#i think a few parts will have a LONG list

[kai-uh-arcadian]

Project: Aeri

synopsis: you get paired with the campus’ mean girl Aeri Uchinaga to work on a semester long project together

cw: cursing, tension, alcohol, mean girl aeri, angst (?) idk, college au! reader runs track and aeri is a cheerleader but it really doesn’t pertain to the plot too much! also I don't think i used any pronouns for the reader :D

word count: 6.1k

notes!! hi (: this was fun so fun to write!! I loveeee the dynamic between reader and aeri hehe

Lmk how you feel about this or if you'd just like to chat!

You found yourself with a decent amount of time, arriving at your lecture hall with a good 15 minutes to spare. When you got through the door, your eyes looked through the room, scanning for the perfect seat, preferably in the back of the lecture hall.

A fair number of students had claimed their spots but thankfully, the seat you had set your sights on remained empty. With a soft plop, you settled into your seat, ready for your last first class ever! (finally)

You mindlessly scrolled through instagram before a girl walked past you in the aisle trying to get to a seat. A snobby “oops” escaped her lips as her designer leather purse missed your head by a hair. Her purse may have missed you but her excessive amount of perfume did not.

You slumped back in your seat, stifling your frustration just as the professor began setting up her laptop, fumbling with the projector. But all your irritation fizzled out the moment you caught sight of the girl again, now seated a few rows from you. A pretty familiar face.

You sighed, the earlier instance clicking in your head after recognizing who it was.

Aeri Uchinaga.

Of course.

The name itself was practically legendary around campus. Aeri or better known as Giselle to her inner circle—was sort of everyone’s campus celebrity as she was effortlessly popular and untouchably cool. She was the girl everyone wanted to befriend, date, or at least be seen with. Aeri was on the cheer squad and she was the one who had it all—beauty, charm, and an air of superiority that made your skin crawl. 

It’s not like you disliked her per se, but it was her superiority complex that irked the living shit out of you. It bothered you how much of a bitch she was.

The professor, blissfully unaware of your internal groaning, launched into a painfully slow breakdown of the syllabus. You tried to pay attention, but your mind drifted as she agonizingly detailed each project and the writing part of it. Luckily, no exams—just two parts of a project to do for the whole semester.  

How is this an hour and fifteen minutes you thought as you sighed, slumping back into your seat

“So, throughout my years of teaching I’ve done these partner projects. I have asked for feedback each year. A lot of my students expressed that the most difficult part of the semester project was initially finding a partner. I know you’re all adults but this is a great way to make friends you normally wouldn’t speak to! So, I’ve already randomly assigned you partners! When I call your name can you please raise your hand and find your partner” She beamed at her great idea

Honestly she did have a point, and it was less work/anxiety trying to find a partner 

She listed pairs after pairs until she said name making your ears perk up 

“Y/n..  L/n !” Her eyes scanned the room for you

You raised your hand from way back and did a small wave paired with a bright smile

“Oh! Hi- and your partner is... Aeri Uchinaga!” Her eyes scanned the room again looked for a raised hand 

Oh of course

She didn’t scan long as the girl that shuffled passed you earlier rose her hand with a fake smile

Despite Aeri’s complex, it wasn’t hard to see why people gravitated towards her. Her hair was in a perfect ponytail and you caught a glimpse of a smile that could disarm anyone. Her demeanor was effortlessly charming and her presence dominated each and any room she was in. 

She was a bit intimidating, you had to admit

And you? Well, you were a runner. Literally. Your life kinda revolved around those early morning track practices and late-night study sessions. The university’s track team didn’t exactly have the same hype as the football team, basketball team or the cheer squad that went with them. 

But you didn’t mind, you were perfectly content with not being in the spotlight and pretty happy with the (very) small fan group you had attracted throughout your four years.

You just didn’t crave attention the way Aeri seemed to

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. Out of all the people in your large lecture, it had to be her.

You tried to play it off, extending an olive branch to her through a kind smile–Aeri caught your eye again, her smile dropping the second the professor looked away. She didn’t seem any more thrilled about the arrangement than you were– but at least you tried to fake it! You could practically hear her thoughts: Great, stuck with you.

You slumped back into your seat, inwardly groaning.

What. A. Bitch. 

Class ended with the usual shuffle of students packing up their belongings, but you remained in your seat, feeling the weight of the project announcement settle heavily in your chest. The thought of working with the Aeri Uchinaga was... daunting, to say the least. For most people, partnering with her for an entire semester would be a dream come true, but you couldn’t care less about her social status or the attention she commanded. Her world of endless appearances and surface-level bullshit wasn’t one you ever wanted to step into.

As you stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, a voice stopped you.

"Hey."

You turned to see Aeri making her way down the aisle toward you, her steps purposeful, confidence radiating from her like always. “Let me have your number,” she said sharply. It wasn’t a request but more of a command.

You hesitated, offering a tentative way out. “I mean, I can just handle the project myself and put your name on it. You don’t seem too excited about working together.”

Aeri paused just a few feet away, her expression unreadable but her eyes flashed a flicker of consideration. “If this was any other class, I’d let you do it and wouldn’t think twice,” she replied, her voice clipped. “But my dad says I actually need to pass this one. So, no, I can’t coast through.”

The bluntness in her words caught you off guard. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more nervous. You sighed softly, “I see.”

Aeri extended her hand without a word, and you typed in your number. She glanced at it briefly, then slid her phone into her bag, her expression never really changing.

"Thanks," she said, the word sounding more like an obligation than gratitude. She muttered a quick  “I’ll text you.” And without even waiting for a response, she walked off right past you, already scrolling through her phone as if you or your interaction had barely registered.

You stood there for a moment, watching her retreating figure, your thoughts swirling. 

What a fucking bitch. 

The reality slowly settled in as you made your way out of the lecture hall...

You’d be spending more time with her than you ever imagined nor cared for.

A few days passed, and true to her word, you got a text from a number:

"It’s Aeri. Come over to my place at 6. We’ll start on the project then." With an address attached.

No pleasantries, no extra fluff. It was straightforward—just like her.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you showed up at her apartment, but it definitely wasn’t this. The building itself was pristine, the type of place you’d expect from someone who never had to worry about rent money. The lobby alone screamed "daddy’s money," with its sleek and modern decor.

When you reached Aeri’s door, she greeted you with a casual nod, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on, let’s get started.”

Her apartment was just as fancy as you imagined. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the room with natural light, and sleek designer furniture was perfectly arranged, like something out of a magazine. It wasn’t just nice—it was borderline intimidating. You couldn’t help but feel out of place in your university hoodie and sweatpants.

“Nice place,” you muttered as you took your shoes off by the door.

“Thanks,” Aeri replied nonchalantly, already making her way to a small table where her laptop was open and ready. “Let’s try to knock out the outline for the project tonight.”

The evening went smoother than you’d initially imagined it to go, and to your surprise, Aeri was focused and typing away at her laptop. She was of course still cold, only speaking to you about the project and there was plenty of chilling silence.

Three weeks had already passed since the project began and you’re already at your wits end with her. You have made every effort fucking possible to be nice to Aeri. Every time you went over to her apartment you tried your hardest to alleviate the awkward silence. You’d ask about her day, how the cheer team was doing, or what her plans for the weekend were. But most of the time, you were met with a huff, a roll of the eyes, or a dismissive answer that felt like she couldn’t care less(she couldn’t). Still, you pushed through and your kind heart still gave Aeri the benefit of the doubt.

But today was different.

You’d had a long day. After leaving Aeri’s apartment last night at 1AM, you were up again by 5AM to get ready for your track meet. You had planned to sleep on the bus ride to the meet, but you remembered a paper you still needed to finish for another class, so instead of sleeping, you spent the entire ride hunched over your laptop, working.

The meet itself was grueling. You competed in four different events, your body screaming for rest by the end of it. What stung the most was your individual race—the one you were supposed to win. You lost by 0.5 seconds. It was frustrating knowing how much time and effort you had poured into preparing for this moment, only to fall short by the tiniest margin.

By the time you got back to your apartment at 8PM, you were completely drained, both physically and emotionally. You had barely collapsed onto your couch when your phone buzzed.

It was Aeri.

Her message had a cold urgency that made your eye twitch. 

"You done yet? Come over already. You said you’d be done by 7:30. I have something to do at 11."

You thought about ignoring it. You thought about telling her off right then and there. But instead, you sighed, had a quick shower, changed into something more comfortable, and made your way to her place, frustration bubbling beneath your surface

When you finally arrived at her apartment, exhausted and frustrated, Aeri barely looked up from her phone while giggling at something. 

“So, I did the third section of part two today. Look over it,  kay’? ” Not even a greeting nor eye-contact. At this point you were used to it but today it rubbed you the complete wrong way.

You swallowed it, you couldn’t help but try with her. “Yeah.. I can do that” You tried to excuse her behavior with “that’s just how she is”

For the first few minutes, you worked in silence, one-sided tension from your end was building in the air around you like a heavy cloud.

“So.. how was your day today?” You politely asked while making some grammatical adjustments to her part

“Good.”

“Oh good, did you do anything?” Trying to lead with a better question this time

“No.” 

“Well, I had a track meet today and Aeri!  it was so–” You excitedly began your anecdote with a chuckle, in hopes of sharing a story for conversation’s sake.

“Cool.” She interrupted, not even looking up from her laptop 

Your smile instantly dropped and you tried your best to keep everything in but after everything you had been through today along with these few weeks, something inside you finally snapped.

You shut your laptop harder than you meant to and looked up at her, your voice was tight with frustration. “Can you at least try to pretend to enjoy my company?”

Aeri glanced up, her eyes widening slightly surprised at your tone. “Excuse me?” her eyebrow raising in defense

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you for weeks,” you continued, your voice rising with each word. “I ask about your day, your stupid ass cheer team, and all I get is a roll of your eyes or some half-assed response. I’m really trying here, but it’s like fucking pulling teeth to have a simple ass conversation with you.”

Aeri blinked, clearly not expecting this 'out-of-character' outburst. “What? I– ”

You cut her off, your emotions finally spilling over “Please don’t ‘what’ me Aeri,” tears of frustration or exhaustion glistened in your eyes, “You think this is how I want to be spending MY Saturday night? You think this is how I want to spend each or every other day? I ALSO don’t want to be here. I’m so fucking tired Aeri but here I am because YOU wanted me here to work on this stupid fucking project even though I told you I had a meet today. Or did you just not care to remember?” You stood up, placing your laptop in your bag with a sharp motion. “You know what? We don’t even have to do this together. You can just text me if you have any questions, and I’ll do the same. We shouldn’t waste more of each other’s time”

Aeri’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. She just stared at you, stunned, as you turned on your heel and walked out of her apartment without looking back. This was the first time someone had spoken up against the ‘untouchable’  Aeri Uchinaga.

Aeri’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She couldn’t quite place a reason as to why she felt like she wanted to cry. Maybe she enjoyed the idea of being around someone so kind and genuine as you.

For the next week and a half, you didn’t hear from Aeri. You worked on the project alone, silently making adjustments and adding content without bothering to ask for her input. She hadn’t reached out but she did notice your silent additions while you genuinely couldn’t care. You were just frustrated because you really thought she wasn’t how she seemed.

But then, after days of silence, your phone buzzed with a text from her:

“Can you come over Y/n?” 

“Please?”

You stared at the message for a long moment, debating whether to go or not. But something about the way she said “please” tugged at you. Reluctantly, you agreed.

“Omw”

When you arrived at her apartment, the energy between you was completely different from before. Aeri opened the door, her usual confidence replaced with something more.. Timid?  She stepped aside to let you in, her eyes, for once, weren’t glued to her phone and onto yours.

The silence between you was thick, uncomfortable. Normally, you would have made an effort to break it, but this time, you remained cold.

“Hey so, how was your day?” She asked

After a few moments, you spoke up

“I think we should just get this section done and over with” you said flatly, settling onto the table without even glancing in her direction.

Aeri hesitated, biting her lip as she sat beside you. For once, she didn’t have her usual snarky remarks or her dismissive scoffs. She just quietly opened her laptop and got to work. The silence between you felt suffocating. Every now and then, you’d catch Aeri glancing at you from the corner of her eye, her usual sharp confidence was completely absent. She seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting more than usual as she worked.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aeri broke the silence.

“Y/n...” she started, her voice soft and hesitant. You didn’t look up, keeping your focus on your laptop.

“I... I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. 

That statement caught your attention. You slowly lifted your eyes from the screen, glancing at her. She wasn’t looking at you, her gaze fixed on her hands as she fidgeted with her perfectly done acrylic nails.

“I don’t think I’m used to people spending time with me just because they want to,” she continued, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard before. “Most people either want something from me or whatever. I didn’t know how to handle it when you actually tried to get to know me. And I guess I pushed you away because of that.”

She sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of the table as her words lingered in the air. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I just... didn’t know what to do with someone who cared.”

You stared at her for a moment, her words sinking in. Part of you had expected her to never acknowledge the way she’d been treating you, but now that she had, you couldn’t help but soften. Her vulnerability felt real, and it was clear she wasn’t used to letting people see this side of her.

A small, shy smile crept onto your face as you leaned back slightly. “Did you miss my attention or something?” you teased lightly, hoping to ease the tension.

Aeri finally looked up, rolling her eyes playfully as they met yours. “You know, I actually did, you idiot,” she quipped back, a small smirk tugging at her lips. But as she continued, her voice grew softer, more serious. “I honestly didn’t think I would... or that I would care, but when you stopped trying…” She paused, her tone becoming more vulnerable. “I noticed.. or that I realized I actually missed you... missed having someone who wanted to be around me as much as I wanted to be around them.”

Her words settled between you, and in that moment, you realized something. The cold, distant facade Aeri had been putting up wasn’t about you at all—it was about her. She had been pushing you away because that’s what she was used to. That’s how she protected herself from getting hurt.

“You had some way of showing that” You let out a small chuckle with a soft sigh. The anger you’d been holding onto for the past week and a half slowly melting away. “You could’ve just said that earlier ya know?” you replied gently, your voice free of the coldness it had held before.

She offered you a small but genuine, almost shy smile, and for the first time, it felt like the walls between you were starting to come down. 

“I’m sorry too, Aeri,” you added, offering her your goofy smile. The air felt lighter now, and for the first time in weeks, you both seemed to be on the same page.

She really did have a smile that could disarm anyone. 

Another three weeks had passed, and after that night, you found yourself spending more and more time with Aeri. At first, it was just to work on the project, but as the days went by, things slowly began to shift. You learned to navigate her moods, her sarcasm, and even her occasional backhanded compliments. To your surprise, Aeri started to let go of her ‘mean-girl’ persona.

She no longer seemed as guarded with you, and the more time you spent together, the more she let you see sides of her that weren’t wrapped up in the image of being the perfect cheerleader or the richest girl on campus.

It wasn’t until one evening that everything truly changed.

You were back at her apartment for what was supposed to be one of your final work sessions before the project deadline. As usual (now), Aeri was focused for most of the evening yet still actively conversing, but as the hours ticked by, you noticed her energy faltering.

“Ahh~ fuck! We’ve been at this for way too long,” she finally said, closing her laptop with a sigh. 

“Let’s take a break.”

You leaned back in your chair, “Thank god you said that,”  stretching your arms above your head. ”I’m starting to lose it too”

Aeri stood and walked to her kitchen, rummaging through her fridge before pulling out a couple of drinks. “Wine or White Claws?” she asked, holding them up with a smirk. “I thinkkk~ we deserve a little something for surviving this long.”

You hesitated, glancing between the two options. “Uhh~ wines too classy for the occasion,” you said with a laugh, completely taken aback at her sudden behavior

“White Claw it is,” she said, tossing one to you before cracking open her own. She plopped down beside you with a smirk. “To surviving this stupid project,” she said, raising her can in a mock toast.

“To surviving, Ms. Uchinaga,” you echoed, tapping your drink against hers.

You took a sip, the cold fizz of the seltzer hitting your tongue, but your face instinctively scrunched up at the taste.

Aeri noticed and burst into laughter. “Not a fan, Y/n?”

“It’s free, so I can’t really complain,” you replied with a grin. “But if I’m being honest, I prefer beer.”

“Ew! Beer? Really?” she cringed playfully, shaking her head. “It’s like carbonated piss!”

“Oh, so you know what piss tastes like? Weirdo,” you teased without missing a beat. 

