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casspurrjoybell-33 · 1 month

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Unlikely Places - Chapter 30 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter: 30 - Holding His Hand

As I walked into the room, Pierce close at my heels, I could see immediately the encounter would be as unpleasant as I had anticipated.

Except for Percy, all the other males in the room had varying frowns on their faces.

Archer's was slight whereas Mick's and Branson's were downright scowls.

Noah's expression fell somewhere in the middle.

Percy just looked curious.

Just as I was about to speak to break the painful silence, my throat once again thick with tension, Pierce suddenly stepped forward a step around me and faced my friends.

"Hello. My name is Pierce Luciano..." he started to say but was immediately cut off by Branson.

"We know who the fuck you are."

I frowned but before I could say anything Percy immediately reprimanded Branson.

Mick spoke up then to defend Branson as did Noah.

Archer continued to remain silent.

Percy shushed them.

"Manners. Period and you do remember you're in Jackson's house 'Mr. Kings of Overstepping'. Let him finish speaking."

I had felt Pierce tense beside me as soon as Branson had spoken up.

I had a pretty good idea that Pierce never let anyone talk to him that way and I was shocked that he had remained quiet throughout.

I was feeling a little ticked myself and never more thankful for Percy.

I knew this wouldn't be easy but there was no excuse for that kind of rudeness.

It was my house and he was a guest.

I kept silent though as I sensed that was what Pierce wanted from me.

I remained silent as both anger and anxiety roiled in my stomach.

"I deserved that," he admitted into the now silent room.

"I've acted like an outright ass and there is no reason for you to be polite. I sincerely apologize to all of you as I have already done with Jackson."

Pierce glanced down at me and gave me a small smile.

"Jackson is someone I have come to be quite fond of and I would appreciate it..."

"Fond? As in you want to share him with us now? Won't that be stretching him thin?" Mick broke in with his own nasty innuendo to remind Pierce of the awful thing he had once implied.

I tensed.

The anxiety never far, had my hands shaking and my heart pounding.

That combined with the relatively new experience of anger was not helping my overall condition.

I wanted to speak up but seemed to have lost my ability to speak.

I tried swallowing and then tried again.

I had felt Pierce immediately tense at Mick's words.

This was getting even uglier than I had expected.

Before I could recover my voice, Pierce started speaking again as I quietly struggled to even out my breathing.

"It wasn't funny when I insinuated it and it isn't funny now. I screwed up. I won't make excuses but I would like to offer my apologies and ask for another chance. Jackson and I..." Pierce was starting to say as he looked down at me but his words stopped immediately as his eyes landed on me.

I'm not sure what he saw but by his expression I must have looked worse than I was feeling.

Without giving the other furious men another thought he turned towards me and grabbed my hands, looking down at me in concern.

"I'm sorry, Jackson. I shouldn't have done this now and like this without giving your friends a chance to know they would even be seeing me," he said with self-disgust.

I frowned as I breathed shakily not liking that he was taking all the blame.

No one was really at fault.

I knew the guys would act like this and they would have to get it out of their systems before they capitulated like I knew they eventually would.

Pierce did have to apologize so the meeting had to happen.

It was just me being me.

My friends were so important to me and now so was Pierce.

This wasn't nice and it wasn't pretty and my body simply didn't know how to handle the stress of it.

I never liked confrontations, never more so than now.

"Look, I'm going to go. I'll meet them again when they know I'm coming. When it's fairer to them and we can all be more relaxed, okay?"

As we stood there looking at each other quietly talking, neither of us noticed the silence.

Neither did we notice that we were being stared at with various expressions of astonishment.

"Excuse me," Noah's voice suddenly piped up.

I turned immediately to look towards Noah though I could tell it took Pierce a few moments as he was watching me as if still concerned, I might have a full-blown panic attack.

I glanced back at him quickly to try and reassure him.

My anxiety had in no way faded but Pierce's talking had soothed the shakiness enough to help calm me.

I gave his hand a light squeeze of reassurance and that was when I realized we were standing there in front of my friends holding hands and another second to realize that was where everyone's eyes were directed.

To my surprise I felt Pierce try to pull his hand away but with a determination that felt foreign, I grasped his hand tightly to hold on to him.

I should have never let it go in the first place.

The silence was not conducive to relaxation but neither was it filled with the ugliness of moments before.

Our linked hands seemed to have magically soothed the dislike but I could tell it also was bringing forth a lot of unexpected confusion.

Branson looked over at Archer and whispered something then looked at Mick and Noah and they all nodded their heads.

"Jackson, are you okay?" Pierce asked quietly from beside me.

I could tell his thoughts were more about me than anything else.

It made me feel warm inside and not a little mushy.

To be that important to someone like him boggled my mind. It also melted me and soothed the anxiety I had been feeling.

"You're holding his hand," Mick spoke up to state the obvious. I nodded my head, feeling shy.

"You never touch anyone on purpose let alone hold hands," Noah said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

There was really nothing to say.

"What the fuck is going on here," Branson demanded.

Archer who had remained silent finally spoke up, his tone mild and not without a little humor.

"What the hell does it look like, dumbass?"

After a moment of shock everyone started laughing.

It was stilted and a little awkward but the ice had been broken.

I still stood nervously beside Pierce in front of all my friends.

They were eyeing us and smirking though Mick and Branson still looked at little miffed.

Noah less so but he didn't look friendly either.

I had a feeling their forgiving Pierce was going to take a little longer than I had originally thought.

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animepopheart · 4 years

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Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 7: The Scars to Prove It (or, Love for the Moms, the Cutters, and the Drunks)

Wonder Egg Priority (WEP) has felt like the successor to Puella Magi Madoka Magica in many ways throughout its run, but in episode seven, it almost went full Madomagi by driving the stakes to their utmost height—to the death of one of the main characters. But as has been consistent with WEP, what it did instead, after some moments of true worry, is to instead deliver hope in the face of pain, resolve against overwhelming circumstances, and strength in weakness.

The series returns to Rika Kawai’s story in this episode, which starts with her turning 14. And on her 14th birthday, after leaving her hungover mother halfway asleep at the bar she works at and which they call home, Rika opens up to the rest of the girls, explaining that she doesn’t know her father (it could be any of five possibilities, or even more) and her mom won’t reveal any further information about him. As she trashes her mom, Neiru and Momoe are incredulous, which only drives Rika away from them. And though Ai goes to comfort her, Rika is in a terrible state of mind as she enters her next fight.

This was a difficult episode to watch. They’ve all been somewhat hard since the series never shies away from brutal and violent situations impacting young people, but I found myself squirming especially here as Rika’s cutting takes center stage. At one point, she decides to cut herself and it seems certain she will, before her turtle-like partner, Mannen, prevents it from happening.

Challenging, also, is how strained Rika’s relationship is with her mother, who’s life revolves around drink—alcohol both pays the bills and helps her forget how miserable her existence is. And in the midst of all the bad behavior in this episode—the usual Rika talk, her mom’s alcoholism and neglect, and the selfishness all around, one begins to feel deeply sorrowful for the Kawai women. Yes, Rika is often obnoxious, but her family life is in shambles, and she still exhibits goodness, including a curiously gentle relationship with Mannen. And Rika’s mother is a tragic figure, used by men and quite on the road to an early death, it would seem, unable to lift herself out of the gutter as she tries, in her own sloppy way, to protect and reach out to her daughter.

It’s in this hopelessness that Rika turns again to cutting, and then finds herself tempted by something even more dangerous. Her foe this time is a religious leader who led the egg, a follower who continues to believe in him, to commit suicide as a way of “connecting” with the universe (Heaven’s Gate, anyone?). Rika decries the ghoul as a charlatan, but is confronted with her own weakness when the egg shows her own scarred arm to Rika, revealing that she can tell that the latter cuts just like she did. And then she explains that Rika can be released from this pain.

The scars, evidence of what Rika does to cope with her pain, now become the weakness that they truly are, revealing how hopeless she feels, and how powerless she is against the mechanizations of her family life. And defeated, she’s about to allow herself to be killed when a surprising savior comes along—a turtle. Mannen attacks the spiritual leader, to Rika’s surprise as well, until she remembers that he has imprinted on her. Rika is Mannen’s mom, and as he did when he prevented her from cutting, Mannen is again protecting his mother.

The conclusion that Rika reaches is unusual but inspiring. She understands, in this moment, the need to protect one’s mom, finally admitting to herself in a de facto way that maybe her mother is in need of love, too. It’s funny to consider the need that mothers have for love since culturally and socially, they’re always seen as the providers of it. But of course, they need it in return, especially when they falter. My own mother is sick right now, and I think of the support I need to give her and the lack of that I’ve provided through the years.

Warning: Screenshot involving cutting after the jump.

My mother was a good one, however. Rika’s, on the other hand, has struggled with the charge, which reminds me of a story from one of my favorite books, The Ragamuffin Gospel, about another bad parent—a far worse one, in fact, and a real one. I’ll quote part of the passage from chapter seven:

“‘Our daughter Debbie wanted a pair of earth shoes for her Christmas present. On the afternoon of December 24, my husband drove her downtown, gave her sixty dollars, and told her to buy the best pair of shoes in the store. That is exactly what she did. When she climbed back into the pickup truck her father was driving, she kissed him on the cheek and told him he was the best daddy in the whole world. Max was preening himself like a peacock and decided to celebrate on the way home. He stopped at the Cork ‘n’ Bottle–that’s a tavern a few miles from our house and told Debbie he would be right out. It was a clear and extremely cold day, about twelve degrees above zero, so Max left the motor running and locked both doors from the outside so no one could get in. It was a little after three in the afternoon and…’

Silence.

‘Yes?’

The sound of heavy breathing crossed the recreation room. Her voice grew faint. She was crying. ‘My husband met some old Army buddies in the tavern. Swept up in euphoria over the reunion, he lost track of time, purpose, and everything else. He came out of the Cork ‘n’ Bottle at midnight . He was drunk. The motor had stopped running and the car windows were frozen shut. Debbie was badly frostbitten on both ears and on her fingers. When we got her to the hospital, the doctors had to operate. They amputated the thumb and forefinger on her right hand. She will be deaf for the rest of her life.'”

Max—a real person, mind you—was a successful, well-liked man, but his drinking problem led to an unconscionable decision and profound failure as a parent. And yet, this book is about grace, an idea which to humans feels unjust, but which has the power to change hearts and tear down walls, sometimes literally.

Could Max be given grace? Could Rika’s mother? If not directly, she’s done her own physical damage to her daughter in the form of those cutting scars (difficult and perhaps triggering images below). As mentioned earlier, the egg that she’s helping knows her pain and insists that letting go of everything, including life itself, is the way to peace. After all, to a young, suffering girl, what else could these scars mean?

But in the midst of giving up, in the moment that she actually capitulates (and this episode takes you 99% to the edge, both in the cutting scene and in the apparent death scene), Rika experiences something powerful. She experiences grace.

Have you ever been challenged to forgive someone when you don’t want to, when you feel completely in the right? Maybe it’s easy for you, but perhaps it isn’t. The girls surrounding Rika experience differing degrees of this with her sometimes maniacal and often hurtful behavior. Ai forgives easily. Momoe gets fired up and then equally seeks to make peace. And Neiru…well, Neiru holds onto “justice” more than love (setting up what I imagine will be the most powerful transformation in the series of all, in true Homura fashion). But in the moment that Rika is about to give her life, the girls yell out their love for her, even Neiru, and then more profoundly, without any hesitation, Mannen puts his own life on the line to stop the death from occurring. Rika has already given up, but this turtle hasn’t—not for his mother, whom he loves very much.

And experiencing that love from a different angle, Rika is changed just a bit. She begins to see her weakness as a “mother,” failing her turtle-child, and thinks of her own mom who is overwhelmed by hurt and a failure as well. And if just a little—for as the final scenes indicate, it is just a little—the path toward forgiveness begins.

But a little bit of grace is like a little bit of a flood—its power overwhelms, and it defeats the enemy, whether that means bitterness, a physical person (or manifestation of one), or the devil himself.

When Rika returns from the event, having killed the cult leader monster, it’s interesting to note that she isn’t a wholly different person. She’s changing little by little. And her scars remain. In fact, as she admits, she probably will cut herself again. But strangely enough, those scars now represent something different. They show someone trying—failing, yes, sometimes considerably and maybe very often—but trying, and only able to try because love was shown her, and through that, she is now able to show love as well.

You may have such scars in your life, physical or emotional, battered by the world and by people. I hope that you can develop relationships that help you heal as well, and that you’ll also remember that there are other scars which are meaningful to you, but which you cannot see on your person, scars that were borne out of a desire to heal you. Christ took the piercings, on his head, hands, feet, and side, so that while your heart and flesh may be cut, your soul need not be. And through his wounds, you may be healed.

The grace offered through Christ is one that, as he explains about everlasting water at the well to the Samaritan, for now and through eternity. The egg seeks peace forever by dying, but Jesus, unlike the cult leader, died for us so that we may not have to. He took the nails, the cross, and the spear so that we don’t have to inflict pain on ourselves and receive the punishment of our actions against him and others. He is our scar.

That’s grace. That’s the power that it has. And it can reach anyone—even a terrible dad, an alcoholic mom, a tempestuous child, and, and most significantly and personally—you.

If you’re suffering and in pain, maybe self-inflicted, we encourage you to explain such to a parent or trusted adult and ask for help. It’s a difficult first step, but one that will help you begin recovering. And we also advise that you turn to Christ for help—in prayer, community, and scripture. He provides people to us that will aid us in our times of need, as well as himself and the Holy Spirit if we are believers.

Additionally, there’s a scene in this episode where triumphant, Rika concludes that cutting is okay. That’s said in the context of her moving forward bit by bit and forgiving herself for her failures, even the upcoming ones. That’s an important lesson, though we must certainly be careful not to let it be a license to continue cutting with impunity.

Wonder Egg Priority can be streamed through Funimation. Read more of our articles by signing up for our weekly newsletter.

#wonder egg priority #rika kawai #wep #pmmm #Christianity #tw cutting #blog

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idabbleincrazy · 2 years

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From my Spike/souled!Angelus timestamp:

"Darla’s not too happy with me right now. Figured I'd be better off staying behind with ye."

Angelus stepped further into the room, reaching out and pulling Spike to him. He could smell the Slayer's blood coursing under the blonde’s skin, and even as his soul cried for the pointless death, his cock hardened at the tantalizing aroma. He leaned in and ran his nose along the curve of Spike’s throat, breathing in the scent of the stolen blood. Spike growled softly at the manhandling and pushed half-heartedly at the larger form of his Sire.

"She ain't the only one mad at you, mate. You've some bloody nerve, bargin' in here, thinkin' you can just order me about like nothing’s changed 'round here."

Angelus let go of Spike, suddenly sheepish. His boy was right. Things had changed over the two years he was away; nothing made that more clear than the feat he had accomplished this evening. While his soul would never let him forget that he was the one who had turned the once-poet into such a vicious killer, the demon in him swelled with pride over his protégé taking down a Slayer. He had practically dismissed the event when Spike had told him; the hurt he saw flash through those sharp blue eyes had cut him deeply, but he had been unable to reconcile the two warring parts of himself at the time.

Pushing away the guilt that constantly stung at him like a swarm of mosquitoes, he pulled his Childe closer, determined to show the young vampire how proud of him he truly was.

"Ah, yer a bit miffed with me about tonight, eh, lad?" Spike rolled his eyes and turned his head away, refusing to catch Angelus' darkening gaze. Angelus sniffed the air surreptitiously, and bit back a grin when he caught the slight scent of arousal wafting off the boy. "Y'know I couldn't let myself be too unseemly in public 'round Darla. She's barely accepted me back as it is, William, wouldn't 'ave done to 'ave her gettin' her hackles up."

