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the-obnoxious-sibling · 1 year ago

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in which lunch is had, old stories are told, and a misunderstanding is cleared up.

part five of the post-marineford portion of the near miss fics! (1, 2, 3, 4) if you have no idea what i'm talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that's the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus some complaining about writing, one inspirational improvised musical number, and a snippet of shanks pov) if you do know what i'm talking about: my intense examination of the cover to chapter 581 and frustrated googling of phrases like “oden cart curtain name” has finally paid off! also, i’d apologize for where this part ends, but that would be an enormous lie, i’ve been planning on ending this part on that line from the very beginning. >:3c enjoy!

With heavier topics taken off the table, the flow of conversation became smooth and easy. Shanks asked about Buggy’s crew, his recent travels, his plans for the future; Buggy asked about the best places Shanks had been, who he’d met. At Buggy’s request, Shanks devoted a full twenty minutes to a detailed description of his meeting with Rayleigh; to Buggy’s delight, it turned out Rayleigh was in Sabaody because Shakuyaku, the former Amazon empress, lived there. Buggy had always been impressed by her, if a little privately judgy of her taste in men, so hearing that the two of them had semi-retired together made him smile.

As did the revelation that Shanks had first seen a wanted poster for Buggy the Clown—his earliest one, actually, before he’d perfected the crossbones and had still been experimenting with lip tints—when Rayleigh pulled a copy out that day. “He keeps an eye on all the newspapers, from the four big seas and the Grand Line alike,” Shanks explained, digging his toes into the sand. (Buggy had gotten tired of his push-pull relationship with the tides and insisted they move further up the beach.) “I think he’s found and kept a copy of every one of our bounties.”

Buggy tried not to be obvious about how much that meant, but he had never been good at holding back the waterworks when he got emotional. Sniffing thickly, he said, “That stupid old man… your bounty’s gone up so many times over the years without the picture ever looking different! What a waste of his space.”

One of Shanks’ eyebrows went up—probably, Buggy realized a moment later, at the implication that Buggy had also been keeping track of Shanks’ bounties. Ah, well, in for a penny… “Seriously! It’s bad design!” Buggy insisted. “If the only changes someone like me ever noticed are that you grew that shitty little beard—”

“Shitty?” Shanks pouted, running his thumb along his jawline. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s worse without the mustache,” Buggy said bluntly. Shanks played up his shock, gasping and grabbing at his heart like an elderly man.

Buggy rolled his eyes. “As I was saying: if all I ever noticed was the beard and that your hat disappeared at some point, your average citizen’s not going to realize the Marines have released a new poster and the bounty went up!” Jabbing a thumb brazenly at his own face, Buggy said, “At least I had something new going on each time.”

Shanks cocked his head at Buggy. “About that… do you change your makeup style so often for fun, or are you still searching for the perfect look?”

Buggy scoffed. “There’s no such thing as perfection when it comes to art, or fashion,” he said. “There’s just advancing your craft. Every time I change my look up, I’m incorporating newer and flashier techniques, and better supplies. The makeup I had access to fifteen, even ten years ago would never have lasted a day in Impel Down, let alone weeks.”

“That’s true,” Shanks said thoughtfully, hand on his chin. “The stuff you have these days is much—” He cut himself off, glancing over Buggy’s shoulder. Buggy turned to see a cluster of men in ragged prison uniforms standing maybe forty feet away, staring at them and then glancing away awkwardly when they met Buggy’s eye.

“I told them not to bother me today,” Buggy grumbled, giving the group a half-hearted glare. They visibly quaked, knees knocking, but neither moved nor explained themselves.

“I guess our presence is interfering with their shore leave,” Shanks said, slipping back into his sandals.

Looking past the men revealed the beach had gotten crowded while Buggy wasn’t paying attention—save for a fifty-foot ring of emptiness centered on him and Shanks. These men had only approached them because there wasn’t anywhere else to be. Sighing, Buggy stood up, brushing sand off the seat of his pants.

“Lead the way, then,” he said grimly.

With a polite smile and a wave to the former prisoners, Shanks walked back up the beach. Buggy gave them a glare, and a threatening slice-your-throat gesture (made more emphatic by the way Buggy separated his neck as he sliced) to encourage their silence before following Shanks further inland.

The terrain got a bit jungle-like as they went on, but there were neatly trodden paths between the trees. It was a civilized corner of nature, and Buggy found he didn’t mind walking through it with just Shanks and his questions for company, even when those questions started getting a bit specific for Buggy’s tastes. (What did Shanks need to know about his plans after he found Captain John’s treasure, anyway? Was he trying to go after Buggy’s next prize while he was still busy with the current one?)

It was the middle of the lunch hour by the time their jungle path led them back into town, which was almost suspiciously convenient timing. Buggy glanced at Shanks, trying to figure out if he’d planned this or was just aimlessly wandering. Well, either way he’d better lead them somewhere soon—Buggy was hungry! He wanted to eat the kind of food he couldn’t get back on the ship—nothing a typical chef in a typical kitchen could manage. He wanted something that involved a deep fryer, or another equally specialized device. Something that would be too much of a hassle to make on a ship. Something…

“Hey!” Shanks turned to grab Buggy’s attention, pointing at a yatai on the opposite street corner. “What about that?”

Buggy spotted the word written in bold white letters on slate gray cloth and started to laugh. “What are we, on a themed vacation or something?”

“You’re the one who put the idea in my head!” Shanks said defensively, grinning. “I know it’s out of season, but…”

“No, you’re right, we have to,” Buggy said, and led them to the oden-ya. “I’m just going to look like I’m obsessed, is all.”

Ducking under the bamboo noren curtains, they found themselves in a cozy space, with three stools set up along a polished wooden table the same length as the cooktop. A gorilla mink stood behind the partitioned oden pot, rotating skewers of fishcake in their niches within the steaming broth. He glanced up at their entrance, a friendly customer service smile spreading across his face.

“Welcome! Looking for oden this afternoon, or just something to drink?” He gestured to one side, where beautiful little sake flasks and other bottles of alcohol were arranged on shelves that took up the whole side wall of the cart. “I’d be happy to warm a flask of sake up for you on the stove if you’d like.”

“We’re looking for both, thanks,” Shanks said warmly, stepping up to the counter. “I don’t suppose any of your sake is sourced from Wano?”

The mink wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “I may have some in storage, but that stuff tend to run a little pricier, given… well, if you’re asking for it, you must know.”

“Of course you have expensive tastes in booze and nothing else,” Buggy said with a smirk, bent down to inspect the sake that was actually meant for sale. “Come on, look, they’ve got some West Blue stuff, you were always a sucker for your home ocean.”

“Oh?” Shanks leaned over Buggy to get a better look at the stock, and a prickle of heat went up Buggy’s spine. “Ooh, I do like that stuff. But I really had my heart set on something from Wano…” Turning back to the mink, he said, “Sorry to trouble you, but can you bring out what you have from Wano? I promise the price isn’t an issue, and I won’t have any problem drinking a flask of each.” The mink ducked around back without complaint.

“More like a couple flasks of each,” Buggy muttered, but he didn’t mean it cruelly. Shanks liked a drink, he always had—and rumor said the last time he saw Whitebeard before all this he’d matched him cup for cup. Whitebeard-sized cups, too, which meant he had to have a crazy tolerance these days. Good for him. Buggy wasn’t quite as capable, but he could hold his liquor. He wouldn’t be any kind of ex-Roger Pirate if he couldn’t.

“Guilty,” Shanks said, sing-songy, reaching over Buggy’s shoulder to snatch one of the larger bottles of shochu. “Can you grab a flask or two of the West Blue sake for me?”

Buggy rolled his eyes, grabbing two. “One of them’s for me.”

“We can share,” Shanks said mildly.

Buggy snorted. “If by ‘share’ you mean I get one cup and by the time I’ve finished it the flask is empty, sure, we can share.”

Shanks laughed. “Am I that bad?”

“You’re just too fast about it is all. I like to linger over a drink, really savor it.”

“Oh, you like to take your time, do you?” Shanks’ smile, already suggestively wide, spread wider still when this comment flustered Buggy.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he snapped.

“No?”

Why do you sound disappointed, Buggy was tempted to ask—except no, no he wasn’t, he did not want to know why Shanks might be disappointed Buggy hadn’t intended to be suggestive. He had already decided he wasn’t going there. “I just mean you rush things a bit.”

“…do I?”

Once again feeling like Shanks was reading things into what he was saying, but this time not at all sure what deeper meaning Shanks was taking from his words, Buggy averted his eyes, setting the pair of sake flasks down in front of the stove top. “Yeah, I know you like getting drunk, but there’s such a thing as pacing yourself, you know?”

Before Shanks could respond to this—with who knows what kind of misinterpretation of Buggy’s words this time—the mink returned, a crate of sake in flasks and jugs of various sizes in hand.

“Here we are!” With a soft grunt of effort, the mink set the crate down in front of Shanks. “Let me know if anything catches your eye.” He spotted the flasks of West Blue sake Buggy had set down and quickly made room in a pot of steaming water for them to sit and warm up. “Now, were any items looking especially appealing today?”

Buggy glanced sideways; Shanks was occupied with intently inspecting the sake. Well, if he wanted something specific he could ask for it later. “Two bowlfuls of whatever the chef recommends, for now.”

The gorilla nodded. “Coming right up!” And he was as good as his word, quickly throwing together a wide, shallow bowl of savory golden-brown broth with a skewer of fishcakes, an egg, and a few slices of daikon for each of them. It looked wonderful, warm and familiar, and it smelled even better.

Before Buggy could take a sip, Shanks had flung his arm across Buggy’s chest, blocking the spoonful of broth from reaching his mouth.

“Hang on,” Shanks said, weirdly serious. “You have to have this first.” He held out a small flask of Wano sake, tilted just far enough to encourage Buggy to grab a cup and accept the pour.

“Not warmed up?” Shanks expression didn’t so much as twitch. Buggy huffed. “Fine, fine... you and your expensive tastes.” He accepted the cup, swirled it for a moment to breathe in the aroma—they really did make it different in Wano; was it something in the water, or the rice?—and took a sip. Then blinked, goggled at the half-drunk cup, and slung back the rest with a warm floaty feeling in his chest.

Setting the cup down, he breathed, “Is that...?”

Shanks grinned. “Special pure rice brew.” He spun the flask around to reveal the maker’s mark. “From the Kuri region of Wano.”

Buggy snatched the flask away. Looking it over, he said, “Seriously?! From the same brewery?”

“And you wondered why I was so insistent.”

Buggy shook his head, laughing a little in disbelief, and poured Shanks a cup of the stuff. He glanced up at their host, politely not bothering them even though he had to be confused, and said, “This exact same sake was the first drink the two of us had, back when we were—what, eleven? Twelve?”

“Something like that,” Shanks said, watching Buggy with a pleased smile. “Stolen out of Oden’s rooms on a dare—”

“—you’re the one who dared me!” Buggy snapped. Thinking back, he added, “And he must have let us take it, we weren’t sneaky enough at twelve to get past Oden—”

“—oh, definitely,” Shanks agreed. “Bet he thought of it as a rite of passage, stealing your first drink from under the nose of your honored elders.”

Buggy snorted. “Definitely,” he echoed. Giving Shanks a look, he passed this flask along to the mink as well. “This stuff isn’t so fancy heating it will ruin the taste, right? Might as well try it the way it was meant to be had.”

“Of course,” the mink said with a gracious smile, adding the flask to the steaming pot on his stove. He watched the two of them dig into their bowls—delicious, of course—without comment, but as he carefully retrieved the first of the West Blue flasks from its bath he said, “Now, I haven’t thought about this in a long time, so I’m afraid I can’t quite recall… which of you is Shanks and which is Buggy?”

Buggy blinked dumbly up at the gorilla, his mouth full of radish. Next to him, Shanks was pulling a similar face.

Hastily swallowing his mouthful, Buggy cleared his throat and said, “You know… both of us by name? But not well enough to know which is which on sight?”

The gorilla smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure until you brought up Oden. That’s Kozuki Oden, isn’t it? Which means the two of you must be Shanks and Buggy, they were the only other young people on the boat in all the stories I heard.”

“What stories?”

“‘The only other young people’…” Shanks lit up. “Do you know Dogstorm and Cat Viper?”

Buggy nearly smacked Shanks. “Seriously?! Not every mink knows each other, Shanks!”

“Heh, actually...” Buggy stared up at the gorilla mink in disbelief as he shrugged, making an embarrassed expression. “The truth is, I only learned how to prepare oden at Duke Dogstorm’s request.”

“Duke Dogstorm?” Shanks whistled. “Somebody’s moved up in the world.”

Buggy jabbed him in the side with a free-floating elbow. “I don’t want to hear that from you, Emperor Shanks!”

Shanks winced—an exaggerated gesture for the benefit of their audience—and leaned away from Buggy. “Oh, come on,” he whined, “it’s not like I meant to become an emperor or anything.”

“Oh, of course not,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and shoving a piece of tsukune in his mouth. Eyes shut, he declared, “I’ll bet I can tell you exactly how it happened, too. You had a meal with some mediocre pirate crew and made friends. Then some shitty Marines started beating the hell out of them; they could’ve just arrested the crew, but they decided to torture them for their own amusement. Well, you could hardly let this abuse go unchallenged, could you? So naturally you had to step in, and sent the Marines running with their tails between their legs. And it was only natural that the pirate crew was thankful to you, but you never dreamed they’d all vow to follow you forever, forswearing their own flag in favor of yours. Not daring to call themselves true Red-Haired Pirates, of course, but Red-Haired Pirates adjacent.” Rolling his wrist, Buggy concluded, “And then that happened another twenty or thirty times, because you never learn.”

Opening one eye a crack, he glanced at Shanks. “How’d I do?”

Shanks, red-faced, his fist pressed to his mouth to hold back laughter, nodded weakly. “Well, uh... you’re not wrong,” he wheezed out. Taking a drink to clear his throat and calm down, he sighed. “Though you make it sound like far more of a foregone conclusion than it felt like when it was first happening.”

“That’s the benefit of an outside perspective,” Buggy said snippily. “And also hindsight.” Waving a hand in Shanks’ face, he said, “But enough about you!” Jabbing the pointer finger of that same hand at their host, Buggy said, “What’s this about you learning to make oden for Dogstorm?”

The gorilla mink smiled, his eyes wide, and Buggy suddenly remembered hearing once that gorillas didn’t actually smile, but instead bared their teeth as a threat against potential enemies. He pulled back his hand as casually as he could manage it.

“Do you really want to hear the story? I’m told I can be a bit long-winded,” the mink said, fishing one of the Wano flasks out of its water bath and offering it up.

“Yeah, let’s hear it!” Buggy said, pouring a cup for Shanks, then handing over the flask so Shanks could do the same for him. “I don’t know about Shanks but I haven’t heard anything from Zou in years, I’m dying to hear what those two have gotten up to.”

Closing his eyes, Buggy took a sip of the warmed Wano sake, not knowing Shanks was doing the same thing at the same time. They set down their cups and sighed in unpracticed unison. Suddenly aware of their double act, Buggy scowled at Shanks, who ignored him and made an encouraging gesture to their chef. “Please, go ahead. I’d love to hear news of Dogstorm and Cat Viper.”

A sad expression washed over the gorilla’s face. “I’m afraid I can only give you news of Duke Dogstorm.” At the looks on his guests’ faces, the gorilla threw out a hand and said, “Not to say—please don’t misunderstand! Lord Cat Viper still lives! It’s just that I have not met with him since he and Duke Dogstorm first returned to Zou. They... keep separate courts, and hours, and my service has always been to the day.”

A wrinkle appeared in Shanks’ brow. “They don’t talk anymore?”

“It always turns into a fight. Often one with devastating consequences for their surroundings.”

Buggy frowned. That didn’t sound right. Well, not the destruction—that sounded like those two—but fighting so badly they couldn’t even share waking hours... “What happened?”

The gorilla sighed. “As I understand it? Kozuki Oden died, and neither could forgive the other for failing to save him.” A moment later, he gave Buggy a concerned look. “Oh, are you hurt?”

Buggy blinked. Staring down at his hands, he realized he’d snapped his chopsticks in half. “I... no, I’m okay.” The gorilla carefully plucked the broken shards of wood out of Buggy’s grasp, along with a splinter or two that had tried to wedge their way into his palms. Thankfully the Chop-Chop fruit could handle any kind of stabbing, from needles up to legendary meito, so Buggy really was fine.

While the gorilla disposed of the pieces of wood, Buggy clenched his jaw, feeling Shanks’ eyes on him. “I can hear you thinking.”

“…it makes sense,” he said quietly. “What else could come between those two but the loss of someone who was as important to them as Oden?”

Buggy shot Shanks a narrow look out of the corner of his eye. “Pretty sure I told you this morning that I was done talking about sad shit,” he warned, and Shanks raised his hand in a placating gesture. The gorilla confirmed that Buggy wasn’t hurt, pointed out the extra chopsticks sitting in a cup to his left, and at their insistence told his story while they returned to their meal.

Dogstorm’s court sounded like a sight worth seeing. Minks of countless animal forms, musketeers and attendants! To think Oden’s retainer had retainers of his own now! And to think that he acted like a guy with such noble dignity, after the way he used to behave.

As the gorilla reached the end of his story—having made the closest thing to oden as could be produced with ingredients native to Zou, with Dogstorm pleased by the effort but quietly unsatisfied by the taste, the gorilla had left the court making a vow to learn the secrets of the oden-preparing arts, promising not to return until he was confident he would be able to put a true smile on the duke’s face—Buggy nudged Shanks in the side. He glanced at Buggy, a half-eaten skewer of fishcakes sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Can you believe,” Buggy said with a shit-eating grin, “that the noble, wounded Dogstorm this guy is talking about is the same one who tarred and feathered Mr. Rayleigh?”

