#whatever me when i give up the name that i upheld like a promise to fight in the time war and also ultimately end it through “the only way”

[brighhton]

you can listen to a song you really like and think oh hey this is like the Character. but watch out

[gwendolynwcde]

Giving space for Shivani to express herself, Gwendolyn remained silent and observed her behaviour while she explained the situation. It was evident that was protecting said individual and as much as she wanted to empathize with her, she still had a duty to fulfil to ensure that she was ruling out potential suspects. Therefore, she decided to come to a compromise that would work out for the both of them. It was unconventional, but she wasn’t like her other predecessors who were in it for the fame and whatever reputation they’ve upheld. She made a promise to herself that although this position was handed to her against her will, she was going to do things her way. “Shivani, take a breather.” replied Gwen in a gentler tone to help calm the dancer down from her nerves.

“First off, I want to thank you for taking the time to come forward and provide me with this information, especially when I can clearly see that this person means a lot to you. I’ve dealt with plenty of cases where loved ones are hesitant and don’t trust law enforcement with such information, but I can assure you that we are simply having a conversation and I will only document what’s necessary for my investigation.” Pausing, she took a moment to figure out how to go about it before finally saying, “While I do believe your compassion for this individual, I still need to do my due diligence and look into them further. Depending on what you tell me, he will need to be questioned to ensure that he wasn’t involved in the previous and current incidents that have taken place. In this case, I can align my questioning when you end up telling him the truth, that way he can hear it from you first and expect my presence after." It seemed like a fair compromise in the Chief of Police's books. "Now after everything you’ve just heard, are you willing to provide me with the name of this individual?"

Shivani couldn’t help but feel scrutinized by Gwen; she knew the other was probably just trying to figure out what Shivani was trying to express but it made her feel slightly more on edge. She felt horrible for even approaching the other this way because a huge part of her believed Axel would never do anything to harm the town but then again she couldn’t deny the evidence she’d seen with her own eyes. She nodded hesitantly as Gwen confirmed what she assumed but it was the question she followed it up with that had Shivani looking back at the other woman, a slight fear and a lot of hesitation in her eyes. “Hypothetically…I might be only because I know this person and I don’t believe they’d ever really go through with anything but, I can’t be certain and I just—" she was rambling, obviously but it came out because she hated being the one to essentially throw the man she cared for under the bus this way. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to the people of this city or the city in general which is why I'm speaking to you but Gwen I—promise me he won’t know I said anything…I’ll have to tell him myself,” she said softly, her eyes low cast, her voice quieter as she knew she had to face the repercussions of her actions now. 

[infernalrevenge]

Cuddle Bug

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Cassandra Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G/T

Summary: Despite what Cassandra Dimitrescu may say or do, you know that she is not above snuggling in bed with you.

Notes: Honestly, I wrote this because I wanted to have the title “Cuddle Bug” and relate it to one of the Dimitrescu sisters. I also love the thought of the tough and sadistic Cassandra getting all soft and whiny because she wants a hug from her beloved. I think everyone (who wants it) deserves a good hug, you know? So this is that :P Also I know that technically all the staff in Castle Dimitrescu were women, but you know what, Maggie said everyone is welcome inside therefore reader is still gender neutral (and also as long as you’re willing to make yourself useful, who are they to turn down the help, right?)

----------

House Dimitrescu.

Their family name alone striked terror in the hearts of many, especially those who knew the stories. Of maidens going missing. How their screams could be heard in the castle dungeon, never to be seen or heard from again. But if they were – they never came back the same.

The reputation they upheld was of fear and respect. No one dared to deny these women what they wanted, lest they suffer the consequences.

At least, that was what Cassandra told you, glaring at the back of your head as you went about your work.

“What do you mean you’re busy?” You could practically hear the pout in her voice.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Miss Cassandra, but I do have duties around the castle that I really need to attend to ‘lest I suffer the consequences’ of your mother’s wrath.”

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and planting herself back onto the couch. “Ugh, but what’s one hour? Come on, Y/N, can’t you indulge me for just one hour?”

You turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised, “One hour is still an hour too long not spent doing what I need to do. And besides, I know that when it comes to you, one hour is not just one hour.” It’d be more like three hours, at least.

“Not just one hour,” she muttered under her breath mockingly, almost unaware that she was technically making fun of herself in that regard. It was funny seeing her like this, acting quite childishly when she didn’t get her way.

You knew better than anyone the reputation Cassandra had not just as a member of the Dimitrescu family to outsiders, but also to her own family. She was the ruthless hunter, calculating and cunning. She may not be the fastest or the strongest, but she knew how to take down prey like she was born to do it, with efficiency and wit. She treasured her weapons for this reason and consistently honed her skills so that she could do her mother proud.

Not only that, but she was considered the least forgiving of the staff’s mistakes (second only to Lady Dimitrescu). She had zero tolerance for fooling around, and if she caught anyone making even the smallest slight against them, she would have their head on a silver platter in a second, ready to serve it to the lady of the castle.

She didn’t like showing her favoritism toward you where others could see, despite your relationship being an open secret at this point, because of that reputation. In everyone’s eyes, she had to have that same tough exterior, to show no mercy, and to never let her guard down – everything that the Cassandra Dimitrescu was known for.

But at the end of the day, when those same eyes that watched her every move retired for the night, she would seek you out – then she would show another side to her.

The one that wanted to be kept warm and held under dim candle light. Who wanted her hair played with while her beloved talked about their day, soothed by the sound of your voice. Who wanted to rest her head on your chest and feel your heartbeat against her cheek, and the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you eventually drifted off to sleep.

And the brat. She was quite the brat. She wanted to have her way the moment she would ask, and when she didn’t – oh, she would get it no matter what. You would say she rivaled her sister Daniela in that regard, and it often got them in trouble.

You were part of the lucky few allowed to see those other sides of her, when she could let the mask slip and just be herself. Not as the second daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu, not as the best hunter of the clan – just as herself. As Cassandra.

You loved all of her, like she did you. But you will spare yourself from Lady Dimitrescu’s scolding and punishment if you could help it.

She seemed rather determined to ignore you when you stopped replying, already faced the other way as she sunk deeper onto the cushions. You just knew she was still pouting about it though, and with a fond roll of your eyes, you walked in front of her.

“Cass, after I do my chores, I promise we can have our alone time together, okay?” you said, smiling softly.

When she finally decided to give you her attention, eyebrows still furrowed and lips pursed, you could pinpoint the exact second her resolve melted away as she mirrored your expression. A dramatically exasperated sigh escaped her, leaning back. “Fine… Same time as usual?”

“Of course.”

----------

Night had fallen, and the only light in your small quarters came from the moonlight spilling in through the window high above the wall. You were just about to light a candle on your nightstand when a gentle knock came on the door.

It came as no surprise to see a familiar brunette on the other side of it, her golden eyes glowing in the dark. You silently invited her in, closing the door behind her. She was uncharacteristically quiet then, for such a time that the hiss of the match being lit aflame was the only sound heard for a long while. The mix of warm yellow light and the cool blue light outlining her features made her look so soft, especially seeing her without her hood and cloak on.

“You’re not mad at me for earlier, right?” she muttered, eyes cast down and wringing her hands together.

“Not at all, Cass. I kinda like how needy you are,” you joked, gently taking one of her hands and encasing it on yours. You can see how she was comforted by the warmth of your touch, contrasting with her cold skin.

“I’m not needy,” she defended, stepping closer. She wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you against her and melting into you. “I just like being near you. And being with you. That’s all.”

You turned your face into her neck and breathed in her scent, a mix of roses and copper, and hugged her even closer. “I do too.”

“You know you’re my favorite, right?”

You chuckled softly against her, and you swore she shivered just a little when you did. “I know. You’re mine too.”

“Good. I better be.”

You pulled away for a while to face her, and she whined at the loss of contact. “Bed?”

She rested her forehead against yours and nodded, and before you knew it, the both of you were under the covers on the tiny mattress. She was huddled close to you – her head on your chest, an arm over your waist, and leg slung over both of yours in a position you were very familiar with. If you didn’t stop her, she would have laid herself completely on top of you. Not that you would’ve minded.

“Anything exciting happen today?” she asked, shifting to look up at you, her face just inches from yours.

“Not much really. We were told that Lady Beneviento was going to be visiting in a few days, so it was just a reminder from Lady Dimitrescu on what to expect and how to behave. Especially around Miss Angie.”

She giggled, “Do you really receive sermons about how to behave around the doll?”

“More like how not to behave around her. It’s about the same set of warnings we receive when we interact with Miss Daniela.”

“Well sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between the two.”

It was your turn to giggle, “I’m inclined to agree.”

Cassandra nuzzled deeper into your embrace, pulling the blanket over her shoulder. She seemed pensive all of a sudden, too much going through her mind as she grew quiet. You turned and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, which made her rub her cheek against your shoulder as she pulled you in tighter.

“What’s on your mind, Cass?”

She shook her head, “Nothing. I just… wish we could always be like this. Together. Warm. Safe.”

The thought brought a smile to your face. “We could be, but–”

“Yes yes, Mother would have your head or something, whatever,” she harrumphed, “Indulge me once in a while, will you?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Once in a while? Need I remind you how often you come down to stay here with me at night?”

“As if you would ever deny me.”

You pecked her softly on the tip of her nose, “Never.”

You could see the faint glow of pink on her cheeks, a silent moment passing before she resumed her position on you. “The cuddling is nice, of course, but I meant being with you in general. Just you. Forever.”

The way she was admitting this to you made your chest all tingly, filled with the same butterflies as when you first realized you were in love with the Dimitrescu. You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling too widely and giggling. When did you turn into such a sap? You could probably ask the same of her.

“Forever’s a long time, Cass. You think I could last that long?”

“I’ll make you last that long,” she answered rather quickly, like she didn’t want to dwell on the thought of not having you around.

“That almost sounds like a threat," you huffed out a laugh.

“More like… a promise," she murmured, though she sounded more serious than you did.

For all the softness that you could invoke from one Cassandra Dimitrescu, this was probably the closest thing you would ever hear to an admission of love from her.

You’ll take it.

[uponrightful]

If this is greater than 500 or been asked before I'm sorry !!

But what about from Wolffe's POV:

“Please. Look at me.” Unencumbered by the modulator, that low voice sounded clearer than ever. Not even in her dreams could she hear that constant burr all the clones had. Especially Wolffe. Weakened by his command, she tilted her gaze up.

The girl broke into a loud sob.

Bi-colored eyes stared deep into hers, searching past her watery eyes with a fierceness that left her hands fumbling for purchase. On anything. Anywhere. And after a few seconds, her heart decided on his face. Her cries deepened, as she pulled herself closer to him. Burying her face to his exposed neck, all in weakness of seeing that beautiful scar over his face. She saw that golden glitter in his eye, and the soft expression she’d dreamt of over and over again. She felt the heat of his skin against her face, bringing her even closer to the lucid dreams she’s spent the past years of life in just to get one more night of feeling him.

“You found me.” She moaned into his neck, releasing fear-filled cries against him. She just hoped it was real. That he was truly back, and not under that evil influence that had terrified

her for so long. “Please, don’t hurt me again.” She pleaded, gripping harshly at the edges of his armor, pulling him impossibly closer despite her fright. “You found me.”

It was too much all at once. His smell, his voice, the sound of his heart, his arms suddenly wrapping tight around her waist as she fell further into him. She remembered that strength, holding her in the early morning hours, securing her to his bare chest like there was nowhere in the galaxy he’d rather be. Protecting her, and silently loving her even while asleep. Now, down on her knees in the snow, it was all she could do to hold onto him. All she knew was that she’d found him. And whatever it was telling her she was safe, this time she was certain she could trust it. Hearing him say speak so softly… it was all she could take.

“I found you Wolffe.”

Their reunion just really got me 😍

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*Send one in here*

Oh my 🤍🤍 This one makes me so happy 😍😍 Let's get into it!

***

Wolffe hadn't heard Mando'a apart from Rex for years. And even then, Rex wasn't the most habitual with it. Only muttered phrases, or using it as a reassurance of sensitive information when they weren't sure who was listening in. Being Bounty Hunters meant that the pair heard a lot of languages, but nothing sounded quite like Mando'a. They'd met thousands of people traversing the galaxy hunting targets for petty pay-outs, all of them with particular voices, and lilts that set them apart from everyone else. But... there was one voice that Wolffe wanted to hear so badly, listening for her everywhere, all the time.

So when he heard that sweet voice, that soft burr of Mando'a, Wolffe felt like the entire galaxy has stopped spinning. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he felt fearful that it was just another false alarm. That his mind was playing another cruel trick on him for being so kriffing hopeful all this time. But he couldn't chance it, and turned around to see his entire world standing right there before him like she'd never left. Wolffe had spent so long looking that actually seeing Pup felt like a dream. There was a mirage-like effect that kept him from speaking her name, or even realizing that his appearance was probably not a welcome one.

He tried to say something... anything. But nothing but a failed choke could be heard over the blustering snow and wind around them. He saw her flinch, the way her whole body shied away from him then. In that moment he recognized a shocking fear; One that came from seeing a man in armor, and of what they could do when their mind wasn't their own. Wolffe didn't know what to do. He did want to keep her from running, but by the way things were going already, his chances didn't look good. He opened his mouth to try and speak again, but before he could get anything out she utterly collapsed.

"Please don't hurt me."

It cuts Wolffe down to the bone to hear her say those words. They echo painfully in his mind and he feels the weight of his incompetence and broken promises to her fall in a fiery crash all around him. All he ever wanted was to keep her safe... Protect her from the things he'd spent his whole life fighting to ignore and suffering through nightmares because of. Her cries were painful, and attacking his heart in a way that was too excruciating to ignore. Wolffe knew he'd been absent, and he blamed himself wholly, but he couldn't resist from trying to reassure her that he wanted nothing more than to hold her again.

Note: Wolffe is a man of action. He's not good with words, and often they just fail him completely. And when I drafted the first cut of this chapter, I didn't use Wolffe's point of view because I wanted to focus on Pup's first sight of a clone in general. I wanted you to experience that fear alongside her, and although you knew it was Wolffe all along, she doesn't know that. And even if her mind had allowed for it, she still would've been wholly fearful of him anyways.

Note: Wolffe's blame isn't well-founded. He has a skewed idea of what is really his fault and what isn't because he remembers everything he did under the influence of his inhibitor chip. Although he couldn't fight it, Wolffe still holds himself to such a high standard that he honestly believes that he just wasn't good enough to fight against it. This is part of his weakness as a character, and more so as a man in general. He thinks strength is something he has to possess all the time; That showing weakness is a sign of his inability to perform the tasks he was created for. (And aside from loving Pup, Wolffe is very harsh on himself when that standard isn't upheld to the fullest.)

Every movement was deliberately slow. Wolffe could see her terror, and for once in his life, he thought that maybe showing her his face might be the only thing that would put someone at ease. The one part of him that he hated most was the only proof that he was still the man she'd been so kind to love in the first place. The same scar and eye that Pup had so softly fawned over, and loved like it had always been a part of him. Her eyes were bloodshot and overflowing with fat and heavy tears, darting everywhere but at his visor... It broke his heart, and he wanted to help it stop, but she needed this to be done right. And that meant slowly. The second she shied away, Wolffe felt the first pinch of his own emotion beginning to take over. His chest burned and pressure started building behind his eyes. His baby... His precious girl was so terrified that she couldn't bear it.

"Please. Look at me."

Wolffe knew his voice wasn't enough. And his plead was desperate, begging for her to take a chance that she had every right to ignore. But something in him was adamant. Maybe it was knowing that he was this close and it was up to her to decide whether this could go any further, or maybe Wolffe just needed to see her face again. It'd been so long, and he'd not forgotten a single detail, but there was nothing that compared to seeing her somewhere other than his dreams.

It was instant recognition, and Wolffe was utterly torn apart with relief when she lurched towards him. It was galaxy-shattering to feel her hands on him, and see that fear instantly transition into shock that matched his own. Her fingers were frozen, and Wolffe finally began to take in the first signs that Pup was actually not in the best health in that moment. But he couldn't pay proper attention to it with her cold nose and hot panting breath fanning his neck.

She's really here. I can hold her again. I don't have to keep looking anymore... hurting anymore. She's safe. My baby is right where she belongs.

"You found me."

He's been trying not to move too fast, but she's holding onto him too tight; Practically climbing into his lap to get closer. And Wolffe is a patient man, but he can't resist from wrapping his arms around her and hauling her as tight to his chest as he can. She's fucking shaking, from the immense fear and shock, but from this nasty weather that's made her coat almost rock-hard from frozen sweat and body heat. Wolffe knows she's in danger of over-exposure, and now that he's certain she's safe, it takes almost immediately takes priority.

The first thing Wolffe does is cry.

It's not a soft relief of tears, nor is it the quiet kind that soldiers hide beneath their helmet when they're afraid of showing their humanity. These are the kind that hurt. The ones that make your chest feel like it's being cracked open and your head is being pressed by a vice. Wolffe cries like the day his chip was removed; And despite not remembering that day, he couldn't care less that an entire outpost of people are watching him cling to this little woman he's wailing over. It's the rawest emotion Wolffe has ever felt in his life, and for all of the loss and guilt he feels, that's a fucking statement he's not surprised by in the slightest.

Pup is his motivation. She's always been his light at the end of the tunnel, and his reason to keep going when he didn't feel like he could physically do it any longer. He spent his whole life believing that he wasn't worthy of anything good, or wholesome. And right when he's at his lowest, someone -or something- decides that what he needs is a woman with a soft voice and a love for him that is unmatched and limitless. Wolffe clings to that with everything in him, just to have her ripped away again. Now he's holding her. Soothing her at her lowest point, and wondering just what he did to have another second chance and falling apart with gratitude and pure fucking love for this woman because even after all this time she still found it in herself to love him.

So Wolffe cries like never before, because love is the most painful thing he's ever felt before. But he would've have it any other way.

***

Thank you for the request my love 🤍

I tried to focus more on Wolffe here than on my own thoughts while writing. I don't get to write from his perspective often anymore and I really loved getting the opportunity to do so! So thank you for letting my give Wolffe some much-deserved love!

[ficsnroses]

The Neighbour - Keanu Reeves x Reader

❧ Summary : You develop a sexual relationship with your much older & quieter neighbour, Mr. Reeves- eventually finding yourself at his house every single night.

✽ Word Count : 1.3K

✽ Prompt : “First one to make a noise loses.”

