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pokelolmc · 5 months

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The Ultimate Enemy is a Disappointment (and How I'd Fix It) (Part 1)

A couple years back, I started analysing a list of DP episodes I thought had missed potential--and my analysis on TUE got SO big I made it its own thing. I rewrote it to death and could never settle on something concise enough, so I abandoned it. But I'm BACK baby. I can't remember where it is now, but I came across a poll on whether Reign Storm or TUE is the better special and the discourse reignited my passion for this analysis, and gave me motivation to trim off some of the fat.

Don't get me wrong, at the end of the day I do like this episode--or at least its ideas. I really liked the episode the less I thought about it, but now I see issue after issue in its execution. Hence, the "disappointment": it could've been great, but it missed the mark. This won't just be a one-sided roast of TUE, though. I have a ton of cool ideas for how to rewrite plot holes or fill in the gaps. The best roasts are constructive! (Though I would be rewriting it in a more mature fashion compared to canon's writing--keep that in mind).

Part 2 is now up: you can find it here.

So here we go: Part 1--the general plot contrivances/contradictions unrelated to Dan's character or the time travel system.

The episode introduced taking off the Time Medallions as a way to immediately return to one’s native time period, but then forgot this late into the second act.

Technically this plot hole involves time travel devices, but I'm counting it as a plot hole by character decisions.

The episode gives no explicit rules on lag time between removing the medallion and returning home, but it takes only one to two seconds to return Skulktech to the future after they dropped theirs, and it had to have been instant for Sam and Tucker to return to the past in time to escape rubble falling from FentonWorks (which was only roughly two to three stories high, not counting the Ops Centre).

Danny should’ve been sent back almost instantly when Dan took his medallion off—which would’ve completely defeated the purpose of Dan’s attempt to trap Danny there in the first place.

If they wanted to keep the plot point, they could’ve just had Dan grab the medallion and turn it intangible while it’s still around Danny’s neck…and that’s assuming that making it intangible while Danny’s still tangible doesn’t count as “removal”. That’s it. He never needed to remove it to begin with.

2. The Nasty Sauce explosion just…sucks. In my opinion, it’s too silly for the tone the episode’s trying to go for (and as a cause of major character death), and it wrecks the worldbuilding.

I tried to put it in way more verbose ways in my previous drafts, but I found another post somewhere on tumblr that did what I couldn’t—say it in three words:

“It’s just stupid.”

Assuming that semi-realistic laws exist in-place in the Danny Phantom universe (so it’s BASICALLY similar to ours) the Nasty Burger shouldn’t have been able to stay in business without a LOT of red tape, cover-ups and NDA’s. They had an explosive substance on premises, being taken care of by unqualified, minimum-wage part-timers instead of trained chemical safety specialists. Forget handling it, they shouldn’t have even had it in the first place! If they got it by going UNDER the law and covering everything up, then one of their employees shouldn’t have been able to just CONFESS to it at a public school assembly.

It also sounds ridiculous that a “certain combination of secret herbs and spices” could catastrophically combust in the first place. They could’ve made the explosion ghost-powered/altered; they could’ve made it not the sauce itself, but a pressure issue with its containment vats; they could’ve made it a gas leak or malfunction of cooking equipment starting a fire, or something. They could’ve made the explosion a Fenton invention at their home (where the whole family had reason to be at once, and Mr Lancer could hold the parent-teacher conference there like in Teacher of the Year). They've used more serious threats of explosion in previous episodes (like the Ecto-Filtrator in Million Dollar Ghost).

And instead they decided “Yep! This commonly sold and digested sauce is a dangerous explosive, and even a small handout serving is enough to blow clean through a wall when it’s heated up!” This is how we're going to kill all of the main characters' loved ones to send him on a villain arc!

Like what?

Nowhere else after TUE did the show acknowledge the Nasty Sauce in worldbuilding. There were no consequences of its risk being publicly revealed, nor did it ever pose a hazard again. It’s understandable, given the show’s episodic nature. Bu at least in The Ultimate Enemy itself, they should've thought about how it affected most of the previous episodes.

During his fight with Boxed Lunch, one of Danny's ectoblasts to a sauce packet demolishes an entire section of wall in the Nasty Burger. So how hadn’t any ghost fights ignited any Nasty Sauce before—or damaged the main vat, god forbid—and caused an explosion already?

If the sauce was always a part of the Nasty Burger’s recipe, then the entire restaurant was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off since season one, and nothing short of a miracle could explain why it hadn’t happened before.

3. This episode committed character assassination of Mr Lancer, for the sake of setting up stakes in the plot. And contradicted his personality changes in previous episodes (such as “Teacher of the Year”).

Mr Lancer, in my opinion, is the character done the single dirtiest in the episode. It warps his entire character around the plot, and turns him into a contrived mouthpiece for how important the CAT is. It leaves him even more malicious and mean-spirited than his behaviour in the first episode of the entire show—leaving him even worse than he started.

He didn’t have much character development, but there were some more positive changes happening in his personality as later episodes occurred. He started out as a selfish, corrupt authority figure (think Mystery Meat, Fright Night and other S1 episodes where he deliberately lets the jocks off the hook for their behaviour), but unwittingly acts in favour of the main characters in “Fanning the Flames”—although ineffective and easily taken down by Ember.

By the time of “Teacher of the Year”, we finally got a glimpse into his (albeit scant) ideology as a teacher around helping his students succeed, and his concern for Danny’s failing grades.

It even revealed his personal interest in Doomed, which gave him more in common with Danny and Tucker and humanised him in way a few other episodes hadn’t. Season two even demonstrated his (albeit brief) willingness to stand up and defend his students from a ghost attack in “Memory Blank”. Lancer, for a brief period of time, became more than just his job, book title swears and his frustration with rebellious students.

We're talking about the teacher who, in the early 2000s, kept a picture of himself crossdressing at school to convince his students to try their best with a "story about his sister".

The Ultimate Enemy, however, took Mr Lancer’s humanity towards the students—particularly Danny—and flipped it all on its head. It turned him into an elitist, mean-spirited asshole who verbally attacked his students (past and present) based on their performances on this single. Fucking. Test.

They made Mr. “there is no cheat code in school, or in life” Lancer into a cruel enforcer of the hamfisted and childish importance of the CAT. Actual “get rich vs dead-end, minimum-wage job” propaganda.

(Teacher of the Year)

And... one season later:

(that sure sounds like a cheat code in life to me)

To add insult to injury, TUE used Lancer’s death as the butt of a joke directly after spending the majority treating him like a total asshole—following up character assassination with literal assassination , and excluding him from the rest of the explosion victims in their memorial.

It feels to me, that it'd make more sense for Mr Lancer to be sceptical of the importance of the CAT based on TOTY. Replace him in the assembly with Principal Ishiyama or something. A stickler-for-the-rules school administrator looking to boost the school's image by pressuring kids on a standardised test? That ABSOLUTELY makes sense.

Mr Lancer could still be seen as a threat (or someone Danny can't reach out to for help), but in the department of simply being an authority figure Danny's used to dodging around with his ghost activities. Someone who'd still enforce consequences for Danny getting caught cheating. Someone who'd get his parents involved. He's the closest thing Danny could have to any level of support at Casper High, and Danny could think he's even lost THAT.

4. The way Danny got the CAT answers was contrived, and broke the previously established rules of ghost intangibility.

To cut a long story short, Boxed Lunch’s fight with Danny shouldn’t have gotten the test answers stuck to Danny’s back. Danny immediately turned intangible in anticipation of the explosion, and was thrown outside the Nasty Burger and through Mr. Lancer’s briefcase before turning tangible again.

That didn’t make sense; the series previously established that ghosts (in this case, halfas) were physically unaffected by explosions when intangible. “Million-Dollar Ghost” even demonstrated it when Vlad escaped his castle’s explosion in the same manner, and was left completely unmoved from his position at ground zero. The sauce packet explosion shouldn’t have even moved Danny out of place, let alone flung him out of the building (especially not compared to Vlad and an Ecto-filtrator explosion).

On top of that, the test answers couldn’t have gotten stuck to his back while he passed through the suitcase, as Danny was intangible and the answers sheet was solid. Even if it were possible for already intangible ghosts to grab onto tangible objects and bring them into intangibility, that’d certainly require conscious intention that Danny didn’t have in the episode. The test answers got stuck to his back by sheer accident on his part. Bringing other objects into tangibility always previously involved a tangible ghost grabbing hold of other tangible people/objects and consciously willing them intangible together. Ergo, he should’ve simply passed through the suitcase and its contents all at once—go to the other side, pass go, do not collect CAT cheat sheet.

The solution for this one is pretty simple—just remove the scene entirely. Not only does it break the lore, but it’s entirely pointless and redundant (more on that later when I talk about Clockwork—giving Danny the answers was his idea, and it was a terrible one). Instead, it would’ve been much more compelling if Danny stole the answers on purpose with his ghost powers—being put under so much pressure to succeed that he felt like he had to forgo his morals and use his powers to cheat.

#danny phantom #the ultimate enemy #danny fenton #dp rewrite #tue analysis #10 dp episodes with missed potential

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littlecherryhuanlin · 1 year

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A Tale of a Lonely Heart- Na Jaemin

You may like: Ghost of You with Nakamoto Yuta

Disclaimer: Here is the prequel to "Love at Dawn", first I would like to apologize to those who had to wait so long for this, second this is not what I wanted to be delivering to you, u see I had a completely different story ready in Dec (I wrote on my phone and went directly to my drafts on the computer while reviewing and I was stupid enough to delete the backup since I would post it the next morning), for some reason Tumblr ate my drafts and I ended up losing not only the og version of this but also everything that was there, I'm not proud of this work, but I still hope u guys enjoy it.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Jaemin POV, but also contains the use of bad words, descriptive content, mentions of alcohol, kinda angst, short mention about Jeno's bed, angry behavior, Jaemin crying, fluff if you squint

Jaemin liked to keep his feet on the ground when it came to serious matters, despite the mixed image people had of the boy due to the near-bipolar discrepancy in his personality, everyone agreed that Jaemin was a carefree guy: unable to mind anything that wasn't on his priority list, which led to the belief that he wasn't a big fan of relationships, as his owns rarely lasted more than a few weeks.

What nobody knew, however, was that for him love was a very serious matter; the tales of souls carefully chosen to share the beauty of life with the children of the moon were universal, and having grown up listening closely to all the stories about how the imprint was the most precious thing in a werewolf's life, there was nothing he wanted more than find his mate and settling down, his short relationships being solely derived from the fact that none of the girls on campus were her.

And yet, he was completely taken aback when he saw her for the first time, things around him slowly losing focus as her scent completely overpowered his senses, his thoughts fading away and being replaced exclusively and immediately by her, a strange heat slowly rising through his body consuming every inch of his being, he even thought he would die trapped in the intoxicating sensation that took over his heart, the one that seemed to be on the verge of collapse the closer she got and before he even realized it, he was knocked down by the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life, his imprint.

Say that he had to hold back when she stopped in front of him would be an understatement, he violently fought the urge to get up and wrap his arms around her, which caused him to stare at the ground as Donghyuck introduced her as his best friend, obviously, her existence was no secret to any of them: Haechan spoke of the girl at every opportunity since the beginning of the school year, gradually making everyone extremely curious about the mysterious YN - being the means the boy used to keep her hidden from the group for half a year a secret to everyone.

Jaemin was so out of his mind that Jeno was the one to introduce him quickly, thank goodness the boys were too entertained with her to notice his strange behavior.

Unable to say anything, he just watched discreetly as the girl animatedly chatted with the boys about things he couldn't even understand. He was too busy trying to put himself in order to recognize any sound around him, everything has became a blur and he was no longer lucid, he would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of the situation, he was terrified, trying all the time to calm down before he had a heart attack.

Jaemin was never really able to speak properly to her, not the second or third or any of the times that followed over the next year, little by little he managed to answer back, but for some reason, everything that came out of his mouth sounded like snarling attacks and the more time passed the more "what ifs" occupied the boy's mind as the unfriendly tension between YN and him grew. Slowly the hopes he had upon the relationship with the one he had imprinted on disappeared, and despite the frown that he put on every time he was around the girl the feeling that had taken over him the first time they met never really disappeared.

Although he considered himself a strong guy, there were moments that Jaemin had broken because of her, like the first time she spent the night in the house he shared with Jeno, Haechan and Renjun:

The first time the boys totally lost control around her (which, to Jaemin's dismay, only meant one thing: she was one of them now) and she ended up having to stay the night because everyone was too drunk to do anything, imagine Jaemin's surprise the next morning when he opened his best friend's bedroom door only to find the girl tangled up in his covers while Jeno was passed out on the couch next to her.

Jaemin drove for four hours straight, he realized at that moment that not only Haechan -to say that he had grown to hate his friend a bit would be more than adequate; their closeness disgusted him, Haechan and YN understood each other so deeply that the boy often doubted the veracity of the supposed connection he allegedly has with her- was a threat, but all of them, other than that, he couldn't help but dislike her at that moment not only for showing up in his life but for also stealing his friends.

Even though Jaemin wanted to hate the girl he found himself completely in love with her, so in love that the next time he broke down- so badly- over her was also the first time one of the boys found out who she was to him:

YN had a boyfriend, the news that Haechan shared so excitedly with the group while making fun of YN brought immediate tears to the boy's eyes, his heart squeezed so hard that Jaemin thought he was going to pass out, he was so busy trying to breathe properly that he couldn't he noticed his friends entering the library much less Mark approaching him worriedly. Fortunately, the older boy managed to drag Jaemin to the back of the building and patiently waited while he calmed down, however, the moment Nana noticed the sad and surprised expression on his friend's face he knew that the pieces had fallen into place for Mark and his secret was no longer so secret.

When her relationship finally ended Jaemin found himself having mixed feelings: he was happy that she was single, but hell, he hated to see her sad and was ready to kill whoever made her cry, in the end, Mark had to convince him that broke Hyunjin's face was not a good idea.

At a certain point, Jaemin found himself rooting for the end of any minimal relationship that the girl had with any man outside their circle - it was difficult, but the boy was proud of having reached an agreement on the closeness of YN and the boys: he decided that he would be happy that she had true friends who would always take care of her instead of hating his friends for it - on the other hand, the more time passed, the more he questioned whether the girl's permanence in his life was, in fact, a good thing: at the same time that he loved her, he hated the way his heart always seemed to be torn apart because of her.

Please do not copy or translate any of my works, all creative work is copyrighted and therefore plagiarism is a crime.

