#twine gab

[gailytine]

post the puppy. i dare you right neow.

i know what you are 🫵

[workingforitallthetime]

I too spent a fair amount of today thinking about the BC line after your response to the last anon...

i’m putting the next installment below the cut. entirely nsfw.

“Slut.” There’s a laugh in Ryan’s voice, and not even a mean one. He slouches lower on the damask sofa, slinging one arm along its back.

Will looks over his shoulder at Ryan. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he says, indifferently. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and gets to his feet without looking at Gabe.

“Why would I be jealous,” Ryan says, still amused, “when I’m going to fuck your face.” He doesn’t ask it like a question.

With Will’s back to him, Gabe can’t see his expression, can’t tell if he’s returning Ryan’s imperious gaze, can’t figure out what silent conversation they’re having. A log cracks in the fireplace, spattering embers into the ashes.

Gabe tucks himself back into his pants and zips up so slowly he can feel every tooth of the zipper catch. No sudden movements, nothing that would remind them he’s here, an unwitting participant in this fucked-up ritual. That’s what it has the feel of. Will and Ryan aren’t circling each out, testing. They know what to expect. Gabe’s the one who’s in the dark, his brain still fuzzy from coming in Will’s mouth.

“Come over here,” Ryan directs, and Will does, house slippers silently crossing the thick carpet. Gabe watches the firelight flicker across their profiles as Will stands over Ryan. The corner of Ryan’s lip curls in a faint and dangerous smirk. Will’s got a deadly look in his eye. He doesn’t look like someone who just sucked Gabe’s dick. He doesn’t look like someone who’s about to suck Ryan’s.

Will bends toward him, and Ryan stretches a lazy hand up and curls it around the back of Will’s skull. Abruptly, he pulls him down into a kiss.

It doesn’t look like a nice kiss, not like how Will kissed Gabe, with soft lips and scotch on his tongue. It looks bruising and mean, like he’s trying to drive the taste of Gabe out of Will’s mouth. Will braces his hands on Ryan’s thighs, holding his ground. Gabe watches the merciless crush of their mouths against each other. His shoulders tense when Ryan sinks his teeth into Will’s lower lip.

“Fucker.” Will’s voice is muffled against Ryan’s mouth. He digs his fingers into the pattern across the chest of Ryan’s sweater, twisting his nipple.

It happens so fast Gabe can’t understand how. All of a sudden Ryan’s on his feet, and he’s got Will doubled over with one arm pinned behind him. Nothing else moves in the cavernous room. The last of the liquor in the decanter on the table doesn’t even tremble. A shiver of hard snowflakes rattles against the tall windows, audible through the half-closed drapes.

Will’s breathing heavy, Gabe can see it in his shoulders. His hair falls forward, firelight gleaming in the gold strands.

Ryan holds him there, immobilized, for a long moment. Gabe’s body presses itself back against the sofa cushion, seeking an escape that doesn’t exist. He can’t talk. He can’t look away.

Ryan hitches Will’s arm higher and Will makes a noise through gritted teeth.

Ryan rolls his hips against Will, slow and pointedly. “You want it.” It’s not a taunt. It’s said with certainty. Ryan knows.

Gabe wonders if that’s something they do. Something they’re going to make him watch. His heartbeat feels loud enough to echo in the dark wood-paneled corners of this opulent room.

“Let me up and you’ll find out.” Bent over and pinned, Will still sounds just as dangerous as Ryan. Loosening his grip on Will is like unlatching a snake’s cage, waiting to see if it will strike.

Unbothered, Ryan drops Will’s arm. He undoes his belt. By the time Will straightens up and scrapes his hair out of his face, Ryan’s back on the sofa with his trousers shoved halfway down his thighs, big dick in his hand. He points to the space in front of him and Will kneels between his legs.

A flowering vine twines through the intricate pattern of the rug and disappears under the toe of Will’s slipper. Gabe’s eyes trace it across the space between them, following the vine through blues and greens until he can touch it with his own socked foot. When he looks up, he sees Will’s fingers digging into the top of Ryan’s thigh, hard enough to leave bruises.

Ryan’s looking at Gabe. “Don’t be so nice to him.” He cups the back of Will’s head, fingers weaving through his hair. His hips snap up from the sofa, shoving himself deeper into Will’s throat as he holds his head in place. Will’s choked moan around Ryan’s dick is small in the firelit room, swallowed up by the thick carpet and velvet drapes and antique paneling. Ryan thrusts into his mouth again, looking Gabe in the eye. “He likes it like this.”

[weaselle]

i love this

take this stick and keep fighting. Or stop fighting and just exist for a while if you need to. But people out here know how hard it is, how brave you’re being, and we are in awe of your resilience, your determination.

i know it feels like those things are so invisible to other people that even you sometimes wonder if they are real. But they are, your stubborn refusal to give up, your grip on hope, your courage in the face of despair; all that and more is what has gotten you here to today, and there are people out here who know it. Who know the strength it takes to inhabit a position of desperation and not succumb. As it says above, you are exhibiting some of the best qualities humanity is capable of, and you are amazing.

and it can go from this

i don’t like it in here. i don’t like it out there either. out there is too complicated for me to do much about. and in here? oh, in here seems impossible to fix.

but i make myself delete “is” and replace it with “seems” every day. … and try anyway

through this

let it out let it out or it drowns you

never mind you can never know sane

let it be what you see all around you

in your head go ahead and explain

to the ghosts that are always beside you

how you see what you see when you know

that there’s nobody raising the curtain

you’re the only one watching the show.

so the day floats away and deserts you

in the end you pretend you don’t care

til the numbing so nothing can hurt you

destroys any joy that was there

but it’s never been in you to give up

even when it’s the end of your rope

so though you often don’t feel it

you hang on to hoping for hope

to this

got a pole or maybe stick that made me trip into a whole ass pit and so i gripped it when i climbed out of the hole and this is just a line, a piece of twine that tied my feet that i can keep in case a string is just the thing i seem to need.

Now these are all the screws oh i been screwed a time or two and i’ve been nailed for mistakes that I have made, i failed true but the collection i’m inspectin’ is a treasure trove of magic that i grabbed from tragic happenstance, a pleasure that I have it cause i’ve landed on my toes i’m standing close i’m at a potion full of life and death and motion yes you guessed it that’s an ocean so i’ve opened up my pockets for the clock that’s never right so i can strip it for the gears i see it clear and in the night right beside my frightened fears in the flare of inner light I can make myself an item out of souvenirs of plight.

I tinker and i tighten, think it’s time i take a look i pull a skin-piercing pin that i bend into a hook for a mystic fishing rod made of oddness that i master; stitch with laughter i’m a witch, watch me craft it from disaster - then i bait it with intention, wade where schools of wishes dwell… swing a thing i’ve made from failure and prepare to cast a spell

all the way to this

I’m scatter-y like splattery batter plastering splashed matter; a shatter-y glass basher. Advanced passer of platters packed with wacky patter- Happy matching daggers with mad hatters while handing slabs of laugh lathered on flashy crackers gathered in stacks and massed in batches;

a bad-ass blaster of gab, a grab master of dashed disaster. Snag a snack and a nap through the last aperture afterward glad to snatch ladders patch patterns and dance faster

It can happen. You’re already doing it just by still being here. You truly are doing amazing.

I’ve been getting a lot of these lately, and I guess I just want you all to know what I think when I read them.

[alisbackalleybbq]

Hands Chapter 4

@bravosierra6

A/N: Dr. Jack Nicoletti's face claim is Milo Ventimiglia. This is probably a really bad chapter but I got stuck with where to go with this chapter. Plus, I've been super sick with either Covid or Influenza A but I feel like ya'll have been waiting long enough for something to be put out on this story. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know if there's something you want to see next chapter.

TW: Language and inaccurate medical stuff

“Mija,” Manny sighed as he followed the ambulance to the hospital in his truck.  “What the hell was that back there?”

Gabriela matched her father’s sigh.  “How was I supposed to know she’s a doctor?”  She crossed her arms over her chest.

“It was more than that.  You were acting irrationally.  It’s not like you.  What is going on?” Manny implored.

Gabriela rubbed her forehead.  “I don’t know what happened.  My mind just stopped working and the only thing I could focus on was getting that woman out of the way.”

“You know who you sound like right now?”  Manny glanced at her.

“Who?”  Gabriela asked quietly, tears welling in her eyes.

“Before I was sent to prison, that’s exactly what would happen to me.  I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t stop myself.  All I could do was hurt whoever had made me mad.  You need to get control of this, Gabriela.  I don’t want you ending up like me.”  Manny put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. 

“I’m not going to end up like you, Dad.”  Gabriela snapped.  “I had one, one, moment of anger.  Like I said, I didn’t know she was a doctor.  I was focused on the patient.”

“Is that all you were focused on?”  Manny questioned.

“What does that mean?”  Gabriela challenged.

“I’m not blind, you’ve been hanging around Three Rock a lot more.  Especially with Bode.  Is there something going on between the two of you?”  Manny was done playing games; he wanted answers.

“No, there’s not.”  Gabriela snapped.

“But you want there to be.”  Manny sighed.  Gabby nodded silently.  “It can never be, Gabs.  He’s a married man.”

Gabriela nodded as thoughts swirled in her head.  Bode never mentioned his wife before.  Arizona had never been to Three Rock before a few weeks ago.  How much of a marriage could they really have?

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

“Lil,” Arizona answered her ringing phone as she paced the ER waiting room.

“Dean said you’re back in Wastewater.”  Lilith grumped.

Arizona pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Not right now, Lil.  I’m in the middle of something.”

“It better not be him.”  Lilith snapped.

“Jesus Christ,” Arizona sighed.  “You think I’d fall back into bed with him so quickly after all the pain he’s caused me?”

“Yes,” Lilith answered simply.

“Fair,” Arizona agreed.  “But no, it’s not that.”  Arizona listened to the overhead system as a doctor was paged to the emergency room.

“What the fuck was that?  Why does it sound like you’re in a hospital?”  Lilith was immediately on edge.

“...I am.”  Arizona hesitated.

“Why?”  Lilith demanded.

“One of the inmates had a heart attack while I was at Three Rock visiting Bode.  I want to make sure he’s okay.”  

“I’m surprised you didn’t perform open heart surgery with a sharp rock and twine.”  Lilith sighed a laugh.

“Too many witnesses.”  Arizona smiled to herself.

“When are you coming home?”  Lilith asked.

“I don’t know.”  Arizona said honestly.  “I don’t know if I know where home is anymore.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”  

“Lilith, nothing is the same.  I don’t have a place to live-”

“Who’s fault is that?”  Lilith interjected.  “You could easily find a new place to live here.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll have a job when I get back.  I’m still on suspension for putting my hands on Doctor Knowles when I was working on Jesse.”

���That’ll get all cleared up.  All they have to do is talk to the nurses who’ll tell them that Doctor Knowles didn’t have control of the situation.  She was out of her depth and you saved her ass.  The fact that she even reported you is fucking ridiculous.”  Lilith said.

“I don’t know.  She’s an attending and I’m still just a resident.”  Arizona worried her thumbnail between her teeth.  

“What does Bode think of you being suspended?”  Lilith questioned.

Arizona sighed.  “He doesn’t know.”

“So much for starting off the reunion with the truth.”  Lilith rolled her eyes to herself.

“I know.  But so much has happened that I haven’t really had time.  I met his parents this morning and then the inmate had a heart attack…”

“Whoa!  You met his parents?  Is his dad still alive?”

Arizona laughed.  “Yes, asshole.”

“You can’t blame me for asking.  You always said if you met him, they’d never find his body.”  Lilith answered.

“They seem to have worked things out.  Vince seems genuinely sorry for what he put Bode through.  And if Bode’s forgiven him, maybe I should too.  Look, I gotta go.  The doctor is coming with an update.  I’ll call you back later.”  Arizona said.  “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Lilith sighed before disconnecting the call.

“How is he?”  Arizona asked the doctor.

“He’s in critical but stable condition.  They’re prepping him for surgery now.  He’s lucky you were there.”  The doctor clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,”  Arizona sighed.

“You’re the one we should be thanking.”  The doctor flashed her a lop-sided smile.  

Arizona gave him a small smile back.  “Well, it’s what we do right?”

“What ‘we’ who do?”  He asked, confused.

“Doctors.  We save lives, right?”  Arizona shrugged.

“I’m Doctor Jack Nicoletti.”  He introduced himself.

