#Shadow- I promise I am not ignoring you. I’ve barely even spoken to my family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amethystpath-writes · 6 months

Text

Entertainment

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

“I don’t love you,” Hero said. “I won’t love you, even though they all suspect it.”

“Isn’t it disappointing?” Villain asked.

Hero only hummed in question. She felt serene despite the storm brewing in her mind. For now, she would listen.

“To make another human your source of entertainment? You are televised. You don’t see your shepherds now, but there is a show playing in their minds during this very moment. You. Naked in my bed- as if we could ever be lovers. A scandal- because no one can ever be good enough. Nobody is allowed to be The Hero. That person, should they ever arise, must always be eradicated.”

Villain stared at the night sky from the park bench, swollen and wet from the rain which had passed. The dark clouds above appeared so thick that they stretched across space, blocking even the moon from seeing her subjects below. Another storm was being pushed through. “They wait for the day you’re found out- living out any trope that serves them, even if it’s not true of your life at all. Enemies to lovers.” He scoffed. “The new fad. Unfortunate for them, I hate you,” he said, and his eyes never left the stormy clouds. “We are not their love story, and I’ll spite you at every turn for making them think this rivalry could turn to such. Tell me, why did you decide to become their next victim, hero?”

“You make it sound like I wanted them to call me a traitor under their breaths.” Her voice held no contempt. She was too tired for that- for anything besides a quietly piqued interest. “I don’t want to betray them. I fight you because they don’t have the ability to. It’s all for them. It has always been for them.”

“And yet”- Villain shrugged- “what have they done for you? Spread rumors? Spoken to teen entertainment vlogs about their accounts on witnessing our ‘dates’? None of it is real. I tell myself I’m fighting for something, but the truth is, none of us are. Not even you, though you think your purpose is to oppose me- to oppose evil and all that is ill. It’s not.”

Progressively, Hero felt the tips of her ears warming- a deep contrast compared to the cold air around her. “I don’t entertain them.”

“You serve them. Is that phrasing any more to your liking?”

She couldn’t argue that. Hero did serve her community- by fighting Villain, by bringing justice to him. Or…trying to at least. The rumors came with their own consequences. She was outcasted. No one trusted her even though she never gave them a reason to distrust her. Hero fought Villain. That was all she ever did, but one person got it into their head that maybe- just maybe- they weren’t fighting at all. Maybe Hero and Villain were living a fairytale. Maybe they were an item and the fights were all a facade so at least one of them would be praised.

Still, it had nothing to do with entertainment. Hero didn’t want to think of it that way. If she did, it meant she did all of this for nothing. She had no purpose. She wasted her time, energy, and effort.

“Why did we meet here?” It was going to start raining again, and Hero was already shivering. She only met him tonight because doing so meant he was with her, in sight, and unproductive in his schemes. He volunteered her as a distraction; she wasn’t smart enough to say no.

“We might only be a means of entertainment, but I’ve learned to appreciate the act. You and I are not friends, but they think so. There’s a camera- over there…” He pointed to a tree, and Hero cursed under her breath. “And it’s been filming us the entire time. Having casual conversation on a stormy night where no one else would dare relax. Nice and private- though cold, but we’re willing to sacrifice that warmth if it means being together, right?”

“You set me up.” Here she thought she was allowing herself to distract him, but it was his plan all along. Of course he wasn’t wanting to fix this problem. “You said you were tired of the rumors, Villain. That’s why we were here, to lay them to rest.”

Villain laughed and finally looked to Hero. His eyes trailed to her ears, all red from her frustration. It irritated her even more and she untucked her hair. “You aren’t just their entertainment, Hero. You’re mine, too.” He muttered, “So easy.”

She wanted to argue: I’m not your entertainment; I’m Im no one’s, but it would only prove him right. Looking at his smile now, Hero regretted even pulling her hair from behind her ears.

I can fight him now. The camera would see it and the people would know that the two were not lovers at all. But again, she’d be amusing him. Right now, he was expecting her to make a move, to- to retaliate, if only to entertain him more. Yet, if she didn’t do anything, the tape he had now would only confirm in the community’s mind that she was a scandal. Untrue and unfit for being their voice. Would they arrest her?

“I’m all you have now. Your only security.”

Hero shook her head. “No. That’s not true.”

“Then who else do you have?”

The sky was sprinkling now. Fat cold raindrops touched on Hero’s shoulders and she shivered. “They’ll believe me,” she said, though it came out as a whisper. Still, Villain heard.

“Do they believe you now?”

No.

“If you are not with me, you are nothing but a bad face to them. I can give you a new identity. I can give you a new start, one where you can be the one entertained- not them.”

His hand touched her face. She flinched. When had she closed her eyes and when had he stood from the park bench? When did the sprinkling of them sky become thin, pelting drops?

It stung: his hand, the rain, the biting cold, the realization that she was running out of options.

“I don’t need your help.”

“They’ll arrest you. Treason,” he said, and rubbed his thumb across Hero’s cheekbone. “Isn’t that the highest punishable crime?”

Was it? She wasn’t sure.

He was scaring her.

He was scaring her, and it was working so well that she felt herself sweating despite also quivering in the downpour.

His fingers wrapped under her chin while his other hand rested on her shoulder. “I can help.”

“You’re the reason I’m in this position!” Hero tried to rip away, but Villain stopped her with a heavy grip. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your help.”

“You put yourself in this position by fighting something you had no right mind fighting. You were unprepared, Hero. Ill-advised.” His thumb strummed her cheek again, calming, manipulative. “I only helped you realize.”

The drop on her cheek was warm- a tear, not a raindrop. “You told me we’re not friends.”

“No. I pity you.” The hand on her shoulder fell and Villain wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her into a hug. Instinctively, she turned her head against his chest. His shirt was soaked and cold, but it was comfortable. She stayed, forgetting entirely who he was.

When had the heat left her ears? Was it when the rain started or when she laid her head on his chest? “We’re not friends,” she said, but as she stood in the pouring rain, cheek pressed against Villain’s wet shirt, she couldn’t imagine leaving. Let them have their entertainment, she almost said, but no. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Almost seeming to read her thoughts, Villain asked, “Who else do you have, Hero? Stand with me in this rain; let it wash away the hero you tried to be, and start anew.”

Thunder crackled across the sky. Hero remained silent. Enemies…lovers…amusement…what did it matter? She was comfortable in the rain, comfortable in the cold. “Will you delete the footage if I agree?”

He hummed.

“Delete it,” she begged, though her head never left his chest. “I want to start over. I would do anything.”

“Will,” Villain corrected. “I have some ideas for you.”

For now, they would leave the open sky, full of lightning and threatened existences. They would leave, and Hero would cry, grieve over her attempted heroism, and look to Villain- of all people- for a shoulder to cry on.

And as all villains do, he would take advantage of her, warp her mind, make her believe that she was wrong to be a hero, that she was a source of entertainment, though we, dear audience, know she was an inspiration all along.

62 notes · View notes

sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 21

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 2144

Summary: John gets married, Thomas gets drunk, and Y/N gets a warning.

by @adventuresintooblivion

Music filled the air as the Lees hastily directed guests to their seats. The scent of flowers was strong in the early spring, and, for bloody once, it wasn’t raining. A soft murmur filled the air, several guests questioning the absence of the groom but Aunt Pol smiled coyly to her Plus One beside her.

They stood amongst those they had hours ago, called enemies. In the dirt and muck on the edge Birmingham, an altar was erected out cloth and sheer will. As the smell of tobacco and food grew and the time drew nearer, one could almost forget how every mouth around them struggled to feed itself. Today was a truce. And with any luck, this truce would continue into peace.

Y/N glanced at Pol, “Damn, you look like you’ve stolen the Queen’s Jewels yourself. What’s got you in such a mood?”

Pol practically danced, “Ada’s coming.”

“Oh Pol, go visit your niece for Christ’s sake. I can handle myself.”

She paused only a moment before scurrying off into the crowd. Rumor had spread that the Shelby men had been spotted heading this way. Everything was about to start and for the first time in a long minute Y/N melted into the crowd. She let the anonymity wrap around her like a blanket and breathed easy.

But it was only a brief reprieve as the soft baritone of Thomas’ voice wafted through the crowd. This was the first time they’d been in the same place since their fight. A part of her registered that John had kneeled at the altar but she couldn’t pay attention. All she could hear was her heart beating in her ribcage so hard it hurt.

Then she heard it, a small pause in his voice. “Is that-?”

“Y/N?” Ada finished for him. “Yeah, she came with Aunt Pol. Hell, at this rate she’ll be more a part of the family than I am.”

“Ada, don’t say that. You’ll always have a place in the Shelby home. Even if-” “My husband’s a dirty rotten communist that you keep trying to sell to the coppers?”

The sound of shuffling feet accompanied by a defeated sigh told Y/N everything she needed to know. She’d known what Thomas was going for but then again, not a lot of people could navigate that mental minefield. Apparently, even Ada had trouble with it.

As Y/N took a breath to calm herself she felt it, his eyes boring a hole into her back. It didn’t help that he could probably see the procession from over her shoulder. It wasn’t until she heard Arthur quietly asking ‘what the fuck is he staring at?’ that she felt the weight of his gaze leave.

As soon as the vows were spoken and sealed the party started. The Rothschilds had never been close to the Lees, so Y/N had never been actually invited to one of their parties. Despite everything, they knew how to cast aside life’s troubles and just live. They sang at the top of their lungs, they danced as if the weight of the world simply didn’t exist and it Y/N was quickly swept off her feet.

After her first few partners had jostled her, word must’ve spread quickly and the hands that guided her across the dancefloor were gentle. She was lifted in the air and spun so that gravity lost it’s hold on her. Y/N was carried and spun until her head spun just as fast. Then rough hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away into the darkness.

It wasn’t until her back hit the wood of a caravan, far from prying eyes, that she saw it was Thomas. His sharp features contorted even further by shadows. A deep crease ran between his eyebrows, his teeth were bared at her as he huffed for air. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as his eyes wandered over her.

He’d left barely a few inches between their bodies. Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin as he let his fingers run down the buttons of her coat. Pol had shown up with it earlier and it was the fanciest thing Y/N owned. It was cut in the shape of a dress despite being cozy and made of wool, and the moment Y/N saw it, her heart broke at the idea of having to return it at the end of the night.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas’ voice was barely a whisper. He’d leaned close enough that Y/N could feel his hot breath pooling at the curve of her neck.

She took a shaky breath, “Pol invited me. Told me I had to come so she didn’t have to drink alone.”

“I know.” His hands had moved to either side of her head. A barely visible tremble ran through him as he spoke again. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“Are you going to tell me to leave?” There was a hard edge to her voice. All the weeks of being ignored and this was the first thing he said to her?

It hit her all at once, the anger and the fear. He’d cast her aside when she’d told him the hard truth. He’d left her standing in the rain to watch as he stormed away. He didn’t want her.

The tears came unbidden. She swallowed back the bile in her throat as her jaw flexed to scream, at him or at the world she didn’t know. Her nails bit into her palm trying to drag her back to reality. But it was getting hard to breathe when all she could smell was him.

Thomas opened his mouth to snap at her, then he paused. It wasn’t until his eyes softened that Y/N even realized the tears had escaped her. The crease between his brows vanished as he tilted his head so that the moonlight would fall across Y/N's face.

His fingertips brushed along her cheek, making all of Y/N’s fried nerves come to life. Her lips parted slightly as a soft gasp became the only noise to compete with distant music. The sound caught his attention, his eyes flickering down to her lips. A new haze filled them instead of anger or concern.

Thomas slowly pressed his body against hers, heat radiating from beneath his suit. He bent down until his lips brushed her earlobe. Y/N couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her and her heart sank as she realized he could feel how fast it pounded in her chest.

Then he whispered softly, as if the darkness between their bodies was the only place that could hold his secrets. “I want nothing more than to make good on that promise I made on that battlefield.”

Y/N’s thoughts were zooming by so quickly she could hardly reach and grab anything coherent, let alone a memory. Even as her mind wildly grasped from something she was too firmly rooted in the here and now.

“I want you to marry me.” The world suddenly stopped as he pressed a chaste kiss to the curve of her neck. “I want to let myself love you, without holding back.” Another kiss, closer to her shoulder. “ I want to stop hearing the pickaxes in the wall.” His voice broke. “I don’t want to have to be a monster anymore.”

She felt the hot wetness on her skin as he buried his face against her neck. Y/N’s arms were no longer able to stay by her side as the man before her shook. For a long moment they were surrounded by nothing, then reality slammed back into place as cheers rang up from the distant crowd. Toast. Toast. Toast.

Thomas stilled, then straightened his back to let moonlight glisten on his cheekbones. He ducked down to hide his face and began to turn. Y/N’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his coat.

“Wait.” He didn’t turn back towards her but he stopped walking. “If that’s what you wanted then why the fuck have you been messing around with Grace?”

He almost seemed like he wasn’t going to answer, “When I was with Grace, it gave me hope that one day I could kill the monster.”

Y/N’s voice broke, “And me?”

“You saw the monster, smiled, and every time I saw that smile, I knew peace.” Even in the darkness, Y/N could see the blush crawling up his neck. His voice had almost faded into a whisper before he cleared his throat. “I… I need to go. John would kill me if I didn’t give some sort of speech tonight.”

His wool coat slipped through her fingers as she watched him leave. It wasn’t until he turned the corner, leaving her alone between the caravans, that she slumped into the cool damp earth. Moisture slowly soaked through her pants as her body shook. Damn that man and his fucking alcohol!

It wasn’t until another figure blotted out the sparse moonlight, that she realized she wasn’t alone. This was an older gentleman, his features softened by age. His movements were slow but purposeful as he made sure he had Y/N’s attention.

“Hello, Ms. Rothschild.” His voice was deep and graveled. One that belonged to a storyteller that had shared the history of his people a thousand times over so that it would not be forgotten. Y/N’s estranged last name rolled off his tongue like a lullaby, but it didn’t stop the stab she felt in her heart at hearing it.

She cleared her throat, “I haven’t been called that in three years, sir.”

He chuckled, “Well then, it sounds like the rumors are true. Now, how does a pretty thing like you get exiled?”

“You call your old man a coward for abandoning his own to war. Then come back a cripple.”

“For a young woman who has brought a family from the brink of nothing, you give information like it’s a gift.” He hummed, softly tapping his foot to a beat Y/N couldn’t hear.

Y/N let out a deep sigh, “Information is payment for what you’re about to give me.”

He grinned, “You make it sound like it was going to be free in the first place.”

“Oh, it most certainly was not going to be.” She shook her head. “But what more could you want? Other than a brand new story?”

He nodded slowly with a knowing smile, “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Good. It’ll keep people on their toes.”

He burst out laughing. It was a deep laugh that came from his core and echoed through the night. Eventually, he quieted.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he continued. “I’ll keep it straight to the point, then. Before Mr. Shelby proposed his own brother as collateral against a war, we’d begun colluding with your forbearer. He’d actually paid his quite handsomely to dispose of Mr. Shelby.”

“Wouldn’t that be a violation of some code of honor or something? I mean, I’ve never heard of you guys outsourcing muscle for your personal vendettas.”

“A Rothschild lectures me about honor?”

Y/N shrugged, “I never said we were the good guys.”

“Oh and becoming a Peaky Blinder makes you better?” He gave her a sidelong glance.

“I’m not sure I’m actually a part of the gang. There’s a distinct lack of a hat.”

Y/N knew she said too much when he smiled but she didn’t stop him from finishing his story, “Indeed. No hat. In regards to your old family, we have attempted to contact them. To call it all off. However, now that the idea has been planted in their minds, I’m afraid that it’s only a matter of time before they try something stupid.”

“And what do you expect me to do about a called off hit?”

He flashed her a wicked grin that hinted at a much wilder youth, “You are the ‘Impossible Girl’ come back from the dead and all? I think you can do quite a bit, once you stop moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

“You sit in the wet grass, while everyone you know and love dances the night away. If that isn’t moping, then I’m the King of England.”

Y/N felt herself pouting and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she knew he was right. She stretched her stiff joints before forcing herself to stand. She wobbled a bit, her back protesting after so long in the awkward position. But as she took a step forward, the older man held up his hand.

“I’ve given you wisdom. It is not a gift.”

“You want another story?”

He nodded.

“Well, one time I stole the Acquisition Officer’s boots and wore them for a week in front of him.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #reader insert #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

35 notes · View notes

redhoodedwolf · 4 years

Note

Prompt: They both keep asking each other out but thinking the other one is rejecting them and lydia has to like banshee scream some sense into them or something

“So, what are you doing this weekend?”

Stiles scoffed, tossing the lacrosse ball back up towards the ceiling and catching it narrowly before it smacked him on the nose on the way down. “Not going on a date,” he said, somewhat bitterly. It’d been over three months since the last one of those and he’s starting to take it personally. Is he no longer attractive? Did moving in with his dad while he goes through surgery recovery really demote his worth?

Derek was quiet for a moment, probably engrossed in his bestiary research again. When Stiles turned onto his side on the bed and glanced at him, he caught Derek’s eyes flitting back down to the book. “I see,” the werewolf said a beat later, no emotion readable in his voice.

Stiles continued to stare at him, mostly unabashedly, noting how Derek’s fingers curled over one corner of the book, the shadows his dark eyelashes cast over his cheeks, his shoulders bare underneath a tight white tank top.

“I am starving,” John Stilinski complained, and Stiles had come to expect this complaint every evening after physical therapy, like clockwork.

Derek, his physical therapist, chuckled as he lowered Stiles’ father into the living room recliner, removing the crutches from his hands. “You did good work today, it’s to be expected.”

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Derek ignored the nickname, which Stiles knew five years ago would have garnered even his father the Hale Death Glare. “You’ve got good bones, Sheriff, and they’re healing nicely. In a couple weeks we’ll try to get you walking without the crutches--”

“As long as you continue doing your daily exercises,” Stiles finished Derek’s thought as he brought a healthy plate of fruits and vegetables out from the kitchen to settle onto the table next to his dad’s chair.

Derek nodded at him, a small smile on his lips. His eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Stiles felt the words tumble out of his mouth, “We should go get dinner. Together,” he tacked on when he got control of his mouth again.

Maybe doing this in front of his immobile father wasn’t the best choice, but needs must?

Derek’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked away from Stiles over to his father and then back to Stiles. Derek cleared his throat, and cast his eyes downward. Stiles pursed his lips.

“We--You shouldn’t leave your dad. He’ll need the pork chops you’ve been defrosting for dinner tonight to help revive him.”

Stiles felt a frozen smile on his face and a similar coolness in his stomach. “Right. Forgot about those.”

Danny arched an eyebrow when Stiles slid onto a stool at the bar, and before Stiles could utter a greeting, asked, “Does Lydia know you’re here?”

Stiles blinked. “Um, no? She’s in Boston? Do I need her permission to drink? I’ll have what’s on tap.”

Danny’s eyebrow looked far more judgmental, but he moved to grab a mug for Stiles’ beer and filled it. “I ask because she’s been asking me to keep her up to date with your... shall we say movements here. I don’t think she expected you in a gay bar at night when you could be with someone else.”

Stiles scoffed and took a long drink from his mug. “And who could that be, my dad?”

“Was thinking younger, more scruffy, more fangs,” Danny shot back with, and Stiles’ beer suddenly went down like lava, drying up his insides and instantly draining the life from him.