#nct scenarios #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream #nct dream reactions #nct dream jaemin #nct reactions #nct werewolf #nct dream fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #nct fic #nct u #jaemin

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magicalara · 1 year

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Silence

"The complete absence of sound"

Aka, I wrote Akutagawa having a breakdown while I myself was having a breakdown. Needless to say, this is probably a bit ooc as I haven't gone through my analyzing everything about bsd stage yet, just sayin'. This is not proof read at all btw

TW: breakdown, mention of guns, trauma in general

Silence.

Pronounced as two syllables, "si" and "lence", it is defined as the "complete absence of sound."

Logically speaking, sitting in a room all alone would be the best way to channel this silence. In the center of an empty room aside from the furniture still just as bare as the day they became trapped within the plain walls along with him, it should be the epitome of silence.

And yet, there they remained, unwilling to give him peace.

The silence he so longed for as he sat straight up, feet neatly tucked below him was just out of reach. The perfect setting; the perfect time; the absolutely disastrous mind.

Eyes glazed over, looking but not seeing, he sat there for what felt like years but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. He waited for the silence to arrive: inwardly impatient, but outwardly frozen in time. It was right there. He could feel it; feel it like the draft that flowed in through the open window; feel it like the strands of hair blocking his vision; feel it like the rapid beating of his heart, he could feel it just out of reach.

So he continued to wait.

He knew what the logical solution that anyone would tell him would be: listening to them. Indulging them until they got bored of playing with him. It would be a logical solution, yes, however, an inevitably reckless one as well, for he knew that making such a decision would just start the roll of the dice. A gamble of his mind. Who would win: it was impossible to tell.

Thus, the torturous purgatory between sweet indulgence and clarifying silence would be where he remained.

Ha- "where."(Not even two minutes into the stalemate and he had already seemed to have succumb to them. Oh well- it was just a delay of the inevitable, anyways.)

That stupid weretiger that they couldn't shut up about- for better or for worse. It wasn't the being itself- no, even if he was clueless and insufferable at times, it was never actually him- but rather the role he played: the role that he was supposed to fill, not that animal that was chosen instead. The stupid feline couldn't even control his own abilities so what was it that made him so much better?

Obedience? Righteousness? Power? Or was it something else entirely?

Was he just simply not enough?

Yes- that had to be it.

If the man he had idolized so much for so long was able to treat that idiot so well, able to change his ways to turn a bullet straight to the head to an encouraging pat on the back, it just meant that he was never worth changing for.

And could he really blame him?

It's not like he was the best subordinate one could ask for, after all. One who carried out each job flawlessly and with no issues at all, who obeyed all orders without a word of defiance, who stood patient, ready and waiting for his next sentence. He wasn't that. He'd never be that.

Pathetic, they called him.

Good for nothing. Useless. Incapable. Hell, you even dragged your sister, the one you were supposed to protect, into this mess. But you can't protect anyone- not yourself and certainly not her.

Louder and louder they got, listing all his failures, all his wrongdoings, all that he couldn't do.

Loveless. You're not worthy like the others are.

At some point during all this, he started to cry, the salty tears wetting his lips, stinging where he had chewed them raw. It gave him enough of a ground to reality to shift his eyes into focus and notice the pure darkness that surrounded him. Too dark to simply be night, no, this darkness was self-inflicted; a punishment to disorientate him further and remind him how truly alone he was.

What would you need to know your surroundings for if no one is to come for you?, they came back to remind him.

And they were right. No one was coming to save him (you wouldn't be worthy of it even if they did). No one would even think to look in his direction. He was the mafia's dog: meant to sit there and be a good boy on his leash until the day he could no longer be revived and beat down again and again and again. That was all he was and that was all he'd ever be.

The darkness persisted for the next few hours.

He felt the tears as they ran down his face and heard them echo in his chamber of despair, roaring like thunder that he tried to convince himself was just outside and not there with him. He sat and cried like the pathetic runt he was. He and them: it was the endless cycle he was made to endure, and endure it he shall.

It wasn't until the morning sun finally peaked out from the horizon that he finally, finally, would feel what he had longed for since he first entered the room. The complete absence of sound as he sat all alone, as he always would be.

Blissful silence.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #akutagawa #ryuunosuke akutagawa #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #dazai #atsushi nakajima

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it.

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends.

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart.

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years.

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same.

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin.

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence.

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony.

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed.

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living.

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again.

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it.

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that.

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again.

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him.

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears.

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book.

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails."

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down.

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed.

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly.

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here."

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying."

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred.

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks.

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury.

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move.

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting."

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top.

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks.

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few.

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so.

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief.

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading.

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks.

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive.

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks.

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?"

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void.

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this."

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you."

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace.

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you.

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing.

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him."

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen.

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void.

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying.

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors.

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible?

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless.

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air.

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?"

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?"

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?"

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance.

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me."

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded.

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just-

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss.

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto-

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve.

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition.

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice.

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years.

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.”

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.”

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.”

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur.

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay.

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost.

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears.

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement.

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!”

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands.

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.”

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person.

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right?

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy.

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes.

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot.

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust.

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy.

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin.

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction.

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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ameliterature · 3 years

Text

Neil and Todd Jealousy POV (Yes, there's more)

Charlie POV | Cameron POV

Neil was an only child and this obviously came with minor character flaws. Not only was he given all of the attention by his parent (even if it was the bad kind) Neil never really had to share anything.

Not that he didn't want to share. He just never had many opportunities to, with the lack of siblings and all. The closest he had to a sibling was Charlie. Unlike Neil, Charlie would share everything with him because he had so much to give. Was it the fact that Charlie's family was rich and that he has at least 3 of each item? Maybe, but Charlie was sure to share what he had with his best friend.

Another thing Neil "the Welton Golden boy" Perry had as a flaw was that he simultaneously wore his heart on his sleeve and yet always tried to hide his feelings. Case in point: when Charlie made a move on Todd.

Now, it's only been roughly 2 semesters since they've known Todd Anderson. Neil had the gracious chance to be his roommate, so in some way, it was like having another best friend aside from Charlie. But what he felt for Todd was vastly different from his friendship with Charlie. Something about the way Todd smiled at him, something about the way he makes sarcastic remarks, something about the way they shared glances between each other every now and then.

Neil was completely enthralled by Todd. Some might say to the point of being possessive. Neil would say protective because Todd was the kind of person who needed to be kept safe. Todd wasn't good at standing up for himself, he wasn't good at speaking the same way he wrote poems. Neil took it upon himself to be the one to make Todd feel the included. He had to be included, he had to be where Neil was.

Thankfully the whole Dead Poet Society thing worked out well, Neil was surprised how well Todd was integrated into the group. They even spent Christmas break as a group with Todd. Things were going great between him and Todd, Neil couldn't ask for more than to share his experiences with Todd.

But one night, a regular ole Study group session, something caught Neil's eyes. Todd was helping Knox out with some love poem, obviously meant for Chris, and he could hear the contents of the poem.

"Hymns from above casted when you're near

Heaven's light shine atop a golden-haired angel

My heart's full of whims and vivid dreams

but in your presence they're obligations I hold close

Be mine and I'll keep your heart guarded

Because mine is with yours, unthwarted."

Neil hears Todd recite their draft poem, hearing it as if it were meant for him to hear. His own golden-haired angel was biting the end of his pencil as Knox was scribbling the rest of the poem. Neil catches himself staring just before Todd looks up at him so he brings his attention back to the trigonometry problem he was answering with Cameron.

He couldn't concentrate on sine, cosine, and tangents at the moment, not when Todd's hand is in his peripheral view; all perfect with it's blemishes and tapping to an imaginary beat. Every so often, he'd steal a glance at Todd's eyes, darting back and forth from his paper to Knox's. He'd be jealous of any pupil Todd would eventually have if he became an English teacher. To be consulted with his sweet voice, to be seated by him as he explains anything, to be taught how to express feelings he wasn't sure how to jot down.

Oh have Todd's untampered attention.

"Hey Todd," Charlie's voice resonates across their small table. Neil accidentally shot his eyes to his friend's direction without skipping a beat. "Mind helping me out with a poem too?"

Since when did Charlie ever ask for help from Todd? Not that he wasn't allowed to or anything, Todd was the right person for this task but-- Something about it wasn't sitting right with Neil.

What wasn't a surprise was Todd's hesitant acceptance. He watched as Todd moved over to Charlie's right hand side and Neil felt his back become warm. It wasn't just his back, his guts turned into an unrested sea, and his eyebrows twitched, trying to avoid a scowl.

"What do you wanna write about?"

"I wanna write about Love." Neil saw Charlie lean forward to look Todd deep into his eyes; for a moment, he thought he saw Todd blush. Neil didn't like Todd showing that expression to someone else, or at least someone like Charlie.

"S-So... We'll use cosine to get X--" Cameron muttered, snapping Neil back to his assignment. He looked at the blurred numbers and symbols, trying to remember what the other problem was.

"Right, cosine-"

Just before dinner, Neil catches up with Todd to walk with him to the dining hall.

"So," Neil started, not exactly sure where to lead the conversation to. "I guess it's spaghetti and meatballs again, huh?"

Todd pushed out a chuckle in response. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Neil had Todd to himself for a tiny moment, for a stupid one-liner too, but it felt like he was in Cloud nine. Todd's calm expression was all he could ask for, paired with his blue eyes looking back at him.

When they reached their table, they assumed their usual spots, Neil being on the left side of the table and Todd on the other. However, Charlie decided to change up the seating arrangement and sat beside Todd instead of him.

There's that funny feeling again. Neil's stomach was nothing but a pit that resembled a deep well without a bucket, nothing to retrieve and remove the sludge that was forming in it. He hated how Todd was so responsive to Charlie's words, how Charlie was so capable of making Todd blush, he hated the sight of Todd rubbing elbows with Charlie as they ate. Neil wasn't sure why he was feeling this way, why he even thought something innocent between Charlie and Todd could make him so agitated. It could all be his imagination.

When Todd left for the bathroom, Neil decided to interrogate his best friend.

"Hey Charlie, why the sudden change of seating arrangement? Thought I was your cute best friend." He tried to sound like his usual self.

"Well, I'm trying to get closer to Todd."

"W-what? Why?" Neil felt his voice crack, much like his confidence.

"I dunno, he's pretty cute. Don't you agree?"

"I--" Neil felt his whole body stiffen, his hand tightened it's pressure on his spoon like a clamp.

"I'm thinking of asking him out soon. No one else seems interested." Neil saw it, he saw Charlie smirk. Neil's emotions became unreasonably irrational, they became unhinged and even if he tried to hide it, they were all bubbling to the surface. Charlie had everything already, he and Neil shared everything before this, but for some reason, Neil couldn't share Todd with someone like Charlie.

"Oh hi, Todd! Welcome back" Neil glares at Charlie while he greets Todd.

"What did I miss?" Todd asks innocently, still taking his seat beside Charlie.

As Charlie began his sentence, Neil cuts him off. "Nothing-" Todd shifts his eyes to share eye contact with Neil. "By the way, we should head back to our room, I need help with my poems." Neil's last attempt of gaining the upper hand on Charlie failed when Charlie brought up his and Todd's prior arrangement.

Neil didn't get it. What did Charlie have that he didn't? Or better yet, what does Charlie not possess yet that he would try to make the moves on Todd?? Neil hated this feeling- this vicious vine-like feeling trapping him. Was it... Jealousy?

Neil's never had much of a reason to be jealous about someone before. He's only been jealous of people who were freer than him-- people like Charlie. Was he jealous of Charlie in that regard? That he could proudly express what he felt for Todd and Neil couldn't? He guessed that was the difference. Charlie did have everything; down to the personality that could make Todd fall for him.

Neil was in Meeks' dorm room, resigning himself in defeat like a pathetic loser he thought he was.

All Neil could do was blankly stare into the shine of the wires that coiled around parts of their machine. A brief knock on their door broke his trance- It was Cameron.

“Do you guys mind if I hang out here? I’m just gonna do my reviewers for a bit.”

“Sure, no problem.” Meeks nods, still measuring out some amount of wires.

“Wait, how come you’re not studying in your room?” Neil questioned,

Cameron took a moment to respond. “Charlie… he wanted to focus on his homework with Todd… Alone.”

This was the last straw for Neil, the final push that made him stand up for once. He couldn't bury his jealousy anymore, he had to confront Charlie.

He left his friends to march his way to Charlie's room. He wasted no time when asking Charlie about his motives.

"Well hello, Perry! What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Quit it-" Neil cuts him off. "Are you serious about Todd?"

"... What?"

"I- I'm asking if you're really interested in Todd?"

Maybe this was all a trick, maybe Neil was just being jealous, maybe Charlie was playing a cruel joke on Neil and he had to shake it out of him.

"Yes." Charlie's expression was ripe with confidence.

With that, Neil felt his world shatter. What was he doing? Was he gonna fight his friend over his feelings for Todd? Was he gonna deny Todd of someone as fun and as romantic as Charlie? Charlie's given so much to Neil and the way he was acting was nothing short of being selfish.

If Charlie really liked Todd, then Todd would be lucky. If Todd would return those feelings, Charlie would be the luckiest man to ever live.

Neil had nothing to offer to Todd that Charlie couldn't top. Neil felt his bitter feelings turn into catharsis, accepting that Todd's better off sharing his moments with Charlie than him.

"T-then... Please take care of him, okay?" Neil buckled his shoulders.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"If you ever hurt Todd-- You're a dead man, got it?" Neil's eyes were like daggers, piercing right at Charlie's own brown eyes.

"R-right..."

Neil figured he had to leave, he couldn't bear to see Todd and Charlie exchanging looks. But this of course wasn't the case. A knock echoed in the room.

When he opened the door, Todd was right there, his beautiful eyes staring up at Neil will a quizzical expression.

Neil assumed that Charlie would most likely profess his love to those eyes, and that knowledge broke Neil's heart.

"Sorry Todd, looks like I'm gonna have to move our study session for now. I think Neil needs your help more. Right, Neil?" Charlie spoke, catching Neil's bewildered expression.

"I'm sure he's got something more important than mine anyway."

Neil looks at Charlie and Todd, bouncing a confused face between them. He sees Charlie's wink before Todd guides Neil out of the room.

Todd sighs as he returns to his room with Neil, his sweaty hands in the midst of sticking to his papers.

How did he end up in this situation?

How could he explain the entire day?