Shanks nearly choked before starting to laugh. “How did I forget about that?!”

“I’m sorry, Duke Dogstorm did what?” the gorilla said incredulously, staring between the two of them.

“Wait, wait,” Shanks said, before Buggy could start to tell the story. “If we’re sharing stories of mutual friends, you have to share a drink with us too.” He grabbed a clean cup from a stack to one side and handed it over to the mink. Shanks gave Buggy a pleading look, and with a magnanimous smirk Buggy chop-chopped a hand to swipe another sake flask from the water bath and pour for both of them. “So—”

“Don’t you tell it!” Buggy snapped. With a grin and a wave of his hand, Shanks metaphorically turned over the reins to Buggy, and took the opportunity to return to his sake and his meal. “So,” Buggy said to the mink, “the first thing you need to understand about Dogstorm and Cat Viper is that they acted like respectful little attendants when Oden was around, but when it was just the four of us?” Glancing at Shanks, who was grinning around the skewer in his mouth, Buggy cackled. “They were just as bad as we were.”

Buggy went on to describe the prank in loving detail, alternating bites of fishcake with the reactions of the crew (mostly hysteria, especially from Roger) and the multiple attempts to blame the prank on someone else (Dogstorm nearly succeeded in pinning it all on Buggy, but forgot himself and corrected Rayleigh on where the tar had come from). Shanks followed this up with a reminder of another time the four of them had been absolute nightmares to the crew of the Oro Jackson, and the story Buggy told about that day brought their host to literal tears of laughter.

They went around like this for over an hour, topping off their bowls and drinks all the while, recalling old times with the golden burnish of nostalgia softening the edges, easing the hurts and offenses of youth. Gradually, the last of the fear Buggy had been clinging to all day faded. It was hard to think that your childhood dread mattered much when looked at from so far off, in so fond a way. It was easy to smile at someone who so readily smiled back.

Eventually the broth pooling at the bottom of their bowls grew cold, and the flasks of sake they’d bought ran dry. Not a soul had tried to enter the yatai while they were present, and Buggy felt a fleeting burst of pity for the gorilla’s business… until he saw how well Shanks tipped. With a light heart, Buggy waved a slightly drunken farewell to the mink—he’d paced himself pretty well, but a half-dozen bottles of sake split between two men were still going to have an effect—and ducked back out into the wider world.

The air outside was not exactly cold, but it lacked the cozy warmth of the oden-ya’s atmosphere. It set something within Buggy out of alignment—or maybe back into place? He stood just outside the noren with a hand pressed to his chest, trying to place the feeling, when Shanks made his own exit and nearly ran into him.

The proximity of Shanks at his back, with the last traces of that soup-warmed air drifting in his wake, sent a burst of longing down Buggy’s spine so intense his knees went weak.

Shanks’ hand went to his shoulder. “Careful,” Shanks said, hoisting Buggy fully upright, the flat of his arm firm along the breadth of his back. “You alright, Buggy?”

Fuck. Even though it was the wrong arm, something about Shanks putting an arm over Buggy’s shoulder made his stomach flip and his heart kick into high gear. Stupid, loyal organs didn’t have the sense Buggy’s brain had been given, to recognize that feeling feelings for Shanks was a very bad idea.

“Fine,” Buggy croaked out, taking a few careful steps away from Shanks to confirm he was steady enough to make that lie truth. He shook himself off.

“Your tolerance not what it used to be?” Shanks teased.

“My tolerance is normal,” Buggy insisted, not looking back at Shanks. “Yours, on the other hand...”

“Yeah, unlike you I’m actually fine,” Shanks said, picking up his pace to match Buggy’s stride. Glancing around, his back straightened involuntarily with recognition. Nudging Buggy’s shoulder with his own, he said, “Here, there’s a park nearby where we won’t be bothered. We can sit down, let you sober up a little before heading back to the ship.”

Buggy drifted in Shanks’ wake on some old instinct. It was only mid-afternoon. “There wasn’t anything else you wanted to do?”

Shanks glanced at Buggy over his shoulder. “What?”

“I dunno, some... sight you thought I should see, or a shop you like or something?”

Shanks blinked. “Buggy, I’ve never been to this island before. I asked the locals for recommendations yesterday so I could have a good time with you.”

Buggy’s face went hot. “You—stop saying shit like that! Don’t you know how that sounds?”

“How it sounds?” Shanks echoed. He led Buggy through a tall, metal gate, into a walled-off plot of land with very little to it, just rock-paved paths, plaques underneath oddly colored trees, and the occasional bench. Closing the gate behind them, he spun on Buggy. “How does it sound?”

Buggy scowled and stormed past him. Like Shanks didn’t know.

“If it sounds like I’ve missed you—well, sorry, Buggy, but I have. I thought I’d been pretty obvious about that.” When Buggy turned an incredulous look on Shanks, the corner of his mouth turned up, amused. “Obvious to everyone but you, I guess.”

“You—you didn’t miss me,” Buggy said, insistent. “You missed—” he gestured vaguely between the two of them. “—someone knowing you, without you having to say anything. You missed having a history with someone.”

Shanks shook his head. “I would love to see many people from back then again, but I’ve never missed any of them like I did you.”

“Oh, come on!” Buggy spat, “what was there to miss? A greedy little brat who couldn’t decide if he hated you more than he was jealous of you? A coward who ran and hid from every fight?” The memory of Shanks leaning in close, a hand on his face, shot through Buggy. Resisting another stab of longing, he blurted out, “Some stranger’s pretty face?”

“I missed my best—” Shanks’ face screwed up in confusion. “A pretty face?”

Buggy hadn’t meant to say that. He grimaced. “You know.” Swiping a hand across his face, he chop-chopped his nose off for a moment, hiding the gap behind his free hand. “This one, that you liked so much that time.”

Understanding lit up Shanks’ face. “Oh, the gorgeous stranger with stunning eyes.” A sheepish expression coming over him, Shanks looked away, askance. “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”

Buggy blinked. Not the response he’d expected. “Uh, sure?”

“I only thought those eyes were so stunning because they reminded me of yours.”

Buggy’s jaw dropped. “The hell they did!”

“They did!” Shoving his hand over his eyes, Shanks smiled self-consciously. “Oh, I felt so ridiculous later. That poor guy, I thought, was deserving of more than my secondhand affections.” Dropping his hand to look at Buggy, he said, “Though that’s nothing compared to how ridiculous I felt the other day.”

Buggy swallowed, mouth dry.

“I’m sorry, Buggy,” Shanks said after a long, silent moment. “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Buggy blinked.

Well. Of course he wouldn’t have. That went without saying.

He stepped back. “I know that.”

“You do?” Shanks frowned. “I… good.” Shoulders hunched, he turned to peer down at a plaque mounted beneath a pink-leafed bush. “That’s good. I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings between us.”

“What’s there to misunderstand?” Buggy spotted a bench and sat down. He immediately felt clearer-headed. Maybe Shanks was right about his tolerance. “I get it. You kiss strangers, not old friends.”

Shanks paused mid-step. “Are you…” He spun to frown at Buggy. “Are you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

“Hm?” Buggy had just gotten comfortable, hiking one knee over the bench’s arm. What was Shanks talking about now?

“Buggy.”

Buggy craned his head back to look up at Shanks. He looked tall from this angle, and taller still when he leaned over Buggy, resting his hand on the back of the bench. Shanks’ expression was unreadable, but intense. Buggy’s mouth felt dry again. Oh, this was bad.

“I was not apologizing for kissing you. I was apologizing for kissing you wrong.”

“Kissing me wrong?” Buggy echoed bewilderedly.

“If I’d known that stranger was you, I still would have kissed you, if you’d let me,” Shanks said bluntly. “I’d kiss you now, if you’d let me. But it wouldn’t be like that kiss, it would be different.”

Buggy blinked, dumbfounded.

Shanks… wanted to kiss him.

Not the stranger he’d taken him for back then, but Buggy himself.

Had wanted to kiss Buggy then.

Still wanted to kiss Buggy now.

Would kiss him in a different way from a stranger.

“Different how?” Buggy croaked out.

For a long, agonizing moment, Shanks stared blankly at Buggy. A furious heat rushed into Buggy’s face—there was no way to take a sentence like that back. He couldn’t pretend it was simple curiosity. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t eager to be kissed.

Slowly, Shanks grinned, infuriatingly smug. “Would you like me to show you?”

#notfic #the near miss fics #one piece #shuggy #shanks #buggy #cackling to myself as i hit post on this bad boy

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ironwoman359 · 6 months ago

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Taylor Reads: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

I have to admit, when I first started reading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, I was surprised by how readable it was compared to H.G. Wells’s The Invisible Man, despite being nearly thirty years older. I embarked on my undersea journey with no small amount of optimism then, that despite the length being two to three times greater, I would finish 20,000 Leagues in about the same amount of time as The Invisible Man, if not even a little faster.

Unfortunately, the initial readability of the prose and drama of the narrative set up gave way to long stretches of novel where nothing very interesting happens and we are instead regaled with long lists of different species of fish, mollusk, and other zoophytes that our marine biologist protagonist is excited to study, but I as a modern reader found quite tedious. By the end of the book, I was skipping over entire paragraphs to bypass the fish and get to the next part where a location of note would be visited or an interesting character drama would unfold. I found a reddit comment that sums up the book perfectly:

[ID: a reddit screenshot of a comment by u/burnaccount_12343 that reads “The book is like 70% fish, 20% fanboying and simping over Nemo, and 10% adventure.” End ID]

I made a post recently about how sometimes to enjoy older books, you have to put yourself in the mindset of someone from that time to truly appreciate them, and I still stand by that statement, but there’s another aspect that I forgot to consider as well: often, old genre fiction was serialized before it was published as a single novel. Trying to push through the entire 300+ pages of this book in one week was at many times a slog, but the original audience had bits and pieces of the story drip fed to them over 15 months, and if I take that into consideration, the repetitive lists of locations and fish are slightly more forgivable. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that I found large swathes of this book boring at best and frustrating at worst.

Frustrating, because the parts that weren’t just a biology textbook in the guise of a novel were extremely interesting, and I wish that more of the narrative focus had been on the interplay between our four main characters. The setup here is really strong, and I think that it’s a huge part of why the story has endured for so long. I genuinely am finding myself thinking about the characters when I’m not reading the book, and just like The Invisible Man, there were many parts that were genuinely poignant.

However, I find myself at a loss on what rating to give this book, because while I can appreciate the parts that I enjoyed, and can appreciate the way its original readers would have enjoyed it (to say nothing of the political metaphors and references that went over my head as I am not a historian or literary expert), reading this book often felt more like a chore than it did leisure. For me, 3 stars is the lowest rating I’ll give a book that I still thought was ‘good,’ or at the very least, good enough that any problems I might have had with the book didn’t detract too significantly from my enjoyment. Often, a 3 star book for me is a somewhat generic ya fantasy, a cozy mystery without a super compelling mystery plot, or a book that I should have really liked, but had some problems in the execution.

But with 20,000 Leagues, I feel as though my enjoyment was impacted to the point of non enjoyment, making me want to dip below the line and give the book a 2.5 out of 5 stars. And yet, that seems incredibly unfair, both for how this book has stood the test of time and for how much I enjoy the version of it that exists in my head, which is more than can be said for any other book I’ve given below 3 stars. I gave The Invisible Man 3.5 stars, and I wonder now if that was too high and the true answer is that both of these books were 3 stars for different reasons.

(Honestly, regardless of whether I give Leagues 2.5 or 3 stars, I think I may knock Invisible Man down from 3.5 to 3; the extra half star was a result of how strong I found the ending in the moment, but now a week and a half removed from it, the ending is pretty much the only part I still think about. This indecision is precisely why I do not fill out my physical book journal until the end of every month, by the by.)

#taylor reads #bookblr #books #book review #bookworm #classics #20000 leagues under the sea #the invisible man #books and reading #dark academia

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achaotichuman · 11 months ago

Note

Do you think you could write about dehlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

This has been sitting, marinating in my drafts. But it is finally complete. I am fully aware I fucked up the timeline here, but I'm not rewriting all of this, so we're gonna pretend that fancy Fae tests can reveal a pregnancy at four weeks instead of eight like the post said.

And disclaimer before anyone calls for my head, for this fic I am also rewriting Ianthe's character, because she is too interesting for me to just write off as a sex offender and never think about again. Also, it is very interesting to see her as a genuinely morally grey person with good intentions. So, in this fic, she never SAs Lucien, but she does get a cool plot twist so stay tuned for that.

Basically, I have turned this into a rewrite of Acomaf and Acowar. A lot of the events were written from pure memory, and asking Tumblr, so forgive me if some scenes from the OG series were left out or written significantly differently. We mostly got Feyre's version of events anyway, so I'm not too worried.

This will be split into several chapters. Three being for the Mist and Fury rewrite, and then two for the Wings and Ruin rewrite. And if I have time, I'll do an Acofas rewrite. I'll be uploading all three of the Mist and Fury chapters today, and linking them in this post. You can also find it on SquidgeWorld here, and Ao3 here.

Anyway, here is the long-awaited fic, anon. And @r-biter, thank you for the original post, I hope I do it justice. Also @praetorqueenreyna who reblogged the original post.

Also, did I turn this into a Tamcien fic? Yes, of course I did.

A Field of Dahlias

“Are you alright with this?” He asked, it may have been the hundredth time he asked, Feyre gave him the same exasperated eyes she had given him all night long.

Everything pointed to her being more than alright with this. Him pressed into the sheets below her, their clothes forgotten on the floor, her eyes glazed with lust. The rush of new hormones in her head no doubt fuelled the arousal that was now pressed against his wet slit. She leaned down, teeth a touch sharper than normal. She kissed his neck, dragging her canines along his fluttering pulse like he would for her.

She ran her now larger hands down his slightly smaller than normal frame. Hands finding his breasts and squeezing relentlessly, pinching his nipples, her rough fingers, calloused from years of work from before she had been turned fae. Tamlin bit down on his lip, not wanting the whimper that pressed against his vocal cords to be released. A part of him still didn’t understand the switch in the power dynamic and begged to flip her over, to shift them both back to normal and continue this the way he knew well.

But he didn’t, he remained underneath Feyre. Her chest flatter, set a touch wider, her shoulders broader. Her hips, now more narrow, rocked forward ever so slightly, as if on their own accord, as if her body was begging to bury the length now resting between her legs into the tight warmth before her.

“I’m fine, more than fine, like I’ve said a hundred times already.” She added an eye roll to the last part, Tamlin countered it with his own.

“Fine, but if you want to stop at anytime-”

“Are you okay with this, Tam?” She asked, hands becoming more gentle, roaming his skin like she loved it, like she cared.

It was still new, the loving and the caring, the likes of which Tamlin hadn’t felt in years.

“I’m okay.” Tamlin said, forcing his voice to remain steady. He loosened a breath, then spread his thighs wider.

“Well?” He asked, adding a grin to his words, “Lets see how sloppy your form is, wicked creature.”

Feyre gave him her own wild grin, eyes filled with that lust and love. Something caring and devoted in her face, she leaned down and put her face into the crook of his neck, licking at the skin in a careful, deliberate manner.

“Let’s see how well you hold up, Faerie Lord.”

***

Tamlin shuffled a few papers on his desk. Briefly glancing over all of them before sorting them into piles and picking up the one closest to his left. With nimble fingers he paged them apart and began to read each complaint. A sigh escaping his throat.

He tried to ease the worry sitting low in his belly but it wouldn’t relent, as the pile of complaints grew higher, the headache pounding behind his eyes tightened.

After he was done reading the letters, he moved to open a drawer in his desk. Then the feeling of his stomach lurching overwhelmed his senses. Nausea made his legs shake, he retched, then quickly slapped his palm over his mouth before winnowing to the nearby bathroom.

He had all of about three seconds before he was bent over the toilet, vomiting until he was shaking so badly he could barely stand on his knees. He dry heaved for a minute before finally his body relented and he slumped back, panting heavily, beats of sweat gathering on his forehead.

“Gods dammit.” He cursed, forcing himself to his feet and quickly cleaning up.

As he rinsed out his mouth, a pain shot up his spine and the sickness returned with a festering wrath. Tamlin groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat, he gripped the sides of the sink.

***

It didn’t relent, the sickness came and went throughout the days. Tamlin thought he could handle it. Thought he could make it through the seemingly endless hours without anyone knowing something was amiss.

“Two of you will head for the south border and I will send another group towards-” Tamlin was cut off by bile rising quickly in his throat, burning him from the inside out. He couldn’t get another word out before he sprinted back inside. Leaving five very confused sentries outside.

He rushed past several servants, all of which stopped to stare in concern. Tamlin ignored all of them.

It was Alis that didn’t stare. Rather broke into a sprint after him. The Summer Faery found Tamlin practically doubled over while he emptied the contents of his stomach. Alis snapped in a gasp, then quickly ran over to pull back his hair, sticking to his face from sweat.

“Tam…” She murmured.

Tamlin could barely see, the world tipping from one side to the other.

“Why are you staring?” Alis shouted at somebody, or somebodies at the door. Tamlin had enough sense to look back over his shoulder. He saw several servants who were loitering at the door, wondering what exactly was happening.

“Leave this instant, go back to your duties.” She shouted, then quickly slammed the door, everyone scattered as quickly as possible.

Tamlin panted as he sat back on his heels, tilting his head to the ceiling, “Gods.”

“Tamlin, are you alright?” Alis asked, helping him onto his shaking feet. He wanted to shove away from her and insist he was fine, but he was still getting his bearings back and the world was too bright, and he had a headache.

She led him to the sink and coaxed him into washing up. Tamlin splashed his face with ice water, and rinsed out his mouth. Then he looked up to see the mirror.

Gods, he hadn’t realised how little sleep he had been getting until he saw the deep purple under his eyes. The gauntness in them, along with his too pale face, made him resemble something of a ghost.

