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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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Don’t Take the Money

(cross-posted from my AO3 and based on the Bleachers song of the same name; you should give it a listen ‘cause it definitely shaped this story)

-vomit tw, depression tw, lots of angst and emotional whump with a happy ending, of course-

Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt almost felt bad for them. Almost.

After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz.

Julian Alfred Pankratz,

Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records.

With Urgency,

Lady Pankratz

Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. Did that mean...?

“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”

Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively.

“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to disown you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like you .”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”

“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”

“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”

Geralt didn’t understand.

“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”

Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”

The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt triumphant. As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before.

---

“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost unusually affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him.

He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”

“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”

“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words:

To Sir Geralt of Rivia,

Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz

We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:

Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire.

You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.

In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party without Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense.

Sincerely,

Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove

Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove

Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, caring for another…

But didn’t Geralt care about Jaskier? Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -

But he could be doing better, Geralt thought. He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from real apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real feather-bed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.

Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die.

“Alright.”

“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”

“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”

“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”

“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”

“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”

“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”

“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”

The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. But this is what’s best for Jaskier.

---

“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”

“Yes. In Redania, actually.”

“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the best alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”

“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head.

“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth.

“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, help! Geralt, please! GERALT!”

The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those fucking beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had looked at him…Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.

“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”

The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand.

Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.

The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was ethereal. Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways.

And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it?

Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.

He had forced Jaskier into something he didn’t want. Geralt had always given his friend free reign. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling.

As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together.

Fucking hells, what have I done to him?

The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste.

There was only Jaskier.

---

Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, this is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore.

He was a bard.

He was Geralt’s bard.

Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage.

He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no point anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver.

The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat just enough to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and Geralt.

“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. Do something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”

“Thank you, Julian.”

“But I will not love her.”

“You never have to love her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to marry her.”

---

Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. He had to save Jaskier, he had to - the door slammed open and something hard went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”

“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I OKAY? You absolute fucking moron; of course I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a transaction of some sort. I am very much not okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”

The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”

“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”

The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering.

“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be happier here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”

“Did you just say that you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me say that I love you, mere moments ago?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”

“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”

Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood.

They loved each other.

The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”

---

"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag.

"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise.

"Geralt..."

"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded.

"Can you help me put it on?"

"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."

"I know."

Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go.

"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."

"Hmm."

"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"

"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"

"I've always wanted to go there!"

Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"

"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."

"Hmm. Me too."

#geraskier fic #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier whump #geralt of rivia whump #jaskier whump #geraskier hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #geralt/jaskier #emotional hurt/comfort #h/c fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix

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starrysupercell · 3 years ago

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Brawl Fantasy AU Part Four!

Max is a rapid-fire fairy. It's difficult trying to keep up with her through the streets of the Kingdom. Especially since Shelly wants to look around. She was so curious! Ash was steadfast focused on not losing track of the Fae.

Before too long, the Trio make it to the castle where they're greeted personally by (Lunar) Princess Piper De Prim. (She's a Sylph!)

She thanks them for finally arriving. She had expected correspondence, but perhaps their messenger bird had gotten lost along the way?

Shelly and Ash exchange looks. What? Was she expecting them-?

Piper continues. Nevertheless, the De La Prim Kingdom gives its heartfelt thanks as a whole. Taking a quick look over the two, she asks if they would like... showers, and then a late lunch to discuss the urgent matter at hand?

Ash accepts for the both of them quickly, because he feels very displeased with his current VERY unclean state. Plus it'd be rude to refuse an offer.

Shelly is about to complain, because they were rushed here and now it's suddenly not that big a deal anymore, but shrugs. I'm tired of cold river water and bland fish. Gimme that tub and fancy food.

They're shown to their very ornate rooms, and are greeted by the very enthusiastic Princess Colette, who Max sticks to most of the time.

Colette very often forgets to be ~regal~ most of the time and has to be reminded by Piper.

After her shower and getting half-dressed, Shelly accidentially falls asleep because she's so exhausted.

She's awoken by Ash suddenly. He tells her to get it together!! They're guests with an urgent warning, and Shelly is keeping the acting Royal waiting!! It's evening now! (Piper had been lenient, but Ash decided to steal away and wake Shelly.)

"I was sleepy," Shelly grumbles to defend herself but Ash has a point. The princess hastily gets ready and then heads down, joined by the knight.

Barley, Max and Colette are there. It's only this handful of folks, since it's a vital discussion. Colette is sat beside Piper. And the Knights stand/hover by the Royals. Max is at human-size now.

Shelly begins to apologize as they take their seats, but Piper waves it away. "It's time to talk about what you two came here for..."

Shelly nods. "The Dragon Attack," she confirms.

"About the Curse." Piper states at the same time.

Wait.

Piper puts down her glass and speaks first. "Pardon. You aren't here because I sent away for aid from the Vandete Kingdom?"

'-'

"No," Shelly said, feeling uneasy.

Colette and Max are puzzled. Barley simply thinks, '...Oh.' hides his relief.

After bracing herself, Shelly continues. "We trekked here because.. Dragons have attacked our Kingdom. We didn't get your message because there was no way for us to get it. But I'm sure that if we had gotten it, the Vandete Kingdom wouldn't have hesitated in supporting you."

Piper sighs. Still very displeased, but she finds reason in what Shelly is saying. Still. The fact that the message is still out there can lead to trouble if another Kingdom finds it.

Plus, she had just been told one of their strongest Allies have fallen. This couldn't have just been coincidence. This had to be sabatoge. or karma.

But as she's done often lately, she kept up her grace. "We appreciate your words. You seek advice on Dragons, is that right? What do you wish to know?"

The attacks are discussed, which Piper finds odd. Dragons are territorial, but never attack unprovoked. Most types also don't have a pack-mentality, unless still in Family Broods. Did somebody in the Kingdom wrong a pack of them?

No. This was countless Dragons. Different kinds. They wouldn't stop attacking. We didn't catch the end, but our kingdom was rubble.

"Oh, dear." Barley spoke up. Both he and Piper realized the situation. Colette looked just as confused as Shelly and Ash.

Piper looked concerned. "I'm afraid we cannot aid you. You see, what you just described are the signs of an attack led by an Overseer Dragon. That requires more resources to take care of than what our Kingdom can give in our current state.”

Ash is taken aback. He didn't expect that answer.

Shelly asks what exactly is the current state?

Without skipping a beat, Piper answers that it's none of Shelly's concern. Very professionally.

Shelly: We're the same class.

Piper: From manners alone, it's hard to tell.

Shelly: Excuse me Princess, We've done our fair share of travel to get here. We told you that our Kingdom lies in ruins which puts us at risk. You don't want to help us, and now you refuse your own show of faith and insult me. How is that for manners!?

Piper exhales very slowly. She repeats calmly that there’s no benefit to explaining herself. For this kingdom’s sake, it’s safer to keep their situation well-guarded until it’s guaranteed it can be fixed. It isn’t meant to be taken personally. She then adds an offer in the chance to stay as long as they want. For their troubles.

Shelly firmly states that they’ll take their leave in the morning.

Piper: ..Oh. I see. Nonetheless, the De La Prim Kingdom will always be open to you. U.U

Dinner is dismissed.

Much later that night, Shelly opens her door to roam castle when she’s stopped by Ash.

Ash: what d’ya think yer doin’ up, lassie!? ye can’t travel on a drop o’ sleep, can ya!?

Shelly: What about you!? have you even slept at all!?

Ash defends themselves by declaring it’s her job as a knight, and it isn’t like there’s anyone else sworn to protect Shelly.

Shelly: well i don’t know why you’re still here. your stupid princess just cost us this kingdom’s good graces.

Ash hesitates at telling it how it is, but eh. screw it. if she insists!

