#force him to read the books with me afterwards. we read chapters out loud to each other and it improves his english too 🥺🧡

[alienaiver]

i want to introduce college!iwaizumi early in our dating to english lotr (he watched it dubbed as a kid and then never really got around to watching the original) and when i quote 98% of the first movie INCLUDING giving weird, off-handed facts i learned from the Behind the Movie, hes simply more fascinated by me than by the movie and acting. how do i know all these quotes? the timing? why do i retain all this useless knowledge? hes never wanted to kiss me more but hes also SO perplexed. i PROMISE you that on his way home from my place he is calling oikawa to talk about what the fuck just happened. "i found someone with their own Godzilla, shittykawa. their own Godzilla!!!!"

[edupunkn00b]

Progression: Chapter 7, Traitor

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Traitor - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Muse (and his twin) turn twenty-one. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 7: Dive Bar. WC: 3287

The Muse paced the length of his room, a heavy tome gripped in both hands as he forced his eyes to follow the hand-lettered text. Since the Purge, volumes like these were a treasure and though the edges of his pants were ragged and frayed, his hair shorn short at the back of his neck to stop himself from yanking it out, he cradled the book like the precious rarity it was.

"’A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to—’” he muttered aloud, shaking his head. He closed the book, slowly, carefully, just like Jannie had showed him and he stroked the woven cover. His feet stopped in front of the shelf and he scanned the other spines before swapping one for the other.

“‘And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick,’” he read as he paced, gaze fixed on the book as his body led him over the well-worn path. The carpet had begun to fade in long meandering strips, marking off the longest contiguous trails around the room.

The words wobbled with each step, or maybe it was Orwell’s text.

“‘And that you just said it to make them stop and didn't mean it. But that isn't true.’” His voice fell away as he continued to read for three more laps before making a gagging sound at the back of his throat and changing that book for the next on the shelf.

His mouth twitched as his fingers trailed over the embossed title of the next book. A hundred years, huh? "’El mundo era tan reciente que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para nombrarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo…’” The words flowed off his tongue, falling into little drops of honey along his path. Perhaps you only had to point at things to name them, but The Muse could name a thing to make it. “‘"Saca esos malos pensamientos de tu cabeza", le dijo. "Vas a ser feliz".’”

The Muse frowned and closed the book, not as gently as the first. “No, you won’t.”

The next book was no better. “‘She used to give me a thrashing every morning—’” 

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope…

This one he slammed shut and shoved back onto the shelf, whispering a quiet apology before selecting one last volume. He started at the end, eyes dancing over the page. “‘This funeral wasn't about honoring truth, but about honoring a memory.’” 

He mouthed the words again and tried to imagine what the author might’ve sounded like. Sinking to the floor, he sat with the book cradled in his lap and continued to read. “‘‘It was about honoring the friend they had lost, whether they had lost that friend a day ago, or five years ago.’” A slow smile spread over his face as he flipped the slim book to the beginning to start at the start.

The Muse was on his third re-read when warmth rippled toward him from the hall, soft and wispy, smoke after you blow out a flame. He hugged the book to his chest and leapt to his feet. He’d nearly reached the door controls when Jannie spoke.

-”May we come in, Muse?”- The warm trickle turned into the comforting blast of the furnace, opening the oven on a frosty day. The scent of fire and vanilla, burnt sugar and those tart winter berries Papa Bear like to pick. Jannie was in a good mood, which meant the ‘we’ was him and Lucas.

“Fuck, yes, you can come in!” The Muse shouted and stepped back from the door, ready to fling himself at Jannie’s arms. The door panel lit up and, as Jannie stepped inside, he remembered the book just in time and laid it on the little table by the door before he threw himself at Jannie. “You’re here!”

A bubble of heat enveloped them, pushing away the sticky cold sadness just under the surface of Jannie’s skin. “Of course I’m here, Muse…” His voice was shaky, like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while. He had to tell Jannie his trick, reading out loud to keep his throat limber and smooth and—

“It’s your birthday,” Jannie continued, one gloved hand carding through his hair. He wished Jannie would take them off. Maybe later. Maybe that was the plan, especially with Lucas here. Lucas always helped them both stay calm when, wait, it was his birthday already?

“It’s not my birthday, Jannie,” he argued, laughing, and pulled back, only a little, only enough to look into Jannie’s eyes. “My birthday’s not for another week, it’s…” 

His smile froze in place as Jannie’s hand slid down and over his cheek, the soft material of his gloves—his good ones, the old cotton ones he used to keep in that box in his dresser he and Ro had found—his gloves, they were soft but they caught on the thick growth on his jaw.

He’d shaved this morning. Hadn’t he?

“It’s… it’s been a week?” Jannie looked down and their little warm bubble shrank, ice fizzling on the edges.

“It has, Re.” Lucas stroked Jannie’s cheek, his bare cheek, the skin soft at the touch and glowing white hot so bright The Muse had to close his eyes. Static brushed his mind. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, Jannie and Lucas in front of him.

Lucas’ eyes glowed softly.

“Where’s Ro?” he asked, eyeballs bouncing between the elder Mad Lads, waiting for one of them to speak. Jannie’s shield was strong and The Muse danced around the border, the tingle of static tickling his fingers with each little poke. “Can I see him, maybe just for…”

He couldn’t see past Jannie’s shield but his silence spoke for him.

“He’s not ready,” Lucas answered instead and gripped Jannie’s hand. Slowly the static eased and Jannie smiled up at him. Sad and small but a soft smile. A good smile. A strong one that wouldn’t break if he pushed at it.

The Muse nodded. “Yeah, I… I figured. Is he… is he having a good birthday?” The room grew brighter, daffodils and honeysuckle sprouting in the corners. “I… I was gonna make him something, I…” He blinked and looked around the room, a large box covered in red cloth he’d stitched together sat by the door. “Oh, I did make him something. Will you give it to him?”

Jannie reached for him, patting his arm through gloves and his shirt, too, too much between them to really feel it. “Of course we will, Muse,” he spoke and said, the words flooding his mind and raising it up, wind under wings.

He floated, a feather on the breeze. “But first, Muse, we wanted to do something for your birthday. Even if…”

Even if he couldn’t be with his brother.

“I’d like that. I’d really, really like that!” The Muse leapt to his feet, swaying slightly. If he hadn’t really shaved this morning, had breakfast not been this morning, either? His sink was empty, the stove cold and spotless. Maybe not. “Can…” What if they said no? A little lump of ice grew just above his stomach. “Can you both stay? I’ll make us something yummy and—”

“Actually, Muse,” Jannie caught Lucas’ gaze, eyebrows high in a question The Muse couldn’t help but hear. Not that he tried very hard not to listen in. -”Do you think he’s ready?”-

Lucas nodded and Jannie’s smile grew, just a bit. “We thought we might try something different.”

~

Luc's gentle touch still tingled against his skin, long after he'd turned his attention—and the focus of his power—to The Muse. Janus knew he'd been concerned, remembered the tight twist in his chest as they'd taken the elevator down to The Muse's rooms, remembered the icy spike in his gut when the Muse admitted he had lost an entire week. The warmth of Luc's touch spread through his skin, a whisper of reassurance.

He watched Luc's hands glow where he touched The Muse's temples, the deep amber bleeding out from between his eyelashes. After a long while, Luc lowered his hands and smiled at The Muse. “How do you feel, Re?”

“I feel great,” he smiled back and held out both hands, soft gaillardia blooming in his palms. They grew slowly, waving gently in a breeze none of them felt. He closed his fingers around them, gently and when he opened them, the flowers were gone. “I’m in control,” he grinned. “Look at that!”

Luc’s eyes glowed next to him. “You are,” Janus smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

~

The trio flew the smaller transport north. Not far, just looking to get a little further from the hubbub of the migrated seaports and cities sprouting up around the new Federated Capitol Building. The Muse sat buckled in his seat, face pressed to the window as he watched the sun set over the lakes. Luc laughed from the pilot seat. “ still there, love!” He pointed at a flickering blip on the main navigation screen and grinned. “Still transmitting! I can’t believe they’re still open! Do you remember?”

Lucas shared a flash from their first visit to The Inn. Younger then, they’d danced together long into the night. In the dim light of the bar, surrounded by Powered and Traditionals alike, couples and constellations had drawn together and celebrated all they shared instead of clashing over all the distinctions carved between them in final throes of The Purge. 

Over”hearing” the shared vision, The Muse hummed in his seat. Under the heavy dose Lucas had used, The Muse’s eyes moved a little slower, his smile a little… Janus’ mind supplied the word dull but it was merely less sharp than it usually was. Less jagged. Softer. Like his face moved through water to change with the thoughts racing through his mind.

They landed smoothly, The Inn’s old system recognizing Luc’s old stolen—borrowed—transport beacon. “Where everybody knows your name…” Muse sang quietly, where he’d heard that melody was beyond Janus’ understanding. He barely remembered the old passphrase.

Luc grinned and lowered the ramp. “After you, ma cheri,” he murmured, offering an arm to The Muse in turn. “Ready to dance?”

The bar’s exterior hadn’t changed much. The faded, sagging awning was still there, though a closer look underneath revealed the old metal frame had been replaced by cheaper plexisteel. Bartered for scrap during the worst of it, Janus guessed. Same for the old glass window panes. He’d be nearly anything they’d been bartered in exchange for the licensing board looking the other way when the tumult had ended.

A rumble of heavy bass rattled the chipped sign above the door, beckoning them in with a simple, Welcome, All.

The Muse’s gaze went far away, seeing through the bar’s façade, seeing through his own façade. He grinned, broad and… spacey. “I like it here, Jannie.”

“I thought you might,” he nodded, the tightness in his throat and his chest easy to ignore. He opened the door and ushered them both inside.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you all in a long while,” Andrew called from behind the bar. “‘Fraid you’d… Y'know—” He made a cutting motion across his throat and pulled a face.

“Nah, we’re too bitchy to kill,” Luc laughed, leaning over the bar to hug the wizened owner. “You know that.”

“Glad to see it. You brought some young blood with you, too,” he said, coming around the bar to accept a long hug from Janus. “Well, even younger than you two,” he added with another laugh.

The Muse stiffened, eyes locked on Andrew’s face, reading him. He shuddered, knees twitching in the darkened club. Andrew didn’t catch it, but Luc did.

“This is Re,” he said and wrapped an arm over The Muse’ shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. His fidget disappeared, the spiky energy pouring off him smoothing out at the edges.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, palm outstretched with a tiny green orchid blossom nestled at the center.

Andrew’s eyes widened and he took a half-step back. “Oh, he’s—” Features carefully schooled, Traditionals wouldn’t’ve noticed his fear.

But Janus wasn't a Traditional. “He’s with us,” he said, voice low. 

Andrew nodded slowly, looking between the three of them as he wrestled the flurry of thoughts spilling from his mind. Finally, he smiled, nearly genuine, and returned to the taps behind the bar. “First round on the house, then.”

“Water for me,” Luc smiled.

“How 'bout the D.D. special then,” Andrew laughed, and poured Luc a purple fizzing beverage before passing two glasses of beer to Janus.

The Muse grabbed his arm, spilling a bit of foam from one of the steins. “Can we dance first?” he asked, eyes bright.

“I was hoping you came here to dance,” a low voice behind them rumbled.

A cold itch crawled up Janus’ spine and he moved between the interloper and Muse. He was a Powered, a strong man like Pat, as far as Janus could tell. Very low Esper, which made it easy for Janus to prod, to see what beyond the typical ick of a bar pick up was hidden in the man’s intentions.

Looking just over Janus’ head, he smiled at The Muse. “Unless you’re otherwise occupied tonight?”

“Nah, I’m not with them,” The Muse laughed, taking the other man’s hand. “They’ve got each other to keep them company. Right?” he added with hopeful eyes at both Janus and Luc.

“Enjoy yourself, Re,” Luc said, threading his fingers through Janus’. -”He can handle himself, love,”- he added silently. -”Besides, we’re right here.”-

-”Yeah, Jannie,”- The Muse jumped in with a little dance of his shoulders and absolutely zero decorum. He blew them both a kiss and followed the man out onto the patch of carpet that served as a dance floor. “Happy Birthday to me!” he cheered when the song transitioned to a faster tempo.

Janus pointed to a table as far from the speakers as he could manage without putting any other tables between them and the dance floor. He sat facing the dancing couples and Luc settled into the seat closest to him. “He’s having a good time,” he said, nudging Janus’ knee under the table. “We're in a safe space. You can relax a little while."

"Perhaps," Janus nodded, a golden bubble wrapped around his worries. He sipped at his beer before the bubble popped. Setting aside all pretense or propriety, Janus locked in on the thoughts swirling around the dancing pair. He just needed to know.

The Muse was… nervous, but giddily so. Happy. Happier than Janus had seen him in years. Not since he’d been a child, playing with his brother or pranking teenage Virgil. Janus watched The Muse dance before nodding and taking another sip.

“He’s having fun,” Luc whispered behind his glass, nursing the purple concoction. “And look—” As the music slowed, The Muse took one of the man’s hands and traced colorful shapes against his skin. “He’s in full control.”

“Thanks to you,” Janus said, focusing on the man’s expression. He looked unsurprised. He'd probably clocked Muse as a Powered before he’d even approached them. The implications twisted in his stomach, cold and prickly. Luc’s hand on his forearm was warm, though, and after a moment he sighed, all but a spot of worry leaving him with his breath. “You’re right, he’s having fun.”

“He is,” Luc murmured, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. “Now,” he grinned and slid his now-empty glass into Janus’ hands. “Why don’t you get us a refill while I keep watch. We can take turns.”

Janus laughed and took Luc’s glass. “I see Andrew’s mixology skills haven’t faded with time.” He stood, then leaned over to swipe his own small kiss. “Either that or you’re just as cheap of a date as you ever were.”

“Bah!” Luc scoffed, one lovely hand pressed to his chest. “I resemble that remark!”

Still chuckling, Janus sauntered over to the bar, eyes forward but his thoughts stretched out toward the other patrons, the other dancers. To The Muse and his dance partner. The music had slowed, a steady, undulating beat that traveled up from the floor and through Janus’ shoes. He hummed, following the cover-of-a-cover-of a song that had been an oldie when he was still a child, young enough his Powers had not yet been discovered.

Look at the way… We’ve got an eye on what we’re doing Cause what would they say If they ever knew and so we’re—

“Lucas likes this mix, yes?” Andrew grinned from behind the bar, sliding over a full glass before Janus had even asked. Something itched at the base of his skull, fighting past the calm Luc had given him.

‘Re’s completely keyed in to your moods, love. If he can feel you scared, if he can feel you worried, he’ll feel like you don’t trust him and he won’t trust himself.’ 

Luc’s words had been soft. Certain. He shook his head and the itch grew. Luc’s refill cradled in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. Luc was blinking slowly, a crooked tipsy smile on his face. Janus whipped around and stared at Andrew. “What’s in this?” he demanded.

But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. No, he was staring past Janus’ shoulder at something on the other side of the bar. He followed the bartender’s gaze.

Just in time to see Muse slip outside with his dance partner.

“Luc!” he cried over the music and ran toward the door, sidling past the sudden surge of patrons crowding his path. -”Luc! Luc, let’s go!”- 

-”What’s wrong, love?”- The fuzziness in Luc’s response shattered his calm. He was closer to the door than to Luc, though, and he pushed through just in time to be hit with a wave of fear.

Muse’s fear. 

-”Muse! I’m coming!”- He stepped out into the muggy night air. The landing pad was lifeless, a few airskiffs and smaller transports like theirs dark and idle. He closed his eyes and a light bloomed from the dark alley next to the waste bins. Muse!

Janus ran, following the faint scuffling sound and the overpowering sense of panic. He staggered under the weight of it, heavy ropes tightening around his chest, squeezing his heart. His pulse pounded in his ears, a syncopated thud, his own layered with Muse’s. The bar door slammed open just as he reached the alley. 

“Jan! Jan, wait!” Luc called after him, heavier footfalls catching up fast.

A cry more animal than human pierced his mind and Janus dropped to his knees, both hands over his ears. Strong hands—Luc’s?—helped him up and together they followed the shadows in the alley. Leaning heavily against Luc’s side, Janus fumbled in his jacket for a light. Finally activating it, the beam bounced wildly until it landed on the man from the bar, doubled over and gripping his own head.

Muse towered over him, shirt ripped and eyes closed. He didn’t speak and when Janus reached for him, pain ripped through his mind until he pulled back, wrapping his mind in his own strongest shield.

“Please, Muse, no!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the cacophony in his own mind. The man’s cries intensified and he began to bang his forehead against the dirty pavement. “Stop it! Stop, Muse, you’ll—”

And in the next breath it was over. Suddenly silent, the man slumped over. Deadweight. His head struck the pavement with a loud, wet thwack and Janus’ light trembled, illuminating dark blood seeping from his eyes in its shaky beam. Muse knelt before the man's body, shoulders shaking and a horrible high-pitched sound spilling from his lips.

Muse laughed.

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 10

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW penetrative sex, dirty talk, fingering - 18+, minors dni Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

(a/n: if smut is not your cup of tea please skip to the page break [denoted by the ***] b/c the little pillow talk afterwards relates to the overall story!)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Your head was absolutely spinning as you returned the kiss as passionately and strongly as Bucky had started it. Your lips molded together as if made for one another - but that’s right, they technically were, and suddenly it felt like everything had aligned. Like Fate herself had succeeded.

Your hand came up to Bucky’s jaw, caressing gently as he hummed into the kiss. His arms were locked securely around your waist. He pulled you into him as if you two could get any closer.

But then he broke the kiss suddenly, letting you two gasp for air. Although, there wasn’t really a moment to compose yourself. Just as fast as he kissed you, his lips now found their place on your neck. He nipped and sucked at your soft skin.

“You know,” you gasped as his lips continued their pleasant assault on your neck, “I don’t normally sleep with people after only the second date.”

Bucky chuckled, lowly. Dangerously. “You can’t make an exception for your soulmate?”

You couldn’t help but moan from the way the word tumbled off his lips so perfectly. “Say that again.”

“What?” He chuckled, playing dumb. “Soulmate?” You shyly nodded. 

“Come one, make an exception for me, doll,” he whispered as his hand traveled to the back of your thigh. “Let your soulmate make you feel good.”

That, for some reason, was just right for you. “Bucky…” you sighed as his hand began making its way higher, just skimming the bottom of your dress. Instinctively, you ground your hips into his, already feeling his hard-on forming.

You thought you were getting somewhere as his hand was now gripping your thigh, sure enough to leave bruises, but then all his actions stopped. His lips left your neck, letting the cool air hit the now raw and damp skin. Your jaw dropped, ready to protest, but he spoke before you had the chance.

“Our first time is not going to be in the kitchen,” Bucky said.

“Then point me to the bedroom because I don’t know how much longer I can stand here before I combust.”

Bucky just playfully rolled his eyes before doing something even more unexpected: he picked you up like you were the weight of paper and threw you over his shoulder. You squealed in surprise while he just laughed and began walking down to an off-shoot room from the main area. Next thing you know, you’re being draped gently across his bed. 

