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konpeito-water · 7 months ago

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Draft 2 of the synopsis is COMPLETE!

The full version is under the cut, as it's much longer than the first. Two new songs were added, one about Charlotte and Elizabeth and another about Michael. Some other plot things were fixed and expanded upon. Feedback or ideas are appreciated! ^^

ACT I

William and Henry spend their day at Freddy Fazbear's, revelling in the success of the four month old establishment plus their already existing Fredbear's, while William's children fail to get along (The Spark). However, it's quickly revealed that William is a manipulative and controlling villain and not just a busy dad who means well for everyone. After an argument which ends in Henry refusing to make any more restaurants with him so soon, he becomes furious. Later that month, Charlotte is found outside Fredbear's by herself on a rainy night, and he murders her in a fit of delirious anger (Mine, Forever). Everybody is devastated, especially Henry, who promises he would find out who did the crime.

Besides this, everything continues as normal until William's youngest son's birthday, which was at Fredbear's. The child in question, however, is not happy about going to this place for his birthday, as he can only be reminded of Charlotte (The Birthday). Michael, sick of his claims of hearing her voice, takes him up to the stage with his friends during the birthday and lifts him to the Fredbear animatronic, asking him if Fredbear was talking to him. However, one of Michael's friends tripped forwards, causing all of them to stumble and Fredbear to bite down onto the child's head, which kills him instantly. The friends flee as Michael stands dumbfounded, until William arrives at the scene to pull him away. When alone, Charlotte's soul reveals to his brother that she was possessing the Puppet animatronic made to protect her, and she guides his own soul to Fredbear. Fredbear's closes because of this, and William scolds Michael harshly (The Bite).

The event would tear the Afton family apart even more, Elizabeth no longer trusting Michael, and William spending even less time with his children than before. William has more frequent arguments with everyone, including his wife, who flees and and leaves the children behind. William, however, was more concerned about the changed atmosphere inside the restaurants. After one of his shifts at Freddy's, he travels to the closed Fredbear's and takes the Puppet to his house for investigations, starting to understand that Charlotte's soul was residing within (Agony). He spends the next ten months studying what he dubbed Remnant.

After this time skip, at Henry's home, Henry receives a phone call from his older sister Jen, who was coming down to visit him. She urges him to spend more time away from William as she does not trust him. It's revealed that Charlotte's soul was listening in to this conversation, but she could not communicate with either of them. Meanwhile, Elizabeth believes her own father is ignoring her on purpose, and is unable to get to sleep thinking about it (Why Can't You Hear Me?).

Elizabeth hears Charlotte calling her name, which causes her to jump out of her room into the hallway. Inside of his own room, William decides he needs to recreate the events of Charlotte's murder for his research on Remnant. With this in mind, he prepares to go and take the lives of four more children. His poor daughter overhears the entire plan from the hallway (Follow Me).

ACT II

By morning, everybody in town was aware of the bloody crime scene from the night before, and the police detective Clay starts investigating the situation. He discovers that the four children were taken by a man in a yellow rabbit suit, once that only someone with access to Fredbear's would be able to acquire. He rules down the suspects to the two owners and then suspects William as the murderer (Eye of the Hurricane). Freddy's is then shut down temporarily.

At their home, Elizabeth tells Michael everything that she overheard the night before, though she chose not to mention hearing Charlotte. Michael didn't believe her at first, but they chose to look through their father's room while he was away. They then discovered that he was the culprit after all (Daddy's Show). They then flee once he returns home. William then goes to the room and unveils the rabbit suit, believing that Remnant could cure his fear of death by “becoming one” with it. He understands he needs more Remnant, but knows he can't collect any while Clay suspects him.

A few days pass and Jen visits Henry's home. She was distraught that she arrived at such a horrible time and tries to convince him to leave Freddy's behind for his sake, which seems successful (Until The End). However, after she goes into the house, Henry finds a letter in his mailbox urging him to go there for the answers he had been looking for. He leaves, promising Jen this would be the last time, and she returns just a little too late, finding the note on the floor. Suspicious, she calls the police. Meanwhile, at the restaurant, William plans to murder Henry and frame it as a suicide done out of guilt to clear his name. The four victims are revealed to have been possessing each core animatronic, and listen in to his plan. They realise they need to stop it from occurring, or he may never be caught (Follow Me (Reprise)).

Wanting more answers, Elizabeth and Michael return to their father's room where they finally find the Puppet, who tells them her identity and that they need to go and discover the truth at Fredbear's. Elizabeth then confesses to Michael that she had heard Charlotte before, but did not tell him as she did not want him to react badly, causing Michael to question his past behaviour. Michael drives them there in William's stolen car. They find only Fredbear on stage and awaken their brother from inside the animatronic, who forgives them for falling under the influence of William. He also tells them that he is unable to move on without the other animatronics, and asks if he can follow them. Michael promises to be different this time around (Work In Progress). The Puppet stays to help Fredbear get to the destination.

A little later, Henry arrives at Freddy's and meets William, who confesses to his crimes and explains his future plans with the restaurant and the rabbit suit, before suddenly shoving him and stabbing him in the abdomen while he was dazed. Elizabeth and Michael appear at this time and Michael confronts his father while Elizabeth runs for the stage. William tries to convince Michael of trusting him but he sees through his ruse (You Can't). Before anything else can happen between the two Aftons, Clay appears and tells him to go with Elizabeth. Elizabeth goes to the stage where the Puppet had brought Fredbear to the others (how, she says, is a secret), and watched as they all reunited. Charlotte refuses to move on until William had been defeated, however (Happiest Day). Meanwhile, Clay and William fight, and Henry manages to stand to grab Clay's gun, which had been discarded. He shoots William's leg, allowing Clay to arrest him before becoming weak (Mine, Forever (Reprise)). Charlotte is able to communicate with him before she moves on with the others, and all of them say goodbye to William.

The town closes the case and moves on from the tragedies. Henry apologises to his sister, who is understandably annoyed, and after he heals, Freddy Fazbear's is remade into a new space for children with the help of Elizabeth and Michael. They decide that the best they can do is save any future children that may be in trouble (Save Them).

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf au #theatrics at freddy's au #starring:#william afton #henry emily #michael afton #mike afton #elizabeth afton #charlotte emily #and some others #it's almost midnight i don't want to tag them all

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officialparentofadrien · 2 years ago

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𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒕

HAH PULLED THIS ONE OUTTA MY ASS and it's kinda shitty too now that I proofread it pls excuse the bad quality writing...

Pairing: Midorima Shintaro x You (Fem Reader) featuring Takao being himself as usual. Warnings: As usual, curse words but fluff otherwise.

You let out a frustrated scream when your opponent yelled the cursed word that you loved yelling out but absolutely DESPISED hearing from other people. "UNO!!" Takao cheered, slamming his last card down on the table and putting more salt and squeezing lemon in the wound, his last card was a +4. Your frown deepened with every holler and laugh that came out of the ravenette's mouth as you tightly held onto your 5 remaining cards, and slammed your fist down. "AGAIN!" You said, glaring daggers at Takao who was still laughing. "Again what?" Takao asked, reducing to a fit of giggles. "Oh...You mean another round?" You seethed, "We're gonna keep playing TILL I WIN," The point guard raised his index finger and waved it in a disapproving manner, all with that stupid grin on his face. "Ah, no. We had a deal. If I lose, I'll be buying you a pink floaty for the class outing next month. But if YOU lose? Ohoho, my condition CLEARLY stated that you, my dear name will be confessing to Shin-chan." You hate to admit it, but you can't back out now. A deal IS a deal after all. But since you were prideful, you were willing to be a sore loser just to save every bit of dignity that you have.

"Goddamn you, Takao." "Ah no. Have you seen my face? God blessed me is what it is." "This is called peer pressure..." You whispered, face now burning up. The sound of the door sliding open with a slam caught both of your attention as you turned to see Midorima Shintaro himself. He walked towards the table you two are sitting at while carrying his lucky item for the day, a wonder woman figurine. You winced at the quality of the figurine. Not that it was bad, oh no... It was the exact opposite. The quality was so good you felt severe discomfort watching him lug it around with one hand around such rowdy people. It was probably made of clay too. You shook your thoughts away, "Hey, Shin-chan!! Guess what?" "Come on. Coach is gonna have both our heads on a stick if we delay any longer." The green-haired boy barely paid any attention to you, only focused on making it to practice. In a way, you were kinda glad. This way, you were able to admire him. You always thought he was pretty. Yet he was so unaware of it and when somebody points it out, he brushes it off. Yet if you look more closely, you'd be able to see a faint tint of rose on his cheeks.

"And stop bothering name," He added, looking over to you making you flinch as your eyes met his emerald ones. "Ah well..." You couldn't really deny it. Takao was such a pain in the ass today. You averted your eyes as Takao was dragged off his chair by Midorima, seemingly in a hurry. "Bye...? I guess," You said, waving to them. "YOU'RE NOT OFF THE HOOK YET, NAME!!" You let out a puff of breath that you were unaware of holding back, relief spreading through your body. You knew you were only delaying but later is better than now, or so you say. You know Takao would never rat you out, he's not that kind of person. But he would hold you to that promise.

"What the hell did I get myself into...?"

Unbeknownst to you, Takao also played with Midorima. Not basketball, or uno. He played Monopoly with him and if you ask him, nothing's sweeter than seeing the absolute look of defeat on Midorima's usually stoic face. They also had a bet that if Takao lost, he would be lugging Midorima around for a month (They usually play rock, paper, scissors) and if Takao won? You can probably guess. "So, when are you gonna do it? I mean name is a pretty girl, a lot of people fancy her."

If Midorima would be asked, "where would you rather be right now?" He would answer, "Anywhere. As long as it's away from Takao and his loud mouth".

"Come on, Shin-chan. You look like you wanna leave me hanging here." Takao teased, slapping his back. "Shut your mouth, Takao. That's precisely what I want to do." "So mean!"

You find yourself at the mall, 3 days later. You invited the two of them to help you shop for clothes but... "Sorry name- ACHOO" You winced, "Come on... Are you really leaving me with him...?"

"Am I so bad of a company that you don't want to be left alone with me?" Another voice joined from behind you,

You whipped around to see Midorima and if you look closer, you could see the dejected look on his face. Your eyes widened before you waved your free hand around, "No! That's not what I meant... I mean...Takao, he..."

You could hear the point guard grin on the other side of the line, mentally glaring daggers at him. "ILOSTABETTOHIMNOWIHAVETOCONFESSMYFEELINGSTOYOUBUTI'MDELAYINGCUZI'MSCAREDYOUDON'TFEELTHESAME" You spit it all out, squinting your eyes shut as you felt all the heat rush up to your face. Oh, now you've done it. There's no turning back now... Now you know, that Takao planned all of this.

"Fuck you, Takao" You seethed, turning away from Midorima, who was still frozen in place with his face as rosy as Barbie's dreamhouse..

You ended the call as you two stood there awkwardly, your back still facing him whilst he looked at you, trying to contemplate his next move. He pushed his glasses up before he walked up to you, "Change of plans," He announced, making you look up to him. "What do you say about going on a date?" "Midorima, what do you mean?" He looked back at you, a small smile playing on his lips, "I'm asking you out." Your surprised expression turned into your lips upward, "I say, yes."

