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dilatorywriting · 4 months

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Truth Potion

Vil Schoenheit x OC x Rook Hunt Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: Truth Potions should be banned from the proximity of any and all far-too-attractive people for all time. Least of all when dating one of them who would be far to keen to use said lack-of-filter to his advantage.

[OC Archive]

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content! WARNING for References to a Character's Previous Death

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

The potion exploding in her face was nothing unusual. Saya had been cursed with cat ears, and fluffy tails, and all sorts of strange ailments at this point. It was like there was a target on her back that the universe had put there saying ‘hey! You! Don’t let this poor idiot escape a single potions lesson unscathed!’

What wasn’t familiar was the strange, staticky lull all throughout her mouth. Making her tongue feel light as a feather.

“That didn’t taste very bad,” she mumbled to herself, and then wondered why she’d muttered anything at all. “But I guess a lot of things don’t taste as bad as I was expecting them to.”

“Oh?” Deuce coughed, good-natured despite his own singed eyebrows. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Cum.”

And then immediately screamed into her hands like she was being murdered point blank. She gasped against her palms in horror. Because she did not just say that. Out loud. In public.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” she wailed. “I haven’t even told Vil that! And he’s the one who’d actually want to know!”

She clamped her fingers over her mouth again and screamed louder.

“Oh my god,” Ace chirped, like this was the greatest gift God could have ever gifted him and all of mankind. “You got truth dosed.”

Ro blinked in worry from his place at the desk nearby. “Is she going to be alright?”

“No!” Saya wailed.

“Quick!” Ace beamed, dashing forward like a hound after a hare. “Ask her everything you’ve always wanted to know! Before it wears off!”

“Or before she kills us,” Jack scowled under his breath.

“I would never kill you,” Saya said, serious. “I don’t think I could. You’re too beefy. But you’re too nice too. The best. Right behind Deuce.”

“Oh,” Jack rumbled, gold eyes going wide and then quickly shooting away.

“This seems a bit like we’re taking advantage…” Robyn mumbled, looking guilty.

“Thank you,” Saya huffed. “Because—”

“Do you like me, yes or no?” the redhead blurted as fast as he could, and then immediately looked terribly chagrinned about it.

“If anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I wish you were actually my brother so I could finally have something good in my stupid genetic pool.” The words tumbled out like the shrapnel from a bomb—wild, and uncontrolled, and loud. Saya squawked in indignation. “Robyn Starling!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I just—I needed to know!”

“Fuck you!”

“Out of everyone in this room, who would you wanna fuck the most?” Ace piped in, like a rabid little demon.

“Jamil!” Saya blurted, and immediately covered her mouth in horror. Said Vice-Warden’s head popped up from his place hovering over his own cauldron, and he immediately looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear from their entire plane of existence. But then, like some kind of absolutely malicious trick of fate, the words just kept coming. “Or Professor Crewel.”

“Someone go get Schoenheit,” the man in question groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Quickly.”

“A truth potion?” Vil muttered, rubbing his thumbs along a dot of blue smeared high along her cheekbone. “That’s all?”

“That I can tell,” Professor Crewel sighed.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Saya grouched, and then seemed to reconsider. “Actually, that was probably when I killed myself the first time around. But this is pretty up there.” Another pause. “Worst day of my life so far.”

Vil fought the urge to dig his fingers into his temples. He could already feel the stress headache forming. The last thing he needed was the add new wrinkles on top of that.

“How long until it wears off?”

“Hopefully no more than a day,” Crewel hummed, considering. “Perhaps sooner, if you can get her cleaned up quickly enough.”

“He can never clean me quick enough,” Saya complained past the shield of her fingers. “He always ends up fucking me in the bath, which is entirely counterproductive. Especially when he’s the one complaining about tight schedules. Like, sir, it’s your own fault you’re late. You didn’t have to spend half an hour with your tongue up my—”

Vil clamped a hand over her mouth and Saya looked grateful beyond measure.

“Please just get her out of public,” Crewel sighed, looking like he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon. “Before I have an aneurism.”

Saya said something else against Vil’s palm, but thankfully it came out too garbled and flat to comprehend.

“Of course, sir.”

The House Warden dragged his miserable, red-faced girlfriend out the office doors and down a back hallway—determined to skulk away to Pomefiore as stealthily as he could possibly manage.

“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in the center of a Schoenheit-Crewel sandwich,” she sighed once his palm was off her lips, and then immediately paled from head to toe, like a ghost. “I might actually kill myself again.”

“Do not even joke about that,” he snapped.

“Can it be a joke if I’m under a truth spell?”

“You know,” Vil smiled, poisonously poised and vicious, “Perhaps I should go back and let you make your offer in person, hmm? I’m on decent enough terms with the Professor. Perhaps we can make an arrangement, if you’re being so truthful in the moment.”

Saya tucked both hands over her mouth and allowed herself to be herded back towards the elaborate, Pomefiore dorms in silence.

The bath that followed was entirely unsexy, and Saya nearly bit through her bottom lip in an effort to keep her bubbling complaints under wraps. Vil practically dunked her like a rag against a washboard, and she couldn’t help but think that he always got a bit like this—a bit too upset, a bit too mean—whenever her untimely demise was brought up all over again. Which, on one hand, she couldn’t blame him. Whenever Robyn talked about his own death, it made her stomach fall and her hair stand on end. And if Vil had done what she had—Well. She’d be upset too. So she sat politely and quietly in her towel until the stupid potion got the better of her.

“I just don’t get it,” she said into his glacial sneer. “It’s not like it matters.”

“The fact that we’re having this argument yet again when you can’t even physically lie about it tells me you need more therapy than there exists on this godforsaken planet.”

“I am a little broken,” she shrugged, and something in the model’s amethyst eyes went so terribly sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I meant it. But I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t like upsetting you.”

Vil sighed and reached out to dry her hair, gentler now. Scrubbing the soft towel over her short, blonde, waves in little circles.

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll reward your valiant efforts by not pushing all of the things I would so love to use this opportunity to push.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she hummed, leaning into his kneading. “Not if it’s you. Not really, at least. Even if it is embarrassing.” She paused, and he watched her try to physically swallow down the words in her mouth before they came tumbling out anyways. “Your cum tastes good, by the way. Well, not good. Not like, I don’t know, candy or whatever. But like, not bad at all. I thought you should know. Because I said it earlier, but you weren’t around. And now you are. And now I also need to throw myself out the nearest window.”

The startled laugh that ripped out of his throat was entirely less dignified than he would have liked.

“Is that so?” he trilled, beyond amused. “I suppose I’m glad my healthy diet has been useful for… other unexpected benefits, as well.”

Her face screwed up like he’d forced her to drink rotten milk and he couldn’t help himself from feeling hopelessly fond at this miserable, sopping wet, little wreck of a person.

“Anything else you’d like to confess?” he grinned. “While I have your full attention?”

More nose scrunching. “What do you want to know?”

It sounded like the question had to be pried out of her mouth with pliers. Vil’s smile went a little wicked. He dropped the towel to his bedroom floor so that he could dig his fingers into her damp hair.

“What’s your favorite part? Of all the things I’ve done to you?”

“That you’ve loved me,” she said instantly, and that teasing mew melted off his face in a heartbeat. Saya looked positively stricken. “Oh my god, please. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,” he chirped, mocking, and she made a gagging noise. “But as touched as I am by your sentimentality, I had meant on the more physical side of things. It’s so hard to get your honest feedback.”

“I thought you liked that,” she said, a bit mulish. “The whole ‘stubborn’ thing. Having to pin me down.”

Saya watched the round, black circles of his pupils jump and dilate. The twist of his mouth went smug and warm—familiar. In all the best and worst possible ways.

“Is that why you do it?” he cooed, a dangerous lilt to his voice that had goosebumps dancing down her spine.

“Not completely,” she mumbled, gaze slipping away and cheeks going pink. “I think some of it is just—just me, too,” she gulped as his nose trailed down her neck. “That’s really distracting.”

“Is it?” he drawled.

“I just said it was!”

“You’re so lovely to me, do you know? Working so hard to try and meet my tastes,” he said against her collarbone, and she shivered. “What else could I do for you, I wonder?”

“You do more than enough.”

Vil couldn’t help but feel flattered at the ringing truth in that proclamation, but he pushed forward nonetheless. This was a golden opportunity not to be diminished—not even by the charming warmth of their sentimentality.

“But I could always do more. Tell me—I’m always open with the things I’d like to do to you. What’s something that you’ve always wanted to try.”

“DP,” she burst out, and then immediately ducked her head to shriek against his shoulder. “Oh my god, please forget I just said that. Well, don’t forget it. Because it would be—really, really—I just. Oh my god!”

“You weren’t kidding then,” he tutted, warm and calm, dragging a soothing palm against her lower back, “when you mentioned the professor and I earlier.”

“I mean, only a little. I’d never be able to look Crewel in the eye again. It wouldn’t be worth it. Especially when I think he’s just starting to like me.”

Vil huffed. “He adores you.”

“Yeah, more like he’d like to hit me with a-door.”

“I can see this isn’t the time to address your self-worth issues,” he droned, and then worked to shift back into the direction he’d been so carefully coaxing. “But either way. You were saying? Something about being taken by—"

“I know it’s not practical!” she immediately squeaked. “Like, I am fully aware you only have one dick. And also, like, I love you. I don’t have any desire to like, go around fucking some other random person just to, I don’t know, satisfy some weird fantasy. Everyone has their like, Thing that they’re like ‘wow. That’d be super hot. Will never happen. But damn.’ And that’s just—I don’t know. Mine.” A pause, to take her breath. “Also, like, it takes two to tango. Or, well, three in this case. And I’m still reeling over the fact that I’ve managed to trick one person into sleeping with me, let alone two.”

Vil couldn’t hold back his snort. “I’m certain you could find more than double that on this campus alone who would be more than willing to step in to fill the role at a moment’s notice.”

She crinkled her nose. “Even if that was true, I still love you most. I don’t want other people.”

“And if I found someone suitable to partake in this? Someone who has perhaps displayed a keen interest in the past and who I trust enough to involve? Someone who’s already proven more than enthusiastic about the topic?” Vil asked, and he watched her eyebrows jump up in startled confusion. “Would that be amenable then? If you had that on top of my fullhearted approval and support?”

Her brow furrowed, clearly taken aback. “Who the fuck are you talking to about screwing me?”

Vil snorted another laugh.

“My, you’re feeling crude today.”

“It’s this stupid potion and you know it!” He watched that tight little tick in her brow grow deeper as she dove into the depths of her thoughts, searching and searching for an answer he was sure she’d find. All of a sudden she choked. “Are you talking about Rook?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually, kitten.”

“But he—” she gaped. “He doesn’t—I haven’t—” she spluttered. “He doesn’t even like me. I bet he’d hang my head over his fireplace if he got the chance.”

Vil barked out a laugh. “That would certainly be the highest of compliments.”

At her continued fretting, he leaned closer to tug her in tight and go back to running his fingers up and down her spine. “Naturally it’s your choice, but I can assure you, I’ve heard more than my fair share of soliloquies about the wonders of your bountiful bosom to know he’d be more than thrilled to assist.”

“They’re not even that big,” she grouched under her breath. “But that’s… Even if he was okay with it, what about you?” she asked, nervous.

Vil grinned, sharp and seductive. “Darling, who hasn’t shared something so private with their closest friend, hmm?”

“Uhm, me?” she gaped. “If you ever catch me in a three-way with Ro, please just shoot me in the face—"

“You’re moving away from the point,” he accused, snagging her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now. Tell me—would that be a situation you’d be amenable to?”

She chewed at her lower lip hesitantly and looked up at him through her lashes. “I trust you enough that if you think it would—it would be a good idea, then…”

“This isn’t about me,” he tutted.

“Everything in my life is about you,” she corrected sharply, and then immediately went beet red. “Fucking just—gag me or something. Please.”

Vil laughed. “That can be arranged. But first,” he grinned, moving to slip lithely to his feet. “I do believe I need to have a conversation with my Vice Warden.”

“Shouldn’t we at least wait until the potion wears off?” Saya asked, hoping she didn’t sound nearly as panicked as she felt. “And, I mean,” she spluttered. “This all probably feels a bit sudden, right? Like, I know if someone knocked at my door one minute to—to—"

Rook’s answering grin had a shiver running down her spine and Vil reached out to tweak her cheek like an unruly child.

“Nonsense. How else will we know if you’re being honest about the experience, hmm?”

“That’s fair. I do lie about how I’m feeling a lot,” she said, and then instantly bit into her lip with a scowl. Fucking— “But that still doesn’t answer the,” she waved her hand around her head. “The other bit.”

“Ahh, but what predator could ever turn down such an opportunity to pounce when a feast is presented to him, hmm?” Rook cooed, hand over his heart as if he was about to start delivering a grand poem. “Particularly when it is a meal I’ve most looked forward to. And I can promise that I have thought on it long and often, mon chaton,” he smirked—a strange, dark, twisty thing that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “It is so hard to look away when so much fluttering beauty twines itself so frequently beneath a shared roof.”

Dutifully ignoring the implications of that little statement, she frowned and said, “But you like pretty things.”

Vil frowned right back, but before he could launch into another one of his irritable spiels about self-value, and ‘in the eye of the beholder, blablabla,’ Rook ducked in and scooped her hands up between his.

“There is loveliness in delicacy,” the hunter agreed easily, smoothly. “But there is also beauty in a storm, in destruction. Qu'est-ce que la vie sans la mort? Qu'est-ce que l'amour sans l'horreur? And you, petite tentatrice,” he grinned, “are the loveliest storm of all.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “I’m sorry, but did you just French your way into saying that me being an unruly bitch is hot?”

“Ahh,” he crooned, lifting a hand as if he was about to swoon, “you’ve found me out!” And then that grin was back, sending all kinds of nervous goosebumps racing down her arms. “An easy hunt may speak to one’s skill well enough, but sometimes I can’t help but hope for a chase.”

“You’re unsettling her,” Vil warned, reaching out to twine an arm around her waist and rub soothing circles into the divots of her hips. “I told you not to overdo it.”

“Ah, pardonne moi, pardonne moi!” he lamented. “But I could hardly help myself.”

Vil’s amethyst eyes narrowed, a silent reprimand and threat all in one. You will help yourself, that glare warned. And while the Vice Warden certainly didn’t outright cow to that sneer, he dipped his chin in easy submittance nonetheless.

“Of course, mon reine,” he chirped. “This is a gift! And I will do my best to cherish it so.”

He reached forward and brushed a wayward strand of honey-hued hair from Saya’s eyes—fingers landing neatly on her cheek after to rub at the spreading flush there.

“How could I not? Especially after you’ve trained her so wonderfully.”

Saya gasped in indignation, that nervous blush staining plum red with rage instead.

“I’m not a fucking dog!” She snapped. “And he hasn’t—I haven’t been—”

“We’re working on it,” Vil droned, and Saya started spluttering all over again.

“We are not!”

“Well, we aren’t,” the ethereal beauty sighed, as if terribly put upon. “That is my job, after all. And you don’t make it easy, darling.”

The snarky retort twisted off her tongue with the taste of popping bubbles and lingering herbs, and instead, what came out was a pouty, “I thought that was the point.”

She cursed colorfully under her breath and Rook burst into gleeful laughter.

“Oh, she is just merveilleuse, mon reine. Je suis honoré que vous souhaitiez partager une telle merveille avec votre humble serviteur.”

Vil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps if you were so humble as you’d like me to believe, you wouldn’t have been so bold in your spying these past months.”

Rook held up his hands with another snicker, as if to say ‘you caught me!’

“But it worked, did it not?” he beamed, and then leaned forward to nuzzle along the underside of Saya’s jaw. His teeth skimmed the delicate, pale skin there and she pressed back against Vil with a squeak.

Vil rolled his eyes yet again and shifted so that Saya could tuck herself up against him in one, long lean line. Like a cat arching away from the wandering hands of an overenthusiastic guest and towards the familiar warmth of its owner. But all that being said, proper socialization was all in the name of the game. And he would be terribly bereft to go lax in his diligent efforts now of all times.

“Gently,” he reprimanded. “She startles easily.”

“I’m not a—” she squeaked again, and Rook ducked forward with another sharp nip. “It’s not weird to be jumpy. I’d never done anything like this before I met you.”

“Ah, comme c'est chéri,” Rook cooed, as he burrowed in closer and latched his mouth against the hollow beneath her throat, sucking an angry, purple bruise against the pale skin there. “Did you know,” he trilled, popping back with a preening little smirk to observe his handiwork, “that our dearest queen does have quite the love of, ah, how did you describe it?” Rook mused. “Un amour de la corruption?”

“Rook,” Vil sneered, lip curling in warning.

“Not like that’s anything I didn’t already know,” Saya scoffed under her breath, and then squawked when familiar, painted nails dug into her hips.

“What was that, kitten?”

“I—I just meant,” she gulped, cursing that stupid potion with every fiber of her being. “It was—you got excited. When I said I was—that I had never—and you—I—” she trailed off with a nervous incoherence.

Vil hummed against her neck and she shivered.

“This is quite the difference,” he mused, a note of interest curling over his words. “To ask for an answer and to receive one rather than some stuttering, biting attempt at maintaining your dignity. I can’t say I’m opposed.” His hands trailed lower. “Perhaps not forever, but as an anomaly—as a treat,” he smirked. “For all my hard work.” She could feel the blunt, rounded edges of his nails trailing back and forth at the inseam of her thighs. “I do enjoy the ensuing correction far too much to want this new sweetness of yours to become a permanent fixture in our lives, but for the time being…”

Saya gulped, and she could see Rook’s eyes trace the movement like a fox watching a rabbit’s hole.

“Tell me, won’t you” Vil demanded, head going high once more and some of that haughty, put-upon superiority lighting his eyes. Saya knew that expression, and it meant literally nothing good for her hips or spine for the upcoming days. “What makes this so appealing to you?” He grinned against her hair, sharp. “Wanting to be taken so thoroughly.”

“I—” she spluttered, feeling those awful, terrible remnants of magic dancing around her mouth. “It just—I—” and then that arcana popped with a focus and she was babbling all over again. “It just seems—seems nice. To be wanted that badly to be shared like, like something special. And—being between—the, the warmth of it seems—I…” She was going to die. Melt into a puddle and stain his stupid carpet with her untimely end. “I like to be squished, and held. And being that full seems nice.”

“Tellement poétique!” Rook crooned, looking nearly sparkly-eyed with wonder.

‘I hate this,’ she tried to spit, but instead, “I don’t mind this.”

Vil snorted a laugh into her hair.

“Yes, darling. I could tell.”

His hand dipped past the edge of the towel and brushed pointedly between her legs. He pulled back when she squeaked and held his fingers up with the same air as a teacher offering a demonstration. The wetness on them caught the light overhead—shining and slippery—and Saya tried to bury her face in her hands.

“You’re not particularly subtle,” he hummed, amused. And Saya felt like her blood was about to boil straight out of her veins.

And then, because apparently the love of her stupid life was actively trying to send her into cardiac arrest, she watched through her fingers as Vil stretched forward and offered his hand for Rook’s inspection. The hunter’s gaze tracked the slow, sticky drip of her and his emerald eyes pointedly flickered down to the space between her thighs, still artfully hidden beneath the fringe of the bath towel. And then those too-bright eyes slipped back up to meet hers and he leaned forward to lick a long stripe up Vil’s palm.

“No need for embarrassment,” Rook promised, licking his lips pleasantly. “Neither of us can lay claim to the notion of subtly either, favori.”

“Oh my God,” she choked.

“Ah, ah,” Vil tutted, twisting his other hand forward to pinch at her thigh. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Vil,” she gasped, a bit too close to a petulant whine.

“Better,” he smirked, and then reached up to loose the folds of her little towel, sending it fluttering to the mattress beneath them. Saya shivered at the rush of cold air, and then again when she caught the strange, predatory gleam in their guest’s green eyes. His gaze was like a tangible thing, running over every bit of exposed skin like the edge of a blade dipping along her shaking limbs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snipped, embarrassed.

“Oh, not to worry!” he chirped. “I’ve taken several!”

“What—"

Vil twined his fingers through the shorter hair at the base of her skull and tugged. “Focus, kitten.”

“I’m always focused on you,” she snapped, potion bubbling off her tongue. And Vil rewarded her honesty with another sharp tug and a dip into a deep kiss. He pressed her down until she was dizzy, and when he finally pulled back with a contented hum and a flickering, wine-warm smirk, Saya felt like she was ready to melt into the bed.

“How do you always look so stupidly put together during sex?” she complained, unbidden. “And I always wind up looking like I’ve been railed halfway to Sunday.”

Vil snorted in amusement. “Perhaps that’s the point.”

His purple irises jumped past her shoulder and then the bed was dipping again. Saya blinked, not even having realized that Rook had stepped away. But then the hunter was back and she squeaked as a pair of deceptively well-muscled arms hauled her up against an unfamiliar and very naked chest. Vil nodded, as if in satisfaction with the state of things, and then eased himself back towards solid ground to also begin the process of divesting himself of his ridiculously intricate House Robes.

A pair of unfamiliar fingers snagged her chin and Saya found herself turned to face a smile that would not look out of place on a shark.

“There you are, chérie,” Rook purred, like a big cat hulking down over its kill, and then ducked forward to press his mouth against hers in a kiss that was like a whirlwind. While Vil kissed like an artform—a perfected, poised, creation that pushed as soft or as hard as he felt suited the moment, Rook kissed like he meant to eat her alive. He nipped at her lips until Saya was tasting copper, and the self-satisfied groan that rumbled from his throat had her nearly vibrating out of her skin.

The bed was dipping again and she felt another set of far more familiar hands work their way around her waist—pushing the leach away and dragging her back across the sheets to sprawl along a lean lap. Rook laughed, pleasantly amused, and pointedly reached up to wipe a speck of blood off his chin.

“Poor thing,” Vil sighed, brushing a thumb along the smear of crimson at the corner of Saya’s own abused mouth.

The poisonous beauty leaned forward to press his lips back against hers. He laved his tongue across the fresh cut there, easing the sting and sharpening it all at once.

“He’s just terrible to you, isn’t he?” he cooed, all mocking softness. “I suppose you’ll never be able to complain about my own methods again, once this is over. I’m not nearly that mean, am I, kitten?”

“I like it when you’re a little mean to me,” she admitted, eyes darting away in mulish embarrassment.

Vil chuckled against her throat—a warm, satisfied thing. “You’re providing me with far too my ammunition this evening, darling.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “I’m literally never going to live this down.”

“Ah,” Rook trilled, slipping forward to tuck himself up against the skin of her back. And Jesus, she’d known the two of them were pretty substantially taller than her, but being wedged between them like this was a stark reminder of just how teeny she was. “But is it not better to be open and true with the one you love, hmm?”

“It’s not my fault I’m emotionally constipated,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” the hunter mused. “If you provide me with a list of the ones who are suitably responsible then, I would be more than happy to ensure that such a strain upon your person would never occur again.”

“Uhm,” Saya spluttered. “Appreciated, but… I mean, they’re all back in my old world anyways.”

“Ah,” he hummed, ducking over her shoulder to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Quel malheur.”

There were too many hands at her waist, and the pull of it was a bit disorientating. Saya swayed into one kiss and then another, neck craning back and forth—left to right, left to right.

“How would you prefer us?” Vil asked, with all the casual nuance of someone inquiring after the weather. It was going to drive her insane. And holy fuck, holy shit, they were—

“—actually doing this,” she choked, feeling lightheaded and far, far too warm.

“Of course,” Vil smirked, amusement playing across his face. “Unless you want us to stop.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” she squawked, and then buried her face in his shoulder in humiliation. Rook laughed, chiming and musical against her collarbone.

Vil reached around to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her rump and squeeze. “Well? You haven’t answered me.”

“…You in front?” she asked, tentative. “So I can…”

“So you can?” he pressed, dragging her back and forth between them in a horrible, torturous grind.

“So I can kiss you,” she mumbled, pink from the tip of her chin to the roots of her hair.

That upright, royal smugness melted from his face for a moment in a wave of golden fondness, and he ducked in to press a sweet, soft kiss to her lips—his hands coming up to cup her cheeks and run gently through her mused hair. She could hear Rook let out the most besotted little sigh, like he was watching a favorite scene from one of Neige’s romcoms.

“Ah, l'amour vrai,” he breathed, leaning forward to hook his chin over her shoulder. “I never will tire of the sight.”

“Mmm,” Vil hummed, pulling away from her mouth with a lingering nip and a long, deep drag of his tongue along hers. “I suppose not, if I have any say in it.”

Saya blinked—dizzy, and warm, and jaw still hanging slack—and Rook laughed at the startled look on her face.

“Meaning he’d like to keep you forever, mon coeur,” he chirped. “So such a treat on the eyes will never have an expiry date.”

“Oh,” she whispered, still far too dazed and only falling further into that horrible, hot spiral when Vil’s fingers shifted back down to her waist to pull her back into that slow, smooth, grind between them. It was awful, and wet. And surely she was making a hideous mess of the sheets. And their thighs. And all of it. But neither of them seemed to mind, only groaned low against her skin as the blonde beauty rocked her and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and—

“Still alright, kitten?” he laughed, leaning forward to suck another dark mark against her throat.

“I want that,” she blurted, and it came out shivery and far too high. “Being—” Son of a—No! No! She had some dignity left! And stupid fucking truth potion or otherwise, she wasn’t going to let him tease her into saying— “Being yours forever.”

Another kiss, so deep and strong it had her collapsing back against Rook’s chest with the push of it. She whined against painted lips and she felt the hunter’s pleased rumble along her spine in return.

“Si réactif,” he sighed, dipping down to the other side of her throat to lave a matching mark to one Vil had only just bitten into her skin.

Vil hummed again, deep in his chest—lips trailing from her mouth, down her chin, and all the way to her collarbones. “Isn’t she?”

“Okay, okay,” Saya squawked, fighting a shiver when Rook’s hands curled around her front to cup at her chest. “Can we stop talking out how stupidly squeaky I am and just—just get on with—"

Two of Vil’s fingers curled up into her in one, sharp thrust and she gasped.

“What was that, kitten?” he cooed. “I couldn’t hear you—” another brutal thump thump thump, another strangled exhale, “over whatever—” gasping, and gasping, “you were trying,” Saya squealed, hands coming down to tug fruitlessly at Vil’s wrist as he drilled up into her over, and over, and over—“to say?”

She bucked against his grip and then Rook’s palm was slipping forward to press down hard just below her naval. And she could practically feel the tips of Vil’s fingers grinding up against the hand at her abdomen. Full, and tight, and so, so—

The hunter’s other hand dipped low between her legs to rub tight, focused circles against her clit and the winding, spring of heat in her gut just about snapped. Hard, and fast, and sudden. And then it was gone. Those crafty, wet fingers slipping away to stroke along her flank instead. Saya threw her head back against Rook’s shoulder with a whimpering gasp. She bit into her lip and pressed her fingers over her mouth in a bid to trap some of the horrible, embarrassing noises trying to sneak off her tongue. To trap the complaint, that she could feel bubbling up along with those awful, terrible mews. Because if she ever, in all her life, let a whiny, little ‘why did you stop?’ pass her lips, Rook Hunt would never let her live it down. Ever.

She breathed through her nose, counting slow and steady as she tried to drag her head back out of the clouds. And just when she thought she was settling that horrible, heat addled, fog into something manageable, the grinding started again and she squeaked.

“Wh-What are you—” she choked, twisting down against a third finger. A fourth.

“I know that normally you prefer a bit of a sting,” Vil said, and Saya was nodding along with the bubbles of that godawful potion before she could help herself. There was a twitch in Rook’s fingers along the dip of her spine, and she could feel his nails dig into the skin there like he couldn’t help himself. “But this is something new, darling. So it’s better safe than sorry, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed under her breath. “Probably.”

Vil chuckled, indulgent, against her cheek, and then curved his fingers in a way that had her seeing stars.

“Another time, perhaps,” he trilled, soft, and went back to scissoring back and forth. A steady, slippery grind to ease their way.

There was a curious hum at her shoulder and then Rook’s fingers were dancing back around to tap at Vil’s steadily rocking wrist.

“May I?”

Those heavily lined eyes narrowed for a moment, considering, and then he slowly shifted his hand to make room for Rook’s own, slipping two fingers aside to leave a soft, warm space between them.

“Carefully,” he warned, firm.

“Bien sûr, bien sûr!” Rook trilled, delving forward too fast, and too quick, and not in line with his sweet, little reassurance at all. Saya squeaked and clenched her thighs shut around his hand. Hips stuttering on the rapid thump, thump, thump of his knuckles meeting her folds. She arched away with a gasp, toes twisting in the sheets and head tossing back and forth in a tight, strangled little mewl.

“Slower,” Vil snapped, and Rook sighed like an unrepentant child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Yes, yes. As you say, mon reine.”

The brutal pace grew more tempered, more constrained, and Saya’s muscles slowly eased out of their rigid arch. Vil hummed, approving, and deftly began to twist his own fingers again in time with Rook’s enthusiastic exploration.

“Angle yourself a bit more towards the front. And a touch to the right,” he coached, and then there was familiar pressure against a tight, far too sensitive part of her that had Saya keening. “Ah. That’s it then.”

“Merci, merci, Roi de Poison,” Rook beamed, “for your marvelous guidance, as always.”

“Please, just—” she begged, twisting and bucking against the mess of hands between her legs. Because she couldn’t—it was all—there was so much—and— “It’s fine. I’m ready. Please. Can you just—”

There was a sharp pinch at her hip that had her whining and flinching away.

“Don’t rush me, kitten,” Vil chastised. “You know the rules.”

“Of course I do,” Saya snapped, more of those same, terrible truths popping along her tongue like fizz off a soft drink. “And breaking them is the only thing that gets you to actually fuck me nine out of ten times. So of course I—"

Another wicked sting at the inside of her thigh, and Saya yelped.

“My, you are an unruly, little thing aren’t you, favori?” Rook cooed, nails raking up and down her pale skin like he wanted to etch those stark, red lines into her flesh like a tattoo. “Your darling Queen adores you so much, and this is how you repay him?” There was a near-feral, hungry spark in those emerald eyes that had her trembling. And suddenly Saya felt very much like a rabbit trapped between the jaws of a cackling fox. A feisty, smirking predator who just wanted any excuse to chase, and pounce, and bite—

“Enough, Rook.”

Another sigh, long and lamenting. And Saya shivered against a fresh wave of goosebumps.

Vil hooked a finger beneath her chin and pulled her forward into a slow, syrupy kiss. His tongue traced steadily along hers, lining her teeth, pricking her canines, twining round and round until she was easing back against him with a soft sigh.

“There you are, kitten” he hummed, pulling back with a thin, sticky trail of saliva—keeping close enough that it didn’t have quite enough stretch to snap and break between them. He cupped her cheeks between his palms and Saya did her best to ignore the stripe of thick, slippery wetness that rubbed along her skin. “I think we’ve teased you enough for one night, don’t you?”

She nodded, still a bit too shivery and teary-eyed. Trembling like a leaf in the wind. And Vil leaned forward with a sweet coo to offer her another kiss.

“Do you still want this, darling?”

Another nod. One that she probably would have offered even without a Truth Potion coursing through her veins. Because, yes. It was a lot. But—but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? And Rook was still a bit, well, himself. And Saya still felt like he was two steps away from sinking his teeth into her throat and never letting go. But she trusted Vil to stay the Hunter’s hand—to keep them both in line. So she twisted her fingers through his own, finely manicured ones and leaned forward to press a soft, tremulous kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“There’s my good girl,” Vil hummed, an indulgent, little smile curling his red lips. “Now, how to best go about this…”

Manicured fingers rose to clasp firmly along the line of her shoulders, and then Vil was easing her back flat against the mattress. Her head landed with a soft ‘thump’ against Rook’s thighs, and immediately the hunter’s hands were curling into the loose waves of her hair, raking his nails along her scalp until she was shivering all over again. Vil slid his palms down along her sides to cup under her rear and raise her hips off the pooling, silk sheets. One curved further along her lower back to keep her aloft, and the other ran down her legs one at a time, hooking one calf around his waist and then the other.

He shifted forward on his knees until he was looming over her and ducked down to press another deep, breath-stealing kiss into her lips. And then he was rocking forward and slipping in slow and smooth. Saya whined against his mouth and he nipped softly at lower her lip in reprimand.

“Relax, kitten.”

She whined again and tried to shift her hips to better accommodate the familiar stretch, but Vil dug his fingers into her side to keep her firmly in place, tapping one, painted nail against the dip in her waist like a reprimand. She stilled under that firm grip all at once and Rook trilled something enthusiastic and saccharine sweet in her ear.

“Si bien entraîné,” he cooed, peppering kisses all along the curve of her jaw, up her cheek, along the bridge of her nose. “Si adorable,” another wave of pecks along her forehead. “Tu le prends si bien, favori.”

Saya scrunched her nose beneath the endless press of fluttering lips, ticklish, and Rook laughed—bright and fond. He leaned in closer to run the broad flat of his tongue along her lips instead and Saya fought a complaint, because that would just open her mouth up to the rest of him. And going by the spark darkening that emerald leer of his, that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Vil shooed the hunter away with an exasperated wave of his hand and shifted his palms back along the dip in her spine.

“Up, darling.”

He rolled back onto his knees and Saya shifted obediently alongside him—letting herself be swooped up from the long, lean sprawl and into his lap. She wobbled a bit and dug her teeth into her lip to focus on keeping her balance. It was an odd sort of position. Normally when Vil settled her in his lap, she was flush with his thighs. Pressed core to core so that he could grind her down along his length and whisper terrible things into her ear that made her melt. Now, she was situated far further up—sticky clit bumping against the firm muscles of his stomach and thighs shivering into an arch. Like trying to hold a rising trot on a horse.

Vil ran a soothing hand up and down her trembling sides.

“Good girl, doing so lovely for us” he hummed, pressing her closer and encouraging her to grind low, slow circles against his abdomen. Saya fought a shiver and bit her lip harder. “Stay just like this, hmm?”

She nodded, jittery but determined, and he smiled indulgently against her throat.

Amethyst eyes flashed towards their guest and Vil dipped his chin—an order. And then Rook was draping himself along her back once more, hands curling around to knead and pinch along her chest like he couldn’t help himself. Squeezing handfuls of soft, squishy flesh between his palms, rolling pink peaks between his fingers in sharp, overenthusiastic twists, and panting near-indiscernible obscenities into her neck all the while. Vil shuffled them around until they were situated to his liking, smacking at Rook’s limbs whenever the hunter tried to readjust himself or slip too close too soon. Two sets of hands dug themselves into her hips, and Saya could feel the hot, blunt press of Rook at her back like a brand. He sighed, whimsical, against her shoulders and rutted short, aborted thrusts against her rear—leaving smears of tacky, warm precum in his wake like a signature. Saya could feel it cooling in sticky trails all along her skin, but Rook seemed more than merry with the idea of letting it pool there, thick and messy, until they were stuck together at the hip from it.

She was still pressed up at that awkward angle, still rubbing those soft, wet, maddening circles right where Vil had told her to. And even though her thighs were really starting to ache, Saya realized oh. Like this, Rook could drive right up into her, couldn’t he? They both could. And then, after she was wrapped up between them like a lock and key, they would be able to pass her back and forth so easily, and—

Vil rocked up into her in one quick, sharp thrust and Saya’s attention was immediately snapping back to him on a high-pitched keen.

“Focus, kitten,” he chastised. “Just for this part, at the very least. So that we can make sure everything’s going the way it should. And,” he pressed, flicking at her nose, “because you will be telling us if anything hurts. Understood?”

The potion popped in her mouth with a vengeance, and she found herself pouting, “But I like when it—"

Vil nipped at her lips to stop the words in their tracks, but Rook was already gasping delightedly in her ear.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he chuffed, amused.

The House Warden propped his chin against her shoulder to press a wet, lingering kiss beneath her ear. And with his teeth still scraping against her skin, he canted his head back to shoot Rook the coldest, sharpest look she’d ever seen him level at the hunter in their bed.

“She’s small,” Vil said, like a warning. But there was something else there too, underlying. Something curling, and dark, and possessive that Saya wasn’t really sure what to make of. “So you need to be careful.”

She couldn’t see Rook’s reaction from over her shoulder, but whatever stare down they were locked in felt like it dragged on for an age. And then, finally, Vil was relaxing against her with a nod and drawing the both of them back into the little cradle of limbs he’d so deftly constructed.

“Go on then,” he ordered, in the same, haughty tone he might use for making demands of an unruly student. “She’s waiting.”

“A crime I shall never be able to repent for,” Rook crooned, and then dug his fingers along Saya’s hips until she was carefully arching away from Vil’s with a soft hiss.

It was a bit of an awkward balancing act at first—trying to keep herself from tipping too far forward or too far back. To keep Vil between her legs without slipping off entirely while also bowing her spine enough to give Rook the access he needed. He panted along her shoulder, biting and licking as he went in a way that made her think of rabbits and predators all over again. She could feel the steady, blunt pressure of him as he rocked forward bit by bit. Careful, just like Vil had demanded he be. Saya shifted against the strain in her legs and gave a tentative swivel of her hips, trying to coax him into seating himself deeper. And, naturally, Vil was there in an instant to nip admonishingly at her throat and tighten his grip until she kept herself still once more.

“Be patient, kitten.”

I am being patient, she wanted to whine back, but in that moment, Rook hit a point where the resistance seemed to give way all at once, and she was sliding all the way down against the both of them with a noise like the air had been knocked straight out of her lungs.

Vil groaned, low and punched out, against her neck, and Rook hissed from behind his teeth.

“Si serrée,” he gasped, hips rabbiting up fast—once, twice—like he couldn’t help himself, and Vil snapped something under his breath that Saya was too out of her wits to make sense of. Because it was so, so much. So tight, and hot, and the pressure was just, so, so—

She panted around them and dug her nails into Vil’s shoulders hard, hard, hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“Alright?” he asked after a moment, mouthing gently at the hollow below her collarbone as he glanced up at her from beneath heavy lashes.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, jerkily, dizzily.

“Nothing painful?” he coaxed, and Saya shook her head until her hair was flying around her cheeks. The pressure and the tight, tight, tight, tight of it was almost too much to bear. Teetering precariously along that ledge of ‘too much.’ But it was also so, so good—

“It feels—”

“Go on,” Rook teased, voice a bit tremulous and breathy, and she could feel the words slither along the shell of her ear. Vil shushed him sharply and then pressed another encouraging kiss to her throat.

“Don’t mind him, darling. When you’re ready.”

“It’s nice?” she managed to choke out, when Vil shifted a bit at her front and it sent a tidal wave of all sorts of unfamiliar pressure through the rest of her. Lovely, and full, and different, and—

“Ah, avez-vous entendu que, mon reine?” the hunter tutted. “We are but ‘nice.’ That doesn’t sound like much of a resounding success, no?”

“No,” Vil hummed on a wry sort of agreement that sounded like nothing but trouble. He shifted again, giving an experimental rut of his hips as he did so that had all three of them shivering on a moan. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. How unfortunate.”

“Very nice?” Saya spluttered out frantically.

“Oh, come now!” Rook mewed, and she could feel his fingers reaching around to dig into her hips and gently begin to pull her down. “Surely we can do better than that, mon reine.”

“Surely,” he echoed, gaze flitting pointedly over her shoulder to whatever expression was curling over their guest’s face. Vil’s eyes narrowed again, but that swimming, dark something from before was absent. Now, it just looked like a challenge. Saya could feel Rook’s smile widen against her cheek. “Keep to my rhythm,” Vil demanded, giving another sharp, deep, push that had Saya dipping back on a gasp. Rook chirped in delight.

“I will, as always, endeavor to follow your lead in all things, mon reine,” he trilled, letting his own hips jump forward in response. It was too hard, too quick, and Saya yelped when the force of it nearly toppled her out of both of their laps.

“Rook.”

“Apologies, apologies,” the hunter cooed, giving another, gentler thrust. “I was too eager, I’m afraid.”

Vil huffed under his breath and then started up his own, measured grind. He twined his fingers along Saya’s hips and pulled her down at each upward press. Meeting his thrusts in time so that they struck long, and deep, and hard along all the familiar, sensitive places that he knew far too well. It took a moment for Rook to match it—to push in as Vil eased out. To rut just hard enough to have her whining and gasping but not squeaking in discomfort. And Saya was dying. The press of the two of them was so, so much. She felt out of her skin—like her pulse was a match to the pressures in her belly and those alone. She raked her nails down Vil’s back until he was hissing with it and Rook trilled in delight.

“Next time,” he sighed, dreamy, and stuttered on a thrust. “Ah, la merveille de sentir tes griffes dans ma peau,” he crooned. He bit at her throat, hard, and Saya choked on a squeak. “What I wouldn’t give—”

“Focus, Rook,” Vil snorted, reaching a hand down between them to rub tight circles against Saya’s clit until she was shivering.

“Ah, désolé, désolé,” the Vice Warden chirped, and then drove up hard enough to nearly send her sprawling all over again. But this time he kept his fingers firm around her waist, hauling her down against the pair of them just as sharply. And Saya keened.

Vil didn’t even bother to chastise him this time, his own head falling back on a startled grunt at the tight, tight heat—his hips catching on the slick drag of it and nearly tugging him under. He dug his fingers in alongside Rook’s and pulled her down harsher. Until Saya was hiccupping on every thrust and panting desperate, whiny sentiments against his shoulder. That curling, clawing warmth in her gut spiraled higher, and Vil’s eyes caught on hers like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Almost there, kitten?” he breathed against her cheek, wet and fast. “We do have an audience this, time, don’t we?” he cooed, pupils pulsing so wide and blown that they nearly swallowed the amethyst there in its entirety. “So we’re going to have to make it count.”

And then his fingers were working over her clit in earnest and Saya squealed.

“Vil—”

“Louder.”

She gulped, nearly choking on air, and that potion bubbled in her veins like a promise.

“Vil.”

“Can’t hear you, darling.” Which was absolutely rich, coming for the man currently pushing words past his throat like he trying not to gasp for breath. Like every other sound coming out of him wasn’t some airy, punched-out groan.

“Vil—"

“You can do better than that, kitten.”

Saya’s very rightful complaint broke into a squawk when Rook drove up harder. When the two of them met in the middle in perfect sync—in a perfect, terrible pressure that was far too much. And she wanted to scream, and scream, and—

“That’s it, darling.”

Saya wailed, tucking herself tight against Vil’s chest like she could crawl inside him if she pushed hard enough. That she could live there forever alongside the staccato thump thump thump of his heart at her front, and Rook’s at her back, and—

The spring snapped and Saya was tumbling over the edge all at once. Rook moaned, low and long, from over her shoulder and Vil cursed under his breath. Both sets of hips stuttered at the tight, tight clench and then, as she was still trembling, and panting, and seeing stars, Vil groaned and released deep inside her in a familiar, wet, wave of heat. Rook followed not a moment after, sighing, and gasping, and pushing forward as far as he could go.

It took a long, long time for her to come down. And even after that, Saya was still shaking, and shivery, and far too oversensitive. Rook shifted at her back—still tucked up as deep inside as he could manage. Still wet, and warm, and heavy—and she winced at the tender sting of it. Vil’s lips traced a soft, sweet pattern against her temple, murmuring reassurances that she still wasn’t quite in the right mind to make sense of, and then he was gently easing her off the both of them and back down towards the sheets. Carefully, carefully. Saya’s thighs throbbed, and then the rest of her gave an answering, sore flinch. All the way down to the core of her. She was sticky, and aching, and there was a pool of white, tacky, wetness cooling between her legs that she could feel trailing down, down, down. She shifted with another flinch, hoping to take some of the pressure off her hips, and Vil’s hands reached down to slot a pillow beneath her lower back.

“There you are, darling,” Vil hummed, tucking her gently between the pair of them so she could curl up into his side, mess be damned. Rook draped himself delicately along her back, rubbing circles into the bruises by her hips and cooing soft, low sentiments into her hair. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

Saya grumbled something drunkenly incoherent into his chest and Vil chuffed in amusement against her flushed cheeks.

“Une prestation magistrale,” Rook encouraged, still a bit warbly, a bit breathless, and licked a long, lazy line over the sweat beading along her skin. “Truly, I have never witnessed such perfection in human form, mon coeur.”

Saya’s head lolled forward on another, soft hiccup and she snuggled in tighter—embarrassed. Limbs loose and shivering.

Vil’s hand trailed up and down her arm in slow, measured strokes.

“Too much?” he coaxed, concerned, and Saya managed to shake her head until he was laughing at her under his breath. “Ah. Just enough then, I suppose.”

She took a moment to just breathe—to take in the familiar scents of Vil’s lingering cologne, the soft, floral breeze of his shampoo, the lavender musk that was just him. And overlaid amidst all that cozy comfort was the smell of cypress and pine. Of ozone, and leather, and sprawling forests. Saya scrunched her nose nervously against Vil’s collarbone for a moment, taking in another few, deep breaths to steady herself. And then she turned back onto her side, wincing all the while. The hands at her hips faltered, and with careful, cautious movements, she managed to flop all the way over without squeaking even once.

Saya peeked up at Rook from beneath her golden lashes, nervous. And then slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Uhm…” she spluttered, quickly averting her gaze and ears going pink in chagrin. Despite how innocent it was in comparison to all the things that they’d just done—what they’d done to her. “…Thank you.”

And then she was ducking back into the safety of Vil’s arms far too quickly, wheezing in discomfort when it tugged at muscles she didn’t even know could ache. She burrowed back into his chest with a sniffly little whine that was far too teary for her pride to admit, and Vil was immediately back to cooing and carding his fingers through her hair.

The House Warden smiled into her mused locks for a moment longer before letting his sharp gaze dart back to the hunter sprawled out beside them.

Rook had a hand delicately raised to his cheek, as if he could trace the imprint of Saya’s kiss with his fingertips alone. His green eyes had gone wide with surprise, and there was a strange, curling, spark blooming in them that Vil knew far too well.

“Oh,” Rook whispered, sounding choked. Like his heart had grown enough to swell past the cage of his chest, to press hard and welcoming against his airway like it couldn’t help itself. Ready to steal the last breath it could. Ready to take it willingly.

Vil snorted into Saya’s hair and let her press herself in an exhausted puddle along his side, right where she was always meant to be. He closed his eyes, feeling the pleasant, sore twinges in his own muscles as he settled back against the pillows. A moment passed in silence, and then another. And then, predictably, Vil could hear the soft shft of Rook slipping closer along the mattress—feel the dip along Saya’s hips as the hunter draped himself over her back like a cloak.

Saya stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then was slipping back into sleep between one, soft breath and the next. Vil tucked himself against her nape and felt the brush of Rook’s hands as he reached forward to clutch at the teeny, shivering blonde between them like a lifeline. Vil sighed again and let himself be lulled into a dreamless doze alongside her.

They could discuss the future another time.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x OC #Vil Schoenheit x OC #Vil x OC #Rook Hunt x OC #Vil x Rook x OC #vil schoenheit #Rook Hunt #My Writing

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lonvely · 3 months

Text

calm morning listening to the birds chirp.

tomorrow is robyn's first day at work! so she's enjoying the calm before the politics-related chaos.

#ts4 #simblr #the sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #mine #s: robyn humboldt #humboldt g1 #sweetest berry legacy

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moonmeg · 4 months

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I have a headcannon which is that cat sometimes has nightmares where Philip catches Robyn and ends up doing the same thing to him that he did to Caleb 😭

A tug on his hair disrupted his peaceful sleep. The chirp of a cardinal getting ever more frequent and louder until Robyn couldn't ignore it anymore. He groaned, grimacing while turning the other way and gently swatting his palisman away but the white cardinal didn't surrender. She kept tugging on the loose strand of his brown hair desperately.

"Snowball, seriously, knock it off.", the boy groaned again. He opened his eyes a little and rose to sit when the bird still didn't stop trying to wake him.

"What is it?"

He rubbed his eyes while Snowball told him to listen closely. There's sounds coming from outside the room. They were dimmed but they were audible. He recognized it was his mother who was the source of those sounds.

"Ma?"

He froze for a second. It was crying he heard. Sobs in between exclamations to "Stop".

"Ma!"

Robyn leapt out of bed, tore the door open and made Snowball turn into her staff form. He was powerless on his own but through Snowball he was able to do minor spells still. It wasn't on par with his abilities before he lost his power but it was better than being empty handed.

He raced to his mother's room.

"Who's there?" he swung the door open, staff firmly in hand, ready to fight. Only there was no one in the room but his mother.

"Leave him alone! Don't hurt him!", Catherine yelled her head turning left and right on the pillow as if she was in pain. A nightmare, Robyn figured.

He let Snowball turn back to her normal form and ran to Catherine with a repeated "Mama" to wake her.

She was too deep in the nightmare however to take notice he was there. Instead her exclaims got louder and more desperate the more Robyn used "Mama". Genuinely scared and worried for her, he began shaking her.

"Mama!! Wake up! Ma-"

"NO!", she screamed and finally woke from the shock of the image her nightmare had given her.

Her scream frightened Robyn from its mere loudness and pain it carried. It was a cry of desperation more than a scream.

"Mama, shh! Shh, it's alright-"

"Caleb-"

"It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Deep breaths."

He ran his hands up and down her upper arm in attempt to comfort her. His expression softened into one of pity. She still dreamed of Caleb and his cruel fate. It never let her go and Robyn was well aware of that.

Catherine reached for her son and cupped his face in her palms, a sob escaping her chest.

"Robyn! Oh, my baby!"

"I'm here.", he confirmed. "Shhh. I'm here. I'm here. You only had a bad dream."

"He took you from me!", Catherine continued, checking every inch of her son's face with her palms. He was alright. No scars, no blood on the corners of his mouth, nothing indicating the reality of her gruesomely vivid dreams he was alright, "First Caleb and then you! I was too weak to save you- oh, Titan, forgive me! Forgive me, Robyn!"

She let out another sob as she buried her face in his shoulder. Her nails were digging into his arm, clinging to her baby. Gratitude wasn't fit enough of a word to describe what she felt as she realized it was only a nightmare and that her little sprout was right there. Alive. Breathing into her hair. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

Robyn slowly began to piece together what her nightmare tortured her with. She not only relived her husband's death but was forced to watch her son - her only son - meet the same or a similar fate.

"I have nothing to forgive you for. It's alright, Mama. I promise.", he said softly.

"I keep failing to protect you. I keep failing...", Catherine hicced.

Robyn held his breath for a second.

"This wasn't the first time you dreamed that?"

"No...", she took a heavy breath.

Her quiet sobs were the only sound in the room. Her forehead on his shoulder, she thought about whether or not to tell him more. She didn't want Robyn to see her like that or even less worry him. But he wasn't a little child anymore either and it would be a delusion to think he never noticed her heartache.

"I've been having this nightmare since you were an infant. Just shortly after your birth."

"Mama...", Robyn tightened his embrace as he whispered the words, "I'm so sorry."

None of them said anything more. None of them expected more to be said. They just sat there. Mother and son holding each other. One in relief, the other in comfort.

As for the moment the mutual embrace was enough.

And what else could they do but that?

#moonmeg ask #your headcanon is actually very much canon #not my favorite piece of writing but i hope you still enjoy 😔#robyn clawthorne #catherine clawthorne

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frostedlemonwriter · 4 months

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Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter 1 - The Door Under The Stairs

This is just a teaser for the novella. It is going to be 4 chapters and part of the Haven Bay anthology. It is under the cut. Enjoy!

Under the stairs, of which groaned and complained under any weight, sat an ancient weathered wooden door. Its once vibrant paint now chipped and faded, and to the young Cara, it seemed to beckon her. Which, out of her whole family, her slender frame could easily slide within, even if it never opened all the way. Within were only spider webs and an empty wooden box. Alongside the mustiness, dusty aroma that scrunched up her button nose.

Cara had discovered this hidden gem shortly after the movers placed the last box within her family’s new home. Though an unfamiliar place that failed to conjure the comforting essence of Oregon, her home state and the place she missed. Maine simply didn’t feel like home to her, not even a little bit. But, she thought to herself, at least a new place to explore.

Perched atop what locals referred to as a little mountain, Cara considered it more of a hill; a peculiar term for an unusual place, but she expected nothing less here. Tall, steepled roof which towered above, and provided a spacious attic, its vastness allowed for someone to live within. And the landlady, Mrs. Robyn Clarke, took advantage of it and rented the space. Which Cara had a brief introduction to, a Mr. Jacob Kaczmarek, the sole occupant. She considered him an odd old man, who seemed to be an endless source of tall tales. He carried with him an aura of unconventional wisdom, along with the acrid scent of cheap tobacco and cheaper alcohol.

Below the home, a finished wine cellar intrigued the twelve-year-old girl. Its aged wine shelves laid barren, minus a few bottles here and there. Mrs. Robyn Clarke reassured the family, anything that remained inside was no longer fit to drink. Cara couldn’t help but think that she had no desire to taste whatever was within those ancient bottles, anyway. Wine seemed gross. Cara would never drink it, always made adults act stupid.

Behind the old manor, nestled halfway down the hill where the land protruded before it sloped at a gentle angle to the ground, lay an ageless, well-maintained garden. Which the wooden sign proclaimed had been there since the mid-1800s, as long as the house itself. Right now, as part of his rent, under the careful stewardship of Mr. Kaczmarek, it remained pristine, untouched by any overgrowth. While majestic, weather-beaten trees provided a protective canopy, and cast dappled shadows over the vibrant flowers. Instead of delicate ornamental trees commonly found in gardens, these were robust giants. All stood tall against the harsh, icy winters that swept over Mount Desert Island.

“It’s even cold during the summer,” Cara said to the wind.

There down the side of the little mountain, a trail meandered its way toward the corner of the property that bordered an ancient forest. Cara imagined fantastical places with equally fantastic creatures, but before the woods sat another old building. It was a squat single-level home, its faded white paint peeled in the late summer sun. And the air carried the scent of cut grass and blooming flowers from the stunted, wind-blown forsythia bushes. Also brought with it a slight breeze—the young pre-teen wished she had brought her jacket.

As Cara approached, she could hear the distant hum of lawnmowers from the neighborhood not too far away, and the occasional chirping of birds that made their homes in the many trees. While she stepped up onto the front porch, it creaked under her weight, gave off the feeling as if it could collapse at any moment, even if it wouldn’t.

This was the home of the round-shaped landlord and her broadly-shouldered husband Adam, a couple who were as unassuming as their home. Inside, the air blew cold; the AC overworked this time of year. It felt like an icebox in the living room, which exhibited a worn-out couch dead center, its fabric threadbare, and the springs squeaked with each movement. An older HDTV played a muffled talk show that no one paid attention to. While twin brothers Steven and Sam, both sixteen and too cool for Cara and her middle school inquisitive nature, roosted like lazy birds, their faces buried in their handheld video games.

Meanwhile, the youngest daughter, Rowan, with her broad green eyes and curious gaze, displayed a genuine interest in the newcomer. More than happy to create a sense of friendship, at least they were both the same age. So that should make it easier.

“Oh cool, we’ll be in the same grade,” Rowan said after a moment and stated the obvious. “Ya know, in a week or so.”

Cara had no interest in the obvious. “Wanna come exploring with me? Any places of interest to see around here? Is there anything one has to see?” She prodded for information. New home meant unknown places to explore.

Rowan nodded her head with so much vigor that her reddish blonde curls bounced around. “Okay, so this is a very old and ancient place, alright? Come on. I’ll show you a few things.” And Cara, by the end of it all, couldn’t deny the fascination this place held.

In a small grove within the vast expanse of the woods were large rocks, all in intriguing and interesting shapes, which did interest Cara. One rock, in particular, bore an uncanny resemblance to a face when viewed from a bit of a distance. While just around the bend along the trail, a large cool fairy ring sat behind a boulder. Adorned with squishy little brown mushrooms, which stunk when crushed underfoot, Cara wouldn’t forget that. At the edge of the woods, still close to the property, stood an ancient stone well. Its heavy lid kept everyone out, and despite Cara’s growing strength, the lid remained immovable.

“Kind of gross to think people drank out of that,” Cara said as a toad croaked and jumped off the lid.

“Toad water.” Rowan scrunched up her nose. “One last thing I wanna show you today. My mom will probably be yelling for me soon anyways.”

“Surprised my mother hasn’t already.”

On the same old trail with the fairy ring, a sign directed those to Haven Bay just a bit of a hike through the forest. Rowan led Cara, who followed without a word between the girls. Despite the sun still being high overhead, it felt darker here somehow. Looked darker as the leaves blocked out most of the light, as thick as the canopy was. Several minutes later, Cara’s eyes widened at the old trees that had lined the trail, branches gnarled, and trunks thick, strong, seemed to hold the sky up all on their own. Wow, was all Cara could think.

“This place is magical. Don’t you feel it?” Rowan asked.

Cara scoffed, but said nothing. Magic isn’t real, she thought to herself. They were both far too old to believe in such things. Didn’t even believe in Santa anymore, for at least a few years.

She knew fables were just that—tales that you told to little children to keep their imagination growing. “Magic, really? You serious?”

Rowan opened her mouth to speak. Yet stopped once the piercing, shrill sound of her mother’s voice echoed through the trees. Cut through the air like a sharp knife. Which seemed to reverberate off the trees.

I could stay here alone, Cara thought to herself. Just at the mere suggestion caused a sense of unease to dig deep into the pit of her stomach. Her heart raced, skin prickled and raised goosebumps. All the while, the faint scene of damp earth danced along with the leaves from a soft breeze, which seemed to heighten her senses.

In this fleeting moment, Cara pondered the words of her newfound friend, allowed a flicker of curiosity to play in her mind. However, in the end, she succumbed to the pull of not being alone out here, and followed behind Rowan with a quickened pace.

Every day Cara’s mother would call for her for lunch and as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Which left plenty of time for her to do nothing inside the new home. Because she had already explored everything inside, Cara found it to be rather boring.

Father spent all day in his studio, a successful illustrator and cartoonist. Always nose deep into some project. While mother worked as an off-site accountant for various small businesses. Her laptop opened, ear buds plugged in to listen to music. Sat at the dining table to keep an eye on Cara, but she could always easily escape. Whenever she wanted to, Cara was a bit more sneaky than her parents expected.

Cara wasted far too much time on the streaming services before watching all the DVDs and BlueRays that they owned. She would stand beside a small living room window, watched the frequent rain pour outside. Not one of those rains where Cara could go outside and explore in the mud. No, one of the types that made the landscape look so much more alluring to her young mind. This rain turned the ground into a muddy soup, drenched the trees and made them droop under the weight of so much water.

“Can I go outside?” Cara pleaded with her mother, who typed away on the keyboard in a determined manner. “I won’t get dirty.”

Mother didn’t bother to look up from her work as she said, “You’ll get sick out there, dear. Just watch something on the TV.”

So, just like that, Cara groaned and stomped off into her father’s office. He wasn’t much better.

“Daaaaaad, can I go outside and play? Just out back. I wanna dig for frogs.” She didn’t really want to find any frogs.

His tone came out as bored and disinterested just like mother’s. Eyes never left the drawing desk. “What did your mother say?”

With a roll of her eyes, she replied, “Cara Quin! Don’t you dare go outside! You’ll get sick!”

“That’s your answer then, honey.”

Cara let out a long, exasperated, and wholly dramatic sigh, and said, “but it is so boring in here.”

“Sorry, honey, but I need to focus and finish this comic, okay? I promise to play some game with you after work.”

She didn’t like video games too much, other than a couple. That always was his response, so mother wouldn’t complain that he played video games too much. “Okay,” Cara said, turned on her heels, and strolled back into the hallway.

It didn’t take long for her to rediscover that door under the stairs. Now, unlike when they moved in, it seemed to be locked tighter than anything else.

Cara looked at her mother. “Can you open the door? I wanna see what’s behind it.”

“What’s behind what?” Mother’s reply came back sharp, terse, and broke her concentration. “You know I am busy. Besides, you already went under the stairs.” And that, as they say, was that for young Cara.

But something could have changed, Cara thought to herself with a huff.

Despite it being summer, Cara still had a bedtime to follow. Which, when she would protest, fell upon deaf ears. So instead, her gaze drifted toward the darkened woods outside her window. If nothing else, Cara got lucky that her room overlooked that old forest. Despite the rain, doing its best to hide it, Cara could still see the trees.

Then, with all the sneaky skills she could muster, Cara slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the window. That’s when she saw a faint light in the treeline, and not like the kind she had seen with a flashlight, or even a camera. Cara figured that whatever this was, displayed a lot more erratic and playful characteristics than that, it seemed. Bounced up and down, as if it jumped every few seconds, yet far too high for that to be an actual person.

Weird.

Just as quick as it had showed up, the light disappeared. Cara kept her wide brown eyes on the treeline for a moment longer. Until she climbed back under her blanket to try to get a little sleep. Yet, what looked like a shadow scurried across the floor, and one could easily mistake it as a mouse. Until it disappeared through her bedroom door. When, with the inquisitive of her age, Cara got back up and opened the door with a not-so-subtle creyeak!

Shadows covered the hallway. With the only light came from the small nightlight kept in the bathroom. Whose door stayed just open enough to make it easy to find, just in case. While the small, little shadow, which Cara did figure to be a mouse by this point, darted down the stairs. Where, despite how the stairs protested with squeaks and groans, Cara followed quickly after.

Then it disappeared through the door underneath the stairs. Unlike earlier today, where it seemed to be locked up tighter than anything else. Now, it stood ajar, and on her knees, Cara pulled the door open. From within, the sound of an old music box, so much like the one Cara remembered her grandmother having on that old wooden shelf. Yet here it played.

Darkness covered whatever caused the music to play. There within was a void so dark, so deep, that seemed to want to swallow her whole. Before she could crawl in, to see what could create such music. Maybe Cara missed an old music box that broke and just started playing all by itself. Sure, Cara.

“Cara, what are you doing?” Her mother’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

So much like a mother cat with her kittens, Cara felt her mother’s hand grip the back of her neck. Dragged away from the door before mother slammed it shut, the lock clicked and wouldn’t open again tonight.

Cara explained everything that had happened in quick, almost frantic words. But mother wouldn’t listen, chalked it up to her daughter’s imagination. Which she praised, encouraged Cara to write all her stories, and shooed her off to bed.

After a moment, Cara dropped her arms down to her side. Apologized to mother, and slumped off upstairs without another word. Though perhaps she figured that writing everything down wasn’t a bad idea. There was nothing but disbelief in mother’s eyes.

Would I believe it if I didn’t see it myself? She had to ask herself. Probably not.

Sleep finally overcame her that night.

Tag list:

@cljordan-imperium @ashirisu @leahnardo-da-veggie @olivescales3 @erraticprocrastinator

@pb-dot @illarian-rambling @ryns-ramblings @stonesandswords @sender-paulson

@bodoramzap @leave-a-message19 @veradragonjedi @ibuprofen-exe @roach-pizza

@author-akira @mushroommanchanterelle @chaotictravelerrants @mr-orion @aintgonnatakethis

@saltysupercomputer

#writeblr #creative writing #dark fantasy #mystories #haven bay series

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ggomos-maribat · 2 years

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Petals of You

To one of my most amazing friends, a light of my life and inspiration, Robyn @the-coffee-fandom <3 I wish you a happy birthday and I hope you like this little angsty gift :3

To others, it seemed like a blessing but to her, it was a curse.

Marinette had her powers manifest at the age of five. She began seeing crimson threads, wispy and light, wrapped around everyone's pinkies. The threads would cross over, intertwine, and loop around places, connecting two or more people who were fated to be together.

Soulmates.

That was what she could see.

She wouldn't go around telling people about what she could see, of course, unless she trusted them. She'd only keep everything to herself, thinking that people didn't have to be with their fated to be happy anyway, and she'd hate a life spent on matchmaking.

As Marinette accepted her ability into her life, she started to notice soulmates who were together. She would feel a rush of happiness seeing old fated couples looking fondly at each other, shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other, and fated strangers meeting each other. One way or another, those who were soulmates would find each other in time, even without her influence.

And each passing day, she grew excited about meeting her own, smiling down at her own pinky finger with its thread loosely tied around it. Since she moved to America, the string had gotten tighter, which meant that her soulmate might be close.

Marinette looked up, hearing the bell at the door ring. She beamed, tying up a bunch of white lilies to store away for later.

"Dana! Andrew!" She greeted the middle-aged couple. "The usual hyacinths and roses?"

"Can we have red chrysanthemums for today?" Dana smiled back. "They'll look wonderful in our photos."

"Twelve roses and three red chrysanthemums, coming right up!" Marinette chirped. "How about a white wrapper?"

"That will be lovely, thank you," Andrew replied.

Even without her vision, she could tell that the two were clearly soulmates. They were regulars of hers, buying flowers either separately or together whenever they went out on dates. Apparently, flowers had been important in the beginning of their relationship, so they paid careful attention to the languages and meanings.

"Drew gave me these chrysanthemums during our third date," Dana giggled. "I kept them in a vase next to my bed."

"That's really sweet," Marinette said, plucking a ribbon from the shelves to wrap the whole thing up.

Just as she handed the bouquet to the couple, another customer entered the shop. His hair and clothes were disheveled, and his tie was loose around his neck. There was a subtle stain on the hem of his dress shirt and his shoes were frayed.

But what made Marinette freeze was the thread attached to his finger.

Which led back to hers.

Her breath caught in her throat but she tried her best to maintain her composure. She nearly couldn't hear her own voice over the sound of her beating heart when she said, "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hi!" Her soulmate gave her a blinding smile, his blue eyes almost glittering. "Uhhh, do you have some flowers for confessing to someone?"

Marinette's smile wavered. Be calm, Mari. It might be a platonic thing right? I can't jump to conclusions. Her traitorous heart welcomed a twinge of pain. But you can't control who your soulmate will be with . . .

"Sure," she breathed out. "Err—sorry sir, I'll need more information before I can put together an arrangement."

The man raked a hand through his hair while Dana and Andrew quietly left, leaving Marinette waves of goodbye. "He doesn't even like flowers in the first place," her soulmate muttered. "Why am I doing this?"

Her hand involuntarily twitched as she glanced briefly at her own pinky. "May I suggest starting off with something light? Or do you plan on confessing right away?"

"I think we should go with that, yeah." The man nodded. "To be honest, I'm still nervous about doing it."

"I take it he doesn't really know about flower languages?"

"Probably doesn't care," he groaned. "I just want a sweet gesture. We have something, but I just wanted to make it official, you know?"

Marinette felt tears at the back of her eyes. She resisted them, refusing to break down in front him. What did I expect? That we'll meet, fall in love, and get together flawlessly?

"Subtle first, then." She shuffled to another corner to pick out the flowers. "What do you value in him? In your relationship?"

He shifted awkwardly. "We started off as friends actually. We were really close. He's . . . reliable. We've gone through a lot together and I treasure our memories." His shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know if that helps but I trust you on that."

He sounds so sincere, she thought inwardly. He must really love him.

"You can call me Marinette." She pointed to her nametag. "And let's see . . . alstroemeria and pink tulips for friendship, daffodils for joy and new beginnings, white carnations for faithfulness and pure love."

As she spoke, she took the flowers one by one, ignoring the string between then fluttering idly.

"Tim. You can call me Tim," said the man. "Thank you so much. Should I come back to get a different bouquet next time?"

She fidgeted with her fingers. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that already. But if you want to express a deeper love, you can come back if you want."

When he held the bouquet close to him, Marinette found the colors striking against him, contrasting against his eyes

"I'll definitely come back," Tim promised, handing her the cash plus a generous tip.

As he walked to the door, Marinette watched their string lengthening, phasing through the walls until it was pulled tightly once more. After checking that no one else was around, she rubbed the wetness from her eyes and went back to work.

---

Marinette gently placed a bouquet of daisies inside a vase. She barely got any sleep in the recent days, with one boy plaguing her mind and all her time devoted to working at the shop. She put a palm on her mouth to cover an incoming cough and found a stray yellow petal wedged between her fingers, probably from the daffodils she worked on earlier.

Was I too busy to notice that it got there?

Sighing, she wiped her hand on her skirt to brush the petal off. How evil, for me to find a daffodil of all flowers. It just had to be a symbol of unrequited love.

The bell at the door chimed and Marinette felt her string being pulled. Her eyes momentarily widened at the sight of Tim, looking tidier than when she last saw him.

"Good morning!" He waved a little, coming up to the counter. "Marinette, right?"

Why did her chest twist painfully when he called her name?

"Hey, Tim," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How were the flowers?"

He grinned. "Kon loved them. He won't admit it to my face but he definitely loved them. That's why I'm here to get another bouquet."

"I'm glad to hear that." Am I, really? "What will it be this time? Are you guys officially together?"

"Not just yet, that's why I need to make one more move. Oh by the way, here's something I picked up as an extra thank you for helping me out last time." Tim pulled out a coffee cup from a paper bag, setting it down in front of her. "Sorry, I wasn't sure what you liked so I got something sweet."

Astounded, she stared at the steaming cup in front of her. Why does he have to be so kind?

"Thank you. You didn't have to." She flushed. "And I love coffee in any form."

He put a hand on his chest. "That's a relief. I'm a junkie myself."

"For the next bouquet . . ." Marinette took a sip from her drink. The frothy milk was heavenly, coupled by the sweet caffeine. "What about something more classic? Red roses—twelve of them to be exact. That number is a declaration of love."

He hummed pensively. "I wouldn't want to be too cliched though. Is there anything you can add to the roses?"

"What about three stalks of sunflowers, for adoration and loyalty?" Marinette offered.

"That sounds great! Can I have a really big bouquet?"

Tim came back regularly after that. She'd suggest combinations of different flowers adhering to him and Kon's love and friendship and often, she picked out the freshest and brightest flowers out of her stocks. While she wrapped up his bouquets and attended to other customers, they would chat with each other about themselves and the meanings of flowers.

She would tell him the meanings of each of the flowers she sold him. Lunaria for honesty and sincerity. A protection plant. The reddest of jasmines for romantic love, sprinkled with yellows for optimism and happiness. Delicate carnations for admiration and gratitude.

Tim would remember all of it. He was keen in being fluent in the language of petals, and even picked out a combination of his own as a gift for one of his friends for their birthday.

And Marinette was just as eager to talk to him, nevermind the tugs in her heart and the swaying of their thread in the corner of her eyes. She found him charming. Adorable. Witty. Easy to talk to. She could see them growing close, clicking together perfectly if they had the chance outside of her work.

But in the end, she knew she was only a flower shop worker to him. Every morning, she'd wake up seeing petals next to her on the pillow, not acknowledging where they came from or how they got there. She'd only sweep them away out of sight before coughing a fresh batch.

One day, Tim came to pick up a bouquet he pre-ordered in celebration of one month of being with Kon. As Marinette put the flowers on the counter, she also brought out a smaller bunch, tucked away daintily in a decorative basket.

"What's this?" Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Just a little freebie." Marinette clasped her hands in front of her. "We had some extra flowers lying around and I figured you could use a bouquet of your own."

"It's beautiful," he marveled, carefully picking up the basket. "Does it have flower meanings?"

She laughed nervously. "I just put together random ones, regardless of the meaning."

It was a lie.

She had arranged that basket deliberately, pouring her unspoken emotions into each of those flowers in hopes of easing the dull pain she felt. Yellow acacia and gardenias for my secret love. Forget-me-nots so you could remember me from time to time. Calla lilies for my unreturned devotion. Lily of the valley shaped like tears. Buttercups for my naivety.

"Thank you so much." Tim smiled softly. "No one has ever given me flowers before. Ironic, I know."

Her voice cracked. "Thank you too. Those flowers are better off in your care."

---

A couple weeks after giving her bouquet, Tim brought Kon to the flower shop. He was exactly like how Tim described him: rough-looking, leather jacket, piercings, cropped hair. She stopped watering the potted plants the moment they came in.

"So this is where you get your flowers." Kon looked around, hands buried in his pockets.

"Yup," said Tim. "Hey, Mari, this is Kon."

"It's nice to finally meet you. Tim told me a lot about you." Marinette hoped her smile wasn't stiff when she shook hands with the tall boy. Looking down on their joined hands, she noticed something.

Kon didn't have a red string.

She blinked a few times just in case she was only seeing things. But it wasn't a trick or illusion. Kon wasn't bound to another by fate at all.

This kind of occurrence wasn't the first for her. If a living being wasn't technically born 'human', they wouldn't have a string attached to them. She had observed this in some sentimonsters who paraded as real people during her time as Ladybug. But still, she didn't know what Kon was, and she didn't have any intentions to pry.

"Good things, I hope." Kon eyed Tim, who rolled his eyes.

"I suggested we put together our own bouquet today," Tim told her.

"Sure! We have a selection over there. Feel free to pick out the flowers and I'll put them together for you." Marinette gestured to one of the walls, feeling a lump in her throat again.

"Taking this as a chance to show off your flower language skills?" Kon nudged his partner.

Tim scoffed. "I'm an expert now! Watch me."

Tim interlocked his fingers with his boyfriend's, dragging them over to the array of colorful flowers. Marinette looked away when they started whispering to each other, exchanging teasing but fond gazes.

She busied herself with wiping the counter and thinking. If Kon doesn't have a soulmate . . . maybe I could . . . ?

She hadn't done it before, but she knew she had the ability to. The thought of taking things to that direction scared her, fear injecting right down to her fingertips. But if I want to make them happy . . . if it will make Tim happy for them to be together in the realest way possible . . .

Marinette glanced at the couple again. They were irrefutably in love, absolutely perfect for each other. It would only bring her grief if she didn't take the step she needed to. Maybe I'd still have a chance to find someone else, right?

She gingerly lifted her hand, looking at the string that connected her and Tim. She pinched a part of it between her thumb and index and pulled, severing the string completely. Her hand went up to her lips to give the thread one last goodbye before she blew it towards Kon's direction.

It worked like magic. The lost thread immediately wrapped around Kon's pinky, giving him a fated one, an eternal connection to Tim.

Meanwhile, tiny flowers began to bloom at the base of Marinette's finger. Flowers only she could see.

---

Tim entered the coffee shop with a skip in his step. He was on this way to work and decided to stop by the flower shop to bring Marinette coffee. But when he slipped through the door and past a small crowd inside the shop, it wasn't Marinette who was manning the counter, but instead it was an elderly lady.

"What can I get for you dear?" The lady asked with a sad smile that couldn't reach her eyes.

Tim scanned the pre-ordered arrangements prepared on the counter and shelves. Lilies. Chrysanthemums. Gladioli. Orchids. Aren't these funeral flowers?

"Sorry, is Marinette around? I brought her some coffee," he said sheepishly.

The lady's smile quickly fell at the mention of the girl. Her eyes locked on the ground. "Marinette is . . . Marinette's not working here anymore," she replied quietly. "She passed away two days ago."

Tim almost dropped the coffee cups. Marinette? Gone? Without a word? Was there an accident? Was she caught up in a Rogue attack? He swallowed. "Can—can I ask what happened to her?"

The old woman's lips pursed together, irises glistening. "We don't know. She passed in her sleep and the doctors found nothing. She wasn't sick at all before that except for a mild cough."

His hands went cold. No, there has to be some explanation. With a hitched breath, he looked at the flowers for mourning decorating the shop. It's all for her.

"Our regular customers ordered lots of flowers. They loved her so much, that sweet girl." The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, touching a branch of a fake plum blossom in a pot next to the register. "Would you like to offer some as well?"

"Ye—yes." Tim cleared his throat, still stunned by the disappearance of his friend. "Some marigolds and pink carnations, please."

Taglist: @tinybrie

On AO3

#timkon #timari #timinette #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat tim drake #maribat #ggomoz #maribat fic #angst no happy ending #major character death #hanahaki au #soulmate au

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mew-tilated-mogai · 1 year

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Names inspired by birds, butterflies and flying creatures

AKA "the things that go up" ✦ Requested by anon

Finch ✦ Corbin ✦ Corvus ✦ Talon ✦ Éan

Aero ✦ Jay ✦ Jae ✦ Drake ✦ Wren

Avia ✦ Aviary ✦ Avian ✦ Avis ✦ Hawk

Robin ✦ Robyn ✦ Birdie ✦ Byrd ✦ Mavis

Falcon ✦ Piper ✦ Ace ✦ Lark ✦ Raven

Sky ✦ Skyler ✦ Skylar ✦ Jet ✦ Jett ✦ Gale

Goose ✦ Crow ✦ Swan ✦ Chirp ✦ Beetle

Bea ✦ Bee ✦ Beck ✦ Faye ✦ Bugg ✦ Bugsy

Eileen ✦ Owl ✦ Owlette ✦ Quail ✦ Dove

Duckie ✦ Gull ✦ Eileen ✦ Monarch ✦ Aria

Vanessa ✦ Chrysalis ✦ Blue ✦ Papillon

Iris ✦ Elise ✦ Caelus ✦ Ciela ✦ Cielo ✦ Era

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robynrogerscarter · 1 month

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favorite(s) ZR moment so far?

This is probably gonna sound a little weird, but, it would have to be the Ammo Supply run. (Spoilers under cut, there are mentions of firearms, so, if you're sensitive to that topic...yeah.)

Honestly, coming from someone who's been raised around guns their whole life, it was refreshing to listen to Sam talk about how he didn't like them. I don't like them - I'm good at firing them, but I still don't like it. And when he started talking about how he was thinking ahead, to when the apocalypse was done and there would be no zoms to shoot, that hit deep with me. It's hard to think about, much harder to say anything when the people around you don't see it the same way.

#sam yao #zombies run #runner five #runner 5 #robyn chirps

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

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Robyn purring to ned "but father, what would robert say if you tortured his sister so"

"he would ask to watch" ned growls before fully pulling stev into his mouth, her bum bsrely on the rock anymore as she helplessly and happily chirps as his tongue and beard rub on her. "oh gods oh gods, please oh no no not like this again",stev whines loudly.

Ned was adamant on making her squirt, make her give him the "essence of a woman's spirit" but he is always so cruel about it and makes stev feel dizzy with the sharp pleasure

!!!!!!!!!

Robyn having a front row seat thank you very much!

"essence of a woman's spirit" This is what we are calling it from now on ;)

Mean Ned is hot!

#clans galore

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endlessbittersweetdreams · 9 months

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SUMMARY: Still feeling confused, Robyn seeks advice from someone she trusts.

IMAGE DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine, and NOT MINE!

SONG CREDIT: "Taking Chances," by Celine Dion

"Mrow! Mrow? MROW!"

"Ugh. Luna, why are you so loud?"

Robyn clutched her throbbing head as Luna quietly meowed again. She groaned when the feline walked her way up her body and sat down on her stomach, and the Tonk tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

"Mrow?"

Her eyes still closed, Robyn let out a sigh when Luna began to sniff around her human's face. She smiled a bit, in spite of the fact that her skull felt like it was going to split in two. "Yes, Luna. I'm alive." Luna made an adorable chirping sound, and Robyn muttered to herself "Barely."

As her eyes fluttered open, the overhead lights only intensified her headache. Knowing that something was off, she blinked and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She definitely was not in the warm, cozy familiarity of her bedroom. Rather, she was lying on her sofa. "Ugh. Shoot me now." After a few failed attempts, she managed to push herself into a sitting position. She bent over a bit, clutching her head once more. Her mouth, filled with an unpleasant taste, felt sticky and dry. She slowly lifted her head, blinking in confusion when she saw a large water bottle resting on the coffee table with a note attached to it.

You owe me, crazy woman.

"Oh, bugger off," she muttered, uncapping the bottle and taking several gulps.

When she felt ready to do so, she staggered to her feet and reached out for the armrest when the room began to sway. Once she was certain she wouldn't topple over, she gingerly made her way over to the staircase. Grumbling to herself, she hung onto the railing for dear life as she took the steps one by one. When she finally reached the bedroom, she leaned against the wall for a moment and sighed with relief.

Wanting nothing more than to take a shower and brush her teeth, she began to undress as she headed toward the bathroom. She had just slipped out of her bra and was in the process of unfastening her jeans when the blissful silence was interrupted by a low, rumbling sound coming from the direction of her bed. She froze for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, and then turned her gaze toward her bed. It was then that she realized that the source of the sound came from beneath the blankets and pillows.

Her eyes widened as a shriek escaped her lips, and she backed up against her dresser when her uninvited guest let out a scream of his own. While the stranger struggled against the tangled mess of blankets and pillows, Robyn reached for the nearest object that would serve as a weapon: a medium-sized brass panda on her dresser.

"Who are you and what the bloody Hell are you doing in my room?!" she bellowed, the panda trembling in her hand.

The person in question escaped his temporary prison, letting out a yelp when he saw Robyn looming over him with the panda raised over her head. "Ah! Don't kill me!"

Her head pounding even harder, Robyn blinked at Sasha in confusion. "Sasha, what are you doing in my bed?"

Sasha sat up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I was sleeping until your fuckin' scream scared the shit out of me. What are you? A banshee?" He looked up at her and had the gall to glare at her. "Ugh. Put that thing down and put those things away," he demanded, gesturing in the general direction of her bare chest.

"I ... What?" Robyn lowered the panda and stared at Sasha in confusion, letting out a gasp as realization dawned on her. She released her grip on the decorative object, which fell to the floor with a loud thud as she scrambled to cover herself up.

Smirking at her blush, Sasha waved her off. "Oh, relax. They may do something for Baby Jakey, but they do nothing for me."

Robyn's angry scowl deepened. "Mind explaining to me why you took over my bed, Sasha?"

Sasha shoved the covers aside and put both feet on the floor. "Because I was exhausted after carrying your drunken ass into your fuckin' apartment."

"So you just abandoned me on my sofa?"

"Abandoned? Please! You were safe. I gave you water and a puke bucket. Didn't I? Now, move."

Robyn let out an annoyed huff as Sasha brushed past her, letting out a soft growl as the Russian closed the door behind himself. After slipping into her robe and returning the brass panda to its proper place, she sat down on the end of the bed and let out a tired breath. Closing her eyes and willing herself to focus, she searched her mind for memories of what had occurred the previous night. She knew she'd attended Ari's show and after-party, and that she'd obviously broken her "Don't get drunk and do something stupid," rule. She also recalled having a rather unpleasant encounter with Cameron, the "Jessica Rabbit wannabe." But otherwise, things were blurry.

Robyn rubbed her temples. "Sasha, what happened last night?"

Sasha opened the medicine cabinet, looking through Robyn's medications. "You don't remember a thing?" he replied, frowning when he found nothing worth "sampling."

"Very little. I remember going to Ari's show and after-party. I remember talking to that red-headed twit and then taking that bottle of rum. After that ..." She trailed off, shaking her head and immediately regretting it.

Sasha chuckled as he closed the medicine cabinet and moved over to the storage rack above the toilet. "Oh, you remember that! Do you?" he teased, eyeballing the collection of creams and lotions on the bottom shelf. One container in particular captured his attention, and he murmured to himself "Ooh! Expensive," as he picked it up. He opened the container and sniffed its contents, impressed by its coconut fragrance.

"Sasha, will you please just tell me what happened?" She paused for a moment as a thought occurred to her. "And stop rummaging through my things!"

Sasha quickly applied the face cream and scrambled to close the container, returning it to its proper place. After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he stepped out of the bathroom and leaned on the doorframe. Folding his arms across his chest, he smirked at her. "You really can't hold your liquor, Kitty Cat."

Robyn cast her unamused gaze in his direction. "Clearly. What ... happened?" she asked slowly, her tone laced with annoyance.

"You took your bottle o' rum to the balcony and threw yourself a pity party. Then you practically interrogated me about Baby Jakey. Something about his reputation for being a shameless fuckboy."

Robyn looked down at the area rug, focusing on its elaborate purple and white swirly design. She let out a sigh, fiddling with the belt of her robe. She vaguely recalled the moment when Cameron commented on Jake's reputation. She also remembered how badly she wanted those comments to be based on rumor, as opposed to truth. It wasn't as though she expected Jake to be perfect, or that she was blind to the fact that he was sexually experienced. But this newfound knowledge did complicate things a bit.

"And then ..."

She closed her eyes, bracing herself. "And then what?"

Sasha sat down next to her on the bed. "And then, you called Loverboy." Robyn locked at him, and he grimaced comically. "It was embarrassing. You slurred your words and said all sorts of things. It was painful to watch." He paused for effect. "You even proposed to him. He said 'No', of course. You were devastated." Robyn's eyes widened in horror, and he gave her a condescending pat on the knee. "You need a sense of humor, Kitty. The truth is: you rambled like crazy person. And then, it happened."

"What happened?"

"You vomited on my shoes. You owe me $4,000 American dollars."

Robyn narrowed her eyes at him, lowering her voice to a warning tone. "Sasha."

"Four hundred for the shoes. The rest for pain and suffering." Seeing that she was unamused, he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Or you buy new shoes."

Her annoyance disappeared, and she gave him a playful nudge. "Deal. Now, I hate to be rude. But will you please get out of here so I can take a shower?"

Sasha sighed as he stood up. "Fine. Vomit all over my expensive shoes. Subject me to your idiocy. Invite me into your home and then kick me out. I don't need this abuse."

Robyn followed him out of the bedroom, watching as he descended the staircase. She came to a stop on the balcony and called out to him when he reached the door. "Sasha! What did I say to Jake that was so embarrassing?"

"Ask him yourself! I'm too young and too tired to deal with this shit."

Frowning, she watched as Sasha closed the door behind himself. "Some help he is," she commented, looking down at Luna.

Several minutes later, a freshly showered Robyn emerged from her bathroom. Dressed in a t-shirt, sweatpants and her favorite cardigan, she carefully navigated the staircase and shuffled into the kitchen. Luna meowed expectantly as Robyn poured an electrolyte-enriched drink into an ice-filled glass. Grateful for the fact that she had remembered to restock the "Sam's Hangover Stash," she took a sip of the drink as Luna rubbed against her legs.

"Don't worry, Luna. I'll feed you." She sipped her drink and began the process of feeding Luna, smiling a little as she listened to the cat's happy purrs. "Well, at least one of us is in a good mood," she muttered, frowning when her phone chimed. She knew that sound. Someone - a family member, most likely - wanted to video chat. She wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, but she had a feeling that the caller wouldn't give up easily.

With a roll of her eyes, Robyn unplugged her phone from the charger and moved over to the sofa. After making herself comfortable, she glanced at the screen and smiled weakly as she accepted the video call. Linnet's face appeared on the screen, and Robyn couldn't help but smile at her sister.

"Hello, Linnie," Robyn greeted, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

"What's wrong, little sis? You don't look happy to see me!" Linnet commented, tilting her head to the side as she eyed Robyn. "You're not sick. Are you?"

Robyn paused, considering telling her sister that she was recovering from a 24-hour bug. But then she realized that there really was no point in denying it. After all, Linnet had always said that Robyn was a horrible liar. "Just hungover," she admitted with a sigh.

Linnet made a tsk-ing sound and then shook her head. "Come on, Robbie. You know better than that. Remember the last time you drank too much?"

Robyn laughed at her sister's gentle teasing. "Like I can forget. Though I wish you would. How are things with you? What about that employment opportunity?" When Linnet straightened up in her seat and practically glowed, Robyn knew she had her answer. "You got it!"

Linnet confirmed Robyn's assumption with a nod. "You are looking at the newest employee of the British Art Museum. I started on Monday, and I love it already."

"That's wonderful news! You always said you wanted to work there. I'm so proud of you, Linnie. We should go out and celebrate, just the two of us."

"I'd love that," Linnet responded, winking at her. "Just no pubs."

Robyn giggled. "Deal." She took a few gulps of water and then inquired, with some hesitation "How are things between you and Robert?"

"Still the same, I'm afraid. He comes over to see Sadie and take her for outings. But things are still uneasy between us."

"I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this."

"I managed to talk him into seeing a counselor, at least. Our first session is tomorrow."

"Well, that's good news! That means he's willing to try. Right?"

"Yes, I suppose." Linnet blew out a breath and shook her head. "Enough about me. How's everything going with you?"

"Work is --"

"I'm not talking about work. How are things now that you're free from that pretentious berk?" Linnet bounced her eyebrows up and down. "Are there any romantic prospects in the horizon?"

"Well, there is someone."

"Oh, no! Not that idiot neighbor you're always ranting about."

Robyn laughed. "No. Not him. He moved, thankfully." She hesitated for a moment and then, with a deep breath, announced "His name is Jake. He tends bar at a fancy, upscale restaurant in Manhattan."

"Ooh! I'm intrigued. So on a scale one to ten, how gorgeous is he?"

"A ten. Definitely. He's gorgeous and sexy. Definitely fit." She bounced her brows up and down for emphasis. "And his eyes! They're --"

"You always did fancy a man's eyes. Not to mention his bum."

"No complaints about that, either," Robyn declared with a mischievous laugh. "But it's more than his looks, Linnie. And he's so much more than a sexy bartender. Remember how I told you that it drove me crazy when Ethan would rather watch television than enjoy peace and quiet with me?" When Linnet nodded, Robyn continued. "Jake doesn't even own a television. But his flat is filled with books and records, and he's so intelligent. When he went to university, he studied philosophy. He was this close to obtaining his Ph.D, Linnet. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who can reference Kierkegaard and understand what he's talking about? And the photographs he takes! They're beautiful."

Linnet raised a brow, seeming genuinely impressed. "I don't believe it. My sister is involved with a sexy, gorgeous, intelligent bartender-slash-photographer-slash-philosopher. And me? I'm married to a magazine editor whose current passion in life is football." She plastered on a smile that she hoped didn't come across as forced. "I'm happy for you."

"Yes. I can see that," Robyn deadpanned. "There's something about him that draws me to him like a magnet. I can't explain it. But every time I'm around him, I just ..."

"You want to shag the ever-living daylights out of him?"

"No! Well, yes. But that's beside the point. It's not just about sex. I want to be with him. As in: I want a real, actual relationship. And I believe he wants that, too. There's just one problem, though."

"What? He's already taken?"

"No. I care about Jake so much, and I know he cares for me. It's just ... Well, he has this reputation."

"Let me guess. He's a bad boy bartender whose favorite sport is bed-hopping?"

"Yes. At least, that's what people are saying. But I know he cares for me. He's the one who took care of me when my relationship with Ethan blew up. He held me. He let me cry on his shoulder and sleep in his bed, and he did it all without expecting anything in return. And he's been so patient with me, Lin. He even told my friend that he's willing to wait for me. But I'm scared and confused, and I don't want to be hurt again."

Linnet knew, all too well, that matters of the heart were never simple. Her expression serious and understanding, she said "Listen to me, little sister. Matters of the heart always involve risk. Love is a wonderful, beautiful thing. But there is always a chance that things won't work out. There are no guarantees, and there is no such thing as a perfect man or a perfect relationship."

Robyn averted her gaze for a moment, nodding. "I know."

Linnet fell silent for a few seconds, trying to maintain her composure. "Ever since Robert moved out, I've asked myself the same question: 'Would I do it all again, even if I knew the shit would hit the fan?' And the answer is 'Yes'. And not just because of Sadie. With or without her, I would have still fallen in love with Robert. Things are rough now, but we have a lot of happy memories. We've built a life together, and it's been worth the risk. Now, you have to ask yourself this question: 'Is Jake worth the risk?' If the answer is 'yes', then take a leap of faith."

A distant cry interrupted their conversation, and Linnet turned her head in the direction of the sound. Giving her sister a soft smile, she said "Sorry about that, Robbie. Sadie's having another meltdown."

Robyn chuckled. "It's all right, Linnie. Tell her that her Auntie Robyn loves her and that she can't wait to see her."

"Will do."

The sisters each kissed the pads of their index and middle fingers, pressing them to their phone screens as they bid each other goodbye. Robyn ended the video chat, rubbing her temples as her headache finally began to ease up. She knew that she should work on her latest design. But between her hangover and her clouded mind, there was no way she could focus. And so, after setting the alarm, she settled down on the sofa for a few more hours' worth of shut-eye.

Robyn stood in front of Joe's Pool Hall, staring up at the neon green sign that flickered intermittently. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, frowning as she thought about the design she should be working on.

After finishing her nap, she had tried to focus on finishing her sketch. But every now and then, her head became filled with thoughts of Jake. Before him, she had been the model of responsibility. Now, she found herself ditching work just so she could spend time with him.

You're pathetic, Robyn, she thought as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was filled with the sound of clinking glasses, quiet conversations, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Dimly lit, the pool hall bore a rustic charm with weathered wooden tables and a well-worn bar that had seen its fair share of spilled drinks. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of aged wood, cigarette smoke, fried food and alcohol. In a corner, the Bluetooth jukebox played a hard rock song as a group of locals huddled around a dartboard.

Robyn searched the room for Jake, smiling when she spotted him hunched over a pool table. Not surprisingly, a lit cigarette was held between his lips as he lined up a shot, the click-clack of billiard balls echoing throughout the room. Smiling to herself, Robyn made her way through the crowd. She let out a startled gasp when she bumped into one of the patrons, uttering a quiet apology and giving him a nervous smile as he leered at her.

"Hey there, sweetheart. You look lost. Maybe I can help you find your way," he offered, his speech slightly slurred as he gave her a crooked grin.

"Thanks, but no. I can find my own way. Pardon me." She tried to side-step him gracefully, only to find him blocking her path once more.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? What's your name, beautiful?"

"Please let me pass."

"I've always had a thing for Brits."

Robyn narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. "Yes. Well, I'm certain you'll sweep a British lady off of her feet one day. Now, if you'll excuse me ..." When the man refused to move, she scowled up at him as she reached for an abandoned pool cue. "Listen, you stupid knob," she began, jabbing him in the stomach with the end of the cue. "I've had a horrible day. I've dealt with the hangover from hell. And the last thing I need is some drunken knob harassing me."

"Hey! No need to get violent. I'm just tryin' to be friendly."

"Yes! Well, I've no need for your friendship."

"Why don't you take that stick out of your ass, princess?"

Robyn opened her mouth to offer a retort, only to be interrupted when a burly man with a beard stepped up behind the drunken lout. He clapped the drunkard on the shoulder and said "All right, Vinnie. Time to call it a night."

The man identified as Vinnie fell silent for a few seconds. Then he let out a scoff, looking down at Robyn with contempt. "You're not worth the trouble." After taking a swig of his beer, he began to mutter a string of insults as he retreated into the crowd.

Glaring at Vinnie's retreating back, Robyn tossed the pool cue onto the table. "Pillock," she grumbled, squaring her shoulders as she returned to the task at hand.

Jake had moved to a different side of the table, and he was in the middle of lining up a shot when a hand on his shoulder drew his attention. He tensed up for a moment and then glanced over his shoulder, relaxing when he saw who was touching him. "Hey," he greeted with a grin. "What brings you here?"

Robyn moved her hand away, watching as he turned to face her. Shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she joked "Oh, you know me. I can't resist a game of billiards."

He chuckled and then took a drag from his cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a perfect O. "Oh, really?" he responded with a smirk. "Pick up a cue. Show us what you got."

"Perhaps later. I wonder if I might steal you for a moment."

Jake hesitated, tempted to put up his guard and come up with an excuse to avoid any conversation that went beyond light banter and the occasional innuendo. It was foolish to believe that she would brush off what she'd learned about him, and even more absurd to think that he could put off the inevitable. He knew that if he truly wanted to be with Robyn, he'd have to let down his guard and own up to his past. Given what she'd been through with Ethan, didn't she deserve honesty?

"Sure," he answered with a slight nod, setting down the pool cue.

"Hey, Jake! Where you goin', man?" Tommy called as Jake and Robyn walked away. "We're in the middle of a game!" Frowning when Jake offered no response, Tommy muttered "Ditching me to get some. Typical."

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Robyn said as she followed Jake to a quiet corner in the bar's lounge.

"It's all right. There's only so much ass-kicking Tommy can take, anyway," he quipped as he settled down on the plush sofa, just a few inches away from her.

"Well, don't be too full of yourself. Just wait until you face me in a match. I'll wipe the floor with you."

He chuckled. "We'll see." He tilted his head to the side, observing her closely as she tucked some hair behind her ear. He knew her well enough to know that this movement meant only one thing: she was nervous. As endearing as this gesture was, Jake couldn't help but feel anxious under her gaze.

"Jake, I --"

"So what'll it be, Jake? The usual?"

Grateful for the intrusion, even though he knew it wouldn't last long, Jake barely glanced up at the server as he nodded in confirmation. After jotting down Jake's order, the server gave Robyn a toothy smile as he looked at her expectantly. "And what about you, hon?"

"Just water with lemon, please."

With a shake of his head, the server wrote down Robyn's order. "One water with lemon. You're really living on the edge."

Robyn raised a brow at the server's comment, but decided that it would be best if she offered no retort. She'd heard stories of slighted servers adding "a little something special," to customers' orders, and she didn't want to incur this man's wrath. Besides, she had more important matters to focus on.

Jake angled himself so that he was facing Robyn, his right foot tucked under his leg while he rested his arm on the back of the sofa. He gave her a playful smirk as he asked "So, how's your head?"

She let out a tiny, embarrassed laugh. "Better. Though I can't say the same about my pride. Going by what Sasha told me, I made an absolute fool out of myself."

He suppressed the urge to snicker at her expense. "So you weren't perfect for a few hours. It happens," he teased, hoping that maybe - just maybe - that last part of her statement indicated that she had forgotten whatever it was that had spooked her so badly.

"Still ... I owe you an apology, Jake."

Jake gave her a smile. "No harm done."

"And here we are," the server announced when he returned, setting each drink down on the table. "One 'Usual' and one lemon water. Enjoy."

Taking note of the attitude-filled glance the server threw her way, Robyn shook her head. "Dare I take a chance on this drink?" she asked as she hesitantly reached for her water.

Jake chuckled. "Don't worry about him. He's like that with everyone."

Robyn laughed. "I'll keep that in mind." Deciding to take a chance, she took a small sip of her water and observed Jake as he took a few gulps from his own glass. Deciding to be brave, she took in a deep breath and then blurted out "Jake, I ran into Cameron last night."

Shit! he thought as he slowly set the glass down, bracing himself. "Did you?" he inquired, his tone even.

Clutching the water glass with both hands, Robyn gave Jake a nervous nod. "I did. I've been told that she's taken an interest in you. She's quite beautiful."

"She's not my type," Jake assured her.

"Good to know. Still, she did mention something to me. Something about your reputation with women. At first, I thought she was simply trying to scare me off."

"But she got to you."

"Yes. So much so that I drowned my sorrows in a bottle of rum."

"Robyn, I --"

"Is it true?"

Her tone wasn't harsh or accusatory. There was no trace of anger in her voice. Still, Jake knew from experience that an even tone wasn't always a good thing. More often than not, it just meant that the person in question was good at hiding their emotions. He briefly considered lying to her; thought about claiming that Cameron and the others were just messing with her. But he knew better. Robyn would just see through his lies and excuses. And then where would he be? Right back at Square Fucking One. That's where. Besides, if he wanted her to trust him ... shouldn't he trust her in return?

Robyn studied him with those big, beautiful eyes of hers. And finally, with a nod and a sigh, he relented. "Yes. It's true."

She didn't react the way he expected. She didn't cry. She didn't throw her drink in his face and storm off. There was no loud announcement that she never wanted to see him again. Instead, she merely stared back at him, patiently waiting for him to continue.

Still not ready to let down his guard completely, he said "Look. I won't lie. Most of them were one-night fucks. Some of them knew that goin' in, and they were fine with it. Fucking doesn't always have to mean something, Robyn. Sometimes it's about two people trying to make it through a bad day. Sometimes it's about having fun. And yeah, I guess there are times when it's about making a connection and feeling close to someone."

Deciding to test the waters, Robyn returned her gaze to him. "And what about me? Where do I stand?"

"If all I wanted from you were a few good fucks, I wouldn't be sitting here." Jake knew that she was afraid of being hurt again, but he couldn't help but feel frustrated. How many times did Robyn have to be told the same thing before she finally believed it? "I've made mistakes, and I've made choices I can't take back," he continued. "I've fucked up, more times than I can count. I'm not perfect, Robyn."

"I'm not looking for perfection, Jake. I admit that there was a time when I wanted a Prince Charming to come along and sweep me off of my feet. And I had that with Andrew. I thought I found it again ... with Ethan. But I don't want that anymore. I just want someone who doesn't put on airs; someone who is honest about who he is and what he wants. I want someone who isn't afraid to call me out on my nonsense; someone who challenges me and encourages me to take risks."

She gave him a smile, warm and genuine. "And I think I found all of that in you. I don't know how it'll turn out for us, Jake. As scary as that is, I want to find out. I spend so much time in my head, overthinking things and second-guessing every step I take. And because of that, I become paralyzed; too afraid to take a step forward. For once, I just want to enjoy this and see where it leads."

She set her drink down on the table and then moved closer to Jake, gently taking his drink from him. After setting his glass down next to her own, she reached out for his hand and brushed her fingers against his own. He reciprocated the gesture, feeling himself relaxing under her gentle touch and patient gaze. "So here's my proposal, Jake. We continue to spend time together. We get to know each other. No time table. No pressure."

"So whatever happens, happens?"

"Exactly." She scrunched her brows together. "Is that something you can live with?"

Jake fell silent for a few moments, and Robyn nibbled on her bottom lip in nervous anticipation. Then he gave her a smile - small, but genuine. "Yeah. I think I can live with that."

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speakablyundone · 2 years

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Hogwart’s Castle @zinnxturpin

The Harvest Festival being over meant fewer students trying to sneak down from the castle to Hogsmeade, which mean less detentions to dole out, which meant more free time for the dreadfully overworked and underappreciated staff, which meant Robyn could pop by the castle without fear that she would be interrupting her best friend in the middle of something incredibly dull but so very important like making sure idiot children weren’t hexing their own faces off.

—Not that interrupting was something that bothered Robyn, but it mattered to Zinnia and thus Ro did her best to care about the things that mattered to Zinnia. (She always cared the most about Zinnia.)

She flooed directly to Zinnia’s quarters, greeting Porridge with a chirp as she set down the bowl of congee she’d made for him, fingers brushing his head as he promptly ignored her in favour of food. Then she announced herself with the unorthodox greeting of, “How many children have you had to disentangle this week?”

#t | 002 #c | z. turpin #l | hogwarts #c | porridge #(yes I have decided that porridge gets his own character tag)#(porridge MATTERS)

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love-and-hisses · 2 years

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The downstairs was kind of a mess (we did packing & shipping for the Forgotten Felines online auction yesterday), and Cinnaspin and Linzer were checking it out, while Uncle Charlie wandered around. Linzer is interested in being friends with Uncle Charlie (you can hear her cute chirping sounds) and Uncle Charlie is just... like... "Whatever, kittens."

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raebaekaedae · 2 years

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Volume One, Episode Seven: “Extracurricular”

Series: SCWR Rating: PG-13 (Foul Language, Violence against Fantasy Monsters, Violence, Death Mentioned, Prominent Themes, Themes of Racism) Summary: (3,583 words) “Finally healed and ready to return to action, Hadrian ends up trapped underground with Ryder after an extra credit mission goes awry. With no where to go but up, the boys will have to work together to escape the cavern crawling with Creeps. However, Haddy’s unsure of what will kill him first... the grimm or his awkward attempts to get to know his quietest teammate.”

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How could one person be so heavy? Hadrian heaved along with Ryder's torso thrown over his upper back, securing him by his scaled arms as his cheek was pressed into Haddy's shoulder. Sweat, iron, oil, and moldy dirt bombarded his nose. He could feel his fellow faunus's feet dragging along the ground, but he really couldn't help that Ryder was a solid six-and-a-half feet tall. His first day without that stupid sling in over a week, and he had to spend it trapped underground in a musty cave caked in a mildewy smell.

His scroll was secured in his teeth with the flashlight pointed forward, feebly trying to illuminate any obstacles; however, it was mostly just making annoying shadows that obscured said obstacles. When he stumbled over yet another loose rock, he let out an echoing growl of irritation. The sound reverberated quietly off the walls of the cave, slowly disappearing into the darkness behind them.

Haddy grumbled as he readjusted Ryder's weight on his back, pushing on into the cave system. As he sighed once again, he thought back to a few hours ago, before all this happened.

"Field trip!" Robyn excitedly shouted as she jumped up into the air with her arms and legs spread. Ryder caught her on her way down and set her back on the ground with a roll of his yellow eyes.

Monroe sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she asked, "Really? On the weekend?" The other students gathered around the student message board all groaned, some of the older fourth years and even bolder thirds even started to walk away.

"Welllllll, not exactly," the redhead drew out, snatching the flyer from off the poster board and reading it over, "It says here that Mrs. Heather is offering extra credit for each picture of a different grimm that you can take with your scroll by the end of the day."

"Sounds like a pain," Monroe said, linking her fingers behind her head as she sighed.

Hadrian, however, walked up behind Robyn and started reading the flyer over her shoulder. After a moment, he smirked, "It's worth it though. Ten points on your choice of attendance, test, or participation per grimm."

When Monroe again didn't look enthused, the husky faunus nonchalantly expanded, "It'd be perfect for three, unnamed students who skipped out on a class covering regional grimm-- in which their valiant leader had to cover for and tutor them-- and they lost precious attendance and participation points in said class, dropping them to B-averages."

The blonde pirate looked over at Haddy with a raised brow and judgmental frown. Ryder, however, chuckled as he walked over and started to look over the flyer as well. After a moment, the trio looked back to their secret leader and dug into her with shit-eating grins. Monroe huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes before also joining them to read the instructions.

She pouted as she glanced over the flyer, "If we want to get our grades back up to A's, we'll each need four grimm; two for attendance and two for participation."

"No problemo," Robyn chirped with a smile, "We can easily grab an Ursa, Beowolf, and Boarbatusk in the Emerald Forest."

Haddy rubbed his chin as he thought, "Yeah, but what about the last one? Sure there are Deathstalkers and King Taijitu out there, but they're pretty rare. How about a Nevermore?"

"Too quick and small," the blonde replied, "Goliath?"

"The closest herd is out by Mount Glenn, too far to get there and back before sundown," Hadrian sighed. When his teammates turned to look at him with surprise in their eyes, he nervously laughed, "I might have done a little research after our Goliath fight."

With a laugh, Robyn jumped up and ruffled Hadrian's hair. As he batted her away and started to smooth out his hair, Ryder spoke up, "What 'bout a Creep?"

The trio looked at him, before weighing their options. Monroe remarked, "They are indigenous to the Forest..."

However, Robyn quickly added, "We'd have to split up though. They're usually found underground."

"Not a problem," Haddy smiled, standing on his tiptoes to wrap an arm around Ryder's scaled shoulders, "Ryder and I can go spelunking while you guys find the easy shots."

He honestly just wanted a chance to bond with his fellow faunus...

Almost immediately, Robyn and Monroe looked at each other. He could have been wrong, but the husky was sure that he'd seen concern in their eyes. However, before he could ask, Ryder nodded, "Sound's good t' me."

Robyn hesitated before she reached a hand up to Ryder's forearm and asked, "You sure, R?" The brutish armadillo only nodded.

"Okay," Monroe decided, clapping her hands together before continuing, "Everyone's got their roles. Just make sure to grab pictures from four different angles so we can each use them for the credit."

As his mind cleared and returned to the present, he was reminded of the girls' behavior at Ryder's mention of going underground. He didn't seem apprehensive or frightened, but then again no one suspected his fear of Beowolves until he was half-dead in a field needing to be rescued. His pale eyes turned back to his friend as he slept.

They'd just entered the narrow of the cave when the Creeps came burrowing out of the walls. He didn't have time to even activate his semblance before the ceiling was caving in. If Ryder hadn't thrown himself over top of him, he'd have surely been crushed. Unfortunately, the scaled faunus hadn't been so lucky. Just as the tremor was dying down, a rock struck him in the back of the head and knocked him unconscious... His aura must have broken or gotten too close to it from the debris without Haddy noticing.

He cursed himself briefly for having to be saved, again, before he sighed. At least that meant that he had people who cared about him. As if on cue, Ryder started to rouse as a soft groan echoed through his chest. Immediately, Hadrian stopped, looking back at his friend as he lowered him to the ground. As he leaned back against the cold, damp cave wall, Ryder rubbed his head.

"Wha' happ'n'd?" The armadillo asked, his faunus eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light.

Haddy sat down indian-style in front of him, propping his elbows up on his knees as he finally took the light from his mouth. He worked his sore jaw for a moment before answering, "The Creeps took out the structural support and caused a cave-in. I think we fell down a level or two."

Ryder sighed and leaned his head back so that it rested against the stone wall as he stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Haddy examined his expression as the same emotionless look stained Ryder's face. After a moment, the armadillo faunus stood up and offered his partner a hand. With a half-frown, the husky joined him.

Without much more, Ryder headed off in the same direction Hadrian had been heading while he was unconscious. Quickly, the husky joined him, shining the light from his scroll ahead in the cave. He watched as Ryder silently examined the cave walls while walking down the claustrophobic corridor. He almost had to lean down so that his head didn't scrape against the jagged ceiling.

Against his better judgment, Haddy swung his arms back and forth awkwardly and slowly drew out, "So... Ryder..."

The scaled faunus glanced back at him, wordlessly signaling that he was paying attention. Hadrian instinctively looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck and continued, "Uh, 'Roe and Rob seemed... kinda... hesitant about you coming down here..." The husky swallowed hard as Ryder remained quiet.

After a moment, he shrugged and turned back forward, explaining, "Yeah..." Ryder briefly paused before sighing, "My paren's died in'a dust mine when I w's a kid."

Great freaking job, Hadrian.

"Oh," he replied with a squeak in his voice, "I'm, uh, sorry to hear that..."

"I's all good, man. Not'chur fault..." Ryder answered solemnly, continuing to lead them through the cave system.

The pair of boys walked in silence for a few minutes, Hadrian too afraid of bringing up any more awkward topics of conversation and Ryder being his usual, quiet self. However, being left alone with his thoughts brought another question to Haddy's mind. He waited another moment or so before he took a deep breath and tested the waters again.

"You're from Menagerie, right?" He asked. When Ryder nodded in response, the husky quietly remarked, "There, um... aren't any dust mines in Menagerie..."

"Tha's right..." the armadillo replied after a moment, still not turning around to face his friend.

Hadrian was more than willing to let it go, but after a moment Ryder took a deep breath and sighed, "I grew up 'n Menagerie, but I w's born 'n Mantle, like you..."

The husky swallowed the lump in his throat as Ryder came to a stop and leaned back against the cave wall while he crossed his arms.

Haddy halted as well and listened as his quiet friend explained, "My folks weren't 's bad off 's alot'a tha people down 'n Mantle, but'cha know... i's still no Atlas...

"When I w's born, they both start'd workin' f'r tha Schnee Dust Comp'ny. Got trap't in'a cave-in. Coron'r said they prolly died as'a result'a tha residu'l dust 'xplodin'. I don't rememb'r nuthin' 'bout 'em, 'cause I's sent t' live with my uncles 'n Menagerie right aft'r. I w's two."

With a sigh and shrug, Ryder finished, "So, y'know... Cade an' Robby 're less th'n happy when I 'ave ta go und'rgroun'..."

Hadrian listened intently, hanging on every word until he was done. After a minute to collect himself, Haddy asked, "And you're not?"

Again, Ryder only shrugged before replying, "Not really... d'dn't kill me, so I ain't worried."

"That's..." Hadrian started, unable to find the right word.

"Morb'd?" The scaled faunus chuckled. Haddy could only slowly nod in response, so Ryder continued, "Y'know, if ya worry 'bout ev'ry lil' thin' that happ'n'd t' ev'ryone, you'd b' scar'd'a ev'rythin'. Sometime's ya jus' gotta leave tha past 'n tha past or it'll drag ya down in tha pres'nt..."

Something about that struck a chord in Hadrian. Honestly, it reminded him a lot of some of the wisdoms that Tadashi used to tell him and his team in bleak moments. Tall, kind-hearted, stoic, and quiet... he could see the similarities between the two. They could have been great friends in another life. Ironically, they would have had a lot to talk about.

As the boys' short break came to an end, Ryder pushed himself off the wall and motioned for Haddy to follow him. They followed the light from their scrolls through the damp cave system. They were walking on an incline, so it was assumed they were headed back towards the surface. After about another ten minutes of silence, Haddy couldn't take it anymore.

"Why'd you wanna be a Huntsman anyway?" He asked curiously.

They were walking side-by-side at this point, so Hadrian could clearly see the smirk and cocked eyebrow as Ryder smiled, "It w's eith'r th's 'r a dust mine."

The husky laughed, "Oh, so you've got jokes now?"

"Figur'd s'nce I told ya my 'trag'c backstory', I'd light'n up," Ryder replied, still smirking.

Hadrian chuckled as the armadillo elaborated, "I dunno, really. Just seem'd like tha right thin' ta do. I'm strong, an' I'm able t' prot'ct people. So... Huntsm'n Acad'my 't was..." Ryder paused as he looked down at the fluffy-tailed faunus and asked, "What 'bout you?"

"Well..." the husky started, rubbing the back of his neck, "I had this exaggerated idea of what being a Huntsman was as a kid. I thought it was all adventure, glory, and money... and growing up with nothing... well, it just seemed like a dream come true. Honestly though..."

He paused, shaking his head before solemnly repeating, "It really was either this or a dust mine..."

Ryder silently listened as he continued, "Leon-- my brother-- and I crafted our weapons based on designs that our dad left behind before he disappeared doing the job. We didn't use them to fight grimm so much as to hunt and keep our mom fed. We would sell the pelts for more ammunition, but after that we weren't left with much... if any. It wasn't going to work in the long run.

"So, I decided that I was going to apply to Atlas Academy's first-- and only-- Faunus Outreach Program. Leo did too. We were the only two who actually applied through the program. Guess no one else thought they were being serious. We were awarded scholarships and placed on an all-faunus team with the only other faunus in our year; both of whom got in through legitimate-- albeit a little back-handed-- means. Together we were four of the six total faunus enrolled at Atlas Academy.

"If we hadn't signed up, we'd both be at the bottom of a dust mine right now..." Hadrian sighed, finishing his long-winded rant. After a moment he glanced up to see Ryder looking down at him intently, so he quickly added, "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to carry on like that..."

With a half-smile, the scaled faunus raised a hand up to stop him as he replied, "Don't worry... I like ta list'n."

Somehow, that wasn't surprising. After another few quiet minutes of spelunking, the pair came into a wide, open cavern. There were three, rocky columns holding up the ceiling where stalactites hung and dripped water into a shallow puddle in the base of the cave. It was dark, but light flooded into the hollow from an opening collapsed in the roof. The boys could see the beginning of the evening sky between thick tree trunks and the emerald canopy. The only problem was that their escape was about twenty feet up.

"Well... we can get out through there... if we can make it..." Haddy frowned as he rubbed the back of his head.

The faunus had to slide down a small dip to reach the bottom of the cavern. As their feet splashed into the ankle-deep water, a familiar rumbling started to shake the walls. Before they could arm themselves, Creeps began to burrow into the underground room by the tens. Instantly, Ryder and Hadrian fell back-to-back as they pulled out their weapons. The husky nimbly leaned around his partner, sniping the entering grimm, as the armadillo shifted Allegheny into its minigun form and sprayed down any that got close.

They were quickly overwhelmed though, forcing the boys to switch to melee combat. Ryder swung the extended barrel of his gun up, smacking a Creep on the underside of its jaw and sending it flying, as he transferred it back into its warhammer form. Continuing with his momentum from the swing, he whipped around and smashed into three of the grimm that had tried to take him from behind. As he spun around, the dark-skinned faunus swept downward in an over-head arch, crushing one of the Creeps beneath the face of Allegheny.

Beside him, the husky faunus spryly limboed under the handle of the warhammer before he sunk his picks into the head of an approaching subterranean monster that was poised to attack his partner from behind. He twirled around, flinging the body of the grimm into an approaching hoard, sending them staggering back. Quickly, Haddy jumped up, flipping in the air and using Ryder's shoulder for support before falling into a roll to protect the armadillo's back.

As a Creep crept up from behind and charged, Haddy's instincts kicked in. Just as the grimm came into range, the husky whipped around-- putting all his strength into his riposte-- and met its armored maw with the tip of his ice pick. The black skin of the subterranean monster reverberated with shock waves as it shot backwards and turned to goop. He didn't know he had that in him.

The grimm kept coming though, pouring out of the tunnels they had already dug out. After a few minutes, Hadrian stumbled back into Ryder, who was breathing heavily. He could see the golden specks of the dark-skinned faunus's aura starting to falter. Haddy himself was starting to get a little winded. They needed a new strategy.

Ryder seemed to have the same idea as he asked, "Cant'chu use y'ur sembl'nce ta zip 'round an' t'ke these thin's out fr'm b'h'nd?"

"No," he answered, redirecting a jumping attack from another Creep, "The water is going to put up too much resistance. It'll be like trying to run in three-and-a-half feet of snow."

With a huff, Ryder nodded, bringing his hammer down on another pair of approaching grimm. That did give Hadrian an idea though as his eyes drifted down to the water where his feet shifted in the dark, murky liquid. As the cogs turned in his head, the husky leapt into the air to avoid a sweeping tail attack from one of the grimm. When he landed, and planted his pick firmly behind the thick plating of the Creep's armored hide, his plan came together.

"Ryder!" he shouted, gathering his fellow faunus's attention before he explained, "If you can use some dust to freeze the water and trap the grimm that are already in here, I can close up the tunnels. That should give us enough time to climb out of here."

With a smirk, Ryder gave him a thumbs-up as he shifted Allegheny back into its gun form, whacking another Creep on his way. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a large dust cartridge, snapping it into the underside of the minigun. Hadrian had just enough time to jump up and sink one of his picks into a column before the armadillo opened fire. Suddenly, hundreds of icy shards were pelting into the water and freezing it solid. The bipedal grimm didn't have time to react as they were stuck in the ice.

Haddy didn't have a lot of time to close off the tunnels before they would be flooded with more Creeps. He checked his dwindling dust supplies with a heavy heart as he pulled several of the cartridges out. There were five tunnels total, so he'd have to exhaust pretty much everything he had. In an instant, he assembled Sleigh into its rifle and pushed in the first magazine of dust.

He shot his remaining two ice containers, his last two earth, and had to get creative with his incendiary shot to collapse the final tunnel. With each discharge, he flicked the guard of his rifle down and reloaded with another set of elemental ammunition. When he was done, he lowered Sleigh and waited to see if his plan had worked. When nothing happened, Hadrian breathed a sigh of relief.

When he turned to look for his partner, he watched as Ryder took the last picture needed for their extra credit. In all honesty, Haddy had completely forgotten about the reason they were even in the cave. The scaled faunus smiled as he awkwardly tried to slide towards his friend on the ice. With a chuckle, Haddy clicked his heels together and allowed a set of thin blades to jut out from the soles of his boots, transforming them into crampons.

Ryder watched with an interested gleam in his eyes as Hadrian hiked over to him and took an arm to help guide him towards their exit. Before they made it to the base of the rocky wall, the armadillo remarked, "Ya got any more Atlas trink'ts ya wanna show me?"

With a devious smirk, Haddy replied, "Not right now."

It didn't take nearly as long to climb out of the cavern as they'd originally thought it would. That didn't stop them from only making by the skin of their teeth though. As soon as Ryder pulled himself through the cave entrance, the shaking started back up and new tunnels were drilled into the cavern. The pair watched as even more Creeps flooded the hollow expanse they'd just been trapped in.

The faunus exchanged a glance before they laughed and shared a celebratory fist bump.

Hadrian started walking back towards Vale when Ryder initiated a conversation for the first time since they'd met, "Uh, Haddy?"

"Yeah?" the husky replied, turning back to see that the scaled faunus hadn't moved yet. He stopped with a confused look on his face.

Ryder sighed as he remarked, "Ya said sumthin' 'bout a scholarsh'p back 'n Atlas?"

Oh, he did not like where this was going. Hadrian rubbed the back of his neck as he quietly answered, "Uh, yeah."

"An' y'ur family not havin' alot'a money," the armadillo continued.

"Yeah..."

"Then... how're ya affordin' all tha expenses of bein' a Huntsm'n-'n-trainin'? Like ammo, dust, an' repairs?"

Haddy turned away as he nervously laughed back, "Well, uh... I'm not?"

Ryder frowned as he closed the distance between them and crossed his scaled arms. Quickly, the husky clarified, "I'm looking for a part-time gig though. I figure there's enough stores in Vale that could be looking for an extra set of hands."

The dark-skinned faunus was quiet for a long time before he rolled his eyes with a half-smile and clapped a strong hand on Hadrian's shoulder. With a chuckle, he said, "I got a buddy who owns a stall in tha market. He us'lly works week'nds. 'E could use tha help."

With a half-hearted smile, Haddy shrugged, "I dunno, man. I'd rather find something without any help."

Ryder laughed as he wrapped his arm around Hadrian's shoulders and the pair started back towards the city, "Tha great thin' 'bout havin' frien's is that they're gonna help no matt'r what..."

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