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binniesthighs · 3 years ago

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dear anon, sweet anon, thank you so much for requesting this <3 i didn’t know that i needed it in my life and now...here it is;) IT WAS SO FUN hehe

melt in your mouth | reader x jisung

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x han jisung

Genre: that good good smut

Summary: After hearing a rather interesting story about a certain brand of chocolate aphrodisiacs, your curiosity gets the best of you and your friend’s roommate, Jisung.....a spin off of bites like bittersweet

Word count: 3.7k

*photocreds to OP!

{see below for tags, nsfw and warnings!}

Tags: aphrodisiac au, somewhat friends to lovers, hints of mutual pining, bestfriend!seungmin, seungmin’sroommate!jisung, hardswitch!jisung, hardswitch!reader, explicit language, mentions of food/eating, hand stuff (r &m), degredation, petnames, dirty talk, unprotected sex (stay safe cuties), creampie, voyeurism, and we love a plot twist ;)

~💋~

two flavors seemed excessive. one flavor seemed like just enough. you didn’t want to break the bank or anything on something that was likely crappy quality or potentially psychedelic; even worse, it could be both.

“and you want to try these with me why?” seungmin pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose bridge and scrunched it up. he inspected the paper wrapper with a skeptical glare. the design itself was anything but trustworthy: in swirly cursive pink font, the name Cherri Amore and under it, a absurdly large lipstick mark with the outline of a couple doing what must have been fucking “spread eagle.”

seungmin muttered, leaning over the counter of the dingy kitchen he shared with his roommates, “proven aphrodiasiac and libido booster...? y/n, sorry, i just--i’m fucking lost here--”

“--ever heard of trying something for the hell of it seung??” you snatched the bar from his hand. “the review that i read online said that it made them crazy fucking horny, so much so that they fucked their best friend of something like five years or something like that. isn’t that insane?!”

your best friend’s eyes blew out with his mouth aghast, “what the hell?? shit--of course you’d find something insane on the internet like this and drag me into it...”

in your incredulous laugher, you threw your neck back so hard it hurt a little. “loosen up! it’s probably a scam or something. plus...if it does work on us...don’t act like i haven’t caught you in the act before...”

seungmin, ever the angel, flushed a shade of fuchsia you thought inhumanly possible for someone to attempt. “that-that wasn’t--that wasn’t what you thought it was!!!” he cast away the chocolate bar as if it were his dick on the very night that you had walked in on something that was supposedly not what it looked like.

“relax!” you punched your embarrassed friend on the arm which he dramatically rubbed into. “it’s not a sin to jerk off or anything. hell, i do it....obviously.”

seungmin chuckled out unsteadily, “well, um, what if it does work then, what do we do?”

you snickered, “ha! hell if i know. cross that bridge when we get there?”

“so what you’re saying is...this could either be a massive waste of our time, or, both of us get so stupidly turned on that we decide to have sex....with eachother?”

“that’s the gist i’m getting.” you took to the corner of the shiny pink paper wrapping at the corner. “but...who said that we had to fuck or anything...?”

from fuchsia to nearly scarlet, seungmin averted his eyes at the speed of light.

“seung!!! do you have something to tell me?!” your teasing grin spread wide and you lifted your hand to give your adorable friend a clap on the back.

“i’m just repeating what you said!!”

you broke the bar open, cracking off the first square on the counter with a solid snap. with a smirk, you offered it to your friend. he reached out, only to nearly jump out of his skin when the old-timey ringtone from his phone erupted in the hollow kitchen.

“shit.” he murmured under his breath, pulling it out and immediately pressing the call button upon seeing the caller. “h-hello? yeah? wait, wait...slow down...the cultures did what?! and you have to start over?? shit--”

before you could have anything to do with it, your friend was already throwing on his sneakers and sky blue raincoat. “sorry, y/n but i have to go. that was my co-worker, they said that something went bad with the incubator, and all of the cultures are ruined, and there’s the stupid lab meeting in the morning--”

“i’m gonna pretend that i understood everything you said.” you hung at the doorway to the kitchen, observing him trip over pairs of shoes and other random-ass college-aged boy items. “you only get a pass because i have a feeling that the coworker we’re talking about here is the cute one.”

your friend rolled his eyes, mouthing a reluctant, “yes.”

“fine then. we can try the chocolates another time.”

“fine--sure--” seungmin grabbed for the handle, “sorry. again.”

~💋~

you felt like the chocolate bar was taunting you, just sitting there opened with two squares all ready for the eating. oddly, you really couldn’t figure out exactly why you had wanted to try them in the first place. for a second, the guilt and loneliness started to seep through and it felt sticky, pathetic, and stung like thorns right into your breaths.

“fuck it.” you whispered under your breath, swiping them all up and walking over to the trash can.

“whatcha got there?” a voice entered the room attached to one of seungmin’s roommates, jisung.

the two of you had met many times in passing, and you had shared enough small talk to consider him somewhat of an acquaintance. from what you had gathered about the boy, he spent much too much time in his room working on his animations and was the dictionary definition of one of those cocky-assholes you had a soft spot for.

“jisung--hey. it’s...it’s nothing. something stupid that i blew my money on.”

“let me see.” he crossed the room, looking wired and overtired as usual.

from staring at his screen for so long his eyes bagged with dark circles, but somehow it made him look mischievous, or something like that. his muscle tank had been cut low to reveal his sides and ribs which flared when he grabbed for the bar of chocolate.

“huh.” he scoffed, “i’ve seen like, infomercials for these things. you were going to try it?”

“yeah...i-i mean--no...i was.”

“what’s stopping you? not curious anymore?”

“window of opportunity passed.”

“i don’t think so.” he grinned, matter of a fact. “i like chocolate.”

you couldn’t quite believe what was being said to you at first. jisung, the boy that you barely knew, was standing there with his goofy heart-shaped smile and all, holding libido boosters and asking you to take them with him.

“you do know what those are, right? what they could do?”

immediately, he popped one in his mouth, nearly like it was a challenge. “empahsis on the “could.””

he held them closer to you, prompting you to take the remaining square which was flecked with little red hard-candy looking bits.

“fine then. you’re right. what they could do.” you downed the candy, crunching it and finding that the quality was certainly not a guarantee. the thing itself tasted halfway between a tootsie roll and cold medicine. “fuck.”

jisung laughed, throwing the rest of the bar away.

“what did you that for?”

“i’m guessing whether they work or not, you might not need them anymore.”

your friend’s roommate slicked his hair back, and ruffled it over his dark eyes. his face was slightly puffed with exhaustion, but it didn’t make him any less handsome.

“so we wait now?” you asked, glancing at the clock.

“wanna order some food or something?” he smacked his lips, “i need a fucking chaser after that.”

~💋~

you didn’t know what time it was; late, probably. after a couple hours of realizing that nothing was really going to happen to you or your friend’s roommate, you had decided to stop expecting it. although, you had kind of hoped...

the sofa that the boys shared was just about as comfortable as you had remembered it. it was large enough to hold you and seungmin’s two roommates on better days, but, once again, random-ass college-boy stuff cluttered at least half of it. it was one of those “dumpster finds” and kind of smelled like a grandma’s house, but honestly, that was what made it so comfortable.

the tv carried on, playing some kind of animated movie that jisung had chosen claiming that the director was some kind of “god of animation and storytelling.” you liked the colors, but soon you felt yourself being lulled and drowsy: your head felt heavy simply resting on your shoulders.

your eyelids fogged, and the sounds from the tv set started to fade into inexistence. beside you, jisung had crossed his arms, but the lack of space had pressed both of your thighs together, and the warmth from his leg started to wash over your drowsy state. your head bobbed, swayed...then fell, directly onto his shoulder. had you been more lucid, you would have cared more.

“oh--” he jumped slightly, and shifted awkwardly.

the room darkened and soon all you could see was the thin line of light that your half-open eyes allowed.

“this-this can’t be comfortable for you.” jisung hushed and clicked the tv off. “hey, you should be heading to bed anyway, it’s late.”

“are you kicking me out, jisung?” you babbled, not really aware of your own words.

your friend’s roommate chuckled, straightening his posture to support you. “i’m not gonna make you walk back to your place at this time of night.”

“it’s only a couple of blocks--”

“--you’ve slept over here before, haven’t you?”

you stretched out your arms with a little squeak.

“yeah. on the couch.”

“you...can’t do that. you’d have to sleep in a fucking corkscrew if you did that.”

“yeah, i know.” you giggled, now finding yourself in a kind of stupor that made you wonder if the chocolates really were doing their job. “i’ll just take seung’s bed then--”

“--he’s! not back...yet.” jisung hugged his arms to himself. “i dunno, shouldn’t he have his bed when he comes back?” he cleared his throat, composing himself. “of course, there’s space in my bed if you’d like.”

“me? sleep with you?”

“yes, with me.” just as he had before, that little challenging edge coated his tone, “only if you’re comfortable i mean. i guess that i’m forgetting that the most that the two of us have shared yet is some wack-ass chocolate so, i shouldn’t be making any assumptions.”

“no, no!” you pounced off from the couch, reaching high to the ceiling to stretch out your sore back next. and, perhaps to let your shirt tuck up just a little bit as you did so. “i don’t have a problem with it.”

jisung nodded, grinning in the half-lit room, cleaning away to-go boxes. you had noticed before, but the way that his triceps tensed when he moved around was really just a little too distracting.

“you can head on in, but--be quieter about it. jeongin is sleeping in here.”

you clicked off a sleepy salute, following the hall down exactly where you had known his room to be, but you had never entered it before. it didn’t surprise you, but it was just as messy as the rest of the place was, and you had to tip-toe around god-knows what to find your way.

after tripping on something soft and sort of damp, (which you prayed was a shower-towel) you made your way to jisung and his face illuminated by the blue-glow of his phone screen where he had immediately jumped in bed after navigating through the room much more skillfully than you had.

“you have an issue if i sleep in my underwear?” you asked, realizing.

jisung paused, wide eyed, but quickly fell back into his casual and cocky smirk. “i mean, that’s basically what i’m doing so...”

“scooch over. i hope you’re not a blanket hogger or anything.”

the bed was already pleasantly warm from jisung having occupied it. it would have felt amazing if you had been as tired as you had been moments ago, but now your entire body felt horribly wide-awake.

“--and if you start to snore, i’m leaving you for the couch, got it?”

jisung let out an airy laugh, shifting and creaking the bed a bit under him, “i don’t snore...for your information.”

with the blankets pulled up to your nose, you turned to lay on your back, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness of the room. above you, the faint green glow of glow-in-the-dark stars sprinkled across the ceiling, making up constellations: from what you could make out, the big dipper was above jisung’s bed, and the little one was above jeongin’s, who peacefully slept with tiny breaths.

jisung rolled to the side, accidently brushing his bare leg against yours.

“night, y/n. sorry the chocolates didn’t work out. would’ve been kind of hilarious if they did.”

“psh.” you rolled over too, closing your eyes, “you saying you would’ve taken up the opportunity to get in my pants?”

“guess we’ll never know.” he sighed.

~💋~

birds chirped, signaling the coming sunrise what was nearly breaking upon the horizon, and filled with deep blue sky with a type of orange-glow. the room was dim and stuffy, and noticeably much hotter than you remembered it being before. over the course of the night, you had tangled your legs with the sheets, finding them trapping you between them, and you shuffled to escape them and feel the air hit your skin. they shifted, letting you feeling the sticky mess between your legs.

“what the--” the aching and heated desire made itself painfully obvious, soaking directly through your underwear, making a wet mess of them where you throbbed with an utterly unexplainable arousal that reverberated in your core.

the friction from your legs only heightened the sensation, and you found yourself unwillingly rutting down into the mattress just to feel an ounce of relief.

fuck, the chocolates, you recalled. while you had expected to feel something from them, this was twenty times more intense than anything you could have planned for.

you were like an animal in heat, vulnerable, weak, dazed. your body set ablaze, and it only made sense to strip of any and all clothing that held you back. in your own desperation, you had completely forgotten about the man resting next to you.

“y/n? what's--what are you doing?” jisung groggily croaked in a tone several octaves lower than you were accustomed to. your brain could only calculate it is as downright, unbelievably sexy.

“jisung, i’m fucking burning up, an-and, i think i’m finally feeling something....are you?”

he hadn’t noticed it at first until he did, but from where he could see where the blanket dipped all the way down to your waist, you were completely bare. with fluttering eyes, he gulped down dry. you noticed the way that he took you all in, looking at every inch of you. you reveled in how he greedily and shamelessly didn’t stop.

under the covers, his own legs twisted.

“me too.” he answered gravely, speaking with a low whisper.

carefully, his tentative touch advanced under the covers, slowly reaching to your bare hip, where he settled a testing caress, squeezing harder, then cascaded down the small of your back to make you shiver. your own hand did the same, instead finding his leg and creeping your hand up and under his shirt. little space existed between the two of you, and only the panting of your heavy inhales and exhales could be heard.

your eyes glued to his, beautifully brown and dilating, trembling a little while holding yours. from his light touches, it took every bit of your will to control yourself from launching over him. jisung’s hand fell lower, and toyed with the elastic band of your underwear which had started to feel painfully confining. each of your own fingers traveled up his torso, brushing over his chest which made his whole body shake.

“sh-shit, i’m so fucking--” jisung started, dropping off his words to let out a wavering sigh. you didn’t need to guess any further.

jisung slid two fingers under your elastic band, and it became too much to handle.

“please, touch me jisung.” you whined out pitifully, clawing directly into the soft muscles of his back.

you were shocked how quickly he had given into you, immediately crashing his lips against yours first, then using both arms to pull you into his chest so close it stole all of your breath away. you kissed him back roughly, ravenous to feel the sensation of his mouth against your own. he growled out a small groan directly into your lips, sloppily working every single corner and edge of your mouth with a devilish smile curling his own.

lower, both of your hips met flush, grinding and twisting to create the kind of pressure that the both of you craved. limbs twisted, sweating and heated skin mingled, and you could feel every bit of his hardened cock right against your own arousal and how his shaft throbbed helplessly.

“you taste so good.” he murmured between haphazard kisses, letting his low tone vibrate against you.

“take these off.” you ordered, tugging at his boxers, nearly taking them off yourself.

“take yours off.” he echoed, and you did.

curious hands plunged deeper, delighting fingers in the slick of the other’s cum.

“fuck.” jisung dragged the explicative over your lip where he lapped lazily into you. “don’t stop.”

you gave him a moment’s pause, stopping to wet your palm with saliva, then met it with his cock. you worked his length with the sharp and twisting turn of your wrist, causing him to whimper out shamelessly.

“shhh.” you hissed, pulling his lip with our teeth, “don’t want to wake up your roommate do we?”

he nodded, biting each and every tantalizing little sound into his lip instead. your own breaths grew shallow feeling the pressure from his hand between your legs and how he had grabbed into your thigh to swing it over his hip for better access.

“wouldn’t you like me to fuck you out, baby? fuck you like the good little cock whore that you are for me? i’ve seen the way that you look...you’ve wanted this...haven’t you?” jisung’s words were slick and luxurious despite their bite.

to suppress the begging moan in your throat, you cupped your hand over your mouth, and pressed hard into it.

the blanket tented from your pulling at his cock and how you rubbed over his slit: it was an ethereal sight even in the blurriness of the room.

slowly, you leaned over to his ear, waist rocking back and forth over the sensation of his hand rubbing into you relentlessly. “don’t lie baby, you want my ass bouncing on your cock...don’t you?”

in one movement, he swept his full body weight over yours and harshly pulled your legs back to open your entrance just for him to tease with his tip. he guided himself in slowly and meticulously, bottoming out once you had sunk your fingers into his shoulders to manage some of the screams you would have let out otherwise.

“fuck yes, baby.” jisung growled, finding an animalistic pace that burned your whole body with white flames of pleasure.

you grew impatient wondering furiously what his cute little pouty cheeks would look like when you fucked him from above, riding his dick. you wouldn’t wait any further, taking your grasp on his shoulders to then flip him, settling your hips over his dick which you pounced on to the tune of one of his moans slipping past, loud and guttural.

“shut. the fuck. up.” you scolded him, throwing your hand over his pretty mouth. he whimpered out once again, eyes rolling feeling the tip of his dick reach as deeply inside of you as you would let it. “cum inside me sungie, i won’t stop until I have every last drop.”

jisung nodded, chest flaring as his breaths quickened.

“cum for me baby, and i’ll cum for you...got it?” your breathy whispers scratched your throat, but you needed him to hear.

you held his eyes which glistened with two pretty little tears that fell as he came hard, shaking with his whole body and letting each of his gleeful moans come spiraling into your hand.

your own heat came surging, right at your core, growing....growing...

a lamplight flashed on.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WHAT THE--WHAT THE--”

jeongin threw his sheets over his eyes, while shuddering. “I WAS FUCKING SLEEPING!!”

his shrill scream sent you jumping out of your lust, and you scrambled off jisung’s throbbing and pink cock, and forgetting the force of gravity, which sent his cum dripping out from inside of you. in your panic, you grabbed at anything to cover up your body and his, only to get so tangled that you lost your balance on the edge of the bed and.....

~💋~

THUMP

your body hit the wooden floor of jisung and jeongin’s room, right on your butt where you knew that it would be hurting for weeks.

as disoriented as you were, it took you a good few minutes to realize what had actually just happened.

“y/n?” jisung called with his groggy half-awake, half-asleep tone. “did you just fall out of the bed?”

on the opposite side of the room, you whipped your head over to see jeongin still peacefully sleeping with his back turned to jisung’s bed.

“fuck--um, yeah. i did. shit...”

jisung chuckled in the dark room just barely peeking with the first bits of the sunrise in streaming into the room.

“i don’t know how you did that considering i gave you plenty of space. get back up here.”

still dazed and brain overheating, you could have sworn you felt the little aftershocks of the orgasm that felt so real still coursing through your body.

you felt it too: the way that your underwear had slicked. some part of it all must’ve been real.

“jisung--” you started, not even sure if you wanted to tell him in the first place. “are you certain that you didn’t feel anything?”

jisung turned to face you and shook his head, “no, you?”

you hesitated, holding his eyes to see that he must have been telling the truth.

“i just...i just had this insane dream...”

“dream? about what?”

“it’s hard to explain...” you trailed.

“you look kind of shaken up, are you sure that you’re okay?” jisung extended a careful hand, and smoothed down the side of your face in the way that had felt frighteningly real only seconds ago. his hand lingered, falling down your neck and giving you goosebumps. your eyes fell to his lips, and you wondered if they would taste like you had imagined them to be.

you leaned in closer, closing the gap.

“it went something like this.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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roscgcld · 4 years ago

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HEADCANON + VARIOUS || when their siblings are evil

request: Hello, I was kinda wondering how would Gojo, Itadori and megumi react to a their younger sibling being evil but she has a reason to being that way. [Headcanon] -

note: hmm - this one is really interesting! honestly i had never thought about their reactions if their younger siblings are evil! this was an entirely new idea to me, so i definitely enjoyed writing something like this

characters: gojo satoru, itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi

pronouns: she/her

GOJO SATORU

in this sense, I feel it’s not that shocking that if his younger sister joined forces with geto

if you weren’t born with the Six Eyes like your older brother, your clan will just treat you like a slave - like maki was treated when she was in the zen’in clan

after years of abuse and being told that you were a mistake, and that you shouldn’t have been born, and that you were a waste of space - that might crack you and made you go insane

gojo might have known this might happen, and had tried to move you away from the path of evil - because i feel like he would be a good older brother and shower you in all the love you deserve

he’d shower you in love and respect, getting you new clothes even if your parents tell him not to, spoil you rotten and even training you to use your powers under the cover of darkness

but sometimes it just isn’t enough though, and the emotional wounds are just too deep to heal - and he gets that

feel like he might end up blaming himself - what kind of older brother can’t protect his own baby sister? how can he call himself ‘the strongest’ when he can’t even protect the one person that he was born to protect?

screw the world - he’s your older brother. he should have seen the signs and stopped you from doing what you do

at the same time, he knows the reason why you left - you were sick and tired of the higher ups and their backwards thinking

the elders of your clan, the elders of other clans, the higher ups who control the jujutsu world - you hate them all, and you strive for the change that gojo wants to do as well. but with how you’ve been put down your entire life, and how underdeveloped your skills are, you went the only route you know - a route that strays you away from all you’ve ever known

if anything, he’s sort of proud - since along the way, geto definitely takes you under his wing and teaches you to unlock all the potential of your power - which will be a huge slap to the face for the rest of the clan and the higher ups

feel like he doesn’t have it in him to really take you down if he needs to, since he can see through you no matter what - how you’re scared to be on the run, how you hate being away from your older brother, how you know that you have innocent blood on your hands

yet you can’t leave, you’re in too deep now. and if you return, who exactly is there to stop the higher ups from killing you like they so desperate want to for so long?

he’d probably spare you out of all the sorcerers that the higher-ups have branded as traitors, because at the end of the day you’re still his baby sister

and no matter how twisted your views of getting to your goal has become, you two still strive for the same thing - and that is to rid the jujutsu world of people like them

plus, if he was being honest, he’d want to keep you around as a slap to the higher ups still lol; the biggest middle finger he can give to them is by keeping you alive for as long as possible

ITADORI YUJI

yuji, being the sunshine he is, would not have known why you decided to leave for the other side of the war

it wasn’t his fault - if anything, he was the best older brother to be around. he’s what people dreamed of when they think of having an older brother

he took care of you, make sure you and your grandfather was fed, made sure you didn’t need to worry about trivial things like money or when the pay the bills - you just focus on being happy and that’s all that he needs in return

feel like the reason why you left was more because of manipulation - if you can just grow stronger, you can protect yuji from getting executed. that you can make a better world for the both of you, that you two can one day live in a happy world where curses and sorcerers were far behind you

of course yuji will be upset - he doesn’t see the appeal of the other side, and always advocates for you to realise how geto and the other curses are using you for their own benefit

why would you give up your freedom to fight on the other side?

