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iaminfourthwing · 8 months ago

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The Generals Daughter

Chapter III

The sun is up when we stand in formation the next day while Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll. The courtyard is hollowed in almost deadly silence.

We’re all in our assigned uniforms for first years with our patches added and while some of us look like they got a decent amount of sleep last night, I didn`t and I feel like I am ready to be send to Malek. But my mind was running on high speed and I was way too paranoid to sleep, ready for the (mostly im)possible scenario someone might try to pull some shit at night, even though it would be against the Codex. Violet next to me looks like she struggles but is keeping her head high. She is strong which makes me proud.

“We command their souls to Malek.” Oh, we were at the end already.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you`re not going to get another chance before lunch” Dain says, “and I hope at least one of you first years has the academic schedule remembered.”

“And if we’re not?” someone behind us says. Is he dumb?

“Then I don`t have to be concerned with forgetting your name” Aetos shrugs. Well.

“Sawyer” he looks to the left at a first year. Ah, Sawyer Henrick, the freckled guy that repeats the first year because he didn`t bond during Threshing last year. It takes some balls to do this shit again, he has my full respect.

“I`ll get them there” he answers and turns to the nine of us first years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don`t be fucking late” he shouts and heads off to the dormitory.

“This must be shit, doing this again” Rhiannon states.

“Better than being dead” the guy from before claims as he walks on my right side. I think his name is Ridoc but I am not sure. I look around, not saying anything and make my way to the dorms, not noticing that Violet isn't by my side anymore. In her place walks Rhiannon. “Where-“ “Dain” she says before I can ask. Damn Aetos, so much for being subtle.

We`re off to grab our (and Violets) stuff and head over to the academic wing for history, which is going to be boring for both Violet and myself. Violet was trained to be a scribe, so she knows it all, and I had to study everything anyways, order from my father.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief” Professor Devera greets us. This will be the only class we`ll have every day.

She takes her time to scan the rows of first years, looking at every cadet she sees, while the second and third years are scattered behind us.

At first, she makes eye contact with Violet next to me and gives her a small smile and nod but when her eyes find mine, she tenses and stops. For around three second it`s quiet, then she nods and continues. Rolling my eyes, I look to the left at Violet, seeing a concerned frown adorning her face. I send her a reassuring smile and turn back to the front where Professor Markham stands. He looks at Violet with disappointment, not because of her personally but the lost chances with that great brain of hers. She would have been an excellent scribe.

His gaze sways over to my side and just like with Panchek, his face pales instantly and fear strikes his facial features, not because of me but the one I share my last name with. Letting out a frustrated sigh I switch my focus on my quill, distracting myself before I start to scream out of annoyance. For fucks sake, I am NOT my father. Why is everyone acting like he rules the fucking continent?

“First topic of the day,” Devera moves to the map “the Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and their riders.” Oh damn. I sit straighter and focus on the map. Good thing when you have an excellent working memory – you can focus more on the front, less on your notes.

She gives further information and I take it all in. It’s bad enough that dragons aren`t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. But the dragons are the only ones of powering the wards that makes other power impossible within these wards. They make sure we aren`t fucked up by the gryphons and their riders.

“…What questions would you ask? Only answers from first years for the start.”

Okay first of all, why the fuck are the wards faltering and more importantly what caused them to falter in such an unlikely place? They would never answer that question because none of us is authorized in that matter.

The second question would be, why they would choose this place for an attack? The Esben Mountain Range is the highest on the eastern border and the gryphons don`t go really well with altitudes like this. Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to find a pattern in the latest attacks. It doesn`t make any sense. But maybe … maybe they were searching for something.

“Did you want to ask a question?” Devera asks Pryor, a first year in our squad, who doesn`t really knows if he should raise his hand or not.

“Yes” he nods. Then – “No. Never mind.”

“So decisive” Luca, another first year from our squad, mocks him. Aurelie tries to ease the tension but Luca is not done with her teasing.

“No dragon is bonding to a guy who can`t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And have you seen –“ I scoff loudly, rolling my eyes at her demeanor to finally bring an end to this shit, which makes her turn around in her seat a row in front of me. If some of them are already kind of terrified with my face here, why not use it?

Her eyes meet mine and she realizes who interrupted her. She quickly turns back to the map without saying anything anymore.

I hear Violet and Rhiannon whisper to each other but don`t understand anything.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon finally asks. Oh, that`s a good question, matches with mine I had in my head. It`s Professor Markham who answers, surprised by it. “A little less than ten thousand feet, why?”

“It seems a little high for an attack with gryphons.” Good safe, because now I just realized that the question came from Violet. Smartass.

“… to ask your own questions, Cadet Sorrengail.” Shit, I need to start listening and try not to zone out all the time. Seems like the girl next to me has now all the attention on her. Great job, Vi.

Violet goes on about how this altitude is way too high for gryphons and their ability to channel. Looks like a thought crosses her genius brain as her next question is based on Devera’s information that the squad of riders took an hour to arrive.

“Then they were already on their way” she says. And while I can see what she is talking about – the rest of the first years decide to judge instead of thinking, some of them start to laugh.

“Yeah, because that makes sense” a blonde guy turns around in his seat to laugh directly in her face. Jack fucking Barlowe, the asshole that threw a candidate down the Parapet tried to kill Violet and still has it out for her.

“General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn`t know when it will happen, dumbass. Am I right, Melgren Junior?” His eyes find mine when an evil smirk finds its way onto his face. Don`t fucking tempt me, asshole. I am not interested in a conversation with you.

My lack of response seems to annoy him because he tries it again. “I said, am I righ-“

“There is no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

Stunned silence from Barlowe, startled gasps from other cadets, choked laughter from Ridoc. “Oh shit, that was good, Arya!” he laughs next to me and clasps his hand on my shoulder. Yeah no, I don`t think so Ridoc. I should try to keep my mouth shut with that one before I'll regret it.

Violet ignores my remark and continues with her theory and it seems like she is right, because Devera and Markham both look proud and with a knowing smile on their face. “Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking” she finishes.

“That`s the most-“Jack argues. Does he ever know when to stop?! “She`s right.” HA! I have a proud grin on my face, I love her brain!

“Cadet Melgren” I am called by Devera. Startled I raise my head, brow hitting my hairline.

“What would you ask in aspect of the attack?” she asks me. For a moment I study the map again, trying to sort my thoughts.

“What were they looking for and most importantly, did they find it?”

A slow smile spreads over Deveras face and even Markham looks intrigued by my question. “What makes you think they were out looking for something?”

“Well, it just makes sense they searched for something. Like Cadet Sorrengail said, the attack took action at the most illogical place for a drift of gryphons.” I pause, bringing my thoughts into formation. “The wards failing was not a coincidence and even though it seems like they were just passing by, they weren`t. They somehow knew the wards would falter in that specific moment. But whatever they were looking for, it must have been really important if they risk their drift to attack this high up in the mountains.” I finish.

I can hear Ridoc next to me cheering quietly in his seat. And while the first and some of the second years don’t think that far yet, I am pretty sure some of the third years had a similar question in mind, because I hear approving whispers behind me. Years of learning and studying are finally paying off.

“Just like your father. Always thinking ahead and seeing the important aspects. Good job, Melgren.” Everyone else would see it as a compliment but …

I hate it, with all my heart, because I desperately want to be everything but like my father. Violet takes my hand, knowing how much I hate to be compared to the General.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #bodhi durran x oc #bodhi durran x reader #fourth wing by rebecca yarros #rebecca yarros #booktok #violet sorrengail

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artyandink · 9 months ago

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Light My Fire (Again) | beau arlen

Summary: “I thought I’d swore off love, Jenny.” I smiled, chuckling a bit as I looked down to my feet then back up the skies, taking in the twinkling lights. “God, I really thought I did, and I was doing such a good job at it too. But, well, I just… I couldn’t help it.” I wet my lips slightly, biting the bottom one. “It’s improper, but it’s true.”

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

(divider credits go to cafekitsune)

one - green lights and red stains

TWO MONTHS EARLIER:

I was at my desk in Big Sky Country, Montana’s sheriff’s department, papers strewn over the desk in a similar fashion as they were at home. Making small mountains and also making me rather sympathetic for the trees who suffered just to have me keep ‘em all like this on another plank of wood on more sticks of wood. However, I couldn’t bring myself to clean them, not today. As well as that, the acting sheriff had made his speech today, and I knew if he’d talk to me, I wouldn’t make a great impression, not with all this mess.

“Ain’t this a sight?” I looked up to see none other than Sheriff Arlen, standing in front of me, his stance wide set as he peered at my scribblings which varied between neat and scrawling handwriting. I jolted a little, panic striking through me as I began to shuffle my files into a more orderly pile, but he held out his hand to put me at ease. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Truth be told, I’m not the most organised either.”

In response, I stood up laughing a bit as I ran my hand through my hair, the action not as smooth and easygoing as I hoped as my index encountered a knot in my raven hair which I quickly untangled. “Well, I’m afraid this is what you’ll be seein’ every day.” I gestured down in circular motions to the messy piles.

“Then I’m lookin’ forward to it.” He put out his hand with a broad grin, green eyes twinkling along with his startlingly white teeth. He had an air of giddy charm and confidence around him that I couldn’t help but crack a smile to. “Beau Arlen.”

“Isabelle Joyner.” I replied, shaking his hand firmly. His grip was strong, but comforting in a sense.

“Well, darlin’, I’ve heard some good things about you from Jenny Hoyt, or Hoyt, as she wants me to call her.” Beau chuckled at the thought, glancing towards Jenny, who was in conversation with Poppernak. “She’s a real firecracker.”

“That’s Jenny for you.” I smiled, nodding resignedly and also flicking my eyes to her. “She knows me better than anyone; we’ve been best friends for as long as I remember.” Then I spotted the uncertainty in his eyes as he once more looked at Jenny, and I laughed a bit. “She’ll warm up to you. She’s just a bit miffed, y’know, didn’t get put as acting Sheriff.”

“I learnt that the easy way and the hard way.” He snickered slightly, his shoulders shrugging. “Well, it’s a lesson well learnt.”

“Damn straight.” I grinned, putting my hands in my pockets, and we fell silent for a moment before it got a bit uncomfortable. “Anyway, welcome to Big Sky. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“I goddamn hope so.”

NOW:

“Liv, sweetie?” I called up the stairs, my eyes darting back to the pancake cooking on the stove. It was half past eight in the morning, and I needed to get Olivia, my niece, to her stepfather’s house. Her mother - my sister - had been… lost. In a murder, six years back, but they’d never found who’d done it. In her will, she’d given custody of Olivia to me, that the court had approved. Her stepfather, Markham, was not happy, but there was little he could do.

“Yeah?” Came her sleepy voice from upstairs, making me laugh quietly. She’d grown so much since I got her as a timid nine year old. Now she was sixteen in a week and the most beautiful girl I’d ever see. She was my baby girl at this point, and I couldn’t be prouder.

“I’ve got work, hon, and I’m makin’ pancakes!” I heard a brief pause, then a scramble to get up. I smiled knowingly, returning to the pancake as the thunder of footsteps down the stairs signalled her arrival. Her blonde hair bounced in stunning curls and her brown eyes flashed excitedly, even though they were riddled with sleep. I passed her a plate of pancakes stacked up, shaking the whipped cream. “Mornin’, gumdrop.” I grinned cheerily. “What would you like on your pancakes, hm?”

“Whipped cream, syrup, and raspberries.” She replied instantly, then returned my smile. “And good morning, auntie.” Olivia gave me a bear hug, which I returned gladly, kissing her hair before letting her go with a pat on the back.

“Good choice.” I squirmed the whipped cream in a circle, grabbing the syrup bottle and drizzling it generously before passing her a bowl of freshly washed raspberries so she could knock herself out, also sliding her a fork and knife. “Dig in.”

“Hello, there!” I heard Jenny call, the door opening. Jenny and Cassie walked in with big smiles on their faces, especially so when they found the combination of Olivia and pancakes. “Hope you don’t mind, we just used the spare key under the deco rock.”

“And I’m glad we did, because why weren’t we invited to the party?” Cassie faux-gasped as she gestured to the pancakes.

“Elle, explain yourself.” Jenny chastised, raising an eyebrow at me, but when I passed them each a plate of pancakes, they melted. “Ok, no explanation needed.”

“Yep, we’re all good now, no beef here.” Cassie agreed, dolloping whipped cream on hers before passing the canister to Jenny. “Also, hi, Olivia.”

“Hey, Cassie.” Liv waved with a smile and a mouthful of pancake. “Hi, Jenny.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Jenny grinned, waving before digging into the pancakes.

“Never knew I’d be catering for four today.” I chuckled, turning off the stove and embellishing my own plate of pancakes, making it even more of a sugar rush than it already was.

“Well, now we get to boast to Beau about what we got cooked.” She replied with a cheeky smile. “He’s always returnin’ with clean dishes of what Denise cooked, so I guess we could clap back a little.”

“His favourite deputy cooked us pancakes and not him.” Cassie giggled, making me roll my eyes. These two.

“Shut up. Both of you.” I snickered, trying to remain stern. “If Sheriff Arlen wants pancakes, he can come over and I can make him some pancakes, it’s not exclusive.”

“And here I thought we were special.”

“Aw, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“She did.” Olivia giggled.

“Yeah, she did.” Jenny gave me a look before we all burst out into laughter. We spent a bit of time chatting as we finished our pancakes, telling Olivia the ups and downs of our latest solved case and what movie we wanted for movie night this week. When we were done, I picked up my keys, jangling them.

“Olivia, time to go.” I smiled, but Cassie put her hand on my arm with a smile.

“I’ll drop her off.” She chuckled, holding up her own keys. “I know where Mark lives, and it’s on my way.

“You’re not exactly the most civil with the guy.”

“That’s cause he’s an ass, but I’ll try my best.”

We engaged in a staring contest for five seconds, until I gave in, nodding in defeat. “Fine. But if I get a call from my brother in law-”

“You won’t!” She raised her hands in surrender. “I promise. Now, you and Jenny need to get to work before Beau rings you up.”

“God forbid he does.” I joked.

“C’mon, he hasn’t had the heart to tell you off after you found the hostages a few weeks ago, one of them happening to be his daughter. Another Darlene.” Jenny teased, nudging me playfully.

“You two are really keen on setting us up, hm?” I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head. “You know I’m not that keen on dating. Not after…” I trailed off with a frown. It was a sore memory, one that ended with me waking up at the bar with five empty shot glasses and a bill with far more drinks than I’d usually take.

“After Harry.” She sighed, patting my shoulder. “He wasn’t your fault. After all, he did the deed.”

“He doesn’t know what he lost.” Cassie added sympathetically. “The ass.”

“I wanna kick him in the nuts.” Olivia added, making us all raise an eyebrow.

“That’s fair.”

“And on all of our minds.” Jenny grinned.

“I can’t even be mad.” I sighed, then kissed Olivia’s forehead. “Be good, ok? If I get a good report, I’ll make you an ice cream sundae tonight.” As Cassie and Jenny opened their mouths to speak, I held up a finger. “You guys get one too.”

I walked into the sheriff’s department with Jenny, and the first person we saw was Beau Arlen himself. “Well, ain’t it my favourite deputies?” He sauntered over with that charming grin of his, looking between us. “Hoyt.”

“Beau.” Jenny smiled.

“Sheriff.” I chuckled, running my hand through my hair.

“C’mon, Belle, call me Beau.” Beau chuckled, gesturing to himself. “No formalities here.” The statement made me laugh, but I shook my head, looking down at my feet before back up into those twinkly green eyes.

“I’ll try my best, Sheriff.” I teased with a grin, then took a sharp breath in, looking around. “Any cases today?”

“A missing person’s case.” Beau’s expression changed slightly as he mentioned it. “Little girl named Harriet Brown, she was out playing in the front yard, parents were arguin’, when they come out, girl’s gone.”

“My god.” I whispered, then cleared my throat. “We should get on the case, and quick.” I pouted slightly, sucking in air through my teeth. “Any leads? License plate? Footage? Maybe someone who has a grudge?”

“Closest to a match we have as an enemy is the girl’s stepfather, Will Brown. And by parents arguing, I mean the birth father and mother arguin’.”

“Stepfather, what, lays claim to the kid?” I asked, concerned. I knew what that was like all too well (and by that I mean the outskirts of those feelings), and if that was the case…

“Possibly. He’s the only recent frequent visitor.” Beau frowned at the look on my face, tilting his head a little in curiosity. “You look a lil’ green around the gills there, Deputy. You doin’ ok?”

I shared a look with Jenny, who subtly patted my wrist, signalling me to speak up. I jolted out of my thoughts, nodding and putting on a smile that I felt didn’t quite reach my eyes. “‘Course, Sheriff. I’m always ok.”

“You sure?”

“Deadly.”