Aeri's mouth dropped open in mock offense, and she gave you a playful shove. “Shut the fuck up you’re soo annoying!” 

You both laughed, the tension that had lingered for so long between the two of you seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer.

You saw a side of Aeri that you hadn’t seen before—one that wasn’t wearing her usual cold mask. For once, she was real. Laughing about stupid things, opening up about her dad, venting about her struggles with balancing school and her social life.

Somewhere throughout the conversation, Aeri had absentmindedly turned on a random show in the background, though neither of you paid much attention to it. The drinks kept flowing, and you two lost count after a while, but it didn’t matter. You both found yourselves laughing at god knows what, the sound filling the room. But when the laughter finally died down, the air between you shifted again—heavier with something unsaid yet undeniably present.

Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The noise from the TV faded into the background as the silence between you, heavy with something mutually unspoken.

Aeri smiled softly, her guard lowered even more this time. “You’re not as bad as I thought, ya know?”

You laughed nervously, “You’re also not exactly what I expected either, Ms. Uchinaga.”

“Well, who is Ms. Uchinaga to you, hmm~?” she asked, lazily sipping her drink.

You paused, taken aback from the heavy question.

“Well, at first, Ms. Uchinaga was a bit... stuck up and... kind of a bitch,” you teased with a chuckle. But then your tone softened as you continued, “But now, I see someone who's actually really hard-working and driven. She’s not cold—she’s just protective of herself. She’s witty, smart, and honestly? One of the greatest people I've met. I’m really lucky I get the pleasure of knowing her.”

You shrugged, finishing your drink while reaching for another, and Aeri smiled, something soft yet needy flickered in her eyes.

She met your eyes and the moment lingered—just the two of you, sitting in her ridiculously nice apartment, sharing drinks and paired with a conversation that was so.. intimate.

Your held eye contact had so much unspoken tension. Her eyes were basically longing for you.  

As much as you wanted to kiss her,  something held you back. 

Maybe it was the fear of misreading the situation? Or maybe you were both afraid to cross that boundary. 

So, as much as you cherished the soft, tender moment, you let it pass, pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind as you broke eye contact to take a big gulp of your freshly opened drink. 

You paused, glancing at your half-full can before turning your gaze back to Aeri. Her smile lingered as she lazily sipped her drink. 

You felt your heart racing as you decided to push the moment just a bit further. “Well... who is Y/n to you?” you asked, your voice soft but direct. “I just shared who you are to me, Uchinaga”

Aeri blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. Her drink froze halfway to her lips, and she lowered it slowly, her eyes scanning your face as if searching for the right words.

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her expression was contemplative. She placed her drink in her lap and leaned back slightly, her gaze dropping as she fidgeted with the nails again. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—more like she was deciding how honest she wanted to be.

“Y/n...is” Aeri started, her voice softer than before. “Different.” She glanced up, meeting your eyes, and you could see the hesitation in hers. “Kind. Not like most people I know. You pushed yourself into my life, and you still... stuck around, even when I wasn’t the easiest person to be around.”

She let out a quiet laugh, more at herself than anything. “Honestly, I didn’t get it at first. Like.. Why you kept trying with me? But now... I think I do.” her voice hinted at  knowing something. 

Her fingers traced the edge of her can, her voice quiet but steady. “And you’re patient. And I’m not used to that. You’ve seen sides of me that I don’t let most people see, and I think... I’ve been scared of that.”

You swallowed, her words hanging in the air. “Scared?”

“Yeah... I think so,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. “Like I said before, I’m not really used to people sticking around just to get to know me. They’ve always stuck around to use me for some type of gain. But you... you’ve just been here. And I think at first, I was afraid that you’re gonna turn out like everyone else but now I’m scared because I don’t feel the need to push you away”

A confession?

The weight of her words pressed down on you, the vulnerability in her tone echoing in the room. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, the truth of what she’d just admitted settling between you both. You could feel the walls between you crumbling, and this time, it wasn’t just a fleeting moment—it was real, raw.

You smiled gently, leaning forward just a little. “I’m glad you’re not pushing me away,” you said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her own fidgeting one, your voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not.” Aeri’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, her eyes softening.

Both of your eyes flickered to each other's lips, though the distance between them never closed.

After a few days of wrapping up the project, your mind kept drifting back to that night. The intimate moment between you and Aeri replayed in your thoughts, and the regret of not kissing her gnawed at you. You couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever reach out again, if she even wanted to, or maybe she was waiting for you to reach out? 

But then, as if she had been reading your racing mind, there she was. Full of surprises, like always.

A text from Aeri popped up on your phone unexpectedly

“Y/n! Come to this party tonight (:”

You stared at the message for a moment, a smile creeping onto your face like a fool while your fingers hovered over the screen as you debated your response.

"Where? And why? You miss me too much, Uchinaga? Lol," you typed back, trying to play it cool, though your heart raced as you hit send.

Her reply came almost immediately.

“Sig Chi House! Starts at 9. And duh, I wanna see you there ;)”

Your heart fluttered at the last part, the winky face sending a warm buzz through your chest. You reread the message, biting back a grin, unable to shake the excitement that suddenly pulsed through you.

Aeri Uchinaga what are you doing to me 

Sig Chi was exactly how you remembered it—loud music, a packed crowd, and the heavy smell of liquor and cheap cologne wafting through the air. It didn’t take long to remember why you stopped coming.

As you weaved through the party, you managed to snag a beer off a random table (which you quickly chugged and put back on the table) before spotting her in the kitchen. She was surrounded by a small group of her cheerleader friends that you recognized and one guy you didn’t, all laughing and drinking.

Despite her simple crop top and jeans, she stood out effortlessly. Her hair fell in perfect waves down her back, like a dark waterfall catching the party lights, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away.

Then her eyes landed on you, and for a split second, something flickered in her expression. She quickly excused herself from the group, making her way over to you with two drinks in hand—a solo cup in one and a beer in the other.

"You made it!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a hug, her scent a mix of straight vodka and the sweet perfume you remembered from the first day of class. Her smile was wide and genuine. "I wasn’t sure you’d come, but I saved you a beer."

“Wow, thanks, Aeri,” you said, doing your best to keep your nerves in check as you realized she remembered your favorite drink. “Couldn’t make you suffer without me for too long, right?” you added with a playful smirk.

Aeri laughed, nudging you lightly. "Oh, shut up!” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. “But I’m glad you came."

She then began going off about something that looked important, but with the noise of the party and the way her lips moved a mile a second, you couldn’t quite catch it. Honestly, you probably just looked like a lovesick puppy, completely entranced by her without even processing a word. Just perfectly content being around her.

“Are you even listening to me?” She tried to say over the music, her eyebrows furrowed

“What are you even saying?” you asked, leaning down to hear her better, the height difference making it harder.

Aeri leaned in closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder close to your neck. Her breath was warm against your ear, and the contact sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s go outside, I can’t hear a fucking thing in here!” she laughed, her voice low. Before you could respond, she wrapped her arm around yours, leading you through the crowded house and out the back door. 

The noise of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in the cool night air. For a moment, it felt like the party was miles away, just the two of you caught in an orbit only you could understand.

“Ah~” Aeri sighed, stretching an arm above her head. “This is sooo much better.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you sighed, raising your drink slightly.

She leaned in a bit, a playful smile on her face, her voice slightly slurred. “So... you’re not much of a party person, huh?”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she laughed softly. “You should’ve seen the look on your face when I saw you inside. You looked so lost,” she teased, then giggled. “It was cute.”

You opened your mouth to say something but something or someone interrupted, causing you both to turn your heads 

The porch door swung open, and the guy you had noticed earlier stepped out. He carried himself with the arrogance of someone used to getting what he wanted, his greasy gaze glued to Aeri like she was the prize of the night.

“Giselle, I didn’t see you run off earlier,” he said, sliding in too close, completely oblivious to your presence.

You saw how Aeri stiffened slightly but forced a smile, clearly not interested in making a scene. “Hi Mark,” she scoffed, her voice cool, though the venom was unmistakable.

Mark leaned in even closer, his arm brushing against Aeri’s, his smirk making your blood boil. You had no right to feel this possessive, but something surged within you at the sight of him invading her space.

“You wanna.. come back to my place after?” His words were extremely slurred, his eyes quickly shot to you  “You’re hot too, you can come if you want,” he added with a smug grin, as if he was doing you both a favor by suggesting it.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, reaching out to gently pull Aeri back toward you. She glanced at you, a flicker of surprise in her eyes before you gave her a look she hadn’t seen from you before. Jealousy and desire.

Aeri raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your boldness. Mark noticed, his cocky smirk faltering.

“She’s already got plans to come to mine, so you can just fuck off” you said, keeping your voice steady even though your heart was pounding.

Aeri, catching onto your energy, stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against yours. She turned to Mark, her tone ice-cold. “I don’t even know why you would ever think to ask me that?” she asked, emphasizing the absurdity of his request, her head tilting slightly as if she couldn’t believe the audacity.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by Aeri’s cold tone. “Wow chill.. No need to be such a stuck-up bitch,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice as he stumbled back. His gaze flicked to you, bitterness in his eyes. “Fuck you too”

You didn’t realize Aeri was holding onto you until you started to step toward Mark. As soon as he was gone, Aeri turned to you, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, look at you,” she teased, her voice low. “Didn’t know we had plans tonight.”

“Oh whatever, ” You tried to play it cool, but your heart was still racing from the surge of possessiveness you hadn’t expected. “I just said that because I didn’t like how close he was getting. He seemed like a total douchebag too.” You huffed

Aeri chuckled, stepping in even closer, her breath warm against your neck. “Were you jealous or something n/n?”

Your cheeks burned. “Well- no! I…He was just being an asshole.”

She grinned, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Uh-huh~ Well, for the record, I liked it.” Her voice dropped, more serious now, as her hand brushed against yours. “You were kinda hot.”

“Oh, shut up.” You tried your best to shrug her off, but the burning red tips of your ears gave you away.

Aeri tilted her head, her teasing grin widening. “Now, I’m curious,” she said. “Was that all it was? Or do you have something you wanna tell me?”

You blinked, you were soooo caught but still feigned innocence. “What! No..”

“You pulling me away from that guy back there,” she said, crossing her arms as she leaned back. “You really did look like you were about to tackle him ya know? Was it really just because he was an asshole?” she giggled, she was so messing with you right now

You felt your face heat up. “It wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”

“You’re cute” She laughed, her amusement lighting up the darkness of the night. "Relax, I’m jus–” 

You had to say something, even if it made you feel like a fool. The words spilled out before you could stop them.

“Okay fine Aeri it’s because I like you and I have for a while now so of course I didn’t like seeing anyone flirt with you or let alone talk like that to yo–” You said it so quickly, you barely breathed between the words. But even in her tipsy state, Aeri understood you perfectly

Before you could finish, Aeri stepped forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. Her lips crashed against yours, fierce and sudden, cutting off your words. The kiss wasn’t hesitant—it was full of the tension that had been building between you for weeks.

When she pulled back, she let out a soft, teasing breath. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“What?” you breathlessly asked, your eye wide

“I like you too, stupid,” she whispered, her lips brushing yours as she spoke. “For a while now too”

“Wait, what?” You blinked, trying to process what just happened

“Really?” You managed to out

“Yes! You dumbass,”  she smirked, her voice a low murmur. “Now shut the fuck up and kiss me again before I change my mind.”

Who were you to deny Aeri Uchinaga?

Maybe now she really did have plans to come over tonight.

[localicecreambiter]

demi god LU time

the law of hyperfixations says you must combine interests at every given chance

adding a cut here as to not clog feeds!! its a real long post

i wanna hear thoughts too! so dont be afraid to comment. these are my personal opinions and i wanna hear if anyone agrees or disagrees :D (apologies for all the tags btw)

edit to add the stupid doodle

the gods all have favorites, and ironically none of them are their own kids (save for hades: he loves his kid. doesn't make him a good parent, but you know?)

In a more Zelda timeline abiding setting; Originally they weren't all at camp halfblood at the same time, but time shenanigans decided they were to be brought together

Imagine Chiron’s surprise when 7 of his dead campers waltz into camp (this happens EVERY SINGLE TIME they enter camp. Dionysus is completely unfazed, knowing the bs time shit the gods are dealing with atm)

By the time they enter camp in Wild’s Hyrule for the second time he kinda understands (Wind and Sky didnt have a Camp Halfblood, for the record, for obvious reasons)

Alternatively, its some form of modern au where they’re just from different parts of Hyrule (skyloft, downfall, ordonia, windfall peninsula, hyrule town (different from castle town), the list goes on) which would make a lot more sense for this kinda au (the world would’ve just had a LOT of calamities within the span of a few years, some of the heroes knowing about camp and others not so much)

(i think Legend, Wars, Time, Wind (post WW) and Four would’ve known about Camp Halfblood while the others were just kinda on their own until after their quests) meaning over half of them didn’t have prophecies and just went to deal with the issue themselves, possibly meaning on their journey they learned of camp

Ok well, all of them but Wars, who grew up at Camp Halfblood

All Zelda’s are children of Athena, save for Skyward Sword Zelda since she's the reincarnation of Hylia (yeah, im keeping the original Zelda goddesses! What of it?)

At some point fairly early on, a Zelda only had a son, who got together with Athena at some point and boom

Sky: child of Zeus 

self explanatory 

God of the skies? his name is literally Sky

not to mention how fucking powerful he is?

he was the "first" Link; Zeus was technically the first God, it makes sense (this is such a stupid reason)

The skies are his home, Zeus finding someone on Skyloft and “falling in love” with their love of the sky too results in this bad boy right here

The demise fight? Only a zeus kid could harbor lightning like that

A camp counselor in the modern setting (ik typically once you’re 18, you’re no longer a camper really, but shhhh)

Wind: child of Poseidon 

Don't roll your eyes, i've got a reason!!

the 4 wind gods throw a fit anytime he's sent on a quest (they all love him even if they won't admit it)

A world purely ocean and islands? Poseidon would have a fuckin ball

The Great Sea needed a hero, Wind was brought about more for necessity than out of the want to have a child (this leaves a hard disconnect between wind and the gods, knowing his dad didn’t really have him out of love for his mom but because the world needed to be saved)

The irony of Poseidon being the patron of pegasi and horses and Wind not knowing what a horse is will never not be a funny thought

Has more control over the wind than he does the sea (for now) 

he, like Legend, pointedly ignores that he's a demi-god, especially since he comes after the Hero of Time (kinda hard to live up to that, even outside of a demi-god au)

The ocean and winds are his mood ring: you upset him the wind gods are after you

In a modern setting, the same reason applies kinda; a quest under the sea would be virtually impossible for anyone but a child of Poseidon, and hell knows a cyclopes isnt gonna be sent (gotta love those prophecies) 

OR!! OR AND HEAR ME OUT

Wind isnt a demigod

The wind gods still adore him, but he doesn't have the hero’s spirit and i think that’d kinda translate to not being a demigod, yet still being the one who was destined to go on the quest because there just weren't any demigods to do it

Still not set on which id go with

Legend: child of Hades 

Ah yes, child of the big three goes on so many quests trope. Love to see it

he's Apollo's favorite favorite (Warriors is jealous as hell. Thats his dad! Wdym he likes Legend more????) 

Pointedly ignores the fact he's a demigod (at least, he definitely tries to)

Blessed by (and beefing with) so many gods from his quests

probably one of the few heroes who's spoken to their godly parent (trust me, it was out of obligation rather than free will)

Prefers helping out the more minor, underappreciated, and not as needy or bitchy gods (like Hestia, for example)

curses the Olympians constantly, they've learned to ignore him, hes their best questing kid

Sort of a general camp counselor since Hades doesn't really have kids (its technically his last year but hes been there the longest out of everyone)

Managed to block the oracle over iris message

After his trip to the dark world and lorule, the gods go haywire around him, much to his delight (because it means they leave him alone)

Hyrule: child of Hecate 

adopted by Hermes (much to the dismay of all the Hermes children)

I was on the line between Hecate, Apollo, and Hermes; Hyrule’s affinity for magic and the blood curse resulted in Hecate to win 

Very detached from the gods, the help he receives is never outright but more subtle blessings

The gods like to ignore Downfall after Legend died tbh (outside of modern, obviously)

Well, they still ignore Downfall as a city/country. 

Only learned of camp thanks to Legend, otherwise he wouldn’t have had a clue it existed

Wild: child of Athena 

Also adopted by Hermes 

One of the more chaotic children of Athena

The idea of Athena being his godly parent sourced from his resourcefulness and quick battle (or just general) strategies, along with his pre-calamity self being stoic and more on the critical side

Completely forgot he was a demigod and just let loose, Athena is more than slightly perturbed by him and yet so infatuated

Supervises archery at camp

Warriors: child of Apollo 

exemplifies almost 0 traits of his father other than his looks and his affinity for medicine (shit archer, shit musician, can't write poetry)

blessed by Athena during the war since he was struggling so much, she always has a soft spot for the heros since they fight to protect her daughters so hard (aka pity blessing) 

Actively beefing with Ares 

Aphrodite likes to keep an eye on him, mostly for entertainment (she woulda eaten the whole Cia debacle UP)

Very notorious in camp considering he was a war captain at the ripe age of 17; once learning of the whole Camp Jupiter has apartments and college for half bloods insisted and led a project at CHB to get something similar built (which is where he, Sky and Twilight stay after turning 18)

Twilight: child of Demeter

His love for ranch animals and caring for his farm lead me to this decision

Also the whole wolf thing, that also counts

Appalled by the fact Wind doesn't know what a horse is considering he's literally the son of Poseidon (jealous the kid can talk to Epona and he can't)

After his journey to the twilight, the gods kinda flicker between Greek and Roman around him so they tend to avoid him like Legend

blessed/cursed by Lupa, hence the wolf thing

Teaches foraging lessons at camp

Four: child of Hephaestus

He's the smithy, I couldn’t not say he's a Hephaestus kid

received a lot less help from the gods since he was one of the first 

started advocating that heros receive help from the divine after LU concludes so those after him have a fighting chance (not in the modern setting)

I havent played many of his games, but the kinstones sound like a thing Hephaestus would scatter across the earth as scrap from his creations

Not one of the fire wielders (the only one that can wield fire is Red when split, mostly because of the elemental bs in minish cap)

After drawing the Four Sword, Janus (despite being roman (i like to think the four sword would be a roman artifact, it just feels right)) was suddenly pretty interested and bestowed what wisdom he had for the demi-god

Vulcan, Neptune, Aeolus, and Ceres all came together to forge the elemental stones; the Minish were still the ones to bestow the sword to Hylian people

The gods tend to avoid him too, for the same reason they avoid Twilight and Legend (dark world shenanigans and the Four Sword)

He loves the damn forge at CHB, and was ecstatic seeing the one at Camp Jupiter

He was asked by Chiron if he would be interested in running a forge class for young demigods (be it his siblings or anyone interested) but sadly declined 

Has that air of responsibility to him, being a seasoned quester (and while his 3 doesn't stand to Legend’s 6, its still pretty sizable) hes looked up to by the younger campers

Time: child of Demeter Kronos? 

The Kokiri were so Demeter core dont even tell me they werent

I guess they’d kinda act like nymphs and dryads in a sense??

His abilities use to relate to his mother until the events of his first quest: the Ocarina of Time was designed to slowly corrupt the user, being a creation of Kronos’

However, it wasn’t really designed with a demigod in mind sooo…

Also self explanatory, the titan of time? Duh… huh?? what do you mean he was taken over?? What do you mean he was a child of Demeter?? No he wasnt lol that Neverrr happened

the reason he's the only “child” of a titan is mainly because of the fierce deity mask literally making him god-like, meaning he has a lot more power harbored in him sooo (the second he dawned that mask he discarded his old identity for that of a titan’s child, since it was also cursed object)

Don’t ask how he came to being Kronos’ kin, no one knows, not even he does (I do) (no, it does not imply a Hylian wandered into Tarturus and got out alive to have the baby)

Avoids interacting with the gods at all costs, he's weary of them as they are of him (even if he saved the world twice)

Extras :)

Ravio: child of Pluto 

blessed by Minerva for his natural quick witted nature and clever war strategies, if her own daughter can't succeed she might as well make sure ONE does

can tell if a rupee is real or not by glance alone

Sheerow scares the fuck out of the gods, which in turn means Ravio puts them on edge, a thing very few can achieve

the gods never gave him much thought until the events of albw, to which he suddenly gained like four pair of godly eyes on him

can and will plan one of the worlds most successful heists, refuses to participate 

also beefing with Ares (not Mars, Ares)

Based on my personal HC that Ravio’s some sort of artificer (be it replicating magic dungeon items or just flat out creating new ones) i think Vulcan has his eyes on him too

Hilda: child of Minerva 

by far the strangest child Minerva ever birthed

exemplifies the traits of a hero rather than a ruler

a little jealous her mother likes Ravio more than her

gods be damned, she's not going to let them neglect her kingdom anymore 

a force of fucking nature that single handedly forced a meeting with the gods and somehow forced them to agree to start restoring Lorule (she got the idea from Legend, who has done this multiple times for multiple different reasons)

[niteshade925]

April 14, Xi'an, China, Shaanxi History Museum, Qin and Han Dynasties Branch (Part 1 - Political Structure, Laws, and Military):

This was the final museum I went to while in Xi'an, and despite its name, it is not the Shaanxi History Museum/陕西历史博物馆. It is a new branch that's in a separate location from the main museum, so it's also referred to as the "Qin/Han Branch"/秦汉馆 (ugh I wish I could've gone to the main branch), and the museum building and its gates were supposed to imitate the look of Qin/Han-era palaces. It was raining cats and dogs the night before, so the ground still bear traces of that. I had fun though.

This museum doesn't have a lot of unique artifacts that other museums don't have, but instead focuses on the political structure, thought, life, and technologies from Qin and Han dynasties, so there were a lot of tables, maps, and diagrams in the museum. I will only be giving a brief summary of each thing here so these posts won't get too long (and take too much effort to make). If you understand Chinese though, these may be helpful worldbuilding references.

First is a rough timeline of the history Qin dynasty (221 - 207 BC) to Han dynasty (202 BC - 220 AD) (right side of timeline) and how it fits within the overall ancient world history (left side of timeline) in the same time frame, just as a general reference so museum visitors can have an idea of when these dynasties and events took place. The timeline included events starting from when Qin was still a state (Warring States period, 476 - 221 BC) until after the end of Han dynasty (Three Kingdoms period, 220 - 280 AD; and Western Jin dynasty, 265 - 317 AD). Here, 公元元年 means 1 CE/AD, so 公元前 means BCE/BC, and 公元 means CE/AD. Also I know the left side is hard to read, sorry about that, it was easier to read in person. There is a key at the bottom though:

A diagram of the Three Lords and Nine Ministers system (三公九卿制) that was used as the central political structure of ancient China during Qin and Han dynasties, which was replaced by the Three Departments and Six Ministries system (三省六部制) in Sui dynasty (581 - 618 AD). There are many translations for the same positions, here I used what I think fits best for each position.

The Three Lords/三公 are (left to right on chart) : the Imperial Secretary/御史大夫 (handles the audit system and helps the chancellor), the Chancellor/丞相 (helps emperor handle national political affairs), and the Grand Commandant/太尉 (helps emperor handle military affairs).

The Nine Ministers/九卿 are (left to right): the Minister of Finance/治粟内史 (oversees public finance and tax system), the Minister of the Imperial Clan/宗正 (handles affairs within imperial clan), the Grand Herald/典客 (handles foreign policy), the Minister of the Guards/卫尉 (controls imperial guards), the Minister of Justice/廷尉 (oversees judicial system), the Minister of Attendants/郎中令 (controls palace guards, oversees imperial household, serves as imperial advisor, etc.), the Minister Coachman/太仆 (oversees the care, training, use, and purchase of horses; horses were an important resource in ancient times), the Lesser Treasurer/少府 (oversees the emperor's personal finances and some taxes), and the Minister of Ceremonies/奉常 (handles official ceremonies, worship, and rituals, oversees court astrologers and court scribes/historians).

Qin and Han dynasty bureacratic systems. Right is Qin dynasty's system of commanderies/郡, counties/县, townships/乡, and villages/里 (levels of local government from highest to lowest). Left is Han dynasty's central government system, which designated the Three Lords and Nine Ministers system as the Outer Court/外朝 (executes policies), and added a Central Court/中朝 (decides policies).

A list of the 48 commanderies during Qin dynasty and their locations today, grouped by where they were located before Qin dynasty (for example 7 of these groups were states during the Warring States period). A few of the names of these commanderies continue to be place names today, and some others often make appearances in modern novels.

The Recommendatory System/察举制 of Han dynasty, which was how officials were selected. Basically this process consists of a few steps: first the emperor would set what categories of talents are needed, then local government would recommend people to the central government accordingly. The emperor would ask the recommendees how they would deal with current issues, and then gave them positions based on how good their policy ideas were. Ideally the local officials would be impartial with recommendations, but in reality the local officials often belonged to powerful local clans, so these recommendations gradually became a way for the powerful clans to stay in power. This system was replaced by the Imperial Examination System/科举制 in later dynasties, which put more emphasis on exams as a way to select talents.

The locations of Qin and Han dynasty national temples, sacred mountains, and sacred bodies of water on a modern map. Of these, the temples marked in yellow were the temples dedicated to eight deities worshipped by the state of Qi, so they are collectively called the Eight Deities of Qi/齐地八神. Although the state of Qin eventually defeated the state of Qi, worship of these deities continued through Qin dynasty into Han dynasty. The temples marked in red were dedicated to deities worshipped by the state of Qin. The temples marked in purple were temples built in Han dynasty. The sacred waters are marked with wavy lines. The sacred mountains are marked in light blue-gray (a few are outside of this picture). MDZS fans may recognize Qishan/岐山 on this map, and Three Kingdoms enthusiasts may recognize jieshishan/碣石山 as the place Cao Cao visited when he wrote the line "东临碣石，以观沧海" in his famous poem.

Replicas of a small part of the Qin-era bamboo texts found in a tomb of a Qin dynasty official at Shuihudi (睡虎地秦简). The originals are at Hubei Provincial Museum/湖北省博物馆. Many of these texts concern laws and decrees of Qin dynasty, and in another tomb in the same area there were also the oldest letters ever found in China (link goes to the full digitized text). These bamboo slips are meant to read from top to bottom, right to left, and the construction of bamboo scrolls are actually the very reason why Chinese texts read this way traditionally even on printed texts during later dynasties.

This was something I'd written about in the MDZS posts a few years ago, and now I've finally seen the real thing with my own eyes: the Tiger Tally/虎符 (I translated it as "Tiger Amulet" in that post but in fact "Tally" is the correct translation). Tiger tallys have two halves, each with gilded gold text upon them. This particular artifact is the left half of a tiger tally from late Warring States period (state of Qin), and reads:

"This is a tally of the armed forces, right half goes to the ruler of Qin, left half goes to (the official of) Du county. When the need to dispatch armored troops of over 50 soldiers arises, this half must find the other half held by the ruler in order to authorize this military activity. In case of emergency, there is no need to wait for this authorization." (“兵甲之符，右才君，左才杜。凡兴士披甲用兵五十人以上，必会君符，乃敢行之。燔燧之事，虽毋会符，行殹。”)

The different currencies (coins) of the states of Warring States period:

The different coins and coin molds during Qin and Han dynasties:

Left: Han dynasty disk-shaped gold ingots; these were rare currencies at the time and were mainly exchanged between the imperial family and nobility as gifts. Right: a standard weight from Qin dynasty that reads "weighs 30 jin/斤". Since Qin dynasty unified systems of measurements, and this weight is known to weigh 7.5 kg, we can easily convert the Qin-era jin to the modern kg (1 Qin-era jin = 0.25 kg).

Terra cotta soldier and horse from Qin Shihuang's mausoleum. As some people have pointed out, these terra cotta soldiers were fully painted and colorful when they were first excavated, but when exposed to air, the paint quickly peeled and the colors faded, leaving the sculptures in their familiar clay-color. Few of these sculptures still have their original colors intact, thanks to preservation efforts. The immense difficulty of preservation is also a reason why modern Chinese archaeology has that rule of "don't excavate unless absolutely necessary".

A Qin-era bronze jian/剑 (double-edged straight sword) from Qin Shihuang's mausoleum:

Left: Qin-era bronze spear heads and a pi/铍 head (on the right; pi is a type of ancient Chinese polearm). Right: Han-era ring-pommel dao/环首刀 (dao is a single-edged sword that can be straight or curved; interestingly, many ring-pommel dao artifacts exhibit a forward curve). Ring-pommel dao continued to be used in the military after Han dynasty.

A suit of armor made out of stone from Qin Shihuang's mausoleum. These armor sets weigh about 18 kg or 39.7 lbs each, which is........actually not too bad. There are specialized armor sets in later dynasties that can weigh 30 kg or 66 lbs.

[mayapapaya33]

I'm rewatching Exu: Calamity and I think they made a mistake with the name. The real title should be Exu: Actually, Vasselheim has good reasons for how it operates, even if they're dicks about it sometimes. Maybe it was too long, so they went with the snappier CALAMITY! Instead lol.

The end of the Calamity was only 840 something years ago. With Elves and dragons running around, some of them are definitely old enough where, if they didn't live during the Age of Arcanum themselves, their parents or grandparents would have and they would have been told a thousand stories of the fuck heads in flying cities who destroyed the world and were super annoying and dangerous long before they did that. Many more would be born during the latter part of the Calamity or raised by people who survived the Calamity who passes on those stories. Depending on the race we are talking anywhere from direct witnesses (Like the Bright Queen and Ludinus) to like 2-5 generations removed. Even humans with our short lifespans, it's really not THAT long, especially if you've got a bunch of old ass elves around teaching history class from a first person pov for like 500 years lol.

Intellectually people know that Critical Role, the world of Exandria is a post apocalypse story. Exandria is a scarred landscape that is just beginning to bounce back from the brink. But because it is recovering, it's easy to forget sometimes that it IS POST APOCALYPTIC. So people looking at Vasselheim in the modern day are like, 'bro, you really need to chill, everything's fine.' And Vasselheim is like... 'Chill? I do not understand the meaning of this word. And everything is fine... for now. We will be a bastion of civilization when the end times come once more. Fare thee well traveler.'

Then everyone rolls their eyes and moves on with their day. But if you really think about Vasselheim's isolationism and strength and distain for arcane magic in historical context, you can't really blame them. Are they over the top about their dislike of arcane magic? Sure. Is it quite possibly the most understandable over reaction in the history of over reactions? Also yes! They haven't made it illegal, they are just going to keep an eye on you, so you don't pull a Vespin Chloras and doom the planet to another few centuries of choked skies and sundered landscapes, that's all. Vespin was IN Vasselheim! Of COURSE they have strong feelings about it. The (Almost) End of the World began in Vasselheim due to arcane magic. If they had been stricter, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all!

And it really does paint their actions in Campaign 1 in a different light as well. Their isolationism can come across as shortsighted and selfish, until you view it from their point of view. Which is that they are constantly under threat, they know for a fact that Asmodeus wants their city destroyed, they are a bastion for the Prime Deities in a world filled with many heathens (lol that's where the dickishness comes in) and the Betrayer Gods would take any sign of weakness in their defenses and attack with glee. Hearing it in C1 it sounds like an excuse not to help against the Chroma Conclave, but it is literally just the truth from what I can tell. In BOTH Calamity and Downfall they have mentioned destroying Vasselheim being on the Betrayer God's to do list lol. If I was on a Betrayer God's to do list specifically, by name, I too would be somewhat paranoid and would not really want to disarm any portion of the city to go do something else. No matter how important the something else might be.

Vasselheim was basically like; Look, I'm very sorry to hear about your Dragon problem, that sucks, truly, but if we go out all willy nilly and leave this city undefended, it'll be fucked when we get back. When you have a real plan, come back and get us and we'll join you for the big fight. Until then, it's up to you, here you can have Kima as well, she's been desperate to get out of here anyway, and here's some supplies. We have larger concerns than one continent being attacked by four ancient Dragons. We are the seed bank for civilization for when shit inevitably hits the fan. We are the doomsday bunker for the Apocalypse, four Ancient Dragons are terrible, but they are not the Apocalypse. And they are right. Looking at it all in context, The Chroma Conclave are small potatoes. Horrific, monstrous, life destroying, but compared to the threat Vasselheim is preparing for, nothing.

