#but its looking like ill be just lucky to get a house maybe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nyx-is-missing · 1 year ago

Note

hello! Can you write a Clarisse La Rue x reader where they met before Clarisse got sent to camp halfblood when they were little and were best friends then Clarisse left for camp with no explanation then years later reader goes to camp and sees Clarisse for the first time in years and it’s kinda awkward but cute

thanks :)

This is kinda long sooorrry, to help, the part where she gets to camp (kinda) will be in green

Girls on film 📷

Clarrise la rue x fem!reader

Warnings and explanations: bad words (take the kids out of the living room she swears) gender is specified cause it was written as wlw, but it doenst actually makes a diference, fluff, like two sentences, there is a kiss in the picture but they dont actually kiss sorry.

Unspecified parent gender for both sides so yall can pick wichever

Trying not to kill myself.

That was what i was doing 15 hours ago, just as any normal teenagers living (or as i prefer saying fighting for the soul to stay on the body) during finals week.

In my room there was nothing but piles and piles of normal work, piles for extra credit, piles of old quizzes to try to get me prepared for the new ones and a dumb incomplete project for photography class that was due tomorrow.

Okay ill admit, i had a month to make that, and all i needed to do was shoot pictures, but that was the problem, i prefer taking pictures of people, their emotions, whatever they might be, just never ceases to amaze me.

And my dumb project made take pictures of....landscapes.

Not too bad, if i had any actual real talent for that type of photography, but i dont, every picture gets ruined somehow, its the lightning, the lack of it, my camera falls, gets full of dirt and i get so mad that i just give up.

That whole speach was necessary for me to explain what i was doing 14 hours ago, and that would explain what i was doing 5 minutes ago.

14 hours ago i decided to shoot the photos, i could try many times before it got dark, and if o was lucky enough i wouldnt go insane before the golden hour, and could actually get some nice pictures.

I grabbed my totte bag taking with me only the necessary, camera stuff, the camera, some snacks and my notebook to upload the pictures before i went mad.

13 hours ago i was running to save my life.

And do you know that moment went you go through so much your mind decides to erase it?

That happened, now, what i do remember, i was sitting in a bench by a calm road not too far from the town, i had got some actually good pictures, some of me, some of the trees, some of a butterfly, maybe three cars had passed by since i was there, driving slowly, always saying hi and doing a thumbs up, normal, friendly people from the town.

And then i heard a noise that shook the trees.

I remember seeing something, but never what, i remember running to home as fast as i could, feeling my heartbeats in my neck, i remember the noise, but the people in the streets looked at me like there was nothing behind me and i went crazy

I remember getting home, having a desperate talk with my parent while they got my suiticase ready, and i dont remember a single word.

I remember a funny looking guy my age that got to my house, with goat legs and a more desperate look, and i remember one last hug before i left.

And thats all, aside from a hell of a lot of running nobody cares.

Aparently i passed out from shock or exaustion because i woke up in a unknown place, at night, in a hospital bed, with no actual doctors other than 15 year olds teenagers.

And a horseman standing in the corner, with quite a intelectual look actually.

And let me tell you guys that after the talk we had, if somebody told me i would marry queen Elizabeth within 4 days, i would just belived it.

Because nothing ever in my life would ACTUALLY beat up the level of crazyness of finding out i DO have another parent, they are just, A FUCKING GOD. GREEK. GODS. AH.

Then, after telling me my whole life was in fact, a big fat lie, the horseman... left.

Telling me i should sleep in the infirmary this night for precaution and that he was going to get me to a cabin tomorrow.

Like that was the most normal thing to ever happen to a human, he said goodnight and left.

While i sat there just trying to...basically form a sentence that wasnt "for fucks sake what the fuck was that"

I would have loved to say that i did slept that night, dreaming about glory and greek myths but that did not happened, at all.

I walked around the infirmary for hours, opening every cabinet and trying to make my mind to something, i searched for my stuff, and thankfully found my camera, with some pictures i hadnt noticed i had taken, one specific had a blurred thing in the forest.

When the first rays of sunlight appeared i got dressed, and decided that, in order to prove to myself (and probably to the mental hospital afterwards) i was not insane, i needed proof that i was actually living, actually there, being a demigodess, thats what they called.

Very few people were up already, and i did received some weird looks, it was clear nobody knew me, that was fine, i didnt knew anybody either.

I walked around taking some pictures, sometimes getting lost, but everything amazed me, the forest, the cabins, the stables, i found the entrance to a beach too, and then i got to the training area, aparently, i stayed far away, god forbid i woke up from this nightmare with a spear in my head, oh no, that would be bad.

Openning my camera i zoomed in the people, my speciality, it was sweet, seeing them trully smile, and not pretend for the picture, it was a genuine feeling the camera would keep forever, i zoomed around other peoples faces, but my camera focused on a face i could never forget, and she looked back at me, and realized i was there, but not that i was me, because she came towards me with a angry look.

Ill admit, the look scared me as hell, so much i tried to pretend i was never taking pictures of her, i slightly changed the angle and kept my face hidden behind the camera.

Do i need to say that did not fucking worked? No? Thank you.

"Who the fuck do you think you are taking random pictures of pe-"

She yanked my camera off of me mid sentence and stopped completely, looking like she had seen a ghost for some seconds.

"(Y/n)?"

"Clari?"

"How- what are you doing here!?"

She asked, with a worried look, still kind of confused, she did this look since we were little girls, and for a moment i had a big deja vu.

Two little girls running around, playing all day, telling each other secrets and stories, running to hug each other eveytime they were close, i still saw that girl in her eyes, but by her previous look, she did not.

"What am i doing here? What are YOU doing here? One day you dissapear without a trace, and your family said you went to a new school even though it was the summer, and now i find you sparring with a spear? You are that too? A demigoddes, i mean?"

I spoke fast, nervous, as if my time in the world with her would end just as it did once.

Instead of responding me right away, clarisse did something that maybe would scare every single soul she knew in the past years.

She hugged me. Hard.

Breathing me in, and not letting me go exactly as you would expect of someone who hasnt seen me in years.

"I couldnt tell you anything... it wouldnt be safe...im sorry, i missed my friend... i missed you."

I just looked at her for some seconds, and then hugged her again, this time i was the one making it extra tight, i was the one going insane by the reconforting smell of her shampoo, praying that she couldnt feel my heartbeats against her chest, and how strong they were.

"Just.. dont leave me again okay? And ill forgive you, i promisse"

#fanfic #lesbian #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo #clarisse la rue

426 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 9 months ago

Note

Literally my favorite wbb writer on here😭💕💕!! Could you maybe write kate Martin x reader angst?

UGGHHH, i love you all so much, your support means the world to me!! thank you sm :’)

Thick and Thin . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: you and kate go through a rough patch

A/N: NOT PROOF READ

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

to say you were a supportive girlfriend would be an understatement, you went to every game, every event, comforted kate after every loss and celebrated after every win. any athlete would be lucky to have you at their side. and at the beginning of your relationship, kate knew that. she was so grateful that she had you in her life. if you weren’t there on the side lines cheering her on or doting on her whenever she needed it, she wouldn’t be where she’s at now.

but as of recently, she’d become too entangled in the game. sure, an athlete like herself would obviously be committed and stressed when it came to their sport. but kate had always made sure you understood that you were her number one priority, basketball second. she wanted to make sure you knew how much she loved you, showing you the same amount of love and support that you always showed her. and for a while, it was working out fine. you split your girlfriend duties 50/50 and made sure each other were always satisfied and happy in the relationship.

now, though, it felt like kate has just stopped caring. you weren’t sure if it was graduation, or saying goodbye to the team, she wouldn’t talk to you at all. she was cold and more distant than normal. she didn’t help you out around the house, she didn’t bring you home flowers every friday night like she used to, she didn’t kiss you goodnight or pull you into her chest before bed, you felt suddenly neglected. kate was acting like a completely different person and it was really starting to take a toll on you.

you tried to let this phase run its course in hopes that she’d return to her normal self again, but things seemed to only be getting worse. she started coming home later than normal, stopped taking you to banquets and events. hell, she didn’t even care that you waited for her outside the locker room after each game to see her. instead, she would brush past you to talk to her friends and family. it’s like you were invisible.

no matter how much it hurt you, you still wanted to support your girlfriend and kept going to the games and cheering her on, even if she didn’t notice you were there.

but on this particular night, outside the locker room once more, something inside you told you to wait for her and figure out what was going on. you weren’t going to be brushed off any longer.

you felt like you were going to melt, sitting on the bench outside the doors. your heart was racing and your head was spinning hoping that she’d be the next one to walk out. and soon enough, your prayers were answered, kate came waltzing through the doors moments later. duffel bag in hand, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. surprisingly, she saw you and walked over to see you.

“hey, i’m gonna go over to hannah’s place to hang out with the girls tonight” she looked down at her phone, typing out a text. figures, she couldn’t even look at you “i don’t know when i’ll be home so. ill probably see you in the morning”

you scoffed, now she wasn’t even coming home with you anymore? is the only time she’s going to talk to you is to tell you she’s leaving? your blood must’ve been boiling, your heart sank watching her completely blow you off.

“what’s that all about?” she asked, irritated.

“nothing, nothing” you sighed, beginning to walk away “do whatever you want i don’t fucking care”

she grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks and talk to her “what’s your fucking problem? i can’t go out with my team now? i thought you were supposed to be a supportive girlfriend, huh?”

“really? you’re going to pull that card?” now you were fuming, you were lucky no one was around to witness this “i’ve been nothing but supportive, kate. you know that! i do everything i possibly can to be supportive. and all i ask if that you do the same for me, but you’ve quite literally treated me like shit these past few weeks!”

“that’s such bullshit-”

“no it’s not kate! you’re not even home anymore! you don’t buy me flowers or take me out on dates like you used to! i don’t even remember the last time you kissed me because you’re too fucking busy with all this other shit! and when it’s late and i’m waiting out here for you, time and time again, you blow me off to go out with the team. again. it never ends, kate”

“i don’t know why you’re choosing to bring this up now” she yelled “lets just go home, fuck, i won’t go out tonight if you’re gonna make a scene!”

“you’re unbelievable, kate i hope you know that” you wanted to scream “go home, go with the team, i truly don’t care. but im not gonna keep doing this with you.” you pushed past kate, who was trying to drag you out to the car at this point, making your way to the door and storming down the street alone.

“where the hell are you going, YN” she chased after you “seriously, what the fuck, let’s just go home, i’m sorry!”

you ignored her and kept walking, if she was going to treat you like this, then you weren’t going to put up with her anymore. you’d stay at a friends place or a hotel if it meant you didn’t have to take this neglect anymore.

kate persisted, still chasing you down the side walk, dodging numerous couples and families just trying to enjoy their evening. you tried to pretend she wasn’t there, persistent on getting away from her as far as possible. but before you could turn around the next corner to try and get her off your back, she grabbed your foreman and pulled you back into her like she had done before.

“stop running, you’re acting like a child” she tried to keep her voice level “just come home so we can talk about this, please”

you didn’t even look at her, complying, as you let her lead you to the car and take you home.

when you arrived at your building, you both stood in complete silence as you entered the the apartment. you hung up your coat, took off your shoes, and sat on the couch waiting for her to start talking.

“so talk, kate. since that’s what you wanted to do.”

“YN, come on” she groaned, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch “i don’t get why we need to have this conversation.”

“you don’t get it?” you were astonished, was she that fucking clueless “you don’t see what’s been going on?”

she just looked at you sadly, fingers massaging her temples in frustration.

“kate i know that things are difficult right now. i can’t even imagine what you’re feeling when you have to deal with all these things with basketball and try and handle everything else outside of that too. but you’ve changed, babe, and it feels like you’ve just stopped caring about me all together”

“you know that’s not true,” she said. “i love you so much, you know that”

“but do i, kate?” you shook your head “im sitting outside of that locker room, telling you all these things you’ve been doing that have seriously hurt my feelings…and you’re just not listening!”

“ok i’ll admit i’ve been distant! and im sorry for that, i really am, but i didn’t realize it was that big of a deal!” she defended “things have been so hectic and im struggling to keep everything together and-and then there’s stuff going on with my family and caitlin’s always asking me to-”

she began to ramble, telling you every possible thing that had been on her mind recently. you had no idea it was this bad.

“kate…” you leaned over, rubbing her shoulder to try and soothe her “i had no idea all of that was going on? why didn’t you just talk to me about it? you can always trust me with these things”

she leaned forward, letting her head fall into her hands, trying to keep her composure “because you’re always so good to me and i didn’t want to dump all of this on you and make you deal with it. i just don’t want my problems to become yours”

“and that’s very thoughtful, but i’m here to help. and even if i wasn’t…that doesn’t give you the right to just cut me off as a girlfriend completely, it’s so unlike you…and for you to get so upset with me when i just wanted to spend time with you after the game tonight? you’d never do that”

“i know, you’re right, i just..” she looked over to you, eyes bloodshot from holding in tears “i guess i thought that if i secluded myself and kept you out of it that it might be easier to deal with…but i was so fucking wrong. and i shouldn’t have pretended like this was normal, it’s not. i’m so sorry that i’ve been abandoning you and not even realizing”

“i’m…im not gonna sit here and say it’s ok, cause it’s not. but i know that this isn’t you. i know that you can fix yourself and trust me to help you sort out whatever’s bothering you. but i really need you to try. i miss the old you, i miss the good morning kisses and making me dinner and our movie nights, you know?”

she smiled, reminiscing “i miss it too, im gonna be better, i promise.”

“i know, and i love you ok?”

“i love you too, thank you for putting up with all my shit, i don’t deserve you”

you pulled her into you, reveling in her embrace for the first time in weeks, you could already feel things falling back into place.

it was going to take a long time for you to get back into your old dynamic with kate, but you understood that she was under a lot of pressure and she understood that you had struggles and needs just the same. so you promised to tackle it all, sticking together through thick and thin.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: i’m very bad at writing angst so i apologize! if you guys request something and my outcome for it isn’t what you had wanted, feel free to message me and ill re write it for you, i want you guys to be completely satisfied with your requests!

on that same note, i’ve still got a few requests i’m finishing up and then i’ll open that back up again, thanks for understanding <3

have a lovely day!! :)

#kate martin x reader #kate martin #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #request

287 notes · View notes

chaos-grimlin · 2 years ago

Note

Maybe a stu macher x reader where stu likes the reader but he has to pretend he doesn't because he's with Tatum and every time a guy get close he gets really protective. Soon the reader is assigned a project with a guy and stu convinces billy to do the call/kill thing. The reader defends herself and gets away but is really banged up but the guy wasn't as lucky. The next day at school stu protect her from the press and they start to get closer. Sorry if this is long😬.

Alrighty! Thanks for the request! And dont worry if its long! I dont mind i got nothing else to do! I just love getting requests!!hope it's what you want!if not ill rewrite it

Fuck her i want you~ (Stu macher x fem reader)

(All in 3rd person and is a fem reader like the other request by this person said!)

Stu didn't know if his feelings for her were true or not. At first he thought they were just the shock of having a new person in their friend group after all these years, but, after a few months, Stu realized it wasnt shock... It was love.