Bucky hovered, hands on either side of you. His lust-filled eyes raked over you, taking in the sight of your ruffled dress and braided hair. Both would be severely messed up in a short amount of time but for now, he just seemed to be enjoying seeing you in his bed. A soulmate in their soulmate’s bed. It didn’t feel real.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, placing your hand on his bicep, trying to coax him out of whatever thoughts were bombarding his brain. His sudden silence had made you a bit nervous thinking everything was going to dissolve. 

But Bucky nodded and said, “I can’t get over how gorgeous you look here, in my bed. Like this is where you belong.” 

Everything was suddenly on fire for you. From the desire pooling with you to the heat of his words… You didn’t know what else to do but throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. While your first kiss was hot and heavy, this was slow and passionate. You had never touched like this nor had you been touched like this. Everything was so raw and significant. 

As your lips work, so did Bucky’s hands. You felt fingers gliding up your dress, slowly pushing it up until your panties were exposed. You didn’t even have time to worry about the fact they weren’t the fanciest piece you owned before Bucky was pushing them to the side and inserting one finger. He groaned against your lips at the wetness now coating his hand. 

“You’re soaking, sweetheart,” Bucky broke the kiss to moan, his finger pumping in a steady rhythm. “Feel so good already. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

His words went straight to your core, surprising you slightly that this bold Bucky was hiding under that timid man you just met a week ago. 

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, bucking your hips for him to speed up. He just chuckled and gripped your hip with his metal arm, forcing you down. You gasped at the feeling of the cool material on your hot skin. 

Bucky suddenly added a second finger, picking up his motions as his thumb came up to rub your clit. “Just a second, doll. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers first.”

You couldn’t verbally respond. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes fluttering as your orgasm built and built in you. Bucky’s motions picked up and the pressure on your clit intensified. His lips found their way to your neck again and for some reason, this entire combination was the hottest thing. You let go, squirming and whimpering as your orgasm engulfed you. Bucky worked you through it, his fingers not faltering. You whispered his name over and over before you even began coming down from the high. 

When your breathing got back to normal, Bucky removed his fingers, making you whimper just slightly at the loss of contact. He chuckled, feeling his hot breath hitting your neck. “You sound so pretty when you come.” A kiss. “I can’t wait to hear it again.” 

Without much warning, realizing Bucky is quite the spontaneous man when he wanted to be, he pulled your panties down and undid the front of his dress pants. You felt his hard cock spring free against your thigh. You moaned at the feeling and bucked your hips again, silently begging for him to hurry along. The strength of his metal arm came into play again, as he forced your hips back down. A bruise was sure to form but that was the last of your worries. You just needed to feel him. 

“So impatient,” Bucky tsked. He began pumping his cock a few times then lined up with your entrance. He didn’t push it yet as if wanting to torture you again. 

You rolled your eyes, “I’m impatient? You couldn’t even wait until we were undressed.”

“Next time,” he said and entered you in one swift motion. The connection was felt in every inch of you, the sensation and passion of it all. Your back arched as he filled you gloriously. Head thrown back, eyes shut, you let out a loud moan.

Bucky let out a low chuckle before reconnecting your lips. He moved in and out of you in such a wonderful rhythm. You had never felt so full. 

“Bucky…” His name was all you could muster up anymore but that seemed to please him just well. 

“That’s it, doll,” he whispered. “Let this whole apartment building know who’s making you feel good.” He pulled up then slammed back into you. “Let them know it’s me, your soulmate, making you go all dumb from pleasure.”

You groaned at his dirty talk, the words sinking to your core in just the right ways. Your hands found their way to his neck and back, gripping and tugging at the skin and material. He kept his motions as your mind went dizzy from the feeling. 

“B-Bucky-,” you moaned, quite loudly. He felt you begin to tighten around him. 

Bucky chuckled again, “You gonna cum, doll? Gonna cum again for me?”

You nodded, unable to form many words anymore. Bucky didn’t mind, still pulling all the way out then rushing back in. 

“S-So deep…” you sighed, tightening his grip on you.

He hummed, quite pleased with himself. “Almost there, doll, right?” You nodded and it was the truth. You were one second away from erupting in his arms. “That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for your soulmate.”

The word was too much for you and you were almost — just almost — ashamed at how it made you cum right then and there. Your second orgasm ran through you making you twist and turn, hips bucking up to Bucky’s, as you let the sensation flow through you. Bucky didn’t stop his movement, just faltered them slightly, working you through it and chasing his own. He wasn’t too far behind you, almost immediately filling you up gloriously with his seed. He groaned deeply in your ear as he released making you squeal. 

Bucky sighed contently, looking down at your fucked out state. Your eyes were just barely still opened, brain overwhelmed and spinning by the intensity of your lover. He moved his hips one last time just to hear your little squeals of protests in overstimulation before chuckling and pulling out. Warmness leaked out of you and onto the sheets but you were too wrapped up in the previous events to really care.

Bucky now laid on his side next to you, arm propped up watching you. He had a silly, goofy smile on his face. You gave a small smile in return, feeling warm again under his dreamy gaze.

***

“You okay, doll?” Bucky chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, moving up more towards his pillows and finding a discarded blanket to pull around you. Despite the prior actions, a bit of nervousness was coming over you again. “I’m just fine.”

“Just fine?”

“More than fine,” you sighed. “Complete.”

“Complete?” He asked. You hadn’t expected his pillow talk to be a round of twenty questions.

You shrugged. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Bucky studied you for a moment before nodding. “I understand.”

And you knew he did. You had felt it in the movements and passion that seeped through both of you as you finally gave yourselves to one another. Fate played such tricky games, you thought.

But a new thought suddenly came over you as the excitement of your orgasm drifted away. While you felt you knew so much about the man who had just been inside you, you were worried you also knew too little. It was only the second date, your anxiety reminded you. And now you were looking at each other like this was your entire world. 

“Bucky,” you broke the silence, “what do you do for a living?”

He looked at you, quite stunned at the sudden shift in tone. Whatever it was, you knew he felt some movement with you, thanks to the soulmate attachment. 

“I work with Steve on the... team.”

“So, you are an Avenger?” Internet searches had been all over that place on that, you remembered from your first virtual hunt. 

Bucky’s lip formed a tight line as if confirming or denying would be a curse. “I don’t consider myself that.”

You frowned, “Why not?” Maybe this was suddenly going off the rails. You were going for light get-to-know-one-another conversation, like, a date, but somewhere a nerve was struck.

He sighed, then looked away from you. “You know, doll,” he let out a humorless chuckle, “this is some heavy pillow talk.”

A master of sidestepping. Your heart began pounding at the words. “I-I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just…. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

“Do you feel like we’re strangers?”

You signed, defeated. “I-I guess yes and no. You’ve been a part of me for so long but it’s also been... I don’t think I can describe it, but what’s new, right? I think this bond and our… our actions tonight are going to my head.”

Bucky didn’t say anything as he threw his arm around you, pulling you tightly into him. His hand rubbed your back soothingly. You melted into his touch, face pressed into the crook of his neck. 

“Look,” Bucky began, “I get it, trust me, I know it’s a lot.” He sighed. “But I also believe if we do what feels right to us, we’ll be on the right path. You gotta remember, doll, in some ways, we’re it for each other. This has to make sense on some level.” 

You didn’t know what to make of Bucky’s words. You felt them, you understood them, but you also were just reeling in from tonight. You didn’t want him to think you were having post-sex regrets but you also felt drunk on the sensations. And you couldn’t turn it off. 

But you didn’t say any of this, you just nodded. “I understand, Bucky.”

He rubbed your back in acknowledgment. Master of trying to change subjects, he said next, “So, do I get to ask you now about your career?”

You let out a weak giggle. “I guess so.”

“Did you always dream of serving coffee?”

“No,” you shook your head. “It just landed in my lap after a not-so-successful college stunt. But I’ve made it work and, really, if I hadn’t kept it, I never would’ve met Steve.” A light bulb went off. “Then I never would’ve found you.”

Bucky’s grip on you tightened at your words. You could practically hear his heart pounding out of his chest. His hold on you felt so right, so at home, you realized as a little tug fell on your heart after your admission. 

“Never thought I’d be genuinely thankful for coffee.”

You gave a small laugh at that and got comfier in Bucky’s arms. Eventually, you two drifted off to sleep, totally engrossed in the feeling of one another. A feeling much more innocent, but just as strong. 

That night, as Bucky held you like you were his last lifeline in this world, you had no nightmares. It was like they didn’t even dare to come back. This gave you just the bloom of hope that everything was indeed falling into place as all makers of fate had intended. 

The dream was like a soothing lullaby. You were treated to a scene of Bucky shopping. He seemed to be at some fruit stand, picking out produce. The feelings were a bit odd, more like he was lost yet focused in the moment. But they were much milder, much more welcoming, than anything else from the past images. You accepted it. Took it in greatly. As you slept, you felt you two got closer. You heard Bucky at one point sigh in content.

[cosmiclatte28]

Sunny day (Renjun x reader)

a/n : quick oneshot because I wanted to enjoy the nice sunny weather more but can’t.. so here’s a oneshot for you.

Warning : ending is suggestive but you can read until the end of the fluff part. 

Comfort, fluff, flirt (?), suggestive ending! 

side character : Jaemin, Dream is frat boys and Renjun is your boyfriend.

enjoy!

The mundane elevator rises as you lean your heavy shoulder to the wall and taking a breather from the long walk you had from your last class. It’s almost the weekends and you’re motivated to finish your homework and chapter readings before the weekend. Why? Well so you can sleep through Saturday and Sunday! You glance when the elevator dings and the door slowly opens.

You nod your head to the other passenger riding the lift with you and slowly dragging your heavy legs to your room. You smile upon seeing your tidy room which you strictly tried to keep tidy!

With a rush you take off your shoes, hang your jacket and toss your bag to one of the chairs available. You wash your hands and skip to change your tight pants into loose comfortable ones. A sigh leaves your lips when you squint to the window that lets in the bright spring sun into your room. What a beautiful day to be outside yet here you are, inside your room already turning on your laptop because you have to finish works. Not that you don’t want to enjoy the sun, no it’s because you know if youre out there you’ll probably be laying around on the grass toasting your body and forgetting time and work. So, for your goodness you stay inside.

Before you can open your task, a ring comes to your phone. Curious you pick it up and frown when you notice it’s your boyfriend calling. Weird? He said he will be busy today in the lab for his final research, he even told you to not call or text him for he wont have the time to reply.

“Yes?” you pick up the call with a question.

“Oh hey babe, just wanna know where are you right now?” his voice sounds calm from the other side.

You take a seat and lean back “Um in my room? Why? Do you need anything?”

He chuckles “Can’t I call my baby? The weather is pretty outside, why are you in your room?”

You sigh “Because Renjun, two of my professors decided to give me 2 chapters worth of quizzes and homework, in the beginning of the term! God bless me.” You laugh dryly in the end and Renjun just laugh out loud on your suffering.

“Well, welcome to hell. Anyways, I say you try to do your work but make sure you’re feeling this warm weather.” He reminds you again to at least enjoy the sun and not stress or tire yourself out.

You nod “Okay boss. Aren’t you busy? You told me today not to call you but here you are asking me to enjoy the sun.”

He suddenly switches to video call and you can see him sitting on the grass looking so happy with his cheeks Sunkissed. You chew on your lips, annoyed and jealous.

“What? You said you were busy!” you pout.

He giggles “I am, I just take a break here. It’s frustrating in the lab, Jaemin had gone mad.” He whispers though Jaemin looks just fine in the frame next to Renjun.

“Hey Jaem!” you greet when the other man takes a glance to the commotion coming from Renjun’s screen. He only smiles and says hi before sleeping on the grass.

“You could’ve told me  earlier and we can enjoy the sun together.” You look sad, Renjun feels guilty now.

“Oh sorry, it was impulsive. I am sorry, look I’ll take you out on another sunny day. Promise, just let me also finish my lab today and I’ll see you around.” He blows you a kiss and you force a small smile.

“Come Jaem! Let’s finish today’s work and go home.” Renjun says before you say goodbye and turn the call off.

To say that you’re not in the mood to study now is an understatement. You want to go out but you’re also too lazy to change and Renjun’s lab is too far from your dorm. Jaemin had to drive for the sake of their time and legs.

After one glass of water and an encouraging message from Renjun, you start to stick your nose to the ebook and powerpoints.

Three hours pass by and your alarm rings, it’s seven already, time for dinner. Nicely you turn your computer to sleep and before you can decide what to eat, there’s a knock on your door. Without much care you open the door only to see your boyfriend already in front of you with a paper bag on his right hand and a big smile on his face.

“Busy?” he asks as he peaks over your shoulder to see if you have any guest.

You close your door and stand in the hallway with him “What are you doing here? How can you come here?” you look around confused because Renjun did not have the access card to your building.

He grins “I have my way, have you eaten dinner?” he comes back to his first question to which you shake your head “Nope.”

He smiles and takes your hand ‘Great! Lock your door and we’ll eat together” he hurries you “Faster while the sun is still up”

You smile as you take your key and phone plus access card and grab his hand to go down. Once downstairs, he chooses the sunny spot where you can sit with him on a mattress he brought.

“Did you prepare this?” your eyes twinkle when you see the foods he takes out from the bag.

On top of the red and white chequered picnic mat, there’s your favourite comfort food.

Renjun just smile “No, I bought this on the way here thanks to the dining hall and Jaemin’s urgent picnic mat in his car. I seriously don’t know why he has this picnic mat ready, but it’s handy.” He pops open a sparkling apple drink you both like and toast it with you.

“Cheer up honey, you’re going to be alright. We’ll finish your homework. I can stay with you tonight.” He ruffles your hair when you’re enjoying your meal

You smile and nod “Okay, I still have your clothes from last time.”

He pinches your cheek “Cute, okay I’ll stay here then. The boys won’t mind, they’d probably wont notice I am not there.”

You feel sorry but at the same time laugh at him coz that Is so true. There’s no way Dream will realize he’s not there. They’re too busy with ensuring no one burns their hands or the house down.

You watch Renjun from the side, the young man is busy eating his food too. Judging by how he eats, you guess he skipped lunch with Jaemin earlier. Guess their research was that important. Before Renjun can catch you gawking at him, you toss your head away and control the heartbeat that’s thumping in your ribcage.

Why are you nervous? He’s just Renjun your boyfriend. But why can you feel this happy and glad to have him? Like you’re the luckiest person ever?

Maybe you really are the luckiest one to have Renjun. You continue to finish your food and drink.

The weather really feels great today, your day also turns bright just because Renjun decides to come and visit you for small picnic dinner under the sun. You’re glad over simple things like this and you’re always surprised Renjun can never fail to make you feel happy again. He indeed is your ray of sunshine and happiness source.

“Renjun-ah,” you whisper in his ear and he turns his head to face you.

Before he can pull his head back from the close distant, you quickly latch your lips into his and he pull your neck closer to him “Thank you,” you whisper to his lips before crashing in to another kiss where you taste his plumps lips.

Renjun feels butterflies filling his stomach again, it’s not your first kiss but it definitely feels the best. Is it because you’re this happy and he is also happy he made you enjoy the sun for a while or is it because he loves you more and more after seeing more colors of you?

Whatever that is, he’s glad he made this decision and stay with you afterwards.

“So, what homework is this? Can I help?” Renjun walks by your side hand in hand.

You giggle “Sadly it’s not your thing, I got this Renjun. You just have to be my moral support.” You press a kiss to his cheek and he blushes “I can do that.”

“Is your research going well?” it’s your turn now to ask him. He nods “I just need one more test subject.”

You raise your brow “What for?”

He smirks “To test the side effect of my stress of doing this project.”

You soff “You mean you want me right?” you cross your arm over your chest and Renjun clicks his tongue “Do I sound that clear?”

You stick your tongue out and pretend to think “Sort of, but I am booked for my works tonight. Go use the bathroom” you playfully wink and kiss his neck before sitting down on your computer and acting like nothing’s wrong as you continue where you left off.

There on the corner of your eyes you can see Renjun gritting his teeth when you tease him and leave semi-hard.

“Woah you got triggered that easily? Must really be from your hours of lab with Jaemin.” You chuckle and stop when Renjun appears with a chair next to you. You don’t like how calm he looks and you don’t like how his face is so calm as he sits calmly on your right and with his eyes glued to the screen his hand is already roaming around your body tracing arbitrary lines, ghosting your skin with his callouses fingers.

“Now we’ll see who ends up laughing.”  He kisses your ear and breathes into it making you shiver and hard to focus.

end

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[simplyotometrash]

Headcanons with Obey Me! Oc, Alex

Alex’s relationships to each of the characters

Lucifer:

Have you heard of love at first sight? You have? 

Yeah this is not that whatsoever. 

Alex hated Lucifer from the moment they met. His attitude, the way he talked to them, the way he talked to Mammon. All of it. 

So they made it their mission to get on his nerves as much as physically possible.

They really wanted to see how far they could push him.

Lucifer knew their game and put up with the annoying human and their antics despite the headache it caused him.

They finally talked to one another properly without a fight one night. It was late and Lucifer was, unsurprisingly, still awake and working.

Alex quietly shuffled into his office and immediately was called out on it. Lucifer rightfully suspected a prank. But the truth was that Alex had a bad dream and didn’t know who else to talk to.

Lucifer turned and saw this tired, helpless, upset human and gestured them closer. He listened to their nightmare and did his best to provide them comfort. 

Suddenly they weren’t the nuisance they usually were. They reminded of him younger brothers when they were much younger and new to the Devildom. Scared and feeling isolated. 

Did their relationship get any better?

Well, yeah it did. 

Lucifer grew to see the petite human as another sibling he somehow gained. 

Their relationship became sibling-like and the torment only continued, though less hate-filled.

Mammon:

Did they like him? Not at first. He didn’t really care much for them either.

They came to their first major breakthrough early on, though, when Alex witnessed firsthand the treatment Mammon received from his brothers.

Oh they hated it.

Alex is the youngest of 9 and knows what Mammon’s experience is.

From that moment on they took it upon themselves to become Mammon’s designated protector.

If anyone tried to fuck with Mammon they had to deal with Alex and vice versa.

They also are touch starved, so there were many movie nights where they just cuddled up together because they both needed physical affection.

Mammon is one of their best friends in the Devildom and they would not trade him for anything in the three worlds.

Mammon isn’t sure if he is in love with them or wants to just be their best friend, but he protects them just like they protect him.

They also always get into trouble together.

Mammon always ended up going into their room at night when he was having trouble sleeping, sometimes they were awake and sometimes not. 

They had an agreement, though, that if the other needed comfort at night they could always go to one another. 

He quietly would crawl into their bed and it was as if Alex knew he was there without waking up. They would shift so he could cuddle into them and they’d sleep like that the rest of the night.

There’s something inherently comfortable about being around one another when it’s just the two of them, something Mammon does not want to risk losing. He is very protective over them and will do harm to those who try to hurt them.

Leviathan:

Anime fan? Video game lover? Alex is the epitome of heart-eyes.

Yes, Levi comes off a bit weird but they do not care.

They wanna become his friend as fast as fucking possible because anime nerds need to stick together. They need someone to show them good Devildom anime.

Levi was very hesitant to let the human in. He was a gross otaku, why would they want to be his friend?

He was terrified that it might be some super elaborate prank.