“No. No, that’s not...” Stiles shook his head, unable to finish.

Danny made a noise, and Stiles looked back up at him.

“Weird. Ran into someone at the grocery store last week, and all he, ehem, they, if we’re still pretending here, talked about was helping you, and why you were in town, and if I had seen you recently.”

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “He’s my dad’s PT, okay? I’m home for my dad. That’s what he cares about. He made that pretty clear.”

Danny refilled his mug without Stiles asking for it, and it made a dull clanking when the full drink hit the bartop. “You asked him out?”

Stiles took the mug into his hands and said nothing.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Look, I know how scarce FMLA time is, even for me, I have no idea how much they give you fancy FBI operatives--”

“They’re actually surprisingly good about it,” Stiles interrupted, a puff to his chest. “That, and they know if they ever want me back, which they do because they need me, then they’ll give me what I want.”

“You have such a confident attitude when it comes to your job,” Danny said, as if his statement had a double meaning. “Expect a call from Lydia tomorrow.”

Stiles was in his room the next morning, glad for his foresight the night before to not drink himself into a stupor he hadn’t found himself in since college, window open to let in the morning breeze and the sound of Derek’s voice as he stood on the front porch, talking into his phone.

Derek was early for his dad’s appointment, so Stiles had no qualms about making him wait. He wasn’t ready to face him yet, not without waking up a bit more and removing the images of dream-Derek from his brain.

“Look,” Derek said abruptly, and the sudden clarity of his voice caught Stiles’ attention. “I’ve already gotten a no, okay? I’m not such an asshole as to ask twice.”

Stiles couldn’t see him and didn’t want to move closer to the window, in case Derek heard or sensed him eavesdropping, so he moved about his room as naturally as possible, pulling off his sleep pants and dressing in fresh jeans.

“I don’t know what Danny told you, but--”

Stiles stubbed his toes on the leg of his bed, so he missed the rest of Derek’s sentence as he cursed up a storm mentally and shook out his foot to try and stop the sharp pain.

“We can’t all be special like you.”

Stiles collapsed onto the edge of his bed. He’d barely caught the words coming from Derek, they’d been spoken so gently. Stiles swallowed thickly. Who could Derek be talking to that garnered such respect and tenderness? Maybe Cora?

The doorbell rang downstairs, and his dad called, “Derek’s here!” from the kitchen, meaning “get the door for me I’m finishing up the last of my exercises that I promised I would do yesterday but never did.”

Stiles pulled on a shirt and raced down the stairs, opening the door for Derek in record time. “We should just get you a key to the house,” Stiles half-joked.

There was a look on Derek’s face that Stiles couldn’t read. He also couldn’t tell if it had to do with his phone conversation or seeing Stiles.

Derek glanced up behind him and said, “Your phone is--” he paused and shook his head. “Your dad in the living room?”

Stiles stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind them. “The kitchen, I think? I just woke up.”

Derek glanced at the hall clock that proclaimed it was almost eleven thirty in the morning. He licked his lips. “Long night?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Went out for drinks,” he answered a beat later, spotting his father in the kitchen, crutch under one arm and trying to bend to reach something in the fridge. “Dad, would you let me get it, please?”

“I would if my son didn’t come home in the early hours of the morning, thus sleeping past any kind of respectable time, to help me eat something before my PT appointment. Hello Derek,” his father greeted, smile on his face wavering before he asked, “Everything okay?”

Stiles turned to see Derek’s eyes on the floor as he nodded. “All good, Sheriff. Let’s get you squared away.”

Stiles used the appointment time as a reason to escape and get groceries. Halfway to the store, his phone sprang to live, vibrating up a storm in the cup holder. He let the call ring out, but then whoever it was called back immediately. With a sigh, Stiles pulled into the closest parking lot which happened to be for a bank and reached for his phone. He’d assumed it was work calling, but Lydia’s name was flashing on the screen, declaring several missed calls from earlier in the morning as well. He’d recalled Danny’s warning from the night (this morning?) before and groaned, loudly.

When the phone rang again, he picked up immediately. “Yes, strawberry goddess?”

“Are you with Derek?”

Stiles glanced in his rear-view mirror to double check (hey, it had happened before) and replied, “No, he’s at home working with Dad. Why?”

“Where are you?”

Stiles was starting to get a headache. “On my way to the store. Pulled into a parking lot because you called.”

“Good. Switch to FaceTime.”

Stiles knew it wasn’t a question. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen, unenthused, until Lydia’s face appeared before him.

“So, what did Danny tell you?” Stiles asked, wanting to get this out of the way.

“Stiles, you look sad,” Lydia said with a “tsk” in her voice.

“Not exactly swimming in roses here in good ol’ BH, hon.”

Lydia smiled sympathetically. “You miss work?”

Stiles rubbed his free hand through his hair. “I mean, yeah? But this is way more important. And it’s been good family time. The SanFran branch is close but not close enough.”

Lydia nodded. “I know. But you should be making the most out of your time. Like not shooting yourself in the foot.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what Danny told me, at least,” She flipped her hand back and forth, and Stiles noticed something gleaming on her fourth finger.

“Lydia, are you engaged?!” Stiles shrieked. Some lady coming out of the bank glared at him and clutched her purse tight to her chest. How dare she, he worked for the FBI.

Lydia huffed and examined her left hand. “Yes. All the more reason for you to stop shooting yourself in the foot so you can bring a date to my wedding. You’ll be my best man, of course.”

“Of-of course. I’m-I’d be honored. But, wait...” Stiles shook his head, reorganizing his thoughts. “I’m not shooting myself, I’m putting myself out there and getting rejected. I’m...getting shot at. Metaphorically.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if his connection froze or if Lydia was just holding the “Stiles is an idiot” look on her face.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, in warning.

“And he calls me special,” Lydia murmured under her breath, face finally breaking.

And that. That pinged a bell in Stiles’ brain. “You were the one on the phone with Derek earlier?”

“Yes, telling him about my upcoming nuptials and how I was hoping to use Hale land to have the ceremony and reception on. And about his choice in date.”

Stiles watched Lydia smirk, and it was still scary even pixelated. He tried to think back on the little he’d overheard from the call. But putting it into context didn’t make sense. Because then Derek would have been meaning that he’d asked someone on a date, and got turned down. Not impossible, but improbable, especially considering his character growth since Stiles was in high school.

A sick feeling settled into Stiles’ stomach when he remembered what else Derek had said. “Did... he asked out--”

“Yes, Stiles,” Lydia said with a relieved sigh.

“Danny,” Stiles choked out and slumped back in the seat. Of course.

“Oh for the love of Christ,” Lydia hissed, and Stiles slid his gaze back over to the phone to see Lydia practically seething. “I will scream. I am about to scream. Just go get your stupid groceries, go home, talk to Derek, and then call me.”

“So he can let me down a second time? No thanks,” Stiles grumbled, but she did have a point about the store.

“You are a disappointment,” Lydia said before abruptly ending the call, which stung a little, but Stiles knew she didn’t really mean it.

Derek was at his car door when he got home an hour after leaving and helped to bring the bags of groceries into the house. He even helped put them away in the kitchen, not uttering a word the entire time. It was weirding Stiles out, but not enough to tell him to stop. The job was done in more than half the time.

“Your dad is taking a shower. Don’t worry,” Derek added, when Stiles opened his mouth, “I’ve got ears on him. He’s perfectly steady, using the shower chair and everything. Just didn’t want another sponge bath from his son.”

Stiles scoffed, unable to look at Derek for more than a second without feeling jealous. “They aren’t a cake walk for me either.”

“I’m not dating Danny.”

Stiles stopped rolling the empty plastic bags into a large ball and tossed it onto the counter, wound-up bags spilling in random directions and expanding very slowly.

“I didn’t ask him out either. I wouldn’t--” Derek’s voice faltered, and Stiles look at him truly for the first time that day. Derek’s shoulders were slumped, and he looked exhausted. “I wouldn’t do that to you, unknowingly or knowingly.”

“Um.” Stiles was now feeling like the idiot Lydia looked at him like.

“Lydia texted me, said you thought I’d asked him out, but I didn’t, I barely see him, he’s only working here before he starts grad school--”

“I know,” Stiles said, needing to do something with his body before he went into a complete shock. He was lost, which didn’t happen much these days.

Derek didn’t look any happier; in fact he looked even more upset, though his emotions only played out in the crinkles on his face and the slope of his torso. “Of course, yeah, I mean you spent all night with him so...” Derek trailed off.

Stiles started to catch on. “Yeeeah,” he responded, slowly. “Because he was bartending at the bar I went to last night. Contractually obligated to stick around and make drinks.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “But then who did you meet for drinks?”

Stiles raised his hands up. “Nobody? I mean, there were others there, but it was a Wednesday night, dude, not exactly popping.”

“So you’re not dating Danny?”

Stiles scoffed. “No, Danny is out of my league and I am not his type.” He swallowed before adding, “You are, though.”

Derek nodded once, then again. “Oh. So it’s just me, then. I see.”

“That’s great. Wanna show me the picture?” Stiles asked, reaching out to settle a hand on Derek’s arm and squeezing the muscle. “I feel like we’re working with different cameras here.”

Derek’s eyes fell on Stiles’ touch of comfort, gaze trailing up his arm and finally landing on his face. “Lydia is getting married,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Stiles said, because it was good they agreed on something.

Derek stared at him, took a deep breath, and said, “And I want to date you.”

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s arm tightened. He forced back the stupid smile that wanted to overwhelm his face and said on an exhale, “What made you change your mind?”

“Change my mind? I haven’t. I asked you on a date. You said you weren’t interested.”

Stiles pulled Derek a step closer to him, eyes wide and head shaking. “Uh, no, I would never do that, besides it was you who turned me down, remember?”

Derek took hold of Stiles’ wrist and pulled him even closer, their chests touching. “I think neither of us have been working with a full deck here.”

“You’re mixing metaphors now,” Stiles warned, and knew Derek could hear the way his heart was tripping over itself by the tightening of his grip.

“No, you used one metaphor, and then I used one. No mixing, yet,” Derek challenged, pale eyes flitting all over Stiles’ face before his gaze was landing below his nose.

“I think I am starting to get why Lydia wanted to scream in my face earlier,” Stiles murmured, lips close to brushing Derek’s as he rocked forward.

“I kind of want to scream now.”

Stiles and Derek jumped apart to see an amused and wet-haired Sheriff in the kitchen doorway, a towel slung over his shoulders.

“Dad, you are the worst,” Stiles declared.

His father gave him a look.

“Oh, go do your alphabet foot exercises,” Stiles shot back, snagging Derek’s wrist and pulling him past his father and into the hallway. “I’m going to ask a second time, Derek, and I know not taking no for an answer is so high-school-Stiles but I think this time I can make an exception.”

Derek was grinning at him, teeth on display, and Stiles tilted forward to kiss them, but realized halfway through the motion how weird that might be.

“Will you go on a date with me? And be my date to Lydia’s wedding, whenever that is?” Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest, over his heart. “Please don’t say no,” he whispered. “You are so my type.”

Derek raised his chin and kissed him, which was fantastic, but not an answer. Stiles moaned his disappointment into the kiss, but didn’t pull away because he was pretty sure Derek was more of an actions-guy anyway.

He was definitely good at the physicality part of physical therapy, Stiles could quickly attest to this.

#sterek #fic #eternalsterek #mine #anjalibutch

108 notes · View notes

regicidal-defenestration · 4 years

Text

So I did write a whole Thing about “hey what if David Iamineskew Ward met the Lost Cat narrator” because a) self control? never heard of her and b) I just think the contrast and similarities between the two are really cool

[DAVID]

In less than 6 minutes, a stranger will enter my home and, just like that, it will no longer be home anymore.

What little safety I found within these walls will be gone. The flat I had thought of as home will be invaded, defiled by this stranger - by his feet upon the threshold and his words spoken into the air.

The clock ticks.

My name is David Ward, and in less than 5 minutes my home will no longer be my own.

[ESKEW SCENE CHANGE SOUND]

[DAVID]

I know with near certainty when the stranger will come because I've been watching him make his slow way down my corridor, stopping at every flat. The pattern is the same each time: the stranger knocks on the flat's door, knocking again if he's not answered, knocking and knocking until the sound is all I can hear, then he knocks louder still. And then at last the door is opened and the inhabitant, without fail, invites him inside. He never stays long, no more than half an hour before he leaves to knock on the next door down.

He has been in my next door neighbour's for a little over 25 minutes now.

I don't like how every one of my neighbours has let this stranger in, even the ones who held out longest against his knocking. I'm not even sure if I like the fact I have neighbours, living in flats that have been empty since I started living here and have never once gone up for sale.

And then I must have lost track of the time, because I didn't see the stranger leave next door, but all of a sudden his knocking echoes through my flat.

Briefly, I consider not answering. But my feet walk to the door of their own accord and then I open it and his shadow falls over the threshold to what used to be my home.

[LOST CAT NARRATOR]

"Hello," I say. "I'm looking for my cat. Can I come in?"

[LCN]

The man steps aside silently and I take that as my cue to enter. He doesn't say anything, just staring at me with distrustful eyes.

His flat is bare and uninviting, something about it seeming off. There are no cheap trinkets left out on the side, no family photos hung on the wall - the only sign that someone lives here is the pair of shoes by the door and a coat hanging over the banister.

It's like he arrived here a few years back, not planning to stay long, and every so often he remakes that promise to himself - putting on a good show of it without ever really changing.

The silence feels much bigger than the space should allow.

"Nice home you've got here," I say. It's a complete lie, but I felt better for saying something.

The man stares at me.

"It's not home anymore," he tells me simply, like this should be obvious.

"Why? What happened to it?"

"You did."

And then that silence again, the awful heavy silence that your brain invents sound to fill to make it feel less alone.

He won't stop staring at me - like he's waiting for me to make a mistake, and he knows I will slip up, sooner or later, and when that happens he can point and say "Look. Look what happens when you try. You can't trick me. I don't trust you."

"I'm uh… I'm looking for my cat." I say again, getting the distinct feeling that there's a script I should be following and nobody thought to tell me about it.

[DAVID]

That's all he says.

I'm looking for my cat.

Over and over, like saying it will bring the cat back.

I'm looking for my cat.

How dare he. How dare he. How dare he stand in the ruins of my home - ruins that he created - and repeat these inane words. What does he hope to achieve? What could Eskew possibly hope to achieve?

If I took him apart, peeled open his face in ribbons and let those ribbons unfurl flower-like on the floor, I don't think there'd be anything inside. He's an empty man, only capable of searching and searching.

I find myself hating him.

There again:

I am looking for my cat.

Your cat is lost, I tell him.

I know, he says. That's why I'm looking for it.

And I tell him that he misunderstands me. That, if his cat is truly lost - if it ever existed to begin with - then it is for the best that it remains lost. Because Eskew has a way of taking lost things and twisting them, and the thing that comes back is not what you first lost.

I'm looking for my cat, he says.

And I say-

[LCN]

"I hope you don't find it. I hope it stays lost."

And I laugh, not because he said anything funny, but because I don't know how else to respond.

"I'm serious."

He's serious.

And I stop laughing.

"Can I come in?" I try again. He stares at me still or, more accurately, he glares at me.

I push past him, looking for some kind of barrier I can put between the two of us, something to deflect his gaze.

And that's when I realise what's off about this place. The flat is the same as every other flat in this building, down to the exact position of the cup left carelessly on the sideboard as I enter the dining room. Or not left carelessly, as it were. Left by someone, or something, that deliberately put it there to create the impression of carelessness.

On impulse, I take it, setting it down in front of me as I sit at the table. It makes me feel better, slightly. I think I was almost expecting it to be stuck down, an immovable part of the set.

The man sits opposite me silently. He's an extra in his own life, following the action but with no real lines of his own. No way to make a difference.

I find myself pitying him.

It's at this point I realise I never asked his name. And then I feel bad, because here I am, crashing his home, never once asking about him, or his city - only talking about my cat.

"I’m David," says David, and I smile welcomingly at him.

[DAVID]

He smiles at me, a fake smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, only serving to show how empty he is inside.

[LCN]

"Well, David, would you like to share a glass of wine?"

[DAVID]

I'm not sure where the stranger produces an entire bottle of wine from, nor the two glasses. He acts like this is a perfectly regular occurrence, so I don't challenge him. He offers me a glass, and I take it and, all things considered, it's a perfectly ordinary glass of wine.

He starts singing quietly to himself. At first, I don't listen. Eskew cannot make music, you see, not in the way a person would understand it. Simple harmonies come out distorted, scales are discordant, the sharps are too flat, and the flats are too sharp. Sometimes I like to think it's because music is the one thing too human for it to replicate.

More likely it just never bothered to try.

But then I do pay attention.

The man's singing. Properly singing - a folk song, about the devil, by the sounds of it, although I can't fully hear the lyrics.

It's the first music I've heard since coming to Eskew, and it's beautiful.

Perhaps my hating him was too hasty.

You're not from Eskew, I tell him, not quite phrasing it as a question.

I see him consider this. He takes a few false starts, before at last he asks

What is Eskew? I thought it was just a city, he says, but the way you talk…

He trails off, waving a hand at the room in general.

Eskew is a city, I say. Eskew is what happens when you watch the cracks in the world spread and swallow everything you convinced yourself you cared for, leaving you behind and so achingly alone.

Eskew is twisting streets and looming office blocks, I think - but do not say. Eskew is a thousand places of false safety and Eskew is the fear that nobody is looking for me like this man is looking for his cat.

There's a pause.

It sounds lonely, he says. Why don't you leave?

[LCN]

David looks at me like I'm an idiot, which seems rude, but is a step up from the glares. You win some, you lose some.

"The city doesn't let people leave. There's no-one out there for me anyway."

For a moment, I wish David would stop being so defeatist about everything. Then I feel slightly guilty about having thought that - living in a place like Eskew must mess up your outlook on life something awful.

"I'm going to leave soon though," I say, because one of us has to be the optimist. "I still need to find my cat."

[DAVID]

I cannot make a difference here. No matter what I say, the man will just keep going.

[LCN]

I slap my knees in the stereotypical "right, must be off" gesture. You know the one I mean.

"Right," I say. "I really must be off."

David shakes his head.

"Did you not hear me? Eskew won't let you leave."

I - some stranger who showed up at his house one day - cannot change his thinking. It does not matter what I say; he will just keep going.

"Eskew can try to stop me." I say this as threateningly as I can, in case the city can hear us, "Will I see you again? We could have another glass of wine."

[DAVID]

I hope I never see the man again. Not in a malicious way - but he seems so confident that he'll leave, and if I never see him then I can pretend he made it.

I don't tell this to the man, but I think he understands what I'm trying to convey - some of it, at least.

He slaps his knee again and stands up.

Nice seeing you, he says, making his way out of my home, the door clicking shut behind him.

And then I wonder at what point I stopped thinking of him as just the stranger, and at what point I started thinking of this place as my home again.

[LCN]

And on impulse, I take a scrap of paper out my pocket and write my phone number on it, sliding it under David's door.

Maybe he'll just ignore it. It can't hurt though.

[ESKEW SCENE CHANGE SOUND]

[RIYO]

There is a cat in my office. It purrs at me as I scratch behind its ears.

I think it might be lost.

