#I’m preparing a lecture and found it by the accident series

[ramblingsofintrovert]

For today's World Zebra Day:

Theodoor de Bry's coloured engraving from the German translation of Filippo Pigafetta's Relatione del reame di Congo (Frankfurt 1597).

Full text digitised via Archive.org, from the John Carter Brown Library (link here).

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter thirty seven

close to home | chapter thirty seven

plot: the reader's new life at Alexandria surprises her further

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,825 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

You woke up to Daryl snoring and an ache in your neck. You were facing away from him, curled up on your side. His arm was outstretched, and you’d been using it as a pillow. Slowly you turned, blinking the sleep from your eyes. 

Daryl looked beautiful as he slept, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and gently caressing the side of his face. His soft yet coarse facial hair hid away his skin. The few wrinkles he had that you didn’t show the decade or so that spanned between you two. Not that you cared. You liked that he was older. 

You moved closer to him, your hand on the expanse of his chest now. You wanted to shower him with affection. You wanted to press kisses all over his face, squeeze his cheeks, and show him how much you cared about him. But you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, which kept you from doing all that. You’d have to think of other ways to show him you cared. Ways that didn’t involve physical affection. 

But still, you hoped that with time, he’d relax at your touch instead of tense. 

“Stop starin’,”

You smiled at the sound of his voice. You didn’t care that you’d been caught red-handed. You were just happy to hear the sound of his voice. 

“Good morning, old man,” You whispered. 

Daryl sighed with sleep and turned to look at you, placing his hand on the small of your back. The only window in the room, nearly at ground level but at the top of the wall inside, had lit up the room significantly. 

You curled your hand around his shirt to avoid touching his face. 

“Ain’ an old man,” 

You chuckled and moved so you were lying on your stomach but still in his arms. “Sorry, good morning, handsome,” 

“Stop,”

“What? You don’t like being called what you are?” You teased. Daryl shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, then sighed and closed his eyes. Your eyebrows furred together. “You okay?”

“Just ain’ used to it,”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. “Bad thing?”

Daryl hummed and shook his head. “Good thing,”

***

An hour later--after successfully getting Daryl to engage in a decent conversation--you snuck upstairs to get dressed. It was still early, but you heard your family preparing for the day. 

You did the same, dressing in jeans and a deep V-neck that you found at the bottom of a bin. It was worn in by someone who wasn’t you, but it fits comfortably. You put on socks but left your shoes upstairs. 

By then, Michonne and Maggie sat at the kitchen table, drinking something from a mug. “Where is everyone?” You asked. 

“Their jobs. There was a supply run for parts to the solar panels today. Carl’s still asleep, though,” Michonne said. 

You sat down at the table and looked between the two of them. “Daryl and I had sex last night.”

Maggie choked on her drink and looked at you wide-eyed while Michonne immediately laughed. 

“You what?” Maggie asked. 

You nodded and looked around the room, even though no one was there. “Don’t tell anyone. I need advice. He finished inside of me by accident, and I’m worried about getting pregnant,” You said. 

Michonne laughed harder, and Maggie gave you a look. “(Y/N).”

“Spare the lecture, Mom,” You said. “Surely you and Glenn have been in this situation before. What do I do?” You nearly begged. 

“See if Pete has a morning-after pill?” Michonne asked. 

You bit your lip and slowly nodded. It wasn’t the worst of ideas; you could run by before meeting with Olivia. 

Maggie reached out and grabbed your hand. “The waiting sucks. I’ve been through it once or twice. Just try and breathe.”

“Okay, okay. But if I get pregnant, promise one of you will throw me down the stairs?”

***

You spent the rest of the day with Olivia, working the inventory. She went over a few more things, but for the most part, the two of you sat around for the day. You thought it was completely pointless and didn’t know why Deanna thought two people were needed for this. But you didn’t question anything. It allowed you to sit and relax for once, a feeling you weren’t used to. And you intended on volunteering for guard duty. 

You’d managed to snag a few condoms that you hoped Olivia would overlook. She was too busy paying attention to Tora, who came with you to work today. You felt at ease with her there, and Olivia even brought out an old pillow and made a makeshift bed for you. You’d think it was a throne, the way Tora sat up there all day. 

After Olivia dismissed you with a basket of rations for the house, you walked slowly to the new home you found yourself in. A few of your neighbors waved at you, and you were able to place a few of the faces but couldn’t remember the names. 

The house was empty except for Carl, who you only knew was home because of the loud music playing upstairs. With a smile and a sense of normality, you put the items Olivia gave you away before you walked around the living room. Some movies were on one of the shelves behind the TV, but they didn’t interest you. And you didn’t care for it anyway. It felt too much like the old days, and you couldn’t get yourself to turn it on. 

So you sat on the couch with a book you hadn’t read since high school and started reading. Tora jumped up to curl on your lap while you did so, and it almost felt like everything was how it should be. 

When the door opened, you had just reached the third chapter, and Michonne walked in. By the look on her face, your stomach dropped, and you closed the book. “What happened?”

“Noah.”

“Is he…?” You asked. 

She leaned against the center island and nodded. “Tara’s in the infirmary. She hit her head really hard.”

Your heart sank at the news, and you sighed deeply. In just weeks, you lost the prison, your uncle, Beth, Tyreese, and now Noah. You rubbed your hands together and stood up. “I’m going to see Tara.”

“I’ll come with you,” She said quietly. 

The walk to the infirmary was quick, and your stomach dropped when you saw Tara lying unconscious. Rosita was with her, and she gave you guys a tired smile. Eugene was sitting in the room too, but he didn’t say anything. 

“What did Pete say?” You asked, looking at her pale face. 

“She’s out. She’ll probably have a concussion. But she should pull through. He’s hoping she’ll wake tomorrow.” Rosita said. 

You nodded and sat down, looking at Eugene. “I’m sorry.”

He gave you a nod but didn’t say anything. 

You all waited in silence. Not for her to wake up, of course. But it felt like the right thing to do. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there when you heard a commotion outside, and you all went out to see what was happening. 

The last thing you expected to see was Rick fighting Pete. Your mouth dropped at the sight before you and you couldn’t believe what you saw. They were both covered in blood and had significant wounds on them. 

When a few people approached Rick, he pulled a gun. You grabbed Rosita’s arm, needing something to tether you to this moment. She seemed to need the same because she didn’t back away as Rick ranted about Alexandria and how they weren’t prepared. 

Michonne moved quickly and knocked him out before he could say anything he couldn’t take back, and then tension around the block seemed to diminish. 

You glanced around for Daryl, but he wasn’t there. 

***

You spent the next hour patching up Rick in a makeshift self without anyone from Alexandria knowing and getting him settled in the room. You left food and water to make sure he had something to eat. A part of you felt guilty about what happened. You didn’t notice how much he was struggling. Rick always noticed when you were, and you hated that you didn’t return the favor. 

Starting tomorrow, you would. 

After that, you helped Carol make spaghetti for dinner. It was mostly a quiet dinner, and Glenn didn’t join you. You found it hard to eat too, but you forced everything down. Then, you sat with Carl for a while to make sure he was okay. He showed you some of the comics he found and read with you for a while before you both went to bed. 

The next morning, you checked on an unconscious Rick before heading to work. Olivia was a tad bit awkward with you before she lightened up. You helped her man the shop for a while before you got wind that Tara was up, and Olivia let you go to her. 

Since Pete wasn’t there, you did a quick check-up on her and told her how thankful you were okay. Someone already told her about Noah, and you did your best to keep her mind off it before she fell asleep. 

When you heard about the meeting that would decide Rick’s fate at Alexandria, you had anxiety about it the rest of the day. You heard from Michonne that Rick was up and about, but she thought it best if everyone kept their distance for a little while. 

As the sun set, Maggie collected you, and you followed her to the meeting. 

“Do you think they’re going to kick him out?” You asked her as you walked. 

“I don’t know.” She said. 

“What do we do if they do?”

Maggie looked around before looking at you. “Then I guess we take this place.”

No other words were exchanged because you didn’t disagree. If they dared exile Rick, they had another thing coming for them. You’d fight tooth and nail to make sure that didn’t happen. Not after everything Rick’s done for you. 

The meeting didn’t start for a while, and when it did, nice things weren’t said. Jessie and Maggie were the only ones sticking up for Rick. You let your cousin talk and stood with her, but you weren’t nearly as good with words as she was.

When Rick appeared out of nowhere, dropping a dead walker at everyone’s feet, you knew you had enough surprises, so when Pete appeared drunk, you started to get worried. 

Maggie grabbed you as Pete went after Rick, and you both watched in horror as Reg tried to step in before his throat was slit. 

Deanna started screaming, cradling her dying husband. Abraham apprehended Pete, and you grabbed your machete, waiting for something to happen. 

But all Deanna had to do was say Rick’s name before he put a bullet through Pete’s skull. 

In the silence that followed, you all felt the presence of additions to the group. Daryl and Aaron were back with a stranger that seemed to know Rick. 

[dailytatsu]

Hello! I saw request were open so i was wondering if i could request some headcanons of the Archons and/or the Adepti meeting a God reader who is the God of Chaos and destruction. The reader is not a Archon tho and travels all over Teyvat cuz small bits of destruction were ever they go. They're pretty mischievous and somewhat smug but despite how they act they're actually a good person. They dont mean to cause problems(most of the time anyways) chaos follows them were ever they go. Idk if you have a character limit but if you do please tell me so i wont make a mistake again. And if there is you can just do Zhongli and Xiao. Optionally could you make them a dendro user, there not a lot of dendro content and if not thats fine. I understand. Could you make the reader Gn or Non-binary they/them pronouns please? If not male reader is totally fine. Im so sorry for the long post and I hope you have a good day/night!

Ohmy, it’s my first time just writing headcanons! I’m use to write a lot, so let’s hope I did it right (^ ^' )7

Thanks for the request! ✨

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[HC] God of Chaos! Reader and the Archons + Xiao

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Venti, Shogun Raiden (Ei).

Gn! Reader

I tried doing it with everyone but I’m no still that confident to try writing with some characters ＿|￣|○

Sorry for any mistakes!

Request are open!

Genshin Masterlist

Second part ->

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VENTI

To be honest, he didn't notice your presence at first. He had other concerns on his mind that day to perceive the chaotic (and slightly threatening) aura that Mondstadt was infected with that day.

Barbatos is a person of habit, so he couldn't help but be curious when the crowd in front of him began to look a little agitated instead of seeming to enjoy his lyre and his songs.

But then a series of domino events appeared in front of his very eyes.

The purity of the chaos was such that he felt overwhelmed, even without the white-haired boy around, if it wasn’t Bennett fault, then how was it possible for everything to be ruined in such a short time?

His patience ended when, out of nowhere, the strings of his lyre jumped close to his face as they snapped. Making that awful noise that couldn’t mean nothing good.

Okay, enough, who is messing around in here? No more joking in his nation!

He concentrated a little, a faint but unique presence kept his nerves on edge, as if he was being watched from afar. He moved away from the busy areas and then chased that ephemeral energy to the highest point of the church, where the bells were ringing in an irregular and stressful way.

Then he found you. Snoozing against one of the columns, somewhat tired because the trip you made to reach Mondstadt.

Surprisingly, Barbatos understood you since the first exchange of words. A god of chaos who was also a free spirit, you followed no rules ever written in Teyvat, and you had no plans to apologize for the mess you made.

Both of you were Zhongli’s worst nightmare, but that’s another story.

He managed to through your arrogance and your teasing nature that you, in fact, were a lonely spirit that liked to witness the life from above of everyone.

The difference between teasing someone accidentally and committing a crime was really visible, but he still couldn't help but feel like he should scold you after your mere presence messed up with the guild's baskets full of fish.

But hey! He also enjoy the company! Venti tried to teach you how to enjoy the calm and the whisper of wind, music can also contain chaos, feelings, old stories waiting to be told again, expressions and desire united, in a wonderful piece of-

As you yawned his lyre broke up again. Making clear the message.

Okay, not even God of Freedom and Wind can control chaos. Anyways, what a tragedy, but there’s nothing a simple bard can do, smh.

“Do you like kids, don’t you?” He said once, after a nice day of hearing him sing before your chaos reached his little concert. Again watching everyone from above on the hands of the statue, with your attention caught by some kids playing tag.

“… I don’t know what do you mean.” Once discovered you had no choice but to remain defensive, pretending to be disinterested.

“Heh, you aren’t a good liar.” It may not be the wisest thing to make fun of someone who could destroy the place where you were resting, but Venti was confident that he knew you well enough to know that you were not so explosive. “You know!, I just have some pieces, but I think it’s because they are little walking concentrations of pure and innocent chaos, am I wrong?”

He wasn’t, no at all. But you would never confess something that embarrassing.

This guy wrote a ballad about the days when Mondstadt got immerse with that strike of bad luck. Kind of an apology of not being able to handle the situation.

Now there’s the rumor that says that, every time somebody sings that song, something unlucky will happen in front of you.

The song is cursed.

One night when the moon was shining on the Cider Lake his well tuned ears distinguished a melody that was broken from time to time by the accidents of his performer, distracting him of his way to look for you.

It could be painful to listen to, but Venti could certainly feel the dedication of the one who was playing the imperfect song.

The ballad of the god of chaos, hummed like a lullaby that instead of making you sleep makes you question the events of the day. Wishing for the slightest thing to be different after an exhaustive week of peace and tranquility.

A lonely spirits cursing their existence, sitting in the highest point of a stranger’s palace, where you can reach the sky by only rising your hand.

The next day, Barbatos invited you to drink some wine, this time near Windrise to avoid accidents in the city.

As he almost dropped the bottle when a lot of slimes were attracted by your presence, he confirmed the theory about that the way to spend time with you would not be his personal definition of hanging out.

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ZHONGLI

Okay, there’s only two scenarios that could happened when you set a foot in Liyue.

Old man has a soft spot for you for being a relative young deity.

Or he’s always lecturing you for not having control of your aura and powers.

How u dare bringing chaos to the nation of order? It’s that a death wish?

Jokes aside, you’re not really a threat. And he could sense that after he saw how you tried to avoid having direct contact with the city. Rex Lapis found your silhouette jumping and crossing through the mountains until reaching the fairest point that allowed you to enjoy the view of the streets that were filled with life and light as the sunsets.

He even noticed how you sighed in frustration when a storm started out of nowhere. A rain dedicated just for the arriving of the God of Chaos. Not even bothering of getting shield, you stayed in your place to look at all the people who were getting back to their places.

The rain seemed to stop over your head, for a second was enough to stop you from being cruelly swamped by the very weather you had created. An elegant umbrella covered you, the long awaited surprise you expected from someone as outdated as Morax.

You looked up, and found his expression calm and attentive, watching you. As if he had made a great discovery that he could not believe

“May I have a moment of your time to keep you company? Letting out your sorrows in the middle of a torrential storm is not what I would recommend as way to spend a good day.”

“… What are you talking about? Get in your own business, old man.”

“Well, you should know that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.”

Next time you knew was that he was helping you to dry your hair with a towel once you let him guide you to his place.

Zhongli picked you up like a abandoned cat that day. Even if having you near meant to deal with new the roof leaks.

Also kept you away from Hu Tao, if you two ever get along for being partners in crime he would seal himself underground-

For all the time you spend exploring Liyue, there he was. Like a little kid showing his treasures. But also like a worried father looking after his child for them not to stumble making their first steps.

Look at you! Almost crushing those Treasure Hoarders when a bunch of rocks fell down after you jumped at the edge of the cliff.

Wait, no- come back here! You should verify the surroundings and be aware of the weight of your power if you’re going to explore in that bold way. You, chaotic brat.

Another one who believed fervently that your mood was to blame for the constant chaos you caused. He also tried to show you the wonders of peace and calm, teaching you how to prepare tea while listening to the storyteller (also both being a little far away from the rest of them, just in case).

He couldn’t help but sigh when the teapot arm broke as soon as you tried to serve the tea. What a waste, he thought.

You apologized to him, kind of stressed with yourself after you took all the pieces with your bare hands to run away with them. Leaving a confused Zhongli behind.

Next day you were back, with the teapot repaired and just like new.

He let out a lot of thankful words, some flattering and a lot more cheesy things that you never had received before.

With that unexpected affection you couldn’t help but react flustered; then a cat that was chasing a bird jumped through a lot of decorations and merchandise, almost starting a fire as the chained events kept going.

Yeah,, uh, Zhongli got some useful mental notes about you and your chaos that day.

Hey, before you go, want to make a contract? You won’t regret it!

But as the wandering spirit you were you had no problems in reject his offer, but also promising that you would visit Liyue if he wanted you to.

Of course he wanted! But.. maybe next time you should stay in Huaguang Stone Forest instead of roaming near the city,,

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XIAO

Tried to kill you.

I mean, your aura is threatening and full of a destructive energy, how is possible that you weren’t a demon to eradicate??

Sorry, but he had a point.

Your first met was on your way to reach Huaguang Stone Forest along with Zhongli for introduce you with the Adeptus.

Xiao, in the other side, thought that you were about to attack Morax from behind, so he just struck against you. With his polearm near to go through your chest, just stopped because you felt him before.

Lifting your hand at his direction, summoning chaos, this time, on purpose. The wind gained a wrathful nature and the biggest roots that were hiding under his feet rose to caught him.

And when you were about to hit each other Zhongli’s shield appeared just in time to separate both of you. Preventing a real catastrophic event.

Now stop fighting and introduce to each other.

Nice(n’t) to meet u.

What if you tried to awake Azhdaha to bring chaos and destruction to Liyue? What if you wanted to summoned Osial? What if… ?

Zhongli had to confirm and promise to him that those cruel possibilities won’t be a near future for respecting the real reason of your travel.

No matter if he wasn’t comfortable with your presence, it wasn’t his decision to allow you to roam freely, so he had to get use to it.

He immediately knew after hearing about your nature that was your fault that lately there were a lot more demons and monsters. Even his karma was getting more painful than usual.

(If you ever meet Hu Tao, please think twice before doing Xiao a prank)

You both didn’t interact a lot, and being honest, it was better that way.

He hadn’t a single intention of talking with you again until the day you were practicing the song that your Anemo friend taught you. By the other hand, Xiao noticed that the melody had the same nature as the one he once heard before being consumed by the karma.

It wasn’t a flute, but a worn lyre that was still in one piece after weeks of being repaired again and again.

“That song… ”

“Do you know it?” Xiao just nodded, staying in silence, being your very first audience even if you still have a lot to learn about playing a lyre.

It wasn’t as effective as the original, but was still… nice, kind of nostalgic.

Next morning, the Yaksha called for you. Made you stay still in the middle of a plain and then he disappeared of your sight.

He abandoned y- wait, what’s that? Why those monsters has that weird dark aura?

You were about to defend yourself until Xiao appeared back just in time to defeat them.

That day you became his personal bait for demons and monsters. Naturally you attracted chaos, so anyway you were, there will be also something to fight.

I guess this is your way to pay for all the troubles you made for him and his duty, so no complaining about it.