They are the doomsday preppers of Exandria, except the threat is real and they are only letting their collective trauma and ptsd inform their decisions a little bit. They are actually fairly rational all things considered. This city withstood the entire Calamity. The stewards of the city must feel an enormous weight and responsibility to keep it safe going into the future. Imagine the pressure. Are you going to be the one to fuck it all up, after thousands of years? Sounds like a nightmare to me. The level of devotion and conviction required to keep something like that going is incredible.

[varpusvaras]

Jason always breathed better in the kitchen.

There had been a few rooms in the Manor that had been more or less his. His own room, the library, and the kitchen, at the top of the list. Everyone had quickly learned how much having his own room meant for him, and they had learned to knock and wait for his permission to come in, instead of just barging inside, with loud words and harsh hands. Even Dick respected the quietness of the library, and if Jason had been in there, reading, no one had dared to disturb him, at least most of the time.

Still, Jason's favorite place had been the kitchen.

Maybe because Bruce and Dick had been squarely banned from ever coming in, giving Jason a space to go to if he truly wanted to be left alone by them. Maybe because that was where Alfred was, and Alfred was always safe, with no reason or intention to lecture Jason or argue with him. Maybe because in the kitchen, with the cupboards and the fridge full, and a cup of tea always ready for him, no matter the time of day, Jason had felt like everything would be alright the most.

There was no Alfred in the Queen family kitchen, it was open for everyone in the house, and there was no tea.

Still, Jason felt a little better as he leaned against the counter and breathed.

He could still hear the others in the house, somewhere, and if Jason really concentrated, he could, for a moment, delude himself into thinking that if he just stayed in the kitchen, he would cease to exist for the rest of them for the time being.

Not that Jason...wanted them to forget him, but it was easier that way, just for a moment. In a moment, Jason would be able to come out of the kitchen, and the day would continue like normal, and Jason could again pretend that he belonged there.

Jason breathed in. Lian and Mia had baked snickerdoodles earlier, and the kitchen still smelled like warm sugar and cinnamon. Jason imagined that they would go great with tea. Everything went great with tea. There were teacups in a cabinet on one of the kitchen walls. They didn't have the same pattern as the ones Alfred always used. The ones in the Manor had a golden rim and a red ribbon around them, and Jason had always been terrified to touch them. The cups in the cabinet had teal flowers on them, and they looked like they hadn't been touched in a long time.

There wasn't an Alfred in this kitchen, after all.

God, Jason missed Alfred.

He missed the kitchen in the Manor, with Alfred in it, Alfred who would not lecture him or argue with him, Alfred who always had a cup of tea for him, no matter the time of the day.

If Jason could just magically appear in the kitchen and skip the rest of the Manor, he would go there in a blink of an eye.

But he could not.

So not kitchen with Alfred and tea in it for him.

Jason breathed. Warm sugar and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Voices somewhere in the house.

How much longer it would take, to him to not have this either?

They haven't kicked you out yet, a hopeful voice in his head told him. They haven't told Roy to not bring you with him, either. That has to mean something.

Bruce also offered Jason help, once, Jason reminded the voice. And that Jason had said no.

But you haven't said no yet, the voice pointed out. You haven't said no a single time Roy has asked you to come here with him.

No, Jason admitted. He hadn't.

But it didn't mean anything.

Sooner or later, they would realise that Jason was not one of them. That there was no place for him here.

Just like Jason had realised that he wasn't part of the family anymore.

They wouldn't, the hopeful voice said. Look, Roy is happy here, he can come here, despite-

No, Jason shut the voice down. Do not bring Roy into this. Roy was sick and hurting. Roy needed help. Nothing about it was Roy's fault. Don't you dare compare yourself to Roy ever again.

The voice understood what was good for it and stayed quiet.

Jason breathed. Warm sugard and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Voices somewhere in the house.

Jason, in the kitchen, desperate the follow the voices.

Jason breathed. Warm sugar and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Footsteps, coming towards the kitchen.

Jason snapped his head around, tearing his eyes of the cabinet with the teacups.

Oliver stepped into the kitchen.

"There you are", he said, like seeing Jason in the kitchen was something he had hoped for. "Dinah is taking pictures."

Jason could not decipher the way Oliver had said the latter words.

"Yeah?" He said. "Roy said so."

All the kids were in the house, and Dinah wanted to take pictures with them all in it, to update the photowall in the living room. Roy had jokingly complained about it when he had mentioned it to Jason earlier, in a way that made it clear that Roy didn't actually mind sitting down and posing for the camera with the others. That he actually liked it, having his picture taken with his family in said picture with him.

Roy had left to fetch Lian, in order to make sure that she would be presentable for said pictures, and that had been Jason's cue to leave. To find somewhere that would be just for him for the time being.

Of course, the kitchen here was not the same as the kitchen in the Manor. It was not a place just for Jason. Jason had known that.

Oliver raised his brow, and Jason felt, for a slip second, like he was fourteen again, standing in the Manor's kitchen instead of this one.

"Yeah?" Oliver said back to him. "Chop-chop, everybody's waiting. Lian wants to have more cookies, and Roy promised her those after dinner, and Dinah wants to take the pictures before that."

Jason blinked.

"Oh", he said, because his brain was suddenly empty, and he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Oliver looked at him for a few seconds longer. There was something softer in the way he looked at Jason, now, like Jason, standing in the kitchen by himself, was something to be given softness.

Then Oliver stepped closer, and threw an arm around Jason's shoulders, like it was the most normal thing of him to do, and he dragged Jason out of the kitchen.

Jason tried not to think too much about how good it felt.

Everybody was gathered in the music room, which Jason knew most of the pictures already on the wall were taken in. It wasn't used much for playing music anymore, and it had the best lighting during most of the day, as far as Jason had understood from the house tour he had gotten when he had visited the house for the first time. The couch, which usually sat against the wall nex to the window, had been dragged to the middle of the room.

Roy, Lian, Mia and Connor were already sitting down, with Dinah standing next to the camera, checking the settings on it. She paused when she heard Oliver and Jason coming in.

"And there's the rest of them", she said, giving Jason a quick smile. "Jason, sit next to Lian, so she's between you and Roy."

Lian grinned at that, and quickly scooted closer to Roy, and she patted the empty space next to her eagerly.

Jason nodded, a little numbly. Connor scooted closer to Mia as he made his way towards the couch, giving Jason more room to sit down, and he sat on the edge of the couch, resisting the urge to clench his fists.

Lian leaned lightly against him.

"Jayjay, come closer", she said, wrapping her hands around Jason's forearm and tugging. She had lately started calling him just Jay more often than Jayjay, like she had when she had been a bit younger, and Jason immediately relented. He shifted closer to her, situating himself a bit more properly onto the couch, instead of right on the edge of the seat.

There was weight again on his shoulders, where Oliver's arm had been the whole way from the kitchen to the music room. Roy had thrown his arm over Lian's head and onto Jason's shoulders, boxing him in with them.

It was grounding, the weight of Roy and Lian, both pressing against him, the presence of Connor and Mia just on the other side.

Jason breathed in.

He dared to look over at Dinah, who was still adjusting something on the camera.

"This would be much easier to do with a phone", Mia said.

"We can take more pictures with a phone later", Dinah said. "I want a good-quality one for the wall, especially since this is the first one with the whole family in it."

Jason blinked.

There was a lump of something, in his throat, and the breathed around it.

Roy tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and Jason turned to look at him.

Roy didn't say anything. He just looked at Jason, with a gentle smile on his face, the one he used every time he wanted to say that everything was alright without using any words.

Lian slid one of her hands into Jason's and wrapped her fingers around Jason's. She squeezed.

Jason squeezed back.

"Okay!" Dinah said. "Everybody look alive."

She and Oliver moved to the couch as well, with Dinah coming to stand next to Mia, while Oliver made his way behind the couch. Jason watched him pat Roy on the shoulder, and Roy hummed happily under his breath. It was a nice sound, and Jason savoured it.

Roy was looking at the camera, and Jason turned to look towards it as well. Roy squeezed his shoulders, and Jason felt him lean a little closer to him.

"Smile, Jaybird", Roy whispered, his own smile still evident in his voice.

Jason breathed. Roy's arm was a comfortable weight on his shoulders, Lian's hand the same in his hand, and in that moment, Jason could make himself truly believe that he belonged, right there.

Jason breathed, and smiled.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIII. “night light”

parts: previous / next

plot: not a week after the publishing of your interview, Bruce’s vulnerability is exploited when someone enacts revenge.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, physical assault (threats/guns (in mouth/pointed at head)), description of injury (blood/mild gore), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (<3)

words: 8.1k

a/n: hi lovelies !! i’m so excited to hear what you think about this chapter 🤭 we got the angst, we got some FLUFF finally !! AGHHH i love them

Why did he say that?

It took a few turns and back alleys for Bruce to lose the paparazzi, but soon enough he was driving on the road of the fight. The thighs of his pants were damp from rubbing his hands on them to dry; he needed to check the side-effect list of his meds. His body felt alight with tension and activation, and all he could think about on a haunting loop was: from the bottom of my heart. He didn’t say things like that. Why did he say that?

Now that he was further from the trigger, and not yet at the scene, he tried to dehaze the memory of what it felt like to sit across from you. If he could pin himself to that moment, investigate those feelings… he was drawing a blank. He focused in on the apprehension, the hesitation that stopped him from saying goodbye, or even good riddance. It wasn’t often he couldn’t drudge up any possibilities. He shoved his foot on the gas, frustrated.

The sun had fully abandoned the sky, and the moon was shrouded in clouds. The dim street lamps didn’t do much, so he double-clicked the headlights, thankful for the apparent lack of other drivers to render sightless with his ultra-brights. Seemed like no one had been to the complex yet; at the entryway, a small pile of decaying vomit engraved itself below the side railing. Some specks of blood could be seen on the steps—his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t felt a cut on your head. Maybe Miller’s?

His nagging thoughts fell by the wayside as he noted no one around the apartment complex. He slid the car down an alleyway across the street, cutting the lights as he turned off the motor and unbuckled his seatbelt. That familiar tingle came back into him like a breath of life. The feeling of adventure, the feeling of duty, of purpose. It wasn’t the longest he’d kept from this, and he took a forceful inhale as he recalled the period after the flooding. All the blood that had been in the street, the bodies, the animals, the glass scattered everywhere… he’d drifted around in the weeks following, and he always heard someone scream from a cut. Every walk. The sound of the city’s sobs hadn’t left his mind for months.

A car drove past, then backed up. Bruce sat forward in his seat, his jaw locking tight as he soaked in the environment. Black Chevy truck, 832KZY license. Dent in the left flank by the brake light. Dusty. Faded paint. The driver was a petite woman with olive skin and mid-length dark hair. Bangs. She looked down at something to her right with annoyance. After some lurching, she grinned, and the car sped off. He relaxed. Stick shift issues. That year’s model was notoriously difficult.

As he reclined in his seat just so, the weight of speaking in front of the crowd thudded into him. His insides felt hollow, scooped out; his eyes stung like staring straight at the sun on a blazing summer day. He’d have to watch back the footage, even though the thought skinned him alive. It was necessary to study how he came off, find areas to tweak, improve. He slumped further into the seat. He would’ve much rather had a gun to his head. At least then he’d feel less lost. Less drained. Might even jolt some rage-fueled energy into him.

He was disappointed there wasn’t more to sink his teeth into; he longed to investigate. The cut-and-dry never did much for him. He lived to find the detail everyone else overlooked; to forge a bond between two things no one thought could be connected. God, even imagining doing that brought a rush… the pulsing throb of electrum whispered behind the past week’s curtains.

He redirected himself, pulling out a small journal from the glovebox. He clicked the pen.

Electrum. John Doe. Gordon. Investigate.

More thoughts came to him. Every other word he paused, flitting his eyes up to check for changes.

Hady, Grange, March. Research.

Bella Reál. Investigate.

He put it back in the glovebox and readjusted in his seat. Early on he’d tried to carry everything all at once, following the natural direction of his thoughts as if it were logical to rely on intuition alone. It was distracting. Inefficient. One thing at a time.

After a paltry fifteen minute stakeout, Alfred lit up his phone. Bruce hated how worrying he was lately, but what he hated more was he had good reason to. As severe the desire to ignore the man’s calls was, he knew he couldn’t keep him waiting… he grit his teeth. Under the present circumstances. While it wasn’t rare for him to daydream about time machines, he’d never before wanted to jump forward in time. He kept his eyes trained to the building, but there was no movement. “Yeah?”

“Did you see Y/N leave the meeting?”

You’d done precisely what Bruce had instructed, save your addition of turning off the lamp. Even after minutes spent gasping air into your lungs, waiting for an Uber to arrive, pretending that conversation with him had just been a figment of your imagination, you still struggled to catch your breath walking through the foyer.

Half of it was nerves about him going out again so soon, and the other was a sensation you couldn’t pin down, but it had you sweating and shaking. Fear? Anxiety? Sadness? Tension! More than anything, you’d felt tense. Bruce was intimidating, especially so when he held a metaphorical pair of scissors. And when they were aimed at you.

Mar had answered your third phone call as you walked down the city hall steps, berating you for interrupting their ‘jam session’. Faint guitar chords were heard in the background, the acoustics isolated and muffled. It sounded like a house party. She dismissed your concern about staying away, finally conceding and telling you she’d avoid it for a few weeks. “And to think I was practicing all my trivia skills for nothing.”

You should’ve realized by the beanie pulled nearly covering his eyes, but your usual vigilance had been halved as you came down from your interaction with Bruce. Sliding into the seat had you wincing at the pain in your thigh; you berated yourself for not bringing Tylenol with you. It’d been shockingly effective; you’d barely felt your injury on the walk here.

The drive was normal for the first half, so much so that you relaxed against the window and stared blankly at the people milling the main street, speed blurring them like ants. As the streets wound toward your apartment complex, you thought about how you could’ve feigned innocence, inputting the destination as the area of the fight. “Get a ride?” You’d tell him, when he glared at you and questioned your arrival. “I thought you meant here!” It was embarrassing roleplaying conversations with him, so you rid yourself of the thought. You’d feel it all in the morning and think about what to do next when your head was less scrambled.

The driver took a sharp left, cutting the lights as he pulled into an alley. You realized a second too late to reach for the door, ready to drop, roll and run. He’d child-locked it, and by the time you manually unclicked the lock, he pointed a gun at your head. The beanie slipped higher, and you could see clearly it was Miller. No other thoughts formed as the reality of having death pointed at your skull set in.

“Try to leave and I’ll blow your brains out.” He had two black eyes and a smushed nose. His lip was busted open and you swore he was missing a tooth. The rest of him was covered in thick industrial clothing. Bruce had effective punches. He hadn’t been on the guy more than a few seconds. Even Bruce began to slip away as you felt the cold metal jam into your temple. He pressed it harder and harder with every word he spoke. “Who the fuck was that guy?”

The dizzying adrenaline made the blood leave your body and rush into your head; he pressed right on a nerve that coaxed out every last bit of sting and throb from your concussion. You could barely focus on what he was saying. Breathe. Breathe. Your body stilled outside of your heartbeat and wincing eyelids.

“I’m not gonna ask again, bitch. Who the fuck was the guy last night?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know,”

“Bullshit. Call him.”

You stared back at him, unable to move. He stuck the barrel of the gun into your mouth, slacked open with debilitating fear. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. You slapped around for your phone that had fallen at your side, unable to look down or move your face even an inch.

“Show me your call log.”

You strained your eyes to look down, fumbling with your apps, accidentally opening the likes of Old Navy and Target, tears threatening to slip with each passing second. You held it up to him, hands almost too shaky for the screen to be legible. ‘Alfred’ was listed for an eleven minute call at 11:49pm Wednesday. “It’s my, my stepdad,”

“Call him.” He pressed it and held it out to you, clacking the tip of the gun against your front teeth. You swallowed, thinking death only seconds or minutes in the horizon. He picked up on the third ring. Not long enough for you to plan much. Or at all. The man was deadly serious, his eyes a frenzied mess of bleary red as he jostled the gun against the roof of your mouth.

“What’s going on, Miss?”

The man withdrew the barrel just enough for you to speak unencumbered. You rushed the words to refuse him time to say something that would give him away. “Hey Dad.” You let out a small sigh. “I just wanted to call to see how the cats were doing.” You paused, then hurried more out with a hollow laugh. The man narrowed his eyes, cocking the gun. “Probably lost on the upper floors of the house. Or stealing some soup, you know how they love it.”