It all started when he told Charlie about his crush on Neil in private. All he wanted was advice from the best friend of his crush and nothing more.

"Glad you came to me, Toddsie!" Charlie pats him on the back excitedly.

Todd didn't like how enthusiastic Charlie was being in this situation, though he was grateful Charlie immediately accepted him for coming out.

"I know exactly how to make him fall in love with you!"

"L-look Charlie, I'm not trying to get Neil to like me! I just-- I just wanted to know how to deal with all these feelings I'm having."

All these feelings- Todd's had these "feelings" ever since Neil shook his hand for the first time in the courtyard. He's never met someone as perfect as Neil. Yeah, he had Father Issues, impulsive actions, even the tendency to make weird noises (but he found those the cutest) and yet Neil made Todd's world move.

Neil's laughter, Neil's smile, the stolen glances he catches Neil casting his direction-- It was all Todd sought after in his recent days at Welton.

"Oh please, Todd, those 'feelings' are straight up love from what I hear. We just have to know if Neil feels the same way!"

"We don't even know if he's interested in men! Charlie- What am I supposed to do?" Todd buried his face into his hands.

"Don't worry, I'll find out a way to not only check if he swings that way, but I can guarantee I can get him to return your feelings."

"That-- That doesn't make any sense, Charlie." Todd wasn't able to question his friend any longer as they dashed into the study hall.

The Study group went on as usual, Todd assisting Knox with his poem for Chris, Meeks and Pitts building a contraption he was sure was the Radio Mark II, and Neil, Cameron and Charlie trying to answer some trigonometry homework.

What didn't help was Neil being directly in front of him. Todd could see Neil in his glasses, unabashedly handsome and very distracting. Todd would try his best to help Knox with his poem but Todd's eyes would linger onto Neil's perfectly "framed" face.

He then hears Charlie call him over. At first, Todd didn't think much of it, but he soon regrets ever telling Charlie of his crush on Neil.

The whole evening, Charlie tried to make Neil jealous without planning it out with Todd first. If Todd had at least known, he wouldn't have been trying picture Neil in Charlie's place as some sort of "method acting" to go along with this scheme. When dinner began, Charlie took Cameron's spot for 'maximum efficiency'. It didn't help when Charlie called him "cute" in front of Neil. Would Neil agree? Would Neil even describe a guy to be cute? Would Todd be able to enjoy his spaghetti and meatballs without Charlie's arm around him?

Todd decided that he should excuse himself to the bathroom for compose himself. (And to evade the plethora of compliments Charlie showered him with.)

When it came from Charlie, it felt like a joke, like a friendly description, really, than an actual compliment. Then Todd thinks if they came from Neil... then those words would make him swoon.

Would Neil even fall for this type of trick? Was it even right to trick Neil like this? Would Neil be even okay with the idea of Todd being in a relationship in with a man? He wasn't even sure if Neil would accept Todd's feelings, let alone feel jealous of Charlie.

As Todd approached their table, he's immediately greeted by Charlie.

"What did I miss?"

"Well Todd--" "Nothing." Neil cuts of Charlie with a serious tone.

Oh no... did Neil find out? Did Charlie rat him out already?

"By the way, we should head back to our room, I need help with my poems." Neil looks up at Todd with an expression that is both deadpan and attractive to him, Todd had no other choice but to accept.

"What? Todd, I thought you'd help me out?" Charlie pouts. "I did ask first." Todd didn't want to miss his opportunity to be with Neil, especially not when he looks at him like that. But Todd looks back at Charlie, raising his eyebrows as if to say "Just go along with it."

Todd was reluctant, of course, he didn't want to perpetuate fooling Neil in any way, but he wasn't sure if Neil had anything to return at all. They were always alone after all, nothing would be stripped away if he spent one evening in Charlie's room to make Neil jealous.

"Right, sorry, Neil. I'll go back to our room after I help out Charlie." Todd replied with a pained expression hidden behind his face.

That evening, when he approached Charlie's room, he hears Neil's voice muffling through. Todd wished had the will to listen in but he assumed it wouldn't be his business if it was said behind closed doors. He took another moment before knocking on Charlie's door.

Neil opens the door for Todd, their eyes meeting briefly, like a celestial occurrence that Todd took note of. Have they always been this brown?

"Hi Todd!" Charlie greets him, breaking him from Neil's gaze.

"Hey Charlie, Hi Neil."

He was expecting Charlie to pull another stunt to make Neil's brown eyes angry, but instead both his and Neil's eyes lifted in surprise when Charlie told him Neil needed his help more.

Did they come to some agreement?

And Todd could've sworn Charlie was winking at Neil... or was it at him?

All these questions didn't matter when they were alone in their room.

Their chests rattled like cages, their hearts ready to jump out at any moment.

Neil bit his lip as Todd took a seat by his desk.

"S-so Neil..." Todd muttered, "Can I ask you something? B-before I help you with your poem..."

"Oh- Yeah, sure."

"What do you think of... of men dating each other?"

Neil lets out a tiny cough. "W- Excuse me?"

"Do you think... it's ok? For two guys to like each other?"

Neil wasn't sure how to respond, was Todd telling him that he liked Charlie? Was Neil too late? Did he miss his chance to tell Todd what he really felt?

"I-- I guess it's alright," Neil answered, slumping his shoulders down in defeat. If he was gonna lose Todd to Charlie, he might as well be supportive. "But- you have to make sure it's the right person." Neil wasn't going down without a fight though.

Todd's face brightened with Neil's response. So 1 part of his query is answered; Neil is ok with the idea of men liking each other. Now it's the question of Neil's feelings for Todd.

"I-If someone, a guy, liked you, how would you feel?" Todd stood up, turning to face Neil. Both of them were by their desks, like two sturdy posts defending their base. Todd awaited Neil’s response with the anticipation akin to a war officer in a meeting room.

"I... would really only prefer it from one guy." Neil took a step forward, with the courage of a powerful Chesspiece during an endgame.

Todd took note of this, mimicking his step, this time walking a bit closer to Neil with his hands in his pockets. "Y-yeah? Who?"

Neil noted this feeling being similar to a spelling bee, like spelling out a complicated word letter by letter, taking a breath to make sure the next thing he was about to say was exactly what the world wanted him to say.

"You, Todd. It's always going to be you."

Todd looks up at Neil, who's now inches away from him from, fully realizing their slight height difference. "I'd say the same for you."

"I hope... I'm not... taking you away from Charlie-" Neil slowly brings his hand to sweep Todd’s hair aside to see his eyes better.

Todd snickers slightly, catching Neil by surprise. "Neil... You don't have to worry about Charlie. I don't have any feelings for him."

"But-" Neil looks concerned, feeling like he betrayed Charlie. "He... He likes you. Todd, I--"

"Is that what he told you? Neil... I hope you won't be angry when I tell you he's been pulling your leg."

Neil jerks his head backwards. "What?"

"I.. Just promise you won't be angry okay?" Todd had to come clean, he couldn’t handle Neil thinking badly of him if he never admitted Charlie's plan. Neil nods before Todd reveals Charlie’s idiotic scheme to get them together by means of tomfoolery.

Neil sighs with a smile, leaning forward to rest on Todd's shoulder. Todd was still getting used to the fact Neil's VERY close right now.

"Well, you guys did a pretty good job of making me extremely jealous." Neil laughs a bit. He was in relief that he didn't need to compete with Charlie.

"I'm... I'm really sorry, Neil. I told him I just wanted advice." Todd looks down with embarrassment.

Neil tilts Todd’s chin up with his hand, bringing his face up to look at him. "You're gonna have to make up for it, y'know?"

Todd’s face simmered under Neil's touch. "I know."

Todd learned that Neil was a Jealous type of guy, not the type to be possessive, but definitely the type to mope around rather than steal someone else's love interest.

Luckily for Neil, he already had Todd’s heart to begin with.

Neil wasn’t used to sharing, but he and Todd shared their first kiss that night. That's a compromise he was willing to do.

Bonus:

Knox, Meeks and Pitts POV:

4 of their friends (the roommates) getting paired up in one night made them:

Thanks again to @sweettodd for that one post that spawn all these POVs haha

Taglist: @anderperrytheplatypus @she-nuwanda @andersonsdeskset @sweetnessbythesea @maisietheweltoncow [tell me if u wanna be added/removed next time]

#anderperry #anderperry fic #yes it's another #jealousy trope #Neil and Todd #POV!#anderperry one shot #dead poets society #anderperry fanfic #fanfic #dps #dead poets society fanfic #dps fic

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

The Night Shadows Watching The Darkness Approaching

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: oh look, another fic in which Wilhemina cries :) This one has been sitting in my drafts for months because somehow I couldn’t let it go. It’s short and sad and I hope you’ll like it. x

Title from Come On Out by The Airbone Toxic Event.

Word count: ≈ 1 900

Something woke you in the middle of the night to find the bed empty. You reached out; the sheet was cold. Squinting in the dark, you made out the outline of Wilhemina’s pillow, creased, and of the door, half-opened. Somewhere in the house a light was on. You sighed.

You got up and walked through the darkness towards the light. It came from the living-room, whose door was slightly ajar. You took a peek inside.

Wilhemina was lying on the couch, hands folded on her stomach. Her eyes were closed and her face was contorted with pain. You noticed the bucket she had placed on the floor at arm’s length, in case the pain became too much, too much to bear just too much and she would have to throw up. Let it out one way or another.

You watched her for a minute, swallowing hard. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. It tended to do that often, since you had started dating Wilhemina.

You didn’t want to embarrass her, so you knocked on the door and waited, to give her time to compose herself. When you eventually walked in, her face was completely blank, if only slightly pale.

“Hey,” you called, forcing a smile. “You’re up late.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was calm. “Go back to bed.”

You crouched by the couch, staring up at her. She was avoiding your gaze, resolutely scowling at the ceiling.

“Did you take your meds?” you asked after a while.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N,” she snapped.

You frowned, but didn’t snap back. Instead you rested your chin on the couch and waited.

“What can I do?” you asked.

“Go back to sleep,” Wilhemina repeated. This time, the words were uttered through gritted teeth.

“I meant to help you feel better.”

“I’m feeling perfectly fine.”

“Mina.” Her eyes flicked to your face before she scowled back up at the ceiling. “I’ll go get the hot water bottle,” you said.

She was exactly in the same position when you came back. It seemed to you her face was even paler than before, and you saw her chin tremble, once.

“Here, can you prop yourself up just a bit?” you asked gently.

She didn’t move.

“This is stupid, Y/N,” she said.

“Mina, you know it’s not. Heat really helps ease the pain. It does wonders when I have period cramps. Please.”

Carefully you helped her sit up, placed the hot water bottle on the couch, and helped her lie down again with her head in your lap. You laid one hand on her arm and gently stroked her hair with the other. “Are you feeling sleepy at all?” you whispered.

She shook her head.

“Do you want me to sing something to you, to help you pass the time?”

You had done that before, once or twice, when she had come back from work particularly pissed off. You loved to sing, and you had noticed how your voice always seemed to help her relax, even though she would probably never admit it.

“Suit yourself,” she answered in a slightly strained voice.

You thought for a second, combing your fingers through her hair. “Take my hand,” you started, voice low and soft, “take my whole life too.” Wilhemina scoffed. You held back a smile. “For I can’t help falling in love with you,” you whispered, poking her ear playfully.

Wilhemina reached for your hand on her arm and laced her fingers with yours. “Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

You gently rubbed her forehead, just as your mother used to when you had a headache. Ran one finger down her nose, patted her upper lip. Her chin trembled again. She blinked several times, swallowed.

“Mina?” You waited until she met your eyes. “It’s okay to cry when you’re hurting, you know?”

She scoffed, gave you an angry look, but her eyes immediately filled with tears as if a dam had broken.

“I won’t judge you, or think you’re weak.” You paused, gulping back tears of your own. “I think you’re so very strong all the time.”

You ran your finger over her lower lip, then up her cheek to catch a lonely tear. Wilhemina blinked quickly, raised her free hand to wipe her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice.

You knew how she hated showing vulnerability. She had only ever cried once in front of you. The first time you had held her close. Her body pressed against yours, her face buried in your neck, one of her legs trapped between yours, your arms wrapped tightly around her. You had heard her breath hitch and just like that she had burst into tears. As if no one had ever held her before.

You leant forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead. There was that sadness in your heart you couldn’t quite get rid of.

Wilhemina shifted to readjust her position. You combed your fingers through her hair again, gazing at her face, trying to think of something to say to try and distract her from the pain.

“Did I tell you about that article I read the other day?” you said eventually. “It was so very interesting. Some guy wrote ten pages on the Placebo effect. I didn’t know much about it.”

You rambled on, telling her about what you had learnt, until she suddenly interrupted you in a quiet, dull voice.

“My parents told me it was all in my head, too, the first few times I complained about my back pains. More than the first few times, actually. They told me I should quit being a baby and work at being stronger. When they finally took me to a doctor, it was too late to do anything about it.”

Your fingers froze in her hair.

“How long?” you asked in a breath. “How long before they took you to a doctor?”

It took her too long to answer. In the silence you heard your heart break.

“Three years and a half.”

You felt like punching something. You felt like screaming. You could have, could have jumped to your feet, could have knocked over the coffee table, thrown the bucket at the wall. But anger wasn’t what Wilhemina needed right now. She had been so alone. Never again, you promised yourself. You’d lasso the stars and bring them down and give them to her so she would always have company when you were gone.

“Go to bed,” Wilhemina repeated.

You kissed her mouth. “Not without you,” you murmured into the kiss.

She let out a small noise and lifted her head to claim more of you. She was being too harsh, too clumsy, teeth drawing blood and lips sucking on the wound, but you let her. You were grateful for the pain, for it made you feel closer to her.

One of her hands came up to tangle in your hair. “I won’t be weak,” you heard her whisper, voice angry, as her mouth launched a new attack on yours. Her nails dug into the nape of your neck. “I won’t let you rip my strength from me.”

Somewhere far away a clap of thunder growled. Wilhemina bit your upper lip. “I see what you’re trying to do,” she hissed. “Using tenderness to try and break me but I won’t let it happen, do you hear me? You won’t win. I’ll break you first.”

“Wilhemina,” you whispered – pulling away, panting, and pressing one hand on her chest to pin her against the couch.

“I’ll break you and I will scatter all the tiny pieces of you so no one after me can ever assemble them again.”

“Wilhemina,” you repeated. You leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She tried to push you away, rejecting tenderness, she tried to sit up; her fingers wrapped around your hand that held her against the couch and clawed viciously at your skin.

“I will destroy you,” she hissed.

“Mina.” A kiss to her brow. A kiss to her nose. Her lips parted on a shaky breath like the last breath a soldier draws on a battlefield.

You removed your hand from her chest and held it out in surrender. “Go ahead, then. Destroy me. I don’t mind. It’d kill me to lose you anyway. So, one way or another, you win.”

You smiled at her. For you meant it, every word of it. And it felt exhilarating. It felt like you had finally found home. No matter how dark and scary the place, no matter how full of lethal traps. You would choose her, over and over again, for no one else would do.

“Go ahead,” you repeated, laughing. “Destroy me.”

You grabbed her hand and wrapped it around your throat. Something in her eyes changed. She seemed to hesitate.

“What are you waiting for?” you cried, squeezing her fingers; you could feel your own elevated pulse through her flesh. “I’m ready. Choke the breath out of me. What are you waiting for?”

It was starting to hurt, your head was starting to buzz, but you didn’t care. You had rarely ever felt so alive.

“Stop it,” Wilhemina whispered, her eyes growing wide. She tried to free her hand from your grip, but you held it firmly around your throat.

You leaned towards her. “Don’t let me undermine you. Claim back your strength. I don’t want to rob you of what you hold dearest. Do it!”

“I said, stop!” she cried, wrenching her hand free; she turned her head to the side, and bit her lip as fresh tears spilled from her eyes.

You watched her, your whole body burning and quivering from the excitement and the love and the passion. Wilhemina gasped in a breath, wiped her cheeks fiercely. She shifted a bit, nuzzled the back of the couch, looked askance at you.

You waited a few minutes before you started combing your fingers through her hair again. She eagerly leaned into your touch.

Another clap of thunder, louder, closer. You laid your free hand on Wilhemina’s cheek at the sound, almost protectively, felt her warmth build under your fingers. She turned her head to kiss the inside of your palm and whispered, “Hold me.”

And then she was sitting up, tears dropping from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed her face against your shoulder and let out a broken sob.

You closed your eyes against the sting of tears, holding her close, trying to make her shift so her back would be as straight as possible but she pushed deeper into you, clutching the back of your shirt, hair tickling your neck.

“I don’t care,” you heard her say, small and muffled. “I don’t care. Just – hold me.”

And you did. For you had only ever seen her cry once before, the first time you had snuggled up to her, your body pressed against hers, one of her legs trapped between yours.

You held her, and stroked her hair as you listened to the thunderstorm roar in the sky, tear at the clouds and rip them to shreds and howl in pain, and then, slowly, subside.

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #fics

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in-my-feels-probably · 3 years

Text

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter One - Now

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more.

don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.

Chapter One - Now

Elham gazed up from her book, sitting at the bar, to the sound of a gunshot at one of the card tables. Sighing, she got up from her seat, sliding her book to Rotty to take back to her room. And to think she was finally going to get a quiet night in the Slat, the previous night being not so quiet.

She began making her way over to the table, where Jesper was sitting leaning back, a knowing smirk on his face, his pistol smoking in its holster. Before she could reach the table, the familiar sound of a cane clicking on the ground was getting closer and closer to her. A light grin on her face, she slowed her pace, allowing Kaz to catch up, nod in her direction, and pass her.

“No loud noises at the table, Jesper. You’ll scare off the pigeons.”

Elham barely paid attention to the two boys' conversation, instead pocketing the counterfeit Zemeni coin left on the table, as well as a few Ravkan bills. Kaz was well aware she had slipped the money in her pocket, but he chose not to say anything, watching Jesper make his way to guard the door. She had been a big help in the previous night's heist, and arguing with her wasn’t worth the slew of sarcastic comments she would send his way. If there was a next time, he’d reprimand her. At least that’s how he justified it to himself. Elham knew his threats were hollow, to her they always were.

Elham trailed behind Kaz as Rotty had returned to talk to him about a missing Dekappel painting. He rambled on about how hard it must have been to steal it from the merchant, how advanced the security system was, locked down to the nines, complete with a Fabrikator made lock. She smirked to herself, eyes pointed towards the floor, trying not to laugh.

Kaz tapped the back of her leg with his cane, signaling her to go before she made Rotty suspicious, and she turned making her way up the stairs to Kaz’s office. She went straight for her chair, the one spot in the room she felt comfortable being in. This was Kaz’s space, and despite the two growing close over the years, and her constantly in his office or room, she still felt the need to confide herself to the space he had given her.

He had put that chair in by the window after he noticed how uncomfortable she looked on the window ledge when she came into his office to read, or chat about a heist. And plus, the window’s ledge was Inej’s spot, occupied by her as she came and went, feeding the crows and returning to the rooftops. Elham made herself comfortable in the chair, glancing around the room, eyes landing on the Dekappel hung on the wall.

Lifting the painting hadn’t been the easiest job. She wasn’t sure why Kaz had even decided to steal it in the first place. Nobody knew it was them who had taken it. Perhaps he did it for his own satisfaction, to prove he couldn’t be bested by some “advanced” security system. Or secretly, he had a taste for the finer things in life, and was too embarrassed to be caught shopping for a piece of art himself, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask Elham to get something for him. He’d never hear the end of it.

She’d like to think his reason was the latter.

Elham grinned to herself, reaching to pick up one of the books scattered across Kaz’s desk, when he walked into the room, latching the door behind him. He said nothing, only slightly scoffing at her position, curled up in the chair by the window in what looked like the most uncomfortable way she could possibly be. He could feel his own leg aching at the idea of contorting it the way she currently had hers, but she only smirked up at him, like this was the most comfortable she had been all day.

Sometimes, he thought to himself that everything Elham did was to spite him, or to try and get some sort of visible reaction. As the years passed by, his mask became harder and harder to read, and she made multiple attempts to slip through the cracks and see what was underneath. Unfortunately, this attempt was futile, and he made his way through the archway into his room, heading for the bathroom sink.

Elham, who had been shuffling her feet waiting for Kaz to finish, stood as she felt a draft hit her. She slowly made her way around the corner, only to meet his eyes already looking at her in the mirror, and then glancing towards the open window behind him. He faced forward again as he watched Elham’s lips turn up into a smile as she looked at the window.

“Hello, Inej. What information do you have for me?”

“A lead on a job. A big one. Enough money to change lives.”

Elham smirked to herself as she gave Inej a quick hug. “I don’t think it’ll take much to change someone’s life in the Barrel. I mean, look at us.”

“A million kruge?” Inej asked, smirking. Elham whipped her head towards her at that, then turned to meet Kaz’s eyes in the mirror. He gave her a nod, and she took that as her que to leave.

As the unofficial mother of the group, it was her job to round up the Crows and inform the Dregs, to make sure they were ready for a heist. Mostly, her job was to round up Jesper, make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Jesper, of course, was at one of the gambling tables, leaned back in his chair, staring intently at his cards.

“Jesper!” He looked up from his hand and glanced around the room till his eyes fell on her. She motioned for him to follow, and he met her by the staircase leading to Kaz’s office. “We have a job. I don’t know the details yet, but just be prepared for me to come find you or Kaz to give you an order. Oh and Jesper, love, pick another game. How many hands am I gonna have to watch you play before you run out of bills? Really, it’s getting hard to watch at this point.”

She quickly took off back up the stairs before his swat could meet her arm, only to nearly run into Inej on the way up.

“Inej? What’s wrong?” Elham asked, catching Inej’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“He infuriates me sometimes. I honestly don’t know how you deal with him.” She gave Elham a light smile before continuing down the stairs, heading in Jesper’s direction. Elham climbed the stairs once more and made her way back into Kaz’s office.

---

“You’re serious? The Fold? You know how to get across the Fold?” She gave Kaz an exasperated look. In all her years of knowing him, this might have been the most idiotic idea he’s had yet. But, with a million kruge on the table, she knew there was nothing stopping him.

“No, I don't know how to get across. But I may know a few people who do. Come on, go and find Jesper, tell him the plan. We’re meeting with Dreesen at midnight. I’ll meet you all in the alley in half an hour.”

She nodded, turning to head towards the door. “Kaz...does Pekka know about this job?”

His eyes darkened at the mention of the name, his grip on his cane’s head becoming tighter. He shook his head with uncertainty, face set with a hardened look. Elham nodded, jaw clenching at the thought. Dealing with Pekka Rollins certainly wasn’t on her to do list, and in all honesty, she was hoping to never meet the man.

Throughout the years, Kaz had told her bits and pieces about what Pekka had done to him, and she had learned for herself what kind of a monster he and his men could be. His Dime Lion’s were the reason she started killing in the first place. Pekka Rollins could count his days. With Dirtyhands and the Valkyrie after him, he was certainly doomed.

Seeing her eyes drift, her thoughts cloud, he sighed, tapping her ankle with the end of his cane, and her eyes met his. “Go on, Valkyrie. And think about losing the murderous look on your face before you scare the pigeons.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, a tactic she normally used on him.

“I’ll think about it.”

---

A few hours later, the Crows had interrogated the slew of people Kaz and Jesper knew that claimed they knew a way across the Fold. Of course, none of them had a safe way, and Elham began pondering if the million kruge was worth the imminent death. They were back in the Crow Club, sitting in a booth. Inej was twirling her knife, Elham was sharpening her sword, and Kaz was glancing around with his usual look of annoyance. Jesper finally broke the silence.

“Here’s what I don’t get.”

“We’re going to be here all night.” Inej commented. Elham let out a laugh at that, patting Jesper on the shoulder.

“Rude.”

“I’m going to have to get a drink for this conversation. Anyone want one?” Elham asked, heading for the bar. She returned to the table with shots in hand, to hear Jesper mention General Kirigan. She stopped in her tracks, setting the drinks on the table, before taking a step back.

“Are you alright, El?” Jesper asked, but she didn’t hear. Her mind raced back to her days at the Little Palace, to the warnings from Baghra about the General. Her thoughts continued tangling together, and she was unaware of Jesper and Inej’s attempts to get her attention.

“Elham.”

She glanced up at the voice. Kaz’s voice. Elham cleared her throat.

“Sorry, I’m fine. Just got sidetracked. Sorry to miss what I’m sure were your very intelligent remarks, Jesper.” She quickly changed the subject, missing how Kaz’s eyes lingered on her. She slid back into the booth, throwing back a shot. They continued their conversation, Elham quieter than before. Kaz didn’t miss that either.

“Well, as I was saying. This whole job sounds like a trap, anyways.” Jesper said, before sipping one of the drinks Elham had brought over.

“A trap would sound easy. This is something else.” Kaz remarked.

“Boss, boss. We intercepted a note from Dreesen. It’s from the Orchid. Say’s they require the services of a Heartrender. Tonight. Doesn’t say why, just that they need it before midnight.” One of the Dregs who had come running over explained.

Elham smirked. “Oh we are absolutely not letting this job go.”

“You don’t bring in a Heartrender unless you need an answer out of someone who isn’t willing to talk. That’s how we get this job before anyone else. Bring Dreeson a Heartrender.”

“Boss, just one problem. Pekka Rollins knows.”

Kaz glanced at Elham, who only looked more determined. Elham downed another shot, before standing up.

“Well. I’m feeling particularly vengeful tonight. Let’s go get a Heartrender.”

---

A/N - hi everyone, sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. i've been busy and didn't have much motivation to write, but I'm ready to go again. let me know what you think so far, and thank you for the support!

#wattpad #in my feels probably #ineffable #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #oc #series #chapterone #grishaverse

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

lost time ch. 5.5

soooo it’s not the next part of study abroad fic like i promised but i wanted this one out of the drafts. pls enjoy

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: all smut - this is part of chapter five and then a what if they actually fucked lmao

_____

They kept kissing for a while, Sophie lazily toying with the ends of his hair. After a couple minutes, he started kissing along her jaw, sucking just enough at a spot on her neck to elicit a soft moan from her. “I wish I came as your date.” He murmured against her skin as he traced his thumb back and forth over her hip. She froze at his confession, her head clouded without a clear thought. “You’re drunk.” She mumbled back, hand falling from his neck. “I’m not.” He argued, kissing her again. She could taste the rum on his lips, betraying his words.

“Well, I am.” She replied softly, hesitating again until he went in for another kiss. “And I’m still mad about your stupid death cup rule.” He scoffed, softly, but sounded more amused than anything. “You can’t call house rules when it’s not your house.” Sophie scowled and pressed her hand a little harder against his chest. “It’s more my house than yours. Can’t you just follow the rules?” He chuckled, trailing his hand higher and ran his index finger lightly along her spine. “Do you ever stop arguing, Soph?” She shivered at his touch, willing herself not to move closer. “Not with you.”

“Can we…?” He asked with a broad grin, tipping his head toward their houses, just a short walk away.

She paused, considering. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He challenged, stepping closer and backing her up against the wall. She swallowed and felt her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, then willed herself not to think about it any longer - if she did, she’d back herself out of it. “I just. We’re - we’re not going to -” She stammered, and he raised his eyebrows. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” She decided, pushing him a little so she could slip out from under him and walk off the back porch, then around the house. He snorted as he followed her. “Walking through the house isn’t an option for you?”

“Not really a fan of everyone thinking we hooked up.” She lied, striding down the sidewalk determinedly.

He furrowed his brow and jogged to catch up with her, confused. “I thought you said -”

“I did. We’re going to.”

“Then why -”

“It doesn’t matter, god, do you always ask so many questions?” She snapped frustratedly, hating herself as she did. She was better than this, wasn’t she? Being mean to Rafe had always been a coping mechanism to hide the inkling of a crush she’d had on him all those years.

He fell silent, frowning as he followed. Maybe this was a bad idea, right? Some small part of his brain reminded him of the one time he saw a therapist in training, as a favor to a friend also in the psychology major, and the therapist had told him he sounded like he was a little too comfortable allowing people in who repeatedly hurt him. All that after only thirty minutes of meeting the person and a few confessions. Probably bullshit, he always figured, it was just because he was in a vulnerable spot right after he was dumped by Brooklyn and shared a little too much.

They got to his house faster than he expected, and he offered his hand as they walked through the door. He was surprised when she accepted it, a little tentatively, and hoped she couldn’t feel his pulse through his palm. “My room’s just up here.”

“Okay. I like the house, it’s cool.” A lot of their flirty energy had died down and turned to nervous energy, and she wished she’d wiped her palm on her skirt before taking his hand.

“It was built in 1932 or something like that, it actually used to be the governor’s mansion -” He started, only to be interrupted by her. “I know. I had to do a research project on it once, I have the blueprints.”

“Oh.” He showed her into his room, thankful that he’d cleaned up earlier that day, and dropped her hand as he shut the door behind her. “So. Here it is.”

“Rafe?” She took a step closer, trapping him against the door like he’d had her earlier. Had he always had that little smattering of freckles across his nose? They were so faint by now she could hardly see it, but for a moment she wondered what they’d look like in summer, across his tanned skin.

“Yeah?” His hands found her waist easily and he dared to tease his thumb along the elastic of her skirt, nearly making her shudder.

“I didn’t really come here to talk.”

“Right.” He glanced between her eyes and her lips, tongue darting out briefly to wet his own.

She seemed amused, raising her eyebrows. “Am I always gonna have to make the first move?”

He shook his head quickly and leaned down, and she wasn’t sure who kissed who first. Their lips met hard in a heated kiss and it wasn’t long until he reached down and tapped one hand under her thigh. She took the hint and jumped to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, rolling her hips a little into him.

He supported her with both hands under her thighs and groaned into her mouth as she rolled her hips. Her already-short skirt was halfway up her waist already so there was nearly nothing between them, especially considering his half-unbuttoned shirt and tight pants that left nothing to the imagination.

“Bed.” She breathed out, working at the rest of the buttons down his shirt. He nodded and gently dropped her down onto the bed, then looked up at her with a curious glance as he went to tug off her halter top. “Can I?”

“Yeah, here let me.” She nodded, sitting up just enough to wrestle off the top. He bit hard on his tongue as her breasts came loose, then reached out and cupped them, running his thumbs over her nipples and smirked. “You need to stop hiding these under those big hoodies you wear to class.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll start just having my tits out in class.” She rolled her eyes, shoving his shirt off his shoulders. “Totally reasonable.”

He laughed and pushed her up the bed, pressing kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. “Sounds perfect to me.” She moaned when he hit the perfect spot at the base of her neck, leaving a red mark sure to bruise. “Rafe.”

He paused for a moment and had to will himself not to cum in his pants just at that sound alone. “Hm?”

“Do you really have to leave hickeys like we’re fifteen?” She threaded her fingers in his hair, wanting to touch nearly every inch of his skin. If she was going to do this once - and she swore she wouldn’t do it again - she was going to make it count.

“Do you not like them?” As if to prove a point, he sucked another one at the swell of her breast, then skated his teeth along her nipple as he moved further down. Her grip tightened in his hair and she let her head fall back, gasping. “Just - fuck - just not where anyone can see.”

“I can do that.” He affirmed, taking his time to leave little kisses and marks all over her chest. She grit her teeth when it went on a little too long, shifting around below him. “Cameron - you can -”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head and moved up to kiss her again but she whined in protest, pressing his head back down. “Come on.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Rafe.”

“I need words, Soph.”

She scowled, not wanting to admit it any way that she was enjoying herself. “You’re just trying to hold something over me.”

He smirked, thoroughly amused. “I’m trying to fuck you, actually, if you’ll let me.”

“Do you always take this long?” She reached for the zipper of his pants in between them and he laughed, pushing her hand away. “Are you this annoying with every man you sleep with?”

“It’s not like I’ll come that way anyways.” She mumbled under her breath and he paused, cocking his head a little. Sophie hated that she wanted to comb her fingers through his beautiful floppy hair.

“You’ve never come from someone touching you?” He asked, a little softer, gentler with his touch. She huffed and shook her head, not wanting to add that she’d hardly come from sex anyways. “No. Now can we just -”

“No, no, I’m going to take my time.” He declared, moving down her body and nipped along her hips, the waistband of her skirt, then slowly unbuttoned her skirt and looked up at her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She breathed out, embarrassed at how much control he had over her.

He carefully slid her skirt down her legs and let it fall to the ground, then nudged her legs open, positioning himself in between them.

“What are you - oh, fuck.” She cursed as he placed an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clothed clit. He smirked against her and pushed her legs a little wider, then kissed along her inner thighs, peppering kisses along the hem of her panties.

“Can I?” He asked, hooking his fingers in the sides of her thong. She nodded quickly and he pulled it down - just a little bit - then took it in both hands, ripped it clean in half and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“Did you just -” She sat up a little, trying to close her legs, but he nudged them back open, giving her a wolfish grin. “Yeah, I wanted a souvenir.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Sophie laughed a little in disbelief, but it quickly turned into a moan as he licked a wide stripe up her center, wasting no time. He grinned and replaced his tongue with his fingers, first one then two, as he glanced up at her. “Soaked just for me?”

“In your dreams.” She bit back and he shook his head with a grin. Only she could keep up an argument during sex. “You’re in them more often than you’d think, sweetheart.”

As much as she wanted to hate sweetheart, it felt like a knot was forming in her stomach just from the nickname alone. All she could manage in response was just “oh?”

He smirked and continued his ministrations, slow pumps in and out combined with flicks of his tongue over her clit, slowly building up to it. She whined a little, biting her lip. “More.”

“Yeah? You like that, Soph?” Rafe glanced up to gauge her expression and nearly laughed when he saw her head dropped back against the pillows and her hands fisted in the sheets. He just picked up his pace instead, moving to suck on her clit. When he did that, and curled his fingers inside of her, she gasped sharply. “Do that again.”

He used his free hand to push her leg out again, as they were close to clamping around his head, and continued until she was gasping again, her legs starting to shake. “Oh my god - fucking hell, Rafe -”

Rafe took a mental picture and swore he’d never forget how goddamn pretty she looked as she came, calling out his name. It was quite literally a dream come true and he worked her through the orgasm, then climbed back up the bed to rest next to her and give her a moment to recover.

She tipped her head over, looking almost...surprised. “I didn’t think I could - I’ve never -”

He smirked. “Told you I’d take my time.”

“Arrogant asshole.” She bit back, but it didn’t really have the same effect when she was still a little out of breath and had a blissful expression. Sophie glanced down and saw him straining against his pants, and briefly reconsidered - if she just got up and left right then, would Rafe hate her for all of eternity for giving him blue balls?

Then he rolled on top of her, and she felt him against her core for a tiny moment, and decided she could at least go for a handjob if she couldn’t handle the whole thing. He deserved that at the very least, for the way he just made her feel. Also, why had no one in her social circles ever commented on the size of him before, even in high school? He had to be at least six, maybe seven -

“Soph.” Rafe placed a quick kiss on her lips, laughing when she was jerked out of her reverie and blinked up at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

She nodded quickly, giving him a small smile. “Are you?”

“I have condoms....” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows with the insinuation. She gave him a small nod and pushed him over onto his back, straddling him and started to work at his button fly.

He let out a choked breath of surprise, just staring at her for a moment.

She felt his gaze and glanced up at him as she undid the last button, placing her hand over his length. “What?”

He swallowed, hard. “I think you might have to yank my pants off. They’re a little tight around the ass.”

Sophie giggled and got off of him so he could swing his legs off to the side of the bed, trying to tug down what he could. She joined in after a moment when they got stuck around his thighs, yanking until she heard a solid rip and immediately put her hands up, eyes wide. “Shit, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine, I’ll just buy another pair.” He excused right away and she bristled, hearing arrogance seep into his tone. That was the reminder she needed that he wasn’t just a hot random hookup, this was Rafe, and even if he could make her cum in five damn minutes from a flick of his tongue and twist of his fingers, he was still everything she hated about him too.

“Where are your condoms?” She reached for his bedside table and he grabbed her hand to stop her, not wanting her to see the drafted screenplay he’d been working on for a class. It featured two sworn enemies, who’d known each other for ages then ended up at the same college even though it was far away from their hometown - fine, there were too many similarities that she’d catch right away. He kicked off what was now three big scraps of his pants and reached in the very back of the drawer to pull out a condom, a sore reminder of how long it’d been.

She sat back on the bed and tried to look impassive at his size, reminding herself she really should have assumed, with the way he was built and all of 6’3”. He caught her staring and smirked, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he rolled the condom on. “You okay?”

She blushed, immediately flustered. “I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you...?”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Is that really important?”

He shook his head quickly, genuine. “No! No, not at all, but we can just take things slower. If you want.”

She appreciated the gesture - he was probably right - but grabbed his hand anyways, pulling him down to the bed. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned over her, giving her a long kiss and combed his fingers through her hair. Just that action alone had her wanting to melt into him and kiss him for ages, until their lips fell off - she had to remind herself that this wasn’t a romantic thing with how soft he was being. He nearly reached to hold her hand, then just ran it up her side instead, telling himself that she wouldn’t want that, anyways.

“Rafe.” She murmured against his lips, feeling overwhelmed from the way his hands were everywhere and how he was so damn close and god, were his eyes always that pretty?

He pulled back a little, concerned. “Did I do something wr -”

She didn’t give him the chance to finish. Sophie pushed him onto his back, straddling him and rocked her hips once against him. “You’re taking too long.”

He groaned, his hands immediately going to her waist to support her. “Didn’t realize we were on a time crunch.”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I was sober.” She reminded him and he frowned, squeezing her hips gently. “You’re not drunk though. I didn’t think you were even tipsy by now.”

“I ...” She trailed off, feeling a little guilty at the way he froze. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this normally.” She wasn’t sure why, exactly, she was lying to him, just felt the need to put him in his place, remind him what they’d be going back to after this one-night stand.

His brow knitted with concern. “We can stop, Sophie, I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” She amended quickly, feeling way too exposed for a moment to be having that conversation. “I just meant - I don’t know. This isn’t happening again, so. Enjoy it while you last.”

He relaxed a little, his frown turning to a smirk. “While I last? I think it only took me five minutes to watch you cum.”

She had no response to that, so she just huffed, standing up on her knees. “Are you good?”

He nodded, watching with bated breath as she took his cock and lined it up with her entrance, slowly sinking down onto him. He groaned, letting his head fall back for a moment, but kept his grip on her hips. “Fuck, Sophie.”

Just him saying her name - like that - sent a pulse straight to her core. She bit the inside of her cheek hard as she sunk down all the way on him, waiting just a moment for it to turn from a flash of pain to pleasure. “Just - just let me -”

He nodded, rubbing circles on her hips with his thumbs. “Take your time.”

She scowled, almost taking it as a challenge. “I’m fine.” She started bouncing her hips on him, leaning forward a little and bracing her hands on his abs. It took her a moment, but it started feeling better and better, and Rafe’s groans and gasps were enough to spur her on.

“Oh, c’mon...so good, Soph...” He encouraged, bringing his hips up to meet hers. For a few minutes the room was just filled with their breathy pants and the sound of skin on skin. When he felt himself getting closer, he reached in between them and started rubbing circles across her clit, loving the way she gasped at his touch.

She nearly flinched, the feeling of everything being so close to overwhelming. She was so close to reaching her high - again - and kept her eyes on his for a heated moment.

Rafe kept up his motions until he could tell she was close, about to snap, and he was too. “There we go, Soph, that’s my good girl -”

“Not yours.” She snapped hastily and he let his head flop back against the pillow, frustrated, and dropped his hand. “Didn’t mean it like that -”

She shook her head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.” Sophie grabbed his hand and brought it back to her clit, hoping to spur him on again. “Please don’t stop - oh, yes, fuck, there -”

He resumed his gentle rubbing, a little more frenzied now, and groaned as she moved her hips a little differently, rolling them and bouncing on him somehow all at the same time. It only took a minute longer for her to come and as she clenched around him, it spurred him on too, making him let out an embarrassingly loud groan.

As they both caught their breath and she climbed off him, panting, he shot her a cocky grin. “Sure you don’t want to do that again?”

She chose to ignore him and stood, hoping it didn’t show how she stumbled just a little from weak legs. She reached for her skirt then paused, standing up with crossed arms. “You took my underwear.”

“I did.” He nodded, leaning back with his hands behind his head, on full display.

Sophie let her gaze rake over him for a second, but he didn’t notice as he was doing the same. “And you ripped it.”

He had the decency to look a little bashful at that. “Probably shouldn’t have.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Rafe gave her a wry smile. “You could stay the night and I’ll give you my boxers to sleep in.”

She huffed and pulled her skirt on anyways, rolling her eyes. “Give it up, Cameron. Never gonna happen.”

“I’m sorry, did you just disassociate from the last half hour?” He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

Sophie wrestled on her halter top, thoroughly annoyed by now - god, only he could switch her mood so easily. “Worst sex of my life.”

He let out a loud, barking laugh. “You know that’s not true.”

“I - well - whatever. I’m leaving.” She started toward the door and he sprung out of bed, tugging on a pair of boxers. “No, hold on, I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

She stopped in the doorframe, crossing her arms. “This is ridiculous, we’re not dating -”

“It’s still three am and I’m not letting you walk.” He shoved his feet into boat shoes and grabbed his keys from his nightstand. “Come on.”

“Just a drive home?” She asked, stepping aside so she could follow him down the hall.

“Just a drive home.” He confirmed. “Jesus, Sophie, it’s just a kind gesture, not a committed relationship.”

“I know, just. I don’t know.”

He cast a glance back at her, frowning a little. “Your last boyfriend was that bad, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, following him outside to the car and got in (after he insisted upon opening the door for her). “No comment.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks smut #obx smut #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfic #rafe x sophie #college rafe #mine #frat rafe

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tobiosmilktea · 3 years

Text

where orchids grow — kageyama tobio

2.1k words | genre/s: hanahaki!au, angst, hurt/comfort | warning/s: mentions of death, mentions of depression | pairing/s: kageyama x reader, platonic!tsukishima x reader

↪︎ in which an innocent little crush led to your downfall

a/n: i wrote this almost a year ago when i first started this blog. i thought the writing was really mediocre so it has been sitting in my drafts ever since,, BUT it’s finally getting to see the light of day cause i’m cleaning out my drafts :)✨ pls be easy on this one ewbd

it haunted you in your dreams, squeezing and grasping and clutching at your lungs until your final breath gave way–until they shriveled up into nothing as flower-torn chest had killed you. well... not yet at least.

no matter the amount of effort you had put into suppressing your feelings for the setter until it was nothing but a withered memoir, you couldn’t help but lay upon your bed, restless, as you recalled the flashing images of bloodied flowers that had been freshly thrown up from your lungs earlier this evening. you liked to think you’ve learned to control your emotions and feelings around kageyama well enough that the aching feeling of growing flora in your chest wouldn’t effect you that much, but of course the feeling was still evident. however, it was earlier this evening when the setter split half of his meat bun for you after a practice game and the sheer look of care and admiration in his eyes forced a rose to travel up your esophagus.

it was so horrifyingly beautiful, a disease growing flowers within its host, wrapping until it plants itself to the point of rupturing the owner’s heart and lungs due to unrequited love. you hated it—despised for that matter as the memories of your past self screeching in pain and heaving to breathe. your face turned alabaster.

your heart thudded against your rib cage as the feeling of suffocation of chrysanthemums, daises, roses, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dandelions echoed within you. your hand rested upon your chest. the feeling of such ghosted atop your rib cage where you could faintly feel the growing stems of flowers and weeds.

there was an evident aching within your heart that wasn’t from hanahaki, rather from the thought of how brutal it was caused an immense pain to compete with the actual disease. the first incident of you throwing up bloodied flowers was the moment you got home one day. you were walking home with kageyama after hinata went ahead as he had his bike with him, leaving you two to your own demise (he had a little hunch about your feelings for the raven-haired boy, but he never bothered to confirm it). it was then you two reached the entrance to your house in which you two bid a farewell. you were so enthralled with how beautiful he looked with his dark blue eyes that shined thousands of stars.

it was game over for you.

you stumbled through your front door to which your mother worriedly asked if you were okay. you could barely mutter out a response as the roses and daises and chrysanthemums fought their way out of your system, throwing up your one-sided feelings in hues of thick crimson and hollow chests.

from then on, you had routine check ups at the hospital. in fact, you had an entire team of doctors taking care of you due to how rare the condition is. you see, hanahaki disease only occurs to those so massively in love with another, whose feelings can compete against the strongest love of all, that a simple little crush wouldn’t cause all this commotion. unfortunately, friendly love wasn’t enough to ease her homemade raptures.

they also said it was long term illness, well... long term taking into account how well you can endure the pain. occasionally there are those who can endure the pain their entire lives, yet there are the majority who simply die from the excruciating pain within a few months. the only true way to cure yourself from hanahaki was to either get kageyama to match your feelings or to get surgery to remove the constantly growing flora.

the thing is with surgery is that the moment you get it, your feelings for that person completely disintegrate. you can you no longer feel the same love as it is permanently gone. you can never regain those feelings ever again.

that was the fact that scared you the most.

despite knowing you can no longer take the pain and that you needed this surgery, there was a twinge of hope within your aching psyche that perhaps there was a chance. a chance that kageyama tobio would look at you for once that wasn’t just a friendly gaze. a look in which he would come to realize that he was in love with you. and because of this, you endured the pain a little longer.

the only downside was that no one else besides your family knew about your condition. not even your friends. and yet, with most secrets that are difficult to keep, eventually it will get out. tsukishima found out sooner than you’d had hoped.

you and tsukishima shared the same class and one day kageyama had visited your classroom during lunch, giving you his favorite milk from the vending machine as payback for helping out the volleyball club and with tutoring. it then when you felt your cheeks burning cherry red and the infamously familiar sting within your lungs. he then gave tsukishima a melon bun that he owed and the moment kageyama walked away, the blonde middle blocker immediately noticed the pain written across your face.

you pushed the carton of milk in his hands when you dashed down the hallways towards the restroom. fortunately, you were able to make it in time, locking yourself down in one of the stalls and profusely throwing up sticky and bloody flowers with hot streaming tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. you immediately wiped them up. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this.

you flushed the toilet and watched the water turn red to clear when it went down the drain. you sighed, leaving the stall and looking upon yourself at the mirror. you looked absolutely terrible. from the dark circles under your eyes from nights filled with insomnia due to the aching pain, to your eyes still red from sobbing in the stall, and now to your hollow cheeks.

and because of the constant radiating pain, it became increasingly difficult for you to eat proper meals, leading for you to loose an unhealthy amount of weight. yachi was the first one to notice the sudden weight loss and the constant state of indifference. she knew there was something wrong, but she was too afraid to ask you. eventually, she asked if you were depressed one day and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

afte leaving the restrooms, you were surprised to see taukishima waiting outside the doors and you were immediately trapped. the harsh glare staring down at you and his more than worried voice eventually led you to finally confessing what was wrong with you. and for the first time in your life, you’ve never seen the middle blocker so worried and caring. that his usually harsh demeanor and signature teasing remarks were softened because the thought of losing you scared him deeply. besides yamaguchi and yachi, you were the closest friend he had and he would hate to lose one his friends.

he would often ask you, “are you considering the surgery?” to which you wouldn’t know the answer to and that you were still waiting for the rare chance kageyama could’ve like you back.

it surprised you the sudden look of disappointment that etched across his bespectacled face.

during practice or during games where you suddenly get coughing attacks whenever you were around kageyama and talking to him, it was tsukishima who would immediately pull you away from the others and take care of you. he was the one to help you clean you after yourself and wipe your tears. eventually, the rest of the school believed you two were a couple.

however, there was the day were the pain was too insufferable. you had hanahaki for six months at this point where the disease would get into the most dangerous stages that one day you called tsukishima up one and finally made the decision.

“i’m tired of waiting, kei.” you muttered harshly as your voice was getting more and more hoarse each day. it was getting worse. you two sat nonchalantly on some random playground swings. the sun was setting and the blond was carefully gazing at your eyes that was soaked in honey. “i’m getting the surgery this weekend and I want you to come and take care of me.”

“of course.”

it felt like everything was going to be okay when he said that.

you woke up to hush chattering, as if a a big group was in the room trying to speak softly, yet failing to do so.

“guys she’s awake!” a voice exclaimed. It sounded like hinata.

suddenly a whole herd of volleyball players came surrounding your bed, their expressions had looks of smiley relief melted upon their faces as they didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. the poor nurses could barely get past the towering high school kids as the thought of you being okay was more than enough to fuel their adrenaline.

“i’m glad you’re okay now, (y/n).” sugawara beamed at you.

“yeah!” cut in tanaka loudly, “i can’t bare to lose my favorite first year all because of a stupid crush!”

your eyes suddenly widen. the rush of fear and worry filled you as you looked at tsukoshima who was standing at the end of your hospital bed.

“i had to tell them, they were threatening me.” he scoffs lightly.

“we don’t know who your crush was though, so you’re okay!” added nishinoya who patted your shoulder gently.

daichi then cleared his throat, capturing the team’s attention. “we should probably go and let to the nurses take care of her. we have practice too.”

the room was suddenly filled with loud ‘yes, captains!’ as they all piled out of the room, leaving only kageyama to stray behind slightly. tsukishima looked at the you two briefly before closing the door. this was something that you and tobio had to discuss.

there was a feeling of soreness atop your chest, possibly from the stitch that ran down your center of your torso that was in the process of healing. tbe tall setter approached your bedside, scratching the back of his neck. usually whenever you looked at kageyama an itchy feeling would arise in your throat and your chest would feel tight, and yet the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt nothing.

“tsukishima told me what happened,” he starts. the initial fear of confrontation diminished into nothing but acceptance. you couldn’t hide your previous feeling forever. “you should’ve told me.”

you sighed, “i was going to... but then i started getting the symptoms and i knew that there was no point in telling you when you didn’t feel the same way.”

“but if you told me, maybe there was a chance i would’ve helped you get better.” the setter tried to state, only making you want to roll your eyes and scoff.

shaking your head, you pulled your hand out of his. “that’s not how it works, kageyama. your fake feelings would only make it worse and i don’t want to be with someone who’s dating me out of pity.”

“but i don’t pity you, i—”

“it doesn’t matter, now.” you shook your head and cut him off, “you don’t have to worry because the surgery removed my feelings for you permanently. you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore.”

kageyama gulps, nodding as straighten his posture. “but i almost killed you.”

“i’m here now, aren’t i? i’m okay.”

the setter still couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten and his gut wrench. “are we still friends despite all this?”

you nod. “of course, that’s not even a question.”

before their conversation could continue, one of the nurses knocked upon the door and opened it slightly. “sorry to interrupt, but all visitors must leave now. the visiting time is up.”

“oh, alright.” the volleyball player swiftly bows and waves goodbye to you before leaving the hospital room.

he cleared his throat the moment he stepped into the hallway, all uncomfortable and itchy. quickly catching up with the rest of his teammates that waited for him at the entrance, he quickly grabbed a water cup from the waiting room and gulped down its contents immediately—yet the feeling didn’t stop.

“kageyama, hurry we need to get to practice.” hinata calls out to him.

drinking one last cup of water in the desperation to heal his scratchy throat, he threw the disposable cup aside.

“i’m coming!” yet his voice was far too hoarse to be heard.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea

#kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama angst #kageyama imagine #kageyama scenarios #kageyama oneshot

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aphroditestummyrolls · 3 years

Text

i wrote a fairytale au moment

my country has reached a terrifying level of disarray and i am scared. so i wrote some escapism (literally) for Joe and Nicky. i was even inspired by this to write a whole fairytale au fic!!! it is long-- like, my star wars fics level of long, and im very excited about it. it feels good to be excited about something lol.

Folks that wanted to be tagggged: @ilostmyothersock, @littlerosetrove, @antukini, @sunriseseance, and @polarcell <3333 i hope you enjoy it! let me know if you do.

His heart pounded in his chest, the nighttime’s dewy grass sending him slipping and sliding as he darted between the trees. He didn’t dare take his usual, well-trodden path. Not tonight— not if his father had sent anyone after him.

The gardener’s cottage was on the edge of the palace grounds, where the lush, even lawns, sculpted shrubs and elaborate floral displays gave way to the foothills of the mountains. The ancient groves of chestnut trees were wilder, monuments to the artistry of a natural, unpruned life. Silver blue moonlight shone on their trunks, guiding Yusuf’s frantic steps as he dove deeper into the woods. He had slipped out of his chamber window without a sound that night— just as he had many nights before. There were no guards stationed out this far. He’d left the last of them blissfully ignorant, back by the last of the rose trellises— he knew it, but the urgency of tonight was twisting him into knots. He had to be sure. He had to take all precautions.

He couldn’t live with himself if he accidentally exposed this secret.

Finally, the endless shadowy forest gave way to a familiar clearing. The iron fist clenched around his heart loosened some, and he heaved a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

The cottage was small. The roof leaked when it stormed, and the front door had gone crooked with age, providing a gale-force draft that rattled the windows on windy nights. The stones used to build it were near as old as the trees around it, starting to crack after weathering centuries of snowy winters and sun-baked summers.

It was small, yes. But he knew that the bed was warm, that the verdant rows of growing vegetables smelled like earth and honey under the sun’s heat, and that he felt relaxed there. It felt more like a home than the Palace of Genoa, where he was all but trapped under the constant gaze of gossiping strangers. It was even more comforting than the silks and spices of home, across the sea where his family and his people ruled.

His father had told him that he was accompanying him to Genoa to discuss trade imports between their kingdoms. He had said that they were to spend the year solidifying their connections with the Genoese royal family, drawing up important contracts— it's time you learned a thing or two about compromise, Yusuf.

That was what he said.

Yusuf rapped desperately at the door, a ragged half a sob punching out of his throat when he realized that he was finally there, on the flagstone threshold of someplace warm and safe, and—

“What’s happened? Yusuf?” The door opened to the smoldering orange light of the hearth, the brightest lantern hastily lit by the sleep-ruffled man blinking owlishly at him. “You said it would be too dangerous to meet tonight, while you met with your father…”

Yusuf would have laughed at his sweet face, if he weren’t about to cry from relief.

“He means to marry me to her.” He said, shaping the words outside of his panicked head for the first time. They felt too loud in the quiet night, too starkly horrible against the pristine haven of the trees. “The Princess, she—“ Yusuf choked.

Only now did he notice how his hands trembled, the way his vision was going steadily blurrier— he blinked against the heat building behind his eyes. The summer night was cool, but not cold, yet he still shivered. He shivered until a work-rough hand took pity on him. Nicolo reached out and pulled Yusuf into him, like he had all those months ago, back when everything changed.

He pulled him through the threshold into the cottage, the floorboards creaking and the door swinging shut behind them as Yusuf spun around to immediately throw his arms around his love’s shoulders. The fog of sleep was gone when Nico’s pale eyes locked on his, suddenly and horribly awake. A hot tear broke ranks and burned a track down Yusuf’s cheek.

Nico made a sad little noise. It rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, a hum and a moan, the quiet syllable of no hidden in behind his teeth— like mourning. He cradled Yusuf’s face, his thumb brushing the wetness away.

“When are you to be betrothed?” He asked, his voice hoarse, like the sentence had to be yanked out of him.

Yusuf just shook his head, the thought of it flipping his stomach. “They intend to announce the engagement by the end of the summer.”

Something broke behind Nicolò’s eyes, and Yusuf knew what he was thinking. They had barely a fortnight left. The arm around his waist squeezed tighter, pressing their chests flush.

He could feel their hearts, pounding in time with each other. Usually it was a comfort, but it was a ticking clock between the two of them now. Their moments together were numbered.

Nicolo shuffled them around after a few tender seconds— breathing each other’s air, stroking over each other’s backs, existing in shared space— and maneuvered Yusuf to sit on the edge of his bed. It was still warm, the covers rumpled.

“I’m sorry to wake you. I just… I had to see you.”

Nico shook his head, “No apologies, Tesoro.” He puttered around the room, stoking the fire from embers to flames before setting the kettle over the highest heat. He settled on his knees, knelt at Yusuf’s feet to study him face to face.

He brushed Yusuf’s tousled curls off his forehead, and gazed into his eyes. His love’s eyes were a pale, silvery green, but tonight, they looked darker. In the dim glow of the cottage at night, they were bluer than usual, contrasted with the amber firelight. Yusuf leaned into his palm as it traced his hairline, down over his beard and jaw. Nico sat in silence, watching him with the gentleness of someone patient enough to watch the flowers grow. He was waiting.

“I…” he didn’t know where to start, what to say, “She’s so… She’s so old.”

Nico’s smile was unmistakably sad, little more than a quirk of lips, but his nod of agreement spurred Yusuf on.

“It has nothing to do with her looks, really. She’s just so old, and so wasteful, and her gaze on me is so… I just… I understand that I’ve put off marriage as long as my father can take. But she’s 25 years my senior. Her children are my age, Nicolo!”

He had told these things to his father— he had begged him not to go through with the arrangement, not to agree to the Genoese king’s proposal for his daughter’s hand. It’s already done, he’d said, it was arranged months ago.

Yusuf had no choice in the matter.

“I suppose it’s stupid that I was surprised.” He groused, his throat feeling tight and his voice thick. “It’s been so long since any of his children were more than bargaining chips to him— I’m not his son, I’m a new trade route.”

The kettle on the fire began to whistle, but Nico was sure to take his hands and kiss his knuckles before standing up to fix their tea.

Left to drift in his mind, Yusuf chewed his lip and floated through his memories, mentally listing the siblings that he’d lost to distant royal families. Only his eldest brother, Farouk, would never leave home. The throne was his, but what about the rest of them? What was the point of having children, of lovingly raising a family, if only to scatter them to the four winds in exchange for trade routes, dowries, and peace treaties?

It would be different if Mama was alive, he thought with a despairing little whimper. She wouldn’t let him do this…

“Yusuf, breathe.” His love’s voice broke into his thoughts, calling him back from the tangle of his mind. A steaming mug of rosehips, mint and honey was pressed into his palm, and Nico took it on himself to mold his hand around the warm pottery. “D’you have it?”

“If I say no, will you keep holding my hand like that?” Will you never let me go? he added silently, sure that his eyes were saying it all for him. Nico’s grip was warm and solid, and the calluses felt rough against him. It tethered him to reality, right there on his love’s bed. His pale gaze was soft and glimmering a little. Like he was going to cry. Like he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Yusuf anymore than Yusuf could bear the idea of letting Nicolo go. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, reaching out his free hand to card into his long hair. “Don’t let them take me, Nicolo— come away with me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t mean to spring this half formed, half delirious, half perfect plan on him so soon after waking him up in the middle of the night. The words fell from his lips, unwarranted and chaotic, but suddenly he was desperate to go, run, and be free.

Before he knew what was happening, the hot mug was lifted from his hand and Nico’s were on him, cupping his cheeks to slam their lips together. His waist was wedged between Yusuf’s thighs, his arms slipping down to wrap around him and tug his hips closer while Yusuf twined both of his hands into his love’s hair, desperate and trembling with the need to have him as close as he could be.

He nearly gasped with the need for air by the time they dared to pull away, but he missed his love’s lips the second they weren’t on his. Nico pressed their foreheads together, drinking in deep gulps of air, tear tracks wet on his cheeks and clumping his lashes as he fisted his hands in Yusuf’s tunic.

Yusuf’s hands in his hair slid down to stroke gently along his cheeks, feeling the wetness and studying how it gleamed in the glow of the hearth.

He held tight to Yusuf, fingers flexing in the fine fabric of his sleeping clothes. His jaw worked, jumping the way it did when he was holding his tongue. Everything about him was grim and elegant, as still as a statue.

He was so beautiful, and so sad.

“Why d’you look at me like that, Hayati?” He sighed, his own heart gripped in a terrible vice.

Nico swallowed, lips twisted with concern for a moment before he finally sighed and said, “I cannot ask you to leave your life, Yusuf. You are of such importance—“

“I am the sixth child of the Tunisian King. Farouk is his heir, and he already has three children of his own. I am nothing more than a mountain pass into the north to my father. My people barely know a thing about me— to them I’m simply the handsome, unmarried oddity of the royal family. My love, you know the wealthy trappings of royal life have never been something I need— but I need a life where I am appreciated and loved for who I am! I need simple comforts and a partner to walk hand and hand with through life. I need you, Nicolo.”

The fire crackled, and the cottage was quiet. Yusuf’s chest heaved, and tears streamed down Nicolò’s face. His bright eyes shone with a reverent light, like he had in the early days of falling in love— like he still did, in the pale morning hours when Yusuf was still half asleep by his side. It was as if he was falling in love all over again. Awestruck and grateful, his eyes looking like glimmering, full moons as he beheld Yusuf like a fallen star.

It took a long moment for Nico to find the words. Yusuf stroked his hair, hands still trembling from the adrenaline, even as the knots in his gut began to loosen.

“Yusuf, you…” he trailed off, rose back up on his knees and kissed him like an act of worship— firm, tender, salty with tears and trembling just as much as Yusuf was. Nico pulled slowly back, just far enough to nuzzle their noses and look him in the eyes. “I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Will you come with me?”

“To the ends of the earth. Yes, Tesoro.” He sucked in a breath and let it out long, in a sigh that seemed to clear out all the corners of Yusuf’s cluttered mind. And then, he smiled.

Nicolo was a man of intricate reactions. There was beauty in each and every one, but it was a private, special thing to see that broad, happy grin.

“Drink this while it’s still hot— it’ll help your heart calm itself.” He fussed, pressing the mug back into Yusuf’s palm, and this time, he took it gladly. Nico stood to his full height, standing over him where he sat for a brief moment while Yusuf didn’t dare take his eyes off of him. Looking back down at him with the glow of something divine in his eyes, Nico bent himself down to press a soft kiss to Yusuf’s brow.

“Well, my Prince— where shall we go?”

Yusuf grinned back, something bright and hopeful growing in his chest.

They had planning to do.

********

Yusuf gazed up from where he laid in the glen, soft grass and wildflowers under his feet. The sun dappled the forest floor, streaming down into the parting of the trees where the cottage sat. Nico flickered his lips into one of his barely-there smiles as he gazed down at him where Yusuf had pillowed his head on his thigh.

Summer was nearly done. The full, green leaves were burnished gold around the edges by the hot sunlight; the garden smelled heavy with ripe harvests and vibrant flowers; and— on the far side of the palace grounds, beyond chestnut groves and manicured lawns, and terraces— the home of the King was glittering with silk flags and banners for the harvest ball. The last days leading up to the festival were certain to be wildly busy— there wouldn’t be a single moment where Yusuf could slip by unnoticed. Nicolo would be fussing about in the palace gardens with last minute preparations from dawn to dusk.

Usually, Yusuf would be tearing his hair out from the stress. He couldn’t stand the pomp and circumstance, the endless preparations of a ball. He spent hours per day, standing stock still and poked with pins while he was fitted for another itchy, Genoese costume. King Vincenzo was seeking out any opportunity to discipline the palace staff, and the courtiers got particularly insufferable as the long awaited date came to peacock around at the height of their finery. Even back at home, festivals were terrible, but in Genoa, Yusuf’s father had become even more strict. You are representing our kingdom! Act like it! was the most common phrase, hissed into Yusuf’s ear for the most minor infractions. He was constantly watching him, his shrewd eyes looking for any moment to say stand like royalty, Yusuf— shoulders back.

He hated standing on ceremony and the never-ending scrutiny— but, this time was the last time. His escape was in sight. He didn’t complain a single time about the drapes of scratchy, heavy fabric piled on his shoulders, or the way standing with such rigid posture made his back ache. He took each new indignity with a smile so gracious that even his father was smiling back.

Thinking of Nicolo made every pinprick more bearable. Lying there in the sun, eyes closed to bask in the warmth, he thought about the expertly packed saddlebags under his love’s bed. He listened to his soft humming— a tune Yusuf had only heard when he was rearing his most delicate seedlings, or on their quietest, gentlest mornings together— and the way it blended into the sounds of the birds.

Yusuf had never felt so certain of his path.

He was so content that he didn’t notice that the fingers twining their way through his curls had gone until they must have been missing from him for quite a while. He cracked open one eye, peering up at his love with mild accusation. Nico wasn’t paying attention to his pouting lips, though.

Sitting up to get a better look at him, Yusuf found Nico’s deft hands full of colorful flowers. He weaved their stems back and forth, his steady gaze flicking over to Yusuf with a sparkle in them.

“If I didn’t know you like I do, I’d have thought you’d fallen asleep.” He chuckled.

Yusuf sat close to his side, able to look over his shoulder and study the intricate bouquet. “What a beautiful braid.” He murmured, awe in his voice.

Some of the blooms were the small, wild ones that grew in the glen, poking out between the wide circles of bright blue coneflowers and puffs of golden orange chrysanthemums that Nico must’ve pulled up from the garden bed beside them.

“Let me show you how?” Nico replied, phrased as a question even as he handed over his work for Yusuf’s inspection. “It’s not as hard as it looks, I promise.” He said, tiny smile tilting his lips again.

Perhaps it was his imagination, or his own excitement, but it seemed as if Nicolò’s smiles had gotten wider, his eyes gone softer. The rod of nervous tension that always clung to his spine in the days before a ball wasn’t as unyielding and stiff.

Nico was more at peace. He weaved the stems of his beloved flowers in, out and under each other, dutifully guiding Yusuf’s hands as he collected his own flowers. He was right— it wasn’t as difficult as it had looked. The rhythm was steady and relaxing, a balm on the last of his nerves as he tucked flower after precious flower into his braid of grass. The crickets chirped, the birds sang, and the sun fed the earth— Yusuf sat side by side with his love, and it felt right.

“You know, I have been thinking.” Nico murmured, his rich accent nothing more than a purr into the summer breeze.

Yusuf chuckled, knocking their shoulders together, “Dangerous.”

Nico huffed an indignant sound, but his eyes rolled playfully when he met his gaze, “Of course, of course— thinking is only for those supremely educated, princely philosophers. How dare I—“

“No, no no no!” Yusuf shook out his curls, letting out a full, genuine laugh, “Tell me every thought that has ever passed through your head, Hayati— it is my privilege to be your audience.” He was grinning, laughing, cupping Nico’s sunkissed cheek and basking in the light of his eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

Nico licked his lips, swallowing like his throat had gone dry as he maneuvered himself to face Yusuf, sitting on his knees like he had not so long ago. Something about it squeezed at Yusuf’s heart, his smile fading into seriousness as he waited.

He carefully took and set down their braided flowers on the grass, scooping Yusuf’s hands up into his own.

“If we are to truly leave this place, I want to do this properly.” He said, eyes clear and trained on him with an unwavering focus. “I love you, Yusuf, but I can’t promise any royal comforts, or an easy life. I have no ring or dagger to give,” his breath came out long and slow, intentionally calm even while his fingers squeezed around Yusuf’s hands. He let go, then, picking up his circlet of braided flowers to hold in his lap. “I can only promise you the kinds of beauty I can make grow. Would you…”

His voice stuttered, his gaze dropping down to his lap and the blue flowers there, as if Yusuf was too blinding to look at. He could feel his smile splitting his cheeks, bright and unabashed, the cry of yes on the tip of his tongue, nearly jumping from his lips.

But he waited, patiently holding space for his love. He reached out and cupped his hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse race under the delicate skin, just to make Nico meet his gaze again.

“Would you marry me, my Prince?”

Yes. “Yes, my Gardener. I will marry you.” He replied, whispered like a secret, but more resonant and proud than anything he’d ever said. He was grinning, “Though, I’m not sure how much of a Prince I’ll be by the time we wed.”

Nico huffed one of his little laughs, meeting Yusuf with one of his rare, open smiles as he lifted the circlet of blue and orange and braided white to rest gently on top of his curls.

“No, but you will always be mine.” He said, swiping a tear from Yusuf’s cheek, not unlike he had done so recently, for such different reasons. It was more breath than sound, matching Yusuf’s hush.

I’ve never been so proud to wear a crown, he thought.

With his chest feeling expansive and warm, his cheeks hot with a pink flush, Yusuf hastily reached out for his own circlet of flowers. Their wide, fragrant petals and little sun-yellow centers felt silky under his fingers as he lifted it to Nico’s brow.

“If I maintain such royalty, then, my husband must, too.” He replied, voice nearly lost in the birdsong. “King of my heart, my true love.”

Nico’s face had gone soft and slack with a familiar expression— as if Yusuf was the sun itself, as if his warmth and light had singlehandedly brought him to life.

Yusuf let himself be held as Nicolo took his face in his hands and leaned in close. He pressed his lips to his tear-stained cheek, and then the other. He peppered the smallest, gentlest kisses across the freckles on his nose, and Yusuf wrapped his hands around his love’s wrists to keep him close. The last kiss was softly, loving left on the crest of his brow bone, tender enough to bring the forest to a standstill.

#joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #the old guard #the old guard fanfic #fairytale au #escapism for the struggling #schmoopy schmoopy sappy fluff and some tears (cuz i always make joe cry-- not sorry)

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Note

Why do you dislike that scene of Sam and Dean hunting those soldiers? Because you believe they wouldn't be able to take specially trained army soldiers or? I'm sure we're supposed to think that they hunt monsters every day of their lives, humans are easy compare to.

oh, fam. what a hornet’s nest to walk into.

Okay.

So, first: First Blood & Lotus are complete failures of episodes. In writing, execution, believability, filmic decisions. Truly shocking that they got off the storyboard without someone fully laughing out loud and going “great joke!” and then, I don’t know, putting the draft ideas into the urinal in the office bathroom and letting everyone have a go at dissolving them into an ammoniac puddle.

But then they decided to do them. So, unlucky us. So, Lotus is just... risible. Whatever. I don’t have the energy or willpower to think about it. First Blood is so much worse. Aside from how completely fucking stupid the beginning is -- really, this boring-ass montage of who-cares is supposed to be this much of a mental strain to two guys who were in literal hell? -- ugh, I can’t even work up the energy to get as mad at it as it deserves. Blah. So -- stupid, stupid, unbearably stupid premise. Then they escape. Okay, fine. The Billie plot is-- again, unbearably stupid. But then they get out into the woods.

There’s a moment, a bare moment, where it’s the Sam and Dean I recognize. Standing out by that van, being competent in a way that feels grounded. Calling Cas, looking at a map, working together and triangulating their position and figuring stuff out. Grounded. That’s the key word. Sam and Dean were always, always, competent and together and I believed that they could be people because they made decisions and choices that pretty much made sense.

And then.

It’s hard even to put into words what’s so awful, so risible, so deeply embarrassing about the whole... Rambo sequence. First flaw is that they conceived of a Rambo sequence and entirely forgot what the actual movie First Blood is about. It’s not cool. It’s horrible. It’s brutal. Rambo’s hurt and freaked and this isn’t okay, not remotely, not at all. A First Blood reboot done by someone who kind of heard of it once on 4chan and thought “lol that sounds awesome” and never thought about it for more than the time it took me to type this sentence.

Then there’s the awful, awful, awful speech, which was the point of the gifset. Apparently lots of fans thought it was cool. I don’t know what show those fans have been watching. Dean’s liable to drop fake-cool sounding quotes and, you know, it’s not like it was wholly out of character. As my bud is keen to remind me, the double-reference of Cool Hand Luke and Rorschach is very dumb, and it is! It really is! But even the literal writing of it isn’t the main thing that’s wrong with it, even if the speech itself over the stupid walkie-talkie is cringe-worthy bad.

