#hopefully write to the part where I get my point across at least

[shamera]

NaNo day 23-25

I LIVE back with hunter au

so the first part felt fun but then I had a really hard time writing and got distracted by rl left and right so if it feels choppy... it is. that's what editing is for, right? that is if i keep most of this, hurhur.

I had an idea for this, I swear I did, but I kept meandering. Finally coming up to the end, though. of the part? of the story? idk, but we're finally coming to the part I imagined when I first started this, even if that image was nebulous in my head.

also scene not complete but my brain is done tonight

One thing that always irritated Fang Duobing about Li Lianhua was just how easy it was to trust the man. No matter how many times Fang Duobing watched him lie or cheat or weasel his way out of things, when it came down to it, Fang Duobing instinctively trusted Li Lianhua. 

At first he blamed it on his own inexperience with the world. Growing up ill, he had mostly been homeschooled until he recovered enough to be thrown into an exclusive and extremely rich private school where other children of diplomats and royalty attended, yet Fang Duobing never quite… connected the other children. He was different and intense and he didn’t share the same life goals as them. 

Unlike his schoolmates, he hadn’t wanted to inherit companies or marry up or maintain rich connections. Instead, he wanted to be a Hunter, someone who needlessly endanger their lives for little gain. Fang Duobing wanted to fight, wanted to get in the middle of things and get his hands dirty saving others. His frustration grew over the years as he found no one to share or understand his dream, and the last straw had been when his parents arranged his marriage to Princess Qiaoling. 

He was meant to inherit his mother’s company and his father’s name, marry the Princess and live a soft, sheltered life where his children would be even more powerful and the Fang and He lineage would be secured, and even more, of royal blood. 

When Fang Duobing first ran away from home, he made mistake after mistake that had his aunt hunting closely after him. He learned to pull out his sim card from his phone, learned to dress differently and cover his face in big cities due to surveillance at every corner, and circumnavigate paper money rather than rely entirely on paying via his phone. 

(Although he continued to make that last mistake again and again whenever he needed food or money, instead learning how to run faster than his aunt could catch him.)

With his inexperience with people, it just made sense that he kept getting tricked by Li Lianhua. 

Or, it would make sense if Fang Duobing ever learned from his mistake. 

Yet he didn’t know why, but when Li Lianhua snuck a look at him, Fang Duobing would understand exactly what he meant by the look. They communicated seamlessly in a manner that he wouldn’t notice until much later, when Fang Duobing could review the day and be breathless at how easily they navigated around each other. 

It must be, Fang Duobing determined early on, the storybook friendships. That’s how people felt about best friends, right? It was the type of connection seen on tv dramas, and the type of connection that Hunters would develop after years of fighting alongside each other. 

That would make sense except for the fact that Li Lianhua very obviously didn’t fight. 

He complained about long walks and lost his breath on stairs, and Fang Duobing was always the one doing the heavy lifting and fixing around Lotus Tower. He would have complained about it more if not for the fact that Li Lianhua really did get very sick from time to time, with no prior warning. 

And when he got sick, he would spend days in bed in a state that worried Fang Duobing tremendously. He couldn’t understand how the man survived to this point at all without someone to take care of him. 

After being caught by his aunt the first time (because! Li Lianhua! Snitched! On him!), Fang Duobing spent months back home seething over the betrayal, constantly trailed by maids, servants, and bodyguards paid to not let him out of their sights. He spent the time spamming Baichuan Court with requests and shoved his application and resume in their faces the entire time, only to be rejected time and again. 

It took months of intense studying and online spoofing for Fang Duobing to find a time where he managed to sweet-talk his mother into allowing him to one of her company parties, lying through his teeth about a sudden interest in a corporate career, especially since he was now not a child but in his twenties. 

His escape the second time had been so narrow he heard his aunt’s angry screaming while he was still climbing down over the wall of the private retreat, rolling down through the bushes in his suit in glee at finally escaping from the excessive overprotectiveness of his family. 

Goodbye, arranged marriage and arranged life and having the names of his nonexistent kids already picked out! He was going to go off and make a name for himself with his own blood, sweat, and tears, and he was going to fulfil his dreams of being a Hunter and fighting monsters and saving people— 

And then, somehow, he ran into Li Lianhua again in the first town he escaped to via the first long-distance bus he could find that didn’t require his identification for a ticket. 

He would have left, he really would have. He would have just turned around and made his way to the next town without acknowledging him at all, except Li Lianhua had been pale like he was still recovering from a recent bout of illness, and there was a girl standing with him that Fang Duobing recognised from a previous case together, and what was she doing there as well?

Apparently in Fang Duobing’s absence, Su Xiaoyong had taken it upon herself to trail after Li Lianhua, and Fang Duobing was having none of it. It just wasn’t proper, and so what if that view was old fashioned! Her following them had been funny originally when Fang Duobing was there the first time, but it wasn’t funny now that he wasn’t there!

So he bullied his way back into his room at Lotus Tower (which was his and not Su Xiaoyong’s!), and back into travelling with Li Lianhua again on the promise that the man wouldn’t rat Fang Duobing out to his aunt again. 

It was not even three weeks after that Fang Duobing found Li Lianhua having pulled out that ancient laptop of his at the kitchen, frowning at the horrible internet connection from where they were parked. 

“Why do you need that?” Fang Duobing asked then, surprised. He leaned to peek at the screen. “Does that thing even work? It must have existed along with the dinosaurs. I’ll get you a new one.”

A second later, he changed his mind. 

“Are you emailing my mother?” Fang Duobing shrieked, a hand shaking at Li Lianhua’s shoulder. “Why?!”

For someone usually so sickly, Li Lianhua didn’t bat an eye at being shaken like that. “We have a rapport. She asked me about you, I thought it was only polite to respond. She wants to know if you’re still alive and standing.”

That wasn’t all of it, from what Fang Duobing could read on the screen. He Xiaohui included quips about her day and random cooking recipes, along with thanks for recommending the acupuncturist for her sore shoulder. She had jokes on the side. She used emojis in the messages. 

It wasn’t until the post-script that she asked about her son’s well-being. 

P.S., she wrote, is my darlingest Xiaobao still alive?

Then he saw Li Lianhua respond with ‘he's reading this right now ‘before Fang Duobing attempted to wrestle that laptop out of his hands, but not before the man managed to hit send. 

And that was how Fang Duobing learned he didn’t need to be as careful with his phone use and purchases, because his mother had known where he was all along and was only mad he didn’t tell her himself. 

(Although perhaps he had been a little too ambitious in thinking he could hide from his mother, the head of a company on innovative technology who happened to moonlight in R&D as well.)

“Now I’m glad you don’t have a phone,” Fang Duobing griped afterward. Despite his extensive badgering about getting Li Lianhua a phone (mostly so he could find the ever elusive man), Li Lianhua had remained steadfast in his adherence to living like an old man. Fang Duobing shuddered to think of his family on a WeChat group with Li Lianhua, who could be documenting Fang Duobing’s greatest failures on the daily. He thought of his own collections of photos and videos around Lotus Tower, mostly of Hulijing because she was the cutest dog in existence, but also of Li Lianhua cooking, or drinking tea, or tucked into a corner and reading, or— 

“I somehow remember a certain someone badgering me about needing a phone for everyday use,” Li Lianhua said, even as he shut down the laptop and packed it away once more. “From messaging to paying for things, to maps…”

“Eh!” Fang Duobing made panicked noises to stop the other man from continuing. “Who said that, huh? Not just me! It’s common sense— how do you survive the modern world without Alipay, anyway? No navigation, no contacts, no access to TaoBao…”

“I make do.” Li Lianhua replied with faux demureness. 

(Fang Duobing doesn’t manage to convince him to get a phone, although soon enough a brand new and high-spec tablet ends up in Lotus Tower just by coincidence, only to be thrown into the same compartment as the ancient laptop. After that, he stuck to purchasing newer kitchen appliances instead. At least the air fryer was a hit.)

Two days later, they exposed a supplier for illegal dungeon materials who attempted to drug them, only for Li Lianhua to take one look at the tea and smile sweetly before diverting attention and dumping the cup below his sleeve, barely needing to nudge Fang Duobing’s foot for him to do the same. 

After that they managed to come up with the same plan, executing it at the same time without saying a word about it to each other. They gave the same story to the police who showed up afterward as well, even in separate rooms and even without having corroborated beforehand. 

It was like having someone who knew exactly what was on his mind, and knowing exactly what was on his mind in return, even if Fang Duobing couldn’t quite comprehend his actions most of the time. The feeling was exhilarating enough that he couldn’t help but forgive Li Lianhua’s strange habits and awful lies. 

Because when and where it counted, Li Lianhua did live up to everything Fang Duobing hoped of him. 

He hid and he ran away and he lied endlessly, but Fang Duobing had always known the type of person Li Lianhua was, the same way they always knew each other’s decisions and actions. It was the connection of a lifetime— he met Li Lianhua and he just knew.

He knew. 

Staring at the view before him now, within the domain of the boss dungeon, Fang Duobing found he really didn’t know anything at all. 

With most of the tendrils of the monster cut off, it was like half the body disappeared after the sword swing (sword? What sword? Where did that sword come from?), unbalancing the large beast and bringing its heavy body crashing forward, the darkness it hide between the tendrils disappearing amidst the glow of the grass as it hit the ground, only for the shrieking noise to grow even louder, louder until Fang Duobing wasn’t sure if his ears would soon be bleeding. 

Li Lianhua (tired, sickly Li Lianhua who couldn’t even be bothered to carry his own groceries) wasted no time as he dashed forward into a sprint, the faint glow of the sword blending in with the surroundings as he darted around the falling monster to jump atop it, the movements so graceful Fang Duobing almost felt like time slowed for it as he lept, weightless, landing with just one foot on the hulk of the monster before he pushed off again before gravity could set in, spinning in an effortless movement to balance atop the crashing body and evade the renewed tendrils that came from the other side of the monsters as its form split once more, shorter now, yet no less deadly in its force. 

Fang Duobing was too far away to see clearly, the movements and the dust blurring the battle, but he knew that footwork. He knew the slash, that sidestep, that evasion. 

He’d been studying it since he was ten years old, attempting to find every video and snippet the internet had of the famous Sigu Sect founder, eyes wide with wonder and reverence. He read every article, replayed every clip of every fight with breathless marvel as teen prodigy Li Xiangyi climbed his way to the top of the world of Hunters. Every shaky phone footage from civilians who managed to catch seconds when Li Xiangyi was challenged by other Hunters, only for him to end the fight almost instantly, within only a few moves. 

The famed Whirling Steps of Xiangyi Swordplay, as light and easy as laughter. 

(But it couldn’t be!)

The tendrils were moving faster now, focusing on the ones with spikes down the side, readily destroying even the body of the monster in attempts to target Li Lianhua, who evaded the attacks easy as breathing, and turned to hack those tendrils off as well, the ground shaking with each and every heavy fall of monster parts, the flash of a blue sword cutting swiftly and deftly like a knife through butter. 

With the closest tendrils taken care of, Li Lianhua was pulled back into action atop the monster, amongst the splattered dark blood and gore, and the dug his sword in the body of the creature, nearly to the hilt as it thrashed and screamed, attempting to buck him off even as he clung onto the blade. 

The creature’s movement seem to turn against itself, though, as the blade sank to create a deeper and wider cut as it moved, until Li Lianhua pulled the sword out and then sank it in again in a different location, doing this several times in a row until he drew away to once again battle the remaining tendrils. 

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, and the creature that was the size of a house was getting hacked into pieces, and blood splattered carelessly over Li Lianhua’s pale clothes and skin, half hidden by the curtain of dark hair. 

It took less than a minute before all the tendrils were gone, and the body of the beast was merely twitching on the ground, cut nearly in half by the glowing blue blade, which remained free of blood despite its owner being half covered in it by now. 

And then the monster collapsed, the endless shrieking finally halted as it began falling apart like a pile of snakes to reveal the darkness it had been protecting inside, a gaping maw of abyss that grew and lifted, and Li Lianhua was standing right there—

“Look out!” Fang Duobing shouted out, immediately pushing himself onto his shaking feet as if he could make it over in time to add action to his warning. 

Li Lianhua pushed himself back from the expanding darkness, expression veiled underneath his hair, and for a moment Fang Duobing thought he might have looked back at him. 

And then all the glow in the dungeon went out, sending the world into a pitch black. 

— 

He didn’t pass out, and he didn’t merely lose sight of everything. 

Between one moment and the next, all the light was gone and even the world dropped out from under his feet, leaving only the sensation of falling without wind, of dropping forevermore in a vast and empty void, like crashing and sinking in the ocean as all his senses dulled along with his vision. 

It was cold and numbing, like pressure along his skin yet there was nothing there. Like there was no air to breathe, but he might yet be crushed in this nothingness, by the nothingness. 

Fang Duobing knew his eyes were open, that he was reaching upward, yet he could not feel nor see his actions. Without sensation, he came the devastating realisation— 

This was within the monster. 

Distantly, he remembered a story about a man swallowed by a whale, and wondered if this fate could be compared to that. 

He wondered until he felt something grab the back of his collar, and drag him up. 

Up and up and up and this time there was a sense of direction, of place, and Fang Duobing gasped for breath and found that there was no air in this void of darkness, no existence outside of this grasp on his clothes pulling him along, and he— 

He breathed. 

Moreover, he choked and he coughed and he curled into a ball as gravity asserted itself on his limbs again and he felt like he weighed a thousand tonnes, pressed into the ground on shaking limbs that came away almost wet but not with a black substance like tar yet felt like it wasn’t there at all. Like black smoke if smoke were opaque at all times and clung the way tar did. 

“Good,” a shaking voice said next to him, and the pressure on his collar disappeared. “Good.”

The familiarity of the voice was enough to remind him of his situation, and Fang Duobing shot out an arm to grab at Li Lianhua’s wrist. “A-are… Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Li Lianhua’s tone was full of fond exasperation, even if Fang Duobing was still blinking dark spots from his vision, only to realise it really was that dark— at least, there was only the barest of light where they were, and he didn’t know where that luminescence came from. He could barely see Li Lianhua’s shape, and even that was difficult as the other man was also covered head to toe with the solidified darkness still dripping off him in clumps from his hair. “Fang Duobing, you’re the one who— didn’t I tell you not to open your eyes or move?”

“I counted,” Fang Duobing croaked out, although he didn’t claim to have done the complete count. His throat felt like it was on fire, yet each breath of air felt cleaner and fresher than the last. “But you—”

“Forget that part,” Li Lianhua said grimmly. “We have to get out now, before the dungeon collapses. Can you stand, or should I carry you?”

The words felt like a dream. Carry me? Fang Duobing was almost tempted to laugh. If anything, he expected it to be the other way around with the two of them in a dungeon, and yet— and yet. 

That wasn’t the case anymore, was it?

Fang Duobing had been prepared to charge forward into the unknown with no real weapon, determined to keep himself between Li Lianhua and danger because despite all their usual bickering and the trouble they got into regularly, Li Lianhua was often sickly and ill. He had a heart condition and a terrible immune system, and he was pale and often didn’t eat healthy enough or just enough in general, and despite the lies and the arguments and betrayals… Fang Duobing had always wanted Li Lianhua to be safe. 

Li Lianhua could keep a level head in any situation, but Fang Duobing was meant to be the one keeping both of them safe. 

Fat lot of good he did, and Li Lianhua— 

Li Lianhua— 

“No,” Fang Duobing insisted, the rasp in his voice giving way to a surge of anger. Grief. Betrayal. Of all the things, he never considered that Li Lianhua would lie about his own health, about who he was in general. Did he ever really know the other man? If they really had a connection, if they truly understood each other the way Fang Duobing always thought they did, then how did he miss this? 

How could Li Lianhua hide this? Lie about this? 

What a connection. What a similar mindset they had. With the monster now not an immediate threat, he couldn’t think of anything other than this. His entire being felt like his thoughts were resonating with this information. Was it truly a connection or had Li Lianhua lied about that as well? He lied about his identity, about his health, about little and big things, he’d lie about the colour of the sky right to Fang Duobing’s face if it amused him, wouldn’t he? 

He would say that’s just the person Li Lianhua was, but Fang Duobing truly didn’t know, did he?

He always did think that Li Lianhua’s features looked a lot like Li Xiangyi, although he was too embarrassed to bring it up after a patient pointed out the resemblance and Li Lianhua merely laughed at that, pointing out that he would have to work on the dosage of his remedies if that’s what they thought. 

But Li Lianhua’s features were both softer and sharper than Li Xiangyi’s, limbs thinner with even his stride stiffer and slower compared to Li Xiangyi’s confident movements. 

Fang Duobing would know. He’d studied Li Xiangyi enough, and stared after Li Lianhua enough. 

“No, tell me now.” Fang Duobing said, hand tightening around Li Lianhua’s wrist. “Tell me what actually happened. Tell me the truth.”

[bwat5-blog]

My wife pointed out something to me that I think really makes a lot of the absolutely insane shit some people are saying make sense. The Arcane Crit folks and those like them are probably just really young. I mean what are a few of their most consistent indicators?:

1. Obsession with Piltover VS zaun and one side all good and one side all bad- I mean at least in the US we have adults who treat politics like this every day. But for sure in today’s social media age where all it takes is a headline scan ,and a like click and your off to the next, it smacks of trying as hard as you can to fit in by choosing the “correct” view.

2. Caitlyn deserved what she got and nothing she does is defensible because she is a rich cop- See above. Listen policing at least in here is so fucked in so many ways and it is so controversial I’m not getting into that here. But it is also so complex and just like Arcane there just are so many human beings at the center of it. But todays over-simplified us vs them thinking can’t handle that. Never mind that it takes getting older, experiencing loss and finding common ground with people across all walks of life to be able to see humanity in all walks of life.

3. Jinx becoming remorseful of her actions or more “sane” was a betrayal of her character- One of my consistent defenses of this show is how people can relate to these complex characters. So for every person out there who has found a piece of Jinx to relate to and connect with I think that’s wonderful. But there is a large portion of the fandom unable to see past their infantilization of Jinx, and recognize the darkness in her. And that hardline opposition to recognizing any part of the character that clashes with their seeing themselves in her speaks to a lack of maturity. Especially when your biggest complaint is that you want the nineteen year old to keep suffering from voices in her head.

These are just examples. And I’m sure some of the incredibly insightful and intelligent people I’ve interacted with here are younger than I’d guess. Perhaps a more accurate wording for the people i’m writing about is that they are more immature than just young. But, no matter the case hopefully by continuing to celebrate good stories and the truth of them we can open eyes/hearts/minds all over. Thanks!

[duskandstarlight]

A Golden Opportunity: Part Four

Nessian [Modern AU]

Notes: Wow, long time no speak, no post, no write. But I'm back - maybe, who knows (hopefully). It turns out this little fic is the thing that made me want to write again and it's been so fun rediscovering my Nessian babies.

No idea if anyone is reading this anymore (@simpingfornestaarcheron tells me the Nessian fandom isn't as active on here anymore so I live with no expectations) but here's an update anyway - and it's also on A03! Big thanks to @noirshadow as always, for being my champion and for getting out her red pen for me despite being absolutely slammed at work.

