#left; something is exploding' and then as it keeps unfolding he goes 'and here in small scale is how it is being used! isn't that

[bitegore]

baru cormorant seems to me to be a series that suffers miserably for me having read machineries of empire first. unfortunately everything BC is doing strikes me as something MoE did better and more believably and with much a greater and more grounded eye for how systems, complex system interaction, and oppression like. work

[wifeboys]

Third Time’s the Charm // Wilmon

Summary: Wilhelm kisses Simon three times before he gets the hint.

Word Count: ~2600

A/N: A little in-universe fic to tie us over. Based on prompts from this prompt list *shamelessly plugs my prompts blog @deity-prompts *. Also I haven’t written fanfiction is a while so I’m a little rusty.

gif credits: @princewilhelm

Wilhelm kisses Simon three times before he gets the hint.

The first time is at Rosh's soccer final. The pair (and Ayub) had gone to every single game of the season, rain, or shine. They stood at the side lines. The night air gripped them through their puffy coats. Flood lights illuminate their breaths. Wilhelm and Simon pressed shoulders to 'help keep them warm'.

The game is intense. The ball is sent over and back again and again. Fouls are left and right. Fights even break out. The crowd hold their breath, each moment electric. Simon is so focused on the game that he forgets where he is. He forgets who he's with and who he is. All he can concentrate on is Rosh.

The whistle blows, once, twice, three times. Rosh punches the air with a victorious scream. The crowd erupts. Everyone rushes onto the pitch. They clutch each other into hugs, exchanging "congratulations!" and kisses on the cheek. Simon sprints to Rosh, grabbing her tightly. She slaps his back and yells something he can't hear. Ayub pushes him out of the way and hugs Rosh. Simon staggers back with a laugh. Wilhelm is in front of him. His eyes sparkle with happiness and Simon can't help but smile. Before he can hug him, Wilhelm places his hands on Simons cheeks and quickly kisses him. The kiss barely lasts two seconds, but time seems to freeze. Simon short-circuits.

Before he can process or kiss him back, Wilhelm is already hugging someone else and Ayub is grabbing Simon. "SHE DID IT! FUCKING YEAH!" The night moves on. Everyone goes out to celebrate, still full of energy until they part in the early hours. As Simon celebrates, he can't help but think about Wilhelm kissing him. Did he kiss him or did he imagine it? No, it definitely happened. He can't imagine the electricity pulsing through him. He can't imagine the rush and heat he felt.

But that doesn't mean Wilhelm wanted to kiss him. It was an intense game. Everyone was celebrating. It was probably just a "hey bro, we did it! let's celebrate!" kiss. Wilhelm would've kissed anyone, Simon just happened to be there.

That's what Wilhelm is acting like. He's hugging everyone he comes across. Simons not sure if that's because Wilhelm is a hugger or because he's buzzed on celebratory drinks. Either way, he's not treating Simon any different. He's still talking to him like they're regular bros who like regular sports and other regular things.

It was nothing, Simon decides.

• ❤︎ •

The second time is at Felice's birthday party. She spares no expense. The common room is decked with streamers, balloons, and stocked with alcohol. Everyone is wearing the most extravagant outfits they have. The birthday girl has braided her hair short as a boys, and wears a purple robe that reaches her heels. Simon wears a black, glittery blazer over his bare chest with waist high black trousers. The lack of shirt was probably a good idea, considering people keep bumping into him and spilling their drinks.

The music is practically deafening. You can't walk two steps without knocking shoulders with someone. Simon keeps to the back of the room, fiddling with the hem of his blazar as the party unfolds in front of him. Sara keeps him company, chatting his ear off about something he can't hear. The only thing he can focus on is a certain prince across the room.

Simon barely notices when Sara tugs at his sleeve. "Si! I'm going to find Felice. Don't just stand here for the whole night. Go talk to someone"

She disappears into the sea of drunk teenagers. There's no way Sara was telling him to go talk to Wilhelm specifically, but that's all Simon wants to do. Actually, he wants to skip the talking and pin Wilhelm against the wall.

But Simon can't do it. He's glued with his back against a wall as people make out around him. He can't mess things up with Wilhelm. He can't scare him off. He can't lose a great friend on the tiny chance he might get a boyfriend. Simon repeats this like a mantra to the beat of the music.

None of this stops him checking out Wilhelm, the crowd acting as a safety buffer. His simple yellow shirt is plain considering the occasion. He made up for it by covering his hair with glitter that has fallen onto his face and shoulders.

He watches as an already tipsy Wilhelm finishes his drink. He's surrounded by people (probably his friends). He suddenly cracks up at some joke they say. Glitter explodes into the air with the quick movement of his head. A shiny halo illuminates his face. God, he's beautiful when he laughs.

"Simon! Simon Simon Simon" Felice nearly falls on top of him. "I'm so glad you're here- and you look amazing"

"Thanks, so do you- and happy birthday" Simon has never been good at taking compliments.

"You're too kind. I'll admit, I can't get enough of my cape. Hey, you should try it on! Purple is definitely your colour"

"Oh no I couldn't-"

"Oh yes you could. Let's swap jackets. I promise I'll give it back"

Next thing Simon knows, Felice is slipping off her cloak-y thing to reveal a white blouse and black skirt. She takes Simon's jacket, even giving him a spin. "We look stunning" she says as Simon wraps her robe around him. It looks a bit weird on him, but it's soft and smells nice. Felice sips her drink, and frowns. "My cup is empty. Can I get you a drink?"

"Uh- sure"

Felice disappears into the crowd. Simon goes back to looking for Wilhelm, but he's nowhere to be seen. He scans the crowd carefully. Wow, there's a lot of people here. A lot of bodies. The air is thick. The music is too loud. The room is too small. Simon needs to get out.

He excuses his way towards the door, not stopping until he's breathing in the night air. He leans next to the door, careful to keep Felice's robe clean. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Simon can only handle parties for a short while before he needs a break.

He stares up at the sky. Deep breath in, deep breath out. The stars are like glitter. The moon shines brightly at him. Deep breath in. He can't find Wilhelm, but at least he can spot the Man In The Moon. Deep breath out.

He's grounded again. He knows he should go home soon, but he figures a bit longer inside wont hurt. He gets up to go inside and find Felice when the door swings open. A yellow shirt stumbles into the night, glitter sparkling in the moonlight.

Simon finally found Wilhelm- or, rather, Wilhelm found him.

Wilhelm finds his footing, looking around. He finally spots Simon by the door.

"There you are!" He exclaims. There I am?

If Simon moves fast enough, he can slip back inside before Wilhelm even notices him. He can grab Sara and pretend he never came to the party. Before he can put his plan into effect, Wilhelm is cupping his face again.

Wilhelm kisses him. Simon is quicker to react this time. He kisses back, his plan to escape already forgotten. Wilhelm pulls back for a moment to tilt his head to the side. Simon holds the back of his neck, running his fingers through his hair. Glitter falls around them.

Wilhelm's hands slip behind Simon's robe, pulling him closer. Simon shivers as his hands run up and down his back. He drowns in bliss, finally getting to kiss Wilhelm the way he always wanted to.

When Wilhelm finally pulls back, his eyes stay closed. "Oh" he sighs softly. "Oh . . . I'm about to throw up. Excuse me"

Without even looking at Simon, Wilhelm turns and staggers around the corner. Simon hears retching. His escape plan kicks in. He practically runs back into the party, nearly knocking people over as he finds Felice.

He finds her giggling with Sara, who's cheeks are blushes deep red. They swap their clothes back, re-completing Felice's outfit. She truly looks stunning, tonight more than ever. Up close, her hair is woven more intricately than he realised. It's as short as his but looks ten times better.

Oh God- with the short hair and purple cloak, he probably looks just like Felice. Especially to someone who's drunk. Wilhelm didn't mean to kiss him. He meant to kiss Felice. Now Simon feels like he's going to throw up.

• ❤︎ •

The third time is after Parents Day. Simon spent the days leading up to it avoiding Wilhelm. He probably doesn't remember the kiss at all but Simon wont chance it. He won't give Wilhelm the opportunity to reject him. This doesn’t stop him from looking at him for a little too long from across the room. This doesn’t stop Wilhelm looking back.

His ingenious “if I ignore him he can’t reject me” plan fails, however, when Wilhelm sits with his family as they eat. Simon can't take his eyes off him as he chats with Simon and Felice's family. Wilhelm combs his fingers through his hair, licks his lips, laughs along to jokes. Simon soaks up every minute of it.

Dinner plates empty. Belts are loosened. Waiters come around to collect dishes and Simon starts to panic. Wilhelm has been glancing at him again and again throughout the dinner. He's definitely going to corner Simon and let him down. Tell him to forget all about the kiss (if he even remembers it). Simon pulls out his phone.

Simon I need you to pick me up

Ayub Thought you were at the parents dinner Cant ur mom take u home?

Simon I'll explain later If you pick me up right now I'll be forever grateful

Ayub I'll be outside in ten You owe me one

Simon I love you more than life itself

Simon rests his phone on the table, slightly less panicked. As soon as people start getting to their feet, he bolts. Out the door. Our of the school. He only slows when his feet crunches on the front road's gravel.

Ayub arrives right on time. Simon jumps on his bike before he can ask what's going on. It isn't until the next day that Simon comes to a shocking realisation: he left his phone at Hillerska.

• ❤︎ •

"Didn't think I'd be back here so soon" Ayub says as he drops Simon off.

"I'll be in and out, I promise. Everyone's gone home so I'll be able to find it and grab it"

"Here, call yourself on my phone. You can follow the ringing"

"Where would I be without you"

Ayub tosses his phone and gestures for Simon to go. He pushes open the doors. Hillerska feels haunted without students bustling through the halls. It's like a museum. Simon opens Ayub's phone and calls himself.

It's probably in the dining room where they ate. He walks towards it, listening intently for his ringtone. What he doesn't expect is for someone to pick up.

“Hello?”

Simon stares at the phone for a moment before pressing it to his ear. ". . . Hello?"

“Simon? That you?”

“Wille!" Perfect. The one person he was trying to not talk to. "Sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice”

"Don't worry about it, I don't think you were expecting me to answer"

"Yeah, uh, you have my phone. That's why I was calling it. I must've left it here yesterday"

"Where are you? I can drop it off"

"I'm already at Hillerska so I can just grab it. Want me to come to you?"

"Just start walking, we'll find each other"

Simon decides to go in the general direction of Wilhelm's dorms. It really does feel like a museum. Each alcove is like a display he can't touch. His footsteps echo.

“So . . . what’re you doing with my phone?” Simon asks.

“I actually didn’t know it was yours. It was left on one of the tables, so I took it in case the owner came looking for it”

“And here I am”

“And here you are”

Simon can't help but smile. He's sure he can hear Wilhelm smiling too.

Wilhelm takes a deep breath. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you”

“Talk to me?”

“Yeah. Um . . . it's about Felice's party"

Simon stops. Here it is. Everything has backfired and now the one thing he didn't want to talk about has come up.

"Simon? You there?"

"Yes! Uh yes I am." He rubs a hand across his face. Play it cool. "What about her party?"

"I'm sorry that I was so drunk that night. I figured I'd need some . . . liquid courage but I guess I had too much"

"Yeah. It was a uh, a wild night" Simon feels like he's choking on his own heart. He distracts himself by looking around at the hallway. He's not even sure where in the school he is. He's more focused on not throwing up.

"Do you remember that night?"

Play it cool. "Anything specific you want me to remember?"

There's a moment of silence. Simon can hear Wilhelm's footsteps through the phone. "If you want to forget that night and move on like nothing happened, we can definitely can"

Simon doesn't want to forget. It's all he can think about.

"Do you want to forget about it?" Simon asks, swallowing.

Wilhelm's walking slows as he thinks. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable"

"I don't . . . I wasn't uncomfortable"

There's a beat. "I'm glad. That-that you weren't uncomfortable"

"I'm a little uncomfortable now" Simon laughs awkwardly. His tension eases a little when Wilhelm laughs too.

"I'm sorry. I just don't know how to talk about this" Simon kicks his feet against the floor.

"I have to say, I didn't think I'd be talking to you about this over the phone"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about this at all. I thought you were going to avoid me forever"

"Hey, you're the one who was avoiding me"

"Yeah yeah I know" Simon smiles.

Wilhelm takes a deep breath and exhales. "I really wanted to kiss you that night. That's why I got so drunk I needed a confidence boost. It uh, it didn't help that you ignored the kiss at Rosh's game"

Simon's jaw drops in a smile. "I didn't ignore it! I just panicked. I figured it was a spur of the moment celebration"

"None of it was spur of the moment. I've wanted to kiss you for a while"

"You have?"

"You didn't notice?"

"Not at all. If I did, I probably would've kissed you"

Simon hears him stop and smile. “Simon, you are the smartest idiot I ever met”

He hangs up. He hangs up? Simon looks at the phone as if it holds the answer. His brow furrow as a hand grabs his shoulder from behind. He turns, that there he is.

"Hi" they say in unison.

Wilhelm's hands are on Simon's shoulders. He holds his gaze with a smile. Simon completely forgets how to breathe. All he can think about his Wilhelm being so close to him and his lips being right there because really they're right there-

"Can I kiss you again?" Wilhelm asks. Simon nods.

Wilhelm kisses him for the third time. It's hesitant- like he's testing the waters to see if Simon is willing to swim. Before he can pull away, Simon yanks him back in. His hands thread through Wilhelm's hair as Wilhelm wraps his arms around his waist. They pull each other impossibly close. It's their third-first-kiss and it is perfect.

[ditzydawn11]

keep me safe

Neville Longbottom x reader

not requested

warnings: attempted sexual assault

2500 words

THIS STORY HAS MATURE THEMES. My heart goes out to all of the ladies who are a part of the 97%. You are strong, you are beautiful, and you are not alone.

When someone tries to hurt the reader, Neville steps in and protects her like the true Gryffindor he is. 

Neville was your best friend in the whole world.

In third year you had asked Professor Sprout to use her greenhouse to cultivate a plant for your own needs. You had a knack for potions and although you couldn’t stand Snape’s constant droning in class, your passion for the subject was unmatched compared to any other of your studies. 

You had been trying to create a potion that would allow your pet cat, Socks, to levitate. Ever since you first picked her out in Diagon Alley during your first year she had longingly stared out the window in your dorm admiring the owls flying outside. 

Obtaining the magical ingredients was no trouble, Snape often let you come and take what you needed because you were his top student. However, to make it cat safe you needed muggle cat-nip, something Snape definitely did not have on hand. 

That’s what led you to the greenhouse on a cold and rainy April morning with your small pot and bag of seeds in hand. You didn’t expect anyone else to occupy the small plant house at 7:00 am on a Tuesday so you didn’t bother to knock. You let yourself in and were startled to see another student with his back towards you tending to some plant. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked out. Before you could react, the poor boy dropped the empty pot he was holding creating a large crash and shattering the clay everywhere. “Oh I-I-I am so-so sorry. I-I didn’t know anyone w-was here,” he said between frantic breaths as he was focused on trying to pick up the pieces. “Don’t apologize, I should have knocked. Let me help you.” you kindly offered. You bent down onto your knees to his level to help pick up the broken pieces. “Here,” you said handing him a rather large piece that was still intact. Neville looked up to grab the piece from your hand. He was so caught up by his own clumsiness that he didn’t get a proper look at you. He was taken back by your beauty, the way your hair perfectly framed your face, the subtle red tint to your nose and cheeks from the cold, and the way your eyes sparkled in the early morning light. Neville could barely get a sentence out when your hands met exchanging the Terra Cotta. “Uh..thanks,” he said quickly looking back down at the ground.

You stood up and dusted off the front of your skirt. “I’m y/n by the way. Sorry again for startling you,” “Don’t worry about it. Oh um I-I uh I’m Neville.” “It’s nice to meet you, Neville, Sprout is letting me use the greenhouse to grow a plant of mine for a potion. So it looks like we will be seeing more of each other,” you happily stated.

From that moment on you and Neville became the best of friends. Though if you were being completely honest, you longed for more. You had gone out with a couple of guys on small dates over the years and Neville even took Ginny to the Yule Ball but you never really clicked with someone like you did with Neville.

Now you were in your 5th year starting to think about life after Hogwarts. Laying with your head in Neville’s lap under a big tree near the black lake you two discussed your futures and what you think you would do after graduation. “Hey Nev?” you asked interrupting the comfortable silence between the two of you. “Yes y/n?” he responded setting down the book he had been reading. “What do you want to do after we’re done with school?” you asked him while staring up at his face from down below. “I dunno, maybe teaching. I’ve pretty much taught you everything you know about Herbology,” he responded with a chuckle. “Hey!” you gave him a playful smack “though I do suppose I wouldn’t have passed my last exam without you basically teaching me the last chapter.” 

“What about you?” the brown-haired boy asked while playing with the ends of your hair. “I think I want to continue my study of potions. I mean imagine developing a potion to finally reverse horrible diseases and terrible curses,” you replied subtly referencing what happened to his parents.

You were the only person Neville had told the story of his parents to. Ever since then you always made an effort to remind him of how proud his parents would be of him. He often doubted his abilities but you how brave and capable he was. You would trust him with your life.

“If anyone can brew those potions it’ll be you,” he said in a quieter tone. “Aww thanks, Nev, I know exactly who I’ll be getting my ingredients from,” you said with a smile. Nightfall was approaching so the two of you made your way back to the castle for dinner. The two of you were an unconventional duo to everyone else but to you, you were best friends and wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Later that night you closed your eyes to fall asleep but your mind began to drift. You began to think about Neville which isn’t uncommon seeing that you spend most of your time together but you were thinking about him in a different way. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him like this before but what’s even worse is that part of you wishes it was this way. You had noticed a bit of...tension between the two of you on occasion. Like the time you couldn’t reach the top shelf in the greenhouse so Neville came up directly behind you to get the watering can for you. Or when you grabbed Neville from the library to go and watch Fred and George’s newest prank unfold and you held his hand the whole way there. You so wished that something more could blossom between you two but the last thing you wanted to do was jeopardize your friendship. I mean having Neville as a friend is better than not having him at all. You knew you could spend hours thinking about this so you just decided to roll over and try to get some shut-eye.

A few days later you were supposed to meet Neville in your guy’s usual spot after lunch, in the greenhouse, but he didn’t show. You figured he probably forgot (something he does quite often but you secretly think is absolutely adorable) so you left to go and find him. After searching for a bit you went to check for him in his dorm. Before you knocked you could hear faint sniffling from the other side of the door. You gently knocked and called out “Neville? Is that you? Can I come in?” After a few seconds of quiet the door slowly opened to a teary Neville on the other side. You instantly dropped your bag and gave him the biggest bear hug you could. You broke the hug and asked “Neville what’s wrong?  What happened?” “y/n why am I a Gryffindor? I’m so pathetic I can’t even stand up for myself,” he said through his sniffles. “Neville you are far from pathetic. You are the bravest, and most kindhearted, and loyal person I know. That’s why you’re a Gryffindor. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.” you assured. It turns out that a few Slytherins sabotaged Neville’s potion in Snape’s class so it would explode everywhere. When Neville went to confront them he froze which caused everyone to laugh at him. You continued to hug him until he calmed down but you wished there was some way you could get Neville to believe in himself as you believe in him.

About a week later you found yourself sitting in the courtyard reading your transfiguration textbook for your test tomorrow. You were sitting on a small bench by yourself in a relatively secluded area of the outdoor space. You saw a figure approaching and looked up to see none other than McLaggen, someone who you often complained to Neville about on a regular basis. “So sweetheart, there’s a trip to Hogsmeade coming up and you look like you could use a date,” he said with a sickening smirk. “Bugger of Cormac,” you said as you began to collect your things. “Aww that’s no way to talk to me darling,” he said inching closer to you “you know I don’t like taking no for an answer.” Cormac McLaggen was just about the most disgusting guy at Hogwarts. He had asked out pretty much every girl in the school including yourself on multiple occasions. The answer was always a hard no but he couldn’t seem to get that through his thick skull. “I said I’m not interested now I have to get to class. Goodbye.” you hastily replied while trying to get as far away from the douchebag as you could. Before you could get very far he grabbed you and pinned you up against the stone hedge directly behind you. “What the fuck” you screamed as he began ripping open your uniform blouse and putting his hands on your chest and neck. You fought back as hard as you could but he was just too strong. 

What you didn’t see was Neville watching you from afar. He had been sitting with Dean and Seamus when he saw McLaggen make his way over to you. He knew that you would never stoop to that level but it did spark a kind of jealousy in him seeing another boy talk to you that way. When he saw him push you against the wall Neville reacted before he could think and sprinted over to you as fast as he could. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Cormac?” Neville yelled as he pulled the asshole off of his best friend. “Just showing her what a real Gryffindor is like since she seems to spend all her time with you, a pathetic excuse of a wizard,” said Cormac as he began to get closer to Neville who was standing directly in front of you as a shield. “Don’t you ever come near her again? You hear me?” Neville threatened without any hesitancy or fear in his voice. “Yeah right,” McLaggen scoffed as he advanced on Neville. However, before he could do any more damaged Neville punched him straight in the face causing Cormac to fall to the ground. 

By this time a small crowd was beginning to form. McGonagall broke through the mess of students “What in the world  is going on here?” She looked at the scene in front of her and quickly put together the pieces. “I see, students get to class, I’ll be taking Mr. McLaggen to Dumbledore. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Longbottom, I trust that you will make sure Miss y/l/n is alright. Please take her to Madam Pomfrey if she needs anything. Very well.” and she grabbed McLaggen by the arm and made her way back to the castle. 

The crowd had dispersed leaving just you and Neville. Neville realized that he hadn’t even checked in on you yet because he was so disoriented from everything that just happened. He quickly spun around to face you. Your mascara was completely smeared, you were sobbing, and your blouse was ripped open leaving your bra and chest exposed. “Can I- can I touch you?” Neville softly asked not wanting to make you uncomfortable in any way. Instead of using your words you just collapsed into Neville letting his arms wrap around you in an effort to keep all the pain and ugly things as far away from you as he could.

You don’t know how long you two stayed like that but Neville pulled away eventually and used his thumb to wipe off some of your smeared black eye makeup and tears. “Here,” he said while pulling off his burgundy Gryffindor sweater and putting it over your head. He saw that you were still exposed and didn’t want anyone seeing you like that. “Do you want to go to Madam Pomfrey?” he softly asked while rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. You shook your head no “can we just go sit by the lake. I don’t want to go back and deal with everyone yet.” “Of course,” he replied. 

Neville guided you over to the lake and you two rested under your favorite tree. There were no words exchanged between the two of you. Just comfortable silence and a telepathic-like connection that told you that everything was going to be alright. Neville rubbed soothing circles on your back as you lay your head on his lap. You don’t know how long you two stayed there but you soon realized that you must have fallen asleep because it was nearly dusk and you were in Neville’s arms walking back to the castle. 

He carried you back to your common room and up to your dorm. Neville layed you down on your bed and tucked you into the covers. He made his way to the door but stopped when he heard you call out his name. “Hey, Nev? Could you maybe stay? I just don’t want to be alone right now.” “Oh, uh sure,” he said making his way back to you. He didn’t want to make you feel bad for seeming hesitant because honestly, he would love nothing more than to stay with you. However, the last thing he would want to do is to make you uncomfortable or seem like he was taking advantage of you in your time of distress. Plus with his massive crush on you, he gets incredibly nervous any time something remotely intimate or romantic occurs between you two. But he swallowed his nerves and kicked off his shoes to be there for you when you need him most. He would do anything for you. He crawled under the covers and kept a substantial amount of space between you two though honestly, the school-issued dorm beds weren’t that big. 

You didn’t say a word but gently turned over so you were facing away from Neville. You scooted closer to him and in a moment of bravery grabbed his hand from the opposite side of the bed and pulled it over you so you two were cuddling. You let out a sigh of relief partly from Neville not pulling away and partly from finally finding some peace from the stress of the day. 

“Neville?” you called out. “Yes y/n,” he called back. “Thank you for keeping me safe.” and soon after those few words left your mouth in the still silence of the room, you were asleep.

Neville let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and bravely planted a kiss on the top of your head. Maybe he really was a Gryffindor after all.

[thewatermelloncat]

Safe Hands

Summary: Peter hasn’t been out on patrol in a while. Tony goes to find out why.

Author’s Note: A fanfic that I abandoned before I finished it, and found in a random folder. Quality might be inconsistent – had to rework some things.

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Huh’tchh’yih” Peter sneezes into a tissue and groans in disgust. He throws it away before quickly grabbing another one and sneezing twice more.

“Ow” he moans as pain spikes in his head. Why could he not win with this? Every time he stifled sneezes his brain wanted to explode but when he let them out it would sear his throat. Hence why he had been trying to hold them back for the last little while. Now he regrets that – them all starting to catch up with him.

He blows his nose and clears his throat, throwing the tissue away again.

In the distance he hears a collective of sirens switch on from the police station. He flops backward with a groan, lying on his bed feeling helpless that he can’t do anything to help. He turns his head towards his desk and gives his Spidey suit a distasteful look.

The moment doesn’t last long as he rolls into his shoulder “hih’iKEWhh!” His breath continues to hitch in preparation for a second sneeze but it quickly fades away. Sniffling, he pulls himself back up and reaches over to the tissue box next to his bed, grabbing a few before blowing his nose again.

It doesn’t matter that the tissue misses the trashcan - plenty of others had. He’d pick them up when he was healthy again. For now, he just focuses on tying his shoelaces so he can head to the store.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Walking through the empty living room, he wishes May were there, she would have gone instead of him in a heartbeat. But she isn’t so Peter had spent a good while procrastinating and trying to summon up the energy to get himself out of the apartment.