Stu was shocked by his own feelings towards Y/n. Stu hasn't felt love in forever, he thought that the feeling of love died when he helped Billy kill Sidneys mother then found out that, if she got in the way, he'd have to kill Tatum too..

So..Stu fell out of love with Tatum, "why love someone youll end up killing?" Stu had always said to himself. And after a bit, he no longer felt the feeling of love, till Y/n came along.

He loved every bit of her. From top to bottom and even her personality. Stu loved it all.

Yet... Stu couldn't be with Y/n...because he had to stay with Tatum in order for Billy's plans to murder Sidney would go right. So all the desperately in love boy could do was watch as his feelings for you grew to the point that suffocated him.

Stu would watch Y/n from afar, watching her every step..stalking her.

Y/n was never aware of this, she'd always feel eyes watching her, but she never knew it was her bestfriend. Y/n would never expect Stu to stalk her..but..she did find one thing odd about him..

Stu always showed up as if on purpose when some guy or girl got too close, too flirty, or too touchy with her.

Y/n thought Stu was just being a good friend, protecting her from creeps, when in reality, Stu was becoming obsessed with her and didn't want anyone to take her from him..it got to the point Stu would spit out threats to Randy or Billy if they got too close or too touchy...Stu would do anything to keep her from being taken..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, tonight at 6?" A brown haired boy asked Y/n as he raised an eyebrow at her.

Y/n nodded her head with a smile as she clutched her books tightly agaisnt her chest. "Yes! 6. Ill have everything set out and ready by then" Y/n said. "Alrighty then, see ya later" the boy said with a wave before turning on his heels and walking off.

Little did they know that Stu keep a sharp eye on them both, listening to every word that was spoken.

Stu watched at the boy walked off, fist pumping the air as he did.

Stu felt anger boil inside of him. "Why was HE going to HER house?!" Stu asked himself as he bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fist tightly. That lowlife couldn't take her from him!

Stu's breathing became unsteady as he watched the boy walk up to his friends and start laughing and talking.

"Stu! You okay?" A gruff voice called out.

Stu cranned his neck and looked behind him, only to see his partner in crime, Billy Loomis.

"No im not fine" Stu said through gritted teeth and he fixated his eyes back onto the boy.

"Well what the hell is wrong?" Billy asked with a sigh. "That boy..the one with the Letterman jacket and brown shoulder length hair.. Hes going over to Y/n's tonight" Stu hissed out. "Okay...and?" Billy asked, not seeing why his friend was so pissed off.

"What of he tries something? What if he hurts her Billy?" Stu answered Billy's question with more questions. "Stu... They just have a proje-" "i dont care he shouldnt be going to her house!" Stu said, Cutting Billy off then turning around to face him. "You cant kill everyone who goes around her" Billy argued "it would give us away" he added. Stu rolled his eyes like a toddler. Billy knew that if Stu killed every girl or guy that got close to Y/n it would give them both away and neither of them wanted to end up in jail just yet.

"Just this once?" Stu pleaded. Billy let a long sigh escape his lips as he pinched the bridge of nose. "Fine..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n swayed to the music that played through out her house as she got ready to start of her project. She laid out paper, glue, scissors, tape, snacks, and more.

Y/n hummed along to the music as she sat down a bowl of chips. And right at that moment her phone rung.

Y/ns eyes snapped over to the phone before she skipped over to the phone, took it off the hook and pressed it to her ear. "Hellllo?" Y/n said as she popped a chip onto her mouth.

"Well hello there" a deep distorted voice said from the other side of the line. "Heh, who is this?" Y/n said as she twirled the phone cord around her pointer finger. "Who is this?" The man said, asking the same question.

"Well..this is Y/n L/n, you may be looking for my parents... Mr and Mrs L/n" Y/n said, trailing off slightly. "Oh no no your who I was looking for" the man called out. "Oh..well...who is this?" Y/n asked again, tapping her foot onto the ground. "Oh well dont worry about that... All you need to know is that i know you and you know me." the voice purred out.

At that time there was a knock on the door. "Oh i gotta go! Bye bye" Y/n said quickly as she hung the phone back onto the hook, letting the call disconnect.

Y/n rushed over to the front door and fumbled as she opened it.

"Hey!" Y/n said as her e/c eyes locked onto a pair of green ones.

"Hey " the boy said.

Y/n moved out of the way and let the boy walk in, not knowing that she was being watched.

Stu and Billy sat behind a bundle of bushes. Stu lowered the voice changer and gripped the burner phone tightly in his hand, so tightly it could have cracked the screen. "Calm down dont get your panties in a wad, he'll be dead soon" Billy huffed out as he pulled the white father death mask over his face.

"He needs to be dead soon.." Stu said.

Billy signed. He had never seen his side of Stu.. The side that wanted people that were not involved dead...

"Go.. Ill call her again" Stu said as he held the voice changer close to his lips and the phone to his ear.

"So how do you wanna do this?" Y/n asked as she fixed her shorts. "Hm.. I was thinking we could do everything on a timelinish scale, but...spice it up ya know?" The boy said as he took his Letterman jacket off and laid it on the floor beside him.

"Nice jacket" Y/n said as he eyes trailed over the jacket. "Oh..uh..thanks" the boy choked out. "Were did you get it?" She asked. "I played football here last year so i got it." The boy said with a shrug. "Ah cool! Also what was your name again?" Y/n asked, going off topic. "Oliver"

(No not a character from scream i made Oliver up)

Y/n nodded, and once she did, the phone rang again.

A sight escaped her lips as she forced a smile. "Ill be back" she said before standing up and walking to the phone and picking it up. "Hello" she said.

"Hello again pretty lady" the same distorted voice said through the phone. "Okay, who the hell is this?" She said, putting her hand on her hip. "Oh no one but a secret admirer of yours." The voice cooed. Y/n was at a loss for words. He struggled to regain her voice. "Hey, stop calling me okay? Im busy" "DONT YOU HANG UP ON ME"

At that, Y/n froze. "Yeah.. Now you listen.."

Y/n stayed quiet.

"I know you wanna go back and have...fun...with that boy you carelessly let in...but! You are mine! If anyone tries to take you from me i swear their organs will be spread all over town.. You hear me?!"

Out of panic, Y/n slammed that phone down onto the hook. "Help me lock the doors and windows!" Y/n choked out as she rushed to the side window and shut the latch. "What? Why?" Oliver questioned. "HELP ME LOCK THE DOORS AND WINDOWS DAME IT!" Y/n screeched out as she looked at Oliver.

Oliver nodded as he rushed off and locked the front door.

Y/n looked back at the window, only for her blood to run cold as she was met with the dark black eyes of the father death mask.

A scream escaped her throat as the masked person punched the glass, breaking it.

Y/n stumbled back as the person pulled theirself through the broken window.

"RUN!" Y/n screamed as she started running.

Y/n rushed to the front door as Oliver looked back and saw the person.

Oliver's eyes went wide as he fumbled with the lock. "Fuck fuck fuck" the boy muttered as he soon opened the door.

Y/n grabbed ahold of his hand as they both ran. Y/n stole a glance back only to see the person running at full speed at her at Oliver.

Y/n forced her legs to run faster but, in the end, like every tragic story..

Her feet caught onto each other and she fell, bringing Oliver down with her.

Y/ns head hit the concrete road, scraping at her exposed skin.

Oliver stumbled, but didn't fall.

"Um..they are catching up to us..GET THE FUCK UPP" Oliver screamed as he pulled Y/n up by her arm and practically dragged her up.

Y/ns head was spinning as she ran.

She head bellowing footsteps right behind her, and what followed was pain rushing through her back.

A blood curdling scream left her throat as the knife the person had sliced down her back.

Y/n felt the blood trickle down her body as the person grabbed her wrist, pulled her away from Oliver and carelessly threw her to the floor.

Y/n's head bounced off the road as she was thrown.

Her head was throbbing and her vision was fading in and out, and before long, she lost conciousness, the last the she flet before she passed out was blood peppering her skin....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~time skip to maybe 2 weeks later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n slowly walking up to Woodsboro high, her brain still foggy since she had just left the hospital.

Her conscious was overloaded with guilt as she saw countless news reporters lining around the school, doing reports on the brutal murder of Oliver..

Y/n flet tears flood into her eyes as she hung her head low.

"Y/n!" A voice called out.

Y/n peered up and saw Stu rushing up to her, a concerned look dawning his face.

Stu had told Billy not to hurt her,but, he sliced her back.

Y/n was quick to rush up to Stu and engulf him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest as tears pooled from her eyes.

Stu froze for a second before he quickly hugged Y/n back, pulling her closer to him.

This is what Stu wanted..

Stu yearned for her touch..he longed to feel you near him..and now he got what he wanted.

"Y/n!!" A pitchy voice rang out.

Y/n pulled away from Stu as she saw a flood of news reporters start to swarm her.

"Is it true Oliver woods was murdered in front of you?" "Was there a reason the killer spared you?" "Is what what you told police true?!"

Y/n felt her brain overload as she watched at the cameras that were on her and all the microphones that were shoved into her face.

"Leave her alone!" Stu hissed out as he pulled Y/n to his side and started to force himself and her through the crowd of news reporters.

Y/n gripped onto stu like a child as they walked.

Y/n toned out all their questions. And soon, she no longer was surrounded by reporters.

Y/n looked up at Stu with tear filled eyes as he looked down at her.

"Hey don't cry.. They arent going to bother you.. Im here to help you " he said softly as he cupped her cheek and used his thumb to wipe away her stray tears.

Y/n felt..calm... Around Stu..

Like all her worry and guilt dripped off her bones when Stu came around.

"Thanks" she whispered...

And at that... Y/n hardly ever left his side..

they became clsoer and closer and Stu fell more in love..

And he knew for a fact that he would have her after Billy kills Tatum...

#stu macher #stu macher x reader #scream #stu macher x fem reader #y/n #scream 1 #billy loomis

467 notes · View notes

wishcamper · 6 months ago

Text

Cassian Appreciation Week Day 4: Lover

Continuing @cassianappreciationweek with an entry that explores Cassian's openness to love in its many packages. You can read it here or on ao3.

Thicker Than Water

In which Cassian loves his friends.. a lot.

CW: consensual sexual content, a moment of dubcon if you squint

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

“I thought being married would get us past the overfamiliar gifts, but I guess that was wishful thinking,” Nesta sighed, and Cassian cursed himself for the thousandth time for all the years he spent letting his guilt rule him.

The House’s warmth was a relief when it washed over his wings, and as he set Nesta down in the dining room it felt more like home than ever. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the rack, and despite the time his stomach still swooped seeing the long column of her neck, her cheeks flushed from the wine and hours spent in the parlor of the river house.

Nesta, his wife, their third Solstice as mates since that night everything changed. Lucky didn’t even come close to how he felt having her in his life - it was a rare gift, one that he doubted even other mates experienced.

Which was why the present from Mor didn’t make him feel uncomfortable so much as sad. He worried about the ways his friend was struggling to move on, to find her place now their family had changed irrevocably.

Cassian sank into an armchair and chucked the silky undershorts into the hearth, watching the fabric curl and twist as the flames engulfed it. “I’m sorry, I’ll talk to her about it. Maybe she’ll actually hear me this time.”

He’d told Nesta the story of their ill-fated one night stand ages ago, the fallout not just with Mor’s engagement but within their found family as well. He still looked back on the whole thing with shame, but Nesta was helping him shift that, to understand and make peace with the ways he’d been harmed, to discern what was and wasn’t his duty to bear.

“It’s not your fault,” she said as if reading his thoughts, coming behind his chair to drape herself over his shoulders. Her hair smelled of vanilla and cinnamon when she buried her face in his neck, voice thick with drink and drowsiness. “I can’t say it’s surprising, the way all of you are with each other. If I didn’t know, I’d assume you’d have been with at least one of them.”

“What does that mean?”

Cassian frowned as Nesta tapped a careful finger against her lips and moved to pour herself a nightcap, her words sounding measured when she finally spoke. “Your family is very.. charged. You talk about sex all the time, none of you were attached before my sisters and I came along. There’s just something not quite familial about it.”

“Hey now,” he began, but Nesta cut him off with a kiss, returning to perch herself in his lap. He drew his wings and arms around her habitually despite his offense, stealing a sip from her glass.

“Sorry love, I’ve no judgment for you. I’m certainly not innocent." She loosed the tie from his hair, her fingers soothing where they worked through the tangles he'd earned rolling on the floor with his nephew. "Besides, you’ve only slept with one of your family members, it could be worse.”

“Uh.. huh.”

“Cassian.”

He’d been distracted by the fullness of her hips in his hands, thinking of how he could persuade her to push sleep off for another hour or two. But now her words registered, igniting a nervousness low in his stomach. He flashed what he hoped was a lazy smile. “Yes, sweetheart?”

But he knew it didn’t work when her blue-gray eyes narrowed, scrutinizing, fixed him with a stare that would make lesser males cower.

“You’re being shifty. What are you hiding?”

Damn the bond, damn her mind-reading power that would’ve seen through him without the direct connection to his fucking soul. His insides went all squirmy, knots of memory beginning to unravel.

“Okay, remember how we agreed to not hold our pasts against each other?”

“Cassian Archeron, tell me the truth right now.”

“Okay fine fine, just don’t - ow - don’t kill me until you’ve heard the whole thing.”

Nesta lowered the pillow from where she’d raised it to whack him a second time, her wintery eyes flashing in the firelight.

“Spill.”

—

They’d been stationed in the Illyrian mountains for four fucking months by now, whipping the newest recruits into shape, or trying to, anyhow. Rhys wanted everyone in top fighting shape after rumors of an armada preparing to sail from the continent, and though it was a worthy cause, being away from Velaris was starting to wear Cassian thin.

But if he was miserable, then Azriel was wretchedly depressed. He was as surly as Cassian had ever seen him, and even though it wasn’t abnormal the duration of this last bout was worrisome. For weeks he’d been trying to find a way past that thick wall of stoicism, but for all his jokes and ribbing and attempts at quiet company, Az only sunk further into a deep freeze. There was a kind of deadness in his eyes that Cassian had come to associate with loneliness, or else feeling unworthy of reaching out.

So he decided to offer up one of his own frustrations one frigid morning as they sparred in the deserted ring, hoping to draw the shadowsinger out by catching him when his body was most alive.

“I’m going out of my mind surrounded by males up here,” Cassian said after dodging a jab of Azriel’s elbow aimed straight for his chin. "I have no idea how those monks in Cesere do it."

Az scoffed. “No one warming your bed?”

“Fuck no. You?”

“Not really looking.”

The village close by was more liberal than most due to its status as a trading crossroads, and Cassian had found a bevy of eager and willing females in the earlier days of their assignment. But one had to be careful to avoid spreading themselves too far - Illyrians were famous for being incurable gossips as much as they were for their wings.

Still, it surprised him to hear Azriel wasn’t even trying. They both had healthy appetites, the spymaster’s at times more ravenous than even his own.

“Yeah, sure.” Cassian smirked as they circled each other, making a show of rolling his eyes enough that Az might take the bait. He did, spinning to sweep Cassian’s feet from beneath him, but it went less well than expected when Az pivoted at the last moment and boxed him about the ear with a closed fist, making it ring.