Oh, and this is angsty AF I am sorry.

PS Sorry, this taglist is most likely HUGELY out of date but it's all I have. Shout if you are under a diff name / don't want to hear from me anymore - TY.

Part Four - Cassian

Cassian didn’t hear from Nesta for weeks. She didn’t turn up to brunches or family events where he was in attendance. And, of course, she didn’t text him. That conversation remained entirely untouched, like a lone tombstone; surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds, some abandoned flowers brown and crumbling collected with a dirty ribbon at its feet.

If it had not been for the subtle nods to Nesta’s continued existence, Cassian might have thought she’d been entirely erased from the planet. But there were name drops from her sisters, mentions of meeting for coffee, of having her over for lunch. At dinner the previous week, Cassian had overheard Elain confiding to Feyre that Nesta had seemed out of sorts. And Cassian, who had been straining to overhear the conversation, had felt both pained and filled with some a stark sense of hope that if she’d at least let him go, at the very least, she might be mourning him, too. 

Maybe, he thought fatuously, she cared too much. Maybe, she was still mulling them over, weighing the pros and cons. 

Maybe, by some sort of miracle, she would come to the conclusion that he was worth it.

But that hope dwindled as the days continued to pass and Cassian still heard nothing from Nesta. At some point, he knew he needed to take her silence as a no. Knew he would need to follow through on his side of the bargain. Allow that line to be drawn beneath them, the flame snuffed out until there was nothing but ash.

As the weeks passed, Cassian’s spiky irritability fell into a flat sadness that physically ached. He continued to run every day despite his protesting knee. He continued to work himself until he just couldn’t anymore and tried not to think of her. 

But Nesta crept through the gaps in his mind anyway - snatches of her, always beautiful, always sardonically cruel in their torture. Jasmine and vanilla. The smell of her skin as he buried his nose into her neck. Wisps of golden-brown hair escaping from a braid. The glint in her eye, the upwards tilt of her chin as she accepted a challenge. 

The taste of her mouth, the sound of her sigh, her breath whispering across his cheek. 

A hint of a smile - then better, the sound of her laugh. A true one, just for him.

And on and on it went with no reprieve—

“Is that the amended timetable for next week?”

Anyone else might have jumped, but Cassian was used to Azriel’s ability to sneak up on him. 

The thought of Nesta vanished in a wisp, like smoke rising from an extinguished candle. And despite having spent the past few weeks trying to forget her, Cassian found himself irrationally disgruntled that Azriel had interrupted the vision.

Leaning back in the leather desk chair that resided in he and Azriel’s shared office, Cassian grunted in affirmation.

“Boxing needs to be at six thirty if you want me to take that class,” Azriel replied. “I’m in a meeting at the Sangravah site until four.”

Cassian made another noise in the back of his throat. Scribbled out the timetable with a little too much outward frustration and acknowledged, not for the first time, how tired he was. 

But regardless of the fact that his eyelids were actually burning due to a severe lack of sleep, the problem still remained that whenever Cassian tried to rest, his mind did the opposite. 

And then he was thinking of Nesta again. Of the way she stared dead ahead during their car ride, unable to face him as he laid his feelings bare - how he’d always felt right from the start.

Not that it had made any difference. 

And then there was his mum, too. 

She was always at the forefront of his mind at this time of year. The blurry shape of her, the edges of her fading into shadow, time slowly eating away at her frame until she threatened to disappear completely. 

Soon, all that would be left of her would be the cavernous space where she should have been. And Cassian knew that would haunt him too - worse, even, his mourning growing even more acute. 

For now, he was lucky enough to still hear the crackle of his mum’s laugh, feel her chapped palm warm against his as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. He could even scent the shampoo of her hair as she hugged him close, her hair tickling his nose. Could remember how, whilst his chin always met her bony shoulder, Cassian always felt like they fit just right. The two of them, together - always. 

But now it was just him, alone. 

Reaching for the red pen atop the surface of his desk, Cassian intended to tackle the timetable for good. But then his laptop pinged with a notification.

Lifting his eyes to the messaging app open on his browser, Cassian expected to find his one thirty pm client cancelling on him.

But what he saw had his fingers diving for the keyboard.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Where are you?

Cassian felt his heart beat with such force that it lurched upwards, tearing through pericardium to lodge itself impossibly in his throat. 

His fingers moved before he could command them. Had hit enter before he could even read his response.

Cassian: Work. 

Cassian’s thoughts began to race, his anticipation a tempo to the rapidity of his pulse. Did she finally want to talk? Had she finally made a decision on them? Was she going to end it all without even looking him in the eye, a hastily typed dismissal to match the original message she’d sent to cancel their first date?

He couldn’t bear waiting, couldn’t bear that Nesta was not typing. But then, as the wait became a little too long, something crept along the back of his neck. A feeling. A premonition. An omen that something was off.

“What is it?” 

There was a rare frown that accompanied the usual chill to Azriel’s voice. 

But Cassian didn’t have time to tell his brother to kindly fuck off and stop reading the conversation over his shoulder. 

Instead, he was typing, his fingers moving at a speed he hadn’t known possible - terrified that if he was not fast enough, that she might disappear on him.  

He hammered his fingers into the keys, asking what he, somehow, knew to be true. What’s wrong?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came back. 

Cassian found he was holding his breath without realising. And when the answer finally came, his heart seemed to thud to a stop in his throat, as if it were too horrified to beat.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: I’m at Kaffe at the corner of Bone and Salt. Tomas is here.

Cassian’s office chair roared as it wheeled back across the hardwood floor - straight into the granite planes of Azriel’s stomach before rebounding back into Cassian’s knees. 

Not that Cassian registered it. He was already leaning back over the oak desk, firing off the question he needed an answer to. 

Cassian: Has he seen you?

No. The cursed three dots appeared again, but this time they didn’t take long to disappear as Nesta’s reply materialised on the screen. I don’t think so, he shouldn’t know I live near here. But I can’t leave. I’d have to walk straight past him.

Cassian: Stay there.

Blindly, Cassian reached for the jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair, for the mobile in his jeans’ pocket. 

When he turned towards the door, Azriel was already there, car keys in hand. 

“Kaffe?” he asked.

The downwards jerk of Cassian’s chin passed as a nod. “On the corner of Bone and Salt.”

“Let’s go,” Azriel said as Cassian’s mobile buzzed again in his hand.

Another notification from Nesta. And when Cassian read what she’d typed, he knew just how it sounded. Small and unsure and so unlike his Nesta that Cassian wanted to beat something—a very particular someone until they didn’t stand again. 

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Cassian? 

Cassian: I’m coming to get you. Don’t try and walk past him, ok? Promise me, Nesta. 

For a moment, nothing. Then:

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: How long will you be?

Cassian: Fifteen minutes if the traffic is good. Can you wait that long?

Not that Cassian could change the shape of time to get there sooner. But what he meant was: can you survive? Can you keep it together until then? Because Cassian had witnessed Nesta scared around her ex and it made someone who was usually perfectly composed, wild and unpredictable. He had no idea what Nesta she’d be today. Whether she’d suddenly bolt, her fear overriding her ability to be inconspicuous and grabbing Tomas’s attention in the process. Or whether she’d freeze where she was, paralysed with fear, unable to move. 

The rear lights of Azriel’s Tesla flashed through the drizzle as they exited via the back entrance of the gym.

Cassian didn’t remember tugging on his seat belt or the soft chime of the infotainment system as Azriel brought the car to life. 

All he was focused on was the screen, his conversation with Nesta as she told him, Don’t let him see you.

That was something Cassian knew all too well. 

In the time Cassian had had the displeasure of knowing Tomas, the male had been consumed with the idea that he and Nesta were having an affair behind his back. On that count, he’d been wrong. But there was no denying to anyone who knew him that Cassian had taken one look at Nesta across the room at Feyre’s birthday party and known that his gravity had just shifted, his world tilting even further on its axis.

Cassian: He won’t.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: He won’t?

Cassian: He won’t. I’ll be there soon, ok?

After that, no answer came. Every second on the road was torture, but thankfully, despite the spitting rain darting patterns on the windshield, the traffic was on their side. Azriel streamlined along the road, smooth as butter and for a while, they remained in silence.

Until finally, Azriel asked, “What do you need?”

So, Cassian told him. Together they formed a plan. Together, they stepped out of the automatic doors and into the small parking lot at the rear of the coffee shop, ready to step into their assigned roles.

After all, he and Azriel had always been a team.

Yet, it all seemed to take too long - especially as Cassian waited uselessly in the alleyway out the back. Feet eating up the rain-soaked tarmac, pacing back and forth, past the foul smelling bins that lined the concrete wall and the employee entrance to the coffee shop opposite.

Too much time had passed when the back door finally opened with a loud clank. 

A girl stood in the entryway, the heavy industrial door propped open with an outstretched arm. She was wearing a coffee-stained apron, her hair haphazardly piled atop her head.

She looked unsure. “Are you Cassian?”

Together, they walked down the short echoey corridor, the vinyl floor squeaking too loudly beneath the wet soles of Cassian’s shoes.

“There’s a door through that closet,” the girl told him. She pointed through the doorway, into the darkness. “If you open it you’ll be at the back of the shop.” 

Cassian stepped over a mop and bucket, passing cleaning supplies and endless stock that lined the shelves: takeaway cups, stirrers, and sugar packets.

Then the door was there. The light from the shop on the other side shining through the cracks, beckoning him. 

It was like stepping into another world, out of a vacuum. Immediately, the quiet from the storeroom was swallowed up by the noise of the shop: the chatter, the moving bodies, the background music coming from the speakers on the walls. 

The mid-morning rush was a relief - a shop bustling with customers made it easier to be inconspicuous. After all, it was exactly that which allowed Azriel to slip away from the front counter and out the entrance, a baseball cap angled low to shield his face from view.

They’d meet at the car as planned - once Cassian had extricated Nesta from the shop.

Easing the door shut behind him, Cassian scanned his surroundings. It was no surprise that his eyes immediately snagged at the sight of Nesta’s golden head. She was not sitting too far from where he’d entered, her laptop balanced on the tabletop in front of her. 

The tension knotting her shoulders, her neck, her ramrod spine, were as clear as day. In fact, the utter stillness emanating from her could only be described as inanimate - that of a statue.

And Cassian knew what had caused it, had been prepared for it, but when he saw the evidence before him, it still struck hard. 

Ahead of Nesta, only by a few seats, was Tomas Mandray.

He was leaning back in his chair in the way Cassian had learnt to expect of Nesta’s ex-partner: taking up more space than he should for a male who was neither wide or tall. Slouching practically sideways in his chair, Tomas was scrolling mindlessly on his phone. One foot was stretched out so it was slap bang in the lone aisle that separated the two halves of the shop. The calf of his other leg rested atop it, the sole of his shoe sticking out so anyone wanting to get past him would have to ask for him to move - Nesta included.

Anger flared inside of Cassian, fresh and salt hot. It tasted like blood, smelt like it, looked like it, but Cassian made himself push back the colour red as he began to make his way down the aisle.

Nesta didn’t sense him coming. Nor did Cassian expect her to. He hadn’t messaged her since he’d first entered the car and it had been a decision he’d weighed up the entire rest of the ride.

But in the end, both he and Azriel had decided that if Nesta knew the intended plan and it went sideways, she might panic enough to do something rash.

It was a choice Cassian came to regret the moment he opened his mouth.

“Nesta.”

It didn’t matter that he’d had purposefully moulded her name into something soft: Nesta jumped a mile. Then, two things happened at once. The first was that her head turned so fast Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gotten whiplash. The second, was that the shock of seeing him sent the mobile in her hand flying.

Cassian didn’t have a moment to think, but his reflexes never failed him. His hand shot out to catch the phone at the same time that Nesta’s did. The mobile missed the table by a breath and tumbled into her lap where they trapped it, their fingers tangled. 

Nesta’s grip was so white Cassian could see the straining tendons. Breathing hard, he raised his eyes to meet hers only to find that they’d already snapped back to Tomas.

Cassian had seen that look of fixation in people plenty before. There was flight or fight but there was also freeze — and Nesta was definitely in the latter. He needed to get her attention for long enough that he could convince her to leave, but with her eyes so saucer-wide that he could see the whites of them, her pupils blown, skin bloodless, breathing shallow, Cassian knew it was going to be easier said than done. 

“Hey sweetheart.” The affectionate term came out in a low rumble that did nothing to penetrate Nesta’s steadfast attention. Cassian sank into a crouch beside her. Tried again, “Nesta.”

This time there was enough quiet command in his voice that her eyes finally dragged to look at him. It was fleeting. A scant acknowledgement that he was kneeling beside her, but it was all Cassian had to work with so he seized it. “Time to go.”

But it was too late. Nesta’s attention was already back on Tomas and she was drawing herself in, shrinking back into her chair until she looked so small and so unlike the Nesta Cassian had come to know, that his heart cracked on her behalf.

It physically ached, that fissure. Threatened to snatch Cassian’s breath as he teetered at the edge of it - a depthless cavern, jagged like a lifeline.

For years, Cassian had watched as Nesta glued herself back together. He’d seen it all. The grief of who she’d been, who she’d been forced to become when, on her knees, she realised the shattered pieces of her identity didn’t fit back together. Splinters were missing, core fragments of her personality had changed shape so monumentously that she finally realised they would never slot back into the past version of herself. 

And she’d weathered it. Mourned it, yes, but then Nesta had gritted her teeth and fought it. Discovered the new pieces of herself, acknowledged the changed, filled the gaps until she’d drawn together into someone who was stronger, more resilient yet intrinsically still Nesta. 

Cassian would not let that battle go to waste. Would not let a male with a small dick and an abusive temper ruin someone who, quite frankly, was the most amazing person he’d ever met.

Shifting his weight onto his better leg, Cassian ignored his throbbing knee and said, “We don’t need to walk past him. We can leave out the back—”

But Nesta was shaking her head. When she finally spoke, her confession was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t do it, Cassian.”

In all the time Nesta had known him, she’d barely ever called him by his name. He’d imagined her saying it like it was a habit, for sure. But he hadn’t thought it would come out with a confession, in a crackled, broken whisper. 

Gently coaxing Nesta’s phone from her vice-like grip, Cassian slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then, before her fingers could ball into fists he slowly threaded their fingers together. “Yes, you can. I know you can. I’ve seen you do it before.”

Cassian had dared to hope that the contact would pull her attention back to him, but it didn’t work.

So slowly, Cassian raised their hands, pressed them into his cheek.

For a fleeting second, he had her. Nesta’s eyes snapped to him - to the warmth of his skin. But then they darted away, back to Tomas who was now talking on his mobile.

Nesta's grip on him tightened at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice, locking down so hard that Cassian knew if he were to look at their threaded fingers, they’d appear bled dry.

Hoping that Nesta was still listening, Cassian continued, “There’s a door out the back. It’s how I got in. He won’t see you but we should go now whilst he’s distracted.”

And then Cassian took the biggest risk of all. He lifted their hands to his mouth, pressed his lips to her fingers.

That’s what did it in the end— it was like a summoning. Nesta tore her eyes away from Tomas. It took effort, Cassian could tell because her eyes darted back and forth until finally they stayed with him. Long enough for her to confess her greatest fear around the tightness in her throat. “He might.”

“Not today.” 

Carefully, Cassian stood, ignoring the painful tweak in his knee as he did so. 

Tomas was still on his mobile. Somehow, he was leaning back even further in his chair, commanding the space. His voice was so loud and obnoxious that the woman at the table next to him shot him a glare.

Cassian didn’t care. Tomas was busy and that was how they wanted him.

“We’re going to get you out of here, but I need you to get up. You can do this, ok?”

There. A hesitation. A belief that dared to creep in through the cracks of Nesta’s fear and tell her that there might be hope.

After that, the adrenaline kicked in. Nesta fumbled for her bag, her belongings. By then her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped her laptop, but Cassian swooped in, swept everything into her satchel and shouldered it. 

“This way,” he coaxed, summoning every ounce of restraint not to touch the small of her back in encouragement. He had a feeling if he did that all the adrenaline coursing through her veins would make her startle.

Somehow, they made it out. The moment Cassian closed the closet door behind them, shutting out the coffee shop, he could breathe a little easier. Didn’t worry so much when Nesta stumbled over a bucket, the sound ricocheting around the storeroom as she righted herself. 

The fresh air that hit them as they stepped outside was bracing. It snatched the breath from their lungs. But to Cassian it tasted like nothing but relief. He barely noticed the fine fuzz of rain that immediately coated his clothing, wet his face, his hair.

And clearly neither did Nesta. For the second the back door shut behind them, Nesta met his eyes. And then, without any adieu, she bent over double and vomited onto the tarmac.

The suddenness of it all was so unexpected and so violent that Cassian moved on instinct. He forgot that he was supposed to be keeping his distance. Forgot that he was trying not to spook her.

In hindsight, during the long night that followed, Cassian replayed the following scene over and over in his head trying to make sense of it. And each time, he came to the same conclusion. Nesta - whose body was hyper-vigilant beyond belief - clocked him leaping towards her out of the corner of her eye and catalogued him as a threat.

Nesta startled like an animal running for its life, jerking away from him before he could reach her.

But whilst Cassian had paced up and down the alleyway for a good five minutes before Azriel had sent the staff member to the back door, Nesta was unacquainted with her surroundings.

Bent over double as she was, she didn’t see the wall until it was too late. Straightening and twisting away from him at the same time, Nesta collided into the pebble dash with a crack.

“Shit,” Cassian panted, eyes wide, hands up as he hastily backed away from her. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I didn’t think—”

He abruptly stopped speaking as Nesta lurched forwards again, the movement jolting and ugly, and retched.

The acrid scent of bile mingled with the odour coming from the trash cans - old food and stale coffee and the wet mulch of cardboard intermingling with damp rain - the latter of which was coming down harder now. 

But now, neither of them noticed. 

All Cassian could think of was Nesta. He watched her straighten, her hands now clutching at her head as if that might physically hold in the shock of the collision. 

And all Cassian could do was stand there, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon but the rest of him frozen in place. His palms, which had flown up on instinct when she’d thrust away from him, were still facing her, as if she had him at gunpoint. 

He was too scared to move, too frightened that he’d do something else idiotically stupid and cause her more harm.

For a moment, they stared at one another wide-eyed. Cassian could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, trying to burst out of his skin. 

Nesta swiped at her mouth with the back of her shaking hand. When she dropped it from her bloodless face, her lips parted as if she were planning on speaking but then they shut again, her mouth a thin, brittle line.

He watched this happen again, then again. After the third attempt to speak, Cassian watched her give up. Watched her press the heel of her palm to the exact spot where her head had collided with the wall, her brows knitting in confusion, as if she didn’t understand where the pain had suddenly come from.

When her fingers came away, Cassian was alarmed to see that they were red.

It took everything he had not to step towards her, to see if she was ok. But he didn’t dare risk it after he’d terrified her so badly. 

Instead, his punishment for being so idiotically stupid was to watch this play out. To watch her lower her trembling hand so it hung limply at her side and watch a trickle of blood escape down her temple.

Nesta didn’t seem aware of it. Instead, she just continued to stare at him in disbelief.