#i am in eskew #the lost cat podcast #eskew #writing

52 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

I Will Wait for You--Michael Clifford (Running Back to You Part 2 wwii au)

Here’s part 2! So sorry it took so long to post, I started writing it but then changed the dynamic halfway through so this would be Michael’s point of view. I can do a final part in Luke’s perspective and to wrap it up, so please let me know! :)

A/N: “lovie” is reader from Running back to you:)

Running Back to You

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: slight trauma from nightmares, not too major, implied smut

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed below*

• • • •

Michael jerked awake. A choked gasp escaped his lips as he took in his surroundings, he could still hear the echo of the bomb that went off in his subconscious, leaving his ears ringing. He blinks as hard as he can, recognizing the shadows of his new apartment he rents then panics when he can’t see through his left eye.

The memories come fast as flashes. The grenade that sent him flying from Luke. Flash. Immense pain that soon disappeared on the left side of his face. Flash. The doctor telling him his eye is gone. Flash. Staring at his reflection in the mirror for hours trying to adjust to the bare, sunken in skin where his eye used to be. Flash. Being half in the light and half in the dark for the rest of his life.

He’s thankful he just lost the eye, he’s thankful every day that he’s still alive but it’s taking him a lot longer to adjust than he thought. Swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, he snatches up his eye patch and slips it over his head. He presses down on the edges making sure it’s secure before pushing off the bed and pushes the curtains open.

It’s almost dawn, the burning orange and brilliant pink sky greet him in good morning over the waves of the ocean. Michael cranes his neck to the right and he can just see Luke’s new house. Guilt creeps up Michael’s neck, he hasn’t spoken to Luke in three weeks. He felt embarrassed to see him and confront him with the truth after they left the train station.

After meeting his girl and new daughter, Michael was desperate to see his own dame, Peg. After assuring Luke that Michael would be fine getting to her house on his own, he was filled with nerves once more. Still in his uniform, Michael stepped heavily on her front porch steps then knocked twice and rang the doorbell.

He twiddled the brim of his hat, breath shaking as he waited for the door to open. There’s a commotion behind it, then he’s looking at Peg. Her golden hair pinned up with a barrette made of pearls, she’s prettier than he remembered. Her eyes widened as she took him in, Michael noticed her gaze linger on his eye patch.

“Hi Peg,” he sighed unsteadily, still twisting his hat, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to write. After the liberation and between my surgery I didn’t have time to write to you.”

“That’s…that’s okay, Michael,” she said quietly still staring at his patch.

“I know it’s a lot to get used to, I’m still getting used to it myself,” he chuckled touching the protruding fabric. “But the rest of me is still here, I’m home. Don’t I deserve a hug?” he was half joking the last bit but after witnessing Luke and his girl embrace so tightly back at the station, it left him in uneasiness that Peg didn’t react the same way.

“Oh…yes,” she said then wrapped him in a loose hug.

Michael could only get a small whiff of her lilac soap before she pulled away too quickly. Something was wrong. Has she already decided not to love him anymore because of his eye?

“I’m sorry—”

“Who’s at the door darling? Dinner’s getting—oh, hello,” a man appeared behind Peg. Tall as Michael but with slicked back black hair and a crisp suit.

Michael understood everything. Why Peg seemed so uncomfortable, why she didn’t jump into his arms like Luke’s girl did. She’d already moved on and left Michael none the wiser.

“I’m Chip, who are you sir? Thank you for your service,” Chip held out his hand, but Michael didn’t take it.

“Why don’t you tell him who I am, Peg?” Michael said in a clipped voice.

“Chip this is Michael, he’s my—he was my—”

“We were seeing each other,” Michael added in, his anger rising over the hurt he was trying to push down. “Clearly I didn’t get the memo it’s over while I was halfway across the world.”

“I thought you were dead,” Peg tried to reason, her eyes filled with tears. Chip stood there awkwardly during the exchange.

“Couldn’t wait to get actual word before you found someone to cure your broken heart?” Michael shook his head and turned from the door. He ignored Peg’s voice begging for him to come back, to let her explain but Michael kept walking.

He’d wanted to go to Luke but after witnessing his perfect reunion with his girl and new baby Alice, Michael felt ashamed. He felt subpar compared to what Luke had and it gnawed at him in the worst way. He read the letters Luke sent but didn’t reply to them. The guilt pressed on, but his nightmares pressed harder.

Michael changed quickly into dark slacks and a buttoned shirt; suddenly his apartment became too suffocating. He walked along the street, breathing in the fresh ocean air until he stopped at The Comfort Diner, his new favorite spot.

He’s thankful for it because it opens early and doesn’t close until extremely late in the evening. So, whenever he can’t sleep because of the nightmares, he finds himself in one of the red chairs at the swirling counter and orders the same thing. A strawberry milkshake and a burger with fries.

One of the waitresses, Cherry, always took his order with a kind smile. He likes Cherry because she never gawked at his eye patch but treated him like any other customer. Michael told her what happened with Peg and she offered her apologies and even called Peg some very rude names for what she did.

She’s also incredibly beautiful.

Michael is shocked and frozen in the entrance when he spots Luke sitting at Michael’s usual place. There’s already food in front of him, and Cherry stands nearby with a book propped open next to the register.

“Hi Michael,” Cherry greets cheerily. She bookmarks her place then skips to where Luke is sitting. “Your buddy here said you’d show up this morning, and he’s right. Can I get ya a coffee?”

Michael’s eye darts between Cherry and Luke, who is also staring back at Michael. His expression is unreadable as Michael shuffles to his chair. He sits down heavily then nods to Cherry. When she disappears behind the kitchen door, Michael glances at Luke.

“I’ve been waiting here since half past four,” Luke says, his finger circling the rim of his own coffee mug. “Cherry and I got to talking because my nightmares leave me awake and she said a fellow soldier frequents here with the same type of nightmares. Funny how it’s my best friend who lives just a few minutes from here and a few blocks from me.”

“Luke, I’m sorry. I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened with Peg?” Luke cuts him off, his eyes piercing Michael’s green. “We fought the same war; we see the same nightmares and we could have helped each other all this time. Lovie told me to give you space, let you cope but after two weeks I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

“I felt embarrassed,” Michael confesses. “You have the picture-perfect life and I’m damaged and loveless. I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “You aren’t weak at all, Mike. Don’t disappear on me again, yeah?”

Michael nods and accepts Luke’s pat on the back just as Cherry bristles out with a steaming mug of coffee.

“Milk and sugar’s already in there for ya,” she smiles.

“Thanks Cherry,” Michael sighs and accepts the hot liquid. It helps ease his tangled thoughts; it quiets the buzzing.

Luke watches her skip back to her place at the register, opening her book once more then squints his eyes at Michael.

“What?”

“Cherry’s quite the dish and she clearly thinks you’re good looking as well. Ask her on a date.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Are you still hung up on Peg? What she did was horrible, you don’t deserve that, and she doesn’t deserve you feeling this way.”

“What nightmares do you see?” Michael asks taking a sip of his coffee while also trying to deter the topic of conversation.

“Everything. The bombs, the towns…that officer’s family,” Luke finishes hollowly. “I wake in a cold sweat every night.”

“I see them too. But I mainly relive the bombs, and when I wake up, I forget my eye is gone. I have to process that loss all over again…do you wake lovie up?”

“Sometimes, but that’s when I’m…screaming,” Luke gulps. “I forget where I am sometimes but when I hear her voice…I know I’m safe.”

“I’m glad she’s your safe space, Luke. And I’m sorry for disappearing, I promise I won’t do that again. Solitude is worse than I thought.”

“It’s the beast in you, yeah?” Luke grins and they’re back to normal. “Come out with me and lovie tonight. There’s a dance club near the boardwalk that always lingers to the beach.”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Michael shakes his head.

“Neither am I. Hey Cherry, do you like to dance?” Luke calls over. Michael is horrified but Cherry is radiant.

“Sure, I do!”

“Meet us at the Nostalgic Club say about eight o’clock?”

When Luke and lovie came to retrieve Michael for a night of dancing, Luke made him change into his uniform. Apparently, it was a special night for those who served, a welcome back home soirée.

“Cherry’s one lucky lady,” lovie smiles at Michael when he comes out in his uniform.

The nightclub is already hopping when the three arrive. A jazz band plays loudly and exuberantly onstage while couples are jiving and flipping over each other with the music. There are indeed a lot of men in uniform, and a few ladies as well. The atmosphere is buzzing, and Michael lands his eye on Cherry who’s wearing a pearlescent dress, her hair pinned exquisitely atop her head. She’s breathtaking.

The group cross the dancefloor to a smiling Cherry and Michael feels self-conscious. How is he supposed to dance with her looking like a vision? He’s surprised he didn’t trip over his feet already.

The girls are introduced and soon they all have drinks in their hand, feet tapping to the music. It’s not long after that lovie pulls Luke to the dancefloor, the pair stepping in time with the other couples easily. Michael and Cherry exchange nervous smiles.

“You’re not a dancer, are you?” Cherry asks kindly.

“Not the fast-paced kind, no,” Michael chuckles watching her sip her kiddie cocktail.

“Do you want to head out to the beach? It’s a little stuffy in here,” Cherry scrunches her nose up in an adorable way.

Michael is quick to agree, leading her outside with his hand on the small of her back. Once they reach the beach, they sit on the cemented steps along the perimeter of the sand. Michael sets his hat next to him and Cherry sits a little close, he can smell her perfume. It’s floral and fruity, almost like strawberries.

They sit in silence watching the waves crash upon the shore, the moonlight glittering the spray. The music can still be heard along with laughter and chatter. It’s a comfortable sort of silence.

“Michael?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to your eye? I know I’m prying, but I’ve heard talking about it helps and I’m willing to listen. If you’d like to, that is.”

He looks at her with his good eye, he desperately wishes he could see her without the feeling of being half in darkness. He can tell she’s genuine in her questioning.

“It was a grenade,” he starts quietly, “we were walking in the street of a small town. I have no idea where it came from. All I remember is being flung away from Luke and everything went black. When I came to, everything was…red and black and blurry. My ears were ringing but Luke was talking to me…I think I was running on adrenaline. Sometimes it feels like it’s still there.”

Cherry grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“That’s what my nightmares are about. In my dreams I can still see, then the bomb goes off and I’m back in this weird…dark and light space.”

“How often do you dream of that?”

“Nearly every night,” he sighs, he gives her hand an involuntary squeeze.

They’re silent once more, Michael hopes he hasn’t scared her off. They listen to the big band play, more swing music and then it switches to a softer ballad, one that Michael likes. The familiar trumpet croons into the late summer night, and the lead singer’s voice starts the rendition of Harry James’ ‘It’s Been a Long, Long Time.’ Michael stands to his feet, pulling Cherry up with him.

“This, I can dance to,” he smiles. She returns his smile and fits into the curve of his arms perfectly. They sway in the sand and Michael starts to sing softly in her ear, “it’s been a long, long time haven’t felt like this, my dear since I can’t remember when…”

“You have a lovely voice,” Cherry sighs and hums along with his singing.

The song comes to a close, Michael stares down at Cherry as she stares back at him.

Kiss me once

He leans down and gives her the faintest kiss.

Then kiss me twice

He pulls back and looks at her once more, she gives him a gentle nod, so he kisses her twice.

Then kiss me once again

It’s only a fraction of a second that he pulls back before he presses his lips to hers for good. They kiss and dance under the moonlight until Luke and lovie find them.

It’s their twelfth date and it’s ended at Michael’s apartment, the record player playing their song as they kiss silently on his couch. Their fingers worked on buttons then Michael hoisted her onto his lap, his fingers slipping beneath the skirt of her dress. Cherry’s fingers scratched up his sideburns and into his hair. When she meets with the strap of his eye patch he freezes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she pants removing her hand quickly.

“No, it’s—it’s okay,” he swallows harshly, his green eye focused on her. “Do you…do you want to see what it looks like? It usually starts to hurt around this time, the fabric digs into my skin.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” she nods leaning back.

Michael lifts his arms and removes the strap from behind his head, then lifts the patch off his face. The skin is sunken in and folded over a little in the center, but the circumference is smooth. Cherry lifts her fingers then pauses midair, eyes shifting to Michael who nods giving her permission. She touches the skin delicately.

It’s plush yet tough at the same time, Michael sighs at her caress.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Cherry looks into his eye then cradles his face in her hands.

“You’re the handsomest soldier I’ve ever seen,” she smiles then attaches her lips to his.

Being vulnerable in front of Cherry filled Michael with a new form of confidence. Soon, both were bare in the most intimate way, their bodies joining as one. Fingers locking and unlocking as pleasure rippled through them. They declared their love at the same time and when the moment of euphoria passed, Cherry kissed the space of skin.

“The beauty fell in love with the beast,” he whispers on her neck and her giggles drift into the night.

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @thecurlsofgod @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @banditocth @dezzym17 @koalacal @lukeisbaby @spicycal @mysticalhood @thesubtweeter @wastedheartcth @atlcalm @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @babylon-corgis @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @lanternlover2 @istaywithmyjonas @calteahood @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @calumhoodaf @frontmanash @philthepegacorn @mantlereid @lukedorkyhemmings @addietagglikesbands @kikixfandoms @sanrioluke @mayve-hems @morguelth @haikucal @thatscooibaby @meghanrose05 @idontneedanyone @dinosaursandsocks @cassie-sos

#michael clifford oneshot #michael clifford angst #michael clifford fluff #michael angst #michael fluff #michael 5sos #michael 5sos writing #michael writing #michael clifford #michael clifford au #5sos au #wwii au #luke hemmings #luke hemmings writing #luke 5sos writing

60 notes · View notes

serenlyss · 4 years

Text

Into Hell Chapter 1

Fandom: Astral Chain Rating: T (violence, hospitalization, near death experiences, injury, amputation) Relationships: Akira & Amane (PC), Amane & Brenda & Hal Summary: Akira is alive. She has no idea how she did it. She’d given one look to the sight of her brother’s body protruding from the body of that thing, and the next thing she remembers is rushing forward, faster than she’d thought possible, the Sword Legion on her chain. And it'd worked. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 1

---

Akira is alive.

She has no idea how she did it. She’d given one look to the sight of her brother’s body protruding from the body of that thing, and the next thing she remembers is rushing forward, faster than she’d thought possible, the Sword Legion on her chain. She doesn’t know if it’d been her own instincts guiding her, or if maybe her Legion had taken pity on her and guided her, but in that moment, she’d known exactly what she’d needed to do. She’d seen them, faintly, the strings that had connected Akira to the monster who used to be Yoseph.

She’d never felt more in sync with her Legion than when they’d moved, then, the Legion’s bladed arm severing those tiny threads at the same moment she’d lunged forward to spear her X-baton through Noah’s center and shattered its core. She’d bargained everything--her own life, Akira’s, those of every other human still left living on the Ark--in a desperate bid to save the only family she has left. And it’d worked.

He’s not standing, not really. His entire body flickers with red corruption, and though his body above his waist still appears intact, his legs seem to disappear into shifting pixels. They remind Amane far too much of the flickering red shadows she’s seen on occasion within the Astral Plane, and the thought makes her stomach turn so abruptly that she thinks she might vomit. He stares at her in disbelief, having narrowly escaped his own self-assigned death only by the grace of his twin sister’s stubbornness.

Amane’s own legs feel like jelly. The longer she stands in the middle of the ARI’s roof, sucking in exhausted breath after exhausted breath, the more she can feel the numbness creeping up her legs and arms. She takes a few fumbling steps toward Akira at the same time he moves toward her, neither one of them able to stay on their feet for long.

It’s Akira who collapses first, stumbling on his corrupted legs, and Amane barely manages to get her arms around him before she falters herself, and both of them collapse to their knees in a messy heap. Amane clings to him tightly, and for the first time in a long time, she cries.

“You idiot!” She sobs, holding Akira’s head to her shoulder and burying her face in his neck. “How dare you try to die and leave me behind? You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me, do you understand? And don’t ever make me choose between you and my job again.” She clings to him tightly, scared that if she loosens her grip, he’ll be corrupted entirely and go to a place beyond her reach, leaving only his shadow behind. Even now, she can feel the corruption from his body prodding at her, spreading, infecting her and the area around them, but she ignores it. She’s not going to let something as stupid as this separate them, not after everything they’ve been through.

Akira grips her back weakly, managing a quiet chuckle in the face of her chastising words. “M’sorry,” he manages, but he’s barely clinging to consciousness, and after another few seconds his arms fall limp and his head lulls against his sister’s shoulder. He doesn’t disappear, though, and Amane can feel his shallow breathing against her neck where it’s exposed by her high uniform collar. She continues to hold him close, even as her own body begs for rest.

She doesn’t know how long she sits like this, curled around Akira’s unconscious form, but eventually she’s snapped out of her thoughts by the crackling of her radio, which starts up abruptly after hours of radio silence. The voice on the other end cuts in and out with unintelligible words, and she instinctively reaches a hand up to the radio to answer the call. It takes a few seconds for the audio to clear, but when it does, she hears Olive’s concerned voice come from it.

“...hear me? Am I getting through? If you can hear this message, please respond.” Amane can hear the desperation in Olive’s voice, though the sound is nearly drowned out by the electric noise of the helicopters that land atop the ARI roof all around her.

“I’m here,” Amane rasps, her hand shaking against the radio’s smooth plastic. “Akira’s with me.”

“Oh, thank god!” The relief in Olive’s voice is palpable, the words coming as a sigh of relief. “We lost sight of you in the chaos. Our radios were scrambled and there was too much noise for the radar or biosensors to pick up anything concrete. We only just got the radios working again, but I’ve already sent a medical squad and a cleanup crew to your location.” There’s a pause on Olive’s end, and the sound of muffled words being spoken, and then she adds, “We’re gonna get you out of there, both of you.”

The signal goes quiet, and Amane lets her hand fall from the radio as, all around her, helicopters close in on her location and land on the roof of the ARI. She winces at the noise, gritting her teeth as the doors to the helicopters fall open and the rooftop is filled suddenly with shouting and footsteps and barked orders. Her vision is fuzzy, and she can no longer feel her legs at all, but she clings stubbornly to Akira despite the way her body fights her every move. She’s vaguely aware of being surrounded, and then Brenda’s voice sounds in front of her, drawing her attention.

“Amane? Oh, good, you’re still awake,” she says, brows furrowed in determination as she gives both her and Akira a quick once-over. “Listen carefully to me. Everything’s going to be okay, but we need to get Akira proper medical attention, alright? I need you to let him go so we can help him.”

Amane hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding Akira, but she realizes now that the medics surrounding her are trying, carefully, to separate them so they can move Akira onto a stretcher. She blinks, her hazy mind finally catching up to her, and she reluctantly loosens her grip on his half-corrupted form. She has to stop herself from reaching out for him as the medics lift him as delicately as possible and move him a few paces to where the stretcher is waiting. “Is he going to be okay?” she asks, desperation leaking into her voice and making her sound small.

Brenda offers her a small, tense smile. “We’re going to do everything we can, I promise,” she replies, but Amane can read the doubt that underlies her words. “I’m going to go with them, but my team will take care of you in the meantime. I need you to relax, okay? You got pretty roughed up, and I’m worried about your corruption levels, but you’re going to be fine. Just take it easy, everything’s going to be okay.” She continues to murmur soothing words to Amane as she grasps her by both shoulders and slowly pushes her down onto the ground, and dimly, Amane realizes that she’s being laid out on a stretcher of her own. She stares blankly up into the faces of the medics that lean over her, making sure she’s safely in the stretcher before they lift her up.