he’d be conflicted - this was the little girl who he used to braid her hair and cook for every day, the girl who he brought up from young to become the headstrong woman you are today. his best friend and the only person he can truly rely on during the darkest of times

how can he put that aside and hunt you down like you’re a prized animal in a hunting competition?

he’d wonder if he was a good brother to you too as well - wondering if he wasn’t giving you enough attention growing up, not as good as he thought he was at splitting his time for you

it’d take a lot of convincing from his friends that it wasn’t his fault, that you were being manipulated into thinking that this was the only way you can turn to in order to help him

since neither of you were really sorcerers to begin with - being thrown into a world where power dictates how you are treated would push anyone into a corner

he’d use that to probably train harder - to show you that you didn’t need to do the things you are doing to make sure he’s safe, that he can protect both you and him with ease

that you two can go back to how things were before all this

if you two ever meet in battle, i don’t think he’d be able to handle it - he’d be hesitate when it comes to hitting you with full power, since he didn’t want to kill you by accident

the last he needs is to have your death on his conscience

throughout the entire battle he might still try to convince you that it isn’t too late, that you can return back to jujutsu tech and learn from the best of the best, with a warm roof over your heads and friends you can really rely on

he’d stand in the way between you and any curse that tries to take you out, making sure that if either of you are to continue living, it’d be you

he’d lay his life down for you, even though he knows you’ve taken many innocent ones while getting to where you are today

he still has all the love of an older brother, and nothing people say or do will waiver the vow he took when he first held you in his arms - that he was going to protect you no matter what

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

with megumi, i can see why as well - you were abandoned at a young age, growing up watching your father working with all kinds of shady people

so it was natural for you to fall down the same path; since no one was really there to teach you right from wrong

i feel like megumi might have tried, and he really did try to show you that going down the path your father did was not the best idea - but how much can he do as a young child?

he probably feels more guilty as time goes by - child or not, he was your older brother, he should have tried harder to show you where you could have put that skill

wouldn’t breath a word about your existence to anyone, not because he doesn’t want to be associated with you. it’s more so your name will not be as well known as geto suguru - that maybe, there was a chance that the higher-ups might overlook you and you can sneak back in without causing too much waves

but the entire time, he might harbour all the guilt from not trying hard enough as a child to convince you that going to jujutsu tech was the best way to get stronger and show the zen’in clan that your father wasn’t a ‘waste of an heir’

the first time his friends will even find out you were an actual person is when you would run into them whilst you’re on a job - kill a target your client gave to steal some documents that they view as valuable

you didn’t notice them until you felt someone staring at you, to which you turn to face the person - ready to threaten to scoop their eyeballs out

“oh, hi nii-chan.” you’d greet with a casual grin as he stared at you in shock, nobara and yuji looking between the both of you curiously. “didn’t think i’d see you ever again.”

yuji and nobara might talk to you like you’re a normal person, but they kept their guards up still - something you found amusing, but still answering their question truthfully

megumi knew better - unfortunately you’re branded as an underground criminal, and if possible, any available sorcerer that bumps into you is to kill you before you accidentally reveal the existence of sorcerers and curses

however, no matter how hard he wills himself, he can’t do it - you’re still his flesh and blood. you may have chosen a path that’s different from his, but deep down you’re still living true to yourself

you’d glance over and see the conflict brewing in his eyes, to which you’d give him a soft smile before you lean over to grab his hand in his, causing him to snap his eyes up at you

“do what you think is right.”

with that you pulled away, and with another wave to the group, you melted into the crowd; somehow managing to disappear before their eyes

both his friends will be confused, looking around for you while he stared down at the hand you had grabbed, a slightly faraway look on his face

he’d probably realise that if anything, you’re living true to yourself and allowing yourself to fly so far ahead that you’ve slowly started to outshine any of them prior to this

and he’d feel weirdly proud, because you were still his baby sister, and you still achieved things that are worth being proud of

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right.

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things.

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet.

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted.

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking.

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride.

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car.

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision.

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day."

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

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ikingsley · 4 years ago

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Ina x MC: Sabbatical (Part 3)

Read the first two parts here: Sabbatical (Part 1) & Sabbatical (Part 2).

Summary: Ina attempts to reclaim her woman.

Warnings: I’m gonna call it angsty fluff. But more fluff this time.

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1 @swimmingshoebakerydreamer

Author’s Notes: Third part/finale of the Sabbatical series that was requested by @kwaj05.

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When Ina finally got back to her apartment, she plopped herself on the bed, sighed profoundly, and barely held herself together. She decided to call Lilian; it had been a while since they talked. She had told her about their separation, but didn’t want to get into too many details. At the time, it was still too raw and Ina could barely make out entire sentences without breaking down again.

“Hey, Auntie Ina!” Charlotte’s voice rang out.

Oh damn kids. Always so damn cheery and naive. Ina had to quickly put on a facade that was more appropriate to talk to her niece.

“Hi Charlotte! What have you been up to?” Ina asked.

“I’m reading that book you gave me for Christmas! About antropogy,” Charlotte said proudly.

“Are you enjoying erm...‘antropogy’?” Ina questioned.

“Yeah! It’s so cool!” Charlotte said.

Ina was happy that she could instill her values and academic pursuits into her little niece. She thought beat that Lilian! Your own daughter’s going to be an anthropologist. And a good one. Lilian always talked smack about how Ina was a fake doctor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying anthropology. I’ll let you get back to the book. Can I talk to Mommy?” Ina diverted.

“Yea! Wait- Auntie Ina! Are you coming over soon? With pretty Auntie Luna?” Charlotte asked.

“Errr...sure, yes honey,” Ina said and sighed. Charlotte had asked a very valid question.

She heard a couple shuffles on the other end, and Lilian’s voice finally was heard from the other end.

“Hey, Ina.”

And just like that, Ina’s barriers crumpled down. She was almost at the verge of tears again.

“Lil, I came all the way to New York and she didn’t want to see me,” Ina trembled.

“Wait, you’re here now? What do you mean?” Lilian asked concerned.

“I flew back when I heard that Luna had gotten into an accident. I stayed with her all night. I held her hand. I told her how much I loved her. And when she woke up in the morning, she demanded that I leave,” Ina sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Ina. I know it’s been rough without her these past weeks. But what do you want to do about it? Do you want to do something about it or are you going to keep whining about it?“

Lilian’s abrasiveness did not come as a surprise to Ina. Lilian could be a nurturing mother or tough-love mother, and nothing in between. It was this tough love that Ina received most often. And it worked well for the sisters. Ina usually was able to see that she was complaining without taking action, and Lilian had taught her that self-pity wouldn’t get her very far. After all, Lilian was familiar to hard times. She knew from personal experience that moping around would not help her achieve success.

“I...I don’t know. She said she didn’t want to see me. And I respect her too much to disobey it. But god, I am so in love with her. Every moment without her feels like a waste of my time. And Lil, I want to be with her. For forever. I’m just...lost. I don’t know what to do. It hurts so much to think that she was out there looking for me when the accident happened,” Ina admitted.

“Well, give her time first. She’s probably feeling lost too. She probably still loves you,” Lilian said.

Probably.

A few days had passed uneventfully. Initially, Belvoire was upset that Ina had left her post, but what were they going to do? Fire the most beloved professor at the school? Not make money off the anthropology department? Ina told the administrative board that she preferred teaching to doing research, which was a complete lie, but it would have to do. It was that or losing Luna.

At the sound of each vibration from her phone, Ina perked up in anticipation. Maybe it was Luna. And time after time, she was bombarded by notifications from everyone but Luna.

But eventually, she got what she wanted.

Saturday 1/23 @1:42pm

Luna: Hey. We should probably talk. Can you come by later this evening?

Ina was on cloud nine. Finally! she thought. But then her stomach summersaulted within her. It had been so long since the pair had truly talked. And like a giddy teenager on her first date, Ina felt anxious about seeing Luna. She was too nervous to drive and had contacted Lilian to take her there.

When Lilian came to Ina’s apartment to pick her up, Ina was ready. She had a whole speech planned out in her head. Ina sat in the passenger’s seat and not even having settled in completely, her young niece made a comment.

“Woah! You look nice!” Charlotte said as her mother smirked.

And Charlotte wasn’t wrong. Ina looked good. Albeit simple, Ina wore a red pantsuit. Her makeup was done immaculately, topped off with red lipstick that matched her jacket.

After some small talk, they had finally gotten to the hospital. The same receptionist smiled at Ina, letting her in easily this time.

Ina knocked nervously on the door, Lilian and Charlotte hidden behind her. At first, Lilian didn’t want to impose, but Charlotte insisted on seeing Auntie Luna. And Ina figured that it could potentially help her case.

“Come in,” Luna said.

And god, did Ina miss the sound of her voice. It was warm and comforting, just like a home should be.

“You have a couple extra visitors today,” Ina said as Charlotte ran towards Luna.

“Auntie Luna!!!!” Charlotte exclaimed as she almost crashed into Luna’s open arms.

“Hey Lilian and Charlotte! How are you? Do you want to sit up here on the bed with me?” Luna asked. She hadn’t even looked nor addressed Ina, and for a split second, Ina was jealous of her own niece.

Luna picked up Charlotte so that they could be sitting on the bed together.

“I brought Scrabble!”

“You don’t need to play if you don’t wan-” Ina interjected and Luna glared at Ina. Ina’s face reddened in embarrassment.

“Let’s play, Charlotte!” Luna said. Cutely nerdy. Just like Ina, Luna thought to herself.

Luna, Charlotte and Lilian played Scrabble while Ina sat off to the side. Ina ran through her thoughts. Luna had texted her to come, but the glare was disheartening. But she was determined. She had to win her woman back. Ina ran out of the room, an idea formulating in her head. Lilian and Luna looked at her strangely, but they continued to entertain Charlotte.

Meanwhile, Ina darted across the street. She wanted her woman back and would do anything to achieve her goal. Ina practically made her way around New York. She stopped at various places, just to get set up her extravagant redemption date.

Although Ina went as quickly as possible, an hour had passed by. Charlotte had knocked out on the foot of the bed. Lilian and Luna proceeded to talk, finally unconstrained by Charlotte’s youthful presence.

“What Ina did...well, she should’ve told you about the sabbatical,” Lilian reflected. Luna only scoffed.

“I know how much her career means to her, but well...I hope she would’ve told me. We could’ve worked it out,” Luna said.

“And now, do you think you can work it out?” Lilian asked.

“I...” Luna began, but luckily she was saved by the bell. Ina walked in briskly, her hands full of things that she had just bought.

“I better go...Charlotte’s going to be confused if she doesn’t wake up her bed,” Lilian said.

And this was enough reason for both women to oust Lilian and her young daughter. Ina carried Charlotte out to Lilian’s car, kissing her forehead as she strapped on her seatbelt.

“Go get your woman,” Lilian smiled.

“I will,” Ina said. Finally, a small smile appeared on her face, the first smile after weeks of incessant crying and frowns. Ina had the opportunity to get Luna back, and she wouldn’t take it for granted. Not anymore.

Ina returned to Luna’s room. Now it was real; there were no distractions left.

“Hey,” Ina said as she closed the door.

“Hey,” Luna returned. “Sit down, please.”

Ina began speaking, but she was swiftly cut off by Luna.

“Let me go first, please,” Luna interrupted. “You know goddamn well you should’ve told me about the sabbatical.”

“I- yes. I know. My failure to communicate with you, well, it’s cost me everything,” Ina said melancholically.

“Ina, look, at first I was upset by the accident. I wanted to catch you at the airport like all those stupid, corny romcoms we would watch together. Even though it didn’t turn out like that,” Luna said gesturing at her physical appearance. “I don’t blame you for the accident. I shouldn’t have been driving in that state. And I don’t want you blaming yourself for it.”

Guilt crept onto Ina’s features. Luna knew that Ina was still blaming herself.

“I...I understand,” Ina said slowly. “I’m so sorry, Luna.”

“Again Ina, don’t blame yourself. Please.”

And just like that, Ina burst out into tears. All the pain, all the emotion, all the guilt she was holding let out suddenly.

“Hey...shh...come here,” Luna said, offering her arms to embrace Ina.

Ina crawled onto the bed. It had been a long time since they had shared one. Luna wiped away Ina’s tears as she held her in her other arm.

“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. Now we’re here. Together,“ Luna consoled.

The two shared a couple more moments in each other’s arms. Ina felt safe while being embraced by Luna. After she gained some form of coherence, she clasped Luna’s hands and stared straight into the younger woman’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was selfish when thinking about the sabbatical. And I should’ve told you when I was applying. I think I was just scared of losing you. Maybe I did that either way. Anyway, my time without you made me realized that well, you’re everything. You’re everything I’ve ever needed and everything I’ll ever need. God, I’m so madly in love with you, it’s actually terrifying. But anything with you is less terrifying. I want everything with you, Lu. I want to hold you until we fall asleep. I want to wake up next to you the following morning. I want to be nerdy with you. I want to plan lavish dates with you. I want to travel the world with you. I want you in every part of my life. And I don’t want to spend a minute without you. I’ll work towards making it up to you. I’ll tell you how much I love you every second of the day. Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to have you back in my arms. I’ll do anything to make sure that you’re mine again. And if you’ll have me, I’ll spend every moment showing you that I love you with everything in me, Luna. Wherever you are, that’s my home.”

The two women were both crying like babies by now. Funnily enough, the nurse had peered into the room and backed out just as quickly as he saw this unfolding. Nope! I’m not paid enough for that, he thought.

Luna, through her tears could only produce one short sentence. “You know, you talk a lot, Ina,” she jested.

Smiling, Ina felt a sense of relief rush through her. She had done it.

“I’m glad this turned out well because...I bought a ton of stuff. Otherwise, it would’ve been awkward,” Ina said hopping off the bed. Then she presented Luna with a bouquet of red roses. Luna was happy to have received them, but her eyes jumped at when she saw something else.

“Baby, I didn’t tell you how damn fine you look toda- Oh my god! Non-hospital food!” Luna said as Ina took out the takeout boxes.

Ina climbed back into the bed, pulling Luna’s blanket over the two of them. The two ate together happily, catching up on their time apart. Ina put her arm around Luna and turned to face her. She rested her forehead against her lover’s and whispered “I love you.” Luna smiled happily, her lips meeting Ina’s.

Ina rested her head on Luna’s shoulder. The witty and clever woman she was so blindly in love with was back. And she was hers. Forever.

#ina x mc #ina kingsley #professor kingsley #choices #queen b #luna garcia

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tabarnaks · 5 years ago

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Okay so Monty @themlet and I had some thoughts about Martin’s childhood and his relationship to food

CW for disordered eating, child neglect, poverty+food insecurity and martin-typical mommy issues

Taking care of his mother (and himself) included making meals for them both from a young age, with whatever he could find in their cupboards and their fridge.

They don't have much food, but their fridge isn't empty which makes everything seem worse

(there was an adjustment period between his father leaving and his mother getting sicker and sicker before Martin realized he had to start making food for them or else it just wouldn't be done and in those few months old food has piled up. Martin knows he should probably clean out the fridge, but he's scared of his mother's reaction to seeing her usually full fridge practically empty without explanation. He can imagine her screaming at him clearly for wasting so much food (it doesn't matter that it was already spoiled, he should've asked her to do it even though she'd never have actually done it) or maybe even just withdrawing and being distant and cold like she's started doing since his father left. Martin's not sure which option is worse)

He does get rid of the spoiled food eventually, but it feels awful, like he's wasting food (and therefore money) and he feels guilty about it even though he knows it wasn't edible

What Martin ends up cooking isn't good by any stretch, but it's edible and only slightly worse than the cafeteria food at his school (Martin's 10-11, his mother never really cooked even before getting sick. The only guidance he has is an old cookbook from the 50s, some old family recipes written on scraps of paper left on the fridge and what cooking he’s seen on TV)

Of course, sometimes when money's tight (which it usually is) the food his mother buys doesn't quite stretch the week between the both of them, and it's not something he can talk to her about.

(He’s tried, but she would usually just look at him and shrug and tell him that she’s doing everything she can and that was the end of the conversation)

To deal with that, he starts meticulously planning and portioning out all of his meals for the week in advance, and not breaking from his portions even if he's still hungry after eating, because it’s better to be slightly hungry most days than it is to be very hungry for 2-3 days every week.

(he does it to a lesser extent with his mother, but she's sick and it's her food, she paid for everything. So he's not going to tell her what parts of it she can or can't eat. Also, she's sick so if she does eat more than usual, it's a good thing. he can't be upset about it. And he gets a lunch at school anyway, she only has what he makes to eat, so it's not really fair of him to judge her if she happens to eat what he considered to be his dinner)

As soon as he gets his first job and finally has a little money of his own (a large part of his paycheck goes to directly supporting he and his mother still, but he keeps a small bit of it for himself) he starts buying cans of food and pasta for himself and keeps them in his room, a little stash of food that's entirely his own that his mother can't try and hold over his head the next time he inevitably fucks something up and angers her.

With time, he gets better at cooking just through practice and trying stuff out. He gets a few cookbooks from a thrift shop and tries some spices beyond salt and pepper out, and he finds that he does genuinely like cooking now that it's not necessarily "do this or dont eat at all"

When he gets his (much better paying) job at the institute and his mother moves to a care home, he continues doing the same things he did with her. He portions out all of his food very strictly, he agonises over any food he accidentally wastes pushing off throwing it out until it's definitely inedible, he keeps having a stash of food in his bedroom closet

(sure, he could keep his stash in the kitchen now, he's been paying for everything on his own for a while now and his mother isn't even there to make comments, but there's a certain comfort that comes knowing how nearby it is)

His stash gets much bigger after Prentiss, now that he has proof that it has actual real life potential of being useful, he ends up slowly accumulating boxes and boxes worth of canned food that he only touches during emergencies. Just in case something happens again. Just in case

He'll also automatically try and give food to the people he loves and trusts if he judges they need it more than him

(He's tried to give his lunches to Tim or Sasha a few times because they'd forgotten theirs and, well, he can skip lunch it’s just a bit annoying, he’s not really that hungry anyway. It’s usually settled by having the other take a bit of what he has and then picking something up from a nearby cafe

He's also tried to give Jon so much of his food (mostly refused because Jon is very picky about what he will or won't eat) because of how sickly and frail he looks. Martin knows he can't possibly be eating enough and desperately wants to fix that)

Martin's food habits aren't particularly obvious to anyone else until he and Jon move in together and Jon can see how he organises everything.

Martin will usually cook only one or two meals to last him through the week (cooking is fun, but it's tiring and Martin hates having to constantly do the dishes because all of his recipes these days seem to require at least 3 pans and twice as many various bowls) and if he'll eat it even if he's messed up the recipe somehow

(Jon has seen him eating mostly burnt muffins that he'd accidentally forgotten in the oven because he couldn't bear the thought of wasting so many ingredients unless the thing’s more ash than food)

Martin also cannot go to restaurants or get delivery without feeling guilty (certain special events are mostly exempt from this guilt, but not many) because he could make twice as much food at home for the same amount of money

Jon buys them takeout once because they're both exhausted and the only food they have would either need a fair amount of prep or be pasta with butter and garlic on it (which is good, but they're both grown men in their 30s and can do better at this point) and when he comes back with it, Martin is practically vibrating in his seat asking, "SO, just wondering how much did that cost? haha it's fine of course but how much did it cost?"

All of issues get worse when he's stressed, and it's definitely something that the others have tried talking to him about in some capacity, because when it's bad enough he'll unnecessarily deprive himself of food because he's eaten the entirely arbitrary amount he's allowed himself to that day, but aside from the bigger stuff like that it's really not something Martin is open to talking about.

He can sort of talk about it with Jon, but it's always a tense sort of conversation in which Martin feels vaguely attacked at best despite Jon's efforts to be understanding and non confrontational.

But Martin does get better about it when everything's fine. He stops planning everything still obsessively, he'll be able to throw out food that's burnt or just on that edge of being bad, they shrink his food stash and move it into the hallway closet instead of the bedroom one (partially because Jon does need to put his clothes somewhere)

Martin still can’t really go to restaurants or order takeout without feeling his guilt and anxiety surging (he has his limits) but overall, he’s able to get a lot better about most of his issues even if none of them really ever completely go away.

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #a moi #disordered eating 3321 #child neglect 3242 #mothers 4134 #child abuse (to be safe)#ask to tag

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youllneverknowrac · 5 years ago

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Oscar Diaz-Safe

For @dolanackles

You were with Oscar for 3 months before he got sent to Corcoran on a four year sentence, everybody telling you to just go ahead and leave him since the relationship was still sort of new with you guys. You didn’t listen though, staying with him the entire time, falling deeper in love with him each visit and longing for his release so you could resume a normal life with him. Which was what you two were doing after he got out a few weeks ago...however everything changed when a Prophet and his girl ended up dead. All accusing fingers pointing to the Santos. That’s when you noticed Oscar’s behavior change and a shift in your guy’s world. He didn’t want to go out on dates or do simple mundane things anymore like go shopping. The only time you saw him, being late at night when he would come over to your place, but even that stopped. Actually everything stopped, it’s like he fell off the face of the Earth and didn’t bother to tell you.

You find yourself sitting on Oscar’s steps, waiting for him to return home. You’ve been trying to get in touch with him the last few days, but every time you called or texted he ignored it. You feared something must have happened to him, however all that turned into anger when you ran into a confused Cesar this morning that was just as lost as you were. He actually informed you that Oscar was completely fine and going on about his day like usual. To say you were pissed would be under doing it.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you see his car pull into the driveway, thankful that he was alone and not with his homies. He climbs out of the car as you stand up, locking eyes with each other,“What are you doing here?” He asks annoyingly, his face keeping it’s hard features.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘What am I doing here’? I deserve answers Oscar! You’ve been blowing me off for the last couple of days, what kind of shit is that?!” You say like it was the most obvious thing in the world, wasting no time in approaching him.

“Maaaann, go home Y/N.” He says trying to get past you to head up the driveway.

