#stop punching her good lord she's just doing her job

[vimesbootstheory]

honestly? justice for khalisah bint sinan al-jilani

[gffa]

Usually, I like to finish reading a fic before recommending it properly, but I've been sucked into about five different STAR WARS fics recently that I've gotten far enough into that I'm willing to trust my heart to them because they're scratching a very specific itch for me--namely, that I want deeper explorations of both the Jedi Order and of Anakin's character. I want fic to punch me in the feelings over both of these aspects of the story. I want fic to sometimes set Obi-Wan and Anakin aside and focus on Ahsoka for awhile, really tell her story. I want Jedi themes woven into a story. I want an exploration of Anakin's mindset that reminds me of just how much I love him and have sympathy for him. And fandom has delivered for me.

DO YOU WANT FIC TO BLACK OUT TO AND LOSE AN ENTIRE WEEKEND OVER? HAVE I GOT SOME RECS FOR YOU:

✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, ahsoka & mace & jedi & clones & cast, 312.5k     In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know.     This fic accomplishes several things that have sent me over the moon: 1) At its heart, it's an Ahsoka fic that shows her growing up as a Padawan, going on missions, learning lessons, and having character growth. 2) It weaves in so many other characters around her, that Mace is there in almost every chapter, serious but warm in the Force, just as beautifully characterized as she is. 3) The other Jedi get their moments of excellents, Shaak taking Ahsoka on her Akul hunt was wonder to read, seeing Obi-Wan show up for a chapter had me over the moon, Adi taking care with Ahsoka was lovely, Depa was a shining star when she took Ahsoka under her wing, Fox growing used to these strange Jedi and growing into himself through Ahsoka's eyes was wonderful. 4) The writing is that kind of solid that I don't mean as mid-tier, but the kind that I feel like can bear weight on it, I can pick it up and read for 30k and barely realize any time has passed, despite that I've gotten through an entire arc of the fic. 5) It does an incredible job of balancing that feel of The Clone Wars show, without directly copying anything, that it's like these are arcs that I could have seen on the show itself, the lessons woven in, but still with enough plot moving forward and action to make it exciting. If you want more Jedi-centric fic in your life (where they don't have to be perfect! sometimes they can be less than perfect and it's okay because they're still good! ohhhh, my heart warmed at that) or you want to read a lovely Ahsoka-centric fic in a different life, but still so recognizably herself, then this is one I want to shove right in your face immediately.

✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 116.k wip     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right?     I got sucked into the first fic in this series (which is complete, if you want to read it--it's not the end of the story, but it's a good stopping point and feels like it should have some solid resolution if you don't want to get into a wip) and read the first fic over the course of about three days because I was sucked in so thoroughly. I can never get enough of Obi-Wan time traveling back to the past, where he loves the Jedi and they love him, and I love this one because he has to make genuine plans for changing things--things change and I have no idea how that's going to affect Palpatine's machinations! Exciting! But it's also a lovely look at Obi-Wan's dynamics with multiple characters--I found the Obi-Wan & Padme scenes a hightlight personally, their friendship really blossomed as they both flung themselves into trying to better the galaxy, even if she doesn't know he's from the future, that he's working so hard matched a lot of her energy and I really enjoyed that--from Qui-Gon to Mace to Padme to Anakin and, as the sequel progresses, Dooku as well. It's another Jedi-positive fic, it has me invested in the plot, it's a joy to see competent!Obi-Wan, and I would love to shove it at more people.

✦ Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy, obi-wan & anakin, 46k (wip-esque)     After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along.     This is probably the shortest fic on this list but I'm including it because it genuinely felt longer than that, for how dense the emotional intensity of it is. It's an AU where the Jedi barely eked out a victory, still on the edge of extinction in many ways, and Anakin deep in the pits of the dark side, so Obi-Wan takes him to a backwater planet in exile for the both of them, traveling through the countryside and just trying to make it from day to day. What punched me right in the feelings place is that this fic doesn't shy away from the hurt and the anger on both sides, that both of them are allowed to be unreliable narrators that have their own points of view on what's transpired and what lays between them. It doesn't back away from the hurt they both feel, the despair they both feel, yet there's hope here. It's ultimately a story about clawing yourself back from the dark side, and it's beautifully characterized for both of them, that unkind things are said on both of their parts, but you understand why the characters are in the place they are. It's wrapped up in a lushly written backdrop, with some lovely Japanese feudal era details woven in, but also with a Star Wars patina spread across all of it. It's not necessarily a kind fic, but if you like fic that bites down on a wound, I enjoyed this series a lot and would love to see it continued--but, honestly, what's here is already enough resolution that, looking back on it after the initial "Noooooo, I need more!" feeling has faded, I'm actually very satisfied with. ✦ Men of Power by AlabasterInk, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & jedi & palpatine & cast, 86.1k wip     When an old powerful man suddenly comes in and sweeps your underage Padawan away without so much as a by your leave, that’s the time to start asking questions.     I'm only about 20k into this fic, so I can't say what shape it will take later on or how much pairings might come into it, but I still had to come running over to shove this fic at people, because it's scratching the itch I have for Jedi-positive fic that explores the idea of Anakin's trauma from his childhood as a slave, that this is a child who is wound so tight and comes from such a horrible thing having been done to him, having been owned as a person, that I understand why he stays silent on some of the things I desperately wish he could talk about or he doesn't really believe some of the things the Jedi tell him. It's a fic that takes a lot more care with Anakin's character than I think canon ever intended, weaving in a lot of the heartbreaking stuff from Legends' supplementing the canon, and is creating something that punches me right in the feelings place for him, that he's such a bright, brilliant boy, but I see why he struggled and it's not about assigning blame in any direction. It's about deeply caring people who fate has take a few steps to the left and something shifts just a little--and I appreciate that there's something very delicate feeling here, that the Jedi just don't have any real reason to be suspicious of Palpatine, his actions make sense, they genuinely can't feel any ill intention from him in the Force, they discuss why it would make sense that he'd want to support Anakin, all while we the readers can see, in hindsight, where the shadows have been creeping in. If you want Jedi-positive fic that also leaves some teeth marks over Anakin's trauma being explored in a way that is entirely sympathetic to him, then I want to shove this fic at you, too.

[meanbossart]

Just thinking thoughts about Orin and Drow lore, and idk if this has been asked already, but

If Orin had just disappeared for like a year, not even Sceleritas could find her, with how obsessive pre-tadpole Drow was how would he handle that? Aside from being prideful and murdery, I don’t remember in the pre-tadpole Drow lore about any instance (after he made it to the temple) of him expressing anything else. Did the two ever have a wholesome moment?

Hmmmm not wholesome, no. I'm sorry to disappoint people who might wanted to see a more explicitly vulnerable side to both of them at that stage in their lives, but that's just not... How I envision things. I don't think anyone born into the temple would have had much room to express themselves in the way average people do.

What they did have was an undeniable connection and mutual understanding. This lasted for about 7 years, so between ages 18-25 for DU drow. (Canonically he's currently 28, give or take). I think that, sometimes, they also silently understood among themselves that things weren't always fair or good.

This might sound like a whole load of nothing to some people, but based on the culture within the cult, Orin's story, and the behavior of everyone involved in it, it seems huge to me that two people who were essentially groomed to be the embodiment of murder would harbor any kind of care for one another, even if it was subtle. The fact that they could share a bed, talk shit about Sarevok, and seamlessly work together and share in the glory of their deeds as equals is what intimacy looked like for them - before DU drow's ego (and the very need of a more explicitly intimate connection with someone, to be fair) got to his head.

They killed together, they rolled around in blood together, they bickered and fought and one time Orin stabbed him in the gut and DU drow punched her jaw out of it's socket. Then they flopped down on the ground and cackled about it while Sceleritas rushed in to stop the bleeding. Is that wholesome? I think for deified bhaalspawn who know nothing but that life it's the closest it gets.

There had to have been quiet moments I'm sure. Like Orin waiting around while DU drow got ready to go somewhere, him adjusting her headpiece, Orin slicing her brother's long hair off when he first arrived and looked like some sort of sinewy wood's creature. At night, they probably laid in bed in silence and sometimes stared at each other until either fell asleep.

I am very interested in not inventing an obscured, soft side to Orin that we didn't get to see, you know? While she wasn't always the level of manic we see in-game, she was completely unfit to function normally due to her upbringing, and this reflects in her relationships. DU drow is also undeniably emotionally stunted, just in a slightly different way.

I got off rambling to no one's surprise LOL but to answer the first part of your question - I don't think he would have been quite as dramatic about Orin just up and vanishing, as there's no explicit suggestion of death in that. He would have been insufferable to be around for a while, but in that scenario I could see his duties keeping him busy.

Not to mention that, while through death, she would be leaving him unwillingly - disappearing with no trace implies the uncomfortable possibility that she truly, honestly, just didn't want to be around him. That allows room for contempt and bitterness to fester until you wrongly convince yourself there was never any love there at all, even if just to soothe your own conscience.

He would have just become a much, much worse person that way in the sense that he would have nothing to focus on besides for his lord's will - as horrific as his attitude towards Orin was, it is very much a human feature to desperately cling to connection. With Orin around, he had a little bit of fucked up tenderness and love in him - it was a personal desire completely separate from his "job", a vestige of free-will. Without her, he just has Bhaal and whatever Bhaal wants.

Orin has always unwittingly anchored him, and then, later freed him. And he never ever deserved any of it.

🤷

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 13: I've Got It

Note:....Been a while. I know boooo, it was very shitty of me, and I'll spare you the sob story but I'm back. Thank you all for the continued support, I am extremely grateful to everyone who gave and continues to give this story a chance. I am ready to get back to work. This chapter is a long one as the beginning of my apology. As always, feel free to reach out to me with any questions or just to chat, but all in all, it feels good to be back. Happy Valentines Day, babies <3

Warning: Toxic Family Dynamics, anxiety, angst and strong language.

“Now we wait.” 

Lip rolls his eyes as he sits on the bed in his and Charlotte’s room at Kev and V’s house, crossing his arms. “This is fucking stupid.”

V’s sharp elbow goes into his side as Kev shushes him, facing the opposite direction. 

The three of them are sitting and waiting outside of the bathroom door, straightening as Carol emerges from the room, blue and white stick in her hands and Charlotte in tow. “Auntie Carol, I told you I’m not pregnant-” 

“Hush, little girl, stop whining.”

“But Mama,” V tries, rubbing her head tiredly. “She just had her period.”

“You shut up, Veronica, you were supposed to be watching her, not letting her shack up while you did, lord knows everything but take care of your cousin. Now I’m gonna hear shit from her father and his wife the whole time they’re here.” The older woman huffs, squinting at the test, snapping her fingers and pointing to the bed, gesturing for Charlotte to sit. “The least we can do is make sure she’s not pregnant when they get here.”

Lip rests his hand on Charlotte’s thigh as he tries to hide his annoyance with the whole situation. The call with Charlotte’s dad had been disastrous, as he suspected it would be. The older man had cursed him to high heaven before demanding Charlotte be on the next flight home. When Lip heard that he’d panicked, snatching the phone back from his wife and hanging up. All they’d received since then was an eerie message that they were on their way. Because he’s him and he has literally no control over his own brain, he had no choice but to question why she hadn’t told her parents about them, about him. It seemed like her dad hadn’t even expected to hear from a boyfriend let alone a husband. They’d at least been together long enough that her parents should know he exists.

In fact that’s all he can think about, aside from the fact that he may have lost his job. And how the two may be related. 

“Fuck!” Lip growls as he punches the wall in the hallway. He’s unconcerned with what Fiona will say about it. He’ll just blame it on Frank. 

Charlotte’s head pops out of the bathroom with a freshly bathed Liam on her hip, both looking as innocently confused as ever. Liam claps his hand, squealing, mumbling out an excited ‘fuck!’ as he meets his brother’s eyes. “No, Liam, that's a bad word. Phillip didn’t mean to say that. He meant to say darn, right Phillip?”

The blond is in too foul a mood to concede for cuteness sake and instead squeezes the boy’s cheek and gives his wife an appreciative pat on the ass before scooting past. “Nah, I meant fuck.” 

Charlotte pouts as she bounces the child on her hip a little before taking him to sit with one his other siblings as she goes to figure out what’s wrong with her spouse. She’s noticed that Phillip has been on edge since her parents’ message, but she was beginning to think that wasn’t all that was bothering him. 

She finds him spread out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. Her pout deepens as she climbs over the side of the couch, laying her body over his, pressing her chest to his and offering him a bright smile. “Talk to me, bubba.” 

“I’ve just got shit to figure out I guess, I gotta handle it or we’re fucked.” he huffs, rolling his big blue eyes, as she smooths the lines between his brows with her soft fingers. 

“Shit like what?” Charlotte asks, tilting her head lightly. 

“Watch your mouth.” He murmurs, softly, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip before pushing it into her mouth, humming with quiet satisfaction as she simply closes her mouth around it, brown eyes staring up at him intently. “That shit at the party, lost my cool, cause that fucker is trying to fuck you-” 

“Don’t want him.” she says around his finger.

“I lost my cool and sorta might’ve cost us a good thing.” Lip sighs, smoothing his other hand over her hair. “Daddy wants to talk to me in his office later this week. Fucked it up, sorry baby.” 

It almost feels worse. How quickly she shrugs off his failures. She doesn’t tell him he fucking sucks, or that he ruins everything. She doesn’t huff and push off of him. She offers him a soft smile, kisses him deeply, and tells him ‘they’ll figure it out’. They’ll do it. Another thing he just can’t do for her. He feels helpless. He loves her, and this job was the biggest step he’s made in showing her that. He might beg. He might literally have to set his pride aside and beg. 

That was part one in the hardest lesson life has taught him. Phillip Gallagher is not good enough for Charlotte Gal…Fisher.

“Yay, Debbie!” Charlotte screams , clapping along as Ian whistles. The family was gathering for Debbie’s first soccer game of the season and it was…not going well. Turns out Debbie’s team sucks and she doesn’t respond very well to the rules and restrictions of soccer. She was currently focusing more on digging her heel of her cleats into the shin of a kid who’d accidentally kicked her hand while the ball rolled past her. 

“Fuckin’ kill ‘em, Debs.” Mickey calls, lighting his cigarette. His brows furrow at the looks the parents around him send him. “I fuckin’ meant, metaphorically.”

“Figuratively.” Lip corrects, smacking away the middle finger that gets waived in his face. He sighs as Charlotte knocks his own cigarette out of his hand before he can light it, slapping her thigh, pulling her leg over his as she giggles in his ear. Lip relishes in the closeness and warmth he gets from this moment. His wife leaning into him, absently toying with his fingers as she cheers for his little sister. 

It makes him think. He thinks about the future. Doing this with his kids. Their kids. Kids he didn’t even think he wanted. Not until her. Just the idea of her opens a world of possibilities he hadn’t even factored in. It feels good. It would feel great, if some fucking idiot wasn’t staring at her like a piece of fuckin’ meat-

“Can I fucking help you, fuck face, or do you wanna keep starin’ at my wife?” He demands, standing immediately. Ian and Mickey are following suit soon enough, the latter, lifting Charlotte and placing her on the opposite side of all of them. 

“Woah,” the guy lifts his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the men nervously. “I just was trying to figure out where I know her from, I don’t want any issues.”

“Let’s just say you don’t know her from anywhere and you get to keep your teeth, alright?” Mickey growls. 

The three men settle back into their seats and return to the game. Charlotte waves off Debbie’s confused look that she sends to the stands. She whispers into Lip’s ear that everything is fine. That the guy probably frequents the bar she works at. But from the way she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, zipping her jacket up to her neck and crossing her arms over her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice…Lip fucking hates himself. He really does. He hates the guys at the club that pay to see the love of his life essentially naked. He hates that they go around thinking about her after they leave the fuckin’ seedy ass building. He hates that she works there, because despite the fact that her body is beautiful and he’s glad she’s comfortable in it, his insecurity is making her insecure and now they can’t be at his sister’s soccer game, or the grocery store, or the park or the club without someone fucking eye-fucking his wife, pissing him off and making her uncomfortable in her own damn clothes. 

But mostly, mostly he hates himself for not being able to make her like the women sitting on the opposite side for the other team. The soccer moms who have husbands that take care of fuckin’ everything they need and have shit to spare to give them what they want. He hates that she’s not sitting here with one of those fancy, stupid ass purses that they all seem to fuckin’ have. He hates that while they got to drop their kids off at a nice ass school after they kissed their husbands goodbye and then went shopping or drinking or whatever upper middle housewives do with their days Charlotte was helping clean his shithole house. He hates that after the game he’s gonna drop her off to the club where she’ll meet more creeps who get off thinking about her and eye-fuck her in his face. He hates that he’s too pussy to go into the club because then he’s worried he’ll steal one of Mickey’s guns and air the bitch out and Charlotte’ll be forced to visit him in jail for the rest of her life. 

So Lip grinds his teeth and finishes watching the game. Leg jumping as he tries to soothe his temper. That’s part two.

Charlotte’s parents arriving is the nail in the marital coffin for Lip. They go pick them up from the airport in the attempt to make a good impression. The couple borrows Kev’s car and the whole ride their Charlotte tries to keep him in a good mood. He knew he must be walking into the lion’s den from how she’d been acting. They’d had sex twice that morning, and before he could start to offer to make her breakfast for her…efforts, she was pulling out the ingredients to make him pancakes. In the car, she didn’t whine about his music, just humming softly as it played, rubbing his arm as his hand rested on her thigh. He wants to be able to leave it at this. He doesn’t want to interrupt the great morning by asking the dreaded question, but he’s him and he can’t let it go.

“So, we haven’t really gotten to talk about it, but I need to ask…why didn’t you tell your parents about me?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath, staring straight out the window as they pull into a pickup spot. “They’re parents…you know, they didn’t exactly send me here to get married in three months.”

“They won’t approve. Fuck.” he nods.

“Bubba, it doesn’t matter.” Charlotte turns to face Lip, pulling her knee into the seat beneath her. “It doesn’t matter, I approve. I’m more worried about what you’ll think of me. My parents aren’t the nicest people, and…I’m not good with navigating them.”

“Charlotte, there’s literally nothing short of murder you could do that would make me change my mind, you’re not the one we need to worry about.” Lip pushes his tongue into his cheek absently, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the reflection of the simple ring shining on his hand. 

“This is temporary, right?” Charlotte murmurs, leaning over the console and placing her hands over Lip’s. “They’ll come, and see how good you take care of me and they’ll go home. ‘Kay?”

The blond man just nods quietly, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it, savoring their bubble one last time before they get out of the car.

“I hate the airport, it's dirty and busy all of the time.” 

Lip rolls his lips together as he drags his in-laws bags over to the car, listening quietly with Charlotte as her mother and father talk about how miserable their flight has been. Her dad, Victor, had given him a curt nod in introduction and held his arm out for Charlotte to obediently place herself into a hug that Lip could tell she didn’t want. Her mother Cynthia had kissed her cheeks in a European way to where they never actually touch. Both people looked polished, and barely tried to hide their wince when Charlotte said, “This is my husband, Phillip.”

Lip’s wife’s pretty brown eyes haven’t lifted from ground level since they met her parents at the terminal, an absent look on her face as her parents drone on and on with pleasantries.

“...and, honey, don’t you think it’s a little too cold for that outfit?” her mom finishes, as the three of them stand back and watch Lip load the car.

“‘M warm.”

“I am warm.” Her mother corrects.

“I am warm.”

“I don’t know how you could be, with this frigid Chicago air. Hopefully you’re not getting sick. Phillip, you always have to watch her, she never wants to wear a coat, always trying to walk around half naked and expect not to get sick-”

“We’d better hope she’s not having hot flashes.” 

“Victor!”

And that too. The snide remarks. Glances down at Charlotte’s stomach, and positioning himself between her and Lip as they walk back to the car. The muscle in Lip’s jaw jumps in irritation as her father continues to insinuate that the only reason he’s here is because he’s some white trash deadbeat that knocked his daughter up. 

“I’m not pregnant, Daddy.”

“As you’ve told me.” The older man grunts, sliding between his daughter and the car, climbing into the front passenger seat the second the lock clicks open, not even sparing her a glance. 

“Are you guys, uh, hungry? We could stop and get something to eat.” Lip sniffs, glancing up into the rearview mirror to get a look at Charlotte. She’s in the back, toying with her fingers as she stares out of the window. That is until her mom swats at her hand to get her to stop, and she takes to biting her lip instead.

“No thank you, young man, the hotel should be fine.” Victor huffs again, for the fiftieth fucking time since he’s been in the car. “Charlotte, I made you a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow, since you never took the time to find a physician yourself. Your mother will take you after we have breakfast. I assume you’ll be joining us, Phillip.”

Charlotte manages to look up at that, her voice resigned as she addresses her father. “Of course he will, Daddy, we’ll be with you bright early.”