She feels heavy, dragged down by an invisible weight that lays over her like a thick blanket. She can barely think, and as voices reach her ears, their words turn into garbled, staticy nonsense in her brain. She lets her eyes fall closed, too tired now to even keep them open. The last thing she sees before she loses consciousness is the sky, dark, clear, and dotted with stars she wasn’t sure she’d ever see again.

---

Before shes even fully awake, Amane can hear the voices of people speaking quietly nearby, and the rhythmic beeping of machinery all around her. It’s a gradual reawakening, and it takes several minutes of listening to the muffled noise around her before she finally attempts to open her eyes.

She doesn’t get far. The lights above her head are bright, blinding, and she can’t help the pained groan that escapes her. Her hand twitches, attempting to move so it can cover her eyes and block out the light, but her arm is too heavy.

Immediately, the talking stops, and Amane hears the shuffling of feet on the floor. The lights above her head dim considerably, enough that she can squint against it without feeling like she might go blind. Brenda leans over her, watching her closely. A smile blooms on her face, relief flooding her expression. “Hey, kiddo,” she greets softly. “Take it easy, alright? You were asleep for six days, so it might take a little while for you to catch up to the rest of us. How do you feel?”

Testingly, Amane wiggles her fingers under the thin blanket draped over her. “Tired,” she responds, her voice rough and scratchy from disuse. “Confused. Where am I?”

“You’re in intensive care, at the ARI. You were pretty badly hurt after the Commander went on his… rampage, and you picked up some of Akira’s corruption, too, so we had to be careful to keep that contained and make sure your injuries were taken care of,” Brenda explains. She reaches toward the bed with one hand, and hesitates for just a moment before smoothing Amane’s hair away from her eyes. The gesture is surprisingly tender, coming from the typically no-nonsense Brenda. “Everyone’s been really worried about you, but you’ve always been a sturdy one. Guess it runs in the family.”

The mention of her brother sends Amane’s heart racing with adrenaline, and she bends her arm underneath her in an attempt to sit up. “Where’s Akira? Is he okay?” she demands, but just the motion of lifting her torso off the ground has her head spinning, and she pitches suddenly forward, unable to maintain her balance.

“Woah! Careful, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion on top of the one you already have,” chides an energetic voice, and cold hands steady her by her shoulders before she can tip out of her bed entirely. Amane lifts her head, searching for the source of the voice, and finds herself staring into Hal’s face, his eyes hidden behind his vizor. He’s smiling, though, partly amused and partly relieved. “If you wanted to sit up, you could’ve just asked, you know.”

Amane blinks. “Hal?” she says, surprised. She’s only ever known him to be famously reclusive, so to see him here, in person, is enough to confuse her all over again.

Brenda comes to Amane’s other side, and she and Hal manage to help Amane into a sitting position with her back against the bed’s soft pillows. “Akira’s doing alright,” she assures, offering Amane a small smile. “He was touch and go for a few days while we got the redshift under control, but he’s stable now. He had his surgery this morning, and now he just needs to rest and let his body do the rest until he’s ready to wake up. It’ll be a while still before either of you are back on your feet, but you’ll both recover, with time.”

“Surgery?” Amane echoes, worry creeping into her voice. Her gaze flicks from Brenda to Hal and back again, questioning.

It’s Hal who answers her question. “The corruption on Akira wasn’t… normal. It didn’t turn him into an Aberration like it does with most people, but his Legion didn’t blueshift it like it usually does, either,” he explains. “We were able to clear most of it using Yoseph’s machinery, but we weren’t able to save his legs. They had to be… I guess ‘amputated’ isn’t really the right word? Um, they had to be removed. The corruption there was just too strong.” He shakes his head, pursing his lips into a thin line. “Brenda called me out in person to help build him some prosthetics. Just like mine, you know?” With a grin, he lifts his arm and flexes the robotic limb as he might a real one. “That’s what the surgery was for. He’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy to get used to ‘em, but with time he’ll be running around like nothing ever happened.”

“He’s very lucky to still be alive,” Brenda adds. “I’ve never seen that kind of corruption on someone before. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have survived. Maybe it’s because he’s a legionis, or maybe it’s due to the treatment Yoseph put him through after his fight with Jena. Or, maybe he’s just that stubborn.” She grins at this, amusement in her eyes.

Amane manages a shaky smile in return, and a quiet, raspy laugh. Her eyes start to water, and she lifts a shaky hand to wipe away her tears before they can fall. “I’m so glad,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving him. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him, too.”

“Of course,” Hal says. “I still owe you for Zone 09, after all, and even if I didn’t, this was one call I couldn’t sit out for. As soon as I got the call from Brenda, I came as soon as I could.”

Brenda’s smile morphs into a hint of a smirk, and she leans forward, holding a hand up to the side of her mouth conspiratorially. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him actually come down from wherever he likes to hide. You and your brother must be pretty special to get him to come out of hiding,” she adds, much to Hal’s embarrassment.

“Hey! I come down sometimes! I just… don’t usually need to! I can code from my own home, you know,” he insists, and a hint of red flush creeps out from underneath his vizor.

Amane stifles a giggle behind her hand, a hint of her grin peeking out from between her fingers. She turns her gaze from Hal to Brenda. “Can I… see him?” she asks, somewhat hesitant.

The mood in the room quickly sobers, and Amane watches as Brenda exchanges a hesitant glance with Hal before turning back to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a little longer to rest?” she asks. “You’ve only just woken up. A lot’s happened to you that you haven’t really had time to process; I don’t want you to overwhelm yourself.”

Amane winces, tearing her gaze away from Brenda and looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap overtop of the clean white bedsheets. It’s true, she hasn’t had a moment to really sit and just think since they’d all gone to infiltrate the ARI. Maybe Brenda’s right, and it would be better to wait, but she knows she won’t be able to rest properly until she sees him with her own eyes. “It’s okay, I can handle it,” she assures, determination outweighing any apprehension she might feel. “I’d just really like to see him myself, if that’s alright.”

Brenda contemplates this for a few seconds, then lets out a sigh. “Okay, I suppose it should be alright, if you’re sure,” she relents. “Just be careful, okay? Take it slowly, you haven’t been on your feet in nearly a week.” Turning to Hal, she quickly adds, “Hal, you’re good to go rest up for a bit. I’ll call you when it’s time to run a checkup on Akira’s prosthetics.”

“Sure thing, doctor,” Hal agrees, giving a shy little salute. To Amane, he says, “Feel better soon, okay? The whole crew’s anxious to have you back. See you around.” Then, he takes his leave of the room, the automatic door sliding open and shut to accommodate him.

Amane moves her legs testingly, slipping them off of the bed so she can sit on its edge. Brenda holds out her hands, a silent offer of assistance, and Amane puts her pride to the side for the time being and reaches out to grab onto Brenda for support. Experimentally, she pushes herself to her feet, careful to watch her balance as Brenda works to steady her. For a few seconds, she sways, feeling a brief rush of dizziness wash over her that quickly passes; it feels like getting out of bed too fast, her limbs still heavy and weary from resting for so long. Still, she stays on her feet, and after the initial dizziness passes and she starts to feel more secure with keeping herself upright, Brenda drops her hands and smiles.

“That’s the way. Come on, I’ll take you to Akira’s room. He’s not far from here, so you should be fine to walk there,” she explains, leading the way out of the little hospital room and taking a casual pace down the empty white hallways. Unlike how Amane had seen before, the data corruption that had caused the blocky growths from the astral plane to fill the halls less than a week prior are gone, and the Institute looks clean and sterile again. Brenda must catch her looking around, because she explains, “We had to hack our way through all those rocky clumps when we first came back here, but the ICU was mostly untouched, thank goodness. A lot of the corruption was centered on the upper floors, where Doctor Calvert did the brunt of his research, so we were able to get you and Akira set up in here right away. The cleanup crew came and finished with the rest afterward, but a lot of the upper floors are still heavily corrupted. They’ve been cordoned off until they can be properly sterilized.”

Amane half-listens as Brenda continues to babble off updates on the situation at the Ark, the adjustments being made in Yoseph’s absence, and the mundane day-to-day trappings of the other Neuron officers now that the largest of the danger is past. Eventually, Brenda pauses outside the door to a room that’s been sectioned off for post-operative care, holding her key card out to undo the digital lock so the door slides easily open. “You’re clear to go inside, just… know that he looks way worse than he really is.” She casts Amane an apologetic glance. “Oh, and watch out for his legs, try not to jostle him too much. It’s going to be a month or two before they’ve fully healed, so for the next few weeks, he’s on strict bedrest. I need to check up on Akira’s charts and take down a few notes for later, so I’ll be keeping an eye on you from the observation room next door. Just shout if you need anything.” That said, she steps out of the way and gestures with one arm for Amane to go inside.

Despite having requested this in the first place, Amane finds herself suddenly frightened of what she might see. Surely it can’t be worse than when he’d been here last, after recovering from Jena’s stab wound? But all of Brenda’s warnings are starting to give her second thoughts, and she hesitates outside the door, hugging her arms to her chest in a self-protective gesture. She casts Brenda an apprehensive glance, then swallows down her fears and forces herself to take those few steps forward until the electronic door slides shut behind her with a soft whooshing noise.

Akira’s room, much like her own, is composed of white floors and white walls with a single window at the front of the room and a viewing wall to her left, presumably for the doctors. Against the opposite wall is Akira’s bed, which is surrounded by machines depicting several different monitors that track his heart rate, blood pressure, hydration, and more that she can’t make sense of. Half a dozen wires connect Akira to the medical equipment that surrounds him, many attached to the IV in his right arm, some directing oxygen to the mask that covers his nose and mouth. Brenda had been right to warn her; he looks terrible, and it isn’t just the machinery. The skin on his face and arms, exposed by his crisp hospital clothes, are mottled with dark, angry bruises and bandaged lacerations, and his left arm is contained in a sling that keeps it held snugly against his chest. There are stitches in his right cheek under his eye, and the cut, while healing, is purply-red and bruised all the way around it. The sight of it turns her stomach when she first sees it, but she’s quick to compose herself, taking a few more steps into the room until she can approach the end of his bed.

There are blankets folded into a neat stack at the foot of the bed, likely for use overnight, but for now they’ve been removed, which means Amane has an unobstructed view of Akira’s legs, or at least, his legs from the knees down, where they poke out from under his gown. She draws a sharp breath at the sight of the robotic legs, an amalgamation of long tubes and thick plates of metal held together by bolts and joints. She recognizes Hal’s work immediately; they look quite a bit like Hal’s own legs, if a bit newer and cleaner, and Amane feels simultaneously amazed and horrified that this is her brother’s new reality. Akira’s in for a rude awakening, she knows, once his body recovers enough for him to wake up.

Still, all she can do is wait until that happens, so for the time being, she pulls up a nearby chair to sit near the top of Akira’s bed and reaches tentatively for his unbound hand. It feels colder than she remembers, but then again, it’s been a very long time since she’s held his hand like this. Not since they were children, in fact. She squeezes that cold hand tightly in both of hers, as though trying to make up for all the times she’s passed it up before, and swallows back the lump that forms in her throat. “Hey,” she murmurs, speaking softly to ensure that no one can overhear. She’s acutely aware of Brenda on the other side of the observation window, checking monitors and casting them the occasional glance, but she can tell the doctor is doing her best not to interrupt, only supervise. Amane bites her bottom lip. She has no idea if Akira can even hear her, but the silence feels somehow louder than her own voice, so she drowns out her thoughts with whatever comes to her mind. “Looks like we both made it out in one piece, huh? Well, mostly.” She casts another glance at Akira’s healing prosthetics, then pulls her gaze quickly away. “Everything still feels like a dream. Yoseph, Noah, waking up in the hospital… part of me keeps asking when I’m going to wake up, back home in our apartment by the headquarters, even though I’m sure that I’m already awake. Maybe I just need a little more time.” She lets out a sigh, lowering her gaze to Akira’s hand, clasped in hers. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles softly, a nervous gesture meant to help soothe her own anxieties, just to remind herself that he’s still alive. If she focuses, she can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers to the rhythm of his heart monitor, and she lets the steadiness of it lull her into a more relaxed state.

“You really scared me, you know? Saying all that nonsense about how sacrificing you was the only way. You’ve always had a terrible martyr complex. One of these days, I’m scared you’ll really go through with it.” She purses her lips with worry. “I hope you know that if you ever do that again, I’ll be the one putting you in the hospital this time.” The threat is as empty as it can possibly be, but part of her hopes that, somehow, Akira will hear it and take it to heart, if only so she can stop being so damn worried about him all the time. She falls quiet, half-hoping for Akira to banter back to her in the snarky, sarcastic way he’s known for, but all she hears is the steady, quiet beeping of machinery. Against her will, her hands start to quiver, just a little, and she feels her chest tightening with a sudden wave of grief and regret. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” she whispers. “I wish I could do more to help. You’re a reckless, stupid, bastard of a brother, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Reaching up with one hand, she dabs away the tears the form in her eyes before they have the chance to fall, stubbornly refusing to cry out here in the open. She continues to clutch Akira’s hand in hers, comforted by his steady presence at her side and the gentle thrum of his heart under his skin, dutifully keeping him alive.

She falls quiet, untrusting of herself to speak out loud any further, and lets the beeping of the machinery around her drown out her thoughts. She sits for several minutes like this, unmoving, until Brenda comes to rejoin her and let her know that her allotted visiting hours are almost up. Amane can see the sympathy in her gaze as she leans against the doorframe and patiently waits for her to join her, and the sight of it agitates her pride against her better judgment. It’s uncomfortable, having someone feel so sorry for you, but part of her is grateful for Brenda’s constant, understanding presence. Standing up, she drops Akira’s hand and reaches out to brush his long bangs from his eyes, his skin cold and clammy under her touch. Then, reluctantly, she goes to join Brenda by the door.

“Technically, this ward is off limits to visitors entirely,” Brenda explains as she walks Amane back to her room, “but just between the two of us, I’m already making plans for Jin and Alicia to come see you both. They can hardly leave me alone when I’m back at HQ, you know. Constantly pestering me, wanting updates on how you’re doing… they haven’t been the same since you were hospitalized. They’re probably just stressed out, not being able to see you guys in person. I have a feeling that some time away from HQ will do them both some good.”

“Are they really that upset?” Amane questions with a faint smile.

“Of course,” Brenda confirms immediately. “Those two think of you like family, you know. They were your father’s best friends, and they’ve seen you both grow up over the years. I think they like to think of themselves as your aunt and uncle, something like that.” She pauses, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, the way Alicia herds you two around and scolds you, she acts more like your mother than anything else, I think.”

Amane feels her face flushing pink at the implications, quickly shaking her head. “Come on, Brenda, you’re reading too much into it,” she insists, turning her back to the doctor to hide her embarrassment.

She can practically sense Brenda’s amused smirk. “If you insist,” she replies. “In any case, I’ll fill them in when I go back to HQ tonight, let them know you’re both doing alright, and I’ll try to bring them by tomorrow, if time permits.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm and pulls a Neuron radio from her pocket. Amane quickly recognizes it as her own, and Brenda sets it on the bedside table for her. “In any case, you should get some rest. You can visit Akira again tomorrow, if you want. I’ve given you clearance to his room as a family member, just be careful, and use your radio if you need to contact me for any reason.”

After promising Brenda that she’ll do just that, Brenda leaves, looking satisfied with their arrangement, and leaves Amane to her own devices. Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she knows that it’s only been a few hours since she’d woken up, but as she sits on the edge of her bed and lets the events of the day sink in, she feels inexplicably exhausted. It’s only to be expected, she thinks, after pushing her body so hard for so long before her hospitalization, but it’s frustrating nonetheless to be so weak when there’s still so much to be done. Still, it isn’t like she has much else to do, so after a minute or two of internal turmoil, she resigns herself to getting the rest Brenda’s asked of her, and crawls under the thin hospital blanket to get some sleep.

#astral chain #serendipitousfics #akira howard #brenda moreno #hal clark #harold clark #how do u tag the player character #injury #amputation #hospitalization #pc is named amane just so i have a name to refer to her as #also pc is female bc thats how i played the game the first time thru #idc if the male pc is canon or not #anyway enjoy this self-indulgant fix it fic

29 notes · View notes

scenecipriano · 4 years

Text

Murdering Beauty

based on this

Warnings: Unsympathetic!Patton, implied child neglect, child death

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

Beware the witch that lived in the woods, that was what young twins Remus and Roman Valez were always told at night before bedtime when visiting their grandparents. Their grand-dad always told them tales of a witch with bright blue cats eyes that ate children. Their grandmother would always scold the old man for scaring the little ones, but their grandfather always had the same argument.

“That damned thing ate my little brother! Warning them will protect them, Iris, you know this!”

The twins had promised to stay out of the woods, not wanting to upset their grand-dad, but that promise would be broken one cold fall night.

“Come, little children, I’ll take thee away into a land of enchantment~.”

Remus stirs awake when a soft melodic voice drifts through his open bedroom window, the eight-year-old rubs the sleep from his green eyes and stifles a yawn. He hops down from his bed, shuddering when the cold wooden floor touches his bare feet. Remus shuffles over to his window, the cool breeze ruffling his auburn hair.

“Come, little children, the times come to play, here in my garden of shadows~.”

Remus blinks and tilts his head, his bangs falling in front of his tired green eyes. The voice was so soothing, it felt safe, it made him feel safe for the first time in his life.

‘Come on, kiddo I’ll protect you I promise~.’

Without thinking, Remus nods to the soft voice that spoke to him. He turns and walks across his room, Remus opens the doors and goes downstairs, making sure to stay light on his feet as to not wake his parents, he knew they would be angry with him if he had woken them up.

“Follow sweet children, I’ll show thee the way, through all the pain and the sorrows~.”

“Rem? Why are you awake?”

Remus turns to look at his older brother by only two minutes, Roman’s matching auburn hair stood up in all directions, a half-empty glass of water held in his small hands.

“I’m going to play with the pretty voice, don’t tell mama and papa,” Remus replies as he turns back to the front door, he moves to it standing on his tiptoes to unlock the deadbolt.

The door swings open by itself, the melodic voice fully washing over Remus causing the eight-year-old to relax.

“Weep not poor children, for life is this way, murdering beauty and passions~.”

Remus allows a smile to come to his lightly freckled face as he steps out of the house, he goes around the side and into the backyard. He stops at the corner of the house when he notices a pair of bright blue feline-like eyes staring at him from the edge of the woods.

“Come now, little one we can’t dwell any longer.”

Remus nods and walks across the backyard, ignoring how the little pebbles in the grass dug into his bare feet. When at the edge he looks up, a man with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair stared down at him. A pair of round glasses sat neatly over his nose, a large smile plastered on the man’s pale face.

“Come along, kiddo, we’ve got big things to do.” The man says as he holds his hand out to Remus.

Remus hesitates for a moment before giving the man his hand, he could hear his brother’s frantic screams over the whoosh as he and the man in black vanished away.

“Remus!! R-Remus!” Roman cries as he runs across the backyard, he stops dead in his tracks when the man in the black cloak looks up. Glowing blue feline-like eyes burning straight through his soul. Roman’s green eyes widen when the man and his brother disappear in a wisp of black shadows.