Then, her expression rippled. A tremor, violent before it was trapped and smoothed out.

A beat passed. 

“Sorry,” she said hoarsely - finally, when she clearly thought herself composed. But her voice wavered as she spoke, and the sound of it seemed to be the breaking point.

Cassian balled his hands to stop himself from reaching out to her. Slowly, he took a discreet step backwards, granting her more space even though all he wanted to do was to pull her to him and swathe her in his arms.

But the action didn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it was the finger on the trigger, the foundational straw pulled out from beneath her.

There was a shaky, high-pitched rush of breath, a last attempt to keep the tears at bay - but it was too late. Nesta’s face crumpled and then words were toppling out between gasped sobs.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why he’s here. He shouldn’t be here—”

“I know.” There was a crack in Cassian’s voice now, a maelstrom of emotions. The aching sadness of seeing her like this, the angry truth of it all, the stark, terrible reality. And then there was the fury of his contribution to it. Him, the male he had hoped she might come to trust, ruining it all. The sound of her head hitting the concrete. “Please. Let me take you home—“

“Is everything ok here?”

A voice interrupted Cassian, smooth as always and deliberately tempered down to be soft. 

Nesta startled anyway. She scrambled away but when she realised she was too close to the wall, she halted in her tracks, panting.

Cassian didn’t need to turn to see who it was, but when he did, his arm outstretched to tell his brother to stay put, he found Azriel in the mouth of the alleyway. 

In his left hand, the car keys dangled.

Azriel did not take a step forward. Instead, he kept his eyes on Cassian. Said, “Tomas is still in the coffee shop, but we should make a quick exit if we want to be safe. He looked like he was readying himself to leave and I’m not sure if his car is in the parking lot.”

Later, when Cassian was back at home he marvelled at how they managed to get Nesta into the car. He supposed the threat of her ex was enough to make someone who was currently very afraid of men shut herself into a car with two hulking ones.

Striding ahead, Cassian opened the rear door for Nesta before backing away. Heart in his mouth, he got into the passenger side, opposite Azriel at the wheel, keeping his gaze locked ahead, not wanting to spook her, not wanting her to second guess a thing. 

In fact, Cassian didn’t feel like he drew a breath. Not as the rear door shut, as fabric rustled, the seat belt pulled across a body, the click as Nesta buckled herself in.

Even as Azriel eased them onto the main road, the rain coming down harder now, Cassian starved his lungs of air.

But when the coffee shop disappeared from view, Cassian allowed a breath to slowly rush back in.

He turned to Azriel. “Head to the hospital—”

“No.”

The response was forthright and quick while at the same time having a quiet incorporeal quality to it - as if it caught in mid-air and retracted into itself before it established itself.

Turning in his seat, Cassian looked at Nesta.

She was staring vacantly out the window, her body moving with the car as it turned in the same way

a puppet followed the command of its strings. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“You’re bleeding, Nesta.”

Absently, Nesta raised a hand to her temple, stared at the red glistening on her fingertips. “It’s superficial.”

“You don’t know that.”

Nesta let her hand fall into her lap, discarded. “I do.”

The seconds that followed felt as if they were swallowed by the gaping maw of silence. Two simple words threatening the imagination as it conjured images Cassian didn’t want to see. A body being thrown around, bruises and fractured ribs, a broken nose and two black eyes. Fell down the stairs, tripped over my own feet. The crack of a nose being set back into place, hiding away to protect a monster. I can’t come tonight, I’ve got a book deadline to meet. I’ll see you when I'm done.

All of it unravelling behind Cassian eyes, in his head, overtaking his senses - everything. 

“Where should I drive to?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the images, abrupt, like a full stop thrown into the middle of a sentence. 

Cassian didn’t stop looking at Nesta. She was still staring fixedly out the window, but he could tell she wasn’t seeing anything at all. He watched her slip farther away, the distance growing and growing, a cavernous feeling, vast, empty.

He turned back in his seat. A plan was already unfolding in his mind. 

Cassian’s hand dipped into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cool metal of his mobile. 

“Mine.”

***

“I need a bowl of warm water.”

A snap punctuated the end of Mor’s request as she stretched the fingers of the disposable rubber glove she was fitting to her hand. 

The action came with the precision of someone who spent her days taking them on and off. Of the doctor who worked at the female health clinic in the less affluent districts and saw things she wished she didn’t.

There was no familiar warmth in his friend’s voice as she spoke. In fact, Mor didn’t even look at Cassian. Instead, she seated herself back atop the coffee table and began to rifle through the personally engraved medical bag he, Azriel and Rhys had gifted her for Winter Solstice last year.

Opposite her, curled up small in the corner of the couch was Nesta, pale in every sense of the word. Pale in pallor, pale in expression, pale in existence - as if she was fading from the room. 

The distance that Cassian had felt growing between Nesta and the world had quadrupled since their car journey home. Wraith-like, Nesta had followed him into his apartment and sat mechanically onto his couch without really seeming to take any of it in. Nor had she touched the mug of chai he’d left on the coffee table in front of her.

That absence, that space, had seemed to worsen since Mor had stepped through the door five minutes ago. 

And Cassian knew that bringing Mor into the equation was not something Nesta would take lightly. But he had been at a loss for what else to do. Nesta had refused to go to the hospital to be checked over and the only person Cassian knew could help - and who would be discreet - was his best friend. 

And Mor, despite her rare day off, had dropped whatever she had been doing and driven straight to him.

Ceramic clinked against the wood of the coffee table as Cassian set down the bowl beside where Mor was seated.

Mor straightened, a small pocket torch in hand. 

She clicked it on.

“Thanks. We’ll be a few minutes.”

It was a firm dismissal and Cassian didn’t dispute it. 

He had already turned to leave when Nesta spoke—

“He can stay.”

Slowly, Nesta slid her gaze away from the tears crying down the window pane, locked them onto Mor in a way that was both absent and wholly fixated at the same time.

Nesta’s eyes were the same slate colour of the sky — no hope of blue within them. 

Mor simply stared back, unfazed, undeterred - strong. “When I’ve performed the initial examination he can come back in. But not until then.”

“No.”

One word. Simple. Defiant despite the disembodied quality to it. The most emotion Nesta had displayed since he’d found her. 

It was enough to tell Cassian that his Nesta was still in there fighting - even if she looked like hell. 

Mor’s lips flattened into a grim line. “That’s my policy, I’m afraid—”

“Then change it.”

The aftermath of Nesta’s order crackled with static. Like a radio before it tuned into the right station. A gear grinding into fourth.

During the whole interaction, there had been no change to Nesta’s expression. It was as if her body had almost shut down, but as Mor searched it, really looked, her serious honey brown eyes scanning Nesta’s face, she seemed to see something in the depths Cassian couldn’t. For she straightened, looked from Nesta to Cassian with a grim sort of understanding, before shifting her attention back to Nesta.

Mor held up a gloved hand. 

“Follow my finger,” she instructed.

***

The snap of rubber and then the subsequent rustle as they nestled amongst the other discarded items in the waste paper basket signalled the end of the examination. 

“It’s a nasty bump but it looks worse than it is,” Mor told Nesta as she began to stow away items into the open medical bag. “No need for stitches and no major concussion from the looks of it. But you’ll have significant bruising, I’m afraid.”

Cassian shifted on his feet from where he stood by the dining table. He had strategically positioned himself by the dining table, which had allowed himself to observe Mor’s assessment of Nesta without crowding the scene. But now, he was unable to stop himself from voicing one of his concerns. “And the vomiting? Nesta was sick right after she hit her head.”

“And before.” Nesta’s reminder was scratchy and resigned, as if Cassian was fussing for nothing. She leant backwards farther into the couch, the cushions threatened to swallow her up. “I just need to sleep it off.” 

She tugged the blanket Cassian had draped over her knees higher over her body, towards her chin. Cassian wondered if she was consciously trying to create a barrier between her and everyone else in the room.

Cassian didn’t know what last time meant, but Mor didn’t press Nesta for more information as her head swivelled back to face her patient.

“The vomiting is most likely from the acute shock of—”

But Nesta wasn’t interested in hearing more. For the first time, her face showed a ripple of what she was feeling: irritation, her patience clearly as threadbare and worn as her body. “Can I sleep now?”

Seemingly unaffected by Nesta’s directness, Mor nodded. “It will do you good. But—” she held up a hand, as if anticipating resistance. “—you will need to be monitored every few hours just in case you do have a light concussion. Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

Nesta stiffened. “I live alone.”

“Emerie? Gwyn?”

Nesta’s gaze shifted past Mor’s shoulder, back to the window. There was a stretched out pause as if the hypnotic stream of water falling down the glass had taken Nesta out of his moment, this room. 

When she spoke, her voice seemed faint, like an echo. “Emerie’s on a business trip. Gwyn has her National Counselor Examination exam tomorrow.”

Mor looked to Cassian. “And you?”

“Done for the day.” Cassian lied, watching Nesta’s face closely in case it betrayed any further feeling. “Nesta can stay here.”

***

When Cassian emerged from the bedroom, Mor was waiting. Leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, her hip propping her up, she watched him discerningly as he quietly closed the door and came to join her.

A soft rattle sounded in Cassian’s ear as he flipped on the kettle switch. Turning his head, he found Mor shaking a small round bottle at him. “Found these painkillers in the bathroom cabinet. Give these to Nesta every four hours if she wants them - they’ll help with the headache until she’s feeling better.”

Cassian arched an eyebrow but didn’t bother to berate Mor for rifling through his cabinets. Mor sometimes had a tendency to rummage around his one-bed apartment as if she lived with him, helping herself to whatever she needed. Cassian didn’t really mind. Growing up, he’d never had a sibling. He’d always been a lone child.

Now, he was fortunate to have two brothers and a best friend who had eventually evolved into someone he considered to be a sister. 

He was never going to complain about her feeling comfortable in his home. 

So, instead he took the bottle from Mor and asked, “And the nausea?”

“If it’s the result of physical shock, it should disappear soon. Sleep will certainly help reduce the stress and adrenaline in her body. Emotional shock can take longer.”

Now, Mor’s eyes turned sharper as she moved to face him fully. Even as she feigned casual, planting her freshly manicured hands behind her on the counter and leant backwards. “Nesta has had quite the day.”

The kettle clicked off, steam rose from the beak and billowed outwards, spreading like fog. Cassian poured hot water over the tea bag, the familiar scent of green tea momentarily assaulting him. 

When he realised Mor was not going to continue without some sort of response, he made an acquiescent sound in the back of his throat.

“Not like Nesta to get into an accident like that,” Mor continued carefully. “She’s always so composed.”

At that, Cassian turned his head and simply looked at his friend, not speaking. Steam rose between them from his mug. It felt damp on Cassian’s face, but he didn’t blink. He knew what Mor was trying to get at. Had been well aware that when he’d called her over here that she’d know something was up. That, even as she was trod carefully, that this wouldn’t be a subject she’d let lie.

“Cassian,” Mor tried again, her voice low now, “does Nesta need to report someone for the bump on her head? I see it all the time at the clinic and the shock she’s in goes beyond physical.”

The gentle clunk as Cassian set down his mug was enough to disrupt Mor. “Not unless you want to report me.”

Mor grew very still. “What are you talking about?”

“She was scared and I startled her.” Cassian hadn’t planned to confess this - and he still would never betray Nesta by mentioning Tomas - but the guilt that had been rotting inside of him since the incident in the alleyway was now pouring out of him. He couldn’t stop it.The responsibility of causing her more harm when he had supposed to be rescuing her. 

Scrubbing the heel of his palm hard into his forehead as if that might rid the headache of the utter shit show that had been today, he continued, “It was so stupid of me, Mor. So stupid. She threw up and it was so sudden that my head just emptied of sense. Instinct overtook me. I moved towards her, to help or to comfort her, I don’t know and she bolted. Ran headfirst into a wall trying to get away from me.”

There was a careful look to Mor now. The frown that had been marring her forehead whilst he spoke evened back out. But Cassian knew her well enough to see the thoughts sliding behind her irises as she tried to connect the dots. “You didn’t scare her initially.”

“No.”

There was a brief pause whilst Mor processed the information. Then, she stepped towards him sombre-faced and slipped her hands around his waist. She hugged him tight. She smelt like she always did — of cinnamon and citrus, of home. 

“Don’t punish yourself too harshly. It was a mistake.”

Mor’s voice was muffled, almost swallowed by his jacket.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian rested his chin atop her head. “I made things worse.”

Pulling back to examine his face, Mor kept her arms looped around his waist. “But your intentions were good. You are good, Cassian.”

Cassian just clenched his jaw.

“Are you going to be ok?” Mor asked after a beat. When he didn’t reply, she gave him a final squeeze and, minding the mug of boiling water he still held in one hand, extracted herself. “Silly question, I suppose. Want me to stay?”

“No, I won’t be much company. Plus,” he continued, raising an eyebrow at her subtly elevated outfit that sat just above casual and the undulating waves of her freshly-washed hair that Cassian knew had been painfully crafted in front of a mirror, “it looks like I’ve already interrupted your plans for today. Are we dating again?”

Rolling her eyes, Mor hefted her doctor’s bag off the counter and onto her shoulder. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be at home anyway.”

“Thanks.” Deciding not to press her for more details, Cassian trailed his friend to the door. “I think it goes without saying that I owe you.” 

But Mor just turned. Gripped Cassian’s shoulders until he met her eyes. “Friends don’t owe one another, Cass. Ring if you need me, ok?”

***

Despite the gravity of the day, time continued to pass - albeit slowly, torturously. 

Nesta slept and Cassian worked from the dining table in the living room, trying to work but ultimately failing, his eyes more often than not trained on the bedroom door. 

He’d pushed it ajar as soon as Mor had left, unable to stop worrying that something could happen to Nesta and he might miss it.

Cassian knew he was overreacting and if Nesta hadn’t been so scared of him earlier, so on edge, he might have worked from the armchair in the bedroom itself. 

But the dining table had to do. From his vantage point, Cassian could just make out the curled up figure beneath his duvet, the shadowy tangle of hair draped across his pillow.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been instructed to check in on Nesta every few hours. To ask her mundane questions like: What’s your name? Where are you? What day and year is it? Spell ‘world’ backwards? 

But each time, when it finally came to wake Nesta, Cassian found himself full of a sort of dread that felt akin to chunks being taken out of his chest every time she opened her eyes. 

It was not least because the depth of Nesta’s sleep was so vast and weighty that it made it hard to rouse her in a way that didn’t feel violent. But also because each time Cassian managed to haul Nesta out of it, she startled. 

The first time had been the worst. Cassian could have sworn that he’d scented her fear before she wrangled it under a forced sort of control that did nothing to hide the panic lingering beneath it. All the while, Cassian knelt beside her as unthreateningly as possible, trying not to loom, cursing the breadth and height of his frame.

Six hours on and Nesta’s reaction to him had thankfully weathered into an apprehensive wariness, as if her body and mind had anticipated what was happening in an attempt to save her from further stress. Opening her eyes, Nesta would tiredly answer whatever Cassian asked of her before she let sleep drag her back down again to its murky depths.

Nesta’s fatigue was not a tiredness Cassian recognised. Instead, he had come to understand that this was Sleep. An entity that yanked at you with taloned hands, snatching you back down so body and mind could restore itself. 

The buzz of an incoming call pulled Cassian’s attention away from the bedroom door. Quickly, he plucked the device from the table so the vibrations wouldn’t wake Nesta and took long strides down the hall.

Putting the door on latch, Cassian stepped into the hallway.

“Emerie,” he said.

Relief surged through Cassian as Emerie’s voice, complete with the soft curl of her Illyrian accent filtered down the speaker. “Why have I got the feeling that I’m not going to like the reason why I’ve got six missed calls from you and a text to ring you as soon as I can?”

“Because you’re right.” Cassian cleared his throat, readying him to elaborate, but Emerie got there first.

“Is it Tomas, Cassian?” 

Emerie’s voice was so gentle that Cassian suddenly felt as if he might choke.

He fought the sensation, swallowed. “There was a close encounter today,” he admitted, and he felt the noose around his neck loosen at the confession. He might not have been able to tell Mor, but Emerie knew everything - more than him - and he hoped that she would know how to best help Nesta - even if she was currently in another state on a business trip.

Emerie remained quiet as the day’s events poured out of Cassian. But when he finished and her silence continued - the faint sound of traffic in the background the only indication that she was still with him - he began to worry.

But then Emerie sighed. It sounded sad, the noise trailing out until it hung between them. Finally, Emerie said, “The tiredness is normal. When she left Tomas, she slept for days. The same happened after the court ruling.”

“That’s what Mor said but—”

“Mor?”

“I—” Cassian broke off with a sigh at the high-pitched and disbelieving tone of Emerie’s voice. Running his free hand exasperatedly over his face, before tugged at the knots in his hair, he said resignedly, “She wouldn’t go to the hospital. Mor was the only person I could think of who would be discreet.”

Emerie snorted. “And how’d that go down with Nesta?”

“I wouldn’t know. Badly, I suspect. She’s barely said a word since we got her in the car.”

A lull followed his words and Cassian gave Emerie the time she needed to ask what he knew she’d been wondering the moment he’d disclosed what had happened. “D’you think Tomas knew she was there?”

“Didn’t seem like it. Nesta didn’t seem to think so, either. He was only a few tables ahead of her and didn’t turn round the entire time.”

Emerie loosed a relieved breath. “Well, that’s something at least. Tomas is a manipulative, masochistic misogynist, but he’s stayed away since the restraining order. He doesn’t even live in town anymore.”

Cassian swallowed. He hadn’t known that, but he just said, “Right.”

“I can come and get Nes tomorrow. She can stay with me for a few days, but I don’t land until ten tomorrow morning—”

“I’m not trying to get rid of her—”

Emerie snorted, a faint playfulness ghosting back into her personality. “I know that, you oaf.”

But Cassian ignored her jest. “I just thought she’d be more comfortable with you. She startles every time I have wake her and she wouldn’t let me try Gwyn—”

“—because of her exam tomorrow,” Emerie finished. 

“Right,” Cassian said again.

There was a pause 

“You ok, Cass?”

“Besides making everything worse, you mean?”

Emerie barked a laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“She was bleeding from the head, Emerie. She thought I was going to hit her—”

And I teach self defence for a living. Cassian wanted to finish. He, of all people, should have know better. He’d witnessed the way his mother suffered. Had watched it all.

“Well, Tomas did - hit her, I mean.” 

“She told me.”

There was a pause as the reality of it sank in all over again. Cassian had known Tomas had beaten Nesta, of course he had, but today had made the truth of it even more harrowing - something he hadn’t thought possible. 

When Emerie continued, her voice rang with the confidence that came with delivering an unvarnished truth, “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, Cassian, trust me. I’ve seen Nesta after she’s had an encounter with Tomas. Everything becomes a threat, even things that don’t exist. Once, Gwyn took Nesta by surprise as she came out the bathroom and Nesta threw her mobile at Gwyn’s head.”

“I—” Cassian began but he broke off, not sure how to continue. Finally, he found his voice, “Will you tell Nesta you’ll be coming or shall I?”