"Hmph. It's Spike, by the way, just as it was before you flitted off from us."

"You'll always be Will to me, m'boy. Time hasn't changed that."”

Angelus sensed Spike’s reluctant capitulation as he held the younger vampire in his immovable embrace, a soft sigh falling from the pouting lips as Angelus nuzzled his neck teasingly.

“Sire, please…”

Angelus smiled against the cool skin, wedging a leg between Spike’s and pulling the slim body closer as he felt him hard against his thigh. Spike’s hands flew up to grip at his shoulders as he pressed his thigh against the cloth-covered length.

“You’ve killed a Slayer, my boy, you deserve something quite special for such a display of strength, don’t you think, Childe? Jesus, Will, I smell her on you even now, her rich blood flowing through you.”

Spike groaned and rubbed himself against the hulking form wrapping itself around him, his cock twitching in his trousers. Angelus growled in pleasure as Spike shifted and stretched his neck back, giving him better access to the pale, smooth skin.

#sneak peek sunday #spangel

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varric-tethras-editor · 3 years

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URL Music Meme

A gigantically HUGE shout out to @blueheaded (also @the-dreadful-canine and @little-lightning-lavellan) for tagging me in this. I have been really inactive but this will be a nice post for the end of a very very long day/week/month/summer/life

I decided for a twist I would include my favorite lyrics from each song and of course each are linked for your listening pleasure!

(Asterisk songs/lyrics are all time favs)

***

V - Victoria by Jukebox the Ghost And now you've given me a mission to do, I've got to rearrange the stars so that they're not as far from you. A - Apartment by Young The Giant Cause sooner or later this is bound to stop Come on, let's savor what we're falling over R - Run Away With Me by Carly Rae Jepsen Hold on to me I never want to let you go Over the weekend we could turn the world to gold* R - Ribs by Lorde This dream isn't feeling sweet, we're reeling through the midnight streets And I've never felt more alone, it feels so scary getting old I - Ivy by Taylor Swift How's one to know? I'd live and die for moments that we stole On begged and borrowed time C - Chasing A Feeling by LÉON* We used to stay up forever Just to make every moment last T - Time Turned Fragile by Motion City Soundtrack I know I say that, I'm just fine But I hope you wonder from time to time E - Enough For You by Olivia Rodrigo Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded? Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing? T - Traveling Song by Ryn Weaver Half a heart is aching to grow Soulmates aren't just lovers, you know H - Honey by Halsey She was sweet like honey But all I can taste is the blood in my mouth And the bitterness in goodbye R - Recovery by Frank Turner Because I know you are a cynic but I think I can convince you, yeah, 'cause broken people Can get better if they really want to Or at least that's what I have to tell myself If I am hoping to survive*** A - All Too Well by Taylor Swift* And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest* S - Serotonin by girl in red Oh, been breaking daily, but only me can save me So I'm capitulating, crying like a fucking baby E - Evergreen Cassette by Goldspot If time, time could be bent with the drop of a tear You'd see it rain in our house for a year D - Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy Oh, I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine What a match, I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet I - If Work Permits by The Format Love is speaking in code It's an inside joke Love is coming home*** T - This Must Be The Place by Iron & Wine and Ben Bridwell Home, is where I want to be But I guess I'm already there I come home she lifted up her wings Guess that this must be the place O - Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish I've been walkin' through a world gone blind Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind R - Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart A year from now we'll all be gone All our friends will move away And they're goin' to better places But our friends will be gone away

Tags under the cut 💖💖💖

@kantrips @ellenembee @purahs @a11sha11fade @a-shakespearean-in-paris @oxygenforthewicked @emerald-amidst-gold @fernaee @maferaths-balls @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @malewifezevran @cciarants

#wow this is gonna be a lot of songs #okay let me go and pick someeeeee im so excited for this #wow this took forever and im not even done

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andraaste · 3 years

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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction Part 4

I have a question for you guys. In French, we say "une oreille à qui parler" literally "an ear to talk to". Do you say that expression, too ? I really don't know, but that's the title of my chapter aha.

So, here's chapter 4 !

(Link for Chapter 5 here)

Chapter 4 : Someone to talk to

Lance walked in front of me with a sure and confident walk, while my stomach twitched slightly at the thought of what Huang Hua wanted to talk to us about. Why hadn't the leader of the Sparkling come to me in the first place, when it was clearly necessary ? Why leave it to Lance, supposedly the person I should have the least interaction with, to do it for her ? I didn't understand her intentions.

I observed the broad shoulders of my companion. He had changed a lot in seven years. His hair had grown and his body looked even better built. But beyond the physical, the dragon had a much calmer temperament. It was probably due to age or ... to everything he surely had to go through as a result of the battle. How did all this happen for him ? For my part, I couldn't yet think about all that. The battle, the death of Valkyon and many Eldaryans ... I couldn't. Something in my head seemed to be blocking these thoughts and maybe that was why I was able to tolerate the presence of this man by my side. Because I hated him, I couldn't deny that we had compatible characters.

How can we manage such a situation ? How do we accept the fact that we appreciate the presence of the person who has hurt us the most ?

My thoughts were halted as Lance branched off in the direction of the HQ's huge meeting room, which immediately intensified my burgeoning stress. Before opening the door, he gave me one last indecipherable look. I let him know I was ready and he let me in before stepping back. Puzzled, I questioned him.

- Aren't you coming in ?

- It seems to me that Huang Hua wishes to address us separately.

Upon hearing my arrival, Huang Hua stood up and offered me one of her bright smiles to which I could only respond weakly.

- Andraste, here you are at last ! I am glad to see you. How are you, my beautiful ? Eweleïn told me about your worrying wound yesterday.

I could already imagine Lance's disapproval of me keeping these facts to myself, but I wasn't going to give her that pleasure. I just wasn't ready to tell anyone what was happening in me.

- I'm better, thank you. More fear than harm, I guess.

- Good. This is precisely what prompted me to bring you both here. As Lance must have told you, I put him in charge of keeping you safe for a while. At least until your condition improves and you are at the peak of your senses.

I then cut it unceremoniously.

- Huang Hua, about this story, should you not have told me first, before handing this mission to Lance ? Why am I the last to know ? It's me that concerns, all the same !

- Because, whether you like it or not, he's the only one here who can take on this role. I didn't find it necessary to consult you beforehand because I knew that you would be against this idea, and I wanted to let you rest as long as possible.

- Obviously I was going to be against it ! Do I remind you that for me, this was all just a few days ago ?

- Andraste, my decision is made and as long as you do not prove to me that you are able to defend yourself, it will be so. We can't allow something to happen to you.

I ticked off that answer. Keeping me safe obviously didn't seem to be in my sole interest to her. What was she hiding from me ?

- I also have a question for you. Have you felt your aengel powers manifest since you woke up ?

Hesitantly, I tell her the truth all the same.

- No not right now.

- That is what I thought. I don't know if this has to do with your physical state of health or if something more psychological is blocking you, but it is still a point that we must emphasize.

- What are my powers of aengel doing in there?

Huang Hua looked at me for a long time.

- You do not realize the extent of your powers, my dear Andraste. Know that it is not trivial if it is you that the Oracle has chosen, and that your presence in this Crystal has most likely granted you new abilities. You are a very valuable asset of the Guard. But this power, as good as it is, is not necessarily viewed favorably by everyone. This is where the boys come in. In addition to your protection, I would like Lance and Leiftan to intervene in your training.

- My training ?

- Your powers seem to have fallen asleep for the moment, moreover, the leader of The Obsidian made me understand that your physical capacities in combat seemed much lower than at the time.

Lance, what a swelling.

- And what kind of training is it ? I inquired.

- Nothing too intense or complicated, don't worry. They will relegate only to help you train for combat and try to awaken your powers. As aengel too, Leiftan will surely be able to guide you for this last point and as for Lance, despite your completely understandable reluctance, he remains the most qualified to get you back in shape.

- And in that it's about my "security" ? I agree to train with him, but I don't need a bodyguard !

- It will be so as long as I deem it necessary, my orders will not change as to its subject.

Realizing that my word would have no weight in the balance, I capitulated bitterly.

- Alright, I guess if that's what you decided, it must probably be the best thing to do.

A thin smile appeared on the lips of the young Phoenix.

- I'm glad to see you accept my decision. If you have nothing more to add, I'll let you go.

Tired of this interview in which, I was not going to hide it from myself, I had not had my say, I crossed the door to leave the great room. I came across the dragon who looked at me silently for a moment. Seeming to want to say something to me, he opened his mouth when Huang Hua's voice sounded to tell him to come in too. No words finally crossed his lips before he left me alone in the hallway.

Hearing the door slam behind my back, I froze for a moment, staring into space.

Was it just me, or did Huang Hua not tell me everything ? Not understanding anything any more, I decided to go out for the air to put my ideas back in place.

HQ had changed dramatically since I remembered recently. It was clearly seen that prosperity had returned and that life had become easier here. Feeling my stomach growl, I finally visited Karuto in the hope that there was still something to eat despite the lunch hour well past. Fortunately for me, I was able to help myself abundantly and went to sit in a quiet corner of the room.

The room was still quite lively. Several groups of people chatted happily around their empty plates, which made me realize a fact that I had tried to ignore.

I didn't really have any entourage here anymore.

Certainly, Chrome, Karenn or even Jamon were still here, but when I was talking to them, I felt that many years had passed. Our relationships seemed different. I had missed too many things and that weight was crushing me a little more every time I interacted with them. But it was the right arm of Sparkling that hurt me the most. I didn't think I'd find a Nevra so distant and it broke my heart a little more each time.

I was also ashamed of this truth, but to be quite honest with myself, the only person I had felt with in the last few days was the one I should have despised the most. Lance was until now the only one who had not made me feel that I was a foreigner.

What was wrong with me...

Thinkingly nibbling on a piece of bread, thoughts light years away from what surrounded me, I was surprised to see a young man sitting in front of me. A smile to the ears overhanging with big brown eyes, his jovial air made me feel immediately.

- Hi !

I observed him, astonished. I was intrigued by something about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I answered him in the same tone.

- We haven't been introduced to you and me yet, but I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time ! By the way, my name is Mathieu.

- Enchanted Mathieu, I'm Andraste.

I gave him a smile that was meant to be encouraging.

- You're cute. You introduce yourself when you are certainly the most famous person here, perhaps even as much as Huang Hua, that is to say.

I was scowling slightly.

- Oh, really ? You're exaggerating a little bit.

- No, no, really ! Finally, I wanted to meet you so I could finally talk with another human, I sometimes feel a little lost here.

I stared at him for several long seconds without saying anything. Did he really just say "another human", or had I dreamed ? My brain tilted so much that I wasn't surprised he heard himself.

- Wait, are you human ?!

Ok, maybe I said that sentence a little too loudly. And probably with a little too much gusto.

My interlocutor burst into a frank laugh at my reaction.

- We could not be more human !

- But how did you get here ? Has it been a while since you arrived in Eldarya ? Don't you miss Earth ?

- Oone question at a time please ! he asked me with a big smile. It's been about a year since I landed on Eldarya, probably the same way you did. So, there are some aspects of our world that I miss a bit, but to be quite frank, I've always dreamed of fantasy. At first it was complicated, but I don't leave much behind me. I always thought I wasn't cut out for such a bland life.

The more he spoke, the more my bewilderment widened. My god, it was a human !

- You can't imagine how amazing it is for me to talk to another human, I thought that would never happen again !

Mathieu's laugh and jovial jokes had finished relaxing me entirely. His presence totally invigorated me and I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I had found someone to talk to.

The days finally passed without being punctuated by a specific goal, which began to seriously hit me on the system. And to my surprise, Lance had shown so little after his interview with the young Phoenix that I thought he had changed his mind.

Until he showed up one fine morning in my room without any invitation.

With a sword I never knew in his hand, he casually threw it at my quilt as he opened my curtains energetically. Sitting on the end of my bed, he rested his arms on his knees while giving me a challenging look, his expression slightly cheerful.

- Come on, we have training ahead of us today.

(Chapter 5)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #eldarya lance #ashkore #lance #eldarya writing #writing #eldarya fanfiction #eldarya fanfic #fanfiction #i am not your enemy

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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jingabitch · 4 years

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Armed to the Fangs ch.10

SUMMARY: you grew up in the hunter’s guild, understanding that it is your sacred duty as a hunter to protect humanity from the vampires that lurk in the dark, draining the life from anyone unlucky enough to be caught. while making the rounds one night, you encounter taehyung, a fabled born vampire - not that you know that when he tries to entice you into a dark alley. next thing you know, you’re kidnapped and taken to their home, where you realise that all of them somehow crave your blood and seem to know more about your past than you do. finding out about where you came from might be the key to setting humanity free.

PAIRING: eventual ot7 x reader

WARNINGS: some description of violence, angst, pining, maybe eventual smut but not for a looooong time, slow burn (really the slowest of burns), shit goes down in this chapter, rising tensions !!!!!!

RATING: T

WORD COUNT: 4k

A/N: yay action! thank you @pasteljeon for looking over this for me.

series index

When you woke up, Yoongi was still there, having fallen asleep himself. Shooting his reclining figure a fond little smile, you rolled off the bed and into your bathroom to clean up. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to let Seokjin know that you were no longer an official ambassador. The decent thing to do would be to offer to leave, even though you had nowhere to go.

Patting your face dry, you groaned. It hadn’t struck you last night when you’d still been reeling from the betrayal you’d been dealt by the Guild, but the situation you found yourself in now was pretty bad, to say the least. Homeless, without anything to your name, and with a death sentence on your head… Yup, it was going to be a fun time, all right.

Quietly, you slipped from the room you’d be living in – you avoided calling it your room in your head – walking down the long, winding hallways to Seokjin’s study. Just when you’d finally gotten familiar with the maze-like manor, you had to leave, you thought bitterly.

You stopped outside the double doors of Seokjin’s study, pausing for a minute. Did you really have to do this? Maybe if you didn’t say anything, they’d let you stay for a little while before they realized that you didn’t belong there anymore…

No. You shook yourself out of it. It wasn’t fair to the boys if you kept staying here, eating their food and cramping their style. You still remembered the way they’d laid out their meal the first time you’d eaten together, pouring the blood into soup bowls. As horrifying as it had been to you – and the smell still haunted you – you recognized that they’d changed their behavior because of you. It was unfair to expect them to keep doing it now that you weren’t serving any function.

Steeling yourself, you raised your hand to knock on the door.

“Come in,” Seokjin invited, and you did.

“Hello,” he greeted. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said with a small smile and a nod. You certainly didn’t look it – Seokjin could see how pale you were, and the way your hands were anxiously fiddling with the long sleeves of your shirt.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his brows knitting in concern.

“I’m fine.” You brushed it aside abruptly and came to stand behind the chairs facing the desk, bracing your hands on the back of them. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“I’m listening.” Seokjin closed the folder he was working on and steepled his fingers together, giving you his complete attention.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” you started, defaulting to formal language to dispel some of the discomfort you felt, “I’m no longer associated with the Guild.”

Seokjin nodded wordlessly.

“As such, I’m not an ambassador anymore.”

“Okay…” he said, a little cautiously. Where were you going with this?

“When would you like me to move out by?”

Wait, what? It felt like his mind had ground to a halt. Leave? He’d never expected this, and it threw quite a wrench in his plans. In all honesty, as much as he’d felt bad for you about what had happened, some part of him was relieved – this solved the problem of you being a hunter quite neatly.

