#and ive been unable to concentrate

[cult-of-the-eye]

Back hurts like a fucking BITCH oof ouch I have taken ibuprofen and slapped on some of that muscle pain cream and i also did YOGA you hear me god??? YOGA

[tomorrowillbeyou]

x

[moonchildstyles]

announcement/sneak peek

happy spooky season everyone!!

ive never had the time to do something like this, but ive finally timed it all right and I'll be posting a halloween/spooky centered fic for this season! and, for the first time ever, I'm trying out a mini-series kind of format! if its something ppl like and interact with ill def consider doing this more!

anywayyyyyyyy, starting next friday, the 13th, on patreon I will begin posting my new mini-series called Oleander for early access! two weeks later on friday, the 27th, tumblr will begin the story!

it's a three part mini series with darker themes and ideas than ive ever worked with before! i don't usually spoil too much of the stories but ! this is another vamp h story!! very different from my previous vamp h though!!!

this will be my last big piece of writing for the year before I go on my break, and I'm so excited for you guys to get to read it and get to know this new story!

under the cut, I have a sneak peek attached! I also have a Pinterest board you can look at if you want to get a feel for the story!

—————

She hadn't misremembered, it appeared. His eyes really were almost black, just barely tinted a forest green—if the forest in question was being spotted in the pitch of night, only a sliver of the moon and stars above allowing any clarification.

Her heart jumped in her throat, running faster than it had any reason to when their eyes met. She forced herself to swallow it down.

"Sorry, sir," she muttered, unable to pull her gaze away from his even if she instinctively wanted to look anywhere else. "Did you find all you were looking for?" 

"I did, yes." His voice was a lulling rumble, rounded and heady as if the goal was to lure her nearer. If not for the table separating them, she would have fallen for it.

Offering a quiet smile, she gave him a polite nod. 

No other words were exchange, as per usual for his visits. The Count wasn't much for conversation and idle chatter like the rest of the village. Instead, she could feel him watching her as she counted up his herbs and the price of each bundle. 

He was buying the same ones he always did: winter savory (he switched to chamomile when out of season), tobacco, and lavender. 

The buds together created a confusing scent, adding to the mishmash of what the apothecary already was. She couldn't imagine that he would put these three together in any space of that castle, the mixture too aggressive. 

Though she tired her best to concentrate on only the herbs, (Y/N) was too aware of the static of his presence. She wondered what he thought when he came down to the village, what he thought when he interacted with people like her. He was always so stoic. He never gave anything away, though that didn't stop the village gossip from running wild about him.

Swallowing around her dry throat, heartbeat bubbling against her ribs, she matched his gaze. The pricing for his bounty came out on buzzing lips, "Sixteen shillings please, sir." 

He didn't bat an eyelash at the price despite it being the biggest single purchase her father's apothecary would see until the next time he ventured down. Instead, he looked at her with his dark eyes and a tic in his jaw. He was unbearably handsome, made of cut edges and smooth planes, but he always looked at her as if he were angry and working to bury it down. She could never figure out why or what exactly made his nostrils flare or his jaw tight when he spoke to her, but she hoped she wasn't the only one he reacted to like this. 

His hands moved quickly, pulling out a small pouch of tinkling coins before he plucked out the exact amount for her. For a moment, she could see bank notes tucked inside the pouch as well. While she wasn't surprised that someone like him would have that kind of wealth, she had never seen it before with her own eyes. 

Passing off the change to her, his pale fingers grazed her open palm. Goosebumps immediately raised across her skin, his touch feeling as if he had been standing in the dawn's dew for hours, allowing the chill to cling to his skin and leach away all hope for warmth. The graze was quick, barely a heartbeat long, but she swore she could feel the lingering touch for moments after. Maybe he really did have a hard time navigating the village when the fog was this thick, having traveled in winding route and wrong turns for so long he still hadn't been able to heat up even after spending time in the shop. 

Flicking her gaze up to his on instinct, she saw he was looking at swatches of skin exposed from her dress, eyeing the goosebumps he had plucked up on accident. 

(Y/N) cleared her throat, nothing more than a reminder to herself to keep professional and not to gawk at the man. She placed the change in the small cup underneath the collection counter before reaching for his herbs of choice. A length of twine was used to tie up the bundle, ensuring he didn't lose anything on his way back home. 

"Thank you," he muttered once she passed them back, their skin no longer grain this time. 

"Have a pleasant journey back home," she chirped, her voice decidedly pleasant against the bubbling she was feeling inside, "Stay warm." 

The Count didn't give any kind of reaction to her before he was leaving the shop in a flourish. Taking advantage of the window at her disposal, she watched as he ventured out into the fog. The mist mingled around him, making him appear as if he were a ghost, one with the Earth-bound clouds. She was only vague aware of the way her body heat ticked up some now that he had left. 

Though she could hear the sound of footsteps descending the stairs that led up to their home a floor above, (Y/N)'s head was outside the shop and away from her father. She didn't turn even when she could tell he had made it to the landing. He was used to it by now, she knew. Her head was always miles away as far as he was concerned—thinking too big for the village and that was only going to hurt her in the long run. 

The air around her shifted, telling her that her father was just behind her, likely watching to see what had caught her attention this time. 

"Is that Harry?" he grumbled, spitting out the name while dismissing the faux-title since they were alone. 

Her father didn't much like the Count—Harry, as he bitterly spat out. (Y/N) was never sure what had set off her father's distaste for the man, just knowing that he thought him to be something of a boogeyman against the village. He didn't even go to church, her father regularly complained. What kind of man was he if he couldn't even bother to trudge down from his palace to spend some time with God, even if it was in the presence of commoners? 

(Y/N) never really minded. Though she'd never tell her father, church was boring. She couldn't blame Harry—the Count, whatever she was supposed to call him—for skipping out. Especially with the peeks a the castle she could garner if she trekked through the woods far enough. She wouldn't want to leave that place for anything. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) answered with a soft, "Yes." Her eyes were still locked on the form of him she could barely make out through the mist. 

A grunt of disapproval left her father's lips. She didn't have to look at him to know that he had his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you okay?" 

It was when he settled a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her staring. 

"Yes, I'm well," she answered as placidly as possible when she turned to face him. She didn't want to show just how affected she was by the Count. Her father would do more than just grunt and disapprove if he knew just how drawn to the man as she was. 

He peered through the window, his eyes surely finding the one dark figure filtering through the fog. His brows slanted into harsh slashes over his eyes. "I want you to come and find me when he comes in from now on. I don't want him talking with you, anymore." 

Her fingertips buzzed at the new instructions, matching the kickstart to her heartbeats. As much as she heard her father's concerns, and had listened in to all the of the stories and webs spun about this man, those did little to deter her interest in Harry or quell the bubbling in her chest every time she saw him step inside the apothecary. 

"I can handle him, father," she countered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible while attempting to hold her ground, "We barely talk when he comes in, anyway." 

The creases between his brows only deepened when he matched her gaze. "I do not want you becoming one of his victims, (Y/N)."

—————

[silvercap]

"it’s okay, you can touch me, i won't break" involving Leon in a hospital bed?

Ahhh yes okay I see the vision!!

(Prompts)

Punctured lung. Severe concussion. Broken fingers, shattered elbow, the sling over Leon's chest holding his entire left arm stiff and unmoving. Chipped tooth. Contusion after contusion and laceration after laceration that leave Leon's skin a swollen shade of purple-red, the sterile white of bandages and gauze interspersed with bruises on every spare inch of Leon's skin that Chris can see. His lip is split, left eye swollen shut and almost black, blood still crusted around a nostril from where it'd been broken during the constant beatings. There's a butterfly strip on his forehead, two more on his cheek. Hunnigan had told Chris that it was meant to be a solo mission to somewhere relatively calm and simple, but the list of Leon's resulting injuries is so extensive that Chris wants to punch whichever authority figure planned it out. No solo mission should require facing down an entire facility of armed men.

Leon's breaths wheeze on the inhale despite the oxygen cannula pressing gently into his nose, cracked lips parted slightly as he peers over at Chris with a slightly-cloudy blue eye, glassy with the painkillers feeding into his system from the bandaged IV site in the back of his hand. Chris wants so badly to reach out and cradle it, but they've stabilized Leon's wrist with a splint as well, and he's just... he's scared. It's terrifying, to see the aftermath of such suffering painted so brutally on Leon's skin, and Chris feels nausea rise in his stomach whenever he thinks about the possibility of causing him more agony. Even the nurses earlier had been unable to treat Leon without making him groan, an attempt to sit him farther upright leaving him panting for breath and beaded with sweat.

Leon seems so fragile like this, wounded and vulnerable. Chris hasn't ever seen him this badly injured before, and he feels like he can't breathe every time he goes over the medical chart in his mind. God, he wishes he'd been there to protect Leon, do more than just sit here watching.

"You can touch me, you know," Leon rasps into the silence, voice crackling and breathy. His lips quirk to the side in what Chris thinks is a sad attempt at a smile, looking more like a grimace than anything else. His brow furrows in concentration. "It's okay, I'm not going to break."

Chris swallows tightly, dampness pricking at his eyes. The look on Leon's face has turned to pure sorrow, guilty and pained, and Chris leans forward in his chair to hesitantly stroke over Leon's bangs with careful fingers, tucking them behind his ear. Leon's eyelid flutters shut, his hand shifting weakly atop the blanket to creep over towards the edge of the bed. Chris catches it securely in a broad palm, lifting it up to his lips to kiss the back of Leon's barked knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I'm tough," Leon says softly, trying again for that agonized smile. "Takes more than a few brass knuckles to shatter me."

"Jesus." Chris can't help but sob, leaning forward to press a damp kiss to a relatively unbruised spot on Leon's cheek. "You really have a way of lightening the mood."

"What can I say," Leon croaks, head falling back against the pillows. His throat is just as purple as the rest of him, dark fingerprints pressed into the sides of his neck. Faint anger stirs under the distress, but Chris pushes it down in favor of cradling Leon's hand to his mouth again. This time, he doesn't let go. "I've always had a way with words."

[212-apricity]

1999, part four - final part!

oh my gosh. final part and what a surprise, she's a long one again💀💀ive loved writing this silly little series so so much and i love all of you very very much🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽please give me requests on what to write next bc my mind is completely blank rn, all i can think of is the cold war and bolsheviks from my history revison and i dont think they would make v good fics🤡🤡

lmk what you think of this part and your fav moments, enjoy!!

warnings: tiny angst, mostly fluff, swearing

conrad fisher masterlist

masterlist

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conrad’s pov

Since Y/n is unable to hold a phone herself, I'm tasked with a lot, but I didn't fully realize the worry of her family until she had me working through each task with her.

No wonder she’s overwhelmed. The number of texts from Laurel, Mom, Belly, Jere and Steven she has to sift through in a given hour would drive anyone insane.

Or maybe I'm just going crazy by sitting this close to her. The smell of her coconut soap is permanently ingrained into my memory as she sits flush against me, pointing at different texts with her uninjured hand.

I can tell her nerves grow stronger as the Uber near the hospital.

Her knees bounce up and down as she dictates message after message I need to send, confusing me more and more with every word.

The work doesn't stop there. After we check in, a nurse hands us a clipboard filled with pages of information that need to be filled out. Y/n stares at it like it might catch on fire at any moment.

"Here." I pass it to her.

Her eyes shift toward the exit. "Will you help me please? I can't write like this." Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper.

"Okay. Tell me your answers and I'll write them down."

Her throat bobs as she scans the first line. It takes her far longer than necessary to read the first question.

"Do you mind reading the questions aloud for me? I'm too stressed to concentrate right now." Her overcompensating smile irritates me.

"Are you sure? Some of the questions are probably personal."

Don't be a dick. Just do what she says.

"I don't care.”

The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.

She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn't take us as long as I anticipated, so Y/n and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly.

The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.

“If it's any consolation, I hate hospitals too."

Her head swings toward the direction of my voice.

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Haven't been to one since…"

"I know." she says as she sees my chest heaves as I remember the millions of times we’ve been here before.

I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner.

Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I'm grateful she understands me enough not to ask any other questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal of the years I've spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.

"I hate them too." Her voice cracks.

"Why?"

She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. "Let's just say mom ended up in the ER a couple of times for being clumsy."

I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And did you have issues with being clumsy?" If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.

She shakes her head rather aggressively. "No. No." My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. "If you were, you can tell me." While I can't promise I won't do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot. With sulfuric acid or something, those pre-med studies are starting to come in handy now.

The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don't shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.

"It never got to that point. Suze made sure of it." she says with a small smile.

"How?"

"She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa's life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life." A tear slips down her face, and I can't stand the sight of it.

I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. "Did her plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?"

She forces out a laugh. "I think concrete shoes were more in style back then."

I fake shudder. "Remind me to never make mom angry again."

"Forget her, you'd have to deal with me." She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.

"I'm absolutely terrified."