“I…”

“Tam.” She murmured. Putting a hand to his forehead, the rough bark of her hands rubbing against the soft skin. She furrowed her eyebrows, “You don’t have a temperature.

“I’m fine, Alis.” He said.

She breathed in deeply, face carefully controlled, “You need to see a healer. I will call for one-”

She turned to leave, but Tamlin took hold of her wrist. The light shining from Faelights in the bathroom too bright, he was so tired.

“I don’t need a healer, Alis. It’s nothing.” He told her. Ignoring the image of himself in the mirror, ignoring that fact he knew very well that he did not look fine.

Still Alis wouldn’t go against his orders. She sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, her eyes cast downwards, “Just… fine then. Just please see one if this gets worse.”

Tamlin bit down on the inside of his cheek, but nodded all the same.

***

It got worse, and there wasn’t anything he could do to hide it from anybody too close.

So he locked himself in his study or his room, and tried to focus on anything else. Anything other than the constant headache pounding behind his eyes. The never-ending wish to lay in his bed and sleep until his days ended, and the constant vomiting.

It didn’t relent, instead it worsened.

Alis found him again. In the bathroom in his room. When she spotted his hair, dirty and tangled, eye bags even darker and skin paler than ever. She narrowed her eyes, but quickly tied back his hair. Once he was done, she told him, “We’re getting a healer.”

Tamlin wanted to protest again, but he was so tired. So he said nothing, instead he slumped against the nearest wall and closed his eyes.

Why was this happening? Now of all times, when he needed to be alert for his Court. For the people who were still recovering.

“It’s just stress.” Tamlin told Alis as she put a dampened cloth to his forehead.

“I would still like for you to see a healer.”

‘I don’t believe a word you say’, is what that meant. Tamlin chuckled, but the sound was hollow.

“Alis, I-”

“Hush now, child.” She murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face as she sat down beside him, “I’ll call a healer, we will figure out what is happening.”

It felt too familiar. Like the days spent in his childhood when he and Alis would sit on the ground in the gardens, whilst she sang him songs in a language he didn’t know at the time. A language she had taught him, so he could sing with her.

It was too nostalgic. He didn’t deserve to feel that love again. That deep rooted, innocent love, it belonged to the child that hadn’t been stained by the world.

It belonged to the kid that hadn’t been ruined in every sense of the word.

Alis didn’t seem to care in the slightest. She took in her hands three strands of blond hair and began to weave a braid.

“It’ll be okay.” She assured him.

Tamlin scoffed, he felt her fingers pause in his hair, so he mumbled, “Nothing seems okay now.”

Alis tilted her head slightly, to see his eyes better. Her brown irises rose to meet his green ones. Alis reached out, her rough fingertips caressing the side of his face ever so softly.

“It will.” She whispered, “It will get better, Tam.”

***

The healer that he saw was named Heilda, she was a short sweet-faced lesser Fae with fluttering mosaic wings and short near white curly hair. Her eyes were all black and her teeth were sharpened. Tamlin was sitting in her office, in a small cottage in the middle of one of the busiest villages, close to the Manor. One of his hands rubbed his temple while the other tapped his leg.

Lucien had dropped him off at Heilda’s residence before leaving to inform Alis he had indeed gone to the healer and not run off. Tamlin had then insisted he didn’t need to, but the headache came back, and Tamlin was powerless to stop the determined redhead.

“How long has the vomiting been happening?” Heilda asked.

The High lord bit the inside of his cheek, quickly thinking back on the past few months since they left the Mountain, “Give or take a month and a half.”

She quickly jotted that down in a leatherback notebook in her hands, then asked, “I’ve also been told you’ve been experiencing severe headaches? How long has that been happening?”

Tamlin shrugged, “I’ve had them all my life, just recently they’re occurring more and more.”

Heilda nodded as she jot notes down in her leather book, before turning to a variety of medicinal herbs and bottles of strangely coloured liquids.

She rifled through a few before taking a mortar and pestle and began to grind a mixture of dried plants and herbs, asking questions as she did.

“Have there been any recent changes in diet?”

“No,” Unless Alis was slowly poisoning him, but he didn’t think her the killer type.

“Drinking water regularly?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been sleeping properly?”

Tamlin almost answered yes, then he remembered the nightmares that riddled his sleep, “...No.”

“Alright, that could be one cause, but from the extent of your headaches I’m inclined to believe there could be something else.” She took the herbal mixture and went to a fireplace where a small cauldron bubbled incessantly, “I’d like to run a few tests, my Lord.”

“Whatever you need to do.” He said.

She took a blood and urinary sample. Tamlin waited for what felt like hours as she put them through several tests, mostly mixing strange things together and watching what happened. Occasionally noting reactions. Tamlin was bored out of his wits, staring at the ceiling, Heilda had given him some strange purple tea, it eased the pressure in his head and the nausea in his stomach, thankfully.

There was a light rapping on the door, followed by a very familiar voice, “Lady Heilda, I was sent by Alis.”

“Come in, Lord Lucien.” Was all Heilda said, not looking up from her work.

Lucien opened the door, his eyes immediately drawn to Tamlin and the drink in his hand. He nodded to it, a silent question, Tamlin just shrugged and jutted his head in the direction of Heilda.

Lucien sat down in a chair beside Tamlin, “How are you doing?”

“Better since drinking this thing.” He said, showing Lucien the painted mug. Lucien nodded.

“What's happening now?” He asked.

“Heilda’s running tests, hopefully we’ll know what’s causing the nausea, we can fix it, then be on our merry way.” Tamlin said, drinking the last of the strange tea.

That was when Heilda clicked her tongue, “I don’t believe this is a problem we can simply fix, my Lord.”

She spun around in her chair, “I believe this problem will be a bit bigger than originally considered.”

Lucien and Tamlin furrowed their brows, glancing at each other before eyeing the healer worriedly. It was Lucien who asked, “And what is the problem exactly?”

Heilda took in a breath, seemingly steeling herself, as if on instinct, Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Holding him tightly.

“My Lord,” She said, addressing Tamlin, “Have you shapeshifted into a female form, sometime within the last five or six weeks?”

Tamlin was taken aback by the question, he blinked at her, hand tightening in Lucien’s, “I mean… yes, but I’ve done it before, I don’t know how it could cause any issues. Especially not…” He counted the weeks since that night with Feyre, “Six weeks later.”

Now Heilda snapped in a deep breath, “This may be an uncomfortable question, but did you have any penetrative intercourse whilst in female form?”

“You’re right, that is an uncomfortable question.” Tamlin said, blinking at the healer like she had grown a second head, “That shouldn’t have anything to do with my symptoms.”

“Just trust her, Tam.” Lucien said, squeezing his hand in an assuring manner.

“I just need a yes or no answer.” Heilda said gently.

Tamlin sighed deeply, eyes squeezing shut, “Yes. Feyre is a shapeshifter as well.”

Heilda nodded, then leaned back in her chair, “Did you use any contraceptives this night in question?”

Now Tamlin gritted his teeth, “What does this-”

“Tam.” Lucien said gently. Tamlin looked over at his friend and sighed.

“No, we did not.”

Heilda nodded, then she rubbed her hands together. Wringing out her fingers and cracking the knuckles as she crossed one leg over the other, “Okay. What I’m about to say may be shocking.”

“Just spit it out.” Tamlin said, finally and fully fed up with these riddles and strange questions.

“Alright,” Heilda looked between Lucien and Tamlin, Lucien tightened his grip on Tamlin’s hand.

“Congratulations, Lord Tamlin Fairburn, you are pregnant.”

One heartbeat, then a dozen. Tamlin stared at Heilda like she had two heads and a tail. Lucien had gone completely white, the fire lord looked as though he was about to pass out.

Heilda looked between the two, she smiled, then clapped her hands as she wheeled her chair away, “This is what happens when you don’t take contraceptives.”

Tamlin laughed, he laughed hard, nearly falling off his chair. He gripped Lucien’s hand so tightly he could feel his bones grinding under his fingers, Lucien didn’t pull away regardless. The Fox remained silent whilst Tamlin fell into hysterics.

“No!” Tamlin said, pushing himself back into his chair, “No, no, no. I am not- I am not at all. That is wrong!”

Anger now pressed through the hysteria. Heilda sighed like she expected this reaction, turning around she looked over at Tamlin, “Listen, you were in a female form and you-”

“I am not now aren’t I?!” He shouted, standing up from his chair. His sudden motion snapped Lucien from his daze. He quickly stood up and wrapped an arm around Tamlin’s chest. He made to wrap his free arm around his stomach, but suddenly didn’t. When Tamlin looked at him the Fox was breathing deliberately slowly, staring at his abdomen with an unreadable expression.

It only served to piss Tamlin off even more. Heilda, unlike the two before her, stayed calm, her voice soft and gentle when she replied, “No, but you can still retain a womb in this form if your magic allows it.”

“I shifted back the morning after!” Tamlin shouted, “This should’ve never happened! You are wrong!”

“I’m not, and I think you know I’m not. Spring thrives off of fertility magic, your magic protected the foetus growing in your womb.” Heilda replied. So casual as if this happened every other day.

Tamlin stammered and stuttered, trying to figure out someway around this. Some loophole or information that would directly challenge this. Like if he wished hard enough he could prove her wrong. Like if he managed to get angry enough, he could make this go away. Tamlin eventually looked to the floor. Beginning to process the information for what it was. For exactly what it meant.

“I recommend shifting back into the form of a female, it will make this more comfortable.” Heilda said, her voice still so gentle. It stopped making him angrier, and as the initial shock and denial wore off, the world began to tip from one side to the other. Lucien held him up. The red-head’s fingers intertwined with Tamlin’s.

“Is there anything else, Heilda?” Lucien asked, his voice a soft murmur behind Tamlin, yet a dull vibration in the face of the ringing in his ears growing with each passing second.

“Bring him back for some more tests once he’s processed this.” Was all Heilda said. Tamlin was caught between wanting to wake up from this as if it were a dream and wanting to rip her throat out for being so casual about this.

Only Lucien murmured his thanks. Tamlin considered cursing out the healer, but his sudden lack of energy made that impossible.

In the future he would thank Heilda for being so calm, for now, he hated her for it.

Lucien and Tamlin were silent as they left the healer’s office. Lucien kept his hand on Tamlin’s, gently leading the way as Tamlin was still reeling. Barely thinking, he couldn’t hear much besides some of Lucien's gentle murmurs and promises that they would figure it out.

But as Lucien made to winnow them he suddenly stopped, eyes wide, face pale, hands shaking. Tamlin furrowed his brow whispering, “What?”

“Can-Can I winnow you? That won’t hurt…” Lucien bit his lip as he made a quick gesture to Tamlin’s belly.

Tamlin snarled, his fangs a flash of white. He ripped his hand away from Lucien’s and marched in the general direction of Rosehall.

“Tamlin!” Lucien called out, quick to follow him, “Tamlin you can’t just storm off!”

“Watch me!” Tamlin turned around and screamed at him. Lucien stopped dead in his tracks, his nose scrunched as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Don’t scream at me, I’m only trying to help!” Lucien told him.

“I don’t need your help, Lucien! I don’t need you!” It was a dirty lie, because Tamlin needed Lucien more than air. Especially now. He felt his legs shaking, he wanted to fall to the ground. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and rage and throw things. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to go back to this morning when this didn’t exist to him.

Tamlin didn’t wait to see Lucien’s reaction to his venomous words, he turned around and continued to storm away.

He didn’t get far. Lucien appeared behind him and picked him up. Holding him in bridal carry. Tamlin yelled and thrashed, spitting curses at him, some of which he had forgotten he even knew.

“Put me down!” His voice was drawing attention from passersby, but Lucien didn’t put him down, just waited.

“Lucien fucking Vanserra let go of me!”

“Stop being a dickhead and I will.”

“You-”

“Tamlin.” Lucien warned. The tiniest hint of a growl in his voice, something about the way he said it made Tamlin stop squirming. The glare of death in the High lord’s eyes never left but he gritted his teeth and stopped moving.

“Good.” Lucien said, putting him back on the ground, but keeping two hands on his shoulders.

“Tamlin, we need to deal with this.” Lucien said, his eyes hard, his face unforgiving.

“I know-”

“No, you will try and ignore this until you are physically unable to any longer, and then we will be unprepared. You and I are going to talk about this, and form a game plan.”

Tamlin’s eye twitched, “Then can you wait until we get back to Rosehall?”

“We will walk back.” Lucien said as he let go of Tamlin and plucked a paper and pen from the space between realms. The red-head scribbled something down before sending it off. Tamlin knew it would be something to Alis to say they would be returning later than expected.

Tamlin’s hands once again curled into fists. He took in a deep breath, “I have shapeshifted, a little magic will not hurt.”

Lucien’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, “We don’t know that Tam.”

Tamlin laughed quietly, at what he didn’t know. The world was going so fast, at the same time it came to a complete halt.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Tamlin asked quietly.

Tamlin stared at nothing, vision slowing like a haze was settling over his bones, a dark mist that made everything seem so far away.

“Hey.” Lucien murmured, taking the High lord’s hands in his, “We’ll figure it out.”

They walked. Over the rocky cobblestone paths and through the blooming gardens abounding through Spring, the smell of pollen wafted through the air, mixing with the scents of sweetened coffee and baked goods. The sun was speckled over the ground by the constant clouds passing overhead. Gentle breezes caressed the delicate petals of roses, lilacs and lilies.

Tamlin resolutely stared at the ground ahead, each footstep deliberate and careful. He could feel whenever Lucien’s watchful eyes flicked to him. The High lord wrapped his arms around himself, releasing Lucien's hand, and made sure to not so much as flick his gaze to his emissary.

Eventually it felt like Lucien got the message and looked ahead as well, the clicking of his eye never directed in Tamlin’s direction. Finally Tamlin looked at him, to see Lucien with his head held high and facing straight ahead. His red hair a banner behind him in the breeze. His stride never faltering.

Tamlin felt like a newborn foal next to him, not so graceful and elegant, more clumsy and foolish.

Then a sound filled his ears, one that made him stop dead in his tracks. Tamlin quickly snapped his gaze to his left, looking across a nearby field, filled with a plush blanket of white, purples, pinks and reds, there he saw a gaggle of children. Some lesser Fae, others High Fae. All blowing on dandelion fluff and laughing until they fell to the ground. Two boys with purple skin and big black eyes, chased each other with worms on sticks. A girl with delicate fluttering wings carefully placed a flower crown on a girl with pointed ears, freckles and ginger hair.

Another two girls threw mud onto each other, ruining the delicate lace of their baby blue dresses. And one boy, much smaller than the rest, with wispy brown hair laughed until he fell onto his back.

“Tam?” Tamlin didn’t look at Lucien as his eyes were captivated by the children of his Court playing without a care in the world.

One hand scrunched in the fabric of his trousers, strands of blond hair were picked up by the wind, fluttering over and around his face.

Lucien walked back to stand beside Tamlin as he saw what had halted him. The Fox of Prythian reached his hand out and wrapped Tamlin’s in it.

“It’ll be okay Tam.” He whispered.

“Dahlias.” Tamlin rasped, voice breathy and shaking.

Lucien hummed in confusion and Tamlin pointed to the field, “The field its… the flowers are all dahlias.”

A heartbeat of silence passed them by, floating along like a butterfly on the wind, Lucien squeezed his hand ever so slightly, “A field of dahlias.”

***

The rest of the walk home was less exciting. Mostly Tamlin stayed caught in silence whilst Lucien broached the harder topics that would later need more discussion. The complications of having an Heir of not just Spring, but of the Cursebreaker, so quickly after Amarantha’s reign had come to a completion. Even Feyre was not completely settled into her new body as a High Fae, and certainly not settled into her new role at Court.

Tamlin wouldn’t dream of putting a singular extra duty on her shoulders that she didn’t need to have to stress about so soon after all had been said and done. But he had to admit they needed more publicity, something for the rest of Prythian to see that Feyre Archeron was the Lady of Spring, the saviour of the Mountain, and the Warrior who sent Amarantha to her grave.

He didn’t want her to be a show pony, only to be paraded to see her achievements. She had said it herself on a number of times that she wanted a quiet life. But if a baby was now on the way-

No, not thinking about that.

He didn’t want to think about ‘it’ , he wanted to think about how to get Feyre properly settled. Then how to stabilise the Court, and regain what had been stolen and lost to Amarantha. He needed to focus on the Court right now.

The sight of Rosehall came into view and Tamlin felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders, he spoke to Lucien while his eyes examined every detail of his home. “Organise dinners, celebrations, prepare for the upcoming holidays. Pay special attention to the farmers, whatever they need, send it to them. The doors of Rosehall are completely open to the public and any that come in seeking refuge from other Courts. And Lucien.”

Tamlin stopped and Lucien halted as well, his brown eyes meeting green, “Make preparations for the tithe, we need to get it back up and running. We are barely holding on as it is, with everything Amarantha has done we cannot afford the losses that have hit us.”

Lucien nodded, Tamlin went on, “Most of the money and jewels from the treasury were stolen and until we send people back under the mountain to retrieve what they can we are on a tight budget. Every coin goes straight into the refugees, the farmers and the villages that have lost their homes.”

“Of course, but Tamlin-”

“The people are in low spirits and the magic will sense that. Spring thrives off of fertility and celebration from the Fae. I haven't even seen the wisps since before we went under the mountain. Until the native creatures of the land return we are in emergency mode. I want a list of everyone we lost to Amarantha, I need a spreadsheet of the damages and the costs necessary to return everything to its former glory, until we are back to normal we will not rest-”

“Tamlin Kali Fairburn!” Lucien eventually yelled.

Tamlin blinked, then he blinked again. Lucien gritted his teeth, the light hitting the emissary in just the right way that his skin seemed to glow with his frustration, “You are stressing yourself out for no reason.”