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝑲𝑵𝑩 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

#midorima #shintaro midorima #midorima shintaro #midorima fluff #knb midorima #knb x reader #midorima shintaro x reader #midorima shintarou #midorima x reader #midorima scenarios #midorima headcanons #generation of miracles x reader #gom x reader #knb fluff

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jensensfanfic · 2 years ago

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hii!

can i request clay jensen x gn!reader with the prompt “i’ve been thinking about you”? like maybe they got into a fight and the reader has been avoiding him until clay decides it’s time for him to talk to them? if you don’t wanna do this, that’s fine :-)

hey! of course i'll write this for you. its a little messy, but i hope you enjoy!

send me some prompts and i'll write a little fic for you

"i'm sorry– i'm really sorry– i... no. shit! i–"

"the fuck are you doin', man?"

"shit! nothing. just- why are you home?"

justin frowns, a smirk on his red and sweaty face. "told you, i only wanted to go for a quick run."

"right." clay walks away from the mirror and into the light of the outhouse. "how was it?"

"fine, but i think i'm more interested in why you were apologising to your reflection." justin snort-laughs at his brother, then answers his own question. "you practising for a certain someone?"

"wait, how the fuck could you know that?"

"you literally haven't stopped talking about it for a whole week."

"shit, man, i'm sorry, it's just... you know how much i care about them, and–" clay plops down onto the edge of his bed, sighing.

"dude, it's fine. just stop talking to yourself in the mirror. just go and say sorry, it's not that difficult."

"how? i don't where to start... or what to say-"

"bro, you're so lucky you have me. just fucking do it. say how you feel, admit that you fucked up. simple."

about half an hour later, you receive a text from clay, asking if he could come over and talk. you immediately responded with a 'yes'. clay had been keeping his distance since you had asked for space, and quite frankly, a week was too long and you were starting to miss him. you would rather be mad while keeping him close still.

and also- it was a stupid fight. you both said dumb things that stung in the moment, but you both knew weren't meant to hurt the other.

when he arrives, you barely get a chance to open the door fully before he dives into a long apology speech. you try your best to listen to his rambling, but when he says, "i've been thinking about you", you stop him.

"wait, really?"

"yeah, of course. i haven't been able to stop thinking about you. i've probably been annoying the crap out of justin, asking him how you are, if you're upset, or angry about me-"

"you had justin check up on me?" clay's eyes widen, and then all of a sudden you're wrapping your arms around him. you hear his sharp intake of breath as he stumbles a little before circling his own arms around your waist. "you are such a dork."

"does this hug mean you forgive me?"

"yes." you pull back. "and i'm sorry, too. i've missed you, jensen."

taglist: let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist for clay and/or justin fics!

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

#my writing #millerswritings #millerswritings/justinsjensen #clay jensen x reader #clay jensen imagine #clay jensen fanfic #clay jensen

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shamera · 1 year ago

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NaNo day 12

continued from here, I guess?

I guess this time loop fic will have chapters, lol here is the beach episode, part 1

“Repeat?” Fang Duobing asked, the young man still blinking sleep from his eyes at breakfast.

“Yes,” Di Feisheng responded easily, drinking his tea easily as he allowed Hulijing to climb onto the bench next to him and curl up next to him, resting a hand on the warm furred back.

“That sounds—”

“Implausible?” Di Feisheng completed Li Lianhua’s statement, and then added, “Sounds like I ate something wrong the previous night, or had a strange dream? Didn’t get enough sleep?”

Li Lianhua only raised an eyebrow at him, unperturbed. He was always unperturbed about this conversation, arms folded neatly into his sleeves on his lap after pouring the tea, the very same manner he held every morning— perhaps even before this loop started. He couldn’t remember a difference from before and after the day started repeating.

Di Feisheng wasn’t entirely sure how long he lived this single day, but it must not have been very long with the way Wuyan continued to cross out only small sections of the map he brought.

Li Lianhua and Fang Duobing both humoured him, and the days were different enough whenever Di Feisheng tested another move or suggestion. He was content for this to continue until he found the Styx Flower.

But for this day…

“Let’s head south,” Di Feisheng suggested. “Away from the village. Perhaps the loop will end.”

Li Lianhua gave him a long look, but then shrugged. “It would be nice to spend a day not worrying about anything. Did you have a destination in mind?”

“No. Just south for a day.”

—

“Just east for a day.”

—

“Just north for a day.”

—

That morning, Di Feisheng deposited a pile of rolled scallion pancakes and a pot of warm congee, to Fang Duobing’s absolute glee and Li Lianhua’s confused glances.

“What’s the occasion?” Fang Duobing asked right before he grabbed at a scallion pancake and then readjusted his grip as it proved hotter than he imagined, blowing on it gently a few times before handing it over to Li Lianhua, who gave him a bemused smile as Fang Duobing then went to grab two more pancakes and repeat the same process as the food scalded his hands.

Li Lianhua set his food down on the plate and scooped congee into three bowls, distributing it between the three of them. The clink of clay pottery against the uneven wooden surface of the table must have been comfortable even before the loops began, but now it was familiar in a way that settled his nerves. Di Feisheng couldn’t remember the last stretch of time where his days were so repetitive in motion, except for his seclusion where the days passed entirely without his notice.

This theory about the continuing and repeating days being tied to the area they were in didn’t pan out, but that didn’t mean he exhausted his options yet.

“Let’s delay the investigation a day,” He said, watching as the others began eating. “There’s somewhere I want to visit.”

“Close to here?” Fang Duobing asked with his mouth full, sounding doubtful.

“Close enough.” Di Feisheng confirmed, refilling the tea for them.

It was hours later, the sun already high in the sky, when Lotus Tower came to a stop along the sandy roads next to a tiny fishing town. Di Feisheng had seen this place on the maps for days, but had no reason to visit a location where only a smattering of poor wooden houses were, the shore lined with a handful of wooden fishing boats.

“We should stop here for the day,” Di Feisheng decided, the nonchalance in his tone attracting Li Lianhua’s suspicions once more.

“And what are you up to this time, Lao Di?” The other asked him, hands tucked into his sleeves as they surveyed their surroundings. It was a clear and beautiful day, and the call of gulls above them was as loud as the strong winds, the cool air just a touch too chilled to entertain the idea of going out into the water.

“This is definitely not close,” Fang Duobing grumbled, rubbing his hands from where he had been handling the horse reins the past hour. Hulijing was circling the young man’s legs happily, tail wagging and tongue out at the new adventure. “Where are we, anyway? Why are we here?”

The dog sneezed, and then trotted off toward the water, ignoring the rest of them.

“Hulijing!” Fang Duobing called out, already chasing after her. “Don’t just go off by yourself! What if there are crabs? You’re going to get pinched!”

It wasn’t quite the coast, but the inlet of a large lake, with the winds creating waves on the water that lapped gently onto the sandy beach. Li Lianhua squinted against the sunlight and then turned to say, “This is certainly unlike you.”

“Is it?” Di Feisheng asked, and set out on a sedate walk after both Fang Duobing and the dog, knowing that Li Lianhua would follow. “What do you think this is, then?”

Li Lianhua made a considering noise, keeping pace with Di Feisheng. He picked at a random leaf as they passed the dwindling shrubbery along the shore, stepping out onto the sand. “...An intervention? I can’t imagine what for. We spent a week travelling in the rain, I would think you’re sick of seeing water at this point.”

Di Feisheng almost forgot about the previous rains. For him, the sunshine of ‘today’ stretched along his memory.

“You’re incorrect.” Di Feisheng told him with a half smile.

“Oh? I don’t recall expressing a solid theory. You’re very quick to say I’m wrong.”

Ahead of them, Hulijing had already run into the shallow waters, slashing along the shore, jumping from one wave to another and barking happily. Fang Duobing nearly tripped over himself to stop in time before he got splashed as well.

“You are.” Di Feisheng confirmed, more than a little smug. “Whatever reason you think we stopped here for, you’re wrong. I guarantee it.”

Li Lianhua raised an eyebrow. “No confidence in me? I’m hurt.”

“Tell me a secret,” Di Feisheng urged, “And I will tell you exactly why we’re here.”

Li Lianhua huffed, and tossed the leaf between his hands, turning his attention over to Fang Duobing and Hulijing instead. “This again? A-Fei, you already know everything about yourself. I don’t have any secrets that you don’t already know about.”

By this point, Di Feisheng knew that he could easily convince Fang Duobing something strange was going on with the fortune sticks, yet each iteration of the day remained the same in that Li Lianhua never fully believed unless Di Feisheng managed to predict every event in the day. He was always quick to accept Di Feisheng’s words, but never truly believed them.

“I never said a secret about me.” Di Feisheng turned to face him fully. “A secret about you. Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“So you can use it against me? No, thanks.”

“So there is information I can use against you?”

Li Lianhua made a face, but didn’t deny it. He instead cupped his mouth and called out to Fang Duobing, “Don’t fall into the water! If you get sick, I won’t be the one cleaning up after you!”

At the water’s edge, Hulijing shook off water all over Fang Duobing, who protested, “I’m not the one who gets sick easily!”

Ironic coming from someone with a name like that, Di Feisheng mused as he folded his arms and watched Li Lianhua grouse half-heartedly at that response. After watching their antics for another second, Di Feisheng looked up to judge the time they had left that day.

“Come on,” he told Li Lianhua, “let’s go find a boat.”

—

It was easy to find a family too busy that day to be out on the water, and Di Feisheng handed the silver over in exchange for their boat and equipment for the day before slinging the bag over a shoulder and handing the poles to Li Lianhua and Fang Duobing, who tagged along curiously while flapping at his damp sleeves.

“Is this a dream? It must be a dream.” Fang Duobing commented, staring vacantly at the fishing pole and not moving even as Di Feisheng urged them forward. “Is this a nightmare? Is something really bad going to happen now?”

Li Lianhua pinched him, and Fang Duobing jerked away with a betrayed look. “Good now? What are you talking about? Why would we be in your nightmares?”

“That’s what I want to know as well.” Fang Duobing lamented.

“The wind might blow us all the way to the other side,” Li Lianhua said to Di Feisheng. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“No,” Di Feisheng admitted, nudging a foot to kick at Fang Duobing’s shin until the young man started to move again. It was mere steps toward the edge of the lake shore where the small boat, barely able to comfortably fit the three of them, was dragged halfway on land. “If that happens, we can walk back.”

“Do you even know how to fish?” Fang Duobing asked Di Feisheng, tone suspicious.

“Do you?”

Hulijing jumped into the boat after them, sniffing around the wood and the abandoned netting at the front before raising its head and making loud snuffling noises of disapproval. With the dog there, there definitely wasn’t enough room for three people to stretch out their legs. Fang Duobing, however, brightened at the dog joining them and clucked his tongue in an attempt to tempt it to sit next to him.

Di Feisheng pushed the boat out the rest of the way into the water and hopped in as well, rocking the boat down heavily enough that the dog scrambled a bit for purchase. They were immediately pushed further into the waters by the low lapping waves, the motion rocking back and forth heavily for a while before it stabilised slightly.

“I know how to do this,” Fang Duobing said as he stared into the bag of supplies, openly fascinated. He had the fishing pole braced against him like he normally would his sword, and pulled out a pouch of bait. “But I have to admit, this young master has never done this before.”

Li Lianhua snickered, and stole the bait from him. “Oh? I would never have guessed.”

Fang Duobing flushed. “I never had the chance!”

“You have the chance today.” Di Feisheng said evenly, leaning in to peer into the bait bag as Li Lianhua opened it, ignoring the fact that Fang Duobing was doing the same on the other side. Inside were various fruits and insects, the smell such that Fang Duobing immediately recoiled away with a hand going up to cover his nose.

“Not bad,” Li Lianhua said. “That’s if there’s anything good in this lake.”

“Why have fishermen living here otherwise?” Di Feisheng pointed out. Then he eyed his own pole a second, thumb pressing down on the thin and unevenly carved wood, and added, “How about a wager?”