It was seeing them playing a game from the human world that made him begin to open up.

They were playing a video game that they loved and he merely caught a glimpse over their shoulder. That was all it took. He stood there, hovering behind them, watching their gameplay intently.

The rest is, as they say, history. 

The pair became the best of friends and bonded over their mutual hobbies. 

Levi is also one of the potential love interests for Alex so the feelings can run even deeper depending on how I am feeling.

Overall, though, they are just as attached at the hip as Mammon and Alex. Levi is fiercely protective over Alex and their friendship, often fighting his brothers to claim best friendship. They are his Henry.

They’re able to get through to him when he draws in on himself. When he is so plagued by negative thoughts and anxiety that nothing can reach him, Alex is able to crack through the negativity to shine light back on him.

They give him so much positive reinforcement and affection.

While they are touch starved, they never force physical affection without consent. They know Levi has issues with being touched and would never want to push it.

They’re the only one he is okay with hugging him out of the blue, though it makes him blush, it also makes him feel special. 

Satan:

They did not get along at first.

Alex did not hate him on sight like they did Lucifer, but they did not take to him very quickly either.

They pretty much ignored each other for the first couple of weeks.

they could cohabitate in the House of Lamentation in peace without ever acknowledging one another.

It was Alex’s dislike of Lucifer that piqued Satan’s interest in them.

A fellow hater of Lucifer? Someone to plan pranks and piss off the eldest in the house? Maybe they were alright then.

They became friends over their disdain of Lucifer and truly bonded over a love of books.

Alex is a big reader, not only of manga, but of all literature. So they were able to find common ground in that they had some similar interests.

There was never the potential for romance between them and that’s okay.

Their relationship, similar to Lucifer and Alex’s, evolved into a very sibling-like relationship.

They became a younger sibling to him and he enjoyed their company. They proved good to prank with as well. 

It was nice to have someone else who liked reading, someone who was calm, and also loved cats. Alex’s love for cats was just as strong as Satan’s. 

I personally headcanon that Alex’s cat got to come with them to the Devildom so Satan really had to decide whether or not he was going to kidnap (catnap) their cat or not until they told him he could visit anytime for some kitty cat cuddles. 

Asmodeus:

Asmo was a very fast friend to Alex.

The moment they met he was enamored. What drew him in specifically? Alex’s hair. They came to the Devildom with pastel blue hair with an undercut that needed to be maintained.

Asmo saw they were a lover of fashion and had nice hair and he wanted in on that. He volunteered himself to be their personal hair stylist. 

They began bonding over these sessions where he would touch up their hair color and cut followed by painting their nails and telling them anything and everything he could think of.

But they did not hesitate to call his seemingly narcissistic personality a fraud. They didn’t buy that he was only a self-absorbed and shallow person who only cared for his looks.

This moment is what makes Asmo the second contender as a love interest for Alex.

They saw right through him and suddenly he felt...free. Free to express himself in more ways then he thought possible. He also began to view them as more than a doll to play with and a sounding board to talk to.

Suddenly they were so much more alive as a person. He wanted to truly know them. 

He fights Mammon and Levi for the role of best friend but he also wants to be so much more than that.

He makes a point to spend time with them and never mentions his previous encounters or relationships. He doesn’t want to even risk upsetting them in case they love him back (which they do depending on what I’m writing oops-).

Asmo, though he struggles to admit it out loud, views them as even more important than himself. Their beauty inside and out is blinding. He wants the world to see it and their outfits to reflect it.

He doesn’t hesitate to drop just as much Grimm shopping for them as he does himself.

Beelzebub:

These two cohabitated quite peacefully. They didn’t need to talk or really do much of anything. They simply existed together.

Alex didn’t think much of the large demon at first. They were impressed by the sheer size of his appetite and thought he looked kinda cool.

Beel thought they looked so small and was afraid just breathing too hard might break them.

Their first bonding moment was when he came into the kitchen for a midnight fridge raid and found Alex, in their pajama shirt, cooking. He quietly sat down next to where they were standing and asked what they were making.

Comfort food was their answer. They were homesick. Their favorite thing when they were homesick was potato soup, their mother’s recipe.

Beel knew the feeling all too well and did not press the subject. There was comfortable silence before he asked questions about the human world. Before long, they were offering him a large bowl of soup. 

They ate together, sitting there on the kitchen floor, and the hours flew by. 

They did get in trouble together for not even cleaning up the mess in the kitchen where they inevitably fell asleep together, but Lucifer was lenient. 

Beel became their confidant. The one person they could talk to without feeling judged. And they became someone he could also tell anything too.

Someone he needed for those bad nights plagued by nightmares or when he felt homesick, too. 

Their relationship stays this way. There’s not romance that may blossom and neither of them are interested in that. 

Belphegor:

They knew he wasn’t human from the moment they found him in the attic. These two had very little relationship prior to the incidents of chapter 16.

We all know how Belphie was about humans and what happened to the MC in that chapter. 

Scooting past that, their relationship afterwards was exceptionally tense.

At least on Belphie’s side. He wanted to make up for what he had done but also felt uncomfortable with Alex. He wasn’t sure how to approach them.

Alex, on the other hand, took it as a personal mission to annoy the ever living shit out of him as revenge. 

Did they hate him for what he had done? No. They did not hate him. What they felt was not hatred nor resentment, rather they felt irritated and rightfully pissed off.

They sought revenge in the form of annoying him.

But that only lasted a little while. These two actually get along very well once they have a proper talk about what happened and Belphie wanting to make up for what he had done. 

Belphie is contender number 3 for Alex’s love and affection in a romantic sense (I’m soft for him, I can’t help it).

They bond over the stars and the fact that they can be in the same room together without even having to talk. 

Alex is a high-energy kind of person but even they need breaks. They don’t like feeling as if they have to be like that all the time. And they don’t have to with him. They can be quiet and calm. 

They nap together all the time. Belphie is actually the one they go to when they have migraines because his very presence is so soothing that they’re able to relax and sleep through it despite the pain.

Belphie knows they love pillows and buys a new one every time he goes out, whether with them or not, just to add to their bed so they have their own massive pillow collection.

I will do a part 2 for the rest of the characters! Let me know what you think!!

[theartofimagining13]

CHAPTER 4: THE CHEATER CHEETAH DRESS.

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

BASED ON: Imagine: After a big discussion with your fiancé Tom…

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: 1 DISENGAGEMENT | 2 THE TALE OF THE OFFENSE | 3 THE WEDDING GUEST

TEASER  |  POSTER    |   CHAPTER POSTER | CHAPTER TEASER

NOTES: First and foremost, I would like to thank @clockgirl94​ because if she hadn’t sent me that Javier gif, this chapter wouldn’t have been born.  ❤︎

I was reluctant to write spanish dialogue translations but then I remembered that spanish is my first language and maybe not everyone else’s lol. 

And also, there’s a subtle POV change.

Enjoy.

Funny how some humans’ defense mechanism works only in retrospect.

You get out of a messy situation, and it is only when you look back that things are crystal clear and you ask yourself why did I not see this before?

I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes. After our honeymoon, Tom bought a bigger house in a quieter area of the city for us to move into. As I unpacked my clothes, I found a little summer dress that I hadn’t seen in months and I might as well have used as a noose because, as soon as I saw it, as soon as I touched it, I was out of breath and felt the biggest knot in my throat. There’s violence in the way some memories come back to us with an object or a smell; that seemingly insignificant piece of fabric unleashed in my mind a wild river of memories.

I chuckled at myself.

If I had truly wanted to forget, I would’ve burned the fucking dress but I had only managed to stash it at the bottom of a forgotten drawer, and now it was here. I got up and neatly placed it on the bed and stared at it. I suddenly felt a kiss on my left temple. Tom walked past me afterwards holding another heavy box and I saw the curious face he made once he left it on the floor and noticed the dress.

“You haven’t worn that in a long time.”  

“I know…”

He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You should.” He purred in my ear before planting kisses down my neck. “You drive me crazy in it.”

My heart raced when he held me tighter and spun me around. He caught my lips with his and I felt his hands going down my back. This was triggering for me, I had to stop him without being suspicious so I gently pulled away.

“Take me out on a date when we’re done here and I just might wear it.” I lied.

Tom let out a quiet pleasure groan in advance at the mental image perhaps.

“You got yourself a deal, baby.”

He gave me a quick peck on the lips and left to carry on with the move.

I sighed. See, the thing is, Tom wasn’t the only one who that dress drove crazy, and by now, I am pretty sure we’ve established that he and his former best friend, Pedro, liked the same things. As I stared at it again, I let myself go and revisited that particular memory in the forbidden recollections book.

Tom and I were hosting a summer cookout for a few friends and family in our old garden.

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day in June, and I was wearing the now infamous cheetah print dress with combat boots. Tom had proposed a few days prior, and I hadn’t told Pedro. The thought alone made me nervous because how was I supposed to even form that sentence?

Hello, lover. I just got engaged.

Cringe. Of course not. Which is why I chose not to wear the ring for the occasion.

It didn’t get any easier when I saw Pedro as I walked out into the backyard. He was helping Tom with the grill and the charcoal, with a beer bottle in one hand but looked up at me and stared almost longer than politically correct. And the way he did it, slowly from head to toe and with slightly parted lips which made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt; but that ship had sailed. I kept my distance mingling with others at the party and he stayed there talking to Tom for a while.

I wish I had heard that conversation.

“I asked her to marry me.” Tom said with the biggest grin. “She said yes, mate.”

Pedro tensed up and stared at Tom, he swallowed and washed down a million sour words he could’ve said with the swig of beer he took.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tom chuckled. “I was… terrified.”

“Well, who in their right mind would ever do that?” Pedro half joked.

“You say that now…” Tom said. “But you just wait. I mean, look at her. Can you blame me?”

Pedro tightened his jaw as he glanced at her one more time and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I’ve told you a million times that you’re a lucky motherfucker.” He said causing Tom to laugh. “I gotta take a leak.” Pedro announced dryly. “Hey, you got anything stronger than this?” and immediately added, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

“There’s whiskey inside.”

“I’ll get it.”

He started to walk away but stopped to look back at Tom, realizing that he had forgotten something.

“Congratulations, man.” He forced a smile.

When Pedro walked into the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and scowled at himself in the mirror.

I put a big pitcher of lemonade in the fridge before I went upstairs but I stopped midway when I heard the hallway bathroom door opening and closing, and instinctively looked over my shoulder only to find Pedro.

I couldn’t read his expression so I kept walking, hoping that he would follow me, and aching for a moment with just the two of us alone. I faced him when I reached mine and Tom’s bedroom door and leaned against it with my hands behind my back. He got closer and placed his right hand right next to my head, towering over me as he stared into my soul.

“You think you can just walk around in that little dress and get away with it?”

“You like it?” I teased.

He slowly looked down and up again, provokingly.

“It’s driving me crazy.” He confessed in almost a whisper.

I allowed my eyes to wander and make sure that we were completely alone before I leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was cold, empty, so unlike Pedro’s trademark passionate ones, and he was rarely in a bad mood which made it twice as scary when he actually was, but I had no idea if that was the case. I pulled away and furrowed my eyebrows with concern. He cleared his throat and sniffed loudly.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He inquired with the most serious face and tone.

“What do you mean?”

But he just cocked his head with condescendence and, it took me a minute, but I figured out what he was talking about.

“He told you.” I sighed. “Pedro, I was going to tell you, I just-”

“When were you going to tell me?” He cut me off.

“I-I don’t know, I couldn’t find the right w-”

I ceased talking and flinched when he struck the door with the hand that had been resting next to my head.

“Fuck’s sake…” He cursed and roamed a little with his hands on his waist.

Back then, silly me thought he was jealous, hell, I even liked it a bit. But no. Pedro was worried.

“Now?” He asked with a much more collected tone. “He had to propose now?”

Looking back, this was the only moment Pedro felt a little remorse. He was worried because my engagement had just made things even more complicated. Ironically enough, our affair had only started when this happened; we had been meeting in secret for a few weeks. We could’ve stopped then while Tom hadn’t a clue, could’ve pretended that it never happened and move on. Pedro and Tom’s friendship would’ve remained intact.

Pedro was a hypocrite, we’ve also established that. Somehow, it was okay to fuck his best friend’s girlfriend but once I became his fiancée, Pedro looked like he had finally encountered a line he could not cross.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He wondered out loud while looking over my shoulder as if he could see Tom in the backyard, through the door and walls.

Truthfully, I was very happy with my diamond ring, so, I also started pondering on my future with Pedro. The fact that our affair had just started had a pro and a con in common; Pro, We had only just begun which would make it easier to cut ties right then and there. Con, we had only just begun which would make it ten times harder to quit right then and there.

I sighed with frustration when I had that moment of honest clarity.

“I guess we could… stop?” I hesitantly asked and hated it to no end.

Pedro’s face fell and he studied me briefly but carefully.

“I mean,” I added. “People might get hurt.”

Pedro blinked several times and slowly began to nod.

“You’re right. We don’t… we don’t want that. We’ve been lucky.”

But I swallowed hard because I could easily tell that he loathed this as much as I did.

“We should just… be friends.”

Again, his brown eyes traveled up and down my body and he gulped.

“Friends.” He echoed.

My heart was racing in the middle of the staring contest we seemed to be having, and I felt as if he could hear it over the silence we shared. He inched closer.

“Is…is that what you want?” He inquired.

At that point, that was the only right thing left to do, and to sort of mend things or prevent them from getting worse. But Pedro understood my silence when I just glued my eyes to his.

“Open the door.” He ordered.

As soon as I did, he followed me inside, closing it behind him and kissed me on the lips in the most urgent way, and I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. I could feel his hands going down my back as he kissed my neck and chest, and I turned around and faced the bed because I knew what we both wanted and needed. He pressed me against his body and cupped my breasts. I could feel him getting hard and it weakened my knees. His hands went underneath my dress and he pulled down my underwear before pulling the skirt up.

The sound of Pedro unbuckling his belt in a rush reverberated in my core. I desperately needed him inside of me, I wanted and needed him to fuck me till we both came. He licked his fingers and touched me, letting out a silent and proud chuckle because I was more than ready for him. Our foreplay had started from the moment he decided to eye fuck me as soon as I showed up in the garden, and our little conversation was the sugar on the rim. He lowered his pants enough to pull out his cock and caressed my entrance with the tip, using his free hand to gently and slightly bend me over the bed.

And he tortured me like this for a few seconds that felt much longer to me, inserting just the tip, slowly going out and in again until I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore and he finally quickened the pace. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed him, all of him, and I moaned when he finally granted me my wish.

“Fuck…” He breathed out and just stayed inside of me while I adjusted to him.

Pedro grabbed me by the hips with a tight grip and started fucking me like I had been silently begging him to; Hard and fast and just making me his. His low grunts and his ragged breath were turning me on even more. One of his hands slid up my back until his fingers got lost in my hair and he grabbed a fistful as he kept pounding into me, but it moved down to my neck, prompting me to stand up straight as he wrapped his arms around my waist and one greedy hand cupped one of my breasts.

“Te gusta? (You like it?)”

I groaned. I loved it when he whispered things in Spanish in my ear, and adding the fact that we had to be as quiet as possible was driving me over the edge.

“Dime. (Tell me).”

“Yes.” I breathed out. “Pedro…”

He chuckled again, knowing what I was implying and begging for, and he nibbled my neck before whispering once more.

“Te quieres venir? (You want to cum?)” He asked even though he knew I was dying to cum. I could even hear his mischievous grin. “Vente, mi amor. (Cum, my love).”

The rhythm of his thrusts increased again and he held me tighter. My whole body tensed up, I could feel it, the tingling sensation slowly taking over until it possessed me whole, mind and soul. Pedro had to cover my mouth as I came undone in his arms, he held onto me for dear life and buried his face in the crook of my neck as he poured himself into me and let out a suffocated moan against my skin.

With relief washing over us, our heart rates began to settle, and our foreheads were covered with a thin layer of sweat.

As I freshened up and washed my face, I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered if that had been the last time for Pedro and I.

Perhaps we had said goodbye in the only way we knew how.

I entered the kitchen and poured myself a much needed glass of ice cold lemonade before I was joined by my fiancé.

“I think we should tell them.” Tom said while taking out a few more meat packages from the fridge.

“What?” I asked in a blissful yet lethargic daze.

“About our engagement.” He placed them on the counter.

He stood in front of me, waiting as if he was asking for permission and looked at my glass of lemonade which he ended up stealing to take a sip.

But when he looked down at my hand, he frowned.

“Where’s your ring?” He asked.

“Oh, I… I took it off when I washed my hands and must’ve left it in the bathroom.” I lied.

“Put it on.” He said.

It was all the same now, Pedro knew. So, I did as I was told for Tom to make the announcement in the garden. I heard the three C’s of celebration; clamoring, cheering, and clapping, but all I could see was Pedro sitting in the back, and when his brown eyes found mine, he just showed a cynical smile and raised his glass of whiskey, at me, the cheeky bastard who had just fucked the fiancée in the cheetah dress.

Or the cheater in the dress.

I was sure that Pedro was just as addicted to me as I was to him. Engagement or not, we just weren’t ready to stop. If anything, he craved me more fiercely than before, and that ring on my finger just turned him on even more.

We had only just begun.

I blinked several times as the arousing memory dissolved and I became aware of my surroundings.

I bit my lip and wondered if Pedro still thought of these encounters of ours. I asked myself if he missed me, if he thought about me, if he touched himself while doing so, if he envisioned me while fucking someone else. Or the possibility of an ugly truth where he had just moved on and I meant nothing, but then I remembered my wedding day and his drunken honesty.

Of course he fucking thought of me.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 23

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i wrote half this chapter listening to taylor swift’s enchanted which i dubbed a christmas song despite it not being a christmas song. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The music was loud, too loud and Y/N could barely hear herself thinking. Between people congratulating Gwen and the overwhelming loud popular music, all Y/N wanted was to spend her birthday locked in her own bedroom reading Jane Austen but whenever she managed to dodge someone, a drunk associate would pat her on the back also congratulating her for her birthday. Darned drunk Daniel and his ‘it’s her birthday too’ sentence. Out of all 365 days in the year, she just had to be born on the same day as the heiress which she initially thought would make her invisible but suddenly everyone wanted to congratulate her too.

Dodging another one of her friend’s father’s drunk associates ready with a hiccupped speech, Y/N quickly climbed up the stairs, happily sighing when she finally got to some sense of quietness where she could read. Opening the red leathered book, Y/N let herself delve into the world of Jane Austen and the swooning love scenarios that came along with it.

With her nose stuck in the book, she started to pave around the floor, dancing around as she imagined the beautiful dance scenes in English regency balls. She could only imagine dancing with your loved one, with the shyness of the sun laying over winter snow, wandering eyes and slow, soft and comfortable dancing. She continued on her mindless dancing which was interrupted by her hitting something. 

     - Oop ... - Y/N looked up from a book into a pair of the most beautiful light blue eyes she had ever seen in her whole entire life. - I’m so sorry.

    - No, I wasn’t watching where I was going. My fault entirely. 

    - No, I wasn’t paying attention. 

    - What are you reading there? - he pointed at her book which she had closed over her finger as to not to lose the place of reading. - Jane Austen? A favourite?