Tamlin gawked at that, “There is a reason, our Court is still half in ruins-”

The fire lord marched forward and put his hands on his shoulders, “And I will help you to restore it. But you cannot try and handle everything yourself.”

“I am not trying to do everything myself-”

“You are thinking of everything at once, when you need to calm down.” Lucien’s head fell, he took several deep breaths, “Listen, Tam. Like it or not we… you are now responsible for another life.”

Tamlin bristled at that, fangs starting to point through his teeth. Claws pressed against his skin, threatening to burst through.

“Tamlin.” Lucien said slowly, “I know you don’t want to think about this, but that doesn’t change the fact that Spring is…” Lucien took another steadying breath, like he was falling apart at the news himself, “Spring is having an Heir.”

There were the words that crushed Tamlin even more. This… it wouldn’t be just another baby, but an Heir of Spring, a possible successor. A potential future ruler of the Spring Court.

They had no choice but to think about this.

“We will take this one step at a time.” Lucien moved his hands down to clasp his friends, thumbs rubbing the backs of his palms.

Tamlin stared down at the dark fingers massaging gentle circles into his skin. He closed his eyes, the headache pounding harder. He was so fucking tired.

“This is awful.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them.

“I know Tam.” Lucien murmured, his voice near drowned out by the sounds of laughter in the distance.

He felt like he might collapse. A headache pushed into his temple. He noticed a flicker of movement, and then saw that it was in fact a butterfly, small and blue and clueless. Making laps around their heads.

“It’ll be okay.” Lucien reassured him. It was false, they had no idea if it would be okay.

***

It was not okay.

It was absolutely not okay.

He had a headache all the time and sleep became a luxury he apparently could not afford. All of a sudden complaints pushed from all sides as bandits began to infiltrate the Southern and Western borders. Seeing quick money and easy blood to draw.

Many of the servants and sentries had left the grounds for other Courts in order to visit family after the Curse’s conclusion. With quickly hired, inexperienced staff, the grounds began to descend into chaos.

Not to mention how everyone was coping. That being barely.

Nowadays even into the dark hours of the morning, every hall was lit and not a single room didn’t have some form of a faelight and an open window. No one wished to be forced back into darkness, and everyone needed the reassurance of open, blowing air.

The second Tamlin had stepped foot back into his office he was thrown back into work. Now, days didn’t end until he was near passing out from exhaustion and they started the second the ray of first light hit his face.

He wasn’t the only one. Lucien he barely saw anymore, as much as the Fox of Prythian attempted to check on him, they both lost all sense of time. Unable to keep up with their workloads and desperately attempting to pull the Court back into order.

With everything going on, Tamlin had yet to tell anyone about… it.

Alis had tried to push for answers, but even with all her stubbornness, the female knew when she had to back off. The quick snappish answers and flare in temper were enough to tell her, it wasn’t time for her to ask what happened that day with the healer. But Tamlin could tell she was worried.

With everything happening. Tamlin had forgotten the last time he even so much as laid eyes on Feyre.

He was sure he saw her during the nights at some point, but as everything merged into a dazed blur of work, work, work, he couldn’t be sure.

That wasn’t even including the constant strain from symptoms.

Vomiting, and headaches were just the start of it. At times he could barely keep his eyes open even after hours of sleep. If he stood too quickly, all blood rushed from his head and black spots filled his vision. Random outbursts became more prevalent, everything setting him on edge.

"Dear Gods," He cursed, rubbing his temples. Elbows planted on his desk. Tamlin screwed his eyes shut as yet another wave of throbbing crashed over him.

There was a light rapping at his door. Tamlin didn't need to look up as the door opened to know who it was. The scent of cinnamon spice was enough telling.

"Tam." Lucien said tenderly.

Without opening his eyes, Tamlin said, "Lucien Vanserra, if the next words out of your mouth aren't, here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate, I will toss you over the border and back into Autumn."

There was a heartbeat of silence.

Tamlin wouldn't throw Lucien back into Autumn, Tamlin quite liked Lucien.

He would very possibly steal and hide all of his left shoes. Lucien was fully aware of that.

Lucien left the office, and when he returned, he opened the door saying, "Here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate."

Indeed, he was carrying a tray with a giant chocolate chip cookie and two mugs of steaming hot chocolate that made Tamlin's mouth water when he saw them.

Lucien is a smart man. Everyone should be like Lucien, Tamlin thought.

Setting the tray on the dark wood coffee table by the empty fireplace. Lucien sat down on the green velvet lounge.

Tamlin left his desk and joined him. Settling into the soft fabric and hands immediately reaching for said cookie. Lucien smiled softly as he took up his mug.

"Heilda said it would be more comfortable to shift to female form." Lucien said as he absentmindedly toyed with the handle. His voice was soft as he broached the subject, not wishing to provoke anger.

Tamlin bit into the cookie and nearly moaned.

To shift into a female form. To stay like that. It would raise eyebrows and suspicions. And good Gods, when he started to show-

No, not thinking about that.

"So?" Tamlin asked. He knew he had to listen, he had to take into account the possibility of having an Heir for the Court.

Gods, an Heir so soon. They just came out from Under the Mountain. It was all still fresh, too fresh. He could still see her eyes above him. Pushing him down into the sheets-

No.

Not thinking about it.

"So..." Lucien traced the rim of his cup with his finger, "Perhaps you should think about listening to her."

Tamlin's eyes snapped to Lucien's to find the fiery male staring right back. He lifted a perfectly groomed red eyebrow and waited for a response. One leg crossed over the other and head held high.

Lucien didn't back down for anyone, not Beron, not Amarantha, and certainly not Tamlin.

"Or perhaps I won't." I am a grown male, and I will make my own decisions, did not need to be said for Lucien to get the gist of it.

"She is the professional, Tam." He hummed.

"Don't call me that." Not now. Don't be gentle with me.

Lucien put the mug down on the table, it banged as his hands didn't bother to control his strength.

"Alright, this has gone on long enough." Lucien said, "We need to do something about all of this."

"What do you want to do exactly?" Tamlin snapped, temper flaring.

"Gods above." Lucien rubbed his temples and Tamlin wanted to throw something.

"Come up with a goddamn game plan, Tamlin. I want to know what the next moves should be. I mean, have you even told Feyre?" Lucien bounced his knee up and down. Tamlin thought that at any moment he might get up and start pacing.

"Well I- there isn't anything that can be done Lucien!" Tamlin shouted, finally beginning to snap. He hated this. He wanted to be done with it.

And he hadn't told Feyre. He didn't want to. He didn't want to talk about it.

Like if he refused to so much as think about it, it wouldn't exist.

Lucien opened his mouth, eyes blazing and preparing to yell. Then he cut himself short and snapped his mouth shut. Face falling back into carefully crafted blankness and eyes losing any emotions at all.

Tamlin's claws nearly shot through his hands. Fire blazing through him, not just because of the subject at hand, but because of how easily Lucien put his mask on. Hiding his true thoughts so well.

Tamlin wished for the courtier mask, but no matter how hard he tried there was nothing he could do to hide himself.

Fuck this all.

"You need to tell Feyre," Lucien said, crossing his arms. Relaxing back into the lounge, as nonchalant as ever. Tamlin hated it.

"I don't need to do anything." Tamlin hissed.

Lucien chuckled and claws finally pierced to the surface. He dug them into pillow beneath them, slowly counting back from ten.

"What is so funny?"

Lucien picked up his mug again as he shook his head, "Sure you don't need to do anything Tam."

"Get out!" Tamlin shouted.

Lucien rolled his eyes, he put his mug down and slid off the lounge gracefully. A swagger in his step as he left the room, as he passed through the threshold his hand caught the door. He tossed a seething smile over his shoulder and said, "Figure it out on your own then, but figure it out, Tam."

Lucien slammed the door shut before Tamlin could yell at him.

***

Feyre wasn't happy. She didn't know when she started feeling this way, when the total weight of how she felt finally settled into her bones. Like mist in the morning, it descended slowly until she was consumed by it.

She couldn't look the Fae around her in the eyes anymore. Not without seeing the Faeries she had stabbed. The boy's screams filled her eyes at every ring of a bell or snap of a tree branch.

And dear God, the girl who had prayed before she had ended her life. The words seemed carved into her skin, she heard them in the laughter and song of the Priestesses that came in groups for lunch after long days working in the Temple. Every time those swishing robes passed her by, she remembered that prayer.

One of the Priestesses had taken a special interest in her. One of the twelve High Priestesses. Feyre knew little of how religion worked in the Fae Lands. The idea of Gods and such had never interested her. She had worked for too long back in the cabin to spend her time thinking of them.

And if they did exist certainly the Mother was laughing at her.

As of now, Feyre stared out at the gardens. She was sitting by a small table on the porch, watching dahlias sway in the wind. The grounds were covered in them, they had been a flower Elain had grown back at the cabin and then at the new manor they resided in now. One of the only plants Feyre could pin-point.

"I thought I might find you here." A voice said, breaking the silence. Feyre looked back over her shoulder and despite herself a small smile graced her lips.

"Good morning Ianthe, shouldn't you be at a ceremony or such?" Feyre asked.

Ianthe chuckled, her voice and sweet face reminded Feyre a little of Elain. But her overall demeanor and strange stoniness reminded her of Nesta.

"No, the girls are handling everything this morning. I have a break."

Ianthe strolled over to where Feyre was sitting. She pointed to the chair opposite of her and asked, "May I?"

"Please." Feyre said.

Ianthe gracefully slid into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. She did not wear her robes this morning. Her body still completely covered. However, the layers of her dark blue dress were lighter to account for the warmer weather this morning. A pale blue silk scarf covered her head so only a few curling blonde hairs fell around her face.

"Did it hurt? The tattoo I mean." Feyre eventually asked. The tattoo of the phases of the moon, they interested Feyre. Whilst she now had a swirling tattoo along her arm, that one had been stained magically.

Violet cruel eyes. Taunting hands and a laughing voice.

No. Not thinking about him.

Ianthe watched the swaying gardens as she answered. Her face was not cold, but it wasn't warm either. Like a stoic mother, Feyre thought.

"Yes, but it was worth it to be given this honour." Ianthe answered.

Feyre hummed, "Did you always want to be a High Priestess?"

Ianthe chuckled, finger tracing her knee, "My, my, many questions this morning."

The Archeron sister stiffened for a moment, "You don't need to answer if it makes uncom-"

Ianthe lifted a slender hand, she turned her full eyes back to Feyre and smiled, "I am teasing Feyre."

"Oh."

"As for your question, I always knew I wanted to be part of the Court. I worked well with the others. And I knew I could help this Court, the way the former High lord ruled he..."

Ianthe cut herself off as a darkness filled her eyes. Her mouth twisted into a straight line. Feyre furrowed her brow, concern beginning to creep in, "He...?"

Ianthe quickly shook her head and straightened, pulling herself from her thoughts, "He just... He wasn't a good male and I knew I could do something to help. As for becoming a High Priestess specifically I-"

Now a soft smile adorned her face as she lifted her eyes to the white sun's rays.

"I have always had an affinity for the Mother and her creation."

Feyre turned her own eyes back to the dahlia flowers. Blooming prettily as if not just months before the Spring Court had been ravaged and left in ruins.

"The world is going back to normal." Feyre noted.

Ianthe laughed suddenly, and Feyre snapped her eyes back to her.

The High Priestess shook her head and murmured, "Nothing will ever be normal again."

"You weren't even here for the fifty years," Feyre pointed out, recalling what Lucien had told her before. How Ianthe's father had sent her and her sisters to the continent right as the curse was hitting.

At her words Ianthe balled her dress up into her fists, "You don't know my story."

"Then tell me." I will listen, Feyre wanted to say.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Ianthe watched her. Blue eyes like sapphires in the light, "You won't understand."

"Try me."

A shake of her head and an amused smile, "Count the blessings you have flower, appreciate them. For at any moment, they can all be taken."

Feyre blinked. Then her face fell into deadpan.

What was it with Fae and their riddles?

Ianthe threw her head back as she laughed at Feyre's confusion, "Flower just know not to take the word of Faeries at face value."

Ianthe leaned back into her chair and Feyre asked, "Can you guys just... tell me what you mean?"

A sly smile and glinted eyes, "Now where's the fun in that?"

***

She hated her reflection. She stood in front of the mirror as Ianthe carefully placed a crown of daisies and dahlias in her hair.

"Why dahlias?" Feyre had asked.

Ianthe had shrugged, "You seemed to like them."

They had gone through enough dresses to last Feyre a lifetime. She had never liked dresses and today did not change that. She longed for something she could move in. Felt like restricted in. But she sucked it up.

Ianthe had brought in a myriad of different dresses for her to try. To find one she liked best.

"Do they all have to be so..." Feyre had gestured to large puffy sleeve and Ianthe had snickered.

"For the record these were the former Lady of Spring's dresses."

Feyre had gone very, very still at that. Guilt shocking through her at how she hadn't liked the look of them.

Ianthe had then rolled her eyes, "Do not fret, child, the Lady hadn't particularly adored them either. But it is tradition to wear the dresses of the former Lady. This were the Lady of Spring's before hers, and before hers. Now they will be yours."

Ianthe had then reassured Feyre, "Just for today at least, then they'll go back into a bag and into the closet to sit for the next several centuries."

Feyre had laughed suddenly at that, and the knot of anxiety welling in her stomach had begun to ease.

Feyre had then rifled through the atrocious amount of fabrics. And eventually her hands landed on one particular dress. It was the biggest of them all, with an atrocious amount of tulle, lace and puffs. It was beautiful, Feyre could admit as much as that. But it was... so much.

Feyre had bit down on her lip, trying not to laugh. Then she had looked at Ianthe whose eye was twitching as she pursed her lips, desperately keeping her own laughter down.

They met each other's sights and were helpless but to fall into hysterics.

The dress had been laid on the bed, but Feyre had decided on a far simpler one. Long, green silk simple sleeves, and a high neckline that opened just above her cleavage. The corseted part of the dress was embroidered with gold designs and tightly hugged her waist. Her far too small waist. As Ianthe had tied the back her eyes flicked up to Feyre in the mirror, hands still on the strings.

Feyre had looked down, Ianthe continued and neither spoke of just how frail she had become. The High Priestess occasionally opened her mouth to say something, just to snap it closed. Ianthe didn't appear to know how to comfort, how to reassure. So, she didn't try.

Now the look was complete. Feyre watched herself in the mirror. The long green skirts of her dress swirled as she moved.

"There." Ianthe said. Feyre met her eyes in the mirror.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

Feyre didn't answer. She thought back on that day in the field when Tamlin had proposed to her, how happy she had been. How in so long the memories of Under the Mountain hadn't haunted her.

Yet after all was said and done, it all came back. All had asked to show them the ring and expected her to gush about the future wedding and her engagement. Yet all enthusiasm had drained from her. Like the second Tamlin was not directly in front of her she no longer felt that passion any longer.

It was just nerves. Nothing else. Once this day was said and done it would no longer bother her.

"Yes."

Ianthe nodded, her eyes firm and set on Feyre through the mirror. A heartbeat passed and Feyre said, "We best be going then."

As she moved to leave. Ianthe put her hands on Feyre's shoulders, "One moment, my Lady."

The Cursebreaker furrowed her brow but remained still. Ianthe didn't break eye contact as she swiftly pulled a necklace out from underneath her robes. It swung from her neck, a beautiful green emerald that shone in the light. It was small and hung from a golden chain.

Feyre blinked, opening her mouth to ask what was happening. But Ianthe answered her question, as she unclasped the necklace and swiftly placed it around Feyre's throat.

"Ianthe-" Feyre started.

"Take it, Cursebreaker." As she let it hang from Feyre's neck she murmured, "You may need it."

"Need it?" Feyre whispered.

Ianthe just smiled, "Trust me."

"You said yourself not to take the words of Fae at face value." Feyre countered.

"I did." She stated.

Before Feyre could once again point out the blatant hypocrisy, Ianthe said, "Try to see past the person, Feyre. Try and see what may lay underneath."

***

He hated his reflection. Standing in front of the mirror whilst Alis fixed his hair and jacket burned a flaming rage deep in his core, but there was little he could do. Other than stand still and allow the Summer Faery to do her work.

"You look very handsome." Alis smiled up at him as she stepped back, admiring her handiwork.

Tamlin tried to give her a smile back, but he could only manage a weak nod as he stared at himself.

Shell of a person. Eyes sunken from lack of sleep, skin unnervingly pale, gaunt, hollow.

At least the suit was well made, tailored, green with whites and golds. Alis had braided flowers through his hair and dusted his face with just the slightest of makeup, she told him it was for the look to come together perfectly. But he knew it was to coverup the deadness in his face.

The lesser faery opened and closed her mouth. Eyebrows furrowing. Tamlin nearly groaned.

"What is it, Alis?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, brushing away a speck of lint from his shoulder. Tamlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I am sure." He said, finally turning away from that godforsaken mirror. He faced the door of his bedroom. Lucien stood there. Dressed to the nines in green. Far more understated than Tamlin but just as gorgeous.

"Ready?" Lucien asked.

Tamlin shifted under his piercing gaze. The Fox scrutinized every inch of him, he was on display, wholly and completely.

"I'm fine." Tamlin settled to say. He wouldn't admit how he felt sick to his stomach and the fluttering of anxiety was threatening to send running to bathroom to throw up once again.

He held strong. He wouldn't be made weak. No matter how weak he truly felt.

Lucien didn't believe that for a second. But he said nothing as he moved from the doorway and said, "Well then, the wedding is on in less than five minutes."

Feyre hesitated from her place at the end of the aisle.

Her eyes agitated, hands shaking. Tamlin held his breath. She looked beautiful, but Feyre was always beautiful. A ring of flowers adorned her head, her eyes held the wedding venue before her.