“Doctor Arizona Telford.”  Arizona shook his hand.  She couldn’t help but blush.  The doctor was pretty cute.

Manny and Gabriela rounded the corner just in time to see the two doctors shaking hands and exchanging smiles.  Gabriela smiled to herself.  This might be the leverage she needed to finally get Bode to see that Arizona wasn’t right for him.

[ilbound]

@malafxde has requested a story : The witch fidgeted with the delicate threads of the friendship bracelet, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns she had meticulously woven together. It had taken hours of careful crafting, each knot tied with the intention of conveying the depth of her friendship for Kaen. Now, as she stood before her friend, anticipation thrummed through her veins like a symphony of butterflies.

"Kaen," she called softly, tapping them on the shoulder to get their attention. Kaen turned towards her, their eyes alight with curiosity as they caught sight of the bracelet nestled in her palm. "I have something for you," Gabriella said, her voice quivering with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She held out the bracelet, her gaze locked on their face, hoping beyond hope that they would love her gift as much as she loved making it. A shy smile gracing her lips. "I made it for you," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue.

𝑼𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

Now that the semester is over ( & thank gods for that ! they are at least yet another term closer to a well-deserved / hard-earned master’s degree in performing arts — ) , Kaen is taking the time to sort through the apartment which has , rather unfortunately , fallen to d i s a r r a y in lieu of finals sweeping them away amid the trying hurry of those last few weeks.  The disorganization of own space makes them anxious ( always one to keep sorted , the lack of composure throughout their home is unsettling , even if understandable & they are determined to make it right ! ) .  So it goes , they had invited Gabriella to h e l p .  Or rather , to simply watch in hapless dismay as the godling bustles about between room-to-room , carrying armfuls of notebooks and papers and various annotated screenplays they personally crafted , FLINGING IT ALL INTO THE TRASH with a cry of g l e e ; out with the old , in the with new , as they say !  And until summer break is over , Kaen does not even want to g l a n c e at another piece of university work.

Setting their hands on plump hips , they look out over their quaint little kingdom , slowly but surely coming back together into its usual decency ( well , it looks better than it did initially ) .  A furred ear flicks at the sound of Gabriella calling them to attention , and Kaen turns to face her , antlered head cocking.  She seems … Almost n e r v o u s , standing in place and hesitating , fidgeting.  Though they really aren’t sure w h y this is.  They open their mouth , about to ask what’s gotten into her when she presents them with the carefully woven friendship bracelet ; a lovingly made sort of offering , twined with colorful threads and speckled with various charms ( a little deer head , a pastel heart , a flame & a few others ) .

❝ Oh … Y- ye made this jus’ fer me ? ❞  Kaen’s features twinkle and gleam , the stones upon cheeks taking on various hues and crackling with energy that puts a certain s p a r k l e in their eyes , a genuine look of JOY .  Gingerly , Kaen takes the bracelet , looking at it for a few moments in a w e and then gracing their friend with beaming grin.  ❝ Aw , Gabs , ‘s perfect !  Ah love it !  Ye dun’ gotta’ be lookin’ so worried , y’know Ah’m easy ta’ please.  But this ?  It means th’ werld ta’ me.  Ah’ll wear it all’a th’ time , an’ e’ryone’ll be feckin’ jealous o’ it ! ❞  Arms fling ‘round the witch’s waist , embracing her and hoisting her up , giving her a BIG SQUEEZE .  ❝ Thank ye sooo much ! ❞

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Lucifer knew that Gab was mad at him for making him get rid of his wife. But the poor bastard would get over it.

Shouldn't have married someone who was on the other side.

Raphael: Boss?

Lucifer: Yes?

Raphael: We have her. Finally.

Lucifer grinned, about fucking time! He followed Raphael down to the basement where Vaggie was tied up. She glared at him and if looks could kill he'd be dead.

But he won't be the one leaving in a body bag.

Lucifer: Hello detective pain in my fucking ass.

Adam was up in the bedroom, he knew that in the mansion he was safe but what happened at the hotel really had him shaken.

So he stuck to the bedroom and bathroom he shared with Lucifer.

He met Charlie while he was there, Lucifer's daughter. She was very nice.

She was even keeping him company at times.

Charlie: I can't imagine what that must have been like.

Adam: Fucking terrifying, he was right there. And I don't think he was alone, he's strong but not kick a locked door down strong.

Charlie: Dad will deal with him. I know he will. And Adam?

Adam: Yes?

Charlie smiled: Welcome to the Morningstar family.

Adam twined her smile: Thank you.

Prostitute Adam x Mafia Leader Lucifer. FtM! Adam. @beef-brisket

Adam had a love hate relationship with shaving his legs, on one hand they were nice and smooth kind of like a dolphin but he liked the look of his legs having hair on them. His clients didn't care either way which was nice.

Tonight was a shave night, legs and crotch. He guessed it made his work easier and sometimes they tipped more.

Adam pulled on his thigh high boots, lace panties and skirt for easy access, even with top surgery he still had a bit of cleavage from his weight gain, his stomach soft. He wore a crop top that showed off his belly button ring and a leather jacket so he wouldn't be cold.

He fluffed his hair before walking out to stand on his corner with Angel, he really wished that bitch hadn't of gotten a pimp. They are nothing but abusive pieces of shit that take your money.

Adam walked to his spot and whistled to Angel: Hey bitch!

Angel: About fucking time slut bag, I was starting to think you weren't working tonight.

Adam: And miss out on all the money? Fat fucking chance.

Lucifer was driving, he needed to get away for a little while to clear his head. He needed to do something that has nothing to do with work.

That was until he got turned around and didn't seem to recognize where he was.

Lucifer: Fuck.

He pulled over and started looking at his GPS to see if he could see where the fuck he was. Then there was a knock on his passenger window. He jumped and rolled it down.

Lucifer: Yes?

Adam leaned down making sure to give a good view of his assets and gave the handsome blonde man a sweet smile. He could tell from the car alone the man had money so he could definitely pay.

Adam playfully bit his lip: You looking for a date tonight handsome?~

Lucifer looked at the man leaning down and holy Hell was he gorgeous, with soft brown hair, honey brown nearly golden eyes and that perfect smile tied it all together.

Hello hello beautiful.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Echoseers Snippet - (4/?) Happy MSM!! I decided to grab a piece from ~earlier in the book~ this week, because I'm particularly proud of this scene. Just be warned: there are SUPER BIG spoilers for Firebreathers in this one.

Word Count: 650 POV: Ember In which Ember realizes what happened in Avatica.

“Have you Flexed?”

The question catches me off-guard, sending a million thoughts of privacy, of confusion, of entitlement and audacity through my mind before I finally settle on an affronted, “Excuse me?”

“Have you Flexed?” He enunciates it even more distinctly than before, watching my reaction with a face of stoically neutral calm. When I don’t respond, he cocks his head the other way, deliberate in his eerie refusal to break our tense eye contact. ”The Echoes of Prophecy leave their mark on those who see them. It’s written all across your skin; your blood glows with it.”

Prophecy.

For an infinite time, the afterimage--the echo--of Delta’s form rising from the ashes and standing amidst a pool of bloody stones flashes in my eyes.

Your love is your power, child. Be not afraid to let it guide you.

Love does not guide me in the moment where I hiss, “I don’t know what you mean.” into the face of the only other Prophet alive. The words are drawn from spite, from anger, from a deep-rooted fear of finding something, anything I could possibly share with this man who has sent tens of thousands of people to their deaths on the ends of pikes and blades and arrows.

He doesn’t grace me with the politeness of playing along.

“I think you do.”

“Why can’t I see it on you, then?”

“The mark mimics the injury that ignited the Echoes.” He reaches to the folds of his pearlescent robes, tugs them down just past his collarbone.

There, in the center of his paper-pale chest, a bloom of silver light. It cracks and spreads and digs roots into his being, bleeding at the edges into the rosy undertone of his skin. With each heartbeat, a pulse shoots from the center outward like rippling water, carrying with it the shine of an entire spectrum, riding the crest of the wave before it fades.

My mouth runs dry. As he folds his collar back into place, he lifts his chin, a silent invitation to ask.

I choke down a renewed bout of uncertainty. “Why do you care?”

He purses his lips. “I was raised among Prophets and Priestesses, and I have laid eyes on no other who has read the Echoes in nearly nine hundred years. Forgive me my curiosity.”

Another thousand questions boil through my mind, and his eyes soften.

“Have you seen a mirror since?”

I dig in my mind, though I already know the answer. Grasp for any proof, any hint, that I could be wrong.

He takes the silence as an admission. Steps up to one of the curtains I left to itself, after seeing a frame peeking from the edge and losing interest, and pushes it gently open.

The seams of existence bare themselves in the reflection.

Threads of glowing light, the same ones that puppeteered the flames of my Flex and a hundred thousand more, float gently in the air. Around my chest, clinging to my ribs over my clothes, a spool, lines drifting into the ether. A single, hesitant, raised finger that burns with orange light in time with my heart, and though I do not connect with the immaterial string, I know that Gab is entwined in the other end.

The Eternal’s voice is quiet, as our gazes lock in the glass. “How long?”

My tongue scrapes against chalk. “Two weeks.”

“Who did you see?”

The afterimage is clearer on the silver. “Delta.”

Webbing pulls the patches of my cloak to Annie, somewhere beyond the scope of the mirror, light sharp and darting like water droplets riding its length. Twine winds around the carvings of the bed, stretching into the distance to their creator, a steady, weak thrum of green dancing through them. From Tieling’s chest, a ball of knotted yarn of every color, dragging ten thousand cut ties and a thousand more drifting and healthy, pulsing with life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What I Got

Based on this request: “I saw the way you were looking at him/her/them.“ by anon

Warnings: only that I made Arthur kinda sweet pfft

Character: Arthur Shelby, Peaky Blinders

🥂🥂🥂

"Oi!" Arthur's shout brought you out from behind your champagne glass. 

You looked around the bar until you found the back of his head as he stormed after the tall blond who you'd been gabbing with not moments ago as he expounded on the particular brand of champagne poured from the labeled bottle. You set aside your glass, dribbling bubbles down your fingers as you flitted past the bodies.

"Arthur," you grabbed his arm as he grabbed the door before it closed.

"I saw the way you were looking at him," he growled as he shrugged youmoff and kept on, "I'll give you something ta look at, sweet'eart."

"Arth," you reached for him again, "I was being polite--"

"You think I'm stupid? I saw him; you. He's younger than me… almost as young as you, you think--"

"I told you, I don't like that," you tugged until he finally stopped and spun back fo you, "what did I tell you last time?"

He hung his head and nodded. You looked over until the blond disappeared completely, "that it was the last time."

"Is it?" You asked quietly, "you know I won't come back. Not this time."

He exhaled and reached to touch your hand on his sleeve. He twined his fingers through yours. "Can ya blame me? Woman like you, you set my whole world ablaze."

"Not that," you warned him, "you're not cute, Arthur."

"Eh, I don't believe you," he smiled.

You squinted at him and shook your head, "I left my champagne behind for you," you huffed, "you owe me."

"Owe you?" He turned you and slung his arm across your shoulders, "Everything, dear."

🥂🥂🥂

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[aliatori]

rise and fall

The Forsaken and the Forsworn | 2k words | T rated | Gabriel Berthelot/Hugo Melançon

From Hugo’s vantage point at the aft of the Squall, brilliant stars stud the night sky as far as the eye can see, sparkling like miniature versions of the full moon, its luminescent surface pouring silver light across the calm waters of the sea. It’s been a full day and night of celebrations and tribute marking the rise of constellation the fold claims for the Fury—though truth be told, Hugo finds the resemblance of three lines and a vaguely circular ‘body’ to Xeheia herself tenuous at best. He left overseeing the crew’s offerings to Gab, both as delegation of duty to his first mate and because Gab finds genuine pleasure in the rituals, but he still hasn’t made his own, and dawn draws nearer with each passing hour.

To that end he holds a worn folio in his hand. The pages are curled at the edges from use and weather alike, but the block print illustration of swords and crowns on the first sheet has withstood the test of time. A cheaply made copy of Lords and Thieves isn’t the most expensive item he could consign to the depths, and the sordid pages of an erotic adventure serial aren’t the most erudite items in his collection either, but it has brought him a great deal of pleasure. Hugo figures, at least in terms of his own relationship with the Fury, she’d find this particular sacrifice more fitting than material wealth or scholarly tomes.

All that’s left is to weigh it down. As he reaches for the twine and stone in his pocket with his free hand, a familiar voice gives him pause.