The car goes silent for a moment before Victor mumbles under his breath, ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

“Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, are we supposed to pretend that this is okay? Cynthia, I tried, but this is fucking ridiculous!”

“Victor! Please.”

“Okay.” Lip grunts, pulling the car into one of the hotel parking spots in the far corner of the lot. 

“No, Charlotte Andrea Fisher, you are 19 years old. You are away from home for the first time, against my better judgment. You have been away for only 3 months. You are naive, and impulsive, and for some reason want to be like your cousin Veronica so damn bad. You are going to take your ass upstairs to the hotel room your mother and I got you and you are not shacking up with this boy-”

“He’s not a boy, he’s my husband, Dad.” Charlotte whimpers from the backseat. Lip grinds his teeth and unbuckles his seatbelt, catching her mother roll her eyes and rub her forehead as he climbs out of the car.

“Oh, god, the waterworks-”

“You are a little girl, and that is a boy. You’re talking about marriage, that sham is getting annulled, if it was even legal-” Victor follows suit, climbing out of the car and slamming the door, opening his wife’s before walking, meeting Lip at Charlotte’s door. The older man goes to tug it open, only to be stopped by Lip’s hand. “Move.”

“No. My wife is coming home with me.” he says calmly.

“Your wife? Your wife, she’s my daughter, and she’s coming with me and her mother-”

“Her mother and I.” Lip says smugly.

“Oh.” Victor cocks his head, taking a step closer to an unflinching Lip. “You think you're tough, boy?”

“You tell me, we’re from the same place.”

The older man glares past him to the car window again. Shifting his attention to Charlotte. “Charlotte Andrea Fisher-”

“Gallagher.” Her muffled voice calls from behind the cheap glass. “My last name is Gallagher now, Dad.”

It’s quiet. Soft. Her voice waivers. But still. She said it. And still, it fills Lip up with pride as he leans against the car door, using its keys to click it closed as he watches her mother drag her husband away. Forcing him to the hotel.

After he watches the fancy, sliding double doors close behind them and the yelling becomes a little more faint, Lip unlocks the car. The way she falls into his arms crushes him. The tears, the shaking, the sobs of ‘I thought they’d give us a chance’ that part hurt. 

Lip Gallagher has watched his parents abandon his siblings. Hit them. Steal from them. Lie. Everything in the book of bad parents. He’s been watching it his whole life. He’s numb to it. It’s life, he tells them. Doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. Frank and Monica. They’ve never been anything to them, and never would be.

But watching this. Watching Charlotte lose her parents in front of him, because of him, he’s never seen anything like it. He’s sad for her. He watched them rip her to shreds with words and disapproving looks. They came here and broke the love of his life within an hour and a half.

This wasn’t the final straw.

No, because Lip’s girl is sweet. This is something he’s always known, and in anyone else he’d call it a flaw. She’s like Debbie, but less vengeful. She forgives. Gives second…third…fourth chances. Hell, its the only fuckin’ way he’s been able to keep her, and normally, he’d thank whatever shitty higher power that’s up there that dropped this woman in his lap for him to hoard to himself but not today.

“She says she wants to say sorry for him. I’m not gonna talk to him, just her. She promised.”

“Bunny, I’m not gonna tell you don’t see your mom-”

“Good!” Charlotte chirps as Lip watches her tug on some notably baggy jeans over her shapely legs, and pull an oversized sweater over her head.

“‘M gonna tell you it’d be pretty fuckin’ stupid though.” he finishes, grabbing the edge of her sweater and pulling her into his lap as he sits on the bed. 

Charlotte smoothes her fingers over his cheek before leaning her forehead against his. “Hm, like threatening your boss's son?”

“Fuckin’ defendin’ your honor.” he grunts, tilting her toward him and patting her ass.

“My hero.”

“Exactly, and now I’m the fuckin’ dragon, lockin’ you up in the tower so the evil people who made the princess cry yesterday don’t get to do it again.”

“That’s really not how fairytales work. And dragons can’t lock doors.”

“Fuckin’ smartass.” Lip breathes, connecting his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. He squeezes her tightly, trying to wring every negative thought out of her head. “They hurt you.” he whispers against her lips.

“They’re my parents. They think they’re doing what’s best for me. They’re not. But that’s what they think.” she whispers back, pressing one more kiss to his lips before pulling away. “So, I’m gonna go to this doctor’s appointment. Do another pregnancy test. Show them we’re married because you loveee me. And then, I’m gonna tell my mom our love story, leaving out some key details. And I’m gonna make her love you like I do, Bubba.”

Lip sits back and takes in her words. Because maybe that is what she’ll do. Maybe Cynthia will reconsider and maybe that will make things better. Maybe they’ll understand their situation and that they love each other and he’s pretty sure they won’t fuckin’ love him but maybe they’ll understand that he fuckin’ loves her. “Hopefully not like you love me. You’d have some competition.” she gasps at that, smacking his arm. “What? You look alike!”

The plan was clear. Charlotte was supposed to go and charm the pants off her mom on Lip’s behalf, he was supposed to be at home, hold down the fort, and figure out what the hell he was going to say to his boss, to get his job back. 

Lip had set up shop. He’d plopped back on the run down couch in his house, and pulled one of his little siblings toys from underneath his ass and started rolling a joint on the table. It was time for him to play his part. Think. For him, and for his family. 

But then there was the knock. And then it turned into knocking. It was incessant.

“Fuck! Hold on. ‘M fuckin’ coming!” He calls, tripping over the plastic bat on the floor when he makes his way over to the door. “What-”

“Phillip.”

“I…what the fuck are you doin’ here? Come to yell at me s’more?” 

Victor Fisher stands with his arms crossed. Polished with a neat sweater and ironed pants, looking wildly uncomfortable and out of place in his own old neighborhood. “No, I…think I did enough of that yesterday. At least that’s what Cynthia tells me.”

“Okay,” Lip shrugs, leaning in the frame and catching Victor’s glance at the chipped paint. “Well, she tell you that she and Charlotte are going to the doctor?”

“Yes. It was my own idea to come down here and ask you to come get something to eat with me while we wait.”

The blond’s eyes narrow as he laughs incredulously. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” 

“Not at all.” Victor sighs, crossing his arms. “I am extending an olive branch. For Charlotte’s sake. Grab the other end.”

For Charlotte’s sake.

“So tech. Good business.” 

“Technology and science are languages that I’ve always been able to speak. It pays too.” Lip shrugs, pushing a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

“Well?” Victor asks without looking up. This has been their breakfast so far. Short, stilted conversation. Lip answering the questions Victor fires at him. Trying to gauge his reactions to everything he says. Pretending he wasn’t starting to hate this man.

“Gettin’ there.” 

“How many siblings do you have, Phillip?”

“Uh, five.” 

“Smart like you?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“They’re smart.”

“But not like you.”

“Uh, no. Not like me.” Lip shifts in his seat, suddenly unable to follow the conversation.

“Hm.” Victor reaches to the side of the table, pouring more coffee into his cup and then into Lip’s. “Charlotte is an only child, you know that?”

“I know everything about Charlotte.”

“So, you know why we want her to go to the doctor so badly?” 

“Fuckin’- yes!” 

“You know she’s got chronic pain? That she suffers from sickle cell? She told you that?”

What?

Lip tries to keep a poker face as all of the wind is knocked out of his body. A thousand questions are swirling around in his head. His chest hurts. He didn’t know, why didn’t he know? He should have known-

“Do you know what happens when people who suffer from sickle cell go into crisis? What a flare up of chronic pain looks like for her?” Victor sighs, fully removing his glasses this time. “Probably not, you’ve known her for three months. But it happens, and it's bad. She…she can’t move. Barely eats, loses weight rapidly. The pains. The shakes. The crying. Are you prepared for that?”

“Yea-yes-”

“I’m sure you could. You’re a man. I understand that. You grew up here. You’ve had to be a man long before you were supposed to and that is unfair and I’m sorry that happened to you but the reality is, Charlotte is a girl. You two are a year apart, but you’re a man and she’s a girl. She grew up in a nice house, with me and her mother. She went to nice schools. We knew she was pretty, too pretty for her own good, so we protected her from the boys not worth keeping around-”

“Fuck you.” Lip scoffs.

“No, I’m not implying you’re not worth anything, Phillip. Boys like you from this area are diamonds in the rough. Just like me. I was just like you. And I got the girl. You have Charlotte, I had Cynthia. I know how it feels to hit the lottery.” Victor pauses to take a drink of his coffee, gesturing to the waitress for the check. “But Phillip, I don’t speak to my siblings. My parents. They were deadbeats. My siblings stayed here. I left them behind. They hate me. All of them. And over time, I’ve learned that I don’t care. I chose Cynthia. I chose me. They were holding me back. I let them go. Because you’ll learn, Phillip, that getting there only gets there, when you can focus. You can’t keep two families afloat.” 

Lip works his jaw irritably, feeling his skin heat with irritation as he weighs what his father and law says. “What are you trying to say? I should abandon my family?” 

“No. I’m saying it's not too late to choose them and annul your marriage. We both know you can’t take care of Charlotte. Not the way she should be. Not for a long, long time. So give her back to people who can. People who can make it worth you and your family’s while.”

“I…” Lip grits his teeth at the sound of his voice cracking. “I love her. I take care of her.” “She’s been living here, working as a stripper under your care. Want better for her, Phillip.” Victor says, snapping his checkbook closed as he slides the piece of paper across the table. The waitress comes over with the bill, dropping it between the two men and Lip absentmindedly reaches into his pocket to find some money, pausing when the older man holds his hand up to halt him. “Don’t worry, son. I’ve got it.”

Sending the message was hard, but it was the only way Lip knew how. 

He knew he couldn’t look Charlotte in the face yet. No. He needed more time. Time to think. Time to decide he was doing the right thing. Time to finish talking himself into this. 

Victor told him what he needed to do. Bend her heart, not break it. Neither of them wanted to see her broken. Just hurt her enough that she’s prepared to go home. Charlotte’s stubborn, so she won’t just give up. She won’t run to her parents so easily. So Lip would need to be able to hold out long enough that she would give up. Get tired. Realize it was over and go home. 

And Lip would be able to pay the bills in the house, for the next three months. One month for each one he and Charlotte had together. He would be able to get his family a car. He would have something to drive back and forth to work in. A real car. Not a run down busted up car barely off the junk lot. A real car. One that he could keep for years.

So, he came home. Her mom kept her out a long enough time, clearly in on this plan to write him out of Charlotte’s fuckin’ life. He went to his house. He looked his siblings in the face and told them that he was ending things with Charlotte. And they were fuckin’ pissed. The kids weren’t talking to him. Debbie said she hated him. But she’d get over it. That’s what Victor had said when he’d told him how they loved Charlotte. 

Carl mumbled something about a ‘waste’ and shoved past him. Liam doesn’t understand. And Lip knows that he’ll feel horrible when his baby brother wakes up tomorrow asking for her.

Ian and Fiona were the worst. Ian started rattling insults immediately. Telling him what a piece of shit he was. He knows. Telling him this is the only chance at something good, at love he’ll actually get. He fuckin’ knows.

Fiona just asked so many questions. Why? What happened? Are you sure? 

That all stopped when Lip shrugged, schooling an emotionless expression onto his face, dropping the check onto the kitchen table and snapping his phone closed as he finished his message. “It’s done.” 

All of that hurt. It fucking sucked and he felt like blowing his brains out when the flood of text messages started rolling in. But nothing could beat the crying. The begging. 

“Bubba, please.” Her voice is small on the opposite side of the door, the whining lilt to it has his entire body tense as he leans against the wood, staring at the wall over Ian’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact with any of his siblings. “I love you. Why are you doing this?”

“Lip-” Fiona starts, cutting herself off when her little brother looks up at her, wide blue eyes watery with tears, an exhausted look on his face, jaw clenched so hard she worried his teeth would crack. She thinks this is a mistake. She loves Charlotte, and even more, Lip loves Charlotte more than anything, but this was his decision, and he was her brother. 

“I love you, what did I do? M’sorry.” she whimpers, soft thump letting the three siblings know she’d slid down the door. “Please, I love you. Please…st-stop.” 

The three eldest Gallaghers stand there in a stalemate. Ian shifts on his feet, quietly shaking his head as he looks away. Fiona watches her brother struggle somberly, wondering if she could have done anything that would have avoided this. 

And Lip, silent, straight faced, completely devoid of emotion as he rests his head against the door, staring forward. The only indication that he feels anything at all is the few tears that managed to escape down his face. 

It goes on like this for an hour and a half. At 40 minutes, Ian scoffs, mumbling under his breath as he storms his way up the stairs, slamming his room door closed, causing his sister to flinch. Once the standoff reaches 1 hour and 15 minutes, Fiona sighs, scrubbing a tired hand down her face before patting an unmoving Lip’s shoulder, retiring to bed herself.

The sobbing and constant knocking at the door had slowed to quiet pleas, still making Lip’s chest hurt just as bad. He’s doing what’s best for her. He knows that. It hurts now, but she’ll recover from this. She’ll be better, she’ll have a chance to do better than him. 

Lip will never recover. He knows that too. He knows that this is his better. His best. Being with Charlotte is everything. That’s why he doesn’t deserve it. He should’ve never tried to drag her down with him. He can’t give her the life she deserves, or the things she should have access to. He could only offer her hard work, and being bound to mental illness and alcoholism. Trapping her with a baby, forcing her to live in the fucking slums and dance for a couple of bucks from creepy frat boy fucks and drunk limp dick losers like his father. 

Soon he can hear footsteps approaching the doorway, Charlotte is immediately riled up by the presence of whoever it is. “No, no, no, he needs to talk to me. Something is wrong, I don’t know what I did- Phillip, please.” 

“C’mon Lottie, let’s go home.” Lip recognizes Kev’s muffled voice from the opposite side of the door. After some quiet arguing, he finally releases a breath when he hears the wood creak under the weight of them walking away. 

The man ignores the crushing feeling in his chest, the gut wrenching pain that comes with the realization of what he’d just done. A numbness spreads over his limbs as he hazily makes his way over to and up the stairs, breathing shakily. He reaches the doorway of his dark room and stops there. He wants his bed. He wants to climb under the covers and pretend he didn’t just blow up his fuckin’ life. But he can’t make it over the threshold. 

This is her room too. He didn’t think this through. She’s touched everything. How was he supposed to lay in the bed that they laid in together? Her clothes are still in the drawers. Pictures still taped to the mirror and walls. Fuck. 

It’s humiliating, the way he breaks down. Strong shoulders shaking with stronger sobs. Body curling over until his knees simply give out, he sits on the floor next to the crack in the wall where Carl had drilled a hole to hide drugs for Frank. The sound of miscellaneous toys left out squeaking under him. Lip pulls his legs to his chest and cries, because it’s all he can do. Despite every ounce of his being telling him, ‘stop being a bitch,’ ‘the fuck are you cryin’ about, pussy?’ he can’t help it. And he doesn’t stop. Not when his throat started getting sore, or his back started to hurt. Not when the sun starts to peak in through the half broken window in the hallway. Not when he feels his little sister lay a blanket over him before sitting beside him, quietly resting her head on his shoulder.

Charlotte doesn’t fare much better. She finally fell asleep with V rubbing her back, sleeping in her cousin’s bed while Kev slept downstairs. When she wakes she has a pounding headache, her eyes are puffy and burn. She wraps one of the blankets around herself before dragging to the bathroom, brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face. 

She’s hurt. Heartbroken and confused. She knows why he’s doing this. Her parents said something. Did something. Something that made him decide she isn’t worth the trouble. 

But she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. She loves Phillip. She loves her husband, and she didn’t take their time together lightly. She pulls on one of Phillip’s sweatshirts and jumps her way into a pair of jeans before looking at herself in the mirror. 

“Hey, honey,” V’s soft voice comes from behind her, Charlotte’s cousin appears over her shoulder, wrapping her arms around the younger woman. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I’ve gotta,” she sniffs, combing her fingers through her hair. “I’ve gotta take Liam to daycare. And um, make sure Carl remembers his science project. See if Phillip wants me to have lunch with him at work today, I could…I could make him something-”

“Lottie.” V interrupts, “Didn’t Lip-”

“He’s confused.” Charlotte says sharply, swinging her purse over her shoulder, holding her hand out to her cousin expectantly. “My key to their house is in our room. I…don’t normally need it.” 

“Charlotte, listen. I’m not saying this to hurt you, but that boy left you crying on the porch in the cold, that sends a message. Don’t you think you two need space?”

The younger woman shakes her head stubbornly, looking forward to the door, refusing to look at V. “No. Space will let him spiral. My parents made him doubt me, I’m gonna show him that they don’t know what they’re talking about, that I’m what he wants and needs, no matter what they say.”

Determined, Charlotte makes her way next door, unlocking the door with V’s keys and gets to work immediately. Frank is passed out on the couch, so she nudges him awake with a beer at the ready, guiding the drunken man out of the door so he won’t be there when everyone wakes up. Next she starts on the bacon and eggs, brewing a cup of coffee before climbing the stairs to grab Liam, changing and dressing him. “G’morning Liam, did you sleep well?” she coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks as she makes her way back down the stairs. 

When she gets down there, Fiona is sitting at the table, eyes going wide as she sees her sister-in-law. “Lottie? I…when did-”

“Early this morning. I know yesterday was really weird, and I’m sorry you guys had to see that-”

“Hey,” Fiona smiles, taking Liam from Charlotte’s arms. “There’s no embarrassment with family. Gallaghers know no shame, girl, and you’re one of us.” 

And she means it. Fiona watches as a wave of relief washes over the girl bustling around her kitchen, dumping fresh bacon onto a plate. “Thanks Fi.” Charlotte tucks some hair behind her ear, sliding a bowl of cheerios in front of the toddler. “I’m sorry to even ask you this, but did he talk to you about anything? Like something they said or s-something I did-”

“Mornin.” 

The deep voice makes Charlotte’s heart drop to her stomach. She turns slowly, as if she’s approaching an animal that’s likely to scare. And there he is. Standing there in his pajamas, hair mussed, bags under his eyes. But still handsome as ever to Charlotte. “Phillip.”

The blond pauses for a beat. His blue eyes are cloudy for a moment as he takes in the girl before he slips past her, ignoring her extended hand, offering a mug of coffee, opting to open the fridge and grab the orange juice instead. “Hey, you come here to pick up your stuff?”

“My…my stuff? Phillip-”

“I uh, gotta get to work.” he sniffs, grabbing his bag from it’s place on the kitchen floor, slinging it over his shoulder with his jacket in his hand.

“But-” Charlotte flinches as the door slams shut, shoulders tense as she stares after her husband. Fiona quietly slips behind the girl, resting her hand on her shoulder, apologetic for her brother’s behavior, but unable to do anything about it. “He means it.”

Charlotte had whispered so quietly that her sister-in-law didn’t catch it, leaning in for clarity. “What?” 

“Phillip, he’s leaving me, and he means it.” It was like a rock landed in her stomach, both painful and grounding, Charlotte steels herself. “Fine.” she huffs, grabbing her own bag and storming out of the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Phillip’s day had been absolute shit so far. He woke up to his boss’s daddy’s assistant calling him in for a meeting. No doubt calling him in to fucking fire him for beating the living shit out of his pussy ass son. Lip doesn’t regret it. Not really. But he regrets losing his fucking job. 

On top of that, he came downstairs to see the one person he couldn’t handle seeing. She looked so damn pretty, mixing up in his kitchen, bein’ with his family and shit. The hopeful look in her eye as she saw him enter the room. He didn’t deserve for her to fuckin’ look at him like that. He wanted to kick his own ass for how broken her pretty little face looked when he dismissed her. He loves her. That’s why he’s doing this. Her eyes were pink and puffy. She’d been crying for him. The fact that he was fighting with himself not to like that…he’s a sick fuck. Like he’s said, he doesn’t deserve her. 

Lip doesn’t even bother asking Kev to use his car to get to work, opting to take a walk to the train station to clear his head. He was in no real rush to be fired. As he blows into his hands to warm them, he lets his mind wander to the last place it needs to, but the only place it seems to want to go. 

“So, what the fuck are they mad at her for? They don’t wanna do the band shit anymore?”

Charlotte giggles, running her fingers through his curls as he lays his head on her lap, scowling at the television. She was educating him on Disney movies; it seemed that in the process of raising his siblings along with his sister, he’d never gotten the chance to experience sitcoms and original movies that were formative for her childhood. He’d said, ‘I’m not watchin’, put your shit on and I’ll take a nap’ but here he was, watching intently with a wonder that made her heart ache. “Guess they don’t have your work ethic, bubba.”

Lip hums contentedly, bringing her free hand to his lips, absently pressing kisses to her palm as he continues watching the movie. “Yeah, I know you liked her little rapping white boyfriend.”

