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evans23 · 6 months ago

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Falling

Pairing : Hans Gruber x Reader OC

Summary : In the remanence of winter, Hans makes an unexpected encounter, which will bring a bit of peace in his chaotic life. Unfortunately, there is no happy ending for a man like him.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Smut. Angst. No happy ending here.

A/N : Enjoy dear reader 😁

Part II

Also read on AO3

It was a chilly afternoon in the middle of Spring in Kensington Park. It was your favorite park, even though you didn't really know why. After all, according to your parents, all the parks in London looked the same, but you disagreed with this assumption.

Also, you were slightly biased as you worked as a saleswoman in the little shop adjacent to the palace. You didn't like your job, but you loved the castle and its history. In fact, your dream was just in front of the park, in the form of a school called Royal College of Art. Unfortunately, after having got your A-level, you didn't succeed in getting a scholarship and your parents were unable to finance your study. Therefore, you started to work for a local McDonald's, and then, you found yourself lucky to get a job in the souvenir shop of the castle, thanks to a relative who ceaselessly reminded you what you owed him as the job was well-paid and not as tedious as your previous one. More than often, the customers, tourists for most of them, were far more agreeable than the ones who frequented the fast food, and you didn't stink of the greasy fries each night when you came back to your cramped apartment.

Also, the uniform was more comfortable and flattering than the horrendous one you had to wear and you could let your curly hair hang down your back without being reprimanded by your boss who was afraid of seeing one of your unruly hairs in the middle of a bag of fries. On the other hand, what should have been temporary had become permanent and while all you're friends were breezing through their plan life, you struggled to keep your own life on track.

That day, you had finished your shift in the early afternoon and as you weren't ready to face the loneliness of your life, all alone in your small apartment with a too expensive rent for so few rooms, you had decided, despite the coldness, to sit on a bench in the Walk of Flower to read one of your favorite book: "Notre Dame de Paris" from Victor Hugo.

You didn't notice the stranger who sat on the bench next to yours. You were too engrossed in your book for that and anyway, the park was well frequented by many people, locals, residents, or tourists for you to really notice them.

However, there weren't too many tourists at this time of the year. It was still too cold and rainy. It will change in less than one month. The park, the street, and the castle would be crowded for six months or more until the winter settled anew, a welcomed calmness around the venue but also in the busyness of your work.

During the summer, you didn't have any time for your hobbies as it was busy as it get at each hour of each day. You often worked more than eight hours a day as you were always willing to help your overworked colleagues either in the shop, the little coffee, or at the reception, diligently searching the bags with your little flashlight, looking for anything suspicious or sharp.

“Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being, and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin,” said the stranger in a thunderous voice and with a perfect French if it hadn’t been for his slight accent.

Startled, you looked up at him. He was tall, his broad shoulders and his black hair adding something quite intimidating to his natural charisma. He also had a hooked nose which was nothing short of engrossing.

"I apologize," he said, now speaking in English, "it wasn't my intention to frighten you..."

"[Y/N]," you said, your voice shaking a little bit.

He chuckled at that. He knew what effect he had on women.

“Nice to meet you, [Y/N]. I am Hans.”

He didn't know why he had given you his real name. Not that he was hiding in London. Actually, he owned a humongous and beautiful property only 30 minutes by car from the park. It was a secure place where he came after a rough mission or when he needed to vanish into thin air for his own sake.

“You're not from here,” you said, having recognized a foreign accent.

“Indeed,” said Hans who got up.

You looked at him from your bench. He was more intimidating up in front of you than before.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the bench where you were comfortably settled.

“Of course,” you answered, moving your bag to make room for him.

“So, you read in French,” he said as a matter of fact.

“I don’t understand everything,” you admitted.

"I believe so, Victor Hugo is a convoluted author, even for a native speaker."

“And where are you from?” you insisted, wanting to know where this delicious accent came from.

He chuckled at your persistence, yet he told you he was from Germany. Hans was able to imitate the British accent perfectly, but he hadn't felt the need to deceive you. You looked quite innocent, and you were. Anyway, how could you have guessed you were talking with a thief, a mobster, a criminal ?

He talked with you the whole afternoon. You understood very quickly that he was an educated man, with a lot of culture and a perspicacity you could envy him for.

As you parted, he kissed the back of your hand like a true gentleman, the one in your romantic books. You didn't know what had got into you to confide so many private things about yourself to a stranger, but talking to him was easy, and there was so much on your heart that you needed to confide. Maybe because you knew he was just a stranger that you would never see again had made things easier. You felt lighter but also disappointed to know that you would never see him again.

But Hans wasn't indifferent to you either. Hans was intrigued by you. He had already noticed you a few days before when you were walking in the streets to reach the metro station. You were wearing your work uniform, that's how he knew that to find you, he had to go for a walk around Kensington Park.

Hans didn't really know what had caught his attention about you. Your face was certainly pleasant to look at but it didn't stand out from the crowd, your stiff gait spoke volumes about the pressure you felt in your life and you had a disillusioned pout that probably didn't make many people want to get to know you.

However, there was something about you that had intrigued him. Enough to want to meet you at least once. He hadn't expected to see you sitting all alone in the Walk of Flowers. Walkers rarely sat for too long, the cold quickly numbing their hands and feet. And yet, there you were, reading your book, a book that Hans had read many times in its original version too.

He had been surprised at how easy it was to talk to you. You were intelligent, not as much as he was, but not everyone could come up with escape plans and high-flying heists, you had wit and a dry sense of humor that he appreciated. You also had that disillusioned look of those who had already seen too much to still be truly surprised by existence. Hans knew this expression well for having experienced it himself.

It was a long time ago when he was a teenager dragged from home to home, separated from his brother, missing a father who died when he was only eight years old, and a loving mother. Their mother to Simon and him was an alcoholic who beat them for yes or no. It was often his big brother who suffered their mother's anger because he was not afraid to defy her or to come between her and his little brother. He remembered a day when his mother who had drunk more than reason and had just been dumped by her umpteenth boyfriend had destroyed the model airplane he was building for no good reason other than to make her son suffer as much as she suffered. She had raised her hand to hit him, but Simon had stepped between him and her, taking the slap instead of Hans.

Hans shook his head as if to make all those bad memories go away. It was a long time ago. When he was just a weak little boy. It was before the army that he had met an important man who was a member of German high society. Thanks to him, after his military service, he had been able to join the university where he had received a solid education in history, foreign languages, economics, and politics. Hans was intelligent and able to absorb thousands of pieces of information in no time. His eidetic memory was a real gift that had allowed him to join the Volksfrei where he had definitely hardened himself. So hardened that his ruthless behavior had earned him being kicked out of the organization.

He had worked as a mercenary for a while after that, but tired of having to answer to other people's orders, Hans had decided to become his own boss by carrying out his own terrorist activities with a group of trusted men in his pay. It had been a long time since the weak little boy had disappeared in favor of the man he was today.

And yet, your presence this afternoon had awakened something vulnerable in him. He wanted to see you again. He was going to see you again. He was going to make you his, whether you wanted it or not.

He thought about it, developing a plan to make you fall into his nets. He wanted to be subtle to give you the impression that you had had a choice. Little did he know that you were already partially won over to his cause. Indeed, the man with the imposing stature, the broad shoulders, and the nose of a Greek god had not left you indifferent.

He returned to Kensington Park two days later, waiting for your service to end. He watched you from afar to see you following the same path as last time to join the Walk of Flowers where you sat on the same bench as last time, another book in your hands.

"Did Victor Hugo get the better of your determination?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

You jumped, which made him chuckle.

"Hans," you said, a hand on your chest, "you scared me."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention."

He sat down next to you without asking your permission, not that you minded.

"So, Victor Hugo?"

"Finished last night."

Hans arched an eyebrow, surprised. You had finished one of the most difficult books in French literature in two days and after admitting that you didn't always understand the formal language of the book.

"Test me if you don't believe me," you had challenged him when you saw the doubt etched on his features.

He didn't need to be asked twice and had to admit that you had read the book, which make you be more surprising and impressive than he thought you were at first glance.

This little game of cat and mouse had lasted several months. Hans could afford it, his last heist, the robbery of a Russian bank, had earned him enough to live on for the next ten years. Of course, he wouldn't sit idly by for the next ten years. He wanted more. Much more. Millions to be able to disappear forever and live the great life he had always dreamed of. Except that now, he wanted you to be part of his dream.

However, how could he involve you in his life without putting you in danger ? And how could you never find out who he really was ?

Some of his men had a woman in their life. One of them was even married and had a child, but was it really a life to have to hide who you really are from the person who shared your bed ?

Of course, Hans had had many women in his arms, but never a woman he wanted to spend more than one night with.

Six months after your first meeting, he had invited you to his secluded house. A large mansion that could have contained your apartment, your parent's house, and your big sister's house all in one. Hans had cooked for you and charmed you a little more with his words that flowed like honey in your ears and his German accent that made you shiver constantly.

A year later, you were an official couple, much to Hans's delight, who for once in his life hadn't had to fight too hard to get what he really wanted. And God may be his witness, he wanted you, loved you and he would never let you go. You lived at his place and while he didn't hide the fact that he was a rich man, you didn't really know where the money came from.

Officially, he had introduced himself as a businessman. But you knew that something wasn't right in what he had told you. The designer clothes he lavished you with and the one he wore every day, the jewelry he showered you with at every opportunity, the luxury cars and the incessant business trips, something didn't add up to what he was telling you.

Yet, he was a passionate lover and even if you had already seen his bad temper surface when something displeased him, with you he was nothing but tenderness and patience. A trait that no one would have granted to Hans. He himself was amazed at how much he could be another man with you. You brought a calm to his life that he had ignored he had needed until now. You were the calm in his tumultuous life as a gangster.

You had tried to question him several times, but each time, he had turned you down, sometimes harshly and you had ended up understanding that what he did for a living was a subject not to be discussed. You were not totally stupid and even if you didn't know exactly what he did to earn all this money with which he flooded you, you assumed that he must be part of the mafia. Or something like that. Something that should have made you run away, but you were already too much in love with Hans, too captivated by his mysterious aura and the danger that surrounded him to be afraid of sharing your life with a mafioso.

The fact that with you, Hans allowed himself to be softer, and more vulnerable, only made him more endearing. Your parents didn't approve of the relationship between you, your mother having immediately had doubts about Hans' intentions. But neither he nor you gave any importance to what others might think. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything else in your life, more than you had wanted to study at a prestigious art school or become the next greatest painter in the United Kingdom. You were hopelessly in love with the mysterious German man who had captured your heart and soul.

Although Hans was less demonstrative in his feelings, he felt the same way about you. You were the calm, the peace, in his hectic life. He found solace in your simple presence. Many times he had told himself that he had to end this union, that he had to push you away, but each time he had tried to do so by being cold and distant with you, your confusion and incomprehension at his sudden coldness towards you had made his heart melting and he had always come back more in love and tender than before, doing his best to be forgiven for his harsh behavior towards you during the day with a crazy and passionate night of love.

Hans wasn't naive, he knew that if he wanted to build something serious with you, he would have to put an end to his activities and disappear with you. At some point, he would have to confess the truth to you even if he was well aware of your suspicions and how close you were to the truth.

It was on September that he had a brilliant idea. An idea that would earn him millions. Enough to ensure a comfortable life for both of you in Fiji or anywhere that would please you. He was going to attack the CEO of Nakatomi Tower. A high-flying theft worth more than $600 million if he and his men played their game well.

But it was not going to be easy and his sharp mind had to prepare the best of plans. He had already worked out dangerous, complicated, risky cases, but this one was the most important of his entire gangster career. When a man steals $600, he can just disappear, but when a man steals $600 million, he knew that the police and secret agencies of the whole world will be after him. Unless they thought he was dead. However, he was no longer alone now and he had to think of you, which made the whole organization of his plan more difficult than usual, even for a gifted person like him.

His brother had warned him that getting emotionally involved with you was dangerous for him, but he had not listened to him, sure of himself as usual. Except that for once, Simon was right. The love he had for you was worse than all the enemies he had faced so far.

"Another departure Hans ? You've already disappeared all of October," you said wearily.

It was the first week of December and he had just told you that he would have to be away until the end of December on business trip.

"Work is work. You're happy to have nice clothes, to parade around in beautiful jewelry, to wear designer perfume, and to live a life of luxury. Without me, you would never have been able to quit this job that made you unhappy and to treat yourself to these art classes that you wanted so much," he pointed out more harshly than he had intended.

But he was tired of your reproaches. It had been the same for a few months every time he had to leave. It was stronger than you. You wanted to know the truth, a truth that he refused to tell you and it hurt you. Yet, you loved him too much to have the courage to leave him.

"If you think I'm with you for the money, then you don't know me very well Hans. Keep your clothes and your jewelry. I never asked you for anything! If you did it, it's because you wanted to!"

"Exactly! The best for you is everything I want and nothing else. We've been together for two years, you're an intelligent woman [Y/N], and you know that this life that I allow you to lead doesn't come without sacrifice."

You didn't answer because somewhere, somewhat, you knew he was right and even though you were frustrated by his unspoken words, you loved enjoying the life of luxury he was lavishing you with.

You sighed, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Hans came closer and took your hands in one of his while the other gently massaged your lower back.

"Mein leibe, I promise you that after that everything will change."

"How?"

"You'll see. In the meantime, don't give me the cold shoulder. I don't want to go to the United States knowing that mein pearl is mad at me. I won't be able to concentrate if I know that you're angry with me," he coaxed you.

"I'm not angry Hans, I'm just... worried and... I'd like you to be completely honest with me."

"Mein leibe..." Hans sighed, "everything will change, I promise, but no more questions for tonight, okay?"

You nodded, still a little frustrated by his silences that separated you more than they brought you closer. Sensing the distance that your disappointment was putting between you, Hans placed a series of kisses along the back of your neck.

"Bitte, mein leibe, bitte, don't be angry with me."

"Hans..."

"Bitte," he whispered in your ear.

You turned your head and he took the opportunity to capture your lips. Very quickly, your kiss turned into a fiery passion. He hoisted you easily and you instinctively hooked your arms around his hips. He led you to the bedroom where he gently laid you down on the bed.

"You can't always get away with a quickie, even if sex with you is better than a pizza from Rudy's," you said jokingly.

"Mein leibe, I'm sure that my cock inside your tight pussy is the best way to have you under my control," Hans whispered with a predatory smile.

You gasped and your breath got caught in your throat. Hans's smile widened even more and with an expert gesture, he removed your t-shirt. You weren't wearing a bra to his great pleasure and he immediately went in search of your chest to suck on one of your nipples. You moaned in pleasure, your hands running under his t-shirt to caress his firm chest.

"Tell me you want me," Hans whispered.

"Hans..." you moaned under his caresses.

"Say it!" he ordered while walking two of his fingers near your entrance, delighting in your pussy swollen with arousal and your wetness that wet his fingers even though they weren't penetrating you.

"I want you, Hans. I need you, I need you inside me," you said breathlessly.

It didn't take much for Hans to help you getting rid of your skirt and stockings. You unbuttoned his pants and he helped you take them off, while with a quick gesture of his hand, he got out of his t-shirt which joined the rest of your clothes on the floor.

He didn't bother with the foreplay, entering you directly. You were already so wet that he had no trouble sinking all the way into your tight pussy, moaning as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

"Your pussy has been made for me, just for me," he whispered in your ear.

"I only exist for you," you replied, biting his earlobe.

He pushed himself deeper into you, the sound of skin meeting skin with each thrust echoing through the room, mingling with your panting breaths and Hans' deep voice whispering words of love to you in both German and English.

"[Y/N], my lovely [Y/N], if you knew what you're doing to me, you and your tight little pussy... HAAA... [Y/N]," he groaned, making you hornier still.