"Miss Y/n?" a nurse calls out.

Y/n doesn't move at the sound of her name.

"That's you." I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.

She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand.

Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. "I'm here!"

The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay.

Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.

The empty bed meant for Y/n is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.

"I'd like my…my friend, to be taken care of in a private suite," I speak up. I know I sound snotty right now but honestly, I’ll be damned if I let her already horrible hospital experience get any worse.

The nurse grimaces as her gaze licks across my body. "This is a hospital. Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doctor like everyone else."

Y/n hops on the bed without any complaint, and I'm tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn't seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Y/n’s vitals and asks some routine questions.

Y/n answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn't put anyone at ease, least of all her.

The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.

"I'll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object."

The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.

Y/n laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.

"You find this funny?"

She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all night. "Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn't put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it."

"It's not my fault she isn't accustomed to how things are done in the real world."

"Wake up baby. You're living in the real world." She waves around our room.

"It's terrifying." I say, looking away so she couldn’t see the blush that appeared on my face at the nickname.

"Come here. I'II make it better." Y/n pats the bed.

Doubtful, but I'm a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn't enough space.

“Isn’t this cozy?" she quips.

I give her a small smile before she asks, “Hey! Let me see your tattoo.”

God I’d forgotten all about them. I move the collar of my shirt to show the two small ivy leaves we’d gotten. She gasps and gently touches my skin, “Oh my gosh it’s so pretty Connie.” she stares at it for a moment before I ask to see hers.

She lifts up her shirt on the side, exposing her ribcage and the two matching leaves.

“I can’t believe you agreed to get a Taylor Swift referenced tattoo with me Con.” she says as I admire the tattoo for a bit.

I smile until saying, “Hey I might be quiet and mopey but at least I have good taste in music.”

She softly smiles at me before eyeing the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.

"What’s wrong?”

She leans closer to me and whispers, "Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?"

My lips lift at the corners. I don't know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of true crime documentaries without so much as flinching.

"You're afraid of needles?"

She sputters. "No. I'm not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can't control."

“That's good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV when she comes back."

“No! Don't tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”

I nod, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from laughing.

"She lied to me!" She bolts from the seat and would have tripped over her own heels if I didn't reach out and catch her.

*Careful." I place her back on the bed and decide to stand guard in case she gets any ideas to flee the scene.

Her eyes fit from me to the gap between two curtains, as if she is thinking how she can get past me.

"I'm joking.”

She scans my face for the truth before she slaps my shoulder with her good hand. "Asshole! I believed you!"

Laughter explodes out of me like a bomb, stunning her.

“Did you just laugh?”

"No."

“Yes." Someone calls out from the other side of the curtain.

“Now, do you mind shutting up? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here after having our stomach pumped."

Fuck this place and the people in here. "We're leaving."

"Not so fast. You can't leave before I check you out." The doctor strolls in and points at the bed with his clipboard.

Y/n remains tight-lipped as the doctor checks her chart. He asks her some questions about how she got hurt, all while staring me up and down like I'm the person she was trying to injure. She is taken away for a few scans, and my breathing doesn't return to normal until the nurse brings her back.

That should be my first sign that things are getting out of hand on my end. I'm inching closer to an emotional minefield without any kind of map, only one wrong step away from exploding.

The doctor checks the scans. "It looks like you have a boxer's fracture."

Her face brightens. "That sounds badass."

I glare at her. "Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I wouldn't count today as a victory by any means."

The doctor's eyes lighten. "Next time, avoid any initial contact on the fourth and fifth knuckles."

"Please don't encourage her."

The doctor shakes his head with a laugh before giving Y/n a detailed set of instructions regarding the healing time. I'm skeptical about the whole visit and, given the setting, doubtful about the level of care. I'll be damned if Y/n sustains permanent injuries because of Dean. My chest tightens at the idea.

“Great Thanks, Doc!" She hops off the bed, but I hold my arm out, stopping her

"I’d like a second opinion." The command bursts out of me without any rhyme or reason. Deep down, I know a boxer's fracture isn't the worst thing that could have happened. But things aren't right in my head where Y/n is concerned. At least not anymore.

Both of the doctor's eyebrows arch. "For a small fracture?"

"Don't mind him. He tends to be a bit overbearing." She shoots me a look as if I'm the crazy one out of the two of us.

"Okay..." the doctor says.

Maybe I am losing it because why else would I care?

You hate it when she cries.

You wouldn't mind murdering someone who hurt her.

You took her to the hospital even though you despise them with every fibre of your being.

The signs all point to one thing: our situation is quickly crumbling, and I'm the only one to blame.

Y/n interrupts my thoughts. "I'll be sure to wear the brace for a few weeks and avoid any kind of activities that could aggravate the injury."

"Perfect. And don't forget to schedule a follow-up visit with your physician. "The doctor gives me one last look before handing Y/n the discharge paperwork. "Nice meeting you."

"Will you help me with this?" She holds out the clipboard with her left hand as the doctor leaves.

I grab it from her and fill it out.

She checks the time on her phone. "Well, at least that didn't take as long as I thought it would. I'm sure you're dying to get back home."

That's the scary thing. I didn't think about anything or anyone once during our entire time here because making sure she was taken care of was my only concern. I've spent the past seventeen years of my life thinking solely about my future, and all it took was one girl to make me completely forget about my responsibilities for a few hours.

As if that doesn't scare me enough, it only takes one glance at her makeshift brace to make my blood burn hot under my skin. I know exactly why her injury angers me more than anything else.

It's the same reason I feel the urge to push Jere away from her whenever he gets too close or the way I unexplainably need to see her whenever she is out of my sight for longer than a few hours.

You’re in love with her.

Fuck.

                ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

y/n’s pov

We’re in an Uber on the way home, sitting in comfortable silence until Conrad breaks it.

“Why’d you get with Dean anyway?” My stomach doubles over.

Comfortable silence is so overrated.

I sigh. I’ve been dreading this question for ages now.

“I don’t know.” I answer vaguely.

Conrad gives me a puzzled look, “What do you mean you don't know? You must’ve had a reason.”

His restlessness gets me more agitated.

“I don’t know Conrad. I don’t know why I got with him, I don’t know why I was waiting on you for so long either.” I look out the window as the car stops in front of the house.

“What? What do you mean?” he says as I get out the car and speed up to the front door, taking the keys out of my pocket and refusing to carry on with this conversation anymore.

Conrad keeps yelling after me as he follows me upstairs to my room, both of us trying to ignore everyone else who joined Conrad and are trying to ask their own questions.

I slam my door shut and collapse on my bed hearing Conrad trying to calm everyone down and telling them everything that's happened until he asks them all to give me some space for now.

I cry in the silence as I hear everyone leaving from outside the door until it opens.

“Hey.”

Steven. Thank God.

“Steve…” I say sniffling.

He looks at me with a sad smile before sitting on the bed with me and taking me in his arms.

“Con told us everything,” he says after a few minutes of holding me, “did you really get a boxer's fracture?”

I laugh in tears before showing him my hand and saying, “You should see the other guy.”

Steven and I laugh together before going back to the silence as he hugs me.

“He really cares about you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t. He hates me. I yelled at him and now I’m crying here on my bed like an idiot.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Steven looks down at me.

I shake my head before saying, “He asked why I got with Dean.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad.”

“No it’s not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Because I’ve been waiting for Conrad for so long and I’m just sick and tired of always being there to help him get over his breakups when he’d be so much better off with me. I know I sound selfish and none of my reasons are justified but I just thought that after everything we’ve been through together, he’d maybe like me just a little bit.”

Steven hugs me again and softly says, “He does.”

After that almost everyone but Conrad came in to check up on me and make sure I was okay, making me feel even more guilty about being all emotional like this. It’s not until Susannah’s holding me and whispering sweet nothings that my eyes start to feel heavy.

I think I fell asleep after that, I don’t remember much except waking up to the sun shining its very unwelcome face in my eyes.

I step out of my room after freshening up and I’m about to make my way to the kitchen for food until I’m stopped by something in the hallway.

Or should I say someone.

“Conrad,” I bend down and stroke his hair out of his face, “Conrad wake up.” I say gently.

He stirs for a minute before sitting up and taking my hands in his.

“Have you been out here all night?” I ask.

“Yes.” he says in a raspy voice.

God that voice would make my knees give out if I wasn’t already on the floor with him.

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

I sigh before he interrupts me, “Listen, I heard everything you said to Steven last night and I know I shouldn’t have and I was eavesdropping but I’m sorry it was by accident. And I know I don’t deserve any more of your time…I’ve already wasted a lot of it but just hear me out for ten minutes.”

“No.” I try to get out of his grasp.

“Stop fighting and give me ten minutes.”

“No way.”

“Nine then.”

“Five.”

“Eight and a half.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

I pause, knowing that he won’t let me go anywhere before I hear him out.

“You don’t deserve seven seconds, let alone seven minutes of my time.”

“How about seven words then?”

I laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I am falling in love with you.”

I blink up at him. Either I am still sleeping or I must have not heard him correctly because there is no way Conrad Fisher just admitted that he is falling in love with me.

Absolutely no fucking way.

Right?

I squeeze my eyes shut as if that can erase the words from my memory.

"You're joking.

"I'm not."

"This is just another part of your game." I try to push him away, but he doesn't budge.

"It stopped being a game for me a long time ago."

"You're lying."

His brows pull together. "Ask me why I hate when people touch my bookshelf."

"Are you serious right now? What does that have to do with any of this?" I think back to his bookshelf he won’t let any of the others go near but loves to let me organise and re-organise each year.

"Because I did it for you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I read somewhere online that organising objects like books and things is good for people with anxiety, because then they can feel in control of something and know exactly what to expect especially if things are the same as they've predicted all the time. You love reading too, so I changed it. Bought all the books you like to read so that you’d stay and read with me more often. I forced everyone else out of my room and especially away from that bookshelf. All because I wanted to help you."

Emotions clog my throat, preventing my ability to reply.

What can I possibly say that could compare to that?

Conrad doesn't give me an option as he continues. "Want to know why I kept this plant you got me?" he says pointing to the small green cactus with “Don’t be a prick” written on the pot that we could see looking into his room from the hallway.

I nod.

"Because it was the first time someone got me a present that made me laugh."

If hearts could melt into puddles, mine would be liquified right about now.

I take a deep breath.

Remember what he did.

“Con that doesn't change anything you still ignored me for a whole year. Every time I tried to call you or text you, you’d just leave me on read or decline, and now you’re telling me you love me? Who does that?"

"Someone who doesn't understand the first thing about loving someone, but is willing to try if you give me a chance."

"You want me to give you a chance after everything? Do you think I'm stupid?"

He winces, and a bit of my anger fades away at his vulnerability.

"Intelligence has nothing to do with this."

"Easy for you to say when you're not the one who feels like a fool."

"Really? Because based on your reaction today, I'm feeling pretty damn foolish for ever admitting that I'm falling in love with you." He gets up off the floor, leaving me feeling chilled to the bone.

"Con..." I reach out, but he takes a step back.

My eyes sting from his rejection. It hurts.

“I’m not asking you to love me back. I don't expect that and I'm not sure if I ever will because I'm the furthest thing for lovable. I'm selfish, and rude, and don't know the first thing about being in a proper relationship with someone. But that doesn't mean I’m not willing to try for you if you let me."

How am I supposed to be angry at him when he thinks he is unlovable?

A pain rips through my chest at the thought of him talking about himself this way.

I get up off the floor and walk straight into his chest. His arms quickly wrap themselves around my waist, holding me even tighter.

"Just because you make selfish choices doesn't mean you're a selfish person. At least not completely."

This boy had been there for Belly, Steven, me and Jere for years without any kind of payback, especially when Susannah was going through her cancer and despite feeling an immense amount of pain himself, he shoved all his emotions aside so that he could be there for us. For me. If that isn't a selfless sacrifice, I don't know what is.

"Your logic is half-baked at best."

"So is yours, seeing as you called yourself unlovable."

His body tenses. "I'm stating facts."

"I don't know what bullshit your father told you over the years, but it's not true. Your brother loves you."

"He’s obligated to."

"No one is obligated to love someone else. Blood or not."

He takes a deep breath. "You're right."

I smile up at him. "I could get used to hearing those words."

He reaches up and cups my cheek. "Give me a chance and I'll tell you them every single day."

I sigh and look away. "I don't know.”

"Tell me what's stopping you."

"You don't do relationships."

“Good thing our feelings lead us here rather than our minds, and mine are willing to try then."

I avoid his penetrating gaze. "What if my feelings are telling me to run?”

“It's cute you think you can outrun me, but I'll give you a head start just to make things interesting." he smiles down at me.

"Do you always have an answer for everything?"

"Not for the one that matters most." The way he looks at me stirs up something deep inside of me.

Longing. I want to give him a chance, regardless of the potential fallout.

You might get hurt.

