe sat down next to her on the floor.

“Alright, what’s up Foster, have you acquired a stomach bug?”

She giggled. “No...it’s just…” She sighed. “It feels wrong, y’know? I mean...I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“You’re really doing the opposite of hurting people though, I mean you’re making them happy.”

“Not happy, hysterical. Yeah it can be happy, but not in the way we’re doing it. Trust me, it’s not fun to watch.”

Keefe thought for a moment.

“Hey...your parents have that griffin, right?”

~*~

The sound of a wedding march echoed through the castle lawn as Sophie was led down the isle by her father. Keefe guessed she looked quite lovely in her dress, Biana, who stood as her maid of honor, was looking at her more like a husband would than him. He stood frozen at the alter, Fitz beside him as his best man and everyone else interspersed within the crowd for optimal dramatic effect.

Sophie reached him at long last. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t look sickly this time. Her face steeled with determination gave him confidence.

The guy marrying them together was one of Cassius’ officials. Keefe didn’t bother to remember most names anymore, but this one was a...Moland? Noland? Something like that.

Everyone winced in unison as the man started talking, Keefe’s ears began to ring a bit at the volume.

“Lords and Ladies, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of our young Prince Keefe Sencen and the lovely Miss Sophie Foster-Ruewen.”

Keefe only realized he was fidgeting when Fitz subtly reached out and held his hand down from where it had been tapping on his leg.

“We are honored to be joined by so many friends and family. The Goom and Bride are overjoyed you all could be here to participate in this most important occasion.

“There are few greater joys in life than finding someone we truly connect with. Creatives have many names for this, a spark, clicking, but let us say today what it truly is: love.”

Keefe looked out into the crowd, he caught the eye of Dex. The redhead’s brow was crinkled and his cheeks flushed slightly. He pat the pocket of his coat in confirmation.

“Love is what these two young souls have found in each other. In love, our truest selves are revealed. We open ourselves up and break down our walls. The veil we present to the public is lifted so we can be loved for who we are, not who we pretend to be.”

Keefe struggled to not roll his eyes. He took a final look around the room, each person nodding as he met eyes with them.

“Over these months, our Bride and Groom have developed a strong bond. This bond will only get stronger throughout the course of their marriage. Let us revel in the joy and love displayed in front of us today. May we treasure these memories as Prince Keefe and Miss Sophie get set to begin their new life together.”

Keefe took a deep breath, knowing the next words out of his mouth.

“If anyone has cause to object the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

3, 2, 1…

“I object!”

Stina first. “This marriage was meant to be mine! She’s just a dirty commoner!”

“How dare you!” Fitz cut in before anyone else could. “I object because I love her! Sophie is meant to be with me. Maruca has admitted her love to Keefe, let her marry him!”

Biana gasped dramatically. “Maruca you snake! You knew I loved him.”

“You only loved his title!” She screamed, standing up to match the rest. “And Fitz, if you’re so concerned with what Stina has to say about Sophie, you should hear what Wylie has to say.”

Fitz walked in Wylie’s direction and he stood. “Why you little-”

Just then, Keefe heard it.

Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP.

BOOM.

An explosion burst a small part of the glass dome’s ceiling. Sophie let out an ear-splitting whistle and the griffin flew straight through the hole as the glass fell. Screams erupted through the room as the animal landed on chairs and destroyed the alter.

The screams only got louder as the room was lit up as bright as the sun before swiftly being plunged into darkness. Those involved in the plan used the opportunity to gather themselves at the exit. With the exception of Biana and Marella who, if all went as planned, stood prepared by the very flammable reception tables.

The darkness lifted and people quickly ran out, some of the more stuck up nobles guided by guards. Once everyone was out safely, Keefe watched as a red glow started and grew. Marella wasn’t visible, but anyone paying attention could see the two sets of footprints forming in the grass.

People ran farther from the dome swiftly filling with fire. It spread quickly, but before it could reach the outside, Linh yelled.

“Everyone back up!”

She pulled water from a nearby pond, making a large wave that, while it put out the fires, crushed the dome in its entirety.

~*~

Two hours later, the guests sat huddled in the ballroom of the castle, many wrapped in blankets and eating soup the kitchen served to recover from what they had been through. Through the window, Keefe saw the Ruewen parents attempting to calm their griffin after taking a long time to wrangle it.

They were good at keeping secrets, they brought the animal here in the first place.

Just as he started crossing the room to go talk to Dex, he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder.

Cassius looked at him with a glare that could kill ten men. He wordlessly guided Keefe in the direction of his office and the prince obliged.

When Keefe walked in the door, it was messier than he had ever seen it. Even his father himself was disheveled, his typically slick-backed hair uncharacteristically sloppy and his tunic smudged with soot. He sat down at his desk and heaved a sigh.

“Do you know why I brought you in here?”

“Because my wedding was destroyed?”

“Because we are going to plan a new one. I need you to collect everyone who had objections to get this idiotic drama cleared for the records. I’ve sent for Councillor Bronte, he can officiate you. You will have a wedding today, whether you get the ceremony or not.”

“One problem with that, Biana and Marella haven’t been found.”

Technically the truth. They were to hide in the Queen’s Gardens until further notice, but the Guard Force didn’t know that.

Cassius was silent for a moment, his face hidden in his hands.

Then he started convulsing.

No, not convulsing.

Laughing.

“Of course!” He got up from his chair in one movement. “Of course they haven’t been found! Why am I even surprised anymore.” He threw his hands in the air. “Nothing ever goes right!” He spoke through his teeth as he pushed everything off of his desk.

“MY MARRIAGE” He cleared a bookshelf with one arm, dumping the junk to the ground.

“MY LEADERSHIP!” He knocked over his chair.

“MY SON!” He grabbed the painting from the wall and threw it down.

“ALL DISAPPOINTMENTS!” He pushed over his desk, it landed with a loud crash.

“And now this too? Nothing ever goes right! No matter how hard I try! No matter how much work I put in! Everything ends in failure!”

“It’s a good thing this was my wedding and not yours then.”

The door behind them opened without a knock.

“King Cassius, is this a bad time?” Bronte looked at the office with contempt.

“No, now works.”

Despite not being formally invited in, Bronte sat down on the overturned desk and pulled out a folder of paperwork.

“So...we’re trying to do an emergency wedding, yes?”

Cassius nodded.

“And from my understanding, there were 1,2...4 objections that haven’t been cleared?”

Cassius nodded again.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t perform a wedding. Legally or morally considering the fact that fate itself seems against this union. It is traditional, when a wedding goes so badly, to accept that something in the universe is not accepting of the marriage and call it off.”

“I understand, Councillor. However, I am the goddamned king and you will do as I say!

Bronte was unfazed.

“Actually sir, with only a month until the coronation you have resigned some of your duties, as is customary. You don’t have full control over the law at the moment, you signed a contract.”

He pulled said contract out of his pocket, displaying the signature, before putting it back in.

“Prince Keefe and you now have split control, as you had when you had a spouse. You both must agree if you are to override a law.”

Cassius hid his face once again.

“Go. Get out of my sight.”

Keefe turned to leave but his father grabbed him.

“Just Bronte.”

The man shrugged and closed the door behind him.

“Keefe...do you know why I was so eager to get you in as king?”

Keefe said nothing. That was one thing he couldn’t figure out himself.

“I am a shitty, shitty, king. I was never made to rule. Your mother? Yes. Yes she was. Me? No. Not at all. I thought I could do this job, I thought it would be cushy, I thought I’d have all the power in the kingdom as well as riches upon riches without having to work. I was wrong.

“I wanted to train you to do this better than I ever could. I wanted to make sure you were going to be prepared.”

“No.” Keefe’s eyes started to water in anger. “You wanted to train me up to take your job as soon as possible. You didn’t want the responsibility so you decided to hand it off to your child. It’s just like...it’s just like Mom. You were the judge and the jury but you were too much of a coward to be the executioner or even a mourner. You hand off all your problems for someone else to deal with. You’re a fucking coward and nothing else.”

“I cared Keefe!-”

“NO YOU DIDN’T.” Tears streamed down his face. “You never cared about me, you never cared about Mom, you never cared for anything or anybody but yourself.

“I don’t love Sophie and I never will, but you tried to make me marry her because you loved the idea of the strong son with a quiet woman. That shows how much you care.”

“It was what I thought was best.”

“WELL YOU WERE WRONG.”

Keefe walked out and slammed the door.

~*~

Keefe went to his room and sobbed. He rarely indulged himself in crying but today was one of the days he let himself. It was maybe an hour later, when he was out of tears and just laid staring up at his ceiling, that he heard a knock on the door.

When he opened it, no one stood there. Just a small note in scratchy handwriting.

“Meet us at the library, midnight”

~*~

Keefe carefully sneaked through the castle halls, only the candle he held lit his way. He slowly cracked open the library door.

“SURPRISE!”

Suddenly a whole group of people attacked him in a hug, rainbow lights filled the normally dull room.

“W-what is all this?”

“It’s a surprise party silly!” For the first time since he’d seen her, Sophie looked truly happy. “We don’t have to get married! And we got out of it without any serious injuries.”

Fitz pulled him over to a table. “C’mon, Bi stole some leftover cake no one ate from the kitchens.”

He looked around for Dex hoping to see his beaming smile and instead saw him sitting solemnly in the corner. He didn’t look Keefe’s way.

“Hey Fee, are you okay?” Apparently Fitz just now noticed his still puffy face.

“Yeah um...just my dad being a jerk again. Don’t worry about it.”

Fitz shrugged it off, he knew about jerky dads.

Or he used to, anyway. That bastard Alden ran away a long time ago.

Keefe tried to partake in the festivities but he found it hard. He was going to be king in a month, and hopefully a good one at that. Just about anything was better than Cassius. He should be celebrating right now. But...there was still something bothering him.

It was approaching the wee hours of the morning as people slowly trickled out. Wylie had long since dropped the rainbow lights. They had been celebrating for hours, Dex was silent nearly the whole time.

“Alright.” Fitz said through a yawn. “I’m tapping out. Night Fee. Last one standing has to clean everything up.”

Keefe nodded. When he finally left the room and they were all alone, he approached Dex. Still silent in the corner.

“Okay, what’s going on Techmaster? You seem down.”

“No it’s just...it’s hard to explain.”

“Take your time, if you’d like.” Keefe sat down criss cross in front of him.

His lips went pouty in a way that made Keefe realize he was staring at his lips.

“You’ll think I’m weird. And clingy. And jealous. Honestly I shouldn’t even be saying any of this right now but I make bad decisions at 3 A.M. I guess.”

“Hey, you can tell me anything.” Keefe started to reach his hand out to Dex before remembering he shouldn’t read his emotions. Dex grabbed it before he could pull away. A lot of sadness and hurt there. He quickly stopped reading, though their hands stayed locked.

“It’s just...there’s this person. This guy. And...and I thought maybe he liked me but now I think he has a boyfriend. I’m not sure though.”

Keefe’s heart dropped. “Well...boyfriend status can be changed.”

Dex chuckled. “I don’t know, they have nicknames for each other and everything.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Looks serious.”

It was silent for a moment, then Dex spoke.

“Look...don’t worry about it, alright? It’s really no big deal. I’ll get over it, I guess.”

“Maybe he likes you back.”

“I highly doubt it. I’m...I’m not good enough for him. I’m just a servant. He deserves someone better.”

“Why does being a servant mean you’re bad? I’ve met some nobles that are real assholes. You’re way better than all of those fuckers.”

Dex laughed again, wow Keefe could listen to that forever.

Dex sighed. “You know what? Screw it.”

He seemed to steel himself before saying his next sentence. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“Are you dating Fitz?”

“What?” Keefe laughed awkwardly. “No, no, no. He’s just a friend.”

“Oh. Then...who were you talking about at the gardens? I- I thought it was Fitz and you guys got together and-”

“No, goodness no. Fitz is great and all but...well he’s just not my type. And he’s been dating Tam for a while now.”

“Oh I uh...I didn’t notice.” Dex’s face flushed furiously. “Who were you talking about then?”

Keefe met his eyes. “Depends, who were you talking about?”

He didn’t answer but his silence spoke more than any words could.

Keefe scooted closer and cupped Dex’s face in his hand. He looked into the boys periwinkle eyes.

“Dex, can I kiss you?”

“Please?”

And they did.

When Keefe heard descriptions of kissing the same gender, they always said that it felt wrong somehow. But this...this only felt right. Like he had been waiting his whole life for the moment when he met the gardener boy’s cracked lips. They weren’t soft, and the kiss was a bit awkward, but it just felt...correct. Keefe chased the kiss slightly when they finally had to pull away.

A shy smile spread across Dex’s face.

Keefe leaned back in.

~*~

Keefe walked out onto the newly-built stage in front of the castle and looked upon his people. His ceremonial robe was itchy and too large for him.

Cassius was no where to be seen. He had just...run away. The day of the wedding was the day he broke. The kingdom had been sovereignless for the last month, coronations couldn't be rushed.

Typically the previous king would place the crown upon the head of the new ruler. Because Cassius seemed to run away in the night with nothing more than a clump of riches, Keefe got to choose who would crown him.

“Friends and subjects of the Kingdom of Eternalia,” Oralie started. “Today, we crown a new ruler. A ruler to put the people first. A ruler who will not sleep until every one of his people is fed. A ruler to unite us.”

Keefe never realized how long winded Oralie was. Looking into the crowd, he spotted Sophie. She wore a sour expression.

Sophie never was a fan of Oralie, she wouldn’t tell him why.

“Prince Keefe has shown a care for his people deeper than any king before him.”

She could say that again. Keefe found Dex in the crowd, absolutely beaming.

“In the time I have had the honor of teaching him in my lessons, he has shown a willingness to learn. An ability to adapt. And a knowledge of the system as well as its successes and failures deeper than anyone else his age.

And yes, it is truly a shame that a king must be crowned this young, but I have no doubt that in time he will do right by our great kingdom.”

Oralie walked over to him, her pink flowy dress trailing behind her. She picked up the ceremonial crown off the pillow that a servant was holding.

“Prince Keefe of Eternalia, do you promise to uphold the law and do what is right for your people to the best of you abilities?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to preserve the honor of our nation?”

“I do.”

A loud voice came from the crowd.

“AND DO YOU PROMISE TO NOT LET CASSI-ASS BACK INTO THE THRONE ROOM?” Keefe could tell it was Marella, but no one else had to know that.

He cracked a smile. “I do.”

Oralie chuckled too.

“In that case, Keefe Sencen of Eternalia, with this crown I deem you King of Eternalia. May you have a long and peaceful reign.”

The heavy crown was placed upon his head. The crowd cheered and chanted, his friends yelled the loudest. Keefe saw as Fitz lifted Biana on his shoulders, they all hugged and screamed excitedly.