Ianthe was the one she watched; Tamlin risked a glance at the Priestess who watched Feyre closely. Slowly she raised a hand, and with a soft voice beckoned, "Come, Lady of Spring."

Feyre loosened a breath, her chest rising and falling with measured, calculated breaths. She took a step forward and Tamlin's chest constricted. He sucked in a breath, and she took another step forward. The knot pulled tighter and tighter.

He remembered when she had been dragged in by Attor. Tossed to Amarantha's feet.

Panic had filled him. He had nearly fainted. Surely, she wasn't there, because he had sent her back. She was back in the human lands there was no possible way for her to have come Under the Mountain.

Yet there she had been.

The image faded in and out. Shifting from Feyre's perfect, unmarked face to the bruised snarling face she had worn that day so many months ago.

She took a step forward.

He was going to throw up.

Then she took a step back.

For a second, for a fleeting moment, the knot in his chest loosened and he felt like he could breathe again.

Then she took another step back. The knot tightened once more.

Eyes widened, and whispers erupted in the crowd of Fae.

Fuck.

No.

Like a rope pulled him forward, Tamlin took a step towards Feyre. The world slowed to one moment in time. She stumbled further back, shaking her head. And Tamlin stepped further into the aisle.

Something snapped in her gaze. She turned on her heel and sprinted.

There was a gasp, and hot white rage flew through the High lord. Filling his veins, breaking something that had been pulled taut for too long now.

He nearly launched into a run after her.

"Tamlin." Lucien hissed, as he lept forward and pulled Tamlin back.

Tamlin turned around to snarl at him, but in a second they were gone. Winnowed.

Tamlin shouted into the darkness that enveloped them. And by the time they landed he was screaming curses at the red head. Lucien didn't seem to care.

They were in his study. The window were open and sunshine was pouring in. Yet the house was empty as the grounds descended into chaos as the groom and bride had each disappeared.

"Why did you-" Tamlin shouted, but Lucien snapped.

"She was running away, what were you going to do?! Grab her and force her to marry you!" Lucien shouted, whilst pointing a finger into Tamlin's chest.

"You-"

"Don't start with me Tamlin! We will find her, but for now calm the fuck down!"

Tamlin blinked, initial rage simmering into something else entirely.

What just happened.

In the span of a few seconds, he had gone from jittering at the altar, watching his bride, then watching her run from him as he attempted to go after her.

He must have looked as shocked as he felt, because Lucien put a hand on each of his shoulders and guided him to the lounge.

"Sit." Lucien ordered, Tamlin obeyed. Staring into nothing, mind horribly blank.

Eventually one smaller thought came to mind, "I thought I wasn't allowed to winnow."

"You can in short distances, I spoke to Heilda. But she recommended it be someone else doing to actually winnowing."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Lucien sat down on the arm of the lounge.

"What do I do now?"

Lucien stared at him and for the first time said, "I have no idea."

***

"Feyre!"

Feyre didn't respond to the call. She crossed her arms and pressed further back into the trunk of the tree she was sitting in. Her knees bent, keeping her curled into the branch and just out of sight.

"Feyre oh sh- Mother lead me." Ianthe hissed as she caught herself from cursing, "Where is that girl?"

Feyre craned her neck to look down. She saw Ianthe holding up her pale blue robes in one hand and her shoes in the other as she trod through grass and mud.

"Feyre! I know you're out here somewhere!"

Somewhere indeed, currently right above her.

Ianthe screwed eyes shut and sighed deeply, "Couldn't have run somewhere inside, no we had to go out into the forest."

Despite the guilt and shame, the anxiety and hurt knotting and writhing in her stomach, threatening to make her lose her breakfast. Feyre chuckled.

Bad decision, as Ianthe straightened, her fae senses alerting her to the sound.

Ianthe whirled her head back and forth, "Feyre?"

Feyre had the muffle her laughter with the palm of her hand. But it wasn't enough to escape the hearing of the High Priestess.

Finally, Ianthe furrowed her brow and looked right up. Her confusion fell into deadpan as she saw the Cursebreaker nestled in a branch.

Mouth pursing, Ianthe gripped her robes a little tighter then asked, "Flower why are you in a tree?"

It hit her again.

As she had walked down the aisle. Seen the people, the faces staring and waiting. Seen Tamlin watching her. Then had seen Ianthe.

Permanant. Permanently stuck here. Permanently with the memories. Seeing everyone watching, like they had watched Under the Mountain.

That prayer had rushed through her head again. And she saw their faces when she stabbed them.

"Feyre?"

Feyre looked back down to Ianthe, but gritted her teeth and did not answer.

"Feyre." Ianthe said, deadpan, "Do not make me climb a tree."

Still Feyre remained silent whilst she brooded on her branch.

Ianthe's eye twitched. And finally she sighed heavily, mumbling something about the Mother punishing her.

"Fine! Fine." She said, dropping her shoes and letting her robes down from her hand.

Then Feyre watched as the pristine, tidy, and uptight High Priestess of Spring, grabbed onto a branch and planted her foot into the trunk. Climbing the tree.

She nearly slipped and fell, a curse nearly falling from her lips before she caught herself.

Her robes got caught on a sharp piece of bark and there was a ripping sound. Ianthe made a disgusted sound, before she climbed up higher and higher.

Finally, after clumsily forcing her way onto a branch right beside Feyre, she sat down. Panting heavily. Then she checked the small hole made in the hem of her robes.

She gritted her teeth but ultimately let it fall away as she faced why she came out here.

"Feyre, lovely spot you have here." Ianthe said, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"Thanks, picked it out myself." Feyre snapped.

The High Priestess sighed, "Feyre, you have to come down."

"Yes, I have to go down. And I have to go back to the wedding, don't I?" She snapped.

Ianthe observed her for a moment, before shifting uncomfortably. Stoic face seemingly trying to figure out what the best course of action was. Thinking logically, no doubt just wondering what the quickest way to get Feyre back to the wedding was.

It struck her that Ianthe didn't actually care what Feyre was feeling. She was doing as she was told, no other reason. It made Feyre feel all the more alone.

Back in that dungeon, with nothing to keep her company but her will and a bargain.

"Do you... Do you not wish to marry him?" She asked.

Feyre gritted her teeth, she screwed her eyes shut. Darkness pressed in and she remembered the Attor dragging her into the throne room.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to forget anything that ever happened. She wanted to go somewhere none of it ever touched her again.

"Feyre-"

"Just go away Ianthe I don't want to speak to you!" She shouted.

Ianthe bristled, "I am just trying to help-"

"Well you aren't!"

Now, her face iced over. Stone cold and fed up, "We have to go back, now either we can go willingly together, or I will get the sentries and they will drag you back."

A tremor ran up her spine at the threat, "I don't want to go back, Ianthe."

Ianthe loosened a tight breath, "Feyre, let's go home now."

"No."

"Archeron-" Her tone was warning.

"I don't- I don't want to go back." Feyre insisted.

Ianthe scrunched her nose slightly, eyebrows furrowing. Then her face evened out and her voice sweetened, "Feyre, we must go back."

The sudden change in tone, in face, a lure. An attempt at false comfort. The Priestess held out her hand.

Feyre looked at the pale hand before her.

Then at the ground.

Back to the pale hand.

Feyre reached out and Ianthe smiled.

The Cursebreaker batted her hand away with enough force that Ianthe shouted but nearly fell off balance. Giving Feyre enough to time to jump to the forest floor and bolt.

"Feyre Archeron!" Ianthe clung to the branch as she watched Feyre's form disappear further into the dark forest.

Slowly she took inhaled, before releasing her breath. She closed her eyes and asked the sky, "Why, why, why, why, why?"

Feyre ran and ran and ran. She lost a shoe but she didn't care. The feeling of dirt underfoot somehow comforting. Reminding her she was still there and breathing. In the wind, in the open space. Not in that cave, not Under the Mountain.

Yet still there. Always there like it followed her. A ghost of those months looming over her head.

She reached a clearing of grass and wildflowers. She fell to her knees. Legs unable to hold her any longer.

She shook, trembling hands and arms. She should've been able to run faster and far further than that.

But looking at her arms, they were spindly. Her legs which were sticks compared to what they had once been. She felt her cheeks, her face which was hollowed out.

Her fingers to skinny, her organs pressed against the skin of her torso.

When was the last time she had eaten? Had felt the urge to eat anything?

She licked her lips, her throat dry. The air was suffocating. Pollen that was sickeningly sweet. Air open, without any end.

A part of her wondered whether she had ever come out from Under the Mountain, feared, dreaded that at any moment she would awaken.

She heaved a sob, cries racking through her too fragile bones. Like she was made of glass she trembled.

Feyre felt like she was made of glass. Like at a single touch she might crack and fall into a thousand pieces and never be able to be put back together again.

'Make it stop.' She cried in her mind, sniffling, 'Someone make it all stop.'

'Take me away.' She pleaded with nothing.

There was the sound of stick cracking underfoot and Feyre's head snapped up.

But instead of Ianthe or sentries, violet eyes shone down upon her.

"Hello Feyre Darling."

"You!" Someone shouted, Rhysand and Feyre looked up to see Ianthe panting as she pointed to Rhysand.

Feyre had never seen her quite so dishevelled. But rage lined her features.

Rhysand however, simply smirked, before grabbing Feyre's arm as she screamed. The Night Lord lifted her tattooed hand and pointed to it.

"Don't mind me, pretty Priestess, I am simply collecting."

And just like that.

Rhysand winnowed them away.

***

"What do you mean she's gone?" Tamlin asked, voice near breathless.

Ianthe's eye was twitching relentlessly. She looked as though she had been dragged through a thorn bush. Then again if she had run after Feyre she may have been. Stick and leaves were stuck in her hair, some parts of her robes were torn. And dirt smudged her cheek.

"I mean she was whisked away by the Night Court." Ianthe said, "Our worst fears came true, and Rhysand made good on his word."

"Bastard son of a bitch." Lucien cursed from behind Tamlin.

Tamlin said nothing, unable to move. His eyes turned to Alis by the door who looked between the Priestess and the High lord with sympathetic eyes.

Slowly it lapped at his core. Rage that made his eyes start to black out. His hands trembling by his sides.

Chest rising and falling quicker.

Ianthe looked him up and down, then said to Lucien, "I'll leave you two to deal with this. I am going to have a six-hour long bath."

In a second the Priestess was gone. Alis following after her.

"Lucien, get out." Was the only warning Tamlin gave him.

Lucien's eyes went wide, and he sprinted out the door, slamming it closed.

And Tamlin's magic exploded in a second.

The High lord screamed as his magic ripped through him. flooding his veins with uncontrollable, overwhelming power. He screamed and fell to his knees. A ringing filled his ears, his vision went white.

When it resided, a sob wracked his body as shaking overtook him. His skin heated, getting hotter and hotter until his clothes were soaked with sweat. Trembling, Tamlin tried to pull himself to stand, but he suddenly doubled over and threw up.

The door flung open and Lucien shouted something he couldn't hear. The world was a swirling, dizzy haze of nothing.

Someone gasped and Tamlin looked up to see Alis sprinting for him. The female cupped his face, and Tamlin blacked out.

Link to chapter 2 is here! Link to chapter 3 is here!

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septnanis · 11 months ago

Text

canopy

a Destiel post-canon fix-it bit

Once Cas gets back, they orbit each other like a binary system. Always close but never getting close enough to speak the unspeakable. They spend the first few weeks in the bunker marinating in the awkward silences and equally awkward conversations before Dean has had enough.

He is a forty year old man who has faced down every thing from suburban ghosts to the creator of the universe and he feels almost embarrassed how he can’t strike up the nerve to talk to Cas.

So Dean packs a bag, walks to Cas’ room and tells him to suit up, get his shit and meet him in the garage in an hour. Cas just gives him that look that reminds Dean that Cas is a million year old celestial creature and Dean is a little human speck. It makes him grin all the way to the garage.

Cas shows up fifty minutes later, packed bag in tow. He’s wearing jeans and a dark blue henley covered by a chambray shirt that makes Dean’s mouth dry up because Cas looks handsome and capable and like a Winchester.

“Where are we going,” Cas asks, likely out of curiosity because Dean knows it won’t affect his decision to come along. “A hunt?”

“Hunt what?” Dean asks right back at him. “We, my angelic friend, are going to reap the rewards of killing God and go wherever the hell we want.”

With those words, Dean sits himself in the driver’s seat and pulls the door shut with a satisfying click. Cas joins him in the passenger’s seat and moves about until he’s sitting at a comfortable angle.

“We didn’t kill God,” Cas says. “We… deactivated him.”

Dean starts the car and turns to grin at Cas. “You didn’t do anything,” Dean says. “You were chilling in the Empty.”

Someone else might have been offended at the obvious dig, but Cas just grins back at him.

—-

Several weeks on the road and Dean has never felt free the way he does now. They’ve been to more than a dozen roadside attractions, some more bizarre than others. Cas likes the particularly strange ones, asks even stranger questions.

Dean gives the cheap motels a wide berth and gets the rooms in nice hotels.

In Vermont, he fishes out his phone while Cas is pumping gas and looks for a bed and breakfast. One, because he thinks it’s hilarious and two, he’s really always wanted to stay at one that wasn’t haunted.

“How do you feel about canopy beds?” Dean asks without looking up.

Cas clears his throat and puts the gaspump back. “Seems a bit redundant, a bed with a roof inside a building with a roof? But I guess it’s… cozy?”

Dean does look up at Cas, his finger hovering over the Book Now button. The man is all big blue eyes and heather grey sweatshirt and Dean is in love with him, probably has been for years.

“Would you like anything?” Cas asks as he starts walking towards the station to pay.

Dean shakes his head and hits the booking button like he’s on a mission.

When Cas comes back out, he puts a cold bottle of water in Dean’s hand even though Dean didn’t want anything.

“You need to hydrate yourself,” Cas says and turns to walk away.

“I love you,” Dean says. It stops Cas so abruptly it’s like time has stopped. “I’m… I’m in love with you. And we’re at a gas station which is a stupid place to say this but here we fucking are.”

Cas turns back to Dean and looks apprehensive.

“Before the Empty swiped you,” Dean keeps going because this once in a lifetime momentum and even he knows he’s on a one way street now. “You told me all these great things about me. And if anyone else had told me I would’ve laughed my ass off at them. But I actually believed you.”

The apprehension in Cas’ eyes remains steadfast, his whole body language like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You told me you loved me,” Dean says. “And then you were gone. Didn’t even give me a chance to think about it, much less figure out that… you’re it for me too, Cas. You’re loyal and you’re brave and kind and maybe the most stubborn, toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

Thankfully the apprehension makes way for what looks like a spark of hope in Cas’ eyes. It reminds Dean yet again that this is a million year old celestial creature, hiding out in a human vessel, inexplicably in love with this little human speck.

“I love you, Castiel,” Dean says. He shrugs, because there’s nothing else he can think of to say.

Cas smiles at him so beautifully it becomes clear pretty quickly there’s nothing else he has to say.

—-

Later, Dean pulls the covers up over their heads and kisses Cas for what feels like the hundredth time. He decides he’ll never ever get tired of it.

“Under the covers, under a canopy, under a roof,” Dean says, smiling wide. Cas eyes are the color of the sky once the sun has set in the minimal light. “How’s that for redundant?”

“It’s cozy,” Cas says. He runs his knuckles over Dean’s face.

This is freedom, Dean decides. This is peace.

Also available on ao3: canopy

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel

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joycieillustrations · 5 months ago

Note

For the " WRITERS" post:

🧑 Are there any OCs in the piece? Do you think readers will like them?

And

👀 Can you give us any sneak peaks?

I’ll answer these with Ad amorem! Please let me know if there was another WIP you had in mind 💕

🧑 Are there any OCs in the piece? Do you think readers will like them?

There’s not any OCs I can think of off of the top of my head - other than Robart, who I introduced in Ex libris as a friend for Corlys - but I will introduce a couple of characters from Fire and Blood that have not appeared in HotD nor been mentioned, so their depiction is almost like an OC. The primary one I’m thinking of I think people will really like: a female friend for Rhaenys, older and bolder and a great giver of advice when Rhaenys doesn’t have Alysanne to turn to. I can’t reveal her name because it’ll give away one of the plot points, but I’ve enjoyed what I’ve written of her thus far!

👀 Can you give us any sneak peaks?

Of course! This excerpt is from the WIP for the opening chapter of Ad amorem:

“My dearest Corlys,

It has not even been a day since we have parted and by the Gods, I miss you so.

Did you enjoy my display over the Blackwater as you departed? I do not think I have ever run so fast in my life, nor readied myself for flight so quickly - all to see one last glimpse of you, my love, to treasure during these weeks we must be parted. Two weeks is too short a time to have one’s love by one’s side, especially when one has endured so many years of solitude. How glad I am to have so precious a memory of you, husband-to-be. You shall ever be stood so in my mind, my bold adventurer, whenever I think of you: and I shall think of you, my lord, most fondly and most often, until you return to me.

I regret that I have not much else to report, what with your absence thus far only numbering a handful of hours. I must admit, I have already wept more this day than I have in many years. As we turned from you, love, my grandmother swore it would not always hurt so… yet I cannot believe it. Your absence is already a most tangible pain within my breast— and to think that but a few hours ago, I held you in my arms! To think that it has not yet been a day since we first embraced, since first we promised ourselves to one another. Oh, that I had had courage sooner! How many embraces might we have known then? How cruel it is to have such heady tastes of all that might be between a man and a woman, only to be obliged to wait so long a time before I might know more of such things.

