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spiritedstars · 1 month ago

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Spirit Meets the Bones XXXIX

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: physical abuse/triggering language. Author’s Note: In case you missed it, I commissioned an art of Iris here! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!!!

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my cheerleader <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @gwynberdara / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch / @moonfawnx

Find it all here.

Iris’s knees buckled beneath her the moment her feet touched the ground; Lucien’s grip on her arm was the only reason she hadn’t fallen face first.

She sank to her knees, Lucien with her. He was speaking but his voice sounded like a faint murmur over the buzzing in her brain as she tried to focus on breathing. Pain laced every inch of her body, her hands shaking, and it felt like her head was going to explode.

Chaos reigned in the infirmary. The sound of rushed footsteps, grunts of pain, and commands rang through the room, but all Iris heard was Eris’s cry as he ran toward his father.

His blood duel declaration.

She was going to vomit.

“Princess!” Nevien’s voice rang through and Iris’s head turned to find the Head Healer running towards her. “Oh gods, your injuries. What is going on?”

But Iris couldn’t answer, her breaths were coming in shorter, and she knew panic had set it. “Bowl.” was the only word she could manage.

“Bowl?” Lucien repeated but Nevien’s eyes widened and she waved her hand for a bowl to zip across the room, quickly placing it in front of Iris just in time for her to lean over and empty her stomach.

The lashings. The beatings. The pain. All the anxiety that had followed caught up to her at that exact moment and her shoulders shook as she heaved once more.

This was it. Eris was finally fighting his father. He was either going to kill the High Lord or be killed. If he was lucky.

Iris emptied her stomach again.

“She’s running on fumes,” she heard Lucien explaining quickly. “She’s taken lashes and a beating and though it’s been healed somewhat, she’s lost some blood. Eris challenged the High Lord to a blood duel which has resulted in the mayhem that’s taken over the Forest House.”

Nevien gasped as Iris forced herself to take slow breaths, Lucien’s hand steady on her back as she gingerly sat up.

“He finally did it.” the Head Healer whispered.

“You knew?” Iris rasped and Neiven quickly handed her a glass of water.

“Of course. It’s about damn time,” she said and then scanned Iris quickly, running a hand over her. “We need to patch you up now. You’ll have to rest for a while but if we make quick work of it, the marks shouldn’t have time to scar.”

“There’s no time to rest.” Iris grunted as she shakily tried to stand, Lucien reaching out to help her up. “We need to get back to Eris.”

“You need to stay away from there. Eris specifically wanted you out. You’ll only be an easy target if you go back.” Lucien said gently and Iris’s eyes narrowed.

“My husband and mate just declared a blood duel against his father. I may not be a warrior but I will not stand by and wait to see what happens. I want to be there and I need everyone to stop telling me to leave him.”

“Iris –”

“Lucien.” she started and swallowed hard, gritting her teeth at the pain as she straightened away from him, one hand holding onto the healing table to her side, fighting the shaking in her legs. “I will not cower and I will not hide. He will win and I intend to be there when he does.”

“I understand,” he started and Iris bristled at the placating tone. “I do, but he wanted you away from the fight because he knows how bad it could get. You need to stay here.”

“Like hell, I will.” she snarled and Lucien’s nostril flared.

“Iris. You need –”

“What I need is to know what is happening to my husband!” Iris trembled. “I can’t stay here and wonder when I could help.”

“You’ll help by staying away – which is what he asked of you.”

“Lucien.” Iris snapped, her entire body shaking. She needed him to understand, she needed him to get it. “I can feel every single thing he’s feeling right now. I can sense him and his hurt and rage. You can try to lock me in here. You can try to tie me down but I will get back to him. No matter who is in my way.”

Lucien’s mouth tightened into a thin line as they watched each other. She would be with Eris and her family, come hell or high waters. Whatever will happen, she will be there with him for it.

It took Lucien a moment to speak, his words gentle, “It may not end well.”

“So be it but nothing will stop me from getting back to him.” Iris snapped, the words harsher than she intended. She took a breath, steadying herself as she forced her trembling legs to stand on their own. “I left him once already this night and all it did was escalate things. If I stay behind and something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll stand back—I won’t get in his way—but I have to be there.”

Iris’s gaze darted between Neiven’s worried expression and Lucien’s calculating one. She knew Eris would be distracted if he saw her again. She knew he didn’t want to worry about her. But gods damn it, Iris couldn’t let him be alone. He was her mate. And she wanted to fight for him as hard as he was fighting for everyone.

She held up a hand as Lucien opened his mouth. “I am not foolish. I won’t jeopardize anything. I will ensure I can stand on my own two feet before leaving this room. I will be careful.”

A breath of silence passed, and then Lucien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all so stubborn,” he mumbled.

Iris gave him a rueful smile but before she could say more, a voice rang out, “Iris!”

She turned sharply at the call of her name, Lucien stepping closer, but it was only Theo limping his way over with Cosette on his tail. Iris let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re both alright.” she breathed. “Lord Marcus?”

“He’s resting over there,” Theo answered, nodding to his left with a grimace. “I’m glad you made it here. I’m sorry you –”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said shakily then looked at Lucien, gesturing to both of them. “Theo and Cosette. Finn and Emil.”

Lucien lifted a brow, his hand shooting out to balance Iris when she swayed slightly and stared at his brother’s paramours curiously. “So they really have hearts, I see.”

“They buried them very deep,” she said with a tired chuckle and allowed herself to lean back against the table again, glancing at Nevien. “I’d like a tonic to settle my stomach, please. I need to clean these wounds and heal my back as quickly as you are able to. I know we don’t recommend elixirs for a boost but this is a moment where I need it.”

Nevien’s brows furrowed. “Respectfully princess, you and I both know rushing is not the way. I do not recommend you go anywhere.” the Head Healer said firmly. “If I heal it quickly it’ll likely scar. You may experience residual pain if you don’t allow yourself to rest properly.”

“Let it scar. I am no better than my husband.” Iris replied, stubbornly. “Whatever energy you can give me, I’ll take it. I can rest when this is over.”

Nevien’s mouth went into a thin line but before she could object again, Lucien spoke, “Have you seen my mother or Emil?”

“And Oren?” Iris asked quickly.

“Yes.” Nevien answered. “Oren was dropped off not too long ago and Emil and Lady Enya only briefly let me see them before leaving. We’ve been swamped ever since.”

Iris shared a glance with Lucien. The two had to be on their way to the throne room.

“In that case, we need to move quick –” Lucien started as Iris shifted to Nevien when a sudden burst of movement came from the far side of the infirmary.

The door swung open violently, and a young healer’s apprentice stumbled in, panting, eyes wide with fear.

“The blood duel!” she gasped. “Prince Finn and Izak declared it against the High Lord as well. It’s madness!”

Iris felt her stomach drop and she turned to Lucien, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. “We have to go,” she said, turning to the Head Healer. “Nevien, please –”

Without a word, Nevien gathered her supplies. Her hands moved swiftly, gathering the herbs and tonics she needed as a small vial was placed into Iris’s hand. “This will settle your stomach,” she said and her tone sharpened as she continued, “I will do as you asked of me, on the condition that you allow yourself a moment of rest. It will be strong magic you’re taking all at once and I don’t like what it may do. You need to be careful.”

Iris gulped down the bitter liquid, feeling it cool her burning throat. She took a breath then another, feeling herself about to heave before the unease slowly subsided and Iris let out a breath of relief. She wiped her mouth, still shaking slightly but with every breath, she felt more and more at ease, more stable.

Bracing herself against the table, Iris quickly slid her arms out of her dress and held it against her chest, exposing the injuries on her back. She had made herself go numb, forgetting about the searing pain of it all until this moment where a sting accompanied every movement. She glanced behind her to find Lucien and Theo turned away and Nevien preparing herself.

“Let me fight with you,” Theo said. “I want to help.”

“You most certainly will not!” Nevien said. “You want to help, you can stay and help me.”

Iris shot him a remorseful look but agreed with the Head Healer; he was barely standing as is. “You and Cosette will be safer and more helpful here. Please.” she said then glanced around the room and swallowed hard, adding, “Could someone please bring me something more comfortable to wear? I – I can’t stay in this dress.” Cosette gave her a quick nod and moved to do as she requested, a look of understanding in her eyes.

Her beautiful custom-made gown was ruined. The dress Eris had so thoughtfully made for her. For her first ball with her husband. In tatters.

Another reason to get back down there. Maybe she could find her father and repay him for ruining it.

“Are you ready?” the Head Healer asked gently and Iris glanced back to give her a nod. “This is going to hurt.”

“I’m sure I’ve already dealt with worse,” she muttered, bracing herself as Nevien only gave her a look of warning before bringing her hands near Iris’s back and began tending to her wounds quickly. Her hands glowed faintly as she worked over Iris’s torn skin, and Iris let out a small hiss as the Head Healer’s magic touched her wounds. A gasp quickly followed as the pain seemed to hit her all at once and Iris let out a cry.

“Nevien –” Iris groaned.

“I’m sorry, princess,” Nevien said as her hands continued. “I know this is painful but please bear it. It’s the only way I can heal you as quickly as you’d like.”

And so Iris gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the table's edge as she tried not to make a noise. Eris had certainly dealt with worse. Iris could handle this. She could. She would. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could be helpful.

But as Nevien’s magic touched a particularly raw spot – one the whip had hit repeatedly, Iris felt her vision blur.

Healing magic should always soothe, like a cool balm—a touch of relief and a breath of fresh air. But when rushed, when it was healing a deep wound, it seared like hot iron on the skin—violent. It burned in a way it shouldn’t, but Iris refused to make a sound.

Compared to the inferno of the battle below, compared to the agony Eris had endured, she would not let this hold her back.

“Almost –” the Head Healer said. “I’m almost through.”

Before Iris could reply, her eyelids fluttered and the world began to go dark for a second time that night. She slumped against the table but Iris’s grip tightened. She would not faint.

“Lucien.” she gritted out. “Go. I will f-follow.”

“Iris –”

“Nevien, a moment.” Iris requested tightly and the Head Healer paused. She took several breaths, blinking rapidly as the string of Nevien’s magic ran through her wounds before she took the chance to glance over her shoulder to find Lucien’s tense expression. “I will finish this and bring any willing healers with me to help those I can. I’ll stay out of the way.” She repeated, then swallowed and slowly straightened, careful of her dress. “This has to end tonight and he needs his brothers. Help how you can. Go.”

Lucien watched her in silence for a moment but Iris saw the understanding in his gaze. A flare of warmth from her husband’s brother who was now her brother — her family in all the ways it mattered.

Lucien finally nodded. “Be careful,” he said. “Dress in a way that won’t make you an easy find.”

“I will.”

But her brother-in-law gave her a pointed look, holding a finger up. “Out of the way. Careful.”

Iris nodded, watching him leave, her heart already in her throat before glancing back at Nevien and nodding. She braced herself against the table once more and took a deep, uncomfortable breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

Eris blinked, the sound of chaos around him muffled by the pounding of his own heart. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the blood trickling from his temple only made his vision blur more. His left leg trembled beneath him, threatening to give out at any second. His right hand felt numb, as if the bone had been ground into dust.

But he didn’t let himself collapse. He couldn’t.

Because despite the fighting taking place and despite the hits his father had taken, Eris still felt Beron’s towering form looming over him, intent on wiping him out. All his childhood horrors and nightmares, still standing before him.

Eris had fought in wars and by far, this fight with his father was deadlier than all of them combined.

And Beron may not be what he once was—the invincible father whose fist had crushed everything in his path—but even with his chest heaving, his ragged breaths, the High Lord of the Autumn Court radiated dangerous power.

The ballroom around them no longer glittered – it had started to crumble and now smelled of smoke, blood, and searing, wild magic. His firehounds were still circling, their snarls echoing off the walls as they attacked those around them– but with most of Eris’s strength spent, the hounds were growing sluggish, their forms flickering in and out of existence.

Finn and Izak moved in and out of his periphery, fighting off his father’s soldiers while trying to land hits on the High Lord and Eris could sense their struggle. They were barely hanging on better than him.

All their planning, all their years of waiting, it was coming down to this. As each moment passed, their father’s magic and sword lashed out at his sons, and Eris felt their desperation as intensely as his own.

And still, they fought as Eris circled his father, forcing the High Lord’s attention back on his eldest son.

The High Lord followed his movement, spitting blood at his feet, his blade held tightly. “Still don’t want to give up, boy? You’re barely standing.” he spat, his voice thick with venom, his lips curled in a nasty sneer.

Eris felt his pulse thudding in his ears, but his gaze never wavered from his father. “You say that but ever since Finn’s blade sank into your gut, you’ve struggled to focus, Father.” Eris taunted, the corner of his mouth lifting. “A little knife play never hurt anyone but evidently, you seem too soft for it.”

