#m | ic: threads ; henry

[nineliabilityrisk]

you know i’m in love with you, right? HENRY

" you know i'm in love with you , right ? "

[[ oh dear god. okay. here we go (/pos) this was probably not the direction you were expecting it to go but i uh. my brain. it took it and ran ]]

-- [ asked by @trapton ] --

The words froze Henry in place, swirling emotions in his mind coming to a screeching halt before roaring back to life tenfold.

He and William had been arguing for the better part of an hour — over what, Henry couldn't tell you. Mainly because there was no real 'what'. Henry'd just been shut in his office working himself to death for the past sixteen hours because he didn't want to go back home to an empty house and William had found him sobbing at his desk and it had just escalated from there.

He didn't want to fight — didn't have the energy to, what with the lack of sleep and the pounding headache and the gaping hole in his chest — but William had just kept on pushing. Asking him why he was still there. Why he stank of alcohol and sweat and why he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Threatening to forcefully remove him from the premises if he didn't go home willingly.

Henry had thought he would understand, at least a little, having lost a child of his own, but he just didn't seem to get why Henry was so reluctant to return home. Why he didn't want to step back into that big family house that used to be home to him and Charlie and her mother.

It was so quiet there, now. It threatened to drive him mad. There was a reason he wasn't exactly eager to go rushing back. Not when the photos of all three of them still decorated the walls, the mantle. Not when he still couldn't bear to face them long enough to take them down.

The part that William hadn't seemed to get about all of this was the isolation Henry faced. They'd both lost their children, yes, there was no denying that. He knew good and well that William had loved his youngest like an extension of his own body. But he hadn't been left alone to grieve. To wallow in his misery. When he wasn't with Henry at work, he had his wife and remaining kids to return home to. Even if they were in no state to provide comfort, they were still there. He had the sound of family life continuing on in the background to chase away some of the grief. The guilt.

Henry, on the other hand, was the single father of an only child. Charlie was all he had. No close relatives, siblings, cousins — Hell, his reclusivity meant he hadn't even had any friends to turn to besides William.

William Afton, the only person Henry had left in his life. The one who, unbeknownst to him, had orchestrated events for years to guide him to this conclusion. The sole reason he was so reluctant to leave the building — the knowledge that William was still here, somewhere, had been the slightest bit soothing, had been enough to keep Henry from diving too deep into that part of his mind that kept telling him it was his fault. That Charlie would still be alive if he had just been there. If he wasn't always so preoccupied with work. If he'd just spent more time with her, like she'd asked him to.

... The man who wouldn't stop fucking fussing over him. Okay, maybe Henry had snapped at him. So unlike him, he knew that, he knew he would regret every single word coming out of his mouth later, but he was tired and hurting and he'd had enough of William's prying words. Of his insistence upon taking care of him. He didn't want to be taken care of. He wanted to stay shut in his office and drink himself into a stupor and pass out on his desk and wake up the next day and do it all over again until maybe he forgot why everything hurt so much, and William wasn't letting him do that.

"Why do you care so much?" he'd snapped, voice as firm as it could possibly be despite his tears. "I'm a fucking wreck, William. I just lost my fucking kid. She's dead. Because I wasn't there to watch her. 'S my fucking fault. What– what do you care about how I cope with it? 'S not like you were any better." A low blow, he knew that, knew Will didn't deserve it, but he was too far gone to filter himself. "What stake could you possibly have in this? Why won't you just leave me alone?" Because that's all I ever am these days. Alone. Don't leave me alone, I don't want you to leave me alone — just don't make me leave. I can't leave. Can't go home. I need to be here. With you.

Words gone unsaid — at least he hoped they had. The look William gave him after his outburst, though... Was it pity? Concern? Judgement? He feared he'd said more than he should have, until–

"You know I'm in love with you, right?"

Henry's intoxicated brain couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss the man or punch him in the face. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? Like, genuinely. Because, well, there was the answer to his question, but ... "That was the worst timing you've ever had for anything in the entire time I've known you. Don't even–" he held up a hand to silence William, the other coming to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Fuck, his head hurt too much for this– "no, no, hush. No. You've actually got to be kidding me. You're an asshole, William. You don't get to use that as — as leverage, or whatever. Not right now. Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you."

Despite his words ... that was something he'd been waiting to hear from William for God knows how long now. The shock had been enough to knock the fight out of him, and now he just felt... Lost. Why wasn't he listening to Will? If Will ... he couldn't even think it, but if he actually cared like that, seeing Henry like this must've been tearing him to shreds. Resisting, refusing his care... He wasn't only hurting himself. He hadn't even been considering the other side of this situation.

"I'm... Sorry. About all this," he eventually muttered, dipping his head. "And we'll... Talk about that. Later. When I'm not... Like this. But I — I still can't go home. You can't make me. I can't be alone right now, Will." It wasn't an outright request — he wasn't bold enough to make one, not when he wasn't even sure what he wanted in the first place — but he hoped William would pick up on it. He needed ... something. Needed Will to stay with him, no matter what. If it was here, or at home, or wherever the hell, he didn't care. He just didn't feel stable enough to let William out of his sight at the moment.

[chibsandchill]

See me

Fandom: Saltburn 

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader 

Summary: Each room in Saltburn is bursting at the seam with memories with you, and Felix remembers some of his favorite moments as he makes his way to his prize. 

Warnings: Felix, Mentions and descriptions of acts of violence and murder, NSFW content, MDNI, 18+, unreliable narrator (Felix), toxic relationship, obsessive tendencies, grammatical and spelling errors, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), Felix is a creep, themes of violence - self-harm and equivalent themes are prevalent through the imagine, some parts of their dynamic takes inspiration from Hannigram but with my spin on obsession

I am not responsible for your media consumption. Read the tags. 

MDNI

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It’s a cloudy day when Felix first saw you,

but with you came the sun, 

warmth, empathy, love. 

Oh, how he loved your heart. But, oh, how careless you were with it. It was a gift, 

one meant for him, 

from you. 

Then why did you waste it on those beneath you? You chipped away at it to mend sobbing students, tore at it until it bled and thick scars rose like mountains. You took on their pain with a blindingly bright smile, 

only Felix saw how their burdens weighed you down. 

The sun was meant to warm, to burn from far away, 

but they tore you down from your place in the sky so that they might leech your warmth until you are left barren. Their sorrows were cold as ice against you. 

They stole you from him. Piece by piece they ripped at you with filthy nails. You became known on campus as someone who’d listen. Who wouldn’t judge. How could you when you felt their problems as if they were your own? The more they spoke those words dripping with poison, the more they tainted the very blood in your veins with their darkness. 

‘Walk in their shoes’. 

You didn’t need to. You could walk in their skin, feel their emotions as if they were yours. Heartbreak plagued you, sorrow fell on you like an ever present shadow. The death of a family not yours turned your face gray and your eyes misty.

Until Felix put a stop to it all. How could he stand by and watch it happen? The slow destruction of a bright star, who burned so bright that all envied it. 

Jenny from history of art, Carl from math, Robert from physics, Matilda from psychology, Caroline, Jeremy, Han, Thomas, Harry, Derek, Henry, Linda, Nico, Mark, John, Hans, William, Frederic. All turned away at your door. 

“Yes, I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Oh, how they believed his lies. Sweet, sweet, Felix Catton wouldn’t lie to them. Surely not. 

But lie, he did. It spewed from his lips like honey. All to have his sun beam at him again. To wash away the taint of the others from your skin, your heart, your eyes. He would have you look at him with soft, relaxed eyes. 

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Your protector. Even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“Felix.” 

He hummed. 

Your eyes are heavy with sleep when you look up at him, but the affection is hard to miss. It makes you glow. Felix curled his arm further around you, bringing you closer to him. But even then it is not close enough. He aches. It’s a want deeper than skin, deeper than bones or even his soul. It was as if his very being was made of want, of longing so intense he was blinded by it. If God was indeed real then he had created Felix with a thread laced with obsession, with love transcending all else. 

Even thinking about you made his heart race, pound. 

“Can I braid your hair?” 

“‘Course.” He said against your skin. 

As if you needed to ask. All of him was yours. 

You try to sit up but Felix isn’t ready to break the contact yet. He feels like a battery, no matter how bizarre a comparison it is, constantly needing to be recharged so that he might survive when you part. He’s constantly cold without you, he feels empty; hollow. His hands are too light with the lack of you, he breathes too easy without the weight of you on his chest. If he could he’d carve his heart out so that you could carry it with you, for that was how he felt anyway. He’d gouge himself hollow so that he could fit you inside. Never to be parted again, joined together by shared blood, flesh and bone. 

It’s not easy with his hold on you, but you manage to shift so that you sit in his lap instead. It’s not ideal if you mean to truly braid his hair but Felix won’t complain. He pushed his head into your touch when your fingers hover over him. 

“Patience.” You half-heartedly scold him. 

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scratching just right against his scalp. With deft hands you untangle the mess you’d created during the night. There’s not much to braid but more than enough for you to wrap around your fingers and tug. The action pulls a low groan from his throat. 

He grabs your hips. Felix wonders if you’ve noticed how he’s caged you in. You probably don’t, as sweet and trusting a being as you surely wouldn’t peel back his layers to gasp at the thriving darkness beneath. With you he was his truest self. Could you see him? Would you run if he were to cast off the layers? Let you see him? 

Maybe you already could. You had seen the others. Even the empty ones, the ones who had gouged themselves hollow and shoved the essence of what they thought he wanted until it spilled from every hole in their body. 

Felix wasn’t hollow. He was bursting at the seams with life, same as you. And yet you stayed. Surely you knew. You had to. You and he were one. Two pieces of a whole finally reunited. 

He breaths in your scent, noses along your throat before allowing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. There’s a bruise there hidden on your shoulder blade. Late one night when you’d already fallen asleep he mouthed it into your skin with the moon as his witness, 

only, 

it had started to fade. 

He’d have to do it again. Closer. Marking you under the cover of darkness wasn’t enough anymore. An unspoken claim didn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t enough. He was beginning to think it never would be. He could bruise every inch of your skin with his love and his skin would still itch to do more – to prove himself more to you.  

Just as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of your ass the scene slips through his fingers like sand. 

He blinks it away. He’s standing in the driveway of Saltburn. Your favorite statue is left in shambles on the gravel with his blood splattered across the white marble. 

“What the fuck.” Felix’s hand shakes and burns with pain. His knuckles are split open. 

It had been a slip of a thought he had once when you first came to Saltburn and you’d taken to leaning on the statues, the furniture, walls, pillars. He’d wanted them all gone. He’d be your pillar. He wouldn’t crumble with age, would never make you think they stood strong only for the core to be riddled with holes from pests.

Felix was whole and strong, had made himself such, 

for you. 

He’d burnt the tendrils of influence his mother had dug into him since childhood. Torn the threads of her darkness right out of the tapestry. Oh, how she cried when she noticed. ‘Felix,’ she’d whispered, a rare show of emotion plastered across her face, ‘what have you done?’. 

She shouldn’t have worried about what he had done. No, she should’ve worried about what he was going to do. 

He watched you for weeks before approaching you. He noticed what made you laugh, what made you smile, frown, scowl. And so he took that too. Cut out the parts of himself that would drop the smile from your face and sewed on the parts that he lacked until he was left a patch-work version of perfecting befitting a Mary Shelley novel. Pus and blood seeped from the stitches. The sight was unseemly. So he waited until he’d perfected himself, until the stolen was assimilated, until it was like another Felix had never existed. 

Felix throws the heavy doors open and the maids scurry away from his sight. 

Duncan emerges from the pack. Even after all he’d seen, his adoration for Felix remained. “Welcome back, Felix.” 

He nods. 

And then he’s off. 

The route he takes is reminiscent of your first tour of the mansion. He’s even nodding along as if hearing himself introduce it all. The staircase where he “fingered” his cousin. As if. Your face had reddened with equal parts jealousy and sheer disbelief of ‘what the fuck’. 

One of the smaller sitting rooms. The green one. He fucking hates that room. But you love it. He went down on you for the first time there. Right on the couch with his granny’s ghost knocking down a shelf of antique plates over his head. The blood had driven you crazy. 

The thought alone made him hard. 

But this was also the first room you’d held him properly in. He’d been crying. 

“What's wrong?” You ask when he threw the door open. 

You’d been doing some summer reading for uni, but your fingers clutched the opening pages with strength that betrayed your pounding headache. 

“Fucking Ollie.” 

Your brows furrow “Oliver?”

Felix lay down on the couch with his head in your lap. You smell good. And you’re soft. 

“Yeah.” He sigh. “He was lying to us this whole time. Turns out poor Oliver Quick has both a dad and mum who loves him. Even siblings! They live in a lovely house in a picture perfect neighborhood.”

‘I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you!’

As if there was even a sliver of Felix that didn’t belong to you, that didn’t scream out for you every second you were apart. Had Oliver not been paying attention? Could he not see the need that permated him? It ran so deep, was so all-consuming that he couldn’t contain it all. He breathed desire, cried longing, even fucking pissed envy. Envy even over the very air you breathed, the clothing that hugged you, the sheets for the audacity to imply he wasn’t enough to keep you warm. 

You hum as your fingers drift down to cup his face. 

“He was in love with me.” 

“Isn’t everyone?” You joke. 

Felix’s eyes opened (he hadn’t realized he closed them). “You love me?”

“Of course.” You trace a scar on his cheekbone. 

“Say it.” 

“I love you, Felix.”

Even that memory fades, but your words linger. 

I love you, Felix. 

You always linger. Your kisses burn his skin and he wishes it left a scar so that he could look upon it and relive it all. 

The green room is abandoned quickly, and he’s off. 

���A blue room!” You exclaim, and to Felix’s displeasure you let go of him to take it all in. 

“Yeah. It’s… blue.” 

“What? No ghosts? No artifacts?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nope. Just blue.”

Felix sees himself leaning against the door while you spin around the room. It’s like a movie, almost. Only it’s his memories and he can remember every second he’s ever spent in your presence. Including this one. And the next one. 

The one where you’re on your knees.

You’re pressing soft kisses to the tip of his cock, pressing your love into every inch of skin you can find as if you wanted to stay there, to have your love replace the tar that ran through his veins. 

It’s odd. He can almost feel the tingles left by your touch, but he’s untouched. Felix’s hands form fists at the sight. Was it possible to be jealous even of himself? The envy boiling in his stomach certainly said so. He would not share you even with himself. 

Felix strides forward and sinks into the place his past self sits. He unbuckles his jeans and frees his cock from his underwear. If he were not so deep in madness he might’ve felt the cold of the room, but he was, and so he felt the warmth of your hands, the wetness of your mouth as you wrap your lips around his tip. 

He moans. He didn’t know what he liked the most about it. The vulnerability, the act itself, your presence, or that it left you with a part of him inside you. You’d kneel in front of him for as long as it took, but Felix would not have you be uncomfortable and so he slid a pillow under your knees. 

Your hands cup his balls. He twitches. You take more of him into you. It feels like heaven to have you wrap yourself around him. Wet, warm, silky heaven. All for him. 

Him. Him. Him. Him. His. 

You moan around him. It sends vibrations straight through him. It pulls a low groan straight from his chest, one that makes you moan. His pleasure is your pleasure, and your pleasure is his, and so the circle begins. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you begin bobbing your head up and down. You slurp. Electricity runs down his spine. It’s wet. Sloppy. Saliva drips down your mouth as you press your nose into his abdomen. 

Someone drops a plate somewhere in the house and the spell is broken. Not unlike a reflection in a lake is the memory distorted, wrong. You’re on your knees without the pillow. He’s standing above you, not sitting. Your knees are bruised and bleeding. You’re crying. 