His surprise must have shown on his face because you immediately started babbling explanations. “Well, it’s just that I came here as ambassador and—”

“Y/n,” Seokjin cut you off gently, “Do you have a plan for when you leave?”

You grimaced. Trust Seokjin to immediately narrow in on that. “I’ll figure it out,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. You didn’t want him to feel sorry for you and offer you a place to stay out of pity or something.

“Y/n, are you sure? It’s going to be dangerous out there. The hunters have put a target on your head.”

God dammit, did he think you didn’t know? “I can handle myself, don’t worry. Maybe I’ll leave town, travel the world and stuff.”

There were no words to describe just how much Seokjin didn’t want that to happen. Not only would they not be able to protect you outside the manor walls, but if you left town altogether… well. Suffice it to say that he might not survive his brothers’ wrath if he didn’t stop this now.

His mind raced as he tried to figure out how to convince you to stay. “Do you have a plan for after you leave?”

You shrugged. “I’ll figure it out, I guess.”

“Y/n… please stay.”

Your eyes widened, and he searched for a way to make what he’d said less weird and overbearing. “At least until you have a plan,” he tacked on hastily. “You don’t have to rush into anything. You know we all like having you around.”

The way your brow arched showed that you did not, in fact, know this. Oops. Seokjin tried to muster some guilt at spilling the beans but wasn’t very successful. At this point, if you didn’t realize how whipped most of the boys were for you, it really was your fault.

You capitulated easily, since what he was offering you was the preferred outcome for you too. Of course you’d considered all the challenges you’d face if you left. You had no home, no plan, and it wasn’t like you could pick up a normal job in this city. “All right,” you accepted gratefully. “I’ll stay just long enough to get my affairs in order, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s no rush,” Seokjin hurried to remind you. “We don’t mind having you around, and we’ll worry if you leave without a plan, especially with things the way they are now.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stood up to leave.

Now that that was done, you returned to your room. Yoongi was already gone, and although you spent a few seconds wondering where he’d gone off to when he’d appeared dead to the world when you’d left, your overwhelming emotion was an inexplicable exhaustion. Groaning, you changed back into your pajamas and sank into the bed, Injeolmi leaping up to snuggle into your side.

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

“Hobi…”

Hoseok groaned, pulling the covers up over his head. “Go away. Stop watching me like that. This isn’t a zoo.”

“You need to eat,” Jungkook fussed from the foot of the bed.

“I can’t.” He’d tried, at their insistence, drinking from a blood bag, and it had come right up. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

“Hyung, please.” Jungkook was near tears now, and Hoseok didn’t understand why. He wasn’t the one laid up in bed and barely able to move.

“Go away,” he repeated.

“This is my room,” Yoongi pointed out, frowning.

Defeated and too tired to argue any more, Hoseok turned away from them, lying stubbornly on his side facing the wall and ignoring his brothers. If only he could ignore the pain radiating through his entire body too.

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

The six brothers sat around the dining table, waiting and watching the one portion of food at your place get cold. “Do you think she’ll come down tonight?” Jimin wondered, his brows knit in concern.

“It doesn’t look like it,” Namjoon said with a sigh. He stood up and picked up the tray your food was placed on. “I’ll bring it to her.”

This, of course, started a minor scuffle as all the vampires wanted to be the one to deliver your dinner. You’d been holed up in your room for the better part of a week now, and they were all worried, never having seen you this down before.

In the end, Namjoon won by simply walking out of the dining room with the tray in his hands while the other boys were yelling at each other. His own pack of blood was perched on the edge of the tray where he’d placed it, hoping you would let him dine with you tonight. He kind of missed having you around the library and staying in your room alone was definitely not healthy.

Stopping outside your door, he paused, looking down at his full hands. Given his track record with dropping things, it seemed prudent to not even attempt balancing the tray full of food with one hand while knocking, so he just called your name instead.

When you came to the door, he had to work hard to not let his surprise show on his face. Your hair was mussed from your pillow, you were dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, and… was that dried drool on the side of your mouth?

“I brought dinner,” he said instead, hoping that you wouldn’t notice his reaction to your appearance.

“Thanks.” Your voice was raspy from sleep, and you went to grab the tray, intending to eat it alone in your room like you’d been doing for the past few days. You were grateful that the boys were so understanding and didn’t seem to mind bringing you your meals, but you hadn’t been able to muster the energy to do anything much. Truly, Namjoon needn’t have worried – you weren’t exactly in the right frame of mind to be observant about anything, just wanting to retreat back into your room to mope alone.

Instead of handing the tray over, though, Namjoon’s fingers tightened around it as he pulled it further from you. “I was actually hoping to have dinner with you tonight,” he said. Your hands froze in the air as your eyes snapped up towards him.

“Oh…” you said, slightly hesitantly.

“Is that okay?” Namjoon’s eyes sought yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to that earnest gaze. Nodding, you stood aside to let him in before shutting the door after him.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a few days.” As he set the food down on the table, he tried to strike up a conversation. To no avail, since you just grunted in response, folding your arms over your chest and picking at a loose thread on your sleeve as you followed him.

“Are you okay?” He turned to look at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You opened your mouth to assure him that yes, you were doing fine, but the words wouldn’t come out, and before you knew it, your eyes were filling with tears. You sniffled helplessly, trying to blink them away.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Namjoon stepped forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around you, giving you lots of time to dodge away from him if you didn’t want physical comfort. Instead, you pitched yourself forward so that you almost crashed into him, burying your face in his chest as your hands fisted in his shirt on either side of his waist.

He held you quietly as you sobbed, stroking your back and making soothing noises at you. When you were finally spent, he directed you gently to the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sniffled, wiped your nose on your sleeve, and said, still a little choked and nasally, “Okay.”

Rubbing your back, he waited for you to begin speaking. “Jennie-unnie was sent here because I was getting too friendly with the vampires.”

He blanched. It made sense, he supposed, but he hadn’t really thought about why you’d been cast out of the Guild, especially since you were barely cordial to them.

“It just feels weird, is all,” you continued in a small voice. “Being a hunter was the only thing I ever knew. I grew up in the Guild.”

Wait. Namjoon frowned. That didn’t make sense. Hunters were usually recruited in their early teens, and no one was ever born into it.

When he voiced his question, you nodded. “I was the exception. They found me, um… my parents had been drained when I was a baby, so I was brought back to the Guild and raised there.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sympathized. “It must be hard to lose the only home you’ve ever known.”

You nodded, trying not to cry again. “And Master Bang… he’s the closest thing to a parent I ever had.”

Namjoon tried to maintain his cool, but he couldn’t quite hide the way his nose wrinkled at that revelation. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. No wonder you’d been so messed up when you arrived. He was a real piece of work.

“I know that everything seems scary now,” he started tentatively, “and I want you to know that you can take all the time you need to figure it out. All of us want to be here for you, and if you’ll allow us… we want to be your new family.”

“Really?” you asked, turning your teary gaze on him.

“Really,” he confirmed, and you leaned in to hug him again. Namjoon truly gave amazing hugs, you were finding. You didn’t consider yourself a particularly small person, but he dwarfed you easily, making you feel so protected and warm. After spending so long being the protector… it was nice.

“Now go take a shower, you’ll feel better,” he instructed when you pulled away from him.

“Okay,” you agreed, getting up to do just that.

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

Let it be known to all that Namjoon was not a perv. He just had exceptionally great hearing as a vampire, and he couldn’t turn it off. It was why he heard the agonizing noises of you shedding your clothes, growing increasingly discomfited as he heard each successive item hit the floor.

Injeolmi wandered out of the bedroom and gave him a judgmental little meow, and Namjoon frowned at the cat. “Don’t be like that,” he grumbled halfheartedly. “I can’t help it.”

The sound of running water let him know that you’d stepped into the shower, and the sigh you let out as the hot water hit your body was almost a moan.

“Jesus,” Namjoon muttered, jumping half out of his skin at the sound as Injeolmi gave him the stink-eye.

Utterly oblivious to what was going on, you continued with your blissful shower. You hadn’t gotten out of bed since you’d returned from your conversation with Seokjin, and it felt amazing to wash all the filth off yourself. You let out a moan as you scrubbed your scalp clean, a sound that made the hair prickle on Namjoon’s.

You had to be the loudest person he’d ever met in his life. Who made this much noise just showering? The sound of your hands spreading soap over your body were so distinct it was almost like having a front-row seat to the show. Not that he was imagining just what was going on there, of course. Sweat beaded on his temples as he glared at the closed bathroom door. Just a flimsy piece of wood separated the two of you.

Well, that and his willpower, which was quickly shredding as he sat there, trying not to make a sound (and determinedly avoiding eye contact with your cat).

Thankfully, you soon turned off the water, although your slightly off-key humming as you toweled yourself off didn’t do much to help either, making his heart clench with fondness for you. When you finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in yet another set of sweats and toweling your hair dry, he cleared his throat to alleviate the sudden dryness and smiled back at you when you grinned at him from under your towel.

“Come eat,” he gestured towards the table, waiting for you to turn your back on him before standing to join you due to the… ahem, situation in his pants.

You sat down, looking at the food happily as you picked up the spoon. Today Seokjin had made kimchi stew, but as you took a sip you grimaced. It had gotten cold after sitting out for so long.

Namjoon, picking up the blood bag from the side of your tray, caught your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You explained it to him, and he chuckled. “Let’s go heat it up, then.”

In the kitchen, you put the pot back on the stove to reheat, leaning against the island facing your stew as you waited. Namjoon stood on the other side of the island, watching as you chatted about a book you were reading that he’d recommended. It was very domestic, and he felt his heart warm at how nice this all felt.

When the stew was bubbling away again, you turned off the stove and took the pot off. Instead of going to the dining room, you and Namjoon sat at the counter since it was just the two of you, and for the first time in days, you began to feel like everything might be all right again.

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

Over the next week or so, the boys were gratified to see you come out of your shell again. There were moments when an air of melancholy would surround you as you stopped what you were doing to stare sadly into space, but you always came back to them.

You managed to find things to do with almost every member, hanging out in the library or garden, learning how to play the piano from Yoongi, even working out with Jungkook. Taehyung was so jealous that he decided to join you and exercise for the first time, and the way you laughed at his inability to do a pull-up was completely worth the soreness the next day, especially since you then wrapped your arms around his legs and helped lift him up.

Injeolmi became a common sight around the manor as you gave him free rein, and where Injeolmi was, Jimin was never far behind, spoiling the cat with pats and treats. You found yourself having to stop Jimin from buying his own treats for the cat after Injeolmi started developing a paunch, and you didn’t know who’d given you a bigger pout, the cat or the vampire.

Of course, all the boys were thrilled that you were coming out of your shell and spending more time with them. Now that you weren’t being pulled in the opposite direction by your allegiance to the Guild, you were more comfortable being open around them, laughing and joking in a way you hadn’t let yourself before. It was truly a beautiful thing to see, if slightly inconvenient.

As your resistance towards them melted away, the mate bond had a chance to snap into place. All of them felt it now, tugging in their chests, directing their instincts. You didn’t seem to notice either the sensation of the bond, mistaking it for fondness, or the way their eyes followed you around hungrily.

Not hunger as in lust (although there was that too), but actual physical hunger. The mate bond was parasitical in nature – vampires who found their mate could only drink from them. You were quickly becoming the sole source of food for seven born vampires, although they were conspiring to keep it from you for as long as possible, not wanting to spook you and send you packing by revealing your importance to them too early.

Still, it was becoming increasingly harder. When you threw your head back to laugh at one of Seokjin’s lame jokes, everyone in the room zeroed in on your neck, looking for the almost imperceptible sight of your vein throbbing slightly with each heartbeat that they could hear. Working out with Jungkook meant that the blood rising to just under your skin had such an alluring scent that he found himself working out harder than he ever had before to redirect his own blood flow. He wasn’t always successful, though, and you grew used to the boys disappearing unexpectedly when your back was turned, only to reappear later looking sheepish for some reason. You just assumed they got too hungry to wait and had to grab a snack.

The closest call yet was when you pricked your finger on a thorn in Namjoon’s garden while helping him clear some of the debris to plant new bushes. You’d yelped in pain as you dropped the dead branches you were carrying, and that was the only warning Namjoon got before the blood rose through the little wound to the surface.

“Oww,” you complained as you popped your finger into your mouth. Namjoon, thankfully standing with his back to you, broke into a full sweat. What was he supposed to do? He had to walk past you to get back into the manor, and he didn’t think he could take another step closer to you without attacking.

As desperation overtook him, he sprinted away from you, vaulting over the high wall of the hedge maze and running for his life.

“Namjoon-ssi?” you mumbled around your finger. “Where are you going?”

You frowned at the empty space where the vampire had been just seconds ago. What was going on?

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

These days, being alone in the manor was a rarity. As you started seeking out the boys more for company, you found, to your delight, that they were more than happy to reciprocate. There was almost always someone willing to hang out with you in their usual haunts, and Jimin was always underfoot, chasing Injeolmi around and begging for affection from the cat.

So it was strange, you thought as you drifted through the hallways of the manor, that there was no one around today. You’d checked the study, the library, the music room, the gym… it was like all the boys had disappeared.

Slightly concerned, and with Injeolmi in tow, you wandered around the parts of the manor that you rarely went to, trying to find the boys. They usually knew you were coming way before you made your presence known, so you didn’t worry that you were going to intrude.

Today, however, the boys were otherwise occupied in a screaming match in Yoongi’s room, where Hoseok was still laid up. They’d managed to get Hoseok’s bedroom fixed, but he was in such a frail condition that no one wanted to move him, so Yoongi had temporarily switched rooms with him. All of them had different opinions about what to do with Hoseok, completely drowning out the man in question’s voice as they debated hotly about whether and how to tell you what was going on.

As a result, none of them heard you approaching, even as you frowned and hastened your pace when you heard the indistinct sounds of yelling. As you grew closer, you were able to hear what they were discussing.

“We can’t just do nothing; Hoseok-hyung looks like shit!”

“He’ll be fine for a little longer, you know born vampires are tougher than that.”

“Yes, but we aren’t invincible. He’s running on borrowed time and you know it.”

“We have to tell her eventually anyway.” Seokjin, ever the voice of reason, cut through the loud argument the younger vampires were having. By this point, you were hovering right outside the door, which had been left slightly ajar. If they weren’t so immersed in the fight they were having, they would have noticed you from a mile away.

“Sure, let’s just march right up to her and tell her that if Hoseok doesn’t drink from her, he’ll die soon,” Yoongi scoffed.

“What else do you suggest, hyung? Look at Hobi,” Namjoon retorted, frowning.

“I’ll do it.”

Your voice shocked them into silence, and you stepped further into the room. “Hoseok needs to drink my blood, right? I’ll do it.” You didn’t know where all this bravado was coming from. Letting a vampire drink from you was basically like committing suicide, yet here you were, offering yourself up for dinner.

“Y/n… are you sure?” All of them were ogling you now, and even Hoseok had forced himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.

You took a moment to consider, looking over the man in the bed. He really did look awful, pale and trembling with dark circles under his eyes. His lips were chapped and dry, and he’d lost so much weight in the two weeks you hadn’t seen him that his cheekbones protruded sharply. You knew in your bones that you were the only thing keeping him from certain death, and you had a life debt to repay.

“Yes.” And you crossed the room to him.

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #ot7 x reader #ot7 fic #bts x reader #vampire bts #bts vampire au

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Little Kestrel (Part 7)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Logan placed a spoon in one of the boiling pots in front of him so he could get a better look at the liquid. It looked dark enough, but he leaned forward to taste it just to be sure. At the moment, it was basically just mint and lavender tea with a couple of extras. Satisfied with it, he slowly poured it into the slightly simmering larger pot in front of him and stirred it a few times clockwise. The pot glowed a soft purple when he took the spoon out.