His eyes flicked to the wound at Beron’s side—where Finn’s blade had landed earlier—but the High Lord still held his ground. Even with Lucien’s earlier stab, blood still seeping from both wounds, from the corner of Beron’s mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He was still dangerous. Still deadly.

And Beron’s expression darkened at Eris's words.

“Soft, you say?” The High Lord said threateningly.

Eris’s mouth curled into his signature smirk, fighting the tremors in his body as he replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. I meant to say, weak.”

A heartbeat of silence.

And without warning, the High Lord lunged.

Eris barely had time to react. The muscles in his legs screamed as he shifted to the side, his blade coming up just in time to catch Beron’s attack but the force of the blades clashing vibrated through his body, his arm threatening to buckle under the pressure. He staggered back, the ground beneath his feet unstable as he twisted, trying to regain his balance. His fingers were going numb, magic fraying at the edges as it blocked his father’s attacks.

But Beron didn’t stop. The High Lord grinned and Eris snarled viciously as Beron’s blade sliced the air again, this time aiming for Eris’s throat.

Eris didn’t flinch. He wouldn’t flinch.

He swept his blade up, blocking the blow, and Eris let his magic flare through him. Every inch of him was ablaze, roaring as he poured his fire into his blade and twisted it towards his father again.

Beron’s blade met his to block the hit but Eris used the momentum to send out his magic again, even as the effort of it was starting to hurt, even as it sent a ripple of pain through his battered body. He gasped, his vision dimming for a moment, but he forced it away, pushing through the agony.

He couldn’t stop. Not now, as magic and steel clashed together.

“We’ll see how weak I’ll be when I drag your wife back here to watch me beat you to a pulp and then rip your head off.” Beron snarled, stepping closer, his words a guttural growl, and Eris’s vision went red. “How enticing her screams will be.”

Eris’s lip curled, breathing hard, each inhale a battle in itself. But he didn’t care. As long as this fucker stood here, nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered when Beron could still walk away and touch the people he loved most. “Your talk is cheap, Father. Just like your last moments will be.”

His words were barely out when Beron surged forward again, so fast but this time, Eris was ready. He was ready to return the blow as the High Lord’s blade drove toward his chest, but—

His smokehounds.

A howl erupted from the shadows, a deep, terrifying sound that cut through the madness — like a crack of thunder in the charged atmosphere and Eris knew he had cultivated their reputation well when the scent of fear intensified across the room.

His beloved hounds had come for him.

They surged forward, swarming Beron’s legs like a pack of ravenous wolves. Their claws scraped against the once gleaming floors now marred with bodies and blood, a warning to their movements as they attacked, nothing more than a blur of shadow and snarls.

Beron roared in fury and then to Eris’s delight, pain, slashing at the black shapes with his blade. But they were relentless, swarming around him, biting at his hands, his legs, trying for his throat.

Eris had trained them well – knowing that his father would lash out with his magic and his hounds would know when and how to dodge.

He didn’t hesitate to lunge forward, wildfire in his eyes as his magic surged through him again —

But Beron’s magic flared and with a snarl, he spat, “Wrong move.”

Eris’s magic met his father’s but a pained whine distracted him. He blinked as his magic strained to fight against his father’s and found that Beron had Lyra by her collar.

His heart stuttered. Not Lyra.

“I can’t believe you’re hesitating for a creature as worthless as a dog.” Beron snapped, his grip tightening on the hound’s throat and Eris watched as his pet struggled, kicking her legs and trying to bite his father.

“You’ve never known love a moment in your life.” Eris snarled. “How would you understand what it means to care about anyone?”

The High Lord gave a nasty laugh, his magic holding the other hounds at a distance as they snarled and attempted to break through the barrier he had up. “You’d lose to me over your pet? You’d let yourself get killed over an animal?”

“I won’t be losing to you.” Eris snarled and moved closer, watching his father’s grip on Lyra’s throat. “Stop using a shield and fight me.”

“Oh, I will kill you.” Beron promised with nothing but violence in his eyes. “I will kill you slowly. Painfully. I will make you pay for every moment you have embarrassed me and –”

A surge of heat tore between them, forcing them both to back away as his mother’s voice called out, “You won’t touch another hair on my son’s head.”

Eris watched as his father halted, his expression morphing into disbelief then fury. They both turned to find his mother, as radiant as a bright sunset, with flames encompassing every inch of her body.

She was glowing, heat emitting from her body and Eris couldn’t remember a time when her magic had flared this strongly. Pride spread through his chest and as Emil took a step forward to stand beside their mother, Eris felt the shift in the room instantly.

Finn and Izak had come to stand a few feet beside him. They surrounded his father.

“You.” the High Lord snarled and threw Lyra to the side as he turned to his wife, ignoring the snarl of his head hound who moved immediately to stand guard in front of Eris. Beron ignored his sons, his eyes only for the wife who hated him, who had barely tolerated him.

The wife who had patiently waited for this moment.

Who had suffered for her freedom.

“Me.” she spat and it was the harshest his mother had ever sounded.

Eris watched as his father’s grip tightened on his blade, his chest heaving with nothing but hate in his expression.

“And here I thought, I finally got rid of you.” Beron hissed.

“I let you snuff me out long enough.” Lady Enya seethed, straightening. “And if you think I will let you hurt my sons any further, you are gravely mistaken.”

For a moment, Beron let it be silent as his gaze flickered from his wife to each of his sons, seemingly realizing that they were all in agreement.

The High Lord’s jaw clenched and he slowly rolled his shoulders back, his eyes back on his wife. “And what exactly are you planning to do about it, Enya?”

Lady Enya unsheathed a blade, and without taking her eyes off the male she hated most, she ran a hand down the length of it, her fire coating the blade. Enya sliced her palm, gripping the blade until the scent of fresh blood filled the air. The tension in the room tightened as she raised the blade in front of her and slashed the air twice, two lines of fire appearing in the air before her.

“Something I should’ve been brave enough to do long ago,” she said. “To give you a small taste of your own medicine.”

And Eris finally allowed himself a wild grin as Emil followed his mother’s movements and magic crackled in the hall, shaking the walls as the sanctity of the blood duel sharpened.

Never in the history of the Autumn Court had a blood duel been enacted by five people at once. Never, had the hatred of one person inspired such a response, and as he and each of his brothers raised their blades, his mother took a step forward, her magic a beacon, their north star, guiding them to the finish line.

“I see.” Beron only said, eyeing each of them, and Eris saw the small crack in his expression. The tightening of his jaw, the slight frown as he watched his family circle him. Eris could almost – almost, feel sorry for him had all of this not been his own choice.

“Your dishonor is coming to an end,” Eris said and Beron’s eyes flickered to his eldest. “Any last words, father?”

The High Lord glanced at his family once more, standing around him, each of them a wall of flame, swords brandished. They were battered and bruised but they were united against him.

He, the odd male out. He, however the outcome, would lose everything tonight.

“I say, give me your all,” Beron said as he straightened, meeting each of their gazes. “Because if I remain alive, none of you will survive what is left of me.”

There was a beat of silence, and Eris allowed himself one moment to mourn what was to come. Tightening his grip on his sword, he said, “So be it.”

And together, the brothers and their north star moved as one.

Iris carefully crept back towards the ballroom. A few healers had braved the journey down and together, they had scattered to help those injured in their way. Despite the slight sting she felt from her injuries, Iris directed as quickly and as efficiently as she could. Nevien had patched her up well but gods, did it sting; the bruising on her face was still tender. The lashings on her back had barely healed.

As the healers worked, Iris gestured to them that she would continue down the hall, knowing that whoever could, would follow her and help those in need.

And there were so many who needed help. The casualties in this fight were more than expected.

Her heart hammered in her chest with each step closer, eyeing the different people the healers were already assisting and as she reached the door to the ballroom, she paused, almost terrified to walk in.

Iris could still hear the fighting. The clashing of the swords. The roars of battle.

And amidst all the chaos, she hadn’t seen her father and that worried her more than anything. Where had that piece of shit gone?

Carefully, she looked into the ballroom and sucked in a breath.

It was in ruins.

Her eyes found her love and she felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight.

There were so many cuts on him. So much blood.

Iris felt her chest tighten and made herself take a breath, then another, not taking her eyes off them. She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Eris was fighting but he wasn’t fighting alone; fire and magic swept between the Vanserra brothers and their mother; even the smokehounds fought, their growls and howls mixing with the chaos. They were all aimed at the High Lord but Beron hadn’t held on to being High Lord for this long to go down so easily. He was a beast and this type of beast could not be tamed.

Forcing herself to swallow hard, her gaze flickered around the room to assess what else was going on and she zeroed in on that fucken flogged pole, anger and a lick of fear crept through her other emotions and she glanced away, looking for Lucien. Where had he gone? He was meant to help, wasn’t he? Where –

A hand touched her shoulder and Iris whirled, fists raised but –

“It’s only me,” Lucien said with a small smile. “I’ve been shutting down the other fights and staying out of the way until the right moment.” He held up a knife. “I believe this is yours.”

Iris blinked at him in surprise, her hand reaching out to slowly close around the handle of her dagger. “You work so quickly,” she said. “You should visit more often.”

Lucien snorted, his eyes back on the fights in front of him. “If they gut him and we’re done with all this, Elain and I will demand a suite of our own.”

Iris managed a small, tight smile. “If they finish this today, you and Elain can have whatever you want.”

A grunt drew both of their attention back to the fight and Iris recoiled slightly when she saw Izak sink to his knees. Beron’s magic had reached out, driving his sword not once but twice into his son’s side and Lucien swore.

“I’m –”

“Go.” Iris urged him and watched in horror as Lucien rushed forward and pulled Izak out of the way of another attack.

Iris fought her instincts. She could help heal him. She could heal him and he’d still be able to fight – another breath shuddered out of her when Beron’s magic wrapped around Finn’s throat and then threw him across the room with all his might. The sound of his body crashing into the dias echoed through the room and Iris felt ready to vomit.

But the High Lord continued, his magic attacking as quickly as his sword did, fighting the remaining three. Lucien had reached Izak, pushing him away and shielding them both with fire to fend off another attack.

Lucien met her eye and nodded to Izak who was trying to use his sword to stand and Iris hesitated no longer. She made to rush forward, tightening her grip on her dagger and –

“I don’t think so.”

An iron grip latched onto her arm and she was forced away from the scene, and slammed into the wall behind her with a groan. And gods fucken damn it, did it make her healing wounds flare.

Of course. Of course, her fucken father found her.

“I’m not letting you get in the way and play your little tricks to fix them. They will go down as the High Lord intended.” Aron hissed and as Iris glared at him, she was at least satisfied to see how badly hurt he was.

But then she blinked and looked at him again. He was truly in bad shape. Disheveled, peppered with bruises, and breathing heavily.

Gods, she hated him. He was no family of hers and yet stood in the way of her helping the chosen family she now had. She would allow it no more.

“Father.” she said in an even tone and he sneered at her as she slowly stood, a hand still gripping her dagger, the other balancing her against the wall.

“Don’t you try anything –”

“You know this is a losing fight.” Iris breathed. “None of them will stop while he’s still standing.”

Aron growled, grabbing her by the front of her dress. “You’re like a parasite I can’t get rid of. I thought the lashings would’ve taken you out and yet somehow you wormed your way down here.” he snarled and Iris glared at him.

“Takes a parasite to know one, father.” she sneered and tried to pull out of his grip. “I can’t wait until that piece of shit is taken down so you’ll go down with him and I’ll finally be rid of you.”

“Oh, is that what you think? You think I’ll allow him to lose when I stand to gain so much?” he said. “I will kill them all myself if I have to. Stay — out — of — the — way.”

Aron shoved her back hard and Iris slammed shoulder-first into the wall and fought back a hiss as her father turned from her.

She made a split-second decision as she watched him scan the room.

In the next breath, Iris had buried her blade in the back of his left leg. Her father let out a gasp of pain and whirled at her in shock as she pulled it out quickly.

But Iris didn’t hesitate, she buried it again in his right thigh and twisted. Her father howled as he let out a roar of pain and stumbled, sinking to his knees before her and Iris felt her whole body in overdrive as she yanked the blade out again and then sank it into the right side of his clavicle, digging it into his flesh as he yelped.

She had finally done what she’d been dying to do for years.

“I guess you’re right. I will stay out of their way.” she breathed and Iris yanked his head back, her grip tight on the hilt of her dagger. “I will focus on helping you get out of their way instead.”

“You fucken bitch.” he hissed but Iris could tell every other beating, every other injury he had already sustained today had caught up to him. Above all else, the shock of her doing this had incapacitated him.

Iris snorted and pulled him in closer, her foot coming down hard on his hand creeping up to grab her. “You say the nicest things to me.”