“No, fuck you, you inconsiderate asshole. I thought you were hurt or dead in a ditch somewhere!” You fire back, shoving his chest with all your force,”Stop trying to walk away from me Oscar.”

“Déjame en paz!” He yells, grabbing a hold of your wrists and holding them to your chest,”Go the fuck home and don’t come back.” He says slowly, as if you were some sort of child and not his girlfriend of many years, even if most of those years he was behind bars.

“Just tell me what I did wrong? What changed? We were just...we were just happy.” You say, your voice growing quiet as you refuse to look at him in the eyes,”You just got out, you should want to spend time with me.”

“You were happy. Not me.” Is all he says as he let’s go of you and moves past you to the front door,”I got more important things to worry about now that I’m out. I don’t need you on my back over some some bullshit, besides we’re done if I wasn’t making it clear enough. You were just someone to make the time go by a little faster, and now that I’m free I don’t need you.”

You let his words sink in and register, your heart breaking in half,“You know what, it’s fine. You’re not stuck in a cell so you don’t need me anymore, is that right? Well guess what? I don’t need YOU. I’m too good for you, I should have realized that after you went to prison for four years and left me all alone. To caught up in the game to realize that you have a down ass female in front of you.” You say wanting to hurt his feelings like he just hurt yours,”Money, drugs, and bitches that’s a cholo’s motto right? Thank you Oscar. Thank you for wasting so many years of my life inmate 67345-354.” You tell him, spitting out his prison id number that was etched into your brain,”That’s the only big numbers you’ll ever seen in your life because that’s the only thing you will ever amount to.”

You see the hurt cross his face, Oscar hiding it quickly as you stoop to saying something so low,”Go. Don’t come around here no more.” He demands, giving you one last look before going inside. The door slamming with so much force that you’re surprised the house didn’t fall apart.

You don’t let yourself cry as you begin your walk home, not believing that any of that just happened. That Oscar could drop you like nothing after all that you did for him, after all that he put you through.

“I hate him.” You repeat over and over to yourself, getting stopped by Cesar and his friends walking in the opposite direction a few blocks down.

“Hey Y/N, did you end up getting a hold of Oscar?” The younger Diaz asks

“Yup.” You say, brushing a few pieces of hair behind your ear,”And he broke up with me so there’s that.”

“What? He wouldn’t do that. It has to be a mistake or he’s playing a sick prank.” Cesar defends,”Oscar loves you, I know he does.”

“There is no mistake Cesar, he was pretty clear with his words.” You sigh, blinking back the tears that wanted oh so badly to fall the more you talked about Oscar.

“I’m going to talk to him and find out what’s going on. I just can’t see him leaving you...Oscar’s loyal to loyal people. And you’re as loyal as it gets Y/N.” He continues, his friends staying out of the conversation but nodding their heads in agreement since they knew that you stuck by Oscar.

“It’s fine Cesar, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want you too actually.”

“Y/N.” He groans in protest

“I mean it. I’ll be okay, I just want to get home now and lay down.” You say and give him a sad smile,”Bye Cesar. Bye guys.” You tell the group, walking in between them as they make way for you on the sidewalk. Cesar watching you go, not one to listen to anybody as he says goodbye to his friends and takes off home to find out what was really going on.

“Y/N!” You hear the familiar sound of Cesar’s voice, his fist banging on your front door a few days later.

“Cesar? What are you doing here? It’s almost 8 in the morning, shouldn’t you be at school?” You ask tiredly when you swing open the door.

“I’m going, I just had to stop by first and tell you what I heard.” He says with a huge grin on his face.

“Yeah? What did you hear?” You ask confused

“Oscar only broke up with you to keep you safe, I heard him on the phone in his room talking to Sad Eyes. He feels horrible but he thought it was the only way to keep you safe from the Prophets if they decided to seek revenge.”

“What? Are you sure you heard him right?” You say with a shake of your head,”He could have just told me that instead of going M.I.A if that was the case.”

“I’m positive. I knew he wouldn’t just leave you.” Cesar smiles knowingly,”You have to go talk to him. He should still be home.” He encourages

“I don’t know Cesar. I said some pretty messed up things to him out of anger.” You admit, biting the inside of your cheek,”He’s probably glad he left me after what I told him.”

“If he was, then he wouldn’t be complaining to his homie about you. Come on Y/N, just go talk to him. You gotta try, if not for him then for me. You became like a sister to me and I don’t want to see you two end in bad terms.”

“Don’t guilt trip me into talking to your brother.” You gasp and shove his shoulder lightly.

“Did it work?” He asks hopefully, you sigh and take a moment to think for yourself before slowly nodding.

“It did. Fine, I’ll go talk to him, I just gotta get changed first and you gotta get to school.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He says holding his hands in defense, a small smirk on his lips,”Bye.”

“Bye.” You laugh and shut the door, a bit nervous as you rush to your room. Not knowing if Oscar would forgive you for what you said.

You throw on something casual as quick as you can, not wanting to waste any more time, brushing your teeth after and pulling your hair into a bun. 20 minutes later you step outside and turn to secure the top lock, your body going stiff when you feel someone come up from behind.

“Baby?” You hear Oscar say, his voice scratchy before he clears it, your body relaxing.

You turn around and take in his appearance, his under eyes dark and baggy as if he hasn’t slept in a while,”You scared me...I was just going to your place.” You admit

“Really? It doesn’t matter I’m here now and I couldn’t wait any longer...I’m sorry for everything I said nena, I didn’t mean any of that shit. I just figured you would be safer if we weren’t together from all this Prophet shit. I didn’t want to see you get hurt because of my affiliation with the Santos. We had a sit down with them last night and turns out they found the actual killer.” He explains,”I was going to come straight after, but then I thought that maybe it would be best if I didn’t because like you said, you can do better. Better then someone who could potentially put you in a dangerous situation one day.”

“Oscar I know, Cesar came by and told me all of this. That’s why I was going to your place.” You say and place your hands on either side of his face,”I swear to you, I did not mean any of what I said. I was just so angry and sad, you didn’t deserve all that just for breaking up with me. You are more than your prison numbers and I should have never thrown that in your face. I know how hard it was for you in there and it was a low blow.”

“Nah mami, don’t beat your self up over that. My intention was to be a dick so I deserved everything you said and then some, but now that all this shit is over I want to give you the option of being with me. I’m too selfish to make it for you because I would choose to never leave your side again, these past few days have been absolute hell for me.” He talks, as you move your hands down his sides and take his large ones in yours,”With that being said do you still want to be with me, now that you seen how dangerous shit can potentially get in my life? Think about it nena.”

“Oscar I know being with you comes with a lot of baggage and I’m okay with that. If I wasn’t, why would I stay by your side while you were locked up? I knew from our first date what I was getting into and I still wanted to be with you. I still want to be with you. You got locked up so soon into our relationship, but I always knew something could potentially happen that could affect me as well. But I also knew that I loved you early on and couldn’t let you go no, matter what may come. Always papi, remember? “ You smile and squeeze his hands lightly

“You sure? No backing out after this.”

“Yes I’m sure.” You say with a small laugh as his hands release yours and move to wrap around your waist. Oscar waisting no more time in pressing his lips down to yours. Never letting you go after today.

#netflix on my block #netflix #spooky x reader #on my block season 3 #omb #santos #relationship #couple #julio macias #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz #spooky diaz

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swapauanon · 4 years ago

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My Opinions on RWBY: Volume 8: Chapter 14: “The Final Word”

Let me open this by talking about Kingdom Hearts III.

In that game, a lot of characters from the modern era of the Kingdom Hearts series were resurrected in new bodies, with only two heroic characters staying dead.

One of them was Master Eraqus, a man who was more forgiving towards the main villain than his own adopted son.

The other, was Riku Replica, who had his mind rewritten by Namine to fall in love with her (albeit it WAS under duress, which is the ONLY point I’ll concede in her favor), and then had an existential crisis and died fighting the original Riku. While not the ONLY clone in the series, he was the only one who wasn’t considered worth saving by any of the other characters. Including Namine, who expresses immense guilt for rewritting series protagonist Sora’s mind out of a desire for companionship.

Come Kingdom Hearts III, and Riku stumbles upon Repliku’s heart in the Realm of Darkness, and absorbs it in order to bring him into the Realm of Light, figuring that they could try and save him to.

Come the final battle, he instead gives up his second chance at life so Namine can have her happy ending, because in the end his mind was still rewired to focus on her wellbeing over his own. When the heroes have everything they need to make ANOTHER replica body, simply because “We can’t have two Riku’s”, even though there are already THREE OTHER CLONES who are allowed to have a happy ending! And literally EVERYONE responsible for his first death gets a happy ending, INCLUDING the MAIN VILLAIN!

And to add insult to injury, Namine gets together with the guy who murdered him.

So... You can imagine WHY I don’t like how they handled Penny’s suicide here.

If this was meant to be temporary, they should’ve had Winter and Penny’s chat take place AFTER Winter defeats Ironwood, and maybe had Penny face her potential demise with reluctance, even as she tries to put on a brave face.

If this was meant to be permanent, Ironwood should have killed her while she was fighting Cinder, with Winter’s warning being the only reason the powers went to her instead of Cinder, with Ironwood’s decapitated corpse tumbling over the edge and into the void after we get a shot of Winter charging him while screaming in rage.

Either way, they shouldn’t have romanticized her suicide.

As for the Ace Ops...

Harriet’s KINDA been a tad bit too sadistic for me to feel anything for her, and Vine’s sacrifice felt out of character when he’s never cared about anything EXCEPT following Ironwood’s orders to the LETTER up until this point.

At this point, I’m just glad I didn’t waste my money on a FIRST account...

#rwby liveblog #rwby spoilers #tw suicide mention

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silver-rings-and-rabbits · 4 years ago

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Open Heart: Second Year

I don’t think I’m saying anything that hasn’t already been said before but this is bugging me like crazy. I don’t use Tumblr very often but I don’t know anyone else who plays Choices, so here I am (I guess spoiler alert for those who haven’t played Open Heart).

Open Heart book 1 is one of my favourite books, possibly even my most favourite. I genuinely couldn’t decide between Bryce, Raf and Ethan. I switch between the male and female MC and I’ve been able to give them different personalities. The book had strong writing and a coherent plot with probably three main storylines: Patient X, Panacea Labs, and Mrs Martinez, which all tied together beautifully at the end. Even all our patients came back in the last chapter.

And then Open Heart: Second Year. Where to start.

Obviously Ethan is our boss, mentor and colleague so he will have a vital role in the story, but why push the other LIs aside? Why can’t Bryce romancers steal a few minutes in the hospital corridors where Bryce gives you a flirty wink and a pat on the butt? Why can’t Jackie romancers sneak into her room every so often?

And let’s get started on Rafael. First of all....what the fuck?

I love a little bit of angst so I wasn’t initially too mad when Sora was introduced (actually I think it made me want Rafael more, because apparently I only like men I can’t have...and I’ve gone off Ethan because he would be too easy). But there was none. Sora appeared in chapter 2, where it’s described as ‘stings a little to watch’, but doesn’t appear again until the baseball game in chapter 8 where they cheer for Edenbrook a couple of times. The only kind of ‘angst’ Rafael romancers got was dancing with Raf at the music festival where Sora is briefly mentioned and MC closes their eyes and listens to Raf’s heartbeat (which was a sweet moment, to be fair). Are you seriously telling me that none of their friends acknowledged that he and MC used to date? That they wouldn’t have asked if MC was OK at least once? That they would have invited Rafael over to the apartment without giving MC a heads up? And when PB was asked about this they gave some crap about making things realistic and exploring the mature themes of a medical drama. If Open Heart were realistic, MC would have been fired halfway through book 1 (one of the dialogue options with Ethan in book 1 chapter 6 actually leads him to say ‘consider yourself lucky you’re even getting a next time’) but NO, we get ‘realism’ by losing a beloved love interest and character that people have grown invested in and spent money on, and then completely waste the opportunity for drama.

And then there’s chapter 10.

And going back to realism, they couldn’t think of anything else apart from vengeance and terrorism? Not, I don’t know, just a highly infectious patient which is probably more likely to happen within a hospital?

I do think that chapter 11 is one of the strongest chapters of Second Year, and the book has got stronger since then. But knowing that it might have ended with the death of Rafael leaves a VERY bitter taste. I’m very glad they rewrote it...but what on earth was the thought process behind that?!? Going back to realism again, if they wanted drama and emotions, why not have Kyra die of surgical complications? At least we’d have been somewhat prepared for that as she was introduced as being a cancer patient, and there would have been more angst (especially for Bryce romancers) as he would have had the guilt of not being able to save her when he promised MC he would, even if it was out of his hands. But sure, have Rafael caught in an assassination attempt, that makes sense. And it still doesn’t really excuse Sora, I mean, imagine the pain if he was still an LI and he and MC were saying their last goodbyes in that room??

I was happy with the rewrite to chapter 11 and the kiss between Raf and MC in chapter 12 was beautiful. And PB have actually made something of an effort to include Raf in the rest of the story; I was half-expecting to not see him again until the obligatory 30-diamond scene in the last chapter.

Chapter 12 was so emotional and it was so clear that each character and LI was struggling with the events. And the end of chapter 12 and the beginning of chapter 13 made it very clear that MC was terrified of returning to work. MC has butterflies in their stomach as they walk in to Edenbrook and then...nothing. That was that. As if they just needed to face their fear and they’d be alright again. Now I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure PTSD isn’t as simple as that? It would go far deeper than ‘Oh, I’m alright, just taking it one day at a time’. And the narration specified that MC was uncomfortable at the idea of going back into the diagnostics room where the attack happened, but chapter 14 we’re back in there without batting an eyelid.

Someone (I don’t know who...if you’re reading this let me know!!) pointed out that Danny and Bobby could have been mentioned at the gala...there could have been some kind of ‘in memory’ and donors could have been guilt tripped by MC. But no, not a peep. I keep thinking that we could have had Baz, Zaid and Inez (I miss her) catching up with MC and asking how they’re doing and how worried they were. If you’re going to the gala with Raf there could have been a highly emotional scene between them about what happened in the room. Raf alludes to it in a line of dialogue but there was potential for so much more.

And how about the fact that a group of doctors cured the incurable OVERNIGHT and it worked without proper testing? NO ONE has mentioned that since! Surely there would be papers being published and deeper research being conducted now that lives aren’t on the line? We had a whole chapter about how a research grant would save the hospital but now...nothing?! Ed Farrugia hasn’t been mentioned since chapter 12. No one in the team is talking about how it was June’s idea to convince him to switch to Edenbrook. Surely that would be a huge elephant in the room? Wouldn’t she at least say something like ‘I never wanted this to happen, we went too far’? Something?!

The fact that there has been no follow-up to the attack suggests to me that it was purely for shock value. They just wanted drama and didn’t care about keeping it grounded. And assuming that Rafael died in the original, that’s more upsetting. I can’t believe that he was the least profitable character in the history of Choices ever. And even if he was, was it because no one bought his diamond scenes, or because he didn’t have diamond scenes to buy? I romanced Bryce in my first playthrough, but I remember choosing to assist on his surgery without even thinking about it, I didn’t even look at the diamonds it would cost. So a beloved character would have been killed, and it would have brought nothing to the story.

Furthermore, Sora would never have been explained. Rafael almost explained in chapters 2 and 12 but both times MC cut them off. If Rafael was originally going to die in chapter 11, Rafael romancers would never have got that explanation, unless they were to hear it from Sora themselves afterwards (doubtful). And it’s highly unlikely it actually will be explained. PB will probably say ‘it’s up to you what happened!’ like they’re doing us a favour by creating our own headcanon, but to me that’s just lazy writing; they wanted to write off Rafael and they didn’t care how they did it.

If Second Year hadn’t opened with a funeral scene we might never have been clued into what was going to happen and demanded a rewrite.

Aside from that, there’s Esme. She’s introduced as breaking Dr Thorne’s hand and then has to diagnose and treat him in chapter 10. Depending on your choices, he gets surgery and thanks Esme for saving his life and apologises for the bar incident. Otherwise she doesn’t run further tests and he messes up a surgery which eventually forces him to resign. And then Esme gets her plotline with Levi. If Dr Thorne wasn’t her main plotline, what was the point in introducing him? It’s another storyline that had huge potential--sexual harassment in the workplace, for example--but had little to no payoff and fell off the radar. If PB wanted to introduce MC and Esme the night before they both started working then MC could have just literally walked into Esme and either apologised, asked if she was OK, or told her to watch where she was going, and that would have affected how she greeted you in the hospital the next day. But no, we get this storyline hinted at which is then written off and replaced. Maybe it was a rewrite, I just don’t see why it would have been.

Like I said before, the main storylines of book 1 all tied together in the end, but the storylines we’ve had in book 2 have just felt like completely separate events, just a bunch of stuff that happens and is quickly forgotten. I think the balance of the LIs has been better since chapter 11; even when the gang went to Vegas, Raf romancers got a quick phone call with him. As a Raf romancer, I appreciated that, and it only goes to show how PB could accommodate for all LIs whilst having Ethan integral as our boss (see before, bonus scenes for Jackie romancers sneaking into each others rooms, bonus scenes for Bryce romancers having flirty interactions in the corridors).

There is such a difference in dialogue if you’re playing Ethan’s romance route or not. I had him stay behind in chapter 11 and I thought it came across as a sweet conversation between a mentor and his protégée. But the other LIs don’t have anything close to that level of detail. Ethan romancers get pretty close to being official in chapter 17 but I’ve heard Jackie and Bryce didn’t get that. And Raf romancers didn’t even get caught sneaking back into the gala. I’m still holding out hope that book 2 will end with all LIs saying ‘I love you’ and being official with MC, but the inequality makes me sad.

I might have had some more to say, but this post has been longer than I intended and I don’t remember what that might have been. I really wanted to like Open Heart: Second Year. Book 1 will always be a favourite, but book 2? It’s like going from the classic era of The Simpsons where Homer was a lazy dumbass but genuinely loved his family, to the modern era of The Simpsons where nothing makes sense and Homer is a straight-up jerk. I just hope that, if we get book 3, they would have learned from their mistakes and Open Heart can be saved. It doesn’t deserve this.

Well, that’s my two cents. Sorry for the long post. If you got this far, thanks for reading.

#choices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart second year #ethan ramsey #bryce lahela #jackie varma #rafael aveiro #casey valentine #rant #long post

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duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

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Embers & Light (Chapter 3)

Ao3

Chapter Three Cassian

Cassian sighed and put down the papers in his hand. He had spent the last few hours going over the updated list of figures Rhys and Az had given to him before he left. The discontent amongst the clans was growing at an alarming rate and he didn’t know how to stop it. He could deal with the Illyrian’s hating him — he had dealt with that his entire bastard-given life — but the thought that he could be the reason they went head-to-head in a civil war felt like a knife to the gut.

Guilt still ate away at him at the memory of those soldiers turning to ash before his eyes. He dreamt of it most nights; of Nesta screaming his name, the sound a dull roar in his ears as he turned without thinking and flew straight towards her. Even now, he felt the terror that had lanced through his body at the thought that she was hurt; that he wouldn’t be in time to save her; that they had wasted so much time…

But in the end, the matter still stood: he had left his soldiers to die for a female that had rejected him and he would never forgive himself for it. Their families had every right to despise him. He despised himself.

Resigned, Cassian fastened the papers with string as Mas came through the back door. She smiled at him, pushing back her snow-covered hood in the entryway. He watched her flare her wings behind her, flinging the wet snow that had settled on them during her journey back out into the snow.

The mottled mass of scar tissue across the housekeeper’s dark membrane was bared when her wings were fully stretched. It always pained Cassian to see them — to know how she had suffered every day at the hands of others before he had put a stop to it.

That was something else that was getting worse too: the treatment of females amongst the camps. The clippings.

Windhaven was the exception, especially with Cassian being based at the camp full-time: it meant he was there to keep an eye on things. And whilst Lord Devlon may be a pain in his ass at the best of times, he was a fairer Camp Lord than most and generally followed Rhys's laws — even if he did grumble and snarl along the way.

But at the other camps where the clans were still rooted in old tradition, clippings were still frequent. They happened behind closed doors out of the public eye, but Cassian had seen young females who couldn’t have had more than one or two bleedings with those silver lines down their wings. It made him want to kill — to rip the camps apart like he had done before until he found who was responsible — but it would only encourage the dissent amongst the males. Cassian needed to catch the bastards in the act if he were to punish anyone, so he stayed silent, filing away the information to include in his reports.

Because the uncomfortable truth of it was that the Illyrian’s had just lost vast numbers of warriors to war, and with their depleted numbers, they were doing everything they could to ensure the continuity of their race. For them, that meant clipping their females so they couldn’t fly away. Fae pregnancies were rare and precious as it was, and those traditional Illyrian bastards would be damned if they allowed one female to leave if they had the potential to pop out a worthy warrior to join their ranks.

Cassian had been too late to save his mother. He had been too late to save Mas’s wings. He would not be too late to save others. He couldn’t live with it.

Not wanting to be caught staring at the scar tissue, Cassian adjusted his gaze just as Mas dipped her head in her customary nod. She held up a paper bag.

“For Lady Nesta,” she explained.

Cassian forced himself to smile. “Thanks Mas. Was it much trouble?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “I made the dresses to your exact measurements, but I can alter them if you need me to. They will be easy to take out.”

A slight pause followed, as if to emphasise the fact that Nesta was too thin. As if he wasn’t horribly aware of it already.

“Everything else you asked me for is in there, too,” she added.

“Thank you.”

“And this is for you.”

Mas balanced a glass vial on the table in front of him.

He looked at her in surprise. “Lavender oil?”

“To help you sleep.”

He started to shake his head in protest but she cut him off. “Anak, you pay me enough. Let me do this for you.”

Cassian closed his fingers around the small bottle. Lavender oil wasn’t expensive but it wasn’t cheap either. Even though he paid her handsomely, Mas continued to live in the widow’s camp halfway up the mountain, where she was exposed to some of the harshest weather conditions Illyria had to offer. To trek up the cliff was treacherous at the best of times, without factoring in the battering winds and the threat of ice and snow. It made his piss-poor tent at the edge of the camp look like a luxury when he was growing up. Before his brother had saved him, of course.

Cassian only wished that Mas would let him save her, too. But he knew he wouldn’t win that battle. Mas might need the money for warmer clothes and food for the other widows and orphans, but she was an Illyrian through and through. That meant that she was stubborn. He’d have to make up the money to her in another way.

“I could do with something to help me sleep,” Cassian admitted finally.

Mas simply nodded at him before eyeing the empty saucepan on the stove. She raised an eyebrow. “You made chai? Shall I make some more?”

Cassian stood with the paper bag in hand. “Please. Add the ingredients to the shopping list from now on.”

Because no matter how hard Nesta had tried to hide it, Cassian had seen the way she had sighed around her mug at the first taste of chai. It was the only thing she’d willingly consumed at breakfast. Mother Above, he’d have it on tap if it meant she’d drink something other than whisky.

“I’ll go and give these to Nesta now,” Cassian told Mas.

It was time to face the hellcat.

***

Moments later, Cassian was poised outside of the spare bedroom. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Go away.”

It was not an unexpected response, given their last interaction. And even though his insides snarled in annoyance, Cassian refused to allow it to show in his voice, as he said wryly, “Don’t tell me you’ve traded my shirt for nothing but skin.”

The actual thought of Nesta bared made his mouth go dry and he fought the urge to swallow. To say he wasn’t reeling from that old trick she had played on him earlier would be a lie. Having her that close to him and smelling his scent all over her... it had taken all his control not to do something he would regret. Like shoving her against the nearest wall and burying his head between her legs.

Cassian had thought at one point that he had felt something flare between them; a flare that had him breaking every one of his damned rules about staying away. But then she had shoved him with a strength that had sent him staggering and the moment was broken. It was the first true sign he had seen of her powers since Hybern.

In some twisted wring of fate, it had only made him want her more.

For the most part, Cassian had stopped bedding females after Nesta had been Made. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, he just didn’t have the appetite for it. It was something that hadn't gone unnoticed by his friends — they had never known him to go so long without having a tussle amongst the sheets. The result had been some off-hand comments, with Rhys remarking on more than one occasion that the muscles in Cassian’s right arm looked overworked. The last time he’d made the observation had been at dinner: Azriel’s laughter had been so uninhibited his shadows had completely disappeared and Mor — in her usual fashion — had snorted so hard that wine had come out of her nose.

Feyre, to her credit, had only looked pityingly at him — as if she knew the exact reason why he was no longer fucking like it was going out of fashion — as she silently handed Mor a napkin.

But Cassian wasn’t a saint. There had been a few occasions in the past year when his judgement had lapsed; it was usually when he’d gotten outrageously drunk or when a recent encounter with Nesta had left him furious and hollow. The former usually followed the latter and Cassian always felt awful afterwards, especially when he’d peer through bleary, red eyes with a pounding hangover to realise that he’d chosen a female with a similar body shape or hair or eyes to the eldest Archeron sister.

At least he wouldn’t be making any further bedding mistakes in Illyria. Cassian wouldn’t bed any of the females here. They were victims of his race’s sexist traditions as it was, and he’d be damned if he added fuel to the fire by fucking for a moments pleasure, especially when a lowly bastard would do nothing for their marriage prospects.

Now, Cassian listened outside of Nesta’s door and waited for a response. When none came, he turned the knob and pushed it open.

Nesta was sitting with her back against the headboard of the bed, an open book in her hands. She was still wearing his shirt, but her legs were covered with the duvet and the throw he had draped over her last night. The room was so cold his breath clouded in front of him.

She did not bother to look up at him as he entered, and even though anger bloomed within him, he strode wordlessly towards the empty fire grate and started to stack logs from the wicker basket.

But one word from her made him still.

“Don’t.” Nesta did not look up from her book. She merely turned the page. Unfazed. Bored. “I don’t like fires.”

Cassian blinked, surprised at the finality in her voice. He had seen her guard the armchair next to the fireplace in the town house as fiercely as Amren surveilled her jewellery. He knew, because he used to spend his entire time there pretending not to look at her. Stupid of him really, seeing as everyone else most likely spent their time watching him watch her.

Deciding to tread carefully, Cassian tucked away the nugget of information she had offered him for later analysis.

“You’ll soon change your mind living here,” he said casually.

Nesta pushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. It was still loose, the ends curling softly as they dried. She looked younger with her hair down and even more beautiful, if that was possible, despite her too-thin face. It made her features softer… less sharp. Sometimes he forgot that she was only twenty-four. How many mistakes had he made by that age? Too many to count — the worst being Mor… He still regretted that.

Nesta still didn’t glance up at him as she said, “I won’t change my mind.”

Cassian wanted to push her further — to ask her why — but he had been a General long enough to know when to let something lie. So he changed tactic, striding towards the head of the bed.

He fed her a shit-eating grin that he knew would have left pre-war Nesta incensed.

“Smut again?” he asked lightly.

It worked. Nesta snapped the book shut and set it over knees.

Finally — finally — those steely eyes rested on him. “I hadn’t pegged an Illyrian bat as a reader of romance.”

Cassian tilted his head to the side so he could read the book title: Love in Velaris. Oh, there was definitely smut in that book. He knew because he’d purchased it with her in mind. He’d visited a bookshop soon after Feyre had pinned him down at the House of Wind. The shopkeeper had promised him that the tale of a High Fae and Lesser Faerie discovering their mating bond was a very passionate read.

“It must be Mor’s,” he lied smoothly.

It was the wrong thing to say. Nesta’s expression turned as cold as stone.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

Dangling the bag of supplies Mas had brought with her in front of her face, he said drily, “I believe you were asking for clothes?”

That stubborn chin rose again. It was a signature move from Nesta Archeron and was already well-catalogued in his mind.

“I want my own clothes.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Azriel got held up. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. Most of your clothes won’t be warm enough though, you’d be best off with Illyrian clothing. Mas made you some dresses that should do the job. All of the essentials should be in the bag too, but let me or Mas know if you want anything else.”

Dropping the bag onto the bed by her feet he settled down onto the mattress beside her. He hoped it would annoy her — that it would encourage her to hiss at him — because any reaction was a good reaction at this stage.

Satisfaction bloomed inside of him as she purposefully tucked her feet even closer to her body with a glare that promised a slow and painful death.

Cassian had seen lesser glares start wars.

“I need to show my face in the camp. Come with me,” he said.

Her answer was defiant and didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“It isn’t an option. Get dressed.”

For him, it was an effortless shift into the role of General and one he’d happily do more often if it made her come out of that hollow shell. It worked — something shift behind her eyes at his command. It was dark and ancient and it thrilled him.

“I said no,” Nesta snapped. “Just because you have whisked me to a secluded mountain camp against my will does not mean I will obey your every command. I do not wish to go, so leave me alone.”

She stared him down, daring him to challenge her. And she expected him to, because that was the twisted game they played; as sharp as any sword fight. Strike, parry, strike, until one of them was so wounded or consumed with rage that they couldn’t carry on.

So Cassian did the unexpected: he shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

Slowly, he stood. He made a point of stretching, of giving the impression that he was nothing but relaxed, stretching his wings until he felt the burn in his tendons. Eventually, when he knew she was close to throwing something at him, he closed the door behind him and finally left her alone.

***

Over the next six days, Cassian barely saw Nesta. At first he brought her food — soup and smoothies, and plenty of chai tea. The whisky came at tapered intervals and he did everything in his power to get some conversation out of her… But as she slipped further and further into withdrawal, she retreated deeper into herself. Soon enough, she was little more than a shaking, sweating frame of bones.

Nesta always ignored him and eventually he stopped coming at all — he couldn’t bare to see the hollow look in her eyes — and when Mas cleared the trays the food was half gone at best. At worst, the food was untouched.

She always drank the whisky.

At night he slept fitfully, jolting awake when he heard her retching. Often he found himself half way to the bathroom before he realised he had moved without thinking. Forcing himself back into bed, he would lay awake and stare at the ceiling until he heard her door snick shut. Visions of her panting and sweating as she rested her head on the toilet seat, or as she curled up on the cold tile floor, haunted him. And he dreamt of the war; as his wings were snapped again and again at the hand of the King and she draped herself across his broken body; of the males he lost as the Cauldron was unleashed, their ash tossed about on the fierce wind.

Wanting to do something, Cassian asked Mas to supply Nesta with even more warmer clothing and toiletries. He made sure she had fleece-lined nightgowns and socks to ward off the chill, fresh bedding and tonics to calm her stomach. He gave her a bag of her belongings, which Az had winnowed in on the second day. But she just lay in bed, curled in a ball, her eyes glazed and unmoved.

In the meantime, he oversaw daily training and reasserted his power with the arrogant War Lords in the surrounding camps. He fought everyday with anyone who dared to face him; fought until his knuckles bled and his siphons blinkered until they were near drained. He always returned home and he delayed his trip further north.

He still couldn’t stay away.

***

Mor winnowed into Windhaven on the seventh day, just after he had finished overseeing the girls morning training with Devlon. Only four girls had showed up and he was in a piss poor mood as he stomped back to the house, only to see his friend appear on the melting snow just outside of the house — a ray of sunshine in the otherwise grey and white landscape.

Wrapping her long white cloak around her body to shield her from the wind that whistled through the mountain pass, Mor smiled at him, her long golden hair whipping behind her. Cassian forced his mouth to do the same and lifted a hand in greeting. It took more effort than he liked to admit.

“It’s not like you to come to Illyria of your own free will, dearest Morrigan. What do I owe the pleasure?” he drawled.

He flashed her a grin but Mor’s smile dropped as he approached. Only concern lay across her features as she closed the distance between them and wrapped her fingers around his sleeve.

“Cassian, you look —“ She searched for the word as her eyes examined his face, “ravaged.”

“What a way to greet one of your oldest friends,” he teased. “You may as well have said, Cassian, you look like shit.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “I did not say that.” She stamped her feet to ward off the cold. "Can we go inside? It's freezing.”

They shucked off their shoes and headed straight to the kitchen once they were inside. Mor was unusually silent, as if she knew not to speak until they were past the spare bedroom whose door was firmly closed.

Cassian had briefly seen Nesta that morning. He had taken her breakfast: a smoothie — the only food she usually touched — and her last glass of whisky. He had been pleased to see her sitting up in bed when he came in, even if she did smell like vomit and her hair was hanging limp and tangled around her face. She looked more gaunt than ever, her collarbone jutting out starkly from the loose nightgown she was wearing.

It had made his heart ache, but he had only placed the whisky on the small bedside table as he said, “Last one. How are you feeling?”

Her hollow eyes had slid to him then and for a moment, he thought she was going to speak to him. But then she had sunk down onto the mattress, her body twisting away from him in silent dismissal so he had left, reassuring her that Mas would be there to in a few hours to check up on her.

Again, it had been the lack of cold admonishment that she could look after herself that had haunted him the most — the crushing silence that lay in its absence. It had made him miss her fire more than anything.

“Is it too early to drink?” Mor asked, dragging him out of his thoughts as she peered hopefully at the clock above the kitchen table.

“I’m currently an alcohol free household,” he reminded her. “I can offer you tea?”

“Ah yes,” Mor chirruped, hopping up on to the kitchen counter as he put the cast iron kettle on top of the stove. “How is everything going?”

Cassian pressed his lips together. “Badly.”

Mor knew him well enough not to push for more details. “And the camps?”

“Worse.”

Mor’s face darkened as he told her about the past few days; about the brutalised females he had seen despite the laws Rhys had put in place and the hatred swelling in the few camps he had already visited; their anger at Rhys and the inner circle for taking them to war — for the Illyrian’s that had died under his command.

Just rehashing it had the guilt settling over him like a dark cloud.

“I’ve been trying to reassert dominance,” he explained to Mor, “but the dissent is there. I can feel it and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Mor sipped her tea. She had listened in silence whilst he spoke, but now she set down her mug.

“Maybe Azriel should come and join you. He could help —“

“I will not make Az come here unless things are desperate. You know how he hates this place,” Cassian said tersely, cutting her off.

Mor’s expression hardened, a mirror image of his own as they thought of their friend — of the brutality he had endured at the hand of his own people.

“And how are the Illyrian’s treating Nesta?”

A smooth transition — an opening Mor had been waiting for, no doubt.

“She won’t leave the house,” Cassian said shortly. “She won’t leave her room. She spends her night throwing her guts up and her days shaking and sweating.”

Mor laid a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “She’s withdrawing. It will take a while. Mother Above, it took you a few weeks if I remember correctly.”

Fisting his palms in his eye sockets, Cassian sighed, “She won’t accept any help. She barely eats. She doesn't sleep —”

“And neither do you by the looks of it,” Mor said sharply. “Cass, let me winnow you back to the House. You can get a good nights sleep and come back tomorrow…”

“No.” The clipped word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I’m not leaving her alone.”

Mor looked as if she were about to protest and then seemed to think better of it. She clamped her lips tightly shut instead, as if it were taking all her will to trap them so whatever she wanted to say didn’t come tumbling out.

“Sorry,’ he breathed after a few moments. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him, solemn.

Her golden hair swayed as she shook her head. “No, i’m sorry. I shouldn't have suggested it.”

Cassian laughed but it came out bitter. “No, you aren’t.”

It was no secret that Mor had lashed out at Nesta multiple times — that she had defended him from Nesta’s fire. Out of protectiveness or jealousy he wasn’t sure. He was never sure with Mor. He was glad he had never been around to see it, though. The thought of the two females going head-to-head filled him with dread.

Mor took a sudden deep breath, as if she were bracing herself. Her hands twisted in front of her, anguished. Cassian’s brow furrowed at the behaviour.

“I actually came to tell you something.”

He took her empty mug and put it in the sink. Played it casual. “Oh?”

She slid off the kitchen counter, landing softly on the flagstone tiles. Mor was always the epitome of grace and beauty. Even on the battlefield when she was slaying her enemies and knee-deep in blood and gore and filth, Mor remained fiercely elegant — a light on an otherwise dark horizon.

“Rhys has asked me to travel. To forge new alliances and gather information.”

Cassian frowned in surprise. “For how long?”

Mor shrugged. “I don’t know. I came to say goodbye. I’ll be back every few weeks or so, but with you up here…”

She trailed off.

“And the Court of Nightmares?” Cassian asked quietly.

He knew what giving that up would have meant to her. To let Keir think that he had won; that she was giving up her duties to run away and leave him to frequent Velaris as he wished — her haven.

Anguish spread across Mor’s features. “Rhys and Feyre. I wasn’t going to go when Rhys suggested it, but… I think it will be good for me. I need to separate myself from Keir and well, I need to accept some of my own truths as well.”

She turned to face him, as if what she had just said had led her to her main point. To his surprise, her eyes welled with tears.

“Cassian, I haven’t been honest with you.”

“Hey now,” Cassian hushed, automatically pulling her to him as she held her hands up to cover the tears that slid down her cheeks, “it can’t be as bad as the time you lost my best Adaman blade.”

Mor let out an indignant sniffle. “That wasn’t me, it was Rhys.”

“So you keep saying,” Cassian said lightly, “Yet Azriel swore on the Cauldron that he saw you take it from the weapons rack.”

He pulled back to survey her and affectionately tucked her blonde hair behind a pointed ear. “Now, what is it you need to tell me? I promise I won’t be mad.”

She sent him a watery smile as he cupped her cheek. Taking his hands in her own, Mor examined the white-flecked scars and the swirling black ink that licked its way down his arms.

She took a shaking breath and looked him straight in the eye. The action oozed finality and for some reason, he found himself trapping the air in his lungs as she said, “I like females more than males.”

Cassian stared at her for a moment, cataloguing the information. Analysing. And then everything clicked into place. He saw every moment between them. All of the times that he had acted as a buffer between her and Azriel; the haunted look in her eyes the days after he had ever seen her disappear with a male into the bedroom; her dancing and laughing at Rita’s…

And there was no anger or disappointment. His heart didn’t stop or clench. He only felt lighter; as if her confession was releasing him from centuries of confusion and uncertainty.

A slow grin spread across his face as he loosed a breath. “Was I that bad in bed?”

Mor snorted a laugh as Cassian pressed a kiss to her hand. He rejoiced in that — in his friend's smile.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Whatever sex you prefer makes no difference to me, Mor. I will never love you any less.”

She wiped away her tears. “I’m so sorry I used you. Not just that night but… after. And I do… I do enjoy males, but I have always preferred females. I’ve known… since I was very young.”

Cassian shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you had the confidence to tell me. No female should be chained to a male, you know I think that. I just want you to be happy.”

He pulled her to him then and she wrapped her arms around him as he squeezed her tight.

“Hey,” he said into her hair, a realisation suddenly dawning on him, “is Rita’s…?”

The corners of Mor’s mouth twitch upwards. “An incognito gay bar? Pretty much.”

“Well, that confirms why I get approached by so many males there,” Cassian mused.

Mor’s shaky laugh was full of relief and indignation. “Only you and Rhys would have such huge egos that you would expect males to proposition you whenever you’re out.”

Cassian let her go with a smirk. “I’m the general of our armies, Mor.”

“And so modest about it,” she quipped.

“Did you know I have seven siphons?”

“Listen to yourself!”

He laughed, the first time he had done so in over a week and as he did so, he felt the darkness evaporate, as if a weight had been lifted from him.

Then he sobered. “Does Az know?”

Mor bit her lip, anguished.

“No. Only Feyre knows. I was going to speak to the boys tonight. Separately of course,” she added when she saw his expression.

Cassian dipped his head in approval. “Azriel needs the closure.”

“I know,” Mor admitted quietly. “I will. I’ll… go to the House and speak to him. Do you — do you think he’ll forgive me?”

Her eyes were wide and fearful.

Cassian wanted to say yes — to make her worry disappear — but he couldn’t lie. He owed her that much.

“I don’t know.”

***

Mor had left an hour later. They had sat at the kitchen table with another cup of tea and many snacks; because as she had explained in a low whine, she had only eaten breakfast an hour ago and she might die of hunger if she didn’t eat right now.

He had let her talk, listening as she explained herself and laid herself bare for the first time. By the time she got up to leave, he felt closer to her than he ever had before, and he was glad for it.

He had smiled at her as she fastened her white fur cloak around her neck. “Don’t be a stranger, ok?”

“I won’t,” she promised.

She had waited until they were outside to ask, “Nesta’s different from the other females, isn’t she?”

Cassian had shrugged loosely, largely because he didn’t know what else to say. How to even start explaining he and Nesta Archeron: how everything had shifted and solidified on that battlefield when she’d draped herself over him; how for a moment everything had made sense.

“She is different,” Mor insisted. “I can see it on your face. Feyre’s beside herself with worry. She thinks she’s betrayed her sister.”

“It was an impossible situation.” Cassian knew his voice was too quiet, but it was too late to correct it. “Whatever we did, we’d come off badly.”

With a grimace, Mor handed him two envelopes.

“Letters from Feyre and Elain,” she explained. “Will you give them to Nesta?”

Cassian had only considered her outstretched hand warily.

Mor seemed to know what he was thinking. “I know, it might just add fuel to the fire. Take them anyway and make a decision.”

“Right,” was all he had said, as if he could really defy his High Lady.

“Az said he’ll be with you in a few days for an update.” Mor hugged him tightly. “I’ll check in on you when I can.”

He had managed a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes, before she disappeared into nothing.

Since then, he had done very little but sit on the couch by the fire, going over that same list of numbers and intel. Again and again he poured over them but the words and numbers just became a blur as his eyes went in and out of focus.

By the Cauldron, he needed to sleep.

With a sigh, Cassian put the papers down on the coffee table. When he padded into the kitchen, he found Mas washing up in the sink.

“Ok, sinta?” she called over her shoulder.

Not wanting to answer the question, Cassian deflected. “Do you want a cup of tea, Mas?”

Despite the fact he’d known Mas for years — centuries in fact — she dropped her gaze. “No, thank you.”

Cassian bit back a sigh of frustration. The expectations of Illyrian females had been rooted so deep that even Mas — the female closest to his mother — wouldn’t let him make her a cup of tea. He ignored her, firmly placing two mugs from the cupboard to the right of the stove on the kitchen counter.

She watched him with wary eyes and when he looked at her pointedly, colour stained her cheeks. She nodded in thanks — the only acknowledgement she could muster — before she buried her hands beneath the bubbles and the clinking of dishes filled the room.

A comfortable silence fell between them as he filled the kettle and turned on the stove.

“Lady Nesta drank all of her chai and smoothie today,” Mas said after a while, just as Cassian poured hot water over some fresh mint leaves — Mas’s favourite.

His breath caught in his throat. “And the soup?”

“More than usual. A few bites of bread, too.”

Cassian swallowed and focussed on slowing the thump, thump, thump of his heart.

“That’s… good,” he said slowly.

“I’ve never seen such a sad Diyosa.” Mas said, shaking her head lamentably as she stacked the dishes on the wire drying rack. “You are doing a good thing, looking after her. She feels too much. It is her burden.”

A sad goddess. The name was surprisingly fitting, Cassian thought, even if he would sooner call Nesta sweetheart just to see her spit at him.

“You can sense her powers?” he asked curiously.

Mas shrugged. “I feel something rolling in the deep; something sinister… unchecked.”

Cassian knew what she meant. He still felt it sometimes when Nesta deigned to look at him. Behind her eyes when he riled her or in the defiant lift of her chin. A few times, he had felt her power from a distance, like on the battlefield at Hybern — a siren luring males out to sea. Dark and beautiful. Irresistible.

“She won’t even speak to me,” Cassian confessed.

Mas shrugged. “She is just coping in her own way. Let her come to you, sinta. She’s no longer shaking and sweating. The sheets were dry this morning when I came in. Did you hear her visit the bathroom in the night?”

A polite way to ask if he’d heard her retching up her guts.

“No,” he confessed.

In fact, it had been so eerily quiet that he had got out of bed to listen at her bedroom door for signs of life. He had waited until he had heard the rustle of the sheets and the clear thrum of her erratic heartbeat before padding back to his own room.