Fang Duobing perked up. “A wager?”

“Person with the least catches makes dinner,” Di Feisheng said casually, already unspooling the line to tie to the pole. The other two were giving him wide-eyed looks, and Di Feisheng raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“You don’t cook.” Li Lianhua pointed out to him.

“I’ll buy something.” Di Feisheng said.

Fang Duobing’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward until he was shoving up against Li Lianhua’s shoulder to point at Di Feisheng. “I want braised pork. Stewed lamb! Chicken with—”

“Make that yourself.” Di Feisheng told him.

“You said you’d buy dinner!”

“If I lose.” His voice was smug. “This is not my first time catching fish.”

As they argued, Li Lianhua was calmly choosing his bait, pushing a curious Hulijing’s snout away from the bag from time to time, and already preparing his line. His movement was careful and measured even with the rocking of the boat and with Fang Duobing pushing up against his side in efforts to reach and claw and Di Feisheng, the other man only smirking smugly as he leaned away.

“I don’t remember the last time I fished,” Li Lianhua murmured amongst their argument. He frowned at the line, thinner than he remembered. Hulijing nosed at his hands as he investigated, and he petted her flank absentmindedly. “I’m much better with traps.”

“Fine!” Fang Duobing all but shouted at Di Feisheng, jerking a thumb to gesture at himself. “This young master will cook dinner for the week if I lose, but you’ll see! I won’t lose! In return, you have to buy everything I listed if you lose! And I eat a lot!”

Di Feisheng didn’t bother to respond, instead letting the silence fluster Fang Duobing more.

“I am not,” Fang Duobing repeated with an expression that was more pout than frown, “going to lose!”

—

Nearly a whole sichen later, Di Feisheng was starting to regret the wager.

“No, no,” Fang Duobing was saying, arms around Hulijing since his fishing pole had been tied to the side of the boat. “That definitely counts. That’s a catch!”

“It counts,” Di Feisheng agreed quickly.

Li Lianhua was staring at the snag of weeds he reeled in, frowning. The deep line between his brows betrayed his genuine upset, although his posture was still relaxed— far more relaxed than both Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing, who each caught two fish (Di Feisheng’s being much larger) before they realised that Li Lianhua had yet to catch a single one.

“Look at it,” Fang Duobing was saying with round, panicked eyes. “How many is that? Three clumps now? That counts as three! We can dry it and use it for seasoning later.”

“This isn’t the ocean,” Li Lianhua pointed out. He flicked the clump of weeds back into the water despite Fang Duobing’s protests. “You can’t eat that, Xiaobao.”

“I could try,” Fang Duobing insisted weakly.

Li Lianhua sighed, looking slightly aggrieved as he checked their surroundings. They managed to drift a good distance into the large lake, and the shore looked far away. The sky was calm, and the winds dissipated to a mild breeze to help keep them cool under the sunlight. It really was a perfect day for fishing. There were a few other boats out as well, although they were larger and far away, and looked to be pulling in entire nets.

“It’s fine,” he said, “I already had plans for a new recipe tonight.”

“You can have my catch,” Di Feisheng offered generously. “It can count as yours.”

“Mine, too,” Fang Duobing quickly offered on the other side. “We’ll just start over—”

“That’s cheating,” Li Lianhua said, although there was a subtle upward curve to his lips. “There’s only three of us, and we all know the count. But I will take the fish to cook for tonight.”

Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing exchanged a look, and came to an agreement.

“Well,” Fang Duobing said awkwardly. “Who says this contest is over? We still have time.”

—

They stayed out on the water until the sun was ready to set, until they all shifted in the tiny space to find the most comfortable spot, until Li Lianhua’s back was pressed flush against Di Feisheng’s, a line of warmth in the slowly cooling air. The boat was small and too narrow to comfortably sit two next to each other for an extended amount of time, but sharing a seat was still doable if each was facing the opposite direction.

Fang Duobing, who had been attempting to give entirely nonsensical directions in an effort to help Li Lianhua catch more fish, finally gave up and was dozing lightly with a cloth covering his head for shade, sprawled at the front of the boat among the netting with his arms crossed, and his legs sprawled askew over Li Lianhua’s lap. Hulijing was curled up underneath the seats, also dozing.

While Li Lianhua was still holding onto his fishing pole, Di Feisheng had done the same as Fang Duobing and tied his pole to the edge of the boat, undisturbed unless there was a bite on the line. He had his eyes closed and hands atop his knees, breathing evenly in a semi-meditative state, curiously relaxed despite the open environment.

“How did you learn how to fish?” Li Lianhua asked softly in the stillness of the sunset.

Di Feisheng breathed out, taking his eye and not bothering to open his eyes as he responded, “I haven’t before like this. Catching them with my hands was more effective back then.”

He could feel Li Lianhua’s slightest movement against his back, as the other asked, “...Back then?”

Di Feisheng wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. But he was calm, calmer than if anyone else dared to ask. “Before Jinyuan Alliance.”

It was several ke before Li Lianhua spoke again. “...When I was younger, I thought about being a weaponsmith. I tried, a few times. Swords were so beautiful to me that I wanted to make something that beautiful myself. But I was never any good at it.”

“...so you gave up?”

He could feel Li Lianhua shrug. “I also liked martial arts, and that I was good at. It made sense. It was a passing fancy. I never had the patience for the forge. Just the fascination.”

Di Feisheng thought about them sitting there, on a cramped boat, with Li Lianhua calmly and patiently waiting for a catch that would never bite, and not once expressing any upset over it. Not even when Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng were both also there, both inexperienced in the craft and surpassing him in their first try.

He thought Li Lianhua might have made more use of the time if he were the one stuck the the repeat of days, and perhaps he could use that time to relearn how to forge. Within the repeats, Di Feisheng was calm. He knew how the day would end, how it would begin again, and the repetition eased the constant sense of urgency within him. So long as the day kept repeating, the future was pushed to a comfortable distance. There was no immediate threat, not even bicha.

Di Feisheng had never felt like this before.

He wondered, if they managed to get through everything, if he found the Styx flower, if this was how things could feel like. The endless drifting of waves gently splashing against the boat, the rocking motion and the breeze against his face. The line of warmth against his back, shifting slightly whenever Li Lianhua moved to pat at Fang Duobing’s leg.

This was the information, Di Feisheng understood, that he asked for.

“After this is all over,” he requested, eyes still closed, “make me one.”

—

This time, when Di Feisheng woke in Lotus Tower after a day out on the water and an evening under the stars, he felt calm. There was a sense of peace, along with regret, lingering with the taste of wine and charred fish. He recalled Hulijing kicking up sand running around the fire they built by the shore, and sparring with Fang Duobing while Li Lianhua called out corrections on the side, his suggestions more and more ridiculous until Di Feisheng upended him from his seat on a log.

It was morning now, and Fang Duobing’s elbow was digging into his side. The birds were loud in the forest, and the sun already making its way above the mountains, and…

Somehow, there was a sense of grief.

#NaNoWriMo #mlc nano 2023 #it's always a day behind because it's what i wrote before i posted

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myspineisthebassline · 1 year ago

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can i ask how did you make the bo wyatt doll it's so pretty 😢😢 blessed my eyes

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!! makes me happy that he makes you happy <:D i don't know how much detail you want me to go into so I wrote an entire novel srry

Actually first I will direct u to the agosia arts YouTube channel because i love her and I used her tutorials on how to make limbs with clay parts and attach button joints >

Clay doll playlist

Basic doll technique playlist

Video on sewing the cloth body

Video on attaching clay components

Video on button joints

I made some adjustments to her techniques just to suit my own needs better. Also, the fabric and buttons I used are a lot cheaper than what she uses and I used oven bake polymer clay to sculpt the helmet, hands, and boots. More on agosia later

I started out by sculpting all the clay components - gloves, boots, and the diving helmet. this is a very "draw the rest of the fucking owl" moment but I cannot tell u my process w sculpting just please don't buy sculpey III that shit SUCKS to work with

After sculpting and baking the clay parts, I sanded them down and painted them. I also gave the boots and helmet a couple or layers of folkart gloss varnish bc Shiny (i am not sponsored by folkart)

I then made a fabric pattern around the clay parts i just sculpted. I went through a lot of drafts changing the proportions of the body, length of the arms and legs etc. i laid all of my pieces out together and moved stuff around until it felt proportional.

I traced the patterns onto two pieces of fabric, right sides together. the fabric for the body comes from an old t-shirt of mine. the fabric was very stretchy and it was a pain to try and draw a pattern onto it 8|

AS FOR CUTTING OUT THE FABRIC...I did what agosia did and sewed directly onto the lines, leaving open spaces at one end and one side of the pattern so the clay hand/boot/helmet what have you can be slipped in between the fabric. Keep in mind the size of these spaces so u can actually get stuff in there

anyway agosias demonstrations are great so I won't say much else about how to attach limbs, I will stress that when sculpting the clay parts, they should have a groove around them that is deep enough for the wire to sit snugly. ur basically sandwiching the fabric inbetween the wire and the clay. I also hollowed out the boots and helmet so the end of the wire has a place to hide so it doesn't poke out of the fabric. As a side note, if you don't have armature wire or something similar u could probably use pipe cleaners, yarn or a strong thread to do this. or maybe a really strong glue

Mr. bo wyatt doll does have an armature wire skeleton so he's kind of posable. You don't really need to do that, but you can use pipe cleaners/chenille stems if you want the doll to have a little bit of structure.

Here's a little diagram of how I made the wire skeleton (bc I did not take pictures at this step) the wire in each of the limbs and body are pretty much free floating which affects the integrity a lil bit

(this diagram is. Bad. so let me know if something needs to be explained a bit more)

(incoming jumpscare of bo without the shawl) After the clay parts were attached to the fabric limbs I stuffed them by wrapping scrap yarn around the armature wire skeleton and then sewed them closed. This Is Where The Fun of This Project Starts.

Playing a game of where I want to sew the limbs onto the body (and then realizing I made one of the legs way too short. How in the fuck)

i ended up redoing the legs entirely and just added another 1/2 inch to the length of the leg pattern.

Bo has weird proportions I don't want to think too hard about but here's what he looks w/ all his limbs pinned in place

he is so top heavy help him.

I attached the arms and legs to the body with button joints (insert agosia arts tutorial on that). It was a pain in the ass bc I dont have a needle that's both thin enough to go through the button holes and long enough to go through both ends of the dolls body. But at least the picture for this step is kind of funny.

the state of my goddamn desk

Also u don't really need to do button joints its just another thing that gives the doll more flexibility. Just sew those thangs (arms and legs) on there (the body)

Ok now onto making the shawl yaaay. Yaaaaay. I looked up some tutorials on how to sew a poncho from fleece, this one was helpful to me. I did not measure the circumference of the helmet bc that would have ended up with a neck hole that is way too big, but I did measure the circumference of the base of the neck and used that. And also sewed a button to the back of the shawl so it would be easier to put the shawl on the body.

I also did not feel the need to add a hood, but I did line the shawl with a blanket stitch w red yarn. I may add tassels onto it eventually bc it is the cutest thing in bo's design. To Me. Also I will mention that bo's shawl is still a work in progress, it came out waaay too wide so I have it pinned back until I have the time to make adjustments 8|

Going off of the video I linked before, for the wingspan measurement, I just measured where I wanted the shawl to rest on the body and multiplied that by 2. Looking at bo's official art, his shawl reaches down to about his wrists ish??? Measuring this on the doll, I got 6in, multiplied by x 2 = 12in. But again it ends up w a shawl that is way too wide for the body. So u may want to go shorter than what you think you'll need

also I crocheted a little collar for the shawl... that I have yet to sew onto the shawl. this is an ~~artistic choice~~ bc i just like to draw bo with a knit collar. I like that you draw his shawl with a button up collar I think it would be very cute on a doll.

