#do not mind the tags... i am exhausted all of a sudden. everyone is odd.

[femmefaggot]

"boooooored" ok me too

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

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“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin���... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[athys-obelia]

summary: no one's evil au lmfaooo but make it pt. 2

character/s: anastacius de alger obelia, claude de alger obelia, athanasia de alger obelia, jennette de alger obelia

and here's part 1 <3

oh my god okay. okay. so.

ana, claude, athy and jennette - they go on a LOT of vacations

claude complains every single time but anastacius pulls his trump card and sends athy and jettie BOTH after him

u think he's strong enough to say no after that? lmao jokes

and their vacations always go this way:

jennette: isn't this scenery just gorgeous, uncle

claude: indeed it is. and...quiet

jennette: ...too quiet

[cut to anastacius in the distance, fighting a bear as athy cheers him on]

athy + anastacius, hands down the most chaotic pairing yes i will not be taking criticism

they have tea in ana's palace everyday, just the two of them, they're so poised and picture perfect through the entire thing everyone thinks it's just the emperor giving profound advice to his heir

it's actually them deadass scheming,,, ana has no qualms discussing everything from court gossip to military tactics, both of which she's so on top of all the time

if anyone shit talks jennette or claude, this tea party is where their slow and agonizing demise is planned out to the dot

[true story - count sivan once made the fatal mistake of expressing his favour for athy as the next empress, dissing jennette by comparing her to athy sm which inevitably sparked a debate that ranked the princesses. a week after athy's sources informed her of the kindling behind this new debate, the count's sudden divorce became the talk of the town, and the man's business faced bankruptcy all of a sudden. the sivans still haven't recovered.)

athy n jennette were actually allowed to visit kiel in arlanta a few times, except it was too dark at their first arrival, postponing the meeting to the next morning

buttt then jettie can't sleep and she decides on a midnight snack run (their hotel doesn't really have the maids the palace does, but oh well. she's left the palace w lucas n athy plenty of times)

felix tags along btw, he knows this trip is important to the girls since they're leaving the palace without their Overprotective Papas™ for the first time and want some sense of independence, but... she's just so smol n he couldn't bear it if anything happens so he just shadows her

she totally knows he's there

n e ways so there's a juice place right beside their hotel which she aims for, but when jennette reaches it, it's closed

and out of nowhere, a voice addresses her - "hey you, do you come here a lot?" she nearly jumps out of her skin at the brunette, relaxing when she sees he's literally a kid around her age and not a murderer lmfaoo "me neither," he continues without waiting for her, pouting at the closed sign, before he asks for her name and whether she's new in arlanta

she confirms that yes, she's only visiting, and refuses to tell the stranger her name, still feeling strange at being addressed as 'you' for the first time (well, minus lucas, but he was like her brother and had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, so)

he eyes her. "you're so weird. i've never seen a girl out so late before, and alone too. are you stupid?"

(felix has his sword out at this point)

she's flushing now and has no idea why she's still out here, but then this stranger kid apparently senses her mood and tells her the best ice cream store in arlanta is not too far away

(he also explains he knows someone who's starts doing weird things when she's hungry as well, and tries to defend that ice cream is actually a healthy midnight snack, "you can just take a healthy flavour like strawberry or mango, mangos are healthy,,right"💀️💀)

so jettie has travelled all the way from obelia, she loves her papa but he would have a heart attack if he found out she was ever awake this late?? yeah bc she's never getting this chance again, jennette accepts the offer

the stranger boy seems to be taking the whole "i'm not telling you my name," thing like a joke, and asks what he should call her since 'you' was getting boring

she goes with "lady j" and like a knight, the boy becomes "sir c"

(felix is on the verge of committing a crime - the princesses can only have one knight, after all)

they walk as the the boy navigates the streets in the dark, and she asks whether he's from the academy, seeing his uniform

"of course i am! you could probably tell bc i look so smart, right?"

she snorts. "yeah, that."

she also comes to know that this guy,,,well he might as well be a tourist? she's out here asking stuff like "oh where's the statue of lady alphia?" or "aren't we really close to the museum where they keep the first emperor's sword?" and he goes "lady do i look like your brochure?? but if you turn right from here there's a cool arcade and across the street from there is the best street food vendor you'll ever eat from."

well at least mans had his priorities straight 😌

"so can you take this off?" he asks, pointing towards her dress once they've neared the store

um???????? sir tf????????????

anyways jettie has been living with lucas n her dad farr too long to not take this the wrong way?? "...no?"

the boy raises an eyebrow "look, it looks like an expensive cloak but i promise i'll return it, alright? i gotta hide my uniform."

ohhhhhhh. 😳.

so she unfastens the cloak and because he's kinda just staring at it cluelessly (he can't even tie his shoelaces fight me), jennette sighs and moves the clothing over his shoulder, fastening it in place at his neck

he's literally a tomato when she looks back up and realises that yes, we are way too close rn

bc she's ana's daughter, jennette by default cannot function when she's flustered. so she kinda stumbles backwards like a fish out of water (years of princess training n etiquette? where art thou??) and 'sir c' has to grab her forearm so she doesn't bump into the pillar behind her smfh

the shopkeep is definitely suspicious of this pair that's definitely too young to be out so late, but chalks it down to his sleeplessness

they escape the store with the ice cream before the shopkeep can ask any questions, and 'sir c' escorts jennette back to her hotel. he climbs onto the roof of the building, helping her up as well

(felix wishes he had a magic stone to capture this moment, this is the first time he's seen jennette become such fast friends with someone)

she stands on the roof (it hurts her butt so she doesn't wanna sit)

"my sister would be so jealous right now," jennette murmurs, "she told me her ideal first date would be either a picnic or something like a moonlit walk. we're having like a moonlit picnic."

it's silent for a few seconds the boy speaks up, "is this a date?"

oh-

oh.

"i mean- i didn't- i don't- uh."

give her some time lmfao she's loading

"i don't really mind that," he tells her, and she thinks she might just walk off the roof in her embarrassment - who just says something like that?? "you're probably feeling really lucky right now, right?"

jennette: ✊😔

he does look pretty in the moonlight, she admits to herself, listening as he excitedly tells her about his siblings at home and how she should send an offering to the gods since they gave her the good fortune to be on a date with the most good looking one of all four of them

in turn, she tells him about how she spent her childhood away from her amazing dad and had gotten closer to him recently, about her sharp-witted uncle, her sister and friends

(the 'friends' section includes felix and he's melting)

she smiles - it's almost as if, at finding out he treasures his family just as much as she does, they've gotten a bit closer

and he tries to listen. jennette had guessed that his temperament was somewhat like her dad's - her dad didn't know how to listen, always making his opinion known before anything else, though she supposes as emperor he could do that

'sir c', on the other hand, tried his best, his blue eyes focused on her as he almost burst from the unsaid words he was holding back, trying to let her finish. the sight was an odd mix of sad and insanely adorable that she couldn't help but let him tell her about everything he couldn't hold in

sensing she could pass out from her exhaustion nearly half an hour later, and 'sir c' escorts her to her window and helps her sneak in bc "what sort of knight would i be otherwise?!"

(felix can't stop shaking the entire night)

the next morning, jennette's heart is pounding as kiel shows her, athy and felix across campus - the chance is low, but still...

"ezekiel!" comes a voice, and the four watch as a turquoise haired boy waves down the alpheus heir "are these the guests you mentioned?"

kiel introduces the trio to johannes vastia before asking, "where's cabel?"

"at the training grounds, he asked if you could bring everyone there so he could show them around there."

"... they're my guests though?"

athy is quick to befriend johannes (i mean she and his sister are practically the same person, so) and at the grounds, jennette's blood runs cold

(so does felix's)

the brunette doesn't notice her at first, arguing with johannes about something as kiel introduces him as cabel ernst

jennette is hyperventilating?? actually back up is this girl even breathing??

cabel ernst from kiel's letters? the 'loud and obnoxious cabel ernst', who gradually turned into 'my acquaintance cabel ernst', then 'hardworking, passionate cabel ernst', and finally 'my friend cabel'?

she'd actually rather admired this slow build of respect between her friend and the ernst boy, and had even expressed her interest to meet him

"this is the first daughter of his highness prince claude de alger obelia, princess athanasia-" cabel mock salutes the princess before his mouth forms an 'o' and he remembers to bow, "-and here's the emperor's only daughter, her highness princess je-"

andddd his eyes widen comically "-hey, lady, it's you?"

yeah jettie is on the brink of literal death - her entire face reddens as this...cabel, grins at her

she watches as he glances behind her, "and you're the guy who was following us - sup?"

felix flinches "...you knew...?"

cabel shrugs. "i mean you do kinda suck ass at the whole subtle thing."

"don't say it like that," jennette retorts, "felix was trying his best."

"princess 😭😭 you knew as well?"

"uhhhh no?"

athy + kiel in a corner: 👁️👄👁️

they watch as cabel's eyes widen all of a sudden and he just,,,runs away

...🐦...🐦...🐦...

yeah well anyway he comes rushing back a few minutes later, a piece of cloth in his hand "...*huff* here *huff*...you go."

athy totally flips out "jennette is that your CLOAK???!??"

"uhhhhh no?"

"um do you realise uncle would literally wage war at this."

and as if it would make everything better,

"i washed it," cabel offers with a grin

"you didn't," the vastia heir deadpans

"i mean, johan helped a little bit."

kiel smiles murderously at the pair. "johan, did you know cabel took the princess out?"

"wait, you're a PRINCESS??"

your honour they aren't very smart

so the group orders some coffee (milk for cabel smfh) to find out what happened, cabel mentions "date" and everything goes to shit again lmfao

kiel and felix scheme against poor cabel while athy n johan get over that stage pretty quick ("listen. MY sister will be living with ME after the marriage and if your friend wants to be with her he'll have to come with us to obelia." and johan's just like "fine by me ✌️😊") and start planning the wedding

cabel + jennette dip n sneak out of the academy again to get the juice they couldn't the night before bc shit is getting awkward here

on another note, our uncle cius' musical intelligence is actually very high - he can probably play more instruments than i can name tbh, but he feels most comfortable singing and i shit you not, this man has straight up an angel's voice

(didn't like singing in front of others coz he was secretly a nerd and only knew old love songs with deep lyrics, athy found out and educated him)

jennette tends to have nightmares often, most often regarding their family - she's seen her father murder her uncle for the throne, and vice versa, athy admitting her affections towards jennette were a front to get the position of crown princess, her uncle killing her to solidify athy's claim, etc - her family is her everything, so despite however many times these horrible scenes play before her, she's left sobbing uncontrollably

and on these nights, she leaves for her father's room, who holds her close and sings her to sleep

also lucas n jennette are like sibling duo# 1,,, jettie is an active lucathy shipper even though he denies it sm - like their dynamic is just peaceful walks in the gardens as she watches the plants n lucas shi talks the nobility and kiel

claude and athy have a thing for each other's sleeping on each other? idk it's weird

athy once fell asleep on the couch while reading with him, and claude moved her head onto his lap so she wouldn't be uncomfy sitting - well, she woke up to his hand absentmindedly raking through her hair and it was just so soothing that whenever she's tired and he's working or reading, she just plops her head on his lap and zzzz

and claude wondered what was up with that, so she proposed they switch roles and he felt so awkward trying to lay down in front of her lmao

obviously athy noticed and she just started reading, thinking he might be more comfortable if her attention isn't on him completely - she ended up reading out loud while playing with his collar and he just,,,passed out

also anastacius has definitely pulled jennette aside regarding the issue of his heir at some point - she had been hesitant at first before admitting she wouldn't like to be the empress at all

i know we'd all love to see empress!jettie and her sister duchess!athy ruling the court, but i really really really can't see her wanting the title?

so thus start athy's empress lessons, but holy shit her teacher is mean

like this man makes me want to bash his face in?? so he doesn't like the idea of athy becoming empress over jennette at all, all bc of both hers and claude's mothers being commoners

he has one of those long ass sticks that you use in presentation to point at stuff?? idk but basically mans has athy name every region, its lords and their vassals during their first lesson

the first time she gets one wrong, she's too shocked as the stick meets the delicate skin of her forearm to react

now the thing is, wmmap!athy would probably stand up against this bc her dad is the emperor and she's his only heir, but i imagine with anastacius' social nature he holds many parties / balls where she's probably heard claude's mom + diana slander and it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to be self conscious abt it (now she's the emperor's heir while jennette, 100% royal + noble blood, is right there which probably makes her feel even less legitimate)

so she endures it, the light marks on her arms as well as the taunts of his she's too smart to not understand - perhaps this is the price to be accepted in jennette's place?

and honestly, no one really notices until at breakfast a few weeks in, where jennette mentions how her dresses are still so modest when sleeveless dresses were more in fashion - ana is suspicious because athy is always on top of these things, societal trends and such, and claude is sus from the way she hesitates slightly in her answer, "i haven't had the time lately, i suppose"

the lesson after focuses on ettiquete since everyone knows she's good at politics and such already, but now tears of frustration are pooling in her eyes because what the hell?? this guy had made an opinion of her long before he even met her, so anything she did would be wrong in his eyes

he gives her a sinister smile, "tired, princess?"

"no," she insists, keeping her voice level. he's about to spout some other nonsense, when anastacius enters the room, taking a seat across from her

anastacius watches quietly as athy answers the teacher's questions in her "public" voice. he watches as her usually cheery disposition is replaced by something far more...dead, despite the front she puts on for him. he's soundless as she hesitates in her answers where she normally would've been louder, more confident. he stops watching in silence when his niece flinches at the sight of the stick

oh.

he interrupts her lesson, not missing the way she winces almost imperceptibly when he grabs ahold of her arm, announcing, "we're going."

he just- it's just that that was the moment he knew for sure - the sight of his niece emotionally disheveled for the first time reminds him too much of how his own brother had once been, and he'd... he'd promised he wouldn't let anyone hurt his family anymore

he ends up taking her to the port with some of his advisors to welcome some royal guests, insisting that she would learn better from experience rather than books - but the guest delegation gets so boring that he sneaks her out of the meeting n they end up in the streets

now athy has no idea where they are, but apparently her uncle does?? ana has his hand on her head as he navigates the streets of the capitol as if he comes here everyday, using magic to casually disguise the two of them

in the meantime?

felix is at the port trying to cover for them smfh, he makes up this huge story about how the great wise emperor wanted to familiarize his heir with the locals, understand her subjects, yada yada

back at the palace prince claude is currently dragging a man by his collar and only upon jennette's insistence does he throw him in prison rather than literally kill him

(jettie visits him later in prison to give the guy a piece of her mind, after felix's visit he's sporting a few noticable bruises and the prisoner is practically unrecognizable once lucas visits)

back to athy + ana, they end up stuffing themselves with some super good street food as anastacius confesses that yes, he has definitely been sneaking out of the palace ever since he was a lil kid

athy almost mentions that she, lucas n jettie sneak out too but that might give him a heart attack, so

"it's so pretty, uncle cius," she says, gesturing towards the necklace he holds up. once he's paid for it, anastacius fists the necklace, opening it to reveal the jewel pendant - now imbued with his magic and replaced with gold lettering of the word athanasia

and she realises that yes, that's what both him and her dad have called her all her life, haven't they?

"you're my heir, athanasia," he uncle tells her with a small smile, "i am proud of that."

getting teary, she tells him, "i'm really proud of you too, uncle cius," triggering a very flustered + blushy anastacius

this mans craves validation - not from the sycophantic nobility, or the obsequious concubines he'd dismissed all those years ago, but from the family he thought he'd neither have nor deserve

and just the acknowledgement is so large for athy - he wants her as his heir, not because she's his niece, but bc he trusts her to look after his hard work after him??? - yeah she's totally bawling her eyes out

anastacius magics her a handkerchief but my mans magic isn't that strong?? lmao he's used up so much by now that the 'handkerchief' turns out to be some scratchy tissues

awkward amirite

nope! athy laughs at that, offering him a sip of her drink as she magics another straw and a proper handkerchief lmfaoo

n e ways so when they return, everyone's shocked to learn that the crown heir, princess athanasia will actually be joining the official circles as anastacius' temporary aid - he doesn't wanna entrust her to anyone but family, and decides that the best way to learn is by his side

(she's so confused bc lucas doesn't normally bat an eyelash when she wears the prettiest gowns, but he deadass can't look her in the eyes when she's in her aid uniform - it's more like a suit than it is a dress)

yes lucas women in suits >>>>>

everyone is STUNNED when at dinner, claude proposes they leave on vacation??

anastacius is just not having it?? like no, this is not my brother, and he throws a grape at claude to check if it's a clone or sum (¿¿how does that work??)

anyays so he ain't no felix, ana's aim is ass and it hits jettie instead

mans nearly gets on his knees to apologise

long story short everyone preps for vacation, but by some aCCiDeNt claude n athy end up at a different destination than jettie n ana, when she suggests returning to the palace to regroup, mans deadass sulks

"so you wouldn't like to spend this time with your father, despite barely visiting my office for weeks?"

o-oh

so at their return, the nobility starts pestering everyone that the princesses aren't independent enough, yada yada idc so to quell this annoyance, to the girls' joy, they get to move into emerald palace together, while claude and ana stay in the ruby and main palaces respectively

literally emerald palace becomes such a cool place to be in since it's the residence of the only decent people in this family, the brothers spend hours going through the requests of maids who want to be transferred

it's such a busy time because of athy joining the court and jettie starting her studies as well - naturally, since she isn't becoming empress, she'll be getting the duchy claude + athy were to be given in the beginning

speaking of futures, jettie's interest in plants and cooking has definitely branched out into herbs

claude notices her tending to a small garden during his visit to athy and even gives her a few tips (he had been studying medical since he was a kid, and picked it up again when athy was born and the empire stablised somewhat)

this soon becomes a routinely thing, and he actually starts reading up on some herbs and even orders a few for her prospering garden

after a month of her learning from books, claude proposes adding a medic as one of her teachers, and turns out his hunch was right?? she's excelling at medicine and they keep it between themselves for the time being

it doesn't last long though, bc they're on a hunting trip when ana injures his leg

and !! this girl istg, she gets to cleaning and wrapping the wound without blinking an eye, as if it's the most natural thing ever, and claude is just smirking while athy and anastacius and literally everyone else: 🌟💞✨jettie✨💞🌟

literal tears coming out of anastacius' eyes "how come my daughter is smarter than me😭💅"

claude: that's not a very high standard, brother

anastacius: ✨suddenly i'm an only child✨

behold, the people in charge of running an empire everyone 👏👏👏

even though jennette is claude's (unofficial) student and athy is her uncle's heir, they both ask their dads to the debutante

yes athy does dance with lucas, anastacius sent him an invitation even though he wasn't a noble (he's an active match maker 😌) and nobody dared question the emperor's special guest

at the end of the night, kiel gives jettie a letter from arlanta - it's an invitation to the academy during holidays, from a certain brunette

when she brings up the subject, felix lets out a squeak and literally everyone goes silent 😭😭

athy n kiel are just out here DARING him to spill them beans

but anastacius takes on look at his excited lil kid and decides that yups, she's going to get everything she wants

a/n: i literally don't know how many parts this should have lmaoo but y'all made it this far!! thanks for reading i hope you liked it<3

[moriarty-bibliotheca]

—✧ ❝𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞❞ ✉

— 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ✉

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔: 「 Hello, miss bibliothecary! I have a story request for you, may I ask for a Sherlock x fem reader x William full fic story? It can be made or are which ever you choose. So the idea I hav is that (Y/N) is a waiter who was at the wrong place at the time and murder happens at the manor she's catering for. William knows of her because she sees him time to time on the street near the college. While she knows of Sherlock cause they're neighbor!? Which man can steal her heart durring this.) Thank you!

❝ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 , 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬 ❞

— 𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

— 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

— 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗲 𝟱, 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟱

— 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱!

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: oh my~ what an interesting request, i’d be more than happy to fulfill this for you, my dear! the way that i would write how Y/N does her catering is similar to my experience! i hope this is to your liking, now go ahead and check out the story!

The bright lights on the chandelier illuminated the party hall as the invited guests entertained themselves with a conversation with their fellow nobility, Y/N was standing at the corner of the room wearing her usual servant dress. She recently served a few drinks to the ones who requested it, she held the tray firmly before leaving the room and heading to the kitchen.

She let out a soft sigh as she fixed her white apron and her cap, she placed the tray on the kitchen counter and stood beside a fellow waitress. She grabbed a clean towel to continue polishing the silverware that the guests will be using for dinner at a later time, she was feeling a little exhausted from all the catering services she had to do for the past few days, but she wasn’t complaining and thought that she should be grateful that she has a job.

A few minutes later, she had completed her task of polishing all the silverware. She faced the huge window by the kitchen, this baron’s house was humongous, she shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. She walked closer to the window, the pale moonlight illuminated the dark streets of London. If only life would be greater, she would have enjoyed the way she lives her life without being harassed by a majority of the nobility. 

“Enjoying the view?” asked a voice as beautiful as the moon high up in the sky, she nodded without acknowledging who the voice belongs to. “I must say you’re quite occupied,” said the person, “I apologize for disturbing your time, miss.” Y/N’s attention was on this person now, she turned her head to identify who the speaker is, only to see a man of nobility that she has known in a while; William James Moriarty.

“Professor Moriarty,” spoke the female as she gave him a polite curtesy, “I apologize, I did not know it was you, how can I be of service to you?” She had recognized this man for she has seen him quite a few times around London and the university that was located in Durham. She had never spoken to this man face-to-face, but they did greet each other with a smile every time they have walked past each other.

“I’m doing fine, Miss L/N,” said the male, “no need to worry. I am only walking around,” his voice was as melodic as her favorite musical piece, she had to admit that hearing the younger earl’s voice for the first time is quite relaxing. She gave the man a nod as she bowed at him one last time before excusing herself to go back to work, the hint of redness on her cheeks was certainly evident and she didn’t want to embarrass herself any further.

“Did the earl need something, Y/N?” asked a co-worker, the lass shook her head as she tried to calm her beating heart and slight reddened cheeks, she did not know what was happening to her and it felt so sudden to react like this to someone she doesn’t even know much, she shook her head to herself and started preparing the utensils for dinner that will occur within 30 minutes. 

Minutes have passed and everything was prepared, a huge variety of meals were neatly placed on the long table with serving utensils right beside each container; there were hot dishes, cold dishes, salads, and of course, desserts. The headwaiter let out a sigh of relief and looked at his fellow co-workers, he gave them a huge smile followed by a thumbs up and said, “another job well done!” 

It was time for dinner to start, Y/N and her fellow co-workers immediately retreated to the kitchen and cleaned up the area before taking a short rest. The night had been peaceful all the while and thank the Gods that the invited guests and the host of the party weren’t as rude as the previous ones that they have worked for.

But, was the night really peaceful? 

A scream was heard nearby the dining hall, Y/N and her fellow co-workers immediately jumped out of their seats and ran to the place where they heard the scream with the other guests in the dining room coming out of the hall to see the commotion, and to their horror, the discovery they made was gut-wrenching and shocking.

Laid there on the red carpet of the halls was a nobleman, definitely one of the guests as Y/N remembered his face, he laid there on his own pool of blood, lifeless and still. The first one who had discovered it first and alarmed everyone with a scream was a woman, perhaps she had come across this dead man as she left the dining room.

The woman let out a sob as she ran towards a man that was undoubtedly her husband, the lady will surely be scarred upon discovering a dead body, what’s worse is that she might get suspected even if she may be innocent. “What happened?” questioned the headwaiter silently, he was talking to his co-workers in disbelief, the rest of the waiting staff did not answer for they were in quite the shock as well.

“My, how unfortunate,” said William, and he was right, how unfortunate for this man to die at a dinner party as glorious as this one. Another man moved away from the crowd and kneeled next to the dead man to examine his injuries. Why, this man was Sherlock! Y/N’s eyes widened as she recognized this man, he was living right next door and they have interacted a few times. He is quite an intelligent man, she admits. 

It seems the male sensed she was looking at him for he averted his gaze towards Y/N and locked eyes with her for a few seconds, he waved at her and she greeted him back with a wave before he continued on with the investigation. “The yard should be here soon, please get back to your seats,” informed the head butler of the household, the guests immediately walked away from the scene and continued on where they’ve left off.