     - I prefer Emma but Pride and Prejudice is a classic. Are you a fan?

    - I’m more of a Charlotte Brontë kind of guy myself. - he gave her that sort of smile that only old Hollywood stars could pull off. The type of smile morphing into a smirk that pulled you in with its sense of effortless coolness and mystique. A dangerous smile if she knew better. - That is if we’re speaking of English writers. My father has a very long personal collection.

    - Well, the Forrests aren’t the reading type from what I’ve gathered. 

    - Say, I’ve never seen you around before. Whose family do you belong to?

    - Oh, I ...

    - There you are. - a much older man, probably in his early 60s but very dapperly dressed with his hair pushed back and the same blue eyes the unknown man standing in front of her. She guessed they were somehow related by their matching features. - I thought we had discussed being late to meetings before.

   - I got distracted, father. - the much younger man shrugged. Y/N stood there, playing with her fingers, fully aware that the atmosphere had shifted into something more awkward than what she preferred. It became even more uncomfortable once the much older man made eye contact with her, making her feel much more smaller than before, head snapping back to her feet. - You sure have a particularly familiar set of eyes there. Have we met before?

   - No, I don’t think so. - she played with the ends of her hair, hoping the Earth would open and swallow her. 

   - What family do you belong to? I’m sure I’ve seen those eyes before. 

   - BIRDIE! - Y/N turned around to see Dan power walking towards her. - Gwen is waiting for you to cut the cake. Say goodbye, c’mon. 

Y/N just stood there, not entirely sure of what to reply to Mr. Williams’ remarks about her. She wasn’t a mistress and she surely wasn’t aiming to be one on the women she had grown accustomed to see coming in and out of the house during her childhood. Sure, she was having some sort of ... affair, if it could be called that, with Sebastian but she wasn’t his mistress. No, she would never be his mistress for that to happen he would have to want to be with her and following last events, he really wasn’t. Besides, she wasn’t like him and she would never be like him. 

   - I understand your struggle, miss. It must be really hard to see the man you care for not care for you.

   - With all due respect, Mr. Williams, I really don’t enjoy your assumptions about me or Mr. Stan. It’s incredibly disrespectful. 

   - He’s not gonna call you, birdie. I see you checking your phone but trust me. He might not be like his father where it matters but when it comes to women, they’re the same man.

   - Don’t call me birdie. - she mumbled, the affectionate nickname given to her by Dan when she was younger losing its innocence as it came out of the associate’s mouth. - I really would like it if you left.

   - Don’t be so upset. In this world you have to play dirty to get ahead and you’re surely get to get dirty to get ahead ... You’ll surely have enough money to do whatever you want if you keep going. 

   - I don’t want any money but I don’t wanna be part of this conversation. - she cleaned her hands against her apron, walking off the kitchen with a decisive step. Ignoring most questioning looks from those at the table, she climbed the stairs back to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. 

She was no mistress and she definitely did not want Sebastian’s money and the mere speculation that that was all she cared about made her sick to her stomach. If she were to care about money she would’ve gotten it very much early on. With sadness and heaviness in her heart accompanied by shame of being seen as nothing more than a passing fancy, Y/N sat down against her bed frame, hand moving to grab one of her bedside table books. 

Out of all the books she blindly had to pick, out of all novels she had spent her teenage and early adulthood reading, the one she had picked was a particularly old one with a red leather binding and golden title letters. Her fingers softly moved across the cover, feeling the bumps and tears of time over the leather. It used to be her favourite during her early young adulthood years and Y/N was sure she had read it over a thousand times. As she opened the book, it fell onto a slightly crinkly page. She furrowed her brows, not remembering when she had crinkled the page until a polaroid fell onto her legs, photo front down. 

Curiously, Y/N closed her book, setting it next to her in the bed before grabbing the polaroid on her legs. She swiftly turned it around, noticing her handwriting on the border ‘18th’. She smiled nostalgically noticing her young face in the sea of people, wearing an oversized babydoll dress which most likely belonged to Gwen, Mary Jane style shoes with the very same necklace nestled between her collarbones and a polite smile. However, what called up for Y/N’s attention was right in the middle of the photo, standing next to Mr. Forrest, was a man probably in his mid to late 20s wearing a dark burgundy suit which made her blink twice, making her pull the photo closer for inspection. His hair was a bit longer and shaggier and his face a bit fuller due to younger age but she could recognise those eyes everywhere. Dan was right, Sebastian had been at Gwen’s 18th and for all that was safe and holy she just couldn’t remember it. 

Looking around as if she were afraid of being caught, she jumped off her bed, grabbing her book to stick the polaroid back inside and both of the objects inside one of her suitcase’s pockets, covering by various fabric items. Something told her that she had to question him about that particular event whenever she got the chance. Afterwards, she took her phone from her pocket to check if he had maybe tried to call her back or message her but nothing, only the clock and her lock screen. Two minutes past midnight, Christmas day. It was Christmas and that gave Y/N the excuse to give him another call. As expected by the darkest most negative part of her brain, all she heard was “The number you have dialled is unavailable, leave your message at the end of the tone”.

  - Hey Sebastian, it’s Y/N ... you probably know, you have called ID ... - she was rambling and could hear her heart thumping on her throat as if they’d never spoken before. - I just wanted to say ... Merry Christmas. 

  - Hey Birdie. - Dan opened the door of her bedroom, making her drop her phone onto the floor by surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows at that behaviour. Y/N certainly didn’t use to be this easy to fright. - We’re opening presents, c’mon.

  - Yeah, I’m going. - she forced a smile, grabbing her phone to finish the call before following him down the stairs.

Thirty minutes away from the place was she was spending Christmas, back in the Upper East Side, Sebastian was standing inside his office, brandy filled glass as he watched the sights from the large windows and how the snow fell disregarding and uncaring of any other circumstances. 

He was much too lost watching various people come out of their houses to celebrate the snow, lost in his own thoughts until the beep of his answering machine removed him from his mind. He shot a look towards the rather old school device as a very familiar voice came through “Hey Sebastian, it’s Y/N ... you probably know, you have called ID ... I just wanted to say ... Merry Christmas.” He placed the glass on this desk, getting closer to the device, finger pressing the rewind button causing the melodic voice to return which wishes of happy holidays. The mob boss smiled at her rambling, how she would go on and on before stopping herself and how sweet she sounded at the end. 

   - Sir ... - a light knock on his door following by the creaking of the door made him remove his finger from the rewind button. - I’m leaving for tonight. Is there anything you require?

   - No Amelia, thank you. 

Back at the Forrests, Y/N was cuddled and wrapped with a red blanket, a cup of peppermint tea in hand as she watched Gwen open the large majority of the presents with a child-like enthusiasm along with Dan’s daughter Sophie. With a very soft and absent minded smile, she couldn’t help but get lost in her own fantasies as she watched Sophie’s eyes light up as she showed her father the stuffed bunny she had just unwrapped. All she could see was the Christmas tree back in the penthouse surrounded with various presents wrapped in shades of red and gold as a child showed Sebastian their own presents. Yet, she knew it was only in her mind and that she probably would see that but the child would be Gwen’s.

   - Now it’s Y/N’s turn. - Mr. Forrest handed her a card sized present. - Merry Christmas, Y/N. 

   - Thank you. - she placed her tea cup on the table, carefully opening the present which led to another little box. Removing the lid, it showed a golden key with a matching gold bird keychain all surrounded by white cushioned fabric. - Oh ... thank you. Is it a necklace?

   - No. - Dan chuckled. - It’s a house key.

   - But I already have the key to this house.

   - Well, dad and I have been discussing it and after Mr. Stan and Gwen get married, we thought you might want to start your own life. - Dan had that grin that seemed to appear whenever he was truly proud of himself. - So, we got you an apartment in Paris, like you always wanted. View to the Tower Eiffel and all. 

   - Oh ... - once again Y/N questioned her full on lack of happiness. She had a place to start her life where she always wanted, she had a house, one she didn’t have to pay for. Forcing a smile, she nodded her head. - Thank you so much, Dan, it’s lovely.

  - I can help you make your arrangements after the wedding. - he added and started to ramble on how he knew a great interior designer while Gwen kept questioning her father how come she didn’t have an apartment in France, probably forgetting she had an apartment on almost every single European capital including London, Madrid and so on. She nodded, not really listening to his rambling until her phone vibrated on her jeans’ pocket. Looking down, she noticed a text from her phone company warning her that she had a message in her voicemail box.

  - Can you excuse me? - she asked the people surrounding the living room, getting up from her comfortable position. All but one, Mr. Williams, nodded. He instead watched her with hawk like eyes as she removed herself from the living room and paced onto the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

She could feel her body shake, her breathing getting irregular as she dialled the number that led to her voicemail messages. As quick as a second, the voicemail started to play but instead of listening to anyone speaking all she could hear was low breathing mixed with the non existent sound of silence. Her heart sank, this was probably a butt dial. As she was about to turn off her phone a familiar roughed yet laced with sweetness and nervousness came from the speaker.

   - Merry Christmas, my angel.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie​

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Chapter 4: Just a Parlor Trick

“—and this is your room! Or it will be, soon, once we get your stuff moved in.”

A blur of curls flew past Nott and dove headfirst onto the bare mattress. Two-feet-two of little halfling boy sprung up, danced around in a circle, and surveyed his new kingdom by bouncing on the bed.

It was—as Nott would be the first to admit—pretty bare at the moment. Caleb had already taken all of his belongings, but there hadn’t been that much to begin with. Aside from the bed-now-turned-trampoline, there was just an oak wardrobe, and a rug. The only other fixture of note was the window, framed by thin blue drapes, currently open and letting in the sea breeze.

“What do you think, Luc?” Yeza grinned from the doorframe. “How do you like it?”

“The ocean is so cool!” Luc’s hair flew around in a storm as he jumped. “And the people—there’s so many people, Dad! That big turtle at the restaurant—his back had a pipe in it!”

Nott felt the ghost of a touch on her arm. When she caught Yeza’s tentative expression, she forced herself to relax into it.

The illusion had held so far, hadn’t it? And besides, her husband already knew the truth.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she gave her son a smile. “And what do you think about the house, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

Luc, mid-air, gave this some thought.

“It’s smaller than my old room,” he said. “The window is bigger. Can I put my pictures up?”

There was a box of posters somewhere in the moving van. Apparently, some time in the last three years, Luc had gotten incredibly invested in a semi-popular cartoon series featuring a team of adventurers who solved mysteries in the Marrow Valley. Yeza had told her during one of their rare reunions that the clerk at the store was all but giving them away; something about increasing promotional awareness.

“Of course you can put your pictures up, Luc.”

He beamed a freckled, toothy smile.

“I like it, Mom! Can I put them up now?”

— — —

Jester hummed cheerfully to herself as she made her way through the streets of Nicodranas.

The novelty of such an act was not lost on her, and not just because she’d spent most of her life indoors—the last time she’d hurried down a road like this, it’d been under much less enjoyable circumstances.

But Jester had more tricks up her sleeves these days, and skipping between street merchants and bustling crowds, weaving through the Opal Archways in the middle of rush hour, she was certain she could hide from any watching eyes.

She squeezed the picnic basket in her arms, packed tight with the best pastries money could buy. She’d keep an eye out, too, for that little sidewalk café that did the strawberry-mango drinks Momma liked, though Jester suspected that her mother was just feigning enthusiasm to get her to eat more fruit.

The stoplight above flickered twice, then turned green. She looked both ways, then skipped across the street.

Maybe she should make a stop for sandwiches. And flowers, while she was at it—and over there, a book sale! Now that Jester was finally back home, with the Chateau such an easy walk from her apartment, every weekend she did her best to bring the whole city to her mother’s boudoir.  

Not that—and here she giggled at the thought—Momma needed any help there.

The Ruby of the Sea was busy, after all. Just not too busy for her little sapphire.

— — —

The thing was, Essek’s mother was busy.

She was always busy, and with good reason at that; for longer than Essek had even been alive—and how much longer before that, gods knew—Deirta Thelyss had been the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and therefore a permanent and immovable fixture in the intricate political dance of the Kryn Dynasty.

In another life, perhaps, Essek might have followed in her footsteps and joined her in running the country—though, if she got her way, there was a good chance that he ultimately would. But, as the Dynasty and Empire so far had managed to maintain a tenuous hold on peace, currently there was little need for a person of Essek’s particular talents.

The irony of that statement occasionally made him want to laugh, though he didn’t much feel like laughing now. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower to even drag him over to his desk, and there he sat with his forehead to the surface, lamenting that going back to bed hadn’t solved his problems.

Why was Mother bothering to attend the upcoming Clovis Concord Gala? Not a single one of these coastal cities was closely allied with the Dynasty, and the sheer geographical distance between them made the two nations vaguely aware of each other at best. In fact, Essek had chosen Nicodranas specifically because of how little the Bright Queen cared about it.

Which meant the unavoidable fact of the matter was that Mother was coming just for him.

The wood of his desk was cold on his head. If she were here now, she’d tell him to sit up.  

Actually, she’d probably say much more than that. If Verin was telling the truth—and his brother had always been on his side when it came to Mother— fending off another round of her attempts to force him home would only be half the struggle.

He kicked his chair back and listened to the way his wheels slid across the floor. Distantly, he could just make out some muted shuffling coming from the kitchen, and he had to remind himself that it was probably not a burglar, but Caleb.

Today was his second day in the apartment, and the man would probably need a few days to settle in. Though, Essek noted with a hint of satisfaction, Caleb seemed like a very efficient person. He’d actually…quite enjoyed their negotiation last night, despite how long it ended up being. For just a few hours his fear of an impending maternal maelstrom had been staved off by the way Widogast sometimes quirked his eyebrow while he was reading, or by the way he’d gently tap the clip of his borrowed pen with his thumb…

Essek had let him keep it, afterwards. He hadn’t even considered doing otherwise.

And as that thought crossed his mind, his restful silence was shattered by a crash.

— — —

“Knock-knock, Momma!”

“Ah, Jester! Come in! Close the door behind—oh, bother.”

This was immediately followed with the sound of air snapping to fill a void, then another minor explosion accented by four scrabbling paws.

“Nugget! Oh, Nuggy, I’ve missed you so much—”

Marion Lavore hiked up her skirts and gently side-stepped the slobber on the floor. She made her way back to her chaise lounge just a moment after Jester peeled herself from the dog.

“He’s getting quite big,” her mother said, artfully removing the exhaustion from her tone. But two decades of living under Momma’s roof gave Jester all the hint that she needed.

“Oh, I want to take him back, I really do, but the apartment doesn’t let us have dogs.” Jester sank into a plush sofa with Nugget wagging his tail at her heels. He put his head in her lap and drooled.

“And…your luck with finding a…a new apartment?”

“We’ve all been busy, Momma,” Jester sighed. “Beau is working all day long to set up a new library by the Quay, and Yasha disappears all the time even though she’s…feeling better now. I think it’ll be a while until everything’s calmed down and we can look.”

Marion pointedly did not think about the many curtains that Nugget had already eaten in three months.

“Ah, well. I understand. And how are you doing, my sweet?”

Jester giggled. “I’m doing good! I’ve been drawing and painting a lot by the sea, and keeping busy with other arts and crafts. Did you know people on the Internet will buy dozens of tiny clay dick statues? The Traveler thought it was very funny.”

Her mother’s expression was an ocean of calm. “Oh, is that…is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finding ways to…spend your day.”

“I brought some to show you!”

“Oh, how...lovely…”

“Some paintings, Momma.” Jester set aside the picnic basket and fished around in her knapsack. The bag was a horrifically pink mess of burlap and loud, jangly pins. Jester had to shove aside quite a few rolls of brushes and capped paints as she searched.

Marion watched her work with interest. “Well, even if you had brought a…the statue, I would—oh, Jester. It’s beautiful!”

Jester beamed as her mother took the canvas, gingerly like it was—and it was—fine art.

In her hands, a stunning landscape of the sea beside Nicodranas at dawn, pale pink light glancing off the tide and a thin breath of sun just above the water.

“It’s for you, Momma!”

“Oh, Jester, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it.” She laughed. “I have lots more at home, but this one’s my favorite so you should have it.”

Decades of living with a burgeoning artist had taught Marion not to hug the piece to her chest, though she quite wanted to.

“I’ll hang it up, then. In a place of honor,” she said seriously. “Maybe heading up the stairs? The light there is lovely, and that way I know the most important people will get to see it.”

Jester’s smile could have swallowed up the world. “Thanks, Momma.”

“No, thank you, my sweet. Now, come. What else have you been doing? What’s new and exciting with your…what did you call yourselves? The Mighty Nein?”

Jester helped her mother lay out a feast’s worth of pastries across the coffee table. Nugget eyed the bounty like a lit fuse until Jester also produced a chewing bone, which he gleefully snapped up and began to gnaw.

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t have a repeat of last time, so I stopped by a pet store,” she explained, munching on a strawberry tart. “And we’re all doing good! Caleb’s move went well, and Nott’s family just landed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” her mother said. “You know, it would not have been a problem for them to stay with me. At least while they got settled.”

“I know, I know, but I think since she already had a place, she wanted them there, you know? And anyway, she said she didn’t want to impose.”

“Of course,” Marion nodded. “And perhaps the Chateau is…it would be a bit unconventional for a family to stay here, hm?”

“We did it!”

“We did, but we are an unconventional family.”

Jester laughed, then brushed a few crumbs off her skirt. “What have you been doing lately, Momma? Any news? Any interesting clients?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well,” her mother smiled faintly, “actually, I…might have something interesting to tell you. I was, ah…well, I was invited to a party. To sing, but also as a guest.”

“What?!” Jester threw her hands in the air. “Oh, Momma, that’s amazing!”

“I, ah…might decline.”

Jester’s elation vanished instantly. “Oh, Momma. Is it…the outside…?”

Marion shrugged. It was a decidedly unrefined gesture, and left a little crinkle in her robe. “I’m just…well, you know I’ve made a little progress since you got back, but…I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d feel so comfortable being in a place like that alone.”

Jester reached across the table to pat her mother on the hand. “I understand. It’s probably just a dumb party anyway, I’m sure you won’t be missing much!”

“It’s…well, it’s the 400th Anniversary Gala of the Clovis Concord.”

“Oh, man.”

“Tell me about it, dear,” Marion sighed.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of thoughtful chewing.

And then:

“What if we went with you?”

Marion blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

— — —

They left Luc in his new bedroom happily slapping tape to the wall. Yeza had been worried that this would damage the paint when they’d eventually have to take down his posters, but Nott reassured him that getting back the safety deposit for this apartment was already a lost cause.

“There was a…small incident,” she said, as he poured her tea, “involving electricity. And…a mild fire.”

“Oh, man. Did you guys blow the fuse box or something?”

Nott debated whether or not exploding a microwave with voltaic bolts fell under that category.

“Mm, yeah, it was something like that.” She watched him sink into the chair across the table, paying special attention to the way his glasses bounced on his nose.

He hadn’t needed glasses three years ago. He hadn’t been quite so pale, either.

“So, how is your friend Caleb?” Yeza asked, tilting his head slightly at her silence. “Is he alright? Settled in and everything?”