You were saying too much. If the roles were reversed, you’d think you were speaking in code. A predetermined plan. A keyword to let people know things were not alright.

Alfred chuckled on the other end. “I think Camelot is nestled on my bed. Everything go well at the meeting? After your call last night, I’ve been worried.” His tone was conversational, but concerned. You wanted to fucking bawl, reach out to him and wrap him in a tight, tight hug, mutter a thousand thanks. It felt like there was an ocean between the both of you. He’d fucking caught on.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You stuttered forward. “And just more boring election stuff. Not much to go off of.” It was fucking incredible you could speak. You were starting to regain some more of your breathing. The clouds were beginning to lift. The environment slowly moving back into focus. Even with him however many miles away, you knew he’d be looking out for you, and do his best to help.

Alfred sighed, a light but impatient one. He rustled something in the background that sounded like metal on metal. “Well, hurry back. I’ll bring over some lasagna later. I have your locale, but… the streets are dangerous at night. I worry. Your screams were terrible.”

Maybe not as subtle as you would have liked, but you knew what he was trying to do, and you trusted him more than yourself in this moment. He muttered something. “The ricotta… Jane, I told you we needed the automated mixer.” He let out another sigh. “Call me when you get back, sweets. I’ve got to put some muscle into this.”

Alfred ended the call. You tried not to have it feel like the beginning of the end. If it took Bruce, or Batman, or the police longer than it took for him to shoot you in the head…

He drew closer to you, hucking spit onto you before he spoke. It slid down the sides of your nose. “Who was the guy?”

It was difficult to speak. “I don’t know,”

“YOU KNOW!” He jammed the gun further into your mouth, and you kept your mouth wide as you felt a small chipping.

The words were swallowed against the thickness of the gun. “I don’t, I just screamed and then he came and, then the, police,” He pressed the gun to your uvula and you gagged. It was humiliating, and your blood boiled when you saw him grin at it.

He spit in your face again, this time just below your eye, and pressed the gun until it scraped the back of your throat. Tears sprung to your eyes and poured down your cheeks in reflex. He ripped the gun out of your mouth, keeping it focused at your sternum. He cursed and slammed a fist against his seat. He began muttering, his eyes ablaze. “No one has ever fought me like that, no one but...” He punched the center console, sending a part of the plastic flying in front of the passenger seat. “Immediately booked, too. Only happens with him.”

Oh. You opened your mouth to speak but he shouted at you instead. “You’re gonna help me, or you’re fucking dead.”

He taunted you by shoving the gun toward you. You considered making a break for it, but figured you wouldn’t get far before all you saw was black. How the fuck did Bruce face this every night? Even if his suit was bulletproof? You stared back at him while he laid out his plan, starting to wonder if Bruce was actually a masochist.

“I know you got that Wayne guy in your pocket.”

It was whiplash having them mentioned so close to each other, and made you paranoid the man was reading your mind. You began to shake your head but he cocked the gun again, grazing the trigger. “You’re gonna leave, and you’re gonna get him on our side.”

“I don’t—”

“If you alert anyone to this shit, I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare fucking hands.”

“I only did an interv—”

“That’s more than anyone else fucking gets.” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “You’re gonna get him to give me his best fuckin lawyers. And get me back in school, full fucking ride.”

You didn’t have a response queued, which seemed to escalate him. He lunged, grabbing you by the throat with his left hand. He smelled like cigarettes, booze, and Drops. That familiar citrus scent; the type that made you afraid to put it in your eyes. The type of acidic smell that made you wonder how every Drophead hadn’t yet lost their vision. Some did. His hands were rough and dirty as his fingers closed on your larynx.

“That’s the only money I fucking get; I’ll get life before going back to Pointe.” He sniffed, adjusting his posture. His arm strength was faltering. You wondered if you could disarm him yourself… knock his left arm into his right before he pulled the trigger... “If he gets wind of this little deal, I’m ending you.”

Crown Pointe. A neighborhood absolutely decimated by the flood, and more or less abandoned by the local government. It was entirely written off, as the highest percentage of the houseless and impoverished population lived there. You didn’t know too much about Gotham’s ecosystem, but you did know that they didn’t give a fuck about Pointe. You nodded. “Okay.” It came out in a croak. “I won’t tell.” It was surreal feeling a wash of relaxation pour over you, but you understood it was either being held like this, or looking down the barrel of something that could kill you before you’d even realize what was happening.

He released his grip and you sputtered. “You have until the thirteenth to kill it. I’ll kill you and your friend.” His gun was lowered, but still pointed to you, like he’d forgotten he was holding a powerful, terrifying weapon. His gaze focused above you and his glare set. He spun in his seat and floored it before you even realized what was happening; the alley was long and straight, but thin. As the bricks around you blurred, you thought about what had the highest survival rate—staying in the car, or jumping?

The speed of the car made you stay inside; you even thought about buckling your seatbelt as you noticed the end creep closer and closer; a giant brick wall with a hard ninety-degree turn. Miller kept looking in his rearview mirror, each time nearly slamming the car into the side of the tight alley.

The wall was a football field away. Your hand shot for the seatbelt as Miller realized he needed to brake, squealing tires skidding, slipping on the concrete. Pure instinct, nothing more, made your call; you jammed open the door as far as it could, sparks flying off of it as it slammed against the brick, and tossed yourself out ass-first.

The first part of your body to hit was your left thigh, leaving you screeching on the impact. The second was your back, knocking the wind entirely out of you. You had the good sense to tuck your hands behind your head, and you felt the knuckles skid against the rough, chunky street. Almost in unison, you heard a petrifying, deafening crash of metal crunching. You laid there gasping at the sky, your vision swirling, heart racing, leg throbbing, hands numb.

The dark sky above only made you more dizzy, giving you nothing to concentrate on and cling to. You heard footsteps further back from whence you came, and the sound of a car door wrenching open. You sat up on your elbows, forcing yourself back up. Your body felt battered and bruised, your left leg now bordering on unusable, but you managed to get up to your knees. You panted at the ground until you caught Bruce’s cologne run past. He wasn’t in the suit. No!

You reached out and grabbed his ankle, shouting weakly for him to stop. He shook you off but you yelled louder, lunging forward, scraping your elbows as you barely caught his calf with both hands. You heard more creaking, and suddenly Bruce’s face was inches from yours, dropped to a squat. His cheeks were flushed and his breath was hard and full against your sweaty, spit-sodden cheeks. His brow furrowed, his mouth curled down into an exasperated scowl. “What are you doing?!”

You glanced above him to the left, noticing Miller jump face-first out of the car, bolting down the turn in the alley. Bruce turned to look with you, but felt the tightening of your hands around him when he tried to move forward. Your fingernails dug into his skin, even through his pant leg. “Stop, don’t.”

“He’s gonna get away—”

“STAY!”

This was the first time you’d yelled at him, and it was like scolding a dog. You didn’t have time to feel bad yet, letting your arms limp and lying flat on your stomach. Disgusting, wet, smelly ground. You caught the rest of your breath, staring intently at his feet. You could hear him scowling, groaning and mumbling.

You took a few beats to catch your breath and orient to your surroundings. It took a few minutes to catch yourself, bring your chest back to a normal percussion. Took half as long for your eyes to unblur, but they kept darting across the ground, and the first few bricks along the sides of the alley.

“Let’s go,” Bruce grabbed your wrist and tried to help you up, but you weren’t ready yet. Your head swirled, the pain was just beginning to surpass the adrenaline…

“Let’s go.” He pulled harder, his voice cracking. You yelped, your knee skidding on the upheaval. You slammed back down on all fours, tears springing to your eyes. You couldn’t see him, but you could see his feet pacing. Tight, muffled sounds came from above you. You dry-heaved against the cement, nothing spurring but hot bile that soured you, furthering more pitiful attempts at retching. Your arms shook and fingers scraped the jagged ground as you tried to sit up on your own again.

Every time he saw you in an alleyway, he wanted to jump off a cliff; seeing you unable to stand, gasping, sputtering against the ground in one threatened to kill him. His cheeks got hot, the world got wobbly, and his legs felt like jello. He probably looked like an asshole, but the flashbacks were ripping at him, his feet unable to be stilled. If you were anyone else he might’ve just ran. Phoned Gordon. Maybe if it were anyone else he wouldn’t have panicked, though, and he didn’t want to interrogate that.

You held out your arms for him to help you up. He took a deep breath and knelt down, focusing on the mechanics of the moment. He held the brunt of your weight, and you stumbled like that to his car on the street, your left leg a mess of pain, your head rapidly catching up. You gasped into the back seat as your thigh scraped against the leather. He shut the door gently, but quickly.

He drove you around until you were on the outskirts of town, and pulled over beside a throng of trees, the gravel loud under the tires as he parked. He turned to look at you from the driver’s seat and you flinched, glancing down at where the gun had been. Without fanfare, he got out and sidled in beside you in the backseat. It hurt to turn your head, but you did enough to at least see some of his body in your vision.

“What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he pummeled more questions your way. “Why’d you get in the car with him?” “Couldn’t you tell it was him?” “What was he doing?” “What did he want?”

You held a feeble hand out to him before moving it to your temple. Gently, you set your head against the leather seat, needing a moment to gather yourself. Your blood was still pumping like you were sprinting fifty miles, everything, everything wildly unstable. By some miracle Bruce obliged and stopped talking.

You didn’t know if it had been ten seconds or ten minutes by the time you opened your eyes again and started to speak, and you kept an arm outstretched to keep his interrogations at bay. “He wants the charges dropped.” You swallowed hard, trying to think of anything else besides the pain in your head and leg—or how bad the chip might be. Your voice was dry and scratchy. “Wanted me to use your connection. For lawyers. Retract our statements.” You took another breather, heard him draw in a breath to speak, and shoved the rest out before he could. “I stopped you going after him.” Another gulp, a wince. You’d never been more desperate for sweet, sweet Tylenol… “Because he also.” It was impossible to speak. You let your head fall back in failure. He needs to know this. “He knows whoever fought him last night was Batman. Felt it. Same fighting. Feeling. Booking.” Your lashes fluttered open with a rush of pain in a circle around your skull.

Bruce didn’t know how to respond; he didn’t want you to have to speak more without medication, so he instead faced the back seat, head spinning. You spoke anyway, confirming a fear he’d had since the day his parents died in that alley, a fear that had been poked, prodded, and split entirely open seeing Alfred in the hospital. “Said if you got wind of it, he’d kill me. And Mar.”

You bolted up, startling him. “Mar!”

He sat up and shook his head at you. “I’ll watch her. I’m taking you back to my place.”

You did not want to go there, but your brain was slow to think of anything, slow to form words, and by the time he shut the driver’s door and started for Wayne Tower, you realized he was right. His house was a fortress of safety. Wasn’t like he could be in two places at once.

As the trees thinned out and gravel turned to road, he told you to lay back as flat as you could. He’d be going through the front entry, which had ramped up security now. He muttered something about reporters lingering on the grounds after the interview, and you struggled to focus on it. Being horizontal in a moving car was nauseating when you weren’t in body-buzzing misery, but it was excruciating now. If you had the strength to sit up again, you would’ve. Fuck the paparazzi.

Bruce’s mind was a mess.

Not even one week since the interview’s release and you’d been held at gunpoint over him.

It was hellish attempting to concentrate on the road. It would be hard to convince you to leave Gotham, but it had to be done. Another conversation with you, and one he would ensure didn’t go awry. He swore he felt his teeth splitting against each other as he mulled over how to bring it up, and when. Not now. Tomorrow. You needed to recuperate, and he needed to find Miller.

Once in his garage, you scooted yourself up by fumes of sheer will so Bruce didn’t have to help you out. Forcing each foot in front of the other as he pushed the door open to the foyer, where Alfred stood, holding his glasses in his hands. Bruce walked ahead of you and gestured for Alfred to step into the kitchen for a minute. You supported yourself against the doorframe, taking out your phone to message Mar.

The screen assaulted you, peppering your vision with black spots and squiggly lines.

The guy from last night got released on bail, and he held me at gunpoint trying to get information out of me. I was able to escape, but I’m worried he’ll come after you. Stay inside, officers will be watching the area to see if he tries to come after you.

Her location showed she was at home; apparently, the ‘jam session’ was being held at her place; you looked up to remind Bruce to leave, but he was already gone, Alfred walking toward you with a lukewarm smile. He handed over a glass of water and the same little white pill, both of which you took with a desperate gulp. “Miss. So glad you’re alright. Bruce informed me about what happened. Do you know the address of your friend?”

You told him, and he texted it to him. A strange, temporary thrill flit through you thinking that he was just a few levels below, suiting up. So fucking weird. So fucking wild. Alfred helped you up the stairs, escorting you to the same room as last Spring. “Our housekeeper keeps things tidy, so you shouldn’t be left wanting. I’ll grab fresh clothing.”

Standing in the room again was one of the most disorienting experiences of your life. Everything was the same, as if you had left it yesterday. Almost as if he hadn’t left, Alfred reappeared in the doorway, holding a pair of black sweatpants and matching tee. Before he left, he asked if you wanted anything to eat, or any company. “These events can be traumatizing.”

You declined it all, wanting desperately to both be alone and be smothered by someone else, but confused enough by it you chose solitude. You thanked him, grabbed the clothes, and exchanged a solemn look. After an encouraging nod, he left, letting you know the same standards were in place; if you wanted anything from the kitchen, or to visit in his study, you were free to.

You slunk out of your dress and threw it into the corner, hastily pulling on the outfit you were desperate to forget was likely Bruce’s. The feat was easily won, though it was tight in some places, loose in others, and entirely too tall—because your nose was too blocked with snot you couldn’t smell anything.

The next two hours passed in a montage. Sitting on the side of the bed in a blurry haze. Every time you looked at your phone was like a knife to the chest recalling your dad’s text in June, which led to the room with the doctor, which led to the wheelchair, which led to the trial, which, which… your brain was numb to pain at this point.

Your limbs moved in slow-motion when they did adjust to laying. Mar had texted you that she was okay, and she’d heeded your warning. She’d asked if you were okay, and you’d said you were safe. She didn’t comment past that, only giving occasional check-ins to let you know she hadn’t been captured. At one point you’d texted Alfred through a mess of tears, asking him if he’d heard any updates from Bruce. He responded immediately, explaining that his suit was active and on Mar’s street. You let your head hit the pillow hard after that, which reminded you of the clack of the gun against your teeth and its pressure against your head.

Your head ached. Jabbed. Punctured. Shouted to be witnessed. You chose not to do anything about it. You took a selfie on your phone to check on your tooth, and noticed a noticeable tick on an incisor. Your cheeks were crunchy with dried spit, and you bolted to the bathroom as fast as your hobbling leg would allow. You scrubbed your face in the sink, taking the soap bar and shredding it against your skin to erase the attack.

In the mirror you noticed the bleeding crusties along your knuckles and the rippled shreds of skin hanging off your elbows. You plucked the shreds off carefully, giving your arms and hands a thorough wash. The skinning was artificial. No gravel lodged anywhere. You felt the wear on your body and slumped back to the room, landing hard against the pillow.

You woke up with a scream.

The gun’s muzzle had penetrated your skin, digging deep into your flesh, making hot, wet blood stream down your face in a thick river. You’d tried to scream, but blood had erupted from your esophagus, mixing with the vomit curdling your stomach. It felt like you sat there like that forever, screaming and gurgling and writhing before he’d pulled the trigger.

Apparently it’d been a dream.

A knock on your door made you jump, another yelp escaping.

“Can I come in?”

Bruce. You shouted a yes, or at least something similar, as you tried to catch your breath. It felt so impossibly real, every sensation filling you still, like your head was still dripping, your mouth was still full…

He opened the door, fiddling with the button on his pants. He was shirtless, his torso and hair dripping wet from what appeared to be him fresh out of the shower. His eyes were wide, searching around the room before landing on you trembling in bed. He noticed Alfred brought you the outfit he’d set out for himself—no wonder he couldn’t find it. The sight of you in it made him anxious.

“What happened?”

You thought you mumbled “Nightmare” but you weren’t sure. Sniffled, soft cries filled the space between the both of you. You were staring down at your hands fiddling with the top sheet, rubbing along the seam.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, then shook your head, his question propelling barely-quelled sobs out of you.

Bruce didn’t know what to do. At all. He figured all he could do was offer logistical support. “Need more Tylenol?”