“Thought I might find you here.” Though it’s difficult to conjure an unflattering situation for Gab—and he’s the first one to remind anyone who will listen of that fact—he comes truly alive at night. The pale moonlight carves cool detail into the bold curve of his nose and strong line of his bearded jaw while swathing his right side in shadow. Gab looks down at Hugo with half-lidded, curious eyes, hip cocked, a wrapped bundle tucked beneath his arm. “Don’t tell me you were trying to celebrate another year under the Watcher’s gaze alone.”

“And here I almost managed it.” Hugo worries at the strands of twine with the tips of his fingers, slippery against the leather of his gloves. “Your rounds won’t make themselves, you know, and ‘celebration’ or no, orders are orders. I’ve no wish to ruin the good omen of the rising with discipline.”

“Not to worry, Captain.” The emphasis Gab places on Hugo’s title skirts the boundary between honorific and insult. “Rounds are done, everyone’s in high spirits, the Squall’s sailing fast and true, and most importantly, no one—me included—is shirking or slacking.” Gab’s gaze drops to the folio in Hugo’s hand. “Your offering?”

Despite Gab delivering his report with the usual mix of flippancy and confidence, Hugo trusts the truth of it and relaxes all the same. He didn’t want to do this alone, didn’t want to be the only member of the crew and fold to observe the holy day without Gab’s presence, and were it not for his own stubborn sense of pride, he would have sought his first mate out beforehand. “Yes,” Hugo answers, thumb running back and forth along the front page of the folio. “I almost gave this to the Fury last rising, so I suppose its borrowed time is at an end.”

After leaning his hip against the bulwark and crossing his ankles, Gab gives a mischievous grin. “What if I said there was a way for you to keep your smutty mainland nonsense for at least one more rising?”

Only the many years of practice in schooling his expressions and temper keep Hugo’s jaw from dropping in affronted shock. Heat climbs up the back of his neck as he manages to lift an eyebrow in question. “Since when were you apprised of the contents of Lords and Thieves? For that matter, since when did you take up recreational reading at all?”

The shit-eating nature of Gab’s smirk provokes a sudden, fierce urge in Hugo to have Gab pinned beneath him and his hands wrapped around his throat. “You do remember we’re pirates, right? Can’t blame me for my investigative nature. Also, you left them right out in the open once, so I figured it wasn’t some big secret.” His smirk sharpens. “Clearly I was wrong, which isn’t something I get to say often.”

“If you’re done…” Hugo withdraws the twine and is halfway to wrapping it around the pages before Gab’s hand comes to rest on his forearm, warm where it meets the skin exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

“Seriously. Look.” From under his arm Gab produces the mystery bundle, which under closer inspection proves to be a different book, stained and weather beaten but whole nonetheless. “I’m sure it wouldn’t pass muster compared to… what was it, Lords and Thieves? But given how much it’ll gall you to chuck a perfectly good hunk of parchment and leather into the ocean, I reckon the Fury will accept it either way.”

Powering through the threat of embarrassment, Hugo narrows his eyes. “Where did you get that?”

“This? I robbed and killed a merchant for it back when we were docked in Bayeux.”

“You what, Berthelot? You know the rules regarding—”

Gab’s rich belly laugh would sound far more appealing if it weren’t at Hugo’s expense. “Relax, Captain. I traded Cammy for it. Turns out you’re not the only one aboard this boat with a love for books. I’d say you could ask about swapping, but if she has any stories about fucking, they probably feature buxom ladies instead of strapping lords.” He extends the book to Hugo and gives it a little shake for emphasis. “Here, take it.”

Hugo hesitates, torn between warring impulses. His pride would have him telling Gab exactly where to shove his bartered book. But beneath the pride… it’s a considerate gesture. More considerate and thoughtful than he’d expect from Gab—or of anyone. An ache yawns wide beneath his ribs, stretching further when he lifts his eyes to Gab’s and finds a surprisingly earnest, hopeful expression awaiting him. With how many times Hugo has been asked to give for the Fury, for the fold, for the Squall, being told to keep proves the rarest gift of all. After a long pause, he tucks away the serial and accepts the book from Gab. A few deft motions have it tied and weighted and ready to be sent to the Fury’s domain.

“I suppose we’d better make sure the salt price balances out the change in offering.” Knowing full well the gravity of what he’s about to offer, Hugo produces his working knife from its sheath at the back of his belt. He flips it with a flourish and offers it to Gab handle first, the flat of the blade gripped between gloved fingertips. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Shock flows into open, raw desire on Gab’s features, and the mixture of the two makes enduring his earlier teasing worth it. “You’re sure?” he asks, and the new huskiness to his tone sends Hugo’s heart leaping toward his throat. His pupils, already wide in the low light, threaten to swallow his hazel eyes whole. “’Cause this part ain’t a game to me. I do this for you… it means something. You’d be the first.”

“I’m well aware.” The shift in the air between them holds a charge, a pressure, the electric thrill of a building storm. Hugo steps closer and offers his hand to Gab, palm face up. “And I’m also certain I want it to be you.”

The time it takes Gab to peel off Hugo’s glove and shove it in one of his pockets may as well be a whole season. He grabs the knife from Hugo and then wraps the fingers of his free hand around his wrist, bracing it with a firm circle. The tilt of his head sends a wavy fall of loose hair over his bare, tattooed shoulder.  “How deep do you want it to go?” After asking, he places the sharp edge of the blade against the lifeline of Hugo’s palm, and it’s hard to tell whether the cold metal or imminent act sends the white-hot bolt of anticipation down his spine.

He leans into Gab’s presence, towards the pull he’s failed so hard to resist since the start of it all, pulse quickening. All the times he’s performed this rite for himself have done nothing to prepare him for the riptide of emotion that is a lover… is Gab gripping his wrist, Gab holding the knife, Gab waiting sure and steady for his response. “Deep enough to matter. Just be quick and clean.”

Gab breathes out a heated laugh in response, and beneath the hunger etched plain across his features lurks an emotion Hugo can’t place. “Aren’t I always?” The blade digs deeper into Hugo’s palm, flirting with the idea of parting skin. “To the Fury’s depths we give our hearts twice over, and so we’ll give each rising of her star until we return to the Fury’s depths entire.” Gab murmurs the ritual words low enough for only Hugo to hear, the cadence filled with reverence. The flex of his bicep is the only warning Hugo gets before he slices the knife across his palm.

Motion first, then pressure. Three heartbeats later: pain like the cold light of the stars above and blood sluicing down his hand and dripping to the deck. Gab releases Hugo’s wrist, after which Hugo anoints the gifted book with a copious smear of his blood. He then drops it into the sea, watching it tumble down until it vanishes from sight. For good measure, he holds his hand out and squeezes it into a fist, clenching his jaw against the cresting wave of pain as blood spills into the ocean below. Hugo splays his fingers wide, breathes in sharply as his fresh wound protests, then repeats the process once more, palm stained red and liquid threads of crimson lacing their way down his arm. When finally satisfied that he’s paid Xeheia her due, he brings his arm back from over the edge of the Squall.

Wordlessly and without asking, Gab reaches for Hugo and places a wad of clean cloth against the gash in his palm, the muscles in his forearm pronounced as he puts firm pressure on the cut. Hugo’s feet move before his mind can protest, his uninjured hand finding Gab’s shoulder and holding himself steady. It’s not the pain of the cut—he’s had far, far worse in his illustrious service to Xeheia—but the potent, exhilarating sensation of passing the point of no return. Any person can wound, and the pirates of the fold are more skilled in violence than most.

But this? The hitch in Gab’s breath as his gaze meets Hugo’s? The tidal lock of their embrace, two fixed points exerting undeniable force on one another? Those of the fold reserve this gesture for those closest to them, and with every throb of his treasonous heart, Hugo understands why. “May the Fury guide me from above while her stars grace the sky.”

“And may she watch over you from below when the sky darkens once more.” Gab’s thumb explores the peaks and valleys of Hugo’s knuckles where he holds the cloth steady. Then he adds, tone lighter but eyes fathomless and wanting, “Here’s to another year, Captain.”

“Thank you, Berthelot.” He squeezes Gab’s shoulder and pours all the affection he can muster into the gesture, and then steps back, shoving down the desire to stay close and packing it away neatly for the moment. “I can handle it from here. Though…” Hugo assumes the task of applying pressure to his own cut and fixes Gab with a steady, searching look. “Come to my quarters after your watch concludes. We’ve unfinished business to resolve.”

A characteristic smirk spreads slowly across Gab’s lips. He says, voice half an octave lower than usual, “Aye, Captain. That we do.”

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 14: Unexpected Visitors

Summary: Visitors disrupt the Fraser household.

Read on AO3

Read chapter 14 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 14: Unexpected Visitors 

***

The next morning, Claire’s perfect tranquility was interrupted by a terrifying brring-brong. 

She jerked wildly around from her place on the “couch”, her heart racing in her chest, before she remembered the last time she’d heard that sound and Jamie had explained that it simply indicated there was someone outside. With cautious steps, she made her way toward the door and pressed her ear against it, listening. No sound of anything threatening at least. But also no sign of Jamie— who was upstairs in the shower.

Claire remembered the other day when there had been a man with something to give Jamie. It was probably that again, and if it was something important, she didn’t want him to miss it. 

Fumbling the odd shaped thing that opened the door, she tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge. Then she spotted the problem and freed the sliding bit. After struggling with the oddities humans had for securing their place, Claire finally managed to free the door and it swung open. 

She was greeted by blue eyes— Jamie’s eyes— staring at her in astonishment. His sister. Claire had only gotten a glimpse of her the other day but there was no mistaking the fierce dark-haired woman that shared many features with her Jamie. 

“Who are you, then?” Jenny demanded. 

Claire was momentarily struck dumb. Thoughts of the last conversation— or rather, confrontation— that Jenny had with Jamie whirled in her head and made her feel dizzy. He hadn’t wanted his sister to know about her. But obviously that stone had been turned over, because here she stood in front of the woman, mute and motionless. She wished she could just disappear.

This whole being-seen-by-humans thing had its drawbacks. 

“Cat got yer tongue? Answer me! Who are ye, and what are ye doin’ answerin’ my brother’s door?” 

The expression Jenny was wearing could safely be classified as accusatory. Her eyes were narrowed, hands rested on her hips. Claire had to take a gulp of air. 

“Cat…?” Claire echoed. She glanced behind her to where Adso the cat was basking in the morning light— who very clearly did not have her tongue. Bewildered, she placed a hand to her mouth and shook her head, brows furrowed. 

She knew Jenny had said more after that strange human expression, but Claire was buzzing with anxiety so strongly that she couldn’t quite seem to remember. 

“Who are ye?” Jenny demanded, more slowly this time, clearly agitated by Claire’s befuddlement. 

A swallow. “Claire,” she managed, but she was unequal to the task of providing her with any more information.

Where was Jamie?

All of a sudden, Jenny shouldered her way past Claire and inside unceremoniously. It was only then that Claire realized a man was standing behind her. Ian, she surmised, based on what Jamie had told her after the last visit. He walked closer a few steps and held out his hand, saying in a pleasant tone, “I’m Ian. Nice tae meet ya.” 

Claire had no idea what to do with the proffered hand. She wasn’t inclined to touch strange humans and took a hesitant step back with her gaze fixed on it. She glanced back up at Ian and helplessly offered, “I’m Claire.” 

He gave her an odd look and then slowly lowered the hand. 

“Nice tae meet ye, Claire. Ye’ll have tae excuse my wife, she doesna seem to have any manners when it comes tae her brother.” 

Claire gave a shaky nod, unsure how exactly to proceed, and then simply stepped aside to allow Ian past her. 

Jenny was waiting for them, hands on her hips. 

“So I suppose ye’re the trollop then? The one from the fittin’ room? Ye’re the reason he’s been missin’ all this work?” 

Claire shot a glance over her shoulder, hoping beyond hope that Jamie would choose this moment to appear. But no one came to her aid, and Jenny was inclined to continue. 

“Well…” Claire wasn’t sure what a trollop was, but she understood the last part well enough, “I suppose. But-” 

“-I kent my brother was a fool, but to bring his little play thing into his home…” 

“Dinna speak of her that way,” came a low, menacing voice. 

Claire felt a wash of relief as Jamie appeared across the room behind his sister, already glaring daggers and squaring up for a fight. 

“Jamie!” Jenny exclaimed, whirling around to face him, “What are ye thinkin’? Do ye even ken this lass?” 