Nott quickly scrounged up her smile. “He is! Actually, his place is really nice. Cheap, too, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yeza sipped his tea, leaving a little half-crescent above his lip. “I was worried about him. You told him for me, right? How much I appreciate this?”

“Of course I did. And I told him plenty that he didn’t have to, but he really insisted, and…well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that he did.”

Yeza put a biscuit in her hands. “We’ll send him a fruit basket, then. With pineapples! Heck, I should send one to all of your friends, for pitching in for the plane tickets. They’re really kind.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Nott took a bite, coating her tongue with chalky crumbs. “They’ll probably be around at some point—they want to see you and the boy again.”

“Is the tall one still around? With the pink hair? I liked him.”

Nott gave a laugh. “I’ll tell him you said that. It’s been quiet these last few days, you know, so it’ll really be great to have the company back. Not that—oh, gods, not that you and Luc aren’t—”

“I get it, I get it,” Yeza shook his head. “Don’t worry. Like we said over the phone, right? It’ll take…there’ll be an adjustment period.”

Nott set her mug down on the table. Her smile was a little less firm now.

“You and Luc are here,” she said again, quietly. “You’re here, but I…I’m talking about my friends, I shouldn’t be saying those things, should I? I…should focus on you two—”

“Hey, no, Veth. Not at all.”

“But it is unfair,” she sighed. “I…sweetie, I’m so happy to see you, and the boy, but now that…Caleb’s gone, and the two of you have moved in, a…a part of me, an awful part of me, already misses—”

“Veth, it’s okay—"

“It’s not, I mean we’re married—gods, wait, I’d never betray—”

“Veth.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Yeza’s voice was low and soft. “Honey, it’s okay. It really is okay, and I…I know. It’s complicated. I know. We haven’t been a family for a while—and none of that is your fault, it just isn’t. It’s just…been a tough few years, for us, but also especially for you. I doubt I could’ve survived what you’ve been through, after all. And things have changed—I’ve changed, I mean—I snore again, and I’ve gotten used to Edith helping around our house, and…I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s only natural…it’s only fair, that you’re allowed to change too. It’s okay. We talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Nott murmured.

“So it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work. And it’s still you, right? You still love me, right?”

She felt herself nod. Then, gently, “I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Well, that’s good. Neither did I.”

This time, she risked a glance up, and saw his smile. Yeza’s smiles were always a little lop-sided, smushing his freckles, and crinkling one eye. She’d made fun of that when they were younger, and let go of a breath when she saw that hadn’t changed.

As she exhaled, she gave a nod. Then a chuckle.

“Right. Right. Of course we will. We’re…probably going to have to enroll Luc in school. It—it’s summer now, but when autumn swings around…what is he? In first grade? In second?”

Yeza laughed. “This fall will be his first year of school.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods, it’s his first year of school. He…I don’t even know if he’s ready, if he’s…wait, is it different in Nicodranas? Are there tests? Is this a good school district, I—I didn’t even check—”

This time, it was Veth who stopped him. “Relax,” she said, and poked Yeza’s nose. “His dad is the most brilliant chemist in the world. We can look up all that other stuff.”

She brushed his cheek with her other thumb. “Like you said. We’ve got this. We’ll make it work.”

— — —

It had started with a recipe for blueberry muffins.

It had ended, more or less, somewhere around the time that Caleb realized neither he nor Essek owned measuring cups—and anyway, the blueberries were looking a little mushy so maybe he should wait until next week to surprise the Brenattos, that way he’d have a chance to get better ones, even though their move-in day was technically today—

And at that point, Frumpkin had jumped into the cabinet, dislodging what sounded like years’ worth of unused pots, knocking down an avalanche of dusty pans.

The last skillet clanged like thunder as it spun to a stop on the floor.

“Mist. Frumpkin—”

Ever the cat, Frumpkin deftly wove out of Caleb’s grasp and darted for the counter. He perched himself unblinking at the edge of the sink and licked his paw, as if for emphasis.

Caleb sighed. He crouched down to reach for the nearest displaced kitchen implement, a stock pot.

“You know,” he began, exasperated, “you could at least help me out with this mess.”

“Is that so?”

He whipped around so quickly that his head hit the handle of a drawer. One hand flew up, he startled, “Miste—Essek?”

His landlord raised a curved eyebrow. With the mid-afternoon light streaming in through the windows, the purplish tint to Essek’s complexion was something akin to a dusting of twilight. His hair was half-tousled, like it’d been mussed by something, and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I…my cat,” Caleb managed. “That is, er. I apologize. Deeply. For the commotion.”

Essek looked him over. “I thought we had agreed on silence last night, no?”

Caleb hung his head, and he could feel disappointment coming, undoubtedly with despair on its coattails.

“I have broken the terms,” he said mutely. “I…I am sorry. I understand what that means.”

His gaze clung to the polished floor. Which was why he missed it when the heavy stock pot took on a faint, shimmering, blueish glow. And then the saucepan began to shine. And then a wok, a spatula, a bowl—

All of the fallen cookware slowly began to rise through the air. As they moved, a parade past Caleb’s amazed expression, slipping by Frumpkin’s outstretched paw, each individual pot righted itself, formed into lines, then were quickly and neatly whisked away into the cabinet above.

The doors clicked as they shut.

“I…but that—what spell was that?”

Mentally, Caleb kicked himself. He should’ve apologized.

But Essek only chuckled. “Oh, that was just a parlor trick. An idle curiosity about the…shall we say, limits of gravity. Particularly regarding how easy they are to break.”

Caleb scrambled up to his feet. “But I have never seen control like that on such a grand scale before. Your spell, it—Telekinesis only controls one object at once.”

“Well,” Essek allowed himself a smirk. “Telekinesis is a watered-down version of what true dunamancy can accomplish. I will say, even getting that far was impressive. I have seen your documentation.”

“Gods,” though, Caleb noticed, there was not a trace of resentment in his tone. “Here I thought our transmutative literature was the most advanced there was.”

Essek shrugged. “Please, do not misunderstand me. It is good, for Empire wizards, especially. Until then, I had been under the impression that your lot only excelled at evocation.”

“We are a dab hand at necromancy too,” Caleb said dryly, “if the stories from twenty years ago are believed.”

This actually won a laugh. “Maybe I am the one being too cruel. It was your people who pioneered the earliest manipulations of air elemental magic, no? It is truly an interesting method for conquering gravity.”

“Yours is better,” Caleb said, before he could stop himself. “If you think that a parlor trick, my friend, I hesitate to ask else you could accomplish.”

“Why hesitate?”

And then, Caleb blinked. Somewhere in the distance, Frumpkin nudged his shoulder, but in that moment, all he could focus on was Essek.

“I…excuse me?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Essek slid into a kitchen chair.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” he waved his hand. “And please. Do not worry about that mess. I am not so unreasonable to think that accidents can never happen. Just, ah…you have been a wonderful roommate so far. In the future…?”

“You have my word,” Caleb said. He slipped the carton of slightly-mushy blueberries behind him.

“Excellent,” Essek nodded. “Well. If that is settled, I might sit here and, ah…get some work done?”

Caleb, dense as he was, got the message. “I just—of course, I will be gone in a moment, I’ll just put these things away—”

“No rush at all. I am not in any hurry.”

And indeed, whether or not Essek was just being polite, it did seem like the man was…a bit distracted. Caleb had no right to poke into his business, which was a violation of Section II, Subsection IV anyway, but he couldn’t help but ask Frumpkin to take the tiniest peek at Essek’s face.

Something was bothering his landlord. And for once, still basking in the afterglow of powerful magic, Caleb was almost sure it wasn’t him.

He found out just as he was heading to his room.

“Might I, ah, ask you a question?”

Caleb had enough composure to turn around at a normal person’s pace.

“Yes?”

Essek ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it…it is more of a favor.”

“Oh,” said Caleb. And when more was required, “Yes?”

“Yes already?” He blinked. “But I did not say what it was.”

“I meant,” Caleb amended, leaning against his doorframe, “please describe this favor to me.”

“Ah,” said Essek. “Right. I, er…”

How in the gods’ names was he supposed to phrase something ridiculous as this?

“I wonder…” he tried, “that is…if you might…would it be…are you perhaps…are you busy this weekend?”

Whatever he was expecting, this absolutely was not it.

“I—no?” Caleb said, out of pure shock. Then he shook his head and added, “I do not think so, no.”

“Ah,” said Essek. Somehow he seemed even more uncomfortable now. “That is…excellent.” It did not sound excellent. “If…well, if that is the case, then…do you think you could…help me with something?”

Caleb waited patiently. “With something?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

“No—not—oh, gods, I am doing this wrong.” Essek actually put his head in his hands, and Caleb once again had to throttle his own surprise.

Then, in a move made by a part of him so bold he didn’t even know he still had it, Caleb re-entered the kitchen and down in the seat across from Essek.

“I think, perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

Essek nodded miserably. He breathed in.

“You are right, Caleb.”

He breathed out.

“So. It’s like this…”

— — —

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[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Ten: The Black Belle of the West

AN: Welp, it’s 2021 and guess what? The world is still shitty, but hey, at least I feel slightly rejuvenated from my brief hiatus.

Word Count: 3.8k

Trigger Warnings: racism, dated language, period-era homophobia

Taglist: @nerds4life246​ @leahnicole1219​

Chapter Eleven: Green-eyed

Sabine's legs dangled from the wagon she sat on top of, her limbs swinging back and forth absentmindedly as she waited for everyone to finish their afternoon errands. Lowly, she read aloud the foreign words from the page of the book in front of her until a loud, metallic sound was slammed down next to her. Sabine flinched and almost lost her grip on the German language book that was comfortably resting in her hands. Her head whipped to the side to look at the offender who caused her such a fright, she was met with the sight of Bastien's face.

Well, the side of it at least.

"Christ Bastien!" she breathed. "You didn't have to slam that thing down so hard on the wagon," she informed, shaking her head.

There was no response. Matter of fact, Bastien hadn't spoken a word to her since last night after Hans had rode off from their home. It wasn't long after that Bastien would leave as well, riding furiously off into the night. Sabine implored him several times to tell her what was wrong and why was he so upset as he climbed onto his horse, but her pleas just fell on deaf ears. Hours would pass since Bastien's disappearance to who knows where, leaving Andy, Nicky, and Josef curious to know what transpired outside that made him leave in such a hurry.

And all eyes fell on her.

Words could not describe how awkward it was for Sabine to explain to her three friends the chain of events that led to the current set of circumstances. By the end of her narration, Andy's brow was raised, Nicky sipped from his cup to hide the small smile that threatened to break on his face, Josef grinned unashamed, and Sabine felt as though her ears were red hot. Time dragged on and on until they finally realized that Bastien would not be returning home anytime soon that night. They weren't really worried though, it's not like he could he die. He would find his way back home, eventually. But imagine their surprise as they rode into Graybrook this morning only to see the Frenchmen there as well.

Unsurprisingly, leaving the saloon.

"Good morning to you too," Sabine greeted dryly, watching him organize the goods he purchased. Once again, Bastien didn't his open mouth to speak, he was clearly determined to disregard her presence. "Is this what we're doing now?" she asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question.

Bastien eyes were down focused on his current task, his handsome features tainted with a dark mixture of misery and resentment. Sabine could see the fine beads of sweat gathered on his brow caught in the bright sunlight like crystals on his skin. The more he moved next to her, the more she was exposed to a strange scent that emanated from him. It smelled almost...sweet. Another whiff of the scent wafted in Sabine's direction causing a slight frown to form on her face. Leaning closer to him, Sabine sniffed his shirt, the fragrance clinging to the fabric.

The perfume was so strong that it made her slightly lightheaded.

"You smell like a brothel," Sabine commented, not meaning to sound as snippy as she did. "Had a late night at a house of ill repute?" she questioned, lifting her eyebrow.

Sabine in all her short years as an immortal, had avoided brothels, unless it was absolutely necessary. Make no mistake, she had nothing against the prostitutes that worked in them, because everyone has to make a living somehow, right? She just usually left those little escapades to Bastien and Andy while Nicky, Josef, and herself liked to unwind in saloons. In the past, Sabine was rather indifferent about Bastien's trips to such houses since...everyone needs to find a release somewhere. But never in a thousand years did she think she would find herself in this position.

Welling jealousy boiled inside of Sabine, she could hardly stand it.

"Why do you care?" Bastien snapped, finally looking over at her. "Don't you have your German suitor to worry about?" he asked mockingly.

Sabine snapped her book shut with one hand, "No, he left for Texas," she replied, her tone clipped.

"And so another lover of yours leaves," he mused, stacking another medium sized tin on top of the other. "I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," he continued. "You'll find another man to entertain you. You always do," he added, a sneer on his face.

"Excuse me?"

Bastien rubbed his hands together knocking the dust off them, "Maybe next time, you'll stumble across a Dutch man," he suggested, with a sardonic chuckle.

A frown formed onto Sabine's face, "I'm sorry, are you still a bit drunk?" she questioned, feeling her temper rise higher from Bastien contemptuous attitude towards her.

"It's like what Joe said right?" he reminded, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders. "You just have the ability to enamor European men," he went on. "Like how flies are attracted to honey," he ridiculed.

Sabine tossed her book down next to her, "So this is what's got you in a such a foul mood," she stated, letting out a breathy chuckle. "You're upset that Hans kissed me," she remarked, and Bastien's eyes narrowed. "No, 'upset' is not the right word. You're jealous Bastien," she corrected, pointing her finger at him.

"No more jealous than you were at the realization that I slept with a prostitute," he retorted.

Bastien's observation had caught Sabine off guard and stunned her into a momentary silence, unconsciously she leaned away from him. Had she been that obvious earlier? Regaining her composure, Sabine pushed herself off the wagon bed and hopped onto the ground, pulling herself to her full height.

"What would I have to be jealous of Bastien?" Sabine questioned, staring up at the man in front of her. "It's not like anything has happened between the two of us, right? she asked again, Bastien's Adam's apple bobbed and clenched his hand into a fist by his side.

"You know that's a lie," he gritted out.

"Is it?" Sabine countered, both of her brows raised. "The river? Your bedroom? It might as well not had happened since we never discussed it afterwards," she pointed out, folding her arms together.

He scoffed, "And your solution to that was to dally with Hans?" Bastien asked incredulously.

"I don't see why I shouldn't have," she responded, with a small shrug. "At least I knew what he wanted from me," she retorted. “He didn’t leave me in limbo,” she added spitefully, before walking off purposefully bumping into Bastien’s shoulder in the process.

Sabine didn’t know where she was going, she just knew that she needed to be far away from Bastien.

“Men,” she thought.

Stepping onto the platform of the saloon, she leaned against one of the beams supporting the roof of the porch, observing the passers-by that traveled through the town to take her mind off Bastien. A heavy set mustachioed Mexican entered in the general store, Chinese railroad workers passed through probably on their way to their job,

Sabine could see Sheriff Lane standing on the porch of his office, eying the new arrivals in town with suspicion, his hands resting on top of the guns in their holster. He was waiting for them to make the slightest wrong move so he would have a reason to toss them in a cell. Her attention shifted downwards when a little girl walked up to where she was and stood in front of her.

The girl stared up at her with big eyes, "Excuse me, Miss. But why are you dressed like a boy?" she asked innocently, with a strong southern drawl.

Sabine guessed that the girl couldn't be any older than seven.

"Well, I like to wear things that are comfortable," she explained simply, with a shrug. "Trust me, in a couple of years, you'll know why I'm not fond of corsets or whatever the latest fashion has in store for you," she responded.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off as her mother stormed over, grabbing her by the arm.

"Amy! How dare you disappear like that?!" she snapped, at her frightened daughter.

"It's all right, Miss. She was just asking me a question," Sabine interjected, trying to diffuse the situation.

Apparently, the woman hadn't even noticed her before Sabine spoke. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her eye sockets, as she seized her up. The woman looked at her with a look of disgust, as if Sabine's very existence was offensive to the woman. Which, it probably was in her mind since Sabine was black.

"Let's go!" The mother of the child ordered, making it clear that there was no room for any argument.

Hurriedly, she dragged her daughter away from her, "Bitch," Sabine muttered underneath her breath.

Just as Sabine was about to turn her attention elsewhere, Josef's figure emerged from behind a passing traveler. He strolled over to her with a grin on his face, joining her on the porch.

"Okay, what happened between you two?" he asked, briefly glancing towards Bastien who was tending to his horse. "Because he won't tell me anything,"

"Nothing," Sabine replied, now inspecting her nails.

"Bullshit," Josef retorted. "What happened between you and Book?" he asked, repeating himself.

"Nothing happened, I can assure you that Josef," her tone did not waver, it sounded slightly forced, but nonetheless she still sounded calm.

"Ah, yes! I guess that would explain Booker's moodiness and your snappiness," he replied sarcastically, and Sabine just cut her eyes in his direction. "Hey!" he exclaimed slightly, lifting his arms up in surrender. "I'm just reporting what I'm seeing," he reasoned. "Whatever transpired today, I think the both of you should just come clean with each other," he suggested simply, crossing his arms.

"Come clean?"

"Yes," Josef answered, nodding his head. "It's rather obvious that Booker is jealous that your German beau kissed you," he commented, turning his body to face her. "Anyone with half a brain can see that,” he joked, laughing a little.

Sabine stole a glance at the Frenchman, “You just have it all figured out don’t you?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I do,” Josef answered proudly. “You yourself won't admit that you have feelings for Booker," he pointed out. Sabine opened her to speak, but found herself silenced by the mere arch of Josef's brow. "Do you deny my brilliant skills of observations?" he questioned, a knowing smirk on his lips.

A deep sigh parted Sabine’s lips and she turned her head to look at Josef.