As I write to you now, I am sat by the window in my chambers. I had never given much thought to it before, but I wish now my rooms afforded me a better view of the Blackwater — so that I might be better reminded of you, of course, by the sight of the sea that brought you to me. Mother caught me watching the waters from the ramparts. I can tell she is at a loss with what to do with a heartsick daughter. She says that this is the price of falling in love with an adventurer - with you, my beloved mariner - and that I will soon learn to endure it. I, however, am of the opinion that I am somewhat overdue some fits of girlishness, for I have taken great care to be sensible in my one-and-twenty years and thus am owed quite the sum of tears, sighing, and daydreaming. I plan to pine for you a little longer, my dearest husband-to-be, before I resume my role of dutiful princess.”

Thank you for the ask ❤️

#joycieillustrations #joycie answers #fic: ad amorem #my fanfic #writing asks #answered asks #writer ask game

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sa7abnews · 5 months ago

Text

Laci Peterson's mom reveals first impression of killer son-in-law: 'I hope he's not filling her with crap'

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/09/laci-petersons-mom-reveals-first-impression-of-killer-son-in-law-i-hope-hes-not-filling-her-with-crap/

Laci Peterson's mom reveals first impression of killer son-in-law: 'I hope he's not filling her with crap'

Laci Peterson’s mom revealed in a new interview that she had uneasy feelings about her former son-in-law Scott as soon as she met him – years before he would be convicted of killing his pregnant wife and dumping her remains in the San Francisco Bay.”I remember, before I met Scott, Laci telling me all these things about him,” Sharon Rocha, Laci Peterson’s mother, told interviewers for a new Netflix docuseries. “And I remembered saying, as her mother, ‘I hope he’s not filling her with crap.'””I’ve learned to go for my gut feeling,” she added.SCOTT PETERSON PRSOECUTORS LAY OUT ‘OVERWHELMING EVIDENCE’ AGAINST KILLER’S NEW APPEAL IN 337-PAGE FILING”American Murder: Laci Peterson” was directed by Skye Borgman and begins streaming on Aug. 14 and features interviews with Rocha, another key figure in the shocking case – her son-in-law’s former mistress Amber Frey, who helped prosecutors secure the conviction.GET REAL TIME UPDATES DIRECTLY ON THE TRUE CRIME HUB During his 2004 murder trial, prosecutors painted Peterson as a charmer who would show up with dozens of roses and home-cooked meals. When he first met Rocha, he handed her and Laci each a bouquet.The charm carried over into his extramarital affair with a woman named Amber Frey, who grew concerned about his apparent lies and shared evidence with police after she heard about Laci’s disappearance. In the weeks before the murder, he had showed up to their second date with fresh groceries and offered to cook at her place.TIMELINE: THE LACI PETERSON CASESIGN UP TO GET TRUE CRIME NEWSLETTERFOLLOW THE FOX TRUE CRIME TEAM ON XKey evidence against Scott Peterson:Peterson previously declined to discuss the case with Fox News Digital, citing an ongoing appeal – but he is expected to break his silence for the first time in two decades in another forthcoming interview on Peacock, called “Face to Face with Scott Peterson.”Peterson has always denied that he killed his wife and is still fighting his conviction in court, although he lost multiple appeals over the last 20 years and suffered a major defeat in his recent quest for additional DNA testing earlier this year. He is serving a sentence of life in prison without parole after he succeeded in getting his original death sentence overturned.Laci Peterson was 27 years old and 8 months pregnant when she vanished on Christmas Eve in 2002.Peterson had claimed she went missing while he was fishing in Berkeley, but at trial, prosecutors revealed that a pair of needle-nosed pliers found on board his boat had his wife’s hair “mashed” between the teeth – and a police K-9 picked up her scent at the Berkeley Marina’s boat ramp, where Peterson told detectives he’d launched the vessel.He also made a homemade anchor by pouring concrete into a container and leaving a steel loop sticking out. Prosecutors suggested he made more and used them to try and hold his his wife’s body on the seafloor. On April 13 and 14, 2003, the decomposed bodies of Laci and Conner Peterson washed ashore about a mile from where Peterson told police he was fishing when his wife vanished. She was missing both forearms, her lower left leg and her head, but investigators said there was no evidence she’d been dismembered. The forensic pathologist found it was likely that her body had been broken apart by the marine environment and that her limbs were probably anchored in place. He concluded that she was still pregnant at her time of death. He was unable to determine her cause of death.Days later, police arrested Peterson near the Mexico border with a stack of cash, bleach-blonde hair and a new goatee. He had his brother’s identification, four cellphones, outdoor gear and a relative’s credit card, according to court documents.In November 2004, jurors found him guilty of first- and second-degree murder for the deaths of his wife and son.

#e0448142-a1d0-54ed-a2bc-7b55b63c6284

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

Text

Part 25 - Marshall

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 24 -- Part 26

Pairing: Marshall x ofc (Vivienne)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: Drinking, blood, violence (sounds like a party, right?), angst...

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Alright! Thank you @deandoesthingstome for gently bullying me into posting this right away (I love you for that!) Here's all there is to know for now on the Marshall situation... It's not a long chapter, but still... I'm excited about this one. I hope you all like some unresolved angst!

@geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

“Listen,” I snap at Mike and Dani, who have clearly decided that the hallway is a completely appropriate place to suck the skin off each other’s faces, “you’re not the only people on the planet. Get a fucking room.”

“Marshall,” Dani answers, “go find yourself someone to suck your dick, and leave us alone.” That girl is getting way too comfortable around here. I swear to God; one more happy couple and I’m going to throw up. Of course Sherlock and Elena appear right on cue, also fairly firmly attached to each other. I can’t believe I’m actually jealous of them, actively wishing I had my arms wrapped around… her… I’ve checked the whole house twice at this point; she’s a no-show. That’s probably for the best; I have to get over her, and seeing her will only make things worse.

Maybe Dani is right, maybe I should… I have to forget about her one way or another. It’s been over a week since it happened, and at first I thought it was just another one time thing. Now, I’m praying to every god I can think of that it was just a hookup, but the more I beg the universe to have it be exactly that, the less I believe it actually was. Thing is: I can’t actually afford to fall in love with my best friend’s sister. If Peter ever found out about this, he’d have my nuts, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. Ironically, he’s also the only person with whom I can actually talk about this shit. Except in this case, that talk isn’t going to go over well. What the fuck would I tell him? ‘Sorry, mate, I shagged your sister, and now I’m in love. With your sister.’ I might as well break my nose myself, that would save me both time and embarrassment.

It’s time for another beer. Maybe two or three. In the living room, all of my roommates are really busy, and I just can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Not having a great night?” I recognize the voice; it’s Vivienne Chase, Marine Biology major and certified puck bunny. I’m fairly sure she’s made her way through well over half of my hockey team at this point. Not that I care.

“Not really,” I answer. Dani’s words echo in my head, and it doesn’t help that she walks by right that second, sticking her tongue into her cheek. The whole gesture leaves very little room for interpretation. Mike notices - for a change - and nudges her in the arm while stifling a laugh.

Vivienne stays. We drink, we talk, I even find myself laughing at some point.

“I think it’s time to get the fuck out of here.” Great. Charles just decked Tony Bates. He had it coming - from Mike, but he was busy rolling a joint, so someone had to step up to the plate. I’d say it’s not like Charles to stand up for someone else’s girl like that, but it really is. He can be a prick, but he’s fiercely loyal to his friends, and as far as he is concerned, that includes their girlfriends. I’m almost sure he’d never actually make good on any threats he makes about going after one of them. Almost.

“Alright, folks, nothin’ to see here, back to your business,” Sy says from another corner of the room, tearing his eyes away from Alicia Thomson.

Tony actually leaves without making a fuss, which saves me a whole lot of trouble. I’d have hated to have to toss him out. From the corner of my eye, I look at Viv. It’s a good thing Charles was already busy talking up Dani’s roommate, because if he hadn’t been, I’m pretty sure Vivienne would have walked out on me. These hockey girls are way into a couple of guys throwing punches. I scoff at the thought.

“Hm?” Her smile screams mischief and her eyes scream sex. This girl is throwing herself at me so glaringly obviously I’m even getting a strange look from Sy, who’s all the way across the room from me.

“Nothing,” I say, and I try to continue my conversation with her as naturally as possible. School, the holidays, hobbies, the usual. She’s clearly not planning on getting to know me - not that I’m hell bent on finding out everything about her. Or anything, even, for that matter. I know her name, which Charles would probably say is already more than I need to know, and to be completely honest, it’s plenty for me, too. At least right now.

Her hands are always on me, she’s leaning in when I talk, giggling, playing with her hair. Serving up the works, really. If this is a good idea, why am I constantly reminding myself that Lexi isn’t an option? Why can’t I get her out of my goddamn head? I vaguely register the rest of the room as they count down to midnight, and two arms snaking around my waist. Fuck, she’s close, pushing me back against the wall even further… And then she kisses me.

Her lips are soft but extremely demanding, forcing mine apart. Before I can properly register what is happening, her tongue slides into my mouth, and I just give in. Worst case scenario, I get laid tonight and there’ll be plenty of time for pining over a girl I can’t have, later. Vivienne lets go of me only to put her glass down somewhere, and I do the same. Her lips crash against mine again, and I feel her chest press into me. Not to be insensitive, but she has an impressive rack, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about them once or twice - in a more or less naked state, that is. I stop her when she tries to slide her hands up my sweater.

“We’re in a room full of people,” I say softly, without even opening my eyes. I can almost hear her grin.

“How about we move to a room with less people,” she whispers in my ear before very quickly nipping at my earlobe.

I look around the room, knowing full well there isn’t a living soul in this house right now who would care if I took this girl upstairs - except for me. A voice in my head screams at me to go for it; she’s throwing herself at me, she’s smoking hot, and I’ve got to forget about Lexi. It doesn’t help that that part of my brain is - apparently - very closely connected to my cock. Another part of me points out that I should really be making this decision with my head, but it’s just not going to happen.

We barely make it through the door of my room before her sweater is off and her mouth is on mine again. Man, this girl is not wasting any time… Hands slip under my sweater, and before I've even pulled it over my head, her hands are already undoing my jeans. I really should be feeling differently about this. My hands are all over the most spectacular tits I've ever seen, and there's a hot girl trying to get into my pants - and succeeding… God, she works fast. Her hand wraps around my cock and for a few moments, I'm a happy man. Until I'm not. Fuck.

"Too much to drink?" The answer is 'no', but a) I doubt she'll believe me and b) I don't think the real reason will score me any more points, and if I say no, she's going to ask… And then what am I going to say? ‘Sorry, you’re really hot, I’m just madly in love with my best friend’s sister’? Hardly seems like a good idea to me, so I decide to just shrug. Fuck if I know what to do, it's not like I have a reaction prepared for when my dick refuses service! This has never happened before. Alright, that’s not completely true, but it’s never happened before when it actually mattered.

"Too bad," Vivienne says as she puts her clothes back on, and I do the same. I knew there was nothing between us, but it hurts nonetheless to see her leave like this. My mind wanders to Lex. It never would have happened with her, I'm sure, but if it had… what would she have done? Not this.

I shove the thought of holding her in my arms down resolutely and turn to Viv.

"Any chance we can keep this between us?" I’m walking the line between indifferent and absolutely mortified. I honestly didn’t even know that line existed, because those two emotions don’t really feel like they’re immediately adjacent, but here we are.

"I'm not gonna tell. This isn't exactly great for me, either." And just like that, she's gone.

I finish getting dressed and lay on my bed until I hear noise in the hall.

"Where is he?" I know that voice. That's Peter. "Mike, I swear, get the fuck out of my way." I can't let Mike take the heat for my mistakes, I have to get out there. My feet are heavy. I know what's going to happen, and it's not going to be good. For fuck's sake, how did I let it get to this?

"Peter, leave him alone." He's down in the hallway when I walk down the stairs, looking up at me. If looks could kill…

"Marshall…" Mike doesn’t exactly look prepared to get out of the way, which might be a good thing. I hope to prevent this fight from taking place on the stairs, if at all possible. I’ll take a few punches, but I’d rather not break my neck.

"Mike, it's okay. He's after me, not looking for trouble. It's cool, back off." He lets me squeeze past him on the stairs, but he doesn't move. Dani is standing near the door to the kitchen, looking terrified. It's crowded in the hallway. August is there, although I don't see Ange anywhere right now. Geralt and Sol are right behind Dani. Great. An audience.

As soon as I set foot on the ground floor, I take a punch to the face. Both Mike and August look ready to lunge at Peter.

"Guys," I'm not much of a masochist, but I can't say I didn't deserve that.

"No, sorry," August says, "what the hell is he doing?"

"I shagged his sister," I say before a second fist hits me square in the nose. God, I hate the way it sounds when it breaks. The guys don't seem convinced to back off just yet, and I'm fairly sure the blood streaming down my face isn't helping.

"If you think that's what this is about, think again, you fucking bastard!"

"Hold on." I don't know why I'm opening my mouth, honestly. "You're not mad I slept with Lex?"

The door to my right opens.

"Nothing going on here, Leon, just get back inside." There's blood all over my face, so this can't be very believable. He does take my advice, though, which I'm glad about. I don't need the guys to gang up on Peter, especially since I had this coming.

"Listen, pal." He's pissed about something, but if it's not me sleeping with Lexi, then what? "You think you can get with my sister - which I'm not not pissed about, mind you - and take off with the next skank a week later?"

"Nothing ha-"

"Save it. She saw you two take off together. The fuck else were you doing? You got a coin collection I don't know about that you wanted to show her?" He slams me against the wall. It doesn't hurt. Not more than my face, anyway. It's a shit excuse I'm using. Because I'm fairly sure I would have seen it through, if things had… y'know, cooperated. I can see the next punch coming. Might have to close my eyes for this one, because I just know it's gonna hurt like a bitch. Then his words actually register in my brain. She saw me take off with Vivienne. That hits like a ton of bricks. It hurts me enough to bring me to tears, actually.

"That's quite enough." Any voice that's this calm in a situation like this is usually Geralt's, but Geralt isn't a girl, and the owner of that voice very clearly is. Ange. "There's four guys in this hallway, ready to jump you. You punched him once for screwing your sister, and once for hurting her. Enough." Lo and behold; Peter actually backs off. Not that I wouldn't have, or anyone else in this house, for that matter. Anjelica can be truly terrifying. Especially because we can't exactly talk back to her; August would kill us. And she knows that.

"The whole family was rooting for you guys," Peter says as he lets go of my shoulders, "what the hell were you thinking?" It takes everything I have to stay on my feet, now that Peter isn’t practically holding me up anymore. I can hear the hurt in his voice, which forces more tears from my eyes.

"The whole fa- What? You just said you weren't exactly thrilled that she and I…" I shake my head - carefully, because it hurts like hell - as if it’s going to clear anything about this up.

"Yeah, because you just did it to get laid.” Even though I know I deserve that - because I definitely believe why it looks that way - I can’t let it slide. Part of me feels that he should know me better after all these years, another part knows I can’t defend myself against this.

"I didn't, I-" Peter doesn’t let me finish my sentence.

"Can it, Marshall!" I do what he asks and shut up - like I probably should have done from the beginning. "There's no fixing this with me before you fix things with her."

And in trying not to lose my best friend by staying away from the girl I love, I lost both. Happy fucking new year to me.

#walter marshall #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fanfiction #henry cavill characters #179cs #179 crescent street #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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bolton-buried · 8 months ago

Text

So, update for episode two. For a couple reasons. First, it really doesn’t look like anything happened to Mr. Al-Ghizawi, nothing paranormal, anyway. And secondly, Mr. Al-Ghizawi died the same day we took this footage.

Mrs. Al-Ghizawi said that her husband loved paranormal investigation series, and requested that I take what footage we have and create something in memoriam. We didn’t have much due to the episode being cancelled and I deleted most of it, but there were a few clips I didn’t.

Anyway I lied and I did finish this on my work computer.

So here you go.

[[Video ID

Charlotte, dressed in greys with her hair in a tight bun, stands between the camera and a suburban home. She adjusts her rectangular glasses as she introduces the episode.

“Just under one year ago, a woman came to the Magnus Institute with a statement. Penelope Al-Ghizawi claimed to have found a box of mysteriously altered photographs of her husband. The kicker? They were Polaroids, leaving no room for digital alteration. That’s why the team and I are visiting her home in Stoke Bishop, to learn what we can about a potential paranormal cause.”

Cut away to inside.

Penelope Al-Ghizawi, a large woman in a yellow sundress, sits on the couch, holding a Polaroid photo. Charlotte sits next to her, a hand resting on her knee. Penelope’s eyes are red and tears trickle down her cheeks, but she’s smiling and laughing—just not hard enough to cause tears.

“I’m sorry, I. I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s a stranger who used to own my husband’s suit—that’s all.”

Harold speaks from behind the camera. “Ma’am, would you prefer I stop filming?”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. My husband’s upstairs, if you’d like to speak to him.”

Cut to Angie’s talking head. Her blonde curls are somewhat succeeding at escaping her low ponytail, but that may be by design.

“I got a sense of what was happening immediately. A lonely spirit has inhabited this home, and imposed itself onto the old photographs, forcing viewers to mourn for someone they—”

“Script.” Harold says from behind the camera.

“Hmph. The box containing the photographs was thrown out several months ago. Mariner Al-Ghizawi claims that he had purchased a box of frames alongside his suit at a thrift store, but couldn’t bring himself to toss the old photos, until he saw how they were causing his wife distress. Happy?”

Cut to footage from within a bedroom. Mariner, a pale man of skin and bones with a few tufts of white hair, is propped up on the bed. He playfully nudges Desmond, whose red hair is half up in a messy bun. Charlotte speaks in a voice over.

“Sadly, when you’re in the business of reporting the facts on the paranormal, it’s your lot to bark up a lot of wrong trees. There really is just a miscommunication between a lovely couple in this week’s case. But as always, stay safe out there. You never know what’s just out of sight.”

The screen fades to black, then to a placard reading “In Memoriam: Mariner Al-Ghizawi. Loving husband, kind soul, lover of paranormal series.”