✽ Warning : nsfw, smut. age gap. light bondage.

A/N : This could turn into something....but I’m not gonna make promises because I suck at those clearly 👀 this is prompt #48, requested by anon :)

Sex, exploration, hunger,

She’d known little of any to those things, those words a mere amatory compulsion ticking in the back of her head until not too long ago…

They’d ceased when she’d met him; the man in the large chic house next door.

Dark mocha locks and an almost lusting gaze her way, when he’d drink her in.

The neighbourhood knew little of him, caged opaque gates and secluded bushes gated along his home. He’d come and go scarcely, she’d scrutinised a mere couple of times through her bedroom paned window. Features dark and rather stoic, his hair fell in dusty burnt length, untamed often to the dark tint. He was older, positively 20, perhaps 30 years her senior. Café eyes inquisitive; glazed to her body a time too many, caught locked to her curious, marvelled orbs his way more often than she’d liked to admit.

He wasn’t one for the crowds, favoured to keep to himself nonetheless.

Yet for her, he’d waited. He’d waited long and well, patiently, tolerantly, waiting for her to come. And come she did,

to the house next door,

the house beside her own where her purity had been vanished, lost to the man who punctured each inquisitive vein in her twenty years ripened, sex craved body.

.

“Deeper, sweetheart.” He’d whisper late into the night, voice mellowed yet to a gravel, sultry when he’d hit the back of her throat. The first time she’d taken his massive length into her mouth, gags and choked exhales littered her breaths, gasps of air desperately falling until their meetings became almost daily - until he’d trained her, taught her just how he likes it, just how he longs for her.

“I know you can fit it all.” He’d stroke her delicate maven locks, a fistful of her loose strands, tears stinging a sear to her eyes with a throaty choke to his enormous thickness. “Show me you remember what you learned.” Knees burning to the carpet dug into below, she’d still feel the delicate burn he’d left between her legs the nights before.

The man she’d pondered about for far too long, had lately been leaving delicious burns and aches to each dip of her body. He’d been reminding her every second of every day, every long wake of the day break sun in anticipation for nightfall; when she’d go to him.

“So sexy. So sexy with my cock in that pretty little mouth.” His praises meant more than any other, his encouragement, his lust, his love for her body a fuel to her yearning for him.

Nightfall was theirs, nightfall meant she was his, for him to do whatever he liked to her body, all night long.

.

“That’s it, kitten.” He’d encourage, heavy cock sheathed inside her tight pussy that knew no other girth than his. Repeatedly, over, and over, and over, he pounds into her from above, toned muscly arms secured to her waist in a demanding drill of hips. “Tighter, babygirl.” He’d encourage, pace never faltering when he removes the black plastic gag ball from her rosy lips, in exchange for a hungry kiss. “Tighter, Y/N.” He’d assert, one hand firm to her bare hips, stocky digits of the other cradled to her chin, upheld to lock his intent gaze. Throbbing veins pulse up the shaft of his generous cock, the friction unbearably irresistible inside her stretched walls. Had leathered handcuff and dainty chains not restricted her limp to the bed frame above, she’d undeniably claw her fingernails into his rosy flesh, raked across his broad and bulky chest in crave for any remedy to the fulfilling burn. Breaths rugged, he reminds through the feel of her warm wetness shuddering, cocooning his member. “You know how I like it, kitten.”

Tight. Sloppy. Loud. Warm and wet. He likes it unadulterated.

Mr Reeves likes it pornographic.

.

“Mhmm, my pretty little slut.” He’d rasp into her ear, feeble legs sprawled across his kitchen counter as he delves in. “You taste unbelievable today.” He’d whisper against her sensitive clit, already throbbing after their multiple rounds prior. Lapping her slick arousal, he’d suck feverishly on her moist folds, thick hand assaulting her entrance simultaneously. Mr Reeves would leave her a disordered mess, wet, skin glistening with creamy cocktails of both their releases.

“Come. Legs around my waist.” He’d dominate, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hands plant to her ass, carrying her almost lifeless, limp body to his next surface of choice.

It was their dirty secret. The way he’d erratically ram her velvety, pulsing walls. The way he fits like a puzzle piece, the way the sloppy sounds of her slickness fills the house walls; the way the skin of his balls sounds hammering into her precious little pussy late into the eve.  Mr Reeves normally begins with shallow, slow thrusts, allowing her to get used to him again.

But norm as of late, Mr Reeves has little patience. When he first feels his heavy cock slip through her silky arousal, he can’t quite keep selfish needs at bay. Lately, he’s been coming in rough, rapid, fast and restless. A string of moans escape his lips, cock twitching within her as he pounds, slamming relentlessly against the buck of her hips.

Lately, he sets the pace vigorous and strong, mauve and rosy bruises peppering, paired with delicate satin hickies painted across her skin; the task of shielding them away from sight the next morning the last thought to graze her mind,

when he’s buried so deep, so gaping.

.

Mr Reeves is fun, adventurous, and if she looked around his rather extravagant home, she’d yet to name a place he hadn’t assaulted her small cunt, selfishly marked her body with purple bruises off his lips and tender fingerprints.

“First one to make a noise loses.” Planting his hand over her mouth, his palm wraps his thick and throbbing cock, generously guiding himself into her heat inside the sizzling waters of his jetted Jacuzzi.

No one knows how full he makes her feel, how complete he makes her feel as she sobs for him, whimpering, wailing, breath stifling when she watches the way he fucks her senseless each time through the reflection of the night patio windows. He worships her body, skin slapping skin echoing the bath. The chase of relief is far too strong, his cock aches for her every day, all day as he waits, collection of gadgets and knick knacks he keeps to please her patiently waiting on his bedside tables.

From behind, he bends her mid over the edge of the tub, dangerously erect cock splitting her aching entrance inch by inch. He’s big, warm, beautiful, grinding her cushy spot with his demanding thrusts sinking in and out. Around, scorching water splashes to his bucking hips, body shivering, shuddering, grunting when his pulsing cock, swollen thick hits her end.

“Fuck, kitten.” He growls, just as she lets out a pleading whimper. His pace is rough, palms kneading forcefully into her exposed breasts from behind. She’s entirely at his mercy, completely wanton, so voluptuous as he continues his hasty thrusts. Bodies jolting with pleasure, he stills, buried deep, deep inside her as he smirks, voice coursing through her ears.

“Guess we both lose.”

.

Mr Reeves has a way, and she, in her entirety is addicted; just as addicted he is to her. They relish in each other’s need, sex gratified only when fulfilled by the other.

Its so wrong, so sinful, yet so addicting.

She’d been coming, and keep coming she will each evening to please the man with the lengthy mocha locks, the man with the dark eyes and lustful gaze her way.

“Get home before your parent’s notice.” He’d give her ass a final squeeze in the early AM, after taking good care of her pleasure drained body, sex pleased and fulfilled; fatigued after their nightly session. “Tomorrow. Same time. Don’t be late.” He’d assert to her one final time, a small, lustful kiss placed to her lips as she stands at the wooden door entrance. “I’ll be waiting.”

And wait he would, each night, for the fresh, matchlessly gratifying girl next door who has him long gone; long addicted to her uncomparable pussy, her exquisite mouth, her soft, tender hands and bountiful breasts, deliciously, ruthlessly exploring her,

all

night

long,

and that’s how she’d find herself, snuck out of the refuge of her home for him, where he’d raw her all night, pounding, needily working her body,

however he pleases.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[whatgaviiformes]

10. Music Makers - Part 5 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

“When words fail, music speaks”

Chapter Summary:  Virgil and Gordon and music

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

You are Here 

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-) 

 The title Music Makers comes from “Ode” by  Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and it is very lovely.

Part Notes: Thanks to @janetm74 and @gumnut-logic by extension for the second opinions on the thing I asked. You know what for; I can be a little on the paranoid side. For music reqs on this one, it’s a mix of quite a few different things- but I’ve been listening to a lot of this album: Endeavor by Christoffer Franzen 

***

Music Makers - Part 5/6

The one advantage to the sudden upheaval in his education was that instead of continuing to grad school, Virgil was able to use his skills for a practical purpose under the tutelage of one of the world’s most brilliant minds; and meeting Brains had been awesome.

It meant that his own blood, sweat, and tears went into the building of the birds. And also very possibly his fury.

It meant he could stay on their island home to help Gordon’s recovery. For all the good it did him. One day the idiot would learn that pushing himself doesn’t make him cool, it makes him stupid.

The last thing he had expected to see when checking in on his brother for the night was him standing. Without assistance, without protection nearby, the walker and the chair both out of reach. Of all the stupid, idiotic –

Words had been exchanged, and not nice ones.

He needed to walk out before he said anything he regretted.

To be fair, welding at 2AM didn’t make him dedicated, it made him equally as stupid. He’d just been so mad, but after an hour or two, the rage had dissipated, and he’d stayed primarily to get the job done.

He’s not too much of a completion-ist, though, to admit when he’s getting tired. His work is sending all that ire right back to him. The angry shower of sparks very much tells him Thunderbird One’s panel does not appreciate his carelessness. One is going to be Scott’s and already she is so like his older brother. He can practically hear Scott telling him to clean up and get some rest before he screws up his baby.

Better listen.

He definitely needs to shower once he gets to his room; the sweat has started to make him itchy, and he feels grimy now that he’s had the time to think about it.  He picks up rag from their supplies with a yawn, and wipes at his face.

Ug. Gross. The dryness in his throat warrants a stop by the kitchen as well for rehydration. He thinks that perhaps the headache he’s had throbbing behind his eyes was actually lack of water and not so much his brother.

Tired as he is, it only takes less than a second for Virgil to notice the prone form on the ground as he walks through the faintly lit lounge on his way to the kitchen. And that dryness in his throat, from earlier is nothing in comparison to the fear lodged in his throat as he chokes out syllables that are supposed to be Gordon’s name as he kneels beside the figure.

His hands are trembling as they reach out to search for a pulse at his neck, and with his other hand he pushes back the strands of golden hair to reveal his brother’s face: pale, flushed cheeks, closed eyes.

Jesus.

Tear streaks.

“Virgil?” Gordon’s voice is groggy, but he stirs underneath Virgil’s hands.

“Gordon! What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” he mumbles. “I’m sleeping.”  

Virgil retracts his fingers sharply and sits back on his heels.

Sleeping.

He was just sleeping. His heart is a jack hammer in his chest, and Gordon was just sleeping.

He sighs as he tries to get his heart rate under control. But then….

“Out here?” It’s a very long distance from Gordon’s bedroom to the lounge, and there’s no sight of his chair. Or his walker.

“I had no choice,” Gordon says weakly, opening an eye to look at his brother. “Good a place as any.”

Virgil’s heart clenches at the pain behind the words. Sleeping, yes, but still hurt, and the lack of movement below him tells him exactly what happened. Gordon had followed him.

Their fight had been hours ago.

He feels his hackles rise again. “Goddamn it, Gordon, this is exactly-”

“Virgil! Not now! Please, not now.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried! You left.”

“You weren’t listening!”

“Shut up, Virgil,” he snaps. “God. Just – I don’t know - go get Brains or something. Leave me alone.”  The biting words quickly turn into a pained cough, a gasp as the spasm hits, and Virgil feels the fight leave him. He reaches out to rest his hand on Gordon’s shoulder blade and hates that his brother flinches at his touch.

“Gordon. I am sorry. Let me help,” he says softly. “I am not leaving you here.”

“Why not?” Gordon responds bitterly. “You did earlier.”

“I know.” It surprises him when he says it, and Gordon’s not innocent either, but he can’t deny that he ran, retreated, and made himself scarce in work that couldn’t be done safely with a phone distracting him. “I know, Gordo.”

“It’s not fair. You can’t just leave when you know I can’t follow.”  Even so, it’s obvious that Gordon still had tried, and it’s a stab to the gut to think about how long his brother had been stuck in the lounge, to realize that he is so used to this level of pain that he can sleep through it. He looks up at him, eyes glazed with pain when he pleads, “Please don’t do it again. Please don’t leave me alone.” Then with a twist of the knife, “You’ve always been the one that stays.”

He is the freaking worst brother in the history of existence.

There’s little Virgil can do in reply but hang his head, as he helps work the kinks out of Gordon’s back, moving slowly towards his lumbar region where multiple surgeries and lingering nanobots have started to rebuild the damage. Gordon’s spine is 40% bone, 50% metal, and 10% nanobots.

Both the surgery and the nanobots were new procedures, and while Gordon’s case was a perfect scenario for the parameters, there was a timetable to be upheld. The nanobots were dispersed into his spine overtime, every two weeks, by way of a large needle. Each injection was a step closer to full recovery.

With nanotechnology, they didn’t know how badly it could wrong, and even Brains had reminded him he had to stick to the approved physical therapy plan if he wanted to keep those nanobots working. A shock to one of their microscopic systems could mean a full failure in their duty to realign a critical nerve. Gordon could ruin everything with his obstinacy.

Virgil had just been afraid for Gordon, afraid to fail when the stakes were so high. He hadn’t meant to leave him. Not like that, not with the gut-twisting wound of betrayal that came with it. Virgil just needed time to process – he always had. His anger was the slow vibration of magma.  It was easier to work through his emotions when he had time to think through them, and he didn’t mind going to bed angry. And if he was still angry in the morning it meant that whatever had transpired, it was worth his frustration.

Gordon, though, pushed and pushed until whatever confrontation was forced to happen in the here and now until his point of view was seen or the matter was resolved.  His anger was fire, a deluge of sparks until you were surrounded. It was never a good combination.

Virgil left before he exploded. Gordon from a year ago would’ve known that.

“Any better?”

“A little,” he nods.

But Gordon is not the kid he was a year ago.

It’s a muscle pain, Gordon admits, a stiffness he knows well. Any damage to his spine – well, that’s a different kind of pain. Even still, they need to check to make sure he didn’t injure himself further, and that it is ok for him to move. He is just going to leave for a second Virgil promises, and he runs to the infirmary for the scanner.

It's programmed to find the status of every nanobot in Gordon’s system and will automatically report back to Brains and the team of doctors on the mainland. The green lights across the image of Gordon’s spine seem promising, and Virgil adds a brief journal entry to send with the timed log: Over-exerted in exercises today, muscle stiffness resulting in spasms and inability to move, but no apparent damage to nanos. Massaged area.  – VT

Just in case, he’d rather have a doctor sign off. He adds:  OK to move?

A message comes back with a ding, indicating it’s from one of Gordon’s doctors in reply.

“So what’s the damage. Am I still one step closer to being a cyborg?”

Virgil is not going to dignify that joke with a response, frowning, but tells him he is okay to move.  They agree on the recliner on the opposite side of the lounge. Virgil helps shift him to his side so that he can be picked up, and he tries to be as gentle as possible with his movements, carefully slipping one arm below Gordon’s knees and the other at his upper back. At the same time, Gordon slings his arm around Virgil’s neck.

They’ve had a lot of practice. Lift from the legs, never the back.

Gordon hisses with the movement and tucks his head into Virgil’s chest.

“What furnace ran you over?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I know. Sorry about the smell. I was welding.”

Gordon grunts in reply as Virgil situates him in the recliner, raising the footrest and lowering the backrest into position. They have a few heating pads around the villa, the closest being in a supply cabinet, but Virgil treks down to Gordon’s room instead for the one that lives there so he can also bring back Gordon’s hoverchair at the same time. Gordon’s not fond of the chair and what it means, but he’ll appreciate the independence it  affords him once he’s feeling better. He’ll be able to come and go as he’s ready.

Gordon nods appreciatively when he sees what Virgil has brought back, and it is with expert hands that Virgil guides the heating pad to Gordon’s lower back. The blond exhales, breathing deeply.

“30 minutes only, Gordo. Set a timer.”  He gives him a thumbs up, but Virgil knows he needs to keep an eye too. Gordon has a habit of just leaving the heat on. “I mean it.”

Water next. Even though the headache behind his eyes has a bit more of Gordon’s name on it now, he is still parched. And Gordon could use some extra fluids too.

He heads to the kitchen and fills up two 32 oz jugs.

“Here you go. Hydrate,” Virgil says when he returns, handing over Gordon’s favorite. He is happy to see Gordon’s small smile at the cartoon llama and motivational phrase: Listen to your llama, drink your water and hold the drama. Virgil has an entire shelf of coffee mugs to express himself. Gordon has water bottles.

It’s such a simple thing, Gordon’s smile. But he’d thought for a long time he’d never see it again.

For a few moments, the dim lounge is quiet save Virgil’s desperate guzzling as the water soothes his dry throat. Finally, some relief.

“You going to slow down there, big guy?”

He shakes his head as he swallows.

This evening was too much.

From the throb of his headache to the prickling in his fingers, Virgil’s body vibrates with the whiplash of the emotions from the past few hours. Exhaustion, anger, fear, anger again, sadness, guilt.

“Do you want to maybe not drown yourself?” Gordon asks. “That’s my job.”

Virgil stops gulping the water with a gasp of air, and the remaining fluid sloshes as the water jug topples out of his trembling hand. Gordon flinches at the loud thump it makes as it hits the hardwood and rolls. Virgil is shell shocked where he stands.  

“Fuck. Not like that,” Gordon corrects quickly. “Shit, sorry. I just meant no one can drown you but me.”

Ah.

“I need to sit.” Virgil falls back to piano bench, dropping his head into hands and rubbing at his eyes.

Too much.  

“A-are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” A pause as Virgil looks up. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

They’ve made a mess of this evening, such terrible things they said to each other in Gordon’s room, and they’re both tired, drained, with maelstroms behind their eyes.

Gordon holds his gaze as Virgil looks away.

Virgil glances over as Gordon looks away.

Beneath fluttering fingertips, Virgil bounces his knee. Gordon closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the heat on his back, on the beat of Virgil’s foot tapping on the floor.

He asks, “Hey Virgil? Can you play something?”

“Yeah,” Virgil breathes. “I can do that.” He had been about to ask Gordon if he minded.

Back poised, Virgil turns away and opens the lid of his baby grand in the moonlight, and he plays, channeling every moment of the night into melodies that speak in ways he knows neither one of them can.

“I’m sorry.��

“Me too.”

Then again, maybe it is that simple.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXII

(Author’s Notes at the end)

Parts I-XXI:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

.XXII.

“Lucie!” Her father’s voice came from the other side of the door as it cracked open inviting in a warm light that chased away the darkness from inside Lucie’s bedroom. Lucie, being only five years old should have been asleep hours ago, but was sitting up in bed with her old stuffed rabbit in her lap, and both hands firmly clamped over her ears.