Jenny seemed to grow red, and— sensing the burgeoning conflict— Claire needed a retreat. She inched her way across the room warily, slipping around Jenny, and then pressed herself to Jamie’s side. He was also thrumming with tension, his gaze never leaving his sister and his full height utilized, but as Claire slipped her hand into his, he seemed to calm a bit. The red energy around him began to ease in the slightest. 

“Aye, I ken Claire. And if ye didna come in here rarin’ for a fight, maybe ye could get tae know her too,” he said evenly. 

Claire wasn’t sure she was quite inclined to get to know this aggressive woman. Jenny was still bristling, occasionally shooting her a dark-eyed glance. Still, anything that was important to Jamie was important to Claire, and he’d told her how much he loved his sister and her family. She resolved to give this woman a chance, but she still wouldn’t make a move away from Jamie. His hand was warm and solid around hers, and it calmed her spirit. 

“Aye,” Jenny acquiesced after a tense silence, throwing her hands up, “explain yerself then.” 

No one made any move for a long second. 

“What would ye like to ken?” Jamie asked, and Claire could tell he was trying to keep his voice even and light despite the obvious frustration humming through him.  

“What is she to you?” Jenny demanded. 

Jamie floundered at this. His face went red, and he glanced toward Claire, back at Jenny, then to the ground. “She’s…” he started as he looked toward Claire again, but he obviously wasn’t sure how exactly to explain the relationship. 

“He’s mine,” Claire stated simply to save him the trouble. 

Because how else could it be explained better than that? 

Jamie’s face went impossibly redder, and his sister’s mouth fell open. Jenny glanced toward Ian, and Claire felt like she was caught in the middle of a spider’s web of gazes. What was with these people and their non-verbal communication? Just say something already! 

“Well then, I’d better sit down,” Jenny said begrudgingly. 

She promptly sat down on the couch, and Ian followed, sitting down next to her. Jamie, in turn, walked over to the chair across from them. Claire trailed after him before setting herself straight down on his lap. 

Jamie jerked in surprise as she situated herself as always, twining her arms around his neck and curling up. She saw as his eyes went wide and the tips of his ears (having only just now faded from her last words) flared deep red again. She liked his blush ever-so much but wasn’t sure exactly why he was reacting this way. She’d sat with him plenty of times like this. 

“Maybe find yer own chair for now, lass?” Jamie whispered into her ear. 

She felt confusion and something like disappointment rise up in her. Jamie was hers, and she didn’t understand why he was embarrassed. But she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, so she quickly slipped off his lap. Grabbing a nearby chair, she couldn’t resist the urge to scoot it closer to Jamie’s. She needed him within arm’s reach. Finally, all was settled, and the only thing left was to begin the conversation.

The air felt heavy around them, and Claire’s apprehension grew. There was a pressure on her shoulders— she realized. His family’s opinion meant everything to Jamie, and Claire was suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect that Jenny’s disapproval could drive them apart. 

Needing the reassurance of his touch, she reached out and took ahold of Jamie’s hand. 

***

When Jamie had come down the stairs to find Jenny facing off with Claire (well, facing off wasna exactly the right term, because his puir faerie was practically trembling in the face of Jenny’s confrontation) and heard the things his sister was saying about her, irritation and something even deeper flared within him, and he quickly jumped to Claire’s defense. 

But the lass certainly hadn’t made things easy. First she’d declared him to be “hers” to Jenny, proudly and possessively, and then she’d sat straight down on his lap— making his sister’s eyes bulge and mouth gape. Jamie loved Claire dearly but needed to keep the situation in hand, so he’d quickly shifted her off of him with only a slight twinge of regret. 

Now, he sat with her hand in hand, ready for Jenny to launch in, as clearly his sister was ready to do. As much as he knew that holding Claire’s hand in front of Jenny would only increase his sister’s ire, he couldn’t dream of withholding that comfort from the faerie. Jenny had been studying their clasped hands for a long second, but then let out a sigh and turned to Claire.  

“How do you two know each other?” she asked, the veil of politeness over her voice quite obviously a front. 

Claire looked toward Jamie, looking unsure about what he would want her to say, and he hastily jumped in. 

“I met Claire at university in Paris. We kept in touch, and she decided tae come for a visit. She got in on Saturday.” 

Jenny and Ian nodded at this, and Jamie felt a sense of relief. 

“And since I’m certain ye’ll ask… the airline lost all her luggage, which is why we were at Mrs. Fitz’s. And no, we werena doin’ anything, I was jes’ helping her do up a zipper.” 

Jenny gave an eyeroll at this, but didn’t otherwise comment. 

“And how is it that you have come to be spending the weekend in sin?” she accused bluntly. 

“We’re no’ livin’ in sin, Janet,” Jamie sighed. His exasperation had almost exceeded tolerant levels. 

“What about what ye said last time?” 

“Last time I let ye believe that simply to make ye shut yer gab. I didna say I was sleepin’ wi’ her, because I am verra much no’. Claire is only stayin’ wi’ me.” Jamie was about a second and a half from kicking Jenny and Ian off of his property and not speaking to his loud-mouth, rude, intolerable sister for a good couple years until she’d learned some manners. 

While all these thoughts were rolling around in Jamie’s head, Jenny was looking pointedly at their clasped hands, obviously not believing that they weren’t sleeping together. 

“Well,” Ian jumped into the conversation before Jenny could make another ill-advised comment, “Claire. What is it ye do for a livin’ then?” he asked politely. 

Claire’s eyes widened like a cornered fawn, the poor lass. She’d never heard that phrase before, let alone was she prepared to come up with an answer of a suitable profession. Jamie quickly jumped to her rescue. 

“She’s a botanist,” he said as he gave her hand a squeeze. He could feel the flutter of her rapid heartbeat in her wrist and hoped the whole ordeal wasn’t too much for her. Stretching his thumb, he ran the tip gently over her pulse point in reassurance. 

“Still tongue-tied, lassie?” Jenny asked with a hint of a sneer. 

“Lay off, Janet,” he growled. 

His sister raised her hands in exasperation. “The lass has said barely a word since we’ve arrived.” As if that explained why she was so hostile toward her. 

“If ye continue to speak so disrespectfully I willna allow ye to stay in my home another minute,” Jamie said in a firm, severe voice. 

“It’s alright, Jamie,” Claire broke in, giving his hand a squeeze. She turned toward Jenny and gave her one of her mega-watt smiles that made Jamie’s knees weak every time. Astonishingly, it did not have the same effect on Jenny. His sister just sat there, cold as ice, gaze locked on Claire’s, without giving a single inch. “I know I’ve been quiet. I’m just nervous about making a good impression on Jamie’s family. I know how much you mean to him.” 

Jamie wanted to throw his arms around his clever lass. Never once had she been in a situation like this, and yet she was so quick on her feet to say the right thing in a tense situation. 

Ian smiled at this, looking back and forth between him and Claire, obviously seeing the palpable connection between them. 

Jenny, on the other hand, was not impressed. 

“Ye shouldna worry about makin’ an impression, lass. Ye willna be around long,” she said dismissively, even going as far as to give a derogatory wave of the hand. 

Jamie’s mouth fell open in incredulity. Jenny had been hostile before, downright rude, but this was on another level of animosity. He let go of Claire’s hand and stood with surprising force, scooting his chair back a couple centimeters with a loud skidding sound. 

“This is you comin’ over tae apologize, Janet?” he roared, “No! I willna have it. Ye’ve said more than enough. Get out. Ye may return when I invite ye and no sooner, and that will only be when ye’ve managed to pull yerself together and apologize tae Claire.” 

Jenny was standing now too. Instead of the deep red of shame that she should have been wearing, though, Jenny was just as riled up as he was. 

Things were escalating far out of hand. 

“Ye bring this lass intae yer life and disappear wi’ out a word, and ye jes’ expect me tae take it as if it’s the most normal thing?” 

“Yes!” he exclaimed in exasperation, “that’s exactly what I expect ye tae do! I’m 29, Jenny, and ye’re actin’ like I’m some 12 year old who brought a girl home askin’ if she could spend the night. I make my own decisions!” 

Jenny’s shoulders seemed to slump. Not in defeat, but in acceptance of the fact that Jamie would be doing whatever he wanted and she didn’t have the power to stop him. 

And she said as much. 

“Fine. Ruin yer life wi’ this trollop. I’ll see myself out. And dinna worry about me comin’ back uninvited, I’ll no’ be gracin’ yer stoop for a long while, that’s for certain.” 

Poor Ian had been sitting motionless the whole time, gaping up at his wife in horror. He occasionally shot glances toward Jamie and behind him to Claire, but mostly Ian’s brain was churning with the conflict he was being dragged along with, forced to be on Jenny’s side. As the brazen besom turned toward the door, Ian rose from the couch. He looked helplessly at Jamie, his brown eyes wide with apology, and then followed after his wife. Jamie didn’t even make to shut the door, simply listened for it to bang close behind them. 

The second they were gone, he turned to Claire, ready to face a teary-eyed faerie horrified by the vile that had just spewed from his sister, ready to offer comfort and apologies, but— to his surprise— he was met with completely calm honey eyes. 

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked before he could. She reached out to run a soothing hand up his bicep. 

“Am I alright? Christ! Are you alright? I’m sae sorry ye hadta endure that.” 

“It’s not your fault, Jamie. She was being unfair to you,” she said softly. 

Jamie shook his head back and forth, “she was bein’ unfair tae you! Listen to me, mo nighean donn. I’m sure she didna mean it. She’s angry and hurt because she thinks I’m keepin’ secrets, and she’s protective and brazen and rude. But I ken one day she’ll come around.” 

Claire looked a little heartbroken then. “I’m not sure…”

Taking a step closer, he took her gently by the shoulders, his hands dwarfing the dainty curves of them. His voice lowered to a tone of incredibly gentleness, “are ye really alright, Sassenach?” 

Her eyes lowered. “She just.. scared me,” she admitted with a shrug. 

Jamie’s wame clenched. Jenny was making his worst fears come to fruition. He hated the thought that Claire felt she didn’t belong in this strange world, especially in his life (where he wanted her to stay forever), and here his sister was saying those things to her face. The puir lass was completely cut off from her home, and now even his own family was trying to drive her away from the one shred of security she had. 

He could only imagine the homesickness she must have been feeling at that moment. The longing for the acceptance of her people— her family. 

Unlike his, who was making her hate the human world. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, “nothin’ she said was true. And I’m verra glad ye’re in my life, no matter what my pig-heided sister says.” 

Claire was staring at him deeply, emotion reflected in her eyes. A mutual understanding passed between them, greater than any words. 

Then, abruptly breaking the surreal moment, Claire asked, “what’s ‘pig-heided?” in a terrible mimicry of his accent. 

Jamie burst out laughing, doubling over in half-surprise and half-mirth. A stitch quickly formed in his side as his air ran out. Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes as he laughed, a release of all the pent up emotion. 

“Have— do ye ken what a pig is, then?” he asked breathlessly, still heaving with laughter. 

To his delight and relief, Claire was laughing softly along with him (or maybe at him) and didn’t take offense to his hilarity. 

With a smile, she shook her head, answering helplessly, “no...” She let out a chuckle. 

“It’s a fat animal that spends its days rollin’ in mud. I’ll show ye one sometime,” he explained, his hands still rested on his knees in his doubled over position. 

Claire nodded in acceptance of his answer and reached out for him. Her wee hands slid down his forearms, raising goosebumps in their wake, until she grasped his hands and pulled him upright. 

He wasn’t quite expecting this, and the force of her tug sent him up and stumbling into her. 

Their bodies collided, and in an effort to keep her from going over, his hands grabbed her around the waist. He stomped his free foot down to regain balance and pulled her flush against him. He must have overcompensated, though, because they both went stumbling a step in the opposite direction this time, their bodies pressed completely together. 

They ended this odd dance with a fit of giggles, clinging tightly to one another as they finally regained balance. 

“Sorry,” she laughed. 

“No, I am,” Jamie chuckled, “but I think we needed a good laugh.” 

“We did,” Claire agreed, more softly this time. They were settling now, Claire looking up with him with big, soft eyes, and the mood shifted starkly from hilarity to something… intimate. One of her hands was pressed to his chest, the other holding on to his tricep, and he could feel nearly every inch of her against him. 

The silence spoke louder than anything, and he couldn't seem to the break eye contact that was quickly becoming dangerous. Every bone in his body screamed at him to kiss her. 