I might, but I might miss out on something special because I’m too afraid of the what ifs. I'm done being that person. Even if it means getting hurt, I'd rather try and fail than never try at all.

I stand on the tips of my toes and press my lips against his.

He holds me tight against his chest, as if he is afraid of letting me go.

I pull away, only to clasp onto his chin. "This could be a disaster, but I'm willing to try."

He shuts me up by pushing his lips against mine, sealing our new deal. The way he kisses me is different than any time before. He cups my face with the palms of his hands as his lips mold against mine, teasing me until I feel dizzy. His thumb brushes across my cheek back and forth, and heat rushes down my spine straight to my belly. He makes me feel cherished. Protected.

Loved in a way that makes me never want to come back down to reality.

I could spend forever being kissed like this and still feel like it isn't enough. While Conrad might not be the best with words, his kiss says it all.

He is falling in love with me. And I’m falling in love with him. No translation necessary.

                ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

ahh i cant believe its finished omg😔💔...

anyways, onto the next one😍🙏

again please lmk what you think of this and please give me requests on what to do next!!

[giorno-plays-piano]

House of Chains

Part IV

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, smut, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I

Part II

Part III

_________

You lie on your bed in silence, disheveled Aemond right next to you, shoulders touching, as you both stare at the high ceiling, unable to sleep. It hurts there, between your thighs, although not as bad as you expected. He had prepared you in the end.

It wasn't that painful. Physically, that is. Aemond really isn't a hero-lover, but he was surprisingly attentive, at least not seeking to injure you as a sort of revenge. He kissed you and whispered words of comfort, his large, calloused hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, and it made you feel like a little girl when he craddled your head. Then you cried, and he stopped right away, and you asked him not to. You asked him to do that again through tears, and in that moment, you finally saw his handsome face twisted in regret.

It hurt you the most.

You make yourself unclech your jaw and take a deep breath as you blink, returning to reality. Luckily, your power continues to recover, and it's almost enough to cast a sleeping spell. But what then? How do you evade all those guards behind your doors? Otto must have tripled them in hopes of detaining you, and you can't use invisibility incantation and keep it until you leave the castle. It would take you a day to recover enough magic, and by then, God knows what the Greens would do to you. Besides, just because you become invisible, it doesn't mean you will just slip through the gate like a ghost with no one noticing.

Slip through the gates. Or, perhaps, through the castle walls. There is a spell for that, too, and you don't need much magic if you can concentrate properly. Why take the corridor if you can make yourself slip directly through the stone floors and keep going until you are in the dungeons? The third level has enough empty cells for you to hide and wait out until your magic is replenished, and neither Otto nor Aemond will ever think of the dungeons as your hiding place.

Fantastic. You couldn't have thought of a more perfect plan, you think as you grin to yourself. Now, the only difficulty would be to concentrate on the incantation and not make yourself stuck in the stone floor, which would instantly kill you...

"What was your happiest day in this world?" Aemond asks quietly, his head turned to you, and you flinch.

You have almost forgotten that he is still awake. Aemond has been having insomnia even before you came to this place, but you doubt he'd fall asleep under these circumstances, anyway.

Furrowing your brows, you try to focus on his question.

"The night when Tyrells came," you mutter, gazing at the milky canopy above your head. "We held a welcoming ceremony for them."

Aemond shifts slightly, his face unreadable in the dark. "Yes?"

"It was my first time seeing your people dancing, and I thought it was lovely. The way you dressed the room in green and gold... and lit candles everywhere. The musicians with their flutes and tamburines, people laughing... I loved every second of it," you speak softly even when it feels like you're suffocating yourself with words. "I remember wanting to dance so badly, but no one would ask me out. Haha, of course, why would they when your grandfather looked like he'd kill anyone who says a word to me?"

You force yourself to swallow a lump in your throat, your eyes growing suspiciously wet as you keep staring up, afraid to turn your head towards the man you have to share your bed with tonight.

"And then... and then you saw me distressed and took me to dance."

Unfortunately, regardless of your resolve, you can't stop yourself from crying. You don't even know why you are telling him this. What will he understand? He is a Targaryen prince itching to sit on the Iron Throne. Your words won't change anything.

As you curl into a tight ball, hiding your face in your knees, Aemond is right beside you, his arm sneaking in to hug you by the waist from behind, pressing himself to your back. If you weren't trembling from wailing, you'd feel him shaking a little, too.

_________

By the time you cast a spell on him, you have already worked out a plan. Picking up your clothes from the floor, you wince in pain, your womanhood aching, and force yourself to keep moving. You can't risk anyone walking in your chamber when you can't defend yourself. Besides, the earlier you move down the dungeons, the more the chance everyone will be asleep: you don't want to think what's going to happen is some maid sees you emerging through the ceiling.

You look back at peacefully sleeping Aemond on your bed. You hold a knife in your hand, and for a second, you think of slashing his throat in revenge for what he's done to you. This is how those who offend a mage pay in your world, and you know no one from the Tower would question your choice.

But Aemond stirrs slightly, his long, milky white hair shifting to the side, revealing his serene face, and in this very moment, he looks like a boy again, harmless and pure. He curls into himself just like you did not so long ago, and you feel it with all your being: killing him won't diminish your pain. If anything, it will only make it worse because there is still a small part of you hoping Aemond is not a power-crazed monster who's following in Otto's footsteps. Maybe he'll understand. Maybe one day he'll make a different choice.

You grab your carefully assembled sac and begin chanting.

____________

You are able to escape only three days after. It takes you a long, long time to recover your magic to the maximum in the dungeons smelling of blood and rot below Red Keep. Ironically, it is the only place in the whole castle where you were able to fall asleep. Choosing the farthest cell that has been empy for a while, you dream in the dark, seeing faces of those you murdered for the Greens' sake.

But hiding in the dungeons is worth it: you are able to maintain the invisibility spell nearly until reaching Flea Bottom, itching to leave the city before Otto catches you. The number of guards you see on the street has grown three times under the pretense of searching for supporters of Rhaenyra - which might as well be true - but you know he searches for you with even more vigor.

You prefer not to think of Aemond. Hopefully, he didn't take Vhagar and fly right to Dragonstone as some sort of suicide mission just to find you.

Not that what you are doing can be called something else.

When you arrive to the island, masked as one of Kingsguard who swore loaylty to Rhaenyra and left King's Landing in secret, you are more than half-drained: changing your appearance isn't easy, especially so drastically. Neither do you enjoy wearing armor and a heavy sword while pretending to laugh at dumb soldiers' jokes and then keep a gloomy facade because of the war looming dangerously close. You are concerned, yes, but for a different reason.

By the time you are marching to the castle, you have enough magic to keep an invisibility spell for half an hour at best and a little more for a small shield against dragon's breath if something goes wrong. But that's all you have left, and if something truly goes wrong, you will most likely be eaten by an angry dragon.

Should have brought some poison, you think with bitterness as you blend in with other white cloaks before you chant an invisibility spell, trying to navigate an unknown castle that you immediately hate as much as the Red Keep with its stony walls and cold winds blowing throw every crack and crevice. Were it up to you, you would burn this place.

Perhaps Aemond will. The thought immediately sours your already foul mood.

Here they are, the fancy chambers of Targaryens on the top floor. Rhaenyra's and Daemon's ones are empty, likely because they are holding a council with everyone they were able to summon at such short notice, but it's not them you are seeking. Not right now, at least.

Lucerys is the first one you catch, returning to his chambers. It isn't hard to get inside his room right after him, and there are no guards who follow. How absurd, you snort, cocking an eyebrow at the boy. Do they truly think Dragonstone is so impenetrable anyone is safe here? Have the assassins go extinct, perhaps? Or do they believe in their dragons that much? Otto has Ser Christon follow Aemond like a loyal dog, and many kingsguards trail Aegon to keep him on a tight leash. Unlike them, Helaena doesn't have a dozen of escort knights, but maids are always with her, and you know how many of them are not what they seem.

How utterly, utterly foolish, you conclude as you unsheathe your dagger, closing the distance between the bastard prince and you. Indeed, Rhaenyra's greatest flaw is her entitlement to everything, including the safety of her kin.

_______

Part V

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

We bleed tonight IV

Previous chapter

a/n well I return from the dead to give you the last and final chapter of this unexpected series. What a journey it has been huh...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Adapting to Day Court was quite a challenge. The months passed, but you felt nothing but an imposter. You knew you were safe, but no matter what you did, you just felt off. Afraid that the peace and quiet would be ripped away from you any minute. Still shivering at the sound of footsteps and at the shadows draping over corners of the room.

Helion, as much as he tried, didn't feel like a father to you. You appreciated that he never pushed it. Nor did he expect either of you to call him father. He was attentive and always showed up for all the meals. There was no forced bonding. If the conversation didn't flow, Helion never pushed it. Yet you had caught his hopeful eyes more than once. Watched him lean in and stagger back out of a hug. He yearned to have his kids back, but time had worked against him.

Helion talked endlessly about your mother. Madelain was a part of the conversation almost always, and it didn't surprise you, considering that he, Eris, and Lucien had been working on getting her out of Autumn. And back to where she always belonged: in her mate's arms. It was fascinating hearing Helion talk of her as if she were everything. As if all those years apart had done nothing but ignite more love between them. And you truly couldn't help but wonder if that's what a true bond felt like. Something that can't be ripped apart no matter what. No matter the distance. No matter the anger. Wrong choices. Pain caused. Always there. Always bounding two souls.

Your body hit a firm muscle wall, causing you to quickly draw your head up. "You're distracted, my lady", the familiar voice said, holding onto your hands to steady you. "My apologies. Head's all over…", You moved your hands quickly over your face, gathering your thoughts. Bringing yourself back to reality. The male smiled; his long black hair frown into a messy bun, and a smile painted his lips. "Could I offer you a walk through the gardens? Fresh air might help", he said gently, his hand suddenly moving to twist your curly hair around his fingers. Your face flushed crimson as you only found yourself nodding.

Arlo, one of the scholars who lived under Helion's protection made it all that much more bearable. You had been slumped in the library for over a week by then. Trying to distract yourself from all the chaos. The yarning in your soul. You would flip open a book. But the page wouldn't turn for hours. Unable to concentrate on anything but the voices in your head. "Pick a book, and I'll tell you what's troubling you", he had said then. Mother, did your heart skip a beat when you saw him for the first time? He was truly a handsome man. Strongly built. And with that mass of muscle, you would never even suspect him of being so soft. But even his moves were laced with a thread of gentleness. That softness that simply embraced you.

Arlo gave you a glimpse of what you wanted the most. Satisfied that longing for being no one again. Not a Vanserra anything but that. A chance for freedom once more. Nothing that promised the same highs or brought you the same lows. No, because he wasn't the man that you were chasing. Wasn't it the soul that your whole existence cried out for at night. Even with him moving between his legs and your back pressed against one of the statues in your father's gardens, you couldn't help but picture Azriel there, and you hated it. Hated that you couldn't escape the shadow singer.

Hated that the highs wore off faster than you would have liked. Because Arlo was so sweet, Mother knew how kind and caring he was, but the light he bore blinded you. It was too perfect. Too smooth. It made your damaged parts ache because you were nothing but an imperfection next to him. And that's what weighed on you. The darkness. The darkness that lingered, the darkness that was a part of you. A part that you couldn't rip out. It was there, and it was suffering between these perfect white walls and crystal chandeliers. Because this wasn't you. It had nothing that made you feel like yourself. It was a true state of static nothingness, and for that, you couldn't settle because it was leaving you lonely.

Night after night, Azriel woke up drenched in sweat. Night after night, he saw you. He felt you. And it drove him crazy. He could swear he saw glimpses of your days. He saw you. He saw that you weren't alone. He felt the sadness that twisted you. He felt the pleasure that your body scoured into. Brought by another male. Making Azriel roar at the pain and suffering it brought him. What a strange thing the band was! As if it too was blaming Azriel. Torturing him on its behalf. He saw you smiling, but he knew that your smile no longer belonged to him. No, it was brought by the male, whom you looked at as if the whole world turned around him. You looked at Azriel like that once, and now… Now, he wished he could just rip his heart out.

"Uncle Az, Uncle Az, you came", Nyx messily flew into his uncle's arms, wrapping himself around his neck. Azriel caught the boy quickly, pressing him closer to his chest. Managing to draw out a tight smile. The boy looked over his uncle's shoulder and asked, "Where's Aunty, Y/N?", the pang in Azriel's heart twisted. He hoped you would show up. You loved Nyx and the boy, well, he was fascinated by you. "She…", Azriel trills off. He never even thought about this. He never thought about how he was going to tell the people who didn't know about what happened. How he would cover up the fact that you were no longer together. That you weren't together because of him. Because Azriel lost control over his emotions and hurt you. He was one of those men. Not any better than Beron himself.