Will, dressed in his white stocking pajamas, his black hair a mess of tangled curls stepped into the room. “Lucie, I heard voices-- what’s the matter?”

Lucie uncovered her ears and slowly opened her eyes as her father walked into the hazy moonlight that came in through the oval window like a dramatic spotlight. “They won’t stop whispering at me, Papa.”

“Who?” Will looked around her room. “Is someone else in here?”

Lucie nodded.

“Where?” Will demanded.

“They’re not here now,” said Lucie. “You frightened them off, but they wouldn’t stop whispering to me.”

A strange recognition filled Will’s expression. He walked over to Lucie’s side of the bed and climbed in beside her. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “They can be so loud. I think they just want someone to talk to, and I don’t mind, but I want to sleep.”

Will smiled. “As you should be. What do these visitors say?”

Lucie played with the silk ear of her rabbit. “They mostly just say my name. Whisper it over and over again, like they can’t say anything more. Are they ghosts?”

Will nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“How come I can see them?”

“Because you’re a Herondale,” said Will, proudly. “All Herondales can see ghosts.”

Lucie contemplated this for a moment to the best ability of her still developing five year old brain. “So even James and Mam?”

“Only James, not Mam,” explained Will. “Mam was a Grey before she was a Herondale. It’s hard to understand, but you will.” He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Only born Herondales have this particular talent.”

“And devilishly good looks,” parroted Lucie.

Will barked a laugh. “Exactly.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’re nothing to be frightened of. They can’t hurt you. They’re just looking for a friend. Now, you go to sleep and if these ghosts visit you again, you remind them that your bedtime is seven-thirty and if they’d like to visit you it must be before then.”

Lucie nodded and slid down beneath the thick comforter. Will tucked Lucie in all around until she resembled a log underneath a fancy blanket. With his white slippers shuffling along the floor, Will left the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, her room was quiet and she thought her father might have chased the last of the voices away.

When she was almost asleep, she felt a cold breath of air against her cheek.

Lucie.

Lucie.

LUCIE!

The whispering could be heard even as she folded a pillow over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They continued until finally she sat up and yelled into the void, “BE QUIET!”

The voices went out in a whoosh like a candle being snuffed. Nothing could be heard except for the grandfather clock’s ticking on the wall in the hall and the crickets chirping in the warm summer’s air outside. With a curt nod, Lucie closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Good,” said Belial as he stood from the bed. “You received my message.”

Lucie’s eyes flickered to Grace cowering in the corner beside her mother. Tears stained Grace’s face and her chin shook with more to come as she looked apologetically at Lucie.

“What have you done?” Lucie whispered.

“I had no choice,” said Grace. “He was going to kill my Mum and he would never bring Jesse back. I wouldn’t be left alone— not again.”

Blood boiled in Lucie’s cheeks. “You really think he’ll uphold his promise? He’s about as reliable as a trained lion. He’ll get what he wants from you and then tear your face off.”

“What do you know of it?” Snapped Tatiana Blackthorn. “You’ve been handed things your whole life. Blessed. You’ve no idea what it means to lose something you love.” She turned her attention to Belial. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I killed seven innocent souls, I’ve released six demons from captivity using Shadowhunter blood, and I’ve brought you the girl. Now, return my son and we’ll be on our way. You can do what you wish with her.”

Belial blinked lazily.

Lucie hadn’t noticed before since her focus was entirely on the prince of hell lounging on Grace’s chiffon bed. The two women broke apart like curtains and resting behind them, on the bench beneath the window like he’d fallen asleep reading a book, was Jesse’s body.

Lucie gasped and took a marginal step closer to him, but stopped.

Death begets death begets death. You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.

“Grace!” Lucie reached forward.

Belial snapped his fingers and Tatiana’s body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Her neck lolled to the side like a broken stick. Grace screamed and fell back against the wall behind her just as Jesse gasped from the window seat.

Limbs flailed around as if he were trying to save himself from drowning until he fell to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for breath in lungs that haven’t been used in years. Lucie thought she could hear his heart beating until she realized it was her own. He sat up and clutched his chest, his blue, green eyes darted frantically around the room.

Grace fell to the floor beside him. “Jesse, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Jesse wouldn’t look at her. His eyes locked on Lucie. “No, what have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Lucie.

“Then why are you here?” His face turned red in the cheeks. “I told you specifically not to come. Damn it, Lucie, why didn’t you listen.”

Lucie moved back a step. “I did listen. I came here to tell Grace that I no longer wanted to be a part of our agreement. I came here to tell her that I was giving up. I thought I was honoring your wishes. How was I to know that he was waiting here for me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” groaned Jesse. “I thought you’d think I was bluffing to keep you from trying.”

Lucie scoffed. “And look how well your dishonesty worked out.”

Grace cried over their dead mother and clutched at her thick collar in a feeble attempt to wake her up.

“Enough,” said Belial, growing bored of the exchange in front of him. “I have upheld my bargain. It’s time for us to go.”

“No!” Jesse tried to stand. Belial cocked his head and Jesse fell back against Grace.

“Another move and I’ll kill you again, this time with no chance of return.” Belial’s eyes flickered over to Lucie. “I’ve realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I tried to capture the Carstairs girl thinking that she would get you to join me, but she’s far too much trouble. No, there was another pawn hiding right underneath my nose. The Blackthorn boy. It didn’t occur to me until you came to visit Grace and asked for her assistance in bringing him back. She was a good pet and delivered the message to Tatiana who in turn delivered the message to me.”

Lucie glared at Grace with her arms wrapped around Jesse’s shoulders. But how could she blame her? If the tables were reversed and it was James she was trying to revive, she might have done the same. No, she was positive she would have done the same. She’d allowed Jesse to give his last breath to her brother to save his life. In the end, she had been willing to give something up for the life of someone she loved. She could not fault Grace that.

“I’m not going with you,” she said. “The entire clave will be here shortly and you’ll be banished back to whatever level of hell you came from.”

Belial grinned. Despite herself, Lucie found it quite a charming smile. “Wonderful. A family reunion. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to my daughter. I’ve wondered how she fared all these years.”

“She fared nicely without the likes of you,” said Lucie, cursing herself for not bringing a short blade or at least a couple of throwing knives. She’d left in such a rush, she didn’t find a need. Her uncle was notorious for hiding weapons about the manor. Her aunt was always cursing him about it when they were children and Christopher or Anna would somehow wander down the hallway with a curve blade in their chubby little hands.

The hallway, Lucie nearly gasped as she remembered the cross blades hanging in the hallway.

The door behind her remained open. Only a few steps back and she could make a break for it and at least have a chance at defending herself.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Belial, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” He raised on his hands and folded his fingers. The door slammed behind Lucie and she heard the faint sound of the lock. “We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie.” Jesse fought against Grace’s hold. “Do not go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you,” said Lucie. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” grinned Belial and extended his hand towards Lucie.

Every instinct drove her to pull away, to run, but then some stronger instinct took control, and of their own free will her fingers closed round Belial’s. Heat seared down and through her, swift as wildfire chased by wind, and as it moved she felt something strong and heavy wrap around her waist.

Her connection broke with Belial as she was dragged back to the center of the room. She turned her neck and looked up.

“Thomas?”

His face was contorted in rage as he yelled over his shoulder to the hallway, “Now!”

A figure dressed in Shadowhunter gear stepped into the room. Lucie didn’t recognize him at first as his face was hidden behind a curtain of black hair.  A spear flew from his hand towards Belial.

Before she could even blink, it’d somehow stopped inches from Belial’s chest, and shot back at the shadow hunter with blinding speed impaling the person in the chest and pinned them to the wall like a collected insect.

It wasn’t until then that Lucie caught a glimpse of the face against the wall. Mouth open and eyes glossy as he stared down at the stick protruding from his chest was Alastair.

A/N: Hope you all are well! Good news, next update is coming in just a short seven days, Dec 13. You know the drill: hit that like, share, leave me comment, and follow along for more updates. Stay safe and stay healthy!

[arysthaeniru]

Just came over from spiraling downhill. You’re writing is so lovely, I’ve beeen reading and rereading it for the past week or so. Maybe once I can get my thoughts more organized I’ll try and leave you a more detailed comment on what I love in particular over on ao3 but I struggle to put my thoughts to words on a regular basis as it is so uh. Basically, Kiryu’s inner monologue is very very fun to read and all you’re characters are written out in a way that makes them feel layered and lovely. Like a warm and flakey biscuit.

But anyway, if you’re still taking Drabble requests I’d love to see some more nishiki and haruka interactions. I think about the one we see from nishiki’s POV in his interlude a lot and how uh. Terribly it went. What does haruka think of nishiki exactly anyway? She distrusts him but he’s also clearly someone Yumi and Kiryu love. I just think that could be a fun thing to untangle or just take a glance at.

Thank you so much for this lovely ask <3 <3 I’m so sorry I took so long to reply to it,, but I’m so so happy that you enjoy Kiryu’s inner monologue. I always wonder if he’s a little too thoughtful in my fics, but I prefer leaning into Kiryu’s emotionally competent side. 

And there is more of Haruka’s thoughts on Nishiki in the next chapter actually!!! It was supposed to happen last chapter, but Nishiki and Kiryu dominated that one. So instead, I’ll give you a snippet from a yakuza 3/4 AU in this universe that I’ve been idly daydreaming about! I keep thinking about a three-part structure of Nishiki + Haruka + Mine / Kiryu + Majima + Daigo / Yumi + Reina + Akiyama....anyway. I’ll probably never actually write that, but it haunts me anyway. 

“Nishikiyama-san.”

Nishiki looks up from his paperwork with surprise. Kiryu’s kid doesn’t often come to him, even though Nishiki’s on kid-watching duty almost half the week, these days. She usually does homework and watches TV in the main room once she’s back from school. And sure, they exchange pleasantries when Nishiki gets up to get coffee and runs into her in the kitchen. They’ll talk about her classes, what takeout she wants for dinner, whether she needs money for some club-related expense. But it’s all casual stuff, polite things.

Nishiki knows that Haruka doesn’t trust him. Just as her relationship with Yumi’s been slightly wary since the events atop Millennium Tower, her relationship with Nishiki’s been strained ever since she’d first met him. He doesn’t begrudge her that, though. It’s a healthy thing for a kid to have grudges about life-threatening things. He’d held grudges against people for simply wearing similar clothes to him, back in the day. Kiryu’s ultimate peace is more unnerving than this quiet, normal resentment.

Still, they’d fallen into something of a habit of not really talking to each other when Kiryu wasn’t around, so her approaching him in his office with such a strangely determined look is unusual.

“Need something, kiddo?” Nishiki asks, putting away the paperwork.

“...yeah.” she says, after a long pause. There’s almost something shamefaced on her expression, and Nishiki’s curious. Kiryu’s never once really gotten angry with the kid, not in his earshot. He’s always open with her too, talking about his feelings and his reasons for his parenting decisions. Why isn’t she going to him with whatever this is?

“Well, I’m all ears.” Nishiki says, with a nod, gesturing for her to pull up the stool in the corner, so she can sit by his desk. She does so, and meets his gaze, brows furrowed, and lip tightly pressed together.

“I need your advice. There’s—well. There’s a group of kids at school who’re really mean to everybody from Sunflower. And me too, because you know. We don’t have normal families or nice new clothes or anything—and that’s fine! I don’t need that sort of stuff.” Haruka says, stumbling over her words, “But. It’s not fair for everybody to have to endure that sort of hardship. I want to...make them stop.”

Nishiki blinks. Bullying? Why wouldn’t she tell Kiryu?

If Kiryu knew that Haruka was being bullied, he’d puff up with outrage and rage towards the cool on a rampage path for justice by meeting every teacher until he extorted a promise from each of them to protect orphans—which would, of course, ironically guarantee that nothing would change, and that things might actually get worse. Right. Nishiki knows how school administrators think, and an ex-yakuza coming into the school and demanding what looks like “special treatment” won’t do anything but escalate the situation. There was a reason that Kazama had never stepped in with their school situation as children, and for all that the old man had been a shitty father, he’d understood those optical politics well.

Haruka’s come to Nishiki not because she trusts him more than Kiryu, but because she knows Kiryu’s approach isn’t useful. She wants Nishiki’s help.

“That’s difficult.” Nishiki agrees, pressing a hand to his face, briefly, “It’s hard to get bullies to stop. You’ve told the teachers, I presume?”

Haruka nods. “But they won’t do anything! Kanae-chan’s dad’s on the school board. And Erina-chan’s one of the top students. Her group can’t do anything wrong!”

“So, you want something else?” Nishiki asks, and at Haruka’s miserable, fervent nod, Nishiki feels his own righteous fury rise in his chest. Even if he’d briefly entertained the thought of simply telling her to toughen up, he can’t now. “Some things never change. We always used to get bullied at school too. And the one thing I know about bullies is that they don’t stop unless they’re scared to act up. But you can’t just punch them into submission, it doesn’t work like that.”

He remembers all too vividly the pitched battle he and Kiryu had upheld against their bullies in high school. The endless fights, the stealing and hiding of possessions, the name-calling, the taunting, the vandalism of the orphanage—it had never mattered what cruelties rich children with nice, neat families said or did, though. The image of chinpira punks like Nishiki and Kiryu in their second-hand clothes, bruises all over their cheeks, always won out. Nobody had ever believed their claims of protecting themselves, nobody had believed their claims of self-defence. All fighting back had done was paint themselves in the image of evil.  

“...so, what do I do then?” asks Haruka, and even though Nishiki knows that Kiryu’s not her real Father, the stubborn set of her jaw looks <i>so</i> much like him. He shouldn’t do this. These sorts of tactics aren’t the sorts of things to be used against children, in Kiryu’s clear-cut world. But Nishiki knows how cruel children can be, how deep those wounds in your heart can slice.

Haruka is Yumi and Kiryu’s charm, their bright hopes for the future. He can’t let her get hurt like they all had been. He doesn’t want her to be hurt like they had been.

“You ever heard of the ghost of Rukia-san?” asks Nishiki, casually. When Haruka shakes her head, he explains. “Rukia was a bullied student, small, helpless, weak, and everybody laughed at her and called her names and pushed her around. One day, they took things a bit too far. When they shoved her head in the toilet, they drowned her...the bullies managed to pretend it was an accident, but Rukia-san’s ghost knew better. Filled with righteous rage, she wreaked havoc upon the bullies, one by one, until they came clean and thoroughly repented for their crimes. Not satisfied with this, her ghost haunts the hallways of other schools now, looking to torment other vicious bullies...”

Haruka’s eyes narrow. “Is that a real thing?”

“No.” Nishiki says, with an immediate scoff. “But you want the bullies to believe it’s real. If you fight back yourselves, they can tell the teachers. But if what looks like supernatural events occur, with no way to pin it on you or any of the Sunflower Kids, what the fuck are they going to say? They can’t tell on anybody.”

The kid looks interested now, any hint of wariness has vanished from her frame as she leans closer, clearly intrigued. “So....how would I pull that off?”

“First, you’d want to get them nice and paranoid. Is there somewhere that’s both private and public? Your bullies hang out in the bathroom much? You’ve got to tell some of the other kids this ghost story, and then do a summoning ritual, very publicly. To make it look like it worked...I dunno. We can get you something with static electricity, so everybody’s hair stands on end, like she’s in the room. Or you can get a classmate to pour water everywhere. Or you have some fake blood somewhere. Point is—you get the bullies a bit paranoid. They might roll their eyes, call it fake, but a part of them will be thinking about it, no doubt.”  

Nishiki lays it out, carefully, like he is planning a coup. Haruka’s eyes are wide, completely rapturous. “Yeah, they hang out in the bathroom sometimes.” Haruka agrees.

“Then, once you’ve set that up, it’s time to let the chaos ramp up. Stick insects or frogs in their seats, leave them threatening letters, have strange voices and rattling around where they are—pull as many pranks as possible.” Nishiki explains, “But this is the key: you have to pull this off as a group, and you have to have group alibis. The bullies might try to accuse you, but if a different person does every prank, and all you orphanage kids hang out together, it’ll be hard for them to figure who’s doing it. You need a completely united front from all your friends.”

Most of the teachers had always treated most of the kids at Sunflower like a faceless, voiceless horde. If that characterization persists, Haruka using that stereotype to her own advantage will be critical.

Haruka’s brows furrow, thoughtfully. “Not all of them will like this...I don’t know if Sakuno or Shika would be up for it.”

Nishiki looks at Haruka, and shrugs. “That’s difficult. But ultimately, you have to ask your friends whether their own sense of morality is going to prevent them from protecting the younger children. This isn’t kind or righteous or something that will feel good. But the bullies will leave you alone. A fear of consequences is one of the only reasons that bullies stop. And since the school will never impose consequences on rich students, supernatural consequences might be the only way.”

Haruka looks down, and her hands clasp together. “I want to protect everybody.” she says, finally, her voice solidifying with conviction. “Nishikiyama-san. Please help me.”

Nishiki can’t help be grin, as he leans forward to ruffle her hair. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

And her answering, hesitant smile is like being blessed with sunshine after years of rain. Nishiki had never thought much about children, even after Kiryu’s insistence that they look after Haruka, but he thinks he gets it a bit now. Haruka’s smile is a mirror image of Yuko’s and his heart aches, and he cannot help but feel wistfully happy anyway.

He failed Yuko. He can’t fail this girl.  

[....]

Uncle Nishikiyama finally enters the small antechamber where he’d deposited Haruka and her DS two hours ago, deep circles under his eyes. He and Uncle Kaz always look so tired these days, busy with things they don’t often tell her about. Still, there’s a slightly kind look to his eyes as he removes his cufflinks and rolls up his sleeves.

“Hey kiddo,” he says, with a yawn, “Want to get some ice-cream?”

“Mmmm.” Haruka agrees, easily, “Can we get one of those big strawberry parfaits? We can split it!”

Uncle Nishikiyama agrees and tilts his head towards the door. Haruka presses the save button, snaps the DS shut, and follows after him. She holds her hand up automatically, before remembering that Uncle Nishikiyama doesn’t really ever hold her hand or touch her. To her surprise, though, he takes her hand. Maybe he’s even more tired than he looks, because there’s an almost surprised expression to his face when her fingers close around his warm hands.

Haruka, who has become something of a master at saying something sweet when things get awkward, smile widely. “Did the meeting go okay?”

Uncle Nishikiyama nods, absently, turning his gaze back towards the evening streets of Kamurocho. “Yeah, just some urgent problems with supply. Had to move some things around and yell at some people. Easily enough solved.”

“Mmm, sounds boring.” Haruka says, wrinkling up her nose, and she delights in the fact that it wrenches a laugh from him.

“You don’t know the half of it.” he says, darkly, “How was your game? Did you do well?”

Haruka shrugs. Even though Uncle Nishikiyama has a gigantic plushie of Bulbasaur in his bedroom, he doesn’t really seem to know anything about Pokémon. She wonders if maybe he’d had a kid who’d liked Pokémon, but the fact that Uncle Nishikiyama doesn’t talk about other children and seems to get tense when Haruka tries to play with the Bulbasaur makes Haruka think that she probably shouldn’t pry any further. Something tragic’s there.

Haruka’s come to realize everybody has something tragic, something in their past that makes them hurt and feel pain, and the kindest thing you can do for people is to simply be there for them when it hurts, and not dig too deep.

“It’s okay,” she answers noncommittally, instead, “I beat Whitney, but I have to wait until tomorrow for the bug-catching contest in this region.”

Uncle Nishikiyama just nods, not especially interested, but not especially bored either. “When you’re close to finishing this game, let me now, and I’ll get you another one, okay?” he asks, pulling them in to the fancy French café just by the Millennium Tower.

“Thanks!” she says, with a wide grin, as they sit down and look at the menu to order.

She doesn’t know what to make of Uncle Nishikiyama, really. He’s a strange man, to whom violence comes far too easily, but he’s quiet these days, in a contemplative way that reminds her more of Uncle Kaz. He likes meat and fancy food and expensive clothes, but he’ll also join her in watching idol shows and reality dramas on TV, if he’s not got paperwork to do. He has a quick temper and gets mad easily, but is also pacified easily, and when he’s in a good mood, he’ll give everybody lavish presents. And he’d helped her too. There’s a clever shrewdness and unyielding determination whenever he helps Haruka and the Sunflower kids plot about how to get the bullies to leave them alone. She appreciates that kindness, that ruthlessness, even as it occasionally scares her.

And, the fact of the matter is, he’s at home way more than Uncle Kaz is, these days. Which is an automatic plus in Haruka’s book.

“You look a hundred miles away.” Uncle Nishikiyama says, with an amused smile. “What’s wrong?”

Haruka shakes her head and buries her worries and annoyance and irritation with Uncle Kaz and her Mum and everybody who she loves but never seems to have enough time with her. She’s sensible enough to understand that you treasure the people that are here with you. No use crying over spilt milk—even if she really wants to. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about how much I want to do karaoke.”

Nishikiyama gives her a look. “Isn’t it a schoolnight?”

Haruka returns the look firmly. She wouldn’t have had the courage to do this two months ago, when she’d first tried to properly ask Uncle Nishikiyama for help, but now, she knows him better. He’s a familiar evil. Easily bargained with, if you know the right leverage. “You’re the one who took me to Kamurocho on a schoolnight. Besides, I did all my homework already, while I was waiting for you to finish your boring meeting.”

Nishikiyama’s lips quirk up at the sides and he props up his chin in his hands with a sparkle in his eyes. “What’s in it for me if I take you to karaoke?”  

“You get to sing too!” Haruka says, and then quickly realizing that’s not enough, she smiles angelically, “And you’ll get the best, most enthusiastic backup cheering that you’ll ever hear!”

Nishikiyama nods, firmly. “That’s more like it.” he says, and grins, broad and amused. “Attagirl. You’ll be ready for anything in no time.”

There’s such a fierce fondness to that absent-minded compliment and Haruka can’t help but beam at him. She’ll love whoever will have her, and as long as Uncle Nishikiyama will spend time with her, she’ll take him. Evil or not.

[ofcecilia]

⌠ DAISY EDGAR-JONES, 20, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, CECILIA CASIRAGHI! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in SEDUCTION & FLIRTATION + LINGUISTICS, CULTURE & ASSIMILATION; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (pink satin sheets, the warm glow of a sunrise, the first pour of a bottle of red wine, unflinching doe eyes). when it’s the (capricorn)’s birthday on 1/13/01, they always request CANNOLIS from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ deanna, 25, she/her, est ⍀

NAME: Cecilia Anastasia Casiraghi

KNOWN AS: Cecilia, Celia, Cissy

BIRTHDATE:  January 13, 2001

ASTROLOGY:  Capricorn sun / Virgo moon / Pisces rising

HOMETOWN: Tuscania, Italy

RESIDENCE:  London, England

GENDER:  Cis female  ( she/her )

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Bisexual

HEIGHT:  5'7"

HAIR COLOR:  Dark Brown

EYE COLOR:  Dark Brown

TATTOOS:  None

KNOWN LANGUAGES:  English, Italian, Russian, French, Spanish

IMMEDIATE FAMILY: 

Allegra Casiraghi: Mother, currently in jail

Federico Casiraghi:  Father, currently in jail

Salvatore Casiraghi: Eldest brother

Niccolo Casiraghi: Second eldest brother

Anya Casiraghi: Elder sister

ABOUT:

Born Cecilia Anastasia Casiraghi, the baby of the Casiraghi family. You know them and you hate them, real asshat parents who value money and prestige over actually being nice to their kids. It's hard not to grow up despising your parents in that setting, though Cecilia would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the being rich part of it all.  Still, it wasn't worth the pressure and scrutiny she received from her parents.

She grew up in a giant castle in Italy where she liked to pretend she was a princess trapped in the highest tower waiting to be rescued. Cecilia watched her older siblings seem so put together and polished, exactly what their parents wanted them to be, and couldn't help but feel isolated from the rest of her family  ( though her older brother Nico was her fave ) .   The older she got, the longer she waited for things to snap into place, only to be met with disappointment.

She got more rebellious as she got older, which didn't bode well in the Casiraghi household. Her father tried to break her spirit, which in turn only made her angier, causing her to run away when she was sixteen.  She didn't leave so much of a note to her family, but she knew if they wanted to find her, they'd have the resources to do so.  They didn't.

She struggled once moving to London, because a rich girl isn't exactly great at not being rich, but she had been saving up stolen money from her parents for a few months before leaving, so she had enough to find herself a place to live while she worked odd jobs here and there. She wanted to focus on art, her passion, the one thing her family had always told her she was good at  ( though they also said it wasn't practical ) . But, surprise surprise, art is NOT practical, and nobody wanted to buy paintings from an actual nobody.   

The story goes that she struggled for about a year before making connections with a local art gallery to hold a week-long exhibit of her work. There she made a few sales on her art, though the most noteworthy one had been selling a self-portrait to a wealthy older man who took a liking to Cecilia and decided to fund her art career, and her lifestyle. From then on she lived the glamorous city life she had been destined for, only realizing recently that art and partying can only get her so far. She had begun to miss the world she had been born into, even if she didn't miss the family that came with it.  So Celia reached out to a few old contacts, and was able to secure herself a spot at Gallagher Academy in the fall. Despite the drama of her parents being arrested for tax evasion and fraud, she found that the name Casiraghi still holds some weight in the spy world. 

WARNING: TOP SECRET INFORMATION

The reality of the situation is that even with the money Celia had stolen from her parents, her life was nowhere close to the one she used to live, and being poor kind of got old. Plus she still had this BURNING anger towards her parents, partly for letting her leave so easily. 

She had been living on her own for almost a year, and what little money she had left was slowly depleting. She had been one level above rock bottom when a faculty member of Caledonia Institute found her. Though she had no interest in returning to the spy world, they had fed into her ego that her being a part of their team was IMPERATIVE, and in return they would give her back the life she once had, while making her parents suffer.  How could she say no to that?

At only seventeen she was one of the youngest to enroll in Caledonia, and she became a professional spy in the process.  She'd have to sit through two years of training and schooling before getting an active mission, but training at Caledonia -- while strict -- was unlike the harsh treatments she was used to from training with her family. With a new outlook on the spy world, Cecilia began to enjoy it once more, and it helped that she was good at it. 

Mr. Stewart of Caledonia had promised her that her parents would pay for their sins, and in the spring he had upheld his end of the bargain.  Her parents were caught and tried for tax evasion and fraud, and she heard through the grapevine that they'll be going to jail for a long time. Though she wasn't sure what this means for her siblings, Celia was just glad karma finally bit them in the ass.

Conveniently after they're arrested, Mr. Stewart gave Cecilia an assignment for the fall :   everyone knows about Cole Conner's Gallagher Academy assignment from last fall, and how he's garnered less-than-stellar results. So she’s been enrolled as an incoming first year, returning to the spy world with a story weaved of her glamorous life in London, ready to pay off her debts to Caledonia without hesitation.  

PERSONALITY:

Celia is a total chameleon, able to morph her image and personality when needed in social situations.  It's how she makes herself easily likable and gets people to let her in easily, though her doe eyes certainly don't hurt.  She makes it easy for people to get wrapped up in her storytelling and the lies she spins for the sake of getting on other's good sides. Not only is she good at it, but she gets off on the thrill of it, because it's fun pretending to be someone you're not !   Whatever you want her to be, she can be it.

Underneath the surface, Cecilia is truly a spoiled brat who likes getting her way and winning, and once in a while parts of that haughtiness will break through the cracks of her facade. Caledonia had worked hard to take the rebel out of the girl, but parts of it still appear on occasion, though never against her agency. 

Above everything, she's trying not to make waves while in Gallagher, to go by undetected, so the easiest way to describe her would be Nice.  ( This might change while I play her so we’ll see welp. )

TL;DR:  She's Nico's younger sister !  But ran away from her family when she was sixteen because she hates them, and at her lowest point Caledonia Institute swooped in and saved her   ( and also got her parents arrested and made them lose their money whomp whomp )  and now she's a double agent working for them. She’s looking to make friends with everyone who’s anyone at Gallagher. Two-faced bitch but ya gotta love her ?  Or don't, you probably shouldn't.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

She’s going to be meticulously crafting her own inner circle of friends for her own enjoyment at Gallagher, a mix of people from influential families and those who are deemed “popular” or worth having around, please send headshots and a resume if ur interested xoxo

Family friends of the Casiraghi family, who she hasn’t seen in at least three years. 

Other students who trained with her siblings in the super super exclusive training program her parents ran. 

Those she's crossed paths with living in London for a year: friends, flings, fellow artists, coworkers at her crappy jobs, etc.

Fellow first years she can glom onto for automatic friendships right off the bat, regardless of who they are

Legacy family students she can cozy up to for the sake of her job

Someone who is reluctant to trust her, despite her attempts to befriend them/get on their good side

Someone with a crush on her that can sorta see how malleable her personality and is like? But show me the real you?

A no-strings relationship that’s purely physical 

Someone she’s stringing along for the sake of getting close and getting information out of them

An upperclassman mentor figure to show her the ropes of Gallagher and help her acclimate 

A ride or die that she feels a kinship with, where they click enough that she can be more like herself   ( aka a little bitchy )

Someone with a really optimistic/romantic outlook on life that truly tests Cecilia’s efforts to match their enthusiasm 

Fellow artists she can spend her free time painting in the gardens with and help her get back into it

Fellow LCA + S&F majors who she’ll either have in her classes or that can give her some class pointers or offer their old notes to her

Someone she got drunk with and maybe let something slip that she shouldn’t have and now it’s awk

Someone weak-willed that she can easily take advantage of/manipulate into doing things for her

Fellow smokers even though I don’t condone the habit!

I have some things on her pinterest page here for inspo, also this tag

Lit rally anything please hmu !

[agentangeles]

Let’s talk about TYAC.

Usually, this blog updates infrequently, and it’s whatever project I’ve got in-progress. The prompt challenge is on temporary hiatus right now, but each individual prompt has been its own contained fic.

I want to take this time to... I dunno, explain this fic? I owe this to nobody, but I still feel that it’s important, because throughout the past year and change, TYAC has been something of a constant for me. 

TL;DR for under the read more: no, TYAC isn’t taking over priority for Hallmark Cliches, nor will it be taking priority any time soon.

If you follow my main blog, @implodingcacti​, then you might be familiar with this acronym. I’ve tagged posts on my main blog with #still dont have a tyac tag for a while now- yes, I know the tag is goofy, but I never bothered to change it, and it became a running gag. There’s a bit of assorted chatter from last year when progress was really kicking off, and then life hit me during NaNoWriMo and I put it on hiatus.

This fic is, quite literally, the culmination of me deciding that Klavier deserves better than how he’s treated. Capcom has shoved him into the role of a petty cameo, and that’s a damn shame.  This fic is me giving him the care and consideration that he honestly deserves. Klavier has so much potential in-canon, and yet he’s let down by a lack of bonds. We know he has a brother, we know that Daryan is his friend, and that’s... it. We know nothing about extended family, or what his time was like at Themis, or the other 3 Gavinners and their individual dynamics. Hell, we don’t even know what happened to Vongole, Kristoph’s dog. Where is she, Capcom? Where did you put our baby?

I’m not gonna pretend that this isn’t an ambitious project. I’m not going to pretend that this fic is going to shatter people’s worlds, too- don’t get me wrong, I’d love to, but I don’t want to disappoint myself. Honestly, I’m not expecting much of anything beyond making him feel as fleshed out as he deserved. I latched onto him after Serenade, getting to see all of those miniature glimpses into his band and recognizing similarities between my own performing experiences, and damn it if I’m not soft on the man. That case really was what sold me on loving him, after all.

That being said- TYAC is still completely unfinished. At the time of writing, my in-doc wordcount is sitting a bit over 100k (103,047 to be exact, in case anyone is curious). This includes scene notes for things I haven’t written, script for in-game cases (because fuck it, I decided I wanted to have the cases in the damn fic), and the fic itself. TYAC is not finished, nor is it close to being done. 

If ever I am running a fic that isn’t TYAC, that fic is taking priority. Eventually, I’d love to have TYAC be finished, and I’d love to share it with people. I’m also very aware of my own abilities, and even if I dedicated all of my time to working on it, I’d get quickly burnt out.

I’ve had a lot of estimates about where the fic’ll end up wordcount-wise. Each one has been wrong. I’m setting a rough estimate around 200k, and hoping maybe I land under that. I have no idea if I will. 

Another thing I wanted to mention is that I’ve talked about the fic being in sections. Section 1 is its own chapter, and is the shortest so far out of everything. I’m gonna go over the sections upcoming, their names in the doc, and kind of give y’all a rough estimate of what to expect.

Section 2: SEVEN YEAR OVERVIEW; NOW WITH TOURING DRAMA

Takes place where 1 left off, here’s our Gramarye trial and the 7 year gap. Did you like the other Gavinners? There’s a lot of them here. It’s the “developing the Gavinners” section. 

Section 3: IN PRESENT TIMES. DISBANDING.

Spans the in-between space of Turnabout Trump and Turnabout Corner to right before the events of DD. We have 3 cases here- Corner, Serenade, and Succession. If you haven’t played AJ, you can essentially read a good chunk of it. The characterization leaks out a bit as well. I know I’m developing Klavier, but there’s someone else who I think would be fun to include...

Section 4: RECONNECTIONS. GOODBYES. A SOLO CAREER THAT KEEPS PAUSING. REPEAT AS NEEDED.

Two games in one- we’re spanning DD through SOJ with this one! One case in detail, though- it’s Turnabout Academy, but this time with less bleh. There’s mentions of other cases, and a bit of overlap, so it isn’t like you’re completely missing out, but there’s a bit more going on with Klavier. Lots of emotional shit. Boy’s gotta react to shit, after all. Capcom, you cannot hide your grieving and comforting from me. Miss me with that shit.

Section 5: TWO YEAR OVERVIEW, NOW WITH TOURING DRAMA, ROUND TWO; ELECTRIC BOOGALOO. (30% more pining edition)

Post-SOJ, baby! Two years of a free and open playground where I am free from the confines of canon and will handle the boy how I see fit. There’s emotional healing in this chapter. Funky friendships. My official promise to the “Do They Know Yet” blog being once-again upheld. I’m tying up loose ends in as many neat bows as I can.

That’s as much as I can touch on without it being spoilers. At any point, please feel free to ask questions about this fic. I am constantly vibrating about this project.  Thanks for sticking with me through it all. Hopefully I’ll have new stuff out on it soon!

-Angeles (they/he)

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (III)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: These chapters keep getting longer. I hope you don’t mind ;)

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter III - One Point Perspective

“Good morning, Nicholas,” she greeted, joining him at the breakfast table. “Have the others already eaten?” Nick’s jaw momentarily stopped chewing his food as he glanced down at his watch with a surprised expression, before he swallowed. “Uhm, I didn’t expect you to be up this early, miss. I’m pretty sure Matt is still in bed. Jamie’s in the kitchen, though. I could ask him to cook you up something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll go ask him myself. I wasn’t sure what time breakfast would be served, and I wanted to take an early walk through the garden,” she explained. Nick quickly shook his head and before she could protest, he’d already barged into the kitchens.

After having a nice and simple meal with eggs on toast with Jamie consistently reminding her that he could make her a dish more elaborate if she desired and her cutting him off and telling him it was delicious, she wrapped herself in her coat and finally headed outside.

The fresh morning air hit her face and instantly woke her up as she breathed in the smell of freshly cut grass, pine trees and that distinct whiff of autumn. Her feet carried her across the gravel pathways which lead her around symmetrically cut hedges and marble statues overgrown with moss. It was a peaceful environment, the only sounds being produced by the running fountain, wafting wind and chirping birds around her.

She eventually found herself in front of the stables and her keen eyes sleekly moved across the field to see if she was being watched. No one ever really gave her a reason to believe she wasn’t allowed in the stables, but the mysterious impression the hotel and staff were giving her made her doubt everything she was doing. When she felt the coast was clear, she slowly opened the creaky wooden door and stepped through.

She hadn’t noticed a curtain shift on the second floor of the Grand Tranquility Hotel.

There were about five boxes, but only one held a horse. It was the one she had spotted through the window yesterday; the rowdy one Matt was trying to calm. It had a dark brown coat and a white triangle-like shape on its head. She slowly approached it, and when her hand reached out to touch it, it only huffed in response. She smiled and ran her fingers along its neck. “You’re a real beauty, aren’t you?” she muttered.

“That’s Mardy,” a voice behind her said. She jumped and the horse made a noise of protest. She turned to meet Matt’s calculating gaze and put a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “Christ, Matthew. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It’s just that Mardy usually has a bit of a temper and doesn’t do well around new people. But it appears that she likes you,” he told her. She raised her brows, “and what if she didn’t like me? What would you have done?” Matt blinked, clearly not having thought through that his guest could’ve gotten hurt purely because he was curious. She let out a chuckle. “It’s fine. I’m afraid I was being sneaky, too. I wasn’t really sure if I was allowed in the stables.”

“Why wouldn’t you be allowed in the stables, ma’am?” he asked her with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t know…”she replied, thinking it over, “It’s just the vibe the hotel is giving me, I suppose. I can’t really explain it. I must seem like an idiot, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all, miss. I know exactly what you mean.”

Matt took her on a more extended tour around the gardens and told her of the origins of Mardy’s name. One of his co-worker’s old girlfriends – he wouldn’t say who – went by the name Mardy and he explained that they always used to call her Mardy Bum because she had such a bad temper. “Perhaps the horse is payback for that nickname,” she laughed. “Probably,” he grinned, “Now that you mention it, she kind of did remind me of a horse.”

“I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about how the hotel started?” she hesitantly wondered. Matt seemed to remain calm, so she felt a heap of weight fall off of her. “It was really all Alex’ plan. He’d been friends with Miles since high school and they’d always talked about opening a hotel together. When Miles became mayor, he’d upheld his promise and made sure Alex had the funds to make their dream come true.”

“So that’s why the mayor visits so often,” she concluded. Matt nodded, “They’re still great friends to this day. I met Alex in college, and we quickly became mates. When he told me that he’d hire me as staff in his hotel that he was convinced he was going to open, I’d laughed with him and jokingly told him I’d want nothing more. I didn’t think he could actually make it happen, and yet here we are.”

“You must’ve felt very proud of him.” “I did. I still do,” he smiled, “We’ve been through a lot together. Don’t tell him I said that, though. He might be my mate, but I wouldn’t want to add to his already massive ego. He’s still an idiot.”

They arrived back at the hotel just in time for lunch, and this time Jamie and Nick were both already waiting at a table for them, casually holding conversation. “I didn’t know what you’d like,” Jamie explained, “but I wasn’t going to let you have me make you a grilled cheese sandwich or whatever other basic lunch item you most likely would’ve picked.” He waved towards the trays of sliced fruits, triangularly cut sandwiches, pastries and a big steaming pot of some sort of vegetable soup. “I really appreciate it, Jamie, but it’s a tad excessive. I’m only your guest and I don’t need any special treatment from you,” she tried to communicate, but Jamie was having none of it. “Nonsense. You’re our favourite guest. Just don’t tell mister Turner I said that. Or the mayor.”

“Tell me what?”

She nearly choked on her tea and gently set the cup back down before she would drop the expensive china. She turned to meet the now familiar brown gaze as Nick quickly filled the hotel owner in; “We were just talking about how much we enjoy the missus’ company, mister Turner. She’s been very kind to us.”

Alex’ calculating gaze landed on her, and he hummed. “I suppose she has been very kind. You don’t mind my staff joining you during your meals, do you, miss?” “Not at all,” she replied, “In fact, it was my suggestion they join me.” His eyebrows sleekly quirked up. “Is that so? Then you wouldn’t mind me pulling up a chair?” She was at a loss for words for a moment, not having expected this sort of behaviour, so she simply just shook her head. The others seemed a bit uneasy as well. It was clear to her that he never did this sort of thing with any of his guests, and perhaps neither with his staff.

While Jamie ladled the soup in each person’s bowl, Alex leaned his elbows on the table, his fingers adorned with golden rings intertwining as his eyes locked with hers. She didn’t look away, but she sure as hell didn’t feel as bold as Matt had been when he’d talked back against the hotel owner just yesterday.

“I was wondering what the purpose of your stay was, miss? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” he said, a glint forming in his eyes. His voice was as smooth as velvet and though there was an underlying tone that made her uncomfortable, it also provoked a different feeling deep in her stomach. Something she wouldn’t necessarily describe as a bad feeling. She just hadn’t experienced anything like it in years.

“Well, as I told you before, I’m curious about your hotel. A writer’s instinct, I suppose.”

“But that couldn’t have been the only reason to visit this particular hotel. Lots of hotels have interesting stories,” he continued to prod. She hesitated. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “My mother used to visit this hotel on her birthday each year. She always talked about it in such high regards, I had to see what the fuss was about. She passed away a few months ago, you see. Her birthday would have been tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly, and it was with a sincerity she hadn’t expected. “I’m glad we made her feel comfortable.”

Matt cleared his throat, “Maybe we could hold something in celebration tomorrow, boss. I’m sure her mother would have liked that.”

“What do you suggest?” Alex asked. “Just a small gathering. We could kill two birds with one stone and celebrate that other thing we talked about as well,” Matt replied vaguely. Alex hummed, “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know at dinner.”

Jamie’s eyebrows nearly shot through the roof. “You- You’ll be joining us for dinner, sir?!” “Of course, I am,” Turner answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to suddenly join his staff during meals when he hadn’t done so in a very long time, “I’d like to get to know our guest a bit better.” It was in the sultry way he’d said it that made her doubt his intentions. She had a feeling dinner was going to be a real ordeal.

While they finished their soup and ate the various delights spread across the table, they held conversation, but this time it felt more strained and superficial and she had a good feeling it was because of mister Turner. He didn’t say much else throughout lunch and when they had finished, he politely bade them farewell and took off to do god knows what. Her eyes followed him as he buttoned his jacked and clenched his jaw until his tense shoulders disappeared around the corner of the hallway. His feet carried him in such a way she was almost entranced by watching him come and go. He was a fascinating figure, to say the least.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about tonight, miss,” Nick snapped her out of her trance, “Mister Turner might be a bit held back, but he’s a man of honour. He’d want nothing more than to commemorate one of his guests.” “Then why does he have to think it over?” she wondered. Matt sighed, “he probably just needs to map out how things will be arranged for tomorrow. Just let it sink in. It’s how he usually deals with these things. He’ll lose his train of thought otherwise.”

She’d spent the rest of the afternoon roaming around the grand hotel, taking in the scenery and paintings when she stumbled upon the library. It was an open room, not nearly as big as the dining hall but still very spacious. Bookshelves built up to the ceiling that were filled to the brim, illuminated by the last rays of sunlight streaming through the large windows. Rugs with various designs were strewn across the floor and the velvety curtains along with the matching red loveseats gave a warm and inviting impression. Before she knew it, she’d gotten lost in one of her favourite books that she’d accidentally stumbled upon and Matt was already asking her if she was ready to have dinner.

“Is you escorting me to various rooms becoming a thing now?” she asked with a smirk. Matt chuckled, “Only if you’d want it to be, ma’am. I for one, wouldn’t mind.” She playfully smacked his arm and a blush dusted his cheeks.

Nick appeared to have been alone and anxiously waiting for their arrival when they entered the hall. He informed them that Jamie was still in a craze about getting everything perfect for when she and mister Turner arrived, and she couldn’t help but pity the man. It was his job, of course, but she’d always been the person who didn’t want other people to fuss over her. She was about to get up to go and ask Jamie if he needed any help when the hotel owner himself casually strode in and took his seat across from her.

When he finally acknowledged Matt’s intensely questioning gaze, he sighed. “I’ve mulled it over and I’ve decided that your mother should be commemorated at the gathering tomorrow.” “What made you reach your final decision, if I may ask?” she questioned curiously. Before he could answer, Matt cleared his throat. Alex shot a look at him, silently conversing something, before answering, “I’d looked over some of the files in our archive. Matthew and Nick had both already voiced the fact they found you to have a familiar face. Only when we found your mother’s old details did they remember who she was, and they only had good things to say about her.”

“Your mother actually helped me get the job,” Nick informed her. “Really?” she smiled. “She did. I was young and didn’t have much experience. I applied for the job as a secretary at the place she worked, but they didn’t really need any more staff. So, she helped me get a job here. Wrote a letter to mister Turner herself, she did.” “I still have that letter,” Alex murmured quietly. He looked so fond when he’d said it, she could see he’d never had any regrets about hiring Nick. His stoic façade snapped back in place when Jamie barged through the kitchen doors.

“Good evening,” he said, slightly out of breath and sweating, “My name is Jamie and I will be your chef during your stay here. May I take your order?”

“You don’t have to introduce yourself, Jamie,” Matt whispered to him, but Jamie quickly shushed him. An awkward pause followed; Alex silently observing the chef with a raised eyebrow until Jamie had realized his mistake. He came back with a set of menus.

Dinner went surprisingly well. Apart from their chef’s worried glances to his boss, his boss’ calculating gaze and Nick accidentally throwing wine over himself, there was no further incident. She’d even had a bit of wine herself, and she was feeling a tad woozy because of it.

“I think I’m going to take a stroll trough the hallways and then retire for the night. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen,” she said as she got up from her chair. Alex stood as well, and the others automatically followed, but more out of obligation. The hotel owner eyed them in irritation, before asking her, “Mind if I join you?” She paused for a moment. “Not at all.”

She didn’t know if he’d expected to gain some sort of information by accompanying her, but he certainly wasn’t making an effort by remaining silent for the first few minutes. Eventually he seemed to cave when she’d stopped to inspect a painting. It was a picture of a great ship in a lightning storm. “You appreciate art?” She raised a brow at him, “Does that surprise you?” She’d sworn she’d seen a flicker of amusement cross his features before that wall went up again. “I didn’t mean to offend you, madam. It’s just that usually the people who visit this hotel are the people who buy paintings just to own them, not to admire them.” “Well, I’m not the usual people, am I?”

“You are most certainly not,” he quietly muttered.

He continued to bewilder her by showing her the hidden gems of the hotel, the paintings and statues hidden in the crooks and corners. Something in particular stood out; a group photo taken in front of the hotel. A bunch of people were waiving their arm at her, with Alex proudly standing in the front, shaking hands with who she presumed to be Miles Kane. He looked so young, a messy mop of hair on his head and a bright smile adorning his face. Quite the contrast to the serene man standing next to her today. On his other side were Matt and Jamie with their arms wrapped around what seemed to be another staff member. She wondered if he’d lost his job, too.

“That was when the hotel first opened,” he explained. “These were the first visitors. I believe your mother is in the top right corner there.” Taking a closer look, she indeed spotted her mum. It made her heart ache to see her so happy and healthy. She’d almost forgotten what she’d looked like before getting sick. She turned to meet the hotel owner’s gaze. “Thank you for showing me this.” And she meant it. He only hummed in response.

She took a moment’s hesitation before asking, “What happened to the hotel?”

When his gaze hardened almost instantly, she knew she’d made a mistake. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” “I don’t mean any harm, I was just curious,” she tried to explain, but he wasn’t having it. “Perhaps if you didn’t spend as much time sticking your nose in other people’s business you would’ve published a book by now,” he snarled.

She was at a loss for words. So, he continued, “It’s probably best if you retire early, miss. I’m sorry if our hotel couldn’t give you the juicy gossip you were hoping for,” and stormed off.

She was absolutely fuming. She stalked back to her room, passing the front desk where Nick had been about to greet her until he’d realized he wasn’t getting a response from her. She slammed the door behind her, took out her pen and notebook and wrote down the truth about what kind of an arrogant, narcissistic ass Alexander Turner really turned out to be.

[thewritingamateur]

🎁🔨 🖕 please and thank you!!

Thanks so much for the prompt! I had so much fun writing this and honestly, I might make a part two just to conclude what happens next! Hope you enjoy :)

Versace on the Floor (MCD Modern AU)

~~~

"Hayes, my boy! We did good tonight!" 

Champagne glasses clinked together in the room full of suited men. The business deal went well. Hayes Enterprise now had global domination. It was something only the business wits of Levi 'Walker' Hayes was capable of. 

His sleeves were rolled up, suit jacket thrown to the side as he drank his bubbly. It was a hard couple of months coming up with the best deal for his company and their Asian conglomerate. It was all for the better, though. He became close to the CEO of their business partner Nam Jung-woo, often having dinners and discussing topics of similar interest. 

Needless to say, they've become chummy in their time together. 

They were in a cocktail lounge, the renowned and revered King Cole Bar at the St.Regis hotel. It upheld the sophistication of the past hundred years while having a modern edge within the walls. Behind the men sitting on the barstools was the grand mural of King Cole bringing remembrance of the grand king from the old rhymes. 

Like the merry soul, they were smoking cigars in victory. 

After some cheer, there was silence as they downed the champagne. The only sound was the soft voice of a woman singing on the other side of the lounge.

Rolling his neck, Hayes was glad to finish with the tedious business deal. Now he could take the weekend off for himself. You can never really stop working for a day as a CEO, but at least he would be able to breathe and do whatever he wanted for a couple of hours. 

And boy, did he have some ideas in mind. 

He watched his shorter but equally as handsome business partner take a smoke, blowing out rings. 

"You know, I'll miss working with you, Hayes. You're cutthroat and know what you want. I need more men like you in my circle." 

The taller man smirked, taking a smoke of his own, "Likewise Nam. Let's hope we have more business dealings in the future." It was bound to happen. If Hayes Enterprise was going to hold into its top spot without question, he had to stick with Jung-woo. 

"Maybe you can come down to Korea, and I'll show you the amenities we have to offer. For now, though, I have other ways of showing you a token of my gratitude." 

Thick brows knitted together in confusion, watching his friend walk out of the room for a moment. His ears perked, hearing the pretty voice from the dark corner of the room, but he couldn't see the woman's face. 

The melody was light in her voice, soft and sweet, parallel to the ambiance of the room. 

By giving me all you got

Your love has captured me

Lost in the sweet words, Hayes didn't take notice of his friend's reentrance, with some special guests. 

Before him, thirty women of all creeds and shapes lined up. Blue eyes watched all the women dressed up in sexy lace lingerie. He feasted on the display before him. 

"As a gift, my friend, I am offering you any woman you see here before you now. You can do like you to her, whether that would be just for the night or for as long as you like. Please, take your pick." 

Walker gave slow steps assessing all the women before him. They all gave sultry eyes, some touching him as an act of enticement. It seemed that all were willing to bend to his will. 

Even if they had no clue what that would be. 

His lips stretched in a sly smirk seeing the enticing curves of each woman. They were all tempting in their own right, but none good enough to fulfill the desires he had. 

By the end of the line, he shared a smug look with Jung-woo before his ears tuning in to the sweet melody once again. 

Needing you more and more 

Let's give love a try

Hypnotized by the voice, he walked towards the dark corner where the band players were. 

With the snap of his fingers, the light shone brightly over the band. A dainty hand rose to cover the unknown face of the singer. 

Her skin was pale, creamy in tone. The lace and silk dress clung onto her slim yet shapely form, small shoulders exposed for his viewing. 

Dark hair was up in a messy low bun. Wispy bangs flew on her face. When her hand went down, he saw her dark eyes, an abyss of wonder shining forth. Her petite nose was up.  Supple lips painted red. 

Her eyes weren't on him, and his blood boiled. All the other females in the room were still staring him down, all willing to give him the attention a woman ought to give a man, to show their sexual prowess ready to bend to his command. 

Thick fingers went to rub his lips, staring the girl down before she finally acknowledged his presence. 

Who was she to not take notice of him? 

Her pretty eyes only looked at him for a moment, like he was just another person in the room for her to sing to. 

"Her." 

"What?" His friend came towards him, eventually also watching the girl before them. 

"I want her." 

The nervous laugh from the shorter man was not what was needed. "Well, Hayes, I meant from the women we provided over there. She-she's just a singer that was hired." 

Gritting his teeth, he turned to his business partner, "You said I could have any woman I want, to do as I please with." He pointed towards the girl, "I want her." 

Amid his command, the girl stopped singing. He was close enough for her to hear, and now there was fear running through her blood. The band also stopped playing for the moment. 

Jung-woo sighed. He gave a brief gaze towards the girl on the stage. His father warned him about Walker Hayes. He's a man who gets what he wants, regardless of the methods to obtain it. 

Without much choice, he nodded. "Alright, just give me a minute." 

He rounded up the other women to leave the room, pulling the small woman from the stage along with him. 

Walker was conversing with the other men for a while, waiting for his prize. 

He didn't receive it until the end of the night. 

With everyone long gone, he went to his floor with a pissed mindset. Did his friend break his word? 

Tapping his foot impatiently, he watched as two figures walked towards his room. Mr. Nam was dragging the girl down the hall. 

She was feisty. 

Perfect. 

Her eyes were full of anger watching his friend with hateful eyes. Lips twisted in a frown as she tried to pull out of the grip. 

"As promised, here she is." She was thrown to the larger form of Walker Hayes, the famous businessman who was awarded Entrepreneur of the Year by Forbes magazine only a month prior. 

He held onto her tightly by the waist, not giving her the ability to make a fast run for it. Fear made a home in the pit of her stomach as the famed businessman's nose dove into her hair, taking in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. 

Fingers bit into her waist. 

"It's time to take my leave. I'll see you soon, Hayes." The two men shared a firm handshake before the shorter man left. 

He pulled her into the grand hotel room, decorated with modern furniture within the spacious area. There were dark blue undertones against the gold. The night expanded along the big glass windows giving a full view of the nightlife in the city. 

The young girl was still donned in her outfit, the slinky silk she borrowed from her friend. 

Her eyes watched as he locked the door, starting to pull his tie off as his eyes dance on her form. Legs tremble in the tall heels, her ankle twisting as she tried to walk backward. She wasn't used to this get-up. 

Lust filled his dark blue gaze seeing the terror in her doll eyes. 

"P-please. I don't know what this is, but this is a mistake. I-I'm not what you think I am."

A mirthless laugh escaped him, "That's what you all say. Always trying to be coy and innocent until it's time to get down to it." 

"No, I am not a whore." Tears rolled down her soft cheeks as she kept walking back, and he never failed to move forward. 

Jenny was only covering for a friend that night. She needed the money, and a night as the St.Regis Hotel was bound to give her a good payday. That, and nothing else. 

She should've known it was too good to be true. She knew his eyes were on her from earlier in the night, no doubt like the sound of her voice. She thought she was free after seeing the women before him earlier. 

Why did he choose her in the end? 

Her back hit the wall, and he crushed her with his large frame. Thick fingers went to her slim throat, encircling it with a mild grip. 

"Methinks the lady doth protests too much." 

She didn't look him in the eyes, but her voice was still strong. "That's wrong." 

"What?" 

With a little courage on her side, she responded, "The line is, 'The lady doth protests too much, methinks'. What you said is wrong." 

She gasps, feeling his fingers tighten around her throat, looking into his angry eyes. 

"What are you, a smartass? Don't try to get one over me, you stupid bitch." 

Strong arms flung her to the floor. She struggled to catch her breath. 

She crawled away on her knees, wanting nothing more than to leave with her dignity intact. 

"Where are you going?" He pulled her back from the hair, her bun becoming loose. Long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a cry escaped her lips. 

He pulled her backward, back hitting the floor as he climbed on top of her. Her chest moved in hasty breaths as he pulled her arms above her head, holding both of her small wrists in one of his hands. 

"Let go!" She struggled to move, fighting against him as he tried to keep her legs down. 

The slap echoing in the room was enough to put her in a momentary daze. Her cheek became red. The hit was hard enough to cause a bruise. 

Using his silk tie, Walker tied her hands together behind her back. Tears decorated her cheeks. Her smudged lips trembled from his heavy gaze. 

Maybe they needed to slow down for a moment. He pulled her up and pushed her to the bedroom. She fell on the large, plush bed only a few could afford. 

"What's your name?" Her brows creased, wondering why he suddenly wanted to know, but the impatient look on his face gave her little time to wonder. 

"Jenny. Jenny Lee." 

"Well, Jenny- pretty name- who are you? Not every prostitute knows Shakespeare off the top of their head." 

"As I said, I'm not a whore." 

"Let me be the judge of that." His arms crossed to show off his biceps, standing above her with his shadow overcasting her. 

"I'm a college student, an English major. Knowing Shakespeare is a given for that field. I'm only here covering for a friend. She's the one usually singing." 

She watched his unknown expression, knowing there's a possibility he wouldn't believe her. 

Walker watched the big eyes of the girl before him, innocence radiating off her. He knew she was telling the truth. She was too scared to lie to him. 

A woman of class, how nice. 

He watched the dip of hidden cleavage rising under her dress, the blood rushing down him from the thoughts of taking her right in the room. 

"Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened, I promise. I don't want your money. I  want to go home." 

Sobs filled the room as he watched her turmoil. 

Did she detest him so much that she wanted to leave without asking for compensation? Did she want to forget him so quickly, the most sought out bachelor of the past five years? 

He moved on top of her, strong hands-on ether side of her small form. She watched his cruel eyes fill with amusement. 

"That's the thing, Miss Lee. You're mine now. My friend promised me any woman I wanted in that room, and here you are. Now, be a good girl and don't fight too much." 

His fingers danced on her collarbone, eliciting a gasp from her pretty lips. 

As a last attempt, Jenny did something she never expected herself to do. 

Her mouth moved before she had time to think it through.

Another slap was on her face as he wiped the spit off his face. How dare she? 

Her fighting him started to become a bit tiring. 

Angry and filled up with all the stress that burdened him for months, he finally let it all go. 

Cries were heard throughout the large suite as his fists went down on her. 

Strikes were on her face, her stomach, and her chest. She gasped for air as she knocked the wind out of her. Her heels broke as he slammed her to the floor again, this time kicking her down with his leather shoes.  

"Stop!" The was the only word leaving her lips for minutes straight, each time becoming a bit more straggled than the last. Blood flooded out of her lips. Her left eye started to form a dark bruise when he punched her face. 

"You stupid bitch." A punch for every word. His kicks were hard, stepping on her at one point to show his authority. 

Her body battered, she did not fight when he decided to pick up her limp body, pulling her through to the main room and slamming her onto the glass window. 

"Why don't we give someone a show?" His strong fingers pulled her dress off like a piece of paper. Next was her lace bra and panties. Her body was pressed onto the glass, open for the viewing of many below them. 

He pulled off his shirt, rushing to take off his pants as his body burned for the release he desperately needed. 

She gave a strangled gasp as he forcefully entered her dry walls, ripping her apart. He pulled her tied up arms above her head as he wrapped her legs around him, hips meeting in harsh thrusts. 

Walker eventually let her arms free, knowing she wouldn't fight him anymore. 

Her hands wrapped around his broad shoulders, scared to fall in his fast pace. 

No thoughts came to her mind as he had his rough ministrations. 

Her body violated, blood mixing with his fluid. 

Jenny cried into his shoulders, salty tears mingling with sweat. 

"Don't cry. I know you like it." His hands encircled her small waist as he went slower, drawing out the ordeal. 

He made sure she released before he did, her legs quaking as she rode off her high. Walker soon came after, his seed overflowing outside her small hole. 

But it wasn't over, far from it. 

By morning, she was sore and out of it. With the bruises all over her body and the energy taken from her, Jenny was tired. Her eyes closed before dawn, and she woke up to the fragrance of scrumptious foods.  

Her eye still swollen, she struggled to open them as she saw Walker Hayes's tall body with a plate of food in front of her. 

"I thought it would be best to order some breakfast. You'll need the energy again for later."  Her gut reeled at the thoughts of what he had in store for her. 

She was hungry, and it did smell good. 

Digging in, she didn't take notice of his stare as she scarfed the food. 

"For someone so small, you have quite the appetite." His hand went towards her face. 

Out of instinct, she pulled back, but he only wanted to remove a piece of food hanging on the corner of her lips, eating it instead. 

Her cheeks turned red from the intimate action. 

Swallowing her food, she started back with her pleads. 

"Please, Mr.Hayes. I-I need to go home now." 

He frowned at her words. 

"Did you learn nothing last night? You belong to me now. Wherever I am will be your new home." 

He got up, still naked from the previous night's excursions, retrieving an object from the desk draw. 

Her pale skin turned paperwhite, seeing what it was. 

A leather choker with an emerald gem hanging in the middle. 

Her fingers were quick to hide whatever was at hand. 

Walker hooked the necklace on her slim throat, satisfied with the look. 

Small fingers turned the gem around. 

Property of W.Hayes

Tears fell, seeing what he said was finally coming to pass. 

She belonged to him. 

He kissed the side of her jaw, moving toward her lips. They were warm on hers, using teeth to bit down on her supple lips. 

Hands were quick to grope her breasts, tugging on her as his lips moved down to her neck, marking his territory. 

At the moment, he was lost in her body. 

Now was her time to strike.

Using full force, she pulled the knife from under her and aimed it at his face. 

A pained grunt escaped him, his hand covering his face in pain. 

He had no time to stop her from running, mind on the profuse amount of blood on his hands. He couldn't see out of his left eye. His lips were ripped open. 

All Walker saw was her naked body running. 

Jenny picked up the remainder of her clothes, nothing salvageable. Panicked, she picked up his discarded shirt and pulled it on. She didn't care if people saw her running out like this. 

Her focus was to escape, to run back to her home. 

"Get back here!" She heard his footsteps coming towards her, but she was out the door. 

She ran towards her freedom beyond the lavish walls of the hotel. 

Beyond the clutches of the man, she didn't realize became infatuated with her. 

Walker fell on the floor, the pain on his face overtaking him. He went towards the hotel phone, calling an emergency and his assistant. 

Even in his pain, there was one thing he knew for sure. 

He was going to get her back. It wasn't the end for Jenny Lee just yet. 

That, he promised. 

[thecrazyalaskan]

Title: Expectations Author: TheCrazyAlaskan Fandom / Setting: Dungeons & Dragons (5e) Characters / Pairings: Galen Lolnor x Cúc Naïlo, NPCs Word Count: 1175 Rating: T Warnings / Notes: a Silver Hand Production, prompt from here

this got dramatically out of hand for a shitpost prompt but the bonus did say make it serious ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Despite still wearing her travel clothes, dust from the road still clinging to her boots, Cúc looked as though she belonged in this foyer, amid plush rugs and finely woven tapestries all in the colors of autumn foliage—but that was almost a given, considering that she was raised among it. For his part, Galen had to settle for dressing his best—but that didn't change the fact that it felt too closed in, too artificial—

Beside him, Cúc laid a hand on his arm, stilling the microscopic tells of his discomfort. "You look very handsome," she said warmly, adjusting the lay of the panther pelt over his shoulder.

"Mmm." On the surface the low rumble of sound in his chest might have sounded uncertain or doubtful, but Cúc recognized the appreciation just under the surface, not to mention the vague ghost of a smile playing across his face.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a page. "Captain Naïlo, his Lordship will see you now," they announced.

Cúc smiled warmly, nodding graciously at and thanking the page as she and Galen started for the oak doors leading into Lord Naïlo's offices.

The inner offices were just as elegantly furnished, the colors here the muted green-silvers of winter conifers. Seated behind the impressive wooden desk, head bent over correspondence, was Lord Naïlo himself. He looked impossibly young, but both Cúc and Galen could see the signs of age on him that were only noticeable to other elves.

He looked up when the pair entered, his expression softening when he saw Cúc. "Welcome home, Cúc."

"Thank you, Baba," she said, bowing slightly before turning and beckoning Galen closer with an open hand. "Baba, it's my honor to introduce my companion Galen Lolnor."

Now standing at Cúc's side, Galen inclined his head slightly in a subtle nod.

Lord Naïlo looked them over. "…Lolnor," he pronounced, the words slow and deliberate. "Not a family name I'm familiar with, but the tongue… Orcish?"

"Yes, Baba," Cúc confirmed; beside her, Galen nodded once. "Galen's family was lost when he was a boy and he was raised by the Half-Orc matriarch of the tribe. He now leads the tribe as her heir."

"A tribe of elves?" Lord Naïlo questioned.

"The tribe is mostly Half-Orcs," Cúc elaborated, "but there are some elves and and half elves—and Galen's second is a Dragonborn."

"We take in misfits." Galen's words were direct to the point of coming across as a little blunt.

"Misfits," Lord Naïlo echoed.

Cúc nodded in confirmation. "Yes, Baba—Galen's tribe is home for those who have none otherwise."

Now it was Lord Naïlo's turn to nod. "They have a name for those without a job, a residence or coin," he pronounced, gaze levelled deliberately on Galen. "I believe it's vagrant." Something not unlike venom dripped from the words.

Cúc stiffened, seemingly caught off guard by the remark. Galen drew himself to his full height, fingers curling around the handle of the dagger at his belt, before his grip marginally loosened. "I can see I'm not welcome here—" Every word was deliberately pronounced, the storm of his temper simmering dangerously close to the surface—"and I won't darken your doorstep further, Lord Naïlo." He turned, pointedly, away to speak to Cúc in a low, private murmur. "I hope to see you again when your business is through."

Normal circumstances would dictate that Galen would offering her upper arm or forearm a bracing squeeze, or he'd give some other cue of acknowledgement or even affection; the circumstances, Cúc realized, were far from normal. "Galen, please—" She reached out for him, hoping to convince him… of what? To forgo holding a grudge against the slight? It would have been easier to ask the sun to not rise—not to mention the fact that he was already out the door.

Behind her, her father's voice cut in—"Cúc, may I ask you a question?"

"Perhaps." Her voice took on an edge, like she was speaking to an unruly subordinate, as she turned to face him.

Lord Naïlo's expression was open in a way that it could only be between two elves, or between a parent and their child. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The blunt cruelty of the query made her eyes widen. "Baba—"

"Choosing to forgo higher education or a career is one thing," he went on, gesturing to the door, "but choosing that—"

"His name is Galen Lolnor," Cúc interrupted, "and I'll thank you to speak about him with the same respect you speak about me."

Her father sat up a little straighter in his chair. "I want only what's best for you—"

"What reflects best on you, you mean," she countered pointedly.

He went on as if she hadn't spoken, but Cúc would have been lying to herself if she said she didn't take a note of pleasure at the rise of exasperation in his voice. "The life of a nomad king isn't the same as a career or the nobility or even—"

She planted her hands on the desk, leaning in a little as if challenging him. "The disappointment I've become to you?"

Whatever he meant to say in protest was cut off by Cúc drawing herself up to her full height and all but barrelling on. "I've conducted myself with nothing less than honor from the day I was born, and yet you have the gall to be ashamed when I look upon the commoners who raised me with the same grace and kindness I give to my peers? To my supposed 'betters?'" Her fingers curled quotation marks around betters. "How dare you suggest that he is lesser?"

Here her father rose to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate; had Cúc been anyone but his daughter, it would have promised swift retribution. "I never said he was lesser."

"Not in those words," she countered, chin lifted, "but you can't deny that you thought it." She pointed to the door, her defenses redoubling. "Galen has fought by my side without question and been an invaluable ally—more than that, he's been a good friend, and the Mother Guardian knows I look to him as you look to my mother."

… Well. She'd certainly not intended to admit to that yet, but to take it back now would have been an insult to her integrity and to the Mother Goddess.

"I would encourage you," he said archly, "to speak carefully about who your heart looks to."

It would have been less painful had her father simply reached across the desk and struck her. No matter. She stood up straighter, unwilling to let her emotions show just yet. "You want me to follow in your footsteps, Baba—did your own father not say that to you, once upon a time?" Is the product of that not staring you in the face? "Regardless, Galen and I have taken too much of your time. Thank you for seeing us, Baba."

He moved to approach her, but was stilled by her upheld hand. "Please sit. I know my way out."

[iwhumpyou]

The Price (Part 3)

Masterlist.  Wergild.

Part 2.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He didn’t think she could do it.  Clarissa couldn’t do it, had reached as far as her hands breaking and had run away in tears, cradling her injured limbs.  It had taken weeks for it to heal and the suspicion had doomed their friendship.

She had never suggested trying again and Jace had taken the hint.

He would’ve done it. If he could, he would’ve shouldered the burdens of his entire clan to give them a better life.  But, no, it had be an elementalist.