Letting go of her abruptly and taking a step back, he plunged them both back into reality.  

“Come now, lass,” he said hollowly, “I’m hungry. Care tae help me prepare some food?”

***

a/n: I forget if I added this note to tumblr last week, but there’s two more chapters to go in arc I-- ahh!!! I’m so excited (and nervous) for you guys to read them. Hopefully arc II will follow shortly :). Thanks so much for reading, lovely tumblr folks!

Next

[queroze]

Holding back

Happy holidays, @worrynotso ! I hope you enjoy!

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: A vampire merman and a marine biologist meet. Love at first bite? Not quite....

Angst with a happy ending, Analogical 

TW: its a vampire mermaid: fangs, blood, water, biting, non-consensual biting

Word Count: 3533

Link to AO3

Virgil was hungry.

Very hungry. It had been far too long since he had eaten. He was desperate. Weak and dizzy he looked up from his cave of coral on the seafloor, the sandy muck and seaweed around him swirled as he moved. Shadows moved over him, blotting out the small amount of light that managed to make it to his glowing purple eyes.

Food.

A grouping of large sea animals cast dark shapes above him. They were too large to be fish. And it didn’t matter what they were. If they moved in groups and they were as bulky as they seemed, they were warm blooded. And that’s what Virgil needed. His stomach panged as he moved out of his cave and up and out with a quick flick of his tail. The bodies were sleek and quick.

Dolphins.

He swam, lithe and fast toward a pod of dolphins. Darting, chasing, gabbing, squeaky skin just out of reach. They scattered, each going a different direction, effectively confusing Virgil's luminescent violet eyes. Because there wasn't an old weak one among them, Virgil didn't get a chance to pick one off. He let his body fall listless to the bottom of the sea, the sand catching him and puffing around him.

Virgil would have never tried for a dolphin were he not confused by hunger gnawing away at his gut. His hands went into the sand, hoping to find some kind of mollusk to chew on at least. It wouldn't give him the nutrition he craved, but it would at least give his pointed teeth something to do, rather than him biting his own tail. The thick, strong and rough appendage was tucked under him as his thin pale hands came up empty of shells.  

Blood.

Mammal blood. That's what he needed. Warm, live and pulsing. Heart pumping away into his mouth, veins his glass, teeth his cutlery. Seals were ideal. Slow on land, thick with blubber sure, but at least it wasn’t that rubber band bounce of a dolphin. Whales were marginally better than their squeaking cousins. But also, extremely hard to catch. But their size made it easier to feed off a single one for months before Virgil sucked them dry. But he needed something, anything now.

There was no warning when the net fell on him, other than the slightest change in the shadows that surrounded the merman in the sand. It tangled him, caught his hands and arms, twisted at the base of his tail, cut into his skin. The net was making it hard to breathe, restricting his movements, until all he could do was a pathetic wiggle, sand filling his mouth as he struggled. After what seemed like an eternity, water catching in his gills frantically, a new movement happened. Virgil was being pulled up.

Virgil thrashed against the net, as he moved from the sea floor thru the empty middle expanse of the ocean. The thin twine cut into his tail, his back, his face.

But up he went.

His sharp teeth were useless, because he could not get purchase with his mouth against the tight weave of the net. But that didn’t stop him from biting the water uselessly.

And up he went.

The merman’s arms were pressed, folded awkwardly at his sides, as he attempted to claw at the net to no avail. The short stout claws would have done the job in a hurry if he could only get to the net.

Still up he went.

Until he broke the surface, rump first, tail flopping his own face as the full force of gravity hit his body dripping over the water. It was dark. It could have been a day with a storm, or a clear night for all Virgil was aware. Something jabbed at his side as he slowly turned in his dangle. Rough voices excited and fearful hit Virgil's ears as his body turned sluggishly around. A fishing boat, men in bright yellow shiny coats, as rubbery looking as a dolphin. Virgil snarled at the men, wiggling like a worm on a hook.

Something jerked and his body was moving closer to the boat. The movement was smoother than the easiest swim. The merman kept thrashing, snapping and snarling in vain. When he got close enough, hands grabbed him, callus and rough, pulling him into the boat. There was yelling, incomprehensible and confusing. The people aimed the merman over a large hole in the deck, dark and menacing to Virgil's violet eyes.

Trapped.

Virgil was dropped into the darkness, the deck of the ship disappearing above him. He landed with a splash into water. The water was wrong. It was too warm, too still, too hard, too scratchy. It stung his glowing eyes, the gills along his neck and his tender and pale upper body skin. Virgil’s body dropped like a stone, until it hit the hard and smooth bottom. The net loosened around his body and Virgil moved and thrashed until he was free, the net an evil puddle on the smooth floor.

Free finally to move about Virgil swam quickly around a small circle. A tank, he was in a tank. Legends of humans and their cruelty were abundant. Catching, killing, eating, maiming. He had heard them all….before. Before the only thing that sustained him was blood. Before when flesh was what he needed to survive. Before his tail turned dark, his torso pale and his eyes glowed. He had heard about the cruelty of humans.

And according to Virgil, those legends were right.

Chapter 2

"Unusual coloring on the upper quadrant of the specimen indicates a wider variation in population than previously hypothesized." Logan pressed pause on the recorder. He cleared his throat and turned to the merman in the tank. The 9-foot-long merman was laying at the bottom of the tank, its eyes tracking Logan's movement. Pressing play again he continues. "Incisors and canines are also 60% larger than other specimens that we have studied." Logan continues to take notes walking up the ramp that curved around from the bottom of the tank to the top. He paid no mind to the glowing violet eyes following him.

"The specimen is also at the point of starvation. Live fish, dead fish, and processed food have been offered and so far, rejected. The specimen…." Logan, nearing the top of the tank, checked the tag. Each of the merpeople that have been caught had been assigned a letter. This specimen was assigned the letter V. "The specimen V, as it will henceforth be referred to, seems to be on the brink of malnourishment. Because of this, in order to keep the specimen V alive in captivity for as long as possible for optimum scientific inquiry, some kind of nutrition needs to be entering its system without delay. Intravenous methods are being considered at this time."

Logan looks down into the water holding the merman, purple eyes look back from the bottom of the large tank. The merman wasn’t moving. But it’s fluttering gills and open eyes the only thing betraying the fact that it was alive. "The specimen V has been tracking me all the way up the ramp. That suggests alertness and awareness of its surroundings. This is encouraging as its malnourishment has not yet affected its cognitive abilities." Logan bent down to take a sample of the water. "A water sample of the specimen is going to be taken at...gaAHHHH!"

As quick as lightning, a pale arm breaks the surface of the water and pulls the marine biologist down under. Artificial saltwater fills Logan's mouth and lungs burning his esophagus and nostrils. He fights for the surface, reaching with his hands but the edge is getting further away. He fights against the strong thin hands that hold him, one around his torso, and the other around his face. But already the lack of air makes it hard to fight, to struggle, to get away, to get to the edge of the pool that was only 2 feet away.

A clawed hand tugged his hair, pulling his head back. Teeth sharper than scalpels cut into his neck, staining the water red around him. Logan's body, already heavy with clothes, is impossibly heavier as blood is drained from him. Darkness creeps the edges of his watery vision. Logan is being drained and drowned at the same time. The only thought in his head, clear despite facing impending death was: What is going to kill me? The water in my lungs or my blood in the water?

Blackness overtakes him.

.

.

.

.

Thump

Thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Stinging, salt and chlorine erupts from his face. Logan coughs, fresh new air burns and it begins to fill his chest. He is laying precariously close to the edge of the tank. Something hard and plastic is pressed into Logan’s hands by someone pale and wet, his apparent rescuer. His glasses. Logan smashes them onto his face, blinking away the harsh water.

The merman looks back, mouth painted with blood. Logan's blood. Logan clutched the wound on his neck, still wet. But from his own blood gushing forth or from the saltwater clinging to him, he can't tell. He scrambles up, but almost falls back into the tank for his trouble.

"Dude. Chill."

Logan tries to focus on the voice, but as it happened to be coming from the direction of the merman, the very same merman who currently has Logan's blood on his lips, Logan was looking for any other source of the sound. Hand still clenched on his neck, stemming any potential blood from escaping him he finally makes eye contact with the…. vampire merman.

"Sorry about that." The voice of the vampire merman was low, gravely, and rocky in all the right places.

"Biting me?!" Logan asks, finding his own voice to be higher and raspier than it normally was.

"Yeah...I uh...hadn't eaten. And you were right there." The vampire merman actually looked embarrassed, his hand on the back of his neck, eyes downcast.

Logan looked dumbstruck at the sea creature talking to him. None of the other specimens had even said hello, let alone mumbled an embarrassed apology for blood sucking. But Logan's instinct for correction overrode the astonishment.

"You didn't eat. We provided a variety of options."

"I don't eat fish." Came the simple yet significant reply.

"You suck blood." Logan hypothesized, hand still on his neck, still stemming whatever bleeding was happening there.

"Mammal blood" The vampire merman corrected with his rocky stormy voice confirming what Logan was about to say.

"Mammal blood. You drink mammal blood." Logan plops hard on his rump, blinking in disbelief, his hand still on his neck. It was cold, not warm. Did that mean there was no bleeding?

The vampire merman reaches out and gently moves Logan's hand from his neck. "Your fine. You won't bleed out." The care in his gravelly voice is apparent.

Logan goes along with the movement, looking wide-eyed at the most unique creature he has ever studied. "I won't? But the blood...my blood...it was in the water."

Specimen V's pectorals turn a dark purple. "Yeah, my bad. I was starving, so it got everywhere. Usually I'm cleaner than that."

Logan nods dumbly unsure how to respond. He finally looks at his hand, the one that was supposed to be stopping the blood from the bite wound. It was clean, as Specimen V had said. “How?” was the only word the biologist could form.

“oh…uh…I don’t really know?” The merman looks everywhere but at the human. “Something to do with the venom….”

“Venom?!?!” Logan says moving away from the fanged monster.

“Woah dude…It won’t kill you…probably…” The merman winces. “I’ve never fed off a human before…So probably.”

Logan shakes his head a hundred questions lighting up in his brain. “How are you talking? None of our other specimens talked.”

Specimen V's looks at the slightly cowering human with sharp eyes. “Other …specimens?”

“The other merpeople.”

“How many?” The fanged voice is all sharp rocks and crumbling cliffs.

“You are the 22nd” Logan says scooting away from the merman, the tank, and all the mysteries they hold.

“Oh no…” The merman grabs at the scientist’s ankle like lightning, even quicker now he was out of the water. “You’re not just going to leave. You have to let me out of here.”

The vampire merman, after displaying a surprising number of emotions, now shows the most surprising one of all: fear. Terror is etched into every line of his skin, bone, and body. From the way his muscles were taunt as he held Logan from escaping. To his pale face, violet eyes frantic and darting, looking for an exit. His angled jaw set, fangs poking out of his lips menacingly.

Logan pulls his leg hard trying to get away, but the creature's grasp is tight. “Let me go, I cannot release you from here.” He reasons confidently.

Specimen V, eyes still looking for a way back to the ocean himself, finally settles on the man he is holding distrust in his eyes. “How do I know you will?”

“You don’t.”

Chapter 3

Virgil lets go of the human. There wasn’t much more he could do. His captor was probably telling the truth, as there was nothing within reach that looked like the ocean to him. The human scrambles up and runs down a curve and out of sight. And Virgil waits, skin feeling tight as the too clean saltwater dries on his skin. He rubs the gills on his neck in a self-conscious movement. He could dip back in the tank with the water that was all wrong, relieve his gills, give his tiny lungs a break. But being out of the tank gave him a better view of the goings on of the human. The human who had been gone for an exceedingly long time….

“Hey! Don’t you dare do anything funny!” Virgil calls, his voice echoing unpleasantly off the metal walls making him wince from the reverb.

Nothing calls back. In fact, is suspiciously silent. Virgil pulls himself forward, tail dragging on the grates under him. “Are you there?” he calls again, voice high and tight in suppressed panic.

Then footfalls, fast and heavy are coming up the ramp that hugs the tank. The man comes into view, this time he is armed with a spear as long as Virgil.

“No! No please!” Virgil yells holding his arms up to protect himself.

“Get back in the tank!” The human yells at him.

“Please! Please just let me go!” Virgil cowers now, the human getting closer. He had never seen spears up close, but the victims of such weapons left little to the imagination.