"No,"

~~~x~~~

The air smelled sweet and savory, the winds were warm and pleasant and the singing of many filled the air as the Juneteenth festivities filled the evening sky. The sun had begun its descent behind the trees, making way for night to come. But the setting sun and eventual darkness didn't bother anyone for lanterns had already been lit for the night.

John wrote a letter and he laid it on the table No one can read'em like old John Read 'em let me go

In the center of Hickory a large circle had been formed by the residents, dancing and singing along to the old ring shout. Arm in arm, Sabine swung around with Bonnie, the two of them grinning happily as they recited the lyrics.

Now it's one by one And a two by two And a three by three And a four by four No one can read 'em like old John Read 'em let me go

They unlinked their arms and joined in on the rhythmic clapping that had begun, still circling each other.

Now John wrote a letter and he laid it on the table No one can read'em like old John Read 'em let me go

Now read 'em John (Read 'em) Read 'em John (Read 'em) Read 'em John (Read 'em) Read 'em let me go

As the last note of the song rang out cheers followed afterwards as well as plenty of applause. Bonnie hooked Sabine's arm with hers and led her away from the dancing, an absolute giddy expression on her face.

"Oh isn't this grand!" she exclaimed, smiling at Sabine.

"It certainly is Bonnie," Sabine answered, letting herself be guided to where the barrels of cider were.

The two young women were handed two tankards of the beverage and decided to rest by them, watching the party-goers as they drank. Sabine briefly listened to the embers of the bonfire pop and crackle to ash, the light ambiance of the lush woods surrounding the community. The sound was quickly drowned out by the band starting up another lively song amidst laughter and the clanking of tankards.

"Where are you're friends?" Bonnie asked curiously, straining her neck to find them in the crowd.

"I'm sure they're around here somewhere," Sabine responded, before sipping from her tankard. "Anne might of hit the sack already, she's been tired all day," she reckoned.

"What about Samuel?" she asked again, wiggling her eyebrows.

Sabine leaned away from her slightly, "Why are you doing that with your eyebrows?" Sabine questioned, scrunching her nose up.

"Come on Corinna!" Bonnie said, playfully exasperated. "Even a blind man could see that Samuel fancies you," she joked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sabine rolled her eyes and shook her head before bringing her cup to her lips, first Josef and now Bonnie.

“Remember when you ordered a dress awhile back?” Bonnie recalled, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Samuel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you,” she remembered, giggling like a school.

“Oh, that was nothing,” she dismissed, waving her hand.

Sabine thought back to that day, when her package arrived she didn’t any intentions on trying it on immediately, but Bonnie had other plans and basically pushed her inside her own home to put the dress on. When Sabine stepped back outside, Bonnie was still there, but speaking with a newcomer. It was Bastien, reins in hand after just returning from a ride. And once he noticed Sabine’s presence, the sentence he was going to say to Bonnie died on his lips.

“Nothing?” Bonnie repeated in disbelief. “He was practically slack jawed,” she reminded, sticking her hand out.

For the rest of that day, it seemed as though every time Bastien spoke or even looked at her he a light dusting of pink would appear on his face or stumble over his words.

Sabine looked at the girl next to her, "Has your parents told you that no one likes a busybody?" she wondered, cocking her head slightly.

"Yes, but I just don't heed their word," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

“Figures,”

“Hey, all I’m getting at is that it must be nice to have someone fancy you,” Bonnie remarked, lifting her arms up.

“Listen, we are done discussing my love life, alright?”

“Fine,” Bonnie huffed dramatically. "Back to the rest of your friends I guess,” she decided. “Those two other men, God, what are their names?" she asked, continuing her busybodying. "The lanky white man and the light skinned man," she described.

"Nathaniel and Joshua," Sabine said, supplying the names for her. "How much have you had to drink?" she joked, arching a curious brow.

"Not much!" Bonnie replied defensively. "Their names escaped me for a moment that's all," she explained. "Anyways, you never see one without the other, it's like they're joined to each other's side," she observed, her nose crinkling a little.

"Your point Bonnie,"

"I'm just saying that it's unnatural for two men to be that close," Bonnie clarified, shaking her shoulders in a faux shiver. "I wonder if they're inverts? Do you know?" she inquired, staring at Sabine. "Because that is abnormal, not to mention a sin," she stressed, making a disgusted noise.

Faintly, Sabine narrowed her eyes, "So is drinking alcohol and yet here you are," she retorted, plucking the tankard from the young girl's hand.

"Hey!"

"You have committed sinful behavior Bonnie," Sabine proclaimed. "I think you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror and think about what you've done," she lectured, shaking her head in disappointment.

"You're not serious?"

"Very," Sabine answered, smiling at her. "Go on Miss Holier Than Thou, it's time to think of all the sins you committed today," she demanded.

Rolling her eyes, Bonnie walked away from her with her arms folded, probably off to find kids within her age to engage in even more gossip. Just as Sabine placed down their tankards on top of a barrel, the slow beating of drum sounded followed by the slow draw of a fiddle.

"May I have this dance Miss?"

Sabine spun around to find the owner of the voice and stared up at a young man around her age.

"I would love to," she agreed, a small smile gracing her features.

The man gently grabbed Sabine's and led her back to the dance floor just castanets clacked in the air following the rhythm of the fiddle and drum. Her dance partner began to circle around her, trailing a hand along her shoulder before coming to stand in front of her. Taking the man's hand, the two of them began their dance. With each step they took his hand inched further and further down her back until it rested on the small of it.

Suddenly, Sabine felt herself being spun around and brought closer to his body, their bodies molding together with every step they took. She looked over the man's shoulder, spotting Bastien who looked positively livid. Sabine felt a chill run down her spine, slightly uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare.

Josef was next to him whispering god knows what, but whatever it was, Bastien's grip on his flask grew tighter as his other hand formed itself into a tight fist, to the point that his knuckles were white. A look of murderous rage was painted across his face directed at her dance partner. Not paying attention, the man brought her closer to him once more and Sabine accidentally stepped on his foot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sabine apologized, her cheeks growing warm.

The man just laughed, "It's alright, the world's not gonna end over a toe being stepped on," he reassured, as he wound his arm around her waist.

Sabine let out a soft laugh, "You're right," she concured, following his actions and resumed their dancing.

The drummer kept the rhythm of the song going as the fiddler drew their bow across the strings of the instrument, the melody evoking tantalizing emotions. As the two of them slowly circled each other, Sabine began to wonder how far she could take Bastien's jealousy. It was clear that Josef was egging him on. She glanced over in the direction of the two men finding that Bastien's eyes already boring into her.

The man brought her close to him once more, tightening his hold on her and lowered his mouth to her ear, murmuring into it. What the man said, Sabine didn't have the faintest idea. She was too busy maintaining her gaze with Bastien, but she let a sly smirk grow on her face, hoping that he would misconstrue the action.

Sabine's dance partner took her hand and spun her around, making her dissolve into a fit of giggles. Suddenly, Sabine felt herself being pulled away from her partner and dragged away.

"Sorry, I think my friend has had too much to drink," a gruff voice stated.

It was Bastien's.

His strides were long and didn't give Sabine anytime to apologize to her dance partner who was probably reasonably upset and slightly bewildered at what just happened. Tripping over her feet a few times, she managed to keep up with Bastien's pace and began yanking her arm from his grip.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she snapped, still being led away from the crowd. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked again, finally freeing her arm as they came to a stop at their home. "You can't just drag me awa-"

Before Sabine could realize what he was doing, Bastien had pulled her into his arms. Her lips parting in surprise and his mouth covered hers. Sabine was sure that she would die of shock at that moment. Her eyes were wide open and her body was stiff like it was made out of stone, but she didn't think Bastien noticed. He kept kissing her and slowly, very slowly, Sabine found herself relaxing into it.

His kiss was intoxicating.

Sabine knew if she hadn't been holding onto his arms she would melted into a puddle. How long this sweet kiss lasted, she couldn't say. It could have lasted five seconds, for five minutes, or even maybe five hours. Sabine had lost all track of time. But when their lips did detach from each other, Bastien hair was disheveled and her top was slightly askew. In the back of her mind, Sabine began to wonder how her arms ended up looped around his neck. Bastien's cheeks were flushed red, both of them a little breathless as they stared each other intently.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, his voice raspy with the same searing desire which had engulfed her.

A small smirk worked it's way on Sabine's lips, "That, and then some," she answered, still trying to catch her breath.

Letting out a half chuckle, Bastien gripped her waist and guided her backwards until she was pinned against the side of the house. He lowered his head once more, locking their lips in another heated kiss. The taste of bourbon lingering on his tongue. Sabine's fingers tangled themselves in his blond locks, while one of his hands traveled from her waist to grasping the flesh of her backside making her gasp. Moving from her lips, Bastien dropped his head down to her neck and pressed a kiss against it. His mouth trailing up and down her neck was going to be the undoing of her, not to mention his facial hair tickling her which added another level to her already heightened sensitivity.

Bastien rocked his hips against hers and Sabine released a breathy exhale, tugging on his hair.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathed heavily, immediately he lifted his head from her neck.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No, well, yes," Sabine answered, staring into his darkened pupils. "As pleasurable as this position is, I think the both of us would enjoy this moment more, behind closed doors," she explained, running a finger down his lips. "I would hate for us to be caught in such a compromising position," she added, in a suggestive tone and before she knew it, Sabine felt herself being lifted from the ground as if she weighed nothing.

With ease Bastien carried her to the front door, "Well, we wouldn't want that would we?" he questioned, a roguish smile on his face as Sabine wrapped her legs around him.

"No we wouldn't,"

Chapter Twelve: A Macabre Rite of Passage

[bumbershots]

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER TWO: MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY

Author’s note: Hello! Thanks a lot to everyone for reading this, I’m over the moon with the messages you sent after posting the first chapter. Keep them coming, and enjoy! ~ Alex

Story Masterlist ** Word count 2.3K ** 

If she was prettier and a bit smarter. If she were special, like the Instagram models that Teen Vogue features in their cover nowadays. She would have the guts to take three steps towards him and ask if he is who she thinks he is.

Harry is standing once again across from her, and she doesn't even know that he is wearing his beloved woolly jumper that has a picture of the planet Saturn on it, just for her. The girl wonders if they've heard of Styles on that planet, too. Of course they have, she scolds herself looking away from him at last, not believing her luck. For the third time on a Thursday, at half past three, he's jumping in the train right after her. The first time could've been luck, second one was a lovely coincidence but a third time? It's a charm. That's what her grandma would say.

But she isn't brave enough to walk up to him, not because of who he is, but the pressure and build up around the entire situation. What if he's a dickhead? She frowns at the thought, knowing it can't be true, not when his eyes, the so-called windows of the soul, are that nice.

They're both in a corner of the train this time, conversations start to sputter around as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot. He seems to be busy, reading Keith Richards' autobiography, she wants to talk to him about it, it's been a while since she read it though she still remembers it clear as day. The next one is his stop, she sighs in defeat at her own cowardly nature and takes out her mobile only to look busy.

Harry wants to talk to her, this is the third Thursday in a row, he's afraid there won't be a fourth one. He's back from his last meeting with Jack and Fernando, everything is set to start the renovation. He won't be taking this route anymore, it's now or never. But it's harder than he thought, to approach her and that's it, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do once he stands before her.

The speaker announces his stop, but instead of leaning away from the wall and walking out of the train, he flips the page of his book, letting the doors close and stays on the carriage for the next station. He is so nervous, a bit scared of his bold choice to stay on the line without a well defined plan. He's never been this nervous about talking to someone, the butterflies on his tummy at the mere sight of her are restless. Maybe if he scoots closer, little by little, he can nudge her side and mouth her a polite "hello," a warm smile afterwards so she doesn't think it's a come on. Except it is.

Harry closes his book, deciding that it's stupid and honesty is the best way to anything. He will just greet her and ask if he can buy her a cup of coffee someday, easy, breezy like Jack says. His green eyes follow her out of the train, they just reach Colindale station, before he can process what is going on or even move, the doors close and the vehicle is moving back to the tunnel. Away from her and his last chance. His mouth is dry and it's like he stuffed it to the brim with cotton.

He got off on Burnt Oak and switched direction, he was so mad at himself, the deep frown on his face said it all. This was supposed to be his chick flick moment and he ruined it by not doing anything at all. He keeps his face glued to the door closest to him, waiting for her to come up and smile at him in that knowing way. Perhaps then he would stand tall, mention that cup of coffee after introductions are made and she will agree. But she doesn't come back on the next station, or the three following ones. Harry gets off the train with a cloud looming above him, the wind is blowing in that nasty way that announces a storm following suit. The singer hurries to his home, trying to beat it.

The rain comes out of nowhere in full force just as Harry walks through his front gate, dashing to the inside of his house. He decides to fix himself a light lunch to keep his mind from wondering if she made it to her destination before the rain caught up with her. A text message from Jack does the trick, he sent him the address for Freddie's birthday. Harry can't believe that's tonight.

"Hello stranger," Gemma's voice greets the musician after the second ring. "All right?"

"All right, just forgot about plans I had for the evening," he hated to cancel dinner with his sister, "come with me?" Harry's tone is hopeful, she can almost picture his adorable cherub face, eyes sparkling.

"Is it with your teenage friends?" He hums trying to come up with a lie, "Harry we can have our dinner tomorrow night instead, I don't mind." As much as she loves her brother, that doesn't extend to that certain group of acquaintances.

"They're not that bad!"

"Baby brother, have fun with the lads, I'll see you tomorrow, pick me up at eight o'clock." She states before ending the call. Harry huffs before finishing his veggie wrap and jumps in the shower.

Perhaps he should've told Gemma that his mood tonight wasn't the best, that although he wanted to go out and about, he didn't want to do it alone. But her reasons to avoid his less mature group of mates are valid so he grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for the flat where the party is held.

A few years ago, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Harry genuinely loves the fittings of his outfits before tour, playing his music for thousands. But he realised, as well, that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Tonight he's hearing anecdotes of how his friends sold almost everything they owned, to be able to afford a trip to the World Cup in Russia the year before. He knows that England almost made it to the final, but to see the agony and pain reflected on Freddie's eyes as he tells the story is truly humbling and heartbreaking.

"They had to escort me out, an hour after the match ended." The birthday lad finishes with glossy eyes. "I've never felt so powerless in my life, the world just seemed so unfair from then on, you know?" Harry doesn't, but he nods and finishes his drink. "But enough about good old me, what about you?"

"Same old, touring for a while, back in British soil before I take off again." He doesn't like giving rehearsed answers to his friends, but they're surrounded by at least a dozen people carrying out their own conversations while straining to hear what Styles says.

"Thinking about the next album already?" His friend's amazement is genuine, "can't believe what you'll hit me with next!" Freddie was his rocker friend. The one with an expensive vinyl collection, the one to never miss a Rolling Stones show, the one that religiously attended Glastonbury every year. Remembering this, Harry relaxed and decided to share with him a topic that left him vulnerable.

"You can expect a lot of break up songs that's for sure," he tries to joke but Freddie's smile falters a bit.

"How long has it been?"

"It'll be a year next month." He can't believe it still feels so recent and not at the same time. "I'm getting used to it." Freddie sighs and nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry you have to go through a shit thing like that, you're one of the good ones H," the green eyed musician is blushing, waving his hand at his companion in an attempt to dismiss his words. "It's the truth I mean... look around us, Jack has been on and off with Alexis for years," the two men observe the couple they're discussing, nothing seems wrong with them but Freddie's words are true, Jack has a habit of calling it quits with the redhead once she brings up marriage. "Kiera and Mosas cheat on each other all the time, we're not even sure if they're still together at this point... last but not least you have Alf, Christophe, Ruben and myself, four emotionally unavailable men who can't commit because they can't get their shit together." Silence takes over the two friends, it's deafening even though the background music can be heard loud and clear.

"I made some shitty decisions too, that's what drove her away," Harry wants to continue, the tequila shots seemed to have loosened his tongue.

"No, no, no you listen to me," Freddie's hands hold his younger friend's face carefully. "I know you're not a dishonest scummy man, you're allowed to make mistakes in a relationship and learn from them... don't be like Alf," he lets Harry's face go and nods towards the tallest guy in the room, "he had a brief relationship with a Portuguese girl, charmed her socks off and when she planned to move here guess what he did?"

"What?" Harry knew the answer, but he wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

"He cuts her off! Ghosting is what they call it nowadays. Just like that... and you think he learned, except that he doesn't!" His friend is now sounding too frustrated. "I saw him do the same thing to Al, perhaps it was a bit different she already lived here but she wanted more and just—" he can't finish his thought and Harry feels for his friend. "We all do that, it's a trend."

"Must be something in the water." The curly one tries to joke and he earns a soft smile from the birthday guy, along with a heartwarming hug. "You can always ring me Freddie, to chat and if I'm home see each other." Harry knows this is something new in their friendship, but he feels it necessary, after so many years of knowing each other. He can tell that Freddie is trying to find his way into adulthood, something that Harry had to experience at a much younger age due to his career.

"Thanks mate, I would really like that." Harry is about to ask Freddie about his family's well-being when a figure entering the room caught his eye, she was wearing the burgundy coat like that first Thursday he was lucky enough to lay eyes on her, high-waisted trousers. The newsboy cap was missing though, but he was glad because it gave her curly hair the freedom it lacked before.

Of all the places where he thought they might meet again, his friend's birthday party was certainly not on the list. She was here, greeting Jack and the others, pulling her sleeve to show how uncomfortable she was at making small talk with Alexis and Keira. She has to crane her neck up a bit when talking to, well pretty much anyone in the room.

This is the miracle he's been waiting for, he thinks just as the song changes to The Beach Boys' and a small smirk threatens to expand on Harry's lips, he does want to ask her if she wants to dance like the sixties tune suggested.

"Harry it's nice to see you again!" Fernando stands in the way blocking the view between the musician and the tube girl. He cringes a bit at the nickname and makes a mental note to learn her name, the sooner the better.

"Fer, I have missed you since we last saw each other earlier today," the architect laughs and so does Freddie. "Would you like a beer?" Forever polite Harry asks.

"No, I'm driving tonight but I'll fetch one for my sister," he says stepping around the bar where Harry and Freddie have been leaning against for the past hour, "I'm starving though, do you mind if I order something Fred?"

"I have some pizza in the fridge man, help yourself." Fernando thanks him before nodding to the person standing behind Harry.

"This beer alright?" Harry turns around just in time to meet a pair of chocolate eyes staring at the guy behind the bar and nod in acceptance. "You already know Freddie and this is Harry," the curly guy is speechless, now up close she seems prettier than before and real. "Harry this is my sister Alma." She smiles in a sweet way that makes the pop star wonder if he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