Ok that took me 50000000 years thank u if you read this far I hope to God this is coherent, helpful or somewhat interesting to read. Now look at him

#basofy #ThANK YOU AGAIN...I saw that you made a lisa doll and I love her sm the flower trim on the dress is an inspired choice #if you have any specific questions lmk this is a very disorganized post #main tag does not get spared from my shenanigans >#lisa rpg #irvart #sidenote i hate the tumblr post editor why is this so broken

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rottmntsimp · 1 year ago

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can you do donnie x reader who frequently makes him hand-made gifts? Like jackets, crocheted hats, baked treats, paintings, etc.

Handicraft

Pairing(s): Donnie x Gift Giver!Reader A/N: See how I got this request done the day it was requested, since I chose to write it as headcanons, but I'm struggling to post the oneshot that's been in the drafts for a month 💀 Anyways, I think it's pretty clear I love talking about love languages NDKJSDKS

Donnie

💜 - Oh boy, am I gonna have fun with this one >:] (FYI I'm gonna dig into Donnie's love languages a bit)

💜 - OK so, as you might know, gift giving is one of the 5 main love languages, alongside many other minor ones

💜 - And I think we can all collectively agree, that gift giving is definitely Donnie's number one love language

💜 - He struggles with verbally showing appreciation [words of affirmation] and sometimes has difficulties with physical contact [physical touch]

💜 - So, my boy's gonna have to find another way to show his affection

💜 - And in comes the gift giving <3

💜 - Ok ok, onto you!

💜 - In my opinion, his reaction, well more specifically his thought process, might vary depending on how deep into the relationship you start making him things

💜 - Early on? Well, he'll gladly take them, maybe even just store it away somewhere safe if its something more long lasting, like idk a bracelet

💜 - Might be shy about wearing it in public

💜 - Ok well maybe not shy, more like embarrassed...of his brothers' teasing-

💜 - But if you're further along the line, then hell yeah

💜 - He'd wear any clothing and/or accessories you made with pride (as long as they're the right materials and don't get in his way or irritate his skin in anyway)

💜 - He don't care what his brothers have to say, cuz at this point, he's used to it

💜 - Can and will show off your stuff to the others

💜 - If you ever draw him anything or make him like a little clay figurine or something

💜 - You bet it's going straight to the shelf. Which one you ask? Well, only the one with the limited edition Jupiter Jim action figure, of course-

💜 - He makes sure it somewhere up high enough to not be damaged incase one of his inventions go haywire, but close enough so that if he's ever feeling down or unmotivated, he can just take a quick peek at it and BOOM- he's back, baby!

💜 - If you're the artsy kind, and you like to make stickers, oh lord-

💜 - If y'all have been together for a while, then he's probably going to let you stick a few here and there on bridge of his goggles, and maybe the little thing on his battle shell where it's on his shoulders? Straps? Idk man-

💜 - Now if you're the kind who likes to bake and/or cook, things get a little trickier

💜 - If it's something that suits his palette, then hell yeah, he might munch on it sometime outside the lab (No eating in labs kids)

💜 - But if it doesn't, don't worry these aren't going to waste

💜 - He'll give them to his brothers, Splinter, or even April if she's around

💜 - He'll make sure to stress that fact that he still appreciates it. I mean, you two could be in his lab, and he might be like, "I appreciate the cookies, by the way. I'll make sure my brothers send their regards after they've finished shoveling the remains into their mouths-"

💜 - And later, you two could be gaming together, and he might just pipe up and be like "Oh yeah, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to bake something for my brothers and I-"

💜 - Oh and expect him to make some stuff for you too

💜 - Gadgets, fidget toys, you name it

💜 - If it's tech, it's yours, love

💜 - By y'all's one year anniversary, expect to have a drawer, if not, a full set of shelves, filled with all the things he's given/made for you

💜 - I mean, you didn't expect him to not reciprocate, no? <3

Taglist! (DM, ask, comment, or ask in tags if you wanna be added!!)

@lemme-be-cringe-damnit @sleepytime-fics @ray-of-midnight-storm @hamthepan @charismakat

#simps fics #rottmnt x reader #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #2018 donnie x reader

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nnfrerking · 2 years ago

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The Rock Painting

The knowledge that I gained from my first meeting with the artist Cecilia Smith gave me the chance to do something incredibly effective yet equally dangerous. Considering Ms. Smith's standing, I am certain that this gift will bring me the artistic success I am so desperate for. Yet, if I do something incorrectly, I could bring about the destruction of myself and thousands if not millions of others.

As the months wear on, I find that my desperation has been growing far stronger than my fear or guilt. I have been passively gathering all the pieces for the ritual whenever and wherever I happen to find them. Every time I find another ritual ingredient, I remember the day when I was partially awakened to the truth about everything.

I was in my sophomore year when I met Cecelia Smith. She was going to give a lecture at the art museum a few blocks away from my college. I probably would have gone to the event anyway, but Mr. Boone, my art professor, made it even more tempting. He said he would give extra credit to anyone in the class that attended the event.

Mr. Boone's reasons for creating the event were not purely academic, as he would later admit to us. He and Cecelia had been friends ever since college. He wanted to lend her some friendly support.

Eventually, the day and time of the event arrived. Unfortunately, regret flooded my body the instant I stepped into that museum. It was immediately clear to me that most of the people in attendance were wealthy patrons of the museum and/or collectors of fine art.

Though I am a tall woman, I felt as though these people towered over me. Each dress or suit they wore had to cost at least twice my monthly rent. Likely, they had also spent more than my monthly salary to get their hair and/or makeup done. In comparison, I had spent ten dollars at the thrift store to buy the dress I was currently wearing and had fixed up my hair and makeup by using discount store products and video tutorials.

I was so certain that this mere mortal could not be safe standing within one hundred feet of these gods and goddesses, let alone five feet. My mind soon flooded with a daymare about them simultaneously turning to look at me and walking over until they surrounded me and then mocking and laughing at my lowly appearance and then throwing the drinks and appetizers they were holding at me and then picking me up and throwing me out onto the street.

This imaginary situation repeated itself and eventually caused my body to break out in shivers. Yet, I managed to fight against the compulsion I had to rush out of those museum doors at once. My desire to see Cecelia Smith's paintings, which an online article I read had called "signs of the beginning of a new age of art", was far stronger than any of my fears.

My shaking body was hard to control, but I didn't let that stop me from easing myself around the rich people's conversation circles and towards the hallway just beyond the reception desk. New daymares spawned that depicted a few of them turning from their cheerful chatter and telling me how ugly I looked. Others portrayed me bumping into a rich person and causing him or her to spill their food or drink on their expensive clothing and then they would grab me and shake me violently, demanding amounts of money that I couldn't even dream of affording.

Things got worse as I entered the hallway. It was rather narrow and that made many of the conversation circles seem huge. The new daymares became more dramatic as they repeated. I imagined a few of my rich victim's friends shaking me, surrounding me, and ripping off pieces of my dress and clumps of my hair.

I took deep breaths through my nose and diverted my thoughts by theorizing how paintings that were "signs of the beginning of a new age of art" would look. Perhaps she had added clay to a canvas to make pieces of art that were both a sculpture and a painting. Or maybe she had layered different-sized canvases on top of each other to create a kind of 3D effect. However, as creative as I got, even a person five times more creative than myself could never imagine what Cecelia Smith's paintings would truly be like.

Finally, I exited the hallway and entered the gallery which was, much to my relief, far more spacious than the hallway had been. There were also far fewer people here, and the individuals that were here did not appear rich. They had gathered around in small groups around paintings and chattering in voices so hushed that they may have thought loudness could cause the paintings' color to fade.

I took some deep breaths and performed mindfulness exercises until my body stopped shaking. Then I hesitantly approached one of the currently solitary paintings but looked away from it as I walked. In truth, I felt afraid that the paintings wouldn't live up to the expectations that I had built up in my mind. I desperately wanted them to make the stress of walking through all those rich strangers worth it.

When there was a certain distance between me and the painting, I stopped and waited until I felt ready to see anything in that frame. But then I realized that I would probably never be ready. So I looked up at it and felt immediately confused as the painting seemed to depict the surface of an ordinary rock.

Sure, there was enough high-quality detail that I could see every bump, valley, and scratch along the surface of the rock, but this couldn't be something worthy of that 'new age of art' quote. Feeling like I was about to drown in disappointment, I forcefully leaned in closer until my nose was a few inches from the painting and tried to take in every little detail. As I look back, I think I wanted to do this not just because I needed there to be something I was missing. I also wanted to flee this museum and its scary inhabitants and bury myself in the colors, strokes, and lines.

It turned out that I would escape the museum in another way. After a mere three seconds of staring at the painting this way, my senses started picking up things that couldn't have been there. If they were, then I would have been impossibly transported to a pine forest within the space of a few seconds.

My ears were picking up the near and distant sounds of animals and the wind rustling through the trees. I could feel this same wind giving me cold kisses on the cheek as well as the muddy ground below my feet. There was also the mud and a previous rainstorm, the smell of which filled my nostrils. The only sense that wasn't picking up the forest was my sight. My eyes were still focused on the surface of that rock.

My response to these sensations was delayed, but when my mind eventually picked up what was happening, I shut my eyes and let out a loud gasp. Luckily I managed to muffle it with my hand and avoided bringing unwanted attention to myself.

As soon as I warded off the shock, I realized that in closing my eyes I had transported my other senses back to the museum. I heard that quiet chatter of voices and the clacking of someone's high heels as they walked across the floor. I felt the warmth that the museum's HVAC system was blowing into the room. The smell of someone's flowery perfume and the lemony freshness of the museum cleaning staff's supplies also surrounded me.

I took in these sensations until I found the courage to open my eyes again. I was back in that forest. I closed my eyes again, and I found myself back in the museum. I had to open and close my eyes a few more times to try and convince myself that my senses were experiencing what they were experiencing.

Even after that, I still had trouble convincing myself that the whole situation was real. Some of the facts just didn't add up. Yes, this type of effect did live up to the description that the article had given it, but why wasn't there more? The discovery of a revolutionary effect like this should've caused a pervasive media sensation.

And then there were the other people in the gallery. Why weren't they more excited? They should've been smiling, giggling, and/or even shaking with delight at the new sensations. Even if they had experienced such sensations before, they should have still been jabbering loudly with each other and trying to figure out how the whole thing worked.

How DID it work? What in the world could be the mechanism that caused such a sensation? I theorized that maybe the arrangement of the markings on the rock paintings had created some hypnotic effect. Or maybe there was some kind of beam in the frame of the painting that could transmit these sensory images right into my mind.

Unfortunately, that last guess turned my thoughts into ones of extreme paranoia. If there was a beam that could do that, what else could it do? Could they tell people what to think or erase their memories? Were such beams now hidden in different areas and being used to control the populace? Perhaps, if there was a beam in the frame of this painting, it had already transmitted thoughts that weren't my own into my mind. I shivered at the thought as I moved my eyes over the frame of the painting but failed to spot any noticeable holes.

I glanced over at the other paintings and the walls, trying to see if I could spot any of these strange theoretical mechanisms. I couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Feeling overwhelmed, I decided to walk over to and sit down on a nearby bench I had spotted. Then I put my hands in my lap, closed my eyes, and performed some light meditation to help myself calm down.