“Back in the tank! Did you really think I am going to let such a unique specimen go?” The scientist laughs hauntingly. “In addition, you speak. You and I are going to have a number of conversations.” With a free hand he holds up an impromptu muzzle made from a bungie cord and some extremely large fishing hooks. “One way or another.”

The cruelty of humans is well known from before his tail turned dark, his skin pale and his eyes glowed. But never did he hear of the cold calculation of a man of science. Of an ambition and ivory towers. No, if Virgil had heard about that he would have starved himself at the bottom of the tank, with its too clean saltwater and too smooth floor.

And there he heads now, splashing sideways, spear poking at his side, just this side of cutting into his skin. He looks at the man bearing the spear defiantly. “Someday you will get too close again. And I will not hold back.”

The vampire mermaid and the human scientist stare each other down, each one a monster in the other’s eyes.

 Chapter 4

         Months pass.

And Virgil is fed. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he no longer starves.

                          Months pass.

And Logan learns more. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he knows more now than he ever has.

                                                Months pass

And each of the monsters grow softer to the other.

Logan is kinder and gentler now to the merman he has learned the name of. Logan learns he doesn’t like it too bright, too warm, or too loud. The biologist learns that the merman in his care knows all about the prey he hunts, doesn’t know anything of his kind. That after being left for dead by the one who had bitten him, he had not interacted with merpeople since. He had no mate, nor friends.

Virgil is softer and sweeter now to the biologist he has learned the name of. Virgil learns he hates to repeat himself, dislikes not being listened to, and craves praise. The merman learns that the biologist who harbors him knows all about the creatures of the sea, but knows nothing about his own race. He didn’t know how to interact with them, how to find a mate, and how to make friends.

As they pity each other for what they don’t have, each develops a want. One that they each try and squash.

When Logan feels the want, he refuses to meet Virgil’s eyes.

When Virgil feels the want, he can’t stop looking at Logan.

                                                      Months pass.

                                                                    And the want grows.

 Logan is reading to Virgil. Virgil is on the outside of the tank, laying on a makeshift sofa made from an inflatable raft. Logan is on a stool, hunched forward, nearing the end of the tale. Virgil is enraptured by Logans voice, the story, everything, his eyes drilling into the hunched figure in front of him. As Logan concludes the book, he closes it and looks up at Virgil, meeting his eyes.

“Did you enjoy that one?”

“Yes….and I liked you reading it.”

This catches Logan off guard. “Only because you’ll get the pages wet.”

“I like your voice Lo.” Virgil says his own stormy and rocky tones  that send shivers up Logans spine.

“Your sample size isn’t that large.”

“I still like it. Its soothing.”

“It’s monotone.”

“Same difference.”

Logan smirks setting down the book. Virgil perks up. “What are you doing now?”

“Not leaving. Don’t worry. Its Friday night, so I have no plans.”

“Lo?” Virgil’s voice is soft, like the foamy part of the waves.

Logan looks toward the merman, and notices his chest is a darker purple again. That happens sometimes. But Virgil assured him it was not bad. But it was still curious. “Yes Virgil?”

“You can plan to stay here. Then you would have plans.”

“Well reasoned. That does make me feel better. Plans created and executed. I am now fulfilled.” Logan says deadpan.

The merman laughs, fangs catching the light.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Logan asks undoing his tie already.

The purple on Virgil’s chest gets darker, eyes not leaving Logan’s face. “I mean…. we could find someone else…”

“It’s the weekend. It isn’t good when you go three days. If you drink today, we will get you someone else on Monday.”

Virgil’s stare intensifies. “Alright.”

Logan comes closer, and sits next to Virgil, shivering next to the colder merman. Virgil reaches for Logans head and pulls it down into his lap gently. The merman cradles Logan’s head, his neck exposed and waiting. Logan breathes steady under him. Virgil bites, fangs going deep into the pulse of the human’s veins. Logan hisses until the toxin makes its way into the wound, numbing the area. Logan’s eyes flutter closed, the toxin and the blood loss a potent combination. Virgil drinks deeply, brine and blood in this mouth and on his tongue. He finishes with a press of his lips on the open wounds, and they knit close, new skin tender and shiny.

Logan opens his eyes, and he sits up unsteadily. His face close to Virgil’s, he can feel the sharp breath on his cheek. His eyes drop to the dark purple chest of the vampire merman. Virgil’s chest was always dark purple when he drinks from Logan, but never when he drinks from someone else. When Logan smuggles him someone homeless, drunk, or drugged it’s a ghostly pale white of his normal coloring.

Virgil tips Logan’s chin up, their eyes meeting. “My eyes are up here sailor.” He whispers playfully.

Logan swallows, eyes stopping at the lips of the merman, one of his fangs caught on the outside of his bottom lip. “Virgil?”

“Yeah?” As he speaks, the fang is tucked back to where it belongs.

Eyes still on his lips Logan surges up and kisses the vampire merman. Virgil, surprised, is knocked back, into the inflatable raft, his tail squeaking against the rubber. The biologist, embarrassed, scrambles back.

“Oh no you don’t…” Virgil grabs the human by the ankle and pulls him into the raft. “I have been wanting to do that for months!”

Logan laughs crawling into the raft, “Why didn’t you?”

“I was already drinking…it seemed a lot more to ask…but now…” Virgil brings Logan into a Vampire kiss, fangs pressing into Logan’s lips. “Now…I’m not holding back.”

[charincharge]

could you write something about cardan maybe tricking jude into leaving her queenly duties just so he could spend time with her alone? if it's really fluffy i would adore that

Cardan’s No Good, Very Bad Idea

could you write something about cardan maybe tricking jude into leaving her queenly duties just so he could spend time with her alone? if it's really fluffy i would adore that

Jude taps a long nail across the long mahogany table in front of her. She looks over the lengthy agenda for today’s meeting. The scroll seems to be never ending, and Jude has a feeling she will be trapped here until the wee hours of the night, especially if they wait any longer to begin. She’s been worked to the bone, recently. And Jude is exhausted. She doesn’t know if she has the stamina for this tonight.

Randalin sighs, staring at the double doors on the opposite side of the room, as if willing them to open. But, they remain shut, its gold filigree swirling across the front to create a perfect replica of the Greenbriar crest, unbroken.

“I suppose we should begin,” Randalin says, addressing the rest of the Living Council, though the seat next to Jude remains conspicuously unoccupied.

“I suppose…”

Jude has sat through many of these councils by herself. Since her coronation, the High King has been scarce during political meetings. He’d much rather be drinking in the basement, learning how to be a shadow, or sparring with his cantankerous wife. The latter usually happens immediately after the Living Council wraps.

Today, Jude is impatient and weary. She woke early to an empty bed and a note from Cardan that he was going on “an adventure” and would return for Council. A faerie loophole, Jude laughs to herself. Apparently he can lie in writing.

Just as Randalin is about to begin his lengthy agenda, the doors swing open, the crest splitting apart in two. The loud crack makes the room jump, almost as much as the appearance of The Bomb, looking distraught and disheveled. Her white hair falls into her panicked eyes haphazardly, her wings tittering, agitated, behind her.

Jude stands immediately.

“Her Majesty.” The Bomb pants, out of breath, and Jude can scarcely breathe as she continues. “You must come at once. It’s the King.”

Jude is out the door before the end of the sentence is complete. The Bomb takes Jude’s hand in hers as they rush through the halls.

“Where is he?” Jude asks. “What happened?”

“We couldn’t move him.” The Bomb slows and looks at Jude, the weight of her words evident in her serious eyes. “He asked for you.”

Jude’s throat tightens as she nods and picks up the pace.

The Bomb leads Jude out of the palace, out the back towards the stables where her horse is already saddled and ready to go.

“He’s on the western shore of Insmire Lake,” The Bomb explains.

Jude hoists herself onto the horse and looks down, confused and upset. “You’re not coming?”

The Bomb shakes her head. “We’ve already said our goodbyes. You two need your privacy.”

Jude nods and digs her heels into the horse, spurring him forward, as fast as she can. She races across the palace grounds, needing to go faster and faster. Lush green plants angle themselves as she passes by, the wind curling itself around them, leading the way to where her king lies. If only she could see them in the dark. The stars seem to grow brighter at her desire to see clearer, clouds parting to reveal a dark yellow moon.

She spots him, sprawled on his side, exactly where The Bomb said he’d be. He is completely still and silent, and Jude doesn’t even bother tying the horse up as she dismounts and rushes to his side.

“Cardan,” she pleads. “Cardan.” Tears well in the corners of her eyes as she strokes his shoulder. “Cardan, please,” she chokes back a sob.

Cardan stretches his arms above his head and a sly smirk curls his lips upward as he flutters his dark eyes open. “I really thought you’d be here faster with the threat of your husband in mortal danger.” He pushes himself up on his elbows and finally takes a look at his wife. “Am I truly so meaningless to you, my Queen?”

Jude’s brown eyes darken as she examines him. She realizes he’s in perfectly fine form, and shoves him back down onto the ground, pinning his hips with her straddled thighs and her hand dangerously clasped around his throat. Her glare is like two piercing daggers, and he can’t stop the rumble of laughter that starts in his chest.

“Are you serious?!” she gasps. “I swear, Cardan Greenbriar, if you ever do anything like that again, I will murder you my gods damned self,” she hisses. “I thought…” She swipes at the stray tear that’s betrayed her and rolled down her cheek. “I thought…” She repeats herself, and Cardan’s devilish eyes turn worried.

He places his hand atop hers, stroking her fingers so they release their grasp on his neck, and twines with his fingers instead. He places their joined hands above his head, and she leans over him, her heart still racing with the remnants of panic.

“Please forgive me, my darling,” he coos, his voice holding none of the mirth from mere seconds before. “I’d seen the council agenda and thought I was saving you. I know you’ve been exhausted. I just wanted to treat you. I didn’t think…”

He sits up, still keeping Jude in his lap, cradling her soundly against him. She presses her ear against his chest, letting the thrum of his heart center her. He’s alive and well. Just an idiot.

“I planned us a picnic.”

It’s only then that Jude realizes they’re spread on a large and soft blanket. A host of fireflies hover around the tree they’re perched under, acting as their own personal twinkle lights, which reveal an elaborate feast. Toast with soft cheese and honey. Real mortal strawberries dipped in dark chocolate. Smoked meats and assorted nuts. And wine. So much wine.

“I thought you could use a night off,” he whispers into her ear as he rubs her back, and finally her heartbeat starts to slow.

She looks up at him, her pink lips pursed in contemplation. “I hate you.”

He grins, knowing she’s already forgiven him for his clumsy way of extracting her from her queenly duties. “Shall I feed you? You must be famished.”

Jude frowns. “I’m not a child, Cardan. I can feed myself.”

But Cardan ignores her and lifts a strawberry to her lips. They part slightly as she nibbles away the tip of chocolate and then takes a bite of the ripe juicy fruit.

“Mmm,” she hums as she chews. It’s been so long since she’s had a strawberry. Cardan swipes the berry back and forth across her lips, staining them red.  

He tilts her head up and licks the sweetness from her lips. She opens to him, and lets his tongue explore her mouth, curling around hers softly, until she’s putty in his hands. Their tongues move against each other in languid strokes as Cardan’s hand moves into Jude’s hair, softly caressing the back of her neck with his thumb.

As Jude pulls away to gasp for air, Cardan plops the rest of the strawberry in his own mouth, and then can’t resist leaning down and kissing Jude once, twice more.

They take turns feeding each other and taking sips of wine from the same cup, until they’re both sated. Only then does Jude stretch out on the blanket, curling into Cardan’s side. She kisses the top of his chest, which is exposed in his unlaced shirt.

“Okay, maybe I did need this,” she admits, and Cardan beams at her. A night, just the two of them, with no pressure and no one to accidentally interrupt and no pressing matters to attend to… it’s pretty much perfection.

“A husband always knows,” he chuckles, running his finger down her arm. She shivers under his touch, goosebumps raising like little pin pricks under his hand.

“Are you cold?” he asks, worried, and Jude shakes her head. She looks around the darkened lake.

“Are we really alone?” she asks, and Cardan’s smile curls into something far more salacious as he grasps her waist and pulls him astride his lap.

“Take whatever you want, my dearest.” His hands rest under his head, goading her into action. And so she does. Over and over, well into the night. And when they head back to the castle, locked like intertwining puzzle pieces galloping and racing against the rising sun, Cardan reminds himself to plan this again for next month. Only maybe he’ll tell her before time.