Some small part of him, one that he’d allowed to fester for far too long, enjoys the scene. Enjoys the submission, thrives in the knowledge that it is not only he that longs and wants and would press and press until nothing remains if only to bring you a sliver of happiness. You smile around his cock. It’s not the pain that brings you to tears. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t him. It’s Elspeth messing with his head. It’s Oliver whispering his lies in his ear. 

He wants to vomit. Why would they punish him so? To make him see you hurt, 

to force him to see himself hurt you, brutalize you, 

humiliate you. 

Why, when he adored you, worshiped you. If there was a puddle he’d lay himself down to let you walk over him. He’d drown himself so that you would not have to dirty yourself. Like a tumor he’d performed surgery after surgery to remove what you didn’t like. 

And you did the same. 

The image is restored, but he’s already on his feet. 

He would wait no longer. 

Felix runs up the stairs but is forced to a halt by the moans coming from the king’s bedroom. Another memory? The door is already open. 

“Tell me your vows again.” 

You’ve got your legs up in the air behind you, head resting in your hands as you stare at him. 

“Dear,” Felix turns around from where he stood by the window. Your name sounds like prayer on his lips. “I’ve never been alone. People have flocked to me since before I can remember. But they didn’t see me. But you… you, I let you see me. It’s a rare gift. And it’s one that I’ve never regretted giving you. I’ve never felt more loved than in your arms. Do I need to continue, Mrs Catton?” 

You laugh. 

“Come to bed, Felix.”

The memory changes before he can enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress. The happiest day of his life. Gone in a blink. 

You’re no longer on the bed. You’re in his arms, crying yet again. There’s blood on his shirt. No finger graces your finger. Felix closes his eyes. He knows this memory. KNows very well what he’d have to endure to get back to you. 

“Y-you killed him!” You shudder. 

Felix shushes you. “There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Not this time." 

Truly, there wasn’t. You saw much, but Oliver was so good at pretending to be someone else that he even fooled himself into believing his own lies. And so, you thought nothing of it when Oliver offered you his bottle of wine. Had no idea of the drugs that he’d shoved in there. 

“Are you scared of me?” Felix asks you. His voice shakes. He remembers his own fear, how his stomach churned. He could write a thousand words and not even chip at the surface of the emotions he felt. A thrill at the thought of you finally seeing the deepest deepest parts of him? Disgust that he’d slipped and revealed a crack in his mask? Such fear that it clung to his very bones, stopped his lungs from working and had his own eyes water with tears? All true. And yet all of them are false. There wasn’t a single emotion he could place, they all blended together to form a concoction of heart-wrenching pain and fear. 

The memory fades away. He doesn’t remember the rest. All he remembers is how it ended. 

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his thrusts. His hands are cradling your face, kissing away the tears of pleasure. You push your legs up higher on his back where you’ve hitched them, your own hands pressing against his own face to bring him closer. He’s inside you but he’s not close enough. 

Felix leans down to cover your whole body with his. You squeak at the change. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back with a moan. 

He moves a deft finger down to press down on your clit. He experimented with pressure, directions, even spelled out his own name with your pleasure. Felix feels as though he’s on fire, but still he wants more. He wants to be closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. 

You clench around his cock, and he stutters. 

The love in your eyes makes him falter, before he drives into you faster than before. The bed squeaks, one hard thrust away from breaking. Fitting. So is he. Your right hand moved up his cheekbone, past his ear and to the back of his head. Your touch is gentle, barely-there pressure as you guide him down to slant your mouth over his. His heart aches with love, adoration, you. You’ve made it your home. 

Yet again he is denied release as the memory is gone. The room is empty. 

“Fuck.”

It’s not graceful the way he stalks out of the room. No more interruptions, he thinks. 

The last door in the corridor. Yours. And his. Your marital chambers, as Duncan would call it. Old fashioned bastard. 

He pushes it open without as much as a knock. And there you are. 

“Felix!” You cross the room in seconds and then you’ve thrown yourself in his arms. “We missed you!”

Your rounded stomach presses into him. He rests his forehead on yours, pressing long, soft kisses against your lips, even as you giggle and try to move away. When you do, he chases after you. He’s not done. Never done. 

His legs feel like jelly, his soul is on fire, 

but he finally found you.

In a house full of memories and vengeful ghosts he found you. 

And you saw him, as you always do, and he’s tugged back into bed with the comforting weight of you pressing him down into the mattress. 

And he’s almost content. 

Almost. 

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

[nineliabilityrisk]

The slightest spark of irritation at William's amusement is luckily quick to fade. Henry doesn't have the energy to defend himself — not tonight. He bites back a harried 'if only it was that easy,' lets himself relax back against his chair, indulging in the warmth, the closeness, if only for a moment.

Still. "I don't know if that's a good idea," he murmurs in response to William's offer. Not out of a genuine reluctance – God only knows how difficult it was for him to deny the man anything at all, and how much harder it would be to refuse the company at a time like this – but because he felt he didn't deserve such niceties. Not now, at least, not with the state he was in — he knew he wasn't exactly the best person to be around ... hadn't been for weeks, now. Haunted as he was, mentally absent more often than not, he'd been finding it difficult to hold conversation. Even with William, the one person who'd understood him best all these years, it'd been a struggle. William didn't need a man like him in his home. Didn't need to spend his valuable time on him. Not until he could pull himself together, could 'get over it,' as unlikely as that was.

Henry Emily was a man ridden with grief. (They both were, he knew that. The fact only made this all so much worse. How William managed to stay so functional in comparison to the way he himself had crumbled under the stress was beyond him. Completely unaware of the other side of the man he'd never been shown. Afton's carefully constructed façade still doing so much to fool him.) He wasn't someone that anyone could possibly want to be around. Taking William's offer felt far too much like imposing his own presence into the other man's life. He didn't need the company – the comfort – enough to make Will deal with his sorry ass for the entire night.

"It does sound nice, though," he cautiously admits. Can't sound too attached to the idea, not if he wants William to believe that he doesn't need it. "Thank you."

It clearly wouldn't take too much of a push to convince him to go along with it — not with how much tension leaves his form at the feeling of Will's hands in his hair. Henry's own longing was doing most of the work for him.

All he needed was to know that William was certain. That his offer was genuine and he wouldn't regret it if Henry agreed. He hadn't yet caught on to the fact that the man had made it for his own personal gain, too blinded by his own desire to self-isolate.

"I guess... If that's what you really want. I'd have to be a fool to say 'no.'"

@nineliabilityrisk asked: ❝ " ... i haven't been getting much sleep . " from henry [ i'm insane about them as per usual ] ❞ ( my wip fics starters, pt. ii )

"It sounds like you're no better than me," came an easy reply, a seemingly snide statement softened by his hands resting on Henry's shoulders. He was standing behind his business partner's chair, thumbs rolling down into muscles. One part easing tense muscles, one part finding an excuse to touch. ( Always. ) "I suppose it's my turn to do the scolding. Get some rest." A sharp smile accompanied the words, amusement seeping into his tone just enough. Usually it was Henry saying these things to him—despite not being aware of how many hours William truly spent working. His fingers shifted higher, thumbs working into the nape of Henry's neck. Even sight unseen, his expression warmed, smile taking on something gentler. "Come home with me." Word choice was intentional—not manipulative but perhaps presumptuous. Had built his perfect family to society's standards once, and now attempted it to his own liking. A house made less empty by Henry's presence—a very wanted presence, if a dangerous one. Adults do not overlook what rebellious teenagers do.

"Is it the dreams?" Speaking generally—not even William Afton was immune to being haunted by his losses. ( Regardless of who was at fault. ) "I'll make tea and we can rest." His fingers combed through Henry's hair, languid movements. "No 'nightmare' can haunt you while I'm there." Part joke, part comfort. Never mind who had caused the nightmares.

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince + Versailles for your fandom fest!

Congrats on your milestones!

(Versailles was such an interesting choice! A different palace? I got it in my head to write a historical AU, so you get 1785 Versailles and rival ambassadors to the court of France. I hope you enjoy!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy

(firstprince, 5.3k, E; read it below or on AO3)

It had only made sense when Congress had sent him to Paris in 1784 to negotiate a large number of treaties with various European states. Alex is damned good at negotiating, and getting a good outcome for these agreements was vital to the continued success of their new republic. What he was not as pleased about is the missive from Washington a few months later assigning him to succeed Franklin as Minister to the Court of Versailles. Don’t get him wrong, living in Paris is— well, it’s pretty great, actually, but he’d still rather be back in Philadelphia, helping govern the country he worked so hard to liberate. Alex knows he’s helping shape U.S. foreign policy, and that’s important too. Much of the work he does is extremely rewarding.

What he despises are the times when the King and Queen decree that he come to the palace at Versailles for some inane weekend of fancy balls and dinner parties and lawn games. He daren’t refuse, though; Louis’ support in the war was instrumental, so Alex has to go pretend to be delighted no matter how distasteful the trappings of the monarchy are to him. The gatherings never fail to make him feel utterly out of place, full of the kind of European nobility and extravagantly wealthy people who look at him as some kind of shabby, poor, charity case from across the sea.

Then there’s the British Ambassador, Henry Fox-Mountchristen. He’s new in the position, just like Alex is, and a Duke of somewhere or other—Alex tries not to pay attention, honestly. All he knows is that any representative of the British government is automatically his enemy. The fact that he’s a noble on top of it is just icing on the cake. Alex had met him first at one of these fancy parties; he’d made no attempt at hiding his disdain, Henry had looked down his nose at him, and they’ve loathed each other ever since.

Annoyingly, he’s very good at his job. In the year that Alex has been working out trade deals and new commerce treaties, Henry has been there representing British interests in the negotiations, and is usually the only one in the room who can go toe-to-toe with Alex. He is constantly getting in the way forcing Alex to settle for less than he’d hoped for (except for that one time when he actually helped Alex negotiate a better deal with Portugal by tying their terms to Great Britain’s, which— Alex still doesn’t know what that was about).

Even more annoyingly, he’s hotter than the fucking sun.

It’s kind of ironic that, in a lavish, opulent court full of lithe young women in low-cut gowns, the one person Alex can’t tear his eyes away from is the Brit wearing frocks that are about as boring as you could get away with at Versailles. It’s those fucking cheekbones, and those piercing blue eyes, and those full lips that Alex kind of wants to bite. Alex’s frustrating desire—as shocking as it had been to recognize—absolutely does nothing to soften his feelings toward the other man; if anything, it just stokes his anger. Why the fuck did it have to be him?

Tonight, Alex is at one such fancy party, drinking too much champagne, dancing with beautiful women, and glaring at Henry from across the room. He is, as always, wearing a stupid powdered wig that makes him look absurdly pale (Alex refuses to wear one, of course, and his appearance never fails to cause a stir even when he’s wearing ridiculously ornate silk coats and waistcoats, though he suspects it’s just as likely because of how brown he is). Henry’s dark blue coat, finely embroidered with silver thread, is downright subdued in comparison to the flash surrounding him, but every time he moves the embroidery catches the light and he shines.

It is so irritating.

Alex watches as he stands off in a corner, drinking champagne and blatantly ignoring the obvious flirting of many hopeful ladies looking for a dance. It’s absurd, really—not that he draws that much attention, because just look at him, but that after nearly a year of this he still hasn’t managed to get the stick out of his ass. Alex despises everything these parties represent, and he still manages to attend them without acting like he’d prefer to be put in the stocks.

Drinking plenty of the free-flowing wine and cognac usually helps with that.

He’s not even really aware of his feet carrying him over to Henry until he’s standing next to the other man. Alex doesn’t even look at him, instead staring out at the ballroom floor where the guests are dancing increasingly haphazard waltzes as the night stretches on, though he sees Henry tense out of the corner of his eye.

“So is there something wrong with your feet, or do you think you’re just better than everyone?” Alex asks eventually.

Alex hasn’t turned his attention away from the room, but Henry’s face snaps toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

“They say you’re the most eligible bachelor here, and you haven’t danced with anyone tonight.”

“Watching me that closely, are you?” Henry returns dryly. Alex has to bite down on a protest that he wasn’t because, well. Trying to deny it would just make him sound like a petulant child. When he doesn’t respond, Henry continues, “None of them interest me, and I wouldn’t wish to… lead anyone on.”

Alex huffs out a scornful laugh as he finally turns to face him. “So you are that conceited, got it.”

“That is not—”

“You just said that no one in this room interests you,” Alex interrupts before he can finish. “You do understand how that sounds, right?”

Henry stares at him for a long moment, a piercing look in his eye that Alex wants to turn away from. He doesn’t, though.

“I didn’t say that no one here interested me,” Henry says, his voice a low rumble, barely audible above the din of the party, that makes something flare hot and bright low in Alex’s gut.

“I— what?”

“You know, I think I’ve rather had enough festivities for the evening,” Henry announces in his usual clipped cadence. “Good night, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Do try not to cause another international incident tonight?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex spits automatically. That was one time, and it wasn’t an incident anyway. Marie Antoinette thought it was fucking hilarious.