The vulnerable peculiarity of the situation spurred a laugh as you sniffed up more tears, your voice muffled from your stuffed nose. “It’s like I’m a toddler.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He had no idea what a toddler acted like. He waited, awkwardly, for your sniffing to pause, and spoke. “Miller’s been booked.” You looked up to him, interest piqued.

“Found him walking around your friend’s neighborhood. Watched Gordon take him in. He had an unregistered weapon on him too. He’ll be in there a while.” He hoped it would be some consolation, because you looked like you needed it. He forced himself not to think about what else you might need; thinking about you was starting to feel like holding his breath.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping a few inches. He looked away, too much relief filling him seeing it. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then turned to leave. “If you need anything, just shout.”

You nodded in response, and the door had almost shut when you spoke, tentative. The question not only gnawed at you now, it had been one of the first things you’d thought about with a fucking gun to your skull. “How do you do it?”

He did not want to go back in… He propped the door open and sidled halfway. “Do what?”

“Get shot at every night, it’s fucking horrifying.” More heat sprung to your face, and you pressed your palms to your eyes to force them back.

Admittedly, he’d forgotten how affecting those experiences could be. Even two decades later he couldn’t think too specifically back to Crime Alley or he’d succumb to panic. He stepped the rest of the way in, ashamed that he’d been subtly trying to slip away and ignore you.

You peered at him with a tear-streaked face and he averted his eyes, goosebumps prickling his skin. He swallowed back a lump that’d found its way to his throat. “Already happened, so. Not much to lose I guess.”

He wasn’t looking at you, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Why did he think so low of himself? Why didn’t he think his life was worth protecting? That night he’d talked about feeling like he’d died with his parents, and suddenly his ghostlike demeanor made a lot of sense. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You’d caught your breath by this point, the haunting images falling back the longer he hung around. “I know you probably hate to hear it, but I am.”

You weren’t surprised when he deflected it. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You wiped the pool of tears in the troughs of your cheeks. “It’s not even close.”

That struck a nerve. Few things had been more exasperating to him growing up than having every person’s problems minimized while he was around. “Sorry, Bruce, I mean, it’s nothing compared to what you went through.” “I shouldn’t be talking.” “What do I have to complain about?” Somehow, his words blurted out harsher and gentler than intended. “You’re allowed to be hurt by it.”

His face was contorted into a grimace. You didn’t know what else to do, the vibe entirely shifted, so you just sat, and nodded. When he turned to leave again, anxiety barreled into you like a truck. “Can you turn on the light?”

Tick. You squinted to adjust, the monsters creeping back into the closet.

“If you want anything, don’t hesitate.” He shut the door.

Your dreams had been shitty, but they hadn’t been horrifying.

It was four in the morning when you woke up next, officially well past needing another dose. Forgetting Bruce had essentially offered on-call service, you padded your way out to the stairwell, and jumped with his shadow already at the foot of the stairs. “I told you to shout if you need anything.”

He had a shirt on now, something you were grateful for. “I wanted more meds, thought I might want a walk.”

“How’s your leg?” His voice echoed in the foyer as he walked to the kitchen. He returned in a similar fashion as Alfred, but faster. You’d only made it down a few steps. As he walked to hand you them, you saw the bags under his eyes, creeping in under the moonlight. How every blink looked intentional and forced, designed to keep him standing and conscious. His shoulders were pulled forward, ragged with exhaustion.

You didn’t want to trouble him, scooping the pill out of his hand and grabbing the glass. “Hurts.” You drank it, popped it, and walked slowly back to your sleeping quarters. “Thanks.”

Except… standing in the doorway made you pathetically sad. Gazing at the big, empty room that wasn’t yours in the big, empty tower. Every anxious, miserable thought crowded closer. Your body ached, your spirit was absolutely obliterated. You’d almost died today. I almost DIED today.

More than anything, you wanted to be held. And you didn’t hear his footsteps leaving.

You squeezed your eyes shut until you saw stars, as if it would make it easier. “Can I have a hug?” The request was needy, breathy, feeble. You couldn’t muster a shit to give as the abyss circled you. It was silent.

Bruce froze. He wanted to deny you; after all, what good was a hug if it was hollow? If he was to force you out in the morning, planning ways to convince you to never, ever come back?

You looked over your shoulder, a slow, shakey glance dripping with sorrow. His lashes fluttered as his lips pressed into a thin line. He set the glass on the ground, and his body finished walking up the steps before he nodded. “Sure.” Your eyes focused on the floor as you stepped toward each other, as if looking him in the eye would scare you both off.

When you fell into him it didn’t feel hollow. He felt so full of empathy he could burst, his arms moving instinctually around your back like he’d hugged you a thousand times. His face naturally settled into concern, his chest caving in ever so slightly to welcome yours. You whimpered at the collision of your bodies. In dissent to his earlier apprehension, he pulled you closer, deepening the hug he realized you both so desperately needed.

Falling into his arms was easy. Wrapping your arms around his back was easier. Wailing into his shirt while you clumped fists of it around his back felt as simple as breathing; without beckoning, instinctual, like hot sand lapping up its first wave. The release fell out of you, and you didn’t even register you could be too loud, too much, or too rough. He was as sturdy as the oak tree in his backyard, and just as unyielding—except for now, as his strong hands wrapped around your back and squeezed.

Time paused and the world stopped turning as you were gifted a portal for your pain to fall into. A river to erode the rocks piled in your stomach. You clutched him, your chin tucked into your chest, soaking his shirt until it clung to your cheeks. You bawled until you were coughing, until you felt rugburn on your palm from fisting the cotton so tightly. When you started to shake, he hugged you tighter.

You finally managed to croak out a word, but your mind was undecided between ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’. “Th-orry.”

You shriek-laughed and cried some more, feeling a gentle rumble from his chest. The humor was quickly lost as you sunk into the sadness again, beginning to hiccup as your cries intensified. Time evaded you as you stood there sniffing, hiccuping, and crying, with your eyes squeezed shut, for what simultaneously felt like five seconds and twenty years.

As your sobs quieted, and your hiccups intensified, you were forced to right yourself, unlatching your hands from around him and wiping your eyes, peeling your skin off his soaked clothes. Your head throbbed. You needed more water, a shower, to sleep, you needed to do anything besides what you were currently doing. He didn’t want this.

You cleared your gummy throat and moved further back to fully wipe your cheeks, tucking your chin under the collar of your shirt—his shirt—to soak up the water. You felt how hot and puffy your face was, the tired sting of your strained eyes. Bruce must not have slept for two days at this rate; what the hell were you doing? I’m just making things worse on him again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No conscious thought brought your eyes up to his, only shock at hearing him sound so gentle. His tone was soothing. His face matched it, which sent a jolt through your system remembering, seeing this was BRUCE. You stepped back, embarrassed tears threatening to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry.” You shook your head, realization sinking in staring at his wrinkled, soaked shirt that you’d just bawled—

“I don’t mind.” He gestured toward the kitchen down the steps, turning his body with it like he’d already made up his mind. You didn’t know it, but the embrace had temporarily quelled his inhibitions, replacing them with a profound desire to help. At least for tonight, he wanted to sit with you as long as you’d let him. Hear every bit of the pain that kept you from turning off the light. “Let’s talk.”

Your cheeks heated, intimidated by his new tenderness. “You’ve been awake so long,”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, your shoulders rising high and dropping low in a huff. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

You wanted to cry again. He’d been so obviously weary. “Yes, you are.”

“I can wait.”

“I can wait. My problems will still be here in the morning.”

He hesitated, but obliged. He asked if you wanted more water before he went up, and you let him. He handed it off to you without fanfare, like this was your nightly routine. “Shout if you want anything.”

You walked up the stairway above his floor, and walked into the barren bedroom. You took a sip of the chilled water, feeling the weightiness of the glass, and turned off the light.

After a few minutes of stirring, you couldn’t ignore going to the bathroom. Padding out of your room turned into sneaking to check on Bruce’s door, which was half open. It hadn’t been that way in Spring. Your heart caught on the thought he’d done it so he wouldn’t miss if you yelled.

You’d been correct in your estimation of his fatigue; that, or he was the fastest sleeper you’d ever known. He was fully conked on his bed, facing the door, his mouth slacked ever so slightly open, the deep rise and fall of his—bare—chest matching his gentle snores. He was on his right side, his left arm half slung over. Your eyes followed down to his shirt abandoned on the ground beside the bed. Even in the low light you could see darker patches from where you’d filled the fibers with your tears.

You forced your feet toward the bathroom, struck with self-consciousness at having spied on him. The marble was cool on the soles of your feet, still not used to walking barefoot on floors with no give. You sat in the small hallway bathroom, the toilet seat frigid against your flushed skin.

You stared absently at the wooden door. The shiny golden handle. The unmoving glint of the static overhead lighting against it. The total silence was unsettling. Both of your apartments in Gotham had ample noise pollution being downtown. Back at home, there was a small littering of the occasional car passing through, a coyote, or Walter licking himself.

This silence was empty. Your mind didn’t waste a second filling it.

You wanted another hug from him. Your heartbeat quickened thinking about it. You moved your focus to the floor, the downward movement bringing Bruce to your nose. You lifted your shirt to bury your nose in it, bringing more depth to the smell. It was ambery and warm. In addition to whatever fragrant detergent he used, he used some sort of masculine body wash.

For a minute you sat there basking in it. Feeling held, wanted, and seen, without shying away. Letting your body relax into its intuitive trust in him. Taking a full, lung-satisfying breath into his comfort. The comfort of being held by him. The comfort of him being alive. The space he’d made for you. Even venturing into the what-if of what he might have said, how he might have looked at you, if you’d poured your grief in front of him.

But it was short-lived. With greater force than your appreciation swept in a current of shame. He didn’t want your tears. He probably thought he had to take them. Had to humor you. Had to make sure you were okay after the lie.

You walked back to your room still in a slurry of painful, self-flagellating emotion. You’d have to clarify in the morning. Tell him it was because of your mom, and the stuff online, and your ex-friends, and the gun shoved in your mouth. The attack. The threats. But you couldn’t very well leave out his attempt, could you? Would it make it seem like you didn’t care about him?

A thought dawned on you before you went to sleep, spurred by the flashback sensation of the gun on your temples. I could’ve just done my paper on the club shooting. Then none of this pain would’ve happened. To either of us. You wanted to curl up and die.

Distracted by the mystery of Batman and the reclusiveness of Bruce Wayne. Forcing his hand. Denting the doors of his life breaking in. Shattering all the glass inside, stealing the valuables. It was pathetic. You were pathetic. A pathetic, annoying, disgusting liar sitting in this room for the second time, of your own doing, of your own mistakes, your own fucked priorities and selfish interests.

But it was a lie that was keeping him alive.

After an hour of tossing and turning, fighting the harassment you flung at yourself with reckless abandon, you forced yourself to get up. You remembered something you learned in therapy when you were younger, something to stop these anxious, ruminating thoughts, to help the room feel less like you were drowning in it. Get an orange. Pay attention to it. Peel it slowly. Focus on the texture in your mouth. The zing. The juiciness in its crunch.

Opening up his fridge, you realized they didn’t have much outside of veggies, protein shakes, and meat. Absolutely not wanting to cook, and being put off by the grainy texture of past protein supplements, you opted for a stray apple in the back of the fridge. It was a bit bruised. You didn’t mind.

When you shut the fridge, the freezer popped slightly open. Instead of just shutting it, you peeked inside—more meat, and a tub of Breyer’s. The apple fell out of your hand and you felt wobbly. More memories flooded your veins already primed to panic. Just one week ago. Hospital. Lingering. On autopilot you shut the freezer, swooped the apple and brought it to the sink to rinse. The water was freezing on your hands. You hoped Bruce wasn’t a light sleeper. You didn’t want to subject him to you again.

The apple was surprisingly crisp, save a few spongy parts. You ate it as you walked up the stairs—one bite per step. You shut your eyes and let your senses guide you, zooming in and slowing down. The tang of the apple. The crunch on the first bite. The coolness of the marble steps. The height and slickness of the railing as it skimmed your palm. Crunch. Step.

You made it back to your room calmer than you left it. The apple was nearly eaten to the core, and you discarded it in the trashcan by the side table. You slipped into bed methodically—left leg, slowly, carefully, then the right. First cover, then comforter, then head to pillow. Eyes closed. Slow, deep, gentle breathing. The only thing you had to do right now was sleep. The only task you had to do was let your body relax. Everything else could wait until morning.

Bruce Wayne could wait until the morning.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 14: ~

Operation Spy Part 3:

The finale of Operation Spy. Yes, this is a short arc. It's a bridge into the next, much longer chapters.

As the minutes ticked by, things seemed to calm down. The dock crew were quick to realise the infected were harmless. Seeing the Beria crew talk to them as if nothing happened helped wash away their nerves. It was just a lot of them to take in as a third party. Still, Brodie and Finlay lingered by the only phone you could use to contact the outside before reaching Bernard's office because they weren't going to risk having police or military find them. Archie soon made his appearance. Loyal to the core, he waited here the entire time. The scream from earlier woke him from a nap he was taking somewhere else in the building.

Someone found the courage to ask Addair about the album he carried under his arm, which he returned in kind by showing off his wife and sons, going into great detail for each picture. From what they were doing to location. Whether it was just for attention or because he somehow turned over a new leaf in the span of 24 hours was anyone's guess. The same went for Gibbo. They wanted to know about Eleanor after seeing the chain, which he obliged, but when it got too much, with everyone sharing their own stories of their wives, eventually talking over each other, he literally retreated his head into the mass. Douglas and Dobbie were quick to vouch for him, and it was taken well. 'I wish I could do that,' one commented. Yes, Gibbo can somehow breathe. No, he didn't know how he was doing that. He just subconsciously knew.

Trots, for once, didn't go on about a Union and instead told his side of the story with Archie listening because he was the last to learn about anything surrounding yesterday's events. Muir, Caz, and a few others from Beria stood to the side.

'Are you sure your ma and pa will be okay with this?' Caz asked.

'They should be,' Muir answered. 'I cannae think of anywhere else we can go. I want to go home anyway and it's got the most room for us.'

'No harm in trying then.'

As for Rennick, it was clear there was a history between himself and Bernard. Roper could feel it as he awkwardly sat beside his manager in the makeshift office they made, which was just the trio sitting further away between the maze of containers.

'Is this necessary, Davey? Aren't we friends?' His voice perfectly matched the description of a weasel-bodied, rat-faced, snake.

'That ship sailed a long time ago. So long in fact, it's done three laps of the world by now.'

Roper took out the documents O'Connor gav to him and handed them to Bernard, who was trying his best to control his shakey hands. Not because of fear, but anger.

'This should help you close the investigation. We made sure to collect everything.' No answer. Bernard took the time to scan over everything. All the medical and financial records, the payslips, food intakes, orders that never arrived, and a list of crew. A red mark against those who were gone. He wanted to find one mistake. Something. Anything to make sure he won. Not because he wanted the crew to still work for him, even if the infected would be good for heavy lifting. It was out of pride. Bernard Cunningham can never be wrong.

'And, just so you know, we're all quitting.'

'Yeah, I fuckin' got that.' He caught a glimpse of Rennick smiling. Seems Bernard wasn't above keeping up appearances. 'Have you got something to say, David?'

'Not really. I'm just enjoying this.'

'Enjoying what? Watching you toss away your career? Everything I gave you? You've got some fuckin' nerve to be smiling right now. Just look at yourself.' The sickly sweet office attitude Bernard carried himself with had long gone. This was the real him. 'You're disgusting.'

Roper's eyes went wide as saucers. He glanced between the men, having never heard anyone talk to Rennick like that. He was at a loss for words. Rennick remained strong. The words cut deep, but he wasn't going to let Bernard know he had any effect on him. The bastard wasn't going to win.

'So, you know we all need Severance pay?' A pause. Bernard couldn't believe Rennick was telling him how to do his job. 'And we're also going to need to borrow a couple of the trucks.'

'Why?!' Bernard's voice was exasperated.

'We're not walking all the way to-'

'I don't care where you go, you prick!' Bernard's voice bounced off the metal. 'You've already taken my rig. You lot can go fuck yourselves if you really think I'm gonna let you take more from me!' The chairman was red in the face and looked like a fish gasping for air.

'My rig,' Rennick corrected with an eerily calm manner. 'Don't worry about it, we'll return them. I can speak for everyone here, that we don't want anything from you.'