As you reached your climax, Hans pulled out suddenly, making you hiss at the feeling of his cock being lost in your cunt. With a deft gesture, he turned you around and, your stomach pressed against the bed, he pushed in as hard as he had pulled out of your little cunt, tugging gently on your hair while his other hand was on your throat. He thrust faster, again and again until he felt the two of you approaching your climax. He then turned you to the side with one leg between yours and the other above yours, one hand still on your throat, the other cupping your breasts as he continued to thrust into you at a frantic pace.

"Hans, please, don't stop... I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"Come meine leibe... Come, come for me," he whispered in your ear.

It didn't take him more than two thrusts for your orgasm to shake your entire body with pleasure. Feeling your tight walls contract against his cock, Hans was quick to come in turn with an animalistic growl.

He pulled out carefully and you immediately snuggled up against him, finding solace between his arms, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. You quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the passion shared with Hans who stayed awake almost all night watching you while caressing your nipples with his fingertips, taking pleasure in seeing them harden under his caresses.

The next day, you woke up alone with a note on Hans' pillow.

Ich leibe dich. Hans.

Three weeks later

You were in front of the TV watching the Nakatomi Tower attack, tears flooding your eyes when you recognized Hans. In the end, he was not a mafia boss but a gang leader, a gangster, a thief, a criminal. And despite this revelation, your love for him didn't weaken.

You couldn't help but scream when the roof of the tower exploded, leaving the building on fire, and when the journalists announced that all the hostages had gone and the terrorists were out of control by a hothead working for the police. Later, the man named John McClane told reporters that Hans had fallen to his death from the top of Nakatomi Tower.

You fell to the ground screaming before curling up into a ball, sobbing and screaming Hans' name until you fell asleep. The next day, a man came to your house. He introduced himself as Simon and claimed to be Hans' brother. You knew your lover had a brother but he had never told you anything more about him. However, something about this man inspired confidence in you. The same confidence you had had in Hans. He returned the next day with a man with a gaunt and severe face, a lawyer who had papers for you to sign. Hans, afraid of not getting out of this, had prepared everything to ensure your future without him. Considerate, he had left you a fortune that could have benefited you for your next three lives. Except you didn't want a single one of these lives if Hans wasn't by your side.

A year later

Wrapped in a thick coat, a woolen scarf eating your face, you stood in front of a headstone, in the middle of a small, poorly maintained cemetery, in the town with the unpronounceable name of Schkeuditz.

It had taken you a while to make up your mind and come say a last goodbye to him, but the closer the anniversary of his death had got, the more you needed to be close to him, even if he had left you a gift that would allow you to keep him by your side forever and ever.

There was only a first and a last name on the grave. Hans Gruber. No words in his memory, no flowers. Just an unfortunate headstone in the middle of a thousand others. A name among many others, a name that no one would remember in a few years. No one except you, until your own death relieved you of the pain of losing your great love. You would never be able to get over Hans' death, you would never be able to love as you had loved him and you knew that no man would ever be able to offer you what Hans had offered you. You didn't think about the money and the luxurious life you continued to lead thanks to his thoughtfulness, but about his charismatic presence, the strength he gave you with just a look and the unyielding love you shared. The intimate moments that had made you closer than ever and how, even when you had tragically learned who he really was, you had loved him even more.

"[Y/N]," a baritone voice said.

You turned to acknowledge Simon's presence.

"You shouldn't come here."

"It's been a year today. A year since he... Nakatomi Tower... A year," you said, crying.

"I know. But coming here to mope won't bring him back."

"I know," you said through a sob.

"You're not supposed to be associated with him. Ever. Not now that a part of him is alive."

"No one knows he's his," you pointed out right away.

"And no one must ever know. Go home, [Y/N], grieve as much as you need, then start a new life, forget what you went through with Hans, pretend he never existed, and never come back here," Simon said coldly.

You knew Simon was saying that to protect you and the precious passenger waiting for you in the back seat of the car you'd rented to drive here.

"Go get to him before he wakes up and sees you're not here. I don't want my nephew crying. It's Christmas, and on Christmas, he should be the happiest little boy in the world."

You nodded and walked away, but not before kissing the tips of your fingers that you then placed on Hans' grave.

You got into the car and turned to the back seat, smiling fondly, though your smile didn't reach your eyes.

"I promise to be strong for both of us," you whispered so as not to wake the child who was fast asleep in his car seat.

Your heart was broken by the death of the man you had loved more than life itself, but as a testament to your love, he had left you with a good reason to live and fight. An eternal love that would live forever in the heart of your son. His son. Your son.

#alan rickman x reader #alan rickman #hans gruber x reader #hans gruber x oc #die hard #evans23

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spiritedstars · 1 year ago

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Instincts - I [ Elucien ]

Prompt: A lovely anon sent me this: "Could I please request a fic based on elain reading a really sad book where 1 of the characters dies and she's absolutely torn up over it and Lucien sees her sobbing but he doesn't know what to do cause he doesn't get being invested in fictional characters (plss the irony has me ded) like she does, so he just sits with her and follows his mate bond instinct." So I took the idea and ran with it lol. |

This takes place post-ACOSF. | Part II

Lucien had been rooted to his spot in front of her bedroom door for about ten minutes now.

Ten minutes of him listening to her sobbing — sobbing.

He had been invited to stay the night after visiting Feyre and baby Nyx. Exhausted and rather than make the trek back to Jurian and Vassa, Lucien stayed. He stayed knowing he was spending an evening with his mate avoiding him like the plague per usual. But it was alright. He tried not to hold it against her. He let her have her space.

When she excused herself after dinner, Lucien’s eyes followed her as she left the room but with a quiet sigh, he returned to his meal.

“You know she doesn’t actually dislike you, right?” Feyre said with a small wince.

“I know.” Lucien replied, schooling his expression not to show his continuous disappointment. It needn’t be anyone else’s problem but his. “I’m pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house.”

“Now, now Lucien. You are a friend. You’re always welcome.” Rhys said then laughed when Lucien flipped him off.

“As mates, you both know exactly how well I can feel her emotions.” he said, his eyes on his plate. “I know she’s still going through things. So am I. We’ll eventually work through it.”

He didn’t bother to glance at Rhys or Feyre as he also excused himself. What Lucien didn’t add was even though they were both working through it, consistently being around her without properly talking to her left him in a constant state of agony.

But he’d dealt with worse. It would be fine. He’d had his eye carved out. He could handle Elain not wanting to talk to him until she was ready.

It was as Lucien started settling in for the evening that he sensed her distress. He was in his own rooms, upstairs, and on the other side of the house when a surge of emotion washed over him. The book in his hand immediately closed and he was on his feet and out the door before Lucien could stop himself.

The bond had yanked him here, rooting him in front of her room staring and wondering what in the devil was causing her to be this upset.

His face suddenly fell. Was it him being here? She had never reacted this badly to him. If this was how she really felt, he would free her from the bond right here, right now. He would never want to be with someone who fucken sobbed at the idea of being with him. He deserved better than that. So did she.

He’d reject the bond and his own psychological well-being be damned if it freed them both from the misery he was apparently causing her.

But then —

“I’m going to kill her.”

And Lucien straightened at the venomous tone and words very clearly not about him.

Her door suddenly flew open and a rage like he’d never seen before was found on Elain’s tear-stricken face.

“I’m going to kill her.” she repeated and it was as though she hadn’t seen Lucien at all until he cleared his throat.

“I’m unsure who it is you’re referring to, but I would probably rethink your murder plan.” he said gently. “It won’t do much for your soul.”

Finally seeming to realize who stood before her, Elain immediately straightened with a sniffle and wiped at her tears hastily. He watched her in slight amusement as she wrapped her robe further around herself and with a final sniff, looked at him with a stoic expression.

“What are you doing here?”

Lucien pursed his lips at the clipped tone. “I sensed your extreme distress and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he replied dryly. “Seeing as you’re planning a murder, I guess you’re fine.”

Elain scoffed. “Fine. Of course, I’m fine.” she choked out and Lucien raised a brow. “When am I ever not fine?”

Lucien blinked. Interesting. This development was interesting. She was actually talking to him in full sentences. And being snarky.

He gave her a once-over. “We both know you’re not fine. Which is why you avoid me so much because I know the depth of that.”

Elain’s face flushed and her lips went into a thin line. “There’s no need to bring that up.”

“Yes, of course.” he replied immediately, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Because that would mean you’d have to talk to me, and Cauldron forbid that happen.”

Elain blinked at him, surprise flashing across her face as her flush deepened. Lucien’s own face heated at what he’d said but shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he forced down his contempt. He had been two minutes away from rejecting the bond for her. He had to leave her before he said something else that was stupid.

Turning away from her slightly, he waved a hand. “Since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave then.” he said quietly. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Lucien slowly walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists to calm his heart. He had almost reached the end of the hall when her voice called out to him.

“Do you read?”

He froze then turned to her slightly.

She was still standing in her doorway, a book now clenched tightly in her hands and looking at him like — Lucien swallowed. He wouldn’t read into her expression.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to her, his hands in his pockets and when he was one bedroom door away, he stopped to keep a healthy distance between them.

“Yes, I do. I enjoy reading.” he answered. “Do you?”

Elain looked down at the book in her hands and frowned, her lips trembling slightly. “Nesta was always the reader. I enjoyed reading here and there but…” she began and looked up at him. “Now that I seem to have forever to do things, I wanted to start reading more.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Based on the emotional breakdown you were having, I would wager you didn’t enjoy that particular read.”

Elain watched him quietly and Lucien tried not to read into the whirlwind of emotions seeming to charge out of her, especially when her lips trembled again, and her eyes started watering.

“He dies!” she blurted in a wheeze. “Six books! I've been reading this series for six books and after everything they’ve been through! Everything that has happened! They’re barely happy for two chapters and then he dies!”

Lucien blinked as she started crying. Or rather, tried not to cry as she sniffled and then sobbed.

“Oh.” he said stupidly and as understanding washed over him, his lips twitched.

“What’s the point? What’s the point if they’re not happily together in the end?!” she continued, her rant clearly not over as she angrily wiped away tears still streaming. “I’ve been rooting for them for six books! His death has no meaning!”

“Was it an important character?” he asked and the fury in her eyes almost made him take a step back.

“He was one of the main characters and the main love interest!” she growled. “I have been waiting for them to have their happily ever after for six books!”

He prayed to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t laugh.

“I see.” was all he could manage. “He was a favorite character of yours then?”

“He was the best.” she said with a small whine and quickly sniffled, glaring down at the book in question. “He was kind and loyal and he loved her so much! He was her perfect match.”

Lucien paused and the way she had said the words ‘perfect match’ erased his urge to laugh. Elain had clearly been committed to this fictional relationship. Should he...pat her on the back? It wasn’t like he could give her a hug. How does one mourn the loss of a fictional character?

“Well.” he finally said carefully. “The death was definitely done for shock value then.”

“Which is the stupidest reason to kill a character!” she snarled, and Lucien blinked rapidly, trying desperately not to let his amusement show.

“I agree but I mostly read nonfiction, so this is an uncharted territory of investment for me.”

“Nonfiction?” Elain said with a blink then sniffled. “That seems so boring.”

Lucien’s ears heated. “Nonfiction books are the easiest way to educate yourself on things. There’s nothing boring about that.” he said defensively. “Funny enough, some would say gardening is boring and you’ve invested all your time in that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the look not really having the desired effect with the tear streaks on her face. “Don’t you go there.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Those gardening books you have count as nonfiction, you know.” he said with a snort and she squinted at him.

“Fair point, I guess.” she mumbled, and he watched as she glared at the book clenched tightly in her hands again. A moment of tense silence passed then Elain added, “I hate this thing. If I find the author, I will kill them.”

“I’d offer to burn it for you, but it seems the emotional damage has already been done.” he said, a small smile finding its way to his face as Elain continued to glare at the book. “May I ask, who suggested this series to you?”

And Elain glanced up, tear-stricken face furious. “Nesta.”

“Ah. So that’s who you planned to murder then?”

“Yes.”

And Lucien really couldn’t stop his smile from widening in amusement. “Might I also ask, how do you plan to do that?” he asked and her gaze snapped to his. “I’m only asking so when they question me, I have an alibi ready.”

Elain sniffled, wiping at her face but a ghost of a smile tugged on her own lips. “People underestimate gardening tools, but they hurt if you know where to strike.”

Lucien’s brow went up and then a quiet laugh slipped from his lips. “Unexpected answer but seemingly very you.”

Elain looked down at the book in her hand again. “And how do you know what I am or not?” she asked quietly.

“I’m very observant.”

A heartbeat of silence passed between them before Elain finally said, “Too observant.”

Lucien only shrugged, his heart going at an erratic rhythm. Their conversation had gone on longer than he had anticipated, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk spooking her. It was a strange dance between them. He wasn’t sure what tone it would take next.

But Elain surprised him once more. She frowned then without warning, stepped out of her doorway and whirled the book with all her might down the hall. It landed with a soft thud on the other side of the house.

Lucien blinked, eyeing how much closer she stood to him now.

“I’ll grab it tomorrow. I can’t stand it being in my room.” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m going to beat Nesta over the head with it in the morning.”

Lucien’s lip twitched again. “I would support that plan as it would be a better one than murdering your own sister.”

Elain snorted. “After letting me get invested for six books only to have the main love interest die in the end?” she said, her eyes flashing. “She’s lucky I won’t.”

Lucien gave her a teasing smile. “As terrible as it is to say this, I’d pay good money to see you whack Nesta with a book.”

“I know she’s faster and stronger than me, but I’ll at least get one hit in.” she said, determination in her eyes. “The element of surprise will help.”

“I’ll cheer you on.” he said with a chuckle. “But also have Madja on call just in case.”

Elain looked at him curiously, a small smile on her face. “That doesn’t sound incredibly supportive.”

“If you’d like the fight to be fair, you’d probably need to train just a little.”

“I don’t want to be a fighter.” she snapped immediately, and Lucien’s brows shot up.

“I know.” he said simply. “Basic self-defense doesn’t require you to become a warrior.”

She glanced at him and her lips went into a thin line. “We’ve barely spoken in two years. How could you know that I don’t want to be a fighter when both of my sisters are? Why would I be different?”

“Because you are not your sisters. And again, I’m observant.” he replied curtly, and the familiar contempt flared up. “The only reason we haven’t spoken much in two years is because you don’t want to. I’ve respected that decision.”

The fight in her vanished at his response and instead, Elain shot him a slightly annoyed look. She crossed her arms again and the two stood there, in awkward silence. After a moment, she spoke.

“So what, you’d be willing to teach me basic self-defense?” she asked and Lucien quirked a brow.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to do that.” he replied, crossing his own arms.

Elain assessed him and Lucien allowed it. It had been a long time since she’d stood before him and actually looked him in the eye.

But Elain ended up shaking her head and Lucien watched her expression shut down. “They’d just laugh at me if I suggested it.”

Lucien’s expression softened. “No one will laugh at you. I’m sure they’d love for you to learn to defend yourself.”

But Elain shook her head again and sighed. “I can’t win. I’m mocked for wanting a quiet life and then shut down if I try to take chances.” she said quietly.

Lucien’s hands dropped to his sides and his fists clenched. “I will tell you this once so please listen,” he began, and Elain’s brows furrowed. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to make changes to your life. You get to decide that and then just do it.”

Elain glanced at him. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, what do you want, Elain?” he asked and watched as her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment when her name slipped from his lips. His fists clenched again at his sides.

“What do I want?” she repeated, eyes still closed.

“Other than your favorite fictional character to have survived the series?” he said and smiled softly as a small smile emerged on her face.

“I want —” she began, eyes still closed, expression focused. “I want so many things.”

“Like what?” he asked softly, taking the time to memorize every inch of her face.

“I want to train a little. I want to travel. I want — I want to get to know you without everyone’s involvement.” she said quickly. “I want my choices to matter in everything.”

His heart started racing and when Elain opened her eyes, the flush in her cheeks matched Lucien’s, who could only stare at her with a barely managed intensity.

It took Lucien a few moments to find his voice again. “I’m not going to coddle you.” he said firmly. “If there is something you want to do, you can do it. You don't need my support to do anything but you will have it.”

Elain took a breath, her eyes scanning his face. “Good.”

“Great.” he agreed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Without everyone’s involvement huh?”

Elain flushed. “You’re a mystery to me and everyone has opinions. I’d like to form my own.” she said then quickly added. “With zero expectations between us. Whatever happens will happen.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “Whatever happens will happen.” he repeated then gave her a small smile. “As soon as you’re done mourning your loss, we can begin. My condolences by the way.”

With an eye roll, Elain huffed a small laugh. “Oh, shut up.”

And Lucien smirked. “You’ll have to talk to me much more when we train, you are aware of that, yes?”

“Push your luck with your teasing, I dare you.”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “Don’t tempt me, I barely started.”

Elain fought back a smile then looked away from him with a sigh, curling a hair behind her ear, “For training,” she started, licking her lips. “Will...I need pants? Because I don’t have those.”

And every thought seemed to slip out of Lucien’s mind at the statement. The sheer innocence in it. The self-consciousness. She had no idea Lucien was barely holding on to his sanity as is.

He swallowed. “I’m sure Feyre can help you buy some training pants.”

“No!” she said immediately then flushed at his expression. “I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Lucien chuckled. “Buying pants is a very normal thing, Elain. You shouldn’t be this worried.”

She bit her lip and Lucien had to look anywhere else until she very quietly asked, “Will you go with me then?”

He blinked at her, then swallowed. “To — to buy pants?”

“You said we haven’t talked because I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready.” she said and looked him in the eye. “I want to change that. Shopping allows some of the best conversations.”

He tilted his head, taking in the question and the challenge in her eyes. With a small smile, Lucien nodded. “Shopping it is.”

“Good. We can go tomorrow.”

“So demanding.”

“I’m making decisions.” she said with a firm nod, a small smile gracing her face.

“I can work with that.”

They watched each other for a few moments in silence before Elain finally looked away shyly again, making her way back to her bedroom door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow.” he confirmed with a nod. “I’ll even grab the book that shall not be named and hang on to it for safekeeping for you.”

Elain laughed softly. “Thank you.” she said then added quietly, “And thank you for checking on me. Even when you didn’t have to.”

He waved her off with a good-natured smile. “I was only following my instincts. It brought me to the right place.”

It brought me to you, is what he wanted to say but held back. They balanced a delicate line and Lucien didn’t want to burden her. But the small smile on Elain’s face as she waved goodnight and gently closed her bedroom door gave him the impression she heard it anyway.

Feeling lighter than he had in quite some time, Lucien made his way back to his room, stopping only to pick up the now-cursed book and taking it back with him. Closing his bedroom door behind him and leaning against it, Lucien realized then, he only had a few hours to mentally prepare himself to see Elain in pants for the first time.

Gods above, he was barely going to survive it.

#elucien #elucien fanfics #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar fanfiction #I present to you: two idiots who don't know how to emotion around each other #Cue Lucien finally going back to Jurian and Vassa and just melting onto the couch #Lucien hoarsely: she wore pants for the first time #Jurian and Vassa: ?????#Lucien in a panic: PANTS. SHE TRIED ON SO MANY #Jurian just laughing himself to death.#Vassa trying to get him to tell what he said so can assess his flirting #fic: instincts #gfics

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esshetic · 8 months ago

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June Bloom

As I pen this down from my cozy hotel room, perched with a mesmerizing view of the vast Atlantic Ocean, in the heart of Agadir, Morocco, I am consumed by the undeniable energy that this June's astrological transits bring with them.

The energy and intuitive guidance that this month's celestial movements bring are far removed from the traditional psychic or paranoia-ridden predictions that old patterns might suggest. Instead, they are firmly rooted in the present, in the reality that is here and now. I encourage you to take a step back at the beginning of this week, take stock of your situation, and ask yourself some important questions - is there something missing in your life? Or is it all just a perception and there is nothing actually missing? Are you content and happy with the way things are? If not, why? If yes, can you come to terms with this status quo and permit it to change, if need be?

Welcome to June - a month that is teeming with activities, much to the delight of Gemini. This month, you might feel overwhelmed, as if you're juggling an unimaginable number of things all at once. Yes, it does seem like it’s nonstop for the majority of the Gemini season and you wouldn't be wrong in feeling so. The calm only descends after the summer solstice, when the sun transitions into Cancer. The Cancer season, by the way, carries with it a unique charm, but for now, let's stay centered on navigating the rest of the Gemini season in June.

The energy during this time is too dynamic and volatile to be confined to a single viewpoint or approach. I perceive the Gemini season as a fast-flowing stream that bubbles and rushes, making it nearly impossible to grasp what's happening in its entirety. There are countless narratives, perspectives, and situations unfolding simultaneously, making it arduous to pinpoint and capture them. It's more about being malleable and adaptable to what is, rather than trying to predict, and even more critically, control the future.

Embrace the spirit of the chameleon.

Remember that opinions are not set in stone and are bound to change. Gemini, often deemed wishy-washy, thrives in the gray area, effortlessly seeing both sides of the coin and camouflaging into one side depending on the situation at hand. It is about understanding every point of view in any given situation. Do not let the constant flux and changing faces drive you to the brink of madness.

The new moon in Gemini on the 6th of June brings with it a certain madness. Why does the energy building up to this new moon feel like a full moon culmination?

The humble dandelion is a symbol of hope. I have a tradition of selecting a photo that resonates with the season for me, and this time, I chose my tranquil view and an image of a dandelion, which rings true as a beacon of hope. Despite all the chaos and madness that currently engulfs the world, the dandelion stands as a reminder that there is always hope for a brighter, better future.

For the Sings

Gemini, June will be a significant time for you where your voice will matter, and your presence will not be overlooked. You will not only be seen but also heard.

Cancer, for you, June will be a month where worries are put aside, providing you with a chance to relax and enjoy the summer's warmth.

Leo, your June will be filled with strategic planning and preparation. This is a perfect time for you to get ready for future endeavors.

Virgo, June might be a bit of a worry for you, as you might find yourself dissatisfied with the outcomes. However, remember that not all results are final.

Libra, June will feel like a victory parade for you. The stress you've been carrying will lift off your shoulders, leaving you feeling lighter and happier.

Scorpio, brace yourself, as June might be a bit hectic for you. It might feel like you're fighting for your life, but remember that challenging times often bring the best out in people.

Sagittarius, for you, June will be a time to reflect and relax, offering a perfect balance between introspection and leisure.

Capricorn, June will open new doors for you, providing opportunities for you to move forward with big ideas and strategies. Be open to new ventures.

Aquarius, your June will be a mix of emotions - sometimes sad, sometimes mad, sometimes bad, but overall, you will find reasons to be glad.

Pisces, June might be a bit of a juggle for you, especially when it comes to managing your love life. Remember, you are in demand and loved by many.

Aries, June might seem hard and filled with grief spirals for you, but remember, when you hit rock bottom, the only way is up.

Taurus, June will feel like a victory parade for you, with rewards and recognition coming your way.

Remember, this is just a quick intuitive guidance. If it does not fully resonate with you, that's completely okay!

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 7 months ago

Text

The Glass Merchant Part Seven

Masterlist

Part Six

Contains: Fluff, smut.

3.1K words

At last

It was the music bleeding into the house that told Kai Minna had returned. Despite the fact that he was only half ready, he still raced downstairs, hairbrush still in hand to greet her. He made it out of the stairway before the sight of her stopped him in his tracks. Her dress was a beautiful, rich, dark green, going all the way down to the floor, with a full skirt. The whole thing simmered with gold specks and delicate golden vines extenuated her curves and well defined arm muscles.

She grinned when she saw his face holding her skirt and spinning to reveal how low the back was. "Do you like it?" He was stunned to silence, his eyes landing on her long corkscrew curls up in an intricate bun that was full of flowers and her gold eye makeup. "Kai, what do you think?"

He finally recovered, placing the brush down and swaggering over to her as he extended his hands before placing them on her tule covered shoulders. "You look like a dream."

He gestured behind him towards the bedroom. "I'm almost done." He certainly wasn't underdressed, the outfit she had provided him for the night was an excellently fitted dress shirt and a pair of trousers similar to the ones he wore the night they went to the Flower and Stone, but she looked like something else entirely.

She smiled and waved towards the couch. "Let me." He sat on the floor while she grabbed the brush, sitting down with him between her legs as he started to brush his hair.

She was careful, beginning at the ends and working all the way to the roots until she had brushed it smooth. He leaned into her hands, enjoying each gentle touch as she ran the brush through. "You spoil me."

She sighed. "My mother used to do this for a father all the time." She paused to laugh to herself. "His was much shorter, he could just never get it to fall right. That one hair that always stuck up used to piss her off to no end."

She began to braid it until she could place it into a bun in the style of the Hydromoran warriors he had seen in the history books, and he smiled as she directed him to a mirror. "Fucken'll that looks great."

She chuckled and shook her head before extending her hand. "Are you ready to go?"

He took her arm, looping it in his as he smiled. "You bet I am."

They walked out the door and towards the sound of music and the brightness of coloured lights sparkling in the distance, making their way to the community hall just as the festivities began. He looked around at everything, in the dying light of the late afternoon, it looked so different to what he had helped set up only hours before. The tiny lights Minna had spent hours making looked like stars as they twinkled on the ceiling and the hodgepodge of leaves and plants people had collected from their gardens had come together to create a vibrant greenness that was as close to the forest as one could get while the skies were nothing but grey.

"Wow."

She smiled brightly and pulled him in close. "I know right, we all did a pretty good job."

The war seemed so far away now it was like a distant memory, and the smiles of the people as they saw them felt like a warm welcome home. "Ay, that we did."

It was that laughter that did it, the air filled with joy as people ate and danced and talked, and Kai didn't know whether to laugh or smile or spin around the room with Minna in hand until the world word went blurry. There came a moment, when she was dancing with one her neighbours, a smile on her face so luminous it could have put the sun to shame, and his world went topsy turvy, up on its axis like he had just flown his ship into an asteroid belt that he realised he was in love, that nothing in the world could match up to the way he felt when the music change and he knew it was time.

He walked up to her, unable to find it in himself to swagger due to the weight of his feelings holding down his legs, and he stretched out his hand. "Dance with me?"

Her eyes twinkled, and she took his hand. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that all night."

He linked one hand with hers and placed the other on her hip as they began to dance the steps they had spent so many hours practising. He could do it by muscle memory, so he put all his focus on gazing down at her as people joined them. "Have I told you look beautiful tonight?"

She nodded. "Yes, mutiple times. Once when we were back at the house, then when I was stuffing my face with fried bark leaves, and again when I almost ate shit, tripping over my own feet and just then."

He grinned. "Well I'll make sure you hear it again before the night ends."

The music built, and he grinned as he shifted his hands to lift her while her hands found his shoulders. Her feet left the ground, and a handful of curls fell around her face as she looked down at him. The second her feet were back on the ground, he found himself unable to stop himself from kissing her, a hand laid gently on her cheek as the world around them faded to nothing when their lips touched.

"Do you wanna head back home?"

Her voice had a hint of something to it that sparked excitement in him. "Ay. To be honest, my feet are kinda sore, and it's only a matter of time before I miss a step and embarrass myself."

She smiled and took his hand, practically running out the door with him in tow. Everyone was too busy enjoying themselves to notice the expression on Kai's face, but Minna seemed to feel his eyes on her and waited until they were out of sight to him into a kiss.

He kissed her until he felt her teeth in his lower lip, then pulled back with a smirk. "Eager are we?"

She placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Yes and I'm sick of waiting so you better get your ass back to the house before I rip your clothes off and fuck right here on the main pathway."

He fought back a smile and leaned down, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "Well we can't have that." He placed his hand on her lower back, the warmth of his palm bleeding through her dress and gestured towards the house. "Led the way Love."

It was a trip filled with little stops to kiss, and she opened the door and walked in backwards with her lips on his. They kicked off their shoes in a burst of laughter Minna tripped over her dress in a rush to pull Kai further into the house. He grabbed her and pulled her into him, both still laughing while they kissed in the middle of the room.

Between giggles and grasping hands, she paused, and the air shifted to something slower as she gazed into his eyes. "I love you."

He kissed her, his chest filling with warmth. "Say it again."

"I love you Kai."

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her into the air and spinning her around in elation. "I love you, I love you, I love. Oh Minna, you have no idea how much."

He put her hand, and her hands held his face as he kissed her again. She pulled away with a smile, picking up her skirt and racing up the stairs with him following hot on her heels. He let her reach the bedroom, grabbing her and pulling her towards him just before she could drive over the bed. "You cheeky little brat."

He reached up and removed the flowery clasp, holding her hair up, watching with joy as her curls fell over her shoulders. Her fingers popped each of his shirt buttons free, and she pushed it off his shoulders, licking her lips at the sight of his firm, muscled chest. "See something you like?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do." She ran her fingers along the scars doting his torso, slowly making her way downward to cup the bludge growing in his pants. He took in a shuddering breath, his eyes drifting shut as she repeated the same fingertip brushing on his covered cock.

He stopped her before he could lose himself in the sensations and ran his hand up and down her back. "How do I get this off you?"

She smiled and spun, pointing towards a well hidden zip in the skirt. His lips landed on the back of her neck while she pulled her arms from the sleeves, and as the fabric loosened, he shoved the skirt all the way off, and she stepped out of it. She was left in nothing but a pair of underpants, and he felt his blood grow hot as she spun back around to face him. The light in the bedroom was gentle but enough that he could see all of her in detail. He didn't know where to touch first, so he settled for a kiss, moaning into it as she unzipped his pants and shoved them down his legs before he kicked them away.

One hand slid from his cheek down his body, stopping to graze the odd scar until it wrapped around his hard cock. He bit her lower lip as she rubbed her thumb across the tip, gathering precum to slick her strokes. He pulled away, grinning as he gripped the lace covering the last bit of skin and ripped. The fabric came apart with ease, and she gasped sharply when his fingers slowly explored her. Her head fell back, and he used the space to his full advantage, kissing her neck as she angled her knees outwards to make more room for his hand.

The hand on his cock had slowed in her enjoyment, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, and he pulled his hand away, much to her protest. He cut her off with a kiss before she could complain, licking his lips at her heaving chest. "How about we take this to the bed before your knees buckle?"

It only took one backward step for them to reach the edge of the bed, and she pulled him on top of her while he kissed her breathless. His hand returned to her flesh, his rings cold on her skin as he ran it up her thigh to her core. She spread her legs, and he smirked as she looked at him with lust filled eyes. "Touch me, please."

"You don't need to tell me twice." His fingers were more insistent this time, gathering the ample wetness from her entrance and then rubbing her clit gently to gauge her reactions. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes went glassy. "Like that?"

Her breath jerked in her chest, and she nodded. "Yes."

He couldn't decide whether to kiss her again or watch pleasure fill her expression, but she picked for him, lifting her head from the pillows to steal a kiss while he circled her entrance with two fingers. He swallowed her moans as he slid them inside her, and she gripped the sheets as his thumb found her clit. "That feel good, Love?"

Her words caught in her throat halfway into her reply when he crooked his fingers to run her G-spot with his rough fingertips. He started to move his hand more, getting into a rhythm as her muscles began to twitch. Their kisses grew more desperate, a mix of teeth and tongue and frantic affection while he focused on each gasp and broken utterance of his name. He could tell she was getting closer by the way the moans were changing into whimpers and the heaving of her chest, and he moved his lips to her neck to suck a mark into her flesh as he worked her ever closer.