Alex knows for sure that Henry’s had plenty to drink himself when the corner of his mouth twitches and he quips, “Another time, perhaps,” before he strides off, leaving Alex gaping as he tries desperately not to imagine exactly what that would entail.

~~~~~

Despite the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night and how late he was up, Alex wakes fairly early the next morning. He knows from experience that the rest of the court won’t show their faces until much later today, which means he can enjoy the solitude of the empty gardens as he strolls along finely graveled paths between carefully manicured hedges and sculpted trees. He lets his feet carry him aimlessly, trusting that he’ll be able to find his way back eventually and not really caring that much if he ends up late to some stupid event.

He’s certainly not expecting to encounter anyone else out here.

The quiet crunch of footsteps on gravel alerts him to the other person’s presence somewhere beyond the next turn. He could walk the other way, keep to himself and avoid the intruder on his thoughts, but he doesn’t. Alex keeps moving forward as the other footsteps approach him, until they meet at the juncture of two hedges, a statue of a cherub marking the intersection.

Henry.

He’s wearing a light blue coat with almost no decorative embroidery, which is subdued and boring and also makes his eyes shine with the pale, icy, breathtaking blue of the sky in midwinter. Without a wig, his golden blond hair looks absurdly soft as it flops over his forehead, and Alex catches himself wondering what it would feel like between his fingers before quickly closing the door on that. Jesus fuck, he’s got to stop thinking these things.

Especially since it’s clear Henry doesn’t care for his company either. The corner of his mouth pinches and his posture goes rigid, as it always does when he sees Alex, and for a moment Alex thinks he’s going to just keep walking. He does stop, though, inclining his head minutely in stiff politeness.

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Ambassador,” Alex returns, because he refuses to use Your Grace. “I hadn’t expected to meet anyone else out in the gardens this morning.”

“Yes, well,” Henry says in an odd tone. His eyes skitter away across the landscape and he tips his chin slightly. “Only part of this bloody place that’s tolerable, aren’t they?”

Alex blinks several times, sure he didn’t just hear that. Henry’s member of the aristocracy, born to this kind of bullshit; Alex never really considered that Henry might detest the opulence and artifice as much as he does, even though, looking back, it should have been obvious from the way he comports himself.

He’s not entirely sure what to do with this information.

“I’m glad to see you upright after your indulgences last night,” Henry adds, as if to prove he’s still a prick.

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get anything out, a rumble of thunder cuts him off. The clouds have been thick all morning, but now they’re downright menacing, heavy and dark and foreboding of a storm. The kind of clouds that impress upon you a desire to get under cover with some speed; too bad they’re deep in the middle of the garden and Alex has no clue where the nearest shelter is. Hardly a moment later, a few fat drops of rain splatter down onto his shoulders and head. Henry turns a frown up at the clouds as dark spots appear on his pale coat.

And then the sky fucking opens.

It’s a pounding, torrential rain, the kind that soaks through layers of fine wool and linen within minutes so that you lose all hope of staying even a little dry. Still, one hardly wants to stand out in it. Alex spins aimlessly, wondering which way to run, when he feels a tug on his elbow and Henry is calling, “this way,” over the din.

Apparently, blindly following his bitter enemy is a thing he’s doing now.

They run, even though they’re both already drenched, and before too long they emerge from the woods next to a small octagonal building overlooking a lake—the Belvedere, sometimes used as a lounge when the Queen entertains guests out at Trianon. At the moment it’s empty save for a collection of couches, and they stumble in, dripping liberally all over the marble floors. Alex wastes no time before stripping off his coat and tossing it onto one of the lounges, silk pillows be damned, and he’s got his waistcoat halfway off when he hears a strangled noise from behind him.

“What are you doing?” Henry asks, a scandalized expression on his face. It’s irritating that even now, when he kind of looks like a wet dog with his blond hair plastered against his head, he’s still breathtakingly beautiful.

“Not particularly interested in standing around in soaking wet wool,” Alex huffs. At least if he gets his outer things off, his shirt might dry a bit while they wait out the storm. It’s not like he’s getting fucking naked.

Which is definitely not something he’s thinking about now.

“Apologies if I’m offending your delicate sensibilities, Your Majesty,” Alex sneers as he drapes his waistcoat over the back of the couch.

Henry’s cheeks have gone decidedly pink, and when Alex turns toward him fully, he looks away, crossing his arms over his chest and staring fixedly at the opposite wall. Outside, the rain continues to pour down, surrounding them with a dull hiss as it pounds on the roof and lashes against the windows.

“What is your grievance with me?” Henry asks eventually, sounding nothing so much as tired.

Alex stares at him. “Is that a joke? I’m American. Maybe you heard, we fought this whole war against you—”

“Not against me,” Henry interrupts firmly.

“Fine, your country. It makes no difference.”

“It bloody well does!” Henry snaps. He turns away again, pressing his lips into a thin line as he stares out of one of the windows. “Did you ever think to ask me what my views were on American independence, Mr. Claremont-Diaz?”

“What?”

“Of course not. You just assumed.”

“You’re a representative of the British government. Why wouldn’t I assume?” Alex thinks it’s a fair question. He knows Henry was a member of parliament before he became Ambassador. His family is exceedingly well-connected and highly placed in the government. It feels like a pretty fucking safe assumption.

Apparently not, though.

Henry gives him a withering look. “Oh, and I’m sure there was no dissension in the writing of your little Declaration, then?”

Alex bristles at ‘little Declaration’, but Henry unfortunately has a point. “Fine,” he grits out. “What’s your opinion on American independence, Ambassador?”

“I wasn’t the only one in Parliament who spoke against the prospect of an expensive and bloody war,” Henry says evenly, staring out the window again. “A few even genuinely believe in the principles of self-governance, as it turns out. We’ve had to be… cautious in expressing ourselves, of course. I happen to feel strongly that people should have a say in their own lives,” he adds, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about government anymore. He lapses into silence, letting the sound of the rain fill up the space between them. Then the corner of his mouth tugs into a tiny smirk. “Thought we should have cut you lot loose ages ago, actually. Much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Hey!” Alex exclaims, but it also shocks a laugh out of him. Which is… weird. He stares at Henry, trying to make all of this new information fit into a portrait he now realizes was startlingly incomplete. He thinks, a little distantly, that he kind of needs a whole new painting. “I’m sorry for assuming,” he says eventually. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re always a prick to me.”

“You hate me, Alex,” Henry says flatly, his mouth going tight again, and something inside Alex turns over at the use of his given name. “Am I supposed to merely smile through the insults?”

Alex can’t help but wince. He wraps his arms around his waist, which he blames on the chill and not the way he’s feeling a little too vulnerable at the moment. Spring’s warmth seems to have abandoned them today, and the cold stone of the Belvedere is doing nothing to help, nor is the way his damp shirt is clinging to his skin.

“I don’t hate you,” he admits quietly. He has a lot of conflicting feelings about Henry. Somehow hate has never been one of them. “I wanted to, but I don’t.”

“I’m not certain that’s better,” Henry says, an obvious wariness in his voice. 

Alex doesn’t really know what to say. He hugs his arms a little tighter around himself and shivers.

“For Christ’s sake, this is why you leave the wool on,” Henry huffs unexpectedly, and a moment later he’s crossing the room and grabbing Alex’s discarded coat. He stands right in front of Alex and reaches around him so that he can drape the coat over Alex’s back. “There,” he says as he tugs the fronts close by the lapels, then reaches up to smooth his hands across Alex’s shoulders.

It’s only then that Henry seems to notice their proximity, or the way he’s still holding onto Alex. Their eyes lock together, and a bolt of heat shoots down Alex’s spine that has nothing to do with the coat. A flush of pink blooms across Henry’s cheeks and his lips part slightly as he inhales, and then he starts pulling away, which is the very last thing Alex wants.

“Henry, wait,” he murmurs as one of his hands reaches out to snag the front of Henry’s coat almost of its own accord. Henry freezes. “Don’t… don’t go.”

Alex thinks of all the times he’s caught Henry staring at him with a look he couldn’t quite read. Of the way that Henry had said I didn’t say no one here interested me only last night. He looks searchingly up into his blue eyes now, dark and slaty in the low light, full of both trepidation and something like hunger.

“I can’t…” Henry starts, but his voice trails off. He lets himself be tugged in closer, his eyes dropping to Alex’s mouth. “We can’t,” he whispers.

“Fairly certain those aren’t words that are allowed in the Court of Versailles,” Alex quips softly.

He takes a step backward so that he’s leaning against the back of the couch, hoping that Henry will follow when Alex pulls him along. He doesn’t really want to think about the relief that surges through him when Henry does, nor how it feels when Henry lets Alex pull him so close that their hips are pressed together. One of his thighs slots between Alex’s, and Alex inhales sharply at the contact.

“Alex, please,” Henry murmurs tightly, his face tipped down toward Alex’s. Alex can’t tell if it’s please yes or please don’t.

“Shhh,” Alex hushes. He lets his grip go slack, but Henry doesn’t pull away. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Henry closes his eyes and lets out a shuddery exhale, then he sways forward until their foreheads meet. Their noses press together, and Alex breathes in deeply, filling his senses with Henry. Who turns out to smell like wet wool—which is admittedly not great—but also like the cologne he wears and also something that reminds him of the spring air. Alex nudges forward, tipping his head slightly, until finally Henry closes the narrow gap between their lips and presses their mouths together.

Alex had always thought that if he were to end up kissing Henry, it would be rough and rushed. A battle, as much as their verbal sparring matches had always been, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. He never once imagined it could be like this, soft and syrupy slow, a languid give and take. One of Henry’s hands is clutched almost possessively at the nape of Alex’s neck, the other curled carefully around his jaw, and he takes his time mapping out Alex’s mouth as the kiss gets deeper and more heated, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

It’s a lot to take in, so Alex stops trying; he lets it wash over him, soaking into his bones as thoroughly as the rain had done. His chilled fingers move to Henry’s waistcoat, fumbling with the slippery buttons until he finally gets it open. He slides his hands underneath it, onto the dip of Henry’s waist, his hot skin searing through the thin linen shirt against Alex’s palm. Henry groans at the contact, his hips rocking forward against Alex’s, and the movement makes the depths of their mutual arousal all too clear.

Alex drops a hand to the front of Henry’s breeches and cups him through the wet fabric, which draws another ragged please from Henry’s throat as he presses into Alex’s palm. That one, at least, Alex is sure of. He flips them around so Henry’s pressed up against the back of the couch, then pulls back just enough to reach the buttons holding his fall-front breeches closed. Too many fucking buttons, actually, but he gets them undone, and then he’s tugging out the long tails of Henry’s shirt and dropping to his knees as he finally, finally gets a hand around Henry’s cock.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says without really meaning to, but it’s worth it for the way that it makes Henry shudder and tip his head back as he thrusts into Alex’s grip.

Henry’s knuckles are going white where his hands are tightly gripping the ornate scrollwork carved along the top of the couch, and Alex prises one off to bring it to his head instead. Henry’s fingers twine into his damp curls in a way that makes a hot jolt of arousal lance through Alex, and that’s new information he’s absolutely not going to think about later. Alex licks his lips in anticipation as he works his hand up and down the shaft of Henry’s cock, thumbing over the crown and grinning at Henry’s moan when he rubs at the sensitive spot on the underside.

“Have you ever—” Alex starts, though he can’t quite make himself say it. “With another man?”

Henry lets out a soft puff of laughter before he opens his eyes and looks down at him. “More than a few times.”

There’s something indescribably attractive about Henry’s confidence, in the idea that he’s experienced in something like this, but it does absolutely nothing for Alex’s nerves. He must not manage to keep them off his face, because the smirk on Henry’s lips softens.

“You haven’t,” he says. It’s not really a question. Alex just shakes his head, and Henry’s hand slides down to thumb tenderly along the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Alex says firmly. “I want you.” He swallows. Works his hand on Henry’s cock again just to see the way his eyelids flutter. “Want to feel you on my tongue. Want to taste you.”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry groans. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not just yet,” Alex says, then wraps his lips around Henry’s cock and slowly sinks forward.

It takes him a moment to get used to it, the weight on his tongue, the taste of his skin, the stretch of his jaw muscles as he moves. He carefully catalogs Henry’s reactions, every gasp and moan and shiver as he swirls his tongue or twists his wrist around what he can’t quite take in his mouth. Henry slowly falls apart under his ministrations, and it’s so unbelievably arousing that Alex is aching in his own breeches, unsure if the curses spilling from Henry’s lips in his posh accent or the way he says that’s good, Alex is doing it for him more.

Then Henry’s fingers close more tightly around his curls as his gasps reach a crescendo, which Alex only later realizes might have been intended as a warning; at the time it just makes Alex moan and try to take him deeper, and then Henry is spilling onto his tongue with a breathless, delirious laugh.

Henry’s chest is still heaving when he hooks his fingers into the front of Alex’s shirt and drags him up into a searing kiss. It’s hard and deep, Henry licking into his mouth and biting down on his lower lip, and it’s all Alex can do not to whimper into it. He’s never had a kiss that felt this all-consuming, like he’s been ignited from the inside and he doesn’t even care if it burns through him and leaves nothing but ash.

He barely realizes what’s happening when Henry grabs his hips and pushes back, manhandling him over to some kind of chaise longue that he only becomes aware of when his calves hit the edge of it and he collapses backward onto the seat.

“Hey, so, uh,” he says as Henry climbs over top of him, a predatory glint in his eye that absolutely does not make Alex’s cock throb. “When you said you weren’t not interested in anyone at the party…”

“Was I talking about you?” Henry finishes, giving him a look like it’s a stupid question.

Look, Alex knew it was a stupid question before it finished leaving his mouth. Still.

“Well, I dunno, maybe you have a list or something.”

Henry stops inches from his lips and glares down at him. “No, you rebellious miscreant, it’s only ever been you,” he says, then kisses him so thoroughly that Alex might actually forget how to speak.

Which is probably the point.

~~~~~

They’re seated next to each other at dinner that evening, which is probably Marie Antoinette’s idea of a joke. A day ago, Alex would have been annoyed beyond belief. Now, though, he knows what Henry looks like as he slowly comes apart. Now he knows what Henry’s lush lips look like wrapped around his cock.

What a difference a few hours makes.

Henry is standing stiffly next to his chair when Alex saunters up, his face perfectly composed in rigid formality as he inclines his head. “Good evening, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Your Grace,” Alex returns, pitching his voice to convey just the right balance of insolence and provocation.

Something flashes in Henry’s eyes, probably meant as a warning, but also suggesting that he might enjoy hearing it in a very different context, and also that he’d really like to drag Alex off into the nearest cupboard and do terrible things to him. Alex certainly understands the impulse. It’s been less than six hours since the Belvedere, and Alex still wants him so intensely that it’s nearly a physical ache. His fingers itch to reach out and touch, to tug that stupid wig off his head, to press his thumb to the corner of Henry’s mouth. Fuck.

Instead, he puts on his politician smile and turns to greet the person sitting on his other side, who turns out to be some Spanish princess. She does not seem very impressed with this arrangement—typical for royalty, really—but warms a bit once she realizes she can speak Spanish to him rather than the obligatory French. Alex and Henry spend most of the dinner seemingly ignoring each other and talking to the other guests seated around them. Seemingly, because Alex actually uses the cover of the table to variously press his knee to Henry’s, or hook their ankles together, or slide a hand high up onto Henry’s thigh and squeeze. The latter he does when Henry’s attention is turned away, and it makes Henry choke on his wine and direct a vicious glare at him, which Alex marks down as a victory.

Sometime during the third course, they find themselves both at liberty when the rest of their dinner companions become thoroughly wrapped up in other conversations. Henry is quite clearly trying to ignore him, which Alex just as obviously cannot allow to stand.

“Did you mean it?” Alex asks, his voice low but casual, so as not to draw any attention from those around them.

“What?” Henry asks as he slants a look toward Alex.

“When you said maybe I could fuck you another time.”

Henry’s fork slips out of his grip and clatters to the plate, and several sets of eyes turn toward him. His eyes are wide as he stares at Alex in shock, but there’s also something undeniably heated in his gaze. “You are, without a doubt, the worst person I’ve ever met,” he says flatly, loud enough to be overheard.

Alex can’t quite suppress his grin. It draws a few titters of laughter and whispers from the surrounding guests, most of whom are well aware of Alex and Henry’s mutual enmity. When nothing further comes of it, though, they return to their conversations.

“So is that a no?” Alex asks eventually, still smirking.

Henry glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. “Come to my chambers tonight,” he says crisply, as if they were going to be meeting about policy, “and we shall discuss the matter further.”

~~~~~

They don’t truly revisit the conversation until much later, when Henry is splayed out naked on top of the silk bedding and Alex is two fingers deep inside him. Well, they did cover the obvious question, but:

“The worst person you ever met, huh?” Alex says, pressing the words against the inside of Henry’s thigh.

“Are you really bringing this up now,” Henry huffs, exasperated.

“I dunno,” Alex says. He twists his fingers to reach the spot he’s discovered that makes Henry gasp and tremble. It’s been an enlightening experience so far. “What you really think of me seems relevant.”

“I think,” Henry gets out tightly, “that you’re stubborn—”

Alex bites down on the tender skin at the crease of his hip.

“—opinionated—”

A slow lick up the length of his shaft.

“—arrogant—”

A hot breath, ghosting over the crown.

“—uncouth—”

Alex curls his fingers, and Henry whimpers as his spine arches up off the bed.

“—and if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m going to stonewall all of your treaty negotiations for the next month.”

Alex laughs softly as he withdraws his fingers and climbs up the bed, seeking out the oil to slick himself up. “Oh, well then, how could I refuse?” he returns, grinning at the look of desperation on Henry’s face when he teases the head of his cock at his rim. “You’ve got a real honeyed tongue there, sweetheart. Know how to make a boy feel special.”

Henry gets a hand behind his neck in an iron grip and drags him down into a kiss, digging his heels into the back of Alex’s thighs until Alex is sinking into the tight heat of his body. It’s a lot more intense than he thought it would be, and he makes an embarrassing punched-out sound at the sensation of Henry utterly surrounding him.

And that’s before Henry releases his neck, looks up at him with his face impossibly gorgeous and undone, and murmurs, “I also think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

It’s too much, like the first kiss in the Belvedere was too much; Alex knows how to handle the verbal sparring, the familiarity of traded insults, even in the middle of sex. He doesn’t know what to do with the strange twisting in his chest at Henry’s words, with the knot that’s lodged in his throat. They’re not— this isn’t—

He lets Henry pull him into another kiss, lets the give and take of their bodies quiet his spiraling thoughts, until there is only Henry’s hands in his hair, and the cut of his teeth against Alex’s lip, and the roll of their hips together in perfect, earth-shattering harmony.

