#one more severe than the other. but again. she was RIGHT THERE. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 days ago

Text

The Thousand Yard Stare Chapter 1

Summary: Bucky Barnes has served his country well, and at a great personal cost. After being rescued as a prisoner of war, he is struggling as he gets back into civilian life. His newfound PTSD is severe. His friends and family try to help, but he needs a lot more than they can give. His mother signs him up for a Veteran recovery home, where he meets people struggling just like him, and the home director who has her own dark past to deal with. He might just find love along the way as he searches for peace.

Warnings: mentions of physical assault, violence, being taken prisoner; sexual assault/r@pe; PTSD/anxiety/depression/panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares; suicide/minor character death; eventual smut

Next chapter

Bucky woke up screaming again, but his nightmare had morphed into reality. He thrashed in the bindings holding him, fighting against the body that was pinning him down.

“It’s me! Buck…it’s me!” a voice yelled in his ear.

Bucky froze, his mind trying to catch up. It wasn’t bindings twisted around his sweaty body, they were sheets. On the bed he was sleeping on. At home. Home. He looked at the person holding him and blinked, his widened eyes adjusting to the darkness. It was Steve, his best friend, who was staying at his parents house to help him…help him.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath and his head fell back on the pillow as his body slowly relaxed from fight or flight mode. He could hear his mother, Winnie, behind Steve somewhere, crying quietly as her husband and Bucky’s father, George, held her, whispering reassuring words to her as they watched him struggle. Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder as he adjusted the tightened sheets and blankets around him. “Thanks, punk,” Bucky said, but it came out as more of a grunt from how hoarse his voice sounded from screaming in his sleep. He’d been home for a little over a year now, but the nightmares never ceased. Sometimes they weren’t as vivid, his mind giving him a chance to get at least some rest, but other nights like tonight they were relentless, spitting one bad memory at him after another, the pain feeling real, the people looking real like they were right in front of him again, the heat, the sun, the stuffy, tiny room, sand itching in every crevice, the screams…

Bucky shook his head, trying to shake away the nightmare. His hands ran through his sweaty, matted hair as he tried to keep his eyes open, afraid of what he’d see when they closed. “I’m sorry everybody,” he said louder. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

George let go of Winnie and stepped up to Bucky’s bed as Steve helped right the blankets around him. “Buck, we really think you should reconsider the recovery home.” Bucky shook his head immediately but George reached out and gripped his face, making Bucky look at him. Bucky was surprised to see real tears in his father’s eyes. George rarely cried, and to see his face so torn and helpless broke a piece of Bucky’s heart. “Bucky, please,” George said, his lips trembling. “Whether you like it or not, you need help that we aren’t able to give. And I desperately want to give you that help, but I don’t know how. Your mother and I have enough to cover the cost. Just please��” George’s tears spilled over and he sniffed hurriedly. “We can’t lose you. Please.”

Bucky’s own tears started to well up in his eyes. He knew George was right. He needed help. He didn’t like admitting it, he didn’t want to look weak. He wanted to be strong for those he’d lost along the way, who didn’t make it out of being a prisoner of war like he did. But he was so tired. He could feel his mind cracking like it did when he was captured, and it scared him. He slowly nodded at George as he closed his eyes and his tears finally fell.

***

“So what’s he currently taking?” Y/N asked as she took detailed notes.

“Venlafaxine, or Effexor,” Winnie stated, looking at her own notes. “At night sometimes he’ll take an Ambien to help him sleep, but it mixes with the Effexor badly and makes him drowsy or dizzy the next day, or gives him pretty severe headaches, so he tries not to. But he just…” Winnie trailed off, her voice wobbling with emotion. “He barely sleeps. He wakes up screaming almost every night. We don’t know what to do–”

“And how could you?” Y/N said quietly, reaching her hand out and taking Winnie’s hand. “No one could ever prepare for something like this. But you’re doing the right thing in asking for help. I’m glad he’s finally come around to the idea of coming here,” she smiled kindly.

“So am I,” Winnie smiled back, wiping away the fallen tears. “When does he start?”

***

Bucky, his parents, Steve and their other close friend Sam all pulled up to the recovery home a week later. Bucky looked at it in awe. It didn’t look like a sterile facility or treatment center. It was a literal house. An old Victorian house that had been renovated, with a surround porch, a large front yard that was well manicured and flower bushes along the edges. In the front drive area was an old 1950s, two-toned turquoise blue and white Chevy truck that was in immaculate condition. Near the road at the corner of the lot was a sign that read “Mama’s House: Recovery and Rehabilitation.”

“Nice place,” Sam commented as he took out Bucky’s bag from his parent’s trunk. “Looks like it belongs on the front of a postcard.”

“I like the name,” Steve said as he took in the house. “Very homey.”

Bucky nodded along with their comments. They all headed up the porch and toward the front door. George rang the doorbell and gave the door a few knocks. There was a chorus of barks and raised voices as the doorbell rang and Bucky’s brow furrowed.

The door opened to a man in a military green t-shirt and jeans, holding a large, silver-colored cane corso dog back by the collar. “Teddy, you fucker. Hi!” the man said, waving at everyone. “Sorry! He’s the home dog, didn’t quite graduate from service dog training. Which one of you is the newbie?” Bucky stepped forward, raising his hand slightly and giving the man a tight lipped smile. “Good to meet you,” the man held his hand out and Bucky hesitantly shook it. “I’m Scott Lang. Staff Sergeant in the Air Force. This is Teddy,” he gestured to the huge dog. Bucky held out a hand to Teddy and let him sniff him, which only made Teddy more excited as he pulled Scott closer and started licking Bucky’s hand. “Oh, you must be a good one, otherwise Teddy would have bitten you,” Scott laughed then turned and greeted everyone else. “The boss is out back. Come on!”

They all followed Scott through the house, looking around quickly at the old character of the home mixed with modern furnishings and amenities. As they came through the large kitchen to the back door Bucky was greeted with more people outside in a huge backyard. They were all doing different things. Gardening in one corner of the lot, some others playing basketball in another corner, two people sunbathing in a pergola covered fire pit area in the middle of the yard, and near the back he could see a few more buildings that were built beyond the main property with some more people coming in and out of them.

“Y/N!” Scott called out. He let go of Teddy who bounded out into the yard, quickly going up to every person and greeting them with a quick lick and tail wag before he ran up to a woman in the gardening area. She had looked up when Scott called and smiled brightly at him and the newcomers. She stood and dusted off her knees and gardening gloves, taking them off before petting Teddy and letting him lick her face.

“Thanks Scott! Hey Winnie!” she called back and waved.

Bucky gave his mother an amused look. “What? Someone had to come and check this place out,” Winnie teased him as she smiled and waved back to Y/N.

As Y/N approached he looked her over. She was pretty, short, and curvy, the overalls she was wearing snug around her hips and stomach and her sports bra leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was tied up and as she removed her sunglasses Bucky’s eyes slightly widened. Beautiful, he thought. Her bright smile stayed as she greeted Winnie first with a hug. “I’m sorry I’m not more presentable, I lost track of the time,” she laughed and patted off some more dirt. “Good to see you again,” she said sincerely. “And you,” she turned to Bucky, giving him a once over, “must be Bucky.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded, giving her a polite, small smile. She walked up to him with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Can I shake your hand?” she asked, looking up at him. Bucky blinked before nodding and holding his hand out to her. She carefully took it and shook his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said, her voice sounding gentle. “Welcome to Mama’s House.” She then released his hand and turned to the others. “And who are these strapping young men?”

Sam preened at the attention, Steve laughing and George scoffing. “Sam Wilson, friend of the family,” Sam said, walking forward with a flirtatious smile and shaking Y/N’s hand. Y/N giggled and then turned to Steve.

“Steve Rogers, also a friend of the family,” Steve said, shaking her hand and smiling.

“George Barnes, father,” George said while shaking her hand. “Though I don’t know how young or strapping I am.”

Y/N then fully laughed, and Bucky couldn’t seem to stop the full smile that spread on his face. Her laugh was contagious, loud, and boisterous, ringing through the air like its own melody. She covered her mouth to quiet herself as she turned to them all. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet all of you. Would you like a tour?”

“Yes!” Sam said, looking eagerly at the house and the yard.

Y/N smiled then walked ahead of them all to the house. Bucky did a double take when he saw her back turned to them. Beneath the overalls and the sports bra were multiple long, deep scars across her back, running from the tops of her shoulders to where he couldn’t see anymore. The skin was stretched on the edges and pink in the middle of each scar. He looked toward Steve and Sam next to him who were also staring. They exchanged glances of concern before quickly falling instep.

Y/N showed them each room and had Bucky drop his bag in what would be his room. He was grateful that he wouldn’t have to share with anyone. The house was beautiful, well decorated and stocked with everything that anyone could need while staying there. It was like her own little bed and breakfast that she took immense pride in, and it showed as they walked through the house. It was well lived in, but clean and tidy.

She took them outside and showed them around the yard, then to the back buildings just off the main lot. “These are our activity and rehab buildings,” she said, walking up to the first one. “This is the rage room.” Y/N opened the door and showed them a large room filled with broken old TVs, stereos, speakers, kitchen appliances, and overall junk. In a smaller, glass walled off room were bats, hammers, and axes hung on the wall off to the side behind a thick pane of glass. “We always have someone supervising when someone wants to use the rage room. No one has access to the weapons without the supervisor key. I would like to think the point of this room is pretty obvious,” she smirked as she closed the door.

“There’s a scream room inside the therapy building,” she said as they moved to the next building. It looked more professional, with small walled off rooms as offices. “This is where most of everyone’s therapy sessions will take place. Of course that’s changeable if you so choose and your therapist is up for it. We’ve had people just take walks around the property or stay in their rooms. Whatever works for you.”

Y/N then went to the next building. “This is the greenhouse. We have the open garden in the yard and then this for more delicate things to grow. We use this for therapy as well.”

“This next building is for physical therapy,” she said as they moved on. Inside was what looked like a small gym, all kinds of equipment littered along the floor and a space off in the back that had lockers and another enclosed area that had bathrooms and showers. “It’s also a gym, not just for those who need regular physical therapy. Exercise can be great therapy.”

“And lastly, this is the comfy building,” Y/N said, her smile brightening again. It was obvious this was her favorite space. As they stepped in Bucky felt a sense of calm overcome him. The space was cozy, with every surface covered in pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. In one corner of the room was a caged off area. “That’s where we have our monthly pet playdates,” Y/N pointed to that corner. “The local animal shelter brings in some dogs or cats and we play with them. We also help sponsor a yearly adoption drive. And over there,” she pointed to a walled off area, “is the cuddle room.” She led them over to it and opened the door. Inside was a king sized bed and a couch off to the side, with a small table and a mushroom lamp. “I’m a certified cuddler, which sounds ridiculous, I know,” she said as Sam snickered in the corner, Steve slapping his arm, “but it’s extremely important for those who are learning to get comfortable being touched again. This kind of thing was very helpful for me during my rehabilitation, so I’ve made a space for it here.” Bucky gave her a short glance. She had gone through rehabilitation? For what? He quickly looked back at the bed and the couch. “The room is soundproof, so if anyone ever just needs to have a good cry, it’s a great spot for it. Anyways,” she led them all back out to the main area. “Any questions so far?”

“You taking any new cuddling clients?” Sam asked cheekily. He dodged Steve’s arm.

“Not at this time, unfortunately,” Y/N laughed. “Unless you’re a retired, struggling veteran?” Sam’s smile slipped from his face and his lips pursed as Steve eyed him wryly. Y/N huffed a laugh and then turned to Bucky and his parents. “We also do group therapy if anyone feels more comfortable with that, as well as group outings in the community. In a few weeks we’ll be going out for drinks and karaoke at the bar nearby. So, if you’d like we can go back to the house and get you settled in, and then we’ll discuss the rules and all that not-so-fun stuff.”

Bucky nodded and they all went back to the house. Y/N chatted with them as Bucky got moved in, getting his things set up slowly and methodically. When he was done they all moved downstairs to her personal office. Y/N sat at the chair at the desk while they all sat opposite her on chairs and a couch further back. “Okay, so, the not-so-fun stuff,” Y/N said, pulling out a file that had Bucky’s name on it. “Winnie already set up the payment and insurance information, and your prescription has been moved to a pharmacy here. I’ve been in contact with the VA, but of course it’s the VA, so who knows when that will be helpful,” she rolled her eyes. “Bucky,” she watched him carefully. “The house rules are breakfast will be served at 8:30 a.m., lunch at 1:00 p.m., and dinner at 6:00 p.m. If you don’t want to eat with us, you don’t have to. You’re an adult, so I’m not going to tell you when to go to bed, but I do lock up the house between 11 p.m. and midnight, so if you don’t have your key, the porch swing has a long pillow on it, but you're out of luck til the morning. If you have plans and will be out overnight, please let me know. Capiche?” Bucky nodded. “Everyone is assigned certain chores around the house and scheduled times for each of the buildings out back. You are welcome to either use them during your time slots or not, the only one you’re not allowed to miss is your sessions with your therapist. If you feel like you need more time in one versus another, we can figure out a time that won’t interfere with other people's times.” Bucky nodded again. “Each person living here right now is here because they need help. Every single one of them is dealing with some form of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and some of them need physical therapy, too. Common courtesy like not going into other people’s rooms, being aware of other’s space and things, and general kindness and civility are expected and enforced. If we all can’t get along while we’re healing, then more serious measures will be taken. And lastly,” she glanced at his parents and his friends, “you are free to leave whenever you want.”

“But–” Winnie started, looking worried.

“This is not a prison, and I am not your warden,” Y/N interrupted her. “You need to be here because you want to be here and get better. Not because your parents want it or expect it, or your friends, significant others, a job, the military, whatever else. Only you,” she said it seriously, her previous softness leaving her face. Bucky frowned but he nodded solemnly. “However, if after a period of time it seems no progress or steps forward have been taken, then I can ask you to leave if I feel we are not the right fit for you here. Sound good?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky said again.

“And none of this ‘ma’am’ stuff,” Y/N waved off his words. “Just Y/N is fine.”

Bucky smirked. “Yes, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled widely at him. “Well,” she looked at her phone. “It’s time for me to start getting dinner ready. You can say goodbye to your family and friends and then we’ll go from there.” She stood from the desk and everyone followed her. She led them back out to the front porch and Bucky turned to his family at the bottom of the steps.

Sam stepped forward and hugged him, giving him a hard pat on the back. “You can do this, man,” Sam said, nodding at him with a confident smile. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, looking away.

Steve stepped up next and gave Bucky a longer hug. They had been friends since childhood, and if anyone knew how much Bucky was struggling, it was Steve. Steve squeezed him harder before pulling away and holding his arms. “I’m here for you, no matter what you need, k?” Bucky nodded with a small smile. “Till the end of the line,” Steve said, holding out a hand.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky answered, clapping his hand into Steve’s as they hugged each other one more time.

Winnie was beside herself as she stepped up and held Bucky. “I’m so proud of you for doing this, James. We love you so much,” she cried.

“Love you, too, Ma,” Bucky said, hugging her tight before turning to his dad.

George was fighting back tears, but stepped up and held Bucky’s face like he did that night a few weeks before. He stared at him for a moment before pulling him into a hug. “My boy,” George sniffled. “My beautiful boy. I’m proud of you. For all you’ve done, and all you will do.” Bucky felt his eyes fill with tears. He and his dad had always shared a special bond. Being away from him was going to be hard. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispered. They pulled apart and George held Bucky’s face one last time before turning away and walking with the others to the car. They all waved goodbye before driving away, Bucky raising a hand before they disappeared. He breathed deeply, quickly wiping away the wetness in his eyes before turning to face Y/N. She was still at the top step, and gave him a warm smile.

“You alright?” Y/N asked.

Bucky nodded as he walked back up the stairs. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she said simply. “Would you feel up to meeting everybody or would you like to rest?”

“I can meet everyone,” Bucky said. He wasn’t feeling social, but he could at least get all the weird greetings out of the way.

“Awesome,” she brightened again and turned back to the house.

Bucky met all the other veterans in the home. Scott, who he’d met before, was the class clown, always trying to get everyone to smile. Wanda was quiet, kept to herself, but kind. Her brother Pietro was there as well, and the complete opposite of her. He was loud, vivacious, and extremely flirty. Bucky had to hold back a laugh when Y/N very quickly and subtly put him in his place. Bruce was the oldest out of everyone, and even quieter than Wanda, but he and Y/N seemed to have a special bond between them, almost like he was a father figure to her. And lastly there was Clint. He was jittery, animated, and couldn’t seem to stop moving. He wore hearing aids, and at times would just give up speaking and start signing to Y/N, who was able to sign back to him.

“We’re all a little mad here,” Clint had said, giving Bucky an exaggerated wink. “That’s an Alice in Wonderland reference. Have you seen it? The newer one? I thought it was good. Some people didn’t think so but I liked it. So what are you here for?”

“Clint!” Y/N whisper-yelled at him, her wide eyes staring at him incredulously.

“What? We’re all fucked up. I’m just wondering why he’s fucked up,” Clint said like it was the most simple thing in the world.

Bucky huffed a laugh. “It’s okay. I’m, uh, dealing with PTSD and nightmares and uh…a few other things,” he answered, trying to be open with these new people he was going to be living with.

“Huh, yeah me too,” Clint said, wide-eyed as his head nodded frantically. “PTSD, depression, suicidal ideation, manic episodes, memory loss, lost my hearing,” he pointed to his ears, “but I gotta get better for my kids, ya know? I’ve got 3. Do you have kids? A wife? Or maybe a husband? Sorry I don’t mean to assume. I’m straight, but there’s nothing wrong if you’re not. Whatever floats your boat, ya know?”

Bucky smiled wider, enjoying Clint’s run-on thoughts. “No kids. No wife. No husband. Not really looking for anything like that right now,” he said.

Clint talked his ear off until Y/N called everyone in for dinner. As they all sat and ate, Bucky got used to the noise, the voices talking over each other, the different conversations going on, passing plates and dishes over and over. It was nice compared to how quiet his parents were, like they were walking on eggshells around him. After dinner they all started to disperse and Bucky went back up to his room. He finished unpacking the last few small things he had left and then sat on his bed, looking around the room. He had a view of the backyard and could see Teddy playing fetch with Y/N outside. He watched them for a minute, smiling at Teddy standing on his hind legs and being at eye level with Y/N, if not a smidge taller than her, as he licked her face. He could faintly hear her protesting as she shoved him off and threw the ball again, making him streak across the yard again.

Soon after she headed inside with Teddy and Bucky decided he was ready for bed. It had been a long day of driving, unpacking, and being friendly, and he felt exhausted. Just after he was dressed in his pajamas and brushed his teeth he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see Y/N standing there in her pajamas and Teddy sitting next to her but wagging his tail excitedly at seeing Bucky.

“Hey Bucky, mind if I come in for a minute?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky agreed and stepped aside. She walked in and headed for the chair in the corner while Teddy sniffed and licked Bucky’s hands and followed him to his bed. Bucky scratched his ears as he sat on the bed again, smiling as Teddy settled his head on Bucky’s knee.

“I’m sorry to interrupt as you're getting ready for bed. But I figured we should go over your schedule,” she said.

“Right, sounds good,” Bucky agreed. As she pulled out a paper and unfolded it she read over his schedule, making notes on her phone of things that needed changing. “And lastly your comfy room times will be on Friday nights from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m. I know it’s kinda late, and at the beginning of the weekend, so if we need to move it we can figure something out if you have plans.”

“I don’t think I’ll need that,” Bucky said, his voice coming out harsh.

Y/N blinked at him. “Why not?”

“I just don’t,” Bucky said firmly, not looking at her.

Teddy’s head picked up at Bucky’s change in demeanor and bumped Bucky’s chin with his nose, a short whine coming from his throat. Y/N leaned forward in the chair, setting the paper aside. “Your mom alluded to the fact that you may have had something happen that you aren’t willing to talk about. I understand–”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky said, glaring at her.

Y/N didn’t seem angry or taken aback by his outburst. She merely sighed as she watched him. “I do, Buck. More than you could imagine.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing at her as they stared at each other. He had given the full report of what had happened to him to the doctor and commanding officer when he was rescued, because that’s what he was supposed to do, but no one else. He had a suspicion that his parents had some idea of what may have happened, but he wasn’t willing to talk about it with anyone, at least not now. But the look in Y/N’s eyes made him pause.

“Just meet with me once, and then if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again,” Y/N said imploringly.

She had a knowing look in her eye that made him curious, so after a moment he nodded. “Fine. Just once.”

“Just once,” Y/N agreed, a small smile on her face. She grabbed his schedule, stood and walked over to him, leaning down to scratch Teddy’s head before turning to the door. “I’m just down the hall, so if you need anything let me know. If those nightmares come back, me and Teddy will come running.”

Bucky patted Teddy one more time before Teddy scurried off with Y/N. She gave Bucky one last smile before closing his door. Bucky wondered at what she had said. How could she know what he’d been through? He’d been trained for torture, and yet nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he’d gone through. He shook his head and laid down, trying to calm himself before sleep took him. He really hoped it wouldn’t be too bad tonight.

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 1 #pow!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #curvy reader #trauma

96 notes · View notes

stardancerluv · 1 day ago

Text

What the Emperor Wants

Part Seventeen

Summary: Reader is visited. Geta & his future empress share a moment.

Notes/Warnings: No warnings, some fluff, some angst, some dated views on religion & gods, dated views on communicating with the dead.

Pallas parts of a woman’s attire.

Thank you so much for reading!

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback is always welcome! 💐 If you would like to be tagged. Just ask! 💐

In may have been a short while but you had grown used to sitting off to the side behind Geta for everything from outside of the royal domus to this one or the one in country. It felt comfortable. It felt safe. But this was the first time you sat right beside him.

Some eyes flickered your way and when you caught them most looked away. A few who didn’t, you then looked away. But that was a only small handful.

Idly, you wondered if one of those here now were brazen enough to threaten you and then attend the banquet welcoming Geta’s mother. For a passing moment you could feel the cold metal against your throat. Quietly, you shrugged off the ill thoughts you would not allow that person to bring shadows to the feels of excitement you felt.

A herald, proudly announced his mother. There were cheers, clapping, hands over hearts and fists in the air.

You happily clapped. She may have said things possibly to upset you; but you knew how serious, nervous your own had been when your elder brother married. So you understood her emotions. You didn’t like them, but you understood.

You watched as she settled not far from you and Geta. Though an empty place was near here. You knew it was where Caracalla would be. You wondered idly where he would be.

At the memory of your mother, silently you sent her a prayer, you wished reached her in the afterlife. Hopefully, Pluto would allow her to hear the love of a daughter.

You followed Geta’s lead as you have before and sat. You relaxed once glasses began to clink, food began to be consumed and the hush of whispers and voices filled the air, laced by the beautiful playing of a lyre. You had heard, his mother was fond of those strings being plucked.

“Blossom?”

You resisted the urge to flinch. Geta’s voice was low, comforting.

“Yes?” You gave him a side long glance., while a smile played on your lips.

You had taken notice that the inky black was sharper around his eyes, and the sweet smelling powders, took and hid the flush of the anger that had burned so hotly in him. He was looking incredibly handsome.

“You looked far away. Are you in good spirits?”

You nodded. “Yes. Your words had given me great comfort.”

“Good.”

He sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, yet you felt under the table as he grabbed your hand and held your hand. He brought it to his thigh. His hand rested over yours.

Moments later, you heard a sharp chirp, before four tiny hands landed on your shoulder. You gave Dondas a glance. “Hello Dondas.” You greeted softly.

“Brother, you thought I’d be late didn’t you?”

Caracalla said in a soft, singsong voice, his overly warm hand rested on your shoulder just beside Dondas’s small ones and glancing at Geta, he had rested his other hand on his brother’s shoulder. He bent between the two of you, a lopsided smile was across his face.

“Not terribly so. Mother on the other hand may have.”

He giggled, more childlike than the ones you had heard when they were in the royal box.

“I wouldn’t miss a banquet for her.”

He appeared to waver on his feet. You wondered idly if he had more wine than he should before arriving. Standing again he slipped away from the two of you. Though, it was not before Dondas jumped from your shoulder to Caracalla. It landed, scuttled up one of the many colorful fabrics that hung and were twisted around him.

You glanced as he went over their mother, a strained look came over her face. You’d know that look on anyone.

*******

As the night grew on, and several dishes had been passed and glasses had been filled and refilled. Exhaustion, grew heavier on you. You could see as a cloud of it appeared to cross Geta’s eyes more than once.

With a gentle tug one you were familiar with you allowed yourself to be drawn closer to Geta.

“Yes, Geta.” You said barely above a whisper.

You were not entirely certain how to address him, especially in the presence of his mother.

“Sleep is attempting to claim me. And I am sure it is trying to claim you. Shall we walk back to my chambers and yours ?”

“Yes, please.”

*******

A handful of praetorian guards were close. You felt as if your every move was looked over. Did their opinion matter? Did they even concern themselves with his decision to make you his empress. Your stomach churned with all of the foods you had over the course of the evening.

*******

The walk to your chambers felt shorter than any other time. You were met with the brief halt outside the door to what had become your room.

“Check her room. All of you. I don’t want any corner, any shadow illuminated.” Geta’s sharply ordered.

Their armor, their swords and their feet jangled and thundered louder as they past the two of you.

After the last one passed the two of you in the passage way, a lone torch only flicked from the wall. You gasped as Geta, suddenly pulled you took him. His solid body, was against yours. It stole your breath. You barely saw a flash of his dark eyes, which were even darker with the ebony ink that still traced them. His lips found yours. They stole and pulled a kiss from you. Your lips responded in turn. It had felt like, eons since the last time they touched.

Distantly, there was the loud sound of the guards returning the door that separated the two of you.

You both parted, your heart like horses at a strong gallop and the warmth of the wine you drank was stronger.

The door opened. “Her chambers are safe.” Gallus, informed. You recognized him from other times Geta had spoken with him.

“Stay in her room while she slumbers. Just before Sol turns the sky from a rich purple to a clear blue, keep watch over her and fetch me. Then you shall retire till the moon in its brilliance in high once again in the sky.” Geta, ordered.

“Yes, sire.” Gallus, nodded.

You were surprised that he would fetched at such a time in the day or even at all. Looking his way, his eyes flickered and briefly met yours.

“Till dawn.” He said.

You bowed gently. The act felt right at that moment. “Till dawn.”

*******

“You will not know that I’m here.” Gallus told you sometime later.

“I am not terribly sure of this. But I will take your word.”

“Yes, my augusta.”

You glanced at him after the reply he had given you. You but his gaze did not meet you, but appeared to be on the hard ground before him.

You were not sure if it was right or even the particular act would be frowned upon. But you loosened some of the twists of your hair. As you finally laid for the evening. Left in your under stolla with the scarves in their colorful brilliance laid on one of your chairs. Like that of an artists work on one of the walls.

It was still rather stirring within you, there was a lounge, two chairs and this bed that was much too big in your chambers. You had only had some bedding and stool and the stool as still something you had grown accustomed to.

Lying in the bed, a whirl of emotions twisted and moved within you. A chill lingered from having that knife at your throat made you pull the blanket higher.

*******

You found yourself on a cool, stone bench. Blue, silvery water lapper at the dark gray and black stone that crested the water and were under foot.

A great dread and loneliness came over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, wondering what you could possibly doing there. It was unlike anything your eyes had ever fallen on.

Feeling, a sharp chill graze your shoulder you looked up and gasped.

“Mother!” You leapt up, with no hesitation you threw your arms around her. She felt frailer, colder than she ever had in life. Your touch was feather light. You pulled back.

“Mother.” You said softly.

She nodded. “I heard your prayer.”

Tears, sprang from your eyes.

“The gods favor you, they favor him at this time. They grant us this gift.”

She came and sat beside you, cool fingers that barely you felt brushed aside your tears.

You took her hand, in both of yours. You wished you could give it some of your warmth.

“Oh, mother I…” You stumbled over over what to say. There was so much. “I don’t even know words to speak.”

She nodded, a smile not as radiant as a summers day touched her lips but it was a smile.

“Words are on a breeze my daughter but your heart has spoken.”

You squeezed her hand, knowing she had heard your prayer.

“Oh, mother.”

Her hand easily took yours had was graced with the precious ring and delicate bracelet Geta had given you. She gently touched the ring.

“My sweet girl, wild as an untamed mare.” She looked up at you. “A flame that burns brightly within you is why the gods chose you for him. You both are very strong, powerful flames.”

“It is not just curly, fiery strands that crown his head.”

A shadow of the amusement that only your mother could make fell over her face.

“Even here you have that flame that had caused so much worry in my heart..”

“Where is here?”

“A place where I am now, and hopefully you will not bring any light to for a very long time.”

“Why am I here now then?”

“Your being, you came close. Your flame danced on its wick but remained strong. And since, the gods do guide him and they allowed you to see my acceptance.”

“Mother.”

********

A warm hand, a gentle touch grazed your shoulder, startled you awake.

Terribly ruffled curls fell into his forehead as he looked down at you.

“Geta.”

“Yes, blossom.”

You sat up and not caring at all; you hugged him. You needed his solid warmth. You trembled as his arms, strong and warm wrapped around you. His hand gently moved up and down your back.

“This is this is the time between night and day. It is our time.”

Purple light flooded into your room. Gently pulled back and nodded after meeting his eyes.

“I am grateful for that. I had missed you.”

“And I you.”

You held each other then. At that moment, you don’t know why he needed you, but you knew why you did. You enjoyed his solid warmth.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringwhore @justalittlebitshy @littlemissholy

28 notes · View notes

larluce · 1 day ago

Text

LETS PLAY!!

What do you think is this merthur story about?

Fire and smoke, burning and suffocation, was the only thing Merlin could see and feel.

"Satan can take many forms!" He could distinguish the voice of the king that was superimposed on the others who shouted 'Witch!' in the background. "Like this witch, who has taken the appearance of a man to confuse my son and induce him to commit the worst of sins. Do not be fooled! They call themselves healers, but with their spells and potions they corrupt our children."

Merlin would have laughed if he had the strength. If he were really a woman, he would not be in this situation to begin with. But he supposed that it suited the king for people to believe that. Maybe he even tried to convince himself that this was the truth.

That his son was not a sodomite.

The flames rose and burned his skin more intensely. He let out a heartrending scream.

Arthur... even his thoughts sounded weak, but he made an effort think of Arthur.

He remembered when he saw him for the first time, entering his medicinal herbs and potion stant. His pearly smile, his sky-colored eyes, his blond hair like gold. He remembered their walks through the fields, when they kissed for the first time under his own roof, his laughter, when they gave themselves to each other for the first time with such passion and, yet, so much innocence in that small cabin abandoned in the middle of the forest.

Tears ran through his eyes. How could such a beautiful thing be a sin?

Another burst of fire. He shouted again, but the scream quickly turned into a cough. Hopefully the smoke would kill him before the fire.

Think of his voice the pain was unbearable, but the memory of his beloved made it a little less unbearable. He could almost hear his voice saying "I love you" in the ear after making love. His voice saying his name as if savoring it in his mouth.

But suddenly he heard the voice of his beloved farther away, still saying his name, but this time screaming in horror.

"Merlin!" his screams were almost as heartbreaking as his, as if he were also being burned in flames. "No! Let me go! Merlin!"

Merlin made an effort and looked up. He tried to distinguish something, but couldn't see anything. There was too much smoke.

No... no, no, no, no ¡No! a despair grew within him, even greater than his fear to death. He could not die without seeing him! Not without seeing his face one last time.

"Let me see him!" he prayed to the heavens then with all his might. "Let me see him, just one more time, please."

And God granted it... only not in the way he expected.

...

Several centuries later...

Mildred Duffy, a 60-year-old woman, looked out the window with a motherly smile as the principal guided another interested couple to the playground to meet some of the children. That orphanage had become almost a second home for her and she loved those children as if they were her own. It would always be a great joy to find each child a home, a family, even if later she would spend weeks missing their little faces and worrying about their destiny. She turned her attention to the even younger children that were in the same room, who were drawing at the tables or playing with dolls peacefully on the floor. No couple who saw them would believe how murky the past of many of them were just by seeing them like that, in their purest innocence.

"Did you send for me, Miss Duffy?" a voice took her out of her reverie.

He turned to meet one of the young volunteers there. She suppressed the laughter when she noticed how noticeably tired and stressed she was, with some hairs coming out of her bun and her clothes tugged and stained with paint.

"I did… Claire, right? I need you to keep an eye on the kids while I take care of something".

The girl opened her eyes wide.

"All of them?" The girl's voice rose an octave and Mildred couldn't contain a soft laugh this time.

"Careful, Claire. They can smell your fear."

"I'm not afraid of them". The girl became defensive immediately. "It's just that I didn't think they were going to be—"

"Such little devils? They are" Mildred interrupted smiling. "But only if you let them. You've made the mistake of seeing them as helpless children in need and they have used the compassion you have towards them in their favor". She shook her head in disapproval. "Pitty is the last thing you should feel for them, Claire. It's okay for you to be kind, but there is a thin line between being kind and being permissive. Show them who has the authority!" she tapped her on the back, encouraging her, before heading to the door. "They are all yours".

…

Mildred went down the creaky wooden stairs, unhurriedly. She'd only had to file some papers in her office. Something that hadn't taken more than 20 minutes, so she decided to give 15 minutes more for herself. She was confident Claire wasn't having any problems. Besides, she was an old woman, she also deserved a break.

She didn't intend to do anything other than wander around the place for a while. She wanted to make a mental note of what could be changed in the infrastructure, aesthetically speaking, such as the color of the walls, which seemed to come from the same palette of opaque colors for more cheerful colors, for example, or some furniture that didn't seem to combine with the space. Mildred sometimes believed maybe she should've been an interior designer instead of a tutor because of how much those details bothered her.

But Mildred's plans changed as soon as she finished going down the stairs.

"That he deserved it, he deserved it" she heard a little voice. "Doesn't mean you didn't do wrong, Double C. You know Dimples doesn't like when you're mean to people".

The woman turned in the direction of the voice, surprised. At this time children were either in the playground or in the games rooms, where couples could see them, not hidden in the corridors.

"Okay, okay, I'll drop it. But don't think we've finished this conversation, uh? I should be mad at you too, you know"

She soon found the source of the sound. On one side of the stairs, in a half-hidden corner, a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes was sitting on the floor playing chess… completely alone.

"Don't hurry me" the girl complained to someone who wasn't there, seeing the black pieces in front of her with an infinite concentration. "I'm thinking"

A new maternal smile formed on Mildred's face. She would recognize that girl anywhere.

"Am I interrupting?" decided to make her presence known.

"Of course not, Miss Duffy" said the girl returning the smile. "Prince Cotton Candy and I were playing."

"I see" Mildred said in a particularly animated voice and sat next to her watching the game as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "I didn't know you knew how to play chess. Who taught you, darling?"

"Fairy Dimples"

"Of course" she giggled, tender. The girl probably was making up her own chess rules. "Is she around?"

"He, he is a he" corrected the girl. "And no, Cotton Candy and Dimples fought again for something stupid, and they won't be in the same room until they make up"

"Looks like they fight a lot."

"They do, but they love each other"

"It's good to know that". Miss Duffy decided then to turn a little serious. "Bridget—"

"Brigitta" corrected the girl. "But you can call me Biddy. Prince Cotton Candy calls me that."

"Sorry" she apologized. "Biddy, I don't doubt Prince Cotton Candy and Fairy Dimples are very nice people and great friends, but maybe you could… try to make some new friends? It's not good that you isolate yourself so much from the other children, darling".

"I had other friends" the girl's cheerful voice clouded a bit of sadness. "Jheny and Chris. But they aren't here anymore".

Mildred's heart clenched in her chest. From what the orphanage psychologist had told her, these three had been inseparable… well, at least until the children in question were adopted, leaving little Biddy alone. Prince Cotton Candy and Fairy Dimples appeared shortly after she said goodbye to the last of her two friends.

"Imaginary friends are sometimes created as a defense mechanism to cope with a loss or it may be the result of a major change or significant alteration in a child's life," the psychologist had explained her "But it's nothing abnormal, Mildred, she's 5. Many children have imaginary friends at that age and as soon as they came, they leave, it's not something we should force. I think it's important to clarify her she shouldn't prefer her imaginary friends over the real ones, but beyond that, I don't think you have anything to worry about. "

Yes, maybe she was worrying too much.

"Check!" exclaimed the girl, excited, eating a bishop with her horse and cornered the white king.

"Oh, wow. You really can play chess" Mildred said surprised when she saw the girl moved the pieces correctly.

"Yes, I told you Fairy Dimples taught me"

Mildred frowned and shifted her gaze from the girl to her side, specifically where a second player would be if there was one.

A chill ran through her. Could it be…?

An incredulous laugh escaped her, dismissing those thoughts immediately. Yes, she was definitely worrying too much.

"Right, I forgot" She stood up, briefly resting one hand on the girl's shoulder in a loving manner. "Don't forget to leave that board in its place when you finish, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Duffin" the girl answered cheerfully and dismissed her with her hand in a very adorable way. Mildred smiled. She didn't understand why nobody hasn't adopted that girl yet. She was way too charming.

Well, time to go see how Claire was doing with those little devils.

…

"Double C!" Little Biddy said as if she was calling someone out. "It's your turn".

Silence.

The impatient expression of the girl softened to a more understanding one.

"You know Dimples never stays angry for too long. he's not even avoiding you to bother you. He disappears because he doesn't want to say hurtful things that aren't true… Or at least that's what he told me."

Silence.

The girl laughed.

"Well, don't tell me that, tell him. And remove that sad doggy face already and play. Come on, be a good loser".

Almost immediately afterwards a white bishop rose into the air and, in one quick movement, brought down the black king.

The little girl smiled.

"Checkmate".

...

Now, this originally was a very old draft I had for a another's fandom story that I never finished cause the fandom kind of died in between. But today a started reading my old drafts out of nostalgia and I realised this prompt actually fitted merthur way better than it did for the original pair. I made very minor changes (we got Brigitta in this AU too! :D).

While I never finished the story, I clearly remember how it was going to go, so... What do you think is happening? Share your theories in the reblogs or comments 😄

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #merthur #merlin prompt #my merthur prompts #merthur prompt

24 notes · View notes

the-marshals-wife · 3 days ago

Text

No More Tears (Oz Cobb x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: First fic of the year. 🥂 Writing this was extremely cathartic, as was binging The Penguin twice over my winter break. The brainrot is severe, for which there is no cure but this. Oz is very protective of what's his, and as it turns out, that includes you.

Description: Oz Cobb/The Penguin x Fem!Reader, angst / hurt+comfort (plus a teeny bit of ending fluff) | Rating: MATURE for violent content and adult themes | Warnings: violence and blood, injuries described, mild language, name-calling (not towards Reader), alcohol, drugs mentioned (drops), suggestive themes, pet names (endearing), Reader is injured by a club guest and Oz beats the daylights out of the culprit. | Setting: before the events of The Batman | Word count: 3.1 k

Imagine Oz finding out that you've been hurt, and getting sweet revenge

The throbbing in your temple brings tears to your eyes, and your hands shake as you cradle the side of your face. You draw in a sharp breath, the cool metal of the elevator wall against your back grounding you a bit. Several excruciating seconds later, the doors open, and you resurface from the 44 Below much more battered than when you went in. As the pain starts to intensify, you look for somewhere to retreat out of view. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you weak.

Of course, there was hardly such a place within the walls of the Iceberg Lounge. With few other options, you make a bee-line for the bathroom. No one seems to notice you in your afflicted state as you rush through the dressing area and out into the upper-level of the club. The flashing of the strobe lights normally didn't phase you, but now they feel like ice picks in your eye sockets. Only halfway to your destination and several more flights of stairs ahead, you can barely hear the thundering base of the club music over the pounding of your heartbeat. Suddenly your vision blurs, and you quickly grab onto the railing to steady yourself.

There are people on every side, but they're far too deep in their drinks, drugs, and pleasant company to notice you. For once, you're grateful for it.

"Concussed by some worthless drophead," you mutter, your head swimming. It had been a mistake to look down over the edge.

You stand up to go lean on the wall instead, but you catch sight of your hands. You look down at your fingers to see them smeared with blood. Your stomach twists with sickened realization. When the creep downstairs backhanded you, his ring must have cut you open.

Before you can speak the curses on your tongue, you hear your name being shouted. Even in your dazed state, you recognize the voice of your coworker.

"Y/N," she calls out again, her voice barely rising above the dull roar.

You sway around to face her, and her shock is immediate, as expected.

"Oh-," she exclaims, wide-eyed, "Are you good?"

"Not exactly," you answer, wincing, "Drophead got handsy."

"They always do," she says, shaking her head. Her nervous smile turns to a full grimace. "Oz wants to see you."

The boiling fury in your veins instantly transforms into frigid panic. "You gotta find someone else. I can't do it. He cannot see me like this."

"He asked for you specifically," she replies, shrugging. "You better get up there. Try to hide it with your hair."

With that piece of advice, she walked away. You couldn't blame her. She had her orders, and you had yours. If only they'd come just a few minutes earlier.

Righting yourself, you wipe your bloodied hands on your navy blue skirt, and pull the pins from your hair, letting it fall down around your face. You tousle it with your crimson stained fingers as much as you can, but even if you had a mirror, you know full well that no amount of tugging at your bangs could fully conceal the gash in your brow. Still, it would have to do. You can't keep Oz waiting.

Exhaling, you start the climb back up to his office. The pain in your head burns deep, but at least the dizziness had subsided somewhat. That was the only thing you had in your favor at the moment. Your aching mind reels over what awaited you. Surely Oz would be upset with you. It was your job to keep guests happy, and your face was damning evidence of your failure. It didn't matter if that guest was a privileged scum-sucking loser too strung-out to form an intelligent thought. He was decidedly unhappy, and now you would have to accept the consequences.

Walking back through where you'd just come from and entering the corridor of the sequestered alcove, you can only pray that Oz is somehow distracted enough with business not to look up. The rattling of the parted bead curtain announces your arrival, and as you step through, it's immediately clear that your prayer fell upon deaf ears.

"There she is," Oz greets with a wide smile, "Come on in, sweetheart."

He waits expectantly on the couch by the window, the murky glow of the club lights shining behind him.

In vain, you keep your chin lowered and your hands clasped firmly behind your back.

"You wanted to see me?" you reply, avoiding his eyes.

"Of course I do. I always want to see you, baby," he answers, waving you forward, "Come here and tell me about your night. How are things goin' downstairs? You holdin' up alright?"

Swallowing hard, you obey and sit down on your hands beside him. You feel your limbs trembling as you search for your words.

"It's good. Busy, busy night," you reply, nodding.

Before he even speaks, you can sense Oz's gaze on you, and just how skeptical it is.

"Good? Just good? So stiff all of a sudden!" he scoffs lightheartedly, "You feelin' okay, baby? You're usually my little chatterbox."

You open your dry mouth to answer, deciding to confess the truth, but he's already reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. The revealed wound speaks for itself, and you flinch as strands of your hair catch on the fresh, open skin.

"Who did this to you?"

The restrained rage in his voice sends a chill down your spine.

"Y/N. Who did this thing to you, sweetheart?" he urges.

He gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. Both his touch and his tone are soft, but in his dark eyes there is an unmistakable wrath.

You stare at him in total confusion, unsure if you should feel comforted or in dread. This isn't the reaction you'd expected. Not in your wildest dreams.

"It was...some drophead. Corporate type," you hesitate, composing yourself, "He wanted me to leave with him. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't lay off. Then he got fresh and I pushed away. That's when I caught the backside of his hand with my face. He was hammered, but it was no accident. His ring's what cut me."

Oz sits back, twitching in agitation. "When was this?"

"About ten minutes ago," you reply, "I'll be alright, Oz. I just need to clean up. It's not a big deal."

"The hell it ain't!" he denies.

His outburst startles you a bit, but you could tell it was not towards you.

A heated moment passes, and his temper calms once more. He leans forward again, touching your arm soothingly.

"You ain't done nothing wrong, baby. I'm gonna take care of this," he assures, "Can you describe him to me? He and I need to have a little talk about manners."

You smirk. "Definitely."

☂︎

A few minutes later, you're standing in the corner of the room with a cold drink in one hand, and a towel pressed to your stinging temple in the other. While Oz sent the Twins downstairs to retrieve your assailant, you'd finally gotten a moment to check your reflection in the mirror and inspect the damage. The gash was deep, but luckily not too wide. You would need stitches, and there'd undoubtedly be a scar for you to remember tonight by, but the doctor could wait. With the bleeding slowing at last, you waited with quiet anticipation to see if the sleaze would get a taste of his own medicine. Meanwhile, Oz stands by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking down in silence at the dancing throngs below.

Your shared reverie is broken by the arrival of the Twins, each dragging the man by one of his arms. Somehow, he seems twice as wasted as before. Now he's barely able to hold his head up.

Oz turns around and looks to you, gesturing. "This the gentleman?" He says the last word with no small amount of disdain.

You nod, biting down hard on your lip.

With that, they unceremoniously toss the guy into the chair in front of the vanity.

"Nice work, fellas," says Oz, giving them a pointed look, "Give us a minute here. Don't go too far."

They nod in confirmation and exit as swiftly as they'd come.

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with how close the lowlife is to you again. The familiar smell of vodka, drops, and sweat burns your nose. You half have a mind to dump the rest of your own drink out on his head, if only to douse the odor. The other half of you is afraid of what might happen if you do.

As if he'd read your uneasy mind, Oz invites you over to his side of the room. "Come over here, sweetheart. Why don't you have a seat? You should be resting in your condition."

More than happy to oblige, you set what remains of your liquid painkiller down on the crystal table and return to your place on the couch.

"What's going on," the man finally speaks, his words slurring together. Then he sets his intoxicated gaze on you, and his bloodshot eyes narrow in recognition. "You...I know you..."

You frown, folding your arms over your chest in response.

"You don't talk to her. You talk to me," Oz interjects, stepping forward.

"And...you are?" he replies hazily, furrowing his brow with indignance.

"I'm the manager of this club, pal," he answers, taking on a cool tone of superiority, "Now, I don't know you. Based on that suit you got, I'm guessin' your checkbook is bigger than the average drophead's. And maybe outside of these walls, you're some bigshot who can do whatever he likes, to whomever he likes. But in here, you're in my world."

Before Oz finishes speaking, the man's eyelids begin to flutter. It's quickly becoming clear that he's losing the battle for consciousness.

Oz glances over his shoulder at you exasperated.

"Geez, how many friggin' drops has this sack of crap had?" He snaps his fingers in the guy's face. "Hey pal, you mind joining us here back on planet Earth for a moment? I'm tryna teach you something."

The loser rapidly blinks and rouses, violently wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"There you go, that's better," Oz says, stooping to be eyelevel with the guy, "Like I was sayin'. You're in my world. And here, we got rules. They're very simple. So simple, even a miserable little roach like you can understand 'em."

Oz lightly slaps the man's cheek and stands upright once more. He proceeds to remove his suit jacket and lay it on the nearby vanity. Your pulse quickens as he continues his monologue.

"There are some rules you can bend. Hell, there's even a few you can break once or twice and I'll look the other way. But there's one rule that you never, ever break. And that, is where you messed up, pal."

You're frozen in place, your heart full on racing watching Oz roll up his crisp white shirt sleeves.

"I...wait-just, hold on," the slimeball stammers. Every trace of arrogance had vanished, along with all the color in his face. He scrambles in an attempt to right himself, but he's far too inebriated to escape. At last, he was horrifically aware of situation he was in. He raises his now shaking hands in front of him, and you can't help but grin in satisfaction.

"You never hit a lady," Oz seethes, grabbing the guy's coat collar in his fists, "It seems you need a reminder of that. So I'm gonna give you one won't forget."

A yelp escapes the man's chapped lips as Oz hurls a right hook into his jaw. His arms go limp from the impact, and they only flop about from there as Oz lands another punch. You gape at the massive cut sliced into the guy's cheek by Oz's own ring.

"How do you like it, huh? Stings, don't it?"

In his drug-induced stupor, the drophead makes no attempt to fight back. All he can muster is an agonized moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

This only serves to enrage your boss further. Oz grabs the guy's collar again, this time tugging him forward out of the chair. His skull hits the floor with a nauseating crack. The sound, and the convulsing that follows, doesn't deter Oz, however. He hoists the man up with a strength that surprises you and pushes him against the brick wall.

Miraculously, the pathetic soul was still conscious, if just barely. The blood dripping from his mouth deepens the pit in your stomach, but you don't turn away.

Oz shoves the man's head to turn your direction.

"You think you can come in here and do that to one of my girls? Huh? Look at her face. You piece of rat filth!" he shouts, punching him in his ribs, "How dare you touch her. I oughta cut your hand off and feed it to ya!"

He proceeds to lay into him with a ferocity you can scarily believe. Every blow is more brutal than the last, each one punctuated by infuriated curses. Each time the lucid fool slumps forward from the impact, Oz sends him back with another slug to gut or head. It feels like an eternity passes before he finally has his fill of retribution and lets the man fall at his feet.

You peer at the unmoving heap, searching for signs of life, but your focus quickly shifts back Oz. He stands with his back to you, still muttering incensed profanities between heaving breaths.

This was a side of him you'd caught glimpses of, but never fully witnessed. Perhaps not many had. The fury that flowed through him certainly stemmed from more than revenge for tonight's incident. You imagined there was probably a lifetime of buried rage behind every blow struck. The thought of where such intense anger came from, and how much more there might be deep inside him, made you shudder.

For now though, you were just grateful he tapped into it on your behalf. His violent appetite was satisfied, and you had your payback. It'd hardly been a fair fight, and you couldn't care less. As much as your mind told you that should be afraid in this moment, or at the very least unnerved, you weren't. You felt relieved. More than that, you were mesmerized.

Oz whistles for the Twins, and they promptly return. He produces a dark purple handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes away the blood from his knuckles before acknowledging them.

"Would you fellas be so kind? Our 'guest' needs help finding his sea legs," he invites, slicking his hair back.

It was only an expression, of course. If he didn't succumb to his injuries, you doubted the guy would ever be able to stand again. He wouldn't be backhanding anyone, either. That thought brings a smile to your face.

The identical men hoist the nameless victim up in much the same manner as they'd brought him in. Only this time, with his black and blue face utterly plastered with fresh lacerations, he was nearly unrecognizable. The low gurgling noise emanating from his mouth was the only proof that they weren't propping up a corpse.

"In case I wasn't making myself clear," Oz begins, rolling his sleeves back down, "If you so much as think about coming back in here, I'll carve you up into so many friggin' pieces, only God would be able to find them all."

It sounded like the man tried to vocalize, but it was scarcely more than a whimper.

Oz sneers, "Get this scum outta my sight."

You watch as what's left of your harasser is carried away from view. Just like that, you and Oz are alone once again. As much as you could be anyway, since several of the girls in the dressing area had become aware of the beatdown and were peeping from the other side of the shared window. Surely the whole club would know about what'd just taken place before sunrise. After all, Oz wouldn't do that for just any of the girls here. He didn't even know half of their names; but he knew yours, and he almost beat a man to death to defend it. You shake your head and resolve to ignore the onlookers, trying to come back into your body after the sobering surreal experience.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, baby. But it had to be done," he sighs, putting his jacket back on, "He won't be bothering you no more."

You stand up and walk over to him, "I'm just sorry I couldn't get a punch in."

"Listen to you, little killer over here," he chuckles, "Tell you what. Next time we got a jerk that goes sideways, I'll hold his arms back and you can go nuts on 'em. Deal?"

"Deal," you agree, your playful words turning sincere, "Thank you, Oz. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Yes, I did. Someone disrespects you, they disrespect me too. You bleed, I bleed. I had to make it right," he argues, slightly stern. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "Here. For the doctor. If you need more, you call me."

You softly gasp at the six hundred-dollar bills he holds out.

"This is too much," you begin.

"No, it ain't. I never shoulda let you go down there in the first place. They're friggin' animals," he says, regret in his voice, "You take all the time you need before you come back, alright? Don't worry about it."

You let him place the money in your hand. Tears start to well up in your eyes as you look to him with gratitude.

"Thank you," you repeat.

He reaches to brush your hair away from your eyes, his bruised knuckles grazing your cheek. "Don't you go startin' with the waterworks now," he smiles, "Scars ain't nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. You'll always be beautiful to me."

Anyone who'd spent just one minute with Oswald Cobb knew that he had a way with words, but something about the glint in his eye made you believe that he truly meant these ones.

You chuckle thoughtfully and straighten his tie. Then, leaning in, you press a kiss to his cheek. For a second time that night, you'd taken him by surprise.

Turning to leave, you smirk over your shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

He grins. "No promises, doll. No promises."

#oz cobb x reader #oz cobb x you #oswald cobb x reader #oswald cobb x you #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you #the penguin x reader #the penguin x you #the penguin hbo #oz cobb #oswald cobb #the batman #mywriting #oz cobb x y/n #oswald cobb x y/n #oswald cobblepot x y/n #the penguin x y/n

36 notes · View notes

sashaisready · 3 days ago

Text

Feel The Burn: Chapter 6

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx 3.5k

(Warnings for panic attacks in this chapter)

Hey gang, back again! Thanks for all of the love you've shared for this series, your comments/reblogs really make my day- truly. We've had a lot of lovely Chris lately so thought I'd bring back the mothertucker himself 😁 As always, thank you for any engagement.

“It’s fibula! Fibula!” Lance exclaims in a heightened whisper as he smacks his hand on the table.

“Shh! Don’t let other teams hear you!” you admonish, “and are you sure? It’s definitely not femur?”

“Of course I’m sure! The femur is higher up. The fibula is here,” he pats the spot on his leg in demonstration, his voice strained with frustration. “Can you trust me, please? I know this stuff! It’s my job!”

“I think we gotta go with him,” Kat admits, “he doesneed to know anatomy for his coaching and trainer stuff or whatever…”

Matt and the others nod in agreement as Lance smirks at you victoriously. You sigh and dejectedly scribble down fibula on the answer sheet.

“Fine…but if you’re wrong…”

“I’m not wrong…”

“But if you are…”

“Not an option…and oh,” he jabs the page with his finger, “fibula only has one ‘b’ by the way…”

“And which bone is this?” you ask childishly as you flip him off.

“Well, that depends, it’s actually several bones…”

Kat groans and snatches the answer sheet away from you, “quit it, you guys! You’ve been bickering all through this!”

She’s right, you have. You know that your behaviour has been incredibly juvenile, but you can’t stop yourself. Lance knows exactly how to press your buttons and any attempts to rise above it have been thwarted by your own anger that you can’t seem to keep under control. He just gets under your skin!

And if you are being self-aware, there’s probably still some remnants of hurt simmering under the surface that you haven’t fully worked through yet.

“We’re going to take a short break before the next round,” the bartender announces on the microphone, “and just a reminder for teams to keep it down when we’re reading the questions…”

He looks over pointedly at your table. Lance sits up straight and glares over at the other tables, “Yeah…you heard him – you’re being very disruptive,” he says towards the other teams as he crosses his arms, his tone reprimanding as they stare back incredulously. You manage to stifle a laugh at their indignant faces.

Matt goes up to the bar for another round of drinks as the rest of you settle into the break, the sound of chatting and laughter filling the busy bar as people relax and mingle.

“Soo…” Kat practically shrieks as she drags her chair closer to yours, “now we can talk - tell me EVERYTHING. How did the date go? When am I meeting him properly?! I barely said hi at the party…”

“Oh, is this Chaz?” Lance innocently interjects.

You scoff and glower at him over your shoulder as you turn your body away from him to face Kat, “his name is Chris”.

“Right, Chris. Sorry. Just a very forgettable name I guess…Lotta guys out there named Chris, you know…”

You ignore him and turn your attention back to Kat, “it was great. We went out for cocktails, had a blast. He drove me home. He’s a great guy…” you smile.

“Drove you home after drinking? Red flag,” Lance chimes in from behind you. You ignore him again.

“…he’s…he’s really nice,” you continue on, unable to mask the dreamy smile that creeps onto your face. “He’s very upfront about how he feels, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kinda guy, you know? It’s refreshing…We’re just seeing how it goes, taking each day as it comes, but I really like him. We’re having dinner at the weekend.”

Lance is uncharacteristically silent. You don’t look at him but in your peripheral see that he takes a quiet sip of his drink.

“That’s great,” Kat smiles earnestly as she places her hand onto yours, “I’m really happy for you, babe, you deserve it”.

She's right, you do. You return her smile but suddenly feel very aware of Lance’s presence looming behind you as you share more about the date. He has no smart aleck quips, no sassy putdowns, there’s just a very heavy silence. You can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of your head. You hear him as he shifts awkwardly in his seat, his fingers drumming on the table as if trying to release pent-up energy.

You can’t help but revel a little in his discomfort. After all, he treated you very badly – discarding you like nothing and then accusing you of doing things you hadn’t. He hadn’t seemed to consider that you could bounce back so quickly, or that another man would want you – and want you so unashamedly. More fool him. If this experience had taught you anything, it was not to underestimate yourself or your worth. It may sound petty, but there was some satisfaction in showing him what he was missing.

Matt arrives back from the bar with a loaded tray and begins handing out the drinks, “oh shoot, I forgot Marcy’s vodka soda…” he grumbles.

Out of nowhere you suddenly feel quite overwhelmed, maybe the significance of talking about your feelings for Chris out loud…the unresolved pain from how Lance had hurt you…the exciting but still scary pivot to actively prioritising yourself. It’s a lot. You abruptly feel too hot, far too close to everyone, a tight ache pulsing in your chest as sweat pools at the back of your neck. It feels like your body is screaming that you need to get the hell out of there. You try to lock your focus onto keeping your breathing even as Kat obliviously scolds Matt for his oversight.

“I’ll get it,” you say a little too quickly as you shoot up on your feet and grab your purse, “gonna grab some water anyway…”

“Thanks!” chirps Marcy.

“Okay babe, be quick – they’re starting again soon,” Kat adds.

You nod quickly and make a beeline for the bar, grateful just to have some breathing room again. A brief respite while you try and figure out what's made you freak out...and how to stop it. You order the drinks between shaky breaths, not feeling able to fully fill up your lungs as the bartender eyes you with concern and prepares your order.

“You okay?” Lance asks as he appears from nowhere and slides up next to you.

“Lance, please,” you tell him as you keep your attention on the busy bartender, your voice unfortunately more pleading than demanding, “not now, alright? I don’t want any shit”.

“I’m not here to give you shit,” he leans on the bar, his tone softening, “you looked like you were having a panic attack or something. I came to check you were okay”.

“And make some joke…some needling remark…” you jeer.

“No,” he says firmly.

You look up at him properly for the first time, he’s watching you carefully – his smirk missing for the first time that night. He furrows his brows as he assesses you. He pauses, then lifts his hand as if to touch your shoulder before seeming to think better of it – snapping it back to where it was.

You glance over at your table, your friends oblivious. How did Lance, of all people, pick up on what they’d missed? And you were so sure you were hiding it well…

“I’m fine,” you mutter softly. The bartender gives you the drinks and you add them to the tab, taking a gentle sip of your water. It still feels like you’re struggling to find your breath. You’re seconds away from bolting out of the door. You’ve been anxious before, but have never experienced anything like this.

“I just felt a little-it’s hot in here, is all” you stammer.

He nods, “it is warm, yeah. Hopefully that water helps you feel…cooler”.

It hangs in the air unspoken, but it’s clear he’s not fully buying what you’re selling.

“We don’t have to talk. I’m just going to be over here, to make sure you’re okay,” he takes a step back and gives you physical space.

You roll your eyes and shrug, “do whatever you want. I don’t care”.

“Take a really deep breath,” he says commandingly.

“I don’t need-”

“Just humour me and do it would ya? And I’ll go back to the table and leave you in peace”.

“Ugh. Fine…”

You begrudgingly inhale deeply, blowing the air out of your mouth. You won’t admit it, but it feels a little better.

“Good. But do it again, slower this time. When you exhale, do it slowly. Make an ‘o’ shape with your lips like you’re slowly blowing through a straw”. He speaks with authority, but it’s not dictatorial.

You scoff at him but obey, letting the air leave your lungs in the way he instructed. It does feel calming, physically it’s helping your breathing to settle, and the act of focusing your mind on it also seems to have a soothing effect. You do it a few more times.

“Now…name three things you can see,” he says, his tone authoritative.

“Huh…?”

“Just tell me three things you can see…it will help. Trust me.”

You blink, unsure whether to trust him but not really having many other options. “Uh…the busy bar. Lots of people around it.”

“Good. What else? Any colours”

“The…the bathroom door over there. It’s…red”. You motion with your hand to gesture towards it.

“Good. One more?”

“Your jacket, it’s blue. Bright blue”.

He grins, touching the fabric . “I know, gorgeous right? Made in the USA. Now two things you can hear. Go..”

“Um. Music. I think it’s AC/DC on the speakers in here.”

“It is. What else?”

“The main door, at the entrance. It makes a loud clunking noise when someone opens it”. You both look towards the door and sure enough, you hear the clang as it closes.

“Good. Alright, last one now and you’re done - one thing you can smell”.

A server wanders by holding a tray of food, placing it on the table behind you.

“Uh. Fries. I can smell fries. I kinda want some now…” You look over longingly at the bowl.

Lance chuckles and without hesitation dips his hand down and grabs a fry, ignoring the outraged ‘hey!’ from the owners. He simply does not give a fuck. You look at him in shock as he passes the fry to you, and you’re so mortified that you just take it. Mindlessly putting it in your mouth.

“One thing you can taste?” he smiles.

“Um. Fries,” you laugh awkwardly. “Lance…you can’t do stuff like that…” you hiss with embarassment.

But he just shrugs.

It hits you then. You feel…better? Although you’re still a little off, it feels like you’ve reset somehow. The room doesn’t feel as ‘close’ as it did a few minutes before. Lance had successfully walked you through it. You sheepishly glance over at him.

“Thank-you,” you say quietly.

He shrugs again, nonchalant with his hands in his pants pockets, “no biggie, you’re welcome”.

“You kinda coached me there…”

He grins boyishly and shrugs again, “well, yeah. It’s what I do.”

The two of you exchange a hesitant smile and then the bartender announces that the next round is about to start. You both head back to the table in silence.

Huh.

🥇

Trivia continues and Lance seems to have mellowed slightly. He’s still being a smartass, but less so at you. Which is somewhat more bearable. You’re still reeling from him helping you earlier, grateful but guarded – unsure of what his game might be. You never quite know where you stand with Lance, so anything does could mean something else entirely.

Aside from that, you both seem to have hit your stride in the trivia game – on a roll with the questions with a new sense of synchrony you were lacking before. You quickly reel off answers between you.

“The Godfather”.

…

“1865”.

…

“Burkina Faso”.

…

“Jesse! Oh man what’s his last name…Jesse…Oswald?”

“Jess Owens, cupcake.”

“Oh, right…right”.

…

The others observe you both with an air of confusion, but don’t dare question whatever strange system appears to be generating this new-found productivity.

The bartender reads out the answers one by one on the mic and your team are delighted that you appear to have scored quite highly. Each time you get one right the table exchanges a muted ‘yesss’ and an occasional fist pump.

“…and the answer to number 15, fibula. That’s F-I-B-U-L-A”.

“Don’t even…” you begin as you look up at Lance.

“I didn’t say anything…” he smirks, crossing his arms victoriously.

“You didn’t have to!” you laugh, flicking a beer mat at him. He deftly dodges it and you roll your eyes.

Kat watches the two of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

After the scores have been counted, you await with bated breath to be told that your table placed…

…second.

Narrowly missing out on first place by two measly points.

“I demand a recount!” scoffs Lance.

“Second place is still really great, way better than we usually do,” Matt responds with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Kat agrees, “you guys really pushed our score up. Didn’t see that coming,” she smiles warmly as she gestures at you and Lance. Others at the table nod and smile in agreement. “Thanks, you two. Weird trivia dream team over here”.

You feel a sudden wave of embarrassment crash through you, you hope they don’t somehow think you’re sleeping with him again. You know Kat isn’t implying anything, she doesn’t mean any harm, and you were a good team tonight…but you don’t want your friends thinking you’re some pushover who allows herself to be treated poorly and then all is forgotten. As if you’re just grateful for the attention, lapping it up like a stray dog who gets offered a treat. You find yourself subconsciously moving away from him in your seat, in case you’re too close.

“Yeah, we totally carried you guys,” Lance exclaims cockily, “alright. Silver isn’t quite as good as what I’m used to, but I’ll take it. Great work, Cupcake. Even if you do need to brush up on your anatomy knowledge”. He nudges you with his elbow, grinning.

“Whatever,” you reply dismissively as you take a sip from your glass, hoping to dispel any incorrect ideas that your friends may hold about the situation.

His brow twitches slightly in response but he quickly moves on, continuing to rag on Matt and some of the others as he boasts about his victory, at one point threatening to get his tattoo out.

You feel quite tired now, the few drinks you’ve had making you sluggish. The strange panic attack you had earlier must’ve spiked your adrenaline because now it feels like you’re crashing. Your eyelids feel heavy, your bed calls to you like a siren song. You keep thinking about how Lance managed to calm you down earlier. How did he do that?

You stay a little longer to chat – it’s nice to be with your friends and catch-up, and you don’t want to appear rude. After some time passes you feel like you’ve finally run out of road as your eyes get heavier, so you open your Uber app and arrange a ride home. You smile at the screen as you see a message from Chris.

Hope yourehaving fun. Cabt wait to see you again.

You chuckle at the typos, maybe he’s having a bit too much fun at the bar. You’ll reply when you get in your Uber, which thankfully is coming in a few minutes, so you get up and put your jacket on, signalling that you’re heading out.

“You leaving?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat,” you smile.

Kat lets out a wail of protest but it’s in jest, she wouldn’t ever try to guilt you into staying out later. She knows when your social battery is out and needs a charge, unlike hers which seems to be at full capacity at all times. Somehow.

“Thanks for kicking ass tonight,” she chirps as she moves to hug you, “we couldn’t have done it without you”.

“Happy to serve,” you tell her with a giggle as you return the hug.

“See you, Matt”.

“Later!”

You bid farewell to the others at the table as Lance watches you pensively. He suddenly gets to his feet and moves towards you.

“I’ll walk you out”.

“Oh, that’s okay you don-”

But he’s already walking towards the door. Fine. Whatever. You give the group a final wave as you begrudgingly follow him to the exit.

“We made a good team tonight, Cupcake,” he hums as he drops back in step with you.

“Mm,” you respond noncommittally. But he’s right, you did.

“What? That smart mouth of yours finally run outta steam?”

“I’m tired, Lance,” you scoff as you glance lazily down at your phone. The car should be here any moment.

He opens the door for you and you walk through, peering out into the street to see if you can make out the Uber in the darkness. An uncomfortable silence sits thickly as you both stand outside. But you’re not going to make it any easier for him.

“Look,” he sighs as he scratches the back of his neck, “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time earlier…”

You turn to him, surprised, that was the last thing you expected him to say.

“…believe it or not,” he continues, “I’m not just trying to give you shit. It’s actually really fun…being here with you…doing this. I forgot how much-how fun it is...hanging out with you. I know I get carried away. I just like it…a lot. So…thanks, for letting me being here. I get that it’s your turf, and I appreciate it”.

You blink at him, watching him stumble over his words and feeling not quite able to process what he’s saying. It’s always disarming on the rare occasions he’s not all swagger and confidence.

He wasn’t just trying to torture you?

He actually enjoyed it?

Is he just…trying to hang out with you?!

What?

You blanch, unsure of how to respond.

“Lance…look. It was kinda fun, weirdly…and I am honestly grateful for you helping me with my panic attack earlier…but I dunno, this is still…it’s still raw for me. You…you hurt me. You made me out to be someone I wasn’t…

He sighs, gritting his teeth, “I know. I fucked up. And I’m sorry. And I know my apology doesn’t mean much…but I do mean it. Really. I swear I haven’t got some ulterior motive. I just…I just like being with you. Even if it’s just playing trivia. I’d like…for us to be friends. Maybe it’s too soon right now, but one day”.

You’re stunned, this was the most open he’d ever been with you – all of the times you’d been in each other’s beds, sharing showers, you’d fantasised about him opening up to you – and here it was happening on the street, outside of a bar, as you waited for a taxi. Part of you wants to ask him more about why he said those things on that night – but you’re not quite sure you could handle picking at that wound.

“Maybe. I guess we’ll see,” you responded dully. “I mean, it would be easier as we’re going to cross paths here and there with our friends tangled up like they are. But…let’s just see how we go”.

Although you’re happy with Chris, you still feel some of the wounds from what Lance did. He can’t magically erase that and be all buddy-buddy with you like it’s nothing. It would be nice to be friends with him, sure, and easier for nights like this – but it wasn’t that simple.

But he seems happy enough that you didn’t say no, offering a big grin and a fist pump. You scoff good-naturedly at him.

“Hey,” you ask, unable to mask your curiosity as the thought had plagued you all night, “how did you know how to do that stuff with the breathing and the questions…with the panic attack, I mean?”

You expect another little jibe but are surprised when he replies earnestly.

“It happens to some of the kids I coach sometimes,” he says casually, “they get themselves worked up worrying about a movement they can’t quite master, or a competition they’re anxious about…so I looked into how I could help. Did a class on it. Gotten pretty good at spotting the warning signs now. Could see yours a mile off, you looked like a deer in headlights”.

You nodded, slightly embarrassed at being exposed so easily, but quietly impressed that he took his job so seriously. “Well, thanks”.

“It’s cool,” he smiles.

A car pulls up to the kerb and the driver leans out of the window, calling your name to confirm if you’re his pick-up.

“That’s me!” you chime back as you walk to the car. Lance opens the back door and you thank him as you sidle in.

“See ya, Cupcake. Nice hanging out with you,”.

“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t the worst night of my life…” you shoot back.

He chuckles at your joke and leans down just before he closes the door. “Oh, and I’m glad it’s going well with that Chris guy. Really”.

You freeze, waiting for the inevitable punchline, but it doesn’t come.

“Just make sure he’s good to you,” he says solemnly as the door slams. Your eyebrows knit in surprise as you absorb what he just told you.

The driver pulls away, and you watch Lance get smaller in the rearview mirror.

🥇

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x you #chris!destroyer #chris!destroyer x reader #destroyer chris #feel the burn fic

27 notes · View notes

velvet-apricots · 1 day ago

Text

A series of Codexs i wrote about my Rook. Taken from this post.

Note found in Rook’s pocket

A note of poetry with deep creases indicating its been folded and unfolded many times. The lettering is written in a neat, loopy cursive in emerald green ink

Eyes of spring beheld by my eyes of winter

Hair of autumn betwixt my weathered fingers

Lips like berries and all for me to devour

My clever bird, my darling Rook

May your hands forever more hold my heart

For as long as it remains beating

E.V

An entry from Rook’s journal

I dreamed about Weisshaupt the other night. All those Wardens we couldn’t help. Davrin said there were a thousand of them. Now there are only a quarter of that. Solas said it was a victory. I don’t know what to think.

Varric said it helps to say or write out what did go right so-

I got to punch the First Warden in the face

An Archdemon is dead.

Davrin is alive.

Ghilan’nain is mortal.

That's four good things. I am particularly glad that Davrin is alright.

Solas also said that I may have to sacrifice someone to win. I said that I was ready… But I am not. I refuse to let that happen. No one in my team will die. Call it childish, but I won’t be like him. I am already on the right track, given Davrin somehow got out not dead. No idea why, but Bellara says it probably has to do with Ghilan’nain being out of the fade and back in the real world. Something about the soul and stuff.

I don’t remember. I’m not smart like her.

Rook's Shopping List

A list written in a messy scrawl that drifts downward across the page.

Lucanis, please buy these for me. I have to go somewhere with Bellara. No time to get it myself. I left some money to pay for it.

Lipstick. Cherry red. (For me. Last pot was dropped into blighted water. Davrin said I should throw it away.)

Pistachios. Roasted and salted (for me to snack on)

Chocolate (also for me. I need it)

Honey (to make honey roasted almonds as we have way to many of them now)

Beans (for Emmrich. He can't just eat yams and fruit)

Several sacks of Flour (also for Emmrich. Needed for Seitan)

Jam, preferably cherry or apple (for Harding, wants me to try her ham and jam slams again with “proper jam”. Pray for me.)

Spicy Peppers (For Taash to add to their food)

A message between two companions about Rook

A series of messages written in Davrin and Neve’s handwriting.

Should we be worried about Rook? She keeps talking about Varric like he’s still around. - Davrin

What do you mean by “like he’s still around”? - Neve

I mean she’s saying stuff like “I am going to go talk to Varric” then she goes and talks at his stuff like he's actually there. But he's not. He’s dead. Doesn’t that bother you? - Davrin

I have seen people react to loss in similar ways in my work. They talk to the person they lost like there are there. To help them sort their thoughts. It’s a form of coping with grief. I am sure Emmrich would be able to explain it better than I can. - Neve

And watch him fuss over her like a mother hen at dinner? Not a chance. - Davrin

Letter from Rook to their love interest

Emmrich,

Amatus. That's all I want to call you. It's all I chant in my head (along with your name). I feel like a little girl gushing over a boy who shoved mud in her face (not that you ever would).

I can’t write poetry but I can tell you that I want to call you Amatus. Do you know what that means? It means beloved. That is what you are to me.

When we next meet in private. I want you to leave with my name chanting in your head too. Not Rook. But my real name. I think you will like my name. It’s a flower, and you like flowers.

- The letter is signed with a lipstick mark.

A letter to Rook from a family member or close friend

A letter lost in the chaos of Elgar’nan’s attack on Minrathous. Stained with blood and blight, sealed with the wax seal of Legatus Charon Mercar

My Sweet Rabbit,

Never apologize. You did what you had to.

I will be waiting for you in Ventus. Do not die. You are not allowed to. Not until I see you again.

Love,

Papa

A note/letter that Rook never sent

An unsent, unfinished letter. Crumpled up and left near the fireplace.

Dear Hawke,

I hope this letter finds you well. You do not know me, but I knew Varric, and you through him. I am Rook, and I traveled with him to stop Solas. I knew him for only six months, but I considered him a wonderful friend and a great mentor.

I send you this letter to tell you that

I regret to inform you

I am grieved to say

Harding probably already told you that

He meant a lot to me

I have his belongings still and

The remainder of the letter carries on the same way until there is no more room to write.

#dragon age #emmrook #emmrich x rook #writing prompt #emmrich volkarin #varric tethras #dragon age 2 #pn's fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

cat-vase · 2 years ago

Note

other thing similar to the bryce stuff that i think you may be interested in!

Owen was most likely interrogated by police about Liams disappearance since he was the last one to see Liam before he vanished (BOTH TIMES not counting bryce or the cashier+waiter in ep15), which means there’s the possibility of Owen being wrongly convicted… despite the fact that there may not be much evidence against him.

(same thing goes for Parker regarding Charlotte’s disappearance since he was AT HER HOUSE and had a reason to be mad at her, leading the police to believe he possibly murdered her over the money..?)

Someone pointed out to me once that it was likely Owen who REPORTED Liam missing in the first place! How else would the police know it was LIAM'S bike instead of... literally anyone else's? He probably got cleared of suspicion since there's likely outside security footage of Liam leaving the office alone (and Owen leaving alone, too!) Assumming this because... well. Everything has cameras everywhere nowadays.

But yeah!!! I'm sure he was questioned but since Liam literally disappeared into thin air, they couldn't find anything to convict him? Or anybody else, either? Or anything to use... to figure out where he was? Hence presuming him dead!!! Which sucks for Owen, especially if he finds out about the smokestack incident somehow (and that it happened BEFORE he saw Liam???), but what can you do!

But oh my god Parker. I have so many thoughts about Parker you have no idea. Not a lot of people talk about Charlotte I feel and even then, if they do they DON'T talk about Parker and that is a CRIME.

He saw her disappear in front of his eyes! Mid sentence! There was still dinner cooking in the kitchen and jazz playing on the TV! Wouldn't that send him into some sort of anxious spiral? Or psychotic break? Wouldn't he be unsure if she ever existed or not?

And his job is a brand associate! Wouldn't that make him in the public eye, at least somewhat? If he went crazy people would SEE and KNOW. He might be arrested on suspicion of murder? Or institutionalized? Or go off the grid? Maybe he starts to pay for her place and cover up her disappearance in order to try and investigate it! Maybe he searches every single forum he can online, stringing together other random disappearances of this nature whether or not they're actually connected! Maybe he takes something of hers to convince himself that yes, she WAS real! He can't tell anyone else in his friend group about this, of course. They'll think he did something to her, and he would never. He just wanted her to be okay. Is she okay, wherever she is? He hopes she's okay. He just wants her to come back. He's not mad about the money anymore. He's sorry he yelled. Please just come back. One day she has to, right? In the same manner she disappeared? He can't get rid of her place now, what if she came back and he wasn't there?

Maybe he posts incomprehensible ramblings on a website he makes in order to make sure he doesn't lose them, but also so he can stay anonymous. He goes on outings for days searching and never turns up any leads, of course. In the beginning his friends try to interact with him; they fear for his safety, he's so JUMPY, and he has an accident and falls in one of the caves they've been to a thousand times. He just gets more closed off after that. He becomes more and more like the person he's trying to find: No, he's FINE, he can find her on his OWN, he doesn't NEED help, he's perfectly fine and sane.

And maybe, if he's not locked up somewhere or done something to hurt himself, maybe he DOES see her come back someday. She's in a worse state than she left in.

But that's a whole different can of worms.

#evergreenights #hfjone #hfj one #SORRY THIS GOT OUT OF HAND. I HAVE SO MANY THEORIES ABOUT PARKER OK.....#sorry if this doesnt make sense i was at work then hanging out with friends!!!#but AHHHHH THEY MAKE ME SO INSANEEEEE #tldr parker and owen both lose their minds a little bit. just a little #one more severe than the other. but again. she was RIGHT THERE.#not tagging characters bc this is all over the place ahjabjh #i DID enjoy this thank u!!!!!!!!#ask #my hfjone posts

29 notes · View notes

valewritessss · 8 months ago

Text

Headcanon that Annabeth takes a long time sometimes hours to fall asleep and wakes up very easily due to being ready for combat 24/7 and Percy falls asleep right away and has nightmares almost every night(some he doesn’t remember) so he startles awake every morning

#the Annabeth taking forever to fall asleep might just be because I do that #I envy people who fall asleep in less than 30 minutes #Percy has a decent sleep if he can’t remember his dream #but he has a great sleep if it’s a good dream like that leaves him giddy the whole day #Annabeth wakes up with severe eye bags if she has to wake up earlier than usual because she already took long to fall asleep #and yeah she has nightmares and they wake her up #but she just kind of sighs and knows she’s not getting any more sleep that night #whereas Percy falls asleep right after again and probably into another nightmare #that was a long rant #percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo #heros of olympus #mark of athena #percabeth sleeping habits #I just know if they’re sleeping together and one has a nightmare of the other dying they’ll stay up listening to their pulse #traumatized percabeth #demigod nightmares

40 notes · View notes

tittyinfinity · 3 months ago

Text

It's really nice having a free housekeeping service thru my Medicaid but ever since my regular housekeeper that I had for a year (now friend) got promoted in March it's like every other person I've had fuckin hates disabled people

#there was one perso who would drive by my house to clock in (your location has to show that you're at the client's house) and leave #found out when i called and was like hey why has no one been showing up and the office was like it shows shes been clocking in there what??#apparently i wasn't the only one and she got fired #and then we had a woman who treated my shift like it was her break time #i mean she would sit at our table and eat a full meal and talk on the phone as loud as possible instead of cleaning #she'd clean for 20 minutes usually just dishes then spend the rest of the time eating or playing on her phone or on a phone call #she would put away WET TOWELS i mean they were more than just 'damp'#and once left a full unflushed shit in our toilet with shit stains on the toilet seat #i remember once she sat outside in our front yard on a phone call and when i went out there to ask what was going on #she was just like ''im on the phone'' and ignored me #i asked for her not to come back several times and they sent her 2 or 3 more times #and then i got a new lady who just straight up lies to my face #i give her a list of what i need done for the day and she will only do the dishes #then sit at our table and be like ''oh i got everything else done I'm just waiting on laundry''#and then I'd look to see that actually nothing else was done at all counters dirty floors dirty LAUNDRY NOT DONE #i confronted her last time #i was like ''hey I've asked for the bathroom to get done the past few times now and it hasn't been''#and she was like ''yes I did clean it'' so i wiped my hand across the sink and showed her the dust and grime stuck to my fingers #and then didn't clean it again that day. and said sat at the table saying she was waiting on laundry. and no laundry was done #and said she swept the living room which absolutely was not swept #bc I'd get out the vacuum and she'd be like ''oh i can just use the broom'' (on the carpet??)#I'd get the bathroom cleaning supplies out and she'd just put them away #and i dont mean that im being super picky about wanting things cleaned prefectly #or thaf she's ''not doing it right''#she's literally not doing it at all #i told my friend/ex housekeeper about this and she told me that every other person who's had her also asked for her not to come back #oop she's here. it's gonna be her last time i called the office and set it in stone this morning that she wont be coming back #.bdo

4 notes · View notes

helpimstuckinafandom · 10 months ago

Text

JUSTICE FOR DAVINA CLAIRE I'M SO FUCKING SERIOUS FUCK OFF OH MY FUCKING GOD

#CAMI AND DAVINA GONE IN ONE EPISODE??!?!!??#YOU CAN'T BE FUCKING FOR REAL #(davina perma died an episode later both they both died in one episode right before that)#also this season has been slacking on marcel and the ep post-davina's death kicked him up several notches #he said all the shit i take issue with about the always and forever family bs #he hit that shit out of the park #also camille's death being all about comforting klaus fucking pissed me off #it was until she was scared right at the end that it was more about her #and her last words COULD have beenthe immortality line. but then they had to have her bolster klaus again instead #at least we got others mourning her after #but davina????#those bitchass ancestors forced her boyfriend to kill her then nearly shredded her soul #and she could've been resurrected. but of course fucking family came first #she had to die screaming for mercy alone as the ancestors tried to carve her soul from fucking existence #(and though i'm mad at elijah and freya for it it makes sense for them to do it #(what pissed me off was them and klaus then telling marcel that they were justified and he should just suck it up and understand)#(like no take the consequences let the man mourn)#(freya claiming family to kol too like girl i don't know you. and this 'family' loves you more than it ever loved me)#(y'all only love me on my deathbed)#(if being family means we kill each other's partners [which happens time and time again] then fuck being in this family)#like i don't actually want the mikaelsons dead. but also i hope super vampire marcel kills you all #hope kol gets away from you people because you are not family to him. you aren't.#but mostly davina. poor fucking davina #her and kol are my bonnie and enzo - finally finding someone who will choose them not just use them #only for death at the hand of allies #davina clair was an abused teenager you all used and who justifiably hated y'all #and she deserved more than to die like this. die basically three fucking times over still helping in the end #truly have not seen a witch this blatantly used and mistreated since the bonnie bennet #davina claire #the originals

8 notes · View notes

born-to-lose · 6 months ago

Text

I love being the always single person in my family, mad respect to my sister for constantly dating guys for the last 8 years, I would have shot myself

#whenever my mom asks if i have love news of my own while we're talking about my sister's newest catch and i say no #i hope she doesn't feel pity because like. this is the life that i choose. my sister's ex boyfriends were enough for ME even #and i only met a handful of them personally but heard more than enough shit about them #i just always think i'm only flirting with some guys only to never talk to them again or ghost them because it's fun #fat girl who's always been seen as ugly by other people gets to flirt with good looking people is the ultimate ego boost arc #if i ever date anyone seriously again it better be true love and end in kids and marriage until death or i'll live as a hermit #until that happens tho...... life is a party i don't wanna miss a thing break some men's heart get revenge yolo etc etc #also the thought of actively dating freaks me out. if i meet someone and we tolerate each other long term that's good #but dating apps or going on dates with several people and deciding who's the best like on the bachelorette?? death first #plus i lowkey don't like men as a concept. at least the type i've dated. i guess you could say my last ex traumatized me hahaha 👍🏻 (🔨🔨)#i think i'm too young to be in a committed relationship anyway. or even to seek getting into one. there are much more important things rn #i know former classmates my age are having kids or getting married but idgaf the one who got engaged last year has been with him for 7 year #which is a decent time tbh you change quite a bit during that time and if it feels right why not #but i can't wrap my head around searching for a relationship when you don't even have a stable job and know what else you want in life #rambling again sorryyyy but yeah proud single here and i'm not saying this out of spite because i genuinely enjoy it #all relationships i've been in were so draining (tbf they were long distance too) and got me at rock bottom and had me filled with regret #also these men can be so controlling and jealous when you just wanna go out with friends while they do whatever they want too #but when you say you don't want a jealous partner they think that's a free pass for them to cheat like what the actual fuck #do you see the difference between being unnecessarily jealous when you hang out with friends and being rightfully jealous when they cheat??#at this point idk what to say. i'm very entertained by my friends' dating journeys but that couldn't be me #all the gossip i provide for them is which people i flirted with for the ego and who i ghosted and who ghosted me #mel talks

3 notes · View notes

arolesbianism · 10 months ago

Text

Thinks oh so hard abt the spiraling upwards clan founders, especially the birchclan founders. Silly lil kitties who's pasts are drenched in blood with the primary regret of not drawing it sooner

#rat rambles #oc posting #warriors posting #spiraling upwards #long story short they had a shitty awful terrible leader who sucked absolutely ass and they tore him to shreds #I mean that literally they pinned him onto the mountain side and slashed and mauled the shit out of him so hard that his lives evaporated #and several of the cats involved in that scene are sill alive and major parts of the story and I love them #oh also the cat that pinned him through a stab through the throat was his own daughter btw everyone hated his ass so much #and for good reason get his ass #alas in the main story I dont rly get to go too deep into how he harmed everyone involved mostly just three main ones #aka bristlestar because shes murtlepaw's ghost mom dawncrackle because hes also haunting murtle and gullspot because shes bristle's kit #so basically all the flashbacks we get involve those three in some form or another #honeystar was also there and involved but Im not currently planning on having her rly talk abt that #most of her more modern angst is the fact that she was forced into leadership against her will #and shes been alive long enough that shes been leading birchclan far longer than she ever lived in her old clan #but she did go through a lot of shit before birchclan was founded and it definitely shaped her a lot #she used to be a very determined and high spirited lil kitty cat who tried to be optimistic #but her family began to slowly be picked off one by one by both the old leader and the one whod later get evicerated #some of the older cats around her hoped it make her back down from her revelutionary ideas but she noticed that and it backfired on them #instead of being worn down to submission she became absolutely Furious and began to lash out more and become more demanding #it got to the point that she really only had two friends in the entire clan and one of them was her aunt whod later also die after coming #out abt having witnessed the leader killing his own kits #that was the final fucking straw for her and she was fully on board when bristle and dawn started looking for cats to join their rebellion #she did get rly frustrated with them as they waited patiently for the right moment but her remaining bestie kept her from going apeshit #so once the big fight finally broke out she was more than eager to join the hoard of cats chasing the bastard upwards #now unlike some of the other cats involved this legitimately actually made her feel a lot better for a while #for the first time in ages she finally felt like she could be optimistic abt smth again and was excited abt the idea of leaving this place #she had lost so much in this damn place since she was an apprentice and just wanted to finally be able to rest easy #but once they got to their new territory and set up camp things went south real fast as a flood fucked everything up #and after losing the only cat she had left in her life and losing her tail and being made deputy on top of that she deteriorated quickly

3 notes · View notes

nerdie-faerie · 1 year ago

Text

I have got to get worse at my job cus no way can keep letting them rely on me like this

#work tag #got on shift on Sunday and my manager pulled me aside when i clocked in to say thank god youre here i need you on front theyre an absolute #mess over there theyve got orders waiting nearly twenty minutes i need you to figure out whats going on and whip them into shape i know you #can just get all those order out right away just put them where you want them so you can clear that screen. and i did sort it in under 5 #despite there having been 3 people on front before i got there which is more than enough people to deal with just 6 orders and yet #and today several people called in sick and one of my managers asked if i wanted some extra hours i said depends when she was like just #until ten tonight which is only an extra hour later than i finish but ive already expressed im not comfortable finishing at 9 for only a #8 hour shift cus its an hour walk back and thats far to go by myself in the dark but i agreed anyway one of my other managers then asked if #i was okay to get home if i stayed that late cus obviously there must be a reason i dont usually stay that late i was like im only walking #so it doesnt really matter but it is gonna be late to be walking back but its fine manager then comes back again and asks if i could stay #til 11 ive only done an 11 once before when they were understaffed again and she did the same but i was wary to agree to the 11 cus thats #reeeally late to be doing such a long walk by myself again other manager is like you dont have to agree to anything youre not comfortable #with then argued to the manager that ive got to walk home and i shouldnt stay however im thinking it over as i make my break and approach #the actual shift runner for this evening and suggest i stay until 12 instead cus thats when my work bestie is finishing and if we finish at #the same time i can then walk back with her instead of just doing the 10 and honestly i need the hours but i shouldnt be so relied on tbh

6 notes · View notes

acourtofquestions · 4 months ago

Text

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

#NO SPOILERS PLEASE (though warning for the chapter in post & tags) this is my first read along with me & more reacts in tags etc #Chaorene Rowaelin Elorcan MOONBEAM this chapter has EVERYTHING so it needed its own post mark-if only it had Dorian than it would be PERFECT #A PROPER MAASVERSE REUINION-FULL CIRCLE-& me squealing in wivern happy in sappy like🥹 crying giggling & kicking my feet in excitement #Aelin Sardothien&HER CADRE/Court; her calling them all that — MOONBEAM finally lol how has this not come up or Lorcan tease or Rowan cheerin #she really nails these scenes-break my heart make my day-like QoS but ow&healingX100-my bbs are happy-TAB REFS-THE DYNAMICS-the wives meet!#Ivory horsehair for times of peace; the Ebony for times of war. — significance in tiny details-It was holy-the gold couch lol-SHES PREGGERS #To sit down even for a few minutes would be a blessed relief. — the difference from TOD - lol only Hasar could get interior design rn #to be the first piece of furniture in the home he'd build for his wife. For the child she carried.—shewastheoneheleastexpectedtoseeomg #holding hands even in blood-the ruler but wished to know-close to disaster-flood?that’s bad for fire/maybe she can steam-HOLY GODS INDEED #a moment later Chaol was glad he was sitting-as Aelin Galathynius Rowan Whitethorn and several others entered. Mud splattered. Too long hair #And her eyes ... Not the soft yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.-the young queens gaze again-but a queen nonetheless-HE STOOD #Not at his being here as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin But him Standing Walking-my soul needed this back-the core tale trio #The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy-broken but still joy-and flung her arms around his neck-the fact she wanted to hug him—#the ache & healing they both felt-but Chaol held her right back every question fading from his tongue.-Fire lance?-she’s shaking again #The way she gives him belief-then there she is-she remembered-her core-no one does anything alone-to say I’m happy for you & mean it vibes #hand over the locket-Yrene Towers the queen breathed as his wife stepped 2 his side The women stared at eachother-YRENE WESTFALL-notCelaena #I knew youd do it-goes both ways-Thank you-those words in this book-it was all that really needed to be said-smiling through tears #Aelin closed her eyes smiling through her own tears and when she opened them she took Yrene's shaking hands-choked joyous laughs-MY SOUL #Rowan stepped up to her side-Aelin said Lady Westfall my husband Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius-the my wife we deserved #emerald mud-splattered but bright-she sure got those emeralds dropping hints literally in EoS-pine green-Nesryn Aelin friendship core #My mate Aelin added fluttering her lashes Rowan rolled his eyes yet couldn't entirely contain his smile-next quote why I luv books/TOG #May I keep this?She eyed the locket.Or does it go in there?Its yours as it always was.A piece of ur bravery that helped me find my own #It gave me courage the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled every long hour I studied and worked it gave me courage. I thank you #A spark lit Aelins eyes&both women met halfway in a tight embrace I want to hear the entire story Aelin said Every word of it #They know everything-Ok WELL MANON lol-The keys Holy gods-the story would come then too-true queen-she bowed for them #the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen-THEY BOWED BACK-the portrait of courtly grace lol-the letter worked well #Aelin smirked as if the2of them spoke a language no one else could understand 2equally arrogant&proud women-hell yes I needed them #My friends-uncleLOL-my pride-AelinswinkLorcylol-how had this come about?-guttered-Rowan put a hand on her lower back Bad #gestureHasar😂-only civilized Lady Elides name had been crossed out-the1sthat escaped-CunningClear-she could see beneath to the soul #I am sworn2uWould I lie-cursedAs if he'd heard of LorcanGavrielFenrys-where to march once we beat the living shit out of this army-Vher

1 note · View note

reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

Text

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

33K notes · View notes