Once my mind was clear, it pointed out to me that an opportunity may have fallen into my lap. Since I knew Mr. Boone and he knew Cecelia Smith, perhaps he could convince her to give me an apprenticeship. During that, she could teach me how she created those revolutionary paintings and then I could make them myself and be a key part of this new art revolution that the article had predicted was coming. Then I would be just as good if not greater than all of the people here.

What would it be like if I returned to this museum after I had achieved this status? Perhaps they would open a gallery that held my works alone. And then they would have a party at the opening. I wouldn't be dressed in thrift store rags and using discount beauty products then. I would instead have a dress like the one I admired in that discount store which was blue and had thousands of sequins that shimmered like glints of sunshine in water. And I would hire the best hair stylist in the city to tie up part of my hair in a braid that even the greatest basket weavers couldn't achieve. And instead of tiptoeing around all the rich people, I'd be talking straight to them because my success would have given me the confidence that I always wanted.

But wait, would Cecelia Smith even take me on as an apprentice? I had been struggling with getting good grades in Mr. Boone's class because my artwork had been, as he had written, "too pedestrian" and I needed to "be more confident and experimental" with my artistic ideas. Perhaps Cecelia and Mr. Boone would only stand there laughing at me and saying how terrible I was at art and that it was stupid for me to believe I even had a chance at getting an apprenticeship. And then Cecelia's bodyguards would pick me up and throw me out of the museum.

Wait…that wasn't right. What sort of visual artist has bodyguards? Yes, the worse that they could do was laugh at me and put me down. But I knew Mr. Boone and while he could be critical he was never outright mean. I didn't know what Cecelia was like, but Mr. Boone probably wouldn't let her be too mean to me. They'd probably just stare at me awkwardly and make some excuse on why Cecelia couldn't take on an apprentice.

Still, there was the possibility that Cecelia could see something in me that others hadn't. Didn't that make it worth trying, especially because the consequences couldn't be too severe? It seemed that way to me.

I got up and immediately started walking as fast as I could in the direction of the presentation room, where I suspected Cecelia and Mr. Boone would be. Luckily, the lecture was about to begin, so I could just follow along with the wave of people and avoid bumping into anyone or having to dart around them. For a moment, I felt like I was part of an army marching into battle. This made me smile.

When I made it to the presentation room, I immediately spotted Mr. Boone and Cecelia Smith on the right side of the theater. I gently made my way through the crowd and called out to Mr. Boone as soon as I got close. This caused him to turn, see me, smile, and wave. In a few moments, I was right next to him. Unfortunately, though, I was so enthusiastic about my plan that I skipped over greeting him and went right over to Cecelia. I said hello to her, introduced myself, stuck out my hand, and looked her in the eyes.

My anxiety flooded back the instant that Cecelia grabbed my hand. That caused me to shake her hand and look her in the eyes for what was, I assume, a longer time than normal. While I was doing this, much to my shock, my senses were spirited away again.

However, the place this time was different and I could take it in with my eyes as well as with my other senses. I was in a room in a seemingly abandoned house somewhere. I could hear a rainstorm outside, smell a musty odor, and see an old wooden floor on which several seemingly random items had been carefully placed. Hovering above this ritual arrangement was a portal. Looking through it, I could see what I somehow knew was the structure of the universe. Through studying this, I just knew I could learn exactly how the universe worked. Then I could manipulate it to my will and make paintings like the ones Cecelia had made.

Before I could get a full understanding, however, I ended up fainting clean away and missed the lecture. I felt disappointed, but in retrospect, could Cecelia have given me any knowledge that was better than what I had received?

Also, I probably wouldn't have paid much attention anyways. My new knowledge hijacked most of my attention for the next few months. I did my best to try and forget it and kept telling myself to not do anything about it. I could tell it was dangerous and I swore that I could forge an artistic career of my own without any shortcuts.

Yet, it kept coming up in my mind with every bad grade I received and every time I lost inspiration. And no matter how hard I tried, these incidents kept happening. I was soon thinking about what I'd switch my major to and trying to picture a happy future for myself.

However, all that I could see was me sitting in an office job in a sundown office building with half the lights gone and several dozen missing ceiling tiles. I'd be wearing a dress covered in holes and stains because I couldn't afford any new clothes. I also wouldn't bother with making my hair and makeup extra pretty or try to start up conversations with my coworkers at the water cooler because I'd be so depressed.

So you see, I have to gather the ritual items, open the portal, and study the structure of the universe enough to understand how to make the painting, no matter how dangerous it is. I've been trying to hold back the temptation for as long as I can, but I don't think I will last much longer. I am truly sorry.

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ravennaortiz · 11 months ago

Text

Missing

Summary: Chapter 6 of Countdown

As always this is an 18+ only story. This story is AU based and not your typical Sons of Anarchy story. Some readers may find some plot lines and changes to some characters to be problematic please read at your discretion. This story also time jumps heavily so keep this in mind as you read!

Warnings: General themes of the show such as violence, drugs, swearing etc, minor age gap, minor smut in later chapters.

Tag List @fleureeee

"Where the fuck is she Jax?" bellowed Clay as he slammed the other man into the wall of the clubhouse. "I don't know. Like I said when we called she was gone when we got up. She must have slipped out" replied Jax as he rubbed his face with his hands. "You, where does her phone say she is?" snapped Clay as he turned from his step son to Juice. "She left her phone" stated Juice as he tossed a phone on the table. "Goddammit" yelled Clay as he slammed his fist onto the table. Should have killed them both when I killed their dad he thought to himself as he tried to get himself calmed.

Jax and Juice watched Clay closely as he stalked to the door and flung it open to where the rest of the club was sitting. "You lot find my step daughter and bring her to me. Force or no force." he growled before slamming the door back and whipping around on the two men in the room. "If I find out. Either of you or the other four trouble makers had something to do with this. I'll make sure you all have a front row seat to the depraved shit the Aryans have planned for her" he stated firmly as he glared at the two men. Jax and Juice simply nodded before leaving.

***

Juices Room

Juice had been in his room since Jax and him had gotten back from the clubhouse. He lay staring at his ceiling lost in his own thoughts and feelings. A knock drew his attention to his open door. "You good?" asked Half-Sack as he leaned against the door frame casually. Juice shrugged. He honestly had no idea how to answer that. "Jax thinks you'remad at him" stated Half-Sack as he moved into the room and sat in the computer chair.

"I'm not. Just a....stressful day. It was difficult to ....let her .... go through that. To hear ....her scream and just let it happen" replied Juice carefully as he thought back on the morning. Half-Sack nodded as he considered his best friend. "I'm sorry you had to experience that. I cant imagine what it was like." stated Half-Sack. "She wont be gone forever" he added more for himself than Juice. Juice simply nodded before going back to his own thoughts.

***

Mayans Clubhouse

It was early evening by the time the Mayans pulled into the clubhouse lot. Rocky hadn't made a sound or moved since she had been loaded up. Angel spoke as the two Mayans in the front slipped out of the van. "If we undo your hands can you keep them to yourself and promise not to take off until our presidente speaks to you" inquired Angel thoughtfully. Rocky nodded without looking at him. Coco snorted before getting out, muttering good luck as he shut the door.

Once inside Angel led her to another door where Bishop was sitting. "Have a seat" stated Bishop as he gestured to one of the many chairs around the wooden table. Rocky timidly moved to one of the chairs across from the Mayan and sat eyeing both men wearily. "Angel, why dont you check on your brother while I chat with our guest" stated Bishop. Angel simply nodded before stepping out and closing the door.

The two stared at each other for a couple of silent minutes before Bishop spoke. "I suspect you have questions" stated Bishop. Rocky nodded as Bishop continued to speak. "My name is Bishop. I am the Presidente of the Santo Padre Mayans Charter. Which will be your home for an unknown time" he stated giving Rocky a moment to process his words. "Why?" asked Rocky quietly. "I feel this letter will explain better than I can." replied Bishop as he stood and sat a white envelope in front of her. Rocky carefully took it and opened it.

#ravennasmasterlist #sons of anarchy #ravennasoc #soa fanfiction #juice ortiz #mayans mc fanfiction #coco cruz #mayans mc imagine #sons of anarchy fanfic #soa fanfic #jax teller #chibs telford

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years ago

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A Terrible Tutor

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] He’s cocky, annoying, a total tease, has a laugh loud enough to shake the stars, and you hate him. But as luck would have it, he’s also your tutor.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: minor cursing

A/N: this is based on a classmate i had way back! (we did not fall in love. he was awful.) i’ve also never taken physics, but i tried something a bit new for the reader’s personality. i hope you enjoy :) <3

You glared down at your physics textbook, the open pages staring back up at you with beady eyes made of diagrams and labels. Off to the side, your notebook was strewn across your desk, a list of questions scribbled across the top line in a hurried rush. The handwriting was messier than you would have liked, but the thought didn’t irritate you.

What did irritate you was that it was nearly half past four, and your so-called tutor still hadn’t shown up.

You could still envision the concerned look on Mr. Craftson’s face as he held you back a moment after class, watching as the rest of your classmates poured out of the door with an anxious look. He had offered you a kind smile before pulling out your test from the week before, and you winced at the numerous red marks scattered across the front page alone.

“I know you’ve been struggling in this class,” he said, gazing at you almost pitifully.

You tried not to glower at the sight of his apologetic eyes trained on you, instead nodding your head slowly. “It’s been… hard,” you said slowly.

He leaned an arm on his chair, pushing your test toward you. “You ask questions in class,” he hummed, “and from what I’ve seen, you complete your homework diligently.” His smile fell. “Yet here you are me, with the lowest mark in my class.”

You wanted to shrivel up into a ball. Maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but he wasn’t wrong, either.

At your silence, he prodded at you. “Is there anything going on at home that might be hindering you, or…?”

You whipped your head up, your eyes wide. “No! Things are—things are great. It’s just…”

You swallowed, then sighed, fidgeting your fingers on your lap. “I guess,” you murmured, trying to quell the shame flaring up inside you, “I’ve just been really struggling with the material, and none of it’s really been clicking.”

Mr. Craftson’s face softened in an instant. “That’s alright. Thank you for being honest with me. If my teaching hasn’t been working out with you…”

He paused, rubbing at the blond stubble on his chin for a moment. Then, his face lit up and he leaned forward. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got a great student who I think might be able to explain things to you in a way you might be able to grasp a little better. He’s got the best marks in this class.”

Your eyes widened. The best in the class? He had to be a genius.

“I have a good feeling he can meet you tomorrow at four after school to help you out,” he continued, leaning against the arm rest of his office chair. “What do you say?”

You blinked, a thoughtful look passing over your face. Lord knew you needed the help—you were practically failing the class—but an uneasy stone settled into the pit of your stomach. You’ve never needed tis much help to pass a class before. The thought made you want to gag. Slowly, you opened your mouth.

“Do I have to…” You gestured vaguely. “Pay him or something?”

His cerulean eyes blinked at you for a second, then he laughed—the kind of deep-belly laugh only teachers seemed to be able to have. “No, no,” he said, waving his hand at you, “not at all. He’s a good kid. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

You bobbed your head, your insides crumbling. You didn’t want to accept, you really didn’t. Part of you guys wanted to believe that you could just work harder, study by yourself even more. You were a dedicated student, and you were doing just fine in all your other classes. Surely the content couldn’t get that much harder, right?

But as your gaze lowered to the red ink staining your test once more, you felt yourself swallowing the lump in your throat. Straightening your back, you let your stubborn pride seep out of your shoulders and onto the floor.

It looked like this was a sacrifice you were simply going to have to make.

“Thank you so much for the offer,” you said, letting your lips curl up into a genuine, grateful smile. “It—it really means a lot.”