~*~*~*~*~

tags: 

@hizqueen4life @wordsafterhours @cursebreaker29@x3hopeless-dreamer @sarahjmaasslave @thewickedkings @aesthetics-11 @thewayshedreamed@studyforthestars99 @feed-the-madness01 @brit-alltoowell @gabs-2002 @m-like-magic @sophiekarim @the-third-me @babycardan @justfangirling @isardinesinacanblog @youknowpurple @snusbandxknifewife @youknowpurple @cosmosstarstudio @wannawriteyouabook @aneurwin @bookieworm @bamchickawowow @taco-taco-belle 

[tunemyart]

If you're still taking prompt requests, what about a fic set in Who's Gurkhan, after Xena gets back from the dungeon when she's reunited with Gabrielle? Gab realizes Xena let herself be hurt to protect her while she's on her vengeance quest and angst ensues. Bonus points for angsty wound-tending. Thank you SO MUCH, I'm really enjoying all of these fics!

When Gabrielle had regained first her consciousness and memory, the first thing she’d gasped out was, “The woman - the woman who knocked me out - “

The other girls had been crowded close as they could while keeping a curious distance. After an exchange of glances, one of them had said, “She won’t return. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Won’t return?” Gabrielle repeated. Her alarm seemed to surprise the other women, but Gabrielle pressed on. “What do you mean? Where is she?” 

More glances had been exchanged. “What?” Gabrielle demanded. 

“They won’t have killed her yet, but they will, when they are finished with her. This is what happens to the disobedient ones,” said another of the women. “I told her so, when she asked. I’m surprised. She didn’t seem like a foolish woman.”

Fear did begin to grip her stomach in tendrils then - and Gabrielle began to understand.

---

(“I see now,” Yo said to her several days after that. “You are a disobedient one.”

But where there might have been condemnation or judgement in her voice, there only existed sympathy and something like wonder. Gabrielle turned away, unable to bear it.)

---

Despite everything, Gabrielle was unprepared for the damage wreaked on Xena’s body when she was returned to them. 

The other girls were gaping, whispering, this has never happened before, who is she, how did she escape? Meanwhile, Gabrielle clung to the deadweight of Xena’s body and the fact that she had been walking, upright - that she was not dead. 

The other girls were wary, but solicitous. Gabrielle had delivered as good a mix of lie and truth as she’d been able to through the frantic red of her mind several days ago; and whatever they believed about who the mysterious Sophia and the Amazon queen were, and were to each other, they respected Gabrielle’s singleminded drive, devotion, grief. 

Xena awoke halfway through Gabrielle’s ministrations to her wounds with a hiss of pain. Gabrielle stopped all motion immediately, and said, “Hey there. How are you doing?” 

Xena took a long moment to focus on her face before her body consciously relaxed some. “Oh,” she croaked through split lips. “Better now. What’s the prognosis?” 

Stupidity, Gabrielle might have said in any other situation. Now, her throat closed up, robbing her of breath and speech together. 

“That bad, huh?”

It let loose a fury in Gabrielle that she struggled to contain. How dare she - how dare she? She buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply as the fury lapped at the edges of her being where it had already made inroads in the last several days, gnawing closer and closer to the beating heart of her. Gabrielle would suffer it as penance for as long as it existed, for as long as she needed to. 

When she had managed to wrangle it into some manner of tameness again, she lifted her head with another deep breath. Her hands hardly shook at all as they tenderly put a salve on Xena’s black eye, and Xena, closing her other eye, hardly flinched. 

“This body is important to me,” Gabrielle said when she could speak. 

With effort, Xena caught her hand and stilled it. “This body is important to me,” she replied. 

It wasn’t anything Gabrielle hadn’t already divined as her motivation for willingly, passively submitting herself to a terror and abuse she doubted Xena would ever share with her; but with the visible marks of it fresh and awful before Gabrielle’s eyes, the fury rose up sharply within her again, this time accompanied by and twining with a wailing horror. 

“You don’t have to protect me!” Gabrielle said, more harshly than she’d meant to. 

Xena only smiled, so slightly Gabrielle might have missed it if she didn’t know her so well. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

It made Gabrielle sob once before she turned away to contain that, too. She might as well have been years younger, long-haired and starry-eyed. She might as well have just rid herself of her staff to preach peace. She might as well have wielded whip, chain, water, club with her own hands upon Xena’s body while Xena herself looked up at her with love and understanding after every vicious blow.

“I’m sorry,” she said, crying in earnest, unable to stop it. “I’m so sorry.” 

The words weren’t enough, she knew it and Xena knew it. But Xena, still cradling Gabrielle’s hand, only shushed her as best as she could. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabrielle said again. I thought they would kill you. I tried to get to you. All these years, and I’m still failing you. 

Xena squeezed her hand, clearly on the way out again. “‘m the last person,” she said before unconsciousness pulled her under again. 

Gabrielle had an idea of what she meant, but she wouldn’t take it as absolution - not yet. Not while there was so much more to say and do. Instead, she took up the rag and began cleaning Xena’s wounds again.

I won’t fail you again, she promised silently, pressing that oath into each wound as she bound it. Whatever comes. I won’t fail you again.

[k00255779]

Twine Sculpture - 1/12/2020

Sculpture I made out of twine. First I made a tube using the technique I learned in the wire workshop which I then shaped into the hand. Next I made leaves out of the thwine by tying horizontal pieces to a diagonal piece and then brushing them out to give the impression of a leaf. I then pulled the leaves through gabs in the hand to give the impression of fingers.

With this piece I was focusing on the sense of touch by making a hand with leaves as fingers to show connection, attraction and onesness with nature.

[randomoranges]

i’ve had the stupid initial scene in my head for like a week. also thoughts on tattoos and such and significance and the magnitude of things unsaid in the past that get to finally be aired out in the present and such. 

more rambly thoughts hahahaha. 

Ricochet

Winter 2020? Early 2021???? Idk. 

 Edward ghosts his fingers over the petals of the rose before him and lets them dance over the lines that compose the patterns and colours of the flower. He’s always been fascinated by the combination of flowers and leaves that overlap and twine over Étienne’s vine tattoo, ever since he had first seen it, what now feels like ages ago. It’s always been his favourite, for some reason, even before the extra additions. He lets his fingers go on their own quiet exploration, re-appropriating the feel and contrast of colours and shapes, until they come to rest by one of the few flowers that differ from all the others.

 He remembers the first time he had taken notice of it, late one summer night in the early nineties. He had thought it a trick from the light or some clever projection of his mind, and so, he’d never really mentioned anything. With time, he’d check, to make sure that the one different rose was still there and he had tried not to think about what it could mean – what it could represent. The possibilities. Étienne had offered no clarification and he hadn’t asked questions about it. Instead, he had let his fingers trace the contour and the petals, had memorized the different shades of colour of it and had dared to hope.

 Now, he knows better.

 Edward lets his fingers shift direction and land on the latest addition to Étienne’s vine tattoo. It’s a little over a year old and a little brighter than some of the other flowers. He traces over the curves of the petals and he might be imagining it, but he swears he feels his boyfriend’s heart rate pick up ever so beneath his fingers. He smiles softly, before he places a tender kiss to the spot where his fingers had just been – to the flower right over Étienne’s heart and then looks up to find green-hazel eyes quietly observing him.

 He resettles against Étienne and lets out a content sigh, happy to be here with him – despite everything.

 “What would you have done?” He starts to ask as he resumes tracing the different flowers and leaves that twine and twist over Étienne’s torso, “If I – if I didn’t feel the same – about you?” He finally asks, breaking the comfortable silence they’d been resting in. It’s a question he’s been thinking over for a little over a year now and it’s mostly curiosity and a sense of comfort around Étienne that brings him to ask it. He no longer needs to wonder and hope and fear for his relationship with Étienne; he gets to let his guard down and enjoy the hugs and kisses and special attentions without second guessing himself or what it could mean.

 Étienne shifts and slides down so that they can be at level and offers him a quizzical look. Edward shrugs; he’s genuinely intrigued. He obviously knows how he felt then. However, it had taken him a while to acknowledge the fact that he still felt something for Étienne and the whole thing had turned even more complicated with Calvin in the picture. How could he still have feelings for Étienne when he had Calvin? Calvin who kept trying. Calvin who didn’t give up on him. Calvin who was patient and gave him space and kept circling back when he was being obtuse and afraid. How ungrateful was he being to Calvin by still liking Étienne? After so long. After everything they had gone through.

 And then – and then did he really still like Étienne that way? Or did he simply miss having him as a friend? (Had he ever even liked Étienne? Had it been mere infatuation? Or a desire to be like Étienne?) Would he be content with having his best friend back or did he still want more?

 The questions and the anxieties had done a number on him; had kept him tossing and turning and had eaten away at him. He would have loved to share these thoughts with Calvin, but he’d been afraid his boyfriend would have taken it the wrong way – would have called him cruel and would have called him terrible things for potentially being in love with two people – would have asked him to choose.

 He’d kept his mouth shut.

 He was lucky enough as it was.

 He needn’t be greedy.

 There was no sense in rocking the boat when he and Étienne barely even talked anymore. He could keep his wayward thoughts to himself and try to focus on not messing up his relationship with Calvin in the meantime. He had done a poor enough job in the first leg of it anyways. A damn near miracle Calvin hadn’t gotten up and left him there to rot, really.

 So he’d done that. Done his best to put those thoughts away and move on – properly – silently, but every time he heard Étienne’s name mentioned his ears had perked up and he’d tried to find out how his former-friend-former-lover was doing. He’d dropped questions here and there, asking sometimes Élyse, sometimes another of Étienne’s friends how he was doing if he came up in a conversation and he most certainly never did try looking him up on social media.

 Eventually, somehow, they did end up reconnecting. Miraculously. He’s still unsure as to how that happened, but he’s thankful they did. Their tentative new friendship had been welcomed, even if it had oftentimes felt like one-step forward and eight steps back, but – it had been good, nice even. A welcomed surprise.

 Edward had just been glad that he could speak to Étienne again.

 But, reconnecting with him, even in all its tentative steps, had brought forth the feelings he thought he had buried deep inside. They resurfaced, stronger than ever, and even when he’d tried to suppress them, again, they’d only just lingered more, ever so insistent and demanding of his attention.

 He’d felt like a monster. For still wanting Étienne. For feeling like he was betraying Calvin and everything they had been carefully building for the past few years. He – hated himself. For still being in love with Étienne. So he tried harder. To hide it. To bury it and kill it off once and for all.

 It, naturally, hadn’t worked.

 Eventually, he’d admitted to it. He’d told Calvin about all of it, unable to keep it to himself any longer. Everything from the past up until this point, no glossing over, no hidden parts, just the ugly truth of it all and the shame of his heart.

 Edward had braced and prepared himself for all the terrible ways Calvin would most likely react. He wouldn’t blame him for it, really. It was already a miracle that Calvin had come around from his initial reaction to his coming out decades ago and had actually developed feelings for him; Edward didn’t expect any more. Calvin had done his share, it was his problem if he was fucking it up, again. (And what did that say, when everything good he ever had in his life he managed to screw up?)

 However, somehow, miraculously, Calvin had been – really good about it, considering. There hadn’t been any major outbursts, no fights, no breakups and no broken hearts. Edward clearly hadn’t given him his just credit.

 They’d talked it over. Calvin had expressed his own fears and concerns, mostly that Edward would end up leaving him, but Edward had been quick to clarify that this wasn’t the case. He still loved him, but he also – still felt something for Étienne. He just – didn’t want to have to chose. He didn’t want to settle and he didn’t want to give up, but – he’d do his best if – if Calvin asked him to. Calvin deserved that much. It wouldn’t be fair to Calvin to jeopardize everything they had for an old flame.

 Luckily, Calvin had been kind to him. A little uncertain, a little afraid, but kind.

 Edward had – hesitated, in his next step. Hadn’t wanted to rush in. Had carefully waited and observed, for a while, unsure how to really proceed anyways. There were still many unknown variables, notably,  had Étienne ever felt anything for him, and if so, had he managed to move on or not and if not – was he still – did he still want to – try?

 But that’s in the past now. He gets to enjoy his relationship; no questions asked and finally be without needing to worry. He’s glad and relieved it worked out. He’s content – happy, really. It finally feels like he’s got it together – that all the important pieces have been gathered.

 “Not gotten a marigold tattooed on me, for starters,” Étienne answers and laughs. Edward rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, even if a little exasperated. Étienne grins at him before he reaches over for his hand and places it back on his chest. It’s warm, even if Étienne always complains about being cold, and he feels the constant beat of his heart. It’s reassuring.