But hatred met hatred as father and daughter looked at each other, and Iris thought of everything she’d ever wanted to tell him, every feeling of rage and helplessness he had made her feel. All of the pain, humiliation, all of the hate he had let fester in her heart. “For all of my life, you went out of your way to make me feel small and insignificant for no other reason than your own insecurities and stupidity.” she snarled. “You spent all these years trying to break me down, living at your mercy, and thought that selling me off to Eris would be the thing that I never came back from, and yet, here I am. Standing over you. Overpowering you while you bleed here, now at my mercy.”

Her grip tightened on him as he watched her and her foot dug harder into his hand as he fought back a groan. “I owe you my gratitude for one thing and one thing only.” She pulled her dagger from his chest with a wet sound and a broken gasp slipped from her father’s mouth. Iris sank to meet her father at his eye level and let a small smile bloom on her face. “You thought Eris would carry on your legacy of beating me down but instead, you gave me the greatest gift I could ever hope for. A friend. A partner. You gave me my mate and for that, I can finally find something to thank you for.”

“Your what —”

Her expression hardened and again, with zero hesitation, her dagger pierced his stomach and she buried it as deeply as it would go putting all her repressed hate in the blow and holding.

Her father's expression shuddered as he blinked at her in an almost comical look of disbelief and as Iris stared at him, she tried to find some feeling of remorse – any feeling of regret. Instead, as if her hand had a mind of its own, she found herself twisting the knife deeper into his wound.

“You deserve this and more. You deserve every awful thing coming your way and I will see to it that your death is slow. Painful. I will see to it that you wish for death every day and death will evade you as you suffer.” she whispered to him. “You have haunted me in every moment of my life but no more. Today is the day you and the piece of shit you follow will cease to hold any ground.”

Iris yanked her dagger out with relish and with all the strength she had left, slammed the hilt into the side of his head. And it was as if she was watching it in slow motion as the male that had ruined so many moments of her life, finally fell back with a thud.

She watched his bleeding body slumped on the floor and Iris found herself breathing heavily, her hands starting to shake.

Oh gods.

She’d stabbed her father. Multiple times.

Something she’d only dreamed about doing.

Except now she’d actually done it. She’d actually stabbed her father.

Iris glanced down at her hands now coated with her father’s blood and wondered when the healer in her would forgive her for hurting instead of helping.

Her eyes found his slumped figure again, barely breathing. If she didn’t heal him, he would probably die soon. Her dagger had been tipped in faebane…his own healing magic wouldn’t kick in.

If there was one male that never deserved help, it was her fucken father but still…she wondered if –

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, damn.”

She startled at the wheezed voice close to her and her dagger clattered to the ground. Iris found herself staring at a very, very hurt Izak.

And suddenly, Iris remembered where she was and what was happening.

“Izak, oh gods.” she rushed over but he pointed to her dagger.

“Never be unarmed,” he said tightly, one hand attempting to stop the bleeding in his side, the other clenching his sword.

She grabbed her dagger and then slid over to him as quickly as possible, her hands assessing immediately. Her magic was more spent than she would’ve liked but Iris gave it her all, focusing on where he was losing blood. “Are you feeling lightheaded?”

“This is just a scratch, sister. I’ve had much worse.” Izak grunted and pushed Iris’s head down as he slashed his sword into an enemy aiming for her. “Having a healer in the family is going to be great.”

“I can tell this is going to be lovely for my blood pressure.” she muttered, fighting back a smile as Izak wheezed out a chuckle.

But her eyes returned to where her father lay, bleeding out from her multiple wounds.

She was a healer. Someone who soothed and yet…

“Oy.”

Iris’s attention went back to Izak as he slowly sat up and she pulled her hands away, feeling him more steady. “I did as best as I could. Your own magic should’ve kicked in.”

“Thank you,” he said, then touched her hand as he stood. “Don’t feel any guilt. He was a part of this and had it coming and I can tell you, if my brother wasn’t already obsessed with you, he would’ve proposed on the spot just for that.”

The corner of her mouth lifted and she stood quickly with him. “You’re right. I just –”

“Not to interrupt but it would be nice if you could check on Finn and have a heart-to-heart at a later time when we all aren’t susceptible to death at any moment?” Lucien’s voice called and it was the strain in his tone that had Izak saluting Iris and turning on the spot, rushing back into the fray.

Iris passed Lucien who still fought any of the High Lord’s loyalists trying to assist Beron in his blood duel and she had to dodge multiple attempts coming at her as she rushed to Finn.

She found her brother-in-law struggling to stand, a horrible cut that ran across his face, beneath his left eye to the end of his right jaw. “Don’t move.” she commanded immediately but Finn only glanced at her, balancing himself on his swords.

“Not a choice,” he mumbled and Iris gently pushed him back down so he could sit and ran her hands across the tender bruises on his neck and side of his head.

“You have some bad bruises and I’m worried about a concussion,” Iris explained. “Hold on, please.” She ran her hands as quickly as she could and grimaced when she reached the cut on his face. “I don’t have the ointment with me that’ll help this not scar but if you don’t wait too long, it’ll –”

“I don’t give a fuck about scars. Theo will think it’s hot. Is he –”

“He’s safe, in the infirmary. He’ll be fine.”

“Gods –”

“Focus on you, please,” she said firmly and when color had returned to his face, she nodded. “I did the best I could, you have to be careful.”

Finn stood and shook his head. “Too late for that. Need to kill my father.”

“What about the faebane, Finn? Why hasn’t it worked on him?”

“Gone. Smashed in the fight.” Finn said, panting slightly as he stood and straightened himself. “He knew exactly where –”

“I still have one!” Iris exclaimed and her hand flew to the pocket in her dress to pull out the small vial; she had been stunned to find it still intact when she had changed from her ruined gown to the healer's gown now. “Take it. Use it.”

Finn’s battered face lit up. “I could kiss you right now but then Eris would kill me.” he said and a breathless chuckle slipped out before she could stop it as Finn took it. “A fucken miracle, you are.”

“Be careful!” she called out and Iris watched as he rushed back into the field and stepped back, her eyes finding her husband again. He was a blur of flame, fighting hard and she watched, color leaching from her face as he tried to get the High Lord while trying to protect his mother.

He had just maneuvered his blade, slicing at his father’s shoulder, when his body stiffened and Iris held her breath as his head snapped to her.

The mating bond had been thumping at the back of Eris’s mind since she had left his side earlier, screaming at him to check on his mate. To protect and take care of. Eris had fought against it, going as far as shielding his mind to focus on the one thing that mattered now – taking down his father.

Flame and steel clashed again and again but in all of his miserable existence, no other fight had ever been as necessary – as significant to their lives as this one was.

But Iris.

He didn’t understand why she was back in the room.

Emil shot him a look as Eris felt himself stumble back a step, his eyes locked on her face.

Why the fuck was she back here? Hadn’t Lucien got her out? If his father knew she was here he would —

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when his father’s magic blarred into him, slamming him across the room.

Eris blinked, spots coloring his vision, and wheezed, spitting blood as he slowly, shakily tried to stand. His stupid distraction had cost him and if Eris wanted his father to stay the fuck away from his wife then he had better get up and kill him.

He felt arms wrap around him and it was hands he knew too well – hands he craved.

“Get up – get up.” she begged and Eris hated the shaking in her voice even as her lovely scent enveloped him.

“Why are you –”

“Finn has the last vial of faebane. I gave it to him to get to you.” she quickly said, her hands moving, healing any wounds she found and Eris wanted to kneel over at how she was here and still taking care of him. “Use it and end this, Eris. Finish it.”

The High Lord let out a deep roar and the ground shook as every inch of him was aflame. They both glanced back as the Beron’s fire spread out around them and the impact of it sent Izak, Finn, and Emil back, leaving Lady Enya standing alone in front of him.

“Mother.” Eris breathed and for a moment, he felt like the little boy who had been helpless to stop his father’s abuse. Like he was about to watch her abuse begin all over again.

But no – there would be no more of that. His breaths started to come faster, and it was as though his mate’s presence had been an elixir, reviving his soul. He would end this. He would make this world a safer place for his mother. For his mate. For himself.

Glancing back at his wife once, he allowed himself this one look, and then no distractions. He would focus on the only person he needed to. Because the sooner this was over, the sooner they would all be free.

He caressed her face once as Iris nodded at him, her expression as determined as his own and Eris turned back toward the fight with renewed vigor.

His magic flared up and he felt that familiar wildfire spread across his skin.

The air grew thick with the intensity of the battle as Eris’s magic twisted around him. Iris felt it like a wave of heat, her chest tightening as she watched him, a walking inferno as he put himself in front of his mother and ran in to meet the wrath of his father hit for hit. Her heart pounded as her eyes followed Eris and she staggered back, sinking to the ground to the right of the dias as the High Lord and his eldest moved against each other. As each of the brothers staggered up, bleeding – broken, and still reaching for the High Lord. As Lucien moved across the hall, a blur of steel, soldiers falling as he passed them.

But Eris’s wildfire had gripped his father and she could sense how untamed it had become, the chaotic surge of his power echoed through her chest. She knew it could be felt all across the room as smoke blinded them.

“Get out of my way.” Beron snarled and watched Iris sucked in a breath when Beron’s fire flashed, spreading out of him, sending his sons flying again as he charged at Lady Enya. The Lady of Autumn was still aflame and though she was breathing hard, Iris saw her determined expression as she met her husband’s magic with her own.

“You think you can beat me? You think you and your sons will get the better of me?” he sneered, his magic throwing Eris back again, focusing solely on his wife. “Don’t forget what my fire can do, Enya. Don’t forget how much I can make it hurt and by the gods will I make it hurt when this is over.”

“Go fuck yourself, you bastard.” Enya snarled back. “You’re done. You’re finished and you’ll be forgotten. You’ll go back to being nothing — like the cockroach you were before I married you.” Beron’s eyes flashed and the flare of his magic sent a wave of heat across the room as Enya took a step towards him. “And even if by some mistake you were remembered, they’ll only curse your name and spit on your memory,” she added and spat at his feet. “Exactly as you deserve.”

“You good for nothing bitch.” Beron growled and lept at his wife but his mother roared as she managed to fend off his attack, sending a wave of her magic into his chest, using all the force she had, exactly as Eris had taught her.

And the world seemed to still for a moment as they all watched the High Lord stagger back, a look of surprise on his face.

That step was all Eris needed and with wildfire in his eyes and pouring out of every inch of him, he lifted his sword and finally, finally, had an opening to bury his blade into his father’s back.

A shudder rocked through the room and a deafening silence momentarily surrounded them. The High Lord stood, breathing hard, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he shifted his head to meet his son’s gaze.

“It’s taken five of you and that bastard to get to me and look at you all, scattered worthlessly and bleeding.” Beron breathed, even as his legs shifted shakily. “You think this is enough to stop me?”

Eris only leaned in with a burning hatred in his eyes. “Of course not, High Lord,” he sneered. “I know a wild beast when I see one.” Without breaking his father’s gaze, he held out a hand, calling to his brother. “Finn.”

The sound of the vial Finn threw filled the air and Eris caught it with a look of triumph as the High Lord narrowed his eyes, coughing up blood.

“Have a little taste, father. I have been saving this for you.”

Satisfaction flooded his veins, as his brothers and mother surrounded him, blades high, magic wild, and Eris released his still-buried blade, yanked his father’s head back, and forcibly poured the faebane into the High Lord’s mouth.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar fanfiction #smtb chapters #gfics #previously: lucienarcheron #whispers: 2 more #I have no idea if the tags have been working for the past few chapters but if you haven’t read the ones before 39 go read those first 😂

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slythereen · 1 year ago

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Hello there!

I’m new to f1 and Lestappen.

Is there a Charles and Max master post somewhere with their history? I keep hearing about the social media unfollowing and podium walk off and want all the tea and timelines.

Basically all I know about is the inchident.

Many thanks!

hello and welcome!! my scholarship (read: obsessively reblogging things or bookmarking them thinking i'll actually find them again later) tends to be VERY chaotic, but i know there are definitely compilations out there. i've read some great ones.

nini (@scuderiafemboy) has a LOT of lore content on tumblr and twitter & does a lot of translating of dutch interviews/manages to unearth old interviews all the time. the twitter thread of threads covers 2018 through june 2023! she also compiled some of the database on tumblr here.