“I will take her some soup now.” Mas patted his arm. “She will be better, you’ll see.”

Cassian could only hope that Mas was right.

***

Cassian finally relented and visited the first of the camps further north. With nobody to winnow him back and forth, he had to rely solely on his wings. That meant conceding to an overnight trip, which unwittingly turned into an additional night due to high winds.

The situation was even worse at the tip of the Illyrian territory according to Azriel’s information, and Cassian was determined to find out whether his brother’s intelligence was correct.

The treatment of females at Craggs Peak camp had always been more barbaric than in Windhaven. Illyrian’s were raised with an unrivalled arrogance and their females were mistreated to a such a degree that Cassian would have usually called in Rhys. And he would have, if he hadn’t known that hauling in their High Lord to kick them down like puppies would only add fuel to the underground movement rather than deter it.

Instead, he watched. Cassian analysed every movement, every activity and every word of anybody he came across. He made a point of walking the camp morning and night; of being present in the sparring rings to praise and discipline the males where necessary. Most importantly, he made sure to fight; to remind them of his power and that what he was capable of in battle still rang true. That even if he was a bastard, he was still the most powerful General in Illyrian history.

Yet despite his actions, something felt off. Out of the sparring ring, there were more sneering glances and looks out of the corners of the Illyrian’s eyes than usual, most upsettingly from the females. No girls turned up for training and for once Cassian didn’t challenge it, for fear of confirming their ill-informed suspicions that he believed all of his race to be expendable if he dragged any females unwillingly to the weapons rack.

He even made a point to turn down Lord Hamel’s offer to clear out one of the houses for him to sleep in. Instead, he pitched a tent on the outskirts of the camp — anything to stress that he wasn’t too good to sleep on the same hard ground as his soldiers.

Consequentially, he spent his nights clutching his favourite blade whilst he slept fitfully in his leathers and all seven of his siphons. At one point, he had woken with a start, the tang of unbridled fear overwhelming his entire senses, only to remember dreaming of the log fire back home in Windhaven, and the clang of the door as it was thrown shut.

By the time Cassian finally landed outside of the stone house in the early hours of the morning, his whole body was heavy. His wings had burned with such cold during the flight home he had used his power to shield his body and take the edge off — something he rarely ever allowed himself to do.

It was good practice to endure all weather conditions as a warrior, but even he had felt panic seize hold of him as the wind threw him back a few feet in a particularly sudden gust. Whilst it hadn't taken him long to set himself right, it had highlighted what he hadn’t wanted to admit — that even he was expendable to the elements. If he hadn’t been so keen to get back to Windhaven, he would have listened to his senses and stayed another night.

Despite the late hour, smoke rose from the bungalow’s chimney when he landed. An unknown burst of energy surged through his blood, pulling him towards the light that illuminated the house thanks to the slightly parted curtains in the living room.

He found Nesta curled up in the corner of the couch, a book open on her knees when he came through the door. Those steel-blue eyes of hers were already staring at him, slowly tracking his body from the feet up until they met his eyes, unflinching.

She was placed as far away from the log burner as possible, her body practically tucked into one of the right angle of the u-shaped couch. The fire glowed orange with the dregs of embers — as if Nesta had gotten distracted by her book and forgotten to replenish the wood. It would appear Nesta’s dislike of fires didn’t extend to the log burner. That, or she’d got so cold in his absence that she had given in and moved to the fire Mas kept going all day.

He tried not to flinch as she continued to stare, as if she were searching for something in his eyes; an answer to a question he didn’t understand.

Cassian wanted her to stop staring at the same time he hoped she’d never stop. Somehow, he made his body bend so he could make quick work of the laces on his boots. It gave him time to hide his surprise at finding her out of her room, showered and collected rather than coated in sweat and smelling like vomit.

He willed everything into making his voice conversational, as he asked, “Couldn’t sleep?

As soon as the boots were off of his feet he moved to the fire. Stretching his wings wide he groaned at the instant heat as it soaked into the membrane; the ice cold numbness dissipating into a tingling, delicious warmth.

Nesta’s gaze did not falter as she tracked his every movement. Her eyes swept over the apex of his wings — where the bones had been snapped and rendered useless — before moving back to his face.

“You’re late,” she said eventually.

Her voice was cracked and dry as paper from lack of use. Was this the first thing she’d said in days, Cassian wondered? He wouldn’t be surprised. Mas had never indicated that Nesta had spoken to her and she certainly hadn’t spoken to him. Even at the beginning of her withdrawal, when he had sat beside her bed and told her about his day — about the goings on in the camp in the hope that she had felt less alone — Nesta had never uttered a word.

Laying back on the couch, Cassian tried for a sly smile but it only came out as a grimace as his back barked in protest. Mother Above, he was getting old. He may be immortal, but his body had started to ache in ways it never had, especially since the war.

“You noticed my absence, how unusual,” he parried.

Swiping a hand over his tired face, Cassian quickly folded in a wing: in his fatigue, he had nearly knocked a mug clean off the coffee table. It clattered and rocked but thankfully remained upright — Cassian couldn’t think of anything worse than having to mop up tea and cracked earthenware when all he wanted to do was listen to the slow thump of his tired heart.

Exhaustion had caved in on him since he had landed and it made his blood sluggishly slow. When had he last slept for more than a couple of hours? Maybe Mor was right, he did need the sleep. But coming home to find Nesta up and awake was enough to know he’d made the right decision, even if the weather had left him battered and bruised.

Risking a sideways glance at Nesta, he eyed her too thin frame underneath the heaps of blankets. It was unusual that she had noticed him. In the week or so they had been living together, this was the first time he had seen her so alert. And the way she was staring at him with those shrewd eyes the colour of stormy skies; it made him wonder if she’d expected to find him in one piece… or for him to come back at all.

Did she expect everyone to leave her?

Chasing away the thought, he bared his teeth in a wide grin, even as his skin prickled from the scrutiny.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart? If I realised leaving would have made you look at me like that I would have disappeared long ago.”

Something shuttered behind her eyes then, like a bulb being turned off at the switched. He had pushed too far, too soon.

Fair enough.

Closing her book with a snap, Nesta said, “Mas didn’t come today.”

“It’s a Tuesday,” he explained. “It’s her day off.”

Even if it was only to go to her other job.

Nesta shook her head, her expression hardening. “Something felt wrong.”

Cassian sat up at that. He had always taken her previous premonitions seriously and no matter how much she rallied against him and drove him away, he knew that when she sensed something she had sensed something.

“Wrong how?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Nesta said testily, mistaking his clipped words for irritation. “It just didn’t feel right.”

“I’ll check on her first thing tomorrow morning,” he promised.

Standing up with a grunt, he paused as the room momentarily spun and his body swayed slightly on the spot.

Mother Above he needed to eat. He’d expelled a lot of energy during the flight home and he hadn’t consumed anything before he’d left — he’d been too anxious to come home and make sure she was ok. But the mere thought of getting up at dawn to oversee the girls training… he needed his bed more than he wanted dinner. Even the thought of reheating leftovers seemed too much.

So he said roughly — tiredly, “I need to go to sleep. See you tomorrow.”

And although Nesta didn’t bid him goodnight, he could have sworn her brow furrowed slightly as she watched him leave.

#nessian #cassian #acotar #acosf #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron

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soft-stormcloud · 5 years ago

Text

Panic Cord: Please Don’t Say You Love Me [2/3]

Synopsis: When Virgil and his fiancé, Logan, take in Virgil’s ex boyfriend Roman and his boyfriend, Patton, Virgil’s forced to come face to face with his guilt.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Prinxiety, Analogical, LAMP, background logicality

Word count: 3580 out of 8823

Trigger warnings: Implied abusive parents, very heavy guilt, financial problems, potentially unsympathetic Virgil? It’s complicated, everyone makes mistakes.

Part One

Logan was, of course, okay with it.

Virgil dared say he was excited. He took a day off work (he had a lot of personal days saved up) to spend making sure the apartment was clean and inviting, and his office was cleared out for Roman and Patton to move in. Virgil had to move his vanity to make room for Logan’s desk, but he didn’t complain.

When they arrived, Logan pulled Patton into a tight hug while Virgil took Roman’s luggage to carry it inside.

“Is this all you have?” He asked, frowning.

Roman shrugged and followed Virgil into the apartment. He was sort of dazed as he looked around. “Well, I had a few of Patton’s things over at my place, but when he was evicted, his landlord sold his things. I had to be fast to leave so I just filled up whatever I could in this suitcase and we left.”

“I’m surprised you let Patton in your house,” he said as he pushed open the door to what was previously Logan’s study, now Roman and Patton’s room.

“What?” He frowned. “I didn’t.”

Virgil set his suitcase down in the bare room and looked at him in confusion. “You said you had some of his things?”

Roman blushed and looked away. “Just, like, sweaters and stuff.”

He couldn’t hide a grin. “You’re still so sappy.”

“It’s not exactly a bad thing!” Roma pouted.

“I didn’t say it was.” He didn’t bother unpacking the suitcase, leading Roman right back out. “Logan and I called in a favour with our parents- Come with us, we’re getting you some furniture.”

“What?” Roman smiled nervously. “You don’t-”

“You’re at least getting a bed.” Virgil gave him a flat look. “Besides, my mom was way too happy to help. She and Dad actually want to have dinner with you and meet Patton, whenever you’re up for that.”

Roman only blushed brighter. He was embarrassed, but in a good way.

When they went back into the living room, Logan was explaining to Patton how they could afford such a nice apartment.

“Virgil’s and my parents got together and wrote us a cheque for our Christmas present,” he was saying. Virgil stepped beside him and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist. “They covered half the costs. We’re also pretty lucky with our jobs, they pay us well, and we’ve been saving up for a while.”

As they walked out the door and headed for the apartment’s elevator, Patton looked at Logan curiously and asked, “What do you guys do?”

Virgil hid a smile as Logan lit up, launching into an excited ramble about his job. Logan loved his job, and he wasn’t quiet about it. He didn’t even do anything super exciting or that he’s passionate about; It was just convenient, and well-paying, and easy. He said he mostly enjoyed it because he got to put all of his energy into his studies, and his relationship with Virgil, not having to waste any to pay for basic living expenses.

The four of them went out to a few of the surrounding furniture stores, somehow managing to fit a nightstand, the parts of a dresser and a bed, and a shit ton of hangers inside Logan’s tiny car. They went ahead and used the leftover money to buy Patton new clothes, and a little for Roman, as well.

When Roman and Patton were distracted with the clothes, Logan pulled Virgil aside. “Are you doing okay?”

Virgil frowned in confusion. “Yeah? Why?”

“I just… Know this isn’t exactly what you wanted.” Logan took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and ran his thumb across Logan’s palm. “It’s not what they wanted either. It’s not a big deal.”

Logan watched him carefully. Virgil seemed… Truly unbothered.

“Verge, you know you don’t have to answer this, but… Why did you two break up?” He laughed a little and shook his head. “I’m so confused about your relationship.”

Guilt flooded Virgil’s system. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No, it’s… I don’t want to talk about it.” He did want to tell Logan, both because Logan deserved to know and because Virgil thought he may feel better after getting it out.

But there was always the possibility that Logan would leave him, would find his actions so disgusting and mistrustful that he decided to go.

“It’s okay,” Logan whispered, pulling him into his arms. “Don’t panic, it’s fine. It clearly doesn’t matter anymore, whatever happened. He doesn’t seem mad at you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Virgil mumbled.

xxx

The next few weeks living with Patton and Roman were… Interesting. For Virgil, most of it consisted of not ever letting himself be in a room with Roman alone, while also making sure Roman and Logan were never in the same room alone. It was pretty exhausting- Not just the act itself, but the guilt that came with it. Was it wrong of him to be stunting Roman and Logan’s relationship so badly? Was he proving that he hadn’t changed at all in he and Roman’s time apart, by doing pretty much the exact same thing? Was his reasoning justified in meddling with the ecosystem of their apartment?

Logan, someone who was always straightforward and blunt with him, didn’t seem to care. Or even notice. He and Patton were growing closer and closer by the day, and if they were a ‘normal’ couple, Virgil would be frightened every time he found Logan and Patton tangled up on the couch, asleep together, or walked in on them talking quietly and holding hands.

For once, it was not because of the guilt. Most things Virgil did in his life was because he felt guilty. But, truly, it was because he would do anything to keep that dopey smile on his fiance’s face, and he wasn’t bothered that he wasn’t the only one to cause it. He and Logan simply had too much love to give that could be dropped onto one person.

One day, Logan, Patton, and Virgil were in the living room, Virgil doing his makeup before work and Patton and Logan doing a puzzle, when Roman burst through the front door with sunshine in his face.

“Love?” Patton stood and smiled, coming over to hug him. Roman picked him up and tossed him a bit, spinning him around and holding him tightly. Logan snickered as Patton squealed. “Woah- What’s going on?!”

“They’re doing auditions for Dear Evan Hansen down at the Carnation, and I got an audition!” Roman set his pink-faced boyfriend down and smiled so wide it changed the way Logan and Virgil saw him.

Virgil had missed that smile.

“I’m auditioning for the role of Connor!” He reached into his messenger bag, a large hole in the side patched up with the scraps of a thin red scarf, and pulled out a clean, new script. It was thin and unlaminated. “They gave me a few scenes to practice for, I need to go right now!”

Patton wasted no time following Roman into their room. Virgil was embarrassed, because half of him tried to get up, too. For a split second, he had fallen back into his old life, his old self, and as terrifying as that was, he still felt ecstatic when Roman poked his head out and said, “Hey, Verge? You wanna come, too? Patton wants to read for Zoe, but you can play Evan!”

Virgil desperately wanted things to go back to how they were, and he desperately wanted to never go back. He was terrified that Roman being here would put him back into old habits, that all the work he had done to change and be better and build a life with Logan would vanish. But he was also so, incredibly, ridiculously happy to have Roman back, and achingly sad in a way that you only feel when you just now realized how much you’ve missed a person. He wanted to be able to pick and choose, to reach back and pluck certain elements out of his old life and drop them into his new one, and forget about the remnants.

But life didn’t work that way.

So as he and Patton helped Roman prepare for his audition, with Logan sitting on the bed with a book, he kind of wanted to cry.

xxx

“I want to be a halfling!” Patton cried in excitement.

They were all crowded around the living room table, Virgil and Logan’s D&D Player’s Handbooks laid out in front of Roman and Patton.

“Okay,” Logan chuckled. He was sitting next to Patton, hand planted beside his hip, so his arm was almost around him but not quite. “Then, here, these are the stats you get, you put those here.”

When Roman and Virgil were still dating, Virgil mentioned a few times how he always wanted to get into D&D. Roman agreed, and they always said they would play together, once they had time and enough friends to make a party. The day Virgil and Logan met, Logan was wearing a Critical Role t-shirt and was buying supplies for his weekly session, a few days out. He offered to take Virgil with him, and the plan was just to watch and hang out but he got along with their party so well and already had an idea for a character, they insisted he started right away.

It didn’t escape Roman’s attention that Virgil ended up doing something they always planned on doing together, with Logan. He was sad about it even though he knew he shouldn’t have been. How could he expect Virgil to have put his life on hold, for a reunion that neither of them thought would happen?

There was still a part of him that felt betrayed. Roman often felt betrayed when thinking of Virgil, and it was so frustrating because he didn’t want to be mad at Virgil, especially seeing him now, seeing how much he’s changed. He was engaged, and happy about it- Excited, even. Every time someone brought up their upcoming wedding, Virgil positively lit up and couldn’t stop himself from attaching himself to Logan’s side.

Although… As betrayed as he’s felt these last two years, as sad and as angry as he’s been… It faded as the four of them spent the night playing D&D, sinking six hours into it, making a clumsy team with Logan as their ruthless DM. It faded away for very familiar feelings to take its place.

That morning, after Patton went to bed and Logan went to work, Roman found himself wandering towards Virgil’s room. He was so confused, and surprised, and he didn’t think he could wait any longer- He had to talk to Virgil. During their relationship, nobody could calm him down and make him see clearly the way Virgil could. He hoped they hadn’t lost that, that all this time apart hadn’t made them strangers.

Virgil called him in after knocking, looking a little wary. He knew it couldn’t have been Logan, so it was either Patton to chew him out about all he did to Roman, or Roman himself, which had its own problems attached.

“Hey,” Virgil said haltingly. “You need something?”

“Not really.” Roman shrugged one shoulder, not able to meet his eyes. “Just, uh…”

Virgil scooted over and Roman took the silent invitation to sit next to him, pulling the covers over his lap. “What is it?” Virgil actually looked concerned, and Roman hated that that surprised him.

“Does it feel… Weird to you?” He risked peeking at Virgil, risked noticing the way his faded purple fell in his eyes and the way he still looked so, so tired. “Being back together?”

Virgil fell silent, and Roman was patient. He knew the face Virgil made when he was thinking, when he was choosing his words very carefully to both say what he meant and spare feelings. His eyebrows scrunched up and he chewed on his upper lip and he looked, just faintly, defeated.

“It does,” Virgil said. “But it’s not… All bad. I just don’t think we were expecting it.”

Roman was relieved to hear that, but it also scared him, because that meant they were thinking the same thing, and that could be dangerous. He thought of Patton, Roman’s ray of sunshine. For a short amount of time, Patton was the only reason Roman stayed alive. He loved Patton fiercely, but that kind of love was familiar to him, and he had been feeling it double lately.

“I bet you got rid of everything.” Roman didn’t mean it as an insult, but he could acknowledge that it definitely sounded like one.

“Actually,” Virgil said, annoyed, “I still have all of it.”

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was going to get rid of it during the move here, but… I don’t know.”

He crawled over Roman to get out of bed, and went over to the closet in the corner of the room. He disappeared inside for a minute, clothes being moved on racks sounding out into the room, and came back with a scrapbook and a shoebox.

The shoebox was unassuming, nothing like the one Roman had spent hours decorating, that still sat somewhere inside his parents’ house, or maybe the garbage at this point. The scrapbook was a lot more exuberant- They made it together. Somehow Virgil ended up with it.

He got back into bed and set the scrapbook into Roman’s lap.

But then they didn’t move.

They both wanted to open it, and they knew that, but something about it felt wrong. Were they making a mistake?

Just as Roman started to contemplate, Virgil took off the shoebox’s lid and tossed it aside. All of Roman’s concerns disappeared at the sight inside.

At the very top, there was a brown leaf that looked like it would crumble with a single touch. On their one month anniversary, Roman took Virgil for a walk, which was really a disguise for a secluded, romantic picnic. He took Virgil down a dirt path with overarching trees, blooming all vibrant shades of green in the summer sun. Virgil wanted to stop, to check out a little alcove of trees off the path, and they ended up staying there for longer than planned. As they made their way out, Virgil plucked a leaf off one of the trees and stuffed it in his pocket.

Now, Virgil reached down to pick it up, and under the weight of the wind it shattered, all over a card Virgil had made for Roman’s 19th birthday.

They both snickered, and Virgil dropped his head back, frustrated and happy. Roman flipped open the cover of the scrapbook. The first picture was from Roman’s 19th birthday, about two months into their relationship. They both had writing and scribbles all over their arms, Roman’s in purple, Virgil’s in red. Virgil squinted to try and read some of it.

In red, Don’t Forget Your Meds!! <3

In purple, audition at 2:30. see you there

There were drawings, random scribbles in red and little icons and comics in purple. Their arms were like that in most pictures, and in a picture they had taken at the park, where Roman had Virgil picked up with one arm, a little ink peeked out under his raised shirt, on his tummy.

Looking at these pictures, Virgil had never felt so dumb.

After they finished looking at the pictures, neither of them felt like letting Roman go back to his room. Guilt gnawed at Virgil’s insides as he and Roman scooted close to the wall, leaving enough room for Logan when he got back from work. They fell asleep with their legs tangled and their bangs brushing together.

When Virgil woke up, it was like he had never gone to sleep. A blink of time passed and he peeked over Roman’s shoulder, worried Logan had gotten home and gotten angry, left to sleep somewhere else, and was only mildly relaxed to find him there in his usual spot. He had actually scooted closer than he had to in order not to fall off the bed, almost spooning Roman.

Virgil laid there until Logan woke up. The morning was one of Virgil’s favourite times to spend with Logan, because Logan was sleepy and affectionate like a cat, and they often spent the mornings drinking coffee in silence. Just being in the same room was often enough for Virgil.

It wasn’t like that this time. Virgil could barely look at him. Was he angry? Was he going to accuse Virgil of cheating, or wanting to leave him?

He knew Logan would never have this conversation without at least a cup of coffee, so he stayed quiet. Logan prided himself on being able to articulate himself, and he couldn’t do that when he was tired.

After a little bit of Virgil stewing, and cooking breakfast for four, Logan finally turned to him and said, “What’s going on? You’re freaking out.”

“Was that inappropriate? Are you mad?”

Logan hummed and turned off the stove, putting the pan on a different burner. “I think for normal couples, the answer would definitely be yes, and we would need to have a talk.” He opened up his arms and Virgil sunk into them, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. “But we’re not normal. Does he make you happy?”

That wasn’t a question Virgil was prepared for. Maybe that was stupid, but it wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer, it was that he wasn’t sure if he earned the right to say it.

But this was Logan. He was always safe with Logan.

“Yes.”

“Do I still make you happy?”

“Yes!” Virgil pulled back, looking at Logan in concern and panic. “What kind of question is that?!”

Logan cupped Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him, just firm enough to keep him grounded, to remember where he was. Virgil rested his hands on Logan’s waist and sighed into it, kissing him back.

“We tell each other before we do things,” Logan mumbled.

“Right. And the other has to be okay with it.”

“And I’m okay with it. And the other has to know the new person. Don’t I?”

Virgil swallowed and nodded. “Yes. And it goes both ways.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Logan whispered. “But if you really can’t shake that feeling, then we should have a different conversation.”