He glanced into the other small pot and saw that the liquid there was starting to thicken. It wasn’t quite at the honey consistency he needed it to be yet, but it was on track.

Then, he glanced up at his guest. Virgil had clearly been watching him but looked away quickly when Logan turned to him. Logan studied him for a few more moments. He looked almost sickly in the light of day, like he’d shatter in a stiff wind. Yet, somehow, this was the assassin sent to kill a king? He was an enigma.

Logan turned his attention to the binding potion still simmering on the other table. Virgil cowered slightly as Logan walked by him to check on it. He certainly did startle easy. It was another piece to a concerning puzzle.

The binding potion was coming along well. He stirred it slowly a few times and carefully rinsed off the spoon, so it didn’t get anywhere he didn’t want it before laying it back down. He checked the open book next to it and compared the color to the chart in it. It would need at least an hour or so more before it could be used, but it would be a much better solution to the one that basically glued Virgil’s hands to a chair.

He walked back over to the other potion’s station to start cleaning up his supplies.

He had some herbs that he hadn’t used and stuck a mint leaf in his mouth as he returned them to their correct containers. There was a small wedge of honeycomb left on the plate that he’d cut it on. Without even really thinking about it, he cut the honeycomb into to equal parts with the plan to offer half of it to the other presence in the room. He paused and looked up at said other presence who looked down at his lap quickly.

“Would you like half?” he asked. Virgil looked back up at him, hesitance in his eyes. “You can pick which half each of us eats,” Logan offered.

Virgil nodded slowly and Logan rounded the table with the plate. “Left or right?” Logan asked.

“…Left.”

Logan nodded and went ahead and stuck the right piece in his own mouth before offering the left piece. Virgil parted his lips and Logan popped it into his mouth. Logan almost laughed at the expression that crossed his face as he started to chew. He imagined this is what people were talking about when they mentioned feeding babies different foods for the first time. His eyes went wide, and he blinked a couple of times before chewing a bit faster. Logan smiled at him and took the plate back around to the other side of the table.

The liquid in the second pot had gotten thicker now, and he stirred it carefully a few times before deciding it was finished. He then turned off the heat and quickly scrapped the sticky substance into the main pot. The purple liquid that had been in the pot slowly turned golden as he counted the number of times he stirred clockwise and then began to sparkle as he stirred it a few times counterclockwise. Once he was finished, he turned off the heat under the pot and wandered over to the case that held empty jars.

He grabbed one of the liter ones, and while he waited for the potion to cool, he measured and marked the container with 30 careful lines. The consumer did not need to take an exact amount every day which is why he didn’t bother with separate containers, but for maximum benefit it should generally be about 40ml for the first 10 days and 30ml after that. The lines should help them keep track.

He walked back over to the potion once that was done and placed a funnel into the opening so he could pour it into the marked container. The liquid filled the container a bit higher than 40ml above the top line but having a bit extra the first day wouldn’t harm him.

He looked to Virgil who was watching him with suddenly very wary eyes. He rounded the potion’s station and approached him slowly, hoping not to startle him when he already seemed rather skittish. “Okay, Virgil,” he said. “I’m going to need you to drink this. It’s a…”

“No.”

“W-what?”

“No,” his eyes were locked on the container in Logan’s hand and he shook his head back and forth. “Please no.”

“I assure you, it isn’t poison,” Logan said. “I will even test it myself.” Yet, he was acting differently than he had with the food. He’d begun to shake and cry as he continued to shake his head.

Oh dear. Logan grimaced and set down the potion. He glanced at the door very much hoping that Patton would come through it in the next few seconds, but he did not. “What is…” Logan said. “What is wrong?”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Please. Can’t. No.”

Logan wrung his hands and then went to his knees in front of the hyperventilating boy. He tried to place a comforting hand on his knee, but he flinched violently, and Logan removed his hand quickly. He dithered, unsure what to do as the boy continued to heave with sobs.

“I am not adept with discerning feelings. Please communicate with me verbally.”

He did not seem inclined to capitulate, making pitiful upset sounds that Logan could not determine the meanings of.

“Please, no, hurts,” he said.

“You think it will hurt you?” Logan asked with a frown. “It won’t hurt you Virgil. The purpose of that potion is quite the opposite.”

He either did not hear Logan or did not register what he said. “Please,” he begged. “I’ll be good. I won’t even move. Please.”

Won’t move? Logan glanced over at the other potion still simmering at its station. “Do you think this is a binding potion?” he asked. “Why on Earth would I be offering you a binding potion to drink?” Yet, Logan watched as he shook and cried, eyes not quite focused on Logan but on something else that wasn’t there. “Did,” Logan with dawning horror. “Did someone feed you a binding potion?”

Logan had once accidently gotten some of a binding potion he was making on his hand. It had stung like a thousand small bees had attacked one area of his skin, and it was only made worse by the fact that even that small amount had kept him trapped in place for hours. Binding potions were sticky. They were difficult to remove. Even after the counter potion had been applied, he’d still felt a bit of an ache when he moved it for the next week or so. It’s why one was never supposed to apply it directly to a person’s skin.

Who would make someone drink that? Beyond the assured agony and full body paralysis, it could easily kill someone. If not cooked properly, it was literally poison and even if it was perfect, there was still the possibility that it would freeze a person’s lungs, heart, or any other number of internal organs. If someone had fed Virgil a binding potion (and while he was no expert on facial expressions, the one currently on his face made Logan sure that someone had) they had little regard for his life.

Logan tired his best to soften his expression and tone. “Hey Virgil,” he said. “It’s okay. I won’t force you to drink anything. It’s not a binding potion, but I won’t make you drink it anyway.” It took him a bit to calm down as Logan continued to give him soft assurances, but finally his breaths started to even out. “Are you alright?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded after a moment.

“Good.” He waited for a few minutes for Virgil to calm down even more before he said anything else. “I will not make you drink any potions,” Logan promised. “Though, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to explain the option of drinking the one I prepared.”

He gave Logan a suspicious blink, but he didn’t seem inclined to have another fit at the sentiment.

“It is not a binding potion,” Logan started with. “I am making one for you, but I have no intention of having you consume it. What I was offering to you is medicinal. Both Patton and I noted that you seem unhealthy and likely malnourished. While nothing can reverse the effects of malnutrition completely, the potion I made would help prevent many future problems as well as let your body acclimate to a more nutritious diet easier.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Why?” he asked. “I’m your prisoner. Why would you want to help me?”

“You are my prisoner which means you are under my care,” Logan said. “I will not abide by your suffering if I can prevent it. That being said, if drinking the potion causes you undue mental distress, I will not force it upon you.”

Virgil studied him, eyes hard and suspicious, but his words were tentative when they came. “Does it hurt bad?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” Logan promised. “Allow me to demonstrate for you?” He nodded and Logan stood to retrieve the potion.

Logan placed his thumb over the lid of the container and tilted it until he felt the liquid hit his skin. He pulled his hand away and showed Virgil the notable drops of liquid on his thumb before opening his mouth and clearly placing it on his tongue. “It mostly tastes like the honey I put in it,” he told him, “plus a bit of lavender and mint. It does have a slightly sour aftertaste, but overall, it’s fine. How about just a small amount to start and then you can decide if you want to drink the rest of the dose for the day?”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m going to put this bottle to your lips. You can take as little as you wish.” Virgil nodded and Logan leaned forward and pressed the container to his mouth. Virgil kept his lips firmly closed as Logan titled it up briefly before taking it away. Virgil’s tongue came out to swipe up a bit of the liquid on his lips. He seemed to brace himself as he waited for something to happen, but he calmed after a few moments.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not bad.”

“It is not intended to be,” Logan said. “Would you be willing to drink a bit more?”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas sanders #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #past torture #captivity

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 63

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"Well, are you?" I asked Jasper.

"Am I what?" She returned from her place by the counter.

"Going to shut down the strikes. She made some pretty good points about the Grimm," I said. I leaned on one of the tables, my massive sword handle extending over my head.

"No… I told you we aren't even in charge of the strikes really. It's a bit of an avalanche that's carrying us along. And if we don't get on board we'll be left behind," Jasper returned. "I'm not saying that she didn't have any good points. And maybe the only way to get real change going is with the elections. And Robyn Hill is basically a shoe in over Schnee. Especially down here in Mantle. Money can only buy you so much. Might be for the best if things were to die down."

"But you're not sure," I affirmed.

"How can I be? Nobody's sure. It's the Cetra condition. The Happy Huntresses are about defending Mantle, though. They've been at it for a while and they've done some real good. Maybe they're right about this too. I certainly don't think the military will shoot on the crowd but if they do it would be bad."

"The Happy Huntresses don't seem to like me which is a point in their favor."

"Oh pssh. None of that. You do fine."

"So, I'll just come by again later?" I asked.

"Yeah, really sorry about this, cutie." She winked. Her fox tail swished around in the air behind her in a brownish-red and white flare.

I ignored that last bit.

Neo tugged on my sleeve from her position by my side.

"What?" I asked her. "Want one of their drinks?"

She held up a finger to her lips as though deep in thought. Then shook her head.

"Then I have no idea what you want." I turned back towards Jasper. "We'll be back later. I'm going to go scope out this Adam Taurus and the protests. I might end up having to kill him after all."

"If you say so. See you later tonight."

"Yeah well no promises, especially if I end up in a fight."

Neo and I strode out and mounted my motorcycle. "You are being a needy bitch today, Neo. What's up with you?"

She shoved a finger in out of a rounded hole made of her other fingers. "Not happening. Didn't happen. I would remember something like that."

I was like seventy-five percent sure. Maybe a hard seventy.

She shrugged at me, somehow making the gesture teasing. An 'if you say so.'

"I do say so." And I did. It did not happen.

No matter what she herself implied. I would remember. I would know. Sure the night before was little more than golden blurs. And sure I somehow ended back up at the motel with all my armor and gear.

Anything could have happened after I really started drinking and the morning when I woke up. Anything but that, that is. The warm memories I felt were probably from The Den not from you know… sex… with Neo.

I rubbed a hand over my face hard.

"Neo you're fucking killing me. You know that, right?"

She grinned and nodded.

"Yeah well even if it happened once it's never ever happening again. I'm too fucked up to be doing that level of drugs again, that was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm also too fucked up to be having sex with you."

I looked down at her as she frowned and slapped me on the arm.

"No points against you. You're drop dead gorgeous. But, well, tough shit," I returned. "For me and for you."

I revved up my motorcycle. Neo straddled behind me and flickered into a disguise for while we were driving. She was wanted, more so than my own form. No reason to give some patrol-man a reason to pull us over and start calling for backup.

And she couldn't exactly cover every camera we came across while driving. There were too many on the main roads and we went by too fast. So this little disguise helped.

She was still gorgeous in her double, with bright green eyes and dark black hair, just as long as it was when she was in her normal form which was to say waist length. Neo had that otherworldly angel-esque appearance some hunters got after a few years with aura.

It was a cure all to wrinkles and blemishes and left the user looking out of this world. Neo was no exception with her tight stomach being exposed and her muscular, relatively long smooth legs in those heels propping up her butt. Her short stature didn't detract from her beauty.

Huntresses, man. They were just like that. Like they came from another planet. Maybe I was a bit like that too, though. If I could be so arrogant. I'd had aura most of my natural life. Tall, blonde, and huntsman, I recalled a conversation in GaiLong I had with an old man about it. He told me not to be dense. I attracted more than my fair share of looks. More than my fair share.

Ruby had been like that. Beautiful like a little angel. Her hair and eyes stood out unnaturally even amongst huntresses. Yang, of course, was staggeringly gorgeous with her blonde mane of hair and lilac eyes. Weiss had a sort of pristine crystalline look to her that had drawn me to her immediately. Like she was multifaceted. Like a cut diamond. Blake had that bookish appeal but translated over to the huntress side of things it made her stand out in any crowd.

Pyrrha… well it went without saying with Pyrrha. Her emerald eyes and bright red hair flashed behind my eyelids every time I closed my own. She haunted me, Pyrrha Nikos did.

Even Jasper had started to have a bit of that. Stomach and face like a supermodel and long legs to boot.

Huntresses, man. Ain't nothing like 'em. Aura was a hell of a drug. It turned people into angelic beings.

But Neo was no exception. When I first arrived at Beacon I thought I'd have been lucky to have sex with someone as gorgeous as she was.

Now the thought only filled me with a slight sense of dread. A mix of betrayal and hurt welled up from deep inside me. Even though I had no right to feel that way. My feelings about it weren't valid. Not then when I'd first arrived at Beacon, all my feelings from then were fake. And not now when I was cruising around like a monster.

I rolled up on where the miners were picketing. It was near the open pit mine I'd been at for the bombing. They'd lined up around it, eight or ten people deep. They were armed with protest signs and little else from what I could see. They had no weapons.

Could Ironwood really open up and fire on a crowd like this? Would that really solve the negativity problem or just make it worse? I could see it now, a swarm of Atlesian Robots mercilessly breaking up the protest with sleek assault rifles.

I thought it would make things worse. For sure, for sure but my opinion hardly counted for squat, did it.

By the crowd there were police officers lined up around the perimeter. They probably had standing orders to leave the crowd be but break up any fighting. They looked nervous. As they should before a mob like this.

The people were baying for change.

From the protestors' signs they were demanding safe improvements to their work and higher wages. Nothing crazy, at least in my opinion. In my estimation they would get it. They deserved it. These people weren't hunters. They hadn't signed up for danger. They wanted their working environments to be safe so they could go home and see their families every day.

There was nothing crazy about that. Nothing insane. These people already should have had that. Mining should be one of the safest occupations. It could be done right. It didn't have to be a dangerous, well, a minefield. Save that for the hunters.

I guess the collapse of this mine, artificial or not, had been a bit of a breaking point for the people. I trolled around the crowd for a few hours. Traffic was ground to a halt in places as the protest spilled out onto the streets, blocking vital arteries of city flow beyond the capacity to reroute. It backed up traffic for miles and miles. It was unbelievable.

It was a mess. I could confess that. But it seemed like an easy enough decision at the top level. Capitulate, and nobody would have to get hurt. Of course if old man Schnee cared more about people than the profits his company could pull in, then people wouldn't be protesting, would they.

It was hard to see him winning the election to the council with open picketing happening against his company but Atlas got a vote too and they were separated from all this. One of the benefits of keeping the people of Atlas and Mantle segregated.

It was gross but effective. Keep the different stakeholders in different places and there would be no need to capitulate. I didn't hide the disgust I felt and let it roll out onto my expression. Jacque Schnee could keep his company rolling the way it had been and become a council chairman. He could have his cake and eat it too.

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I never found Adam Taurus.

It wasn't exactly a point of shame for me either. The entire Atlas military couldn't find me but then again I was driving around in broad daylight with my own illusionist. It made me wonder if Adam had his own illusionist. Like maybe someone like Emerald Sustrai. She was an illusionist too.

What I managed to do instead was drive around and observe the absurdity of the crowd for a few hours. If I needed to find Adam Taurus bad enough I would use Aurum. Not drive around lost.

Still it was good for me to see the crowd and feel their negativity for myself. It was easy to talk about it and have it all get lost on you what ten thousand angry people really felt like against your skin. Or aura. Whichever. They felt mostly the same to me. Maybe it was my short lifespan with a relatively long period of having my aura activated but I could hardly tell a difference.

I could feel Neo riding behind me with her cruel cold. I could also feel the crowd. Blazingly hot. Burning me up. Throngs of people fired up over a common reason. A common goal.