“Hush now dear children, it must be this way, too weary of life and deceptions~.”

Roman felt his blood run cold, he knew this song, he knew it. His grand-dad had warned him and Remus about this very song, the song of the witch with blue eyes. Roman gulps and looks back to his house, contemplating whether or not he should get their parents, but he knew telling them would lead to yelling for waking them up on a work night. With a deep breath, Roman steel’s his nerves and sprints into the woods.

‘I’m coming Rem…’

Remus watches as the man with blue eyes dances around the small kitchen that he was brought to. His black cloak fluttering behind him as he threw ingredients into the large black cauldron inside the brick fireplace.

“Ya know, I’ve always adored children. I had a son once, my little Virgil. Such a nervous boy, always needing his papa’s protection.” The man says, Remus listens intently as he watches the man stir whatever was in the cauldron.

“Oh, dear I haven’t introduced myself, how rude of me! My name is Patton, but my kiddos call me dad!”

Remus tilts his head, “Your kiddos?... I um… I’m Remus.”

“Yes, my kiddos! And I know who you are, dear. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, you’re special, Remus.”

Remus blinks and smiles shyly, the only person who had ever spoken to him like that was his grand-dad.

“I am?”

“You are so very special kiddo. I’ve been wanting you to meet the others for so long now.” Patton replies as he turns to face Remus, the hood of cloak down allowing ruly dark brown curls to hang loosely in front of his face.

“I’ve been waiting to bring you home…”

Roman sprints through the woods, ignoring how the low hanging branches scratch at his arms and face, or how they tug at his hair in an effort to stop him from reaching his brother. He had to save Remus, he couldn’t let their grand-dad down by giving up now.

‘You need to leave before he takes you too!’

Roman ignores the whispers, he couldn’t stop now, not when he was so close (at least he thinks) to saving his brother. Roman stumbles to a halt when another child appears before him, the boy in front of him looked to be a year older than him. The boy wore a dark blue shirt with stars and constellations, sandy blonde hair hanging in front of his hazel eyes, a pair of square-framed glasses that were being held together with tape sat on his worried face.

“You need to leave, save yourself! It’s too late for your brother…”

“W-Who are you? Why would say that!?”

“My name’s Logan Valez… Please you need to leave.”

Roman blinks his green eyes in surprise, this was his great-uncle, the boy his grand-dad told him about, the brother that was supposedly eaten by the witch in the woods.

“I know who you are Roman… Remy visits sometimes and tells me about you and Remus, please… go I’ll keep him safe.”

Roman felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, he shakes his head. He refuses to end up like his grandpa Remy, he refuses to feel guilty for the rest of his life for doing nothing to save his baby brother. Roman takes a shaky breath before running ahead, going straight through Logan leaving the ghostly boy behind.

Remus felt… funny. Not like a ha-ha funny, or even a sick funny, he just felt… funny. Maybe it was a scared funny? Maybe… Remus stared at himself, but not in a mirror, no, he literally stared at his slumped form. All life drained from him, leaving him standing feeling wispy in the window as if any moment he’d be blown away.

“Oh, look at you, my dear… No more pain or sorrow, no more bruises that can’t be explained.”

Remus looks up, Patton stands next to him a gentle smile on his face.

“What’s happening? Why… Why did the drink you give me hurt?”

“It had to be that way, my dear… But it’s okay now! Now, you’re one of my kiddos and we’ll always be together… like a family.”

Remus bites his lip and looks at his body before looking back up to Patton.

“But… I-I had a family, I-I had Roman… I-I want my brother!”

“Hush my dear, go play,” Patton replies with a wave of his hand, Remus closes his eyes tight before opening them again when he feels a cool breeze wash over him. The first thing he notices is two kids, one that looked to be about five with mismatched eyes, and another that was the same age as him that shared Patton’s dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“I’m sorry for what my papa did…”

Roman stares with his mouth gaped, a cabin stood in the center of the woods. Smoke coming from a large chimney, he could hear soft singing coming from inside. Roman shakes away his shock and sneaks over to the window that faced the entrance to the woods. He peeks inside and gasps, sitting in a wooden chair slumped over was his brother. Remus sat unmoving, no sign of life.

Tears pool into Roman’s eyes, his body grows tense when a melodic voice sings softly in his ear.

“Come little children the times come to play…”

Roman slowly turns and comes face to face with feline-like glowing blue eyes.

“Here in my garden of shadows~.”

#sanders sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders mentioned #virgil sanders #remy sanders mentioned #unsympathetic patton #tw child death #tw implied child neglect

52 notes · View notes

darling-archeron · 4 years

Text

Beneath the Dark - Chapter Six

What would have happened if Feyre had come to Prythian much earlier? Feyre Archeron has left her mortal life behind, and accepted being demi-fae. She has found her place in the Night Court's Inner Circle. But when her and Rhys attend a ball hosted by Amarantha Under the Mountain, they are in for much more than they bargained for.

A huge thanks to @theleadcinnabon for helping beta this chapter and story!! <33

Three weeks had passed since we had been trapped here. Three infinitely long, dark weeks. Some days passed by as slowly as watching shadows shift. Others seemed gone in a blink.

Amarantha had been toying with Calder all week while everyone else watched helplessly. Some of his family had tried to heal him, tried to get her to stop, but to no avail. Not only were his healing abilities weakened by losing his magic, but some damage wasn’t meant to be survived. That was the kind of damage The Deceiver knew to inflict. Not to mention that she didn’t take kindly to anyone trying to steal her entertainment. But yesterday it had finally ended, as he had gasped his last breaths out, the color of his blood only a bit darker than the red marble floor. It seemed that even his enemies felt some shade of remorse. They had hated him, yes, but...not like this.

Jurian’s eye had gone wild inside her ring as if reminded of his own execution. Indeed, it wasn’t the noble death of a High Lord as I would have hoped – it had been a welcome, sad thing. An older High Fae was High Lord of Winter now, his eyes serious by the burden laid upon him. I hadn't yet spoken to him. I would wait, see what sort of leader he turned out to be.

But in the time since we had first been trapped, some semblance of normalcy had begun to knit itself together. We had all begun to get a feel for the central part of the mountain and the passageways it contained – though the tunnels and catacombs far below were still a mystery. Amarantha had even been halfway agreeable when you considered that she hadn't ordered any more mass murders. The week prior, she had commanded the High Lords to find out what their High Fae needed so she could have it shipped over. Of course, requests of the lesser fae were ignored. Yet, among the most requested goods were fabrics, spices, and various other precious items. As if finery and riches would save us, improve this false court in any way. She had even left a few, though not all, requests for weapons slide by, though I knew it was nothing but a taunt.

Rhys was scarce these days, and I could never decipher where he had slipped off to. I caught glimpses of him at the nightly revels and around the halls, but we had exchanged few words over the bargain bond, and even fewer face-to-face.

I would have been lying if I said his ignoring didn’t sting a bit, even if I knew why it was. In the absence of him and his orders, I made it my mission to learn everything I could about the inhabitants of the Mountain and its layout. Gathering any bit of little information that could help me get Rhys, Nuala, and Cerridwen out.

As it was now, the afternoon was drawing to a close, and I found myself standing in a cavernous room, speaking with males who thought themselves better than me as I held a glass of wine in my hand.

A common occurrence these days. Somehow, nobody had lost their taste for alcohol despite the catastrophic curse it had laid on us.

This time, the males were High Lord Nostrus, who seemed to have the interests of his people at heart, and though he was intelligent, was also weak-willed, and his much younger cousin, Tarquin. Beron had also inserted himself into the conversation and was my least favorite to deal with. Misogynistic and cruel, I would never forgive him for what he had done to Mor.

“Truth be told, Nostrus, I can’t see why any of the Courts should consider consolidating their resources. Maybe Summer is weakened, but Autumn doesn’t need to lean on anyone else.” Beron replied.

“That may be true now, but what about in forty years? Not just for us, but for our people. Our trading with the continent has been seriously impacted by recent events.” Tarquin interjected, ever eager to help.

“Tarquin has a point, but I can’t be convinced that the Courts should consolidate completely, Nostrus. But there’s no reason we shouldn’t plan for it in the future.” I pointed out.

Nostrus looked irritated but stayed silent. It was Beron who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“And who invited you to participate in this, Lady Valspian?” Beron jabbed.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Are you going to pick a fight with me, Beron? As Lord Nostrus pointed out, we are all in this together. Perhaps when the time comes, you wouldn't be so quick to shun what Night offers.” I fought to keep the bitter edge mostly out of my voice. Beron was cut off from responding by Tarquin gesturing to behind me.

I turned around to see a grey-veiled female servant standing a few feet away. The fabric distorted too much of her features for me to see her clearly, but I could make out a pair of bright, catlike green eyes. She shrunk back under my gaze. “Lady Valspian?”

“Yes.” The sound of her voice startled me – I had never heard one of these servants speak. They were quiet and submissive, just as Amarantha liked them. Supposedly they were her servants from Hybern, but I had heard rumors of Prythian’s Lesser Faeries being kidnapped, cursed into silence and servitude.

“I have a message for you. Her Majesty requests your presence in her chambers in an hour for dinner.”

I had known this was imminent. I had waited with bated breath day after day, knowing that Amarantha would not forget about me. And I had promised myself I would meet it head-on. I was not weak, not helpless anymore. I knew how to use my powers. I could break into minds and glamour and win a swordfight against someone stronger than me.

And yet – my courage faltered. As those images flashed in my mind. Of all Amarantha had done. Of all the times I had failed.

“Tell Her Majesty that while I am honored, I have already promised dinner with Lady Cyra tonight, and I’d prefer not to go back on my word.”

Behind me, I heard Beron snort.

Was it a shit idea? Absolutely. Was it going to put Amarantha off my trail? Probably not. Through the veil, I could make out the girl’s eyes widening. “I-I do not think it was an optional invitation, My Lady. To dine with Her Majesty is a great honor.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The Queen should know that I keep my word. Now leave, before I have to make myself any clearer.”

She nodded once, turning away and soundlessly retreating down the hall. I prayed that Amarantha wouldn't take her wrath out on the servant.

A little over an hour later, I heard Rhys for the first time in days.

“What the hell, Feyre?”

“What?”

“You refused Amarantha? By telling her that you were dining with Cyra, of all things? Couldn’t you have at least come up with a better lie?” His temper was barely in check, anger so sharp lashing down the bond I could nearly feel it.

“I’m trying to keep my secrets just that Rhys – secret. And you’re always so insistent on me staying away from her, I would have thought you would have been pleased.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve only succeeded in drawing more attention to yourself.”

A cold feeling crept over me. I had been irrational…I had known all along that this wasn’t a permanent solution.

“I’ll be fine, Rhys. I can take care of myself. But how did you hear about it so fast?”

“I’m entertaining her right now. I’m the next best thing to your delightful company tonight.”

Was that where he had been spending all of his time? With her? That cold in the pit of my stomach grew. “I didn’t realize…I’m sorry, Rhys.”

Stony silence. I attempted humor. “ Is the food at least decent? If you’re subjected to her company you should be fed properly.”

No response. Once again, towering walls of adamant environed him. I didn’t bother trying to get past them.

Holding in a groan, I resisted the urge to ask for something stronger to drink. The gravity of the situation had truly settled on me in the past days. At first, despite the horrors, it had almost seemed like a bad dream. That luxury was fading away with each day.

At least I actually had agreed to dinner with Cyra. The youngest daughter of High Lord Julius, the female was certainly clever, if not a bit shallow. Rhys’s ties with Day were tenuous at best, and if having dinner with one of their royals would help me keep a better eye on them, so be it.

An hour into my dinner with Cyra and I hadn’t figured out if she was asking nonstop questions about Rhysand for political reasons, or because she thought he was handsome and marriage material.

Well, he was. Handsome, certainly. But that was no reason for me to spend my time answering question after question about him, all while trying to turn the conversation back around to her.

“And where does Rhysand spend all his time these days? I can’t say I’ve seen him in – well, I don’t know how long!” She tittered, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

If she was trying to wile secrets out of me, she was making an interesting approach.

I focused on cutting my chicken into tiny, tiny pieces. “I couldn’t say. He hardly confides in me about his whereabouts And even -.” I was interrupted by the door being violently opened, handle knocking against the stone of the wall.

There in the doorway, framed by faint faelight from the hall, stood Amarantha herself. She looked otherworldly in the lighting, a painting waiting to be created with a crown on her head and a dark dress.

Cyra's fork clattered against her plate.

“Cyra. You will excuse Feyre. She has much greater plans with me this evening.” Her voice left no room for argument. “Feyre.” A beckoning, as if I was a dog to be summoned. I stood from my chair and followed her out the door, not bothering to look back at Cyra.

A string of expletives going off with each step I took, following close behind her, I hoped I was only being over cautious. She didn’t speak.

I had known from my explorations that Amarantha’s chambers had two entrances – the doors to her bedroom, and an entrance to her living quarters. Amarantha took me to the latter, the door less grand than the main ones but still carved. I wasn’t sure what to brace myself for – heads on a pike, more finger bones, servants waiting on her hand and foot – but no. Instead, it was surprisingly empty. The walls had been papered with a rather gaudy purple and cream pattern, and a giant faelight chandelier hung from the ceiling. Amarantha settled herself on a velvet mauve chaise, hand open and awaiting something. A heartbeat later, a grey-veiled female servant appeared, placing a glass of red wine in her open hand. I stared at her for a moment, and frightened green eyes peered back at me. It was the same servant from earlier - Amarantha hadn't harmed her.

“Feyre. So nice to dine with you.” She scanned me up and down, a catlike smile forming on her lips.

“It’s my pleasure, my Queen.” I dipped into a curtsy.

“Likewise.” She gestured to a chair with a wave of her claw-like hand. “Sit.”

I made my way over to the matching velvet chair nearest to her, dress crinkling around me as I sat. I had barely blinked before a wine glass was placed into my palm. Then both of the silent maids were out of the room, nearly floating like specters. Now that I was closer to Amarantha, I could sense the wards and spells she had placed on herself, making physical attacks impossible. Of course, magic ones were already out of the question.

“So.” She angled her body towards mine, eyes crackling with dangerous power. “I'll do you a favor just this once and not mention the way in which you slighted me this evening. I trust it won't happen again."

I scrambled for a response. "Of course. Thank you, My Queen."

Her entire demeanor changed then - from threatening to untroubled in a heartbeat.

"Then, how are you faring? Are you comfortable here?”

I nodded. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

She rolled her eyes. “A boring answer. Come now, Feyre. I find you interesting. So entertain me.” Indeed, I had never quite seen this side of her. How many sides did the Deciever have?

This was what she had called me in here for? Petty gossip and entertainment? I took a long, slow sip of my wine.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report on.”

She took another sip of wine, otherwise unmoving. I had to force my fingers to stop playing with the fabric of my dress. “I won’t dance around niceties anymore. I’m sure you know why I’ve called you here. You have quite a unique skill set.”

I had considered this at length. To play dumb or go along with this. And I still wasn’t sure that my decision was the right one. “I do.”

“I was quite surprised at first. You seemed so ordinary, and yet you walked so close to Rhysand the night of the masquerade. He valued you, and now I know why. You might be the only other of his kind on the continent. I never imagined you’d reveal your secrets on your own so quickly. You fought rather spectacularly in the fight. You even brought down one of my personal guards. I didn’t think many women fought in the Night Court.” She took another swallow of wine, and then lowered her hand again, resting it on the side of the chaise.

For the first time in weeks, the idea of a painting flashed in my mind. The dim lighting, the glinting jewels, the rich fabrics – it would make for quite the portrait. For a moment, I wished that was that she had called me here for instead. It was almost laughable, and though painting her would have been like ripping off a bit of my soul, it would have been infinitely simpler.

I let out a short, mirthless laugh instead. “I have no desire to be weak, to be considered lesser, among these males.”

“Perhaps if you revealed your true gifts, you wouldn’t be.”

“I have already done it without that. Why would I show my true hand?” I countered.

“Powerful and a strategist.” She mused. “What other gifts are you hiding?”

I did that bored half-shrug I had seen Rhys pull off so effortlessly.

“You’re from Night, so you must have some sort of shadow manipulation, correct?”

Right – at least sort of. I could manipulate shadows, but not even close to the extent that Rhys could. They were half inconsequential things of smoke, shades of Rhysand's wonderous creations. Usually, if I wanted shadows, it was easier just to create a glamour.

"I've also seen you walking. You practically prowl, your feet are so silent. In another life, perhaps you could have been an assassin," she mused.

Damn it. Just like that, she had me pinned down.

“Since you insist on knowing, yes. I can manipulate shadows, I can break into minds, I can stab someone before they even know I’m in the room.”

“You’re my kind of female, Feyre Valspian. And we could do great things together.”

“What are you proposing?”

Amarantha ignored my question. “Do you hate me, Feyre?”

I forced myself to not break eye contact, to keep my hands still. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you don’t like me, Feyre. I can see it burning in your eyes, you know. If you want to get anywhere, you really should get better at concealing it. But luckily for you, hate has never deterred me.”

Do not let surprise show, keep your face a mask –

I finally found words. “I don’t hate you, My Queen. I hate the murders of my people that you’ve committed. I admire your ambition.”

She tilted her head. “Those deaths were necessary, Feyre. Certainly, acceptable losses in the grand scheme of things.”

“Perhaps.” I allowed, clamping down on my rage. Many of those nobles had been wicked, many of them I could barely name. And yet, I still felt such unmatched anger at their deaths. Perhaps even deeper than Rhys had. Maybe it was because of my youth – I hadn’t had time to grow a shield between myself and the world.

“Your dislike is hardly enough to discourage me, dearest. You’re far too much of an asset.”

“Please, explain to me what it is you want.” I insisted.

“What I want?” Her breathing grew quick, fingers so tight around the glass goblet I thought it might shatter. “I want to see Tamlin fall. I want to make sure all of Prythian recognizes me as their true Queen. I want to watch the dawn of a new age.” She locked eyes with me. “And you are going to be the one to help me do it.”

My breath hitched a bit, but I looked down at my wine instead, swirling the dark purple around in the glass. “Why should I?”

Amarantha set her wine glass down on the table, the motion making a loud clunk. Cauldron, I was playing a dangerous game.

“Do I need to spell it out? We share so many common goals, Feyre. Don’t pretend you don’t want the High Lords brought to their knees. I saw the way you looked at the likes of Tamlin and Beron. You’d rather die than scrape before them, wouldn’t you?” Her voice was so soft, so persuasive, that I wondered if she had spelled it. “You claim you have no desire to be seen as weak. Prove it to me. The High Lords are already pinned beneath my thumb. The next step is to make it known to everyone else who their ruler is. At the end of these forty-nine years, when Tamlin’s spirit has been broken, I will keep you at my side when everyone else falls and grovels.”

I sat in silence for a moment, pretending to contemplate when I already knew what my answer had to be.

She laughed. “Don’t pretend you have to consider it, Feyre. Would you prefer me to threaten your life and force you to obey?”

I was going to die beneath this mountain. I hated this feeling. After I had left Tamlin, I had worked so hard, for so long, to ensure that I was not a pawn. I told myself I would never be one again. And yet, here I was. To succumb to it might kill me one day.

For a moment, I debated trying to bargain for more. For Rhys’s protection – for my court’s protection. But Rhys could certainly take care of himself, and it would be a risk anyway. With all of his dinners and conversations with her, he certainly had made bargains of his own. The court would also be safe for now – Velaris was hidden, and if she murdered everyone else Under the Mountain there would be none left to worship her.

“We have an agreement,” I said softly, raising my wine glass to hers in a toast. She did the same, a faint smile playing on her lips. I brought the glass to my lips and drank deeply for the first time since sitting down. At least there wasn’t a curse attached this time.

“There’s no point in us wasting time over chit-chat, then. I’ll tell you what first needs to be done.”

“Word has gotten out to the common faeries about this little exchange of power, and some of them are planning some foolish uprising or another. Offenders will need to be imprisoned. I’ve arranged for extra space in the tunnels and extra caverns to be made into cells.”

There were already at least a hundred cells carved out in the deepest chambers of the mountain, left over from the War four and a half centuries ago.

“How many prisoners are you planning on having…My Queen?” I tacked on the honorific at the end.

She shrugged. “There are entire villages that need to be dealt with. You’ll see. I want you at the forefront with some of mine. I’ll be dividing the courts between you and several of my lieutenants. By the end of the week, I want you up in the courts dealing with the masses appropriately.”

Horror squirmed in my stomach as I realized what she was planning. Imprisoning the royals, the key players in her twisted little game, that made sense. But she truly was planning a full-scale takeover.

I couldn’t leave my Court defenseless as I had planned. “The honor is mine, my Queen. But surely you don’t plan on extending your forces all the way north?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, the war bands of Illyria are hardly a threat right now. They’re indeed a fearsome power, but only if united by Rhysand. Otherwise, they’ll never unite under one front, they prefer to clash with one another. If you leave them be, they’ll probably take out some of their own weak members. As for the cities…well, you’ve visited Hewn City. They’ll take a liking to your reign anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “You speak so ineloquently. But Rhysand did say the same thing, albeit with a much finer tongue.” She mused

“Then, you know I speak the truth. You must expect that I have loyalty to my birth court.” I pointed out as breezily as possible, ignoring the insult borne of my human upbringing.

"And what of the towns and villages that have no nobles or war bands to fight amongst themselves?"

"The towns are remote and defenseless. Any rebellion could be quelled when the need arose. Why extend your troops so far North and raze what isn't even a threat?"

Amarantha considered it. “I’ll allow it, for now. As a favor to Rhysand. But I will be sending a squadron of soldiers to be permanently stationed there.”

I clenched the side of the chair to avoid slumping over in relief.

“Then, your will is mine.” I dipped my head.

Tag List:

@fireheart-of-your-dreams @rowaelinforeverworld @lord-douglas-the-third @whilma-warfstache @AGNEZ312

Comment or send an ask if you want to be tagged! As always, thank you for reading.

#acotar #acomaf #feysand #feysand fic #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #feyre #acowar #under the mountain #acotar au #amarantha #beneath the dark #btd #mine #kate's writing #kat's writing

36 notes · View notes

juniebjoneswrites · 3 years

Text

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

This is War (2)

What does running do for me? Other than being a gateway drug to mindlessness, it shows me places I didn’t know existed. It also gives an incredible high that puts some meat on my bones. Like seriously. I could write love letters to my endorphins. I would ask how they’re doing and if they missed me while I was gone. I would ask how they felt in the dark and when it came time to play, I would dream of their favorite games. They have answers to questions I can’t ask, and know when to turn a blind eye to the darkness in my mind. I am thankful for their wilful ignorance.

There’s a street I run that has a name I’ve never cared to remember but I know the way there like I know my way up the cliff. It’s been an ongoing venture. I see the lives there in the mornings as they wake up, innocent to the day that reaches beyond their grasp. I know if they stretched a little further they could touch it. Would they hand it to me if they could? They’ve seen me running for so long now they think I’m just a girl from down the street. I belong, so I must be safe. Right?

I see them in the night when they stumble home after a day when their outstretched hand just wasn’t quite good enough. They have all the makings of myself. I revel in their sorrow, but offer help. “Ah, one of the runners,” they say. They ask how I am and if I’m liking the neighborhood. I smile politely, “It’s beautiful, I’m just around the corner,” I always motion behind us regardless of where we face. “It’s the brick one with a balcony,” usually they’re too wrapped up in their day to realize they’re all bricks with blaconies, or too polite to press further. Maybe they just think I’m being clever and safe.

“Let me help you inside,” I call out to a man as he stumbles from his car. He gives me a look of recognition as he hands me his keys. I smile in return. We’ve spoken before.

“Thank you,” he licks his lips. I smile wider, fighting back bile in the back of my throat. “Would you like to join me?” It would be a lie to say that all our conversations were innocent.

“I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that,” I respond coyly.

“No wife,” he holds up his bare ring finger. ‘Bare’ being a generous word. There’s a tan line where his band would be, he's taken it off for the night. Maybe wants me to think he’s newly divorced.

His wife is on a work trip for the night. I know this because she told me the day before as I helped her put a big, fancy carseat in the back of her car as the child herself was throwing a fit. “Of course it delivers the day before my trip and I have to rush before work to get it in,” she laughed and wiped her brown hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Her wedding ring glistened in the morning sun. “Husbands are useless, but I’m sure you’ll learn that eventually.” I laughed with her and commented that he must be okay if he’s going to be watching the child while she’s gone. She tells me her daughter will be with her grandparents.

His words tumble out together and I hear them fall around me like a castle under attack. “But seem like someone who wouldn’t care,” A flattery king. Knights may be able to stop the soldiers but they can’t fight catapults. My anger bubbles. I steal my smile. I move up the stairs and grab his keys. This is a war.

Leaning against the frame I put the key in the door and swing it open wide. He smiles, I whistle a tune, he stumbles through. I lead him to the couch and he pulls me on top. He tastes like a deep bourbon and nachos with extra onions. I let him take my running jacket off. The knife I have in a hidden pocket clatters to the floor and I worry he’ll question the sound. He doesn’t, and it’s clear he doesn’t care that I have, in fact, been running. I tell him I need to use the restroom and that I'll be right back. He gestures vaguely so I find my own way, but not to the bathroom. How easy to trick with a promise of reward. I line up my men.

Their family photos are on the walls telling stories of vacations and holidays. Just the three of them, the prettiest lie of them all. I stare as if I could learn some secret as to how a mother could do what she did and move on. I see theirs play out like a book and I’m filled with an anger that blinds me. They’re ready for orders.

I think of my knife so I stock back to the man on the couch only to be met with snores. Sometimes it just works out. I pity him, in his suit and tie, his loafers haphazardly in the entryway. I fantasize my life in this home. I walk their rooms and lay in their beds, I drink their juice and eat their snacks. My fingers trace the walls for fault lines and I wonder if there had been a boy here how different it would look. She wouldn’t have needed the child’s seat, he was already grown. The crayons of the walls in his room would look different here. The dolls and gowns, replaced with his stones and telescope. I am angry. A life he never knew and will never see. He would have liked a sister. Fill it with rocks.

I pull his picture from the pocket of my running pants and look for a marker. “1993-2016” I write. “You killed him.” I am not the only one to blame. ‘He found you!’ I wanted to scream at her, ‘You left and he still found you,” but that wasn’t entirely true. I had found her. I brought her name into his home and changed things, so now I will bring his name into this home and change these things. “Elijah Perry” I write near the bottom, “Taken three months before his death.” I clip the photo to the fridge and walk out. Release.

When does the sheep become the wolf? Or was I a wolf in sheep's clothing this whole time? I am growing claws and my teeth cut my mouth as I speak. It fills with salt and blood. Maybe I’ll become like cured meat with all this salt and my decay will be slow. Agonzing. My fur will matt and my family will become afraid. I will age slowly and watch them leave, seeing their funerals from the woods edge. And when the wolf finally leaves to possess someone else, the only one who will see me to my grave will be a ghost.

I don’t run again. I walk the veins of the city and let them guide me through it’s ebb and flow. It feels like I’ve thrown the daughter of a cliff into a stampede of wildebeests and I wonder what she’ll think when she’s older. When do I get that scar over my eye? I think I deserve the mark. If Cain did then so do I.

“Hey sweetie,” a voice calls from the shadow of a rundown bar. Unfortunate luck for him if he tries anything further. I flip him off and keep walking. I recognize my surroundings. There’s a pizza place up the corner. A long night of treachery will leave you hungry.

The warmth of the pizza fills the coldness in my body. I didn’t realize I started shaking until I reached for my water. I quickly fist my hand and push my pizza away, my breaths becoming fast and impatient. Resting my head on the table I let the solid coolness rush my mind and steady my thoughts. I focus on my breathing and count backwards from one hundred.

100, 99, 98, 97, 96, I can see his face. 95, 94, 93, 92, I watch him at a New Year's Eve countdown grinning and blowing his whistle. 91, 90, I squeeze my eyes tighter. Press my head harder to the table 89, 88, 87, I might be sick. 86, 85, 84, 83, 82, 81, 80,79,78,77,7767574737271

I see him on the cliff.

I’m telling him to stop.

He doesn’t.

I throw my head back and open my eyes. 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, the warped window reflects a distorted version of myself with no discernable features, just a shadow ready to disappear at the first sign of light. A fly crawling on the window stops on my face and I’m wondering if it’s an omen.

The door opens with a jingle from the bells and a figure stands behind me. I don’t care to look at the reflection. “Fuck off,” I let out through a cry. I am very intimidating.

They don’t say anything and walk away. I drop my head, tears sliding off my face. A moment later they return and hand me some napkins. I glance at them and then at my greasy, sauce stained pile of my own. Reluctantly I take them, “Thanks. Now please leave.”

I wipe my face as they shuffle in place and hesitantly clear their throat. I’m instantly annoyed. I spin around to face them, “What?” I say in more of a defeated, angry tone.

Well kids, I guess we get to answer that question here and now. I let my head fall to my arm that rests on the seat’s back. “Of course,” I mumble. “Why not?” Turning around I pull the pizza back to me and take a bite. He still doesn’t move.

“Well if you’re going to,” I motion to the seat next to me. He takes it and looks even more uncomfortable which makes me laugh slightly. “You’re being really weird, you know,” I say through a bite of pizza. “If I didn’t know you you would have a bloody nose already.”

He sits up straighter, “Sorry,” he picks at the paint on his nails. “I, uh, just saw you and recognized you from running and the gas station. Just wanted ask if you’re okay,”

“Why?” I ask harshly then, closing my eyes, wince at my stupidity.

He looks confused, “You don’t remember?” “I remember the gas station just fine,”

“No, uh, we’ve been waving at each other... while we run,” it sounded more like a question than a fact. His eyes dart around. “For, like, a few months before the gas station and then I stopped seeing you,” he trails off.

I started running after Elijah went missing. I wasn’t a runner before then so what sparked this new interest, I couldn’t tell you. I ran night and day after realizing it was the one thing that stopped my thinking and focused my breathing. There is a lot I don’t remember from the past year, this being one of them.

“You don’t remember?” he asks. I don’t say anything. He nods understanding, “I just thought you recognized me but didn’t want to…. Interrupt… or something,”

“I have no problem interrupting,” I reply. He slightly laughs, “but what’s wrong you can’t fix, so,” I take another bite of pizza. “And I wave at all the runners I pass. Good to have people remember you if you go missing,” I give a slight wave of my hand and shrug.

He nods. “Well I hope I see you running again,” he gets up, unsure of his movements, I guess not wanting to push any further.

“June,” I say, as he rights the chair, “That’s my name. Fair since I know yours.”

“Nice to meet you, June.”

My smile lasts until he’s past the shop's window and I'm back to staring at my face. I think of Mulan crossing her bridge and wiping half her makeup off in her reflection. I think of Harry and what in the actual Wattpad hell just happened. I close my eyes and rest my chin in my hand while I finish the second pizza. Harry’s face turns into Elijah’s and the waves start crashing. My body tells me to run.

(1)/ 2 / (3) / (4) / (5) / (6)

1 note · View note

nitr0glycer1ne · 4 years

Text

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 16 - Best friend

Heeeeyy look who's FINALLY updating!! I thought this chapter would be much shorter, but I got really carried away by Lena and Violet, it almost wrote itself. I hope you enjoy the result :)

“We’ll clean our guest room tomorrow, but in the meanwhile, you can sleep with Violet.”

Colin finishes with a smile, and Lena nods. Her fingers are tightly gripping the armrest of the comfortable couch she’s sitting on, next to Violet; she’s not nervous, not really, but she needs something to physically anchor her in reality. Because none of this feels real: being back from the shadow realm, Webby being safe and sound and still her best friend, and her getting to live in a real house, with real living, breathing beings, after being offered so by a new friend.

The word still feels somewhat alien to her. It used to be something she’d hear only from her aun- from Magica, and it wasn’t ever spoken without disgust and contempt wrapped all around it. And although Lena has grown accustomed to hear it being used as its intended meaning, as a term of endearment from Webby, it’s still a bit weird to think that yeah, she is someone’s friend, she has friends- oh, using its plural is even more bizarre, and Lena hopes it’s something she never grows tired of.

“Would you like to come and see your new sleeping quarters, Lena?” the small bird sitting next to her offers.

The question sounds very detached, but Lena now knows it isn’t, she knows it’s just the way Violet speaks, emotions sometimes having trouble to show beneath the polite and wordy sentences the young erudite strings.

“Yeah, sure.” the duckling agrees, getting up and stretching her arms, a bit stiff after the long discussion she’s just had with the Sabrewings.

---------

Lena had been worried at first, when she had understood she wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the McDuck mansion. Webby had done her best to ask, plea, beg her grandmother and Scrooge for her best friend to stay with them, especially since she had nowhere to go save for a small, humid basement by the beach, but the adults had remained firm. Webby hadn’t needed to give Lena and Violet a full report of Bentina and Scrooge’s reasonings; the two girls had managed to hear it all, thanks to the makeshift stethoscopes Violet had crafted, sticking the devices on the office’s door and listening to the whole argument.

Lena can’t blame them, especially after what Magica did to Scrooge and his family. She had expected the outcome – but what she hadn’t expected had been the softness the old billionaire had explained his reasonings to Webby, and how he had carefully added that maybe, after Lena had grown used to a life amongst the living and without Magica’s influence, he would be happy to take her in.

Still, Lena had been left homeless after that discussion, and although it had worried her, she had done her best not to show any of that concern to her best friend. And that’s when Violet had intervened, before Lena could even attempt to lie to Webby:

“Perhaps I could call my parents. We have a spare room, and I am most certain they wouldn’t mind welcoming you at all, Lena.”

The usually snarky duckling had been left silent, for once- just like Webby. And before Lena could brush off Violet’s offer, her stupid pride getting in the way of a comfortable bed in a comfortable house owned by normal people, Webby had jumped at the small bird, giving her the warmest and most joyous hug she could- which, by Webby standards, meant that the two of them had ended in a happy pile on the floor, soon joined by Lena.

Surprisingly enough, Violet’s dads had agreed easily. One of them, Colin, is a preschool teacher, and he loves children; and although Lena is no toddler, she’s glad it made him open to the idea of fostering a duckling made out of someone’s – someone who very recently wreaked havoc on Duckburg – shadow. Her surprise must have shown on her disbelieving face, because Webby had been quick to elbow her:

“Not everyone’s like Magica, Lena.” the girl had smiled. “People are usually nice and happy to help.” “Yeah, I guess.”

Her reply had been as noncommittal as possible, but there’s truth to Webby’s words – it’s just that it’s still hard to imagine a world without Magica, even though there’s nothing Lena wants more.

“Are you alright, Lena?”

A pair of dark, inquisitive eyes had intently been watching her. It had startled Lena a bit, but she had remembered it had nothing to do with suspicion or malice; it had just been Violet’s weird, yet somewhat charming, analytical approach transpiring in her soft, piercing gaze.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. It’s just… weird to think I’m gonna have a room all to myself, in a real house and not in some abandoned, underground hideout.” “It’s going to be awesome!” Webby had chimed in, jumping on her spot. “We’ll help you carry all of your stuff, and then we can go shopping and you can get even more stuff to decorate, and-” “Woah, easy there, Pink.” Lena had fondly stopped her friend, still a bit dizzy at the perspective of living an almost normal life. “I don’t think Mr and Mr Sabrewing are going to be very happy if I just barge in and go all Extreme Makeover on their house.”

Violet had giggled, a charming sound startling both her friends and making them smile.

“I don’t think they would mind that much, actually. Papa is rather fond of that show, and he loves nothing more than spending an afternoon choosing a new plant, or a new shelf, or some new décor.” “Sweet, I guess I’ll go all out then!” Lena had entertained the thought. “Like, paint the walls some sick dark purple, with some crimson splatters here and there.” “Oh! Oh! And a black floor to make drawing summoning circles easier!” Webby had added. “Mmh, perhaps even an altar of sorts.” Violet had continued. “Surrounded by enough shelves to store old ritual scrolls, and mystical books of all kinds.”

And thus, the night had ended, with the three girls grabbing sheets of paper, colored pencils and glitter pens to draw their ideal room and jot down ideas.

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

Now that Lena stands in Violet’s room, that conversation feels so distant. There’s a world between being told that you’re going to be fostered by a family, and actually setting a mattress on the ground, with soft pillows and freshly washed bedsheets. Lena’s been promised a lot by Magica, and almost all of those promises have been nothing but empty words used to ensure her absolute obedience. Which is why it’s eerie to have someone be true to their words, for once.

“Are you alright?”

It’s when Violet speaks to her with the tiniest hint of worry in her voice that Lena realizes she’s been staring at her pajamas for a few minutes. They’re nothing fancy, just sweatpants and a tee-shirt Largo’s leant her, since she’s too big to fit in Violet’s clothes, but they faintly smell of cinnamon, and the scent is reassuring for some reason. Like she’s holding on to something that isn’t hers, something that belongs to someone else who’s been happy to give it to her.

“I’m fine.” Lena finally answers, realizing that she is telling the truth. She’s a bit lost, but she is fine. “I’m just gonna get changed.” “Sure.” Violet nods gently and offers her a kind smile. The small bird is sitting on her bed, wearing her own turquoise pajamas, her wild hair down to her lower back. “I’ve set a toothbrush for you in the pink glass near the sink. You can use whichever toothpaste you like; mine is strawberry flavored, and my fathers’ is mint.” “Thanks, Vi.” Lena nods, and gets out of the room.

The whole process of reaching the bathroom, putting her pajamas on, brushing her teeth and coming back to Violet’s room is almost surreal. Lena still has trouble believing all of it is real; it feels like a dream, and it almost hurts with how simple and good the mundaneness of it all feels. There are tears pricking at the corner of her eyes when she slips under the warm blanket Violet’s given her; she blinks them away, hoping her new friend hasn’t seen them.

If she has seen them, Violet doesn’t say a word about it. She does ask something, though:

“Would you like to sleep with one of my stuffed animals?” the purple bird offers, gesturing towards the end of her bed, where a few plushies are neatly lined up. There’s a shark, a teddy bear, a duck and a rabbit; they all look equally soft, taken care of and warm, comforting to the touch. Lena is tempted to accept, but she feels it would be too childish.

“Nah, it’s okay, but thanks.” “As you wish. Good night, Lena.” “’night, Vi.”

Violet claps her hands, and the ceiling light turns off. Lena whistles, amused by the fancy system. But the sudden darkness cuts her amusement short, and she feels her throat get tight and painful. Her breathing quickens, and Lena shuts her eyes quickly, trying to ignore the obscurity surrounding her.

It doesn’t work.

Even though her eyes are closed, Lena can still feel the darkness around her, she can feel its heavy weight on her body, pushing the blanket on her, pushing and pushing until her chest is tight and breathing is almost impossible. Her thoughts are racing, panic and fear and determination a toxic cocktail drowning her brain; sweat rolls down her forehead, cold beads dripping on her beak; her mouth is drier than a desert; and suddenly there’s a hand on her shoulder-

Lena screams, something feral and heartbreaking, and her upper body stands straight, leaving the sheets beneath her damp with cold sweat. The ringing in her ears barely calms down enough for Violet’s voice to reach her:

“I’m sorry, Lena, I didn’t mean to startle you...”

There’s a hint of panic and regret in her friend’s tone, but Lena’s brain is too saturated by terror to pick up on it. The door opens, and the sudden light filling the room abruptly brings Lena back to reality. Violet’s parents are standing in front of her, slowly making her way near her mattress. She tries to pace her breathing, hating the tears she can feel rolling down her cheeks, when a gentle, warm hand finds her trembling shoulder:

“Are you okay, kid?” “It’s my fault, Dad.” Violet apologizes, taking Lena’s hand in hers and not letting go, her grip gentle but firm. “I heard her breathing quite loudly, so I got worried, and I wanted to check on her, but… I…”

Largo embraces them both, making sure to leave some room for Lena to reject his hug if she’s overwhelmed by his presence. She doesn’t; Lena’s never been much of a hugger (Webby is an exception), but in that instant, the embrace feels like a lifeline, and she throws herself into it, openly sobbing now. Violet makes sure to wrap an arm around Lena as well, her small hand rubbing soothing circles in her back. Colin slips outside of the room, leaving his husband handle the situation.

Time stands still, in the best way possible. Warmth slowly fills Lena’s freezing body. Her sweat dries, and so do her tears. Her breathing steadies, her heart stops pounding. The fog heaving over her mind lifts, leaving her thoughts clear.

Lena takes a deep breath and scoots back, away from Largo and Violet. Her friend slides next to her, keeping a respectful distance but making sure to let Lena know she’s here- she’ll always be here.

“Do you feel better, Lena?” Largo asks as his partner steps inside the room, two steaming mugs in his hands and a small box tucked between his arm and his hip. “Yeah, I just… I dunno.” she shrugs, stifling a yawn. The panic attack has drained her, and she doesn’t even have an explanation to what just happened. “I have no idea what just… ugh.” Lena sighs, angry at herself for losing control like that. “It might have been because of the dark.” Violet suggests as Colin hands her and Lena a mug of hot cocoa. “Perhaps it triggered some strong, deep fear inside of your psyche. I’m sorry, I should have thought about it.” “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, Vi.” Lena objects, hating to see her friend’s remorseful expression as the small bird’s grip on her mug tightens. “It’s not like you could have guessed I would lose it just because you turned the lights off!” “But-” “Lena’s right, little bird.” Colin softly cuts his daughter, petting her unruly hair. “Your father and I tend to forget that because you’re a genius, but you’re only eleven.” “Yeah, Vi. You’ve done so much for me already, so don’t feel guilty about it, okay? It’s nothing. I’ve survived worse stuff, trust me.” “Okay…”

Violet drinks some of her cocoa, not entirely convinced. Lena does as well, the rich, creamy beverage feeling like ambrosia as it slides down her parched throat. It’s almost like liquid comfort, especially with the small marshmallows floating in the foaming cocoa.

“I also brought this.” Colin adds, a triumphant smirk on his beak as he holds a small box up. “Violet’s old nightlight. No more darkness that way.” “Thanks.” Lena smiles, her beak sporting a chocolaty mustache. “No problem, kid.”

A comfortable silence falls on the room, Colin setting the small lamp up while the girls finish their cocoa under Largo’s tender gaze. The two older birds then bid the girls good night, closing the door behind them. Lena fills the beginnings of a panicked storm filling her lungs, but relief washes over her when she notices the nightlight shines faintly near the door, providing just enough light so the room isn’t filled by the cold, aggressive obscurity.

Lena is about to bid Violet good night, when she notices the girl is slightly hunched over in her bed. Frowning, she gets up and slips under Violet’s covers, startling her friend.

“It’s just me! Do you mind if I spend the night here? The mattress’ comfortable, but…”

Lena doesn’t finish her sentence, and she doesn’t need to. Violet removes the stuffed lion lying between them, tucking it under her other arm, and scoots towards the wall so Lena can be comfortable as well.

“Hey, Vi, why are you looking so sad?”

The light provided by the small lamp is faint, but just enough to allow Lena to see the way Violet’s beak is twisted in a small frown, her brows slightly frowned and her eyes looking down.

“It’s not because of my little episode earlier, is it? Come on! That was nothing important, no need to-” “I disagree.” Violet’s soft voice cuts her. Lena’s surprised, but she lets her friend talk. “It is important. You must have been through so much, between how Magica behaved towards you and being trapped in the shadow realm… you shouldn’t have to endure any of those hardships anymore.” “Yeah, I could have done without all that and what happened just before, but…”

Lena hesitates, careful in her choice of words. The raw vulnerability Violet is displaying in front of her is preventing her from being her usual almost blunt self.

“Things happened, and there’s nothing we can do about them.” Lena finally sighs, her arms wrapping around Violet in what she hopes is a reassuring, comforting hug. “And things will keep on happening, because I can’t just forget the stuff Magica’s done to me – believe me, I wish I could. But Vi… what you’re doing, all of this, helping Webby summon me even though I could have been dangerous, helping me save her and not being mad at me for putting her in danger, accepting to be my friend after all the nasty stuff I said about you, taking me in with your family… all of that is gonna help me move on from my past. You have no idea what all of this means to me. Vi, no one forced you to do all of that, and you still did it, and then some more!”

It’s taken Lena all her leftover strength, and all her breath. She hates opening up about her feelings, about how hurt she’s been, about how hurt she still is sometimes. But Lena knows it’s what Violet needs to her, and with everything the girl has done for her, it’s the least she can do. Her pride taking a small hit is nothing compared to the sheer kindness Violet has offered her before she was even back from the shadow realm, and Lena hopes she managed to convey just how grateful she is for Violet to have helped her get a second chance at life, at friendship, at happiness.

Violet’s eyes meet hers, the two purple pools shining with tears as the small bird hugs Lena closer.

“Hey, I’m still short on air, don’t squeeze it all out of me!” Lena teases, the banter helping her go back to her usual self, to put the intense fright behind her and bask in the present, in the way she’s spending her night in her new home, with her new best friend. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that.” Violet smiles. “Hmm, yeah, I think we should work on that.” Lena nods. “Too much time at the library, not enough punching stuff. Webby’s good at finding stuff that needs to be punched, so I’m sure you’ll get some exercise real soon…”

Lena takes a deep breath before adding:

“…lil’ sis.”

It’s nothing; two words, spoken hurriedly, almost silent in the middle of the night, and Lena is as surprised as she’s delighted with how good and natural the words feel on her tongue. Violet gasps when she picks up on them, making Lena blush.

“I look forwards to this, sister.”

No fanfare, no “aww this is so sweet Lena I’m touched!”, no tears. Simply a small smile and a reply that comes as naturally as Lena’s nickname, and it’s so perfectly Violet that it immensely satisfies Lena.

They fall asleep shortly after, exhausted by their day, happy to be in each other’s arms, happy to have found each other. --------------------------------------------------------------- I'm really happy to have finally written something about Lena and Violet! I'm a bit disappointed we didn't see Lena moving in with the Sabrewings, but I hope we can see them in S3 :) I wanted to write something different for Lena. She's brave and fierce, and I felt like it could be interesting to show a more vulnerable side of herself - same goes for Violet. I hope neither were OOC. I also like that it was an opportunity to reuse Largo and Colin, my headcanon dads for Violet from chapter 1! :)

Panic attacks are the worst.

#ducktales #ducktober #violet sabrewing #lena de spell #team magic #Webby Vanderquack #my writing #my fics #fanfiction #hurt comfort #friendship #violet and lena

52 notes · View notes

mastrechef · 4 years

Text

I got this weird idea in my head and it kept pestering me until I did something about it, so I picked away at it while on vacation. It started out as something else until I adapted it for FFXV, but anyway, here’s some random snippets of stuff where all the dialogue is composed of spliced together song lyrics. I tried to keep the lyrics intact and recognizable, but I did occasionally omit words to make things fit better. Features an Ardynson!Nyx but not related to my other Ardynson stuff.

His breath rasped in his throat like a death rattle. It wasn’t long now. He was old and withered, his bones grown brittle, and his mind slow. Death would claim him soon. Sitting alone in the dark, he could do nothing but wait.

Something moved in the corner of his eye, but in his weak state he was slow to respond. He finally managed to crane his neck to look. Nothing. Just shadows. With a wheezy sigh, he settled his head back to stare at the ceiling once more.

Burning gold eyes met his own.

His breath stuttered to a halt as he realized just who was looming over him.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum said, “Fondest greetings to you, dear brother, it’s been a while. Where should we begin? You and I, we were once inseparable. Oh, how quickly life can turn around.”

Somnus could only mutter silent denials to himself. Hallucination or ghost or whatever it may be, this was not his brother. He’s been dead and buried for decades.

“Why so silent? Did you think that I had left you for good?” The thing wearing his brother’s face leaned closer, those eyes fever-bright even as something dark lurked behind them.

“You’re just a memory,” Somnus said with a feeble shake of his head.

“Here I stand, left for dead,” the Ardyn look-alike sighed dramatically. His--it’s-- expression, which was exaggeratedly jovial until now, turned somber. “You turned this lie to truth. Will you own up or deny it?”

“The dead can’t speak,” insisted Somnus. “And there’s nothing left to say anyway.”

It continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You could never know what it’s like. My soul’s been withered and wisped away. It messes with your sanity by twisting all your thoughts away.”

The words ignited something in him, and Somnus forgot to dismiss the ghost. Filled with a long-forgotten strength, he spat, “You used to have a soul, but it died. You forgot all the things that are human.”

Ardyn shook a finger at him in a chiding gesture. “Shame on you. You don’t care what you’ve done, just keep on thinking it’s my fault.” A hand flashed out to grip his chin like a vice. “I am what you made me. I remain condemned and I will ever linger on the edge.”

Somnus hissed. “All that you are is the end of a nightmare. You challenged the gods and lost. Past the point of no return, lost in the darkness--”

The hand on his chin squeezed until his jaw creaked in protest. “Are you done? I think I’ve had enough of you rambling on and on.”

Demonic eyes bored into Somnus with increased intensity. “I want to know,” said Ardyn. “You got your glory. Was it worth the cost of breaking a family in two? Do your demons ever let you go?”

Somnus glared back with as much ferocity as he could muster. “You were only in my way.”

The look of false pity he received infuriated him. How dare this soulless creature mock him so? He had been burdened with a great purpose and had only done what needed to be done. The scourge-infected had needed to be wiped out, so he had done it. All to protect his future kingdom.

As though he could hear these thoughts, Ardyn shook his head and said, “Through your need to feel you're right, you're the savior of nothing.”

“I am a righteous man--”

“You’ve taken away everything,” interrupted Ardyn, strangely calm, like the eye of a storm. “I give you sweet revenge. I return this nightmare: a life for a life.”

“What can you do?” Somnus scoffed.

“Your number is up. Sorry, not sorry,” Ardyn said in feigned apology. His lips pulled back abruptly in a snarl. “Take all your deeds and rot in hell.”

The last thing Somnus saw was his brother’s starscourge gold eyes bleeding black.

more under the cut

Nyx understood at an early age that his dad was broken, so he did his best to keep things lighthearted and cheerful whenever his dad was able to visit. If he could keep his dad’s thoughts in the here and now, that meant less time spent dwelling on awful curses and past betrayals. He would let his dad take the first step if he wanted to talk.

The tale came in bits and pieces over the years, but always lacking a great bit of detail. It was a rare day when Ardyn actually spoke of the true impact of the betrayal, of the 2000 years spent wandering, undying.

So it came as a surprise when Ardyn brought it up suddenly one morning as they were watching the sunrise over Galahd.

“There is not much left of me,” he said, apropos of nothing.

Nyx turned to him questioningly, his concern all but radiating out of him.

“Nothing is real but pain now. Emptiness is filling me to the point of agony.” In spite of his dark words, Ardyn turned to smile at his son. “Whenever I am with you, you deliver me from the pain in my life. I can gain control because you’re mine.”

There was nothing that made Nyx happier than the knowledge that he was able to help his dad just by being around and being himself. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “Will this curse ever be broken?”

“I wonder… All my life I dream of the day it’s taken away.” Ardyn’s face twisted into that look of melancholy despair that Nyx hated. “Death would be an ample compensation, but heaven doesn’t want me.”

As much as he didn’t want to even consider the thought of his dad dying, he knew there was no one who deserved the chance to rest more than Ardyn. Privately, Nyx made a promise to himself. “I will fight this war for you,” he swore. Because he would do anything for his father. Anything at all to stop him from looking so worn down and hopeless.

Galahd fell and Nyx found himself joining the Kingsglaive in Insomnia. He also made a name for himself with his reckless heroics and his need to save as many as he could. However, it wasn’t until he was stuck on Citadel duty, close enough to feel the magic of the Crystal humming in his bones, that he considered it. It being a monumentally stupid idea, but one that was worth the potential payoff.

So one late night, when there weren’t many others around to take much notice of him, Nyx stood before the Crystal with the intent to have a chat with the Draconian. Nyx took a deep breath and steeled his nerves.

Before Nyx had the chance to speak a single word, a sword slammed into the floor between him and the Crystal, and in short order Bahamut materialized beside it. The Astrals voice echoes eerily as he spoke. “You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent.”

Well, that simplified things for Nyx. If Bahamut knew that much, then surely he was aware of just who his father was. Although, if he had known from the beginning, it was a little strange that he hadn’t done anything about it like Nyx and Ardyn had considered.

Nyx shoved the thought to the side as it wasn’t important right now. “Undo these chains,” he said simply. Bahamut would get his meaning.

The Draconian’s gaze on him felt like a physical weight. It was honestly a bit terrifying to be at the center of Bahamut’s attention, not that Nyx would admit to it. He had come here for one purpose and one alone; he wasn’t about to back down because of nerves.

“Give your soul to me for eternity,” Bahamut finally said.

“Is this the way it’s gotta be?” Nyx scoffed. Even if he was scared out of his wits, he wasn’t about to put up with Bahamut’s bullshit. He was willing to do anything, give up anything, for his father, but Ardyn would kill him if all Nyx did was land himself in the same boat.

“Not a hero unless you die.”

Nyx didn’t agree with that statement at all. Still, the Astral hadn’t smited him yet, so he’d push his luck to see if he could wrangle an actual deal out of this mess. “I am just a man, but my voice will be heard today. I fight to make a stand. If you wanna play it like a game, come on let's play.”

“Ignorant fool, lost within a world beyond your control,” Bahamut’s voice boomed. The Astral hefted his sword and pointed it straight at Nyx.

Agony coursed through him, as though his blood had turned to liquid fire, pulsing in time with his thundering heartbeat. Nyx crashed to his knees as the pain consumed him. Disjointed images flashed through his mind.

Nyx could barely focus as the Astral spoke once more. “You are forever changed. Fate will guide you to the end and there will be no hope. All will fade before your eyes.”

“I won’t let you win,” said Nyx, eyes gleaming in determination despite the pain. “I will not bow, I will not break. As the light begins to fade, when all hope begins to shatter, know that I won’t be afraid.”

Ardyn was definitely going to kill him for this, but it was worth it. Nyx knew what he had to do now. He could save them both.

...

So the first snippet is obviously Ardyn visiting Somnus on his deathbed. While not the full 2000 years until the main story timeline, Ardyn has still been cursed and undying long enough to be a little unhinged. Plus, the anger and betrayal is still pretty fresh, so that all influenced my portrayal of him. I didn’t initially plan this, but at the end Ardyn curses Somnus and I got this feeling that having the kings of Lucis bound to the Ring of the Lucii/the Crystal after their death was Ardyn’s fault.

Not really satisfied with the conversation with Bahamut, but by that point I was just done and sick of trying to find suitable lyrics. What I was trying to go for was Bahamut gives Nyx some impossible task and a curse of his own, and if he’s able to break it he can then break Ardyn’s.

...

Other snippets I wanted to write / song lyrics I wanted to use but then got too lazy:

Ardyn’s reaction and subsequent confrontation with Bahamut- Everyday that passes by I develop a new way to hate you. You may think you’re god, but I know you’re a pretender. I see through you and all your lies. You are everything that I despise.

Nyx trying to talk his dad out of doing something ridiculous and Ardyn’s just like- a little mayhem never hurt anyone

...

Songs used if anyone’s interested (listed in order of appearance, although some show up in multiple places in the snippets):

Masquerade/Why So Silent? - Phantom of the Opera, Who - Disturbed, My Sacrifice - Creed, Memory Motel - The Rolling Stones, Dance With the Devil - Breaking Benjamin, Harvester of Sorrow - Metallica, Tyrant - Disturbed, Chalk Outline - Three Days Grace, I’m Still Standing - Elton John, Withered - Atomship, Love Bites (So Do I) - Halestorm, Sorry Not Sorry - Gemini Syndrome, Shame on the Night - Dio, Sweating Bullets - Megadeth, The Pride - Five Finger Death Punch, Off With Her Head - Icon For Hire, Confrontation - Jekyll & Hyde, Planet Hell - Nightwish, Point of No Return - Phantom of the Opera, On Point - Gemini Syndrome, Strangers Like Me - Tarzan, Everybody Wants You - Billy Squier, Rainbow in the Dark - Dio, Just Like You - Three Days Grace, Savior of Nothing - Disturbed, Hellfire - Hunchback of Notre Dame, It’s Not Over - Daughtry, Here Comes Revenge - Metallica, New Sensation - INXS, Your Number is Up - Now and On Earth

One - Metallica, Fade to Black - Metallica, You’re Mine - Disturbed, Majesty - Now and On Earth, Mourning Star - Gemini Syndrome, All My Life - Foo Fighters, Torn in Two - Breaking Benjamin

The Devil in I - Slipknot, Close Your Eyes - Breaking Benjamin, The Kinslayer - Nightwish, Hero - Skillet, Crushcrushcrush - Paramore, The Mirror (Angel of Music) - Phantom of the Opera, Brave and the Bold - Disturbed, I.M. Sin - Five Finger Death Punch, I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin, Writing’s On the Wall - Sam Smith

#ffxv #ficlet #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia #somnus lucis caelum #nyx ulric #ardynson #bahamut #i don't know why my brain insisted i write this #song lyrics

17 notes · View notes

pixelatedfarmhouse · 5 years

Text

WIP Stardew AU

So, I’m in the middle of transferring all my word docs to google drive, as I lost access to MS Word after reinstalling my OS to fix a network issue. My regular Sambastian series is all good and safe (and my last chapter of STTA is done!), but I’ve also been moving my revisions/bonus scraps/other side projects, and I found this AU I’d been working on that I thought I could share a snippet of here.

My main jam when I’m not writing gay Stardew boys is writing paranormal creatures trying to live mundane, human lives, and after watching What We Do in the Shadows (an excellent film), I was inspired to write this au fic of Abby, Seb, and Sam trying to room together as different supernaturals. Obviously, it’s also a Sam/Sebastian love story.

I’m not currently planning on finishing/publishing this to ao3/ffn, but if it’s something anyone would actually be interested in reading more of, please let me know. I’d honestly be more likely to make an effort to finish it if I knew there was some actual interest in it.

I think that’s enough rambling, so please enjoy the one rough, but completed chapter I have under the cut!

The sound of a bottle hitting tiled floor wakes Sebastian up. He’s dressed and out of bed in seconds, sneaking towards the kitchen in the pitch black darkness of his tiny apartment. Turning on a light will give away that he’s home and besides, it’s not like he needs it – he has excellent night vision.

There’s definitely someone sitting in his kitchen, and Sebastian arms himself with the first object in reach – a frying pan.

“Hey, Seb,” the figure greets him, before he can creep any closer.

The kitchen is illuminated by a sudden burst of blue light, and Sebastian hisses, shielding his face with the frying pan.

“Nice weapon,” the voice continues. “What does a vampire need a frying pan for, anyways?”

He lowers the pan, and the blue glow lighting up his kitchen has dimmed considerably. Sebastian blinks, letting his eyes adjust, then frowns as he realizes who the purple-haired figure sitting at his kitchen table is.

“Get out.”

The woman pouts at him. “Don’t you remember me, Sebby?”

He does remember her, actually. They’d been… friends? Almost sixty years ago. Not particularly close friends – they’d mostly just had class together, but Abigail was pretty much the only kid who seemed to tolerate him. The last time he’d seen her (well, up until recently) she’d been twenty, and in town to visit her family on spring break. Fifty years passed, and then, four months ago, he’d run into her again, looking like she hadn’t aged a day since. Literally.

The purple hair was new, though.

“I know you do,” Abigail continues, because he’s yet to answer her. “You looked away as soon as we made eye contact. Obviously you were trying to avoid me – which is pretty hurtful, by the way, because I was super stoked to run into you again.”

“Really?” Sebastian asks. “Because most people tend to start running in the other direction once they figure out what I am.”

Abigail rolls her eyes. “Please, don’t go all Twilight on me; I think I might actually throw up.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot people love vampires. That’s why my family hasn’t spoken to me in years, right? Because they’re so proud of me.”

“Boohoo,” Abigail says, looking entirely unsympathetic, “mine are all dead.” She shrugs. “The life of being immortal, right?”

Sebastian sighs, and joins her at the kitchen table. “So are you going to tell me how the hell you achieved immortality? Obviously you’re not a vampire, since you entered without permission.”

“Well, at least you’re observant enough to pick up on that.” Abigail smirks at him. “Seriously? You’re not even going to question why your kitchen is glowing blue? You’re not at all concerned about that? I mean, I guess when you’re a seventy year old vampire you’ve seen some shit, but still…”

He frowns, first studying the glowing balls of blue light that are illuminating his kitchen, then the runes running up Abigail’s bare arms. “You’re a witch?” he guesses.

Abigail nods enthusiastically. “I took a few college courses on witchcraft… which led to me dropping out of college to start practicing witchcraft. I’m self-taught,” she boasts, smiling at him. There’s a pause, and then she continues, “This is nice, isn’t it? Catching up together? What about you, Sebby, what’s it like being a vampire?”

“How’d you even figure out I was a vampire?” Sebastian asks, ignoring her question. “There’s no way you could have guessed that from the five seconds of eye contact we made.”

“I might have done a little sleuthing,” Abigail admits.

“You mean stalking. You’ve been stalking me,” he clarifies. “What the fuck, Abby?”

She furrows her brow. “Look, it wasn’t hard to figure out something was up. I recognized you, you recognized me, and neither of us look like the seventy year olds we’re supposed to be. So, I did a little research. Followed you around for a while, to make sure I was right. Realized that you’re probably as lonely as I am, and I thought hey, maybe I should reach out.” She leans back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re a pretty hard guy to get a hold of, so things got a little illegal there. I’m not here to cause trouble, okay? I just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, you must be pretty lonely if you went through all that trouble just to talk,” Sebastian agrees, the corners of his mouth turning up into a tiny smirk.

“Shut up, idiot; I’m bored of being by myself for all eternity,” Abigail says, absently kicking at one of the table legs. “Let’s be friends again – we could room together! I’ve got this nice little cottage outside of town, very remote.”

“No thanks.”

Abigail raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because your apartment is a shithole.”

“Wow, that definitely changes my mind, thanks. Is this how you talked to all your friends? I’m not surprised I’m your only one.”

“Fuck off,” she says, grinning at him. “You don’t even try. I’m pretty sure being an asshole is your full time job… do you have a job, by the way? If you’re moving in to my place you bet your ass I’m gonna charge you rent.”

“I program,” he replies. “Gotta keep up with the times, you know?”

“Right, I can see that,” Abigail agrees. “Is that why you’re dressed like you just bought out a Hot Topic, or is it because you can’t see your reflection?”

“Have you seen what you’re wearing?” Sebastian fires back. “What’s your excuse?”

Abigail gives him a glare, and then looks down at her dress – lacy black, with a purple corset. “What? I look cute as fuck in this. Unlike you. Your eye makeup is smudged, by the way.”

“I just woke up,” he argues, “because somebody broke into my house.”

“You sleep fully clothed?”

“No, I just didn’t think fighting an intruder butt-fucking-naked was a good plan.”

Abigail shrugs. “I don’t know, I feel like that would give you the element of surprise. Who’d expect to stumble in on an angry, naked vampire? It’d probably confuse them long enough for you to go in for the kill.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time you show up.”

“Well, it’s actually the last time I’ll be showing up, because you’re moving in with me,” Abigail replies. “I was serious about that offer; this place is a dump, and I’m lonely as fuck. Dealing with your grumpy ass for the rest of eternity is better than having no one at all.”

Sebastian hesitates. “I’m not interested in a... romantic thing. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Sebby,” Abigail says, looking amused, “I followed you around for four months… I’ve noticed that you prefer men. Also? You’re not my type. Gross.”

He relaxes, relieved to hear that she’s not interested in anything more than friendship. “So, theoretically, if I were to move in, how would that work?” Sebastian asks, pulling at the drawstrings on his hoodie. “I’d need to be close enough to civilization that I could still feed.”

“I’m out in cottage country, sort of? You know the Stardew Valley area? It’s not as big as the city, but it’s a popular vacation area. Lots of tourists in the summer, and a reasonable amount in the winter. I don’t know how much blood you need to feed, exactly, but I imagine it’d be easier to drain a few people with the help of magic.”

“So you’re cool with maiming and the occasional killing?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, what are friends for?” Abigail grins. “Good friends will lie about a body, but best friends will help you exsanguinate and bury it, right?” She leans forward, propping her arms on the table. “Anyways, I’ll let you have the basement. It’s pretty big, actually; lots of room for you to sulk around and do your dark bidding. No windows, either, so you don’t have to be cooped up in your coffin all day.”

Sebastian scowls. “I don’t sleep in a fucking coffin.”

“We’ll find you one anyways,” Abigail promises. “It’ll fit in nicely with your aesthetic.”

Sebastian sighs, glancing over at the time on the stove. It’s seven in the evening – has Abigail eaten yet? Should he offer her something? He feels like he should, even if she did break and enter. “Do you want something to eat? I think it’s pretty clear you’re not going to leave me alone for the rest of the night... or the rest of eternity.”

“Oh, do you have food here?” Abigail perks up. “I thought about poking through your fridge while I was waiting, but I didn’t want to disappoint myself if it was full of blood jars, or whatever you keep.”

“Well yes, I generally like to feed my food before they feed me… and I keep it in bottles, thanks, that’s way classier.”

“Really? Because that’s frat boy aesthetic. I keep my blood samples in jam jars.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you need blood samples for? You entertain a lot of vampires or something?” Sebastian smirks. “Or do you like to draw little blood circles around your luigi board while you chant?”

“It’s called an ouija board. And there’s no chanting involved, dumbass.”

“Right,” Sebastian says, as he stands up to rummage through his fridge. “Your quiche board. Got it.”

“Idiot,” Abigail mutters, though it sounds oddly affectionate. “Hey, wash that frying pan before you use it – I don’t know where it’s been, but I think I have a pretty good idea of what you do with that.”

#stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley sebastian #stardew valley abigail #stardew valley sam

29 notes · View notes

hellas-himself · 6 years

Text

Where There Are Shadows Pt.9

Writing this was fun, but also kind of... hard?

Coming out (I am queer AF to begin with) has never been easy for me, even with my loved ones. There’s always that thought that they’ll change. I’m lucky to have amazing people in my life. So a lot of that experience went into this.

-Feyre-

We were both trying to catch our breath, and I laughed, rolling on my side. Rhys put an arm around me, pulling me close to him. “The floor is all wet,” I said. He’d carried me from the tub and to the bed. How he had not slipped and fallen was beyond me.

“I don’t care,” he said softly. He was exhausted. With good reason.

“Hm… I guess I really don’t either.” It was worth it. I closed my eyes, sleep wasn’t far off.

“Feyre… Can I ask you something?”

I nodded, eyes still closed.

“Have you ever… looked at another female and found her to your liking?”

“I’m an artist Rhys, I find beauty in everyone.”

I thought he was going to drift off to sleep, but he rephrased his question.

“Have you ever desired a female?”

I opened my eyes and adjusted myself so that I was looking at him. He looked so sad, confused. And through our bond, I felt an overwhelming fear of rejection. I reached out to brush his hair away from his face.

“Why do you ask?”

“Have you?”

“I don’t know. I guess being with you, I’ve never thought about it.”

He looked away from me. And that was when it hit me, all his teasing, the reason he felt no threat to Lucien’s love for me-

“Rhys, are you attracted to males?”

From the look on his face, the mortification in our bond- I knew the answer. I sat up, gently pulling on his arm so he would sit with me. But he wouldn’t look at me.

“I am,” he said, painfully. As if that would make me question his love for me.

“Rhysand, do you have any idea how honored I am that you would trust me with this?”

He finally looked at me. “I suppose… The fact that your beloved fox has these feelings for you… I just thought that-”

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. He was nervous, in a way I’d never known him to feel. So I took his hand in mine. How could I love him, want him any less?

“I’ve never said yes,” I said quietly, “Because Helion was an absolute no.” That brought out a laugh from him. The thought of sleeping with Lucien’s father… I shook the thought from my mind. “Cassian and Azriel… I would find it very hard to believe you three have never… Well, maybe not after Mor… but before that.”

Rhys chuckled and I saw him blush.

“But, they’ve got enough to deal with, with both my sisters. I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

“So you would have said yes?” Some of the playfulness returned to his voice, his demeanor. And I smacked his arm. We both laughed.

“Maybe,” I said, my face so hot I imagined I was crimson. I couldn’t even fathom being tangled between the three of them, how it would feel. I would probably die from it. And by the look on Rhys’ face, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“But that’s not the point.”

Rhys pulled me close to him. “No?”

I shook my head. “Is this what you want Rhys?”

He stilled. I caressed his face, Rhys closing his eyes and sighing.

“Let’s try it,” I said. He looked at me in disbelief. “If this is what you want, I want to- need to- give you the chance to have it.”

His voice was shaken. “But the fox is in love with you. And we don’t know his… preferences.”

“But if he got to know you, the real you… At worst, we walk away from this as friends who probably know far too much about each other.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes at me. “At best, you both can have what you want. And nothing would make me happier.”

Rhys considered me for a moment. “Do you desire him?”

“I…” My mind went straight to that night on the Summer Solstice, when Tamlin had found us together in his room. How it had felt for him to hold me, comfort me. “I don’t know.”

“Are you certain you feel alright with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I love you, Rhysand. For all that you are.”

He pulled me in his arms and kissed me so fervently that I barely had time to notice the tears that lined his eyes. Because I accepted him, and he had feared I wouldn’t have. And I would give him more than words, I would show him that I did.

Hours later, I stood on the balcony at the House, looking over Velaris. When Rhys had first brought me here, I’d met my family, even if hadn’t known it then. Cas had offered to invite everyone to his home for dinner, to let Rhys and I have the townhouse to ourselves, but I felt this place was perfect for what we meant to do. What we were going to ask.

I was unnecessarily adjusting the plates when I heard them arrive. The sound of Rhys landing, Lucien’s irritated voice followed by my mate’s laughter. I looked at them from where I was standing by the head of the table. Lucien was running his fingers through his fiery hair.

And he was wearing black.

Rhys placed a hand on Lucien’s shoulder, guiding him inside. I had never really seen Lucien dressed in black finery. Only in green, in blue and the occasional grey. It suited him.

Rhys approached me, greeting me with a soft kiss, but still holding a promise for something more. I couldn’t help but blush, couldn’t help but smile. Even when Lucien looked at me, as if he had never really seen me before.

“You look beautiful Feyre,” he said softly. My hair was pinned into a loose knot, allowing for some curls to fall naturally, a hairstyle I wore sometimes to paint. My dress, which Rhys has suggested I wear, was lilac. Though it lacked the jewels and beading that most of my gowns had, it was far from simple. The top, separated from the high waisted skirt, had no sleeves, my tattoos on full display. And the fabric was sheer over the low plunge of my neckline. Then there was the back of the top; that was completely bare.

“Thank you,” I said, forcing myself to move from where I stood. I gave him a hug, and when his arms came around me, I felt the surprise at touching bare skin and he quickly broke our embrace. Rhys was wise enough not to laugh.

I guided Lucien to his chair, and then walked over to where Rhys was waiting for me. I felt Lucien’s eyes on me as I walked towards my mate who pulled out the chair. Who leaned over to place both hands on my shoulders and press a kiss to my cheek. And then he sat across from Lucien.

We poured each other wine, passed around the various trays of food. I hated the quiet, the formality of this. I was wishing that we were in the townhouse, sitting on the floor by the fire. I could easily picture it, the three of us lounging about, maybe with books. Or sweets. Or both. I saw Rhys being an arrogant prick and Lucien meeting that arrogance with sarcasm and wit, while I ignored them both, content. Happy. But if I wanted that, whatever that meant, it wouldn’t come from silence.

I finished what was left of my wine.

“So, Lucien,” I said, feeling utterly nervous and wishing I hadn’t spoken at all. “I wanted to thank you for joining us.”

He set down his fork and knife. “Thank you for inviting me. Both of you.”

“The House is not usually where we like to spend our time,” Rhys said, “But there are matters to discuss that we felt were better spoken in private.”

I gave him a grateful smile before I looked at Lucien.

“I know that I’ve asked a lot from you,” I said to him. “But I don’t want you to think for one moment that your feelings aren’t being considered.”

He looked at me, and that mechanical eye seemed to see right through me.

“The fact of the matter is, Lucien, that you love my mate,” Rhys said. “And that has opened up… an opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

Rhys looked at me and through our bond, I could feel his hesitation. I reached out and placed my hand over his. It’s alright, I said to him, there is nothing to be ashamed of.

He looked at Lucien, who seemed just as curious, just as anxious to hear whatever it was Rhys was trying to say.

“For some time now, I have entertained the idea of bringing someone else to…,” he paused to look at me and what I saw in his eyes set my blood on fire. “To join us.”

“Join you how, exactly?”

“In bed.”

“A male?” Lucien asked, brow raised.

“Male, female- I’ve no qualms with either, so as long as Feyre is also in agreement.”

Lucien poured more wine into his cup and drank it all as fast as he could.

“So, what you are saying is…,” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “What are you asking me?” His question was directed at both of us. I wasn’t sure Rhys was going to speak again. But I knew what he wanted, I could feel it as real as my own desires.

“I’ve asked you to stay with me, Lucien. Here. In Velaris. With us,” I said, motioning between Rhys and myself. “To get to know one another. And maybe… maybe Rhys and I could have what we’ve wanted. And so could you.” There was pride, and sheer gratitude down the bond.

“You’re mated,” Lucien said, his voice like gravel.

“You would have my blessing to court Feyre, if that is what she wants.” Rhys’ words made my heart flutter. “And if you share the same preference as I do, I suppose I would have incredible luck.”

He considered Rhys for a moment. “You hardly tolerate me.”

Rhys shrugged. “You are pretty enough.”

I glared at him until Lucien laughed. Wholehearted, unabashed laughter. I couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh that way, so freely. It made me smile.

“What do you say, fox?” Rhys asked once Lucien had sobered down.

“Am I to be your mistress, Rhysand?”

I tried really hard not to laugh.

Rhys smirked. “A mistress implies infidelity.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched. He drank a little more wine.

“Is this what you really want, Feyre?” Lucien asked, and I heard it in his voice. He was afraid I was going to reject him, too. How could they think I would push them away?

“I don’t know, Lucien,” I said honestly. I felt my heart ache at the thought of him leaving. “I only know that when you’re gone, it feels like something is missing. And knowing how you feel about me… knowing how Rhys feels… If there is any chance that this could work, I’m willing to try.”

Lucien leaned back against his seat, the expression on his face unreadable. Rhys was staring at nothing, nowhere. The only sound I heard were their racing hearts, and the wind outside.

Lucien’s voice broke the silence. “What do I tell Elain?”

“Elain,” I said, feeling nervous speaking of my sister. “Elain has been forgiven so… easily, and I’m guilty of that. But she if she wants nothing to do with you, why does it matter?”

Rhys looked at me with surprise, but I felt pride through our bond. I knew that Rhys treated Elain far different than he did Nesta, and I knew that I had to stop making excuses for my sister, both of them. If I was bothered that Elain rejected Lucien… I had to acknowledge how terribly Nesta treated Cas. At least Elain was quiet. Nesta was… I sighed. I would deal with that another time.

“Then I accept,” Lucien said softly. “Both of you.”

“Are you certain?” Rhys asked, as if all of this were a dream.

“Only if I have a say on how those tattoos of yours work. If I see one gods damned flower, I’m pushing you over that balcony.”

Rhys burst into laughter.

I looked at my arms, at the tattoos that symbolized my bond with Rhys, my agreement with Bryaxis, and the promise I had made with Rhysand that no one else was privy to.

“I accept,” I said quietly, although both males heard me. I was still looking at my tattoos, and the thought of sharing one with Lucien and Rhys… It made me feel warm, it felt right.

“I accept as well,” Rhys said and that was when I looked away from my tattoos, and up at him. He smiled, holding out his hand to me. As I took his hand, I turned to Lucien and reached out to him.

And then we all felt it, the physical proof of whatever this bond between us was, what it would become. I let go of their hands once the sting of it passed, and slightly lifted up my shirt enough to see the sun and moon together in intricate black lines, reminiscent of the lines on my arms- but no flowers. They sat right below my left breast, on the ribs. By the way Lucien and Rhys pressed a hand to their chests, I knew theirs sat in the same place. I let go of my shirt and smiled.

“I suppose you won’t be pushing me off the balcony,” Rhys said rather smug.

“Maybe not tonight,” Lucien replied which only made Rhys laugh.

“You two are insufferable,” I said and though they both laughed at me, I felt inexplicably happy.

#fucking finally right #where there are shadows #part nine #feyre x rhys x lucien #feyrhycien #fanfic #acofas #rolling in this trash #acotar #acomaf #acowar #sjmaas #where there are shadows pt9

42 notes · View notes