“I mean it.”

Azriel landed a kick to Cassian’s shoulder to emphasize the point. He felt the shadows start to twine up his arm and blasted them outward with the siphon on his gauntlet, his laughter coming out in great white puffs amidst the chill.

He loved that Az never held back when they sparred. Sometimes Cassian wondered if he was the only one Azriel felt comfortable going full tilt with, the only one beside Rhys who could take him and not break. Which was why his curiosity spiked hearing of the shadowsinger’s celibacy, wondering if that restraint appeared elsewhere.

“Why not?”

He saw the frozen ground inside Azriel begin to thaw, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he quickly schooled his expression into that blank mask once more. “Don’t do this.”

“No really, why? You’re a good-looking male.” Ducking, Cassian managed to grab Az around the neck, ruffling his hair with a clenched fist like the childhood bully that still lived within him, though there was something else inside it that he ignored . “Do you not know what you’re doing, Azzie?”

Azriel struggled against him, growling his displeasure at the accusation. “Of course I do.”

At last he wriggled free, shadows swarming waspish and angry about his wings, but that fire had returned to his eyes, replacing the cold hollowness. Cassian didn’t quite know what was happening, but a thrill passed through him that had nothing to do with their sparring. There was so much that powerful body was capable of, and he couldn’t help egging Az on as he kicked out at one of his legs, stoking the flames.

“Prove it.”

“Fuck you.”

The shadowsinger’s hair fell elegantly across his face despite the sweat, and Cassian was distracted watching the sway of it, his already loose tongue unraveling more by the second.

“Like you have the balls to. You can’t handle me.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Azriel wouldn’t be able to let a challenge go, that his competitive streak would win over his better judgment every time. And Cassian could admit to himself that a part of him wanted that, wanted to keep making Az flush with rage like that, and so the taunts kept flowing.

“I’d make you cry, pretty boy. I’d have you begging for mercy before I even touched you.”

The next time Azriel came at him there was no restraint, no checking his blows, and they grappled violently, nails scraping against leather, panting breaths heating the space between them. Color bloomed high in the shadowsinger's cheeks, too deep for the cold, the exhertion.

They’d shared many charged glances in the ring over the years, the dances of combat and desire so often a hair’s breadth away from each other. Cassian usually dismissed it as an unavoidable side effect of being close for so long, knowing Azriel’s quirks more than his own. But now something blazed behind each blow and snarl, white-hot and searing, spurring him on.

“And then I’d make you forget your own fucking name.” He rushed forward and tackled Az around the middle, crushing him into the ground. “The only one you’d remember would be mine, and I’d make you scream it over and over and -”

Shadows whipped around them, lashing at his face and arms. Cassian heard a snarl and then the world flipped and he was the one pinned to the ground, face smashed into the dirt with one of Azriel’s hands splayed across his cheek, scars rasping at his stubble.

Another thrill pulsed through him, more urgent than before as he thrashed to free himself, albeit half-heartedly. The shadowsinger paused, looking down between them.

“Cauldron, Cass, are you getting hard?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

But he already knew the answer, could feel the long, hard press of Azriel through his leathers, the erratic beat of the shadowsinger’s heart in time with his own. Cassian grinned as he looked up into Azriel’s expression twisted in fury and something more malleable, consumed by the turbulence in his eyes he knew matched his own.

“Fuck it.”

Azriel yanked him upward and their mouths crashed together, a tangle of teeth and tongues, hands gripping hair and shoulders, their bodies carving symbols in the dirt. It was all so absurd, so surreal that Cassian laughed against Azriel’s lips, causing the latter to bite down on his own.

“Bedroom,” Cassian panted when Az pulled back, and shadows whisked them away in an instant, his back landing on the soft down of a feather bed. Azriel was still straddling him, now ripping at the jacket of his leathers.

“Get this shit off.”

They both fumbled with buckles and clasps that usually took no thought, an indicator of the building fervor, the delirium that captured both of them in its wild, wanton fist. But when their lips met once more there was a tenderness to it that surprised Cassian, the grip of Azriel’s hand on his jaw lighter than it ought to be.

An understanding passed between them, two people who had hurt others, had been hurt themselves, and didn’t make themselves vulnerable for just fucking anybody.

Cassian’s hand moved slowly to the laces of his pants, giving Az time to decide as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes, frozen ground replaced by smoldering embers.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Az’s tongue darted out to trace his lower lip. “Always.”

“Then put your hands on the headboard.”

—

“Things sort of devolved from there,” Cassian finished with a shrug. They’d stayed up all night, only to return to the training ring in the morning clear-headed and casual, as if nothing had happened. “We’ve shared females since then, but never just the two of us. I think we needed to get it out of our systems.”

Nesta had moved from his lap and draped herself across the chaise lounge while he talked, golden brown hair spilling across her shoulders as she removed the pins. She was looking at him now with a kind of hunger in her wintery eyes, one that said she was picturing herself as the female they shared. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are.. Close.”

“Alright you minx, reel it back in. I don’t know if I’m ready to share you yet.”

“If that’s all I think I can live with it. At least it wasn’t Rhysand,” she said airily as she stood, and he followed her down the hall like a bird chasing the breeze, borne forth by the power she held over him. His thoughts were all a jumble - he couldn’t lie, but he had to, but then she’d be pissed, but she might be more pissed by the truth.

By the time they reached their room, all he managed was a noise like a seagull being strangled, followed by a weak, “Well..”

Cassian bought himself time shucking off his boots and tucking them in the wardrobe, trying to temper the onslaught of memories, the edges fuzzy from liquor and time. When he summoned the courage to emerge Nesta was naked, which was great, but also glaring at him over one shoulder, blue-gray flashing like a stormy sea, which was decidedly less great.

“Cassian. Are you kidding?”

He sighed, accepting his fate as he rid himself of his shirt and trousers. “Look, it was a long time ago, I was young and drunk and curious. Shit happens.”

Nesta gave a disdainful hm! and stepped down into their giant bathtub, a cruel swish of her hips for emphasis.

“So you just accidentally came on to both your best friends on separate occasions because shit happens.”

“Yes.” He splashed into the fragrant water with much less grace and wrapped her in his arms, drawing a shriek. “Only I didn’t start it this time.”

—

He was finally sitting down, mercifully, miraculously, at rest for one godsdamn moment.

The last month had been one of the most brutal of Cassian’s life, the constant drilling, the endless training as they prepared for war. Now that he’d collapsed like a sack of bones in the armchair before the fire, he didn’t know how he’d remained on his feet so long in the first place.

As if summoned by his weariness, Rhys strolled into the house a few moments later, Windhaven’s harsh winter air sneaking in behind him. Cassian ruffled his wings and shot a dark look over his shoulder, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Close the fucking door.”

“In a bad mood, darling?” Rhys drawled, the aristocratic glide of his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves as the lordling divested himself of his traveling cloak. “I’ve just the thing to soothe your troubled heart.”

He produced a bottle of deep purple mulberry moonshine, a delicacy of Spring. It was impossible to get with the embargo on the southern court, though Cassian suspected Rhys’ stupid blond friend probably had a hand in supplying it.

He ignored the spike of jealousy, ascribing it to the headache now pounding somewhere behind his eye, and accepted the proffered glass without another word.

They drained the bottle for the better part of the evening, talking shit and one-upping each other, the ease of conversation helping Cassian relax until he’d sunk low in his chair, legs splayed long across the floor. Azriel was gone on a mission for the High Lord, and so they enjoyed the rare time just the two of them, perhaps the last time for a while. They’d all be shipped off to their individual assignments soon, and though it wasn’t confirmed Cassian knew they’d be separated, far-flung across Prythian in a way they hadn’t been since the Blood Rite.

Which was why he’d been pissed when Rhys brought a female home last night, shattering the images he’d had of sharing a meal together, drinking before the fire just like this.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Rhys asked casually, and Cassian scowled at him as his cheeks heated in a way he hoped was camouflaged by the flush of alcohol.

He’d heard them fucking in the night, woken to the creak of the bedframe, hushed moans and whispers drifting over him like a warm breeze. Rhys was going down on her from the sound of it, and very successfully if the female’s growing abandon was anything to go by. Even in his mortification Cassian had let one of his hands edge lower, biting the pillow to muffle his own labored breaths.

The memory made his arousal flare even now, loosened as he was by booze and easy company. When he looked up Rhys was smirking at him, a daring twinkle in his inconstant violet eyes.

“If you’re reading my mind I’m going to throw your bed out the window.”

Rhys’ smirk deepened. “That’s fine. I’ll just climb in with you.”

“Like I’d let you within ten wingspans of my bed.”

“You seemed fairly open to it when you were touching yourself under the covers.”

Cassian tried to ignore the spike of wanting at the words, instead downing the rest of his glass before he set it on the table with feigned nonchalance. Rhys stood and circled around the back of his chair, and Cassian assumed he was going to retrieve another bottle until he felt strong hands begin to knead the muscle at his shoulder, where his wings connected to his back. That touch-starved part of him that never got enough affection sparked alive, that wanted to both shy away from the contact and lean into its promise desperately.

“I don’t mind, for the record. We both knew. And we both liked it,” Rhys assured him. A sharp pain tore through Cassian’s neck before he could answer, Rhys following the tendon with a gentle thumb. “Gods but you’re tense. You’ve worried yourself into knots, darling.”

They were silent for a while, and Cassian let himself surrender to the pressure of Rhys’ hands, mind drifting back toward the night before as the tension seeped out of him. He had been curious about how Rhys had made the female moan like that, though at the time he’d thought for purely academic purposes. Now he felt a stirring below, curious in an entirely different way.

“Well if you ever change your tune, you’re welcome to pull back the covers and join in,” Rhys said breezily after a long slug of his own drink. “Have you ever had a male before, Cassian?”

“No. Have you?”

Rhys hummed in confirmation behind him. “It’s not so different, you know.”

He felt Rhys’ hands roaming lower, slipping under his shirt to stroke at his chest, long fingers running through the thatch of curls at the center. Cassian’s whole body went hot, and he warred against the impulse to give in, still not sure if Rhys was sincere or just fucking with him.

“You fuck anything that moves, so I’m not sure how much weight that holds.”

It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it - Rhys was an undeniably handsome male, and even though he didn’t typically lean that way there was something comforting about the familiarity, the trust. The hands continued their path downward, undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“I have a very talented tongue, I’ve been told. Seems wrong not to share my gifts.”

“What a public service, lordling." Cassian was surprised by the gravel in his own voice, the building desire thick and heavy on his tongue. "Your subjects are truly grateful.”

“What can I say? I live to serve.”

Cassian hissed as fingers grazed his waistband. The rush of alcohol in his veins was making him feel bold, and Rhys certainly appeared on board, but the old twinge lingered, the unspoken rule.

“Are you sure about this? I mean I’m flattered, obviously, but after everything that happened with Mor I assumed we were all off-limits.”

Rhys’ hands stilled, pulling away from him. “Do you still feel guilty about that?”

“Of course I do,” Cassian murmured even as felt the loss of contact acutely, the part of him that wanted to take what was being offered, to let down his wall of self-sufficiency and be the cared for instead of the carer.

Soft lips pressed against his head, an apology somewhere inside it though neither spoke it aloud. Rhys rounded the chair to stand before the fire, a contemplative air about him.

“You work so hard, Cass, you show up for all of us without a moment’s hesitation. I know you’d die for me, but do you know I’d live in Hel for you?” When Rhys looked back Cassian saw the desire in his own eyes reflected along with something deeper, a wish to be connected, to give. “It’s not wrong to let someone else take over for a while.”

Then Rhys stepped close again and lowered to his knees on the threadbare rug, and Cassian forgot how to string a sentence together, how to breathe.

“Just relax. Let me take care of this for you.”

Deft fingers unlaced his trousers, relieving the ache only the slightest bit, which was somehow worse because Cassian was aware of just how turned on he was, how much he wanted Rhys to keep going. He ran a hand through Rhys’ blue-black hair without thinking, earning a satisfied smirk.

Then his breathing went ragged as the world swirled down to the space between them, the closing gap, before he was nothing but white-hot sensation, gripping the arms of the chair to stay tethered to reality.

“Oh, Mother, fuck that feels good.”

“Told you I'm talented."

—

“And then I went to sleep, and we never talked about it again.”

Nesta had flung an arm over her eyes as she listened, sprawled across the bed now in surrender to the images pouring through her mind.

“Just like that. Just casual oral sex between friends. I can never look him in the eye again, but I also can't wait for him to know that I know. Oh no, and Feyre? Is it my obligation to tell my baby sister that our husbands have..? Please tell me that's it."

Cassian couldn’t help but smile despite his mortification as his wife peeked out from under her arm, assessing. For all Nesta’s dramatics he knew she was listening carefully, holding space for him the way she always had. Her jokes were never aimed to wound, but rather to show him that she could handle whatever he gave her, that she wasn’t afraid of who he was and who he’d been.

“That’s mostly it.”

“Cassian.”

“Look, we’re already here.” He passed her the slice of cake the House dropped onto the nightstand, hoping some sugar might help the bitter pill go down. “I might as well tell you about Amren.”

“Amren?!”

—

There was only one bed.

Cassian had faced monsters, undead creatures, yet nothing in his two hundred years of life compared to the terror he felt staring at that single, solitary bed.

“Why have you stopped?” demanded Amren. “Did you forget how to walk through a door?”

Rhys had sent them near their southern border with Day, their first mission together since Amren’s appointment to the court. They were supposed to retrieve an enchanted mirror guarded by a cantankerous cyclops and his herd of mammoths, had been waylaid by a huge storm that blew in from the west that made flying impossible. But the warrior in Cassian was more worried about the volatile creature in the tavern attic with him now, despite her markedly smaller stature.

“I don’t even think we could share the bed.” He cast a glance around at the rest of the room, which didn’t take long considering how fucking tiny it was, the sharp cant of the roof. “You're small enough to fit in the chair if you curl up like a cat.”

Amren grew impatient with him blocking the door and ducked through the tunnel between his wing and leg to get around him. He shivered when she brushed the edge, grateful the tiny fae was now too busy surveying the room in abject disgust.

“I will not sleep in that chair. I will take the bed, and you can swallow your male pride and sleep on the floor.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

She planted her hands on her hips when she said it, but the positioning was slightly off, unrehearsed as she was from developing her gestures in this body in solitude. The effect of that in juxtaposition with her terrifying mercury eyes and awkward attempt at slang made Cassian burst out laughing. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way I’m fitting on the floor.”

She didn’t appreciate his words, definitely didn’t appreciate the laughter, but even she could see his point. There was barely enough room for them both to stand, let alone to get his wings in any kind of position that didn’t leave him bent like a broken parasol.

Amren scowled. “Sleep outside then, hang from a tree by your feet or whatever it is your kind do.”

Cassian let the casual cruelty roll over him, used to being looked down on by High Fae. “They’re your kind now, too, you know. You should learn about the people you serve.”

“I know all that I need to, boy,” she snapped. She was ripping through her miniature pack now, searching for something that must’ve sunk to the bottom. “Chiefly that I will sleep here and you will manage elsewhere.”