“Um, excuse me? Even though he’s cute-”

“Knew it.”

“And you happen to also be a white, blonde with blue hair, most of my exes haven’t been white, I’ll have you know.”

He tried to swallow down the comment, really. But he fuckin’ couldn’t hold himself back, sue him. “Yeah, how many exes are we talkin’ about?”

He expects for her to get offended, or be evasive. Tell him to fuck off. That’s what any of his sorta exes would’ve done. Hell, that’s what he would’ve done. With anyone but her. He’ll tell her whatever she needs to know. But Charlotte has soft edges. Even when he’s being a dick, she has softness for him he’d never experienced before. 

“Not many, baby, just like, five.” She smiles gently, smoothing her hand over his hair again. “You’re the only one who matters now, Phillip.” she takes a deep breath, leaning down to press her forehead against his, and Lip can’t help but lean up to meet her, eyes trained on her face as hers slip closed. “Love you.” she mumbles.

She’s everything. “I love you, Bunny.”

With that, her brown eyes open, staring down at him with joy, she wrinkles her nose. “Ew, you like me?” she teases, squealing in his ear as he pushes himself up, grabbing her thigh and tugging her down on the couch.

“Fuckin’ brat.” he chuckles breathily against her lips, slapping her thigh lightly as he descends on her, her giggles ringing out into the air.

“Fuck.” the blond huffs out, roughly wiping at a stray tear before storming up to an abandoned car, left on the frozen grass and kicking at one of the doors, denting it slightly. He breathes heavily, shaking his head and turning to go back to his path to the train. Her laughter. That fuckin’ pretty ass laugh that she’s gonna end up giving to someone else makes him feel like he could vomit. He could hear it. In his head. It used to be nice. Now it feels like his heart is being wrenched from his fuckin’ chest. Damnit! 

Lip drops his bag onto the ground, lifting his leg and kicking the car again. And again. And again. Until he stops. Then, he starts punching the windows, his knuckles start getting bloody as the glass shatters and breaks under his efforts. But he keeps going. He just keeps punching, and kicking, and screaming…? When did he start doing that? 

He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even notice someone approaching him.

“Lip…?” A familiar voice calls out. Familiar, but not the one haunting him now. “Well, it’s been a while, I can guess how you’ve been.”

He stops, turning to look at the person intruding on his break down, brows furrowed. The blond reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, raising it to pluck one into his mouth before offering it to them. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Needed a nice bed, and food. Came to check on my mom. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I’ve been doin’?” 

To say Charlotte was pissed off was an understatement. Hot, angry tears stream down her face as she swings open the door to V and Kev’s house, throwing her purse on the floor. She tries to level out her breath as she pushes into the bathroom. Charlotte rests her hands on the sink as she watches herself cry in the mirror. Sobs racking her body she doubles over with the force of her crying. She was glad no one was home to see her like this.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing when she climbs into the tub, bringing her knees to her chest. She raises her left hand to look at the small ring on her finger. It’s not what she used to picture. When she was younger, she would envision her life. She would dream about what her ring would look like. What her husband would be like. 

It was always a ring like her mother’s, a large house like she grew up in and the some faceless prince who spun her in circles but surprisingly never spoke. 

This life she was building with Phillip was nothing like that. They live in a small house with his siblings, he’d shared a room until he was 18 and got her ring from his drunken father. It was small, and wouldn’t pass as a kids toy where she came from. Phillip was quiet compared to his siblings, but generally loud, crass, and aggressive. With everyone except her at least. He was a prince. He does spin her around, and hug her, and kiss her and look at her like she’s everything. The life he gave her was better than she’d imagined. 

But he’s ready to throw it away. And it hurts. Charlotte is tired of being the one being hurt. 

She sits in silence for a few moments, staring at the tiles on the wall before she can distantly hear her phone chiming in her purse outside the bathroom door. She tries to ignore the clench in her chest, the little glimmer of hope that it’s Phillip, calling to say sorry, that he’d changed his mind and he was coming over so they could make up. Charlotte pushes out of the tub at the third chime, walking on unsteady legs over to the bag, sniffling and tucking hair behind her ear as she squints to read the messages.

It’s her manager from the club, asking if anyone was interested in working the day party for today because the promoter’s entertainment fell through. Normally, she’d turn this down. She knows how Lip feels about her new job, and for her it was only a means to an end. They were discussing alternatives until this shit started. But maybe working a party would be a good way for her to get her mind off of things, and make some extra cash. Especially since it seems she’ll be doing things by herself for now on. 

“So you got married? That wasn’t a joke?”

“Uh, nope, real shit.” Lip takes a final swig of his beer before sailing it into the street, smiling softly at the glass shattering before opening another. 

“Hm, never thought you were the marrying type.” 

“M’not.” 

Karen shrugs, sipping her own beer and looking up at him. “Must’ve been pretty though, to get you down the aisle. Or pregnant. Both?”

“Not pregnant.” He says, opening his phone and showing her a picture of Charlotte. He supposes he’s gonna have to stop having those at the ready, if he’s gonna move on. As if he could. 

“Damn, she’s sexy.” Karen’s eyes widen as she grabs the phone. She remembers the current situation and bites her lip. “Sorry.”

“S’fine. She is. Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

Karen looks out into the road again, hesitating for a moment before nudging Lip’s shoulder. “Want me to take your mind off of it? It’s been a while.” 

Before Lip had even met Charlotte he had told himself he’d never fuck Karen again. She’s better now, sure, but she also almost fucking ruined his life multiple times. Once he had met Charlotte, he hadn’t even thought of it. He really didn’t consider that he’d ever fuck someone else again. A realization that surprised himself more than anyone, considering he’d never been the monogamous type. 

But now he’s in pain. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever be with Charlotte again. That makes him feel cold in a way that he’s never felt before. Lip, desperate for any kind of break he can get from what he’s feeling, rolls his eyes to the sky. “Yeah, fuck it, why not.”

“Gee, you used to be a lot more excited for me to get you off.” she mumbles against his cheek before leaning in to kiss his lips.

Lip turns his head away, pulling his mouth from her reach, “Don’t um, kiss me.”

Karen looks at him for a moment before laughing. “Okay, kissing used to be your thing, not mine.” As she kneels in front of him, Lip finds himself squirming uncomfortably, looking everywhere but down when he feels her unzipping his pants. “Um…are you…is it like, too cold?”

“Uh, no, I’m…gimme a second.” He feels like he can’t breath, the ring on his finger feels like it’s literally fucking scalding his skin. 

“Oh-kay.” 

A few more moments pass and Karen speaks again. “Do you want me to help you? Is there anything I can do?”

“Nope, no, not at all. Just, shut up for one second, please.” He brings his hands together, tugging the ring off and putting it in his pocket and prays.

“You can think of her if you need to. I don’t mind.” she tries again. 

“Um, yeah, maybe.” He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and lets the images of Charlotte that he’s racked up over time run across his brain. It feels good to think of her. To sift through the memories of her smiling up at him, holding him close, crying out his name. But he couldn’t trick his mind or body. He’s in love. Still. And she’s not the girl on her knees in front of him. “No, no.”

“No?”

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t I’m…I don’t think I can fuck someone who’s not my wife. At least right now.” Or ever. Shit. I’m never gonna get my dick wet again.

“Jeez, that’s serious.” Karen says. She hops up, tucking her hands in her pockets. “What is she? A contortionist?” Lip just looks at her and she sobers, her smile dropping. “Sorry. I’m serious. I’m talking to you as a friend, talk to me. Your wife is hot, and nice, and clearly has a hold over your dick, so what’s the problem, why’d you leave her?”

“She’s perfect.” Lip sighs, lighting another cigarette, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he works back the lump in his throat. He’ll be damned if he cries about this in front of Karen.

“Okay so-”

“She’s perfect. She’s everything, she deserves everything and I am stuck here. I live here. I was born here, I’m gonna live and die here and I don’t want her here to do it with me. So I can’t have her, that’s fine I’m teaching myself that it's fine but it fuckin’ sucks! It fuckin’ sucks Karen, and it’s fuckin’ worse because she’s willing to stay. I hate her for not making this easy!” He roughly throws the bottle into the street, barely missing a parked car.

“Oof. Okay. Clearly, you need to get your mind off of things.” She says, scooting the remainder of the six pack the pair of them bought from the liquor store across the street away from him. “C’mon, let’s get you a real drink and some recreational drugs.”

“You’re making some good tips out there girl, they’re loving you at this party.” 

Charlotte smiles briefly before leaning over the vanity, reapplying her lip gloss in the mirror. 

“Of course they are, they’re actually seeing her. Normally, guests only get a glimpse of the back of her head, before she runs into the back again to check in with her man.” 

“Well, he won’t be checking in today, so-”

“What?”

Trish leans back in her own seat to look at her friend. “Did something happen with you and Lip?”

Charlotte tries to ignore the quiver in her lip and stare forward into the mirror, focusing on the pink she’s applying on her lips. “I dunno, he’s doing his own thing, I’m doing mine, I guess.” 

“Well, that seems-”

“Girl, about time!” Kelsey, one of the girls Charlotte met through the club, claps, pushing her way into Charlotte’s seat. “All you talk about is that man and his gaggle of kids. Now, we can invite you to do fun stuff. We can go out!”

“They’re his siblings, first of all and they’re good kids.” Charlotte sighs, smoothing her hands over her hair.

“Gallagher kids? Okay.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrow, her mouth opening for her to ask her co-worker what the fuck she meant by that, something she would’ve never done a couple of months ago. But Trish beats her to it, patting her arm and shaking her head. Instead of telling her other coworkers about herself, Charlotte settles for rolling her eyes and mumbling, “We could’ve always gone out.”

“Please, the way you used to all but trip over yourself running out the door to climb back on Lip’s dick? When would we have the time to ask?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with the girl loving her man, Renee.” Trish intervenes, leaving her arm tossed around Charlotte’s shoulders. Was she really that pathetic? Did she really spend all her time running behind Phillip? She supposes that she never took the time to think about it while it was happening, but is this what everyone thinks? “Just because you don’t have one.”

“Well,” Kelsey shrugs, rubbing more glitter lotion onto her chest and meeting Charlotte’s eyes in the mirror. “Doesn’t seem like Lottie does either anymore. So, Lottie, have you dislodged yourself from Gallagher’s side or not? Are we going out”

Charlotte fully plans to say yes. For the first time since she’d met her husband, she thought that maybe this is what she should have been doing. She’s only ever had two identities in her life. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher’s daughter, and Phillip Gallagher’s wife. She’s never been Charlotte. Not when she left home, not when she got her first job, she just went from being one person’s possession to another. Maybe this is all a sign that she should focus on being alone. However miserable that sounds. That’s why, whether you believe her or not, she was going to say yes. 

Until her phone rings.

“What’d you even give him anyway?”

“Don’t fucking make it sound like that, it was just some weed and booze!” 

“Fuckin’ weed and booze, he’s on his fuckin’ ass Karen! Fuckin’ idiot!”

“Fuck you! How was I supposed to know he drinks and smokes like a little bitch now?” the blonde girl huffs loudly as she turns back to the drunk man in front of them, barely intelligible as he slams his hands down on the bar again, demanding to be served another drink. “Lip, seriously, we need to fuckin’ go-”

“Get the fuck off me, I’m married.” 

The bar owner emerges from the back again, his cellphone in hand, a scowl on his face. “Aye, Gallagher, she’s takin’ too long, he’s scaring the real customers, get him outta here before I gotta call the cops.”

Ian groans, running his hand down his face, “Yeah, good luck cleanin’ up all the coke you’ve got on these tables before they get here. Fuck off, your place is a dive, Billy.” Turning back to his brother, the redhead, tugs his arm, making the shorter brother stumble but ultimately not moving him at all. “Lip, come the fuck on man.”

“Just fuckin’ leave me alone. Not listenin’ fuckin’ idiot-” he slurs, shoving Ian a little before grabbing a half drunk beer from the bar and downing it. 

“God-fuckin’-damnit-” Ian growls snatching the already empty bottles. His brown eyes catch on something over at the door and his tense stance settles. “Thank god.” he mumbles under his breath.

Karen’s eyes follow his over to a woman who looks just like the one Lip had shown her earlier, a tense, concerned look on her pretty face. Her cheeks dimple as her lips turn down into a frown upon spotting the spectacle in front of her. Her hair is tied up into a clean bun, her body covered with a matching sweat suit. Her eyes look exhausted. So that’s the wife?

“Phillip-”

“Bunny, you’re here, come drink with me, baby.” The blond offers her a crooked, drunk smile that has the same knee weakening effect on both women. His muscled arm shoots out, wrapping around the girl’s waist and tugging her to him, all but dragging her into his lap. 

“No, Phillip, it’s time to go home. Let’s get you up.”

Big blue eyes roll closed, his forehead falling forward, uncoordinatedly thunking against the woman’s forehead. She doesn’t flinch, just keeping her tired, sad eyes on him as he inhales deeply, breathing her in. “We gonna go home together?”

It’s the softest voice Karen has ever heard the eldest Gallagher son use. He’d spoken to her softly before. They’d been best friends, lovers. He was always scared of her leaving…rightfully so. But this, it was like he was scared that she was going to break if he rose his voice too much. It was like he was whispering a secret that’s just for them and everyone else in the room is intruding. Karen hadn’t ever seen anything like it. She likes this for him.

The girl was ordering water, grabbing a straw from over the bar and guiding it to Lip’s mouth as he stayed close, rubbing his hands along her hips and mumbling about missing her between gulps. She hadn’t even looked at Karen, her eyes had locked on Lip since arriving. “Um, I’m Karen by the way.”

Big brown eyes finally take her in. There’s no disdain behind them. No hate. She doesn’t look at her like every other girl who’s ever loved Lip has looked at Karen. She just offers a tired look. Glossed lips parting briefly, snapping shut again when she feels the Lip’s head droop forward onto her shoulder, quick hands shooting up to cup the back of his curls. “I’m Charlotte. I’ve got to get him home, are you okay?”

“I’m..I’m sorry?”

Charlotte bites her lower lip in determination as she pats his cheek, getting him to stir awake again. Her eyes never return to acknowledge Karen. “Up, Bubba, up. Are you okay to get home? I…need to take him home, are you okay?” 

Oh. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, Ian, can you please help him, help him stand?” Karen watches as this woman, Charlotte helps hoist Lip’s weight onto Ian, the redhead slinging his brother’s arm over his shoulder, nodding at Karen as they make their way out of the bar with her…ex? Best friend?

She can’t help but compare herself to the girl. She knew that they were both pretty, generally attractive in different ways. Both short. Big eyes. Round faces. Their difference physically was glaringly obvious, but that wasn’t what mattered. It was in the eyes. Everything is in the eyes. Not the color, but the looks.

When the evening started to turn sour, Karen had been fucking annoyed. She hates babysitting. Hates having to take care of people. That’s why she’s always loved being around Lip in one way or another. That’s why they’d been such good friends. He was the caretaker. He takes care of people. His family, neighborhood kids, her. He doesn’t ask for anything for himself aside from the occasional blowie, and it was mostly a joke. 

Until he asked for more. Until he asked for love, attention and care and a partner. Things that Karen had no interest in. Things that crazy bitch Mandy wasn’t able to give him. He needed too much. He went from something easy to do, someone easy to be around to being this person who needs things. 

It was hard, too hard. Being with Lip is exactly the daunting task people think it would be. But Charlotte, his wife, she’s doing it. She looks exhausted, pissed off, and just caught her husband hanging out with his ex. But she came. She managed to unclench her jaw and offer him a soft look and kind voice. 

Karen had been poison to him. She knows that. She was bad for him, and to be honest, she’d thought that even with the time had passed he wouldn’t have been strong enough to get her out of his system. But, she should have known better than to underestimate Lip Gallagher. He found something good. Someone for him. 

Good for him.

“I know you’re mad at’me.”

“Shut up, man, you’re just gonna make stuff worse.”

“M’talkin to my wife, motherfucker, you shut up.” Lip slurs as Ian all but drags him down the street. “Sweetheart-”

“Phillip, please.” Charlotte begs, voice cracking as she refuses to turn around and face him. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her own form, walking several paces ahead of the Gallagher brothers up the dark road. “Please.” 

It had been going on since they started walking. He keeps trying to talk to her. He keeps calling her all of these sweet names and they fucking hurt. They hurt like him telling her that they could get their marriage annulled. They hurt like him telling her to go with her parents. They fucking hurt like him let her sit on his front porch crying and begging just to see him as he sat on the other side of the door. And now, she understands that he’s drunk or high or whatever, but she needs him to stop talking. 

Her plea is answered with the silence she asked for. Shocked that he actually went silent, Charlotte whips around to see if he’d fallen asleep, but is met with big blue eyes with dilated pupils, brows softened as he meets her shaky gaze. 

The woman turns around so he can’t see her chin tremble as she leads the group onto the streets. Another voice breaks the silence, over the sound of three sets of footsteps, only one set steady, the other two, sloppy and wavering. “Lottie, what do you wanna do?”

She knows what he’s asking. They’re rounding their homes. Where should he put him? Is she going to stay with him? And she immediately feels shame wash over herself. She knows the answers to all of those questions. She should be embarrassed. This man has treated her like shit over the last 24 hours. She hates how he made her feel about herself. She didn’t understand how he could be both the man who strolled past her as if he didn’t know her this morning and the one who was just looking at her the way he did. 

But she’s weak, and he’s everything. 

And she’s already shifting his weight from his brother's arms into hers, stumbling a little under it as she guides him toward her cousin’s house.

“Charlotte.”

“It’s okay.” she breathes. “I’ve got him.”

And she struggles getting him to the door. He tries to help, she can tell. But he’s too fucked up, his motor skills are lacking and only set back any progress she makes. She grips the railing with her spare hand as she helps him up the last step. She tells him to watch his step as she leads him through the doorway, eyes locking V’s as the wooden floors creak under his steps. She ignores the disappointed look on her cousin’s face as she guides her husband to her room. Their room. 

But as she pulls the shoes from his feet and helps him into bed, she’s confident in one thing. Charlotte knows she loves this man. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks the breaking point should be, or who they envision her with. She wants him. And she was going to keep acting like it.

Charlotte feels a tightness around her waist as she wakes up in the chair she’d dragged into the bedroom once she’d gotten Phillip settled. Her eyes are already watering as they peel open, burning from tears and exhaustion. 

“I fucked up, Bunny.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte sighs, sniffling a little and letting her head drop back against the wall. “How bad?”

“I fuckin’ hurt you-” his voice is muffled against her stomach, his arms tightening around her, fingers squeeing and releasing the fabric of her shirt. 

“Yes.”

“I hate that. M’just fucked up, y’know? But m’sorry, baby, m’sorry.”

Charlotte is annoyed by the sob that leaves her body involuntarily, causing him to pull her even closer to him, her butt almost hanging off of the chair. She’s even more annoyed that she’s wondering if his knees hurt from kneeling on the floor in front of her. She shouldn’t care. “You left me outs-side alone.”

“I know, baby, I know.” she feels a wet spot forming on her shirt and tries to stop her lower lip from shaking. “Fuckin’ supposed to be taking care of you. I’m a shitty husband, you deserve better. And I’m trying to be that, I swear, Charlotte I fuckin’ swear. I…I’m gettin’ to keep my job, and m’gonna save more, gonna get us some more money, just gimme a little more time, sweetheart. I know this fuckin’ sucks, but I’m gonna do better-”

“You’re hurting me.” Charlotte mumbles, staring up at the ceiling, letting the tears freely fall down her cheeks. 

Suddenly his arms are gone from her waist and he’s staring up at her, frantically running his hands through his curls. “M’sorry, I was holding you too tight-”

“Have I done anything to make you believe I won’t wait? Have I cheated on you? Made you feel bad about not having a house for us? Buying a car right now? Anything? What did I do to deserve you telling me you didn’t want to be with me anymore? Stop hurting me!” She finishes with a stomp, feeling childish. Lip is quiet as he listens to her, his hand running along her thigh in soothing strokes.

“You’re perfect. You didn’t do anything, Charlotte. That’s why I was fuckin’ tryin’ to do the right thing.” Lip huffs, clenching his jaw anxiously. “I was tryin’ to give you up. Because there’s somethin’ wrong with me Charlotte. I can’t get out of my head. Everyday I wake up and hear how too fuckin’ good for me on loop in my head, and then people remind me, and I can say fuck ‘em, they’re not you, I don’t care what they think, but then your parents came-”

“Fuck them too.”

“No,” Lip pushes up off the floor and paces in the room. “Not fuck them, because yes, they’re fuckin’ assholes, but they made you, and you’re fuckin’ everything, so they are pretty much the authority on what’s good shit and what isn’t. I don’t deserve you, they know it, I know it, for some fuckin’ reason, you don’t know it, so let me make this clear for you, Bunny. This shit shouldn’t be so hard. I’m hurting you. That’s not what being in love with you feels like for me. My love for you isn’t good enough, because it’s making you suffer. Being in love with you gives me a fuckin’ reason to breathe. So I was trying to be fuckin’ good. And let you go.”