~~~~~

Alex needs to go. He needs to get out of this bed, get dressed, and go to his own chambers. It’s not as though people stumbling out of others’ apartments is an unusual sight in the palace during one of these weekends, but if he were to be seen leaving Henry’s—

Well. The rumors wouldn’t stay quiet for long, of that he’s certain.

Instead he curls a little closer against Henry’s side, presses a kiss to his shoulder. That’s probably too much, too, but Henry just hums softly, a small, blissful smile curving his lips. Somehow, Alex thinks he’s even more beautiful in this moment than he’s ever been before.

“So,” Alex says eventually, “when we get back to Paris…”

They both live there, not even that far away from each other. They could…

He doesn’t know what. Have some kind of sordid, illicit affair? What would that mean for their lives? Their occupations? It’d be messy. Dangerous. A terrifically, catastrophically stupid idea.

A little crease forms between Henry’s brows as he frowns, and for a moment Alex fears that he’s misread everything. Maybe this was never supposed to leave Versailles. Alex doesn’t know what’s even possible for them to have outside these walls, but he also doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to what they were before now that he’s had this.

“It seems to me,” Henry says carefully, “that there should be ample opportunity for… improving diplomatic relations when we return?”

There’s a beat of silence before Alex can’t choke back the laugh bubbling out of his chest any longer, and the smile that’s been slowly pushing its way onto Henry’s lips finally breaks free. Then they’re both dissolving into giggles, and Alex is grinning like an idiot when Henry pulls him into another lingering kiss.

Yeah. Worst idea he’s ever had.

[zcmbierabbit]

Get to know the author!

name : Willow

pronouns : they/he

preference of communication : Tumblr IM, disc.ord/revolt with friends

most active muse : THE BOY... it has been him for like a year now. A Henry M. blog followed me, that gave me the idea to RP him, and once I made the blog Dave/William grabbed my muse and ran off to Mexico with it and hasn't been heard from since.

experience / how many years : Uhhhhhhhh a lot. I have only RP'd on Tumblr, Discord, and in-game (E.SO mainly, and lately TP.RR on Robl.ox)

best experience : making friends, having a LOT of laughs and emotions (which includes getting numerous people into the cult classic fangame my muse is from... big >:3c moment), and meeting my gf

rp pet peeves : Pressure to reply ic or ooc, and to match length. Ignoring rules. Not just RP but in general, but it always karate chops my suspension of disbelief when people misuse the Rules™ for William's names (having Henry M call him 'Dave' especially..... I think if he was on fire and William had the extinguisher but asked him to call him "Dave", Henry would choose to burn....)

fluff, angst, or smut : Imma hurt and comfort binch. I need to cycle through fluff and angst like a tail eating its snake (I said what I said).

plots or memes : I prefer memes to get to know someone, and plotting more with people I have done a few threads with.

long or short replies : I donut care but super long replies stress meowt a bit since I always feel pressured to match and I'm on the shorter side shfjg.

time to write : bold of you to assume I control when it happens.

are you like your muses : I'm like William but not Dave, I think. No I won't elaborate on that, which I guess is another point for me being like William shdjfkgh

tagged by: @lettherebemonsters (thank you so much!) tagging: take it and said I did

[asstronauts]

Alphabet Soup

rating: t word count: 1.7k pairing: jemily summary: perhaps love is in the little moments more than the grand gestures. 26 times (among many) that JJ and Emily fall a little bit more in love with each other in the everyday, smaller moments.

read on ao3, if you’d prefer

---

A - alphabet soup

JJ bought cans of alphabet soup for the boys when Michael first began to read, but Emily quickly found it much more entertaining to spell out words like "boob" or "ass" or "sex?" punctuated with a poorly modified capital P in place of a question mark. JJ had to shut it down when Michael asked what a "tit" was, and Emily panicked and mumbled something about birds.

B - bedtime

They would often unwind by reading before bedtime, and JJ found that Emily read through many foreign literature books. The nights she would fall asleep to Emily stroking her hair and reading aloud in words she didn't understand were the nights she felt most rested.

C - constellations

It was clear that Emily didn't actually know any constellations besides the Big Dipper and Orion. But when she laid on the grass with Henry and Michael, she made up stories in the stars about great heroes and the adventures they went on, and the boys fell in love with the night sky.

D - driving

JJ insisted on driving everywhere without the help of smartphone maps, which had gotten them lost on several occasions. Somehow it felt alright, when she had one hand on the wheel and one hand on Emily's leg, the windows were down, and her hair was streaming in the wind and reflecting the setting sun. Somehow it felt alright to be lost with her.

E - errands

For whatever reason, JJ made running any errand seem like immense fun. Buying groceries, getting gas, even sending a letter felt like an adventure when she was there. They'd only gotten kicked out of one grocery store — when JJ had knocked over an entire display stand of candy bars after running and jumping onto a shopping cart. They didn't regret anything.

F - forehead kiss

JJ wasn't that much shorter than Emily, but when the brunette pressed her lips to her girlfriend's forehead, JJ would feel the need to bury her face in Emily's neck to hide her blushing cheeks.

G - graveyard

On that day, JJ just needed space. So Emily took her to the flower shop the day before and drove her to the cemetery that morning and left her alone until she was ready. In the evening, they didn't speak, just laid with one another on the couch until JJ fell asleep in her arms.

H - horror movie

It was a cheap jump scare, but it made JJ scream out and grab Emily's arm, prompting the older woman to laugh at her. JJ responded with a playful slap, and Emily had to kiss her to reaffirm her love. They didn't finish the movie.

I - ice cream

On a day off, Emily took the boys to get ice cream, and when they came home raving about how Emily had managed to stack five ice cream scoops on top of a single cone, JJ knew she was with the right woman.

J - jaw

Emily's knees grew weak whenever JJ kissed up her jaw and whispered in her ear. Her girlfriend caught on and loved messing with her, working her up into a complete frenzy, then saying the most unsexy thing she could think of. Emily hated it, but she also couldn’t help but to collapse into a fit of giggles when JJ planted kisses all up the side of her face and whispered something like "corned beef" in a seductive voice.

K - kitchen

JJ would use every kitchen utensil as a musical instrument during any spare moment in cooking — while the food was cooking, while the water boiled, while the oven was preheating. She would sing into a wooden spoon and shove it into Emily's face to finish the lyric, and the two would dance in each others' arms all throughout the kitchen.

L - letters

When Emily spent her time in Paris and London, she and JJ wrote each other scores of letters the times they weren't together. They'd both filled up an entire box of papers and knickknacks until they were reunited. Even after, JJ would sometimes write a letter addressed to Emily, drop it into the mailbox and tell Emily to check the mail, for no reason except to make her smile.

M - mugs

JJ had an entire cupboard dedicated to mugs for her tea, which Emily could never understand because she only seemed to ever use two of them: one being a lumpy mug Henry had made in a pottery store and the other being a Valentine’s Day gift from Emily with lovely ceramic boobs protruding from the mug’s body.

N - notes

Emily bought a massive pack of post-its and began leaving notes for JJ around work, bringing a smile to her face every time she found a little colorful message. Some were encouraging — you can do it, you light up my world, you're amazing. Some were cheesy — i love you, je t’aime, when you see this blow me a kiss. And some were...questionable — JJ had to hide the extremely accurate (and well-annotated!) drawing of her naked body before Hotch saw.

O - omelette

Most of the time, Emily couldn't cook without the risk of burning the house down, but for some reason, she made the most scrumptious omelette. Despite not knowing how to cook scrambled or fried or boiled eggs, Emily's omelettes were always perfectly cooked, with an impeccable ratio of egg to filling. JJ tried everything she could to make them the same way, but the boys always preferred Emily's omelettes on Sunday mornings. JJ wondered if it was something she learned during her time in Paris.

P - plants

Before JJ, Emily had never been very good at taking care of plants. They seemed to die with little to no warning. But JJ had taught her well, making little plant calendars and teaching her signs to watch out for, and one morning, JJ caught her talking to one of the plants. As she listened more carefully, she heard that Emily was talking to each plant in a different language — according to the plant’s country of origin.

Q - quiet

The moments after the boys were put to bed were some of the only moments of quiet JJ and Emily got alone during the day. No matter how busy or tired they were, they always intentionally took a few moments to just quietly be with one another, curled up in the other's arms, lying in the other's lap, or simply sitting side by side.

R - rain

They'd gotten caught in the storm on the way back to the office from lunch. Despite JJ’s coat held up above them, the pair was getting drenched anyway, and they gave up and decided to make out in the rain instead. They swung their hands back and forth as they splashed over to the BAU, arriving soaked to the bone but elated, as Hotch shook his head at their sodden clothing and dopey grins.

S - Sergio

Emily had arrived home early and found JJ dancing in the hallway with Sergio to "Can't Stop the Feeling" blasting on the bluetooth speaker. She lifted her ban on Justin Timberlake that day, which had previously been in place when in a moment of weakness, JJ had declared she would choose him over Emily if given the chance. (She’d taken it back for Emily's sake, but deep down she couldn't really decide.)

T - thermostat

JJ liked the thermostat to be set at no lower than 77 degrees, while Emily loved the room as cold as possible. The first few months that they lived together was a horrible battle of constantly changing from one drastic temperature to the next, before JJ finally agreed to keeping the temperature low as long as Emily agreed to cuddle with her any time she got cold. Emily did not, however, realize that this compromise extended to the workplace, where JJ would sporadically ask for cuddles throughout the day, and Emily would have to comply.

U - ugly pajamas

Emily loved her ugly pajama sets. One of her favorites was a bright green Grinch onesie in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. JJ hated it until Emily showed it to the boys, and Michael howled with laughter and asked for one for himself. From that day forward, Emily bought her ugly pajamas in full family sets, including accompanying costumes for Sergio.

V - vanilla

Emily didn’t quite mind JJ’s early morning jogs because her favorite moments were when JJ came home after, took a shower, and climbed back into bed to give Emily a warm embrace, flooding her senses with the smell of vanilla shampoo. Emily would roll over to nuzzle her head in the crook of JJ’s neck and plant soft kisses there, breathing in her favorite scent.

W - wine

Emily drank red, JJ drank white. And Henry and Michael loved to join in, pretending to be adults by sipping grape juice from their colorful cups. Perhaps their family had unconventional tea parties, but at least they always had massive amounts of fun doing family activities tipsy. These were the nights when it was almost difficult to tell the difference between Michael and Emily’s coloring pages.

X - X-Files

JJ didn’t fully understand Emily’s deep obsession with The X-Files, but after Emily convinced her that she wasn’t only watching for Gillian Anderson, the younger woman began finding the long rambles and discussions of extraterrestrial life more endearing and interesting.

Y - yarn

JJ really wanted to get the hang of knitting and give something special to the boys, but Emily kept distracting her. Any chance she got, Emily would hold the yarn balls to her chest as fake boobs, use threads of yarn as mustaches, and drum the knitting needles against any surface. It wasn’t that JJ couldn't finish her projects out of annoyance — it was that JJ couldn’t help but laugh and find her girlfriend irresistible, forcing her to set aside her work and wrap herself up instead in the brunette’s embrace.

Z - zoo

It was Emily's explosive childlike joy when she had seen the dolphins. She claimed it was for the boys’ sakes, but JJ had noticed the pure excitement in her eyes when they saw the sign and felt the way Emily had tugged on her wrist to rush to the stadium and grab seats right in the splash zone. And in the screams of laughter and the moment when both Henry and Michael clutched at Emily when the water washed over them, JJ knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this woman.

[nineliabilityrisk]

Elbows rested on table, face resting in palms. Tired, but not in the way he used to feel, the natural way – he doesn't get that, anymore. Restless yet fatigued, his constant state. He doesn't get to sleep, doesn't need it physically anymore, but its impact on his mental state could never have been predicted. Or maybe it could. It wasn't like he was a psychologist before all of this happened.

Hollow eyes half-lidded, empty lights tracing over the paper placed in front of him. "All according to plan, huh?" he asks, scratchy, artificial voice monotone yet cynical. "You're not the one who gets to be in there with them." He knows why his office has to be in the vents – theoretically, at least. He gets to be the bait... As if he hasn't had enough of that. Three different locations, now. He's survived three whole weeks in those godforsaken Fazbear locations full of robots who all wanted him dead – to varying degrees ... both in terms of the 'survival' and the robots wanting him dead, but the point still stands. Maybe he'd like to see Henry shut himself in there with the murder robots for once. (He wouldn't. He would be so sad. He would gladly continue being stupidly self-sacrificial if it meant Henry didn't have to put himself in danger. He hates this plan. He has no other option but this plan. He is going to go through with this plan.)

Henry isn't wrong about them being perfect for the job – two men, having long outlived what should've been their lives, with nothing left to lose. No family left, either of them. They'd both lost everyone they'd ever loved to the Fazbear name, now, and that wasn't even an exaggeration. With nothing left to tie them here, to what could be tentatively defined as their 'lives,' they were the perfect two to bring this story to a close.

Cold eyelights flick upwards just in time to catch the last bit of warmth on Henry's face and he tries to return the sentiment, ignoring the slight twinge as his rotted facial muscles tug against the sutures holding the corners of his mouth together. He'd honestly be glad if the last of his nerves died off quicker – fewer confusing, nonsensical signals for his brain to interpret. Unfortunately, he seemed to be stuck like this, kept suspended in his state of undeath by whatever the fuck that tangle of wires did to him. Maybe he was getting better, maybe he was just getting used to it – who knows? It wasn't like there was some sort of pre-existing research for him to reference his experiences against.

"Look, I just—" his voice crackles out for a moment, leaving him looking mildly perplexed as he tries to clear his throat, and thus, his voicebox – the old, rusted one Ennard left with him. "There's so much that could go wrong. What if one—one of them—" Tone shifts, this time, the robotic approximation of his own voice slipping into something more layered, some old memory from the voicebox coming to light. "We don't know what they'll do," he settles on eventually. Not quite what he meant, but the closest he could get in the fewest words. "They're haywire. Possessed. 'Every possible outcome' can't cover it all."

He's not worried about what they'll do to him, per se. He's proven himself capable of surviving encounters far worse than this. It's what they might do in general. How can Henry be sure that Michael can gather them all together in just one week? How can he be sure they won't realize something is up? They shouldn't be able to, running on instinct as they are, traumatized children and a killer trapped in a prison of his own making, but there's still that worry in the back of Michael's mind. They don't know for sure how much of William is left in that springlock suit. How much of Charlie is left – she was always a smart girl.

"I'll do my part. Will they do theirs?"

" this path we’re on… it’s gonna get us killed. you know that, though, don’t you? " from the angst prompts - from michael to henry [ pizza sim era or just slightly before ]

🍭 @nineliabilityrisk !