Mr. Craftson grinned at you, an easygoing flint shining in his eyes. “Of course. You’re a bright student. Sometimes we all just need a little push.”

You could still remember shaking his hand in thanks before bundling your stuff in your arms and shuffling into the hall, tucking your feet between the pages of your textbook. That had been yesterday, and now, the same one was sitting on your desk, open to a new page full of jumbled words you could hardly decipher.

The chair across from you was distinctly empty.

He—whoever he was—was late.

You distantly wondered to yourself who your tutor even was, your gaze drifting down to your textbook. Mr. Craftson had said he was the best student taking the class. Would it be George? He always seemed like he knew what was going on, and he never really asked questions. But sometimes, he looked like he was just zoning out. Maybe it was Technoblade. He was smart. You paused, then shook your head. No, everyone knew he was one of those English kids.

The thought made you furrow your brows, wracking your head even more. The words on the page grew muddled and fuzzy as you thought even more. Just who was it?

Just then, you heard the classroom door swing open with the same loud creak every door in the school seemed to have. The sound of heavy breaths and panting filled the air, then a haggard voice spoke up.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

You didn’t look up from your page, letting a sigh escape your lips as you lifted your head. Plastering a polite smile to your face, you let your gaze travel toward your tutor. “Hi, it’s nice to me—”

Suddenly, your voice died in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. Towering over the desks with a duffel bag resting against his hip, his dirty blond locks were damp and matted against his forehead, his emerald eyes blinking at you. Something bitter and warm twisted in your gut at the sight, and the smile dropped off your face and into a scowl.

“Oh,” you said flatly. “It’s you.”

The smile he offered you was easygoing, but you didn’t miss the strain in his gaze. “It’s me.”

You bit on the inside of your cheek, your heart practically revolting against your rib cage with the way it was hammering. A million questions were darting around the inside of your skull, only making your blood boil even more with each passing second.

Of all the people you had expected to show up, Clay was easily the last.

The two of you had first met back in freshman year in your first science class—he had sat behind you and had the loudest laugh on the planet, or so you were convinced. You were quieter back then, but just as stubborn and snappish as now. Soon enough, one thing led to another, and you swore the two of you were suddenly enemies for life.

Although you couldn’t remember what had caused your little feud, you knew that he was the one who started it. He was loud and kicked your chair, he just loved to borrow your pens and never return them, and you could never figure out just why he loved to tease you so much. You don’t think you learned a single thing in that class, always distracted by the presence staring a hole into your back, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Naturally, that meant your teacher assigned him to sit behind you for the rest of the year. To this day, you were convinced she hated you, and you still avoided her in the halls.

To say that science class was your least favourite would be an understatement, and soon enough, everybody was in on your hatred for each other. Clay never seemed to stop pestering you no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, and you would never forget the day you finally snapped at him, whipping around to glare at him with your cheeks on fire.

“Will you please shut up?”

The shocked look on his face was still burned into your memory as it melted into a wide, proud grin.

“Only if you make me.”

Even years later, he always seemed to find a way to worm himself back into your life, and you hated it. You hated him, simple as that.

So, seeing him standing in front of you like this, it took every ounce of your strength to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“What took you so long?”

He patted his duffel bag before slipping it off his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “I just finished football practice. Coach ran a little long and I figured it would be polite to take a shower before so I didn’t smell all sweaty when I tutored you.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open. That explained his wet hair, you guessed. While you were vaguely flattered, you were distracted by something else. “You knew that you would be tutoring me?”

Clay nodded, pulling back the chair in front of you. “Yeah. Phil asked me.”

You gaped. “You call Mr. Craftson by his first name?”

His smile was a touch too smug for your liking, and you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Maybe. I was surprised when he asked, though.” He wrinkled his nose and shot you a teasing smirk as he sat down. “I didn’t think you would be failing this class.”

You glowered, that same bitter feeling bubbling up in your chest, again. “I’m not failing,” you snapped. “I’m just…” You paused, your cheeks growing hot. “…not passing.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then laughed. “That’s the same thing.”

You sent him a gesture that your teacher most certainly would have scolded you for if he was here, and he laughed even harder. You were suddenly reminded of just how damn loud his laugh was, sounding like fireworks in your ears. Slumping over, you hung your head in your hands.

“Ugh. I can’t believe you knew you were going to be tutoring me of all people.” You paused, then added, “I can’t believe you agreed.”

He tilted his head at you, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Did you not know I was gonna be your tutor?”

“No.” You frowned. “If I did, I wouldn’t have shown up.”

His eyes flickered with mirth as a smile stretched across his face. “Aw, am I really that disagreeable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, your gaze as sharp as a blade. “Without a doubt. A hundred percent. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

He whistled, feigning a wince. “Harsh.”

Wryly, you said, “You deserve it.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I wasn’t that bad as a freshman, was I?”

You gave him a hard, callous stare. “Do you really think I’m the one you should be asking that question?”

He thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, point taken.”

You dragged a hand over your face, then pointed at your textbook. “Are you going to teach me now or what? We’re already behind.”

He winced for real this time, and you almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Sorry, again.”

“Seriously,” you muttered under your breath, reaching into your back to grab your pencil case, “and to think that you have the highest grades in this class.”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I’m brains and brawn.”

You shot him a look that was nothing short of disgusted. He cringed a little at the sight.

“Okay, that was cheesy, but I’m not wrong. Besides, coach says I have to keep my grades up or else I’m off the team.” He leaned closer to you, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin. “You know I can’t let everyone down like that.”

You looked unconvinced. “Uh huh. Totally.” Whipping out a pencil, you tapped at the bottom of the page you had open. “Can you explain this to me, now? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

He quietly chuckled, and you hated how soft it sounded. Leaning closer to the textbook to read, his lips mouthed the problem silently. You tried not to stare at his mouth as it moved, your gaze tracing over the soft dip of his lips as his viridian eyes flashed with recognition. A moment later, he sat back and cocked his head at you.

“So, what exactly do you not understand?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Everything.”

He blinked, disbelief colouring his features. “Everything? Like, the whole thing?”

You scowled. “I thought that was obvious. All that stuff about velocity and the funny diagrams—” You shook your head. “—none of it makes sense.”

He raised a brow at you. “I thought you were paying attention in class. You really don’t understand a single thing?”

You bit back the urge to scream. “It’s not like you’re much smarter.”

Clay snorted derisively. “I am. That’s kind of the whole point.”

You groaned, letting your voice ring out in the quiet of the empty classroom. You caught a glimpse of his amused smile in front of you, and it only made you groan louder.

“You’re the one who ruined science for me, you know? I hated going to that class, and look at me now.” You gestured to yourself, using your finger to draw a ring in the air. “It all comes full circle.”

There was a brief second of silence. “I’m the reason why you hate science?”

You didn’t budge. “I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy knowing I was going to be stuck in a class with someone who never gave me my stuff back and kicked my chair.”

Another wave of silence washed over the two of you, but this one was tense—heavy. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“You…” His eyes swirled with something sad and honest. “You really hate me that much?”

He suddenly looked a lot like a kicked puppy, and a pang of guilt shot through your chest like a bullet. With a panicked gaze, your voice grew shaky as you spoke. “I—I don’t hate you. I just… I had a grudge, I guess.”

Your tone grew soft, and you lowered your gaze to your lap. “I… I really didn’t like you back then, but things have changed.” You offered him a small smile, but it felt shy. “We’re not exactly fourteen, anymore.”

He returned your smile with one of his own. Just like yours, it was small and tender, and it sent something stirring in the depths of your belly. “No,” he murmured, “we’re not.”

“I,” you breathed, gulping down the last dredges of your grudge, “was stubborn back then.” You raised a shoulder. “In a way, I still am. I have too much pride for my own good too, but I don’t hate you.” The look you sent him had a spark of mischief, and his breath hitched. “Strongly dislike, at best.”

Clay blinked at you, looking half-surprised and half-awed at you. You squirmed under his gaze before he snapped out of his stupor, almost bashfully ducking his head. “I’m… It’s definitely too late for me to say this now when I really should have said it all those years ago, but I’m sorry. Really. I was a dick.”

You snorted under your breath, fondly mumbling, “Yeah, you were.”

His face perked up at the sound of your bitten back laugh. “I really shouldn’t have teased you so much. My reasons were… dumb.”

You cocked a brow at him, almost as if to say, Oh? Do elaborate.

But instead, you watched as his ears burned crimson red and he flashed you a pair of bright, pleading eyes. “Forgive me? Please.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, something new and warm bursting along the seams of your lungs. You couldn’t possibly say no to a face like that. Even the toughest person on the planet would crack under a look as sincere as that, you tried to reason, ultimately letting out a sigh with a stammer.

“O-Only if you actually can get me to understand this unit.” Pushing down the heat creeping up your neck, you pointed at him with an accusatory look. “Until then, you’re on thin ice.”

The grin he sent you was beyond dazzling—you couldn’t have brought yourself to look away even if you wanted to.

(And you didn’t.)

“Gotcha.”

Clay finished scribbling a diagram onto the new page of your notebook, flicking his thumb back to reveal the hordes of previous pages you had filled with other practice problems. If you were being honest, you were a little envious of just how neat his drawings were. No one should be able to draw a line as straight as that without a ruler, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

What a show-off.

Feeling your eyes on him, Clay lifted his head to catch your gaze, turning the notebook to face you. You tried to pretend the stumbling of your heart wasn’t because of him—not at all. “Do you get it?” he breathed.

You glanced back and forth between him and your page, your grip on your pencil falling slack. “I think so,” you said slowly. “Mostly, at least.”

He hummed for a moment, then flipped your notebook around until it was facing him again and holding an expectant, open hand toward you. Without even thinking, you dropped your pencil into his palm, a spark running up your fingers at the slight brush of his skin against yours. Carefully, he wrote a string of words on a new line, circling the sentence when he was done.

“Here,” he said gently, pushing the pencil back between your fingers, “try this question. This was one of the harder ones from my test.”

Gingerly, you peered down at the page, and your mouth fell open at the sight. This question was far more complicated than anything you had been solving in the textbook before this. What was he thinking?

“If you get it right,” he said suddenly, casting you out of your thoughts, “you should be all set.” His lips curved up into a taunting, knowing grin. “But it’s okay if you don’t get it—it is difficult, after all.”

You stared for a second longer, then grumbled under your breath. How could he read your mind like that? You were going to prove him wrong, even if only to knock that smug look off his face.

Leaning down, you tackled the problem head on, your pencil flying across the page as you spelled out formulas and equations, doodling a diagram when you had to and pausing to think every other breath. Before you, you didn’t see Clay watching you with a soft, tender gaze, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted against your pencil when you stopped and how you chewed on your mouth when you got nervous.

You really were more endearing than you could ever know.

Suddenly, you let your pencil clatter against the table as you pushed your notebook toward him, eyeing your pencil scratches with a wary look. “Done.”

His viridian eyes gleamed with excitement. “Alright,” he said, plucking the paper from your desk with a practiced ease, “let’s take a look.”

His gaze scanned your work intently, his lips pressed together in focus. You folded your hands onto your lap, trying to focus on his analysis of you work. But the longer you looked, the more you felt your gaze trailing up to graze his cheeks. Did he always have so many freckles? You didn’t remember seeing him with this many as a freshman, but you also spent more time glaring at him than staring at him back then.

In a way, he was kind of... pretty. Handsome, even. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

You suddenly had a strong urge to reach up and trace feather-light lines between each of his freckles, but before you could even take another breath, Clay’s eyes were on yours again. Unlike earlier, the look on his face was grave, and a small grimace overtook his features.