"I saw you in the tube, Hampstead station guy!" Her voice was nothing like he had imagined, it was raspy and a hint of an accent he couldn't quite put his finger on was swimming through her words.

"That's me..." he admitted, the pink blush from his cheekbones migrating to his ears. Alma thought he looked adorable.

"Do you wanna dance?" She asked after a big gulp of her beer. All star by Smash Mouth just started playing, that was definitely not what Harry wanted to dance with her. Not that he had a secret plan to woo her with his moves, he wasn't the best dancer.

But he took her hand and let her lead the way to the unofficial dance floor, that on a regular day was the dining room. Oblivious to all the eyes focusing on them, Harry allowed himself to enjoy the unexpected turn of events, he had already wasted precious time not talking to this marvellous woman. Like Freddie said, he had to learn from his mistakes, instead of repeating them.

///

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Next chapter

[songofclarity]

Heliocentric

[ Ch. 1 | MDZS Fanfic | Novel-verse AU ]

Canon Divergent AU in which Wen RuoHan gets to live and Nie MingJue has to survive

Or: Nie Mingjue's Very Bad No Good Fire Palace Adventure

Read on AO3

Rating: Mature

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Sick Fic, Angst (with a happy ending)

Ships: Lan XiChen/Nie MingJue, non-con Wen RuoHan/Nie MingJue

Notes: For @whumptober2020 Day 1. This chapter ended up becoming an adaption/rewrite of the original Sun Palace scene, now from Nie MingJue’s POV. The quotes were translated by ERS. This, however, is where the canon timeline ends and the AU begins.

Chapter One: Shackled

The two chains ran from his shackled wrists to the collars around his sect disciples' necks. If Nie MingJue tried to break free by yanking his wrists apart to snap the metal binding his hands together, he would surely kill one disciple in the process. Most likely both.

But with his spirit energy low and his body an exposed nerve crying out with each lurch of the wagon, he could do little more than frown at the blurred shape of his hands, at palms darkened with dirt and blackened blood.

Using his own sect disciples to bind him. The Wen-dogs had learned a new trick.

“I think the bleeding has stopped, Sect Leader.” Dai Zhongyu pulled the cloth away from Nie MingJue's head and took the relieving pressure with it. Nie MingJue nearly sighed when the cloth was pressed back.

The two disciples, Dai Zhongyu and Wu Xihui, who perched on the edge of her seat as if the chain wouldn’t hold her back, didn’t seem too badly hurt. The others trailed behind the wagon, shackled together in a single line with the Wens bordering them on both sides.

The wagon creaked and rattled up the pass. Above them, the moon was nothing more than a sliver. Wen RuoHan had been with them at the beginning of the journey, but he'd left them in the care of his subordinates once the battle was through. If it could be called a battle.

Wu Xihui spoke just loud enough for Nie MingJue to hear. “I see Nightless City.”

Nie MingJue closed his eyes and took a slow, meditative breath. The second fight would be harder than the first.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Wu Xihui said again after several minutes, an evident hesitancy to disturb him. Her voice was quieter than ever but resolute as steel. “You can't go in there.”

Can’t I? he thought gruffly, but he did not have the energy to chastise this time.

Wen RuoHan had had Nie MingJue by the throat at Yangquan and could have ended it there. But after nearly three years of fighting, with Nie MingJue having taken Wen Xu's life personally, this would not be a clean end. Not with Wen RuoHan.

“We didn't expect to make it out of that ambush alive,” Dai Zhongyu continued, the start of an offer which Nie MingJue refused to hear out.

“Enough,” he told them, and at the sound of his voice the ring of swords unsheathing cascaded around them.

“We told you before: no talking!” barked one of the Wen-dogs.

“Sect Leader Nie needs water and bandages!” Dai Zhongyu retorted just as loudly.

Sitting right by Nie MingJue's right ear, he wished he wouldn't.

“We don't take orders from you.” The Wen-dog climbed up onto the moving wagon. His sword held in his right hand.

Nie MingJue had half a mind to grab it, but the chains were short and the action would yank on the collars and make a pile of them all.

The Wen-dog caught him looking, and sneered. "You still plan to fight, Nie MingJue? Even after Sect Leader Wen used your blood to wash the floor?"

The butt of the blade struck Nie MingJue in the forehead without warning. It was the kind of strike he'd taken a dozen times in the training yard. He'd wear the bump for a few days and be mindful of the soreness afterwards. Nie HuaiSang, twelve years old, had laughed at the vermilion mark.

“Are you opening your mind to wisdom at last, Da-ge?”

“That you need to study more, yes. XiChen tells me Cloud Recesses can help you if I can't—”

“No, no, no! I think you need a more vermilion mark, Da-ge, yours has begun to pale. Such wisdom is not good at all!”

The strike of this hilt near broke his skull in half by the feel of it. The world turned to a piercing white before everything went black.

        Nie MingJue stood at the center of the hall and no one dared approach him. They had removed the shackles. Even though his body had protested, he had taken the sword of that Wen-dog or another, it did not matter, but the jet black floor was littered with the lot of their bodies now.

He'd lost the sword at some point. Now he stood with a tenuous balance. A breeze would have pushed him over but the doors and windows were all soundly shut. Closing his eyes, he was alone for but a moment, standing in nothing but a body of broken bones. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull pressure that was almost blissfully numb compared to everything else. His eyelashes stuck with dried, clotted blood as he opened them again.

The room was a blurred haze. Figures identifiable by the colors of their robes rather than their faces.

He could pick out his own disciples by their uniforms. Not all of them had survived the march, killed some point between Nie MingJue losing conscious in the wagon and their arrival at the Sun Palace.

Nie MingJue lifted his head.

Wen RuoHan had not moved from his jade throne. With his face blurred beyond recognition, there was no expression to consider. At Yangquan there had been amused crimson eyes and a cruel edge to his grin when Nie MingJue had rushed forward with Baxia. Wen RuoHan was twice his age and his cultivation greater still. Great enough to sustain his youth, but youthful appearance was where their similarities ended.

Injured as he was, if Nie MingJue had Baxia in his hand once more, they would not be standing quietly in this hall as if waiting for something else to happen.

Nie MingJue could feel his death was imminent, but he would take a piece out of Wen RuoHan before that happened.

The wait ended with the doors opening behind them. Nie MingJue did not turn to look, but soon more Wen disciples in robes decorated with sun and flames shuffled across the floor on their knees. The grandeur of the Wens, he would have sneered during better times, to treat their own disciples like the lowest of servants.

Or to treat Wen RuoHan like a cultivator who had already become a god.

One lone Wen-dog approached on foot, and approached Nie MingJue after greeting his master.

“Sect Leader Nie,” said a voice tinged with laughter, “long time no see.”

It was a voice Nie MingJue had not heard for years. It incited forgotten sparks of anger he had long-since let cool.

Meng Yao.

Of all the things that flashed in Nie MingJue's mind, the first was this: he looked well. His eyes were bright, his smile small and polite, and his robes were still pristine in such a way that even Nie MingJue had been forced to take notice when he'd elevated Meng Yao to be his lieutenant, as if Meng Yao had brushed off more than the sweat and dirt of carrying water back and forth to camp.

Nie MingJue had also been forced to take notice of Meng Yao murdering that Jin captain, and forced again to notice that Meng Yao was full of trickery and deceit. Nie MingJue had no expectation that Meng Yao had arrived to heal Nie MingJue's wounds as Nie MingJue had once healed his.

Meng Yao continued to speak as if two years ago, one year ago, Nie MingJue wouldn't have killed him on the spot. Or perhaps he did know. “I never would’ve expected you to be in such a terrible situation.”

But just as it was impossible to build a fire with the kindling collapsed and no room for breathe, Nie MingJue could not hold fast to his anger for strength.

“Get lost,” Nie MingJue said. That Meng Yao wore robes with the sun and flames told him more than he needed to know. So this was why he had never been able to find him. His old lieutenant had chosen to lie down with the dogs.

Just as he thought this, Meng Yao's laughter, dipping low with pity, made the hair on the back of Nie MingJue's neck stand up.

“Do you still think you’re the king of Hejian? Look carefully—this is Sun Palace.”

Nie MingJue looked down on him silently.

“I heard something quite interesting when I arrived today, MingJue-xiong,” Lan XiChen said.

“What did you hear?”

“A pair of young disciples were speaking of the King of Hejian.”

Nie MingJue frowned. “They'll need to study their books again. There is no such person.”

Lan XiChen's eyes widened but there was a gleam of innocent delight, “Please don't tell me you don't know!” He hid a breath of a laughter behind his sleeve and turned to the man sitting with them. “A-Yao, surely you can tell us all about this mysterious cultivator—”

“Sun Palace?” It was Dai Zhongyu. “It’s only the den of the Wen-dogs!”

Meng Yao stepped towards him and Nie MingJue heard more than saw the sword unsheathe.

A blade slicing through flesh could be mistaken for nothing else, as was the drop of a body hitting the floor when it had taken its final breath.

Dai Zhongyu did not utter a single sound. But the other disciples did. The hall roared with yells and hollers as the Nie disciples made their move. Nie MingJue had told them to stand back, but they were past that now. Their Sect Leader was spent and while they had no sabers in hand, they were not powerless.

Even Nie MingJue saw red as the blood flowed across the jet black floor. “You!”

“You Wen-dog!” Wu Xihui yelled over Nie MingJue. “If you’re so confident, why don’t you kill me as well?”

And Meng Yao did without flinching, slicing a red path across Wu Xihui's throat. For a moment Nie MingJue couldn't feel the pain in his body, couldn't feel anything at all. Meng Yao stood in a pool of blood, the sect disciples he had once joined forces with now lying at his feet.

“Sure,” Meng Yao said, smiling at Dai Zhongyu and Wu Xihui's bodies. “Does anyone else want to say the word?”

The heat of Nie MingJue's anger was burnt out. Now there was nothing but ice lodged in his chest as he spoke, unafraid, knowing from the moment he was captured that they would kill him at Wen RuoHan's feet anyway.

With careful enunciation as if his words carved through stone, he spoke: “Wen-dog.”

The sword pointing towards the ground did not, however, rise to meet him. Rather, Meng Yao smiled at him, pleasantly as ever. And still the sword did not move as he instead gestured for a Wen disciple to shuffle over on his knees.

So Meng Yao wasn't going to let Nie MingJue die that easily. Nie MingJue flickered a glance to Wen RuoHan, who continued to sit and watch quietly.

“Sect Leader Nie," Meng Yao said, drawing Nie MingJue's reluctant attention back, “why don’t you take a look at what this is?”

The Wen disciple had brought a slender box, the lid now open.

Baxia rested in Meng Yao's hands.

Nie MingJue preferred the numbing cool of ice, but the sight of Baxia, of Baxia held in Meng Yao's traitorous hands, infuriated him beyond measure, beyond words.

All he could get out was the same as before: “Get lost, now!”

“Sect Leader Nie,” Meng Yao soothed, only enraging Nie MingJue further, “Baxia had been in my hands quite a few times in the past. Don’t you think it’s already too late for you to be angry now?”

“Take your hand off it!”

Not only did Meng Yao not put Baxia down, he took a step closer. “Sect Leader Nie, your saber, I’d say, can pass as a top-tier spiritual weapon. With that said, compared to the saber of your father, the previous Sect Leader Nie, it’s still somewhat inferior.”

Nie MingJue would kill him—

“Why don’t you take a guess at how many times Sect Leader Wen has to slap it for it to break this time?” His smile had not shifted in the slightest and he spoke light and almost gentle. Without Nie MingJue noticing, Meng Yao had closed the distance between them.

The tension and rage which filled Nie MingJue almost made him pass out for want of breath. Blood pounded in his ears. His body shook. Everything had turned numb and he could feel nothing – nothing except the fury churning in him like a rising storm.

The bleeding bodies of his dead sect disciples. The bleeding body of his injured father on the forest floor.

The shattered saber. The qi deviation six months later.

All the people his father took down with him while cursing Wen RuoHan's name on his lips.

Wen-dogs! Meng Yao!

Meng Yao staggered back from the blow as Nie MingJue struck him. That Meng Yao was still standing, that he only coughed up a mouthful of blood, was a harsh reminder of the pitiful state Nie MingJue was in.

And all it took was a single kick to send Nie MingJue crashing to the ground. The back of his head struck the tile and knocked the air from his lungs. He clawed onto consciousness as the anger in Meng Yao's face finally bloomed, a face now towering above him.

“How dare you act in such a way before Sect Leader Wen’s eyes!” Meng Yao snapped, stomping his booted foot on Nie MingJue's chest.

The sword came next, stabbing downward.

Nie MingJue's palm struck the sword on the broadside. The metal shattered in a maelstrom of silver. Shards rained down upon him, landing harmlessly on his tightly woven robes and peppering his skin with cuts, but it was Meng Yao losing balance, nearly falling over headfirst. And it was that head that Nie MingJue raised his hand and moved to strike.

Wen RuoHan moved.

Meng Yao vanished from above him as Nie MingJue was yanked out from underneath. The high ceiling streamed past as Nie MingJue's body was dragged across the floor like a doll. The pain was blinding.  The wound in his head tearing open. He didn't have the spiritual energy to fight the pull. The smooth floor offered him nothing to grab onto. Wen RuoHan and the jade seat grew closer and larger by the moment.

Sliding through a gap between the row of kneeling Wen disciples, Nie MingJue grabbed onto the nearest one. The invisible tether pulling Nie MingJue pulled them both. Although the disciple hollered in protest, the additional weight did nothing to slow him down.

All he could do was stop the source.

Nie MingJue bore down and threw the disciple at Wen RuoHan.

What happened next made what Nie MingJue had done to Wen Xu appear a kindness. The disciples head reached Wen RuoHan first and Wen RuoHan raised a hand to meet him. The explosion was immediate. The body fell to the ground. Pieces of flesh and bone burst and splattered in a cloud of red rain.

Nie MingJue's journey across the floor halted. He would need to stay out of arms reach, but he had to move closer than this. He needed Baxia.

Leaping to his feet on the rush of the fight, he formed the familiar seal with his hands. The answer was immediate, as it always was. The cool hilt slid into his outstretched palm and fingers curled around it.

It was all the reassurance he needed. He always knew Baxia would be with him at the end.

“Sect Leader, watch out!” Meng Yao shouted from far away.

His only regret was that he hadn't taken care of Meng Yao first.

In front of Nie MingJue, the blurred face of Wen RuoHan let out a burst of mad, youthful laughter as if there were nothing more than a game. “Let it be!”

But the Wen-dogs, dozens of them, had already surrounded Wen RuoHan and his jade throne all the same. So Nie MingJue took care of them just as he had done with all the others during the Sunshot Campaign.

He let Baxia cut them in half as easily as slicing through paper.

Baxia drew the spiritual energy out of him like blood from a stone. The pain was gone. His blood ran hot—

He felt Wen RuoHan before he saw him. A specter traveling at great speed in a rush of white and red fabric. Nie MingJue slashed again. If Wen RuoHan touched him, he was dead. If Baxia touched Wen RuoHan, Wen RuoHan might die, for no matter his cultivation level, he was made of flesh and bone just like all the others.

Instead of cutting through Wen RuoHan, his strike tore open the floor like a jagged scar and sent tile and stone scattering in an explosion of dust.

And still the flat of Wen RuoHan's palm found an opening right on Nie MingJue’s chest.

Nie MingJue's feet left the floor and he crashed into one of the golden pillars. Both breath and blood escaped from his lips and blood trickled down his forehead, right between his eyes. His vision blurred worse than before and when a figure approached him, he struggled to keep his eyes focused on him.

It was then that he realized Baxia had fallen from his grip. Nie MingJue waved his arm with a heady strike.

He found nothing but air.

A solid fist struck his chest this time. He felt more than one rib crack as the room shifted and spun. His head struck tile again and his body cracked straight through the floor in another pile of broken stone.

His ears rung. He couldn’t move.

A new boot stood upon on his chest. The edges of his vision darkened. His lungs were heavy and he gasped for breath, with blood gurgling from the back of his mouth as he coughed.

He had lost in two moves. He hadn't been able to land a hit a single strike on Wen RuoHan, not at Yungquan, not in Nightless City...

“Your subordinate is useless to have needed your presence, Sect Leader,” said Meng Yao, his voice much closer now but outside of view.

Good, Nie MingJue thought distantly. Surely he would come back as a fierce corpse if he had to die with Meng Yao smiling down upon him.

“You good-for-nothing.” The two of them laughed. Nie MingJue felt the subtle vibration through the boot on top of him. “He's the one who killed Wen Xu?”

“That's right. It was him.” Although it was no secret, for Nie MingJue had the head hung up for all the Wen to see, Meng Yao spoke with an eagerness that gave Nie MingJue no doubt that Meng Yao wanted him dead. And yet— “Sect Leader, are you going to kill your foe right now, or drag him to the Fire Palace? My personal suggestion is to take him to the Fire Palace.”

Wen RuoHan was on the verge of killing Nie MingJue outright. A better death than Nie MingJue had dared to expect. Nie MingJue’s eye twitched.

He should have killed Meng Yao!

“Why mop around with someone who’s already half-dead?” Several ribs were already broken and their edges felt like broken glass as Wen RuoHan twisted his heel. The darkness closed in even as Nie MingJue fought against it, raged against it, but he could not will his battered body to move.

“Now, that’s not the way to go about this,” Meng Yao said with a familiar playful politeness that ripped apart old memories. “With Sect Leader Nie’s sturdy body, he might become all great and mighty again after just a few days of rest.”

Nie MingJue tried to shake his head. The highest he could see was the knee of Wen RuoHan's robes, yet it seemed far away, as if Nie MingJue lay at the bottom of the well and Wen RuoHan at the top.

“Do as you please.”

If they did allow Nie MingJue to recover his strength… Then Nie MingJue would…

“Yes.”

Everything went quiet, and Nie MingJue thought he had passed out, until a thin cold light—

“Do you plan to take him back in pieces?” Wen RuoHan asked. The laughter was gone and something weightier had lodged in its place.

“Even half dead, Sect Leader Nie is vicious when cornered. I dare not seek Sect Leader Wen's help a second time.”

Nie MingJue realized Meng Yao must have drawn his sword.

“Are you frightened of him?”

“I know he is no match for you, Sect Leader, but for one such as I…”

“If he does become as mighty again as you suggest—” The heel on Nie MingJue's chest pushed down as if pushing the life out of him— “I might like to see him again. What did you call him earlier?”

“The King of Hejian.”

Wen RuoHan laughed. "Not anymore."

And Nie MingJue at last closed his eyes.

[ --> Ch. 2 ]

[twit-moonstar]

i fall to pieces: chapter one - roger taylor x fem!reader

N/A: Hey! This is just the first chapter of this little mini series I’ll do. I was intending on doing a big ass one shot but I can’t force myself to finish it so I decided to post what I have and see if there’s actually any interest on reading this. It’s a 80s Roger x Stripper!Reader, in case the little banner didn’t gave it away. Let me know your opinion and reblog the fic if you liked it <3

N/A2: I edited this myself, so pardon me if there’s any grammar mistake or incoherence! (Doesn’t excuse me but) English it’s not my first languaje.

Summary:  When Y/N, a dancer at the Blue Velvet stripclub mets rockstar Roger Taylor, she’s torn between mistrust and flirting shamelessly but little by little they find a way to each other’s heart.

Warnings: There’s no smut in this bc i’m not up for it but there will be a few references to sex.

Words: roughly 3K

“Bring you ass here, Laura!” exclaimed Coco and you rejected the various shots that Laura offered you before she walked to Coco with a simple gesture of your hand. Applying the deep wine lipstick carefully, you smile in different ways in the mirror to try to get into this persona you had created for the club.

Working on the club night after night was taking its toll over you, and you were in desperate need of a vacation but you wouldn’t dare to ask Mike about it. Your rent was due in a week and you still needed a few pounds to get the amount of money you needed.

Maybe I should go on that date with that guy, Tate, you think. You already know him and how his crushes tended to go for the girl he had put his eye on—The fortunate chosen one would end up with a new shiny pair of brand shoes and a gold bracelet or a diamond necklace, all of that without even sleeping with him. Of course, those who did sleep with him could get a whole lot more but that wasn’t something that you were thrilled for— and he was certainly interested in you.

You walk out of the dressing room. The club wasn’t yet at its fullest, as it was fairly early yet. The lights, however, were starting to get lowered and soon the place would be bathed in blue and red.

“Busy night, Karma?” asks the new barmaid, Matt, you think. He’s been trying to get into your pants ever since he started to work, but you never pay him any attention.

“Not yet, Matthew,” you reply, passing by without looking at him and walking straight to a group of three men drinking beer and watching to one in particular.

They seem delighted with your presence as if you had chosen them for some special reason. By the end of two songs, you’re fifty pounds richer. It’s not the most you can get, but you’re tired and at this point of the week you don’t even care.

You walk to the bar and observe the club. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but it felt cheery enough for you after all this time. Sometimes it scared you how comfortable you felt there but you had to remember why you had started to work in a place like this.

A group of men enters, laughing at some joke probably, and they stumble to one of the black velvet sofas. As a dancer of the well-known Blue Velvet strip club—or as the owner preferred to call it ‘gentleman’s club’—, it wasn’t uncommon to see band members around. The almost-naked girls were beautiful and the alcohol was the good kind if you had the money, who wouldn’t be attracted to come? So when you recognise at least two of them as Roger Taylor and John Deacon, you’re not surprised.

You walk to the pole that’s right in front of them and start dancing, without looking at them at first, just to catch their attention. Bet they’re good money, you through, lucky me.

Much to your surprise, Roger requests for a private dance, just for him. That flattered you; you wouldn’t deny it. Rockstars usually picked someone else—like Ginger, with her long legs and big ass, or Coco, who had straight blonde hair and nice tits.

Of course, you had your charms, but usually, you would give private dances for rich and boring businessmen in suits. Never someone as exciting as Queen’s drummer.

With his blonde hair, mischievous blue eyes, and delicate yet strong features, he was, by far, the most attractive man you had ever met.

Despite your nervousness, you flashed him a flirty smile that he returned as you led him to a private room. He sits down on the black leather couch while you pour him a glass of whiskey.

“You don’t drink?” He says, taking a gulp and licking his lips afterward. You shake your head no with a little smile.

“I don’t drink while working, Mr. Taylor.”

He asked you then to not call him mister, to which you replied with a smile and an amused ‘yes, sir.’

“What’s your name?”

“Karma,” you replied simply, walking to the little selection of vinyl you had to play. “Do you like Pink Floyd? Or maybe Led Zeppelin?”

You know there’s a lot of magazines that gather trivial information like what’s his favourite band, or book, and even actress, but you never bother to buy them. You’re not greatly interested in keeping up with the life of any rockstar, to be honest. You’re quite busy trying to keep up with your own life.

He cocks his head slightly to the side, thinking for a moment before ignoring your question. “Why did you pick it?”

You weren’t bothered by his curiosity, although not many had asked you about it. 

You had earned your nickname in your first week when you slapped a guy when he tried to undress you himself. Whereas some of the girls believed you would be instantly fired, the owner warned you against taking the matter into your own hands next time and let it slide, saying you had to call security next time—unless it was urgent.

To the exception of a few regular clients, who had already heard the story, men usually came to ogle over your body and not to learn anything about you.

“Because I’ll punch anyone who has it coming,” you reply.

“When is that?”

“When someone tries to piss me off trying to get way too handsy when I don’t allow it,” you say with a light and joyous tone. Oh, how you would be happy to throw a punch or two to some idiots that believed that could touch with no consequences because you were wearing little clothes. You had gained pretty much all of your patience just working here.

He took the glass to his mouth again to cover a nascent smile, but you notice the corner of his lips curving upwards. 

It made you smile as well.

Despite the more than a generous tip that Roger gave you, you didn’t think he would come back and were pleasantly surprised to see him again two weeks later.

There was a certain lustful glow on his deep blue eyes, and you would lie if you said that the prospect of having his hands all over you didn’t send a jolt of desire straight to your core.

So you decided to end your dance by sitting on his lap, giving him a proper view of your almost naked tits, and taking his hands to slide them to your ass. 

A little flirting never hurt anyone, you think.

He grinned at you. “You’re not gonna hit me, right, love?”

“Of course not, sir.”

He squeezed your ass and you grinded against him trying your best to follow the rhythm of the music.

“When does your shift end?”

You almost stop on your tracks at the question but you laugh softly instead.

“We only provide dancing services, sir. Don’t let your hands on my ass confuse you,” you replied teasingly, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t seem offended by the insinuation on your word’s choice but instead amused.

“I was planning on wine and dine you.”

This time you do stop moving and look at him, slowly getting out of his lap and standing in front of him. The music keeps playing, but you don’t move at all as you watch him carefully, searching for any hint of…

What were you looking exactly? Something in his eyes that gave away his true intentions, probably, since you always guided yourself by your mistrust when it came to people, especially men who were older than you.

“You did, huh?”

He’s obviously only interested in seeing what’s down the skimpy lingerie, right?

But he seems sincere, so you smile. “Fine.”

“Can I get your real name now, love? I think I deserve to know with whom I am having dinner,” he asked, and you rolled your eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name, like savouring every syllable in his tongue, made your heart give a little jump on your chest. “Nice.”

Despite Roger’s best efforts to impress you and convince you to stay a night at his place, it takes two dates more before you finally agree to do so.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed you have enjoyed very much the expensive wine and fancy restaurants, but you truly enjoy his company and there’s this feeling that if you sleep with him once you will never see him again.

Not that you can see getting involved in a romantic relationship with him, but if you can just spend time with Roger, then you would take the most advantage out of it you could. 

“Sit down, put yourself comfortable,” he says, walking into what you assume it’s the kitchen and you nod.

You observe the spacious place. The walls are painted with a warm cream colour, which doesn’t exactly match the wooden furniture, like the shelving on the corner. You’re surprised to see the great number of books and before you realise you’re standing in front of the shelving, caressing delicately a book spine.

You take one out and look at the cover. On the road by Jack Kerouac. 

“That’s one of my favourites,” Roger’s voice says on your ear and you jump a little on your spot, which makes him smile. “Have you read it?”

“No. I was about to buy it once, but I choose another,” you say, opening a random page and reading whatever it catches your attention.

«"I love love," she said, closing her eyes, and I promised her beautiful love.”»  You smiled. Would it be just a coincidence that you had read exactly that paragraph?

“What’s so funny?” he asks and you read it out loud for him. Roger looks into the nothing, his blue gaze deep in thought. 

“That’s a good chapter,” he says simply and you nod, without knowing what to say. 

Had been reading something like that a too-bold of a movement? You didn’t expect anything from him, you couldn’t have the luxury to fantasize about him. A few dates can’t mean anything, do they?There’s a strange shift in the air, and you hate it. Ten minutes ago you were laughing and whispering silly things on the corridor while trying to open the flat’s door.

“Do you have something to drink?” you say softly.

“You can keep the book if you want,” Roger said and you looked at the book on your hands. It’s in good condition, which means it’s either new or he hasn’t read it that many times, but he said it’s his favourite and you feel a little bad thinking about taking it.

 “Oh, no, that’s fine. I couldn’t,” you say, shaking your head and leaving the book on its place.

“If you don’t want to keep it, you can borrow it.”

“I’ll think about it. Now, what about that drink, uh?”

“Yeah, yeah. You like white wine?”

“Actually, do you have something without alcohol?” you ask, sheepishly, and he nods. 

“Of course. You like Cola?”

You both sit down on the couch, facing each other, and drinking.“Y’know, we have been in three dates but I don’t think I know much about you,” he says and you bit your lower lip softly, which only brings his attention to your lips. He’s making conversation before fucking or is interested in knowing you? Men usually weren’t interested in hearing whatever you had to say, it was the sad truth and you had already gotten used to it. 

“Nothing worth of telling you, to be honest,” you shrug, taking a sip of your drink. 

“That’s a load of crap, and I don’t buy it,” he replies and you smile, before leaving the glass on the little coffee table. Getting closer to him, you finally connected your lips to his. It tastes of wine and the cigarette that he had been smoking earlier while driving.

“Let’s go to your bedroom,” you whisper before deepening the kiss. He pulls apart, getting up and taking your hand to lead the way. Chit chat can come later if he still wants to be around after fucking. 

You’re the first to wake up the next morning so you try to be as quiet as possible as you roll out of bed and go to the toilet to refresh yourself a little. You wash your face, trying to get rid of the eyeshadow under your eye as much as possible, and after you’re satisfied you tie your hair on a loose ponytail. 

You’re already dressed, so all you need to do is get your bag and coat, write him a note or say goodbye if he’s awake and leaves. You open the toilet door and go to the living. Just as you’re putting on your coat, Roger gets out of the kitchen with a water bottle on his hand and smiles at you like he’s thinking gotcha.

“Stay for breakfast?”

“I got things to do,” you lie quickly. Roger raises an eyebrow, probably questioning your answer. 

You’re one to value honesty but right now, you can’t bring yourself to spend more time with him. He’ll start to ask questions and that’s the last thing you want, as much as you like his company.

“Really? I’m starting to think you’re just using me for sex,” he says, with mocking hurt and you try not to smile. 

“That’s a low blow,” you accuse.“What you got?”

“Coffee, toast and pop tarts,” he recites with closed eyes like he’s mentally looking through his cupboard. 

You think he probably doesn’t have a lot of food right now since it’s the last days of the months. You wondered if someone did shopping for him and when was the last time he did? Did he ever do that? Was he able to do it now, being famous and all? 

“What flavour?” 

“Strawberry?”

“I want two,” you demand. Roger just nods with a smile. 

You walk inside the kitchen and sit on a stool by the breakfast bar and observe Roger preparing breakfast. He’s wearing a white shirt and black sweatpants; his hair is dishevelled but it gives him certain charm.

“You slept well?” Roger asks, placing your coffee in front of you. 

“Yeah, I think I can confidently say your bed is the most comfortable I’ve slept in.”

“You’re welcomed in again whenever you please,” he winks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Shut up,” you reply, taking a bit of your pop tart but you’re smiling.

“I’m serious, though, I’d love to repeat that. Dinner included, of course.”

“We’ll see,” you just say.

A long beat happens before you speak again. “Why are you so interested in me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he says, sipping on his cup.

You sigh. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I’m just saying it’s strange.”

He raises an eyebrow, and his blue eyes are inquisitive, looking at your face like he could find on your eyes the answer to your constant changes between being apprehensive and flirting shamelessly. “Why?”

“Because I- I thought men like you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me?”

“Someone like you?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think I can be interesting and, maybe, a good company but you could be with anyone you want,” you state like it’s obvious like it’s the kind of thing every man with a highly successful career thinks.

“And I want to spend my time with you, guess it’s because you’re good company,” he states, matter of factly but your expression must give away that you’re not so convinced so he takes one of your hands and interlocks your fingers.

“Look, I like you and as long as you’re willing to entertain my interest on you, I’m gonna keep asking you out.”He looks at your hands for a second before looking up to see you smiling down at him.

“Fine. I like you too, you know?”

“I know,” he replies with a cheeky smile.

“But I gotta go,” you say and he lets go of your hand. 

“Can I pass to the toilet?“

“Go ahead, you know where it is.”

After you’re done, you get out of the toilet to put your coat on and get your purse. However, you’re not exactly sure of how to say goodbye, so you stand awkwardly in front of him, close by the door.

“C’mere,” he chuckles, softly pushing you flush against him and cradling your face to kiss your lips with delicately.

“See ya soon, love.” He opens the door and you step outside on the corridor.

“Goodbye, Rog. Thanks for yesterday, I enjoyed it very much,” you smile.

He grins. “Well, of course ya did.”

“Don’t get too cocky now, Taylor, you lean towards him, your mouth close to his ear. “It wasn’t me begging last night, after all,” you whisper and kiss his cheek quickly, like fearing being seen, and start walking to the elevator.

He watches you with a smile until the elevator door closes.

[archeo-starwars]

Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 5: Zenith of the Republic (p. III)

NIGHTFALL ON RUUSAN

Jason Fry: I thought this was one of my “with” author’s nicer pieces of work, and I’m really happy to get to showcase it here. Honestly, it probably got cut because all the dialogue made it a very cost-effective subtraction. But enough of my yapping. Paul?

Paul Urquhart: The Battle of Ruusan is supposed to be a big date in Star Wars history, the equivalent of Gettysburg or Waterloo. The trouble is, everything obvious about Ruusan has been said already — so I wanted to approach the story from a new angle and create some characters whose attitudes didn’t necessarily run in the directions the reader might expect. I also took the opportunity to explore an idea I feel is slightly underused: when Jedi knighthood becomes hereditary, an ancestral lightsaber might end up in the hands of someone who isn’t very good at using the Force.

Erich Schoeneweiss: It was pieces like this that proved very difficult for me. The Essential Guides are meant to be nonfiction books set within a fictional universe. The reality is it’s all fiction, but I strive to maintain the feel of a nonfiction book in these guides to the galaxy far far away. What was happening in The Essential Guide to Warfare was that Jason and Paul were writing short stories for some of the sidebars. My concern was that if there were too many of these, the book would start to feel more like an anthology than a nonfiction reference book. There were cases in which these shorts really added a nice flavor to the book and new insights into what Jason and Paul were writing about in the main body text. “Clone Trooper Falls in a Hole…” on page 80 is a perfect example: It’s a first-person account of a clone trooper’s experience during the Battle of Geonosis, and enhanced the entire chapter. “Nightfall on Ruusan” is a good story and solid writing, but Jason had already written about the Battle of Ruusan and the consequences to the galaxy in the text. So in our constant struggle with too much of a good thing this was one of the good things that had to be cut. I’m happy for Paul that you all get to read it now.

From “I, Corellian: Ruusan and Reformation”

I found myself staring into gray infinity. Eventually I realized I was looking up into the sky, lying flat on my back between the rain and the mud.

Someone was watching me. I turned my head and looked at her.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on the hood of a crashed command skimmer, sheathed in black armor, tight-fitting and glossy with rain. She had a long polearm held casually across her lap, a lanvarok with a wicked bardiche blade.

Her hair hung in dark braids around her cheeks. Her bare shoulders were tan from outdoor living. Her eyes, when they found my gaze, were ebony, flecked with gold.

“You’re still alive,” she smiled, as if it was funny.

Now I remembered. I’d been her prisoner. My hands were still tied. Groaning, I sat up, and looked around.

The battlefield was empty. The knights and lords were all gone, leaving just the rain and mud—and a few survivors abandoned even by the dead. The broken hulks of armored vehicles still rested where they’d sunk into the mire, big guns pointing at the ground. And here and there, I could see slanted lances, damp, tattered pennons lifting in the wind.

But that was all.

The Republic cleaned the wreckage up afterwards, and carved a big memorial out of the cliff face in the Valley – a clumsy statement, a way for the real victors to impose the wrong meaning on the war. That evening, the wreckage looked beautiful.

Hauling myself up to my feet — painfully — I looked at her.

“Githany was right,” the girl said, talking as much to the wind as to me. “She said Bane had kriffed Kaan’s head, tricked him into this stupidity.”

“Who’s left?” I asked. It came out as a whisper.

“My lords are all gone,” she said, not meeting my eyes. She held a tarnished Jedi comlink in her hand—my comlink. My lightsaber was on her hip. “Your Lord Farfalla seems to be in charge. He was far enough from the thought bomb, with his retinue. They say Lord Berethon’s channel is still transmitting, but he’s not answering”

“Farfalla?” I sighed, but the Force already told the truth – even to me. I looked around the battlefield and frowned. “What a waste.”

“You think?” She gave me an ambiguous look.

“More than you could know,” I replied.

She shivered slightly, but it was just the cold wind, a sign that night was coming.

“What now?” she asked.

“Let’s look for some way out of this mudpit.”

“You’re the slave here, Jai,” she reminded me. I shrugged my bound hands and started to walk. She could probably beat me in a straight fight, but I wasn’t in any mood for fighting, and I didn’t think she was either.

She hopped off her perch, hurrying to keep up.

“Don’t do that, slave,” she snapped. “It makes you look like you have some sort of plan.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” I asked.

“Jedi plans?” she asked, a wide sweep of her polearm taking in the ruin around us.

“Sith plans,” I said, and for a moment I felt some of the dangerous old fire.

She frowned for a moment. “You Jedi all just walked into the trap,” she said. “At least we did something with our deaths.”

“I’m still here,” I said. “So are you.”

She frowned again, and this time she kept quiet. I’d seen it a few times before, and I would see it a lot more—the mild confusion of a Sith soldier no longer in thrall to battle meditation.

I sometimes wonder if Jedi aren’t much different. We use battle meditation, too, but we assume we have a special exemption where delusions are concerned, because we’re on the right side.

She leaned on her polearm, watching me. “So where are we going? You want to find Lord Berethon?”

“The Lord Peregrine?” I asked her, in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Yeah, I hear he’s not a very good Jedi. You seemed to like him better than Farfalla, and I approve of that. I know Gith wanted him to join us.”

I laughed. “I tell you what—if I get you to Lord Berethon, you agree to release me and come under his protection.”

She tilted her head and looked at me, shifting her weight against the weapon. “You think he’d do that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think he would.”

“OK.” She shrugged, half-believing, and we walked on in silence. Overhead, the gray sky grew darker.

“Have you ever heard of Thon, the Master of Ambria?” I asked, as the rain eased.

“Should I have? I was in the battle there, last year.”

“He was a Jedi Master, three thousand years ago. He taught that the connection between light and dark was just the Force flowing, no different than the simple stuff about levitating rocks — something basic, true, and interesting.”

“What happened to him?”

“You’ve seen Lake Natth, right? Thon created that, as a work of art.”

She looked at me, disbelieving. “But it’s a dark-side focus….”

“Thon thought it looked pretty in the mountains, apparently. And then there are the Miraluka. They worship Light and Dark together, believe them to be inseparable, like lovers. There are a lot of great Miraluka Jedi.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you believe that, Jai boy? About Light and Dark?”

“Nope. Not in a doctrinal way, anyway.” Near the horizon the setting sun had broken through the clouds. “I think that looks pretty, though.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Maybe the Masters all just read the doctrines the wrong way, then?”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not.

We walked on, as the stars came out overhead, turning the night to cool silver and shadow. I remember thinking that it was beautiful, and that her armor and the bare skin of her shoulders glinted like the steel and silk discarded around us. But I kept silent, and tried not to look at her too much.

“Do you have a name, Jai boy?” she asked eventually. Her smile hinted she was either starting to like me or planning to kill me. I couldn’t tell which. I wondered if she could.

I laughed, then stopped and looked at her.

“Cut my bonds and I’ll tell you,” I said. “I’m not going to run. Where would I run to?”

She looked at me doubtfully for a moment. Then the polearm flashed, and I was free. I rubbed my wrists, grimacing, then slowly looked up and held her gaze. She blinked back.

“Sorry,” I said with my best grin. “I’m Lord Berethon.”

It didn’t sound nearly as impressive out loud as it had in my head.

She looked disbelieving for a moment, then she laughed. Really laughed.

“You’re the Lord Peregrine…?! Oh, fierfek….”

I nodded. “I’m the King of Corellia. I was never much good as a Jedi, though.”

“I noticed.”

“I think I might try being king again.”

“You’d have made a worse Sith,” she said.

“Maybe. Come on. Let’s see if we can find a way off this rock.”

“I have your comlink,” she reminded me, holding out the battered handset. “Don’t you have a fleet in orbit, or something?”

“Oh. Yes, I do. It’s been a hard day.”

Her look grew softer as I took the comlink. If it had still been day, I could have seen the color of her eyes.

“Just remember, Your Kingship—you promised to take care of me.”

I murmured something in agreement. “Falcon? You didn’t hear any of that, right?”

[asoftervirge]

Of “Love” & Murder (7/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Anxiety, Logan being A Nerd, Philosophy Jargon, mentions of a previous Murder, mentions of Poisoning CHAPTER SUMMARY:  Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how xe died. That’s a weird sentence. lol And yes, xe not he. Logan has had a number of changes with this update and I’m very pleased with them, so I hope everyone else is too. Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the Storytime lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

…

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. Idiot.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was not going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little jingle of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“Falsehood!” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” Hard same. “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call cognitive distortions. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

…

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’ Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx.

While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end.

This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”