"perhaps." is all he says at first, as he sits with michael at his dining table. flipping through blueprints with a tilted head &. a swipe of dry tongue over his lips. he's wearing a hurricane utah shirt, grey &. a bit baggy. he never wore much that fit too tight in the stomach, nor the thighs for that matter. hair unkempt, curls hanging down around his aged yet still bearded face. a near perfect reflection of the grief of a man like henry. that which he has been forced to face, with death after death of those he had already mourned. the loss of his best friend, daughter, wife, business. &. arguably michael, as well. though their reunion was [...] bittersweet, it is true that he has become naught more than a monster of his father's making. if not for his steadfast heroic nature, &. his wish to do right by the poor souls whom have lost themselves to this ongoing madness. &. perhaps so is henry, at any rate. should be long aged past what he is, though mysteriously he remains fit to live out his misery day in &. day out.

the drafts are for the restaurant's interior, however the outside was a purchased building in a slightly off-the-beaten-path area of a densely populated town. safer, though garners more of a chance for traffic towards the restaurant. "perhaps not." he pushes the page towards michael with weathered fingers, looking upward. "but regardless, it - needs to be done." if only he knew. if only it was common knowledge to his nephew, that henry's resignation was all but set in stone. so much so as he figured michael was going to wish to remain behind as well. yet, there was an escape plan mapped out in case he is wrong. cannot subject him to the loss of choice, &. will not be responsible for another death. yet his plans for charlotte &. in turn l.e.f.t.e are left ambiguous, for now. "&. as it were, we are [...] perfect for the job." he tries a little smile that actually brightens his hazel eyes. though soon those eyes lower, lips closing &. pursing to rid his smile. "i promise you, michael -- i have [...] thought through every possible outcome. things should go according to plan, as long as you do your part."

[lucky-dreamfisher]

I'm asking this in good faith and I hope I don't come off as rude. How could story theory be canonized at this point? I thought that DCTL debunked it pretty thoroughly. Are you suggesting a theory where everything (or at least, the existence of the ink demon and the creation of ink creatures) in DCTL is false? That would make an interesting theory. Small point, but I think it's reasonable that Joey wouldn't want to talk about magic in his autobiography as he plans to kill people for it.

Reading TIOL, there’s just so much of Joey lying and calling his lies “magic”, it gives me a deep fear that DCTL is going to be dismissed as another story by uncle Joey. Of course, TIOL could be a red herring intended to make people think that.

As for your last point, TIOL was written in 1942, 4 years before the ink machine’s creation, so Joey isn’t planning to kill anyone yet. I don’t think he would have a reason not to boast about knowing real magic tricks.

Finally, I’d say that if M&M couldn’t think of a way to include horror elements in a horror book, then they should’ve thought of writing a different book, or at the very least they should’ve talked with Scholastic to sell this one under a different genre. The novel is already down to 2 stars on Goodreads, and I really think that the genre inconsistency is the reason why. There’s a certain feeling of disappointment when you’re reading it and expecting something scary or unusual to happen, you get to the middle and think to yourself “is the plot finally going to start now?” before realizing that there really isn’t a plot to this book, or at least not the kind of plot you were led to expect. I’m personally not a big fan of philosophical slice-of-life books, and if this novel was about any character other than my favourite, I may even have tossed it aside at that point.

At the very least, there could’ve been more about the characters we love, or more lore details that actually matter to the central plot of the franchise. Reading about Joey interacting with a bunch of OCs with no relevance to the games just isn’t as satisfying as reading the parts with Sammy or Henry, which were only at the very end, and much too brief. I feel like lately M&M have been so terrified of any potential spoilers, that it comes at the cost of substance in their recent works. Compare it to the Fazbear Frights series, which is not only chilling to read on its own, but also serve as an allegory for the plot in the games, so you can use it as a theory fodder. So while FNAF fans are having a thousand threads freaking out about the true identity of the Golden Freddy, or MatPat mpreg and what it means for the franchise, or other crazy things in the books, Bendy fans will have very little to discuss after reading TIOL other than “Is Joey gay?”, and this kind of topic should be an icing on the cake, not an icing without the cake.

I realize that all of this comes across as very negative, and don’t get me wrong, it’s not a badly-written book, and I do believe that there’s an audience for it, but I also feel like people have the right to know what they’re buying. Obviously, the fault is with the publisher, not the author. While TIOL is not a bad book, it fails as a horror book, and I hope the next book will be more in-line with the genre, or at the very least advertised more appropriately.

[nineliabilityrisk]

you didn't have to go out of your way to take care of me. ( for your henry, from my mike? <3 / @somemindsatwork )

" you didn't have to go out of your way to take care of me. "

[[ cool thanks i. didnt need my heart anyway 😬👍 (/lh) also i went for post-ennard pre pizza sim bc. that time period is so good for the dynamic between them]]

-- [ asked by @somemindsatwork ] --

Henry paused where he was draping a blanket over Michael, hand coming to rest on the boy's shoulder from where he stood behind the couch. "Michael," he started, voice soft - even if the boy looked different now, it was still Mike. Still the same little kid he took in and cared for all those countless times that Will couldn't be bothered to. He still needed to take care of him now, especially after what had been done to him in that facility. Henry never should've let him take the job. "Of course I did. You're my boy, you know that. Taking care of you is what I do. What I need to do."

He would admit, he had been... Startled, to say the least, when Michael had arrived on his doorstep a few nights ago. The darkness and Henry's flickering porch light hadn't exactly done the poor boy's haunted, decayed features any favors, but once the man himself had gotten over his shock and registered just who exactly it was - which, granted, took him a while, and a cautious reminder from Michael - he'd ushered the boy inside without a second thought.

His feelings on the matter were rather conflicted, but not about the boy himself. Never about the boy himself. He cared for Michael like his own - nothing, especially not something like this, something this horrific that had been entirely out of his control and had hurt him this badly, could ever change that. This conflict regarded William and his creations.

He had never known about the Funtimes, not until Michael told him everything. He'd known of them, sure, he'd heard of the rental service his former business partner had started, but he hadn't been aware of the truth about what the man had been working on down there. What those machines were capable of. The news Michael had finally uncovered about Elizabeth's disappearance, the dead maintenance techs, the Scooper and that tangle of wires stealing his skin, walking his lifeless body around like some kind of meat puppet - it was horrible. He couldn't believe he had let that happen to Michael. The poor boy didn't deserve that. Any of that.

"You've just been through Hell, kid. Your whole life has been you going through Hell - it doesn't seem to know when to stop. If there's anything I can do to make it better, I will. You're my responsibility, and I actually tend to take care of those, as opposed to some people," he said, a healthy amount of spite in his voice. Not directed at Michael, of course. Directed at the elder of the Afton men.

This was about the point in the conversation where he would usually reach down and ruffle the boy's hair in an attempt to comfort him, but, well - that. Wasn't exactly going to work in this situation. Considering the fact that he didn't have much left. This was going to take some getting used to.

[nineliabilityrisk]

Henry sits, hunched over with his elbows on his desk and his hands clasped in front of his mouth, eyes staying resolutely downcast, fixed on the wood grain in front of him as he weathered the storm that was a frantic William Afton, desperate to prove a point to him as if it was one he didn't already know. He didn't flinch as the hand slammed down right in front of him, didn't react - Will was trying to get a rise out of him, to get Henry as mad as he was, to get them into a screaming match so he could feel justified in his belief that Henry despised him, 'just like everyone else.'

Henry knows how these outbursts play out - knows William too well, has known him too long not to - he knows that he just needs to wait it out. That Will doesn't truly mean any of it. Under it all, he's just scared, grieving his youngest son and reeling as he tries to consider how this loss is going to affect his entire family - his entire life. That was why Henry had tried to comfort him in the first place. He couldn't bear to watch William fall into another one of his spirals. He couldn't bear to be left on the outside again, powerless to do anything for the man he cared for so much.

It'd happened before, albeit never as severely or as frequently as these shutdowns seemed to be happening nowadays - those first days as they opened the original location had William absolutely filled to the brim with panic and worry, flitting around the place to ensure everything was absolutely perfect and barking orders at Henry so quickly that he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

Finally lifting his gaze, he locks eyes with the other man, gentle warmth meeting William's icy fury. "Will," he murmurs, simple and plaintive, not even bothering to disguise the emotion in his voice - neither anger nor pity, like William wants, but hurt. Pure, unfiltered hurt. "I could never, you know this." Could never look at him 'just like the rest of them,' no matter the context, no matter how much it stings to admit it. It's shameful, he knows it is, knows he can never admit it, but he also knows that he can't let it stop him from supporting his friend right now. Not when William needs it this badly.

He reaches out one of his hands, placing it on the desk next to Will's, just barely grazing their fingers together, hardly a whisper of a touch - a risky move, but he's hoping the contact will provide the man something to center himself around, ground himself on. If nothing else, it will draw his attention to Henry just long enough for him to hear what he has to say next.

"You just lost your son, William, I could never imagine - Charlie's all I have. You know this. I'd never be able to stand it if I lost her, and I know that's probably how it feels with -- with Evan's loss. He was your baby. You loved him. I know how much you love your family. I don't think I could ever truly understand what it feels like for you right now, but that's why I want to help."

He takes in a deep breath, an audible hitch on the inhale. "This isn't pity." His hand slides to overlap William's, the broadened contact as much for himself as for Will. "It never has been, with me. I could never blame you for any of this, either, I know it's not your fault. I care for you, Will. I've always cared - all I want to do is support you. You're my partner, here, you know," he says, emotions mixing in his voice that he could never put names to, just like so many of the other things between them, "I need you here. I need you to be okay. I need to help you."

Having held eye contact as long as he did, asserting his presence, he'd been doing well, but now he has to look away, gaze skittering over the shelves lining the opposite wall. "It hurts to see you like this, Will. Please."

“ don’t do that. don’t shut me out. ” from the post-trauma sentence starters - henry emily, to post-divorce? post-'83? post-something will

🔧 @nineliabilityrisk (post-trauma sentence starters)

"and why shouldn't i?" he bellows, anger in his tone as large palm makes contact with the other man's desk. the other pushed into his greying hair.

voice is lower grit when it comes forth, though still angry. "one day you'll look at me just like the rest of them." you'll look at me like a criminal. or, perhaps paranoia would allow him to see suspicion in henry's eyes. his mania. right now though, it's pity. something william well and truly does not want. [...]

though he could never suspect him. even if he will be arrested, they'd let him go. but the parents.. the turnout just won't be the same. & he knows he's right. (they'd already had to close the diner, left with the pizzeria). william doesn't want to scramble to keep himself in the fray. knows he has to begin his work upon the fellow engineer now. his child is dead, his coping has just begun. pinstripes of grey speckling his visage, bags under his eyes.

his jaw clenches while he turns to look at henry with a pinched expression. the pads of his fingers twisting upon the desk. yet while he's not leaning to far against it, he does press his hip to the wood in a distrustful air. a tension headache building in his temples from clenched jaw. "i don't want your pity, henry." other finger comes to point. he feels like he's fallen off the rails, and he's not sure how to get back on track. "it's not my fault i've had to pick up the slack around my house. that we're --" [...] he swallows, eyes waffling as he tucks hair behind his ear. that he's failing, for the first time in his life -- or so it seems in his adult years, anyway. no longer the man with the perfect family. "it's not my fault." he says quieter, with a thrust of his index.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 17

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Again, fuck you tumblr and not tagging people. 

On the other side of things, I uh...well read and see. I make no apologies😏 

Also, because this is what kept going through my mind, as I wrote, I felt rude not sharing 

That is all from me. Carry on now. 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​​ for the header

Catch Up Here

In Love.

The idea was preposterous. Nell sat at the small table, her work bag on the floor beside her, shaking her head and grumbling as she stitched a small rip in a costume for a rambunctious little girl. Her fingers worked along the tear, the thread and needle moving with ease.

First Alex had accused her of being in love with Henry. Then Ivan had backed them into a corner. What next? Was she going to walk in and find Henry down on one knee, again, a black box in hand asking her to marry him. A slight nauseous feeling fluttered through her stomach.  

Henry had grown, a lot, since those days. Ever the hopeless romantic, Nell would never doubt that he would try. If he thought the feelings were there and the time was right.

“Oh god, no.” Nell muttered to herself.

Over thinking was one of Nell's many superpowers, this was an exceptional example of that superpower. Henry had better things to do than sit around and pine for her. Nell had better things to do than sit around and pine for him, too.

Tears mended, she smiled at her handy work. Another job well done on the fly.

One thing Henry had been right about, she loved her job, and the details. What were the chances she could sneak some Viking stitch work into Geralt? Or perhaps a few tiny pieces of the Tudors period? From the bits and  pieces she'd been privy to, Nell was relieved that Henry looked fantastic in black.

Holed up in a room somewhere for hours creating the perfect look excited Nell. Bringing in a look from scratch, being allowed to shape and mold what would be a center staple to such a venture. Henry had been taking a risk asking her and she had fought him every step of the way, but Nell knew it would be worth it.

“We finished here?” Rayna's head poked around the door, a smile on her face. The poor woman had been working flat out, as were many, to finish this project on time. Nell nodded, holding up the skirt. “You're a legend, Nelly.”

“Thank you, thank you.” Nell feigned a bow, tossing the skirt to Rayna. “Is that all or did I have anything else coming in?”

Rayna pursed her lips, shaking her head, mentally scrolling the list of things left to do for the evening. “No, I think we're good. If you don't mind giving a clean up, you can go. Tell Ivan I said hello and I'm going to miss him.”

“Absolutely, I am going to try and get him over before he has to leave.” Nell's smile was soft, her eyes glassy. In the last two days, whenever she thought of Ivan moving, “she had to urge the few tears that pooled in the corner of her eyes not to fall.

“Good, I wouldn't mind seeing him.” The other woman smiled wide, “Right, I have to get this back. See you tomorrow, Nelly.”

“See ya,” Nell's voice floated through the hall after Rayna.

Picking up her bits and pieces, she tucked them into her bag. A short clean up and she was back home to pack. Ivan had his last football match this evening, one she had to miss because of work, which meant ice cream and pizza after the game. Henry would be out of the house, dealing with that for a few hours at least allowing Nell to sneak in and pack for a little bit uninterrupted.

Closing the door behind her, Nell turned to make sure it had latched. Damn thing had been sticking and began to get caught, whenever there was a breeze. Flapping the door around like a rag doll. Door secure, she turned again, this time walking a few feet before being plowed into.

“Shit.” Nell cursed, stumbling backwards, nearly losing balance. Losing her bag and jacket instead.

“Nell.” Alex stopped, lifting his head from his phone. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you.”

“It's fine,” Nell grunted bending to pick up her jacket. “No worries.”

“Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?” Alex reached out to gently pat her arms, looking for any bumps or grazes. “Shit, you must think I'm a real dick.”

Shaking her head, Nell gave him a soft smile.

“I don't think that. You know, I don't know what I think, but I don't have any ill feelings toward you.” Alex blinked, confused. “You're free to feel however you want, but I don't hate you and I know this shit is awkward as fuck.”

“A little, yeah.” Alex agreed. More than a little. Standing outside the door, he shifted from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to reach out and tuck the stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“It's okay, it was an accident. I'm fine. You're fine?”

Alex nodded. Aside from wanting to crawl under a rock and die, he was fine.

“Good,” Shouldering her bag, Nell gripped the strap tightly. “I should let you get back to work.”

“Before you do,” Clenching his fingers tight around his phone, Alex took a slow deep breath. “Would it be okay if we grabbed a drink? Before you leave? As friends? We could invite others, too.”

“Alex,” a gentle sigh told him everything he needed to know about what was coming next.

“I get it, it's fucked and I have no right to ask.”

“It's not that I don't want to, I don't want you or anybody else getting the wrong ideas.”

“Henry?” Alex licked his lips, his soft blue eyes wanting to look anywhere but Nell's face.

Shaking her head, Nell's shoulders stiffened. “He and I are not in love.”

Was she trying to convince Alex or herself by that admission?

“Okay, but that doesn't answer my question.” Laughing, Alex tried to play it off. “It could be sort of a last drink together, a small everything coming to an end and we won't see one another until who knows when.”

“Nice poem,”

“I thought it added a certain charm,” His smile was infectious. “Seriously, think it over. Let me know.”

“I'll get back to you, but if I don't then -” “I'll understand.” Alex cut her off, a wide smile crinkling the corner of his eyes.