Beau looked at me for a bit, trying to gauge my reaction, before nodding resignedly and patting me on the shoulder with a small smile. “A’ight. But if anythin’ comes to mind, do tell.”

“Gotcha.” I nodded, my blue eyes looking into his green ones. After I’d met Beau on his first day as acting sheriff, he’d understood me. He knew I was raising Olivia, albeit had never met her, and related to that with his own little girl. Emily was an angel, and I guess I became more of one after he found me getting along well with someone who was his world. As well as that, after the incident with Buck Barnes, I’d managed to find the hostages, including Darlene and Emily, getting them out.

Ever since then, it’s like he treats me as if I’m God’s gift to him. I was just doin’ my job.

I breathed in, then released a deep on through my mouth. “Let’s hit the house, Jen.”

“You got it, Elle.” Jenny smiled. I picked up my jacket, adjusting the photo of my sister and I on my desk as I put it on with a sad smile.

“I miss ya, Lucy. Truly.”

I was in Beau’s truck, the landscape flying by as we made our way to the Brown’s house. The atmosphere was uncomfortably silent - damn the awkwardness of social interactions sometimes - but somehow Beau made coping with silence look easier than it felt. He wore an easy smile, waffling on about fishing with a charmingly boyish look in his eyes that I’d come to recognise and find adorable.

“While I love talking and yapping about fish to the point your ears fall off, Belle, but, uh, don’t you wanna get that?” I was snapped out of my reverie, finding that my ringtone was playing with the name Dean flashing on my screen over the green circle of light representing the button to accept the call, which I’d gladly do.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s right.” My face lit up as I pressed the ‘accept’ button, bringing the phone to my ear. “Dean, hey!”

‘Isa, hi.’ I heard a cheery voice from the other end. This was Olivia’s birth father, Dean Barlowe, who I preferred in spades to Markham Leeds. I never understood why Lucy and Dean had split up in the first place, since Dean was the best father I’d ask for where Liv is concerned. We hadn’t had contact in months, but this was a pleasant surprise. ‘How’ve you been?’

“Oh, now I feel brilliant.” I laughed, looking out the window. “How about you? It’s been goddamn months, I’ve been dyin’ for a call.”

‘Well, I’m feeling great now too. It’s always nice to talk to you. A familiar face.’

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” I nodded with a happy sigh. “Are you holding up ok? After… Lucy? It’s been a while, but it hit you pretty hard too.”

‘Doing better, if that counts.’ I heard a pause on the other end. ‘Hey, do you think Liv would mind if I pop over for a visit in a week’s time?’

“For her birthday, right?”

‘Yeah. Mark wouldn’t be too mad, right?’

“Who gives a damn about Markham, just come over, ok?” I smiled, and I could practically hear his own relieved one on the other end of the line. “Liv’s gonna love the surprise, don’t you worry.”

‘You know exactly what to say to soothe my nerves, don’t you?’

“Hey, it’s nothin’. Just being a dutiful sister in law.” I saw an exit sign that said we were almost at the house, so I decided to wrap it up. “Hey, uh, Dean, I’m about to start working a case, so I’ll chat later.”

‘Ah, right. Thanks, Isa. Bye.’

“Bye.” I cut the call, and found Beau smirking at me, his eyebrow raised slightly. “What?”

“You seem real chummy with this Dean fella.” He snickered knowingly, but I shook my head rapidly.

“No, no, no. He’s my brother in law.”

“Wait, this is the ex-husband of your late sister?” Beau nodded approvingly. “By the way you’re talkin’ to him, he seems like he’s got his name written in your good books with sparkly gold ink. Unlike Mark.”

“Well, Mark’s an ass.”

“Markham is an ass.”

Beau, Jenny and I were flicking through the security tapes of the Brown house the day their little girl Harriet was kidnapped. “Look, there.” I pointed to the screen, where a man was approaching. “It’s our stepfather.”

“Damn straight.” Beau nodded, leaning forward to ID the guy’s face. “Yep, that’s him. And he just scooped the girl up gave her a lollipop and high-tailed it.”

“We need to get this girl back.” Jenny sighed, her expression pensive as she peered at the screen.

“We got an idea on where she could be taken?”

“Possibly his cabin. Witness accounts show that he’s been buyin’ a lot of bedding, more than you’d need.” I frowned, then stood up. “We need to bust this guy and fast.” I didn’t know exactly why, but this was pissing me off. A stepfather, kidnap his own stepdaughter.

“Let’s bust a crooked stepfather.” Jenny got up, and so did we, heading out the door, running to our cars as Jenny texted me the address, which I put into Beau’s GPS. We quickly got in, and Beau floored it.

“You seem rather frustrated on this case, huh, Belle?” He asked, sighing deeply. I shook my head, plastering on a smile that once again did not reach my eyes as I looked back at him.

“No, sir, I’m just concerned for the kid.” I answered not as smoothly as I’d hoped to have done. My voice was slightly shaky, and I knew what he was thinking. Mark had been after custody of Olivia for ages, and was still trying. However, he couldn’t do anything, not when I was named Olivia’s legal guardian and was Lucy’s next of kin.

“It’s about Mark, right?”

I chuckled lowly, nodding. “That obvious?”

“You’re like a mama bear in these cases.” He grinned, then patted my knee. “But now, I need my deputy to have a clear mind. God knows you help me keep mine all clear and sunny skies.”

“Gotcha, Sheriff.” I smiled as we pulled up to the house. “Hear you loud and clear.” I reached under the seat, pulling on my bulletproof vest and strapping it tight. I looked over, seeing that he’d done the same. “Shall we?”

“We shall, darlin’.” We got out at the same time as Jenny, making our way across the front yard before I tried the handle of the door, finding it locked. I nodded to Beau, who reared up and kicked the door open, all of us putting up our guns as we stormed the house. Jenny went to check the kitchen and living room, Beau heading upstairs while I took the basement. I crept down the stairs, treading light in fear of startling Will. I gently tried the door, hearing a little girl whimpering. Then I spotted a middle aged man holding a gun, and a small brunette girl hugged my legs, terrified.

“It’s ok.” I whispered, training my gun on Will Brown. “It’s ok, sweetheart. As for you,” My eyes focused on the man, “Sheriff’s department, put your hands where I can see ‘em-” He fired, and my trigger was pulled in a quick response, aiming for his shoulder while his bullet got me clean in the gut, which was caused by me moving to protect Harriet at the same time. The little girl screamed, while Beau and Jenny started yelling from upstairs. I collapsed against the wall, sliding down as Harriet crawled up to me, looking terrified.

“He hurt you.” She whispered, crying, but I shushed her and brought her head to my shoulder, ignoring the riddling pain in an attempt to soothe this little girl.

“Hey, it’s-” I was overcome by a cough as my hand moved to stem the flow of blood, “it’s ok, sweetheart. Perfectly fine, you’re safe, ok?” I stroked her hair, closing my eyes briefly as the red liquid stained my fingers. My head spun from how damn painful it was, like a thousand daggers piercing one spot on me, driving in slowly. “Just calm down for me, my friends are coming.”

As if on cue, Beau and Jenny rushed in, and once they realised that my attacker and Harriet’s kidnapper was downed, their attention turned to me. Beau instantly knelt in front of me while Jenny checked up on Will, his expression freaked out and pale. “Jesus- Jesus holy Christ, Belle, we’re gonna need a paramedic. Hoyt, call it in, now!” Then he turned back to me, putting his hands over the bullet wound to put pressure. I coughed slightly, hissing, but I kept stroking Harriet’s hair, not wanting her to get too scared.

“Just get her out of here.” I nodded to Harriet. “I’ll hold on, just keep her safe.” My bloodied hand reached out to grip Beau’s bare forearm. “Take her home.”

LMF TAGLIST:

@deans-spinster-witch @nancymcl @hobby27

Preview of Chapter Two

#beau arlen x oc #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau #big sky #cassie dewell #jenny hoyt #beau arlen fanfic

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 years ago

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Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 1: Matt

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: No real warnings thus far -- This is going to be a pretty angst-free fic.

Word Count: ~6,300

A/N: Welcome to Angel of God, My Guardian Dear! This started out as a 1-shot and quickly spiraled out of control, as my thirst for Matthew Michael Murdock could not be contained.

For the purpose of this story, Reader is Catholic and grew up at St. Agnes with Matt.

Title is from the Catholic prayer "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide, Amen."

"All set to go to Lavelle?"

Matt Murdock turned his head as his friend and business partner, Foggy Nelson, came into his office. "Yeah, just need to finish up here and I'll be on my way."

"It was really cool of them to ask you to come speak," Foggy added.

Matt nodded. "I hope I can help these kids realize that their disabilities don't define who they are and that they can be whoever and whatever they want to be, including lawyers."

Foggy huffed out a laugh. "Or crime-fighting vigilantes?"

Matt grinned. "Well actually, there's probably only room for one blind crime-fighting vigilante in this city, so I probably won't suggest that as a potential career path."

Foggy patted Matt on the shoulder. "You're a great speaker, I'm sure you'll motivate the heck out of those kids. Have a good time, dude."

"Thanks, Fog."

Matt grabbed his briefcase, headed outside, then hailed a cab.

"Alright, where we goin'?" The cabbie asked.

"The Bronx," Matt answered. "Lavelle School for the Blind."

The cabbie tapped on a screen, presumably putting the address into his GPS. "Alrighty, just sit tight and we should be there in about half an hour."

Matt sat back as the cab began to move. Think of it like a jury, Karen had said when Matt had told her and Foggy about the opportunity over a couple of pints at Josie's a few weeks before. Just a younger, way more judgmental jury.

Matt had laughed. Not helping.

You'll do great.

He mentally practiced his speech during the ride and before he knew it, the cab was pulling up in front of the school.

"Thanks," Matt said as he paid the cabbie.

"No problem," the cabbie replied. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too."

Matt headed inside.

Almost immediately, a somewhat familiar voice asked him, "Hi, may I help you?"

Matt turned towards the voice. "Hi, yes, my name is Matthew Murdock. I'm one of the speakers for today?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Murdock, I'm Dr. Bowman, we spoke on the phone."

Matt nodded, now placing the voice. "Right, right."

"We'll be in the meeting hall, which is straight down this corridor. If you'll just come with me…"

Dr. Bowman led Matt down to the meeting hall. "We really appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to speak to our students," she said as they entered.

"It's really not a problem."

"The students and their parents will be starting to arrive in a while, but if you'd like we could have someone escort you around to the exhibitor tables once they're all set up."

"Yeah, maybe."

"We have a Braille program if you'd like one -- it lists all the speakers and exhibitors for today."

"Yeah, I'd love one."

"Okay, one second."

Dr. Bowman stepped away for a minute then returned, handing Matt a booklet printed on Braille paper. "Okay, here you go."

"Thanks." Matt pointed to a nearby table. "Is it okay if I sit over here?"

"Yes, of course. Just let us know if you need anything."

"Will do."

Matt sat at the table and began to read the program. Staff, sponsors, speakers, exhibitors…

He began to read the exhibitor list. American Council for the Blind, representative Ashley Prewitt. VISIONS, representative Clay Markham. NYC Mayor's Office for People with Disabilities, representative Barbara Franklin. Andrew Heiskell Braille and Talking Book Library, representative Y/F/N Y/L/N --

Matt froze and read it again. Could it really be the same Y/N?

Y/N, who at 8 years old had taken 9-year-old Matt, who had just arrived at the orphanage, by the hand and declared that she would be his friend. Y/N, who had giggled when Matt had asked her a few days later if she was an angel and replied, 'no, silly, I'm a girl!' . Y/N, who had been Matt's fiercest protector and had gotten into almost as many fights as Matt himself had. Y/N, who would stroke Matt's hair softly until he fell asleep on the nights when he would sneak into her room because all the stimuli flooding his senses became too overwhelming. Y/N, to whom Matt had taught Braille so they could pass secret notes to each other without anyone else being able to read them. Y/N, who 17-year-old Matt had held while she cried the day they found out that Y/N had been taken in by her long-lost aunt and would be leaving Saint Agnes… and him.

Y/N, his own personal guardian angel, the one person in the world Matt could tell everything to… except the one thing he had wanted to tell her most of all.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"I don't want you to leave," he admitted quietly as he and Y/N stood at the entrance to St. Agnes.

"I don't want to leave either," Y/N replied. "I wish you could at least come with me."

Matt chuckled wryly. He had overheard one of the nuns talking to Ms. Y/L/N earlier that morning, warning her about 'that Murdock boy' and telling her how it was best for Y/N to be separated from him 'before he gets her into trouble'. "I don't think your aunt would go for that."

"Then can we run away together instead? We could travel the world, just you and me on the epic best friend adventure that we've always dreamed of."

God, Matt wanted to say yes. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Y/N by his side, be it as his best friend or -- as he knew deep down in his heart -- something more.

However, Sister Bernadette had been right. Y/N really was an angel sent from on high who deserved all of the goodness in the world, and Matt… Well, Murdock boys had the devil in them.

He shook his head sadly. "Your aunt's waiting. You should go."

Y/N was quiet for a few moments. Finally, she said, "Before I go… I got you something."

She took Matt's hand and dropped a thin, wiry chain into his palm. "I saved up for six months to buy it from the church's gift shop. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but…" She trailed off. "Anyway, think of me when you wear it, okay?"

Matt picked it up with his other hand. Attached to the chain was a small cross.

He nodded. "I will. Thanks."

"I'll write to you, give you my aunt's address." Y/N pulled him into a tight hug then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll miss you, Matty."

"I'll miss you too. Goodbye, angel."

Matt waited as half of his heart climbed into a cab and left, the note he had written to her the previous night still in his pocket.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Matt mentally shook his head. Don't get your hopes up. It may not be her.

…But deep down he knew it had to be.

He stopped someone who was walking by. "Excuse me, can you tell me if the representative from the Heiskell Library is here yet?"

"Umm…" the woman paused as she turned towards the exhibitor tables. "Yeah, actually, it looks like she's talking with Dr. Bowman at the moment."

"Okay, thank you."

"No problem."

As the woman walked away, Matt turned his head so he could listen in on the conversation.

"...So glad you could be here," Dr. Bowman was saying. "We really appreciate you taking time to come out and speak with our students and their parents."

"It's no problem, Dr. Bowman," the other voice replied. "I'm always happy to promote the library's services."

Matt sucked in a breath. It *is* her.

Even after all the years that had passed since he had last spent time with Y/N he had never forgotten the sound of her voice, the times he had sat listening to her read to him still among his favorite memories.

Y/N and Dr. Bowman were wrapping up their conversation, so Matt stood and headed over towards them.

Either Y/N didn't notice that Matt was behind her or Matt had misjudged the distance between them, but Y/N turned around and bumped into him.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, sir, I--" Y/N gasped. "Wait, Matty?"

"It's just 'Matt' now, but yeah. Hi, angel." Matt was surprised at how easily his old nickname for Y/N slipped from his lips.

"Oh my God, hi!" Y/N wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "How are you? What are you doing here? Are you a teacher?"

Matt chuckled as he returned her embrace. "I'm well. I don't teach here, I'm actually one of the featured speakers."

"Oh, wow, that's wonderful."

"What about you? How have you been?"

"I'm well too, yeah. Oh my God, this is so crazy. Are you still in New York?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, still in Hell's Kitchen. You know me, I'm loyal to my city. What about you?"

"Yeah, Florida was okay, but New York is home. I'm actually in Midtown West now, so I'm not far." Y/N paused. "Hey, would you want to maybe grab dinner or a drink or something after this is done, and I dunno, like, catch up? It's totally fine if you can't, I just thought maybe --"

Matt quickly shook his head. "No, no, yeah, I'd love to."

"Great! I'll have to run back by the library to drop all of my stuff off but I can meet you wherever after that."

Matt thought for a moment. "You still like Italian?"

Y/N let out a light laugh. "Of course."

"Then how about Bellissima Italia, over on 9th and 44th? That's near there, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great."

"Will 6:00 work for you? I'll make a reservation."

"That would be perfect. Here, let me give you my number in case something unexpected comes up. It probably won't, but then again, this is New York -- you never know what kind of craziness is going to happen next."

Matt chuckled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "That's very true."

He created a new contact and typed in Y/N's name, then added her number once Y/N recited it to him.

He hit the button to call her, hanging up after Y/N's phone began to buzz in her pocket. "There, now you have mine."

"Awesome. I have to get to my table, but I'll see you tonight?"

Matt nodded as the doors opened and people began to trickle in. "Yeah, definitely. See you tonight, Y/N."

"Bye, Matt."

Wow, what are the odds? Matt thought as Y/N walked back over to her table.

He pulled his phone back out and headed back into the hallway to make their reservation, then called Foggy.

"Yo, Matt, what's up?" Foggy said in greeting.