She felt like she was on fire, like every nerve in her body was ablaze with each pass of his skilled fingers. She could feel his smile as his lips and teeth connected with her neck, and there was something about the juxtaposition between his soft, plump lips and the roughness of his beard that confused her brain enough to make the pleasure filling her feel perfectly floaty. She could feel herself teetering, and by the immaculate pressure of his thumb on her clit he knew it too. It was the desperation in his voice as he whispered his desire filled thoughts into her ear that did it, and her whole body jerked as he sent her over the edge.

There was something about the way she was clenching around his fingers that made his heart catch, the mix of ego and satisfaction at a job well down spurring him on as her breathing slowed. He pulled his fingers away, sucking them into his mouth as they made sluggish eye contact. "By the Gods that was something."

He chuckled and settled between her legs, kissing her softly. "Yeah, you ain't seen nothing yet."

They kissed for a few moments longer, each pass of their lips building in intensity until he was moving his hands between their bodies to grab his cock. He was just about to move forward when he felt a hand on his chest. "Is everything alright Love? We can stop here if you want too."

She shook her head. "Everything's fine." She swallowed and he moved his hand away, using it to hold himself up as he looked over her face for any signs of distress. "I just need to know that you're not going anywhere."

He smiled softly, dropping his face to rub her nose with his. "I'm here to stay, don't worry."

She smiled and kissed him, pecking his face over and over again until she reached his lips. "Then you may proceed."

He did as she asked, gripping his cock and rubbing it up and down her slit before sliding inside her slowly while he pressed his cheek to hers. She wrapped her arms around his body and pulled him tight to her, trying to focus on the weight of his body as she adjusted to his ample size. He stayed still, waiting for her ok as he tried to gather his compsure. She was tight and warm and so wet and he felt like his head had been shoved into a butter churn as she dug her nails into his bicep and spoke. "Move, please."

He started slow, rocking his hips as he placed his weight on his elbows to gain the best leverage. Minna pulled his top knot free and wove her hands into his hand, bringing his lips to hers as she started to buck her hips. She moved her leg further up his body, opening herself up more as his thrusts picked up speed and force. She gasped, she could feel every ridge and detail of his cock as it pushed into her and she shoved a hand between their bodies to run her clit while he angeled his hips to rub her G-spot with each pass. "Harder."

She was going to kill him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." His concern only made things worse and it was getting hard to think as he fulfilled her request and drove into her with force. With each thrust, her body grew tighter and she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the planet as heat once again rose in her core. "Kai, please."

He fought the urge to tease, to ask her what she was pleading about because he knew. He could tell by the quickness of her breath and the way his self-control was slipping as she tightened around him what she needed and he found himself unable to deny her. "I'll give you whatever you want."

She didn't moan when it happened, it was like it was so strong she couldn't, but he let out a feral grunt as she clenched violently and her back bowed off the bed. He barely managed to keep command of himself, slowing to regain focus so he didn't end things earlier than he wanted. When he picked up the pace again it was slow, mindful that she was still shaking through the aftershock. She was relaxed against the bed, her hand shifting her from clit to hold his waist as he ground his hips into her. He popped up, moving one hand up the bed to brush sweat stuck hair from her face as he maintained the lesssurely thrusts. "You good Love?" She nodded. "You think you can give me one more?"

She could hear the brass in his tone, he was all ego and pride as he rocked his hips while waiting for her reply. "Yes."

He grinned, picking up the speed and moving all his weight onto one arm so he could rub her clit in fast circles. He paid no mind to her whine that sounded half needy and half overstimulated. "Come on Love you can do it."

She did her best to manage a glare, but it failed as she was pulled into the undertow of another orgasm, and she pulled him right down with him, his lips stuttering and losing their rhythm as he pulsed inside her. He collapsed on top of her, their breath moving in tandem as they recovered. He rested his forehead on hers as they held onto each other. "What do you need pretty girl?" His voice was rough and his muscles were sore but he was ready to cut his heart out of his chest and present it to her on a platter if that's what she wanted.

"Nothing." She giggled and smoothed his messy hair. "Maybe a bath."

He smiled, holding her hip as he slipped his softening cock from her. "I can run you a bath as long as I can join you."

She brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Of course." She looked at him so dreamly and a warmth spread from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. "I meant what I said when I told you I love you."

He kissed her, unwilling to part from her get up and follow through with her request for a bath. "I know, I meant it too Minna."

Epilogue

@rayslittlekitten @laurfilijames @red-orchid @videnoirfics

#rebel moon #rebel moon part one a child of fire #fix it fic #kai rebel moon #kai rebel moon/ofc #Kai rebel moon/original female character #the glass merchant #charlie hunnam

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surrenderingintotheone · 9 months ago

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I’m leaving this place

And my heart is so open I feel so much

I’m gonna miss them so much

Everything about this place, about this life, about my roots

My ancestors right here with me

Seeing my linage in front of my face

It’s so powerful

I know I had to cóme back here for so much work

And so much remeberance of my roots and my truth

I know where I came from I know my linage I know my blood

I know our truth and the wisdom and power of my DNA

I came to purify my DNA

I came back to remember who I am

I lost who I was for a moment, being involved in everyone eles es life’s and dreams

And I had to come back home to remember who I am

I now I remember

And nobody can come shake me off what I know I AM

I come from a linage of deep powerful knowledge and wisdom

I know who I am

And I am ready to go out and share that light and wisdom to the world

I go where my heart takes me

God is with me always

I remember the truth and the truth sets me free

YO SOY

A new form of existence has come

I have to retreat in order to welcome this new chapter of my life

I am so blessed

I am so privileged

I have an amazing support system

I have so much love in my life is amazing

I couldn’t be more grateful

Thank you thank you thank you

I love you my Lord Krsna

Thank you from reminding me the truth

Everything is for you

#mine #me #love #cute #yogini #yogi #hippie #420community #grunge #gratitude #girl #truth is #my truth #journal #writers on tumblr #my life #ask me anything

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xxenia14 · 2 years ago

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Inspiring rise

Summary: y/n being one of barça‘s photographers but one faithful training session changed everything.

Story written by AI/ChatGPT because I am the most uncreative person on this planet 🤣 don‘t like ChatGPT written stories, don‘t read it. Hate messages and name calling is unnecessary!

Y/n was ecstatic when she received the news that she had been selected to join FC Barcelona's media team. It was a dream come true for her, as she had always been passionate about both football and photography. She knew that this opportunity would allow her to combine her two loves in a way she had never imagined before.

As the newest member of the media team, Y/n's main responsibility was to capture moments during the training sessions. She would often find herself standing on the sidelines, camera in hand, capturing the intensity and skill of the players. While she loved her job, there was a small part of her that yearned to be out on the field, playing alongside these incredible athletes.

Y/n had grown up playing amateur football in her tiny town in Spain. She had always dreamed of making it to the professional level, but being from a small community, she never had the opportunity. Football had remained a beloved hobby, and she poured her heart into it every chance she got.

One sunny day during a particularly lively training session, Y/n's attention was caught by two players, Alejandro Balde and Pablo Torre. The duo was engaged in a friendly competition, shooting long passes to each other during the water break. Y/n marveled at their technique and precision getting closer to them while capturing their every move through her lens.

Suddenly, Pablo became distracted by Ferran shouting for him from across the field. He turned his head at the wrong moment, completely missing the ball that was headed his way. Y/n, who had been paying close attention, instinctively reacted. In a split second, she reached out and skillfully plucked the ball from the air and sending it back precisely to where Alejandro was standing.

Balde and Torre were stunned by Y/n's reflexes and ball control. Little did they know, someone else had witnessed the entire scene unfold.

Xavi Hernandez, a legend of Barcelona's men's team and now being their coach, had been observing the training session from the sidelines. He was impressed by Y/n's ability. After the session, he approached the Barcelona Femení trainer and inquired about Y/n's possibilities for a trial with them.

The trainer, intrigued by Xavi's interest, decided to give Y/n an opportunity to showcase her skills. She was invited to a trial with the Barcelona Femení team, the renowned women's team associated with FC Barcelona. Nervous but determined, Y/n stepped onto the pitch, ready to prove herself.

To everyone's amazement, Y/n aced her trial with ease. Her passion, skill, and dedication were evident in every move she made. She seamlessly integrated with the team, showcasing her abilities as a versatile and talented player. The Barcelona Femení players welcomed her with open arms, recognizing her as a valuable addition to their squad.

Word spread throughout the club about Y/n's success. A few started attending the women's team's training sessions when they had time, eager to see Y/n in action. They were astounded by the level of play she achieved in such a short time. Y/n had become more than just a teammate to all of them; she was an inspiration.

As Y/n continued to grow and excel within the Barcelona Femení team, she never forgot her roots. She cherished the support she received from her fellow players and the entire club. The women's team became her second family, and together, they set out to conquer new heights in women's football.

Y/n's journey from a small town in Spain to the professional ranks of FC Barcelona was a testament to the power of determination and talent. She had defied the odds and shattered barriers, proving that dreams can come true with hard work and a little bit of luck. And as she stood on the pitch, wearing the famous Barcelona jersey, Y/n knew that her journey had only just begun.

#fc barca #fc barcelona #alejandro balde #balde #pablo torre #ferran torres #xavi hernandez

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bookns · 1 year ago

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what the fuck do you mean Can I Be Him is coming out a day early. This is for you @ethereal-maia you are amazing as a friend and as an editor.

“Let's just go once more, Annabeth.” A voice from the sound booth echoed in the stadium. Her long time friend and her sound system operator, Will Solace's voice rang through the sound speakers.

Eyeing him from the stage, Annabeth nodded and adjusted the volume of her headset to her latest song Out Of The Wood. Hearing the queue of the backtrack playing in the echoes of the stadium, the memory of her and her producer, Clarisse La Rue creating it, made her smile as she started to sing.

Although this was just a rehearsal for the show that she was going to perform tonight, Annabeth sang as if she was already performing for the thousands that would arrive. The ending of the song surpassed all too soon for Annabeth as she was too caught up in her performance and the music to notice.

“Well done, Annabeth.” Will exclaimed through the speakers.

“Well done, indeed,” said a voice beyond the stage's eye.

Annabeth’s eyes scanned the grounds, searching for the voice. Percy Jackson came into view, clapping as he did so.

Annabeth grinned when she saw him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to get a taste of the stage, and was welcomed by a voice that was serenading me.”

“Very funny. The show isn’t until tonight. We were just finishing rehearsals for my part. You and the rest of the band have rehearsals later tonight.”

“Perfect timing on my end, then. Are you ready for a break?”

“I am,” she said, “Just let me finish up with the sound check, then we can leave.”

.o0o.

Sound check, to Percy, was a funny thing. It wasn't always needed. Before the band joined Annabeth, back when they were on their tour, they used to only soundcheck once a city.

However within the past few weeks of getting to know her, he realized that Annabeth is a perfectionist. Whenever he, or anyone else in the band is looking for her, her manager Silena would lead them to the recording booth. She would always be writing a new song, or adding some hidden detail to an already produced song to surprise that night of fans.

He knew that Annabeth was born for the stage. Anyone with ears would be able to tell you that but being alongside her, working with her and the rest of the band has been the best experience Percy has had.

She knew what she was doing, and it was evident with the packed bleachers and the screaming fans that listened to them play each night.

.o0o.

“You ready?” Percy called as he knocked on her dressing room door.

The door swung open and Annabeth stood there, a smile growing on her face.

Last he saw of her before she had disappeared into the outskirts of the stage, she was still wearing her costume that would be for the show that night. It was bright blue, extremely sparkly, and impossible to miss. Now she was dressed more casually with a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt with the words ‘Harvard 1989’ printed on it.

“Yeah let’s go,” she replied.

Percy smiled and they guided each other out of the stadium.

Once they got outside, the raging autumn air felt chilly against his cheeks.

“Oh god, I do not remember Philadelphia being this cold.”

Percy chuckles at her weak attempt of warming her hands.

“You’re from California, right? I guess that they don’t get winter like we do here.”

Annabeth smiled.

“Well, I’m originally from Virgina but I moved to California when I was younger.”

He whistled.

“That had to be a big change.”

Annabeth nodded.

“I don’t really remember it that much. I was only seven when we moved to California, so it wasn’t like I was all that in touch with my southern roots. I wasn’t even that in touch with my Califronian self despite looking like a California surfer girl. I moved away to New York when I was 16.”

“Sixteen,” Percy gaped at her, “That’s just a kid.”

“I know, but it was needed. I was stuck at a house that wasn’t going to support my career,’”

Percy stared at Annabeth shockingly.

“Damn, I always knew I got lucky with my mom always supporting me, but I never knew that you had to go through that.”

“My dad’s a History professor at Harvard. He doesn't care about music”

“But you do?”

His question wasn’t accusing like she thought it would be. Most people would immediately judge her for her ‘impossible’ dream, but Percy didn’t. Then again, Annabeth realized Percy wasn't like most people. He understood her drive for making people listen to her music. After all, he was in the same industry.

Annabeth knew that Percy would understand her need for sharing her music.

“Music is permanent. People have always loved music, whether it be a folktale from the thirteenth century to Mozart or hell, current day pop. It creates stories and allows truth to be told.”

Percy nodded along.

“I get that. I got into music to tell my own story, the story of the lost kid that listened to music on his single mom’s radio while she took care of me all on her own. It helped me calm down, and got me to stop getting into trouble. Writing lyrics gave me a vision. I never thought I could do this as a career,but I’m so glad it did happen. Meeting Beckendorf, Thalia, and Grover changed my life. I wouldn’t have made it through middle school, much less anything else without them.

She smiled.

“Meeting Thalia changed my life too, so I understand it. Thalia always had a thing for finding the troubled. She is the one who took care of me when I ran away from home, you know?”

‘You ran away? I thought that was just some sort of metaphor that is in your music.”

She nodded.

“I wish. When I was 16, my dad didn’t take music seriously. He didn't think I could make it as a career. So I ran away. I hung out on Thalia’s couch for months, writing and practicing.”

“How did you even know who Thalia was? She never mentioned that she knew you.’

“Thalia was my babysitter when I was younger on top of taking care of me when I was 16.”

“Thalia babysat?” His shock made Annabeth realize that, despite being in a band with her, maybe Percy didn’t know Thalia at all.

“She did for years. She used to watch me for days on end when my dad was too busy studying for his exams to notice me. Most of my childhood was at Thalia's house and the sundaes she used to feed me for breakfast.

“That sounds like Thalia. She never really did give a damn about the rules. Growing up, she was the reason me, Beck, and Grover got in trouble so much.”

Annabeth giggled.

“I would like to say I don’t see it from you,” but she eyed him up and down, “trouble is all I see.”

He chuckled.

“Seems like you aren’t an angel yourself, Miss Chase.”

“I’m plenty angel. Ask anyone? Hell, ask Silena”

“Speaking of Silena, how did you two meet?”

“Me and Lena met when I just started in the industry. My first album had just come out, and I was in desperate need of a manager.”

Annabeth snorted.

“It was actually my ex-boyfriend who introduced us.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Annabeth sighed.

“His name was Luke Castellan. Silena used to manage him before she became full time for me.

“Wasn’t that a little weird? At least for you, I mean, when you and Luke stopped going out?”

She scrunched her nose.

“Not really. By then, me and Silena had finalized the papers for her to work for me, and he was so toxic. He’s actually the one who I wrote my songs "Would've, Could’ve, Should’ve and White Horse about.”

Percy sighed in relief.

“At least it worked out for the best. You get to create songs over awful guys, and Silena gets a job out of it.”

“It’s been only a few years of Silena working with me. She’s still new to the managing world, and we’re learning together, I guess.”

“Well it seems she might have a new band to manage if her and Beck continue forward”

Annabeth laughed.

“Why do you call him that? Beckendorf? I know it’s his last name, but it’s odd. I thought only sports players only called their friends by their last name.”

“Well, a long time ago, when we were kids, Grover, Beck and I all went to the same summer camp, and we used to have homemade jerseys that my mom would sew up for us. One day I just started calling him Beckendorf, and it just stuck.”

“That was sweet of your mom.”

Percy smiled.

“My mom was always doing stuff like that during my childhood. It was just me and her growing up, and we didn’t have much money. She would always figure out how to sew jerseys for us, or bake blue cookies each time I would come from camp.”

“Blue cookies?”

Annabeth’s puzzlement made Percy laugh even harder, making the cold air flush against Annabeth’s skin .

“I lied about saying that it was just me and my mom. I had a step dad, but he was more of a monster than man. He didn't believe in blue food, so she used to dye everything blue. I’m surprised that my teeth aren’t permanently indigo. It was like our little act of rebellion against him.”

Sympathetically, Annabeth said, “Step parents are rough. Believe me, I know.”

She stopped to look at him as the red of the stop light glowed in the night.

“Gabe was one for the dramatics. Always begging for money for his poker games, and other addictions. Was yours like that?”

“My stepmom was never a horrible person to anyone else. She treated me like I was, though. They got married when I was seven like i said, and ever since then, I was treated like i don't belong in that house. I was on my own, for at least it felt like it, the rest of my life.”

“My mom saved me,” Percy says, “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up in a house where you felt so alone.”

Annabeth grew quiet as they stopped at a corner, the harsh lights of a diner in their rearview being the only thing that allowed Percy to see her gentle shivers in the cold.

“It got better as I got older. I met Thalia, started creating music, and suddenly they didn't matter. I created my own family. What’s the word?”

“A found family?”

“That’s it.”

“How does one become a part of this found family?”

“I won’t kiss and tell.”

“You have to kiss me to tell me, is what I’m hearing,” Percy said slyly.

“If that’s what you want?”

Annabeth leaned up on her tip-toes as Percy wrapped one of his arms around her waist.

His lips nearly touched hers, he could almost taste her lips on his.

Using what was left of her height, Annabeth met his lips with an urgent reverence.

Within the safety of his arms now fully wrapped around her, Annnabeth explored his mouth.

He bit down on her lip causing her to gasp, and groan.

She broke away from the kiss, her hands still on his chest, heaving as she began to process what had just occurred.

Days of writing about a first kiss that leaves her breathless, Annabeth realizes that this green-eyed boy had a lot more than she realized.

“Percy, do that again.”

Hoarsely, Percy chuckled and Annabeth felt it in her core.

“I will do whatever you want, Beth.”

Can I Be Him is my Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson as Taylor Swift and 5 Seconds of Summer - 2nd chapter out now.

#lolatalkscanibehim #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #taylorswift #taylor swift #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years ago

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That Good Old Way 2

Summary: You and Joel have a talk about the future. Previous Chapter.

(I decided to use a gif of Peña because this is 40 year old Joel and I wanted The Vibes)

Content: !!! This chapter is from the reader’s perspective and it features a lot of negative self-talk as well as expectations of abusive behavior from Joel. There’s also talk of firearms and use of firearms. Let it be known here that I am NOT an expert when it comes to guns and the advice mentioned is a combination of google searches and cable TV quotes.

Maybe boredom was getting the best of all of you. The supply runs quickly extended from half-day trips to twelve-hour ones, where two members of the group would leave on horses at first light and return shortly after dark. If it wasn’t Joel and Tommy, it was the lovebirds out looking for food and gear. Out of the immediate radius of the village, there seemed to be plenty to pick from, but it wasn’t without its danger.

Everyone in the group had managed not to sustain any more serious injuries, but it was clear that venturing further from your temporary farm home meant facing all sorts of new trouble. The village may have offered a layer of protection from raiding parties and groups of infected, but their reach only spanned so far. As it was, your farmhouse was at the very edge of their influence. Exploring closer was neither desirable nor likely to reap much benefit, and exploring outward was pushing your luck every day. Tommy had managed to find some root vegetables that could withstand the cold, and lots of ammunition and scrap fabric came in over the weeks, but the loot was nothing special overall. At best, Isobel had finally managed to find you a proper winter coat.

It wouldn’t be long until it was your turn to tag along.

This is where you knew you were bound to screw things up. You were surprised that you had made it to this point with as little drama as the party had been through. The death of the ex-marine had been a great challenge for everyone, but ever since that day, there was only quiet.

No one had yelled at you. No one had laid a hand on you besides cleaning your wounds. No one had reminded you of how useless you were—how incapable of doing basic tasks you so obviously seemed. The only shouting that happened at all was few and far between, and mostly had to do with Joel’s frustration about his lingering concussion symptoms. You gathered pretty quickly that, even though he desperately needed someone to take care of him, he hated the thought of anyone going out of their way to help him with something. Usually, the yelling was nothing more than a quick snap at Tommy for being overbearing. Once, it was to the group in general, after which Mateo all but laughed in his face. Life in the quaint little farmhouse was quiet and cooperative, for the most part.

That didn’t mean it felt peaceful, and it certainly didn’t mean that you felt welcome here.

And now that you needed to truly pull your weight? To ride a horse and hold a gun and keep yourself safe from infected or raiders or worse?

You knew that you’d have them begging the reverend to take you back.

And you knew he’d say yes. He would always say yes.

The thought made you sick.

You didn’t know how to ride a horse, and you certainly didn’t know how to wield a gun while you did it. Under the most controlled circumstances, you were a piss-poor shot, and you knew that the pressure of a genuine threat would make you freeze or falter. You weren’t the warrior that Joel so clearly was. You weren’t a soldier, like Tommy. Not a survivor like Mateo or a doctor like Isabelle. All you had to bring to the table now was… wood chopping. Cooking dinner and planting veggies and washing dishes and playing house. As soon as they were ready to leave this place, the party would understand how little you were worth. They would figure it wasn’t worth it to have to protect you all the way to Boston.

But for now, you were worth it. For now, you were safe.

And for some reason, Joel was asking for you.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice was that soft, patient tone that it was every time he spoke to you. It was so gentle that you almost wanted to call it patronizing, but you couldn’t deny that you liked it. “Come on in. You can leave the door open if you want.”

You, Tommy, and Joel were still trading off on the two upstairs bedrooms. The past few days, Joel and Tommy had taken the beds while you slept on the couch, which was the boys’ least favorite arrangement. Even Tommy, for some reason, was upset by you sleeping downstairs in the living room. You guessed it was because he was the same kind of stubborn as Joel. As you stepped into the room Joel was staying in, you pulled the door so that it was only open a crack. He sat against the headboard with his head cushioned by his hands. You approached the bed, but didn’t sit down.

“Is everything alright?”

Joel nodded, his eyebrows turning up into that familiar puppy dog expression. How he could be so soft and so vicious all at once, you could never understand.

He swallowed. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

Oh. It was happening earlier than you thought it would. Already, he was ready to tell you to get lost. The thoughts raced around in your head. He doesn’t want to carry my weight anymore. They’re mad at me. Joel’s mad at me. I’ve done something wrong. I’ve forgotten something. He’s going to scold me, isn’t he? He’s going to yell and scream—

“Not really good at talking,” Joel continued. “But I figured we need to. Seein’ as this arrangement’s… looking more and more permanent.”

You looked at him with what you could only assume was a confused expression, and a beat of silence between you grew into two, then three. Finally, the silence was as uncomfortable as the thought of him yelling.

“What is it you want to talk about?” You eventually gave him the cue to speak up.

Joel pursed his lips. His eyes darted around the room uncomfortably without settling on you. Here it comes, you thought.

“The weather’s finally gettin’ warmer. And even though it’s mighty cozy living in this little farmhouse of ours, I’m thinking we can’t be stayin’ much longer. Tommy’s been dead set on Boston for months now, and I’m sure the lovebirds are gonna be wantin’ for more company than the three of us. That, and…”

You tensed in spite of yourself, readying yourself for the sting of his words, readying your ears for the raising of his voice when you inevitably responded the wrong way to his criticism. His lips turned at the corners while he tried to push the words out. He must be disgusted with me. Repulsed. He must be so angry.

“That old village of yours ain’t too keen on us sticking around. We thought it wasn’t gonna be a problem, seeing as we’re more than a mile out from that church anyways. But evidently, they know that we’re holed up here, and… they ain’t too happy about it.”

His words were muffled inside your head. “They know we’re here?”

“They’re not gonna hurt you,” he insisted. Joel’s posture had slowly risen until he was hunched forward in the bed, almost like he was curled in on himself, but now he made an effort to straighten his back and raise his chin. “They ain’t gettin’ anywhere near you. Don’t you worry about that. I’m only saying that we can’t stay here in the long term. We’ll need to be leaving soon unless we want the reverend to send some more men to pay us a visit.”

Your head, it wasn’t catching up to what Joel was saying. All you could manage to think first was that he was mad at someone else, not you. It echoed in your head until your brain got around to understanding. Then the anxious feeling in your gut only twisted deeper.

“…more men?”

Joel’s eyes only widened some more, glaring into you with an expression only discernible as pity.

“Couple of ‘em cornered Tommy and me yesterday on our rounds.” He pushed the words out slowly, like he was admitting to something horrible. “Said it was time to… to move on. Made it known that we weren’t gonna get another warning. I’m sure you can get some idea of how the conversation went.”

“We have to go now, then.” There was sudden haste in your voice that had Joel shuddering back, muscles sprung. “We need to pack all our stuff—be out by first light.”

“Whoa, easy now.” Joel’s hand shot out to grab at your shoulder, gently pulling you down before you could scramble off of the bed. “Just hold on a second. I ain’t planning on runnin’ with my tail between my legs. We’re not in that big a hurry, sugar.”

You shook your head, a cold sweat forming on your skin. “You don’t know what they’ll do.”

“I think I can just about guess the gist of it,” he countered.

“Then you know why we can’t stay.”

His hand gripped your shoulder tighter. The contact sent something through you, grounding and more unsettling all at once.

“I want to make sure we’re prepared for what’s out there,” Joel explained in a hoarse tone. “We got food, sure. We can find game on our trip if we need to stretch our supply. But there’s plenty of danger out there, you know that. Runners, clickers, whole swarms of infected.”

Joel made a disgusted, truly angry face.

“And people.”

You scoffed, almost a laugh. “Seems you have more trouble with them than the infected.”

Joel ignored your comment. His expression was serious. “I want to make sure we can protect ourselves out there.”

It was your turn to avoid his gaze. You were slowly making your way back around to that realization he was going to have. If he hadn’t found a reason to be angry with you before, this was bound to be it.

He noticed the change. “I’m not trying to scare you. I know we can make it to Boston. We will make it to Boston. I just need to think it through before we go out in the open.”

“I’m not…” you shuddered. Joel’s hand lifted off your shoulder, barely grazing your skin as he didn’t pull away all the way. “I can’t protect myself, Joel. It’s not that I’m scared, I’m… I’m just not capable.”

He scoffed. “What’re you talkin’ about? You’re one of the most capable people I know. You’ve kept this house together for weeks now. Kept us fed off of scraps I didn’t even know to call food. I’ve seen men twice your size struggle to chop wood like you. And I’ve seen you put up with me. Don’t know why you think you wouldn’t be capable.”

“I can’t shoot a gun.” You pulled away from him. “And I don’t know how to ride a horse. I think I’m gonna be slowing you down, trying to tag along to Boston. I think—I think I can’t ask you to drag me along.”

You expected Joel to agree with you. Or worse, get angry. Scold you for being so useless as to being unable to care for yourself. He only stared at you with a blank expression, though, setting your nerves on fire as you waited. After a moment, he laughed. Really, heartily, breathily laughed. His soft lips stretched across a bright white smile. Dark brown eyes crinkled at the edges and the chuckle that rose from his chest was loud and boisterous. Your heart hammered in your chest.

His tone was…joking, almost. “Oh, honey. Don’t you ever worry about asking me for a damn thing. I don’t think you’re slowing me down at all. And you can shoot a gun, I’m sure of it. I’ll just bet that no one’s taken the time to show you how. Same with riding a horse. I can’t imagine you havin’ much trouble with that. Our horses already love you. You’ll pick it up quick.”

Your breathing was heavy enough that you could hear it in the gaps between his words. Joel’s face turned soft, less amused and more genuine, as he waited for you to respond to him. When he realized you were having trouble with that, he rethought his words.

He added, “Let me show you how to shoot, sweetheart.”

Finally, your heartbeat calmed enough that you could hear your own thoughts again. Meekly, you nodded.

“Good.” He brought his hand back up in front of you. You didn’t pull away, expecting a hand on your shoulder again, but his fingertips came to brush along the underside of your chin. He stood from the bed, making his way to the door without looking back at you. Joel stalled in the doorway for a second, not having heard any movement behind him.

“C’mon now. No time like the present.”

Slowly, silently, you followed him outside.

~~•~~

“Squeeze, don’t pull.”

There wasn’t much ammunition for you to waste on target practice, but Joel didn’t seem to mind the three missed shots you’d already taken. An empty can of pinto beans sat on the jagged stump of a willow tree, ungrazed by your bullets. Each time you’d aimed, your fingers had flinched or your wrist had jerked. After each shot, you instinctively hunched lower into your shoulders, expecting him to yell.

But Joel’s voice was gentle as always.

“You’re holdin’ the gun like it’s gonna jump out of your hand. Relax into it a little bit, sweetheart. You’re controlling the gun, not the other way around.”

Up until this point, he’d delivered instructions from a few feet away, not daring to step into your space to correct your grip or guide you with his touch. You nodded hesitantly at him, rolling your shoulders and lining the pistol up with the can as best you could. This time, you twitched before your finger even pressed against the trigger. Joel noticed your shiver.

“If I can’t do this now, how am I supposed to shoot someone trying to kill me?” You tried not to let your voice sound too much like a whine.

“You’re thinkin’ too much about it.” Joel stepped closer, just within your personal space. “I’m hopin’ it won’t come to you having to shoot anyone, but I know you can do it if you have to. You’ve just got to stop looking at the gun like it’s going to hurt you.”

“It’s a gun, Joel.”

He scoffed. “It’s a gun that you’re holding. You decide who—or in this case, what—exactly it hurts. Now come on, show that tin can who’s boss.”

Your body went rigid when you aimed again for the aluminum can. You forced a deep breath out of your lungs and tried your best to steady your hands. The sound of the shot echoed across the hills, and the dull, cracking impact of the bullet on dead wood tumbled back toward you.

Joel’s hands were on yours before your heart had the chance to sink into your stomach.

“Give me this for a second, sweetheart.”

You loosened your grip, allowing Joel to slip the gun out of your hands and into his. When he aimed for the can, you fought the instinct to cover your ears with your palms.

“Sounds backward, but the more you tense up, the more you’re going to flinch.” He demonstrated a slack, secure grip with both of his hands folded around the gun. Joel held it like it was an extension of himself, the pistol sitting almost comfortable against his fingers. “Once you set your target, you just gotta commit to it. Look here.”

He gave a quick nod, then raised his chin to level his sight with the top of the gun. You stepped back as if it would do any good to lighten the sound of the shot. Sure enough, the bullet sliced the can clean through, sending it tumbling behind the stump. Joel clicked the safety on the pistol, shoving it in his belt to go and set another piece of scrap metal on the wood.

“Give it another go.” He held the gun out to you and you gingerly took it in your hands. Immediately, you had forgotten the grip he’d shown you. Your hands fumbled around the base for a moment, until one of his snaked underneath. “Remember. High on the backstrap. Lock your wrists, not your fingers.”

He gently guided your hands into place, tapping on your thumb to signal for you to grip inward. Your fingers flexed against the barrel, and he added, “it’s not supposed to be comfortable, but it should feel stable.”

Eventually, you found the position of your hands that most resembled what he’d demonstrated. Joel backed away to give you space and your breath shuddered in your chest before you swallowed it down. You brought the barrel up to your line of sight, settling on the new can.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out, and your finger slid down from the cage to rest on the trigger.

Squeeze, don’t pull.

The sound of the shot made your ears ring, but that didn’t matter so much as the heat that spread through your chest and bubbled up in your throat. You switched the safety on the gun and let it rest idle in your hand, taking in the view before you.

An empty stump, a dented can with a whole in its side lying at its base.

“There you go, sugar. Told ya you could.” That mile-wide grin was back. His hand cupped your shoulder, closer to the back of your neck than anything. “Reckon with some practice you’ll be just as sharp as any of the rest of us.”

Your eyes lingered on the can. “Holy shit.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” His fingers danced along the base of your skull.

You scrunched your eyes. “How much more ammunition do we have?”

“Enough to make sure you’ve got the hang of this.” Joel’s hand moved down between your shoulder blades, playfully tapping. “Now hurry along and put another can up there. Don’t wanna be late for dinner. Mateo says he’s making gumbo.”

“Out of what?” You smiled almost as wide as Joel.

“Got no idea,” he chuckled. “Sure as hell can’t wait to find out, though.”

The sun was starting to dip behind the hills now, painting the sky with orange and pink and purple and red. As the light faded, your confidence grew. Each crumpled can made Joel’s grin brighter, made the weight in your shoulders a bit lighter. By the time he was leading you in to grab a bowl of food, you felt more alive than you had in years.

Maybe you could ask him to drag you along.

#Joel Miller #The Last of Is #Joel the last of us #tlou #TLOU hbo #TLOU fic #the last of us hbo #Masterlist #that good old way

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innytoes · 2 years ago

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Sleepy time prompt 24 for Caleb/Ray/Reggie? (because I miss them)

-anotherfantom

"I can hear you thinking."

Ray opened his eyes to find his husband gazing back at him, half amused, half concerned. "Sorry," he whispered. Reggie was curled fast asleep between them, his face tucked safely under Ray's chin. It was a few days after his heat, after Caleb had found him rooting around their laundry to find something, anything that smelled like them.

They'd had a conversation about that, about how of course Reggie was always welcome in their bed. Thankfully, the man had taken them up on that, shyly crawling between them and then practically melting when they wrapped him up in their embraces.

"Talk to me, darling," Caleb said. ''What are you worrying about?"

Caleb knew him better than anyone at this point. He always knew when Ray's thoughts just couldn't stop, how they would keep tumbling around and around in his head if he didn't get them out. Still, part of him didn't want to share these ones, in case he set something in motion that he'd regret.

"It's nothing," he said, avoiding Caleb's eyes.

"Ray," Caleb said, soft and firm and oh, he was so in love with this man. Reminding him with just one word that of course he could share anything with his husband, that they made a promise on their wedding day. For better or worse.

"Did we move too fast?" he asked, even though he felt incredibly guilty just asking, for putting these worries on Caleb.

"Are you not happy?" Caleb asked, concerned.

The thing is, he was. He was so happy. They hadn't been with Reggie long, but he just... they clicked. He fit. And every day, he could see him unfurl a little more, open up a little more, like a flower slowly blossoming, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world to see.

"I am," he reassured Caleb. "I just... I know we talked about it, theoretically, some time in the future. But I never stopped to ask you if... if you wanted this. We never really discussed it." Caleb had just seen him, seen the look in his eyes, and had drawn up the paperwork while Ray was just... talking to Reggie.

"Would you have preferred leaving Reggie in that place for another month, visiting him, talking it through?" Caleb asked, already knowing the answer. "Dearest, we'd both agreed this was something we wanted. We just hadn't put a timeline on it. And when I saw you two together, I knew it was right. I'm sorry if I didn't stop to talk to you first."

Between them, Reggie snuffled a little, before nuzzling closer, nose pressed against Ray's scent gland. He took a deep breath, thought warm and happy thoughts. He didn't want to wake Reggie up because his scent was distressed.

"Do you remember what you told me about the signs?" Caleb asked. Ray flushed. He was pretty sure Caleb didn't believe in the fact that he thought Rose sometimes sent him signs.

But how else could he explain that Caleb brought him dahlias on their first date? Even though he was more of a classic red roses kind of man, and Ray was more of a tulip guy himself. He'd rang the doorbell, just as Ray had been taking out his phone to call the date off, to apologise and say he wasn't ready, because he couldn't stop thinking about Rose and how he was moving on from her. And then there Caleb was there, with a big bouquet of dahlias, and Ray knew everything was going to be okay.

"Yeah," he whispered, choked up.

"He was playing one of Rose's songs, Ray," Caleb said. "Not just any, he was playing my favourite of Rose's songs. It was a sign. He was meant for us."

Oh. He hadn't known that. Caleb never minded when he put on one of his Rose and the Petal Pushers CDs, but he didn't know he had a favourite. He sang along to a few of them, but...

Reggie had been playing Like Magic. Ray chuckled. Of course that was Caleb's favourite.

"I love you."

"I love you too," Caleb said, scooting impossibly closer, his hand covering Ray's where it was resting on Reggie's hip. "Now go to sleep."

"Yeah," he agreed, closing his eyes again. This time, sleep was easy.

#the caleb/ray/reggie abo au #fanfic #calebxray #calebxrayxreggie #I wrote a thing #julie and the phantoms #don't think about Caleb in the studio talking to Rose #promising he'll take care of Ray and thanking her for the opportunity #and then doing the same after they bring Reggie home #they love each other so much

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popculturealchemy · 26 days ago

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pushing black spear tree in distance absorbing mass . sisters button push it harder oposite feelings push those . things I want to say push that . things that make feel ugly . you gonna hit that? . . . those aren't real feelings reel like a fishing pole pulling back meat hooks in my body . meet because of meat pulling me weird social rules or something . black prism guiding instruction . . arent you so glad new tech new tech making old tech feel dated dated tech that still works my 91 year old grandma running the show . nucleus of relationship scattering tech monopolizing the market sell this thing here creating job market . . . creating a job market for myself freelancer . black spear lancing the past . . different tools different day different mood diffent leaves falling and growing on my turtle body growing roots smelling adjusting . .. . feelers again all mine no leaves just spears . revealing things nesting birds a strange pest unnatural setting we need to help them not their choice Its our domain . . proving thing by provings . find fear. step 1 only . finding fear/passing thoughts one of many . black spear ready tool to fix it . . freelancer for hire blacksmith in progress fleshsmith carving flesh carving feelings potato peeling problems shaving off time 5 minute mile to get away pushing that boundary . I told you . you tried again . I told you again . . what now . mean being average average angry reaction you get from exploding anger never come back here . still working on boundaries survival games you put me here dumb dumb survive my words eating you away survive my distance survive existence existencial feelings towards me todays the first day I'm tired of break up feelings my family It feels like breaking up . . i've told you many times ocd fuckups read this text you never will . afraid you'll see the real if I change . . black in their vision anyway black spear wasted data . . hardening like bark exploding like a donkey kong barrels . you knew I would thats why I do this . feeling vindicated . I can't feel that . feel depresssed . feel like you made the wrong choice for once . . leaving space for me to feel like I made a perfect thank you for this opportnity , , I do what I want know I always have you're blind you're listening to a pastor getting his dick sucked behind the podium . my thats part of the lifestyle . sad fake faces sad fake faces to get what they want . please feed me love I gave all mine to a bad interpretation of this text jesus was my idol thats you that fucked up I blew him up a long time ago . Im just minding yours . not minding hurting thoughts anymore. . mine are mine . thats all I know . this is how got here. . dark giant spear in the distance . allowing my mass to be stolen . shrinking . preportions litterally changed in my mind bending angles of the wall where ceiling meets the wall meeting floor . these lines are curved now. totally fucked . . thanks for making who I am youre welcome

#no more hiding #black spears #trees in the distance #cold friends #calling me #troll body #witches #flesh #new language #better story #ours #not you

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iamthewaybook · 4 months ago

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Christian Faith Book

In today’s fast-paced and chaotic world, many people seek deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. For Christians, the path to true fulfillment is often rooted in faith, and a connection with Jesus Christ. One such book that guides believers on this spiritual journey is "I Am The Way", a powerful Christian faith book that delves into the teachings of Jesus Christ, offering a roadmap for personal and spiritual growth.

This blog explores the significance of "I Am The Way", how it enriches the Christian faith, and why it’s a must-read for anyone seeking to deepen their relationship with God.

The Heart of the Christian Faith: Jesus as “The Way”

The title of the book, "I Am The Way", is drawn from one of the most profound declarations made by Jesus Christ in the New Testament:

“Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” – John 14:6 (ESV)

This single verse encapsulates the essence of the Christian faith. Jesus proclaims that He is not merely a teacher, a prophet, or a spiritual guide – He is the way to God. His life, death, and resurrection provide the path to eternal salvation. By focusing on this truth, the book encourages readers to anchor their lives on Jesus, the only way to experience a fulfilled and meaningful spiritual journey.

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In the modern world, where there are endless distractions and competing philosophies, it’s easy to lose sight of what truly matters. As Christians face challenges to their faith, both internally and externally, "I Am The Way" offers a much-needed reminder of the core principles of Christianity: the love, grace, and sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

The Core Themes of "I Am The Way"

"I Am The Way" is more than just a theological text; it is a call to action for believers to live out their faith authentically. The book focuses on several key themes that resonate with readers and challenge them to grow in their faith.

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One of the central themes of the book is the importance of faith in Jesus Christ as the foundation for a Christian’s life. Through an in-depth exploration of scripture and personal reflection, "I Am The Way" encourages readers to place their trust in Jesus, believing in His promises and relying on His guidance.

Faith is not simply about believing in the existence of God – it’s about having an active relationship with Jesus. The book emphasizes the importance of daily communion with Christ through prayer, worship, and studying the Bible. It shows how faith can be transformative, helping believers navigate the ups and downs of life with confidence and peace.

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Another key message in "I Am The Way" is the importance of repentance and spiritual renewal. The Christian journey is one of continual growth, and part of that growth involves recognizing our shortcomings and turning away from sin. The book delves into the concept of repentance, not as a one-time event, but as a daily process of surrendering to God’s will and seeking His forgiveness.

Through heartfelt reflection and biblical examples, the book teaches readers that repentance leads to spiritual renewal. It is through turning away from worldly distractions and sinful behaviors that we can fully embrace the life God has designed for us. "I Am The Way" reminds us that no matter how far we stray, Jesus is always ready to welcome us back with open arms.

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"I Am The Way" also emphasizes the importance of discipleship – following the example set by Jesus in His earthly ministry. Jesus didn’t just preach about the Kingdom of God; He lived it. Through His love, compassion, humility, and obedience to the Father, Jesus modeled the kind of life that Christians are called to imitate.

The book explores what it means to be a disciple in today’s world, where materialism, self-centeredness, and distractions can easily pull us away from our spiritual goals. It encourages readers to take up their cross and follow Jesus daily, putting others before themselves and seeking to glorify God in all their actions.

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A recurring theme in "I Am The Way" is the idea that life has a greater purpose when centered on Jesus Christ. Many people go through life feeling unfulfilled, searching for meaning in worldly achievements, relationships, or possessions. The book points readers to the truth that true purpose and fulfillment come from knowing and following Jesus.

By embracing the truth that Jesus is the way, believers can discover their unique calling in life. "I Am The Way" encourages readers to seek God’s will and live with intentionality, using their gifts, talents, and resources to serve others and advance the Kingdom of God.

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One of the strengths of "I Am The Way" is its use of personal testimonies to illustrate how the teachings of Jesus Christ can transform lives. The book includes stories of individuals who, after encountering Christ, experienced a profound change in their perspectives, behaviors, and overall approach to life.

These personal accounts serve as a powerful reminder that the Christian faith is not just an intellectual exercise; it is a lived experience. Jesus is not a distant figure in history – He is alive and active in the lives of believers today. Readers are encouraged to reflect on their own spiritual journey and consider how Jesus has impacted their lives, just as He has impacted the lives of others.

Scriptural Foundations and Deep Theological Insights

"I Am The Way" is grounded in scripture, with each chapter offering deep theological insights based on the teachings of the Bible. The book takes readers on a journey through key passages of the New Testament, particularly focusing on the words and actions of Jesus during His ministry.

By diving deep into the scriptures, "I Am The Way" provides readers with a rich understanding of the biblical principles that underpin the Christian faith. The book doesn’t shy away from difficult questions, offering thoughtful answers to issues like suffering, salvation, grace, and the nature of God’s love.

Strengthening Faith in Times of Doubt

In a world filled with uncertainty, it’s natural to experience moments of doubt or question one’s faith. "I Am The Way" addresses these challenges head-on, offering comfort and reassurance to believers who may be struggling with doubt.

The book encourages readers to hold fast to the promises of Christ, even in the face of trials and difficulties. It provides practical advice for nurturing faith, such as cultivating a regular prayer life, surrounding oneself with a supportive faith community, and trusting in God’s timing.

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Spiritual growth is a lifelong process, and "I Am The Way" serves as a guide for believers at all stages of their faith journey. Whether you are a new Christian seeking to understand the basics of your faith or a mature believer looking to deepen your relationship with God, this book offers valuable insights and practical steps for spiritual growth.

The book is structured in a way that makes it accessible for group study or individual reflection. Each chapter includes questions for personal contemplation or group discussion, allowing readers to engage with the material on a deeper level.

Embracing the Truth: Jesus Is The Way

At its core, "I Am The Way" is a powerful declaration of the truth that Jesus is the only way to eternal life. In a world where many paths are presented as equally valid, the book boldly affirms the unique and exclusive claims of Christ. It reminds readers that while other philosophies may offer temporary comfort or satisfaction, only Jesus can provide the peace and fulfillment that our souls truly crave.

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This book is not just for Christians who want to grow spiritually – it’s also for those who may be searching for answers about life’s meaning and purpose. "I Am The Way" offers the hope and assurance that can only be found in a relationship with Jesus Christ.

Conclusion: A Life Transformed by Faith

In the end, "I Am The Way" is more than just a book; it is a journey into the heart of Christian faith. It invites readers to not only believe in Jesus but to live in the reality of His presence every day. By embracing the truth that Jesus is the way, we can experience a life of joy, peace, and purpose, grounded in the love of our Savior.

If you are ready to embark on this journey of faith, pick up "I Am The Way" and let it guide you toward a deeper relationship with God.

#Christian Faith Book

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theregencyreticule · 8 months ago

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Well...it's been quite a week (in case you were wondering).

Last Sunday, I had a spectacularly terrible visit with my IL's for Father's Day. It's always tense but this time it was also emotionally exhausting. 90 minutes of having everything and anything I said attacked. (Like I seriously could have said the sky was blue and she would have argued with me about it.) Afterwards, I decided that I'm done- I'm not doing this any more. It's too draining and I don't have the extra emotional resources to spare.

I'm still doing long distance construction planning for my parents. Sorting through stuff at home and packing boxes to prep for the renos. School is now out and I have my youngest to think about too. Even though they are a teen and are mostly independent, they also have depression and benefit a lot from a loose routine and some pre-planning. They aren't quite ready to take on that burden for themselves so it'll be something I do for the near future.

On Tuesday, my sister's house burned down due to a faulty stove. They were in the midst of moving (out to where my parents have moved) and were trying to sell their house. They lost about 1/2 of their belongings and the house is a complete write-off. Thankfully, they had taken the dog with them when they went out to run errands or their beautiful German Shepherd would have been gone too.

I am hoping for a more peaceful week this week- I still have a ton to do at home to get ready for the packing and moving that will ensue in about 3 weeks. I'm still the emotional support person for at least 4 people. I still have no clue what I'm going to do in September as I hope to re-launch my work life after such a long time as a caregiver.

This morning I decided it's time to go back to my roots. Taking time every morning to stand outside with a cup of tea and welcome the sun. Stand with my face uplifted and my eyes closed as I remind myself of who I am and appreciate the life giving warmth of another day.

#personal mod post

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night-garden-fic · 1 year ago

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Chapter Nineteen: Don't Let Go

(Read on AO3)

"Russell... Relax. I'm not here in a medical capacity."

Chapter Nineteen: Don't Let Go

If Russell's return to work was a reckless, head-first dive, then his return to pleasure was a tentative step forward into the roaring surf.

He was out of practice, and feared the tide might carry him away to drown.

But as surely as when he'd made that dive back into work, as when he finally told Cecilia her story, and as when he staggered out of the Clinic into the harsh winter sun, it had simply been time.

"I'd like to see you again. If you want to, of course."

"Only if you're up to it."

Up to it or not, he was ready. His body, long-unused and regaining vigor by the day, was burning alive.

It mattered not, he figured, who precisely it burned for.

It mattered only that it burned; that he always knew who could quench him.

And so, Russell found himself once again in Lady Ann's bed.

It wasn't the most imaginative of their encounters, but it was a welcome return to an old formula; the tie-me-to-the-bedpost-do-anything-you-want-to-me formula, Russell's perennial favorite. And, he might have guessed, Lady Ann's as well.

Once she had him securely fastened down, the Lady dove into Russell with an almost animalistic enthusiasm. With nails that drew blood, and teeth that covered him in glowing purple crescents; hands that buried themselves in his hair and pulled, then roughly gripped his face when he grew too overstimulated and flustered to hold her gaze.

And, at long last, the hips that ground him into the bed with an intensity that was almost painful. The melting warmth inside her, like slowly churning magma.

Yes, his Lady was as well-equipped as she'd ever been, and just as able to make him wail in wordless rapture.

And yet, Russell still felt that there was something missing.

He knew, deep down, what it was: a piece of himself.

The part of him that was somewhere miles away, imagining what her every ministration would feel like if it had been delivered by larger, stronger hands. Well-trained hands that could read bodies like maps, hands that wielded blades in the name of healing and peace.

The hands that had pulled him out at the roots.

Isn't she enough?

(Why not just be happy?)

It wasn't, he realized, that she wasn't enough, because she certainly was. She just wasn't quite what he was craving. Or at least, not right then.

And, strangely, Russell had gotten the sense that it was the same for her.

He wasn't quite sure, really, why he thought that was so. Lady Ann was certainly passionate enough that night, and never seemed disinterested, nor motivated by guilt or pity. She'd obviously wanted to do all that she'd done, just as much as he wanted it done to him.

We wanted it.

(I remember when we needed it.)

Maybe that was the whole problem. It felt like something they'd done just because they wanted to, or perhaps wanted to want to; to make it feel like the old days, like Russell really was back from wherever he'd been.

Am I? Did I come back?

Just as when he thought about the war, he couldn't find the answer, nor quite figure out the nature of the question. He only knew the answer they both wanted.

And he knew neither of them wanted to admit that their games might, one day, begin to play themselves out.

Russell abruptly decided that the future didn't matter. For tonight, they would do what they wanted to do, and want what they wanted to want.

It'll be enough.

It has to be.

After a brief pause to drink a glass of water and let him admire her smooth naked back, Lady Ann untied Russell's arms. Then she languidly draped her lean body next to his, holding him close as he stretched his sore shoulders and delicately inspected the marks on his wrists.

Russell tucked his head into her chest—just like the old days—for a moment or two.

If you stay like this, it doesn't have to end.

Unfortunately, his lungs had been slow to heal from the winter's assailments, and all that moaning and heavy breathing was harder on them than he'd remembered. All throughout their session, he'd kept having to turn his head to cough; which made him feel self-conscious, and likely contributed to his sense of not being entirely present.

And now, in the quiet afterglow stillness, Russell realized that his chest was rattling noticeably. He rolled over, grabbed a handkerchief from his coat pocket, hacked wetly for nearly a minute, spat aggressively, then finally finished with a small acerbic laugh.

"So... How's it feel to be in bed with the sexiest man alive?"

Lady Ann slung her arm around Russell and gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek, which quickly turned to several spine-tingling kisses on the neck.

"...I've read about aristocrats who would catch consumption on purpose just for the glow. They'd find you very chic, I think. And as for me, I found your gusto quite inspiring."

Russell let out a small, hoarse laugh.

"...Gusto? Inspiring?"

She gave his straining ribs a firm, approving pat, unable to resist teasing his skin a little with the very tips of her delicate nails.

"You were struggling a little, but you just kept giving it your all. You're quite the little trooper."

It was a rather poor choice of words, but Russell honestly kind of liked it.

"I mean... I was a little trooper once. For quite a while, actually."

Lady Ann's hand traveled down Russell's ribs, making him shiver. Then her lithe arm slid around his waist, pulling him in roughly as she spoke hot breath onto the back of his neck.

"I bet you did a wonderful job."

Russell couldn't help but laugh.

"...No. I was pretty terrible at it, actually."

They both laughed at that, and Russell felt a wash of relief.

It really is just like the old days.

Or at least, it can be.

(For just a little while longer.)

Soon, their laughter turned to kissing, and their kissing turned to another round of wailing, grasping pleasure. Russell barely had to cough this time, but he still gave it his all. He inspired her, and she unwound him completely.

Two rounds could easily have bled into three. But it was getting late, and Russell had to go see Edward.

They parted at Lady Ann's bedroom door, promising to see each other soon.

Russell knew that they would, and would again.

As for any future after that, it all seemed fuzzy and unclear. He knew well enough that they would keep being friends, but he still wasn't entirely sure what had always kept them from becoming something more.

Perhaps, they'd only ever been looking for something in each other. Something that they'd never find.

Or perhaps, they were simply too alike in all the wrong ways.

The thought saddened Russell as he walked through the chilly night, shivering with his hood pulled up over his damp hair. But he supposed it made enough sense that he could, for now, let it go.

Lately, it was enough that things made some amount of sense, no matter what the outcome.

Russell took a deep breath, clearing his mind of blood and sweat; of gleaming quicksilver and strong, skillful hands.

He was ready for Edward.

We're alike, too.

(In all the right ways?)

No. We simply are.

(It shouldn't matter, anyway.)

~*~

And so, Russell fell into a routine. The Inn for pleasure, the Clinic for health; then his cold bed, to sleep fitfully—or lie awake—for the hours that remained. An offbeat, uneasy rhythm that kept him on his toes.

He'd begun showing up to his nightly appointments freshly marked by Lady Ann more often than not; cuffs and collar barely concealing marks so lividly colorful that it certainly wouldn't have taken a doctor to notice. But Edward, even now, didn't much care what Russell did in private. He never said a thing about the obviously intentional, almost decorative-looking smudges of violet and pink that marred his chalky skin.

Rather, Edward seemed exclusively concerned with what Russell might be doing to himself.

"So, you're still not drinking? Not that I'd judge either way."

Russell shrugged as Edward took his pulse. The thought of alcohol still made him sick, so avoiding it wasn't so much something he was doing as something he was feeling.

"No... Not right now. Not until I get the Lamp Grass out of my system, at least."

The doctor counted under his breath for a few seconds, nodded, and sat up to jot something down.

"Good call. You wouldn't want to..."

Russell crossed his arms against a strange phantom chill; the echo of a night he still barely remembered.

"...Fall in any more ditches?"

Edward laughed into his clipboard.

"Exactly."

Russell found himself laughing as well. He still couldn't really talk about that night with anyone else, and usually preferred not to think of it at all. But with Edward, it was somehow different.

He was there.

(He scraped you up.)

"Well, don't worry. I've been staying away from ditches, too."

Edward smiled as he unwound his stethoscope.

"Good to hear! Now, sit up real straight."

Reluctantly, Russell complied. After his long stay in the Clinic, the thought of cold metal no longer made him flinch.

Gods, I wish it did.

These days, all he could think of was how Edward would hover so close that their faces were practically touching, so close that they could feel one another's warm breath. It didn't help that they were both headed to bed soon and already dressed for it; Edward's plush robe and braided hair hanging luxuriously, Russell's flannel shirt half unbuttoned over his scarred chest

It was painfully intimate. It was terribly awkward. And it was, of course, one of the main reasons why Russell had chosen to blow off steam with Lady Ann first.

"All right..."

As Edward leaned in to listen to Russell's heart, slipping under his shirt and avoiding his scar so carefully, Russell wondered why he kept choosing to do something that didn't even seem to work. Tonight, it was her hair that had been giving him problems; dark, silky, and painfully familiar as it hung free and brushed against his skin.

And yet, I know it's not the same.

(I can still wonder.)

He felt his pulse quicken, and wondered if Edward could somehow hear that his heart was beating for him.

And then he wondered if he couldn't just rest his head on Edward's shoulder for a moment. Russell was tired and cold, and his friend seemed to radiate a comfortable heat.

It's late. He would understand.

But, before Russell could justify what he might have done, Edward had already moved on. He scrawled another mysterious set of numbers on his clipboard, then repositioned his stool.

Russell clenched his jaw hard, trying not to shiver as he felt his shirt creeping up his spine.

He could not, however, stop himself from freezing in confusion when, instead of the chilly metal he'd been expecting, he felt a warm palm gently cupping his ribcage.

Edward sighed deeply, muttering under his breath.

"...Russell..."

Russell swallowed, finding that his mouth had gone completely dry.

"Um... Yeah?"

Edward's hand traveled cautiously over his skin, lifting his shirt just a little higher. There was another sigh.

"Russell, what did I tell you?"

Now Russell—Gods only knew why—was trying not to laugh.

"You tell me a lot of things, Ed."

Edward's voice was taking on an edge of irritation.

"...I do. Because you need to hear them. And I especially remember telling you that if you didn't stop messing with that bruise, it would never heal. But I obviously needed to keep telling you, because your ribs are black and blue."

Russell froze up again. With all the fresh bruises ever garlanding his shoulders and wrists; his flanks and his thighs and his biceps, the crests of his collarbones... He hadn't really been thinking about the old ones. He also wasn't quite sure why Edward would remark on one and not the others. Or, for that matter, how exactly they differed.

After all, it was all just damage that he had brought upon himself.

"Oh... Yeah. Sorry."

Edward withdrew his hand, leaving behind a cool, five-fingered afterimage.

"...Don't apologize! It's just... I have no idea why you feel the need to hurt yourself. Don't you have enough to deal with? Why make it harder? Why?"

Russell didn't have an answer, in large part because he often didn't realize what he was doing until it was already done. It was just another one of the bad habits that he always seemed so good at getting stuck into. One minute, he'd be holding his ribs as a sort of silent reply to his labored breathing, or wrapping his arms around himself as he struggled to sleep. The next, he'd be driving his knuckles into his own sore flesh, digging for pain.

"I don't know... It's a really stupid habit. I think I might be checking if it still hurts. Something like that."

At last, Russell felt the cold metal disk on his back. The anticipation made it shock him the way it always used to, but Edward quickly countered it with a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Russell... Of course it still hurts. It'll hurt until you stop bothering it."

Russell leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah. I know."

The pair sat in melancholy silence for a few moments; Russell breathing deeply as Edward attempted to read his breath as one would read tea leaves or cards. Then the cold stethoscope slipped away, and Edward's mood brightened considerably.

"...Well! The good news is that your lungs are finally starting to dry out. And it feels... Looks like you're still eating okay."

Russell felt a bit over-scrutinized. He quickly tugged his shirt down, hiding ribs that, though jagged and hollow, were becoming a bit less so; a back streaked vivid pink by sharp nails and molten wax.

"I've been trying, I guess."

When I'm not too busy, when I don't sleep through breakfast, when I have the energy to cook...

Edward gestured at Russell with his pen.

"...You know, that's the impression I've been getting from you lately. You've really been trying, haven't you?"

...When I'm not too tired, when it feels like it's worth it, when I know what it is I'm trying so hard at in the first place.

(When I remember how much I love you.)

"I... Yeah. It got to the point where I didn't have much of a choice. I couldn't keep letting everyone down."

Edward sighed.

"Russell... What about you?"

Here we go again.

"...What about me?"

Edward set his clipboard aside, then moved his stool back into a conversational position.

"I just... Wish there was some way I could force you to care about yourself. I know it sounds kind of intense when I put it that way, and I apologize for that, but it's the truth."

For some reason, sitting directly across from Edward again just made Russell feel petulant.

"I've been doing everything you've asked of me without you having to 'force' anything, so what does it matter?"

Edward looked like he was gearing up to argue, but he simply deflated with a shrug.

"I guess it doesn't. It just makes me sad."

Russell looked at the floor and felt the spike in his chest again, letting out all the hot air and bad blood.

"...Sorry."

Once more, it seemed as though Edward might have argued, but couldn't quite find it in him.

"Don't... Nevermind. It's getting late, so I'm going to mix up your meds now. And you know, it's-"

Russell watched as Edward stood and rummaged through the cabinets, eventually finding the small, dark vial.

"...My last dose. I know."

Hence, of course, the full physical. Edward smiled as he turned away from the shelves.

"At least for a pretty good while... Do you want to take it in anything in particular?"

Russell shook his head.

"No. Whatever you have on hand is fine."

Edward slipped the vial into the pocket of his robe.

"all right, then... It'll be just a minute."

With that, Edward vanished into the kitchen, leaving Russell alone in the antiseptic quiet of the Clinic.

Alone, he was acutely aware, with himself.

"Russell... What about you?"

"...What about me?"

Just as an experiment, he tried to answer himself the way he knew he should.

I care about you, I guess.

(Liar.)

Try as he might, Russell couldn't care the way Edward wanted him to; felt nothing but that familiar jab in his chest. Every time he almost thought he had it down, it turned out that, still, the one he really cared about was Edward. Or Cecilia, or Sabrina, or Tori, or his library and its beloved books.

Good enough?

(I don't know anymore.)

In any case, Edward had returned, holding a small glass of apple juice.

"...Thanks."

Not wanting to give himself a chance to taste it, Russell knocked the juice back in one swallow and tried not to think of the night he woke up in the Clinic.

How you let everyone down.

(How poorly you treated yourself?)

How I've carved men open, but could never quite work up the nerve to do the same to myself? How I'm a coward?

(You had the nerve. You also had Cecilia.)

"...Something wrong?"

Russell snapped back to reality, where Edward was leaning forward on his stool and looking somewhat concerned. He handed the glass back, wincing at the bitter aftertaste.

"What... Oh. I'm all right. It just doesn't taste too great."

Edward placed the glass on the desk behind him with a ceremonious thump.

"...Good thing you're all done, then!"

Good thing I'm going to be lying awake all night? Good thing I'm going to be winding myself in thorns all day? Good thing I can already feel it starting?

"Yeah. Good."

Russell examined his hands as they wound together in his lap, until Edward's hand came to rest on his shoulder, gently straightening his back.

"...Hey. Don't be down. The worst is over, all right?"

How many times have I told myself that?

(How many times have I been wrong?)

"I know."

Russell sat up a little straighter, loosely crossing his arms and trying to smile. Edward cleared his throat, instantly resuming his clinical manner.

"Anyway... We pulled you off pretty slowly, but you've had that stuff in your system for quite a while, so don't be surprised if you're not feeling your best in a few days. Still, it won't be like stopping all at once. You might not even miss work."

Edward was smiling beatifically, as though he didn't even remember feeding Russell that same line six years ago; didn't remember how confident he'd been back then, and how terribly mistaken.

And then it dawned on him, quite suddenly, that Edward had no reason to remember being wrong.

Russell had never told him what really happened.

For a moment, he considered saying something, but it felt like too much to get into just then. Russell simply swallowed those damp, raw, nauseous memories, just as he had the cup of bitter juice.

"I hope not. I've still got a lot of catching up to do."

Edward scrawled something on his clipboard, then slid the paper in the drawer with the others.

"...And lots of time to do it in. Don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Russell wondered, for the umpteenth time, what exactly Edward wrote about him; if it was anything interesting, or even anything comprehensible to his layman's eyes.

Can you please explain me to myself?

(If you can't, I don't think anyone could.)

"Okay."

Edward stood, stretched, and helped Russell to his feet.

"And get a good night's sleep... I know I've kept you here a while, so I'll let you go get on that."

Russell felt devastatingly awake, but Edward didn't need to know that.

"I'll do my best."

(Do you really think he can't tell?)

"Good! And feel free to come back any time, okay? I'll give you a checkup if you're feeling off, and I'm always here if you just want to visit for a while. Got that?"

Russell tugged on his coat as they both headed for the door.

"Yeah. I got it."

Edward wrapped his arms around Russell in a companionable, protective hug. He held him just a little tighter and lingered just a little longer than he had the last time.

"Goodnight, Russell."

The strength of the embrace made his bruised ribs ache, but the warmth of it was enough to take all his pain away.

"'Night, Ed."

(Please don't let go.)

"Keep trying, okay?"

Your hair still smells like antiseptic. My head sits just right on your shoulder.

(I love you.)

"I will."

When Edward finally broke away, Russell realized it still wasn't enough. He wanted Edward to hold him forever, and to wind his own arms around his friend's solid back and never let go. To stay like that for as long as it took to fill each other up with whatever they'd both lacked for so long.

Instead, he stepped out into the night, and tried to pretend it didn't feel like falling into that cold roadside ditch all over again.

It's okay. He said you can come back whenever you want.

I know.

(It's the leaving I can't handle.)

~*~

Russell thought he would feel better once he was tucked in his own bed, but he found the covers scarcely warmer than the night air outside.

Don't think about lying in a ditch.

Of course, telling himself not to think about it only made him think about it harder.

...Just think about getting warm.

Russell's mind flickered for a moment; bathwater, hot tea, sunbeams, lava. But the only warm sensation it could hold on to for longer than a few seconds was that of an embrace, of a set of hot-blooded arms closing in around him.

At first, huddled in his cold sheets, all he could think of was how his first lover had held him at night in the trenches; how he brought hot drinks fresh from the camp's fire when Russell woke feeling sluggish and congested from sleeping in wet clothes.

I don't want to think about him.

(I hope I never forget him.)

(...It was Symon. I remember now.)

Thankfully, as the mattress gradually warmed under him, Russell's mind began to turn to other sets of arms; other beds and other bodies.

Sabrina, in the cool darkness under the pier, golden-skinned and sandy; in his bed or hers, warm and bright as a new copper ingot. Lady Ann, with her rivers of molten wax, melting him like an ice cube.

Edward.

Edward, who seemed to like keeping things brief. But who, in those scarce precious seconds, would always hold Russell like he was trying to keep him from flying apart.

Maybe he is.

(Maybe I need that.)

Feeling as though he was about to fly apart, Russell wrapped his arms around himself, finding it a poor substitute. His own arms wouldn't go all the way around, and they weren't backed up by a gentle, warm body that he could fall into. Instead, there were his hands, which wanted only to know how badly he could still hurt.

It's definitely worse than yesterday.

(What did you expect?)

Russell realized what he was doing, releasing the hot-iron grip that had somehow formed around his ribs without his notice. He clasped his hands together tightly; resting them on the pillow, where he could presumably keep an eye on them.

Finally, his eyes began to drift closed. As his body relaxed, he allowed his arms to wrap around him again, holding in the hard-won warmth. Watery splotches of dreamy color had begun to pulse and spread behind his eyelids. The nagging aches he'd carried around all day were starting to fade.

Mostly.

(Maybe.)

A sudden pain in his side jolted him from his shallow half-sleep; dull and sore and lingering, nothing at all like the pure, sharp sliver of red with which Edward had so bravely ruptured the near-death darkness. Nor was it anything like Lady Ann's lash, or her nails, or her teeth.

It felt, quite distinctly, like no one's doing but his own.

Russell clenched his fists, gripped the sheets hard, pinned his hands under his head. Anything to quiet them for a moment, anything to keep the urge to check at bay.

What are you getting out of this?

We've established that it hurts.

Do you really think something changed in the last five minutes?

("Why make it harder?")

He didn't have answers.

All he had were his curious, restless hands, and the ditches of pain that they'd dug between his ribs. It was like being full of magnets and broken glass. Even now, he could feel an infuriating pull between his left side and his right hand.

Russell groaned in frustration as he sank his teeth into the ball of his thumb.

~*~

After two days, Russell had begun to suspect Edward might have been right this time. He was a bit cranky and lightheaded, but it was nothing he couldn't muddle through. Certainly, he had shown up for work with worse.

And so, the shock was all the more cruel when he woke on the third day and found he could do little besides thrash around in bed; pouring sweat and crackling with horrible, half-formed visions.

He was barely able to form coherent thoughts, save for one:

I knew it.

This, of course, brought little comfort as Russell leaned over the edge of the mattress and heaved into the wastecan; every drop of sick, sludgy blood in his quaking body pooling in his throbbing head.

It'll pass. You were mostly fine by the end of the week last time.

Somehow, that thought didn't comfort him all that much, either. Nor did the dry toast that was supposed to settle his stomach, or the book that was supposed to distract him. He was firmly ensconced in the dreadful present, alternating between violent retching and continually re-reading the same two paragraphs.

The only thing that almost helped was curling up in bed with the shades drawn, trying his best to disappear.

And, for a moment, he felt he almost vanished.

Almost.

"...Russell?"

Apparently, he was still there.

"Ed? Is that...?"

Russell was still curled into the wall, but he felt the mattress sag as Edward settled on the edge of the bed.

"It's me, yes."

His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but Russell managed to lift it just enough to glance behind him. Through his crooked glasses, Edward looked fractured and askew, like an old memory.

"What are you..."

His voice, though, was as clear and warm as ever.

"Just checking in on you, is all."

Russell cringed at the thought of exposing his damp, cold flesh to the dry, even colder air. But if Edward could figure out how to make him feel better, he was ready to submit to just about anything.

"Okay... Do you need to look me over, or are we letting things speak for themselves?"

He began unwrapping himself from his sticky blankets, but Edward gently wrapped him back up again.

"Russell... Relax. I'm not here in a medical capacity."

Haven't you had dreams like this?

I also have dreams where a pair of giant hands in platemail gloves break me in half like a hot strawberry jam roll. What of it?

"Then why not just let me sleep?"

Edward gently brushed back Russell's sweat-slimed hair.

"...Because we're friends, I thought this might happen, and you shouldn't have to go through it alone."

His friend's hands were soft and unguarded, but Russell felt himself break in half all the same.

"I've gone through it alone before. Don't worry over me."

Russell closed his eyes, doing his best to vanish again. He was much, much too tired to deal with whatever was going on here.

"I know you have. And that's because I left you to it... That really wasn't right of me. I'm sorry."

And it's not right of me that you have to see me like this.

(He's already seen you worse.)

(It wasn't right.)

"That was six years ago, and it wasn't your job to hover over me."

(I did this to myself. Go back to your real patients.)

Edward did not return to the Clinic. He moved to sit back against the headboard, his hand never leaving Russell's troubled head.

"I don't care. Right now, I'm thinking about today... How are you today, Russell?"

Russell turned onto his back, smirking bitterly up at Edward.

"Excellent. Just great."

Edward chuckled slightly.

"...I can see that! Have you had anything to eat today?"

Two pieces of toast, half an apple, a few bites of plain rice.

"Nothing that stayed down."

A small, sympathetic hum escaped from Edward's throat.

"That must be hard... You're at least drinking water, right?"

Russell nodded up towards the headboard.

"I have some right over there."

Edward picked up the glass—about a quarter of the way full—and examined its contents, swirling the tepid water around.

"Good. You should probably finish it."

Russell accepted the cup from Edward, and quickly realized that he couldn't drink lying down without spilling water everywhere. As he struggled to prop himself up on the pillows, he wondered how much it even mattered, considering that he was drenched already.

"Yeah. Probably."

He raised the cup to his lips as Edward placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him slightly.

"Go slow, okay?"

Russell took the smallest sip possible, then abruptly remembered that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"...Oh. Sorry... I'm not decent. Sweated through two shirts this morning... Kind of gave up after that."

With a small, awkward laugh, Russell pulled away from Edward's touch. Edward shrugged, slipping his hand in his pocket.

"It's no trouble. I've seen you before."

Russell was mortified. He'd already known, of course. But the thought of Edward inspecting his sallow, malnourished mid-winter body while he was too unconscious to apologize for himself always made him blanch in shame.

"True enough."

Embarrassed as he was, Russell missed the feeling of Edward's skin on his now that it had been withdrawn. Edward's hands were a little dry from frequent washings, and his palm felt soothing and almost powdery against Russell's clammy body.

But at least Edward didn't seem particularly offended by his shrinking away.

"So... Have you been up to anything at all today? Just sleeping?"

Russell shrugged.

"I... Actually, I can't sleep. It's like I have a current running through me or something."

It seemed, for a fraction of a second, as though Edward were about to reach out to Russell again. But he just buried his hand deeper into the folds of his coat.

"Well, that's rough... I can tell you're pretty exhausted."

Russell felt himself break in half again. How badly he wanted that gentle hand back; how badly he recoiled at the thought of anyone having to touch him.

"Yeah. I can't even read."

Edward's mouth gaped a bit, in mock surprise and genuine concern.

"...Okay, now I know you're tired. Would you want me to read to you for a while instead? Just offering."

Russell didn't know what he wanted. He wanted Edward to go away, to leave him alone with the mess he'd made of himself. He also wanted to curl into Edward's chest and listen to him talk forever.

But mostly, he just wanted to go to sleep.

"...If you want. I think I'd like that."

Edward picked up the book that had been strewn by Russell's side on the bed and flipped through it until he reached the now-somewhat-dogeared butterfly bookmark.

"Okay then, let's just... Russell. This book is full of sea battles. Do you think you could have picked a worse thing to read?"

Ever since he was small, the one sure-fire way to raise Russell's hackles was to tell him what he could and couldn't read.

"Ed, I was never in any sea battles. It's fine. I just like the Pirate Queen a lot, and-"

...And I'm tired of you telling me what to do.

(And I'm tired of having to do it anyway, because I made a promise to you that you can't even know about.)

Edward closed the book; taking care, Russell noted, to put the bookmark exactly where he'd found it.

"...And regardless, this seems a little high-energy and hard to follow. Would you want something a little more relaxing?"

All he wanted, deep down, was the sound of Edward's voice. The words couldn't have mattered less.

"Sure, I guess."

(I take it back. You can tell me what to do. I won't mind.)

"Okay, then. I'm going to go get you a better book and another glass of water. That sound good?"

Russell nodded, wet hair rearranging itself between his head and the pillow.

"Yeah."

Edward gently cupped Russell's cheek, just for a moment.

"All right... Just take it easy until I get back, okay?"

Don't touch me. I'm sweaty.

(I don't deserve it.)

Russell cleared his raw throat.

"'Kay."

Then he closed his eyes and tried once more to vanish.

Just for a little while.

Finally, it seemed he'd managed.

But then that little while passed, and Edward had returned, bearing a thinner book and a taller glass.

"...How's this work for you?"

Edward passed the book over for Russell's approval. It was a compilation of nature-themed poetry, which he had only read once, but remembered liking well enough.

"It'll work... I could definitely do with revisiting this one."

Russell traded the book for the glass, took a sip, and nearly spat it back. The water had a vague, peculiar flavor; slightly redolent of a clear bodily fluid. He forced it down, then held the glass up to the light, finding the liquid slightly cloudy. Edward winced.

"...Sorry. You're losing more than just water, so I added a splash of juice and a pinch of salt to it. I was just about to warn you."

Warily, Russell took another small sip.

"It's fine... I was just surprised."

Now that he knew what it was, the taste wasn't unpleasant at all. In fact, it made him want to swallow the whole glass at once, to feel it rushing through the dry riverbed of his brain.

"Glad there's no hard feelings... Now! Let's get started..."

Taking care as he opened the delicate old book, Edward began reading a poem about a sprout coiled in a seed; the dark, dark Earth that protected it from the noonday sun. As Russell lay in his dark room, sipping on his strange-tasting water, he could almost picture himself there.

"...Hmm. I don't remember that one. I think I like it, though."

Edward turned the page.

"I do, too."

The next poem was about sitting in a meadow full of summer fireflies, watching a meteor shower, eating a handful of dark sour berries, and how all those things were the same. This one, Russell knew.

"Oh, yeah... I read that to Cecilia once."

If he remembered correctly, he had read it to her in the days leading up to the Library's grand opening, back when he thought he really could just leave it all behind.

"How'd she like it?"

Russell shrugged, handing his mostly-empty glass to Edward, who sat it down on the headboard.

"She was a baby... I don't really know..."

How much do you remember, Cecilia?

"Well, you should try reading it to her again. I bet she would."

My shooting star. My firefly.

(My light in the dark.)

"I will."

The page turned again.

"Let me know what she thinks, okay?"

This time, it was an iceberg that had broken off a glacier and drifted out to sea, written of as though it were a solitary hero on a quest for the unknown. Dark blue water lapped at its sides, and a cold sun beat on its back. It missed the stability of the mountains, and grew smaller by the day. But there was a happy ending, something about the sea and the rain and a cloud wrapping itself around rocky peaks.

Even so, it just made Russell feel lonely and cold.

"...Hey, Ed?"

He's the brave iceberg. He's the sturdy mountains.

"Yes?"

Russell swallowed hard. His throat still ached and burned from gagging all morning.

"I know this is a little... Well, I don't know what it is. But could you just... Maybe hold my hand for a while?"

Edward placed his hand in Russell's, lacing their fingers and squeezing gently.

"Of course I can."

Russell squeezed back, then let his hand grow limp again, feeling the ambivalence about Edward's being there leaving his body. He didn't care that he was slick with sweat, didn't care that Edward felt his hand shaking.

He only cared that he wasn't alone.

That he was with someone he loved.

"Thanks."

Somehow, Edward had managed to turn the page with his one free hand. He began reading about a copse of trees connected underground by a network of mushrooms. The mushrooms liked being silly, and had fun mixing up the words the trees whispered to each other. The poem was riddled with puns, and made both men laugh.

But just as he was about to turn the page again, Edward turned suddenly serious.

"Russell... Did you tell anyone that you were going through this today?"

He felt Edward's grip on his hand tighten slightly, and hoped he would never let go.

"No. Well, not really."

Edward peered over the book, looking mildly puzzled.

"...'Not really'?"

It probably wasn't funny, but Russell found it hard to keep a straight face as he explained.

"Well... Tori had to fill in for me, so I told her I ate a bad egg."

Edward shook his head.

"Some egg."

Russell smiled.

"Shut up."

Instead of shutting up, Edward began reading another poem. This one had something to do with crickets, and then something to do with stones. Or maybe those were two separate poems. They were all beginning to run together.

"...You okay, Russell?"

Russell blinked, a dream of stone insects already forming behind his eyes.

"Yeah."

Edward readjusted the book in his free hand, holding it a little higher.

"Are you done with this for now?"

Russell shook his head.

"I... I want you to keep reading until I fall asleep, okay?"

Edward gently squeezed his hand.

"Okay."

(Don't let go.)

"And then... Well, could you just stay with me until I'm really out? Please?"

(Please, don't let go.)

"Of course."

Russell closed his eyes, allowing himself to be pulled under by the river of Edward's voice. A river, yes. And a rainstorm, a meadow, a sunbeam; the whole great, wide world and everything it held.

All of it was in him, and it swallowed Russell like a gentle fog.

When he briefly woke again, the light that crept in between the drapes had gone soft and blue.

Edward was quiet now; watching a dull, steely knife of light cross the floor with what, even through the thick blur, seemed like the calmest, saddest eyes he had ever seen. Russell's glasses had been set aside, and he couldn't see well, but he knew those eyes were a dim evening blue, like the room itself.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed.

All he knew was that Edward was still holding his hand.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 #rf1 russell

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