“Thank you,” Nell stepped forward wrapping an arm around his neck, trying to balance her bag and jacket in the other hand. Awkwardly hugging him with one arm. Alex went stiff for a second, before wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. “I'm sorry, Alex.” she whispered, her head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“It's water under the bridge. It was only friends, right.”

“Right.”

Saying good night to Alex before she hurried off, Nell felt a rock in the pit of her stomach. Alex was a sweet guy, here she was some kind of monster that ruined what could have been something nice. Despite what Henry tried to tell her, there was always something she did to ruin any relationship she'd ever had.

One didn't have to be Sherlock to see that Nell was stuck in a pattern. She would get comfortable, then blow it all to hell.

Quietly opening the front door, Nell expected a quiet serene atmosphere. Walking in to find Kal lazed on the cool floor, watching Henry pack a large cardboard boxes in the middle of the house. Grunting as he bent to lift the box on the floor, Henry stacked it in the corner along with a few other boxes that had appeared since Nell was here last.

“Wow, I am impressed.” Nell whistled once the box was safely out of Henry's grasp. A jump in Henry's back muscles gave away that he'd been startled.

“We've been busy.” He grinned, lifting his well loved Kansas City Chiefs ball cap to wipe his forearm across his forehead. A curl escaping it's confines stuck against his damp skin, peeking out from under the black hat.

Setting her bag down, Nell kicked off her shoes, stepped into the living room to inspect the work that had taken place in her absence. Each box properly labeled and taped, a neater system than Henry's usual stick in all in gym bags and suitcases, things will be fine.

The first time she had moved with Henry had been a slight nightmare. Neither one wanting to relinquish their packing style or listen to the other. Packing up the small bachelor apartments had taken longer than needed, by the end they were both so worn out they had no energy left to bicker. Nell had passed out against the wall and Henry had laid out on the floor.

“Thank you, for all the work.” Extending on her toes, Nell kissed his cheek. “It's been a huge help.”

“No need to thank me, my darling. The wild boy and I are perfectly capable of packing.” Henry loosely slung his arm around her shoulder.

“Speaking of, I thought he had a game this evening.”

“Ah, yes.” Eyes lighting up, Henry's smile grew. “They won, by six points. I've loads of photos and videos for you. Leo asked if Ivan could spend the night at his house, his dad said it was fine and I agreed. They've been taking this rather hard.” His smile dimmed.

“I figured this would happen, which is why I decided to let him move with you. If it were on me, he'd be in a screaming fit every night and nothing would be accomplished.” Rolling her eyes, Nell sighed. “I'm glad they won, though.”

“Me, too. I think he needed that.” Henry nodded, letting go of Nell to resume his packing. “He's been in a rather  peculiar mood.”

“What's up with Ivan and all of his questions lately?” Picking up a dismantled box, Nell began to assemble it. If she got the boxes ready, Henry could go along behind and fill them.

“Those,” Henry puffed out a breath, running his hands over his head shifting his hat back and forth, “came out of nowhere a few days ago. He woke up asking about love and marriage. I guess he thinks I'm secretly lonely or need to join tinder. I'm not quite sure.”

“And what have you been telling him?” Brows raised, Nell briefly paused from the boxes. Hands on her hips, she tilted her head to the side.

“He asked if we loved one another. I told him that I love you, of course. He asked if we'd ever get married, I handled it.”

“Henry,” Nell groaned, her eyes shut biting her bottom lip. “Why did you do that?”

“Then what the fuck do you want me to do, Nelly? Hmm? I'm trying.” Scowling, Henry rolled his eyes. “He's my son, he had a question. What was I supposed to do? It's not like I told him we were getting married or that you outright refused me, when I did ask.”

Huffing Nell pouted, her brow creased, her hand on her hip. Henry was doing the best he could in the situations he had been dealt. It's not as if she had ever told him what she wanted him to say, if Ivan should ever ask such questions.

Eventually they would have to prepare for the difficult topic of life. Ivan was growing and he was bound to be curious. They should have seen this coming, despite all the things Ivan had wondered over the years, neither one had expected this situation. Rather they had been avoiding it like a plague.

Henry wrapped a lamp, gently placing it in the box, picking up the partner to wrap and stow away. Nell quietly sat in the corner, a box in her hand. Neither one daring the bring up what was on their mind. Kal sighed, licking his lips, before flopping over onto his side with a loud yawn. The air in the room stiff as the only two people in it got lost in a sinking feeling.

“I'm sorry,” Henry spoke. Nell barely lifted her head to look at him. “I shouldn't speak to you in that way.”

Waving her hand, Nell dismissed any grievances. He deserved to say that and more to her, yet he never did. Chin tucked into her chest, Nell cleared her throat, sniffling quietly. Blinking hard, she leaned forward her elbows resting on her knees.

“Nell? My darling,” Henry knelt down, “what is it?”

“I know he's smart, but I worry that he will hate me when he's older. I worry that he doesn't understand why we live this way.”

“Apart?”

“Hmm.” Nell nodded, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I worry that he's going to blame me and he should, but what do I say? What do I do? Oh god, I'm a terrible mother.”

“You're a good mum. He will never hate you for any of this. How could he? You've given him the best life. Often times I think about how lucky I am, to have you as his mother. You put up with whatever insanity I bring and you manage to keep us both alive.” Henry nudged her with a gentle smile.

“Don't sugar coat it. I know that you have your issues with me, too. It's fine. I deserve it.”

Shifting to sit comfortably beside Nell; Henry's hand gently rubbed up and down her back. “There are things I have questions to, but I don't have issues with you. Janelle, things were complicated and I have accepted that along time ago.”

“I'm not easy to live with I know that.” Nell apologized. “I get scared and I say mean things, but you still come back. Why?”

“Honestly?” Henry asked, tucking his finger under her chin lifting her face to look at him. “You want my honest answer to that? Oh my darling.”

Ivan. The answer was cut and dry. As simple as. He would never leave his son in a bad situation. Nell knew the answer, already. She blinked back more tears, nodding. Yes, she wanted to know. She had to hear him confirm what she knew.

On the floor, surrounded by boxes, overwhelmed and crying was never how Nell had pictured this conversation to go. The moment she'd imagined had came with far more yelling and frustration. Henry was being far too sweet about this. Holding her face, his thumb lightly stroked her cheek drying the tears that stained her skin.

“I love you, Janelle. Not only as the mother of my son, but as a person. You were by far the most amazing partner and you have so much to give.”

“Smooth.” Her shocked response had came out a little more critical than she'd hoped.

“It's the truth, laugh if you must.”

“After all this time?”

“Of course. There is something about you, it drives me mad. You really piss me off at times, but then my frustrations of the moment pass and there I am, back to loving you. For some reason, you still hold a fairly large portion of my heart, outside of Ivan. Your failures and triumphs, I want to share them all. I want nothing but the best for you and I never know how to tell you.”

“I love you.” The words echoed in her ears, more tears welling up.

“Really?” This was news to Henry. Nell could say she loved him, in a moment to humour Ivan, but to hear her say it in a moment like this was - - Henry wouldn't get his hopes up. There was loving somebody and there was being in love with somebody.

“I do. I guess I never stopped. I've told myself it's for Ivan, but I don't think it is. Not all of it.” She stammered over her reason. As if there had to be a reason. Surely he had said he loved her to make her feel better, perhaps she had said it only to stop her thoughts? Nell licked her lips, nodding gently. “I don't know how I feel, but I know that as much as I push you away, I do it because I love you.”

On the floor, surrounded by boxes, his heart in his throat is not how Henry had expected this conversation to go. Here they were now, in the silence of the room, you could have heard a pin drop. Leaning over, he did the only thing he could think to do.

@shannygoatgruff​​​​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​​​​ @kawennote09​​​​ @smutgoblin​​​​  @nickysurfer28​​​​ @igetcarriedawaywithyou​​​​ @lif3snotouttogetyou​​​​@akamaiden​​​ @angelaiswriting​​​​ @peaceisadirtyword​​​​ @titty-teetee​​​​ @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly​​​​ @ilvebeenabad​​​​ @naaladareia​​​​ @tephi101​​​​ @sdcyumyum​​​​ @unacceptabletatertots​​​​ @imgoldielikehawn​​​​  @smolasianwinterbean​​​​  @capitanostella​​​​  @bloodyivar​​​​   @normanallthewayforever​​​​   @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​​​​  @imyourliquor-youremypoison​​​​ @nikky-the-writer​​​​   @seremedyxiii​​​​ @laketaj24​​​​  @deleteidentity​​​​ @tornupandbored​​​​  @hoeghfabulous​​​​  @ateliefloresdaprimavera​​​​ @mydarlingwhim​​​​   @kenzieam​​​​   @captstefanbrandt​​​​ @jar-of-love​​​​ @angelswannawearmyredshooz​​​​ @manuugxlvis​​​​   @lostinmythoughs​​​​  @ivars-snowflake​​​​   @lisinfleur​​​​  @nothingeverdies​​​​ @fumblingthroughchaos​​​​ @pebblesz892​​​​  @nelson-and-murdock​​​​   @bluearchersstuff​​​​  @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone​​​​  @ivarlothbroks​​​​ @badassbaker​​​​ @cris101071​​​​ @fucktrucks​​​​ @ohjules​​​​  @angelic-kisses13​​​​ @marthasantos95​​​​  @hows-my-hair​​​​ @omgshuddupmeg​​​​ @moviegirl50​​​​ @havenoffandoms​​​​ @gearhead66​​​​ @happydaysandersen​​​​ @rekdreams-fandom​​​​ @lovemylife2618​​​  @mrsadrianraines​​​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​​​ @heavenly1927​​​​ @zoe-rachel-crisp​​​​ @blogandreea11 @shileen91​​​​ @geekandbooknerd​​​​ @mzliterarydreamer​​​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​​​ @ainatirb-j​​​​ @carlya65​​​​ @sawendel​​​​ @sinflowersugar​​​​ @magic-and-the-macabre​​​​ @artemiseamoon​​​​ @vicmackeybullshxt​​​​ @flowerthug​​​​ @henchry​​​​  @littlefreya​​​​ @mitzwinchester​​​​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​​​​ @h-e-a-v-y-l-e-a-t-h-e-r​​​​ @dogshemp​​​​  @mytbel0st​​​​ @peakygroupie​​​​ @magdelen69​​​​ @s-ravenall​​​​  @viking-raider​​​​ @sciapod​​​​ @intototaloblivion​​​​ @hcfavoritegal​​​​ @didiintheblog​​​​ @daniig95​​​​ @badwolf-in-the-impala​​​​ @mariahill2001​​​​ @charlieferret​​​​ @michelle-1185​​​​ @henryfanfics101​​​​ @agniavateira​​​​ @oqueequesentes-borboletas​​​​ @mis-lil-red​​​​ @anndreaae​​​​ @dearlybelovedluke​​​​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​​​​ @tinychemicals​​​​ @mary-ann84​​​​ @townmoondaltwistle​​​​ @buckysgoldenheart​​​​ @thethirstyarchive​​​​ @meowpurrbooks​​​​  @hell1129-blog​​​​ @nuns-and-roses​​​​ @vikingsbifrost​​​​ @comboboo​​​​ @onlyhenrys​​​​ @obsessedwithcavill​​​​ @hnryycvll​​​​ @lebguardians​​​​​ @newfanhasenteredthechat​​​​​ @leilabeaux​​​​ @cherrybloomn​​ @omgkatinka​

- if you want to be added? removed, please let me know

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Reconstruction: Karen Renford’s Boys

CW: Depictions of stitches and semi-graphic description of wounds, dehumanizing language (used in a positive context? Kind of?), pet whump. But I promise this is uplifting! Sort of!

Takes place directly after Insecurity by @spiffythespook. Read that and Dismantled for context.

Henry and Wright Farling (referenced) belong to @spiffythespook​

“He needs a doctor,” Henry hissed, glancing sidelong at the door to the kitchen. He was fiddling nervously with the shock implants along his collarbone with one hand, the other tapping fingernails in a staccato rhythm on the table. “Not us. We don’t know what we’re doing.”

“You are not helping me with my confidence,” Sebastian murmured in a slow even tone, his eyes focused with total concentration on the tiny needle he was currently trying to thread with the supplies from Karen’s first aid kit. Next to him was a small tablet, flat on the table, playing a tutorial video on how to give stitches.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t get him medical help,” Henry said, looking hesitantly at the oldest of them. "WRU has a clinic, an on-site hospital…" He shuddered at the memory of waking up in one of those rooms, Karen sitting next to his bed with that slight, coldly satisfied smile on her lips as she pressed into the newly-implanted circles over his collarbone and watched him fight back the sound of pain. 

Then that gross scientist or whatever came in all bright smiles, ruffling his hair, and the other one with her stupid flat eyes...

"He needs someone who… who's at least done this before," Henry gestured at the tall man in the chair next to him.

Dex had had to be all but carried down the stairs by Sebastian and Peter, and he looked wrecked. His face had been totally torn open - Henry could barely stand to look at the wet pinkish tissue visible now that Sebastian had carefully cleaned away the fresh and dried blood.

Dex was covered in still-bleeding welts and bruises. His light brown eyes stared blankly off into space, but thankfully he didn’t seem to be… to be hallucinating any longer, like when they first tried to help him up and he flinched away from the corners of the room, panicked and lost trying to hide from things only he could see.

Kept trying to sign with broken fingers and letting out awful little cries of pain when his broken fingers couldn’t move the way he wanted.

“Look at him,” Sebastian said, without raising or changing the tone of his voice. “If we take him out, they’ll know she lost her temper. Can’t have that.” Sebastian’s mouth twisted, bitterly, as the thread finally went through the needle's eye. “Can’t have anyone knowing the ice queen nearly beat her perfect pet to death.”

Dex shivered, the only sign he could hear them, and blinked slowly. Henry had never seen anyone look as totally… destroyed… as Dex did, right now.

“So… so what? So you’re just going to sew up his face? With your experience of, of fucking cooking?”

Sebastian paused and looked over at him. His eyes were gentle, and understanding. “Henry. He’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll get him sewn up, this is the only one bad enough to need stitches. If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.”

“But-... but she could have killed him!”

“She still might,” Sebastian said calmly. “I don’t know what happened up there, but-”

“I… I do. She said he loves someone and he’s not allowed to. When sh-she… when she told m-me to clean him uh-up…” Henry’s voice began to tremble and waver. His throat closed around the words he wanted to say.

Peter scraped his chair across the floor, pulling closer to Henry, sliding his arms around him just below his shoulders. Henry hated being touched, but in the moment, with Peter, he leaned into it and turned his head to press his forehead into Peter’s neck, clenching his eyes shut to force back the tears that threatened to come out. “She did that to him because he cared about somebody else that wasn’t her!”

Over his head, Peter and Seb looked at each other.

Dex mouthed something - it looked like his lips pushed together and then apart, one syllable -  but no sound came out of his mouth. He didn’t look at any of them - he had focused his vision on a spot on the cream-colored wall and stuck there.

“Why does he look like that?” Henry asked, and his voice was caught in his throat, it kept coming out too high, too young.

“Facility stare,” Seb said flatly, with false casual ease. “We all get it. Coping mechanism."

“It lets you go away in your head,” Peter said reassuringly. “When it's so bad you can't keep going any longer. He’ll come back after a while. It’s just… it’s just something we all learn how to do in training. Trust me, Henry, he’ll come back. He’s… he’s been doing this a really long time.”

It was only at that second that Henry really realized that Dex was old enough to be his father. He could see the hints of lines in his face, the spread of stubble along his jaw, and yet… he still looked so young, too. Especially now, blank and empty, battered and bleeding and broken.

“All he d-did was have a f-feeling for someone,” Henry whispered, burying himself against Peter, who tightened the arms around him. It was a feeble hint of defense against the evil that had trapped them in this house… in Henry’s case, literally.

He pushed his palm into the little circles, the fucking-... the fucking things she’d put in him that went off if he got within five feet of the stupid fucking wall that circled her property. Trapped here until he could be trusted.

Until he was as broken as the others.

Sebastian sighed, turning back to his work. “It was really a matter of time,” He said softly to Peter. “He’s lucky she didn’t notice before. I kind of wondered… but honestly, I thought, who could care about that stupid creep? I figured he just, you know… wanted sex so badly he’d even take it from... him.”

A strange expression passed over Peter’s face, and he cleared his throat, swallowing. “Yeah… I thought so, too. I, I guess… I guess maybe it was more than that…”

“Clearly. She beat the fucking shit out of him. She’s been sending him to see that, that bastard since way before I ever came home… Jesus, Dex.” Seb looked up at him. Dex showed no indication he could hear. “You got yourself in deep shit, huh?”

Dex blinked once.

“I can’t believe he’d get himself this wrecked over that fucking creep,” Sebastian muttered. “That asshole thinks it’s art, what Karen does to us. He’ll probably think it’s funny when she tells him she beat Dex up like this.”

The weird expression passed over Peter’s face again, and he just shrugged. “Maybe. Doubt it, though.”

Henry had found himself staring at Dex again, thinking about the older man, that he’d been here for decades and he was forty and Karen still beat him up… and he just had to sit there and take it. Henry’s life would look just like that, now. If she found out Peter was so nice to him, that he cared about Peter more than he did anybody else - except she knew, didn’t she, she’d said he was making moon eyes…

“Oh, god,” Henry said softly. “Oh my god, this is it, isn’t it, this is… this is it… this is my whole future."

“It’s okay,” Peter said, rocking back and forth, his mouth moving lightly against Henry's hair. “It’s okay, Henry.”

“No, it’s not,” Henry half-whined into Peter’s neck. “It’s not okay and it’s never going to be okay again. All he did was care about someone!”

“Sssshhhh, she’ll hear you.” Peter rested his chin on top of Henry’s head and held him, and slowly Henry raised one hand to grasp onto his arm, breathing in shaky shallow gasps as he tried to calm himself down. “Don’t let her hear, Henry. It’s just us down here, let’s keep it just us.”

Henry nodded against Peter’s skin, trying not to think about the way she’d sounded, so perfectly calm with little spots of Dex’s blood on her face, telling him that if he didn’t learn to care more for her than Peter that she’d take everything away, just like she’d done to Dex.

He thought of Dex’s broken fingers, bent all out of shape, and the awful sound of him screaming in that strange inhuman hoarse voice, like an animal's scream, and shuddered.

There was a soft hiss, and Henry blinked back tears to turn his head and look. Dex was still staring at that spot on the wall as Sebastian carefully, slowly stitched up his face.

The only way to even know that he felt it was by the soft, constant hissing sound he made each time the needle slid into his skin and back out again. In and out, in and out, and Henry’s stomach lurched. He had to close his eyes and stop watching or he’d throw up all over the kitchen table.

“Wright Farling’s not fucking worth this,” Sebastian muttered. “Why, Dex? Huh?”

Dex didn’t even look in his direction. He just kept staring at the wall.

“So, what do we do next?” Peter asked, softly, nearly a whisper. “What comes next, Seb?”

“We have to splint his fingers. I’ll… I’ll find a video for that, too.” Sebastian sighed, pausing to carefully tie off the end of the thread, clipping it as close to the skin as he could, sitting back to look over his work. Stitches ran from just above Dex's jaw on the left side nearly to his ear, looking nearly fake, like they'd been painted on, compared to his sun-starved pale skin.

Seb's face was ash-white and greenish around the edges, but he did not waver, did not shake, did not cry.

“If we’re careful, we can set them right, and he’ll be able to sign once they heal up.”

“I’ll set his fingers,” Peter said, almost too quickly. “You and Henry go… go, uh. Clean, clean up her office. Get her clothes out of the hamper and soak them. I’ll set his fingers. I… need a minute alone with him.”

“What?” Henry pulled back, looking at Peter’s face, the hint of curl to his dark hair.

Peter shook his head “Just… go with it, Henry. Seb knows how to clean blood. Just go with him and do what he tells you. I’ll set Dex’s fingers.”

Dex’s broken hand twitched, as though he were listening, wherever he had gone deep inside his mind. He hissed, again.

“But why do you need to be alone-”

“Henry.” Peter turned, biting down on his lower lip, looking pained. “Please. Just trust me that it’s important, okay? Just trust me.”

He and Sebastian looked at each other, and Henry wondered how long he would live here before he had all those unspoken communications like they did, until he and Peter could have whole conversations without saying a word.

“Okay,” Sebastian said softly. “We’ll head upstairs, and leave you two alone. Just… don’t fuck up the splints, okay, Peter? Please. He needs his hands to talk. He can’t-... don’t let her take that away from him, too.”

Peter nodded, slowly, seriously. His jaw was set, his eyes sparkling. He looked like a man on a mission, and Henry thought it felt like there was more to that mission than just fixing his hand, but he couldn’t think of what.

Dex never moved, even though Henry knew he had to hurt so, so badly. He held himself very still and stayed blank and empty while Henry took out the supplies to splint his fingers. He carefully laid each item out on the table, trying not to think about the fact that Karen had supplies for this just lying around the house, ready. Finally, he couldn’t stop himself. “Has she broken your hands before?”

Sebastian, in the process of pulling up the tutorial video for Peter, shrugged. “Not mine. A cook without working hands isn’t much use, and she’s not about to start cooking for herself again.”

“She’s broken mine,” Peter said quietly. “Early on. These are probably all still here from then. But not in a long time, and mine healed up well enough. All right, I’m going to watch the tutorial a couple of times and then I’ll do this.”

“Okay.” Henry hesitated, not quite willing to leave Peter, not entirely sure why. Finally, Sebastian stood and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs, and Henry swallowed hard, nodding. “Peter…”

“You’re okay,” Peter said softly, soothingly, looking up at him from where he sat next to Dex. “She’s not going to hurt anyone else today. We’ll be okay.”

“But he’s not okay,” Henry said. “And… he won’t be, will he?”

Once more, that look that Henry couldn’t quite read between the other two. Peter looked over at Dex, and licked his lips, thinking. “He’ll be okay,” he said finally. “You’ll see. Now go on.”

Henry followed Seb out of the kitchen, but paused just on the other side of the doorway.

“Dex, are you listening?” He heard Peter say, in a low voice. “Please. I need you to be here with me. I know it hurts, but I need you to come back. This is important.”

There was a soft sound, not quite a grunt. Some kind of acknowledgement.

“Good.” Henry could hear Peter’s deep inhale from where he stood. “Okay. While she was… while…” He paused. Henry swallowed back an urge to go back in there and help, somehow.

At the stairs, Sebastian paused and turned when he realized Henry wasn’t following him. Henry put a finger to his mouth, hoping Seb would take the hint and be silent. Seb rolled his eyes, but… after a second he came back and stood next to Henry.

“While you were still upstairs,” Peter said softly, voice shaking a little, “Do you remember when the phone rang?”

There was a soft sound of assent.

“Okay, good. So… so the phone call… was, um, was from… Wright Farling.”

The sound that came from Dex’s throat was a nearly inhuman, despairing wail.

Henry felt his knees buckle under the weight of it.

“N-no, Dex, please, be quiet and don’t get her attention-” The sound cut off and then changed into more hoarse sobbing like Henry had heard coming from upstairs when she was hurting the older man, when the sobs had been punctuated by the thwak of her cane against Dex's skin.

Henry's eyes welled up with tears again and he jammed the palms of his hands against them to force the tears back.

Dex sounded so fucking gone.

This is what the rest of your life looks like, Henry.

Peter's voice became insistent. ���Dex, please don’t try to sign, you’ll only hurt yourself-... Can you please-... Dex, god damn it, stop signing-”

There were new sounds Henry didn’t understand at first, rustling and scraping of the chairs. He managed to peek around the doorframe without being seen, and caught a glimpse of Peter holding Dex, the taller man slumped against him, weeping with his teeth ground together so he wouldn't move and tear open the new stitches while Peter petted gently through his dark hair, shushing, whispering into his ear.

"Please, Dex, you're all right, you're good, we're good boys, you're a good boy…"

Henry felt a lick of disgust down his spine, but realized Dex had visibly started to calm at the words. Henry wondered - not for the first time - if he really should feel grateful to Karen that he hadn't been forced to learn the way the others had, at the Facility, dehumanized until good boy - something you said to dogs - meant more than nearly any other kind of reassurance.

Henry turned to look and next to him, tears were running freely down Sebastian’s face even as he had a hand over his own mouth to keep himself silent. Seb caught Peter looking at him and shook his head. “He’s been here so long,” Seb whispered behind his hand. “She's taken his voice and his whole life. He felt something she didn’t like and she took that, too. What else is left for her to fucking take?”

The answer hung unspoken between them.

She would take anything.

She would take everything.

Dex’s sobs finally quieted back down, as Peter continued to murmur soft good boys to him. Henry's heart beat in his throat.

“Dex, listen to me,” Peter said softly. “Wright Farling didn’t call for her. Okay? He called to give me a… a secret message for you.”

Dex went perfectly, utterly silent.

Holding his breath.

“He said to tell you he called,” Peter all but whispered. “He wanted you to know.” The sound barely carried to the two men eavesdropping in the hall. “He said… he said to tell you he’s sorry, for this. For what she did.”

There was a pause, and then Dex began to cry again, but this time the sound was different in some way Henry couldn’t have defined but understood instinctively. It wasn’t despair, now, in Dex's tears - it was something like a fragile, barely-there hope.

Sebastian grabbed his arm and pointed towards the stairs. Whatever else Peter said to Dex, Henry didn't hear it, as he let Sebastian lead him away.

Halfway up the stairs, Henry said quietly, “Does that mean-”

“Sssshhhh,” Sebastian whispered, but the tears in his eyes had changed, too.

Hope.

For Dex, if no one else.

“Give Dex a minute with Peter,” Sebastian said softly. “Let’s… let’s go clean up her mess.”

[infinityhq]

   𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬  𝑻𝑶  𝑨𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑨 ,   brae  ,  m  ,  pea  ,  sydney  ,  jules  !  don’t  forget  to  read  over  our  pages  and  our  checklist.  you  have   twenty - four  hours to  send  in  your  account  or  you’ll lose  your  chance  at  paradise  !   we  hope   [  james  potter  ,  geralt  of  rivia  ,  sabrina  spellman  ,  illyana  rasputin  ,  arianne  martell  ,  rachel  amber  ,  esme  cullen  ,  katherine  pierce  ,  mark  sloan  ,  marinette  dupain-cheng  ,  alexis  kaye  ]    will  enjoy  their  say  at  aurora island .   SMASH  THAT  FOLLOW BUTTON  !

「    dev  patel   ,   twenty - eight   ,   cis - male  +  he / him    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    PRONGS’    real  name  is    JAMES  POTTER     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     enthusiastic    ,  but  also     egotistical    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     SPORTS  JOURNALIST     and  come  from     HARRY  POTTER    .  you  can  hear   DON'T  STOP  ME  NOW  by  QUEEN   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  LETTING  PETER  BECOME  THE  SECRET  KEEPER .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    WIRE - RIMMED  ROUND  GLASSES   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    brae  .

「    henry  cavill   ,   thirty - eight  /  one hundred  &  three   ,   cis - male  +  he / him    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    THE  WHITE  WOLF’S    real  name  is    GERALT  RIVIA     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     loyal    ,  but  also     apathetic    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     SECURITY / BODYGUARD  FOR  HIRE     and  come  from     THE  WITCHER    .  you  can  hear   INDESTRUCTIBLE  by  WELSHLY  ARMS   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  CIRI  RUNNING  INTO  HIS  ARMS  IN  THE  FOREST .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    WOLF  HEAD  NECKLACE   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    brae  .

「    kiernan  shipka   ,   twenty   ,   cis female  +  she/her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    HEARALD OF HELL’S      real  name  is    SABRINA SPELLMAN     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     adroit    ,  but  also     perverse    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     WRITER     and  come  from     THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF SABRINA    .  you  can  hear   PLAY WITH FIRE  by  SAM TINNESZ   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  SACRIFICING HERSELF TO SAVE HER LOVED ONE’S FROM THE VOID .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    GOLDEN LOCKET   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    m  .

「    anya  taylor-joy   ,   twenty-two   ,   cisfemale  +  she  /  her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    MAGIK’S    real  name  is    ILLYANA  NIKOLIEVNA  RASPUTIN     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     resolute    ,  but  also     caustic    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     GRAD  STUDENT     and  come  from     MARVEL  COMICS    .  you  can  hear   STFU!  by  RINA  SAWAYAMA   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  TAKING  CHARGE  OF  THE  NEW  MUTANTS .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    SOULSWORD   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    pea  .

「    sobhita  dhulipala   ,   twenty-eight   ,   cisfemale  +  she  /  her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    THE  QUEENMAKER’S    real  name  is    ARIANNE  NYMEROS  MARTELL     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     astute    ,  but  also     beguiling    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     HEIRESS     and  come  from     A  SONG  OF  ICE  AND  FIRE    .  you  can  hear   WHAT  KIND  OF  MAN  by  FLORENCE  +  THE  MACHINE   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  TRAVELLING  TO  THE  STORMLANDS .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    CROWN  OF  COPPER  SUNS   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    pea  .

「    madelyn  cline   ,   twenty   ,   cisfemale  +  she  /  her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    RACH’S    real  name  is    RACHEL  DAWN  AMBER     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     spirited    ,  but  also     irascible    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     ACTING  STUDENT     and  come  from     LIFE  IS  STRANGE    .  you  can  hear   VICTORIA  FALLS  by  FLYTE   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  DYING  IN  THE  DARK  ROOM .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    BLUE  JAY  FEATHER  EARRING   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    pea  .

「    adelaide  kane   ,   thirty   ,   cis woman  +  she/her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    SNOW WHITE IN THE FLESH’S    real  name  is    ESME  ANNE CULLEN     ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     benign   ,  but  also     placid    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     TEACHER     and  come  from     TWILIGHT    .  you  can  hear   LOVER  by  TAYLOR SWIFT   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  SURVIVING  THE  VOLTURI’S INTERROGATION .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    WEDDING RING    and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    sydney  .

「    hande  erçel   ,   twenty three   ,   cis woman  +  she/her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    THE QUEEN OF HELL’S    real  name  is    KATHERINE  PIERCE    ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     nimble    ,  but  also     nefarious    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     CON ARTIST     and  come  from     THE  VAMPIRE DIARIES    .  you  can  hear   DO RE MI  by  BLACKBEAR   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  THE GRUESOME DISCOVERY OF HER FAMILY’S SLAUGHTER  .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    ANTIQUE  SILVER  PENDANT   and  not  think  about  them .    penned  by :    sydney  .

「    chris  evans   ,   thirty nine   ,   cis man  +  he/him    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    MCSTEAMY’S    real  name  is    MARK  EVERETT  SLOAN   ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     conscientious    ,  but  also     haughty    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     PLASTIC SURGEON     and  come  from     GREY’S  ANATOMY    .  you  can  hear   SEXY BACK  by  JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  DYING .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    PAGER   and  not  think  about  them .    penned  by :    sydney  .

「    natasha liu bordizzo   ,   twenty-three   ,   female  +  she/her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    LADYBUG’S    real  name  is    MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG   ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     innovative    ,  but  also     clumsy    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     FASHION DESIGN INTERN     and  come  from     MIRACULOUS: TALES OF LADYBUG AND CAT NOIR    .  you  can  hear   CLOUD 9  by  BEACH BUNNY   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  HEARING THE SCREAMS OF THE ONE SHE LOVES AS SHE JUMPS OVER THE SIDE OF A BUILDING TO SAVE THEM .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    LADYBUG EARRINGS   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    jules  .