I wasn't much of an empath but even I could feel the negativity. Ren had always been better than me at that. Ruby had been too. What did it say that I was able to feel the negative emotions rolling off the crowd like a tsunami?

It meant that even a layman could probably notice it and pick up on it. The walls of Mantle had probably been under twenty-four seven assault by the Grimm. Meanwhile Atlas rested above, safe and sound. Connected to Mantle only by shallow guide wires for the gondolas and trams.

A shallow spider web that connected the two cities. Never crossing, never overlapping, but allowing the transference of people and ideas.

They probably felt none of this rage. Atlas was an island in a sea of negativity and Grimm. Albeit a floating island but an island nonetheless.

How could two places so close together feel so disparate? Was this how the segregation had remained mostly in place for so long? How long has things been like this with Mantle's red hot rage and Atlas's grey cold apathy?

It unsettled me, the stark difference between the two.

I shifted on the bike and Neo scooted down closer to me. She kept a single arm around me and under my plate.

"Well Neo, what do you think? Think we should cut this off and kill Adam Taurus?"

Was I just hunting for a reason for me to kill someone. Maybe. Salem was driving me mad. I at least had that as an excuse.

"Of course killing Adam Taurus won't end this. We'd need to get that Dyne guy. We started this, though. We're responsible for it, to one degree or another."

"I feel bad. Last night I was getting wasted in The Den and this shit was happening down here. You couldn't even tell how bad things are from up in Atlas. All the people down here, if you even care to look and see them, just look like ants."

I rolled back up on Seventh Heaven in the evening. There were more cars parked outside than normal. I marched up to the place and walked inside with a jingle of the bells.

It was relatively crowded. It had all the members of Avalanche inside, looking as they did before with their red bandannas. Then it had another man in a white mask, red hair and a long katana. He had the horns of a bull on him.

There were two more guys inside. A taller white skinned gentleman with a white shirt, green trousers and a green vest with red trimmings. He had only one arm. The other was cut off at the elbow with red bandages around the end. He had a wiry tail like that of some kind of big cat.

Another man was in there but his opposite arm, his right, was cut off at the elbow. He was taller, taller than me, with black skin and black hair. He had thick brown boots and a brown vest with green trousers and a darker brown under shirt. He had a thick bushy bear tail.

Everyone turned to look at Neo and I as we walked in. We were the only humans in the room.

"Cloud…" Bisque said in greeting.

"What're these humans doing here?" The man in the white mask gestured his blade forward at his hip towards me.

"We invited them, before we knew this meeting was going to happen," Jasper said.

The man with the katana growled at me. I stared him right down back. It would be inaccurate to say nothing scared me, but not this asshole.

"He worked with us. He's a mercenary who helped us blow up the mine. He fought the Turks. He's cool," Wenge said.

"You did that?" The taller dark skinned man asked.

"I did." I nodded.

"Why would a human do that?" The masked man asked.

"Money. Information. Take your pick," I shot back.

"I don't like your attitude. And I do recognize her. She's Neapolitan. She used to work for Roman Torchwick."

"She works for me now. You got a problem with that then we can take it outside."

He growled and stepped forward towards me. A hand held him back and his chest from the man without his left arm.

"I'm Dyne. This is Barret," Dyne introduced. "We could use the help of a skilled merc. The picketing is losing steam already. We need to set a fire under Schnee's ass."

"Avalanche was telling us about another operation, one to sink an SDC freighter," the man without his right arm continued, Barrett was his name. "Make them beg for the miners back."

"They told me about it. I recommended that they wait," I said. "I take it you gentlemen want the operation to go ahead?"

"That's right." The man with the sword said. "If you think you're up for it. If they think a human like you can be trusted."

"Avalanche has one of my retainers." I pulled my pipe out and lit it. I made myself look comfortable.

"Oh Cloud can I get you anything to drink?" Jasper asked.

I looked down at Neo. She nodded. "Just one of those house specials for Neo. I'm good." I'd had enough to drink the night prior. "And who's this?" I nodded at the man with the Katana. "The rest of you were polite enough to introduce yourselves."

"I'm Adam Taurus."

"Ah," I said. "The man on everybody's mind. I might get paid to kill you tomorrow."

He grabbed his sword but he didn't draw it.

"Is that a threat."

"A little." I exhaled smoke in his direction. "It's the truth. Think you can take me, Taurus? Wanna dance?"

He growled at me.

"I, for one, like you, Cloud. What was your last name?" Dyne asked.

"Strife. It's Cloud Strife."

"Well I think we just may be able to work together. Avalanche has your fee? You'll do this op for us?"

I smoked and nodded. I looked over Dyne's head at Avalanche. They were giving me pleading and grateful looks.

"Should be cinch," I said. "We can discuss my payment later."

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-WG

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balloonstand · 4 years

Text

Whetstone chapter 2*: Silver shaves Flint (5.2k, pwp)

It only took 4 years folks but we did it

*this isn’t a sequel, just another version of the original

On a calm day, his thoughts would tread a neat path through his mind, proceeding like a lineage. First, in the present: capitulation, which is to surrender or yield on stipulated terms. Then, one generation older, one branch up the tree: capitulatus, the Medieval Latin, which is to draw up into chapters. Quite the leap, but his tidy mind could manage it on a different day. The next branch above that, the classical Latin: capitulum. Chapter or heading. Dangerously high in the tree, capitus, the diminutive. Little head. After that, the apex of the tree, but also the deepest root, the seed that became the whole lineage: caput. Head.

On a calm day, his mind would manage this regression through time and language to this seed of clarity quickly, tidily, to instruct him on his own thoughts.

Today, he has his head in his hands, mind awhirl with meaningless noise. Today he is pulling at his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head. He doesn’t know what to make of them, these words buffeting him, storming around his mind. Refusing to show him their meaning or to teach him which direction his next step should be. He pulls at the roots of his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head.

He might tear his hair out of his head. He had been rather vain about his hair, in another life. He had taken the greatest pride in its length, lustre, and polish. As much as his uniform, he felt that his hair had been able to distinguish him, mark his rank and respectability. And Thomas Hamilton had only increased his vanity about his hair through the attentions he paid it. He would pull the ribbon from Flint’s- from McGraw’s- James’ hair and he would run his fingers through it over and again, and he would-

Flint pulls, pulls, and pulls at his roots. Surrender, chapter, head . He can’t force it to make the sense that he needs it to make.

There is a knock at his door. Flint almost doesn’t even hear it over the tumult in his mind. But he hears it, and if he thought that there was even the barest whisper of a chance that it was anyone other than Silver knocking, he would not have said, “Enter.”

It is Silver, of course it is Silver who steps into Flint’s room with all the comfort and familiarity of a person entering his own room. He closes the door behind him, then Flint can hear him pause as he takes in the sight of Flint, who has not bothered to unclench his fingers from his hair. Flint can sense Silver adapting to this. His footsteps, even, become softer, less boisterous than his knocking had been. He approaches more slowly and cautiously than he had entered. Flint wonders how Silver would react if Flint said, “Surrender, chapter, head” aloud. He wonders if Silver can hear it being said inside Flint’s mind.

“Quite the storm,” Silver says mildly. Neutrally. He might be making small talk about the weather. Every dialogue with Silver is like Silver holding a door open for Flint and seeing if he will walk through it. Asking where Flint would like to lead him.

Flint wonders for the hundredth – for the thousandth – time who Silver was before Flint met him. All he knows of Silver is the way he takes his cues from Flint. There are only glimpses and guesses of what lies beyond.

“Nothing we have not seen before,” Flint answers brusquely. He is embarrassed now that he let Silver see so much of him. He smooths his hair and looks Silver in the eye. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Difficult to say,” Silver says, sitting opposite Flint. He does not look away; he never breaks a gaze. He should have been a courtier, Flint thinks. He may be easy to provoke, but he is nearly impossible to ruffle. Flint wishes to ruffle him. If Silver truly wants to join Flint in this mood, he will have to enter it ruffled.

Flint arranges himself in his seat as though he is comfortable and tries to bring his thoughts in hand. He pulls the drawstrings of strategy to close the bag around the mess of his thoughts. He tries to count the number of times that he has wormed his way under Silver’s skin- very few. He does not need to count the number of times Silver has welcomed him in- none at all. Silver will be in his mind soon enough, so Flint tries to tidy it for him.

Silver, rarely companionably silent, has begun talking. Flint listens to his tone more than his words. It keeps rolling like the tide, changing, modulating. Probing. Like waves breaking against the stone of Flint’s mood, wearing it down in precise and purposeful patterns. Flint knows that Silver has his own mind and motives, his own plans for Flint. Maybe it should worry Flint. Maybe he should send Silver away. But Flint finds it perversely intriguing. He wonders what Silver would do with him, given his way. What a surrender to Silver would mean for Flint.

Surrender. Chapter. Head.

Flint clenches around his thoughts once more. He notices Silver notice it and either of them could say something, but neither one of them does. Silver’s tone changes slightly, then rolls back into a different one. He is going to let Flint retreat; he will follow him and neither of them will mention why.

“It’s not lice, is it?” Silver asks.

Flint glares at him and Silver grins back at Flint. Then he adopts a more innocently concerned expression and mimes pulling at his hair. “Is it because you have lice, do you think? I hear it makes your head-”

“My hair is clean.”

“Yes?”

“Cleaner than yours has ever been.”

“That would make your head a nice home for the lice, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you call my head a nice home for anything?”

Silver’s expression freezes, his fluidity stilled. Pinned down. One foot in the door, but Flint does not want to enter as an intruder. It would be so much sweeter for Silver to come to him, inviting him in. The thought of Silver welcoming Flint pangs and Flint–

Flint runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it. Ask me, he thinks. Just ask me and I’ll tell you anything. Don’t try to trick it out of me, just ask.

“Is- have you always been so vain about your hair?” Silver is smiling. His shoulders are tensed, ready.

Flint feels the familiar, almost nauseating mix of fear, disgust, and hope at this vulnerability of Silver seeing something that grows from Flint’s very core. And the small twinge of pride in Silver for being to leap the etymological branches that cluster around Flint’s true meaning.

“Yes,” Flint says.

“And do you keep it long and well-kept,” Silver asks, “so that one day you’ll be able to go back?”

“Back?”

“To England. To whatever was before all this.”

Flint cannot stop himself; he lurches out of his seat and stands, breathing quickly.

Capitulation. Head, chapter, surrender.

No, Flint wants to say- doesn’t want to say. No, I keep it because I need to love it, I need to cherish one thing about myself. I keep it because I want to be seen for what I am. So that, someday, someone might run his fingers through it lovingly and tell me that it is nice.

And it’s not even as long as it used to be.

Not because he wants to go back to England. Not because he could imagine himself returning to his position in her Navy. Not because he could wash his hair and his face, put on clean clothes, and blend in with the society that had turned away from him.

This is all primed at the tip of his tongue, but something in his mind says are they not the same thing? James Flint cannot have those fingers in his hair, soft touches, caring caresses. They belong to James McGraw. This hair belongs to James McGraw.

“Yes,” Flint says. The word is choked and pathetic. “Not England. But yes. Before.”

Silver has stood too and his expression has that same stillness as before. But it isn’t panic that is frozen on his features now. It is more an expression of pain. “You think you-” Silver stops himself. Flint recognizes the effort that it takes.

“Don’t you?” Flint asks. Doesn’t Silver ever want to turn his back on the sea and walk forward into a quiet life?

Silver looks at him with astonishment in every line of his face. “No,” he says slowly. “And neither do you. Not really.”

Flint opens his mouth, then closes it. He studies Silver’s face, trying to understand.

Silver says, “You say it, but that doesn’t mean that it is true.”

You should know, Flint thinks bitterly. Then: You should know, Flint thinks achingly. “It’s the truth,” he says.

Silver fixes him with a look. “You’re pulling it out, Flint. Your hair, you’re pulling it out.”

Flint drops his hands. He hadn’t even noticed that they had crept back to his head.

Head-

“It- it used to be longer,” Flint says lamely after a moment. “I cut it before I boarded my first pirate ship.”

“How many inches?”

Get out, Flint almost says. Out of my room, out of my mind .

Don’t you like it like this, he doesn’t almost say, do you think it would be better longer? Shorter? What would tempt you?

He imagines it: laying against Silver’s chest, with Silver’s hand in his hair. Silver alternates running his fingers through it hypnotically and playing with individual strands until Flint’s body floats away on a gentle current and the only thing that exists is Silver playing with his hair. But this fantasy feels flat, like a drawing. The room is too bright. His hand in Flint’s hair is too clean. It is slightly wrong in a dreamlike way. McGraw could have those things, but Flint-

And to Silver, he can only be Flint. The name McGraw would be a lie in Silver’s mouth.

“Flint, you’re pulling it out.”

Silver does not mean at that moment; Flint’s hands are clasped behind his back. His military at-ease. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees straight, left hand covering the right behind his back like his wrists are shackled. Put him in his Navy uniform and he would be entirely unremarkable aboard the HMS Scarborough . It makes his stomach turn.

“It’s too long,” Flint says finally. It is as much as he can say. He can’t offer much, but he offers it all. He puts everything in Silver’s hands and wonders if Silver knows it.

“If it’s too long,” Silver says, “you should cut it.”

He says it simply. He sits as he says it. It’s settled, his casual body language says, and easily so.

He does not know, then, that he has uprooted the tree of surrender, chapter, head in Flint’s mind. Flint had not realized how accustomed he had become to its shade until Silver had drawn it back and given Flint the sun.

Flint sits too. You should cut it. A weight off of his shoulders. “Will you do it?” Flint asks before he thinks about asking it. Maybe he should look away from the surprise on Silver’s face after he says it, but he drinks in every little change in his expression and saves it in his mind for later. “I don’t have a razor here, but you can use the knife.” Flint nods to the knife sitting unsheathed on his table.

There’s a moment’s pause.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Silver says softly, almost to himself.

“I can’t do all your thinking for you,” Flint snaps. He should not have asked. “Will you do it or not?” So, he asks a second time. He knows that one cannot right a mistake by repeating it, but he always seems to do so.

Silver’s expression hardens. He stands up, grabs the knife off the table, weighs it in his hand. He takes a step toward Flint’s chair and Flint doesn’t move. He doesn’t care why Silver is approaching him with the knife. What matters is that he is stepping closer. Another and another step. And he is right in front of Flint. His leg brushes against Flint’s bent knee.

This close, Flint can hear when Silver’s breath quickens and becomes audible. Flint could close his eyes and just listen, except that he can’t tear his eyes away from Silver’s face. Silver hefts the knife up like it is heavy. With his free hand, he takes a lock of Flint’s hair between his fingers.

Flint almost flinches away from the touch. Once, when Flint was serving his first week on a ship in the Caribbean, he had gotten terribly sunburned. One of his crew mates had soaked a cloth in cool water and applied it to the burn. Flint had flinched away from that in the same way, the reflexive protection of the injury even from its cure.

“I’m not a barber,” Silver says. Both of his hands are still, one on the knife and one in Flint’s hair. “I’m going to cut it very short. I’m going to shave it.”

Flint nods twice, just to feel Silver’s hand moving through his hair, although it is really more that his hair is moving in Silver’s hand. What is it to take something from someone who is not giving it? He does not want to be a thief; being a pirate is enough.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

He wonders what Silver is really asking, because he knows that this is what Flint wants. “Go on,” Flint says. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

Silver goes on. One lock at a time falls from Flint’s head and lands at his feet. It happens quickly. Flint is looking at Silver and he practically misses it.