It would also be nice if he could wear his Spidey suit, the programmed heater would be amazing against the snow outside. But that isn’t going to work. Nevertheless, he carries on through the apartment complex down to the street level, hoping his neighbours will ignore that he looks like the embodiment of death.

As soon as he steps onto the sidewalk the cold air hits him like a shockwave, having him immediately lifting an arm to cough into when it reaches his already agitated lungs. A shiver runs down his spine and he huddles deeper into the jacket he is wearing, like he’s trying to disappear. As a last effort to keep warm he breathes through his hands for the next few steps, trying to acclimatise to the outside air on his way to the pharmacy across the block.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tony sits at his computer alone in the warm comfort of his office. He’d noticed Peter’s Spider suit remain out of action for a few days now, and rechecking the report feedback he sees that nothing has changed.

Up until now he hadn’t thought much about it. Winter break is in session, the kid is probably taking some time away from it, catching up on lost sleep, especially when it’s cold outside. But with the stats showing the suit not having been picked up in three days, he knows that’s a long time for Peter to neglect it.

With nothing better to do other than important emails, he decides to get to the bottom of it and call the kid. They were due for a check in anyway.

The ring goes through to answerphone which is no big surprise. It wasn’t unlike Peter to leave his phone to die. It’s no big deal either, Tony formulating an excuse to leave his office - the long hours have made it seem claustrophobic. He’d go see the kid face-to-face.

Without another though he pulls up the trackers onto his desktop screen, seeing two appear on the map. The suit locator still at Peter’s apartment and the tracker implanted in his web shooters moving down the block. He smiles to himself knowing that Peter rarely takes them off.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. transfer information to GPS” Tony commands, rising out of his chair.

“On it, boss” the A.I. replies as he makes his way down to the garage.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tony clicks his tongue in frustration as he tries to find a carpark in the busy street. He settles on one a street away from where the tracker has stopped, not able to find one closer. Turning off the ignition he glances at the tracker still seeing it close by.

Walking along the footpath Tony switches his gaze from the tracker app on his phone to the labels of the stores trying to figure out which one Peter could be in. After stopping at a driveway to let a passing car through he sees the tracker start to move again, going away from him.

Glancing back up his eyes scan through the crowds of people flocking the streets until he finds a familiar head of brown hair moving slower than the rest.

Tony only has to quicken his pace a fraction to catch up on ground in a matter of seconds. “Pete?” he calls out through the buzz of the crowd when he is a few paces behind him.

“Mr Stark?” Peter turns around confused. He’s so out of it he wouldn’t be surprised if he is imagining things.

“Hey, kid” he says putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, steering him off the footpath into the entrance to an alleyway out of the flow of foot traffic.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks turning around to face back to him. Well aware that Tony never really comes this side of town.

“I came to see you. I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh shoot” Peter mutters, patting down on his pockets suddenly realising he left his phone back at the apartment.

“Doesn’t matter” Tony dismisses before Peter can apologise profusely. “I just want to know what’s the dealio about you not going on patrol for the last little bit.”

Peter swallows nervously. Remembering Karen shutting down his suit a few days earlier when he was starting to get sick. Tony having installed program that made it unable to operate if Peter’s temperature got over 38°C.

Of course, he had argued with her but when she suggested that he could appeal the decision to Mr Stark or have him alerted of Peter’s state as a condition for going on patrol, either way involving him finding out Peter was sick, he knew he wouldn’t take the matter any further. Ever since then he had left the suit alone until he could get better.

“The suits not really working.”

“Like a virus?” Tony’s brow furrows. Unaware that there are viruses evolved enough to attack his tech.

“Something like that” Peter murmurs. More like he had one.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It takes Tony a few seconds to process but he eventually settles on the fact that Peter’s voice sounds decidedly off, “you sound stuffy.”

“It’s winter, Mr Stark. Everyone’s a little stuffy” Peter attempts to brush off before sniffing.

With Peter’s arms tightly folded and shoulders hunched, the billionaire isn’t buying it. “You got the sniffles?”

“Flu, actually.”

Tony doubletakes. “Well then what are you doing out here?” he speaks with his voice raising.

Not having the energy to be bothered talking Peter unfolds his arms and holds up the paper bag he’s been holding. Tony takes it from him and looks inside.

“You’re going to need something stronger than this for the flu.”

“I’m underage, I can’t buy anything stronger than this” Peter explains, suppressing a shiver.

“Why couldn’t your Aunt come out and get some? Is she sick too?” Tony inquires handing the bag back to him.

“She’s on a work course” Peter tells him, taking the bag back and folding his arms again.

“You’re home alone?”

Peter hums in response.

“Can’t have that” Tony states, “you’re coming back to HQ with me.”

Peter starts to shake his head but before he can say anything Tony cuts him off. “No disagreement. I can tell this flu’s getting you down. Your energy’s normally at an eleven, now it’s at a negative one.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Does your Aunt know?”

The silent car ride Peter had hoped for didn’t last longer than two minutes after they’d left his apartment for him to pick up his stuff.

“No.”

“You weren’t sick before she left?”

Peter tries to ignore Tony’s eyes staring back at him through the rear-view mirror. “You know how it is – they come on pretty fast.”

For a few moments the car is silent while Tony thinks it over. “You should tell her” he says eventually.

“No” Peter denies immediately, not caring about how abrupt it sounds before he continues. “She’ll want to come home from the conference. Then she’ll miss out on the promotion which she needs for the pay raise.”

“If you’re struggling for money” –

Peter cuts Tony off with a loud sigh, followed by a couple of irritated coughs. “See this is why I didn’t want to bring it up.”

Instead of pushing the matter further, Tony reads Peter’s exhausted and defeated expression – this isn’t a conversation he should be having. He’ll leave it alone for now. So in its place he settles for a change in topic, “we’ll be at HQ in ten.”

[the--highlanders]

1. “I need you.”

on ao3.

“Isn’t it funny.” Shifting to put her back against the arm of the sofa, Polly swung her legs up to plant them across Jamie’s lap. She prodded at him with one socked foot, and he huffed, holding out the bowl of who-knew-what so she could take a handful. It was a bit like popcorn, she had said, which might have been helpful if he had even the vaguest idea of what popcorn was. “That when I go home, if I wait long enough, this movie will come out. And I’ll already know what happens.”

“Mm.” Polly’s hand was reaching over to the bowl again, and Jamie shoved her aside idly to take a handful for himself. Glancing down at the green and blue and purple pebbles, he closed his palm around them rather than shoving them in his mouth straight away. They were good, Polly had said, but he had not yet mustered the courage to take a bite himself, even after half the movie. If Polly had noticed, he told himself bracingly, she would have been teasing him about it by now. “Ye could tell everyone what happens.”

Polly snorted. “As if they’d believe me.”

“They’d believe ye after they saw it, though.”

“I suppose.” The smile slowly faded from Polly’s face as she turned back to the screen, absorbing herself in the movie again. Jamie wrenched his gaze back towards it too, but somehow even the bright flashing lights of the spaceships and their blinking missiles couldn’t quite hold his attention. Maybe, he thought, it would be more exciting to someone in Polly’s time, who had not seen space battles unfold in reality. It was certainly much showier than most of the spaceship fights he had seen, but it was somehow all the sillier for it.

“What if,” Polly started again, “I wanted to watch the movie?”

“We are watchin’ it,” Jamie said, grinning. “Did ye forget?”

She swiped at him, almost knocking his handful of pebbles out of his tightly-closed fingers. “I know that,” she said. “I mean when I go home. It’ll be years before I can rewatch it.”

“Do ye like it all that much?”

“That’s not the point.” But she did not seem particularly keen to elaborate, sinking back into watching the screen. Somehow it had flicked over to a sort of duel with bright, colourful swords that thudded rather than clashed against each other, but he was even more distracted than he had been before, hardly able to tear his eyes away from Polly’s face.

“Ye keep talkin’ about – about when ye go home,” he said, so softly that his words were barely audible over the humming and bashing of the swords. “Like ye know you’re gonnae get there.”

“Well -” Polly tossed her head, flicking her hair out of her face. Her eyes were still fixed on the screen, but it seemed more pointed now, like she was reluctant to look at him. “Oh, I don’t know. I just keep holding out hope, I suppose.” A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Ben thinks I’m silly.”

Jamie frowned. “Does he?”

“For still thinking we might get home. He thinks – oh, I don’t know if I should be telling you this. Maybe he wouldn’t want you to know.”

“That wasnae really what I was askin’, anyway.”

“Oh.” At last, Polly tore her eyes away from the screen to face him, her cheeks dusted pink. “What were you talking about, then?”

“Och, I don’t know.” It had been so clear in his mind before, but now that he had to say it aloud, it was all melting away. Almost automatically, he shoved his handful of pebbles into his mouth, regretting it only when they hit his tongue. It would buy him time, at least – but he had been thinking of trying one first, just to see whether he liked them. They were sweet, he realised, but somehow just a little salty. Not bad at all. Maybe there had been nothing to be worried about.

And then the popping started. Tiny wee explosions, all over his mouth, ricocheting up into his brain. His eyes widened, and he wondered if he should spit the pebbles out into his hand – but suppose they started exploding in his hand, too? Or what if he swallowed them, and they kept fizzing away in his stomach forever? He couldn’t just let them sit there in his mouth, bouncing and crackling away - but what could he do?

His face must have been a sight, because Polly was laughing, taking another handful of pebbles from the bowl herself. “Enjoying them?” she asked, tossing a few into her mouth. All Jamie could do was boggle his eyes at her, and she laughed harder. “It’s alright, it goes away.”

He could only hope she was right. Clenching his fists against the fabric of the sofa, he swallowed the pebbles, wincing as he felt them slide down his throat. You were meant to wait for them to dissolve, he supposed, or else chew them up, though he had thought of neither of those things in his hurry to get rid of the popping feeling. Polly was still laughing, and he scowled at her – his second mistake. He should have known that would only make her laugh harder and longer.

It took several minutes for her to catch her breath enough to speak again. The movie had carried on to another sword fight, green smashing against red, and Jamie doubted either of them had any idea of what was going on. Wiping away tears, Polly wheezed out, “oh, I needed that.”

“Aye, well. Good.” She seemed happy enough, now. Should he really spoil it by carrying on asking questions? He could always have another handful of pebbles if she got too upset, he supposed. That seemed to have worked well enough. Glancing down at his palm, he saw that it was stained blue and green and purple from clutching at the things for so long. “I just mean – ye sound very sure that ye want tae leave.”

He had never dreamed that – well, that they would want to. Maybe it seemed obvious to them, but he had simply never thought about it.

Sure enough, Polly’s next words were, “don’t you?”

“No.” The word all but fell out of him of its own accord. It was so terribly obvious - or at least, he had thought it was. “I like it here.”

“But don’t you ever want to -” Leaning forward, she snatched up a pillow from behind her to clutch it against her chest. “Well, to go back?”

“No’ really, no.”

Polly’s baffled expression slowly turned to horror, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think – I don’t suppose you can go back, can you? After everything?”

If he was honest with himself, Jamie had hardly been thinking about – everything. Everything was a good way of putting it. “Och, no, I didnae mean that.” There was always a chance, he supposed, that his home would be nothing but a pile of cinders, if he went back there. And the place was bound to be crawling with redcoats, anyway. Still, without the Doctor, he would have had no choice but to take that chance. “I mean – I suppose I did, a wee bit. But even if it weren’t for – everythin’ – I dinnae think I’d want to.” Polly looked so much like he had grown an extra head that he was tempted to reach up to his shoulders and check. “I’m happy here.”

“You mean -” She was still looking like she could not entirely swallow it. Like he must be trying to play a joke on her. “You don’t think of going home at all?”

He shrugged. “No’ really. I mean, I miss it. But no’ like I’d want tae go back.”

Polly had talked about going home so often. And Ben, too. Just casually, but always with a sort of certainty. When I go home. When I get back. When I see them again. And every time, he had thought they were joking, or at least exaggerating. Silly of him, really.

“Ye really meant it, then,” he said. “When ye were talkin’ about the movie. Ye really think ye might see it in your own time, someday.”

“I -” Polly looked less certain now, picking at a loose thread on the edge of the cushion. Her head was bent so far down that her fringe fell over her eyes, but Jamie could just barely see her lips pursed in thought. “I don’t know, really. I mean, it’s not like we ever know where we’re going to land. We might never get back to Earth again, let alone somewhere remotely close to nineteen sixty-six. But I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that believes we’ll get back.”

“Oh.” He had expected to feel – something. Crushed, maybe. Heartbroken, even. But he just felt a terrible emptiness, the horror of not quite believing something wasn’t a dream. It had to be. Polly and Ben missed their home, of course they did. That wasn’t news to him. But he had known… or assumed, really, that travelling with the Doctor more than made up for it, as it did for him. “I need ye,” he said quietly, not quite knowing whether or not he wanted Polly to hear him. “An’ Ben. I need ye both. I don’t know what I’d do without ye.”

“You have the Doctor,” Polly said, just as quietly. Their voices were all but drowned out by the movie, but neither of them were really paying attention to it anymore, the sound fading away into the background. The heavy thing between them had dulled it down well enough. “And you’re more than capable of looking after yourself.”

Jamie scoffed at that. “I want ye, then. I want ye both here. ‘Cause if ye leave – there’s no knowin’ if we’ll ever see each other again. An’ I don’t want that.”

“You could always -” Polly paused. “Stay with us. If we left. You’d be welcome.”

Don’t make me choose between you and the Doctor, Jamie wanted to say. I can’t do that. But he could do that, more easily than he cared to admit. He loved Ben and Polly dearly, of course he did, how could he not – but he knew where he would stay, if push came to shove. And it was not with them. “We dinnae know if it’s going tae happen,” was all he said in the end. “Like ye said. We don’t know where we’re going tae land.” It might never happen. They might carry on just as they had been, perfectly happily, and he could pretend this conversation had just been a dream, an idle fantasy. It was all he could hope.

But was it selfish to hope, when Polly’s smile had so quickly turned small and sad? Was it selfish to want to keep the four of them together, when Ben and Polly wanted to go home?

“Oh, I suppose you're right,” Polly said softly, more to herself than to him. “It might never happen.”

[callemreine]

It hurts a little bit too much

'It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!'

Au August

Day/Prompt: Day 2 - Acting

Ship: Prinxiety, brief platonic moxiety

Word count: 1780

Cw: swearing / yelling (I'm sorry) / self-deprecation / crying / La la Land spoilers? (some people haven't watched it)

A/N: This is solely based on La La Land but I changed a few things that may change the direction of the story than what was actually in the film and this is my first time writing something angsty so forgive me angst gods </3 Also, Roman wants to be a Broadway actor but signed as a pop band singer instead. Virgil is still like Mia but not as headstrong

@tsshipmonth2020

Virgil has been with Roman for quite a while now. Roman has recently signed a contract for a pop band with his old friend, Janus, despite their doubt about the guy. Virgil wasn’t exactly pleased with what he witnessed when he was invited to one of his partner’s concerts. With the single confused tear left on the venue floor, Virgil has been worried since then about what Roman has gotten himself into.

~*~*~

Virgil was returning home after his dinner out with his friend, Patton; the only person keeping him stable since Roman left for… Boston? Maybe Dallas? He stopped keeping track a while ago.

When he reached the porch of their apartment, he hears the faint instrumental of ‘Only Us’ playing inside. He continues inside to see his partner setting up the table, his back facing him. “Roman?” The man suddenly drops the pot he’s holding on the table and turns to him. Roman let out a sigh of relief before flashing a small endearing smile to Virgil. “Surprise?” The taller man says in a small breathy voice, almost a whisper. “I have to leave in the morning but, I just had to see you,” he continues.

Virgil freezes for a moment before rushing to Roman, dropping everything he’s carrying, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck to kiss him. Roman wraps his arms around Virgil’s waist to keep them steady.

~*~*~

“I’m so glad to be home,” The taller man says with a smile. “Stay,” Virgil replies with a hopeful look; only to be returned with the same look from the other.

The pair are now seated at the dining table across from each other, instrumental music playing in the background.

“How’s your play? Hope you’re not too nervous,” Roman breathes out as he notices the other’s mood shift as he mentions the play. “You know me. I’m nervous about everything,” Virgil jokes with a chuckle. “Plus, what if people show up? I’m gonna perform in front of them. They’ll think I’m terrible,”

“Fuck ‘em” They laugh a little before Roman continues, ”They should be lucky to see it. It’s gonna be incredible. YOU’RE gonna be incredible. I can’t wait.” Virgil looks down on his food with a sad smile.

“I have to leave early tomorrow,” As much as Roman thinks that the statement sounds wrong when it left his lips, he doesn’t want Virgil to worry. “Boise, right?” Virgil inquires still looking at his food. Roman hums in agreement and continues, “You should come,”

“Wish I could. I still have to rehearse cuz’, we’re not all gifted in acting like a certain prince-like man I know,” Virgil teases with a smile. Roman chuckles, “Well, if you wanted me to help you, you could’ve just said so, darling,”

“I guess it’ll have to wait until you’re done with the tour,” Virgil replies with a forced smile. Roman’s face falls. “When are you done?” Virgil continues. “Uhm. Well, we’re only touring so we can make the record. After we’re done, we’re gonna record then, we go back to tour that record…” He trails off.

Virgil processes this information and decides to just let his brain talk. His heart is too soft for this conversation but, it can’t continue hurting for months. Or years.

“Do you like it?” Roman was caught off guard with the question and was confused with what Virgil meant. “The music, the band, the tour, singing on stage. Do you like it?” Virgil clarifies.

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t know how it matters,” Roman doesn’t like where this is going. All this time. All this touring. He thought it was what Virgil wanted him to do. Roman looks Virgil in the eyes, “Do you like the music?”

“I do. I just didn’t think you did…” The pair fell in uncomfortable silence, letting Virgil’s last statement linger between them.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted me to do this. This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Roman is deep into confusion at this point. He’s been in this band for a while, he just wants to know why Virgil hasn’t anything before he signed on the dotted line that would seal his life.

Virgil sighed, “I just wanted to know where you’re theatre is gonna fit into all of this.” He said in such a small voice that, Roman wanted to just sweep Virgil off his feet to make everything better again. “There’s a reason why there are no theatres here because no one is like me. No one likes musicals here. Not even you,” Roman explained.

Virgil can’t take how pathetic Roman thinks of this entire situation. Yes, it’s Virgil that usually overthinks these things and, it’s not entirely impossible for Roman to as well but, this is just pure non-sense to Virgil. “I do like them now, because of you!” He blurted out with a slightly raised voice.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Wait for you to be successful only for me to build something no one likes? It- It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!” Roman exclaimed, determined for Virgil to understand his point of view, not bothering to look at the other.

“Since when did you care about being liked? Why do you care so much about being liked-”

“You’re not an actor! How would you know?!” Roman immediately regrets his statement, knowing he doesn’t mean it. To him, Virgil is the greatest actor he has ever seen and, nothing would ever change that. He glances at Virgil and, sees the destruction his statement has caused slowly unfolding.

“No. No- I- I didn’t mean that, Virgil. I’m sorry. I promise it’s not true-” he tried to reverse his mistake but, to Virgil, the destruction has always been always there, this was just what he needed for everything to fall apart.

“Maybe you just liked me because I made you feel like a better actor,” Virgil stated blandly in a matter-of-fact manner. Roman knew that he was never better than Virgil, as an actor or not. He was heartbroken to hear that his partner thinks that he was just being used. His statement earlier was just a slip-up but this… What Virgil’s feeling is all his fault.

“Are you kidding?” Roman can’t bear to lose someone that he loves so much. Tears well up in his eyes, tempting to let them fall.

“No,” Virgil calmly replied, keeping a stern face.

Both of them, heartbroken, stared at each other, not letting go of what’s left between them.

But before any of them could say anything, Roman’s phone, which he left in the kitchen, rang. His ringtone echoing through the apartment. Roman sighs at the sound but doesn’t stand up. However, Virgil does and eyes for the door. Roman stays frozen for a moment before going after Virgil.

“Virgil, wait-” before he could continue, Virgil had already slammed the door.

~*~*~

You guys can use your imagination to fill in what happens after the argument up to before the next part.

But, if you haven’t watched La La Land, basically, Virgil did the one-man play and Roman didn’t show up and only a few people show up then, he goes back home to his parents in a different state, leaving everything behind. I think that’s all you need to know??

~*~*~

It’s been a few weeks since Virgil came home to his parents. He was devastated to see his old stuff and how hopeful he was to become an actor. Yet, he can’t bring himself to take it all down.

Virgil had abandoned his phone and his laptop to the very back of his closet and sticks to using his mp3 in the meantime. He has been needing some time to rethink his life decisions before facing the real world again. Leaving Roman to pick up whatever he left in Los Angeles.

He was finally enjoying peace and quiet for the first time in a while, until…

HHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

~*~*~

“The fuck are you doing here?!” Virgil whisper-yelled as he walked towards the man, wondering what’s so important that Roman had to follow him all the way to another state.

“Thomas Sanders. The casting director. He was at your play-” Roman began. Just at the mention of the name, Virgil had become more troubled but hopeful at the same time.

“And he loved it so much, he wants you to audition for this HUGE-” Roman stated as he slammed his hand on his car for emphasis, startling Virgil a little. ”-huge movie that he’s got,” He continued with visible excitement.

Virgil shook his head with a little chuckle before running his hand over his mouth, “I- I can’t- I’m not going to that- That.. will kill me,” he continues to shake his head.

“WHAT?!” Roman exclaims, startling Virgil again. “What?! Shh shh! You have to be quiet cuz’ if my neighbors don’t call the police on you, I will,” He attempts to calm Roman down. “No. You have to make sense. You can’t stay here and be miserable for the rest of your life. You need to be reasonable here,” Roman persists.

“Because it’s just another goddamn audition!” Virgil explodes with all the hurt and anger he’s gathered through the years of auditioning for shows. “I’ve been to hundreds of auditions and it’s just the same thing over and over again! I’m sick of it! Yeah, sure, I get callbacks but, where does it end? Another fucking rejection! All of those countless hours of waiting for the phone to ring. Be- because maybe I’m not good enough,” Virgil pauses.

“I’ve been wanting this for years. And, now... Now that I don’t want it anymore. Now that I gave up on it. Another one fucking presents itself to what? Another rejection? I’m- I’m not giving myself another heartbreak, Roman. It hurts a little bit too much,” Virgil admits, already crying. It hurts Roman to see Virgil this way. He’s seen Virgil become so passionate about his play, he needs to let him see that this is not ‘just another audition,’ it’s the reward his hard work is all for. He needs to know.

“You’re a baby,” Roman bluntly states. “Maybe I am,” He couldn’t continue arguing anymore. “But, you said it’s time to grow up. And, I’m doing that so, why won’t you help me?” Virgil continues.

“You have an audition at 5:30. I’ll pick you up at 8,” as much as Roman wants Virgil to grab this chance, he can’t force him to if he doesn’t really want to. He loves him too much for that. At least he tried. “You’ll be out front or not. I don’t know,” Roman continues as he gets in his car and drives off, leaving Virgil standing in the middle of the road, staring at the library in front of him. The library that once helped him set his path to acting.

~*~*~

Perhaps Virgil was out front at 7:30 and got accepted in the audition.

Perhaps he wasn’t.

Told ya I'm not good at angst ;-;

[dragonheart-swtor]

To Let Traitors Live

Summary: Quinn makes a bad mistake and gets kicked around like a football for it, which is remarkably merciful as far as Zavi's punishments go. It's the Quinncident, y'all know how this goes by now. Obvious spoiler warning for Chapter 3 of the Sith Warrior storyline is obvious.

Tags: Torture, choking/Force-choking, Force lightning, Zavi’s bad habit of viewing people as Sith property, canon-typical violence, I don’t think this is graphic violence but I’m not totally sure, read at your own discretion, Zavi does get shot but not badly, Quinn gets kicked around like a football but he’s okay in the long run

Find me on AO3 at Dragonheart37!

-----

Zavi paused as prickles ran up the back of xir neck, an old danger-warning xe was well familiar with. Xe scanned the room, but found nothing obvious to cause it – no people, no droids, not so much as a blinking light that might indicate an explosive. The only other moving thing in the room was Captain Quinn – who, speaking of, hadn't stopped when Zavi had. He'd kept moving further into the room, steps brisk with purpose.

Before xe could do more than raise an eyebrow ridge at this, he stopped and folded his hands behind his back, still facing away from xir. “My lord. I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate.”

Zavi narrowed xir eyes. “I don't like the sound of that.”

“Your senses always have been keen.” Quinn turned to face xir, face impassive and hard despite the cold, tense dread and anticipation radiating from him that he couldn't hide. “It pains me, but – this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law, and no signal emitter.” The lines around his mouth deepened, and Zavi knew what he would say next before it crossed his lips. “Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed.”

Zavi thought about unclipping xir lightsaber from xir belt, but left it there for the moment – the warning prickle at the back of xir neck was still quiet, not yet imminent, and Captain Quinn was a threat xe could handle. “You would betray me now, after all this?” xe asked, low and dangerous. “I have protected you, Captain. I helped you eliminate Moff Broysc. You owe me.”

“You've helped me immensely,” he agreed. “I act today with a heavy heart.” Scripted tripe. “But without Baras, I'd have no career. I owe you, my lord, but I owe him more.” He turned to pace away, not a threat but an inability to keep still released in carefully measured steps. “I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But Baras has forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join Baras with me, or be killed.”

Zavi curled xir lip with distaste. “You know who I'm working for now, Captain. If you stand with Baras, you stand against the Emperor himself.”