@chibrary archives interviews, articles, etc., in glorious fashion. this is charles centric but naturally charles' history intersects with max's so there are some good pieces in there, like this 2015 article on the lestappen rivalry in karting. the #driver:max tag provides a lot of golden content (such as extended lore on the inchident!).

moments™

marginally related, but dani (lecstappens on twitter) once posted the video of max and charles being scolded and warned to behave themselves during the race following the inchident. one of my favorite pieces of lestappen info frankly... demon children. (also on posted by @il-predestinato on tumblr here. who, btw, is a gold mine of lestappen content.)

well, as long as i'm adding some favorite gems while i try to find the specific post i'm looking for... the lestappen singapore flag moment is my roman empire. i am also haunted by the awkward weather convo video. which i know is out there, but i am going crazy trying to find it.

i decided to just commit to the moments list, so here is charles drinking red bull gate 2023 (courtesy of @countingstars-17)

charles asking the tifosi to stop booing max at monza this year (@il-predestinato seriously has so much content)

this excerpt of max's manager talking about charles (@blueballsracing)

if i don't stop myself i will be here all year

more mini compilations !!

@hyacinthsdiamonds once produced a nice list of the ridiculous lore around lestappen that sounds made up

some 2021 specific "best moments" compiled by @coconutshygame

there is one post i am thinking of that touched on their wild lore/destined f1 rivalry etc. but i can't find it now so stay tuned 🫡

also, for some theorizing on the most recent lestappen debacles and what it all means with ferrari/rbr and a potential charles to rbr (ot charles to more power at ferrari) move:

@tsarinablogs is a Scholar™ with lovely essays

@valyrfia has an addition to the marketing mayhem

i recently compiled my unhinged #rbr-ferrari sticker war content to advocate for rbr charles here, which was added to by this anon with banger points

personally i use #rbr charles for the theorizing and delulu hours, but i think #lestappen rbr and #lestappen gate 2023 are also prime hunting ground for rbr specific lore

anyone who has info to share pls do ❤️ i know i'm missing loads of scholarship that is lost in the pits of my unorganized blog

#what i have learned lately is i should be tagging my specifically again afnkafas #me never finding anything else #getting distracted by lestappen but not the lestappen i need #typical #*oracles #rbr charles #lestappen #oh now is a good time #lestappen lore #ah ha #new tag!#f1 #charles leclerc #max verstappen #tag purists dont @ me this isnt really shippy

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little-mouse-gardens · 1 year ago

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Yandere fae turtles

Random au idea that popped up in my head

Yan turtles spider wick chronicles au? Based on a random scenario i wrote involving my ocs while listening to music from pans labyrinth and the spider wick soundtrack

Also tagging @lexiechr , @souperwrites and @radicallxser, thanks for inspiring these headcannons!

Warning : Mentions of violence, blood, murder, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, kidnapping (I do not condone this behavior in real life. this is only for entertainment purposes only)

Reader moves into an old cottage in the woods and begins renovating it. Like has the ideas layed out on the table and everything.

However, as they move in and begin renovations for their dream cottage…..reader notices something’s…off

Maybe it’s the way the breeze blows likes its whispering their name, or the odd sensation of being watch, but things keep getting stranger.

- Such as things going missing (milk, honey, baked goods, gadgets and gizmos, soft blankets and clothes)

- new expensive items or just things reader wanted appearing on their doorstep with little notes, their garden is blooming in winter. little protective charms start being put up mysteriously, weak stuff to keep the smaller nuisances away. jewelry, coats, and robes with strand symbols.

Though the most worrying is the fact that the chickens they keep around are terrified of the forest at night. The birds usually so bold to follow you around are literally petrified to go past a seemingly invisible line that circles the entire house.

Eventually reader discovers the attic of an old professor who was an expert in fae and nymphology after multiple wierd events keep happening around their house. Oddly, a few pages of the journal are missing in the back. However they do take the time to skim over the books contents and discover they may have a fae Problem.

So, reader deals with problem accordingly.

Learning how to properly but politely decline the gifts left on your porch. Putting up charms of protection and making sure everything is cleansed properly. Even going as far as to leave tiny offerings just outside of the edge of the forest to distract whoever or whatever was doing this.

Lining their house with stones, to ensure that there’s a barrier between your home and the fae.

Though reader reads back on the journey and realizes some forms of offering or giving trinkets can be interpreted as courting……oops

Things get worse.

dead birds and other things start being dropped on your door step, the salt gets blown away in strong gusts of wind from the forest

Just a whole slew of the things that make reader worry about their safety. So they decide to read the professors journals in order to seek answers. Oddly, they notice some of the pages are missing…..

Not realizing they have caught the eyes of the four gaurdians of the forest who all seek to capture them and make reader theirs.

Page by page and day by, reader learns more of who could be behind this never ending line of mysterious events. Especially with the help of mayhem, a small fae they discovered living in the attic who properly helps them learn more about the four kings of the fae and the forest covered mountains.

Reader notices mayhem bringing back things such as adder stones and old pages from the journal during the day, but remaining hidden inside when nightfall comes. Using the adder stones to let mayhem chase of pesky goblins and pixies tormenting their poor chickens.

One day, four handsome strangers arrive in town. Four turtle mutants who each seem particularly affectionate and fond of reader whenever they stop by or run into eachother. Flirting, praises, ect. Yet when they visit they never cross the line of stones.

The brothers come by on occasion, or rather frequently, but are strange around the house and insist on being chilavalorous and being invited in

Not once.

They hang out at the edge of your circle of stones. Often ask if you want to go for a late night walk or to invite them inside your home. ***Don’t. Do. It***

Either they wont leave, or you’ll disappear. And don’t give them your name under any circumstances.

Reader, having studied the journals and noticing mayhems aggression towards them, sense something off with the mysterious strangers who seem to shower them in attention and gifts. So, reader goes back home one evening and spends most of the night piecing together that journal

Page by page and using the old, pencil over some seemingly blank paper to reveal its hidden message indented into parchment. All the while they hear the noises of whispers on the wind. Affectionate but manipulative praises of love to come outside and be with them.

Reader doesn’t fall for it.

And eventually reader discovers the true identities of the turtles once mayhem helps them glue the last page inside.

So, by the fireplace with mayhem protectively flopped over by the front door, reader reads up on the boys true identity’s. Quietly going over the inked lettering bit by but until they’ve remembered everything. Even about the four higher-ups above, the court of four Kings with the same names as the regular four Kings. though reader just refers to the court of four Kings as the peepaws for a bit of comedy relief.

- Raphael : prince of the trolls, giants, often a brute to those who cross him. Steals soft blankets, plush toys and just anything he deems worthy to add to his space of comfort. His den of blankets and nest of comforts. Never cross him, steal what’s his or mess with his brothers unless you want to be brutally beaten to death by a mutant with the strength of a giant. He was the one to take old plushies, pillows, blankets from your home Before your began setting up protective charms

- Leonardo and Donatello : princes of the goblins, hobgoblins and boggarts. A dangerous duo, both together and separated they are cunning. Donnie is calculating and clever, no one has yet to match his genius and will torture those who don’t give him offerings of precious metals of human gadgets. Leonardo is a charming almost smug fae, he’s clever and manipulative to a fault with expensive tastes, he has his ways of getting what he wants and torture is one of them, though his preferred method is illusion and mind games. Leaving old consoles or expensive items outside your house and they’re quickly snatched up by the pair or their people

- Finally there is Michelangelo : princes of the fairies, pixies, brownies and smaller fae who use their creativity and affection to lure their victims. A tad bit spoiled despite his sweet and bubbly demeanor. He will throw a fit for the ages when he doesn’t get what he wants. Appease him with sweets and art supplies if you must. However his sweetness is only reserved for those he wants to reserve it for……I’m not going to say what his methods of disposing of victims are, let’s just say it’s too traumatic for the minds of mankind

It’s suffice to say, a lot of readers items go missing. Got a painting or art supply you left in sight of the window? Suddenly it’s plastered all over Mikey’s own nest. Jewelry that’s broken? Patched up and apart of each of the boys attire. Although important items to reader that they care a lot about are always returned before the end of the day

mayhem usually takes trips outside to find it. Stealing it right from under the boys noses and scampering back to readers house with stolen goods in their jaws.

Occasionally readers neighbor April pops on by to help out. She’s nice….something feels off but she’s nice nonetheless. Though the protective fae circle is slightly crooked in some spots after she leaves.

But once reader is prepared to deal with the boys, they start sitting out on their porch at night. Humming a random tune to their favorite song and quietly making satchets to hang in the doorways. Leaving offerings for smaller fae just outside of the circle. Making sure to make eye contact with any of the bois if they decide to come closer from the treeline.

And they do. They’re head over heels for this person. So of course they would approach, Each ones words Filled with nothing but loving compliments and promises to make reader their partner. To have them rule by their side over their domain.

They live gifts outside the circle, making sure reader sees each of them doing it. they grin and blow kisses, stalking around the circle

That is until they see one of their brothers. It either ends in them having a stare off and duke it out. They’d politely sabotage each other’s gift. Larger gifts over shadowing smaller ones. Making their gifts more eye catching to reader.

sometimes, reader will occasionally tease them back. Saying that it wouldn’t be too bad if they went with one of them on certain conditions. Which practically redoubles the boys efforts to woo their new potential partner. All the while reader goes into sage the house with mayhem glaring at the turtles from the front porch steps.

And each of the boys subjects defiantly do their best to try and help out their king.

Trolls and larger fae sent to help repair readers house

Goblins, and boggarts sent to fetch reader new clothes, expensive objects or things reader likes

Pixies, fairies and brownies to finish house chores, redecorate and replenish the home

All of whom are attempting to convince and argue reader should marry their prince. How their prince would be the perfect husband, how the other fae would love to help reader get settled into their new home in the forest, ect.

Just when reader thinks it couldn’t be more crazy. That’s when they finally catch the eyes of the four kings, previous princes now grown. (Aka the future turtles)

Much more powerful than the princess and certainly more menacing. Handsome, Bigger, more decked out in lavish clothes and jewelry, and covered in scars From fights and other events in their long lives.

Their colors may be a bit more faded than their younger counterparts but they make up for it in sheer presence.

Each one of them absolutely adore reader and are delighted the empty throne by their side will be filled with a loving partner to share their lives with and spoil. Perhaps, just potentially, that nursery in that beautiful sunny spot in the woods could be filled with the soft cries and giggles of an heir they Could care for with tenderness and love.

Now, reader must deal with eight admirers, all of which have tricks of their sleeves.

Much more expensive gifts and even more gestures of goodwill…..

Including leaving young Casey, king Leonardo’s son, in the care of reader. The young boy left on readers porch and convinced this was his new parent he was supposed to bring back home to his family.

Reader almost fell for the whole ‘my dad’s hurt in the woods’ trick, if it wasn’t for the fact mayhem and the chickens kept staring out into the treeline. Watching Leonardo smirking from the shadows with anticipation.

So, reader trusts their gut, and just decides to take the little toddler in and raise them as their own. Feeds him, reads him stories, lullaby’s, plays with him. Ect.

However reader has to constantly remind him not to remove the new protections on the cottage. Though the boy always breaks down in tears and reader always tells him it’s okay and not to do it again. Though when his parent is asleep, he speaks to his fathers and uncles about why his ‘parent’ won’t come home with them and what was he doing wrong.

Eventually, since the peepaws can break through the barriers, reader must go off into the woods to get some random flowers for a wreath they were making. Taking Casey on a small trek into the woods just when the satchets finally wear off.

Giggling and whispers can be heard beckoning reader to the woods over the sound of Casey going on about how happy he was to finally be with his parent, ect.

In the blink of an eye and before mayhem can reach them, reader is whisked off by one of the turtles. Never to be seen again.

Waking up in one of the eights domains of with one of the turtles snuggled up to them. Murmuring about they’ll be so happy there with them, and how they’ll shower them with love and gifts so they can never leave.

Escaping them will be difficult, and after the impromptu wedding. Reader must play the part until the opportunity to escape and rid themselves of the immortality they’ve been granted.

But be warned

They will hunt you down once you do

And you better hope you can make it out of town before they do find you

#yandere donnie #yandere leonardo #yandere raphael #yandere michelangelo #yandere rottmnt #yandere future Leonardo #yandere future Donatello #yandere future Raphael #yandere future Michelangelo #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt au #fae au #rottmnt #tmnt headcanons #headcanon

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echo-bleu · 1 year ago

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End of the Year Fic Recs

thank you @thescrapwitch and @sallysavestheday for tagging me!

This is a wonderful game, I love reccing fics and I should do it more. I'll keep it all Silmarillion for the recs, since that's the bulk of what I've read this year. I haven't had the spoon to leave proper comments on some of these, so hopefully reccing them can count too?

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

- The Harrowing by @chthonion. I am forever in awe of this whole series and of Chthonion's writing. Somehow every single sentence is relatable and at least half of them are a punch in the gut, but in a healing way. A delightful Frodo, Celebrimbor and Finrod working through their trauma and Annatar, remade as an elf, learning how to be a good person (and a person at all, really).

- we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin. Truly delightful 70s AU as narrated by 8 year old Elrond, who just makes my heart melt in every chapter. Maedhros and Maglor as traumatized foster parents doing their best, the twins with their antics and their fears and joys, it's such a breath of fresh air and I can't get enough of it.