"Hey, Foggy, do you remember me telling you about Y/N back when we were in college?"

"Y/N, as in Y/N, your childhood friend from the orphanage who you talked about non-stop and are still hung up on 16 years later Y/N? 'The one that got away' Y/N? That Y/N?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, that Y/N. Well, I actually just ran into her. It turns out she's a librarian at the Heiskell Library and is here promoting their library services, so we made plans to have dinner and catch up after this is over."

"Oh, wow, that's actually really awesome, dude. You said she works at the Heiskell Library?"

Matt could hear Foggy sit down at his desk and start typing on his computer keyboard. "Yeah."

After a moment, Foggy said, "Damn it."

"What is it?"

"I knew she was gonna be hot!"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Did you seriously just Google her?"

"I wanted to see what she looks like! You're a hot woman magnet, so of course your old childhood friend is hot. Is she single? Because if you change your mind about her…"

Matt just chuckled. "Not gonna happen. If I even remotely still have a shot with Y/N, I'm taking it."

"Eh, I was just kidding anyway. Good luck tonight, man. Hope she's everything you remember her being and more."

"Thanks, Fog. I'll talk to you later."

"'Kay. Bye, Matt."

Matt hung up and headed back inside, both excited and nervous to catch up with Y/N later that evening.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Matt smoothed down his hair for what seemed like the tenth time as he arrived at the restaurant for his catch-up dinner with Y/N.

He took a deep breath and headed inside.

"Buonasera," the seating host said. "Welcome to Bellissima Italia. How many in your party, sir?"

"Actually, I have a reservation for two at 6, under 'Murdock'," Matt replied.

"Ah, yes, sir. Your companion's already arrived. Right this way."

Matt followed the seating host to where Y/N sat.

"Matt, you made it," Y/N said, standing and giving Matt a hug.

She had changed from the blouse and slacks she had worn earlier into a silk dress that hugged her form, and underneath the subtly floral perfume she wore was her familiar natural scent that had never failed to relax Matt when he was overwhelmed. Even now he could feel his nervous energy starting to calm.

He returned her embrace. "Hi."

"Joseph will be your server tonight," the host said as they sat. "If you need anything let us know."

"Thank you."

Matt folded up his cane and stuck it in his jacket pocket. "I hope you haven't had to wait long."

"No, I just got here a few minutes ago."

Their server walked up to their table. "Good evening, my name is Joseph and I'll be taking care of you. What can I get you to drink?"

"Can I get a glass of Pinot Grigio and a water?" Y/N said.

"Certainly, ma'am. And for you, sir?"

"I'll take a glass of Merlot and a water as well, thanks."

"Okay, certainly. I'll get that taken care of for you while you get a chance to look over the menu."

"Do you know what you want, or do you want me to read the menu to you?" Y/N asked as Joseph left.

"Actually if you don't mind telling me what's on the menu I'd really appreciate it," Matt replied. "I didn't get a chance to check it out before I came."

"No, it's not a problem at all." Y/N picked up her menu. "Let's see…"

Matt listened intently as Y/N quickly read the menu off to him. He nodded. "Okay, thanks. I think I know what I want."

A few moments later Joseph returned with their drinks. "Okay, here you are. And are we ready to order?"

Matt nodded. "I'm ready. Y/N, you want to go ahead?"

"Yes, I'd like the gnocchi in cream sauce, please," Y/N said.

"Okay, and for you, sir?"

"I'll take the chicken parmigiana, thanks." Matt picked up his menu and handed it to Joseph.

"Okay, I'll put those in for you right away."

"Wow, I still can't believe this," Y/N said as Joseph left once again. "It's been, what, almost 20 years?"

Matt nodded with a grin. "Yeah, something like that. And even after all this time, you still look exactly the same."

Y/N laughed. "I'm glad to know that you haven't lost your sense of humor."

She took a sip of water. "So, catch me up on the past 20 years."

Matt shrugged. "Not much to tell. Left St. Agnes at 18, went to Columbia and got a law degree, opened my own practice with my college roommate, and that's about it." Except for the fact that I also became a crime-fighting vigilante, sent a mob boss to jail, and took down a secret organization of ninjas.

"Not married, no kids?"

Matt shook his head. "No, never found the right person." Because I already had found her but was too much of a coward to tell her how I felt before she left. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Finished high school in Florida, got my bachelor's degree in sociology, did my MLIS, and became a librarian. Did five years as a special services librarian in Florida, two in Indiana, then I managed to get on with the Heiskell Library and have been there ever since."

"No marriage or kids for you either?"

"No kids, almost got married once but it didn't work out. Wasn't anyone's fault, we just weren't right for each other."

Matt nodded. "How's your aunt?"

"Oh, she's fine. She's still in Florida so I talk to her every few days. Wait till I tell her I ran into you."

Matt gave a wry smile. "I dunno if she'll be happy about that. She didn't like me."

"What do you mean she didn't like you? She didn't even know you."

"She didn't have to. She had heard enough about me from Sister Bernadette to form an opinion."

"Ugh. Sister Bernadette. She did always seem to have it out for you."

Matt shrugged. "Well, in all fairness, I was kind of a troublemaker."

Y//N laughed. "Yeah, but I was usually right there with you in whatever trouble you were making, if not starting the trouble myself."

Matt grinned and took a sip of his wine. "You mean like the time we stole that bottle of Communion wine out of the church storeroom?"

Y/N laughed. "You know, that was the first thing I mentioned during confession after I started going to church in Florida. Seal of Confession or not, I wasn't about to confess to Father Reynolds about it."

Matt grinned. "Afraid of a harsher penance?"

"Yes! It was bad enough having to say five Acts of Contrition and three Our Fathers that time I punched Bobby Neyland in the face for tripping you in the hall. I had already gotten detention and I had to apologize to him, what more did they want?"

They were interrupted by Joseph bringing their dinners. "Alrighty, we have the gnocchi over here, and the chicken parmigiana here. Careful, those plates are hot. Is there anything else I can get you two?"

"No, I think we're fine," Y/N replied. "Matt?"

Matt shook his head. "We're good for now."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything else."

"Will do."

"Anyway," Y/N said, "we weren't always getting into trouble. Most of the time we were perfect little angels."

Matt chuckled. "I think your memory is faulty. You may have been an angel, but I certainly wasn't."

"We did have some good times together though, didn't we, Matty?"

Matt nodded, the quiet times he got to spend with Y/N floating through his mind. "Yeah, we certainly did."

The conversation continued to flow easily as Matt and Y/N reminisced about their childhood, and the next thing Matt knew dinner was over.

"Will that be one check or two?" Joseph asked as he cleared their plates.

"Just the one check, thanks," Matt said, handing Joseph his credit card before Y/N could protest.

"Next time, I'm paying," Y/N replied as Joseph went to go take care of the bill.

Matt grinned, thrilled that Y/N had even mentioned a 'next time'. "Deal."

He signed the check once Joseph returned for the last time, then unfolded his cane as he and Y/N stood. "May I walk you home?"

He could almost hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

Matt extended his arm. "Then shall we?"

They left the restaurant together, the ease and familiarity they once shared still there.

"So, what made you decide to become a librarian?" Matt asked as they headed towards Y/N's apartment building. "Last I knew you wanted to go out and save the world by becoming a big-time CEO of a Fortune 500 company."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Um, well, actually, it was you."

Matt's eyebrows raised. "Me?"

"Yeah. When it was time to start thinking about college I spoke to my guidance counselor and told her about how my best friend was visually impaired and how I'd sit and read print books to him because there weren't any Braille or audiobooks in the orphanage where we grew up, and so she told me about how there were actually special library services for people with visual impairments and that maybe I should look into special services librarianship since I seemed called to that."

"And do you like it?"

"Yeah, more than anything. Like a lot of people might think that being a librarian is boring or an obsolete job, but you should talk to some of my patrons, Matt. They're all alone with no family or friends nearby, so listening to these audiobooks are the only things that they have to do all day. It's actually kind of heartbreaking."

Matt nodded with a soft smile. Y/N really was an angel.

"And I know I'm not like, saving lives or changing the world or anything," Y/N continued, "like by being a doctor or by helping innocent people who've been wrongfully accused of crimes like you and your partner, but I feel like I'm at least helping people in my own way, you know?"

Matt turned towards Y/N as they stopped at a crosswalk. "You think you haven't saved lives? 'Angel' wasn't just a nickname, sweetheart. You befriended a lonely, scared, angry little boy with absolutely zero fucks given as to what anyone else thought, and to this day I'm still so damn grateful for whatever made you see me and decide, 'Yes, that one. I want him as my best friend'."

Y/N let out a watery laugh. "Honestly, it wasn't a tough decision. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were going to be way cooler than everyone else."

Matt smiled softly. "You were my guardian angel, Y/N. I certainly wouldn't have made it without you."

He reached up and gently swiped his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the tears that had collected there. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah."

Matt slipped his hand into Y/N's and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

They continued on their way to Y/N's apartment, Y/N seemingly as reluctant to let go of Matt's hand as he was to let go of hers.

"What about you?" Y/N asked. "What drew you to law?"

"I want to fight injustice and keep Hell's Kitchen safe, protect the people I care about," Matt said simply. "Going through the legal system seemed the best way to do that at the time."

"And now?"

"What?"

"You said 'at the time'. What's the best way now?"

Being Daredevil, Matt wanted to say. Protecting those I can't protect through the law.

He shook his head. "I just know that everything's not as black-and-white with the legal system as I once thought."

"Yeah, I get that." Y/N slowed down as they reached her apartment building. "This is me."

Matt nodded. "I'm really glad we found each other again."

"I am too -- I've missed you so much, Matt. I tried to write to you after I moved but all of my letters came back 'return to sender'. Eventually I realized that they were returning my letters, but by that time it was too late, and it's not like I could just call up Sister Bernadette and ask for your forwarding address."

Matt shook his head. "I knew it. I knew something weird was going on. I could tell she was lying whenever I asked her if I had any mail from you."

"I still have them."

"The letters you wrote me?"

"Yeah, they're in a box in my closet."

"Can I read them?"

"Yeah, sure. You want me to go get them or do you want to come up for a drink and we can read them together?"

Matt nodded. "A drink would be nice." More time I can spend with you.

"Okay, then. Come on in."

Y/N led Matt through the lobby to the elevator and up to her apartment. "Make yourself at home," she said as she unlocked her door. "Living room is straight ahead, just mind the coffee table when you go around the couch to sit."

Matt sat while Y/N moved around her kitchen. "What's your preference?" Y/N asked. "I have wine, hard cider, amaretto, whiskey, rum…"

"Whiskey is fine. On the rocks."

He could hear Y/N adding ice to a couple of glasses then opening a couple of bottles, then smelled the scent of sweet & sour mix. "Let me guess. Amaretto sour for yourself?"

Y/N paused in her pouring. "How'd you know?"

"I can hear the difference in the shape of the bottles, and I can smell the sweet & sour."

"You're good." Y/N closed the bottles and put the sweet & sour mix back in her refrigerator.

She handed Matt his glass before setting hers down on the coffee table. "Here you go. Give me just a second, I'll go grab the letters."

Matt took a sip of his whiskey as Y/N retreated to her bedroom.

She returned momentarily with a box. "Ok so remember, I was 16 when I started writing these, so don't judge me if they're cringy."

Matt chuckled. "I won't, I promise."

Y/N opened the box and handed him a manila envelope. "Here, start with this one. I'm pretty sure they're still in the order I wrote them."

Matt opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of Braille paper. "Can you still read Braille?" he asked.

"Yep, can still write in it too, although Braille printers make everything a lot easier these days."

Matt set the piece of paper on the coffee table and began to read aloud.

"September 30, 2002

Dear Matty,

Just got settled in at Aunt Ruth's house. My bedroom here is as big as both of ours at St. Agnes combined.

Hoping I can convince Aunt Ruth to let you come visit soon, maybe during Thanksgiving?

By the way, my address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Y/N"

Y/N snorted. "Yeah, 'I'm sure you'll be able to get away from the orphanage for a week or so to come hang out with your bestie in Florida!' Man, was I naive."

Matt shook his head. "You didn't know. Neither of us could've known that they'd actually try to keep us apart."

Y/N picked up the next envelope. "Here, I'll read the next one."

Matt nodded. "Okay."

"October 21, 2002," Y/N began.

Dear Matty,

I must've done something wrong with the postage on my first letter, because it came back marked return to sender. Adding double to make sure this gets to you.

Aunt Ruth wants me to join some after-school clubs, make some new friends. I don't want *new* friends, though. I just want you.

Speaking of making new friends, you know that song 'make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold'? Well, it's not true. You're way more precious to me than gold. You're more like… I don't know, the rarest and most precious substance on earth, whatever that may be.

Anyway, address is 4685 Sandpiper Blvd., Miami, FL 33190. Write me back!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt picked up the next envelope. "November 12, 2002.

Dear Matty,

Another letter came back return to sender. Don't quite know what I'm doing wrong, but hopefully this one reaches you!

School has been okay. Don't think I told you yet, but Aunt Ruth enrolled me in some fancy all-girls Catholic school. I'm really enjoying English class. We're reading The Crucible. Maybe next time we're together I'll read it to you. Think you'd like it.

Anyway, hope you're doing okay. I miss you.

Always,

Y/N"

Y/N laughed. "You know, my offer to read The Crucible to you still stands."

Matt grinned. "In that case I might have to take you up on it. You're still my favorite audiobook narrator."

He could hear the smile in Y/N's voice as she began to read her next letter.

"January 10th, 2003.

Dear Matty (or is it just Matt now that you're the big 1-8?),

Happy birthday! I wish I could be there with you to celebrate. I wanted to surprise you and come visit, but Aunt Ruth said no. (Party pooper.)

I hope your day is amazing and that you get everything you wish for, because you deserve it! *Heart*

Miss you like crazy and I really hope to hear from you soon!

Always,

Y/N"

Matt shrugged. "My 18th birthday was fine, nothing overly special." I didn't get my wish, but now I know why.

He cleared his throat. "April 6, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I don't know if I did something wrong before I left and you're mad at me or if I'm just that inept at mailing a letter, but I just got a bunch of letters back unopened again. I really hope it's the latter because if it's the first, I don't know what I did but whatever it is, I'm sorry. Just please talk to me. I want my best friend back.

Y/N"

Matt's heart broke. Damn them. Damn them all to Hell for making Y/N think she could ever do something to make me not want her in my life.

He finished his glass of whiskey before picking up the next letter.

"Want a refill?" Y/N asked.

Matt nodded. "Sure."

Y/N stood and went to make them each another drink while Matt read the next letter aloud.

"September 3, 2003

Dear Matt,

I don't even know why I'm still trying. You're 18 now, I'm sure you're not even at St. Agnes anymore. You're probably off to college and have made fancy new college friends, so even if this letter somehow reached you you probably wouldn't respond anyway, but I wanted to tell you goodbye anyway and to wish you good luck.

Y/N"

Matt's brow furrowed. "But there's more letters."

"Yeah." Y/N sounded hesitant as she set Matt's drink down on the table. "I never sent any of the rest though."

She picked up the next one. "December 9, 2003.

Dear Matt,

I'm sitting here in English class (well, not now since I'm writing this in Braille instead of standard print) and our bell assignment today was to write a letter to someone who is no longer in our lives. I'm sure the point is probably to write to someone who's dead, but whatever, I'll write to whomever the hell I want.

Aunt Ruth finally told me the truth: that St. Agnes had been returning your letters to me before you even got them. Needless to say, I'm furious. I don't understand why they would go to such lengths to keep us apart, or why Aunt Ruth would even agree to it.

I hope you don't think I never tried to get in touch with you, because the thought of you believing that I would just abandon you like that tears me up inside.

I miss you, Matt, and I hope you're doing well.

Y/N"

Matt shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N. I hate that you ever even had to think that I would ignore your letters."

Y/N reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. "It wasn't your fault."

They continued reading, Y/N telling him about getting into college, the classes she was taking each semester, graduation, getting into grad school and getting her library science degree, her first job as an official librarian…

Y/N took a sip of her cocktail before starting the next letter.

"March 8, 2012

Dear Matt,

I've met someone . His name is Alex and he works in the I.T. department of the library. I think you two would get along -- you're a lot alike.

We've been dating for a few months now and things are going pretty well. I'll keep you posted as to where things lead.

Y/N"

Matt picked up the second-to-last letter.

"January 13, 2013

Dear Matt,

Alex proposed, and I said yes. We're planning a fall wedding -- nothing big, just close family and friends.

I wish you could be there. I thought about asking Alex if he could look you up on the internet to see if he could find an address for you. Could you imagine? We haven't been in contact in over 10 years and suddenly you get an invitation to my wedding.

Crazy, right?

Y/N"

Even though Matt knew that things didn't work out between Y/N and her ex-fiancé, his stomach was still in knots as Y/N began to read her final letter.