Then Silver circles around the chair until he is standing behind Flint, and Flint has nothing to distract him from every sensation on his scalp. He had not expected it to feel like this, cutting his hair. He has been pulling his hair out at the root for long enough that he had forgotten to imagine that cutting his hair might feel different from that. He thinks: this doesn’t feel like losing something . And it surprises him.

It all surprises him. The softness of Silver’s hands on his head. Even the knife is gentle, an extension of Silver’s touch. He had been ready for the bite of its blade on his scalp, too sharp to be a harmless razor. Silver has tamed it down to a caress. This, all of this, Silver’s touch is almost, almost, almost, almost-

“That’s good,” Flint says. He says it without thinking, and he does not think about it after he says it.

Immediately, Silver’s hand falters and Flint feels the knife’s sharpness for the first time. He feels the opening of his skin under it. Not very deep, but some blood. Head wounds bleed a lot.

“You spoke too soon,” Silver says. His voice has the same shake as his hand. He presses his fingertips against the injured patch of skin.

Too soon, Silver says. Too soon. Flint thinks he should have said too late, it is more true. It is too late and Flint still has not said what he should.

A week ago, he could have told Silver, you’re the only person I smile with anymore when the two of them had been laughing at something clever Silver had said. Two weeks ago, he could have said, I am less afraid of being understood when it is you who understands me when Flint had turned to Silver after several quiet minutes of watching the sea to find that Silver’s eyes already rooted on him, unconcerned at having been discovered looking at him.

And it is not just the beautiful things that he has bitten back. It is also the shameful, burning things that scrape his throat like rough stone as he silences them. It is when he has to look away when Silver is holding the neck of a bottle or the post of a railing loosely in his hand, and Flint could say yes, just like that, that is how I would like it. Or the mornings where he could have looked Silver in the eye and said, I couldn’t sleep until I had brought myself off to the thought of you. I touched myself and pretended that it was your hand. Then I slept soundly for the night.

It is a mistake to think about that. Heat grows in him, twisting and spreading vine-like through his body and pooling low in his belly. He tries to focus on the pain from the cut, but Silver’s fingers are pressing tenderly on it, too tenderly to hurt. Through the descending haze of heat, Flint thinks that if the cut was deeper or wider, maybe a pedantic academic could argue that Silver’s fingers were in him. Maybe in a future tome of their intertwined stories, a historian could say, and James Flint did feel John Silver inside of him, just once, through a hole in his head. Silver slipped in and out in one moment and that is the whole story.

Neither one of them has spoken a word in some minutes. Flint has surely stopped bleeding by now. He could say that, and Silver would finish his task and it would just be one more favor between them as the world continues on outside of this room.

Flint reopens his should’s, this time in the present. This is harder. His mind works in the past tense.

He should be more upset at giving up his hair. He should be thinking less of the feel of Silver’s hands on him and more of this loss. He should be less aware of the heat of Silver’s body close behind him. He should stop wishing that Silver would step closer. Stop imagining that two people might be able to live in one body if they press themselves closely enough together. His mind should be in the past and not this hypothetical future or hypothetically-slanted vision of the present that will only hurt him when it does not come.

But this will be the past soon enough. He closes his eyes and memorizes the feel of this moment so that he can live in it again later. He writes this all over his mind: He is standing behind me so I can’t see his face, or anything else. But I can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips on my head, and everywhere else I can feel him not touching me in that way that almost feels like a touch. He has a knife to me but he is using it to free me.

Another chapter for the book of Silver that Flint keeps in his mind, always open.

And Silver still has not moved. For a wild moment, Flint is certain that he is paused like this to let Flint commit the moment to memory, but then Flint realizes that he is finished. Finished cutting off Flint’s hair. But he is still standing there. He is waiting for Flint to react so he can react to it.

Flint reaches a hand up to his scalp to feel how short his new hair is. He gets up out of the chair – Silver’s hand stays motionless as Flint moves himself politely out from under it – and walks to the mirror, rubbing his hand across the surprising velvet of his short hair. He looks at himself in the mirror, sees how he looks. He looks how he feels when he calls himself Flint. It is not just his hair that Silver has cut away with the knife, it is the chain that connects him to the anchor of his former life, his escape from who he truly is now. Now he is only one person.

His expression startles him more than the sight of his hair; his eyes are dark and hungry, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

The strange and familiar sight of himself is not enough to distract him from noticing as Silver follows him to the mirror. He resumes his place behind Flint, just as he was while cutting Flint’s hair. Flint’s eyes meet Silver’s in the mirror. Their eyes are equally dark and hungry. Silver’s have a wildness to them that Flint wants to study, to record, to savor. He wants to unravel it and understand its every nuance; he could just ask, he supposes. But it is so sharply painful to ask someone for something when you do not know if their answer will be yes.

He turns around so he and Silver are face to face. The table the mirror is sitting on presses against his back. Silver is so close to him that it feels useless to try to estimate the distance between them. Flint feels a heightened awareness of his environment, like the bright clarity of his senses during a battle. And he feels that same calmness that he feels in a fight for his life, the calmness of necessity and single-mindedness.

Silver’s eyes move frantically, darting all over Flint’s face. Begging for something, some hint.

“What is it?” Flint asks.

“You let me cut your hair.”

Flint wonders if Silver is still holding the knife. “No, I asked you to cut my hair.” Silver still looks lost, so Flint tries again: “What is it?”

“Can’t you just tell me where to go?” Silver looks away, but only for a breath, then his eyes turn back to Flint like a weathervane fixed in the wind. “I don’t know where I am, but I think you do. Can’t you tell me where I need to go?”

Flint wants to reach out and take Silver into his arms, lead him to the bed and show him his heart. He wants to say I was there before, I know the way forward and then lean in slowly enough that Silver will know what is coming before he feels Flint kiss him. He could do this and Silver would accept it all, as he has accepted the other things that Flint has asked him to.

But he does not want Silver to accept it, he wants Silver to ask for it, with his words and his eyes and his hands.

His voice is rough when he says, “You cut my hair because you knew that I needed to have it cut.”

Silver leans in slightly, like he wants to climb directly into Flint’s mind. His eyes are locked onto Flint’s, so he would see if Flint dropped his gaze to those lips that are tantalizingly close and coming closer. And Silver would take the cue, Flint knows he would. So he does not look.

He looks instead into Silver’s blue eyes. He watches them slip out from under Flint’s gaze and jump from point to point on Flint’s face. He sees when Silver looks at Flint’s lips. Can Flint make his lips look softer and more inviting just by wishing it?

“Sometimes I feel that you know everything,” Silver says quietly. “That if I want to understand something I don’t need to look at it, I just need to look to you.”

Flint shakes his head slowly, keeping his eyes steady on Silver’s.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You know what this place is called,” Silver says.

“I’m here now, with you.”

Relief washes over Silver’s face – Flint was ready for a hundred emotions to come over Silver’s features, but relief is not one that he had expected – and he kisses Flint. Their arms are already around each other, Flint realizes belatedly. He tightens his hold and parts his lips so he can taste Silver’s mouth on his tongue.

Silver is not timid. His hands are strong and firm on Flint’s sides and he eagerly meets Flint’s tongue with his own. He is not following any lead but his own pleasure, Flint realizes. It makes him dizzy with desire. He wants to give Silver everything, even the things he doesn’t know yet how to want.

Silver inhales sharply and Flint realizes that he has spoken some of this aloud. Or Silver can truly read his mind, just as he always half-suspected.

And Flint says it again, just to make Silver’s breath come faster, to see his eyes get darker and to feel his erection grow harder against Flint’s leg. Flint spreads his legs apart so that one rests between Silver’s. Silver presses against it, sending waves of lust through Flint, shuttering his mind to any other thoughts other than want, need. He runs his hands across Silver’s back, drunk with the permission to touch as much as he wants to.

Silver’s hands are on the laces of Flint’s breeches and that flinching reflex tugs at him again, but now it is because he is already on the edge and he wants to love Silver slowly all night long. But he would never be able to pull away from Silver and he stands, dazed, as Silver pulls his cock out and begins to stroke him. He is not hesitant at all, not fearful. Even in his fantasies, as he brought himself off quietly in his bed alone, Flint had never been able to imagine that Silver would be this eager for him.

Flint begins to talk as Silver strokes him. He says, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of this, of you. Ever since I met you, every time I’ve given myself pleasure it was to the thought of you.”

Silver’s hand falters. “Fuck,” he says hoarsely, “fuck.”

Flint reaches for Silver’s laces, trying to remember how to use his fingers. He manages it finally, clumsily, and wraps his hand around Silver’s cock. It is hot in his hand, silky to touch. Silver’s hips jerk forward and he loses his rhythm again.

Flint follows Silver’s lead, letting him choose the pace for them both. Silver’s lust-dark eyes meet Flint’s, and Flint can see the effect it has on Silver. Flint wraps his free hand around the back of Silver’s neck and pulls their foreheads together.

Flint is so close now. His hand keeps stilling on Silver as the world beyond the sensation of Silver’s hand on his cock recedes. He can’t stop the little thrusts of his hips. He pulls his head back at the last moment so that he can see Silver’s face. He looks at Silver’s eyes, the color in his cheeks, his lips that are red and shiny from kissing Flint. And he comes.

Silver says, “Oh.” His voice is so raw with lust that Flint would surely come again if he could.

Flint wants to say something, but no words can replace the act of falling to his knees in front of Silver and taking him in his mouth. So he acts and does not speak. Silver’s body tightens and the sound he makes is as sweet as Flint's release had been. His hands fall onto Flint’s head, and he is caressing the hair he just cut. Flint swallows him down deeply, the smell of Silver’s sweat giving him a heady rush.

Flint draws back after a moment so that he can catch his breath, and he looks up at Silver. He takes in the beauty of him with his shirt rumpled from Flint clenching at it, his breeches discarded beside him, and his whole body shiny with sweat. His gaze lingers on Silver’s cock, standing up for him. He remembers what he said about giving Silver everything and he says, “Here.”

He turns around and braces himself against the table, half-bent over it. He doesn’t have anything, any oil. But he wants this. Silver split his scalp with a knife and it was a caress. This will be just as sweet.

He hears SIlver’s sharp intake of breath. He feels Silver’s hands on him. Two dry fingers touch him and Flint smiles.

“Don’t you need- don’t you have any oil or-” Silver sounds more aroused than anything else.

“It’s all right, I want it,” Flint says. He'll beg for it if that is what Silver wants.

“Flint,” Silver says. Flint looks over his shoulder. Silver’s expression is such an intoxicating mix of lust and tenderness that Flint nearly averts his eyes, certain that he is trespassing somehow by seeing this. “Flint, this is not the only night for us. We’re going to do this again.”

We’re going to do this again . Flint wants to ask him to repeat it, just so he can be sure he heard him correctly. We’re going to do this again . It is the same thunderbolt as hearing then cut it had been. Flint grabs Silver’s hand and kisses his palm, unable to speak.

Still holding SIlver’s hand, he tugs Silver against his back. He feels Silver’s cock between his legs, sliding against him. The head of it presses against Flint’s balls. Silver moans and rocks forward again. Their mingled sweat creates a slickness that allows Silver to slide comfortably. Every time he pumps his hips, Flint hitches back to meet him and so every thrust is something they are doing together.

“Next time,” Flint says, loving the taste of that phrase in his mouth, “next time you’re going to fuck me properly. You’re going to feel me hot and tight around you and you’re going to hear me asking for it deeper. I’ll come just from your cock in me, you won’t even need to touch me, that’s how much I’ll want to feel you in me.”

Those nights of touching himself and thinking of this, Flint had neglected to imagine so much. He hadn’t thought to imagine how Silver’s chest would be hot and sweaty against his back, or the way that he could feel Silver’s hair draping over him. He hadn’t considered that Silver would stop to kiss the back of his neck. And even in his most self-indulgent fantasies, he had never imagined that when Silver came, he would call out Flint’s name.

Flint would be content to stand there forever, the edge of the table biting uncomfortably into his hips now that there is no distraction from it, and Silver almost suffocatingly heavy across his back. But Silver pulls him up and looks intently into his face for a moment before drawing him in for a deliberate, soft kiss.

When Silver breaks the kiss, he slides his cheek next to Flint’s and says quietly in his ear, “I’ve thought about it too. I didn’t know why, but you were always there.”

They stand there in an embrace that neither wants to break. They’ll have to break it eventually, but that is fine. This is not the only time this will happen. They are going to do this again. Flint tucks his face into Silver’s neck and breaths in.

He opens the book of Silver in his mind and begins to write.

#black sails #silverflint #it's been too long i don't remember how to do ''posts''

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maniacalshen · 4 years

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Ficlet: Monster

Hey, @moddieeee, I hope you don’t mind that I used your post as a prompt.

Title: Monster

Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess

Characters: Gabrielle/Xena

It was one of those times where the crisis was resolved but not over, at least not for Xena and Gabrielle. They had uncovered a plot to sabotage a moonlight wedding between an acolyte of Artemis - so that she might leave her goddess' service in full view of her and with her blessing - and the lordling set to inherit the nearby city. The lordling's friend who was also the acolyte's romantic rival meant to curse the girl to spend the night as some kind of... something that wouldn't be welcome at a wedding. And Gabrielle had stepped in front of the curse. Xena had gotten the cursing artifact away from the girl and put her in the town's jail, but while everyone else was setting up for the wedding, she and Gabrielle now sat in a borrowed hut with a barred door, waiting to see what would befall the bard.