- Hanged Man by @tethysresort. Second age fic about the fall of Eregion and the start of Imladris with so much interesting worldbuilding and plot, and characterization of Elrond and Glorfindel especially that I really loved.

- Everlasting Song by @amethysttribble. This is perhaps a little more niche, a crossover with A Song of Ice and Fire, but I'm not an ASOIAF fan at all and I have like two whole memories of the books and I'm still finding absolutely delightful. Top-notch characterization of the Fëanorians, and it really keeps you on your toes.

- Aurë entuluva by @theheirofashandfire. Just very recently caught up with it and I love it to bits! The time loop is all kinds of angsty and breathtaking, and I really love the world that is being constructed afterwards. Wonderful Russingon, and I'm also, especially, in love with her Curufin and Celegorm.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

- Wayward Son by @thescrapwitch. Angst exactly like I like it. Fëanor and Maglor, and it will make you cry. @thescrapwitch writes Maglor just wonderfully and I really love this Fëanor that will do absolutely anything for his son.

- On the difference between hostages and sons by leodesic (and the rest of the series as well). Absolutely delightful Elrond and Elros, as seen by Gil-galad when they first come to his court. I love Elrond defying expectation, and this was such a wonderful read.

- the world to come by arriviste. Arda Remade, told through the shadows and the gaps of what's missing. It's eerie, and I love a well-written eerie fic that leaves you feeling a little off-balance. Wonderful reflection on the price of perfection.

- Sea-Bells and Sunlight by @actual-bill-potts. Finrod, Lúthien and Beren in Mandos. This broke my heart in the best way.

- in the breaking by @thelordofgifs. Short but terribly impactful study of Maedhros and Maglor before the end, one of the best I've read of them.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

- A Farewell to Arms by MorwenSteelsheen (LOTR, Farawyn). Such a wonderful characterization and development of Faramir and Éowyn's relationship in a slight canon divergence where Éowyn arrives in Gondor two years before the end of the war of the Ring.

- The Splintered Light by @thearrogantemu. The whole series. These Gifts That You Have Given Me (Silvergifting) is well-known in the fandom, I think, and I absolutely loved it, but the other fics set in the Fourth Age were among the first I read in this fandom that I just fell straight in love with.

- The Host of the West by @mynameisjessejk. Various fics of the Otter Mayhem and Otterless Mayhem series could have gone into every category here because I love them all, but this is the one I chose because I reread it yesterday for the fourth (fifth?) time and it still had me bawling my eyes out. Probably my favourite Finrod, and definitely an inspiration for my own writing. The whole series is about healing and redemption and elf therapy and all of it is delightful.

- The Peril (and Potential) of Unleashing Lightning in a Fishbowl by @dawnfelagund. This one took everything I thought I knew about Caranthir, threw it out the window and gave me a truly brilliant characterization I didn't know I needed in my life. The worldbuilding is also delightful, and so is Amarië.

- Aranya by SpaceWall. I read this recently and it's really staying with me. Some people in my asks have expressed interest in fics that take the Valar to account for their mistakes, and this is a wonderful one. With a bonus revolution. I really love the non-linear storytelling as well, a hard-to-use tool that is done wonderfully here. Plus the title is inspired.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

- your veins are empty of dust. Character study of Nerdanel as feels her family die across the sea, and she sculpts. This is also the fic for which I made the art I'm probably the proudest of to date.

- your smile tells me I'm safe. Modern AU with aro Maedhros and a Russingon QPR.

- silver. Míriel, Celegorm and Celebrimbor, and living with chronic illness.

- the light that you keep burning there. Part of a much larger AU where the second and third kinslayings don't happen, but this one is about Maedhros, Maglor and Fingon in the later years, as the world crumbles, trying to remember what (who) they're fighting for.

- if I am to braid my mystic crown. The Silmarillion retold through worldbuilding headcanons about braids.

Tagging @unforth @foodsies4me @wren-of-the-woods @camille-lachenille (I don't know who has already done it, so feel free to send me a link if you have!)

#fic recs #echo's fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien

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bookwormgirl123 · 12 hours ago

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in libras, liberta

hello! you can call me ‘bookworm’, i use she/her pronouns, and this is my blog, it’s a pleasure to have you here! :D

FREE PALESTINE!!!!!

my (main) fandoms are… kotlc ~ enola holmes (the books!) ~ epic: the musical ~ the riordanverse (mostly pjo & hoo; bit of a love/hate relationship there lol) ~ gravity falls ~ wicked (the movie!!! i'll get to the musical and books…eventually) ~ caesar: the musical ~ others, too, probably

fun facts… i’m a child of athena or demeter ~ i’m canadian ~ i loove solinh ~ dividers from here ~ pfp by @wow-youre-so-pretty (i genuinely can’t thank you enough for this delicious art) ~ the pictures at the top are from pinterest ~ my askbox is ALWAYS open. send asks!!!!

my tags… #bookworm gets an ask: when i get an ask ~ #bookworm spews nonsense and #bookworm screams into the void: my og posts ~ #beloved moots <3 and #mutual chaos: all things mutuals (though the first is more my ‘general’ moot tag, while the second is when we get into mayhem) (each moot also has their own tag for when we interact, the general base being #beloved [moot’s name] <3) ~ #bookworm reblogs nonsense: the silly reblogs ~ #mandatory art tag: all the pretty art i reblog ~ there are a few others, but i'm sure you’ll figure ‘em out :D

im reading… the tragedy of julius caesar by william shakespeare ~ north is the night by emily rath ~ to all the boys: always and forever by jenny han ~ being miss nobody by tamsin winter ~ the wonderful wizard of oz by l frank baum ~ galatea by madeleine miller

my tbr… the iron widow series by xiran jay zhao ~ a tribute of fire by sariah wilson ~ the book of bill by alex hirsch ~ the six of crows and shadow and bone series-es(?) by leigh bardugo ~ wicked: the life and times of the wicked witch of the west by gregory maguire ~ the song of achilles by madeleine miller ~ anne of green gables by l m montgomery

my playlist… epic: the musical ~ grace yurchuk ~ billie eilish ~ ava max ~ chappell roan

thanks for stopping by! have a lovely day :D

#bookworm’s intro post #< - growing quite the collection lol

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chickensarentcheap · 8 months ago

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I FOUND: THE MISSING PIECES

CHAPTER TWO

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake x Esme Drummond (OFC)

Summary: A collection of requested one and two shots that cover the CANON events mentioned in the original “I Found” story. It’s not a necessity to have read it, but it might help.

Author’s Note:

This is a companion piece to “I Found”. When I first wrote the story four years ago, I had every intention of including ‘flashback’ chapters that weaved Esme into the events of Extraction. Sadly, I lost my confidence at the time and ended the fic before I was one hundred percent ready to do so. Which I deeply regret. In the time that has passed, readers have requested both 'movie canon-centric’ pieces and those that cover events between Tyler and Esme that were merely mentioned.

Please keep in mind that the pieces are NOT in chronological order according to the movie timeline or Tyler and Esme’s persona timeline. Instead, they are written and posted in the order in which the readers submit their requests.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy.

Love, Chickens

WARNINGS: SLIGHT SMUT, PROFANITY, MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE, MENTIONS OF CHILD DEATH

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @watermeezer @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @kmc1989

@asirensrage @residentdormouse @ninjasawakenedmystar @alisbackalleybbq @karimac

@arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @munstysmind @fanficanatic-tw @ocappreciationtag @occommunity

****

WHERE: GASPAR'S SAFE HOUSE

“Tyler?”

He teeters on the edge of sleep, his body exhausted and aching; a dull, throbbing pain that seems to travel from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He feels as if he’s lived a lifetime in a matter of twenty-four hours; his flesh littered with abrasions, bruises and gaping, hastily tended-to wounds. The silence surrounding him a welcome reprieve from gunfire and mayhem; temporarily tucked away in that quaint safe house on the city's outskirts.

The booze and the pain meds have begun to take effect; a haze and warmth that lower both his guard and his inhibitions and soften the chaos and the incessant second-guessing that have plagued his mind for hours. But her voice -quiet and apprehensive- somehow manages to cut through the layers of inebriation and exhaustion. And when he opens his eyes and glances towards the stairs, he discovers her standing on the middle landing; illuminated by the couch-side lamp and the glow of the light above the stove.

“Yeah?”

“Is it okay to come down there?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

He watches as she descends the remaining stairs and approaches, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floors. Her hair is loose and dishevelled from sleep; thick, dark tresses framing her face, tumbling over her shoulders, and spilling down her back. Her tiny frame drowns in a man’s button-down shirt; crisp and cool cotton in charcoal grey, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. One of many offerings that Gaspar had left behind in a plastic bag on the kitchen table; faded and tattered t-shirts and old jeans with holes in the knees and pockets and loose threads dangling from the cuffs. With nothing appropriate for a woman -especially one of Esme’s petite stature- available, she’d been relegated to washing her original clothes by hand; tattered and stained by blood and now drying over a chair on the small back porch.

Despite the dim lighting, he can see how heavily body and spirit bear the toll of the day; a slump to normally confident shoulders, a limp that replaces the normal bounce to her step. The sparkle of those dark eyes diminished; now dull and lifeless from a potent mixture of exhaustion, discomfort, grief, and concern. And when she stands in front of him, he can see the damage done to her pale, smooth skin; a bruised and slightly swollen left cheek, a red and angry abrasion that mars her forehead and disappears into her hair, and a small split to her bottom lip that appears sore and tender.

Yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find her hips as she steps between his splayed thighs. “You should be asleep.”

“I was going to say the same thing to you.”

“I’ve been resting my eyes. Here and there.”

“I damn near had a panic attack. I woke up and didn’t even remember coming here. I didn’t recognize anything, you were gone. That’s what totally freaked me out. I didn’t know where you went, and I thought maybe something bad happened and you had to leave us here or…”

“I’d never do that. No one is getting left behind. Especially not you.”

“It just scared me. Not knowing where I was. Being disoriented and alone and…”

“I only left because I didn’t want to wake you up. I couldn’t shut my brain off. And if I’d stayed up there and just kept tossing and turning…”

She reaches out; gentle fingertips exploring the bruises and wounds that litter his face. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little. The meds kicked in about ten minutes ago.”

She gently explores the cut above his right eyebrow and the abrasions on his cheek. “Did you take a lot?”

“I only took a couple. Just to take the edge off. Nowhere near enough to knock me on my ass.”

“I mean, I know it’s not any of my business; how many pills you take or how much booze you drink. But…”

“We talked about this. A couple of days ago. About how it’s becoming your business.”

When their plans to travel together after the job in Dhaka had been made official, they’d been accompanied by a conscious decision to turn his life around. Or at least attempt to. There’s an optimism he clings to; the belief that their immense attraction to one another will follow them into the ‘regular world’. That it isn’t solely rooted in similar experiences and shared circumstances; their equally traumatic childhoods, their time in the military and their failed marriages, the stress and the unpredictability of the ‘job’.

It’s the first time in years that he’s felt any sense of positivity regarding the direction of his life; finding himself no longer obsessed with wanting to catch a bullet or interested in drinking himself to death. It would be the biggest mistake he’s ever made; turning his back on the second chance that lay before him. And he’s determined to put the work in; wanting to clean himself up and give her the kind of man she wants, needs, and deserves .

“I worry about you.” Pushing her hands into his hair, she allows the longer strands to slip through her fingers. “I know you’re not to use that; someone giving a shit.”

He can’t remember the last time someone expressed any kind of concern in regards to his well-being. While boldly -yet erroneously- calling herself a friend, Nik views him as both a nuisance and a commodity. While none of the other mercenaries on her payroll come close to possessing the same level of skill and knowledge, his issues with drugs and alcohol often get in the way of her securing a client -and a mission- only he can conquer. Her friendship comes with a price; relying heavily on his ability to keep himself alive and the cash rolling into her bank account. And Mia had never been an affectionate or nurturing person; lacking those traits long before their marriage had started to sour. A byproduct of her career and upbringing, she’d always been rather cold and distant; expecting the man to be continuously ‘rock steady’ and admittedly ‘turned off’ by any show of softness or vulnerability.

His mother. She’d been the only one who’d ever shown him that kind of care and concern. Loving him unconditionally; with every breath she took and every punch and kick his father had rained down upon. Continuously -and selflessly- putting herself…mind, body, and soul…in the direct path of his ire to keep her only child safe. Attempting to give him some semblance of a normal childhood despite all the bloody noses, broken ribs, split lips and trips to the emergency room. It was the last time he’d ever felt loved; the only person who allowed her to show and express emotion and experience moments of fear and weakness.

Nearly three decades. Since anyone has given a shit. And it seems so foreign now; finding himself at the receiving end of even the smallest forms of affection.

“It’s been a long time,” he admits.

“That’s not right,” she laments. “That’s not right at all .”

Her hands continue to move through his hair; gently and repeatedly combing the dirty blond tresses. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off her; transfixed by the tenderness that both touch and gaze possess. The couch side lamp bathes her skin in a soft, almost ethereal glow; highlighting the juxtaposition between the bruises and cuts that mar her flesh and the gentle smile that curves moist lips.

It takes his breath away; her emotions -a mix of concern, adoration, and lust- written so plainly upon her face. He doesn’t deserve it; someone regarding him in such a manner, wanting and needing him to the depths and lengths she’s already shown. And while part of him whispers to push her away and spare her the hurt that he’ll eventually cause, an even louder and more persistent one screams at him to never let her go.

A shiver travels through him as her nails lightly scrape along his scalp and down onto the nape of his neck; those small, delicate fingers dancing over his skin before deftly and easily manipulating the sore, tense muscles below them. His eyes close; a sigh of both weariness and contentment escaping his lips as his head falls forehead and his brows rest against her. It’s intimacy in its purest; her touch soothing as he completely lowers his guard and allows himself a rare moment of vulnerability. She won’t judge him for it; won’t scoff, scold or mock upon discovery of a chink in his armour. Not the type to view him as less of a man because of a show of weakness; instead preferring to nurture the rarer, softer fragments that linger under his tattered edges and worn and weathered exterior.

When she gently tugs on his hair, he tips his head back and gazes up at her; eyes riveted on hers as she affectionately strokes his ears and slowly traces the outer edges with the tips of her index fingers. It isn’t until she releases a sigh of her own and scraps her top teeth over her bottom lip that he physically reacts; his hands smoothing over the curve of her hips and down the sides of her thighs before slipping under the bottom of her shirt. He hears her sharp intake of breath when rough, calloused palms glide across soft, supple flesh. Sees the way her eyes darken when he traces a slow, methodical circle around her navel and gently tugs on the hoop that passes through it. Feels both the shiver that passes through her and the goosebumps that invade her skin as his fingertips skim along the waistband of her simple cotton panties.

“This is wrong.” Her voice trembles as she speaks. Barely above a whisper. “This is so, so, so wrong.”

“You could be saying that about the last five days.”

“I don’t mean that. Us. If there even is an us.”

His palms follow the curves and slopes of her ass and hips. Finding himself amused by her disappointed pout when his hands slip out from under her shirt. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“I meant this. Here. Your friend’s place.”

“If it makes you feel any better…”. His fingers tend to the buttons on the simple cotton garment. “…he doesn’t actually live here. It’s a safe house. He has no real ties to this place.”

“Always so rational.”

Allowing the shirt to fall open, his hands once more find her hips; fingers pressing into the supple flesh as he aggressively pulls her closer. She heaves a shaky sigh and violently shudders when his lips press against her stomach; her fingers burrowing in his hair as the tip of his tongue draws a lazy circle around her belly button and his teeth pull at the stainless steel hoop. Her nails digging into his scalp when he presses a series of kisses along her abdomen; slowly travelling from hip to the other, then stopping at the strip of lace that covers her pussy. And nuzzling his nose against her, he can smell and feel the moisture that dampens the thin fabric.

Her hands tighten their grip on his hair as he presses a line of warm, moist kisses across her waist; his mouth travelling slowly from hip to hip as his calloused fingertips drift over her ribcage. It’s a power juxtaposition; the softness of his lips paired with the roughness of his beard. She’s overwhelmed by the things he manages to stir inside of her; a level and ferocity of want and need that no one else has brought to the plate. On the good days, sex with Mark had been a chore; she merely tolerated it and certainly never initiated nor truly enjoyed it. On the bad days, it was expected of her; threatened and forced and punished -severely- if she had the nerve to say ‘no’ or push him away. After the marriage fell apart, she’d sworn off all forms of sexual activity that involved a partner; convinced she could happily live the rest of her life tending to things on her own.

And then she wandered into the debilitated shack in the middle of the Australian outback.

A violent shiver travels the length of her body as his hands and mouth travel upwards. Suckling and nipping at her collarbone while his palms cup her breasts; a whimper escaping her lips when his thumbs brush against her nipples. He reaches for her hair, his grip tight and unrelenting as he pulls her down into a kiss; his strength and power cause her to lose her balance and tumble into his lap. His hands aggressive and needy as they easily manipulate her much smaller and lighter frame; settling her on his lap, her knees on either side of him.

Both kisses and touch are rough and unapologetic. Bruising lips and duelling tongues as his hands dispose of remaining clothes and hers yank at shirt buttons and belt buckle and hurriedly open the clasp and zipper on his pants. There’s no romance; no extended foreplay, no whispers of adoration or praise, no tenderness or adoration. And she audibly gasps when he pushes into her with one strong, fluid thrust; her head falling backwards and her nails digging painfully into the bruises and cuts that mar the back of his neck and shoulders.

He remains undeterred; the pain is no match for the depth and the power of the want and need that take over every fibre of his being. His mouth finds the hollow of her throat; licking, sucking, and biting at the skin as his palms find the smooth curves of her ass. Fingertips biting into the soft, supple flesh as he controls every movement.

****

They sit in silence; basking in the afterglow with her sideways on his lap and her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, both his arms wrapped around her. Her head on his shoulder; one hand resting on his side, the fingers of the other repeatedly brushing the hair at the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Clothes discarded earlier in haste gathered up and put back on; avoiding the awkwardness if Ovi awakens and wanders downstairs or Gaspar shows up unexpectedly. His palm rests on the side of her left thigh; fingertips repeatedly moving over the skin in slow, smooth circles.

“Tyler?”

He turns his face into hers, lips meeting her brow. “Mmm?”

“Where should we head first? Where do you want to go the most?”

“What?”

“When we travel. Once all this is over. What should we put first on the list?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Wherever you want to go, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s it. Leave the hard work to me. I’m terrible at making decisions. I’ll pick something now and by this time next week, I’ll have changed my mind a dozen times.”

“Why don’t we get the hard stuff out of the way? I know you’ve been freaking out about the idea of going back to Colorado and having me meet your folks. If we do that first, you’ll be able to relax; have a good time when we go other places.”

“You know…” Esme presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “...sometimes you are wise. So wise.”

“Are you saying I’m a dumb ass all the other times?”

She nuzzles the sensitive spot under his left ear with the tip of her nose. “Never.”

He’s getting used to it; her almost overwhelming need to give and receive affection. She’s the first partner he’s had that’s been so needy in that respect, and decades of being touched starved has caused him to be standoffish at times; unsure of how to react to her not being afraid to seek out physical contact. But she’s patient and understanding and never takes initial resistance or hesitation as a personal slight. After only five days, he’s both accepting and responding with much more comfort and ease; not realizing just how much he’s missed tenderness and affection. And amidst all the chaos, unpredictability, and fear of what’s to come, her mere presence gives him a welcome escape. The touch of her hands, the feel of her lips, and the smell of her hair somehow easing the weariness and the tension. Even if only temporarily.

“You don’t really want to go there, do you?”

“I want to see the mountains. Go snowboarding.”

“You do realize we can do those things without going near my family, right?”

“It was your idea. To take me to meet them.”

“And now I realize what a shitty idea it is. And no…” Laying a hand on his cheek, she turns his face towards her. “...you are not the reason I don’t want to see them. I mean, you are . But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“I’m not ashamed. Or embarrassed. When it comes to how we met and how quickly things happened between us. And it has nothing to do with who you are and what you do or…”

“Esme, none of that shit crossed my mind.”

“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. I know what they’re like; I’ve put up with their bullshit all my life. They thrive on bullshit and drama. Especially my mother. Why would I want to subject you to that ? You haven’t done anything to deserve that kind of punishment.”

“Haven’t you been waiting your entire life for someone to come along and put your mother in her place? Well, the time’s come. Now’s your chance.”

“You have no idea what she can get like. Just how awful she is. She’s a miserable, evil bitch. And I can only imagine what kind of shit is going to come out of her mouth. About you, about me…”

“I’m not your ex-husband. I’m not the type that’s just going sit there and let it happen. She steps out of line, I put her back in it.”

Smiling, she reaches up to brush the longer strands of hair off his forehead. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I would. Someone’s got your back now. And she should know it.”

“My hero,” she playfully croons, and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin.

“You don’t have to worry about her anymore. I’ll let her know. And I won’t be nice about it.”

“You really are a knight in shining armour.”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Knight in slightly tarnished armour?”

“I’ll let you have it.”

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence; her head against his shoulder, the nails of one hand lightly and repeatedly brushing against his beard. His chin rests on the top of her head as calloused fingertips continue tracing random patterns on the side of her thigh and back of her knee. And he’s once more on the edge of sleep when he feels her move against him; eyes flickering open, finding her staring up at him. Those enormous dark eyes once more filled with concern, her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“Who?”

“Ovi.”

“We’re going to get him out of here. Get him back where he belongs.”

“I mean after . When this is over. What happens when you do get him home? His father’s in jail. There’s no one there to protect him.”

“ I haven’t stopped to think about that. Yet.”

“Asif will never let him live. Think of the disgrace. He isn’t going to give up, Tyler. He’ll go after him again. And this time, things will end up so much worse. It won’t be about money, or power, or influence. Or disrespecting or embarrassing Mahajan. It will be about revenge. And you know what people like Asif are capable of. They’re violent and depraved and the things he’ll do to Ovi…”

“This is why you couldn’t sleep, huh?”

“He’s just a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. And if there’s no one around to keep an eye on him…”

“What do you think we should do? How would you handle it?”

“I don’t know. But there has to be something, right? That we can do? That you can do?”

“Short of sticking around in Mumbai and keeping an eye on him until shit dies down…”

“Would that be something you’d be willing to do?”

“Would you? Be willing to do it?”

“I’m not sure,” Esme admits. “It wouldn’t be the safest place, you know? We’d all have targets on our backs. Hanging around, just waiting for trouble to show up? Not my idea of a good time.”

“What else is there? What other options do we have?”

“We could bring him with us. We could put off travelling. Spend some time hiding out somewhere. We could take him to your place; lie low in the outback for a bit. Or we could go to Prague. Stay at my place; just until we know the coast is clear and that Ovi will be safe back in Mumbai. It makes sense, right? For you to be the one to do it. I know there wouldn’t be any pay at the end of things, but…”

“It’s not about money. It stopped being about that hours ago.”

“I just think it makes sense; that we take him with us. You can keep him safe. He trusts you. And I think that…”

“You know what I think? I think it’s been a long day. And I think you’re tired and overwhelmed and you need to try and turn your brain off. Or at least quiet it down a bit. I know you’re neurotic as fuck sometimes, but…”

She grins. “You already figured that out, huh?”

“Less than a day into knowing you.”

Scowling, she tugs playfully at the hair covering his chin.

“Why don’t we just let it go for now; cross that bridge when we get to it. Because it’s been a hell of a fucking twenty-four hours and my brain needs some peace and quiet. And I know yours does too.”

“I just…”

“Not right now, okay? Let's try and get some sleep. We need it.”

Nodding in agreement, she nestles her cheek against his shoulder. Several minutes passing before she gives a loud yawn and once more sits up/

“Esme…” Tyler doesn’t open his eyes. “ I swear to God…”

“I have a lot on my mind, okay? It’s really noisy up in there. And I won’t be able to sleep until it quiets down a bit. Humour me? Please?”

Sighing, he opens his eyes and slides a palm to the back of her head; fingers pushing through her hair to gently massage her scalp. “What’s going on?”

“I need to ask you something. And it might cross a line or two or trample on a couple of boundaries. I know we haven’t known each other long and it’s kind of personal and you might want to tell me to mind my own fucking business, but I’m just asking because I’ve been getting some really bad vibes and I’m nervous and worried and…”

He chuckles; her tendency to ramble when excited or nervous never crossing the line between amusing and insufferable. “Just take a breath, yeah? It can’t be that bad.”

“It depends on what you consider bad. Or intrusive.”

“I think we’ve reached a point where nothing could be considered intrusive. Considering what’s been going on the last five days and just happened twenty minutes ago…”

“I’m only asking because I’m worried. And a bit scared. I…”

He squeezes the nape of her neck. “Just ask.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I take it we’re not talking about Ovi this time.”

“Gaspar. How close are you guys exactly?”

“We’re mates, I guess. If we’re in the city, we’ll go out and grab something to eat, have a beer or two.”

“Would you say you’re solely ‘work buddies? That the only time you see him is if there’s a job involved?”

“Yeah, I’d say. It’s not like we see each other regularly or we hang out when it’s our downtime. I don’t exactly call or text him or shit like that, if that’s what you’re asking. Why…?”

“So you’re not friends friends. You don’t visit one another, you don’t know much about each other’s personal lives, you’re not on one another’s Christmas card list or…”

“I barely see the guy. We’re work friends. Colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. We won’t be visiting each other any time soon.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m being a huge bitch and personally attacking your friend or assuming bad things about him or…”

“Are you going to get to your original question sometime today or…?”

Taking a deep breath, she releases it slowly, then chews pensively on her bottom lip. “Do you trust him?”

“He owes me his life.”

“That isn’t what I asked. Do you trust him?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

She sighs.

“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“I can’t shake this awful feeling that he’s up to no good. Something just isn’t sitting right; the way Nik was so resistant when you told her to call him, the way he looks at me like he wants to throw me to the wolves, the things he says…”

Tyler frowns. “He talked to you? When? What did he say?”

“He didn’t confront me or anything like that.” The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “ And it’s not so much what he says, but how he says it. He won’t even call me by name; when he’s talking to you he calls me ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’. That’s not a huge red flag to you?”

“Don’t take it personally. He’s always been a bit of an asshole.”

“Something’s not right, Tyler. And I know you’re feeling it, too. Nik never would have put up such a fight about calling him if she wasn’t worried about something. ”

“I think everyone’s on edge. We’re sore, we’re tired, we’re…”

“You just said you’re not sure if you trust him. So you’ve got the vibes, too. I know you do.”

“Whether I trust him or not, this is our only option. I have more control over things here than if we’re on the street, constantly looking for a place to hide out. Do you trust me ?”

“With my life. You know I do. But that doesn’t mean I can just ignore this. The way I’m feeling. Something is… off . I can’t put my finger on what , but it is. And the sooner things die down and we can get the hell out of here, the better.”

“If I start feeling worse about things…about him …I’ll get you and Ovi out of there. I’ll figure something out; find a place to lay low until Nik can get us out of here. I won’t let anything happen to you. And I will get you out of Dhaka.”

“Gotta get yourself out of here, too. Remember our deal? Both of us or neither of us.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“You said you’d think about it.”

“I have thought about it.”

“And?”

“And I can’t make any promises. Not when it comes to that. You know how bad things can go. And how quickly it can happen.”

She scowls. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

“It’s the only one I have to give you. Right now, anyway. Are we done? Did you get everything out of your head you needed to? Quiet things down a bit.”

“It’s a little better.”

“You’re safe, Esme. Nothing can touch you here. And if anything even tried…”

“I can’t pretend I feel good about this. About him .”

“You don’t have to. But for now? Try and get some sleep. It’s been a long fucking day. And if you don’t settle down, shut your mouth, and close your eyes soon…”

“You’re such a sweet talker,” she chides, and nuzzles the side of his neck with the tip of her nose. “Let’s stay here a little bit longer. Just like this. I need it. I need you .”

He obliges; wrapping both arms around her and pulling her even tighter against him. Laying a palm on the back of her head, he draws it down onto his shoulder; fingertips gently stroking her hair until her body relaxes against his. Her breathing softening and slowing as she finally drifts off to sleep.

****

Despite succumbing to exhaustion, Tyler’s senses remain hypervigilant. Aware of the slightest change in temperature, the softest of noises out on the street, every sigh and mutter Esme makes as she sleeps on the couch across the room, and each creak of a spring whenever she rolls over or adjusts her position. His hearing is keen. Picking up on the rumble of an engine and the opening and shutting of a car door; a dog in the near distance barking at the intrusion.

He senses the other man’s presence the moment he steps into the room; clocking the the shifting of floorboards beneath feet, the rustling of a brown paper bag, heavy, deep breathing, and a combined smell of cologne and perspiration. He remains silent and motionless; not wanting Gaspar to be aware of his wakefulness. The soft glow of the couch side lamp allows him to watch every move the taller, heavier man makes; his breath catching and his jaw clenching as Gaspar approaches the sofa.

His hands curl into tight fists as Gaspar briefly observes a sleeping Esme, then removes the throw from the back of the sofa; draping it over and tucking it securely around her tiny body. Feeling both nausea and fury building inside of him when his old friend touches her; smoothing her hair away from her face and running a fingertip over the bruises on her left cheek and above her eye. And he isn’t entirely sure what he feels; disgust, worry, rage. Possessiveness, even.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Gaspar gives a small start, then an awkward chuckle as he turns away from the couch. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Now answer my question. What are you doing?”

“The windows are open. It gets chilly at night. I was just making sure she was warm.”

His body aches as he stands. A throbbing that seems to spread outwards from his bones; travelling from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes. Reaching for the sling he’d discarded earlier, he winces as he pulls it over his head, gritting his teeth as he settles his injured arm into place. Approaching the couch, he places his body between it and Gaspar as he reaches down to wake her; grazing his knuckles along her swollen and bruised cheek.

“Hey…” Tyler softly jostles her shoulder. “...Esme…”

Giving a loud yawn, she stretches languorously and turns her face towards him; pressing her brow against his forearm.

“Tyler…”

It claws at his throat and heart; the way his name leaves her mouth so softly and tenderly. It’s terrifying; what should have been a ‘no strings attached’ arrangement quickly -and effortlessly- becoming so much more. She’s the first person to attempt to get past the walls he’d built in the wake of his son’s death; effortlessly managing to burrow beneath the layers of guilt and grief and regret. Breathing life back into him and making him feel again.

“Esme…” His voice is louder, pushing past the last remaining veils of sleep. “...you need to get up.”

Rolling onto her side, she peers up at him, concern immediately furrowing her brow. “What’s wrong? Is there trouble? Do we need to leave? Do we…?”

“There’s nothing wrong. No trouble. Why don’t you go upstairs?” Curling his fingers around her bicep, he guides her into a sit. “You’ll be more comfortable up there.”

“Okay,” she sleepily agrees, gathering the throw around her shoulders as he helps her to her feet.

Although Tyler notices Gaspar’s disgust when she briefly rests her forehead against his chest, he doesn’t hesitate; placing his hands upon her shoulders and gently squeezing. “Try and get some more sleep. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“Alright.” Yawning once more, she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes; wrapping the throw around her as she shuffles through the living room and up the stairs.

Both men remain silent. Until they hear the squeak of the bedroom door as it closes, followed by her soft footfalls overhead.

“Now it’s my turn,” Gaspar speaks in a harsh whisper. Shoulders tightly drawn, eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and disgust. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You and that girl . And whatever the fuck is going on between you.”

“Esme. Her name is Esme. And whatever’s happening between us? That’s none of your business, mate.”

“You’re my friend. That makes it my business. What is wrong with you? This ? This latching onto someone. Practically throwing yourself at their feet. It’s pathetic; watching you trip over yourself trying to get her to even look at you.”

“I’m getting it just fine. Without having to do that. And when have I ever had a job like this? Working with someone? This isn’t normal for me. She’s not normal.”

“It’s embarrassing; the way you are with her. I saw it the second you walked in here; needing to be near her all the time, always finding ways to touch, batting your eyelashes at her every chance you get. When did you get like this? When did you get so soft ?”

“Keep getting on my ass like this and you’ll find out who’s soft.”

“You need to get your head on straight. You’re a mercenary, aren’t you Tyler? Then start acting like a mercenary. Because this ? Her ? It’s wrong and you know it.”

“What’s going on with Esme and I has nothing to do with the job. And nothing to do with you . So if you don’t mind, mate, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her. Or go near her. Just keep your distance. Because if I see you touching her again…”

“Get your shit together!” Gaspar snarls. “You want to get out of here alive? Stop whatever is going on with that girl…”

“It’s too late for that. To stop it. So just back off and…”

“Don’t you understand that I’m worried about you? That I see what’s happening? What she’s doing to you? Are you that fucking blind that you don’t see it? She��s using you, Tyler. She’s lying and she’s manipulating and…”

“She’s not. She’s not doing any of that.”

“It’s what she does for a living. Did you forget that? Why she’s even involved in this job in the first place? It’s who she is. In the same way being a mercenary is who you are. She cons people for a living. And now she’s conning you . Because you’re her only chance of getting out of here alive.”

“That’s not what she’s doing.”

“Do you think she loves you?” Gaspar gives an incredulous laugh. “Is that what you think? That she sees you as some knight in shining armour that’s come along to sweep her off her feet?”

“You need to let this go, mate. Because there’s nothing you can say or do…”

“This is what she does, Tyler; what she gets paid for. She wanders into people's lives and turns them upside down. She lies and she uses and she…”

“That’s not who she is away from the job.”

“It’s exactly who she is. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

“You don’t know her, Gaspar. You don’t…”

“And you do? It’s been what? A week? If that? You think you know who she really is? That she isn’t using you and playing you the same way she has so many others? Why are being so fucking naive? Are you that lonely? That desperate? That you can’t see what’s going on?”

“You weren’t there. Back in that hotel room. You don’t know the things that happened or…”

“Oh, I know what happened. You’re a red-blooded male, she’s an attractive woman. It’s not hard to figure out. And it must have been really damn good. Bceause for you to be so naive and so fucking blind…”

“...or the things we talked about. You need to let this go. I don’t know what you’re trying to do or why you’re doing it…”

“She is going to ruin you, Tyler. She is going to lie and manipulate and tell you everything you want to hear. She’s going to keep whoring herself out to you so…”

His fists clench. “I’m warning you, mate. Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t talk about her at all .”

“Do you honestly believe someone like her would want someone like you? That she doesn’t know what a mess you are? Look at her; she’s way out of your league and can do so much better, Why would she want you ? All your baggage, all your bullshit. The pain meds and the booze and…”

“She knows I can change. That I will change.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to run off with her? When all of this is over? You’re going to get out of Dhaka and the two of you are going to live happily ever after? That’s bullshit and you know it. Everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie; all the sweet nothings, all the pillow talk, all the promises. And if you yanked your head out of your ass long enough to realize it…”

“I’m only going to tell you this once more. It’s none of your business. Don’t talk about her again. Don’t go near her. Don’t touch her. Don’t even look at her.”

“You’re in for hell of a rude awakening the second you leave here. When you finally realize that everything she said…everything she did…was nothing but shit. She’s using you, Tyler. Doing whatever she has to make sure she gets out of here. And when she does, she will leave you an even bigger mess than you were before.”

Smirking, he gives his head an incredulous shake. “We’re done here.”

Gaspar snatches him by the arm, preventing him from leaving. “This is going to blow up in your face. And she’s going to leave you an even bigger mess than you already are.”

“Mind your own business, mate. That’s the last time I’m going to warn you.”

“Two broken people can not come together and make a whole. It doesn’t work that way. You know what happens? In the end? They end up making each other worse. They destroy everything.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Rake Lives #Extraction 2 #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake #Chris Hemsworth

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galactic-gift-gathering · 5 months ago

Note

Can you clarify the genre section of the wishlist? This is my first time with these kinds of events

Hey, anon!! I will absolutely give it my best shot ✨

First and foremostly (that’s a word because I say so), welcome!! We are SO HAPPY to have you join us! 🥳

Now, to answer your question…

Genres!

Basically, everyone has different tastes when it comes to the kind of fandom content they enjoy….

Some people love the fluffy, cuddly, sweet content that make you feel warm and fuzzy inside 🥰

Some people love the angsty, whumpy, hurt/comfort content that breaks your heart and brings you to tears 😭

Then there are people who love that action/adventure, chaos ensuing mayhem that keeps you on the edge of your seat 😱

When you provide prompts on your Wish List, they will probably be able to fit multiple genres! But which genres are you hoping for??

Take this prompt for instance: Cozy Sweater

If I asked for this prompt with the genres fluff, family, humor…someone might fill it like this:

Torrent Company gets matching sweaters, but chaos ensues when one of the sweaters shrinks in the wash and the brothers argue whose it was.

If I asked for this prompt with the genres angst, whump, hurt no comfort…someone might fill it like this:

Rex finds a sweater in the market just like the one Ashoka got him when she found out he didn’t have any comfortable civilian clothes. The sweater was lost at the end of the war, destroyed when his brothers turned against him and their Jedi.

He misses that sweater.

He misses Torrent company.

He misses his little sister.

He hopes she’s okay.

Our hope in having you provide preferred genres is that it will help those filling your prompts better understand your taste in content!

But if you’re actually totally good with any genre, you can say that too!! You can let the creator get ✨creative✨ with the prompt and the genres! 😄

You can even specify specific genres/fandoms/characters with each prompt too, like this:

Cozy Sweater (Fluff) (The Clone Wars) (Rex, Fives, Echo)

Broken Heart (Emotional Whump) (Rebels) (Hera, Kanan)

Forgotten Anniversary (Humor, Family) (the Skywalker Saga) (Han, Leia)

Thanks for the fantastic question! Please feel free to message either of us mods ( @kybercrystals94 or @fionas-frenzy ) if you still have questions (or you can tag us in the comments of this post toooo!)

#answered asks #mod Kyber

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p-taryn-dactyl · 1 year ago

Text

yelena belova master list

*if i have missed anything plz send me an ask with the link to the fic thank you so much <3*

Burnt Toast and Vodka

Game Night

Laser Tag and Donuts

BTaV drabbles:

burnt toast and vodka: blankets and scrabble burnt toast and vodka: nap-time and selfies burnt toast and vodka: bandaids and frisbees burnt toast and vodka: coffee and face masks

Operation Pancake (The Plan pt1)

Opperation Sandra Bullock (The Plan pt2)

hot chocolate and snow

Fail Safe 2 3

of christmas trees and mayhem

Grr

Let's Talk

#yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #bestie!yelena

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cookiesupplier · 1 year ago

Text

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Seventeen

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking, online bullying.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram

Rick knew he shouldn’t have done it, he knew he shouldn’t have, but he watched Grace’s live with Vinny. No, they didn’t unblock her, that would be ridiculous, but he had a throwaway Instagram account, and it was perfect for times like this. It was random enough, that as long as they didn’t say anything in the chat, and didn’t jump out or anything he doubted Grace would even pay attention to the name, he doubted Grace even knew about it. It was quite literally a scramble of letters and numbers.

Listening to Grace as she sobbed, and cried about her version of events, answering questions about everything that had happened between them, if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t been the one to go through it, he would have believed everywhere she had said. If Vin hadn’t been sitting next to him, grabbing at his hands and stopping him, the things he was tempted to type in the chat. Oh, how thankful he was, that they’d thought to turn off voice recognition before the live had started, or he might have been screwed.

Even so, the live itself exposed Grace to Ricky even more than anything else had. It exposed even more of her obsession, not just with him, but with the whole band itself. For her claims of what Talia had done to her, to him, was almost precisely the same story, a play-by-play in fact, of what that stalker had done to Chris and his fiance so many years before he’d even met Gracy… Except for the fact that Ricky had never proposed to Grace.

There had been a question in the live about if Rick had asked her during the tour and that was why she was with them this year, so you know the fans knew the story was similar, not that she acknowledged it in any way, assuming obliviousness. No, Grace had just gotten bashful and said that he hadn’t, however, she had her suspicions that he had planned to before she had turned up. Then she had had the gall to lament that now they would never know if he would have or not, and boy, had that caused an uproar. Grace had certainly missed her calling, working in boring retail, when she could have been an actress, she could have made a killing. She certainly had him fooled for years.

It wasn’t until near the end of the Instagram live that she really let the worst of what she had to say drop. That Talia, this mysterious woman, that she was claiming to be Ricky’s stalker and FAKE SOULMATE, that had been the cause of him breaking it off with her, conveniently leaving out that she had been faking being his soulmate herself mind you, was conveniently Vinny’s soulmate’s best friend, and that they were in cahoots.

She ended the live with that. Vinny and Ricky’s pages both EXPLODED.

Not just Ricky’s Instagram, but also his YouTube and Twitter. Vinny’s discord was smashed and his mods had to shut that shit down, so many people had to be muted and a new rule was implemented that if anyone spoke out against Ava they would be instantly put indefinitely put in timeout until they could sort out what was happening. The keyboard abuse was rife and it was beyond a joke. Everything was mayhem.

Ricky was fucking pissed, now they had to sort out what to do, Grace knew where to hit them, she hadn’t just dropped a bomb, she hadn’t just attacked him, but Vinny too. He was pacing back and forth down the hall on his phone, contemplating what the hell he should do, while Vinny was sitting at his computer desk arguing with someone on his computer, when he heard a car make its way up the drive.

He was contemplating whether he should make a post, a video on YouTube, something, setting the record straight, something that Grace wouldn’t be able to explain away. Right now, the fact that everything she said had been done over a live was to her advantage, not that it wasn’t saved somewhere, these days some people screen-recorded everything. He’d already seen it flooding the band's message boards, and the mods trying to shut down the hate over it, that was coming from it.

Hearing laughter echo inside the house from the front hall, Ricky looked up, it was Talia and Ava getting back from the trip into town.

“Shit.. Vin, Vin.”

Moving back to his room where he was still talking with his mods about the idiots on his discord,

“Talia and Ava just got back.”

What they were going to tell them? He didn’t know, but it wasn’t like they could exactly hide this from them. Be as bad as trying to stick their heads in the sand after all, pretending none of this was happening, and it was, it was all fucking happening whether they liked it or not. Vin had told him that he’d talked to Ava about going public with their relationship, and if Ava knew, then so did Talia, hiding this would be impossible, it was going to be everywhere.

Rick took in a breath as he saw Ava and Talia walk around the corner, it was the first time he’d seen Talia since the bathroom, and his neck tingled just at the sight of her, that smile, if it weren’t for the pit of dread feeling like nothing but doom wanting to eat him alive right now…

“I should go.”

“No!”

Ricky glanced over towards Vin as he came out of the office.

“We need to deal with this, Rick.”

“Deal with what?”

Ava was all smiles until Vinny looked over at her, it was then she got a good look at the expression on his face, and she saw just how stressed he was. It wasn’t Ava that spoke next, it was Talia, and she wasn’t looking at Vinny as she said it.

“What’s going on, what’s wrong?”

Rick looked over to her, his eyes narrow, what? What was her deal? She shouldn’t be looking at him with concern like that. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, she confused him too damn much, and it just, everything with Grace, it was pushing him, and badly.

“What the fuck do you care?”

“Rick!’

Looking over to Vinny,

“You know it involves her too, Grace named her, and considering she connected her to Ava, it won't be long until the fans find her.. You need to tell your side, man. You need to tell them what Grace did. That SHE was the fake soulmate, not Talia.”

“Wait, what?”

Ava exclaim,

“I thought you guys were doing your live, what has Grace got to do about this?”

Just like that, suddenly everyone seemed to be talking at once, looking between the three of them she couldn’t quite keep up. Talia was so lost as she looked at the three of them, so lost. From the sounds of it, there had been something planned that she hadn’t known about, something involving Vin and Ricky, which made her nervous, especially if Ava knew about it, but she didn’t. It also left a pit in her stomach because it made her wonder what else she was being left out of already in her friend's life, she knew she wasn’t as dialled in as she wanted her to be with this soulmate thing, but she’d still support her. She was here, wasn’t she? Why was she here, giving up her time, her work, her life, if it was just to be shuffled off to the side?

As she swallowed, she took in her breath, pushing that feeling aside, she was fine, it was okay, whatever was going on was so much more important than her, obviously. That was when her phone started to go off wildly with notifications for comments on some of her recent photos on her Instagram page, well, that was weird. Opening the first one, just one, and it was some chick cussing her out, with some carefully chosen language might she add, for being a homewrecker. What?

“Guy, GUYS, someone needs to slow down and start from the beginning as to what the hell has happened.. Because I’m being abused and called a homewrecker over here, and I’d really like to know why?”

Holding up her phone. She could guess why, and as much as she’d like to be proven wrong the looks on their faces told her she probably wasn’t. Talia would be willing to beg the universe that she was wrong, but the moment Vinny mentioned Grace before, Talia had gotten the worst feeling.

“Well, Vinny and I wanted to announce that we’re together, so he did an Instagram live, and he did it with Rick.”

Talia glanced at the man that she had been purposely trying not to, and failing not to think of since the party, and her tattoo tingled, the feeling dancing over her skin just from her glancing at him, twisting her fingers around her phone as it vibrated with even more notifications coming through. Shit.

“Okay, why would he need to do it with Rick?”

Her words were calm, and slow, as if she didn’t know the answer, but she wanted confirmation, she wanted to hear them say it since they’d decided to leave her out of something that had so blatantly involved her before now.

“I haven’t announced that I’m not with Grace yet, because it’s just, it’s been difficult.”

Alright, Talia nodded, shrugging slightly, that she understood, and she didn’t really blame him for it. Good news spread like wildfire, bad news hit like a lead pipe, and no one ever wanted to talk about it. Well, it would seem, an exception could be made if someone were famous and someone did a live claiming to expose their dirty secrets and lied through their teeth.

“Okay, so, wait, you told people you broke up with her in the live? You told them about me?”

“No! No no, soulmates weren’t mentioned with the breakup, the idea was that I’d talk about my breakup, and Vinny would go right into his news distracting everyone. It mostly worked, not quite, but mostly. Some people still commented on my page, but it was something, it was out there at least.”

He shrugged. That was not the problem, Talia looked between them warily,

“Okay, so, what went wrong?

“About an hour later, Grace did a live, and she spoke her version of events. How much do you know about the band's past with soulmates? How much do you know about Chris’ history with soulmates?”

Looking at Rick then as he asked, for once he didn’t sound like he was just going to spit hate at her, he was actually talking to her like a civil person this time, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about, she was thinking about some of what she knew of what Chris had gone through.

“I only know some of what Chris went through, I’m not one of those fans that go through your personal lives guys. He was stalked by a fake soulmate, he had a girlfriend, then he didn’t have a girlfriend, that's all I know. I’ve always tried to be hands-off.”

Looking at Ricky, she’d never wanted to be one of those creepy fans who became obsessed with them, not even when she figured out he was her soulmate. Anything she could have learned, she would have rather learned from them as people. There were times she read articles and still felt she violated their privacy with how they portrayed them.

He stared at her for a moment, well, shit. She definitely had more boundaries than most, a lot of fans loved reading everything they could get their hands on, and he wouldn’t judge them for it. The interviews they did for a reason.. It was the stalkers, and the people that wouldn’t leave them alone badgering them, that were a problem.

“Well, it gets a lot worse, but that is the basic layout, and Grace made it seem a lot like that, that you stalked me, pretended to be my soulmate, and I left her because I couldn’t handle it.”

Ricky, just as he spoke the words, felt a flare of heat through the skin of his tattoo, his eyes going a little wide because at the same moment that he felt it, the realisation hit him, Talia, despite looking away from him in obvious anger and frustration at what she was hearing, her hand had lifted to her neck, immediately to her tattoo. She was pressing her fingers to her soulmate tattoo, and when she did, that pain in his neck, shit, it reacted. The pain in his neck, it seemed to soothe.

Talia was just trying to breathe. She was just so angry, not at Rick, but at the whole situation. Okay, maybe a little at Rick, at Vinny, at Ava. They could have told her this was happening, they could have let her prepare herself at least a little emotionally for this starting. Sure, she didn’t think there was probably much she could have done aside from mentally prepare, maybe she could have locked her account, something.. But she would never know now. God, did she even want to check her profile for more comments? Damn.. how could they have not told her?! Right now it felt like she’d been hung out to dry and it made her, her, it actually made her angry, angry at not just Grace, but all of them too. Glancing away from all of them, she reached up to her neck, her tattoo surging painfully again.. Rubbing along the mark as covertly as she could.. Trying to make it look like she was just working out the stress kinks in her neck as she closed her eyes with a sigh. She didn’t need any of the others to know that this debacle, wasn’t the only insanity she was dealing with, but the one in her own head as well.

“Rick, you know I’m right, you have to say something, release a statement, a video, something.”

Vinny was speaking up, completely missing what Ricky was seeing, and Talia didn’t see him blinking a little at her either as she rubbed her neck at the sting of pain,

“Rick!”

His attention snapped back to Vinny,

“What?”

“We can’t let her get away with this, they’re already coming after Talia online.”

The problem was, it wasn’t Grace coming after her, it was their fans, if Grace came after her they could do something about it. Ricky could technically do something about it, legally, like get a restraining order. Then, like he said to Chris, he could claim Talia as his soulmate, and provide evidence of her stalking, and it would extend to her. However, the problem was, it wasn’t Grace, she had weaponized their fanbase, and they were attacking Talia for her.

“And me.”

Ricky looked over towards Ava who had her phone in her hand now, scrolling away. Vinny looking on in horror,

“What?!”

Talia’s voice had a tinge of outrage in her one-word outburst as she stepped towards Ava to see her phone, to look at the comments she was getting to. Rick barely held back the flinch at the much sharper sting through the tattoo this time, was she just angry, was the tattoo reacting to her strong emotions, or was it reacting because her emotions were aimed at him? Because if it was her emotions, why wasn’t it always reacting? Of course, now, now she had reason to be pissed at him, Grace was doing this to her, to Ava, because of him. He could do, he had to do, something.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll make a video statement. I’ll,”

He took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was going to do.

“I’ll tell my story about what she did to me.”

How she made a fool of him, and how she ruined how it felt for him to find his real soulmate. Glancing to Talia… well shit. Time to stop lying. He knew, and he hated it. He couldn’t be with her, because everything he felt now was just, it hurt. Furthermore, he looked at her, thinking about who she was, thinking about how perfect she probably would have been for him, and it was too fucking painful.

He didn’t just hate that she was his soulmate. He hated everything.

Shit, why did Chris have to be right?

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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