It had to be a willing elementalist.  The caveat that had doomed them all.  No one was willing to do this, not when the curse had started to build and certainly not now, after all these years.  Coercion and threats didn’t work, never worked.  The curse could only be lifted by someone who truly wanted to. 

And then Clarissa’s little sister had skipped inside and rubbed salt in his wounds, rubbed them so deep he had trouble seeing straight.  She knew perfectly well he couldn’t kill her, no matter how badly his hands itched to shove six feet of steel through her heart.  Clarissa could forgive him a lot – had, indeed, forgiven him countless attacks and assaults – but her baby sister?  No, if Jace killed the girl, he could dig himself a grave.  

He couldn’t leave his people without a leader.  Not now. Not when Mirai was gasping out the last of her life.  Not when five of the six great clans were planning to meet and ratify a peace treaty. Not now.

If he couldn’t kill her, at least he could strip the truth from her words.  Anything, she had promised, a deal she couldn’t hope to keep. Let the little girl have a taste of what real life really was and when she went running back to Clarissa, Jace could honestly say she’d asked for it. 

“Jace,” Felix sidled up to him and he held up a warning hand.  The rest of his clan looked to him, to the girl gingerly placing her hands on the boulder and back to him.  They got the message.  No interference.

He watched coolly as the stone rippled, earth wrapping around her arms, going higher than it had with Clarissa, almost to the shoulder.  He watched, a hint of amusement on his face, waiting.

The stone surged and the girl slumped.  Her breathing was ragged.  She hadn’t screamed, Jace had to give her credit for that.  He shifted forward a step – he wanted to see her face when she admitted she couldn’t do it, when her empty promise turned out to be just that.

She never turned back.

Jace watched in growing confusion as water lapped around her distorted limbs.  This was not how it was supposed to go.  The girl wasn’t willing, everyone knew that.  There was no way she wanted to accept this pain. 

The water turned to ice and red dripped down her arms.  The harsh breathing grew louder, small whimpers the girl was clearly trying to suppress.

For what felt like an eternity, the scene was frozen.  The water, the whimpers, and the active silence of more than fifty people.

Then the flames sparked.

The girl started screaming, a high-pitched keening sound clearly audible over the shouts of his people. They looked at him again, several starting for the girl as if intending to pull her away.

Felix grabbed him and turned him away from the girl on fire.  “Jace, you can’t do this!” he yelled.

Jace looked at him. The flames had reached the girl’s shoulder now.  “I can’t stop it,” he pointed out, more calm than he felt, “I told her what wergild I would accept.  This was her decision.”

“She’s being burned alive!” Felix shouted.  The girl’s screams had reached a fever pitch.

“She is willing,” Jace said quietly, “Only a willing elementalist can break the curse.”

His people were looking at him with a combination of disgust and dismay.  He didn’t care.  If she could do this, if she could break this curse – if he could take his first breath of fresh air…

“Do you think Clarissa will see it that way?” Felix asked, his voice low and cold.

“I don’t care,” Jace shrugged him off, “She killed my sister.  She’ll break the curse in repayment.”  It was a spark of hope in the crushing darkness of his despair.  

“Clarissa will kill you.”

“Then I’ll follow Mirai to the stars, knowing that my people are protected and my clan is safe,” Jace said, meeting Felix’s gaze and narrowing his eyes, “Do you understand?”

Felix stepped back and lowered his head in acquiescence.  

The fire had stopped. Good.  He couldn’t see anything happening but the girl had her forehead pressed against the stone, unmoving.  Was the curse broken?  How could he tell?

The question was answered a second later – the boulder crumbled to pieces and sent out a shockwave. Jace staggered back amidst surprised cries – it felt like something inside of him was tearing, something was ripped away and out.  He regained his balance and inhaled sharply and – 

The air tasted clean.  He didn’t even know air could smell so pure.  He took another gulp, and another, until he was nearly dizzy.  He looked around him in stupefaction – had the leaves always been so green?  Had the sunlight always felt so warm, like a blanket around him?  Had the earth always felt so solid and supportive under his feet?

He met Felix’s gaze and saw all of his questions reflected in the half-wondering, half-stunned eyes. Was this truly what the rest of the world felt like?

“Chief,” a voice startled him from his reverie – a voice that sounded richer and deeper than it had before – and Jace turned.  Most of his people were wandering around in befuddlement, dazed expressions on their face as they turned in circles, but a few had drawn closer to the boulder.

It wasn’t a boulder anymore. It was a pile of rubble, and Jace could see a trickle of water through the debris.  The spring, the one his grandfather had talked about.  It had been here all along.

Crumpled at the edge of the pile of rubble was a dark, unmoving form.  As Jace got closer, he could see the red, bubbling, mutilated mess the girl’s arms had become.  

Clarissa was definitely going to murder him for this.

“What shall we do with her?” one of them asked.

Jace bit back his instinctive response – she killed his little sister, she deserved the deepest, darkest parts of hell – and took a breath.  She had broken the curse, upheld her promise.  She had given wergild and so the debt between them was repaid.  Jace had to treat her with the courtesy of a visiting guest, his honor would demand no less.

“Take her to the infirmary, tend to her wounds,” Jace said curtly, turning away himself.  He had traded his sister’s life for his people’s future – and he owed it to Mirai to tell her that much.

The infirmary was in chaos when he arrived.  The shockwave had not stopped in the clearing and Jace had forgotten to inform the rest of the clan about what was occurring.  He sighed – Felix would see to it.  He had only one priority now.

“Chief,” Irina stepped into his path, clearly frazzled.  He glared at her in annoyance but she ignored it.  “What is going on?  Has there been an earthquake?”

He looked past her, to the pallet where Mirai lay, her wheezy breathing the only indication that she was still alive.  “No,” he said impatiently, “The curse has been broken.  The boulder is rubble and apparently the spring our elders talked about was contained within.”  He sidestepped her and because her wide eyes told that she clearly wanted more information, he huffed, “You can go outside and get the details.”

He knelt at the edge of Mirai’s pallet and took her cold, clammy hand in his.  Her skin was ashen pale and beaded with sweat.  Her breath came out in harsh, painful rattles and her lips and fingertips were beginning to turn blue.  

The poison was a slow, painful death.  There was no cure for bluebell nectar.  The fall had paralyzed her from the waist down.  All his little sister could do was lie here and wait to die.

Jace lifted her hand and pressed it to his forehead, trying to escape the burning of his eyes.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his breath hitching, “I’m so sorry, little sister.” 

“Jace…”  He had never heard his sister so weak before.  Mirai was mischief and laughter and brightness wrapped up in energy and smiles.  The girl in the bed was a pale imitation of his sister and it broke Jace’s heart. “What happened?”

“I am so very sorry,” he said, closing his eyes, “So, so sorry, Mirai.”

“What did you do?” She was weak and in pain and hours from death but still quick on the uptake, “What did you do, Jace?”

He lifted his head and looked at her because his little sister deserved that much.  “The girl who stabbed you,” he said, stumbling over the words. 

“Nerali,” Mirai said faintly.

“Nerali,” Jace repeated. He supposed he would have to remember her name now.  “Nerali came here and offered her life as wergild,” he said, “For you.”  

Mirai’s next breath was harsher than the last and her fingers grasped at him as she stared, her eyes wide.  “No, Jace, tell me you didn’t.”  When she didn’t get a response, she clutched at him, “Clarissa will murder you and we will both have died for nothing.”

“I told her that her miserable little life was not worth yours,” Jace said and watched his sister relax and slump back.  “So she promised me anything that she could give me as wergild.”  Mirai watched him, curious.  “I’m sorry, Mirai.  I accepted.”

His little sister looked at him with only understanding.  He searched for anger or disgust or sadness in her gaze and found nothing but love.  “What did you ask for?”

“The curse,” Jace said softly, “The one that can only be broken by a willing elementalist.” Mirai’s eyes widened with every word. “She did it, little sister.  The curse is broken.  Our people are free.”

He forced a smile on his face so that Mirai could see it even if he never wanted to be happy again. The girl had kept her word, kept her promise and Jace had secured his people’s future at the cost of the light in his.  

“That’s wonderful, Jace,” Mirai said, “I –” But whatever she was going to say next was cut off in a flurry of movement as Irina reentered the room.  

The healers all around were in a tizzy, muttering and smiling and opening books and scrolls. Irina herself knelt at Mirai’s side and propped up her head, touching a clay pot full of a clear liquid to Mirai’s lips.  “Drink,” Irina said, her voice steadfast.

Mirai drank and gasped. “What was that?” she asked and Jace stared at her.  Her breathing was better and her skin was no longer so ashen.  “That tasted like…” she cast around for words and Jace could hear her voice grow. 

“What was that?” he asked, staring at Mirai.  A minute ago, she looked like she was moments from death.  Now, she looked like she was resting off an injury – still weak, still hurt, but with a chance of getting better.

“The spring water,” Irina said, smiling.  It was the first time he’d seen the healer smile in a while.  “The spring is back, Jace.  Its healing properties…”

“It could cure anything in one pure of heart,” Jace finished, almost numb with disbelief, “Mirai…”

“It will cure the bluebell nectar,” Irina said.  Her grin was splitting her face in two.  “Now that the curse is gone, our spells should work again.  Mirai will heal.  Completely.”

~#~ 

The thatching on the roof of the hut was wound in circles.  Nerali laid on the pallet for hours, following the lines over and over and over again.  Sometimes someone would come in and change her bandages, sometimes offer her water or a weak broth.  Jace had hovered at the door once, staring at her, before disappearing again.  

No one talked to her. She didn’t expect them to.  She had paid wergild for her crimes, but that didn’t mean they were forgotten.  It probably took all their effort not to sneer at her.  She should probably be happy that Jace hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill her anyway.

(She wished he had.)

It was awful, laying still and unmoving.  Every shift of her torso brought renewed fire lancing down her arms and they were already twin centers of agony.  The slightest breeze could inflame the pain to the point where Nerali was biting her lip and scrunching her eyes and doing all she could not to cry out.  She often couldn’t tell when she slipped into unconsciousness, because her dreams were of broken bones and ice needles and fire, fire, fire.  There was no difference in pain between sleeping and waking.

She opened her eyes to a hushed conversation and groaned when she aborted her movements too late. Pain radiated down and she stayed perfectly still and concentrated on breathing, in and out, until it became mangeable again.

“Here,” a cool, familiar voice said, pressing a clay pot to her lips and inclining her head with a careful hand.  Nerali sipped at the water, soothing and fresh, and looked up at her helper.  

“Thank you,” she said, as she always did, only to choke on the words as Mirai’s face came into view.

Nerali flailed backwards and the pain exploded.  She tried to curl away from the perceived threat but every movement just made it worsen and she finally stopped in a half-curled position, taking fast breaths and trying not to scream.  She could barely see Mirai’s face through her blurred eyes but there was no mistaking it. 

“Are you haunting me?” she asked through hitched breaths and sobs, “Or am I dead?”  If this was the afterlife, Nerali had made a gross miscalculation. She couldn’t survive this pain for eternity.

“Shh,” Mirai’s familiar voice said, though it was softer than Nerali remembered it.  There was a hand on her forehead, blissfully cool, and it stroked strands of hair away from her face and delicately wiped away every tear as it fell.  “I’m not haunting you.  Neither are you dead.”

Nerali closed her eyes tight because there was only one explanation.  She didn’t think that this was what losing your sanity felt like, but the agony of lifting the curse could’ve shattered her mind into a million pieces.  She had gone mad.

“I’m not dead,” Mirai continued.  The careful hands continued their soothing motions, tugging Nerali back into a straightened position and carefully setting her arms back into position.  Nerali hissed at every movement but they were being very gentle.  The hands didn’t stop Nerali from trying to bury her face in the pillow and merely resumed stroking her hair.

“You are,” Nerali said when she could breathe again.  Her next words were small and choked with guilt and regret, “I killed you.”

Jace would never agree to the peace treaty, even with her wergild.  She had doused his revenge but would never be able to quell his anger. Clarissa would have peace, but peace without her best friend by her side.

And it was all Nerali’s fault.

“No,” Mirai disagreed, “You saved me.”  Her voice took on a tinge of irritation, which made it sound more like Mirai, “I can’t see how helpful that was, given that you first stuck a poisoned sword in my gut and pushed me off a tree –”

“Mirai,” Jace’s voice said, exasperated.

“But no harm, no foul,” Mirai finished on a cheerier note.  Nerali opened her eyes and craned her neck to see the door – sure enough, Jace was standing there, the expression on his face torn between annoyed and fond. He was looking at Mirai, who was sitting at Nerali’s side.  

Her vision somewhat clearer, Nerali could see a few differences in Mirai.  Her skin was paler than Nerali remembered it and she sat awkwardly, like her legs were in the way.  Her clothes were as skimpy as usual, though, and Nerali stared at her toned stomach and the large, angry, half-healed gash on it.

“You’re not dead,” Nerali said, blinking at her.  A couple of objections voiced themselves in her head and Nerali frowned, “How are you not dead?”

“Careful, sweetheart, you almost sound disappointed,” Mirai grinned at her, the often-seen shark-toothed smile that always meant she was laughing at Nerali’s expense.

“You discovered the spring,” Jace said from the doorway, “A legend of my people is that our spring is protected by the spirits of our clan and the water can heal anyone pure of heart.”

“I discovered what?” Nerali asked.  She had broken the curse, she hadn’t done anything about a spring.  Had she woken up in some alternate universe where Mirai wasn’t dead and her wergild had been something else?  Or was this all a fever dream to make herself feel better?

“In the boulder you shattered,” Jace clarified.  That would explain it.  All that Nerali remembered of those last moments was pain.

“Which brings me to a problem,” Jace said.  Nerali swallowed, but he didn’t look mad.  Neither did Mirai, when she glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.  “You broke the curse as wergild for my sister’s death.  But Mirai isn’t dead.”

Nerali looked at Mirai again and all the signs that pointed to the girl not being quite well yet, no matter what they said about the spring water.  “She would’ve been,” Nerali said in a small voice, “Bluebell nectar is fatal and the fall…  She would’ve died without your spring water.” 

“But she didn’t,” Jace said, an undertone of harshness to his words, “Which means that you gravely injured my sister, but then brought me the means to save her.  Those actions would cancel each other out.  But that was not all you did – you broke the curse on my people and you allowed us to live freely for the first time in living memory.”  He walked a few steps forward and knelt fluidly at Nerali’s side, bowing his head. “What would you like in repayment?” His hands were clenched tightly in his lap.

Nerali flicked a quick glance at Mirai.  She was staring at her brother, whiter than before, her mouth a pinched line.  “If you do not feel up to making a decision now, I can of course wait,” Jace said, his body stiff with tension, “The spring water is healing you, albeit slowly.  You don’t have to give me an answer now.”

She didn’t have to, but judging by the look on Jace’s face, it was going to eat him alive until she did. She hadn’t thought about this situation – she had never dreamed that the head of a rival clan would be asking her for what she wanted.  She didn’t know what would be equal payment for what she did, she didn’t even know what she wanted.  Nerali wished Clarissa was here – surely her big sister would know what to ask. 

Clarissa.  That was it!

“The peace talks,” Nerali said hurriedly, “The conference of the clans.  Has it started yet?”

Jace looked at her, bewildered.  “It starts tomorrow,” he said, “What does that have to do with –”

“Go to the talks,” she cut him off, “Work together with the other clans.  Build peace in the land.”  Fulfill Clarissa’s dream, she just managed to stop herself from saying.

From the wide-eyed look Jace was giving her, he was shocked.  Had she asked for too much?  “What?” he asked, sounding slightly strangled.

She had probably asked for too much.  “Go to the peace talks,” she mumbled, hunching into her shoulders.  Jace was still looking at her like she was from another planet.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Mirai said, her voice cheerful but a bite to her words that Nerali couldn’t quite untangle, “Doesn’t it, Jace?”

“Is that all you want?” Jace asked, ignoring his sister, “What if I was already planning to go?”

Well, then she had misjudged him entirely.  “Were you?” she ventured.

“No, but –”

“Then that is what I want,” Nerali cut him off, wavering confidence in her words.

Jace looked at her, his face still blank.  “I will, of course, go to the peace talks if that is what you truly desire,” he said carefully, and Nerali looked at him.  She heard a ‘but’ coming.  “But you broke the curse on my people, Nerali.  I’m not sure if you understand what you did and how enormous an impact it has had on my clan.  I don’t think going to a conference is a sufficient wergild.”

Oh.  He didn’t think she was asking for too much.  He thought she was asking for too little.  “You have to go with the purpose of making peace,” she ventured slowly, “You have to believe in it and strive to make it come true. Work towards a future where the forest is a place of safety and happiness.”  This was probably too much, but it would give her a sense of where to meet in the middle.  Perhaps to go to the conference and avoid starting a fight?  Clarissa had always complained about Jace’s ability to annoy almost anyone, though she hadn’t yet seen that particular talent.

Jace looked at her, his gaze intense, and she waited for his answer.  “I would consider that a sufficient wergild,” he said finally and Nerali exhaled in relief.  Clarissa would be so happy.  She had finally managed to fix the monumental mistake that had started with a poisoned sword and a twenty-foot drop. 

(Perhaps Clarissa would even smile at her and ruffle her hair and say that she had made her proud.)

“Nerali,” Jace spoke again, his voice soft and careful, “Are you sure that this is what you want?”  He looked at her with a searching stare, “I don’t wish to sound rude, but you didn’t seem like you were that interested in the peace talks.”

Nerali flushed because it was true.  She hadn’t cared and that loss of caring had led her into the forest on a patrol a week before the carefully balanced peace talks even though something was obviously going to go wrong.

“Clarissa dreamed of peace,” she said.  A peace with Jace by her side, she hadn’t said, but it had been obvious enough.

“I know she’s fanatic about it,” Jace managed a small smile, “But I didn’t know you were.”

“She’s my sister,” Nerali said, looking away, her voice getting smaller, “And I almost ruined her dream beyond repair.”  She looked back to Jace, “I had to fix it.”

Jace blinked and looked to Mirai.  Nerali followed his gaze but by the time she turned her head, Mirai was looking down at her and offering her another sip of water.  She took a gulp of it and laid back down, looking back up at the circles of the thatched roof.  There was a smile tugging at her lips, and something loosened inside her chest, something that had tightened when Clarissa had looked at her with those sad, tired eyes.

It wasn’t an ideal position – her arms still hurt like hell – but she had managed to deal with all the consequences, and all by herself, too!  She could comfort herself with the surprised but delighted look that would be on her sister’s face when Nerali explained everything she’d done. Clarissa would be so proud.

“Nerali,” Jace asked quietly and she turned her head towards him, “Did Clarissa say that you had to fix your mistake?  Did she tell you that it was your fault?”

“No, of course not!” Nerali frowned.  Like she was a child that needed to be scolded.  She could take the blame for her actions by herself.

“Then why did you come here, Nerali?” Jace asked in the same tone of voice.  It sounded remarkably similar to the time Aiden coaxed an injured leopard cub out of hiding.  

“To pay wergild,” Nerali blinked at him.  Was something wrong with Jace?  Did breaking the curse have a mental effect?

“It wasn’t your responsibility,” Jace said levelly, “Wergild is usually negotiated between clans.”

“Oh,” Nerali had not known that, “But it was my fault.”  And she didn’t want to put Clarissa in the position of ordering her into a dangerous situation or accepting capitulations.  Jace cast another glance at Mirai and Nerali frowned.

“You said you were expecting to die when you came here,” Jace said haltingly, pausing before every word, “But you knew that wouldn’t happen, right?”

“I didn’t think of it before you pointed it out,” Nerali mumbled, not looking at Mirai.

“Think of what, exactly?”

“That obviously my life would not be worth hers,” Nerali said, her voice dropping even lower.  She hunched into her shoulders again.  

“Don’t be silly,” Mirai said, her voice determined, and Nerali straightened again, “Jace would never have killed you because if he did, Clarissa would’ve come after him.  In fact, it’s extremely fortuitous that this sequence of events have resolved themselves with minimal bloodshed and little lasting damage.”

“Clarissa wouldn’t have come after you,” Nerali said, incredulous, though Mirai was right, it was incredibly lucky, “It was wergild.  She would understand.”  She frowned – she hadn’t thought of what Clarissa would’ve felt if she’d heard of Nerali’s death.  Yet another person she hadn’t considered would be affected by the consequences of her actions.

Jace’s face was doing something funny, his expression twisted somewhere between disbelief, confusion, and horror.  “She would understand,” Jace repeated, his words devoid of all emotion, “She would understand that her baby sister was murdered and would do nothing about it?”

“Not murder,” Nerali said, wincing.  “Payment.” This conversation had certainly taken an odd turn.  “She loved Mirai too, you know,” she said, her words soft and reproachful.

“Nerali,” Jace said. He sounded calm, but he didn’t look it, his hands clenching into fists and a muscle jumping in his jaw.  “What did she say to you when she heard what you did? Exactly.”

The words had echoed in Nerali’s head since she first heard them and even now they felt like daggers to the heart.  She repeated them warily, not understanding the undercurrent of anger in the room, but recognizing it nonetheless, “That she loved Mirai like her own sister and she understood what you were going through.”  She paused, but Jace was looking at her, expectant.  “That your rage would burn down the world if it wasn’t put out.”

There was a long silence. Jace looked at her blankly, unmoving. Nerali turned to Mirai, but her face smoothened over the instant she saw her and Mirai mutely offered her another sip. When she turned back, Jace was getting to his feet.  

“Well, it’s clear she still understands me, though I’m not sure I still understand her.”  He nodded at Nerali, “Thank you for this great service you’ve done to my clan, Nerali.  I hope you will consider partaking of our hospitality until you recover.”  He looked to Mirai, “I need to pack quickly if I’m to reach the conference tomorrow.  I know Irina wanted to check up on you again.”

Mirai got up ungainly and Nerali could see clearly that she hadn’t fully recovered yet.  She leaned heavily on Jace’s arm as she limped out the door, flashing a quick smile at Nerali before she left.  Nerali relaxed back into the pillows, feeling so much lighter. Everything had been fixed and Jace was going to strive for peace.  With both Jace and Clarissa working together, her sister’s dream would come true.  She would probably take Jace up on his offer – she didn’t want to see Clarissa’s face when she saw Nerali’s arms, and it would probably be better to do a quick check-up on the spirit spring before she left, just to make sure that the curse had fully dissolved.

Nerali slipped back into sleep, content.

~#~

He waited until he was out of earshot of Nerali’s hut, which was honestly more self-control than he thought he had.  “She what?” he hissed, furious.  Mirai leaned against a nearby wall.  Several people in the vicinity were pretending quite hard that they weren’t eavesdropping.  “She basically told her sister that she was responsible for the breakdown of peace in the forest!”

“To be fair, she would’ve been,” Mirai pointed out.

“Nerali is her sister,” Jace hissed, unable to put the roiling pit of anger and fear inside of him into words, “Her sister.”

“Jace,” Mirai started tentatively, but Jace cut her off.

“Her baby sister, Mirai,” he said, crossing to her and gripping her shoulders tight, “Have I ever said something like that to you?  Have I ever even implied it?”

“No, Jace, of course not,” Mirai placed a soothing hand on top of his, “You would never do that, I know.”

“But Clarissa did,” Jace said, closing his eyes.  All this time, and he thought she had been the righteous one.  “She basically told her that her life was worth less than yours.”

“She didn’t say that,” Mirai said quietly, “She would never say that.”

“That’s what she implied,” Jace said, “That my anger was a bigger problem than her baby sister’s continued survival.”  He felt sick to his stomach.  He had dug his fingernails into his hands to stop from breaking something when Nerali was talking.  “It’s what Nerali heard, otherwise she wouldn’t have walked all the way over here to throw herself on a sword.”

She hadn’t even seen anything wrong in it.  She had asked for peace because it was what her sister wanted.  She had been ready to die, thinking it was what her sister wanted.

“I thought it was a joke,” he said finally, “When she arrived at the gates, talking about wergild. I thought it was cruel mockery. Offering me exactly what I wanted and knowing I couldn’t take it.  Watching me fight my revenge to save my people – forcing me to acknowledge that something took priority over you, even as you were dying.”  Mirai was silent.  “But it wasn’t a joke, was it?  She was serious.”  He swept Mirai into a hug, holding her crushingly tight until he could feel her heartbeat.  She squawked at him, but he didn’t let go. 

“Promise me you would never do that,” he said, loosening his grip slightly, “Promise me, Mirai, that you would never give your life up for anything or anyone, thinking it’s what I want. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Mirai said softly.

“It doesn’t matter if you burn this whole forest down until there’s nothing left but ashes, because I will not blame you.  I will never blame you,” he pulled back until he could meet her eyes, “And if you die thinking it’s what I want, I will slit my own throat, do you understand?”

Mirai swallowed, tears in her eyes, and nodded mutely.  Jace fought back the burning in his own eyes and hugged her again, hoping that if he held her tight enough, he could forget what Nerali had said.

He finally let her go, wiping at his eyes roughly.  The people around them had given up all pretense of pretending not to listen. Several of them looked shocked. Many looked as sick as he’d felt listening to Nerali.  The healer outside of Nerali’s hut, paused with a small cup of soup in her hands, was white-faced and sorrowful.

“Chief.”  He turned to meet Felix’s determined gaze, “Tell us she’s not going back there.”

“I strongly suggested she stay here until she’s healed,” Jace said hoarsely, “I trust you can manage to keep her here without using actual force.”  The healer nodded.  “She’s disoriented and woozy from the pain, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”  He turned back to Felix, “You should pack.  We’re leaving for the peace talks.”

Felix blinked, “We are?”

“Yes,” Jace said, “Nerali asked that as repayment for breaking the curse and I accepted.  Besides, it gives us the perfect opportunity.”  A slow smile stretched across his face as he thought of the possibilities.

“Opportunity, chief?” Felix asked.

“To show Clarissa the error of her ways.”  And he would make sure she’d learned her lesson before letting Nerali anywhere near her again.

~#~

Part 4.

[mulberrypixie]

part 2

I haven’t gotten a title for this yet so for the moment I’ll call it pixie tales purely for convenience. idk i actually really liked these OCs so i did another part <3

When Mulberry’s feet were once again firmly planted on safe ground, Oak wasted no time in justifying his mischief.

“If we’d done it your way, we’d be walking for hours.” he did a little skip and bounced ahead of her. “Besides, it’s funny.”

She rolled her eyes at him. They passed by the Hall’s main entrance with barely a glance. They were forbidden from entering that way without an explicit invitation. A commoner’s glimpse of royalty would only come through the eyes of servitude.

The staff door was located in the East Wing and led immediately down to the cellar kitchens, where Oak’s father had worked his entire life. When they were little, they used to chase each other up and down those steps until they collapsed, waiting until their parents could take them home again. It seemed the smell hadn’t changed, like exotic and dust-ridden spices blended with lavender-leaf cleaning products.

The two halted outside the kitchen door. Even from there they could hear barked orders and clattering pots.

“Wait here,” Oak said, and slipped through the door without another word.

Oak’s habits bothered her occasionally. He tended to become so enamoured with whatever he was doing that explanations were forgotten about, and this often left Mulberry with the unenviable task of trailing along behind him trying not to cause any trouble, or let him cause any trouble. But, at the same time, his laser-focus determination was the very thing that made him the closest friend she’d ever had. Even when they were children, others had elected to avoid her. Christening a child with a flower’s name was fae tradition, and there were those among the elders that believed Mulberry’s name debased their heritage. How dare she pretend she is one of us. She believes she’s actually fae. What, looking like that? Even the other pixies would keep her at arm’s length. She understood their reasoning, being a child of differing parentage was difficult enough without being associated with the most prominent amalgamation. But Oak was the only child that did not partake in it, and more than that, he’d made it his “mission” to befriend her.

He liked to give presents. His first to her was an orange globeflower petal, folded to resemble a star. She kept it as long as she could before it fell apart, but Oak only spoke to her for the first time seven days after he’d left the present on her desk.

“Did you like it?” Even then he was all cocoa and bronze, as sleek and vulnerable as a debarked sapling. “I wasn’t sure if you like the colour orange. A lot of people say it’s ugly and garish but I think it’s really pretty - I mean it’s fine if you don’t like it but if you don’t maybe you could tell me and I’ll make you a different one? I’ll use your favourite colour this time I promise. If you tell me-”

“I like orange,” Mulberry interrupted. Who knows how long he would’ve gone if she hadn’t. 

His smile was wide and goofy, and Mulberry had found her first-ever friend.

Now, the same smile was peering round the door to beckon her inside. “You won’t believe the gig dad got us.”

As it turned out, there was a shortage of waiters. “Bleedin’ prince, inviting a hundred more people without so much as a notice,” Oak’s father ranted while beating furiously at a bowl of pink icing. She giggled slightly when she noticed the smudge of it resting on the tip of his nose; thankfully, the kitchens were too loud for him to hear her. 

“That shelf there-” he continued. “Is where we keep the waiter’s uniforms. Pick ‘em up, keep ‘em clean, and stay outta the way ‘til tomorrow evening.”

Her heart skipped. “Wait,” she said slowly. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow as in..?”

Oak finished for her, grinning wildly. “Tomorrow as in her Majesty’s ball, exactly.”

In another setting, she would’ve sworn, but Oak’s family looked down on such behaviour. Besides, she was a royal server now, and it could be assumed that a certain decorum must be upheld.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed.

He cracked a smile at her. “Tha’s alright, girl. Just don’t go huggin’ me or you’ll get all dirty. And that means the uniforms get dirty, and that means -”

“We get fired.”

He nodded at them.

They raced through the lines of cooks, snatching up their clothes along the way out of the cubby labelled “wingéd”. Anticipation pounded through her, mind running rampant. In all the years that she’d imagined what Her Majesty’s Hall would look like, never would she have guessed that she’d see it one day. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t be wearing a ballgown, she’d be there. She’d be there with all the masked ladies and decorated lords. The fiddle would be playing and the moonlight pouring in. This was her chance to see the royals up close, to get a look at the sybaritic splendidness.

And she’d be damned if she screwed it up.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘Repeating History’ Chapter 6: I’ll Find a Way to You

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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2016

Molly rushed up the stairs to 221B, throwing the door open with such force, it caused Sherlock to jump.

“What is it?” she asked, hesitance in every step she took towards him. He was looking down at something—a photograph, perhaps—and his face showed no emotion other than shock.

“It’s…” he began, “us.” Sherlock felt, rather than saw, Molly hovering beside him.

“Sherlock…” what she saw was their faces staring back at them, the wallpaper backdrop not dissimilar to the flat they now stood in. “That’s us…that’s how I see you in those dreams…is that how you see me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “My mother sent this to me; she thought we would be interested.”

“Ha!” Molly laughed in disbelief. “Well, this confirms it.”

“We had past lives…as…ourselves?” Sherlock asked. “Strange how past lives are depicted as the same soul in a different body.”

“Maybe it’s one of those star-crossed things,” Molly suggested. Sherlock only frowned in confusion. “Perhaps we wanted to be together in a different life, and for whatever reason, it didn’t work out.” Still nothing. “It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Preposterous,” Sherlock muttered. “How can this be?” Everything he had known to be true had turned on its head. He focused in on Molly’s face. “Why do you look so upset?”

Molly took a closer look. Most Victorian photographs upheld a serious, unpleasant feel, but Sherlock was right; she looked distraught. “You don’t look very happy either,” she pointed out. He appeared to be uncomfortable. “Something unsettling must have occurred just before the photograph was taken,” she reasoned.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade rushed into the flat. “We found another victim, and it’s much more gruesome than before.”

“Do you need me too?” Molly asked.

“We’ll be alright, Molls,” Greg assured her. “Anderson is on the scene.”

Sherlock groaned at this. Turning to Molly, he said, “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Promise?” Molly asked, a small smile forming on her lips.

“I promise,” he assured her. “I love you.”

Molly opened her mouth to speak the words he so wanted to hear, but nothing came out but a strangled gasp. She closed her eyes in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock molded his hand around her shoulder. “It’s alright. I understand.” A tear fell from Molly’s eye and hit the back of his hand. “I know you love me.”

Smiling at his acknowledgement, she wiped another tear from her eye. “Solve me a murder, Sherlock.”

There was a strong stench of copper and decay in the alley where the victim was found. Sherlock Holmes held a handkerchief dabbed in vapor rub to his nose to avoid the putrid scent.  The victim was definitely a woman, possibly in her early thirties. She was hardly recognizable what with her organs spilling out every which way. Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be scratches all over her exposed bosoms. The only organ that was missing was—

“Where’s her stomach?” Sherlock asked.

“Over here!” Anderson shouted by the dumpsters.

“Her stomach?” Sherlock asked once more.

“No,” Anderson replied, “I found another victim.”

“Jesus,” Lestrade remarked. “Let’s get her out of there!”

The woman had been retrieved from the dumpster carefully as to not disturb whatever clues they could get from her. Sherlock was glad for once that Molly was not here. She was tough, but the grisly scene was nearly too much for even him to handle.

“Seems like the intestines are missing,” Anderson informed them. “Everything else is accounted for.”

Sherlock studied the corpse further. “There,” he pointed below her abdomen. “Her bladder is gone as well.” Their modern day Ripper was collecting organs, but for what purpose? Were organs his consolation prize after committing such a crime? “That leaves the brain and heart.”

“Don’t forget the skin,” Anderson reminded him. “It’s not commonly known that it’s—“

“The largest organ of the body, yes, I know,” Sherlock finished in agitation. Volatile images of a poor unsuspecting woman being skinned alive plagued his mind, making him shudder. The consulting detective was never squeamish, but this case had him feeling uneasy. Perhaps Molly was right; he jumped right into things too quickly after Sherrinford. It was too late, though. Sherlock would never forgive himself if he quit the case now, especially when all of these women had been put through so much pain.

“Calm down, it’ll be alright,” Greg spoke into his phone. “You know he will. We’ll find her.”

An uneasiness coursed through Sherlock’s body. There was a lump in his throat, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. Flashes of a torture scene flickered in his mind. There was a young woman, but he couldn’t make out her features. The street was spinning—no, he was falling—down, down, down.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade shouted, running over to him. It was the last thing the detective heard before everything went black.

1894

Restlessness plagued Molly Hooper for the rest of the night. Her mind was racing after her tiff with Sherlock. What distressed her most was that she was no closer to finding Meena’s murderer. Her father was asleep on the settee in the sitting room, snoring peacefully. She thought of the new friend she had in Mrs. Watson. Molly had only seen her at the hospital a handful of time, and attended to her twice since Doctor Mudgett’s disappearance.

It was at that moment that everything clicked into place. Mudgett disappeared shortly before the murders began…could it be? No. Molly shook the thought from her head. It had to be a coincidence. Sherlock’s hand-me-down words from the eldest Holmes brother entered her mind.

What do we say about coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy.

“Oh, God,” Molly muttered, wasting no time. “I’ll be back, father. I need to see a man about a murder.”

Fastening her cloak around her shoulders, and drawing up her hood, Molly set off for Baker Street. The hansoms had no business running this late, so she knew she’d have to make the trip on foot. With every step, her anxiety grew. Baker Street was only a few streets away; it would take her no longer than twenty minutes. With that knowledge, she picked up her speed, moving at a near-run. No matter what she heard, saw, or felt, Molly Hooper did not stop for any of it. The best thing was for her to keep moving steadily, onward to 221B.

Though it was probably paranoia, Molly felt a pair of eyes watching her the entire time. She nearly squealed with delight was the door to Sherlock’s flat came into view. She shouted his name as loudly as she could muster. Just as her hand reached for the knocker, a cold, clammy hand pulled her back. A bloodcurdling scream ripped from her lips, alerting nearly every tenant on the street. A cloth was being held against her mouth now, making her sink into the inky blackness of unconsciousness

Sherlock Holmes was pacing, his mind moving at speeds he could not fathom. Why did he have to allow his damn pride to get in the way of everything? Why could he not allow himself to give in to the love of the most captivating woman he had ever encountered? Margaret Hooper had put him in his place, and rightly so. He needed to apologise. There was no way around it.

“Sherlock!”

He knew that voice. It was Molly. She came back.

Sherlock’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He ran to the window, and threw it open in an effort to speak with her, but as he did so, a bloodcurdling scream reverberated throughout the entire street.

“Molly?” He searched the street from above, but there was no sign of her.

“Molly, where are you?” he shouted. When no answer came, he rushed down the stairs and out the door, his bare feet hitting the freezing the ground.

“Molly!? Oh God,” he cried, his breathing heavy. “No. No, no, no!”

“Snap out of it!” Mycroft shouted in his mind palace. “Concentrate. Which direction did she come from? In which direction did she possibly go?”

Sherlock scanned his surroundings. She came from the left side of the street if she came from her home. Whoever took her was obviously going in the same direction, but did not take the risk of dragging her down the street. He could have disappeared down an alley for a quick getaway. This madman had Molly, and Sherlock Holmes was going to do everything in his power to save her.

“Lestrade.” Yes, he needed to go to Scotland Yard immediately. A search needed to be organised and soon.

2016

I’ll burn the heart out of you.

Jim Moriarty’s words circled his mind as he came to. The first thing he saw was a bright light, the faces in the room fuzzy. As his sight began to clear, he noticed Greg’s sullen expression. A chilling scream only he could hear came to the detective’s mind. It belonged to Molly. He knew it did.

“Molly,” Sherlock croaked. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Kidnapped,” Greg confirmed. “She isn’t dead—not yet. A note was found taped to your door, though.”

Sherlock snatched it, sitting right up in the hospital bed. “Margaret Hooper had morbid humour; too bad she never wed. She fell apart with a broken heart, and all they found was her head.” He felt nauseous, his stomach doing somersaults. “Oh God,” he cried. “We have to find her! Right now!” He thrashed about in the bed, pulling out the IV in his arm.

Nobody argued with him or advised him to stay in bed. They knew what Molly meant to Sherlock. He wouldn’t allow anything or anybody to get in his way. “Ughhhh,” he doubled over in pain, the room spinning. Instead of fighting it, he allowed the visions to come.

The land was familiar, sprawling every which way. In the distance, he could see a manor. There was no denying it. He was at Musgrave Hall, only the outlines of the funny gravestones were visible from where he stood. Moriarty’s voice began singing in his ear, “Sherlock Holmes upon his throne like to slay the dragons. He loved to roam amongst funny gravestones, before he fell off the wagon.”

Gasping for air, Sherlock came to once more. “I know where she’s been taken.” He turned to Lestrade. “Organise a search party. We’re going to Musgrave Hall.”

John Watson woke to a rapping on the door. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “What now?”

“What is it?” Mary asked tiredly.

“John, please, open up!” Sherlock’s voice called out.

The Watsons were up and out of bed faster than light. John answered the door, noting the anguish on Sherlock’s face.

“Molly’s been taken,” he panted.

“Where?” Mary asked, fear gripping her heart.

“Musgrave Hall,” Sherlock replied heavily. “John, I would normally recruit you for this, but I need Mary’s skillset. It’s too important.”

John nodded. “Of course, yeah. I’ll stay with Rosie.”

Mary was off to get dressed, and returned no more than five minutes later. “Let’s go.”

1894

Funny Gravestones. Sherlock was trying to recall the significance of it. He searched his mind palace, diving into the depths of it, until finally, it occurred to him where Molly could have been taken.

“Musgrave Hall,” Sherlock told Lestrade. “Miss Hooper was taken to Musgrave Hall; it was my former childhood home.”

“Why would he take her there?” Lestrade inquired. “She has no connection to the place…does she?”

Flashes of his now-deceased sister came to mind. There was another girl present too with chestnut locks, her nose upturned just like—

“I,” Sherlock began, “I think I grew up with her…how on earth did I forget?”

They took a hansom cab to the nearest train station, and whilst on board, Sherlock delved deeper into his repressed memories. He remembered Eurus being jealous that he would choose to play with Molly rather than her. Then, there was the day that Eurus had trapped Molly in the well that sat within the woods surrounding his family home. After saving her, Sherlock never saw her again until this year. He hadn’t even remembered her; his best friend from childhood. Then again, he realised, she hadn’t recognised him either.

Lestrade studied the detective before him, noting that he was in deep thought. A sorrowful look came upon his face. “What’s wrong?”

Snapping out of it, Sherlock had the detective inspector repeat the question. “What’s wrong is that I completely pushed away any memories of Molly from when we were children. I have been a right foul git to her. Aside from that, she may or may not be trapped in a well. We have to save her.”

“We will, Sherlock.” Lestrade didn’t show it, but he was afraid they were already too late.

“Somebody help!” Molly shouted into the endless darkness. She hadn’t a clue where she was, but it was dark, cold, and damp. One thing she knew was that she wasn’t outside. Otherwise, she would be pelted with raindrops right now.

A cold, sinister laugh echoed through the room. A man in a bowler hat peered out from the shadows, and into what little light there was. “There is nobody to help you, my dear.”

“Who are you!?” she demanded. “If I am going to die, then you might as well tell me!”

The man stepped closer towards her until they were face to face, his mustache nearly brushing her nose. “The name is Doctor Henry Mudgett,” he replied. “Nice to see you again, Doctor Hooper.”

“You,” Molly gasped. “You were Mary’s doctor; the one that disappeared into thin air.”

He chuckled in amusement. “Yes, but I am known under a different moniker now, Doctor Hooper. I use my mother’s maiden name. I believe that my cousin harbours deep feelings for you.”

Molly looked at him with questioning eyes.

“H.H. Holmes is the name now. I believe you’ve met my cousin, Sherlock?”