“The Emperor is an absentee landlord,” Quinn snapped. “Baras is doing what any true patriot would do.” He unfolded his hands from behind him, revealing something in his hand – the warning prickle along Zavi's neck grew in intensity, and xe reached for xir lightsaber as he pressed the button. The door behind him slid open as he spoke, revealing two heavy war droids – specialty models Zavi didn't recognize, lurching forward to stand on either side of Quinn. “After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses,” he continued. “These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure.”

Zavi laughed aloud at that, crimson lightsaber snapping into existence with a vicious hiss. “After all this time observing me, you should know better,” xe sneered. “But then, your confidence in the odds always has been your biggest weakness. You should know by now that the Sith are beyond your petty calculations.”

“If anything, I am underestimating my droids' chances,” Quinn said evenly, though xe tasted fear in the Force. “But I suppose we shall see. You'll find they are virtually immune to you.” He pursed his lips. “I'm sorry it's come to this, my lord.”

Xe barked another laugh, far less amused this time. “Don't waste your breaths on apologizing. You have so few left.”

And the droids opened fire.

The first shots were far too late – xe was gone well before they blasted a smoking crater into the durasteel where xe'd been standing, leaping in an arc up over their heads. They turned to track xir in the full arc, not restricted in vertical movement like most droids, and xe was forced to dodge again, rolling to the side as they fired again. Xe slashed at the nearest one's leg, but xir saber ricocheted off – in the shock of that, xe was slow to dodge the next volley, and heat blazed past xir arm, painfully hot through xir armor.

Zavi hissed, launching xirself again. This time, xir saber carved an arc across the body of the droid as xe passed it in the air to land on the other side – but the damage was superficial, a glowing mark across the reinforced exoskeleton. Cortosis, or something similar – Baras had spared no expense, and neither had Quinn.

Quinn. The skin of xir back went ice cold as if cued by remembering him, and xe rolled forward as a shot darted overhead – not one of the droids, but a blaster pistol. Bastard. Zavi snarled, forced to parry a shot from one of the droids – the force required pulled a guttural noise of rage from xir, and immediately pain seared across xir belly as another blaster shot rang out – glancing, through Zavi's armor, but burning pain nonetheless.

Zavi darted under one of the droids, narrowly avoiding being stabbed by one of its legs, thoughts racing. Quinn had indeed done a good job, as always – the usual weak points on a war droid were reinforced on these, enough to withstand a lightsaber blow, and their shots were both fast and powerful. Already the walls and floor were seeping smoke from pitted wounds where the droids' blasts had punctured the thick durasteel. Even the near miss Zavi had already taken was screaming pain from the heat through xir own armor. One solid hit, one mistake, and this would be over.

Wait.

Xe backed up, watching the droids track xir movements, then launched xirself again before they could be ready to fire, directly at the body of one this time. Instead of attacking and leaping away again, xe clung to it like a burr, too close for it to do more than spin uselessly as it tried to target xir.

The other one, however, had no trouble finding its target. A split-second whine as it prepared to fire, and xe tensed, preparing to leap away again -

A blaster shot, and pain exploded in xir thigh. Xe screamed, in shock as much as pain, and stumbled as xe flung xirself away from the droid just in time, stumbling on the wounded leg as xe hit the floor. The droid xe'd been riding refocused on xir just in time for its fellow's shot to hit it full on with a scream of metal, rending it where Zavi's lightsaber had weakened a seam in the metal. The droid staggered, and for a terrifying moment xe thought it might right itself – but then it toppled, half its legs kicking frantically as the other half collapsed beneath it.

Zavi dared to spare a glance for Quinn, blaster still pointed at xir, and let out a screaming roar, fueled by hatred and rage and pain and accompanied by a blast of Force that knocked him clean off his feet and sent his weapon skittering across the floor. Xe had no further time to spare for him; the second droid was firing again and xe had to roll away, shouting to vent the pain without slowing down. Xe circled the droid, managing not to limp too much, and in a moment of desperate fury gathered the Force to xir and shoved.

It didn't knock the droid over – it was even heavier than it looked – but it did make the next volley go wide, and gave Zavi an idea. Gritting xir teeth against the wrenching agony in xir thigh, xe ran forward, ducking and rolling to slide underneath the droid again – and this time stabbing xir lightsaber straight up overhead, with as much force and Force as xe could muster behind it.

The droid shrieked and threw off sparks, making Zavi shield xir face with an arm as xe scrambled out from beneath the thing, not trusting xir ability to hold it up off xir as it fell. Xe slashed at the gun barrel and took it off for good measure, but the droid was already dead, computer core pierced and destroyed.

When xe was sure it wasn't going to get up again and have another go at xir, xe turned to Quinn.

He'd gotten up and was going for his blaster. Zavi yanked it to xir and flung it to the side; it hit the wall so hard it burst into pieces of metal and sparks. Quinn stared at Zavi with wide, frightened eyes – his fear was palpable in the Force between them, and it did nothing to stem xir pain or xir anger.

He swallowed hard. “I don't – I don't understand,” he stammered. “What went wrong? I calculated precisely, you – you should be dead.”

Zavi took one step forward. Quinn took one back. “You are a fool,” xe hissed. “All your observations, all your calculations, and yet you still don't understand.” Xe took another step forward, and this time he held his ground, apparently realizing there was nowhere to go. “It is useless to defy me.”

The fear staining the Force black only grew as Zavi drew slowly nearer, and yet Quinn managed still to keep it from making his voice shake – he always had been good at that; xe should have realized sooner it would have made him good at deception. He sank to his knees. “My lord,” he started.

Zavi bared xir teeth in a warning. “I do hope you're not thinking of debasing yourself even further by begging for mercy.”

He shook his head. “I have betrayed you,” he said, lowering his head. “Conspired with your most hated enemy. I – I don't expect your mercy.”

Zavi closed the Force around his throat, lifting him off his knees as he grasped instinctively at the choking force. “That,” xe hissed, “is the first intelligent thing you've said today.”

Xe threw him backward with enough force that he slammed against the back wall, knocking the breath out of him with a choked noise before he slid to the floor. Xe stalked toward him, closing the distance at an almost leisurely pace, in no rush now that there was no further threat. No, mercy was not a word xe found in xir vocabulary today – xir wounds burned as xe moved, and the pain only fueled xir anger further. The droids had been some challenge, but droids weren’t satisfying prey – droids didn’t feel pain or fear, didn’t feed Zavi’s bloodthirst, much less sate it.

Quinn got up to one knee before Zavi lashed out again, snatching and flinging him with the Force in one movement, sending him tumbling across the floor. His ribs, already bruised from the first impact, threw out pangs of pain as they cracked under the blow, and Zavi drew them to xirself, reveling in it. Xe coiled Force around his throat and squeezed, lifting him off the floor – his stifled fear cracked and bled panic, an instinctive terror too deep to suppress. He clutched at his throat, legs kicking instinctively – xe bared xir teeth in something between a smile and a snarl at the panic and fear staining the Force around them. He would fight back, betray his lord? Then xe would remind him why the Sith reigned rightfully supreme.

It was only when his movements started to grow more feeble and the light of his consciousness started to flicker that xe dropped him again. He crumpled, coughing and gasping, and Zavi circled him at a distance, hissing fury between xir teeth until Quinn finally recovered enough to hear xir properly.

“Did you think me an idiot?” Zavi asked. “Did you think you were stronger than a Sith lord?”

Quinn opened his mouth as if to answer, and xe snarled, throwing out xir hands toward him. Rage and hatred boiled under xir skin, lit paths of fire down xir nerves and exploded from xir fingers in brilliant crimson light that arced to his body and killed whatever he was going to say before it could leave his lips, twisting it into a pained cry as his body convulsed. Xe swallowed his pain and demanded more, held the lightning until xir arms shook.

“Did you think,” xe hissed, “that you could defeat me?”

Xe let the lightning subside and Quinn slumped to the floor, body shuddering and twitching from the aftereffects as he lay prone. Zavi stalked around him again, restrained fury driving xir to restless pacing, as he struggled to bring his limbs underneath him again and push himself slowly up to hands and knees.

Xir boot came down on the back of his neck, forcing him back down with his cheek pressed against the floor. Xe curled xir lip at him as he struggled for breath. “I don't recall giving you permission to get up.”

His chest heaved, pulse racing under the press of the hard leather – xe couldn't feel it through the war boots, of course, but the Force was as attentive as always – but he didn't try to move again. Zavi watched him gasp for air for a moment, supply limited but not choked off completely by the pressure from xir boot on his neck, and took a few deep breaths xirself to reorder xir thoughts.

The urge to wring his life from his miserable body was undeniably strong, the Force singing for blood still – but Zavi was the master of xir emotions, not the other way around, and logic made xir hesitate to rend him limb from limb just yet. Much as xe would have liked to crush his bones and bleed him dry, to make him suffer for this betrayal, something gave xir pause as xe looked down at him, helpless at xir feet.

“You make a unique problem, Captain,” xe admitted, watching his face as he silently fought for breath. “Up to this point, you have been exceptionally useful to me. It would be a shame to lose you now, when my fight is coming to its peak. But to allow a traitor to live?” Xe clucked xir tongue. “It simply isn't done. Nor am I personally inclined to ideals so impotent as forgiveness.”

Xe released him, turning away as xe spoke. “On the other hand, you may yet be useful to me. And to face my dear master with the very soldier he tried to use against me at my side...” Xir lips curled in a twisted smile at the thought. “It does ring of poetic justice, doesn't it? After all, what is his shall belong to me by rights soon enough. Why not make a point of starting early?”

Zavi turned back to Quinn, examining him. He hadn't tried to get up this time, not even to hands and knees – had simply shifted himself enough to turn the awkwardly pinned posture into true prostration, kneeling with his forehead pressed to the floor, palms flat beside his head. He didn't try to answer, either, apparently realizing it was a rhetorical question. He always had known when to shut up and quietly put himself at xir mercy like a good Imperial.

“No, I don't think Baras would like that at all,” xe mused. “What disrespect, to allow his would-be assassin to live.” Xe smiled coldly down at Quinn. “What outrage, to make his most useful toy mine.” Xe tilted xir head. “And what do you think, Captain? You've always been so delightfully adherent to tradition and custom. What do you make of my new dilemma?”

He hesitated. “Darth Baras would never forgive such a failure, my lord,” he said slowly, not daring to look up at xir. “Most Sith would not. But... your assessment of his reactions is likely accurate. It would make a point.”

Zavi smiled again, mirthless this time. “Not even going to try to convince me to spare you?”

“You asked for my honest assessment, not to be convinced, my lord. I didn't think it would be appreciated.”

“I do appreciate an Imperial who knows not to overstep his bounds.” Xe considered him for a moment. “Sit up, then, and say what you will in your defense.”

Quinn sat up to his knees, raising his head. “My lord, I... if you will permit me to stay in your charge, my dedication to you will never come into question again. I swear it.”

“Pretty words, but I've heard them from your lips before. It didn't prevent this betrayal.”

He swallowed. “I will do my utmost to make up for it, my lord. I know I don't deserve your mercy, but should you choose to grant it, you will have my service for life. You will never find a more faithful servant. The loyalty that forced my hand today belongs to you now.” He bowed his head again in deference. “My life is in your hands, my lord – as it always was; I see that now. I was a fool to ever stand against you.”

Zavi reached toward his mind and pushed, brushing aside what little resistance his disciplined mind afforded him with barely an effort – he wasn't trying to stop xir from looking. His words rang true; even as his mind was tense with fear, there was clawing regret and deep devotion there that xe had felt from him before. This time Zavi went looking for its source, and found only xirself as xe existed in his mind – a burning god of crimson and gold, power and glory demanding the awe and fear of those beneath xir. Quite the flattering image. He was aware of xir flaws – had used them against xir today – but they were overwhelmed by xir virtues in his mind, which was just as well.

And Baras – Baras had been banished to a shadow in his mind, surrounded by fear and dread, but connected to that undercurrent of loyalty only by the thinnest remaining strands. For a moment, Zavi was tempted to snap them xirself – but xe had never been good at manipulating minds, and to break him now with unintended consequences of an apparently small change would be an utter waste.

So instead xe withdrew, satisfied with what xe had seen, and said coldly, “I will keep you alive today, Captain, and we shall see if you can regain my trust. But,” xe continued, holding up a finger to stop him from responding as he looked up, eyes wide. “Your life is now on a timer, Malavai Quinn. I cannot afford to replace you at this moment, but when Baras dies, I will have time on my hands to re-address this again.” Xe narrowed xir eyes at him. “You have a silver tongue, Captain, but it will not save you forever. You had best hope you can prove yourself both loyal and useful to me by the day your timer runs out. And if I ever think you will betray me again...”

“I understand, my lord,” he said, bowing his head to xir. “I am most grateful for the chance to redeem myself. I will not repeat my mistakes, I swear it.”

“We shall see.” Xe flicked xir fingers at him, clipping xir lightsaber back onto xir belt. “Get up. We're going back to the ship.”

He obeyed, moving to fall in beside and behind Zavi – xe stopped him with an outstretched hand and a cold stare. He flushed with embarrassment but reluctantly turned to walk in front of xir, more a prisoner than a companion now as they returned. At least with him in front of xir, not watching, Zavi could allow xirself to favor xir leg a little more, still trying to bleed the pain into the Force and ignore it. It wouldn’t cripple xir - if it were going to, it would have already - but it was painful.

What a bother. And now xe had to sort out how to inform the crew without causing anarchy. Pierce would try to undermine Quinn immediately, and perhaps xe would even let him for once. Vette would be hopelessly obnoxious about it. Most problematic, they would no longer trust him - they would be uneasy every time Zavi took advice from him, and that could undermine xir authority.

Xe resisted the urge to sigh. This is why Sith don’t let traitors live.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

capella and rigel

au where you don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. they come to you one at a time the longer you’re together.

word count: 2,530

a.n.: you guys are BREAKING MY HEART you’ve been so sweet and receptive with the last one ( sing to me ) im such a mess ( ´༎ຶv༎ຶ`) i SEE YOU i WILL kiss you i am not playing. anyway!! im posting these soulmate works in an order backwards from which i started - which is funny, because that way it goes from least angstish to most. 

here are the others!

Shinso

Sero

Bakugou

ao3

When the blue exploded, you weren’t ready for your world to change with a rushing suddenness. You were blindsided with the odd experience of a first time that felt like memory.

First off, you didn’t know how you knew blue would be it, but you did.

When someone told you that’s what color that sweater you liked to wear all the time was, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color some of your favorite fruits were, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color the sky was, you just knew.

When someone told you that’s what color the ocean was—because it reflected the sky—you cried because you just knew.

There was something revelatory of such a relationship—the rhapsodic truth that two forces of nature could be reflections of the other, even with completely opposing standpoints.

In your greyscale vacuum, you were none the wiser to a life that could promise that yet. From a young age, you hoped and prayed for that day to come, until it became a hapless strain of static that took a backseat to growing up.

In general, you hadn’t known what to expect; you imagined that cats were probably the color of sprinkles on ice cream, trees were balloons floating in the air, and pavements were the color of spring. When you looked up to the night, you thought that stars might be like lighting a candle. You thought that might mean yellow.

And even when it was so dark, you hoped the sky would still be blue.

It tore through every crevice of your vision, crowding your sight and singeing your senses.

Blue wasn’t supposed to come to you in a maelstrom on a previously peaceful Sunday morning. It wasn’t supposed to burn through the pages of one of your favorite books, or weld your utensils together.

It was supposed to bump into you on a tramline station, at a park, in a crowd, and then apologise quickly; it was supposed to be in widening eyes and stuttering breaths that gave you a name you’d knew like an old friend you had yet to meet.

It wasn’t supposed to be in so much pain.

It wasn’t supposed to cause any of it, either.

You’re on your back, starry eyed and afraid all at once, suffering the memory of your first time seeing color. It’s burning you, you realize, and the tears evaporate before they touch skin.

Blue fire is attention grabbing—it’s blue, you know it is—and watching it move like you imagined blue waves would was mesmerizing. It soaked the ground with scorch marks, scarring bedlam and terror into the earth.

Your eyes blown wide catch every moment, frozen in blue.

Though, as more of the hue crops up in all different directions, your eyes are suddenly the only part of you that can’t sit still. If the fire does anything else better than burn, it’s cast light—as it throws your vision farther than usual.

You don’t miss a single detail.

The sea of people around you scatter in fear— there’s chaos but you just can’t move—and you’re anchored to the ground like roots of a tree that didn’t get to choose its growing place. You’re trapped somewhere off centre in a spiraling vortex of entropy simultaneously inhaling and granting your newfound freedom.

Across the street in spots on a mailbox, the smallest pieces detailed the metal in cool colored rivets; in the scorching bed along the stone wall cafe lay crisped, blue calla lilies; the delicate hue accented in little flora shaded your spilled and shattered tea glass.

With the proximity of unimaginable heat, noise, and overall calamity shuffling so quickly around you, you felt encased in time. An hourglass tipped in your throat and the scalding sands ran through your veins. The inferno raged on until you noticed your place in it. It spun in a tempest around you and everything melted away.

Your vision shifts and you find the catalyst to be a tall, dark, and lanky shadow of a man. He contrasted the unyielding light—that he was producing, you agnised—to an almost sardonic degree. He held his hands in his pockets and shoulders in a slouch that said all of this was of no consequence, concern, or effort to him. He looked bored.

That is, until he saw you, too.

Freezing blue eyes glistened back at you in a cacophony of emotions.

There’s comprehension, apprehension, indignation—you try to settle on one, though absolutely fruitless with a whirlpool of your own at your feet.

You tried to speak your disbelief, a sense of joy, a simple admission to life, but your voice died on your tongue. The fumes coiled at your throat, still you held your ground. It was all you could do in your dormancy, and it was all you were going to do on the precipice of eruption.

It was like watching someone conduct a hurricane, what he did next.

His hands hummed an unknown melody to the flames, and you watched and waited and listened to the music that poured out if him—quickly becoming a little more afraid at the prospect of becoming an unwittingly unwilling participant from the audience.

However, the coiling and dissipation of the blue told you that this was the grand finale, and in a voiceless and motionless dance, he swayed out of sight under the haze of blue hellfire—so searing it was cold to the touch.

•.•.•.

When the heroes arrived, the police whisked you away to take your statement and check for injuries. It was like talking—and mostly listening—through a thick pane of glass, though. You said very little, and perceived even less.

What were you going to do? Include in your witness report that the perpetrator was your soulmate? That fact alone changed everything, and you knew that if you were to speak up about it now, the authorities would take you in. You weren’t about to be used as an asset when you had barely any time to process the truth yourself.

Everything was running smoothly, until the heroes came around to check on the injured. An expressionless man with two-toned hair and a nasty scar over his eye stepped before you, an ‘Are you alright?’ soft on his lips, contrasting the sternness in his features.

You took one look at the color of his left eye and fainted against the ambulance doors.

•.•.•.

Waking in a sweating bundle on your bedcovers was not a good way to end the day. It skewed your sense of reality, and you had to wrestle away the idea that the whole thing might have been a dream. The headache didn’t help, but it was proof you know what you saw. And what you were currently seeing.

A lot of everything else was still in greyscale, but your eyes weren’t lying to you as you took in your room. Blue comic books, pens, decals, posters, pictures; the laundry overflowed your basket, spilling in a pile of blue onto your carpet.

Blue eyes in the corner of your room.

“What did you see?” you whispered. He’s there like the shade of gossamer window curtains, a figureless concept of existence, and yet you speak knowing he’s suddenly the most solid thing there.

“You.”

You inhaled sharply, barely a pinprick to the weight in the room.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not a color.”

“You were the brightest thing there. Might as well have been.”

“Impossible,” you laughed, waving your hand absently to dismiss your incredulity. “You set everything on fire.”

“Makes no difference,” he affirmed in a tone that sounded rich, drawled, and deep like molasses and a smoky room. There was silence as his voice drizzled along your skin, a safe distance in the uncertainty. It doesn’t break, even when you speak the opposite of what you should be uncertain about.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yet here I am.”

There’s a flutter by your open window, and you unfold yourself from your stagnant place on your bed. Without argument, you wisp to its side, facing the world like it was unchanged.

His presence is permeable next to you, yet you were sure you had never felt anything as real.

Everything and nothing was the same.

“What do you see?”

“Still you.”

You glance to the side and see an almost facetious simper gliding across his features, even though you knew he was probably being anything but flippant.

“Dabi.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly, coiling with the dark to a time and space closer. He smelled like amber pine and sawdust, collecting evening dew.

“So you do know who I am.”

You picked at the peeling paint along the sill. It was still white.

“I follow the news. I’ve seen your face stuck to faded alley posters.”

“Now what would you be doing in alleyways?” He chuckled lowly through thinly veiled, amused bewilderment.

So he didn’t know who you were.

Just as well, it wasn’t like you lived a life of any consequence.

Truth was, you were simply a curious person with an awkward and clumsy sense of direction—finding yourself on adventures you could easily get yourself out of, only with a little time, effort, and backtracking. Even though you’d much rather see it through to the end, no matter how dark, twisted, or ugly.

The truth wasn’t meant to be pretty.

But he didn’t need to know that.

And if this were to keep up anyway, he’d find out soon enough.

You peered at him through your eyelashes and his shape almost disappeared. Instead, you leaned forward into the open world, trying to catch life as it moved below you. Your eyes spotted grass and trees, and you gasped before you could stop yourself.

“They’re green.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You turned your head to face him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve never seen green before.”

He’s quiet as he stares at you. He had leaned against the wall beside you, hip and head propped like he wouldn’t rather be looking anywhere else. You stare back softly, still not used to the visceral experience in eye contact.

“What do you see?” he asks like holding glass. You’re tempted to keep it to yourself for at least a day longer—safeguard the truth like you were the only one in the world who could see colors. An innocent secret you’d never have to share with anybody.

And yet here was a thread presented to you by the universe, asking to be pulled from the tangle.

You looked at his frayed edges and twisted knots, feeling your own pull tighten like a lifeline.

“Blue,” you breathe. He’s beside you now, angled to the open window, eyes still burning answers and questions—so many questions—across your very surface.

You both stretch out, casting your eyes up to the night sky, in your own world like he wasn’t who he was and you weren’t who you were. Collected in a jar of your own making, you spill your breath across the open air, and he’s there with you like a pooling splash of ink you don’t want out. Oh, the memories you could write with him.

“So these are the stars, huh?” his tone hasn’t lifted from that tedium, but he talks like he’s standing among them.

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t tell whether from happiness or nostalgia or disappointment or confusion or another nameless thing—you only knew that you were looking at the stars. You were looking at the night sky and suddenly seeing the stars, and—

“Some of them are blue.”

Dabi traces the bottom hemline of your sweater with his thumb, breathing clearer air than he had in a long, long time.

“There’s yellow up there, too.”

The tears spill down your cheeks, but his hand is there to catch them with cracked fingertips.

“You know,” you begin with a small sniffle, “I don’t remember the night being this… luminous.” His face splits in to a grin.

“That’s your fault.”

You roll your eyes, peeling back to lightly shove against his arm. You had barely touched him, but his heart beats as though he’d been caught in an earthquake. He’s unsteady, and grows more and more terrified by the second of the anchor in your eyes. He’s not strong enough to try and move it.

You watched him pull back, startled by the alertness in his movements. He sweeps his legs up and over the side, perched on the windowsill as though he made to jump through it.

“You’re leaving?”

“I thought you were the one who said I shouldn’t be here,” he grinned, though not without that bitter glint in his already harshly blue eyes. Your lip finds its place pulled between your teeth.

“I think there are still some things I want to see.” You glance to the side, searching for words in the spots of color blooming along the edges of your world. “With you.”

Dabi bridges small gaps between you two—some rickety and many burnt, but still there—leaving space for you to jump ship. His fingers brush warm trails across the skin of your face again, like forfeiting a whittling candelabrum to the shaking hands of a blind man.

You suppose someone like him defies all laws, even the ones of the natural world as he ghosts down the siding of the building, just another wandering shade looking for its way back.

In a day of unforseens, you try and convince yourself that it was the stars that got to you. It’s easier to place blame on things you can’t control, and part of you feels liberated knowing this was just not one of those things you were meant to expect. You let your hopes and predictions solidify the labyrinthian ground you walk on.

But as you lean through the window, you call out to him and realize you’re swallowing your assumptions like antifreeze.

“Wait!”

His head turns to the side to catch you pouring out of your mundane and into his living underworld.

“You have to come back.” The yellow on your sweater burns into your irises, and he has never been more wary of his place in the universe. Especially when it glows back at him through the eyes of a future he didn’t know he even had.

“I want to know what sunrises look like.”

The tempest in him glares up at the beacon your window—no—you provide and he feels a weird, opposing sense of mitigation and incertitude. A ubiquitous tangibility his first instinct declares a malignant impediment.

Still, he can’t help but feel as though a tide were in the process of crashing his lifeboat—a stray piece of driftwood—on to obscure shores.

That can’t be all that much of a bad thing, he considers.

With a small, barely there and imperceptibly honest smile, he places a two fingered tap to the crown of his forehead—throwing an ignition to the wind in a quiet promise.

The light fades, and you clutch the matchstick, watching the blue disappear with him into the dark of night.

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Dealing with Devils-- Damien/Darkiplier x Reader

Prompt: I was inspired to write this when I saw this comic panel on Pinterest!