「    ayça aysin turan   ,   twenty-five   ,   female  +  she/her    」 ˚╰ ❃ ╮  did  you  know    PUNCHLINE’S    real  name  is    ALEXIS KAYE   ?!    around  the  island  they  seem  to  be  quite     ingenious    ,  but  also     cruel    ,  but  it  makes  sense  given  they  are  a     CHEMICAL ENGINEER     and  come  from     DC COMICS  ( BATMAN ).  you  can  hear   NIGHTMARE  by  HALSEY   blasting  from  their  house ,  but  be  careful   !   they  can  be  agitated  as  nightmares  bring  back  memories  of  HANGING ONTO HER LIFE BY A THREAD AS SHE TRIES TO REACH FOR HER DAGGER, IT GETS HARDER TO BREATHE AS SHE SLIPS INTO BLACKNESS .  even  so ,  it’s  impossible  to  see  their    DAGGER   and  not  think  about  them .   penned  by :    jules  .

[nineliabilityrisk]

Ciarán's eyebrows rose at the brusque words. "Need something? Do I need a reason to come pay you a visit? Well, excuse me for tryin' to be sociable." Despite his words, he didn't exactly feel slighted by Henry's... Prickly treatment. It was true, he did tend to find himself with William far more often than he did here. If anything, he felt a little guilty for it. As such, there was no real temper behind his tone. It was more for show than anything — gotta keep up his reputation, after all.

In a rather uncharacteristic move, he stayed in his place near the door to Henry's office, almost hesitant — if Henry truly didn't want him there, he wasn't going to intrude. He didn't have the same ritual of limit-testing, of pushing boundaries with Henry that he did with William. This was unfamiliar territory, and he didn't know just how far he could push just yet.

"Will — didn't need me around today. Had somethin' important to work on, way above my pay grade. Told me to come see if you needed some help before I went back to– to whatever I'm s'posed to be doing." Another one of Ciarán's half-truths, a very loose retelling of the past — in truth, he'd managed to annoy the man enough to get kicked out of his office because he did, in fact, have something important to work on and couldn't afford to be distracted by Ciarán today. He'd been told — or, rather, snapped at — to 'go pester Henry if he was truly that starved for attention.' Apparently the business partners were close enough to override William's possessiveness or neuroticism or whatever you wanted to call it surrounding Ciarán. Normally he wasn't trusted around just about anyone else in William's life, for what he assumed to be a multitude of reasons, but... Hey, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"But, uh, even if you don't need any extra hands around here — I figured I'd ask if you wanted the company anyway." God, he could feel the nervous sweat gathering at the back of his neck. Why was something as simple as this so difficult for him when he could go on and on, back and forth with William, no problem? Maybe it was because he was actually worried about how Henry would react. At least William was predictable in his temper. "Or, at least — if you wouldn't mind me stickin' around."

@nineliabilityrisk liked for a short starter from Henry for Ciarán.

The man's presence brought him pause, Henry glancing up from his work, crease between his brows. "Do you need something? You're usually here to see William."

[fletchphoenix]

Little OC One Shots

If you’re on the simp discord, you know i have NOT SHUT UP about TV man and his son Jeremy so I decided to post this!! :)  I love these two with my whole heart. Also there are some potentially triggering scenes in here like m*rder and d*ath so be careful when reading!

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

He was only six years old when his mother had died. He’d been all dressed up in a black suit and sat in a chair with his younger sister as the priest rattled on about some religious stuff he didn’t quite understand at that point. Tears ran down his cheeks as his sister talked about being excited to see their mother again, of course as a younger child she didn’t understand the concept of death and loss, but he’d grown accustomed to it. He’d grown all too accustomed to the feeling, the sounds of his father’s voice blaming him for his mother’s demise, the constant accusations being a lot to deal with on the shoulders of a six-year-old. That was also when he’d first met the TV man, his arm wrapping protectively around Jeremy’s small body and ruffling the black locks of his hair. He’d held him in a hug for a while, rain ricocheting off the lid of the coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Words of comfort were whispered to him as he pressed himself against the suit of the man, it tickling his cheek.

TV man had scooped him up into his arms and carried him towards a car, the young boy too young to understand as TV man and his father argued with each other before the man got in the driver’s seat and began to drive. His hand had settled on the gearstick as he glanced over and smiled at the boy, whose eyes were still red from tears that left wet trails down his pale cheeks. TV man saw the comparison, the boy almost his splitting image if it weren’t for his eyes. Those were Lydia’s eyes - the same ocean blue, wonder filled eyes that she once had. He missed the woman so much. TV man shook his head, nothing more to say to Jeremy as he kicked his legs and hummed a little tune under his breath.

The boy hadn’t slept that night, tossing and turning in his own room before shuffling as quietly as he could under the covers of TV man’s bed. He supposed he couldn’t help being scared - the boy had just lost his mother and gone to live with a stranger, though the man knew he’d done the right thing by bringing him back to his rightful home. His father, Henry, was an evil man and didn’t deserve any sympathy from him for everything he’d done to his son. TV man had held the boy as tight as he could, refusing to let go to let the boy know he was there. 

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

Jeremy’s hands shook as he poured the milk and hot water into the mug in front of him, stirring in the cocoa powder to make himself some hot cocoa to watch cartoons to. TV man was out at the time, at work in the screen and talking in his loud, happy voice with his big smile, but Jeremy always found his show slightly boring. “Only adults don’t find it boring because adults are boring!” he’d complained as TV man laid him down in bed one night, the man simply chuckling and rolling his eyes as he wished him goodnight. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, and Saturdays meant Jeremy could stay up longer than on a weekday, so TV man had told him when he’d be home and let him stay up until them. The boy settled comfortably on the couch, tucking his knees closer to his chest. 

The bangs began slowly, a few irregularly loud knocks sounding from the door and causing the raven haired boy to set his mug aside. At first he’d thought it was TV man, but they’d been through the secret knock and that was not the secret knock. Jeremy kept his eyes fixated on the door, though he rose to his feet and slowly backed away towards the kitchen. 

“Open up you little rat! I know you’re in there!” The slurred voice of Henry rang through Jeremy’s earsm his chest rising and falling quickly and his heartbeat increasing rapidly at the sound of the banging getting more and more intense. He was sure the man would make it through the door, the thirteen year old rushing towards the kitchen and searching through the doors. TV man always said the knives were in the third drawer down, but he was forbidden to use them for anything. Not even cutting up food. However he was more concerned with getting the man away from him, so he armed himself with the sharpest one, the blade glistening under the beaming light of the bulbs above him. He hoped that TV man wouldn’t be too upset, or at the minimum would understand why he was doing this. Another bang and the crashing of the front door to the floor echoed through the apartment as Jeremy rushed and locked himself in a closet. He silently pleaded for TV man to come home, to not be as late as he usually was. He didn’t want to die alone.

“Jeremy! Where the fuck are you!” the man screamed as he stalked through the house, his heavy duty boots causing the floorboards to rattle with every step he took. Something dragged behind him, only ending as the familiar click of a shotgun sounded throughout the apartment. Oh. So that’s what was going to happen. The boy’s breath hitched as the man’s figure halted in front of the wardrobe. “I can see you, you little shit.” Henry growled, his hand reaching for the handle as Jeremy’s breathing got deeper and deeper, faster and faster. This was it. He was going to die-Where was TV man?! “Hey! Get off me you lanky fuck!” Henry screamed as he tried to fight off...whoever was in the apartment with them, the boy shaking from his hidden location and pressing his forehead against his knees. He wanted to be safe-he wanted TV man back.

BANG

The blast of a shotgun and a thud echoed throughout the apartment as the door opened. His hands shaking, the boy raised the knife and poised it to attack, though he lowered it at the sight of Henry’s body on the floor, blood pooling on the floor from a gunshot wound to the head and TV man standing in front of it. The hat he usually wore was discarded on the floor, showing his black, slicked back locks that complimented his also black suit. Looming over the boy, he crouched and scooped him into his arms, holding the boy as close as he could and swaying with him in his arms. “My dear boy..are you okay? Did he hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should’ve run home…” His hushed words and apologies soothed Jeremy, as well as the narrow fingers he threaded through his hair to calm him down, pressing kisses to his forehead as he moved away from the body on the floor. 

That was the night he had his first biology lesson, the TV man showing him all the different parts of a body as they removed the evidence of their crime together. He’d learnt about intestines and stomachs and hydrochloric acids, pancreas and brains and hearts...it was all quite fascinating to see up close, especially with someone as interesting and charismatic as TV man explaining everything to him in such great detail and never once yelling at him for wanting to know more. TV man had shown him how to clean the blood off the floor as well, shining what he called a ‘black light’ over the spot where the blood once resided on the floor and showing the lack of marks that sat on the floorboards. It was also the first night he’d called TV man ‘Dad’, the sight of a tear welling in the man’s eye and a smile on his face enough for Jeremy to know he’d done the right thing. 

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

The next awkward moment had been a parent teacher conference. Jeremy had insisted that he was fine, that TV man was too busy, that he ‘simply didn’t have the time’, but as soon as TV man caught word of the conference, he dropped everything he was doing and decided to go. In his words he ‘wanted to see how his dear son was doing’, though Jeremy knew it was because he hadn’t been around for a little while at home. So there they were, the odd pair walking, Jeremy on TV man’s broad shoulders, as he was carried to the school giggling from his spot. 

As they entered the teacher’s office, an audible gasp escaped the woman’s mouth, staring up at the 6”10 man in his pitch black suit and tie as well as the boy by his side dressed similarly. She simply couldn’t believe how tall the man was, looming in the corner as opposed to taking a seat due to the tiny size of the chairs that resided in the room. He was a rather handsome man, his hair slicked back and a smile on his face as he rambled about his son with nothing but pride and joy in his voice as the boy leaned into him. The man’s voice was so projected compared to his son’s quiet one, the boy picking at the loose threads of his sweater as he stared at the floor of the classroom and kicked at the carpet. Charisma dripped from every word the man spoke and all she could think of was how polar opposite the odd pair was. 

After the conference, TV man decided to treat his son, taking him along to get some ice cream and carrying him back to the car. Sure, they were a weird pair. But it worked. They were content in their little cycle and family. 

That was the night they found out about the time powers, TV man throwing a teddy bear towards the bear and being surprised to see the bear’s movements slowed as Jeremy outstretched his hands. An audible gasp left his lips as he took his son’s hands in his own once the teddy bear dropped. “How long have you been able to do that?” The man questioned, though the boy never answered, blankly staring at the area where the teddy bear had once been. They decided to never question it again after that, simply accepting it as part of their strange lives, though they never forgot.

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

“Where’s my son.” He declared as he slammed the door to the lab open, only seeing a ginger girl, a blond haired man and another ginger haired woman all gathered around...something on the floor. Pushing them all aside, he crouched by his son’s side and brushed the hair out of his face, scars littering the expanse of skin, his blue eyes no longer full of that childlike wonder and now riddled with sadness and mourning no man should go through. “My dear boy, the years haven’t been kind to you, have they?” 

Tears brimmed in both men’s eyes as Jeremy finally made the move to lunge into his father’s arms, his body shaking as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into TV man’s shoulder, TV man’s fingers threading through his hair as they always did when his son was sad. “I’m sorry- I didn’t want to- they let me go-” the man’s breath hitched as he sniffled and sobbed, desperately stuttering out a profuse amount of apologises as TV man simply shushed his son and glared the trio in the room. “Which one of you hurt my son. I want answers.” He bitterly declared, his eyes switching between each person and scanning their faces for guilt.

[theofficersacademy]

                                             Emblem of Trust

                            Claude        Myrrh       Camilla       Erk      Mist                           Mozu      Inigo      Shigure      Tibarn      Caeldori                             Python       L’Arachel       Charlotte      Seteth                       Cordelia       Alfonse       Byleth (M)      Soleil     Henry                                   Sara       Siegbert       Patty      Louise    

Week 1

Setting: Bridge of Myrddin (Adrestian side), ???

In the darkness of sleep, a vision comes to you: a man bathed in golden light, with regal antlers sprouting from his head, stands tall atop a mountain. You hear a voice, the same voice that seems to have guided you here, but you cannot make out the words. The man takes a step. Confident and self-assured. The next step hesitates. The third stumbles. The fourth--

The golden light fades abruptly to darkness. A different kind of darkness than before. It’s oily. Viscous. The kind that rears nightmares.

“....interference.... how vexing....” You recognize the voice from the other night, but as they speak, you hear a loud buzzing . “...no helping... Two groups, 24 souls… does not depend on your strength, nor wisdom, but the ability to touch the heart of he who calls himself the embodiment of distrust.”

Some of you awaken as if from a daydream on a march to Gronder Field, on the Adrestian side of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. For those who remain, your vision turns grainy and static fills your ears.  An ice cold hand touches your shoulder, pushes into your chest, squeezes your heart and begins the slow process of pulling it out. Just as you see a few more figures approach you, your heart is pulled out. With the vision of a still-beating ghostly heart still in your minds, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, gasping for breath. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a flock of crows caw as they take flight from the trees.

Things to note:

The first group consists of Mist, Tibarn, Charlotte, Byleth (M), Camilla, Myrrh, Sara, Siegbert, Mozu, Seteth, Louise, Python, and Patty. The second group consists of Caeldori, Erk, Alfonse, Soleil, Cordelia, Shigure, Inigo, Claude, Henry, and L’Arachel.

You are all in your school uniforms. Though no mounts accompany you, those with access to mounted classes may find your personal mount among the draft horses and army wyverns in the area. If you manage to find them, they will be drawn to you and you’ll be able to ride them into battle.

Weapons are available, but only the first group actually has them in their hands. For the second group, weapons are scattered across the ground, hiding in bushes or even in the trees. It would take half an hour to find them all, but you can’t help but feel like this is all just some practical joke.

The second group will feel physically drained for the first day or so, experiencing chest aches and becoming sensitive to light. It’s an experience that’s incredibly similar to being drained by a Nosferatu spell, but more severe. Magic users will quickly notice how it’s suddenly become more difficult to pull off a spell without putting forward even more magical energy than before. The results have an uncanny resemblance to dark magic regardless of the spell’s type: Wind spells are accompanied by a ghastly moan, Fire spells take the form of a skull, etc. 

Down the road you will find a fairly large town, boasting an inn, a general store, and a few smithies. You may not have a single penny to your name, but a couple of intelligent warriors like you should be able to scrounge up the gold if the need arises. The townsfolk give your uniforms strange looks and will be more guarded towards you if you all come in one large group. With the Alliance army coming from the north and the Empire’s from the south, they will have little patience for what looks to them like a band of mercenaries.

Five miles east from where you landed, you come across a pair of golden banners flying side by side. The one to the left is the traditional crest of the Leicester Alliance. You don’t recognize the right one at all: A golden stag rearing, its antlers forming the Crest of Riegan, on a forest green field. Surely this has something to do with the golden prince from your dreams, but then begs the question: how are you going to get an audience with Duke Riegan?

What to do (suggestions):

Gather your bearings by understanding what is happening in the world. You get the feeling that there is a big battle coming up between the Alliance and the Empire, but you don’t know how it came to this. Is it possible to stop the battle?

Make reconnaissance (or supplies) trips into the nearby villages, but try not to arouse too much suspicion.

Try to get your ears into the Alliance camp and talk to Claude somehow.

Short, rapid interactions / asks are encouraged.

Talk to Mod Bren for hints or NPC dialogue / actions to be included in your threads.