Who he noticed most of all was Dex. His bright smile in that moment was worth everything he’d been through.

Maybe he had found someone he didn’t mind being with.

~*~

Like most days, it was a somewhat quiet day at the castle.

Keefe looked up from his painting to study the gardens, once called the Queen’s Gardens, but that was ages ago. The wall that once surrounded the beautiful landscape was knocked down a very long time ago.

Keefe smiled as he spotted Dex tending to some ivy that had grown on one of the ancient statues. Even being a king couldn’t keep his husband from assisting the gardeners.

Tomorrow, some old friends were visiting. That in itself wasn’t particularly special, as they visited at least twice a year (usually more), but tomorrow was special because it was the anniversary of the Great Wedding Destruction as historians had come to call it.

How many years had it been? 300? 400? One tends to forget.

After 50 years or so, they admitted to planning the whole event. By then, Keefe had already convened with the councillors to pass same gender marriage and gotten married to Dex. The law couldn’t exactly do much, it had been a while and no one was injured so any fear of being charged with treason was history.

A few minutes later, Dex trudged into Keefe’s art studio.

“Hey lovey, do you know where I put the high-power garden clippers?”

“I hope in your lab, but you might want to check the kitchens.”

“Why would they be in the kitchens?”

“Heard some buzzing coming from there and last time I saw the nieces they had frosting all over their faces.”

Chaos ran in the Dizznee family.

Dex sighed as they heard a loud bang followed by an “Oops.” from downstairs.

“Gosh if Rex doesn’t pick up his children soon...I won’t do anything but I’ll be sour about it.”

Keefe chuckled. “You might want to go check on them, wouldn’t want them to break your invention. If they haven’t already.”

Dex hummed noncommittally. “Whatcha drawing?”

“Just a boring landscape...that happens to include a dragon.”

Dex leaned over the easel. “It’s a very pretty boring landscape that happens to include a dragon.”

“Thank you very much, dearest.” Keefe leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Now you may want to actually check on the girls. I don’t think Elwin can heal severed fingers.”

“Yeah, okay.”

As he walked from the room that used to be Cassius’ office he yelled, “Emily! Leah! Please don’t be killing each other-”

Keefe just smiled. He did that a lot nowadays.

He hoped these days would last forever.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #oh god i hope this is good #please dont flop #kotlc fic #keefex #deefe #dex dizznee #keefe sencen

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a-lonely-tatertot · 4 years ago

Text

Finding Home

A/n: Hey this will be a multi chapter fic with a bunch of different ships and characters in it (expect them to all be gay in some way) this is based off of a set of hcs from @linhamon-roll as always this was betaed by the lovely @bookwyrminspiration and I am extremely grateful for faer help! (Also if you guys like this enough tell me if you want a tag list for it, @everyonehasthoughts whoops posted this one instead)

Tw: talk of nightmares (if there’s more please tell me)

word count: 2760

Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning

Breathe.

“I’m not going to the upper levels,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Wide eyes stared at her from all around the room. She managed to count three breaths before the inevitable outburst.

“What?!” Grady shouted. He’s not angry at you, she reminded herself, just surprised.

“Are you kidding?” Fitz whispered in confusion.

“You have to go to the upper levels. How else do you think you’ll become a part of society?” Alden said in his perfect no-need-to-worry voice that just made her want to smack him more.

“Sweetie I know it’ll be new and it’s normal to be scared-” Edaline started before she cut her off.

“I’m not scared okay? I don’t give a damn about being a part of society, and no I’m not kidding. This is my decision,” Sophie snapped. She was so done with this, with the stares, the names, being “Sophie Foster” and “human-raised”, a “war-hero;” she just wanted to be no one again. Maybe that made her a coward, but that’s who she was.

“Sophie, you’re not making sense,” Alden said, shaking his head, smiling that horrible venom-filled smile that barely contained the storm. Ever since she’d learned what Alden had done to his family she’d hated him almost as much as the Neverseen. Because he and Cassius were the same, but only one paid for it.

“Did I not speak clearly enough for you?” she asked, letting the hatred seep through her words and relished in the surprise on his face. “I am not going to the upper levels. I am not staying here either. Here I’m always going to be Sophie: the Moonlark, the leader of Team Valiant, the war hero. That’ll always be me. Here I’ll be stuck picking up the council’s mess for my entire life and I wanna be a kid still.”

“So what do you plan on doing?” Biana spoke up after a silence.

Breathe. “I’m going to go back to the Forbidden Cities, I’m gonna go back home.”

The uproar came back twice as loud as before. She was hit with hundreds of “no”s and “you can’t”s and the occasional “that’s illegal” but in between it all she locked eyes with Fitz. They didn’t need to be Cognates to understand what the other was thinking. She held his gaze and didn’t back down, this was her decision. Fitz smiled a bit at her stubbornness and nodded slightly. There wasn’t any danger from him, no “You can’t do this!” Nothing that the boy she used to know would do.

He’s different now, Sophie realized, how had she missed it?

Her eyes drifted to Biana who was staring at the middle of the room with a blank expression. It was like she wasn’t there, lost somewhere in an ocean of thought. Finally, she looked up, “It’s your decision Fos-boss.”

A hundred times before those words had been directed at her. When deciding the fate of the world she was always plagued by uncertainty. But for once, it felt right; she was going home. Alden and her parents would say no as many times as they could to make her stay, and Fitz and Biana would try at some point, but one way or another she was leaving. She’d be back eventually, but for a while, she wouldn’t have to be Sophie Foster.

The next night they had gathered everyone. Well, not everyone, just the people she cared about. Della and Livvy stood off to the side and Sophie smiled at their intertwined fingers. Maybe, just maybe they would be fine without her. Keefe stood quietly, his face blank, and it made her rethink everything. But Linh placed a steady hand on her shoulder and she was back. Stay focused, don’t lose it, Sophie told herself sternly.

Grady and Edaline watched her, and she wondered how the house would feel without her. She took a breath and turned to Dex. He, out of all of them, wasn’t quite ready for her to leave.

“I can’t make you stay, can I?” Dex asked. His voice wavered slightly and there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in all their eyes.

Sophie shook her head slowly, “Not this time.” Everything was in place, all she had to do was just leave. That was the hardest part. To make it real.

“C’mon Soph, we did it; it’s over,” his eyes pleaded with her. “Let me come with you.”

They had all tried this. In different manors, in different ways, except for Linh. All she did was wrap her arms tightly around her and squeeze like she would never let go. Some part of her, buried under many many layers of protection, knew that if Linh tried she could make her stay. “That’s the problem Dex,” she had said this so many times before, “We are always going to be fixing things and we’re always going to be fighting, and I am always going to be Sophie Foster the human. I just want to be normal, for a few decades that’s all. I’ll be back soon, just make sure to keep these idiots in check while I’m gone alright? I gotta do this alone.” Her voice caught on the last word as it dawned on her that it might be the last thing she would say to them for a long time.

Dex wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, picking her up slightly. “I’ll miss you dumbass.”

She nodded mutely into his shoulder, “Likewise asshole.” It’s time now. She stepped away, flash drive in hand, because if Dex couldn’t join her he would always help her. And she loved him for that.

She turned away from them. She dug her heels into the dirt and braced herself.

Three. Linh’s hand left her shoulder and she could feel all their eyes on her.

Two. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. It was teleporting. It was in her bones, literally.

One. Dex sucked in a breath in sync with her. The feeling of the tension running through her, becoming her, was intoxicating.

Zero. There’s no looking back now. And she ran. Her feet pounded the ground, her heart seemed to get faster with every stride. Dirt bounced with every thud of her shoes and she was free. And she jumped.

Falling. Floating. Landing.

The stale, polluted, stiff air greeted Sophie on the other side and she had never been more relieved to step into a broken world. Her broken home. From now on, she’d be Amilia Ruewen and that was okay.

“The hell you doing here kid?” an old woman stared her down from behind the counter. She had wrinkles; on her face, on her apron, on her surprisingly steady hands that held an outrageous stack of plates.

“Uh,” Amilia said nervously, “I need a job.”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed further, “And you came here.” It wasn’t a question.

“That I did,” she muttered, it took every bit of her not to yank out her eyelashes.

With a huff, the woman set down the plates and walked out from behind the counter to march up to her. Amilia swallowed hard as the woman grabbed her hands from her sides. Her stark white hands seemed too pale and clean in the older woman’s dark hands. Amilia felt like she was under a microscope, like this woman could see every bit about her life as she stared at her hands.

“You’ve worked, you’ve fought,” she said quietly, and dragged her eyes up to hers. “If you can clean you’ve got a job.”

Something exploded inside her and couldn’t’ve been happier. But wait, “No cooking?” Amilia called out as the woman went behind the counter again.

She chuckled lightly, “Clean first, then we’ll see. Chop chop, it’s almost time for the rush and these tables still haven’t been washed.”

“I don’t even know your name ma’am!” Amilia realized suddenly.

“You want a name, new girl?” she said. fixing her with another hard stare, “It’s Mari, you’ve got a real name?”

Amilia closed her mouth tightly, “It depends on your definition of real.”

Mari let out a harsh laugh, “Less philosophy more cleaning.”

A smile tugged at her mouth as she caught the wet rag the woman tossed her.

By the end of the day, she had been introduced to the regulars as nothing more than “the new girl”. She had scrubbed the counters over and over and Mari still managed to look unimpressed. Her sweeping skills got corrected and she became more familiar with the crappy sink than she would’ve liked. If you turned the old fashion handle too far right, then the water was basically boiling. If it was too far to the left, you got ice. There was one temperature that was decent and it was not moved from that spot. Amilia had found that out the hard way.

When Mari flipped the paper and probably homemade sign from “open” to “closed”, she flopped down on one of the booths. She was tired and wiped, but it was good because she was happy. She couldn’t have done this in the Lost Cities. And she wouldn’t have done this in San Francisco. Because this was normal, and no one knew her name, and that was the opposite of everything she once was.

“You going home yet kid?” Mari asked from the lightswitch. She hadn’t thought about that, where she’d stay for the night. The booths weren’t optimal but they would work.

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“In these shitty booths? Not happening,” Mari responded, shaking her head lightly. Amilia’s heart fell to her stomach and Mari sighed at her probably pitiful expression, “You really don’t have a place to stay?”

Amilia shook her head. “Fine, come on. You can borrow my couch for the night.”

The night turned into two, to a week, to a month and eventually Mari stopped asking about her family.

“We’ve all got secrets,” she’d say, and Sophie wondered what her secrets were. Mari stopped asking about where she was going too.

“This is a pit stop town,” she said one night while they put away dishes.

“It wasn’t for you.”

“It’s where you find yourself when you’re young and get pulled back into when you’re old and broke.”

“Maybe I’m finding myself,” Amilia said only to get a hum in response.

The words that Mari had said when she first met her came to Amilia often. Could she really tell what she had gone through? Or was it some weird old lady thing she did to freak her out?

There was one night where the nightmares came back worse than ever. She woke with sweat soaking her shirt and barely breathing. There was soft clinking in the kitchen that sounded too much like throwing stars. She remembered how they felt in her hands, drawing her own blood as she cleaned them. The sweet release as they left her hand to make a soft thunk in her target. How the rush it gave Sophie was always followed by a thick sense of dread. Because if it made her excited, how far away was she from the monsters she fought?

“I thought it’d be a rough night,” Mari said leaning on the doorway.

“How did you know?”

“You’ve fought wars, those don’t go away easy. Come, I brought sugar, thought you would need it.”

So she stumbled her way into the kitchen, tired and trying as hard as she could to keep her tears in. Mari had pancakes and shakes and had brought them out to the front porch. The best thing about this place was you could see every star in the sky.

“How could you tell I’ve fought?” Sophie asked. The shake was shockingly cold against her hands and she tried to stop the shiver that ran through her. Mari rocked back quietly like they had all the time in the world to watch the stars move.

“You have the look in your eyes.”

“But you looked at my hands, why?” Somehow, the shake tasted like mallowmelt. The kind that Edaline would make on bad nights before tucking her into bed.

“Because your hands have been everywhere, they can tell stories if you let them.”

She decided not to ask any more questions, every answer would just be more confusing than the last. “And because they look like mine,” Mari finally said quietly.

“Oh.”

Mari didn’t look at her while she talked, “I saw a kid, who looked lost as hell with no immediate future, who had the hands of a fighter and eyes that held secrets. I thought I could do right by her.”

“I think you did,” Sophie said. For real this time, she wasn’t Amilia, she wasn’t trying to be her sister, for this night under the stars, she could be Sophie.

Over the year Amilia sometimes forgot about the demons that haunted her. Her past life- lives. They were not her anymore. Days and hours where nothing other than the simple act of flipping pancakes and washing tables were her only thoughts. The town was small and out of the way. No glittery castles and fancy houses. Only small farms, sketchy strip malls, and home. There was only one hint that she wasn’t human, the small leaping crystal around her neck.

“For emergencies,” Biana had said placing it gently around her neck.

“And when you’re ready to come back home,” Fitz had whispered against the top of Sophie’s head.

So it stayed around Amilia’s neck, night and day; a reminder that she never had and never would belong. But she wanted to; she craved it. And Mari made her feel somewhat normal.

She wanted something human. Something reckless and young, that was the human she wanted. Sitting at her computer at the table in Mari’s old yellow motorhome that had housed her, she found herself looking at colleges. When she was younger “college” was an expectation, perfect grades, perfect words, perfect scores. Sophie didn’t get to decide her future. To put it simply, it was never an option, her years were already filled with other’s ideas. But as Amilia clicked the tab for courses she realized that for once she controlled her next small forever. And in her next small forever she could just maybe belong.

Tables had been washed, the sun had gone down, and she had flipped the frayed sign. She had thought about it all day, the college she chose was far away and she didn’t know how to tell Mari this. The woman had become much closer to her than she thought she would. So as she grabbed her small packed duffle bag and held the door handle she tried to ignore the sharp pain that hit her chest. It only got worse as a soft voice came down the hall.

“Amilia?” Angie, Mari’s “friend”, whispered down the hall.

“Go back to bed, I’m just grabbing some things,” she said, wincing at how well she lied.

“That duffle says otherwise young lady,” Mari appeared seemingly out of thin air. Sophie knew this wasn’t going to end well, the feeling cemented itself as anger flared white hot in her stomach.

“‘Young lady’? Sorry did ‘kid’ just get thrown out the window? What are you now, my mom?” she snapped.

Mari gapped at her for a second, “Oh I’m sorry, right now I guess I’m more of your mom than whoever had you and left you on your own!”

“You don’t know nothing about them!” Sophie shouted. She didn’t mean too and she hated the way Mari flinched. But Sophie had pushed them away and that wasn’t their fault.

“The hell is this all about Amilia? You wanna go, go. Just don’t be a coward and leave without a goodbye.”