 “Be serious,” He chides and Étienne sighs and twines their legs together, growing silent for a moment as he thinks it over.

 “Well, I suppose I would have made a better effort to move on,” He shrugs, figuring it’s a simple enough answer, but – there’s more. If he’s being honest with himself, there is more. Edward waits patiently and keeps tracing over the flowers on Étienne’s tattoo, again. An old habit he’d been fond of, one he’s thankful he can rejoice in again.  

 “I mean – I never even thought you’d still like me that way, considering you were with Calvin. And – I didn’t care – well, not really. You could’ve had a full harem of men at your disposal. I just – wanted to be your friend again. I wanted to hang out with you and go out on the town without it being loaded. I didn’t want to second guess whether you’d flinch away from a hug or if you’d read too much into swinging my arm around your shoulders and such. I missed being friends with you. Wanted to pick up the phone and gab away for hours and hours about the stupid crap we’d done, seen, heard and such. Watch a movie or a game and unwind together. Have fun, go out, have you over and not have you think it meant anything more than just being your friend. I wanted that more than the sex and the relationship.” He sighs as he tries to form the right words to shed light on his own feelings. It’s still not his forte – talking about his feelings, but for Edward’s sake he tries. “So, yeah, woulda been okay with it, I guess. I mean – there would’ve been disappointment, but – that would’ve been on me. We fell out ages ago, you moved on, time I did the same, and such.” He shrugs and looks away from kind hazel eyes. He feels inadequate as he tries to give Edward a coherent answer, but he finds solace in knowing that it’s at least the truth.

 Edward chuckles and pokes his boyfriend’s chest. He thinks it’s endearing how Étienne’s cheeks have coloured dark red and how his blush trails down his neck and to his chest. He presses a kiss to it for good measure and then another.  

 “M’glad it worked out though – that you still like me as well and all. Didn’t completely toss me out of your life. That we’re trying to make it work and that we can still also be friends.” He admits in a quick rush of air, blush growing even more.

 Edward gathers him in his arms and holds him close, before he places another kiss, this time to his cheek. Étienne wraps himself around him and hides his face away in the crook of Edward’s neck, where it’s nice and warm and safe,  and this, at least, is easy and less – complicated.

 “For what it’s worth, I’m also really glad and – relieved.”

 Étienne chances a glance back to Edward’s face and, maybe, Edward looks a little as to how he feels. Still surprised by this outcome, thankful obviously, and maybe just a little overwhelmed and in awe that this is real – that they get to have this and try not to mess it up. He resettles, the ricocheting thrum of his heart beating underneath Edward’s fingers, but he doesn’t mind. “’Love you,” Étienne murmurs and Edward tightens his hold on him for a second. He has this now. He gets to have this, somehow, and he swears he’ll do his best – that they’ll do their best not to mess it up.

 FIN

[themysticorder]

The Child of the Dark Crystal Chapter 8 “Saviour”

DISCLAIMER

I do not own the Dark Crystal or Winx Club and its Characters, all rights go to their rightful owners. I do however own Mara and her story.

Rated E for Graphic Depictions of Violence and Rape/non-con (E Chapters will be announced and only posted on Ao3)

Chapter 8 “Saviour”

The shadow slowly approached the woman laying on the floor, her body trembled in shock, and she could not prevent the uncontrolled sobs from escaping her lips. She breathed heavily through her nose as the figure knelt beside her, the sound of his steady breathing reaching her ears as he bent over her. Mara closed her eyes, pressing the eyelids together tightly in fear of another assault on her exposed body. But none of it happened, instead she was surprised by a sudden feeling of relief as the shackles around her wrists and ankles where ripped open and fell to the ground with a loud rattling sound that made her wince. Now that her extremities were freed, she curled up into a ball and wrapped her arms around her upper body to cover her exposed chest.

The rustling sound of fabric reached her ears and shortly after she felt how something warm was wrapped around her body. Next thing she knew were the pair of strong arms that were wrapped around her body and lifted her into the air, carrying her out of the dark room that she never wished to set a foot in again after this day. Mara could not see the face of the being that carried her through the hallways of the castle, as they were drowned in darkness. Whether he was her Saviour, or just another cruel soul that wanted to take advantage of her weakened state, she couldn’t tell. But no matter the case, she was to weak to fight, her legs felt like Jello and her ind was still in a state of shock.

She was carried through the hallways for quite some time, none of the corridors that they crossed seemed familiar to her. She had never been this deep beneath the Castle and the further her rescuer, or whatever he was. Walked, the colder and darker it seemed to get. Eventually he stopped, in front of them a huge wooden double door engraved with strange symbols that she had never seen before. With a creaking sound it swung open, revealing a dimly lit room. He stepped inside and walked towards a divan chair, which was lined with fabric of a crimson color, and gently placed her down onto the seat. Mara immediately grabbed the blanket that was wrapped around her body and pulled it up under her chin , only her head remaining visible. Her gaze slowly wandered over towards the figure, that walked towards a small alcove on the other side of the room. It was lined with large wooden shelves that kept glass bottles of different shapes and sizes that where filled with strange looking liquids. Another Shelve was filled with glass jars that stored all kinds of dried herbs, plants and mushrooms. A stone hearth stood in between the shelves, a fire crackling inside of it, heating up the iron pot that hung above it.

She observed him as he grabbed a few of the jars from the shelves and placed them on a small counter that stood in the center of the alcove. His claws reached inside the containers, pulling out a few of the dried ingredients before he placed them inside of a small bag of thin fabric, that he tied up with a piece of twine. With the help of the wooden ladle he poured some of the boiling water from the kettle inside of a small wooden cup and placed the bag of herbs inside of it.

“Who are you?” realizing to late, that she had actually spoken the words out loud, she covered her mouth with her hands, her fingers still clinging to the blanket, pulling it over her mouth. Her eyes went wide with fear as he approacher her again, his long robe dragging over the floor behind him, the steaming cup of Tea sitting between his claws.

He was one of them, a Skeksis, which she could tell by the long snout protruding from his face, but he looked so much different than the others of his Kin. He was tall, taller then all of the other Skeksis in the Castle and his body wasn’t bony or lanky like theirs. He had broad shoulders and his chest was muscular as she could see through the fabric of his robes that where clinging tightly to his torso. His clothes mostly consisted of white and blue shades with golden accents, which where quite unusual colors for a Skeks. His face too wasn’t as bony, his facial features smoother, making him look less morose and agonizing, almost benevolent. A full set of grayish-silver hair decorated his head, and was tied together in a loose braid, that ran down his back. But it where his bright turquoise eyes that caught her attention the most, they reminded her of the waters of the silver sea or the sky on a warm summer day. He was the most beautiful Skeksis she had ever seen.

He came to a halt in front of the divan, his claws reaching out to her, which made her wince and push herself against the Sofa, trying to get away from him. “Please don’t hurt me.” These words made him stop, slowly pulling back his arm “I wont” he assured her, his voice deep, melodic almost, not as raspy and shrill like those from the others of his kin. He placed the cup of tea on a small table next to the divan, knowing very well that she carefully observed each of his steps. “You should drink this, it will help you calm your nerves.”

“Who are you?” she asked the Skeks again, who was again wandering towards the alcove. Her voice was shaky and barely above a whisper, but it was loud enough to reach his ears.

He lightly turned his head in her direction “The ones I used to call my brethren gave me the name SkekVazur, the Alchemist, but I prefer to just be called Vazur now”

She swallowed hard before forming her next question “What are you doing with me now?”

Upon hearing the fear in her voice he turned towards her completely, his face showing no trace of evil or mischief “Nothing, I just wanted to bring you to a place where they will not find you, you are safe here, but you are free to leave, if that is your wish.”

Her gaze wandered over to the wooden door, what would happen if she left the room? A wave of different emotions ran through her mind, each connected to the many thoughts that did not allow her to calm down. SkekUng wouldn't stay unconscious forever. Maybe he would start searching for her, try to finish what he had started in the cold dusty chamber. Maybe he would kill her so the others would never hear of his assault on her. She wasn’t safe in the Castle anymore, not with SkekUng as the Emperor. But would she be save anywhere else? What would SkekEkt do if she would never return to her? She hadn’t seen her foster mother a lot after she had moved to the lower chambers of the Castle, but she had still visited her as often as her duties allowed her to, gifting some new gowns and Jewelry to Mara. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in, one of her arms came crawling out from underneath the blanket and grabbed the cup of tea that still sat on the wooden table. She brought it to her nose and immediately her nostrils were filled with the lovely floral scent of the concoction. Her lips closed around the rim of the cup, leaving a wide enough gab for her to let the liquid flood her mouth and play around with her taste buds. Valerian Root, Honeymoss and Hogweed, all these Aromas mixed together into a symphony of flavors.

She immediately felt the soothing effect of the brew, her thoughts calmed down and her body stopped shacking. When she opened her eyes, Vazur stood in front of her, a folded piece of clothing in his hand “Here, you can put these on” he said and turned around, giving her some privacy while she dressed in the robes, that were way to big for her, but they would have to do for now. “I have never seen you in the Castle before, why are you not with the others Skeksis?”

His brows furrowed slightly “I….left them a long time ago, I do not exactly feel of them as my brethren anymore?”

She draped the robes over her body and sat down on the chair again, taking another sip of the tea “I can tell that you are not like them, there is something different about you, who are you”

“I told you already, my name Is Vazur.”

A weak smile formed on her lips “You told me your name, but that still does not tell me who you are, please, I only want to know who my Saviour is.”

A soft sigh escaped his lips before he turned around and sat on the far end of the Divan “Do you now the story about the Urskeks and the Great Division?

She nodded in response, SkekEkt had told her everything about it, The UrSkeks were beings that had been banished from their home planet and came to Thra, they sought to purify themselves to get back to their Home world through the Crystal during the second great conjunction. But instead of being sent home, each of the fallen UrSkeks were inadvertently divided into two separate beings, the Evil and violent Skeksis, and the gentle and contemplative UrRu. They were however still connected to one another, if one part of them died, the other would do so as well.

“Good” he said and continued to explain “I was there too, during the Great division, but something went wrong, the personalities of me and my UrRu self got exchanged, UrJellak got the evil and destructive soul that was originally intended for me, while his was planted inside my body. The others living in the Castle soon realized that I was different, where they sought immortality and power, I searched for answers, answers that would allow us to return to our former selves. But they would not listen to me, their greed turned them into incorrigible beings, lead by the fear of death. And even though they keep the Crystal of truth as their slave, it is them that have become slaves to the Crystal.”

As he continued to tell her the story she realized how few she actually new about the Skeksis, there were a lot of things she didn’t new about them and their plans for Thra. But then it did not really surprise her, as she was never allowed to leave the Castle. All that she knew about the outside world she had heard from the stories SkekEkt had told her when she had been a child but she had never seen it herself. They had always told her that they were trying to rule over it to bring back order and justice but their real intentions were to drain the Essence of the Gelflings to turn themselves immortal and now there were only two Gelflings left, fighting for existence. She didn't know how to feel about all these newly achieved information, it was to much to process for one day, especially after what happened earlier. But sadly the bad news wouldn’t stop there.

“What happened then? Why are you down here?” Mara asked.

“They first started their unethical experiments on me, trying to exchange the soul of me and my UrRu self but things didn’t go as planned so they banished me into the lower floors of the Castle to prevent me from disturbing their experiments and crossing their plans. That's when I realized that hope for them is lost, they wont turn from their plans, even if it means to banish the ones of their own kind.”

Mara sighed, her heart felt Heavy and her soul crushed “I cant imagine they are this cruel, they experimented on me as well, but it was just to save my life, I would be dead if it wasn’t for them, well some of them.”

A small chuckle escaped Vazur’s snout “Do you really think they tried to keep you alive because they care for you? They saved you so that your powers could serve them in the future, you are nothing but a tool to them, a tool that they used to hunt down the Gelflings and bring the Garthim to life, it is the Darkening that has destroyed a lot of Thra, and will still continue to do so as long as the Skeksis keep misusing the Crystal.”

Was that true, this they really use her own powers without her consent? Did SkekEkt knew about this? Had she lied to her all these years? No this couldn't be, it couldn't it just…

“Do you want to see it?”

His deep voice ripped her from her thoughts “What?”

“Do you wish to see the outside, see for yourself what the Darkening has caused?” for a moment she thought he had ost his patience with her, bot he stayed calm and collected, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes”