#when i found out exactly what had happened to her i felt myself mourning for her all over again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year ago

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Semper Eadem (iii, ao3)

If there’s one thing any self-respecting Elizabethan looks forward to, it’s a jousting match. Be a shame if someone got hurt, wouldn’t it? (Presenting chapter three for @nessianweek day 4!)

(chapter one // chapter two)

Another letter waited when she woke.

Pushed beneath her door as she slept, it lay in the small patch of golden sunlight that filtered through her chamber windows, and Nesta knew before she plucked it from the ground that it was from Cassian. From the crisp, straight edges of the parchment, she knew that this wasn’t a letter that he’d carried with him from his ship. No— this was a new letter, and as she thought of the way she’d smiled deliberately at the Duke of Northumberland last night, she had a feeling she knew exactly when Cassian had penned this particular piece of correspondence. Exactly why he’d penned it, too.

Her name had been written in that grand, sweeping cursive of his, but his pen had stumbled a little at the end, like his hand had quaked. It shouldn’t have been endearing. Shouldn’t have had her fighting a smile, but—

Damn him.

She weighed the letter in her palm, turning it in hand, and found Rhysand’s seal keeping the edges together. A mountain crowned with three stars was embossed in the dark red wax— some symbol of the Welsh peaks Rhysand’s ancestors hailed from. Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes, and did not mourn the way that seal cracked as she opened the letter— didn’t mind as the mountain cleaved in two.

Dearest Nesta, his letter read.

The hour is late, and I know that you will be abed already, but I find myself longing more than anything to hear your voice. I confess, sweetheart, that you left me rather desolate tonight as you left the great hall, and I wish it were not so— that things were not so fraught between us. I wish, too, that I could speak these words aloud to you, but alas, I think the Queen would have my head if I came to find you at such an hour. I will merely have to settle for this— ink and paper and distance. It is a sorry substitute for your sharp tongue, but perhaps if I happen to give myself a paper cut I suppose the end result will be the same.

I had half a mind to spout some poetry - my heart bleeds for you, et cetera, et cetera - but truly I am not very good at it. My tutors as a boy bemoaned it often, and always said that I was a pale shadow in comparison to Azriel who, irritatingly, is very good at spouting poetry. All I can offer instead is my most heartfelt truth— that I missed you during those days at sea more than anything in the world. Trust, sweetheart, that every word I wrote in my previous letters was the truth, and had I only the opportunity to send them to you, I would have.

I regret no more now for lack of time, since it is surely not long now until dawn. Sleep well, dear heart, for I trust to see you at breakfast, where I live in hope that you will grant me your favour for the day’s joust.

Ever yours, C.

Nesta blinked, folding the edges of letter together again, brushing a thumb over that broken seal. Her heart fluttered, ever yours resounding in her head, clanging through her chest and ringing like a church bell. Something uncomfortable gathered in her stomach as she thought of the way she had taunted him, the way she had smiled at Eris as her eyes had passed over Cassian entirely. Letting out a bitter huff, she looked to the sun limning the windowpanes, knowing it was only a matter of time before the Queen called for her. She had wanted to make Cassian jealous, and clearly she had already had considerable success but—

Her resolve was cracking.

She had only wanted to give him a taste of what it had been like for her— a sample of the agony she’d felt with every day she’d waited for word from him, not knowing if he was dead or alive. She wanted him to ache the way she had ached for months, but— God’s wounds, did he have to make it so bloody difficult?

She huffed once more, tossing the letter onto the sideboard. Swiftly she dressed— in the finest gown she owned, no less. It was a pale blue and embroidered with silver thread, shining delicate in the morning light. It had been a gift from the Queen, the bolt of fabric so frightfully expensive that even Nesta had been shocked by the generosity. Her father was a duke, and so Nesta fell into the rather slim category of individuals who could wear the colour without breaking the Queen’s sumptuary laws, and it was lucky, because if Nesta knew one thing with certainty, it was that Cassian enjoyed the sight of her in blue.

The first time they had met she had been wearing a dress made of a pale grey, so pale it was almost blue in a certain light. He’d told her then that the colour brought out her eyes.

Perhaps that was what gave her pause before she left her chamber— the thought of him that very first day, glancing up at her with an easy grin and a boyish charm, an irreverence that had made her want to smile. Perhaps it was that memory that had her lingering by the sideboard, studying his letter anew, like it might give her whatever it was she’d been searching for. She couldn’t say, wasn’t certain, and she didn’t know why, but before Nesta left that chamber—

She took up that letter and tucked it inside her bodice.

***

Nesta loved a joust.

The brightly coloured pennants fluttered in the gentle breeze, and beneath the Queen’s canopy the golden tassels hanging from the royal standard gleamed a bright yellow, with three golden lions looking out over the tiltyard, mouths open in silent, embroidered roars. The standard hung above Elizabeth’s chair, taller than the rest, and like the lions on her crest the Queen seated cast her eyes over the yard too, humming in approval as the tournament inched closer.

A long wooden beam ran horizontal through the centre of the yard, and on either end men were preparing— donning armour, feeling the weight of a lance. The stands were already filled with spectators, and somewhere along the other end of the yard minstrels and musicians had taken up, the sound of a lute filtering through the morning air. Greensleeves— they were playing Greensleeves, but Nesta was only barely listening, scanning the yard instead for dark hair and a wicked smile. At the far end, she had glimpsed Rhysand ducking beneath the awning of a tent to ready himself, and a moment later she’d seen the spymaster enter too. Cassian was in there, she was certain of it, but since the Queen had spent so long that morning readying herself for the day, Nesta had missed him at breakfast and hadn’t caught sight of him, much as he’d hoped she would in his letter.

She glanced down at the ribbons on the sleeve of her dress now.

Cassian had asked for her favour, but had yet to come and claim it. Mildly, she blinked.

She was wondering why - wondering what had changed his mind - when she caught sight of him at last. He exited the tent Rhysand had entered, already wearing plate armour that had been polished to a high shine, gleaming in the sunlight and moulded perfectly to every swell of muscle, every powerful inch of his frame. A helmet was tucked beneath his arm, and from such a distance Nesta couldn’t hear the way his spurs clattered against his silver plate as he walked, but she could imagine it so vividly it was as though he were already right beside her. He caught her eye— from across the yard, even with so much yawning distance stretching between them, he found her and grinned, raising one hand in greeting as he handed his helm to a passing squire.

He was entirely devoid of jewellery now.

No rings shone on his fingers, no pearl dangled from his ear. His hair was tied back, not a single strand straying, unruly, into his face. He looked ready for battle, a warrior through and through, bedecked in a staggering expanse of shining steel, and Nesta felt her heart kick behind her ribs at the sight— the traitorous thing. Caught somewhere between a scowl and a sigh, she watched intently as her knight stepped forward, and she knew with certainty that he was going to approach her now, that he was going to ask for her favour.

And she’d give it.

God help her— she’d give it.

The damned letter had crumbled her resolve, and her eyes were fixed on him now, on that effortless smile that graced his face, on the way he looked so at home in steel. Her breath caught in her throat, her bottom lip finding a home between her teeth as he flexed his hands, pulling on his gauntlets.

It was its own kind of lunacy, how good he looked in armour. She dragged her eyes over the width of his shoulders, over the broad, hardened span of his chest, and down— all the way down to those shapely calves of his, brought into stark definition by lines of solid steel. She half felt as though the air had been drawn from the tiltyard with the way it refused to fill her lungs, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him, like he had suddenly become her world, that which her sun and moon and stars revolved.

A great deal of the Queen’s ladies thought Azriel was the most attractive knight in the field, but as Cassian stalked slowly towards her from the other end of the yard…

Nesta couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

It was Cassian who held her attention— that imposing frame of his, lined head to toe with cold steel, had her heart fluttering inside her chest as he looked at her with purpose, like she was the only one in the world he saw. It was almost enough to make her dizzy, and—

“My lady,” a voice said, dragging her attention away from the corner of the yard, where Cassian had stilled. Nesta blinked. “I beg for your favour— a token of your affection so that I may compete in your honour.”

Looking down over the wooden railing of the stands, Nesta found the Duke of Northumberland staring up at her, a knowing smile curving his lips.

She hesitated.

Eris was handsome, even she could not deny it. The sharp cut of his jaw was elegant and fine, and his hair was a richer red than even the Queen’s, much to Elizabeth’s chagrin. His dukedom stretched halfway along the Scottish border to the coast, a once-volatile territory more settled in recent decades than ever before, and with the size of his estates and coffers, he was hardly a disappointing match for a woman of her standing. Indeed, if her father went through with the betrothal, Nesta could hardly complain that her husband wasn’t attractive, nor could she find issue with the scale of his wealth.

Elizabeth looked at her now, amusement glittering in her dark, unforgiving eyes— so much like her father’s, as sharp and as cutting as the eyes of ravens housed at the Tower. This was the Queen’s favourite game— this dance of chivalry and courtly love, and as Nesta looked down at her wrist, at the ribbons decorating her sleeve, her stomach sank like a stone dropped into a wishing well. She dared to glance beyond Eris— to Cassian, where he had halted at the end of the yard. Even with so much distance between them, Nesta could see how his face had darkened, the murderous tilt to his head and the way his fingers had curled into a fist. She might have laughed at the hardness that had settled over his features - after all, wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted when she’d smiled at Eris in the chapel? In the hall? - had there not been something inside her whispering that this was one step too far, the cut a little too deep.

Because Cassian came no nearer, only watched from afar as Eris extended a hand, dipping into a smooth bow as he lifted his gaze to his monarch and his potential bride.

If only you had come to me sooner, Nesta thought ruefully as she turned her attention back to Eris, still waiting for her to bestow her favour. Didn’t you learn that lesson from all those months away? That no matter how much I want to, I can’t spend my life waiting for you?

Because she couldn’t refuse. The rules of the game forbade it, and all of it - all of it - was a game. It was one the entire court played day in and day out, one of gentle flirtation and chivalric romance, where a courtier wooed his lady with pretty words and grand gestures, and Nesta was powerless against it. A knight had asked for her favour, and it would have been remiss of her not to grant it, especially when the knight in question was a man who might very well wind up being her husband.

No— as Nesta rose smoothly to her feet and untied a single ribbon, she knew she had no choice.

Eris bowed his head as she handed the ribbon over, taking it in hand and pressing it to his lips with a flourish, as if he were crafted from Arthurian legend. When he lifted his eyes, he gave her a winning smile, smooth and charming and effortless.

“For your honour,” he said grandly, holding that ribbon aloft, gripped between his thumb and forefinger. The Queen tilted her head in something akin to approval as Eris backed away slowly, retreating to his end of the tiltyard. Nesta nodded once at the man her father wished her to marry, but she couldn’t help but wish it had been another knight to take that ribbon, another that had lifted it to his mouth. But he was too late— once again, Cassian was too late.

“Well little dove,” the Queen said in a whisper as Nesta sank back into her seat. “You have snared a fox.”

Nesta let out a soft little laugh, but it was hollow through its falsity. She let her eyes dart back towards the corner of the tiltyard, finding Cassian’s attention still fixed on her. She tilted her head in something like a challenge, and briefly he glanced straight ahead, to where Eris was now preparing to mount his horse. Even from the stands she could see the feral glint in Cassian’s eyes, and the murderous smile as he folded his arms across his broad, silver-plated chest— issuing a challenge of his own.

***

“I want the duke,” Cassian demanded hotly, marching over to where the marshall of the joust stood behind a wooden table, parchment and ink laid out on its surface.

A middle-aged man, well versed in the rules of the joust and the tourney, he only blinked lazily at Cassian. “Sir, you are to run first against the earl of—”

“I want Northumberland,” Cassian cut in flatly, looking across the expanse of ground between them, watching Eris tie Nesta’s ribbon to the end of a lance. Cassian gritted his teeth and beside him, Rhys laughed. He had yet to finish donning his own armour, but was testing the weight of a lance in his hand— eight feet long and crowned with a dulled metal tip. It had Cassian suddenly wondering if he would have time to sharpen the tip of his own lance into a fucking spear.

“Oh, let him have it,” Rhys said airily, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the lance. “I was supposed to be up against Northumberland first but I��m happy to exchange to give Cassian what he wants.” He rolled his eyes. “Terrible temper when he doesn’t get his own way, you know,” he added, almost conspiratorially, to the marshall.

Cassian scowled.

But the trumpets began to sound, and the marshall sighed at length before nodding, scoring out Rhys’ name on his list and writing Cassian’s beneath. Rhys’ coat of arms were rendered in elaborate colour there too, right across from Eris’, and the marshall only looked pointedly at Cassian before crossing that out too, a dark line of ink cutting right through the shield decorated with a Welsh mountain crowned with stars, a nod to Rhys’ ancestry. Rhys rolled his eyes, and the marshall gave a tight hmph before turning from them entirely, striding briskly towards the tiltyard entrance, where he found the herald to inform him of the change of plan.

“You’re welcome,” Rhys said blandly, clapping Cassian on the shoulder before setting down the lance he’d been balancing in his palm. It was Cassian’s turn to roll his eyes now, rolling his shoulders inside his armour and hearing the satisfying clink of metal plate as he shifted. Rhys snorted, turning away and beginning to head for the tent to continue readying for his own match.

“Do me a favour Cass,” he said wryly, turning his head as he lifted the tent flap. “Don’t kill him. You’ll start a civil war in the north if we have to find a new Duke of Northumberland.”

Cassian grinned wickedly. “He has a brother to replace him, does he not?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “A brother who is happily occupied by his post in Spain, if I recall correctly. Don’t forget that Nesta’s sister is his wife. Lady Elain won’t be happy if they’re dragged back to England because you put your lance through her brother-in-law’s neck, and if I’ve learned anything over the past few years, its that if there’s one way to piss off Nesta Archeron, it’s to make her sister unhappy.”

Cassian grumbled, and Rhys only gave him one last looked before ducking back inside the tent. Cassian might have marched back in there to argue the point further, but his squire rounded the corner with a horse in tow— the one Cassian had picked out that very morning when they’d marched down to the stables to choose their mounts.

She was arrayed in red and gold, and he’d known from the moment he’d seen her that she was the horse he wanted today. A deep brown destrier, she was named Minerva after the Roman goddess of war, and across her back she sported a black leather saddle and a ruby-red caparison edged with embroidered black roses. She was beautiful, and as Cassian approached and stroked a broad hand down her nose, she nudged the centre of his palm. He grinned.

“I’ll fetch your lance,” the squire said, bowing his head as he handed the reins over. Cassian nodded, wrapping the leather around his fist as the horse whickered.

“We’re going to win today, aren’t we girl?” he said softly. Minerva whinnied. “We’re going to win back the affection of Mistress Archeron and knock the Duke of Northumberland from his horse, aren’t we?”

He patted the horse on the nose, nodding to himself.

Oh, yes.

He was going to win today. Eris had already taken Nesta’s favour— he wasn’t about to take Cassian’s victory too. Cassian hadn’t even bothered asking any other lady for a favour. He didn’t want to tuck another’s glove into his breastplate, didn’t want to ask another lady for anything. All he wanted was one of those damned ribbons from Nesta’s sleeve, and yet she’d given it to fucking Eris.

Not that she’d had much choice.

Cassian knew the rules of this game as well as she, and it would have caused a stir if she’d turned Eris down.

Still, he thought as the squire returned with his lance, it didn’t make it any better. Cassian mounted his horse, still thinking of the way Nesta’s ribbon fluttered as Eris tied it to the end of his own lance.

Bastard.

With a snap, Cassian closed his visor.

He could see nothing but right ahead, the tiltyard and the long wooden beam. Eris waited at the other end, similarly visored and gripping the lance with Nesta’s fucking ribbon dancing in the breeze. The visor restricted his vision, but the one and only time he’d gone without it, he’d earned the scar cutting through his eyebrow.

He’d been jousting against Azriel, and his lance had split in three places. He’d worn his helmet but not closed his visor, preferring the wider field of vision, but a shard of his lance had been thrown backwards, cutting through his skin. He’d almost lost an eye, and even though he had no doubt that it would have made him even more dashing, he had no wish to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life— even though, at the time, Azriel had taken pains to remind him that not only had handsome Lucien Vanserra lost an eye in such an accident, but in the Queen’s father’s time, there had been a knight who lost an eye at a joust in Greenwich too, and the eyepatches of both attracted the ladies wonderfully.

But Cassian didn’t want to attract the ladies, he thought darkly as he studied the tiltyard ahead. He wanted Nesta, and none other.

He gritted his teeth as the herald took up a place in the centre of the yard, his voice echoing through the steel of Cassian’s armour as he announced the beginnings of the tournament. The trumpets sounded a fanfare, and the rumble of the drums clapped through the air like thunder as the energy in the yard began to build, turning frenetic, frantic, as Cassian manoeuvred his horse into position, armoured thighs gripping her flanks tight as he brought her to the starting line. At the other end of the yard, Eris mirrored Cassian’s movements.

A moment passed, then two, three—

Cassian’s heart hammered in his chest, anticipation thick on his tongue as he waited for the herald to call for the joust to begin, to say the words that would have him surging forwards—

“Laissez aller!”

It was a phrase from Old French, used to signal the beginning of a match. Rhys had told him once that it meant let them go, but Cassian hadn’t ever really cared for the intricacies of language or translation. All he cared for was how he lifted his lance higher now, spearing it towards the sky the moment the words left the herald’s lips. He kicked his heels in hard, setting Minerva lurching forth, racing along the tilt at a breakneck speed.

Her hooves were thunderous, an unwavering and uncompromising beat as the world went by in a blur, and with each thud of her feet against the tiltyard ground, Cassian felt his armour reverberate— felt the rattle right the way down to his bones. With one hand gripping the reins and the other holding his lance aloft, the world beyond simply fell away, the cacophony of cheers and shouts and music drowned out, eclipsed, as Cassian’s horse neared the centre of the tiltyard.

A pleasance, the herald had declared that morning, before the festivities had begun.

It was a phrase used customarily at a joust, one that let them know this was a friendly match— done not for war, but for fun. But as Cassian raced towards that pale blue ribbon…

He didn’t echo the sentiment.

He lowered his lance, keeping his elbow tucked to his side and his grip tight as he extended his arm, holding the lance straight and sure and steady— aiming right for Eris’ heart. He didn’t just want to break his rival’s lance or knock him from his horse. He wanted to kill the bastard. At sea, there had been skirmishes. Drunken brawls in port towns that had turned nasty. Cassian had ended lives beneath his bare hands, and Eris hadn’t seen a day of battle in his life, the sheltered little nobleman that he was. He’d never had to fight a day in his life for anything. The Queen’s reign had been easy for her nobility. Unless they were sent to Ireland or the Netherlands, they had no knowledge of war, no experience with strife. Cassian snarled softly behind his visor. This was not the days of the Queen’s father, when war had raged with France. This was not even the days of her grandfather, when civil war had made a solider of every nobleman.

No— men like Eris had become complacent, and as Cassian seethed, his fingers tightened around the base of his lance.

In the wind kicked up by Eris’ horse, Cassian saw that fucking ribbon flutter— taunting him, mocking him.

It should have been his.

He’d asked for it first, had wanted her first, and now Eris thought he could ask for her favour, could wear her ribbon, just because there was talk of a match between he and her? A match that Cassian would let happen over his own dead body?

Once more he snarled inside his armour, keeping his arm straight as his horse barrelled forwards.

He was going to knock Eris off his fucking horse for even presuming to approach Nesta, for daring to ask for that fucking ribbon. He was going to land a blow so fucking fierce the Duke wouldn’t ever joust again—

The distance between them continued to shrink, and it all moved quickly - so quickly - that Cassian didn’t dare blink. Eris was a hundred paces away— fifty— twenty—

There was a deafening crack as his lance split, connecting right with the centre of Eris’ shield.

A perfect score.

The audience applauded, cheers rising from the stands, but Cassian didn’t turn his head.

He only kept his pace, galloping to the end of the yard and extending a hand as a squire handed him a fresh lance. At the scoreboard, a large III had been written in chalk beside his name. The space beside Eris’ name remained blank. He hadn’t managed to hit Cassian at all, his lance missing him by an inch.

But Cassian didn’t smile, didn’t feel satisfaction burning through his veins— not yet. Eris remained atop his horse, entirely unharmed, and as Cassian reached the end of the yard and spun his horse, already he was preparing to go again, and go again harder. They would run three times against one another, with the highest scoring knight declared victor. Three points were awarded for a hit to the shield, two for a hit to the chest, one for a hit to the arm. Cassian had had the rules memorised since he was a boy, knew them inside and out, because he’d spent years training for this— spent years running against his brothers, rarely losing unless he was up against Azriel. He’d broken Rhys’ arm in this very yard once— shattered the bone beneath his brother’s elbow and sprained his wrist.

And that was entirely by accident.

He smiled grimly now as he set his sights on Eris anew.

But God had damned him, it seemed, for in the moment his lance crossed the tilt, the sun shone vicious on Eris’ armour, the glare so blinding it forced Cassian to blink, to shield his eyes as his aim slipped. Instead of landing a hit to the shield attached to Eris’ armour at the shoulder, the tip of his lance connected only with Eris’ arm— earning him a single point. In contrast, Eris landed a hit to Cassian’s chest, the blow damn near knocking the breath from his lungs and scoring the duke two full points he didn’t fucking deserve.

Cassian growled in frustration, a roar building in his chest like he was nothing but some feral creature, and when Eris reached the other end of the yard and flipped up his visor, shooting a dazzling smile to the stands where Cassian knew Nesta sat watching…

Well, his fury was stoked to an almost dangerous fervour, so lethal and so potent it had him practically trembling inside his armour, the breath stuck in his throat as it caved beneath his wrath.

He remembered again how he’d broken Rhys’ arm jousting when they were boys. How, once, he’d managed to make a dent in Azriel’s breastplate with the force of his hit. Eris might have been as learned as Cassian in the sport but Cassian knew he had the edge. Because he wasn’t afraid to spill blood, not too shy to break bones in order to prove to Eris and the Queen and every single one of them watching in the stands that Nesta was his lady, the woman he had once been so certain he would take to wife.

He was still determined to put a ring on her finger someday.

So as Eris turned his horse, set his lance straight and aimed, Cassian took a breath— deep, filling his lungs as he felt the muscles of the horse shifting beneath his thighs. The herald called the final laissez aller, and Cassian wasted not a single second. Before the crowd could even begin their cheering, he set Minerva to a fierce gallop, even faster than before. The air whistled through his armour as he gained momentum, and still he pushed her further, faster— faster, faster. He held his arm steady, his grip tight as he clenched his jaw, knowing that this was the run that would decide the match, that would have him standing as either a proud victor or a sore, sore loser.

He didn’t look to the stands. Didn’t search for her face amongst the crowd.

But it was for her— every pounding beat of his heart, every single piece of him that urged that horse forwards…

For her.

Eris was close now— so, so close. The tip of his lance neared, and Cassian redoubled his grip on his own, fingers straining, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets.

And still he urged his destrier faster, determined to get as much brutal, crushing force behind this hit as possible— determined to make it a final, shattering blow that would make the duke think twice before daring to even look at Nesta ever again.

Meters became feet became inches, and suddenly Cassian could see the whites of Eris’ eyes, the way they narrowed as Cassian checked his aim, braced himself for the impact—

And with an almighty clash, the tip of his lance shattered entirely as it made bruising contact with the centre of Eris’ shield.

The force of it knocked Eris sideways off his horse, sending him crashing to the tiltyard floor. His armour clattered, the pauldron at his shoulder cracking with the impact, and the lance Eris had been aiming at Cassian’s chest scored only a glancing blow on his shoulder before it, too, fell loudly to the floor. The Duke was winded, lying still on the ground, and for a moment Cassian thought he really had killed the bastard— but then Eris was rising slowly, pushing up on his elbows and removing his helmet. A thin ribbon of blood streamed from his nose, whilst another wound bled far more profusely at his temple, staining his auburn hair scarlet. And as the chips of Cassian’s own broken lance lay scattered in the dust, he smiled— a victors smile, vicious and cold and utterly without mercy.

Because no other man got to ask Nesta Archeron for her favour— not peasant nor knight nor king.

No. Other. Man.

Cassian hoped he’d broken a few of Eris’ bones at least. Hoped he’d shattered something vital, because Nesta was his— for fucks sake, she was his, and he wasn’t about to let some ridiculous betrothal stand in his way. And as he slowed Minerva from a gallop to a gentle trot, spectators rose in the stands, cheers and applause all. With his heart still still racing and adrenaline coursing through him like a torrent, he brought his horse to the end of the yard and dismounted, sliding from the saddle and pulling off his helmet in one smooth, practised gesture.

He had won— and even though he looked to the stands and saw the Queen clapping enthusiastically, it wasn’t her approval he sought. Not her smile he looked for.

It was stupid— reckless and unheard of, but Cassian found himself marching towards the covered stand where the Queen watched. He bowed deep when he stood before her, arms extending wide at either side, helmet hanging from his fingers. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, his muscles burning from the exertion, but he cared not— not as he lifted his gaze and caught sight of Nesta - his Nesta - with her lips parted, a flush touching her cheeks as one hand lifted, all smooth grace and easy elegance, to rest above her heart.

Mother of God, she was beautiful.

Her dress was a pale shade of blue, the kind that brought out her eyes, and the low neckline was cut square in the French fashion. The bodice was tight and threaded with silver, and as Cassian dragged his eyes over her middle, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was tight, clinging to her waist, and though he knew that she would be wearing a shift beneath, he wondered how, given how tightly the bodice hugged her frame. His fingers slackened, and he almost dropped his helmet.

Was there anything in the world more wondrous— more stunning?

He didn’t think so, and though he still didn’t say a word, he gave her a small nod, one he hoped would let her know that all of it was for her, every moment of that display. She met his eye, and he swore he saw some of her ice melt a little. The marshall of the joust began calling across the tiltyard for the next round to begin, but before Cassian could leave—

Nesta smiled.

Just a little, only a tentative curving of her lips, but suddenly Cassian felt like he was the one who had been knocked from his horse. It was the most beautiful thing in the world— and confirmation, he supposed, that all wasn’t lost between them.

That she hadn’t given herself over to marrying Eris completely.

The marshall began shouting in earnest now, his irritation rising, and Cassian shot the Queen and Nesta both a daring grin, dipping his head in another bow that he hoped the Queen thought was charming rather than irreverent.

He made his way back to the tent at the end of the tiltyard. Eris swore at him as he passed, spitting blood onto the ground as a squire checked his injuries, and even though the duke cursed Cassian’s name, his mood was so much more vastly improved by that small, infinitesimal smile Nesta had given him that he could do little more than grin.

Fuck Eris and his dukedom— fuck all the riches in the world. Cassian had the greatest treasure of them all.

He reached the tent and found Azriel waiting to clap him on the back as Rhys mounted his horse - a black destrier aptly named Erebus after the Greek god of darkness. He couldn’t see his brother’s face, hidden as it was beneath his intricately patterned visor, but Rhys nodded, tilting his brow forwards as he said a match well won, brother, in a voice that echoed, low and resonant, through his armour. Cassian merely patted Erebus’ flank as he passed, wishing his brother luck as Rhys made his way to the tilt, and as Cassian pulled at the ties on his greaves, letting them fall away from his calves, Azriel took a step forward and held out a hand to take the armour he began to shed.

A squire stepped forward to help, but Cassian stopped the boy with a hand on his shoulder. He could have been no older than fourteen, all gangly limbs, but he was eager, eyes alight as he reached for Cassian’s helm. Cassian shook his head, pulling away just enough to reach for the doublet he’d cast off earlier, draped across a bench beside the tent. He pulled out a leather purse from a pocket inside it, retrieving a single golden coin.

“I need you to do me a favour,” he said, holding up the coin. “Don’t worry about the armour— Azriel will help me remove it.” Az raised a brow, but didn’t contradict him. “I need you to go out there and find the end of Northumberland’s first broken lance. There was a ribbon tied around it. Bring it to me.”

If the boy seemed confused, he didn’t show it. He only nodded, taking the coin before scurrying away, heading to the yard to find the ribbon before Rhys’ match could begin.

Azriel shook his head, a wry laugh leaving him as he began to help undo the ties keeping Cassian’s armour together. The vambraces came off first, falling away from Cassian’s forearms. Then the pauldrons at his shoulders, the cuisses at his thighs. Finally Azriel loosened the ties on the breastplate and Cassian slid it over his head.

As they finished, with Cassian standing only in his tunic and breeches, the boy returned, sky-blue ribbon in his fingers.

Cassian took it with another grin, the softness of it sliding against his skin as he tied it gently around his wrist for safekeeping. Az looked at him pointedly, both eyebrows raised so high they almost touched his hairline, but Cassian merely shrugged, tracing a finger across the ribbon now encircling his wrist as he looked at his brother, no small sense of satisfaction curving his lips into a smile.

“A memento of my victory,” he said simply.

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn, @sunlightsage, @burningsnowleopard, @asnowfern

#nessianweek2023 #semper eadem #as always theres an authors note on ao3 filled with historical tidbits #featuring a brief lesson in Elizabethan conflicts and the rules of jousting #amongst other things

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tyedyeinherveins · 2 months ago

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My thoughts on the new Linkin Park...which are JUST MY OPINIONS.

As a teen I remember my first favorite BAND(I was a pop girl before this) being Linkin Park, I had their posters on my wall, I had shirts and bought all the magazines they were featured in. I had all the albums and in my depressed moments(which were a lot at times) I replayed "My December" and "Somewhere I Belong" probably a bazillion times. I was a mega fan for years and their lyrics helped me endure tough times.

Eventually as time went on I discovered Good Charlotte and thus began my emo phase and I listened to LP less and less but the love never died.

Fast forward to the day I heard the news...I remember exactly where I was.

My Mom,Daughter and myself were at the doctors office with my Grandpa who was starting to have health issues(he was in his 90s) My daughter and i were in the waiting room while they went in with the doctor.

I got a text, I cant remember from who(maybe my ex?) I'm not sure,but the text read " did you hear about Chester?" At this point I hadn't but as soon as I go onto FB im bombarded with posts like Rip Chester Bennington & Linkin Park front man dead from suicide. I audibly gasp which makes a few heads turn in the waiting room. I can feel the tears burning my eyes but I can't cry around all these people so I held it in But to say my heart was broken was an understatement. The rest of the day I felt numb.

Someone who helped so many of us with our demons couldn't outrun his own in the end. Utterly tragic and such a horrible loss for the music world. And I still feel this way and still struggle deeply myself with depression and my own mind. Sometimes I picture Chester in those final moments because sometimes I feel so low that I wonder what it would be like in those moments but I have kids I have to care for and if I'm gone there is no one else here responsible enough to take care of them. So I live for them, even when I wish so badly that I wouldn't wake up some days. (The song Heavy could could been legit been written about me) I wish Chester could have found some peace in his life, I truly hope he has it now.

I still mourn his death,I probably will forever. Will there be a day I can watch his last performance(I also have thoughts on this, the look in his eyes) and not cry? Doubtful.

Fast forward to last week when LP announced a new lead singer.

*I audibly sigh* I have such mixed emotions I don't know where to begin.

Even before they announced I always said I wish they could do what the band Apocalyptica does and just have guest singers on new tracks OR have Mike be the new main vocalist. I still stand by this.

I have absolutely nothing against Emily because frankly I know nothing about her. Her voice is fine and I may even check out HER band in the future but why does this feel like a punch in the gut?!

I never got to see LP live and if I remember correctly they were touring or getting ready to with MGK before Chester died. I remember saying I wanted to get tickets if they were near me...unfortunately that never happened. I see that LP plans a tour soon with Emily, and I don't think I could bring myself to go. If it were just the original guys i would absolutely, it's just not the same not to mention we are down 2 original members as well?! No I don't think my heart could handle finally seeing them live but like this. I'll pass.

Why not just start a new band with a new name at this point? I'd support that. Don't sing old LP songs with Emily.

Recently I saw Chester's son had lots to say about it(nothing good) while I understand I don't think I agree with it to the extreme he does but then again Chester wasn't my dad so maybe he knows more than we do? I don't know.

I don't doubt Mike and the guys love and miss Chester too but there's no LP without Chester in my opinion. I don't even doubt that Chester would give this his blessing but I'm sorry I can't get behind it.

Also,tell me what band that replaced their lead singer has ever done well after doing so? I can't think of any.

Anyways....big sigh. I wanted to get my thoughts out there.

I do plan at some point to get a tattoo of Chester,once I find the right photograph and a artist that will do it justice.

Gonna go listen to some old LP now.

Much love.

National Hotlines

* 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988

* Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741

* Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA): 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

Online Resources

* National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI): https://www.nami.org/

* The Jed Foundation: https://jedfoundation.org/

* MentalHealth.gov: https://youth.gov/federal-links/mentalhealthgov

#linkin park #chester bennington #mental health #music #tyedyeinherveins

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thesmokingguns · 2 years ago

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Peach Picking Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: Mentions of cheating and drinking

Peach POV

‘I hope you’re well, thinking of you and missing you. XX BB’

I saw the text from Ben, slipping my phone into my bag as I sighed, feeling the anxiety headache start to come up, leaving me with a dull thud throwing behind my temples and leaving me with the overwhelming feeling of needing to fix the mess I was getting myself into.

I had been ignoring him for two days, since I had found out something that had crippled me with anxiety.

I should text Sammie before she gets to the party and fill her into the shit show that I let happen in my life. A quick little heads up about how Nikki and I were not in a good place and, oh yeah, some English actor slid into my Dm’s and I have a crush on him like a fucking kid. And can’t stop thinking about him because he makes me feel like myself for the first time in ten years. That was exactly the text message my bestie wanted to get.

Groaning as I threw my head back I wanted to scream This was all too much and I wanted to crawl into bed and not think about the mess that I had made of my life.

“Peach, you ready…wow.” My eyes lifted to look at Nikki, of course not in costume despite heading to a Halloween party, looking at me, “You look great.” He was eating me up and I felt myself growing needy with attention. Loving the way his eyes were only on me as he came towards me, fingers rubbing over my rib cage and around my back, pulling me into him.

And just like that I was melting, eyes looking up at him expecting to see dark pools and an easy smile but instead I saw Nikki and leapt back, shocked at how my mind was wandering and I was putting off things that needed to be dealt with.

Especially since two days ago when Nikki had asked me to help him with something on Instagram, leaving me while he went to go to the bathroom. I wasn’t snooping, a message came in and I clicked on it, thinking I’d message a fan back but instead I found his DM filled with explicit pictures that he was sending and messages that made me shake and feel sick. I had air printed them as I waited for him to come back, hiding them and fixing his issue, locking the phone and tossing it away from me.

He had been cheating on me for months and I wanted to cry over it like a lost girl, tossed to the side but at the same time all I could think was that I was free. And knowing that had made me scared. It made me scared because as soon as I realized what Nikki was doing all I could think about was kissing Ben.

I made myself mourn, pouting around the house being a full brat as I thought several times Nikki was going to strangle me. But this was the end of being this and I wanted to act like I was his. It wasn’t endearing like it had been before and I could feel the exasperation in his tone. And his exhaustion with me was the verification I needed to know he didn’t love me like before.

“Peach, you've been weird lately.” Nikki commented as I sat beside him in the car. I looked at him wondering if he sensed our expiration date coming up or if he foolishly believed in the forever he had sold to me. I stared at him, watching Nikki’s confusion.

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” The air got hot and thick in the car, Nikki gripping the steering wheel as he cursed, shaking his head as I folded myself up in the seat, getting ready for his anger.

“Why do you say this shit? Why do you say shit just to get a fucking reaction?” he yelled, palm coming down hard against the wheel as I regretted opening my mouth. The fact we were already pulling up to the valet and couldn’t turn around to have this argument made it that much worse.

He would be mad at me all night, giving me the cold shoulder and making me beg for just a morsel of affection. Emotionally, I couldn’t handle that.

“Nikki-”

“You can be the worst type of brat, Peach. The worst.” he was getting out of the car as I scrambled beside him, rushing inside as I grabbed his arm, trying to cuddle into him as we stepped inside so that I could at least be attached to him and make him love me.

Maybe this was all my fault. Maybe it was me that made it hard to love. Maybe this was all just part of who I was and Nikki had to go to someone else because of my short comings.

“C’mon, Peach, you’re being too clingy.” Nikki shrugged me off as I stood there, eyes narrowing in fury.

I had been so upset before all of this, tears burning in my eyes as I felt my hands go to my sides, tight balls as Nikki calmed himself down and moved his belongings from his jacket to his pants so he could check his coat. My foot came down in a hard stomp as he turned to look at me, my arms crossing as I glared ready to have a full meltdown. Nikki recognized this, I could see in his eyes he knew what was going on.

“Peach…” He was using his kid glove voice with me but I was too furious. Tears too close to falling out as I thought about the last few days and how close to the edge I had been to breaking. Now it was happening. I was being pushed over and I couldn’t stop the fall.

“I hate you.” The words came out so easy. It felt like I was purging something, an emotional release as I took a breath for the first time and tasted the air around us. The salt of my tears stinging my face as I looked at Nikki who seemed confused by what I was saying, “Did you hear me? I hate you.” I wanted him to hurt like I did. I wanted him to know what it was like to be cast aside and unwanted. I wanted him to regret ever hurting me and to understand I was a person who needed love and he wasn’t giving that to me.

I just wanted him to hear me. Just please, Nikki. Hear me.

He rubbed his beard, looking around like there was an audience around us instead of just the two of us hashing out something I should have dealt with already. Nikki’s hand rubbed his beard, a sign he was uncomfortable, trying to assess the situation and figure out what to do.

I wanted to scream and yell, really give him the scene he thought I was doing.

I wanted to talk to Ben about all the things I had been trying not to tell him. To give him the truth about just how trapped I felt. The guilt. Everything,

“You don’t mean that, Peaches and cream. Come here. I’m sorry, Peach. Come to daddy.” I looked at him, hurt that he could think that I was going to come to him.

What delusion was he living in thinking this was going to be okay? This was so far from being okay that I couldn’t comprehend him being okay with thinking otherwise. I shook my head at him, watching line lines appear on his face as he frowned at me. Angry like I was the one who was causing all these problems for us. Like it was me that had done this.

The anger flowed back in.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate-“ Nikki pulled me to him like he had done a thousand times before. Trying to hold me through y tears as I let him hold me, to comfort me. His chest getting wet as I sobbed against him, thinking maybe he understood how mad I was. Maybe he could actually see I was hurting and he cared about that. Maybe he knew that I needed more than what he was doing and-

“You want me to spank you in front of all these people? Put you in your- FUCK!” My knee came up, right in his old man balls as I stepped back, thinking of cracking him in the skull with my fairy wand i was still holding.

Nikki would never change,

“I want you to fuck off.” I stepped away as he reached for me. He was angry now too. Good. I wanted him to be angry.

I had brought all the print outs, pulling them from my drawstring pouch and tossing them at Nikki who looked at them, at least having the sense to have shame across his features as he saw them.

“At least get creative with nicknames, Nikki. ‘My sour lemon girl’, ‘loved last night cherry girl’, and my favorite ‘see you soon, strawberries and cream’.” He was rubbing his face again. He wanted control of this situation, over me and he didn’t know how to get that. The fact he was seeking control over my comfort made me ache. “What is wrong with me, Nikki? What wasn’t I good enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?” He tried to garb me again, knowing that I was touch starved for affection and that I would break down so easy if given a chance. I had to be stronger than him. I had to, “I just wanted you Nikki. Just you and now. It’s too late. We need…we are…it’s…over.” The sobs took over so I couldn’t speak, wiping at my eyes as I looked at him.

He had broken me. I hope he was happy. I hope he was happy with what he had pushed me to.

“No, you can’t. Peach, they were just flings but you’re my girl, peaches and cream. You’re mine.” Nikki sounded confused, like he had thought that he could treat me like trash and expected me to just stay and say thank you.

I wasn’t going to stand around and be hurt any longer. I couldn’t do that when I had hope of happiness.

I had been ignoring him. Jesus Christ. What was I doing here. I needed to tell Sammie. I needed to find him. I needed to go. I need to…face Nikki.

“Oh Nikki. No. I’m nobodies. And I’m not Peach.” I shook my head, mind thinking of the several things I had circling through my mind.

Did I just break up with Nikki? Did I just do that? What the actual fuck was going on?

And where was Ben?

Ben POV

I was late to the party, which wasn’t something that wasn’t my fault. I had foolishly been waiting for a text that wouldn’t ever come from Sasha, who had been giving me the cold shoulder for the past two days. Nothing had happened and I didn't understand her pulling away.

‘I hope you’re here tonight. I want to talk to you. I miss you.’

Was I laying it on thick? Maybe. But I wasn’t going to back down on her. There was something about her that made me crazy. I knew I wanted to be in her life as more than just her texting buddy and I think Sasha knew it too.

Maybe she was inside already and I could meet up with her. If she wasn’t inside I was going to leave. I would sed her voice memos, make her playlists, keep reaching out as she shut off from humanity.

With Sasha on my mind, I was sliding past the coat room when I saw her. She was dressed in a tight green dress, her blonde hair piled in a neat bun. She was dressed like Tinkerbell which seemed oddly fitting to my Captain Hook. Nikki wasn’t dressed up as he went to go check his coat. Sasha was holding his arm like she wanted a cuddle.

“C’mon, Peach, you’re being too clingy.”Nikki shrugged her off as I watched her, all green with envy in her tinkerbell costume, looking like she was about to dissolve in tears. Instead she did a stomp, glitter flying like magic as Nikki turned to her, watching her pouty face and crossed arms. “Peach…” he was talking to her like she was a child in trouble.

Lurking in the shadows I watched her tantrum, the tears there showing real hurt as she sniffled her nose. She was going to break down.

“I hate you.” Neither of us expected that. I watched Nikki step back like she had assaulted him, Peach doubling down on tears that were now falling. “Did you hear me? I hate you.” Nikki looked around, rubbing his dyed beard to make sure no one was watching this.

I stepped further into the shadows, heart hammering as I watched them. I wanted to coddle and kiss her pout away. Never wanting to see her cry or be upset like this.

“You don’t mean that, peaches and cream. Come here. I’m sorry, Peach. Come to daddy.” The way she looked at him, neglected and hurt as he tried to softly talk to her, will her back into his arms and forget that she had just told him, twice, that she hated him.

But she shook her head. Her disobedience made him scowl and I was afraid things were going to get out of hand. I thought of approaching, whisking her away to diffuse the situation but maybe this was the confrontation she needed. Maybe Sasha didn’t need to be saved but she just needed to use her voice.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate-“ Nikki pulled her to him, I watched her sobbing as he held her against his chest in a way that was so familiar, like he had it a thousand times before. My stomach churned with jealousy as I watched him get to touch and comfort her like I was yearning to do.. Her fairy wings were shaking as she tried to fight him off her.

“You want me to spank you in front of all these people? Put you in your- FUCK!” Her knee had come up and Nikki was bent over as she stood hands at her side, her fairy wand in a fist as she glared.

“I want you to fuck off.” Nikki’s eyes widened and he made a grab for her but she stepped aside, opening the purse she was carrying and going for what I thought was pixie dust but instead was paper. Nikki was covered with white fluttering pages, grabbing one and visibly paling as he read whatever was on the printouts..

She stood there, her eyes filled with tears as he looked at the papers and shook her head. She had been planning this, ready for a moment when she was feeling brace. And she was so brave.

“At least get creative with nicknames, Nikki. ‘My sour lemon girl’, ‘loved last night cherry girl’, and my favorite ‘see you soon, strawberries and cream’.” Nikki was rubbing his mouth collecting all the evidence of his infidelity that she was presenting him with. His expression was less of concern and more of a stoic damage control. No real emotion fluttering across his face. No regret seeping out.. “What is wrong with me, Nikki? What wasn’t I good enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?” He was reaching for her but she was stepping back, “I just wanted you Nikki. Just you and now. It’s too late. We need…we are…it’s…over.” Her words broke her as he looked horrified at what she was saying, not being able to believe it was true.

He was hurt, there was no faking that.

I shouldn’t have been celebrating this but hearing her break up with him was the best feeling in the world. I was watching her free herself and watching her fly.

“No, you can’t.” He sounded broken, confused by this all, “Peach they were just flings but you’re my girl peaches and cream. You’re mine.” But she shook her head, looking at him somber as she stared at him not wavering in her beliefs.

How beautiful it was watching her have her own voice.

“Oh Nikki. No. I’m nobodies. And I’m not Peach.” She turned, Walking away, leaving a trail of glitter in her wake as I watched and waited.

Oh bloody Hell.

Nikki didn’t chase her or follow her. He should have done that but he was wrestling with something. Looking from where his girl had just gone to the papers in his hand. A grimace on his face as he bunched them up. He headed for the door and I found that strange. Was he so confident that she would come back to him? Seeing what I had just seen I wasn’t sure that she was going to be able to.

I moved through the crowd, looking at Sasha as she sat at a bar, her friend Sammie by her side as the barkeep pushed a sugar free Red Bull at her and three clear shots.

“You don’t drink through you shouldn’t-“ whatever her friend was trying to talk her out of she wasn’t listening. Instead she was throwing back shots. One. Two. Three. Sipping her drink as she grimaced.

It was going to be a very interesting night.

“Peach-”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” there was poison in her words as she looked at sammie, her eyes married for a second before she softened and I watched her face fall, “Please, just…not that.” She was sighing, confused and hurt.

I needed to fix this.

“Well, Tink, fancy meeting you here.” she looked up at me, eyes shining as she shook her head. But there was a smile in her eyes despite her sorrow, “Did you steal my Peter Pan costume theme?” I teased her as she blushed, shaking her head with a smile peeking out.

I had never met her friend before, just knew her from what she told me. Understood how close they were from Peach’s late night phone calls where she would tell me her life story in all the detail.

“So we meet again, Hook.” She was flirting with me. Both of us were very aware of it., “Are you going to offer to buy me a drink?” I looked at the shot glasses and saw Sammie’s eyes narrow, hand going towards the swords that were on her back that I had a feeling weren't props.

“I thought you would want to dance.” She looked at me, head tilting to the side as she smirked, not having expected that from me. But I turned and looked at Sammie, “I’m Ben.”

“Bin Bons.” Sasha snickered at me and Sammie looked at her, eyes narrowing as she looked around for someone, “Can I get another three shots?” The bartender began pouring as she looked at us, “We’re going to make a toast together so you all need to drink with me.” she handed out the glasses, her eyes on mine, “I broke up with Nikki.”

“To new beginnings then.” I tapped her glass, both of us taking a shot, “Now can I get that dance?” I was trying to get her to stop drinking and just away from everything. I wanted her to be able to breathe.

“Excuse fucking me, what the actual fuck is going on here? What the fuck did I miss in the last ten minutes?” Sammie was looking between us as she threw her hands up at Sasha who looked at her. Whatever passed between them in that second made Sammie exhale, “Okay, no more Daddy Sixx. That is…something. But what is Billy Russo doing here?” he motioned to me like I wasn’t there and I knew that this wasn’t the time to talk about it.

“I’m here dancing.” I wrapped my arm around Sasha, pulling her out to the dance floor.

I wanted to ask her if she was alright, check to see if there was anything that I could do but she was spinning, pressing her ass against me as she danced against me, leaning back as the lights bathed us in neon colors and she sought to forgot whatever was going through her mind.

And I knew better than to question anything. I just needed to dance.

Sammie POV

What the actual fuck was going on? What universe was I living in?

I watched Sasha grind against Ben Barnes, Nikki apparently being broken up with and- I needed to text Izzy the tea about my friend having a messy breakup He didn;t know Peach was dating Sixx because that's all I needed, him to think I was just in it for the old rockstar dudes. I needed to text him and let him know that my best friend had broken up with her boyfriend and was dancing with some younger actor because this was insane but…of course there were ten missed calls from Sixx. Of course he could come to me to make sure his girl was okay.

Maybe I had a smidge of misplaced loyalty to the oaf. But I couldn’t just answer a call from him. Instead I sent him a quick text to see what he would say. I knew NIkki well enough to know he was good at talking his way out of the bullshit he got himself into.

‘You and Peach broke up?’

‘No. Peach is mad and thinks I cheated on her. She’s been acting weird for a few months. Is she okay?’

I looked up to see Peach grinding on someone, laughing and looking pretty happy. Was she okay or was this just a mask of how she felt? I didn’t know what to say to Nikki so I just didn’t respond, tucking my phone away as I sipped my drink. Peach was infamous for suffering in silence and then eventually she would clue me in on everything with all the details she had been omitting for months. She liked to have her plan laid out and completed.

And Nikki cheating seemed like exactly the sort of things she wouldn’t want to talk about. But that didn’t mean I didn't want to strangle her for so many changes in a short period of time. But if it wasn’t chaos was it really Peach?

Who was this guy who she was dancing with? Who she was flirting with? When did he come into the picture? Was she projecting Nikki cheating with her actually cheating on him? It didn’t seem like Peach to cheat. But maybe that’s why she broke up with NIkki. Maybe she needed to actually get to live some of her 20’s before they were over.

God, I hope she didn't ask me how to use Tinder. I turned to the bartender, motioning them over.

“I’m going to need something stronger.”

Ben had a very drunk Peach on his back as he walked her down the street, feeling her breath against the back of his neck. Her soft hums as they moved making him smirk as he felt her cuddling against him some more. But he was also very aware of Sammie walking with them looking at them unsure of what was going on but nonetheless not liking it.

“I don’t feel good.” Sasha said as they continued walking on to her condo, “Are we going to your house?” she asked Ben, resting her cheek against his back as she let out a little yawn.

It was almost 4AM and they would have called an Uber if it wasn’t for Sammie assuring them Sasha would puke in a moving vehicle, which she had done pretty consistently everytime that she drank when she was younger. So to avoid the $200 dollar cleaning fee they had spent the last ten minutes walking or in Sasha’s case getting a piggyback ride.

“We’re going to your place.” Ben answered, turning towards her building as she made a sound.Her lips brushing the back of his neck and making Ben shiver as he let out a sigh.

He felt like he wasn’t going to make it through this. Peach was so drunk and extra touchy tonight and he had watched her laugh and be loud and open for the first time. He was eating it up, this happiness and laughter looking so good on her. Plus, the way she had looked when he had offered to give her a piggyback she had been so excited, squeezing his bicep and leaning to close as she asked if he was serious

“How do you know about her condo?” Sammie asked. She didn’t fully understand how much influence this man had on her friend yet and Sasha laughed at this like it was obvious.

“He buys my groceries.” Ben laughed at this, some secret joke that Sammie wasn’t included in, “Joy, Ben’s a good guy. The worst thing he is going to do is judge you for leaving your teabag in your cup.” She yawned, resting her head against his back, closing her eyes as she hummed to herself.

Sammie watched Ben take off, running as Sasha laughed, throwing her arms out as he spun around. She thought of Izzy and how he would throw out his back if he did that. It would take weeks and a chiropractor to fix her old man. Maybe that’s why Peach was so excited. She was getting this younger person. But Sammie also hadn’t heard her laugh like this since they were kids.

Ben was running up the stairs with Sasha squealing on his back. Sammie cursed them both as she thought about shopping at his achilles with one of her swords.

Sasha was grabbing Ben’s hand, pulling him towards her bedroom. Her eyes on his as Sammie looked at them, shaking her head as she saw them.

“Are we all sleeping in the same bed?” Sammie asked. Ben looked up from where he was holding Sasha, his eyes on the blonde who was now dancing away towards the kitchen. She was barefoot and beautiful and Sammie stepped forward now that Sasha couldn’t hear, “She’s been with Nikki a decade.” She warned but ben shrugged his shoulders.

“And she could be with me for a lifetime.” he stepped away as Sammie shook her head, pulling out her phone and seeing all the missed texts and voicemails from Nikki. She couldn’t even imagine what Sasha’s phone looked like.

What a fucking shit show.

Peach’s POV

“Ben, am I going to be hungover in the morning?” I asked, looking over the edge of the bed where he was sleeping on the floor Sammie had made a big point out of the fact we couldn’t sleep in the same bed, which I understood her point.

He looked at me, those dark eyes pulling me closer as he rolled onto his side, giving me a soft smirk. He had spent the last hour drinking water with me, sitting me on my bathroom vanity and washing off my makeup, talking so close to me than I thought our lips would brush if we pronounced a word with too much lip emphasis.I swirled around him, hungry for him as I floated, my drunk shifting to a buzz.

“I’ll take care of you.” The sunlight was stealing the darkness of the room, morning coming quicker than I had expected. It was the golden hour and as I looked down at Ben I was reaching, his fingers and mine, dancing around each other as we smirked, easy flirtation passing between us like nothing that I had ever experienced before. “Do you want me to sing you to sleep?” he asked as I let our pinkies tangle, holding hands.

“Do you think you could just come into bed with me and we’ll tell Sammie that it happened after we woke up?” He chuckled at me, the creased next to his eyes deepening as I watched him.

“If you want me in your bed when you wake up I’ll get in bed with you. Is that a deal?” I sighed, nodding at him, “Close your eyes, Sasha. Just try to get some sleep, darling girl.” His voice soothed me and I closed my eyes, ready to sleep now.

Nikki POV

The sun was up and Peach wasn’t home.

Had she been serious about breaking up with me? Was she really done?

I called her phone, wanting to slam down my phone when it went right to voice message. It was past her just not answering and now she was somewhere and I wasn’t sure where she was. I was afraid for her, wanting to keep my girl safe.

I should have gone after her, Peach loves a scene like that. Loves to feel loved. But I had been so horrified being confronted with the evidence of my cheating.I felt sick to my stomach. I got a little attention and made the wrong decision again and again. Peach was my everything, put on this Earth to be my other half. She was the person who I’d wake up at 2AM and listen to me play the bass or hear about whatever project that I wanted to work on. She’d forget about how tired she was and tell me what she thought, giving me feedback and ask me how she could support me.

Peach was great at finding people who wanted to work with me. During the pandemic she had been the one who had talked with publishers and my manager, setting up Zoom interviews and updating my wardrobe so I was ready to face things.

She wasn’t just a needy brat, though I did love that side of her. Loved seeing her big pouts and feeling her crawl against me trying to find comfort in my arms. But she was smart in new ways and some things she would say things or have ideas that made me forget who she was, scared her big ideas weren’t going to have me in them.

And maybe her dreams had gotten too big. Maybe her dreams had stopped including me and she was just looking for an excuse to leave. Maybe it was less about me cheating and just that she was done and it's easier to have a big reason.

Could she have just been having a tantrum or could there be someone else.

“God, Peach, just come home.” I said, sighing as I stepped away from the window and moved towards the bedroom.

Each always came back to me. I would just need to wait.

#Nikki sixx x peach #nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfic #nikki sixx fan fiction #nikki sixx fa fic #Nikki Sixx fan fic #ben barnes #Ben Barnes fan fic #Ben Barnes imagine #Nikki Sixx imagine

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idealisticrealism · 2 months ago

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TCL 3x12 thoughts

Lol look I got there in the end. I actually wrote this in June but intended to do a read through before posting... then got on a plane and promptly forgot about the entire thing til now haha.

But here it is anyway, a very belated 3x12 recap with a random assortment of my thoughts about the finale.

Ugh poor Thony, seeing a woman in a blonde wig and green shirt playing with Luca and having that split second of thinking it was somehow Nadia, only to instantly know it was impossible. It must have felt like she was being haunted by Nadia’s ghost ugh, and no wonder she immediately goes and downs a huge glass of whiskey

Are we sure Ramona’s been cured of the lead poisoning? Bc her plan to ‘eliminate’ the Feds is ridiculously irrational. Jorge offers her a perfect, clever solution and yet she turns him down because ‘Derek’ wants her to take out the Feds. Who the hell is this guy? Is he the one who suggested she set Jorge up to be her fall guy, or did she come up with that on her own? So much for ‘family’ being everything to her– Jorge was everything to her until he started outgrowing her and defying her, and now she wants to move on to Violeta, to take her and mold her and make her into a copy of herself, and if she has to get Jorge out of the way to make that happen, she will

On one hand, dumping Nadia’s body on Russo’s doorstep is so awful, but on the other, I’m actually kinda glad that Ramona did that? I’m glad she was delivered directly into the hands of someone who would genuinely mourn her loss, who would treat her body with care and respect, rather than her body being just left in the desert to rot. By sending this ‘message’, Ramona ensured that Nadia could be cremated and reunited with Arman, and that means so much to me. (Yes I haveindeed made myself cry multiple times wondering about what is going to happen to both of their ashes now– I had a fic idea of Thony asking Jorge to take her to Curacao to spread their ashes together on some beautiful beach somewhere, to honour them the way they deserve. Ughh.).

Also I just realised that as far as the FBI knew, the last Thony saw of Nadia was when she escaped from Jeremy’s lair. They just think that Nadia tried to make a run for it and that Ramona found her, killed her, and dumped her. Even when Thony’s van shows up with the blood in it, they would probably have assumed Ramona had the van stolen and used in the transport of the body to point the finger at Thony. But idk, it seems like Thony tells the Feds the truth of what happened at some point anyway.

Omg Chris banging on the door was so stressful, what if ICE was still there?? Like yes Camila needed treatment for her infection, but not so urgently to risk her (and himself, and all those other people) being deported!! And then him having to fight his way out?? Like damn son you got your protective instincts from your mama. It must have been such a relief to see her in that kitchen– remember he’s only 16! He’s in way over his head, and then his mum appears and protects him like she’s done his whole life. Honestly though MVP of this ep goes to the chef who immediately clocks the situation and tosses the carrots on the floor– what an ally! Love it.

“If you can’t do your job, I’m gonna do it” I really love how Thony talks to Feds haha. Zero respect given, which is exactly as it should be. It must feel familiar for Thony to hear the Feds going after the right-hand man rather than the head of the crime organisation yet again– just like with Hayak and Arman, it was only her stepping in that prevented Arman from bearing the brunt of the FBI while Hayak walked free, and now she’s trying to do the same for Jorge. The conversation between her and Jorge in the warehouse is definitely similar to the one she had with Arman in his office in 1x10 (aka where she was trying to convince a man she cares about to save both himself and her by turning on his boss) though with two major differences: one, Arman already knew about her involvement with the Feds, so rather than feeling betrayed, he felt worried for her; and two, he was already in love with her, so she was more important to him than Hayak. Jorge cares for Thony, but in this moment he’s reeling not only from the news of Nadia’s murder at Ramona’s hands, but also the realisation that someone he trusted and let into his home helped bring the FBI down on him, and now she also drops this bomb that the person he’s closest to in the world intends to betray him and ruin his life? Poor guy is definitely in a much harder situation than Arman ‘Protect Thony At All Costs’ Morales. I love that despite his opposition to Thony’s claims, Jorge still ends up making a plan to keep Violeta safe, because clearly some part of him knows that Thony is telling the truth, that she is genuinely trying to protect him and his family as well as her own. Truly hilarious that he’s like ‘nope no way I’m going to have a meeting with the Fed’ and she’s like ‘yeah you are’ and literally the next scene is him coming to her house to meet with Jeremy haha. Again, definitely very reminiscent of 1x10 when Arman meets with Garrett for her. I could totally understand some viewers being annoyed by the similarities and calling it repetitive writing, but I think it’s actually kind of cool to see her getting caught in the same situations repeatedly, because it really demonstrates the theme of how Thony walks the line between light and dark, good and evil, law and crime… she is the bridge between the two, never quite able to escape one or the other, instead always pulled back in, always balancing it out. But ugh anyway I’m not over when Jeremy asks Jorge “Which side do you want to be on?” and Jorge turns and looks at Thony. Hers. He wants to be on her team– not part of Ramona’s crazy empire, not a FBI rat, but the team of morally grey parents doing whatever it takes to keep their kid safe. Yaaaass.

And then later the similarities to the heist with Arman appear again when we realise Jorge used the FBI to get the fingerprint, allowing him access to what he wanted– just like Arman using the FBI sting to steal Hayak’s money. With Arman, though, she had the trust in him to know that he would protect her no matter what. She can’t trust Jorge like that, not yet… but maybe one day. I appreciate that even after the trauma of what just happened with Ramona being arrested, Jorge goes to Thony and puts an arm around her, the two of them united, each other’s stable ground as their worlds crumble around them. I love that they walk out together, the survivors, and he tells her that not only is she safe from repercussions from the cartel, but that there’s also a place for her within his new empire if she wants it. I love her answer, quoting Arman and how he used his power to protect the ones he loved, whereas Ramona used that power to hurt others… and how she wants to do things her own way. To me, her way is using power to protect those who don’t have the power to protect themselves– her family, yes, but also the vulnerable, the undocumented, the poor and sick and disabled, the people that the system leaves behind or even persecutes. The fact she’s even alive right now is a gift from both Arman and Garrett, and she’s not going to waste it. She’s going to make it count by helping as many as she can, because every life she betters honours those who gave theirs for her.

Jorge bringing Violeta to Teresa… omg I can’t. First, it shows he really heard and listened to Thony, and that he truly doesn’t trust Ramona to be the one to raise Violeta. But ugh I was so hoping we could see Eduardo meet Violeta… I would have loved seeing him be all sweet with her, then share a wordless nod of understanding with Jorge, like a sign that their family might just begin to heal… but still, I loved that Teresa was immediately ready to go up against Ramona to protect Violeta. She couldn’t prevent her son from being pulled into the world of crime, but maybe she could save Violeta from the same fate, and that makes me wanna cry a bit

Would using a 16 year old personally connected to Thony’s family to identify criminals really work, in like a legal sense? Also how likely would she, a ‘lowly’ worker, have been to have actually seen the boss guys? Meh idc I’ll roll with it

Thony was so terrified about Ramona finding out about her helping Nadia, so sure she would kill her for it, and yet Ramona’s response is literally like ‘eh couldn’t blame Thony for defying me, she’s not a killer’ lol. And then later at the gala she is pleased with Thony simply for confirming her own suspicions about Jeremy, which they really didn’t need Thony for anyway? They clocked him as a Fed themselves just from the way he was acting lol, but whatevs, it gave Thony an excuse to be there and for us to enjoy that white dress lol

“She’s never going to tell you anything! She’s too smart!/ “Well I got you to tell me you were mixed up with Sin Cara” Yeah Jeremy, she told you that when she was half in shock after you guys both nearly got violently murdered (during which she literally saved your life btw), and also after like 2 weeks of you manipulating her when she was at her most vulnerable, and grieving the man she loved? Her slipping up once in that high-stress situation is not the same as you smooth-talking Ramona for 5 minutes buddy. Also, fuck you. And lol your attempt really didn’t go the way you hoped, did it? Ran away with your tail between your legs lol. Can’t believe Thony actually goes to the effort of saving your dumbass life, again!! You better pay her back for that one or I swear

“Let’s burn it to the ground” loved the inclusion of this line between Fi and Thony, given the conversation between Jorge and Nadia at the wake of wanting to burn everything down after losing the loves of their lives. Looks like it’s a sentiment that they all share

Ngl I enjoyed Jorge coming up to Thony immediately when she arrived at the gala, not only telling her she ‘cleans up well’ (lol punny) but the little moment of camaraderie they share with an almost-joke about Ramona planning to bury her in the dress– they both know the risk they’re facing but they’re facing it together, and that makes it just a fraction less horrific. I wonder if Ramona questions why Thony and Jorge are sticking together all night? Maybe she just assumes Thony feels safer around him, which I suppose would be true haha

Literally how does Jorge get all the way from the gala to their underground bunker and back in time????? Some TV magic happening there for sure lol

Thony and Ramona’s showdown on the roof is kinda funny… like how did Thony know to go up there? How did she walk around with that gun without being noticed? But no matter. And ugh Thony shaking and crying as she tells Ramona she deserves to die for Nadia and Arman… my creys. Plus it was definitely satisfying to see Ramona realise that Thony and Jorge had allied against her (which was her own fault! If she hadn’t betrayed him, he never would have betrayed her! Consequences, baby!). I do appreciate that Jorge told the FBI exactly where to find her, saving Thony from having to take Ramona out and then potentially go to jail for her murder… though it would be very cool if in S4 Ramona somehow weasels her way out of prison, and so Thony has no choice to take the matter into her own hands once and for all– for herself, for Nadia, and for Arman.

Haha awww the family all at home, celebrating, doing karaoke? My heart. “How about a love song for you and Camila, Chris?” lollll Jaz is such a little sister and I love it. JD suggesting Beyonce for him and Luca, Thony and Fi looking relaxed and happy, Chris getting his kiss and Luca accidentally cockblocking…. This family deserves to have some simple happiness after everything they’ve been through!

“Not this time” oh Thony, you know that escaping ~the life~ is not so easy… like Arman told you a long time ago, once you’re in, you’re in… Looks like Derek will be an issue for both Thony and Jorge to have to contend with next season. Tbh I thought that this final scene could have been shot better though, like instead of Thony’s “Not this time” and then a cut to black, they should have had her say that and then walk away, and the camera pans past the phone (which stops ringing and goes dark) and follows her to the lounge where we see her rejoin the festivities with a grin on her face, choosing joy and light in defiance of the dark that’s trying to pull her back in. But nvm I guess lol, sadly the writers don’t consult me on this stuff so it’ll just have to stay in my head haha

#TCL recap #The Cleaning Lady #TCL #how long has it been since the finale? four months? five? no idea #oh well #this is for the like 2 other people who still think about this show lol #feel free to wallow with me

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blam-marie · 8 months ago

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A Metaphor's Guide to Rewriting Destiny

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In the morning, Compassion left to join the scholars wherever it was that they worked. He told me that he wanted to get a clearer idea of the situation in the city, especially now that I had escaped. But I couldn’t come with, for fairly obvious reasons.

I hated staying behind. Inaction had never suited me. I spent all morning pacing in the staff’s common room until finally Jeanne took pity on me and showed me upstairs to the guests’ bathroom. I didn’t feel like I needed another bath so soon, but clearly she felt otherwise. She left me there while she went back to work, and warned me sternly to not wander around.

I had no intention to simply stay put and wait for her return. I had done far too much of that in the early days of this manifestation, back when the holy fire of my essence still struggled to settle in this new form. I would never let myself feel this vulnerable again — until the next time I was forced to by the cycle of death and rebirth, that is.

The hotel was an old and beautiful building, but it exhibited signs of being slightly past its prime. The gilded furniture was just out of date, the elaborate paintings on the ceiling could have done with being retouched, the carpets showed wear. It hovered at the edge of what could be a steady decline or a spectacular renewal, should it receive the proper care. I found a window at the end of a corridor and stood watching life pass me by on the other side of the panes. The streets were crowded, but none of the crowd lingered. People were moving with that very specific nervousness that I knew meant they were afraid of behaving in any manner that could be seen as suspicious. A small group of teenagers kept gravitating to eachother to exchange a handful of words then flitting away like starlings, glancing at their surroundings with no subtlety at all.

I sighed. This city was a powderkeg. I didn’t want to be here.

As I turned away from the window, I almost bumped into a man coming the other way. He swerved with a muttered apology, then froze in his tracks. He turned back to me. I tensed, all of my muscles singing in anticipation of a fight.

“Mrs. Wright?”

The name was so unexpected that I felt my entire body lock in place. No one had called me that in quite a long time. “Come again?”

The man was staring at me with wide astonished eyes, taking in not just my face, but also my entire body. “It is you,” he murmured. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. You have my condolences.”

I blinked. Then I remembered the window’s dress and veil. Sour bile flooded the back of my throat.

The man was still talking. “What happened? If that is not too personal a thing to ask?”

“Who are you?” I blurted out.

“Oh, do forgive me. I am Guillaume Lavoile. I was friends with your late husband. We met at a reception at Felicitate manor… oh, a very long time ago, now.” He patted his stomach and laughed, although it lacked any humour. “I was much younger and thinner, then.”

The name unearthed a memory in my brain.

“The french novelist. You exchanged letters. We were supposed to visit you, four years ago.”

“Yes! Exactly! But you never arrived…”

“No. We had an accident. He died.”

His eyes widened again. “Four years ago? But…” He stared at my clothing again, which were those of deep mourning. “Well, I suppose that four years is so very little time, in the grand scheme of things…”

“It was nice meeting you,” I said, then turned to leave.

He touched my shoulder, but fortunately for him did not grab it.

“Wait!”

I waited.

“My dear Mrs. Wright, would you like to sit down with me? I’m here to meet with a writing group, but I am certain they can make do without me for the afternoon…”

I have no idea what possessed me to agree, but soon enough I found myself sitting in a beautiful common room with Mr. Lavoile, on a plush settee in front of a fireplace, with a glass of wine in hand. Perhaps it was because the man kept calling me Mrs. Wright. It had been my husband’s last name, not mine. Hearing it applied to me should have chafed — it certainly did, back when he was still alive. But today, somehow, it felt bittersweet.

I eyed the man as he took place next to me. He had a round jovial face, with flushed skin that could have been explained away, had the texture of his curly hair not given him away. He should have shaved it; it was painting a target on his back. The Theosians could not possibly be kind to him. Unlike Compassion who had made an effort to be forgettable, Lavoile was dressed in the latest fashion. An elegant cane with a silver handle was passed from hand to hand with insousiance as he sat; clearly an accessory rather than a necessity.

I had no recollection of meeting him face to face, but if it had happened at Felicitate manor, then I was not surprised that the memory would have slipped my mind. I had not been at my best back then. I did remember his penmanship; Ambrose used to read his correspondance out loud at the dinner table, and there had been quite a lot of it.

As his name brushed my mind, I had to close my eyes and collect myself.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Wright.

The late Ambrose Wright. Of which I was now the widow. Around me, the world kept turning, with no regard for how things had broken apart for me.

“Are you not concerned?” I was compelled to ask.

“What about?”

“I am Rage.”

“Yes…? And why would that be concerning?”

“Your city is not exactly… stable, right now.”

He scoffed. “If it was not well known that Rage is Wallen I could call you Theosian. There has always been much of what you represent in this city. I would not call that a bad thing. Besides, you are more than this. I would not insult you by reducing you only to a purpose that you have been assigned.”

An assigned purpose. I had never heard it put this way. Much was always made of the shape of our natures, but never about whether or not we had chosen these natures. I did not respond for long enough that my companion felt some need to clarify his meaning.

“Your husband always wrote so beautifully of you,” he said softly. “Always, he spoke of the woman within the Exemplar.”

This did not comfort me. I had warned Ambrose many times against using me as his muse. There was three thousand years of me that he did not understand, compared to the scant decade that we had known each other.

“He was a poet,” I dismissed. “A born liar. His craft was to make things more interesting than they really are.”

Lavoile looked amused. “Ah, but all the best lies have a grain of truth in them. And nothing can inspire such verses that is not interesting. You are a story, my dear. Stories that are predictable do not get told. They need heart to be alive. Truly, you will not convince me that you are made of rage alone, and nothing else.”

“Wish that was not the case,” I muttered.

Lavoile watched me in silence for a few minutes, then asked the question that I had been dreading.

“Where were you, these last few years? What happened?”

I tried to find a succinct way of explaining my situation that would not lead to too many follow-up questions.

“My presence in Theos has been deemed dangerous. Not everyone shares your belief that I am anything other than a carrier of anger and strife. I have been made a guest of the Lighthouse.”

His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “That is outrageous! Without a trial?! How did I not know about this?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you truly so high in politics that you would expect to be told these things?”

He could have been. I had missed rather a lot these last few years. But last I remembered, Guillaume Lavoile was a novelist and what’s more, an editorialist, which I understood to be as mortal enemies to politicians. Not the sort of person that the king would rush to inform about my presence in Theos.

“Yes, yes I am!” he said. “I am a citizen of this country, am I not? No one should be detained — especially not in the Lighthouse, and especially not an Exemplar — without it being publicly available information!”

I stared at him with bemusement and a little awe. “You are peddling dreams! In what kingdom would that ever possibly be the case?”

“Dreams are what civilisations are built on, my friend. The future and the past need not be the same.” He shook his head. “I will write a bulletin at once and decry the injustice of your imprisonment. The people need to know.”

“No!” I snapped. “You will do no such thing. Unless you want my daughter’s blood on your hands.”

“Your daughter? How do you mean?”

“She was taken,” I informed him flatly. “To ensure my compliance. Now that I am loose, I need to get her back as quickly as possible, before the king decides to punish her in my stead.”

Lavoile’s face coloured in anger. “How dare he!” he boomed. “She is but a child!”

I flicked a glance at the entrance to the common room. We were alone for now, but if he kept exclaiming this loudly then we would not be for long. The man seemed to realize this as well. He dropped back to his seat and leant towards me.

“How long ago have you escaped?”

“Yesterday.”

Realization crossed his face. “The banquet. I wondered why it had not been posponed. Mind, I didn’t want it to be. It’s important to hold on to our stances, even despite the king’s tiranny. But now I wonder… was it meant as a distraction? To cover your rescue?”

I nodded. He gasped.

“Brilliant! On, that is well done. It will make a very good story someday, if you would honour me with the telling of it. In the meantime, I am assuming your daughter is held somewhere close to the king?”

“In the palace itself, if I am not mistaken.”

“Good,” he said. “I mean, not that it is a good thing,” he clarified when he saw me tense, “but good in the sense that I think I may be able to find you a way in. A friend of mine, you see, if the art teacher of the Duchess of Camerise, the king’s daughter-in-law. I can ask him whether he knows anything that could help.”

I hissed in a breath. “You would do that?”

“Of course. What has happened to you is revolting. Such a thing should not have happened in Theos. Whatever it takes to fix it, know that I am on your side. I will help you see it through.”

My heart was doing something strange in my chest. Compassion offering help to me made sense. But this… It was entirely unexpected.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He waved a hand as if to wave my words aside. “You do not have to say anything, aside from perhaps this: where can I find you again once I have news to share?”

“I am staying in the basement here, with the staff.”

Something dark crossed his face.

“Of course. That is always where they want to put people like us. But we will not stay down. We will always come back up and force them to look at us.”

I did not agree with that ’we’ of his. I would have been perfectly content if no one looked at me again for the rest of my immortal life. I was not Spite, I didn’t burn to prove myself. I wanted it to be socially acceptable to stab people who looked at me wrong, that was all.

“Come and stay with me,” he continued. “I have a small appartment here in Lutèce. It will be my honour to host you and you will be much more comfortable.”

“Thank you, but no. The basement will do. And besides, I am not here alone.”

“Is Peace with you?” he asked.

I startled. The question was so unexpected that I almost asked him to repeat himself, certain that I had heard him incorrectly. I tried to control my reaction, but could not quite prevent myself from sounding strangled when I replied. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I am sorry for assuming. But, well, there are rumours that she was seen in Theos. Four years ago I believe, right around the time you dissapeared. I simply wondered if…”

“We crossed paths,” I interrupted brusquely. “Four years ago, yes. But I am not with her now.”

He nodded. “Then may I ask who…?”

“Compassion.”

His eyes brightened. “Ah! A decent ally to have in these troubled times.”

I growled. “Only in theory, I assure you. In practice he is most irritating.”

“Yes, I imagine you and he would be as fire and water,” he laughed.

We lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Then, seemingly coming to a decision, Lavoile picked up his cane and held it out to me.

“I want you to have this.”

I held his gaze as I placed a hand slowly on the silver pommel. I pushed on it, then twisted the cap. I felt him chuckle as I pulled out the long metallic lenght of a blade. I inclined it this way and that, examining the craftmanship. Then I sheathed it back inside of its ebony tube before taking it from his hand.

“Thank you.”

My new friend nodded. He stood up once more.

“I should leave, now. I will return once I have news. But before I go….” He held a hand out between us, brushing the edge of my veil. “May I?”

I held still. Gently, Lavoile folded up the crepe fabric and bent over to drop a single kiss on my brow.

“When you find those who have hurt you,” he murmured, “Strike true.”

#a metaphor's guide to rewriting destiny #writer #writing #writing is hard #gosh I wish my tag game was better

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jojobellelondon · 1 year ago

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Losing my sister.

Where do I even begin? It has been seven weeks since my sister Esther died. It was just over a year ago when she found out she had bowel cancer. Since her shock diagnosis, it has been an emotionally intense year of watching and supporting her through the brutal demands of battling stage 4 cancer. I’ll never forget the night when she rang to tell me her news; it’s impact so visceral it changed how I looked at life and my relationship with her. I couldn’t help but think this kind of news can change the course of a families life and it was at that point I resolved to treasure and make the most of whatever time I was gifted with her.

As I pen these words I weep; the grief is raw and deep and the recent memories painful. However, I want to write, I need to write. I have had essays cooped up inside of me all year, pushed down deep, mindful of not wanting to insert myself into a story not my own. For in many ways it was her story, her journey, her battle. I was just her sister; a close friend. I journeyed alongside, listening and encouraging her when the path of suffering was hard and scary, but it was not happening to me personally. What was and is personal to me is how I felt and feel as a woman, who has been in a supporting role and who has now lost her sister and friend.

Even now, I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that she is no longer here… no longer on planet earth. She, who had been an integral part of my life for 40 years is no longer a phone call away. Everyday my phone shows me photo memories, and her face is present in so many. We shared so much life together and it hurts to think of life moving forward without her in the memories to come. It would usually be right about now that we would be planning for family Christmas gatherings. A sister date would be in order and we would be discussing family dynamics, menu ideas, gifts and all the complexities of this time of year. This Christmas is hard. The usual glow and wonder is dimmed. All of life at the moment feels like it’s lost its colour, blurred and muted through a tear filled lens.

Everything about this experience has challenged and changed my thinking. The things I took for granted, the unspoken, subconscious thoughts I imagined about the future. The things I worried about and gave so much of my emotional energy and time to. The things I thought about God, about his purposes and his promises; how I read and understood the bible. Esther was a woman of Christian faith, and she had a special and particular journey of going deeper with God. I too am a woman of faith, and I too have been on a journey, wrestling long and hard with the confronting reality that we live in a temporary and broken world full of suffering and hardship. Yet we have a loving God who cares for us deeply, whose plans and ways are good, merciful and kind, and who can be trusted for our future.

I take great comfort in the fact that Esther is now in the loving arms of Jesus. Eternal life with God; completely healed and free from suffering and pain. My brother said to me, “Our saddest day, was her greatest day.” I believe that to be true. It says in Psalm 139, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made, your works are wonderful I know that full well… all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts God. How vast the sum of them. ”

Her story in this life is over. God knew exactly how long her life story would be. He was the author and he was lovingly in control. Her death was not a surprise to him. While I don’t understand fully his ways, I trust God completely, for his ways and thoughts are higher than my own. While I mourn her passing, and hate how painful this is, my story is not yet over, and so I want to continue sharing the things that God has been teaching me throughout this past year, and the things he is yet to teach me as I continue to do life here and now.

#losing a loved one #christian living #cancer

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twentytanya · 1 year ago

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Until Your History's No Mystery To Me | Self Para

Date: Mid October 2023 Featuring: Sonam Warnings: Lots of talk about death, dying, grief, and mourning. Explicit conversations about ghosts moving on. Feel free to reach out for a TLDR if you'd prefer not to read about it!

Tanya has a conversation with her sister, twenty-five years overdue. Or maybe exactly at the right time.

Tanya had once thought that she and Sonam would someday be the kind of sisters who could always pick up where they had left off. She knew they wouldn’t live under the same roof forever, and that would be a good thing. She knew her sister would probably leave Leeds sooner or later, see the world the way she had always wanted to.

Now, that was a little more complicated.

They were alone now, having thanked Snow and settled into the dining room, and Tanya had no idea what to say. Sonam didn’t seem to know what to say either, and this was tricky, because on one hand, Sonam was the eldest, and it had always been her job to steer these sorts of situations. But on the other hand, it was Tanya who had invited her. And she had invited her for a reason, but now she had no idea what to say.

The sisters stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then they both tried to speak at the same time.

“You can go,” Tanya said quickly.

Sonam shook her head. “No, you go.”

“No, it’s okay, you can.”

“Tanya-” Sonam sighed, and it wasn’t so different from the familiar frustrated exhale of when Tanya used to slam her door or lie about where she was going with her friends. There was a heaviness in her gaze Tanya didn’t remember, though. Something maybe that only came with mourning your sister for twenty-five years and suddenly seeing her again. It made Tanya feel exposed, and vulnerable, and maybe a little bit sad. Like Sonam saw something that Tanya didn’t want anybody to see, that Tanya herself didn’t even want to see. “Tanya, what happened?”

Tanya’s face crumpled. Of course, she knew she should have seen this coming. And it wasn’t even the first time she’d had to tell this story. But it was different when it was Sonam. It just was.

She owed her an explanation, though. More than most people. Tanya took a deep breath. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” she started off. “It just kind of… happened.”

And so Tanya told the whole story. Of realizing she was a ghost, of fleeing Leeds before anyone else had to see her this way. Of bouncing around different cities, those hazy years that blurred together that Tanya barely remembered, that Tanya didn’t really want to remember. She couldn’t go too far down that particular alley of memory, so she didn’t. The important part was that she’d gotten into the habit of haunting schools, and then she’d wound up in Swynlake.

“And that’s when I found you,” Sonam confirmed. Tanya nodded. “But I could never find you again after that.”

“I, um, sort of did a cloaking spell. Snow helped me,” Tanya admitted. Sonam looked hurt, and Tanya understood why— but she knew she had to explain. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just… I dunno, I didn’t want you to remember me like this. I’m not the same person I was when I was alive, Sonam. I’m… I’m a memory. An echo. And I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t totally hate that about myself, Snow kind of helped me figure that out, but… I dunno, I just didn’t want to put you through that.”

Sonam looked, understandably, alarmed at the mention of the cloaking spell, but just as quickly her expression softened. “Okay, but you’re still my sister,” Sonam said gently. “And if you needed me…”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Tanya didn’t say that very often, in her afterlife. But right now was one of those moments when Tanya felt more alive than usual. And it wasn’t just because of the potion she’d finished this morning before Sonam’s arrival.

Sonam just nodded and they hugged, clutching one another just like they had twenty-five years ago.

When they broke apart, though, Sonam had more questions. “Why now, though? Did something happen?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Well, no, I’m kind of dead,” Tanya joked, and Sonam looked a little bit hesitant to laugh, but once she realized it was okay, she laughed loudly. They both did, their laughter building as they let off the steam that had been building up the whole conversation. “Sorry. Bad joke. Um, yeah, I’m alright— but I guess something kind of happened. It’s stupid, it’s just… it brought up a lot of stuff for me, and I wanted to talk to you about it. Um… basically, I sort of… fell for someone.”

It was another long, sordid story, and yet this was a little easier to talk about than the first. At least it was a language Sonam spoke. The language of first heartbreak and crushes and disappointment and lies and secrets. The older woman nodded as Tanya spoke, listening carefully and occasionally interrupting to express shock or confusion at the whole crazy ordeal. Because it was kind of crazy.

“The thing is,” Tanya said at the end of it. “I was telling my friend Mim about it, and I realized I don’t think I’m even that upset that she lied to me. I’m upset that… well, I’m upset that she lied to me, but I also feel like a hypocrite, considering I’m lying to her. And it’s not like we would have been anything anyway, I’m a ghost and she’s a real person and I’d have to leave at some point anyway…”

“Is that what you’re mourning?” Sonam asked carefully. “What could have been? Not just if she’d been the person she said she was, but also if you’d been… um, alive?”

Sonam put it so simply that Tanya wondered that she’d never thought of it that way in the first place. But that was it. That was exactly it. It was every time she'd whined to Snow that she hated being dead. It was every time she'd watched jealously as the people around her celebrated birthdays and grew and changed and lived.

She was quiet for a long time, and then very slowly, she nodded.

“Can I ask you something, Sonam?” Tanya asked in an odd, low voice. “Do you, um, believe in reincarnation like Dad does?” He’d always been the more religious person in the family. Everyone else kind of went along with it to make him happy, but he was the one who actually believed in those things.

The question seemed to catch Sonam off-guard. “Uh, wow,” she said, blinking. “Sorry. I don’t know. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. Sometimes…” She took a deep breath. “Sometimes I would look for you. Back when I thought you’d moved on. I thought maybe you’d come back in another way. I never really felt that I’d found you though, which made me think, like, maybe it’s all bullshit, or maybe we did it wrong…” Her voice cracked, and Sonam blinked back tears. “But now I don’t know. I don’t know what happens next. I think that’s kind of part of it— Tanya, are you thinking…”

“I don’t know,” Tanya said quickly, and now her voice was thick with tears too. “I just… when you said that, I was thinking, you’re right. That’s what I’ve been angry about this whole fucking time. It’s not about Penny, or about anyone, it’s about everything. It’s about the fact that I can’t eat pizza, or get drunk, or get a tattoo, or have kids, or fucking grow up… or any of it. I’m stuck, and I’m never going to live if I don’t…” Tanya cleared her throat. “It’s just never going to be the same. And I’ve been so fucking scared of these things I don’t know, but the world that I do know… it’s good, it’s really good, but I can’t be fully a part of it and I can’t be until I just take that leap, you know? Like… I don’t know. Maybe it’s time.”

Sonam’s mouth hung open slightly, understanding dawning on her. “Tanya,” she said seriously. “Did you invite me here to say goodbye?”

“No!” Tanya said, maybe a little too loudly, and the man in the corner looked up for the first time. “Sorry. No.” She lowered her voice again, and the man went back to his reading. “But… I don’t know, Sonam. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just think… well, I think you have a point. We don’t know what’s gonna happen next, and maybe that’s a part of it. And maybe I’ve been thinking that for a while, but I just needed to hear it from you.” She paused. “If I do go, when I do go— I’m going to tell you, okay?” Tanya promised. “This isn’t goodbye.”

Sonam looked like she wanted to say something. Like maybe there were twenty-five years of hurt and grief held in her quivering bottom lip, in her furrowed eyebrows. But instead, she just nodded. “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I believe you.” She was silent again, and then she put a hand on Tanya’s shoulder. “But it’s okay, Tanya, when it is time. Don’t worry about me.”

And that was the terrible part, wasn’t it? The list kept getting longer. The list of people Tanya would leave behind when it was her time to move on. Sonam was part of it now.

She didn’t say that, though. She was sure Sonam already understood. All Tanya could do was lean forward and pull her into a hug. “Love you,” she mumbled.

“Love you too.”

They stayed that way for a long time, and by the time they broke apart again, the apple pie was cold. An awkwardness seemed to have descended once again. “Um, want me to show you around the rest of the place?” Tanya suggested, figuring they should get out of this room. “The garden’s really nice, even in the autumn. And the sunroom’s just been renovated.”

Sonam nodded, smiling wetly. “Yes, that sounds good,” she said. “This place is nice. You chose a good place to freeload off of.”

“Rude!” Tanya gasped. “I am not a freeloader, I work here!”

“And you pay rent.”

“Nooo,” Tanya admitted. “Whatever. I know management here. I can kick you out.”

“I, unlike you, am a paying customer,” Sonam smirked. She stood up and offered Tanya her hand. “Come on, let’s see this place.”

Tanya smiled despite herself, taking her sister’s hand. It wasn’t exactly the way it used to be at all. It was a little weird. But things had changed, and Tanya was realizing she couldn’t stop them from doing that. All she could do was take afterlife moment at a time. Find the beauty in it. And listen. And maybe in those whispers, she’d find the answers.

#self para #tw death #tw grief

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is-it-gabriel · 5 months ago

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Hearing that Robin had mourned him was like a knife in his chest. It felt like he’d been shot all over again, because deep down he never wanted to bring any of his work into those he cared about lives and he went and did it twice to people all because of a stupid fake identity he couldn’t talk about to anyone. If he had filled Robin in back then though, he knew someone would have found out. He knew that his case involved some shitty people and the fact mia and himself barely made it out in one piece was proof that possibly even Robin wasn’t safe back then. She could hate him forever for what he did, but at the end of the day she was safe. He didn’t actually have to read about something happening to her all because his sentimental ass wanted to reveal the truth to her in LA.

“ I’m sorry. “ it was all he could say in that moment and even that didn’t feel like enough. “ i do know what it feels like though and I never wanted you to go through any of that. “ he thought he was helping in his own way but he went and screwed it up even further. He knew exactly what it felt like because he had to believe mia was dead. He still didn’t have answered about that and assumed all of this fake death stuff with Mia was a plan by his superiors to flush out any remaining people in the organization that wanted him and Mia gone. But it was still a messed up trick. “ I couldn’t just tell you everything. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t literally put your life at risk with my work just to be nice. “ he noted. “ it was shitty and mean and I know I said what I said, but I couldn’t bring you into the truth. Knowing what I know now, they would have come after you. I wasn’t gonna do that. So yes I was an unbelievable asshole but I only did it cause I didnt want you caught up in that case. I didn’t want you to get hurt by someone worse than me. “ he admitted knowing he could talk about things now that the case had gone to trial

He felt like a complete piece of shit for doing what he’d done, but it wasn’t as though he had a choice. It was a case of the worst timing ever to run into your first love that then turned into identity limbo after the case ended. He had to wait a long time. He was also in recovery too. He couldn’t make these sort of moves unless he got the go ahead from his former bosses. He also was stuck in a pretty bad depression after he got home and to be fair if it hadn’t been for Imani, he would have never left his house. He didn’t want to see anyone back then. “ I didn’t know you were here still. If I had. I would have said something before today, but everything hasn’t slowed down since I got back here. My own department doesn’t trust me half the time cause of how this whole thing blew up. So I had to lay low for a long time because of this case. I couldn’t go around announcing I was alive till the case went to trial, and till I recovered from getting shot. It wasn’t like i could just destroy years of undercover work to finally get to be myself again. I know it looks really bad and I did screw up not looking for you right when I got back, but it wasn’t just me. It wasn’t cause I didn’t give a shit.“‘ he didn’t care if she believed his explanation but he still felt like it was owed. @robinsantos

Robin had spent weeks following the shortest of threads in hope that it would lead her to Gabriel, alive and well, instead of dead and buried as his—Owen's—obituary had claimed. She had thought she was losing her mind, chasing a ghost who didn't even want anything to do with her. But alive and having no interest in her was better than dead. If only she had known he had returned to the one place she had never thought to check.

"I mourned you." Robin bristled, steadying herself with a deep breath. "I saw your picture in the obituaries and thought you were dead and I mourned you. Do you know how that feels? Do you know what that does to a person? I thought you were dead, Gabriel! Even after you humiliated me and pushed me away, I mourned you and you were what? Back to business as usual?" She scoffed, disdain darkening her expression.

"No." Her tone was sharp. Final. "I don't want your explanation. It's too late for that. You could have reached out anytime you wanted to after leaving Los Angeles, but you didn't, because you didn't want to. You only want to explain now because I'm here and your hand has been forced. If you hadn't seen me here, today, would you have honestly ever reached out to let me know you were alive or did I never cross your mind?"

#robin #tw:shooting #tw:death

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byebyler · 3 years ago

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SO I’m absolutely eating up everyone’s Byler posts and loving the unbridled optimism everyone is exhibiting towards our ship becoming canon

but

I just can’t get on board like some people. Because a lot of their reasoning hinges on “if the Duffers were smart, they’d...” and that is reason enough to say oh, no, then it’s not going to happen. Bc the Duffers aren’t smart. How can they be dropping all these hints and crafting a narrative so subtly, masterfully poignant when they literally forgot Will’s birthday this season. At this point, any stroke of genius found in the narrative seems to me to be a complete accidental coincidence

Which is why I’m bracing myself for the absolute Worst Case Scenario when it comes to Will being gay, coming out, Byler, etc etc. And the WCS for me would be...

Will dies at the end of the season

It turns into another “bury your gays” trope and we’re all let down

My personal opinion on this season being split up is that there’s something completely and totally status quo breaking at the end. They want to give everyone a chance to sit with part one, digest it, and start all the crazy theorizing so everyone is primed for part two. And there’s something in part two that’s going to have everyone shocked and freaking out. I think the death of a main character would fit that bill

The hints for Byler are all there. The aversion to girls, the painting, El saying she thinks he’s interested in someone, all the awkwardness between him and Mike, the heart to hearts, [tender music playing], the whisperings of a love triangle in reviews, etc etc. It’s there, so I think it’s safe enough to say that yes, Will is gay. Yes, he’s into Mike. And honestly yes I do also think Mike is having a sexuality crisis, or at least a relationship crisis with El, so who really knows how that will go?? Whether the crush is requited or not, it would still hurt like hell if Will died as a conclusion to that story

My main reasoning for this WCS is the harness pic. That tells us Will gets snatched at some point, and the most obvious answer is that he gets picked up by Vecna. Same as Chrissy, same as Fred, same as Patrick, plus Max and Nancy

Now Max already had a daring escape, and Nancy has to be freed as well because there are still shots of her in the trailer that weren’t in part one, so they must be in part two. Plus we’ve yet to see the shot of Eddie playing guitar on top of his trailer in the upside down. What else could that be, if it’s not to play Nancy’s favorite song and save her?

So are we really going to have three close calls with no real deaths? Is Will going to be another fake out who gets snatched but eventually freed via the power of love and music and friendship? Is Vecna really only going to be 3 for 6?? I don’t know, I just can’t see them pulling the same fake out stunt three times in a row with main characters like that. Especially when it seems like they’re all resolved in similar ways (as far as we can guess, at least). So I don’t know, it just seems like lazy writing if they pull the same stunt three times. But then again... who knows?

And of course all the actors’ hints towards Will’s journey this season, saying there’s romance but also that it’s sad/emotional? I can’t remember their phrasing exactly but it was something like that. And of course any coming out scene would be emotional for us, but having it end in death would be unambiguously sad for everyone watching

And then Will’s painting would be used much like Hopper’s letter at the end of the last season. Mike is mourning Will’s death on his own, spots the painting, unrolls it to see something even more emotional and something that spells out how Will always felt about him. But by now, it’s too late

But of course, that could all be bullshit. I sincerely hope it’s bullshit. Like I said, this is the Worst Case Scenario that I can think of. And why I think it COULD be a possibility

But I could be (and hope I’m) wrong about all of this. I think Steve is another big possibility for a main character that might die. And if he dies, I don’t think they’d kill two main characters like that. Will might not even be getting lifted up by Vecna. There’s a whole host of bullshit that could happen to him tbh. Or maybe the writers are lazy and will do the same fake out just to scare people three separate times. I just don’t know

My main reasoning AGAINST the “Will dies” theory would just be that the cast has been very coy and giggly whenever dancing around the subject of Will’s love life. And if Will died, and Finn and David were still acting like that in interviews... Well, they’d kind of be assholes, wouldn’t they? So that’s why I think this theory isn’t true

But like I said, I’m just lowering my expectations as much as I possibly can. Will dying would be the worst case scenario for me, both as a Byler shipper and just a big stan of Will in general. And I know if I let myself get too sucked into the positive theories then I’ll just end up being disappointed in the end. Most likely. Here’s hoping I’m super stupid and wrong. I’ll check back in in ~a month and we’ll see if I was right or wrong! xx

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #my thoughts #season 4 #stranger things season 4

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maximoffslilwitchintraining · 3 years ago

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Secret spies and drunken nights.

Part 4

Read: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

A/N: Thanks to anon for suggesting I write about reader getting drunk before their birthday early. I enjoyed writing this quite a bit. Also when I am not intentionally sticking to certain pronouns, they tend to just mix. I myself use all pronouns and so that just naturally happens whilst I write too.

I really want to proof read, but my eyes have given up on me. I literally can’t focus them. 😔

Summary: You go out celebrating your birthday early, getting super drunk and you know Wanda won’t be happy when she finds out.

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: alcohol, sexual suggestions, it gets really fluffy.

The two women had told you they’d be out of town for a couple days. You knew the reason for their absence, but having not seen them in 3 days you were now driving yourself mad with thoughts of, what if they didn’t actually mean what they said, what if they just wanted sex, what if they are actually spies and out on a secret mission. The last thought spiraled into you imagining one of them getting hurt on said mission or them never coming back, which made you cry. Yes you were getting a bit out of hand with your theories. You cried and cried over this fake scenario you had created in your head, until you had no tears left. Then you just laid there for longer than you’d like to admit. Finally after several hours spent in a state that can only be described as catatonic, you felt something, frustration, anger. First at Natasha and Wanda for being secret spies who by now in your mind already left the country, without saying a word. Then you got angry at yourself for how easily you lost it, letting your mind play all kinds of tricks on you and for a second letting yourself get mad at the two people who had done nothing wrong. By the end of it you weren’t sure what exactly made you the saddest, missing Nat and Wanda or just how far you let yourself spiral. All you knew was that you needed a distraction and as if on queue the phone rang.

“Hi.” You spoke, with an apathetic tone, not really trying.

“Wow, well aren’t you chipper. Almost thought I got your voicemail for a sec.” The voice spoke mockingly on the other end of the line.

“Yelena? Why are you calling at this time of day.” You said almost grumpily, having forgotten about how you wanted a distraction and now just annoyed that she interrupted your wallowing.

“Um exactly, what time do you think it is y/n?” Yelena said laughing, but with slight concern creeping up.

“I have no idea actually?” Almost shocked yourself at how it may as-well be the next day and you would have no clue, how much time you had spent crying and staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, dear, I called at the perfect time, I see. Put on something cute and I’ll pick you up in five. We are going out and getting waisted. Half celebration and half mourning whatever’s been going on with you.” Yelena spoke confidently before hanging up. She never gave you time for saying yes or no to plans and she never gave you a chance because she usually knew your answer, but thought hers was better. You pulled yourself up feeling dizzy once on your feet. You didn’t check the time not wanting to know how long you had been in bed for. In your hazy state you struggled choosing good clothes, but eventually settled on the same outfit you had worn to your date. The outfit Wanda helped you pick, the clothes Natasha paid for. You felt comfort putting them on, feeling closer to them. God you had been on one date with them and you were already falling, this was unlike you in so many ways. Thank god neither of them knew what went through your mind or they would have already fled, unless that’s what they had done? Oh, no, no, stop it no more of that tonight. You were going out with Yelena to have fun, or at least forget.

As promised she showed up 5 minutes later, flask in hand as she often did.

By the time you had found a bar, you had already finished her bottle of liquor and she was now quite annoyed.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my birthday! You can’t hit me.” You spoke, with a smug smile, knowing she definitely would have on another day.

“Fine, I ‘ll hit you tomorrow.” She said, the look on her face indicating she was looking forward to it. You rolled your eyes at her, walking up to the bar.

“Two shots of tequila. Please.” You smiled. The bartender was really cute. You shook your head, that was not the reason you were here. You were forgetting the mess, that was the goal, not making it messier. Regardless of how good you were at that.

“She meant four.” Yelena said to the bartender, giving them a wink.

“Oh boy, this night is not gonna end well is it?” You giggle nervously at Yelena’s smirk.

“Oh! I’ll make sure of it.” She said, as the shots were lined up in front of you. You emptied them swiftly and Yelena did the same. As you did you remembered what Wanda had said about drinking. Technically you were still too young, but the bars here rarely checked id. A shiver went down your spine, imagining Wanda’s disappointed face.

“We’ll have a second round.” You ordered, eager to get rid of that thought.

“Wow, and to think I thought I’d have to force you to even have a beer?” Yelena laughed at you, as you emptied yet another shot glass. You gave a way a small fake chuckle, completely focused on the task.

“So, what is up with you? I know you always enjoy a drink, but you seem like you’re trying to drown yourself?” She raised an eyebrow. You pushed her glass towards her, avoiding the question completely.

“The bartender is cute.” You whisper to Yelena, head ducked as if to make yourself invisible. God damn, you sure didn’t last long before bringing that up, huh? The alcohol was quickly rushing to your head, having not counted for the missed meals of the day, due to your wallowing.

“Yeah?” She raised her eyebrow, not pushing you to talk, since you clearly weren’t in the mood. “Why don’t you go for it.”

“Uhm, no.” You said ducking your head. The memory of the two women coming back. You closed your eyes tightly, the room spinning now.

“Why not?!” She exclaimed.

“I am.. seeing some… one? Seeing… peop.. two wom… uhmm. I think?” You struggled to find the right words.

“Oh! You’re dating someone?” Yelena leaned in, with intrigue sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, two actually.” You said shyly looking at your hands. “The couple that moved in down the street.” Almost whispering now.

“No fucking way!! Omg, good for you! Who are they? Tell me more?!” She laughed, shaking your arm with excitement.

“Well, we’ll see.” You smiled now thinking about Natasha and Wanda. “They are pretty great, but it’s new. So don’t go telling anyone!” You were still smiling at the thought, though desperately trying to keep a warning tone.

“Of course, I am the best at secrets, I love them!” She said with a grin leaning in towards you. Rolling your eyes at the statement you nodded.

“But now you have to tell me everything.” Yelena spoke, eagerly. And you did. You spent the rest of the night drunkenly babbling on and on about Natasha and Wanda. And no longer were you feeling sad.

****************************

Yelena was being picked up by a friend and so you were left to walk home alone. It was maybe not the best idea, but it was thankfully not far. So on you went slowly making your way home, stumbling over your feet every few steps. You had started humming some song, completely out of tune, a smile on your face nonetheless, as you head was clouded with intoxication. Your humming came to a stop as you reached Wanda and Nat’s house, the two women standing outside by their car, apparently home from their trip. Your mind told you to run the opposite direction, knowing this was a horrible time for them to get home, but your legs were jelly.

“Y/N, sweetheart.”Wanda waved, with a big smile. You started walking towards them, trying to look sober, but failing miserably.

“H-hi.” You smiled, half lifting your hand for a wave. Trying to focus your eyes on Wanda’s, but struggling.

“You’re drunk.” Wanda said, her smile fading, as she eyed you suspiciously.

“J-ust… little.” Having real trouble making coherent sentences now. “Birthday celebra… celeb-celebrate.” You smiled content with that. “Early.” You followed up, at the sight of Wanda’s frown. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Dumb, baby.” She chuckled, earning her an elbow in the side from Wanda. Wanda turned motioning towards the house. You just looked at her blinking.

“Can you walk on your own?” Natasha asked with slight amusement. You shifted one leg forward, not quite feeling the ground like you should.

“Oh, shit.” Was the only words formed before you went falling head first into a snow drift.

“декта!” Wanda exclaimed with wide eyes of shock, covering her mouth with both hands, before rushing to your side.

“God, котенок you keep falling for us.” Natasha took your other arm. They helped you inside, guiding you to the couch.

Wanda’s eyes were filled with disappointment and concern. That look on her face, sunk in your chest and you felt like crying. You never wanted to see her like that again.

“Im.. s-sorry.” Your voice shaked and tears started coming down your face. You wanted to say more, but the guilt had traveled up your throat, pain locking your jaw shut. Wanda hugged you close.

“I just care about you, декта.” She whispered.

“I missed you.” You whimpered against Wanda’s shoulder.

“We missed you too.” Natasha spoke, running her hand along your back, as you squeezed Wanda tighter.

“You need sleep, baby.” Wanda moved away cupping your face, wiping away your tears. She went on running her thumbs soothingly over your cheeks. You kept your eyes closed focusing on the touch, scared to see her face again.

“Open your eyes.” She spoke sweetly and so you did. Her eyes now calm, as they looked into yours and her features soft once more.

“I’m not mad honey. We do need to do something about your problem with listening, but that will have to be taken care of tomorrow.” She spoke softly but something shifted in her demeanor as she glanced at Nat, who simply smirked. You swallowed hard, unsure whether you should feel excitement or fear, but you didn’t feel any fear. You never did with them, in-fact you felt safer than you had ever felt before. You smiled at that thought. The two women giggled at you curiously. Wanda tilting her head, seemingly attempting to peer into your mind.

“Okay.” Nat interrupted with a chuckle. “Let’s go to bed.” She grabbed you away from Wandas gaze.

“Together?” You spoke curiously, getting sleepy just by the thought of being cuddled up between the two.

“Yes, kitten. Were you planning to sleep on the couch?” Natasha laughed, her grip on your waist tightening, helping you up the stairs. Wanda follows close behind her.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Requests are open 😘🧡

#maximoffslilwitchintraining #wandanat #wandanat x reader #fluff #drunk reader #natasha romanoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x natasha #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha x wanda #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n

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babeyvenus · 3 years ago

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A Little Chunk of Hope

"So, Spiderman, huh?", he asks. You deadpanned. "Don't start."

Andrew!Peter x black!Reader

If you did not watch NWH, don’t read this.

Tw: Language, blood and gore, mentions of death

Ch. 1: We need to talk.

You’ve known Peter since he stood up to Flash for picking on an innocent guy; something no one really had the guts to do. You’ve done it once and of course, Peter was there by your side to support you. You two easily became friends after that.

After being friends with him, you felt as if your feelings for him were changing and even tried your best to avoid that change.

You saw how he looked at Gwen. There was no way he would have felt the same way. Not by a long shot. Despite how happy and secure he made you feel, you wanted more. You wanted to see sides that Gwen most likely has seen. The only time he really opened up is when he went to see you about his uncle.

After that, it was just the usual. A hi and bye or geeking about certain things you’re interested in. You enjoyed those. Of course, you did. It was comforting.

It was harder trying to communicate with him after Dr. Kurt Connors was put into custody after trying to turn people into lizards. He looked a little worse for wear after that. He claimed he got mugged but it threw you off.

One day, you heard about your uncle Max and his sudden death. It hurt you deeply. He never hurt anyone… He was so sweet. Awkward at times, sure but he never bothered anyone.

However… you noticed something different about him when you heard about Gwen’s death. He didn’t even have the energy to comfort you and you couldn’t blame him, He was still mourning Gwen.

That’s when you found out about him being Spiderman. Being happy that they weren’t together would’ve been too harsh and not only that, it just felt wrong.

Peter wasn’t happy. If anything, he looked distraught. Empty and especially distant. Nothing was worth seeing him so cold and distant. He tried his best to fake his true feelings and pressing him about it only made him run away.

After years of your distant friendship, you decide to surprise him with a call and takeout after his “shift”, if you can even call it that.

“The number you are trying to reach is out of range. Please hang up and try again.” You looked at your phone in confusion. “Out of range…? When was he going on a trip?”, you muttered. You tried again and were given the same message. “C’mon, Pete…”

In a school lab, glancing at the younger couple with a bittersweet expression, his mind wanders to Gwen. He thinks about what he could’ve and should’ve said to her. Then his mind wanders to you. Knowing your uncle is alive… came back to life simply because of magic.

Magic of all things.

How could he even explain that to you? How can he even tell you that magic actually exists and that he met his other counterparts???

“You thinking about her?”, Peter 2 asks, making him snap out of his thoughts to look at his older version.

He shook his head with a smile. “Nah… someone else. My friend. She-”, he sighed. “One of the guys we have to take care of is actually her uncle… she never knew what exactly happened to him. I don’t know how I could even explain to her…”, he says, solemnly.

The eldest Peter quirked his lips, “Maybe just explain it to her. She can’t be that hard to talk to, right?”

“That’s the thing… we haven’t exactly talked to each other in a while… I kept myself distant. Didn’t have the time to just be Peter.”, he shrugs. Little did he know, Ned was listening to them the whole time. Ned squeezes his eyes shut and raises his hand to create a portal, mumbling to himself. Sounds of sparkling caught everyone’s attention.

“Ned, what’re you doing?”, Peter 1 asks, worriedly, walking over to him. The portal shows a figure’s backside throwing on a jacket, fully dressed, and setting her phone in her pocket. The older Peters stand warily of the sight before them.

The figure turns around, looking at the teens in shock. “Uh… Hi?”, she says, stepping away from the portal. Her eyes scan the teens and widen as they’re directed towards Peter’s suit and his beaten-up face. “You’re not Peter…”

She looks up to see a familiar face, recognizable eyes glossed over, messy chestnut hair half slicked to his face. He wore a lab coat but his red and blue suit was easy to spot. “Peter…?”

He lets out a teary chuckle, taking her in his arms. “Hi, Y/N…”

She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him. “You-” She turns around as she sees the portal dissipate in thin air. Her eyes land back on the youngest Peter and back to her Peter. “I’m so confused.”

The girl next to the younger Peter walks up to her. “So…I’m MJ… this is your Peter.”, she points at the Peter beside her. “And this is ours.”

She pointed to the eldest Peter. “He’s also from another universe.” Y/N awkwardly waves at the 2nd Peter before holding out her hands in realization and pulling away from hers. “Hold on. Universe? As in going to a different world?”

The teens nod. Ned wiggles his fingers, “I’m magic.” She nods, turning to her Peter. “I think I’m going insane.”

He shook his head. "No. We're in some trouble." The shorter Peter walked up to her. "I made a huge crisis. So bad guys from your world came here because I messed up a spell so we're trying to cure them before sending them back."

She turns back to her Peter. "The lizard's back??" He nods, gaping his mouth open and closed as if he had something else to say. "What?", she asks.

His eyes become misty as his lips slightly tremble. "I've got something to tell you...", he says, pulling her aside.

The rest of the group went about their ways. Peter stood in front of Y/N, taking a deep breath. "So, yeah, Connor's back. Haven't seen him yet but I'm making a cure for him, again. Harry's not back but..." His jaw flexes.

"But what? What happened?", she asks. He looks at her, blinking back tears, trying his best to push his last memories of that night away. You place a hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch a little. "Pete..."

He swallows. "Max is back too."

He watches her eyes widen a little and her eyebrows furrow. "What're you talking about? Why would Max be here? He's dead. What-"

His eyes gloss over again as she takes her hand off his shoulder and takes a step back, shaking her head. "You didn't… You knew who he was? You know how he died…? What, is he one of the bad guys we have to take back?"

He slowly nods, not saying a word. She looked down. "Was he there? The night Gwen died…? He caused that blackout…?"

He took a step toward her. "Y/N… I'm sorry." Y/N looked up at him, hot tears pooling in her own eyes. "What do you want me to do? What can I do to stop this? I wanna help."

He hugged her again, shocking her with the sudden affection. "I don't wanna put you through this. Just in case it goes sideways. If it does, I want you to hide. You're stuck here until we go back, if we can't get back, you need to hide."

She pulled away to see his face. "Peter, I think I can handle my uncle."

He scoffed. "You're not even listening. It's not just your uncle. There's bad guys from other worlds too. If things go wrong, you hide. It doesn't matter what it is."

She frowned. "Fine." He looks at her eyes. "I mean it, Y/N. I can't handle you being in danger. You being here now just makes me on edge that something bad might happen."

"Peter. I'm not helpless. I'm not fragile. I understand your worries, but you gotta understand, you're not dealing with this alone. Sometimes you gotta take all the help you can get even if it does go left.", she says, making him sigh and pull away.

"Okay. Okay.", he nods, stepping away to look at her. He huffs softly before giving a sad smile. "It's really good to see you again."

She returns it. "You too. I was actually trying to call you to see if you wanted to hang out but...", she looks around.

"Yeah, maybe after this? After everything's done. We can talk, eat and do whatever.", he rambled. She nods, "I'd like that."

#andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #andrew!peter x black!reader #andrew garfield #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #nwh #spiderman nwh #spiderman #spiderman 2012 x reader #x black reader #black reader #max dillon #jamie foxx

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toxic-spike-plumeria · 3 months ago

Text

Here goes nothing then. Plumeria thought to herself, sighing heavily again. ‘Well, alright. I already told you about my patents- my mom died from illness, something post-child bearing, and naturally my dad blamed me for it even though I was barely a year old. I grew up with him always being cold and distant, and always reminding me about how much of a mistake I was. He was a boater, so he was usually out in the waters anyway. And when he was home, especially when I was old enough to make my own food and take care of myself, he basically tried to act like I didn't exist. I didn't cry when he killed himself- there was nothing between us for me to mourn. If anything, I was more pissed off that he listed me as the crux of all his problems. As if I had a choice in even being born.”

She took a sip of her water. “I was 10, and then my best friend Zeke and his mom and aunt took me in, even though they were struggling themselves. Zeke’s mom had a cancer in her kidneys, and his aunt had issues with her immune system. His mom died by the time we were 12, and his aunt didn't make it past another 3 years herself. Poor thing.” She was saddened at the loss of the women. “They did the best they could for us with nothing but government scraps. Those women I mourned. But the worst part of my life so far was Guzma.” she shuddered at saying his name, tensing up on instinct.

“See, Zeke and I lived on a small route on Ula’ula where the jungles divide into path and then the beach. Po Town was always close, but always off limits. Since being abandoned by the colonists that created it, it just wasn't safe. But we were playing truth or dare with some other kids, and they dared us to go, so we did. Imagine our surprise when we find out someone actually lives there. And that someone was him. At first he was cool, didn't mind us being around, kept an eye on us, and told us we could come back if we got bored, that there was nothing to be afraid of in Po Town. He also had pot, which Zeke was a major stoner back then. So we went back, daily, and we'd shoot the shit and just smoke. Sometimes Zeke couldn't make it over, so I would just go alone.

The thing about Guzma was he knew how to charm. He was very charismatic. And when you're a 14 year old girl in a place where you only have two real friends cuz everyone else thinks you either are cursed or are the curse, receiving attention from a guy who's kinda cute and older than you, you allow it. And he knew exactly what to say to compliment me and get me to trust him and want to see him more. And it was just the two of us more often as Zeke’s aunt got worse. And I didn't know anything was happening when we were alone. Like I said, he'd smoke us up, I'd pass out, and wake up hours later. Usually sore and tired. And I just always thought it was from how I slept. It wasn't until about a year or so in that I found out what he'd been doing.

I woke up one time; he was on top of me. Inside of me. It felt invasive, and weird. I knew what he was doing, but I was too young to know it was wrong at the time. Especially since once he figured out I was awake he just told me to relax, that I'm his girl and he's gonna take care of me, and this is totally normal for couples to do. So I just layed there. I didn’t know what else to do. I trusted him, and he had been good to me by that point. And Zeke. We actually moved in with him, into the shady house, when Zeke’s aunt passed away.

Within some months he was able to recruit some other punks that, like us, had nowhere to go. Whether we were orphaned, running away from abuse, or just outcasts from our towns, it didn't matter. Team Skull, as we were called, were a family. Guzma was Big Bro. He was the oldest of us. 25 by the time we were fully formed. And as his girl, and one of the other older females, I became Big Sis. My job was to keep the grunts in their place and look after them. So I did just that. To be honest, the grunts kept me there more than anything.”

She lit a cigarette, offering one to Piers, and taking a long drag before continuing. “Things were cool for a couple of years. I mean, I was still smoked up to get fucked, it was easier that way. I didn't have to think about the awkwardness I felt inside when he was doing what he was doing, and the pot helped it just feel better in general. But then Guzma got involved with Lusamine and the Aether Foundation, which was fronted to look like a Pokémon utopia but was actually a set up to induce and act like a beacon for the wormholes that the ultra beasts come from. And Lusamine was obsessed with the beasts. And Guzma was obsessed with Lusamine. And she knew that, and used it to her advantage.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Funny, that she did to him exactly what he'd been doing to me, but I thought he and I were in love. And I fucking hated her for what she did to him.

It didn't take long after joining with Aether for Guzma to change. We were used to doing petty crimes for survival, mostly food theft and illegal water collection. Nothing more than the bare minimum needed for the group. But once Aether was involved, the stakes were raised. Suddenly we were told to take certain Pokémon, usually by force, so they could be ‘freed’ into the created Utopia. And the more Guzma was around Lusamine, the more angry and violent he got towards the rest of us. And when the pot started to wear off, he'd mix me up a drink of melatonin, oxy and valium to have his way. I was addicted within months. He knew damn well too that would happen.”

By this point Plumeria’s stance was starting to break. Her voice cracked at the memory, and tears brimmed her eyes. She shook slightly as she continued. “Aether continued to be a problem for all of Alola, and in being complicit so wasn't Team Skull. I couldn't take care of my friends how I wanted because I was too drugged up most of the time, and by this point I will say Guzma had become a problem for me. I never once wanted to be a fucking criminal. I didn't like us stealing Pokémon, and I knew something was wrong with Lusamine and Aether. In the end, though, she was able to call forth her beasts. And she allowed herself to be swallowed up and morphed by one of them. Guzma followed her suit. For why I'll never know. But they were taken by their beasts back into the wormholes. That was probably 4 years ago now. Haven't seen either since. And wormholes over Alola faded. Until they started to pop up once again at random all over. Hence why I'm here.

Now naturally someone had to atone and pay for what Aether, and by association Skull, had done against Alola and its people and Pokémon. With our top admins just gone into space, it fell onto me. Pretty sure if Alola had the death penalty Hala would have assigned it. But Nanu and Olivia took pity. Clearly I wasn't compliant by will. They ordered rehab, and then civil service for life. Part of that service is sending the grunts and I to wherever these anomalies show up. Mostly because we know more about them. And we're always paired with that region's profession, and usually some other ‘stand up citizen’ to basically babysit us. Part of my sentence also includes therapy. And therapy is what made me realize that I'd been used the whole time. There was never any love. I was just his fucking puppet. And his fuck puppet.” She added bitterly. Some tears had escaped, and at first she tried to hide it and wipe them away quickly. But now, she didn't seem to care if any fell.

“So that's who I am. And I told myself that after him I wouldn't ever allow myself to have feelings for anyone like that again…except, that wasn't true. Because I did develop feelings again. No matter how hard I tried to deny it. And I'm scared. Not because I think you're going to hurt me. I'm afraid of him coming back. I have nightmares of it daily. And I can't imagine someone I care about getting hurt because of me.”

🎸 from Here

@toxic-spike-plumeria

Piers gave Plumeria a very odd look, but it wasn’t one that was entirely readable. Instead, he stood up and offered her a hand up, not that it was needed, but rather to be polite. It was then that he flashed her a light smile.

“Nah, ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong, Plu. Just looked like ya might be gettin’ overwhelmed. I get that vibe. Happens t’me too at times. Let’s take a cruise… a scenic route back. It’ll be nice.”

With that, he lead her back to the bike and offered to help her on it, handing her the helmet once again. He then took his seat on it as well, and started the engine, letting it run a moment before having her hold on.

The night air was cool and fresh, and Piers was clearly loving the ride. Not only did he have a gorgeous woman with him, she was actively part of the reason this night was so wonderful to him.

The countryside passed them by as they cruised casually down side roads to delay the ride a bit more than normal.

By the time they reached her home, Piers was feeling quite rejuvenated, and it was clear in how he seemed so relaxed. Nearly as though he were a hippie rather than a punk.

“Ah, I guess all good things must end, yeah? C’mon love, let’s get you settled inside.”

He offered to help her off the back of the bike again, and fastened the helmets to the ride, and tucked the keys away inside his jacket pocket. It was a hidden one, inside of the right flap, where he stored important things like ID and keys.

#okay so i had to write this one out before replying and it is a doozy and i am sorry #im also super sorry for the late response #tw drug and non consensual content

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soulmate-game · 3 years ago

Text

Harley's Plea for Help ch. 6

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6-- you are here

Yet another night of barely any sleep, but this time Marinette didn’t have the coffee-angel Red Robin at her rescue. No, instead she had to go completely uncaffeinated until she and her class got to Wayne Enterprises. Madame Mendelieve could only sigh as she watched Marinette scamper off to the café as soon as they made it past the initial security of the building. A couple of her classmates chuckled or snorted at her familiar behavior.

It was the same barista at the register as before, but this time Marinette felt too tired to properly order or be adventurous in looking for new flavors.

“I feel like death. I don’t care if it tastes like pure bean oil today. Flavors will take away from the amount of coffee you can shove in one cup, right?”

The poor barista blinked, eyeing the deep bags forming under the poor girl’s eyes. She sighed. “I had hope yesterday that you were just a normal caffeine addict. Now I see we actually have a second Mister Drake,” she said it as if she was mourning at Marinette’s grave before poking a few buttons on her touchscreen order station and turning her head. “One Insomniac CEO, but not for the boss!” She called out. The barista making the drinks paused for a second with wide eyes.

“We have another one?!” He asked, shocked. “Piece of advice?” He turned to Marinette. “Get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead,” Marinette deadpanned back. “I got stuff I need to do today.”

The guy just shook his head and sighed, making the drink as Marinette paid and left a good tip. The drink came out fairly quickly, and everyone behind the counter stopped for a moment to stare as she gulped down the hot drink with no concern for her tongue or throat. A satisfied sound left her as she finally pulled away from the cup.

“This is really good!” She complimented, turning to the Baristas with a still-tired smile. It would take a minute or two for the coffee to have full effect, but she already felt better. “A little too bitter for my usual tastes, but perfect for days like today. Thanks!” She waved at them before turning around and seeing that her class was already gone again. Before she could fully process that though, a hand slapped down onto her head and ruffled her hair.

Surprised (really, not a lot of people could sneak up on her anymore. Just how tired was she?) she let out a high pitched squeal.

“You’re a good kid,” the soft, slightly scratchy voice that said that made Marinette’s shoulders drop and eyes widen. Tilting her head back she was greeted with the widely-grinning face of Jason Todd. He was once again in the uniform of a security guard.

“Wha— Uh,” Marinette couldn’t quite find the right words right away. She was too stunned. Jason just chuckled, jerking his head to indicate the same door her class had gone through the day before and leading the way over there. Marinette scrambled to catch up.

Once they were far away enough from prying eyes and ears, Marinette cleared her throat.

“Um,” she started. “Did… I mean, do you..?”

“Yeah, our mutual friends had a chat with me last night,” he confirmed casually. He sent her a meaningful look even though his grin never left his face. “Like I said; you’re a good kid. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re not responsible for the things your parents have done, you know.”

The girl at his side hummed noncommittally, not fully convinced but also not wanting to argue.

“You’re not,” he repeated firmly, stopping in the middle of the side-hallway. They could see her class at the other end getting checked in, but didn’t make a move to join them yet. “I mean it. The stuff that happened to me, none of that was you. Hell, you were a little kid back then. And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it, either. I’m not gonna hold anything against you just because you’re his child. You didn’t ask to be,” he shrugged. “Besides, I get it. Biological relation doesn’t equal family. Trust me,” his grin was gone and a tired one replaced it. “I know that better than most people.”

The pigtailed girl could only gulp, taking a deep breath as she forced down the tears that wanted to bubble up. She had had this conversation with Adrien a few times, but even then she had been convinced that he just didn’t understand. He was just being nice. But this— Jason’s words were more valuable than gold to her. He had no reason to be nice, so it had to be at least partially sincere.

“Thanks,” she whispered once she was positive she wasn’t going to break. She lifted her cup up and took a long sip of her coffee. The slight burn against her tongue helped ground her. “That means more than you know.”

Jason chuckled. “Nah. The fact that you stood up for me to the Bat,” his grin returned to his face full blast, making dimples appear on his cheeks. “Now that, you have no idea how much that means to me. You must have some serious guts to lecture that guy, too. Is it too late to adopt you for myself?”

That tore a quick laugh out of her, making her classmate’s head whip over to the opposite end of the hallway where she and Jason were. She quickly quieted herself, but her eyes danced with amusement as she looked up at Jason. “You’re too young to be my parent anyway, but I wouldn’t say no to a brother,” she joked. Jason’s eyes sparkled.

“Good, exactly what I was aiming for!” He slipped a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my number. Call me if you ever need anything, got it?” He turned to resume leading her back to her class and she quickly slipped the paper into her pocket before anyone saw and got the wrong idea. “And I mean anything.”

Marinette just smiled and nodded. By then, they were close enough for Alya to smirk and ask; “What took ya so long, girl?”

“Oh,” Marinette shuffled a little on her feet before an observation gave her a last minute idea and she straightened up with a wide smile. “We just got distracted talking about motorcycles!”

Jason’s eyebrows raised for a quick second before he settled his expression again and played along. He had figured that not many people knew about her biological family. That part made sense. But she had been a total mess just the day before when she had tried to lie about Paris’ little villain problem in front of Bruce. How was she able to actually come up with a good lie this time around, when she had been just as much put on the spot? He wondered to himself about what was different about this situation to allow her to lie more easily. Maybe Bruce not being there was part of it— she seemed easily flustered by famous people.

Think of the devil, because no sooner had that thought finished developing in Jason’s mind before Bruce Wayne walked into the hallway with a paparazzi-ready smile. Jason rolled his eyes and sunk to the back of the group silently, sinking back into his job and keeping an eye on their surroundings. He listened as Alya laughed softly and elbowed Marinette even as the group turned their attention to Bruce.

“You and your bikes,” Alya teased. “If someone knew enough about motorcycles, I bet you’d marry them on the spot.”

“Nah,” Marinette whispered back. “If they gave me a really nice one though? That’s marriage potential for sure.”

The two girls laughed for a second before focusing back on the tour. Adrien wasted no time making his way to Marinette’s side, silent questions in his eyes. Jason watched with interest as the two seemed to silently communicate with one another. It was obvious that Adrien was calling her lie, and Marinette was essentially silently telling him that she would explain later. It was so seamless and subtle that if Jason hadn’t been extremely familiar with that kind of communication already, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Once again his eyebrows rose a tick on his forehead, and he made a mental note of the interaction. That kind of silent conversation wasn’t an easy thing to do with people. It was most commonly seen in married or otherwise long-term couples, childhood friends, family, or hero partners. The childhood friends and family sections were already ruled out from their background check on her and Harley herself had mentioned that even though Marinette had once crushed on Adrien, she had unofficially adopted the boy as her brother since then. Though, their time as close friends was only documented as having lasted about a year. That wasn’t quite enough time for that sort of effortless silent communication to be possible.

Of course, Jason had his suspicions already. But there was no rush, either. The Clown was on the move and more important to focus on for now. He could focus on the puzzle that was Marinette and Adrien later.

Bruce took over the tour as he had the day before, and the class was instantly riveted once again. If the fact that they were being led through the building by the very man who owned it wasn’t awesome enough to get everyone’s full attention, the man’s personality was. He came off a little carefree and very kind, but there was an obvious undercurrent of just how much he loved his company that showed that he did take it and his job seriously. Just, not too seriously either. And he interjected everywhere he could with personal stories and anecdotes and little bits of his family history that the normal tour guides might not have known. It was not long after he announced that he was going to take them to a lower lab set aside specifically for their class’ tour, so that they could do their first interactive activity, that jason found the opportunity to sidle up next to Marinette on the opposite side from where Adrien walked alongside her.

“So,” he said casually. “How’d you know I ride a motorcycle?” he smirked to show he wasn’t upset as he looked down at her curiously. Marinette blinked, taking her attention away from Bruce to look over at Jason. Once his words registered, she smiled widely and pointed to one of his pockets. The corners of his bike gloves flopped over the edge.

“I noticed those. I figured you’d have a negative reaction that might give us away if my lie was too off the mark, and I do have a habit of saying stupid things if I don’t have a clue or something to play off of. I also had to make it believable for the class, and they all know that my Nonna has played a huge part in my love for motorcycles. I plan on getting a license to drive one when I turn sixteen later this year,” she told him softly. “I tend to gush whenever I see a cool bike, so I knew they wouldn’t question it.”

Jason huffed a little bit of laughter under his breath. It was like the trope of a character looking at random items in the room to come up with a fake name, but somehow it had actually worked for her. She was quick-witted and clever, he had to admit. And observant.

“I was running late, so I must have left them in my pocket when I was changing,” he admitted, unbothered. “Ah, here we are,” he nodded to return the two teen’s (he had noticed Adrien paying close attention as he and Marinette had their conversation) attention back to the tour. Bruce opened the door for the class with a flourish, gesturing for everyone to go in.

“Since these first few days are going to be tours and lessons about working in general, your first activity of your trip is to solve various problems we’ve given you based on real situations that WE employees have been in before. Split up into groups, and choose a table. Each table has a different problem covering a different industry. Reporting, Science— specifically research and development, business management, and entertainment…”

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s straight,” Adrien assured her, trying to keep himself from laughing as Marinette straightened his tie for the millionth time. “I promise. And you look fantastic.”

Marinette stepped back, nodding at Adrien’s appearance in approval. “I know. We both look great, but…” she fidgeted and then stepped forward to go right back to over-straightening his tie. Adrien snorted, grabbing her hands before she could touch the poor thing again and lowering her arms to her sides.

“Calm down. Like you said, we both look great. You don’t have a single hair out of place, the outfits you made us look amazing, and my tie is at a perfect ninety degree angle to my collar. Take the model’s word for it,” he teased with a lopsided grin. “We look ready for the front cover of a magazine. So just take a deep breath, because we should get down to the lobby soon to wait for the ride he’s sending for us.”

“Right,” Marinette nodded. She followed his advice and took a deep breath. Once she was suitably calmed, she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Adrien smiled and held out his arm, making Marinette snort as she took hold of it gently and let him lead her to the elevator.

Bruce had not specified whether the dinner was going to be casual or formal, but with the fact that his kids were going to be present and it was at his own house, Marinette had a feeling it was going to be more of a casual thing than if they had went out to a fancy restaurant with a black tie dress code. At the same time, this was the Wayne manor they were talking about. She didn’t want to be underdressed, either. Not to mention that it was her design skills that had played a huge part in her winning the contest in the first place, so she felt like she had to show her work again to prove that they had chosen the right person.

A playful wolf whistle greeted the two of them when they got down to the lobby. Alya was, to no one’s surprise, the perpetrator. She stood in the lobby with Alix, Nino, and Max, who all had known about the dinner and agreed to be there to see the two of them off and put Marinette’s worries to rest. The four of them jogged over, Alix smiling and adding her own soft whistle of appreciation.

“You guys look great,” the short skater assured them, taking the time to skate slow circles around them to make sure that nothing was wrong with their outfits. “I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mari! Very cool.”

Alya nodded eagerly, bouncing in place with a wide, beaming smile on her face. “Ah! The both of you look ready to kick ass and woo rich people!” she added. Max pushed his glasses up on his nose with a small grin.

“There is a ninety-five percent chance of your work impressing all of the Waynes,” he said in his own version of encouragement.

“You guys got this!” Nino shot them a thumbs up. “They beat me to all the stuff I wanted to say.”

Marinette beamed, laughing along with her friends as she allowed herself to relax a little. Adrien’s outfit was of her own making, a subtle way for him to rebel since his father had sent him with his own Gabriel brand suit should an appropriate opportunity to wear it come up. Adrien had no plans of ever putting his father’s suit on his body. In an effort to spice up formal men’s wear a bit without making the whole thing white and silver like Gabriel wanted, Marinette had made him a classic silk shirt in black, with short sleeves that fell at that perfect halfway point between his elbow and shoulder. The sleeves had thick cuffs in a dark forest green, with decorative straight stitches on the seams in a bright magenta pink thread. On top of that was a corset-style sleeveless vest with a deep V. The majority of the vest was the same black as the shirt, but with dark green hand-stitched swirls that were just barely bright enough to be contrasted against the black. It created a very subtle pattern that would be hard to see in the wrong lighting, but would make it look that much more expensive and elaborate in the right lighting. The lapel of the vest was in the same dark forest green as the cuffs of his shirt, with a few decorative swirls embroidered on the very corners. The piping of the corset-vest made three curved lines on either side of his waist, curling from mid-rib cage to his waist. It gave him a slightly more feminine twist to his outfit, making his waist look smaller even though it wasn’t actually pulled very tight on him— it was mostly the illusion made by the piping rather than the actual tightness of the garment. The two outside piping lines were done in a magenta pink, while the middle piping line was once again in dark forest green. Unlike most corset-style vests, this one had no buttons or zipper on the front at all. Instead, it was closed only by corset lacing in the back, the laces done in such a dark shade of green that it was almost black, while the eyelets that the laces were threaded through were that same magenta pink as the piping and decorative stitches elsewhere on the outfit. The tie that Marinette had spent so long making sure was straight was almost entirely soft lace, but it was layered in such a way with layers of sheer green and pink lace that it looked like it was a constant swirl of the two colors. If someone got close enough to see the pattern of the lace tie, they would notice that it was a pattern of cats chasing a butterfly.

Underneath the artistic top of the outfit were black dress pants, once again with thick forest-green cuffs on the bottoms. But instead of the decorative stitching, the pant legs flared a bit at the ankles for just a little extra drama. Magenta-pink Oxfords peeked out of the wide cuffs. The green detailing made Adrien’s eyes pop, while the pink accents gave his boyish charm a little more of a feminine touch that almost seemed to highlight his naturally sensitive and charming nature.

In contrast, Marinette wore a sleeveless pink pantsuit. It was the same shade as the pink accents in Adrien’s outfit, and had a built-in corset as well that went only around her natural waist. The corset boning on Marinette was a solid black, while the rest was just the same base pink as the majority of the suit. The black of the boning seemed to flow downwards, changing from boning into thick hand-embroidery in thread of the exact same black. The embroidery flowed down the sides of both legs, in the shape of tree branches and apple blossoms. Pale green accents in the form of swirls at her high neckline and a pale green lace capelet that was the only thing covering her shoulders helped tie her outfit in with Adrien’s. She also wore pale green low kitten heels and her black hair up in a braided bun. With how her pant legs were form-hugging until they flared out slightly at the heel, and the lack of sleeves exposed her toned arms and shoulders and emphasized her strength there without making her look unbalanced or too masculine for the rest of the outfit’s style, she looked ready to rock the business world. Her bright blue eyes clashed with the green details of the outfit just enough to bring attention to them, assuring that people who met her eyes would not be able to easily look away.

The quick snap of a phone’s flash went off, drawing everyone’s attention to Madame Bustier. She was beaming at all of them, and had just taken a picture of her two students all dressed up. She waved her phone happily. “I’m sending this picture to the both of you. I’m so proud of you guys!” she gushed.

Marinette and Adrien both blushed deep red, shifting in their spots. They were confident in their looks, and Adrien was just as proud of his pseudo-sister, but neither of them was very good at handling so much positive attention aimed only at them. Especially not from their extremely sincere friends and teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” An older gentleman with a British accent turned everyone’s attention to him. The first thing Marinette thought was that he had kind eyes. He also had soft wisps of white hair on his head, carefully trimmed and slicked back. Of course, Marinette and Adrien also couldn’t miss the high quality and perfect press of his carefully maintained suit. Once he had shown all the proper credentials to Madame Bustier, he introduced himself to the two well-dressed teens with a shallow bow. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for Wayne Manor. I am to escort the both of you there for supper tonight.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur Pennyworth,” Marinette said, walking up and shaking his hand. Adrien was right by her side the whole time, matching her smile watt for watt and shaking Alfred’s hand with just as much enthusiasm.

“Yeah, thank you for having us over. I know it was technically Bruce who invited Marinette, but you’re probably the one that has to do all the work. So, thank you. We really appreciate it,” he told the man sincerely. Alfred’s answering smile was soft, almost fond.

“Yes, I admit I am in charge of most of the work for tonight. But you shouldn’t worry, it’s no different from any other day at the manor,” he said lightheartedly, a little bit of good natured snark shining through his otherwise proper behavior— “Every last one of the Waynes would die in less than a week without me to keep everything in order,” he joked. “Allow me to lead you to the car.”

Marinette and Adrien followed behind Alfred. She didn’t know if it was the calming aura he put off, or if it was the gentle way his eyes sparkled that made her want to look after him. But whatever it was, she found herself wanting to protect this kind old man already. Which is why her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Before climbing inside the luxurious town car he had brought for them, she couldn’t help but turn to Alfred and ask;

“I hope you aren’t overworked. I don’t want to overstep, Monsieur, but isn’t the Wayne family rather large for one person to look after on their own?”

Alfred laughed gently at that, his eyes once again softening. “Do not worry about me, Miss Dupain-Cheng. They are family to me. And though, yes, you are correct in assuming they are a handful, they are also wonderful people. They help me where they can, but taking care of themselves is not their forte. Being able to do that for them is my greatest joy.”

The wrinkles in Marinette’s brow smoothed out and she smiled. “That’s so sweet. You’re making me want to meet them all even more.”

Something about that twinkle in Alfred’s eye made her feel like he was laughing at some joke she didn’t hear. “I’m sure all of you will get along swimmingly.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“I FOUND HER FIRST!”

Alfred had barely opened the manor’s doors to let Marinette and Adrien inside before the chaos started. Or rather, before they were let in on it— it seemed as if the chaos had already been going on for a while.

Jason skidded across the floor in a mad dash, having to grasp the doorframe he was running out of so that he could turn the corner sharply and veer towards them.

“Tell them, Marinette! I found you first, you’re my sister now, don’t fall for any of their Jedi mind tricks!”

Marinette just blinked, a little caught off guard. It hadn’t exactly sunk into her head until right that moment that ‘Wayne Family dinner’ would include Jason. Her mind was still catching up to the fact that she was seeing him out of his security guard uniform for the first time. He wasn’t dressed up at all, in a well-loved brown leather jacket over a white shirt and dark wash jeans. He still had his motorcycle gloves on. Marinette looked down at first herself, then Adrien.

“Are we overdressed?” She asked with a grimace. Jason huffed.

“Of course not, you guys look amazing! But seriously, tell them that I claimed you as my sister first and none of them are half as cool as me.”

Marinette and Adrien traded glances before laughing together.

“If we’re being technical here,” Adrien drawled mischievously as he straightened out his vest. “I met Marinette first, and she adopted me as her brother long before we met any of you,” he pointed out with a sharp grin.

“Ha!” a younger man laughed pointedly, following after Jason. The newcomer was dressed more formally, in a dress shirt under a very luxurious looking burgundy designer sweater. Under that, he wore black perfectly-pressed slacks and nondescript oxfords. His collar showed signs of housing a tie earlier, but he had clearly taken it off sometime earlier. His hair hung slightly long, framing his face with two long locks while the back of his hair slightly stuck up in all directions in natural tufted curls. Like Jason, his hair was jet black and he had bright blue eyes. He was also about half Jason’s size, much shorter and leaner than his adoptive brother. “He’s got you there, idiot,” he snarked smugly at Jason before turning to the two guests. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, Mister Agreste. I’m Tim Drake-Wayne, it’s nice to finally meet both of you,” he introduced himself as he walked over to shake their hands. “And your outfits are amazing! Did you make them, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Marinette,” she corrected with a lopsided grin. “My last name is a mouthful, and I prefer to just go by Marinette anyway. And yes, I made both of these outfits before we left Paris,” she admitted, trying her best to seem professional. She had already ruined her chances of that with Bruce and Jason, but this time she was prepared!

“They are just as impressive as the rest of your work that I’ve seen. And call me Tim, it’s only fair,” and then he smiled.

Damn his boyish grin. He wasn’t someone Marinette had a crush on— he wasn’t her type— but damn he was unfairly charismatic and charming. His smile temporarily short circuited her brain. That was exactly the kind of boyish smile that had started her crush on Adrien, and that she was unfairly weak for. Now she felt a deep-seated urge to protect this boy and his smile or so help her, someone would be sent to the ER if he was hurt and it wasn’t gonna be her. And she didn’t try to dissuade herself from that strong protective urge, her mother had already assured her that all the Waynes were trustworthy and that Tim in particular shared a lot of her bad habits. She could allow this little bit of vulnerability. Hopefully.

“... I’ve only known you for two minutes, but if anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” she breathed. Adrien elbowed her hard, making her yelp.

“You said that out loud Mari,” he deadpanned. A deep flush immediately came over her face, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry— but you— just forget I said anything. Please!”

Tim was visibly shocked, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Jason snorted, overcoming his own brief moment of shock pretty easily.

“Careful there,” Jason chided good-heartedly. His gaze met Marinette’s with a slight weight in it though. “You barely know the guy. He’ll annoy you out of your mind soon enough.”

Marinette caught the hint, wincing and changing the subject. Jason could see that she had done exactly as her mother had warned— she had gotten attached to Tim almost immediately. And while he wanted to believe Marinette when she said that the same wouldn’t happen with Joker, that she was not going to repeat her mother’s mistakes…

He couldn’t help but worry. Joker was a slippery bastard, and good at getting past people’s defenses.

Tim eventually led them all to the dining room, where several people were already sat waiting for them.

“We decided it would be best if we didn’t all swarm you at the door,” Tim explained, grinning at her kindly. “Take a seat wherever you want, Alfred is probably going to be done with dinner soon.”

Marinette and Adrien both nodded, going to sit by each other’s side. Adrien put his hand on her knee when they sat down, and traded a meaningful look with her.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’re not in Paris. And if you slip, I’ll catch you. Promise.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed a little. Yeah, she could trust Adrien to make sure she didn’t slip up too much. Get too careless. He’d watch her back like she did for him. She’d be okay. They’d both be okay.

“Thanks, Adrien. I needed that.”

—*—*—*—*—*

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