“I’ll tell her, but I’d mention it as well when you can. Her memory gets patchy when she’s been through something like this - best to repeat it until you know it’s sunk in.”

“Ok.”

As if sensing Cassian’s discomfort, Emerie added candidly, “Look, what Nesta needs right now is not to be in an empty apartment - which you have covered. If she wants to stay with you when she wakes up rather than go back to her apartment - which I doubt is going to be a no, by the way - let her stay. And whatever you do, try not to scare her. No creeping up on her, ok?”

“Ok,” Cassian repeated. And then again, as if he reassuring himself. “Ok.”

“Good,” Emerie said. “See you tomorrow, Cass.” 

So, with a pep talk tight under his belt, Cassian hung up and returned to the apartment. 

Sat down in front of his laptop, not seeing, not doing and waited. 

***

When Nesta finally emerged from Cassian’s bedroom, it was late. Cassian was still sat at the table staring mindlessly at the rota on the screen, which remained unconquered.

At first, Nesta was so quiet he didn’t notice her. But then there was a movement in the corner of his eye, a whisper and sigh of fabric and then Cassian only saw her.

It was a cruel irony, Cassian thought, that he had been waiting for Nesta to emerge this entire time. But now she was standing in the doorway that connected his bedroom to the living room, her hair mussed and pillow creases imprinted into her cheek, Cassian found that he wasn’t prepared at all.

It took Cassian a moment to recover his voice. And when he did, it came across too rough, too abrasive from lack of use.

“Hey.” He caught his wince a fraction too late, but he cleared his throat gently in a bid to disguise it. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta swayed a little in response, throwing out a hand to right herself against the doorjamb just in time. Cassian did his best to remember Emerie’s parting instruction: slow, purposeful movements. 

Essentially, under no circumstance was he to jump across the room to Nesta’s aid only to startle her all over again.

What Cassian really wanted to do was walk over to her. Raise his fingers to her face, touch her skin, check she was actually there, blood pulsing slowly through her body, warming her skin, rather than a spectral manifestation.

Scrounging up every inch of his willpower, Cassian remained seated. Watched her instead and tried not just to conjure the illusion of calm but feel it too — a place of safety where Nesta could come back to herself. 

“I feel like I’ve been asleep a long time,” Nesta replied hoarsely - distantly. Evading his gaze, she cast a look to the dark windows, to the night sky and the grey blanket of clouds blotting out the stars. “Can I use—”

“The bathroom?” Cassian interjected smoothly. “Towards the front door on the left.”

Cassian tracked her every step as she made her way up the hall. Usually, Nesta floated in a way that was purposefully untouchable. But now, she seemed untethered and unstable, as if she didn’t have control of her body.

It was a while until Nesta emerged again. In that time, Cassian tried to suppress his worry by busying himself in the kitchen. 

The hot water was running when he finally heard the lock turn, the door creak open. 

Purposefully, Cassian did not turn. Instead, he carried on with what he was doing. Plunged his hands into the suds in the sink and began to wash the dishes, purposefully ensuring they clinked softly together so Nesta could guess his location. 

“What time is it?” 

Nesta’s voice emerged from somewhere behind him. Slowly, Cassian turned his head to glance over his shoulder and there she was, the kitchen counter safely between them, her skin as cool as the moonlight lancing through the window. 

“Just gone midnight.”

This elicited a blink and a tiny frown that Nesta kneaded with the crook of a finger before retracting it with a wince. “I didn’t realise I’d slept that long.”

She didn’t elaborate but Cassian read it for what it was: an apology for what she viewed as imposing. “It’s good. You clearly needed it.”

Unhurriedly, Cassian reached for a dishcloth to dry his hands. When he turned to look at Nesta properly, he was careful to modulate the speed of his movements. 

What he was not expecting, was for everything to shatter. But it did. The instant their gaze connected and Cassian saw the vacancy in her eyes, whatever he and Nesta had been trying to be, broke away, unravelling until it was nothing.

It felt like a hand was fisting at Cassian’s intestines, twisting tighter and tighter as they continued to look at one another.

And the more they looked, the more Cassian knew with devastating surety, that this was not their time.

Nesta didn’t need a love interest. What she needed was support. For the people around her not to terrify her so much that she ended up causing herself further harm. 

Cassian swallowed in a bid to rid himself of the lump in his throat. 

Between them, the silence stretched, almost mesmeric in its intensity. 

There was so much Cassian wanted to say, but he realised that what he really needed to do was to not say anything of consequence at all.

The only thing that mattered was that Nesta was going to be ok. That she was here and breathing. And hopefully, in time, she would heal again. 

And in the meantime, Cassian would be here if she needed him. 

It took everything in Cassian to feign casual. It felt like shards of glass had taken up residence in his throat, cutting every time as he spoke. “Want some chai?”

It was not what Nesta had been expecting him to say and Cassian had known that. The surprise of it dragged her back to him, the smallest of lights flickered faintly in the depths of her eyes, cracking through the trauma. “Chai?”

Cassian nodded to the saucepan atop the stove. “I made a fresh batch earlier. Thought you might want some when you woke up.”

Nesta’s eyes followed him as he slowly went through the motions of pouring two cups, using a sieve to catch the cinnamon sticks, the star anise, the cloves. 

When he was done, Cassian slid the mug across the counter to her, careful to keep his distance. 

Together, they drank. Neither of them broke the spell of silence between them, not until Nesta’s mug had been drained to the dregs. 

Then, Cassian dared to ask, “Are you hungry?”

An answering grimace. 

Cassian made the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile. “No appetite of a baby dinosaur today, then?”

No reaction — nothing. Nesta just watched him, the grimace fading away until her expression was yet again vacant. 

“You look like you could still use some sleep,” Cassian told her carefully. “Why don’t you go back to bed.”

The alarm that fissured through Nesta’s expression took Cassian by surprise. Her gaze snapped to his and every muscle in her body pulled taut. Suddenly, miraculously, and to his surprise, Nesta was fully present. “Where will you be?”

“The couch pulls out.”

The tension that had come so suddenly to Nesta’s shoulders unspooled slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

Cassian pretended he hadn’t detected her unease. Was she worried that he’d leave or that he’d be around the apartment whilst she slept? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did she think he’d insist on sleeping in his bed with her?

Not for the first time, Cassian felt horribly out of depth. But he tried to continue as normal, tried to  get her to engage with him. “Want something comfy to wear?”

Nesta fisted the sleeves of her jumper. 

“There are t-shirts in the second drawer down if you do,” Cassian continued. “Toiletries are in the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink or the one above it - a new toothbrush, toothpaste. Take what you need, ok?”

Later - eventually - when Cassian slept, there was no escaping the day. He relived it all - yet another awful nightmare. Nesta’s bloodless face, her vice-like grip on his fingers. The sound her body made as she struck the wall. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood glistening on her fingers. 

When Cassian woke the next morning, he didn’t need a moment to remember why he was sleeping on the pull out couch. 

And he certainly didn’t need to remind himself that the secret hope he’d been harbouring, the foolish optimism that he and Nesta might still be something, had been thoroughly stamped out. 

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @a-trifling-matter @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side

[justporo]

Laid Out Traps

Astarion has many masterful ways with which he keeps seducing you - traps laid out masterfully for you to fall into. And you are eager to let yourself get dragged under. But this time you're pulling him down with you.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Well actually I wanted to write something else today, but here we are. Thoughts about how Astarion would continuously work on seducing you, making sure he's always on your mind didn't leave my mind. So enjoy some... not quite smut, but something sensual? Anyways, here goes.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: light smut, lots of tension, blood Wordcount: 3,1k ~~~

You were walking through some forestry bits during another day of crossing this godsdamned Mountain Pass. It had barely been half a day but you were already exhausted. The journey just didn't seem to ever get any easier. Hopefully there would a break soon and you'd find some peace to calm your body and sort out your mind a little. Your thoughts had been running rampant for a while now and you were thankful for a moment away from the others when you could just let go a little.

Astarion - and therefore the reason why your mind was so scrambled - walked behind you. And he was also part of the reason why you felt so exhausted. Not only because the two of you had made it a frequent habit now to steal away when the others had gone to rest. But also because no matter how often you had found your way into the vampire’s arms, your thoughts never seemed to stray far from the pale elf. The hunger and need for the other never really sated.

It very much wasn't the kind of thing where the anticipation and the buildup had held all the magic. It hadn’t been merely a fling where the urge was overcome and then matters were dealt with for good.

No, much rather the more often you sought his embrace the more tightly wrapped his hold on your mind was. And you were beginning to feel that it might not even stop with his claim over your body and mind. At some point you would have confess to yourself that the sassy vampire, whose eyes sometimes were universes away with sorrow, had firmly snuck his way into your heart.

And Astarion took every opportunity to seduce you, to lure you in. Wrapping his strings tighter around you.

You were well aware of it.

He'd laid himself out as bait from the very beginning. You had known. At least you had very quickly been sure that he wasn't just after a body to lose himself in. Therefore, his ways were way too elaborate.

And also there were those moments when you were with him when it seemed he wanted to be anywhere but. But his focus always snapped back. Especially when you were trying to address these moments of absence.

Then he'd usually double his efforts, desperately trying to make you forget whatever thoughts had just sprung to your mind.

And unfortunately, he was masterful at that.

A master at deceiving you, luring you in and then keeping you trapped, being an addiction. It would probably not end well for you. Most vices didn't.

But you just couldn't stay away - neither from the way he held you but also from just… him.

A break was announced at some ruins you'd come across. Everyone seemed relieved. You set down your backpack and stretched when you felt a light touch at your back.

You turned to see Astarion who was lightly touching your shoulder. He gave you a knowing smile while his hand was quickly wandering down your arm with his fingertips finding some bare skin as quickly as possible at your wrist. The vampire's red eyes with a barely noticeable lifted eyebrow were an open question - or a promise rather.

His fingers in the meantime had moved to ever so lightly loop around your wrist. Not holding your hand of course, but it felt pretty intimate nonetheless. His lips were slightly parted, the tip of his tongue running over them absent-mindedly.

Your eyes immediately darted to them, then back to his gaze. Astarion's eyes were sparkling now in the midday sunlight and his mouth grew into his signature smirk.

This was exactly how he did it, how he caught you time and again: he made a game out of it, an adventure. Touching you when the others weren’t paying attention, letting his hand linger just long enough for you to feel a little heated, saying something playful that completely caught you off guard, sharing a stolen glance which always was a promise for more, for later.

Once he’d left you a little note in his narrow elegant handwriting with a line of poetry the two of you had once talked about. You still had it neatly tucked away under your armour - close to your heart. Sometimes you took it out to just look at it. Asking yourself how it could be if he always left you notes like that. You were hopelessly lost.

He had a thousand little ways of keeping you on your toes - or on your knees, much more -  and you were so prone to comply.

You were enjoying it, the way he turned it into this back and forth as if you were forbidden lovers: trying to hide away your attraction while finding as many moments to get lost in each other. It made it all the more titillating and intense.

You were absolutely sure the others knew anyway even if it was merely talked about in innuendos. But this didn’t stop Astarion from playing his little games with you. And you really didn’t want him to stop.

And so you also followed your lover this time, coyly throwing a glance over your shoulder to check if one of the other’s might be noticing. Then you let yourself be led around the ruins until you were around a corner of a former building. There was nothing much there but some underbrush and smaller blocks of former buildings.

Astarion had let his hand wander further until it had covered yours completely. And immediately when you had rounded the corner the vampire lifted your hand while he turned to you and with a few rash steps made you walk back until he had you up against the remainder of the wall.

He pressed your joint hands up against the stones next to your head while a predatory but auspicious grin had crept onto Astarion’s face. The vampire lowered his head as his gaze darkened and he took you in - lips, eyes, the hammering pulse at your throat.

His hips were pressing into yours, immobilising you against the stone wall, and the fingers of your joint hands were now laced - his thumb softly caressing yours lovingly despite the pressure he applied to trap you there with him.

The moment he’d pushed you against the wall, your former storming thoughts had been silenced and almost disappeared completely. Now you could only focus on the sensation of his closeness. Your lips were parted in anticipation already, your heart racing, a pleasant kind of tension was forming in your lower stomach.

You too took him in for a long moment, trying to burn this into your mind: the way he looked at you with his unique red eyes - almost from under his eyebrows -, soft lips curled into a cocky smile, the tips of his fangs noticeable, some of his silky white curls falling in his face, the curve of his high cheekbones that became even more noticeable when he slightly turned his head.

Astarion lifted his other hand to your face. He cupped your cheek for a moment, then let the back of his hand lightly stroke down your face. The gesture almost seemed too innocent in contrast to him having you pinned against a wall. Your eyes just widened more at him.

Then finally, his long fingers settled under your chin, his thumb placed on your chin, forcing you softly to tilt your head back while he moved in closer still.

“Shouldn’t you be careful who you follow into the woods?”, he whispered teasingly in a low voice.

His thumb was on your bottom lip of your already open mouth now, stroking over it as you let out a gasp. He was so incredibly close now too. Your hot breath must have moved over his cool skin. There were no thoughts in your head, only the feeling of the vampire being so impossibly and deliciously near - if only he moved like an inch or two closer.

“I wouldn’t want you to get trapped”, Astarion whispered again, drawing out the last word. His thumb tugged your bottom lip down now with quite some pressure before he let it slip back. Another gasp - almost a moan - left your throat.

“Maybe I am already trapped”, you managed to whisper in response. You earned a low chuckle and saw how the vampire’s eyes lit up and his grin grew broader - pronounced canines now fully on display. Your throat was dry, all of your hairs felt like they were standing on end in anticipation and your heart felt like it might give out any second. He slowly closed in on you, pupils dilating even more the closer he came - a hunter closing in on his prey.

And then he finally bridged the remaining gap, pressing his open lips to yours.

You immediately rewarded him with a deep moan. Your free hand was desperately trying to find hold on his armour to pull him even closer while your other was still firmly held in place.

Astarion’s tongue almost immediately slipped into your mouth, searching for dominance you willingly gave him when you welcomed his eager open mouthed kiss.

It wasn’t tender this. It was a powerplay - but it was full of burning hot passion. Fires were set ablaze in your lower body and the earlier tension was now making your whole body hum, sing for being graced with his attention.

The vampire moved so one of his legs pressed firmly between yours, almost forcing you up onto your tiptoes. Being even more immobilised, you were held at his mercy: indeed stuck in his trap - and you liked the place you were in.

The kiss was all tongues and teeth. Heads moving around while your mouths never left each other. Breathy groans and gasps were exchanged while his hand at your chin moved to your throat, fingertips pressing lightly onto your thrumming pulse before they wandered up again to outline your jaw, slightly applying pressure. With that he made your head tilt back even further.

Astarion eagerly claimed your mouth as his while pressing his body against you and you against the stone wall that pleasantly twinged at your back. If he wanted you right here and now there wouldn’t be a moment of hesitation. The water wasn’t even up to your neck anymore, you had well gone under and were happy to let go completely.

But after long moments Astarion withdrew from you. Instantly, you almost slumped down against the wall. Partly because of Astarion not holding you up anymore but mostly because he’d devoured almost everything of you with just a kiss. Knees were wobbly as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes fell on Astarion who had taken a few steps back and was looking at you. His crimson eyes were wide with arousal, his breath a little ragged too. But he was still very much in control - the chase was only paused, not ended.

“Tonight then?”, he simply asked with an eyebrow jumping up.

This godsdamned bastard - turning you almost into a puddle with some kissing and now this audacity. He’d returned to his familiar stance, not one fucking hair out of place, breath already returning to normal. As much as you enjoyed this all, this game, the teasing, the nightly rewards. The asymmetry was all of a sudden making you mad.

Astarion cocked his head and blinked at you several times, with a sassy expression on his face still awaiting your response. He knew exactly what he’d done to you - smug arsehole.

A thought formed in your mind. You immediately jumped to the execution before you could second guess yourself.

You cocked your head just as he was still doing. Then you started to saunter over to him. Your gaze was locked onto his as you tried to not let your intention show on your face.

For once, just once, did you want to be the one leaving him flustered and in desperate need for more.

Astarion’s smug facial expression shook slightly the closer you came. For a moment you thought you even saw a slither of fear and worry run over his face. But this surely must’ve been an illusion, right?

His eyes became wide and round. Probably unbeknownst to him, but yet another thing that made you fall for his trap harder. Whenever the vulnerable person beneath all the sultry jokes and the perfect mask showed you wanted nothing more but to keep him safe.

But this wasn’t your focus now.

You shortly stopped before him, staring into his open eyes. Then you stepped closer even until you were almost touching him and you could take in his smell again. He gasped silently, all while his gaze never left yours.

And then your hands shot up, grabbing his face, pulling him to you once more in a kiss. You made him do the same thing he’d done with you: with your body pushing him back step by step. Then when Astarion’s boot heel hit a low stone of the ruins, you gave him a little push, so he landed with his butt on the stone.

You immediately followed, pressing your legs to his shins and knees so he wouldn’t have a way to get up - trapping him.

Heat was coursing through your body as you looked down on him now.

Astarion was breathing heavily now through his open mouth. He held your gaze - his expression surprised but not scared. If anything it was dominated by hunger now, demanding to be fed.

And so you did: sitting down on his lap, straddling him with both your thighs firmly pressing around his hips, ripping a low groan from him. Immediately you ground against him, already feeling his hardening arousal.

You grabbed his face with both hands and without hesitation pressed your mouth to his once more. This time you were in charge, your tongue playing with his and exploring his mouth.

Meanwhile Astarion’s hands both moved to cup your behind, squeezing your butt with splayed fingers, earning him your moan.

One of your hands went to the back of Astarion’s head, gripping some of his curls so you could pull back his head some more and shift your weight on his lap. You were leading this, you had him pinned - and you were keen to draw out the moment.

Your other hand caressed his face, fingers spreading, then wandering over one of his pointy ears, softly tugging, caressing and teasing - rewarding you with what could only be called a pleading whimper.

You rolled your hips again while your lips were still eagerly moving on his, not letting up, not giving Astarion a moment where he might take charge again.

Again, you were ready to just go all the way. Strip down bare here and now and just give into the carnal need that threatened to consume you both - but where would be the fun in that? And also you had been taught by a master.

Your last coup was to drag your tongue slowly along Astarion’s teeth. Feeling the sting of the vampire’s sharp fang as you drew your tongue along it.

A coppery taste flooded you for a moment; you’d drawn blood. Good, just as you had intended.

Of course Astarion had also immediately tasted your blood. His grip on you immediately intensified. A low growl rumbled in his chest when your taste hit him.

Your eyes that had been closed for the passionate kiss, flew open when you heard the vampire’s sharp intake of breath. His eyes were open too now and you saw how the black of pupils almost drowned out the red of his irises.

You gasped as you were eye to eye with the predator. Shortly asking yourself if it had been a good idea to wander willingly into his arms - his trap, as he had said before - and offer yourself up so eagerly.

Because this was also when the tides turned again.

One of Astarion’s arms looped around you while his other hand went up to grab your face. He pulled you even closer as he shifted his weight. Your hands slipped from their grip in his curls and went to simply cup his face as the vampire leaned you back.

He held your face in his firm grip as he groaned and deepened the kiss even more, eagerly trying to taste you fully. His tongue ran over yours as he was claiming your mouth once more.

He was leaning forward so much now as he eagerly sucked up every last delicious drop of you that you were arching your back, leaning back into nothing but thin air on his lap. Held in place only by his arm firmly looped around your waist and his hand pressing your face to his.

But soon every last drop of you for that moment had been abundantly tasted and devoured. One carnal desire - if not filled - at least postponed to a later time. Leaving one other still.

The kiss had slowed a bit again. But you still felt Astarion’s and your own arousal pretty evidently. The one tasted pleasure had fueled the other. But you had always only planned to tease him. To give the vampire a taste of his own medicine.

You arched your back once more to press your body against his harder one last time. Meanwhile you dragged his bottom lip between your lips just for a short moment, making the vampire groan and squeeze you against him harder, one of his hands on your butt again.

But then - at the height of your eager teasing - you withdrew. Startling Astarion so much with how you just swiftly got up from his lap that he simply let you go.

His eyes were still wide and he was obviously still feeling the rush of tasting your blood and from the kiss. His chest was lifting time and again as he was obviously desperate to regain composure. Besides surprise, admiration snuck into his gaze and into the smile he offered you now while he leisurely leaned one of his arms on his knees. His white curls were now thoroughly dishevelled as you noticed with satisfaction.

You were very much pleased with yourself, especially since resisting the urge had been no easy feat and you could still feel the need to grab and feel Astarion right this instant. But for once you had turned the tables - having the hunter end up in the prey’s claws just this time.

“Tonight then”, you answered Astarion’s previous question with a smirk. And then you turned and left your catch struggle. To return to it at a later time - and finish the job.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

[gracescoolbeans]

but nights with you are better [A.Giarratana]

paring: angela giarratana x reader

summary: sleepless nights aren’t so bad when you have angela to keep you company

warnings: none, just fluff; a few dashes of anxiety; sleepy angela being way too cute; shameless nerdy prudes must die plug; not proofread!

wordcount: 1.1k

a/n: i’ve been having a really hard time falling asleep lately so i wrote this fic instead of actually doing something about it 😅 i’ve been wanting to write angela fics since i started this blog but i’m finally committing! i have far too many ideas and not enough time but i’ll make it work somehow…hopefully 😶 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

A sigh tumbles out of your mouth as you roll away from your girlfriend and stare up at the dark ceiling above you. You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep to no avail.

Looks like another sleepless night.

You turn your head to look at the brunette next to you, a part of you wanting to reach out and wake her. The two of you haven't been living together for long and you were still getting used to sharing a sleep schedule with someone else.

More than that, you were slowly becoming an expert in getting up out of bed without making a shit ton of noise. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Especially because Angela's ears were somehow completely tuned to you.

You were making it work, though, and the slight challenge was a small price to pay to live with your girlfriend.

You and Angela had decided moving in together would fix both your need to find a better place to live (with slightly more manageable rent) and her need to spend more time with you in between her endless gigs. Her work ethic was admirable, albeit slightly unhealthy. At least this way, you could keep an eye on each other.

Of course, you'd sort of forgotten to mention the troubles you usually have with falling asleep and staying asleep. You didn't necessarily consider yourself an insomniac, but you did go through days, weeks, sometimes even months, of struggles that couldn't be soothed with warm tea or less screen time.

Your girlfriend, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get enough of sleep. She could nap anywhere as long as she was somewhat comfortable. It would be awesome if you weren't so jealous of her ability.

Angela needed her sleep, though. She worked way too hard for way too many hours and her only form of self-care was simply a plate of pasta and a glass of wine.

That's why you decided that instead of waking her up with your endless tossing and turning, you'd get up and put a comfort movie on the TV and chill there until you got sleepy again.

Instead of a movie, though, you stumbled across Nerdy Prudes Must Die and decided to watch it for the hundredth time. It didn't replace the soft sound of Angela's voice next to your ear when she held you against her, but it was good enough for now.

So, you snuggled up on the couch with an unbelievable amount of pillows, a warm blanket, and a slightly grumpy Spork next to the couch.

That's exactly where you were when Angela made her way out of the bedroom in search of you. "y/n?"

You turn your head at the sound of your girlfriend's voice, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips when you take in her sleepy appearance. "Hey, babe. Why're you awake?"

"Dunno," she shrugs as she struggles to suppress a yawn. "But I got worried when I didn't feel you. You okay?"

Her concern, paired with her extra raspy voice, makes your heart swell. "Yeah, I'm fine, just couldn't sleep."

She pouts, walking over to join you on the couch. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"So you could be grumpy and complain?"

"Good point."

You chuckle as you move over to make room for Angela. She manages to fit in between you and the couch, her arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you against her chest.

"Wait, what are you watching?" She asks.

"What do you think, doofus?" You reply, playfully elbowing her stomach. "Don't talk so much, though, it's my favorite part."

Your favorite part, of course, being the entirety of Dirty Girl. Angela, on the other hand, always has a hard time watching that part since she's way too focused on herself and her "mistakes". 

What she calls mistakes, though, you call her acting quirks. Quirks that turn Grace Chasity into one of the most complex and entertaining characters you've ever seen.

"Do I really have to watch this?" She grumbles, leaning down and burying her face in the side of your neck.

"You can go back to sleep if you want." Your hands find their way on top of hers and you allow your fingers to trace the backs of them, along with the slightly protruding veins that cover them.

"Not while I'm listening to myself."

It's hard not to find her constant complaining funny and you barely manage to hold in your laughter. She's always slightly more sensitive than usual when she's tired, so you take pity on her...for now.

Thankfully, she stops pouting long enough for you to watch the best part of the whole musical. You don't miss the way she sings the song under her breath even though you decide not to call her out on it.

"How many times have you seen this?" She asks once she's sure your favorite part has passed.

"A lot," you say, feeling your cheeks heat up with the admission. "I watch it when I miss you."

"Baby-" She tries her hardest to hold in a laugh but ultimately fails. "You could have just woken me up!"

Angela's clear amusement does little to soothe your growing embarrassment. You try to squirm away from her to avoid any further teasing but she simply holds you tighter, pulling you closer until you're flush against her once more.

"Sorry, sorry, you know I'm just teasing," she mumbles, pressing a line of kisses to the side of your neck.

"You're annoying," you huff.

Despite your words, you sink back against her once more, tilting your head slightly to give her better access to your skin.

"You know you love me, princess."

"That doesn't make you any less annoying."

Her kisses trail up your neck and onto your jaw before finally landing on your lips.

"I'm serious, by the way," she whispers once she pulls away. "Wake me up next time. I don't care how tired I am. I want to be here with you."

"Hmmm..." You pretend to think about it for a second just to steal another kiss from her. "You've got yourself a deal, angel."

She laughs again as she rests her chin on your shoulder, silently going back to watching the musical with you.

You make it all the way to Hatchet Town before your eyes grow far too heavy for you to keep them open. 

Angela gently shifts you until your head rests against her shoulder. She watches you for a few moments until she's sure you've gone back to sleep.

She knows her back will be awfully sore tomorrow morning and you'll definitely have a kink in your neck but it's a small price to pay for a few more hours of cuddles. Not just cuddles, though, she was banking on you staying asleep until morning this time.

She'd stay up all night to keep an eye on you if she had to. You're far more important to her than some extra hours of sleep.

[yayeetsonny]

One can only take so much… before they break

(Alex Morgan X OC)

Hi, yes i know i’ve been away for a very long time, but I wanted to give this writing thing another shot to see if I still had anything left in the tank. Hopefully this isn’t the most dreadful thing you’ve ever read. So sorry if it is. Please be advised this one deals with some very strong emotions and topics. Implied mental abuse, Suicidal ideation and just overall sadness and anxiety. This will be a multi parter as my fingers got away from me lol.

This one is 99% Alex x OC, although the character’s name is never dropped as I wasn’t sure if I was going to make this an x reader fic or not. If anyone has any name suggestions at the end I’m all ears. And future parts will definitely be more USWNT x OC

3.4k Words

Everything is your fault. It always is. Why can’t you do anything right?! It all fell apart because of you! You know that, and so do they. They hate you for it. Your own mother won’t even talk to you.

“Hey, kid… Kid?…Dude!” I was so lost in thought I didn’t even hear one of my teammates calling out to me.

“Huh? What?” I looked up to see Alex looking down at me worriedly.

“Are you okay little duck?” She said squatting down so she was eye level with me. She put her hand on my cheek rubbing it softly raising an eyebrow when i didn’t say anything immediately.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.” I said softly, making a poor attempt at a smile but I’m fairly certain it came across as a grimace instead. I looked down and refused to look back up even though I could feel Alex trying to get me to look at her.

“Hey… what is it?” She said moving her head so she could look into my eyes, which at this point were watering and I was doing my very best to force the tears away.

“I-It’s nothing… I-I’m fine.” I said, my voice breaking. I brought my hand up to rub my eyes and I stood up and tried to make a quick get away, but Alex wasn’t having it.

“Stop, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” She put her hands on my shoulders to try and stop me from leaving but I pushed her off and started to walk away.

“I said I’m fine, just drop it Alex. Please.” I gave up trying to stop the tears, they were freely flowing now and i let out a sob as I broke into a full sprint when I heard her starting to follow me, calling out to me. I ran passed several of our fellow national team, teammates who were watching everything unfold.

I beat her to the locker room, grabbed my stuff and made a mad dash to my car, getting in and attempting to regulate my breathing. The tears were still coming in full force, sobs racked my body as I tried and failed to calm myself down. How pathetic is this? Crying like a big baby, because your mommy made you sad? I really am weak aren’t I? No that’s not true. The girls always tell me I’m strong and that I’m their brave big girl. Yeah it’s a bit baby-ish but it gets the point across. I wrestled with my own thoughts and was so engrossed in arguing with myself that i didn’t even realize I made it back to my apartment already. I also didn’t hear my phone ringing incessantly while I drove. I hesitated a bit seeing as it was Alex, probably trying to figure out where i went. It almost went to voicemail before i decided to answer.

“Hello” my voice was raw from all the crying I did, but I sounded more tired than distraught now.

“Baby, where did you go? What happened back there? Why did you run away? Please talk to me. I’m worried about you.” She said all in one breath, I bit my lip contemplating my answer. Then i took a deep breath and decided to just bite the bullet and be at least partially truthful.

“I… um, I was going thru a-a lot during the break between camps, I mean I guess I still am going thru a lot right now, given my very apparent meltdown earlier. I-I’m sorry Alex, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I won’t do it again, I swear.” My damn voice started breaking again as the tears started back up.

“Hey, hey, hey… little one, please breathe, you’re okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. Take deep, slow breaths, in and out.” she said gently, guiding me thru some breathing exercises until my breathing was less erratic. “Can you tell me where you are please? I’m going to come get you and we’ll talk this through and maybe we can order a pizza and watch movies, what do you say?” She asked, I could tell she was trying to remain calm but I could hear her voice quiver just slightly. She was scared, and rightfully so, this isn’t the first time I’d run off and usually when i did, I became self destructive at worst and let myself rot in bed for a week at best.

“I’m at the apartment.” I said and she let out a sigh of relief on the other end of the line.

“Okay good. I’m on my way, be there in 10. Stay there, please.”

I took one last deep breath before I got out of the car and made my way inside. I intended to sit on the couch and wait for her to get home but then the more i thought about having to talk to Alex about what’s been going on the more anxious i became. I started pacing and started mumbling to myself about what i was going to say and how I was going to say it. I wanted to let Alex in but I knew if I wasn’t careful I would let her in too much and I wasn’t ready for that. Being 17 and all my ability to regulate my emotions and understand them wasn’t the best as I’m sure you’ve already figured out.

10 minutes went by quickly and Alex was there before i knew it. She quickly made her way inside and dropped her bag by the door, coming up to me and taking me by the shoulders again to get me to stop pacing.

“Stop, please. You’re spiraling, what’s going on?”

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what? Is it your family? Soccer?”

“Family.” I mumbled, attempting to yank myself out of her grasp but she just wrapped her arms around my torso tightly so i couldn’t run away. “Let go Alex I can’t do this. Please let go.” I kept fighting against her hold but she wasn’t relenting, and while i would’ve denied it in the moment, I needed that.

“Shh, shh bub, just relax. I’ve got you. I’m here now it’s all gonna be okay, okay? I promise. Please just let me help you.” She said softly and I finally just allowed her to fully pull me against her chest, she relaxed her grip just slightly moving one of her hands to the back of my head, stroking my hair softly, resting her chin on the top of my head. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.” She whispered, and she continued to mumble reassurances to me as she rocked me in her arms slightly.

“Do we have to talk about this?” I mumbled.

“Yeah kid unfortunately we do. You know the rules when you decide to run away like you did earlier.” She kissed my head before picking me up with ease and moving us to the couch. She kept her hold on me and let me curl up into her lap, I tucked my head in the crook of her neck.

“I don’t want to.” I attempted to say firmly but it came out as a whine.

“Remember what I said? It’ll all be okay. I know this is scary but I’m not going anywhere and anything you tell me isn’t going to scare me away. I promise you. You’re my brave big girl, hmm?”

“I’m 17, you know?” I said in an attempt to seem tough.

“And that’s why i said you’re a big girl. But you’re still the baby on the team and little one to me.” She said chuckling softly. “You can do this.” she said after a moment rubbing my arm gently.

“I can do this.” I repeated to myself. I moved myself out of the safety of Alex’s arms slightly, putting some distance between us and turning to fully face her, steeling myself for the tough conversation ahead. I’m a very sensitive and emotional person so these conversations always make me cry no matter how much I try to stop it.

Do you want me to call the rest of the girls? Is this something they should know about too?”

“Too many people. Not ready, I think it’s better if I tell you everything first and then maybe only tell them the gist of it after.”

“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning. So you know how in between camps and during off season I go home to be with my family? Well I went and everything fell apart, and it’s all my fault. Just like everything always is.”

“Hey, no don’t say that.” She cut me off, she hates when i am self deprecating.

“Its true though. I fucked everything up. You know how my brother and I work at the same place right? Well and you know how my shift is closing? So I work 1-10pm? Which my mom hates.” She nodded her head as I was talking to let me know she was following along. “Well one night it was bad… The weather was horrendous because in my hometown we get a lot of snow. A-and so one of the days I worked I was one of the f-few people to show up and, when everything was all said and done there was a huge mess left behind from the disaster of a day we had….” I was beginning to become emotional just thinking about what had happened that night, and i hated that it still made me feel such strong emotions.

“It’s okay, do you want to keep going?” Alex asked me softly, stroking the back of my head softly. she knew sometimes that talking about things was hard for me and that i needed to take breaks in order to get the whole story out.

“Yes i need to. I can do it.” I said determinedly. Blinking away the tears.

“Anyways, it was a mess and being a “Back up Team lead” sometimes i made a decision to send everyone else home and clean up. And since my brother worked on overnights I called him and asked him to come help me clean up so that i could go home at a semi-reasonable time. He came over to help but when they wanted to send him back to his normal area he refused and he s-started arguing with his boss about how he was going to choose family over his job at the moment and they d-didn’t like that so they sent him home for the night, and he didn’t have a car so he called my mom to pick him up…” I stopped to catch my breath as i realize I hadn’t been breathing

“Shh, easy baby, nice, slow deep breaths, you’re doing so good.” She said. I hadn’t been looking at Alex very much this whole time but when I finally did I could see unshed tears in her eyes. I knew it was hard for her any time i was upset or emotional in a negative way. She gently wiped away the tears that made their way down my cheeks.

“My mom came to get him, and then she called me, and she was angry, she demanded I come home so I did and when I got there she told me she had a lot of opinions about what happened but she was just going to keep her mouth shut. She told me to get out of her sight so I did. She wouldn’t even look at me. Just like that I was transported back to when I was a little kid and she would get angry and she would just tell me she didn’t want to look at me. It felt like a knife to the chest. I didn’t understand what i did to upset her so much and I knew she wouldn’t tell me. All part of her “healing process.” I said bitterly.

“Fast forward to the next morning, I woke up to the news my brother had been fired. I called him to apologize and I asked him what our mom said to him and he said that she blames me for him getting fired. She said I should have known better. I knew how much he needed that job.” My hands were shaking and my breathing was ragged as I played with the strings of my hoodie.

“That wasn’t your fault, you have to know that.”

“Yes it was. It is. He hasn’t found a job since and he-he’s struggling again. You remember what happened last time he was struggling don’t you? I can’t do that again, I can’t! Everything he does, every decision he makes that’s not good is my fault. My mom wants me to be “an example” for him but he’s older! How fucking twisted is that?! Why are things never his fault?!” I yelled standing up suddenly startling Alex.

“Okay, okay let’s take a break hmm?” Alex stood up holding up her hands to show me she meant no harm.

“No! You don’t get it! Everything is my fault! My own mother thinks so! I know he’s struggling but can’t she see I’m struggling too?! ” I threw a plastic cup that was on the table across the room.

“Stop. Now. We don’t throw things when we’re upset, do you understand?” Alex said sternly.

My lip wobbled as I started crying again. “I’ve spent the last 4 years trying my very best to hold my family together through everything we’ve been thru. I got my brother the job working where i do and now I’m the reason he lost it. And now he and his girlfriend risk being homeless because she doesn’t have a job either. And if they lose their apartment they move back home with my mom, which means I’ll probably have to move back to be there with her because I can’t just leave her there by herself with them. It wouldn’t be fair. Which in turn means I’ll have to put my life on hold. The life I finally made for myself.”

I’m so tired of being emotional exhausted. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t even want to be alive anymore.”

“Woah, hold on… what do you mean by that?” Alex’s eyes widened as she processed what i said.

“I mean what I just said I don’t want to be alive anymore okay? I want the pain to stop. I need it to stop.”

The silence that followed was long and tense. I immediately regretted saying what i said. But realized i couldn’t walk it back. Alex finally took a deep breath and began speaking again.

“How long have you been feeling this way? Do you- Do you have a plan?” She asked quietly, her voice breaking as she did.

“No I don’t have a plan, I just sometimes think about how much easier it would be if I wasn’t here anymore. And sometimes I think about hurting myself but i haven’t acted on it. And i’ve been feeling this way since last year, when my mom and i got into that big blowout fight at Thanksgiving. You know she didn’t even want me moving out here? She’s never really let that fight go.” I laughed hollowly.

“Thank you for telling me, and being honest with me. I know that wasn’t easy. Why didn’t your mom want you to move out here?”

“She thinks you and the girls have too much of an influence over me. She thinks you guys are “changing” me. She threatened to force me to quit playing soccer all together.”

“What? Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

“It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Didn’t seem relevant?! How’s that? If i had known that I would’ve just had you move out here permanently!”

“Alex…”

“No I’m serious! I understand you’re still 17 but you’re out of high school and you should be able to decide your own path.

“I’ve been trying, but the situation with my brother gives her more reason to say i should just quit playing.

Alex goes quietly again and I can tell she’s thinking. I can tell she’s angry. She has never really liked my mom and visa versa, their relationship is courteous at best.