“Trust me, I would love nothing more than to not share this room, but it’s raining. So you’re stuck with me unless you’d rather I smell like a wet mutt tomorrow.”

Having found what she was looking for, Amren straightened and regarded him over one shoulder, the effect somewhat dampened by the fact she had to crane her neck all the way back at a weird angle to see his face. Cassian felt a nervousness flutter in his stomach, suddenly remembering all she was capable of, what she’d probably have no scruples doing to him. But after a moment she snorted, as if sensing his caution.

“Very well, then.”

She sneered hard enough he thought her face might split before she perched on the edge of the bed and took a swig from a flask, lips coming away ruby.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Cassian said as he removed his own pack, tucking it under the chair she definitely would’ve fit in. Maybe talking about herself would blunt her spikiness, he thought. It always seemed to cheer Rhys up. “What’s with the blood? Is it just for fun or is it part of your whole..” He waved a hand in her direction. “Image. The scary reputation thing.”

“Language has truly declined in the last few millennia. The blood is necessary. That will be the end of your questions.”

The cap of her flask screwed shut of its own accord, metal glinting in the low faelights.

“Fine, fuck. Just trying to be friendly. Do they not do that where you’re from?”

She fixed him with that eerie silver stare that promised the separation of his balls from the rest of him. “Enough. Questions.”

He took her seriously this time, darting from the room when she started pulling out her sleep clothes.

After scarfing down a serviceable meal in the tavern below, Cassian felt the tiredness settle over him like smoke, making his brain fuggy. Amren turned away from him when he returned, and he peeled off his wet leathers with as much modesty as the small room allowed, not wanting to chance asking her to step out. He could shield most of his body with his wings from the back anyway, but he felt her piercing eyes on him, the air charged with something he couldn’t quite place. At first he thought he’d pissed her off further, and was prepared to do some half-hearted groveling when a cold finger traced down the edge of his wing, making him yelp.

“Mother fuck, a little warning?”

He twisted to see Amren right behind him with her pinky raised, the blood red nail tipping it talon-sharp. “I heard these wings were sensitive.”

“Yeah, and it’s also considered pretty fucking rude to touch them without asking,” Cassian choked out when she reached up again, still reeling from the aftershocks of the unanticipated touch. Her eyes swirled like a midwinter squall.

“It was your suggestion I learn about my people.”

He knew she could scent his arousal from the feline smile that spread across her face, that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stop looking at me like you want to eat me.”

“But you look delicious.”

He couldn’t tell if that meant she wanted to bed him or drain him dry, though neither made sense, nor did the way she knew how to touch his wings that made a fierce hunger spark within him. While it was true he hadn’t slept with anyone in a while, barely anyone outside Illyria really got it right. He suppressed a shudder, heard her sardonic chuckle.

“My power is in the blood. The flow, the pressure,” Amren said, and Cassian understood as he felt his blood rush south at her words, even as the purr of her voice wrapped around his neck like a noose. “It bends to my will.”

“Careful,” he managed, holding back a groan. “That’s my favorite part.”

Sharp nails tapped on the outer bone of his wing, making him shudder in earnest this time. “I’d have guessed it would be this.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. This was spiraling and he was quickly losing what little ability he had to make tactical decisions. “Maybe this isn’t such a -”

“Shall I stop?”

“NO. No.” His body screamed in protest at the suggestion, and though Rhys would likely kill him for this it was too good, “Let’s just agree that as of tomorrow, this never happened,” he panted, and when he turned Amren was grinning at him, maybe the first real smile he’d seen her make, just the briefest flash before she pounced.

It was a whirlwind from that moment on, and he didn’t remember much save for the way she loomed over him, somehow larger than she had any right to be. The blood whizzed through his brain, making him delirious but it felt fucking incredible, like slamming back a shot of pure lifeforce. Amren’s hands danced over his wings expertly, making him see double, so that he didn’t even think to ask how she knew just how to touch them until he was splayed on the floor with his legs under the bed, more thoroughly wrung out than he’d been in decades.

“I had wings once, before I came to your world.”

Perhaps it was the naivety of the afterglow, but Cassian was surprised by the crack that formed in his heart as she said it, the pain that lingered there. She’d been right earlier - his wings were his favorite part, a constant connection to his homeland, his freedom.

“Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

He lifted a hand to brush back the raven hair that had fallen across her face, but she smacked him away savagely, pushing off his chest to her feet. His head swam as she towered over him, hands on her hips correctly this time.

“It seems you fit on the floor after all, so I’ll be taking the bed. And if you ever speak of this to anyone,” Amren shook the flask, grinning with all her teeth. “I’ll make a special vintage out of you.”

—

Nesta was laughing hysterically now, silver tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so glad my misery is funny to you.” Cassian crossed his arms and his mate immediately reached over to uncross them, crawling to sit astride him so he couldn’t close off again.

“Oh my. Oh. This is..” She took his face in her hands, pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow as her laughter ebbed. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you better.”

She brushed her nose against his, gentler now, a gesture that everything was okay. “You know, it does make me feel better in a way. That there wasn’t anything special about Morrigan, because this is just who you are.”

“What, an idiot?”

“No,” she assured him, stifling the laugh that still wanted to bubble forth. “Open to opportunity.”

“I guess so? I’ve never really thought about it before.”

Nesta lay against him in answer, resting her head on his chest. He took the opportunity to run his fingers through her curtain of hair, and she hummed when he scratched lightly at her scalp, holding him tighter.

“As long as you’re faithful to me now and you’ve never slept with one of my sisters, I don’t much care. You haven’t, right?

“No way, sweetheart. Promise.”

He felt her smile against his skin, the corner of it quirked in a way he knew meant she was scheming over something, or else setting a trap. ”So…” she breathed, her tone full of courtier’s dodginess. “Who was the best?”

“You, of course.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She sat up and glared at him, though he saw the lightness in her eyes, the zing of excitement pulsing under her skin. “You opened this door, you can’t blame me for wanting to walk through it. Answer.”

“Fine. Az was the best. Hands down. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I have an opportunity you might be open to.”

Nesta dug one hand into his hair, the other tracing a line from the hollow of his throat to where their bodies connected and Cassian knew he was fucked, knew she’d do everything she could to outshine those memories, to make hers the only body that lived in his mind.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that was already true, though his motives were not entirely selfless as she slipped her night dress over her head, and they twined for hours with unbridled glee, pausing every now and then for Nesta to fall apart with laughter.

---

Me: I’m gonna write fun silly smut! Also me: *drags out the saddest fucking background info to justify it* And you can pry pansexual switch king Cassian from my cold ass dead ass hands. Also think this may be the first Amren/Cassian fic ever. Is this my legacy? Oh god.

#cassianweek2024 #cursed entry you have been warned #nessian #cazriel #rhyssian #cassren

31 notes · View notes

diaboliklove · 1 year ago

Text

modern day au where yui cannot catch a break, and things only get worse when her house gets broken into by an angry red headed robber — but instead of taking her things, he takes her heart

yui was having the worst year of her life.

even worse than in 2013 when her father wouldn’t let her go to that taylor swift concert since it was deemed ‘unholy.’

she really thought only taylor could understand her.

but now its 2024, and she’s begun to have adult problems. she’s broke, her heater is broken, her apartment has started to fall apart, she stained her favorite pink skirt with coffee, her phone screen shattered when she dropped it on the train, she ran out of her favorite lip gloss, college bills keep stacking up, her upstairs neighbors never stop engaging in fornication, strawberries are out of season so she can no longer afford them and most importantly —

her father just passed away.

and all she wanted now was to rot in her apartment and ask god for mercy on her poor heart.

“it’ll be okay,” she sniffled back a tear. “father used to say the lord puts us through trials to test our faith.”

yeah, used to.

it was now late night, coming back from her fathers funeral she felt more empty than when she first got the news. her feet hurt from the black heels she now had to walk home in, the black dress did little to give her warmth, her cheeks were numb from the cold weather and having to comfort people with a smile that she’ll be okay, that there was nothing to worry about.

… but yui was already worrying about dinner. also how she’d have to shiver herself to sleep again. she couldn’t allow herself to cry herself to sleep again, her face would be frozen when she woke up, and what if she finds another hole in the walls? tape didn’t work last time, and she’s running out of rags to stuff in between them. and what about her job? she can’t buy more rags without it. they granted her a leave of absence due to her fathers passing, but what if they replaced her? if she lost her job she couldn’t pay rent — and she couldn’t ask for another extension on rent, her landlord was fed up enough with her pleading, she wouldn’t get lucky again. and also —

“no, lets just take it one day at a time. thats right,” she neared the steps to her apartment. “deep breath in, and then out. lets have some canned soup for dinner, and then pair it with rewatching the kardashians. yeah. thats a great plan.”

she turned the corner to her door.

“everything will get better,”

she put the key in the lock.

“as long as i stay positive.”

and she swung her door open —

“shit!”

“AH!”

— right into a mans back.

at first she thought she opened the wrong door. but the faint smell of her candles hit her nose, and her eyes fell on the very TV she watched shitty TV on in the mans arms — and then her eyes landed on a fucking sword on his waist.

her eyes followed it as he dropped her TV from his arms, and unsheathed it from his waist —

— and directed it right in between her eyes.

“empty your fucking purse! ill fucking kill you!”

Oh wow. wooooow.

now you would think the right action would be to do as he said. anyone would listen to a manic man with hair as red as blood, especially when they pointed a sword at you that looked like it came from the 1800’s. its not like yui wanted to die, so maybe she should save her life and sacrifice her beloved tv and the few pennies she had in her wallet.

but instead. her face twisted, and yui broke out in the most ugly open mouthed sob she’s ever done.

it wasn’t out of fear. it didn’t even register how this man genuinely had bloodlust leaking out of him. it was out of absolute frustration and sadness that this was becoming her life — and that she couldn’t even have her dream of watching the kardashians.

she fell to her knees. because, seriously, what the hell did she do to deserve all of this? she was a good kid. never acted out to her father and attended mass even when she had the flu. she never wished bad on anyone. but why does everything always have to end bad? on her 11th birthday her goldfish frank died, when she wanted a coffee last week, her card declined and now she couldn’t even sob into her blankets while she heard kim talking about how rich she was. can’t she have one good day? can’t she —

“holy shit, are you crying?” the red haired man didn’t even move.

yui looked up to him, and just stared at the man’s flabbergasted expression. through her tears, she tried to inhale through her nose, but it came out in little stutters. she extended her purse towards him.

“take it. take everything if you want.” yui spoke through her sobs. its not like anything she really wanted was here anymore.

yui curled up into her knees and rocked herself, continuing to cry hysterically at the thought of just her life. she wouldn’t mind if that man stole everything in her house — material objects could be replaced… eventually. when her eyes started to burn by the amount of tears flooding out, she noticed she couldn’t hear the familiar floorboards creak from movement and her purse was still in her hands. lifting her head to see what was going on, she noticed that the man hadn’t moved from his spot, and just was gawking at her sitting on the floor. they held eye contact for a while, like they were both afraid to move.

sure, yui thought he was a manic. but he probably thought yui was a suicidal manic.

while she held eye contact, she finally really looked at him.

he was fit. wearing a black shirt and a ripped jean jacket, yui could tell he wasn’t bulky, but instead quite lean. his pecs were defined and his muscular abdomen and biceps were flexed against the fabric from welding the heavy sword. his joggers looked worn down, and black nikes seemed like they seen better days. his face was … nice. well sculpted and he had a well defined jaw. his lips were plump and chapped from the chill outside.

what threw yui off was the cacophony that was his hair and eye color. bright firetruck red for hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it in days, and green eyes fit for only a predator. regardless of the situation, yui could tell he honestly was… beautiful. dangerous. probably looked more attractive if he didn’t have his mouth wide open in awe.

his eyebrows furrowed, and he closed his mouth. he placed his sword back in his sheath, and leaned down to grab the tv from the floor. he looked towards yui again, with a face she could only describe as disappointment. clicking his tongue, he began to drag the tv … not towards the door but towards the tv cabinet.

“this isn’t fun anymore. you can have your shitty shit back.”

placing the tv back in its rightful throne, he squatted down and went through a worn down black backpack — that had some random pins of a band she never heard of — that was on the floor. within it, he took out her favorite necklace, her jewelry box, a couple of her wool sweaters and her damn smart toaster she picked up extra shifts for.

“this is yours. ill be back when you’re mentally stable, you deranged bitch.” he motioned to the items on the floor.

“really?”

the robber rolled his eyes. “of course I will be! do you know how much your toaster —“

“— no i mean. you’ll give it back?”

“you want me to take it?”

“well… i’d like it if you didn’t.”

“then! shut the fuck up.”

he grabbed his backpack and swung it around his shoulder. he started making his way towards the door right beside yui. as he took two steps past her, he paused.

“you’re really broke, you know.”

yui sniffled. “i know.”

“like, broke broke. i don’t think ive ever broke into a house that had so much of nothing. what are you, a level one sim? do you have no hobbies? do you even eat? i see nothing to even munch on here.”

“… i have soup.”

“you literally have two cans of spaghetti-os and tomato soup.”

yui sniffled louder. “i know.”

things were silent for a while. yui was sure the robber was still there, probably reconsidering his decision. she expected him to march back in to take her things again while flipping her off. this entire situation seemed too good to be true… but maybe this could end with her losing nothing... no. she wouldn’t let herself hope for something that was next to impossible in a situation like this.

but something even more unlikely happened.

the robber spoke again.

“do you like dennys?”

“w…what?” yui turned her head towards him.

“dennys. the best restaurant in the world. do you like it?” his face stayed neutral, but somehow the question felt like a threat.

yui feared the honest answer, ‘ive never been’ would end in her getting decapitated. so, she said, “i do.”

“do you want to go get some pancakes?”

it was yuis turn to gawk at him. he looked bored, and slid his hands in his pockets. now, maybe a normal person would say ‘fuck no, its 10pm and you just broke into my home somehow and then tried to steal my beloved tv and lovely toaster then pointed a fucking sword at me… also, i don’t even know your name you creep.’

but yui wasn’t a normal person experiencing normal things right now.

“pancakes sound nice.”

aka, the alternative universe in which two cold hearts find warmth within each other.

#toffee au’s #diabolik lovers #diabolik brothers #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #yui komori #komori yui

57 notes · View notes

mercurytrinemoon · 8 months ago

Text

Neurodivergence in the birth chart and the issue of "aspects that indicate xyz"

I, once again, have rolled my eyes at an astro tiktok video. It was a few days ago so my level of annoyance has already (mostly) dropped and I'm now realizing that at least I have something to talk about.

How many times have you seen an article that said "aspects that indicate fame/talent/wealth or whatever"? I bet many, I've seen them too. But the problem is, astrology is a complex thing and there's no "one size fits all" solution. Fame in the birth chart? Have you looked at charts of more than 20 celebrities? All of their charts are different and will have barely anything in common. Singing talent in the birth chart? Yea singers have diverse charts as well. And so on...

Of course, sometimes there are some patterns and they work on some percentage of people, for example, Sun-Jupiter people are extremely lucky. But also notice that it is a generalization and in reality, some are lucky only in one sphere of their life, some are lucky alllll the way, for some that luck shows in travelling the world, for others they have high position at work. Or they survive a plane crash and that is their "lucky" moment (true story btw).