The tears fell fast down her face, because it was all too familiar. And she had never wanted to leave Mari like that. But she was angry, and that never ended well. “Fine, you want a goodbye? Goodbye.”

The door slammed hard behind her, and the rain soaked Sophie’s jacket mixing with her tears. It felt like a crappy hallmark movie from the early 2000s, but she was too angry to care; About the rain, about how muddy her shoes were, or how she didn’t really know where she was going.

The next morning she regretted everything. But by then that bridge was ashes in a stormy ocean; there was no going back. She moved forward because she had to.

#sorry about the chapter title I just thought of it-#kotlc #finding home #sophie foster #multific #tater writes #kotlc fic

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thebookkeeperslibrary · 4 years ago

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Lost Time: Ch. 6

Fandom: Time Warp Trio

Author: The_Bookkeeper_96

Rating: T

Summary: Another summer at Horae Manor begins, but before Joe and Tessa get the chance to train, they are sent out on a mission to explore the magic capital of the universe, Mancika. Rumours of illegal magic conversion spread throughout the city, and Joe and Tessa need to locate those responsible. But after the events of last summer, Joe isn't eager to work with his Aether partner, and the two are struggling more with each other than with their enemies.

A/N: Look who's back ;) I promise, I'm not dead, and I still very much want to keep the small TWT community going. Hopefully, my updates will be more consistent going forward.

P.S.: Thinking about starting a tag list for story updates. Let me know if you're interested/want to be added.

Read on AO3

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"In reviewing the tragic incident that occurred at Horae Manor last week, the Great Council has decided to revise the current requirements for acceptance. From this point forward, for the safety of 'lesser magic' users, Horae Manor will only be open to current Warp and Aether wizards and their potential successors. Our thoughts and condolences go out to the families of those affected by last week's events, and we hope this change will prevent such things going forward." - Excerpt of Great Council Decree 57 from the year 1908

"You can't be serious. He doesn't know anything!" Tessa exclaims, then suddenly remembers that I'm now standing right next to her. "No offense."

I bite my tongue. No point in arguing in front of Rowena and Cassius, they'd just punish us in some other way. Though forcing us to work together when we were clearly not on good terms seems cruel enough. I force myself to shrug like her little outburst doesn't sting at all.

She'd said that with no hesitation. So what if I didn't do my required reading? What good would knowing the history of magic do for me in a battle?

I briefly picture myself fighting a game show host who keeps shouting trivia questions at me. He demands to know who the first Warp Wizard was, and if I get the question wrong, his powers grow stronger. Three wrong answers and he can turn me into a mouse with the snap of his fingers or smite me with a single bolt of lighting.

I snap out of my daydream, hoping I haven't missed anything. Anyway, I'm pretty sure that could never happen. Knowledge wasn't one of the nine magics. Right?

Maybe one chapter wouldn't hurt…

"Tessa," Ro sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, "this is a partnership. Warp and Aether wizards rely on each other. Your magic cannot exist without the other half. Your independence is admirable, but from now on you two need to be working together every step of the way."

"I know that, but shouldn't you at least teach him some basic magic first? How to put up a shield or shoot some energy balls?" Tessa frowns and stares at the floor. "This is serious stuff. He could get hurt, or worse."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here." I cross my arms. Ready now more than ever to start this fight. Why is she acting as if she cares about me getting hurt? She certainly didn't seem to mind last summer in Paris or Cealus. The concerned expression on her face is almost enough to make me believe her, but after last year, I know better than that. What game is she playing here?

"We have spent the last year trying to come up with exercises for the two of you to learn how to cooperate. I had hoped that once we revealed the time decay, you would understand the brevity of the situation. Clearly not." Cas crosses his arms, giving me the impression of a disappointed father.

I remember from our conversation last summer that Cassius is married. Did he have kids too? And had he really spent the last year focusing on Tessa and me instead of his own family? We can't be that special. I wonder if his wife ever came to visit here at Horae. Where did Cas live anyway when he wasn't here? I doubt he'd answer any of my questions about his personal life, especially since he wouldn't answer any of my questions about magic.

"Okay, so maybe our teamwork needs a little improvement," I relent. "But how are we supposed to work on that if you make us fight each other?"

"You're not fighting each other." Rowena flicks her wrist towards us.

I blink. Without warning, Tessa and I are standing on the far side of the gym facing down our mentors. This gym really is bigger than I thought. Or at least, Rowena made it seem that way.

"You're fighting us."

My heart plummets into my stomach. This has to be some weird test. They won't make us fight them. They're professional wizards who had years of magic experience. They are literally the greatest time and space magic-users alive. We would never be able to beat them. I have no training and Tessa only has a year under her belt. She did pretty well against Rowena alone, but with Cassius fighting her too? This would be a disaster for us.

"You guys are really on it with the jokes tonight. But seriously, what's the plan?" Apparently, Tessa is just as stunned as I am, which does nothing for my hopes. We really would be getting crushed. So much for having a good start for the summer.

"We are serious. Don't worry, we'll take it easy on you." Warm purple light glows around Rowena.

"You don't necessarily have to beat us, just knock us out of the arena. As long as we see a decent showing of teamwork from the both of you, we'll consider that a win for you." Cassius' body begins to glow that signature time magic green. "And we won't end this until you do."

Is it my imagination or is the room shifting in size and shape? And why does everything feel like it's moving a lot slower now? Ro and Cas couldn't be using their magic like that already, they weren't even doing anything except standing there. Just how powerful were they?

How powerful could Tessa and I become?

The thought gives me a burst of excitement. This battle could actually be a great way to learn what I will be able to do someday. Maybe there's some way I can trick Cas into showing off all his moves and tricks.

"We're starting now? You're not even going to give us time to strategize?" Tessa holds her arms out in exasperation.

"You will have very few fights in your life where you will have time to strategize. Besides, you know nothing about each other's strengths and weaknesses or fighting styles. And you've only seen Ro fight, not me." Cas cracks his knuckles, the green mist slowly curling farther and farther up his arms.

Okay, so we're doing this.

I try to remember how I felt every time I used my magic before. My hands would always tingle and my chest would feel warm, but the only time I'd ever been able to do anything was in high-stress situations. Like if my life was in danger or the life of someone I care about. But Cas and Ro had already said they'd be going easy on us, so there's no real danger here.

I feel nothing. No tingle. No warmth.

Great, maybe my magic is broken. Which means I have to rely on Tessa during this. Even better. I inwardly roll my eyes. Is that why they were doing this? To build my trust in her by forcing me to lean on her during a fight?

"We can win this if we play it smart. But you need to listen to what I say." Tessa snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Why do you get to be in charge?" I cross my arms. Even if that is Cas and Ro's plan, that doesn't mean I have to follow it. I can prove to them that I know what I'm doing.

"Because I'm the only here with any experience."

"So? You don't know what I've been up to this past year. Maybe I've been practicing my magic non-stop."

"Have you?"

"Well-"

My world turns green as Cas blasts us with magic. "Not off to a good start, you two."

I cringe. I can hear the disappointment in his voice from here. I guess it won't hurt to at least try to cooperate with Tessa. As long as she doesn't betray me again. If Cas and Ro think we're so important that they're spending all their free time thinking about us, the least we can do is try to live up to their expectations.

"Fine. What's your plan?"

"I need you to distract them."

"Distract them how?"

Tessa runs a hand over her face. "I don't know! Just think of something, and fast."

Before I can even blink, she throws up a shield in front of us, blocking another attack from our mentors. I can't help but cough as the smoke clears around us.

"Magic combat lesson number one: move."

Tessa winces and waves the smoke away. "Cas is right. Standing still like this is a death sentence. We have to run or hide."

"There's nowhere to hide."

"So run."

Just like that, she bounces away, using the last remaining smoke as cover.

Okay, distract two super powerful wizards. I can do that.

How do I do that?

My mind races as my feet start to carry me away. I have to get them to focus on me so Tessa can do… what exactly is Tessa planning on doing? I try to find her, before realizing that that's probably not going to help her.

The room shakes, and suddenly I'm running into a wall I'm pretty sure wasn't there two seconds ago.

A stinging pain flares up above my eye. My hand reaches up and pulls away with blood smeared across my palm. Okay, apparently 'go easy on us' doesn't mean we won't get hurt. Noted.

"You need to pay attention. Especially when your opponent can manipulate the battlefield," Rowena calls out.

Well, at least I had their attention. Hopefully, Tessa can go do her thing now. I want this fight to be over with as soon as possible. Cas was right. I'm nowhere near ready for this. Magic only came to me on accident or when someone was in serious danger. Even if I could, there was no way I could focus enough right now to summon any amount of power.

I laughed. "I meant to do that."

Both Ro and Cas raised their brows at me. "Really?"

"Totally. We definitely have a plan, and we are definitely going through with it." Another nervous chuckle escaped my throat. If I can keep them talking to me, Tessa should be able to go through with her plan. I tried not to frown or show any irritation. Of course, it really would help if I knew her plan.

Our mentors' hands begin to glow. I gulp down a bubble of air. This isn't good, but I can't let them see me panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tessa scaling the wall towards the seats where Cas and I had been earlier. Wait, is her plan to escape and leave me here while I get attacked? My fists clench. I shouldn't be surprised. This was exactly the kind of behavior she had shown last summer. A list of crude insults runs through my mind. I shake them away. No time to think about that. I have to focus on what's happening right in front of me.

A familiar warmth built up in my chest. Was it magic? One way to find out.

I lift my hands and close my eyes. Just push it out. That's all I have to do. I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth swirl deeper within me. My fingertips tingle in anticipation.

Without warning, the room shakes again, and my body flings to the side. I just barely manage to stay on my feet, but the warmth in me is suddenly replaced with nausea.

My arms wrap around my stomach. I bend over and try not to vomit. Damn space magic.

I look up to see Ro and Cas looking confused, and I understand why. They're no longer near me where they were. Instead, they're a hundred feet away from me on the other side of the arena. Had it always been this big?

I try to find Tessa, but I can't see her anywhere. So she really did leave. Great.

Ro's eyes scan the edges of the arena and land on something in the far corner. Try as I might, I can't see what she sees.

Pointing at the corner, her fingers curl into a fist, and she pulls her arm into her side.

The corner flies in closer, but there's nothing there.

Rowena frowns. "What?"

I see a flash of movement off to my side, but don't dare look at it. Maybe Tessa didn't abandon me after all. But looking at her wouldn't help her. It would only reveal her location to our opponents.

Now, Ro and Cas are both frantically looking around the room, trying to locate Tessa. But they're not having any luck.

Our roles had reversed since the start of the fight. Tessa was now serving as the perfect distraction. Both Cas and Ro were completely focused on her, which gave me the opportunity to strike. And how could I not?

All I have to do is summon one burst of magic and push Cas and Ro out of the arena. No problem. Not at all.

I tried to bring back the warmth that I felt earlier. Surprisingly, it did. The heat and tingling flare back to life, making me shudder. An uncontrollable grin splits open my face. Maybe I am good at this magic thing after all.

The heat increases and my whole body feels electrified. Had it always felt this intense and painful? Whatever, me and my magic were ready to go.

My hands are already glowing by the time I pull them up. I can't contain my excitement. I'm doing it! I'm really using magic! Focusing everything I have on my hands, I point at Ro and Cas who are both conveniently placed near the edge of the arena. They must be so focused on Tessa, they don't even realize where they're standing.

I smirk. This is too perfect. I could feel my magic ready to burst. With one final breath, I let my magic loose just as a wall of purple appears in front of me.

And my world goes white.

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My hearing returns first. A sharp ringing echoes in my head. As it slowly fades away, the sound of voices filters through.

"Do you know how difficult it's going to be to repair this gym?" The first voice is stern, angry.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know he would do that. I- I didn't want this to happen." The second voice sounds panicky and raspy. Had they been crying? "Why would you think that fight was a good idea? He could be dead!"

"He's not dead." A third voice, one very close to me, says. They didn't sound angry or panicked, just calm.

What's happening? I struggle to regain consciousness, my body fighting me the whole way. The last of the ringing in my ears disappears and all I can see is blurry lights. I hear a pained groan. Was that me?

"See? Not dead. A little battered, but that's to be expected." Something next to me stirs and moves away. "You didn't do anything wrong. We can repair the gym easily enough." A pause, and I think I hear someone huff. "Your shield didn't do this, Tessa. I think he depleted his magic when he blasted off there at the end."

Oh, right. The battle. My memory came back to me in a rush of bright images. Did Tessa and I cause some sort of explosion? That must be Cas talking now. Did he just say something about depleting my magic?

A bolt of alarm zips through me, pushing me back into consciousness. I shoot straight up, gasping for air.

Instantly, Ro, Cas, and Tessa gather around me, but I can't get my breathing under control enough to hear them. Deplete my magic? Like, all my magic? I couldn't feel any trace of the warmth from earlier. Did I just waste everything in one stupid fight? No, no, no! I never even got to do anything cool like stop time or warp without The Book. How could this have happened?

"Easy, Joe. Just breathe. You were knocked out for a few minutes, but everything is fine now." Cas's face fills my view and he puts my hand on his chest. "Breathe with me. In and out. In and out."

I match his breathing as best I can, and eventually the world comes back into focus. I manage to say a few words, "Is my magic gone forever?"

Cas's head jerks back in shock. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you said I depleted my magic." My chest constricts and my breathing picks up again.

He laughs with a shake of his head. "No, your magic is not gone. In fact, I would say your magic is a lot stronger than I expected it to be at this stage. But that stunt you pulled did expend all of your energy. You'll need to rest for a day, but you'll be fine. I promise."

"Stunt?" I took a moment to look at all three of them. Rowena was frowning, but not at me. Her focus was on Tessa, whose eyes were red and locked onto me. "What exactly did I do?"

"You nearly turned yourself into a bomb!" Tessa threw her arms in the air. "I told you to distract them, not attack them!"

"I did?" For the first time, I take in the scene around me. The gym is completely destroyed. Black scorch marks cover the floor all around us and smoke still hovers in the air. Part of the seating had collapsed. Even the ceiling had cracks branching out from where I had been standing before I blacked out. "Oh. Uh, sorry?" What were you supposed to say when you nearly blew up a building?

Cas suppresses a smile. "It's really not that bad. This place has survived a lot worse, trust me. But no more magical attacks like that, until we've got you trained. Okay?"

I mutely nod, not sure what else to do. To be honest, I don't think I could summon any magic now even if I wanted to. I've never felt so exhausted in my entire life. Everything in me ached, and it took a lot of effort just to sit upright.

"Did I really do this all by myself?" The damage in the gym is intense. And what about that flash of purple I saw right before I tried to shoot at Cas and Ro? My magic did feel a little uncontrolled at the end, but surely I'm not capable of this kind of destruction.

"No, but Tessa's force field blocked your magic from going out." Rowena crossed her arms, still clearly upset with Tessa. "It bounced off the shield and shot straight back into itself."

"But I didn't know he was going to do that! I didn't mean to hurt him." Tessa turns to me with wide eyes. "Please, believe me, Joe. Even if we're not exactly friends, I would never try to hurt you like that."

I want to snap back and tell her I don't believe her, but something in her eyes makes me stop. She looks on the verge of tears and has clearly cried at some point already. Why did she care if I got hurt? She'd made it clear that she didn't care about anyone but herself.

Instead of saying anything, I simply turn away and glare at the ground.

"I-" Tessa starts, but is quickly interrupted.

"Enough." Cas puts himself between everyone. Stopping any fights before they can start. "We all have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and we can all use a good night's rest."

"What's happening for us tomorrow?" I ask. He had mentioned he and Ro had a council meeting tomorrow, but what were Tessa and I going to be doing? Were we going to sit in with them?

"We'll talk about that at breakfast," Ro said in a tone that implied if she told us now, we wouldn't sleep at all tonight. Great, so something not fun was happening tomorrow.

With help from Cas, I got to my feet, and after an awkward good night to everyone, I stumbled to my room. I was asleep before my head even hit my pillow.

#time warp trio #time warp trio fanfiction #fanfiction #joe #sam #fred #oc #kellie writes #kellie fanfic #kellie twt #writeblr #writing #my post

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thirty-five-portland-row · 4 years ago

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Okay, so in this post I’m going to include the short story “the talk” which is in special edititions of Flashback, and probably going to explain why I hate Alden so much. Okay, I’ll get on to it now I guess.

“Lord Alden,” Lord Cassius said, dipping his head in what could barely count as a bow before he stepped aside to let Alden enter the Shores of Solace – aka his used-to-be-secret-getaway-though-no-one-actually-wanted-to-go-there-with-him home. “I thought the Council ordered all of you Vackers to the Tribunal Hall today for the big verdict. It’s all I’ve heard about these days. People do love a good scandal – and this is the best our world has seen in ages.

“The sentencing isn’t until this afternoon,” Alden explained, ignoring the rest of Cassius’s jab as he made his way towards the mother-of-pearl walls. His teal eyes looked rather impressed as they skimmed over the fancy furniture and enormous ocean-view windows – but his gaze softened when he focused on the blond boy sprawled across one of the couches. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Keefe pulled himself to his feet, making sure to brush all the crumbs from the butterblast he’d snacked on for breakfast onto the otherwise pristine floor. “Is everything okay?”

Alden nodded. “But I’d love a quick word with you if you don’t mind. Perhaps somewhere a bit more private?”

“Or I can lock Lord Nosypants in a closet,” Ro offered, striding out of the shadowy corner flashing a pointy-toothed grin.

How the pink-haired, heavily armed ogre princess could make people forget she was in the room was one of life’s great mysteries.

“Let’s save that fun for later,” Keefe decided, leading Alden to the one place at his father’s house where he felt like he could breathe: a wide outdoor patio facing a glittering black sand beach. Cushioned swings swayed in the salty wind, and Alden sank into one of them, watching the turquoise waves crash against the shore long enough for Keefe’s brain to put together a pretty extensive list of scary things that might be happening.

Clearly Foster’s ever-worrying ways were rubbing off on him.

“Sooo…,” he said, dragging out the word as he plopped onto the swing next to Alden. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad,” Alden assured him. “I’m just hoping you’ll be willing to attend the tribunal today.”

Ro groaned. “Nooooooooo! Then I have to go, and everyone’s going to be all smug and sparkly and give boring speeches about how brilliant they are – and I’m not even allowed to stab anybody!”

Keefe ignored her. “I thought it was family only.”

“It was. But I’ve convinced the Council to make an exception, because Fitz is going to need a friend today.”

Yeah, that was kind of an understatement. Keefe was pretty sure Fitz was going to go into rage-monster mode if the Council gave Alvar anything less than a life sentence. And if Alden felt the need to bring in reinforcements…

Keefe slumped back against the cushions. “Does that mean you know –“

“What I know,” Alden interrupted, “is that I’m doing everything in my power to get my family through this.”

Which wasn’t really an answer.

“The thing is,” he added quietly. “my son is far more likely to listen to you than he is to me. Especially under the circumstances.”

“Okay, but if you’re looking for a voice of wisdom, you’d be better off asking someone who’s a bit more… shall we say, responsible?” Keefe felt the need to point out.

“I agree. Which is why I’ve arranged clearance for Sophie to attend as well.”

“Perfect!” Ro jumped in. “Then you don’t need us!”

“Actually, that’s why I do.” Alden’s eyes dropped to his hands, his fingers twisting the edge of his embroidered cape. “You and I both know, Keefe, that my son doesn’t necessarily excel at controlling his temper. And… I don’t think either of us wants to see him channel any of that anger at Sophie. So if you’re there –“

“Hang on.” Ro made a time-out gesture. “Are you seriously asking Keefe to be the punching bag during your pretty boy’s little temper tantrums?”

“Of course not! I’m asking an empath to watch for moments when his best friend is getting close to losing control of his emotions, and to keep him from saying or doing anything he’ll later regret.

“Or you could just leave our pretty little blond girl out of this one,” Ro reminded him.

“No, I can’t. Fitz… needs her.” His eyes shifted to Keefe, and there was something tentative about his expression.

Something nervous.

“He needs her,” he repeated gently, taking a long breath before he added, “I think you know that. And… I suspect you know how Sophie feels too.”

Unfortunately, Keefe did – and he was always trying hard not to think about it, because it made him want to punch things.

“Hate to break it to you guys,” Ro informed them, “but Blondie doesn’t know what she feels.”

“Perhaps not,” Alden conceded. “But that mostly has to do with the fact that my son has yet to make things clear. Once he does…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Keefe was well aware of all the miserable mushiness he had ahead.

The hand-holding.

And cuddling.

And…

Ugh, if he had to watch them kiss, he was going to vomit all over his boots.

Alden placed his hand softly over Keefe’s, waiting for Keefe to meet his eyes before he told him, “I realize that all of this is… complicated for you, given how you feel about –”

“I’m just gonna stop you right there,” Keefe cut in, pulling his hand away and jumping off the swing. He paced to the far end of the patio, relieved that his legs pulled it off with some swagger. “Leave the feelings-reading to us Empaths, okay? Cause you’re wrong. Like, super, super wrong.”

“No, I’m not.”

Keefe was dying to ask him how he could be so sure – and if that meant Fitz had figured it out too. But that would mean admitting it, and the only way he was going to get through this conversation was to deny, deny, deny.

Alden sighed. “Sorry, I know this conversation is difficult – and I’m not trying to meddle –”

“Um, I’m pretty sure this is the definition of meddling,” Ro argued.

“No, it’s the definition of caring.” Alden stood and made his way closer, wrapping an arm around Keefe’s shoulders. “You may not be my genetic son,” he said quietly, “but I’ve long considered you part of my family.”

Keefe had to remind himself to breathe.

Part of him wanted to pull away and run. The other part wanted to lean back and see what it felt like to not have to stand on his own. But he was pretty sure that either way, he’d end up getting hurt.

So he just stood there, stiff and silent, watching the frothy water smooth the dark sand into a shiny, black canvas.

It wasn’t fair that the beach got so many do-overs.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” Alden murmured, “but long ago before I met Della, there was… another. Someone I was convinced was my perfect match – and the matchmakers agreed. But, as it turned out, she… preferred a close friend of mine.” He let the words hang there for a beat before he added, “So I’m no stranger to your situation, Keefe.”

“There’s no situation,” Keefe insisted.

“Maybe there isn’t. But I’m going to pass on some wisdom to you anyway. I’m a father. It’s what I do. And don’t worry, I’m not about to give you a long speech on how someday you’ll find your true match like I did – though you will.” He pulled Keefe slightly closer, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The wisdom I want to give you is simply this: If you really care about them, let them be happy.”

Let them be happy.

Those words made Keefe want to vomit even more than the idea of Fitzphie smoochfests.

“I know,” Alden said gently. “Believe me, I undersand exactly how heartbreaking that is to hear. But take it from someone who ended up losing two valuable friendships. There’s only one way this ends –”

“Uh, no there isn’t!” Ro snapped. “We’re talking about teenagers! Stop acting like any of this is a done deal.” She waited for Keefe to meet her eyes before she added, “It isn’t.”

Alden sighed. “I suppose only time will tell. But that doesn’t change where we are today. Today, Sophie and Fitz are both going to need your help. So the question is, are you willing to be their friend?”

Keefe opened his mouth to answer, but Alden shook his head, drawing Keefe into a hug before he stepped away.

“That’s all I came here to say,” he said, pulling his pathfinder out of his cape’s inner pocket. “I hope I’ll see you at Tribunal Hall in a few hours. But I’ll leave that up to you. Think about what I’ve said, okay?”

Keefe managed a shaky not as Alden held the crystal up to the sunlight and glittered away.

“That guy’s got a lot of nerve,” Ro grumbled. “You know what that was, right? He’s trying to get you to back off so he can keep his spoiled son happy – and he’s totally using your daddy issues to make you play along!” She held out her arm, pretending she was wrapping it around an imaginary person’s shoulders. “I’ve long considered you part of my family – what a stinking load of garbage! He’s just trying to get rid of the competition. So what you need to do now is –”

“I’m going to the Tribunal,” Keefe interrupted.

Ro rolled her eyes. “Of course you are. That’s what you do – sabotage yourself over and over because it’s easier than putting yourself out there!

“I’m not sabotaging anything! Sophie’s not some prize that Fitz and I get to fight over. She’s a person. And she has her own feelings – and no one knows those feelings better than I do!”

Ro blinked, and he realized he’d shouted that super loud.

Loud enough that he was pretty sure his father had heard every word.

But it didn’t matter.

Lord Cassius wasn’t the type of person to go for a heart-to-heart.

Keefe’s hands curled into fists and he sucked in a deep, slow breath before he said, “I’m going to the tribunal. Because two of my friends are going to be there. And they’re going to need me. You can whine about it all you want. Or you can stay here…”

“Oh, I’m going,” Ro warned. “And there will be an abundance of whining.”

“Bring it on,” Keefe muttered, heading for his room to get changed. He tried to slam the door in Ro’s face, but the ogre princess had annoyingly fast reflexes and managed to block it with her elbow.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll leave you to your sulking. But just… promise me something, okay? Don’t give up.”

“I’m not,” Keefe said.

And he meant it.

He wasn’t giving up.

He was just… waiting.

Being the best friend he could be.

Trying not to wreck anything.

And hoping, hoping, hoping that someday things would change.

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I just really hate how manipulatactive alden was and how he also told Keefe to give up the love of his live for his entitled jerk of a son. ive ranted about this before on another post but this was just mainly to put the story out there for people who haven’t read it.

#Kotlc #kotlc alden #kotlc Keefe #kotlc ro #kotlc Flashback

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five-miles-over · 4 years ago

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‘Aftermath’ Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky (Commodus x OC)

Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here

Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here

Read Part 3: Point of No Return here

Read Part 4: Look Down here

Summary: While in the palace, Caesonia ponders about her own test of courage and fidelity to her father. Meanwhile, Commodus finds himself attracted to his Pink Fairy when he learns about her past.

Warning: angst, obsession, and also a bit of fluff at the end.

People should know when they’ve been conquered, her father used to say. Caesonia looked out of her tiny window, watching the orange and yellow rays fall from the concrete and presumably into the horizon. Of course, when he said those words, he usually referred to Germanic barbarians, not young women.

Caesonia’s fingers dawdled near the cold wall, tracing abstract patterns against the grey material. Didn’t philosophers used to call life one big prison that houses all men? They spoke of a metaphorical one, while she was in a real one.

That wasn’t to say that her prison was akin to a cell in the palace’s dungeon - it was a bit more spacious and she had a blanket to cover herself with. Would you be proud of me, father? Being a dutiful citizen and serving my sentence as I must?, Caesonia thought longingly. Or have I disappointed you being a meek coward this whole time?

All Caesonia had ever wanted was to make her father satisfied to call her his progeny, despite never being the son he so desperately craved for. Perhaps he would’ve agreed that she did the right thing by remaining in her prison day after day. She didn’t seem to be giving the emperor or his guards any sort of trouble, and for a month, all was well.

Yet being the daughter of a general, had she failed the test of courage by never daring to escape her cell? Surely one of bravery would have done so, swearing to defy the emperor’s orders and fight back. The window was small, but she could’ve squeezed through and jumped out of it. Whether she would survive the three-story fall was a secondary question, but at least she would be free.

Ever since that Spaniard gladiator had arrived in the city, it seemed fashionable to defy the emperor - anyone who followed his orders was considered a weakling or a fool. Being a young lady, Caesonia never needed to worry about whom to side with; ever since she’d come of age, her father never encouraged her to delve into politics.

However, things were different now with the recent…change in dynamics. The emperor was back in power, and the Senate now in disarray, but the people were still deciding whom to give their loyalty to. From the conversations she could overhear in her cell, not even the servants were sure of their true allegiance. Only time could truly tell who would win this ultimate battle of leadership.

Her thoughts were adjourned by an announcement from a guard. “The Emperor of Rome is on his way, prisoner!” His declaration was interrupted by a quick slap. “How dare you call her merely a prisoner?” The voice was none other than that of Commodus’s. “She is a lady and must be addressed as such.”

Caesonia straightened herself, adjusting her toga so that she may be presentable before him. She saw him coming towards her, bearing a piece of pink cloth in one of his hands. Narrowing her eyes closer, she recognized it as her pink cloth - it was from the dress she wore to witness the Spaniard fight His Majesty.

The guards parted for him. “Good evening, my lady,” Emperor Commodus lowered his head for her, a rare honor for anyone, let alone a prisoner. “Good evening, your Highness,” she curtsied before him, her lower lip quivering as her eyes met his.

“Do you by any chance know of this, Lady Caesonia?” He offered her the cloth.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Yes, it looks similar to a piece of a dress that I own. Except, my cloth was stained with dirt and blood; the one you are holding, Caesar, is clean.”

Commodus, relieved that he truly knew whom his Pink Fairy was, signalled for the guards to let her out into the halls. “I had the laundresses clean it, my lady. Would it displease you if I asked you to walk with me tonight?”

“Not at all, your Highness.”

He hummed in agreement, going outside of the palace and into one of the gardens in the southern wing. Surrounded by various species of roses, narcissi, and gladioli, it was quite the colorful ensemble. And in the center, there was a large fountain with water spouting from a statue of Augustus, the first Roman emperor in history.

It was quite dark, with the sky being surrounded by nothing but black, velvety clouds. Yet, the starlight and the faint glow from the palace was enough luminescence for them to see each other.

The emperor invited her to sit next to him on the marble bench. Noticing her silence, Commodus softly asked her. “Do I scare you, Lady Caesonia?”

“No. This is not the first time we have met, your Highness.”

“Where have we met before?”

“In Germania, Highness. I came along with my father on his battles.”

Commodus raised an eyebrow at the idea of a young girl being brought to a battefield, especially one of nobility. “But why? Surely a girl like you would’ve been entrusted to her mother at home. A battle camp is no place for a young lady.”

Caesonia closed her eyes for a moment. “My mother died during childbirth, Caesar. And I had no siblings.”

“My condolences to your mother,” the emperor nodded.

“Thank you, Caesar,” she forced a small smile.

“Did your father teach you to fight?”

“He did when I was young - until I was twelve, everyone called me Cassius Quintii,” her eyes twinkled under the indigo sky as she narrated. “I was raised as a boy, and I fought like any soldier’s son.”

“And then what happened?”

Caesonia continued, “My armor…my armor became too tight for my chest, and my father knew why. He stopped teaching me, and started leaving me in the company of various ladies present - concubines, noble ladies, and even…” Her voice faltered, hesitating to mention Lady Lucilla.

“My sister, no?” Commodus finished, “She used to leave you in my care and go off to speak with her lover.”

Looking further at Caesonia, the memory suddenly came back to him. When he came to Germania hoping to speak with his father about his succession and eventual coronation, he was given a girl to watch over. It was utterly humiliating, him - a prince - being brought to a battlefield to baby-sit. Until his father’s letter describing the four virtues, he thought there was no clearer of a way for his father to convey his opinion about Commodus.

Caesonia added, “All I’ve wanted was to please my father, but I think he’s still angry that I was never the son he wanted…and that I took away the chance of him having another child.”

“And yet you still plead for his life in court even though he made yours uncomfortable?”

“I love him nonetheless, and I think he deserves to live. Perhaps that was my mistake.” Caesonia looked down, placing her hands in her lap.

His expression softening, Commodus gently stroked her cheek, causing her to turn towards him. With those same fingers, he lifted her chin and brought his lips to hers. Caesonia held his forearm to steady herself as she attempted to reciprocate his kiss, having never experienced such intimacy before. She did not want to be punished for refusing him and she was afraid of angering the emperor with her boldness, but her touch only captivated him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, lowering her onto the marble delicately as if she were made of glass. Commodus marveled at her submissiveness, having never felt so much power in his arms as he did in that moment. Her eyelids lowered and her lips parted slightly when he climbed on top of her, the heavy weight of his armor crushing her chest. He captured her lips again, and felt her arms encircle his broad shoulders.

As their kiss deepened, her muted sighs only strengthened a new desire surging through his veins. It was far too different than merely lust, Commodus thought, it was almost a feeling of jealousy, or hunger perhaps. In that moment, he was ready to kill anyone who tried to claim her, or touch her, or snatch her away from him. She needed to be his and only his.

Gasping for air, the two of them broke apart too soon for either’s liking, still lingering in each other’s embrace. It had felt like an eternity passed before the emperor rose from the bench. Commodus suppressed a chuckle as he watched Caesonia’s knees buckle when she tried to stand up. Lovingly, he wrapped the cloth around her neck like a scarf and strode away from the bench. Walking five steps behind him, she followed him out of the garden and into the palace.

The emperor could not help but glance behind as they made their way through the halls. She looked ethereal among the light of the torches. Her smooth hair and her cheekbones called to his fingers, clamoring for his caress. It was taking every fiber of his being not to roughly push her against the palace walls and kiss her again until they were both breathless.

He stopped before another empty bedroom, seemingly much more comfortable, and spoke to the guard, instructing him to keep her here for the time being. “Good night, Lady Caesonia,” he bent down to kiss her hand.

“Good night, Caesar. Thank you for your benevolence,” she nodded in return.

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The next morning, Caesonia rose from her bed to find a plate of pink-bottled perfumes and creams, along with a little rouge, by her bedside. Perhaps a maid must’ve placed it while I slept, she thought. In the midst of the cosmetics, there was a folded piece of parchment. Carefully, she unfolded the note and read,

“If you ever asked me if I’d seen a rose blooming from another rose,

My reply would be yes, for my eyes have been blessed by one of those.

On the night your soft, finely curved lips met mine,

I witnessed your rosy cheeks bloom from that rose-like face of thine.”

#commodus #emperor commodus #gladiator 2000 #gladiator fic #commodus fic #gladiator au #also 400th post on tumblr!

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years ago

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“Back as Chaser” || YEAR 3 – Ch.16 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/1/2020

Word count: 3, 040

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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It had been a few weeks into the Quidditch season and she was still not allowed anywhere near the Quidditch pitch. Draco had just taken off his sling, telling everyone he felt much better, and was walking up the dungeon stairs for the Slytherin’s fifth day of training.

Heather kept a steady pace with him. “Alright but – What does Marcus think about it? Is he still upset Cassius replaced me? Just tell me!”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know! He’s still giving Warrington a hard time… Making him do extra drills and all that… But I don’t know if he’s upset because of you not being on.”

“What do you mean?” They were heading down the entrance hall stairs now.

“He’s just upset Professor Snape took control of his team. Flint’s captain and HE makes decisions.” Draco sped up, looking at the sky as they stepped outside. “I’m sure next year you’ll manage to make it on the team, Potter.”

Heather stopped on the last step and crossed her arms, letting Draco head down the grassy slopes alone. She looked up at the greying sky, filling with dark muddy clouds as the wind blew them nearer. By the looks of it, there was a storm approaching, and a nasty one at that.

She shivered and headed back in, feeling incredibly defeated. She’d been back to Professor Snape’s office a few times to beg to be put back in, but he wouldn’t even listen. He’d just shut her up and send her away unless she could come up with a potions question worth his time.

She really didn’t want to bother Professor Lupin with her problems, but she didn’t know what else to do but ask him to fight her battle again. She rubbed her arms and headed up the stairs to his office. The corridor was quiet and his room door was shut, which normally wasn’t until late in the evening, closer to after hours.

She knocked on the door a few times and didn’t hear a thing. Having been used to Professor Snape’s avoidance to students, she knocked again and then a third time and waited. Finally, she heard a chair scrape and the light that seeped from under the door showed a shadow at the door.

Very slowly the door opened and Professor Lupin leaned against the door, slightly ajar. He looked down at her and frowned with concern, opening up further.

“Ah, Heather… What can I do for you?” He gave her a tired smile. He had baggy eyes with dark circles and was looking very pale. The hints of scars on his face he normally had were much pinker now, clearly visible, and he seemed to stand a lot more compact, like he was trying to bring his limbs in to stay warm or keep from shivering.

“Professor? Are you alright?”

He chuckled and stood straighter. “Oh I’m just… feeling a bit under the weather… Storms coming and I think I’m just sensing that.”

Heather nodded. “May I please talk to you?”

“Of course! Any time, Heather.” He stepped aside and let her in, keeping the door open. He slumped into his seat and rubbed his eyes. “What’s this about then?”

She blew out hot breath and tried her best not to sound whiney, like Professor Snape had accused her of sounding like this morning. “I’m not allowed on the Quidditch team… I’ve been kicked out and replaced with Warrington because Professor Snape found out he was held back that day of the try outs.”

“Ah… yes… I-I heard about that. I’m very sorry. Professor Snape can be very vindictive, as I’m sure you realize.”

Heather nodded. “But surely… I mean… Maybe you could talk to him?”

Professor Lupin laughed suddenly, seeming more tired. “I’m not sure, Heather… He’s not the type of person to be convinced. Is he?”

The sound of thunder rattled the window and Professor Lupin stared out. She crossed her arms again and looked down, knowing that convincing Professor Snape was as slim of a chance as it was for Lockhart to have found himself actually helpful last year.

“But you could try, couldn’t you?” She looked back up, leaned forward, and brought her voice to a whisper. “You could tell him I really had nothing to do with it… If you told him you really did have reason to hold Cassius back that day, then he’d see he’s taking it out on me for no reason.”

He looked at her and nodded slowly. “Alright. I will try.”

Heather perked up and smiled. “Now?”

“Now?” He frowned. “Why now?”

“Well, it’s the last day of practice before the match Friday. Gryffindor’s got the next few days all booked up.” She tried to look hopeful.

Professor Lupin leaned back and stared at his desk for a few seconds and sighed. “Let’s go now then. I did get you in this mess… And I suppose my cold will only get worse as the days go. So now’s as good a time as any.” He smacked the desk and stood, giving her a weak smile.

Heather jumped to her feet and headed for the door.

They walked down extra slowly but surely and made their way to Professor Snape’s office. Heather shook away her jitters and knocked on his office door several times until he finally called out.

“Enough. Just – Enter.”

She poked her head in and pushed the door open. Professor Snape rolled his eyes at first sight of her and grumbled.

“Twice in one day. How lucky of me.” His brows pulled down deeper as he saw Professor Lupin shuffling inside. “Lupin?”

Professor Lupin nodded. “Professor Snape, I wanted to talk to you.”

He set his quill down and folded his hands on his desk. “I do wonder what about.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

Professor Lupin chuckled and reached for his chin. “Well… I think you might be mistaking the events of the day of the Slytherin’s Quidditch tryouts. Heather here has informed me that you might be under the impression that she had something to do with Mr. Warrington not showing up.”

Heather bit her lip. She wasn’t too sure telling Professor Snape that he’d made a mistake was such a good idea. She watched his eyes and saw them flicker to her as if wanting to stare her down like he normally did, except he never took his eyes of Professor Lupin for more than a split second.

“See, I needed to talk to him about the essay he’d handed in. I wanted to talk to him about a second chance at doing it, with a bit more information added in before I took it for grading… Which he did do.” Professor Lupin stood there, waiting for a reply.

Professor Snape stared up at him for a few seconds. “I see.” He smiled. “Still no.”

“But I had nothing to do with it! I made it on the team and Flint kept me on despite Warrington still trying out!” Heather pulled the chair in front of his desk back and sat down. “Professor Snape, please let me back on the team!”

He glanced at her. “You’re whining again.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. She really was kicked off the team for the year, and all because of her stupid attempt to up her chances of making it.

“Severus, you’re being a tad bit unreasonable.” Professor Lupin held his hands up as Professor Snape stared daggers at him.

“This conversation is over,” he growled.

Heather hung her head and stood. Professor Lupin sighed and turned when a sudden shiver ran down his body and he gripped the back of the chair until it passed.

“Lupin.” Professor Snape stood. “You need more of my potion.”

“No, no. I’m alright. It was just a shiver. I’ve drank enough of that for now.” Professor Lupin straightened and crossed his arms shrugging. “See? All better.”

“‘Better.’” Professor Snape glanced at Heather again. “For now… But as colds do go – you’ll get worse, won’t you Lupin.”

Professor Lupin stared back at him. “That is how colds go, Severus.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be too ill to teach Friday’s lesson. I wonder.”

Heather looked back at Professor Lupin as he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded at his words. He was looking slightly annoyed.

“Most likely. Yes.”

Professor Snape smiled then. “I could teach your lessons, with ease. Until the cold… passes.”

Professor Lupin rubbed at his chin and looked at Heather, giving her a wink. “I was actually going to ask Mrs. Sprout. Maybe next time, Snape.” He turned to head out the door when Professor Snape groaned.

“Stop with your theatrics, Lupin. I’ll get Potter back on the team.”

Professor Lupin sighed. “Then it’s a deal. Have fun teaching my lessons Friday.”

Professor Snape smiled. “I’ll be by later with another goblet-full.”

Heather had the feeling she’d just been played somehow, but that was unlikely… Wasn’t it?

“Let’s go Heather, before he snakes his way into having more.” Professor Lupin pushed her out the door and closed it behind them.

Heather felt her grin pushing her cheeks up as far as they’d go. “Thank you, professor!” She could still make it to the last hour of practice if she hurried.

“Heather, I did you a favor… and I’d kindly ask you to do me one. Don’t tell anyone about today, alright? I’ll let Professor Snape tell the classes I’m a bit ill.” He looked down at her from the steps and smiled warmly.

She nodded. “I won’t even tell Harry.”

Professor Lupin nodded back and headed slowly up the dungeon stairs. She turned on her heels and ran into the common room and into the dorms, hurrying to get changed. She ran back out and took the stairs two at a time, hurrying down the corridor and bursting through the castle doors.

It was freezing cold and the wind howled like crazy, whipping her hair around and stinging her cheeks as she ran down the grassy lawn. She pulled out her broom from the shed and calmly walked into the Quidditch field, looking for Flint up in the sky.

She waved at him and he came down.

“Potter? You’re not allowed on the field.”

“I’m back in! Professor Snape will probably tell Warrington tonight or something.” She smiled but Marcus’ frown did not lift.

“So he’s decided you’re back in, did he?” He looked over at the castle and bared his teeth. “Maybe he should be captain then. If he’ll be making all the decisions.”

Heather shifted her weight, not liking how things were going. “Well… I can resume practice…”

Marcus stared down at her. “Warrington can throw farther than you, Potter. Who says I want you back on my team?”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

“What’s she doing here, Flint?” Cassius came down and hopped off his broom, stepping towards her. “You’re not allowed anymore.”

Heather shook her head. “Professor Snape’s letting me back on. H-he’ll tell you… t-tonight probably… or t-tomorrow…” She didn’t like how close Cassius was getting to her face.

He leaned down and poked her collar with the end of his broom. “And who says I’ll leave? You, Potter? Think being related to big shot ‘Harry Potter: boy who lived’ gives you free reign of the school, dirty-blood?”

More of the team was down on the field again, and Heather’s face was going red. She saw Draco out of the corner of her eye, shaking his head and looking down.

“No, me, Warrington. Your captain.” Marcus was on the ground, crossing his arms now. “Why should I let you back on? You’re the one messing with my team.”

Heather stepped back from Warrington and looked at Marcus. “Because I’m more valuable to the team.”

Marcus and Warrington laughed.

“How do you figure, Potter?”

She mulled over Marcus’ question for a minute, hoping for any reason to pop into her head. “Because… I have better ideas... I had the idea to have Malfoy and I on the team last year because we were faster and that worked out. And I have an idea now.”

Marcus looked at Warrington and nodded at Heather. “Go on.”

Heather smiled, ignoring Warrington’s death glare. “Are we really going to play in this weather? The Gryffindors are practicing and expecting we will, which means they’ll be training against OUR style… So, let’s switch on them. Trade with one of the other teams.” Marcus was nodding at her so she continued more confidently. “Obviously Ravenclaw would never agree under this weather, but Hufflepuff would. Gryffindor beat them in under five minutes last year. They were humiliated. They’ll want a rematch.”

“And what excuse do we have for that? Huh? Matches are decided among the heads of houses. We can’t change that.” Warrington turned to Marcus. “It’s not a good idea if we can’t do it.”

“Think outside the box, Warrington.” She smiled at the look he gave her and faced Marcus again. “Malfoy will just say his arm hurts still. Professor Snape won’t care if it’s true. And he’ll be able to handle convincing Professor Sprout.”

Warrington was fuming but Marcus nodded and smiled. “Malfoy, your arm still hurts right?”

Draco walked up to them and smiled at Heather. “Oh loads. I don’t know if it’ll feel any better until – how long do storms last?” He laughed.

Marcus nodded and smiled wickedly at her idea. “Potter. I’ve decided you’re back in. Warrington, out.”

Heather grinned again, feeling the day’s rollercoaster of events back at a high.

Warrington threw his broom down and stormed off.

“Wipe that look off your face, Potter. You’ll be staying an extra hour with Malfoy here to show you the new plays.” Marcus mounted his broom again and instructed the team back in the air.

Heather turned to Draco, “Thanks…”

“Whatever, Potter. It was a good idea. Besides, your brother’ll be furious.” Draco laughed and mounted his broom. “He makes the dumbest face.”

Heather snorted. “Sure.”

The next hour Marcus made her drills extra intense and she almost fell off her broom twice. It had been several months since she had practiced her drills and she felt very rusty. She was sweating buckets and half of it was probably from nerves that Marcus would change his mind about keeping her on the team.

After the team had gone she was exhausted and sat in the locker room with Draco, who was looking very tired as well.

“These are the new plays,” he scratched out the formations on the chalkboard. He went through each one sloppily and refused to let her ask questions. “That’s the thick of it. If your plan works you’ll have another month to understand these.”

Heather nodded, giving up on learning anything more from him. “So, when’ll you tell Professor Snape about your arm?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking during potions tomorrow.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. Actually, I’ve got an idea.”

Heather nodded. “Alright well… As long as it works.”

They headed out and shined their wands in front of themselves to see through the darkness. The wind was pulling their Quidditch robes and pushing them back hard. It had started raining and Heather had an odd sense she was being watched.

She turned around, feeling her heart rate quicken and stared out into the darkness. Draco looked back and turned too, shining his wand out brighter.

“Potter? Don’t tell me your easily spooked too.”

Heather shook her head and turned back. “Of course not… Though… If Black made it into the castle… and he still wants to kill Harry… and possibly me – wouldn’t he be hiding out in the forbidden forest? I mean… That’s where I’d hide…”

Draco turned and looked out into the darkness and into the forest. He went a little paler and shrugged. “Let’s just… get back in. If you’re that scared, Potter.”

Heather scoffed. “Why’re you shaking, Draco?”

He was about to respond when a nearby sound of displaced rocks sent them bolting the rest of the way up the lawn and stumbling through the castle doors. They panted at the entrance and looked out into the night, spotting a distant rabbit nibbling on some grass by the bottom stone steps.

“Scared of rabbits now?”

Heather rolled her eyes. They headed into the common room and Heather made very sure to stay as far away from Warrington as possible. He seemed a little too eager to pick on her, and the last thing she wanted was for him to call her blood dirty again for not being a pureblood.

It was an unspoken rule among Slytherins that blood status should not be revealed unless the status was that of pureblood. Purebloods spoke about it all the time, but aside from a very select few who let it slip, she didn’t know the status of anyone else. If the house was made up of mainly muggle-borns, no one would ever know except maybe Professor Snape.

She took a shower and got dressed. She headed back down to the common room with her potions textbook and parchment to finish her essay due the next day.

Warrington was still glaring at her so she decided to sit with Draco and Pansy and their friends.

“Back on the team, Heather? Realize your life needed meaning?” Pansy snickered. “At least now you’ll be useful again.”

Heather breathed out. “Yeah, back on as Chaser.”

She watched Pansy roll her eyes and continue talking to her friends as she wrote. Draco talked to his own friends and Heather was sitting there feeling invisible. She was safe from Warrington’s wrath, but she still felt out of place. She wished she had something to make her interesting or cool. Something Pansy liked enough to give her reason to be nice to her.

“How long is it supposed to sit for? Twenty minutes or something?” Pansy looked around at all their essays but no one spoke up.

“‘No less than twenty-seven minutes when using cooked gilstones, no more than thirty when uncooked.’” Heather quoted Professor Snape word for word as everyone wrote what she said down.

Pansy nodded, “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Heather looked back at her essay and smiled to herself.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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sunonyoreface · 5 years ago

Text

Forest Nymph | Geralt of Rivia Pt.5

Hello! Sorry it has been a while since I have last posted, I am quite busy with my final essays right now. Thanks for taking the time to read my story! This is part five of my first series. This chapter is more of a filler chapter so it is a bit shorter, but I can’t wait to get more into the juicier stuff!

Word count: 2587

The King’s words ring despairingly in your ears. A declaration of war. A war you certainly cannot win. Just look at what they did to your forest! Angry tears well up in your eyes. If anything, you should be the one to declare war.

You hate crying. It happens so easily and always at the worst of times, but never when you’re sad. Why can’t you just cry when you’re sad? It would make life so much easier. At least Geralt can’t see your tears.

Roach gallops at a steady pace heading north of Asenguard towards Kafka, you think the village is called. You cling onto Geralt’s stiff back. His body is full of adrenaline both from the fight and what still remains from the elixir. Metal and leather armor rub against each other quietly, however, you find the sound soothing to focus on, at least more so than the sound of the King’s threats. His hair whips in the wind and if you were any taller it would strike you straight across the face. Thankfully, that is not the case.

Neither of you has said a single word since leaving the village and given the chance, you don’t know if you can. What will you say? Thank you? At this point, such a simple gesture feels so insignificant.

If someone were to ask you how long the ride took, you wouldn’t have an answer. Somewhere between twenty minutes and twelve hours. It feels as though you have been on his horse for ages, yet seemingly out of nowhere the nearest village appears. The Kingdom of Kafka, reads a wooden sign posted at the edge of town.

Paranoia fills your thoughts. Has King Cassius set his army after you? Do the villagers of Kafka know how many coins they could get for your head? It’s only time before they find everything out. Unless they already know.

Geralt brings Roach to a slow canter upon entering the quiet town. Everyone is asleep except for a few wandering drunks who pay the two of you no mind. You don’t know where he is going until Roach stops in front of an inn.

“Put your hood up.” Geralt’s rough voice breaks the silence. You wordlessly follow his orders. “Look, the king won’t send for us in the middle of the night, so we’re safe for now, but tomorrow we need to keep moving.” His amber eyes pierce through the night, gently searching your face.

“Do you have anywhere you can go?”

“There’s a woman who lives near Norwich, a friend of a friend who will house me for a bit.” Your voice comes out rough from prolonged silence. The words feel as though you are no longer the one truly speaking them, your native language suddenly feeling foreign.

“Ok.” He sighs. “Good.”

Upon entering the inn, you come to realize it is more of a whore house than anything. A brothel, to put it politely.

“And what can I do for you?” A woman’s voice made thick from excess mucous, cuts through the warm, slightly musky air of the room. She wears a red hat of unfamiliar fashion and pants. Something most women would be beaten for wearing. She exudes power over the dimly lit and certainly unethical business of hers.

“I’m looking for someone.” Geralt’s voice is much quieter than it has been previously. “A bard.”

“In a blue suit? Well, we had one check-in not that long ago, but it will be extra to share his girl.” She smirks. “My girls aren’t cheap.”

“No girl. Just the room.”

“Right then, five coins. He’s down the corridor to your right, last room on the left.”

Without another word, Geralt drops the coins in her hand. He spares a quick glance down your way before starting off. You are nearly stepping on his heels, suddenly afraid he might leave you behind. The wooden floors are uneven with boards sticking up every few feet or so. The whole structure of the building has greatly shifted since being built. That isn’t uncommon as you go more north. The forests become littered with different areas of muskeg which freeze in the winter and cause the ground to shift. Kafka sits right on the edge of one of those swamps. Nothing lasts long around here, not even the infrastructure.

Geralt doesn’t knock on the door. So, when the two of you walk in on a naked man and a woman hard at work earning her coin. You can’t really blame the so-called bard.

“Jesus Geralt! Fucking knock first!” He shrieks in surprise.

“Leave.” The demand is directed at the woman on her knees. She looks to the bard for permission and it becomes clear her job is now done. She takes her coin and rushes out of the room, leaving the bard to frantically look for his knickers.

“What the hell was- wait a minute. Who are you?” His attention suddenly becomes fixated on you as he finally finds his trousers. Your tongue finds itself in a knot. You freeze, stiff as a board, not sure whether or not he is safe to introduce yourself to.

“Her name is Briar, of Asenguard.” The bard’s head snaps up at your place of birth.

“Asenguard?” He questions. “Is that why you went back Geralt? For a girl?” An excited gasp leaves his lips.

“Well Briar, you must be pretty special. A girl, Geralt what has gotten into you?” He shoots a mocking glance at Geralt before turning to you. A genuine smile spreads across his face. He smiles with his eyes especially, they gleam like crystals. His presence carries no sense of threat and you start to feel your shoulders relaxing.

“Hello, Briar.” He reaches for a handshake. His hands warm and welcoming, slightly calloused at the fingertips from the strings of his instrument, but otherwise soft. “I’m Jaskier.”

“We need to talk Jaskier.” Geralt interrupts. You take the chance to finally look around the room. It is large for a brothel, with two midsized beds and a closed-off area for washing. You poke your head inside to find a wooden tub. A bath would feel amazing right now.

Geralt tells Jaskier about the fire, a topic you wish you could just escape.

“Uhm.” Your voice cuts into their conversation. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you know how I could get water for a bath?” Geralt’s eyes quickly flit to yours, you can’t tell if he’s annoyed at you for interrupting.

“I’ll ask some of the lovely ladies if they would be able to bring some water for you,” Jaskier says as he heads for the door. The room stills in his absence. Your eyes have yet to leave Geralt’s.

“Look, I know saying thank you could never even compare to what you have done for me, but thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” He speaks softly. “I’m partially at fault. I am the one who told the king you were a witch.” Confusion arises at his statement. A witch?

“Why’d you tell him that?”

“I thought if he thought you were a witch, he’d leave you alone. Witches aren’t to be dealt with lightly.” Guilt laces his voice, but how could he have known the king would burn down the forest.

“So that’s why they started the fire.” The words feel tight in your throat, your quiet voice barely above a whisper.

“Briar, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You blink back a stray tear, threatening to spill. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine”

He hesitantly reaches out to you, clearly out of his element, yet he doesn’t pull back. You lean into his touch and find yourself in a comforting embrace. You all but dissolve into Geralt’s warm hug, his firm arms gently wrapping around you. His broad figure easily engulfs you, as you nuzzle your head into his chest. He reluctantly rests his chin on the top of your head, still shocked at the fact that you accept his embrace. Neither of you are used to physical affection, not in a world as cruel as this one. A feeling of acceptance of who you are and what you’ve done is mutual. One thumb traces circles between your shoulder blades as you scrunch your eyes closed and inhale his scent. Although still masked in the smell of smoke, underneath it all he smells like the forest, like home with the additional comforting undertones of leather and a trace of Roach’s pungent odor. You never want to leave his strong, safe arms, but of course, good things never last.

Jaskier barges through the door with four girls carrying buckets of steaming water.

“Bath time!” He announces in a sing-song voice.

The pleasantly warm water embraces your smooth skin and washes away the last traces of ash from the fire. The sour smell of living wood being burnt is taken away with a bar of lightly scented lye soap that was generously provided by the working women. If it weren’t for the circumstances which brought you here, you would consider this a lovely vacation. Of course, you’ve never been on a vacation before so you don’t know what else to compare it to. The brothel is certainly different than your forest. Oh, your forest.

You grieve for your home as though it was another person. In many ways it was a living, breathing being which provided for you in the same way your mother used to. You haven’t felt this type of sadness since her death. She is the one who taught you to live in harmony with the forest, and now it too is gone.

On the other side of the thin bamboo-like divider, Geralt and Jaskier murmur in low voices. You know they’re talking about you.

You and all the trouble you bring along. Despite this fact, their voices don’t sound angry, tense yes, but not angry.

“Briar!” Jaskier calls out.

“Yes?”

“You can take the bed on the right, Geralt and I will share the other.” You hear a scuffling of feet and what sounds like a grunt of disapproval from Geralt.

“What? It’s not like it’s the first time.” He directs towards Geralt. You have to stifle your laughter at his stubbornness.

Eventually, the water is no longer warm and you begrudgingly let it out through a plug at the bottom of the wooden tub. It methodically flows out into a tiny trough in the floor which leads through a small hole in the bottom of the wall and to where you can only assume is a dugout of some sort. You can’t really tell, it's too dark and there is only a small stub of candle light left.

The room is silent on the other side of the divider, they must have gone to sleep. You can’t bring yourself to find out. Instead, you turn back to the damp, wooden tub.

When you step inside, the hem of your dress absorbs the last of the water pooling at the bottom. You flatten your hands onto the base and let out a warm stream of energy that flows through your veins and out of your fingertips. A emerald glow momentarily lights up the room as a layer of moss starts to form on the bottom of the tub. You’ve always loved moss. It is one of the first plants you learned to grow. Moss simplistic in nature with only one set of DNA and doesn’t need any dirt to grow, just a bit of moisture. Soon enough it covers the entire interior of the tub and provides a soft, cushiony bed for the night.

Morning comes all too soon.

“Did we seriously share a bed just for her to sleep in the tub?” You awaken to Geralt and Jaskier looking down at you cocooned in your makeshift bed. Jaskier, while mildly annoyed is clearly impressed at whatever you pulled off with the plants. “Huh.”

“We need to leave.” Geralt’s raspy morning voice cuts through the air.

Roach happily greets Geralt in an unspoken language only the two of them seem to understand. The horse blatantly ignores Jaskier but makes a point of saying good morning to you, by nuzzling her head to your hand. Okay, maybe she isn’t greeting you, but rather looking for some apples.

“I’ll grow some more for you once we’re out of town.” You whisper to her.

The trip to Norwich should take anywhere from five days to a week on foot. While you are lucky enough to get a lift from Roach, Jaskier is forced to walk and while it is not his fault, he does slow the three of you down.

“Why does she get to ride on Roach? The only time I got a free ride was when you nearly killed me with that djinn.” He whines

“The djinn was your fault.”

“Maybe so, but it has been the only time I didn’t have to walk.”

“That’s because Roach doesn’t like you.” Geralt states plainly.

“Doesn’t like me.” He gasps in astonishment.

“What do you mean she doesn’t like me? She’s a horse!”

“I think it’s your singing.” A sly smile spreads across Geralt’s face and you can’t help but laugh at their childish pettiness.

“Maybe you should feed her some apples, as a peace offering.” You suggest.

“Apples! Where in the world am I going to get apples? They aren’t even in season.”

“I’ll grow some for you.”

“Right, with your magic voodoo powers.”

“Voodoo? It’s not voodoo!” You laugh.

“So if it’s not voodoo then, what exactly is it that you do?” The question catches you off guard. What do you do? You have never really had to explain it before. With almost no connection to your relatives and any other mystical creatures, you have only ever compared yourself to humans, which feels almost unfair since you share no lineage with them.

“Well, I suppose it is technically magic. I live in harmony with the forest, its energy is my energy and I can shift that energy into different forms. I’m not sure how else to explain it. When one of us thrives, we both thrive.”

“Is that why you stopped the farmers?” He asks. “No need to worry, Geralt filled me in on everything, I won’t tell” He jokingly whispers to you, but the atmosphere has already changed. Geralt hasn’t said anything, but his eager ears hang on to your every word..

“It is.” You pause a moment, struggling to find the right words. “When the farmers cut the trees down, it pains me. Not physically, but spiritually I guess would be the closest way to explain it. All I wanted to do was protect it and now, well now I can still feel the fire burning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Briar.” He says sympathetically. “Do you still have your ‘powers’ then if we leave the forest?”

“I can still feel the energy now. As long as I am in the forest, I think I’ll be fine, I don’t really know what happens if I leave, I’ve never had a reason up until now.”

“If it eases your sorrow, we don’t actually leave the forest to get to Norwich.” Geralt speaks up.

“It does.” A gentle smile finds its way to your lips.

“Did you say Norwich?”

“Yes, there’s a friend of a friend I’m going to stay with there.”

“Well, I’ve got some friends there!” A sly grin spreads across Jaskier’s face.

“Friends?” Asks Geralt.

“You could call them that.”

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pt.4

https://sunonyoreface.tumblr.com/post/613676968381136896/forest-nymph-geralt-of-rivia-pt4

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jettremy · 5 years ago

Note

24 for cas :p

( * seven minutes in heaven ~ PART ONE. )

➥ ( 24. ) trailing kisses from stomach to mouth.

WHEN SOMEONE DUMPS YOU & takes a big fat chunk out of your bleeding heart, you usually don’t end up making out with them on an uncomfortable, tiny as shit closet floor after four excruciatingly languid years of no contact whatsoever, or at least that’s the case 99.99% of the time. that rare, peculiar and quite miserable 0.01% consists of the world’s tallest dweebus & his besotted memey edgelord who are in the midst of producing a well composed symphony of sharp intakes of breath and light humming that might just be heard on the outside of the closet door if a curious ear happened to be in the close proximity of it. even though they’re S O L E L Y making out for the time being, the smooth glide of their mouths, the home-like familiarity cassius’ embrace delivers, and the aching NOSTALGIA for better times lure these obscene noises away from jeremy’s vocal cords, causing the faint moans to slip into cas’ oral cavity and resonate in his lungs, the vibrations transmitting the t o r t u r e d artist’s inexplicable need for the older, equally sexual & emotional. his in comparison two-centimeter-smaller hands trace every available inch of the other’s body, getting REACQUAINTED with all the dents and curves and in a way testing his memory when it comes to the data his tactile senses have previously stored. once they’ve trailed and teased the skin atop cas’ entire spine, jeremy’s salacious fingers become entangled in the soft peachy locks on the back of cas’ head, tugging briefly in order to coax a sound or two out of the one on top before slamming their lips together deeper and deeper each time. he fails to be embarrassed at the telltale whimper he emits once their burning tongues lecherously tantalize each other since this is the man who’s aware of jeremy’s tendencies to get vocal & noisy when at their most intimate, and above all because this is the man in front of whom he has no shame, the man who knows even the dustiest, most moldy corners of his being like the back of his hand. jeremy’s cautiously leaning back inch by inch, his strong abs tensing and allowing him to do so until one of his elbows reaches the floor and he’s slightly propped up. his unoccupied hand gets busy kneading the flesh of cas’ inner thigh when a B I T E to his luscious bottom lip ends their kiss in order for them to take a breather. his other arm joint accompanies the previous one on the floor and jeremy’s stuck gazing at cassius with a leer plastered on his amused face, as if the older put all the stars in the sky for him. ❛ you adorable piece of fucking shit … you’ll be the DEATH of me, y’know that ? ❜ a throaty chuckle’s added for the emphasis before he, abruptly and without a warning, drags cas up on his pelvis, where he belongs. his big browns are invitingly flirting, and vomit-inducing butterflies slam at his innards when he detects cas leaning down for another round of desperate lip-locking. except, his digits find a job for themselves on the small buttons of jeremy’s silky dress shirt. sure, they have only a few fucking minutes and they won’t manage to get very far, but who is jeremy lee to stop cas from doing what his little heart desires ?

ONE QUICK SWIPE of skeletal fingers unveils a highly contrasting dark ink etched into a pasty, fleshy torso, displaying an artistic canvas in the form of jeremy’s chest & hard-to-maintain abs. among the scattered graphics, there’s one inspired by the splendid man atop, and it torments jeremy’s thin, dilapidated HEARTSTRINGS when he dips down to join his lips with that exact spot, the reposing male’s eyes naturally falling shut as he succumbs to the older’s ministrations and the gratification they give him. he can’t say he gives a damn about what he’ll look like when he exits the closet, with a collapsed hairstyle and devastatingly crinkled dress shirt, a suspicious, k n o w i n g look on his visage whenever he so as glances at his ex-boyfriend during the rest of the night, doesn’t concern with brainstorming about all kinds of gossip that will spread like wildfire due to the two of them allowing themselves to enjoy each other’s company in the way they truly desire. he’s jaded, enervated because of all the HIDING they’re doing, as well as concealing their once existing feelings in front of the group. he delightfully wants to inform everyone about cas’ favorite dishes he used to tirelessly, blithely cook for him, their hilarious adventures and the fact that he knows the older’s body better than his own, rant about his adorable, captivating quirks & kooky habits, brag about how he could make him blush without trying much, or please his every need. perhaps not every - if he had been capable, then maybe cas would have stayed, would have made it work, or would have taken jeremy with him, who was pathetically prepared to go to the ends of the world for him and with him, still is. perhaps then it would have been harder to leave, would be more HARROWING for him to be in jeremy’s immediate vicinity, perhaps then all of jeremy’s delicate touches would incinerate his whole being, both gnaw at & heal his ruptured, defected heart. perhaps then he’d feel like jeremy does, perpetually suffer just like him, carry a chest full of separation anxiety & a constant crippling bellyache, like an abandoned child ( which, coincidentally, he was ). it’s insane, worrisome that after all this time he only has HIMSELF to blame for not being worthy, good enough for cas to stay, for him to seek him out, reach out, check whether he’s well and with a pulse, say he misses him, thinks about him, smiles or cries when their memories inevitably surface from time to time, that seeing bikes on the street reminds him of the breezy rides jeremy would take him on, that tattoos will never be the same after him, dial him even intoxicated, out of his right mind. and though jeremy always slept with his sound on and phone right next to his head, never dropped the old number, he didn’t get a single call. too fixated on feeling him right here & right now, savoring his coveted touches while he still can because no one guarantees that this will ever happen again, he doesn’t detect the burning wet trails rolling down his face, paints his battle with suffocation as himself trying not to moan due to cassius’ cushioned lips being too close to his leather belt. he’s terrified cas would vanish if he asks him if he missed him, if he loved him, if he still has a sliver of olden feelings within him, if this means more than just cas needing him physically, more than just their starving bodies being PERFECTLY COMPATIBLE. and even though he dons a convincing mask every day in order not to perturb & plague two and a half people who give a shit about him, as well as not give the likes of han yeseul any material to inhumanely gloat over, he hasn’t been fine for the longest time —— he can sense himself slipping more & more, hands itching to burn a joint or an abandoned building routinely, too often for it to be considered normal anymore. a sane person wouldn’t let themself be manipulated, tortured like this, wouldn’t be collapsing under their ex’s spell once again —— alas, he didn’t learn & has no intention of denying cassius anything, which he imprudently affirms when he ravenously, anticipatorily grips his styled pastel locks hard as he awaits the businessman’s tongue to come in contact & glide over his sharp v line, causing his stomach to hollow and dip with the gravitational force, towards his spine, his tactile receptors both enjoying the sensation and finding it too much to handle. he exhales some of the pain from his rotten, aching lungs, wistful, hopeless wails for love emitted in the form of moans, his toes curl as arresting ELECTRICITY speeds through his limbs, causing his not expecting muscles to tense & clench powerfully as cas’ immoral mouth makes its way upwards, molesting all the sweet spots he’s aware jeremy has. his plush lip is nearly mangled by his incisors as a response to his hypersensitive nipple being toyed with and he can no longer restrain himself, prevent his hands from h a r s h l y gripping his former lover’s hips and making him relieve them both by grinding on him as more of jeremy’s tears pitifully roll down his pale temples on either side of his face. it’s not long before he’s cowardly tilting his anguish-stuffed head to the side, not only to conceal the fact that he’s crying but also to expose his neck in sheer NEED for cas, a string of vile curses bouncing off the walls of the treasured closet as he gets caught off guard with light suction on his tender flesh, whispering a hoarse, growly you can, knowing cas would immediately know what it means. he wouldn’t mind being eternally branded as cassius’, he’d haughtily wear any expression of love given to him by the adorably taller, just like he, hopefully, at least once, wore the ring jeremy got from his biological mother & gifted him as a symbol of his undying love. though he’d get paralyzed at the visceral memories of cas dragging his lithe tongue over his jawline, all the way to his shell where he’d whisper to him, now he forces himself not to shut down completely as it happens, not even when he gets asked why he’s crying. a deflective just kiss me proves to be enough to avoid the otherwise exhausting interrogation he’d be trapped in if he took the bait & answered that inquiry.

A BIG, HEFTY PILE OF DOG SHIT is undoubtedly worth more to jeremy than any of han yeseul’s opinions or words and would consequently evoke more emotion within him than she’ll ever be able to. the human equivalent to an intestinal parasite with an eternal, fat, spiked stick up its rotten ass will never affect his state of mind even slightly, or cause him to doubt himself and his actions even more than a mere millisecond. her little spiel the other day came into one of his ears and immediately exited through the other, safe for a single tidbit of information with which she fucked herself over. if there were any truth to her retching-inducing interest in cassius, she brought jeremy’s attention to it and now he’ll do everything in his power to sabotage whatever she has planned, because he’d rather die than let her defile & corrupt, rob the walking talking piece of heaven called cassius hwang. on top of that, he considers his ex to be highly intelligent & skilled at recognizing soul-sucking, good-for-nothing, money-hungry, skanky snakes. again, why the fuck does kerry hang out with her ? for a moment, he’s concerned about the girl’s neural cells and healthy judgement, or lack thereof. she must be at least half brain dead to hang out with someone with zero positive qualities. furthermore, underestimating jeremy’s ELEPHANTINE ego, unvacillating confidence & cockiness is a rookie mistake no one in their right mind should make since the honey-mouthed rascal is so self-assured that he’s in result convinced that he can woo just about anyone you could point at in a crowd of people. it’s downright pathetic how she ridiculously presents herself as overly self-confident whilst her insecure, attention-hungry eyes always stray to check if HE’s watching whenever she is interacting with cas, that she feels the need to send him taunting texts as if she’s fucking desperate for jeremy’s reactions —— FUCK, maybe she’s foolishly trying to make him jealous because she’s obviously fucking obsessed with him & not his ex ?! regardless, her devious plan to demolish what he has with cassius will be nothing short of a FAILURE, which is only further proven by the way the heated pair refuses to make their bodies part even as they’re aware that the majority of their given time has surely passed. ‘ ONE MORE MINUTE ! ’ a voice echoes, disturbingly close to the thin door, as if the meddlesome person has been listening the entire time, to the duet of smooching noises & responding grunts, but jeremy has no more than an eight of a brain at the moment & cannot be bothered to figure out who the owner of it is. with his spidery, inked limbs faster than his awareness of the action being done, he flips cassius onto the ground with determination and cages him, forces him to look at his overweening, lordly face up close before kneeling between his squat-thickened legs & slowly beginning to button up his unfortunate shirt. midway, he becomes bored with the tedious, repetitive task and yanks cassius up into a sitting position to finish that mundane action, only for his shuttered eyes to unexpectedly roll, head carelessly thrown back at the sloppy neck kisses he’s willingly receiving as his rose gold shirt gets fixed into the best state possible regarding the fact that they spent almost full seven minutes messing around on the floor. ❛ you know birthdays are sacred, right ? … you should spend it with someone who loves you .. if you get what i’m saying … ahm. let’s continue this tonight, after the party ? ❜ the evocative offer hangs in the air as jeremy’s gifted, elegant digits find those of the lanky male’s in order to hold them —— instantly they detect an INTRICATE ACCESSORY around one of the fingers, mindlessly lifting his hand up to inspect it since he cannot for the life of him hold eye contact as he awaits the nerve-racking response that could have painful consequences for his exhausted heart. promptly his orbs shine with recognition, shifting hilariously between cas’ browns and the object of his interest so violently and swiftly that they threaten to turn into an endless slot machine. he’s devastatingly BAFFLED, shook to the core, heart racing & hands blatantly starting to tremble. it’s that feeling in your stomach that only appears when you’re at the highest peak of a roller coaster, cart making a terrifying pause over the edge as it prepares to lunge down, and you’re a millisecond away from screaming your poor lungs out, peeing yourself and puking all over your buddy, but in a good way, you know ? —— does this mean anything more than cassius simply appreciating the ring for its aesthetic value, and is there any hope for the emotionally mutilated tattoo artist ? he doesn’t dare open that pandora’s box considering how little time they have in the privacy of solely each other’s company, but he wants to showcase his acknowledgement & gratitude for the fact that cas hasn’t tossed the piece of jewelry in the first dumpster after their parting. he topples over the man, pinning him to the ground strongly and nearly suffocating with a flurry of emotional kisses, those which shamelessly expose just how touched he is by a seemingly small, unimportant thing to the outsider, which means the world to jeremy. what he is yet to learn is that the festive group on the other side of the door is ready to steal this piece of heaven away from them and disrupt what they have going on. ❛ dae, it’s over, open it~ ! ❜ a particularly ( unnecessarily ) loud blonde amazonian shouts from the ridiculously boujee sofa once her phone startles her by having its alarm go off when no one in particular was paying attention to the device in question. shockingly obedient, daehyun gives the closet another awfully polite knock & announces that they will be letting them outside before poking their little head through the thinly cracked door, eyes innocently peering & needing a bit of time to adjust to the darkness before they yelp at the sight of the ongoing, all but chaste scene before them. embarrassed, with pink hued cheeks, they regretfully shut it and back away a little, whispering a few words of warning to the hot & bothered pair, so that they wouldn’t be discovered by the remainder of the group. they mentally smirk like the evil little minx they are, though, because their INTUITION was right yet again. ❛ guys ! hurry up ! ❜ daehyun rushes them in now full on panic when their ears pick up on a set of dooming footsteps coming towards them chillingly, and they’re right to do so, making jeremy laughably snap out of it & pull back from cassius in a matter of seconds, as if his ex has been crafted from fucking lava itself. shit. he clears his throat & straightens up, aiding cas to his feet and brazenly winking at daehyun —— he’s convinced they’ll be taking this mutually shameful little incident to the grave anyway, partially because of their baseless & quite frankly ridiculous fear of cassius. the cogs in his overflowing brain surprisingly start turning swiftly & he masterfully begins pretending to continue a business conversation with cas, something about promoting his tattoo show on his radio station, as they step out of the closet & join the ogling bunch, not paying them the time of day since he doesn’t want to see their prying expressions and beady little eyes scanning them from head to toe as if they’re america’s most wanted criminals. he simpers victoriously when cas announces that the game should be over in order for them to get to the established birthday venue in time for their reservation, and as everyone casually packs up & moves outside towards the over the top limo, jeremy bluffs being busy looking for something in order to be the last one out with cas who needs to lock up the place, only to steal a sneaky peck & give his irresistible ass a squeeze sub rosa. he runs off to join their friends before he can hear cas potentially complain.

A COLOURFUL DISPLAY OF AMBROSIAL DRINKS decorates the opulent, chic black table of the private booth, the grandest & most exclusive one in the entirety of the polished & tastefully stylized venue —— at the very arrival, a frivolous discussion was held about which celebrities might have sat in whose seat, neglecting the fact that KENT, OHIO isn’t HOLLYWOOD per se. jeremy has no doubt that this, along with the posh birthday dinner they attended prior to the nightclub, has only made a small dent in cas’ account —— a street rat like jeremy ( one that cassius’ affluent parents accepted warmly regardless of the fact that he wasn’t as well-heeled as them, for which he will carry everlasting gratitude in his heart ) could never imagine having enough money to splurge on a similar event he’d forget anyways if he let himself negligently dive into his notoriously reckless alcohol consumption. with his lonesome prepregaming, the drinking games they played, wine that was served along with dinner and this being their first round of drinks here, the architect equipped with a stomach of steel is still certain on his feet & clear in his mind, enough to pick up on a set of venomous eyes burning holes in his skull as he endearingly follows the birthday boy with his own pair of obsidians. since she’s withing an earshot & the music is yet to reach brain-liquifying levels, he scoffs & addresses her without allowing the others to sense any negative vibes. ❛ give it a rest with the ogling, yeseul … you’re not my type. but it seems that doesn’t go for that dude over there, so be a p e s t elsewhere, ❜ he motions vaguely until the literal demon goddess herself, chu yumi, comes to collect her frenemy ( & hopefully drag her back to the frozen depths of hell where they both belong ), buzzing about a threesome & whatever else jeremy didn’t manage to catch her ranting about due to her insufferable, fast speaking manner, and he can’t say he’s interested. though chumi has that same irritatingly-crafted, arrogant, emotionally fucking stupid vixen personality to her, at least he can go without taking her blabbing head off her shoulders whilst they’re together in a room for longer than five minutes, and he believes he could be tolerant when it comes to the other snake too only if she dropped her pitiful attempts to annoy him by messing with someone he obviously cares about more than anyone’s ever cared for her. alas, he was’t about to duel her & disappoint cas by quarreling and ruining his day, so he played it off as if he didn’t know she was staring at him because she was continuing to see through his bullshit, or however she phrased it that one time when she tried to lecture him. a light burn of booze down the throat deletes her presence from his already cluttered brain entirely & for the rest of the night he can’t say that she crosses his mind at all. it passes majorly with daehyun’s whiny, restless tugs & yanks of his silky sleeves towards the dance floor, and he ultimately does cave without being the single grim black sheep of the group, but he frequently goes back to their booth for a calming cigarette & another taste of alcohol, because without an intoxicating sip beforehand he physically wouldn’t be able to make a fool of himself carelessly in a dance circle. currently the artist is on a mini break in order for his feet & calves to recover, two pieces of a minty fresh bubblegum popped into his mouth after his last death stick; all alone in his seat, he’s checking the appointments he has for the next week, since he cleared the schedule for cas’ birthday —— the biggest pieces he already has all sketched up and confirmed with the customer, so he’s not too stressed about taking a few days off. he reflexively raises his unfocused pupils from the multicoloured pixels when he feels someone drop beside him, the deafening music preventing him from hearing their hard breathing, but he can see the hyper rise & fall of cas’ slightly sweaty chest. he carefully lowers his phone down onto the table, meticulous about avoiding a couple of wet spots from cocktail spillage, and offers the exhausted dancer his untouched glass of water, watching him gulp it down in seconds, making it disappear like a magician. always being generous ( philanthropic, even ) with compliments when it comes to cas, he leans up to his ear & makes sure to let him know how SEXY he was up on that dance floor, his hand unabashedly landing on his muscular thigh, the shell covered with nips & torturing, languid laps of jeremy’s tongue. light strokes & squishes interchange, as if he’s kneading dough under the table, and his free hand tilts the gorgeous, glowing man’s head towards himself. no one’s looking, he whispers nostalgically —— he frequently used to be on the receiving end of those secretive words when, nine years ago, they hung out in their neighbourhood & jeremy wasn’t openly CASSEXUAL, so he worried about kissing him in public in the fear of having his ass kicked by his homophobic friends. tonight, he’s the one to reassure the other that no one but strangers would discover them, and soon lazy, tipsy smiles melt & mold together euphorically —— it’s the club atmosphere, he assumes, heightening the sexual desire, since generally he would be more than fine with solely getting kisses for days, but now it’s as if he’ll wither & die if he doesn’t get the older on his lap immediately. a pleading let’s go gets repeated a couple of times in sheer need before the ache for cas’ body becomes so unbearable that he has to speak his mind. ❛ leave the limo for them, tell the driver to pick us up in a different car. half of them have scattered already anyway, they won’t notice we’re gone. if they do, i’ll tell them i took you home because you were sick tomorrow. —— fuck’s sake, we don’t have to explain ourselves to them. ❜ it doesn’t take too much convincing since when they look around there’s none of their friends in sight, most having found entertainment in each other’s or a stranger’s company. besides, they have the driver’s number shared in their group chat, as well as junhyuk having one of his own, as well as enough money to get each of them an uber SEPARATELY, so jeremy isn’t worried about those grown ass motherfuckers at all. he cannot recall the entirety of the following events, only getting some fresh air with cas before holding hands in the backseat of the car, small nuzzles exchanged as they did their best to keep their manners & not traumatize the poor employee. but he does clearly remember how they didn’t jump each other’s bones as soon as they set foot into the house, how they were both sober enough to know they really wanted each other, how they played it cool for a couple of minutes in the kitchen, or fuck —— maybe it was their ancient feelings crawling back, preventing them from doing it unemotionally, and instead setting up a slightly more ROMANTIC scenario than they would for a pure stranger. ❛ ah, but am i really worthy of your super special, limited edition, exclusive, vintage, valued at approx. couple a’ thousands o’ dollars whiskey ? tsk, you flatter me, cassie. ❜ a purr tickles the shell of cassius’ ear as jeremy presses his lean body against the older’s back. though he’s slightly shorter, he can still peek over the other’s shoulder and see him pouring some of the amber liquor on the rocks in two pricey glasses at the kitchen counter, and jeremy knows he could make him drop & spill all that money by catching him off the guard with his touches, but he can’t help it when his starving mouth grazes the side of his ex’ exposed neck, impatient hands pulling at the slightly tucked shirt & exploring the smooth flesh below. he hyperfocuses on the spot which elicits the loudest of noises, and he can feel a gulp underneath his tongue as cassius swallows his shot. he gives him enough space to turn around, one of his inklike brows lifting curiously as he gets offered his drink —— claiming his hands are awfully busy, he parts his lips ridiculously with the tip of his tongue poking out, bratty, daring but twinkling eyes observing him until he feels the liquid hit his tasting muscle, the excess spilling down the sides of his chin, luring out a few of his signature giggles. it’s as if a sudden switch is flipped when jeremy stops with his shenanigans & you could cut the tension with a knife between them when they both notice a glint in each other’s eye, rushing to collide their desperate lips, greedily suckling at each other & tasting alcohol, becoming braver & braver with each passing second, burning hands wandering, teasing, groping, pulling at the annoying garments as their backs hit the walls and counters in this lustful battle. and it isn’t until he gently grips cassius’ throat that they manage to catch a breath. ❛ on your knees, ❜ he commands calmly, unshakable resolution clear in his gruff voice. he knows cassius won’t be able to resist it, he knows his legs will shake at the sound of it. and why not bless a couple of different rooms, when they have the luxurious abode all to themselves ?

ALL SPREAD OUT ON HIS EX’S BED, jeremy’s cozily resting on his v-shaped back with dormant cassius all curled up and preciously molded into his side. the younger’s swollen lips are abnormally, attractively crimson in color, all the hemoglobin rushing to those overworked, puffed petals which are now gingerly pressed in a nurturing, soothing pucker against a smooth, golden patch of skin on the SLEEPING BEAUTY’s no longer sweaty forehead —— he’s been awake for the past nine minutes, putting his all into convincing himself that he’s not lucid dreaming or perhaps high as all hell, painting the unreachable picture he’s been yearning to see for the past four years. he’s whispering the sweetest of nothings as loving, no longer held back pecks get delivered to the comatose features of the adored individual, yet he knows not even those would wake the snoozing giant after how badly, triumphantly jeremy has tired him out, combined with the numbing spirits they consumed during their celebrations. thanks to this unlimited ‘cassius - vital information’ bank, he dexterously sneaks out of his embrace & dreaming nest, covering himself by a pair of fitted black boxer briefs which leave nothing to your devilish imagination, and heads out of the room in order to prepare one of his unmistakably appetizing culinary creations, which raise from the dead, obtain a glass of water & painkillers for a potential headachin’ beanstalk, but his quest is derelict once he hears commotion & a cacophony of bangs, hums & steps coming from the floor below —— it dawns upon him that cas isn’t the singular inhabitant of this chateau-esque manor and that having his studious, virginal mansionmate catch him at his peaceful dwelling this early in the morning and so scantily-clad would be a grand calamity. with a low curse murmured under his perfectly face-appropriate nose, he makes a swift half ballerina twirl & returns to his ex, an endeared smile blessing & stretching his pillowy lips when he sees the drowsy, dazed man blindly investigating the crinkled, still warm yet empty spot beside him in search for something or someone. HIM ? should he allow himself to dream that cas is needing him & thinking of him right as he lifts his heavy eyelids, and that he’s not hunting for an item as simple as his phone in order to check the time ? ❛ hush, i’m here … i tried to go and make you some breakfast, but junhyuk’s causing a ruckus downstairs and i doubt you want him to know i spent the night … ❜ jeremy thoughtlessly gives himself the right to assume cassius wouldn’t be overjoyed if anyone found out that they hooked up, let alone learned about their past. though the forlorn, anarchic tattoo artist himself has no problem with it, he’s convinced that cas would be devastatingly ashamed to admit his heart once belonged to someone as woeful, wretched, toxic & eccentric as jeremy, so he’s eternally thankful that taemin hasn’t squeaked to anyone about it yet. he dives deep into the softness of the most comfortable, homely mattress in the world, unlaxing on his side this time as he pulls closer the man who’s mirroring his position, the thick white duvet covering their nude bodies, safe for jeremy’s underwear slipped on in a rush. his restless, greedy hand finds its place on cas’ narrow waist and travels lower on its own accord, stroking & soothing each and every muscle it eventually reaches. ❛ sore ? ❜ an unhesitant nod lures a complacent, yet not too wide or toothy grin onto his amused features —— jeremy really did a number on him last night, but neither of them were complaining whilst in the heat of the moment, unbothered & unaware of both physical & emotional, inexorable consequences of their indomitable arousal & sweet sin. ❛ tired ? hungover ? ❜ the additional unreluctant affirmations cause a childlike coo to strum his vocal cords, and he brigs some needed moisture to his lips with a singular swipe of his proficient tongue before connecting their rosiness with his favorite pair in the world, heart pouncing humiliatingly when he feels a hand on himself as well, encouraging him to resume the session for at least a few minutes. here, right here, is his SERENITY, his SAFETY, his HEAVEN, his HOME —— right here in cas’ arms, where everything is okay, where the one who’s holding him is the one who’s to be credited for jeremy’s pulse not flatlining yet, for his insides twisting & curling, his palms sweating & toes curling, the one who makes him nervous & blissful, the one he wants to cry with and laugh with and live with for the remainder of his days on this cursed earth, the one he’ll love until the very last breath leaves his lungs, and even longer if anything awaits after death. he knows that a lifetime with this man wouldn’t be enough, that he’d be a REBORN BELIEVER, that he’d pray on his bleeding knees that death wouldn’t do them part. as the waltz of slippery pink muscles meets its end with a timid titter, jeremy’s caring thumb comes up to hastily wipe at cas’ bite-mark adorned lower lip, pecking over it as if to heal the lightest of imprints. he harmoniously entwines their fingers on the disrupted mattress between them, tracing the meaningful ring cas is still wearing, fondly, recalling seeing it in the closet, having flashes of his cerebration from back then, remembering their breakup, and the idyllic little bubble of bliss he’s been captured in since last night BURSTS without warning. gingerly, warily he brings their joint hands up to his quivering mouth & kisses the ring before wordlessly resting them down & gazing lamentably at the man he loves, as if he’s in mourning. he has no right to still be here, or talk about making breakfast and nursing him through a hangover, or even imagine hanging out for the rest of the day, cuddling, watching movies and maybe going for round number whichever. he yet again recalls their text exchange where cassius questioned if jeremy still had feelings for him, and he made it clear last night, whispering hushed I LOVE YOUs to him while they were making love repeatedly, and all jeremy wants to ask now is if cas has them too. he wants to beg him to spare him of all the misery, of tragic hoping, to help him either come to terms of it being fully over and aid him in moving on, or give him a reason to work on them, on getting back to what they used to be to each other, an improved version of THEM. but he can’t. and he has no right to try & sabotage whoever wants to get with cas, because he’s a free man with a mind of his own. all jeremy wants for him is to be happy, and he tries to convince himself that he’s been attempting to keep him away from bad people, but if they are the source of cas’ happiness, he’ll gladly step back. ❛ have i overstayed my welcome ? should i go ? ❜ he asks directly, eyes glassy and leaking onto the pillow below his tragic head. but all he wants to know is —— do you still love me ? can i have another chance to make it right ?

#riotvcn #answered #icb this is seeing the light of day LMAO #she once again said quantity over quality

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