Charlotte watches as he finishes, standing in front of her. Blue eyes bloodshot. The veins in his neck popping out, his chest rising and falling with effort. He looks so serious. And all she can do is laugh. Literally, put her head in her hands and laugh. 

“Um…what the fuck?” he asks incredulously, watching her shoulders shake with her laughter. 

“You’re such an asshole, Phillip.” she giggles, wiping her wet cheeks, gasping in an attempt to stop her own laughter. 

“I’m really not fuckin’ gettin’ the joke here.”

Charlotte shakes her head, crossing her legs as she sits up fully in the chair, trying not to break at the confusion on his face. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for you to decide that you want to save me the trouble of being in love with you? You pursued me, you asked me to marry you, you made me love you and it's too late. I’m stuck. You leave, I’m still hurt. You stay, you can choose to man up, make good on your promises, stop feeling sorry for yourself and be a good husband. You want to stop hurting me, then stop hurting me. Stop talking about me deserving better and be better.”

The couple stares at each other from across the room, nothing but white noise from the house fills the air as Charlotte’s challenge hangs between them. A few beats pass before Lip begins slightly nodding his head, the same focused face he keeps when he’s working on a project from work, or doing people’s taxes for extra money. Lip smooths his hand over his jaw, clearing his throat. “Okay. I’ll be better.” 

“Okay.” 

“Can I…uh, hold on a second.” The blond murmurs, crossing the floor and places his hand on her jaw, dragging her up into a deep kiss, absolutely breathing her in as he nearly pushes her chair back with the force he pushes against her. He breaks away only lightly, his lips against hers, as he speaks. “I love you. I’ll be better.”

“I love you too.” she smiles. “And I know.” 

This is good…this is better. I’ll deal with the rest later.

[morning-star-joy]

when men like you come around chapter I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC!Ethel

Summary: One of the most important lessons Ethel Taylor was taught in life was when you meet a bad man, pull the trigger and run. She's done it before, and she's ready to do it again when she crosses paths with outlaw Arthur Morgan. But something stays her hand, and when she ends up as the newest addition to the Van der Linde gang, they quickly become thorns in each other's sides, up until they're the only two that can pull off a big job posing as a doting, newlywed couple.

Fic Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mentions of a past abusive relationship, mentions of murder. Rivals to lovers, slow burn, sexual tension, eventual smut, lots of sass from both Arthur & Ethel. High Honor!Arthur with some Medium Honor vibes. Ethel POV written in second person, Arthur POV written in third person.

Wordcount: 3.2k

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You knew men like Arthur Morgan.

All your life, you’d been warned against them. Men who stole what they wanted and murdered whoever dared to get in their way in nothing but cold blood. Bad men, the likes of which your father only ever gave you one lesson for:

“Come across a no-good man, honey, and I need you to hold this gun steady,” he instructed you as you struggled under the weight of the rifle, too little to hold properly, too young to understand the consequences if you ever did aim and pull the trigger, even as your father taught you how to do just that. “You pull back—right here. Get your aim straight, squeeze down on the trigger, and shoot. You shoot ‘til he’s dead, until you’re safe, and you never look back. Alright?”

“Alright,” you had said then with a sure nod, soaking in the gravity of those words and taking them to heart, carrying them with you until the day you were face to face with a grizzled outlaw, one who no doubt deserved a bullet in the chest and not a single glance thereafter.

Because you knew men like him well.

Men who cheated, who lied, who punched and punched until their knuckles were bloody and broken and somebody wasn't breathing anymore beneath them, didn’t deserve an ounce of mercy.

You knew men like Arthur since before the moment you met him, yes.

But you didn’t know Arthur.

You wouldn’t know him, not really, until months later. Months of pushing each other with your words until you were both on your wits absolute end, months you spent settling into the Van der Linde gang with nowhere else to go after he had found you running from the law in a torn-up, blood-stained dress of the latest fashion straight from Saint Denis.

Honest to God, you had wanted to shoot him then. Hand clutched around your father’s rifle, you were ready to aim as soon as you turned around in the saddle to follow the noise of the gunshot that just rang out behind you.

And then you saw him.

Sitting comfortably, almost casually in his saddle as he came to a stop a distance away from you, Cattleman in hand. You had felt a surge of panic that hadn't completely abated for days, hand tightening around your rifle, ready to raise it until you realized that his smoking revolver was pointed up at the sky, not towards you.

“You alright, Miss?” he asked, his voice a rough drawl, and you glanced from him towards the lawman that had been hot on your trail and shooting at you a moment before, now dead weight dragged far away along the dirt by a limp foot still caught in a stirrup, Lord knowing who would find him and what mayhem would follow.

“You just killed a lawman,” you said, looking back towards the man currently not pointing a gun at you, and so for just the moment, you didn’t point yours at him.

His worn hat was perched on his head to protect from the blaring sun, black brim covering his eyes, but you swore then and even now that you saw a twitch of his lips before he shifted in his saddle.

Glancing behind him towards the other dead body you yourself had left in the dust—you had drawn without a moment of hesitation the moment their concern for you shifted towards apprehension and reaching for their sidearms—the man turned back to you and replied matter-of-factly, “So did you.”

He holstered his gun slowly, deliberate in making no sudden movements, even as you kept a steady grip on your own firearm resting across your lap, not lowering your guard for one second.

This man just murdered somebody innocent without so much as a second thought, the voice of a skittish animal of prey, trying to still keep you alive, echoed in your mind.

And then another voice—louder, prowling, unfeeling and unforgiving (though towards the man you had killed or to yourself, you didn’t know)—resonated in all corners of your thoughts with the same words he had just spoken: so did you.

Something stilled your hand then, but maybe not for too much longer if a woman hadn’t come riding up next to him. Seeing your blood-stained clothes, your rattled, wide-eyed look of a wild animal backed into the corner and lashing out at the nearest possible threat, she had approached cautiously and introduced herself.

When you relaxed and gave your own name with some difficulty, she offered you a safe place to wash up and get your affairs straight, much to the protests from the man, which she quickly shot most of it down with a dirty look. 

This woman you would get to know, fairly quickly; her sandy blond hair tied in a braid that never once got out of place through all her riding and shooting. You’d come to appreciate Mrs. Sadie Adler, with all her sharp words fiercely protecting a warm heart, and the other girls in the gang.

Eventually, you'd care for and rely on them more than any of the women you had known your whole life, other than the unconditional love of your mother—even if that love had gotten you into this situation in the first place, in a way, but you tried not to think about it like that.

You also tried not to think too hard about what she’d think if she could see you now, running with a gang of outlaws after what you’d done.

Tried not to dwell on the fear that the kind-hearted, God-fearing woman may be the first to call the law down upon you if you ever dared to show your face around home again.

Home, though it hadn’t been home for quite some time.

Still, you longed for it, aching for a short-lived era of your life long past—maybe even a time far before then. Days of running for what felt like miles and miles across open fields, but in reality were just your little feet and large imagination carrying you across the sun-bleached grasses of your family’s modest farming property.

Until they found oil underneath it, and everything changed.

You hadn’t always been as prim and proper as you tried to pass off, no. Although you had almost been made for the socializing and charming of high society with your quick wit and sharp intellect that you learned to hide underneath a smile of perfectly acceptable, alluring innocence. But your just as quick temper and sharp tongue was a tell that life for you hadn’t always been getting pinched by corsets and drinking fine wines.

"I'm a high society lady,” you had snapped one day when that Arthur Morgan had laughed at your offense towards the mud a passing stagecoach had splattered on the hem of your dress, “thank you very much, Mister."

"Sure,” he had drawled in a tone so casual it was nearly downright condescending right back, over exaggerating a low bow that made your blood boil. Tipping the brim of his hat back with a coarse trigger finger that had sent more men to the grave than you thought any of you could count, he arched an obnoxiously knowing eyebrow at you and added, “One that can shoot a man right between the eyes at ten paces."

You had waved him off as you turned to stomp away, nearly resorting to a very unladylike gesture that would have only proved his point. Still, your haughty reaction was enough of an answer that he needed, more laughter echoing behind you, so bordering on taunting that your shoulders bunched up around your ears.

Arthur wanted a reaction. He always wanted a reaction from you, though you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why—a reason to give Dutch to kick you out of the camp, maybe. Proof that you didn’t have the gang’s best interests in mind, that for all your chores and schemes that Hosea eventually began to loop you in on, you just weren’t one of them.

And that thought only made you work harder. If Arthur wanted to prove you weren’t loyal, you would only show the exact opposite, just to show him.

Maybe you were just vindictive. 

Maybe, if you were only trying to prove him wrong, you were actually proving him right.

But you did care about those girls, forming a deep bond, a fond kinship with them that you had never felt before with anyone else. You had high esteem for Hosea too, finding a likeness in his sage advice to your father, appreciating the way he gently formed your high society schmoozing into outright swindling the same kinds of folks.

Not to mention you were a wicked good shot. All your father’s shooting lessons had assured this, and the combination of those assets wrapped up with your pleasant, pretty smile on top made you a valuable asset to the group.

As long as you stayed far, far away from Lemoyne and the posters that surely plastered the walls of every town there, and Arthur didn’t give you a reason to make good on shooting him dead like you were raised to do, everything would be just fine.

“Miss Taylor.”

Or maybe not.

Because if that no good Arthur Morgan kept drawling your name like that and giving that tiny hint of a smirk, interrupting you while you were in the middle of enjoying a perfectly good cup of coffee on a pleasantly warm early morning, there was going to be a grave needing to be dug.

“Mr. Morgan,” you replied curtly, not raising your eyes from the words on the page in front of you, holding the book Mary-Beth had loaned you in one hand while taking another sip of coffee with the other. You were out of Miss Grimshaw's view right now, and planning to make good on sneaking in a few pages this morning before getting to work.

“Didn’t they teach you in all your high society fancy lessons to look at somebody when yer talkin’ to them?”

The words weren’t haughty or necessarily accusatory, but more teasing, trying to get under your skin by throwing your claims of being a civilized lady back in your face. Your jaw clenched, eyebrow twitching, and you knew from the quiet, husky chuckle hidden under a breath that you had stepped right into giving Arthur the reaction he wanted, yet again.

“When I’m speaking to an honorable man of high caliber, yes,” you replied smoothly, setting down your coffee for just a moment to turn a page. “Wasn’t aware you were one of those, Mr. Morgan.”

A snicker caught your attention then, and a smirk catches on the edge of your own lips, seeing a flash of red hair from the corner of your eye. You felt the energy shift from Arthur momentarily, and you didn’t need to look to know Sean surely scuttled away from eavesdropping on the two of you at Arthur’s silent intimidation before he settled again.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t claimin’ to have any sort of honor,” he mumbled, and you gave a noncommittal hum that merely said that you knew this well, lifting your tin back to your lips for another slow sip of the bitter drink.

There was silence for a moment, and you dared to hope that Arthur would move on then, go hand out his warm good morning greetings reserved for almost every member of the gang other than you.

But then the words in front of you were a blur, the paper slipping from your fingers as you reached them out to try and snatch the book back, but Arthur had caught you off-guard, and was already stepping away with the novel in hand.

“Hey!” you snapped, coffee forgotten on the table to rise to your feet, holding the skirt of your dress out of the way to stomp after him. “Really? Don't you have somethin’ better to do?”

“Probably,” Arthur called back to you, sending a wider smirk back over his shoulder at you that made your blood boil. “But mayhaps I wanna see what’s gotten your attention so completely this mornin’, Miss High Society.”

He was still striding quickly away from you, making you start to jog a little to try and catch him, now leading you right across camp as you muttered apologies to anybody you almost ran into, all the while Arthur flipped carelessly through your book’s pages and dodged everybody effortlessly at the same time.

You were giving strong protests, fumbling over your words for once as he kept skimming the pages towards the back of the book, eyebrows raising as he cast a glance back towards you with a surprised laugh.

“Well, Miss Taylor,” he said slowly, his smirk growing into a grin that only spoke of trouble, and you lunged for the book, stumbling past him when he dodged you easily and flipped another page. “I always thought someone of yer education was so above these kinds of…vulgar stories.”

Face heating, you glared at the infuriatingly smug look on Arthur’s face as you snapped back, “It’s not vulgar. It’s romance.”

“Clearly, you haven’t gotten to the end,” Arthur drawled, clearing his throat loudly as he straightened up, and you only had a brief moment of fear for what he was about to do before he began to read out loud, “‘Her hands clutching his luscious, dark curls as he ripped open her bodice, revealing a voluptuous, heaving bosom—’”

You finally managed to snatch the book back then, snapping it shut and clutching it to your own heaving chest, breaths quickened with flustered anger at his satisfaction of having gotten on your nerves, again.

“Well, might as well read those words, outlaw,” you snapped again, returning his own nickname of your status with your nickname of his own, each one thinly veiled with an insult instead of anything remotely fond. “Those pages are the only place you're gonna see a heaving bosom.”

Arthur laughed, the sound loud and hearty, echoing around the camp and surely drawing attention to yet another altercation between the two of you, as it seemed like most days the gang wasn’t functioning as normal without you and Arthur bickering.

“They teach you ‘bout that kind of thing in those fancy lessons too?” he shot back through chuckles, still grinning in a way that was almost wicked, and you felt the heat in your face surge through your whole body as you smacked his shoulder with the book.

“Oh, shut up!” you exclaimed, glare withering as he only laughed louder before you repeated in a hiss. “Shut. Up.”

To his credit, his laughter did ease then, even as he gestured towards the book again and accused, “Now that is just about the worst thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of settin’ my eyes upon.”

You groaned with a roll of your eyes, annoyed that you couldn’t even deny his statement. The book was awful, but Mary-Beth had told you it was one of her favorites, and you had needed a little escape, a little happy fantasy to dream about for a while. "It may be awful, but so what?"

“So what?” Arthur repeated your words in disbelief, nose crinkling up in what was almost disgust as he glanced down towards the book still clutched to your chest. “Don’t tell me you actually like this kind of nonsense. What’s so appealing about getting married to some tall, dark and handsome man?”

You bristled at the word choice, shifting the book into your arms as you crossed them tightly against your chest before biting back, "For your information, Mr. Morgan, some women like these books. They're an...escape. No man is nearly as tall, dark and handsome in real society."

Arthur made an unconvinced noise at the case you made, hand digging through his satchel for a cigarette, leaning over to strike a match on the bottom of his boot at the same moment you felt a fire igniting inside of you at the flick of his fingers, anger burning bright at his apparent indifference towards the case you were making.

“Is it truly so terrible to long for a marriage of love?” you asked, and there must have been something bleeding into your tone that caused Arthur to look back at you, hand holding the lit match pausing halfway to the cigarette perched between his lips before finally lighting it, shaking out the flame even as the one in your soul burned even brighter, hotter. “So many women are trapped into unhappy marriages that they're allowed to dream.”

He watched you silently for a moment, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette before pulling it from his mouth, head turning to blow it out away from your face even as he finally responded, “Well, they sure are dreamin’, then. Ain’t no perfect storybook ending waitin’ out there.”

The bitter tone he spoke the words with were a shock to your system, eyes widening as he gestured towards you with the lit cigarette and added in a voice not quite as hard, but just as disbelieving, something borderline accusatory, “Unless, of course, you’re buying it, Miss High Society. But you running with us now. And if you believe in that, then you’re more naïve than I gave you credit for.”

Any inkling of playfulness you may have felt faded quickly as your insides turned as cold as the steely way he used that nickname for you, with more resentment than you had heard from him before, and although you had always idly wondered if Arthur didn’t like you, in that moment you were fully convinced he actually did hate you.

And in that accusation of your past life, that insinuation of naivete when he didn’t know a damn thing about what it was, you hated him just as much.

“Right,” was all you muttered, closing off from him entirely as you shifted to move past him without another word. You were wasting your breath on somebody like Arthur Morgan, not knowing why you even tried to explain in the first place.

But even then, you saw a flicker of some emotion on his face before you walked by him, those rough features pinching in a way you didn’t recognize, but you kept walking even as you heard his voice call out after you followed by quick footsteps, “Miss Taylor—”

“There you two are!”

You stopped in your tracks as Dutch came striding right towards you, a wide grin plastered on his strong features that was directed first towards you, then sent towards the man you had just been trying to be rid of as he came to a slow stop beside you.

Dutch inserted himself between you and Arthur, patting you gently on the shoulder as he smacked the other hand between Arthur’s shoulders, jostling the younger man and eliciting a glare from him before squeezing both your shoulder and his with the words, “Got the perfect job lined up just for the two of you.”

Your mouth opened to protest in the same moment Arthur’s did, but you were both abruptly cut off from any words to say or even think as Dutch turned his head from side to side, offering a cunning little smirk before addressing you each in turn, “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.”

taglist: @kmc1989 @5oh5 @vickie5446 @cupofjoel @joelsgreys

[avatar4life]

Agh!" Reader groans as she felt another kick on her face., she betterns her fighting stance and looks at the spirit and counterattack it's moves, dodging another kick and going to punch it on the jaw, making it dizzy for a moment, and so, using the moment of distraction, she kicks it side and then knees it under the chin, making it fall on the ground. Jus as the spirit is about to get up, a small dark orb is on front of its face, stopping it "don't move" reader warns as she stands on its chest, panting heavily due to the intense and long practice. The spirit looks surprised by the action before it smiles at her proudly and gets up "good job you're ready..." Reader looks at it in glee "physically" it ends the sentence, making her smile flatter.

"What? What do you mean? I've beaten you" she said to it in impatience and frustration, "you did but you have a heavy burden on your chest. You're not ready emotionally and spirituality. You need to let go of such burden" it sits down on the ground and takes a meditative stance. Reader looks at it in anger and frustration and goes to leave the training ground before a wall of light stops her in her tracks. She looks towards the spirit and freezes at the stern look on its face "you cannot leave until you've let go of your burden. Sit" it said in a way to show that it won't take any protest. Reader looks at it before sighing and sitting down, mirroring its meditative stance.

An hour pass and reader opens her eyes to check on the spirit, trying to gauge it's expressions "so not look at me. You still haven't let go of your resentment and anger", its words surprised Reader who looks at the spirit in shock before trying to hide her frustration "I'm not angry " she said.

The spirit opens it's eyes and looks at her "do not lie to me child, I can see through you", and because of those simple words reader's facade falls and she sighs "... I'm not angry... I'm sad... I'm frustrated that I lost my twin...no...my brother, just my brother" she said as she looks down, not noticing the figures that were starting to represent what is happening in her mind "I mean, not physically of course but I lost him in all the other senses, because I'm alone. Before the ninjas, before Wu, before everything, it was just me and Lloyd against the world, trying to follow our father steps in conquering the world, something all kids wanted to do" she says, the figures representing her and Lloyd, when he was still in a child's body, playing together and scheming together "but then...the tomorrow's tea accident happed and everything changed. He stopped playing, he stopped talking or even notice me anymore...it was like, I became a stranger to him...and that hurt" she says as tears starts falling down her child's face "....It really hurt... because he was the only family I had left. Our father was Lord Garmadon and our mother abandoned us...and when she...when she came back she only focused on Lloyd and I felt once again overlooked, unimportant. The ninjas, our uncle and our parents focused on him and no one seemed to notice me unless I made myself known by throwing a tantrum or when I'm alone with one of them...and even then... it's like they can't see me for me... just Lloyd's former twin and now just his little sister. All I want is for someone to see me, not Lloyd's sister, not a Darkley student, not lord Garmadon's daughter or master Wu's nine, but as Reader Garmadon. Is that so hard to do?..I guess it is if no one could do that. I'm not part of their family...I will never be" she says with her hands on her hair, looking like she was struggling to hold back from ripping it apart.

the spirit looks at her sympathetic and straightens it's stance "what about your friends? Strymyr, Namir and Phytios? Do they not see you?" It asks softly "my friends?...they do see me but...they don't know how I really feel but... they're also the only people who seem to care about me" she says as she calms down a bit, breathing slowly to calm her nerves "and do you care about them?" It asks "...I do...I really do. they're my best friends... they're my family" she smiles to herself at the realisation and looks at the spirit with tears in her eyes still falling down. The spirit leans closer and wipes her tears away with a small smile "... you're ready" it says softly. Reader's eyes widens and she smiles widely and hugs it "thank you...mom" she said softly. The spirit looks shocked and smiles softly and hugs her back "it's alright my sweet baby" it says.