'Except for the dosh,' Roper interjected. Rennick ignored him.

'Don't worry about it, big man. The sooner we're out of your hair, the better.'

Bernard huffed, rubbed the temple of his nose. Rennick has clearly said something right because in less than a few seconds, he snapped with a 'fine.'

'But, I better not see any of you again.'

Maybe he was petty. Maybe he wanted to play into how Bernard saw him, but Rennick, without warning, shook his hand. If he thought he was disgusting, then he'll want to leave a metaphorical mark on Bernard. How? By wrapping a tendril completely up and around his arm and holding it for a few seconds too long. He used that fake yet convincing smile to the untrained eye. Bernard saw right through it but was more distracted by the obvious. He tried to pull away, but with no luck. 'It's been a pleasure doing business with you.'

The tendril retreated back into Rennick's body. He turned away, and Roper followed. The pair had never been on good terms, but Roper would be lying if he said he didn't feel bad. Bernard's words were cruel, but it certainly explained why Rennick managed the Beria the way he did for years. With a 'friend' like that, who needs enemies? Apparently, Rennick, because he seemed to make that his mission. Still...

'Are you okay?'

'Should I not be?'

'Well, what he said was terrible and-'

'For fuck sake, Roper, I'm fine.' He didn't sound fine. 'I don't-' Rennick caught a quick glimpse of his reflection and looked away. His jaw tensed and he looked to the floor. He just wanted to leave. 'I don't need one of your therapy sessions. Give it to Gibbo.' Roper let him pass. Rennick knew he heard the pained tone, but he won't let that get the best of him. He pushed the feelings to the back of his mind and continued forward. 'Attention crew of The Beria!' Everyone turned. 'Grab your stuff, we're getting out of here.'

Thankfully, it was smooth sailing for everyone. Bernard gave them two trucks, but on the conditions that a member of the dock crew drove them. He didn't care if they were driving to Glasgow or to Cornwall, just as long as they were gone.

Sadly, this is where most of the crew would be parting ways. Many could and have made it home from here. This included Roper, Sunil, Dobbie, McLurg, Scooby, Douglas, Archie, and...

'Be sure to stay out of trouble.' Finlay. This was her goodbye. At least for now. She lived in Glasgow, as did most of the crew. Easy to meet up and travel together for a visit.

'Nae promises,' Caz laughed. 'But, are you sure you don't want to come with us?'

'Nah. I've got me boy to get back to. He came home last week, and I wanna see him.' She chuckled. 'I have a story to tell him, eh?'

The pair shared a hug. Finlay had always been there for Caz, and not just because she was a fan of him during the boxing years, but because she cared. It might be because she was the only woman on board, but she really was like a mother to most. A strict mother, but one none the less.

'Safe journey.' Caz slipped a piece of paper that had a home number. He made sure everyone got one. 'Call us whenever.'

'Aye. Now, go on ya blighter before you make an old biddy like me cry.'

Muir and Rennick took one truck. Caz sat beside the driver, followed by Roy, then O'Connor. Innes stayed in the back. Gibbo, Addair, and Trots took the other, with Trots being able to sit in one of the passenger seats. Brodie and Raffs accompanied them.

Why were Brodie, Raffs, and O'Connor staying? They needed to plan their trips home. All three lived off the mainland, and they weren't going to plan another long treck home now. Especially O'Connor. Bad enough, he was on the east side of Scotland. He needed a few days of rest.

'Okay, that's everyone!' Raffs called from the passenger window, to which Roy returned a thumbs up. The trucks roared to life and slowly made their ways out of the docks. The crew members who stayed behind waved until they were out of sight. Raffs took advantage of being the closest to the door and rolled his window down to rest his head and elbows out. Seeing the sea vanish from view for the endless countryside with patched fields of snow was like whiplash. A well-deserved whiplash. The smell of the sea air was replaced with an Earthy aroma.

The infected and Innes couldn't see the outside, but just knowing they were on a road was something they never knew how much they needed until now. A sense of calm overcame them. Finally, they were back in Scotland. Even if they'll never be human again, it was good to be back on the mainland. Rennick felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Never again will he have to deal with oil rigs that made him lose sleep and cause so much stress, he refused to eat. Even if Roy saved him leftovers.

A small window divided them and the seating. Rennick tapped on it for Caz to slide open.

'So, where are we going?'

'Braemar.'

'Where?'

'Home,' Muir answered. 'We're going home.'

[racingliners]

@hypersoft-fest Week 8: Any prompt (Romcom)

George/Lewis - Royalty AU & Arranged Marriage, 5k, no warnings apply

Hypersoft Publications are delighted to present an excerpt from RL Aston's upcoming modern royalty romance novel, set for publication in Spring 2025 - Forces

“Father you can’t do this!” George had gotten up from the settee and taken a few steps forward before he realised it was pointless. When the King had left the room it would have taken an earthquake to change his mind.

He thought that being the youngest Prince meant he would have more time, he thought that both his siblings being married meant he’d be spared the pressure to marry, he thought… well clearly what George thought didn’t matter to anyone but himself, and maybe his private secretary Marcus.

“I mean…” Alex, a fellow Prince in the Thai royal family, ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh once George had finished updating his friend on the latest and frankly terrifying development in his life.

On one of the most beautiful Saturday’s of the year at the end of April they were taking part in a charity polo match at Blenheim Palace. George and Alex were taking advantage of both being on the same team and there being a break in play to take shelter in one of the canvas tents, so George could have his minor breakdown in relative privacy.

“It doesn’t sound like an arranged marriage-”

“What else would you call it then?!” George exclaimed abruptly, failing his arms wide as he spoke. It was a wonder he’d managed to hold on to his polo mallet.

“Careful George,” Alex cast a cautious look at his friend. “You’ll either hurt someone or yourself with that thing.”

“Well,” George scoffed. “I’m about to have a husband who’ll take care of everything for me so who gives a fu-” Strangely, and thankfully, George was holding his mallet at the hammer end. And right as he swung his arm holding the mallet wide, a figure walked into the tent and yelled loudly when the end of the handle smacked into their nose.

Alex was on the scene almost immediately, first checking to see if the person’s nose was broken and secondly hurriedly looking around for a first aid kit. George meanwhile was completely frozen into place as his mind went into overdrive with recalling all of the guests at the polo match, and who would be the absolute worst case scenario to break their nose. All George could see was a masculine frame, dark skinned hands and fine braids tied in a ponytail.

“Ah… fuck,” The man winced as he removed his hands from his face, revealing himself to be Sir Lewis Hamilton, the eldest son of the Duke and Duchess of Northamptonshire. He’d been fairly high up the worst case scenario list mainly because George didn’t know him all that well. They’d said hello at the odd gala, discussed a speech here and there, nothing more.

“I am… so sorry I-”

Lewis looked up at George with dark brown eyes that didn’t exactly look pleased, once again causing George’s brain to freeze.

“Is it broken?” George said instead of an apology.

“No I don’t think so,” Lewis however did dab at the blood slowly coming out of his nose and grimaced right as Alex returned with a first aid kit. George hadn’t even noticed that he’d left.

“I have loads of brothers and sisters,” Alex said with a shy laugh, waving his hands around in Lewis’ direction. “I’ve dealt with nosebleeds my whole life, this is nothing.” There was something about Alex’s flippancy for the whole situation, as if sons of Dukes walked into tents where Princes were swinging about polo mallets all the time, that seemed to relax both Lewis and George while Alex patched Lewis up. “There, good as new… though maybe take it easy for the rest of the day just in case.” He cast a cautious look over Lewis before closing the first aid kit with a firm click.

“Thank you.” Lewis gave Alex a small nod before glancing over at George, who had been absolutely no help despite very much being the cause of the problem. “And sorry for disturbing you, Your Highness… I’m clearly in the wrong tent.” Before George could string together an appropriate apology in his head, Lewis had left the tent almost as quickly as he’d arrived.

George immediately dropped his polo mallet and flopped down into the nearest chair. He buried his head in his hands and had to fight the urge to claw his fingers into his scalp. First the fact that he was only six days away from meeting the first of the three potential husbands his parents had picked out for him, now he’d almost broken the nose of a very well respected member of society. George silently hoped for his sake that he never saw Lewis Hamilton ever again, he’d probably turn as red as his polo shirt.

Alex, ever the wonderful friend, gently patted George on the back in his moment of need.

“Just don’t hit any of the horses as well, I can’t help you with that.”

George looked up, and hoped for a split second that Alex would get hit by a stray bolt of lightning.

“Fuck you.”

It had been obvious from the moment George woke up that the palace staff had been in overdrive since at least 6am. At breakfast he could see clusters of people walking briskly up and down the corridors and stairwells that led to the palace kitchen. The first of George’s potential husbands would be arriving for afternoon tea at exactly 3pm, and from the second he’d finished his last bite of toast his parents had been hovering over and around him like incessant bees.

Remember to smile George, remember your etiquette George, be charming George. No don’t wear the green tie it’s goo garish, the ice blue one brings out your eyes. Stop frowning George. Your hair is too curly today George, it needs to be more slicked back.

By 11am he wanted to lock himself in the nearest cupboard for all eternity.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Marcus said with a long sigh at lunch. Chef had made leek and potato soup and George could barely stomach looking at it. “But today might not be as terrible as you think.”

“Am I not at least allowed to know who I’m meeting today?” George looked out the window of his state apartment that had a wonderful view of The Mall. It was yet another gorgeous Spring day with a bright blue sky. The leaves in the trees were undisturbed by any breeze and the tourist crowd in front of the palace gates was slightly larger than usual – probably due to the good weather.

“Sadly not, your parents want it to be a surprise.”

George scoffed and slouched in his chair just to prove a point even though his parents weren’t there to see it. “Do they think we’re going to have some miraculous love at first sight sort of thing?”

“Probably.” Marcus said dryly, and finished the last bite of his dinner roll. “You should eat, I’m certainly not doing any of this on an empty stomach.”

George finally turned away from the window and looked down at the plate in front of him. Next to his bread roll was a small pat of garlic butter, instead of plain. Chef always knew how much George liked it. With a small smile, George sat up and slowly ate his soup that was thankfully still warm.

At ten to three he was changed into his slate grey three piece suit with a pale blue tie fastened in a Windsor knot, and walked behind his parents to the courtyard entrance where mystery future husband number one (as Alex had decided to call him) would be arriving by car any second. Already George’s hands felt clammy and his shirt collar too tight, but he took in a deep breath and buried his discomfort as far down as he could. If his parents wanted the handsome, charming Prince to be on show then that was exactly who they would get.

Once George was stood just behind and adjacent to his parents he quickly glanced over at Marcus out of the corner of his eye, and saw his secretary looking back at him with a reassuring smile.

George would be fine, he’d eventually realised after lunch. He’d been to countless state dinners, charity galas and banquets, over the course of his life. This afternoon tea would probably last an hour at most. If anything George was starting to worry about his mystery suitor, and if he knew exactly what he was about to walk in to.

Through one of the windows George saw a black Mercedes enter the courtyard and he stood a little bit straighter while Andrew, the palace’s Chief of Staff, went outside to greet him. All George heard was the sound of a door opening and a mumbling of voices. The heavy wooden door and stone palace walls were too thick for any distinct sound to pass through.

“Sir Lewis Hamilton, Your Majesty.” Andrew announced when he walked back through the door. George blinked rapidly, certain that he’d misheard and that someone else was three paces behind Andrew. But then Lewis, Sir Lewis, walked in wearing a pale grey suit with a lavender jacquard waistcoat and matching tie, with one of his staff following close behind him. The man, who wore glasses and had short, dark hair that was grey at the temples, shared a quick look and small nod with Marcus. The private secretaries of the British upper class did all know each other to some degree after all.

“Thank you for inviting me to the palace Your Majesty.” Lewis said to George’s father with a warm, bright smile, as if this was just another day for him. George on the other hand could feel beads of sweat forming at his temple and on the back of his neck. He felt warm all over, and that his shirt collar was about to strangle him at any moment. Though the ground swallowing him whole without any warning would have been much more preferable.

“Thank you so much for coming.” His mother’s gentle hand on George’s shoulder somewhat pulled him back into the present.

“I’m afraid my wife and I have a rather busy schedule today, but Prince George will be joining you for tea.”

Lewis looked over at George, his eyes all warm and dark brown and… had a small twinge of concern within them.

“Please just call me George.” The words rapidly flew out of his mouth before Lewis could bow say ‘Your Highness’.

“George.” Lewis said softly, and even with a small smile. George was starting to wonder if the polo match last week had just been a bizarre fever dream. It was almost like the mallet incident had been completely forgotten about. Or, much more likely, Sir Lewis Hamilton was an utterly fantastic actor and his talents were wasted on the aristocracy. “It’s an honour to meet you properly at last.”

George’s mother quickly cleared her throat. George should have instigated a handshake by now.

“The pleasure’s mine,” He jutted his right hand out, and every single muscle in his arm was tense as he watched Lewis’ hand glide into his. The handshake was firm, but warm. All George could think about was how soft Lewis’ skin was beneath his fingers. “I…”

“Tea is being served on the West Terrace, perhaps afterwards George can take you on a tour of the gardens…” The soft tones of The Queen’s voice caused Lewis to drop George’s hand and fall in step with her as she, George’s father, Andrew, Lewis and the man George assumed to be his secretary all left the foyer while George’s feet remained glued to the stone floor.

“We’ll be just a minute.” Marcus said to Andrew quietly, the look on his face was enough for the two of them to be left alone. George had told Marcus about the incident with Lewis and the polo mallet in a blind panic while they were in the car on their way back to the palace. Marcus had just reassured him that so long as Lewis didn’t need to go to hospital then it would all be a simple mishap that would be forgotten about in a few weeks.

Once George and Marcus were alone in the foyer, George allowed himself one whole second to breathe before speaking with a rather freeing sense of clarity.

“I’m flinging myself off the nearest balcony.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” George nodded to himself and took a firm step towards the courtyard.

“No- George,” The sternness in Marcus’ voice was what managed to stop George in his tracks, and he slowly turned round. “You are going to be yourself, and see this through.”

“You say that as if you’ve had a hand in all of this.” George looked at his personal secretary of just over 18 months with a heavy frown.

Marcus rolled his eyes and tucked his folio under his arm so he could quickly fix George’s tie.

“I wasn’t going to let your parents marry you off to the first eligible man they saw you know.”

George let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If anything, you can use this as an opportunity to properly apologise for being such an idiot.”

George couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, it was better than crying or being distressed about the strange scenario he found himself in. And after catching his breath and giving himself the smallest of peptalks, he walked alongside Marcus over to the West terrace.

“My apologies,” George flashed a perfectly charming smile at his parents. “I couldn’t decide if I needed my sunglasses, it’s so bright today.” He turned to Lewis who was stood with his hands clasped behind his back. A round table had been set out on the stone terrace with two chairs sat opposite each other. While no cakes or scones were in sight, it had been draped with a crisp white table cloth and had the palace’s finest tableware in front of each chair with the afternoon sun glinting off the silver cutlery. “Has someone asked what tea you’d like?” George asked Lewis, remembering to be the attentive host.

“Green please, if that’s possible.”

“Certainly, I’ll inform the kitchen.” Andrew said and almost immediately disappeared inside. George’s parents, plus Marcus and Lewis’ secretary followed suit, leaving George and Lewis alone. The air remained still with no hint of a breeze, and in the distance George could hear the sound of birds tweeting in the trees. It was quite perfect.

“You’re welcome to sit down, any chair you like.”

Lewis opted for the chair closest to him, and quietly sat down. George quickly did the same.

“I um…” He didn’t know where to begin. The apology for almost breaking Lewis’ nose, or revealing to Lewis why he was really at the palace. “I have to apologise for what happened at the polo match at Blenheim Palace last week,” He curled his hands into fists under the table so he could maintain eye contact with Lewis.

“It was my own fault,” Lewis briefly bit down on his bottom lip. “I should have knocked… well you can’t knock on a tent but you know what I mean.” He added with a shy laugh. “I wanted to introduce myself to you somewhere quiet before all of this.” He vaguely waved a hand around in the air, gesturing to the palace and grounds around him.

George once again found himself dumfounded in Sir Lewis Hamilton’s presence without a single word coming out of his mouth. “You know?! About…” He spluttered before trailing off in disbelief.

“Well, in the sense that Bono and I put two and two together. Especially when you were all your father talked about when he sought me out last week.” Lewis paused as one of the doors opened and their afternoon tea was brought out. George’s parents must have insisted on the china, white patterned with blush pink. It was the same set used at Cara’s wedding breakfast.

“Thank you Matt.” George said with a smile to the palace’s Head Butler.

“You’re welcome Your Highness, Sir Hamilton.” He bowed slightly, and quickly left.

The scones, tiny lemon tarts, macarons and finger sandwiches would all have been made fresh, as by the looks of things was the small dishes of strawberry and apricot jam.

“Go ahead, please,” George waved a hand at the table. “You do not need to start eating when I do.”

Lewis snickered, and poured himself tea. George watched the pale green liquid flow seamlessly from the spout of the teapot to the teacup, and waited until Lewis had set the pot back down before speaking again.

“And if you need anything else please just ask.” George reached for his own teapot, which would likely be filled with steaming Earl Grey, and filled his cup before adding a splash of milk.

“So, is this were we get to know each other?” Lewis first examined the contents of the tea stand, and then quickly glanced over at George.

Most of what George knew about Lewis came from passing comments and snippets of news articles. He had interests in fashion and music, and was apparently quite the skilled pianist. And as for George, most of his life had the tendency to get splashed across the front pages. Everyone knew his secrets moments after George had discovered them.

They talked about the weather, and the food in front of them. Lewis said with a small blush in his cheeks that he hoped George’s parents weren’t secretly watching from a window on the first floor. And while George didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t put it past them. It was a shame really, if George’s parents weren’t the King and Queen of the United Kingdom, he would probably get on with them quite well.

“If you’d figured out that my parents are only interested in marrying me off…” George shook his head and sighed once he’d finished his first sandwich. He was grateful at least that he hadn’t been the one to drop the bombshell right on Lewis’ head. “I’m very surprised you still came here.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, and glanced over his shoulder at the perfectly manicured lawn that was once again set to host many a garden party this Summer. One of them had likely been earmarked for George to attend with his new boyfriend, whoever he turned out to be.

“I might not be royalty, but I’m still nobility.” Lewis spoke with the air of the son of a Duke. The Larbalestier’s had been gifted the peerage of Northamptonshire over a century ago, and it had caused quite a stir at the time when Lewis’ father married into the family. But their reputation within society was spotless. Lewis had earned his Knighthood through his various charity work, both through sports and the arts to give children from disadvantaged and ethnic minority backgrounds a chance that no one else would.

“In an ideal world, at least according to my father,” Lewis continued. “I would have gotten married myself a long time ago.” There had been rumours of Lewis being involved with a German socialite just over ten years ago, and even louder speculation of a rather messy break up that followed three years later. “At least this way… maybe we both get some kind of say in how this will all play out.”

George bit down on his lip and looked down at his empty plate while his leg started to bounce nervously.

“We hardly know each other.” George’s voice came out breathless, like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs.

“From what I’ve heard, you seem like a very good man.”

George had to fight himself not to scoff in reply. Whoever Lewis’ source was, it probably wasn’t Alex.

“You’re clearly very brave if you’re willing to jump head first into The Royal Family.” George gulped and reached out for a sandwich, ham and mustard by the looks of it, and immediately let it fall onto his plate with a small thud.

“Like I said,” Lewis paused to bring his teacup to his lips. “I’m nobility already, I know exactly what I’d be getting myself in for.”

George could see it all now, the headlines, the news features, the questions, jokes about who would propose to who… it sounded like hell. As if the spotlight on him wasn’t bright enough. It was part of the reason why George had never gone out of his way to find someone, he was too terrified at what that kind of pressure would do to someone from the outside. That they might end up resenting George forever for something he had no way of controlling.

“Why me?”

“I’ve heard you speak a lot about how you wish your family would do more, not just with charity work but… real lasting action. That was what you said in your speech at the COP summit last year right?”

George slowly nodded. He had no idea Lewis had been in attendance, let alone had found George’s opening speech so interesting that he’d chosen to remember it.

“Well, maybe together we can.”

Lewis had clearly been thinking about the practicalities of the potential arrangement a lot longer than George had. Marriages in the Royal Family were never just for love, it was about spectacle and image and simply just doing what was expected. And while credit where credit was due this iteration of the monarchy had been free from scandal, but to some they weren’t very interesting either. George could immediately see his parents plans now, host a big Royal wedding while making themselves look relevant to society at the same time. Quite the power move.

“Believe me when I say that I’ve spent a long time this past week thinking about this.” Lewis said firmly. “And I like to think that… if any shit hit the fan I would have my husband there to support me, and vice versa.”

“Yes… yes of course you would.” George said quietly, with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. While he still wasn’t particularly keen on the idea, he still like to think himself as capable of being kind to the poor soul who ended up marrying him.

He let out a long shaky breath, and ate his second sandwich in two bites. Very undignified behaviour for such a handsome young Prince.

“I still feel like I have to apologise for you ending up being involved in all of this.” George said once he’d taken a large gulp of his tea. Lewis just looked down at the crumbs on his plate and let out a small hum.

“As I said, my parents want me to be engaged within a year since they’re… rather desperate for me to not be single any longer. And it’s not that I don’t want a family someday, because I do,” As Lewis looked up at George, he could see a small flicker of warmth in his eyes. “I just want to have some choice over who I spend the rest of my life with.”

“And you feel like this is you having a choice.” George scoffed, and picked up a macaron without looking and ate it in one bite.

“I could have just about gotten out of this if I wanted. You would be amazed at the number of dinners Bono has managed to get me out of.” Lewis said with a small shake of the head. “Sorry, I’m supposed to call him Peter in such a formal setting, but he hates it.”

It was strange. It was almost like Lewis was giving George advise on how to say hello to Bono when they met for the first time. As if all of this was going to go somewhere.

“But, if I’m not to your taste then-”

“Oh no!” George exclaimed so loudly his knee accidentally hit the bottom of the table and caused everything to move a couple of millimetres. “Your complete honesty is… so refreshing. You’ve no idea.” Lewis was also unbearably handsome. Well-groomed stubble that looked stylish, not scruffy. Flawless skin that glowed in the sunshine, and deep brown eyes that despite everything were so warm, and kind. George told himself not to think about how well fitted Lewis’ suit was to his frame. “I just… this has all been sprung on me quite suddenly.”

“Ah,” Lewis nodded, a knowing look on his face. Silence fell over the table and a soft breeze briefly brushed over George’s skin. It seemed to help reset his brain as he let out a small sigh.

“I know it was my mother’s suggestion, but if you would like to see the gardens I’d be happy to give you a tour. We can come back to this afterwards.”

Lewis smiled, and it briefly turned into a grin. “I’d like that.”

George called for Matt, who he knew would be waiting just inside to cater to any of Lewis’ and George’s whims, and he asked for the tea stands to be covered while George and Lewis walked round the palace gardens. Matt gave a small nod of his head, and said of course, adding that the rose garden had looked particularly lovely this morning.

Lewis gestured for George to lead the way, and George waited so he and Lewis could walk side by side down the long path towards the rose garden.

“Now we can have some actual privacy.” Already George’s shoulders felt ten times lighter as he ran a hand through his hair to loosen some of the gel. It was such a small thing, but already he felt so much more like himself. “We can compare notes on our parents scheming if you’d like?”

Lewis’ snort quickly turned into a bright laugh, his eyes even crinkled at the corners.

“What’s your favourite film?” Lewis asked instead. And truth be told it did feel better doing the getting to know you questions like this, completely away from prying eyes. They exchanged films, songs, and their shared belief at just how absurd their lives really were by the time they’d reached the wrought iron gate that led to the rose garden.

George pulled the gate open and gestured for Lewis to go first. He stopped a few paces in to look around, and let out a small wonderous sigh. If George had been asked what his favourite part of the palace grounds was, he gave the gardens as a generic answer. But very few people knew that the rose garden was actually his favourite. He frequently took breakfast here in the Summer, and sometimes just liked to sit and read a book while time passed around him.

“The rose garden was my Grandfather’s first wedding anniversary present to my Grandmother,” George explained as he and Lewis began their slow walk round. It was set out in an oval with a small stone fountain in the middle that you could just about sit of the edge of without falling in. “My Grandma loved roses, so my Grandfather had this built for her.”

“What? Just like that?” Lewis said with a snap of his fingers. George immediately noticed the delicate tattoos inked onto his skin before humming in reply. “Wow,” Lewis’ eyes briefly widened. “He must have really loved her.”

“Yeah… yes they loved each other very much.” George said quietly, his eyes trained on the ultra-fine gravel that crunched beneath the soles of his black leather shoes. When he finally looked up upon realising that Lewis hadn’t said anything, George saw him paused in front of a bush of bright yellow roses in full bloom. Lewis delicately ran his index finger along the edge of one of the petals before leaning down to inhale its scent. “I wish I could tell you all the different varieties we have, but botany was never my strong suit.” Like many of the previous royals, George had studied politics at university before his quick stint in the air force.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?” Lewis asked, looked back up at George with his head slightly tilted to the side. “What do you do when you’re just George?”

George coughed out a small laugh. “As tragic as it sounds, I don’t get to be ‘just George’ very often.”

“But when you do…” Lewis asked again, clearly not wanting to let the point go. George let out a long sigh and let his shoulders sink down a couple of centimetres. He hated talking about his interests to other people in case he sounded dreadfully boring.

“I like photography, I’m not very good at it but I enjoy it. On a quiet day our head chef lets me into the kitchen and he teaches me a new recipe. It’s a wonder I haven’t chopped all my fingers off by now, but Riki’s very patient.” George’s cheeks flushed red as he glanced down at the ground and let out a nervous laugh. Lewis just stayed smiling at him. “What about you? What do you do when you’re… just Lewis?”

Lewis talked at great length about music, but also fashion. How he’d helped designed the suit he was currently wearing amongst others. That he loved it as a creative outlet while also giving himself some control over his identity, and that he only dressed for himself and not the approval of others. It sounded so freeing. In the past George had often heard whispers at galas over people gushing over what the son of the Duke of Northamptonshire was wearing, sometimes George had managed to catch a glimpse of him, and other’s he was left feeling disappointed when he didn’t.

They found themselves halfway round the rose garden before either of them had really noticed.

“You do have a say in this you know.” Lewis said with a raised eyebrow, turning the conversation back to the whole marriage fiasco. George wasn’t so sure. The only thing he knew was that he really didn’t want to go through this again, and meet whoever else his parents had lined up for him. Would they be as understanding as Lews was? As thoughtful? George assumed not.

And maybe it all felt very easy, choosing Lewis after being with him for barely an hour. Like he was once again doing exactly once his parents were telling him to do. But there was something in the immediate comfort George felt from being around Lewis that he didn’t want to let go of. It was a kind of safety he’d only ever felt with Alex or Marcus.

“A part of me hoped when I was thinking about all of this last night,” When he had been tossing and turning in bed, more accurately. “That… so long as I’m getting married as my parents want, I will as you say, have some input in how it all happens.” George knew he wouldn’t get left alone completely. His first public appearance with his new partner would probably be at Wimbledon. The Trooping of the Colour was both too soon and far too formal for George to suddenly show up out of the blue with a boyfriend. Not a soul would care about the parade at that point. And the engagement would be planned to within an inch of its life.

But George was starting to hope that if he did pick Lewis, then maybe he would at the very least get a friend out of it all. And most importantly he seemed to be fully aware of what he was doing.

“You’re really sure about all of this?” George asked Lewis firmly, looking right into his eyes to get a read on his frame of mind.

“Of all the options I have… this is the best one. Believe me.”

George admired his determination. If Lewis was going to become a Prince he was going to need it. Lewis seemed to have it in spades, as he was the only to hold his hand out for George to shake, like he was offering a deal.

“Will you marry me?” He said not completely sarcastically.

George let himself throw his head back and laugh so much his shoulders shook. The rose garden had played host to both Benjy’s and Cara’s engagement announcements, chances were it would be the venue for George’s too. He could see it all now flashing before him in his mind. Their first formal appearance together, the engagement announcement next Autumn, how probably in two years’ time to the day George would be waiting for Lewis at the end of the aisle in Westminster Abbey with his new title on his shoulders and Lewis walking towards him, and all the state visits that would follow for the rest of their lives. And, as Lewis had said, all the good they could do together.

George pressed his lips together and nodded, before clasping Lewis’ hand with his.

“I will.”

[enniewritesathing]

5PM (again)

this part contains the following warnings:

Suffocation

Drowning

[itwoodbeprefect]

i love websites that contain text-based information

[motto-chanto-itte]

i would definitely feel better if i finished these/dropped them i think

[fatcowboys]

the thing abt me is that i do hoard canon urls like candy but i also give them away like its halloween. most of the ones i have saved i put notes of my url so people can dm me if they wanna use it. thats also how I've gotten Most of my cannon urls so thats my hot tip if u want a cannon url just. dm the person and ask if u can use it

[star-ocean-peahen]

screaming

[beemovieerotica]

struggling with how to word this, but putting it out there anyway:

i can fully understand the posts on here from a lot of americans being tired of "vote blue no matter who" posts when the #1 thing that people are constantly (and sometimes only?) addressing is how the republican party is going treat trans/queer people if elected.

it's part of an unfortunate pattern of prioritizing the effects on a demographic that includes white + upper class people, when people of color and those in the global south are actively and currently being killed or relegated to circumstances in which their survival is very unlikely

it is genuinely exhausting to witness this, and i was also on the fence about even participating in voting because i a) felt like it didn't matter and b) every time i voiced being frustrated with the current state of the country, white queer people would immediately step in with "but what about trans people!" -> (i am mixed race trans man)

and i say this with unending patience toward people who do this, because i know that it's not something they actively think about. but everyone already knows how the republican party is going to treat queer people. you are probably talking to another queer person when you bring up project 2025. the issue is that, for those of us who aren't white, or for those of us who are but who are conscious of ongoing struggles for people of color worldwide, the safety of people around the world feels more urgent than our own. that is the calculation that's being made.

you're not going to win votes for the democratic party by dismissing or minimizing these realities and by continually centering (white) queer people.

very few people on here and twitter are actually talking about issues beyond queer rights that concern people of color, or how the two administrations differ on these issues instead of constantly circling back to single-issue politics. this isn't an exhaustive list. but these are the issues that have actually altered my perspective and motivated me to the point of committing to casting a vote

the biden administration has been engaged in a years-long fight to allow new applicants to DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, the program that allows undocumented individuals who arrived as children to remain in the country) after the Trump administration attempted to terminate it. the program is in limbo currently because of the actions of Trump-backed judges, with those who applied before the ruling being allowed to stay, but no new applications are being processed. Trump has repeatedly toyed with the idea of just deporting the 1.8 million people, but he continues to change his mind depending on whatever the fuck goes on in his head. he cannot be relied on to be sympathetic toward people of hispanic descent or to guarantee that DREAMers will be allowed stay in the country. biden + a democratic controlled congress will allow legal challenges to the DACA moratorium to gain ground.

the biden administration is open to returning and protecting portions of culturally important indigenous land in a way that the trump administration absolutely does not give a fuck. as of may 2024, they have established seven national monuments with plans to expand the San Gabriel Monument where the Gabrielino, Kizh / Tongva, the Chumash, Kitanemuk, Serrano, and Tataviam reside. the Berryessa Snow Mountain is also on the list, as a sacred region to the Patwin.

i'm recognizing that the US's plans for clean energy have often come into conflict with tribal sovereignty, and the biden administration could absolutely do better in navigating this. but the unfortunate dichotomy is that there would be zero commitment or investment in clean energy under a trump-led government, which poses an astounding existential threat and destabilizing force to the global south beyond any human-to-human conflict. climate change has caused and will continue to cause resource shortages, greater natural disasters, and near-lethal living conditions for those in the tropics - and the actions of the highest energy consumers (US) are to blame. biden has funneled billions of dollars into climate change mitigation and clean energy generation - trump does not believe that any of it matters.

i may circle back to this and add more as it comes up, but i'm hoping that those who are skeptical / discouraged / tired of the white queer-centric discourse on tumblr and twitter can at least process some of this. please feel free to add more articles + points but i'm asking for the sake of this post to please focus on issues that affect people of color.

[qqqqqqqqqqq0]

i present to you the most useless talent i possess

[twotailednekomata]

'Definitely' and 'scene' are my mortal enemies when it comes to spelling.