Warnings: light language

Word Count; 2k

Notes; I wrote this on impulse after rewatching Who Killed Markiplier? and Damien lol (gif creds)

    You grimaced at the sunlight shining through the window. The cottage's lack of curtains only bothered you in the morning. Sure, sunrises were beautiful, but they were a pain in the ass when you desperately wanted to sleep in. A shiver ran through your body as your feet hit the cold floor. Spring was on its way. The snow was beginning to yield to grass and budding flowers, but the cold was still strong enough to seep into your bones. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, you shuffled over to the fireplace. You wrinkled your nose at the lack of kindling. There goes any hope of a fire this morning. Not wanting to spend another moment in the cold home, you begrudgingly pulled multiple layers of clothing out of the closet to prepare yourself for the day. You turned to the large mirror hanging on the wall, carefully observing your reflection. It was hard to see small details because of the cracks that webbed from its center. When you first moved into the cottage, Damien told you to get rid of it, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

    A grin found its way across your face as the memories of your move resurfaced. Damien had insisted on helping, even though you hardly had any belongings to bring into your new home. Just some clothes, toiletry items, and... the mirror. Your brows furrowed. Where did it come from, anyway? You couldn't quite remember buying the mirror, but you felt such an attachment to it. Maybe it was an heirloom? If it was, why would Damien tell you to throw it away? A strange sensation began to form in the back of your mind. It felt as if static electricity was crawling across your brain. You leaned closer to the mirror. Your reflection seemed to shift out of focus the longer you stared at it. Was it your eyes playing tricks on you? You lifted a hand, carefully reaching towards the mirror, only to freeze before you had a chance to touch it. A sharp ring ripped through your eardrums, causing you to take a step back. You looked forward and realized that your entire reflection had changed. Your skin was a muddled gray color, and your eyes were filled with a lifeless black void. Horror filled every nerve in your body. Something was terribly wrong with this place.

    A sudden commotion outside drew your attention away from your reflection. Desperate for an excuse to leave, you lunged at the door. A magpie sat on your porch, squawking up a storm. You frowned at the creature. I probably forgot to fill the bird-feeder again, you thought. Your shoulders dipped as you began to relax. Glancing over your shoulder, you surveyed the interior of your home. What were you getting so worked up about, again? Your eyes landed on the dark fireplace. Right, no kindling. You pulled the door, making sure it was secure before stepping off the porch. On your way to the shed, you checked the bird-feeder. You raised a brow. It was still full. Maybe the bird was freaking out about something else. You just hoped it would be quiet, wherever the thing went.

    You made your way to the shed. There was an overhang that allowed you to store firewood outside without you having to worry about it getting wet. You stopped a few feet away from the shed and tilted your head to the side. You could've sworn there was a big lock on the door. No, you were //sure// there used to be a lock on it. Damien locked it when he was helping you move. You were never curious about going inside. He told you there was only old, rusty tools. You had no need for them, so you never bothered to try to get in. But now? The lock just disappeared. You hesitated to step forward, realizing that Damien disappeared too. He told you... no, he promised you that he would visit sometime. He said he would come back for you when he sorted out some business. What did he mean by that? You slowly pulled the door open. Creeping inside, you realized that Damien was right. For the most part, the shed was empty, other than the dust that occupied the shelves and some old gardening equipment piled in a wheelbarrow. Something towards the back of the shed caught your eye. A large sheet, stained from who knows how many years of exposure to the elements, covered something large. Sunlight poured in from the cobweb-covered window above it. It was almost as if it had a spotlight. You reached for the sheet, only to be distracted by squawking once more. You huffed and looked out of the dirty window, surprised to see that even more magpies had gathered in your yard. Your eyes darted back and forth between each one. Seven? Shaking your head, you returned your attention to the matters at hand. You pulled back the sheet to find an ornate desk. You ran a hand across the smooth surface. Unlike anything else in the shed, it withstood the passing of time. There wasn't a speck of dust. Your brows jumped when you noticed a folded piece of paper tucked away beneath an empty inkwell. You wasted no time in unfolding it, anxious to know its contents. A poem jotted down... in your handwriting. "One for sorrow," you muttered. It was a curious little thing. You had always appreciated poetry, but why did you decide to document an unsettling nursery rhyme?

    Taking a breath, you continued to sift through the desk. The first two drawers you searched were filled with legal documents. You could recall all of them. They were milestones from your career. From your first case as a fledgling lawyer, to the most recent one from your current position as District Attorney. Your heart fluttered for a moment. Why was it, again, that you stopped working? You pursed your lips and pressed on. Your ears started ringing when you grabbed the handle of the bottom drawer. You blinked a few times in an attempt to keep focused. There weren't many papers in this drawer. You picked up the small bundle and placed them on the desk, spreading them out. A fond smile graced your features as you picked up an old photograph. It was of you and Damien, attending a ball together. You couldn't help but laugh at the memory. It was the first time he had asked you out, and to say that he was a nervous wreck is an understatement. The man was flustered beyond belief, hardly able to get a word out! He ended up shoving a bouquet of flowers in your arms and holding the ball invitation for you to read. The next photograph displayed not only you and Damien but also Mark and Celine. Double date night, something that happened often back when you and Damien were a new couple. A droplet fell onto the photograph. You gently touched your cheek. You didn't even know you had started crying. Moving on to the next item, your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. It was an invitation to a party hosted at Markiplier Mansion. Memories came flooding back. Too much champagne, a night of gambling, and enough terror to last you three lifetimes. Your wild eyes desperately searched your surroundings. Where were you? The last thing you remember before moving here was... You glanced down at the drawer once more. This time, there was a revolver sitting at the bottom. Your ears rang violently as a searing pain exploded across your abdomen. You instinctively pressed a hand to your stomach, only to snatch it away when you felt something warm and sticky. Your hand came away red. The ground swayed beneath your feet, and the atmosphere around you darkened. It was getting hard to breathe. You tried to take a step back, but your knees buckled.

    Falling. That's the last thing you remember. The sensation of your insides going somersaults as you descended. You tried to scream, but no sound came out of your mouth. At least, not that you could hear. The only thing that filled your ears was that insufferable ringing. After what seemed like an eternity, you hit the ground with a violent crack. You kept your eyes closed, certain that you just broke every bone in your body. The ringing finally subsided, and you gathered up the courage to open your eyes. At first, you saw nothing but darkness. Then they appeared out of nowhere-- the magpies. Their white coloring contrasting the void like stars in the night sky. It gave you momentary comfort.

    "Why?" You sat up with a grimace, trying your best to fight back the pain. The cracked mirror stood tall before you. This time, it didn't show your reflection. You finally made it to your feet, despite feeling as if you had been put through a meat grinder, and approached the mirror. Your eyes stung with tears. It looked like Damien, but this... this person was different. His whole being was monochrome, and the eyes you used to get lost in no longer held any warmth. They were cold and calculating your every move. "Why did you wake up?" he clarified.

    "I don't... I don't understand." The man laughed. A sinister smile remaining on his face.

    "Don't you?" The ringing rose once more. You covered your ears, clenching your eyes shut. You cried out in pain and tried to will yourself to remain standing. The memories that had been locked away came barreling into your mind. Tears were flowing freely when you looked back up at the man. Horror filled your expression, causing him to look amused.

    "Where's Damien?" you whispered. His grin left as quick as it came. His face darkened. The air around him shifted as his muddled aura lashed out violently.

    "You were a lamb to the slaughter. Don't you get it? Celine would have left your soul to rot, but he gave you mercy. He gave you a chance at peace. He saved you from damnation!" You flenched as his voice rose, and you could've sworn that you saw new cracks forming in the mirror. "But he's not here to protect you anymore. I'm in control now." His eyes had gone completely black, and his unnerving smile had returned. You glanced upward, relieved that the magpies were still there. Your brows knit together for a moment. Your eyes dashed between them, counting just as you had done moments before. Eyes widening, you remembered the last verse of the poem. Thirteen, beware, it's the devil himself.

    "Who... no, what are you?" The man tilted his head, grin widening.

    "An entity of vengeance, created by Celine and Damien. Celine had the reigns for a while, then Damien took control. But they were weak. Their need for revenge combined with the darkness that consumes the Manor grew until they were simply... no longer a factor. I run things now. I don't necessarily have a name, though, I suppose you could call me Dark. I'd say it's quite fitting. Wouldn't you agree?" You swallowed thickly, nodding.

    The entity straightened his tie. "It's nice to know that we're on the same page. I understand why Damien was fond of you. You're... amusing, to say the least." He extended a hand towards the mirror. "I'm sure you're just itching to get out of that mirror, now that your memories have fully returned. I'll help you safely return in exchange for your companionship." Almost as if your body was acting on its own accord, you reached forward to take his hand. You stopped yourself, mere inches away from the mirror. Dark barked out a laugh. "Afraid to make a deal with the devil?"

~*~*~

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[domesticblisss]

24 Hours

Marcel Barthel x Female Reader x Fabian Aichner Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word count: 2008 Warnings: Smut/A little angsty. Oral (female and male receiving), threesome, double penetration, PiV, anal. Alcohol mention. Inspired by Sky Ferreira’s song, 24 hours.

If she could describe their relationship, she would describe it with “I don’t know”. Simple as that. One big I don’t know. She doesn’t think they could be called friends with benefits, well, they talk almost weekly, ask how each other’s lives are going... does that makes them friends? She likes to call themselves “I’m in town, let’s do something with benefits”.  They don’t live that far from each other, it’s a 4 hour drive from their respective towns, and an even smaller flight. Their schedule rarely match, she knows how busy they get with training and travelling for live shows and she’s constantly travelling for her own job too.

They met a few years ago, the three of them far away from the places they now call home. She was in Los Angeles to meet a potential new client to her company and Marcel and Fabian, just arriving from Europe, on their first tour with NXT.

She met Marcel first. Tall, blonde, energetic. The sharpest cheekbones she has ever seen, green eyes that made her breathless. He sees her sitting at the bar’s counter and decides to try his luck. To be honesty, she wasn’t looking for anything, but how could she say no to that angel face that she knew was trouble. He was funny, his thick german accent making her swoon. They kept their conversation going for what felt like 40 minutes until they hear a strong but at the same time soft man’s voice shouting Marcel’s name.

Marcel introduces the new guy to her, “This is Fabian, my partner! We wrestle together.” Fabian is... something. Tall, but shorter than Marcel. Bald, but she can see the hint of a thick beard coming in. Broad shoulders, morning sky blue eyes, more reserved. Marcel does almost all the talking, but only nice things comes out when Fabian decides to speak. He also got an accent, she can’t pinpoint from where exactly, assumes it’s european too and later finds out he’s italian. “A german and an italian, what a combination...” she thinks, mesmerised by the way Fabian stares at her and this knowing look Marcel gets in his eyes when he glances at the both of them.

They decided to move to a table, to get more comfortable. A few beers for them, a couple of gin and tonics for her and they stay there chatting, exchanging experiences and laughs for hours. The bar is getting more crowded as time passes and it’s almost midnight when Fabian asks “do you want to get out of here? somewhere more quiet, more private?”

“With the two of you?” she wonders, incredulous.

“We’re like a 2 for 1 package deal!” intervenes Marcel.

She stops, looks at their faces for a few seconds. Fabian is serene, just waiting for his ‘yes or no’ answer, Marcel looks like an eager kid at a candy store, about to explode with excitement but trying to hide it behind a nonchalant mask.

She wets her lips, looks at the both of them and agrees with it, “Sure. Where are you two staying at?”

They ended up going to hers, it being a five minute walk only.

What she thought would be a 1 hour top kind of night turned out to be a 48 hour weekend, with them stopping only to eat, drink some water and rest for a bit when it got too much. When she asked them if they need to workout or practice they answered in union “Oh, it’s gonna be a cardio weekend”.

Those little time out moments they spent getting to know each other. The boys told her how they started wrestling, places they’ve traveled and people they’ve met. She told them about how she started her own marketing company a year ago and how it’s slowly growing.

“I’m here for a client meeting, actually. A big, big client. I was at the bar celebrating.”

“So that means you got the contract, right?” Fabian asks excitedly.

“Yeah!”, and with her confirmation, Marcel agrees it calls for a celebration.

The celebration turns out to be 3 back to back orgasms for her. She was sure they would have had continued if she didn’t beg them to stop once she couldn’t feel her legs anymore.

The weekend went on like this. By the time the trio had to leave, they had exchanged contacts and addresses, finding out how close to each other they were.

They kept in touch, always reaching out to see how the other was, letting them know if they were around. That was their dynamic. A few encounters that lasted, 2, 3, 24 hours that, sometimes, she wished it would never end.

 One summer, tired of all the work she has been doing, she decides to take a vacation. This comes up during one of their conversations and Marcel has the great idea of inviting her to watch them perform live, “You could stay with us, if you want to, of course”, Fabian chimes in.

Agreeing with it, she packs her stuff and leaves on the next wednesday. She decides to drive there, using those precious little hours to clear her head. The GPS system and radio are on and it’s time to go.

The first couple of hours goes smoothly. She sings along to her favourite tunes, dances a little and makes a quick bathroom break. When she’s back in the road, the GPS alerts her that an accident happened, doubling her arrival time. Deciding to let the boys know, she sends them a quick audio message on their group chat, “Hey, some accident just happened on the highway. Traffic is awful... I’ll probably get there by the time the show starts.” Fabian is the one to answer her, almost immediately, telling her that’s it’s okay, that when she arrives she should look for Harry Johnson from Relations that everything will be sorted out, finishing with a “Please drive safe, tesoro ❤”

That tesoro and heart emoji combo haunted her for the rest of the trip.

They never called her any pet names.

The rest of the trip went by without any troubles. She arrives 10 minutes before the show starts, with Harry waiting for her by the door, being greeted with a backstage pass and a front row seat ticket.

She was delighted with the show. The sheer athleticism, the lights and the charisma were out of this world. But she couldn’t believe was how well Marcel and Fabian worked together. They knew each other’s moves to perfection, they knew exactly what to do, when to attack their opponents, when to save each other. Their perfect partnership made them win the NXT Tag Team titles for the second time that night.

She ran backstage looking for them, meeting the duo at their dressing room.

Marcel was the first one to greet her, hugging her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, “I’m so happy you came to see us, liebe!”

The boys took turns on taking their showers to keep her company, deciding that it would be better to head straight to their apartment. Marcel went ahead of them, letting Fabian accompany her, guiding her back to their place.

It was a silent drive, with soft music playing on the radio. He kept his left hand on her right thigh all the time, rubbing soothing circles on its insides. On red lights he would either seal their lips together or pepper her cheeks and neck with light kisses.

As soon as she got through the door of their apartment, Marcel was on her, clinging on her lips like a starved man, “do you know how much we have missed you, liebe?”

“We can’t believe you are here, Tesoro. We shouldn’t stay that long without seeing each other again”, says Fabian, while kissing her neck.

“What is it with the two of you and pet names today?” she says between moans, both Fabian and Marcel hitting her sweet spots. Marcel stops and asks what she means with it, she says that this is the first time they ever called her something like that and all he says before lifting her up to snake her legs around his waist is “I’m sorry, let us right our wrongs”

The german takes her to his bedroom, Fabian following close behind. As soon as they arrive, they waste no time on taking their clothes off. Marcel lies on his bed, ordering her to sit on his face which she takes no time to comply.

“I brought lube and the plug, they are on the pink bag on the front pocket of my suitcase.” She tells Fabian when they break their kiss, and she can feel Marcel moan beneath her. Fabian wastes no time to grab it, covering two fingers in lube and inserting one at a time to get her used to it. He takes is time with it, going slow as to not hurt her, after a minute, he slowly inserts the plug.

She grabs him by the hand, brings him down to a quick kiss and as soon as he is up, she stars sucking him. Slow licks and stokes, increasing as she feels him lose control, he grabs her by the hair, making her deep throat his dick.

Between her legs, Marcel takes some time to breathe, mesmerized by the scene unfolding above him, “You two are so fucking hot” and goes back to his job.

They stay like that for a while, with her only stopping sucking Fabian when she reaches her high.

The boys switch places, Fabian now lying down, helping her take the plug off to switch it with his throbbing cock. Marcel is not left behind, lining himself between her thighs and entering her in one swift move.

Their great work on the ring transfers to the bedroom, with the both of them working in sync to make her lose her mind. It isn’t long before she comes again, taking Fabian with her. Marcel keeps his thrusts hard and deep even with her walls closing around him, making him reach his own high a matter of seconds later.

He collapses on top of them, making the other two laugh. They stay like this for a little while, basking in each other’s presence, taking in their scents.

Marcel decides to get up when he feels his dick going limp inside her, grabbing a towel to clean her up a little, and Fabian opts for grabbing a bottle of water for the three of them.

They get back to bed with her, silence consuming them. After a few minutes, all the thoughts she has been suppressing for sometime now comes back to her.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean, liebe?”

“Are we friends? Acquaintances? What is this thing we have? I’m sorry and if you guys want to end it after this, it’s okay, but I have to say it, I’ve been keeping it inside for so long… the days we have together are the best ones. Ever. It sucks that I can only see the two of you for so little time, one day or a weekend is not enough. I always look forward to your texts, even when it’s you sending some stupid gaming meme I don’t get or Marcel thirst trapping. I hate that we live so close to each other and see ourselves so little… FUCK I’m ranting, I’m sorry. I should probably leave.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fabian stops her, “first of all, Tesoro, you are not leaving and we are not ending anything. Marcel and I were talking about this last week, that’s why we decided to invite you to the show tonight. We love you and we didn’t know how to say it. Wait, I guess I just did? Anyway… you have your life and we didn’t want to mess with it, but, if you want to, we could try and work something out.”

“So, what do you say, liebe? Could we work something out?”

“Yeah, we can work something out…”

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 23: The Room

WARNING! Themes of extreme isolation

It has been a few more years of tests. Zaheer has given up on trying to kill you or take over your body. If anything, he is getting angrier at the doctors and scientists, expect Lisa. She is the only one who treated you like a person. The problem is that she can’t do it often because she would be fired or worse. The only thing you have to comfort you is the doll you were given and Adam. Whenever he has to heal you after your tests, it’s the only time you get to talk with someone other than the demon inside of you. A year after you and Zaheer stopped fighting, you gained a power. During one of the surgeries, you stopped one of the doctors still and made him cut his throat with the scalpel. He lived but after that they were more cautious around you. They quickly figured out that you have to see the person you want to control so they put a cover over your eyes.

That’s when they started to train you. They would put you in an electric chair and would shock you over and over again till you would do as they asked. At first, it was just small animals to see how far you could control them. The first time you accidentally killed a dog with your powers, they changed their plans for you again. You overheard them speak about training you to kill government leaders just by being in the same room as them, no signs of an attack. The smiling man couldn’t be happier with this, to change the world for himself. Things only got worse from there. They started to make you control people, living people. Sometimes they just wanted you to make them move, other times to tell secrets. Then they asked you to kill them, you refused. They shocked you for hours until Lisa stopped them, but only after you were unconscious. They never could get you to kill another person.

You were wearing their patience thin as they took drastic measures. One morning you wake up being strapped to a wheelchair. They are pushing towards a room inside of the building. Nothing looks strange about it except there are no windows. You overhear some say something about 10 years and you begin to panic. You try controlling people around you to stop them, but they send more people to keep moving you into the room, that man in the corner watching this all unfold. After struggling, someone jabs a needle into your neck and you pass out. You come to in a 15x15 foot room. There is a single lightbulb, a clock, a water tap, floor drain, and what looks to be dried food. You look down to see a recording device. You instinctively press play and hear a voice, the voice of the man who smiles all the time.

“You are quite the stubborn one, aren’t you? You see the room you’re in? It’s a special room. 24 hours in this room makes 10 years pass inside. Normally it is used for testing equipment and tools, but we found it more useful to see how well you and your demon are doing. We really can’t wait for you to get more powerful, so we will speed it up. See you tomorrow; or should I say, 10 years.”

You throw the recorder against the wall and begin to panic but your hand touches something soft. It’s the stuffed doll. Lisa must have snuck it in during the chaos. You instinctively grab it and hug it, looking for warmth. You begin to cry as it warms up.

“Don’t worry, I’m here with you.”

“I know, but 10 years!”

“We will take it one day at a time.”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this.”

“You did nothing wrong, it’s all them. I glad I am with you but I would change how we met if I could.”

At that moment, you curl up on the floor and begin crying yourself to sleep. You wake up the next “morning” only to find your nightmare is real. You want to go shower but there isn’t one, no bath, not even a sink. Just a spigot on the wall. You look for soap but nothing, only finding food. All of the food is dried and it looks like you have unlimited water. After eating some food, you find a new problem: no bathroom. There is a floor drain, so relieve yourself and wash it down with the water from faucet.

“This is so demeaning.”

“It doesn’t look like I have a choice.”

“I can tell you; all of those doctors will find themselves at the deepest depths of hell when they finally die.”

“I know, no one should ever have to go through this.”

“You should have killed them.”

“I can’t, it’s not in me.”

“But to put through this, they should pay!”

“I know but death isn’t always the answer.”

“Fine, any suggestions of what to do right now?”

“Let’s just make sure we survive this. I’ll keep track of the time so we have a goal. Alright, we have 3649 days to go.”

“I don’t see anything else better to do. Just don’t forget that we will make it out of here.”

You take a piece of food and make a mark on the wall, indicating the days that passed. Slowly but surely, the walls get covered in more and more markings. As the counting goes on, the lines start misaligning and become incomprehensible as you lose your mind over the years. The clock broke halfway through, or at least you think it was; time starts becoming a blur, a meaningless concept. At this point you are dirty, your hair is long and matted, clothing long gone. Your muscles have atrophied from lack of moment and your body is thin and frail. Most days you’re just in the fetal position on the floor, talking to yourself or Zaheer.

“Hold on (Y/N), we don’t have much longer. Please stay with me.”

“WHO SAID THAT? Was it you?” You start shaking the doll in your hand; its batteries after all those years. It’s tattered and covered in filth. You throw it at the wall in anger. At this point you don’t know who you are anymore, you don’t even recognize Zaheer’s voice as you go deeper into madness. You don’t know how much longer you were there, it felt like months but it could have been years or only days. Zaheer would talk to you, whether or not you responded normally, he never left you alone.

The door finally opens as you are blinded by the harsh light. The doctors come in and are astonished that you are alive. They pick you up and put you on that cursed operating table. The feeling the straps over your body was the final push. Suddenly both of your eyes are glowing completely red. Everyone in the room starts clenching their chest. As you continue your demonic stare, people start dying one by one as you make their hearts explode. Then you move to the next room and kill everyone there. You continue in this trance as you make it to Lisa. That’s when you look at her and quickly teleport her away. You put her back at the surface as you don’t want her to die. You continue your killing spree until your where they store the other test subjects. You teleport them all to Lisa. That’s when Zaheer takes control and the earth begins to shake. Cracks start forming all around the facility and lava erupts from all around. On the surface, Adam, Lisa and the others watch in horror as the ground starts to cave in. They barely manage to escape as you come to the surface, eyes still glowing red. You approach.

A: “You saved us?”

(Y/N): “Yes and I took care of the problem.”

L: “You killed everyone!!”

(Y/N): “They took everything from me and tortured me for years and I….”

At that moment, Adam placed his hand on you and started to take some of the energy flowing through you. His other hand has a beam of red light coming out of it, pointed towards the hole in the ground. Your eyes slowly fade back normal as your mind as well. You look at everyone and realize what had happened. You turn around as see the hole in the ground and you shake in fear.

(Y/N): “I did that? I killed all those people?”

A: “Its ok, you were not in your right mind.” He says as he gently holds you.

L: “We need to get out of here, I’m sure the army was called already.”

You fall to your knees and begin crying. Adam then hands you something, it’s the doll. It looks brand new and still has the tag on it this time. “‘Endeavor.’ Why does that sound so familiar?” You thought. You squeeze it but this time it startles you as it says “(Y/N), I love you.”

Next Chapter

[viviae]

can you like. tell me a little about dragon age. seeing your posts about it has got me interested in playing but i have little to no clue what it actually is

Boy can I explain nonny <3 This is a bit long so strap in and im sorry

Dragon Age is (currently) a three game series composed of Dragon Age: Origins (PS3, Xbox 360/Xbox One, PC), Dragon Age: II (PS3, Xbox 360/Xbox One, PC), and Dragon Age: Inquisition (PS4, Xbox One, PC) and its really unique because of its selling point that your actions impact the games as you progress. Like if you kill one character in one game they’ll stay dead through the rest of the series which makes you feel lived in the story and that your actions matter. Dragon Age is also an RPG so a roleplaying game kind of along the same lines of DnD where you get to make and play your own character. And yes there are romances and you can be gay.

The First Game of the series is Dragon Age: Origins where you choose from a selection of six unique (technically seven) origins or backgrounds for your character. You can be anywhere from a human noble or a Dalish elf, the unique elven culture in Dragon Age of nomadic clans dedicating to reclaiming their past. But eventually, from the events in your origin, you wind up a member of a secretive and elite order known as the Grey Wardens whose duty is to protect the world from the Blight.

The Blight is this spread of a horrible disease known as the Taint but is characterized by the presence of Darkspawn, a kind of zombie like creature who exists only to destroy the world. Grey Wardens take the heavy duty of protecting the world from the Blight, which have nearly wiped all of humanity multiple times, at all costs. And currently the country of Ferelden is under going a blight and due to events you wind up the only Grey Warden with your companion Alistair to save the world and reunite Ferelden which had fallen under a civil war.

Along Origins you meet many interesting characters. Alistair is your friendly co-warden who has a mysterious parentage that he hides under his happy go lucky attitude. In contrast to Alistair is the witch Morrigan who is your favorite goth swamp queen who would insult you and you thank her. In addition you meet your chaotic bi rogues Zevran and Leliana. Leliana is a nun who is on the run and hiding from a dark past and she is suspiciously good at murder. And Zevran is not at all hiding his aptitude for murder as an Assassin for hire who tried and failed to kill you but who can ignore that charming bastard?

Dragon Age II follows a much smaller story of a Ferelden refuge who had escaped from the Blight to the city of Kirkwall named Hawke. Unlike in origins where you get to pick your background 2 limits you to Hawke but fear not, Hawke is a loveable bastard and you can still customize them. Throughout DA2 you get to experience all the delights Kirkwall has to offer: Demons, crime, corrupt cops, and fighting your way to survive in this city and make a name for yourself.

Where Origins sets the stage for the world DA2 you are the actor in that play - literally the game is divided into 3 acts that take place over a span of 7 years. DA2′s main conflict is the argument of Mages vs Templars, as in DA’s lore while there are those who are born with magic they are forced to live in prisons policed by the Templar order and the church. You explore the more political arguments of; are the Templars right in their fears of magic as Kirkwall is filled to the brim with corrupt mages or do Mages deserve the chance to live and prove themselves freely from their prisons.

Your romancable companions in DA2 are all bisexuals as the true theme of DA2 is: be gay do crime. You have the foils of Anders: the runaway mage who fled from the prisons the mages are housed in and is determined to bring mages to freedom, and Fenris: the runaway escaped slave who curses magic for only inflicting pain and suffering in his life and wants his warnings to be heard about the dangers magic bring. In addition you also have Merrill, your cute but terrifying Dalish mage who would probably murder you with a cute smile and then go oops. And of course, my pirate wife Isabela, who lives a life free from commitment and is dedicated to the idea everyone should have a good time no matter the cost. Also while not romancable Hawke’s bff Varric deserves every ounce of praise he gets as never before has the energy of “two idiots sharing a braincell” ever been so well adapted.

Then finally we reach Inquisition. After the events of DA2 it triggers a full on war between the Mages and Templars that is destroying the land and causing severe damage that neither side can handle anymore. Desperate for an end to the conflict the Divine (err... fantasy pope) calls for a meeting on both sides... only for the entire thing to literally explode. Killing everyone present and causing a hole in the sky which now means demons are raining like cats and dogs you are the only one to survive. In Inquisition you can once again return to pick between unique backgrounds like in Origins but you don’t get to play through those backgrounds sadly.

You now possess something on your left hand which gives you the ability to patch up the hole in the sky that is pissing demons and due to being the only survivor everyone is incredibly confused about you. Eventually the Inquisition is formed around you, the character they are calling the Herald of Andraste (Andraste is fantasy Jesus) due to your ability to seal the holes. The mystery unfolds as over the course of the game you learn what caused the explosion, how you are connected, and what exactly the mark on your hand is.

DAI has the largest numbers of romance options so I’m gonna give a quick bullet point list for them all

Iron Bull (Pansexual, All Races): A Qunari (think Tiefling but big and beefy) mercenary who is far more clever than he lets on, as well as being the rope top dom of your dreams. Literally! Bull’s romance is a really healthy bdsm relationship if you are interested its very well done

Josephine (Bisexual, All Races): Your loveable ambassador and advisor for the inquisition. She is a workaholic noble who is a tried and true classic romance. Sweep her off her feet and duel for her hand all while navigating the nobility

Dorian (Gay, All Races): The flamboyant pariah rock star mage, he demands attention whenever he walks into the room. Although he wants to be all talk and no emotions make no mistake he is making puppy eyes at you the entire time and gets deeply offended if you say he is. Also not going to lie Dorian is the best piece of gay male rep in gaming history.

Cassandra (Male-only, all Races): Your stern warrior wife who is all serious no funny business... expect she is a bleeding heart romantic who reads horrible smut for fun. You wish to COURT HER?? I mean... if you want 👉👈 she won’t say no...

Blackwall (Female-only, All Races): Your weird dilf who wants desperately to prove himself every step of the way and help people. He is a constable for the Grey Wardens, but all the details on him seem murky... Ah well I’m sure its nothing, the Grey Wardens are a secretive order after all.

Sera (Lesbian, All Races): My wild child, monster chugging, beer guzzling, arrow shooting lesbian. Sera is here for a fun time and not a serious one, she’ll always make sure to keep you humble and ensure you aren’t getting to big for your breeches. 

Cullen (Female-Only, Human and Elf only): Cullen’s the Inquisition’s commander who oohh boy is steeped in a lot of trauma. Cullen’s actually a character you get to know through out the series and see just all the horrible nonsense he’s been through. But he is your tragic self loathing... he isn’t princely but he is your adorkable charming

Solas (Female-Only, Elf Only): The humble apostate who joins the Inquisition out of curiosity of the breech, he is an expert on what the hell is going on with that hole in the sky. However, he holds a wisdom that goes far deeper than your typical apostate. Smooth talking and refined he carries a heavy cloud over him.

I left out a lot and all the nonsense with books and what have you but this is the easiest overview of the series I can offer. It’s main selling points is the deep story and characters throughout the games. And of course who doesn’t love the ability to make and roleplay your own character as a bonus? The games are bit of a flawed gem and Origins in my ugly child but they are truly a delight if you are interested

[imnotwolverine]

Written in Egyptian Cotton

Henry Cavill x OC (Naomi) one-shot

Disclaimer: NSFW, sexual tension w/ someone outside of relationship, emotional blackmailing, break-up, smut

Word count: 9.982

Author’s note: It took a while, but here’s a fic I’ve written on request of darling @cherrybloomn​ (thank you for all your wonderful ideas, patience and help! ❤️). It may have changed quite a bit from your original idea, going from pure smut to something with nearly 10k of backstory - WOOPS - but here goes.

PS. I just got back from work ..and..eh..WHAT?! I got like 200 notifications, which is like 10x what I’m used to getting in such a time frame. So, whatever’s going on; thank you sweet readers, it’s such a joy to see you enjoying my work in such great numbers, and what a great way to start my weekend! YAY!!  🎉

--

Written in Egyptian cotton

‘Well you could have just told me. Yeuss Henry..’ The pretty brunette rolled her eyes and turned away from him, her face pouting as she scooted back, further expanding the already significant distance between the two.

‘But..I did! I…’ He sighed, realising she was no longer listening, her arms crossed in front of her ample bosom as she looked out of the window of the jeep, the vehicle bouncing left and right as it drove over the uneven desert road.

The blond woman in the shotgun seat, Naomi, bit her lip, the petty fight behind her reminding her just what a ..joy..it was to not have a partner of her own. And this definitely wasn’t the first petty fight between her two clients, the two near endlessly bickering over the past week. They were far from the calm, loving couples she was used to giving tours, being a personal traveling guide for the well-to-do.

‘I hate this.’ The brunette softly muttered under her breath, the air in the jeep now so tense that it would only be a matter of time before the ticking time bomb that she, Victoria, was, would completely explode.

The other day she had in fact almost jumped out of the car after a full hour of nagging that she didn’t want to go. And now? Now she was picking a fight over the fact that Henry hadn’t told her explicitly that we wouldn’t be back before dinner, since..well..the name kind of implied as much; we were going to do a “Night Tour”.

The darling brunette had not packed any extra clothes, which is, no matter what you are going to do in the desert, ab-so-lute-ly ridiculous. People got stuck here all the time and nature didn’t care about your pouting face and stomping feet. Carefully looking over her shoulder Naomi caught a glimpse of Henry’s eyes as he bit his tongue again, the large man quietly clenching his fists before his blue eyes quickly looked away, avoiding Naomi’s knowing gaze.

It was going to be a long, long, long afternoon..and probably even longer night.

Shivering in the cold night air as she had given some of her spare clothes to Victoria, Naomi called a silent prayer as she heard the wind in her back carry the all familiar nagging voice of one very unhappy client.

Would this ever end?

‘My feet hurt. Can we go back?..HENRY? Hello? Earth to Henry?…I’m tired.’ The small company just trudged on through the sandy dunes, some pocket lights shining the way to a small beduin village where a local would tell about life in the desert and explain how the stars were used to travel in the vast expanse of this sandy landscape.

It was a pretty night. The wind laying low and the stars sparkling bright like a million tiny freckles on a black velvet canvas. Almost perfect. Almost, the peace and quiet of millions of sand grains not being able to muffle the never-ending wails that escaped Victoria’s lips, no matter what her lover Henry tried - the shame and annoyance clear on his clean shaven, handsome face.

‘Vic..- URGH - Victoria. Please. Just…’ Henry’s voice came out strained and choppy. ‘Stop.’

‘Oh YOU WANT ME TO STOP. Well here.’ She stopped her dragging feet at once, soon falling even further behind. Henry halted as well, shining his light at her, her face turned up in an angry scowl. ‘..I stopped.’ She growled.

‘Vic..baby come on. I promise once we get back I’ll make it up. We’ll..’ He hesitated. ‘We’ll..just..reschedule our plans. Look for a..a..swimming pool..and..hammam. Get you pampered, hmm? Just a few more hours, okay babe?’

‘FUCK. YOU.’ She near-screamed over the listening landscape, the small gathering of other tourists that had arrived for the tour now also halting to hear and see what was amiss with these two.

Naomi quickly paced back to check on her bickering clients, her heels sinking away in the heavy sand before she halted next to Henry, his voice just biting back a quiet; ‘I wish we’d at least do tha..’ - ‘Hey. You okay?’ Naomi looked Henry up and down, his face long and exasperated. He looked positively DONE with his darling girlfriend.

‘Yea..it’s..we just..’ He looked at Victoria and wetted his lips. ‘..Just a..just a moment, okay?’ He offered Naomi a pleading look and took a shaky breath before quickly moving down the dune hill to talk some sense into Victoria.

They truly were an interesting pair. Victoria playing Henry like a fiddle. A sweet caress, a little flirt, followed with an on-slaught of ..well..emotional blackmailing?

Naomi watched Henry disappear in the half-light, her blond hair flailing in the gentle night air as was lit up by the dozen pocket lights that shone behind her back, the rest of the group now also watching the scene unfold.

The scene where Victoria broke with him, Henry.

AGAIN.

Yea..this was emotional blackmailing.

‘Hey.’ - ‘Hey…’ Henry hesitantly stepped into the corner of the hotel bar, Naomi sprawled onto a low sofa as she was typing away on her laptop, the hour late and her hand keeping a cocktail right within arm’s reach. ‘Can I eh..’ He bit his lip. ‘..join? I mean. I don’t want to..’ - ‘Oh yes, of course! Please!’ Naomi hastily sat up and pushed aside the scattering of paper that had gathered around her as she worked through the plans she was making for her next trip.

‘I really don’t want to disturb you. Please…I..’ - ‘Henry.’ Naomi looked up at him with a stern but friendly look. ‘Sit down.’

He sighed and smiled hesitantly, the falling out with Victoria clearly having scarred his confidence a little, his large feet carefully stepping into the small nook to take a seat on the dark blue sofa. With a sigh escaping he let himself sink into the comfortable pillows, his whole being obviously very exhausted with all that had come to pass.

‘See. The couch doesn’t bite.’ Naomi winked, hoping it would lighten the mood ever so slightly as she moved to place all her stuff on the seat next to her.

‘Well that makes one thing that doesn’t bite me in the butt.’ He snickered, his voice echoing the tiredness of his body after a long day of attending to the every need of Victoria - who had thankfully retired to the hotel room by now.

‘Yea..’ Naomi said softly, her voice trailing away in the incense heavy air, the temperature inside the hotel lounge so very comfortable after a few long hours of hiking through the cold desert dunes. She had fallen into a bit of a rosy state, her pale cheeks slightly flustered, a fluster that got even worse when Henry finally laid a good eye on her.

He had that effect on her.

Always had.

‘So..’ Naomi quickly swallowed, reaching for her drink in hope it would cool her down somewhat. ’..that was an eventful night, hmm?’

‘You can say that.’ Henry sighed, sinking even further down in the pillows so he could rest his head on the backrest. It didn’t look like he was going to share his thoughts with her, and Naomi couldn’t blame him.

‘Hey..shall I get you a drink? Looks like you can use a drink.’

‘Oh no..please. I can..’ He tried to get up from his comfortable position but Naomi gently coaxed him back in the pillows. ‘I’ve gotcha, no worries.’ She said, using her fingertips to push him back down. A gesture that made their eyes interlock for another brief moment, both their mouths falling open ever so slightly as Naomi’s nimble fingers felt through the soft fabric of his shirt, noting Henry’s rapid beating heart, his pupils blown out wide.

Naomi hastily pulled back her hand and smiled. ‘Sorry.’

Darn it Naomi! He literally broke up with his girlfriend two hot seconds ago!

Besides..HE’S YOUR CLIENT.

’No..no..please..It’s okay.’ Henry muttered, pushing himself up from the pillows all the same, his eyes looking for hers but she already evaded his gaze again. A mere look of those ocean blues did things to her that she should not even think about. She shouldn’t make the same mistakes she made earlier.

He’s a client. And a very good, returning client at that. Behave yourself!

‘Yea..okay..drinks.’ Naomi pushed herself off the couch and with long strides she carried herself to the bar, out of his sight, one heated night in the city of Rome springing back up in her mind.

Ugh..Rome..

‘Can I ..can I at least have a pillow and a blanket?’ Henry tried, standing in the corner of his and Victoria’s hotel room. ‘Pffft! You run so hot in the night..like you fucking NEED it.’  

‘VICTORIA dammit! I’m trying to just…ARGH..’ - ‘WHAT?! HUH? Make amends?! Oh look at me being all goooood, your superhero ready to serve your every need. I am Henry, I am too good to keep my girlfriend involved when we plan OUR SHARED FUCKING HOLIDAY.’ Victoria fumed as she pricked her long, prettily manicured nail in his chest. ‘Or is that not how it went, hmm? HMMM?’ She moved to spin around on her heel, but Henry caught her arm before she could reach the bed, his hand gripping awkwardly around the silky smooth fabric of her black bathrobe.

Black like the poison in her words.

‘Vic..I’m sorry..really..’ He sounded at loss for words, his every attempt to make things better between them, only causing more damage. His voice got close to breaking as Victoria’s words echoed in his ear.

‘Don’t Vic me.’ She growled, fiercely pulling her arm from his grip and reached for a little blanket and a pillow. ‘Here. You sleep on the fucking couch.’ And with that she threw the items at him before pointing at the couch that was situated behind a curtain in the corner of the room.

Henry blinked and held his breath, the fabric of the little blanket coarse beneath his finger tips.

Another uncomfortable night on a couch, it was.

‘Wow, look at that!’ Henry’s eyes glittered as the boat coasted over the smooth water of the Nile, a number of land workers digging through the wet soil on the river bed to create water trenches for their crops. ‘Cool right.’ Naomi stepped in besides him, joining him as he watched the men work. ‘They’ve been doing it like that for thousands of years. In fact the Egyptians became one of the first cultures to develop such large scale agriculture. And actually.. if you look to the..’ - ‘Hi!’ Victoria peaked in between the two of them, her face all smiles as she squeezed herself through, trying to get a glimpse of what Henry and Naomi were looking at.

‘Whatcha talking about, hmm?’ She smiled at Henry, who blinked at her like she had just slapped him right in the face.

‘Eh..the..the..fieldworkers.’ He quickly gathered himself, stepping aside to make room for her, ever the gentleman. ‘You see those men there?’ He pointed at the bronzed figures in the distance, toiling in the harsh midday sun.

‘Mhm, what about them? Hey, by the way, they have cocktails on board, did you know that?’

And just like that the conversation was diverted back to the many luxuries that Henry didn’t care much about, but Victoria? Oh Victoria most definitely did.

It had played out like this on a near daily basis. Like the bipolar sexbomb Victoria was, she was either a sweet, happy and bubbly spirit, or a projectile of red clawed nails and vicious words whose sole purpose was to hurt whomever got near.

Which, usually was Henry.

As Victoria pulled on Henry’s arm to attract his attention, he looked past the brunette to meet the worried gaze of Naomi. He knew what she thought. All in just one simple look.

Oh...If only his life could be so simple as to understand his lovers with just one look.

If only everything in life was so simple, so gentle, as the caress of her fingers over the cotton sheets of her bed.

Trailing her finger pads over the notoriously soft Egyptian cotton, Naomi looked up at the ceiling of her hotel room. Usually she had a near endless pool of energy to tap from. Traveling, in the end, was her life’s dream. Now, however, she was simply exhausted. Truly, truly exhausted.

Naomi just hoped that beneath the childish nagging and materialistic bullshit that seemed to make up 99% of Victoria’s being, there was somewhere deep underneath that 1% that made her a good match for Henry. Because honestly, she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see what made the two a good fit.

Happy, cheerful Henry seemed honestly depressed. She had known him for years and never had she seen the large man shrink so small and unsure. And Victoria? She seemed truly restless, her gaze and attention falling a bit too often on other men. Rich men. As if she was setting up a back-up plan.

Poor Hen..

*knock knock*

Naomi blinked and turned her head slightly. Had she just imagined that? The room was near quiet, some muted sounds outside the third floor window of a few people walking through the nightly streets of Caïro. Hmm, strange. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She looked back up at the ceiling, her fingers trailing back over the soft cotton.

Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could..

*knock knock*

Alright. There was definitely something, or someone, there. Sitting up and slipping into a bathrobe to look at least a little bit presentable, her bare feet padded over to the door as she searched for a light switch, hands flicking open the lock to see who was there.

Henry, his lips curling in a tentative smile as he carefully let out a little breath.

‘H-heyy..Henry.’ Naomi blinked, then looked into the hallway left and right, almost as if half expecting a vicious Victoria to come chasing him down the long hallway. But, there was nobody else there.

‘Hi. Eh..mind if I eh..’ He gestured over her shoulder and she gulped a quick agreement, stepping back to let him inside.

Did something happen?

‘Yea..sure, sure. Come in. Don’t want to wake the neighbors haha.’ - ‘Yea..the neighbors.’ Henry swallowed, his eyes flying around her small, but comfortable hotel room. On one side of her king sized bed a scattering of maps and tourist info, obviously moved aside so she could go to sleep in the other half, sheets already tousled.

‘You know what...I..It can wait til morning. I didn’t know you went to bed.’

‘Oh no, please, please. I couldn’t sleep AT ALL, actually. Tired yes. Sleep no.’ Naomi shrugged.

‘Hmm.’ Henry’s brows furrowed as he looked back at Naomi, seeing she indeed looked quite tired. So unlike her, the steady force of happy, bubbly excitement in his life right now.

‘I hope it’s not about..Victoria..I really am so sorry about-’ - ‘It’s fine. Truly. I mean, you can’t really help it now, can you? Sometimes things are easy, sometimes they’re...not?’ She smiled at him and quickly moved past, hand accidentally brushing against his as she reached to fold back the sheets, a quick attempt to make the room look somewhat more presentable.

‘So. Anything I can assist you with?’ She turned back around, the energy in the room suddenly very tense.

Oh..they should never be alone. She just knew it. Everytime they were alone, things were bound to happen.

It was past 11 o’clock and Henry, her very hot-hot-hot client, was standing here in her small hotel room. Why?

‘I guess I just..eh..’ He looked around the room again. ‘..wanted to apologise. I mean you had to..’ He gestured at the paperwork on her bed. ‘..change your plans. And I really, truly appreciate all your hard work and how you are dealing with this situation with me and Victoria.’

‘Eh..but of course. I mean, that’s what you hired me for.’ Naomi shrugged it off, barely noticing the restless shuffle of Henry’s feet. ‘It’s not just that though, is it?’ She gave him a discerning look and he slowly shook his head. ‘You know what. This is really silly on my part. It’s late and we both should catch some sleep. Great plans for tomorrow, right?!’

And before Naomi could even blink he had left again.

Was it just her, or was Henry acting increasingly weird now things were crash-and-burning with Victoria?

--

A day off. It was almost strange to have a day off when you were going on a holiday, but right now Naomi was more than a little glad that they had planned this day for everyone to go about their business alone. And, from the looks of it, that was just what everyone was doing. Naomi had given Victoria some tips on local spas that she could visit and Henry had simply vanished into thin air.  

Which was fine. Naomi wasn’t sure if she could handle being alone with him again. Not after that night he had visited her hotel room. And most definitely not now, after she had some hot and bothering dreams in which she explicitly thought of what COULD have happened, had he stayed.

All scenarios including very..VERY unprofessional actions on her part.

Naomi was feeling tense and all she really needed right now, was a nice..relaxing..stretch session.

With her room being simply too small to even sit on the ground properly, she had opted for the hotel’s gym, the midday hour meaning practically all tourists were out in the pool or on excursions. There was nobody else, which made it just a little less awkward to roll around in some shorts and a tank top as she followed along with a Youtube video she would always resort to whenever things in her life got stressful.

Deep relaxing breaths escaped her slightly parted lips as she sat there in a cobra position, head tipped back, eyes closed, arms pushing up her upper body as her legs lay stretched out behind her. Just..breathe in..and..breathe out. Breathe in ..and..

*scchwwupp*

The door of the gym quietly slid open.

Okay, just, don’t pay attention to it. You’re here for you, Naomi. Just..breathe in..breathe out...breathe in..

Not managing to calm her curiosity completely, she peaked through the ceiling height mirror to check who it was. And well, have you there, it was of course a gleaming, beaming, slightly sweaty Henry.

‘Hi.’ He breathed, smiling, getting back his breath after what probably had been a run out in the scorching hot Egyptian sun.

‘Hi.’ Naomi swallowed, quickly reverting her attention back to the video before her and acting like there was nothing awkward about sitting there in clothes that really left nothing to his imagination. And oh how absolutely wonderful it was that she was right in front of that darn floor-to-ceiling mirror, the reflection making sure that he could not only admire her back..but also her front.

UGH..the gods had a sense of humour, didn’t they?

Swallowing back those thoughts she sat back on her buttocks to follow the instruction along, the stretch continuing with a focus on the legs, her hands reaching out to touch her toes, back straight. And ..breathe in...breathe out..breathe in…

She could swear he was watching her, but it was probably rude to check.

And breathe in..breathe..Fine, a little peak then.

Making sure she was not too obvious she quickly eyed Henry, his attention averted to adding weights to a bar.

He looked good. His broad chest sporting a grey shirt that sat snug on his pecs, his shorts begging for mercy as they stretched over his generous booty and thighs, long legs covered in a fine sheen of sweat and hair.

Oh, he was truly a thing of magnificence wasn’t he?

[ Florence, Italy, a few years back. ]

‘And here, the one and only..David by the great artist Michelangelo!’ Naomi pointed at the humongous statue as it rose high above both their heads, Henry’s eyes admiring the smooth stone that bulged with perfectly hewn muscles and sharp facial features much like his own.

Though, not entirely like him, his eyes dragging down to the crotch area before raising a careful eyebrow.

‘Aherm..yes. Times were quite different then,’ Naomi chuckled. ‘..with the Greek also having pretty clear opinions on ideal genitalia sizes and shapes. Smaller, back then, was considered to fit the ideal Greek man, since it fit with the profile of being rational, intellectual and authoritative, whereas bigger penises were related to lust and foolishness. And that was very much opposite of what Greeks wished to exude.’

Henry frowned and slowly shook his head. ‘Why not both?’ To which Naomi broke out in a loud chuckle, making Henry snicker in turn. ‘Sure..why not..both?’ She winked.

--

Why not both?

Well. Not much later that week she had learned what Henry had meant with that little joke. And what he packed away beneath those tight gym shorts she was staring at right now, the fabric straining around his muscles as he bent over to start a timer.

Oh he surely would have made Michelangelo’s David blush - both by those ridiculous gym shorts and what was beneath.

Henry was a man of intellect, authority ..and ..well..he sure as hell was packing.

Swallowing back those thoughts too, Naomi finished her stretching sessions with red hot cheeks - her mind trying to blame it on the barely working airconditioning, but she knew better as she returned her gaze to the mirror, finding his eyes there.

Of course he was looking back at her now she was a blushing mess.

With feral eyes, face in deep grunting focus, he pushed the heavy weighted bar high above his head. The weights at either end probably as heavy as she was, her eyes staring in quiet admiration, the air so very tense again that she just had to hold her breath as she watched him lower down the weight.

Turning around, wishing to bid him a good day and leave, she simply couldn’t. Their eyes interlocking and his face turning into a teasing grin, he furrowed his brow and pushed up the weight again, muscles flexing, hair tumbling over his sweaty face.

Ugh, that beautiful chiseled face.

No matter how focused and snarling he looked at her, she couldn’t help but feel all kinds of hot and bothered, completely ensnared in his gaze. And so she just stood there, watching, phone and gym bag in hand, ready to leave but doing none of the sort.

*cla-clang*

With a slightly awkward slip Henry pushed the weighted bar back in its holder, Naomi finally awaking from her stare as a little smirk appeared on her lips.

‘Don’t hurt yourself, cowboy.’ She mused, finding back her teasing confidence.

Henry snickered and shook his head, looking away for a split second to make sure the weight wasn’t causing damage, before realising she was now really making her way towards the door.

‘Unless of course you want me to.’ He teased back, slightly out of breath, making Naomi offer him one more raised eyebrow over her shoulder before she quickly disappeared.

D-did he mean something by that? Or was this just Henry being unaware of the tease he was being?

[ Rome, Italy, a few years back ]

Blond, bouncy and confident, Naomi waved her hands in the air as she explained in great detail how the city of Rome had been rebuilt numerous times over the past few thousand years. “And look here!” She’d say with that grand smile on her lips, attracting Henry’s attention like nothing else could, his eyes barely managing to tear away from her whenever she wished him to look at a grubble of old decaying rock.

It was the first holiday in years without a lover by his side and, though he was fine with being alone, he couldn’t help but wish for having someone there to share his trips with. And thus he had hired her again. Naomi. He had hired for a trip a year prior, which had been with his brothers, wives, nephews and nieces.

So very different was this trip to Italy, being just the two of them, her hands now halting mid-air as she struck a near comical pose, copying the stance of a statue of a grand fountain they were walking past. Henry chuckled loudly, cheeks dimpling and eyes twinkling.

She was cute.

‘Do you dance?’ He asked, near teasingly.

Oh gods..he couldn’t help but tease her endlessly. It was a perfect way to get the rather professionally dressed and well-learned blond woman before him to loosen up and strike a pose like she did just now. Winking at him, a chuckle on her lips, she nodded towards a bridge in the far distance. ‘Only one way to find out, cowboy!’ She teased back, walking ahead and making Henry chase her through the tourist horde.

He enjoyed the chase.

Looking back over her shoulder she offered him a kitten-like, though also quite taunting, little smirk. ‘..tonight, maybe?’ She smiled.

Henry’s heart flipped out of his chest, his ears almost unbelieving of the very subtle flirt that had just escaped her lips.

It had taken him a full year to get the blondine for him alone. And then some weeks before she would as much as offer him a wink or tease back. But this? THIS?! OOPH, this was more than he could have wished for. He may not be much of a dancer, but her offer? He just couldn’t refuse.

--

‘OH GODS.’ Naomi shot up from the bed, the crinkled Egyptian cotton sheets falling down her naked curves, her eyes staring in slight shock at a sleepily blinking Henry. ‘W-what?’ He yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he watched the blondine rush out of his bed, her hands quickly grabbing for her clothes.

Only after her underwear was back in place, did she turn back towards him, eyes big like those of a deer in the headlights. ‘I’m SO..SO sorry. Dammit..ugh..let’s ..forget this ever happened, okay?’ She said, looking at him with intent as she pulled on her jeans with kicking feet. Jeans that he had so deliciously rolled down her legs only a few hours prior.  

Realising what was happening a tad too late, Henry’s sleep muddled brain could only produce a confused ‘Okay..sure..’ As he watched her leave his hotel room.  

Had it all been but a dream?

As a dream is a wish your heart makes

‘UGH..and these don’t fit either!’ Victoria growled, her tone of voice so very unladylike, so very unlike what she presented to the world with her well coiffed hair, elegant white palazzo trousers and silky light blue blouse. It just proved that no matter how pretty a person was from the outside, it could never truly hide what was inside.

Near throwing the “pretty curly shoes” back at the poor vendor, she looked up at Naomi, her mouth curled down in a dissatisfied pout.

Naomi tried; ‘It’s eh..actually rather normal to wear slightly too small shoes here - in fact it’s the reason why you fold the back of the shoe flat beneath the soles of your feet.’

It was obvious that this wasn’t the desired answer.  

With one angry snarl of Victoria, Naomi’s words were quick to die on the tip of her tongue, her lips curling in an apologetic smile at the salesman, the man quickly shrugging before he turned to look for some different shoes that would appease the queen of drama.

‘Pff..it’s not like you know shit about fashion.’ Victoria muttered begrudgingly, looking away from Naomi in annoyance. It was then Naomi decided it was best to just flee the scene, her feet shuffling backwards until she bumped into one large chest.

Henry’s chest.

‘Woops..sorry.’ Naomi swallowed, quickly stepping aside and creating some socially appropriate distance between the two of them - quite a challenge as the little shop was packed from top to bottom with those “cute little curly shoes”, the racks squeezed so tight together that you could barely walk through the small isles, Henry and his wide chest having to actually side-shuffle to move through.

‘No..no problem.’ Henry muttered, quickly eyeing what Victoria was up to over Naomi’s shoulder. And thankfully, she had now occupied herself with her smartphone as she waited for the sales vendor to get back with a new batch of shoes. Naomi followed his gaze and quietly whispered; “Well, looks like prince charming found himself a Cinderella of sorts.’

‘Ha.-ha.’ He said unamused, then rolled his eyes at her, lips curling in a smile. Naomi chuckled.

Then Henry used the moment to study Naomi, her blond hair half-hidden behind a royal blue head wrap - it looked pretty on her. Subdued, but pretty, her face without make-up and her outfit a simple unwashed linen shirt and ankle length skirt. Like..

‘Cinderella? Hmm..I think there’s only one Cinderella here..and Victoria..is definitely not the one.” He smiled, making Naomi blush ever so becomingly as she quickly turned to meticulously study a stand with leather bags.

Pfft..what the hell was he talking about. She was hardly a princess, right?  

Looking back at him through the corner of her eyes she saw him still looking at her, an appreciative smile ghosting his lips.

Right?!

[ Carcassonne, France, a year ago ]

‘WOA..did you hear that?’ Naomi looked nervously over her shoulder, the single street lantern behind them casting long, ominous shadows over the cobble-stoned alleyway. Almost without noticing herself she stepped closer to Henry, the large bear of a man right in step as they walked back to the hotel after a rather late dinner in the medieval old town centre.

Narrow alleyways, uneven cobble-stoned roads, cute little squares. The old fortified city had made for a nice sightseeing trip as they drove with Henry and his team down for a week-long team excursion in the Pyrenees mountains. The rest of the group had taken a cab, but with there being no place left, Henry had been quick to just wave them off, offering to walk to the hotel together as Naomi knew the way and “he would keep her safe”.

Something she had thought quite ridiculous, wishing to call another cab, but Henry had been adamant.

What he didn’t know was that she was in fact just really quite afraid of the dark, and so, with every passing cat or gust of wind, she’d hold her breath, stepping closer to Henry in hope he would in fact protect her if the need arose.

And Henry? Oh, he loved every minute of it.

‘Don’t worry.’ Henry smiled, reaching out his hand and folding it around hers.

Amicably, but spark-inducing anyways. Naomi chewed on her lip as she felt the warmth of his palm ooze into her skin, the simple touch calming her nerves like nothing quite could.

‘I’ll gladly be your knight in shining armour!’ He beamed, winking at her, to which the last of her nerves finally faltered, making way for a tinkling little laugh. ‘Oh...OH!’ Naomi exclaimed, then flailed her free hand extremely dramatically before her face, acting all tender and maidenlike, ready to swoon right in his arms. ‘OH it’s so SO dark! And scary! And..’ They both break out laughing, Henry squeezing her hand and pulling her closer to his chest.

And she let him.

Henry couldn’t be happier, the little moment being just what he had hoped for. Not only having the time alone with Naomi, but also seeing her burst out of her neatly built up walls. Ever the professional, it was hard to get her to join in such banter like they had right now. And he liked every second of it, his feet trying to slow their pace just so it would last a little while longer.

It was unfortunately also the only moment that holiday during which she allowed him to come anywhere near that close to her, further tempering any hope he held to finally grasp her attention.

Did she not feel what he felt? Did she not ..enjoy..being around him, like he enjoyed being around her?

Hmmm...France. It seemed so long ago.

The reality of Henry’s life was quite different now as they once more walked through a dark alleyway. Though this time with Victoria next to him.

No hands being held, though conversation warm and surprisingly pleasant between him and Victoria - she seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps, just maybe, he was simply comparing her too much to others. To Naomi. Victoria was Victoria. He had to give her a chance.

After a little evening stroll they had arrived at a cute restaurant where they’d be having dinner, Naomi having walked ahead to explain in the best of her capabilities that they wished to get a table out of view - so fans wouldn’t disturb Henry during dinner.

Feeling eager to recapture that memory of France, which he had kept so close to his heart, he reached out a hand to Victoria, her face pulling into one of near agony as she quickly swatted it away.

‘It’s too freaking hot Hen.’ She said with exasperation - as if he was stupid for even thinking about touching her - her eyes moving back to Naomi as she and the waiter seemed to come to an agreement, a simple “come-hither” wave of Naomi’s hand gesturing them to join her.

Well. So much for hoping things were okay now. Was it..urgh..was it bad to wish that Victoria would take a cab home, so he and Naomi could..walk back to the hotel again?

--

It was a good question to ask why in the hell’s name he had stayed with her. Victoria. Every time he decided to give it another shot, appreciate the little moments that were good, he was disappointed even more.

Sitting now, alone, on the edge of the hotel bed, it was probably the reason why he didn’t feel any disappointment. Her clothes gone and the hotel room void of anything other than the furniture and the never-ending heat that lingered between these walls, Henry couldn’t help but feel a slight relief. Slowly he let his eyes wander across the room, for the first time truly appreciating what was there.

It was large and with oriental luxury in abundance, a prettily mosaic tiled bath sunken in the middle of the room, heavy dark blue drapes hung around it and candles at the ready might the need for something romantic arise.

Not that such a thing had happened with Victoria. Not in quite a few weeks..or actually months by this point.  

It was always either too hot, too humid, or she had a headache, was tired or just got her period. Excuses, excuses, Henry realised, as he saw her eyes glimpse a touch too often at other men. Rich men. Her laugh and banter directed at those men whenever she could - thinking he didn’t see.

And now she was gone. She had broken up with him, again, though from the definity of her actually leaving, this was probably truly foregood.

Henry could only guess where she was now. With the creepy old Italian, with whom she had been flirting for over a week now? Or perhaps that sjeik that had been a bit too obvious in his curiosity for her as they made a visit to his estate?

Henry felt bad. Bad for how all this had come to play out, as well as that he simply couldn’t bring himself to care for Victoria at this point. He had made sure there was a cab waiting for her, he had apologised for whatever tiny little misstep he might have taken, in hope to salvage the situation, though knowing full well that neither one of them truly wanted that. Not Victoria, but also not he.

He just didn’t like goodbyes. And Victoria had used his tenderness, abused his tenderness, to the extent that he wasn’t even sure if relationships were a good idea for him anyways. He had wasted most of his life on women that may have stolen his heart, but made him insane in the process. Either they wanted his fame, his money..pfft..even just the sex. But never truly, just..him.

*BZZT BZZZT*

Naomi: “Henry! Are you okay? I received the notification that Victoria has just checked out of the hotel. If you need some time, don’t feel pressured to answer. I just want to know you are safe and taken care of. If you need anything, I’m a call away. Naomi.”

Well, alright, at least there was at least someone looking out for him.

He sighed, a smile brushing across his lips as he reached out for his phone that lay forlorn next to him.

Naomi.

Where some hotels had nice, proper running air conditioning, this cooling system seemed to run on the coil of the earth, the walls near sweating with the humidity that hung in the air like a thick, heavy blanket. Naomi wiped her forehead as she continued to fold her clothes, neatly packing her suitcase so they could leave next thing in the morning - that was, if Henry would be ready to.

Just a few hours ago she had walked past the reception desk to inquire at what hour they could check out, only to hear that one of the guests had already done so. Victoria Koberlach. Left without a trace, without a message or goodbye.

And honestly, that wasn’t so much of a surprise. Victoria hadn’t really come across as a person who cared about the well-being of others. Especially if there wasn’t something there for her to gain. She was the most charming woman from a far, but once you got close you could see the fine lines between her brows from the many times the furrowed them, angry pouting and stomping her foot to get her way.

The princess had left the building.

Sighing quietly, she zipped open the inner pocket of her suitcase, wishing to slip in her toiletry bag when something seemed to obstruct it. Something small. With hesitant fingers she reached inside, only to find an old trinket there. And not just any trinket.

That darn fucking ring.

In the low light of the few lights that lit her room, the hour getting quite late, the golden band with the heart shaped cut diamond shone like one of the treasures from Ali Baba. Pretty, but deceiving. Not only was it absolutely not her style - too big and too loud -, it also carried with it the memories of her ex-husband.    

Just like Victoria, he had been a handsome, charming man from a distance. And Naomi had fallen hard for him. So hard that her sweet 22-year-old ass had barely noticed when his caring, authoritative figure was not galant and kind, but overbearing and manipulative.

Before she knew it she barely dared to open her mouth to express her thoughts and feelings, his head already shaking as he laughed it off. ‘Oh you women.’ Which he’d then follow up with a tap to her ass or a squeeze of her cheek. He would be the one to tell what they’d be eating at a restaurant. He’d be the one telling her she looked tired and perhaps should let down her hair so it looked better with that dress he bought her. He would tell her she just needed some sleep, when she was feeling emotional or insecure.

Not in the five years they had been together, had he once truly asked her how she truly felt. Never did he ask about what was going on in her mind. She thought this was what love was. Someone who took care of you to the point you didn’t have to think or feel anymore. You just had to ..get pregnant, be a mom, raise that family and be the good, sweet wife. Before she knew it that gaudy ring was on her finger and she made herself believe that this was happiness.

But it wasn’t. It was a prison. And as they were shopping for a bigger house and she stood there in those rooms that were ready for their off-spring, she decided that she just couldn’t do it. She went on a trip with a friend to clear her thoughts, only to find that not only did she no longer wish to be with that overbearing, manipulative husband of hers.

She wanted to truly be free.

And here she was. A private travel guide, following her life long dream or travelling for her job. Setting out her own path.

Love, had to be side-tracked. It only caused her pain.

Men, in fact. Needed to be side-tracked. Because not ever did she want to sink down in that hell hole again. Not ever again would she let herself make the same stupid mistakes.

*BZZ BZZ*

Henry is calling.

‘Hey’ She answered, quickly letting the ring slip back in its initial hiding spot.

‘Hi..eh..I saw your message.’

‘Hey..yea..do you need anything? Can I..?’

‘Eh..could you maybe come over? To my room?’

A soft shuffling of feet and zippers being zipped told Naomi that Henry was indeed in the room, her head peeking around the door that had been intentionally left unlocked and cracked open. What she saw was probably one of the prettiest sights she had yet to lay her eyes upon.

The room was mutely lit, small speckles of light dancing over the ceiling, large drapes hiding most of the room from sight, Henry on the right near a large bed, folding his clothes just like she had done moments earlier. Engrossed with his task, he hadn’t noticed her presence just yet. He looked..okay..she guessed. Not distressed, panicked, angry or sad. Just..normal.

Closing the door behind her, stepping further into the room, the soft click of the heavy lock finally made him look up, big blue eyes meeting hers.

So...now what? She wasn’t sure what to say or do.

What do you do after someone just left you? What do you want, need? What did..Henry..need? She wasn’t sure, his eyes surprisingly calm, his lips curling up in a warm smile. ‘Hi.’ He greeted, standing back up and turning towards her.

Was this just him acting like nothing was amiss, whilst his whole world was in fact crumbling? After all, he was an actor..

‘Are you..are you okay?’ Naomi asked carefully, quickly looking around her now she got a better impression of the room, her eyes almost inadvertently looking for any items Victoria may have left behind. Any sign of that she may return. But there was nothing of the sort.

She really was gone.

Henry smiled again and shook his head. ‘It’s..hmm..I think this had to happen for a very, very long time. It’s..good. Yes. Good.’

‘Okay then. So..’ Naomi quirked her head, trying to see if he was lying or hiding the truth, but not finding even a flicker of doubt in his gentle eyes. Clearing her throat she looked back into the room, her feet stepping just a meter ahead, taking in what was hiding behind those curious heavy blue drapes. A bath. Ha..of course. A bathtub in the middle of the room. Why not.

Her lips curled up in a half amused smile as she felt Henry’s presence come nearer, his eyes following her gaze.

‘Nice bath, for sure. Though the couches aren’t great. I’ve..unfortunately.. spent plenty of hours there.’ Henry grinned, pointing at a little sitting nook in the far back, making Naomi grimace at the thought that Victoria had probably made him sleep on the freaking couch.

‘She really was a treasure, wasn’t she?’ Naomi said, looking back at him and finding an amused smile on his lips, making her feel less concerned for him. He looked truly relieved. Their eyes met, bodies now far closer together, a mere meter or so left in between them. He swallowed and squared his shoulders, the already humid air feeling even more tense all of a sudden.

‘Are.. you okay, though?’ He asked, quite unexpectedly, his eyes not missing the slightly reddened eyes that Naomi sported.

‘Me? Yea...I eh..’ She frowned and suddenly felt the need to turn away from him, turn away before he’d come bursting right through the meticulously built walls around her heart. Gosh that darn ring. She should have gotten rid of it the moment she had gotten rid of her ex-husband. Sniffling her nose she quickly turned on her heel, deciding to act as if she was to inspect the bed now.

Henry frowned and followed Naomi with his gaze, seeing her shoulders stiffen as she moved towards the bed, her hand flicking over her cheek as if to wipe off some sweat - though obviously it wasn’t sweat that was leaking from her eye.

‘Is this the moment where you’re going to tell me that it’s common in Caïro for local rain showers to make their apparition indoors?’ He asked, trying to somewhat lighten the mood. Naomi laughed and turned back around, watching him with watery eyes.

Just like that her walls crumbled like they had never even existed.

‘W-w...noo. Henry. Oh come on.” She sniffled, quickly brushing away her tears. ‘It’s…’ She shrugged. ‘UGH..it’s just so fucking stupid. I was thinking about this ex of mine. And..pff..you know what, it doesn’t matter. Victoria just left and now your travel guide is in tears in your room? Ha..quite a show, aren’t we women?’

She turned back to face the bed and took a calming breath, eyes roaming over the soft Egyptian cotton sheets - she really should bring some of those sheets home -, before halting on the sight of Henry’s open suitcase. Without meaning to, her eyes fell down on a pack of condoms. Unused condoms. The box still wrapped in its original plastic wrap.  

Well. At least they both didn’t get laid this holiday.

‘From the looks of it we men don’t fair much better..’ Henry said carefully, watching Naomi’s shoulders slowly release their tension as she looked over his bed..over his suitcase..over..oh..dammit..the condoms! He forgot to hide those condoms.

Naomi didn’t really seemed to be fazed by it. ‘I’m sorry I left you like that..’ Naomi said gently, looking back at him, her eyes suddenly holding a certain fierceness. ‘That wasn’t..’ She took another deep breath. ‘That’s wasn’t right of me to do. You didn’t deserve that..’ She blinked, feeling the scorching heat of this arabian night suddenly catching up with her.

‘R..rome you mean?’ He stepped a little closer, eyes flicking for the slightest second to her lips, the air thickening with every excited beat of their fluttering hearts.

‘Yea.’

Did time just come to a halt?

‘Ugh this is silly. Do you want to talk about it?’ She asked, knowing full well that neither of them truly wanted to talk. The tension in the air was sparking so delightfully - just like it had that night - that it didn’t take an evil genius to decipher what was going on here. What was going on between them.

‘I mean if you want to.’ He tried.

‘Me? Ha..’ She breathed, blinking slowly as her body almost automatically pulled towards him, her tears long dried, the sweat beading on her heated body but an afterthought. Tonight it wasn’t too hot, too humid and nobody suffered from headaches, or periods or tiredness.

Tonight had been postponed for years now. And in this slight slip of time, where both their guards were down and nobody else was there to disturb, it felt almost natural to smile at one another, to step closer, to forget for just a moment that this was very..very..

Unprofessional.

Naomi stiffened again as Henry traced a careful finger over the back of her hand, wishing to grasp it but noticing the near immediate flinch that rushed through her body.

‘Oh this is very unprofessional of me. I’m so..so..sorr-’ - ‘Ninny.’ Henry stopped her rambling.

She blinked. ‘What did you just ..call me?’

‘Ninny.’ He smiled. A nickname. Her nickname. She blinked again, her body stepping back, needing to sit down for a moment, her legs hitting the edge of the bed as she slumped down on those ridiculously nice, soft sheets.

DARN this. What the hell was going on with her. Him?! THEM?!

‘Ninny..huh..you’re going to call me by my nickname now, hmm?’ - ‘May I not?’ He said carefully, a smile tugging at his lips. She looked up, her initial shock making place for a slightly amused grin.

‘Pff haha..oh gods Henry. Of course you may. You’re one of my best clie…-’ Her words died on her tongue once more as he moved to sit down besides her as well, his presence causing that electricity to spark in every cell of her body. And truly, Naomi was not a shy person at all. She haggled with corrupt police officers, she could tell aggressive street salesmen to piss off without a blink of the eye, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to back down from anyone who dared to speak up against her.

Not after she left her husband. She took care of herself now.

And yet...Here she was, flustered and giddy, her heart beating loudly in her chest and her whole body so aware of how close he was to her, how good he smelled.

‘Hi.’ She smiled. ‘Hi.’ Henry chuckled, turning his body slightly towards her, knees touching hers. ‘I can call you Naomi too, if you like that better.’ He said, averting his eyes from her curious gaze, his ocean blues looking back out into the room.

‘You called me Ninny on that night in Rome.’

‘I did.’

‘So I guess you’ve forgiven me for that bit of my unprofessional behavior?’ She looked back at Henry, having collected herself again. It was in the end so very comfortable talking to Henry, being with Henry. He didn’t seem to be bothered one bit by the memory of what had happened between them then.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by what was happening between them..now.

‘I think I was actually the one who made the first move there..’ Henry shrugged, teasingly looking back at her.

‘Ho..oh no you didn’t.’ She chuckled, rolling her eyes at him. ‘If I remember correctly you wished to order room service at like 2AM at night. And it took so long that I practically stole that phone from your hand...and THEN we..’

He kissed her.

The dance they had avoided for so long now was danced once more. Him, her, a flurry of arms and legs tangling into one another, the first move quickly followed by a cascade of new ones. Caressing finger tips, giddy laughter, tentative pecks on the lips, hands growing bolder, roaming, claiming, until every piece of clothing only seemed to have become an obstruction.

Shakily breathing Naomi started to tug on the white shirt Henry was wearing - for once not a blue shirt, huh? -, his lips curling in an enbolding smile, hands reaching down to help her strip him down to his bare chested glory.

‘Ha..’ She breathed, a hand immediately reaching down for his pecs, abs. He was bigger now. Bigger than the last time.

‘I can shave it if you want.’ He grinned, feeling her finger tips move through his patch of chest hair.

‘What?! No..no. absolutely no freaking way. It’s..’ She started to slowly nod her head. ‘..nice.’

He chuckled, eyes interlocking with hers as his fingertips in turn moved to her shirt, the cotton slightly sticking to her heated skin.

Not that he cared.

His eyes got more greedy, eating up every inch of skin as he pulled up the material, her breath choking in her tight chest as she reached up her arms so he could remove the obstructing piece of fabric altogether.

With tender fingers he traced the valley between her breasts, her dark blue bra thankfully semi-sexy - it wasn’t laundry day.

‘Want me to shave?’ She teased back, making him chuckle even louder.

‘No..no. Absolutely no…’ He leaned in closer, smiling against her lips. ‘..freaking..way.’ He claimed her mouth again, eager tongue begging for entrance as his hand became bolder, moving over the hills of her bosom, soft flesh hidden beneath a lacy harness.

‘Take it off.’ Naomi breathed, feeling equally annoyed with the thing, her throat sighing in great relief when Henry didn’t need to be told twice, his other hand eagerly reaching back and unclasping it with a flick of his fingers. Practised fingers.

‘I fucking missed Rome.’ Henry muttered, dipping his head down to sniff a long stripe up her swan-like neck.

‘Did you now?’

‘Why else did you think I hired you?’ He smirked, pulling back ever so slightly.

‘And bring the girlfriend just in case?’

FUCK..she should NOT have said that. Naomi gasped quietly, biting her lip as Henry raised an eyebrow.

‘Ouch.’ He chuckled.

‘Oh gods..I should not have said that.’ Naomi uttered.

‘Ninny. Please. You are more than allowed to make such a comment. I mean. Yes. I brought along a woman I already knew, full well, would not be in my life for much longer. Like all those women before her.’ He sighed, his smile becoming slightly more watery.

He had been hurt a lot of times.

‘I’m just terrible at choosing a woman who is right for me.’

Naomi sighed and shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. ‘And I AM the right woman for you, hmm?’ She chuckled.

‘Oh well..I guess I have to admit that I did in fact have a little crush on you. And…’ He raised his shoulders slightly.

‘What?’

‘The stretching session didn’t help. Much.’

‘Ah! You! Cheeky monkey!’

‘Hahaha..more like a cheeky bear, right?’ He winked, using the moment to push Naomi’s back flat on the bed, his body moving on top of hers, arms and legs caging her beneath him.

‘I did call you Bear, huh?’

‘Yea..’

‘Ninny and the Bear.’

‘Quite romantic..’ Henry smiled, his fangs shining in the low light as he looked down upon Naomi, her blond locks fanned prettily around her head. ‘..oh I could actually light some candles..talking romantic.’ He sat up slightly, but was immediately pulled back, head now dipping down as Naomi eagerly tugged on his curly locks.

‘Henry. Another time, okay? Please..just…’ She bit her lip.

‘What’s that?’ He teased.

‘You know what.’

‘Do I now?’

‘UGH.’ She rolled her eyes and tried to pull him down. Unsuccessfully so, because he was too strong, his pecs flexing ever so slightly as he tightened his arms to stay on all fours above her. ‘..just fuck me already. Leave the romance for later..please?’

Henry lifted a teasing eyebrow, but was not going to decline such an invitation, his lips quick to press back down on hers.

In mere seconds the hot arabian night brought with it a new memory that was written in the soft embrace of egyptian cotton. Bodies colliding, dancing, writhing, those condoms finally unpacked, as was their emotional baggage after evading feelings and needs at either end of their finger tips for so long.

‘Henry, stop stalling.’ Naomi growled, feeling his eyes on her as she lay face first, ass up on the bed.

‘Are you in a hurry, milady?’ He purred, slowly crawling on top of her, his weight pressing her down further in the mattress, in the silky soft sheets. ‘Mmpfff..no..it’s just..a few years of waiting..you know.’

‘Ah..’ He breathed with a chuckle, playfully nibbling on the shell of her ear. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting then.’

And with that said, he finally, finally claimed what was his, their mingled moans echoing off the sweating walls, the lights dancing along with their body song as he pressed on, in.

‘Oh bear.’ Naomi growned, her aching walls finally soothed.

It may have been years of waiting, but every second had been worth the way he stretched her out, the way he fit perfectly to her body, their hands entangling and hips writhing. Rolling sharply the crescendo of his hip thrusts reminded her just why she had called him bear.

Because where her ex-husband would have been a lazy, selfish prick. Henry? Henry was a big, burly carebear, perfectly balancing between a tender lover and ruthless beast, strong beyond compare. And as he crashed into her hips, filling her ache, burning her skin with that itchy patch of hair - which he definitely shouldn’t shave -, she was happy.

--

‘What are you smiling at, huh?’ Henry stopped his hip thrusts for a moment, looking down in Naomi’s broadly smiling face, the soft London morning light trickling in, caressing the feather light cotton sheets beneath her blond locks.

‘Mmm..nothing. Just thinking about how much I love these sheets.’ She teased, making him quirk an eyebrow, hip jerking in her to punish her for her little tease, her lips “o”-ing with a little gasp. ‘The sheets? Really?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She snickered, feeling him dip down and bite down on the tender skin of her neck, tickling her with his slightly out-grown week old beard. She chuckled, arms and legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer to her so she could whisper in his ear.

‘Six-hundred thread count, extra long fibres, and the more you use them..the ..HAHAHAH..no..the better..HENRY STOP..HAHAHAH. The better they feel.’

‘Mrrrwpfff.’ Henry growled biting down on her laughing lips, his teeth catching her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, their mouths entangling in a sensual slow dance, their hips quite naturally following in a slow, erotic rut.

‘Very good sheets.’ Naomi whispered, causing Henry to gasp in unbelief, his chest thundering with an even louder growl, his lips attacking her every reachable patch of skin, marking her, his cock making sure she’d feel him even long after this little morning session was over.

Naomi gasped and swooned beneath her bear’s administrations, her lips parted and her brow slightly sweaty. Just like that night. And many nights after that night. And mornings? Mornings too. And afternoons? Oh, you get the jest..

She smiled, fingers tangling through Henry’s curls as his lips hesitated, hovering above hers, his deep blue eyes searching hers.

‘Then again..’ She sighed, smiling. ‘..the sheets just can’t compare..to you.’ Her little confession made him smile, honestly, his life now calm and easy-going, their love a tale that was told with luxurious kisses, wrapped in the silkiest of Egyptian, 600-thread count cotton sheets.

--

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[a-cat001]

I Will Protect You

It was evening and you were on your way to visit Ueno academy in order to see Leib but also to visit with the other members, especially considering Cu Sith was practically bouncing off the walls in Leib’s office when he heard you would be visiting. You had called Leib the day prior to ask if he would be willing to check you over since you were still banged up from a recent fight you had gotten into and while Shiro had warned you not wait, you were still afraid of the lecturing as well as painful shot you would get from Dr. Shennong should you have walked into his office in your current condition. 

As you make your way to Ueno Academy you spot Cu Sith making his way towards you waving as he goes “Good morning master!” as he stops in front of you he immediately pulls you into a hug, his soft fur brushing up against your face. You return the hug and pat his head which gets a small giggle from him “hehe, I always miss your head pats when you're away.” His gaze then shifts to your arms which are exposed, showing some of the cuts and bruises you had obtained after your fight from the previous day to which tears began to well up in Cu Sith’s eyes. You manage to calm down his cries to mere sniffles with plenty of head pats and a bit of candy and then ask if Leib was in his office. Cu Sith wipes away his remaining tears before returning to his normally cheerful disposition, “Leib?- Oh! He’s right there”, Cu Sith points behind to a wall behind him next to the corner of the street, there you see Leib leaning against a wall looking only half awake. Cu explains that he had convinced Leib to get out of his office to get some sunlight and exercise, something that he was impartial to but Cu Sith had managed to pester him enough about it to get him to come. You and Cu Sith make your way over to Leib who greets you with a slight wave, “So about the thing I asked yesterday” you start, “good grief, you in particular are always making more work for your senior here, why do I go around pampering you like this?”He remarks. “Because you love your favorite junior” you reply a little cheekily causing Leib to narrow his eyes at you, “aaand because I’ll scratch you behind the ears when we get back” you add with a smile. Leib sighs and relents, “Fine, I’ll give a look over now let me see”. Leib looks you over and notes that there are no serious injuries to be dealt with but goes ahead with disinfecting your cuts and bandaging them with some medical supplies he brought along. He sighs again as finishes up, “first I'm dragged out of my cozy office and now this, what’s next?”, “hey you need to get some sunlight or all your hair’s going to fall out and you’ll shrivel up” Cu Sith retorts. After Leib finishes Cu Sith begins to lead the way back until a shadowy figure appears from a nearby alleyway, “Well look what we have here, you guys wanna follow me for a little get together?”. You and Leib narrow your eyes at the figure in suspicion but Cu Sith begins to talk “sorry sir we got to meet up with our friends today, maybe we can hang out another time”. The figure grins at the statement before responding, “well that's just too bad since we can’t go back without you, get’em boys”, before you realize it, you're surrounded by other figures who leap from the shadows and upon closer inspection you notice something. On their arms you can see a tattoo, the black gavel, a symbol ordained by a notorious group of transient traffickers who capture transients for sale on the black market. Cu Sith is quick to step between the traffickers and you and Leib, “D-don’t worry, I will protect you two!”. The assailants begin to slowly close in as one hurls a black orb at Cu Sith who dodges the orb but another flies in from the side, this time hitting Leib in the chest. The orb splits apart on contact into several bands that pull back Leib’s arms and bind them tightly together as if they had a mind of their own before pinning them to his body, the bands then swerve downwards and wrap around his legs, pulling them together and binding them down to the ankle. Unable to maintain his balance he stumbles and falls to the ground with a thud, causing Cu Sith to turn around and shout “LEIB!”. He prepares himself for a howl before another one of the orbs comes flying out, this one flying into Cu Sith’s mouth, exploding into bands that wrap around his snout, shutting it tightly before two more bands circle around the back of his head and tighten. Cu Sith begins to pull at the muzzle, only able to let out muffled sounds as you run in to aid him with your sword, deflecting more of the incoming orbs but  as you continue to deflect the orbs more and more are thrown and soon there are too many and you find yourself tied up as well when one hits you in the back. Cu Sith forgets the muzzle and reaches down to help you but is stopped when an orb hits him in the hand and causes bands to fly out, binding his wrists to his ankles in an uncomfortable position. The three of you are left squirming on the ground as the traffickers convene, “Why don’t you keep quiet you mangy mutt”, the leader says, “Hey, get away from him!” you shout. The leader turns his attention to you and grabs a hold of your collar, “This one is really nice, I think I’ll keep this one for myself”, Leib growls before shouting “why don’t you keep your grubby hands off both of them!” This time when the leader turns his attention to Leib he kicks him in the stomach before putting his foot down on his head “I think you should learn your place real quick old-timer”. At the scene unfolding Cu Sith begins to struggle harder as the leader reaches down and gags Leib, he then signals the others who begin to drag you two away while another heads to Cu Sith. By this point Cu Sith is struggling furiously and as the trafficker approaches him he suddenly rips through his bindings, knocking away the trafficker. He then leaps over to the leader and lifts him up by the shoulders before slamming him into the other traffickers pulling you away, sending the trio flying back into the rest. Cu Sith steps in front of the two of you and rips off his muzzle, the leader signals the rest to attack but as he does Cu Sith bares his teeth and inhales deeply before releasing a ferocious howl, the sonic blast sending all the attackers flying back. With the attackers unconscious, he turns to you and Leib and frees the two of you, “are you two ok?” he asks. Leib brushes himself off before answering “yeah we’re fine”, he then looks over to Cu Sith before placing a hand on his head and smiling, “you did good Cu Sith”, “Yeah Cu Sith, you were amazing!” you add. Cu Sith looks between the two of you before tears well up in his eyes and he grabs both of you into a hug, “H-hey! You’re going to knock us over” Leib says before he releases you. You then call Tajikarao who shows up to the scene to arrest the traffickers, giving him an explanation of what happened before your group heads back to the dorms.

Back at the dorms you’re greeted by the others as Alp quickly suggests doing a karaoke night while you and Cu Sith prepare stew. Alp is of course the first to go followed by Fenrir who busts out the synthesizer and then Jambavan, who while shy, was a surprisingly good singer. While you watch you give Leib his head scratches as he melts in your hands until it’s your turn and decide to do a duet with Cu Sith. After dinner you head to bed before you come up to Cu Sith lying on the ground and begin to rub his belly “This is for doing so great today”, Cu Sith’s tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as he gives into the tummy rubs. Cu Sith the curls up into you, snuggling up into your chest, “I hope we get to stay together forever master, you, me and and Leib and all of my friends”. You pat his head and tell him “ I’ll always stay with you Cu Sith” causing him to smile as he buries his head into you and drifts off. You begin to drift off as well until something plops down behind you and you watch as a pair of arms reach around you and Cu Sith, pulling you into Leib’s chest before you finally drift off.

[vidalinav]

Cassian’s Love is Warm (4/4)

Summary:  Nesta’s recovery in the Illyria and her developing relationship with Cassian or the part where it all comes full circle. 

Links: AO3, Fanfic.net,  Nesta’s Love is Quiet Chapter List, General Masterlist 

All of you knew how this was going to end so don’t @ me.

Essay of an Author’s Note on the bottom (Please read)

~

Nesta comes home with three broken ribs and a sprained ankle and Cassian has to stop himself from adjusting her coat every time she breathes. Margery, it seems, makes a fine soldier.

“How did this even happen?” He asks, his voice a tightly wound string. He places a hand gently on her forearm guiding her past the living room and the pictures that wink and wave beyond their control. The glaze in her eyes saying too much.  

“Training near the cliffs is not a good idea.”

That’s exactly what Margery tells him when he arrives in the med clinic hours earlier, his heart thumping loudly, a pounding in his head telling to hit everything in sight. She is lying on a cot, the near identical glazed look staring back at him.  

It’s the tonic, Margery explains. A special mix of willow bark and poppy fluff that would make Nesta loopy for a while, but not feel a thing. When he asks her how she’s holding up, Nesta merely smiles, one-side of her lips raising while she leans her head against the wall. He takes it as a sign that the tonic is working

Cassian swallows the urge to grumble as the healer takes forever to appear, mumbling to the room that she should set her priorities straight and heal patients. But the healer, probably having her fair share of encounters with overbearing fae males, is quick to hold up her hands as she enters the tent, her voice assertive as she explains.

She needs to take this every few hours. Plenty of sleep, perhaps a warm bath, and absolutely no training. Cassian memorizes the list. He ignores the part where she says she’s fine, because only time will tell and the fact that she’s fae means nothing when she is sitting there in a daze, having obviously been hurt only hours before.  

Nesta says he’s being dramatic.

Cassian can’t deny the claim. He only knows that as Nesta shuffles towards the chair in the dining room, she sits extra slowly, wincing as she twists in the seat. Even breathing seems to hurt her, and Cassian unconsciously holds his breath. Sympathy pains, he thinks, not some slight pull on a string they have barely acknowledged.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, anxious to do anything that is not standing their awkwardly, hoping that she will tell him where it hurts and what to do about it.  

Nesta shakes her head. Cassian huffs in frustration.

“I can make you food.” He suggests, but Nesta merely lays her head on her arms and closes her eyes.

Cassian has to stop himself from touching her. He wants to run his hands through her hair, to pat her head until she leans against his palm, to hold her until she’s fast asleep and even then he swears he wouldn’t let her go.

He does none of this of course.

“Leave me alone.” He hears, the sound muffled by her sweater. Cassian taps his foot on the ground, the impatience getting the better of him.

“No.” He asserts. Nesta lifts her head, glaring at him with that look he’s seen a million and two times. If Cassian wasn’t so worried, he would have laughed outright. “Not until you’re better. After that you can kick me out of the house, toss me in the mud, throw me all the way back to Velaris. But not until then. Not until I know you’re okay.”

Nesta sighs and Cassian wants to continue arguing—listing all the ways she can dismiss him entirely, but she puts her arms out as if to say carry me and Cassian all too readily obliges.

He ends up setting her down on the cushioned mattress, pulling the duvet up and over. Her hair tangling with the silvery blue, but he doesn’t comb it like his fingers ache to do. Instead, he rushes to get her a glass of water and another drop of that healing tonic, which she swallows with a twist of her mouth.  

Cassian waits until her eyes droop, until they close, until her hand goes slack on the glass, that he carefully unfolds and sets on the counter. He places her hand on her stomach and pretends that her skin doesn’t feel as soft as silk or that she doesn’t smell like aching dreams and heartache.

He wants to stay but he doesn’t.

Because it’s intrusive? He asks himself. Because it would mean too much, his heart answers back. Because there’s something about her that makes him want to be soft. To tuck away all the cares of the past, fluff every pillow, ridding them of the melancholy woes and the hopeless nights, gathering the quilts until they sit on top of both of them. Nothing but sweet dreams and lavender smiles.

But it is all a dream, he thinks. Nothing more than that… The two of them, just a collection of everything he has taken for granted, a mere reminder of everything he could possibly regret. There is no them, there is only her and him. Two separate beings tied by a war-tangled history and childhood sorrow.  

Pain recognizes pain. Anger recognizes anger. That’s why he is pulled towards her, not some invisible string barely knotted. It is not because gazing at her is like waking up and finding he is young again. Not five hundred years filled with wars and scars too match, but the insatiable desire to learn and relearn and learn some more. Everything new and bright.

Every color of discovery is hidden behind her eyelids, and Cassian wants to wake her up. Wants to shake her, jumble her clothes, mess with her perfect hair and her perfect pin-straight spine, and ruffle the perfection out of her and strangely… Cassian wants her to yell at him for it, wants her to get so mad that she’ll explode like those distant stars behind him. He wants to see her purse her lips as if sharp teeth will shred him into two, wants those eyes of hers to pierce his soul, seven shades of grey and blue starlight.

Cassian wants her to tell him those things he hears in his dreams. Not the laughs or the breathy moans, but the trembling, fiery words that have his knees melting to the floor.

Bastard... Nobody… Weak. Coward. Not worth the time. Never good enough. It was all the same to him. He’d heard the words enough times to brush them off quickly, but not from Nesta. Not in the way that mattered.

Cassian wants to hear them from her now… wants to stop dreaming strange, improbable dreams.

He walks away to keep himself—to keep his hands—from causing such a raucous.  

Cassian goes to stand in the living room and waits, past the loveseat and the cushions, past the pictures judging him as he paces. He huffs on his way to the kitchen, pulls out a pan and then puts it back into the cupboard. Opens the cabinet, takes out bread, makes a sandwich. It tastes like sawdust in his mouth and he plops it back down on the plate.

He starts moving the furniture as a last act of desperation. Cassian hates moving the furniture and Nesta is never satisfied. She says it’s because they’re missing something, and she can’t quite put her finger on what. And though it’s originally Cassian’s idea, he merely replies that he has better things to do than spend hours comparing how the couch looks against each wall.

Truthfully, perhaps it isn’t in him to make homes out of war zones or pretty things out of bones and blood. Scars don’t decorate the living room as easily as they do his body and the house was never really his home. Just a skeleton structure with tattering walls and worn wood. Never with a mat at the front door saying welcome, how have you been, stay a while. He has never been welcome here.  

The house isn’t like that now, he thinks, a fact that makes Cassian smile as he tosses the throw pillows aside. He lays his head against the soft grey of the couch, looking out into that big picture window. Nesta could read there, he thinks. He imagines her feet tucked in, the light playing with the color of her hair, her eyes, the book open and wide as Nesta devours it. The dust of snow in the background. Maybe he’d be sitting across from her, watching her eyes scan the pages, or maybe he’d be in the kitchen, a savory fragrance drifting through the house like dawdling clouds.  

Cassian shakes his head to stop the dreaming, his feet firmly planted on the burgundy carpet and not out in that burgeoning yellow sky dusted with powder blue. She won’t like it here, his mind keeps repeating,  taunting and tantalizing all the ways Nesta can say I hate you in looks. She won’t need them when she can say it so well…

Though, Nesta’s never actually said the words. Good morning, yes. You idiot, most definitely. You brute, his favorite. But never, I hate you.

She could, though, and that scares him most of all. The idea that she can change her mind like he is merely a paint color or some bunched up fabric tossed aimlessly on the bed.

What if… what if he opens the door, lets her move in, change all the furniture, move it around, a plant here, a clock there, some pretty pictures on the wall, and she walks out no worse for wear, ready to leave it all behind? What if he is so easily left behind? Not even worth a memory. Not even called a mistake. Just a moment in an enduring lifespan, so long-lived that every choice could mean someone else. Something else that is not him.   

And, maybe, that’s why Cassian doesn’t tell her that he misses her every time she leaves, that he stores conversations in his brain so he can recount them to her later, every part of his day filled with will Nesta laugh at this? What will Nesta think about that? Such joy in revealing himself like filling in lines, coloring in glass, until they all but gleam in the morning sun. Something holy and sacred in the fragments.

Something breakable.

Cassian once wishes for more time and here it is. He spends it wringing his hands and running his fingers through his hair, mulling over the thousand different shades of Nesta Archeron. Not yellow, because it doesn’t hurt to look at her. Not green because her age never correlates with that smart mouth of hers and the wit that keeps him roaring. She could be purple because his skin always aches after touching her. Possibly blue, but not the blue that hides pools of mystery, that pulls and lures and drowns, but the light blue that he looks up to every morning, the color his wings and heart yearn for. Baby blue like forget-me-nots and bright eyes.

Eyes that she could look down at him with, he thinks.

Cassian sighs frustrated, picking up a pillow that presses uncomfortably at his side. The room feeling small as his thoughts abound around him, leaping past like dancing shadows. He can’t sit still. Not when his soul feels as if it will jump out of his body and find someone more stable minded.

Cassian looks around him. So many fragile pieces, so many happenstances…

Nesta is right when she says something is missing. Cassian feels it too.

He stares out that window where the light filters through, imagines their lives in this house. Pictures the coy looks, the surprising smiles, the way they move around each other, some pull from the pit of his stomach to the bottom of her bodice that keeps them coming back for more. Never far from each other, his arms reaching for her. Always reaching— Their noses almost touching.

And maybe…

They knock into a bookshelf or two in their effort to get closer. Run into a coffee table on their way to the couch. Maybe they don’t even make it, maybe they just fall into the small chair in the corner, Cassian careful not to knock the book that is perched on the arm. He can imagine the sharp look Nesta gives him when she thinks he’s lost the page, his own answering smirk when he sets it carefully on the table.

Perhaps, the ice on the window makes them cold, but instead of pulling the blankets out where they rest on the back of the chair, they scramble to meet. Every inch of their skin touching the other, wanting to make each other warmer. Softer. Infinitely more pliant—

Cassian is almost afraid to blink as he sees it all. The room awake, the fire roaring and loud.

He knows what’s missing. He wants to laugh at how obvious it is.

When Cassian enters her room, Nesta is sleeping soundly. Her chest moving steadily up and down. Some part of his brain whispers creep, but Cassian can’t help but stare. Not because she’s beautiful—she’s always been too beautiful for words or quick glances—but because a possessive part of him, the part that’s buried in the middle of his chest, squeezes like a tight fist and says here she is, in our house, in our room, in our bed. She is not afraid of us.

She is not ashamed of us, it says, and Cassian breathes in the words. A deep inhale of possibility as he steps closer, pulling up the blankets she’s aimlessly pushed away.

But, Cassian is quick to step back as he catches his actions. His hands curling at his sides. He is not here to dream, he thinks. Not here to ponder on what might have been or what can be if he ever finds the guts to stop living in fantasies.

Instead, he zones in on the bookshelves tucked into the corner, framing the walls like studious soldiers standing proudly erect. They are tall, a little past his height. Cassian wonders how Nesta can reach the highest shelves for she has filled them all. He laughs under his breath as he sees her trying.

Nothing ever could stop an Archeron sister.

But, Cassian is careful as he collects each book, laying them down on the chair that sits beside it. He counts them as he goes. Twenty turning to thirty turning to fifty in mere moments. How she can read all of them and still want more, he cannot understand.

Once he is finished, he takes the edge of the shelf in his hands and shuffles it forward. Cassian hears a clink from behind.

A picture frame falls to the floor…

Cassian is quick to grasp it, cutting himself where the glass cracks in the corner, but he can pay no mind when he sees the image. The blood welling up in the space between stars.

It’s the two of them.

Her and him. Imagined with such soft smiles, and something in their eyes he doesn’t want to name.

Cassian wants to cradle the picture to his chest, hide it before Nesta can see. He spares a quick glance in her direction, but she is not standing over him ready to snatch it from his hands. He doesn’t think he could let it go now even if she demanded it.  

Cassian traces his fingers along the image and wonders if it is possible to jump in the frame and ask the two of them a thousand different questions. All of them bordering on improbable. An impossible dream.

How do you love when you do not know how to love?

He swears he sees their mouths move, their voices loud and bright.

Love the best you can.

~

Nesta pads to the living room, her body aching as she makes each step. She rubs her eyes and yet when her hands move from her face, Cassian is undoubtedly there.

She can’t help the soft smile that appears. It has been easier to smile lately, and Nesta isn’t concerned about how foreign it might look across her face. He is there. He has always been there.

But, the living room is new.

And as Nesta uncovers all of it’s secrets, Cassian’s grin widens satisfied.

Her bookshelves frame the window and the armchair sits to the side. The couches mirror the fireplace, roaring and loud, and all of it works somehow. Like it never has before. Cassian moves around her as she moves along the walls, tracing her hand over the soft fabric and eventually over the books that sit unperturbed by the light of the sun.

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but he stands behind her as she peruses the living room, her gaze going up to the hanging lamp and the chandelier they picked out all those weeks ago. It glimmers blue and green and leaves triangles on the white oak coffee table as it sways.

Her presence is all over this place. She is in every pillow, and every book, and every candle that litter the tables. Every color, every sound, ever touch…

Cassian is there too.

Little accents of fur and Illyrian suede and weapons that hang neatly on the rack. He is there and she is there and together there is place for both of them. It makes her heart clench to think this is hers and her eyes start to burn as she clutches her chest.  

She turns to face him, expecting warm looks and soft embraces.

She’s met with a frame instead…

Nesta wants to claw it out his hands. Like some secret buried and never forgotten, rising from beneath her feet.

Her eyes begin to water as she stares, Cassian watching for bolting signs or some feral vindictiveness ready to storm and rage out of her. Her hands scrunch into fists and she can feel herself reaching, ready to fight for her last instance of security. Danger going off in her head like loud cymbals.

The two of them blink back at her in the frame. Wide-eyed and innocent.

“Why do you have that?” She asks. Cassian hikes up the image, his eyes rolling over its structured planes as he contemplates her question. Her voice a soft drum compared to his roaring silence.

“I found it.”

“Were you sneaking through my things?” She can hear the shrill yell like an echo in her ears. Distant. As if she were holding onto the moment by bare hands as the anger threatens to pull her away. Some distant winds already grabbing hold of her feet.

His nostrils flare, ready to argue, but Nesta steps back, holding her hands up as she reaches for her neck, swallowing a whole universe of shame and hot, fiery words.  

Cassian follows. Down a rabbit hole, an abyss of unsaid feelings, tripping over himself as he reaches for her.  

“I want this too.” He vows. His eyes wide and shining. “I want this more than you know.”

Nesta shakes her head, her back and chest sore. The pain getting worse as she breathes deeply, as if she can’t breathe at all. Like she’s already drowning, and no more air can reach her lungs.

“You shouldn’t have seen it.” She croaks, trying to force out the words. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”

Cassian rushes forward, his hair floppily landing across his face. His arms outstretched as they stop near her, curling back like withering vines and roses that fall at their feet.

“I can’t take it back,” He admits. To her. To himself. To the quiet walls that hold their breath. To the sleeping books all around them. To the people in their picture who do nothing but smile as if nothing at all is wrong with the world.

Nesta doesn’t snatch the picture away, but she closes her eyes, places her palms where stars start to form behind her eyelids.

“I want this.” He repeats and the words do nothing to calm that restlessness she has learned to embody like a second skin.

“You’ve said that already.” Nesta huffs, her movements careful as she wraps her arms around her middle, her hands clutching her dress. All of it giving too much away.

But, Cassian moves gently, steadily, carefully as he places his hands on her shoulders, moves them until he cradles her neck, her head titling to look up at him.

She can see it in his eyes—the familiarity.

She doesn’t have to hide with him. He knows.

Cassian knows what it feels like to wear pain as a fur coat, to collect anger like sticks thrown in a fire that spits and glares. All of it to keep them warm when their hearts have been buried under rock and ice and rain. When they have no home to return to, no roof over their heads, no family to burrow into. Nothing but soft winter nights and harsh winter words.

Nesta still has to remind herself that it’s spring and she wonders if Cassian will put up with her bitter frost in spite of blooming May’s… if he will still want her in the sunny July’s.

“You and me,” Cassian says as he sets his forehead on hers. “I want this more than anything.”

Nesta shuts her eyes, bleeding stars erupting behind. A mixture of snow and petals sprinkling down. Down. Down.

“Do you want this too?” She hears him whisper.

The smell of firewood burning reminds her of February forests and she buries her face into his chest. Squeezing him tighter as she hears the distant crackling in her ears. Sticks thrown into the fire and readily forgotten.

It is time to do more than burn, Nesta thinks. It is time to be more than frost.

“Yes.”

~

Nesta is not proud that she can beat them. She is not proud that her fists can be made into flames and her mind into an undisputable weapon. She is not proud that her enemies can grovel at her feet, or that she is safe from all of them.

When the sword in her hand shines like a mirror, she sees who she is. It is not a little girl with bloody hands. Not a young woman scared and alone. It is not a fae who doesn’t know where she belongs. It is simply, Nesta.

For whatever it’s worth. Whatever it costs.

There is nothing truly special about her at the core. Reduced to the literal, she is merely a human heart in a fae body, but beyond that she is just a person. Someone who thinks and feels and cries and laughs and sometimes regrets her life and circumstances, but she is not the only one who dreams.

And just like the others, she is strong. Weak, but strong.. and willful, often. Arrogant and pathetic. Uninteresting… humorous… even disastrous at times. Sometimes beautiful.

She is capable, Nesta affirms.

She is lovable.

Even if that word has never been one to describe her, even if that is only one part of who she is. She is loved, and she loves, and she is not ashamed.

Even so…

Love is not enough she thinks, as she rips open the envelope and out comes her sisters’ letter. Because the worst sound she has ever heard is the voice of Feyre telling her to leave, and the worst words she sees are the ones perfumed on the paper. Her eyes trailing the contents on the way to the kitchens.

Love has never been enough.

It is not enough in that little cabin. It is not enough when Feyre hunts. It is not enough when her father carries ships across seas. It is not enough when he falls to his knees, his head twisted to the right. The blood pooling like spilt paint.

It is certainly not enough when they ask her to come home, because they do. Elain first and Feyre following. She sees it in their handwriting, a joint letter this time, and Nesta wonders why they keep trying. What about her is so appealing?

Love is certainly not enough, now.

Nesta contemplates this as she rushes to Emerie, whose unloading a bag of flour that is half her size. Nesta grabs one end, Emerie at the other, and they both lug it to the corner, the bag flattening on the dusty floors.

They exchange greetings as Margery walks in, a long sword attached to her side. It is their turn for chores and admittedly it is something that Nesta has learned to look forward to, if only because she gets to see them, twice a week.  

“Do you plan on cutting carrots with that sword?” Emerie questions with a raise of her brow and a light tilt to her voice.

“And a nice rat, too, if we’re lucky enough to find one again.”

Emerie mockingly gags and Nesta smirks at her friend’s antics. She supposes it’s just the price they pay for living near a forest and being the easiest access to food.

Margery tilts her chin towards her, “How’s your back?”

Nesta raises both hands in assurance, seemingly touched by the subtle affection. “All healed.”

She means it, too. In fact, Nesta has never felt better. She awakes now with little more than a dream, not a wink of a nightmare, and yet… she thinks of her sisters’ letter weighing heavily in her pocket.

Is it love when they write her? She questions. Because Nesta thinks she knows what love is. This is love.

These females laugh with her, they talk with her, they value her opinion. She has never once felt belittled or uneasy and yet all she can think about is the fact that at any moment it can all disappear. Nesta is almost afraid to blink in fear that she has made them up in some half-intoxicated dream. That she’ll waken to her grungy apartment, the four locks clamped shut, pieces of glass shattered on the floor.

This is their fault, she rages. For leaving her in the middle of nowhere when she was falling a part at the seams.

“I’m surprised our illustrious commander didn’t gut me for the injury.”

“Cassian isn’t like that.” She answers, trying to swat away the feeling of betrayal as she focuses on her friends.

“Oh, it’s Cassian now.” Margery smirks, looking to Emerie as her eyes light up. “Not that one or him.”

Emerie adding, “or buffoon or that oversized bat.”

“Yes. Yes.” Nesta concedes, grabbing a ladle hanging from the wall, and giving them a dry look. “He’s all of those now.”

Margery huffs a laugh, going into her routine of ranting about her week. Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. She starts with Lord Devlon making her do drills to prove herself.

“If I have to do one more drill, my legs are going to fall off.”

“You’re still training?” Emerie asks and Margery sits in a chair at the table, leaning back as she places the sword and the harness all over the countertops. Nesta wants to roll her eyes. Margery has never been one to embody domesticity. Even the simplest of chores is somewhere in the range of pulling teeth and all she usually does is shine the steel until it gleams.

In typical fashion, Margery takes out a cloth and a bottle of polisher she’s conveniently stashed away. Emerie gives Nesta a look. Of course.

“The Rite is going to come up faster than you think, and there’s no way I’ll survive if I don’t get prepared.”

“You’re competing?” Emerie asks and Nesta supposes it would be surprising, given that Emerie never trains and straight up refuses when asked. She wonders if that’s also why they make good friends.

Margery merely shrugs, “If they let me.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Well,” Margery explains, her lips pursing, “then I guess I’m just going to have to go by Marco for a couple of weeks…”

Nesta blinks back in surprise.

“Or Jeremiah. Maybe Claud?” Margery jokes.

Emerie does not laugh and Nesta can’t tell if admiration is hidden in her eyes or something more akin to horror.

For Nesta, Margery is bold and Nesta has never been so bold as to demand what she wants. She wonders if she even can, if she has the ability to go against the choice people make for her—the life that people want for her and all of the roles that come with it. Mother knows, she’s never shown satisfaction, but Nesta has never spoken the words allowed. I don’t want this, she wants to say.

In fact, she admires both of her friends. One for running at the target headfirst and the other for refusing the target entirely. She could only wish to be half as brave as they are and though she is stubborn and angry and crass, Nesta always, always gives in.

“Personally,” Emerie starts, “I don’t understand the appeal of wreaking havoc in the mud.

“Why have the Rite anyways?” She questions, looking to Nesta.

She doesn’t voice her opinion and it’s a topic Emerie has been vocal about before.

Her lack of response doesn’t deter Emerie though, and Nesta thinks it’s because she finally has people to say it to. No one in their little group will judge her for it or kick her out into the snow and mud. No one except for Margery on occasion, whose will to fight sometimes outweighed her reasons.  

“Why must fighting be the only things we’re known for like some war mongering peasants?”

“We live in a war camp.” Margery mentions casually, giving Nesta a look.

“Exactly, my point,” Emerie sifts, pointing her index to Margery who lounges and Nesta who tries to at least finish peeling the potatoes. “Why must we live in war camps, will we be at war for the rest of our lives? Will we be bearing sons just for them to die who knows where, for a cause that seems useless in comparison?”

“Do I have to mention that you make a living off selling weapons to these war mongering peasants or are you going to negate that in the next speech?”

“I could make a living doing anything,” Emerie scoffs. “I could quit right now and become a cobbler. You try and stop me.”

Margery snickers at the image, and Nesta can’t say she sees it either. But she refuses to mention how unlikely the possibility is, when just a year ago, Emerie is nothing but a daughter at the hands of her father, in search of some well-off husband. Just like her.

It’s just their life, she thinks. Is it so wrong to be the person people expect? Is it wrong to give in and get over it? All of their potential stored in their wombs and their breasts rather than the edge of their minds and their viperous tongues. Is it wrong to be a liar, when lying is taught at such a young age and rewarded with a wealthy life and six children? Did she want the wealthy life and six children? Is that the choice she gives up by becoming fae?

Is that choice she blames the world for?

“Who likes fighting anyways,” She exasperates, her voice rising as Emerie shifts to Nesta, her eyes bright and burning. “Do you like fighting?”

Nesta pauses at the words. Margery stopping her incessant need to see her knife shine like emerald seas and diamond-shaped skies.

She has been asked this question before. Nesta remembers it well.

It has been so many months… so many different Nesta’s before, each worn like a set of costumes and painted faces so that she could be tolerable. Easily chewed and swallowed.

Does she truly enjoy fighting?

Is the answer easy to digest?

Nesta takes a deep breath, looking towards the knife in her hands and the peelings littering the table like bodies in a battlefield.

“I like—I like that when I work hard, my muscles ache and it feels like proof that I did something. Does that make sense?” Nesta taps her fingers on the table, a nervous tick as Emerie nods. “I like that I get to spend time with people—with you all—when before I had no one.”

She clenches her fist around the hilt as she pauses. Her mouth having trouble finding the right words, or rather the ones that don’t yell at her to be said. Her throat burns and she gulps them down, but Nesta is tired of keeping her mouth shut, when all she needs to do is whisper.    

“But, I don’t think I like fighting. The act…or the concept. I… sometimes, just… can only see the war.” She turns away, refusing to look at them, “I see the bodies and hear the screams… and I see it all. And I feel it all. And I just want to shut my eyes.” And Nesta does so as she speaks, the horror an echo in her memory, in her ears as it rings and rings and rings.

 “I just want it to stop, but it’s the only thing keeping me awake. And I can’t lose myself again. I can’t.”

Emerie shifts towards her and Margery leans closer, setting down her sword on the bench. Nesta shakes her head, holding a hand to her throat, her body shaking.  

“I’m afraid that if I stop, everything will go back to the way it was and I won’t be me anymore… and I won’t feel anymore… and I’ll be alone again.” Nesta hides face with her sleeves, “I don’t want to be alone.”

She trembles at the thought of them denying her for her weakness, but Emerie merely shuffles the potatoes away from her, placing the bowl on the counter. She comes to sit beside her, taking the knife from the table, sticking the tip into its wood. Nesta counts each twist.  

“My father died in that war,” Emerie admits, looking to the floor even as she clenches her fists. “And I am happy that he did. I know I should be ashamed of such things, but I’m not. I couldn’t even cry.”

She drops the knife and places her hand on top of Nesta’s and her eyes widen in surprise.

“I don’t want to be alone either… So don’t fight if you don’t want to.”

Nesta sniffles, but nods, wiping her eyes where they’ve teared up without her permission. Emerie snaps her fingers and Nesta looks up quickly.

“In fact, come with me to the shop today. It’s not interesting work, and I can’t pay you much…or at all really,” Emerie trails, “but you could help me in the shop. I have to go to the blacksmiths today and I’ve been designing some of my own pieces if you’d like to see.”

Nesta agrees because it’s another choice she’s been granted, and Nesta can count on one hand how many she’s been offered over the years.

She stands to grab another bowl and get on with the chores that need to be completed before anything else can begin. This one is filled with cabbage; the green leaves dusted with mud. But, Margery grabs her arm, tugging lightly. A shadow passing over her face.

“My brother. He came home last spring and he still hasn’t looked any of us in the eyes. I like to imagine I know what he went through, but I know I never can. I want to learn to fight, so my brothers don’t have to…”

Margery stares, the conviction heavy in her eyes. “Never again will I let them go alone.”

She releases her hold, but Nesta can’t stop staring. Her gaze following as Margery moves to pick up the sword again, stepping to parry and swing in the small room. A true warrior, not because she can fight, but because she chooses to fight for the people she loves. The people who mean something to her.

It is enough to write her sisters.

~

They’re drunk on fairy wine, Nesta admits, as she stumbles out the doorway of the tavern and Cassian trips on the skirt of her dress.

“And that’s how I got banned from the Summer Court,” Cassian finishes, his cheeks red and his smile bright with intoxicated glee. “You see, it wasn’t my fault at all.”

Nesta gives him a look.

“It wasn’t!” He offers incredulously and she laughs at the face he makes, his cheeks flushed and bright red.

The air feels cool as they slow into a steady pace away from the tavern, the sky filled with specks of color. The mountains outlining constellations while all the stars are lit like a city in the clouds. She understands why this is the Night Court.

Cassian wraps her scarf around her shoulders as the wind picks up, and Nesta doesn’t tell him she doesn’t feel cold. Only clutches the fabric closer to her chest.

“Tell me something about your life before.” He says, his shoulders touching hers. In fact, there hasn’t been a moment where he hasn’t been touching her. Hands clasped, thighs brushing, fingers combing through her hair. Lips against lips are only one fraction of the ways the two of them can show affection, she learns.

“My stories are not as exciting as yours,” Nesta replies, settling into quiet contemplation. Too silent for a beautiful walk in the night.

Cassian glances at her, encouraging. “I want to hear them anyways.”

So, she tells him.  

She tells him about the lessons. The governesses, the days her father wasn’t there. The brand-new piano he bought her when he missed her eighth birthday. How her mother was strict and frivolous and demanded perfection from her and how Nesta never was the daughter she wanted. She tells him about the sickness—that it took her mother quick and her father was never the same but that Nesta had never loved him the same after that too, because it was the first time he had failed her and it wasn’t the last.

She tells him how he lost everything and how the debt collectors came and broke his leg, Feyre watching while she ran upstairs with Elain. How after that, her father stopped being anything…stopped being alive. Her mother had died on the outside and her father had died on the inside and Nesta died with them because at some point she’d wanted to die…or felt like she was.

“I still love them now,” Nesta says, contemplating the lunacy, “even if they’re gone. I don’t know why. But I do.”

She shakes her head, her hand swiping over the side of her face, pushing the hair out of her eyes. “I remember hating them even as I loved them and now… I can’t even remember how. I can imagine it, but I can’t feel it.”

The stars flicker in specks of gold and silver and Nesta watches as they brush against the painted sky. How many do exist across the universe? She wants to know. That light up solely so someone can dream, and someone can wish, and another can fall in love. How many times does she herself, dream that things are different? How many times does she look up and wish?

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive them?”

Nesta turns her head, Cassian’s eyes never leaving the planes of her face.

“My parents?” She asks.

“Your sisters,” He clarifies, his face grimacing as he catches his breath, “Rhys… Amren… Azriel, Mor… me.” He finishes lamely.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She lies.

Cassian scoffs. “I told you I didn’t understand why your sisters could love you and then played an accomplice—guiltless, I thought—and dragged you here without your consent.”

As if nothing has ever been taken from me without my consent, she wants to say.  

“Thank you for the recap.” Nesta admonishes, walking ahead. Cassian steps forward, trailing behind.

“I say it because I know it’s going to end. This—” He stops to gesture around them, to each other, “being here. I know eventually we’re going to have to go back and it won’t be just us anymore.”

“It was never just us.”

“It’s different being here. You feel it, too, I know. It’s…easier.”

Nesta crosses her arms, “For you—it was never easy for me.”

“But that’s what I mean,” his voice stressing the words, “after all of this—after it’s done and we go back home—back to Velaris, I mean, will you forgive us? Will you forgive us when we’ve hurt you so badly?”  

“You’ve hurt me?” She asks, a thrumming anger settling in her stomach. She almost forgets what it tastes like but as it bubbles up her throat, Nesta remembers.

There you are, she thinks.

“We didn’t help you—I didn’t help you after the war. I didn’t know what you needed,” Cassian explains desperately. “And I was certain what you needed wasn’t me.

“But if I was there—if I had pushed—things might have been different. It might not have taken so long.”

“Taken so long for what?” She spits, “For me to become someone I still don’t want to be.”

Nesta paces exasperated, her hands planted at her waist, her fingers itching to point and to prod at Cassian’s chest. You did this, she wants to say.

But that’s an excuse and Nesta is tired of excuses.

“All of you think you have so much control over me. That I yearn for all of you, and as soon as I don’t get your attention, I’m dying or angry or sad.”

She faces him. Her spine going rod straight, her chin raised high.

“My pain is my own. Only I can fix it.”

The words settle in her stomach and Nesta is strange to find relief instead of that regret gnawing and chewing through.

There is an end to her pain. It isn’t out of reach and unattainable, always loading over her head and heavy across her shoulders. It is in her grasp… to change how she feels, to actively work against what causes her shame and anger and horrifying despair. It is in her control to be who she wants, to say what she wants, to feel what she wants. All others be damned.

There is no one to please, and no one to be but herself.

Every day she can choose to fight and not with a sword or a bow or some knife strapped to her thigh, but with her mind, her attitude, her will to live. Against those false and very real memories and the lies she keeps telling herself to sleep at night. She doesn’t need magic to see things differently. Just a strong-will and an unrelenting hope for something better. To dream in a land of make-believe and to love in a world that was all but hopeless.

Nesta is capable. She is proud. She is loved and she feels…so many things. Her life is messy, sometimes regrettable, but not unforgettable. She could do something with it. Make something of it.

And who are they to fix her like some broken doll, tell her what to do like some little girl?

She is not a child and she cannot be broken.  

Cassian gently grabs her hand and Nesta unclenches her fist in his palm. How easy it is for him to calm her as much as it is to light her aflame.  

The quietness settles around them. The hot summer sun turning to cool summer nights.

“I’m sorry I wasted time.” He rattles, his lips loose from the alcohol and the night that hides them in pockets of intimate darkness. He reaches his hand out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, but he pulls away fast, as if she burns him.

Cassian clenches his eyes shut and Nesta can see him questioning. All of the thoughts going through his brain and writing them across his face. But instead of denying her like she’s sure he will, he rushes to cradle her neck, tipping her head to meet his.

They’ve been in the position before.

Nesta remembers it well.

“You were worth the wait.” He says and Nesta’s eyes blinks at the admission, “not just these months… The 538 years. You were worth every minute and you’re worth every minute more.”

“You said you wanted time with me.” She says hazel meeting blue. Her eyes trailing to his lips without her permission.

“I meant every word.”

She glides her fingers along his and places her hands where they rest on her face and she leans into his palm as his thumb brushes against her cheek.  

“Do you think we could start now?” She whispers.

Cassian grins. A bright look—one that she can see in the stars.  

“I’m already yours.”

~

Their lips meet. They can’t help themselves. They sink into each other, arms entwined in arms. Crashing and pulling, like their hearts and their arguments—like their hearts are trying to argue if this is right. They plough into cabinets and walls, and distantly they can hear the shatter of glass and picture frames. The ones they chose together. It tumbles to the floor with the rest of their doubts. It is swallowed by the sound of their breathing. They don’t need to say anything; their tongues whisper all their secrets.

The door of her bedroom is both her friend and her companion, crossing its threshold seems matrimonial. Cassian gives her space, but she demands his body against hers, their figures making shadow puppet on the wall. Along with the rest of the house, the walls are decorated. The wood panels and cream-colored sheets protecting their attachment to skin and heartbeats.

Her hands grasp the bed sheets and he leans into her, breathes her in. She figures they’ve already become a part of each other, as sure as the fusion of metals and the weapons he pulls from his belt. They clash to the floor.

He pulls at her shirt and she tears the button off his, and their lips never leave the others, except to map the planes of their existence. They only separate long enough for their clothes to end up on the floor, nothing between them. Even their souls say it isn’t close enough.

Nesta bares her neck to him, Cassian looks at dip of her neck to her shoulder, the gravitational pull of her skin and her smell calling to him. She expects him to leave little bites and love marks, like that first time in another world across the wall, expects the roughness of his teeth and the scratch of his stubble. Instead, he leans in gently and presses a kiss where her heartbeat meets her skin. It is loud and tumultuous; it echoes his own. 

She clasps their fingers together, and he places their entwined hands above her head, as he kisses down her body, until she is gasping and flying, her eyes trailing to the wings that expand above him. The deepest shade of black they shine indigo from the light of the moon.

Her distraction is his leverage and he kisses his way down her body. She gasps, and he pushes. He groans, and she pulls. They move together, slow at first, steady, turning into the untamable flames they knew thrived and burned long before they each existed.

Their lips only part to call out their names. Prayers in the darkest night.

~

Her nightmares sound like the voice of her sisters. Sometimes it the harmony of their demands—telling her she needs to leave. Sometimes, it’s their voices never even reaching her ears. Sometimes, it’s not her sisters at all. It’s her own. Her own sweet words that rupture and tear.

But in the morning, when her head is on his chest and he is tracing stars on her arms, she shuts out the voice in her head that tells her she doesn’t deserve this. That she will undoubtfully make a mess out of the love she cherishes and protects.

If her soul is a fire, she will burn their house to the ground. Their love turning to ash even before she can count the ways Cassian silently says, “I love you,” into her skin. A part of her is already burning.

“You’re sisters miss you; you know.”

She picks at the thread of the purple duvet and gulps the urge to roll her eyes.  

“They’ll live.”

Cassian says nothing at her indignant response and Nesta helps him with little conversation. Instead, she chooses to indulge him between pattered sheets and fur. Distraction as much as a weapon as her mind and his sword.

Nesta doesn’t tell him of all the times she wishes her sisters are near, that she could talk to them and bundle into that one bed across the wall in a cabin she doesn’t want to remember. She doesn’t tell him either, that for many years she’s loved them more than herself, and even after all this time Nesta still never shows it well enough.

She loves them still, but she loves herself, too. Enough to know they are all better off and she wonders if this is what love means, to give up or to give in, and if any of those options are palatable. Easily swallowed.

They are not right in sending her off, and she is not right for letting herself get carried away. By both, her grief and her past. They’ve done wrong and she’s done wrong and they’ve altogether done so much wrong that she thinks they all must be monsters. Grotesque and inhumane and unfeeling. They all look like monsters anyways, down to every fae bone.  

But it’s a small price to pay and Nesta prefers being called a monster over the fraudulency of her life.

So when Cassian pushes and pulls, Nesta would rather let go. Let her remain the witch, the bitch, the thorn in their side. Let them remain happily ensconced in Velaris allure with twinkling lights all about.

It makes no difference to her.

How are you, we miss you, we wish you were here. It’s not the same without you.

“Do you hate them for sending you here?”

You were killing yourself and we couldn’t watch. We’re doing this for you.

“I could never hate my sisters.”

~

Go on a date with me.

Why? We already slept together.

Does sleeping together mean I can’t take you on dates?

No. I just think it’s a little backwards.

We are backwards.

Yes, but a dates going to end up in the same place we started with.

Is that a no?

I didn’t say that.

Then, you will?

Ask me nicely.

Nesta Archeron, regardless of how much I will probably regret this, will you go on a date with me?

That wasn’t nice—don’t roll your eyes.

Say yes, please.

Fine.

So tomorrow then?

I said yes.

I know but I wanted you to say it again.

Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep smiling so much.

Your eyes are going to fall out if you keep rolling them like that.  

~~~

Nesta can’t escape the darkness. Like a lover, he grabs her hair seductively. Like a lover, he pulls strands out with his grip. Like a lover, he nibbles sweetly on her ear. Like a lover, his teeth sink into her flesh. Like a lover, he leaves a scar she can never get rid of.

~~~

Cassian holds her hand, gives her a rose. She chooses a dress made of fresh snow. The color reminds her of blood.

~~~

Sometimes, Nesta dreams of wars. Sometimes, she lives them.

There is no color on the battlefield. No death that floats above their heads. No face is familiar, but she thinks she sees her friends. All of them people she has met before.

Their banners mean nothing. Their weapons mean less. Death does not laugh, and they do not scream. She only hears grunts and shallow breathing. It isn’t just Illyrian men who serve. It’s Illyrian men and women and her, standing beside each other to protect their home.

In her dreams, Death is a villain. He is cruel and mean and arrogant. On the battlefield, Death is each and every one of them fighting for the chance to survive, to kiss their children good night, to build their homes, to wrap their lovers in their arms. Tightly. Softly. Locked in an embrace that not even death can sever.

Death does not mock her. It does not smile cruelly or kiss up her spine. There is nothing seductive in its kiss. It lives inside of her—disguises itself like a fae in wolf’s clothing, like lies in sweet words. It is dressed in her armor, with her sword in her hand, with sweat down her back. Like magic under her skin. Death, like magic disguised as fire.

It explodes like the rage she keeps inside of herself.

Explodes before it can even tell her its name.

~~~

Cassian holds her body. She chooses a dress made of roses. It reminds her of blood.

~~~

Cassian's love is as soft as rose petals and as dangerous as a wound. She hears his voice. Feels his hands, his soft breath against her forehead. Where she once feels nothing a pain blooms... and burns... and takes. Like hatred and anger in a once-human turned fae and the love between them both that leaves no survivors.

She thinks his love is something akin to fire, their love something that burns them both in the end... But perhaps it is sweeter and softer and more fragile than matches. Because, Nesta remembers. Nesta never forgets. And as she feels the subtle softness of his trailing fingers, the rough edge of his palms, Nesta thinks of all the ways that lead her back to him.

Cassian’s love is the books left outside her door. The pump of her heartbeat, the feel of skin on his, the hills filled with daisies and the flavor of life in every piece of pie. The color of strawberries and chandeliers and the people who laugh and smile and grimace and cry.

His love is the blood on her hands, the sun she sees outside, and the stars that wink and wave beyond their control.

Cassian’s love is the home wedged between mountains, where the fire is always lit.

Cassian’s love is a small flame.

It isn’t so difficult to choose the light.

The light is warm.

~

Tags:  @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights , @missing-merlin, @strangeenemy, @saltydreamcollector, @midnightbluhm, @my-fan-side, @queenofillea1, @tswaney17, @gloriousinlove, @ekaterinakostrova, @thebluemartini, @anishake, @lord-douglas-the-third, @soitsgorgeous, @lolasjournal

(PLEASE LMK if you want to be tagged or you want to be not tagged or if you asked and I forgot)

AN:

Good enough (shrugs) I can’t fix it anymore than this. 

I feel like I made this part complicated, but it was necessary. I wanted to tie in so many voices and ideas that came up in the beginning and I still didn’t want Nesta fully healed because there’s no such thing and I wanted Cassian’s POV and his to seem just as complex. SO it ended up being so long and so full. I hope it wasn’t so confusing to follow. But...

I have to say all of the comments I have gotten from this fic whether it was on tumblr or Ao3 or fanfic.net have been incredible and have made me feel so amazing, especially since writing on a regular basis is very, very hard to me. Sometimes, it feels like physical torture which is unfortunate because I absolutely love to write and to you know perfect the craft so to speak. Believe me when I say that this fic would have stopped after Nesta’s Love is Quiet without all of your encouragement. It means the world to me. <3 I am glad to belong to such a wonderful fandom who really likes to analyze these characters.  

“Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue” the last part of this series, won’t be done for a while, if it happens at all. I have so many fics I have stopped writing on, but this is one of the longest goes I’ve had, so it’s going to be all about the timing, I suppose and the ideas that come up when I start really writing for it. I’m writing Queen of Monsters now and it’s a lot of the same ideas but with more plot and more characters and places and so on and I really want to get on that one. 

Even my AN are long, so I’ll just stop here, but please like, reblog, kudos, or favorite for which ever platform you choose to read on, but mostly comment because again I just like talking to y’all and I want to know what you think and how these characters come across to you. Message me even, I’m lonely most days and I need more book friends. 

[kbstories]

Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

*

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.