Soon Reader falls asleep due to the strain of the training and the emotional baggage she unfolded. The spirit holds her and walks inside the monastery and walks towards Reader's room when it heard the ninjas talking about needing to go to the Eye of the Storm to find the realm's crystal. It listens to them talking before looking at Reader sleeping in their arms and walking away and to her room. It puts her under the blankets and tucls her in and kisses her forehead without a soft tone it says

“Good night my baby, save your strength and energy for the battle when it will come"

Whooooo I'm finally back, sorry for the delay, school was decimating me but I'm back. Hope you enjoy this and sorry if you thinks it's short. Enjoy, have a good morning, evening or night and remember to stay hydrated

[myreia]

Castaway

CHAPTER TWO: SNAP PUNCH

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters, Minfilia Warde, Yda Hext, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Pairings: Aureia/Thancred (pre-relationship) Chapter Words: 3,307 Notes: A Realm Reborn, set during A Wild Rose by Any Other Name. Written for the prompt “anxiety”. Summary: Aureia’s inauguration into the Scions of the Seventh Dawn should be cause for celebration, yet she cannot shake her feelings of unease. These newfound friends of hers may have the best of intentions, but is she anything more than a means to an end in their hands? Chapters: part one • part two • part three Read on AO3

Her heart does not stop pounding until she steps outside.

Grimacing, Aureia shields her eyes and walks out into the glaring sun, keen to put as much distance between herself and the Waking Sands as possible. Her cheeks burn, though whether it’s from embarrassment or the abrupt change in temperature between indoors and out, she cannot tell. Though a part of her hopes no one thought much of her abrupt exit, she knows she must have caused a stir. Even Tataru, the bubbly little clerk at the front desk, was surprised to see her rush up the stairs and out the door without a proper farewell.

You’re an asshole, Aur.

She curses under her breath, annoyed at how easily she uses the nickname for herself now, and plods down the steps. Part of her wants nothing more than to keep walking. Turn her back on the whole operation and disappear, forget everything to do with where the wild roses bloom. She came here because of Thancred. Not for any promised riches or fame or glory, not for the chance at a stable job, not for the grandeur of adventure, not to bring about a brighter tomorrow.

She came here at his behest. Because she trusted him.

And he trusted her.

Trusted her enough to bring her into his fold, because he thought it was the right thing to do.

She exhales a long breath and pulls her hood up. Clammy sweat clings to the back of her neck, dripping down her spine. She may be melting in her duster, but at least it will keep the sun off her face. With it on, she becomes unknowable, just another faceless figure in the crowd.

Maybe coming here was a waste of time…

Chewing her lower lip, she heads out across the square and passes into the shadow of Lord Lolorito. The statue stands tall and proud, the chairman’s image made giant and preserved in metal, haughtily observing the fruits of his labours.

It wasn’t a waste of time, she chides herself. Most things seldom are. The moment the invitation was extended, she was going to end up here—if only to satisfy her curiosity. Here in Thanalan, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have made their presence known through whispers in street corners and murmurs in the markets. There is always a rumour, somewhere, of the one organization that stands by all Eorzea, protecting it from the shadows.

And now she has met them. Seen their faces, learned their names… This small band brought together by shared tragedy and common purpose. Bright and earnest and hopeful, if a bit naïve. They welcomed her with open arms, choosing to trust her outright, and she…

She has thrown her fate in with theirs, whether she likes it or not. She was given no time to think it through, no time to respond. No terms, no contract. Minfilia simply assumed that they were likeminded and that she would agreed, out of… what?

The goodness of her heart?

Her desire to protect the realm?

Her heart was forged in steel long ago. She is a newcomer to the realm, it means nothing to her.

Aureia slows to a stop, one hand fiddling with the hem of her hood. She glances away, past the edge of the square to the stone overhang that marks the entrance to Vesper Bay. It would be so easy to turn her back on them and walk away, heading out into the desert heat and the highlands beyond them, and the mountains beyond them… All the way through Coerthas to Dravania to whatever lies beyond.

It seems running is all she is good for ever since she fled Garlemald.

Her lip curls. Cursing to herself, she turns her back on the exit and strides away, out from beneath the statue’s shadow and into the bright, midday sun. She weaves her way across the settlement and clatters down the steps to the docks.

The wind tears her hood free as she steps onto the creaking wood. She blinks, eyes irritated by the fresh sea breeze, the crashing waves spraying her with salt and brine. The Rhotano Sea is fierce and free today. Fishing boats bob in the distance, some on their way out, others on the return journey home. A ship large enough to be the ferry to Vylbrand shadows the horizon, its white sails forever distant.

A ship she had once planned to catch, many moons ago. The only reason she came to Thanalan in the first place was to reach Vesper Bay and catch that ferry. She had staked everything she had on getting to Limsa Lominsa, only to end up trapped in Ul’dah when her gil ran out.

Funny how she would eventually end up in both Limsa Lominsa and Vesper Bay anyway. Whether it is fate or cause and effect or pure dumb luck, that every circumstance would line up perfectly to move her life in this direction feels… odd. Too coincidental to be natural. As if she is a pawn on a game board being moved about by a power she cannot comprehend. 

A voice stirs in the depths of her mind, stirred by her conclusion. Its words are formless, a distant hum, like a lullaby sung under breath, only for her. It tugs at her, its presence soothing in its familiarity yet terrifying in its resolve. This demand to hear, to feel, to—

She reaches the end of the dock. Dead end. Nowhere to go. Not unless she turns around.

“You certainly know how to make an exit,” a familiar voice behind her says.

Aureia stiffens. No matter how frustrated she is with him, she can’t stop the little bubble of hope from rising in her chest. That he came to find her in the midst of everything means something she can’t put a finger on. “I needed some air,” she replies.

Thancred chuckles. “And, once again, I cannot fault you for having the right idea. A touch suffocating down there, is it not? I daresay Minfilia could do with some sun, but alas, she is as glued to her work as Urianger is to his books.”

The bubble pops. “Bookworm, is he?”

“You could say in abundance, aye. Incorrigible scholars, the lot of us. Fervour for knowledge and understanding knows no bounds for the typical Sharlayan, but for archons? Consider its intensity thrice fold.”

The lot of us… She hates how the phrase stands out to her. He has never spoken so candidly of his origins—or the people involved in them—before. For all the months they have known each other, he has been tight-lipped about his involvement with this organization. Perhaps he didn’t trust her yet. Perhaps he did but was instructed not to tell her. Regardless, it would be hypocritical to blame him for that, gods know she has kept a number of her own secrets, and yet this irks her. After all these months in Ul’dah, considering him a close friend…

It hits like a slap to the face.

“You never said you were from Sharlayan,” she says.

He shrugs. “I’m not.”

“Then where?”

He nods in the direction of the sea. “You’re looking at it—or in the direction of it, more like.”

“Then how…? Never mind.” Folding her arms, she shoots him a glance, her gaze lingering on the marks on his neck. She had wondered about the symbols, but never struck up the courage to ask him. “Do those make you an expert in aetherology, too?”

“No. I assure you, my area of expertise is not so abstract.”

“Not so abstract, hm?” she prods, trying to keep a straight face. “I wonder what that could mean. Of all the subjects that could attract your eye, what would you choose?”

He catches her eye, and amused smile on his lips, and bows theatrically. “My lips are sealed, fair lady, and you will never guess.”

“Unfortunate. I shall have to defer to process of elimination, then.”

“Oh?”

“I know what it isn’t. Music and bardship for one. Philandering, for another.”

He wheezes. “Oof,” he says with a painful wince. “I’m no stranger to low blows, but I didn’t expect one from you.”

She grins. “You should know better by now.”

“I should.” He returns her grin, hazel eyes bright in the seaside sun. Her playful jibes never seem to bother him; if anything, he seems to enjoy it. She has a sneaking suspicion that he sets himself up on purpose. “But enough of me. Here you are. Vesper Bay. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Now you know the truth of it.”

A lump forms in her throat. Nothing has changed between them—if anything, one could argue that they can only grow closer because of this—and yet she feels so unsettled. She would give anything to be back in Ul’dah, walking the Gold Court or wandering the Sapphire and Ruby Exchanges, moving to the measure of the city. She could talk with him about anything then. Now, out here in Vesper Bay, she feels… limited.  

Stuck.

“Here I am,” she murmurs. “And here you are.”

“I am glad for it. And I am glad that you and Minfilia have had the opportunity to meet. She has been so eager. Charmed, one could say, by the tales of your exploits. I may have overexaggerated certain events in the moment, and before you give me that look, I can say it was all in good faith and spirited storytelling—”

Aureia bites her tongue.

“But all that aside, you should get some rest. We have quite the task ahead of us. And I do believe it would do you well to get to know the others. You should speak with Y’shtola when the opportunity arises. I am certain she would appreciate it.”

The suggestion chafes. “Why?”

“Overlapping interests, for one. And I suspect you will get along well, for another. I can think of no mage as well-versed in the practice of arcane arts as she, save for Papalymo. I’m sure she can provide a guiding thought or three.”

“You think I need help? More training? Better training?”

“I—” He pauses, caught off guard by her tone. “Certainly not. I merely thought—”

“Because right now you’re implying I do.”

“That was not my intent.”

“I’m sorry my non-Sharlayan education doesn’t live up to the standards set by Minfilia’s brave and noble souls. Then again I don’t need tattoos on my neck to tell the world I have mastery.”

“And I know where your talents lie. I’ve seen them first-hand. You have nothing to prove, not to Minfilia, not to the others, and certainly not to me. You do not need to be an archon to have a place with us.”

Aureia forces back a grimace, her jaw clenching painfully. On any other day his words would be comforting, but here and now they fill her with dread. Anxieties creep across her mind, irrational and persistent, their spiderlike touch feeding her discomfort. 

“Then tell me this honestly, yes or no. Would I be here at all if not for the Echo?”

The question is blunt. Forceful. She’s given him no room to maneuver, no way to escape. There is only one way to answer this.

Thancred closes his eyes. “No,” he says finally. “I do not believe that would be the case. It is the gift that sets you apart. It is what caught my attention. Without it, you would not be here, for without it—and a long line of other convoluted coincidences—we would never have met.”

A lump forms in her throat. “And I’d be just another adventurer on the streets of Ul’dah.”

“Aye. I suspect as much.”

A wave crashes against the dock, throwing up a spray of salt and water. Aureia turns away, her eyes stinging. She can feel Thancred’s gaze on her, watching closely.

“That is not the answer you wished to hear, was it,” he says.

It’s not a question.

She wets her lower lip and tastes brine. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Would you have preferred I lied?”

“No—”

“Then why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry!” She turns sharply, rounding on him, and meets his eyes. Most would step away from the look she gives him, but not him. He knows her well enough not to be intimidated. Not that he was ever intimidated by her. And judging from his expression, just as she is unwilling to put up with his bullshit, so he is with hers. “I am...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seems to me the word you are looking for is angry.”

She curses.

He smiles.

“Don’t,” she says bluntly. “Just… don’t. Please. I’m not in the mood for this.”

Thancred’s expression softens. “I hoped you would come,” he says. “I worried that you would decline. A selfish hope on a personal level, yes, because I wanted you to be here. I have wanted to bring you into the fold for months. But my personal wishes matter little in the long run. What I do know is that the Scions need someone like you in their midst. Not simply because you are gifted with the Echo, but because you bring something to the table that the rest of us cannot. Is it so wrong to walk this path with us?”

The waves crash, their thundering rhythm pounding in her ears. White sails bob on the horizon, larger than before. The ferry is coming closer. “And what path is that exactly?” she replies. “Minfilia can wax poetic about a brighter tomorrow, but she has failed to say exactly what that means and for whom.”

“You know for whom as well as I do.”

“Do I? Because I seem to not know a lot here.”

“The realm. Eorzea.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Thancred.”

“Forgive me, Aureia, but I fail to understand how.”

She shoots him a dark look. “Don’t do this with me,” she grunts. “I know you’re more of a realist than you seem at face value. Here in Eorzea it may be for a brighter tomorrow, but in Garlemald it’s for the greater good and the salvation of future civilizations. Pretty words that sound nice in practice, but it means shit all in the end. Either it’s the height of ignorance or it’s manipulative.”

“Or perhaps it’s neither,” he snaps. “Call me foolish if you want, but I have seen certain proof that there is still some good in this world. It may be fleeting, but it is there in the hearts and souls of people like Minfilia. And it deserved to be protected.”

“From what I’ve seen, Minfilia’s an idealist. Idealists don’t change the world. Either they martyr themselves as a message or they get other people killed.”

He doesn’t answer.

Aureia inhales sharply, the tang of brine tasting rancid on her tongue, regret twisting her insides. The waves crash against the docks, pounding in her ears. They fill the silence, silence that should have been broken by their easy conversation and playful banter. His unwillingness to respond cuts deep, deeper than she expected it to.

She meant what she said, but she should not have said it. At least not here.

Not now.

And not in this way.

“Thancred, I—”

“I think perhaps you’ve misunderstood me,” he says finally. He falls into his usual stance and gazes out to sea, pointedly refusing to look her in the eye. In the light of the boiling afternoon sun, his profile is all sharp angles. “I may be pragmatic to a fault, but even I have my limits. You may think poorly of idealists, but at least they know where they stand. Minfilia dares to dream of a better future where those like you cannot. Even if I cannot always see it myself, I would rather place my faith in her hands than commit myself to a life without hope.”

Her jaw clenches. “Minfilia is naïve and inexperienced. Maybe the others don’t see it, but you must.”

His expression darkens. “Please, Aureia. I do not wish to have this conversation.”

“But you do, don’t you?” The words come out fast and harsh, carrying a day’s worth of frustrations with them. Buffeted from place to place, ignored and spoken over even as she was welcomed, the assumptions made about her without getting to know her, the suspicion that was confirmed by Thancred that she would have no meaning to these people without the Echo… And behind it all is the deep, hollow loneliness that eats and eats away at her. “You’re not an idiot. I counted a dozen vulnerabilities in the Waking Sands on my way in and I know you see them, too. Minfilia’s whole operation is at stake. All it would take it one person. One person in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and the Garleans—”

“Why must you always insist on poor first impressions?”

She blinks. “What?”

“You would see a hundred flaws in another before you see anything of worth.”

“It’s not… I—”

“Minfilia has treated you with kindness and respect, welcomed you warmly and with open arms. And yet you are so sure in your desire to doubt her—”

“Maybe if you didn’t want me to doubt her, you could have told me about her.”

He rounds on her. “So that’s what you’re sour about,” he mutters darkly. “Right, then. I never thought I would have to clarify this with you, but in case you haven’t noticed, our operations here are of a clandestine and sensitive nature. You weren’t entitled to this knowledge based on our friendship alone.”

“You could have found some way to say it.”

“Then I’ll say it now. She is like a sister to me and I will support her no matter the cause. That is all you need to know.”

Silence.

Fuck… She swallows the lump in her throat. They’ve had their disagreements, but fighting with him like this feels wrong. How did they end up here? This is her fault. She shouldn’t have let her stubbornness get the better of her—

“Say what you will about Minfilia, but at least she has the nerve to believe in what she is fighting for.” Thancred eyes her, his expression cold. “You, I’m not so sure.”

She stiffens, anger burning in her chest. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Then what do you believe in?”

Aureia pauses, her mouth half-open, lost for words. It’s not a question she likes to consider and she has never been asked it point blank. There are no gods in Garlemald. She believed in the Empire once, because that is what she had been told to do, no matter how she questioned it—right up until the day her mind snapped under the weight of her doubts and questions.

Here in Eorzea, she has no patron deity. No revolutionary organizations, no grand designs. She is adrift in the sea, with no one but herself to look to.

Perhaps that’s the answer.

“I don’t know,” she says.

He smiles coldly. “As I thought.”

A horn sounds across the bay, heralding the imminent arrival of the ferry. Workers scatter across the harbour, hollering as they set about preparations to welcome the ship and its passengers. Aureia blinks, thrown out of the moment by the sudden burst of activity around her. Thancred lets out a long sigh and shakes his head, his shoulder brushing hers as he passes her and departs without another word.

She lets him go, listening to his footfalls retreat as she watches the ship approach.

White sails on a blue horizon, flying wild and free…

Her heart sinks like a stone. Why does it feel so bitter?

[attonposting]

Can we stop to talk about the conversation with Atton where he rambles about women and the idea of love? Because good lord can this man project like a movie theater. We're talking fractal projection. Give him a frickin' medal, because it's projection all the way down.

It's a very missable bit of dialogue. You can only get it with a male Exile, and only then if you've cheesed off Brianna by causing her influence to dip 30 points below Visas's. Unfortunately, this also causes Brianna to permanently stop talking to you, so this is something you're only ever gonna see by accident. I only learned that could even happen pretty recently, and that's with maybe 6 male Exile playthroughs under my belt. I guess I'm just very thorough about exhausting everyone's dialogue options all the time.

So. Brianna's permanently cut herself off as a companion, courtesy of Kreia whispering in her ear, and that sucks. But at least your trashman pilot has something to say about it... and whoa boy is it a consolation prize. Atton proceeds to launch into an arm-around-your-shoulders buddy talk that has exactly nothing to do with your problems and everything to do with his personal issues.

Exile: The Handmaiden lost her temper with me.

Atton: Oh, there's a surprise. Trust me, she's a handful - all warriors are. They're not used to dealing with things they can't punch, kick, or break. Look, I know how it is. Me, there's no denying that I'm a good-looking guy. You have it worse, because even though you might not be as good-looking as me, you have that whole tortured past, that command presence. Women want to save you. They think they can help you.

Exile: What are we talking about?

Atton: They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it. And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.

Exile: [Awareness] Are we talking about me or you?

Atton: We're just talking. Like I said, I've never understood women. It's possible they don't love you at all. That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.

Exile: [Awareness] Sounds like you've had that experience before.

Atton: Don't remember. Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting. I think there's times I'd rather be completely deaf than hear it. But all this talk doesn't matter. I'm not qualified to give advice. Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.

Like. Just. Holy shit, Atton. Yeah, he's clearly talking about the Jedi who tried to save him, but there's so much more to unpack in here. Let's break it down.

“Women want to save you. They think they can help you.” - Atton wants to save you. He wants to be the hero to your story, something he projects at Mical (to the latter's confusion), but which can also be read into a lot of his actions – when he starts taunting the assassin on Telos to draw heat off you, when he runs out on Nar Shaddaa to give you medpacs and do the same thing with the bounty hunters. The hard evidence is on Malachor. If Atton dies, he says it outright: “Did I save you yet?” And if he falls to the Dark Side, he tells Mical that “he wanted to protect [the Exile], to help her” before he lost his chance.

“They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it.” - Yeah, it's not really about helping the Exile. Atton needs to be the one that 'saves' you, as a balm to his own lack of purpose and self-worth, and he gets real pissy if anyone else does a better job helping you – or god forbid gets close to you. He's constantly insecure, he's unhappy with most new party members when they join up and, and seriously, the only crime Mical ever committed was being a genuinely good dude in a crew full of misfits. Too bad the galaxy's greasiest pilot reads that as a threat.

“And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.” - Atton's attraction to you in a nutshell, and that's before you get the question of Force Bonds involved. Like, seriously. Does he genuinely love you as a person, or is he in love with you as an ideal – as someone who could stop running and face the music for their unforgivable crimes, as someone who actually tries to fix the damage they did? As someone who can still find it in them to care about people after the war broke them down? As a Jedi that actually lives up to the ideal both the Council and Revan failed to? As someone he believes he can relate to, because he thinks he knows your reasons for what you did? Are you a stand-in for his dead Jedi and his hundred conflicting feelings over her? Is he just in love with the idea of having a purpose and wants someone he can bury himself in? Is the idea of martyring himself and finally dying for a reason what he's really obsessed with? Pick your flavor, because who knows! He certainly doesn't!

“It's possible they don't love you at all.” - While this has a lot to do with him wondering why the hell anyone would have tried to save him, I also think this is him reflecting on his own confused feelings towards the Exile. They might not be romantic with an M!Exile (or if they are, he's having intense bi denial), but they're absolutely there and he does not know what to make of them.

“That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.” - This has nothing to do with the Exile, the Handmaiden, or anyone who isn't an ex-Sith assassin who had empathy forcibly shoved into their brain after years of progressively more fucked-up descent into all-consuming hatred.

“Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting.” - He almost gets away with this one, but Atton's deep in denial here. He doesn't want to hear it, but he can't turn it off, the same way he can't stop feeling things when he used to have total control of his emotions (because he barely felt anything at all.) It's all why he can't go back to who he was, even though he badly misses the certainty he used to feel. Atton is a pro at ignoring his conscience, which definitely has nothing to do with how much he hates himself, total coincidence... but as soon as the Exile gets involved, that goes out the window, because Atton's self-preservation glitches out. Their Force wound tugs on his better nature... or it yanks at his opposite. And if that happens, Atton is very aware of what's happening to him. He succumbs, but he has more to say on the Exile's fall than anyone short of Kreia. And light or dark, his (im)moral compass gets jarred from 'cover my own ass' to 'protect the Exile' and he repeatedly sticks his neck out for no gain, so yeah, I call bullshit here. He's smack in the middle of his biggest crisis of conscience since the Sith.

“Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.” Well, at least he admits it.

[now-that-i-saw-you]

Short reviews of everything I read this year:

Trials of Apollo ☆☆☆☆

Fantastic!!! Revived my PJO obsession. I enjoyed Apollo's narration. The 3rd-4th book were a little tedious though.

The Picture of Dorian Gray ☆☆☆☆☆

Flawless. So, so gay, weird and dramatic. I wish I could read it for the first time again.

Seasparrow ☆☆☆

I was disappointed. I didn't like the first POV, it made the book feel juvenile. It was too long and nothing happened. An unnecessary addition to the Graceling Realm universe because all the themes in this book were already presented in Bitterblue and Winterkeep. I might have liked this a lot more if it was not part of the Graceling Realm series.

All For The Game ☆☆☆☆☆

I'M OBSESSED. Nothing else to say.

One Last Stop ☆☆☆☆

It was cute and fun. I like it when you can feel that a book/show was planned. Every detail is carefully crafted to fit the narrative. I like how the author uses historical events to enrich the plot. Middle part of the book was a little flat.

The Cruel Prince ☆☆☆

It's...cute. I liked Jude a lot, didn't care for Cardan. Good enough to make me read the entire thing, bad enough that I might never read another book by that author.

Conversations With Friends ☆☆☆☆☆

Do you ever come across a book that's exactly what you needed? This was it for me. One of the only books I got from BookTok and actually loved. It was like being hugged and punched in the gut at the same time.

This Is How You Lose The Time War ☆☆☆☆☆

This book is poetry. It's a fairytale. It's the saddest, most romantic story I've ever read. It's so weird and confusing, I understood everything. It's a tragedy. It's so full of hope. It's perfect.

The Hellheim Propechy ☆☆☆ 1/2☆

It's a lovely series and I can't wait for the 3rd book. It has one of the healthiest relationship I've ever seen in books (and it's wlw!!!!). The villians are a little flat imo.

She Who Became The Sun ☆☆☆☆☆

I don't understand how people find the courage to write anymore books after Shelley Parker-Chan dropped this marvel. I want to eat this book.

The Catcher In The Rye (reread) ☆☆☆☆☆

I love this book idc. I love the metaphors, I love Holden, I love the way the plot develops.

Jane, Unlimited ☆☆☆☆☆

SO GOOD!! Such a unique and engaging book it had me pulling out a notebook and a pen and try to decipher all the clues like a goddamn detective.

Doctor Who: Time Lord Victorious ☆☆☆

It's was nice! Idk what else to say.

Pride & Prejudice ☆☆☆

Reading this felt like sitting at a 19th century tea party and gossiping.

More Than This ☆☆☆☆☆

I've wanted to reas this for a while and it exceeded my expectation. This book is so captivating, unique, heartbreaking and hopeful.

The Trial ☆☆☆

This book was a fever dream.

The Rest of Us Just Live Here ☆☆☆☆

I think Patrick Ness is my favorite author. He did a great job with the premise of the book cause it's a lovely coming of age story and the fantastic elements are woven so well into the story.

Evvie Drake Starts Over ☆☆☆

It's cute and I love the fact that the main conflict is between the FMC and her Male Best Friend and the way this book talks about DV but it also felt a little dull sometimes.

The Lottery ☆☆☆☆

This was a mindfuck.

The Rocking Horse Winner ☆☆☆

....what?

The Scorpio Races ☆☆☆☆

HOW DOES MAGGIE STIEFVATER KEEP COMING UP WITH THOSE WEIRD FUCKING PLOTS??

A Man Called Ove ☆☆☆☆

Really sweet. This book healed something in me.

The Broken Earth (1+2) ☆☆

Yeah....I was not in the right headspace when I read this. I just didn't understand anything. I wanna give this another chance next year if I can.

Lord of The Flies ☆☆☆☆

I want to reread it cause I definitely didn't fully appreciate it but I think it's a great allegory and it's so dark. I get the hype.

The Sun and The Star ☆☆☆☆

I don't think you understand how long I've waited for this book, how long I've waited for Solangelo content. This was so cute. So lovely. I love Nico, I love Will. I wish there was a 3rd character in this (like, idk, Reyna?)

[ill-skillsgard]

Hey beetle, anything new from Faust x Faith, it’s been a while since the last story about them?

Maybe Faust is for once a sweet lover, but still fuck and fill her to the hilt, maybe a little getting prego kink?

Hi! Holy MOLY it has been a long time since I've written any Faust x Faith. I have had quite the year, but don't get me wrong... The babies were never far from my mind. I cannot ever forget our beautiful Frosty man.

So, this is set a little over a year in the future in this universe. But I won't give too much away here!

Warning: 18+ Smut, violence, mature language, protected/unprotected sex, emotional reunions, murderous rage, mentions of alcohol consumption, angst, cheating and all the good nasty things this pairing is known for.

Summary: It's been over a year since Faith broke up with Faust and he's returned home from an extensive European tour to find out his ex-girlfriend has moved on. Will Faust be able to control himself and let them live, or will his darkness drive him to get rid of Faith's new boyfriend?

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

"You feeling okay, Frost?"

The question went unanswered, and the four members of Grey Tomb turned toward the drummer. Faust hadn't been sleeping. He barely ate, and the only time he came alive was on stage behind his drum kit. Although the last few dates of the tour hadn't been his best performances.

"Your eyes are so dark that you don't even need to wear any paint," Freydis, the singer, pointed out. She was the leader of Grey Tomb, the band who had picked him up for a European tour after their original drummer went to prison. Faust had asked no questions and didn't care where they played so long as he was as far away from home as possible. An 18-date tour was long enough to keep him occupied throughout the summer, but it was winding down, and everything started reminding Faust of her again. Even the landscape, though much different from home, brought up bitter memories of Faith.

Nightmares plagued Faust when he closed his eyes—gut-wrenching visions of Faith having sex with the jock she knew from church, his old bandmates, and even Sven. He dreamt of flames and screams and Faith looking at him like he was ugly, like she couldn't believe she had ever loved him. Evenings spent in a dismal room with police trying to make him admit he had punched Bobby Esders' face into a crimson mash, teeth blistering out of shredded, bloody lips. In these nightmares, Faust was killing again, always chasing and killing and trying to convince Faith he was fine; he was only protecting her. But she turned away every time, unconvinced he possessed no virtue.

And so, he imagined the drum skins as the face he wanted to smash and broke sticks on the rim only to unsheath fresh ones from a quiver near his shin. He'd continue the brutal assault in time with a guttural bass line and dreadful shrieking.

Faust didn't want to think of violence, so he avoided sleep and the inevitable terrors waiting to resurface in his mind. He needed therapy, an intense cerebral scrub to get to the bottom of the urges that became restless at night. But he was in a foreign country with a job to do. Therapy would have to wait.

Freydis had taken on corpse paint duty and stood above Faust as he sat on the tour bus couch, face tilted up, her chest in the way. Her tongue poked out as she blotted the black, blue, and grey paint under Faust's eyes.

"I can't wait to head home after tonight, eh, Frost?" Freydis said.

"I'd rather be touring. Nothing to go home to. At least you have a family."

"And you don't?"

"Not really. Nobody I care to see."

"Damn, Frost. Are you always this gloomy? Or has tour really beaten you down that much?"

"I'm fine." He dismissed. "And when are you gonna stop calling me 'Frost?'"

"That's you, though. You're just Frost, okay? Get over it," said Freydis. "One more spot, and I think we're done. Hopefully, you don't sweat it off during the first song."

The singer put down the brush and squeezed Faust's shoulder, jostling him. "There. Looking gnarly, dude. Oh, and don't forget, there's gonna be an after-party at the place where Astral is staying. We're invited. So, you should definitely come. Last show. We gotta go out."

"We'll see," Faust said.

"You owe me."

"Okay, okay."

"Promise you'll come?"

"No."

"Faust! Please?"

"Fine, if it means that much to you."

"Okay, and don't just stand outside smoking either."

Faust grimaced. "You don't want me to have any fun."

For the sake of appearances, Faust went along for the ride after Grey Tomb's last show to meet up with some of the tour crew and members from the headlining bands. These were the kind of people to shake hands and connect with, but Faust took one look around the penthouse apartment and regretted coming. The people there having fun were too bright for him, and the only way to dim the light was to drink so much he could barely see.

Drinking heavily was a double-edged sword for Faust. On the one hand, he could bear to socialize and even cracked jokes with the people he'd been sharing a bus with for the last two months, but on the other, he was sick.

To erase the year of his life he had spent with Faith, Faust resorted to old behaviors and, much later, found himself in a room with Freydis on his lap. She had been dropping hints all tour, but Faust knew better than to tangle up a good thing. Now that he was shipping back home soon, and Freydis was staying in Denmark, there was no reason to avoid fucking her.

"Holy shit, Frost... Are you sure that condom's gonna fit?"

Faust ignored the comment and stretched the latex ring over his cock, pulling it down as far as it would go. He might have been wasted, but he wouldn't stick it in unprotected with a woman he barely knew.

"Damn, you're a big boy," Freydis said as she climbed over his thighs and lowered herself. Once the sex started, she gripped the back of his neck and pressed her forehead to his. Faust backed away, letting her ride him while he closed his eyes and bit his lip. All the momentum he had gathered while making out with Freydis slowly disappeared. He felt his hard-on deflating inside of her despite her rigorous bucking.

"Fuck," he grunted and grabbed her tits for a rush that never came.

Freydis giggled. "Are you really that drunk you can't get it up for me, Frosty?"

"Condom's slipping."

"You should just take it off. It's okay; I'm on the pill."

"I'll get there again. Just keep...ugh, keep going."

Faust scoffed at himself. Freydis wasn't stupid, and the limp cock inside of her worsened with the condom. She stopped and signed.

"Sorry... I can't do this. I'm fucking plastered."

It was only half a lie, and when Freydis made a case to keep trying, Faust lifted her off his lap, snapped off the condom, and staggered to the door while pulling his jeans over his ass. He turned around, black hair swinging in his face.

"Sorry, I guess. Hope we're all good," Faust muttered before he left.

Freydis sat on the bed, astounded at the limp condom he'd dropped next to the waste basket.

The journey home was torture and nausea. Faust had spent an hour puking in the airport bathroom and once again into a bag on the plane they had almost missed. His acidic insides emptied, Faust fell into a fitful sleep, interrupted every so often by flight attendants who quickly learned not to bother the man with the long black hair.

On home soil, he threw his bags into a taxi and was carted home, where he fell into bed for hours with an excruciating headache. He couldn't remember a time when he felt worse and told himself he was never going on tour with alcoholic Danish metalheads ever again.

~*~

Despite his long absence, Faith never changed her habits. This made locating her easier than he liked. Faust had hoped to walk by the café where she used to study over a latte and a bagel, only to never find her there. He had hoped her family had moved away, taking his ex-girlfriend too far to contact. But just like everything else in the city, it had all stayed the same. Faith still did the same things she always did: school, working part-time at the bookstore in the mall, and sitting down in front of the window at the café where they had gone countless times for snacks and coffee.

Faith was there now, across the street at the café, sitting outside on the small wrought iron table underneath an umbrella. She wore a light pink sundress with thin shoulder straps and her hair in two braids. Faust wanted to go over and sit down in front of her just to see her big eyes get wider or if she would fidget and stammer, blindsided by his sudden appearance. The sight of her, unaware he was across the street buying cigarettes at the corner store, soured his stomach.

Faust spent a minute preparing for what to say when he approached Faith, but his courage disappeared when a man took the seat across from her and reached out to hold her hand. It wasn't the Esders kid like he had feared. It was worse. He wore a black denim jacket, had long hair, and a face Faust automatically hated.

It was him. Faith was dating a knockoff version of himself.

Faust recognized the guy from around parties and shows. His name was Hunter. He was the kind of guy who bought unlicensed band patches online—the mark of a poser, in Faust's opinion. While the guy rubbed her wrist, Faust thought of one hundred ways to shatter his fingers. How dare he touch her like that, make her smile as he once had, and scoot closer to touch her inner thigh under the table. Faust grinned when she snapped her legs shut, and he snatched his hand away with what Faust assumed was an apology. Good. So she wasn't letting him get too handsy with her yet. Not like when they were together, and she would let him drag her away to any solitary place, so he could touch her between her legs and watch her melt.

But Hunter was not him, and Faith probably hadn't changed. If her libido was the same since they'd met, the chances were high she had already fucked him, and the thought of Hunter having sex with her blistered the inside of his chest. He wanted to grab him by his greasy hair and smash his face into the table so many times he became unrecognizable. The anger itched his palms, his back sweating.

Before Faust acted on his violent thoughts, he turned away and started home, swearing he would never seek Faith out again, though his heart seared from the pain of making himself such a promise.

It wasn't long before Faust saw her again in much closer proximity. One month after he had promised never to think about Faith again—a delusionally optimistic notion—she showed up at a party with Hunter and his buddies, who took various band formations between them. Faust had been in a crust punk band with one of them, failing to play lead guitar. It was a short-lived project, but he still recognized the group. He pretended not to notice Faith, hoping his nonchalance would strike her when she looked up from her phone and realized she had once again stepped into his realm, where she was the outcast, and everyone revered him. She likely heard some news about his tour with Grey Tomb since everyone else was asking him questions about the size of the gigs he had played overseas. In a small house full of a dozen musicians, their girlfriends, and buddies, Faust was the most successful one there, earning him instant popularity. On a regular day, Faust would shun the attention, but now, he craved to wield it; to show her what he had become in the year they'd been apart.

Faith whispered to her new boyfriend and never looked too long at Faust for the first hour. Faust turned it into a game. He looked at her until her eyes ping-ponged from him to a random object in the room, catching her each time she glanced in his direction. It was fun to watch her squirm and fidget. He knew what she was thinking: that being around him as though they were strangers was too heavy for her to act normal.

Two hours in, after Faust had left the room to keep her mind racing, he saw Faith whispering to her new boyfriend in the kitchen between chugs of beer. She was compensating now. Faith hated beer. He flashed the barest smirk as he passed by, never lifting his eyes but knowing her in his peripheral. Yet despite all these things he knew about her, there was a second or third voice in his head trying to calculate what exactly she could be thinking. Did she hate him? Was her night ruined? Was his presence shaking her to her core, or was she succeeding at brushing it off? She couldn't have changed that much in a year, and if she was the same girl he had fallen in love with, her inner dialogue was screaming. And as much as he wanted to catch a hint of their conversation, the music was too loud, and Faust longed to continue ignoring her.

After three hours, Faust was drunk, and the people talking in his ear made him cringe. He had gone around and around on a carousel of shifting emotions. At first, it was easy not to care, but then he saw her staring at him and wanted to stare back. As the drinks poured and it was clear nobody would address the awkward situation between them, Hunter put his arm around her, an innocent move that Faust regarded as a personal slight. How fucking dare he touch his Faith.

No, he told himself. Let her go. She's better off without you.

Then, a hand was on her thigh. Her skirts that once drove him wild now looked whorish. Did she want every man in the room looking at her? And again, Faust screamed internally at himself to leave her be.

But he couldn't, and deep down, they both knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

It happened when Faust, who considered his near-constant observation of them subtle, saw Hunter pull her face forward for a kiss. His heart leaped, and with it, his body instantly at attention, the half-drunk beer bottle now brown shards on the floor. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Hunter barely noticed over the music, but Faith had. She flinched as Faust approached like a train and snatched Hunter up by his jacket lapels.

"Who the fuck do you think you are kissing her in front of me?"

"Stop it right now, Faust. Don't be an idiot!" Faith yelled, butting her palm into his leather-clad shoulder. It only angered him further.

"Woah, man! What the fuck is your problem? You've been broken up forever," said Hunter, clutching at the fist pressing into his neck.

"Faust, dude, don't. Just relax."

Faith hammered Faust's shoulder again. "Let go of him, you prick! We're over!"

Faust immediately dropped Hunter and turned to her, angling down to meet her glower.

"What, I leave for one tour, and now you're with discount me? That's sad, Faith—"

One hard punch to the jaw sent Faust staggering backward, disoriented. Once he blinked away the lights in his eyes, Faith knew there was only one second to get between Faust and Hunter to prevent blood from spilling. Faust's friends had the same idea and held the drummer back, crowding between them to stop a fight.

Faust pointed at Hunter as he was carried away and said, "You better run. You better never let me see you again, or you're fucking dead. Run, motherfucker!"

Outside, Faust screamed. He howled on the sidewalk for Hunter to come out while lights from neighboring houses flicked on. His friends begged him to be quiet, but Faust was undone by his anger and echoing in every direction, ignoring those yelling at him to shut up. He attempted to break the barrier his friends made and hopped up excitedly when the door opened, hoping it was the man whose face he was about to demolish.

Faith stepped out alone, and Faust went quiet. She marched down the walkway, and they parted to allow her access to her flailing ex-boyfriend. She grabbed his arm, sank her nails into the leather, and yanked him away from the house. His friends stood by, muttering and confused. The two of them did not turn back.

~*~

"Sit down. We have to have a serious discussion, Faust. I mean it. Sit down on the bench and listen," said Faith. "You cannot act that way just because I moved on. It's not fair to me! I want to be happy, and you have no right to try ruining that."

Faust paced the length of the bench. "You're not fucking happy."

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not. You're pretending. You're a fucking fake. You don't hang around these kinds of people. You came tonight just to piss me off."

"I came here because Hunter and I were invited. I had no idea you'd be here. Otherwise, I definitely wouldn't have come."

"Fuck off, Faith."

"No, you fuck off! What're you gonna do, Faust? Kill him?"

Faust smothered her mouth with his hand and backed her under the tree's shadow away from the lamplight.

"Don't even fucking—don't say that."

Faith pushed him away. "I'm seriously asking. I have no idea what you might do, but I know what you're capable of, and it scares me. You have to promise me you won't hurt Hunter."

"No promise."

"If you can't let me be, I might have to do something drastic."

Faust scoffed. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Like... File a restraining order," Faith said.

Her eyebrows pressed together, and though encased in shadow, Faust could not believe he was seeing her face again. He took a step closer, and she drew up against the tree.

"I can't have you around. If I see him touching you, I will lose my fucking mind, don't you understand? I love you, Faith. I'm afraid of myself when you're not with me."

"That's not my problem."

Faust had barely chipped at her. She crossed her arms, glare unrelenting. No matter how hard he drilled, Faith wouldn't soften for him.

"So that's it then? You're over me?" He asked.

Faith held up her hand and flashed a plain gold ring. "See this? He gave it to me. It's a promise ring."

"A promise to what? Marry you? You're gonna marry him, is that it?"

"Maybe!"

"That cheap little piece of shit ring means nothing, and you know it."

"It has meaning because I give it meaning."

"Okay then, let me ask you something, and be honest," Faust bent at the knees to match her level. "Do you still have the collar I gave you?"

Faith grimaced.

"Tell me the truth. Do you have it? Because that collar means you already belong to someone."

"No, it doesn't! I broke up with you!"

"You haven't gotten rid of it."

"What does it matter?"

"Faith, please," Faust whimpered. "Please, just... I'll never stop. I can't. I've fucking tried."

"Never stop what?"

"Being in love with you."

She dropped her fists to her sides, looking down at her shoes. Faust thought she looked ready to blow up, but instead, she sniffled and began to cry.

Faust cradled her jaw like thin glass balancing in his palms. To his relief, Faith didn't flinch away.

"Tell me you still love me." He whispered. "I know you do, baby."

She whimpered his name and fell into his embrace, sobs quaking through her shoulders. Faust propped her up in his arms and set her back on her feet. Despite her anguish, he fought a smile from spreading across his face. Soon, Faith's blubbering petered into chuckles, and she wiped her wet eyes.

"You really still love me, Faust?"

"Yes, baby! Fucking of course I do."

"Did you come back here because of me?"

"You're the only thing keeping me in this place."

"I... I really missed you, beetle."

Faust clamped her to his chest, stroking her soft hair, her warmth so familiar yet unearned. His eyes clouded as he looked down at the woman crying into his chest, stuck like a burr on his clothes. Her tears seeped through the fabric, and he loved it. The wet spots made his breath falter. A vast calmness silenced the screams in the back of his head, which reminded him of all the terrible he had done. With Faith by his side once more, he was determined to bury their voices and live as though his secrets were only false memories.

~*~

Faith and Faust had made a getaway from the party and went to Faust's basement apartment in a small complex. The place was new and smelled of fresh paint, and when Faith walked in and saw a mostly empty area, the juxtaposition made her head spin and her heart pound. There he was after all this time, a foot of space between his head and the ceiling, his black leather jacket on in front of white, unmarred walls. It was wrong, but watching him shedding his jacket and revealing how thick his arms looked from touring made it seem like they hadn't been apart more than a couple of weeks. It was natural, and she went to him, prepared to deal with the consequences of ditching her current boyfriend for this reunion of two warring energies who thrived only on each other.