"June 29, 2013

Dear Matt,

I ended my engagement with Alex today. We were touring wedding venues over the weekend but none of them felt right, and I realized this morning that it wasn't the venues that felt wrong, it was me.

You see, I can't marry Alex, not when-- " Y/N paused and took a deep breath. "Not when I've been in love with you for most of my life."

Matt's brain screeched to a halt. What did she just say?

"God, I'm so pathetic," Y/N continued, "pining over someone to whom I haven't even spoken in years. It's not fair to Alex to marry someone who's in love with another man and it's not fair to myself to keep holding on to something that I can never have.

I guess I've kept writing to you in order to somehow hold on to you and to feel like we were still teenagers writing secret notes to each other, like maybe one day I'd have the courage to finally tell you how I feel.

I'll always love you, Matt, but maybe it's time for me to finally let you go.

Y/N"

Matt turned towards Y/N, who had picked up her drink and was currently draining it. "You were in love with me?"

Y/N remained silent, but the uptick in her heartbeat gave Matt hope.

He took her glass from her and set it down on the table before taking her hand in his. "Y/N? Please, angel, talk to me."

Y/N took a deep breath. "I still am, Matt. I still love you. I never stopped."

Oh, thank God. "I love you too," Matt murmured. "I've loved you probably since the moment I met you, it just took me a few years to figure out what it was I was feeling."

He pulled out the cross Y/N had given him out from under his shirt. "I've always kept you close to my heart, Y/N."

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his chest, warming the metal cross pressing against Matt's shirt. "I was wondering if you still had that."

Matt nodded. "I've rarely taken it off in the past 20 years."

He paused. "I was going to tell you I loved you the day you left for Florida. I had written you a note telling you how I felt."

"Why didn't you give it to me?"

"Right before I was going to I overheard Sister Bernadette talking to your aunt about how it was best to separate us so I wouldn't ruin your life, and I realized it definitely wasn't fair for me to tell you I loved you right before you moved a thousand miles away."

"What the hell? How would you have ruined my life?"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Well, let's see, the exact phrasing she used was 'before he gets her into trouble'."

"Before you 'got me into trouble'? Wait, did she -- did she think we were sleeping together ?" Y/N sounded both horrified and amused.

Matt shrugged. "Well, she wouldn't have technically been wrong."

"Well no, but all we ever did was literally sleep together!"

"Maybe, but it's not like I never thought about doing the other kind of sleeping together with you."

Y/N gave a playfully scandalized gasp. "Why, Matthew, I certainly hope you went to confession for that."

"More than once." Matt chuckled. "I mean, I was a hormonal teenage boy who was hopelessly in love with my best friend, of course my thoughts drifted there from time to time."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if maybe someone saw you sneaking out of my room one morning and reported us, and that's why Sister Bernadette thought something was going on. She could've confronted us though instead of just shipping me off and keeping us apart for almost 20 years. So much wasted time, and over what was probably a complete misunderstanding."

Matt shook his head. "Angel?"

"Yeah, Matty?"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Y/N sucked in a breath. "Uh huh, yeah, okay."

Matt reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, then -- after over 20 years of longing -- gently pressed his lips to hers.

He leaned back, a smile spreading on his face as he caressed the matching smile on Y/N's with his thumb. "So, how about dinner again tomorrow night?"

Y/N hummed. "What, you don't want to lose touch for another 20 years and hope we randomly run into each other again?"

Matt shook his head with a laugh at Y/N's teasing tone. "No way, angel. I spent almost 20 years without you, so now that I've got you back in my life I'm not letting go."

#lotmf writes #AoG Masterlist #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x yn

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dudeshusband · 1 year ago

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Ship: Mike x Joe Ricco

Words: 900

Description: Mike brings Ricco lunch at work.

Warnings: none!

Joe would be in his office at lunchtime. Mike had made sure of that. Ever since they'd been going out, they wanted to bring him a homemade lunch. They'd prepped some cilantro lime salad and sandwiches the night before so they could easily come to his law building from their job at the paper.

They walked into his office and were greeted by Jamison, his secretary. They'd heard quite a bit about her but had never met her.

Jamison was a woman about Mike's age, maybe slightly younger. She had short brown hair that was parted in the middle and surrounded her head, a bit like a long pageboy. She smiled professionally as Mike approached.

“Hello, miss,” she said, which stung a little. “It's Mr. Ricco’s lunch hour but I can make you an appointment.”

Mike lifted the bag they were holding. “That's exactly what I'm here for.”

Jamison eyed Mike's flared slacks and furrowed her eyebrows. “You don't look like a delivery boy.”

Mike chuckled. “No, I write the political commentary section of The Chronicle. Occasionally I publish short stories. I've been in a few publications. I'm hoping for The Atlantic next.”

“Ambitious,” Jamison said. “So then-” A lightbulb went on in her head. “You're the person he's dating? You're Mike?”

“Yep! That's me. Nice to meet you.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

Mike sighed. “Why does everyone ask that? I finished my English doctorate three years ago.”

“You're my age?” she asked, then cringed. “Ricco’s old. He's probably my dad’s age.”

“If we're done judging me, I'm going to have lunch with my boyfriend.”

Mike attempted to walk past but Jamison stopped them.

“Oh, I'm not judging! I'm just surprised,” Jamison said. “It's good to see him happy. He's been alone as long as I've worked for him. Maybe he'll stay out of my love life now and stop being such a busybody.”

Mike chuckled. “He told me he was trying to get you a boyfriend. Any success?”

“Maybe,” she said, stressing the y. “He was right about Markham anyway.”

“What's up with old Italians and the matchmaking?” Mike joked. “We were set up by Nino and Angela. They'd been setting him up on a bunch of dates he didn't want.”

“What a hypocrite!” Jamison exclaimed. “Doesn't like it when people do it to him but does it to everybody else.”

“Well, see you later,” Mike said, and walked into Joe's office.

“Hi,” Mike said. “Lunch is here. I got held up by a very confused Jamison. You didn't tell her I was coming?”

“No, I forgot.”

“You didn't tell her what I look like? How old I am?”

“It didn't seem relevant.”

Mike laughed. “She's probably still in an advanced state of shock out there. Wondering how you pulled such a pretty young thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “You're not so young.”

“I'm decrepit in women's years, don't you know? Dry as dust!”

Joe busted up laughing at that.

They added dramatically, “Like an overripe lemon!”

He shook his head fondly. “Come here.”

Mike set the bag down on a chair and approached his desk. They leaned in.

Joe gave them a gentle kiss hello.

“Not quite dry yet,” he said.

Mike gave him a quick peck back. “You're getting there.”

“Hm, I don't know. I sure drive you crazy.”

There was no denying that.

“Shut up and eat one of these sandwiches.”

Mike grabbed out a pastrami for him and a veggie for themselves.

“There's salad too,” Mike said. “Cilantro lime. It's really good.”

“It probably is, if you made it,” he said.

Mike smiled.

“Are you busy for the rest of the day?” Mike asked.

“Oh, there's this case and that case,” he said. “Why? Are you planning on playing hooky?”

Mike smiled. “Oh, no. I have to get back to the paper and write my thoughts about the latest White House sex scandal. Riveting stuff.”

“The readers like it,” he said.

Mike looked up from their sandwich. “How would you know?”

“Oh. People like to talk. People think you're funny. Right, but funny.”

“Well. That's good.”

“I found one of your short stories in one of those little literature journals,” he said. “You're good.”

“I didn't know you read literary journals.”

“I don't.”

“Oh.”

“You should try to aim higher,” he said. “Some big paper.”

“The Atlantic and the New Yorker keep rejecting me,” Mike said. “But that's understandable because only 0.00067 percent of people get into those.”

“You'll get in,” he said. “They'd be stupid not to at some point.”

“Thank you.”

After a while, both finished their lunch. Mike sipped their green tea as slowly as they could.

“Don't you have that sex scandal to write about?” Joe asked.

Mike sighed. “I'm trying to pretend I have all the time in the world.” They took his hand from across the table. “What if I want to stay here?”

“I'll have to kick you out,” Joe said, lightheartedly. “I can't enable you slacking.”

Mike did their best pleading eyes. “Just once? We could just go walk the dock together?”

“I'll see you after work,” he said. “The dock’ll still be there. Along with the stars.”

“Well,” Mike sighed. “I tried. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Good luck on that commentary,” he replied.

“I'm not leaving without a kiss goodbye,” Mike said.

They kissed him for as long as they could.

“You taste like pastrami and mustard,” they said with a giggle.

“Go, go,” he said, waving them towards the door.

“I'm going, I'm going! It's almost like you want me to leave!”

Joe shook his head. “See you later.”

“If you're lucky.”

“See you later,” he repeated.

Mike gave him one last smile, then left his office. They hurried downstairs and across the dock. They were 15 minutes over their lunch hour.

#self ship #self shipping community #j.r.#fun fact: i actually have submitted my original work to the atlantic and the new yorker. rejected of course #typewriter dings

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yourfavoritebookclub · 1 year ago

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WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 19

Walking into Battle Brief, my eyes immediately land on the mop of bright blonde hair sitting several rows below and the long brown and silver braid next to him.

Liam turns to look at me, flashing a small smile before turning back around to say something to Violet, too low for me to hear.

Without turning around, Violet raises her hand in the air and proudly displays her middle finger.

I grit my teeth, glaring at the back of her head. She’s absolutely uncontrollable, insubordinate, and frankly, the most aggravating person I’ve ever met.

Peeling my eyes away from the back of her head, I tap my fingers on the surface of the desk. I’m fidgety and bored.

Battle Brief is nothing but lies and bullshit.

Violet does her best to avoid looking behind her, but like clockwork, she breaks, glaring at me over her shoulder. Liam does the same, albeit with a much friendlier look on her face and I ignore her, giving Liam a nod.

He nods back, and I can see Violet’s eyes roll in annoyance.

I smirk at my ability to get a rise out of her. Playing with Violence eases some of my boredom, but it does nothing to stop the restless energy that rushes through my body.

“Don’t mind her. She’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” Rhiannon’s voice carries up toward me.

My mind is instantly filled with things that have no place in a classroom, and I have to shift in my seat to adjust the growing erection that’s pushing against my zipper.

Garrick stares straight ahead, but the smug smile on his face tells me that he knows exactly what’s going on below my desk.

“You good?”

I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Yup.”

“Great, because I was talking to Quinn in the gathering hall this morning–”

Out of the corner of my eye, Violet’s quill falls out of her hands and lands softly on the ground.

Pulling the shadows from underneath her seat, I caress the quill, scooping it into a cup of swirling darkness, and push it up toward Violet’s waiting hand.

A small peace offering.

I stifle a yawn as Professor Markham begins announcements. “If we can get started?” the scribe calls over the room, and silence falls as he unrolls a scroll onto the podium.

“First announcement,” Devera says, stepping forward. We’ve decided that not only will the winners of this year’s Squad Battle receive…”

The dull tone of Professor Devera’s voice fades into a quiet hum as my mind travels elsewhere.

…

Winter arrives in full force as December rolls in, bringing with it the harsh snow and wind that the Rider’s Quadrant receives on this side of the chasm.

Garrick and I are observing sparring practice today, both of us strolling at a leisurely pace, hands behind our backs in quiet companionship.

Nearing Violet and Rhiannon’s mat, Violet stops and scolds Rhiannon. “Challenges resume after solstice. You’re not doing me any favors by holding back.”

“She’s not wrong,” I interject from behind Violet.

“Well aware,” she fires back over her shoulder, not deigning to look at me as she says it.

I can feel Violet’s intense gaze on me as we walk past, and a thrill that races through me at the heavy weight of it on my back.

“Go away unless you have something useful to say.”

“Move faster. You’ll be less likely to die. How’s that for useful?” I say, sarcasm coating my words.

Garrick steps to the side of the center mat and pulls his shirt off in one fluid movement. “When’s the last time you sparred?” he asks, throwing the shirt over a bench and removing his daggers.

I start to tug on the hem of my own shirt, pulling it up over my hair. “Monday.”

Garrick slips his boots off and steps onto the mat. “No weapons, completely free-form.” His voice has that authority that comes out when he’s training another rider. He’s one of the only people in the Quadrant capable of testing me.

I slip off my own boots and step on the mat, positioning myself at a subtle angle.

There’s no real winning in sparring. For the first-year challenges, sure. At Garrick and I’s level though, sparring is all about the technique and execution. Keeping our minds fully in tune with the body, combining logic and skill with brute strength.

I move before Garrick, faking to his left before throwing my fist at his jaw. It's a brutal first maneuver with little finesse, but he’s expecting that kind of precision from me. Garrick’s forearm flies up to meet my fist, blocking the punch. His arm extends and grips my bicep, pulling me in close; his next move would have his hands around my neck. I push my foot in between his legs, hooking it around his right foot and pulling toward me.

It’s not enough to knock him off balance, but he stumbles, losing his grip enough for me to bounce back. He recovers his balance within the span of a breath. Garrick charges forward, and I skate to the side avoiding his grasp. I crouch, my leg coming out for a low kick. He shuffles out of the way, his lithe movements so at odds with his hulking body.

We continue this dance, switching from defense to offense until both of us have worked up a decent sweat.

I lean forward, drawing up to throw a hook into Garrick’s jaw when his gaze flicks up past my shoulder.

His forearms come up again, blocking my punch and we both stop, turning to look at the mat behind me.

Violet is lying on the ground with Rhiannon by her side on the mat, face flushed and chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

Off to the side of the mat, Liam stands with his shoulders squared, his whole body poised to attack, as Jack Barlowe saunters over to the mat.

“And here we go,” Garrick mumbles irritably.

I step off the mat, pulling on my socks and boots, eyes never leaving Jack as I tighten my laces.

I stand, walking silently over to Violet’s mat. I situate myself behind Violet, hands in my pockets, observing the confrontation.

“Walk the fuck away, Barlowe,” Liam orders, violent warning in every syllable.

Jack stands above Violet, a sneer scrunching his face as he examines her prone figure.

His eyes drift up, and I can see the exact moment that his eyes clock my riding boots and move up my body, face draining with color as he meets my bored gaze.

“She’s only alive because of you,” he spits, his lip curling in contempt.

I raise my eyebrows, "Right, because I’m the one who buried a dagger in your shoulder at Threshing.”

Below us, Violet scrambles to her feet, leaning on her staff for support.

“We could just settle this now,” Jack says, stepping past Liam. “If you’re done hiding behind the big, strong men.”

Garrick moves to stand next to me, and Imogen has steps slightly closer, her whole body on high alert.

Jack looks at all of us and then back down to Violet, “That’s what I thought.” He grins, blowing her a kiss with a loud smack.

“You ran,” Violet snaps, her voice a violent, angry snarl.

The sound is, well, hot.

Violence in her natural state is a far cry from the meek, nervous girl she’s been boxed into her whole life.

“That day in the field, you fucking ran when it was three on one, and we both know when it comes down to it, you’ll run again.” She pauses, looking him up and down. “That’s what cowards do.”

Jack flushes a bright red, his eyes wide in shock and anger.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Violet,” Dain mutters in exasperation.

Fuck. You.

“She’s not wrong,” I drawl.

Garrick lets out a raucous laugh as Liam takes Jack by the shoulders and pushes him out of the room.

With Jack and Liam out of the way, I can see past the other side of the mat where Violet has her clothes lying out on a bench.

Not just clothes, but her armor.

It’s like she’s trying to piss me off.

Liam pushes Jack the final few inches out of the door, and I flick a tendril of shadow toward it, snapping it shut.

“What the hell were you thinking, egging him on like that?” Dain marches forward for all the world, looking like a pompous toy soldier.

“Oh, now you feel like talking to me?” she snips, lifting her chin to look down her nose.

I step between them, a hot, sweltering rage beginning to bubble up inside of me. Violet doesn’t retreat, her eyes flaring with a heat that mirrors my own.

“Give us a second,” I tell Dain, keeping my gaze locked on Violet.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you’re not wearing that,” I point over to her armored corset. The same corset that I unlaced with my fingers, that touched the skin beneath it that night a few weeks ago.

Every ounce of anger is accompanied by the visceral desire to push her back down to the mat and fuck her in front of everyone.

“I have to wash it at some point.”

I blink back the arousal that’s threatening to spill over.

I take in a deep, shuddering breath. “And you thought that would be a good idea during sparring?”

“I washed it before sparring, knowing it could dry while your guard dog keeps watch, as opposed to sleeping without it because we both know what happens behind locked doors around here.”

I clench my teeth at her indignant tone. “Not behind yours anymore. I made sure of it.”

“Because I’m supposed to trust you?”

She has got to be fucking kidding. “Yes,” I answer, willing my body not to pick her up and carry her out of here so I can shout at her for being so reckless…among other things.