If you ask for a unexpected experience to Ganyu she would said that once she found both of you fighting along against the catastrophe, looking after each other’s back and almost having a perfect synchrony.

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SHOGUN RAIDEN; EI

Also tried to kill you.

Well, the puppet tried to.

And then Ei tried when you had the opportunity of facing her.

But since killing a god just mean the releasing of a lot, pure, energy she couldn’t afford that risk, much less considering your “speciality”.

Who knows what would happen to Inazuma if your vital energy burst across the nation. Just like that old story about Sal Terrae and their goddess.

She just defeated you. Letting you rest and recovering in the midst of the plane of her reality within her mind. Your inert body in the middle of the battlefield as she kept meditating.

When you woke up she ignored your presence, but also denying your complaints about letting you go out back.

In her words, you were a burden, another enemy of eternity. Something as unpredictable as you and your “accidents” couldn’t get along with her utopia.

Ei could banish you from Inazuma, but she knows your type. Stubborn and not accepting the most simple orders to obey.

She knew that you would found a way to be back.

It’s better like this.

And in the hypothetical case of you being freed when she trapped the traveler (kicking you out) and then having a chance to see her again after the end of the war, then things would be somewhat different.

There’s not that much of civilization on some islands, so she allowed you to explore as much as your heart wanted. But if something serious happen, she promised that would end her work in the middle of the sea so your remains never be found.

Okay, message clear. Just do chaos near monsters and bandits, got it,,

Even if she wanted to spend some time with you and telling you some stories about Inazuma and other gods she couldn’t found the right time to call you at her presence.

As the current ruler of Inazuma she was busier than the rest of Archons you have meet. Maybe just some letters now and then like a way to keep a logbook, but not really a face to face talk.

Until she got the opportunity of a day off, just to found you messing around near some ruins. Trying to solve a puzzle before your speciality strikes in. The structure fell down after your fingertips reached the stone.

When the dust dissipated, you discovered her figure judging you from the other side of the remain ruins.

Give her a good reason for not errase you from the map, I dare u.

You felt the worst was about to come when Ei ordered you to follow her after a long sigh. Crossing her arms and starting to walk away from the bunch of old and worn rock.

Plot Twist, she actually invited you to rest under a tree, asking in her serene voice the reason for your journey and your origin. In such a direct way that it seemed more like a sentence than a talk to get to know each other better.

You answered what you could remember and then the silence stayed like the only way of interaction between you two.

Ohno, you know this pattern. Something’s about to happen-

“There is some strange beauty in the chaos, it may be the calm after the storm, but the catastrophe itself is seen as a necessary evil to appreciate the stillness. How much it would last until the lighting hit the valley?”

“So I arrived to keep order between the humans?”

Well yes, but actually no.

“… You see, if there is nothing but order and a lack of problems, mortals are likely to create them on their own. Their minds feels the need to be tested, to prove their worth, so I guess some of your chaos may be part of the history.”

“… then shall we take a walk in Inazuma?” You did not know if you were right, but you thought you saw a faint smile through his lips in the same way that lightning can be seen in the sky.

“I’ll allow it.” She said.

Her only condition was for you not to approach the huge boxes of fireworks down the street.

[dudeandduchess]

Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, Modern AU, NSFW Series)[Chapter 7]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Pussy Spanking, Thigh Fucking, Shallow Fucking, Creampie, There’s Only One Bed Scenario, Dark Themes

||Sugar and Spice Masterlist||

***

With how beautiful the sunset had been, and how romantic Kyōjurō had been acting, (Y/n) never expected that the night would take a turn for the worse. It was so bad that she was stressing out about it, even though she was completely taken care of at the Rengoku clan’s mountain villa.

She had a nice yukata to sleep in, and all the food that she could want in the kitchen, and people at her beck and call— if she even chose to ask for their help with anything.

The only problem was that she knew her mother was going to be furious once she got home.

Kyōjurō had taken the liberty to call her mother while (Y/n) was taking a shower— ‘to relax’ as the blond had said, before practically pushing her into the bathroom— to explain that he wouldn’t be able to bring her home, since it had begun to rain heavily. Heavy enough to pose as a hazard for driving down the dirt road.

If he wanted, he could have an off-roading vehicle sent to get them, but he wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to risk getting (Y/n) into an accident, when they could just wait things out until the morning.

That, and he figured that it would be nice to actually spend the night with her… and maybe give her a bit of pleasure, since they had been disturbed earlier.

Safe to say that (L/n) Akari wasn’t happy with how the situation had panned out, and had been about to lash out at Kyōjurō. Until, of course, he finally lost the polite and cheerful façade— after checking if (Y/n) was still in the bathroom.

Slowly, Kyōjurō sat down on the end of the bed in his room, before loosening his tie and stretching out his neck. He took his sweet time in making the older woman wait for his response to her threat of having (Y/n) fetched; especially when the venom in her voice suggested that a lecture was the least that she would give (Y/n).

He feared that Akari might even keep heaping on more political tasks on to (Y/n), all to keep her from seeing him. It wasn’t a secret that she didn’t like him for her daughter, after all.

“Don’t forget, (L/n)-san, I…” Kyōjurō began softly, with a sharp edge to his tone that warned his future mother-in-law to listen well to his words. “…can take away everything you love, if you break our agreement. It would be best if you remembered that the moment that my family put you where you are, you signed your life over to me.”

Silence reigned over the line for a couple of minutes, with Kyōjurō relishing in how he had managed to slowly protect (Y/n) from her own mother.

Of course, he knew just how horrible and selfish the woman was. It was why he wondered just how his cute future wife turned out so well. And maybe it was his own fault, but he had delved even further into the file he had on her, and couldn’t help but be completely enamored.

However, he was ill-prepared for the intensity of the real thing. She was so much more than he had thought she would be, especially after he had hung out with her a few times.

“I think it would be best if you cleared my wife’s schedule, and start letting her get to know her future husband better,” Kyōjurō continued after fully undoing his tie— letting it hang around his neck, as he finished up his conversation. “After all, she won’t be living under your roof in a few months.”

With that, he dropped the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. He then heaved a heavy sigh, letting the air fill his lungs, as he closed his eyes and exhaled all of his tension away.

He didn’t want (Y/n) to see that side of him; ever, if he could help it.

“Kyōjurō?” The aforementioned woman’s soft voice rang out from the bathroom and when he looked up, he had to immediately make an effort to not let his tongue hang out like a dog, as she looked so enticing in that red yukata that he’d had someone to get for her. “I’m done. You can take a bath now.”

And with that sweet smile she aimed right at him? Partnered with how cute she looked with her hair still a little damp? He really had to try to keep himself in check.

After all, he didn’t want her to think that he was a monster; in all senses of the word.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up the way she had, but it was too late to ask that question. Especially with Kyōjurō smelling so good behind her, while his right arm was wrapped around her middle— with his feet intertwined with hers.

She had tried to ask why they were sleeping in one bed, but all she had gotten from that was a simple ‘the other rooms are locked, and I already sent the head maid home’. It was a poor excuse, but she chose to just buy it— instead of fighting Kyōjurō and dampening the good day that they’d had together.

After all, it was all innocent cuddling… at least at first. As the minutes ticked by, Kyōjurō’s hand had begun caressing up and down her stomach, until it drifted lower to her pelvis.

She could feel his fingers toying with the seam of the yukata— slowly bunching up the material, until she could feel her pussy get even more exposed than it already was; what with her going commando beneath the garment.

“You’re not asleep. Are you, princess?” Kyōjurō whispered in her ear; the words making her feel warm down to her bones, even though the air held a biting chill that came with the rain pouring outside. “I want to make you feel… amazing.”

The way that Kyōjurō breathed out the last word had her clenching her thighs together— and the movement didn’t go unnoticed like she had wanted it to. So, she found herself paying for it with Kyōjurō leaning in even closer and teasingly nipping at her ear.

(Y/n) had it in her mind to say no at first, only to change her tune when the blond finally let his hand cup her pussy; dragging his middle finger up her slit and finding that she was already wet.

In her defense, it was because he smelled so good and felt so amazing against her— especially with his erection brushing against her ass every once in a while.

“Oh? Did I already make you this wet, baby?” Instead of answering, however, (Y/n) merely bit down on her tongue and closed her eyes— especially when Kyōjurō pressed two fingers to her clit, before beginning to circle them around the sensitive nub.

The action had (Y/n)’s hips bucking involuntarily, which brought a grin to Kyōjurō’s lips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Come on, baby girl. Tell me that you want to feel good too.”

But when silence kept hanging in the air, the blond lifted his fingers from her cunt— all so he could bring them down on her sensitive flesh. The spank was weak, compared to what he could have done, but it elicited his desired reaction.

He wasn’t done though, and landed another light spank on his lover’s cunt. It had her hips bucking once more, while a quiet and breathless moan escaped her lips. And finally, a really enticing, “Please make me feel good, Kyōjurō.”

“Good girl.”

His dick could only get harder once he pressed it up against (Y/n)’s ass— relishing in the feel of her warmth beneath the yukata, as he bunched the hem of it up. And once it was already out of the way, Kyōjurō gently wedged his calf between her own calves— if only to lift her leg up the tiniest fraction for what he wanted to do.

Once that was all settled, the blond freed his cock from his own yukata; holding his length at the base and guiding the tip up to start rubbing it up and down her slit.

He smeared his precum all over her pussy, focusing on circling his head at her clit, and really drinking in the quiet and pleased moans that kept flowing from (Y/n)’s mouth— which only got louder when he pressed the top of his dick flush against her pussy to coat it with her wetness.

And, knowing that was barely enough lubrication, the blond lifted his right hand up to (Y/n)’s mouth. He then pressed the tips of three digits to her lips, prompting her to open her mouth— which she did. All the while, he kept rubbing his dick against her pussy, so tempted to just push into her pussy, but wanting to make her extra needy for him before he gave in to his own urges and fucked her.

“Get them nice and wet, princess.” He’d have tried to make her wetter by playing with her nipples, but he had slid his arm under her head earlier— for her to use as a pillow— so it was laying there, much to his regret.

When his fingers were already wet, he pulled them out of her spent mouth and pressed a kiss to her cheek once more. All while he brought his hand down and used his spit-laden fingers to get his cock even wetter.

The moment that he had managed to get his cock relatively wet, he removed his leg from between (Y/n)’s own pair— moaning aloud when her thighs clamped down tighter around his dick. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

Kyōjurō wasted no time then, placing his hand back on (Y/n)’s clit and playing with it— circling, rubbing, pinching, and gently tugging on the sensitive nub— while he moved his hips to start fucking her thighs. It was made hotter and easier with how her wet she kept getting for him— enough to coat his cock and her thighs entirely with her juices.

That wasn’t the best part, however; it was when Kyōjurō pulled back a little bit too far and had accidentally pushed the tip of his cock inside her pussy— out of reflex.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Kyōjurō cursed through breathless moans, deciding to torture himself even more and push just the head of his cock inside her tight pussy. And he begun to thrust shallowly in her, losing himself in ecstasy just from that.

And he almost lost control and pushed in to the hilt, until he felt (Y/n)’s legs beginning to quiver, while her moans steadily got shakier and shakier. “Please, Kyō! Please fuck me!”

He had half a mind to finally give in to his own needs, but he managed to sway himself from that decision at the last minute. Instead, he began to rub (Y/n)’s clit faster— which had her ultimately coming apart around the head of his cock.

Her entrance was clamping down on him so amazingly, and he could feel her walls fluttering around what part of him was inside her, which made it so hard to pull out and only thrust in only up to the end of the head of his cock.

Kyōjurō felt himself getting so close to his orgasm, losing himself so much in (Y/n)— that he had even leaned down to start sucking hickeys onto the spot behind her ear just to last a little bit longer.

However, the pleasure finally got the better of him and had him instinctively pushing his entire length inside (Y/n)’s sopping cunt. All sorts of curses ricocheted within his head at that, but he didn’t regret what had happened.

Especially when he came so hard and filled her up so well, with his dick buried in her to the hilt.

There went his plans of making her crazy for him but, oddly enough, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened just felt right to him. If she got pregnant from it, then he was prepared to raise their child together— no other thoughts or trepidations swirling around in his mind, like they had before.

With (Y/n) next to him, he felt that he could conquer the world.

Besides, little did he know that she was well on her way to getting positively crazy for him. Addicted: heart, body, and soul.

Especially with the way that she had overheard him standing up for her against her mother.

[ramblingsofintrovert]

Right, I'd be that gal :)

Image is most likely from Wilfried Koch's Styles in architecture (Baustilkunde) - an excellent source of terminology and basic examples of European architectural works from ancient Greece till the 20th century. And the best part is a multilingual dictionary (English-French-German-Italian, plus Polish in my edition). So as follows:

aisle - nef latérale (collatéral) - Seitenschiff - navata laterale

buttress - contrefort -Strebepfeiler - contrafforte

clerestory - clair étage - Lichtgaden (Obergaden) - piano delle finestre della navata (in Polish I don't think I've ever heard clerestorium, rather "strefa okien górnych")

flying buttresses - arc-boutant - Schwibbogen - arco rampante

nave - nef centrale - Mittelschiff - navata centrale

pier (or pillar) - pilier - Pfeiler - pilastro

pinnacle - pinacle - Fiale - giuglia

pointed arch - arc brisé - Spitzbogen - arco acuto

ribbed vaulting - voûte encroisée -Rippengewölbe - volta a costoloni

triforium - triforium - Triforium - triforio

[mosswillow]

Iced Coffee - Dark!Stephen Strange x Reader.

Summary:

You met Stephen Strange your last year of medical school. He was godlike and you were infatuated. You liked him and in return he humiliated you. Years later you were over it; made a career for yourself.

He saw you again, remembered you, wanted you. He was going to show you that he had changed, win you over. You would be his and he would protect you forever, he just had to prove himself.

Series Warnings:

18+ adult content, Dark, Rape/noncon, obsessive behavior, stalking, doctor/medical themes, mild/moderate doctor kink, needles (chapter one, not sex related), violence, abuse, kidnapping, forced marriage, smut, escape attempt, dirty talk (my best attempt at least).

Potential warnings, a non-exhaustive list: Oral, praise kink, mild degradation (Will not include whore or slut)  

You can join the tag list here. 

A/N: Now that I’ve been writing for a few months I’m experimenting with different styles. If you’ve read my other stuff lmk what you think (ask, comment, message, whatever.)

Thank you to the unnamed requester and @couldntbedamned​ for this request. 🖤

By Clicking keep reading you confirm that you are over 18 and understand that this content is mature and potentially triggering. 

CHAPTER 1

Stephen was the most brilliant man you had ever met. School was a joke to him, he easily outperformed everyone no matter the subject. He was confident, lived his life with this air of superiority, and you were obsessed. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, sat next to him in class, helped him when he asked. He was nice to you too, he was an asshole almost all the time but when he talked to you it was gentle, respectful.

It was October third when it happened, the date would forever be burned in your memory. He turned to you and asked you the date.

“It’s october third,” you smiled.    

He thanked you and touched his hand to your arm and you felt a spark, you were sure he felt it too.

But he didn’t feel it, you were so very wrong.

You found out just how wrong you were that evening in the worst possible way. It was so unexpected, so hurtful. You walked into the small coffee shop you and your friends frequented and saw them all in the corner, socializing. A stab of pain struck you in the chest; nobody invited you. Maybe you should have backed away, recognized you weren’t wanted but you heard your name. You thought they had seen you, called you over.

They hadn’t seen you though, weren’t talking to you.

They were talking about you.

“Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” you heard Stephen laugh.

You walked behind him, tears welling in your eyes and someone nudged him awkwardly. He looked up and made eye contact with you. A tear fell down your face as you backed away from the group. It was like a nightmare, like looking down and seeing you were naked, but this wasn’t a dream. It was horrifyingly real.

“Pathetic,” you heard him say to the laughing group of people you called friends.

It broke you.

You spent the remainder of your time in school avoiding him and every friend who had been there. You poured yourself into your studies and came out of it stronger than before, like a phoenix being reborn - You were brand new, beautiful, powerful.

You became a doctor and scientist and a damned good one at that. But Stephen was always better. Every conference, every medical magazine, he was there; always at the top. You could never escape him.

Until his accident.

He was suddenly gone, you couldn't believe it. Dr. Stephen Strange, the most accomplished neurosurgeon, lost his hands. The shock wiped through the medical community, a travesty they said. It wasn’t a travesty to you though, It was almost uncomfortable how happy you were at his downfall. It felt so freeing to see the great and mighty Doctor Strange fall so far, for your bully to lose the thing that was most precious to them. He became irrelevant, dropped from magazines and conferences and disappeared without a trace. You were truly content for the first time in your life. You were free.

Stephen flexed his fingers and smiled. It was a long road to recovery but he did it, he was a neurosurgeon again and even better now. He was godlike, able to perform surgeries that he could only dream of before. He wasn’t just going to get his life back, he would flourish, go above and beyond his already impressive list of accomplishments, he would dominate.  

He walked into the conference full of confidence, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. The gasps and stares made him stand even straighter, walk with even more purpose. He always loved being the center of attention, it made him feel superior.

It was his addiction, to be special, better than everyone around him. The craving for greatness was a consequence of his birthright. He needed to be better because he was better. His brain was like a radiant flame, he shined brighter than everyone around him and he knew it.  

“Stephen, good to see you,” a group of colleagues surrounded him, patting him on the back. He felt at home, this was where he belonged.

The auditorium started filling and he followed the group in, sitting in the back and opening his pamphlet. It wasn’t usually his type of lecture to listen to but he had time to kill before his next panel. The speaker, a specialist in infectious disease, worked at New York Hospital where he would start back on Monday. He closed his pamphlet and waited patiently for the presentation to start.

She walked onto the stage and his body tensed as he watched her prepare for her speech. Stephen’s brain was on fire, the attraction to this stranger like nothing he had ever felt. His thoughts turned less than appropriate as he stared at her ass. He saw no panty lines and couldn’t help but imagine what did or did not lie beneath the skirt's thin fabric. She wasn’t a conventionally attractive woman but that made her even more beautiful in his mind. She was perfect for him, a mix of everything he was physically attracted to in one person. Women had thrown themselves at him but he didn’t want any of them, he wanted her.

Then she started speaking and a new wave of attraction washed through him as her intelligence became apparent. Who was this woman? He rarely felt attraction like this, attraction that consumed onto his whole being. He needed to get to know her, needed to touch her, smell her hair, hold her hand. He was obsessed.

He didn’t even realize her presentation had ended until everyone started applauding. Stephen stood and clapped along. He watched her exit the stage and as he walked closer her face suddenly flashed into his memory. He knew her years ago in med school. She liked him, she followed him around like a puppy.

Excitement built as he approached her, but she gave him one look and her face fell into a grimace.

“Stephen Strange,” He held his hand out.

Her reply was cold, “We went to school together,” she spit, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“Yes, we did, didn’t we. I’m very interested in what you’re working on. Maybe we could get together, have dinner?”

“No,” she turned and walked away from him.

“Hey,” He yelled at her, but she kept walking, giving no acknowledgement of his obvious frustration.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder pulling her around to face him.

“What is this hostility about?” He asked.

Her body went rigid and she wrenched her shoulder out of his hand, “Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” She said through gritted teeth.

He remembered in that moment what had happened, how he used her for short lived friendships.

“I’m not that person anymore, I’m sorry, let me show you,” be begged.

“You called me pathetic,” She snarled.

“It was so long ago, please.”

She stood up tall and leaned into him. “Pathetic,” she called him before walking away again.

He stood there dazed, never having been discarded so callously. He couldn't leave it like this, he would show her he had changed and she would forgive him. He was determined. He was the great Doctor Strange and he could do anything.

A sob took over your body as you read the little piece of paper. It was over, no more money for research. The conference was your last hope to find funding and you didn’t succeed. You looked at a little blue vial and picked it up. It was a bad idea, you knew it was, but this medicine could help so many people. If you didn’t try it right then you may have never known if it worked or not. You removed your jacket, swabbed your arm and filled a syringe. A tear fell down your cheek as you depressed the plunger.

It immediately started burning, beginning in your arm and flowing throughout your veins until you were screaming in pain. The room spun around and your vision started to blur. You stood and took a few shaky steps before falling to the ground and curling into a ball. Quiet whimpers escaped your lips as you struggled not to pass out from the pain.

A knock rang through your ears and you lifted your head slightly.

“Hey, it’s me,” called a voice from the other side of the door.

Stephen, of course he would show up at the worst moment possible. You were in so much pain and part of you wanted to ask for help but you couldn’t. If anyone found out you could lose your licence and Stephen was someone you were sure would turn you in.

“It’s not a good time,” you yelled.

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior, I was an asshole but I’ve changed. I really have.”

“Go Away Stephen.”

The doorknob jiggled and you held your breath. You had locked it, you were sure you had.

“Hey, I’m getting worried, open the door,” he demanded.

“I’m sad, ok, lost funding for my research. I don’t want you to see me cry. Happy? If you’ve actually changed you’ll leave!” you put your hand over your mouth to cover a groan, the exhaustion of talking having caused intense pain in your lungs.

“Oh, um, sorry to bother you,” he murmured.

You sighed in relief as the sound of his footsteps disappeared and then hugged your aching body, shivering and crying softly as excruciating pain moved around. It suddenly felt like you had been thrown in a freezer. It Was so cold, why were you so cold?

You shivered and cried on the floor for hours until sleep finally took you, giving a slight respite from the worst day of your life.

Series master list ~ Next Chapter

[jisungsmochi]

rest your love - lee haechan

don’t worry!! i didn’t forget about this series hehe,, i personally really liked this one!! i’m probably going to try and write more often!

anyways pls enjoy,, i’ll link my masterlist for the other parts of this series (nct dream as ‘the vamps’ songs)

word count: 2.2k 

summary: “when the world gets loud, baby you can rest your love on me”

haechan never understood why people liked to be chased. he thought that all he needed to do was ask someone out and boom, a beautiful relationship. until he befriends you, and learns that sometimes people just need a shoulder to lean on, before they can rest their love on someone.

//

I see you move, so I do understand

Why you get attention?

I hear you talk, but I don't comprehend

Why I get no mention?

“it’s physically impossible to dislike me, i’m just a catch” haechan brags while walking to his first college class, his friends, renjun and jaemin trailing behind him.

“just because everyone liked you in high school, doesn’t mean people will in college. it’s a completely different ball game” renjun rolled his eyes at how overly optimistic and delusional his friend was being.

“ah let him live, he’ll find out soon enough” jaemin chuckles softly as he and renjun wave to haechan,  scurrying off to their own lectures.

haechan shrugs, not taking in any of his friends words. he stumbled into the classroom, scanning for an empty seat. he quickly made his way to a spare desk, pulling out all his materials. just as the tutor walked into the room, his eyes met those of, who he believed, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. you flaunted your way to the last empty seat, which happened to be next to the awfully cheery boy, smiling at you.

you weren’t having the best day, immediately regretting your choice of a desk mate. as soon as you sat down, haechan was a blabbering mess. he shot questions left and right at you, despite the fact you barely responded to any of them. you just assumed he wanted to make friends fast, or he was just a chatterbox. “so how are you doing on this fine day?” he mutters to you, but received a stern glare in response. you tilted your head to the front of the room, zoning in on your tutor. haechan would lie if he said he didn’t feel slightly deflated. usually he had no problem making conversation with strangers. but you were so cold, so uninterested, it really hurt his ego. maybe renjun was right, not everyone would like him. but haechan was an unbelievably stubborn optimist. he was going to befriend you, no matter how long it took.

//

And you know, you know where to find me

Yeah, you know where to go when you're looking for love

And you know, you know where I'm hiding

Yeah, you know

it had been over three weeks since haechan first met you and you still wouldn’t budge. you only spoke to him during group tasks, other than that you continued to ignore his advances. haechan got the message loud and clear that you weren’t going to pay him attention. it took a toll on his own self confidence, until renjun gave him a stern talking to,

“god don’t let her get to your head, dude!! she’s awful for not wanting to be friends with you”

haechan pouted, “but she’s so pretty, i can’t just ignore her”

at that moment, he received a notification on his phone.

y/n: is this haechan? i think you took my notes by accident

his eyes widened, how did you even get his facebook account?

he scrambled around his room, looking into his backpack and surely enough, there were your notes, prettily written up.

haechan: hello! i do have your notes, i can meet you somewhere to hand it back? maybe the cafe? we can get something to eat!

renjun was now peering over haechan’s shoulder, too invested in this interaction.

y/n: no it’s fine, just give it to me next class, thanks

after reading your message, renjun bursted out laughing.

“dude that’s brutal, she’s something else” haechan fiddled with his phone, glaring at the other boy. he clicked on your profile, sending you a friend request as he scrolled through your posts. he saw that your friends had wished you a happy birthday, almost a year ago. he then realised it was in a few days...

“i have the perfect plan to get her to notice me” haechan smirks, renjun rolling his eyes,

“you’re ridiculous”

//

it was a friday afternoon, when haechan stumbled into class. you looked over at him, expecting some type of greeting, but you didn’t hear a peep from the boy.

strange, you thought to yourself.

as you were preparing for the lesson, haechan pulled something out of his bag. you looked over, noticing a small pink box now placed on your side of the table. you raised your eyebrow at him, in which he whispered,

“happy birthday, y/n”

your face froze. how did he know it was your birthday?

you looked back at the small box, slowly moving your hands to open it. to your surprise, there was a red velvet cupcake, decorated with a ton of rainbow sprinkles. there was a tiny picket that said:

“happy birthday, cutie!”

you couldn’t hide your smile, which only made haechan swoon even more. you weren’t the type to make a big deal out of your birthday, but this gesture from haechan truly made your day. you bit your lip softly, eyes meeting his.

“t-thankyou, haechan. i really appreciate this” you smiled at him softly, not caring that you were now on speaking terms with him.

“anything for you, y/n” he cheerfully responded, turning his attention to the front of the room.

maybe lee haechan was worth letting in...

//

the days following, haechan would spam you with random texts throughout the day. initially you would have been annoyed, but after his generous birthday gift, you started to enjoy his company. although you wouldn’t say it to his face, you silently appreciated him.

“how is my beautiful, y/n doing?” he smirked as he walked with you after class. he’d always compliment you, each time making you gush inside.

“i’m alright, have a ton of homework to do though” you sigh, thinking back to the stack of work you had on your desk.

“oh poor thing! do you want to copy my work? i have it here right now i ca-“

“no, haechan, it’s okay. if i need help, i’ll just...call you or something” you paused, looking over at the boy whose eyes just lit up like a christmas tree.

“of course you can call me! call me anytime you want!” he exclaimed. you shake your head softly at him as you both continued walking.

once haechan met up with renjun and jaemin again, he couldn’t stop gushing about you.

“...and then she said i could call her! well she said she’d call me, but same thing” he explained your interaction to his two friends as they were eating at a local diner.

“so romantic” renjun sarcastically comments, causing jaemin to elbow him slightly.

“i think it’s a good step! i mean atleast she’s talking to you now” jaemin chimed in, feeding into his friend’s cheerful nature.

“yeah! i have a lot of hope for us” haechan smiles to himself, in which jaemin and renjun looked over at eachother before rolling their eyes.

you did end up calling haechan that night, as you were stuck on the very last question of the homework.

“y/n, it’s hard to explain, let me just send you my answer” haechan insisted,

“no, i feel guilty” you sigh, placing down your pen.

“it’s really okay, i want to help you” you bit your lip, eventually giving in.

“okay fine, but i’ll owe you something in return” you agree, hoping whatever he wanted wouldn’t be too bad.

“hmmm how about going to the movies with me this weekend? i know you wanted to see the new zombie one that just came out” he suggested. although you were shocked he was practically asking you on a date, were more shocked he remembered you talking about this movie.

“do you really think that is proportionate to what you’re doing for me?” you roll your eyes playfully, finding his advances quite endearing.

“yep!! take it or leave it” you hesitated for a moment, what’s the worst that could happen?

“okay fine, you have yourself a deal” you replied. haechan quickly put himself on mute (or so he thought), letting out a loud ‘YES!’, before returning to the call. you had heard everything, softly chuckling to yourself.

he was pretty cute.

//

That when the stars go out, you can rest your love on me

And when the world gets loud, baby, you can rest your love on me

“that ending was terrible” you pouted as you left the cinema with haechan.

“it wasn’t so bad, it could have been worse” he shrugged, leading you to the next location.

“hm i guess so, by the way, where are we going anyway?” you questioned, walking alongside him, observing your surroundings.

“this cool burger place i found online, here i’ll show you some photos” he pulled out his phone, swiping through the photos. you nodded along, agreeing to let him lead the way.

“y/n? is that you?” you heard a deep voice call, you head shot up, so did haechan’s.

“who’s that?” your mouth went dry. your body froze up. why was he here? why did he have to call out to you?

“oh my god it is you! long time no see” the mysterious boy approached the pair of you, completely disregarding haechan’s existence. he noticed how uncomfortable you were, eyes flickering between the boy and you. he placed his arm loosely around your back, the other boy’s eyes following in suit.

“oh i see, you’re dating someone. dang, i guess i missed my shot. he doesn’t seem like your type” the boy scoffed, arms folded as he stared you both down.

“w-we have to go” you finally bring yourself to mutter, pulling haechan along with you.

“y/n who was that?” haechan kept repeating, which only made you want to cry.

“he’s my ex, okay? just take me home” you sniffled, haechan immediately became concerned. he didn’t ask any further questions, driving you straight back to your place.

as he reached your house, he looked over at you, tears brimming your eyes.

“i-i’m sorry that our day was cut short. i was really enjoying myself. my ex and i ended on pretty bad terms and i would just like some time alone right now, i hope you understand” you sniffled, which made haechan’s heart ache.

“you don’t have to apologise. you know where to find me if you need me. i’ll be waiting for you to open up to me one day, y/n. however long it takes” he assures you, leaving you with a warm feeling in your stomach. you just nodded back at him, making your way into your house.

haechan sat in his car for a while, wishing he could take away all your pain.

//

you invited haechan to meet you at the local park. with no further questions, he rushed out of his room, eager to see you again. you waited patiently on the small bench, swinging your legs back and forth. you heard heavy footsteps approach, your eyes meeting those of the boy who radiated happiness.

“are you alright?” haechan starts as he takes a seat next to you, leaving a small gap between you both.

“y-yeah, i’m ready to tell you everything” you began,

“he and i ‘dated’ two years ago. i say ‘dated’ because well, i thought we were, but turns out he was just another player and i was just another pawn in his little game. it was my first relationship too, messed me up pretty bad. that’s why i tend to keep to myself, not really letting others in too much. he made me feel like every guy who gave me attention just wanted me for their own selfish needs” you sigh, eyes avoiding haechan’s. he wanted to hold your hand, but opted not to.

“he’s an asshole, you didn’t deserve that. i-i could treat you so much better i promise-“

“haechan, c-can we just slow things down?” you finally made eye contact with him, his face contorting into a confused expression.

“i know you like me, and i would be lying if i said i didn’t have a slight interest in you too. but i don’t think i’m ready for a relationship yet” you admit, worried for his reaction. but to your surprise, he didn’t feel sad or dejected at all. instead he smiled widely at you, leaning in closer.

“i’ll go as slow as you want. you can rest your love on me, whenever you need. i’m just glad to hear you like me too” he batted his eyelids, making you softly chuckle.

“thankyou” you whispered to him, moving closer so that your shoulders touched. the rest of the day was filled with random activities from the arcade, to a bike ride along the park’s trail and finally dinner. haechan came to realise that being with somebody wasn’t black and white. there was a grey area that lied in between. he didn’t care how long he needed to wait, all he knew was that he finally got you to like him. and that was enough to make him the happiest man alive.

[anjanettexcordonia]

Bloodlines

**Trigger Warnings**

DARK DARK DARK

-NSFW/Mental Health/Violence/Rape Minimal fluff if any at all tbh.

***If you are sensitive to any of these please do not read.

Pairing: Liam x Celeste, Liam x Madeleine, Drake, Bastien 

Word Count: 4,874 (I know its forever long but its worth it in my biased opinion)

This is my first time writing any kind of fiction. I was inspired by all of you amazing writers! I received positive feedback on this chapter so I’m hoping you all like it too! Its very dark and very very twisted. I can not emphasize it enough.

**READ WITH CAUTION**

Excuse any grammatical errors or misspellings.

This will be a six part series. I do not have a timeline for when I will post. (I’m a mom & work full time)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry

Tags: 

@gkittylove99 @kingliam2019 @yourmajesty09 @cordonia-gothqueen @mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @hopefulmoonobject

Part Two

Two weeks after his mother Queen Eleanor’s death, Prince Liam stood on the dais of the cathedral. looking up at his older brother Leo. “It’s a monumental day for Cordonia, Liam, you best behave yourself and no tears. Our people from all over will be watching your new mother become Queen” Constantantine’s lecture was on repeat in his mind. Leo looked down at Liam and offered him a reassuring squeeze of his hand. Their lives changed after that day. And they would never be the same. 

Ten years had gone by since Regina began her reign beside their father. They had learned they had a sister long before the death of their mother but she had been a secret. Celeste. And she was the apple of their father and step-mothers eye. 

“Drake, after our lessons today we should go down to the beach . I hear Max has found a cove with killer waves we can ride.” Liam asked Drake. They were on their way down to the classroom in the palace when they ran into Constantine. “Where have you been? I’ve had the guards searching for you Drake. Come with me, now.” Drake kept pace with Constantine, he looked back at Liam with a worried look etched across his pubescent face. 

Hours went by and Liam paced around his room waiting to hear from Drake. He had been texting him for hours with no response. He had gone to his father's study only to find it empty. Where the fuck is Drake? Leo had been in America for the last few years, Drake had become like his brother and now he was just ignoring him. 

Late that night unable to sleep, Liam tossed and turned in his bed. He texted Olivia. She had lived at the palace since her parents death under the watchful eye of the King.

“Liv, have you heard from Drake?” 

“You haven’t heard? Liv responded. 

“Heard what?” 

“Drake's dad is dead, some accident apparently” 

Liam was stunned. No wonder he wasn’t answering him. 

“Fuck what happened?” 

“I don’t know Li, they said there was a car accident.” 

Liam heard the doors to the royal quarters open and voices trailing down the hallway. 

“Constantine no one will ever find out. If Jackson had just minded his own business and stopped looking for Leo, none of this would have had to happen. He became a loose end.” Liam heard Regina snap at Constantine. 

What the fuck? Looking for Leo? Doesn’t make sense. Liam thought. 

Liam slowly opened his door to hear their conversation a little better. 

“If we had ended Leonardo like I had suggested, there would have been nothing for Jackson to find. This is your fault Constantine. He found his dossier he had on you too. He planned to turn you over for you sick perversions you have with that Nevrakis traitors daughter.” 

Olivia and my father? End Leo? What’s going on? I have to talk to Drake and Olivia. Where is Leo? I have to find out. 

Their quarters went quiet. 

Liam has been busy with studies for a few days. In his spare time he had tried to reach out to his friends. He searched for clues as to Leo’s whereabouts to no avail. 

He was at a dead-end. 

A year had gone by. Drake was gone. Olivia had denied Regina's accusation. He had seen Drake at Jackson’s funeral. He said he would be going to Texas with his mother and sister for a while. Olivia had moved back to the Nevrakis castle in Lythikos. At 17 she was able to regain her title as Duchess and rule her own Duchy. Max spent most of his time in Ramsford. Bertrand never let him stray too far these days. 

Time had passed as time typically does. Constantine had announced his abdication from the throne and announced Liam was now the crown prince and the heir to the throne. Celeste was pissed as usual. “The crown will never be yours Liam. You're a commoner like your whore of a mother. You're unfit to rule. You will bow to me in 3 weeks at MY coronation.” 

“Shut the fuck up Celeste. The sound of your voice makes me want to vomit.” Liam hissed. They were not siblings. Simply bound by half blood and they both knew it. Leo was his only sibling. If only he could find him. 

BOOM! 

Liam woke with a jerk. He groaned. He could barely open his eyes. Why is it so bright? Why can’t I move? Everything hurts. He heard a loud pop and a laugh. He recognized that laugh. He despised that laugh. Madeline. Liam tried to speak but nothing would come out. 

“Celeste, he's awake. It’s time my dear.” Madeline “Finally I thought he would never wake up.” Celeste mumbled. 

Liam heard the click of Regina's heels enter the room.

“Celeste, first things first we need to secure your throne. Have you prepared yourself?” 

“Yes Mother” 

Regina walked over to the bedside of the bed he was strapped to. He fought against his restraints but they were bound too tight around his wrists and ankles. Regina peered down at him with a grin he didn’t recognize. He and Regina we’re never close. He was all too familiar with her adversity to his presence in the royal family, she didn't attempt to hide it. 

“Liam, you’re a disgrace to this family. Your mere existence brings shame to the Rhys line. Your mother was a whore. And she deserved her death. Your brother was never meant to be King nor are you. You will meet the same fate as he.” 

“Now Celeste” Regina commanded. Regina and Madeline retreated to carefully placed chairs. They were far enough way but still able to view everything about to take place in the torture chamber. Liams hell was about to begin. 

Celeste walked over to Liam and climbed on top of him. Liam did not realize he was completely naked until that moment. Celeste hiked her dress over her head revealing her completely nude body. She grabbed Liams flaccid manhood and began pumping. Liam screamed and faught. 

“THIS IS SICK! GET OFF OF ME STOP TOUCHING ME REGINA MAKE HER STOP MADELINE PLEASE HELP” Liam screamed out. Tears were stinging his eyes. “Please stop, I'll do whatever you want” Celeste continues pumping his manhood until it was firmly erect against Liam’s will. 

“This is only the beginning Liam, if we let you go now you’ll become King. We can’t have you spreading lies about our sweet Celeste. Can we?” Liam was sobbing. Celeste mounted Liam and her core slid down taking all of him. She rode him with no emotion. Liam begging for her to stop willing his body to stop her. He realized her intentions while his body betrayed him and he released his seed into her. Liam let out a blood curdling scream when Celeste dismounted him. 

“You're excused Celeste. Go immediately and lay down. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She turned to Liam as Celeste left the chamber. “You’ve planted the heir and fulfilled your duty as King.” she sneered. 

Regina mumbles something to Madeline and she left the room. 

“My Liam, My King, it’s my turn to do with you as I please. I will revel in your torture and fall from grace. You were always oblivious to my affections just like Leo. Greeting me as formal as any other lady at court. Truly sickening. So if you won’t choose me. I’ll take what I please.” 

Liam laid in silence staring up at the dimly lit lights overhead. He recognized this room. It was below the castle in a secret passageway he and Drake discovered as children. It was blocked off years ago he thought. Now he knew why. They were planning this for years. Had Leo been in this room? What had they done to him? 

“Madeline wait, I’ll give you what you want. Let me go. Untie me. Please. I won’t let any harm come to you. I can protect you.” He pleaded with her. 

“No you’re lying just shut up.” 

A tear fell from the corner of his eye as once again she took him in the same fashion as Celeste had. 

Liam saw this as an advantage. He started to participate in his assault. He pumped into her as fast and hard as he could while restrained. “There we go Liam I knew you couldn’t resist this pussy.” She moaned. “Fuck you’re so tight Maddie” he grunted. “Untie me so I can fuck you right, I need you.” Madeline complied and untied his wrist restraints. He flew up still pumping into her and twisted her hair in his hand and pulled her head back. He bit her neck hard drawing blood. “I want you from behind” he groaned in her ear. She reached his ankle restraints and untied them. As soon as he was free he slammed her down on the table. He fucked her hard and fast mutilating her womanhood. “Who’s your King?” Liam roared feeling her walls tighten around his cock.  “You’re my King” she screamed as she reached climax. 

“What happened to my brother Madeline?” Liam asked, breathing heavy still thrusting inside her as she came down from her climax. He realized this was his chance to get the information that he needed out of Madeline. She would give him anything at that moment. 

“I..I..” Madeline stammered. 

“Please Madeline” Liam begged. “Help me.” Thrusting harder. 

“He’s alive. He’s been admitted into Fydelia psychiatric hospital. He’s been there for 3 years since his mental break.” Madeline moaned. 

“Mental break?” Liam thrusted harder. “Tell me or I won’t give you another release My Queen.” He felt her walls tighten around his cock at his false words. 

“Drake's father had been searching for him. And they found him. Leo was able to tell him everything. He told the truth of Regina and Constantine. So Walker was silenced. I will receive the same fate if anyone finds out I told you. Call me your Queen again.” 

“I have to get out over here. I have to find him and expose what’s been going in the palace. I have to stop them.” Liam said through gritted teeth. A sudden fire coursing through his body. Anger and vengeance filling his veins. He wrapped his hand around Madeleine’s throat and squeezed bringing her to the brink of blacking out, her eyes wide as he continued pounding into her with angry force. He pulled himself out of her and spilled his seed on the table. 

“No you can’t. I can’t let you. I’m sorry Liam.” Madeline sighed. She knew she made a mistake and Regina will have her head on a pike. They heard a knock on the door. Madeline’s face drained of color. Shit. 

“Lady Madeline, are you finished yet?” Regina called through the door. Liam stood ready for a fight. 

“You have to put the restraints back on Liam.” Madeline whispered. “Just a minute, Your Majesty” she called out. 

“Fuck You Maddie.” Liam snarled. 

“REGINA!” Madeline screamed. She threw her dress back on as Regina slammed the door open.

“I see you found my dear nieces weakness, William. You.” Regina laughed.

“I will destroy you Regina. You will be charged with the highest of treason against the crown. I will have you drawn and quartered in front of all Cordonia! Liam roared at her. 

“Kneel to your Queen or I will make you kneel.” 

“Fuck you and my father.” Liam started to lunge at her. Before his feet left the ground he felt a a cloth cover his face and everything went black.

“You will kneel to your Queen Bastard.” Regina pulled a dagger from the pocket of her freshly pressed pant suit. She sliced the back of both of Liam’s knees. “The blood of the bastards have littered this place for far too long. Get out Madeline. Tend to Celeste. She will soon be carrying the heir to my throne.” Madeline left the room.

When Liam woke, he was back on the table restrained with a gag in his mouth. “Now Crown Prince William Constantine Rhys of Cordonia. You're awake. What shall I do to you?” Shall I slice your chest open and rip out your heart? “How can I inflict the worst pain possible for you to give up a country Liam? Ya know your brother was fairly easy. A few days of intense pain and anguish destroyed him. He never really wanted to be King you know. Forcing his abdication was quite easy. The resistance came when he realized you would meet the same fate as he.” Regina circles slowly around wielding the dagger in her hand. “All it takes is the smallest cuts in the most sensitive of places to break a person entirely.” She kneeled down and sliced the bottom of each of his feet from toes to heel. “You aren’t King, you will never be King. Celeste will produce your heir. She will take her rightful place on the throne and you will become a footnote in history. Her child will bleed Rhys from both sides. The child’s blood will no longer be tainted by the blood of whores.” She stabbed the knife between his ribs. Blood covered her hands and the floor around Liam. 

Liam was tortured for three weeks in the same fashion. Madeline never returned again. Celeste coming in beforehand to claim his seed & Regina following behind with brutal measures of torture. She electrocuted him with cattle prods. Beat him until he could no longer feel pain with whips and chains. He was numb. Small and large cuts, bruises and broken bones littered his body. He no longer had his golden blonde hair. She had shaved it completely to make him feel lesser than she. He was awarded one meal a day and 2 glasses of water. Regina said only to maintain his strength to give Celeste his heir. He was losing his hope and resolve. He knew no one was coming. He wasn’t King yet. The coronation was swiftly approaching. 

Liam lost all sense of time since being held in captivity. He no longer cared. He was ready to die. 

“Hello Bastard.” Regina spoke softly. “It’s time to prepare your abdication speech. I will bring a doctor in today. It’s time for you to rejoin the rest of the world. Your father would like to visit today.” 

Liam sat up. No longer willing to fight. The restraints no longer needed. 

“Yes my Queen.” She had won.

“Get dressed and clean yourself up. He will be down after dinner. He would like to speak with you about the coronation ball and what it means for you after. I don’t care much what happens to you, but your father and his soft heart for some reason… does.” She stomped out the door slamming it shut. 

Liam heard the lock click. He let out a long sigh. Suddenly the dams in eyes broke free and the tears flowed. Liam convulsed on the bed unable to control the sobs and screams coming from him. What had he done so wrong to receive this treatment? Why did his father not love him? Why couldn’t they just kill him? 

What seemed like hours later Constantine came blinding into the room. “My son” he said softly as he saw his youngest son perched on the side of his small cot. Constantine barely recognized him. 

Liam looked up at him not speaking a word. He opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t come out. “As you know Princess Celeste will be taking the throne. What I’ve come to discuss with you is your position in the royal family after the fact. You know you will not be allowed access to the...child. How would Duke of Valtoria sound? It’s quite generous and Regina has agreed. The conditions of silence still apply. I will even allow Leo to reside with you.” Constantine started matter of fact. 

“Where the fuck is he?” Liam and Constantine snapped their heads as they heard Drake’s booming voice outside the chamber door. The door crashed open and Drake charged through straight for Constantine not even noticing Liam. 

“You evil bastard. I will kill you, treason be damned. You deserve to die for what you did to her! What you did to Olivia! Raping and beating her into submission? Why because you were afraid of what she would do to you when she found out the truth? You’re a sick bastard” Drake screamed so loud Liams ears began to ring. His heart started to pound. 

“Drake what…” Drake didn’t give the King time to finish before he heard a loud pop. The bullet pierced Constantine’s heart and he staggered back and fell to the floor. “Now the cancer won’t take you out. Burn in hell Constantine Rhys Disgrace to Cordonia.” 

Drake looked up “Li” he whispered. “How, where….. I..I’m sorry.. He.. he hurt Olivia...oh my God..Li what have I done? Where have you been?” 

“Drake get me out of here before Regina comes back. HURRY! Constantine deserved it. I only regret it wasn’t me who pulled the trigger” Liam cried. 

Drake scooped Liam in his arms and ran out the door. He ran straight for Bastiens room carefully avoiding any possibility of anyone seeing them. He kicked Bastiens door open. Bastien sprung from his bed at the sight of Drake carrying a severely battered Liam. 

“Prince Liam, What happened?” He looked at Drake” We need to get him out of here.” Bastien yelled. Bastien called down and procured a SUV to get them away from the palace. “Bastien I shot constantine. He’s dead. We need to get in touch with Olivia.” Drake whispered. 

They reached the garage and got in the SUV. “We’re flying out of the country tonight. We have a few days before the coronation to figure out our next move.” Bastien said. Liam laid his against the window feeling exhausted. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days. A few minutes later they boarded a private jet headed to New York. On board was a doctor Duke Rashad had sent to join them. “Rashad will be our eyes and ears while we’re away. We will figure out a plan while you’re healing Li. What happened to you? I know I’ve been away but you could have called me.” Drake said with a hint of guilt in his tone. 

“Thank you Drake for everything. Have you heard anything from Olivia? I want eyes on her immediately. She should be in Lythikos.” Liam whispered. Drake noticed a change in his best friend. His eyes were hollow and empty. Emptiness he had never seen in anyone before. There was no emotion behind his eyes. His movements fluid and muscle memory. He was a shell. What had they done to him? Drake wondered. 

“Li what happened?” 

“Rrrr..Regina and Constantine hurt Leo. He’s in a psychiatric hospital in Fydelia. He was never in America. Constantine abused Olivia relentlessly and no one ever knew. They covered it up.” 

Liam looked away. He didn’t want Drake to see the tears threatening to escape his eyes. The lump in his throat tightened. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest was getting heavier. His vision blurred and then black. He could faintly hear Drake yelling for the doctor onboard. 

“Li.. Li… wake up we’re getting ready to land.” Drake said as he gently shook Liam's shoulder. Liam sat up with a jerk. His eyes darted around the cabin. He didn’t know where he was yet. “It’s okay Li. We’re still on the jet. We will be landing at JFK in 20 minutes. Then you’re going straight to the hotel. The onboard doctor has already set up home healthcare at the hotel. They are fully equipped and we won’t have to worry about your location getting out.” 

Liam relaxed. “Thanks Drake. Sorry for passing out. Guess I was just exhausted.” He looked down to see an iv taped to his hand. “Fluids and antibiotics. Doc says you’re severely dehydrated and slightly malnourished. You have 3 broken ribs. They will heal on their own. Your stab wound needed stitches but it was in the healing stages already . It’s going to leave a gnarly scar.” Drake informed him. You must’ve been held for awhile.” 

Once they were in the suite in the hotel the doctors came in to check Liam’s wounds and set up his IV medications, Liam looked over at Drake, “thanks for finding me Drake. You saved my life.” Liam mumbled drifting off to sleep. “Get some rest Liam. I’m going to talk to Bastien.” 

After Liam drifted off into a deep sleep Drake went to find Bastien. 

“Bas, what are we going to do? How could this have happened?” 

“Before Jackson was killed, he had some intel that he shared with me. This was an ongoing plan to remove Leo & Liam from the throne. King Constantine and Queen Regina were planning this long before the late Queen Eleanor’s. We have intel that they were behind her death. Regina and Constantine had a traditional Cordonian Arrangement prior. No one could have foreseen she would orchestrate this outcome.” Bastien said. 

“We have to take them down and restore Liams rightful place as King. We can not let them get away with what they have done to Liam. What do you know about Leo and Celeste?” Drake asked. He was trying to figure out how to approach Liam when we woke up. He knew whatever Liam had gone through was extreme and he didn’t know who Liam would be when he woke up. 

“Celeste was part of the plan the whole time. I don’t know how deep her loyalty to the King and Queen run. But it’s evident she won't be in support of Liam. And Leo will be no help. He’s become a paranoid recluse inside Fydelia Psychiatric Hospital.” 

“I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed to help Liam. I had no idea. FUCK!” Drake screamed. He slammed his fist through the wall of the living room of the presidential suite. 

“We need to talk to Liam. Find out what he knows. Then we will proceed with a course of action. We follow Liams lead on this Drake.” Bastien’s eyes meet Drakes and he gives him a sad half smile. 

Twelve hours later Liam woke. Best sleep I’ve had in a month. Maybe that’s due to the sleep aides. I need to talk to Bastien and Drake. Have they spoken to Liv yet? Liam thought to himself. Liam slowly got out of bed wincing in pain from the broken ribs. His feet are bandaged from the cuts Regina had given him. 

“Liam?” 

Liam whipped his around and spotted Drake. He was just waking up from the couch in Liam's room. “Drake, we need to get back home. Have you spoken to Olivia?” “Yea, Li she’s okay. She told me what Constantine did. She prefers to stay in Lythikos but will come here if we need her. We are heading back tomorrow but first we have to figure things out.” Bastien came in with a huge breakfast spread. “Your Majesty,” he bowed. “It’s good to see you awake and feeling better. You’ll need your strength so eat.” “Bastien,” Liam nodded his head, “I want to thank you for helping me and not betraying the crown. The traitors will be dealt with. I will see it to myself.” Liam said no emotion behind. Bastien noticed a change in the young prince. The spark of life seemingly snuffed out. 

A couple hours later everyone chatted and got ready for the day, Drake eyes Liam staring at his phone. “What’s up Li?” 

“When this is over I’m bringing Leo home. But not until it’s over. What Regina, Celeste, and Constantine did broke him and nearly broke me. Maybe they did break me. Celeste..and Madeline.. Leo probably thinks I had something to do with it. I should have known.” Liam drifted off. “Madeline? What happened Li?” 

He told Drake everything. Drake hung his head in sadness for his friend. Liam whispered. “In the name of the crown, in the name of an heir. Regina tortured me. I will kill them all. Constantine did nothing. When you came in that was the first time…”Liam choked, “that he came in. To offer me and Leo Valtoria in exchange for my abdication and silence.” “I will kill them all.” Liam whispered. Drake sat unable to speak. Not sure what to say, what could he say? His best friend was gone. They had stolen pieces of him. Drake could see the parts that were missing. 

“I’m so sorry Li, I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. Had I known….” Drake trailed off. 

“Stop Drake. It’s not your fault. I will take my crown and will show no mercy on anyone standing in my way.” 

“We’re heading back tomorrow, what’s the plan?” 

“Constantine is dead. The mourning period will last a month or so. I will take my rightful place. As soon as we’re back I want them brought before me.” Liam demanded. 

The next afternoon they landed in Cordonia. The press was waiting at the tarmac ready to scream questions about the King's death and Liam’s coronation. As they made their way back to the Palace to prepare for tonight’s coronation, Drake was on the phone with the rest of the Kings Guard. “Li, they’ve all fled the country. They are in England, Duke Godfrey’s duchy to be exact.” 

“Leave them. I will deal with them when they return. I do not want formal charges brought and I will need to do that to have them extradited. This is personal.” Liam sneered. Drake sensed a venomous tone. “Celeste and the… heir, if there is a child to speak of, will not be harmed until I find out if she’s pregnant.” 

They knew Liam re-emerging was the end of their sinister plan for him. The coronation went off without a hitch. His Majesty, King William Constantine Rhys was crowned King of all Cordonia. 

“Long Live the King” 

8 months later 

“It’s a boy, your majesty” the doctor spoke to the King. “He may suffer..” the doctor continued. “STOP” Liam shouted. “I don’t want to know. The child is not the heir and whatever affliction he suffers will be properly taken care of. The child will have the best medical attention. You will see to that Doctor. And Bastien?” 

“Your Majesty?” Bastien bowed and walked into the King's study, eyeing the doctor seated in front of Liams desk. 

“Hire a staff to care for the boy, we have designated quarters for him in the palace. Celeste may stay with the boy while he is nursing. Armed guards are to be with her around the clock. Regina is not to be anywhere near the child. I am this child’s father. Unwillingly albeit but not matter. He will not ascend the throne and I will have papers drawn up immediately binding his future. He is ward of the Crown.” Liam dismissed Bastien and the doctor. 

.

.

.

Six years had gone by. Liam became fond of the child. The child was the best kept secret in the palace. Celeste had remained living with the young boy in his quarters in the South Wing of the palace. She and Liam avoided each other. Liam fought the urge to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her every time he saw her. Leo was back living at the palace. He wasn’t the Leo Liam remembered. But he was getting better. 

Regina and Madeline had remained with Godfrey in England. Madeline was heartbroken when she was not the one to conceive Liam’s child. 

.

.

.

“Ready to go back to New York Li? I’m ready to partaayy before you get locked down for life? You’ll have to give up all the ladies you’ve been getting!” Maxwell squealed as they boarded the jet to Cordonia. One last hurrah before the social season began. 

Six years. Six years of fighting this hunger inside me. Maybe this trip I will give in. Maybe I can finally feel. He tried to satiate his needs with meaningless sex with hundreds of meaningless women. With these women he couldn’t let himself fully go. He had to control his need to rip the silky flesh from their bones every time they climaxed on him. Even multiple women at a time couldn’t bring him satisfaction. He needed a release. Six years of no release, it was becoming unbearable. Willing women weren’t enough. He needed to hear her scream. Her need for him. He needed to smell the coppery scent of her blood covering him. I can hear the demons inside, they’re telling me to let them out. They deserve to feel too. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, miss?….” 

“Riley. Riley Brooks.” 

Who is this beautiful blue eyed American? His cock twitched as he stared deep into the empty abyss of her eyes. Her eyes were identical to his. In that moment they both knew they would never let each other go. 

She would be his release. He would be her escape.

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The third in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Seasonal/Festive edition with gift-giving and psuedo-ice-skating.

Deathly Courtship

Another restless night spent in a grimy hovel- an especially restless one this time. Dorian was at least thankful his cave was uncharacteristically dry for Ferelden. It would have made the hours of tossing around in his bedding even more insufferable.

He couldn't sleep- painfully alert. Every subtle sound from the wilderness scratched at his insides and the darkness felt not dark enough- agitated by the mildest light.

Whenever he did lose consciousness- or something close- he caught glimpses of the Inquisition camp, as if projected upon his eyelids. He surveyed from above but also lurked its fringes- much closer than he'd dare approach.

The culprit was obvious.

Daylight slivered into his den and Dorian strode outside, unsurprised by what he witnessed.

His shadow was slumped along a rock, boneless-seeming, staring at the Inquisition camp.

  “You've been here all night.” Dorian admonished, flopping to tend the fire. “It kept me awake, you know! And what are you doing lurking around camp? He has his own Spirit, remember?! It might see you!”

It grunted passively, not looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, sparked kindling.

  “You need to learn some patience, is what you need to do.” Leaning back from the flames, Dorian rooted around in his bag. He didn't have anything to really appease his demon but there was salted meat. Not a fantastic breakfast- he was probably still better fed than the refugees.

This time his shadow didn't offer so much as a grunt, intent on watching

Dorian sighed and craned his neck around- below, Lavellan also prepared for the day.

  “There's a way we have to do this, you realise that?” He lectured, cutting meat into chunks. “That's the Southern Chantry down there, or have you forgotten?”

Huffing, Dorian chewed raw flesh and inspected his companion- never moving from it's spot.

  “...If it was up to you,” He considered, shaking his head. “We'd just skulk into his camp one night, sneak into his tent and...”

Trailing off, he furrowed his brow at the creature.

  “Stop that. Stop putting thoughts in my head. We're not doing that.”

His shadow seethed as if in agony, somehow becoming more limp.

  “You're so stupid.” He grumbled, standing. “You saw how he reacted to us. He'll say yes in the moment then be terrified later- as they all are! Because you, my friend...”

He leaned sideways upon the same rock as his demon, frowning at Lavellan and gnashing bloody meat.

  “...come on far too strong.”

It exhaled in dramatic anguish, one with it's perch.

Dorian rolled his eyes again.

  "If I didn't know any better...I'd almost say you're lovesick."

The demon had no comment but it's offense was palpable through their bond. Dorian snickered, continuing to mull over;

  “What we need...is to provide something- a gift, something useful! That's how everyone else slinks into his good graces, no?”

It harrumphed, unconvinced. Dorian ignored this, retrieving his staff.

  “Well we're not doing things your way! You forget we're also betraying the Venatori. They're not going to be happy about that, are they? We're going to need a place in the Inquisition to survive- which we won't get if you can't pace yourself!”

Muttering to himself, Dorian sauntered down the slope, knowing his demon would have no choice but to follow.

  “You're going to have to get used to looking in my mind, too. I can't be talking to myself so bloody much! The Venatori don't care, they just think I'm mad. The Inquisition however, might have something to say about-”

Interrupted by an abrupt crash of bristling fur- a wild wolf. Dorian was tackled and with a snarl, kicked the beast over his head. Positively annoyed, he spun around and crushed its skull with the one upon his staff, spitting-

  “Wolves! Bloody wolves everywhere- I can't even finish a blasted sentence!” He licked red from his weapon without thought. “...Don't the Dalish have some superstitions about wolves? Sort of a whole...guardians of the Beyond, sentinels of death- that sort of thing?”

He blinked towards his shadow- observing neutrally. It shrugged.

  “You know- the Dread Wolf and all that! Fenharel, or whatever!”

It's head tilted, clueless.

  “This is why I make the decisions around here, you know...” Dorian scoffed, peering down at the fallen creature. “In fact...I think I have an idea.”

--

Crisp, morning air welcomed Evallan when he opened his eyes. His room in Haven was warm- intolerably so, for someone acclimatised to sleeping in the cold outdoors. Therefore a window near his bed was always ajar, mountain chill guiding him awake before anyone else.

They'd returned to restock supplies, rest and exchange personnel. Already he craved wilderness- while they traipsed over hills and through caves, it was easy to distract himself.

Suffocating in luxurious sheets, Evallan was acutely aware of how far from home he lay.

He wondered if his brothers were rising for the day- or if they'd become slothful without him to direct. After all, he was the 'Eldest' Lavellan- a title that meant nothing here but that appointed him some vague authority among his people.

Perhaps Villyen- being younger and less focused- would whine to Amrallan for them to sleep in. They might finally climb from their aravel bunks for lunch, then perhaps Amrallan would suggest they adventure somewhere, rather than attend chores...

By this description it was easy to forget Amrallan was actually older than him- Evallan had always been more responsible. He thought of how his brother might handle this 'Herald' predicament, laughing at the idea.

  I will write them again- soon.

For now, he needed to stave off homesickness.

It was too early for serving hands- breakfast wouldn't be prepared yet. That was fine by Evallan- he could only be himself in solitude, and food would do nothing to satiate his cravings.

He craved the freedom of home. Of travelling with his clan, camping in lands too untamed for the shem. Answering to the Creators, and to the wilderness, and nothing else.

This need brought him to the frozen lake, staring wistfully from its edge.

An uncanny sense bothered him- of being observed. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling- it occurred erratically throughout their time in the Hinterlands. Easily attributed to the Maleficar they'd encountered, he'd become accustomed to dismissing it.

Though he saw no sign of him now- and they were quite a ways from the Hinterlands. Evallan couldn't imagine a purpose in stalking him so far.

  A trick of the mind this time, I think...

He had to confess, a part of him wished otherwise. Evallan found little point of relation between himself and the humans. Therefore, couldn't help but admire a shem mage who lived so wilfully as an outcast. Perhaps he would find common ground with such a man?

On the other hand, Evallan had no guess as to his thoughts. He should be more suspicious. Yet it was difficult not to be sympathetic towards someone who constantly skirted shadows, clearly not wishing to be seen.

Additionally, he tended to discern threats through his Spirit-bond. Lightbringer had voiced no concerns towards the shem's intent, so it was likely not malicious. Evallan trusted her to caution him if that happened to change.

  I see no real sign of him now, in any case...

Indeed the grounds were entirely unpopulated, sky still more dark than light. Glancing around himself to make certain, he then gazed over the ice and considered...

Before hopping from the brittle harbour, skidding upon a smooth surface. He'd been provided heavy, polished boots suitable for a Herald- definitely not meant for this. Evallan wondered if someone would scold him, then reflected how ludicrous it would be if he arrived for breakfast half-drowned.

Deciding to risk these consequences, he slid, kicking feet to gain momentum then straightening, propelled onwards with a giddy laugh. Cool winds lashed at him and he grinned at the wintery invitation, remembering such escapades with his brothers.

Spinning around, he repeated the motion, running until he could simply careen forwards. This time he intended to leap and catch himself- but it had been some time since he'd partaken in something so juvenile. Instead of landing on his feet he met frost on elbows and knees, snorting at his own foolishness. He was lucky the ice held- merely creaking.

Evallan stood and dusted himself off, preparing for another attempt...

Hasty scratches echoed along the ice, gaining his attention. Half-turning, he was assaulted by a pair of large paws and what looked like- veilfire?

His instinct would have been to attack- except the creature wasn't really attacking him. It bounced off and ran a mad circle, panting.

Or at least- it made a sound akin to panting.

Closer examination told him this thing- a wolf- was headless, its neck stitched shut. In place of a skull was a puff of veilfire and it was this that 'panted', billowing with the same cadence as an excited dogs breath.

From what he knew of canine behaviour- which was quite a bit, he was Ferelden- it displayed no aggression. If anything, it was pleased to see him.

  “...Hello, strange friend.” He greeted respectfully, bending to its level. “And where is your master? I do not suppose something as elaborate as you are, comes to be through happy accident.”

The minions 'head' formed a comically large tongue, lolling stupidly.

Evallan rang with mirth.

  “Yes, you are very charming.” He flattered, petting its shoulders. “But that is not what I asked.”

  “Oh, good- he found you!”

A somewhat familiar voice- mostly by the accent. There were not exactly a wealth of Tevinter men among the Inquisition.

Turning, he spied the Maleficar- Dorian Pavus- stood where snow met ice, beaming unreservedly.

Evallan hesitated, voice lost.

Perusing the frozen lake, Dorian inched forward, testing each step. Once confident enough he pushed towards Evallan, in such a way to suggest he'd observed some of the elf's frolicking. There was no time to be embarrassed- the man lost his balance and Evallan instinctively reached out, offering support.

The shem slumped into him with an 'oof', slinging an arm around. Evallan stiffened but allowed it- Dorian was warm, and had a scent like earth and blood. Neither of which he found displeasing.

He grinned upwards, exposing several pairs of sharp teeth;

  “My dear Herald,” Said with exaggerated familiarity. “You left the Hinterlands without saying goodbye- I was absolutely beside myself.”

Evallan blinked at this, not comprehending, awkwardly blushing. He had observed humans to have an odd sense of humour, so attempted to respond in kind.

  “I was...to leave a note on a tree?” He chuckled, tense. “You do not exactly make yourself known.”

  “I do apologise,” Dorian sighed, balancing enough to cling less. “It's not because of you, my Herald- just the company you keep.”

  “They would be suspicious of you, that is true.” He tentatively released the man, seeing him secure on his feet. “But as long as you mean no harm, I would allow none on you.”

The Maleficar roared with laughter, leaving Evallan confused.

  “How awfully noble of you, Herald!”

Slumping to meet his gaze, Evallan still couldn't understand what had amused him.

  “I would assume this is your minion?” He inquired, looking towards the undead wolf- it had been watching in dutiful silence but was quick to roll onto its back, panting again. Chuckling, Evallan crouched to deliver belly-rubs.

  “Do you like it?” Dorian asked, something hopeful in his tone.

Glancing his way, Evallan flashed a smile.

  “Some of the humans would call it unseemly,” He shrugged, continued patting. “But I can tell he is a sweet creature.”

  “He's yours- if you want him.”

Evallan perked a brow, curious.

  “Another method of tracking me, I assume?”

Surprising him- Dorian grinned shamelessly, answering the same way-

  “But of course, my darling Herald, whatever else for?” A laugh rumbled in his chest- it was a pleasing sound. “And to protect you, of course! A loyal companion, who will follow only your order, and be compelled to protect you against any threat.”

Evallan smirked mostly to himself, unfurling but not to his full height- stooping around Dorian's. The creature sat by his heels, leaning into him.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Fenharel.”

Compelled to splutter in laughter- unable to restrain it- Evallan shook his head.

  “Maker, no! I will not curse the poor beast in such a way.”

Dorian paused, smiling in slow disbelief.

  “So you're going to take him? Did you entirely understand what I just said?”

  “I understood.” He shuffled, somewhat defensive. “But you have saved my people and myself at least once. Therefore, I seem to benefit.”

  “How...pragmatic.” Dorian bore his teeth in another sly grin and Evallan felt incredibly awkward.

Appearing to sense this, the Blood Mage redirected their conversation;

  “So what will you call him, if not Fenharel?”

Evallan regarded the beast for a moment, lowered to stroke its back.

  “Lunis, I think.”

  “Lunis...” Dorian stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That's some...minor Elven god? Something to do with the moon?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Huh...” He tilted his head, feigned a scoff. “Hardly more imposing than 'Fenharel', is it?”

  “If I call him Fenharel-” Evallan choked through mirth. “Any Dalish we encounter will shoot the poor thing on sight!”

  “Well, maybe- but they'll regret it!” Dorian quipped, earning more laughter.

  “Other than to track me...” He questioned- once restraining himself. “Is there a reason you are offering such a generous gift?”

  “Why not?” Dorian shrugged. “From where I'm standing, the Inquisition is the winning horse. I'm just trying to ensure I'm not trampled in the race.”

  “Pragmatic.” He echoed the previous sentiment- then faltered on what to say.

Again catching to his social ineptitude, Dorian bantered;

  “I can't help but notice that sliding around a frozen lake isn't very Herald-like.”

Perhaps he hadn't expected this to fluster him so intensely. Colour burnt his cheeks and a nervous cough erupted from him. Dorian simply observed, smiling in bemusement while Evallan struggled for composure.

  “I, well...” He spewed helplessly for a moment. “I...miss my home, that is all. We tended towards such climates, and would entertain ourselves in foolish ways...”

Dorian nodded, attentive.

  “I have to confess to you, my Herald...it was quite entertaining.” He chortled, teasing and warm. “But I do think I understand.”

  “Yes, of course-” Evallan tried to speak over his unease. “You also find yourself far from home.”

He nodded again but seemed averse to that topic- eyes shifting from Evallan's for the first time.

  “Well, everything always works out...” He said vaguely. “But I should be heading off, I think- I see your fellows beginning to stir...”

It was unfortunate he couldn't invite the Blood Mage to stay, Evallan thought. He might be able to guarantee the man's safety but judging by his skittishness, Dorian wouldn't trust that enough to be comfortable.

  “I do hope you enjoy the gift,” He said in a chipper tone. “Who knows...perhaps you'll give me something in return someday.”

Dragged from his pondering, Evallan lofted a brow, not really thinking of his response;

  “Gifts are not typically given with an expectation.”

  “Aren't they?” Dorian mused, chortling as if to himself. “Well...some of them are in a way, no? Dowries, for example.”

  “I...” He struggled to process what had been said. “...Pardon?”

Which inspired a chuckle from the Tevinter, shaking his head.

  “Just thinking out loud, my darling Herald.” He bowed lowly, with a mock-level of respect. “I must be off- you will take care of our Lunis, I trust.”

  “I will- of course.” He stumbled verbally, not comprehending the exchange.

Dorian just smiled and sauntered back into the shadows, leaving Evallan's heart in his throat.

--

  “I do not know if you should be accepting such...'gifts' from...renegade Blood Mages.” The Seeker admonished, watching as Lunis sped around the Chantry hall- chasing a moth.

  “I sense no ill intent from the man.” Evallan assured, fighting to keep a straight face. “And it is a fine creature.”

  “Does it have a name?” Solas asked from behind his tea-cup, observing warily.

  “The Blood Mage addressed him as 'Fenharel'.”

Solas instantly began choking, spittle flying everywhere. Unable to maintain his facade any longer, Evallan burst into laughter.

  “I know, I know! Do not worry, I told him I would not curse him with such a name. I have called him Lunis.”

  “Yes, far...that is a far more appropriate name, Herald.” The other elf muttered, dabbing tea from his face.

  “I truly cannot fathom...” Cassandra grumbled, leering. “...How you survived the wilderness as a mage child.”

Evallan snorted, genuinely tickled.

  “I had my clan to protect me- and now I have all of you!”

  “A task that will increase in complexity as the days progress, I am certain.” She sighed, not matching his cheer.

[ramblingsofintrovert]

Aegidius Sadeler II, Interior View of Vladislav Hall at Prague Castle during the Annual Fair, 1607.

From the Metropolitan Museum, www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/409008

[robbyrobinson]

I

I haven't the faintest idea how I ended up getting into this position, but I am forever grateful that I managed to escape it. Ever since I was a child, I was an avid reader. I read just about anything: newspapers; comic books; obituaries, you name it. I'm certain that you had the same feelings I had. Of reading whatever you could get your grubby hands-on, you find yourself in a bind. Craving more knowledge, I am assured that you would've done anything to satiate your hunger.

When I was allowing my mind to humor the imagined solutions to my plight, it happened. While I was browsing the town's bookstore, I bumped into a strange man. He was the spitting image of a walrus. He was a rotund man in the perfect shape of an egg. He had a double chin that was partially covered by the thick, wintry whiskers of his mustache. Whoever this man was, he clearly was of some form of nobility. He was dressed in the finest black tuxedo that money could buy...if not for the fact that his paunch peeked through the bottom of his shirt. His arms were of a gargantuan frame with rolls of fat jiggling from the slightest movement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," I said. I had about four books in my hands at the time. I gazed down at them and collapsed on my knees to collect them without hesitation. The man tentatively wiped his shirt off with his pudgy fingers.

"It's quite all right, my good fellow," he said in an understanding tone of voice. While I should've been relieved that he wasn't going to take vengeance on me for my mistake, I felt the heat of his stare. He observed the books on the ground with a passing curiosity. "A fellow book connoisseur?"

"Well, yes," I answered while still being intimidated by the sudden interrogation.

"That is very good news," he replied. His smile shifted down into a frown. "But these books just won't do."

My interest peaked. "You know more appropriate literature for me to indulge myself in?"

"Yes. Just between you and me, let's just say that I have a collection of forbidden literature."

That proved to be the most intriguing part of the discussion. This man I had met on accident had access to literature that was assuredly banned by the government. I've heard stories of such books containing such unorthodox material, they were buried away, never to be seen by the light of day. The opportunities were limitless. I could barely conceal my excitement as I almost glossed over the gentleman providing me with his address. He became like a penguin and wobbled away, throwing his weight on his legs. Before I walked over to the counter, for a moment, I could've sworn that I saw a large, monstrous anomaly acting as the man's shadow.

II

Not too long after my realization that I neglected to ask the man of his name; a series of disappearances befell the city. Children between the ages of 10 and 16 were reported missing. They each disappeared not too long after the other. Approximately, there were six missing children. I thought back to the man I met at the bookstore and how eerily his shadow matched the news reports of the children complaining about being relentlessly pursued by a monster shrouded in darkness. It sent a chill up my spine whenever I weighed more on it.

The day of my little get-together with the man from the bookstore arrived. I fidgeted through my important papers until I fished out the note with his address on it. His home was a decent walking pace from mine. With my briefcase in hand, I traveled down the path. When I reached the house, it did not resemble anything I have imagined for a man of such a high status. The outer layers of the house contorted and shifted. The outer layer was transforming into indescribable shapes unknown to man. The trees around the settlement transformed into scaly talons. I turned to leave, but the voice of the fat man was calling out to me over the onslaught of chaos.

I walked through the shifting front door and trudged down the hallway. The walls were now a fleshy mass of red meat. They shook violently so much so; I was afraid they would leap at me. The other sights were…unappealing. In one room, what I could only describe as the most horrid of debaucheries was transpiring before my eyes. A wave of men and women bereft of clothing were committing the most audacious of sins. They danced around in a perverted succession and clawed onto each other in large orgies. Their incessant moaning disturbed me. “Lust,” I thought. It was undoubtedly a section dedicated entirely to the deadly sin of lust.

The next room was worse. Inside, chains of people were wrought with hunger. They tore into each other as wild dogs looking for scraps. Limbs were ripped off and fingers were plucked one by one like feathers. Not once did they grant me a passing glance. Instead, they continued to indulge in their cannibalistic rituals, never once feeling their hunger subsiding. What I have experienced was the sin of gluttony in its most perverted form.

Sloth was next. It was another guest room. It was relatively easier on the eyes, but that would be comparing a severed arm to a paper cut. Fat blobs sat on the bed and floor without rhyme or interest in anything currently happening. They were of people who were so corrupted by their slothfulness, they were reduced to creatures even below the worms.

The further I glanced into the rooms, the more I felt my mind crack from my incapability of understanding it. A hand reached out and touched my shoulder, sending me over the edge. “Glad you could make it; the festivities had just begun.”

It was the fat man again. But something was horribly wrong. He did not have any noticeable change in his demeanor. He still was just as jolly as he was when I first met him. In fact, he treated the unholy nightmares festering in his home with seeming indifference. That kind of indifference a man may feel when he views the same events daily. I now felt uncomfortable being in the same room as him.

Before I could respond, he whisked me away into the kitchen where he had a lavish array on the table. It looked normal at first glance, but after seeing all the bizarre, surreal nonsense in the respective rooms, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. The obese man sat at the head of the table and glutted himself on fattening foods from turkey legs and mashed potatoes. Thinking back, he looked even more massive than I gave him credit for. He looked up from his many plates and eyed me inquisitively.

III

“So, how are you enjoying your stay?”

I slammed my fists on the table in a dazed frenzy. “What in the name of all decency is going on here!?”

He frowned and sighed deeply. “I see you don’t understand. Such a shame.”

“Shame?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’m sure that you noticed by now that I am by no means an ordinary man.”

My mind became a blank. Not human? What is he suggesting? I knew he was insane, but what the hell did he mean by those cryptic words? I hushed my thoughts when he began to speak again.

“I am of a race of gods eldritch to your thought processes. Please, call me the Defiler.”

“Where are you going with this?” I asked now in irritation. Great; this man was insane, and he also believes that he was some powerful deity. I rubbed my throbbing temples in bewilderment. If this were a dream, I very much would’ve loved to wake up. I’d imagine waking up in my bed in the early morning going about my day and then indulging in my cherished hobbies. Instead, I was currently in a grotesque house filled with unspeakable perversions getting lectured to by a deranged man who may as well have escaped from a mental asylum not too far from here.

“I see that I am boring you, boy,” he said. His face was contorted into a vengeful scowl. “I am here speaking to you, but I am also far away.”

“How far, fat man?” I asked.

“My body is indescribable to you mortals, but I am confined behind a stone wall.”

I listened tentatively despite my disbelief. What he said next horrified me. If the idea that he was locked away behind a stonewall was already unbelievable, what he spoke of still to this day greatly disturbed me.

“Do you like my latest body?” he asked, “after all, this freak was just like you before I found you.” He told me that there was a man who was much like me who hungered for knowledge. After he grew bored with the typical literature he read, he sought more. In his endeavor, he met a member of an underground cult who told him that he could have access to the more problematic pieces. He was exposed to the depravities that the cult performed in dedication to some Great Old One or something of the sort. Despite it, he nevertheless allowed his cravings to overpower him, and he read a book that summoned that unearthly presence to him.

“It’s a pity that this body is going to waste,” the fat man bemoaned. “It’s about time I parted with him; we had so much fun together.” He feigned a single tear. “Those children were my favorite part.”

“Children?” I said.

He wordlessly took me forcefully out of my seat, and we both walked to the basement of the house. The remains of the missing children were spread astray. I choked back vomit as I took a closer look at them. Large chunks were noticeably taken from the corpses. I looked back at the fat man, his grin only growing larger with a more deranged glaze in his eyes. His smile circled around the tips of his mouth.

“What? What can I say; after I had my fun with them, I got hungry. Can’t blame a Great Old One becoming famished.”

My fists clenched. After everything, I was mentally preparing myself to punch this “god” back towards whatever plane of existence he originated from. “What else did you do to that man?”

He smirked. “When I possessed him, I cast his soul aside. He will forever be trekking that long path between life and death. I maneuvered him like a flesh puppet subservient to my rule. I do wonder though if he ever was made to watch his body cozy up with strangers?”

“What are you wanting from me now? And what is the reason behind any of this!?” I finally yelled.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After about three hours or so in my home and you still fail to understand?” He sighed. “I live for the carnality of you simple humans. I know all of man’s depravities and abominations, and I bask in it. That sense of pleasure mixed with pain is intoxicating. But what I desire the most is to be free from my prison and walk among you simple humans!”

The man’s disguise was wearing thin. His skin became papery with small cracks forming all over. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, his disguise cracked open. Underneath was displeasing to man’s eyes. An abnormally fat, headless man burst through the skin and towered over me. His hands were large and enshrouded my head. What sent me the most alarm, however, were the two mouths within the palms of his hands. Hot drool dripped down from his serpentine tongues. The room transformed into a chasm of red meat with oozing slime. A book manifested before me. It opened to the section that mentioned the fat man, the Defiler’s, name.

“Say my name and free me!”

My eyes darted towards his name. I tried my darndest to fight, but once my mind was set on the name, my tongue began to betray me. “Y…Y…”

The Defiler stiffened up in anticipation. “Yes! Yes!”

I grasped my throat and grunted. My attempts at choking myself were also proving to be unfruitful. “Y’gol…”

I immediately stared down on the floor of the basement. Beside one of the bodies of the slain children, I saw a carving knife. With my little time, I made a grab for it. The Defiler was perplexed, though because of lacking eyes, he could only express it through his mouths. I grabbed the knife and held it in front of him. My tongue slid out unconsciously from my mouth, and I grabbed it with one hand.

“No, no!” he screamed.

It was painful, but I sliced my tongue off, allowing half to fall on the floor. The Defiler shook violently. I was running out of blood quickly, but I ran forward with the knife and tussled with the Great Old One. He pinned me tightly with one of his hands and he tried to shove me up his other mouth. I clenched my knife and I rammed it into his chest cavity. He loosened his hold on me and tumbled forward. Blood was leaking out onto the floor. Nevertheless, he laughed. Despite the pain and blatant loss of blood. He was still laughing as if he was having the best day of his life.

“Don’t think that this is over, fool,” he said, “I can never truly die. Shame we won’t be able to play some more, though. Oh well, I guess I’ll go defile some other poor sap.” He laughed through his hands and contorted into dust. Without its owner, the house began to collapse, and debris came raining down. From the sound of the bloody screaming, the Defiler’s followers were also being buried alive. I staggered my way through the horrific freak show and exited the house. The house imploded, burying itself deep into a crater in the ground.

IV

Even though it was a few months ago, I still find myself thinking back about how my lust for reading nearly cost me my life and the threats of that beast getting released. But he also said that he would try to corrupt some other hapless victim. I just wonder who will be the next to fall, victim?

[tsthrace]

White Knuckles

Awhile back, I asked y’all to send me a song so I could take its energy, lyrics, and/or feeling and write you a 1,000-word Clexa fic.

This one shot meandered way beyond 1,000 words. It’s based on White Knuckles by Tegan and Sara, as requested by @damiana-atx.

Angsty academia AU. No content warnings except for some swearing.

You can also find it on ao3.

-----------------------------

“Fuck, this is good,” Clarke said aloud to no one as she tossed the journal on the table. She leaned back in her chair. Godlessness Centered: Negotiating Queerness in The Left Hand of Darkness by Alexandria J. Woods, PhD. When Clarke had first picked up the journal, she scoffed. The Left Hand of Darkness? Really? And queerness? How overdone.

But it was brilliant. A discourse on Le Guin’s own spirituality and how it defied casual dualities.

I should have thought of that.

She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes.

---

Lexa smoothed the lapels on her blazer, though they were already perfectly flat. She gazed at herself in the hotel mirror, staring at the buttons on her shirt. She had a choice to make—the choice of the one awkward button. Button it, and she would seem, well, buttoned-up, uptight. But unbuttoned, it was a bit...revealing. There was no middle ground.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a breath. Then buttoned the button.

---

They met in Bloomington, Indiana. All the sci fi literature conferences seemed to be in random small cities in the Midwest. They were strange events. Mostly men in khaki and tweed carrying beat-up leather satchels, experts on Vonnegut and Wells (H.G., that is). But there was also the overt geek element. Undergrad boys carrying frayed copies of Asimov and Gaiman, their laptops covered in Star Trek and My Little Pony stickers, and the occasional girl wearing a Strong Female Character t-shirt.

Then there was Lexa, sharp in a plain black cashmere sweater and grey herringbone slacks, her glasses suggesting both intelligence and the ability to break you. The geeks followed her but kept an admiring distance.

Clarke, for some reason, seemed more approachable. As she sipped her gin and tonic at the hotel bar, the kids (as she called college students) would creep up to her, their eyes down.

“Dr. Griffin?” they’d ask.

“Call me Clarke,” she’d say, smiling.

“I just had some questions on your takedown of the Darkover series.”

Clarke would always give them about twenty minutes then politely end the conversation, turning back to her drink.

She had had three such conversations when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Clarke didn’t mind the attention, but she was getting tired. She spun around, ready to dismiss herself.

“Dr. Griffin.” Lexa stood above her.

“Dr. Woods,” Clarke replied, nodding politely. She had read all of Lexa’s work. She had to. They were two of the only feminist sci fi lit scholars who were regularly publishing. But they’d never actually met.

“I don’t really prefer the term ‘doctor.’” Lexa said, looking just past Clarke. “It’s a little....” She didn’t finish her thought. After a moment she tilted her head. “Do you really think we should stop reading Bradley because of her scandal?”

Clarke put her drink down. “Scandal is kind of an understatement. And I didn’t say we should stop. I just said it’s hard.”

Without invitation, Lexa sat down at Clarke’s table. “If we bring every artist’s personal life into how we engage with their work, we probably won’t be able to enjoy anything.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a modernist.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That sometimes shitty people create amazing art.” Lexa’s eyes lit up with her smile, like she was issuing a friendly challenge.

“Are you flirting with me?” Clarke returned her version of the same smile.

Lexa sat back and shrugged. She took a sip of her martini.

---

A few hours later, Clarke was sprawled across Lexa’s bed looking up, her hair in tangles across the pillow, a corner of the sheet pulled over her midsection. Lexa was curled up next to her, sweaty and wondering what just happened. She took a few breaths, looking for words. She squinted to herself, couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt Clarke shuffle a bit and prepared for the awkward banter that would come when they’d get up to look for their clothes.

“Do you believe in God?” Clarke asked instead. She didn’t get up.

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God?” Her tone was so casual.

“I...I don’t know.” Lexa looked up at the ceiling. She suddenly felt cold and reached down for a blanket. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I do,” Clarke said, not answering the question.

“Why?”

“I just look around this world, and it seems pretty incredible to me. Like it wasn’t an accident. Someone had to have created all this. Created us. Then made us creators.” Clarke shook her head and looked past Lexa. “It all seems like such a miracle.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lexa felt her face crumple.

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know. I do like the idea of the trinity.”

“When I grew up, my parents took me to one of those born again churches.” Lexa looked down. “It was mostly Jesus. I mean, I know what the trinity is, but…” Why was she telling her this?

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Clarke shook her head. “Not like God as some guy who makes you love him or else you burn in hell. That’s bullshit.”

Lexa squinted.

“The trinity. It’s like a dance between these three ways God reveals herself.” Clarke smiled. “It’s beautiful actually.” She looked at Lexa. “Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Lexa side-eyed her. “Clarke, I’m a sci fi scholar.”

“Okay, so there’s Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which…”

They stayed up the rest of the night, moving from L’Engle to Shelley to Jemisin and the spiritual worlds of their stories. Evil and suffering, goodness and hope. Retribution, sacrifice, and justice. Beauty and joy. Mouth to neck, hands to curves, skin to skin.

By dawn, Lexa had found God.

---

Lexa went back to UC Irvine and Clarke returned to her adjunct job at Georgetown, but they emailed constantly. Long, meandering messages about particular chapters of The Stone Sky and Spinning Silver. Clarke sent her Marilynne Robinson essays, and Lexa responded with questions. Together, they laid theologies over imagined worlds, mapped them out and connected them to other imagined worlds. They took down Ender’s Game, built up The Hainish Cycle, and even let themselves dabble in Stardust, which they both had to admit they secretly admired. Back and forth, tens of thousands of words over the course of months. They only talked on the phone a few times, but the emails were constant.

Not long into their messages, Clarke had mentioned how her father had died when she was young. Lexa hinted at being on her own at age 16. These details were wrapped in blankets of analysis and metaphor, the theological undercurrents of the imagined worlds they studied, the anthropology of beings who only existed on pages and in minds.

They made plans to meet in Cleveland to present together at a lit crit conference. A week before, Lexa bailed. “Sorry,” the text said. “An emergency came up.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke responded.

Nothing.

The conference was rough. Clarke knew it would be, but she thought she’d have Lexa’s powerful presence demanding attention. The lit crit crowd all secretly loved what they called “genre” fiction—sci fi and fantasy—but they publicly derided it as “unserious” or “not literary.” She held her own, but it wasn’t fun.

She texted Lexa when she got back to her hotel room. “Wish you had been here. Same straight white male bullshit as usual.”

Silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Clarke texted a few days later. At that point, though, she knew Lexa was gone.

A heaviness set in on her. Clarke reread their messages looking for hints, but Lexa’s words seemed wide open, even joyful. What happened?

She immersed herself in a chapter she was writing for a textbook on book fandoms and lecturing on feminism and postmodernism in Harry Potter—not her favorite topic, but it was a popular course. She had almost let herself forget about Lexa when, six months later, she was flipping through Foundation: The Journal of Science Fiction and saw her byline in the table of contents. Justice & Joy: The God Revealed in the Feminist Imagination. By Alexandria J. Woods, PhD.

Clarke turned to page 137 and ran her eyes down the columns. She bit her lip. The essay was essentially a catalog of their emails, one idea bridged skillfully to another by Lexa’s pointed and lucid prose. But they weren’t just Lexa’s ideas. They weren’t just Clarke’s, either, but a stream of their thoughts flowing together like a river. It was beautifully done.

Clarke didn’t notice that her hands were balled into fists until she felt her nails cutting into the skin. She opened her laptop and pulled up the messages. Lexa had been careful to rephrase Clarke’s words, but it was all there, even with citations of Marilynne Robinson. The Death of Adam.

Clarke pounded out an email. How dare you...couldn’t even ask for me to be a coauthor...you hadn’t even thought about these things until you met me. She knew Lexa wouldn’t see it. She probably had blocked her address. She didn’t bother hitting send.

Her face fell into her hands. She remembered that night in San Diego. Lexa’s smile—that curiosity despite herself. The way her hands traced the skin over Clarke’s side.

That woman wouldn’t have done this. But there it was. Twenty-six pages of shared conversation now claimed for Lexa only.

---

Clarke’s department was buzzing about it the next day. The religious studies chair was also a huge geek who kept up with Foundation, and he had been blown away by how seamlessly interdisciplinary the article was. “I hadn’t thought to connect the Christian trinity and A Wrinkle in Time, but it’s really so obvious when you think about it.”

Clarke seethed. She thought about printing up the emails, sending them to Foundation and the UC Irvine Disciplinary Committee, but something stopped her. Allegations of plagiarism would ruin Lexa’s career as a scholar. And was it really plagiarism? Clarke wanted to be sure, but she wasn’t.

So she wrote instead. A deep and cutting rebuttal highlighting where Alexandria J. Woods’ religious arguments were rudimentary at best, illustrating how shallow her connections were, and then plunging further, mining Catherine Keller and other theologians for an even deeper exploration of the worlds of Butler and Clarke (Arthur C., that is). Foundation published her essay the next quarter. Lexa answered, bringing in Buddhism and Humanism. A spotlight grew around their debate, so they continued writing—back and forth between literary, cultural, and religious journals. WIRED magazine picked up the story: Feuding Feminists Shifting the Sci Fi Landscape.

That’s when the invites started rolling in. A conference on spirituality and pop culture invited them to speak on a panel together, but Clarke refused. She couldn’t bear to see Lexa in person. Instead, she accepted an invitation to lecture at NYU while Lexa spoke at Cal.

Clarke’s classes filled with long waitlists every semester, her success intertwined with Lexa’s and their endless intellectual feud. They both thrived. Lexa’s ideas sharpened Clarke’s, and Clarke’s sharpened Lexa’s. She couldn’t admit it, but she needed Lexa as much as she despised her.

---

Lexa was in her office when the call came.

“Dr. Woods?” A male voice.

“It’s Professor Woods.”

“Excuse me, Professor Woods,” he corrected himself. “This is Dr. William Porter at Georgetown. The chair of the Department of English.”

Lexa felt something jump in her chest. “Good morning.”

“I’m calling because a very generous donor has recently endowed a tenure-track professorship here specifically for women in science fiction studies.”

“You’re kidding me.” it felt like a prank, and a mean one at that. Lexa had never heard of such a thing.

“Uh, no.” Dr. Porter seemed thrown off. “We’re inviting only a few people to apply, and you’re on our short list. Is this something you’d be interested in?”

They hung up with lingering plans to arrange flights and meetings.

Lexa sat for a few minutes, her fingers tapping idly on her closed laptop. Clarke would be one of the other candidates—and maybe the only other candidate—she was sure. She looked down and shook her head, thinking back to that day when she made the worst decision of her life.

She had printed out some of the emails she had sent Clarke to reference them against some short stories when the dean knocked on her door. He noticed a copy of L’Engle’s Walking on Water open on her desk.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Uh, just a side project I’m working on.” Her face burned with the exposure of her new interest in religious studies.

“Mind if I look?” he asked, picking up one of the print-outs before she could answer.

She bit her lip as he read, his forehead creasing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. “Professor Woods, this is good stuff.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. I’ve been working with Professor Griffin at Georgetown—”

“But these are your words, right?”

“Yeah, what you’re holding. That’s mine.”

“You need to publish this. It could be really good for you and the department.”

“Yeah, Professor Griffin and I—”

“Lexa,” he said in that kind but firm I’m-A-Man-In-Charge voice, “there’s a distinction to be made between attribution and inspiration. I’m inspired every day by the ocean, by James Joyce.” Lexa hid her contempt. Scholars who pretended to understand Joyce were pretentious liars. “But I’m not citing them.”

“Dr. Titus.” Her voice was firm. “I couldn’t have written that without Professor Griffin.”

“Professor Woods.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This department doesn’t need a co-authored paper with someone from Georgetown. We need a win.” He tapped the paper. “These are your words. Are they the product of a broader conversation? Sure, but what isn’t?” He looked out the window at the budding trees. “We took a chance on your genre work. And I’m seeing some good stuff. But I need to see more if we’re going to keep you on.”

Lexa looked past Dr. Titus and took in a silent breath. Jobs in her specialty was rare. UC Irvine had invested more than most schools to create a department where someone like her could thrive. She nodded.

“Get me an abstract and outline next week,” the dean said. “The managing editor at Foundation is a former student.”

When he left, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She would need to cancel her panel with Clarke in Cleveland. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to look at her again.

---

Clarke let out a deep breath as she stepped into the crisp fall air. It had been a long day of interviews. She stopped on the stairs. She knew Lexa was close by. She had to be. They were the two people in the country most qualified for the job. She’d been on these interview panels before. Two, sometimes three, a day, candidates rotating between deans and panels. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet.

She shook her head. Maybe she should have said something about that first paper. The job would be hers if she had. But would she even be considered without that paper? It had launched her career. Her public debate with Alexandria J. Woods, PhD, got her lectures around the country, a longform article in The Atlantic, and the keynote spot at conferences that two years ago would have never taken her seriously. Their refusal to appear together added to their mystique. Geeks and academics alike lined up on reddit and twitter to take sides.

Her success was bound to Lexa’s, two sides of the same double helix.

She bundled a scarf around her neck. It didn’t matter where Lexa was. Clarke loved the work she did, and she had rocked the interviews. But she was tired. It was time for a drink. She pulled out her phone to call a Lyft. Something about the fading purple sky changed her mind, though, and she decided to walk.

The cobblestones on O Street felt somehow comforting under her feet. Solid. Old. Not going anywhere. She thought about calling Dr. Reyes from the engineering department to join her—Raven was always good for either a loud night of much alcohol or a quiet night of raw, stinging truth—the latter of which was why Clarke had never told her all that had happened with Lexa. She shook her head. Maybe she just needed some gin and silence.

She sat at the bar at L’Annexe and ordered a Tom Collins. Bartenders always smiled curiously at her when she ordered one. Funny, you don’t look like a 75 year-old man to me. She’d smile back impatiently. Just make my damn drink. When the drink arrived, she took a sip and let out a deep breath as the gin started to glow through her. No one can fuck up a Tom Collins. It was simple and always felt good and sharp and bright going down.

She was halfway through her drink when a man sat next to her and ordered a scotch. Clarke glanced at his plaid scarf, wool sweater, and worn leather shoulder bag. Definitely a TA. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “You teach that Harry Potter course.”

Clarke’s stifled a sigh. “That’s me.” She tilted her head back and drank the rest of her Tom Collins in one swig.

“Can I get you another?”

“No,” she said, picking up her bag. She made eye contact with the bartender. “I need to pay.”

“Whoa,” the man in the scarf said, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to be alone.” Clarke nodded towards the guy sitting on the other side of him. “Maybe you can be nice to him.” She dropped some cash on the check that had arrived and made her way to the door.

It was darker outside than when she’d arrived. And colder. She buttoned her wool coat and started making her way down Pennsylvania Ave. towards the bus stop.

---

Lexa was sipping a Syrah at a window table when she saw Clarke walk by outside. She took in a breath, remembering how Clarke’s eyes got soft when she asked, “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. She could just let her keep going, and they could go on avoiding each other forever. Unless Lexa got the job.

Shit.

She grabbed her coat, leaving a $20 under her mostly full glass. By the time Lexa got out the door, Clarke was halfway down the block, almost lost in a crowd of loud students. Lexa didn’t button her coat, and it billowed out as she jogged down the street.

“Clarke!” she shouted as she got closer. She saw Clarke stop, her back straighten and stiffen. She didn’t turn around.

---

Clarke wanted to be angry. When she heard that voice, she wanted to spin on her heel and unleash a cascade of expletives that would make the passersby uncomfortable. She not only wanted Lexa to hear the words traitor, cheat, betrayed, she wanted her to feel the force of them rip through her body like a landmine.

But she froze. When she heard that voice, she felt tears sting at the corner of her eyes. She felt a slow storm in her chest, all rain and no lighting. She closed her eyes. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was heaviness. She held her breath and waited.

When she opened her eyes, Lexa was in front of her, her eyes uncertain and her arms folded in front of her. “Hey…” she said after a few moments.

Clarke bit into her lip, hoping not to draw blood. She looked up, her blue eyes blazing, about to spark. She could tell Lexa was waiting for her to say something, so she stayed silent.

Lexa nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s, but she refused to respond.

“I don’t expect you to understand...” Lexa trailed off. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” She looked past Clarke to a stoplight turning from yellow to red.

Lexa’s open coat revealed a gray plaid suit, smart and uncompromising, the top button studiously and chastely buttoned. So she had interviewed today. In this moment, though, it all felt wrong. Lexa seemed so small to Clarke. She wasn’t the woman she met at the hotel that night, but she also wasn’t the woman who submitted that article. This woman was drawn in on herself, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. Clarke remained silent.

Lexa sucked in her lips. “I know you probably hate me, and I get it.” She looked down. “I hate me, too.”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was deep and quiet. “You don’t get to do that.” She felt confused when she saw a shadow of relief cross Lexa’s face.

“You’re right,” Lexa said. “That’s not fair.” She took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to tell them.” She looked Clarke in the eye. “I’m going to tell Georgetown, and I’m going to tell Foundation. I’ll—”

“Don’t.” Clarke cut her off. “It’s done.”

“But—”

“Fuck you, Lexa.” She barely looked at her as pushed past, a slow fire burning through her as she walked briskly towards Dupont Square.

---

Lexa was freezing by the time she got back to her hotel room. She had stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Clarke get smaller and smaller. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Forgiveness? Punishment? Clarke had given her neither, which is what she knew she deserved.

She had never written a paper more carefully, never thought about the ideas so closely, never danced so delicately around sentence structure and tense. In a twisted way, she was proud of it. It was sophisticated but accessible, and completely defensible. Even if Clarke had tried to accuse her, she was sure she would have won.

She shook her head sharply. That’s not who I am. But it was. She was intelligent and ambitious and ready for a breakthrough. She knew Titus had been threatening her, but she also knew that what she had been writing with Clarke was good. Really good. She had never felt so alive in her work as when she was in conversation with Clarke. No one had ever challenged or inspired her like that. Even after that first paper, her debates with Clarke from essay to essay were electric, almost feverish. Clarke tapped something in her that was insatiable.

She picked up her laptop and opened some of the first emails she and Clarke had exchanged after Bloomington. She couldn’t help but smile. There had been a giddiness to them, this breathless excitement to constantly share new discoveries, interesting connections. They had sent seven, sometimes eight, messages a day. Thousands of words.

And that night in Bloomington.

She closed the laptop. Was it worth it? For months, Lexa had tried to convince herself that it had just been one night, that she didn’t even really know Clarke. When she saw Clarke on that sidewalk tonight, though, she knew that was all bullshit.

They had been falling for each other the best way they knew how. Lexa had betrayed all of it.

—-

Lexa was sitting on the floor outside Clarke’s office when she arrived the next morning.

Clarke sighed. “Seriously?” She didn’t look at her as she slid her key in the lock. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting to cancel.” Lexa shrugged, not getting up.

Clarke pushed her door open. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Dr. Woods.”

“I withdrew my name.”

Clarke froze. “Why?” Clarke noticed jeans and a sweater under Lexa’s coat. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was serious.

“You know why.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Lexa said steadily as she stood up. The smallness from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders thrown back. “I don’t know who else they’re interviewing, but I’m not your competition anymore.” She swallowed and looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your competition anymore.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to say, Good luck, Dr. Woods, and close the door behind her, but instead she felt herself pushing the door open, heard herself saying, “Come in.”

Lexa bit her lip. “You sure?”

Clarke nodded and ushered her in. The door clicked as it closed behind them. Clarke set her bag down and sat at her desk. She shook her head, frustrated. “I just want to hate you. That’s all. I want to tell you to fuck off, and I want to go on with my life.”

Lexa sat in the reading chair in the corner of Clarke’s office. She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Then why don’t you?”

Clarke huffed, a cynical laugh. “I can’t get away. You’re everywhere.” She threw up her hands. “I saw you on the fucking New Yorker site this morning. How did you land that?” A rhetorical question. “I assign your essays for my classes. I have to. I hate how good you are.”

“You’re good, too, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. She looked up. “Very good. I keep researching and writing because you keep responding.”

Clarke closed her eyes. She knew it was the same for her, but she didn’t want to say it. Finally she looked up. “Why did you do it?”

Lexa looked past her at Clarke’s diplomas on the wall. Undergrad at Cornell. She shook her head, almost said I don’t know, but she didn’t want to lie. “I wanted to do something big.” She gathered the courage to look at Clarke’s face. “I wanted to do it with you, but my dean pressured me to take solo authorship.” She closed her eyes, ashamed. “And I was a coward.”

“Yeah.” Clarke leaned back in her chair. “You were.”

Everything that came into Lexa’s head to say felt like an excuse, so she kept her mouth shut. They both did, the loud ticking of the cheap clock on the wall cutting through the silence.

Finally Clarke shook her head. A corner of her mouth curved up. “It was really beautifully done.”

Lexa looked up, her head tilted.

“I was so fucking angry, Lexa.” Clarke breathed out like she was letting something go. “I should have been a coauthor, but, fuck, it was well written. Like it was on a whole other level.”

Lexa’s green eyes were bright as they locked in on Clarke’s. “You inspire me, Dr. Griffin.” She sat back. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused and sucked in her lips. “I think we should write a book together.”

As soon as Clarke heard the words, she knew it was a good idea. Maybe the best idea. But all that would come out was, “Fuck you, Lexa.” It was almost a laugh.

Lexa’s face was stone, but her eyes were alive. “An editor already approached me. If I brought you on…”

“You can’t buy your way out of the shitty thing you did, Lexa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa ran her hand over her hair then looked up, her face suddenly soft. “I meant it, Clarke. I’m better with you.” She shrugged. “And I think you’re better with me, too.”

Clarke bit her lip. She took in a heavy breath, and let it out in a long sigh. She stood up. “Come here.”

Lexa squinted her eyes.

“Just come here, please. You owe me that.”

Lexa stood up in front of Clarke. Clarke lifted her hand to her face and leaned in, her lips barely touching Lexa’s. Lexa didn’t move, but Clarke felt her shiver. She leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she pulled back.

“I just…” Clarke didn’t know where the end of that sentence was supposed to go, and she didn’t tried to find it. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Lexa as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

Lexa held her breath.

Finally Clarke smiled, almost laughing at herself. “That’s not a yes, Dr. Woods. But it’s not a no.”

[superlinguo]

Linguistics Jobs: Interview with a Communications Specialist

A lot of the stories in the linguistics jobs interview series involve people studying linguistics and then starting a career in a particular industry (or two, or three). Today’s interviewee, Julia Shenkar, was working as a communications specialist when she returned to study a Masters of Linguistics. Julia is a Senior Campaign Communications Specialist in the Healthcare Division of SEIU (the Service Employees International Union). You can stay in touch with Julie and find out about her work on Twitter and LinkedIn.

What did you study at university?

I went to undergrad at Knox College in Galesburg, IL, and was a double major in Nonfiction Writing and French. I got my Master's in Linguistics at George Mason University, just outside of Washington, DC. Mason's program is focused on theoretical linguistics, though I am a sociolinguist a heart. My research focused primarily on English phonology and morphology, though I ended up developing a secondary focus on Haitian Creole kind of by accident. I wrote my thesis on sound symbolism in product names.

What is your job?

I moved to DC soon after graduating undergrad and got a job in nonprofit/association marketing, communications, and PR. My current job is at the Service Employees International Union where I serve as a senior campaign communications specialist. My current and previous work has involved writing op-eds, press releases and statements, website copy, newsletters, social media content, internal and external marketing copy, and blog posts, as well as managing relationships with the media through pitching and facilitating interviews between the press and organization leadership. I also have experience in crisis communications, publishing, event planning, and project management.

How does your linguistics training help you in your job?

Having a linguistics background helps me approach language differently. My academic training has given me the gift of perspective, and I have a deeper consideration and sensitivity toward the greater implications of words and sounds, written or spoken, for different audiences. I'm a strong copyeditor, and colleagues usually come to me for grammar/syntax questions. I'm also usually the first person people ask to help them come up with puns, acronyms, or plays on words.

But I'll admit—being a linguist outside of academia is tough. I often get hung up on nuances that seem trivial to laypeople. Additionally, it's difficult to be a linguist in a world of native English speakers. No one likes to be told they're wrong or not exactly right regarding a language they've spoken their entire lives, and I've found that people get very defensive. Folks outside of academia may see linguists as arrogant or overly exhaustive when it comes to English. You have to learn to pick your battles. Part of being a linguist is respecting everyone's language ability and using your skillset as a supplement to your greater work, not as leverage to prove a point.

Do you have any advice do you wish someone had given to you about linguistics/careers/university?

I think a lot of recent grads—like me at the time—don't realize that there are job options beyond academic research and teaching, and that majoring in the arts and humanities is not a one-way ticket to unemployment. There are tons of opportunities for communicators in all fields (literally everything), so don't worry about being pigeon-holed into a single discipline.

Think about it: every company or business needs folks to handle their marketing and communications. These employers are always looking for talented people who can use language efficiently to connect with potential customers and audiences. As a linguist, you possess skills not everyone has and you are extremely marketable outside of academia. If you're still in undergrad and have room in your schedule, take a journalism class and learn how to pitch and write news stories. Familiarize yourself with data analytics, SEO, and social media business tools. Also familiarize yourself with AP and Chicago style, as most places closely abide by these rules.

That said, beware the prescriptivist. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch... the professional world is full of Strunk and White loyalists—especially Boomers, who will likely make up upper management. As linguists, we are conditioned to be descriptivists and to understand that language evolves with culture and society. A lot of people you'll encounter consider language to be a black and white issue and will insist on abiding by traditional, sometimes outdated, grammar rules. Take the temperature of your organization and be prepared to write in a way that goes against your linguistic instincts and sounds nothing like how real people speak. You may also have to sit through some English 101 lectures about sub/verb agreement and how passive constructions are evil. Just smile and nod.

Any other thoughts or comments?

Don't think you have to miss out on developing your resume and gaining work experience to stay in academia. Roughly 5 years into my career, I started attending grad school full-time on top of full-time work. I had an 1.5hr commute to campus and evening classes, so this made for some late, late nights. This was very hard—but doable! Good employers know that educated/skilled employees will only enhance business operations, so many places are willing to offer tuition reimbursement or flexible scheduling options to help you be successful. I chose to focus my thesis on a topic relevant to the industry I worked in at the time, so that was a great way to demonstrate my commitment to my employer and inspire more enthusiasm from management—plus, I had immediate, unbridled access to industry experts and data.

If anything, you'll develop killer time management skills. You'll learn to segment (and segregate) your thoughts into work stuff and school stuff, and might end up feeling like you live a double life. I promise it's worth it and you'll emerge as a stronger scholar, professional, and general person.

Recently:

Interview with a Learning Scientist

Interview with an Internet Linguist

Interview with a Lexicographer

Interview with a School Linguist

Interview with a Journalist

Check out the Linguist Jobs Master List and the Linguist Jobs tag for even more interviews  

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - Don't Break the Ice (Rated PG)

Summary: After the fight with their father that leads to Sebastian and Richard kicking him out of the house and taking away his claim to the Smythe family fortune, the next step is visiting their mother in her new home. But while talking to a doctor about her care, Sebastian is distracted by a loud tapping noise that no one else seems to hear. (2206 words)

Notes: So these are the series of one-shots I wrote back in 2015 (I think) that make up the sequel 'Special Delivery'. I held on to them because they were going to be incorporated into the chapters of the sequel. That sequel is taking forever to finish, unfortunately. It will get done, I just can't say when. So I'm posting these so that anyone who is curious or needs closure will know where the story goes and how it ends.

Read on AO3.

“As you can see, we’ve outlined an extensive plan for your mother’s care,” Dr. Harold said, handing Richard and Sebastian folders thick with paperwork. “If you take a look at page one, you’ll see …”

Sebastian opened the folder in his lap and flipped through the pages, jumping ahead of the doctor’s commentary.

Thirteen pages in, he was sorry he did.

He became overwhelmed by the amount of information he saw: dietary recommendations, meal plans, exercise schedules, medications …

… palliative care.

Sebastian read those words and gulped hard.

This folder he held, from the first page to the last, covered the entirety of what was left of his mother’s life.

And it was relatively light, all things considered.

His hands began to shake. He flipped the folder closed, deciding it would be best for the doctor to tell him himself.

Digest the information slowly.

“We’ve tried to anticipate any and all complications regarding …”

Tap tap tap tap tap …

High-pitched and dull, the sound pinged off the side of Sebastian’s skull. He lifted his head, looked around, waited for it to return. When it didn’t, he mentally shrugged and returned his attention to the lecture.

“Initially, we were concerned that …”

Tap tap tap tap tap …

“What the…?” Sebastian glanced around again. The doctor kept talking, undeterred by the noise. His brother, his sister-in-law, and Kurt seemed unfazed, as if they didn’t hear it. But it seeped into Sebastian’s ears, knocking in his brain, making it impossible for him to focus on anything else for too long.

Tap tap tap tap tap …

“Now, we’ve recommended that she be kept on …”

Sebastian stared at the doctor, continuing on as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on, stunned that he wasn’t the least bit perturbed by the interruption. But since it didn’t actually seem to interrupt him, Sebastian didn’t know if the sound wasn’t just inside his own head. No one else seemed to notice it or be bothered by it.

But for him, it ricocheted behind his eyes and made concentration unbearable.

‘Maybe I’m finally going insane,’ he thought. ‘The stress of the past year, last night, and now this? Maybe I should be checking myself in here with mom. Wouldn’t be fair to saddle Kurt with a disturbed boyfriend after being stalked by a maniac.’

Tap tap tap tap tap …

Sebastian cringed as the tap tap tapping continued, grinding his teeth together to combat the sound. It was a rhythmic sort of hammering, but he didn’t notice any construction going on when they arrived. The longer the tapping continued, the more he began to shrink into his seat, his hands creeping up to his ears to try and block it out. He started to feel like he was making a scene, but the only person who seemed to notice was Kurt.

“Sebastian,” he said, leaning close. “Honey, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replied, fidgeting in his seat when the sound erupted again. “I’m okay. I’m just … is it hot in here? It feels hot in here … to me …”

“I … it’s not hot in here,” Kurt said, shivering as conditioned air from a vent above them poured down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He worried for his boyfriend. He’d never seen Sebastian so agitated before. He was usually so cool under pressure, ready with a snarky remark that was more humorous than sarcastic to alleviate the tension.

But not now.

He seemed on the beveled edge of losing control.

“Oh,” Sebastian replied, doing his best to smile reassuringly when he saw the worry in Kurt’s eyes. “Well, then, it’s probably just me.”

Tap tap tap tap tap … Tap tap tap tap tap … Tap tap tap tap tap …

The sound was getting steadily louder, becoming more relentless, driving Sebastian mad. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that of all the people in this room, he seemed to be the only person affected by it. He tried to relax, tried to focus, tried to shut it out of his brain, but he couldn’t. The tap tap tap burrowed into him. He gripped Kurt’s hand until his poor boyfriend let out a squeak. Sebastian turned and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, kissing his knuckles gently. Kurt smiled in understanding, taking Sebastian’s hand in his again.

Tap tap tap tap crash!!

Sebastian fought to pay attention, to listen to the doctor talk about his mother’s deteriorating condition, his brother making arrangements for her long-term care. He wanted to be present in this decision, more than just a signature next to an ‘X’.

That irritating repetitive noise wouldn’t let him.

Sebastian looked left and right, his nerves pricked to needle points. Eventually, Sebastian couldn’t handle it anymore. It wasn’t just the tapping noise getting to him. It was everything.

He recalled all the things he had that made life worth living since there were so many times he had considered throwing in the towel. Spoiled and wallowing in self-pity, he knew, but at the time, it felt like the world was coming to an end. No money, no home, no future …

… no family.

But he had Kurt now, he had his family. He’d been reunited with his own (the parts of it that mattered), and with the help of his brother, he had gotten his trust fund back. He could provide Kurt with the security he deserved.

But what he needed to find was peace.

There was no peace.

Tap tap tap tap crash!!

Sebastian stood bolt upright.

All eyes turned to him.

“Um, I’m sorry,” he stuttered awkwardly, moving through the chairs. “I … I just need some air …”

“Oh,” Tabitha said.

“All right,” his brother added.

“If that’s what you need,” Kurt said.

“Yes,” Sebastian lied, because what he really needed was to find the source of that tapping noise and wring its neck!

He stormed into the waiting room and looked frantically around. The large, open area was fairly vacant. Gravitating near the corners were individual groups, one or two visiting relatives clustered around a resident in a wheelchair, sometimes talking animatedly, but more often than not staring off into space, completely oblivious to the presence of loved ones around them.

That would be his mom, sooner than he had prepared for.

His mom had always been a beacon of energy, so full of life and love and hope. She was his anchor, the rock he tethered himself to whenever the going got tough. There was no age limit to his admiration of his mother; it didn’t wane as years went by. Even as a grown man, he’d find himself coming home to mom, pouring his heart out to her over everything.

And she was always there, ready to listen, present for the important stuff.

The way he should be instead of running away over a little tapping.

The thought of her sitting in a chair, eyes empty, possibly unable to recognize him, to see herself in his face?  

He couldn’t stand it.

Tap tap tap tap crash!!

Sebastian spun in a circle, the sound nearly on top of him out here, and found the source of the noise.

A little girl, around nine or ten, pale complexion, and curly brown hair tied back from her head with a blue ribbon that reminded him so much of Kurt’s eyes.

Kurt.

He should go back to Kurt.

But something about this girl mesmerized him, and like the bystander of a traffic accident, he couldn’t look away.

She knelt on the floor, deep in concentration as she knocked on white blocks with a small, plastic hammer, tapping them meticulously until they fell with the loud crash that had been haunting him for the last ten minutes.

His first instinct was to tear the hammer from the girl’s hand and throw it across the room, but then he noticed she sat out here all by herself, and a strange, protective urge came over him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling brightly, sitting on a chair close enough to converse with her but not close enough to be seen as creepy or threatening.

“Hello,” the girl replied politely, not taking her eyes off the game.

Tap tap tap tap crash!!

All the blocks fell. She looked neither pleased nor put off as she put the hammer down and started picking the blocks up, putting them back into the blue plastic frame of the game.

“What is that you’re playing?” Sebastian asked as he watched her set everything back in place.

“Don’t Break the Ice”.

“Can I ask why you’re playing that … extremely loud game … out here all by yourself?”

The girl sighed significantly but didn’t stop re-setting her game to look at him.

“My parents sent me out here because they’re having tall talk with the doctor.”

Sebastian smirked. “Really? Me as well.”

The girl’s head snapped up, revealing the most startling pair of green eyes he had ever seen … almost like his own, but more like his mother’s. It took him back a bit though he tried not to show it.

The girl smiled with an odd amount of sympathy for a child.

“No,” she said, returning to her game. “You’re out here because things got too serious.”

Sebastian’s smile fell from his face. He knew children could be perceptive, but her matter-of-fact wisdom for her age unnerved him. “How … how do you know?”

“Because that happens to my mom sometimes.”

Sebastian nodded.

“You came out here to find some peace,” she continued. “That’s why I’m here.” The girl clamped her tongue between her teeth as she tried to force the last of the blocks together. “This brings me peace.”

The girl picked up her hammer and started tapping out the blocks again.

Tap tap tap tap tap …

Sebastian watched her go through the whole process again.

“You know, a lot of people might not see this as peaceful.”

The girl shrugged. “My grandpa used to say that not everybody finds peace in the same place.”

“Gotcha. So, who are you here to see?” Sebastian asked.

Tap tap tap tap tap …

“My grandma. She’s going to go see my grandpa soon.”

Tap tap tap tap tap …

Sebastian’s breath caught. He felt his eyes burn with tears but he refused to give in. Not in front of this girl, perceptive or not.

“Can I try that?” he asked. “See if I can find some peace?”

“Sure.” The girl passed the hammer to Sebastian. He knelt on the floor and started tapping the blocks.

Tap tap tap tap tap …

Tapping the blocks felt cathartic, but the noise sounded no better even though he was the one making it this time. Plus, he was starting to get odd looks from other adults. Not that he cared, but he wasn’t eager to attract attention.

There are some things kids can get away with that adults can’t.

Sebastian sighed.

“Nah.” He passed the hammer back. “I don’t think this is where I’ll find my peace.”

The girl looked up at the sound of a door closing, a muffled woman’s crying, and a man clearing his throat. Without a word from anyone, she started picking up the pieces of the game and putting them in the box.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said sadly. “But maybe you should ask that man you’ve been hugging. Maybe he can help you find your peace.”

Very perceptive. Sebastian smiled. It was small, but it was there. “Maybe you’re right.”

She put the last of the blocks into the box when an older man came into view. He looked quizzically down at Sebastian, still kneeling on the floor, then extended a hand to his daughter.

“Come along, Lizzie,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

The girl said nothing. Probably because she knew there was nothing to say. She waved at Sebastian, then took her father’s hand and let herself be led away.

Sebastian didn’t stand up after Lizzie left. He knelt on the knobby carpet, staring in the direction she had gone, a disquieting emptiness inching up his body, turning everything inside him cold.

A warm, comforting hand squeezed his shoulder.

He tilted his head up and saw Kurt looking down at him with concerned eyes. “Oh, sweetheart! What happened?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak only to find his voice had stuck, lodged in his throat with those tears he’d been forcing back. Except he hadn’t succeeded. While he watched Lizzie walk away, he’d started crying. Sebastian stood, and Kurt wrapped his arms around him, held him tight.

“I was playing with Lizzie,” Sebastian replied, burying his face in the crook of Kurt’s neck. “I---I was playing with Lizzie and …”

“Shh. It’s all right. I promise. It’s going to be all right,” Kurt repeated, rubbing soothing circles over Sebastian’s spine. Sebastian felt his sorrow melt away as he inhaled deeply that sweet scent of vanilla that was Kurt’s signature scent. It was a smell that reminded Sebastian of love and hope and protection.

It reminded him of home. His new home.

In Kurt’s arms, which felt like home, Sebastian found his peace.

[tarithenurse]

Orphan - 3

Starring:  Fem!Reader and MCU characters! Contents: ENDGAME SPOILERS! Angst (surprise!), confrontations, questions that needs answering, sadness, loss, confusion, feeling homeless/rootless, lack of will, loads of other sad feelings. Sorry. A/N: So, yes, this is starting to move along and I’m very touched by the responses I’ve gotten on just the 2 first chapters. As always, if you want a tag: let me know. Feel free to reblog or comment as I adore any sort of feedback. Who knows...one day I might even get better thanks to it? ;)

3. Family or not

Of course it’s not a big happy family reunion (whatever’s left of it). It’s an awkward walk through the autumn forest, stuck between a dude known for his robot suit and a chick who is part robot. Cyborg. At least Rhodes, because you’ve recognized him even with the lack of formal introductions, seems to be a bit sorry about the way things are going, but you probably bear some of the guilt for that as well.

No one says a lot after an initial phone call has been made, so it’s just the wet crunch of leaves muffling the footsteps as you trudge around the lake to a place probably used for canoeing during the summer. Now it’s place for a series of black, imposing cars with equally stern people whom you’ve seen on youtube, news coverage, and the few printed papers still in the making nowadays, and where Rhodes hadn’t seemed surprised by your existence…well…it’s a very different matter for the rest and your only comfort is that not all of the funeral guests facing you.

I should’ve stayed in bed today. The fight-or-flight response is long gone, replaced by a leaden sludge internally seeping from the guts to the feet. Why did I come? Spying on the funeral of a dad you’d only just found out that you had had wasn’t going to bring him or anyone else back, and right now? Right now you wanted your mom, not for the first time and probably not for the last time since she got killed years ago. Why did you never tell me, mommy? A new wave of guilt wrecks you, tearing at your heart for blaming the only family you’ve ever known, and you feel the hot swell of tears threaten to fill you eyes and drip from your nose.

I won’t let them have that too. No one moves a muscle as you clench your fists, your shoulders rising and falling as you combat yourself through the breathing. And no one interrupts Rhodes as he briefly explains about a trivial escapade decades ago that introduced the great Tony Stark to the concept of consequences. Consequence. Me. Just an accident that could be shoved into the dark recesses of a closet. No wonder your mom hadn’t told you who your father was when you were a kid, begging to have a full set of parents like your classmates.

But something must have changed with the Snappening, something else than just guilt had reared its head and made Stark leave you the answers to all the questions you’d ever had…even if he didn’t know id you’d be back.

“Confusion,” a dreamy voice lisps to your right, “sadness and…frustration…there’s so much hurt.”

You don’t look at her nor the person saying some nonsense along the lines of “I am groot”, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“Oh…sorry.”

“Bad time or not, what do we do with her?” Nebula sneers more to herself than the rest. “Apparently, we’re not supposed to kill her.”

Even with the decent boots you’d scrounged, your toes are getting cold while you let them talk, make up their minds about your future both because you know these people will only leave you very little to say but mainly because you have no freaking idea what you want. The plan had only reached as far as to have a look at the funeral to see what you might have been missing out on. After that? Well, plan or not, now things have been set in motion that you can’t undo.

“Alright, [Y/N],” Rhodes finally turns to you with a frown, “let’s get you somewhere warm, waddaya say?”

You just nod and crawl onto the backseat of the black sedan he points at where you’re joined by the two men with the broadest shoulders, one of which is rock solid. *Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield* Sure they were close then and apparently now because the men don’t leave a lot of room for you and you don’t dare shift for a more comfortable position, choosing instead to sit with everything possible tugged in tightly.

It’s unbearably silent after the last car door slams and the cortege of black vehicles move onto the road leading around the lake. Why did I come? I’m an idjit. The two relics makes it unbearably warm to sit in the car…or perhaps it’s the nerves. But you’ll be damned if you speak up now even if it’s to ask for a window to be opened. No one question Rhodes as he navigates them further from the Stark Residence, following a short stretch of highway before heading to what must be the nearest motel lying snuggly by the river.

“I’ll uhh…get a room for ya, wait here,” War Machine (minus armour) announces and leaves two super soldiers, one orphan, and a blue cyborg behind without waiting for an answer.

This isn’t for me, right? “He…doesn’t have to. I’m sure I can get my bed back at the hostel.”

There’s a very obvious snort of disbelief from the front, but at least the Captain is kind enough to  try to turn to face you and explain: “Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but this is for our sake. Gives us a chance to talk with you…know where you are.”

“So I’m not s’posed to leave…”

“No.”

“Nebula!” Rogers chastises to no other effect than a scoff and shrug.

Why not admit it too, Capcicle? “Not a prisoner, just…grounded? Does that make you my daddy?”

The blush spreading rapidly across the blond man’s face is gloriously deepened by Barnes’ rolling laughter which continues as the car doors are opened from the outside by the only guy who knew about your existence. Behind him is a tiny crowd including a guy with a mohawk, a green woman, and…the fuck? Are those antennae?!

 …   Clint   …

Good, old Tony Always-a-Surprise Stark. Not only did the guy have to go off and be the biggest hero of them all, he’s made sure to make a backup and kept her tugged away safe and far away from the messy (yet glamorous) life he’d lived. Glancing over at the chick, Clint can’t help but see parts of both the father’s and even the little sister’s features. The eyes. Fuck, it hurts more than he’d imagined.

Wonder what Nata– But no, Natasha won’t have any thoughts on what to do. There’s no calm logic from the world’s best redhead to counter the scared and cowed emotions streaming from [Y/N], as she’s called, who’s waiting silently for a verdict.

She’d come prepared, Tony’s daughter. All the documents and shit that Stark had left after the Snappening are spread out on the bed as proof of her existence just in case no one would believe her or Rhodes.

“I am Grooot?”

“What do you want?” the raccoon translates easily. “Why show up today? What’s the point?”

Nimble hands wring a snippet of a jacket that seems to be second-hand. “I dunno…guess it was sorta to…” She sighs, and it almost makes sense to Clint what this is about. “I only remember seeing him once and I didn’t know then. Now I’ve got a-a half-sister? It doesn’t feel real!”

“So you went, made sure they’re there…then what?” The odd creature is feisty for its size, a sort of feral smugness playing on the little face. “Want money?”

“No, that’s not –“

“All his cool gear?”

“Why would I –“

“Ah! Marry the grieving widow to –“

A mix of shouts and protests shut the furry interrogator up even if it’s probably only going to be for a while – it doesn’t take a lot of time together with Rocket to figure that out. Or why.

“Listen, I don’t have a fucking plan. Okay? I appear on some poor guys lap in the middle of a lecture only to find out it’s been more than five years! I got no home, no one to go to, no job. Maybe, some old pictures and books have survived, but that’s it. Stark might’ve been my father, but he’s never been my dad and I don’t belong with his family!” There’s a subtle movement from the Quill-guy, but no words break the roaring silence that follows [Y/N]’s outburst.

She needs a home.

“You’re not going back to the hostel.” Clint hears himself declare, already pulling the phone out of the pocket. “You’re not gonna be on your own.”

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Reality Check

nick stokes x greg sanders | ~1.3k | set in season 8, surprisingly fluff | ao3

Dreams and reality were becoming harder and harder to distinguish. He can’t say he’s even surprised anymore, when bad things happen. He’s been conditioned to just...not react to these horrific situations, or even the idea of them. A series of unfortunate events--of burials, shootings, beatings, abductions--made him wonder if the Las Vegas Crime Lab had just been cursed to a life of suffering.

It had started with the lab explosion, nearly five years ago now. An accident, one that scarred him emotionally and physically. It’s times like these he feels a tingle on his back, riding the ridges of uneven skin. He feels the ripples of the explosion through space and time, knocking him down, knocking his friends down...but this time, nobody is burned.

Instead, it’s Warrick Brown, bleeding out on an operating table. The team is watching on the other side of the glass. They’re always doomed to watch.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Greg’s voice, heavy and exhausted, lulls Nick Stokes to his side. He said it as a question, but meant it as a statement. No matter what happens, they always get back up. Nick is living proof of that.

“I don’t know, man, this looks pretty bad.” Nick laments. Greg looks at him, his face seems to shine even brighter in the overexposed light of the hallway. The harsh light of the operating room, reflects fire in his concentrated eyes. His tongue brushes over his lips, nervously, before his mouth hangs open, as if to say something more.

Greg looks back through the glass, and sees a sea of bowed heads, a flatline tone. He hears the distant cries of Catherine. Grissom and Sara are nowhere to be found.

He tries to wrap his fingers around NIck’s hand, but he can’t seem to move. At first, he thinks it’s just his defense mechanism, freezing, when terrible things happen. Maybe if he doesn’t react, the ripples will cease, the dust will settle, and everything will be okay.

He consciously tries to move his hand, to flex his fingers, a reality check, to ensure that this is not a dream, but they don’t seem to move. A tick, he had picked up, from long shifts in the lab, where his hands never seemed to stop moving. A tick, that had then turned to a conscious effort to prevent his hands from constantly shaking under nonexistent circumstances. A tick, that he now uses to distinguish dreams from reality, a trick he read in a book somewhere.

“This is just a dream,” he announces out loud, though the surgeons are gone, Warrick is gone. Only one other person occupies this dreamscape. He turns his head back to Nick, who is looking at him with a puzzled expression.

“What? What are you talking about, G?”

“This is just a dream…” Greg repeats, before moving his face closer to Nick’s. He still can’t seem to move his hands, so he’s gotta express what he feels through words instead. “And I love you.”

They spread apart as the ripples shake the earth beneath them, the tiles of the hospital floor fall away, the halls extend and contract. The overlit lights crack and break, tiny explosions creating more tiny ripples, that make Greg’s body rock back and forth, lifting him up in the air before he crashes back down…

“Greg?”

The last light breaks, and Greg is teleported to another world. He’s in a car, with Nick, driving on an uneven road. The SUV is handling the terrain fairly well, though the ride is not without its bumps.

“Are you sure you’re up to this man? I mean, I understand if you just wanna head home, you seem tired.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Greg yawns. “Just...needed to shut my eyes for a minute.”

Nick flashes him a smile, before cranking up the volume on the radio. A soft, easygoing tune, to match their relaxed mood. He shakes off the odd sense of deja vu, allows himself to become grounded in reality again. He stares out the window, sees a car a fair distance away, driving on a paved road.

The sight of tires on paved road remind him of why he is in this car with Nick. They had recently closed the case of decapitation by blown tire. He grins, recalling their light-hearted exchanges, the friendly back and forth about what they did to pass the time as kids, after seeing some youth riding around on go-karts. His grin expands as he recalls watching Nick chase after a suspect shortly after, because when Nick runs, it’s like watching a junkyard dog who had just been unleashed, pumping legs and jumping fences. Nick had caught up to the suspect even before the unformed cops. He was barely out of breath by the time Greg had caught up with him, after he had taken the long way around.

Perhaps that’s why he had been plagued with such terrible dreams, being slightly out of shape. Though he had started to change his eating habits at the behest of his partner, Greg was still cautious about physical activity beyond a nice, peaceful walk. He hated exercise.

So, naturally, when Nick asked him if he wanted to go on a hike, Greg said yes.

Greg blinks, and they’re suddenly walking. Nick’s prepared, as he always is, with a backpack and two bottles of water. Greg feels under-prepared in comparison, with nothing but a bottle of water that he had already drank half of on the way there. Maybe he can charm Nick into sharing…

“You see that hill up there?” Nick asks, pointing it out.

“Yeah?”

“Race you there,” Nick suggests, doing a quick stretch before assuming a runner’s stance.

“What?” Greg blurts out, not expecting this sudden demand of physical exertion.

Nick twists around, seeing that Greg had stopped a few feet behind him. He grins, a wild fire spreading from his eyes to Greg’s as he grabs Greg’s hand.

“Run!” Nick exclaims, before he pulls Greg closer to him. Greg stumbles at first, but Nick is already at full pace. He yanks Greg’s arm so hard, Greg thought it nearly popped out of its socket. He propels Greg ahead of him, before Nick passes him up on his left side. He turns back, his mouth stretched into a smile, his tongue poking out between his teeth. He winks, and his speed increases.

Greg follows him, mostly out of spite. He pumps his arms up and down, his legs burn, feeling as if they are going to solidify and cement him into place. The sun’s rays are harsh and hot, his body begins to sweat within the first minute of running. His heart is pounding so hard, Greg can feel it nearly burst out of his chest. He wants to stop and just fall to the ground. Maybe Nick would turn back, pick him up and carry him up the hill.

But instead, Nick’s still running, though he’s slowed down a bit. They run up the hill together, and that’s when Greg understands why Nick loves running. They stare into the vast Nevada landscape, a familiar scene, but with a new perspective. What Greg once thought was just a boring, dry desert seems so...vibrant. The sky is more saturated, the tumbleweeds bounce through the soft waves of the wind. Small creatures, scurry around through the earth, poking their heads out. Nick spots a large bird, through binoculars Greg didn’t even see him take out.

“Beautiful,” Greg pants, as Nick finishes his lecture. With the constant change of actions, and dialogue, he can’t help but wonder if this is another dream. Better make the most of it while he can.

“What is?”

“This...just...all of this...but mostly...you.”

He consciously tries to move his hand, to flex his fingers, a reality check, to ensure that this is not a dream, and his fingers soon find themselves wrapped around Nick’s sweaty hand.

A feeling, communicated through such a small gesture, but because this isn’t a dream, and he’s sharing this moment of absolute nirvana with Nick Stokes at his side, he decides to verbally describe that feeling anyway.

“I love you, Nick Stokes.”