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pastelwitchling · 3 years ago

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Malex happily ever after sequel to chapter 42.

***

Alex was slumped in his seat as he stared at his father’s statue outside the Crashdown. He realized too late that Kyle was talking to him.

“That’s why I’m getting married,” he was saying and Alex blinked.

“Sorry?” he said. “What?”

Kyle smiled, amused, like he’d known Alex wasn’t paying attention. He pushed Alex’s plate of pancakes closer to him. “I’m just glad you’re finally eating.”

Alex scoffed half-heartedly, picking up his fork with muscles that felt like lead, spreading the maple syrup around. “You make it sound like I’ve been starving myself.”

“Not on purpose,” Kyle said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “Stop looking at the damn thing, it’s just making your headaches worse.”

“I don’t have headaches,” Alex muttered, managing not to wince at the one that was beating at his temples now. “And I’ve told you already, I don’t need you to look after me.”

“I’m not looking after you,” Kyle defended. “Can’t I just grab breakfast with my best friend?”

“And make me lunch?” Alex drawled. “And drag me out of bed, and set alarms on my phone to take my medication, and – oh yeah, guilt Guerin into talking to me.”

“I already told you I was sorry about that,” Kyle tried. “The Guerin thing, not everything else, and could you blame me? You’re not okay, Alex.”

“I am okay.”

“You either sleep too much or not at all,” Kyle said, leaning in. “And you do forget your medication.”

“I don’t forget anything,” Alex said through gritted teeth, and silence descended on the booth with the heavy implication, a grim satisfaction to Kyle’s tight smirk. The smirk of a man who had just had his suspicions confirmed and hated it.

“So I was right,” he said. “You want to be in pain. Why?” he demanded. “Punishing yourself? Or punishing him?”

Alex sighed, setting down the fork. “Guerin doesn’t care what happens to me.”

“Alex, he came to see you –”

“Because you told him to, Kyle!” he snapped, and slumped, immediately exhausted. He shook his head. “The man I love, the only person I ever wanted, and the only one that ever meant anything to me . . . can’t stand being around me. I’m sorry if getting over it is a little harder than you want it to be.”

“Alex, Guerin loves you more than . . . than I’ve ever seen anyone love anybody,” Kyle said, then sighed. “I just think he doesn’t always know what to do with that.”

Alex shook his head. “Why are you defending him? I don’t even want to defend him.”

“That’s why,” Kyle said. “Because if it’s gotten bad enough up there” – he reached across the table and tapped Alex’s forehead – “that you can’t even admit you want to see Guerin, then someone has to call you out on it.” He lifted his plate and scraped his strawberries onto Alex’s plate, knowing they were his favorite. He must’ve sensed the conflict in Alex’s head because when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “You’re not you without the angry cowboy, Manes, and he’s angrier than ever right now. I think I know why. Do you?”

Alex clenched his jaw and looked back to the statue, unseeing. He swallowed thickly. “What will it take to get you to stop?” he said wearily. “What do you want me to do, Kyle?”

“I want you to do what I know you want to do,” he chuckled. “Talk to him.”

Alex hesitated at the corner to the junkyard, his grip tight on his steering wheel as he turned his head this way and that, trying not to think about what he was doing. But the truth was that Kyle’s concern for him alone was concerning. He had his own life, his job, his other relationships. No matter how much Alex insisted he was fine, how often he tried to go as far as kicking Kyle out, how many times he blatantly begged Kyle to stop worrying about him, his best friend was relentless.

This is for Kyle, he thought as he forced himself to press the gas pedal and turn into the auto shop. Right away, he spotted Michael in front of a truck, bent over the hood, looking like he was beating the engine with a wrench than actually trying to fix it.

He didn’t even look up as Alex stepped out of his car and walked up to him, stopping a good few feet away, arms crossed.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Michael called distractedly from where he was hidden. “If you’re looking to replace an engine, we’re booked until next week, so –”

“Guerin,” was all Alex said, and Michael lifted his head.

His face fell and he straightened. “Alex.”

Alex pursed his lips and looked down. He didn’t think he’d ever had such a hard time talking to Michael.

Michael looked around almost helplessly, waving the wrench in his hand as if trying to conjure something and not knowing what. “Y-You wanna sit or – or you want a beer or something?”

He smirked humorlessly. “You’re not the only one Kyle can guilt into showing up.” He watched as hurt filled Michael’s expression and almost regretted having said anything. Then he remembered that as much as it hurt, Michael really hadn’t thought to ask about him until Kyle dragged him down to the cabin.

As if remembering the place, Michael quietly said, “So you’re not staying at your place anymore?”

“The cabin is my place,” he said, and for some reason, was sure he’d seen Michael flinch. “I need the fresh air and . . . quiet right now.” He shut his eyes. “Look, I’m just here to ask you something, and I want the truth. Just the truth, Guerin, for once.”

Michael looked like he wanted to say something, then seemed to think better of it, and nodded.

Alex’s heart was hammering, and he swallowed, attempting to straighten his shoulders. The only defense he had right now for what he feared would come.

“Do you hate me?”

Michael stared. The wrench fell from his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What?”

He looked like someone had told him that Max or Isobel had died. Like he’d heard the worst.

Alex held his chin up. “D-Do you hate me? For what my family’s done?”

Michael stepped towards Alex. “You think . . . you think I hate you?”

Alex wasn’t backing down. “Yeah, I do.”

“Could you ever hate me?” Michael said, still eerily quiet. “For anything?”

Alex clenched his jaw. “You know the answer to that –”

“Then what the hell are you asking me, Alex?!” he demanded, and Alex flinched, stumbling back a step. Michael noticed and he fell to silence again, his lower lip trembling.

“Don’t do that,” Alex whispered. “I had to know, Guerin, I already know you’re mad at me for –”

“No,” Michael hissed, “Private, I’m just mad, and yeah, I hate your family, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re not theirs, you’re mine.”

“Stop it,” he breathed, turning away as his heart continued to hammer painfully. “I was at the cabin, remember? You couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

Michael said nothing for a long minute. Alex could feel him standing right behind him, and for a moment he had convinced himself that the body heat he could feel radiating off of him was enough, but then he felt Michael’s fingers against his lower spine, and he gasped shakily.

“I stayed away because I hate them, Alex,” he confessed, his lips dangerously close to the nape of Alex’s neck. “I hate them with everything I have . . . and I can’t stop hating them. I was scared that if you looked at me, all you would see was that anger and hatred, and . . . you’d see them. And I didn’t want you to be around them anymore.”

Alex whipped around, indignant. “So you just never came? You have any idea how long I waited for you?! You were supposed to be there, Guerin, I needed you there!”

“You did?” Michael whispered, but instead of looking upset or frightened at Alex’s tone, he was starting to smile, relieved, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was and didn’t dare to hope anything Alex was saying was real.

Alex shook his head, but when he spoke, his voice cracked. “You’re an idiot. You’re supposed to be a genius.”

“Not with you,” Michael’s smile widened as he grabbed Alex’s jacket collar, keeping him close. “Never with you.”

Before Alex could say anything else, Michael pulled him in kissed him. Alex couldn’t help but whimper against Michael’s lips and Michael groaned, swallowing the sound and wrapping an arm around Alex’s waist to press their bodies together.

Michael’s kiss wiped away any other trace of doubt he had. He kissed him like he had believed he would never get to again, like he never planned to let go. Like he loved him.

Then Alex smelled smoke and heard a hissing come from behind him. He broke away to look over his shoulder at his car. The smoke was coming out of the closed hood. Michael didn’t seem to notice or care as he leaned in to kiss Alex’s cheek instead, his jaw. He was starving for him.

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Did you just . . . break down my car?”

Michael stuck a hand up the back of Alex’s shirt, moving down to kiss his neck. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “And you couldn’t just say so?”

“I’m saying it now,” he murmured, biting a soft spot on Alex’s neck and making him moan. On top of it, Alex was too aware of Michael’s fingers on his back, his nails starting to dig in and turning Alex’s knees weak. “Besides, I’m not giving you the choice. You’re staying here. I’m taking care of you now.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex happily ever after #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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edenmemes · 4 years ago

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game of thrones (s2) starters

❝ two cups of wine? that’s not much at all. please, have another cup. ❞ ❝ you don't need to live your whole life taking commands from old men. ❞ ❝ what did you say? did you say i can’t? ❞ ❝ i will not fail you. ❞ ❝ i don't go serving some shit king who's only king because his father was. ❞ ❝ do you want to stop me? stop me. ❞ ❝ you must be their strength. ❞ ❝ i’ve been fighting far longer than you. ❞ ❝ ‘ how can a man be brave if he's afraid?’ ...that is the only time a man can be brave. ❞ ❝ you are the biggest liar i have ever met. ❞ ❝ we looked for you on the battlefield. you were nowhere to be found. ❞ ❝ i’ve been here, ruling the kingdoms. ❞ ❝ i could show you the streams to fish, the woods to hunt. ❞ ❝ we heard you were dead. ❞ ❝ power resides where men believe it resides. it's a trick, a shadow on the wall. ❞ ❝ you don’t even have the decency to deny it. ❞ ❝ we share a common enemy. ❞ ❝ brave? a dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats. ❞ ❝ aren’t you always so clever with your schemes and your plots? ❞ ❝ someone once told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. ❞ ❝ the king does not ask; he commands. ❞ ❝ loyal service means telling hard truths. ❞ ❝ i don’t like you. i don’t like your face. i don’t like the words oozing out of your mouth. ❞ ❝ if half an onion is black with rot, it's a rotten onion. a man is good or he is evil. ❞ ❝ a man without friends is a man without power. ❞ ❝ that’s twice i’ve warned you. ❞ ❝ no one can survive in this world without help. no one. / let me help you. ❞ ❝ i’ve never heard you hide from the truth. ❞ ❝ calling yourself king doesn’t make you one. ❞ ❝ you can’t avenge if you’re dead. ❞ ❝ these bad people are what i'm good at. out-talking them, out-thinking them. it's what i am. ❞ ❝ are you trying to frighten me with magic tricks? ❞ ❝ the histories won’t mention you but i will not forget. ❞ ❝ sometimes i wonder. if this is the price for what we've done, for our sins. ❞ ❝ it's hard to put a leash on a dog once you've put a crown on its head. ❞ ❝ wise men do not make demands of kings. ❞ ❝ it's like stepping into a dream you've been dreaming for as long as you can remember, and finding out that the dream is more real than your life. ❞ ❝ i'll remember it all until i die. rhat was the best day of my life. ❞ ❝ the more people you love, the weaker you are. ❞ ❝ it’s better to be cruel than weak. ❞ ❝ do it. all these bad people, they can’t stop you. forget about them. come with me. ❞ ❝ you're not the person you’re pretending to be. not yet. ❞ ❝ my place is by your side. ❞ ❝ would it be excessive of me to ask you to save my life twice in a week? ❞ ❝ i’ve gone too far to pretend to be anything else. ❞ ❝ you promise me these things, but you don’t know. none of us know. ❞ ❝ show me how you fight. ❞ ❝ leaving that battlefield was like being dragged off to prison. ❞ ❝ you’ll say nothing to anyone. do you understand? ❞ ❝ you can’t talk about it without blushing. ❞ ❝ i don’t need trust any longer. i don’t want it and i don’t have room for it. ❞ ❝ cleaner ways don’t win wars. ❞ ❝ i always hated crossbows. take too long to load ❞ ❝ i’m not questining your loyalty. i’m denying it’s existence. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to call me ‘your grace’ when no one’s around. ❞ ❝ you need to be careful. no one can know you’re here. ❞ ❝ this city stinks like dead bodies. ❞ ❝ where i come from, guests are treated with respect, not insulted at the gates. ❞ ❝ i’ll be silent as the grave. ❞ ❝ i understand you don’t like me, and while that saddens me greatly, i did not come here today seeking your affection. ❞ ❝ you know my family name. you have me at a disadvantage. ❞ ❝ a very small man can cast a very large shadow. ❞ ❝ what is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger. ❞ ❝ some say the beauty most desired is the beauty concealed. ❞ ❝ that’s exactly what they are - stories. ❞ ❝ keep out of sight. if things go wrong - you run. ❞ ❝ you want to rule? this is what ruling is. lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep. ❞ ❝ you might find it difficult to rule over millions who want you dead. ❞ ❝ you don’t know what i’m like. ❞ ❝ i’m not like most men. ❞ ❝ look around you. we're all liars here. and every one of us is better than you. ❞ ❝ i will love you from this day until my last day. ❞ ❝ i have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but the tales do not do you justice. ❞ ❝ you have a tender heart, just like your mother did your age. ❞ ❝ that’s a fine little blade. maybe i’ll pick my teeth with it. ❞ ❝ how do you sleep when you...have those things in your head? ❞ ❝ they’ll be singing songs about you as long as men have voices to sing. ❞ ❝ you should give me the reins. i’ve been on horseback for the past nine years. ❞ ❝ how unspeakable of me to go on and on, when all you want to do is rest. ❞ ❝ what you just did is punishable by death. ❞ ❝ tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t insult people that are bigger than you. ❞ ❝ the streets aren’t safe at night. ❞ ❝ i have come to love you from afar. ❞ ❝ would you like something for the pain? ❞ ❝ and who are you that i must bow so low? ❞ ❝ a lion still has claws and mine are long and sharp. ❞ ❝ i will keep you safe, my love. i promise you. ❞ ❝ asking me questions is bad luck. you’ll probably be dead soon. ❞ ❝ have you grown fond of me? is that it? ❞ ❝ knowledge is power. ❞ ❝ sometimes those with the most power have the least grace. ❞ ❝ how do you kill a dead man? ❞ ❝ i saw it in his eyes. hated me. he never met me before, but he wanted to hurt me. ❞ ❝ not very noble to accuse a lady of dishonesty. ❞ ❝ there’s nothing more sickening than a man in love. ❞ ❝ threaten me again and i will have you thrown into the sea. ❞ ❝ i am very good for keeping secrets for my good friends. ❞ ❝ i promised to protect them. promised them their enemies would die screaming. ❞ ❝ you’ve been having those dreams again. ❞ ❝ would you please shut up? you think you’re better than me. ❞ ❝ don’t trust anybody. life is safer that way. ❞ ❝ boil this for an hour and drink the tea. makes all your pain go away. ❞ ❝ it must be odd for you to be the disappointing child. ❞ ❝ you love your children. it’s your one redeeming quality / that and your cheekbones. ❞ ❝ nothing is worth what this will cost you. ❞ ❝ i thought they were going to kill me. ❞ ❝ i heard you suffered a terrible head wound. ❞ ❝ i know that our enemies hate each other almost as much as they hate us. ❞ ❝ do you understand we’re losing the war? ❞ ❝ wish i could stay and celebrate, but there is work to be done. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry for your loss. ❞ ❝ it’s just words to give us a little warmth at night. make us feel like we’ve got a purpose. ❞ ❝ death is boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world. ❞ ❝ i’m glad you’re not dead. ❞ ❝ more ravishing than ever. war agrees with you. ❞ ❝ i never thought i’d have reason to doubt your loyalty. was i wrong? ❞ ❝ only death may pay for life. ❞ ❝ smart people don’t find themselves in places like this. ❞ ❝ i will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that. ❞ ❝ do not speak to me like i’m a child. ❞ ❝ i want you to know what it's like to love someone, to truly love someone. before i take them from you. ❞ ❝ you may cover it up and deny it, but you have a gentle heart. ❞ ❝ there are times when i look at you and can’t believe you’re real. ❞ ❝ betray me, and you will wish you hadn’t. ❞ ❝ he who passes the sentence should swing the sword. ❞ ❝ gods help you. now you are truly lost. ❞ ❝ look around. you start thinking you know this place, it will kill you. ❞ ❝ i want you to curse and fight until your heart’s done pumping. ❞ ❝ they’ll never know what you’ve done. they’ll never know how you died. they won’t even know your damn name. ❞ ❝ you are a man without honor. ❞ ❝ does it give you joy to scare people? ❞ ❝ there’s been talk of other forces at work. dark forces. ❞ ❝ strike hard and true, or i’ll come back to haunt you. ❞ ❝ one day i pray you love someone. i pray you love them so much, when you close your eyes, you see their face. i want that for you. ❞ ❝ you are far too smart to think i will succumb to flattery. ❞ ❝ i had terrible dreams last night. i could not sleep until the sun was shining and the birds were singing. ❞ ❝ all my life i’ve been knocking men like you into the dust. ❞ ❝ you will not provoke me to anger. ❞ ❝ there are people who want to hurt me. ❞ ❝ i’m no ordinary woman. my dreams come true. ❞ ❝ i will take what is mine. with fire and blood, i will take it. ❞ ❝ you’re a sharp little thing, aren’t you? ❞ ❝ i always thought i was a brilliant liar. ❞ ❝ i’m yours and you are mine. ❞ ❝ you defend these men who insult you behind your back. ❞ ❝ we’ll stay warmer if we stay close. ❞ ❝ i would kill for you. do you know that? you’re mine. ❞ ❝ do you hear them out there? they want your head. ❞ ❝ you’re brave. stupid, but brave. ❞ ❝ don’t be afraid. i can take care of myself. ❞ ❝ a day will come when you think you're safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth. ❞ ❝ why do you hate me so much? have i ever harmed you? ❞ ❝ this will be my last war. win or lose. ❞ ❝ you're too smart for your own good. has anyone told you that? ❞ ❝ you have forsaken every vow you ever took. ❞ ❝ eny isn’t attractive. ❞ ❝ treat your oaths recklessly, and your people will do the same. ❞ ❝ they will all come to you, little lion, to rest a crown upon your head. ❞ ❝ the world is built by killers. so you'd better get used to looking at them. ❞ ❝ the gods have no mercy. that's why they're gods. ❞ ❝ your crimes are past forgiveness. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to leave you. ❞ ❝ if this is a dream, i will kill the man who tries to wake me. ❞ ❝ you talk about war as if you understand it. ❞ ❝ i don’t want your grief. i want my vengeance. ❞ ❝ what? what? why are you staring at me? ❞ ❝ you are the moon of my life. that is all i know and all i need to know. ❞ ❝ i’d say you possess above-average intelligence. ❞ ❝ i’ve been waiting all night. what is wrong? ❞ ❝ oh, are we friends now? ❞ ❝ never swung a sword before, have you? you look like a baby with a rattle. ❞ ❝ maybe i am dead and i just don’t know it yet. ❞ ❝ i’ve seen your face almost every day. and for that, i consider myself very, very lucky. ❞ ❝ the only way to keep the small folk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. ❞ ❝ i will pray for your safe return. ❞ ❝ this is the safest place we can be. ❞ ❝ the worst ones always live. ❞ ❝ i’ve never much liked my head, but i don’t want to see it removed just yet. ❞ ❝ your childhood must have been awful. ❞ ❝ who do you fight for? ❞ ❝ now you’re arguing just to argue. ❞ ❝ i hope you gave them quick deaths. ❞ ❝ you want me? here i am. ❞ ❝ the thing about you i find so interesting is absolutely nothing. ❞

#roleplay meme #roleplay starters #long post for ts /#rp meme

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im-whatchamccallit · 5 years ago

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Their S/O Forgives Them For Cheating//ATEEZ

(A/N: This was supposed to be out at 8pm but my family got a new kitten and I’ve been dealing with it so here is my Angsteez reaction/scenario that it a bit unedited :^))

Trigger warning, just in case: self/bodily harm, cheating

Hongjoong

Despite your blank face, eyes dull and staring straight through Hongjoong’s kneeling form in front of the sofa where you sat, he was a wreck. You’ve seen him cry on many occasions, but never like this: eyes red and puffy with never ending tears staining his cheeks until they dripped from his chin, nose runny and lips trembling as he let out sobs with a barely coherent ‘I’m sorry’ between them.

You were conflicted. You could feel your eyes burning with the desire to cry while your chest tightened in a mixture of sadness and rage, but your mind was littered with questions, specifically what you could have possibly done wrong. Hongjoong was no better, mentally preparing for you to walk away from him for good, but wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his face in your lap in hopes it’ll make you stay, knowing that possibility would be one in a million.

That is, until you spoke.

“I… I feel like I shouldn’t be with you if I’m not enough for you… But, after three years together, I just can’t see myself with anyone else.”

He thought you were crazy for even forgiving him, but he wasn’t going to take this second chance for granted. Scrambling to sit at your side without removing his arms from you, Hongjoong took a deep breath to finally speak to you properly.

“I don’t deserve you, at all, but I swear to you I’ll never fuck up like this again.”

Seonghwa

“What about him? Don’t you think he’s attractive?” Seonghwa said quietly to you, your body shrinking further into the bar’s booth, eyes following his hand to see a guy sitting just a few feet away. He was pretty cute, but nothing like Seonghwa.

You were uncomfortable being there, dressed like some heiress as your boyfriend tried to find someone for you to sleep with for the night. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t hurt by Seonghwa cheating on you for the past few weeks, you even went as far as to shatter his phone after finding the text messages, but did he really think you fucking someone else was the only solution? You loved him, which was more than obvious, so he should’ve known you’d never be able to willingly cheat with anyone.

“Seonghwa, I think I’m going to head home.” You said with a sigh, standing slowly to keep the already skin tight dress from exposing anymore of your body, Seonghwa following your lead as he eagerly rushed to your side.

“No! Baby, please, just pick anybody. It can be a kiss, you can fuck them in the middle of the room for all I care. I just need us to be even so we can put this behind us.”

You grimaced as you pushed past him and straight to the exit, ignoring the way he hurriedly ran after you and followed close behind as you walked down the street towards your shared apartment. Was he stupid or just insane? There was no “getting even” and, if he thought this was the only logical solution, you had to be the one to point out its flaws.

“(Y/n)-“

“You said anybody, right? Why don’t I just fuck San? Or Hongjoong?” You snapped, both of you coming to a stop as you turned to face him, his eyes wide at the question but jaw clenched in anger.

“That’s different. They’re like brothers to me.”

“So it would hurt you less if I fucked a complete stranger behind your back?”

The way he glanced away, trying to hide the rage he felt made you laugh bitterly.

“See, you don’t want me with anyone but you, yet made the stupid plan to choose someone I could sleep with to ease your guilty conscious.”

“If it’s with a stranger, it wouldn’t be as personal.”

“You cheated on me with a complete stranger and I took it very personal.”

Silence.

Finally, since this entire ordeal began, you watched as he broke down, his body shaking from ragged breathes and controlled sobs. Seonghwa took small steps towards you until your bodies were practically touching, his eyes finally meeting yours.

Seonghwa couldn’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else, but the hypocrisy of his actions made him put his pride aside just long enough for the idea to seem realistic enough. But now that you made it clear it was never going to work, he was back at square one: guilty, confused, and struggling for some kind of solution.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, or what I need to do, but I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything in this world. And I know I screwed up, but I’m willing to do anything because I need you, (Y/n/n).”

You couldn’t help but look away, eyes stinging with unshed tears as you realized you couldn’t keep up this façade any longer. No matter how angry you were, and how much you wanted to punish Seonghwa for what he’d done, you didn’t want to leave him either. And finally hearing some kind of remorse from him, was enough to make you drop the days long torture session.

“I wanted you to be honest and faithful to me. I love you to hell and back to the point that you have me wrapped around your finger, but I barely have any hold on you. And, even though I know you won’t ever be 100% mine, and that I can’t trust you as much as I used to, I can’t let you go either.”

You didn’t try to fight him off as he pulled you into a tight embrace, letting out a deep sigh of relief as he accepted your forgiveness, unsure of how he got so lucky after fucking up so bad.

Yunho

You had to admit, it felt like you were hit by a sledgehammer the way your eyes read over the Ateez groupchat, all of the boys shaming Yunho for sleeping with someone else, warning him that he had to tell you eventually. But it felt like a sledgehammer with spikes hit you as you stood before him, watching the gentle giant break down into loud sobs, the remorse on his face and lacing his voice causing your heart to ache.

Yunho wasn’t sure what got into him, or why he would do something so stupid, but he did it. It happened only two weeks ago but it played in his head every second of the day, tears forming in his eyes whenever you happily hugged him or told him how much you loved him. He felt like a monster.

“There’s nothing I can do to take back what I did, and I’m so sorry I was the one that did this to you. I don’t deserve to be with you. You deserve someone who won’t betray your trust.” You sighed as his large frame sank to the ground, kneeling at your feet with his forehead pressed to the wooden floor as he continued on with his apology.

“Yunho, stand up.” You said quietly, crouching slightly to grasp his arm and bring him back up, his tear stained face meeting yours immediately.

“You have to break up with me.” You wanted to roll your eyes, thinking he was a drama queen but you knew this was probably killing him inside, just as much as it was killing you. But, for some reason, you didn’t mind.

As soon as he was standing once more, you stood on your toes to cup his face, wiping a few stray tears before giving a soft smile.

“I’m not leaving you, but I’m not forgiving you right away either. We’re both feeling pretty shitty about it so why don’t we just talk this out before making any more decisions?”

In less than a second, you were consumed in a bear hug, your face being littered with random kisses and more tears. Your emotional giant of a boyfriend more than willing to take the opportunity to keep you with him.

Yeosang

“I’m so sorry.” Yeosang said, almost in an emotionless tone, but you can tell by the way his eyes glimmered he was holding back tears, tears he held since the very first time it happened three months ago.

It was a onetime thing, Yeosang knew that, but he slowly remembered she was a staff member for Ateez. Every time you’d come to visit him, his body would tense as she happily greeted you, secretly texting him that if you weren’t out of the picture, she’d tell you everything, so he beat her to it. But the silence you were giving him was making him rethink everything.

“(Y/n/n)…” He cautiously reached for your hand, shrinking away as you stood and headed towards the kitchen, his body instinctively following yours.

“You must be hungry. San told me you guys were learning a dance and it’s a lot difficult than usual so you barely take breaks.”

Your voice was steady and calm, almost as if you didn’t hear a word he said. But you were obviously out of it, grabbing ingredients that didn’t even go together and setting them on the counter. You felt Yeosang’s hand grab your wrist, stopping you from placing the bottle of paprika down.

“Baby, it’s 2 in the morning. We don’t need to eat. Can we sit back down and talk? Please?” His concerned stare was burning into the side of your face as you continued to look away from him, knowing that no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, he’d keep pressing to talk things through.

“You’re right, I think we should head to bed.”

His grip tightened as you tried to walk away, both of you slowly becoming more emotional as the seconds passed, your bottom lip being sucked into your mouth as you tried to hold back tears, Yeosang having a harder time to control his voice as he began to speak to you.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” The slight crack in his voice was enough to make you breakdown, but you didn’t want to.

You wanted this day, this night, this very moment to end. Almost as if it never happened.

“I love you, Yeosang. I know you want to talk but I can’t. I just want us to go to bed and forget all of this happened. I don’t care if we’re both hurting right now, I just want to sleep and wake up and look at you as if you’re the same person I met two years ago. Please.”

Yeosang swallowed hard, knowing that no matter how simple of a solution it was, it would only continue to eat away at both of you, but he also wanted to forget about everything. He slowly let his hand slip from your wrist into your own, lacing your fingers together tightly.

“Y-yeah. Let’s go to bed.”

San

San was extremely passionate, and maybe that’s why everyone was attracted to him. Maybe while you were away for a family vacation, he met a girl who was just as passionate as him and that’s why he cheated on you. But you also knew San was a very emotional person, so you asked a simple question as he stood across from you near the bedroom door frame, teary eyes wide as a small ‘huh’ left his lips.

“Did you love her?” You repeated.

It was a simple question, and all you needed to know before determining if this relationship was something you wanted to continue. You felt a bit foolish for asking it, not wanting to seem too hopeful that he’d profess his undying love for you, to say you were the sun in his universe, especially now knowing your warmth wasn’t enough for him.

But San thought the question was absolutely ridiculous. He was head over heels in love with you, to the point that everyone in the company called him a lovesick puppy. He almost thought it was stupid that you’d assume he’d be in love with some random girl he slept with a month ago, but then he realized he was the stupid one for sleeping with her while being in love with you. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend but, at this point, the title fit him perfectly.

“The only person I’ve loved and still love is you. What I did was a mistake, and sleeping with her was a mistake, but I can never be in love with anyone else the way I’m in love with you.”

His voice was so strong and certain, it distracted you from the way he easily moved closer to you, his arms wrapping around your waist and forehead pressing against yours. You didn’t want to cave in too easily, but the way your arms wrapped around his neck habitually, you both knew he was forgiven, your face falling into the crook of his neck as he let out a small sigh.

“Everything I’ve done, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Mingi

When he finally told you about the one night stand, sobbing uncontrollably, you stood on your toes and held his face in your hands, saying a simple ‘I forgive you’. You have no clue how it could have spiraled out of control this way.

Mingi was never one to get loud or violent, but the way he progressively got angrier when you reassured him that everything was fine made him snap.

Was this your way of punishing? He wanted you to scream at him, slap him, tell him how much you hated him. Anything to make you see this wasn’t how relationships should be, but you didn’t. He cheated on you, something he promised he’d never do and, even though you had every right to be upset, you weren’t. But that couldn’t stop him from being angry with himself. His logic was long gone as he began to punch the brick wall of your apartment, small flecks of blood dripping down his knuckles as he continued to harm himself, your eyes wide as it finally set in that he wouldn’t stop any time soon.

“Mingi, stop!” Even though you cries fell onto deaf ears, you ran towards him, grabbing his arms and pulling as much as you could until you managed to move the giant.

“You’re supposed to be upset with me! I’m not supposed to treat you like this! No one is supposed to treat you like this! Why are you pretending like everything is okay when it’s not?!”

“But it is, Ming-“

“No, it’s not!”

You continued to watch him cry, your eyes drifting to his bruised fist and gently taking it into your hands to examine it, finally letting the situation sink in. You knew this wasn’t right, but you knew the man Mingi was, and you knew he would still be that man once you overcame this obstacle.

“Mingi, I feel like I was just stabbed in the heart one million times and set on fire. You cheated on me. But I know you’d never do it intentionally to hurt me. We’ve been together for only a few months, and so many mistakes could happen in that time, but couples always work through them. So why can’t we?”

Mingi would only be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t relieved you forgave him, but his infidelity would be engraved in his mind for as long as you were together.

Wooyoung

You were a mess, but Wooyoung wasn’t letting you walk out, even as you thrashed in his arms and hit him, screaming that you wanted to be alone.

He ignored his own tears and sobs as he begged you to stay by his side and talk to him, unsure of where you’d go once he released you. Wooyoung made the mistake of sleeping with someone else not even an hour ago, his senses coming back and guilt immediately consuming him. Although he thought telling you immediately would be best, he didn’t think you’d react like this.

“Get off!”

“Not until you calm down and talk to me!”

“I don’t want to be near you! Get the fuck off!” You were exhausted and slowly starting to give up, uneven pants escaping your lips as you sobbed harder, sinking into his arms as you finally settled down.

“What did I do wrong?”

The small words that croaked out of your throat shattered Wooyoung’s heart. You did nothing wrong, yet you were blaming yourself. If he knew you’d be putting the blame on yourself from all of this, he probably would have never told you.

Instead of responding, he slowly carried your bodies to the nearby sofa, sitting down and allowing you to curl into his lap, your face buried in his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. It took some time, three hours to be exact, until you stopped crying, eyes blankly staring ahead as Wooyoung cleared his throat, not sure of where to begin.

“I know you’re mad at me,”

“I am.” The corner of his lips twitched slightly as he was glad to hear your voice.

“And I know things won’t be like they were before, but I just want us to be okay. You don’t have to forgive me right away, or at all, but I just don’t want to keeping going on as if I didn’t hurt you.”

You slowly pushed yourself up to look at him. You still looked beautiful to him despite the deep circles under your bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t know why you did it, Woo… And I don’t know why I still trust you either. But I think we can work through this. I want to work through this.”

Wooyoung’s body sank into the uncomfortable cushions in relief, holding you closer than before as he shut his exhausted eyes.

“Thank you.”

Jongho

You stared incredulously at Jongho as he spoke, unsure if he was serious or not as he admitted to his infidelities, the stoic expression he held almost inapplicable to his words. But whether you could see it or not, he was repentant. He could hear his voice breaking ever so slightly, his hands shaking as he replayed that night in his head over and over, a new wave of guilt and sadness washing over him as he felt the need to cry just as he did then. But he wanted to be the one to comfort you when hearing the news, not the other way around.

But you weren’t buying it.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to piss me off or make me laugh, because we both know you’d never do something like that.” You chuckled.

“Why would I lie about this?!” And here was his breaking point.

You watched in shock as his dry eyes glossed over with tears, his lips trembling as he watched your expression go from shock to absolute horror.

“No…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen and I don’t know what came over me! She came onto me but I can’t put all the blame on her because I went along with it. But I cried so much, (Y/n). I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much I fucked this up and I have no idea what to do.” He confessed, taking a deep breath from his rant as he blinked away the few tears that haven’t fallen, the rest being sloppily wiped away by his palms.

You could only stare at him, unsure of what to feel as you took in his true demeanor. He was never like this so it was obviously true, but he was never the kind of person to cheat either. You were both confused, but not equally distraught. Jongho was so lost in his own head that he didn’t notice you approaching him, your fingers combing through his hair as he tried to cleanse his mind of how he destroyed a perfect year long relationship for a fling.

“I’m not sure who the guy that cheated on me was, but it wasn’t my Jongho.”

“How can you still joke after all of this?” He said with a weak laugh, causing a small smile to grace your face.

“Because, even though what you did was wrong, and I am hurt by it, seeing you like this just reminds that you’d never do it again.”

“Of course I won’t. I won’t be stupid next time.”

He sat up a bit more so that he could hug you properly, his head finding its place in your neck as he let out a small ‘I love you’, but you couldn’t find yourself to say it back. Not yet. And he could accept that.

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threads-of-trust · 4 years ago

Note

robot.. hooker..?

“Oh my fucking god-! Ivy! That fucking robotic bitch!” Miu spat at you, looking beyond annoyed that you needed an explanation. She walked straight over to said girl’s lab and began banging on the door with her fist as loudly as possible. “Open up, you emotionless cunt!”

Ivy was rounding a nearby corner, on the way to her lab. It was rather strange, seeing Miu banging on the door. “...since when were you so interested in seeing my lab, Miu?”

Miu turned her head, gritting her teeth at the fact she just looked like an idiot banging on the door with nobody home. “Fuck your lab! I’m looking for you.” She hissed, stomping over and practically shoving her tablet in Ivy’s face, pressing the play button as all-too-familiar images flashed over it. “What the fuck is this!? And why are you trying to hide it, huh!?” She demanded.

Ivy’s eyes went wide. “...what...? They...they got footage of Æsir-Fest?! No, there’s no way. That happened in my world! Since when could-!” Ivy cut herself off, realizing what could’ve happened. Her hands clenched into fists. “...my memories. My fucking memories. They went through them. Probably Vanessa’s, too. It’s the only explanation.” She groans in frustration, turning away from Miu, letting her hands relax. “...I hid that information because it holds no relevance in this world. Why talk about something that technically didn’t even happen?”

“I don’t care what god damn multiverse it happened in! You got a shit load of people killed, do you get that!? People died! Because of you! You-! You might as well be labeled a mass murderer!” Miu growled, her anger growing now that Ivy wasn’t looking at her. “What!? You don’t like hearing the truth? Look me in the eyes, you fucking coward!”

“You think I did that just to hurt people!? Miu, you clearly don’t know me very well. I hate hurting people. Æsir-Fest was meant to collect a large amount of data about emotions in a short amount of time. I didn’t know the side effects until it had already took place! How was I supposed to know taking memories from people in virtual reality would do that to people?!” Ivy turned back around sharply, grabbing Miu’s collar and pulling her close. “Don’t you dare call me a fucking coward. I spent years trying to save Vanessa. I broke into high-security buildings, stole highly confidential data, and gave my own life in the process. You? You’re just as broken as I am. Putting up masks to hide your own faults, your insecurities. We both did things that we regret. The only difference is: I’ve already experienced the downfall. Perhaps that’s why we both got each other’s secrets.”

“You-!!” Miu shrunk at being yanked forward by the collar, wanting to cower but pushing through. Her eyes shrunk with panic at Ivy’s last sentence, pulling herself away violently and stumbling while doing so. “You already experienced the downfall...? Meaning I haven’t, h-huh?” She forced a strained laugh out. “I went into a coma. I ruined-! I hurt... you think I don’t sit here and think about how I hurt him!? You think I don’t blame myself!? Is that not punishment enough!? I work harder than anyone else to make up for it every fucking day. Just because I don’t have blood on my hands, doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer, you stuck up bitch!” She yelled, but it’s easy to see tears forming in her eyes, just from the thought of someone knowing her secret.

Ivy tilted her head. “Oh? Are you truly without blood on your hands? Hm.” She let go of Miu’s collar, reaching into her hoodie and pulling out the video she got. Holding it out for Miu to take. “You know, I initially thought you wouldn’t remember. At least...not to the level of detail that I saw. Your reaction, however...well, let’s just say I’m not terribly sure now.” She forced a smile for a moment, before sighing, finding the effort unnecessary. “...I don’t hate you, truthfully. I never did, and I probably never will. I’ve never been able to really...stay angry at anybody for very long. Don’t really know why.”

Miu tumbled back in a huff at being released, snatching away the video and throwing it on the ground with all her might. It didn’t shatter, it hardly did anything actually, the videos were near indestructible. Which only made the inventor more angry. “It’s the only fucking thing I remember from being a kid! That it’s my fault, right!? That I caused the stupid fucking crash! W-What the fuck was I supposed to do, huh!? He was drunk! H-He handed me the keys! I-I... I was only a kid!! I didn’t know how t-to drive or what to do! It’s my fucking fault, no matter what anyone says! I could’ve p-prevented it if I was just-! If I’d-!” She shook like a leaf in a storm while yelling and trying to stomp the video into pieces. “I gotta get out of here, I have to. I-I haven’t made it up to him yet! I can’t fucking die here. I-I won’t-!” She proclaimed with a shaky voice.

Ivy watched as Miu tried to destroy the video, only to suddenly step on the tablet between her stomps and kick it backwards, away from Miu. "...Miu, I get it. I feel the same way over Æsir-Fest. We both did things we regret. Not a moment goes by without me...thinking about what I could've done differently." She turned around, moving to pick up the tablet and stow it away in her hoodie. “Grief is...a strange thing, isn’t it? The way it takes on different forms, with different causes... well, it certainly intrigues me.”

“Can you act like a normal person for five fucking seconds? I’m having a g-god damn breakdown!” Miu sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “Grief isn’t interesting, it’s miserable, you wignut! How am I supposed to trust you now? I don’t even what you are. You’ll take my m-memories for your stupid Fuck-Fest too, won’t you..?” She asked, naturally aggressive but more vulnerable with her words now.

“Miu, I have no need for that anymore. The emotion samples were for Vanessa. She’s perfectly fine now. Æsir-Fest wasn’t the goal, it was a means.” Ivy sighs, making her way towards her lab. “And honestly? I don’t expect anyone to trust me. When you’re a robot who’s been infiltrating human society for over five years, trust has a steep price. Normalcy is a luxury.” She opens the door to her lab. “...I have a sculpture to finish. If you wish to speak to me again, you can wait for me in the lobby. Unlike Aditi, I can’t exactly drown my sorrows in alcohol.”

“......” Miu looked out off by her emotions being so thoroughly dismissed. What else should expect from a robot? Even Pixel acted this way at times, despite the emotions function she added onto her. Ivy wasn’t any different. And now, the inventor looked like a fool for trying to confide in her. She glared at the ground before turning her back and huffing. “Whatever. Go carve your fucking ice, I guess. It’s fine... what the fuck ever...” She scoffed before walking off, completely red in the face and indignant.

“...” Ivy didn’t respond, softly closing the door behind her as Miu walked away. She sighed, taking off her hoodie and hanging it up on a convenient hook near the door, before leaning against the door, letting herself slide down to the floor. Something definitely struck a nerve...

#🛠miu iruma: ultimate inventor💖#❄ivy: ultimate ???💻#✉woven messages: ask🧵#🎭frayed threads: anonymous❓

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johaerys-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 29: In Water Waist Deep

Peace is found when you least expect it. In the midst of chaos, there is quiet. In the darkest of places, the light shines the brightest. The wind moves the slowest in the eye of the storm.

Read here or on AO3! [Read from the beginning]

*****************

“I see you’ve found your way back home.”

Tristan returned his mother’s scrutinizing gaze levelly, straightening where he stood. Her dark brown hair, streaked with grey at the temples, was already brushed and pinned up, the blue dress she was wearing crisp, freshly pressed. Her lips a straight line, her features placid, as if carved in stone. Nelly was dressed in her usual grey dress, her white apron fastened around her waist, head bent over the stove. She averted her eyes as soon as their gazes mate, returning to stirring tea leaves in the pot. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Tristan forced a nonchalant spring to his step as he peeled off his damp coat and tossed it on a chair before him. “I’d say I’m glad I’m back, but I’d be lying.” He walked around the table, and only then did he notice the three fully armed guards standing by the door. His steps faltered just a hair. Why the Void were there guards at the door? Inside the kitchen? What was -

No. He wouldn’t give his mother the satisfaction of seeing his confusion. He made his way to the cupboards, studiously avoiding glancing at the guards as he rummaged through them.

“You’ve been gone for two days. Two days of debauchery, I’m sure, and Maker knows what else.” Mother waited for a moment, tongue held tightly behind her teeth as she studied him. “You were supposed to be at the Trenwith estate yesterday evening.”

Tristan winced inwardly. He’d entirely forgotten about that. He opened a dark brown jar, sniffing its content. Raisins. “Evidently, I had better things to do.” He placed the jar back in the cupboard and reached for another. “Debauching one’s self requires a great deal of dedication, you know.”

Mother huffed in contempt. “Have you any idea how humiliating it was, waiting for you for hours, having to make up excuse after excuse only for you to never show up? Lady Trenwith and her daughter were appalled. You made a mockery of both myself and your sister. And yourself, of course, yet I hardly believe you care about that anymore.”

Tristan didn’t doubt he had brought them to an uncomfortable position. Mother had done her best to arrange that blasted meeting. The Trenwiths were far lower in the social ladder than the Trevelyans- Blight, they had only started being invited to the Teyrn’s Grand Ball but a decade before- but after the fiascos with the Carruthers and the Cardews, most other houses had withdrawn their proposals. He was far from an eligible bachelor now, if he ever was. That was all well, as far as Tristan was concerned, yet he still regretted not going to the meeting. He had no intention of making a good impression on the Trenwiths or anyone else, of course, but opportunities to embarrass his mother were becoming harder and harder to come by. Oh, well. He would have to settle for petty jabs, then.

“You don’t say,” he drawled in an uninterested tone. “Must have been devastating for you.”

He sensed her bridling at his mocking tone, her eyes gliding over him in contempt. “Have you even bothered to glance at yourself in a mirror?”

Tristan let out a huff as he reached for another jar. He opened it slowly, fishing out a biscuit. “No. Have you? You look terrible. Perhaps a drink or two might do you some good.”

Mother’s nostrils flared. “Have you nothing at all to say for yourself?”

“Oh, I have plenty.” He leaned against the counter, chewing, the large jar nestled under his arm. Her glare was so sharp it might have flayed him on the spot, but he refused to lower his eyes. He flashed her a tight smile. “I am hungry, tired, and in dire need of a bath. Thirsty, too. Nelly, fetch me a cup of tea, will you?”

Nelly, who was pouring tea in Mother’s cup, froze where she was. She glanced uneasily at the other woman, whose hands were balled into fists at her sides. “My lord,” she muttered, turning around for a new cup, when Mother’s voice stopped her.

“Ellen, stay where you are.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, reaching for another biscuit. “What does one have to do to get a cup of tea in his own house?”

“Your insolence, Tristan, knows no bounds,” Mother uttered tightly, weariness creeping into her voice. “I’ve had enough of you humiliating yourself and dragging our family name through the mud.”

“If someone is humiliating themselves, Mother, that would be you. Denying your son a cup of tea. What’s next? Are you going to make me brew my own tea? Whatever will good society say?” He shot her a perplexed frown, popping the last of his biscuit in his mouth.

Mother’s lips were pinched bloodless when she glanced at the guards by the door. She took in a deep breath, straightening up even more. Stark and stiff under the stark and stiff fabric of her dress. “I have spoken with Revered Mother Adalene in the Wildervale monastery. You are to be taken there today. As soon as you arrive, you’ll start training as a Templar.”

Tristan’s blood froze in his veins. He blinked, blinked again, his breath growing shallow. He must have misheard. Surely, that was it. “The Templars? Are you mad?” he said, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old for that?”

Mother’s lips tightened. “The Revered Mother agreed to make an exception for you. On account of your circumstances.”

His gaze flicked to the guards, who had now shifted into position. “I- is this a joke? Are you joking?” “I have tried to talk with you, Tristan. Reason with you. You refuse to listen.” She shook her head slowly, a frown darkening her features. She almost managed to look remorseful. “Perhaps the Templars will succeed where I have failed.”

“Reason?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. Anger rushed like an avalanche past his numbing disbelief. “When have you ever tried to reason with anyone? Ordering people about, you mean - that’s more like it. Is there anybody whose life you haven’t tried to exert your power upon? Something you haven’t tried to control?”

“Is that what you think this is about? Control?”

“You’re about to ship me off to the Templars simply because I refuse to do your bidding,” Tristan spat, setting the jar back on the counter with a thud. “Is that my punishment for wanting to live my life as I see fit? For not wanting to be mated off like- like cattle?”

“Tristan Remy Trevelyan,” she enunciated, fixing him with a hard glare, “it is your duty to behave in a way that befits your station and your name. It is all of our duty to do what we must to preserve the status of this family. You should know this, better than anyone.”

“So my options are, what- either do as you say, or go to the Templars?”

“If you put it this way, then yes. These are precisely your options.”

“In that case, then,” he replied, dusting crumbs off his fingers as he pushed himself upright, “fuck my duty. And, most importantly, fuck this family.”

A stunned silence fell in the wide room. Nelly’s mouth fell slightly agape before she brought her hand over it. Mother flinched visibly only for a quick moment before she regained her composure. “How dare you use that sort of language in this-”

“I’ll use whatever language I damn well please,” he snarled. “It’s not like I belong here anymore, eh? I think I stopped belonging a long time ago. in fact, I’ve been wondering what took you so long to finally show me the door. That seems to be your specialty with anybody that displeases you.”

“Tristan.” Just that. His name. A warning. Tristan could see the tendons in her neck tensing as she watched him, her jaw clenching.

“Yes, that’s what you’re good at,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Kicking out anybody that dares to cross you. Tossing people in the street once you’ve decided they’re not worth your gold. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?” Tristan's nails dug deep into his palms. Mother kept watching him, unblinking. They both knew what he was about to say, but she made no move to stop him. The challenge in her gaze was unmistakable. Tristan took a shaky breath. “It’s what you did to Sten Kaylen and his family. Isn’t it? And for what?” His throat was burning, rage and grief choking him until he could scarcely breathe. “Just because their son was unfortunate enough to get involved with me?”

Mother’s eyes widened, an idea of a flush creeping up her cheeks. Her eyes darted to the guards before settling on him again. “Tristan,” she started, “for the last time-”

“Abel,” Tristan turned to one of the guards behind him, “you remember Podrick, don’t you? Tall, black hair, worked at the stables? He trained that brown gelding you always take when you go to town on errands. And you, Hans. You’ve been to the Crandock estate. You’ve met Sten Kaylen and his wife. Good people. Honest people. Hard working. And now- Void knows where they’ve ended up now. All because Pod and I-”

“Stop this,” his mother hissed. “Stop this at once. Do not speak that name in my-”

“I loved him.” The sudden declaration startled even him. He could feel all eyes in the room piercing him like arrows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was way beyond caring. He stood tall, holding his ground, meeting his mother's gaze levelly even as his eyes filled and overflowed. Maker, one year. One entire year since he’d seen him last, and the pain was as astringent now as it had been then. All the brandy and whisky in the world wasn’t enough to numb it, and Void take him if he hadn’t tried. Tried to drown himself in that makeshift oblivion, day after day, hoping that when he got washed up on the other side, it would all be gone. That he would somehow wake up one morning and everything would be but a distant dream.

So much for hoping.

He angrily scrubbed at his tears, glaring at her. “I loved him,” he said again, “and you punished him for it. Punished us both. Wasn't it enough for you to know that you have the power to ruin my own life? Did you really have to ruin his as well?”

“You forced my hand.” His mother looked back at him defiantly. She didn’t seem to care about the guards behind them anymore. Everyone had known about it all along, but now that it was finally out in the open, she clearly saw no reason to dance around it. Never one to mince words, Esme Trevelyan. “You can play the victim all you like, but don’t you ever deny your part in this. Consorting with a commoner? A stable hand?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “It could never lead anywhere, and you knew it. Yet you kept at it. The scandal your actions have procured is enough to last us a lifetime. If you ever thought of anybody but yourself, you could see how your antics reflect on the reputation of our family, that of your own sister-”

“I’m the one who thinks only of myself? Me? When have you ever thought about anybody but yourself and your bloody reputation?” He wiped his nose on his shoulder, fixing her with a narrowed eyed glare. “You can’t stand anybody to be happy, can you?”

“Happiness has nothing to do with one being loyal to their family and their duty,” Mother said sharply, proudly. “I never let that influence my actions, and neither should you.”

“As if everything you’ve done has been for duty and loyalty,” he spat, packing as much derision as he could into the words. “You know nothing about loyalty. You’re just hateful and miserable and alone, and you want everybody else to be miserable and alone as well-”

“That is enough.” His mother’s voice was cold and harsh. “I have had enough. This stops now.”

With a quick nod from her, the guards pounced on him, quick, grabbing him by the arms. Tristan blinked, stunned for a moment before he fought back. “Hey! Let go!” He tried to yank his arm away, but it was no use. The more he writhed, the firmer the hold of the guards on him grew. Their strong fingers dug into his muscles through the fabric of his doublet, keeping him in place. He grunted and swore under his breath, twisting and writhing. “Let go of me, Maker damn you-”

Nelly took a tentative step towards his mother. “My lady, please,” she said, holding the edges of her apron in a white-knuckled grip. “They’re hurting the boy.”

“He isn’t a boy.” Her gaze on him was steel gliding over ice, stone grinding against iron; cold. Unrelenting. “He’s a man grown. And soon he will learn to act as one.”

“For fuck’s sake-” He scowled at his mother, his face twisted in outrage, sweat gathering underneath his collar. “If Father were still alive, he’d never have let this come to pass. He would have stopped it. He would have stopped you-”

“I’m glad Eric isn’t here.” Mother’s lips were pressed in a line, her voice barely above a whisper. Tristan thought he saw her fingers trembling only slightly before she gripped the back of her chair. “I am glad. He would have died of shame if he saw what has become of you.”

Her words stabbed him like a dagger in the gut. “Father would never have been ashamed of me,” he growled, although it sounded like a strained sob to his ears. He clung to that statement, as if it were a lifeline. Someone, he told himself, there must be someone in his life other than Tilly that didn't see him as a disappointment. Even if that someone had been gone for so many years, Tristan could barely bring his countenance to mind.

He brushed the hurt away, focused on the anger. Anger was easier. He grabbed it, held it, let it flood him to the brim.“Father would have understood. He wasn't like you. He was better than you, far better-”

"What's going on?"

Tilly was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, staring at them all in confusion. She was still in her nightdress, her long, flaxen hair caught in a braid, her brows gathered in a frown that creased her high forehead. "Mother, what is going on?"

"Ottilie," Mother said slowly, "go back to your room."

"I most certainly will not. Not until someone tells me what is happening."

Hope fluttered in Tristan’s chest. If anyone could bring their mother back to her senses, that was Tilly. "Mother wants to send me to the Templars," he grunted, panting as he tested the grip of the guards on him and found it unyielding.

"She what?" Tilly's eyes widened in shock. When she fixed them on Mother, they were molten steel. "You cannot be serious."

"Ellen, escort Ottilie back to her room."

"Are you not listening to me? I said I'm not going anywhere!" She stepped towards the guards, standing before Tristan like a protective barrier. “Let him go. Let go of him at once.”

“Ottilie,” their mother started, “this doesn’t concern you.”

Tilly spun on her heels, her chin squared and tilted high, pride and fire and ice in the flesh. She crossed her arms before her chest, regarding the other woman levelly. "If he goes to the Templars, I go with him."

Mother stayed silent for a long moment. Her mouth tightened before she spoke. "Hart, take Ottilie back to her room. Abel, Paul. You know what to do."

"Don't you dare move!" Tilly commanded, putting all her authority into her voice. She raised her hand.

The air thickened, snow and ice engulfing the room like a thick blanket. He could hear the guards yelling, Nelly screaming as she grabbed and pulled Mother out of the room, but couldn’t see. Couldn’t discern a single form amidst the tumult. A strong wind whirled and howled, like they were all standing at the top of a mountain. Shards of ice crushed against the glass windows, shattered, covering the ground in a million glittering particles.

When he blinked his eyes open again, ice covered every inch of the space. Snow glittered on the wide work table, the boiling water in the pot on the stove had turned to ice, stalagmites had formed on the edges of the counter. The guards were lying on the floor behind him, unmoving. Nelly and Mother were still huddled outside the room, trembling. Tilly was standing in the middle of the room, pale as a sheet. Swaying lightly, like a flag in the center of open space.

Tristan’s breath misted before his lips as he pushed himself upright, staggering towards her. It was cold, so cold- freezing. He shivered as he stood before her. She glanced at her hands, then at the men lying on the floor before her gaze met his. At that moment, they both knew.

“Tris,” she whispered, voice raw and hoarse before it cracked.

I’m sorry, his mind screamed. Forgive me, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. He reached out to her, gathering her in his arms. “It’s alright. It's alright.” He smoothed his palm down her hair, patted her back, spoke soothing words to her, like he used to do when they were children. “It’s going to be alright, Till. I promise. I promise.”

He held her close as she trembled. Closer still as the ground tilted and shifted underneath him once more, as the memory faded, soft and fuzzy around the edges, like fresh cotton and frayed linen. He finally let his arms fall when he was holding nothing but emptying air.

“The Templars took her after,” Cole said softly, his voice barely a whisper. It should have felt like an accusation, but it didn’t. It was merely a statement, a simple acknowledgement of a turn of events.

“They did,” Tristan replied, just as simply. The memory still clung to his skin like ash on his fingertips. No matter how hard he’d tried to brush it off, it refused to go away. It was part of him, as surely as his beating heart was. “They didn’t waste a moment.”

Damn them. Maker damn them all. So often had he said those words, whispered them under his breath, that they felt etched on his tongue. The Templars standing tall before her, placing the shackles on her wrists, as if she were a criminal. At the door of the carriage, she had turned to look at him. Not the manor, not their mother, not Nelly. Him. Her eyes red and darkened by weariness, her features bereft of all colour, awash in the harsh light of an unforgiving dawn.

“They all blamed me,” he said, to no one in particular. “They all talked, the way people do. Said I'd attacked her, forced her to use magic to protect herself. Never to my face, oh, no, not even Mother, but I could see it still.” He could still remember the stray looks his way when they saw him in the street after Tilly had been taken, the gossip that inevitably reached his ears. No one had forgotten his blunders or that one drunken outburst of his at Lord Penwith’s dinner party, the reason to which entirely eluded him right then. Or that other time, at Lady Bolitho’s Wintersend Ball, where he’d had that heated argument with his mother in front of Count Angove and his daughters, and Tilly had had to drag him away and put him in a carriage back home. Or that other time...

He scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing, pushing the memories back, further back. A drunken fool. A disgrace. Ostwick’s laughing stock. “That’s why I wanted to get her out,” he whispered, bitterness carving a hole in his stomach. “For her, yes, but for me as well. So that I could prove, once and for all, to myself, to her, to the world that I was more. More than what they thought of me. More than what I thought of myself. That there was still-” he paused, clearing his throat when his voice cracked “-still hope for me. For her, too.”

Hope. What a ridiculous notion it had seemed to him, after. After they’d received that letter, with the Ostwick Circle sign embossed on the front of the envelope. A compassionate note claiming that after a difficult battle with a demon, his sister had finally succumbed to possession, and her Templar guardian had been obligated to take action. Mother had had to pull all strings remaining to her for the Chantry to allow for a proper burial. He could still see the suspicious glances at the funeral, hear the words spoken through tight lights and behind spread fans. A mean and violent drunk, many would say when they thought he was out of earshot. Pushed her down the stairs, he did, some would whisper, sipping on their wine. Poor Esme, all would sigh. To lose one child to magic and another to his own vices. All of them, watching with keen interest, waiting for the Trevelyan bloodline to crumble and expire with him.

“Whispers, winding, whirling, white-winged winter wrens,” Cole said quietly beside him. “Words hurt as much as stones. More.”

Tristan took a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut when he felt them burning. “I told you there would be no peace to be found here,” he told Cole, not quite able to keep the harshness from his voice. “This has been-” he brushed the corners of his eyes between forefinger and thumb, “- a waste of time.” A waste. Maker. All his life, all of it- why the hell was he still there? Why was he not waking up?

“There’s more to the thread.” Cole’s voice was soft, like an early morning breeze. “It’s not over yet. It’s only just begun.”

Tristan let out a long sigh, stealing himself. He didn’t want to continue- anything but, anything at all- yet there was no other way. He knew it. He had to leave this place somehow. The silence that had fallen around him was deafening. Enough to make his ears bleed. He took a few steps forward, slowly, with effort, like wading through water waist deep. Watched as the last of the light dimmed and faded.

The memories were cold like the sea in midwinter when he dove in headfirst.

“I left soon after,” he said, talking his way past the initial shivers. “There was nothing for me here, not anymore. Not with her gone.” A change of clothes, Tilly’s small looking glass, Tristan de Lydes, as much gold and jewellery as he could safely carry. A handful of dried figs and roasted walnuts for the road. Nelly’s hushed sobs as they said their last farewells by the kitchen door.

“Hwegen,” she wept over and over. “Oh, hwegen.” There was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do.

****

Time rushed past him, a blur. A drunken haze. Markham, Wycome, Hercinia, Ansburg, an estate a few miles south of Starkhaven that he could barely recollect how he’d found himself in. Always one step ahead of the bounty hunters his mother sent after him. Pub after pub, cup after cup, Wicked Grace tables sticky with dried ale. Emptiness. That vast, unending emptiness. The absence that was soon filled with bitterness and rage. That same scorching fire turning to ice. Whisky, ale and brandy to make it thaw and melt, more to keep him under. Drowning, sinking, deeper, faster. More. No thoughts. No memories. They had to be culled, severed, burnt at the stake. Ripped from him. No home, no name, nothing to call his own. No one. He was no one. No one at all.

*******

The smell of fish and ship tar from the docks nearby wafted through the half open window of the tavern. A haggard elven waitress was wiping down a table, while the only other patron was sleeping with his head resting on the bar counter. He had the right idea, Tristan thought. His own head was so heavy, he could have easily done the same. Just to rest his eyes for a bit. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in days, and that cheap, acidic brew that passed for brandy around these parts was not helping.

He downed his drink, wincing with the sour aftertaste. Kirkwallers wouldn’t know proper brandy if it kicked them right between the eyes.

“Barkeep,” he croaked, raising his mug. “More brandy.”

The man eyed him warily as he wiped down a mug with a cloth second in grime only to the floor. “I’ll need to see some coin from you first.”

Tristan scoffed and rolled his eyes, reaching in his coat for his coin purse. Cursed under his breath when he found it missing. Someone must have snatched it off him at that dice table in Lowtown. Maker damned Kirkwall and those thrice damned street urchins-

He carefully withdrew his arm from his pocket and flashed the barkeep a smile he hoped was winning. “How about a very small cup, then?”

The night air stank of murky sea water and rotting fish guts when he was thrown out into the street by the bar’s guard. At least the stocky Rivaini had had the courtesy of letting him go with a blow to the side of the head and a warning instead of trying to stick a knife between his ribs. He glanced at the muddy streets that extended beyond the bar, and that would likely serve as his bed for the night, and let out a soft sigh. His back wouldn’t thank him for it come the morrow, that was certain.

He raised his coat collar as he walked down the crowded, dimly lit streets, his gaze flicking past the deals that were taking place at every corner. Drugs, weapons, poisons; whatever it was you were looking for, you could probably find it at one of the Docks’ corners. At good prices, too, all things considered.

He leaned against a wall, fishing in his inner pocket for his pipe. Lit it with his flint and dagger, took a long draught. Sighed when he felt the tension slowly melting off his shoulders, his headache subsiding somewhat. The moldac was hot and sweet as it glided down his throat. Smoking leaf laced with the barest hints of opium, smuggled from the Anderfels; he’d won it off a sour-faced Starkhavener at Wicked Grace a while back and had soon taken a liking to it. His head was still heavy from the blow and the cheap liquor, but at least it was in the right place now.

“Five sovs,” he heard a man saying at a nearby corner.

“Five?” the other asked incredulously. “It was only four last time!”

The first man shrugged. “Mage war’s bad for trade. Got to make ends meet.”

“Andraste’s holy knickers.” A short huff, the scruff of fabric as hands dug into pockets for the required amount. “Is it decent this time, at least? The last one you gave me was diluted. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Listen, mate,” the dealer snapped, “my stuff’s the best in Kirkwall, straight from the dwarves in Kal-Sharok. You don’t like it, you can go back to Ostwick and beg outside the Chantry for a dose, for all I care.”

Ostwick? Kal-Sharok? Tristan’s ears pricked up. What was the man buying? Drugs? Poison? But what did the Chantry have to do with it? Unless...

The light blue vial that shone momentarily in the man’s palm before he shoved it in his pocket could only be one thing. Lyrium. A Templar. From the Ostwick Circle, possibly. Tristan’s hackles rose in a flash, his pulse quickening. Could it be? Was it a sign?

Before he could rightly say what he was doing, he had pushed off the wall, doggedly following the man through the dark, twisting alleys.

With his cheek pressed firmly against the wall and Tristan's dagger at his throat, the Templar made a pretty sight.

"I don't know anything more," the man whimpered. "I swear I've told you everything I know-"

“So. Let me get this straight. There was an uprising in the Ostwick Circle and your Knight Captain decided to simply execute the mages he thought had started it. No imprisonment, no trials, no intervention from the Chantry. You expect me to believe that?” The man nodded, trembling.

Tristan’s stomach tightened. If what the Templar had said was true, it changed everything he’d known about Tilly’s death. Everything the Chantry had told them. She hadn’t been possessed by a demon, she hadn’t failed to pass a bloody test, she hadn’t been tested by the Knight Captain and a Revered Mother and found to be “beyond hope of recovery”. She was cut down, slaughtered like- like an animal. His hand holding the dagger was trembling, nicking the Templar’s neck where the blade touched him.

"The Circle was a shambles," the man said, wincing. "There was no way of knowing who was possessed. Templars were being killed left and right. The mages were looking for every opportunity to attack us-"

Tristan clicked his tongue, twisting the man's arm behind his back. "None of that," he growled. "What about the Trevelyan girl? She was there, wasn’t she?"

"The Trev-" the man dared a sideways glance at him over his shoulder, swallowing thickly. His face was ashen and haggard, his hands cold, his fingers twitching lightly. All signs of lyrium withdrawal. "She was thought to be among the instigators. The Knight Captain executed her himself."

Tristan's blood bubbled in his veins, his pulse pounding with rage. Damned Templars. Maker damn them all. He pressed his blade against the pulse point in the man's throat. "Was she proven guilty? Was anyone?"

"I-" the man paused, wetting his lips. "She-" He whimpered again when Tristan twisted his arm tighter. "I don't know, I don't know, the Captain said she was, we never questioned him-" He pressed his eyes shut, his face twisting in agony. "Please. I just want to leave that life behind me. Please."

"At least you have a life to leave behind," he hissed, twisting the man's arm enough to break it. "The mages you killed don't have that luxury." Maker, but he felt sick. He forced down the bile that was rising up in his throat as he asked, "Where's your Captain now?"

"Last I heard he would be at the Conclave. That's all I know. Please-"

The Conclave. Void take him. That was but a week away. The man slumped to his knees when Tristan brought the hilt of his dagger down on his temples. He walked away, sheathing his blade, then turned back with a disgusted sound. The ship for Jader would be leaving at dawn, and he had no coin for passage. He rummaged the Templar’s pockets for his coin purse. The lyrium bottle shone iridescent in his palm when he fished it out. He took that, too. Allowed himself a moment to watch it sink beneath the murky waters of the docks after he’d tossed it over. Let the bastard scramble for that lyrium he so needed, he thought, spitting on the ground before he turned away.

The Conclave. Yes. That's where he would go. His life was forfeit, but her death didn’t have to be. He would unveil the man's crimes for everyone to see, if it was the last thing he did. Or he would kill him with his own bare hands. Either way, one of them would be lying face down in a shallow ditch come next week. With some luck, it would be both.

****

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Tristan blinked blearily at the snarling woman that had dragged him out of his cell, only to toss him in the middle of the dank dungeon. She held herself straight and stiff, circling him like a vulture. A Chantric. Every one of her movements told him she’d interrogated countless people before him. A Templar? No. The Watchful Eye carved on her breastplate. A Seeker?

Chantrics, Templars, Seekers- same dogs, different coats. His temper flared when his gaze met hers. “If you mean to kill me, go ahead and be done with it,” he snarled right back at her. “Spare me the drivel.”

She bent down, her eyes on a level with his. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Everyone but you.”

“Everyone?” It was hard to hide his blatant disbelief. Every single person attending- everyone? But there had been dozens, hundreds of people. Including Divine Justinia. All the high and mighty Knight Commanders, most First Enchanters from across Thedas, representatives from all the powerful families. And now they were all gone? All but he? Even Knight Captain-

“Maker.” The bastard was dead. Tristan could have wept for joy.

If the woman noticed his confoundment, she gave no sign. “Who are you? What business did you have at the Conclave?”

Tristan simply gaped at her for a long moment. “You think I did it?” he asked, barely suppressing the mad laughter that threatened to rise to his lips. If he started laughing now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop. Him, destroying the Conclave- he couldn’t even begin to explain to her how absurd the notion was. He was barely capable of lacing up his own shirt most days, let alone organise a mass assassination.

The woman grabbed his hand, green light sputtering from the mark in his palm. “Explain this.”

Rage jolted through him suddenly, like a shockwave, with the feel of her gauntleted hand around his shackled wrist- shackles that she and hers had put him in. He yanked his hand back, out of her grasp. “Touch me again and see what happens,” he growled, his mouth twisting in a scowl. It was an empty threat, bound as he was, but he spat it at her anyway. He’d had more than his fill of people pushing and pulling and prodding him since the moment he’d opened his eyes in that blasted prison, and he hadn’t had a drink since the day before and his hands were already starting to shake, and if one more person tested his patience that day he swore to the Maker he would-

The woman scowled, her hand straying to her sword hilt. The redhead that had been observing all that while held her friend back. “Cassandra,” she said in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. “We need him.”

They both turned to look at him. He returned their look with a confused frown. What need could anyone have of someone such as he?

****

Rifts. So that was what the Herald of Andraste was supposed to do. Fight demons and close rifts. Simple enough. The bloody mark on his hand ached abominably at times, and his sleep was all the worse for it; still, he slept in a bed. A bed of his very own, for the first time in… months, Maker, years- and food. Morning, noon and night, no questions asked. He was getting stronger, there was meat back on his bones, his duties kept him off the bottle most of the time. Servants. He had servants again. He’d forgotten what a luxury it was to have someone building his fire for him, mending his clothes, making his bed. If it weren’t for the people pestering him all day, it would have been the best deal he could have gotten for himself- save for the glowing mark on his palm that was trying to kill him, of course, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

And yet.

His mother would soon find out where he was. It wouldn’t be long before word of the Herald of Andraste being a Trevelyan reached her ears. And then she’d send for him. Everyone would know, know about him, what was said of him, what he’d done, where he’d been. Including his advisors, who didn’t think very highly of him as it was. If she promised them enough gold, they wouldn’t hesitate to hand him over, Tristan was sure of that.

Right.

Close the damned Breach so the mark stopped spreading, was what he should do. Get the mages to help, like Leliana had suggested- she seemed reasonable enough, and he would sooner gnaw his own left arm off and toss that at the Breach rather than aid the Templars- and then get out of that place. Slip away in the night, and none would be the wiser. Just get. The hell. Away.

*****

The walls of the Redcliffe Village chapel shook with the force of the blast from the rift that had opened in its center. Tristan didn’t remember ever seeing such a small space packed so full of demons. He paused at the door, blinking, his hands flying to his daggers by instinct. The man hurling spell after spell at a screaming despair demon didn’t seem half as fazed as he was.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, will you?”

It took Tristan a couple of seconds to snap his mouth that had fallen slightly agape shut and raise his hand. The rift crackled and writhed as it collapsed in on itself, dousing the chapel in green light, a shower of iridescent particles that rained over the, unarguably, most handsome man Tristan had seen. In a while. A long while. Perhaps ever. He shook his head gently. Was he seeing things? How much wine had he had to drink the previous night? He could have sworn it was only two cups. Maybe three. Four, if he stretched it.

The mage dusted his robes, straightening. Piercing grey eyes, almond shaped and heavy lidded, fixed themselves on him. Tall, dark haired, bronze skinned, voice rich and smooth like softened caramel. And his robes; Tristan had never before seen the like. Swaths of fabric arranged in intricate patterns, flowing as he moved like there was a light breeze blowing when he walked, even though not a window was open. And the richness of the colours themselves, the details- dark blue silk, soft brown leather, the thread of gold embroidery on his collar shining as he moved, the jewelled rings on his long fingers catching the light.

“How do you do that, exactly?”

Tristan hadn’t realised he’d been staring until the man spoke again. “How do I do what?” he asked dumbly, and almost kicked himself. His eloquence would be his own undoing one of those days.

The man’s brows gathered in confusion for a moment before he laughed- laughed! Blight, there were dead demons all around them, their mangled corpses still unclaimed by the Fade, Chantry sisters just a few paces beyond the chapel door, not to mention the threat of mass hysteria should anyone in the village realise what was going on in there, and that man was laughing. Void and ashes, who was he? Where had he come from?

The man tilted his head to the side, studying him. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes. Thought it would take a little bit more work than that, if I may be frank.”

Suspicion made Tristan narrow his eyes. Was that mage… mocking him? Trying to make him look like a fool before his companions? He must have been. Tristan sniffed, straightening his back, assuming his most stern expression. “It’s much more complicated than you make it sound,” he said indignantly. “Of that, I can assure you.” An outright lie. He hadn’t the first notion how the blasted thing worked.

Tristan’s bluntness had the exact opposite effect on the man than he had expected. The mage studied him thoughtfully for another breath, as if he hadn’t even heard Tristan’s curt response, then advanced confidently towards him. ‘Advanced’ wasn’t the right word. Strode. Glided. Swayed- yes, that was more like it. “May I?” he asked, glancing at Tristan’s palm.

Tristan tensed. He didn’t like it when strangers touched him. Too many times in the last few years of his life he’d been beaten up, spat on, sworn at, threatened at dagger point, pushed and shoved about, manhandled. Many more, ever since becoming the Herald, that people had touched him in awe or fascination, disgust or mistrust, prodded at the mark to uncover its secrets, tested it, half-yanked it off him. No. Suffice to say he did not like people touching him.

His arm moved before he could stop it.

The man’s fingers, when he took his palm in his, were warm, petal-soft, careful. The trickle of magic he poured into the mark was light as a feather, warm like a caress. His eyes met Tristan’s, holding his gaze by the sheer brightness of their intent. He looked at him, straight at him, not at the mark, not at his followers, not at the mess all around them. Him.

“Fascinating,” he said softly.

*****

“What is?”

Tristan lifted his eyes from the book he’d been reading. “Have you heard about the lost city of Barindur? It’s said that Dumat destroyed it after their king lost his favour. It's supposed to be one of the world's greatest mysteries.”

“Of course I’ve heard about it,” Dorian scoffed. “I fact, I’ve more than heard about it. I wrote an essay on the legends surrounding the city when I was eleven. The lack of knowledge on Tevinter history in the South never fails to surprise me.”

“Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten how rudimental Southern education is compared to Tevinter.” Tristan closed his book and set it atop the other tomes on the book stall, drawing close enough to Dorian to place his arm on his waist, but Dorian smoothly edged back. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re not alone,” Dorian whispered, looking around him before letting his gaze drop back to the book he was holding.

Tristan glanced at the half empty square. Montsimmard was one of the few towns still standing that side of Orlais, and he, Dorian, Cassandra and Varric had stopped there on their way back to Skyhold from the Emerald Graves to replenish their food stores and rest the horses for a bit. It was little after dawn, so the town was about as quiet as a graveyard. Cassandra had soon left them to visit the nearest smithy, and Varric… Maker knew where Varric had disappeared to -the nearest tavern, probably. That left Dorian and Tristan enough time to browse the solitary book stall in the wide market square. It was a pitiful thing, with only a couple poetry collections and more Chantry books than anyone could have a need for, but it was something.

“There’s no one here,” he said, returning to Dorian. Instead of a response, Dorian nodded towards the book merchant who was dozing off on his chair with his hat over his face. “Ah. I see," Tristan replied, letting his arm fall. "Well, I’d better just go back to reading then.” He picked up a book at random, idly flipping through it. He brushed his chin with his knuckle, sneaking a glance at Dorian who seemed engrossed in his own reading. Tristan discreetly cleared his throat, taking a small step towards him.

“The fountains mingle with the river,” he started quietly, pretending to read from the page, “and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of Heaven mix for ever with a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single, all things by a law divine, in one spirit meet and mingle - why not I with thine?"

Dorian let out a quiet harrumph, not looking up from his book. “Why indeed. Anyone who spouts such nonsense is probably doomed to eternal solitude.”

“Are they?” Tristan put the book back down, next to a vase of yellow roses that the merchant had set on his stall. He picked up one flower, then held it before Dorian with a bow and a flourish. “I beg to differ.”

Dorian glanced at the blossom, then at him. “What on earth are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m courting you.”

“You what?” Dorian’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening. “You’re joking, yes? Did you hit your head?”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Just take the thing, will you?” Dorian gingerly plucked the rose from his fingers, a curious frown creasing his brow. He glanced warily about them as Tristan straightened and cleared his throat once more. "See the mountains kiss high Heaven, and the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother-"

“Oh, Maker,” Dorian murmured, his blush growing even hotter as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He was not, in fact, joking.”

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea-”

"Mad. The man's gone mad.”

Tristan moved behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. “What are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?” He perched his chin on Dorian’s shoulder, smiling up at him. “Hm?”

“You are-” Dorian huffed in amusement. “The worst. The absolute worst. Whatever did I see in you.”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me," he said, quirking a brow. “My wit and charm, remember?”

"Of course. How could I forget." Dorian let out a soft, throaty chuckle as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were warm, tender, soft like velvet, parting readily under his, the subtle taste of his morning tea still lingering on his tongue. “No more poetry, now," he whispered with a smile. "Or I might change my mind.”

Tristan smirked against his lips, his pulse fluttering as he hugged him tighter. “Can’t make any promises.”

***

The world grew soft and quiet, warm and fuzzy around the edges.

Tristan’s heart thumped in a smooth, steady rhythm, his gaze fixed on the memory before him that refused to dissipate. He could still remember the light sting of the rose’s thorns on his fingertips, the rich scent of the blossom mingled with Dorian’s heady cologne, the shape of Dorian’s smile as it pressed against his lips. He remembered, like he was still there, like time hadn’t moved since that day, that moment. Like it refused to.

All this while, while swimming through the ocean of his memories, through the highs and unfathomable lows, he was constantly being tugged forward, ever forward, a race for survival and self destruction at the same time. Yet now, the tugging had suddenly stopped. That merciless pull had somehow lessened. Slackened. The noose around his throat relaxing. In that memory, he realised, he wasn’t simply surviving, or pushing his luck and his limits to see when he would finally snap. He could just… be.

“Peace is found when you least expect it,” Cole whispered beside him. He was standing close, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat. “In the midst of chaos, there is quiet. In the darkest of places, the light shines the brightest. The wind moves the slowest in the eye of the storm.”

“But… how?” Tristan whispered, his throat clenching. “After everything I've done? After everything… ”

If he knew everything, would he want me still?

It was a familiar thought, yet it stung all the same. Cole gazed at him for a moment, thoughtfully, as if he were asking whether the sky was blue. “You’re fond of your guilt," he said softly. "It reminds you you're still there. Still sane. “Monsters and madmen can't be guilty, can they?”" He cocked his head slightly to the side, like an inquisitive bird. "You hold it so close, it’s become a part of you. To keep the suffering alive, it has metamorphosed into you. But you don’t need it. You don’t need it anymore.” Cole laid his palm upon his forearm, his touch gentle and calming. “It wasn’t your fault. You tried to change things, but it didn’t matter. Nothing you did mattered. Let go. Let go of the hurt. I can help.”

It’s not that simple, Tristan thought. It can’t be that simple. It shouldn’t. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was suddenly being tugged forward again, pulled away. Sharply, violently. Forward, forward and down.

The book stall disappeared, the edges of the buildings around them bled swiftly into nothingness just as a heavy darkness fell. “What’s going on?” Tristan glanced about him. “What is this?”

“Not yours,” Cole replied, his fingers on Tristan’s forearm tightening. “Let it go. It’s not yours.”

“What isn’t? What-” He gasped as the ground melted beneath his feet. He caught Cole’s hand, fighting while he was being drawn into a bottomless abyss. Cole caught his hands in both of his, but no matter how firm his hold, Tristan’s fingers kept sliding out of his, one by one.

“I can’t,” Tristan grunted. “I can’t- hold on-”

Cole held his gaze from the precipice, cornflower blue eyes gleaming in the dark like stars. “Be steadfast,” he whispered.

The last of his fingers slipped from Cole’s grasp, and then he was falling.

****

hwegen = my dear, pet, darling

The poem Tristan recited is Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus fic #dorian/trevelyan #dorian/inquisitor #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #pavelyan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #a world with you #tristan trevelyan #johaerys writes

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severalspoons · 4 years ago

Text

“Wolfwood Mood” quotes

To be updated as I find more.

God may judge you, but His sins outnumber your own. -- @afabbaeddel

“Cynic, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

“That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse.” ― Bill Watterson

“An encouraged person will eventually get his drive from encouragement; he becomes more dependent. A person that never really receives encouragement learns to move out of spite; he becomes more independent.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

They're going to have to glue you back together, IN HELL! -- Demoman in Team Fortress 2

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” ― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. --Fallout New Vegas NPC

“We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.” ― Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Man can get used to anything, the scoundrel. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“The soul is healed by being with children.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man

“Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano key.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

“One man doesn't believe in god at all, while the other believes in him so thoroughly that he prays as he murders men!” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” ― George Carlin

“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“You only live twice: Once when you are born And once when you look death in the face” ― Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice

“There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees.” ― Jean Paul Sartre

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“There is no reality except in action.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.” ― Joseph Brodsky

“mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow.” ― Joseph Heller

“Do you know what it means to be a survivor? It means that not only do you have to live through things, you have to live with them as well. The second part is much harder and sometimes it takes the rest of your life to learn how to do it. But at least you have the rest of your life…” ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

“Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.” ― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

“Loving someone always requires you to not love others.” ― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it.” ― Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.” ― Laura Sebastian, Ash Princess

“People are petty, spiteful creatures. What they can't use, hurt, steal, or control, they'll usually destroy.” ― Lorna Reid, Darkwalkers

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“If someone puts their hands on you make sure they never put their hands on anybody else again.” ― Malcom X

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.” ― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival.” ― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

--Maya Angelou

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

--Maya Angelou

“Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.” ― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock

“Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on.” ― Mike Royko

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

“Survival," I said softly. "It's selfish, and it's dark, and we've always been a species willing to do anything to satisfy our needs. ― Rachel Caine, Total Eclipse

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To have endured horrors, to have seen the worst of humanity and have your life made unrecognizable by it, to come out of all that honorable and brave— that was magical.” ― Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

“We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.” ― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

I will fight you in Hell upon a mound of bones. -- @shitmygaywifesays

“As long as there’s two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead.” -- Sniper, Team Fortress 2

"If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created me!” -- Soldier, Team Fortress 2

babies cry because they are alive and that is the saddest thing to be. — spencer madsen (@spencermadsen) December 15, 2011

Do you think God stays in heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He’s created? --Spykids 2nd movie

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” -- Stephen King, The Stand

“The only thing that matters in the end is your own survival. It's what humans and cockroaches are best at.” ― Susan Ee, World After

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life. --Terry Pratchett, Guards, Guards!

“I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.” ― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. --Unknown

if you stay alive for no other reason at all, please do it for spite. -- Unknown

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. -- Unknown Tumblr post

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

...I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL— wint ( @dril ) May 22, 2012

#Yes I will put Shakespeare side by side with Dril #fight me

#quotes #nicholas d. wolfwood #what it means to be badass #free will #making choices #choices #philosophy #terry pratchett #tolstoyevsky #princess bride #trigun #everything is trigun

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oysterbarfugitive · 4 years ago

Text

Frustration

Sometimes I see friends of mine or people I know post(mainly repost without thinking about the topic they are posting about) randomly about politics or tryin to be an activist on their social medias. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad people post and share what they believe in and 10000% for that (I do it myself all the time) but the problematic part about this is that certain people clearly only do it to seem “woke” or to only do it as a trend. Probably reason I can sense certain peoples bs and inauthenticity so quickly is because of their lack of interest in looking into anything that they haven’t seen their idols posting about or they just don’t care about researching or finding out about anything they’re posting and only do it because it’s “trendy” or some shit. Over and above global issues that people seem to dismiss so easily, people don’t have a clue about the shit that goes down in their own country. People often find it overwhelming to understand whats truly going on in our own state of economy or why our country is the way it is in the first place. People don’t outright speak on big platforms on South African politics (mainly because it isn’t as mainstream and isn’t nearly as popular) because it is tricky to explain, comprehend and even harder to come to a consensus of what you believe is right or what you want for our country. People normally don’t find the time, or are just uninterested in educating themselves on such a topic because there is no clear cut defined answer for all and because of how many things you have to rethink and take into consideration with certain decisions. There haven’t been many people who have made videos or statements about S.A politics that people can just repost and agree with (therefore people don’t care about it), without doing your own research like for example, America has. People just simply agree and create a facade of care and empathy without actually doing anything about the things that actually affect them. The most uproar I have seen on social media about any South African issue, is gbv (also, im so fucking glad to see so many protests and so much uproar about it). But gbv is one of the only things i ever see discussed (ofc it DESPERATELY needs to be discussed and even more as we all know, but this shouldn’t be where people stop their “activism”) while there is still so much more that just gets brushed off and ends up never being spoken about.

False narratives ARE created by the media to make us feel hopeless and like there is nothing that we can do to help or that our voices don’t matter amongst all the others. People create these views through lenses that more often than not, isn’t one of the people’s or one that has the people’s best interest. Quite literally like 90% of our news sources or media sites recycle the same information amongst each other which convinces people that they are reliable and unbiased, which obviously is not true. There are so many generational differences between us and our family members {older} that it’s difficult for them to understand the “newer times” and the changes in the modern era. It’s so hard to talk to them, trust me, I know. But just trying with the potential that you could change their minds out of their default wiring and setting of hate, is amazing. We all know how racially and economically divided this country is, but going through the chain of generational (and also systemic bc we know the state is corrupt asf but couldn’t care less) punishment literally promotes to divide everyone even more which causes us to take more steps back than we ever do forward.

Read books, articles. learn the history because most things that you learnt at school about apartheid, for example, and or any south african history in general is extremely white-washed and does not give any justice to how bad it really was and NEVER mentions the relevance or effects of it today. The perspective of any type of south african is so different, and understanding that you aren’t the only person with problems through ACTUALLY learning other peoples lives and having those open conversations is one of the most important parts of coming to change.

People often times seem to have a problem with “social media activism” but it all just depends if your intention is pure or not. Social media is a great way to advocate if you do it right, but no one seems to want to acknowledge that. Elevating your voice or other peoples so easily, just by hitting the share button. It’s the literally whole point because you never know who you’re going to affect, spreading it makes it easier and a lot more accessible AND IT REALLY DOESN’T MAKE IT ANY LESS VALID!!! I can never stress enough for how it can really make big change. People may misinterpret the beginning of this with me “bashing” social media activism or advocacy, which is not what I’m actually doing in the slightest. I just want people to take more time out to learn about our own social and political issues as well, I want genuine intentions of the people who are posting and i just want actual change.

This isn’t me trying to be fucking woke or whatever, but I genuinely care for people and their lives. I care about human rights, equality, and will forever be against anything or anyone that makes anyone feel like they have the right to take their rights away from someone for any reason, or that believe that their existence is superior to anybody else’s, due to skin color, economic status, sexual orientation or gender. I also care about my country, as well as lives in other countries and global issues as a whole.

This entire thing was quite literally a rant at 1am because of my pent up anger at the world but I am posting it anyways because it felt good ❤️

#social media #social media activism #south african issues #frustation #rant #human beings #human rights #global issues

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 5 years ago

Text

FFT: you jump, i jump jack; pete dunne

Notes:

This came to my main asks via @vonschweetz and it got me thinking... What if I redid Barbie and Pete entirely. And made Barbie a brattier little Omega, more resistant. I still might want to do this, we shall see... It was an interesting take.

Summary:

Bratty omega meets stubborn as fuck alpha. let the games begin.

Pairing:

Pete Dunne x OFC, Barbie

Warnings:

Uhh... flirtation and banter, bratty omegas and stubborn alphas. It’s cute. Seriously. I might actually try doing something with this.

Barbie looked from man to man, totally unimpressed. Folding her arms, she cleared her throat when they finally took a break from their whole territorial thing. “Will you two kindly knock it the fuck off? And get lost, your Alpha stink is probably what’s keeping my true Alpha from making himself known.”

“You don’t have an Alpha. You could have me, but you won’t stop being stubborn.”

“I’d clearly be better for you than that asshole. C’mon. Think about it. You and me, baby.”

“All you two idiots are doing is making me dryer than the Sahara desert. Fuck off.” Barbie practically spat the words at the two men and luckily, it was enough to send them away. This time.

… oh but those two twat waffles will be back. They always come back… if I could just hurry and figure out who back here is my true Alpha…

… but what if it’s somebody you don’t want to be mated to?…

… anyone has to be better than Oney Lorcan and fucking Matt Cross… anyone…

Almost as if she’d summoned it, the scent was back again and it was… So heavy. It dominated the air and Barbie breathed in deep. Fanning herself, she leaned back against the brick wall and let her eyes flit around the room, careful to not settle on any particular member of the roster.

It couldn’t be Tyler Bate or Trent Seven.

She knew it wasn’t any of the Undisputed Era, she’d gotten close enough to each man earlier in the week to realize that they were not only not the scent she’d been trying to find, but their scents all actually repulsed her.

None of them had that unique combination of Big Red chewing gum and freshly upturned earth like this scent. And while normally, the scent of dirt did literally nothing for her, in this case it was… Like the most erotic thing she’d ever smelled in her life.

It wasn’t Johnny Gargano, either.

So far, no one she’d tried to get close to matched this particular scent.

Distractedly, Barbie stepped away from the wall and gave in to the urge to follow her nose. As she started to walk down the hall, the scent got heavier and heavier, beckoning her. Turning a corner and entering catering, she managed to collide with Pete Dunne around the same time that the scent suddenly intensified. Pete gripped her arms, a gruff swear coming as he said something to her about watching where she walked, only to trail off in mid sentence.

“It’s you.”

They both said it at the same time, but Dakota called out to her and she bit her lip, staring up at her true Alpha a few seconds, trying to get a read on how the current situation affected him.

She couldn’t. He masked his thoughts on the matter heavily.

Barbie’s face fell and she turned abruptly, hurrying over to Dakota and one or two of the other girls.

Pete blinked and turned to scowl at Tyler, who’d just come up behind him and shoved him playfully. “What was ‘at about, Dunney?”

“I found ‘er.”

“And yer not over there with ‘er why? Who was it?”

“The blonde talkin t’ Dakota and the other girls. Th’ one with curly hair.”

Tyler followed his friends gaze and he gave a low and appreciative whistle as he muttered quietly, “Y’ lucky fuckin bastard. Well don’t let me stop y’. Go on, go to ‘er.”

Pete raised a brow and rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Yer an idiot, Dunney.”

“Don’t think she was too happy with th’ realization I’m ‘er Alpha.”

“Or maybe, she took one look at yer grouchy mug and retreated because she thought she pissed y’ off. I mean if y’ gave ‘er the look y’ gave me just now, Dunney…” Tyler pointed out as helpfully as possible, but when Pete shook his head no, Tyler grumbled and shook his head.

“Well, I found him.”

“Seriously? Who? I need to know.”

“It’s Pete Dunne. But I don’t… I really don’t think he was thrilled when he realized what was happening… So.. That’s that.”

“What the hell do you mean that’s that? Pete’s always a grouch, that’s just who he is.”

“This was different. He looked annoyed. Maybe I should just give in to one of the other unmated douchebags who keep offering…” Barbie knew deep down that even as she said it, she’d never go through with it, because when she’d realized it was Pete… Something just clicked for her.

She sighed and shook her head, shoving it all out of her mind for the time being. “C’mon.. Someone in here is staring and it’s kinda creeping me out.” Barbie grabbed hold of Dakota’s arm, practically dragging her out of catering.

She collided with Roderick Strong in the hallway. Swallowing hard, she stared up at him, mumbling an apology. Roderick flashed her a grin and leaned against the doorway, pinning her in. “No need to apologize, darlin. You alright?”

“I’m fine, just.. In a hurry.” Barbie nodded to the doorway he was currently blocking and he chuckled, moving to the side. He caught hold of her wrist and held her there a few seconds the second he saw Pete Dunne staring at her from the doorway of catering.

“If any of these idiots mess with ya, Blondie.. Come find Roddy, alright?”

Barbie pried her wrist loose and gave him a thumbs up before rushing off.

Pete’s fists clenched and Tyler muttered to himself with an amused laugh, “And ‘ere we go.” before quickly grabbing hold of his best friend and starting the process of talking him down from whatever ‘punishment’ Pete was currently doling out to Strong in his head.

Pete growled and took a deep breath.

“What y’ need t’ do, Dunney, is go to ‘er and tell ‘er that whatever she thinks isn’t th’ truth.”

“What I need t’ do, Bate, is go down t’ the ring and call ‘im out. Maybe if I make an example out ‘f him, none of the others will even think about tryin it.”

“And when y’ scare th’ living hell out of ‘er Dunney… what then? Just wait til the next time y’ see Strong lurking around, go over and intervene. That proves yer point without anybody bein afraid or havin t’ die.” Tyler eyed his best friend as he said it.

For once, Pete seemed to agree. Tyler let out a breath and then, they made their way down to the ring for the match they had.

�� ( LE TIME SKIPPE )

“Clearly, me staying at the hotel while everyone else went out was a stupid idea. I’m so freaking bored!” Barbie was pacing her hotel room, fingers tangled in blonde curls as she tried to keep the worst part of her heat starting at bay.

She eyed the door and then her phone and remembering the annoyed look on Pete’s face earlier, she swore and grabbed the phone, firing off a text.

→ Hey, I’m gonna meet you guys after all.

→ No sense in me locking myself away and saving myself for an Alpha who clearly couldn’t want me less if he tried.

→ It’s that club near the beach, right?

Without waiting on a response, she showered and got out, putting on makeup and digging through her closet. When she saw the skintight little red dress that one of her friends got her as a ‘joke’ she bit her lip and hesitated. She almost passed it over in favor of something casual, her favorite jeans and crop top, but then she thought about it.

She knew who her true Alpha was now. And given that he didn’t seem like he’d be beating down her door anytime soon, was there really any sense in waiting or getting her hopes up?

She tore the tag off the dress and took it into the bathroom, changing into it. Before she could talk herself out of going out and having a fun night, she walked down the stairs and through the lobby.

Just as she went to reach for the handle on the door out of the lobby, Pete stepped in.

“Where th’ hell are y’ going?” Pete blurted it out before he could stop himself from doing so, earning him snickering from both Tyler and Trent.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Out. I’m supposed to be meeting someone. Can you kindly remove yourself, sir?” Barbie gazed up at Pete, tapping a stiletto against the floor impatiently.

“Not like ‘at.”

Barbie glanced down at her dress.. Before she could stop herself, she was glancing back up at him with a smirk. “Oh? And you’re gonna stop me how, sir?”

“My name is Pete. Not sir.” Pete was moving closer, Barbie was… beyond well aware of the difference in their height. She swallowed hard and fought to reign herself in because if she didn’t…

It wasn’t going to be pretty.

Self composure was harder than she’d always thought it’d be when she finally found her true Alpha.

She felt her thighs clench.

Pete was eyeing her up, almost as if he were in disbelief that she’d talk back to him.

The thought made her smirk a little, giggling quietly. She cleared her throat. “I’m running late. Either you’re going to do something about what I’m wearing, Alpha, or you’re going to move out of my fucking way.” she said it in her politest tone of voice. Pete edged closer, a hand hesitating before settling on her hip.

He stared her down intently.

Tyler and Trent cleared their throats, exchanging looks and Barbie raised her hand, resting it palm down against the front of Pete’s hoodie, staring at the door they currently blocked intently.

“It looks like I’m gonna have to be the one who walks away.” Barbie said it as she tried to side step Pete.

Pete stood there, watching her walk out of the lobby, his hand in his hair.

“ ‘at went well, Dunney.” Trent broke the silence. Pete’s response was to shove his gear bag at Trent and start to storm out the door. Trent and Tyler shared a look and grumbled. Tyler found a room service attendant and put the bags onto a trolly to be taken up and he caught up to Trent in the parking lot just in time to watch everything as it happened.

Pete caught up to her and tapped her shoulder. Barbie came to a stop and turned, staring up at him with a look of curious amusement in her eyes. “You? I thought we settled this in the lobby, sir.”

“It’s Pete. And we didn’t.” Pete’s tone was firm but quiet. She was migrating closer.. A quick scenting revealed everything and he groaned inwardly as soon as he realized that Tyler had been right back at the arena.

She’d gotten the wrong idea. She had no idea just how blown away he’d been to find out that the vanilla scent he’d been chasing for a while now was her.

Or that he’d noticed her around the time he started to smell mentioned scent and he’d been… attracted, to say the least.

His eyes darted down to the red dress and he cleared his throat. “ Maybe y’ thought I was makin a suggestion, but I was being serious, Omega.”

“My name is Barbie.”

“Barbie.” Pete repeated her name, still gazing down at her intently. Barbie tapped her feet impatiently again, her tongue gliding over her lips to moisten them. Pete’s eyes darted up, settling on her mouth and the attention that the gesture bought to it. He shrugged off his hoodie and thrust it at her.

Barbie eyed the hoodie and then him and she gave a quiet giggle.

“I’m not bein’ funny.”

“No, but… Do you think when you say jump, Alpha… that I’m just gonna ask you how high?”

“Not at all. I’d say it goes both ways.”

“I’m not putting on that hoodie. And why does it matter anyway? What I wear, I mean..” Barbie was moving closer, despite her best efforts to refrain from doing so. Pete gave a satisfied smirk when he felt her body tuck into his. He chuckled and rubbed his chin, trying to think about a response.

Barbie’s phone lit up and started to ring.

“One second.” Barbie answered the phone and she was in the midst of telling Dakota the situation when Pete took the phone and informed Dakota that Barbie wasn’t going to make it.

After ending the call, he held her phone out to her.

“Y’ weren’t in any shape t’ go out alone tonight anyway.”

“Who are you, my father?”

“No, but I am yer Alpha. We both know it.”

Barbie scoffed. “Now you want to claim it.”

“Wanted to earlier. Someone didn’t really give me much time t’ react.”

“The annoyed look on your face was reaction enough.” Barbie stepped away, turning and preparing herself to walk away. She’d never been the kind of girl to just fall in line, follow a rule or an order.

She would’ve kept walking too if Pete hadn’t called out calmly, “ Y’ can keep fighting it.. But y’ know what y’ really feel. I can smell it in yer scent. Fightin is only gonna make it worse on y’.”

“I’m not fighting anything, pal. If you want me, come and get me, Pete.”

Barbie started to slink away and for a split second, because no one was around to see him do it, a smile played on Pete’s lips as he took a deep breath to reign himself in and started to calmly walk after her.

She’d just stepped into the club and was waving at the girls when she felt him pressing into her from behind. “Okay, Barbie. I’ll play yer game. But know that when I play games, I play them t’ win.”

Barbie bit her lip to keep from whimpering and after a second, she managed to reply, “We’ll see, Pete. Think you can handle dancing with me or would that be too much?”

Pete turned her around, pulling her close.

“I don’t dance.”

“This works too..”

#pete dunne fanfiction #pete dunne fanfic #pete dunne fic #pete dunne oneshot #pete dunne imagine #// heavily implied alpha and omega dynamics #// retelling of barbie and pete

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j2hoes · 5 years ago

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Necropolis. (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Summary: Vampire AU. When Y/N finds a bleeding Sweet Pea, she doesn’t expect to find herself falling in love with a human.

Word Count: 2,438

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Blood, swearing

Usually my job is peaceful and the majority of the time, I am left alone. Though tonight some insolent human has decided to take it upon themselves to piss me off. To make my job harder. Setting down my bottle of whiskey, I follow the strong scent of blood. Doing my best to ignore the growls of hunger I feel in the pit of my stomach, I edge closer. My eyes scan the darkness, trying to track down the person that my nose seems to have picked up. If it weren't for the small grunting noises, I doubt I would have been able to see him. Dressed in all black, a boy sits hunched over underneath the large willow tree. Normally, I would be quick to rid the graveyard of a curious human but for some reason I can't bring myself to tell him to leave. Instead I find myself inching closer. Trying to fulfil my own curiosity. He hisses slightly, moving his rather large hand. Warm, thick blood drips between his fingers and I find my mouth watering at the sight. Licking my lips, I realise that this boy needs help. That I should help him rather than let him greet death. "Hey, I'm here to help you." I whisper, shyly placing my hand on his leather clad shoulder. He looks shocked to see me, possibly due to the fact that we are both in the middle of a graveyard in the dead of night. Despite his shock he makes no attempt to argue when I offer him help. Gripping his jacket, I do my best to pull him to his feet. However, this turns out to be a lot harder than I originally planned as the male seems to be a lot taller than he looks. Fortunately he can still carry his own weight, so only need to keep hold of his hand as we begin to walk over to the mausoleum. His steps are slow and each time he winces in pain, I feel a pang of hurt pulse through me. It's as though I'm hurting because I have to see him in pain. Upon reaching the stone building, I make sure that he lays down on the top of the coffin that stands in the centre of the room. Not wanting to risk him collapsing on to the ground. When I finally manage to get a look at him in the candle light, I immediately spot the blood seeping from beneath his shirt. The boy looks at me nervously, raising his shirt so that I am able to take a look at the wound. Before I get chance to begin patching him up I see his eyes flicker closed and I instantly feel panicked. He cannot die, I have to make sure of that. The gash on his side is deep and it's clear he needs medical attention quickly. As fast as physically possible, I stitch up the wound, dabbing at the blood with a cloth. The red liquid stains my fingers and the overwhelming urge to drink becomes almost unstoppable and I find myself sucking on my fingers eagerly. Glancing over at the boy, I notice the small details I was unable to see clearly in the dark. The small scar beneath his right eye, the softness of his lips, the delicacy of his skin. In his slumber he looks almost angelic. Deciding he needs his rest I exit the building and take my seat on the steps. Sipping from the bottle of whiskey I left previously. I watch the sunrise as it begins peaking out from behind the long row of trees at the opposite end of the graveyard. This is undoubtedly the highlight of my job. Listening to the birds singing as they wake up and watching the soft glow of the morning light. It reminds me of all the beauty the world has to offer. My head tilts back to see the boy still peacefully asleep on top of the coffin. Clearly his exhaustion has caught up and now he is regaining his energy. Entering the mausoleum, I drop the now empty whiskey bottle in the recycling bin by the door and make my way over to the elegant record player that I keep in the corner. I play my old Ronettes album, quietly humming along to the tune of Walkin' In The Rain. Out of all the bands and musicians I have witnessed live, the Ronettes were undoubtedly the best. Closely followed by Queen. A soft grumbling sound catches my attention and I realise that the boy is trying to sit himself upright. Possibly questioning where on earth he is and how he ended up here. I make my presence known by gently tapping his shoulder and smiling softly at him. "You were there last night." He mutters, almost as though he is trying to work out what actually happened. Most likely suffering from temporary amnesia. "I fixed up your side for you. It'll be a pain in the ass for a while but you're as good as new." I tell him, nodding towards the injury beneath his ribs. He smiles shyly at me when he realises that he was injured. The slight tinge of red tells me that he is embarrassed. Not used to having people help him, he seems like the type to tough things out. To be independent. Not that there is anything wrong with independence. Though sometimes it is now to have somebody to rely on. Somebody to care. "Thank you. Really, you didn't have to." Furrowing my brow, confusion fills my body. What does he mean I didn't have to? Of course I did, if I didn't then he wouldn't be alive. Within days his family would be planning a funeral. A funeral nobody expected nor wanted. They would be mourning the death of a teenage boy that had his whole life ahead of him. If I had simply left him to die then that would have stayed on my conscience for eternity. I had to help for my own sanity if nothing else. "What were you doing in the graveyard anyway? Do you live here?" He asks, glancing around at the furniture placed in the mausoleum. Now it's my turn to feel embarrassed, I rub the back of my neck nervously. Eyes scanning the room to make sure that nothing is out of place. Looking back at the boy, I notice genuine interest in my answer. He sits patiently, eyes shining bright as we stay silent for a few moments. "Yeah. I like it here, it's comforting." I admit, I mean technically it's not a lie. He smiles for a moment, silently taking in everything around him. I understand why. It's not everyday that you meet somebody that lives in the middle of a graveyard, but somebody has to live there. That somebody just happens to be me. "I'm Sweet Pea. I don't suppose there is any chance you'll be attending Riverdale High School?" He asks, voice almost hopeful at the idea. As much as I don't want to let him down, I've done the whole high school thing. Several times at that. Each time I thought it would be different, but alas it was always the same. Half of my high school career was spent hiding away from the kids that would taunt me daily. I believe it's fair to say I don't exactly have the fondest memories of high school. "No. I'm home-schooled." Lies. All lies. I feel guilty. An emotion I haven't exactly felt for a long time. Then again, this is the most interaction I have had with anybody for a long time. It almost makes me miss the social situations I used to find myself in. Though I suppose those days are far behind me. "You must be real lonely then. Do you have any friends at all?" He asks, the question ringing through my head. His words, although never intended maliciously reminded me of high school. The second time around. Pushed to the ground, I was repeatedly stomped on whilst being asked that very same question. If I had any tears to cry, no doubt they would be streaming down my face by now. "Not really, but it's not a big deal. I quite like being alone." I tell him, genuinely being honest with him. "I'll be your friend. If you want? We can hang out and I can take you to all my favourite places. We could even go catch a movie, if that's your thing. Only if you want to though, no pressure or anything." I watch as his eyes light up when he talks, excited at the idea of haning out with me. Nobody has ever reacted that way to the idea of spending time with me. Usually it's is regarded as more of a punishment to be in my presence. "Sure. I'd like that." Sweet Pea diverts his attention towards the front of the building, noticing the morning sun. A small frown appears on his face, yet disappears within seconds. So fast that I almost didn't catch it. He pulls himself off the coffin, holding on to his side carefully. Taking care to not hurt it anymore. The tall boy slowly inches towards the door. Small sounds of pain leave his mouth with each step but he does his best to silence them. "I've got school today, but I can swing by afterwards." Sweet Pea tells me, looking over his shoulder to see my reaction. I nod my head, a smile on my face. Sweet Pea takes that as his answer and trudges down the steps and out into the graveyard. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch him silently as he closes the metal gate. Perhaps this could be my first genuine friendship? Shaking my head, I rid my mind off the thought, not wanting to get ahead of myself. *** Pink and orange hues stain the sky, creating the most ravishing sight as I start my duties for the night. I make my way through the graveyard, stepping over each grave with care. Not wanting to disrespect the dead. I make sure each headstone is in tact, no chance of escapees. It happens, sometimes the dead simply don't want to rest. By the time I make it back to the mausoleum, I see a figure sitting on the steps. The worn leather jacket and matching dark clothes instantly tells me that it's Sweet Pea. He has a cigarette between his lips, doing his best to light it despite the breeze. "That's not going to work." I state, watching as he continues to struggle. My comment doesn't stop him, instead he tries even harder. Almost as though he is trying to prove me wrong. We stay like this for a few minutes. Me simply watching him try and continuously fail. Finally he gives up and slumps down in defeat. "Just go inside. It'll make things a lot easier." He looks surprised at my statement yet follows me inside anyway. Hesitantly he lights the cigarette, awkwardly looking down at his feet when it lights the first time. I smile triumphantly knowing that I proved him wrong. However, he still looks uncomfortable. Eyes not meeting mine. "You know it's not polite to smoke in people's homes right?" Sweet Pea asks, taking a seat on the battered leather couch in the corner of the room. I'm confused by his question. Since when was this rule made? How was I unaware of it? Smoking has never been that much of a big deal yet now it's considered rude to smoke in people's homes? Sweet Pea notices my confusion and begins to laugh heartily. "Smoking used to be common courtesy when going to somebody's home. In fact the host would most likely offer guests a smoke. Cigars were first but after the popularity of cigarettes, many homes stocked up. Making sure to have enough for guests for whatever the occasion." I say, causing Sweet Pea to stop laughing and instead look at me with raised eyebrows. "You like history?" He asks, clearly not expecting me to know so much about such a trivial topic. "You could say that." Sweet Pea shrugs off his leather jacket, revealing a simple black tee. I know I shouldn't be staring but I just can't seem to help myself. The skin on his arms looks so soft and smooth. His top is tight around his muscles, accentuating them even more. The colour in his skin contrasts mine. His shows lift and mine death. "I still don't know your name." He points out as I walk over to my makeshift kitchen. Grabbing two bottles of whiskey and making my way back to the sofa, I carefully perch myself next to him. As though I'm a guest in his home not the other way around. He takes the glass bottle gratefully, unscrewing the lid with ease. Even his smallest movements are enough to make me swoon. "It's Y/N." I state, for some reason I'm nervous for his reaction. What if he doesn't like my name? What if he thinks it's weird? What if he makes fun of me for it? I mean, it's not as cool as the name Sweet Pea. "Cute. It suits you." When he speaks, there's a small laugh in his voice. Making him look far less dangerous than he appears. It shows a softer side. Presumably one that he likes to keep to himself. After all, by the looks of him he has to keep up his bad boy reputation. "So are we going to go out then?" He asks, holding his hand out for me as he lifts himself off the sofa. Nodding my head, I gently take his hand. The skin rough beneath my palm, clearly used to manual labour. His hands are a lot larger than they actually seem and almost devour mine. Warmth radiates from his fingers as they intertwine with mine and it's strange to say the least. It's fair to say I haven't exactly felt any sort of heat in a long time. The sensation is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Sweet Pea excitedly tugs me towards the gates of the graveyard. Obviously pleased that I agreed to let him take me somewhere. I know that I should be doing my job, and I know that if I leave the graveyard now then the council will be pissed. Yet I can't seem to stop myself. As the giant in front of me strides ahead I happily follow along. Yearning to see where this adventure will take me.

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #vampire au #vampire #vampire alternative universe #riverdale #riverdale imagine #southside #serpents #southside serpents #northside #blood #fluff #cute #love #angst?

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theateared · 5 years ago

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You Look Great. ❜

Summary: Everybody makes mistakes. Some can’t be forgiven. Others can, but only under certain circumstances.

“I’m surprised you came to meet me after everything.”

All things considered, so was he.

After he’d been forced to enter Arthur’s territory in order to retrieve her, killing a lot of his creed single-handedly in a desperate effort to reach her before the opposing Alpha did god-knows-what to her, he’d told himself that he was finished with Grace Adler. Not only had she been foolish, she’d been reckless and selfish, putting both Moxie and him in grave danger. For what? The sake of jealousy?

The church filled with the sound of her footsteps as she bridged the distance between them. Suddenly, she was right in front of him - closer than she’d ever been - and he felt his heart trip. You’re not finished with her, you fool. You can’t be.

“... I’m so sorry, Edgar.”

The Alpha barked out a cold laugh: “Oh. You’re ‘sorry’.”

He witnessed her bite down on her tongue to keep a smart comment from slipping out. It was just as well - he wasn’t in the mood to play with her.

“... I was an idiot. I let my pride get in the way and it cost you and Moxie a lot of time and effort. I’m sorry that you had to spill so much blood over me. I never meant for it to turn out this way.”

“What exactly did you intend?” He couldn’t stop it; his temper was slipping. That usual grin had been wiped from his face the moment they’d made eye contact from across the aisle, that hot, heavy burden unfurling in his chest like a phoenix. “Hm? What did you THINK would happen?” He rose both hands, intent on grabbing her shoulders with them, though he shovelled them into his pockets after a moment of thought. I can’t touch you right now. I’ll hurt you. And then it’s game over. “Let me ask you something, Grace. Is this all a big joke to you? Do you think it wise to reach inside me and meddle with my feelings? Do you think my jealousy is anything other than murderous? No matter how you played your hand with Arthur against me, he would have wound up dead.”

“...”

Grace bowed her head, resigning herself to his words. He no doubt had a lot of them for her after the stunt she’d pulled, and she couldn’t say that she blamed him. Had she known that Arthur possessed wickedness that outranked even Edgar’s, she never would have pretended to join his creed. She had wanted to see Edgar come back to her, not start war with a vicious clan for her return. Thinking about it now, it was a silly move on her behalf from the get-go; a classic case of playground politics, and she couldn’t quite believe what her hunger for him had made her do. She was far from stupid. She knew that was why he was so angry with her: had he expected idiocy, it wouldn’t have been as big a deal.

“You were reckless, and spiteful, and stupid.” He exploded all at once, though she was surprised that his foot didn’t connect with her once; instead, he kicked the pew beside them for all it was worth, its harsh thud echoing like thunder. Though she flinched, she remained still, knowing that she deserved it if he decided to hurt her. His rage was always so well-hidden. Sometimes, she forgot that it sat there just beneath the surface. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, GRACE?!”

In a shaken voice: “I… wanted you to look at me.”

He made a noise, one that she was certain she would see transcribed beside the word ‘feral’ in a dictionary. “I’ve been looking at you since day one. DAY. ONE.”

“I was hungry…”

“Don’t talk to ME about hunger.” He did touch her then; his thumb and forefinger reaching up with lightning speed to seize her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. Before she had seen him with a serious expression, she had sworn to Raku that there was nothing more disconcerting than a smiling Edgar. She had learned that that assessment had been wrong only after witnessing his frustration for herself. In a hiss, Edgar continued: “I have starved for your sake, Grace Adler. You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent laying awake, entertained only by thoughts of you. You have no clue how deep my lust for you runs. I have spent centuries fantasising about you. About us. About our children. And you do this. You fill me with repulsion; with disappointment. I was a fool to think of you as perfect--”

“Whose fault is that?” Her hand wrapped around his wrist, pushing his hand away from her face. “I never pretended to be perfect, Edgar. I do stupid things sometimes. Guess what! Your perfect little princess MAKES MISTAKES. The same as EVERYONE ELSE.” She felt his arm tense. Her own fingers tightened, free index finger jabbed close to his face. “Stop projecting your impossible standards onto me. I am not your angel.” She released him then, genuinely terrified by the thought of him overpowering her. After a deep breath, she took a calculated step away from him. “... I messed up. I’m not trying to shift blame. I accept responsibility for this mess, and by extension, the punishment.”

“The ‘punishment’.”

“Yes, the punishment. Are you a parrot?” Old habits died hard; she suspected, if she continued to slip in comment after comment like that, she would die harder.

He scoffed. “The punishment is the fracture in our relationship. Though I suspect you’re too concerned with yourself to consider that a bad thing.” Whilst shoving his hands into his pockets, Edgar turned his back on her and began to make his way out. He was brought to a stop by a tug of his coat. “... let go.”

“I won’t…”

Edgar closed his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath before levelling his gaze on the door. In a quiet but fierce hiss: “Let. Go.”

He’d been so prepared for her to do as she was told that he was thrown off kilter when she pulled him backwards. He stumbled, though it took only a single misstep to correct his stance before he whirled around and seized her shirt collar, forcibly dragging her to him. She had to stand on her tiptoes to keep from being suspended. His eyes flickered from huro to lye’s, that obsidian emptiness stealing the breath from her throat. He’s so angry with me.

Seethed: “Do not test my patience, Grace. We are done.”

Fear filled her face as he squeezed. The applied pressure sent blood rushing to her head, though a curious heat pooled in her stomach simultaneously. You can’t be done with me. You came back for me. You could’ve let me die but you came back for me. I need you.

Before she could think about it, she reached a hand towards him, gaining a firm grip on his tie and tugging him towards her with all of her might. Their lips met hard. She felt his hand loosen around her throat, taken completely by surprise. Only when she felt the need to breathe did she pull away, drinking in his stunned expression.

In a soft voice, one he had longed to hear since the beginning: “... forgive me, Alpha, but we can’t be done.” After taking a moment to gather her courage, she continued: “... I have too many feelings for you to let you go. So I’m sorry, but I won’t.” Despite her fear, she looked her superior in the face. When he didn’t stop her, she leaned close once more, pressing the softest of kisses to the corner of his mouth. “... I understand that it’s too little too late for you, but the truth is that I’m in love with you, Edgar… and I wanted to hold your attention. I didn’t want you to get bored with me just because I was difficult, because I wouldn’t give myself to you. This was the wrong thing to do but you came for me… you could’ve left me. You’ve always come for me...” Though she hated it intensely, she could feel herself becoming emotional. She wasn’t someone that was known for her sentiment nor her gentle heart, but the truth was that it was impossible for her to give up on somebody that she had let in. Despite all odds, despite all of the fighting and the bloodshed and the frustration, Edgar had stayed. “... so even though you’re angry…” One shaking hand raised until she could touch his face. His skin was soft and warm despite the things that he did. “... I don’t think you’re done with me, either.”

His stare became hazy, clouded by something she couldn’t place. It wasn’t lust, that she knew, though she couldn’t see it being rage either. In truth, he was angry, though it was being redirected towards himself. I promised myself that I wouldn’t do this again. I promised myself that I wouldn’t get involved with anybody else the way I got involved with my previous wives in my previous life, and yet here I stand, unable to leave, because Grace Adler is right.

Walk away.

Do not admit your feelings for her.

Cut. This. Cord.

When their lips met properly for a second time, it was a mutual effort. She didn’t stop him as he pressed her up against the nearest pew, even as the wood dug into the backs of her thighs. His body against hers made her whimper with need, her fingers dragging from his tie to his chest. His heartbeat drummed mercilessly against her tingling fingers, its heavy rhythm setting the example for her pulse as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. The taste of him was like an omen, dreary and serious, though with an intoxicating hint of blood.

Her head spun as she felt his claws rake along her thigh, sharp tips catching in the material of her skirt as he clung to her with a hunger so wild she felt fit to drown in it. She tore away from him panting, though only to breathe a desperate request.

“Sign me again…”

Her breath hitched when she felt his hand in her hair, pulling her head to the side with a fierce tug. After a moment of hesitation: “Did he mark you…?”

“No,” she heaved, clinging to his coat like her life depended on it. “I wouldn’t let him…”

The growl he gave in response was equal parts irritated and proud as he reached up to wrestle with the buttons on her collar. He pulled too hard, sending them scattering across the floor, and her gasp of shock fed a sliver of his appetite so feral and dark that he didn’t want to think about it too much. He moved clothing out of his way until he could find her mark. The pattern of his teeth sat firmly ingrained into her collar, even all these centuries later, and he found himself attached to her with something more than business in mind.

Grace whimpered for a second time as she drank in the sensation of his teeth puncturing her soft skin, body growing hot as she thought about how happy she was. My Alpha didn’t leave me behind, even though he should have… his marking is all I need. She was blissed out, euphoric, quivering like an arrow post-shot, and when he finally pulled away she met his eyes with her lack of focus plain as day.

“... you love me, huh?”

There was no use in playing the proud fool now. With her cheeks flushed and her eyes half-lidded, Grace nodded slowly. “... and I’m sorry I was too afraid to tell you until I’d ruined it all.”

The Alpha cleared his throat quietly. It wasn’t as if all was forgotten. He was still pissed off, bluntly put, but he was unable to deny how he felt about her. It was funny to him. At this point in time, he thought that he would have walked away. Instead, he stood there just as in love with her as he was before she’d pulled this ridiculous stunt. This has never happened before. My image of her isn’t ruined. How could that be?

“You’re an incredibly fortunate woman, Grace,” he told her while sighing deeply. I was so prepared to walk away, to cut you out of my life, but now you’ve confessed I can’t tell what’s what. The only thing I know is that-- “... fortunate in that I feel the same. Even in spite of all this.” He took a breath, running a hand through his hair before it dropped to his side, leaving his usually side-swept bangs ruffled and uneven. “And fortunate in that, even when I want to hurt you, you look great. Great enough for me to stop and consider what it is I’ve got.”

The smile that gradually lit up her face was heaven-sent. It made him feel as if his heart had dropped to his feet, then rocketed straight to his brain in the space of a second. Dizzying, maddening, and all he could think about was her, her, her--

I’m going mad. I’m going absolutely, irrevocably, irretrievably mad.

#☆ — tell me how you hate me. ❜ ( ooc. )#drabble *

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cyanpeacock · 5 years ago

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that comic is big hueg mood and i value it a lot.

mental illness really isn’t about “oh just be thankful for what you CAN do!”

it’s sometimes (always?) about “i know i’m capable of doing Even Better, if i just had some help! i’m not well! i’m thankful every day that i’m not worse, but it fucking burns me to know how much better i COULD be doing with more support!!”

and if you appear to be high-functioning, even if that level is like, abysmal compared to what you know your mind and body would actually be capable of in better circumstances, you sort of get... abandoned? like, “oh, that one is doing well enough.” and seeking out the necessary support to improve your functioning level requires SO much time and energy that it is literally killing people.

like i have so many suicide attempts i can’t count them under my belt. i’ve got self harm scars on every limb and they number, like... well, it’s in the hundreds, for sure. i’ve got no IRL social network. a lot of my daily energy goes on regulating emotions and processing trauma. i can’t drive, i can assemble some food sometimes but can’t reliably cook, etc etc.

and because i’m in university - still there by sheer force of will, because this is the ONLY thing that might land me in reasonable comfort in the future - and not in trouble with the school, i’ve been written off again and again by mental health services. it’s always, “come back in six months,” or “here’s a referral for a 12-week group, in two years’ time,” and “oh, has it been two months? i’m sorry, we haven’t got around to allocating you a community psychiatric nurse yet”

i’m here like, what... the fuck? i feel like, it’s been assumed i’m a person of average ability, with minor problems, and i can just Get On With It. when actually, i’m well aware i’m a person of exceptional academic ability, with really quite significant social, emotional, and mental health problems, particularly like... in terms of trust. and it makes me fucking furious, and at times ashamed, that i’m coming up to 22 years old, my secondary school peers are graduating, and i’m only just going into second year. i was ahead of my peers for So Long. i should still be there. but because nobody believes i need fucking help, i’m getting delayed more and fucking more!!! it burns me!!!!!

like, of course i can fucking Get On With It. that’s all i CAN do, it’s my Priority, My Degree Is My Life This Secures A Future I Could Accept. i can learn semantic information without ever fucking touching my trust/interpersonal issues. and i don’t think anybody just skimming my case notes can grasp how much this fucking course means to me, how much sheer fucking aggression i’ve had to channel to get here, to stay here.

like they don’t see how i haul myself out of my apartment when i’m fucking suicidal to show to the lectures. how I take notes from the lecture recordings for every. single. lecture. i miss because i’m too exhausted or overwhelmed to make it to the hall. how i never chat in the lab because i’m scared as hell and have to get into a mindset that goes I’m Here To Fucking Learn Not To Make Friends, although i’d really like to make friends. how exam revision takes priority to the exclusion of eating and sleeping, how I have to set myself timers and force myself to eat and sleep, how my walls get covered in webs and webs of colourful revision post-it notes and i spend hours and hours arranging them Perfectly so i can remember the whole thing as a 3D spatial map inside my brain. how i give myself eyestrain and migraines from staring at books and screens for so long, how i don’t fucking wash myself, or clean my apartment, or say a word to anyone but myself for days or weeks. how i’m so fucking hurt that it took me two years to do first year, how i’m having to go part time for second year. like, this is not healthy learning. this is, I’m Going To Die If I Don’t Cling The FUCK On To This Opportunity, This Lucky Fucking Break That Is Going To Save My Life. and i’m NOT fucking giving it up.

they don’t seem to see that AT THE SAME TIME i’ve been off on my fucking own learning and practicing DBT skills, how i taught myself to meditate when my mind is still screaming Kill Yourself Kill Yourself Kill Yourself, how i’ve been seeing a private counsellor who i can’t afford from the wallet but who i have to afford so i don’t try to kill myself even more fucking often. how i’ve been looking around to try and find like, a faith that might give me more reason to keep fighting, how i do all that shit like taking walks in nature and working out and maintaining a good sleep schedule, and yet, i’m Still Not Well.

like here i am with the SAME trauma spinning around my head and the SAME terror of social situations and the SAME goddamn increasing fear every time i push myself to “just join a group!! just talk to people!! it gets easier the more you do it!!!”

that’s the FUCKING PROBLEM! i’m DOING all the easy shit, all the “just make lifestyle changes! :) x”!!!!!!! there is still shit that gets HARDER the more i do it!!!!!!! i get MORE anxious and MORE scared and MORE defensive and MORE avoidant the more i push myself to Just Talk To People and the better somebody knows me, because the more they know, the more they have to use as a fucking weapon! this is why I shut down and say “Oh you know I’m okay :)” in my fucking appointments!!!! because they send me to SO MANY different people, who BARELY skim my case notes, and i have no opportunity to develop enough trust with them to tell them the whole truth! which is, “dude, i feel like shit. i’m behind where i Should be given my age and ability. i have no friends, i’m terrified of people who start to get to know me. i’m constantly trying to process trauma, but it’s always the same pain, and then i remember something else painful, and it’s all more fucked up the older i get, and there’s a limit to what i can do about this alone, and i’m overwhelmed. i’m used to it, because i’ve been living this way for so fucking long, but i’m furious, because you people should have KEPT me from getting used to living like this. and i Don’t. Want. To Live. This. Way. Forever.”

they haven’t even given me the fucking opportunity to build ANY significant, long-term therapeutic relationship with ANY NHS mental health practitioner. i haven’t seen anybody for more than like, three appointments, except my goddamn private counsellor, who is a blessing and lets me pay him in artwork when the cash runs out. and he always looks so angry and disappointed that the NHS are doing so fucking little for me, but never that way in me, which i have seen from so-called mental health “professionals,” including crisis team workers, on the NHS.

like, the last time i saw a psychiatrist, he had a face on him like NBC’s Hannibal fucking Lecter and he said word-for-word “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you.” what kind of fucking health professional comes out with shit like THAT? and shortly after that appt I got increasingly unstable, went psychotic, trashed my apartment, tried to commit suicide again, then spent all my fucking money running all over the country and ended up here, in a flat in halls my uni are paying for while i bit-by-bit clean up my apartment, alone because i don’t trust anybody else to touch MY THINGS, until it’s livable again.

i think i’m gonna print a lot of these recent text posts and take them to my case review. i’ve always been too ashamed to take anything significant that i write to Brain Appointments, because, like... well. mother is to blame for that. “melodramatic/theatrical/overemotional/I think you’re just tired/making things up/imagining things” and so on. and the fact that when it was found out by my school i was self harming and they told her, shit got so much worse at home. like, that pretty effectively taught me Hide Everything Or You’ll Be Punished, Even By People Who Say They’re Just Trying To Help You.

man, seriously, fuck this shit. fuck this shit. fuck how hard i’m having to fight for this. fuck all this terror and aggression, sure I can pilot the ship on fear and fury, but i wanna pilot it just like, gently, with love and enthusiasm. i’ve been finding ways to start doing that, alone. but this whole, social stuff? i can’t do that alone. the social space inside my head is healthier, i’m not screaming and fighting with the voices, or constantly blocking them out with music and drugs and trances, but Other Bodies? i need help with Other Bodies.

ok im getting a headache so it’s time to call this post Done

#fliptext #trauma #abuse #neglect #uh #ask to tag #self harm #psychosis ment #suicide #long post #sorta

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englishmemoirthing-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Memoir Project

Preface

I am not a parent. I will be one of these days to my own children, but at this point in time, I am not a parent. I am a sister. I am a first-year college student, studying nursing with the goal to become one of the best and most experienced nurse practitioners out there. I like to draw and I’m a pretty amateur singer. I am an 18-year-old who still drinks juice boxes and eats microwave chicken nuggets for lunch. I am not one to take on something that is too big, mostly because I know from experience. I am not what you would define as your typical parent. I’ve never even had children of my own. And yet, I was handed a cranky 4-year-old at the prime age of 10 years old, and I call her my kid. She is my child, even to this day. I am not a parent, but when it comes to my sister, my one and only source of happiness, I am one.

The Initiation

I’m sitting in between my sister’s bed and my own on the floor, playing with my dinosaurs when I hear the loud banging on the front door. I immediately look up from my imaginary Jurassic world, knowing that in my 10 years of living in that house that no one ever knocks on our old, broken down front door. I sprint up around to the back door of my mom’s room leading to the living room to see who our loud, new guest could be, but by the time I get there, my grandmother is being pushed aside by the police barging into our house. I could see their police cars blocking our driveway and in the road by in front of our house through our front door, now left wide open. I watch them as they head out of my sight, towards the hallway to the kitchen, which I promptly circle around using the back entrance.

I jumped up onto my grandparents’ old armchairs, through a large window looking into the kitchen. I remember slipping a little bit, making me giggle a little while I got back up. However, the sight that I saw once I got up wiped my tiny, innocent smile off my face. I watched as the police took hold of my father, handcuffed him, and started to recite his Miranda rights. My heart sunk to my stomach, and all the noise in the room started to fade around me. I then looked to my right to realize that my 3-year-old sister, who had climbed up onto the chair next to mine, was trying to see over the window, just as I had been doing. I calmly and quietly climbed down from my perch on the chair, pulled my sister away from the window, and quietly led her back to the room we shared. I shut the doors so she couldn’t escape, then sprinted back to the front of the house. I had just missed the cops putting my dad into the police car in our driveway when my mom came up to me with a look of utter disbelief on her face. “Can you please go get your father some clean pants to take with him before he leaves”? I stared at her as if I was waiting for her to laugh and tell me that she was joking. When that moment never came, I slowly turned around and ran to my dad’s closet for the pants. When I got back to my mom, she yanked the pants from me, almost knocking me over, and walked out the door. I wanted to follow her, but something was holding me back (in due time, I found out that my grandfather had held me until everyone left the driveway). My mom didn’t come home until about 2 in the morning. I had to figure out how to feed my baby sister without my mom or dad helping me. And sure enough, this continued on for the next 5 years after my dad got arrested. This was my first day of becoming a co-parent to my sister.

Every mother can attest to the hardships of motherhood, from birthing the child to watching them leave for college, nothing is easy for parents these days. However, being the child having to take care of one or more of your siblings makes it 10x harder, especially if your parents are still around, but are too caught up with everything else to worry too much about taking care of the kids. And this isn’t me trying to bash my parents or the thousands of parents relying on the older siblings to help with the younger ones, they do the best they can with the circumstances they are given. I wanted to share my story considering that there are thousands of others out who could possibly relate to my experience. Each situation is unique and some definently had it worse than me, but speaking on behalf of myself and all the other older siblings out there that had it somewhat like me, raising a kid when you’re still a kid can either the worst thing or the best thing for your childhood.

There are a plethora of things that I have learned from becoming a co-parent (which is technically between two divorced parents, but my parents agreed that we could call all three of us to be co-parenting), but the most important thing I could’ve learned is the art of patience. From the start of my parenting journey (awful word to use but I’ll work on it) to now, my patience threshold had risen to levels that still make me wonder how I was ever impatient with anybody. If I had a dime for the amount of times I held my tongue when my sister would back talk me or throw a tantrum, I could go into early retirement (and I’m only 18).

The Struggle

Ever since my father decided to make the mistakes he made that ruined our family dynamic, I’ve been left to be my sister’s primary caretaker. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had to help her with homework, and the amount of recipes in my head that I have from having to scramble to make for dinner is more than I’ll ever need. From getting her to 7:00 am theatre practices to following her and her friends around the mall for hours on end, I’ve made sure that she still gets the childhood that was taken from me. And in doing these things and having to be there for her, it triggered this unexplainable love for my sister that I have never (and probably will never) experienced in my entire life. She is the most important person in my life and my absolute favorite person on this planet. I would do anything for my younger sister, and at times I have had to make sacrifices so she could be happy, but I was more than willing to do them for her. My school schedule is solely based off of when I need to be home to get her from school or make sure she’s not at home alone for too long. In about two months, I’ll be getting her first and middle name tattooed behind my ear. She has become my whole life, the one person I could not live without. And yet, she is also the person that gets to me the most. She’s the only one who knows exactly what button to push to make me a certain kind of angry. She knows every single thing to say or do to get her way with me. She bends every rule in my rule book and uses that against my parents now that they take care of her more with me. She learns from everything my parents and I do so she can use it for the future. She’s the smartest, yet most annoying and manipulative child I’ve ever met. And I bet many parents (or siblings with the same case as me) could say something like that about their kid as well.

I’ve come to learn very quickly that guardians are the most predictable human beings ever, knowing from myself and my parents equally. We use the same punishments and same phrases when talking to our children or telling them right and wrong. We say the same lectures when the kid runs with scissors or tries to touch the hot stove or telling them not to talk to strangers. Everything is the same with us, mostly because kids tend to have a hard time learning from certain things, but we tend to prepare what we want to say in certain situations in order for them to understand. We want to be ready for the worst of the worst, for the stuff that will stick with them in the long run. The first time they go out with friends by themselves, the first time they stay home alone, their first boyfriend or girlfriend. Looking into the future at that stuff is scary, so we prepare something that is going to get the point across, but still give them room to learn in a safe manner (whether we know it or not).

Another harsh truth of childcare is the no sleep thing, especially when they’re little. She always had a hard time sleeping in her bed, so I let her sleep in mine when I first started taking care of her. My only problem with it was that she tends to sleep like a starfish and kicks like a horse in the middle of the night if you get too close to her. I was constantly covered in bruises, and the bags under my eyes looked like they weighed 50 pounds. It went on for about a year before I found a good way to kick her out for good. One day she started crawling in with me, and at one point I started to apologize. “What are you saying sorry for?”, not knowing the horror she was about to endure.” Oh, not much, I just thought you should know that I farted in my bed a minute ago”. She never stepped foot in my bed after that.

The Aftermath

After being a tired, baggy-eyed witness to my parent’s divorce, and they finally stepped away from the problems they had with each other, they finally started to help with me with my sister. Of course, they had their struggles considering by the time they started pitching in, she was around 8. They didn’t have too much experience with the madness that is my sister. Frankly, they didn’t really know her personality all that well. So, in a very awkward and weird set of conversations with my parents, I began to teach them the ABC’s of how to raise a little girl who wants to become president or a lawyer some day at the age of 8. I taught them her little quirky things like not to question her when she names her stuffed whale Jefferey, or not to correct her when she says deodorant like de-do-dar-ant because she knows the correct way, she just wants you to correct her so she can laugh at how concerned you get when you correct her. However, the most important thing I taught them about her is that she is one of the most individualized people on the planet, and she will always try to do everything by herself first before asking. The last thing she wants to do is ask for help, but I taught her when to realize your capacity for doing something and that it’s ok to ask for help sometimes when you really can’t do something. And the last thing I wanted them to do was to undo everything I taught her because it didn’t fit with how they wanted her to be.

At times they wanted her to be something she wasn’t, like the time my mom wanted to put her in gymnastics even though all she wanted to do was play in the pit with all the foam blocks every time she went. My dad had an easier time accepting everything, maybe because he felt bad for missing out in the first place, or because he wants the same things I want for her. My mom never felt like she did anything wrong, so she came back into it as though she already knew her. However, after a while she realized that the 4 year old she used to know was not the same as the smarter, more independent child that was in front of her. Even to this day she says my sister scares her, because she never got used to the fact that there’s a good chunk missing from her memory of my sister in the time she was chasing my dad around everywhere and going to court all the time. She learns something new about my sister every day, even as an 11-year-old middle schooler who wants to join the volleyball team and is constantly mumbling internet memes to herself to make herself laugh.

Now, my parents and I both equally split the work of raising our tall, very strange 11-year-old girl. Sometimes I take her all the way into Katy for school in the mornings in exchange for one of them to go and get her or to babysit when I want to hang out with a friend or something. And in some ways, they pay me back for all the lost time. Both pay me whenever I go out with her to buy dinner, but my dad gives me more freedom when it comes to going out with friends or my boyfriend or someone. My mom still likes to think she was there all those years to cope, so the most she’ll do is not fight with us when we want to have fast food instead of meatloaf. They both, however, have grown into the whole parenting thing, and both love how my sister turned out in the end.

My time with her was long and hard, and sometimes I think I lost apart of myself as a kid that I know I won’t get back. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, because I gained something so incredible and I gained so many good things I can use for my own children someday. I’d go back and do it all again if I had the chance. I’ve learned so much, and I’ve become someone my sister is going to look up to while she grows more into who she is. And I hope one day I can show her this, so she knows our past a little more and can understand why she is who she is. Because in a way, she lived out the part of my life that I lost, and for that I am eternally grateful.

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