"Is she playing hide and seek?", Nyx twisted in Azriel's arms, "I need to go protect the cake". The boy quickly padded away, and Azriel caught Feyre's eyes from across the room. She held the shadow singer's gaze until a shien of sadness painted over them, and she shook her head. You weren't coming. The empty chair looked almost jarring. So out of place. So empty.

"Could I?", Azriel goes back to one of the first diners you all had. He had caught onto your sleepy frame. You tried to stay awake so hard, keeping eye contact with Cassian, who was so deep into the story that he was telling. Until Azriel spoke, and you instantly turned to him, "Could you what?", you asked, "Hold you.. I mean…", Azriel quickly cleared his throat, "Would you like to lean against me? This doesn't look too comfortable". And it wasn't. Your hand was going numb, and your wrist ached. You smiled up at him shyly. Back then, a part of him was sure that you would reject him. But you didn't. You leaned right into him, arms crossed over his neck, as you pulled yourself closer to Azriel's chest. Now his arms were empty. Cold and truly discussed him.

"Are you busy?", you cracked the doors to Lucien's office slightly. The hours were late, and the chance of him being asleep was high; however, the dim lights from beneath the door left you hopeful. "No, come in", his smooth voice rang out. Lucien quickly put his pen down. All of his attention was now set on you. You loved that about him so much. Well, learned to love. That when you needed him, he was there fully. It wasn't just a pinch of attention. He was there. Always ready. Always willing.

"You should be sleeping, missy", Lucien stated, the corner of his lips tilting upward as you frowned. "Oh, don't you start parenting me around", you padded towards his chair, opting for the little ottoman that stood close by. "What's keeping you up?", the velvet sound of Lucien's voice pierced the silence once more. Your sad eyes hurt him too deeply. Hesitation filled your senses. You didn't talk much about the past. It felt as if it had all been blurred out and painted over. And you hoped you had managed to paint over your emotions, but Lucien leaned in to read you. And within a couple of months, you were an open book to him.

"Do you miss Velaris?", your voice was almost a whisper. Lucien knew that tonight would be hard. Hence, he too opted not to go to Nyx's birthday. Leaving you here seemed wrong. And he knew that no one else around the palace would understand the sorrows within you. "Not necessarily…", the fireling trailed off; however, you quickly specified, "You miss Elain?". Lucien froze for a second before a deep sigh left his lips. "I feel too sober for this kind of conversation", you chuckled. Yet it wasn't a happy chuckle; it carried worries and sadness. The almost bitter one left a tingling loneliness. "I miss her, yes. But not seeing her makes it easier in a way," Lucien replied. His eyes were now as distant as yours as he watched ahead of himself. Without a doubt he pictured Elain.

The silence surrounded you two. Draping the mystery of the unknown all over the office, you two let the pain you hid come back to the surface. However, the next words made you stagger, "Do you think of him?" It was almost funny how no one spoke Azriel's name around the place. It was always him—the man, that guy. Helion left him out of the court meetings that were held there. A part of you was thankful for that. Until you started missing his eyes. Hoping to see them. Hoping for at least a glimpse. Because your mind was so torn.

That was the man who showed you love first. Who saw you first. Who empowered you first. He gave you a voice when no one else listened. He made you his everything. And freefalling with him was the best thing that had happened to you. But then he was the one who ripped through your happiness. Stomped on it and shredded it to pieces. You tried to justify it. You did. And it was true, that Beron was to blame. He was the one who planted the seed of doubt, but…

"There are a lot of what-ifs in my head", you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your chest. Letting your dress pool all around you, "I try to drown them out but…", "The nagging voice doesn't stop?", you only nodded your head. His shoulder sank slightly because he understood. Lucien understood.

"It was like that with Jesminda", your eyes instantly grew wide, "You don't have to", you reassured him. Knowing full well the tragedy of the story. The loss. The pain. That twisted it. "It happened long ago; it's okay", Lucien smiled sadly, running his fingers through his hair. Allowing himself a moment of silence. "We had this one big fight, and we cut it all off. I said many things that I regretted, and so did she", you watched how his expression turned sadder with every word that he spoke. "I ended up not seeing her for months; pride was too big. Until I felt like I was going insane because all I could think of was her", and you did know because that was how you felt. Because it felt as if there was a growing ocean between you. One that spread and got deeper with every passing moment. And a part of you wanted it to grow, but then there was that small version of you that cupped the water with your raw hands, trying to make the void smaller.

"But that's how you know it's love", Your eyes shot up to look at Lucien, who had been watching you this whole time. You bit the inside of your cheek as the memory surfaced.

"Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and you quickly turned your face to the side. Hating the fact that you were crying once again, "It sucks though…", you shook your head, brushing your fingers under your eyes quickly, "Because I'm starting to think that's not enough".

The wind rippled through your hair, and the skirt of your dress fluttered behind you. The sky was pitch black. The darkness soothed the pain, and the cool nibbles of wind made you feel more alive than ever before. The sound of the fast stream beneath you chimed more like a lullaby. With hands wrapped around you, let yourself feel the sorely missed sense of belonging. There was no light; only nightfall surrounds you.

Yet your eyes seem to have opened up on their own. And there it was. The image you feared the most. One you had never pictured before, and yet it resembled the worst fear in your life. Your heart skips a beat. Right there in front of you, stood the figure you could've identified no matter where you were. Either in the brightly lit room or the darkest corners of the Earth. You wouldn't need to see it to know. All you would have to do was feel.

"No", you said under your breath. The male stood at the edge of the cliff, shoulder-slumped, his head hanging low. He was done. He was simply done. There was no sense of life about him. A shell of a soul that has given up on everything. "Don't you dare", you said a bit louder, trying to cross the distance between the two of you. The hills now seemed impossible to cross. All the sharp edges seemed to intensify. Your hands slipped alongside your feet no matter what you did; no matter how hard you tried to crawl toward him, you simply couldn't.

"Azriel, don't you dare jump", you shouted at the top of your lungs, screeching as you watched him step closer and closer. Merciless waves crashed beneath him. He was muttering something under his breath, something so distant, and it felt impossible that you could hear him, but he was calling your name and muttering as a prayer, as a cry for help. You did the same, calling and calling to him, hoping to catch his attention. His eyes filled up with tears, as helplessness tore through you, and then he jumped. That was it; he was falling, and you couldn't do anything. The most painful scream escaped your lips as you washed his body and submerged it in the cold water.

"Azriel, Azriel", you roared, falling to your knees. "Azriel", your body jolted upward. Your hands clenched the sheets beneath your body, body soaked in sweat. Your breaths were shallow. They didn't seem to want it to linger in your lungs. And then you were up. Pulling the first thing over your body. You could feel your heart pumping in your throat. Those same angry tears were now streaming down your cheeks. You stilled for a moment. Closing your eyes and clenching your fist, you felt the now familiar sense of darkness surround you. You didn't know where to go. But you trusted your heart to get you where you needed to be.

"Azriel", you muttered your mantra as the spinning stopped. The familiar scent filled your senses, subsiding your anxiety, yet you knew that you were not going to rest until you saw him. "Y/N?", it was more of a question than anything else as he stepped out of the shadows as if you were just yet another of his hallucinations. Afraid to step any closer because he might just chase you away.

Here he stood. The male you haven't seen in months. He wasn't drowning. He wasn't at the bottom of Sidra. He hadn't jumped. You let out a shaky breath. "You…", you muttered, stepping closer to Azriel, eyes still lingering all around his frame. "You jumped…" Azriel frowned; equally as much concern now laced his features. "Jumped?" You nodded your head, still fighting for air. "I saw… you…", Azriel's hands pulled you closer to him. And his warmth poured into you. The shouting in your head died down. It's all settled. "It's just a bad dream, a nightmare", he said softly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

You pulled away ever so slightly so you could see him. Look at him. Watch him say, "Your eyes…", you almost gasped when you noticed the dark circles beneath them and the slightly red tinge all around. "Sleep is not on my side as of lately", he chuckled slightly, but you could feel the pain there. That same pain that you've been sharing for months now. Had he been aware all this time? Had he looked after himself at all? "Don't cry, please, love", Azriel gently wiped away the tears that you didn't even know were streaming down your cheeks once more, "I caused you enough pain". Yet you shook your head at his words, reaching up to cup his face, the need to pull him closer awakening inside you. A need to feel him almost like your skin.

"Azriel, I've been thinking…", but you never got to finish as Azriel stepped back, pulling you away from his embrace. Yet still clasping your hands, he whispered, "Don't…", and you could hear the shaking in his voice, "Don't forgive me". A sob slips past your lips as you watch him. Watched as Azriel fought the sting in his eyes. How he tried to steady himself but failed. "Truth be told, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't think I was alive until you came into my life", he continued, now allowing his thoughts to flow. Followed by the touch that stung him. Because he knew it was one of the last. That he couldn't bask in it. That he couldn't let himself enjoy the warmth of your skin. Because you would fade away eventually.

"And mother, did I fear every day that you would disappear. That I would have to find out what living without you feels like", a cry slipped past his lips. "Az…", you muttered, biting your wobbly lip, but he shook his head. "I just want you to know a few things", the shadow singer cupped your cheek, and you leaned into it. Lean into the touch that your body has been craving this whole time. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry for what I did, and believe me. Even on my dying bed, I'll be cursing myself for it", he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours as your nails dug into his shoulders, "And I love you. I love you so much". You didn't trust your words, so you never gave him an answer. And he never got to know that a small part of you forgave him. That in the future, your paths may cross, and maybe just maybe love will be the only emotion there. That it was now. That your heart beats for him and him only.

And no, this love wasn't perfect. But neither were you two. Perfect wasn't a thing that could exist in this world. Perfection belonged in museums and exhibitions but not in day-to-day life. And maybe letting yourself bleed for the night in each other's arms was better than not bleeding at all. And maybe ripping that golden thread from each other's souls was the best thing you could've done for one another that night.

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All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan @bubybubsters

[legolasbadass]

Italian Holiday, Part IV

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 1.1K

Rating: T

“I didn’t realize you could actually speak Italian,” Richard says as we step out of the gelateria. Despite the late hour and the sea-salted breeze that weaves through the narrow street, it is still unbearably hot and humid, so the iced dessert is a welcomed treat. 

“Oh, no, I’m far from fluent; my vocabulary is pretty limited and I probably have a terrible accent,” I chuckle as I take a bite of raspberry gelato before it melts off the side of the cup. “But I’ve been ordering for us since we got here—had you not noticed or what?” 

Richard chuckles. “Yes, but you had an actual conversation with the lady in the gelateria,” he says, shoving a big spoonful of pistachio gelato in his mouth. “What was she saying, anyway?” 

“Well, when she realized we were English she asked how we were handling the heat. And then when she handed me your gelato she said, ‘Here, the pistachio for your handsome man.’”

“She did not say that,” Richard snorts. 

“She did!” I say, giggling at the memory and the incredulity on his face. “She has good taste.” 

He shakes his head sheepishly. “So do you secretly speak any other languages?” 

I giggle at the change of subject. “Apart from Old English, Middle English, and Latin, I do speak a tiny bit of French.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” 

“How did I not know that?” he asks, sounding impressed. 

I shrug, taking another bite of gelato. “I thought I could more easily impress you with my knowledge of medieval languages, even if it’s not as practical.” 

“Well, it did get you a job at the top university in the country,” he says, smiling. “Where did you learn French, anyway?” 

“I studied it for one of my A Levels.” 

He nods, then grins. “Say something in French.” 

I chuckle, pondering what to say, then grin. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” 

Richard bursts out laughing and wraps one of his strong arms around my shoulders. “I think you already know the answer to that question—it’s why we only got out of bed past 10 am this morning.” 

I smirk in recollection of the lazy morning and squeeze the hand resting over my shoulder. Suddenly, the sound of distant music drifts through the air, and as we turn a corner, the street opens up into a charming town square bathed in the soft glow of string lights. Amidst the passersby and the busy trattorias, a musician is playing a lively tune on a violin near the fountain in the center, and we sit nearby on a bench under a tall olive tree, enjoying the atmosphere as we finish our gelato. 

Sometime later, after throwing away our empty gelato cups in the nearest bin, Richard looks at me with a thoughtful expression, then offers me his hand with a playful smile. 

“Dance with me.” 

“What?” I laugh, but I shake my head when I realize he is serious. “No way—there’s too many people around.” 

“Who cares?” he responds, pulling me to my feet. “No one knows us here and look—no one’s paying attention to us.” 

“Yeah, that’s cause I haven’t yet tripped and fallen on my arse,” I say, causing him to chuckle, but then I sigh, unable to resist him. “Fine. One dance.” 

Richard’s smile widens, and he raises my hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on my knuckles before pulling me close and guiding me into a gentle sway. 

We move awkwardly at first, but it is mainly my fault, as I keep stumbling on the uneven cobblestones, struggling to concentrate when Richard gazes so lovingly into my eyes. He, on the other hand, is surprisingly graceful, twirling me around and effortlessly catching me when I almost lose my balance. 

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” I ask, holding onto his shoulder more tightly. 

“I, er, took dance lessons as a teenager,” he admits sheepishly. 

I raise one surprised eyebrow. “Really?” 

He chuckles. “Yeah, all the drama students did.” 

“Well, well,” I say with a grin, then laugh as he spins me gently once more, causing my dress to twirl around me. 

We continue to dance, my movements becoming more confident as the awkwardness fades away and I give in to the joy of the moment. I catch sight of a few onlookers smiling at us, but I forget all about them when the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody, and Richard pulls me even closer. One of his arms is now wrapped around my waist while he intertwines the fingers of his other hand with mine, cradling it between our bodies against his chest. 

“See? You’re getting the hang of it,” he says, the low rumble of his voice, combined with his warm closeness, sending a thrill through me.

“You make it easy,” I chuckle, losing myself once more in his deep blue eyes. 

Richard smiles, leaning down to brush his lips against mine in a tender kiss, and the busy square around us disappears—the whole world disappears—and time stands still, leaving only the two of us, happy and carefree in each others’ arms as stars shine in the sky overhead as they do so every night, constant and unchanging. Under their watchful eyes, I think of how much has changed in the past year and how much uncertainty lies ahead. But wrapped in Richard’s arms, I can truly believe that our love will weather the difficult year ahead and any other challenges that will come our way in the future, remaining just as constant and unchanging.

As we continue to sway in each other’s arms, the music picks up again, transitioning to a lively tune that draws laughter from a nearby group of onlookers. The spell of the moment breaks, and I glance up at Richard, who seems equally caught between the remnants of our private world and the bustling square around us.

“Shall we?” Richard says, slowly disentangling himself from me but still holding onto my hand. 

With a soft smile, I nod and follow him across the square, but Richard pauses by the violinist. He fishes out his wallet, pulling out a generous tip, and places it into the open violin case with a nod of thanks. The musician gives him a warm smile, never missing a beat, and Richard turns back to me, his eyes bright with affection.

“This holiday just keeps getting better and better,” he muses with a smile. 

I smile in return. “Agreed,” I say, reaching for his hand again and leading him onto the narrow street to our flat. 

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle @evenstaredits @mistresskayla-blog1

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[alwaysonthemend]

Part IV: Storm's a Brewin'

Author's Note: Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger lol. I promise I won't make you wait too long ;)

Word Count: 3812

Warnings: Graphic depiction of death and violence / torture / blood / swearing / pirate shit

18+ only. Minors DNI

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Sleep had been fitful – I had tossed and turned the whole night through, never quite falling fully asleep. Giving up, I had risen and sat myself at Jacob’s desk, prepared to begin the painstaking task of translating my father’s codes. 

These codes are difficult to translate as they are all just a strange amalgamation of different symbols from all across the globe – some Norse, some taken from the Natives in America, some from old sailor’s journals. And some of the symbols are made up, unique to whoever wrote the cipher.

And that is where the difficulty lies in decoding them. 

The first page had been relatively simple. Just a few cardinal directions and talk of a mountain-scape that lies  “at the end of all things” – whatever that may mean. 

Though I had become increasingly more nervous as I translated, as one singular word kept repeating itself.

Danger. 

Over and over and over again that word was printed. Danger of what? It does not yet say. But it leaves a strange feeling in my stomach, as though we are all travelling towards something that we cannot begin to understand.

That one word, scrawled over and over again in my father’s hand felt wrong. My father was not a man who was easily frightened. Nor was he an overly cautious one. And yet here he was, repeating this one word over and over again. It leaves a sour taste on my tongue. 

– 

The sound of heavy footfalls above deck breaks me from my concentration. I straighten from where I had been hunched over the pages, straining my ears to listen.

“Avast! Hoist the black flag!” 

That’s Jacob’s voice, calling loudly over the din. 

A sudden booming noise rings out and I gasp as the sound hits my ears. The whole ship rocks and groans. Startled, I rise from my place and dart to the door. I throw it open quickly and begin a mad dash towards the stairs. Just as I reach the bottom step to begin my ascent, Daniel’s large frame makes its way through the hatch.

“Miss! Stay down here. We are under attack!” He calls, words frantic and spilling from his lips quickly. “It is not safe for you on deck.”

“Under attack by whom?” 

Daniel does not answer right away, instead grabbing me by the shoulders and leading me back to the captain’s room. 

“In here.” He ushers me through the threshold and shuts the door behind us. 

“Daniel, by whom?” I demand, my voice rising a few octaves. 

“We do not know, miss. They had black flags, so we hoisted our own but they continued their attack anyway.” 

The ship rocks again as yet another boom sounds from above and I cringe at the sound of the wood creaking and groaning. 

I look to Daniel, hoping that he might ease my nerves, but he looks just as concerned as I am. His eyes are trained on the door, his head tilted as he listens. 

“Daniel?” I start, but he shushes me. 

The distant sound of men’s cries make my heart begin to pound. Anxiety wraps itself around my chest like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs as I think of Jacob up there. Skilled as he may be, he is injured.

“Daniel, please.” I whisper and finally he turns his eyes to look at me. 

He quirks a brow, silently telling me to continue. 

“The Captain… his fighting arm is injured. I-” I silence myself, unable to formulate my worries further. 

Another loud crash from above. The ship rocks. Men are yelling. 

“The Captain is skilled with both hands. He will be alright.” Is the only answer Daniel gives. 

We both fall back to silence, listening. 

There are no more sounds from above. The ship is steady and it seems that the attack is over. 

“Stay here.” He says, before slipping out the door. 

“Daniel!” I call, but he’s gone. 

I stand there for a long moment, debating within myself whether to follow or not. The last time I snuck away had not ended well, but the worry brewing in my belly is too much for me to bear down here alone. 

Huffing a breath, I slip out the door and follow. 

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Joshua POV

The adrenaline from the attack begins to wear off, leaving in its wake a bone deep exhaustion. We had not been prepared. Least of all for an attack from our own people. 

We had been forced to kill them. Their bodies now lay on the deck, their blood oozing into the wooden beams of the Starcatcher. For some reason, the thought makes me nauseous. When we first set out on this God-forsaken journey… I never imagined that we would have to kill. Let alone so many. And yet here we are, our hands drenched in blood. 

Jacob had sent the remaining crew (we had lost three in the melee) up to the deck to dispose of the bodies and clean the best that they are able. Myself, Samuel, and now Daniel, stand and watch in silent horror as Jacob drags the captain of the enemy ship (he calls himself Avery) across the floor – pushing him roughly into a chair. Jacob has his cutlass drawn, its blade dripping red already as he points it. I hate the sight of it. 

“Who the fuck sent you?” Jacob demands, a dangerous edge to his voice. His eyes are narrowed and that terrible, stone-like expression sits on his face. My twin he may be, but sometimes I find even myself intimidated by him. 

Avery only narrows his eyes before spitting a glob of saliva at Jacob’s shoes. 

“No one.” He answers, eyes blazing defiantly. “No one sent me.”

“And I don’t believe you.” Jacob answers back. 

“You’re not special. We saw a ship. So we attacked. We weren’t sent by anyone.” 

“You attacked another ship with black flags?” Samuel demands from beside me, but there is a tiny tremble to his voice.

He had been rattled, too, by the death that had taken place above. I forget how young he is, sometimes. There is no doubt in my heart that he can handle himself and I worry not that he can carry his own. But still… he is only just a few years past boyhood. 

“Guess we didn’t see ‘em.” 

Jacob hums before turning to me. 

“Ropes?”

I nod, stepping forward towards the man and rounding behind him. With little care, I roughly grab Avery's wrists and cross them behind the chair. I wrap the rope around them tightly, making sure to secure the knot well before stepping backwards. Jacob ‘s eyes flash to me and then towards Daniel and Samuel. I lock eyes with him for a moment. We stand frozen there for a moment as I read the words behind his eyes. He wants us to leave. Subtly, I shake my head and return to stand next to Sam and Daniel. 

“You see,” Jacob starts, turning back to Avery and sheathing his cutlass. “I just can’t seem to believe you.” 

“Pity.” 

Jacob laughs suddenly, stepping in close so that he stands between Avery's legs. 

“You have one more chance. Who sent you?” 

“Fuck you.” 

It barely registers as Jacob rears back and slams his fist into his face, the blow making his head snap to the side and a groan of pain to leave his lips. 

Daniel gasps quietly beside me and Samuel takes a step forward. I grab his arm and hold him back.

I wish desperately that Jacob had sent them away at least. 

“I asked, who sent you?” Jacob demands again, grabbing the man’s collar and leaning in close. 

Avery spits out a wad of blood onto the floor. 

“And I said fuck you.”

In a flash, Jacob’s hand reaches down, gripping his pointer finger and snapping it backwards. Avery cries out in agony, tossing his head back as his chest heaves. Jacob reaches down and grabs another finger but this time Avery stops him, his words tumbling from him frantically. 

“Fuck, okay!” 

Jacob pauses, hand still wrapped around his middle finger. He stares, and though I cannot see his face, I know what emotions lie there. Doubt, surely. And stone-cold rage. 

“I don't know who he is. He sent me to find you."

“I'm not so sure I believe that, either.” Jacob answers ever so calmly, as if he has not just snapped this man's finger in two. I refuse to look at the damage. I would rather spare my mind of the sight. 

With a sickening crack, Jacob breaks another finger. This time, Avery's scream rings out louder before trailing off in a pained whimper. All bravado gone, he looks up at my brother with pleading eyes. 

"Fuck, stop!'

“Keep fucking talking! Everything. Tell me everything.” 

“No.”

Jacob hums, stepping backwards and crossing his arms. He places his hand on the handle of his cutlass, running his fingertips over the metal. 

“Keep talking. Or you lose your whole fucking hand.” 

Avery whimpers again, shaking his head and blinking up at Jacob. No doubt the pain is making his thoughts fuzzy. 

“He found me.” He finally relents, his shaky voice ringing out in the silence. “At Nassau. Said he wanted a ship called Starcatcher hunted down and sunk.” 

“He knew my ship by name?” 

He nods once before casting his eyes downwards to look at his mutilated hand. Immediately, he shuts them tight and looks away again.

“He said… He said leave no one alive except the girl.” 

Jacob’s face twitches - a barely there sign that he's startled. 

Daniel and Samuel both turn to look at me with wide, questioning eyes, as if I somehow know the answers. I do not look at them, instead keeping my eyes trained on my twin. 

I knew that bringing a Calloway with us was dangerous, especially one who holds those damned papers. The papers that Jacob has dragged us all over the fucking seas for. They're a dangerous item to possess. Few know of their existence… but those that do want them. Covet them. The last remaining information on where it is. And it seems now that the secret is out. A target has been painted on our backs. And on her back as well. 

Jacob leans in close to the man, his face merely inches from his and his voice is low as he speaks again. 

“What was his name?” 

Avery meets his gaze, a renewed fire in his eyes. 

“I will not tell you.”

This time, the blow that Jacob lands on him is even harder. The crack of his nose beneath Jacob's fist makes me cringe. Blood pours down his face, coating his lips and chin.

Jacob rears back and strikes again. And again. Once more before finally Avery relents. 

“Thomas! Thomas Lowe. Fuck, please. That's all I know! I swear that's all I know!” 

The breath punches out of my lungs and it feels as though ice water has been dumped on my head. It feels like a dream… a terrible, awful dream that I must wake up from at any moment. 

“You're a liar.” Jacob growls, fisting Avery's collar in his grip. “Thomas Lowe is dead. I killed him.” 

The man shakes his head frantically, a crack in his submissive character at last. With a wicked smile - his lips stretched wide to reveal his red stained teeth, he shakes his head. 

“You sunk his ship, aye. But did you ever see his body?” 

“He's fucking dead.” Jacob says through clenched teeth, his body visibly shaking as his anger mounts. 

“Killed your girl and you couldn't even kill him back.” Avery says with a grin, huffing a laugh as he watches Jacob’s face contort with guilt. “Some Captain you are.”

That does it. 

“You don't know shit!” Jacob’s voice cracks as he screams the words, spittle flying from his lips before he strikes again. 

With a ferocity I have never seen from him before, he lands blow after blow on the poor man. The sound of knuckles against flesh is sickening and the barely there groans of pain are muddled and wet with blood. 

“Captain! Enough!” Daniel finally calls, running to grab Jacob by the shoulders and pulling him off. 

With a mighty yell Jacob shoves him away, sending Daniel crashing to the floor. Without missing a beat Jacob turns back to continue his assault. 

“Sam!” I bark, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. “Help me!” 

Jacob does not cease in his attack – only growing more frantic with each strike. There is no pause, no moment where he slows down. Blow after blow until at last Avery no longer moves, his head only lulling to the side with each strike as blood cascades down his face. His chest is still. 

Jacob’s teeth are bared in a feral snarl as he fights against us. Samuel grabs his arms and pins them behind him as I grab his shoulders and pull him backwards. 

“Jacob, he's dead! He's dead! That's fucking enough!” 

It's like he can't hear as he keeps struggling against us. It takes both of us to keep him restrained, but he keeps fighting to break free. 

“Stop!” 

All three of our heads whip quickly around to see Y/n, her face awash with horror, standing just on the inside of the threshold. There are tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Please stop.” She echoes, a tremble in her voice. 

Like a switch has been flipped, Jacob stills.

As he does so, Daniel rises from his place on the floor, wincing quietly. 

“I told you to stay in your room.” He murmurs, eyes casting towards my twin with a look I never thought he would ever give to Jacob: Fear. He is afraid of him.  

“And I didn't listen.” She says, pushing her chin up and attempting to hide the shake in her words. 

Samuel - our sweet, young Samuel, watches Jacob with wary eyes. He's afraid too. 

Jacob does not speak for a long moment. His chest heaves and his hands - clenched at his side and sticky with blood, tremble. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders from my grip and with slow, deliberate steps, he walks to where Y/n stands. 

She shrinks away from him, pressing her back into the doorframe as he passes by.

Just like that, he disappears out of sight.

“How much of that did you hear?” 

She casts her eyes to me, a determined glimmer in her eyes. 

“All of it. And I think you owe me an explanation for what the fuck is going on.” 

I nod at her once, staring after where Jacob had disappeared. I feel as though I may vomit after such a display from him. Whoever that was… it was not Jacob. Not my Jacob at least. My Jacob would never have done such a thing. Least of all in front of his own little brother. 

Samuel and Daniel are afraid of him. His crew – once his closest friends, are terrified of him. This poor girl, plucked from her home with no explanation, is afraid of him. 

Dear God. 

I think with detached horror. 

I might be afraid of him, too. 

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

My heart pounds as I close the door behind myself and Joshua. For once, there is no aggression in his form as he regards me – in its place nothing but a sadness that makes me feel as though he might shatter before my very eyes.

“I am tired of the secrets, Joshua.” I tell him, sitting down heavily in the chair by Jacob’s desk. “Tell me the truth. All of it. I think I am owed that, at least.” 

Joshua nods, sitting himself on the foot of the bed. 

“It is a long story, lass.” He sighs, brown eyes boring into my own. 

“We have time.”

He sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping – like he’s folding in on himself. 

“What do you know of your father? Of your family?”

I shake my head, clasping my hands in my lap. 

“Very little. My mother died when I was a child. My father not long after. I never was told anything.”

Joshua nods once, one hand coming up to tap his pointer finger upon his bottom lip. He looks so much older now as I look at him. For the very first time since meeting him, a pang of sympathy shoots through me. 

“The Calloways used to be famous – they were always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, inserting themselves in others business… and somehow always managing to make a profit from it. Your father was just like them. Until your mother died. He fell off the face of the planet.”

“After my mother, he was driven mad with sorrow. Or so my grandmother told me. I never knew what he was like before. I only knew the man he became.”

Joshua’s gaze feels piercing – like he’s looking right through me. This time, it does not make me feel threatened. There is pity there in his brown eyes. And though a part of me hates it, a small broken little part of my soul is oddly comforted.

“Rumour began to circulate that he was on the hunt for something… something that could bring someone back from the dead.” He pauses a moment and I hold my breath, afraid that if I break the silence he will stop speaking. But he carries on. “And apparently he found it. Or at least was told where it is.”

“It?” I ask him, leaning forwards slightly, my palms growing clammy. 

“A mirror. A mirror that is said to grant one wish. And your father found where it was.”

“He was always gone.” My eyes fixate themselves on the dim glow of the lantern. “We never knew where he was.”

“He was all over looking for its location – asking and begging and bribing until… I guess until he finally found someone who knew. But word got out, people heard that he had found what he was looking for. And of course… The promise of any wish granted had every living pirate out on the hunt for him. We are all doomed to one of two endings, Y/n: a watery grave or a noose. To wish for freedom… money, jewels… It is a tempting thing.”

“That is not what the Captain is after, is it?”

Joshua shakes his head. 

“He seeks something worth far more than that. Just as your father sought to bring back your mother, Jacob wishes to bring back his wife. They killed your father for the information – And I fear this quest may claim Jacob’s life as well.” The last part comes out as only a whisper – an admission likely not meant for my ears at all.  

The information swirls around in my brain – pieces clicking into place for the first time in my life. 

“They killed my father, but he had already left the directions back in Easthallow… so they did not get them.”

“Aye" Joshua affirms with a nod. "But still people want them. And they know that you have ‘em. Jacob got to you first, but there is a target on our backs now.”

Detached dread courses through my veins. There has always been a part of my mind that knew that I would return home one day… that all this would just be a thing of the past in a few years time. 

And yet here Joshua is, squashing any hope I once had. I am wanted. We all are. And as much as I resent Jacob for convincing me to come along on this journey… had someone else found me first I might not be alive now.

Either way, this knowledge changes everything. 

“I cannot go back home, can I?” 

Joshua meets my gaze with a sad smile. 

“Afraid not, lass. Not now, at least.”

I nod, folding my hands back in my lap. My eyes prick with tears. This is more than I ever bargained for. 

“Those papers,” Joshua starts, pointing at where they sit on Jacob’s desk, “they are the key to all of this. If we can just get to the mirror before anyone else does… before someone takes it for their own selfish uses, this all can end. We can find you somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one would think to look for you.”

“Thank you.” I whisper, casting my eyes to the glow of the lantern. There is one last piece though, one last question... though I know it is not my place. I ask anyway. 

“Thomas Lowe… who is he? Jacob said that- that he killed him.” I cannot help but to stumble over the phrase. The thought of killing – especially Jacob doing it… it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. I fear that I may have misjudged him. I thought he was different, kinder. I believed there to perhaps be a good man beneath his anger and cold exterior.I thought that he was not like all those other pirates that I have heard stories about. 

“We thought he did. And there is still a part of me that hopes that man was lying.” He trails off, no doubt thinking back to what Jacob did to him. “There is no way for us to know, now.”

“Thomas Lowe killed his wife?” 

“He did. A sick, twisted version of revenge.” Joshua says sadly. “It is a long and sad story.”

“I want to know it.” 

Joshua opens his mouth, no doubt to decline, but I interrupt him. 

“You all took me from my home. Your brother threatened to kill me. There is a target on my back and now you tell me that I cannot ever hope to return home. I am owed the full truth, Joshua.”

His shoulders slump. He senses that I will not back down. 

“Before I tell you, you must understand that Jacob cannot know that I told you anything. He barely speaks about it even to me. And I was there when it happened.” 

“I promise.” I tell him honestly, meeting his piercing gaze. “I would rather not be on the Captain’s bad side, anyway.” I murmur, clenching my hands nervously. Still, I am angry at myself for misjudging him so harshly. Charismatic and handsome as he may be… he’s a cold blooded killer like all the rest. 

Joshua must sense my unease. Perhaps he sees the fear in my eyes as he suddenly sits upwards, eyes looking into mine almost frantically. 

“My brother… the man you see today is not him. Not really.”

I raise a brow. I cannot yet bring myself to believe him.

“After everything that happened, he changed. He’s had a difficult life, Y/n. I beg of you to not judge him too harshly.”

“We’ve all had a hard life, Joshua. That’s the way of the universe. We all have dead people.” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. “He killed a man with his bare hands.”

“You don’t understand.” 

“Enlighten me, then.”

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

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[bigmammallama5]

i understand how many people see adhd as the “lol cant concentrate i have no attention span im so weird look at me be funny” thing, and that sadly the only way theyll truly understand is if it happens to them (or some sort of similar neurological brain fog re: long covid).

but even on meds, because they formulated most of them on cis white males, i still slip back into the “lazy” adhd when my hormones fluctuate for maybe a day or two each month. so im sitting here, trying with all my energy to do my job, yet ive been writing on my phone because it’s truly that much harder to wrangle myself today. i’m much nicer to myself now when i have these days because i know theyll pass, but its still frustrating to deal with it in the first place.

[“lazy”: i have the more insidious mixed type adhd, which means i have both hyperactive AND inattentive qualities, and the inattentive traits are what lock me inside my head unable to get out from under executive dysfunction (and coincidentally what made me working my job before meds nearly impossible on some days, and yes i am very lucky and thankful to have such understanding employers who knew i was trying and that something wasn’t right before i got diagnosed) the inattentive traits are also i think what impact my memory the most, which is probably what i have the most grief with but what can ya do lmfao]

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

i guess i need some. advice? encouragement? about some stuff thats been happening recently so suicide/violence cw under the cut

i won't go into detail but i had. a very huge emotional/physical/mental breakdown today. where i was just. basically screaming and howling about how suicidal ive been lately. I haven't said anything out loud/via text on the internet abt it because i know saying i want to kms so often is bad for my own well being and ultimately makes other uncomfortable as well

so yeah i've just been. holding all that in. i knew the thoughts were coming in and out the past few months but was just shrugging it off as just being stressed abt the nightmare year i had. but i really was just. lying to myself and others because i didnt want to worry anyone/didn't want to admit how horrible i was doing after a couple years of good progress. but as it stands things are heading into a really bad direction for me rn. its not normal to go to sleep suicidal and immediately be suicidal upon waking up.

I don't really know what i can really do harm reduction wise. i'm unable to have regular visits with a psychiatrist/therapist bc of availability issues + i tend to just. lie. because its easier to say im fine than it is to advocate for myself and get actual help. and even then medication will not save me and coping skills can only go so far if im so deep in it im unable to take care of myself/feed myself/clean myself/eat/etc so none of it is effective enough in the moment. i know it CAN be effective and some of the skills ive learned can help during situational issues but this is really deep rooted improperly treated mental illness and i need a stronger foundation to be able to use any of the skills

i use a means of self isolation to punish myself, because i'm so upset with myself for not being able to pick myself up on my own. people can say im not a burden over and over but theres always gonna be a catch in the end. i freak out because what if this is one of my last meltdowns before they decide enoughs enough and i just get abandoned. again.

I feel like maybe being so Online is making things worse?? but i don't know??? my concentration is completely gone even when trying to use dnd/closing discord completely and im just constantly refreshing social media every 10 seconds and just stew in the bad feelings.

I don't know if just. leaving the internet cold turkey for a bit would do more harm than good.....i dont want to be alone and caught up in my thoughts. but i have a hard time doing things in 'moderation' and don't know how to even begin to roll back my internet/screen time usage

fandom is fun and great. but i dont think i should be using video games as pure escapism or playing them 24/7. im already getting bored and unenthusiastic about the things i like because its ALL i do.... I want to have at least SOME time away from screens. i hate having the impulse the check social media or refresh even 30 seconds (im even doing it NOW) but i just dont know where to begin in cultivating non-screentime hobbies and have the ability to focus on things more long term without having than doing 1000 things all at once to keep myself busy. i play video games muted most of the time, have a yt video playing, sometimes i'll stop mid video game and pull out my ipad while still having the games open, and im always on discord

there's books i still want to read, i eventually want to pick up sewing again. im considering getting a craft set for making those beaded bracelets (my brother gets them from concerts all the time and thinks it would be fun to make them too) but that all requires money

and i just. idk where im going with this rn but. any advice or suggestions or just. words of encouragement would be. really nice rn

[baldwinivmybeloved]

♡！Charper Ten ʬʬ ﹒ Xica X Baldwin IV

Xica had recovered from her illness, and the allergy had completely subsided. Now, she could resume her duties around the household. However, the concern over what had happened with the jewels still lingered in her mind. Upon meeting with her family, she urgently asked them:

"Have you heard anything about the jewels we hid from Reynald de Chatillon?"

Tobiah, one of her closest servants, nodded gravely.

"This morning, I saw him desperately searching through his drawers. He then rushed off to find Guido de Lusignan. He seemed very upset."

The news left Xica feeling a mix of excitement and fear. She knew the jewels were valuable, and any misstep could be dangerous. Moreover, she vaguely recalled her conversation with King Baldwin IV the previous day, when she was still very ill. She had fallen asleep in the midst of their talk, and the confusion in her memories overwhelmed her. The dream she had, where a prince saved her, now seemed like a distant fantasy. Life hadn't been easy for her, and today she found herself in a place of constant challenges.

As she gazed out of the castle windows, lost in thought, she saw Princess Sibylla approaching with a serious expression.

"Xica, come here," called Sibylla with an unusual sternness.

Xica bowed and approached.

"Princess, how may I serve you?" asked Xica humbly.

"Follow me," ordered Sibylla, leading her to the balcony where they could speak privately.

Once there, Sibylla began questioning her about her relationship with Baldwin.

"What exactly is your relationship with my brother?" asked Sibylla coldly.

Xica, feeling intimidated, responded cautiously.

"My princess, I am just a servant. I have no relationship beyond fulfilling my duties," said Xica, avoiding eye contact.

Sibylla was not satisfied with that answer.

"Is there another man who interests you?" insisted the princess.

Xica shook her head, but dared to ask in return.

"Why do you ask me this, my lady?" inquired Xica, her voice trembling.

Sibylla feigned a smile.

"It's simple curiosity. My brother can't stop mentioning you lately. You've been the topic of conversation for days."

The princess gave Xica a penetrating look.

"I know where you come from, Xica. Do not lie. I want to hear your version."

Xica felt the weight of the world crashing down on her. She couldn't tell the truth without taking a great risk, but lying could also bring trouble. With tears in her eyes, she could only say:

"I am just a simple servant, princess. Nothing more."

Seeing Xica's distress, Sibylla allowed her to withdraw.

"Go, Xica. Carry on with your duties," said Sibylla with a slightly softer tone.

Xica left, feeling completely overwhelmed. Horrible thoughts tormented her, interrupting her daily tasks. She nervously responded to everyone who spoke to her, unable to concentrate.

Night fell, and Xica headed to the king's foot washing ceremony, trembling as she bowed. Baldwin IV immediately noticed that something was wrong. Xica seemed like a shadow of herself, frightened and nervous.

He waited for the washing to finish so he could speak with her.

"Xica, what's troubling you?" asked Baldwin IV, his voice full of concern.

"Nothing, my king. I am fine," replied Xica, trying to sound convincing.

Baldwin, with the free hand not bandaged, gently took Xica's hand, trying to comfort her.

"I can see something is disturbing you. Please, tell me what's happening," said Baldwin with tenderness.

Xica, feeling the warmth of the king's hand, began to cry.

"My lord, I am scared. So many things have happened that I don't understand. Princess Sibylla questioned me today, and I don't know what to think or what to do."

Baldwin gently squeezed Xica's hand.

"Do not fear, Xica. I am here to listen to you. Tell me everything you feel you must say."

Xica, still kneeling on the floor, rested her face on Baldwin's hand, seeking comfort she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Since I recovered from the illness, everything has been so confusing. The jewels, the princess, and… and you, my lord. I am afraid of not knowing whom to trust or which path to follow," confessed Xica, her voice breaking.

Baldwin, sensing the depth of her fears, spoke to her gently.

"Xica, you are strong and brave. You have shown that time and again. You are not alone in this. I promise you that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I will speak with Sibylla and clarify any misunderstandings."

Xica looked up, finding in the king's eyes a sincerity that reassured her.

"Thank you, my lord. I don't know what I would do without your support," said Xica, a mix of gratitude and affection.

Baldwin smiled, gently stroking her cheek.

"I will always be here for you, Xica. You are more than just a servant to me. You are a friend, and perhaps something more," said Baldwin, his voice full of meaning.

Xica felt warmth in her chest, a renewed hope.

"My lord, I…," she began to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.

Baldwin looked at her tenderly.

"You don't have to say anything more. Let time show us the way."

They both remained silent, enjoying each other's company. In that moment, all of Xica's fear and confusion seemed to fade away, if only for a moment.

That same night, after the conversation with Baldwin, Xica felt slightly relieved. However, she knew that the situation with the jewels and the hidden interests in the castle were still dangerous. She decided she must be cautious and stay alert.

The next day, as she carried out her duties, she overheard a conversation between Guido de Lusignan and Reynald de Chatillon. Both men seemed to be in a heated argument about the disappearance of something valuable.

"It can't be! Those jewels are worth a fortune!" shouted Reynald, his face red with anger.

"Keep calm, Reynald. We will find those responsible," replied Guido coldly.

Xica quickly retreated, unseen, her heart racing. She knew she had to find a way to resolve this issue before it escalated out of control.

Determined to protect herself and her family, Xica decided to speak with Godfrey, hoping he could offer some advice. She found Godfrey in his study, reviewing some documents.

"Lord Godfrey, I need to speak with you," said Xica urgently.

Godfrey looked up, noticing the concern in her eyes.

"What's the matter, Xica?" he asked, setting aside the documents.

"It's about Reynald's jewels. I believe we are in grave danger," confessed Xica, her voice trembling slightly.

Godfrey listened attentively, his expression growing increasingly serious.

"We must act cautiously. We cannot allow this to destroy us. Let me think of a plan," said Godfrey, looking at Xica with determination.

The following day, Xica continued with her tasks, but her mind was elsewhere. The conversation with Sibylla and the tension in the castle had her worried. While cleaning the library, she found the old diary her father had left her before he departed. With trembling hands, she opened it and began to read.

That night, as the moon faintly illuminated her room in the castle, Xica was absorbed in the diary left by her father, Emile Par Bertrand. The pages, yellowed with age, held secrets that would change her life forever.

Amongst the poems written with the elegance of a count and the rebellion of a revolutionary, Xica discovered a passage that spoke of "hidden French jewels". Intrigued, she continued reading and found references to her maternal grandmother, whose legacy had been fiercely guarded by her father. Tears filled her eyes as she understood the magnitude of what she held in her hands.

Not only were there poems and noble titles corresponding to her lineage, but also a profound connection with Prince Baldwin III, who shared revolutionary ideals with her father. She remembered fleeting moments of conversations with the prince, years ago, when she was just a curious child.

The discovery left her with a lump in her throat. What did these revelations mean for her future in the Jerusalem castle? How could she use this information to protect her family and herself amidst the intrigues and dangers that loomed?

As she carefully closed the diary, Xica felt a mix of excitement and fear. This knowledge could be her greatest treasure or her downfall. She knew she must be cautious and astute in her actions. The decisions she made now would not only affect her destiny but also that of those she loved.

With the diary still in her hands, Xica looked out the window into the dark night. She knew life in the castle would be even more complicated from this moment on. But she also knew she had a new strength: the wisdom and legacy of her father, which now became her guide in this game of power and secrets.

[adz]

realized today that i was taking four medications that each have warnings about making me dizzy, drowsy, and unable to concentrate and also all interact with one another. perhaps it is no wonder ive been a little out of it

[loadedcanons]

Drabble prompt: Harley goes “bird watching” and takes home a prize!

Harley watched the skyline and waited. "It's not fair, Ive," she vented into her comms. "Batsy has all these robins runnin' around, and we are expected to make do with just ourselves? It's like he's not gonna let us get away with anything," she sighed, before finally spotting someone she was looking for. Red Robin, clearly deep in a sleep-deprivation marathon. He'd be easy pickings. "Ive, heat up those hormones, I've got him in my sights."

It wasn't hard to disable Tim's comms, so he couldn't call for help once it became obvious what she was doing. Harley was at least liked enough by the Bat Family that she could ask him for help and he wouldn't immediately reject her. After that, a simple dose of knockout serum and he was asleep in her arms.

"Hiya Timmy," Harley's voice echoed through the pink room when he woke up. He couldn't see any of his gear, but his head pounded and his body felt... odd.

"Quinn... I thought you were on the straight and narrow now," he spoke, trying to buy time to figure a way out. When he shifted to sit up, he noticed a large dildo in his ass, but it felt good. He had to stifle a moan.

"Eh, never been straight, and I tried narrow when I was in gymnastics, but I prefer the parallel bars," she laughed. As Tim looked down at his body, he noticed a pair of breasts starting to bud underneath his pink nightie. "So, I figure you're wonderin' why I picked ya up, Timmy," her voice kept bouncing around, he couldn't place the speakers.

"Did you finally get bored of being an anti-hero and wanted me to beat you up again? Because I'll oblige." Despite his confident words, Tim couldn't be sure he'd actually win here, his body felt weak and drained. It was now that he realized that, between Harley's words, there was a subtle repeating message. He couldn't focus on it yet.

"I mean, I'm all for foreplay, Bird brain, but no, I wanted my own little sidekick. I'd call ya Punchline, but Mr. J beat me to that name, annoyingly," she groaned in annoyance. As Tim listened harder to the words, they became clear, and his mind became blank. The words were a subliminal hypnotic track intended to make him want to be a girl, want to be fucked with big cocks, suck big cocks, submit to a dominant.

"...re you'll probably be drif... out of focus, unable to... thanks to the words and hor... til you're a good girl for me," were all Tim was able to remember, though he knew that he was losing time in there. Every time he came back, a voice in the back of his head was louder and louder, asking him if it was really worth fighting back.

"You don't need a sidekick, Harley, you're doing just fine on your own," Tim tried to offer, but his will was giving out. Despite the drug induced unconsciousness, his mind hadn't actually rested, and he was having a hard time concentrating.

"Tell you what, Timmy, I'll come in myself, and we can talk it out, how's that?" Harley's voice cut off, leaving just the subliminal hypnosis, making Tim drift off again. The next time he came to, he was sucking Harley's cock and he loved the taste... no, she loved the taste. Tim Drake was done, it was time for a new identity.

Harley Quinn and her new sidekick, Rim Shot, swung up to meet with Batman soon enough. Rim Shot recognized him dimly, as if he was someone she should remember. Rim Shot's outfit was like a fusion of a pink version of Harley's original outfit and a magical girl dress. She'd picked it out herself, between training her body to take the biggest cocks she could and studying how to be a good girl like Harley. Darla Quinn was going to have fun as Harley's sidekick.

[rosemaidenvixen]

October Slumber Party

Ao3

“Sup Jimbo, you ready to party until dawn?”

“Hey Tobes,” Jim shot him a fanged smile, this late in the year he changed early, as he shut the door behind him “You’d be better believe I am,”

Ever since the disaster that was their first attempted group sleepover last May, one thing or another had gotten in the way of the five of them having a sleepover.

Until now at least.

One weekend in late October the stars had finally aligned for the five of them to get together and they sure as heck weren’t going to waste it.

“I brought the goods,” Toby hollered as he stepped into the kitchen “Oysters,” he slung a mesh bag into the sink “And as much candy as I can physically carry, plus a little something else for an extra spooky activity,” 

“You’re the best Tobes,”

Toby winked and shot him fingerguns “And don’t you forget it,”

Jim rolled up his sleeves and reached into the sink “I’ll shuk the oysters, you mind stirring the big pot on the stove?”

“Is that Chef Jimbo’s famous hot cocoa I smell?” Toby asked while stepping up to the stove.

Now it was Jim’s turn to flash him fingerguns “You know it,”

“I’ll take it from here if you want to focus on the oysters,”

“That’d be great, thanks,”

Toby might be the only other person on earth who both knew Jim’s recipe and Jim trusted enough to finish making it.

Grabbing the ladle, Toby gave the big pot a sniff, eyes flicking to the smaller saucepan simmering on the side as he did “What’s this other pot?”

“Oh, that’s not cocoa, that’s for…me,”

He’d been experimenting with making drinks for himself while he was blue, this particular concoction was one of his favorites, but he really didn’t want to explain to Toby that he was drinking apple cider vinegar mixed with garlic juice…among other things.

“Ah, want me to give it a stir every now and again?”

“Sure, thanks,”

Mercifully Toby didn’t ask questions and just stirred both pots.

Twenty minutes later, just after Jim finished the oysters and just before the cocoa reached perfection, there was another knock on the door.

Jim walked over, and after confirming it was Claire, Darci, and Mary at the door, opened it to let them in “Hey guys, come on in, cocoa’s almost done,”

Mary rushed in right away, making a beeline for the TV “Which movie do you want to watch first; Danger House IV, The Demon Queen, or Inheritance?”

“Danger House IV,” Claire said, stepping in after her “That one’s the goriest so we want to watch it before we get full,”

Mary gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and got to work putting the DVD in while Claire and Darci followed Jim into the kitchen.

“I brought sandwiches,” Darci said, patting the side of the cooler slung under her arm “Fresh from my favorite deli,”

“I brought sausage rolls, dipping sauce, and…” Claire pulled a carton out of her bag with a flourish “Pumpkin spice chai concentrate,”

Jim just stared, jaw gaping open, unable to keep the shock off his face.

“Oh my god,” Toby whispered, his expression one of pure horror “You’re one of them,”

Claire fixed him with a glare while to her side Darci let out a heavily disappointed sigh.

“Sorry guys, I tried to stop her, but once Pumpkin Spice hits the shelves it’s too late,” 

A turn of the head and Clair’s steely stare landed on her “Don’t you start.”

“Oh hey is that pumpkin chai?” Mary stepped into the kitchen “I’ll have some,”

“Well the milk’s in the fridge,” Jim said slowly “But you’ll be enjoying that on your own,”

Claire blew a raspberry at him while Darci and Toby laughed. Mary stared daggers at him, not breaking eye contact as she poured the chai and the milk into a glass measuring cup and popped it in the microwave “Well if you’re all finished judging our beverage choices, the movie’s ready so we can–”

“Actually,” Toby cut in “Before we start with the movies there’s a game I want to try,”

Mary arced an eyebrow “What kind of game?”

Ten minutes later they were all sitting on the floor of the upstairs bathroom holding mugs of chai, cocoa, and Jim’s own concoction. The lights were off, curtains shut tight, and every flat surface dotted with glowing candles, filling the room with eerie light.

“Is that…” Darci sniffed “Lavender?”

“Sorry,” Toby set the lighter aside and took a seat on the floor, completing the circle “All of Nana’s candles are scented,” 

Claire leaned forward, hands clasped around her mug “So tell us about this game,”

“I learned about this online, so how it works is we each take turns telling scary stories, and when we’re done we blow out a candle, and keep going until all the candles are out,”

“That’s it?” Mary said “That doesn’t sound too scary,”

“Well I think it sounds fun,” Jim cut in “Let’s give it a shot,”

“I’m game to,” Claire added “But let’s all agree on no phantom hitchhikers, hook hand killers, or ‘The call’s coming from inside the house’,”

“Agreed,”

“Done,”

“Definitely,”

“Hundred percent,”

“Great, I’ll start,” Claire set down her mug and picked up a candle from the counter.

“A long time ago, in a small village in Mexico there lived a young woman, who’s name was lost to time. She was poor but beautiful. Then one day a rich man came to town and saw her beauty, he wooed her with flattery and promises of riches, and the woman was so swept up she left with him. He took her back to his manor and gave her dresses and fine jewels, and in return she gave him two children, a boy and a girl. And for many years they were happy,”

Claire’s voice dropped, holding the candle directly under her chin, highlighting her face in shadow “Then one day the beautiful lady from Spain came to town. She was well cultured, her family old and wealthy, and as soon as the man saw her he forgot about all of his love for the young woman. He threw her and her children out on the streets, proclaiming he didn’t want a loose woman and her bastards tainting his home,”

Without even meaning to Jim found himself leaning forward.

“The young woman begged and pleaded but the man had his servants chase her and her children off. She ran to the edge of town, where the river ran past the road. Confused, terrified, and desperate; she saw her children as the only thing keeping her and the man apart. So in the depths of her despair, she grabbed each of them by the hand, led them along the path, and when they reached the deepest part of the river threw them in. Watching as they struggled and floundered in the cold water until the current swept them out of sight,”

Another pause, candle flames flicking in the silent room.

“Then the young woman made her way back to town,” Claire picked up again “Trying to seek out the man, only to walk in on his wedding to the lady from Spain. As soon as the man saw her he ordered his servants to throw her out again, chasing her out of town and threatening to beat her within an inch of her life if she ever returned. The young woman found herself standing back by the river, and as she stared down at the rushing water, she was hit by the true horror of what she had done. Letting out a wail of despair, the woman threw herself into the river and drowned,”

Claire clasped the candle with both hands “Legends say that the young woman’s restless spirit wanders the shores of all the rivers of the world, searching for her lost children. And if she sees you, she’ll confuse you for her children and drag you to the bottom of the river, forever trying to reclaim what she’s lost,”

With that Claire blew out her candle, setting the smoking wax stump behind her.

For a few beats there was silence, then a wide smile slowly cracked Darci’s face “Dang girl, when did you become such a good storyteller?”

Claire just shrugged, but gave a small pleased smile “Comes with the acting lessons,”

Jim found himself grinning as well. Sure he’d heard the story of La Llorona before, but something about Claire retelling it in a small candle lit room really upped the spook factor.

“I’ll go next,” Darci grabbed a candle and slid it across the tile until it was directly in front of her “A long time ago there was a man locked up in prison for murdering his wife and kids. He was in there for life, he was never going to be released, but he had a plan to escape,”

Darci flickered her gaze around at each of them and then continued “There was one prisoner who was allowed to go outside, old Ben, the oldest there. Every time a prisoner died, old Ben was tasked with going with the warden to take the horse and cart with their coffin out to the small graveyard. The warden would help him dig the hole and lower the coffin in it. Then the warden would head back and leave old Ben to fill in the hole and make his way back to the prison when he was done. The warden allowed old Ben so much freedom because he was well behaved and too old and frail to try to escape,”

“The murderer made friends with old Ben, and they came up with a plan. The next time there was a death the prisoner would sneak into the coffin. Then old Ben and the warden would take them out to the graveyard. Then once the warden left old Ben would let him out before he finished burying the coffin and the murderer would be home free,”

From the side Jim saw Toby edging closer, transfixed.

“Now all they had left to do was wait for a death. It took almost a year, but finally the prisoner heard the tolling of a church bell that let him know someone died. That night he pretended to be sick, and when the guard let him out of his cell he killed him, snuck into the morgue, and crept inside the coffin. It was uncomfortable being stuffed in their with a corpse, but the murderer consoled himself with knowledge of his imminent escape and settled in to wait,”

Darci’s voice was barely above a whisper but Jim had no issue hearing her in the silent bathroom.

“So he waited. Eventually he felt the coffin being moved and pulled along in a cart. Felt the steady clopping of the horse’s hooves. He had to hold himself back from laughing, his escape was so close. After a short ride the cart came to a stop, and the murderer heard the sound of shovels against dirt just outside the coffin. He could barely contain his excitement, freedom was so close he could taste it. Then when he felt the coffin being moved again he knew that any second now old Ben would open the lid and he’d be free he’d be free,”

“But that didn’t happen,” Darci’s voice abruptly jumped up, making Jim start a bit “What happened was the murderer heard and felt a shovelful of dirt being thrown on top of the coffin. At first he didn’t know what to do, but as more and more shovels of dirt were piled on with no one letting him out the murderer started to panic, screaming and shouting for old Ben to let him out. But if anyone could hear him through the layers of dirt they didn’t reply. Desperate, the prisoner pulled a match out of his pocket and lit it. And stared into the dead, gray face of old Ben smushed into the coffin next to him,”

Darci picked up the candle and blew it out with a near silent puff of breath.

No one said anything, the bathroom full of the reverent silence of bated breaths. Then before anyone could laugh or make a joke or do something to break the tension Toby picked up a candle beside him. 

“My turn,” Toby pulled in a deep breath and then began “A long time ago there was a couple that lived on a farm on the edge of a lake. The wife was a hard worker, but the husband was a lazy bastard who spent all his time drinking and gambling in town, and cheating on his wife like the bastard he was,”

A pause as Toby glanced around at them “But the wife was smart, constantly stashing away money so she could ditch her loser husband one day. Then one day the husband’s girlfriend started whispering in his ear about how he should get rid of his wife and steal her stash of money, then he and the girlfriend could live the high life,”

“So that night the husband waited behind the front door for his wife to come in from working, then when she stepped inside he killed her with a single blow with an ax. He threw her body in an old trunk then rowed out to the deepest part of the lake and threw it in,”

Jim stayed still and quiet, listening with rapt attention, all of them did.

“The next day the girlfriend moved in and they started looking for the wife’s stash but they couldn’t find it. As the days went on the farm started falling into disrepair. The wife might have been a hard worker, but the farmer and the girlfriend were lazyasses, and it wasn’t long until they were almost out of food. So then, two weeks after the murder, the husband’s sitting on the porch watching the sun go down, cursing himself for trading a hard working wife for a lazy girlfriend when he sees something out on the lake,”

Toby’s voice lowered to a whisper “He looked out and saw that it was his wife’s corpse, all bloated and rotting, walking along the surface of the lake towards him. So he’s shaking in fear, but when the wife gets up to him she just laughs,”

“‘Don’t worry I’m not after you’ she says ‘I just want that scarlet woman out of my house, poison her coffee tomorrow morning and get rid of her for me and I’ll even tell you where I hid my money’”

“The farmer of course, is scared shitless, but glad his dead wife isn’t after him, and he really wants that money. So the next morning he comes down and sees that the girlfriend has already made coffee and poured him a cup. The second her back is turned he pours rat poison in her cup and the two of them sit down to eat. After a few minutes the farmer feels a sharp pain in his guts, when he starts clutching stomach the girlfriend starts laughing. Saying that his wife came to her and promised to show her where the money was if she got rid of her cheating bastard husband,”

Jim could see Claire leaning closer as Toby continued the tale, transfixed.

“So the farmer totally freaks and says the wife did the same for him, and that her coffee’s poisoned to, and the girlfriend starts to panic along with him. The two of them are sitting there, freaking out and clutching their stomachs and spitting up blood, when the wife’s corpse walks in the doorway. Still bloated and rotten from being at the bottom of the lake, but this close they could both smell the sickly rot of her decaying flesh,”

“She grins at them and says ‘A deal’s a deal’ then the old trunk the farmer dumped her in slides in behind her, the lid pops open and the lining busts apart, revealing money stuffed inside ‘My money is yours to enjoy for the rest of your lives’ then the last thing the farmer and the girlfriend hear is the wife laughing and laughing,”

Toby blew out his candle and set it aside.

For a moment the four of them just stared at Toby in silence.

“Toby that was…” Mary struggled for words “Wow,”

“Thank you thank you, I pride myself on being a man of many talents,”

“So who–”

From out of nowhere bright light blazed through the room, sending all of them shrieking and scrambling around. Candles were knocked over, wax spilling on the tile, screams bounced in Jim’s ears, elbows prodded him and fingers dug into his shoulders as his heels scrabbled against the floor.

Barbara blinked at them with wide eyes from where she was standing in the door frame, finger still hovering above the light switch.

“I’m sorry kids, I didn’t mean to scare you, but what were you all doing in the bathroom with all the lights off?” she glanced around at all the candles, some spilled and some still burning “....and what are all these candles for?”

“We were…telling scary stories,” Toby spoke up.

Now that the adrenaline was fading Jim could regain his bearings. He could see he had shuffled back nearly all the way to the wall. Claire and Darci were pressed into either side of him, Toby was practically sitting in his lap and Mary was huddled behind him peeking over one of his shoulders.

His mom raised an eyebrow “But what do candles have to do with that?”

“It’s part of it,” Jim said “You tell a story and blow out a candle,”

Jim didn’t have the words to describe the expression his mom was making right now. The only other time he’d seen it on her face was when they’d had a really bad drought one summer and he and Toby had tried to use the slip and slide with mayonnaise.

Barbara made to speak again but then sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry I interrupted your game, but I just got off a twelve hour shift and I need the bathroom. I'll give you guys five minutes to pick this up. You can leave the wax and I’ll help you clean it tomorrow,”

Toby bobbed his head “Perfectly reasonable, thanks Dr. Lake,”

She gave a nod back in acknowledgement then backed out of the bathroom.

The five of them alone again, Jim turned and peeked over his shoulder “Were you hiding behind me?”

Mary blinked back unashamed “I was watching your back,”

“Sure you were,”

“Well I’ll always protect you,” Toby stretched out languidly in his lap.

Jim grinned down at him “Thanks Tobes, but I do need to get up now,”

The five of them climbed to their feet, blowing out the remaining candles and wiping up the worst of the wax.

Darci set the smoking stump of a lavender candle down “What do you say we wind down with oysters and Danger House IV?”

“Sounds good to me,”

“Let’s do it,”

“I’m game,”

“Let’s go,”

Jim grinned, following the others out of the bathroom “Hey at this point I’m just glad things are going better than our last sleepover,”

They all laughed at that.

[elwenyere]

No Survivors (Cassian x Melshi), Chapter 2 of 4

Rating: M

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Cassian Andor’s Cooking (I love this tag)

Summary: Cassian and Melshi find each other again, and they figure out what that means.

Author’s Note: Action is set between Andor season one and Rogue One. The fic is drafted, and new chapters will post on Thursdays and Sundays.

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It had been three standard years, two months, and twenty-five days since Melshi had made himself walk away from the man he’d known as Keef Girgo.

Under other circumstances, Melshi might have been able to include the number of hours in his count. But he’d lost some irretrievable amount of time after he left the shore on Niamos, unable to do anything but keep walking in as straight a line as the streets allowed, the muscles in his legs shaking with the effort of refusing to turn around - of resisting the urge to retrace his steps, return to the only person left who would understand why every bump of his battered toes against the canvas of his shoes made the next breath hitch up against his throat, like a frightened animal scrabbling to put something solid at its back.

He hadn’t turned around. He’d kept walking. And the first day he’d woken up with no Keef in sight, Melshi had told himself he wasn’t going to watch that number either.

Objectively, he knew it made even less sense to keep that count than it had to rely on the flat display posted on the door of his cell. At least the shift counts had pretended to mark the time until, to structure the world around something that would arrive.

But by the fifth month of his freedom, when Melshi had finally replaced the slip-ons Keef had snatched for him on the beach and been able to name exactly the number of days he’d worn them, he stopped kidding himself about losing track and let the time he had left arrange itself as it wished.

It was strange, maybe, that as high as the number got, Melshi had never really imagined he’d meet Keef - or Cassian - again, at least not in the flesh. So it was hard to wrap his mind around the quiet shock of looking at him now: not a dream or an end-of-life apparition, but just Cassian, his lips pursed into a frown and his brows knit together in concentration, cooking breakfast in the mess kitchens on Yavin IV in the middle of the night.

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