"Yeah, ye were dafty. we’re out o' shelter, and despite what the actin' royal says, I wouldn’t trust the promise o' being welcome. all this because YOU couldn’t keep yer pettiness in check."

gee, thanks. Shelly isn’t proud of herself atm already, and that definitely helped.

"...but i’d be fibbin' if I said I wouldn’t do the same. if i had a death wish, that’s the way i’d go, wipin' the floor clean with that sickeningly sweet look of hers! ...but ye didn’t hear that from me, Princess."

shelly and ash laugh over the thought, and shelly is like. well, you are right though. I guess i should go to sleep to leave in a few hours. but you should try to get some rest too.

Ash is about to answer when a third voice interjects.

“Aww! you know you guys don’t have to go in the morning!”

and a fourth.

“and at this rate, nobody in the castle will get any sleep, chatter-bugs!”

Colette and Max are there, giggling. Max is back to mini sized. (it’s her preferred form, but they were keeping guard earlier.)

Shelly and Ash are a little nervous because how much did she hear?

the younger princess handwaves it off. “Don’t worry about it. I... uh, I know how it looks like with Pi- with my sister, but please don’t be mad at her. she’s just really, really stressed."

"The truth is, somebody cursed the king and queen. they’re in a deep sleep, and we can’t find a way to break it. we have no leads and we don’t want to cause mayhem or attention to our plight.”

shelly and ash are suspicious. “and you’re telling us, because...?”

Max explains that she can sense emotions, so she knew that they were telling the truth.

Colette’s theory is that the Dragon attack and the Curse may have something in common.

The curse seems to have been done by a powerful Wizard, and the Kingdom attack could have been planned. If someone wants to take over, it seems like they're getting started.

so, if you solve one, you can solve the other.

Shelly and Ash are listening carefully.

"Obviously, I'm not allowed to leave. So... would you guys mind poking around for me based on that?? That would be REALLY helpful."

They.. agree, with some reluctance because of Piper. But if it is to stop someone from ruining more kingdoms, they're all for it.

"Great!! ....I have.. a theory. There's a kingdom that is stellar in um, wizards and magic stuff. I really think that's where you should go. Have you heard about the Grailams Kingdom?"

Shelly confirms it. Aside from the Ranger in the forest, she's heard countless tales of sorcery when she was growing up.

Colette gives them funds to travel comfortably. She also urges them to take Max along with them. Fairies are super helpful in many ways! And Max is the cream of the crop! Take her!

Shelly shrugs. "I guess. Won't they notice your Knight is missing?"

"It'll be fine!" Colette says dismissively. "Now I gotta go. Good night!!"

And she slinks away, stumbling a bit in her dress. How... weird.

Max smiles at them. "So! When are we heading out? Morning time right? I guess there's still time to kill. I'm just going to take a quick power nap." She darts into Shelly's room before she could be stopped.

"..."

Well, it makes sense why they're friends.

Shelly and Ash do settle in again for the night. They have a journey to continue tomorrow.

#Brawl Stars #Once Upon A Brawl #Shelly #Ash #Piper #Colette #Max #Ash's voice is well defined and loud in my ear to write her #but for the life of me scottish slang is so... diairjwqk #Anyway! look forward to the next part soon 👀#i know i am #...not that i didn't like this part.. but it's just a LOT of set up. ..#okay bye now

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itsoutrageouss · 4 years ago

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LOST MY MIND || KYLO REN

Summary: You’re working on the finalizer, suffering from cold and lonley nights- wishing for a special someone to be by your side. Maybe you’ll get one step further?

Word count: 2,2k

A.N: first imagine on here! Kinda nervous ngl. Also this is inspired by ‘lost my mind’ by FINNEAS

The nights were long. Too long.

Laying cold and empty in a black void, no light seeping from no windows.

No white noise.

And no body next to yours. No one to warm you. No one to make you feel whole.

At this point, you wouldn’t mind whoever was next to you. A stranger. An enemy.

Just someone to hold you when you’re scared.

And you’re often scared.

Because this is a big an cold galaxy. An unfair place where you don’t have that;. A place.

You want something more than this. Than working on a ship. You’re a nobody.

If you died, who’d know? Who’d care?

You know you can do something greater, but you have nowhere to show or prove it.

So you lay, cold and lonely every night. Crying for something to grasp and feel. Something to believe in.

This was another night like this.

But something changed. You weren’t just hoping for anyone next to you. You found yourself wishing for a special pair of arms. A special persons breath on your hair, and the slow risings of his chest.

You widened your eyes. Why him?

The sudden urge to have Kylo Ren’s arms around you, felt so exposing. Vulnerable.

You never thought of the Supreme Leader that way. But his face has flashed before your eyes before, and it was like you knew him in some way. Felt awfully comfortable with the otherwise intimidating man. This was a whole unexplored territory, and it felt so dangerous. Yet so comfortable.

The tears stopped.

The rest of the nights were harder. You saw him everyday. You needed him. You could never.

You were mad, that you couldn’t help him, because you knew. You knew he was torn, and breaking slowly. And maybe in some way, you understood him more than others. But he would never let you speak to him. How you were stuck in this awful place with the only person you needed to stay away from.

The tears started again.

You were walking down the long halls of the finalizer, a cold and empty eerie falling over it. That was because it was early. Earlier than early. Later than late. You didn’t know just how late or how early. But enough for the last generals to have gone to bed, and for the stormtroopers to not yet have woken up.

Your hair is disheveled, eyes bloodshot from terror. When you finally fell asleep the nightmares grasped. They seemed all to real. Kylo Ren. Snoke. He talked to you. To you. Told you that you were to be careful about Kylo. You asked him what he meant, and he just smiled a nasty smile.

He seemed all too friendly for what you’ve heard of him. But you’re sure it’s all a mask. Behind it he has a sneaky surprise. But it was just a dream right?

Yet it kept you up. Woke you sweating and anxious. So without thinking, you got dressed and left your chamber. Where you were going, you didn’t know. You needed light. Some kind of light source, brighter than the milky rays from the dim stars splattered across the galaxy. You kept walking, until you stumbled upon a room. A new kind of room. You felt something coming from inside it. Something strong. And dangerous.

Your curiosity gave in, but you immediately saw the code on the door. Dammit. You bit your lip, thinking of a way in. It was like you had to. It was urgent.

You were about to try to to randomly type, as the doors hiss open. Your eyes are met with another hall. Slick, white walls and doors on the side. You silently walk in, feet cold on the white floor. It was a contrast to the pitchblack finalizer halls, and the light was bright. Just like you needed it to be.

You felt it again. Pulling so urgently in your gut. The first door. It opened just like the first one. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you knew you were in dangerous waters. You shouldn’t be here.

A black, melted mask neatly placed on a pedestal.

“Darth Vader” you mutter with wide eyes. You were so far in this, you might as well look closer.

You glide down the few steps, and up close to the mask. The curled up material, matte yet shiny.

“Help me” you croaked, looking into the black holes.

“You were good once, weren’t you? What happened?” in hope, you place a hand on the cold mask. A force surges through your veins, shooting to your brain.

“What are you doing?” A sharp voice sounds behind you, and you jerk your hand away, turning around in a jump.

Kylo Ren.

“I-” You had no words. How could you explain how you ended up here. Had he heard what you just said? Was he gonna kill you?

“I’m not gonna kill you” No smile. Cold expression, as he walked down in the room. You stood frozen next to the mask, like another sculpture. He walked closer, yet stood far. Like a hunter observing his prey.

You better shut up your thoughts, because he could clearly hear them.

“Why are you down here?” he had many questions, but he limited himself.

“I couldn’t sleep- and- and something just lead me here” you hated how foolish it sounded, but you couldn't lie to him. His presence made your heart race rapidly, your nerves twitch and palms sweaty, like he saw right through you

“Lead you here, you say?” he made a curious grimace, pacing around the room.

“Yes” you peep, following his moves intently.

“You’re in my quarters” he stops to look at your reaction. Your eyes widen, heart jumping out of your chest. You walked into Kylo Ren's quarters like some kind of blind idiot.

“How did you get through the doors?” he was too tired to probe your mind, and he knew that you wouldn’t lie to him, somehow.

“They just opened for me. I’m sorry supreme leader, i’ll leave immediately” despite the questions burning in your throat, fear crippled over you. And respect for authority.

You look shamefully to your toes, walking with quick steps towards the door. But you take a halt in your exit, as his voice yet again seeps through your skin.

“No. Stay” his voice was low, whispering. Yet you heard it echoing in your body.

He knew why you were dragged here. He knew. But he wouldn’t tell you just yet. Not before he knew who he was talking to. Really knew. With a little intimidation game, like he was so good at.

You slowly turn your head, without moving you body. You weren’t completely sure he meant it, and you didn’t wanna be so foolish to think he didn’t want you to leave.

“You don’t think im serious?” he held the slightest of an amused tone, but not enough for you to believe it was true.

“I don’t understand is more like it’ you bit your tongue for not just staying shut.

‘What’s your name girl?’ The way he talked down to you made you feel even more petty, as you stood on the first step.

‘Harlow’ you meet his eyes, feeling a surging again, stronger than before. His lips part slightly, with a shaky jaw.

‘Harlow’ he ponders, furrowing his brows as he takes a few steps closer. You gulp, now looking anywhere other than at him.

‘Am I the reason you cry at night?’

The question took away the air in your lungs, and took you by utter surprise. How did he know?

He saw your clearly shocked reaction with slight amusement, but seriousness quickly fell over his features again, his eyes meeting yours as he awaits an answer.

You wanted to ask him what he meant- pretending dumb. But you knew he wasn’t just that.

“No” yet you couldn’t manage to utter the truth, even if you knew deep down that he knew the answer as well. He took in a breath, finally closing the gap between you deliberately.

Inches.

You looked at his feet. Black boots. Tried focusing on the black boots. Not his intense stare, or the heavy risings of his chest. Just the black boots.

“You’re afraid.” he stated with a slight head nod. It scared you how much he knew. Because you didn’t know just how much. You diverted your shameful stare to his.

Looking between each of his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.” you admitted, with the peek of a sheepish smile. How foolish you were. Idiotic even.

His face was still, but his eyes kept moving between yours. Searching them, as he looked down at you between heavy breaths.

“Am I in your head?” you asked due to the silence. And to the random boost of confidence you gained from absolutely nowhere.

You glanced over at the melted mask. Like he was watching the two of you.

“Like you’re in mine?” this moment was so intimate, and so exposing, why not make it worse already?

You could tell he was caught of guard by your sudden candid exterior, by the way his jaw trembled slightly as he shut it tight, and his head raised a little above yours, so did his eyes.

“I can hear you. At night. Your thoughts. You’re stuck in my head” he tried not to falter his confidence, but you felt the hint of vulnerability peek in his tone.

The answer was to your surprise. In some way you had felt it, but always thought it was your imagination. Because-

“-Why?” Now he was the one to avert his eyes, looking just above your head.

He pondered. Pondered if he should tell you now, or if it would all be to much. Because in some way he cared. In some way, he cared if you’d start crying again like he’d heard all those nights. And the truth was that his heart was aching at your sobs- because he understood just how you felt. Sometimes he didn’t even know if he just projected his feelings onto you- or you were just this similar.

“Come” he glanced at you, before leaving the room.

You hesitated, glancing back at the mask. You felt something so powerful radiate from it. Something so fearful and safe. And torn. It almost made you tear up.

You obeyed him finally, and followed him to the long hall again. White, clean walls.

He walked to the door at the end, slightly bigger than the others around. He waved his hand in a simple movement and the door opened. You were already in awe of his power.

You followed him into the room. Big.

Black, in contrary to the rest. A bed. Black silk sheets. A bookshelf. A dresser. Another door.

It was simple.

You wanted to ask him more questions, just like he wanted to ask you. But you both decided to hold them in- because something told you this wouldn’t be the last time you got to talk.

“You can sleep in here. I don’t want to hear you cry again” it may have sounded like a command. But his eyes told you it wasn’t. He really couldn’t stand hearing you scared or hurt anymore.

You stood in a wavering silence, as his eyes searched yours with that same look. Before he left you alone.

Your curiosity made your feet walk, and you tiptoed to the books. Sith books. None of the jedi. Your hands delicately stroked the covers, before you went to the dresser. Most of the clothes was black. Some heavy armor, some leather, some black shirts.

Closed it neatly again, and went to the door on the opposite side of the bed. It opened easily, and behind it was another white room. A refresher. Smelled clean, yet with the hint of a scent you couldn’t quite recall.

You didn’t want to seem foolish but.. did he just ask you to stay here? in his quarters? not that you mind, but why? He was a man you might never figure out. But you’d try.

Suddenly the lack of sleep wailed over you, and your legs could barely hold you. For a second you thought about just leaving. But the truth was, you really didn’t want to. He might not be beside you, but he’d be near, you knew. You felt it.

You crawled under the sheets, still in the clothes you quickly put on before leaving your chamber. They smelled like him, and you seeped into the soft mattress, the silk embracing your skin. This felt much warmer than your chamber, and a wholesomeness filled you. Safety. If you were to cry, it would be happy tears.

You finally let your shoulders ease, and the breath you’d been holding since you saw his face, out. You could feel him roaming your mind, and how close he was. Maybe just in the next room.

Thank you.

You thought. Loud and clear.

He didn’t reply, but it was almost as if you could see his face before you, a light smile forming on his lips. A soft smile.

But you might’ve lost your mind, because how much of this was real and what wasn’t?

#adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren fanfiction #ben solo #adam driver #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren ff #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren one shot #kylo ren oneshot #adam driver imagine #adam driver one shot #soft kylo #Spotify

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years ago

Text

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #rk800 dbh x reader #falselywrites #crosspost from main acc

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pointedly-foolish · 5 years ago

Text

[ вut "sєntímєntαl вσч" ís mч nσm dє plumє ]

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

you did what you were designed to do.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesis only gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my art tag or my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human #connor detroit: become human #connor x reader #connor dbh #connor rk800 #falsely writes

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belphegor1982 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 is up!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces (on AO3 here)

“So that’s your office? I must say, I’m impressed, old boy.”

“Knock it off, Jon.”

The room was tiny and rather stuffy, and Jonathan had to wait a while before Tommy could find a spare chair, in this case a collapsible with a cloth back. The mess was indeed impressive – you couldn’t see even a little bit of desk under all the huge, dusty files lying on it and all the loose sheets. All around the desk, the path was more or less cleared, but you still had to be extra careful not to step on books and files of varying shapes and sizes. The whole floor was cluttered up by cardboard boxes, some still held shut by adhesive tape, most of them open; as Jonathan peeped into one, he saw various items wrapped in protective paper.

Despite the messy aspect, Tommy’s office gave an overall cheerful impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, high up the wall. Dust danced in the rays and didn’t seem to be willing to settle anywhere.

“Sorry for the shambles, mate,” said Tommy, rummaging through the papers on his desk and starting to tidy everything up. “They made me move in here only a week ago, I haven’t had time to clean it all up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s head shot up from the desk, glancing sheepishly at Jonathan. “Y’know, when I told your sister I was one of the chief agents… Well, I might have overstated the thing a lil’ bit.”

“No! You’re not serious, are you?”

Tommy growled at Jonathan’s smirk, and he fell silent, letting his eyes wander here and there. They finally came to rest upon the only thing that seemed tidy enough – a dozen old-looking books resting on a set of shelves.

Jonathan left his chair to get a proper look. Some of the books came directly from the British Museum, and looked as if they were borrowed from the archives – old and worn, with leather covers slightly frayed along the edges. Not to mention the dust. And they smelt like escapees from the City of the Dead.

“I say, that’s some collection you’ve got yourself here,” said Jonathan amazed as he read the date of print of a particularly shabby-looking one. “My God… Evy would go spare if she saw this.”

“I’m sure she would,” Tommy said, emerging from the layers of paper and straightening himself up. “I just love these kinds of old books, you know; there’s a feeling about them you just don’t get with more – ‘recent’ ones. Now, where’d I put that bloody ��”

“Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Tommy sighed as he dropped on his chair, only to jump up and remove something before sitting down. “I’m sure what little I’ve got on Hamunaptra is lying ‘round somewhere in a folder – can’t seem to find it.”

Jonathan put the book he was holding back on its shelf and looked at the desk, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder.”

“Oh, that’s gonna help for sure, Jon,” muttered Tommy. Jonathan was about to retort, when his eyes stopped on a small picture in a frame. It was a photograph of a woman, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar the woman seemed. Finally, it clicked into place: the freckled face with a round nose and pointy chin, the mass of frizzy hair and the sweet, candid smile could only belong to one person.

“Hey! Isn’t that Elizabeth McAlester?”

An uneasy sort of smile crept up on Tommy’s lips. “Yes, that’s her – ‘cept her last name hasn’t been McAlester for some time now.”

Jonathan stared at him blankly for a full minute. Now this, of all things, was unexpected.

“You mean, she’s – you’re –”

Tommy nodded, still smiling.

“How long –?”

“That’ll make it seven years in October.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which this piece of news sank in. Elizabeth McAlester had been a cousin of a common friend, Arthur McAlester – a tall, gangly fellow with glasses constantly perched on the bridge of his long nose, rather bossy but altogether likeable. She was a year or two older than them, and went to Somerville. Jonathan and Tommy had spent their last year before the war wooing her in turn, although it was more of a game for the two boys than something really serious. None of them had really gone too far, though. They valued their reputation as gentlemen – sort of – and she was too much of a nice girl.

Thinking back on it, Jonathan realised that, had things worked out differently, Elizabeth would probably have been the only girl he could have spent some significant time with. She was smart, sweet, and funny when she wanted to. And he used to make her laugh – she had a nice laugh. But there was also the fact that she didn’t really love him.

Perhaps, if he had been a little smarter, he could have won her over. Of course, that would have also meant spending less time in pubs, gambling and drinking; that would have meant growing up, and he was simply not ready for that, especially after the armistice. Most fellows of twenty-five were not, after all, and he’d made it his business to be as carefree as he could to make up for 1917 and 1918. Problem was, he was now forty, and most of people that age were supposed to be settled. Evy was younger than him, and Rick and her had been married for eleven years now. And Tommy and Elizabeth, of all people, had been together for seven years, and he had a picture of her on his desk. Why, they must even have children.

Perhaps Jonathan should have been jealous – but he just couldn’t be. Tommy was a decent fellow, and Elizabeth was a nice girl; they deserved each other. He had had his chance, had messed up, and there was no way to get back what wasn’t anymore. Petty jealousy was simply irrelevant there.

“That’s great news, old boy,” he finally said, with a heartfelt smile. “Congratulations. Wish I could have seen you in a morning suit, though.”

Tommy beamed in return, obviously relieved, and Jonathan felt a pang of annoyance. Did Tommy really think that he was going to be mad at him for that? That was ridiculous.

“Thanks, Jon. You know, that… that means somethin’.”

Dammit. It was still impossible to be thoroughly annoyed with Thomas Ferguson. He may retain his rotten luck, but he still had that innocent look on his broad face that fooled even the most sceptical of all. Even one Jonathan Carnahan.

A somewhat awkward silence passed. Jonathan was glad to end it when he spotted a folder under his chair and bent to take it for a closer look. “Here – wasn’t that the one you were looking for?”

The file was very thick, with a hard cover, and it was held shut by an old belt. On a little bit of yellowish paper was scribbled, ‘Hamunaptra, City of the Dead – Reign of Seti the First, Dynasty XIX.’

Tommy crossed the room in two strides and all but snatched the file from Jonathan’s hands. “That’s it! That’s the one.” His old enthusiasm was back in his voice. “I haven’t looked at it in years, guess it’s been buried under a ton of other things.”

“You can keep it if you want. It’s not that urgent, Evy can wait a bit.”

“No, take it – just be sure to give it back before tonight, someone could ask for it… Though nobody’s asked for it in years, so I can’t see why someone would just now. Except for Hamilton, but even him –”

“Hamilton?”

“Charles Hamilton, my immediate superior. Odd guy, very thorough, very clean. Might be a very likeable fellow if someone took the umbrella off his arse, but that’s just my opinion… Well. Fact is, I’m not really supposed to show that file to anyone, but as it’s you and Dr O’Connell…”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chortle. Tommy looked at him curiously.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing, really – just the whole ‘Doctor O’Connell’ business. Funny thing to hear someone speaking in so high terms about my baby sister… especially you.”

Tommy shrugged and said with a grin, “Well, get used to it. Seriously, mate, I’ve heard of her since I was offered this job at the Research Department, and that was, what – ten years ago or so. Discovering Hamunaptra wasn’t such a big deal, I bet loads of people (poor chaps!) must’ve managed that in centuries past, but –”

Jonathan, whose first sight of the ancient City had been the skeletons and dried-up corpses of previous adventurers, gave a grim smile. Yes, indeed. Loads.

“– But she, her husband and… and you actually got out. Remind me to ask you how you did it someday, ‘cause I still have trouble believing it.”

“I bet you haven’t heard half of the story,” said Jonathan as a sly smile sneaked back on his lips.

“I hope you’ll tell me some time, then. This and that weird stuff with the Scorpion King two years ago.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, quite taken aback. “How d’you know about that, for cripes’ sake?”

“We, Mr Carnahan, know everything,” Tommy said with a mock smug grin, which he then dropped to finish, sounding almost embarrassed, “Well, not quite everything, I guess. In fact there’s still some huge blanks in the story.”

“Blanks you’d like me to fill, eh?” Jonathan chuckled. “I get it, Tommy old chap. I’d tell you the whole story anytime.”

Tommy’s right eyebrow shot up. “Anytime? That would include now?”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

“‘Work to do’? Man, this is what I work on! Gathering pieces of information, I mean. Can I take notes?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jonathan, a little bit dumbfounded. “All right, you’d better take a seat, because this is going to be long…”

.⅋.

“And you told him the whole story of what happened at Ahm Shere?”

“And Hamunaptra, too. He already knew the main lines, anyway.”

Evelyn shook her head. Jonathan could be a wonderful brother at times, but one of his major faults was and always had been his complete inability to keep a secret the way it should remain – secret.

“I can’t believe you did that, Jonathan.”

“Oh, come on Evy, please trust me on this one, will you? Tommy’s reliable. He’s a decent bloke.”

His blue eyes were almost pleading, and Evelyn found her anger ebbing. The only times he had proved so persuasive were when he tried to cover up for one of Alex’s most foolish stunts. Though she could never admit it, such an attitude was very endearing, in a cheeky, annoyingly efficient sort of way.

Then there was this file. She couldn’t decently stay mad at him when he had been thoughtful enough to borrow it for her from this Ferguson fellow. And to tell the truth, she was positively dying to see what it contained. She couldn’t wait to get home to open it.

“Jonathan, it’s very touching to see you standing up for a friend, but you must admit that so far, the people you have entrusted with our, ah – family secrets – haven’t proved very ‘reliable’, have they?”

“Tom is, Evy. I swear. And he works for the British Consulate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh…” Evelyn sighed, about to give in, “if only this was a guarantee of safety…”

“Just because What’s-his-name of the British Museum woke our mummy again and bollixed things up last time doesn’t mean Tommy’s not ‘safe’, old mum. Please –” and there he stopped her in her tracks and looked at her in the eye, “– believe me.”

Aw, dash it… It was still impossible to remain angry with him. She never could resist this unique mix of fake innocence, thoughtless cheekiness, and sincerity somewhere in the middle.

“All right, all right – quit pestering me, and I won’t bother you about this Mr Ferguson anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, that’s a promise.”

Jonathan’s ‘persuader’ expression turned into a dangerous smile, one that his sister knew only too well. As a rule, it meant trouble was on the way.

“That’s nice, Evy, because I asked him if he wanted to see the diamond while it’s still here in Cairo –”

No exception to the rule today, it seemed. Evelyn was flabbergasted, but she said nothing… She had promised, after all.

“– And we agreed that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, and it’s still my diamond in a way, a little – I mean, I know I sold it and everything, but I haven’t looked at it in ages and –”

Evelyn let him talk until he ran out of words and finished on a rather lame, “And, well, I – I was hoping you could intercede on my behalf, you see…”

“You don’t have to ask me,” she said in a deliberately colder voice. “You’ll have to see the curator for that. I wish you good luck convincing him.”

Jonathan’s face dropped.

“Evy, please! You’re my sister! I’ve hardly ever seen this bloke, you’re –”

“I’m far more gullible, is that what you meant to say?”

“No, it’s not – that’s – cripes, Evy, all I’m asking for is two words to the curator from you. Consider it payback for Tommy, he might’ve got into trouble lending you this secret file for the afternoon.”

The file. She’d almost forgotten it. Although Jonathan’s last sentence sounded a little like emotional blackmail, ugly as the word was, Ferguson had indeed seemed pleasant enough the day before. There was a cultured man, with a proper job – something of a change from the dubious company Jonathan usually kept – who respected and admired her work. She hadn’t heard praise such as he’d given her in quite a long time. And he trusted her enough to lend her this file.

“Well,” she said eventually, very slowly and reluctantly, “I suppose I could talk Dr Hakim into letting the two of you in the diamond’s room… Not alone, of course, and only for a few moments. I’ll see tomorrow if –”

She started when her brother kissed her on the cheek, beaming.

“Dear, sweet Evy, you’re the best sister any decent fellow would ever dream of.”

“Oh, come off it,” sighed Evelyn, who couldn’t help but smile all the same.

They found the house empty: Rick had taken Alex to the bazaar downtown. Evelyn quickly sat down on the sofa and carefully put the file on the coffee table in front of her, while Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him and opened the folder.

It contained mainly sheet after sheet of paper covered in tiny scrawl, and as she ran her eye over them she could tell it was a report of sorts, with dates, names, and more or less precise directions. There were newspaper cuttings, some of them quite old, and also some sepia photographs. She was leafing through them when Jonathan put a cup of tea on the table and sat beside her, a tumbler in his hands.

“So? Have you dug some stuff up already?”

“I guess so, yes… I didn’t know Lord Carnavon had worked on Hamunaptra as well…”

“Good thing he kept it quiet, one curse as cause of death is well enough – didn’t need two,” quipped Jonathan. Evelyn elbowed him and picked up another set of pictures. Her brother’s eyes widened.

“Evy, that’s – that’s us!”

He was right. Though the photographs were old, blurred, and of rather bad quality, the figures on it were unmistakable. They must have been taken shortly after Hamunaptra, because Evelyn saw some shots of Jonathan with his left arm in a sling, and several of herself and Rick, arm in arm, both their faces shining with sun and laughter. She remembered how it was, back then – the slight awkwardness between them, the happiness fluttering in her stomach each time his hand brushed against her, even by accident; it had seemed to her that she was constantly walking on a little cloud, inches above the ground, silly as this comparison may sound.

Of course, she had got down from this cloud long ago – but reality had not been as harsh as her school friends had once told her. Rick was a wonderful husband, and there was never a second of boredom between them. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still took every opportunity to seduce her. Not in the romantic, literary way, with tête-à-têtes and candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her over the table, the twinkle in his eye that was for her and her alone never failed to make her melt. And after all these years, he still managed to make her blush, too. Of course, she protested, saying that it was absolutely ridiculous for a thirty-six year old woman to blush; but he’d just laugh softly, his rich chuckle sending shivers down her spine and making her feel as if she were twenty-five again.

Jonathan often said some people were born lucky. Hers was another kind of luck – she may not have a ‘proper’ social life like acquaintances of hers in London had, but the four men of her life, namely Rick, Alex, Jonathan, and Ardeth – in a very slightly lesser extent, as she saw him fairly rarely – were the four people she loved most, and they were wonderful. Lady Maria Evans and her circle of snobby friends would never know how it felt to die and being brought back to life by her eight-year-old son and her brother. She would never know the overwhelming smell of gunpowder, the ache you get in your shoulder from the recoil, the deafening noise, how it felt to be kissed awake by a three-thousand-years old mummy – but then, had Evelyn been able to, she would have gladly skipped this part. Ew.

“I say, Evy, do you think they’ll mind if we took a couple of photos to put them into frames?”

Jonathan’s voice drew her back from the memories, and she looked at the pictures in her brother’s hands. There was another one or two of Rick and her, one of the three of them – in the streets of Cairo, by the look of it – and a full-length one of Jonathan alone, his hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, and a curious look on his face. There was something funny and rather sweet about this one which matched the involuntary subject’s general attitude: offhand, ironic, foppish, forgetful, but altogether loyal and kind. Evelyn was indeed tempted to keep it, as Jonathan had suggested.

“I agree that some of those would be worth it,” she said, smiling. “But maybe you’d better ask your friend first –”

An odd thought crossed her mind at the mention of Tom Ferguson. When she had met him the day before, he had clearly shown that he didn’t know Jonathan had been a part of the Hamunaptra expedition. But it just would have taken a look at the contents of this file to know that his former schoolmate had been involved – his full name was written in black and white, and the photographs were faithful enough. Besides, Jonathan had not changed that much over the years.

“Jonathan, I’ve just thought of something – Tom knows this file, does he? I mean, you told me he’s been working in the Department for ages, so he must have read it at some point, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. And your point is?”

“Well, perhaps I’m just being silly, but how come he didn’t know you were at Hamunaptra? Your name and your face are all over these papers, look…”

Jonathan frowned slightly, and bent to look at the sheet she held out for him. There was an account of that night so long ago in the Sultan’s Casbah that had started it all, and it was just as Rick had told her when she had asked how her sticky-fingered brother had managed to steal his puzzle box.

“Whoa, Evy… there’s a fair amount of details in there.” She saw his eyes dart from the top to the bottom of the sheet; then he exclaimed, “Oh, of course! That Casbah barman, what’s his name again… Oh yes, Musa. I bet he was the one who gave them such a precise account. Can’t believe he still held that grudge after –” he looked at the top of the sheet again “– two years. Resentful git. It was only a little fight.”

Evelyn didn’t know what made her insist, but she ignored his last remark and continued. “You see? He could hardly miss you. And yet he seemed to ignore completely your part in the trip to and from Hamunaptra. By the way, my name was Carnahan at the time, not O’Connell. I don’t understand why he looked so surprised to see that his famous Dr O’Connell and your bossy little sister were in fact one single person – it’s just not logical.”

There was a short silence, during which Jonathan seemed to ponder her words. Then he turned to face her, and to her surprise, there was something like anger in his voice when he said, “You’re really something, you know, Evy. Stubborn as a mule, I’d say. I told you Tommy was a decent fellow, I mean – you met him, he’s not some sort of conman or something!”

“I’m not saying he is, Jonathan,” Evelyn said gently; she had not expected this kind of resistance at all. “I’m merely pointing out a fact. You must admit that it does look a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Well, don’t point. Fact is, you can’t admit that I know someone that you don’t, who’s smart, trustworthy, who works in the same stuff as you, and who also happens to be a damn good fellow to drink with.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Just what I’ve said. Leave him alone. I don’t understand why you’re nagging about him. Besides, Tommy adores you – you should hear the way he praises you to the skies.”

“I’m not nagging. Honestly, Jonathan, from the little I’ve seen of him, I like him well enough – he seems to be good company, a funny, cultured, clever fellow. And I’m flattered to hear that he thinks so highly of me. But rationally and logically speaking, there are some tiny details that bother me.”

She had spoken and chosen her words carefully, not wanting to start a row. She hated being at odds with her brother when he wasn’t the one who had started it – it made her feel uneasy and oddly guilty. He had been her only family for a long time, after all, and neither was likely to forget it. They shared something special.

Anger faded from the bright blue eyes, and Jonathan’s expression turned into something that looked remarkably like a pout.

“Can’t you just leave these out for me?”

Evelyn almost laughed. “I won’t say I’ll forget it, but I won’t pester you about it anymore. Just – I know I’ll sound silly again, but don’t be angry with me for that. I don’t like it at all when you are.”

This time, the usual smile was back on her brother’s face, and he sank back into the sofa, his half-empty glass still in his hands. “Ah, come on, Evy – that was silly indeed… You sounded like a kid. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you… I’m just annoyed that the one time I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, you still find a way to be suspicious.”

Of course, when you put it that way… Evelyn could understand Jonathan’s touchiness, and respected his faith in his friend, but still. It was only a few minor things, but the logical, scientific part of her mind was puzzled. Of course, it could just be that Tom Ferguson had a bad memory – she had never seen a folder so dusty, so she supposed he really hadn’t opened it in a long time… She’d find a way to chat about it with him some time. Casually, of course, in passing.

Maybe it was her instinct. Or maybe it was just her curiosity. That particular trait had been said many times to run in the family, and Evelyn was forced to recognise that it had proved true in many occasions.

Especially when it came to herself.

.⅋.

(I have a lot of fun writing scenes with Evy and Jonathan. I absolutely love their interaction in TM, and it was something I missed slightly when I watched TMR. When I write them I can’t help writing with my memories of TM in mind. It’s also fun to imagine Evy, having grown from the girl she is in TM into the self-assured, brilliant woman, wife, and mother, inches from running the British Museum in TMR, being childish enough to bicker with her brother. Both Carnahan siblings are big goofs in their own way, Evy just hides it better :P)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #my stuff #fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy films

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thecookiegawd · 6 years ago

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first thought: i think i hate men.

amongst all of the serious movements that erupted in early 2018 there was one that always bothered me whenever it showed up on my timeline: the hashtag “men are trash”. i was always taken aback by it, even if i knew that it was either a troll or not directed at me (which, already is toxic, because who am i to think that i’m the only person in this world who isn’t “trash” in some way?). up until recently i always thought this was a new way for the feminists to bash men instead of dealing w/ more urgent issues. one time on twitter i saw a homosexual gentleman standing in front of a huge pile of garbage w/ the caption, “a photo of me and a bunch of men.” again, obviously a silly troll, but i took the bait & the shit continued to fuck w/ me. why do i give a fuck so much? even if i am trash...so? you are too, in a way. we’ve all done things that are trash in our lifetime, otherwise there would be nothing to grow or mature from. i look back at old photos of me from high school & it instantly brings back memories of me desperately trying to sag my pants in a way that the administrators or my grandmother wouldn’t notice, spraying a mountain of axe on in the morning even if i didn’t shower because i wanted to smell more “manly”, wearing my hat to the back no matter what because that was how all the rappers did it, wearing two watches for literally no reason at all...i vomit just thinking about how hard i was trying to be something i wasn’t. that’s trash, isn’t it?

remember the day you woke up & decided to be yourself? you probably don’t, because if the decision was conscious then you’re probably an entirely different kind of trash than the type i’m addressing here- seek therapy. for the entirety of my twenties i’ve always tried to go against the normalcy of things; my taste in music, my fashion sense (or lack thereof), my speech, etc. i don’t want to be like you. i’m sure that people are going to always compare me to others because that’s the only way humans interact w/ new humans. if someone says, “yo, have you met my friend? he reminds me of so-and-so”, depending on how you view so-and-so, you might be inclined to meet them & strike up a conversation. i’ve always given way too much of a fuck about how i’m looked at in the public eye, which is why, till this day, i don’t do anything drastic to my body like getting a face tattoo or wearing knock-off sneaker brands (yes, to me that’s drastic), or getting a fucking android. for Christ’s sake, if the shit can call, text & work instagram i shouldn’t really care, right? i don’t even like taking pictures of myself on my phone.

let me get to my point. i was in a group chat w/ some gentlemen, most of which i had went to high school w/ & had shared at least 7 words or more w/ in my lifetime. the situation that happened is petty so i won’t speak on it, mostly because nobody but the people in that group chat are gonna care anyway. whatever happened happened, & i immediately got the fuck out of there. it was the first time i had ever seriously referred to anything as “toxic”. now of course, if the gentlemen were to ever read this, they would automatically assume it was because i was mad or my feelings were hurt, which is not only untrue but ironically toxic. i thought not about the situation itself, but why i felt the way i felt about the situation clear into 9am the following morning during my morning routine, which nowadays is sitting on the toilet and playing tetris. the thought zoomed into my head & i looked up and stared at the wall in silence as my blocks stacked on top of each other messily: “yo...i think i hate men.” the shit sounded wild nuts in my head so i immediately texted a close (male) friend of mine to make sure i just wasn’t overthinking things. after a long talk w/ him & some other people who are near & dear to me, i was given some clarity & i DEFINITELY had overthought it.

i was introduced to the idea that i might actually just hate non-creative people, but non-creative MEN specifically. it makes more sense in the grand scheme of things, considering how close-knit my friend group is, & how i’m always hesitant to even SPEAK to new people. honestly, if i could only ever converse w/ people who are in the business of creating, my life would be a lot more enjoyable. i HATE going to my 9-5 & staring these uncultured ass white people in the face whom i know have never worked hard for a thing in their lives, but are dropping more money on the services i provide them in two weeks than i make in an entire month. i never wanna know how your day is going, go the fuck away. i then think about how even the WOMEN i associate w/ are creative. a lot of you lame ass niggas (you know who you are) will kick it w/ any girl as long as she fucking. i’m 25 years old, my nigga. sex is a thing that’s happened to me time & time again- i require more now. if she ain’t talkin about shit i’m not even entertaining it. the craziest thing is that i’m called weird for thinking like that, as if wanting to actually enjoy the people i hang around is a crime. shit has me confused.

as corny as the shit sounds, my life requires color. the world is much more than black and white & that nondescript grey area in the middle. i’ve walked away from the idea of me hating men, but i do genuinely hate ANYONE regardless of gender who doesn’t add value. i was also told that i have an elitist attitude, which further pushes my distaste for non-creatives, seeing as it takes a lot to impress me. can’t just throw paint at a wall & call it art, my nigga. you gotta show me something else. idk if any of this shit made sense, it was just a thought.

#men are trash

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echelonlab-blog · 7 years ago

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Reigning Madness – Chapter 72

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Fiction.

Warnings: Smut

Tagging: @hazeleyedleto @msroxyblog @letojokerownsme @miss-shannanigans @snewsome756 @maliciousalishious @nikkitasevoli@meghan12151977 @mindlessselfindulgence88 @sanellv@ambolton@jayded-reality @bradlea23@spillinginkwithlove@alexis7215@dezmarz@pezziecoyote@whoistheprettiest@avaj99@iridescxntsolitude@pheenixpeterson@guccilowell@blondiefrommars @rowen1976

Caroline’s POV:

Jared ended up postponing any Mars related events, at least until the DNA results came in. Susan was reverting back to her petty ways. I was surprised she still let Jason and Jared visit her, but everyone else was banned from her room.

It was clear she didn't want me there. I couldn't blame her. With all that was going on, I could imagine her world crumbling. I stopped to pick up the mail before heading inside, rifling through it as I set my keys down. My legs trembled as I looked at the envelope sent from the hospital.

Moving over to the couch, I set it down on the coffee table, itching to know the results. But there was no way I was gonna open it without Jared. I busied myself with tidying up the place a bit and cooking dinner.

Jared would be home soon. I could feel my eyes land on the envelope from time to time, anxiety consuming my body. This was it. The answer everyone wanted to know. It amazed me how a piece of paper could hold the information that changed everything.

I heard Jared's car in the driveway, turning to check on the food, putting out the stove.

"Caroline?" Jared called, appearing in the doorway with the envelope in hand.

"Hey, J."

He moved over quickly, setting the letter down and cupping my cheeks. Smiling, he bent down to kiss my lips. "Hi. I missed you."

"I missed you too," I whispered against his lips.

He pulled back, picking up the envelope and turning it in his hands. "You ready for this?"

I nodded. "Just open it, babe. No matter what, I'm here."

With trembling hands he cut the top of the envelope, pulling out the piece of paper and unfolding it. Taking a deep breath, he began reading it silently, a frown on his face.

"Well?"

He handed me over the letter, my eyes flying across the page as I searched for the information. I let out a sigh of relief, closing my eyes as I read the name, Jason Caldwell. When I opened them, Jared was smiling widely, albeit there was something there akin to disappointment.

It was gone quick enough as he picked me up, spinning me in the air as I laughed, holding onto him. He set me down, pressing his forehead against mine, blowing out a breath.

"I knew it wasn't yours."

"You were right. Fuck, I can't believe this is really over."

"Not entirely, but this is something we can handle."

Jared nodded, grabbing my hips and capturing my lips with his. His kiss was urgent, his tongue meeting mine as I moaned softly into it. His hands descended to cup my ass and I could feel his hardness pressing against my core.

"Jared..." I sighed as he began placing kisses down my neck, my hands gripping his arms. Without a word, his lips fell against mine again as he picked me up. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, grinding into him as he took us upstairs.

He dropped me on the bed, pulling back to take off his shirt. I ran my hands down the center of his chest, hearing him groan. There was a fire blazing in his eyes as I unbuckled his belt, undoing his jeans quickly. He kicked them off along with his shoes, pulling on my jeans and underwear as I removed my shirt.

Jared locked his eyes on me as he kissed my stomach, his hand tracing lower, making me throw my head back and moan as he slipped his fingers through my folds. His tongue swirled around my navel, slowly going down, flicking my clit a couple of times as I fisted the sheets beneath me.

His eyes were dark pools of lust as he spread me, pressing my knees back onto the bed, his mouth attacking my core. I fisted my hands in his hair, grinding into him as I arched my back off the bed, the tingles spreading quickly through my body.

Kissing his way back up my body, I welcomed his kiss as he drove into me, his mouth swallowing up my loud moans. My body was shaking and my heart was racing as I traced his lips with my fingers, biting my own as he began moving.

Locking my legs around his waist, I cried out at the angle being perfect, his dick hitting all the right places inside of me. His mouth pressed kisses anywhere he could reach, my head spinning as I felt myself getting closer with each thrust.

Pulling his head back, my hands tugged on his hair lightly as I screamed his name, coming around his cock hard. Breathing heavily, he drove harder into me, his eyes never leaving mine as he chased down his own release.

He collapsed on top of me, his mouth meeting mine in a much softer kiss as his hands caressed my sides gently. I saw the change in his eyes the minute he opened them. That mischievous look that told me he was up to something.

"Jared?"

"Caroline Reedus, you're the woman of my life." He began, taking a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

"What?" I choked out, my eyes bulging out of my sockets. "Are you serious?"

He nodded, moving over to the dresser and retrieving a small box. "Dead serious! Before I leave, I want to make you my wife."

I looked at it in shock. "I- You're leaving in a couple of days, that's not nearly any time to plan a marriage."

"So? We'll fly to Vegas tomorrow. Just say yes..." He smiled at me, pecking my lips lightly. "Come on, you know you want to..."

I smiled, opening the box to find a beautiful ring inside. Nodding my head, I couldn't help but let a few tears slip. Jared's grin was huge as he picked up the ring, placing it on my finger. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since you agreed to move in." He said, kissing the pads of my fingers. "I was just waiting for the DNA results before doing it, but you're it for me, Care. I love you."

I moved over to straddle him, kissing him with all I had. "I love you too, Jared. And fuck it, all I care about is being with you. If you want to fly to Vegas, I'll do it."

#jared leto fanfiction #jared leto fic #shannon leto fanfiction #shannon leto fic #30 seconds to mars fanfiction #30STM #Reigning Madness

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anything-advice-blog · 7 years ago

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Submission - Tumblr Friend

Hey, a few months ago this girl reached out to me on tumblr and she’s very sweet. She’s quite a bit older than me (she’s in her 20s I’m 16) but she’s nice and it’s only a platonic relationship. But after a while she started coming to me for a lottt of her problems.

At first it was small things like her parents over protection and stuff. But now it’s gotten to this point where she’s telling me she hates herself and it’s clear she has awful depression. But I genuinely don’t know what to do. She’s from a different country first of all. Second of all, whenever I try to encourage her she tells me I can’t because she’ll always hate herself and Im in this really strange position now where I’m having to make sure this woman who’s older than me isn’t going to do anything to harm herself.

I know it’s bad but sometimes I ignore her messages for a bit because I cannot cope. I’m currently doing exams that will shape my future at college and things so I’m genuinely struggling to balance it all. She talks about other internet friends that have left her and so I’m sympathetic. I don’t want to leave her alone because I know she’s strong and I want to help her but…

She also refuses to see when she’s doing something wrong. She rants to me about how her friends won’t tell her all their secrets and about how once this person asked her to tag something as a trigger and she got all mad and I was like. Yeah, cause it triggered them. But I can’t say that to her because I don’t want to hurt her feelings and trigger her depression.

For her age, she is slightly immature and she gets upset about petty things. She’s met so many celebs and she has so much stuff but she gets mad because she can’t go to one thing or the other. I think it’s to do with her depression/ anxiety but she won’t get help.

It’s gotten to this point where it seems sort of hopeless. I’ve tried, I really have. I’ve given her encouragement. I’ve stayed up till god knows what time making sure she’s still okay. I’ve checked in on her and taken it when she’s got angry at me. I’ve given her advice. But it’s just not good enough and I don’t know what to do.

URGENT! Hi, I don't mean to make your job here more difficult or anything and I really appreciate how difficult this must be so first I'd like to say thank you for everything you do! Secondly, I sent an ask about a 20 something year old woman I've recently developed a friendship with that puts too much pressure on me and that gets easily mad and I was hoping it could be answered ASAP as I've got to this point where I'm completely offline and ignoring her just to get away. Thank you!!!

Hey love,

I think for both your sake and hers, it’s good to reduce your communication until you are both on the same grounds. It’s not her fault for her depression and insecurity. We all want to help our friends and when they’re going through a tough time it makes it even more important to stay by their side; however, there comes a time when we also need to look after ourselves as well. So if you feel that this friendship is draining you, if it is becoming toxic, it’s okay to take a step back. Will you feel guilty? Yes. Who wouldn’t? But I believe that in the long run it’ll benefit you a lot to tell yourself that it’s okay to put yourself first.

I would suggest that you talk to her honestly about what’s happened. Remind her that you’re still her friend and you’d like to help but there’s very little you can do given the distance between you two. Remind her that she’s not alone in this but things can’t get better unless she’s willing to make an active choice to make it better. It’s hard to love ourselves when we’ve been put down so many times but it’s worth a shot. Encourage her to get help. Encourage her to reach out for help. When it comes to online friendships, I believe this is the best that you can do. You can encourage her to reach out for help from advice blogs if she’s not yet comfortable with talking to a counsellor.

As for yourself, please put you first. You don’t have to bear her anger if you didn’t deserve it. It’s unfair and it seems to be taking a huge toll on your own wellbeing. I understand that you fear you may trigger her depression but what happens to you if you don’t stop it? Will you also fall into that depression? Will you be okay if you don’t get out right now? I would encourage you to talk to her about what’s happening to you as well. Let her know that you want to help but if she doesn't want to help herself, you can’t do much for her. You can listen to her problems but she can’t take her anger out on you. Tell her that you have feelings and it hurts when your feelings are put to the side because she also has hers. In a friendship, you should both support each other and help each other. When it becomes one-sided, it becomes less of a friendship and more of a burden. So to help yourself with this, I would allow myself to take a step back for a day or two to recuperate. You can confide in other fiends. Do things that help you de-stress. Confide in a counsellor yourself or treat yourself to a relaxing afternoon. If you need to, reduce the time that you talk to her. I don’t know if you’re text or just messaging over Tumblr, but it’s okay to take a few hours to yourself.

I don’t know if leaving her would benefit you or not, but please don’t forget to take care of yourself too. If she becomes toxic and leaving this friendship will help you, then please do make that decision. I don’t want you to leave if you don’t think it’s necessary but don’t force yourself.

always by your side,

Kelly

#kelly #Tumblr friend #friend #friends #friendship #depression #depressed friend #friend with depression #feeling stressed out #feeling overwhelmed #anonymous #answered #advice #submission #advice blog #anything advice blog

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1206

surveys by xmusicdudettex

How many people close to you have passed away? I’ve had many relatives who’ve passed away; they all meant a lot, of course, but as for the ones I had been truly close with, I can think of 6. There’s also Nacho, so that’s 7 in total.

Did you ever have the wild experience of having insane next-door neighbors? Yeah we used to have neighbors that had these really rowdy, terribly-behaved teenage kids who often brought their equally noisy friends over. That wasn’t a fun time and I was so relieved when they moved out.

Have you ever been taken to the emergency room or urgent care? If so, why? Nah. I’ve been confined once but it wasn’t an emergency situation.

Have you ever had to visit anyone in the hospital? Nope. I mean, there have been situations where a loved one had had to stay in the hospital but our parents never took us with them when they visited.

Have you ever had any near-death experiences? I wouldn’t say so. I had that one horrible near-car accident while driving to school a few years back, but I don’t think it would’ve been it for me if it actually happened. My car would’ve totally been wrecked, though.

What are your fears? Are we talking petty fears or long-term ones? Anyway, I hate cockroaches and I’m also afraid of being left alone in the future.

How well do you manage under stressful situations? I was terrible at it at first and was always prone to breakdowns. But since my job has such a high-pressure nature to begin with changes happening every minute, I’ve become more used to stressful situations.

Do you tend to bottle things up inside or can you open up? I bottle them up and just wait for the moment that I can’t take it anymore to finally cry and break down.

What is the most pain (physical, mental, emotional) you've ever felt? Physical: Either my snorkeling injury or my fever from last year where I felt like a literal living corpse.

Mental/Emotional: That brief period of time last year where I dealt with fresh graduate existential crisis, unemployment, and a breakup all at once.

Have your past experiences changed you as a person? For sure. I have a completely different mindset and approach to things now thanks to stuff I had to go through.

Do you believe that you can grow from your past experiences? Yes.

What is the longest time you've spent crying? A whole night.

How do you relieve your negative feelings? I don’t, really. Sometimes crying and acknowledging my sadness can be the healthiest thing to do. But if it’s manageable, I find relief from trying to do things that make me happy.

Have you ever had to deal with suicide in any way, shape, or form? Yuh.

Has anyone ever broken your trust? Yes.

If so, did it damage your ability to trust anyone at all? I wouldn’t say at all but it’s been considerably damaged.

Have you ever been stolen from? No.

Have you ever grown apart from someone? Yeah. Some have been for the best; some just happened naturally so I feel mostly indifferent about the drifting apart.

Have you ever had a best friend move away? Yes, when my two best friends moved to different countries at roughly the same period.

Are you generally a happy, sad, mad, or apathetic person? Happy with a dash of apathetic, hahaha.

Have you ever been in a fight? ??? Of course?

Did you ever run away from home? No but as an angsty teenager/the trouble child, I definitely had these thoughts. Looking back at it now, it’s hilarious how rebellious I felt but still had the self-awareness that I had absolutely nowhere to go to if I did run away lol

Do you have any unstable or rocky relationships with anyone? Yeah, this is me and my mom for the most part.

Have you ever had to cut someone out of your life for your own good? Yes.

Have you ever had to call 911? If you'd like to share the story, feel free. No, I don’t think we have that service here because Philippines.

Have you ever been seriously threatened? I don’t think so.

Have you ever had any serious injuries? Yep, the aforementioned snorkeling injury had been pretty rough.

Has anything you've ever been through changed you negatively? Possibly, but I always try to focus on how I’ve grown from situations.

Have you ever been in the hospital? If so, what for? I have. Something that we thought had been dengue but was (thankfully?) just a low platelet count.

What is the longest you have been sick for? A week and a half.

Are you ready to reclaim your life and take back what's yours? I’m getting there.

What is the song for your life right now? Lost by BTS.

Do you believe that when you die, you get to see all your loved ones again? When it comes down to it I don’t believe in an afterlife, but nonetheless this is a very comforting thought to stay in.

Who would you be the most excited to see? My grandfather and my dogs.

Have you lost, or almost lost, someone close to you to death this year? I lost 3 of them within the same month.

Did you lose any of your friends this year? If so, how? Gabie, though she really hasn’t been my friend in a while; I just decided to absolutely pull the plug this year. Cut off all ties, deleted all photos and videos.

Have you experienced anything new this year? If so, what? I got into K-Pop hahahahahahahahaahahaaahahaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Do you enjoy reading National Geographic magazines? No only because I don’t really get to encounter them. I’d definitely read one if I found one lying around, though.

Have you ever been to a ghost town? Hmm, I don’t think so.

Have you ever been white water rafting? I have not.

Do you enjoy meeting new and interesting people? Yes, especially those who have been through a lot in life and have a lot of fascinating stories to tell.

Would you rather read the book or watch the movie? Watch the movie.

Do you enjoy doing crossword puzzles and/or word searches? Love word searches, crossword puzzles not so much.

Do you know anyone who is serving in the military right now? No, not personally.

Does/did either of your parents serve in the military? Neither of them did/do.

Has anything in your house ever caught on fire? No.

Have you ever been inside of a vacant house? We used to spend weekends in our current home back when it was already fully constructed, but we still didn’t have the means to fill it up with furniture. We spent some time here so my mom could keep the place clean, but it had been entirely devoid of any furniture or appliance then.

Have you ever been attacked by a dog? Nope.

Have you ever hugged a stranger you thought was someone else? I’ve mistakenly held a stranger’s hand as a kid, but I don’t think I’ve gone all the way and hugged the wrong person.

As a small child, did you ever feel as if you were different or weird? Yes. Because I had a name perceived to be masculine and because my mom loved to keep my hair painfully short throughout my entire childhood.

Is it easy for you to see when someone's lying? Eh, sometimes. Some people are still effortlessly good at lying.

Did you ever cut your own hair when you were little? No.

Are you able to handle small amounts of sleep? I can now. I used not to but these days I usually run on 4-5 hours of sleep.

If you could instantly know any language in the world, what would it be? Korean pls.

What is the most disgusting thing you've ever seen? In person? Hmm. Probably roadkill, even though I feel bad saying it.

Do you get stage fright? Sometimes. It comes and goes.

How old were you when you learned how to read? I was around 4 or 5.

This year, how many times have you been to the doctor? Zero.

#survey #surveys

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