“I have bad news,” he said dryly.

Your heart fell.

Of course you got something wrong. You were a fool to think that things would change just because Clay would be teaching you instead.

But then, his grimace curled up at the corners, and your jaw dropped.

“I have nothing left to teach you in this unit.”

Your eyes widened.

“I got it right?”

He turned the notebook back to face you. A large check mark had been scribbled in pencil along the side of the page, a tiny smiley face decorating the corner next to it.

“Perfectly.”

The gasp you let out sent you barrelling for your feet, and you nearly started jumping for joy in the middle of your seat. “Yes!” you cried, pumping a hand up in the air. Suddenly, you whirled to point at Clay, a pout forming on your lips. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me! Don’t do that.”

He chuckled, leaning back with his hands up defensively. “Sorry, sorry. I saw the opportunity and just had to take it.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stuck your tongue out at him. “You’re terrible.”

His eyes softened—sincere and sweet. “I know.”

Ignoring the sudden burst of warmth rushing through your veins, you huffed at him. “Well, at least I have two pieces of good news for you. First,” you said, sliding your notebook off your desk, “we can both go home, now.”

“And the second?” he prompted, looking at you inquisitively.

You folded your notebook shut, boring a hole into your backpack with the intensity of your stare. You couldn’t look at him right now, you just couldn’t.

“Second,” you nearly whispered, “I accept your apology.”

Slipping your textbook into your bag, you heard him take a sharp intake of breath. “Really?”

You reached for your pencil case, fumbling with the zipper. “Yes.”

There was another breath, but this one was gentler, less harsh. You peeked up at him from your bag, and your heart stuttered at the ecstatic look on his face.

“This,” he said, “is the greatest day of my life.”

You blinked wildly at him, zipping your backpack up all the way before slinging it onto the desk. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his smile never once faltering. “Are you kidding? I thought you were going to hate my guts forever!”

You shrugged, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I might have.” You paused. “Actually, I probably would have. But luckily for you—” You shot him a sincere look. “—not anymore.”

His grin grew impossibly wider, yet it somehow still looked natural on him. Deep down, a part of you wanted to bottle up his expression and remember it for as long as you lived.

“Like I said, greatest day of my life.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Weirdo.”

Pushing in your chair and gesturing for him to stand, you jutted your head toward the door. Clay didn’t need to be queued twice before he was rising to his feet, pushing the chair back to its rightful spot before heaving his duffel bag off the floor and onto his side. As the two of you headed out towards the door, a bought suddenly flickered across your head, and your lips began moving before you could even begin to think.

“One of these days, you need to tell me why you liked to pick on me so much. Like, seriously, why me?” You gestured to yourself as the two of you stepped outside into the school hallway. “I’m not exactly special.”

You hadn’t been looking at him in that moment, focused on closing the door behind you, but when he didn’t respond for a moment, you looked up and felt your lungs tighten. You had never seen Clay look so bashful in his life, with his ears flaring crimson red and a faint rosy tint dusting the panes of his cheeks. His freckles were only more noticeable with the pink background, and you nearly blurted something you knew you would regret.

“Maybe I’ll—” He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Before you could even ask what he meant by that, he was firing off once more. “In the meantime, if you still need help, I don’t mind coming in again next week or something.”

You nearly took a double take. Next week? He wanted to help you, again?

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” you asked, scanning him with wide, curious eyes. “Like studying your own stuff.”

“You’re important,” he said abruptly.

You choked on your spit, and by the way he went absolutely stock still in front of you, you had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That warm, fuzzy feeling from earlier was rising between your lungs again, only this time it sent your heart racing around your chest. Sucking in a deep breath, you nodded your head once, twice.

“Sure,” you managed to say as calmly as you could. “The, um, the next unit looks a little confusing, so I might need some help.”

Clay’s face suddenly brightened at your soft request for assistance, and you caught his shoulders slumping with relief as he smiled. “Awesome.” He paused, then waved his hand. “Not the part about you needing help, I mean.”

You laughed a little at that, your nerves calming a bit more. “I would hope not.”

He smiled back at you. “So,” he said, drawing out the syllable, “I’ll be back same time next week?”

You couldn’t help but reach over to elbow him a little playfully. “Try to be on time though, yeah?”

He flushed a bit, but cracked a crooked grin nonetheless. “I’ll try my best.” He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, and you suddenly realized you would be heading in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you around?” he murmured gently, brushing away his now dry hair from his forehead.

One of your hands tightened around the straps of your bag while the other waved back at him. “See you.”

With one last grin at you, you watched as he turned on his heel, striding down the hall with his duffel bag bouncing against the side of his hip. Just then, your eyes grew wide, and you cupped your hands around your mouth to call after him.

“One last thing, Clay!” you shouted, your voice echoing down the empty corridor.

At the sound of his name, he whipped around again, his brows knitted together. Breathing in deeply, you screwed your eyes shut and called out once more.

“Thank you!”

When you opened your eyes again, his emerald green eyes were blinking at you with wild abandon, his lips parted in what could only be described as a look of pure wonder. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wondered why he was looking at you of all people like that.

Swallowing, he sent you a lopsided, earnest smile and cupped his own hands around his mouth to shout back at you.

“Anytime!”

You kept waving at him even after he let his arms drop back to his sides and he vanished around the corner of the hall. Almost immediately, you bent over to bury your head into your knees, letting out a soft, muffled yell.

Why did your chest feel so warm when he looked at you like that? Why did you want to count his freckles so badly when he smiled? Was he always so nice, so helpful and kind? Why did he look so cute when his face flushed all pink like the way it did before? When did he become so endearing instead of annoying?

Did you like him?

You let out another muffled cry into your hands, feeling heat flood every part of your body like a tidal wave crashing into your system. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears like a bell that wouldn’t ever stop, and your toes curled into your shoes.

You had so, so many questions, none of which you knew how to solve.

Hopefully Clay could help you figure out the answers.

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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

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breanime · 4 years ago

Text

They Have to Have You Now (With Bonus Boy)

warning: steamy, slight voyeurism (?)

Billy Russo: Billy couldn’t wait another second to have you. Wordlessly, he grabbed you, pulling you to him as his lips met yours in a fierce, breathtaking kiss. Your hands pressed against his chest, and you could feel his hammering heartbeat underneath your palms. He was still wearing his stealth suit, fresh off of a mission, but all he could think about on the helicopter ride back to Anvil was getting his hands on you. He had moved through the halls like a panther, not stopping to talk to anyone or even to change. He had a new mission--finding you, touching you, and burying himself inside of you. Billy didn’t say a word as he undressed you, his lips nibbling and sucking on the flesh of your neck as his hands roamed your curves. You sighed, your eyes fluttering shut as his long fingers entered you, prepping you for him. “Next time,” he growled, his mouth warm against your neck, “you come with me...” “Aw,” you cooed, combing your fingers through his dark hair, “you missed me.” “I missed this,” he smirked, pulling back just as he curled three fingers inside of you, making you gasp out in pleasure. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping them as he fingered you, the sounds of your moans and the wetness between your legs filling the small room. “Billy,” you gasped out, head thrown back in ecstasy, “We--I--the door!” Billy paused, pulling his head up and looking over at the door, “Yeah? What about it?” “Did you lock it?” You asked. He smirked, slowly pulling his fingers out of you. Billy pressed them to your lips, watching with those dark, expressive eyes as you obediently sucked them into your mouth. He waited until he felt your tongue swirling around his digits to answer you. “I’m the boss,” he said, his free hand going to unbuckle his belt as he spoke, his voice low and confident “I don’t lock doors. I’m gonna fuck you right here in this storage room, and if someone walks in... We’ll give ‘em a show.”

Logan Delos: In a matter of seconds, Logan had reduced your entire, extensive vocabulary down to two words: Logan and yes. You were positioned face-first against the floor length window, hands slapped against the glass and breasts pressed against the cool glass, your entire naked body exposed for all to see. All they had to do was look up. Granted, you and Logan were on the penthouse floor of the suite, but still. Logan was behind you, pounding into you, wearing nothing but a black cowboy hat. He reached around you and grabbed your chin, turning your head to face him. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss, his hips slamming upwards as he pulled away. “I can’t believe you,” he huffed, a smirk on his perfect face, “Bought you all the way out here, and we didn’t even make it past the fucking train tour.” “That... that wasn’t my fault,” you gasped back, biting your lip as Logan’s dick hit that spot that had your legs shaking, “You’re the one who said we had to go.” “Yeah,” he agreed, taking a handful of hair and pulling, making your head fall back, “because you looked so goddamn good...” He moved against you, once again making it impossible for you to say anything but his name and “yes, yes, yes”. You came hard; quivering as you reached your climax. Logan didn’t even give you a second to relax; he was relentless. He pounded into you, his hips smacking into your ass so hard, you wondered if you two were going to accidentally break the glass. “Baby, look,” Logan hissed, his lips against your ear, “We got an audience.” Still shaking with pleasure, you opened your eyes, blearily blinking until you could focus again. Across the street, there was another suite, and all the way from here, you could see the woman standing in her window with her hand up her dress. Logan chuckled, his hand moving to take hold of your leg, lifting it and pushing deeper into you, making you scream with delight. “Let’s see who gets off first... you, me...or our friend over there.”

Jax Teller: You weren’t entirely sure what had gotten into Jax, but you for damn sure were grateful for it. He’d been on the road for the past three days on a run with Opie, Juice, Tig, and Clay, and he’d gotten back in town sometime early in the morning. But, of course, they had church and then some kind of sketchy meeting with another MC, so you figured you wouldn’t be able to see or speak to your man until later that night. But then he surprised you by stomping into the house hours earlier than you’d expected him. You were in the laundry room; you’d just started a load when Jax came in, greeted you with a “I need to be inside of you”, picked you up, and plopped you down on top of the vibrating washer. He was inside of you in record time, kissing you as he moved against you. Sex with Jax was always enjoyable, no question, but being fucked while the washing machine vibrated beneath you, enhancing each thrust and every motion of his hips--it was enough to make you scream. And scream you did. “Yeah, darling,” he grinned, his hands on your hips, rings digging into your flesh as he held you close, “Go ahead and cum for me...” And you did, cumming within seconds of him entering you, your head falling against his shoulder. Jax didn’t slow down or let up, he plowed into you, that thick, long dick of his hitting you right in that spot that had you seeing stars. You scratched as his back, and Jax chuckled, kissing your chin. The gesture was soft, contradicting the punishing pace his hips were setting, and you moaned against him. “Been missing you like crazy,” he grumbled, picking you up and spinning you around, slamming you down with against the washer with careful control before pushing into you again, “Had to skip out of the meeting to get to you...” You turned your head, your cheek resting against the cool steel, a smile growing on your face. From the feel of his hips and the way he was moving without any sign of slowing down, you had a long day ahead of you... and you couldn’t be more excited.

Coco Cruz: As soon as you had walked into the apartment, heart pounding with worry and suspicion, you knew something was up. You could see water seeping from the back room, but before you could so much as ask a single question, Coco was on you. His lips slammed into yours, pushing you against the wall. He was rough, but gentle, as always, placing his hand behind your head to make sure you didn’t smack it on the wall as he bit your lip, leaving a stinging sensation that he soothed with his tongue. “Tell me you love me, no matter what,” he whispered, his hands pulling at your clothes, getting them out of his way, “Tell me you’re with me, no matter how bad I fuck up.” Your fingers found their way into his hair, massaging his scalp, getting lost in the thick curls. “I’m with you,” you said, your lips moving against his, even as you spoke, “I love you, Coco, no matter what.” He grunted, apparently pleased with your response. “I fucking love you,” he said, his voice somehow growly and broken all at once. You wrapped your legs around his waist, whispering his name lovingly as he entered you. He needed you; you could feel it. Coco fucked you up against the wall, his moans and your sighs filling the hallway. Your eyes were squeezed shut, stuck in a whirlwind of passion and love and concern. You knew your Coco sometimes needed to work out his frustrations, and while you were more than happy to help, you were still a bit worried about whatever was bothering him. As he fucked you, you made sure to whisper your love for him into his ear, kissing the shell of it as you told him over and over again how much you adored him. “No matter what,” you added, moaning the words out as Coco’s dick slid between your thighs, his pre-cum and your arousal already starting to drip down your leg, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You came at the same time, you with a sigh and him with a shout. Carefully, Coco slid out of you, his cum thick and warm as it ran down your leg. “Baby... what’s wrong?” You asked. He paused, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “So... Something... Something happened...” You pulled back, frowning. It took you only a moment and a handful of steps to see what he meant by “something”. “Jesus Christ, Coco! You fucked me fifteen feet from your mom’s corpse?!” “Shit, is that fucked up? My bad!”

Angel Reyes: “Scrapyard,” Angel growled, already leading you that way, “Now.” You followed him, biting back a grin. He’d been eyeing you all day as you helped set up the clubhouse for a party, no matter who he was talking to or what he was supposed to be focusing on, his eyes always seemed to land on you. And when you’d given him a show while wiping down the tables (how that soapy water got down your shirt, you’d never know), you saw the spark in his eyes. He wanted you, and Angel wasn’t going to waste a single second--he was taking you. Now. The scrapyard was open, but empty, and so when Angel turned around, grabbing you and pulling you to him, you knew there was no one around to see... yet. “I got alcohol and bandages in the club,” he said between kisses, “so after,” he smoked, “I’ll fix you up. But for now...get on your knees.” You did so happily, falling to your knees, the ache in your legs nothing but a small price to pay for what was coming next. You watched, licking your lips greedily, as Angel unbuckled his pants. His thick cock was already hard, and he grabbed onto it, stroking it for you. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, his eyes staring down at you. You did, sticking your tongue out, and you took in a sharp breath when he skid his dick into your waiting mouth. You closed your lips around him, gathering saliva and sucking on him, making him moan. Angel’s large hand fell onto your head, a heavy token of his appreciation for your efforts. You held onto his upper thighs, bobbing your head back and forth on his cock. There was drool dribbling down your chin, and Angel was moaning like crazy, your name coming off of his lips as you sucked him down. There was gravel and dirt in your knees already, but all you could focus on was the taste of Angel and the sounds of his pleasure. His fingers twitched on your head, curling around a lock of your hair--a sure sign of what was next. Angel came with a grunt, sighing as he felt you swallow him down. “We got a few minutes till the party starts. Stand up, it’s my turn to taste you, mi dulce.”

Miguel Galindo: Whenever Miguel was working late, so would you. Often, you’d wake up at your desk or on the couch surrounded by papers, slogging your way back upstairs to bed to be met by Miguel hours later. You were currently on the couch, fast asleep, when you felt a soft, warm caress on your face. You smiled in your sleep, recognizing Miguel’s touch even while you were unconscious. You heard him above you, his voice deep and low, “Come to bed, mi amor.” You hummed, holding the jacket you’d used as a makeshift blanket closer to you. Miguel chuckled, and you felt his lips, warm and soft on your cheek. “I’ve missed you,” his hand had been on your face, but you felt it slowly move down, “come to bed...” You hummed again as you felt his hands, those hands you adored and knew so well, run down your thigh. “No? Fine,” his lips were on your neck now, soft and warm as he spoke against your throat, “Have it your way...” That made you giggle; no matter what the situation--it was always Miguel’s way, not yours. Your giggle soon turned into a moan when you felt Miguel’s fingers slip inside of you. “Mm... already wet,” he mused, “Were you dreaming of me, mi amor?” You nodded, eyes still closed. He kissed your collarbone, “So you’ve missed me too,” he chuckled, “Open your legs.” You did, and Miguel rewarded you with three fingers, curling inside of you and tickling your clit. You sighed, biting your lip. Miguel’s other hand went under your shirt, gently pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “More?” He asked. You nodded. His fingers disappeared for a moment, and you sat up, eyes open now, pouting. Miguel was hovering over you now, his dark eyes staring down at you. He pushed into you, the action rough and exhilarating, making you gasp at the stretch of him. Your eyes closed again, and you wrapped your arms around him, letting him fuck you until both of you were spent, his cum blooming inside of you as you pulsated and shook around him. Time seemed to slow, and when you opened your eyes again, you were tucked into his side in bed. You smiled, cuddling closer to him, and wondered how he would wake you in the morning.

Nick Amaro: “We don’t have long,” Nick said, undoing his tie, “I swear, I’ll make this up to you, babe--” “It’s fine,” you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, “I know you need this.” He stopped, his hands on your waist, “I need you,” he clarified, “And I want to go slow and give you all the attention you deserve, but...” “But we only have enough time,” you said, kissing your way down his jawline, “To fuck. So come on, Detective... Fuck me.” Nick didn’t need to hear anything more; in seconds, he had his pants around his ankles and his dick between your thighs. You held onto him, your nails digging into his forearms as he fucked you. His thrusts were rough and fast, and you felt him getting deeper and deeper with each motion. “Harder,” you gasped out, your toes curling. Nick obliged you eagerly, pushing into you with such force, your legs started to shake. Sensing that you were getting overstimulated, Nick carefully lowered you to the ground. Fucking him in your office was one of your favorite new past times, and no matter how needy or rough Nick was, he always made sure that you knew--from his touch, his words, his kiss--he loved you. He was on top of you, the weight of him the only thing anchoring you, keeping you tethered to the world while he brought you to unknown heights of pleasure and ecstasy, the two of you connected by the heart and by the hips, nothing in the world but you and Nick. You came first, and Nick showered you with loving words, kissing you as you shook around him. “There you go,” he cooed, “My love...” He pulled out of you, and you squirmed at the loss. “...Come wrap your pretty lips around this dick.”

Johnny Tuturro: “Shh, shh, shh,” Johnny whispered, his supple lips caressing your ear as he spoke, his dick sliding between your wetness, “if Charlie hears us, we’re dead.” You nodded, burying your face in the cushions of the couch. “If anyone hears us,” he went on, casual as he fucked you, “We’re gonna be stuck on chore duty for the next,” he paused, shifting his hips and pushing deeper into you, making you whine at the absolute delicious stretch of him, “the next three weeks,” he continued, his body was draped over yours, and you could feel him--every sinewy, muscular inch of him--hovering over you. “So be quiet, baby girl,” he went on, rotating his hips above you, “no guns downstairs, and no fucking either.” You bit your lip, nodding. It was hard to listen, to think, with the way he was moving against you--inside of you. Johnny was completely naked--he’d just come back from surfing, and as soon as he had walked into the room and seen you...he just had to have you. “Fuck,” he hissed, licking at your ear, “How are you always so fucking tight? So perfect?” He asked. You couldn’t answer; all you could do was whine as Johnny pushed into you again, making you shift upwards on the couch. There was nothing like Johnny inside of you, nothing like his long, hard dick pressing into your most sensitive parts. As badly as he needed you, as desperate as he was for you, you were equally needy, equally desperate. Hell, you couldn’t even be bothered to take a second to walk (or run) up a handful of stairs; you needed Johnny then and there--there was no time to waste. “Johnny,” you groaned, “baby, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” He didn’t, his hips slamming into your ass with a renewed rigor until you were both cumming, both of you calling out the others’ name. “Oh fuck,” Johnny said on a laugh, still inside of you as his seed pumped into your waiting wetness, “Now I won’t be able to sit here without thinking of fucking you...we might need to make this a weekly thing.”

Rio: “I don’t give a damn if you try,” Rio said into the phone, “You gotta win, bitch. And you gotta pay me my money--and right quick, too.” You felt yourself clench at his words; you loved getting to hear him do business, loved the power and control in his voice. You loved it even more when he was fucking you while working. Rio had one hand on his phone, and the other on your neck as he fucked you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Matter of fact,” he went on, pumping inside of you and squeezing your throat affectionately, “You’re gonna pay me extra. Because that’s what happens when you make me wait.” You swore, as talented a lover as Rio was, it was his words that were making you so wet. “Consider it incentive for next time,” he continued, “You miss a payment cause of Little League or book club or whatever other white suburban shit you got goin’ on, you pay me for the lost time.” Rio grinned down at you, seeing the excitement on your face. He leaned down and kissed you filthily, his tongue snaking into your mouth, lapping against yours before pulling back, the phone still at his ear. “Which reminds me, gon’ ahead and bring me the keys to that slick black ‘Vette I saw the other night, I think my girl will like it,” he grinned down at you, and that grin had your heart flipping in your chest. His hand flexed on your throat, and that, coupled with his thrusts and the way he was handling business at the moment, had you nearly sobbing with desire. “I don’t need your bullshit ass excuses, Elizabeth,” he went on, his thumb trailing upwards, tapping your bottom lip gently until you opened your mouth, sucking it in, “I need my money, plus the extra, plus that black Corvette. Otherwise, you can take another pay cut, and I’ll make a visit to your husband’s place of work--again,” Rio paused, a smirk growing on his kissable lips, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His smugness did it for you; you came then, whimpering as your orgasm ran through you. Rio fucked you through it, still on the phone. By the time your orgasm subsided and you came back to reality, the phone was gone, and he was grinning down at you. “Good news, baby,” he reported brightly, still moving inside of you, “We got an extra 20 grand, a new car, and I still got another round in me,” he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss, speaking lowly, his words going directly into your mouth, “and since you were such a good girl, I’ma make you cum again, and again, and again...”

Bonus Boy

Tommy Shelby: “Get out,” Tommy barked, swaggering into the room with nothing but authority coloring his steps, “Esme, close up on your way out. Yeah, you too, Finn, fuck off.” You stood, money still in your hands, as Tommy approached you. He wasn’t talking to you, you knew it. You knew it from the second he walked into the betting shop, his thunderous blue eyes searching for you. You knew what he wanted, what he needed. You watched as everyone scurried out, the sounds of feet hitting the floor and doors slamming filling the space. You watched as Tommy walked up to you, your handsome man in his dusty black coat and his blood soaked hands. You watched as he stripped his coat off, tossing it to the side, his hands already reaching out for you, eager for you. Desperate for you. You let him come, and Tommy grabbed you, his touch possessive and rough and gentle and confident and unsure all in one. He kissed you, tasting of mint and smoke, and you grabbed at his collar, keeping him close. Tommy wasted no time, his hands moved expertly, pulling your skirt up and pushing your undergarments aside until the only thing that separated him from you was time. And time was fleeting. You both groaned when he first slid inside of you; there had been no prep, but your body adjusted to him quickly. His mouth moved against yours as he fucked you, his hands keeping you close to him--as if there was any other place you’d rather be. “Never leave me,” he whispered, and his words broke your heart. “I won’t,” you promised, and you meant it. He pushed you back against the desk, his movements firm but his eyes soft as he looked down at you. Tommy was a patient man, a calculating man, but with you--he could never bring himself to wait, never consider the pros and cons, the consequences. He just needed you--needed you like he needed air, like a horse needed freedom. You were his everything. And even though he couldn’t always find the words to say it, he could show it. And he did. As Tommy held you, his mouth on your face, his heart in your hands, he knew that this need, this desperation would never ebb. He belonged to you...and he always would.

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