The screen fades to black, but before the video can end fully, it cuts to Desmond, again in a bedroom lit in colored LEDs.

“I’ve been visiting Pens up in Stoke Bishop. She’s a lovely woman, and I think she’s been lonely since her husband died, so she appreciates the company. And she’s a great cook—not the point.

“I read through the statement she gave to the Institute. I found it interesting to note that, the entire box of photos she’d found upstairs were photos on developed film. None were digital, and all of them showed the shorter man with dark skin—not the Mariner I met.

“I checked while I was over there. Every photo in her house seems to show the tall, pale man I met on my first visit. And get this—none of them are on film. They’ve all been printed.

“I don’t know what this means yet. But I’ll keep you all posted.”

End ID]]

#tma rp #tma rp blog #unreality #2nd huntinghauntings saga

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ofduskanddreams · 1 year ago

Note

🧙‍♂️🪄✨✨✨ You’ve been visited by the Wip Wizard! If you feel comfortable, gush a little about the three wips you’re most excited to work on! Then send this to another inbox to keep the magic going!

Oh boy. Y’all know I live with the daily struggle of too many ideas, not enough time. This is the second WiP wizard visit I’ve received but I haven’t had a chance to answer that yet either so, here’s the deal.

First, I’ll discuss three WiPs that have already been published to some extent and then I’ll explain three other ideas, published and unpublished. If a fic is published, there will be a link in the title.

✦ Fics that I hope to finish within the year ✦

1. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧.

(Azriel is the MC, the fic is poly.) This is my CC crossover omegaverse fic. I binge wrote the first 40k words in like 3 weeks and then started posting only life got too hectic and I hit a creative block. Getting back to it is first on my to-do list once I finish this drabble series. It’s currently 7 chapters and will likely end at 12ish. I love this fic because it’s a great time getting to explore Azriel’s relationships with his pack and a not-so-typical take on A/B/O dynamics.

2. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬.

(Azris) This is a modern/hockey AU. It’s legendary player Eris approaching the end of his career and up and coming star Azriel. They become rivals Az’s rookie year… only Azriel gets traded to Eris’s team his second season in the league. I call this fic “grumpy x grumpier” and it’s true—that’s also why I love it SO MUCH. And this story contains Eris with chronic pain, like me lol, so it’s very close to my heart in that sense as well.

3. 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲.

(Gwynriel) Modern AU. Professor Gwyneth Berdara and former FBI analyst, now private sector exec, Azriel Cantor. For a while I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to finish this one because some things happened that turned me off of Gwynriel for a while, but I’m happy to say that the ship is starting to feel safe for me again and this fic will be returning in the early winter :) the vibes in this fic might be my favorite thing, it’s very dark academia 🖤

✦ Other WiPs ✦

1. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞.

(Elucien) A marriage of convenience Regency AU that I wrote the prologue for last July. I literally never stop thinking about this one lmao. Regency Elucien is just one of my absolute favorite things.

2. 𝐍𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐤𝐲, 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞

Part 1 of this fic is already published and, similarly to the previous one, it’s basically a prologue to a greater story. This fic is going to be a behemoth you guys, it’s pre-canon and I have so many things I want to do, so many plot points that are going to weave the most delicious and dramatic tapestry. For that reason it’s also very intimidating and I’m not currently in a place to tackle that kind of project so it will marinate in my head for the time being.

3. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲

(Azris) This is Head Boy and Slytherin Eris x Ravenclaw prefect Azriel. This idea has been living in my skull like a little demon for an entire year and I hope to exorcise it before 2023 is over, maybe for a certain character’s week but life is too bust to say with any certainty.

#my wips #my asks #azris fanfiction #gwynriel fanfiction #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #crescent city fanfic

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butmakeitgayblog · 1 year ago

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Hey babe, first, wanted to let you know that it hasn’t stopped raining in my town you know since when? since you posted that midwestern Clexa fight, coincidence? Don’t think so 🤨

Second, been bombarded with that ops show too and I agree 100% with you, both in the copaganda aspect (they lost me at the mention of marine’s and middle east terrorism)and the thing about this new ships. I want to stop a moment in the answer you gave me a time ago about this wn comeback, so, even if they write them well (at first), never forget who’s behind these shows and suddenly this thing we haven’t heard about gets popular cos it has a wlw couple with amazing chemistry, they get increase in viewers so they explote it to promote their next season and then what? Sound familiar? We just can’t trust them anymore.

Third, I super totally agree with you on the Clexa lightning in a bottle. As one of the newer Clexa fans (next week will make one year since I saw the second season and told my sister “I’m sensing a little bit of the gay vibe in here, wonder who of the two will die”) I’ve seen already most of the shows one sees named in the conversation about wlw couples and let me tell you, only this one got me hooked both from the beggining and way long after its ending (hell it got me into tumblr and twitter, things I’ve never done before and I even bought a book about it “El legado de Lexa” to know more about this shitstorm her death caused). Whatever IT is, they have IT. I honestly prefer reading fics about them than get invested in a new show.

Fourth, do you really wouldn’t recommend Clexa to new fans? I mean, yeah we got hurt but they’re more than their sad story, they’re this whole community and I think that’s a beautiful thing. Personally? I wouldn’t recommend the loo but I’d tell them about Clexa warning them beforehand so they can decide for themselves? There’s this dialogue on a media fic comparing someone with a really good book that you can’t put down or let go, that even if it made you suffer and you know the ending, the feeling you got reading its unique and you just wanna keep back to it, and that’s this thing to me.

Finally, I love how you apologize beforehand if your opinion that you posted in your personal blog offends the people who asked for it and came to said blog willingly and with the intention to read it. You humble polite kiddo *pats you in the head affectionately*

Sorry about the long rant 😬, en resumen, this new show? not sure I’ll watch it, Clexa is the “el que no conoce a dios a cualquier santo le reza” of ships, I’m leaning more into the recommed Clexa side of things, we love you and your opinions.

And we need the reconciliation so the sun can come up in my town again.

There's a lot here 😅 not complaining tho!

Ok so the first real thing I gotta answer is about would I rec theloo and Clexa to people who haven't heard of it. My honest answer is would I rec Clexa fic? Yes. The show? Maybe, but it'd come with A Lot of caveats 🥴. Because the thing is, and I may be alone in this thinking idk, but I'm not really sure if someone can appreciate the entirely of Clexa and Lexa, and Clarke in particular, as characters or why their dynamics and eventual love story were so amazing if they didn't watch the show. While the Clexa movie is fantastic at showing their chemistry, there's things that happen within the show that effect them and speak on who they are as individual characters that aren't ever really included in the supercuts because they aren't together in them. Which I agree with! The thing is already 3+hrs long lol. But it does matter for context and it does hold weight in their story, both together and individually, so I would have to say to really get them you have to watch the show at least up until 307. I know there's people who write fic who haven't watched the show at all and I just... no shade! But I can usually tell. Cuz it shows.

But in that same breath the show got so fucking stupid and nonsensical I, in good conscience, have a very difficult time telling people that they should watch that hunk'a shit 😒 Season 2 was its best, let's just be honest, and season 3 was JRot's bullshit Frankenstein creation that he used as a way to shoehorn in this fucking AI plot from a movie or show (I can't remember which) that didn't get picked up but he was just convinced it was brilliant. He wanted to be GoT meets Star Trek or some shit so badly I just know he was pissing himself watching dailies. So overall it's such a double edged sword because yes I want more people to love Clexa, but at the same time the show overall is so gd bad I don't wanna put them through it.

About the Ops show, someone said it is copaganda which I expected, and not even actually enemies to lovers?? Which baffled me but apparently one of them is undercover and using the other one to get to their father or something? That's not enemies to lovers 🤨 that's manipulation. Which ok fine I'm down with that in fiction but if one party is unaware of your nefarious ways and is just interested in you then that's not... that's not EtL. That's just I was trying to trick you and caught feelings/I had feelings and then found out you were a liar. False. Advertising. 😤

Lastly, I'm a midwesterner we apologize for everything 🥺👉👈 knocked into a chair with my knee today ans accidentally apologized to it before realizing myself 😔. But really it's mainly because I know how easy it is online for people to think everything is a personal attack on them or their tastes when it's not, so I find it's just safer and more pleasant to remind people that I am just a person stating their own personal opinion, and it's really not ever anything to get upset about 😅

#gabywithoutthedollhouse #and also I'm writing the midwestern make up now I'm sorry I was... busy

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knotwerk · 2 years ago

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i've been wanting to read more poetry since being cracked open in the most beautiful way by all of your poem choices in proper hydration. i've already added tc tolbert, ellen bass, and timothy liu to my list but i want moreee. if you could recommend any three books of poetry to someone, what would they be? (three is an entirely arbitrary number feel free to share as many or as few as you like) <3

HOLY SHIT THANK YOU FOR ASKING A:LKSDJF

I described in a previous post how I typically find my reading, so here’s a crop of my all-time personal favorite collections, or at least the ones that immediately come to mind. And while I have faves based on moods/vibes, these transcend regardless of what mood I’m in or after.

Too Bright to See & Alma by Linda Gregg. Holy shit, buckle up. I’d been reading poetry for about a year when I encountered this book thanks to a post from the poetryisnotaluxury insta and it blew my socks out of my Birkenstocks. It’s Linda Gregg’s first two books (1981 & 1985), reprinted in one volume. Short, declarative sentences grab you by the shoulders and force you to reckon with the emotion she’s conveying with sparse but clear language and imagery. I had to, like, pause my poetry reading for a few days after reading this to let it swim around in my being. Could only read one or two of her poems at bedtime rather than my usual inadvertent five or seven (or 10, oops, knotwerk, go to sleep). Here’s the first poem in the collection: We Manage Most When We Manage Small

Kingdom Animalia by Aracelis Girmay, which includes this banger—if there were some kind of counter for how many times I’ve read a poem, this one would definitely be in my top 5: Elegy

Time Is A Mother by Ocean Vuong. *rolls up sleeves* Okay, so: everything Ocean Vuong has done, ever. OMFG. I started with Night Sky with Exit Wounds, and then read On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and my brainheart exploded. And then I listened to as many interviews as I could and got more insight into life art creativity writing than I thought possible from a single source. There was a span of time (early 2022; the months preceding the drop of OFMD S1 actually) where I had immersed myself so much in Ocean Vuong work that he appeared in my dreams. I had this one dream where I was wearing a mint green football jersey with OCEAN VUONG on the back in neon pink letters. I’m that kind of fan. And this particular collection—this is a writer at the top of his game, leaving it all on the field. Highly recommend getting acquainted with his bio & his preceding work first so you can get a sense for the context of this absolute brilliance.

Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals by Alexis Pauline Gumbs. OK, this is a hybrid work; prose-poem-y pieces that started out as posts on her Instagram. I want a t-shirt that says “I was there when Alexis Pauline Gumbs started posting the pieces on Instagram that became Undrowned” because I like remember where I was whenever I read a new post—I was like HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT LOOK WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH WORDS I HAVE TO LAY DOWN. And here it all is in a book and it’s amazing.

Other fave writers (off the top of my head, certainly forgetting some who are important to meee) who totally have collections that should be on this list but if I don’t stop now we’ll be here for weeks:

CA Conrad

Cameron Awkward-Rich

Ross Gay

Louise Erdrich

Ada Limón

Naomi Shihab Nye

George Abraham

Also, my favorite Neruda is Extravagaria. 🌊

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU

#poetry #poetry 🤝 fanfic

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flightlessangelwings · 3 years ago

Text

The Weight of Emptiness

Billy Russo x gn!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, feels, some fluff, pining, protective!Billy, best friends to lovers..?, open ending, no use of y/n or pronouns

Notes: First of all, this is a gift fic for my best friend @the-purity-pen for her birthday! Happy birthday, Leeann!! This is also for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday, the prompt pic is below! It’s been a minute since I did a writer Wed, but I was really feeling the pic this week! Also tagging @clydesducktape too!

Taglist in the reblog. If you’d like to be added, please fill out the google form on my masterlist in my pinned post, or you can also follow @flightlessangelwings-updates and turn on post notifications to keep updated!

Billy Russo was your best friend. You had known him longer than anyone else, and the two of you had been through everything together. Through all the ups and downs, you were always there for him in a way that no one else was. When he joined the marines and got deployed, you were right there when he came back and helped him through his nightmares. You were there for him when he had nothing, and you stayed at his side when he started Anvil and suddenly had the world in his palm.

The money didn’t matter to you, though. All you cared about was Billy. He instead on taking care of you now that he had the means, though, and he helped you get a nicer apartment that you never could have afforded on your own. Over the years, your feelings for him grew into more than just your best friend, but you kept that to yourself. You stayed quiet when he took home someone new and beautiful several nights a week and you pretended it didn’t tear you up inside.

If only you knew what went on in Billy’s head too…

“Hey Billy,” you sounded chipper as you walked into his office one day with coffee in your hand for him.

He looked up from his desk and you noticed how tired he looked. Billy whispered your name as he stood up and took the coffee you extended out for him, “Thanks,” his face quickly turned upwards in an attempt to mask the tiredness.

“Looks like you need it,” you commented, never missing anything from him.

He gave you a nod before he took a few sips. Without a word, Billy held your gaze, and you looked into his dark eyes. You felt the tension in the air, and you wanted more than anything to ask what was wrong, but you stayed silent. You knew that look all too well, and the two of you were able to have a conversation without a single word needed.

Just as you were about to open your mouth and break the silence, another voice entered the room.

“Russo,” an older man called from behind you. His eyes quickly landed on your figure and he gave you a crooked smile and extended his hand to you, “Didn’t mean to intrude,” he said to you, “William Rawlins, nice to meet you.”

Billy gave him a pointed look as you took the man’s hand and gave him your name, “Pleasure.”

“Oh so you’re the one I’ve heard so much about,” Rawlins’ words were kind, but his tone was anything but, “I should have recognized you from the photo too. But now I see,” he gestured to a framed photo on Billy’s desk.

It was you and Billy from years ago while you were out on vacation together. It was the first trip since Billy had started Anvil, and he was excited to finally take you somewhere nice. The trip was fun, and the scenery was beautiful, but you felt a little awkward at how much he spent on it for you. Billy was insistent, though, and since it was somewhere you had wanted to go for a long time, you gave in. The only downside to that trip was that everywhere you two went, people thought you were a couple. It stung, but you brushed it off if it meant to be with Billy. Still, it was one of the best times of your life, and you were so thankful to Billy for it.

“That was years ago,” you brushed off the awkwardness with a nervous chuckle, “We both look so different now.”

“Well you’ve grown into a lovely thing since then,” Rawlins either didn’t catch how nervous you felt under his gaze, or he ignored it. If you were to guess, you’d say he knew, but just didn't care.

Billy interjected with your name, “We have a meeting to get to, so why don’t you head out?”

His tone caught you off guard at how cold it sounded, but you decided not to comment on it, “Ok,” you breathed, “I’ll get out of your way.” You knew something was up since Billy’s behavior was odd, but you also knew it was best to keep your mouth shut for now.

“It was nice to meet you, dear,” Rawlings called out to you as you turned and walked away, and you didn’t see the way Billy glared at the older man as you left.

After that, it was weeks before you heard from Billy again. You were somewhat used to it, since he had to leave for missions and assignments from time to time, but it was unusual for him to not let you know that he would at least be out of touch. Something felt wrong. And it only got weirder when you went by Anvil and they refused to let you in.

“But you know me,” you told the security guard, “I’ve been around here longer than you have.”

“I’m sorry,” he told you sincerely, “That’s what I was told.”

Confused, you rushed to Billy’s penthouse and let yourself in with your key. But nothing would prepare you for the sight that met you when you opened the door. The place was completely empty; everything was gone.

“Billy…?” you called you tentatively, even though you knew you wouldn’t get an answer.

That was when you finally broke down. The emptiness of the apartment felt overwhelming, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. You sat down at the barstool in the kitchen: one of the few pieces of furniture left behind. Tears streamed down your face as you collapsed down onto the marble countertop and cried. You wondered what you did wrong, what happened, why your best friend just left you like that.

When you lifted your head up again and took a deep breath, you noticed a note on the counter. You quickly reached out for it, and your breath left you when you saw your name at the top. As you read the note, you heard Billy’s voice in your head:

“Baby I’m so sorry I had to do this to you. I never wanted to hurt you, but this is how it has to be. I got myself in some shit, and I will not fucking drag you into it. The last thing I want is for something to happen to you because of me. I left cash in the safe for you. The code is the day we left on that vacation. I never said nothing, but that was the best 2 weeks of my damn life. And it wasn’t the vacation. It was cause I was there with you.

Take care of yourself,

Billy”

Fresh tears fell from your eyes and you put the note down and rubbed your forehead, “Shit,” you whispered.

Something in your head nagged at you, so you went over to the safe and put in the date. You knew it off the top of your head, and it made your heart flip in your chest that Billy did too. As promised, more cash than you had ever seen in your life waited for you on the other side of the door, as well as jewelry and other fine things. But what stood out to you was another scrap of paper buried underneath it all. When you picked it up, you gasped at the words:

“P.S. I never told you, but I was falling in love with you.”

“Fucking hell, Billy,” you sighed as you held the paper close to your chest, “I’ve always loved you,” you whispered to the note. You stayed like that in the empty space for some time as you let yourself process everything. The emptiness echoed around you and you swore you heard your own heartbeat. But, as you sat in your sorrows, a new feeling rushed over you. Determination.

Without a word, you picked yourself up and gathered everything in the safe. If Billy thought he was going to face whatever it was alone, he had another thing coming. And luckily for you, he gave you the resources to find and help him, which was what you were going to do whether he liked it or not. You weren’t about to let the one you loved be by himself, no matter the danger it put you in. Billy was worth the risk.