Virgil and Logan had put their polygamy into practice before, but never for anything serious or long-term. Virgil felt guilty about a lot of things, it pretty much ruled his life, but this had never been one of them.

“Morning, guys,” Patton said as he wandered into the room. Virgil and Logan pulled away so Virgil could make Patton a plate while Logan greeted him.

Patton and Logan ate their breakfast and then headed into Patton and Roman’s room, because Logan promised to help Patton prepare for his job interview and then drive him there. While Virgil was making his own plate after finally getting hungry, Roman came into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said nervously.

Virgil glanced back at him and then forward. “Hey. Are you hungry?”

They sat next to each other with their plates of food, and ate in awkward silence. When Virgil went to reach for his drink, Roman set his hand over Virgil’s. He didn’t remember the last time his heart had jumped so high, or so much excitement flooded his system.

“I have my audition today,” Roman said quietly. “Are you busy?”

Virgil was walking on eggshells. Everything lately felt like a decision, like one way or another his life was changing, and he had to make the decisions without knowing what it would lead to.

“I’m not busy,” he settled on, because it was the truth.

Roman linked their fingers together, and Virgil squeezed his hand. Virgil thought of what Logan said, that he was okay with it- And suddenly Virgil realized that he himself might not be. As Roman leaned closer, Virgil jumped out of the chair and scrambled to grab his half empty plate and head into the kitchen.

“Actually, I just remembered that I, uh, have a lot of stuff to get done today,” he stuttered, fumbling for a tupperware to put his leftover food into. “Sorry, I, uh, can’t make it. Sorry.”

“Virgil.” Roman frowned and stood, coming over to him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just- I can’t make it.” Virgil slid his food into the fridge and put his dishes in the dishwasher. He tried leaving, but Roman was blocking the way out of the kitchen. “I can’t make it, okay?”

Roman looked at him in frustration, and hurt. Virgil hated how familiar that was. Of all the things Virgil wanted to see again now that Roman was back in his life, that was last on the list. “Do you think- Maybe we should talk about what happened? Because you’re acting-”

“No!” Virgil’s eyes widened. “No, what? What are you- There’s nothing to talk about. How would that help?”

“Virgil, if you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but-”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Virgil insisted, and he kind of felt like crying.

Roman stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind or say he was kidding. Then Roman grabbed his keys and his jacket, and walked out the door.

Reblogs are better than likes

#roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #prinxiety #analogical #lamp #virgil #roman #patton #logan #hurt/comfort

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nathanicls · 4 years ago

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* ◜ timothée chalamet , cis man & he / him / his ◞ * according to school records , that’s nathaniel jessop walking on campus grounds with their usual hot chocolate from the ancient grounds cafe . they’re known for narrowed eyes and are often spotted at the secret garden reading the catcher in the rye . almost everyone knows their family is worth like one hundred million dollars , so we suspect they’re a member of labyrinth , you know , the one for new money . do you know where they were the night that the scholarship student died ? they claim they were on a date with a new partner , must be a philosophy thing , right . and hey , don’t you agree that the senior reminds you of snow flurries covering the ground in soft layers, the sight of the country sky on a clear night , the scent of fresh bread just out of the oven ? you better watch out perseus before something dangerous happens to you and life ends at twenty-two .* ◜ jack , 23 , est & she/her/hers ◞ *

the laziest about you ever did see!

nathaniel jessop (call him nate!) is born to colin and marianne jessop. he has three older siblings; in order, they are matthew, corey, and joshua. his father owns a grocery store; his mother runs the bakery. they are never a rich family. they go without and sometimes it’s breakfast for dinner because cereal is cheap and it is all that is left in their cupboards. it’s fine. what they are rich with? love and compassion and good will.

nate doesn’t really get that they are poor, not until he starts school and kids pick at his hand-me-downs and laugh when he can never afford to go to school events or on field trips. because of this, he pulls back. that said, he is shy to begin with. he sits with his brothers at lunch when he is able; his brothers’ friends are his too because he never really finds his own.

he goes to school then he takes the school bus home to drop off his backpack. he walks the quarter mile to the grocery store and pulls on an apron to help his mother in the bakery. he kneads bread for hours, feeling smooth dough underneath his rough fingers. it’s quiet, good work. he’s skilled at it. his mother suggests he could help her there instead of going to college or to trade school. he thinks it’s a good future; he’ll be close to home and close to family.

when he is twelve, his father gets an inheritance from an estranged uncle. it’s a lot. it’s more than he or marianne have ever had in their accounts before. they don’t splurge. they make a few repairs on the house and they buy a new engine for the family car. but the bulk of the money? it’s put into the bakery. marianne had been told for years that she had a magic touch in the kitchen. the jessops never had the money to expand or sell beyond the bounds of their little town. the money goes towards new ovens and mixers; a website is set up and they research how to ship.

beyond what they could ever imagine, the little bakery business booms. suddenly, the bakery is too big for the grocery store and its moved to their own storefront. then, it’s moved again. marianne (and by proxy, nate, too) is featured in food magazines and on television shows. business keeps growing. an investor reaches out. how would they like to open another location?

they do it. and then they open another. and another. finally, there are five jessup pastries up and down the eastern seaboard.

nate is seventeen and the family is no longer struggling with money. in fact, their pockets are overflowing. he doesn’t have to want for anything. he has chances and opportunities that weren’t there for his parents or siblings. he is pushed into a future that he never imagined. gone are the dreams of inheriting jessup pastries. instead, he is told to think about university and a career.

he goes to clemonte. he is invited to labyrinth and at first he nearly says no. the texts in his groupchat with his brothers are riotous. they tell him to take chances.

it’s four years later, he’s a senior now. he feels as lost as ever.

the laziest personality facts

he’s shy. he hardly talks first. it’s a pain to start a conversation with him, really, it’s like pulling teeth, unless he knows you.

why is he quiet? he worries he’ll ruin everything by mispeaking

another why: why philosophy? it seemed like a rich thing to do. he plans on teaching after he graduates. isn’t that something rich people do? so he’s very lost

he can be pressured into doing almost anything because he has a lot of guilt saying no to anyone

if he could be left to his own devices, he’d never go out on the weekend

DID I MENTION HE’S A ROMANTIC. yeah. when he’s in love, the boy goes the whole nine yards. flowers and poems and freshly baked pastries and breads. he lets himself fall quickly and more often than not he lets his heart get broken

daydreamer soft boy

misses the small virginian town he grew up in

soft gentle boy

feels empty

someone could take a bite out of him and he’d probably let them, if only to feel something stronger than the numbness

wanted connections more fleshed out than anything else because i am a piece of garbage (also are all of these based off of either taylor swift or richard siken? yes)

i knew everything when i was young: how do you break your own heart? you put it in the hands of someone else willingly, and then they squeeze. imagine him, wide-eyed and vulnerable, finally feeling like he’s truly in love. it’s perfect — it’s magic and every moment spent together is delightful and perfect and — there’s little more to be said. then, his lover decides that he’s not for them. it’s over. and suddenly nate knows what it feels like to be destroyed. whether his heart was broken out of cruel intention or genuine falling out of love? we can decide.

he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you: broken boy refuses to give his heart to another because what if it breaks again? he pines and he yearns with sad eyes and soft glances. words die on his tongue, tangled and choking because he’s bursting with all the love he could possibly give. maybe they know of nate’s feelings because surely it must be obvious (starry eyes and rose-stained cheeks and — he’s a boy in love) but maybe they don’t. maybe they think he’s a friend, or maybe they’re unsure of his intentions. maybe he’ll never say anything and maybe he’ll be the cause of his own heartbreak once again.

you can call me babe for the weekend: now one hundred percent nate isn’t the sort for hook-ups or one night stands, but what if it happens. it’s brief — boundaries are drawn. but just because rules are made doesn’t mean they’ll be followed. who breaks first? who falls in love or decides it’s too much? who gets hurt and who ends up unscathed? is it newly ended or is it long since passed, only too-long glances when they pass on campus to hint that something happened?

we have not touched the stars: there’s something special about platonic intimacy, something that goes unnoticed more often than not. but nate and them sit on a bed, heads pressed together as they stare at the ceiling, finding constellations in cracks and coming up with the stories behind them. they talk about dreams and the future, of fears and impossibilities. does anyone know them better? probably not, but they are content with this. friends forever is a dreamy thing, but together they feel it’s a possibility.

so i got wasted like all my potential: floured fingers, a sticky brow. in the wet heat of the bakery, nate knew who he was. he knew who he was supposed to be — but then the bakery grew beyond him and his mother, and he was pushed out. i’ve said he’s lost so i imagine he might do things to try and feel something. maybe it’s discovering vices, maybe it’s feeling a rush of adrenaline going beyond the bounds of what he normally does. i don’t imagine he’d seek out many things on his own, so maybe someone is “guiding” him — maybe it’s pressure or maybe it’s genuine goodwill. either way, this could be beneficial or super toxic.

generic connections that can be expanded on

bullies

exes (come on. come on.)

roommates

friends

not friends

study buddies

#/ intro.

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Thirteen

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Unspeakable Acts

I should be doing more.

She couldn’t shake the guilt.

I should be combing the state. I should be pulling the land apart looking for him.

Fear was stopping her. Contentedness. Security. There wasn’t much of it in this new life of hers but the little that was there was enough to quell the potential possibility of uncertainty.

Why should the words of a known liar spur her in to action anyway?

But what if he’s not lying.

She just couldn’t rid her mind of the circles she kept going in.

Staring into the murky water, Ada tried to picture for the hundredth time what her brother would even look like, all these years later. Thirteen years later. Would he have changed his name? Would he even remember her?

Why are you even thinking about this when he’s dead?

But what if he’s not.

Lifting her head with a long inhale, she banished the thoughts from her mind, or tried to. When she wasn’t working, when she wasn’t with Arthur, they were always there, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet.

Today was a loud day. The actions of the O’Driscolls only hours ago had brought them back into sharp focus.

She was tired, so tired, of the uncertainty, of the doubt. Should she just start looking for him, just for that tiny chance of ‘maybe’?

But he is dead.

But what if he’s not.

Again, back to the start.

The sound of cantering hooves down the main path was yet another welcome distraction.

Pushing herself up, Ada turned on the jetty and brushed the dirt off of her hands onto her thighs as she walked towards the three arrivals. Lenny, Dutch and Arthur slowed their horses and, as she approached, she very quickly realised something was wrong.

Dust and sweat covered them, there were bruises on their faces and Dutch had a nasty looking red mark on his forehead. Other members of the group gathered around them as they dismounted and were already asking what had happened so by the time her hands were cupping Arthur’s face, he was already explaining.

“There was an incident at the station. Angelo set us up. There was no money there, nothin’.”

Her heart dropped as she stared at him, Lenny taking over.

“The law turned up real quick. Probably had someone watchin’ the place, waitin’ for us.”

Oh, fuck...

“Dutch, are you all right?”

She finally looked away from searching Arthur’s features to look to their leader at Javier’s question. He definitely looked... off.

He smiled slightly. “I’m fine. Just took a knock to the head. A lie-down is all I need, that’s all.”

Lenny helped him towards the house, the group disbanding with murmurs and sympathetic noises.

Ada returned her gaze to Arthur’s. He was watching the older man, his mouth set in a thin line. Concerned.

Her hand dropped to take his.

“Come on,” she murmured, leading him to the side of the house.

He didn’t say a word, following her. She took him to the shack on the water at the back of the grounds, only releasing him when the shack blocked them from the view of the house. She spun, cupping his face again, and his hands went to her hips.

“Are you all right?” she said before he could speak.

Nodding, he exhaled a breath. “Yeah. I just... I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it wouldn’t go right.”

“Do you truly believe it was a set-up?”

“Yeah. Can’t be anythin’ else, Bronte owns the town.”

Her heart sank again, her stomach twisting as her hands moved to his chest.

“Arthur...”

“What? What is it?” he prompted when she didn’t continue after a moment.

She swallowed hard, her voice low. “What about what Angelo gave me, Arthur? About the bank? Could that be a set-up?”

He took a breath before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Probably not. Hosea had heard about it, too, and from someone not close to Bronte.”

“But Angelo gave them to me specifically to give to Dutch, and now he very much appears to have set him up?” She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “Why do that if he’s his supposed friend?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

She wanted to go on, to figure it all out, to find an answer, but he looked so tired and worn out she managed to hold her tongue. Glancing towards the house, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Concerned lovers needing a few moments alone was good enough cover for peace but people were always milling about.

“Hey.”

Her gaze darted back to Arthur. Cupping her cheek, he smiled gently.

“It’ll be all righ’. Whatever happens, if somethin’ does, it’ll work out.”

There it was again, the blind faith. She didn’t want to get into another argument right now.

Returning his smile, she nodded. Then, rather than allowing lies to pass her lips, she raised her chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His arm instantly wrapped around her lower back and pulled her closer.

He whispered beautiful words into her ear, his lips left a burning trail down her neck and his hands held her anchored to the moment.

She closed her eyes to the world.

—

He was gone the next morning.

Rolling over, she stretched her legs out, her arms wrapping around his pillow. She stared out of the window on the other side of the room.

Thomas.

The bank.

Colm.

Dutch.

Her mind picked up the stream of anxieties she’d suppressed with Arthur’s help from the day before. They’d been shoved away by him insisting she read to him from the book, ‘you and Hosea won’t shut up about’, in his room while he inspected his bruises and cleaned his guns and knives. Then had come the call for dinner and he’d made them sit beside Hosea so they could discuss the book, well, her and Hosea anyway; Arthur just watched them both, slightly bemused as they might as well have been speaking Latin. Then, they’d returned to his room and he’d insisted that she carry on reading because ‘I must be missin’ somethin’ about this Frankenstein feller’, and so she had read to him as they lay on his bed, nestled together, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair. Then, she’d closed her eyes and the next thing she knew... Here she was. Awake.

She knew he’d orchestrated it all to distract her. That made her chest ache.

But he didn’t know the half of it. And here the thoughts were. Again.

She only had one conclusion; she didn’t know what to do.

So, she put a distance between the issues and herself, a barrier. Delusional, wandered into her mind before she quickly dismissed it.

She took her breakfast with the girls, listening to Mary-Beth explain how wonderful the tailor’s in Saint Denis was, that they should all go, that a night out in the town with just them would be nice and exactly what they needed. No one could be bothered to argue that that would be ridiculous and risky. Mary-Beth needed her fantasies, anyway.

She and I are like two of a kind.

It was a quiet day. Dutch was apparently still spending the day resting, not making an appearance. His lack of action seemed to slow down the general activity in camp, everyone staying close, besides Arthur, wherever he was, and Ada took the day to help the girls out with anything they needed. Later in the day, she took a watch with Sadie, delighted to laugh with the other woman and share a cake Sadie had bought in town.

“Oh, I missed cake,” Sadie groaned through a mouthful.

“Mmh, me, too,” Ada agreed, brushing crumbs from her mouth.

“I used to make ‘em as often as I could and me and Jake’d eat ‘em in a day. I could make damn good ones.”

“I’d be honoured to try one some day.”

Sadie snorted. “Sure, let’s go huntin’ in the bushes for an oven.”

Ada laughed, looking back towards the main path. “Hey, you never know what you could find out here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the locals would be very accommodatin’.”

Sadie fell silent as Ada chuckled, tapping the butt of her rifle against the dirt. The silence lingered.

“I’m thinkin’ of goin’ off in a couple’a days.”

Ada’s gaze darted to her and she paused.

“Oh, really? Where would you be going?”

Sadie watched her. “I’m gonna go after the O’Driscolls. What remains of ‘em, anyway.”

Ada couldn’t help but pause again. Her mind raced. What could she say? It would be a waste of time to try and dissuade her from doing so, Sadie wasn’t the kind of woman you dissuaded from anything, but what else could she do? Encourage her? Should she be jumping at the chance to help her? Would Sadie be suspicious if she didn’t? Mercifully, Sadie continued after a moment.

“You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Not an order, just an invitation. A gentle invitation.

Ada smiled lightly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She’d deluded herself into thinking she could have just ignored her circumstances. Yet fate had dealt her a Sadie-shaped hand, and it—

“So...” Her eyes darted back to Sadie as the older woman spoke, her lips twitching. “... You gonna tell me about you and Arthur or what?”

Ada laughed, very much welcoming the relief it brought.

“Oh, Sadie...”

“Is that the sigh of a woman in love?”

Ada laughed again as she shook her head, looking down at her hands. “No, no... Just of a woman enjoying a certain situation she’s found herself in.”

“Well, good for you, lady. I ain’t known either of you long but I can tell you’re both happy.”

“Yeah, it’s something,” Ada smiled.

When Sadie left to hunt, the invitation rolled around in her mind for the rest of the evening until she forced herself to retreat to her bandstand, Arthur having not returned. Again, the invitation greeted her as her first thought of the day when she rose. Upon getting breakfast, she discovered Arthur must have returned some time in the night because there he was sat at the table with Dutch and Hosea. They were deep in conversation so she didn’t disturb them or even try to catch his eye, instead opting to take her bowl of porridge and sit on the jetty, watching fish swirl about in the water.

‘You’re more than welcome to join me.’

I should.

I don’t want to.

And there it was. That thought, that ugly, cowardly thought, that had burrowed into the back of her mind and no matter how hard she tried it just wouldn’t go.

“So, guess what I saw last night.”

She nearly dropped her bowl at the sound of his voice and boots behind her.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur...”

He chuckled as she narrowed her eyes at him, taking a seat beside her.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realise you’d lost your edge.”

“I was just very much enjoying my breakfast.”

Another lie to add to the mountain of them.

“Sure, Pearson’s porridge is just that good.” Lighting a cigarette, he shook the match out as he grinned at her. “C’mon, though, guess.”

Raising her eyebrows, she shrugged. “I have no idea, enlighten me.”

“An alligator.”

If her eyebrows could have risen any higher, they would have. “... An alligator? You do know we are surrounded by them here?”

He chuckled. “Nah, not just any alligator, darlin’, it was the biggest alligator I’ve ever seen in my life, probably that anyone’s ever seen.”

“Right, and what were you doing out seeing a big alligator?”

“We were securin’ a boat, me and Dutch.” He continued as she frowned, “So we can get over to Bronte’s.”

She set her bowl down. “You’re going to Bronte’s? Why?”

A corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted slightly. “Seems Dutch’s taken the trolley incident very personally.”

She stared at him. “What’s he going to do with him?”

Arthur shrugged. “The aim is to get some pay-back. Rob him.”

“Right.”

She knew it would be patronising and would take their conversation down a route she certainly didn’t want to go if she pointed out how well guarded the place would be.

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come.”

She blinked. “Do I want to go with you and rob Angelo Bronte?”

He nodded, taking a long inhale from his cigarette.

She was about to politely decline, wanting nothing else to do with the man, when it hit her.

I could get answers.

He could be keeping correspondences. There could be information on Colm’s whereabouts.

She grazed her teeth over her lower lip,

“Do you know what, Arthur Morgan...” He grinned as she smiled. “I think I’d very much like to come and rob Angelo Bronte.”

—

They went that night.

The boat barely made a sound in the water. Thomas, a man Dutch somehow seemed to know who lived in the heart of the swamp land, was good, his staff barely disturbing the surface as he pushed them along.

It had been an interesting place to disembark from, Lagras; a collection of shacks and jettys and mud that might have possibly passed as a very small village. They had ridden out there together, she, Arthur, John, Dutch, Lenny and Bill, and left their horses tied to a post outside Thomas’s shack. Thomas had emerged from within, a wide, warm smile on his face that had her warming to him instantly, despite a sightly bizarre joke he’d made about how pleased he was ‘The Night Folk’ hadn’t got them. They’d just laughed politely. People and their fairy tales.

Ada sat beside Bill in the boat, half-listening to him protest that he had never said he was a sharp-shooter in the Army. She half heard Dutch retort with glee that, ‘ah, yes, he’d been ‘the nation’s most loyal latrine digger’. She blocked them out as Arthur laughed and Bill got high and mighty about his service.

She had no idea of the layout of the mansion, no idea how many rooms there were or where Bronte could possibly hide. That didn’t matter, though, it wasn’t like they were going to sneak in and have the chance to run around finding him. They’d go in guns blazing, use the element of surprise. Did Dutch even know how many men would be guarding the place? No. The element of surprise and gumption trumped that, apparently.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to the boat.

“Hm?”

Turning, she found Dutch smiling at her.

“I was just sayin’, Miss Annie, that Arthur should never leave love aside ‘cause it’s all we got, ain’t that right?”

She glanced from him to Arthur, then back again. “I think so, Dutch.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Dutch exhaled a breath as he nodded. “All we got is the love for each other.”

Glancing at Arthur again, his eyebrows raising slightly, she then returned her gaze to the front, hoping she hadn’t missed something vital.

Soon, the lights in the distance grew brighter, and she could just make out the shore, barely able to discern the muddiness of it from the murky water. They all bar Thomas stepped out, Dutch whispering to him where they would meet. Thomas wished them luck as they made their way up the bank, crouched.

“Come on, quick, stay quiet,” Dutch hissed to them as they neared a high stone wall.

He seemed... almost impatient. Jittery and excited all in one. As if this was some prank they were going to play. She didn’t know what this was going to be; she just needed time and the powers that be on her side.

She didn’t know how they were actually going to get—

Bill, Lenny, Dutch and John leapt up, gripped the top of the wall, and began to hoist themselves up and over, groaning. Her lips parted, she looked from them, to Arthur. A corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he arched an eyebrow.

“You need a hand?”

“Yes, I think I bloody do.”

Chuckling under his breath, he laced his fingers together and crouched slightly. Shouldering her Repeater and stepping into his hand, her arms above her head, he then pushed her up and she grabbed the top of the wall. Gritting her teeth, the wall scraping against her forearms slightly, very grateful she decided to wear trousers, Ada heaved herself over. She dropped down on the other side, Arthur following a moment after. She glanced at him, his smile lingering as he passed her, caressing her back gently. They joined the other men at a large crate, kneeling.

“Lenny, Bill, you’re with me,” Dutch murmured, gesturing behind himself at the stairs, “Arthur, John, Annie, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Okay?” He smiled as they all nodded. “All right, then. Good luck, gentlemen and lady.”

Ada gave him a smile as he met her gaze, inclining his head.

Thank you, my liege.

As they all turned away, she followed close behind Arthur and John, keeping low against the stone wall. They didn’t speak, moving swiftly and quietly along to a small set of stairs. Heading up them, at the top it opened out onto the back garden, beautifully trimmed hedges and clean stone tiles spanning out, with stone statues and fountains here and there. Small hanging lights on them illuminated some of their way, and ahead of them lay the house, grand and huge and imposing.

Suddenly, John, leading the way, gestured they go to their left and they ducked behind whatever was closest, spotting two heavily armed guards up ahead. Licking her lips, Ada adjusted her grip on her Repeater. Just when exactly would the element of surprise—

Gun fire rang out, echoing across the stone garden.

Her head whipping to the side, she saw John and Arthur, having half-risen, shooting over the tops of their chosen covers. She could hear Lenny, Bill and Dutch firing from their near adjacent position, too. She hadn’t heard a guard call out so one of them must have taken the first shot. From John’s expression, she would have put her money on him. Rolling her shoulders, she leaned out and joined them.

The guards were yelling at each other in Italian, fumbling slightly in their effort to respond quickly. Hell, maybe the element of surprise and gumption really was all they needed.

John advanced forward, Arthur behind him and she followed; it seemed the guards would not have much time to try and respond at all.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte!” Dutch called out tauntingly as the two groups drew nearer. “Send out every man you’ve got!”

They were rounding the largest fountain at the centre of the garden and nearing the stairs that led towards the great house. Guards fired down at them from the porch and balcony above but their little group were better shots and had better cover.

“Just give up, you bastards! It’s over!” John yelled, and she knew it must have been him to fire first. The hatred that must be coursing through this father’s veins for these men.

“You crossed the wrong man, Bronte!” Dutch added.

You, or John, I wonder.

Both of them and Arthur were barely taking cover, unlike she, Lenny and Bill who were using the statues. Bullets flew over their heads as guards shot blindly, trying to quickly take over from the men before them who had fallen. It was all so loud, how the hell would they get this done before the law invaded the place?

She didn’t have time to think about that.

She shot at the men coming out of the doors, her heart pounding; she didn’t know when this had become easy, when it had suddenly become shoot, kill, on to the next, shoot, kill, on to the next.

Maybe when she’d accepted it was ‘us or them’.

Guards were still calling out from the balcony but now no one was coming to replace them, and the porch was empty.

Dutch realised it in the same moment she did. “This is not over yet! Head to the house!”

The men surged forward but she stayed behind, firing at the last three men on the balcony. Once the last man had fallen to the wooden boards, she pushed herself up and jogged across the small space to the stairs, climbing up them. The men hadn’t gone inside yet and she glanced to Arthur to frown at him when John shot the lock with his shotgun.

Ah.

“Good! Now kick that damn door in!”

Arthur obeyed Dutch, striking at the heavy doors with his boot and they flew open, crashing against the interior walls of the house.

“Look out!” he called as a guard darted into the hallway that lay before them, firing in their direction. They pressed against the exterior walls as Arthur knelt and shot him, his body falling heavily.

Another man appeared from the other side of the hallway and it was Lenny who got him, reaching out and firing. She peered round, wanting to see what the layout was like.

Her stomach dropped. The place was huge. A room to their left and a hallway, a room beyond that, rooms beyond that, and ahead of them, it was so vast. And, with all the noise and for all they knew, Bronte could have escaped by now. Where the hell would they begin searching.

That thought either hadn’t crossed their minds or it had and didn’t deter them, for the men surged in, shooting instantly as Bronte’s men began to run out of the many rooms.

There were archways everywhere so they couldn’t even hide behind doors, it was just a matter of shoot first before you were shot.

“Bunch of God damn jokers!” Bill yelled as they split up without conferring, dodging into rooms and dealing with any men that stood within them. “I’ll kill you all!”

Ada followed behind Arthur and John who had moved ahead into what must have been the central room of the house, a marble-floored foyer with a staircase to her right and a—

Staircase.

Glancing at Arthur and John, both of them distracted by the front doors suddenly bursting open and two guards appearing, she darted across to the stairs and moved up them swiftly.

Foolish to go up on her own? Probably, but logic told her Bronte was a man who hid and sent his men out to protect him. No, he wouldn’t have left yet; he was too arrogant for that. Her heart pounding, once she’d made it to a small landing and turned to take a shorter set of stairs up, she slowed, keeping against the wall. There was no movement up here, none that she could hear anyway.

Silence suddenly came from the floor below as she made it to the next floor.

“All right, let’s spread out, he’s hiding somewhere!” she heard Dutch call out.

Shit, she’d need to move quicker.

She looked left, then right. There were doors every few feet apart. How could a place have so many fucking rooms? The hallways didn’t even have dead-ends, either, that she could see, anyway, they just turned and went on.

Fucking hell, think...

Something moved in her peripheral vision. Turning her head to the left, a man appeared from a room, two revolvers raised. Gritting her teeth, she was a second quicker, firing at him and sending him stumbling back with a loud groan.

“Who’s up there?” Dutch.

“Annie?” Arthur.

She was running out of time.

“Lenny, keep that door covered!” Arthur again.

“Bronte must be up there, let’s go!” Dutch, excited.

Pick a God damn door.

She didn’t need to.

The door before her opened and a man stepped out, snarling, but, over his shoulder, she saw him, darting out of sight. Dodging to the side, she grabbed the man’s arm, shoving it away so his bullet struck the wall behind her. She could hear them coming up the stairs behind her as she shoved the man against the door-jamb, grabbed his revolver from his hands and used his surprise to shove him behind her. He stumbled and fell down the stairs, making Bill call out as he came to an abrupt halt. She got to see his disgruntled expression just before she closed the door and—

Pain spread throughout her right arm as a bullet slid against her bicep, tearing the skin open, and buried into the door. Gasping, she instinctively spun and dropped into a crouch as a tall man aimed his gun at her again. Raising the revolver, she fired at him, her bullet tearing through his stomach. As he hit the ground heavily, she almost didn’t hear Arthur calling out, their footsteps close to the door.

“Annie?!”

Gunshots suddenly sounded from the hallway, though; more men must have been hiding. Gritting her teeth and ignoring both the sounds and the pain of her arm, Ada pushed herself up; she had to use all the time she was given.

The small alcove she was in opened out into a beautifully furnished bedroom, but there was only one way to go. Dropping her repeater and moving the revolver to her right hand, she rounded the large bed, heading to the closed door opposite. She could hear movement within. Taking a breath and adjusting her grip on the gun, she then gripped the doorknob and shoved the door open, the revolver raised.

Angelo Bronte greeted her, stood in a bathtub at the back of a marvellous bathroom, in a beautiful nightcap, robe, trousers and slippers... and a gun raised.

Her breath caught as he snarled and pulled the trigger... but no bullet came out.

Her heart thudding against her ribcage, anger swept over her and all fear left as he pulled the trigger again and nothing happened. He spat out a short word in Italian, most likely a curse, and hurled the gun at her. Ducking easily, her jaw clenched, she rose up and strode towards him.

His demeanour changed instantly, his hands raising as he stepped out of the tub.

“Okay, okay, signorina, let’s just—”

Gripping the lapels of his robe, she tugged him forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“Where is Colm now?” she asked, a distant part of her marvelling at how cold her own voice sounded.

Bronte exhaled a slightly shaking but still amused laugh. “Oh, Signorina O’Driscoll, you cannot be serious?”

She struck his temple with the butt of the revolver.

He fell out of her grip as she loosened it on him with a cry, gripping his head with one hand. Looking up at her from the floor, he spat what were no doubt insults at her in Italian, his features twisted in rage.

“Where is Colm, Bronte?” she asked again, her calm voice cutting through his tirade.

He laughed. “Like I would tell you, what are you going to do to me if I don’t, huh? I know killers, Signorina O’Driscoll, and you are not one.”

A faceless voice entered her mind.

Would you kill for Thomas?

Yes. Yes, she would, even after all this time. Even with the possibility of it being in vain.

She struck him again. The gun cracked against his cheek this time, and he fell onto his back, hissing and cursing at her again.

“Oh, I’ve killed, Bronte, I’ve just never enjoyed it before,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Where is he?”

He snarled again, staring up at her. “I’m not going to tell you, you fucking whore cunt, you are nothing, you don’t matter, you have nothing—”

She realised a second later that she’d done it.

She aimed the barrel at his head, drew the hammer back and lay her finger on the trigger.

He cut off from his tirade abruptly, freezing.

Rage coursed through her but she stood just as still as he was.

“Tell me where he is,” she said, so quietly.

He was silent for a moment. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

The final test.

For Thomas.

The final thing Angelo Bronte would see before he descended to hell would be her, standing over him, the barrel of the gun pointed between his eyes like he was an animal, a cold—

The bedroom door burst open.

Both she and Bronte jolted as Arthur and John surged in, their guns raised. The four of them stared at each other, then John smiled as he lowered his shotgun and shouldered it.

“Well, I’ll be God damned...”

He strode towards them as Arthur also lowered his gun, calling out, “In here, Dutch.”

Licking her lips, Ada stood back as John passed her and grabbed Bronte, hauling him to his feet.

“My friends, my good friends,” Bronte smiled, releasing a slight laugh. “Okay, okay, name your price, every man has a price, name it! I surrender!”

John snorted as he punched him, knocking the Italian man out cold. “What a God damn idiot...”

“Hey.” Ada turned to Arthur as he gripped her right forearm gently. “What’s this? You okay?”

Her gaze dropped to her bicep and the blood staining her brown and white shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine, I think it’s just a graze.”

Arthur exhaled a heavy breath and tugged his bandanna free from his neck. “We’ll get Grimshaw to look at it when we get back,” he murmured, releasing her arm so he could wrap the bandanna around the wound, pulling it tight.

Wincing slightly, she then caught his gaze, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, a corner of her mouth lifting a little.

“Should we kill him?” John interrupted before Arthur could press further, rising from where he’d checked Bronte’s pockets.

“Nah,” Arthur replied as he finished tying the bandanna, dropping his hands. “Let’s take him to Dutch.”

John nodded, stepping over Bronte and passing them. “You can carry him, then. I ain’t carryin’ that piece of shit.”

Arthur nodded, shouldering his gun with a sigh. “All righ’.”

Ada followed them out of the bedroom, John leading the way with Arthur behind him, carrying Bronte over his shoulder. Picking the repeater up that she’d dropped on the way out, she held it in her left hand and kept a grip on the revolver in her right. Her arm ached but she ignored it. She was relieved they hadn’t wanted to hear the story of how she’d apprehended him, John probably too full of rage at the man who had kept his son to care now that they had him, and Arthur too distracted by her wound.

They made it to the stairs when they heard it. Whistles outside and voices shouting; the law were finally here.

About damn time, she thought as the men cursed.

“Let’s go, come on!” she heard Dutch call, having already gone down the stairs.

They moved quickly, descending and meeting with him, Bill and Lenny.

“Come on, we’re gettin’ the hell outta here!” Bill yelled as they ran for the back doors.

They heard the front doors once more burst open behind them, this time, though, it was officers surging in.

“Put your guns down!” one of them yelled, though he was quickly silenced by Lenny.

John, Dutch, Bill and Lenny turned and gave her and Arthur cover as they ran through the back doors and out into the garden.

“Look out!” she suddenly called, shoving Arthur to the side as officers appeared from behind the hedges.

Ducking to the side and using columns for cover, they fired back, John joining them.

Luckily, there was only a small group of them, and their own group could swiftly move down the steps, darting across the stones.

“Push up on ‘em!” Lenny shouted.

“Sorry, boys, nobody’s goin’ to jail today!” she heard Dutch call out from behind her, jubilant.

They ran and fired as they went, speed seeming to work in their favour.

“Come on, let’s get outta here!” John called, the first to make it down the small set of stairs that led to the back of the property.

Bullets came from behind them, though she sensed the officers were being somewhat cautious, probably suspecting they had more members lying in wait.

No, just us six lucky fools.

Instead of heading to the wall, though, Dutch, taking the lead, led them towards a tall set of open gates and out onto a jetty.

Oh, so we could’ve avoided the wall.

Then, she saw Thomas on his boat, gesturing for them to hurry, and she sped up, close behind the men.

“Put him in front, Arthur. Bill, you help him,” Dutch said of Bronte, glancing back at the house.

The officers were definitely being cautious, hanging back even, though they continued to fire.

John, already in the boat, helped Bill to remove Bronte from Arthur’s shoulder, dropping him down into the front of the boat, grunting slightly. Arthur rolled his shoulder as he sucked in a breath, before stepping closer to her and gently pressing a hand on her back. She took the hint, stepping down into the boat, and sitting beside John, Arthur stepping in after her and sitting at the front.

“Come on, Lenny...” Dutch muttered, getting in to the boat.

Her head whipping up, her heart stuttered slightly as she realised the young man wasn’t with them. Licking her lips, she stared at the gate, then, yes, there he was racing through them with a wide grin.

Releasing a breath of relief, she smiled as he caught her eye and winked. “All right, come on, everyone, what you waitin’ for, let’s go!”

Dutch chuckled as he sat down at the front, Lenny jumping into the boat and sitting beside Bill at the back. “Let’s get outta here, Thomas.”

“Gladly.” The older man nodded, using his staff to swiftly push them away from the jetty.

They fell silent as Thomas moved them away from the house, the darkness and fog on the water claiming them. Ada gripped her guns tightly to try and stop the shaking of her hands, hoping that would hide them, but she needn’t have bothered. Everyone in the boat was looking down at Bronte who was slowly coming to after Dutch had shaken him awake.

“Hey, big man,” Dutch said cheerfully as Bronte stammered slightly in his disorientation, his eyes flashing between them all. “We gonna ransom you or what?”

Bronte’s gazed darted to Dutch. Then, he pulled a face and shook his head as he pushed himself up a little. “You’re pathetic.”

“Oh, I am? ‘cause from where I’m sittin’ you’re the one deservin’ of pity, my friend.” Lenny chuckled quietly behind her as Dutch continued, “All your men... All your money...” Glancing at Dutch’s back, she could hear his smile. “... it weren’t no match for a bunch of bumpkins.”

Bronte snarled, seething. “You are nothing. You do nothing. You mean nothing. You stand for nothing. Me? I run a city.” He laughed. “And when the law catch up to you, you will die like nothing.” His voice was rising. “I am this country. You, you,” he looked between them all, “You are what people are running from.”

There was a pause.

Dutch’s voice was so quiet when he spoke. “I possess things that you will never understand.”

“You don’t even posses your own men,” Bronte retorted. He looked at them all again, lifting his chin as he declared, “A thousand dollars to the man who kills him and sets me free.”

None of them moved. Ada didn’t look away from Bronte to see their expressions; she was too busy revelling in his own falling as it dawned on him that he couldn’t buy his way out of this one.

Dutch leaned closer. “What are you gonna say now?”

Bronte was starting to panic now. “They are even bigger fools than you.”

“No doubt!”

“The law will find you!” Bronte was sweating. “Already the dogs are on the way!”

“Oh, yeah! Oh, you’re right!”

She finally looked away from Bronte to look at Dutch, her brow dipping slightly at his... what could only be described as a manic tone. Moving closer to Bronte, on his feet, Dutch reached for him.

“You are so right!” He gripped the back of Bronte’s head, holding him tight. “They are good at smellin’ filth, huh?”

Arthur had stood now, too, staring at Dutch, as had Lenny behind her, she felt. Arthur looked back at John, and Ada and... she saw a slight panic in his eyes. Dutch was still talking. In fact, he was shouting now.

“So filth has got to be disposed of!”

Then, he shoved Bronte’s head over the side and into the water. She froze, staring at him as John cursed beside her and Lenny inhaled sharply. Bronte was trying to scream but water was filling his mouth as he tried to thrash, gargling.

“Your friends, the Pinkertons, gonna come and rescue you now?!” Dutch was shouting. He suddenly lifted his head and Bronte gasped for breath, sheer terror on his face. “You repulsive little maggot!” Dutch yelled. He shoved his head back down under the water, and Bronte writhed and thrashed, trying to kick his legs out.

She felt Lenny’s hand on her shoulder, tight. Dutch was snarling and John stood suddenly and Bill did, too, the boat rocking slightly. Looking to Arthur to see what he was doing, she suddenly realised why they had. They had reached Thomas’s jetty, and Arthur grabbed the wooden post, keeping the boat against it, but he was still staring.

“Call them, now!” Dutch growled. “You call them!” Bronte’s head was still under the water, and his movements were slowing, weakening. They all just stared. Dutch was grunting and growling still, like an animal, until, a few moments later, Bronte stilled.

Hissing out a breath through his teeth, Dutch released him and stood, breathing heavily. Then, he shoved him over the side.

“Jesus...” John breathed, incredulous, looking from the water to Dutch. “What part of your philosophy books cover feedin’ a man to God damn alligators, Dutch?”

Dutch was watching the sinking body of the great Angelo Bronte. “The part that covers weakness.” He glanced at John, still trying to somewhat catch his breath. “That part.”

Bill had exited the boat, so had Thomas, and she felt Lenny pat her shoulder gently.

“Come on,” he murmured, looking slightly withdrawn. Getting to her feet, she stepped out of the boat, finding her hands were still shaking.

“I don’t know—” John started to say, when Dutch snapped, “Well, I do.” He pressed his lips together, then turned and stepped out of the boat, passing Arthur. “It ain’t nice, I know it, but it is us or him!” He lowered his voice slightly. “I figure it might as well be him.”

He turned and strode past her, following after Bill, Thomas and Lenny. She lifted her gaze from where she’d been staring at the wooden boards of the jetty, and looked at the two remaining men.

What the hell just happened.

From their expressions as they stepped out of the boat, they were thinking the same thing. They were silent, though, no one wanting to voice what was rolling around in their minds. After a moment, John shook his head and strode away. She could hear the men mounting their horses.

Biting at her lower lip, she looked up at Arthur. She felt like crying and she didn’t know why. Maybe because of how helpless he looked. She closed the small distance between them, shouldered the Repeater and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. His tired blue eyes met her own. Clearing his throat, he looked away.

“Come on. They’ll be waitin’.”

—

“Come up to my room,” Arthur murmured to her, his hand sliding back into hers after they’d dismounted.

They’d all ridden back in silence, in a slightly broken formation; Dutch at the front, Lenny and Bill a little behind, followed by John some way back, then her and Arthur.

The paths had been quiet, as was Shady Belle. Javier was taking a watch and Lenny had dismounted and said he’d take over from him. Ada looked at the young man, her heart aching slightly; he looked rattled. The others had dismounted and dispersed, heading in different directions.

She let him lead her into the house and up the stairs, following behind John who entered his family’s room. Once inside their own, Arthur shut the door and turned to her, releasing a breath.

“Well. That was somethin’.”

“Yes, it was.” There was still a shake to her hands. He had to have felt it. She went to fold her arms, before wincing at the pain of her wound, and shook her head slightly. “Arthur... Bronte could have been used as a bargaining tool. Dutch could have got the Pinkertons to ease up, maybe, give everyone a chance, some time, perhaps, to get away.”

Arthur nodded as he rubbed his forehead. “I know, I...” He didn’t know what to say. Inhaling a long breath, he began to remove his guns, placing them on the table beside the door as he watched her. “Before John and I came in, what were you talkin’ with Bronte about?”

Ada looked at him, then moved and picked a clean rag up from the table, dipped it in the bowl of water beside it and began to rub the dirt and sweat off her face, silent. He was deflecting. Once again.

“You were gonna kill him, weren’t you?”

Her silence lingered for a few moments.

“Yes.”

“Why.”

She lowered the rag, bracing her hands against the table as she shook her head, finally looking up at him. “I don’t know what came over me, he just... He was just...” Licking her lips, she straightened, her hands playing with the rag. “I asked him where Colm is so I can find Thomas.”

He paused, his gaze searching hers. “You think he might be out there, then?”

She shrugged quickly. “I don’t know. I just need to know, one way or another.” She opened her mouth, then closed it for a moment. “Sadie told me she’s gonna go after them, the O’Driscolls. She invited me to join her.”

Arthur was now silent. He dragged his teeth over his lower lip as he placed a hand on the table, the other on his hip. “Are you going to?” he asked quietly.

She nodded a little a few times, taking in a small breath. “I think I am.”

His gaze travelled her features before he nodded. “All right. You just let me know when you’re both goin’.” He moved then, his hands cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over her skin as he held her gaze. “I don’t mind how long it takes. Just come back to me, darlin’.”

Her lips parted as her eyebrows rose. “You’d let me go?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “You ain’t mine to keep, sweetheart. You’re a choice I made, and one I’d make over and over again.”

Her heart... ached like nothing she had ever felt before. Her voice was so quiet as she finally dared ask, “Why.”

His smile lingered as his thumbs stroked again. “You know why.”

She just gazed at him.

There was a light knock at the door.

“Arthur? Dutch and Hosea want to see you,” Charles murmured, and they heard him walk away.

Arthur’s smile widened a little more and he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, a hand settling on his arm gently. It fell as he released her, stepping back.

“See you later. Get Susan to look at that arm.”

Then, he turned, opened the door and headed out, closing it behind himself.

She stared at it, her arms by her sides, her eyes filling with tears.

Something inside her started to heal.

—

Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Questions?

Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @ntlmundy

#arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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brookeputnam · 5 years ago

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❄ · · · BROOKE PUTNAM has been in Ellingham for ONE MONTH and they look exactly like CANDICE KING. Having turned TWENTY NINE years old on their last birthday, they are currently a PHILANTHROPIST and ARE HAPPY WITH THAT. Known as the MAGNATE, it’s no secret that they’re ALTRUISTIC & CHARITABLE, but also INDULGENT & STOIC. If you’re to meet them, please remember that they are CIS FEMALE and use SHE/HER.

there are tw’s under the cut! all of them are mentioned before brooke’s tidbits.