He kissed her softly at first, pulled back to assess her expression, and went back in harder when met with a drowsy half-smile. His hand went up her skirt, tracing his fingertips over her panties until her knees shook.

Faith pulled away and said, "I wanna fuck you." Faust needed no convincing. He sat on the bed, dragged her onto his lap, facing away from him, and pulled off her top and bra. Before taking her breasts in his hands, he peeled off his Grey Tomb shirt and cupped them enthusiastically.

"Fuck, baby. Just... Fuck. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," she said, craning her neck to catch his lips again.

She ground in circles on his lap until he was hard and moaning, her addiction to the sound of his voice afresh. Exhilarated by the thought of having sex with her first love again, Faith scrambled under the covers and waited, her smile slowly fading as Faust pulled a strip of three gold-foiled condoms from his wallet. She frowned as though he had revealed something nauseating.

"What the fuck is that look for?" Faust scoffed, tearing open the foil square.

"I... what is that? I don't want that...I want to feel you."

"That's too bad," he said.

Faith scoffed back at him. "I don't have any diseases."

"We've been away from each other for over a year. I don't know what you've done. If I'm fucking you, we're using a rubber."

"But—"

"Besides... You don't know where my cock's been either."

It was a bizarre sight watching him unravel the wet latex circle over his thick cock inch by inch. Faith had never heard of him using condoms before and hadn't used one with him even the first time.

Faust laid down and urged her to climb over him, and though she looked upset, she still swung her leg over his hips and stared down at the latex straining around his shaft.

"You fucked other girls?" She asked.

Faust grasped her thigh and pulled until she shimmied closer to his groin.

"Sit on it," Faust ignored her question. "Come on, baby. Ride it."

"Do we have to? I really wanted to feel you. All of you. Like how we used to fuck."

Faust rolled his eyes. "Don't be a brat, Faith. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"I'll put on two," Faust chuckled.

She swatted him, giggling. "Fine, if this is the only way you'll let me fuck you, I guess that'll have to do."

"That's right, get on it, baby. Easy, easy... Oh... Oh, fuck... Oh, fuck! Fuck, yes, beautiful. Never been so hard in my goddamn life. Fuck me, baby girl. That's it. Nice 'n slow. Good girl."

"Mmph. I forgot how big you are!"

"No, you fuckin' didn't. You remembered damn well how big my cock is. How I split this little pussy open."

Faith rocked herself back and forth with help from his hands on her hips. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip. Faith stared down at the man, lost in his pleasure, his mouth changing shapes every time she moved. He was right; Faith hadn't forgotten for a second what sex with him was like, or how beautiful he looked with his head thrown back in ecstasy, or the filthy things he said the moment he was inside. Faust knew it too.

"Did you think about me when you fucked him?" Faust asked, catching her in an awkward spot. Faith didn't expect him to bring up Hunter so soon, and certainly not during sex.

"I... I, um—"

"You can tell me the truth. Did he have a bigger cock than me?"

"N-no! I don't think anyone could. The condom is about to snap because of it. So, you might as well take it off and fuck me raw."

Faust flipped her over and drove himself inside her a few times, slow but hard. She squealed with each thrust.

"Condom stays on."

Faith had more tricks to try on him. "Then how are you supposed to cum inside of me?"

"Did you let him cum inside of you?"

"Faust!"

"I'm serious," he said, leaning down to talk against her cheek while ramming her pelvis and making her quiver. "Did he blow loads inside this pretty pussy? Did he make you shake and cry and cum all over his cock?"

"No, Faust," she whimpered. "I wouldn't let him."

"That's right. 'Cause it's still my pussy. He had his fun with you, but you're back where you belong now... All around my dick. Getting. Fucking. Stretched. Open."

"Make it hurt, baby."

Faust slammed his hips forward several times until she cried out, then eased back to a normal pace.

"You're mine. Fuck, you feel amazing. Pussy's so fucking tight around me. Shit, baby, I'm not gonna last."

Just as Faust approached a groaning orgasm, Faith's phone started ringing in her purse. She looked at the bag, then back at him.

"Is that him calling? Wondering where you are? He has no idea you're with me, does he?"

Faith chewed her lip and couldn't answer.

"I fucking knew it," he said proudly. "Go ahead. Answer the phone."

"What!? No! Faust, that's so mean."

"You're already cheating on him. Just answer the phone and pretend everything's normal."

"I can't."

"I'll take the condom off if you answer the phone while you fuck me. You can have this cock raw if you really want. Make me cum deep inside this perfect little pussy.

"Really?"

"Yes, babe. Go get the phone."

Faust let her up and dropped onto his back while she fished her phone out of her purse. She looked at the screen and scoffed.

"It's just a telemarketer."

"Aw, that's too bad."

"Can we still lose the condom?"

"No. I'm still wearing it."

"That's not fair! I was going to! That should count for something."

Faust stared at her perky nipples, soft curves, and sad face. He smirked something evil.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Call him. Call him and break up with him while you fuck me."

"No! That's so mean! I can't do that."

"Oh, but you can cheat on him perfectly fine?"

"You're not being fair."

Faust nodded at her, then at his groin. "Nothing's fair. Call him. But first, get your hand around my cock."

Just the sight of her fingers trying to fit around his condom-clad shaft made him seethe, and when she put the phone to her ear while slowly jerking him, his chest unfroze after months of being without her. He tried not to moan while she whispered to her fake boyfriend that she couldn't see him anymore. It just wouldn't work with Faust around. The motion of her left hand faltered as the guy's heart broke, and Faust eclipsed her and squeezed, encouraging her to yank off the condom in mid-sentence. Hunter asked, "So, what? Are you with him right now?" And Faust twitched from the blood surge, eyes rolling to the back of his sick head.

Faust got brave and started whispering, Faith scowling and mouthing at him to shut up.

"Yeah, stroke it, baby girl. No more condom. It's all fucking yours."

Faith held the phone away from her face and hissed at him to keep quiet again, wearing a bare hint of a smirk. His sick little girl. His corrupted angel. There she was, begging to come back to him.

He gripped her jaw and wrenched her forward, smothering her mouth and keeping her from answering Hunter's pleas.

"You're mine. Tell him," Faust whispered, licking her lips open to dip his thumb inside her mouth. Faith hummed remorsefully but sucked his thumb all the same, eyes going shiny as she stared into his beautiful green eyes. Whether she liked it or not, she had dreamed of this reunion. In sleep, she always found him with those murderous eyes staring at her like his next meal.

"Get on me."

Faith tossed her phone aside, thumb slipping and maybe not ending the call with Hunter. There was a pinch of guilt in her heart, and then it was gone. It was only him, the love of her life. She climbed over his lap, and his legs stirred beneath her, parting and spreading her thighs ever wider. Faust sank back into the pillows, squeezed her hips, and eased her onto his cock the only way he wanted. With a deep groan, he pulled her forward, rocked her back, and did it repeatedly until she caught the rhythm. Steady and slow.

"I fucking missed you, baby," Faust said.

Faith clung to him and rode desperately, breathing in his hair, kissing his lips, and hanging onto his broad shoulders for leverage. Their breath synced until Faust jutted his hips and struck a gasp from her.

"M-missed you too, beetle. God, I missed your cock."

Faust chuckled, dark and mischievous. "Oh, yeah? S'that all you missed about me, huh? You missed getting fucked hard?"

"I just missed you."

"Oh, I'm absolutely positive your pussy missed me."

Faith covered her mouth, but Faust grabbed her wrist and held it behind her back, bending his knees and bucking his hips upward at a frantic pace he could only sustain for short bursts. It was worth the effort to hear her groaning.

"Don't get all shy. You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"I don't know what to say."

"Tell me how you'd close your eyes when he fucked you and pretend it was me."

The scenario was pure fact. Faith had pictured Faust in Hunter's place nearly every day. But the shame overcame her, and she buried her face in his neck and muttered, "Don't make me say it, Faust. You know I did."

His arms encircled her, and he set off on a motion that brought him close to the brink of orgasm. Before he touched the edge, he pressed his forehead to hers and commanded her eyes.

"Rub your clit, baby girl. Do it for me. I want you to cum."

"Mm...Okay."

"That's right. Make it feel good and cum on me."

Faith tried to get close, holding her breath and concentrating on her task until Faust took over. He used two fingers to rub her clit, slowly at first, then quicker. He alternated until he found the right pace, and she moaned. With his cock ramming upward, his hand working its dexterity on her, and his other hand gripping and spanking her ass, Faust coaxed an orchestral orgasm from her that ended in gasping heaves and whimpers that tipped him over the edge too. Hearing her desperate mewls while she tightened around him was the only thing that could ever make him cum. No other woman came close. Even with his eyes shut and Faith on his mind, they simply weren't her.

Under a wash of afterglow, Faith lay on top of him and relaxed to the pulse in his chest and neck. The regrets were sure to come, but it didn't matter. Faust and the appetizing danger that came with him were back.

"I'm so bad," Faith said after a few minutes of deep breathing.

"Yeah... You really are. Cheating on your boyfriend and getting fucked raw... Taking all my fucking cum in your pussy. You're a nasty girl."

"Don't make it worse!"

"You made it what you wanted. You're the one who was all like, 'Please fuck my pussy raw, Faust. Ew, I hate condoms. I know you were gone for a year, but I don't care where that cock's been'!"

"You love me. I know you wouldn't do it if you weren't sure."

Faust played with her hair and chuckled.

"You're right."

"For the record... you're still the only man who's ever cum inside me."

"Damn fucking right. Now, it's quiet time. I'm spent."

"No round two?"

He rolled her over onto her side, pulled her close, and kissed her forehead. "In the morning. I need sleep."

"But—"

"Sleep, brat."

"Alright, fine."

"...I love you."

"I love you, too."

[eljeebee]

Farewell, Sidera (For the Last Time) Part 1

“Woah this feels…luxury!” Louie exclaimed as they entered the first floor of the nightclub.

“That statue kinda creeps me out though,” Sid pointed at the statue.

“Oh, that’s one of our surveillances!” Lilith proudly replied.

“That’s the CCTV?” Louie asked.

“Cool, no?” Lilith grinned.

Helen cleared her throat. “Louie, I’m glad to see you here all grown up. Very. But I asked Sid to come alone.”

“Auntie, don’t be mad,” Sid said. “I asked him to come. It’s my first time traveling to the city, okay?”

Her lips thinned. “Alright.”

Caleb sighed.

Caleb had fixed them a charcuterie board, while Lilith made teen-friendly drinks. Helen relayed what happened while she was away.

“The vampire attacker, Percival, I wasn’t able to kill him. Lord Straud stopped us. He was contracted to kill our family, Sid. But that contract wasn’t just a measly paper, the contract was magically sealed, and he won’t be released from it until he gets the job done – ”

“ – which is?” Sid asked.

“Which is to kill the last Swanson, Sid. Lord Straud managed to calm him down, so he no longer attacks me, but I think the contract considers you the last Swanson, sweetie. That’s why I asked you to come here. A…procedure. The contract ends when blood is spilled. But it doesn’t have to end with someone’s death. Just a literal drop of blood, and they can do their magic and end the contract.”

“That’s the reason you made me come here?” Sid was horrified. “Watcher, I’m so glad I took Louie with me. Whose blood is getting spilled? Is it yours? Is it mine? Why am I the last Swanson? Aren’t you a Swanson too?”

“Do you not trust me?”

Something dark twisted in Helen’s face. Sid stammered, “I – I do! It’s just…!”

“We’re here, Sid. We can keep you safe! We’re stronger than a teenager. Can he pack a punch to that damned Asvang if he ever lashed out? No! Listen to me Sidera, this is for your own good. After that, I promise I’ll get you the revenge we wanted. I will kill him, Sidera. I will. For you.”

“Helen, you’re starting again, calm down,” Caleb was on her side immediately with a blink of an eye.

“Helen? You’re Helen now? What?”

Lilith tried to explain, appearing beside Sid. “Sid, she had to change her identity to make sure Percival wouldn’t be easy to find her.”

“Which is useless when you consider she didn’t kill him…”

Helen’s lips trembled, “Sid, sweetie, please, listen to me, do this for me. Please. If you promise to do this, I promise I’ll kill him.”

“What is this commotion?”

previous | next

[eri-pl]

Adventures of Steve the intern Maia

part 1/2 (probably)

[inspired by this reblog]

========================

"How dare you!"

Serindo sighed loudly. He looked around the forge, but luckily there weren't many others nearby, and with the work in some distance, the voice did not carry far.

This was third Noldo this week getting offended when he introduced himself. And the number was so low only because most of them were recurring visitors, to whom he'd already explained that yes, this was his name, and no, it wasn't in any way, shape or form meant to mock their deceased queen or their linguistic preferences.

At least she said 'you', not 'thee''. He got some of those too, even though not very often.

Fortunately, before he got to explaining, or before the Noldo girl got more aggressive, one of her friends gave her a whispered explanation, muddled by the noise of the smithing work.

"Fine," she said. "So, when's the lesson?"

No apologies, no respect for his nature. And to think that once he'd agreed that bringing the Elves to Valinor was a great idea. Well, it must have been, as it was Lord Manwe's.

"In ten minutes, when Telperion reaches its peak light. I need to get the tools ready."

The Noldo rolled her eyes, and exchanged looks with one of her friends.

Why couldn't he just punch them? Or at least brand them? That would teach them some respect. Maybe they weren't as great as---

Serindo stopped this thought. It wasn't a good thought.

He wouldn't be another Maia to run away.

Even if Mairon probably was having a much better time right now.

The young Noldor giggled, joined by one more boy. "So this is the one who can't speak properly?" he asked his friends, not even trying to be quiet.

Serindo threw his hammer down. "The lesson is cancelled," he said and left without risking another look on the elves.

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

"My lord," said Serindo with a deep bow. "I--- I can't."

Aule gave him a warm, fatherly smile. "What is the problem, Serindo?"

"I can't work with the Noldor anymore! If I have to stand them for one more day, I'll---" He looked away. "I just can't. Please. I beg you, my lord. anything else, but not them."

"I will not ban them from my forges. But..." Aule closed his eyes for a moment. "You are not bound here. I know you that like quiet and peace, and I have heard that Namo is looking for more servants. I cannot fathom why, maybe the poor elves in Beleriand are going to wage war on each other?"

"Or---"

"Or?"

Serindo swallowed. He shouldn't have said anything. But he did and there was no point in hiding his thoughts from a Vala.

"Melkor is free now, it won't be long before... something happens."

"He is. but he is bound to stay in Valinor. What could he do in here? So, should I recommend you to Namo?"

"Yes. Please."

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

Serindo entered the shadowed, stone room. It was cold and too empty, but at least there were no Noldor in there, only Lord Namo sitting on a stone throne.

The Vala sat in silence for a while, his eyes empty and unreadable. Finally, he spoke. "I'd ask you to sit down, but you're not going to anyway. And don't worry about the vase."

"What vase?"

There was no vase. And no other chair.

"It's a joke. You will get used to them. Eventually. Sooner than you will understand this one, at least."

It would be easier if Namo's face showed any emotion or if his eyes had irises or pupils.

"If I may..."

"Of course you may. How do you imagine a job interview without you speaking?"

Or if he didn't use strange words that seemed to belong in a different time or place.

"There is no vase in here," said Serindo, trying to sound as respectful as he could.

"Yes. Are you in habit of worrying about things that are not there? No. That's why I told you not to worry. Also, the joke was not for you. But, back to your internship." Lord Namo paused, probably noticing Serindo's expression. "Your service to me. I will accept it, under one condition."

"Yes?" However difficult this condition would be, it couldn't be worse than dealing with the Noldor.

"You will stay with me. At least for the next three hundred years."

That was it? Serindo's heart leaped with joy.

"Of course, my lord."

==================

part 2

[icey--stars]

Born For Tragedy: Part 13

Series Index

She was tragedy. Nothing except death, fear and pain followed in her wake. When she was young, she was beaten. Now she’s the one doing the beating as an assassin. A mysterious stranger comes to her, paying an absurd amount of money for her to kill Beron Vanserra, and protect the eldest son until the job is done. She stumbles across a story much similar to her own, and knows what must be done.

a/n: this chapter is mostly filler so enjoy :)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

And so, she did stay. She remained in Eris’s room while she recovered from the exhaustion of the Calanmai Ball night. Most of the time, it was just sleeping or resting with the dogs. She finally managed to steal that damned book off his shelves.

She was reading said book when he returned on the 5th day of her being holed up in the room. He’d been checking in of course, but he hadn’t once come back to sleep or anything. Distantly, she hoped he wasn’t working himself to the bone to try and fix the court. Perhaps he was just sleeping in an office or something.

“Ah,” Eris hummed, spotting the title. “Like reading, do you?”

Valda glanced up, shutting the book on her thumb to hold her place. “A few titles,” she admitted. “This one has been taunting me since the first time I cleaned your study.”

Eris chuckled. “I dearly love that book,” he admitted. “Do you like it?”

She scoffed, grinning. “I love it. This novel… it caught my eye in Hewn City, while being trained to be an assassin, and basically any other time I’ve seen it. It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine too,” he chuckled, coming to sit beside her. “Which part is your favorite?” He asked as he began to take off his boots.

“I like the parts where she’s writing about a world like ours,” She admitted. “She uses it as an escape. If this kind of world existed, I would bet we use each other for a sense of escape.”

Eris smiled. “I like that thought,” he said softly. “I quite enjoy the parts where she finally stands up to the idiots in her… whatever other language she’s learning– that class.”

Valda hummed. “That is quite a good part. I have to admit I laughed when she tried to punch them though. She couldn’t even throw a punch!”

“Don’t go after her,” Eris scolded playfully. “She’s trying. Plus they have guns in that world. She doesn’t need to fist fight.”

“Everyone should know how to fist fight Eris!” Valda insisted. “It’s like the backbone of all societies!” As she did so, she slid a piece of paper into the book as a bookmark.

Eris chuckled, grinning as he finally looked up after setting his boots aside. “Are you sure? I think the backbone of any society rests in the different arts.”

She rolled my eyes. “Stop being right,” She groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

Eris grinned as he turned to face her again. “I will never stop being right.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Valda teased, shoving one of her ankles into his calf. “Learn some shame, heir.”

“High Lord,” Eris corrected with a smirk. “Or did the greatest assassin in Prythian forget who she has killed already?”

She rolled my eyes, sitting up again. She’d had enough magic today to finally cover her scars, which made her feel infinitely more herself. Valda slapped his upper arm. “I can still stab you,” She threatened.

“I don’t think you will,” Eris challenged, his eyes gleaming.

Valda smirked and stood, going toward one of the many dagger stores she’d found in his room and pulling out one of the nice, gold-hilted ones. “Want to test that?” She challenged with a grin.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I can easily dodge your measly dagger.”

Valda flipped it around and raised her arm up like she was going to throw it. “Oh yeah?”

The High Lord pulled out his own dagger from his fancy little jacket and set it aflame. Valda lifted a brow. “Fire does nothing,” She pointed out. “Just cauterize the wound you cause.”

“Yeah, but it hurts,” Eris countered.

Valda scoffed. “I suppose it does hurt. You’re not wrong there.”

Eris and Valda stared at each other for a few more moments before Eris extinguished his weapon and slid it back into its hidden pocket along his torso. Valda put the dagger back as well.

“Has someone been trying to kill you?” She asked.

Eris jerked his head over toward her. “What? No.”

“Why are you carrying daggers around then?” She questioned. “I don’t remember you doing it before.”

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed. Valda narrowed her eyes.

“Who?” She growled.

Eris sighed. “It’s just the council members. And nobility. They don’t exactly like me right now. So I’m being careful.”

“What’s causing the biggest issue?”

“The assassin of Beron,” Eris admitted quietly. “I’m making it work.”

“How so?” She asked. How could she fix it?

“I’m placating them,” Eris assured. “The council is settling bit by bit. I’m diverting their attention with better and newer policies.”

Valda narrowed her eyes. “Tell me it all,” she ordered.

Eris swallowed before explaining. He’d started a little expedition to find the client of the assassin or the assassin themselves, but as expected, it’d come up short. Now he’d been working to convince the council, the lords and other nobility that it wasn’t that bad. He’d been making drastic changes in Autumn. Females had a lot more rights, first and foremost. Secondly, the peasants weren’t suffering from starvation and a lack of funds. The taxes were lowered and the budget changed. The nobility, of course, didn’t like it, but it distracted them. They weren’t vying for the execution of the assassin causing it all.

“Let me help,” Valda said determinedly, walking towards Eris where he still sat on the bed. “I’m healed.”

Eris’s jaw clenched. “You’re still weaker than usual,” he argued. “You can stay here until you’re back up to strength.”