Some helpful bystanders had suggested Xena wait outside the barred door, but as the sunlight waned in the small window, and Gabrielle looked up at her with tremulous green eyes, she internally scoffed anew at the idea. Hands on the younger woman's shoulders, she promised, "Whatever happens, I've got you, Gabrielle. Just one night; we can handle this." "If I hurt you, I'll never forgive myself." "Pff, your greedy old former warlord has plenty practice wrestling with green-eyed monsters." Xena watched the pun wrinkle Gabrielle's nose and make her laugh despite herself. "Besides, we still don't know what'll happen. Maybe you'll turn into a squirrel and run right out that window, or I'll get to cuddle a puppy all night." "If I'm a puppy, you won't tell anyone if I piddle inside, will y-" Gabrielle cut off her question with a grunt, bending over as her muscles seized. Xena squeezed her shoulders tighter. "Gabrielle?" Muscles seized again, then expanded along with Gabrielle's whole body. The ties holding her brief top and skirt made painful-looking depressions in her skin, and Xena bent over her to untie everything as quickly as possible. After furious finger-work and another body expansion, accompanied by a rough howl of pain from the bard, the top fell to the ground, but the arm bands were goners. The bracelets, deformed; the skirt in tatters on the ground. And Gabrielle? Hoarse gasps held a deeper tenor than Xena had ever heard from her partner, and even though she was still bent over, their heads were of a height. Xena blinked, fascinated. Gabrielle's eyes were still squeezed shut, but the rounded contours of her face had expanded and sharpened, giving her angular cheekbones and a wider jaw. She kept her cute nose, though, and out of her brief blond locks now protruded pointed, fuzzy ears like those of a golden-furred dog. Similar fur had sprouted down the back of her neck and along her arms and legs - basically anywhere she usually had thicker body hair, with just a smattering in places like her belly. The transformation added new definition to every muscle and notable extra bulk to her shoulders, arms, and legs. "Gabrielle?" Xena whispered. Gabrielle's eyes finally opened - and were green, exactly like usual. It took some of the unsettling otherness away from her form, even though recognition hadn't yet found her gaze. Those eyes snapped to Xena's after a moment, and Gabrielle stood up to her new, imposing height - a full head and shoulders over Xena's. She cocked her head. "Easy, sweetheart." Xena kept her hands at her sides and her shoulders relaxed, but she held Gabrielle's gaze, reasoning that she didn't seem to take it as a challenge. She wondered if her partner could hear her heart racing, unsure whether there was danger. "It's me. I love you. Are you okay?" With startling quickness, Gabrielle swooped down to look at Xena's face straight-on again, and it it took a lifetime of mastery over her reflexes to keep Xena from reacting in any way. Gabrielle sniffed, then tilted her head again and smoothly brought her face right up to the juncture between Xena's neck and shoulder. She sniffed again, then relaxed her posture a little. Now that she was bent over further than before, Xena could look over her shoulder and see a pale gold tail protruding from her partner's backside, sinuous like a big cat's, and it gave what looked like a happy little twitch. The edge of hysteria started to push against Xena's control. Her partner had turned into an enormous, surely-dangerous beast - with fuzzy ears and a a cute tail, and for some reason, the latter was almost more than she could handle. Right as Xena bit down on her laugh, Gabrielle sniffed and snuffled right into her cleavage, sending a frisson through her whole body and forcing a strangled noise through her composure. But Gabrielle just gave a contented-sounding little growl/hum. Then she moved to nose Xena's other shoulder and trailed around to the back of her neck. "Xena..." she breathed against the back of Xena's ear. "My... mine. My mate?" The undercurrent of a growl couldn't hide Gabrielle's sweet voice, though it did make her speech rumble through Xena's back where they touched. That was... kind of pleasant, actually. "I'm Xena all right. And I'm yours if I'm anyone's." Actually sounding amused, Gabrielle posited, "You're mine," and playfully bit Xena's shoulder. Just a light nip, but sharper than it would normally have been, and then she let go with her mouth only to wrap her long arms around Xena's middle. Xena leaned into her out of almost sheer confusion. The sharp teeth, the loving arms, the enormous muscles on those arms, the comforting vibration of Gabrielle's voice against her back, her feral body language - Xena's instinctual fear response tangled up with a variety of other responses and tripped over a bushel of new stimuli, rendering her unsure what to do or feel. But not unhappy about where she was. Perhaps pleased with that small capitulation, Gabrielle rubbed her cheek against Xena's and hummed again. She pulled away and leaned forward to catch her eye, her visage the image of beastly contentment. "Okay?" Xena looked at this beast that held her - the partner that cuddled her securely - and couldn't help herself. Slowly, she reached up with the hand on Gabrielle's side of her body... and touched her fuzzy ear. It twitched. She took the ear between her fingers and rubbed it. So soft... Gabrielle sneezed and shook her head vigorously before gently butting her temple against Xena's. She grumbled, "That... tickles." She bent to lick the side of Xena's neck, and an involuntary shiver from Xena followed. After a pause, she licked again, slower, and Xena felt herself lean against Gabrielle even more. A delicate nibble on her earlobe came next, and Xena couldn't help the gasp. Gabrielle's hands moved to Xena's hips and trailed up to her waist... and higher, slowly. She sniffed the air and chuckled. "My little mate wants me... Would you like me to be gentle?" Well. This was one way to fill their time while they were barred into a hut. Xena swallowed as large hands slid over her breasts. "Just... a little gentle. Maybe." Her desire shouted down every question she almost thought to ask of herself in this situation. She wanted - enough she was weak in the knees and already breathing faster. And her mate surely wanted. Xena felt the tug of clever teeth pulling the ties of her leathers undone. "Let's play."

#xena #fanfic #gabrielle/xena

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starswornoaths · 4 years

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Prompt 23: Shuffle

Wrote some silliness in the hope it makes friends smile. Featuring the ever wonderful characters from the even more wonderful friends of mine, @foewreckem‘s Aoife Mahsa, @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, @karoiseka‘s...Karoiseka O’dayla, and @nuclearanomaly‘s Ninira Nira

Uthengentle just wanted his stars read, not a dissertation on why it’s pointless to do it.

Word count: 2,036

It was a relatively quiet day. Quiet enough that the group had made camp for lunch, taking a rare opportunity to enjoy the mild weather.

Hyana and Ninira tended to the fish that had been freshly caught, grilling over the fire. In a pot, they added fish stock and vegetables to the rice they had only just cooked and fluffed, the smoky, rich scent of the cooking meal enough to inspire hunger even in the most stoic of the group. Karoiseka strummed lightly on her lyre, shaded in the tree as she was. At her side, G’raha dozed on and off peacefully, intermittently humming along to the tune his dearheart plucked out. Even not knowing the song necessarily, Aoife managed to harmonize on her own lyre, her voice soft as she joined G’raha in humming. Once he had laid out a folded up blanket as a smooth surface for his triple triad board, Uthengentle held out a deck of cards in offering to his sister, and at her nod, started to cut and shuffle the deck as she produced hers and did the same.

By all rights, it was a blessedly mundane day, where they were beholden to nothing but the road, basking in the quiet calm, hard won after the chaos and strife they had endured.

That was usually when the trouble started.

“Why don’t you ever read people’s stars?” Uthengentle asked his sister offhandedly as he looked over his hand of cards.

“I don’t see the point to it,” Serella told him with a shrug. She laid her Moogle card on the bottom middle tile of the Triple Triad board. “I can, but whatever I could say is vague and doesn’t help anyone with anything.”

“Don’t you read stars to heal and shite?” He pressed, tossing down a Morbol card on the bottom right.

Serella’s Moogle next to it turned from blue to red, lost to her. She sighed.

“That’s different,” She replied, half mumbling into her hand of cards. “That would be more akin to pulling from the stars rather than reading them.”

“Sure, sure,” He half heartedly agreed, eyes sharp as she laid her Tonberry in the center tile. He placed down a Griffin card to its left to steal it, motion swift and decisive. “But couldn’t you, I dunno, just put up a stall when we hit towns, help people out for a bit of extra gil?”

“I’d just feel like I’m lying to them. I assure you, card reading is just unhelpful in the best of times, outright harmful in the worst of them.”

After a moment’s deliberation she decided her Moogle was utterly lost to her, and instead opted to play her Ixal card on the middle right space to reclaim the Tonberry in the center as hers, and stealing his Morbol card in the process. Uthengentle glared at her.

“Cheeky.” He clucked his tongue. “And anyway, isn’t it something useful for people anyway? If you can predict a possible future for them and all? That’s what they do, right?”

“You’d think, but it’s so vague that there’s naught to be gleaned from it,” she answered, though let out a defeated grumble when he played Hraesvelgr on the left middle slot and all three cards flanking it turned red— with all but one tile his, his victory was secured. “Absolute bastard, you are.”

“And a sore loser be ye!” Uthengentle replied in a mock pirate accent, his arms scooping the not insignificant amount of gil they’d been betting, sat in a jar, and curling around it, held to his chest as he cackled like a gremlin adding to his hoard. When he was sufficiently with her flat, unimpressed staring, he put the jar away and asked, “So why can’t you get aught from a reading?”

“It isn’t helpful,” she huffed, even as she took her cards back from the board, “the most detail I might glean from reading the cards is that something might happen, but whether that thing is good or bad depends on how the card is facing.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The best reading you could hope for would be me saying, “hey, in the morning, something might happen to you!” She wiggled her hands in front of her. “And then, in the afternoon? Surprise! Something else might happen!” She leaned across their makeshift table as a show of mock dramatic tension, hands on her knees as she rocked forward enough for her backside to leave the grass. “And then...in the dark of night…”

“...Something might hap—?”

“Something might happen!” Serella exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and flopping back dramatically. With a huff, she let her arms slump back to her sides. “So yes. Very vague. Unhelpful. If I charged for it, I’d be a swindler and a crook.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Can’t do it.” Serella handwaved him as she tucked her deck back into her pack. “Stars say no.”

“Can you show me?” Uthengentle asked, and she could tell that his enthusiasm would not be sated with aught less.

“Really need a demonstration of how useless it is?”

“I like judging things for myself,” Uthengentle answered, leaning back in his chair and slinging an arm over the back. “Besides, sounds like it’d be interesting.”

“You have a strange idea of, ‘interesting,’ but sure,” Serella capitulated with a sigh, “I’ll read your stars— on the condition that you don’t complain when you’re disappointed.”

“Deal,” he agreed, already shuffling the Triple Triad board to clear it of his cards and flipped it over, blank side facing up on the folded over blanket.

“May I watch?” Ninira asked, coming over to take a seat between them. “I’m curious on how this works.”

“Ah, is Ella on her bullshit again?” Hyana called over from the fire.

At Ninira and Uthengentle’s confirmation, she dusted her hands on her pants and moved to sit right next to Serella. When the Astrologian turned a playful quirk of her eyebrow at her, Hyana shrugged and offered only, “If one or both of you is being stupid, I at least know it’ll be entertaining.”

“Cards?” Aoife asked, standing and peering down at their little makeshift reading board.

“I’m gettin’ my fortune read. Want to see?” Uthengentle asked her over his shoulder, gesturing for her to join them.

Aoife took a moment, eyes dancing between him and Serella. After a moment, she crouched down in place, not joining the unfinished circle that was forming, but not excluding herself.

“I will watch.” She said, tail twitching behind her. “From here.”

“As you like!” Uthengentle beamed at her.

Karo joined on the other side of the makeshift table, opposite of Ninira, between Hyana and Uthengentle. G’raha, equally curious for how little he had been able to witness of Astrology in practice, sat on his knees and pressed against his beloved’s back, hands on her shoulders, peering over her shoulder, tail swishing behind him excitedly.

Even as she laid her arcanima deck on the board, Serella could only shake her head at the group’s dogged curiosity.

“I can’t stress this enough: the only prediction I’ll make today that’ll be right is that you’ll all be disappointed. Now then.” Her hands were practiced as she shuffled the cards. “Let’s see what hand fate has dealt you.”

When the group groaned collectively, she laughed out of sheer delight, as she always did when she told her puns.

“Had to get one in, didn’t you?” Hyana grumbled at her side, half into her shoulder.

“You’re smiling.” Serella mused without even looking at her; she could feel it pressed into her shirt.

“I am, and I hate it.” Hyana groused, even as it was obvious in the way she tried to hide her face entirely that her smile had only widened.

“Now then— I will draw six cards. A full sleeve.” Serella dictated her actions, laying the six cards face down on the board in two rows of three. “I will reveal them one by one, and read the stars’ intent for you.”

The first card on the top row was overturned. The group collectively leaned in ever so slightly to peer at it.

“The Bole, upright.” She gave a pleased hum. “Your immediate future is filled with potential. The energy it turns into is dictated by the energy that you put into it.”

“Explain this to me like I don’t understand it.” Uthengentle said slowly. “I do, though. Understand it. Just...just for the group, y’know?”

“Try to have a good day, and you probably will.”

“Seems a fairly straightforward reading,” Ninira noted, tapping her chin in thought. “Though I can see why it would be unhelpful.”

“Hey now, there’s five more to go!” Uthengentle insisted, pumping his fist. His optimism would not be denied.

Serella turned over the next card, and frowned as she laid it out.

“Balance, reversed. Uncertain times approach you, and you will be made to make difficult decisions. Hard though they may be, stay the course. To flounder is to spell doom.”

“For...what…?” Karoiseka asked, a ponderous tilt to her head.

“A nondescript decision of uncertain import.” Serella replied, shrugging. “As I said: unhelpful at best, harmful at worst.”

“I’m starting to understand— this is primarily meant as a guideline, rathar than a strict edict from the stars, yes?” G’raha guessed after a moment’s thought.

“Generally, that’s the way of it. The idea is that it informs you of how things can go, if—” Serella pointed her finger up. “—You play your cards right.”

Another collective groan.

“I can’t stand you.” Hyana huffed, even as she leaned bodily into her.

“I know.” Serella gestured back at the cards. “Shall we?”

At the group’s murmured agreement, she turned over the next card. As she lay it out, face up, she hummed.

“Arrow, upright. I could wax more poetic about it, but more or less, what you’re doing is working, so keep doing it.”

“What...am I doing…?” Uthengentle asked, scratching his head.

“Exactly.” Serella turned over the fourth card. “Spear, upright. Your confidence works to your favor, but avoid growing arrogant, else your luck with take a turn for the worst.”

“How do I know when I’m arrogant and not confident?” Uthengentle asked helplessly.

“How indeed.” To prove her point, she didn’t answer as she flipped the fifth card. “Ewer, reversed. Your energy is finite, and you would do well not to run yourself dry of it over useless endeavors. Save something of yourself for yourself.”

“Wh—”

“No idea.” Serella replied, already knowing what he was going to ask.

As she flipped the last card with a dramatic flourish, she held it up, and as her eyes roved over the art, her face paled. The group leaned in even more, their attention hung on her reaction.

“What...what is it?” Aoife asked from just outside the circle of people.

Wordlessly, Serella laid the card down.

“The Spire. Reversed.” She said, tone grave as she laid the card down. “Your struggles will turn against you. Everything you’ve done will be for naught.”

Uthengentle swallowed heavily, though after a moment hesitantly spoke up, “Wait...didn’t you say this only pertained to the immediate future?”

“Oh hey, you’re learning.” Serella dropped all pretense of dramaticism, posture going lax as she shrugged. “And thus your fortune predicted itself: all your anticipation led only to disappointment.” Another shrug. “Or something else might happen. Who knows?”

“Coulda just said that in the first place.” He grumbled, puffing his cheek in annoyance.

“I did, you gullible maroon.”

Peace returned to the late morning. Ninira and Hyana dusted themselves off and returned to the food, soup now happily bubbling and fish pleasantly cooked and crispy with the perfect amount of flavorful char. Aoife took to happily rummaging around for bowls and cups, replacing the bubbling soup pot with a kettle of water and tea leaves. Karoiseka and G’raha returned to sitting against the tree stump, the former now playing a brighter song with an amused smile on her face as the latter rested his chin on her shoulder, watching Uthengentle chase his sister down the hill as he lobbed stale muffins at her head.

Mundane, exactly as they had fought for.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv #Aoife Mahsa #Hyana Geriel #Karoiseka O'Dayla #Ninira Nira #Serella Arcbane #Uthengentle Arcbane #akdfjlhauihila idk what happened I just hope my friends know I love them and that they make my life better for being in it #and also their characters are great and they should feel great about that

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

Text

Silver Service

We return to the hospital to monitor Anton’s condition, and Olivia visits Lucretia again. Liam makes Olivia an offer.

Word count 3542

A/N One of my characters tried to bail out while I was writing this, but I managed to bring her back. Odd how characters take over. No warnings, though it is a little dark - poisoning, threats, implied death of a character.

21 If only it were all simple.

‘Hello husband. You’ve been asking to see me, so here I am. Am I not worth a glance? A word?’ Anton struggled to open his eyes. He knew that voice – whose was it? He felt as if a ton weight sat on his chest, and his head was filled with a thick fog.

‘You had the gall to uphold the outdated concept of an arranged marriage. Even when you knew I wouldn’t honour it, you continued to expect me to capitulate. But Nevrakis never give in. You never had a chance of me being your wife or your Queen.’ It meant nothing to him. Nevrakis? Who was that? Queen? He fought harder. If only he could open his eyes he might be able to speak. If he could speak, maybe he could move…

‘Know this, Anton. Liam is ten times the man you are, and he and I will secure the future of Cordonia. I carry his heir, and I will never be yours. I’ll fight that to the last breath in my body, and Liam will stay by my side, whether he is King or not’

Fight to the last breath?

If you can breathe, you can stand, and if you can stand, you can fight.

The words echoed around his head as the mist cleared, and he drew all his strength together. Everything came flooding back to him.