I like to say that the easiest delineations are often the most accurate. Let's say someone has Mars in the 6th house. Mars is sharp objects, 6th house is accidents - and that shows as an injury with a knife or whatever. Or let's say Venus in the 9th house. Venus is art, 9th house is higher education - the person studies art history at uni.

But these are the most basic keywords for these things. And sometimes they work on that basic level and sometimes they're more subtle or complex.

Now let's go back to the tiktok video I've mentioned. The person was talking about "aspects that indicate that you're neurodivergent". The first thing they said was Saturn in Aquarius in the 4th house or Aquarius placements in general. I frowned. First of all, you're telling me that every Scorpio rising with Saturn in the 4th is neurodivergent? Second of all, so only those born every 30 years are neurodivergent? And third of all, the 4th house??? This is a mess.

But let's start from the top.

There is no keyword in astrology for neurodivergence and its specific types. So the closest we can get to it are hints of different ways of thinking, troubles with communication, unique ways of assesing things and maybe some mental dysfunctions. So what we can look for, just from the top of my head, is: afflicted 3rd house (learning) or its ruler, afflicted Mercury (communication/learning/thinking), afflicted Gemini or Virgo placements (both mercurial signs), afflictions of the 1st house (the self) or its ruler, 12th house placements (subconscious, mental issues), maybe even 6th house placements (illness) and generally really any harsh aspects or even overloaded/prominent Mercury. Keeping that in mind, this is still a very generalized list and it probably won't apply to everyone who falls on the spectrum.

After this quick thought and listing these aspects in my head, I googled celebrities who are neurodivergent: some of them have Asperger's, some Tourette's or OCD. Let's have a look:

Anthony Hopkins has retrograde Mercury in the 1st house as well as both Mars and Saturn in the 3rd house. Elon Musk has stationing Mercury on the ascendant which is squared by Chiron, Saturn in Gemini as well as 3rd house Virgo Moon in squares. Billie Eilish has 3rd house retrograde Saturn in Gemini, Mercury conjunct Chiron and ascendant ruler in the 12th.

Greta Thunberg (untimed chart) has Mercury in retrograde and Saturn retrograde in Gemini. David Beckham has Mercury on the ascendant, 3rd house Saturn in detriment. His Moon is also on the apex of a Neptune-Chiron t-square. Deryl Hannah has Mars in fall in the 3rd house and the 3rd house ruler in Gemini.

I'd say there's a theme going on here, as I expected. Although, to be fair, in a few examples that I checked, I didn't see any afflictions in the chart (granted, some of them were untimed).

But here's the problem

The person in said tiktok video said that they were first diagnosed with autism by an astrologer before they had an official diagnosis. And now this is where I see the biggest issue. As I've mentioned, you can make generalized assumptions but to pin point a specific thing? I'd say either you have to have an amazing intuition or just make a lucky guess. Because the spectrum is big, the person could as well have ADHD or dyslexia so why autism exactly?

Just to compare, it's the same with other things. Years ago I made Halsey's chart analysis and I said it's very clear that she has mental health issues (physical as well), especially ones that are of the nature of identity crisis. But in no way I could guess that it's specifically bipolar disorder.

Just to give a different example from my own chart. Someone would look at it and mayyybeee say I have some sort of thinking/communication/motor skill issues: 3rd house Moon afflicted by Saturn and Chiron, Mercury in detriment and, most importantly 3rd house ruler Mars in retrograde in Gemini. But who would guess that I have cross eye dominance and used to have a heavy lisp as a kid? Probably no one. (some say I still talk funny lol).

So, if you have any of the aspects that I've listed in the beginning, you may be somewhere on the spectrum... or not. You can also stutter or have a lisp or never learn to drive. Or be held back at school... not because you have dyslexia, dyscalculia or ADHD or whatever, but because you're just a lazy ass. Or... it can manifest in a completely different way that won't be your standard cookbook definition.

#random #astrology #mercurytrinemoon #astro notes #astrology notes

26 notes · View notes

whipitgod · 8 months ago

Text

Don’t Worry About The Tomatoes

Hannibal Lecter x Will graham

oneshot - wc :1.2k

summary: not that plot heavy just a mix of fluff and crack jammed into a meet ugly trope/au. will is hannibal’s horrible new neighbor and hannibal struggles to be that angry about his behavior.

warnings: none other than potential bad writing and both of them being kind of ooc lol

a/n: feedback is greatly appreciated!!!! remember to like and reblog if you enjoy this, maybe even follow me ~ this really got away from me, i didn’t really have a solid plan going into but if you like it lmk and ill write a part 2 or something :D

Hannibal shuts his book sharply, standing with a huff and turning to look out the window into the backyard. His newest neighbor has been nothing short of a pain since he moved in a couple weeks before, from the loud rumble of power tools as he made repairs on the house, to the barking of the many dogs that he seems to have.

Hannibal feels somewhat willing to look past the noise of the power tools given that the home is admittedly a bit run down. Truthfully he can't remember who the last tenant of the home was, he thinks he remembers an old woman living in the home alone. The only thoughts crossing his mind as he peers through the window at the man hacking at an overgrown tree with a chainsaw are that he wishes the old lady still resided in the home, and he hopes the man has an unfortunate accident with the loud saw. Hannibal has yet to even see the man, having no idea his name let alone what he looks like, but he’s fantasized of taking his life on more occasions than he can count in the short time that the man has lived there.

“This is ridiculous.'' Hannibal grouses, pushing away from the window with the intent to confront the man, who cares about witnesses at this point; he'd be surprised if the other neighbors don't thank him for his service to the community. As soon as his hand reaches the door knob a loud crash echoes from the backyard, he hopes its the frustrating man falling to his demise,

“I'm not that lucky.” Hannibal muses quietly, making quick strides back towards the window. What he sees is enough to make him gasp in shock, pressing a hand against his heart as he takes in the damage. The branch the man was sawing at had fallen directly onto Hannibal's garden, the plants beneath the branch no question destroyed. He had just gotten that tomato plant staked properly. With a renewed vigor he charges out of the room and towards the back door grumbling quietly to himself as he goes,

“Going to use my bare hands, might not even eat him,” He grabbed the knob and pushed the door open, “going to have to see if there is even anything left to eat.” He continues his quiet murmurs until he spots the man with his back turned to him.

“Excuse me,” Hannibal spat, unable to disguise most of the anger bubbling inside him, “You destroyed my-” he’s unable to finish his complaint as the man finally turns to face him.

Oh god, he’s probably the most attractive man Hannibal has ever laid eyes on. Hannibal sucks in a sharp breath, opening his mouth with the intent to speak again, though he doubts he’d be able to get the words out. He doesn't have to worry about speaking because the man beats him to it,

“Hello?” dear god even his voice is attractive, a rasp coming from what hannibal assumes is years of smoking met with a slight southern drawl, must have grown up somewhere in the south, hannibal rolls the thought around his head a few times all while staring blankly at the gruff man in front of him.

“You must be the owner of the garden I demolished,” the man started, “sorry about that.” He didn't really sound all that sorry, if anything his tone bordered on teasing; if Hannibal was in his right mind he would have found the mans flippant attitude towards the situation unspeakably rude, but he was currently finding it hard to feel any anger towards the beautiful man in front of him. It took Hannibal a moment to even recognize that the man had asked him a question, realizing only when he met the man's curious gaze.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he held out his hand and the other man gripped it firmly. The first thought that went through Hannibal's mind was strong followed quickly by a horrified what am I doing?

“Will Graham,” the man responded, “Again I’m really sorry about your garden.” The man, Will Hannibal's mind supplied, still didn't really seem that sorry; before hannibal could truly think about that he found himself responding quickly,

“It’s not a big deal,” the phrase leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, “It was an honest mistake.” he says the last part with a smile determined not to show the gravity of his internal conflict. Oh god what is wrong with me, his brain supplies in a panicked tone, of course it’s a big deal, it is a huge deal.

“Are you sure?” Will questions returning the smile, “I wouldn't blame you if you were angry with me.”

Hannibal stares at him blankly for a moment, he wants to be angry, he's digging around in his brain trying to find his anger. He can't be angry, not when all he can think about is seeing him smile again. Dear god what is my problem, flashes through Hannibal's mind,

“I'm very sure,” Hannibal affirmed, “I actually planned on digging up the garden and planting some new things.” hannibal prays to whatever higher power there may be that will doesn't notice the flood of different emotions that flash across his face as the words leave his mouth, it seems like his prayer works because Will responds with a smile,

“Would you like my help replanting? Given that I’m the one that crushed it.” Will chuckles softly as the last words leave his mouth, Hannibal also lets out a soft laugh before he can catch himself.

“Oh I couldn't ask that of you,” Hannibal replied, a pitiful attempt at denying how much he wants the help, if only as an excuse to spend more time around the enthralling man in front of him.

“You didn't ask,” will starts with a small smile, “I offered.”

Hannibal returns the smile,it feels like the only thought his brain is capable of is what am I doing? Before he can think better of it hannibal lets out a sigh,

“Well I would be remiss to turn down help when offered,” Hannibal begins, “Would you be free tomorrow to start working?” Hannibal sucks in a quiet breath waiting for the other man to respond, why am I so nervous?

“Even if i wasn't i’d make the time,” Will responds with a teasing smile, “how does noon sound?”

Hannibal has half the mind to think that it almost sounds like Will is flirting though he doesn't have the time to dwell on it before he's rushing out a response,

“Noon sounds perfect.”

Will sends Hannibal another smile accompanied with a teasing look, almost like he understands the effect he's had on Hannibal's blood pressure since the beginning of their interaction.

“It's a date,” Will confirms, “see you tomorrow hannibal.” and with that the man turns and begins walking towards the door of the worn down house, not sparing another look at hannibal as he enters the house and shuts the door softly behind him. Hannibal stands there for a minute staring blankly at the door, his thoughts cascading through his head faster than he can even recognize what they are. He doesn't even realize that his feet had carried him back to his home until he steps through the doorway and the door slams shut behind him, snapping him from his stupor. He lets out a harsh breath attempting to gather his thoughts,

“What the hell just happened.”

29 notes · View notes

docholligay · 11 months ago

Text

The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

I remember disliking this book so much more when I read it before! I think I was mad that it didn't have lesbians in it, and that's not entirely fair to Waters. She is allowed to 'have other characters' and 'explore other voices'. I SUPPOSE.

As with any Waters book, I can't keep myself from wild conjecture, she just brings it out in me I don't apologize in the fucking slightest.

Anyway, this book is actually pretty good if you're into the fading post-WW2 death throes of the landed class in the UK, played against the romanticism surrounding that whole blueblood situation ironically coming from people who could never touch it.

I think what I like best about it, though there is a lot to like here, is Faraday as being guilty of that very strange working-class illness of romanticizing title and blood, and wanting on some level to be a part of it. I would love to make this a British problem, but I regret that it is not, as I have seen it in plenty of My Fellow Americans of an older era obsessed with the idea of using ancestry to chase down a claim to being "noble," though I admit this is probably actually somewhat more common in a country not descended mostly from people needing to get the fuck out of Dodge for one reason or another.

This is no longer in the fashion--most peers my age looking for ancestry, which I am gonna cop to not being something I love, are looking for a connection to struggle or oppression. But I do think it's roughly the same thing: Using something someone had in the past to create ourselves as character and authority in the present.

Faraday has thought about this fucking house and everything it represents since he was a child. He falls in love with Caroline not for her own sake, but because of his growing desire to be a part of this house even in its teardown ruin. He doesn't even get a first name, because, a little bit like in DuMaurier's Rebecca, his existence is about POSITION, and lucking into being a part of a 'great house' even though in the great house is a sort of rot. He desperately wants to claim Caroline but more than that, Hundreds Hall. Look at me now, I'm married to the gentry and have a stately home.

The Uk was (and maybe even is on some level) in this tug of war between tradition and everything around that, paired with a post world war necessity of modernity, of providing for the actual people of this country instead a bunch of people quite literally born lucky. It's extremely easy to be like, 'The rich people wanted it to stay the same and everyone else was against it" but you know that's actually too simple, we've all known people who couldn't dream of being in these worlds lionizing the ~grand traditions of nobility~ and even Faraday mentions being against the NHS because he can see his time as a private doctor and thus 'special' coming to an end.

OKay I've talked too much about Faraday.

It is also a lot of fun, for me, this idea of destructive rot coming from within, that the seeds to destroy the class the Ayres belong to are planted within the place itself. That the weakness for them to self-destruct was just waiting for a moment. It's a fun ghost story! Sarah Waters can write her ass off! Is it my favorite of hers? No, but I also don't think I gave it a fair enough shake.

#doc reads

14 notes · View notes

ya-what--ya-erster · 2 months ago

Text

@ivys-head-is-spinning @deim0sdread Have this. …..

…..

JUST TO BE CLEAR THIS IS HALLA WORK IN PROGRESS BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT SORRY THE SPACING IS WEIRD SO IS THE TIME SKIPS DEAL WITH IT <3

…

“Help yourself to some food, and you can show yourself out whenever ya please. I gotta go, Paulie. Ill be home for a while midday, then I gotta go to my other job and I aint gonna be home til late.” “Mhm.” Paul mumbles, pulling his eyes open just a little. He reaches forward and kisses Darry. “Bye.” Darry says, and he leaves for work.

He thinks about Paul all day. He thinks about him until its late and hes walking through the door. He steps into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, and he finds- The table is stacked with grocery bags. On the fridge, theres a note left.

‘I put the refrigerated stuff away. Dont worry. Also made one of them sandwiches i know ya like. Get good rest.’

Darrys grinning like an absolute idiot as he reads the note, signed by ‘P’ with a little heart next to it. “That asshole.” Is what he says, but really its a weight lifted off his shoulders. Food. Enough for a week or too. That saves a lot of money, money he can use to pay all the other things he has to pay.

“I need some cash.” Paul says to his father. “Whatd you do with what I gave you this mornin?” “Went grocery shoppin.” “Your mother went shoppin.” “Not for us.” “Who, then?” “You remeber Darrel Curtis, yeah? Hes in a bad way. Him and his brother are working two jobs each, and Ponyboys picked up part time so he can still go to school and theyre still barely payin for nothin. I though maybe Id… help em out.” “Spent my money on grease then?” “Sorry, I just thought-“ “Youre a good kid.”

Two days later, Darry has a day off, and hes treking across town to the west side to thank Paul. Hes dressed as nice as possible, and when he knocks on the Holdens door he feels fine. “How can I- Darrel! Oh, its been such a long time! Come inside!” Pauls mom greets him. “Hi, Mrs. Holden.” He says. “Is Paul here?” “He will be in a little while. Why dont you come eat? I just put breakfast on.” “Oh, I couldnt-“ “Of course you can. In fact, Ill send you home with some for your brothers too!” Paul pushes through the front door then. “Hi, mama- Darry. Hi.” Paul smiles. And Darry cant help but look away as his face turns red. “Darrel’s going to join us for breakfast.” Mrs. Holden says brigtly. “You should have just slept in. It would do you some good.” Paul says to Darry. “I’m used to getting up early. I just… thank you, Paul. For the food. You aint got a clue how much it means to me. With all you gave me I might have enough money to do Christmas for Soda and Pony.” “Do you not usually?” Paul asks, a concerned look on his face. “I try to do a good dinner, but we really aint able to afford much else.” Darry admits. “Im glad to have helped.” “I love you.” Darry whispers. Paul looks around nervosly, the returns it with a smile. “Come sit!” Mrs. Holden calls from the kitchen. Darry playfully punches Pauls shoulder. “Cmon bro, your mom is gonna feed me.” Paul laughs. “Okay bro.”

“So Darrel, Paul says you work for a roofin company. Tell me bout it.” Mr. Holden says. “Its good.” Darry replies. “Ive fallen off my fair share of roofs, but lucky Im grease cause most of the houses I fix are one story homes.” “How are your brothers?” “Good. Pony still dont talk too much after what happened. Most days he dont say nothin at all. But hes gettin better. And Soda, too. Hes gettin better.” “Im glad to hear it. That poor boy didnt do a thing to deserve what he got. Losing his best friend.” “Hes real torn up about it.” “It must be hard on you too.” “Its sad. But I aint got time to mourn. I gotta work so we dont lose nothing else.” “Youre too young for how fast youve had to grow up.” “I, uh, I better be headed home maam.” “Let me get you some food!” Mrs. Holden jumps up and begins rummaging through cupboards. Once she finds some tupperware she loads it full of hashbrown and bacon. “Paul, wont you drive him home?” “Course I will, mama.” Paul smiles. He stands up with Darry. Pulls him close by the waist and leans in and- pushes him away as quickly and he can. “Here, Darrel.” Mrs. Holden presses the tupperware container into Darrys hands. “I hope my boy treats you right.” “What?” Darry coughs, nervous. “I saw that honey, it aint just a friendly thing. And i think i always knew. Its okay, boys.” Mrs. Holden takes Paul and Darrys hands. “I wont tell nobody. But if you two are in love, thats what it is and im proud of you because love is a beautiful thing.” “Thanks mama.” Paul’s says, tears filling his eyes. “Of course baby. I love you. Now you two go. Ain’t nothing romantic going to happen in front of your mama. Darrel, you and your brothers and all your friends always have a safe place here. Always.” “Thank you, Mrs. Holden.” “Get out! Go! Have fun, use protection, I love you boys.”

Paul parks the car in Darry’s driveway and the two of them go inside. “Pony, Soda! I have breakfast for y’all. Mrs. Holden made it for ya.” Ponyboy sits down at the table next to Soda within a few minutes. “Heya, Paul.” Two-Bit appears in the kitchen too. “Hi.” Paul says. “We already ate, so you boys help yourselves to this stuff. We’re gonna go. Talk about some stuff.” “Sure you are.” Soda says with a grin.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” “You better.” Paul pulls Darry to him and does indeed kiss him. “I love you so much.” Paul says. Darry pulls away. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever understand. You’ve done so much for me… for my brothers. I love you and so don’t think nothin will ever make me stop. You know there ain’t no way I’ll ever be able to pay you back for what you’ve given me but I’m gonna do my best to pay it back by being the best damn boyfriend you ever did have. I promise.”

#Parry wip #Parry #lol #darry curtis #paul holden #theyre in love your honor #On the grounds of brooklyn

5 notes · View notes

lookingupatthesamemoon · 3 months ago

Text

selfshiptober day 7: rain + infection

pairing: Winnifred + Frankenstein's Creature (1931)

summary: Winnifred helps the Creature out on a rainy morning.

word count: 1.3k

cw: wounds / wound care

note: technically a continuation of day 2 !!! also my shortest so far... only so much i could do with this prompt... sigh...

divider by @/saradika :)

Winnifred wasn’t sure she had ever had such a comfortable night of sleep. She slept like a log all night, the arms of the Creature she had taken in mere hours prior wrapped snugly around her, the heat of his body keeping her warmer than a fire ever could on its own. She did her best to slowly wriggle out of his arms, trying not to wake him. She was sure he needed his rest. She had no clue how long he had been roaming the forest without a home of his own, and all she wanted was for him to feel safe and comfortable. As she managed to free herself from his embrace, Winnifred glanced down at the Creature once more, sleeping soundly. She smiled, taking in the sight of this eight-foot-tall being wrapped up in her blankets. He looked like he was at peace. She decided that, perhaps, it was her duty to help him as much as she could.

Finally standing up, she glanced out the window – rain. No wonder the house was still so dark. The pitter-patter of the rain against the roof was always a sound that Winnifred appreciated – and thankfully so, considering how often it fell. She could only hope that it would be soothing to the Creature as well, aiding him in getting just a bit more sleep.

She took a moment to decide on her next move, not wanting to disturb him too much. Maybe breakfast? She tiptoed over to the kitchen, watching out for the few floorboards that she knew were particularly creaky as she made the short trek to the next room. She still needed to buy groceries… Opening the fridge, she noticed she had just enough eggs and bread to whip up some french toast. Not her favorite, but it would have to do. As long as it was enough for the Creature, she was okay with it. She tried her best to keep quiet as she pulled a frying pan out of the cabinet, wincing as the metal clanked together in the process. She stood still for a moment, cocking her head to the side, listening for any sign of the Creature waking coming from the living room.

It sounded like whining. She heard the rustling of the blankets, accompanied by whimpers and groans. Winnifred stepped back into the living room, seeing the Creature sitting up on the floor, his left arm held tightly against his stomach. She took it upon herself to light a candle as she reentered the room, carrying it to cut through the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, kneeling down next to him. “Hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Do you need the bathroom?”

Another shake.

“Are you hurt?”

This time the Creature nodded. Winnifred frowned, slowly reaching out to touch his arm. “Can I see? The flame from the candle won’t get you, I promise.”

The Creature nodded once more, allowing Winnifred to tenderly wrap her fingers around part of his wrist, gently pulling it away from his stomach. She carefully rolled up his sleeve, examining each stitch, holding the candle just close enough to illuminate his skin. Immediately, she noticed that one of them looked bright red, and oddly wet. “Oh, sweetie, I think this is infected.”

The Creature looked at her in alarm, yanking his arm away from her.

“It’s okay,” Winnie reassured him, “I can treat it. I can patch it up right now and it’ll heal right up.”

She stood back up, heading to her bathroom to take a look inside her medicine cabinet. She considered herself to be a very lucky woman when it came to illness and infection – her work allowed her more access to medication than most people were able to get. She pulled some iodine out from the cabinet, as well as some gauze to cover up the wound. It didn’t look too serious, but if it was left untreated much longer, she was sure it would become much worse.

She returned to the Creature quickly, the iodine and gauze in her hands. She set them down on a small table near the woodstove, then ran to the kitchen to wash her hands and to fetch a bowl of water and a bar of soap. She grabbed a pair of scissors as well, to cut the gauze. The Creature cowered as he watched her sanitize them. “Don’t worry, these aren’t for you,” she said. “I just want to clean it first,” she explained, sitting down beside him, carefully placing the bowl of water on the floor. The Creature nodded, slowly revealing his arm to her again. Winnifred cut a small piece of gauze off the roll, soaking it in the warm water in the bowl. She looked into the Creature’s eyes for permission, only continuing her work after seeing him nod. Gingerly, she ran the wet gauze along the infected stitch, trying not to frown as he flinched at the touch. She then scrubbed a bit of soap onto the gauze, repeating the process on the Creature’s arm.

“Okay… This next part’s going to sting,” Winnifred warned him, “But it should make this so much better in a couple of days, okay? I promise. Do you trust me?”

The Creature nodded again, taking a breath, bracing himself for the feeling. In the meantime, Winnifred was cutting a fresh piece of gauze off the roll. She blotted a bit of iodine on it, trying her best to put on just enough to cover the length of the Creature’s wound. “Ready?” She asked, preparing to apply it to his arm. He nodded, taking another deep breath. He looked away as Winnifred laid the strip of gauze on his arm, hissing as it came into contact with his flesh. “I know,” she cooed. “It should stop stinging soon… Can you do me a favor, Creature?”

He turned his head to face her again, nodding slowly, tears welling in his eyes from the sensation. “Okay… I just need you to hold that gauze in place while I cut off one more piece to secure it. Can you do that for me?” She was met with another nod as the Creature tepidly raised his right hand, placing it on top of the gauze. He watched Winnifred cut the final piece, much longer than the previous two. She gestured for him to remove his hand, and he did so with no hesitation, watching curiously as Winnifred delicately wrapped the new piece of gauze around his forearm, finishing her dressing of the wound. He met her eyes in awe. His creator had never touched him so tenderly.

“Okay, all done,” Winnifred said softly.

The Creature took her hand in his as if to thank her. He then proceeded to pull her into his chest, using only his right arm in order to keep the freshly dressed left one out of the way. She smiled, chuckling a bit as she leaned into him. His grip was tight, but she didn’t mind – something told her he didn’t even realize it.

“Well, I was just about to make us some breakfast… I know I just asked you this, but, are you hungry?”

The Creature nodded, his hunger coming to the forefront now that his main issue had been solved. He smiled sheepishly as his stomach growled, answering her question for him.

“Okay,” Winnifred snickered. “We’ll get you fed, maybe clean you up a bit more… And then maybe we can take a nap. The rain always makes me sleepy.”

The Creature beamed at this. He had never felt so welcomed anywhere before. He feared it may only last for a night, but now, looking into Winnifred’s eyes and listening to the rain tap on her roof, he had hope that it could last forever. He had finally found a home.

#wish i could have written a little more but #these things happen #rye writes !#ship: bolts & all #self shipping #selfshiptober #selfshiptober 2024 #cw wounds

4 notes · View notes

rogueshadeaux · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine — Paper Trail

“We don’t know enough yet to make any assumptions.” Dr. Sims said cooly from the kitchen, like he himself was trying to hold back from demanding answers from the universe. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something in the files today. If not, hopefully the tests will tell us something we missed.”

6k words | 30 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Illness, medical procedures [mentioned], racism, abuse, lore. so much lore.

⚠ AUTHOR'S NOTE: There are a lot of imbedded links on this chapter! Some are very low quality, as I had to work with what I could screenshot off of Youtube. If only SPP compiled their stuff in one place like a normal game company. Anyways enjoy!

I woke up to Dad sitting on the floor next to the couch, calling my name gently. “Jeanie, wake up,” he hummed. “C’mon, I made coffee.”

“Do I have to?” I grumbled, face still in the cushions.

Dad and I had stayed up for nearly two hours after I had walked back into the house and talked about everything; the guilt, the anger, the truth. He wasn’t as mad at me as I thought he was—while he was upset, he didn’t blame me for it. Any of it. “Jean, you don’t know what to do o-or what’s going on,” he reassured me, “I can’t get upset at you for that. I just want you to be careful.” He wanted nothing more than for me to trust his judgment. And maybe I needed to; Dad knew what he was doing. I’d be safe if I listened to him, right? I had to trust him.

But it was hard, when we both kept hiding things from each other.

So I extended the olive branch first, and told him the truth; the pain in my back when I use my powers but how it eases when I’m in water. He listened intently to it all, simply nodding along. “I’ll tell Eugene in the morning,” he eventually decided, “We’ll figure it out, I promise,”

Maybe it was wrong for me to not say anything about Mom as I was huddled into his chest, but I wasn’t sure I could get through that conversation without becoming a blubbering mess. And besides, maybe that was simply meant for me. No one else.

The heart-to-heart led to us falling asleep on the couch, my head in Dad’s lap as he reclined back. Apparently I exhausted myself in my sobbing so much that I didn’t know Dad slipped away in the morning. Not until he woke me up at least. “Eugene needs to give you a look over and we…we need to talk to you about something too.”

That got me to turn to look at Dad through my curtain of hair. He was crouched holding two cups, Dr. Sims standing behind him with his arms crossed.

This was gonna be fun.

Dr. Sims assured me he knew enough basic medical care to know if I was okay. “Or at least, if something is wrong,” he added, looking me over. “Double majored while in college, I just never took the MCAT.”

I had no idea what that was, but nodded like I did as he checked my pulse, timing it against his watch.

He looked over my scars, checked their stitches. The hole in my neck was barely touched but he at least seemed satisfied by how it looked under its clear wrapping, which I was beginning to think was just saran wrap taped down. “Your dad said it hurts when you use your powers?” he asked me, examining the scar on my side. It was settling into a nice purple, bright against my skin.

“It’s — it’s not really a hurt,” I started, trying to downplay it. Dad was looking at me too intensely for me to be comfortable with just admitting the fact. “It’s almost like I feel sore when I do, in between my shoulderblades.”

Dr. Sims nodded, hand coming around to my back. “Right here?” He asked, pressing between my shoulder blades. My hand tensed around the coffee mug as I nodded, trying not to wince as he palpated the area.

“Yeah,” I eventually said.

Dr. Sims hummed, moving his hand away from my back. “And does it hurt while you use your power, or after?”

I shrugged. “Both? But it only hurts while I’m using it if I do it for a long time. Otherwise it’s usually this, like, twinge after.”

He nodded, moving to the table to type out some notes on his open mini-laptop. Dad sat back down on the couch beside me, one hand staying wrapped around the coffee mug while the other came to wrap around me.

I didn’t like that. He would give out affection often, sure, but holding? That usually came before bad news.

Dr. Sims picked up his laptop and brought it close, sitting on my other side. “Jean, we got your test results back.” He began.

My heart stopped. “Already?” I asked meekly. Dad’s arm pulled me a bit closer to his side as I slightly turned to face Dr. Sims better.

Dr. Sims nodded. “I pulled some strings.”

I waited a moment for him to continue. “So then…what did the results say?” I asked. I hated that he wouldn’t start explaining without my prompting.

Dr. Sims looked at the computer. “Well, the good news is that there’s nothing wrong with you genetically,” he began. “In terms of chromosomal makeup, you and Brent look perfect.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s…that’s good,” I glanced over my shoulder at Dad. “But then,” I looked back to Dr. Sims, “Why am I not healing?”

Dad’s arm squeezed around me gently. “That’s where the bad news comes in.” He said softly. “You know how we took samples of the stuff on your leg?”

“Yeah?”

“The results came back abnormal,” Dr. Sims said. “We’re not sure what that means yet, though. Once we’re done here with Mr. Dunbar, I want to take you to the nearest Accredited hospital to do more tests.”

I had to suppress a groan. More tests. “What would — what’re you looking for?” I asked.

Dad took over the conversation. “Well, answers. We now know Augustine’s tar, one hundred percent, is what’s making you sick. We just need to know how, and why.”

“Mr. Dunbar already got in contact with someone who can examine the tar for us. He just left to mail it. They’re in Boston, so it will take a day or two to get the sample there — but I know this person. She’d be able to uncover any secrets we wouldn’t be able to see.”

“And we need to make sure you’re okay, too.” Dad added. “See if anything’s changed since the last time we took blood, check your scars. Your arm could probably use a check-up too.”

“And I want to examine your conducrine gland, with your report of pain,” Dr. Sims continued. “I want to take a quantification assay and make sure you’re making enough proteins, and double check that you’re not having any complications. Maybe an MRI.”

I nodded once. “Okay.” I said, like I wasn’t both confused and dreading everything.

“Until then, if you have any more pain, you tell us, okay?” Dad practically demanded. Dr. Sims got up from his spot on the couch to set his computer back on the table, grabbing his empty cup and heading to the counter to get more coffee.

There was something I needed to know, though. “Did Mom’s com–conducrine gland ever hurt? When she was sick?”

I could feel Dad’s arm around me tense. “It did,” he said.

“So it’s happening to me too? I thought my test results came back normal, genetically.” I looked at Dad. “If it happened to Mom too, then how…”

A shadow crossed over Dad’s face as he scowled. “We’re wondering the same.”

The hot cup did nothing to warm me as my blood ran cold. They both seemed angry at the idea that Mom had something put in her, too — and I didn’t like the fact that despite reassuring me they’re not sure what the cause could be, they both seemed settled on a reason to blame.

Brent eventually stumbled downstairs looking refreshed after resting, which was a relief unlike any other as the image of his lifeless body began to lose its harsh edges in my mind’s eye. Dad managed to find and burn some eggs and turkey bacon as we waited for Zeke to return, and for a brief bit, it almost felt like I could pretend that everything was normal. That we were on some trip in a less-than-stellar rental and this was just breakfast after a night spent gaming or binging a movie series Dad insisted was fantastic.

Imagining was all I could do to keep from dwelling on the what ifs.

Zeke eventually came back — and then stepped back out, bringing in muddied ammo box after muddied ammo box. “They’re weather resistant,” he explained to Brent when he gave Zeke a bewildered look. “Which is needed when you live in a swamp. Good for hiding stuff.”

Dad crouched low and pulled his briefcase out from under the loveseat couch, saying, “I brought everything I could. Some stuff got damaged in Betty’s old storage unit, but I managed to salvage most of it.”

“Is that why you brought the briefcase?” Brent asked, glancing over at me. We had a bet going on what he was intending to do with it. “I thought you were just gonna start going back to work,”

Dad’s smile was half hearted. “Nope. Everything in here’s from my adventures,”

The way Dad sarcastically said adventures suggested it wasn’t the fun kind in the movies.

Dr. Sims began working at his computers at the small table, the mini-laptop perched precariously on his lap as the other two shared the liminal space of the wood. Dad sat on the couch between Brent and I and opened up his briefcase, revealing a hell of random stuff; dozens of crumpled and folded pieces of paper, random little shreddings that almost looked like trash. There was some flier that was badly taped together and newspaper clippings, notes upon notes in Dad’s scratchy handwriting layered in margins of scrap paper and what almost looked like…

“Comics?” I blinked, pulling up the creased stacks of paper. “Did you make a comic?”

I looked up at Dad in time to see him grimace. “No.” He said, flat. “Those were all clues some crazy killer left me while she tried to frame us all.”

I looked back down at the artwork in my hands. “Oh.”

“But there’s—“ Brent began flipping through the papers Dad shoved in his hands. “There’s DUP documents in this?”

Dad shrugged. “I had to hack into their database to get some answers. She was Augustine’s favorite lackey.”

“Always leads back to that bitch,” Brent murmured, glancing over at me.

“Brent.”

“Oh c’mon Dad, you can’t keep getting onto me about it,”

“Help me organize all this,” Dad commanded, ignoring Brent completely. “I printed out everything I didn’t have a physical copy of so this is…it’s gonna be a lot.”

“How the hell are we supposed to organize this?” Brent asked, incredulous.

“There’s serial numbers on them all,” Dad said, pointing to a row of one on a DUP document in Brent’s hand. “Find the connected files if you can.”

“Delsin, come here for a second,” Dr. Sims said at the table. Dad promised to return and help but asked that we get a head start while he was going over something with Eugene.

The comic wasn’t really a traditional one, but almost some sort of manga; a story about a rabbit that lost her family in an attack, and was safeguarded by a large dragon before being locked away. The art style was immaculate, I had to admit — but I didn’t get how some story with a dragon was supposed to be a hint, unless this version of the Zodiac Killer was hiding some code in the shading.

Brent nodded my way as I looked over the first page again. “What does that say?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much. Just a bunch of drawings.”

“I meant the back.”

“The—” I cut off, flipping the page.

Death is just a passing phase. I’ve danced with demise, and let me tell you, he’s a bad dancer (always stepping on my toes). But I’ve learned to embrace the macabre — to navigate its twisted depths. Conduits and “normals” are at a crossroads, and if we don’t look both ways, we’ll all get run down. All I want — all I’ve ever wanted — is harmony between people. Follow my lead and I’ll show you the trail of bodies. Seek out the corpses and you’ll find the truth decaying within.

“...Oh.” I said meekly. This had to be what Dad was talking about. Some twisted manifesto by a serial killer.

I flipped over the others, and each of them had something on their backs — some, notes, others, puzzles. “Hold on,” He said, leaning forward. He grabbed the second page of the manga. “‘If you’re trying to get into the DUP, I’ve been there. In fact, I died there.’” He read off. “Look, there’s that serial number thing Dad was talking about.”

I read off the row of numbers. “Do you have this file? Starts with, uh—” I glanced down again, “3485?”

Brent muttered the number to himself again and again as he flipped through the pages in his hand. “Here,” he finally said, pulling one out from the middle of the pile. It was a statement issued by Brooke Augustine herself on the death of a Conduit detained at Curdun Cay in a death by a thousand paper cuts — literally. Suicide by dozens of cuts created by paper doves. “Jesus Christ,” I murmured, imagining the pain. I read over the memorandum again, pointing to its first sentence, “There’s a number here, do you have a file for that one?” I asked Brent, “Ends in 2606,”

“I was just looking at that,” He said. “Fuckin’ — here. Some girl named Celia.” He looked over to Dad, who was behind Dr. Sims, reading something on a screen. “Who was Celia?”

“Paper conduit?” I asked, incredulous. She could control paper! Or, did — at least with enough control to kill herself.

Dad glanced over. “She’s the one that made those drawings.”

I blinked. “Guessing she also did the murders?”

“Yep.”

“How’d she get out?” Brent asked. “This says she died,”

Dad breathed deeply, Dr. Sims waving him off and letting him return to our side. “Augustine faked her death to sneak her out of Curdun Cay. Killed some random guard."

“But why?” I asked, looking up from the row of manga strips.

Dad didn’t answer — not at first, at least. He sighed deeply before reaching into the briefcase for a manila folder, opening it and peeking past the flap to check its contents. He nodded once before reaching in to start pulling out photocopies of pictures, laying them out facing us.

“Jesus,” Brent muttered.

I wasn’t prepared for it to be 90% bodies and death, of someone pinned to a billboard or being held against a wall by dozens of paper doves, bloodied and beaten and dead. “I need you both to look at this,” Dad said, looking up at us with a serious expression. There was barely any emotion in his face now, eyes peering at us like we were on the stand. “Augustine and Celia did this to keep up the narrative. Killed people that had ties to your mom and Eugene to make it look like it was them seeking revenge.” He leaned forward slightly. “And Archangel bombed COLE to try and get me to show myself. There are people out there that will see you as nothing more than a chance to hurt someone else. Nothing more than something to keep the story going. These are the kind of people I’m trying to keep from hurting you.” He looked between Brent and I. “Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to peel away from the imagery of death and look somewhere, anywhere else. I wasn’t prepared for that. Bodies. A path painted in bloodshed long before I even had the chance to walk it, and littered with fresher meat for the sacrifice of someone else's cause. It felt so hopeless; was this really all there was? All there could be?

Looking away wasn’t a good idea, because my eyes moved from casualty to casualty as they landed on a picture of Mom next to some detective agency’s logo.

My hand was moving to pick up the file before I could even blink, bringing the black and white photocopy close to my face. I swear, if I concentrated hard enough, I could make her eyes move, almost see how she would bring her chin up and cock her head to the side like she did in the hallucination.

And this time, I wasn’t too sad while looking at the picture. Zeke was right; was it wrong to treat it as a fact even if there was a good chance it wasn’t? Maybe it was better, knowing the hallucination was just that and yet still being able to be a bit indulgent.

I forced my eyes off of Mom’s photo to the blurb under it, reading through the information this random detective agency had. “Wait,” I murmured, rereading a single line again and again. “Dad? This thing says Mom’s parents wanted to…wanted to talk to her again.”

Brent’s head snapped around to look at me. “What?” He demanded, snatching the page out of my hand and swatting me away when I tried to take it back. “Holy shit, that’s Mom,”

Dad meanwhile did nothing more than sigh hard. “We did hear from her parents. Shortly after we did the whole gender reveal thing.” His jaw tightened at the memory. “It didn’t go well.”

Brent lowered the page, brow knitting closer together as he looked up at Dad. “What do you mean?” he asked.

I put down the manga drawings in my hands, giving Dad my full attention too. I had always wondered, if we had a mom, where her side of the family was. I understood Dad was an orphan, he never shied away from that fact; but he never elaborated much on Mom except that her brother passed. I never found the courage to ask about grandparents on that side, either. Brent had once, and the scowl was enough to make me realize it was something he never intended answering.

Until now. “We had met somewhere in downtown Seattle, which was probably the first mistake. They both didn’t want to be in such a liberal area, and it didn’t help that Lifeline was protesting a lot more after the mass Curdun Cay release. Your mom was still on trial for her murders—”

“While pregnant?” Brent asked, eyes widening.

Dad shrugged. “All of us were. You think they were gonna let all of us go without a fight? There’s a reason the Akurans found your mom so easily.” He inhaled hard, trying to bleed the anger out of his voice. “They weren’t happy about the publicity of the trial. Add that on top of your mom having children with someone that wasn’t white, and the fact that they refused to apologize for turning Abbs in to the DUP and…well, why keep them around?”

“Jeez,” I hummed, glancing back down at the page in Brent’s hand, Mom’s face staring back at me upside down. I couldn’t think of much else to say but that, other than wishing I could’ve somehow supported Mom during that time. Her parents wouldn’t even say sorry for giving her away to the government!

Brent could form more words than me. “None of the shit she went through would have happened if they didn’t try to sell her in the first place,” He bit, angry at their audacity.

Dad nodded. “You would think they’d feel bad after everything that started coming out about Curdun Cay — the experiments and all that. But these are the same people Abbs told me didn’t think conversion therapy was a bad thing, so I guess they just saw it as another form of that.”

“Assholes.” Brent spit.

Dad didn’t reprimand him that time.

“Let’s just go through these files.” He finally decided. “Jean, get together all the F.A.N numbers from the back of those drawings. Brent, start throwing things in piles by person or facility or whatever.”

I snuck a chance at reading more of the manga as I scribbled down everything I found on a torn bill envelope Zeke passed over to me; it was Celia’s life story, pieced together by the files and clues connected to it. A girl who lost everything like so many others right here in New Marais before being found by a dragon and locked away in some cells carved into the side of a mountain. There was imagery of the child rabbit being torn in half as a being more sleek and pure colored rabbit, which I had to guess had to be her ‘death’ and rebirth, if the note on the back was anything to go by. In fact, I died there.

It never showed how she escaped, but the next page did show three others as they rushed away from the dozens of wyvern pursuing them — it took me longer than I’d admit to realize who they were. The next page spoke the representation clearly though; ‘Inazuma…vengeance now her drug of choice.’ The peahen was slaying shady looking shrews with needles slinging away from their hands.

Mom.

The next page featured a rooster named Ushinatta who had ‘went back to playing games’, the rooster opening its huge wings and calling down hens to peck at some bullies. That had to be Dr. Sims.

There was a third guy, though, that I realized I didn’t know.

Kemuri. Some sort of lizard…or maybe a gecko? “Who swore he’d never harm anyone” the page read as the gecko attacked a caravan driven by an elephant. There were three people that escaped that van, weren’t there? Mom, Dr. Sims…and someone else.

I lifted my head and was about to ask Dad when Brent said, “Here, this dude matches the drawing,” under his breath, handing me another DUP file. An incident report, in fact:

Despite our best efforts to isolate the detainees in as safe and thorough a manner as possible, two ward-mates developed a relationship that threatened to undermine the careful work being done with both: inmate 007-3171-8404 began looking out for 056-7339-2606, warding off any bullies and establishing a friendship. RESOLUTION: Inmate 007-3171-8404 was relocated to the maximum-security ward, due to his history of escape attempts and insurrection. Monitoring of inmate 056-7339-2606 has been increased ever since she used her daily paper privilege to create the attached image:

A full body drawing of the gecko was photo scanned with the DUP file, creased lines doing nothing to hinder the artwork.

My new friend was taken away today, the words under it read, It was my fault, I’m sure. I was just trying to be nice…just like he was nice to me. He told me I reminded him of his daughter. And now, just like my real parents— He’s gone.

“You got anything on this 8404 inmate?” I asked Brent. Dad was busy organizing a bunch of little tags, not even registering that we were talking.

Brent’s side of the floor looked way more organized than mine; perfect piles of paper with shredded clippings on top of each one, numbers or names scribbled on top. “Yeah, uh—” Brent’s eyes scanned the piles in front of him before he reached out, snatching the page away so fast that the clipping on top of it fluttered off somewhere. “Here. You plan on organizing the comic thing, by the way?”

“Fuck off,” I murmured, nearly laughing when Brent’s head snapped towards Dad as he waited for the reprimand, and balked when he saw it wasn’t coming. I stuck my tongue out at Brent before looking at the inmate file, trying to keep my snickering as quiet as possible.

Hank Daughtry. Apparently some guy that was a criminal before puberty, who’d rob or break out of jail every chance he got — but never harmed a civilian when he did. Curdun Cay was the first place to keep him in place. At least, till that military vehicle.

The power section, though, held all of the answers I needed; he could wield smoke. Embers and fire, too, if the paper was to be believed. I could hear the echoes of Dad’s voice in the back of my head: “She thought the guy I got smoke from told me about her plan — the breakout and DUP funding, all that.”

Betty had said Dad helped bring down her warehouse when he first got his powers. The first power. Smoke.

But that didn’t explain why Dad was so quiet about this guy. Why, before this moment, I had never heard of him. “Dad?” I asked.

He tore his eyes away from the newspaper clipping in his hands. “What’s up?”

“What happened to this Hank guy? You know, after Seattle?” I glanced down at the file again — there wasn’t even a picture of the inmate on this one. There was a wall of blacked out text at the bottom of the file, though. “Did he not help you guys?”

Behind Dad, Dr. Sims stopped typing, looking over to where we sat. Even Brent stopped to see what Dad was gonna say.

“He didn’t.” Dad said simply, jaw clenched. “It was just me, Eugene and your mom that took on Augustine.”

Brent blinked. “What, did he not want to?”

“I wouldn’t have let him if he did. He was a piece of shit, anyways.”

I glanced down at the inmate file; moral code, immense self discipline. Whatever issue Dad had with him sure didn’t seem to match the document. “What happened to him?” I asked.

“Does it matter?”

Dad’s voice bit with a ferocity that wasn’t usual from him unless we were in trouble. “I mean,” I scrambled to say, the tone activating the fear of getting grounded in me, “I guess not? I was just wonder—”

“Then there you go. It doesn’t matter.” Dad inhaled deeply before continuing, “If Daughtry’s files don’t have anything useful in them, then do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Throw them in the trash.” Dad said flatly, moving to get up. He left towards the kitchen where Zeke was messing with the discarded stuff from another ammo box, roughly grabbing the stale pot of coffee to pour a cup and drink it black in one go like it was a shot.

I looked over at Brent, bewildered, who was already turning back to face me with his eyebrows shot up so high they were close to disappearing into his unkempt hair. He mouthed What the fuck? at me and all I could do is shrug, taking the rest of the papers in Daughtry’s pile to look over. May as well double check them before they became landfill food.

Not that there was much left in his pile; There were three more pages with no more than three paragraphs on the largest one, each following reports of Daughtry possibly being seen somewhere in Seattle after he broke out blowing up cars in an attempt to assassinate that asshole senator who was caught years ago saying something about how Hitlers policies at least were keeping people safe in that leaked audiofile as he admitted to trying to replicate them for Conduits.

One of the bullet points on the results of the DUP’s investigation caught my eye, though: no residual signs of Ray Sphere radiation detected. Radiation? Why would there be radiation in the middle of downtown Seattle? “Does anyone know what ray — Ray Sphere radiation is?” I asked the room.

Over in the kitchen, Zeke’s head popped up, looking to Dad for a moment. Whatever he was trying to ask, Dad gave him permission with a shrug of his shoulders. “The Blast in Empire City was from a Ray Sphere.” Zeke began. He took a moment to dig in a box before pulling out one of those leather journals that always looked a little too light brown to be real, brass metal corners of the journal catching the light as Zeke flipped it open. “The First Sons made it.”

He began walking towards us with the journal as he flipped through pages, humming when he landed on what he wanted to show us. “Here. Journal’s useless in some spots ‘cause it’s written in code, but this is what the thing looked like.”

He flipped the journal over and held it out for me to take; the page was a sketch, one side full of components, the other what they all looked like pulled together into one device.

Brent snorted beside me when he scooted over to look at it, and I knew it was because we were thinking the same thing. “It’s shaped like a Death Star,” He said humorously, looking at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Just as powerful, too.” Zeke responded. “Thing blew up six blocks and killed thousands.”

That shut Brent up real fast.

“But I don’t—” I cut off, looking down at the drawing. The etchings beside each piece were all code, the only one highlighted being a jagged piece of rock. “Why would the DUP look for Ray Sphere radiation at an explosion site? Unless they thought someone was trying to take out Seattle.”

Dr. Sims moved off of the barstool, walking over. “May I?” he asked me, giving a nod of thanks when I handed the journal over. He perused the page and then looked at Zeke. “Where did you get this?”

“It was Wolfe’s,” Zeke answered.

That one word was enough to make Dad’s head snap up, and he turned around. “Raymond Wolfe?” He asked.

Zeke shook his head. “Sebastian, his brother.”

“Oh,” Dad said flatly. “The First Sons scientist. Great,”

Zeke shrugged, gracefully brushing off Dad’s disapproval. “Hey man, sometimes you have to be willing to drink the poison if it means you find out how it would kill someone. We used this to figure out how the RFI worked.”

Dr. Sims flipped through the next few pages, eyes lighting up. “I know this code,” he murmured, before looking up at Dad and Zeke and repeating the words. “I know this code — it was in one of the DUP files I stole. I could decode this journal,”

“Y’think it would have anything that would help us in it?” Dad asked.

Zeke looked over his shoulder. “Wolfe was the First Son’s top scientist. If there’s anyone that might have information, it would have been him.” Zeke shrugged. “I reckon it’s worth a shot.”

Dr. Sims snapped the journal shut, nodding. “I’ll move upstairs to the spare room, I’m going to need the space.” He said decisively. Each laptop was put in rest mode and shut, stored away at a speed I didn’t know what possible out of someone so lanky. “D, come get me if you all make any progress down here, okay?”

Dad looked at Zeke. “Do you still have the stuff from the runaround with Wolfe?”

Zeke turned to face Dad fully, watching Dr. Sims disappear up the stairs. “No, I gave it all to Alessia. She might still have it, if we’re lucky.”

Both Brent and my head shot up. “Wait, like, Aunt Sia?” I asked, looking at Dad.

Alessia was known to the world as the chairwoman of COLE and an old ringleader of Project Sanctuary, the nationwide underground anti-DUP movement. In those seven years the DUP had control and were hunting down Conduits to bag and tag, Alessia was trying to sneak Conduits over the border, stage protests, and…well, give the DUP a hard time. If it involved picketing or slashing tires, she was there, coordinating the attacks.

We didn’t know her as that woman for the longest time, though. To us, she was Aunt Sia; the woman who would watch us when Dad had to go take an exam while he was in school, or needed a break. A babysitter that cared so much about us. The cool lady who brought these fancy Japanese candies every time she’d come over and would take us to things like renaissance faires. I remember her teaching Dad how to braid my hair and making huge masterpieces out of legos with Brent, indulging me by declaring every little drawing I made a masterpiece. She had moved away six or seven years ago and we really only got to see her when there was some big COLE event near Portland.

But I was surprised to find out that she knew Dad as Delsin and not just Damion.

Dad’s eyes wandered off as he thought. “I…I could call her, see if she still has anything from then.” Eyes snapping back to Zeke, he added, “You’d have to show me how to make calls with your setup, though,”

“‘Course, it’s in my shed. C’mon, I’ll show ya,”

Zeke was heading towards the door with Dad hot on his heels, who only stopped in its frame to turn to Brent and I and say, “Take any notes on anything you don’t understand, okay? Maybe we’ll figure something out.”

He was gone before we responded.

“You think this was what he did the whole time?” Brent asked, looking at me and holding up the stack of files he hadn’t gone through yet. “Just reading files and shit?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Last I heard he was attacking innocent civilians and killing random passersby.”

Brent rolled his eyes. “How he dealt with all of this without killing someone, I’ll never understand.”

We worked in silence for a while, me taking the time to finish the story and begin to piece it to its pieces of evidence; Saisei had found a new friend, a bird with two heads, and it wasn’t hard to make the connection on who that was supposed to represent. He would tell her stories, and they would laugh for hours on end, the page said, largely contrasting the story Dad had told us. It had to be some sort of mockery thing; I send you running around, and you try to figure out why I’m a psycho. What a laugh!

But the dragon came down, disapproving of their banter. I fail to see the humor, it said, to which the two-headed representation of Dad replied look harder before beginning to fight her. The personification of Augustine. An epic battle of good and evil…but the roles were debatable the page read, like I was supposed to sympathize with Augustine as she fell to Dad’s talons.

I wasn’t ready to read the little bunny call Augustine’s character Mama.

“Look at this shit,” Brent murmured, handing me a page. It was an email log between two people. “Does this make sense to you?”

It made a lot of sense, too much sense, as I read the first message title: Purotekutā to me (“Saisei”).

I explained the comic to Brent as we reread the email chains together, the pieces of the truth falling in place. “Augustine asked her to stay in the shadows, that she can’t protect Celia.” I looked at Brent, bewildered. “D’you think she adopted Celia? Like, as her own kid?”

“Well she calls Augustine Mama in this thing—” he waved around the stack of stapled manga, “So I’m guessing so. Or whatever fucked up version of ‘family’ they were playing up there in Curdun Cay,”

“‘You have done everything I asked and more, but unless he can be controlled, Delsin is our enemy.’” I read from the email chain. “‘He is blinded by his power, he thinks he’s invincible. But without walls, without his brother, who will protect him?’”

Brent scoffed. “What a bitch. I should have killed her when we were fighting in the Sound.”

“Think that’s crazy, you should read the last entry on this thing.” I said, offering the paper with the email chain. “Celia messages Augustine saying something about needing to know whose purpose was stronger and that’s why she didn’t try to help her.”

Brent shrugged, taking it. “Raise a lunatic, and don’t be surprised when you’re eventually their victim.”

“Augustine really made everyone her pawn,” I hummed. “Mom, Dr. Sims, this chick. How much of it do you think was to protect Conduits?”

“Not enough, considering she lost.” Brent huffed.

#infamous second son #infamous #infamous erosion #delsin rowe #sucker punch productions #Eugene Sims #Fetch Walker #hehehehehehehehehe #Celia Penderghast #Brooke Augustine #Zeke Dunbar #God I wanna say the OC too but I know Gab's nosey ass reads tags first so I CAN'T #But heho #I forgot literally every other tag. pretend they're here.

10 notes · View notes

aelinschild · 1 year ago

Text

TWO - ROWAN

Holding Me Like Water In Your Hands

Main Masterlist | HMLWIYH Masterlist

And its time for chapter two! I'm in the process of creating a masterlist and mood boards along for this series, so look out for that! Anyways, please enjoy, and feel free to let me know your thoughts! :)

SYNOPSIS:A cross continental move forces Aelin Galathynius to open her eyes wider than before, and at the doors of Terrasen's most exclusive and expensive private high school, she realizes her life is flowing through her. And if she wants to make the most of her life, she needs to grab onto something. Or maybe someone. WORDCOUNT: 1.3k GENERAL WARNINGS: Language, Drug use, Alcohol, Allusion to sex/intimacy, Brief descriptions of sexual assault, Domestic violence, Very severe angst, Messy Divorces (More to be added)

The air is hot, and beads of sweat roll down my back. My ratty t-shirt does little to hide the sweat, and the working overalls only add another layer to this heavy Orynth heat.

Terrasen’s weather is well known for being difficult. Freezing winters and withering summers, dramatic rainstorms, or weeks of fog. All part of the routine. I roll out from underneath the car I'm working on. Three out of the four garage doors are propped open, and the AC is coughing up air, it's not cold, but at least it keeps the air moving.

I wipe my grease-stained hands onto my overalls and reach for the filter I need. After I switch this out, then refill the oil, ill be done for the day, and I can hear the creek behind my house beckoning me.

I work in the Elia, one of Orynth’s more reliable garages. And technically my labour is illegal, but being good friends with the Ashryvers comes with perks. Like a job. And I’m the lucky one, because Aedion doesn't even get paid. Gavriel took pity on me years ago, and I've been working here since, trying to cushion my pockets a little more.

The office doors bangs open, disturbing the fragile silence of the room.“Yo,” the devil himself shouts from the other side of the garage. “Dad says you’re good to go if you want. Just stop by the office. He got your moneyyy.” Aedion shouts, humour lining his tone.

It's a running joke, I get paid under the table until I'm sixteen, and Aedion gets nothing. He likes to pretend he’ll tell some sort of authority on me, but Gavriel shuts that down pretty fast.

I snort and roll back under the car. I can hear him banging around somewhere. I move through the motions quickly, tasks like this have become second nature to me at this point.

I was eleven when Gavriel recruited me to his small team of mechanics. Aedion and I constantly were getting into scraps at primary school, and my adopted parents and Gavriel thought a job might help me ease my overactive mind and raging hormones. The past few years have been mostly instruction and learning. Small projects and being the glorified maid for the older guys, but I'm beyond grateful for Gav’s direction.

My family and I aren't rolling in money, and it pained me when I would hear them up at night pouring over overdue bills, attempting to budget and still support Oliver, my adopter father’s medical bills. There was nothing I could do as an eleven-year-old boy, but now I'm fourteen and I make ten dollars an hour. Which magically make their way into Myra, my adopted mother’s, pockets each Sunday.

I fill the oil, and toss the empty bottles into the trash. Dragging a cloth from my overalls across my forehead, I close the hood of the car with one hand and begin to clean up my station. I may not be as good as the older guys, but I'm meticulous about cleaning. Gavriel approves, Aedion calls me anal. I walk my things over to the tool bench and put them away. Elia Ashryver stares at me from her perch on the wall. The photo of her, in the signature Elia red overalls, tattoos lining her arms, and elbow-deep in grease, shines from its spot.

Gavriel and Elia Ashryver started this garage decades ago, but it was Elia who roped Gav into it. She was a wild child. The black sheep of her family. Apparently, she was decorated in ink before Gav had even met her in mechanical school. She was top of her class, knowing how to repair anything with an unnatural efficiency. Machines were second nature to her. And Gavriel fell head over heels in love with the cunning woman and post-graduation, the two were hitched and opening their own garage together. Elia’s expertise was the best in Orynth. And their business bloomed. Soon she was pregnant, and the asshole I call my friend was born.

I've heard the story recited over and over from Gav, who revers his wife, but the end of her story was harder to get out of him. Elia struggled after Aedion’s birth. Her Post-Partum Depression lasted longer than the doctor said it might, and she became a different person. She struggled to bring herself out of bed, be with her child, or work with the machines she once loved. And Gav was so caught up in running a business and caring for his son, that he missed the warning signs. Elia Ashryver ended up overdosing not eight months after Aedion was born.

Her picture never collects dust.

I shut the drawers, and make my way to the office, the red overalls I wear drag slightly on the ground around the heels of my work boots. I'll grow into them eventually. I see Aedions boots underneath a Ford Raptor, which is unsurprisingly back for the fourth time in six weeks.

“Turn on the radio on your way out!” He shouts.

“Kay,” I flick the dial and the room fills with the familiar static of the ancient radio, landing on a more common channel playing the ‘top hits’. I recognize the new song from The Archeron Sisters.

Aedions shitty singing fills the room, and I hastily make my way to Gav’s office before I permanently lose my hearing. I rap my knuckles on the frosted door.

“Come in,” The voice inside shouts.

I push the door open, and I'm hit with the heat of the room. “Gods Gav, this place is like a sauna,” I say as I trudge over to the shelf that holds my cash.

He laughs and runs his hands through his shoulder-length hair. “I heard it's good for the skin, keeps me young, or something.” I laugh and turn to face him after I've slipped the cash into my back pocket.

Gavriel’s a handsome man for all the weight he carries. One might think you'd find the lines of his grief over his face, but it's fitted with wrinkles from all the smiling he does. Somehow, Elia’s death doesn't really haunt him, or this garage. How he does it, ill never know.

He leans back and appraises me.

“You look taller than the last time I saw you,” He muses.

“Taller than yesterday?” I smile.

“Maybe a foot of height?”

“Sure Gav”

“Bigger too, been lifting?”

I roll my eyes. “Nope.”

“You gonna join the rugby team? Aedion’s been crawling up the walls with excitement to start.” He shifts forward, tawny eyes boring into me.

I shift in place, uncomfortable. “I’ll see.”

“You’re nervous to go to ORHS, arent you?” He states.

“I'm not nervous.” I scoff.

We stare at each other. And I wait for him to call me out on my bullshit. Sometimes I think Gavriel knows me better than I know myself. He just hums and nods.

“CUSTOMER!” Aedion bellows from the garage.

Gav rises from the worn leather chair. “Go home kid. I'll see you next week.” He says as he passes by me and wanders out of the office.

I sigh, and turn to the other door that leads to the break room and staff parking lot just outside. Swiping a stale donut off the countertop, I trudge over to my pickup truck that's days away from being impounded into some dinosaur museum. Stuffing my face, I hop in and drive home.

#rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #aelin galythinius #high school #heir of fire #aelin x rowan #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #celaena sardothien #HMLWIYH

9 notes · View notes