PARENTAL DEATH TW / HOME INVASION TW / MURDER TW ! / TOXIC RELATIONSHIP TW.

brooke was born into a wealthy family, her parents were both successful entrepreneurs on top of coming from rich parents who left all of their assets to them, so they never had any sort of financial strain to worry about.

brooke’s family traveled regularly, she’s never really had a specific place to call home as they never stayed anywhere too long. they bought home after home, and stayed in hotels all over the world.

her parents were good people, she loved both of them dearly, and she aspired to be like them growing up. while they spoiled her rotten, they also taught her about the importance of giving to others, especially people who weren’t able to give back to her. she was happy as a child, she looked at the world through bright, curious eyes.

brooke has attended campaigns world wide for causes she’s a supporter of along with her parents, and they’d always made generous donations as well.

DEATH TW: one night in 2010 when brooke was 19, her life changed forever. for the putnam family, it seemed like any other night at first, until it wasn’t. two men broke into their home in canada and ended up murdering both her parents and attempting to murder her as well. fortunately, brooke survived the attempt on her life and was able to call the authorities when the men fled the home after leaving a blood bath in their wake.

she healed up well from the attack, she has barely any scars, and they’re all in areas she can easily hide, though she doesn’t feel any reason to do that.

she suffers from survivor’s guilt for being unable to save her parents lives, as they were the only family she’s ever really known and she had to watch both of them take their last breaths. she doesn’t cope well with it, she often has nightmares / flashbacks to that night and wakes up in screaming and absolutely heartbroken.

brooke is able to conceal her suffering well, she didn’t let the men who murdered her parents snuff out her light, she doesn’t talk much about that night, either, she prefers repressing it.

brooke is an actress, she has had roles in many films and television shows, though she’s taken a step back from that recently and she’s focusing more on her passion of philanthropy and public speaking.

brooke has an ex fiance she thought was the one for her, but he was all sorts of wrong for her. he was someone she thought she could trust, but he was far from it. he didn’t truly care about her, and when she tried opening up to him, he was dismissive of her and didn’t want to listen, he was using her for her money and brooke had to discover that the hard way. she broke ties off with him recently and fled to ellingham for a fresh start.

she settled nicely into ellingham, buying a quaint 3 bedroom home that she loves very much. it’s her first official home, as she continued moving around from place to place after her parents death.

she lives every day to the fullest and does her best to live each day honoring her parents legacy.

she has plenty of money, but she’s not wasteful with it, and she doesn’t boast about it either.

she still travels, but ellingham is her home. she goes to various areas throughout canada, as well as outside of canada to speak publicly and meet with other philanthropists.

she’s a genuine person, but she can also seem a bit repressed / standoffish due to her past, she’s not one to easily open up to just anyone.

brooke’s best friend ( TBD ) who has been with her since she was eighteen moved to ellingham with her in the house next to hers, and she’s grateful to have them with her, because they’re the only constant in her life and the only person she’s truly able to rely on.

potential connections for brooke can be found right here.

#ellingham:intro #i can't believe i'm making her suffer like this i'm a horrible person #sorry this is A LOT #there are prob so many typos in here rjteortjert

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theshatteredrose · 5 years ago

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Turquoise Lotus Father (Treasure Seekers Saga 2) - Chapter 10 - Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction

AN: Despite the pain (which turned to looniness thanks to the pain killers) I’ve been in, I’ve managed to get this chapter done. I’m looking forward to future chapters as they’re going to be a lot fun to write. Maybe not for Drayce, but definitely for me :3c Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Chapter 10:

The crowds outside the Council Building seemed larger than usual. It was likely due to more guilds having been formed in hopes to venture inside the labyrinth for their own personal purposes. Seeing all the different guilds and explorers mingling about abruptly reminded Drayce of his mission of locating the stairs to the next floor.

He did feel a light prang of guilt of not being able to complete that personal mission from Ramus. But he reminded himself that with all those new explorers now venturing into the labyrinth, maybe one of them would be able to discover a way to the stairs themselves.

Besides, he had other plans that needed his attention more.

“Explaining this to Ramus is going to take some time,” Blayke muttered as he and Drayce joined the long line of guilds wishing to speak with Ramus.

Drayce nodded his head. “It might be somewhat confusing at the moment, but its best that we be honest.”

They move a few steps up in the line and Blayke ran a hand through his hair. “He might increase guard presence in the labyrinth.”

“I’m a little hesitant about that,” Drayce winced as he remembered what had occurred yesterday. He didn’t want something like that to happen to a hapless guard, too. Especially not to someone like Virgil. “It might give the bandits more leverage.”

Blayke cast a suspicious glance at their surroundings. “Good point.”

They fell into silence as they slowly made their way to the front of the line. As they grew closer, Drayce could see that Ramus was ever dutiful and royally polite as he dealt with guild after guild.

His smile when his gaze landed on him and Drayce, however, was sincere. “Oh, welcome. Have you found the way to the third floor already?” he greeted.

“Ah, well, we’ve kinda hit another snag,” Drayce returned, purposely trying to be as vague as possible.

Immediately, an expression that was a mixture of curiosity and concern appeared on Ramus’ face. “I…see. Let’s speak in my office then.”

The path to Ramus’ office was steadily becoming a familiar one. And once again, they took that path in silence, waiting until they got into the security of the room before they started speaking.

Ramus opened the door to his office and motioned for Drayce and Blayke to step in before him. He then closed the door with the three of them inside. “Is there something else?” he asked as he walked over to his desk.

“There is, actually,” Drayce replied and sat down in one of the chairs pulled toward Ramus’ desk.

He then went on to tell Ramus everything that he knew, and what had happened. Starting with Caelem wishing to learn more of his village’s founder. From the surprise discovery of the music box containing a small chest. To unexpectedly finding the one with the key to said chest. And finally, about the tokens and the bandits who were also collecting them.

He, however, decided not to mention the short hostage situation that occurred yesterday. Faelen wouldn’t want Ramus to know, and Drayce himself didn’t want to worry him either.

Ramus listened to what he said quietly, nodding his head on occasion. His face soon creased into a puzzled expression and he briefly glanced off to the side. “Turquoise Lotus Father?”

Drayce tilted his head to the side in question. “Have you heard of him?”

Ramus maintained his contemplative look for a little while longer. “I…am uncertain. I do recall my ancestor, the Legendary Dragoon as he is referred to, did indeed have trusted advisors and generals to aid him during the war. Nine of them, if I recall. I may be able to access the royal achieves for information….” He trailed off in thought.

It would help them greatly if Ramus was able to find some information from the royal archives. They had discovered their own information thanks to the library back at the Crescentia, but they didn’t have access to the royal documents. There could potentially be something in there they needed.

If nothing else, offer Caelem some more information about his village’s founding father.

Ramus shook his head in an attempt to pull him from his musings and turned to give Drayce and Blayke his full attention. “Until then, you said that there are two blades. Do you believe that is what these bandits are after? For what reason, do you suppose?”

“Money at this point,” Blayke answered roughly as he folded his arms across his chest.

A slight frown tugged at Ramus’ lips and he gave a slow nod of his head. “Yes, that is likely.”

“I don’t understand the mind of a bandit, so I can’t even begin to speculate,” Drayce started. “What we do know is that they’re after one of the lotus blades. And they have a token already, so they’re one step ahead of us.”

“But you have the map,” Ramus pointed out. “That will be critical.”

Yes. And he was worried about what lengths they’d go to just to get their hands on it.

“What will you do now?” Ramus asked him.

Drayce had been considering that question for a while. There was little else he could do, unfortunately. “Return to the labyrinth. We speculate that the other tokens are located somewhere on the second floor. Why they were scattered there, why the map was hidden there, can’t be a mere coincidence.”

Blayke nodded his head, his lips pulled into a tight frown. “Sorry, the hunt for the stairs will have to wait.”

“Yes, of course,” Ramus replied with understanding in his tone. His face soon creased into a look of utter concern, however. “Be careful. I do not trust these bandits.”

“No, neither do we,” Blayke muttered, his expression turning dark.

Drayce offered Ramus a hopefully reassuring smile as he pushed himself to his feet. He noticed the curiosity in Ramus’ gaze in reaction to Blayke’s muttering. So, he decided that it would be best for them to take their leave. They had things that they needed to do, as did Ramus himself.

“It’ll be fine,” Drayce comforted. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll return with more information for you.”

“Yes, please do,” Ramus returned. “And please, if it’s extremely important, don’t waste time with the line. Come to me directly.”

Oh, a few explorers wouldn’t like that. But it made sense.

“Of course.”

They uttered a few farewells to the prince, who reiterated that they both take great caution on their new venture, before Drayce and Blayke left the office. They hurried through the Council Building, past the throngs of explorers, and out into the courtyard. Carriages came and went from there, and it didn’t take them very long at all to catch a carriage for them to take.

They had the fortune to snare the same driver that delivered them to the Council Building, so Drayce didn’t need to explain where they wanted to go. With a smile and a nod, Drayce and Blayke climbed into the carriage and the driver took the reins.

“So back to the labyrinth we go?” Blayke questioned.

Drayce leaned back into his seat. “Yeah. It’s our best lead. We need to find those tokens before the bandits do. They are definitely connected to the map. Even if we get just two of them, we should get some idea of what is hidden on that parchment.”

Blayke leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “While I’m reluctant to let Faelen back in the labyrinth after what happened, Nashoba would be very useful.”

“You’re right,” Drayce murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck to ease out a slight ache. “Maybe we can talk him into letting us borrow him for this trek. I don’t want him near those bandits again, either.”

“Caelem, also.”

Drayce managed to hide a wince. “Yeah. I suggest we take Zohar with us, though. Theo and his wraiths might prove useful as well.”

Blayke nodded his head sharply. “Fiorello, too, just so he can poison the bastards.”

Drayce couldn’t prevent a chuckle from escaping his lips at that.

… … … … …

Faelen stood in the doorway to Drayce’s room as Drayce readied himself for a journey into the labyrinth once more. Drayce could feel his gaze on him, and his worry for him. It wasn’t until Drayce slipped on his armoured coat that Faelen finally spoke up.

“You’re heading into the labyrinth now?”

Drayce adjusted his jacket to fit securely upon his shoulders. “Yeah, just for a few hours.”

Faelen took a step into his room and wrung his hands nervously in front of him. “What will you do if you encounter those…bandits again?”

Drayce honestly wasn’t sure. He was still quite angry that one of them had the gall to take Faelen hostage like that. “Probably take a shot at them.”

“Drayce…” A small smile tugged at Faelen’s lips and he slipped his arms behind himself playfully. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Hey, that asshat scared my little brother,” Drayce said as he reached out to ruffle Faelen’s hair between his ears. “No one is allowed to do that.”

His words and actions brought a true smile to Faelen’s lips. He looked calmer, too. “Heh, ok.” That calm soon dissipated into a look of unease, however. “Just…be careful, ok?”

“We’ll be ok,” Drayce both comforted and promised. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back for nightfall. Just stay inside the Crescentia for now.”

He gave Faelen’s hair one last quick ruffle before he walked out of his room. The young rover followed him as he walked down to the foyer where his gun and shield rested against a wall near the front doors.

With his shield secured to his back and his cannon holstered to his side, Drayce gave a moment to give Faelen a few words of reassurance. Then, he took the lead once more and led the way to the labyrinth.

With the help of the crystal that allowed them to bypass the first floor entirely and into the halls of the second, they feel into a cautious silence. With a party consisting of Drayce at the very front, Blayke right behind him with Kamali and Fiorello in the middle, and Zohar once more at the back, they kept in tight formation. Zohar had already summoned Theodore to his side, allowing for another set of eyes to keep watch.

As they moved through the naturally formed pathways, Drayce half expected one of those bandits to appear around every corner. The other half of him reasoned that those bandits couldn’t be that cocky to return to the labyrinth so quickly after taking one of Drayce’s guildmates hostage.

But as they entered a small clearing, Drayce promptly realised that at least one of those bandits were indeed that cocky.

Upon a branch of a tree within the lush greenery stood a familiar figure of a teen clad in a blue uniform. He faced in their direction, obviously had been expecting them. How long he had been waiting, though, was anyone’s guess.

“Well, what do we have here?” Keita smirked as he rested his shoulder against the tree trunk and folded his arms across his chest in a casual but mocking manner. “So, you guys are back in the labyrinth. Even after what happened yesterday? You’ve got guts.”

Drayce whirled into a defensive stance, raised his cannon with a single hand and released a shot toward the smirking teen. He purposely missed, however. As much as the kid irritated him that he dared to take Faelen hostage and frighten him, Drayce would never actually shoot someone.

…Well, he hoped that he never needed to shoot anyone.

He was a fairly good aim with his cannon thanks to the practice he had with his grandpa. His aim hit the branch that Keita stood upon, sending a barrage of small splinters into the air.

The loud crack of the gunshot echoed through the area, causing birds in the branches of the trees around to suddenly take flight in a hasty and frightened manner. Keita instinctively winced at the sound and crouched down upon the branch he stood upon, reacting far too late in response to the gunshot.

“H-hey!” he practically squawked in protest. “Watch what you’re doing with that thing! You could seriously hurt someone!”

Drayce lowered his weapon and idly ejected the empty cartridge. “That was just a warning shot. I may not shoot you, but I will aim for the branch you’re standing on.”

“Eh?” Keita uttered just before a loud crack was heard. The crack of wood breaking. He immediately snapped his head down to look at the branch he stood upon. “Shit!”

Keita didn’t have time to react when the branch broke under his weight and sent him tumbling to the ground. His fall was broken by the thick shrubbery that grew at the base of the tree. He fell pretty hard, though. And rather unsophisticatedly.

Leaves and twigs rained down around Keita as the teen struggled against the thick shrubbery and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “That wasn’t very nice,” he grumbled as he began to pull at the leaves and twigs from his hair. “I take it you’re still a tad cranky about what happened.”

Drayce sighed and lowered his gun to his side. “Cranky isn’t the word I would use.”

Keita struggled to his feet, idly brushing off more leaves and twigs from his clothing. “Hey now, don’t go getting all serious on us. We were just following orders.”

Drayce had honestly thought at much. Still did little to lessen his annoyance and caution. “Who? Keane’s?”

“Who else?” Keita snorted dismissively.

Again, he had figured that. Though, Drayce may just be reading into things, but there was a sense of…agitation, even unease in Keita’s response.

Blayke, however, didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he idly trailed a fingertip around the hilt of his blade. “Let me guess; you’re waiting for us to discover another token so you can steal if from us? You’re such a backseat treasure hunter.”

Keita cockily rested his hands on his hips and sent Blayke a playful grin. “Why put in the effort when someone else is willing to do the work for you?”

“Coward.”

“No need for name calling~”

Blayke’s eyes suddenly narrowed and his hand around the handle of his rapier. “Your friend better step out of the shadows. He doesn’t want to get stabbed, does he?”

The reaper, Runihura, promptly stepped out from behind the tree that Keita fell out of. Once more, his expression was impassive, empty in a way as he kept his gaze fully onto the ground before his feet.

He was completely different to that of his extroverted companion.

“Hm,” Fiorello hummed dismissively as he took a moment to regard the two bandits before them. “Well, at least these two know how to dress properly.”

“Their manners are just as lacking, however,” Kamali was surprisingly the one to comment as he kept a firm gaze on Keita specifically.

Hm, even Kamali was angry at the two before them. Especially at Keita.

“From what I hear, indeed,” Fiorello added lightly, revealing that he held no concern for the two.

Keita idly scratched his ear with his pinkie finger, once again appearing dismissive. “Say something, Shortie?”

Fiorello’s expression immediately darkened. The atmosphere around them even felt colder, darker in a way. Especially when the botanist uttered a low, menacing laugh. “Never mind poisoning him. I will destroy his kneecaps.”

…Ouch, that sounded painful.

Drayce felt someone familiar move up behind him and he felt a hand press against the small of his back. While he was reluctant to take his eyes off those two dirty bandits, he knew that Blayke was keeping a sharp eye on them. So, he turned his head to the side as Zohar leaned forward to whisper something to him.

“There’s a source of mana nearby,” he explained quickly. “Behind those bandits.”

Drayce’s brow furrowed slightly and his gaze flickered back over to the two. He nodded his head as Zohar stood back. He kept a hand on the small of his back, though. Likely as a form of comfort or reassurance.

They needed to be careful. Drayce wouldn’t allow these two to trick him a second time. Their facade had been revealed, anyway. So, they’d likely try something else to get one up on them.

So…what should they do?

Zohar’s hand pressed against Drayce’s back once more, indicating that he wished to speak with him again. And again, Drayce tilted his head to the side to allow the necromancer to speak into his ear.

“I’ll gather the token.”

The warmth of Zohar’s hand then left the small of Drayce’s back, and he felt uneasy. Drayce…wasn’t exactly thrilled with that. Because of what happened yesterday. But…if Zohar can sense the mana, he would be far better finding the token. Drayce would just be scrambling around in the dark, so to speak.

Hopefully, he would be able to sneak around the two unnoticed, with Keita too busy arguing with Blayke and Fiorello as distraction. Kamali was the one who discovered the token last time, so Keita and Runihura may or may not be keeping a closer eye on him this time around.

He just had to hope and believe that Zohar would keep himself out of danger. And to know that his life and safety was worth far more than any treasure.

“Hey, where did that tall, shirtless guy go?” Keita suddenly asked with a curious tilt of his head.

Damn. The kid was more observant that Drayce gave him credit for. Then again, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Unfortunately, the one thing that treasure hunters and bandits had in common was a critical eye for detail.

“Hmmm, that must mean there’s a token nearby,” Keita observed with a surprisingly feral grin. “Sounds fun~”

As Keita said that, Runihura spun on his heel and darted down the path. Keita smirked as he turned to follow, taking to the foliage and essentially following his partner.

“H-hey!” Drayce called out feebly.

How did they know that the source of mana was detected behind them? Did the harbinger actually see where Zohar went? Or did they not know and were they attempting to sneak around behind them instead of going through them?

With his shield and cannon, Drayce wasn’t built for speed to say the least. Blayke was, however, and he uttered a snarl as he darted forward, too. Drayce opened his mouth to call back the irritated fencer, but Blayke stopped on his own accord near a bend in the path. He raised his rapier just in time as another blade sliced down toward him. A loud metallic clang was heard as the two steel weapons clashed against each other’s.

Instinctively, Drayce reached for his cannon while readying himself to call a decoy shield should the harbinger decide to join in on the attack.

However, Runihura appeared behind Keita. And then moved past him, darting quickly down another path and quickly lost within the shadows of the labyrinth.

Keita smirked again as he jumped back from Blayke, positioned himself so that his back faced the direction that Runihura disappeared in, and quickly sheathed his blade. “Hey, thanks for the help~!” he said cheerfully before he, too, turned and ran away.

What? They got past Zohar? W-here was he? Was he ok?

Drayce hurried to Blayke and grabbed him by the elbow to stop him from pursuing. Thankfully, Blayke didn’t rip himself out of his grip. Instead he fell still and just glared hatefully, and menacingly, in the direction the two bandits disappeared in.

“Damn pieces of shit! How can they move so fast?” Blayke fumed.

Drayce couldn’t answer that. But at least he knew that Blayke was unharmed. Infuriated and spitting mad, but unharmed.

His gaze soon turned to look down the path the two had dart in and from. He couldn’t see Zohar anywhere and he started to become worried. But the two had moved so quickly. Surely, they wouldn’t have had the time to do anything to the necromancer, right?

…Right?

“Zohar?” Drayce called out, swallowing back his concern.

Finally, the tall, bronze-skinned necromancer emerged from a small nook in the foliage. And Drayce released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, and released the grip he had on Blayke’s arm. Convinced that the fencer won’t give chase to those two bandits.

Drayce raced over to him and raised his hand to touch the side of his face. “Are you all right?” he asked as he looked him straight in the eyes.

Zohar gave him a small smile as he rested a hand against his side. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He couldn’t see any injuries and Zohar didn’t appeared perturbed in anyway. “What happened?”

“That harbinger was surprisingly good at gathering materials and finding rare items himself,” Zohar explained.

Was he? Though, was it because he was a bandit? Or was there another reason?

Never mind that for now. There was something more important to worry about.

Drayce sighed and dropped his hand from the side of Zohar’s face to rest upon his shoulder. “Either way, they got another token.”

And so quickly, too. They had been waiting for them, sure. But they move so fast. Wait, they had a necromancer of their own on their side. So why wait for them when that short, deep-voiced necromancer was just as capable?

Probably just showing off their skills to unnerve him.

Zohar’s hand pressing firmly against his side pulled Drayce from his musings. “Not quite.”

“Huh?”

“Theodore,” Zohar stated, with a smile.

A split second later, that familiar cold chill raced down Drayce’s spine as the white, squishy wraith manifested out of seeming thin air. He danced happily in the air with a rather prideful expression on his face.

And in his hands…was the token!

“How-?” Drayce stuttered as the wraith presented the token for him to take. Which he soon did, grasping it tightly in his hand and pressing that closed hand against his chest.

“I spoke with Ashton about those bandits and we devised a plan of creating a replica token to replace the real one should those bandits interfere,” Zohar explained as the others of their party gathered around. “We just wanted to be cautious. We didn’t wish for a repeat of last time.”

No, neither did he.

“Oh…good, I’m relieved,” Drayce said, truly relieved. He reached out with his other hand to give the white wraith a pat on the head to show his gratitude. “Thank you, Theo.”

Surprising, Theodore seemed to purr at the touch, quite happy at the attention. Drayce would have given him a longer head-pat, but Blayke spoke up and reminded him of their situation.

“Let’s get out of here before that brat figures it out.”

“Right,” Drayce said simply as he pulled back his hand to plunge it into his pocket, promptly pulling out the Ariadne Thread.

And activating it to safety.

#Etrian Odyssey #etrian odyssey 5 #turquoise lotus father #the treasure seeker #fanfiction #ramus

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