She carried Liam’s child? When she was supposed to be his, promised to him from childhood – his bride who would rule Cordonia by his side. He forced his eyes open at last, taking in the sight of his betrothed sitting beside him, and with a superhuman effort his hand shot out and he gripped her wrist. He was rewarded by the look of astonishment and alarm in her eyes.

Then that bastard spawn of the usurper Constantine ruined it all, snatching her arm away from him. Something was happening in his chest – squeezing, crushing pain. He fought for breath as Liam and Olivia were pushed away by medical staff.

Was this a heart attack? Why did his head hurt too, throbbing with his heartbeat? He was in the right place, that was certain. This was a hospital, and he was surrounded by doctors. His arm went into spasm, followed by his whole body tensing and stiffening for a moment before going limp, and something happened in his head, something hot which spread outward. He couldn’t move – nothing – not his arms, his legs, his hands, he could not speak or swallow or breathe. The pain increased and terror gripped him. His eyes were the only thing that obeyed his will, and they widened and fixed on one of the doctors, pleading. He seemed to float above his body, looking down as he watched the medics tending to him – able to feel everything, see everything, hear everything – but he could do nothing, make no sound, no movement… then everything went black.

------

Bastien sat beside Anton’s bed. He was as he had been before the King’s visit – alive but not conscious. The difference was that he had suffered a massive heart attack and some strange seizure after which he had to be intubated so he could breathe.

Lucretia had refused to elaborate on the nature of the poison that had been mixed in with the mussel extract that triggered Anton’s allergic reaction. All they knew was that it was a rare Lythican herb whose effects were subsequently unknown.

The swelling on Anton’s brain had subsided, but a head scan had revealed that a clot had migrated there from the one that caused his heart attack, depriving certain areas of oxygen despite his constant monitoring. Only a specialist could even guess at the results of that deprivation, but it was highly unlikely that Anton would recover and be the man he had been before.

Grimly, Bastien surveyed Anton’s features, again slack and unresponsive. If he never regained any cognition, he wouldn’t get closure from the man who had arranged the kidnap of his soulmate, assaulted her and plotted the murder of Lady Adelaide. In Bastien’s mind, those plans almost overshadowed his scheme to gain the throne of Cordonia and most likely rule as a despot far worse than Constantine. At least his former employer had maintained a semblance of benevolence and kindness to his subjects, despite doing things behind the scenes that Bastien still deeply regretted helping him to execute. He had the feeling that Anton’s reign would have been far worse, and he would have fled the country rather than serve him. Who knows whether Anton would have insisted on his loyalty or had him disposed of?

He decided that he didn’t feel the need to talk to Anton. If he had some level of cognition, he was suffering sufficiently. If he was unconscious in every sense of the word, it was pointless. He had already made him regret hurting Sophia, and Drake for Riley. This near vegetative state would atone as revenge for Lady Adelaide, and for Liam and Olivia. He rose from his seat and left the room, nodding to Paulos, the guard at the door, who stood to attention as he emerged.

‘As you were, son. You know the drill – no unscheduled visitors, and only staff that are on the approved list. If there’s an emergency, then any medical staff can be admitted. If you feel the need to observe him at any point, it must be with an approved member of staff. No single visitors or members of staff to be admitted apart from myself or the King. Have you got that?’

‘Yes Sir’ Bastien clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Good man. Contact Lewis in the first instance if you need to, or myself if he’s not available’ Bastien walked steadily away from Anton’s room without the aid of his cane, making for the SUV to go back to the Palace.

------

‘So in conclusion, Lord Severus is in a serious but stable condition.’ Liam said, looking into the TV camera lens in a statement to the nation from his office at the Palace. ‘I feel that he would not wish for us to cancel or postpone any Royal events, and were he able to speak for himself, he would applaud our continuing efforts to raise funds for deserving causes in Lythikos. Duchess Olivia herself has sponsored a brand new intensive care unit in the Lythos General Hospital in the hope that those needing specialist treatment in the Duchy would not lose valuable time having to be transported to the main Capitol Hospital.’ He looked down at his desk ‘Should there be any major change in Lord Severus’s condition I will be informed and will make any relevant decisions as needed’

‘And cut’ the director called ‘Thankyou your Majesty, this will be broadcast shortly’ The TV crew started to pack their things away, and Liam ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Thankyou for your professionalism’ he smiled graciously ‘It’s always a pleasure to work with you’ He hoped that his statement would soften the blow of Lucretia’s publicised confession to poisoning Anton. The popularity of Lythikos within Cordonia was seesawing wildly at the moment, and he intended for everything to end up with popular opinion firmly on Olivia’s side as the wronged Duchess, forced into a marriage she didn’t want and brought up by a ruthless and unfeeling relative. The week or so spent openly in her company would go some way toward softening her image ready for him to announce that she carried his heir.

Day by day it looked increasingly unlikely that Anton would ever be in a fit state to rule the country. CT scans had shown irreversible brain and nerve damage that meant he would at the very least be paralysed from the neck down, and at worst might never regain consciousness. Liam’s archivists and lawyers assured him that being fit to rule was an absolute necessity for any candidate to the throne. He wondered if part of his father’s reason for concealing his illness had been simply to remain in power as long as he could.

Now it was time for him to go to Lythikos for the charity snow sports. Nobles and commoners alike would compete for trophies in skiing, skating, bobsleighing and other events. Nobles would pay for the privilege of competing, and sponsorship for commoners had been invited from local and national businesses. Tickets were on sale to view the event and there would be a winter fair at which medals would be awarded, followed by a Ball at Olivia’s Lodge. Locals were already calling it the ‘Lytholympics’. There would be something to suit every pocket, and people would flock to the Duchy from all over Cordonia now that the King had announced that it was going ahead despite the attempt on Anton’s life.

Olivia was waiting for him in his private lounge, her bags packed ready to leave for her home duchy. She looked tired but a little less pale. Liam went up to her and she offered her cheek for a kiss. He was tempted to hug her, but held back. He didn’t want to crowd her. Instead he took her hands in his and squeezed them.

‘Chin up Livvy, it looks increasingly likely that Anton won’t be in a position to complete his challenge’ She smiled wanly.

‘I wish I could be certain’ she said fiercely. ‘Perhaps I should pay one last visit to my aunt before we go’

‘Only if you feel up to it’ Liam said softly ‘But if you think it would bring you closure, I’m right behind you. We have an hour or two to spare.’ She took a deep breath and stood straight.

‘I think I am, but I’d like to talk to her alone. You can come, but stay outside. We can take the limo to the cottage and then go straight off to Lythikos’

‘Of course. I’ll let Bastien know’

Half an hour or so later, Olivia sat in her aunt’s lounge, waiting for Lucretia. She appeared, but Olivia remained seated.

‘Niece’ the older woman said, sitting in an easy chair beside the fireplace. ‘Will you take tea?’

‘No thankyou’ she said shortly ‘A glass of water will be sufficient. I hope I can trust you not to add any herbal extracts to it’

‘Of course not’ her aunt snorted ‘You’re mother to the royal heir, and Nevrakis only hope of going forward into the future. I did what I did to ensure your wellbeing’ Olivia raised her eyebrow to that but didn’t reply. ‘So what do you want, my dear?’

‘I won’t beat around the bush. I need to know if Anton is likely to recover his senses and make his claim to the throne’

‘Is that all?’

‘Isn’t it enough?’ A maid came in with a tray and set it down on the coffee table. Olivia’s eyes flicked to the teapot and a plate of Lythican spiced cookies.

‘Bring some tap water would you?’ her aunt demanded ‘I’ll pour my own tea’ She did so, and Olivia gritted her teeth waiting. The maid came back with water, and Lucretia sipped her tea.

‘He’ll not recover’ she replied at last. ‘He’s paralysed, I take it?’ Olivia nodded ‘He will remain so, but how long he lingers depends on his constitution. Most who have been – treated in this way never speak again, and generally the poison causes a lingering death.’

‘Generally?’ Olivia asked

‘Oh don’t worry my dear - what I meant was that death is certain, but how swiftly it comes varies - as I said.’

‘Will you reveal what herb it is?’

‘Oh no dear, to be frank I don’t know. Only my herbalist does, and even the identity of that person is unknown to me, as is traditional. You are sadly lacking in certain aspects of Lythican folklore, my girl. But don’t fret, all will be passed on to you in the fullness of time. I look forward to seeing you ascend the throne’

‘I’ll not ask for that’ Olivia said, thin lipped ‘I don’t wish to be Queen. What I do want is that Liam is happy, and he has agreed that by me bearing the heir, he will be content’ Lucretia frowned

‘Not want to be Queen? Are you insane, girl? If you just act like a human incubator, who’s to say he won’t take your child away? He could discard you once he has his heir, and take another woman. Who’s to say he hasn’t made the same arrangement with other women, and promised them the same?’ Olivia’s eyes grew wide.

‘Liam’s not like that’ she said in a low voice ‘He’s not like his father – he’s gentle and caring’

‘Do you think he’ll stay the same with the weight of the crown on his head?’ Lucretia scoffed ‘Power corrupts, and he is his father’s son. He was not raised to be King, and he has barely had time to adjust to his new role. Demand to be the Queen you should be, Olivia. Hold the King to ransom – refuse him your child. Shut yourself off, close the borders of Lythikos or flee to exile if he refuses.’ She leaned forward, stabbing a forefinger at her niece to make her point. ‘You know you would be Queen if he becomes incapable of ruling, and that would be so very easy for me to arrange’

‘Are you threatening to do the same to Liam as you did to Anton?’ Olivia gasped. ‘What sort of monster are you?’

‘The monster that will fulfil the ambition of our family’ she replied ‘If you won’t make sure of your accession to the throne, I will’

‘I’ll see to it that you don’t’ Olivia hissed ‘You won’t meddle in my life any longer, you old witch’ Lucretia sat back and smiled, and Olivia rose with dignity and left the room.

---------

Liam was waiting for her outside the cottage. She was tight lipped and pale with rage.

‘Lets get out of this place’ she said ‘Let’s go to Lythikos’ She made for the car, and Liam followed her. She sat back in the seat, letting her head drop back against the leather headrest and closing her eyes, her hand going protectively to her belly. Liam sat back too, but remained silent for a while. He wanted to know what had her riled up, and the sooner the better, to help her to calm down. As the limo swept out of the Palace gates onto the main road, he leaned forward to close the security screen between them and the driver and switched off the intercom, a red light showing its status. He turned to Olivia as she opened her eyes and looked at him in query.

‘Tell me what she said, Livvy. No-one can hear us, it’s just us’ Olivia swallowed and turned her head to him.

‘You need to put her under maximum security’ she said, her gaze urgent ‘No contact with anyone outside, not even her lawyer. She got a message out though her before and god knows what other tricks she has up her sleeve’

‘Why Livvy, what danger does she pose? Can she have Anton wake up?’

‘No’ she said shortly. ‘Death is certain, though she couldn’t say when’

‘She said something about the end of the week’ Liam replied. He inclined his head and reached out for her hand. ‘That’s not all, is it?’ She shook her head

‘It’s only fair to tell you that she threatened to do the same to you’ Liam felt the colour drain from his face, and she made a hollow laugh ‘After all, if anything happens to you now, I become Queen’

‘You said you didn’t want that’ Liam said levelly. She tutted in exasperation

‘I don’t.’ she said, and raised her green eyes to his ‘I only want you to be happy’ He took a deep breath.

‘What if you were Queen?’ he asked ‘would she back off then?’ Olivia blinked, and stared at him.

‘What if I…’ her voice trailed off ‘I - I don’t know’ she said simply, then started again ‘What do you mean?’

‘If I made you Queen, she’d have no reason to have me assassinated’

‘I – who knows what goes on in that bitch’s mind? But Liam…’ she protested.

‘If it would put your mind at rest, stop you worrying, I’d do it’ he said ‘Why not? You can do as much or as little as you like, and we’d be together to bring up our child. When Leo abdicated, I expected to be forced into marrying Madeleine, with a Cordonian arrangement.’

‘I can’t believe you just said that’ Olivia said, aghast ‘After all we’ve been through’ She turned away from him, biting her knuckle. He was sure that if they’d not been in the limo on their way to Lythikos, she would have slapped him or stormed out.

‘Hear me out, Livvy’ he said ‘You’ve – well you’ve changed since you fell pregnant. You’re – you’re softer.’ He struggled for words. ‘I don’t look at other women the same. Or men, for that matter. You’re carrying my child. I just want to keep you both safe.’ She turned to him, fire in her eyes

‘So I’m just a human incubator to you – that’s what Lucretia said’

‘No Livvy, that’s not it’ he said ‘It’s more than that. We have a connection, always have had, but Father tried his best to break it. Now he’s gone, I realise. I’d never do anything to hurt you’ he said.

‘You say that now’ she said ‘But you have a country to run. I’ll never be more important than that’

‘Then help me to do it’ he said simply. She stared at him

‘I never wanted that’ she said ‘Leo was going to be King, and we – I always thought that we’d have some sort of relationship, even if I was just one of many’ He sighed

‘And I never expected to be King, you know that. Livvy, you and Drake are my oldest friends. It looks like Drake is involved with Riley – I don’t know how long he’ll stay. He came back from America for me, I can’t ask him to sacrifice his happiness for me’

‘And you can ask me?’ she said

‘But you said you wanted me to be happy’ he pointed out. ‘What would make me happy is to have a loving family, and we’re halfway there. Being King is – well of course it will be my duty for my country to come first – but whatever is left over is yours, and our child’s’ He smiled ‘I won’t have time for lovers, I’ve realised that.’

‘What if I want lovers?’ she said shortly. His face dropped. She felt cruel for asking him, but the question bubbled up and was out of her mouth before she could stop it – typical Nevrakis hot headedness, she told herself.

‘I would hope I would be enough – but if you did…’ he looked out of the window at the passing scenery. ‘I don’t know Livvy, it’s too early to say. Who knows what life will bring.’ She relented, taking his hand, wanting to banish the hurt in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, that was callous of me. We should focus on the baby, and what he or she needs. I think we’ll both have enough on our plates being parents.’ She paused. ‘Liam, have you made any arrangement like this with anyone else?’ he stared at her

‘No, of course not’ he replied, shocked.

‘I have to ask. Lucretia brought it up’ His jaw tightened at her words.

‘She’s been pouring poison into your ears. Just what else did she say?’ Olivia closed her eyes in thought. She related everything to him as the limo made its way along the increasingly steep roads. Anger rose in him as he heard what the old woman thought of him.

‘I’d never take your child away from you.’ He said earnestly. ‘I’m determined not to follow my father’s example. I can have Lucretia locked away in maximum security if it would make you feel better. My feeling is that she would do anything to get you on the throne, and probably more to keep you there. I’m superfluous to her. She only cares about getting your family on the throne, with or without me.’ Olivia nodded reluctantly

‘I know. Once I was on the throne, who’s to say she wouldn’t try to have you assassinated?’

‘Livvy’ he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. ‘You know how many attempts there have been over the years. If it wasn’t her, it would be someone else. I’m still at risk no matter what. At least if she was locked away it would make it difficult for her and she’d be a known threat’ Olivia twisted her hands in her lap and sighed

‘I’m exhausted’ she said ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep. We can talk later.’

‘Okay Livvy. But I’m serious – I’d make you my Queen to make both our lives easier’ A faint smile crossed Olivia’s lips as she settled back.

‘I don’t doubt your sincerity, Liam’ she said ‘I’ll think about it’

@sirbeepsalot @stopforamoment @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @texaskitten30 @be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @rainbowsinthestorm @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @ravenpuff02

#silver service #king liam #liam x olivia #protect and serve #bastien lykel #lucretia nevrakis #olivia nevrakis

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