“I’m coming for you, Billy. You fucking asshole,” you whispered to yourself as you locked the apartment behind you.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo #billy russo x you #writer wednesday #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x y/n #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fic #the punisher imagine #ben barnes #ben barnes character fanfiction

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cheri-translates · 3 years ago

Text

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Fireworks into the Heart

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (烟花入心) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Gavin. References are made to S2 Ch 16

[ Chapter One ]

“Wang Xiao Cui, you’ve been employed by the STF’s Logistics Department. Report to the cafeteria at 8am tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve been hired to work in the STF cafeteria.

As a nutritionist with over thirty years of experience, joining the STF isn’t a problem for me.

My old companion isn’t able to understand why I’m not using my years of retirement to enjoy life. Without giving him a response, I simply smoothen the small creases on my STF uniform carefully.

As an ordinary person, the STF always had a mysterious and prestigious impression in my eyes. Agents who are able to work here are all heroes with indomitable spirits.

Being able to take care of their meals and enable them to get more nutrition every day to strengthen their bodies and better protect Loveland City gives me a sense of honour in protecting this city too.

Based on my experience, taking care of a group of young people is a piece of cake. However, I didn’t expect to make the mistake of underestimating this place.

Standing in front of the cafeteria’s bleak signboard at 7.30am, I witness several agents carrying Tianjin-style deep-friend dough sticks through the doors. Someone even carries several bags of fried beef buns. While walking, he speaks in a loud voice:

"I braved the risk of running laps to bring you guys fried buns again!”

“During training later, no one’s allowed to snatch that new gun from me.”

The other agents let out a “tsk”, taking the fried buns and chilli paste from him before dividing them amongst themselves.

Fresh out of the oven, hot steam rises from the buns in the cafeteria, and nobody bats an eye. The master who steamed the buns has already grown accustomed to this. They stand in groups of twos and threes, engaging in idle chatter.

Why doesn’t anyone in the STF like eating food from the cafeteria?

Unable to figure out an answer after much thought, I happen to spot a handsome lad dressed in a white uniform. His steps are steady, and he brings along a breeze when he walks. I immediately call out to him.

“Hey! Young lad, wait.”

The handsome lad stops in his footsteps, giving me a sweeping glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No no, I'm the new nutritionist in the cafeteria. I just wanted to ask you something. Why don’t the STF agents love to eat cafeteria food? From what I can see, the Nourishing Meal has meat and vegetables, and it’s pretty rich in nutrition.”

The handsome lad is silent for a moment before responding to my question.

“The healthy meals place too much focus on health, and they don’t taste any better than the small stalls outside.”

“Captain Gavin, the materials from yesterday’s case have been tidied up.”

“Mm, I’ll have a look at them.”

The handsome lad who was addressed as “Captain Gavin” sees that I have no further questions. Giving me a nod, he takes large strides towards the office.

With a frown, I take a bite out of a celery meat bun. Aside from the taste being slightly bland, I don’t find anything wrong with it. Furthermore, adding too much salt would reduce its nutritional value, so it’s a given that less salt would be added to it.

However, since this point was brought up, it means there’s room for improvement.

In order to prepare food that better suits the palate of STF, I spend a whole week lying low and observing the favourite eateries that the STF agents enjoy eating most, and try out all of their famous dishes.

Based on their palate, I meticulously prepare a modified version of trial dishes.

On the first day of introducing the trial dishes, I brim with enthusiasm while bringing out a “New Dishes to Try” signboard, thinking that this would raise the reputation of the STF’s cafeteria. However, even after half a day, the only things that enter are mosquitoes which I swat to death.

There’s a cold breeze at the entrance. I look at the clock hanging on the wall of the cafeteria - lunchtime is almost over.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I head outside, planning to grab a few people in to try the dishes.

The moment I step outside, my eyes brighten when I see that lad from before.

His footsteps are hurried, and he has a packet of instant noodles in his hand. He probably has to deal with some urgent matters, which is why he has to make do with that for lunch.

How is that good? An STF agent eating instant noodles? Where would I, a nutritionist, hide my pride? I hurriedly stop him.

“Young lad, there are new dishes in the cafeteria. Since you’re about to eat, why don’t you try the cafeteria? It’d be a quick meal.”

He pauses in his footsteps for a slight moment, his refusal ready. However, when he sees the menu behind me, he suddenly blinks, then looks up to give me a nod.

“I’ll have to trouble you then.”

With this, he walks into the cafeteria. I look at the menu. There’s only a simple line written on it - “Today’s Special: Chicken with Chilli”.

Does he like eating chicken with chilli?

[Note] To be precise, this dish is called 辣子鸡 (là zǐ jī). It’s a a stir-fried dish consisting of marinated then deep-fried pieces of chicken, dried Sichuan chilli peppers, spicy bean paste, Sichuan peppers, garlic, and ginger.

[ Chapter Two ]

The young man eats quickly and seriously. Ignoring the fact that that he’s eating at an unhealthy pace, I feel very relieved. When he walks over to return the tray, I ask him a question.

“You’re done, young lad? How’s the taste? Do you think there’s anything to improve on?”

The young man sets the tray down. After a moment of serious contemplation, he give his response.

“The taste isn’t bad. If you’re asking for suggestions, since it’s chicken with chilli, you could add a little more chilli.”

I record his suggestions in my notebook earnestly. At the same time, I’m secretly amazed at how members of the STF are truly talented individuals. I created this chicken with chilli dish based on the spice levels in Sichuan cuisine, but he still didn’t find it spicy enough.

Look like there’s much room for improvement in future dishes.

The next day, I continue with my plan to introduce trial dishes. However, most of the STF agents are already used to eating out. The ones who try the dishes are few and far between. Just as lunchtime is about to end, a familiar figure once again appears at the door of the cafeteria.

He’s the young man who ate the chicken with chilli yesterday.

He walks straight in, taking a tray and getting food. Although he doesn’t say anything, I feel very moved, and wonder if this kid dropped by specially to support the canteen’s business.

I inform him that red braised pork is being served today, accompanied with bitter gourd and scrambled eggs. He seems a little hesitant when he sees the bitter gourd. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything, finding a place to sit down and eat.

Over the next two weeks, it seems that as long as he isn’t out on missions or doing anything else, that young man would come to the cafeteria.

It appears that he’s a Captain or something. With his impetus, more and more people gradually eat in the cafeteria, and I have a better understanding of his reticent young man.

His name is Gavin, and he’s the Captain of the Special Ops Team. I heard that the Special Ops team is the hardest squad to get into within the STF. They are one of the very best in terms of resolved cases. Everyone in the team are the cream of the crop, much less the Captain.

I heard about how this Captain usually rushes to the most forefront when faced with any danger, which is why he receives much adoration from the team. Of course, the number of injuries and stack of silk banners in the storeroom are proportional to each other.

On the days when he isn’t around, there’s a high chance that he’s out on a mission, or having his injuries treated in the infirmary.

“Aunt Wang, give me the same chicken with chilli as Captain Gavin!”

A red-haired agent’s voice pulls me back to reality. He carries a tray, pointing at the chicken with chilli from across the glass. I give him a huge scoop of it. He carries the tray and sits at a row of tables close to the window. There are quite a number of people donning the same uniform, and Gavin is one of them.

“Captain Gavin, why have you fled from our braised beef noodles alliance? You’ve also stopped eating cup noodles with us when we work overtime.”

“Mm, this is something you’re unaware of. Our Captain Gavin has someone who cares for him.”

"Last time, that Miss Producer was filming something and gave us handmade biscuits. You were on leave so you didn’t know about this. Captain Gavin’s biscuits were several times more exquisite than ours. They were even heart-shaped.”

The agents wink at each other and chatter on incessantly. Gavin, the main topic of the conversation, continues eating calmly. When he finally feels slightly annoyed by the clamour, he puts down his chopsticks, glancing at the red-haired agent.

“Tang Chao, it seems that your stamina is getting better with your daily laps.”

“You’ll be my partner for the next mission.”

The red-haired agent immediately pulls a long face.

“Captain Gavin, it's not that I don’t want to be your partner. But based on my fighting skills, I’ll only be a burden to you.”

“I’ll continue shining as a support personnel, and be an emotionless lie detector for the Special Ops Team!”

Gavin ignores the red-haired officer whose name is Tang Chao. But when he lowers his head to drink the soup, I can see his slightly arched brows.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve always been seeing his composed and chilly side, and even thought that was his personality. It turns that he’s still a young man. It’s just that he hides that unrestrained aura that young people have, and doesn’t display it easily.

Perhaps that’s the fetter of being a Captain.

Looking at these young people, I suddenly feel as though I’ve found the reason why my trial dishes have not been successful.

It’s probably because I’ve never tried to truly understand this group of young people.

[ Chapter Three ]

I’m no longer stubborn when it comes to the dishes. Instead, I pay more attention to observing the dietary habits of this group of young people. Gradually, many more pages on the notebook which I use to record modified recipes are written on.

Everything goes smoothly. However, I notice that Gavin hasn’t visited the cafeteria for meals in a long while.

When the red-haired officer comes to collect his food, I scoop pork ribs and winter melon soup for him, and find myself asking him a question.

“Why hasn’t your Captain been coming down to eat in the cafeteria these days?”

He scratches his head, his tone less carefree as before.

“Captain Gavin’s injuries from this mission were a little more serious, so he’s still getting treated in the hospital.”

Before coming to the STF, the word “injuries” was associated with a sliced finger from cutting vegetables, or being scratched while playing with a cat. But after coming to the STF, I realised that there are many other ways people can get hurt.

The STF has doctors who understand Evolvers most in the whole of Loveland City. Logically speaking, even if it’s a fracture or external bleeding, patients can typically be discharged in a week.

That young man called Gavin hasn’t appeared in such a long time. Is he severely injured?

Even though we haven’t exchanged many words, I can’t help but worry about that young man.

He’s still so young. If anything were to happen to him, how worried would his family members be?

Perhaps due to the fact that he was the first agent willing to try food from the cafeteria, I find myself being more concerned about him, and wanting to know more about him. However, STF agents are disciplined and strict. When they’re eating in the cafeteria, they rarely mention Gavin. When he’s occasionally brought up, they say things that I’m unable to understand.

“She went to the hospital again today.”

“That’s fine. Her presence at the hospital is much more useful than a few of us going. At least Captain Gavin would smile a little when he sees her. When we’re there, we’re like stalks of grain, and can do nothing but watch helplessly.”

“The next time the ‘Snake’ bites, we can’t let Captain Gavin hold the fort again.”

In the fog of their conversation, I’m unable to understand anything. I’m getting old, and my ears aren’t as useful. I shake my head, turning around and heading back into the kitchen.

Just when I think Gavin’s injuries have rendered him unable to return to the team, he appears.

While I’m writing the lunch menu on the whiteboard, I spot Gavin and his squad mates walking in together. He has become much thinner, and looks very pale. Even so, his entire frame remains as solemn as always, a sense of sharpness emanating from him.

When I hand him braised beef noodles, he gives me a nod.

“Thanks.”

He picks up the chopsticks and eats the noodles. When he sees the slices of beef in the bowl, he’s slightly stunned. However, he returns to normal in an instant, continuing to eat as usual.

When they’re halfway through eating, the communication device at Gavin’s waist suddenly beeps. He presses the communication device, his expression changing when he hears the message.

“The ‘Snake’ has left the hole. Take action.”

With his command, everyone abandon their meal and hurriedly leave the cafeteria.

When Gavin passes by me, I can see traces of blood on the side of his sleeve.

It appears that he’s leaving for a mission before his wounds have completely healed.

The cafeteria lapses into silence. I tidy the table, looking at the beef noodles which only had a few bites taken out of it, and let out a heavy sigh.

I know how difficult it is to join the STF. People who join the STF are so incredible. But I still wish to know what kind of reasons would make such a young person charge forward and risk his life to the point where he can’t even have a proper meal.

[ Chapter Four ]

It’s very late at night, but the STF remains brightly lit.

Similar to the busy agents, I haven’t left either.

After this period of research and testing dishes, I discovered that the people here aren’t picky. They simply lack the time to sit down and eat slowly.

With this in mind, I restart the dish modifications.

The television in the cafeteria is currently showing the Loveland News. The host is reporting on something about “Evol Assassination Incidents”, and is criticising how the STF hasn’t been doing anything about them.

“Things here are turning upside down from how busy they are, and the infirmary is filled with people. And you claim that they aren’t doing anything? Reporters are so irresponsible these days.”

I shake my head, switching the television off. After calling a few colleagues over, we carry supper to the infirmary.

Due to the incident the news was reporting about, the STF has been in a mess recently. I heard that there aren’t enough beds in the infirmary for use.

My heart aches from how these kids are getting criticised even after getting injured. I’ve prepared sweet soup suitable for evening consumption, bringing them to the infirmary while they get treated.

While passing by the Captain’s office, I notice that the door isn’t closed, and I see someone standing inside.

It’s Gavin.

His side is facing the door, his hair is messy, and he’s leaning against the wall. One of his legs is lifted up, and he’s currently pursing his lips as he removes his combat gloves.

He appears to have lacked sleep for several days, and quiet fatigue emanates from his entire frame.

However, he doesn’t seem to have shown this side of him to anyone outside, demanding himself to only leave this version of himself to an empty office in the depths of night.

I knock on the door. The moment he hears this, he quickly straightens up, his sharp gaze sweeping over. When he sees that it’s me, his amber eyes are stunned, and he nods.

“Please come in.”

Walking in, I place a bowl of snow fungus soup on his table.

“Everyone has been working hard in the bureau lately. We decided to make some sweet soup for all of you to relieve the fatigue. Drink this soup while it’s hot. There’s Chinese wolf berry and longan in it, so it’s pretty nourishing.”

Gavin nods. Stray hairs stick messily against the sides of his eyes and brows. I’m guessing that since he’s a kid who usually puts up a strong front, he probably doesn’t like others seeing his sorry state. I hurriedly wave my hands to signal that I’m leaving.

Before I walk out of the door, Gavin suddenly asks me a question.

“Aunt Wang, is your cafeteria recipe modification going smoothly?”

I can hardly believe that he actually remembered such a trivial matter.

Just how many things does he concern himself with?

“Very smoothly. I’ve been looking into a new fast-food style beef noodles, and plan to introduce it to the bureau.”

“Fast-food beef noodles?”

“Mm. There used to be very few people in the cafeteria because I only paid attention to maintaining the nutritional value of dishes. But if people don’t even have the time to eat, how can I talk about nutrition?”

“Right now, I’m looking into preparing beef noodles that are both nutritious and can be eaten really quickly. Such noodles are more diverse in flavour, and the nutritional value is easy to maintain.”

After saying all of this, I follow up with a question.

“But I'm still considering whether to use bean sprouts or eggs as a substitute. Which do you prefer?”

Perhaps few people have asked him something as trivial as his dietary preferences. He gives this very serious thought before providing a careful answer.

“I’d prefer eggs.”

I nod, then find myself giving him my sincere and earnest wishes.

“No matter how busy work is, you need to have proper meals. Even though rice and vegetables seem simple, they are part of life.”

“Whenever you head forward so urgently, have you ever thought of whether you might be forcing yourself too much?”

When Gavin hears this, he’s taken back. I don’t continue. With a sigh, I turn around and leave.

[ Chapter Five ]

The new fast-food beef noodles introduced in the canteen received a huge welcome amongst the agents. It became the favourite supper of agents who worked overtime on cases. Given the positive responses, I also released different flavoured fast-food products.

With this signature dish, the STF canteen finally became lively every day.

But the strange things is, I didn’t see Gavin for a very long time. I heard that he... temporarily relieved himself of his duties.

I have no idea what happened, but I trust that he had his reasons, and I silently hope that the kid can be safe.

Afterwards, a strange fog enveloped Loveland City. I was protected by STF agents, and later heard that Gavin was the one who retrieved the fog.

I’m just about to prepare dinner in the cafeteria when I hear the news that Gavin’s in the hospital. News related to the STF’s retrieval of the fog is being broadcasted, and Gavin’s powerful and resounding voice can be heard.

“This round of the Hunter Game is over.”

I lift my head to see that familiar figure on the television, determined and composed.

“Thank you all for protecting the dignity of this city.”

When he had meals in the cafeteria before, I often wondered how this taciturn young man could persevere on his own, shouldering high pressure that ordinary people find difficult, and also protect tens of thousands of ordinary people.

Right now, I understand.

It’s because he has a heart of justice that’s gentler and more unwavering than anyone else -

And this heart has guided him onto a path destined to be rugged, where he will pursue justice with no second thoughts.

But I’m still a little puzzled. Doesn’t he find it lonely when walking down this path?

With the assistance of the red-haired agent, I carry chicken wonton soup to Gavin’s hospital ward.

The door is closed, and I can hear an indistinct voice of a girl drifting from the inside.

From across the glass, I see a girl sitting at the bedside, a pink bento box on the table.

The girl is resting a hand against her cheek while supervising Gavin as he eats the bento. Meanwhile, the young man sitting on the bed is eating it one mouthful at a time, earnestly and tenderly.

For some reason, I find myself grinning.

On this path filled with ups and downs, someone is willing to accompany him, wait for him, sit down together with him, and have a serious, proper meal with him.

I leave the hospital with the thermos box.

Being here for so many days, I’ve grown used to this place, grown used to the whistle at 6.30am in the morning, grown used to the agents finishing their meals within ten minutes and rushing off, and grown used to the lights in STF illuminating my path like starlight when I’m heading home at night.

My old companion often asks why an oldie like me continues going to the STF.

It’s because I can see a broader world here. I can see souls with determined spirits. I’ve never felt more alive and fulfilled in my entire lifetime.

This is the meaning that STF gives me.

I hope that the young man called Gavin, as well as the countless young people who are like Gavin, will always lead a fulfilling life.

...and that they may always be safe.

May he, along with the girl he watches silently, return to life through every meal while embracing justice.

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