“And you make it so easy,” she snips sarcastically.

“You know I can’t kill you.” I throw my hands up in irritation. “Fuck, Sorrengail, the entire quadrant knows I can’t kill you.” I lean in toward her until we’re close enough to share breath.

She looks into my eyes, “That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.”

I blink and move backward, my face smoothing into a carefully controlled expression.

That fast, every bit of arousal has seeped out of me, leaving in its place something bitter and hateful.

“Stop training with a bow staff. It’s too easy to knock out of your hands. Stick to the daggers.”

“I was doing just fine until Tairn barged into my head with all his anger and distracted me.” Her tone is defensive.

“Then learn how to block him out.”

“What, with all this power I’m wielding?” She raises her brows expectantly. “Or were you unaware that I’m still not channeling?”

My anger is still a simmering thing underneath the surface of my skin. I lean back into her, invading her space the way she invades my every thought. “I am annoyingly aware of everything you do.”

There’s a line of electricity running through us that’s pulled so tightly I can almost feel it vibrating between us.

“Wingleader Riorson,” Dain says, and Violet and I both blink at each other as his words slice through the tension. “She’s just not used to the bond yet. She’ll learn how to block it out.”

Violet’s breath hitches, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes. She takes a step back, blinking furiously like she’s trying to reorient herself.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and swing my gaze to Dain. “You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos. And the most convenient times not to.”

Dain goes rigid. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles are white.

I turn back to Violet, my face still a mask of boredom. “Do us both a favor and put the fucking armor back on.”

I walk off the mat and back toward Garrick, feeling suddenly too hot. Violet is intoxicating, her anger and mine so exhilarating that it snaps my self-control when I’m around her.

Behind me, Violet gasps in horror.

Too hot turns to too cold, something cold and icy, freezing every nerve in my body.

My back is clearly visible in the light, covered by my navy blue relic.

And the one hundred and seven scars marring the skin underneath.

My back muscles bunch as I tense for a breath.

The irony of Violet’s horror at something her mother very much had a hand in is not lost on me.

I take my shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tug it over my head, covering the grim reminder underneath a sheet of cotton.

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justallihere · 9 months ago

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Alli this chapter was such a nice surprise !!

Violet is a sarcastic queen "we can hold hands" she says to Liam as if the only person she wants to hold hands with is not her husband. Liam and Violet are very special to me and the way you write them is very unique. He's so protective of her but she's also very strict on her boundaries in the friendship which I love for her.

Oh so the panflet did make its rounds in this fic. Devera u sneaky bitch I know what u are (a traitor). This is a perfect opportunity to reveal some truths but because our Violet is indeed the queen of a whole ass country I doubt she's gonna do that, there's just too much at stake, but I do wish she had done something in canon. I wonder if she's gonna talk to Devera here? If she even suspects it was her?

“Be logical, riders,” Markham said as he collected the last of the leaflets. “When has Navarre ever sent a riot of only Blue dragons? I expect better from you all. More critical thinking. It will be imperative once you’re out of Basgiath and on the battlefield.” oh this is pure gold the way propaganda is discussed here is just so good. i love these conflicts.

Jack is back ?? creating chaos for sure. maybe trying to murder violet? omg imagine violet being able to see that he's a venin way earlier bc she's sees the sage way too often in her dreams and when she sees jack she goes "umm that's weird, that's suspicious" Also I've always thought Baide was sus for keeping it hidden i hope the damn dragon dies. maybe tairn can actually kill a dragon this time.

Oh Xaden is just so miserable my poor baby "I know you're awake" ohhhh u wanna talk to her so bad. Violet acknowledging they have a routine is very special to me and an improvement. As much as it hurt me them sleeping in separate beds it's very much needed bc they need to TALK I'm just waiting for the chapter in which they will fight so bad they both break and then they'll make up.

their conversations in the dark !! they need each other so badly, the weight of ruling is heavy and while xaden may try to play it off he doesn't handle it well either.

“Yes and no. Eventually you get used to it. You stop feeling the weight. You do the best you can with what you have, and you make so many horrible choices that it’s all you know, and you have to make yourself stop second-guessing. It’ll drive you mad if you don’t.” Sir what u need is therapy.

Violet talking about her dying before seeing her future and Xaden saying she'll live and then Violet calling him a liar … THATS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT !! and followed by her calling Aretia home and Xaden having a mini breakdown over it ? oh he's very screwed indeed but she isn't much better. i wonder when will she realize its him that's home and not Aretia the place.

also xaden suffering the consequences (violet putting herself in danger for the good of Tyrrendor) of his own actions?? we love to see it but also omg the angst !! he's just like "pls sit down don't do anything dangerous"

"We’re married. We’re supposed to be a team." she knew she had him with that, the only thing he wants more than for her to live its for them to be a team. the cant live without u line is very on brand for violet denial sorrengail to misinterpret love that !!

love the bodhi and violet crumbs !! they're family they need to interact more i also think they'd be a formidable pair against xaden just to annoy him lmao. but for now bodhi will rat her out to xaden !! he's part of the "violet and xaden should talk like rational adults" club. also they're so married bickering so so married they're disgusting actually. (him not missing the opportunity to call her beautiful, sir you are not that sneaky i see u)

xaden agreeing to go with violet on her suicide mission is very supportive partner coded gottalove that !! cant wait to see him go ballistic when shes tortured.

once again you've delivered such a good chapter thank u so much <3

My favorite thing about Violet is that she’s kind of a bitch because so am I and we deserve that representation. She loves Liam so very much but my girl likes her space

Violet and Devera talk soon-ish. I love Devera so much, I need more of her

Xaden and Violet are in their married couple era for SURE, there’s more communication from them in the coming chapters and it’s gonna hurt and it’s gonna be so good I can’t wait

“what u need is therapy” that’s what Garrick and Bodhi are for 😭😭

Listen like it’s so important to me that they follow through on the things they agreed to. They talked and they decided no more secrets and they would do everything together from now on and they took that shit SERIOUSLY!! It’s part of their married dynamic, I love them

Thank you so much for reading 🩷🩷🩷

#storm in the quiet

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writernopal · 1 year ago

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🩸Quye’ck, Starved Son of Clan Lexlar🩸

Hailing from a long line of proud warriors, Quye'ck follows in his forefather's footsteps by joining and rising through the ranks of the Hantaphian Armed Reserves. Their forces are the first to respond when the call for battle comes, ever proud to serve the famed House of War. Wild, fierce, and purpose-driven, these men will fight to the last breath in the name of their kin and the Goddess Kava herself. But shrouded under such heritage is another, less spoken of but no less present.

Over many generations, Clan Lexlar, proudest of these forces, discovered a way to edge out their brethren: Consumption. But such a thing does not come without a cost. That supernatural hunger must be controlled, lest it be sated in other ways. And for some, that is far easier said than done...

cw: drug use

“He’s just here, sir.” The man raised his lantern, tossing a glance at the warden trailing just behind him.

The official sighed, spotting the semi-lucid teenager just off the marked path. He was nearly slumped over, speaking to a rock in his hand.

“I think he might be Sire Mitha’s boy, but I’m not sure.” The man said as they came to a stop beside the reported vagrant.

“I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”

The man nodded, hefting the A-frame pack of freshly gathered firewood onto his back with some difficulty, and reluctantly took his leave. The warden squatted opposite the young man and lifted his head to meet the light shining from his lantern. He grimaced, dropping the rock that entertained him just moments earlier. Another sigh.

“Markham Vintar Lexlar of Hantaph. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

He grinned, somehow recognizing his name in his dazed state. The warden released his chin and sucked on his teeth frustratedly—he reeked of starshoot. Pureleaf, by the smell of it, and clearly far too potent for the likes of him.

“And how did you end up all the way out here?”

This path was rarely traveled even during the day and normally only used by merchants coming into Miranx from Hantaph. But it wasn’t trading day. And men like the one who’d come upon him were the unfortunate sort who’d had gotten caught out by ill weather or some otherwise difficult circumstance on their way back from the wilds. Another sigh.

“We have a few options, boy. I could book you for the night and you can get a reaming worse than the last from your father when he comes to collect you tomorrow. I could leave you here for some hungry jungle cat. Or,” He sighed, unsure of where the next words were coming from, “I can bring you to my house. Let you sleep off your high and see you off in the morning.”

The troublemaker offered his response by way of a grunt. Unhelpful. The warden set down his lantern and, with some effort, lifted the young man from the ground. He strained under his weight, altogether reconsidering his benevolence. He was taller than he remembered and already thickening to resemble the massive frame his clansmen were known for. He groaned as he looped his tail into the handle of his lantern and lumbered his way home.

Breakfast the next morning was…difficult. Not because the young man was bad company, but because he was less interested in having any sort of conversation with the warden, choosing instead to fiddle with his listening stone. No good contraptions, in his opinion, but he guessed the young man’s sweetheart had its pair, judging by the speed and the whispered nature of his responses.

“You’ll be a man before you know it.” His head snapped up. “You should start acting like one. You can’t expect others to look out for you forever. You’ll drive your wife mad with worry someday if you do.”

The young man swallowed the bite he’d taken and laughed as he wiped his mouth clean. “I’m not gettin’ married, sir. Anyway, thanks for the food and for not rattin’ me out.”

The warden sighed, deciding that his attempt at a lecture had gone about as well as it was going to go, and dismissed the surprise guest from his table. The young man got on his feet, listening stone to the side of his head and a smile on his face. Part of him wished he could warn the poor creature on the other stone she was being strung along, but he supposed she would find that out soon enough. He watched as he made his way outside but, oddly, did not rush to give any sort of response to the message he’d just received. Though the reason why soon became clear.

Just through his window, he spotted the infamous Eiph’ck, a troublemaker of a different variety, carrying with him a bottle of some dark liquid and what looked to be another meal. The two greeted each other with a laugh and the Lexlar boy quickly told some story between gulps of whatever drink his friend had brought him. He sighed again, hoping that he hadn’t given him alcohol or some nonsense like that. Though he supposed neither of the thoughtless individuals were his problem. Another sigh.

Character art by: https://twitter.com/Azraels_Art

Graphics made with license free images from Unsplash and formatted in Canva.

#character intro #aasoaf #m.o.w #lexlar #my oc #origin story #cw: drug use

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dgct2 · 1 month ago

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Dominic Zamprogna continues to amaze me which is why it was surprising to read in this article that he barely got any sleep the night before. He knew that Nancy and Steve would bring it. He didn't want to be the weak link. He was far from that.

The care that he's taken with Kelly's final scenes is everything you'd want in a onscreen partner. From saying that she was amazing for her final scenes to him being a rock for her and offering advice to making sure to check in on her.

Grab that Kleenex because you're going to need it. I broke down reading this article the first time around. Now that I've had some time away I can appreciate it even more. Here are some of the moments that stuck out for me.

"So we just shot the rehearsal, and everyone was happy with it, and then we shot the next scene. I only had two, and they were short, but I felt really good about them, to be honest with you. I got up from my stool sitting beside Kelly [Monaco, Sam] and gave her a big hug and kiss, and I felt like I honoured the material and her character and our relationship. And that was important to me, too. All you can do, like an athlete, is leave it all on the court.”

You can see that in every moment of Dante's goodbye. He didn't hold anything back. He put it all out there. Dominic took it a step further and added his own touch to the Sante goodbye. When Dante said " Thank you for saving my life, Sam."

Specifically, he added the reference to Sam saving his life. “Those words that I added, I really lived them as a character,” he notes. “And I added that in because I was like, ‘She saved Dante’s life.’ When he was going to shoot Peter August and she stopped him, that was a moment where she saved his life. Who knows where he would be if Sam hadn’t stopped him from doing that that day?”

Director Robert Markham is right. Dominic only enhanced the scene. It brought fans like me right back to the moment. This moment is special for me because this is when I took the chance on Sante. It is when I knew that the writers were actually going to give them a chance.

This final part of the interview is what broke me before....

It wasn’t until after Zamprogna shot the monologue that he filmed the moment of Dante learning of his fiancée’s demise. “I’ve never really been quite so broken down in a scene as I was in those scenes leading up to [the bedside monologue] when Nancy’s holding my face,” Zamprogna says. “It kind of took me by surprise. We did the other scenes with Sonny in the hallway, and when Dante comes off the elevator with Rocco and that scene with Nancy, which I didn’t really plan to be that [emotional]. It was just, in that moment, the way she was describing how Sam had taken her last breath … She just did it so beautifully, and the way she described it reminded me of times I’ve experienced that loss in real life, and it just painted this unbelievably sad picture in my mind.” When you’re that connected to the material, he adds, “You don’t have to do anything at that point. You just open your mouth and what comes out comes out.

You can't fake the utter heartbreak in Dante's voice when Alexis tells him what happened to Sam. I'll let Dominic's acting speak below.

Dominic Zamprogna is one in a million. Every day since Sam's death Dominic has shown a man who is lost and heartbroken without the love of his life. The woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. As Dante said to Sonny he doesn't know how to do any of this without her.

Dominic has honoured Sante every step of the way. He made sure that their love story mattered on screen even at the end. For that I will forever be thankful.

#long post #meta #sorry for the meta #I'm a mess right now #heartbroken #sobbing #gh #gh spoilers #general hospital #dominic zamprogna #dante falconeri #sante #dante x sam #sam x dante #interviews

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crisalidaseason · 3 months ago

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Apóstatas - chapter 3

Summary: Xaden's routine in battle brief and training with his squad, also some tension with Aalic Tauri

****

“It seems to be a desperate attack” a rider commented “Maybe they’re after resources, do we know what they stole?”

Of all things in that shit of a quadrant, Xaden hated battle brief the most. Not history, not physics, not training.

“They were not successful in stealing anything, our riots caught them quickly” the old scribe replied. The wards fell, things were stolen.

Fucking liar. That old prick had sent disgusted glares in his and Garrick’s direction the entire class - in all classes, honestly. It took everything in Xaden’s power not to stare right fucking back and make that fucker regret. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t act up without risking punishment.

At least not for now.

“Do we know any details of the civil war beyond the wards?” a first year asked.

The class per se was not the issue, the professor in question was decent enough and the subject was important on a rider’s education - in theory.

“Classified information” Devera replied after consulting Markham.

That was exactly why he hated battle brief. Most classes had the same structure: they say there was an outpost attack, some people ask stupid questions, someone asks or theorizes something that hits the spot and the professors simply deflect.

Classified my fucking ass.

Xaden scanned the room as discreetly as possible, forcing himself to take notes in an attempt to not stand out in that gods forsaken class. A few chairs over, he could see Masen and Soleil writing on their own notes. Despite only meeting them a few times before the apostasy, Xaden remembered that the two of them grew in smaller noble houses and wondered if their education was as thorough as his own. His father had drilled battle strategy and politics in his mind from a very early age - same with Liam, Bodhi and Garrick, none of them escaped - but he knew many other smaller houses did not bother with it.

“Garrick” he mumbled.

His friend hummed quietly in response.

“How’s your patience lately?”

“Pretty good I’d say” he replied “why?”

Xaden did not reply, but motioned discreetly with his quill in the direction of the other duo. Garrick glanced at them for a split second and replied to the silent request with a slight nod. This was probably going to tire them a lot considering they were already training Masen on the mat incessantly, but Xaden could not back down. He wanted the four of them to at least have a chance at reaching threshing. All he needed was them to bond a dragon.

They had no other choice.

“Is it possible they’re after what powers our wards?” a voice on the back caught Xaden’s attention.

He knew that voice, he could not forget it. It belonged to the rider that put him and Garrick on the same squad, who they later found out was Tail Section’s executive officer. Someone Xaden did not know how to classify in his list of potential dangers.

“Cadet Atenoor. Care to explain the reason for said question?” Devera’s mask was impenetrable, as was Markham’s, but Xaden knew the topic was…sensitive.

He glanced at the man, who was standing on the wall due to the lack of seats. The man was ordinary, forgettable for most despite the large scar marking his pale skin, but he had cold blue eyes that observed too much.

“It is perhaps the fourth or fifth attack on our outposts with this specific pattern. Like my other peers have said, the drifts’ attacks lack organization, they seem reckless, desperate. You would expect the food storages and weapon rooms to be sacked, but nothing was stolen. With this new scenario of the wards failing, it begs the question: is it our wards they’re after?”

Xaden could not help but stare at the man with a less than schooled expression. The room was silent, but a few heads could be seen nodding and making sense of the theory - which was too fucking accurate. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach, the nausea taking its known spot and the tendrils grabbing his throat.

“Weakening us is their ultimate goal” Markham cleared his throat, an unimpressed tone in his voice “it is not difficult to infer they might attack our wards for that. As for what powers our wards, there is nothing worthy of mentioning as it would not be useful so far from our hatching grounds”

Despite the dismissive words, Markham spent the entire class observing Atenoor.

***

The mats were filled with squads. Cadets were frantically sparring to prepare for the upcoming challenges and Third Squad, Tail section, was no different.

“Are you two going to circle each other the entire time?” their squad leader snapped, her brows furrowed at the two first years on the left mat.

Squad leader Yaci was an impatient woman, though Xaden had to admit she was efficient and professional despite her cold demeanor towards him and Garrick - she was still an alienated navarrian after all. She had forced them to train every other night for three hours, had little tolerance for their squad’s inside vendettas and was every bit pragmatic.

“Riorson, Tavis. Again” she threw at them with a side glance.

Both of them took their place on the left mat, going for their third match of the evening since their squad was not open to sparring with both of them - unless the leader felt particularly mean and ordered them to. Xaden was not sure if it was their status as traitors or the fact that he and Garrick were really good at putting on a show.

“Missed” he teased his friend.

Garrick’s lips curved minimally - as usual - and he missed yet another opportunity to jab Xaden on the ribs. Neither of them were actually serious about sparring in front of so many people, knowing well that hiding their most dangerous features would be their element of surprise to win first challenges. Still, by the nervous looks some cadets sent them, they were doing a damn good job at intimidating anyway.

“Tauri spawn” Garrick mumbled, dodging a hit on the knee.

Xaden nodded slightly and glanced at the gym’s door, where the prick entered the room as if he owned it and, as usual, his green eyes settled on him and Garrick. They managed to avoid the aggravating prince for a few blessed days, but Zinhal was bound to cut their streak of luck someday. By the way Xaden could feel the prince’s stare even beyond his peripheral vision, the lack of luck was about to become a nightmare in their lives.

“Spin” Garrick mumbled.

Fast as lightning, Garrick grabbed his left arm and maneuvered their positions in a mock attack until Xaden found himself facing the prince and took the opportunity to glance at him a few times. At the other end of the gym, Aalic Tauri was sparring with one of his squadmates. His movements denoted a royal education: fluid, complex, strong, albeit slower than Xaden’s. He wondered if the prince could be hiding his abilities just like him and Garrick, but the arrogance exhaling his frame said otherwise. The prince liked to be seen.

“Think instructors might pair us up?” Xaden asked.

“Definitely” Garrick replied “not sure I’ll let it happen though”

“You can’t interfere” he warned.

Garrick remained silent for a few seconds, circling him and lunging. Xaden blocked his movements but let one of the hits land on his jaw, using the momentum to spin and change positions again. He nursed the pain with his fingers and returned the aggressiveness equally. Their match did not last too long before it ended on a tie, the squad leader barking them an order to leave the mat for the other squad members to use.

“I expected you to have better training, Riorson” said a voice nearby.

Garrick locked eyes behind him and shifted his stance. Xaden did not bother to turn, drinking from his waterskin eagerly and rotating his neck to help with the strain of the muscles. He took his time closing the clasp off his waterskin and sitting on the bench, finally dignifying the prince with a glance - making sure to put on his most unimpressed mask - and shrugging in reply.

“I heard you were a ruthless fighter, are you shy in front of a crowd?” the prince continued.

There was an eerie glint behind the green eyes but his face held nothing but neutral features. Still, Xaden could not help but feel his nausea respond to it. He had seen his fair share of bad people, but Aalic Tauri was something completely different. The cruelty brewing inside those eyes was calculated, premeditated.

This was a fucking game for him, but Xaden could play too.

“Tavis, right?”

Another man flanked Tauri - the same one that had been sparring with him - setting his eyes on Garrick with curiosity. His best friend did not reply with words, but his brows lifted in a discreet insolence: Isn’t it obvious?

“We could have some matches together” the prince suggested “must be boring to spar with the same person every time”

Xaden did not reply again, but allowed the corners of his mouth to lift just enough for people to notice, which the prince replied with a tilt of his head.

“What do you say?” the prince insisted.

He looked right into the green eyes, letting his hatred for all those fuckers flood his mind and vision, venom coating his tongue as the death threat wanted to spill “I don’t think so”

The prince laughed audibly at the reply, taking a step in their direction “Is the traitor’s son afraid?”

Garrick - his fucking fool of a best friend - took a step towards the man in warning “back the fuck off”

The prince raised his arms and his face contorted into a false surprise and the cadet flanking him took a defensive stance against Garrick. Though, before anything could escalate further their squad leader interrupted the moment, putting her tall frame in front of the prince and his lackey

“Go back to your squad before I assign both of you to bathroom cleaning”

“I don’t take orders from you” Aalic said, smiling wickedly.

“It is within codex for me, a squad leader and rider, to punish those who threaten the integrity of my squad, a crime that is sentenced with dragon fire” the woman sneered “So, I suggest you return to your squad, prince”

There was no hint of fear or intimidation in the prince’s eyes yet he retreated anyway, though not before sending Xaden and Garrick a cynical look that screamed retribution.

“Kras, control your fucking first years” she yelled and turned to them, narrowing her eyes “if any of you causes me problems I’ll have both scrubbing bathrooms for the rest of the year, am I clear?’

Xaden raised his hands in surrender and Garrick nodded firmly. She stared them down for a few seconds but soon returned to the two cadets on the mat, barking an order for them to continue their match.

“He is going to kill you” Garrick whispered once the attention was off them.

“I know” he replied, sitting back on the bench.

His friend narrowed his eyes, sitting closer “you can’t possibly kill him in challenges. The rules don’t apply to us”

Xaden let a small smirk break his mask and Garrick grunted a swear.

“Who said anything about killing him in challenges?”

Previous chapter

Next chapter

#xaden riorson #garrick tavis #pre fourth wing #fourth wing

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stenoodie · 7 months ago

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Too Good to Go Surprise Bags -- May 2024

Too Good to Go Surprise Bags -- May 2024. #jerkchicken #circleK #mrSub #mexicanfood

The 14 surprise bags I got in May 2024 In this month’s instalment of Too Good To Go hauls, I got to try out the surprise bags of stores I’ve bookmarked for a while but didn’t get to try until now. I love scoping out the nearby stores when I am in the area for a family dinner or birthday party. It’s perfect to already be in the area. Continue reading Too Good to Go Surprise Bags — May 2024

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justforbooks · 2 years ago

Photo

The fashion designer Mary Quant had perfected key aspects of 1960s British pop culture long before midnight chimed on the last day of 1959. The Chelsea girl and her try-anything attitude, her short, narrow garments casually bought from a Kings Road boutique – Quant had been working on these since the mid-50s. It took the zeitgeist until at least 1963 to catch on, let alone catch up.

Quant, who has died aged 93, opened her first Kings Road shop, Bazaar, in 1955, the year after Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel ended her postwar hiatus and reopened her Paris salon. They shared a similar ambition: to clothe young, independent women unsuited to fashion dominated by Christian Dior’s 1947 New Look and the work of the grand couturiers. Quant and Chanel designed their clothes to allow new physical and mental freedoms; Quant (unlike Chanel) was also in favour of fun, in reaction to her own teen years under postwar austerity.

Life then had been rationed, begrudged; almost the only place where the young could create their own excitement was at art college, with the Chelsea Arts Ball an annual chance for frivolity. At that ball a teenaged Quant, clad chiefly in balloons, hooked up with a fellow Goldsmiths’ College student, Alexander Plunket Greene, who swanned around long-haired in his mother’s silk pyjama top, trumpet in one hand and film script in the other.

“Life … began for me when I first saw Plunket,” she wrote in her 1966 autobiography Quant By Quant. He was short on ready cash, with an income of “four bob a day,” he recalled, “if one bought cigarettes one couldn’t go the cinema too”, but posh and sexually sophisticated. “Alexander had no use for straightforward sex at all,” Quant said, and he also was consistently unfaithful.

He came from a family said to be Evelyn Waugh’s model for the Flytes in Brideshead Revisited and was at art college crossing social classes. She, born in Blackheath, south-east London, had been persuaded by her parents, Jack and Mildred, both schoolteachers, to study art rather than fashion on leaving Blackheath high school.

After Goldsmiths’, she worked as a trainee assistant at the Mayfair milliner Erik. Quant picked up pins with a magnet and counted out the ration of one chocolate biscuit a day for the assistants, who were so poorly paid that, as Cecil Beaton exaggerated, “there were weeks when only an aspirin touched Mary’s lips and, but for the Jamaicans in nearby Claridge’s kitchens handing over their refuse bins, she would have starved”.

The creation of a hat was Quant’s practical introduction to fashion, and the sculptural moulding that quickly shapes millinery influenced her approach to clothes. She had reservations about “spending three days making one hat which would be worn for one afternoon by a grumpy, spoiled middle-class woman”, learned dress-pattern-cutting at night school, to put outfits together for herself, and briefly worked for the Butterick pattern company.

Plunket’s poverty ended on his 21st birthday when he inherited £5,000; advised by the entrepreneur Archie McNair, who became Quant’s financial brain thereafter, he took a mortgage on a property on the corner of Markham Street and Kings Road, Chelsea.

He wanted to open a nightclub in its basement, but could not get an alcohol licence, so that level became Alexander’s Restaurant, a bistro influenced by his friend Terence Conran and the recipes of Elizabeth David. Plunket told McNair that his girl was good at clothes, and Quant set up Bazaar on the ground floor.

Bazaar acted in lieu of the desired club, with wine or scotch under the counter and girls shedding their garments on the floor, attracting anti-establishment former art-school characters who had gone into photography and journalism. It was hardly a shop – the preferred word was boutique anyway – since the couple never understood business. Incoming bills were piled up and those at the top were paid – Conran said you could not open the front door for writs. They were part of the new bohemian Chelsea set and their stories became SW3 legend.

Quant bought fabric from Harrods at retail prices on a Plunket family account, and had to sell each batch of clothes before she could buy more; when she ran out of stock, she simply shut up shop and started sewing. When she asked manufacturers to make for her, few would, since her ever-skimpier, shorter shapes did not promise big enough profit margins.

Besides, Bazaar might be closed for weeks with a “gone fishing” sign placed in the window while Quant and Plunket went on holiday. They wanted a wider life, flying off in chartered planes to gamble in Le Touquet: because of the era’s currency restrictions, Quant smuggled out in her knickers the cash to buy a French home. They ran an illegal chemin-de-fer game in the Quant delivery van parked in a different Chelsea street each Thursday.

By the late 50s Quant had synthesised her Chelsea girl look from elements of left bank kooky beatnik and practical details of American sportswear, plus her preference for vulgarity over good taste. Then she began supplementing it with memories of her ideal – a girl of about eight glimpsed during a childhood dancing class, who had a Dutch doll haircut and wore a dark skinny knit, very short pleated skirt, white socks and black patent shoes that focused on the boot button of their ankle strap. Quant made similar clothes the basis of the dolly-bird look of the 60s.

In retrospect, this sexualised projection of a very young girl feels disturbing. Dolly-birds skipped, and knocked their knees, and pointed their toes in what Quant called “the wet-knicker pose”. Stocking-tops and suspenders were slowly replaced by patterned or coloured tights, and Quant developed stretchy undergarments no heavier than those tights.

Quant’s own hairdresser, Vidal Sassoon, cut geometric variants of the bob. The whole ensemble pointed in one direction. “The crotch is the most natural erogenous zone,” said Quant, directing her models in their Banlon, Bri-nylon and PVC mini shifts to prance for maximum pelvic thrust, and claiming that her husband once cut her own green-dyed pubic hair into a heart shape. Angry bowler-hatted men beat with fists and umbrellas on Bazaar’s window, Quant recalled: “It got to them in some way, what I was doing.”

Being a dolly-bird was just about affordable on teen pay. Quant went wholesale in 1961, and two years later launched mass-market fashions under the name Ginger Group – ginger, prune and grape being the previously non-fashion colours that she favoured. She also signed on as an adviser with the US retailer JC Penney: from then on she could afford to hop on big jet planes to distant destinations at whim, as she had once done buses on Kings Road; her personal transport was a black Mini car with a black leather interior.

But she was never comfortable with large-scale clothes production and soon realised that the real money lay in franchising household goods such as bedding, and, even more, in designing faces.

Mary Quant cosmetics arrived in 1966 and were more original than her clothes. Cosmetic containers had traditionally been designed as ornaments for dressing tables, with lipsticks and compacts based on 18th-century boudoir trinkets. Quant observed that professional models painted their faces like canvases with brushes and theatrical grease sticks, and as an art student she had worn the contents of her watercolour paint tubes. She commercialised these ideas, and the daisy logo that was always the doodled focal point of her dress sketches then appeared on makeup packaging – yellow tins of crayons, and simplified bottles, sold not from store counters but from “pods” that might have been moon landing capsules.

Skin cream was sold with matching vitamin pills. Bazaar closed in 1969, by which time 7 million women worldwide had Quant’s label in their wardrobe.

Quant cosmetics also dwindled away in the 70s but were revived under licence in Japan in 1984, and re-exported to the west in the 90s. Japan was Quant’s most logical market, for young women there have cultural sanction to present themselves as prepubescent – pretending to be very young is seen as liberating, which appealed to Quant, who said: “I grew up not wanting to grow up, growing up seemed so terrible, children were free and sane.”

She eventually resigned as director of the company, and lost control in 2000 of her name and her daisy, but stayed as consultant. She also began designing clothes for the New York store Henri Bendel, which realised her vintage work was being collected. Her approach was understood as being as dramatically simple as Chanel’s – “Only I had better legs than Chanel,” said Quant.

Her first retrospective exhibition, Mary Quant’s London, in 1973 at the Museum of London, had a 50s gloom room so visitors could appreciate the difference she had made, for which she was appointed OBE in 1966 – a very big deal at the time. She was made a dame in 2015, and a companion of honour this year.

When the V&A put on a lifetime retrospective show in 2019, it sourced exhibits radically by asking the public to loan Quant clothes they had kept. Many of those selected were displayed with old photographs of their owners wearing them, captioned with the outfit’s personal “story”. The exhibition drew huge crowds, with visitors talking to each other – a rare occurrence – about what it had been like to wear Quant fashion when it was new.

Although the Chelsea set regarded home as the place you went when there was nothing better to do, Quant loved her house in Grasse, Provence, and a retreat in Guildford, Surrey. There she gardened by torchlight when day faded, and installed a 60s Claes Oldenburg plastic statue commemorating dolly-bird knees.

The turbulent marriage of the Plunket Greenes, which had begun in 1957, ended with his death in 1990. Her later partner, Antony Rouse, died in 2014. Quant is survived by Orlando, the son from her marriage, and three grandchildren.

🔔 Mary Quant, fashion and cosmetics designer, born 11 February 1930; died 13 April 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Mary Quant #in memoriam

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nirikeehan · 2 years ago

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happy friday! :D from the poem prompts, "Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there?" for a pairing of your choice :3c

Whoops this one has been sitting awhile. But then I was missing Kingdom Come, my post-Trespasser AU where Thalia and Thom Rainier reunite, and wrote this. Everyone loves a sexy bathing scene, right!??!? I surely wouldn't ruin it with angst, would I?!?!?!?

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1525

CW: Mildly spicy ruminating, references to major character death

---

Thalia lowers herself into the tub on sore legs, letting the warm water take her. She lies, suspended, trying not to think: not of last night. Not of Thom’s easy smile when he saw her just now, dawdling in the doorway to the kitchen. Not of the kiss upon her brow, the joy beaming in his eyes.

If he regrets what transpired, he certainly does not show it.

He’s making breakfast for you, for Maker’s sake.

Thalia sinks further down in the tub, trying to outrun her own shame. Is Thom right, and there was nothing to fear? If so, why does she still feel like she committed some terrible misdeed, from which there is no return?

He said they don’t have to tell anyone, but Thalia thinks this is shortsighted. If she remains waylaid in Markham, staying at his house, someone eventually is going to make inquiries. Josephine, for one. Thalia is due in Antiva at the end of the month.

It’s not like you have to stay, her mind reminds her. That is true. They have not defined this, whatever it is. Thom Rainier is not of the sort to expect to wed a lady just because he’s bedded her. Thalia bites her lip, the memories of his touch leaking back in. The way his sculpted chest looked and felt beneath her; the utter abandon with which she rode him, as if the world might end before they did. It felt safe and right, in the moment.

It’s the thoughts and feelings that have come after that make her doubt.

Under the water, her thighs tremble. She can entertain no illusions. If she stays, for whatever length of time, there is no doubt what their main activity will be. That river has already been crossed. There are too many years of pent up desire between them to consider this a one-time indiscretion.

There is a knock at the door, and Thalia startles so badly she sends a tidal wave of water over the side of the tub. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

Thalia panics, slides her good arm across her chest for modesty, then realizes how utterly pointless that is. She debates asking what he wants. “I… yes, of course.”

The door opens; Thom enters. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, the hair at his temples pulled back and fastened. She tries not to look at him too long, lest the lust pool in her anew.

“Breakfast should be up shortly. Do you need help?” As if this is the most natural thing in the world. As if they’ve been playing house for years.

“I manage all right,” Thalia snaps, more harshly than she intended.

“Of that I am certain.” He sounds amused. “But why do a thing when you don’t need to?”

Thalia chews her lip, realizing this has less to do with her infirmity than his sense of chivalry. She ducks her chin below the edge of the tub, gripping the rim as she stares up at him. He’s grinning under his beard. He thinks she’s being coy. Maybe she is.

“What is it you’d like to do?” Thalia asks, keeping her tone playful.

“Wash your hair, maybe?” Thom’s voice is just as light.

She lets out a slow breath. All the nights Cullen offered the same come back to her, when her hair was long and unruly and unable to be tamed with one hand. All the times she refused him, insisting he needn’t bother, until the day he found her with the scissors, the carnage of her red hair staining every inch of the floor. The way he reached out ever so gently to take the shears from her, the fear for her written so plainly on his face.

Thalia squeezes her eyes shut. Is it any wonder what happened, after what I drove him to?

“If you wish,” she says faintly.

She dips her head under water and sits up, hugging her chest against the cool air. Thom kneels behind her and threads fingers through her hair. His hands are deft and nimble. She’s always known that, since the moment she spied his first woodworking project in the barn at Skyhold. He puts some perfumed soap on her scalp and works it in, so gently she feels herself relaxing against her will, leaning into his touch.

“My hair is longer than yours now,” Thom teases lightly.

Thalia hiccups a giggle. “So it is.”

“Why did you cut it? It was always so beautiful.”

Her stomach twists with a strange mixture of desire and regret. Cullen feels close, hugging her as she sobbed against his chest amid the remnants of a life’s worth of uncut hair.

“I didn’t want to have to take care of it anymore,” Thalia whispers.

“I’d take care of it for you,” Thom says, planting a kiss on her wet shoulder. She shivers at the tickle of lips and scratch of beard.

“Are you sure? When it was long, there was a lot of it. A veritable horde of hair. Impossible to control or domesticate.”

“I’m sure I’d be up for the challenge.” Thom’s voice is low and husky in her ear, and the room no longer feels so cold.

Thalia pulls away from him, ducking under water. She feels the soap dissipate from her hair and surfaces with bubbles filming the surface of the water. She leans over the tub again, so that she can look him in the eye. Droplets trickle down her cheeks and nose.

“What exactly is it you’re proposing, Thom Rainier?” she demands. “It isn’t only about hair.” Besides, hair wouldn’t grow that long in a few weeks, or even a year. Two years, or five. Her heart is thudding.

Thom holds up his large hands, dripping in surrender. “Nothing. I’m just making conversation.”

Thalia raises her eyebrows so high he begins to chuckle.

“Don’t pout, love.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. He takes her under the chin and angles her face to gaze into his. “But is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there?”

She feels her resolve weakening against his inimitable charm. “And how long will that take?”

Thom lets out a hearty laugh. “As long as we want it to.”

He really sees no problem with this. “And what is Josephine supposed to do, with one missing from her bridal party, as we’re off exploring the heavens?”

Thom lets out an exaggerated sigh, as if entertaining the anxieties of a child. “Right. That. So, is it illegal to return to Markham, once you leave it?”

Thalia opens her mouth, but a retort evades her, so she shuts it again. It occurs to her that if she were to leave, she might be too frightened to return. “Does that mean you’re inviting me back?”

“Of course I am! I am at your disposal, forever and always. In whatever capacity you desire.” He bows his head in reverence, though his grey eyes burn to behold hers. “I should have thought that was obvious.”

Thalia swallows hard. That’s an incredible amount of power he’s bestowed upon her, yet she feels like the helpless one. What she really wants, she realizes, is to feel him inside her again, to perfect the steps to the carnal dance they tried out the night before. Once was far too fleeting to have satisfied her. The end of the month feels so far away. She licks her lips.

“Or,” Thom continues, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “if you truly cannot bear being away from me for such a long time, you could always bring me along.”

Thalia barks out a laugh. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Cause a scandal, would it?” He looks almost eager at the prospect.

“At the least.” Thalia does not remember whether Antiva has a standing extradition treaty with Orlais, where he is technically still wanted for hanging. Besides that, many of the elite echelons that made up Josephine’s social circle might not have even heard that the Inquisitor’s husband is deceased. “I’ll think about it.”

Thom chuckles. “Please do.” He stands, dusts off his hands. “I ought to go make sure breakfast hasn’t gone cold. I’ll let you finish up.” He retreats to the door, lingers in the threshold. “Thalia?”

“Yes?” She looks up, absently, from the piece of soap she’d picked up to scrub her arm.

“I do mean what I said. I don’t want us to… fret, about what’s unfolding between us. I just want you to try it out, see if it’s something you’d like.”

Thalia swallows against a sudden lump in her throat. “What? Staying here longer than…?”

“If it would please you.” He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, she realizes, but his knuckles have blanched as he grips the knob.

Her heart pounds. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Thom closes the door. She sinks under the cooling water, and the world goes hazy. To get what she wants, after so long. Thalia isn’t sure if she’s filled with ecstasy or dread.

#thalia trevelyan #thom rainier #blackwall #blackwall x trevelyan #kingdom come au #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

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artyandink · 8 months ago

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Light My Fire (Again) | beau arlen

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

(divider credits go to cafekitsune)

A/N - Feedback is my fuel ❤️

seven - there’s a fallen angel on my shoulder

The next morning, I woke up slowly, humming with a groggy smile, expecting to feel the warmth of Beau’s arm around me, acting as a shield against the rest of the world. But I didn’t. My eyelashes fluttered and my eyes opened, and instead I found us both at the far ends of the bed, turned away from each other. My stomach went hurtling down like it was a rollercoaster. I didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was the lack of physical contact I’d gotten over the past few years. Maybe I’m touched starved. Yeah, that’s it.

I got out of bed, going into the bathroom to change into Lucy’s leather jacket, smiling at the nice burgundy colour. Underneath that was a black tank top and jeans, to complete the look. I strolled out, finding Beau also fully dressed, adjusting his hat as he turned around with a grin. “G’morning, Belle. Sleep ok?”

“Just peachy.” I nodded, not mentioning the swooping feeling I felt when I woke up and didn’t find him right next to me, the detail that I think he missed. But neither of us missed the brief sweep of our eyes down and up each other. “Let’s go.”

At the department, I walked into the interrogation room with Beau and Jenny, where del Campo was sat with a smug smirk. “Finally, you brought her here.” He gestured to me, his New York accent lilting. “I only got one thing to say. One thing only.”

“And what’s that?” Jenny asked, her expression stony.

“It better be good, otherwise you’re lookin’ at a lotta jail time there, buddy.” Beau seethed, while I remained silent, waiting for this guy to say something.

Del Campo leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the table and seriously asking me to snap them off or at least break them with my bare hands. “Markham Leeds sends his regards.”

My patience broke. My hand clenched into a fist. My thoughts clouded over and were replaced with waves of pure, seething red. My breathing became laboured as I processed the information, which only took the feeling to new heights. I scoffed, about to blow a fuse. Which I did. My fist slammed down onto the table hard, sending a loud and resounding bang through the room that made everyone jump. This was my final straw. I had him. I finally had him.

“MARKHAM, THAT BASTARD!”

NOW:

I’d had enough of this man.

"Mark," I began, my voice steady but laced with the seething anger bubbling beneath the surface. "You've been implicated in some very serious accusations. Care to explain why members of a crime syndicate named you in connection with Lucy's murder?"

Mark's jaw clenched, his fists tightening against the cold metal table. "I didn't have anything to do with it, Elle. I swear."

I fought to control the urge to lunge across the table and shake the truth out of him. "Then why would they mention your name? Why would they target me and Olivia?"

His gaze flickered, a fleeting moment of uncertainty betraying his facade of innocence. "I don't know, okay? Maybe they're trying to frame me!"

My patience wore thin, frustration boiling over. "You expect me to believe that? You've been trying to get custody of Olivia for months, refusing to tell me why. What are you hiding, Mark?"

He recoiled, his defenses crumbling under the weight of my accusation. "I just want what's best for her, Elle. You're not fit to raise her on your own."

The audacity of his words ignited a fire within me, burning with righteous indignation. "And you think you're the better option? You, who can't even explain why you're linked to a crime syndicate? You, who would go to such lengths to hurt me and Olivia?"

Mark's eyes widened in protest. "I would never hurt Olivia, Elle. You have to believe me."

But belief was a luxury I could no longer afford. "You may not intend to harm her directly, but if you can't have her, what's to stop you from targeting me instead? You've already proven you're capable of hiring thugs to do your dirty work."

The air in the room grew thick with tension as Mark's protests echoed against the cold walls. His desperation was palpable, his words a desperate plea for absolution. But I couldn't afford to let doubt cloud my judgment, not when Olivia's safety hung in the balance.

"Save your lies for someone who's willing to believe them," I snapped, my voice cutting through the suffocating silence. "I know you're hiding something, Mark. And I won't rest until I uncover the truth."

Mark's eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance igniting within them. "You can't keep accusing me without any evidence, Elle. You're grasping at straws."

I slammed my palm against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a thunderclap. "Don't you dare talk to me about evidence! You think I don't know what you're capable of? You think I don't see right through your pathetic excuses?"

His facade wavered, a crack forming in the mask of innocence he so desperately clung to. "I loved Lucy, Elle. I would never do anything to hurt her."

The mention of Lucy's name sent a dagger of pain slicing through my heart, a reminder of the gaping wound her absence had left behind. But I refused to let sentimentality cloud my judgment, not when justice hung in the balance.

"Love isn't enough to absolve you of guilt," I spat, my words laced with venom. "If you truly cared about Lucy, you would be honest with me. You would tell me what you know."

Mark's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white against the metal table. "I've told you everything I know, Elle. I swear."

But his words fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the chorus of doubts that echoed within my mind. Was it possible that I had misjudged him? That my anger had blinded me to the truth? I pushed the thought aside, refusing to entertain the possibility of betrayal.

"You expect me to believe that?" I scoffed, my laughter ringing hollow in the silence of the room. "You, who have been lying to me from the start? You, who would throw Olivia's life into chaos just to satisfy your own selfish desires?"

Mark's face contorted with anger, his facade crumbling before my eyes. "You have no right to judge me, Elle. You don't know what it's like to lose someone you love."

His words struck a nerve, reopening old wounds that I had fought so hard to bury. But I refused to let his guilt-tripping sway me, not when the truth hung just beyond my grasp.

"Don't you dare try to play the victim," I spat, my voice dripping with scorn. "You may have lost Lucy, but Olivia still has a chance at a future. And I'll be damned if I let you take that away from her."

The room fell silent once more, the weight of unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air. Mark's gaze flickered, a glimmer of doubt shining within them. But I refused to let it sway me, not when Olivia's life hung in the balance.

"I'll find out the truth, Mark," I vowed, my voice a steely promise. "And when I do, there will be nowhere left for you to hide."

As I stepped out of the interrogation room, a rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, fueling my determination to unravel the tangled web of lies and deceit that surrounded Lucy's murder. But beneath the facade of unwavering resolve, doubt gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to undermine my every step.

I steadied my trembling hands against the cold metal railing of the staircase, forcing myself to take slow, deliberate breaths. I couldn't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment, not when the truth hung just beyond my grasp.

With every ounce of willpower I could muster, I composed myself, steeling my nerves for the challenges that lay ahead. Olivia's safety depended on it, and I would stop at nothing to protect her from the shadows that lurked in the darkness.

As I made my way back to the interrogation room, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I was missing something, a crucial piece of the puzzle that had eluded me thus far. And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the darkness with startling clarity.

The tattoo on Lucy's wrist.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my mind racing as I tried to piece together its significance. 045114. It had been etched into my memory ever since I first laid eyes on it, a cryptic code that held the key to unlocking Lucy's secrets.

Turning on my heel, I marched back into the interrogation room, determination burning bright within me. Mark's eyes widened in surprise as I took my seat opposite him, the fire of interrogation burning in my gaze.

"What do you know about Lucy's tattoo?" I demanded, my voice a razor-sharp edge cutting through the silence.

Mark's brow furrowed in confusion, genuine bewilderment flickering in his eyes. "Tattoo? What tattoo?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his feigned ignorance, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Don't play dumb, Mark. You knew Lucy better than anyone. You must have seen it."

He shook his head, his expression one of genuine perplexity. "I swear, Elle, I have no idea what you're talking about. Lucy never had a tattoo."

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, a cold realization settling in the pit of my stomach. If Mark truly had no knowledge of Lucy's tattoo, then who did? And what did it mean?

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of the puzzle before me. The tattoo was the key, I was sure of it. But without Mark's cooperation, unraveling its secrets would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

"Fine," I sighed, the weight of defeat heavy upon my shoulders. "But don't think for a second that this changes anything. I'll find out the truth, Mark, one way or another."

He met my gaze with a steely resolve of his own, a silent challenge passing between us. But beneath the facade of defiance, I sensed a flicker of fear, a gnawing doubt that lingered just beneath the surface.

As I rose from my seat and made my way towards the door, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was closer to uncovering the truth than ever before. Lucy's tattoo held the key, I was sure of it. And I would stop at nothing to unlock its secrets, no matter the cost.

“So, Tom, where are you from?” I asked Tom, sitting with my hands in my lap on the sofa of Dean’s house, waiting for Olivia to come downstairs for her date with Tom. I examined the boy, with his sandy hair and clever brown eyes. I didn’t like it, not one bit. But if Olivia saw fit, then fine, she saw fit.

“Me? I’m from… R-Roseburg.” Tom answered, a little taken aback by my question. His arms twitched a little from where they were folded over his chest, which I clocked instantly with a raised eyebrow. “Oregon.”

“Roseburg, hm?” I smiled a bit, tilting my head ever so slightly as I studied his expression. Psychology and Criminology, people. Works wonders. “Olivia’s biological father is from Roseburg. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet-”

“Dean, yeah.” Tom answered almost instantly, which caught me off guard. So… he already knew Dean? How and when?

“You know Dean?” I asked, frowning ever so slightly. “How?”

He seemed to recognise that he’d made a small mistake, clearing his throat and glancing away. “Small town.”

“Mhmm.” I nodded curtly, my blue eyes sharp as I stared at him for a moment. “Sure. Alright.” Then I spotted Harry walk in, his eyes on me in a way that I couldn’t explain as he scratched his five o’clock shadow. He was also in animated conversation with Dean, who gave a friendly clap on the shoulder.

“Issy.” Harry gave me a broad, almost hopeful grin as his eyes flitted down my form and back up again. I stood up for Dean, however, hugging him tightly with a pat on the back.

“Hey, Dean.” I whispered with a smile before turning back to Harry with pursed lips. “Harry.”

“Can I talk to you about the kids?” He asked abruptly, his eyes having been on me the entire time I hugged Dean. I debated telling him to screw himself, but decided to take the high road.

“Sure.” As Harry's request hung in the air, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle in the pit of my stomach. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl, and I found myself instinctively taking a step back, putting some physical distance between us. "Of course," I replied, forcing a tight smile as I tried to keep my tone neutral. "What about the kids?"

But before Harry could respond, I felt his hand on my arm, his touch sending a jolt of discomfort coursing through my veins. I tensed, my muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap at any moment. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh with a bruising force that made me wince.

"Let's talk in private," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear.

My heart pounded in my chest like a drumbeat, a primal instinct urging me to flee. But I forced myself to stand my ground, refusing to let Harry intimidate me. I had faced worse than him in my line of work, and I wouldn't let him break me now.

"Fine," I snapped, wrenching my arm free from his grasp. "But make it quick."

As we made our way to the nearest empty room, Harry's hand brushed against the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. I resisted the urge to recoil, plastering on a fake smile as we stepped inside and closed the door behind us.

"What's this about, Harry?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest in a feeble attempt to shield myself from his probing gaze.

But instead of answering, Harry closed the distance between us in a single stride, his body pressing against mine with an oppressive force that stole the breath from my lungs. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave, my mind screaming at me to fight or flee.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice trembling with barely suppressed fury.

But Harry's only response was a predatory grin as he pinned me against the wall, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that made my skin crawl. I struggled against his grip, the weight of his body bearing down on me like a leaden anchor.

"Stop it, Harry," I hissed, my voice tinged with desperation as I pushed against his chest, trying to create some space between us.

But he only laughed, the sound sending a chill down my spine as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. I felt bile rise in my throat, disgust warring with fear as he pressed his body against mine, his hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.

"Get off of me, you bastard!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls as I fought against his relentless assault. I didn’t want to do serious damage, so I tried to warn him instead, my hands pushing at his chest.

“Can’t help it, sugar lips.” He murmured into my neck, his hand breaching my shirt and running roughly over my stomach. “You can’t stand there, lookin’ so goddamn sexy, and expect me to keep my hands off you.” He gave my waist a pinch. “Ain’t that right? You can’t tease me like this, sunflower. S’not fair.”

“You’re married.” I growled, my nails digging into his shoulders, which only made him let out a groan. I knew I had to start fighting soon- and get Olivia out. Oh, god, Liv. “Rhea- does she mean nothing to you?!”

“Now you’re catchin’ on.” He took a fistful of my hair, tugging it to pull my head back. I felt my breath catch, my fist balling in my half-assed attempt to retain control. “Should’ve never left you, and now you’re dating that god-awful sheriff-” I knocked him back with a sharp punch to the throat, probably giving him a laryngeal fracture. I quickly put my hands up, panting heavily as my mind raced with ways he could twist the situation.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean growled from the door, his voice a low, menacing timbre as he glared daggers at Harry. I presumed he’d heard or assessed the situation quickly, which I was thankful for.

But Harry only laughed, his eyes glinting with a twisted amusement as he brushed himself off and straightened his shirt. "Just having a little fun, Dean. Can't blame a guy for trying, can you?"

The smugness in his voice made my blood boil, a fiery rage burning within me as I glared at him with undisguised contempt. But before I could unleash the full force of my fury, Dean stepped in front of me, his protective stance a silent promise that he would keep me safe at all costs.

"Get out of my house," Dean spat, his voice cold and unforgiving as he shoved Harry towards the door. "And don't you ever lay a hand on her again. Don’t let your son come near my daughter again.”

As Dean escorted Harry out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering echo of fear that still pulsed through my veins, I knew that I couldn't keep silent any longer. The truth had to come out, no matter how painful or difficult it might be.

Taking a deep breath to steady my trembling nerves, I turned to face Dean when he came back with a grave expression darkening his green eyes, my heart heavy with the weight of the words I was about to speak. But before I could utter a single syllable, the door swung open once more, revealing Rhea standing in the doorway, her fiery red hair a stark contrast to the pale grey of her eyes. My heart almost broke. She was unaware of all of this.

"I heard shouting," she murmured, her voice soft and hesitant as she glanced between Dean and me, a flicker of concern in her gaze.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me as I met her gaze, steeling myself for the painful conversation that lay ahead. "Rhea, we need to talk."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, a faint furrow of worry creasing her forehead as she stepped further into the room. "What's going on?"

I glanced at Dean, silently pleading for his support as I prepared to shatter the fragile illusion of happiness that Rhea had built around her. "It's about Harry."

Rhea's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of apprehension crossing her features as she glanced between us. "What about him?"

I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat like bile as I struggled to find the courage to speak. But Dean's reassuring presence at my side gave me the strength I needed to push past my fear and confront the truth head-on.

"Harry... he tried to force himself on me," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips like stones in a landslide.

Rhea's eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in disbelief. She didn’t seem defensive, or even angry that I’d suggest such a thing. She just seemed… apologetic and sympathetic. She believed me. "What? When did this happen?"

I recounted the events of the previous moments, the fear and desperation still fresh in my mind as I relived the terror of Harry's unwanted advances. Rhea listened in stunned silence, her face pale with shock as the full weight of my words sank in. I also told her everything, how Harry cheated on me with her, and she had no idea.

"I can't believe he would do something like that," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to process the enormity of what I had just revealed.

But Dean's expression hardened, his jaw clenched with barely contained fury as he glared daggers at the thought of his best friend's betrayal. "Believe me, Rhea, it happened. And I won't let him get away with it."

Rhea nodded, her eyes clouded with uncertainty as she turned to me with a shocked look in her gaze. "You didn’t deserve that." She immediately hugged me. “I want him behind bars for what he did. Behind bars. I was raising Tom with that man.”

“I’ll call the sheriff.” Dean pulled out his phone, stepping out to call Beau. I hugged Rhea again, stroking her hair.

“I’m so sorry, Rhea.” I sighed. “You didn’t know.”

“He tried to hurt you.” Rhea frowned, taking my shoulders. “Girl, whatever comes to him, he deserves it. Ain’t nothing happened to me, in my opinion, I lost dead weight. Dodged a bullet. What matters to me is that you’re alright. Which I know you’re not. So sit down, and I’ll get you some well deserved beverages. What’s your poison?”

“Beer would be good.” I ran a hand through my hair, breathing out slowly. “Beau’s gonna riot.”

“You mean the sheriff who you’re both secretly pining for?” She smirked, and my eyes snapped on her instantly. “You know I’m right. Think I can’t tell when two people are dating or not?”

“I-I-”

“It’s alright, really.” She put a hand on my shoulder blades, guiding me to her living room. I’d originally thought that Rhea was some girl who knew what happened three years ago and wouldn’t hesitate to rub it in my face, but here she was, grabbing me a beer, herself a glass of wine and we were sitting there and laughing about random topics while Dean covered up the situation with Olivia and Tom.

I found out that she liked to crochet, her comfort show was Friends, she was a big fan of the Hunger Games series and her celebrity crush was Henry Cavill, which I can’t completely fault. She wasn’t stuck up, snobby or anything I imagined her to be. She was… sweet. Kind. Normal. Makes me realise why Harry married her rather than me.

Meanwhile, Dean was talking pointedly to the kids, his arms folded over his chest. “I’m sorry, you two, but I can’t let you date anymore.” He sighed, which made protests emerge from the two in forms of shouting and questions. “I can’t say why. It’s a really sensitive topic. Tom, your mom will tell you when she’s ready. Liv, darling, it’s the same with you. Your aunt will tell you when she wants to.”

“Dad, you can’t do this.” Olivia whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. Her heart was breaking, and Tom merely looked stunned. Not really broken, but stunned.

“I can, sweetie, and I’m sorry.” He stepped forward, hugging Olivia. “I know this isn’t what you want, but I know what’s best for you. Trust me.”

Once Harry had been put behind bars, I instantly got a visit from Beau at my house since I’d moved back in. He stormed right up to me, hugging me with barely hidden tears in his eyes as he held my head. My head rested on his chest, my arms winding around his neck as I felt tears that never came.

“I-I’m gonna keep him there for life.” He choked out, rubbing my hair. I felt relief and also pain, at the fact that I’d walked into that situation thinking it’ll all be ok. “If n-not, I’m gonna k-kill him, Belle. I’ll kill him. Don’t try and stop me. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m ok, Sheriff-”

“Call me Beau, damnit, and you’re not ok, sweet girl. You’re not, so stop actin’ like you are.” His grip felt like a vice, angel wings that engulfed me and protected me from all harm and pain. This man should have a halo. “He doesn’t get to-to touch you like that. No one gets to touch your beautiful body like that.” He kissed my hair, deep rasps coming from his chest, which rose and fell as steady as it could. “That bastard will wish he were dead. He’ll… God, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you. That’s my job. To protect you. And I failed you.”

“No, no, stop.” I cupped his cheeks, looking into his almost bloodshot eyes with tears in my own at his words. “Don’t blame yourself. Don’t you dare blame yourself. You hear me? I fought. I fought like hell, and I’m out of that room. Dean helped me.”

“I gotta buy that man a drink.” Beau whispered, laying a shaky kiss to my forehead and temple before pulling back, putting reluctant distance, as if we felt like opposite poles of a magnet. Attracting. In a way that I couldn’t describe. If I had to put it into words, it would be… like a fire. Lighting up again. Something I hadn’t known for three years.

I couldn’t be… right?

I sat with Jenny in my garden, our feet on the grass as we were perched on my patio. I took a long sip of my bottle of beer, letting out a long and deep sigh through my nose while Jenny looked curiously at my side profile with a small smirk on her face. “So.” I smiled slightly as she took a swig of her own, also pretty pissed off at Harry. Mo had to hold her off from going after that ass.

“So.” She chuckled, head fully facing me now. “Beau seemed pretty riled up about Harry.” Jenny then took a sip of her beer with her eyebrows raised suggestively, making me nudge her, jolting her drinking aim off balance. “What?”

“You’re getting at me and Beau, right?” I deadpanned, letting another wave of the liquid soothe my throat. “I know you are.”

“What? He seems way too worked up for someone who’s ’just your sheriff.’.”

“Well, he’s worried, Jen.” I shrugged. “If it had been Emily in my place. Or Carla, even you, Cassie or Denise. Thank god I could defend myself, and I see where Beau’s coming from.”

“I thought referring to Beau for you was strictly limited to ‘Sheriff’ to keep it strictly professional.” She grinned cheekily, then her smile faded like a coin drop. “I’m gonna ask you something. And I want you to answer honestly. Are you… in love with Beau?”

Before I could say anything, the door to the garden opened, and Olivia walked out tentatively, a small package in her hands. “Aunt Isa?” Her timid voice spoke up, and my mouth opened slightly. “Can we talk?”

“Oh- uh, not the time, sweetie.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Ok. Uh, this came in the mail.” She handed me the package. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks, hon.” I took the rectangular box, glancing curiously at it as she left. Then I knew I needed to give Jenny an explanation. I couldn’t outrightly say yes to what frankly was the most difficult question of my life. Because this question was a promise. A declaration. A… decision. But it was one I couldn’t fight. My fingers fumbled with the tape of the box as I opened it unconsciously.

“I thought I’d swore off love, Jenny.” I smiled, chuckling a bit as I looked down to my feet then back up the skies, taking in the twinkling lights. “God, I really thought I did, and I was doing such a good job at it too. But, well, I just… I couldn’t help it.” I wet my lips slightly, biting the bottom one. “It’s improper, but it’s true.”

“So, is that a yes?” Jenny left the question hanging as I slid the object out of its cardboard packaging. A rectangular item wrapped in bubble wrap and a note taped to it. I could barely see the yellow of sunflowers on one side and the sky’s reflection on the other. I tore off the note, reading it.

Thought you might need this.

Tonya + Donno ;)

It was Lucy’s phone. I unwrapped it with trembling hands, watching and feeling as the cool surface stung my warm palm, the battery dead but the significance fully charged. My train of thought was lost, my teeth sinking to my bottom lip again.

“It’s hers.” I whispered, holding it up so Jenny could see.

LMF TAGLIST:

@nancymcl @deans-spinster-witch @hobby27 @thej2report @winharry @abramswife @xxannyxx @deansbabymomma @elqsiian

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#beau arlen x reader #beau arlen #beau arlen x oc #beau arlen x you #beau #big sky

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donkeytonk · 1 year ago

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For @iamaweretoad. And for myself.

In the Garden

“How do you do it?” he had asked her when she explained her method of killing weeds. Sula still felt a little wary of Crispin, in spite of all she had experienced by now, in spite of all that he had done for her. He was still One of Them, and she was still an outsider. Even after her stay in the infirmary when she had begun to venture out in the town, she could feel with every bone in her body that she was not one of Them. And They could be dangerous.

But because of the avalanche, now they were all equals, or nearly so. They were all refugees of a sort, and coming to this strange winter palace had placed them all on new equal footing. Except for the Templars of course, and their darling Herald in the richly furnished tower, while Sula slept on a straw mat in the garden cloister. She called it a winter palace because it seemed like such a thing from stories, a haven for a monarch to escape the cold season. It was snowing out there, but in here it was like late spring. Some magic had kept it that way for many years, long after the place was abandoned, and the garden had continued to grow like a riot. What once must have been an orderly design was overgrown with weeds and covered in vines.

“You just take it in your hand. Here’s a good one.” She showed him where the strand of pearl grass grew, spreading its nodes of roots and popping up and hand’s breadth away, continuing on into the tangled mess of plant life. “And you just take its life into you. Its moisture,” she clarified, thinking it through. It wasn’t just the moisture; it was the vitality, the green, and she absorbed it like a wick. As he watched, she pinched the blade of grass between her fingers, and the entire strand dried like autumn and winter at once. She pulled it up and crumbled the desiccated roots. “You try it.”

She watched him concentrate on his strand of grass, and then it burst into flame, quick and gone. “I’m sorry!” he gasped, “I didn’t mean to do that!”

And she burst into laughter, rocking back on her heels and falling onto the flagstones laughing at him. His poor startled face! How? Why? She had trained quite a few children with the trick, but she’d never seen someone light the plants on fire. “It’s all right,” she answered, feeling a little impolite for laughing so much, but really, how could such a skillful mage be so bad at something so easy? She couldn’t stop. “What did you do, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” He laughed too, seeming to feel a little more at ease. Poor man. No one can be good at everything.

“It’s all right,” she reassured him. “I’ve just never seen that before, but no one cares if you burn a little pearl grass. I��d be upset if you burned the apple trees, but I’m just not going to let you do that.”

“There are apple trees in here?”

“Yes! Over there, with the white blossoms. I’m still finding new plants, but I don’t know how this place works. If it’s always spring, how do the autumn fruits form? I suppose we’ll find out if we stay here. We had a hot house in Markham. We had a cold house too, and I loved it. We could stratify and vernalize all year round, though nothing’s as good as nature for those cold spells. But nothing we did was as good as this! But how do the seeds germinate? Do they have dormancy? Is it ever winter? And how has the magic been maintained with no one here? When do the plants know it’s time to bloom or fruit? Could we support bees? Maybe not, with it being winter all out there. Have you kept bees?”

“Me? No,” Crispin answered with a grin. “I keep to larger patients for the most part.”

“Oh, of course.” She suddenly remembered that his friends called him Toast. She did not want to see the bee skeps in flames. “In Markham we kept bees. We were confined to our Circle, mostly, but the bees of course could go wherever they wanted. They probably went to all the farms all around us. We had flowers, but not enough on their own.”

In their Circle’s garden, every plant had a purpose, a function to serve the mages materially. Some were medicinal plants, of course, which she made into tinctures and poultices. Others were for food, and the mages sustained themselves as best they could. They brought in money by selling things in the market: charms, protections, amulets of questionable efficacy, and also her herbal preparations. They weren’t even magic, most of her concoctions. Any apothecary could have made the same thing. But in spite of the townspeople’s general distrust of magic, they thought that unguents, oils and even honey from a mage would be superior, and her Circle encouraged that belief. They had to make money somehow, after all.

But flowers. She was still thinking of flowers.

“There was a woman in my town – well not my town, but I mean Markham. Mrs. Mapole. She would buy my muscle ointment every month, and honey, and she’d say her arms were too weak to carry it all. Everyone knew, but she’d pay extra for me to take it home for her, so I’d go and help her kill weeds in her garden. But what a garden! She had flowers I’ve never seen anywhere else. Bluestars, and great golden bells on spires, ruffled pinks, and roses! Do you know roses?”

He smiled. “Yes, I know roses.”

Of course he did. “But these roses were incredible. We had roses in our garden for the rosehips, because everything had to have a purpose, but ours were ordinary ones with the golden center, with five petals. You know. But hers had dozens of petals. Dozens! Have you seen that? They clustered around like leaves of a cabbage.” She clasped her own hands together to demonstrate. “Yellow like the sun, and the most intoxicating scent. Her home was just a little cottage, but her garden was fit for a palace like this. She grew things just because they were beautiful.

“Like this little one. What is this?” She pointed out a blue flower she had found. It was too tightly closed for any bee to pollinate it. Did they work by nectar robbing? “I can’t tell if it has a purpose or not. I wish the gardener had left us some markers with names. It’ll take ages to figure out what everything is under all these weeds and minnow vines. But I don’t care what They decide,” she said, lowering her voice and glancing up at the tower. “This garden is going to be beautiful, and it’s mine.”

Her voice was firm and confident. Toast had never heard her talk this much, and he realized that it was the first time he had seen her look truly happy. Whether the Herald decided to dedicate the garden to growing food and herbs or to promoting spiritual contemplation, Sula was going to indulge herself. And unlike Toast in his own past Circle, he believed she knew how to have her own way while staying out of trouble.

“Then I think the garden is in good hands.”

“Healed hands, a pair of them” she answered with a shy smile. It was thanks to his healing that she still had them both.

“Yours look better than mine right now. I need some of your yarrow poultice after getting attacked by the thorn bushes.” He tilted his head to the place where the path had narrowed, crowded out by the encroaching greenery.

“Thorn bushes? Show me.” Perhaps they would just be locust briars, but that wouldn’t make sense in a castle garden.

He led the way and showed her the shrubs, massing at the back wall as if trying to escape. He could be forgiven for not having recognized them at first. They were almost like trees now, thorns covering the branches extended like trunks. The familiar leaflets were higher in the tangled branches, but the fruits were small, not like the round hips he knew from his youth. And just above his head, sun yellow, a marvel.

“Sula.” He carefully drew the bloom down for her, and its fragrance greeted them both. “I think we found your rose.”

#sula #toast amell #sula ronoy

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