The rest of the waiting staff walked away as well and went back to the kitchen, “Y/N!” yelled Sherlock, making the maiden turn around to look at him, he gave her another wave before running towards her, “mind helping me out?” Y/N was definitely surprised at his odd request, but agreed to help him anyway, she walked towards the dead body as Sherlock chased another person across the room. 

“Hey,” yelled out Sherlock, “Liam!” The male turned around right after hearing his name— Sherlock’s nickname for him, to be exact. The second Moriarty gave him a small smile and a simple greeting, “Holmes, I see you’re planning to investigate the murder.” Y/N observed them with a little shock, she wasn’t honestly expecting these two to know each other, but she always thought these two were fairly similar and are, no doubt, geniuses. 

“I am!” cheered Sherlock as he rubbed the back of his neck, "wanna make a bet on which one of us catches the culprit first?” Y/N was surprised to hear this, are they treating this like a game? The second Moriarty let out a chuckle, “quite like what happened on the train.” Sherlock looked amused as he gave him a nod and continued on with their short conversation, the two males in equal standing height walked towards the direction of the dead body, right where Y/N was kneeling.

She wishes not to admit this, but she’s starting to feel a little shy. She will be accompanying two men with one of them apart of the nobility, who’s to say this investigation won’t be quite awkward with a maiden like her to tag along? As curious as the lass is, she wanted to know why did Sherlock ask for her help, that was a little odd of him and she knows she is nowhere near their intellectual level to be able to help them solve this case. 

“L/N,” greeted Moriarty, “I assume you’re here to help?” The maiden nodded at him, “I guess you could say that.” She was definitely uncertain on why she’s here, she wasn’t even sure if she can do anything to help them. “It seems he was stabbed,” said Sherlock as the three of them continued observing. “Stabbed at least 10 times,” added William as he and Sherlock examined the body, Y/N quietly glanced at the two of them and her eyes landed on Sherlock. 

The amount of times they’ve seen each other was countless, it wasn’t that rare since he lives next door with his roommate in Miss Hudson’s apartment. Those short meetings always included short conversations and people could tell they were friends, to say the least. The short conversations Y/N had with Sherlock was interesting, it was always fun for the maiden to hear some random facts that the male found out during his experiments and some sort. 

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sherlock so often, Y/N’s gaze stayed on Sherlock as he observed the crime scene and made some deductions while talking to William. The way his eyes would lit up when William makes a deduction that perfectly fits what he was thinking, the way he looks when he stayed focused and was dedicated to his thoughts alone, it was like he shouldn’t be disturbed.

Y/N started to feel like a creep the longer she observes Sherlock instead of the crime scene to help them, she shook her head and broke her concentrated gaze on the detective. She was starting to think she might be ill, her heartbeat starts to get quicker and her cheeks were a hint of red, her palms were a little sweaty and she was nervous, similar to how she reacted during her encounter with William earlier. 

“Are you alright?” asked Moriarty, he had noticed the redness of her cheeks and wondered if she was sick or feeling nervous around them. The maiden nodded, “I — I’m fine,” spoke Y/N as she mentally cursed herself for stuttering. “If you’re feeling ill,” said Moriarty as he kneeled in front of her, “we can escort you to a room until you feel better.” 

There it was again, the heat on her cheeks grew as it got redder, her heartbeat quickened as she tried to process what was happening, she immediately shook her head and dismissed the offer, she thanked him for the concern and told him that she could manage. She avoided eye contact as they continued on with the investigation, she gave a few statements here and there that would certainly help the problem progress further until they have arrived to a conclusion.

As soon as they had enough clues, the two decided to split up for their bet was still present, they definitely weren’t joking. “Wait,” said Y/N, “you two were serious about the bet?” She seemed to be in total disbelief, were they really treating this as a game? She wished she could understand the fun that they are experiencing just by solving cases and living as a genius. “Why, yes,” said Sherlock, “and you’ll be the final judge to see who catches and arrests the culprit first.” 

“Me?” questioned the female as Sherlock nodded and waved at her, he and William split up and went on their own ways whilst Y/N stayed with the Scotland Yard and had a short conversation with Lestrade. 

A minute or two had passed and the two gentlemen had appeared at the same time, they both had a few people with them that could be the potential killer. As the two continued to explain their reasons and logic, Y/N and the yard listened attentively and whether they’d admit it or not, these two were pretty impressive. 

After a few minutes of deductive reasoning, the main culprit turned out to be one of the servants in the household, the culprit tried to explain that he did it out of loyalty for his master, but that did not change anything and he was arrested. Sherlock let out a yawn as he stretched his arms, “I guess we both caught the culprit together.” 

William nodded as he looked at Sherlock, “that doesn’t mean our bet is settled.” His scarlet eyes then averted towards the female as she stood there, completely clueless about this “bet” that they were talking about. “What is it?” asked Y/N as she noticed the two of them were looking at her, the two gents gave her a smile as her cheeks turned pink.

“Winner of our bet gets to ask you out,” said William and this made the lady’s heart beat even faster, “but the both of us ended up winning, so you get to choose.” Choose? My, this is a tough decision, Y/N wasn’t even certain if she has feelings for one of them, despite the fact that she was experiencing weird symptoms every time she speaks to them.

Well, should she choose William; the young professor of mathematics with such beautiful scarlet eyes that seemed to hold the darkest secrets or should she choose Sherlock; the consulting detective that lives right next door with whom she had interacted quite a few times now. 

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆: this is quite long and it took me a day and a half to finish this, let me know if there are errors! i seemed to have gather a lot of motivation in the middle of the night even if i am tired. setting that aside, i hope you enjoyed! sorry if this was nowhere near your expectations, let me know if you want me to do alternate endings for this! come visit the bibliotheca again, darling!

[lightsinthedistancee]

Darkness : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 1.4k

Excerpt: “Darkness is a time of peace for you. A time to crawl into soft sheets, to curl up against your pilot. Some nights, to feel him lazily press a soft kiss to your forehead before his breath levels out in sleep. Others, to feel his hands roaming your body, feel him inside you.”

Summary: A short talk to Poe is always enough to cure a case of loneliness.

Warnings: Some sexual references

A/N: This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I actually originally meant for this to be a perhaps 500 word-ish Drabble but it ended up way longer obviously. But I’m really proud of it and love the concept of Writer Wednesday, so hope you guys enjoy! (Also, we’re just gonna pretend that phones and phone booths exist in the Star Wars universe...).

You’ve always found something lovely in darkness.

It’s simple, quiet, a constant that never changes, that rolls around at roughly the same time each night. Settles over cities and towns and every being in the galaxy in a thin blanket. Darkens faces into comforting anonymity, conceals the activities of lovers, provides peace in slumber for the weary.

There is a saying: One should not be afraid of the dark, but of what lies in it.

And after years of life, years of travel, years of experiencing the galaxy, you know that nothing sinister hides beneath darkness. No monsters, no demons, no ghosts. It is something that simply exists with no ulterior motive, something that is debatably hard to come by these days.

Darkness is a time of peace for you. A time to crawl into soft sheets, to curl up against your pilot. Some nights, to feel him lazily press a soft kiss to your forehead before his breath levels out in sleep. Others, to feel his hands roaming your body, feel him inside you.

In those times, darkness is there, still a constant. Hiding his features, hiding those eyes you adore during the daytime, allowing you to become entirely tactile, to simply feel him to the fullest, void of the distraction one’s most used method of perception, sight,  provides.

Yet tonight is a rare night. Your feet hit pavement as you walk quickly, hands in your coat, head bent towards the ground. You’ve been on this Outer Rim planet for nearly two months, gathering intelligence undercover, maintaining little to no contact with the Resistance, and therefore, Poe.

The darkness seems stronger than ever tonight. It slithers up and down the sides of buildings, seems to wrap around you in strings. In this moment, it is not simply a cover—it is suffocating.

The loneliness had been getting to you. Too many days going by a name that is not your own, too many days living in constant fear, too many days away from the touch of someone that’s always able to take your mind off of everything.

And that’s exactly what you need right now. A distraction. A brief moment to bind you back to everything you know, something you are slowly, imperceptibly slipping away from in your mind. The buildings seem to tower over you, to dwarf you. It’s an intimidation act, and you feel it’s working.

It feels as if you can sink into the asphalt, become one with the soil that had been so cruelly compressed by man-made rock. As if you can sink beneath and become one with the dead, the figurative and the literal that had most likely been so barbarously worked to death to build this historic city in the dark days of the galaxy.

You round a bend, turning onto the main street, and your eyes, adjusted to the dark, flare painfully as light hits you. You snap them shut on instinct, flinching. However, the object of your discomfort is not an unknown. This route had been walked by you every day the last two months, and the light is the same phone booth you’d been using to transmit information back to the Resistance due to the anonymous, unmonitored, and therefore, rare quality of it.

It is hardly used anymore, for everyone has their own personal holos, and this one is particularly beat up. It’s translucent walls are cloudy, it’s metal backing dented. Nowadays, it is probable that is it only frequented by drunks and Spice addicts and, well…you.

There is something ironic about the fact that this small, dilapidated booth is your only connection back to D’Qar.

But not ironically, perhaps in a poetically symbolic manner, it also shines bright in the darkness, eradicates the very thing that had been suffocating you moments earlier. It is almost a physical embodiment of hope.

It is also a universal rule that hope births more hope, and an unwise desire comes over you. One that could put the whole operation at risk. But resisting the temptation, it hurts. It’s agonizing, and you want to give in to it. You want to hear one voice. One voice that can wrap you in softness, encourage your imagination to conjure up the sensation of his touch.

And before you know it, you’re in the booth, dialing a long string of numbers you’ve memorized by now. A voice of a communications officer sounds.

You state your name.

“Security code?” the officer asks.

“Six nine eight oh seven three.”

Your eyes nervously glance around. Despite having done this a few times, the experience still makes your heart race. You can only hope that any observer would see only an ordinary lone figure, silhouetted in the light, making an emergency call to a friend because she drank too much or got her wallet stolen.

“You got information?”

“No,” you respond, letting out a soft breath and lying through your teeth. “I need you to transfer me to Commander Dameron. I have a hunch regarding something naval, and I need his opinion.”

You silently chide yourself at your quickness to over explain.

But luckily, the communication officer says nothing. “Transferring now,” he says.

You thank him, leaning against the inner wall of the booth, hovering the phone directly next to your ear. Moments of silence pass before a voice breaks it.

“Hello?” says Poe.

Every point of tension in you seemed to relax in a moment as your eyes slowly close. The timbre of his voice washes over you, through you. “Hey,” you whisper.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds confused. Above all, tired.

“Did I wake you?” you ask, feeling bad all of a sudden. The high that had been coursing through your veins moments earlier plunges back to the ground. The intensity with which you feel it is irrational, yet nothing in you mind is steady.

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” he replies, a slight urgency to his voice. “Is something wrong?”

You picture him in your shared bed back on D’Qar, shirt off like usual. Propped up on one elbow, sheets falling to his waist, holo to his ear, concern on his features. Concern at his love calling him in the middle of the night, her voice shaking.

“Nothing’s wrong…I just…I….” Your voice trails off, and a silence a bit too long elapses.

“Baby?” he asks.

Your breath trembles slightly as you let it out. “This was a mistake,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, just—“

He interjects at the tone of finality in your voice. “Hey…don’t go, sweetheart.” You hear him shift, perhaps sitting up. “Just talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I miss you,” you blurt out. You’d meant to say it more eloquently, less directly, but that’s not something you have the energy for right now. “I miss everyone back on D’Qar. This assignment…it’s the most least contact with base I’ve ever had, and—why am I even telling you that? You know that.” You let out a frustrated breath, gathering your thoughts. He patiently waits, something you’re grateful for. “I’m just…having a hard time. That’s all.”

His energy transmits well through the phone. He’s thinking, the gears in his mind turning. You can feel the helplessness, for there is undeniably little he can do. “I miss you, too,” he finally says. “It’s a few more weeks, baby. I know you’ve got it in you…”

It’s a simple sentence, yet nearly reinvigorating in a way. Nothing that immediately lifts your mood, but perhaps something that briefly abates the hollow feeling within you.

“I’ll be there the moment you’re back.” His tone is soft, a little raspy with tiredness, slightly reminiscent of the way he tells you how much he loves and how amazing you are in a post-sex haze of exhaustion. It’s an odd relation, but the sense of peace that both tones hold is something you always cling to. “I’ll be there to kiss you. To hold you.” He pauses. “To take you to bed….”

The way his voice, on the last statement, walks the line between humorous and genuinely seductive makes you laugh quietly. It’s neither a common nor desirable combination.

“There’s that beautiful laugh,” he says softly, letting out a breath, returning to his previous demeanor. “I’ll be there, baby. I know you know that.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. Air brushes past your lips as your eyes flutter shut. “I know.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl

Taglist (for Poe): @synical-paradox @spider-starry @paper-n-ashes

If you wish to be tagged on any of my future works, just let me know or do the form on my Masterlist if that’s easier!

Based on this Writer Wednesday pic:

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 24)

Notes: Chapter 24 - can you guys believe it?! I have brought you a lot of angst in the last few chapters, but there is a lil fluffy moment in this chapter which I hope you enjoy. Plus protective Cassian (one of my personal favourites).

As ACOSF draws nearer, I wanted to ask you guys a question. I initially was hoping to finish this fic before it came out, but I just don't think it's going to happen. So if you would still read E&L after ACOSF comes out, could you let me know? It will help me to make a decision on whether I need to start wrapping this all up sharpish, or whether I can continue to move along at my current pace.

Enjoy :) And I hope you all are having a lovely festive period.

p.s I’ve been having issues with tagging blogs lately. Let me know if you get a notification?

Chapter 24 Nesta

Nesta was drowning.

Drowning in the dark; in the unfathomable cold that bit at her ankles and dragged her down by invisible, insistent hands and sharp, pointed claws. Down, down, down Nesta went, into the inky blackness that sung of ancient horror, fighting for a breath that she could not take.  

Inside her head, Nesta was screaming; the sound an echo, as if she were detached from her body and she were listening to someone else. It was a scream of rage and unmeasurable pain as her body was torn apart and rearranged: her bones cracking and reforming into solid steel; her ears stretching into points; her limbs elongating. And with that fire a burning cold that was deeper than the gap between stars. Nesta screamed from the agony of it, but cold water rushed into her lungs and stifled the sound. Pain licked at her skin like the flames of a fire, until her blood was bubbling with rage and a thirst for revenge that ran so deep it became woven into the very fabric of who she was — of who she was being moulded into.  

Nesta should have passed out from the pain but instead she fought to remain conscious; wholly awake and wholly a witness as she tore at the edges of the blasted Cauldron. The sides were made of nothing but canvas, Nesta’s nails ripping through it as the Cauldron bucked and shrieked, like an animal caught beneath her paw.  

Bright light poured through the gaping holes, blinding her new born eyes that had not yet seen.  

She felt the power of it, the piece she carved out for herself in fury and with revenge singing in her blood. She made it hers, let that power sink into her bones, her skin, as they snapped and cracked and reshaped themselves…

The Cauldron continued to thrash and struggle. The water took on a thicker quality like tar, but Nesta did not relent. She ravaged that power until it was a part of her; stolen and consumed. Impossible to take back.  

And then Nesta was no longer drowning but falling.

The pocket of air hit her with such force that Nesta found herself with the irony that she could not breathe, even though it was what she needed more than anything in the world. But then her lungs were spluttering, her stomach lurching, and inky blackness — ancient death — was regurgitated onto crystalline rock. Nesta heaved until her stomach had no more and she was gasping for breath — cold, bracing fresh air that tasted like freedom — before she rolled onto her back, her hair plastered to her face.

She shivered from the cold and the unquenchable fury that would not see her yield.

Above her was midnight black, the stillness of what Nesta wanted to believe was sky but she knew was only an illusion. It brought her comfort even though she wanted to hate it; wanted to sob and scream until she was so exhausted that she couldn’t muster any more strength.  

And she should have been terrified but she also felt deathly calm, even as a voice spoke out of the darkness. It was a voice that was ancient; old and superlunary with a strength that whispered of unimaginable power for better or worse.   “I have been waiting for you, Nesta Archeron.”

Words like ice fire. Of steel and reserve. Of power beyond Nesta’s wildest reckoning.

It hurt to move but Nesta scrambled to her feet, slipping on loose rock and craggy stone. The sound that beat in her ears was an insistent, terrified rhythm, and it took Nesta a moment to piece together that it was her heart, throwing itself with a repetitive boom against strips of bone — a flimsy cage for something so fierce.  

Whirling around, Nesta tried to source the voice but found only that endless stretch of deep velvet, and in the near distance, a towering shadow that rose up, up, up into the darkness until it blended into the canvas, like something disappearing into the clouds.

Nesta made herself take stock. Made herself stand still. To dampen the terror and focus on that spiky, deep-set anger that still consumed her. Her back stiffened, her chin rose, and when she spoke for the first time with her new lungs, Nesta did not let her voice shake.

She clenched her fists until her new nails bit into the meat of her palms.    “Where am I?”

A sensual laugh as smooth as marble echoed around her — perfectly rendered. “Do you hear the wind? It moans your name, Nesta Archeron. Your twin can hear it. They’ve always been able to hear it. Your history written into the night sky where you only need join the dots. So easy to ignore until now.” A pause and Nesta felt that being move. Her head snapped around as the voice mused from behind her, “And your destiny: a sacrifice and a gift in the same moment.”

Nesta tightened her fists in an effort to ground herself and willed herself to lean back into   that odd sense of being rather than the fear that was making her heart race. She felt her nails break through her skin with a pop. She scented blood; metallic and salt. She was so cold she wanted to shake until her teeth chattered, but Nesta would not show weakness. She would not break down.

So Nesta rose up tall and made her voice ice cold; strong rather than brittle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another long, sensual laugh. A caress akin to a brush stroking the softest of bristles over her skin. “No, you don’t,” the voice agreed. “Not yet. But you will.”

A moment in time stretched out, the pause pregnant and awesome. Then a soft light in the darkness above, growing in size: a fleck, a star, a luminescent ball of light…

“What do you want, Nesta Archeron?”

“I want revenge,” Nesta replied, her voice full of a sudden vigour as vengeance lashed out on a forked tongue.

Again, more soft laughter that licked over Nesta’s body in a shiver. “You have already got that, have you not? Do you not feel that deathly power in your veins? That hum of primitive power that you have stolen, that has been woven into who you now are.”

“I will end him. I will end everyone who has caused my sister harm.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But what will that take from you?”

Hysterical laughter wanted to burst forth from Nesta’s lungs, as if she could only feel the sharpest of emotion and everything else were muted.

“Everything has already been taken from me,” Nesta spat, balling her hands into harder fists, her nails digging into her crescent shaped wounds.

Pain flared, fresh and sharp but Nesta paid it no heed. She was no stranger to pain and she would rally. Every. Damn. Time.

The light above Nesta continued to grow until it became distinct; a fiery palm emerging out of the dark. Nesta did not flinch. Did not scream or back away. Did not bow or yield or grovel. She only let pearlescent fingers close around Nesta’s own, the touch like a near-scalding bath that settled only when your blood thrummed beneath raw, pink skin. 

“So much sacrifice,” the voice pondered, turning Nesta’s hand. Nesta’s fingers unfurled from her palm without her willing it, until her palm lay open, the half-crescent moons bloody tears in her otherwise new skin. “But what about a gift?” the voice asked. “A gift for the girl who lives with such anger and guilt. The girl who sees the world in all its terrible glory and feels too much. What do you say to that?”

“I only want revenge,” Nesta repeated, her mind assaulting her with images of Elain as she was pushed under the inky water, as she emerged drowning and wholly new — wrong.  

No laughter this time. Only that hand rising, fingers coming together until they were pointed and pinching something out of the dark.  

A pearl of pure light hovered millimetres from those shining fingers, as if it were attached by an invisible string. It sung with such radiant brilliance that Nesta wanted to look away: it was the pure, unfathomable brightness of a midnight star. A melody that sung of promise and hope.

“What is revenge worth if it does not emerge from the desire to protect?” the voice asked, letting go of that drop of light. It did not fall like water; it floated down slowly, until it nestled in the crook of Nesta’s palm like a pearl that shimmered as it caught the light.  

Nesta remained deathly still, staring at the drop of possibility in her palm.  

“Revenge is choice, Nesta Archeron. It can be a wish for death and pain or to protect and defend.”

“Both,” Nesta said fiercely. “It can be both.”

“Multi-faceted and complex, as all decisions are,” the voice agreed. “And there are so many strands in you, aren’t there? Already you have felt one of them, although I do not think you have truly placed the puzzle pieces together. But here is another choice; something to cherish and use wisely on those who are worthy. Everything is cyclical. Day and night, birth and death, love and sacrifice…”  

The luminescent hand closed Nesta’s palm, but rather than the drop of light bring dampened by shadow, it sank into Nesta’s skin, until it too became a part of her.

“I don’t want a gift.”

But even as Nesta spoke she knew she did not truly mean it.  

She also knew it was too late. She felt her blood spike and thrum as that light channeled into her, twining around that deathly power that she had already stolen and forced into her remaking.  

A low hum vibrated the ground beneath Nesta’s feet. “Don’t want it or do not deserve it?”

And then Nesta was drowning again with such startling speed that she hadn’t the time to take a deep breath. Terror gripped her, and with it power sung in her blood, the sensation like boiling water, as if her very skin were bubbling with it even though that dark water bit with a cold akin to the fiercest frostbite.

As if fear had summoned it, silver fire began to glow at Nesta’s palms. Water rushed into Nesta’s lungs and with it, that power surged.

Up, up, up Nesta went, like an arrow unsheathed from a bow until the inky black was no longer concrete and colour swam on the surface.

Everything tilted as the Cauldron tipped, jerking the water and Nesta out onto the cold flagstones of reality.  

Nesta took a desperate, ragged breath through the gag that was suddenly back around her mouth, and cast a look around the room: to Cassian who was sprawled unconscious on the ground, his arm outstretched and his wings in tatters; to Feyre who was kneeling in her own vomit tucked into Rhysand’s side...

And on her sister’s face, Nesta could see what she was: ravaging, deadly, awesome. A face and figure to stop males and females in their tracks. A face and figure that would make humans and fae alike think twice.

But that was nothing of the forged steel in Nesta’s bones, in her blood, as she scrabbled across the floor to Elain on her long, unnatural limbs and tore the gag from her mouth.  

It was a steel that no-one could see but that they could all sense as Nesta locked eyes with the King of Hybern, that promise of death still swimming in those mercury eyes that moved.

She would have her revenge. Of that, she was sure.

***

Nesta gasped.

Her hands flailed, her body screamed with agony, her lungs were hoarse and raw, her abdomen set with a pain that went so deep she knew something was gravely wrong.

And through her veins… no whisper of her magic. Not a drop.

It was that which made her thrash, her lungs suddenly unable to breathe from the agony that wrangled through her body.

She heard her name. Again and again; the high-pitched desperation of a female. Feyre. But then something much lower. A caress. A rumble that quelled her fear and kicked the breath back into her with a force that had her gasping.

Nesta’s hand found a rough, calloused palm across the mattress. Fingers curled unbelievably gently around hers. She heard the rustle of wings. Smelt pine and musk and the bracing fresh air of the Illyrian skies.

“Nesta. You need to take your medicine. The morphine has worn off.”

Cassian.

Even with her eyes submerged in the dark, Nesta knew that Cassian had turned his head to murmur something in low tones to her sister — her senses heightened in the wake of the fear that was still bitter on her tongue.

Then light retreating footsteps. The click of a closed door.  A large hand on her temple. A wet rag against her lips. Nesta opened her mouth despite the foul tasting tincture which burned her throat and flooded her tastebuds; swallowing it down, begging it to soothe over the pain which she could not describe for its wrongness, even though she had been told that she would heal.

Frawley had come to visit her the last time Nesta had resurfaced. Had explained why she was there and what had happened. That Nesta had the gift of healing. That she had over-healed Mas's traumatic injuries and moved on to older ones. That she had sacrificed her wellness for someone else’s. That she would have died had Cassian not got her to stop.

Another power Nesta needed to train. As if she didn’t have enough to wrangle under control.

Nesta did not remember much after dropping to her knees at the widows camp. She remembered the click of a lock inside of her; the way her power had flipped from silver to startling, brilliant white. That she had known what to do as she lifted her hands over Mas and started to use her magic for something wholly good.

“What did you feel for your power came to the surface?” Frawley had asked before she took leave.

Nesta had bitten back a whimper of agony as she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. She had been swamped in heavy blankets and consumed in Cassian’s scent.  His bed not hers. But the scent of him… it comforted her. She was too tired to rally against it. Had woken knowing that she was immeasurably safe even though memory tried to persuade her that she was not.

Eventually, when she realised that Frawley’s second eye had come to rest on her along with ice blue, Nesta had supplied, “I felt grief.”

“And what else?” Frawley had urged, her ice blue eye glowing with intensity.

Nesta had been too tired to answer. Her eyelids heavy from the sedative she had been given, despite the energising tea Frawley had administered to attempt to speed up the act of replenishing her magic. To fight the fatigue one felt when they had been drained of power.

And now she was waking again and Frawley was gone.

Braving the light, Nesta cracked open an eye. Her head throbbed, as if her brain were growing in her skull and it was pressing against bone.

Cassian was hovering over her, a crumpled frown twisting his brow as he dripped the medicine past her lips. He caught her eyes opening a fraction too late and she catalogued worry slide into relief before it was pushed back and a light was forced into those dark irises. When he smiled at her, it was too tight and anguished to ring true. She must have been in a bad way — very bad — for him to lose sight of his tendency to arrange his expression into that casual playfulness. For her sister to still be here, hovering by her bedside unsure how to act or how to behave. For her mate to be in the room next door, his star-blessed magic permeating Cassian’s bedroom even through stone and plaster and wood. She could even sense Azriel’s shadows moving like an agitated fog.

No Amren. No Mor.

Something to be thankful for.

“Mas?” she asked. Her throat was dry despite the tincture and the word came out scratchy and raw.

Cassian pressed a glass of water to her lips.

She drank.

“Mas has left to help relocate the widows and orphans,” Cassian told her. “I had her checked over by Madja and Frawley. She is perfectly fine. Roksana too,” he added when Nesta frowned. “Mas hasn’t flown yet,” he continued. “She wanted you to witness it.”

Something tightened around Nesta’s throat. It was not panic but… deep twisting affection for the housekeeper. It must be agony for Mas not to launch straight into the skies. Yet… Nesta was touched beyond imagining that she would wait for Nesta to witness something so precious. A moment in history that was not tainted in blood and death but joy.

Cassian had paused as if he were checking himself. He had moved away from her, to the dark dresser to the left of the bed. There was a clink of glass which Nesta supposed was him stoppering the medicine. “I know you do not like it here and I understand that. You were given no choice and Illyria is…” he trailed off, as if he were searching for the right word. “It’s brutal, in both harsh reality and its beauty. But the widows and orphans… they will not forget what you have done for them — how you fought for them. Mas has been shackled in so many ways throughout her life, but her wings… You have given her freedom, Nesta. She will never forget that ,and neither will those females who witnessed you healing her.”

When Cassian turned back to look at Nesta, his eyes were glowing with such intensity she did not know what to say. He seemed to understand that, breaking their gaze to stare out of the window.

It was snowing again. The scent of it was in the air and on Cassian’s clothes, from where Nesta imagined he’d been in the throng of it all, establishing order where there was chaos. She imagined that was why his family was here.

“Azriel has some information about the kerits,” Cassian said. He remained staring out of the window, his gaze fixed on the snow falling from the thin sheets of grey cloud strung in the sky. “About where we think they came from. We would like you to be a part of the discussion.” A pause. “If you would like to be, that is.”

Nesta held back a snort partly because she knew it would hurt too much. “I don’t think your High Lord wants me to be a part of any discussion.”

“Rhys specifically asked me to fetch you before we began,” Cassian replied, not flinching at her ice-sharp words. Nesta supposed he had become immune. “You are integral to the conversation.”

Noise caught in the back of Nesta’s throat. “I thought I was just a stain you all wished you could rid yourself of.”

No, not immune. Cassian flinched as if he had been burned, his wings spreading instinctively before he could catch them. He retracted them back in with a slow huff of anger. It was not a disparaging or exasperated sigh, more… defeated, as if it were a remark that brought him pain.

Still he did not turn to her. If anything, his focus became more intent on the scenery outside. At the bustle of Illyrians as they fought against the flurry of snow that promised to kiss everything white at the worst possible time.

Cassian’s jaw feathered. “If I remember correctly, it was always you trying to rid yourself of me.”

Nesta blinked at the coarse words that held no lightness, no mockery, no teasing. That were honest and unhappy. Twisted with a rejection which hit her to the bone.

You rejected me first, Nesta wanted to say, as she watched the taut muscles in Cassian’s back. They were vibrating with an energy that usually told Nesta that he needed to fight with his fists until his body was sated.

“We believe the attacks might be orchestrated,” Cassian continued. “Azriel went to scout the perimeter to see if there was any evidence. He has only just arrived back.” Finally, those amber eyes rested back on her. They were burning with a rage that had been purposefully dialled back, but Nesta knew how much Cassian cared about his people. “Will you come?” he asked.

Shock wound through Nesta at the confession. At the brutality of what Cassian was suggesting. Anger spiked through the exhaustion with such ferocity her magic should have been roaring, but it only remained quiet. Yet… a determination solidified in her mind. She did want to be a part of the conversation. Not just to be useful, but because Nesta cared about the widows and orphans. She longed to hold Roksana close and see Mas fly. To lay the dead to rest, to check in on the injured. To see if she could use her healing magic to mend their wounds. To show that she was not an observer but a fighter - a protector. That she would lay her life on the line to protect the females who had nothing and were helpless against every threat, just as she had once been.

She did not say all that. Instead, she just said, “Fine.”

A short nod as if Cassian understood. “We can do it in here or out there.” Cassian jerked his chin to the living room. “Frawley said you are not to move if it can be helped, but something tells me you’d sooner have died than be crowded on your sick bed.”

There. A small lace of lightness that had not been there before. Forced, maybe, but there all the same.

Nesta scowled. “You thought rightly.”

“It will hurt,” Cassian warned her. “For me to lift you.”

“Then do it gently.”

A soft snicker as he moved off the many, many blankets, and then strong, corded arms slid beneath her body.

Cassian’s voice was rough in her ear. “You’re the most stubborn female I’ve ever met.”

Gritting her teeth, Nesta tried to overcome the sharp, deep-set pain that made her want to cry out.

The way Cassian gathered her to him was pain-achingly careful but it was still too much, her wounds too fresh and Nesta gasped a high-pitched cry, digging her fingers so hard into his tunic that she knew they must have bitten into the skin of his shoulders. Cassian did not indicate that she had hurt him, he only cradled her closer to the hard planes of his body, his huge wing curving around her as if he could partition off the pain and keep her safe.

The glow of the membrane was not unlike that of rusty, glowing embers. Beautiful.

Cassian remained stock still, waiting for the pain to ebb and then, slowly, as if he were hesitant to do it, his forehead came to rest on the top of her head; a bowing gesture that was almost like a confession, folding her into a protective cocoon that smelt of pine resin and warmth.

If Nesta could move without crying out, she would have traced a finger down his wing, following the spider webs of his capillaries. She had never had the opportunity to study them this close up. They were as mesmerising as fire flames as they danced their way up into the sky; as captivating as woodsmoke as it were tossed about on a breeze.

“I thought you were going to die.”

Cassian’s voice was a low, deep rumble that she felt in the pit of her stomach. In her bones. In her heart.

“Not yet,” she replied drily, but the hoarse words were muffled by the embrace.

She knew what he was trying to say. Had felt it before. The way in which history had tied the two of them together. Had made them terrified not just of dying, but without the other. An immeasurable panic that clawed at her throat and tore at her lungs.

To end up on death’s door without her lying over him was unimaginable. They had vowed to go together and even now, when they were separate rather than entwined, she would still lay her body over his broken one and refuse to live.

“Don’t say that,” Cassian clipped, his voice suddenly sharp. Broken.

Even though it hurt to move, Nesta rolled her head to press against his chest, shifting his forehead so it was lower, his lips almost brushing her skin. Nesta could not bring it in herself to care. Cassian smelt just as his sheets had — pine, musk and untamed air. Comforting.

Hesitantly, as if she had surprised him, Cassian’s large hand came to cup her head.

For a moment, they stayed like that, until the burning question that had hung in the back of her mind became too much. “Why am I in your room?” she asked.

“I had to put Mas in your bed,” Cassian confessed. She felt him smile small against her — a promise of mischief. “It’s not the way I imagined I’d first have you beneath my sheets, but I guess I should just be thankful you’re alive.”

A quiet snarl from Nesta had Cassian lifting his head to laugh. The sound was a low rasp which did not hold its usual vigour.

He was still worried. She could feel it. The sensation was relentless as a crashing tide.

“Reign in your worry,” Nesta snapped weakly. “I can feel it and it’s making me nauseous.”

Another laugh, stronger this time, and then Cassian’s emotion vanished, as if it had been carried away on a sea-kissed breeze.

“I’m going to move now,” he informed her. “Best brace yourself for the pain, sweetheart.”

It was agony. The pain so awfully deep that Nesta could hardly breathe, even as Cassian moved as smoothly as possible. She wanted to cry out, to whimper, but she would not show weakness in front of her sister’s mate.

By the time she was settled on the couch, Nesta had broken that vow; distressed sounds escaping through gritted teeth as she panted desperately for breath. With a click of Rhys's fingers, the nest of blankets that Nesta had been swaddled in appeared on the couch, just in time for Cassian to lower her onto the cushions.

Nesta did not have it in herself to be angered that Rhys had helped.

At the sound of her sister's stifled shouts, Feyre rushed out of the kitchen. She was holding a steaming mug in her hands, which Cassian plucked from his High Lady and planted straight into Nesta’s palms.

Feyre allowed him to do it without a word of protest, anxiously wringing her hands as she studied what Nesta imagined to be her too pale face, the sweat that had broken out on her forehead…

They had not spoken properly since the attack, but Feyre had been there, hovering on the periphery; anxious and sick with worry that she did not know assaulted Nesta until she too became nauseous with it. Nesta’s icy guard had been down since she had dropped to her knees beside Mas, and she hadn’t the power to stack it back up. Not when she was as exhausted as she was, her power utterly diminished and her body focussing on healing.

Finally casting a glance around the room, Nesta saw that the flames in the log burner were raging mute. She wondered who had magicked them to become silent. She hoped it was Frawley rather than Rhysand.

Rhys was positioned to the right of the fireplace, and when Nesta’s gaze purposefully passed over him as if he were little more than part of the furniture, she felt his violet eyes flick to her, his expression no doubt hard and unyielding. But Nesta was too tired to battle today.

Cassian was watching her too, glaring with such intensity at her hands that Nesta was surprised they hadn’t moved involuntarily to raise the mug to her lips. Wanting him to stop, Nesta took a slow sip of tea even though it hurt to swallow. It didn’t work; those hazel eyes remaining unwaveringly fixated. He was standing right by her head, scrutinising everything she did, his wings spread as if he were contemplating launching into flight.

Nesta wanted to hiss at him, but then Feyre sat close beside her, and that made her want to hiss more.

At his place to the left of the hearth, Azriel’s lips twitched. He had been standing as still as a statue, like marble carved out of the finest stone, his shadows stolid, but now he shifted to face her.

Nesta guessed the shadowsinger could sense her emotions with her guard down completely.

She supposed there had to be a first.

When Nesta took the last sip of her drink, Cassian’s hands were immediately there, taking it from her, his siphons winking in the firelight. Nesta barely noticed. She only felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the first whisper of silver and brilliant white that twisted through her veins like two coiled serpents; intertwined yet separate.

Easing backwards with the intention of settling into the cushions, Nesta tried to ignore the pain that suddenly stabbed through her as her stomach muscles tensed. A sharp gasp escaped her, her breath knocked out of her lungs, but then cool, shadowed hands gripped Nesta’s shoulders. They took the weight off of her abdomen, slowly lowering her backwards until she was resting comfortably.

Behind her, Nesta heard Cassian’s wings snap in and out, clearly agitated at her pain.

When Nesta turned her head to Azriel, he dipped his head to her in acknowledgement. Black tendrils of shadow whispered back to him, curling around his arms and face, waiting patiently to be bent again to their master's will.

Then  the shadowsinger turned to Rhys, as if seeking the order to begin.

“Thank you for joining us, Nesta,” Rhys said tightly. “Especially given the circumstances.”

Nesta did not reply, could not find it in herself to do it, but she finally stared at their High Lord with unflinching determination.

As always, Rhys was irritatingly immaculate, leaning against the hearth as if he owned it. Already Nesta felt like he was tainting her space — her sanctuary — and although she wanted to spit at him to leave and not come back, she only gave a stiff nod.

It would appear both of them were going to be forced today. Circumstances that were greater than their feud were at work, and neither of them was going to be petty enough to undermine that.

“Feyre allowed me to view her memory of the kerits attack,” Rhys said. “Three males flew over the mountain minutes before it happened. They can’t have been a part of the usual patrol as they weren’t doing the scheduled circuit. Instead, they flew straight over the mountain pass. Do you remember that?”

Nesta frowned, reaching back into the far depths of her memory… The three dots that coursed across the sky, the winking flash of silver from steel.

Sharply, Nesta craned her head to look at Cassian, not thinking of her injuries. She gasped. The movement had twisted her abdomen in a way she was not ready for.

Cassian’s large hands fell briefly to her shoulders before he moved to perch on the left of the U-shaped couch, close to the corner where he had lain her down.

“Ragar—” she started.

But Cassian only shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his broad thighs. His wings were held in high and tight to his spine. “Accounted for,” he told her. “And his friends. They were in the sparring rings with Devlon and countless other witnesses.”

His smile was grim. “It’s one of the first thing I checked,” he confessed. “But it made us start to wonder if perhaps the attacks have been orchestrated. One attack can be passed off as a freak accident, but three attacks across three different camps is suspicious, especially given that kerits do not venture into populated areas.”

Nesta’s expression sharpened. “You think somebody purposefully led those beasts to the widows camp?”

Rhys’s nodded. “We think it’s a possibility.” He pinned his brother with those violet eyes. “What did you find scouring the perimeter, Az?”

The shadowsinger’s expression did not physically change, but Nesta felt his shadows chill. “Carrion,” he said coldly. “A trail of it leading to the mountain pass. Morsels of it. Not enough to feed a starving pack, but deliberate enough to tempt them out of the depths of the mountains.”

“This winter has been especially punishing,” Cassian interjected. “I bet food supply has been scarce. They struggle to survive as it is. The sounds they made as they hunted probably alerted other packs who joined the hunt.”

Feyre sat forward so she was hovering on the edge of the couch. “That would be why they were so vicious. They knew they were competing with other packs for food.”

Nesta’s stomach turned as she thought of how the widows and orphans had been seen as as a meal. How they had huddled to the Eastern point of the camp with nowhere to go and no means of defending themselves.

“The carrion was well hidden,” Azriel continued with a nod, his voice as smooth as cold marble. “Frawley examined the remains. They weren’t killed with siphon magic and there were no visible wounds to the bodies. We also found boot prints in the mud; different prints ranging in size in two separate locations within a miles range of the camp. They were fresh.”

Everyone’s expression tightened.

Nesta didn’t ask if the carrion was human or animal. She didn’t want to know.

“Frawley has taken samples to analyse them,” Azriel added. “She said she will show her sisters, as well. To see if they can sense an insignia.”

“So that means the attack was orchestrated,” Feyre said. “Someone deliberately led those beasts to the camp?”

Rhys nodded. “The attack was certainly pre-meditated,” he replied, pinning Cassian with a look. “The real question is who would arrange an attack on three separate camps.”

Cassian snorted. “You know what the lords are going to say. What all of the Illyrian’s at Windhaven are going to say.”

“That it’s an attack from another war camp,” Azriel supplied, his voice chilled midnight.

“War lords usually have no issue in taking responsibility if they played a part in an attack,” Rhys countered.

“I know that,” Cassian interjected, impatience lining his voice. “So will the lords when they stop to see sense, but the moment we tell them that we suspect wrong doing, all hell will break loose. We can’t afford to lose any more lives to petty feuds. We’re still reeling from the loss of males since the war and the Rite is already looming over the camp.”

Rhys nodded to show he had heard. Nesta wondered if he mourned the loss of lives like Cassian did. The High Lord looked tired, as if he had been torn away from his mate for too long. Yet nobody looked as ravaged as Cassian did. Nesta did not know if his brothers knew of his recurring nightmares, but she hoped they learnt of them. Sometimes Cassian looked so exhausted that Nesta vibrated with a concern she could not shake. In the past, she had bitten her lip one too many times to prevent herself from ordering him to go to bed.

Nesta knew how awful it was to force someone to do something they desperately wanted but were too fearful to surrender themselves to.

“We will manage the lords,” Rhys assured Cassian. “We can decide how we are going to play that consul, but for now, we need to get to the bottom of how the kerits managed to get past Windhaven’s patrols. You and I both know how meticulous Devlon is when it comes to security around the camp. Those males shouldn't have been able to pass over the camp without being stopped by the warriors on patrol.”

“Whoever they were, they must have known that Cassian wasn't going to be in the camp today,” Azriel offered, the spymaster in him coming to the forefront. “The only good news is that they clearly had no idea that  both Feyre and Nesta would be at the top of the mountain and able to fight. And," he added after a beat of consideration, "they certainly underestimated Nesta’s ability to slay the pack if she had been alone today.”

If Nesta hadn’t been white from pain, she would have had to freeze the blush that dared to grace her cheeks at the shadowsinger’s compliment.

An abrupt snort came from Cassian. When he spoke, his voice was brimming with anger, “Of course they underestimated Nesta. Even though they have witnessed her fire daily and sensed the enormity of her magic, they still can't fathom that a female could be more powerful than them. It has to be Illyrian’s at the root of it. Only they would be chauvinistic enough to fail to see what is right in front of them.”

“Which,” Rhys interjected, “has worked unwittingly in our favour. Rather than fuel hatred towards the Night Court and cement the growing opinion that we do not protect the Illyrian community, we had two High Fae slaughtering the pack well before any warriors arrived on the scene. And then Nesta brought Masak back to life — someone who the Illyrian males in this camp do not see as worthy to live amongst them.”

Through the exhaustion, anger heated Nesta’s blood. She felt her magic whisper. If Nesta looked inward, she could see the two strands. Could now sense the promise of healing magic in her veins amongst her silver fire. As if she had been granted the key in the face of Mas’s death and she had turned it over in the lock, setting that power free.

Yet, even as Nesta grazed that healing power, it was her silver fire that promised to roar.

“I didn’t do it to stop a Civil War. I did it to protect the females who cannot protect themselves,” Nesta snapped weakly. She was too tired to muster enough vigour into her words, but she was annoyed at the false implication behind her actions. That she had not done it out of love for the housekeeper, but because of politics.

“That may be,” Rhys said, his voice forcibly light, “and what you did was honourable, but we cannot ignore how the Illyrian’s might interpret the action.”

“What Rhys is trying to say,” Azriel interjected smoothly as Nesta’s nostrils flared, “is that the females already respect you. The way you defended them today will not strengthen the dissent, only highlight that there are fae outside of the Illyrian communities who have their best interests at heart. You, for example.”

“You know they like you,” Cassian said quietly. He did not look at Nesta. Instead, he remained fixated at the hands that were clasped tightly in front of him, his elbows resting on his broad knees. “You know they have accepted you since you defended them against the males.”

“I protect them because nobody else seems to bother,” Nesta said coldly. “How many innocent females died because of the cruel intentions of males today? How many were injured?”

“Thirteen dead, thirty plus injured,” Cassian told Nesta quietly. “It would have been many more if you and Feyre not been there. You moved so quickly you managed to slay the majority of the packs before they reached the females.”

Nesta’s expression hardened as she thought of the trailing guts that had glistened in the grey light of day; the way Roksana’s hands had slipped in Mas’s wet, sticky blood, and how she had croaked for help. Her first word aloud since Nesta had met her.

“That is still too many,” Nesta insisted, her voice betraying her — shaking with the anger and horror of it all. “Why would they target the widows first? Why not lead the kerits down the other side of the mountain pass where they would could reach the main camp and weaken Windhaven’s forces?”

“Perhaps the kerits were never intended to weaken Windhaven’s ranks at all,” Rhys mused. “Perhaps they were intended to prove a point.”

A shocked, prolonged pause.

“Are you saying,” Nesta said, her voice shaking, “that you think the rebellion could have orchestrated the attacks. That they might have specifically targeted the defenceless females because widows are seen as disposable, but their deaths would be enough to fuel dissent amongst the camps?”

Rhys stared at Nesta for a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side, in the same way that Cassian’s did when he was trying to puzzle her out. But Nesta barely saw it. All she saw was the twisted body of the kind cook who had fed Nesta every morning… Of lovely Durkhanai, with her beautiful curly hair and bright green eyes. A female who had been dealt the harshest of fates. She had not deserved her end. None of the females had. 

Feyre’s hand crept over the blankets to Nesta’s. Her sister’s slim fingers wrapped around her own. “Surely they wouldn’t kill their own race?” Feyre said, her voice shaking. Nesta wondered if she, too, was thinking of the discarded limbs and pools of blood. “There were children in that camp. The females didn’t even have weapons…”

But her sister did not understand just how harsh the camps were. Unlike Nesta, Feyre had not lived amongst the widows for months. She did not know just how willing the Illyrian’s might be to offer the widows camp as a sacrifice for the sake of politics.

“I would not put it past Illyrian’s to see widows as a necessary sacrifice,” Rhys admitted eventually after a long, pregnant pause. His violet eyes had softened with grief. “If this is orchestrated by the rebellion, I suspect that by targeting the widows camps Kallon was hoping to fuel the anger amongst the Illyrian’s that they are not protected. That the Night Court does not care for Illyrian’s and offers them no protection. The widows would have been seen as a necessary sacrifice. They are outcasts in Illyrian society with no families to mourn their deaths.”

A ringing sounded in Nesta’s ears. The noise tuned out the room around her. It took her a while to realise that it was fury. It burned. It was not hot, but cold - enough to give her frostbite - as if her magic was not replenished enough to fly but was trying its best to rally itself. Inside of her chest, something cracked. It sounded like bone. With it, came creeping fingers of light, reaching towards her...

With all her strength, Nesta clamped down... until shadows ate away the approaching light and the room righted itself.

When she came to, Cassian was growling low in warning, his wings stretching as far as they could without hitting her square in the face. At who, Nesta did not know. Did not care for his territorial display when there were bigger matters to discuss.

“And why isn’t there protection?” she asked.

Nesta’s words were as cold as the chill in her veins. Rhys stilled, and with it, his magic trembled. The growl was still rumbling from low in Cassian’s chest — deeper even — and he sat forward, bracing his weight onto his thighs as if he were getting ready to launch himself at… someone. Nesta wasn’t sure who.

Feyre was still gripping Nesta’s hand tight, her grip firm enough to hurt. If Nesta had cast a look to her sister’s face, she would have seen that tell-tale glaze over Feyre’s eyes. It was the kind of far off look which told Nesta that her sister was speaking to her mate mind-to-mind. Or trying to, at least.

“Why was there no protection around each of the Illyrian camps given that there had already been two kerit attacks?” Nesta continued, ignoring the rumbling sound that had her heart wanting to beat that little bit faster. “I have seen the protective shields the fae used in war — around your City of Starlight. Why is that courtesy not extended to the Illyrian communities?”

A long, drawn out silence of star-kissed eternal and a whisper of ancient silver.

“I have offered protection numerous times to each of the war lords,” Rhys replied eventually, his voice too measured to be casual. “Each of them have turned it down. They see it as a criticism on their duty as warriors to protect and defend.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh but the hard quality to her eyes did not change. “They are stubborn Illyrian bats. Get them to change their minds. Or are you not their High Lord?”

A flicker of amusement passed across Azriel’s face, his shadows lightening the sharp, beautiful angles of his face. “Nesta is right,” he said, causing everyone to turn. “The war lords don’t have the luxury of turning down our help when it looks as if there will be more kerit attacks. There shouldn’t have been a gap in today’s patrol. Windhaven has always prided itself on its security — all the camps do. Have we found the soldiers who should have been patrolling the perimeter? I think it wise to consider that they may have been compromised by whoever tempted the kerits to the camps. Recruited, even. They could well be the males that flew over the mountain pass.”

“Nobody can find them,” Cassian growled. “We have males out looking for them as we speak. As soon as they are found we will interrogate them.”

“Cassian and I will interrogate,” Rhys told Azriel as a rare flicker of surprise fell across the shadowsinger's expression. “I need you to visit your most trusted contacts in the camps and tell them that we believe the attacks might not be random. We need all eyes and ears to the ground to find out as much as we can, not least to anticipate where the next attack might be.”

A tense nod, but Azriel folded into shadow and disappeared.

Cassian’s fists curled into fists on the tops of his thighs. “We need evidence. We cannot assume this is the rebellion without it.”

“Of course not,” Rhys admitted smoothly. “Which is why we need you to try and snuff out as much information as you can when you and Nesta go to the Solstice luncheon next week. Accept the offer to stay overnight.”

Nesta hadn’t thought Cassian’s expression could turn any stonier, but it did. “No.”

“The more time you spend at Ironcrest, the longer Nesta has to pick up any untoward emotion, especially surrounding conversation about the camps. It gives Frawley time to look and identify the origin of the sword, and it gives you and Lorrian time to pry out any information. Insist on you and Lorrian overseeing the aerial and ground units that next morning, it will ease away any suspicion. A trip there is long overdue but it is time to act on this rather than gathering information, which we have been doing up until now.”

Cassian blew out a long, steadying breath. Then he conceded,  “With the Rite meeting been moved forward to that afternoon, it shouldn’t be hard to extend our stay."

Rhys nodded. “Good.” Then his violet eyes rested on Nesta. “You are willing to go with Cassian?”

A raised chin. Defiant. Strong. Despite the pain and exhaustion that wanted to pull her down, down, down. “Yes.”

“Then we have a plan,” Rhys said with another nod. “Azriel will continue to train you. If he is not available,  I will travel to the camps and train you myself .”

At the edge of her periphery, Nesta saw Feyre’s eyes widen. In her stomach, Nesta felt Cassian’s surprise, a sensation which grew as Rhys said,  “Welcome to the Court of Dreams, Nesta Archeron.”

*** 

By the time the meeting was over, Nesta was drained; her eyelids unbelievably heavy, her limbs aching. She desperately wanted to sleep, so she took the tincture Feyre brought her without comment and didn’t protest when Cassian carried her back to his bed rather than hers; agony fogged the rational part of her brain.

She was practically asleep as Cassian lay her onto his mattress. She felt his fingers coax hers away from where they were clutching his leathers. Blankets were pulled over her, the weight a comfort. A sedative was dripped into her mouth.

And then she slipped under.

When Nesta next woke, the taste was still bitter in her mouth but the room was dark; the light having receded even from the gap between the curtains.

In the armchair beside her bed was Feyre, her feet curled up beneath her and her freckled nose buried in Love in Velaris. A bobbing faelight hung overhead, willed by her sister’s magic. It illuminated the pages.

From the dent Feyre had made in the book, Nesta guessed she had been asleep for hours. Beyond the room, the bungalow sat still — the way it did when Cassian was not home — as if it too were sleeping, waiting for its owner to come back and breathe life into the rooms with his presence.

A few seconds passed until Feyre noticed that Nesta was awake. It gave Nesta enough time to catalogue the concern etched on her sister’s pale face; the tight expression which made Feyre’s sharp cheekbones even more prominent.

Nesta did not usually see the similarities between them, but now, as Feyre’s serious steel-blue eyes snapped up at the rustle of blankets, Nesta knew why others had said they looked alike.

“You’re awake.” Feyre spoke slowly — unsure — as she unfurled her long, lithe legs. When Nesta winced as she tried to get into a more comfortable position, Feyre jumped up and moved to the dresser. “Here,” she said, pouring some tincture onto a silver spoon.

Nesta hated the way she needed assistance to lift her head, but she allowed Feyre to do it in a rush of pear and lilac. Nesta was not proud enough to deny that she needed the tincture to smooth away the pain. And whilst the pain wasn’t as agonising as hours prior, it was deep-set enough for Nesta to consider whether she could persuade Feyre to allow her to swallow down the whole damn bottle.

After some water to chase down the foul taste, Feyre stepped back. “How are you feeling? Frawley seemed to think she could speed up the healing Madja did, but you were so sick…” Her sister trailed off, setting back to examine Nesta’s face. “You look a little less pale...”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said hoarsely.

Feyre opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she were contemplating what best to say. The action annoyed Nesta. She wanted to be alone and quiet. To fall back asleep and wake when the pain was gone and she no longer felt helpless.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Nesta asked tiredly, turning her face to bury it into one of the pillows. It was a few seconds reprieve to calm the irritation that had started to hum through her.

Slowly, Nesta breathed in the scent of pine, musk and air that was so fierce Nesta felt as if she were almost a part of it. She had no doubt this was the pillow Cassian rested his head on. The scent soothed her, smoothing over that spiky, dangerous anger of hers to leave bone-lead weariness in its place.

“I wanted to be here,” Feyre told her. There was a subtle stubborn lift to her chin that Nesta knew Feyre had copied from her at a young age so many times that it had now become a part of who she was. “I wanted to look after you. To make sure that you were healing.”

“Well, I don’t need you to take care of me. You heard it yourself, I should be out of bed tomorrow. I just need to sleep.”

Nesta had intended to say it icily, but she was not well enough to muster the strength.

Feyre’s expression tightened, and for a moment, Nesta thought she might snap. But then she just straightened with determination; her tall, lean body rising to a height that called for attention. “Then let me say what I want to say and I will leave you alone.”

A long, stony silence and a blank, impenetrable mask that Nesta hoped with desperation conveyed the message she wanted to snap: Go away.

Instead, Feyre seated herself on the armchair and reached for Nesta’s ice-cold hand. “Nesta,” she started, the word practically a plea. “I know you and I - I know that our relationship has always been rocky. And you are right, there are many things that I hadn’t considered, not least when I sent you here. But… you almost died today and it’s made me realise what is important: I love you. I don’t think I’ve told you that before, but I always have. Even when we were younger and we were both so angry and bitter at our lot in life and we spent our days fighting. And I know you love me, too. Hiring someone to take you to the wall to find me told me that…”

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath and when she next spoke, her voice turned softer, dropping into a confession, “I forgave you and Elain a long time ago for when we were starving, Nesta. I want you to know that. I don’t — we were children. It was father that failed us, not you. I never saw it as your job to care for me and… I’m sorry that you were there when mother asked me to take care of you…. That must have been a horrible thing to overhear and… well, I would have felt resentment towards me, too, if I were you.”

More silence. Nesta would not allow herself to speak for the barbed words she knew would spill forth. About her sister’s mate and how whilst Nesta had tried to make amends, Rhysand’s obvious dislike of her had not disappeared with Feyre’s supposed forgiveness.

“I also want you to know that what you did in the war — you saved hundreds of lives. I know you witnessed unimaginable death and horror, but fae and humans are walking on Prythian because you struck down the male that promised to wreak havoc on our world. You did all of that and I never thought to thank you. And then I was so swept away by my duties as High Lady and recovering from Rhys’s near death that I did not give you the time I should have-”

Such careful tiptoeing around their father’s death. How Nesta had watched the life bleed out of his eyes, until they were nothing but glassy and wholly unconscious.

It was that which made Nesta cut her sister off. Even now, she had no desire to discuss his death. “I am not a burden you need to add to your list of priorities. I didn’t want your help. I explicitly told you to go away and instead you continued to force me to socialise when all I wanted was to be alone.”

Feyre let go of Nesta’s hand. Something akin to loss flashed through Nesta, piercing through the exhaustion and the pain in her abdomen.

“I think communication has always been an issue for us,” Feyre admitted, not backing down from the conversation. “I have spent time thinking over what you have said and you are right, I have not truly listened to you. But I was so scared for your safety I adopted drastic measures—”

“It is not your place to decide what is best for me,” Nesta said coldly. “I am not yours to command. And,” she continued with as much iciness as she could muster, “I do not think that an Illyrian camp is a place of safety.”

A deliberate pause to highlight how she were in bed suffering from major injuries.

“I thought if you were with Cassian that you would be protected,” Feyre said, her expression anguished. “I thought if anyone were to hold their own in an Illyrian camp it would be you. You are so strong, Nesta—”

“You thought a fae male could protect me when the protection I was promised by males has failed over and over again?” Nesta countered. “He is not even here all of the time. Sometimes he is away for days on end and I am left alone. You banished me to this awful place in front of an audience with no care for my feelings.”

But as Nesta spoke, something scrabbled in the back of her mind. Because it wasn’t fair to criticise Cassian for both leaving her and crowding her. Because Cassian had given her space and yet he had also been there, on the periphery if not right in front of her. Taunting her and encouraging her, but with so much space to grow. He had not made her train with him, dragging her spitting and screaming into the sparring ring. He had not thrown her out into the camp each morning and forced her to work or make friends. He had given her choices that she had more often than not denied over and over. And when she had done that, he had bought her more books or figured out the foods she liked to make the days a little less boring.

Cassian had not just protected her but allowed her to grow stronger. Had given her the space to decide for once in her life what she wanted to do and what she wanted to be. True, she might have been stuck in Windhaven, but she had never felt truly trapped. The skies made her feel unencumbered. The mud beneath her feet rendered her a part of nature rather than apart from it. The craggy mountains were a physical depiction of how Nesta was starting to see herself; sharp and angry but resilient and strong.

Outside the bungalow, Nesta heard the unmistakable crunch of boots in the snow. The low murmur of male voices floated through the bedroom window, which had been cracked open to circulate the stale air.

Feyre’s face crumpled in sudden irritation, and Nesta guessed that her mate had tried to speak mind-to-mind with her mid-conversation. From the way Feyre’s expression quickly cleared, Nesta got the impression she had banished Rhys completely or told him to go away.

The click of the magical lock from the front door rang through the bungalow, but Feyre’s attention was only on her. “Adjusting to the role of High Lady has been… a struggle,” her sister admitted. “Cassian, Rhys, Amren and Mor are my friends as well as my trusted advisors. But you are right, I spoke to you as a High Lady not as a sister when I told you to come here. I thought that using my new status would make you listen because my role as a sister had failed. It was a last resort and I knew… I knew that Cassian would look after you.”

Feyre stared up at the ceiling, as if the memory caused her pain. “As soon as you left I knew the way I had summoned you was wrong.” Feyre looked back to Nesta and sincerity swam in her eyes. “I did not consider that I had imprisoned you. I was selfishly only thinking of forcing you to be well.”

More silence.

Feyre got to her feet, her expression pained.

She waved a hand to the window, gesturing to the scenery outside. To the craggy mountains that stretched for miles and the sea beyond it. To the world that existed beyond Illyria. Beyond Prythian. “When you are healed, if you wish to leave Illyria you can. I don’t want you to feel imprisoned any longer.”

There was a finality to the words that rang true. Her sister meant them, even if it was obvious they caused her pain.  Yet… Nesta did not want to leave. Not now, not when she had promised to attend the Solstice luncheon to see what they could discover about the sword and the kerit attacks. Not when the females here were so vulnerable. Now when they needed help rebuilding their community — to mourn for the losses that Nesta had vowed would not go unnoticed.

“I said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Feyre halted at the door.

“And your help is invaluable,” Feyre said slowly, “but you are not obligated to do it. So if you wish to leave, you can. Just… please tell someone before you do and let us know where you are going.”

Feyre looked weary and Nesta wondered if she had even bathed since everything that had happened. Her body was clean like Nesta’s… but her leathers were crumpled and her hair dishevelled. Nesta’s own body felt like it was covered in a film of oil and invisible dirt. Her skin itched at the thought and she longed for a bath, even though she knew she would not be able to manage it without more rest.

When Nesta closed her eyes, Feyre’s blood-streaked face swam into view. She remembered how Feyre had gripped her hand in the midst of battle and told Nesta to lead the way to the Eastern side of the camp, even though they were in the thick of danger. Her sister had not hesitated or balked. She had only been fierce and unwaveringly brave, ready to put her life on the line for those who needed protection.

For all of their problems, when the two of them had been fighting side by side, it was the first time that Nesta felt as if she truly belonged with her sister. For a brief moment in time, their issues and past mistakes had bled away, as if they were inconsequential.

“I’d love for us to start afresh,” Feyre continued quietly from her place at the door. “We have both made errors, but I do not care about yours. I hope that with time you might be able to forgive me, and if you do, I’d like to start over, you and I, with a blank slate.”

Tags:

@arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @melphss  @nestalytical @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @sjm-things

[akizumy]

Guilt

Sooo- I hadn’t planned to write anything for Halloween, but then I got this idea and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I know I’m a day late (typical me), but since it is done I might as well post it, right ? This One Shot is part of the Varitas AU (basically an evil Varian ahah), and I fear I got inspired by the rp blogs : @royal-engineer-of-corona and @v-a-r-i-t-a-s TW !! Amber, knife, death (there is no graphic description except a mention of blood)- if there is anything else that you think I should tag, don’t hesitate to yell at me in the comments. Takes place between Be very Afraid and Cassandra's revenge !

If most people had to describe Varian, they would use the word 'dangerous' because of what the kid could do, and what he had already done. Although the alchemist had saved Corona and been forgiven by the royal family, everyone still saw him as the criminal who kidnapped their queen, who attacked the kingdom with automatons and a mutant raccoon. Everyone still saw him as the threat he used to be and could still be, even Varian himself : if the alchemist couldn't forgive himself, why would others act any differently ? But Eugene saw things differently. Unlike the rest of the Coronans, the former thief spend most of his days with the young alchemist ever since the latter got out of jail; he had of course been wary of him at first, the memory of Varian attacking Rapunzel and the kingdom still painfully fresh in his memory like in everyone else's. But day after day, he had soon come to accept that the kid was very different from this idea that everyone had of him. Everything about him, whether it was his actions or his words, illustrated his regrets about his past actions; and Eugene could see how hard the kid was trying to make amends. That was why the word he associated with Varian was not 'dangerous', but 'guilt'. It was both an observation of the alchemist's behavior, his doubts and culpability, and also a protection against others' judgment. Varian had regrets. Varian had changed. Varian was no longer dangerous. He wanted nothing more than for everyone, the kid included, to see that and to be able to move on; for people to realize all the good Varian could make, and for Varian to see that as well- that it wasn't too late for him to be who he wanted to be. That he could still be happy. Such a shame that he had to be proved wrong. It had all happened really fast : the automatons, attacking the island one morning. They were numerous, and more just kept coming in an endless flow; even though they had no idea what was happening or why, Rapunzel had focused on going and protecting the Coronans first, getting answers after that. That was the plan. Pretty easy, hard to mess up- or, it should have been. Because now as the cold, metal hand of the automaton was firmly holding Eugene prisoner, the latter having no choice but to face the woman he loved encased in amber and surrounded by two other automatons, the former thief was left wondering how could things have possibly gone this wrong. "Well, it looks like Corona no longer has her beloved leader- if she could even be called that in the first place." And of course, how could he possibly forget the one whose satisfied tone was awakening in Eugene a deep hatred, one like he had never felt before. Varian was standing in front of the statue, looking absolutely triumphant, and how could he not be after taking over Corona and defeating their princess, their Sundrop ? The broken wall of the throne room, the latter being only a remnant of what it used to be, only added to his glorious victory, offering an heartbreaking view on the completely destroyed kingdom. His eyes were shining with an eerie joy, and a wide grin appeared on his lips as he admired the consequences of his actions; encased in amber, Rapunzel's painful and horrified expression was a terrible contrast with the alchemist's ominous one. "Don't worry, Eugene," the alchemist said after some time, finally looking away from the amber to the former thief, trapped in an other kind of prison, "She's not dead. She doesn't deserve such a fate." The alchemist confidently walked up to him, leaning against the metal hand. "No, she deserves a sentence far worse than that." The alchemist's voice was dangerously low as he stared at Eugene, watching his every reaction. The former thief didn't look away in return, instead glaring at the kid who had taken so much from him and went as far as to laugh about it too. He just- Eugene simply couldn't believe what he was hearing and seeing. Varian- Varian had made amends. He had apologized, and they'd forgiven him. He had been working ever since to help Corona, to fix his mistakes and stop Cassandra. Varian had changed- he had. Hadn't he ? But then, why would he go back on that ? Why did he all of a sudden attack Corona with these- these automatons, destroying the island, trapping Rapunzel in that same amber that destroyed his life once before ? Why would he do that to his friends, to Team Awesome ? Was it all just a wicked scheme to fool them ? Eugene stared at the kid in front of him. He was exactly like Varian- same outfit, same black hair with this odd blue stripe, same blue eyes. No, not the same. Varian's eyes weren't merciless, mocking and cold, so cold. Varian's eyes were warm, friendly and guilty. "Who..." Eugene hissed, glaring all the more. "Who are you ? What have you done to Varian ?" Varian wouldn't do something like that, Eugene was sure of it. The other half of Team Awesome, the kid who liked ham sandwiches and often forgot to take care of himself when working was not the same as the one who encased Rapunzel in amber. The alchemist who fought his fears in order to save Corona, that kid would never do something like that. Still, he didn't expect... him, to simply smirk, that same threatening smirk he thought -he hoped- he'd never see again on this face. "You know, I never thought you were right when you said that people don't give you enough credit. You are clever, aren't you ?" "What does that mean ?" He was just done talking when the door of the throne room opened with noise. Eugene tried to look behind him to see the source of the noise, in vain : the robot's grip was keeping him from making any movement. However, he had a really good view of Varian raising his head in surprise, before cautiously taking a few steps back, furious eyes staring at... whoever just came in, Eugene guessed. Said person walked closer, as Eugene could tell from the footsteps sounds, before stopping right beside him; turning his head to the side, Eugene saw... Varian. It took his mind a minute to process the information. "Wait wait wait," Eugene narrowed his eyes, "Am I seeing 2 Varians ? Is that- is that some sort of evil twin story, or...?" Varian number 2 didn't react, but Varian number 1's smirk only widened. "I guess you could say that." He did a mocking bow in front of the other two, "I am Varitas, 'the mean one'- because someone has to take the blame, and who's better to replace Varian at it than Varian himself ? You Coronians aren't really creative, you know : get yourself someone else to blame, or even better, an actual justice system." It took all of Eugene's might not to give in and harshly tell him that he was absolutely guilty for what he had done to everyone; he barely restrained himself from doing so, realization hitting him hard. That was what that Varitas guy wanted. He had been provoking him since the beginning, trying to push him to his limits; and although Eugene wasn't really one to give in to anger, what could that kind of behavior do to someone who would, someone whose guilt would make them an easy prey ? For example, someone who definitely would be the target of his own double... Oh no. "I'm so-sorry..." Varian whispered, his voice cracking. His glassy eyes were filled with tears that streamed down his cheeks, highlighting how unusually pale he was, or how dark and big the bags under his eyes were in contrast. "It's all my fault..." "Kid-no. This is not your fault, none of it is." Eugene insisted. Varian clearly seemed exhausted, on the verge of breaking down, and with all of that accumulated guilt ready to burst free, he was basically an emotional time bomb. A really, really unstable emotional time bomb that could possibly become a problem if nothing was done to calm him down before. When did that start ? Why hadn’t he noticed before, why hadn’t he done anything to protect Varian ? Varian didn’t react, clearly not believing him; it broke Eugene’s heart to see him in such a state. Of course, that's the moment Varitas chose to speak up. "You're right, Eugene : it's not his fault nor is it mine, but it is actually yours, it has always been. I know how talented you are all in the field of lies and deceit and breaking promises, but you have to be incredibly good to make him believe that you actually care about him and are his friends without him ever questioning it. Again." Varian shivered, looking down at the ground, and Eugene could only imagine the thoughts going through his head; anger and guilt and feeling of betrayal and self-loathing, all of them feeding a dangerous hatred that was definitely what Varitas was planning to use. Oh, how much Eugene hated that Varitas kid. He hated him for taking Rapunzel away, for torturing Varian; he hated how powerless he felt. "If you know us as well as you say you do, then you should also know these are not lies." Eugene growled, but Varian once again didn’t react. Varitas only rolled his eyes, fully aware that he was in control of the situation. "Oh, you are good- but thank you for proving my point." He then turned to Varian, and Eugene tensed up. Whatever he had planned, Eugene feared the kid wasn't in a good enough state to fight against. "I'm sorry I started without you," Varitas smiled, something almost warm, outstretching his hand towards Varian, "but you can still join me and serve justice, like we wanted to." Unlike his kind words, his tone was very clear : obey, or face the consequences. Varian stared at Varitas' hand for a moment, before his glassy eyes moved to the hole in the wall and the destruction beyond, then to the amber and finally, to Eugene. Eugene's heart ached as he met Varian's eyes. The raging storm of the kid's emotions was frightening, and Varian seemed completely lost. Eugene wanted to reassure him, to tell him that these were all lies, that none of it was true, that they did care about him- but he also wasn’t stupid. “Please, kid... Don’t...” Was all Eugene said, because he saw in these eyes that Varian... Varian would not believe him, or anything else he’d say. That Varitas's poisoned words, playing with Varian's deepest fears and guilt, had already had their effect on the kid. Where was he when Varian needed him ? Why was he stuck, unable to help when the kid needed him the most ? Varitas was right- just like before, he couldn't give Varian the help he so desperately needed. Varian stared at him for a while longer, before looking back at Varitas. Extending his hand, he took the other's in his own. Then, harshly pulling Varitas forward, he threw in the latter's face a green ball that exploded in a flash of blinding light. Varitas immediately shoved Varian away, rubbing his eyes with his hands; his hiss of pain morphed into a low chuckle. "Alright, looks like you've made your choice..." Eugene felt his heart drop as the two other automatons -the ones not currently holding Eugene- walked toward the alchemist, responding to Varitas's order. He knew his friend hardly stood a chance; above all, he knew Varian was fighting a losing battle, because he himself didn’t even know what he was fighting for, or if he wanted to. It was clear as day that Varian was fighting back like a wounded animal, with the energy of despair, and that this would end very badly. Eugene tried once again to free himself, even if he knew there was no way he could get out. Varian acted quickly, trapping the first automaton's feet in goo, effectively stopping him. Varitas threw at him a green ball that Varian barely managed to avoid; not fast enough to recover, the alchemist couldn't dodge a hit from the second automaton that made him fall to the ground. Not wasting any time, Varian sent a pink ball on the second automaton, trapping him the same way; he however didn't see the third ennemy attacking him from behind. "Watch out !!" Eugene stopped struggling a moment to yell in alarm. Varian startled and turned around just in time to catch Varitas's wrists, keeping him from using his knife- because yes, he had a knife, a real one. "Why are you fighting for them ?!" Varitas shouted, furious. "They are responsible for Dad being encased, for all of our woes- you should want to serve justice ! You used to want that, so why would you believe their lies again ?!" Varian didn't answer, simply staring at the knife held right between the two of them. "It was the price to pay to become their friend again, wasn't it ? Ha- you're pathetic. They will betray you just like they already did, and the worst of all is that they'll be right : you'll have no one to blame but yourself, for being stupid enough to trust them again." Varitas's eyes were filled with disgust, sadness. No answer. Varian's grip loosened a bit, his face reflecting some hesitation. “Varian, no- don’t listen to him ! He’s trying to get in your head !!” The alchemist no longer seemed to be able to hear him, his attention entirely focused on Varitas. Eugene’s voice was only a quiet noise, drowned out by Varitas’s own voice and Varian’s thoughts. "I hope you're happy. I hope you'll believe their lies that make you think that this is what's best for you, this is what you have always wanted. You won : enjoy your golden cage, Varian." "Kid !!" Eugene shouted, alarmed, and that finally snapped Varian out of it. Kicking his opponent, the alchemist made Varitas fall backwards; the latter harshly hit the ground, his grip loosening on the knife. Eugene watched with horror as the alchemist quickly took the knife from Varitas and held it at the other's throat. "Don’t do that Varian ! You are angry- we all are kid, but killing him isn't the solution !" "He's right," Varitas added, "You can go ahead and kill me, but that won't change anything. You know that I'm right, and getting rid of me won't change the truth." Varian gritted his teeth, his grip getting just the tiniest bit firmer on the knife, and Varitas let a vicious smile appear on his lips. "You and me, we're just good for destruction, hurting others, taking the blame. I know it, they know it : that's why they let you down, and will let you down again. There's no denying it anymore, Varian. If you don't kill me, I will just keep destroying everything, and you'll be to blame for not stopping me when you had the chance : but if you do stop me, that you dare kill me if you’re even able to, then you will become the villain, the murderer, the mean one, because neither of us are part of the people whose faults are all forgiven. No matter what you choose, you will lose, just like I kept telling you." Varian stared at Varitas as he was talking, unable to stop listening to him. He knew he shouldn't listen or even consider his words, but something in them struck a chord within him, reaching doubts he tried to muffle, thoughts he tried to get rid of and amplifying them to the point that he could no longer ignore them or bury them again; and even though he thought he could hear Eugene's voice, he couldn't actually hear his words. Varitas smirked, knowing that despite the appearances, he had the upper hand. Reaching in his pocket, he got out a purple ball. "It's over, Varian." The alchemist's eyes widened in realization as the ball hit the ground, exploding and covering the whole room in a cloud of purple smoke. Eugene felt his blood froze in his veins as he heard fighting noises, the sound of metal clashing against skin and a cry of pain, then a body hitting the ground; and after that, nothing. In the heavy silence that followed, the cloud slowly escaped the room through the hole in the wall, joining its peers in the sky. Eugene then saw with horror a body lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. Standing next to him, its double was panting, holding without trembling the knife stained with blood. At that single moment, a terrible truth dawned on Eugene who felt his heart come to a stop. Even if it was impossible to distinguish the twins, one thing remained certain : one of them was now dead, killed by the other. And therefore, it didn't matter which one came out a winner in this battle, because the result was the same either way. Varitas had won, and their Varian was gone.

[obutsuwrites]

confectionery kisses (fat gum x reader)

summary: “I know you’re enjoyin’ me, but -- uh -- can I kiss ya?” The alcohol hit him fully now; the hero too enumerated to be bashful. Steamie looked up and was greeted by lemon color eyes that held utter kindness. xxx lord forgive me bc this is so wholesome it killed me!!! but basically, bakery!au ft. meet-cute w/ drunken kissing shenanigans~! (well it's 1 kiss ok but it is what it is) 

author note: i’m considering a part 2 that picks up where this leaves off, but w smut. if that’s sumthin anyone would b interested in, pls lmk~!

reader is nonbinary/afab!

word count: 2,130

my ao3 for more shitposts~!

my ko-fi~!

my inbox is open 4 requests :3c

Focused, flour caked hands kneaded the dough before them. The young baker too engrossed by the magic of dough to notice a soft chime sound through the shop. Customers weren’t uncommon for them. Steamie’s Bakery was a word-of-mouth local treasure. A bewitching pastry shop that had the best donuts, honest. Steamie -- as they prefer -- adored their neighbors praises. Steady streams of patrons in a ‘hot spot’ for criminal activity wasn’t exactly the best business decision. However, this run-down homestyle bakery -- and it’s holes -- were theirs. 

Steamie hummed as they worked. Their mind was stuck within sugary confectionery. 

“Hey… y’all open?” This man’s voice was gruff and carefree. A smile wrapped in his syllables. 

Fat Gum stood within the tiny bakery. His form dwarfed the modest space; the edge of his hood scrapped against the ceiling as he waited for a response. The BMI Hero was surprised his lumbering footsteps hadn’t alerted the owner. Was it possible he had misread the sign? Work had drained him recently. Fat Gum had practically dragged himself to Steamie’s Bakery. Locals babbled constantly about the place, and he desired a quiet bite after hours. The quant business was one of the only eateries open at such an hour. 

The abrupt sound whipped the enamored baker from their task. Warm eyes glanced up, irises bright and alive despite the time. “Hi. Yes! Yes, we are. I’m Steamie.” Their eyes met the giant man who stood awkwardly in front of a display. He looked so out of place, the man’s body bulbous and impossibly large. Steamie guessed by the man’s rather campy mask that he was an off-duty hero. A species of hero not seen often around their street. The area deemed too dangerous for such leisurely activity. 

Truth be told, Steamie didn’t care about heroes. Or villains. The tall baker instead hyper focused upon baking. A hobby that morphed into a job. However, a small voice inside Steamie wanted to impress the man. He seemed so friendly and looked so… cuddly. Like a sentient teddy bear. A man composed of pillows and kindness. 

Fat Gum furrowed his brows. The BMI Hero seemed to be in deep thought over exactly which eclair to buy. He had never seen so many flavors before. Strawberry, blueberry, cherry, watermelon. Every flavor sounded as delicious as the last. Pink tongue darted out between his lips and teeth. A sugar overload was tempting. Simple black coffee wouldn’t cure this sluggy fog. Besides, he had burned away precious fat today. It was a treat. 

“Steamie? Does your quirk help with your work?” Fat Gum asked, as he scanned the pastries. He noticed their designs now. Soft and lacy intricate artwork that intertwined on each eclair; each pattern unique and perfectly executed. Every baked good was a labor of love. 

A snort escaped Steamie; the sound high pitched and hearty. 

“I wish. No, I just emit a puff of steam. I’m basically a glorified dehumidifier.” Steamie brushed flour decorated hands against their apron. The young baker was keen to serve the hero. Hero culture wasn’t an interest of theirs, but the physical embodiment of a pillow was too enticing for the baker. They wondered what exactly their job was. ‘Due to his size… maybe rescue?’

It was now Fat Gum’s turn to laugh. Rumbly and soft. “I don’t do rescue. Say, uh, how much are these eclairs?” 

Rambling out loud was habitual for them. Their thoughts grew legs of their own and walked out into tangible space. They were immune to the embarrassment of it, instead accepting their odd trait.

Steamie slapped a dusty hand to their forehead. “I don’t have price tags..?” The sentence was in limbo between a question and an answer. They had rearranged the shop recently. Changing pastry stock required innovation. The elclairs before Fat Gum had been a stroke of late night genius. Birthed from the desire for a gooey center and intricate lace. A happy medium for the proud baker. 

The baker quickly stepped behind the counter, dust flew from their hands. Diligent hands eventually found a leftover tag and wrote down a price. Patrons caused Steamie to envelope themselves into baking. Most days, flour and powdered sugar felt impossible to wash off. Almost like a second skin; signs of their success. 

Steamie beckoned Fat Gum to the counter. The BMI Hero obliged; pep in his gait. 

“Here. Don’t go thinking you’re getting a discount!” Steamie’s laugh echoed in the bakery as they handed the hero price tags. Fat Gum could swear the baker’s body vibrated from the sound. “I’ve been busy lately. Cakes and pies don’t sell themselves.” 

The hero’s smile grew like marigolds; fast and vibrant. Steamie didn’t mind looking at this hero. His posture was proud, but hid something. A mystery Steamie couldn’t quite figure out. ‘Kinda interesting…’

“What’s  interesting?” Fat Gum asked, the giant of a man still enamored by pastries. 

“You know my quirk; what’s yours? It’s probably super interesting.” 

The hero’s face contorted into a mix of confusion and admiration. ‘Does she not know who I am?’ “My quirk is fat absorption. I don’t usually look like this!” A laugh erupted from the man. His notoriety meant everyone knew of his quirk. The banter was refreshing. Fat Gum enjoyed the naivety of the baker. 

Their conversation died down as Fat Gum perused baked goods. Steamie wandered back to their original post. They almost forgot the hero was in the shop. Heavy footsteps dissolved any fantasy of peace and quiet. Little moments of serenity were scarce, but nightfall brought the quiet Steamie craved. A meager smile etched into the corners of the baker’s mouth. They hummed as they worked; now fully absorbed in kneading dough. 

“Hey,” the hero’s gruff voice broke the silence between them, “hope it’s not too much trouble, but I’m ready to be rung up!” His words carried an airiness to them; like cotton candy. Steamie wondered if this was a natural state for Fat Gum. 

Steamie nodded, again wiping their hands on their apron. Dusty fingers worked at the register and completed the transaction between the two. 

Fat Gum stopped short of the door and turned to the baker still stationed at the counter. “What’s your name?” He asked with childish curiosity, as if Steamie’s name was a mystery. 

“Like I said, I’m Steamie,” they replied, eyeing the hero. It wasn’t uncommon for locals to ask what their real name was, but as far as Steamie cared, Steamie was their name. An abstract, genderless name that suited them. 

Fat Gum laughed, a hearty sound that echoed through the empty bakery. Steamie swore display cases shook. Almost reminiscent of thunder. “No, uh, your… Your real name, unless you prefer Steamie. It’s cute.” A tint of red dotted his cheeks, unable to hide the embarrassment that painted his face. He didn’t intend to tell the baker; the compliment had slipped past him. 

“Steamie is who I am. Is Fat Gum not who you are?” They chose to ignore the comment, it was muttered anyway, as if the hero was embarrassed. It was polite to not intimate customers. 

“Toyomitsu,” the hero said and pointed to his chest; a smile stretched across his face. 

“It was nice to meet you, Toyomitsu.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Fat Gum -- or Toyomitsu as he preferred -- was absent from the shop, until several weeks after their first meeting. 

It was closing time and Steamie was locking up. Despite their dingy location, the baker only carried two keys; one to lock up and the other to unlock their apartment. There were better things to steal than confectionery. 

“Long time no see, huh, Steamie?” 

The thunderous voice obviously belonged to Toyomitsu; unique and hearty. 

The baker flinched at the sudden noise and swiftly turned to the BMI Hero. His face was no longer taunt and long, but instead, squishy and soft. Chubby cheeks that were made for pinching and a soft, bulbous belly. The man before them sounded like Toyomitsu, but his hefty frame was the opposite of the hero Steamie met. 

“You’re… Toyomitsu, right?” Remembering names wasn’t one of Steamie’s strong suits. 

A light blush crept across Toyomitsu’s face, ending at the tips of his ears. “That’s me! Kinda surprised you remembered, it’s been awhile.” 

Steamie nodded and finished to lock the door, pocketing their key. 

“I was wondering,” Toyomitsu began, “if you wanted to get a bite. It’d be my treat!” The hero’s tone was excited, like a child asking for a sweet. ‘He’s so enduring like this… reminds me of a teddy bear.’ Steamie’s lips curled into a petite smile. A secret between friends. 

In truth, Toyomitsu wanted more than a dinner date, but any meaningful relationship is built on friendship. At least that’s the advice he offered to Red Riot. The pro hero wanted to kiss the baker and pinch their cheeks; all while cooing at them. 

“No thanks, I’m exhausted from today,” Steamie replied. They saw Toyomitsu’s wide grin falter and felt a pang in their chest. ‘His face is just too cute!’ “Actually, I don’t live far from here, and I have some left-over pastries. They don’t sell like my eclairs.” Anything Steamie baked was delicious, Toyomitsu decided. 

“Sure!” He eagerly replied. A grin encompassed his face as the couple walked towards the baker’s apartment. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The BMI hero sat across Steamie as the baker dove into another work related story. He adored the spark in their eyes, like tiny sprinkles decorating a vibrant treat. A treat he wanted to admire and cherish. Watching Steamie become animated while they talked caused Toyomitsu’s heart to quiver against his ribcage. 

Steamie -- to their credit -- truly opened up after several cups of wine; slurring and excited. Their thoughts were no longer accidental blurbs, but drunken fragments. 

“...an’ that’s why I don’ keep sugar an’ flour!” 

Toyomitsu nodded, tufts of blond feathered around his forehead. 

“Wanna touch your cheeks, can I?” The baker asked, their voice small and childlike. This was the first sentence that wasn’t a slurred mess, and yet, Toyomitsu still felt heat bloom in his cheeks. 

Gently, Toyomitsu brought their small hand -- that his own dwarfed -- against his cheek. The baker’s touch was warm, like fresh baked bread. Without realizing, the hero nuzzled into Steamie’s palm. 

‘So soft…’

“Yeah, you are.” The alcohol had made Toyomitsu brave, lion hearted and flustered. 

Pink sprinkled across Steamie’s face as they withdrew their hand and buried their face within their palms. “Sorry,” the baker slurred, “you… You look so ‘oft.” 

Toyomitsu chuckled at the mumbled apology. “S’ok, you’re cute.” 

Steamie let out a soft gasp, “Cute? Dunno ‘bout that! But I think your cheeks…” They weren’t accustomed to compliments, especially compliments from a teddy bear. ‘Wanna bury myself in his chest.’

“You can.” 

Steamie’s face was uncovered and ever red, the baker unable to justify hiding the inferno that burned into their cheeks. 

The baker devolved into a red and squealing mess; unable to form coherent sentences, like little pieces of creamy confectionery. The pro hero wondered what their plush lips felt like pressed up against his… They looked so small, so delicate. A treasure he wanted to covet. The hero’s large, calloused finger reached up and quickly swiped across the supple flesh. ‘Like a flower petal,’ Toyomitsu thought. 

The baker drifted into Toyomitsu’s lap; scorching and far too big for their frame. “Ya smell ‘ice,” Steamie mumbled and buried their face into the gigantic man’s chest. Fluffy and cozy, like a pillow. “Like a pillow!” Steamie couldn’t help the outburst. Toyomitsu wasn’t a man, but a plushie they wanted to bury themselves in. He was velvety and felt like home. The baker inhaled his scent, trying to memorize the floral notes of his laundry soap. Vanilla and honeysuckle. 

Toyomitsu petted their hair, running his fingers through long strands. Even their hair was soft. Steamie was a squishy marshmallow he wanted to keep. He wrapped an arm around their small body, hyper aware of their delicate structure. Warm hands began to rub Steamie’s back as they nuzzled against Toyomitsu’s sweatshirt. ‘Feels like a hug.’

“I know you’re enjoyin’ me, but -- uh -- can I kiss ya?” The alcohol hit him fully now; the hero too enumerated to be bashful. Steamie looked up and was greeted by lemon color eyes that held utter kindness. 

Their tongue refused to cooperate, the baker only able to produce a curt nod. Their face was a blazing wildfire, a vibrant array of pinks and rogues. 

Slowly, Toyomitsu pressed his chapped lips against the baker’s mouth. The kiss was slow and sloppy, neither party capable of coordinated motion. Toyomitsu brushed his tongue along their lips and tasted sugar. His mind was clouded with lewd thoughts of the baker as he finally broke the kiss; greedy lungs heaving -- desperate for air. 

“Ya taste good, wonder what this tastes like,” the pro hero pondered. His hand gently palming between their thighs.

[everydayanth]

Having followed the science side of cannabis over the past few years with J working on research teams around the US, this is all shit that NEEDS to be talked about. 

The cannabis industry is full of rich ass bros and I have so many stories I don’t even know where to start. As a complete outsider moving with J, I had a front-row seat to confusion and chaos, and as someone who grew up poor in a diverse neighborhood and schools (which I am incredibly thankful for), then studying social science, the sudden immersion into the world of Cannabis was a wakeup call for me. I understood the theory of white privilege, I understood the application of it and how it worked, but there’s an economic component I never had access to. I was on the same free lunch programs and going through the same foreclosure threats as my neighbors, and I didn’t fully understand the racial component of that until I saw it in Cannabis. 

When J got dropped into Cannabis research because of a sudden start-up failing to follow its investor requirements working in biotech (it was a big deal, so I’m not going to mention specifics, since we’re still in an odd place with all this), we had moved to the west coast from the midwest where Cannabis was still 100% illegal and problematic. I grew up in the midst of gang wars over drugs, calling it Marijuana (can you hear the white accent?) and being warned about the devil. I’d witnessed several people murdered over Cannabis in my neighborhood through gang violence, or else locked up by police for seemingly no reason. 

Cannabis and minority culture were very much intertwined in my mind, and I understood it as a cultural difference from my white religious family, who fought among themselves about alcohol allowance according to God, and respected the law selectively (so the whole “bUt It’S iLlEgAl” argument was a joke).

Cannabis was in the same debate as beers, wines, and liquors, but it still held memories of violence for me. Though I know those incidents were more about power, control, survival, and a means around a racist system now, at the time of moving to the west coast, Cannabis was a duality to me: a misunderstood cultural component, a criminalized tool for a racist agenda, and a thing I saw so many depend on when life got too hard in the way of alcoholics – a thing that would stop me from leaving if I let it too close. 

J came into biotech from a pre-med/criminal justice education. He is very well versed in the War on Drugs and the legal history of the US being a racist, white supremacist agenda for cultural, legal, and economic authority through institutions like religion, education, and law. For him, Cannabis and minority cultures, both Mexican and Black American (and, as we learned from friends in southern California, also in many ways Native American) were intertwined as well.

So when his company dropped him into Cannabis, then moved us around several times with unfulfilled promises and broken contracts, both of us were new to Cannabis and astounded at the whiteness of the industry. Of course the white stoners of the 60s and 70s were spearheading it though, they had the money and their minority counterparts were in prison. It’s wrong, it needs to change. But I was naive to be surprised by it. 

What really affected me though, was the people with money. They were everywhere in the industry and they were old-money white or upper-middle class converted drug-dealer white. But by all accounts of my and J’s education and experience, it should be a minority-lead industry, right? People whose cultures value the cultivation of the plant should have far more interest, ability, and practical/research knowledge. But they were cut out by the nepotism, money, and white privilege (i.e. criminal justice system). 

The science initiative was: analyzing this plant will help us understand the pieces of it and what can be used medicinally or how it is currently helping so many conditions. A great intent, J even got to work with some amazing researchers, but science needs money. So the focus quickly shifted again and again to investors. 

And the investors were always white. They were always men. And in my experience, they were genuinely horrible people. 

We felt so stuck. Exhausted, our stuff had been in storage for years, contracts were falling through, we never knew where we were going or when. This wasn’t cushy science or higher academia, because universities get federal funding, so they can’t invest in something that’s federally illegal without jumping a lot of hurdles. Additionally, many minorities can’t afford to invest in something that is federally illegal. It’s a bigger risk, a vulnerable position to make your interest known as a minority in the industry – not with the prison and arrest ratio numbers the way they are. 

The investors and businessmen were playboys. They talked about bitcoin and big money, went to clubs and cheated on their wives and girlfriends, and tokenized, exoticized, and appropriated minority culture. They invested in research until they made the start-ups worth something with the promise of science, then withdrew their investments and stocks, doubling their fortunes and dissolving the company. Or, as was most often the case, just cutting the research budget after using the science research as an attraction for other investors, and hoping the science guys would quit before they got fired. If they quit, they’d be bound by the do not compete clause and couldn’t use the research with a competing company, which means the current start-up could retain the IP. But they would hang on for long enough to have to be let go, taking their IP and starting again.

They should have started their own lab instead of relying on a company to fund them. But to get a license to work with Cannabis as a plant, as a thing that can’t even cross state lines or be in a lab with out a license/card, you need to qualify by state standards, and generally only the big companies do. So even if they started their own place, they’d have to leave Cannabis, and at that point, they had some incredible research halfway done that could be really meaningful and helpful to a lot of people. Working in several states, the message became clear: this industry is a playground for people with money to make more money and everyone in charge wants to keep it that way.

I’m not in a place yet where I can consolidate my experience as an outsider with an ethnographic distance. I get a pit in my stomach when I think of an investor who took us out to dinner in Seattle. J was working tirelessly, doing 3 people’s jobs because they refused to hire more people despite having the money, he filled in basic hourly positions to compliance and legal staff. They were a small company and continued to make huge mistakes. Going out with investors, we were told, was part of the game, part of the obligation to getting the funds to do the real science. 

Working from 6am-10pm and coming in 7-days a week was part of getting a salary at $40k, part of being a scientist and checking experiments and building data and value. Being versatile and filling other roles like marketing and compliance, that you could be held legally accountable for as an individual in some states (J did great though, he was fine), is part of working for a start-up, is part of a new industry, is part of new science! They did everything they could to normalize practices that we didn’t have enough professional experience to identify as wrong, inefficient, or red-flag warnings. 

But we learned. And we did make a difference sometimes, changing important minds about the value of Cannabis, the need for federal legalization, decriminalization, and the importance of accountability regarding pharmaceutical corruption. But the investors, oh how I dreaded the word investor. 

And this was a big one. 

He took us to a restaurant so dark I couldn’t see my food and pushed together fancy dinner-date-for-two tables in a long line to accommodate everyone with the air of someone who was accustomed to fixing everything with money. His son worked in the company and was the reason the guy was investing. My end was the tag-along-SO end, and our discomfort was palpable. 

Usually at investor dinners, we ended up paying our own bills because important people would leave sporadically or, I dunno, they were cheap? They’d cover the C-Suite and we’d be left on our own, or, and I really hated this, they’d each order 5 drinks and the most expensive entree and then split the bill evenly, so the poor people like me, who budget their spending, ate an $11 meal with a $6 beer but paid a $60 cut of the whole bill (buy more drinks then, take your share, wealthy peers have yelled before – but then the overall bill is still bigger, so that literally doesn’t help me at all; don’t eat anything then – well, that doesn’t really feel like an option at a big business dinner). 

Or, the really shitty one, someone would order a round of drinks, then expect you to get the next round. If this is standard cultural practice where you are, awesome, you have a social agreement, this is not standard here though, and meant actual multi-millionaire investors expected their own hourly employees or $40k salary workers to buy a round of drinks for 5+ people on a regular basis. Do you know how fast that adds up? And, here’s the shitty part, they would start with “you wanna get this round and I’ll get the next?” and then never get the next. EVER! They’d be fall-down drunk or disappear. This happened weekly.

Over and over it happened in a world of overconsumption, privilege, wealth, and the desire to have no worries, party hard, do drugs, yeah! Which, fine, but not when there’s such a power dichotomy and economic disparity. I started to see the tricks, the cons, the advantages, the selfish narcissism, the cheating and taking from others without sharing, giving, or participating in the group. The investors were not part of the group. They didn’t care about the science, they cared about profit margins and knowing when to jump ship with the largest pay off. It got to the point where I (arrogantly, probably) felt like I could screen investors and tell after a single dinner if they were going to scam the program or use the science to get licenses then dump them, or never actually give them the equipment to do their work. There were a few who genuinely cared.

Anyway, this fancy restaurant: we didn’t know who was paying, but I opened the menu and the absolute cheapest thing was a caesar salad for FOURTY-NINE DOLLARS! 

But no, we don’t get to order our own food. Fancy investor says we all must try this specific steak because it’s his favorite, one for everyone! Which makes it sound like they’re paying, but I’ve learned you never know. One girl was vegan and I tried to jump on that train to go for the comparatively reasonably priced salad, but alas, decisions had already been made, wine was being poured without question, steaks were being served, and at the end, checks were served down the table in a neat line of leather books, a bill was put in front of the two of us for $250 and my jaw dropped. The server goes “Mr. [Name] has kindly taken care of the wines for the table.” WINES HE ORDERED AND STEAKS HE INSISTED WE EAT! Ugh, I was so confused and angry and sick of the talk and playing nice and making friends. I went to the bathroom and hyperventilated with J texting me that he’s done and we need to find a way out (but remember the IP and non-compete clauses, getting out is hard). 

The guy ended up paying for everyone. It was $7,000. I can only assume he wanted us to see the bill and his generosity, or that the CSO said something about people not being able to afford it. Either way, that same story repeats itself over and over: white millionaire man invests in cannabis as quick buck, no interest in science, makes fortune and leaves with no legal retribution. 

When J worked with UCI, they tried to press for legal retribution for fraud against a company that had partnered with them, but it didn’t stick because the independent companies have the money, the power, and the law. 

It was like living in a reality tv show, in a bubble where the real world happened outside. If you move between places often enough, you don’t fit in either. I tried to stay on the outside, but most of those guys tried to stay on the inside. And on one hand, I get it. They see fast cars, easy money, models and big parties, they grew up white and wealthy without realizing it because they have no context of diversity or poverty, they don’t actually see the harm they cause, they don’t actually care, because all they want is to fit in the bubble. It’s infectious, addictive for them.

And I despised it because being inside the bubble made me physically ill. It wasn’t anthropological fieldwork, it wasn’t removed from my life, I had no safe home base to return to, to think and consider and code notes, this was my life. 

Now, we are just about to pass the two-year mark living in RI. It will be the first time we’ve lived anywhere for more than a year since we moved from the midwest almost seven years ago. We’re recovering as a team, as a couple. I’ve gotten more done in the last two years than the 6 before that combined. We got to travel to so many places, and actually meet some amazing people. The companies moved us and paid for housing. There were benefits is what I’m saying, I don’t regret our choices, because I didn’t know what the consequences would be and we made each choice together. We’ve learned so much about each other from the experience. And we survived it together, and I’m proud of us for that.

J ’s all but given up on science now, we left the millionaires to their parties and drugs and alcohol and broken relationships, and I should mention, because I know my tone here may seem dismissive in its generalization, that I learned a lot about stoner cultures and rave cultures and drugs and more about history and criminal justice, and I think there can be a time and place for drugs and alcohol, and that Cannabis should be legalized and fully decriminalized. 

What I am fed up with is the wealthy and their context bubble, the investment in their friends, the quick scams that are perfectly legal and make them richer for doing nothing, and the irresponsibility; the avoidance of confrontation, integrity, and honesty, disregarded for a quick buck. Lives left a mess in their wake with no jobs as the company falls apart. For me right now, the Cannabis industry is being lead by people soaked in the slime of deception hoping to make money with the same corporate structures of taking advantage of their workers that their fathers used before them. It is currently a racist, classist industry, sure there are some amazing exceptions, but as a whole, there is a problem with where the money is coming from and going to. 

 Most of the investors I’ve seen support Trump’s policies (passionately and often because they personally benefit), while the workers adamantly oppose or avoid caring about politics at all. Just because you’re a fanatic about something doesn’t mean you get to stop caring about or considering the impact of what you do or the world outside of it. If you work in Cannabis, know who you are working for and what the impacts of your work are. I have found that, more than any other industry, Cannabis seeks to maintain a status quo in white power, authority, and culture (re: religion, morality, ownership, wealth, cultural institutions, legality, etc.), while retaining the image of being individually diverse, subversive, and rebellious, leading to intense appropriation, exoticization, tokenism, and continual reinforcement of white privilege and classist power.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say on it right now. I’m exhausted. I need to go recharge and find some hope. But I think making people aware of these areas that don’t get seen, because they don’t want to be seen, is part of building hope. People starting to look around and realizing how many millionaires there are, and how easily they make more money this way without social contribution, is part of identifying the problem, and I am eternally grateful to comedians like Hasan Minhaj and Trevor Noah, who look in these dark corners and find a way to make us all look with them, stirring up conversation as we decide what to do about the mess. 

[atypical2020]

The start

This is the start of my journey, not the end. This is how everything surrounding my child came to be. It is the way I navigate and fight for my child. You see, ailments that are not physical, ones you cannot see, the ones inside, well they are treated differently. For some reason there is a poor stigma attached to anything remotely related to mental health. Which it’s 2020 people, I know the world has gone to shit but mental health is just as important as physical health and that shit needs to stop. You are not less than simply because you have a mental health disorder. 

See my child is not neuro-typical, or atypical. This basically means that her brain does not work the same way as a “normal” brain. Signals are mixed or absent, delayed or too fast, basically anything different. This manifests undesirable behaviors that cause strangers to shake their heads and whisper their thoughts. “Oh if she were mine I would beat her.” “Oh, it’s another bratty child with no discipline.” Then the looks come in from people, and it used to bother me but now I really don’t care what they think, all I can do is try and educate people. To help bridge that gap between typical and atypical. Here is a simplified background on what my child experiences. 

First, is ODD, and no many haven’t heard of this little beauty, Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Let me say ODD is a bitch and everyone that deals with this knows this. Picture a child protesting to do a task that they don’t particularly want to do, and how that might lead to a tantrum or a slight fit, but overall stops fairly quickly. Now, a child with ODD takes that protest to the next fucking level of crazy. Screaming, fighting, throwing things, refusal, everything. It becomes a lengthy war that is utterly exhausting. If my child doesn’t want to do something, there is no force on earth that will make her until she decides it’s time. On the flip side, if she wants to do something she will whatever the cost or punishment she does not care. 

Next up is ADHD, a more widely known one. My child has trouble with sorting things out in her head. Her thoughts race and her mind can work against her. For example, her body will tell her she needs to go potty, but her brain says no, very conflicting for a child to sort out. She also has a difficult time focusing and not being able to concentrate on a task. This means she needs extra time for tasks to be completed, slow and clear instructions, and the patience for the signal to get there. It also, frustratingly, means that she is often forgetful and has to be reminded daily and often of what is expected. 

Then we add in some possible SPD, or Sensory Processing Disorder, into the mix. Again, her brain gets the heebie jeebies when it comes to things based on the senses. Loud sounds, bright lights, textures related to touch and taste, and strong smells can lead to discomfort. Certain things like clothing tags drive her nuts, sudden loud or annoying sounds can set her off, food textures and consistency will cause her to not eat certain things.  Picture that scene from Dumb and Dumber of the most annoying sound in the world. Hear it? Now, amplify that by 10 and try to function. Nails on a chalkboard set your nerves? It’s similar to that feeling randomly and frequently. Her thing that she absolutely won’t touch is anything that has a mashed consistency. No mashed potatoes, forget the cauliflower, can’t do guacamole, na-da. 

So mix these all together and you have my child, my Big, as I will call her. All this is going on inside her head and she is a child. You can’t see these things in her head, you just can see outer response and not the internal chaos that is going on. I know it looks like Big is having a tantrum, being a brat, not listening, being wild, loud, undisciplined, and basically everything that outsiders give the stink eye over. But think of this: you go into a store with bright lights, many other people, varying temperatures, different sounds near and far, and the smell of people and food. Would you be slightly on edge? Possibly, however, as an adult you have had time and experience to learn to process and deal with this and usually results in an irritated sigh rather than a puddle of emotion on the floor. Children do not come pre-wired. They are still trying to sort all of this out while I am like, OMG please stop/don’t/hurry/ *insert a verb* and yes I know this, but it doesn’t make things easier. The big thing to remember is children are not tiny adults. They are learning social and cognitive skills. They are figuring out how to self-regulate. They sort though which responses are acceptable and which are not. This is something many adults struggle with and I do admit, before all of this I thought the same way. The cosmos led me down the path I am currently on, in order for me to become a better advocate and parent for my child. Now, I am trying to help others understand a child’s way of thinking and how things work inside, while not completely losing my shit in the process. 

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 47: Sixth Mask

Chapters: 47/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), A Lot Of Things Happen All At Once, You Might Have Been A Little Hasty,  Summary:  You gather up the courage to confess to Loki.

Through a sleepy haze, you realized that someone had entered the room with you. It wasn't Loki, but an unfamiliar woman-probably a healer's apprentice-who approached you and stroked your face.

“Just one more to go.” She murmured. “It's you, hmm? How unusual. I wouldn't have expected that of Asgardian aristocracy. Oh well. He's brought this on himself.”

She left then, without doing anything else, leaving you wondering, in your drowsiness, if she had just been a dream.

                                                                      *****

“Look, you can say that the royal family has a tradition of charity as much as you like, but we don't have a huge reserve of resources anymore.” Brunnhilde argued. “You can't just snap your fingers and get what you want. Where are we getting the money? Where are we getting the builders? Ours are all tied up in constructing the city! We don't have the bodies, we just don't have them!”

“I'll contract other humans to do it!” Loki suggested. They'd been at it for a few minutes now, working out kinks and blocks to his plan. “Humans built these things in the first place; they should know how it works.”

“They don't build them anymore! They build...I don't know, tasteful three-bedroom apartments, and things like that!”

“No, they do.” Thor interjected. “I've seen this 'reconstruction' Loki speaks of. I once visited Sweden on an Avengers world tour-press conference event.”

Loki snorted.

“Yes, I know, but it's not much different than a royal procession, is it? We needed the positive PR at the time. And they greeted me specifically with a longhouse they had built according to archaeological finds. They thought it represented Asgardian living quarters.”

Brunnhilde laughed. “Did you tell them?”

“Of course not!” Thor said. “They put so much work into it, and they were trying to honor me. It was a heartfelt gift. So I stayed there, and I 'consecrated' it for them. It's a museum now. But my point is; there are enough people who know how to build these things that they were able to do that, and it's not the only one they've made in modern times, so we should actually be able to hire contractors who know what they are doing.”

“Okay, but again, where are we getting the funds?” Brunnhilde continued. “This is a lovely plan, sure, but it's pure fantasy unless we get the cash!”

“I'll...just...figure something out.” Loki grumbled. “There's got to be some way a god can make money on this planet.”

“You could strip.” Brunnhilde suggested.

“I shan't!” Loki refused. “There must be something else, something less base. Besides, no one wants to see my flesh. Why don't you strip?”

Brunnhilde shrugged. “I could, but I'd be keeping the money.”

“How about you ask _____? She might have some ideas.” Thor suggested. “Honestly Loki, if you want to know anything about Earth, it's probably best to ask the locals.”

“Yes, yes.” He griped. “Fewer surprises, more involvement, I get it. When she wakes up, I'll present her with my idea, and see if she has any suggestions.”

“Do you have any meetings today?” Thor asked.

“Just a few. I'll get them done early, and we can discuss things over dinner. I wonder if she likes candles? I'll set a few out and see.”

Thor fondly watched his brother rush to his duties, still bursting with ideas. It had been a long time since he had seen Loki look so hopeful. This time would be better than the others, he was sure.

                                                                           *****

You woke fully, what seemed like hours later, all fuzziness and drowsiness banished. You felt great, in fact. When you swung your legs over the bed and hopped to your feet, there was no residual dizziness, and when you rubbed the side of your head, there was almost no pain.

The healing machines certainly did a good job! Maybe they were adapting to your alien physiology? Either way, you were grateful for it.

When you checked your tiny hand mirror-one of the trinkets that dangled from your domed brooches, it didn't seem like your face had gone back to normal yet, but maybe it would take more time. Or maybe, since the bones had already healed, they couldn't be convinced to 'heal' any further.

Either way, you should probably go let Loki know that you wouldn't need that wheelchair any more. In fact, you were going to just leave it here, so someone else could use it, if they needed it.

Everyone in the healing wing was busy with the mystery illness, so it was easy for you to slip out unnoticed. No one else had died from it yet, but no one had gotten any better either. You didn't need to pull any healers away from their jobs to send for Loki; you would just go find him yourself.

And while you were feeling so good and fresh, perhaps you should discuss your feelings with him as well. After all, if you got it out into the open, and let him reject you, then you could get over it faster and start fresh, without it all bubbling over in your mind. Better to just get it over with.

                                                                             *****

The last meeting was over, and Loki slumped wearily on the throne, exhausted by how many people still seemed to think they could live and make demands the way they used to. It had been so much easier when he'd been Odin. The people accepted his verdicts; they argued with Loki, lied to him, tried to manipulate him, as if constantly forgetting that he knew what they were doing. Or perhaps they simply didn't take it into account, perhaps they were just doing what they had always done, and were incapable of fathoming that anything had to change. But that woodenness, that rigidity always led to collapse in the end, and Loki meant to keep that from happening. They would have to learn flexibility.

But he was done with that for the day. Now he needed to drum up some candles for a nice dinner with you, and see if you had woken up yet.

Compassion. You clearly valued it, and so, he was going to show it. You would just love this plan of his, he knew it. He would show infinite kindness to these dedicated humans, and you would fall madly in love with him, and-

He was getting a little ahead of himself. It wouldn't be that easy. This was just one step in the journey to prove himself. You had seen the prince and you had seen a little bit of the god, but he still had to show you the man. Who was Loki, under all the titles and fame?

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, straightening up in the throne when he saw you quietly enter.

How swiftly the weariness fled at the mere sight of you! How his tired mood soared at the prospect of spending time with you. He thanked the Norns for you.

“Come, enter! I see you are walking on your own now. How do you feel? Do you hurt at all?”

You smiled at him. “Only a little sore, hardly at all. I'm walking just fine now, but if I have any problems, I'll let you know.”

“That's very good to hear. Would you like to take dinner with me? Formally, I mean, not in our rooms. I'll have something nice made, just for us.”

“You mean, like a date?” You asked, almost teasing. Loki sat up straighter.

“Well...if you want to look at it that way, I certainly cannot stop you. You can approach, you know. You don't have to keep your distance when I am on the throne.”

“I'm not interrupting anything?” You asked. “No more people to meet, no more problems to resolve?”

“Not for today. It's just us now.”

“Oh, that's good. There's something private I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Private?” That might be a good sign. If you wanted to open up to him, that meant you felt close to him, and trusted him. Something felt odd about this though. Like the hazy unreality of a daydream. Like you were reading from a script of things he wanted to hear.

He swallowed as you approached. Had your hips always swayed like that when you walked, or was he only noticing now that he had admitted his feelings to himself? Either way, it was doing things to him.

Thank the Norns he always had the prescience to wear long tunics...

“Loki...” You purred once you'd gotten close enough that he could hear you do it. “I need to tell you something. Now, you're free to take this as you will, I don't expect anything from you. But I can't hide this anymore.”

“Yes?” His voice came out more excited than he'd intended. Could it be?

You leaned over him, arms resting on the throne, and his pulse hit a fever pitch. His eyes torn between yours, your lips, the soft swell of your breasts under the modest clothing you preferred, the memory of which was still etched in his memory...

“I've been feeling strongly for you lately. I've come to care for you, and I think I might even be falling for you. I know that's probably not what you want from me, but I thought I should let you know.”

“No! That's exactly what I want from you!” The words burst from him like an inexperienced youth, someone so full of emotion that he could no longer properly manage it. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. “ I feel the same. _____, I adore you! I would do anything for you! Anything!”

Some tiny part of his mind nagged that this was too good to be true. The cynical part that didn't believe he deserved happiness. This was all happening so fast. But you had always been a little unpredictable in temperament; it was one of the things he liked about you. Perhaps you had simply realized how good he could be for you, and decided to go with it. How could he argue?

“Anything?” Your smile dazzled him, taking his attentions away from his doubts, the insistence of his lie-senses that something was off. “Then kiss me Loki. Have a well-deserved reward!”

You pressed your lips to his, filling him with pure, electric bliss. It drove every doubt from his mind; the slightly wrong scent of you, the suddenness of it all, the odd hollowness of your back, none of it mattered. Only the delightful experience of your mouth.

By the time he recognized his growing weakness, it was far too late to pull away, and he found he did not want to. He didn't want this moment to end; he was happy to die here.

It seemed you were going to make sure that he did.

                                                                                                                                                             *****

Heimdall rushed through the halls, face layered with concern. He did not recognize what he had just seen, but he knew it meant danger. People jumped out of his path, knowing that he, of all people, must be given the right of way. Few things could make Heimdall run.

“Your Majesty!” He cried, bursting in on Thor's solitary dinner. “I have seen danger in Asgard.”

Thor leaped to his feet. “What? Where? What is it?” He demanded.

“I am not yet certain. I have never seen such a being before, but someone has invaded the city. Every time I looked, her face was different, but I can see the strings of life she trails behind her. She is responsible for the illness of the workers, though I know not how or why.”

“Where is this being?” Thor asked, grabbing Stormbreaker, which he had leaned against the wall nearest the door.

Heimdall's orange eyes scanned through the walls.

“The throne room.” He said finally. “Hurry!”

                                                                                                                                                *****

You wandered the halls, seeking out a guard who could speak to you in a language you could understand. When you finally found one, he seemed very confused to see you.

“Oh, you must go in circle. Must get lost.” He said, when you asked where Loki was. “Throne room. That way, then that way, then that way. Two doors.”

You got fewer stares nowadays, most of the people in the palace complex having seen you often enough to no longer find you all that unusual. No one bothered you as you made your way towards the throne room, wondering if the murals had been finished yet. There would be so many paintings on the walls by the time the artists were finished, that you didn't think there would be a blank spot anywhere.

You found what you thought were the doors the guard had referred to, trying to remember if this was the same place you had met the king to sign yourself to citizenship.

Well. It was time to confess, and come clean. Maybe he would reciprocate? No no, it was best not to hold that hope. This was just to clear the air, so that you could move on.

You quietly opened the door.

You quietly closed the door.

It seemed you didn't need to wait for his answer after all.

[prxttypxrker]

our endgame [T.S]

fandom: Marvel

pairing: Tony Stark x OC (father-daughter)

word count: 2,607

summary: after five years of pent up guilt and and helping each other cope with the loss of those who didn’t survive the snap, the two girls find themselves in a sudden situation they hoped for, but never really believed would come to play

tag list: @nerdypisces160

A/N: I don’t want to put too much happening in these chapters because I don’t want this to be or feel rushed so they will be relatively short. Also, the events will not 100% be based on endgame because this fic idea is actually based off of an rp I had with a very good friend on discord that I felt would be amazing as an actual story. So as future reference for everyone that reads this—NOT 100% BASED ON ENDGAME. THERE WILL BE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MOVIE EVENTS AND FIC EVENTS

—

pre endgame

two

She was exhausted, that much could be said. Day in and day out for the last half decade, her friend would visit just to find that she wasn't in the house, but out in the backyard exerting too much energy. It was only a miracle that those who were left never saw her doing what she did every morning, afternoon and night. The activity was so prolonged Tala was sure her best friend got little to no sleep. That day they both discovered the other was still on Earth, she'd seen the never-ending result of visiting Tony Stark and the toll it had. The search for how to get their friends and family back never left either of their minds, but at the same time it was too difficult to figure out on their own. Even if they discovered a way to save everybody, it was two against the universe—an odd that was never going to be in their favor.

Tala marched through the tall grass that led to the fenced in yard, immediately coming to view with the many targets and practice dummies. Any size, shape and form of a sword—all covered in either a dark glow or blue sparks—laid in a pile against one side of the fence. She bent over and tried to pick one up, only to have black electricity nearly shock her if she hadn't moved back in time. She sighed and stood up, facing her friend. “Kirsy.” There wasn't a response as the brunette continued to make various hand movements to strike the objects in front of her. “Kirsy. Mind taking a break for a bit?”

Said girl let out a rough breath, the light and dark fading away from everything they engulfed as she set her arms down by her sides. She straightened up and turned to face the only person she'd really had any form of contact with since then. “If I take a break then however much time I spend on it is less time to get stronger.”

Tala rolled her eyes, walking toward a bench covered by the shade of the trees from next door. She patted the spot beside her, waiting until the slightly older of the two gave in and sat in the empty space. “You've been doing this almost every day for five years. You can't stay cooped up in this townhouse blasting everything in the backyard and then replacing them for the next day. You've used it up too much.”

Kirsy chuckled humorlessly, making her friend frown. “I'm not like you, Tala. I can't live knowing that all of them just... aren't.”

“What's the point of surviving being wiped away if you won't do just that? You've been working your ass off non-stop for months on end. You're definitely stronger, so now you just need to take a real break.”

“But Peter and the others-”

“They can wait until we have an actual plan. We can't go who the hell knows where with powers blazing.”

Silence. It filled the open air and hung in the small atmosphere of the pair's own little hero club. Kirsy knew she was right—it was obvious. All that time spent draining herself and her powers each night was starting to take a physical and mental toll on her. What the founder of Stark Industries said himself rang in her head every second of each moment she was still breathing, and instead of using it to rationalize she used it as a fuel to keep going. To her, each and every minute she spent doing anything but training was a pointless minute that everyone who didn’t make it were trapped somewhere. There was really nothing that interested her after the events of the Snap. Whatever career she wanted to get a jump on during high school was long forgotten. Any goals written on her bucket list had no reason in being done anymore. She didn’t even feel like learning anything, but the impeccable loss of half of the universe was something that also kept her needing as much knowledge as possible. It didn’t really feel like there was much of a purpose for the pair of young adults, or at least not for her. It still didn’t feel right to try and have a good life while so many people were gone.

As the girls sat in this familiar and comfortable quiet, a somber look settled on Kirsy’s face.

Flashes of her encounter with Tony slowly transitioned into a recurring dream she’d been having at least once a week for the past few years. A dream that plagued her mind from day to night, never ceasing to rewind and play all over again whenever she stopped to take a breath or get those minimal hours of sleep. It wasn’t that he was in the wrong. She learned soon after she left his home that day that he wasn’t. It was the fact that he was right. If the people who protected Earth for years weren’t able to get everyone back—if the iron legend himself was trapped in a limited oxygenic ship for days and nearly died—then there was nothing he could’ve done for her. Even if she showed him what she could do and he said yes, the others were still living their own lives as best they could during this time of loss, grief and moving forward. It was obvious there was no plan of action or hints to lead them somewhere, but she didn’t want to stop trying. No matter how much Tala scolded her or how weak she became in other aspects while she became stronger within her powers, it just didn’t matter if they couldn’t be brought back. And she had to do it. She had to get everyone back home.

Kirsy cleared her throat, gaining the other girl's attention. “I guess you might be right.” Tala raised an eyebrow, not saying anything in order to let her friend continue speaking. “I need to let myself relax. It’s been five years and there have been no signs of...”

She trailed off at the sight of a shining object in the sky. It wasn’t easy to make out what it was, but it was easy to see that it seemed to be hurtling toward them at a speed no human or all heroes could ever muster. Tala followed her friend’s gaze and her eyes widened. “What is that?”

“I don’t know..” A flash of colors made it familiar to her, though no chance could be taken. She didn’t know who or what was left behind after the Snap, and she wasn’t going to take any risks or chances even after all this time since then. “Do you remember how to shape your shield?”

Tala scoffed, “I may not have run myself ragged but I know how to use my powers.” Without explanation, she closed her eyes and took a breath, the brown of her irises now a purple hue. Purple light engulfed her hands and she began to make a shape with her hands, drawing together a force field that would only grow around the back yard and themselves, leaving an open circle at the top. Once the almost transparent shield was up, electricity surged and sparked at Kirsy’s fingertips. She brought them closer together and tied the live wires, creating an arrow that she was able to shoot into the sky. There was a slight pull when the arrow attached itself, and a jolt went off in her system, and she held onto the rope it created before pulling it down to the ground. In mere seconds the object landed with a loud thud, crashing into some of the targets that were still up. The two let the products of their abilities disappear, both pairs of hands still glowing with the colors of their magistry as they approached the formerly unidentified object. As the smoke from the crash began to clear up there was the familial shine of red and gold. When a cough resonated from within the metal shell, their eyes widened.

All that could be said then was, “Oh, shit.”

“What did we do?!”

“We?! I’m not the one with the shock-y hands!” Tala exclaimed, quickly going to remove the dirt and target dummy remains from atop the man in the suit.

two and a half hours later

“I am so sorry, Mr. Stark. If I knew it was you I definitely wouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s the sixth apology you’ve given me in the past two hours.” Tony told her, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I suspect you don’t usually go around hurtling flying people towards you with electricity coming out of your hands.” The man stated, an ironic tone lying underneath his words.

“Nope—just you.” Tala replied with a grin, not at all letting herself fan girl over the super genius and instead choosing to joke around.

Kirsy glanced between her friend and former chance of saving her other friends. It was weird watching this unfold before her. Approaching him that long ago was completely different than him flying toward her only to end up getting some circuits messed up by two young adults. This time wasn’t a search and beg mission. This time he came to her, and nothing in her occupied space of mind could muster up a reason.

“Mr. Stark..” she started, gaining the attention once more, “why are you here?” She looked up at him. “I mean I came to you five years ago asking for information, which I got, and help that you said you couldn’t give me. We haven’t been in contact since then.”

Tony gazed at her, setting down the coffee the girls made because they felt bad about the incident. He could see the desperation, as well as the fact she practically reeked of it the moment he was fully aware of his surroundings again. He had no clue how strong or weak she was when they had their first encounter, but it sounded like she didn’t let up since then. The force she had in those few seconds of her and her friend defending themselves was something he never thought he would come across; at least not in the form of a 20 year old short circuiting his most recently upgraded iron armor with electric currents that shot out from her fingers. And the other girl? That shield she conjured was definitely something he had never seen before.

After the sneak attack he received earlier that day, he took time to think back to when Kirsy marched herself into his life that day, only to drag herself back out when he couldn’t help her. He was racked with guilt every day since seeing the look on her face when she left, and when the others approached him that morning reconciling with her was one of the first things on his mind.

He cleared his throat noticing the gap of silence between the three of them, and set down the mug in his hand. He leaned back against the chair, shoving his hands in the pockets of the hoodie he wore underneath the suit. “Some... friends came to me today. Asked for some assistance in creating a sequence that would allow us to go back and get the stones.” The girls’ eyes widened, but neither moved to interrupt the stay-at-home scientist. “I didn’t want to help them at first. I was able to build a life past what happened; I couldn’t jeopardize that again. But memories made me figure that I at least had to try. I did it, and I know I told you I couldn’t help,” He kept a steady look on Kirsy, watching the realization form an expression on her face, “but now I can.”

“So you’re asking for our help?” Tala raised an eyebrow, the anticipation eating away at her on the inside while hope and suspicion shared the stage on the outside.

Tony cast his orbs her way as he stood from his spot, now looking down at the two girls. “I guess I am. So what do you say, kid—you ready to go save your friend?”

“And the universe.”

“Yeah, that too.”

The pair of best friends shared a glance of what could only be a flurry of excitement, anxiety, hope and the readiness that was questions seconds ago. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening to them. She spent half a decade wallowing in self pity and staring at photographs pinned against her wall and mirror, missing those she lost more and more every day. Her dad, her aunt and cousin, her friends, her coworkers, her crush. Everyone but Tala was out of her life for good. Well, she thought it was for good. And even though that seemed to be the case a shred of her never lost sight of the theory on what happened and the possibility that she could have done something back then if given the chance she lost months ago. Now that chance was standing in her half dining room, staring down at her and her lifelong friend and not only offering help her way but also asking for her help in return. It felt like her daydream was coming to life and her nightmares could finally cease to exist, and it was already starting to feel like a weight being lifted off of her shoulders.

With a grin in place of the earlier neutral formation, Kirsy nodded her head firmly. “We’re ready, sir.”

A ghost of a smile twitched at the ends of the man’s lips. “Good, then let’s go.”

Tala’s head snapped toward his figure when he started to walk to the front of the complex. “Wait wait wait. We’re leaving now?”

He turned to look at her with a shrug, raising a brow at her question. “Does that sound like a smart question to you?” The Filipino narrowed her eyes at him. “Look—I have a super soldier, an expert assassin, a thunder god, a green giant with glasses, a girl with proton blasts for hands, and a blue space cyborg sitting around in my old tower. Do you think I want to go waltzing in there without an entourage?”

Tala rolled her eyes and a chuckle resonated from the Dominican girl’s throat. The bickering pair looked over to see her already grabbing keys from a side table by the front door. “As dumbstruck as I am right now, I’m not wasting time in taking this opportunity. So let’s get in the car and go.” No one protested while she marched her way out the door, not bothering to lock the door when everyone was outside because how many people were even left in this city for her to lock her house for safety.

A double beep sounded from the vehicle and she opened the driver door. Tony groaned when he realized he would be sitting in the backseat like the third person of any group hangout, but also not complaining to being able to have a driver for the day like he used to. As he was about to let himself into the car Kirsy announced his name and he shot her a questioning glance. “I may not be making you fly to your old house, but if you call me your entourage one more time I’m going to shock you on purpose this time.”

“Testy.” He muttered, giving her a sarcastic look before getting in. Yet he couldn’t help but still see a part of him in her, and his motive of having her on the team for this grew a bit more.

[annakie]

Thoughts on a DW Rewatch & Mass Effect replay.

So I’m in the Eleven / Clara half-season now.

Also I’m now replaying Andromeda.  I have thoughts, about both.  I’ll start with Doctor Who then label it when I get to Mass Effect stuff.

Oh my God this gets long and rambly.  Apparently, I have a lot of thoughts.

So, season 702... I’m ready for it to be over.  I miss the Ponds.  I felt like most of the first half of this season was pretty great, honestly.  I’d forgotten how fun some of those episodes were, I think at the time we were anticipating a new companion so heavily that it was harder to appreciate those episodes?  I feel like there was a lot of criticism levied towards them that now I felt like was a bit too much.  The western episode was kinda meh but still not bad.

I’m not sure what exactly it is about these Clara / Eleven episodes that I’m still not connecting with but I’m in the middle of the Crimson Horror episode (which is a Vastra/Jenny/Strax heavy episode and enjoying it more than anything else so far this half-season.  

*edit later* NOPE NOPE NOPE I’D FORGOTTEN HOW THE DOCTOR FORCES A KISS ON JENNY.  GROSS.  SUPER GROSS.  SHE’S A MARRIED WOMAN, A LESBIAN AND DID NOT CONSENT TO ANY OF THIS.  BAD DOCTOR, BAD.

Honestly even with some excellent guest start acting, the Russian Submarine episode was STILL a slog and the ghosts in the 1950′s episode no better.  Like they still weren’t ridiculous and unwatchable but... just didn’t feel fun or interesting at all?  The Journey to the Center of the TARDIS episode was decent, and I felt like that wasn’t nearly as cool as it should have been..

I remember reading a criticism of these episodes early on where they said that the biggest fault is that they failed to give Clara any real characterization or solid personality other than “girl the Doctor is obsessed with”.  She’s SUPER IMPORTANT but not only do we not know why at this point but it really doesn’t feel... earned?  I don’t recall it ever feeling earned that Clara was supposedly always so important?  “The most importantest companion EVAR!”  

And as someone who stanned the hell out of a character who was hated in the fandom for “replacing” a previous companion I’m checking myself to make sure it’s still not because I Miss the Ponds.  Like, I don’t HATE Clara, I just, at least at this point in the rewatch, can’t find any reason to really LOVE her?  She’s there, she’s fine, Jenna-Louise Coleman is doing a great job with what they’re giving to her but... I don’t know.  It all feels... off.

I had forgotten all about the “the Doctor rides a motorcycle up the side of a skyscraper” moment and something hit me in that moment that made me remember that wow people hated that moment.  It felt really... shark-jumpy somehow.  

I love Eleven, but this half-season isn’t connecting with me, AT ALL. It feels like the writers just went and dug through a bunch of rejected script ideas, polished them up and were likle “let’s just do this until Matt Smith is gone.”  I’m anxious to get to Twelve.

Mass Effect Stuff

OK TECHNICALLY I haven’t finished ME3.  I still need to do the party and the goodbye scene, (Citadel Epiloge Mod installed) but I’ve gotten all the Stuff and done all the missions in the arena.  I just wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet, so I started Andromeda a bit early.

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

OK look I had a point I wanted to make and never quite got where I wanted to go with it right here.  I’m too tired of trying to fix it, so this stands as written.

This playthrough had me ruminating a lot on Kaidan and Garrus.  I really love both of those characters, though in my heart I’ll always primarily love Kaidan, I’ve done the Garrus romance and wouldn’t mind playing that character again to see the romance one more time.  In ME1, I bring Kaidan everywhere all the time, and pick which other companion I bring to the story-based missions based on what I know is gonna happen like I’m sure most people do.  Wrex for Therum, Tali for Feros (though I REALLY wish you could switch before going to see the Thorian), Liara for Noveria, Ashley on Virmire, Garrus for Ilos/Endgame.  I rotate through all five for sidemissions.  

In ME2, Garrus is my always-bring companion, with Garrus + Miranda being my favorite team.  Except after the Omega relay, where characters with Throw really shine with all those husks running at us, Jack holds the bubble, and Miranda and Thane, who both have Warp to help take down the Reaper Baby, are the preferred team.  Also so Miranda can tell TIM to fuck off.

Then in ME3, once the game opens up, Garrus is back on the perma-team, with a preference towards bringing Liara along... until we get Kaidan back.  And then I realized I didn’t bring him to a single thing except a side mission or two until Earth.  Mostly, this is because I’m following the Kaidan Banter guide and it turns out Garrus is a real banter hog for most of the missions.  At leat he’s not James, who I literally never use unless I’m going on an N7 mission and feel bad that I haven’t taken him off the Normandy in awhile.  I mean, even Javik gets more play.  Also EDI doesnt leave the Normandy til near the end when all of a sudden she gets real important.  

But Garrus is always on the team for Priority Earth.  And that always felt like the way the main game should end, with your two favorites.  (Also what kind of monster wouldn’t bring Wrex to the combat-centric areas of Citadel DLC?  I keep thinking I should have runs where I bring other people but... Wrex is my other fave and we don’t get him with us AT ALL since ME1.)  

I love Garrus, so much.  And I was thinking with this whole parallel DW rewatch / Mass Effect replay think I’m doing right now how both Rose Tyler and Garrus Vakaraian are characters that were ruined for me for awhile due to their respective... overly enthusiastic fanbases who a small percentage of were dicks to people who loved other characters.  The Kaidan tag (and from what I understand Thane got some of this too, but not nearly as bad) was a pretty hostile place for awhile (and yeah I used to check the Garrus tag too and there was a small amount of tag-invasion there but uh, like 5% of what the Kaidan tag got) which made loving the character of Garrus a lot harder for awhile.  But when actually watching seasons 1 & 2 / the end of 4 of DW, or actually playing the games, those characters are awesome.  

Fanbases can be amazing or terrible, and time and time again I think you start to realize that no matter how great a fandom is, there are going to be a few people who can only enjoy themselves by feeding on drama, or on lifting up what they love by stomping on other people/characters/plotlines.  Going back through my blog reminded me that even the TAH fandom had some of this, with a small percentage of fans being real dicks to two prominent female characters in favor of their favorite ship, which soured even that just a tiny bit.  

It’s not fair to characterize everyone who loves a popular thing as someone who does this.  It’s also hard to avoid completely because there will always be jerks, or young/new people who don’t realize what bad form they’re showing.  I did learn by trying to fight it for a year or two, that responding might help that one person not do it again, but it’s not going to stop overall.  Maybe yelling a lot about Martha Jones did change some people’s minds.  It still isn’t that good of a look now, even knowing that in general I was pretty polite and logical about it.  I might respond to an odd comment now and again in some favorite character tags, but in general, turns out that kind of fight just isn’t worth it.

And those fights seem so stupid in the light of everything else happening in the world today.

Anyway, don’t be a dick about the things you don’t like.  

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

I also wanted to say, and I know I said it in a few other posts about this ME3 playthrough, but seriously I cannot believe how much ME3 is a changed game because of the modders.  I cannot imagine ever playing ME3 again without these mods.  There were so many small things that I kept thinking I should take note of to talk about and I’m sure I forgot 90% of them, but there’s things like... adding in mentions of the Andromeda Initiative, closing a few plotholes, mentioning Emily Wong, adding in many more Spectre console options which end up having their own plotlines, adding in an entire plotline about the VI civilization that had previously only been talked about in like, social media or Cerberus News Network posts, having the Normandy be so much more populated, seeing so many more other species on the Citadel with more variety in clothing for those species that have clothing / could have more variety, way more female Turians.... every time I play ME3 the game is more and more like the game we wanted when it came out.  

I am kind of itching to go back and replay it even now.

But hey, instead, its time to talk about Andromeda.

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

So first of all, yes, mods for Andromeda.  A few appearance mods, a lot of convenience mods.  

After having recently played DA:I and I think Andromeda and DA:I are a lot more similar than Andromeda and the previous trilogy, I had decided it was time to cut down on the stupid stuff Andromeda does, like “Oh, you want minerals?  Spend 10 minutes in each mining zone finding the PERFECT place to gather materials or you’re fucked”  No, thanks.  I’ll mine but give me that “one probe placed anywhere and you’re done” mod.  

Make the modifications and crafting materials I use actually matter. 2% damage increase is nothing.  Make my squadmates not suck because I remember doing 90% of the work myself before and that got exhausting with the number of spawns.  

I tried to not go overboard so things feel like cheating, but there’s enough out there to just get rid of the stupid stuff, and it’s nice.  And works together a lot easier than the DA:I mods did.

One thing I did do was install the Multiple Romance Mod.  I enjoyed it in DA:I, even though ultimately I only did 2 full romances.  I am **NOT** romancing Gil or Cora with the mod, I just wanted to experience all the content available for female Ryders at once, since I’m not going to have the energy to replay this 100+ hour game enough times to see every romance on its own.  So I am poly-romancing Liam, Jaal, Vetra, Suvi, Peebee, Keri, and if it lets me, Reyes when it’s time.  

I’ve only gotten all the way through Andromeda once (where I romanced Liam)  My second playthrough was right after my first and stalled out about halfway through (was romancing Jaal.)  It was one of those “I’m totally gonna get back to this! (She didn’t.)” things.  I’m gonna be honest, I enjoyed the Liam romance and was enjoying the Jaal romance, I’d done a fling with Reyes but not the full romance my first time through and the fling with PeeBee on my second.  Reyes was probably my favorite out of all of them.  So this time I decided.. let’s see which I love the most, all at once.  I don’t know if I’ll do this in the future, but this game is too long to not see all the content I wanna see, TBH.  

And you know, I still really do like Andromeda.  It’s a GOOD game.  And I’m forever going to be mad that we’re not going to see how this story ends.  This story deserved to finish being told.  Like, there are a lot of very legit criticisms about Andromeda, but it didn’t deserve the harshness it got.  And the worst thing about it, and DA:I both is that... there’s just a little TOO MUCH of it.  100 hours is an amazing amount of game but... it’s also just too much.  For now I’m not trying to 100% this playthrough.  My plan is on each planet to get the planet to 100%, take out the Kett or whatever major base, the Remnant Architect, and yeah probably clear out the sidequests that show up on the map, but fuck quests that are like “visit random Kett camps until you find the right datapads that don’t show up on the map!” or “scan random blobs in the forest that don’t show up on the map!”  

So like, do the content, not the filler.  

I still hate the vaults.  The first one is cool.  The rest are tedious.  But they’re mandatory.

I love everyone on this spaceship though.  They did the Tempest stuff SO WELL.  All the companions I think are... good?  There’s no one I don’t like, even the non-squadmate shipmates ship have so much interaction and so much to do/say.  It’s not like “a bunch of randos and Joker, with occasional appearances by Chakwas and the Engineers”  There’s no randos, it’s just a few people you have real interactions with, and its great.

The lack of enough beds in the bedroom will never not annoy me.  There’s 4 beds for... Lexi, Liam, Cora, Suvi, Kallo, Vetra and Gil?  Even if Liam slept on his couch, and Vetra put a bed in her supply room... still doesn’t add up.  What, do Salarains not sleep or something?  Does Lexi sleep in a medical bed?!?  Peebee sleeps in the escape pod, Jaal brings a bed with him, and Drack’s like “Eh I’ll just sleep in the kitchen”.  WHAT?  THE KITCHEN?

I mean sure there weren’t enough beds, even with the sleeper pods, on the Normandy either, but somehow that was less disturbing.  

Also, I know you’re supposed to HATE Director Tann but I love Kumail Nanjiani so I find it hard to be a total dick to him, even if he usually deserves it.  If he wasn’t an anti-Krogan racist I think it’d be easier to like him.  He was thrown into a pretty shitty situation and... did actually hold things together for some time.  He’s not doing anything out of malice.  He’s a dick, but also doing what he needs to do to keep the Initiatiave going.  Oh, except for being a anti-krogan racist.  (Honestly, I also think  “until he turned Cerberus Udina was just doing his job pretty well” too, so...)

Taking some screenshots as I go.  I mostly just take screenshots for me now.  I have a few thousands screenshots from a dozen or more games rotating through my desktop background, and I keep adding to it, and love it.

Anyway, I’ve gotten Eos, Voeld and Havral to 100%.  Time to go save the Moeshe.  I’m having fun.  

*edit from later* I’d forgotten that... idk if the dialog they recorded for Jaal was the first thing they recorded for him or they used a different VA or what but on the Save the Moshe mission his voice is VERY DIFFERENT and oh man, that is still bad.

Might take a break for when Onslaught comes out for SWTOR, though.  I haven’t really played SWTOR in months. Oops.

[starfaring-princelotor]

To Break A Geode

Summary: Prince Lotor discovers how fickle emotions can really be between Allura and Reader. 

Pairings: Lotor x Reader, Lotor x Allura

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Warnings: Jealousy, ambiguous friendships.

“Stay away from Lotor,” she said, “He can not be trusted.”

There was a condescending tone in Allura’s voice when she commanded the group to obey her order. One that you recognized when Keith was outed as being half-Galra. You didn’t like it, but the team came to an unanimous agreement anyways about the Prince. Bringing an arm up to rub your elbow, you glanced down at your feet in slight discomfort. One voice couldn’t win versus six, so against your personal judgement, you followed the crowd. Perhaps you were just...surprised with the sudden turn of events.

Given, you didn’t trust Lotor at all either, but it left a bad taste in your mouth to just treat him like a caged rat after he swooped in and saved everyone. Not just Voltron, but the coalition and Blades of Marmora as well. Then again, you knew how the Princess thinks. You knew how everyone in this room thinks. Weighing the good deeds versus the bad. That’s all this war really was, right? Fight evil with the universe’s strongest weapon to come out victorious for all subjugated free-kind.

Once everyone had filtered out of the room, sans Keith, you sent him a worried glance. Did he hear that same tone, too?

Knuckles softly rapped on the metal door, though you were sure the Princess could hear you over the hum of the Castle’s engine. The door slid open and Allura’s brows rose up in curiosity, to which you sheepishly waved at her. Those dual-toned eyes showed you everything: she was tired. Exhausted. Stressed. And she had every right to be in the middle of this abrupt change of plans. Her familiar gentle expression came back when you offered her a kind smile. The smile of a close friend.

“Come in, come in,” her room was, well, suited for a princess, “What are you doing up so late? I thought you humans loved to sleep?”

Allura sat on her bed, patting the plush blanket besides her, and you followed suit with a small laugh, “We do, but I just wanted to...well, Allura, about today, when you said - how are you holding up?”

Her smile faltered just a bit at your question.

“I mean, with everything. Are you...you’re alright? Earlier, you just seemed a bit…” you waved your hand in a circle, but Allura’s heavy sigh halted your words.

“I...” she started, face downcast in slight shame, “I suppose with Voltron almost being destroyed as well as all of our hard work - our months of planning only to fail - everything has been a little...taxing.”

“Hey, you and me both. And the team. Everyone was just way too tense. Made me a little nervous too, y’know? You could cut the air with...with a flaboxian knife. Flaboscian?”

Allura finally, finally cracked an honest smile at your joke. That wasn’t the right word, but she appreciated the way you were comforting her time of need with that horrendously, incorrect Altean accent. You were all friends on this ship and as such, you found ways to ease the Princess’ heart when her duties became too heavy on her shoulders. The Princess meant well, you know it. She was royalty, yes, but still maintained that positive outlook on life. Sometimes, she just needed a friend to show it to her once in a while.

“Here, c’mere,” you opened your arms, offering her a hug and she surprisingly accepted it without a fuss, “Just take a deep breath, alright? All this stress is gonna give you white hair.”

“I already have white hair.”

Another laugh, this time from the both of you. She pulled away with an appreciative smile gracing her face. Your hand rubbed up and down her arm, making sure she was fully relaxed. You noticed Coran do this for her several times and, once you asked her if it would help, she agreed to let you try during one of her more emotional and vulnerable moments. And, well, you’re damn glad she trusted you.

“...I suppose with Lotor here, on my ship, the stress keeps stacking up like that Tetrix game. Is that the one? The one with the blocks,” Allura asked and you grinned, happy she too was making light of the situation with lame references.

“Yeah, one of my favorites,” your eyes flicked to the side momentarily before you took a deep breath, “...Allura, about Lotor...I think we should - I’m going to talk to him.”

Instead of returning back to her order hours ago, she shook her head in disapproval, “I do not think that is a great idea. He’s cunning, a snake. You saw how he could take down Voltron just by himself. He has an ulterior motive and I don’t trust...”

You gently squeezed her arm, thumb rubbing little circles on her sleeve, “What? So we’re just gonna...keep him in there? Forever? ‘Till he passes out from boredom? C’mon, Allura.”

Her eyes swam with uncertainty, for your safety, for the team’s safety, for the universe’s safety.

“It’s your ship, your rules, but I really think if we gave him one chance…”

The catwalk to the cell wasn’t the hardest part. Neither was staring down the infamous Prince Lotor. No, the most difficult part of this whole situation was beginning a normal conversation with the exiled man before you. He had watched you the entire time, minding your every step, every sway of your arms, even the bounce of your hair. Since team Voltron had carted him off to this cell, he has had no one visit his prison. Well, that is, until now.

In fact, he had no idea who you were. The intel his generals gathered led him to believe you were a stow-away, some unfortunate refugee team Voltron took in out of their bleeding hearts. Nonetheless, Lotor did not like that he had no useful information about you. He stood to his full height, most definitely dwarfing your smaller self, but you only offered him an innocent smile and open heart.

“Hey, can I get you something while you’re there?”

He arched a sharp brow and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Now, you squirmed uncomfortably and waved your hand in a loose motion.

“The..Paladins are busy at the moment, but I can bring you a, uh, book? A meal?” you tried again and, this time, a spark of curiosity flicked behind the Prince’s eyes, “C’mon, I’m not trying to interrogate you or nothing. I’ve been in your position before, I know how boring it gets in there.”

Well, if you wanted to play like that, then he supposed he would allow it. Just to pass the time, he reasoned. Your odd sense of kindness was refreshing after all the events that took place, but oh no, he would not admit that out loud. Lotor’s eyes softened, just a bit, just to give you a fake sense of security, then he sat himself back onto the marble sofa. Not the most comfortable spot, but prison is not meant to accommodate anyone’s wants.

“Yes, I suppose some company would be appreciated,” with every word he spoke, your smile grew, your trust grew, “You are an Earthling, correct?”

“Uh huh,” you plopped onto the floor in front of his cage, hummed then looked up, reconsidering your answer, “Well, I - sorta? I was abducted. Peacefully.”

Those two words did not go together in Lotor’s mind and it only made him want to ask more questions. It must have shown on his face for you chuckled lightly at how silly “abducted” and “peacefully” seemed to contradict each other. To him, it sounds like you willingly surrendered. Were you that foolish of a human? Lotor waited patiently for you to continue as your laughter died down, allowing a short silence between you two.

“It’s...a long story.” “Darling,” Lotor finally cracked a small smile, “I am not going anywhere.”

Your eyes lit up, “Alright, so, we have this endangered species on Earth called tigers...”

Lotor stood in front of your door, tall and regal and, strangely, wondering why he was here. He had his own personal agenda to do, his own plans he needed to follow, yet his feet led him to your room. And in his hands? A bowl of what Hunk called “chicken noodle soup.” Yes, a strange flu has been making its rounds around the castle, though it only seemed to be affecting humans. The Alteans and himself were considered lucky.

He knocked on the door and, once he heard a faint “Come in,” the entrance opened. There, laying under a thick comforter in the dimmed room, was you in all your sickly glory. Rosy nose and cheeks, sniffling with tissue scattered over your lap, and a holographic screen floating in front of you. A quick glance and he saw you were looking at pictures of tigers. Lotor tsked, eyes lowering in disapproval, but you only met his look with a bashful one of your own. Caught.

“You are supposed to be resting, are you not?” he stepped in, three large strides, then sat at the edge of your bed, “I believe it was Shiro’s orders.”

“But I am resting!” a flat, blank look from him, “Aw, c’mon...you gonna rat me out? Tattle on me? That’s pretty lame, Lot - Prince Lotor.”

“I will do it,” blunt and to the point, then Lotor offered you the tray, “Only if you do not finish your meal. Hunk said, and I quote, ‘The only thing that should be left is the spoon.’”

“Does he want me to eat the bowl too? Yeesh,” but you smiled and Lotor mirrored it unconsciously, “But, really, thanks for bringing it.”

Lotor gave you a nod and let you eat, his eyes wandering around your room. A Voltron poster signed by the crew, some odd plant, a showcase of what looked like gemstones and...rocks? Crystals? You saw his inquisitive gaze stick to the glass and, with a grunt to get his attention, you pointed at the display in excitement. If you didn’t have the bowl of very hot soup on your lap, he wouldn’t have doubted you’d jump up and get it yourself.

“You know what those are?” you motioned for him to get one and he did, bringing you one of the more larger rocks, “Here, I’ll show you. These are geodes. You got geodes on - ah, look, I’ll just demonstrate, okay?”

You were practically vibrating in your seat while you dug into your bedside drawer and took out a laser tool. The soup laid forgotten for now, but Lotor was intrigued by what he first thought was junk ore in your hand. It certainly looked like garbage, but judging by that knowing gleam in your eye, you were about to teach him a thing or two about geology. You pushed the tip of the laser pen close to the rock’s surface, just about ready to flick it on.

“Ooh, this is the best part,” you turned it on, a humming red glow cutting into the surface and Lotor’s pupils focused intently on it, “What do you think is gonna be in it? Quartz? Calcite? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some opal!”

Your enthusiasm was contagious and Lotor was now waiting in...anticipation. Forget the food, forget your sickness, he wanted to know what was inside this rock. What has gotten you so riled up that you would even forgo your own meal and your own illness? Once the laser cut through all around the rock, you placed it on his hands, but all he did was...stare. What was he supposed to do with this?

“Now, you just crack it like you’re opening an egg,” you made the motion with your hand and Lotor followed suit.

The geode opened with little force and Prince Lotor actually flinched in surprise by the loud noise. He was definitely not expecting that, but when the shimmering crystal glimmered in the dull light of your room, he parted his lips in awe. It was so...purple. Deep, dark shades of wine slowly mixing into soft lavender greeted his eyes and he felt like he found a sacred treasure no one else had discovered before.

“Oooh,” your eyes widened at the mineral, “I was hoping for a cool gem. Balmera has so many different stones, much more different than Earth. But, hey, it’s amethyst! Wow, I haven’t seen one so opaque before.”

“Amethyst, you say?” he repeated while bringing it closer to his face, “It is quite...gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it? And there’s even more mysterious ones in those geodes,” you felt better, whether it was the soup or spending time with him, you weren’t sure, “Hey, why don’t you keep that one? It suits you.”

Both of you conveniently missed each other’s flushed cheeks.

Allura noticed. Her sharp eyes saw the way Lotor’s gaze would slowly drift to stare at you when everyone was in the same room. She could hear the soft inflection in his voice every time he answered one of your curious questions. She noticed how casually you two would sit close together and even go as far to playfully touch his shoulder or allow him to place his hand on the small of your back. You two were happy, but Allura was not. She was suspicious.

“- and he told me that the Galra have this thing called, uh, c...cnark…cnarktyqgw...” your hands paused in braiding her hair as you tried to remember how to pronounce the word, “Ah, well, I can’t say it, but apparently it’s a type of gem that changes colors depending on your mood. Isn’t that the coolest thing ever? I want one!”

Allura was worried about you. So happy, so care-free, so easily manipulated. Or, perhaps, she just didn’t want Lotor to take you away from her. She didn’t want you to get hurt. Who else would be here to offer comforting hugs when life became too overwhelming for her? Who else could possibly talk so freely to her like an actual friend? Who else will gossip childishly about how the latest fashion on Earth was simply horrendous? Allura felt you continue your braid, but you had gone quiet, whether because you were reminiscing about your time with Lotor or you were too focused in your handiwork.

“You two are getting awfully friendly,” there it was, that faintly concealed threat, but even you could hear the hint of concern.

“Well, yeah, we’re great...friends now,” your cheeks tinted at that, “I think I like him.”

And yet, when you said those words, Allura’s heart softened. You were genuinely delighted. Delusioned, perhaps, but happy. As your friend, was she not supposed to intervene? Protect you? Enforce her warnings even more? As your friend, was she not supposed to be just as cheerful for you? You, who supported her. Wasn’t it time she did the same? Allura decided that now was a good time to get to know Lotor more. Set some boundaries, so to speak.

“Is...that a bad thing?”

“Darling, a word, if you have time,” Lotor, ever the proper Prince, stood tall and serious in the observation deck.

You were sitting on the ground, knees pulled up to your chest and arms caged around you for self-comfort. Allura had told you their plan to turn him over to Zarkon in exchange for Pidge’s father. You knew why they agreed to do it. They cared so much for Pidge and her struggle to find her father. It was the emotional choice and, if you hadn’t met Lotor before, you weren’t sure if you would completely disagree with their decision. Now, though, things have changed. Your heart has changed.

“Y...Yeah?” your voice was shaky from crying and after you stood up, you hastily wiped at your tears before facing him.

Oh, Lotor was falling in love with you. When you looked up at him with wet eyes, openly distraught and vulnerable, his heart felt the urge to protect you. So, he did. He brought a hand up to gently thumb away your tears, but the touch only urged more to fall. Your frown deepened and he carefully brought you close in a tender hold. Instantly, your arms wound around his waist, clutching him in hopes to stop time itself.

You could not help but let one thought run through your mind: Did you not deserve happiness?

“If this is to be our last moment together, then may I kiss you, little star?”

May I give you a piece of my love should fate deny me another day to live?

You gave him your answer by nearly leaping up on him and meshing your lips with his.

“Emperor now, huh?”

“Are you surprised?”

You huffed at him and his cocky, little smirk, but holding him in your arms, you can not even begin to tell him how relieved you are he was alive. After the Kral Zera fiasco, leaving you worried and alone a second time, you had half the mind to bop him one right across the face. Instead, you cupped his jaw and released an exasperated sigh while his hand gently combed through your hair.

“I was...concerned, maybe,” you admitted to which his grin only widened even more, “Okay, I was very concerned. You came back all broken and bruised, what was I supposed to think? You fell down the stairs?”

Lotor chuckled at the irony, “Then allow me to alleviate your worries and repent for my past grievances. Would you care to join me for a walk through the garden?”

“As long as you tell me where you got each and every plant, then yes.”

He liked that about you. The never-ending thirst for knowledge. Though, while strolling through the thicket of his carefully laid out garden, he had to cut the tour short. The lab called him about a new discovery and, while you were happy he and Allura were working together now, it did make you a little sad he had to leave so suddenly. You knew nothing about this magic they were researching on, but regardless, you occupied your time with snooping around the ship. Perhaps find Lotor a small gift to drop on his bed, something to show you still appreciate all he has done for Voltron. For you.

Allura hadn’t meant to let him hold her hand any longer than necessary. In the heat of the moment, of her doubts when it came to the Altean knowledge hidden in her mind, she allowed Lotor to quell her thoughts. He was comforting, encouraging, and gave her all the right words to boost her confidence. Lotor was actually...friendly. Just like you. That was why you two stuck together like stars and space.

“I can not do this without you,” Lotor pleaded, eyes imploring for her help.

You were able to befriend him, and more. She took your advice with a grain of salt and decided to give him a chance, only because she knew it would make you proud. To see your close Altean friend flourish, forgive, accept that there are more to people than just what is on their skin, what their culture instigates. A small part of Allura was still clinging to the idea of Lotor somehow manipulating you. Lotor somehow manipulating her. She couldn’t let go of that, not when so much relied on her shoulders as both a Paladin and the last Princess of Altea.

Allura chewed on her bottom lip, still hesitant, but did not pull away from Lotor’s grip, “What must I do?”

Allura understood now. You were not weak for accepting him. You were strong. Brave.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Months passed and you saw Lotor less and less. Yes, there were some days Allura and Lotor allowed you to hover around them while they worked because, well, what are friends for? They spend time together, all three of you, and it was fun. It started out fine, enjoyable even. The three of you sharing different knowledge, different perspectives, different ideas. But there was something growing between Lotor and Allura. Something you refused to believe before your very own eyes.

Allura wouldn’t do that to you. Lotor wouldn’t do that to you. They were your friends.

The first stab was when you kissed him. After a long day of staying cooped up in the lab working on those revolutionary ships, you had asked him to join you for dinner. Some one on one bonding time. It was refreshing, listening to those stories about distant planets and how he once rode a beastly aquatic fish to escape near death. Laughing together, reprimanding him for such recklessness, then he would playfully remind you that he was the Emperor now, and you held no power here. Though, when you pressed your lips against his, you felt something different.

He hesitated.

The second stab was when you were spending quality time with Allura. Grooming her, braiding her hair, and just reveling in each other’s familiar presence like old times. Her hair was so soft, but she was so rough. You liked that about her. You liked listening to her talk excitedly about how plans were finally falling into place. Voltron joining the Galra Empire was stronger than ever and peace was finally seeming possible. Yes, you were proud, but your nose tickled in warning.

She smelled like him. She had his scent on her.

The killing thrust was happening now. Your hands went numb at the sight of them kissing each other, arms embracing in a gentle hold, one you knew all too well. Eyes closed with a lover’s blush dusting their cheeks, mind lost in each other’s passion. They were completely enamored in the lock and blind to everything around them. This was their moment and you weren’t in their thoughts at all. And just like that, you shut down. Your vision glazed over with that dark pit of emptiness and you felt nothing. Not the shake in your knees, not the quickening pace of your heart, not even the pain of knives stabbing into your back.

You were their friend. Weren’t you supposed to be happy for them?

They separated when the sound of rocks hit the metal floor. Those gifts seemed so useless now. Geodes, who would ever want them? Ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside. Were they speaking to you? Who called your name? You could see their lips move, see Allura’s eyes widen in surprise and growing realization. Then, you felt something hold onto your limp hand. Slowly, your empty gaze met his, met Lotor’s, and cosmic eyes you once found so beautiful in the dead of night now seemed completely strange to you. Foreign. Who was this man? And why did he hold no remorse, no guilt, behind those orbs of his?

Just slight concern, like there was a little green bug on your nose.

Your legs automatically pulled you back, out of Lotor’s grasp, and when the door slid close behind you, Lotor felt truly shocked.

Not because you left, but because for once in his life, he does not know what to do.

You were glad your body’s system shut down like that. It skipped over the pain, locked it away for later, and now in the quiet of your room, you were able to try and process your thoughts. Now you felt the sickening clench on your gut, now you felt the creeping discomfort claw into your arms. Now, you felt...alone. Your chest hurt, either beating too fast or beating too slow, and the tears, fuck, they just would not stop. No matter how hard you wiped them away, they just kept falling.

Then came the sobbing, the wailing, the choking and hiccups that stunted your breathing. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. You wanted to sleep, but it wouldn’t come, so all you could do was find a corner and cage yourself. Imprison yourself for now. You needed time and, thankfully, no one had yet to try and step into your comfort zone. And who would come, anyways? What would Allura say? What would Lotor say? What would YOU say? You did not want to say anything. You couldn’t say anything. Your voice did not matter.

Lost and alone wasn’t even the right words. You felt left behind and forgotten.

Lotor had been watching you for quite some time now. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his presence, for when you looked up, sometimes he would see faint recognition flash behind your eyes. Then, sometimes, that haunting darkness would come back and you would recess deep to the corners of your mind. You would sob violently in one moment then go dead silent the next. These turns of emotions within you greatly disturbed his own confused feelings mixed in his chest. It left him feeling sick, as if there was some black acid in his throat deteriorating his insides.

You were docile now. Lotor cautiously grasped your hand and opened your palm, watching your every move to make sure he wasn’t overstepping your boundaries. Then, he placed an oval gemstone in your hand, watching the color switch from peridot green to pitch black. Your eyes glazed back to life, slowly blinking at whatever this was Prince Lotor decided to gift you. He said nothing, for there were no words that came to his silver tongue during this vulnerable moment between the both of you. With you watching, he traced the tip of his finger over the blackened stone. The heat left trails of bright violet in his wake. 

It was so...beautiful.

[sidespromptblog]

Logan’s Darkness: Part 4

Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.

If you’d asked what Insomnia's usual nights were like, he’d probably tell you that it was full of keeping Thomas awake at odd ends of the night, coffee so black and so full of sugar that he could barely stand to stay still for more than a couple of seconds, and doing anything that he could until his body could no longer stand to have his mind awake until he completely passed out from exhaustion. It certainly wasn’t a healthy lifestyle, but Insomnia didn’t classify himself as a healthy person.

To add to it, most of his nightly escapades normally didn’t involve snooping on others, and yet here he was.

Jabber in all honestly wasn’t someone that Insomnia knew a lot about before he had fallen down here in the pit with the rest of them, he was someone important..or at least he had been. He couldn’t be too important now though, seeing as this was where they all went when they weren’t important anymore, Dread had been one of them in the very VERY early years that he could still recall. He hadn’t made quite the noise that Jabber had made coming down though. Not that it mattered in the end, seeing as they all ended up in the same place.

Although, he didn’t really care about any of that if he was being truthful with himself. It mostly didn’t involve him so he just had no reason to care over the squabbles of Deceit and the other light sides, his main concern was getting in enough of his favorite tv shows in as many nighttime hours as he could.

So really, it just didn’t make sense for him to be here with his ear pressed against the door, he listened close and if he held his breath he could faintly..just faintly hear it. Rough but muffled sobs, like someone, was gasping and choking on each breath they were taking in but it was just too difficult. He could hear the catch of Jabber’s breath, the way it seized as if he was trying to keep it all in and buried deep inside of himself, but ultimately failing to do so.

He could just imagine the splotches of tears that stained the other’s pillow, would he be biting the pillow to keep himself quiet? Or was he shoving his entire face into it like a teenager crying over a boyfriend? 

For whatever reason, Jabber struck him as the kind of persona to try and scrunch himself up so very tight as if that would confine all of his emotions into a singular pill that would make it easier to swallow.

But, if Insomnia knew anything about pills, it was that they were very hard to swallow if there were too many of them.

Which is why that in itself surprised him when he felt the dashing sensations of regret and sympathy for the newer dark side who was pretty much wallowing in his own self-pity without anyone to really drag him out of it. Deceit didn’t know how to deal at all with tears, Dread wasn’t much use since he had closed himself off to pretty much everyone, and Malicious...well it would be one massive mistake to even go near him at this time of night.

Insomnia wanted to groan and stamp his foot when he finally realized that it came all down to him to solve this thing, he hated having to do stuff when it was his time. He was supposed to be watching Parks and Recreation again with a coffee in one hand and a pizza in the other, not doing...this.

Still, even as he pouted like a petulant child he raised his hand giving a jittery little knock on the metal door that really felt too cold to the touch. The crying abruptly stopped, and he was pretty sure he could hear sniffling as the footsteps came closer. When the door suddenly opened Insomnia fixed on a smile that was way too big for his face, Jabber’s eyes were rimmed in red and one of the cracks on the other’s face seemed to have all of a sudden snapped over the slope of his nose.

“I was just about to go and get some coffee! Would you like to join me?” Insomnia’s voice was such a chipper sound, and it was something that he didn’t at all feel, then again he rarely did so. The narrowing of Jabber’s eyes though made him committed to the part, the only thing he had on display was cheerfulness and nothing more and he was so happy when it actually paid off.

Jabber gave a short but stiff nod, not saying much as he stepped into the hall shutting his door behind him. Insomnia could have been wrong, but it looked like dozens upon dozens of pictures were spread out all over Jabber’s bed. Were they of his old friends? Had they been the ones to push him into the pit like they did to Dread? Whatever it was, he was sure that it would come to light sooner or later.

After a few minutes, the two of them were sat at the dining room table, Jabber was seated right across from Insomnia looking into the lighter colored coffee that Insomnia wouldn’t be caught dead drinking. He couldn’t help but to wrinkle his nose as he saw the other drinking it so easily, it almost made him gag to watch it. How on earth could someone stomach coffee with only evaporated milk in it?

“May I ask you a question?” Jabber’s voice actually managed to startle Insomnia for a split second, he hadn’t been expecting their newest recluse to talk during their little coffee break.

“Sure, but only if I can return the favor!” He chipperly said, before guzzling down his coffee at such a rate that it made Jabber wince to watch the sludge of coffee and sugar go down.

“May I pass, if I can’t answer.” This was something that Insomnia had honestly expected, questions and answers didn’t come without a bargain. In this case, it was a bargain he could agree to, so without hesitating, he nodded his head before getting up to pour himself another cup.

“Why do you stay up so late? I can hear you sometimes, going through the hallway every night.” An easy question, at least in Insomnia’s mind. Turning around he leaned back against the counter stirring the seven heaping spoonfuls of sugar he had put into his drink. He took an extra long sip before he thought to give an answer, it was never an easy answer for others to swallow but it was one he was able to tell all too easily.

“Because I am afraid, so I stay awake.” He saw the other squinting in confusion as well as curiosity, there may have been some worry in the other’s gaze as well but he didn’t look too deep into it.

No one was ever worried for him, he was a disorder, after all, it would have been better if he wasn’t there at all, but then again life didn’t always work out like that least of all for him.

“Why what are you afraid of?” Insomnia bounded up from his spot next to the counter wagging his finger at the other with a tut, and the deep frown that set on the other’s face clearly showed that he was disappointed. Although he didn’t relent.

Scooting up on the table now, Insomnia got a little bit closer than usual as he asked his question, “Why are you here in the pit?” He chattered off, and almost immediately Jabber’s face gained a pained and pinched look to it, the wrong question.

“I pass.” Came the immediate answer, and really he expected nothing less.

“Did someone make you come down here?” He tried again this time, another pinched look and yet another wrong question to be asking. Jabber chugged his coffee down before heavily setting it on the table. 

“I pass.” Was all that answered him.

It was almost infuriating had Insomnia not understood it so much, no...that was a lie. He was still angry, but seeing the gentle curve of Jabber’s neck as he almost regretfully seemed to be looking down either in shame or his own flavor of regret, Insomnia didn’t have the heart to hold it against him. Despite himself, and despite whatever he had told the others on how he would react upon coming face to face with a light side, he couldn’t hate Jabber for being so short and so distant to them. He was like them now, he was abandoned, forgotten, and apparently useless to the others upstairs.

So he took in a deep breath, if he had spent countless hours rewatching and watching again Parks and Recreations then he could..no he would have the patience for this in order to do it right.

“Alright then smart guy, then what’s your favorite tv show?” And to see Jabber’s eyes peering up at him and lighting up more than usual, well it made this patience well worth it.

Tagging:

@neko-ereri

@violetmcl

@anachronistic-cat

@romanasanders

@fandomsofrandom

[smilinstar]

I was tagged by the lovely @bisexuallaurellance, thanks hun! <3

Rules: 

1. Post a quote or short excerpt from your early days of writing/ARTING.(I’m talking old fanfics/ART, slash fics/ART, original fic/ART, etc., that are barely edited and have a ton of technical errors and misspelled words.) This is the cringe part. Don’t edit anything! Let it be horrendous. Don’t Panic.

2. Post a quote or short excerpt from one of your most recent works/WIPs. Something that you’re proud of. Something that you’ve written/ARTED that makes you smile when you read it.

3. Tag a writer/artist you admire, anyone who you think is amazing, new friends, followers, writeblrs, anyone who you’d like to know more about. If you think someone is a great writer/artist and you want to see how they’ve developed their skills, tag them! Everyone started somewhere.

1. Okay, so I decided, if I think about it too hard, I’m gonna end up picking nothing because my early work was TERRIBLE. So, I decided the best thing to do was to just choose an excerpt from the first fic I ever published online back in 2004. It’s a Dark Angel, Max/Alec fic called Triangle, and I am cringing so much right now, I’m loathe to even link it, but here you go:

Alec sat lounging on Joshua's sofa, one leg hanging off and his head propped up on an old squashed cushion. He had been sitting there watching 'Big fella' Joshua painting yet another Joshua – 'Joshua no. 257' and after watching him for nearly three hours, he could officially say he was bored.

"Hey Josh", Alec called out, "Do you think – "

Joshua spun around and the paint still on his paintbrush flew through the air and landed on none other than Alec.

"Oops", said Joshua with his puppy dog eyes.

Alec just sat there staring back at Joshua, his previously flawless skin now splatted with blue paint. "I suppose that made things a little less boring", he muttered wiping away the paint, leaving blue streaks on his cheek.

"Sorry", said Joshua grabbing the X-5 by the shoulder and rubbing furiously at the blue marks.

"Hey hey, it's fine really", Alec said pulling Joshua's strong hands from off him. "Body paints all the rage now Big fella!"

"Rage?" echoed Joshua with the same Joshua–specific innocence.

"Um, well it means . . . um."

"I thought you took common verbal usage," came a cold familiar voice.

Alec and Joshua turned to see Max standing at the doorway.

"Hey Little fella," smiled Joshua.

"Hey Big fella," said Max dropping the attitude for him. She walked into the room and gave him a big bear hug, which Joshua of course returned.

"So Maxie, don't I get one," said Alec with a hint of amusement flitting across his face.

Ughhh. It’s terrible. SO many errors, wow. Pretty sure I didn’t even get a review the first chapter I published, but I apparently had thicker skin when I was younger and just carried right on despite it. LMAO

2. I like to think I got better. And I’m actually quite proud of some of my more recent work, so choosing something for this bit was difficult. But in the end I went with an excerpt from this year’s love, one of my time canary fics, cos apparently there’s a line in this bit that made Meg laugh, so yeah . . .

It takes her a little too long to realise just who it is she’s looking for. Despite making him promise to show up, she hasn’t spotted Rip once. She has no idea if he’s here, if he’s barricaded himself in his room, or if he’s (more likely) done a runner.

The easy smile dissolves into a worried frown. Hopping off her perch, she starts to make her way through the throng of people, past Lord Voldemort making out with the Blue Power Ranger to slip out into the hallway. There’s a light breeze coming in through the open front door, despite the number of people filtering in and out.

“He’s outside.”

She looks up at the owner of the voice, and finds Ray smiling down at her with a knowing expression that doesn’t sit so comfortably in her gut, but she tries not to read too much into. She shrugs a quick “thanks” as nonchalantly as she can instead, and heads for the front lawn.

The party has spilled outside but it’s not so intensely packed out here. There’s a movement of air that makes it easier to breathe, cooler too in the night breeze. The odd burst of laughter amongst the chatter blends with the steady beat and thrum of bass as the music escapes through the open windows.

She almost doesn’t see him.

But it’s the sing-song sound of “trick or treat!” and children’s laughter that draws her attention. And somehow, despite it all, it makes sense that this is where she’d find him.

He’s crouching down beside the kids, handing out the goodie bags chock full of sweets to rot their teeth, and it’s not that which freezes her in place mid-stride. Nor is it his tweed jacket and bow tie – and yes, it may have been a little low effort for a costume, but it’s more than she could have hoped for, and she’s not one to talk either (blood-stained nurse’s outfit isn’t exactly pushing any boundaries) – no, what it is, is the smile on his face. Kind and patient, and a glimpse of what he’d been. A father.

The kids wave their goodbyes, and Rip’s smile falls as they turn away, disappearing down the sidewalk. A deep breath in and out follows, as if that small upturn of his lips, the minuscule attempt at joviality and light-heartedness, had been enough to exhaust him.

And all of a sudden, Sara feels guilty.

A tidal wave hitting her as she pushes down the lump in her throat. Too much, too soon. She’d forced too much, too soon.

3. I’m tagging @qarciaflynn @theadrogna @riphunter @knives-and-lint @sarcasticfina - you’re all brilliant, and I would love to see a ‘then and now’ of your writing, but as always no pressure, and feel free to ignore if you like. I don’t mind :-)