“Eris,” Valda snapped. “My work here is done. My only work here is as some dumbass servant. Which I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to get above Nova by now as the personal servant of the High Lord. Let me help. I can do spy work for you.”

He closed his eyes briefly and then sighed, his shoulders lowering. “Fine, but only because I really need people to trust right now.”

She smirked in triumph. “Great!” She exclaimed. “What’s my first mission then High Lord?”

Eris rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. “Stop calling me High Lord,” he chuckled. “That’s your first mission.”

“Boring,” Valda complained. “Give me something real to do, Eris.”

She noted the way he seemed to tense at his own name. “Your first mission is to see what the lower class thinks of me so far. Through the servants or a nearby town. Just let me know if you leave?”

She dipped her head briefly. “Sounds easy.”

“Rhysand and his cronies are visiting tomorrow, so I suggest visiting a town tomorrow if you wish to escape that chaos,” Eris suggested. “Perhaps find time to finally claim your winnings for your achievement.”

She chuckled, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Might get to threaten him.”

“Why would you have to threaten him?”

“Did you really think he assumed I was going to succeed?” Valda asked, giving him a look. “No, he didn’t, so I have to threaten him to get the money out of him. I’ll send a letter out tomorrow.”

“How are you going to get a letter to some mysterious stranger?” Eris asked incredulously. 

“We agreed on a few locations he’d check for letters,” Valda answered. “Not that hard. I’ve been in this business for a while and ironed out many kinks.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about that too much anymore,” Eris said quietly.

She perked up, looking at him and then down at the floor as she realized that she wouldn’t be an assassin anymore if she lived here. “I guess so,” she answered. 

“Anyway, what’s an excuse Adira can use to talk to Nova again?” Valda asked aloud, mostly to herself, but she was open to ideas from Eris.

“Tell her I required you to stay somewhere private temporarily due to worries about assassins or something,” Eris suggested. “After deep cleaning my new rooms, I put a bed in the study for when I collapse from work. You can just say you’re staying there.”

Valda hummed then shook her head and stared at Eris for a moment.

“Why do you look surprised?” Eris asked.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you to move so quickly into the High Lord’s quarters, but that’s my own fault. Where might Lady Merle be staying then?” Valda asked.

Eris chuckled, grinning at that. “My mother is staying in the Day Court with her mate.”

Valda blinked, and blinked twice more and once more for good measure. “What?!” She asked, staring at Eris in shock. “Who is it? How was Beron not her mate-”

Eris cackled, leaning back on the bed. “It was a well-guarded secret apparently. My mother’s mate is Helion Spell-Cleaver.”

“The High Lord!?”

“Yes, I don’t think I know of any other males named Helion in the Day Court. Do you?”

Valda groaned, laying back on the bed and shoving her face into the pillow. “That female is terrifying. I vow to never ever fuck with Lady Merle.”

Eris scoffed. “Why’s that?”

“She hid it for centuries! Do you realize how hard that must’ve been?! With Beron as her husband?! She is a force of the Mother I will never mess with. I’d be more likely to throw myself into the Cauldron to be boiled alive.”

“Oh, better yet,” Eris continued. “Lucien, my little brother, isn’t Beron’s son.”

Valda rolled to face Eris. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. “He’s Helion’s?”

Eris smirked, grinning like a fiend. Valda groaned. “Your mother is terrifying,” She said, muffled by the bed. “Why does she have to be so nice? She’s terrifying! How could she ever hide that!? Her youngest is another High Lord’s son!”

“He wasn’t High Lord when Lucien was conceived,” Eris reasoned.

“Still!” Valda argued.

Eris chuckled, sitting up again. “I suppose I’ll have to agree with you. Mother was always more apt in court than I ever was, or Beron. She could hide her face well and always could convince anyone to do anything she wanted. Including me.”

“What has she made you do?” Valda asked curiously, rolling back to not muffle herself on the bed anymore.

Eris shrugged. “I don’t know, but I try to never lie to Mother. She always figures out the truth somehow on her own.”

“I’m never messing with Lady Merle. She has two High Lords protecting her and she’s terrifying,” Valda vowed.

Eris laughed. “I suppose she does, doesn’t she? Maybe more. Feyre seemed to like her.”

“Ah, her,” Valda hummed. “She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Eris agreed. “I have the pleasure of meeting her and her bastard mate tomorrow.”

“Rhysand sucks,” Valda agreed. “When he was my High Lord, all I remember is that he was utterly horrible. Torturing people in the middle of court, or misting people to bloody ribbons mid-sentence. He misted the lord I was supposed to kill when he was just giving a report! He was just staring at Morrigan wrong apparently.”

Eris hummed. “Masks are worn frequently, but Rhys seems to be the worst of all. Especially in Hewn City.”

Valda hummed, closing her eyes. “I’ll go to talk to Nova I suppose,” she announced, sitting up at last. “And prepare for a trip to some nearby farm or town tomorrow. I’m not staying with that High Lord here.”

“I’d protect you,” Eris assured. “And go to Redwood, that’s a nice town.”

She felt her heart thump louder at the proclamation at the beginning of his statement, but she shook it off and stood.

“Wait,” Eris said. Valda turned back to face him.

He stood and rushed out of the bedroom door, heading towards his study–old study. He came out a few moments later with a paper with the Autumn Court’s symbol stamped in messy wax. “Give this to Nova. You don’t have to even say anything. Just give it to her and walk away.”

Valda chuckled, running a nail by the wax. “Do I want to know how messy the handwriting is in this?”

“Most definitely not,” Eris chuckled. “And you can stay in my new room if you’d like. Or here. But you’re not sleeping in the servant’s bedrooms anymore.”

Valda smiled faintly. “I think this room is pretty nice,” she answered.

“All yours then,” Eris said with a warm smile.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

@bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @mali22, @sassybluebird, @bubybubsters,

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Skin & Scale (Part 4)

An old man punches a woman in the face. Her brother slugs him back. The apple that they had been bickering over bounces to the floor and rolls to the feet of a street child. A whole swarm of them flock to it and become a tangle of limbs and cussing. Caldara City is in disarray and the burning retribution hasn’t even begun.

Azula massages her temples. “This is why you should have let me do the talking, Zuzu!” She drums her fingers upon the table. “The whole city is in a state of panic because you don’t know how to choose your words.”

“I–”

“The dragons won’t even have to lift a claw at this rate. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Look, I’ve never handled a situation like this. The Fire Nation has always been…”

“Untouchable?” Azula quirks a brow. “So was Ba Sing Se, but it got breeched. An admirable job if I must say.”

“Admirable…” Sokka grumbles folding his arms across his chest. 

“I’m am pleased to know that you agree.” Azula smiles. 

“I was being sarcastic.” 

“Noted and promptly disregarded.” Azula shrugs. She turns her attention back to Zuko. “Luckily for you, you have someone who knows the right words to choose and the correct order to put them in.” 

“If you want to try addressing them, be my guest. They won’t listen to reason!” 

“Because ‘reason’ has been delivered with a shaky voice and an uncertain tone of voice. You need to be firm and decisive but with a careful measure of sympathy and understanding. They’re afraid, which is a useful tool in some instances but not this one.” 

“So you offering a demonstration?” Toph leans back in her chair. 

“Indeed, I am. So pay attention, Zuzu. You’ll want to learn this for next time.” 

“Next time!?”

“There will be a next time. You didn’t think that being Fire Lord would be an easy thing, did you?” Zuko opens his mouth to respond but Azula continues. “Did you know that most Fire Lords die in their late 40’s. There are a few exceptions, of course, but a lot of them…” She pauses. “Stress tends to do that.” She suspects that she probably won’t make it past 39. 

Given her body’s refusal to bloom, she might not make it to her twenties but for an entirely different, less literal reason. 

“Call a meeting with the general public and I will reassure them that they have nothing to worry about.”

“But they do have something to worry about.” Sokka counters. “You said it yourself, we need to prepare ourselves for a dragon related doom.” 

“Yes, but they don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah, I guess that panic doesn’t really help.” He mutters. 

“Avatar, you will make the speech with me. My words will be enough, but it would add an extra layer of comfort to have the Avatar emphasize as much.” She stops her pacing to stand directly in front of him. “If you can stomach a fib.”

“I’ve like before.” He confesses. “Asks Katara, it was a whole thing. I don’t mind lying for the greater good as long as we tell the truth in the end.”

“I have more important things to attend but you can feel free to tell the truth after we sort our dragon problems out.”

Katara bristles at this. “Since when are we letting her run things?”

“Since Zuzu lost control.” 

Admittedly it kind of stings to still be treated like the enemy even when she is trying to help. Perhaps it is the price of her disposition. 

“It’s fine.” Zuko mutters. “She can have this one.”

She is almost certain that she will have more than just one. Zuzu doesn’t have the personality type to do some of the things that it takes. At least this time the thing is a simple public speech. At least this time she won’t have to get her hands dirty. 

Sometimes she gets tired of doing the hard and gritty work. 

Maybe one day she will say no, tell them to handle their own problems. 

But, then, some of their problems are entertaining. She supposes that they can’t use her if she doesn’t mind the tasks. She supposes that she does volunteer to do a good majority of it. She just wonders how they would react if she stopped being so helpful.

.oOo.

“I think that we did good today.” Aang smiles. “Lychee juice?”

Azula considers before taking the cup. “It wasn’t terribly hard, Avatar. Fire Nationals are rationally driven people…most of the time. Sometimes they just need a stern reminder to get it together. A touch of intimidation will do the trick.” She shrugs.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Sokka shrugs.

“Do what?” 

“The whole intimidation thing. Not with us anyways. We know the truth.” 

“The truth.” Azula furrows her brows. 

“You’re actually kind of a nice person.”

Azula sniffs and takes a drink. “Hardly.”

“Let her keep her walls up, Sokka.” Toph puffs a strand of hair out of her face. “She’ll get tired of it eventually.”

“You didn’t.” Katara quirks a brow. 

“I did so!” Toph declares. “Sort of…”

Azula rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what I did to give you any indication that I care about any of you. I just want to ensure that I get to be Fire Lord every now and again.”

“That’s why you always join us for dinner?” Sokka points out. 

“I don’t know if you are aware, but having meals is a basic human need and it would be quite inconvenient to have to rush through my meals before you get here or wait until afterwards.”

“If you say so.” Sokka helps himself to a dinner platter. 

“You work pretty well with Aang.” Zuko points out. 

“Aang annoys me the least.” She glances over at him as he silently picks away at his cabbage stew. “He knows when to keep quiet and not push matters. All of you are dull minded and deplorable and…”

“That’s why you can’t get enough of us and enjoy helping us so much?” Sokka slings an arm over her shoulder. 

She rolls her eyes. “I help you all because I need something to do. It is that simple. And in this case I am rather fond of not getting clawed apart by a vengeful dragon or two. We have a common enemy.”

“If you didn’t like me, I would be on fire right now.” He taps his fingers against her arm. 

“That’s a splendid idea.”

“But I had to suggest it first.” He quirks a brow. 

“You’re very smug right now, Sokka.”

“Smug and still not on fire. Admit it, you’re warming up to us.” 

From across the table, Toph snickers. Toph and Zuko both. Her cheeks warm ever so delicately. “How many sticks of jerky will it take to keep you from talking?”

“How many do you have?”

Azula shoves the whole platter of some thirty jerky sticks at him. His eyes light up. “You can’t say that you hate me and then give me thirty jerky sticks! That’s just contradictory!” 

She clears her throat. “We’ve wasted enough time, having to deal with mild hysteria. Tomorrow we should set out to look for signs of dragon habitation on the off chance that it is still alive. And I would like to emphasize just how minimal that chance of finding signs of life are…”

“You can’t just change the subject like that!” Sokka protests through a mouthful of jerky, just distinguishable enough for her to understand and just indistinguishable for her to pretend to not have.

“Even so, I suppose that the smallest leads are worth looking into just to tie off any loose ends. There are several caves and volcanoes worth looking into. They are all located on the more remote Fire Islands. With the bison they are only a day’s trip away each, two days at worst.”

“And if we can’t find any signs of dragon life, then what?” Katara asks. 

“We can just hand Azula over to them. Close enough right?” Sokka chuckles. 

She folds her arms across her chest. “Hilarious.”

[hannukahmatata]

I feel like geeky turn on would work pretty well with luminous & ock 🤣🤣

So there definitely needs to be a third section to this, but I wanted to post what I had and come back to it later because I’m visiting my sister out of town and I cannot guarantee how much more writing I’ll do right this minute. Watch this space.

In the meantime, enjoy!

——

“You should really switch to wool, you know.”

“What?” It was a reasonable response; Luminous and the Doctor were standing some five feet from each other, both catching their breath from a failed spar, when she’d spoken up unprompted. It didn’t matter at all, but it had been really bugging her.

“Your sweater.” She gestured to the garment in question - a stray blast from his latest attempt at firing the generator thing had struck him head-on, and now there was a smoldering hole right along the left side of his front, protected only by the leather of his trench coat. “The way it’s pilling at the edges of the hole there? Not good. Wool’s better.”

“What are you talking about?” She expected him to strike at her with one of the actuators (finally learned the word for those), but instead he looked at his sweater and ran a startlingly large hand over the hole. “I fail to see why that matters.” The pilling crumbled under his fingertips, ugly and cheap. She frowned behind her mask.

“You’re a scientist, aren’t you? You should know material’s important. Whatever synthetic wool you’re wearing now is at least a third plastic - it’s super bad for the environment when you wash that stuff, and it’s, like, falling apart under your hand.” Why was she still talking about this? To keep him from losing his shit about the machine being down again? “Real wool is super flame-retardant,” oh, she was gonna keep going, cool, “you basically have to hold it right over a fire the entire time to make it burn, it can’t really retain it on its own. Better for… not setting yourself on fire, or like, inhaling plastic fumes. … because that’s plastic.”

He was being uncomfortably silent the entire time, and when the doctor looked up - goggles down - a single, ridiculously bushy eyebrow raised at her. Good lord, they were thick enough to rival hers.

A chunk of the reactor fell down some six feet from them. Luminous tensed, ready for anger, but it didn’t come. He was still just… looking at her.

“… I’ll keep it in mind,” Doc Ock said, and looked like he was gearing to add something else when red flashed through the ceiling above them. The actuators roared to life at the sight of Spider-Man, and Luminous straightened up, sighing. Well, it was weird while it lasted.

——-

“I’d like to hear more about that plastic you mentioned.”

“What?” For once Luminous was getting somewhere, if standing on and dancing between two actuators could count as that; it seemed today was all about the Goblin who was going head-to-head with Spidey, and the good doctor was merely along for the ride, perhaps to reap some undetermined prize for himself. Spidey had pointed Luminous in his direction (“dude, stop pairing me off with him, he’s exhausting!”) and now she was mostly just trying to keep him preoccupied.

Guess she was doing a better job than she thought.

“The plastics in that sweater. You mentioned something about the environment.” Swing! She jumped down from one actuator to another as a third tried to grab her; still not close enough for a punch, but she was getting better at dodging. It rippled beneath her feet, but she kept aloft. “I was curious as to why, seeing as I’m not one to just throw sweaters into the ocean.” Was this bait? There was no way he didn’t know this - wasn’t he some Nobel Prize-nominated science hotshot, once upon a time?

Another dodge and she was on the ground, shields up while looking for another way in and ignoring just how up he was compared to her.

Good lord, she’d never get used to his six-foot-fuck-off figure. Even if he had traded the cheap, burnt sweater for a much nicer black one, one that fit better as well-

You know what, maybe she did need distracting.

“You don’t have to,” she said, taking two steps back as he approached, then warping behind and slightly to the left of him. One actuator had been ready for her, and she dodged it barely in time before the other three were on the defense. He hadn’t turned around, head turned, one curious eye visible behind dark lenses. “It breaks apart in the washing machine. They’re super hard to filter out of the water, even with the really good systems, so it’s safer to just go for natural fibers. Stuff like cotton, linen, wool, silk. Those fibers are way easier to clean up and don’t fall apart so easily.”

“I see.” He turned all the way, then, and she took her opening to lunge at him. An actuator caught her in the back, and Doctor Octavius lifted Luminous up to face level, where she dangled like a captured kitten. He smiled at her, and god it was frustrating that she couldn’t see his eyes, and lifted a hand…

To tap her on the nose. She tried to swing at him, but the actuator pulled back, and flexing her back muscles did little to dissuade it from its hold on her. The doctor clicked his tongue at her in teasing disapproval, the smile never leaving his face.

“You know quite a bit about textiles.”

“Everybody needs a hobby.” Or a career, but if it were up to her he’d never even suspect there was anything behind the mask. In the moment, however, the doctor seemed to ponder her answer. The actuator holding her pulled back from him, and for a second she thought he might even put her down…

… until she was tossed quite unceremoniously into the air.

Fuck this guy, actually.

[just-jess-78]

I am so completely overwhelmed. I haven’t had as much just stuff going on all at once…ever. That I can remember.

Today I went to grab a jacket off the back of my bedroom door saw the holes punched in it and I can’t explain the feeling I had.

Then I got a call to go interview for a job I applied for and it was a guy on the phone and I instantly shut the fuuuuck down. It’s so fucking weird. I talk to guys that I’m friends with, I’m around men in small doses and controlled settings but the idea of having to work with guys FEELS like it’s too much. I can’t even take my car to get the oil changed because when I’m the only girl in that kind of setting, I make it through but it takes days to recover and I wish that was a joke. I wish it didn’t sound completely fucking nuts too. I wish I didn’t have to FUCKING feel that way.

Then, I had to go in to a new-ish job for a little while today and this fucking creeper named Robert fucking locked in and literally followed me around so much that they had to tell him (jokingly but seriously) to stop. Oh no. He did not. I don’t even know if it was a thing, thing or if he’s just like that. Or if it’s me?!? Am I too fucking friendly?? I can fucking promise you I didn’t give Richard (whatever) any kind of indication that eeeek no. He’s probably young enough to be my kid. If I had ugly ass annoying kids. You know the one person that drives everyone crazy. That’s him. You can avoid him all you want and then BAM there he is. Fuckin Richert.

Then, on top of all the clusterfuckery a girl I work with and I were talking the other day about going to hand out blankets since it’s so cold out. Yada yada yada. I’m only saying that to say that…I’ve never talked about my life before I got clean to these friends. I don’t ever talk about it. Not necessarily out of shame but just because it was 546 years ago so it doesn’t come up. Well, the blankets thing turned into a big thing and now it’s an EVEN BIGGER thing. I’m so fucking glad and I’m so beyond excited about it. We have started making plans to hopefully turn it into something bigger. The only thing is, none of the other people doing it have ever been on drugs and certainly not homeless and sometimes they say things that absolutely cut me to the core and I know they don’t know that but it’s just a reminder of how even people that want to help are so fucking clueless. I don’t even think anyone is on here or reads this but just know that I know that they have good hearts and I know they’re doing it for the right reasons but they don’t get it. They all teased me because I hugged so many of them and when I tried to explain that it’s because nobody else will even look them in the eyes, it never registered.

I asked at each camp if clean needles would help. Duh. Of course they all said yes. They wouldn’t talk to the other girls about any of it so I’m relaying all if it later and there were two girls that instantly said “no that’s not what we’re doing” okay …but I thought you were “doing the lords work” why the fuck bother to keep them warm when they’ll die if they don’t shoot up or spread more disease around when they do because they will. Hello. Idk but it makes it hard not to take it personal because they have no idea. One girl even tried going live or did and I almost flipped my shit. I explained how some have warrants or running from someone. Not to mention it’s the tackiest fucking thing you can do in my opinion. “Watch me help everyone” get the fuck out of here. And when I told her that she said “oh bullshit nobody’s gonna come get them” I know I sound like a total bitch and I am being bitchy it’s just that every time they say something shitty I take it personal because I’ve been there. Those are my people. It hurts my feelings and makes me feel all that shame again which is so dumb because it’s been so long that it doesn’t feel like it was my life. But it was and it could just as easily still be. I’m just lucky. I’m also about to fall asleep typing.

It’s crazy how we think we know people but we have no clue. Today when I went to my second job the girls all said that when I started they all thought I was going to be snobby and made references to where I live and that I gave off oil and gas money vibes. Which is crazy because the oil and gas money vibes thing is spot on (not for long lol) but I wonder what they’d think if they knew where I’ve been. I already know what they’d think. They would only see that part from there on out. The only people I’m open about that part of my life with are people that are where I’ve been. Because those people only see this part. That’s the beautiful thing about broken people.

Swear to God until the last two days I’ve been on cloud nine. I think I’m just overwhelmed and have way too much going on. Tomorrow none of this will probably matter. Maybe it’s my period? Fuuuck.

Maybe it’s just a lot of big changes and old trauma and I should give myself and my mind a break. Maybe I need to treat myself the way I treat the people I see myself in the most because those are my people.