“I think sometimes you forget that you’re still a kid. I know that you have had a lot put on your shoulders and that a lot is expected of you, but your brothers choices that night are not your fault and I’m sorry he’s having a hard time and he might have to move back home, which yes will be hard for your mom but that doesn’t mean that you have to give up your life for them. They will be okay. I promise you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes i do, you wanna know how I know?” She said and I nodded meekly.

“I know because your brother is strong, and so is your mom. And while i’ve never met her I’m sure his girlfriend is too. You don’t have to hold anyone else up but yourself. Not anymore. Their emotions and their… predicaments are not yours to try and fix. i don’t want you going home for a while okay? It’s clear that it’s taking a toll on you and to be frank, This is your home. Here with me, With the other girls. We have you okay? And we will never leave you. Ever.”

I turned away from her and tried to calm myself completely. I was so over all the crying and I bet you are too.

“You’re probably so sick of me crying.” I said chuckling quietly. Alex Vehemently shook her head and wrapped her arms around me, kissing my head.

“Not at all, you needed to get it out. it’s never good to hold it all in like you did, you know that.”

“I know, I just…”

“Have a hard time letting yourself be vulnerable. I know love. I know. So here’s what we’re going to do. I think writing your thoughts out might help what do you think?”

“Maybe…” i said hesitantly.

“Don’t worry no one else will read it but you. And the only way anyone will ever know anything you write down is if you tell them. And I know you going home for part of the year is to help you be able to pay your half of the rent but don’t worry about it okay? I will cover any excess we have from the missing income okay? I meant it when I said your home was here with me.”

“Alex you don’t have to-….”

“Yes i do. You’re very important to me, and I care about you and the things you need. And right now you need a bit of a break.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Anything for you kid. Now listen I also want you to really consider talking to a therapist or a mental health professional about how you’ve been feeling okay? I won’t force you but I think you might benefit from it. And please talk to me, or one of the other girls if you feel like hurting yourself. I don’t want you to think you have to go thru that alone okay?”

“Okay i will.” She’s right, it’s probably about time i go to therapy, I’m still hesitant as sharing my feelings and the things i keep inside has never been my strong suit.

“Now, how about you go take a warm shower to calm down a bit more, I’ll order some pizzas and get the girls over here?”

“I’d like that.” I smiled softly and headed upstairs to do as she suggested.

About an hour later I was showered, comfy and sitting on the couch sandwiched between Alex and Christen. A “Chrislex” sandwich if you will. Tobin was on Christen’s left, Mal, Sam, Kristie, Rose and the rest of the team were laying as close to me as they could get and spread out through out the living room. Pizza was also spread out through the room as people shared with one another. We had Moana on as the girls said I could pick and that’s my go to movie. I was so focused on the movie i almost didn’t notice my phone buzzing at my side. I looked at the text that came thru and my heart dropped as I realized who it was from… My mom.

“You need to come home.”

Is all it said. My hands instantly started shaking and I had that panicking feeling rising in my chest again. Alex looked over at me curiously and I forced the fakest smile i could muster onto my face. I’m in deep shit now…

//

To Be Continued…

There will be a part 2 and the rest of the team will be in that one more, promise. Please let me know what you think!

[melanieph321]

I’ve got a request if you are taking them. Ruben helping the reader after getting her wisdom teeth out? Super fluff!! Love your work xx

Okay, so I sat down, ready to write this fic. Then my mind drifted away and I got really inspired to write another fic instead.

I'm sorry for not including the pulling of the tooth, but I tried to keep it "super fluff" 😅

Ruben Dias x Black Reader - Clumsy

Enjoy!

Clumsy wasn't enough to describe you. You were clumsy, embarrassing and utterly childish for not learning how to walk in heels until the age of 24.

"Are you okay?"

A stranger came to your rescue. Hopefully he missed the part where you faceplanted to the ground. I mean who trips on their way to brunch? On your way from brunch would have made way more sense.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You said, collecting your purse and accepting the hand he held out to you. You were brought to your feet with one swift motion. He was strong, a thousand times stronger than you.

"But you're bleeding."

"Yeah, I can see that."

It was your knees, bruised by the sidewalk. You were going to have a serious word with whoever one of your friends that suggested everyone wear pencilskirts to brunch.

"I've got some bandaids at home. I live right there." He pointed to the tall building across the street.

"Fine."

The place where you were having brunch was only around the corner anyway. And what was worse, showing up late for brunch or showing up with blood running down your ankles?

"I'm Ruben by the way." Said the strange man escorting you, arm and arm, across the street.

He lived in a remarkably fancy apartment. "I'm Y/N." You said, your eyes in awe of the decor you were met with. It's not that you thought that the guy was broke, but he did dress like he was about to rob a convenient store.

"Sit."

He ordered you to take a seat on his couch. You did as you were told in wait for him to return with the necessities to clean your wound.

"Does it hurt?"

He focused on clearing the blood and dirt first, a bit primitive in the way he went about it. His hand gripped your thigh, holding you still in a way you would never allow a man to do even on the second date.

"Y/N, does it hurt?"

You forced him to repeat the questions since you had been to concerned with his hand on your thigh.

"No, it's fine."

"Did you hit anything else, like your head?"

"No."

You thanked the gods that he hadn't witnessed your takle of the ground with your face. He must have just come around the corner when it happened. Perhaps he had been out for a jog? At least he dressed like he had been.

"I think this should do it."

Once the blood was gone and his hand was off your thigh, you could think straight again.

"I'm never wearing heels again, that's forsure."

You took them off and stretched your legs out on the couch. Ruben grabbed the wool he had used to clean your wound and threw them in the bin. He returned with two bandaids to cover the bruises with.

"They don't match my skintone." You said, not to be picky or anything.

"I didn't know they were supposed to do that." Ruben looked to the package, scratching his head.

"Well they are. It's so no one knows that you've hurt yourself and I'm quite desperate for the world not to know that I can't walk in heels."

Ruben chuckled, but did make his way to the door. "I'll be right back."

You thought it was sweet, he was sweet and handsome.

"There." He said, satisfied with finding a bandaid that matched your skin. He had returned from the store with three different selections of bandaids for you to choose from.

"Thank you Ruben. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you?" By the looks and view from his apartment, he seemed to be getting payed well enough.

"How about dinner? You look like you can cook."

"Come again?" You frowned. "You want me to cook you dinner?"

"As payment for helping you out, yes."

"B...but..." You were about to deliver the greatest speech on how chivalry was dead and how men killed it, when Ruben's lips widen into a devious grin.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"About the cooking thing, yes, but not the part about wanting to have dinner with you. Unless..." His cheeks blossomed. "Unless you're not up for it, of course."

He was charming, kind and handsome. A deadly combination.

"I'd love to have dinner with you."

It was a deadly combination indeed, but a perfect excuse for being late for brunch.

This way when your friends asked you about the reason for your delay, you didn't have to tell them about the bruise on your knees from the faceplant. You could just tell them that you bumped into a handsome stranger who is now taking you for dinner.

"Great. I'll give you my number on our way down." He said, escorting you out of his apartment

[666writingcafe]

you're one of our top favorite obey me writers so we'd thought we'd just slide this in here-

I've recently been fixating on a loud hispanic / latinx MC, we're puerto rican, dominican, AND cuban, so we're just super loud and over the top. i personally would love to see how the brothers and dateables would react to that. idk if you're taking requests but that'd be super cool, and the mc doesn't have to speak spanish! But we picked up an accent from our families and we'd thought that would be sooo silly if mc had one too!

Peppermint Collective

(p.s: you don't have to do this if you don't want to, we just would love to see it :D)

First of all, I appreciate the compliment. I'm grateful that you guys like my writing.

I'm going to start with the brothers and see what you all think before doing the dateables (and Luke). Hopefully, what is presented below is close to what you guys were envisioning.

Obey Me x A Loud Hispanic MC With An Accent (Part One)

Lucifer initially isn't the biggest fan of MC because the last thing he wanted was a human version of Mammon. However, as he gets to know MC, he finds their behavior rather charming. At the very least, he knows that they can keep up with his brother's energy. As for MC's accent, he finds them easier to understand when they're relatively calm, for the more excited they get, the thicker the accent becomes. This has caused MC to become irritated at him on multiple occasions, because they don't want to have to repeat themselves a bunch of times.

Mammon and MC are basically besties. He's one of the only people that can understand MC no matter what, and he makes sure to rub that in everyone's face. Like, of course the Great Mammon can keep up with MC; he was their first, after all. The two of them have been caught having entire conversations with just looks and hand gestures, and that's because they're so expressive that they don't always need words to get their point across.

Levi doesn't really know what to think of MC. On the one hand, he can't stand it when they're with Mammon, because once one gets loud, the other matches their volume, making it pretty much impossible for him to focus on anything. On the other hand, he emphasizes with them, because he tends to be loud and over-the-top too, especially when it comes to his interests. However, his energetic peaks and valleys always seem to be the exact opposite of MC's, so it's a bit difficult for them to spend much time together without getting on each others' nerves.

Satan for the most part keeps his distance from MC. It's not that he doesn't like them; rather, it's that their energy overwhelms him, and he has to maintain a certain level of calmness in order to keep his sin under control. On the rare occasions that MC speaks in an "inside" voice, Satan can listen to them talk for hours. He loves their accent. If he could catch them during a calm moment, he would like to ask him to record themselves reading some of his favorite books aloud.

Asmo and MC spend a lot of time together, because these two love to gossip. They bounce off each other quite well, actually; they give the types of reactions the other is looking for. However, there have been times where Asmo struggles a bit to understand exactly what MC's saying. He gets the general gist in these moments, but sometimes they talk so quickly and loudly that the words sort of mush together in his ears and turn into slight gibberish. And he hates it, especially when Mammon starts bragging about his relationship with MC.

Beel is used to his brothers being loud and over the top, and he's learned to treat the whole thing as white noise. So, having one more voice added in the mix really doesn't make that much of a difference to him. However, this ability to block out noise has gotten him in a bit of trouble with MC, because he doesn't do the best job at listening to them. He does try to pay attention, but when MC's in one of their more exuberant moods and starts talking a mile a minute, the old habit kicks in as he starts thinking about things completely unrelated to whatever conversation they're trying to have with him.

One might expect Belphie to despise MC due to their noisiness, but that's not really the case. Sure, there have been times where MC has prevented him from going to sleep, and that irritates him. However, that doesn't stop him from being drawn to them. He's fascinated by how MC can remain so energetic during most of their waking hours. He's also the only other brother that can understand everything that MC says. He may not appear to be paying attention, but when asked to repeat what MC said, he does so perfectly. He's even gotten on other people's case about making MC repeat themselves, because he feels like they're not that hard to understand.

[thedawningofthehour]

I don't know how you do the hurt/comfort so well in the book even though it is really messed up.

One example is the chapter 5 in the botanist portion. Specifically the eating the orange section and the “you know what my fathers work is.” hopefully I quote that correctly.

But when I am writing I can hurt but comfort is difficult. Like I feel like I do good with hurt no comfort fics. But I don't usually like those fics.

Ironically, that scene was supposed to have minimal angst lol, they were there so I could show Gale infodumping about plants and let Raph have a swim. Which is why I have Gale cut away when the conversation gets too heavy-that's not the purpose of the passage.

I think something a lot of people get hung up on is trying to do EVERYTHING. They want to acknowledge every injustice, represent every kind of person, explore the entirety of someone's character and trauma or whatever in one scene. (I could write a paper on the new trend of having eight-episode shows and allowing every plot point and character exactly two seconds of exposition because that's all the screentime they can get when the studio wants an epic told in the length of a novella and how this is affecting people's expectations for how storytelling should be done, but my oven timer just went off and I'm gonna eat soon) The thing you have to remember, nothing can be everything. You have to specialize at least a little bit or your ocean of storytelling becomes a wide puddle of meh.

One thing I ask myself is what is the goal here? What are the themes that I want to get across in this scene? Do they work with each other or is it jarring for the reader? What do you want the reader to take away from this? The scene in the first chapter where Draxum and Gale are doing Raph's intake exam, part of it's just exposition and me dumping background information and psuedo-science on the audience. But it's also meant to show how Draxum interacts with Raphael now that he's an ally, and show Raph how Draxum and Gale typically interact with each other. The scene with Gale taking out the explosive charge in Raph's collar is meant to highlight how very much Donnie Gale still is, how he isn't entirely obedient to Draxum and does what he does because he genuinely believes in what he's doing-and likewise, he doesn't believe Raph should be here if he doesn't believe in their goals.

The greenery scene is meant to show Raph's pre-conceived notions of who Draxum is being challenged. He sees Draxum as wholly evil, whose only goal is to do bad, like the villain of a cheap 80s Saturday morning cartoon. So far he's rejected every suggestion that Draxum has genuinely positive intentions and goals besides destruction, that might have a point even if he's going about it the wrong way. Seeing that Draxum grows fruit, that a major area of study for him is agriculture cultivation-food has traditionally been a symbol of life, peace, support, so the fact that Draxum is a horticulturist challenges the image of heartless, evil Draxum that Raph has built up in his head.

But at the same time, in the same place where he grows oranges lovingly cultivated to provide nutrition for the people who will consume them, there's poison meant to kill. It shows the depth of Draxum's intentions and the full breadth of his actions, that he wants to help life thrive but will not hesitate to take life if necessary. And Raph is also coming to terms with what he was created for, what his purpose in life was supposed to be and how he's playing into it now. He wasn't just a weapon, he was a sword meant to be wielded along with a shield. He was made to kill, and Raph doesn't agree with that-but he doesn't wholly disagree with the logic that led Draxum there. And he's very unnerved by that.

Another thing, the actual storytelling is definitely important but don't forget-it's secondary. Your real priority is manipulating the reader into feeling things against their will. You can have a completely shit story and get by if it's told entertainingly or if it made people cry. The most interesting plotline will still be a slog to get through if it's boring. You're trying to write like Donnie, but you gotta be a Leo first and foremost.

[justin-chapmanswers]

You're trying too hard to make the II cast sound like real people. They're always whining about not being liked or being betrayed and have social anxiety 24/7 when that's not how people really are. you could balance it out with some s1-styled minimum-necessary dialogue where characters just call each other dumb and ugly and stupid and kick each other into the sun. idk i just feel like scenes like those get to the point faster and keeps things balanced

Totally get that from the perspective of anyone who's entry-point to the show is s1, which I'm sure is plentyyy-common. And there's definitely a lot of this sentiment in the air today with Webz's video on the subject having just come out, with plenty of smart analysis regarding how the different eras of the show depict character.

I like a lot of what comes with the season one era. It's fun to revisit us as kids work with what came naturally to us. It's fun to see the wacky spontaneity that'd come about that would then be put to paper and never questioned. (And, even at that, I wasn't part of the writing team until fairly late into the season. So I can't take all too much credit for the early-show artistry.)

That all said, like noted above, that's what came naturally to us at that point. We as writers have never really written the show forrrr an audience. We write it for us. In-so-far as we're looking to impressive ourselves, entertain ourselves. Create something we'd enjoy watching, were we not the creators. And I wholeheartedly believe that's the way to write. We're not young adults making a show for kids, we're just making a show for us... that is also viewable and (hopefully) understandable for a younger audience, as well.

That doesn't mean, at all, that we're not influenced by the audience and what we read online. I read way too much for my own mental health, that's a work-in-progress, but I also find it important to embrace the element of conversation between creator and viewer with online projects. And that influence becomes a little part of me for the next time I write.

That aside, were we to just try to write in the essence of season one, I believe that at best it'd come across as a shadow of its former self, trying desperately to replicate the past. I completely understand that this ask isn't blatantly saying "make more season one," but the reality is that a lot of that old style just doesn't click with who we (or at least I) are anymore. A character I care about is called a mean name and kicked into the sun, I'm going to be less-quick to find that charming and silly and am probably going to be quicker to say "oh no :((((( ." Obviously it's very very tone-dependent, but my soul drips with sentimentality, so of course that's going to carry through when I'm bringing my art to the world. Anything less would be dishonest.

And, frankly, I've seen a lot of strong feedback that gives the very opposite essence of this ask: "please please, bring back the tone of season two, that's what I'm here for." Which I completely get as well. I love it, a lot of the work that I'm proudest of is from later season two. Ultimately, I do like to find a balance, and the best I can do is hope that people vibe with that.

Even with more recent work of mine on the show, I'll look back on and criticize myself on how that's it. Too jokey here, too schmaltzy there, need more room to breathe and explore here, this section is nonsense and cuttable there. It happens. But come the end, I'm happy season one exists. I'm happy season two exists. And I'm especially happy that we're able to work on a production that is so authentically us.

[tb5-heavenward]

Hello!!!!! Just read your fic 'Talented Amateurs' and its soooo totally awesome and the writing is AMAZINGGGG!!!

I completely understand if you're not planning on finishing it but was wondering if you had any ideas about the ending you'd thought of? Was super curious as to how the rest would pan out!!!

Thank you <333333

oh man, I am sorry for how absent I have been lately! I have actually spent the past few years moving home to Canada from the USA, and getting settled at home again with my family. I've been split between semi-single parenthood, immigrating my husband from his home country back to mine, and then three or four different jobs across two different countries, depending upon how one counts that, and the rigamarole of generally getting life back into a manageable state. I've been through so many big changes over the past few years that I more or less have to conceptualize just the whole first half of my thirties as having been about just Getting Settled.

As to TA and writing in general, I would love to get back to it someday, the nature of writing for me is that I do end up taking long breaks in order to Live Life for periods of a few years at a time, but I always do mean to come back. I don't want to promise anything, but theoretically things will start to settle back into a real and actual routine in the latter half of 2024, as I whittle my days back down to just working one job, taking care of one household, and having my kid back in school for the bulk of the day.

It's not the only big project or big property I squared myself up against, but it is one that has a very clear roadmap of a plot in my head, so no fear there. As far as Heavenward having been kind of a jumping off point for what I thought the most interesting aspects of TAG Season 1 were, talented amateurs was really the same as far as what I thought about where Season 2 left things, and where I would have gone with what I thought was the other most interesting aspect of the show as a whole, that is to say Penny/Gordon, and the notion of the whole cast as adults with relationships.

The most terrifying thing about TA as it exists right now is that it's maybe only about 30% of the story I ever intended to tell, which speaks to just how awful it is to have my brain. Basically, the intent was always for it to be three parts long, each about 200k words, one for each trimester of the pregnancy it centers around, and for that to unfold in ways that I thought would be entertaining. As a story it is genuinely never far from my head or my heart (I reread it myself with embarrassing frequency) and the broad strokes of the answer to that question of where it goes next actually hinge on whether or not Jeff Tracy is alive or dead in TA's version of the TAG universe, and I never quite settled that question for myself. After how long it's been though, I think I at least have enough perspective to know which way I'm leaning.

I'm very much due for a rewatch of the series, and hopefully I can carve out time sometime soon to make that happen.

As far as something that may or may not resemble a glimmer of hope for a future where I get my ass back in gear, here's a cut and the first half of the chapter I left off in the middle of writing, for whatever that's worth!

61 - knit and purl

Grandma Tracy hasn't had much to knit in a while, and her fingers ache slightly, her muscle memory for the task having gone somewhat to rust. There's no great call for hats and scarves in the South Pacific, no one particularly in need of cableknit when there's Gore-tex and nanofleece to be had. Still, it had all come back quickly enough, and the bag she'd brought with her is no longer full of knitting needles and yarn, but of a gift for her grandson.

Not, crucially, the one whose birthday it actually is, though she'd caught Alan's sideways glances and nods of approval during the flight over, so it's not as though she thinks he minds.

Alan is presently in the process of very carefully putting TB2 down in an empty patch of farmland alongside a dirt road stretching between two fields. The windbreak around the farmhouse is in sight, as is the hulking green pickup truck rumbling along the road towards their appointed landing coordinates. From over her shoulder, Grandma Tracy can feel the intensity of Virgil's silent attention where he leans forward in one of the passenger seats, not wanting to backseat drive, but equally not wanting Alan to fudge the landing. John's still down in the cargo bay, hopefully buckled in.

Grandma isn't worried, though she can see her youngest grandson's tongue caught between his teeth and poking out between his lips as he concentrates. When the Thunderbird finally settles gently to the earth below, she watches him let out a great big breath and grin to himself, and when he glances across the cockpit towards her, she can tell he's after reassurance, and she's only too happy to oblige. "Nicely done, kiddo."

"Not too bad," Alan agrees, though his smile widens at the praise. He pushes his seat back, unbuckling his harness and stretching before hoisting himself upright and clambering back into the cabin proper. "I'm gonna get changed. You okay, Virg?"

Virgil's slept most of the flight through, and could probably do to get up and move around himself, but with his leg still in a cast and TB2's interior not exactly friendly to those in a state of reduced mobility, he's going to need help getting up and out of the ship. "Fine, Al. Good job. Give Grandma a hand before you go."

Grandma Tracy waves Alan away as he turns around, already extending a hand in her direction. "No, no, I'll sit a minute. Go get in your civvies, sweetheart. We're not in a hurry."

Alan shrugs and reverses course, giving Virgil's shoulder a light punch as he passes by, heading for the lockers and showers tucked back behind the cockpit. Virgil looks mildly disgruntled to have been overruled, but his expression softens slightly when Grandma turns in her seat to give him a gently knowing smile. "Hard to be back in your bird and not be the one flying, hm?"

"It sucks."

There's a blunt, uncharacteristic bitterness there that's hard to miss, the past few weeks have been hard on Virgil, in no small measure because they've been hard on his brothers. The pressure release of Gordon's circumstances seems to have done little to improve Virgil's mood, and it's hard to tell if he wants attention drawn to his attitude. She suspects not, and doesn't comment, only nods sympathetically. "Well, we're all on the ground now, and you can take it easy for a while."

This gets no better answer than an non-committal grunt, and the fact that Virgil's been taking it easy for weeks now hangs in the air, obvious but unstated, and then dissipates into nothingness as the cargo lift hums from behind them, and John returns from the lower cargo bay, with the little plexiglass sphere that houses his AI companion held loosely in one hand. "Al getting changed?" he asks, stooping slightly as he moves through the cockpit, coming to the front just in time to offer his grandmother a hand to her feet.

"Showering first," Grandma informs him, and accepts his help to stand and stretch. "Help an old lady back down to terra firma, won't you, dear?"

"Of course," John answers immediately, and offers his arm in a solicitous and genteel fashion, at odds with the way he's often written off as cold and distant. There's a rarely seen streak of gentility in John, most often only seen by his grandmother, who has the fortune of being one of the few recipients of his softer affections. Her hand on his arm is steadied when his palm closes lightly over her fingers, and he contrives to help her aboard the cargo lift in a way that doesn't make her feel doddering and weak. "I'll be back for you in a minute, Virgil, unless Alan gets you first," John attempts to tell his younger brother, but the only response is another dismissive grunt, and this is lost in the hydraulic hum of the cargo lift.

"Never mind about him," Grandma says, tipping her head lightly against her grandson's shoulder when he sighs aloud. "Gordon will cheer him up one way or the other, mark my words."

[one-equaltemper]

join me in my far-too-long note that borders on an essay about chapters 28-30 of be my baby

i'll be honest, writing things like this inherently makes me feel like a terrible writer because i obviously didn't *clearly* get my point across and maybe i need to go back and edit the offending chapters, but for now...a note.

you will notice we're keeping a very casual vibe here because i haven't bothered to capitalize anything. we're just friends, having a chat! i'm definitely not wringing my hands and a little bit frustrated because that would be defensive and i do not want to come across as defensive. so here we go, under the cut, so you can avoid spoilers in case you're not caught up:

there have been lots of thoughts and, i think, a bit of confusion over an aspect of the argument between draco and hermione beginning in chapter 28. to the best of my knowledge this stems not from the argument itself — draco telling hermione that pansy (his second ex-wife whom she knows little about) has contacted him and wants to have a chat — but about what happens after.

hermione is overcome with feelings and her first instinct is to get away. i don't want to say she's a runner, because i don't think she is, but i think she's the type of person to need a little bit of time to herself and to her thoughts to understand and come to terms with information that is particularly inflammatory or worrisome. however, as she makes to move away from draco, he essentially refuses her the privacy.

first, i get it. draco comes off looking extremely controlling in this moment. i knew it would be difficult going in to write the scene, but i felt it was important for reasons i will explain.

second, lets talk about the rules.

in chapter five, draco first asks hermione to text him when she's out and let him know where she is and where she's going. it's just a check in text, but it's one of the first rules that they put into place.

in chapter 12, titled manners, draco asks hermione to hold his hand while they're walking outside. the rest of this chapter delves in draco showing her that maybe she's not actually all that ready to dive headfirst into a dd/lg relationship, but that rule still stands.

three, their relationship type. are they in a 24/7 dd/lg relationship? no. does it extend beyond the bedroom? yes. this is not just a sexual thing for them and some of the rules that they both agree to reflects that.

so, what happened? what was i trying to portray?

essentially that you don't get to pick and choose which rules you want to follow when you're in a relationship like this. hermione knows she's not supposed to wander, she knows she's supposed to hold his hand when they're out or, at the very least, stick close to him. argument or not, draco is still responsible for her.

draco gave her another option; he told her that he could take her back to his flat and she could determine from there whether she'd like to be alone. he simply, at the end of the day, asked her to remember their agreed upon rules. when hermione continued to refuse and he could see she wasn't going to do what he asked, he begrudgingly allowed her to separate herself from him as long as he could see her.

however, it was still against the rules and is part of the reason for the punishment in chapter 30.

if draco comes off as controlling, it's because he is. i'm not trying to hide that. i know, hermione knows it, astoria knows, theo knows it. even draco knows it. he has a deep need to control everything around him.

i know this story is not going to be everyone's cup of tea but my real goal here is to look at the nuances in a relationship like this. it's not always sexy or attractive. sometimes it's beyond complicated and it's just the nature of the dynamic. that's what i was trying to show.

i hope this makes sense and answers some of the questions and concerns from those chapters. i will go back and see what i can do about making these things clearer, but hopefully this note helps.

[skatingbi]

HOW WILL SANJI AND ZORO BECOME BESTIES IN MY OP FIGHTER PILOT AU?? WELL IM GLAD U ASKED!!

It starts slow, but it definitely begins after their 1v1 dogfight training. TL;DR- Zoro gets humbled during the training exercise against Sanji.

Long answer:

In practical lessons the instructor (who I REALLY want to make Admiral Garp), at the request of Luffy, has Zoro and Sanji practice 1v1 dogfighting for the mission since only two aircraft will be available...And it goes about as well as you expect. Zoro has the upper hand until suddenly, Sanji pulls back and uses the abrupt change in speed to change directions easier and punches forward and upward to gain a height advantage. Eventually, after 2 thousand feet or so, it makes Zoro pull back enough for Sanji to maneuver the stick and crank the jet perpendicular to the surface to get right behind Zoro's aircraft and...bullseye. I'd have to rewrite this later since im still researching how to write dogfights and just general flight mechanics, but hopefully, it gets my point across for now.

Zoro is absolutely FLOORED and since then respects Sanji, but still picks fights with him.

He holds a newfound respect for Sanji and becomes more cooperative as a nav instead of complaining, which weirds Sanji out but like whatever, right?

In their bunks, Sanji is usually restless and hates sleeping (night terrors? PTSD? insomnia?? the world will never know), and Zoro wakes up one night and just goes, "Wanna spar?" and Sanji is confused because sparring for him was never fun, but Zoro looks like he's about to take back the offer, and so he says sure without even thinking.

That starts their semi regular training together other than top gun bullshit they have to do, and Sanji always goes to bed humbled since Zoro kicks his ass every time.

Zoro is a great guy and a great teacher in hand to hand combat. He learns that Zoro wasn't always a pilot, that he did get stationed in places like the north blue. He learns that Zoro has seen the more disturbing parts of war that pilots dont see every day. He also learns that Zoro isn't all just muscle and density (physically and mentally, Sanji thinks to himself), but he also despises sweets and thats why he never falls for the trick of candy in the MRE's that always have Luffy running laps every lunch despite it being a known rule.

Eventually, the arguing is more like playful bickering with camaraderie hidden behind it. Sanji picks fights for the hell of it, and Zoro rolls with it. Zoro knows that he would trust sanji with his life when shit hits the fan, and so would Sanji if the same happened to him.

Friendship for them is the same as they were before except theres respect and trust that they each earned, and Nami can finally breathe and is like "Thank god y'all got your shit together."

...

One night after their ritualistic sparring session when Sanji is asleep, he is suddenly woken up to Zoro gasping for breath and thrashing, and then the man throws himself off the bed and lands with a thud loud enough to wake up Luffy and Usopp. Usopp is confused as fuck and Luffy snorts awake and is half asleep until they both see Zoro suddenly stand up, extremely alert and sweating.

"Hey Zoro..? What's up, man?" Usopp asks tiredly with his question laced with concern. Whats weird, though, is that its like Zoro doesn't hear them. He's standing where he fell one second and suddenly making a sweep of their bunk the next. Sanji is watching from his top bunk, looking down at Zoro before looking straight at Luffy. It's almost like Luffy knows, and he nods and says, "Let him do his thing, i trust you to know what to do, Sanji," And so he does what Luffy says.

Everyone listens to the squad leader and quietly lets Zoro sweep the parameter, check the door, check around outside, the windows, the window locks, under the beds, until Zoro is standing in the center of the room with a look that gives away everything Sanji needs to know. Zoro isnt here, at least not mentally, so he slowly shuffles out of his top bunk, making note of how Zoro's gaze flicks to him suddenly and makes sure to telegraph his movements before they even happen.

After a few minutes, he's in front of Zoro, looking directly into his eyes and standing. Zoro's eyes almost seem distant, looking through him but into his soul at the same time.

"Hey, moss, what's going on in that head of yours?" Sanji whispers low enough, so it's barely heard by Luffy and Usopp, who watch in case anything happens. Sanji knows, though. He knows Zoro won't do anything, and if he does, then Sanji knows that Zoro trusts him enough to stop him.

Zoro is staring, and eventually, Sanji slowly moves his arm within his view, gently resting his palm on Zoro's chest and feeling the elevated heartbeat. "Mossy, you with me? You're in our barracks now. Not wherever your brain thinks you've ended up," and he can visibly see Zoro deflate, then a rough palm shakily holds onto his wrist like his life depends on it. Zoro is trembling, his shoulders shake with each breath now, and his eyebrows scrunch like he's fighting with himself. Maybe he is, Sanji thinks to himself.

After a while- maybe 5 minutes or 20. No one was keeping track of time - Zoro eventually has enough self-awareness to clear his throat and really look at Sanji, who is still there and looking right at Zoro. It's grounding, the hand on his chest, and blue and brown eyes looking at him. Luffy and Usopp are asleep again, and Zoro takes one deep breath and lets it out, closing his eyes and counting to ten, and instead of the horrors he saw again in his sleep, he sees Sanji.

"Thanks, cook." Zoro whispers. It strikes Sanji in his soul how vulnerable it sounds. How Zoro squeezes his wrist gently before letting go.

They dont talk about it, or the other times it happens, or the times Zoro does the same for Sanji but its him using deep pressure therapy in the form of a hug after Sanji wakes up with a yell and fight overtaking his system when flight ironically loses the battle.

Their friendship is odd, but it comforts both of them in a way nobody else ever has. They both know each other well enough now that they can work alongside each other while constantly making jabs at each other. Their lighthearted bickering reveals smiles that were previously hidden, and it lets them feel like they can be themselves a little bit more.

[heynikkiyousofine]

Indulging myself in writing a little retelling of Inuyasha, so I wanted to share it with you. 💕

“Uh, hello there?” She called out and when he didn’t move, she decided to climb up to make sure he wasn’t injured. As she grew closer, the warm sensation from before came back, making her stop and look around for that frightening monster. When the area remained silent, the only sound was the gentle rustle of the leaves. She moved to step over the last root, coming just inches away with the man’s face, except he wasn’t a man at all. Not the kind she was used to at least.

Sure, there were plenty of cosplayers back home and people were constantly changing their appearance with the different trends each year, but none looked like him. He looks so peaceful. Raising her hand, she traced his features, her fingertips trailing his sharp nose and jaw. His brows were dark, with matching lashes that fanned across his cheeks and she briefly wondered what his eyes looked like. 

Brushing his bangs aside, she admired how soft his silver hair was, pausing to look closer at two small ears standing at the top of his head. Reminding her a bit of Buyo, she stroked the velvety fur, almost falling from her perch when a soft voice spoke.

He is to you, as you are to him.

Gripping the sleeping man’s red robe and leaning into him, she gazed around the clearing, afraid she had gotten caught. When no one appeared, she straightened herself, nervously laughing at her paranoia when she noticed a single arrow protruding from his chest, exactly where his heart would be. Looking back at the man’s face, she wondered who he was.

Inuyasha.

“Is that his name?” She whispered, when suddenly an arrow whipped past her head, grazing her cheek as it embedded itself in the trunk. Touching her cheek, she hissed at the slight sting. What the? Male voices yelled out and when she whirled around and positioned herself in front of Inuyasha, she was met with fierce gazes.

“You there, get down girl!” A tall man with dark hair hollered. She assumed he was the leader and suddenly, she was very afraid. I’m alone, in a strange forest with men pointing their weapons at me. Swallowing, she stood her ground, ready to defend herself and the man behind her. Noticing a few holding bow and arrows, she wondered if she could take one of them down and use it to defend herself.

“Child, what are ye doing up there?” An older woman, wearing a white and red robe that she usually wore during festivals at the shrine, appeared, the men parting to let her through. She must be the one in charge. Noticing the black eye patch covering her right eye and her weapon, she wondered if this priestess was some type of warrior princess. Hopefully she wouldn’t let these men hurt her. “Come down, we will not harm ye anymore than the hanyou would.” Hanyou?

Kagome nodded, carefully scooting down the roots, giving Inuyasha one last glance at Inuyasha and stopped right in front of the woman. She observed Kagome, using her good eye to take in Kagome’s appearance and when she frowned, Kagome grew worried.

“Kikyo?” she whispered.

Shaking her head, Kagome corrected her, “No, my name is Kagome.”

“I am Kaede. Would ye mind telling me what ye were doing up there?” She nodded, pointing her chin in the tree’s direction.

“I was searching for my way home when I came upon him.” She frowned, glancing up at him still sleeping peacefully against the tree. There’s something about him.

“Ah, well be careful child, he is not to be touched for he is dangerous.” 

“What happened?” She asked, her heart reaching out to comfort him. Why am I so drawn to him? He is to you, as you are to him. What does that even mean? And who said it? Before Kaede could explain, the ground shook, a deep rumbling making her tremble. A familiar shriek filled the air and Kagome gasped as the men around her prepared themselves for a battle. Oh no, not again.

“Give me the Sacred Jewel!” The monster’s voice cried out, causing Kaede to look at her.

“Ye have the jewel!?”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about!” She called, the creature’s screaming overpowering her own. Suddenly, she was thrown off her feet, landing on her back as a large centipede emerged from the ground, its eyes glaring right at her. Help me!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kagome, run!” Kaede yelled, releasing an arrow into the creature’s body. The body, half a woman, half a giant centipede, lunged at her, snatching her leg up in her teeth. Yelping at the pain as her calf was sliced open and as the centipede flung her across the clearing, she braced herself for the fall.

Landing right in front of the tree, she grimaced as blood seeped through the denim, a tear in her favorite. You can buy another pair. Get up! Her instincts called out to her, warning her of the danger and urging her to run to safety. When she glanced back to see a group of men fighting off the overgrown bug, she pushed through the pain and began to climb. Making it to the top of the roots, where Inuyasha’s feet hung, she was suddenly picked up by her waist and tossed into the air, a sharp pain in her side.

Looking down to see a small pink jewel emerge from her body, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. Did that just come out of me? Wincing as she landed on the ground, she watched the jewel bounce and roll to a stop in front of her.

“The Sacred Jewel! It will be mine!” The centipede screamed, lunging straight for her. Grabbing the orb, Kagome rolled out of the way just as the monster attacked. Breathing heavily, she stood to her feet, gripping the jewel. All this over a gem? 

Kaede rushed over, blocking her with her body and her bow aimed for the creature’s face. 

“Kagome, ye must not let Mistress Centipede have the Jewel Of Four Souls.” She ordered, firing the arrow into Mistress Centipede’s body, slicing off an arm in the process. Slipping the jewel in her front pocket, she noticed a discarded bow and quiver with three arrows to her left. Get to a high vantage point and shoot. Maybe that bright pink light will come back to help.

Ducking as the monster’s tail tried to knock her out, she grabbed the weapon and began to run back to the Sacred Tree, determined to take this thing down. As she made it to the top of the roots once again, she looked to see if Inuyasha was unharmed and froze when golden eyes glared right at her. Gold.

“You’re awake.” She breathed.

“You know, you shouldn’t play with bugs, Kikyo.” He sneered, his eyes flashing with hatred.

“Why you,” She growled, her temper rising, she gripped the bow tight as she stormed up to him, “My name isn’t Kikyo, it’s Kagome. Ka-Go-Me.” 

He leaned forward, discreetly sniffing when his eyes widened and he gaped at her, all traces of anger and hate gone, muttering one word.

“Mate.” Huh?

Another scream from below had her whirling around, knocking an arrow and aiming, shooting the tail of the centipede as it almost took out two men. She had to focus on defeating whatever this thing was so she could home and this nightmare could end.

“Aim for the heart, Kagome.” Inuyasha suggested and the way he said her name calmed her heart. Nodding, she fired the second arrow, missing the heart by inches and slicing another arm off her body. The centipede hissed, spinning around to snarl at her. She was shoved back against Inuyasha’s body before she could grab her last arrow and she dropped her bow and quiver when the scaly body wrapped around the trunk. Gasping for air as pain rickotched through her body, Kagome gripped Inuyasha’s hiori tight.

“Kagome!” He ground out through clench teeth.

“Inuyasha, do something!” She called out, black spots filling her vision as Mistress Centipede squeezed her body tighter.

“Focus. Use the arrow next to my head and stab her in the heart! Only you can purify her!” He managed to say, his voice cracking at the pressure, but she could tell he was in pain all the same. Spotting the arrow he talked about, she managed to wiggle her right arm free just enough to reach and pull the weapon out of the bark.

The centipede’s human body hovered above them, just out of arm’s reach. She needed something to bring the monster closer. An idea popped into her head and Kagome managed to free her other arm, removing the jewel from her pocket. Please, please let this work.

“What are you doing, stupid? She can’t have it!” Inuyasha yelled as the glowing orb caught the monster’s attention.

“The Sacred Jewel!” She gasped, grinning so wide, her bloodied fangs dripped onto Kagome’s shirt. She lunged forward and Kagome dodged just as her body got close enough, praying to whatever kami to bring her strength and stabbed Mistress Centipede in the heart.

A bright flash engulfed them and the centipede’s body turned to dust as her bones littered the ground below. Taking a shuddering breath when she was no longer pinned, Kagome sank to her knees, still holding the arrow and the jewel tight. All was silent for a second, when Kaede and the men surrounded the tree.

“He’s awake!” One man gasped, holding a wounded another on his arm, pointing right at Inuyasha. Tension grew as abled bodied men raised their weapons, aiming their way. 

“She must be a witch!”

“Dark priestess!”

“He must not get free!”

“He will destroy the village!”

Their voices grew louder and Kagome huddled against Inuyasha’s legs, whimpering. She was tired, her body hurt and all she wanted to do was go home. They defeated the monster, couldn’t they let me live?

“Don’t you touch her!” Inuyasha roared, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were seeping with red as purple stripes began to form along his cheekbones, his growl deep in his throat. What is happening?

“Child, slowly come down. We will not hurt ye, but that demon is dangerous, despite his innocence.” Kaede ordered, keeping her eye on Inuyasha. Demon? Unsure of what to do, the little voice from earlier whispered in her ear.

He will not harm you, for you are his.

Slowly standing, she dropped the arrow and slipped the jewel back into her pocket, staring out at the group.

“Kagome?” Inuyasha growled softly and she reached her hand back, intertwining her fingers with his own.

“He won’t harm me.” 

Kaede stepped forward, calling out for her when Inuyasha growled once more, making sure she kept her distance. When she stopped, Kagome nodded, turning to look him in the eyes. What she saw made her confident in her decision.

“How do I free you?” She asked softly.

“Uh, Kikyo pinned me to the this fucking tree with her arrow. Try pulling it out.” He squeezed her hand gently, his marks fading as his eyes returned to their previous shade. Nodding, she reached up, gripping the arrow tight and closed her eyes. If I set him free, please don’t let them harm him. Kami, give me strength to do what is right.

Taking a deep breath, she began to tug, meeting a little resistance. She could hear the voices from below, murmuring between them. She could feel warmth radiating from Inuyasha’s body as his heart beat. Tu-thump, tu-thump. 

The warm sensation that she was slowly becoming used to filled her body and she knew it was time. Opening her eyes, she saw the arrow was glowing a soft blue, much like the well earlier.

“It’s okay.” Inuyasha whispered, giving her hand another squeeze.

She nodded, pulling harder and when suddenly the arrow evaporated into thin air, releasing him from the tree. Smiling, she took a step back to allow him to move, missing her step. Feeling air underneath her feet, she began to fall backwards when red clad arms wrapped themselves around her waist and together, they both landed on the ground

The men scattered, giving them plenty of space and Inuyasha set her down on her feet, his hands still circling her body.. Kaede slowly approached, carefully watching them.

“Inuyasha, do ye still want to possess the jewel?”

“I didn’t do it.” He whispered.

“I know, but you need to let Kagome go.”

“She is my mate and I will not hurt her.” He snarled, his grip tightening and when she winced, he murmured an apology, gently nuzzling her hair.

“She is hurt, I can bandage her wounds if you would like.” 

Inuyasha looked at her, silently asking if that was fine with her and Kagome nodded, smiling. Her energy was fading and she really needed to lie down. Maybe I’ll wake up and this will all be some weird dream.

“Very well,” Kaede turned, heading back to the village, beckoning them to follow. “We can discuss everything and ye can explain what just happened.”

“Why should I trust you, ya old hag?” Inuyasha asked, not moving just yet, eyeing the men still surrounding them.

“Because Kikyo was my sister and Naraku was the one to pit ye two against each other.” Kaede answered, looking at the two of them over her shoulder.

Kagome could tell he was intrigued, and tried to step out of his arms to follow her, her vision blurred. Gripping her head, she groaned, hearing Inuyasha and Kaede call out her name before blackness overtook her.

[e40536]

I don't know how often you use Tumblr, but I saw what you posted on Twitter. I was going to post this to your strawpage but it's too long.

So to keep it anonymous, l'll just leave what I wrote for you here.

Take it how you will, I didn't intend for it to come across as rude or offensive. I'm sorry if it does.

But here

This might not be accurate but I'll just say this

For most people, we do things that we love, we feed off leisure. We spend our time developing skills based on those principles, some learn guitar, some start collections, some learn to draw, and others do a myriad of other things.

But, something about leisure, and having hobbies; is that in due time, no matter how hard we try. We lose fulfillment In what we do, some things just aren't enough anymore, the passion is dying down or at least hiding somewhere in your brain.

It's always unpleasant, to feel like you're losing yourself.

But, you're still creating who you are, you're still finding new parts of yourself in everything you love, in every song, in every book, in every movie, and in your everyday life. You find mediums to express yourself- you maintain them and you have your whole life, no matter where you are no matter what you do, you'll be doing something that you love weather you're aware of it or not.

So, when something does become tedious when it doesn't drive you the way it used to, you will continue on, you will start a new Whether you mean to or not.

You deserve a passion, an image, a voice, a story, you deserve to want to know who you are. Fight with yourself, and learn about yourself. Make things and do things, love things.

No matter what you decide to do, you'll be here [here as in Alive, not wherever you currently are]. And the people you love will hopefully be there too.

I can't claim to know how you feel, especially since I don't completely remember every point you made in your original tweet? But if you want a break, if you want to try something new. I think you should, no matter how scary, you deserve to develop and development takes change.

That's how you got here and that's how you'll get to wherever else you're headed.

That's all, goodbye, see you later

~☆*

no offense to you or anything but when i get lengthy asks i skim through them to see if its a bot or a person and i had to do a double take for this one because i read “some learn guitar” i thought this was an ad and then i looked a little closer HAHA…. Anyway, my actual response under the cut im about to go on a ramble:

First of all, i want to thank you for taking the time to write this and find a way to send it to me. This didn’t come off as offensive in any way at all! I like keeping the anon option on because while it does allow for nasty people to hide behind it, there are kind people like you who just prefer to stay hidden (i am one of these people, so i understand). And thank you again for reading what i originally wrote.

i deleted it not out of shame or embarrassment for being vulnerable on the internet, i want to share that side of myself to followers from time to time. I did it cause i thought what i said mightve sounded too incoherent, i was in a mood. I have been in one for quite some time and while ive managed to have quick escapes from it, it always comes back. To say im just miserable would be an understatement. And my deteriorating mental state reflects how i think about my social media presence, posting/sharing things, & creating them. I screenshotted everything with plans to rewrite (or just repost) what i said… I posted that in hopes of letting other people know how much i appreciate their viewing of my content. Even if they’re a silent follower. And also because i wanted to share my own perspective on the whole posting for likes or posting for love of art. I hoped that how i ended it came off a little optimistic. While i am sad, I still do believe things will turn out fine in the end..

It feels… weird (in a good way dont worry, im kinda in disbelief at the moment haha) to see people say that i deserve a voice, passion, story or image, because i just kind of mindlessly post things. I don’t think very hard about how others might perceive it. I don’t really think of myself as anything really. Not in a total self deprecating way its just like euuuhhh? me? artist? an inspiration? I know i inspire some because they have told me, but it never truly clicked for me that like, oh yeah this person actively thinks about the things i make or write when they want to be inspired. And like i said in the tweets, my drive is different from others… i have no overwhelming desire to be KNOWN and PRAISED, although i get why others do, that shit is addicting, haha. i just post for the people who i know like to see what i make. I feel accomplished as an artist in that sense, that ive left a mark on someone, one person at least. I have always been in the background of projects rather than be in the front of them. You see my name in various credits, in fact most of my audience came from other people mentioning me in their works. I used to really struggle and even cry over this (i still kinda do), but then i learned to be fine with it… proud of it even in a sense cause its great to be apart of things. Its just the way other people treat me is where it gets me. I dont like being treated like someone’s shadow haha.

Earlier last year i struggled with what to do with my life (career wise) and i am… still struggling. The road im currently on leads to a career that has nothing to do with art but still something i want to do, have wanted to do since i was small. But i feel like i am betraying the other me, the kid me who did have dreams of being an artist, they did not have huge aspirations of making an original show or comic or anything, but they did want to be apart of things, help others realize those aspirations. We will see though, who knows, maybe the road will throw me a curve ball and ill be in a class learning the skills to try to master something ive been doing for years.

as for posting art, i dont intend on taking a break dont worry, im all good over here. I want to keep sharing the stuff i make, haha. That was supposed to be what everyone shouldve taken away from my closing statement on that tweet. That im going to continue creating & putting stuff out for the people who do care to see it. Numbers are irrelevant, as long as there’s someone out there its worth sharing.

thank you again, this made me tear up a little bit… I really appreciate this, more than you know. Like i mentioned in the tweet i revisited some of the nice things people have said to me regarding my work/person to help my mood, it is nice to receive something new to read… i really needed this. Thank you <3

[gremlins-hotel]

Any more Romerica thoughts or headcanons? 🙏❤️

i'm very sorry to disappoint you, dear traveler, but no headcanons this time around. however, i can bring you a short piece of writing! based in @temtamoo's engita pirate au where romerica is a b-ship. romano gets dragged out by alfred and seb to test one of alfred's ridiculous flying machines (based on ornithopters and otto lilienthal's famous gliders!).

Bright wind whisked across rolling hills of verdant grass. In the sky hung the sun, one curious and watchful eye amidst the bow of blue around it. The sweet smell of grass wafting into Romano’s nostrils drew a wistful sigh from his lips. Sebastiano bounced excitedly beside him, the younger boy near to bursting and unable to focus on a single point in the plains surrounding them.

They were far outside their family shipyard and the city in the Volan Hills; a feat far more manageable when you had your own gondola to reach to the plains at the borderlands of the watery kingdom. Few went here, which was just as well since it meant less of an audience for whatever experiment Romano had been dragged out for by his restless younger brother and fiancé. And fewer people to see any possible crash that the two brothers would have to drag him back from.

A few feet away toiled a taller body, enraptured by manmade wings of wooden frame and stretched cloth. Alfred reverently unfolded the willow bones and barely could Romano hear him speaking over the wily breeze, trying in vain to explain his flying machine to them both. “...and it’s controlled by weight shift! See here in a moment, when I leap from the ridge, I’m going to try and lift, then bank.”

“Just don’t break your wrist this time,” Romano called over the wind. Only a laugh answered. Romano rolled his eyes playfully, though he knew Alfred wouldn’t see, distracted as he was. Turning to Sebastiano, still rocking happily from heel to toe, Romano quickly added, “And you are never doing this. If I catch wind of you getting hold of one of his crazy gliders, you’ll be under house arrest indefinitely.”

“Oh, but brother,” Sebastiano pleaded with big eyes, “come on—”

“Absolutely not!” he reinforced with brows scrunched, yet still grinning. It was enough that Seb spent so much time watching his fiancé tinker and fidget with all the spare parts he could. Truly, Romano was thankful Alfred could teach his little brother so much, though how useful it was, he wasn’t sure, but at least the boy could learn to dream large in a small world. It could be hard when your life was spent amongst keels and sails yet never spent on the water. That was Feliciano’s gambit.

Alfred busied himself with the straps and controls of the glider, still addressing them, “So this time, I’ve added a stabilizing tail. I don’t know how I didn’t think to try sooner. I mean, how many times do we see birds use their tails to rudder and to flare for drag when landing? Mark down a loss for my intelligence on that one, ha!”

“It always takes a few good tries, right?” Seb called.

You’re the only man I know that walks with two feet yet has a head so far in the clouds that it chirps Romano mused. Full of hot air. He would never tell him that out loud, at least not yet. Actually, it would probably be worth it, he thought. Just for the look on Alfred’s face. Later, though. He smiled to himself and continued to observe patiently. A mess of steel wires that his love claimed were for control glinted in the dazzling sun, catching his eye.

Soon the three of them stood atop a wide ridge, a gently slanting slope beneath. It towered above several other hills and spilled into a deep green bowl of thick ground cover. Height to catch the zephyrous sky and length to glide, and hopefully something soft to catch Alfred if he had one of his rather infamous skid landings. White wings caught the sun, the parts of the cloth with any give bowing as if yearning for the wind. Romano briefly hoped that the ‘something soft’ would be unnecessary, wondering quickly if his worry was a mite too late.

The sail wings were of great breadth, though to bear the much larger man, they had to be. Broad and white in the day. They reminded Romano of a great stork or sea eagle with their frames that nearly resembled the lay of feathers at the leading edge. Sprouting from Alfred’s shoulders like the mantle of the Guardian spirit, they bounced with some of his movements. In his hands, he held their yoke and Alfred whipped his head to give both Sebastiano and Romano a confident smile, all teeth. He winked at the latter.

“Ready?”

Both brothers nodded, one hopeful and the other concerned. Flipping down goggles of his own make, Alfred shot them a thumbs up and backed up a few steps. He would run straight into a fierce headwind as it rolled up the slope, the goal to catch a lift and glide. Supposedly this version of the machine had a feature he refused to tell either of them that would help, or so he said. Romano couldn’t let himself overthink how dangerous this show could be. It had been hard enough to convince him to come and he couldn’t turn back now.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, the man gave a loud cheer as the pilot pushed himself into a sprint across the grass. Legs bunched and sprung. Romano closed his eyes and felt a nervous jitter in his chest. He heard a shout to release pressure. A windy snap. Then a loud holler. Romano’s heart raced madly but he didn’t think he could open his eyes to see whatever carnage might be down the ridge. Suddenly Seb was latched to his arm and shaking him frantically, “Look, look!”

Forced to crack open his eyes, Romano was assaulted by the brilliant sun. Past them, following Sebastiano’s firm point, he spied a massive bird hanging in the air.

Alfred’s legs hung loosely beneath bending wings and Romano felt something grip his chest when his fiancé, alongside his contraption, sank down at warm, mistral whim. Like two ships on a wild collision course, he couldn’t look away, wanting to yell caution, but his voice froze. Why Seb was so calm he couldn’t understand.

Then long legs tucked and the curl of the pilot’s body seemed to smooth out his flight. The glider even lifted a couple of feet. Watching rapt as Alfred leaned his lower body to one side, the wings following and drifting him in that direction, then the other. He drew a serpentine in the sky, back and forth with far too much confidence for wings of cotton and wood. Romano did shout when Alfred grew daring and pitched his body up and forward, kicking the glider into a flare like a diving hawk. It flipped head over tail and the pair somersaulted midair. The shipwright swore he could hear the contagious laughter of a madman echo on the breeze as he turned right-side up and continued to descend.

“Stop that! You really will break something!” he called uselessly. Seb laughed at his outburst. Romano turned on him. “How are you so calm?”

“Is this the first time you’ve been out here?” his little brother asked with a tilt of his head, only briefly looking at him.

“Yes!” Romano’s tone was exasperated.

Seb giggled with mischief, “Then this is the first time you’ve seen him do that?”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you that was how Alfred broke his wrist that one time. He tried to flip and on the up-and-over, he went into a nosedive. Bracing was the issue,” explained the teen with too much of a casual air.

Romano decided he would ground them both if that happened again. Hell, even when Alfred landed. He’d tried to when the pair had come back from the Volan Hills months before, Sebastiano carrying a ruined glider and Alfred holding one arm rather pathetically beside him. Of course, it hadn’t worked for long. They wouldn’t be here if it had.

“Watch!” Came a faint cry. The brothers turned their attention to their daredevil friend. When Alfred seemed sure that he had their gaze, they saw his elbows move vaguely. White wings flapped, truly flapped, and the pilot was given a meager buoy. Sebastiano’s eyes popped from his skull and he yelled with fervently, hands flying to his hair. With weak strokes the airframe flexed again, flapping slowly like a gliding seabird. Though rather useless overall, they could still see as the powered flight gave their friend just that much more ballast against the sky. Heavier than air, yet still they soared.

Until the airframe wobbled dangerously on one downstroke. The right wing folded awkwardly in a wrong arc, crumpling slightly. With horror Romano saw as the change in airfoil caused Alfred to list perilously, the glider tipping over the pilot’s head and going into a slanted dive. He would crash and Romano knew it. Romano felt suddenly seized.

For once thinking with his feet, he launched himself off the lip of the ridge and slid down the dirt, mourning the loss of his nice, clean breeches. He hated that the bottom of the slope seemed so close yet so far. Terror caught his throat as he floundered to stand as the end of the hill approached. He rose into a stumbling sprint, watching in distress as the glider careened into green earth. The sickening snap of wooden wings and the rip of twill made Romano’s stomach turn, only praying that there wasn’t the snap of anything else. Thankfully, hopefully, he heard no scream of pain as he approached the heap of Alfred and glider.

Laid out on his back in the thick grass with pieces of the contraption still harnessed to him was Alfred. He must have rolled when the glider smashed down. No part of him looked twisted or out of place the closer he drew and Romano stopped with a tremble, putting his hands on his knees and letting out a relieved pant. Alfred dazedly turned his head to Romano and it made frustration rise in the shorter man to see that a massive, stupid grin was plastered across his features.

“It worked!” Was all the tinkerer exclaimed. No greeting, no ‘I’m fine’. Still Alfred’s dopey smile persisted.

Romano sputtered, bewildered, “I- you crashed! What do you mean it worked!”

“I may have crashed, but Ro, the flapping worked! Did you see the lift I got? I think if I could reinforce the wings we could try—”

“We? Alfred, no.” Romano cut him off with a frustrated bark. “Only you are crazy enough to do this, you big, stupid, vacuous idiot. By the Guardian, you are never doing this again!” Sebastiano rolled up behind them both, panting harshly.

“Aw, c’mon Ro! Look, I swear I’ll be safer next time. I didn’t even get hurt!” Alfred protested, not getting up from the grass but instead speaking with his hands beneath Romano’s nose.

“You still crashed! And who knows what scrapes and bruises are under your clothes? Love, no,” fretted the shorter man. He hung his head in disbelief, shaking it loosely at Alfred. “You will one day give me a heart attack and then who will keep you from turning into a meat mash at the bottom of the sea cliffs someday?”

“Mmm, I think you’re stronger than that. You’d live,” came the coy response. “Okay, but what if, one day, I make us a glider that could carry more than one person? We could fly together!”

“You mean crash together?”

“Ye of little faith!” Alfred laughed, reaching up both arms toward Romano as if to grab him into a hug. Romano lifted away before he could fall for the trap.

Offering one hand to his fiancé, Romano vigorously shook his head once more, “Let’s just get you home before you get any more insane ideas! We’re missing a perfectly good day for lunch.”

Both Seb and Alfred followed, flight forgotten at the mention of food.