It’s the vibe. That’s what it comes down to. The vibe. An indefinable thing that nevertheless can be VERY wrong when it’s wrong. It was an accumulation of wrong notes, as we marched along through s12, going from okay to bad to what the fuck is going on. The British Men of Letters started neat but became overpowered comic book villains. The Asa Fox funeral where there’s a quirky little universe of hunters, like this is X-Men or something. Lucifer hopping into the President, when a writer with taste would understand that that’s a bridge too far for stakes, and pushes the story into a stupid corner where you have to pretend consequences don’t exist to move past it. And then, and then, and then, you get your two heroes, and you give one of them a gimmicky comic book speech that sounds like he rehearsed it to sound cool in the bathroom for weeks beforehand, and you set them on a fucking cat-and-mouse hunt with the Secret Service, and... what the fuck, was Dabb stoned? Was he eating cheetos off a puddle he’d left between his moobs and playing Spiderman on PS4 and went ‘lol this would sound cool, let’s do that?’ Honestly, I hope so. A thoughtless stupid little digression because ‘hur hur cool’ is better than him actually thinking this through and going, yes, that’s the place I want this story to go. That’s art.

Miserable. And, again, not OOC, not exactly. But there are things you can choose for your characters that feel thoughtful, difficult, adult, and remain in character. Then you can choose things for your characters that feel... like a child’s idea of what maturity is like. A coward’s idea of a brave man. A quivering nerd’s idea of a strong man. The Dean that I see in that scene is just... not the Dean I want, at all. It smacks of the thing that tanked the whole Dabb era. Doing something because for a second it looked kind of cool, until you thought about it at all. Doing something because it was a neat soundbite. Taste out the window; we’re gonna get Dean saying the lamest, most overused, most internet-nerd fake-cool line: you’re trapped out here with us, and I guess because Sam racks his gun and looks faux-grim in the background we’re supposed to take it seriously. I just wanted to turn off the TV.

And then he just kept doing that for three more years. Thank god he didn’t get to ruin the finale, too.

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laur-rants · 3 years

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Schrodinger’s Game Theory: The Fate of Daud

Ever come up with a theory, and then halfway through creating it, the evidence changes and so you’re stuck with a lot of well-put-together ideas but nowhere to go with it?

Anyway, I did that with Daud. Lol.

I just rediscovered a whole ass rant in my drafts (which is now in the link above for private viewing and judgement PLS read it, if you’re missing some context to this post) that I clearly spent a lot of time and energy on, where I came to the conclusion that Daud in Death of the Outsider is actually a imposter/doppelganger, and it was because of the writing from the book contrasted the writing in DotO so poorly, that I came to believe this. I was like, VERY convinced prior to Billie’s book coming out that this was, in fact, a viable game theory. !00%. There was a chance that out there, somewhere, Daud was still stuck in his mind, and needed someone to come rescue him. Stranger things have happened to explain characters coming back from the dead in a video game, okay?

Somewhere along the line, though, it stopped being game theory and was more like, a fan idea. I had collected enough evidence to come to the conclusion that my theory wasn’t sound. That, and Billie’s book released, and there’s no way I could argue that. Instead, imposter!Daud moved to Fan Theory, something I could fictionally, write about, put into an AU.

But... Just because it’s probably not true in the scheme of the game doesn’t stop me from thinking about it, from wanting to talk and share those ideas with others. Even if, at the end of the day, they hold no water and it wouldn't matter because, well. If Billie’s book is to be considered post-DotO canon, then there’s no reason to believe my theory would hold weight. It wouldnt matter, because Daud well, he was left for dead either way. Nobody was coming to rescue him. I’m sure there’s plenty of questions people have in response to this, the most chief one being

“If its not Daud how is he in the Void talking to the Outsider and Billie at the end of DotO??”

And my usual response is: the end of Return of Daud saw Daud becoming trapped within his own mind, through a trap laid by witches from the very beginning of the book. That meant, even if his physical body was still, well, physical, he was trapped inside his mind.

I proposed that out of survival, well, a sliver of his mind would hole itself up in the Void, maybe even be stuck there (this is not so uncommon as it appears; think of what happened to Jessamine in the Heart). Once the spell on his mind and the Outsider were gone, the sliver could return back to his mind. And he’d still be alive.

From a gamer perspective, looking at the mechanics of the game, and everything else, it makes sense. I’m sure some people would say this theory would ‘cheapen Daud’s death’ and I would refute that by simply saying ‘all of DotO cheapened Daud’s death, and despite being a playable character in the franchise he dies unceremoniously off screen and we just take Billie’s word for his death to heart.’ Nothing cheapens a death faster in my head than ‘time to renege on this character’s entire past arch and have him die off-screen.’ His death was ruined far before they went into the Void. If anything, this would give Daud a change to explain himself.

But I digress. I actually did do a stupid amount of research on this. And what it all really boils down to is that there was bad writing involved in DotO when it came to timeline consistency and quality checkers not checking for that, + the book having been rewritten like, twice, to keep up with what Arkane was changing in DotO in real time.

That’s post marked 9/25/18. I’ve had this theory sitting around for a long time. I enjoyed it. I find it compelling. But ultimately, it was me trying to save Daud, in my mind. Would it be cool for the witches to have stolen Daud, replaced him with a dummy body Eyeless/Envisioned, given that dummy body his memories, and then, when it had outlived it’s usefulness of sending Billie astray, the magic broke and it perished? Hell yeah it would have been cool. and honestly, according to the books, it was a viable option! They could do all those things. You can’t tell me that

Billie can steal faces,

Emily can create copies and

They witches had access to a gemstone that can make prisoners of their own mind/see the thoughts of others,

and NOT immediately think that they’d try and replicate one of the strongest Marked to ever live. The one that TRAPPED DELILAH, no less. And because the witches messed with Daud’s dreams at the beginning of the book (it’s subtle, but its there, its like, you see it on the reread sort of thing), that’s the whole reason he thinks the Outsider is supposed to die, so of course the double would fervently believe the singular obsession that brought Daud into a trap in the first place...

I’m digressing again. Anyway.

What does this mean for Dear old Daud?

It means Daud canonically died, and it was shitty and poorly written and I’ll be salty about that until the day I die because some schmuck on twitter wrote one singular essay and Harvey Smith decided ‘you. you’re the one who needs to write this story’ and then we got Corvosider fanfic in a Dishonored game and I wanted to die. It doesn’t help that this writer was notoriously pretentious and shit-stirring in the fandom at-large BEFORE their hiring-- anyway, this isn’t a salt piece on that. I AM SALTY ABOUT IT, but I’m not the person to discuss it at length. Just know that that’s why some of the narrative decisions in DotO are so out of fucking whack, and we all have to deal with it.

MOVING ON....

There is still... a very slim chance. To save Daud.

Realistically speaking, this chance will never occur. It’s clear and obvious that Arkane has no plans on returning to the Dishonored universe, so despite all these loose ends that Arkane left and all these pieces that need to be picked up and all this lore that’s been reneged on, there’s really not much of a chance that we’ll see, say, Billie, return in a game that is specifically designed to save the timelines. Which, honestly, would be fucking baller. I want a game where I play as Billie, where the shattered timespace of Dunwall is saved by her capable hand, and Emily is free to rule for decades without having to fear that the Isles will fall into the Void like it’s Deimos falling into Hell in DOOM. We KNOW the timelines are saved because we KNOW that Emily has a long and Just (or unjust, if you went high chaos lol) Rule over the kingdom. That can’t happen if, just three years down the line, Billy is running all over the place trying to make sure time doesn’t break at the seams.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Because of how Daud meets Billie in RoD, we know that a Billie three years into the future (’YOUR future,’ she tells him) is trying to save his life. There are other timelines she’s saved already, for sure. Including saving Daud in the past, saving Corvo and Emily in the past, saving Granny Rags in the past -- basically, saving all the Marked from coming to an untimely end. And then, after all that, she goes back in time and tries to save Daud, tries to save him from being poisoned by witch magic and falling into a trap that is triggered when he touches her Future version of the Twin-bladed Knife. She goes through a sort of Groundhog Day scenario, where she confesses that she’s tried hundreds of times to save him, and she couldn’t save that Daud.

But why show us Billie failing to save Daud, if she was destined for failure? Because, eventually, she must succeed.

And therein lies Daud’s (potential) salvation. Is it realizing the other Daud is an imposter? Well... let’s think of it this way. Is the Billie who regained her arm and eye an ‘imposter’ where the ‘real’ Billie is in a timeline where she lost those body parts? Is the Aramis Stilton who went mad in the basement of his mansion the imposter? Or is it the one that Emily saved and was able to keep lucid? These people aren’t ‘imposters’ to their timelines, but they kind of are to the timelines that are saved. Which means DotO could be an entirely separate ‘timeline’, one that we manage to play through and see the ending of. But the ‘true timeline’ may never be known. But at least, we know it happens, and we have Billie to thank for that.

FIN.

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athina-blaine · 3 years

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MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I deserve that. Your friendship. After everything I’ve done since…”

“Of course you do. Listen to yourself; it’s not like you wanted to frighten me.” An inch of space sat between their hands. “Is this …? Um. Is this okay …?”

The winds continued to howl, and Martin's hand lay limp on the bed sheets. His face grew hot, and he started pulling back. Stupid idea. But then Jon slid his hand closer until their fingers brushed. Emboldened, Martin wrapped his hand around Jon's, his burn scar grazing the soft skin of Martin's palm.

He squeezed gently.

“No one deserves to be lonely, Jon.”

Jon had no response, staring out to the storm that continued knocking on their windows. He stared, and he let Martin hold his hand.

Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1

Martin was an optimist. He had to be. Anything else would have been utterly unbearable.

That being said, he was… relatively confident things would get better. Jon had confided in him the terrible secret of Magnus Manor and the truth of this hellish storm. The Lonely. And understanding a problem meant you were one step closer to solving it, right? It meant one step closer to getting out of the cursed estate you’d found yourself trapped in.

Most importantly, though, the two of them were talking again. Above all else, that gave him hope.

Jon was waiting for him in the foyer the next morning. His nose was buried in a book, but when Martin approached, he looked up, and Martin liked to think he looked pleased.

“Good morning,” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered.

“You as well. Would ... would you be amenable to sharing some morning tea? If ... if you're still offering ...”

“Y-yes, of course.” So yesterday hadn’t been a fluke; Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone again. “That sounds great. Um. English Breakfast, then?”

Jon smiled, nodded, and fetched them both a pot and one cup apiece. The porcelain warmed Martin’s aching fingers, a refreshing respite from the chill that crept so subtly through the halls.

They drank, and they talked about very little. Martin’s tongue burned with questions (–what’s it like living with these entities? How do they manifest? Will we get out of here soon?–), but he restrained himself; the age lining Jon’s face had soothed as he sipped his tea, and when he asked Martin how he’d slept, there was a shy twist to his mouth.

Right now, Martin wanted to enjoy himself. Enjoy Jon and a warm cup of morning tea. There would be plenty of time to agonise later.

In the meantime, he’d just need to keep busy. Now was as good a time as any to give cleaning the manor another chance. Masochistic, maybe. Impossible, certainly. But at least this time he didn’t have to worry about being reprimanded. Probably.

One of the many study rooms that littered the estate would be a good place to start. Small as it was, its sooty fireplace and dusty couch was enough of a time sink for his purposes.

He was in the middle of battling a particularly stubborn stain when the door opened and Jon peered inside. Despite everything, Martin couldn’t help his trill of anxiety, made all the worse when Jon kissed his teeth.

“Must I iterate that it’s not necessary for you to – ”

“I want to.” It was still such a shock to just see Jon, to have them talking, that the words came out in a breathless, jumbled mess. “I promise. I-I like cleaning, honest. It keeps my mind off … you know, things.”

Jon paused mid-stride. For a moment, Martin thought he was going to be chased off anyway, and then he’d have to actually beg to clean, because the thought of spending another minute with nothing to do but contemplate their situation–

“I–” Sighing, Jon brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, fine, if you insist. So long as you understand that it is absolutely not an expectation of you.”

Martin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Another hurdle crossed.

He’d just convinced himself to relax and finally let his mind wander, soothed by the familiar, tediousness of cleaning a fireplace, when Jon unclasped his cloak, lying it over the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you, obviously. Having you clean it in my stead when I’m the one responsible for it falling into disrepair doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Doesn’t bear thinking about. What didn’t bear thinking about was a man of Jon’s stature doing menial work like this in the first place. But Martin was hardly about to refuse his help … or his company, so freely given. “Um. Thank you. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, though. There’s literally no way you could have kept this place clean all by yourself.”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but the point is moot.”

Well, if Jon wanted to roll up his sleeves and work at a grimy fireplace, Martin wasn’t about to stop him. When Jon literally rolled up his sleeves, he bit back a smile. The skin of his forearms was paler than that of his hands and face, smooth and free of blemishes. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a bit of sunshine without his shirt buttoned up to the chin?

Not that Martin had any business considering a thing like that in the first place. God, his face was burning again.

“I hate cleaning,” Jon murmured as he dunked the spare cloth in the water bucket. “Nothing ever stays clean.”

“Yeah. Gotta do it, though. Oh, you should keep your elbow up. You won’t tire out your arm as quickly.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Jon sighed. “Perhaps the fault lies with me. I’ve never been particularly good at domesticity, after all. The rare times my grandmother was home, the only thing we talked about was how untidy my room was.”

Martin’s ears perked. The opportunity to learn more about Jon and his past? It was too enticing to resist. “Your gram wasn’t home much, then?”

“Not often. She was the matriarch of our family, so important business kept her in the capital most days.”

Oh. How … odd. Martin didn’t know anything about how noble families handled representing themselves, but … “I figured your mom or dad would take care of that sort of thing after a while. Did your gram just enjoy the work?”

“Both of my parents passed when I was a child.”

Martin’s stomach plunged to his feet. What a stupid blunder to make. “I’m … I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jon said, waving him away. “I was barely more than a baby at the time. I simply don’t remember enough of them to mourn their loss.”

Martin wasn’t sure if that made it worse. For all that Martin mourned the absence of his father, at least he had fleeting memories of warm hands and a deep voice to prove he’d existed at all. That he’d had a father once. “Still, that must have been … a bit lonely.”

“Not at all. I always had my governess’ supervision. She provided the structure and discipline I required.” Jon laughed, a wistful, breathy thing, and lowered his head. “I was … a rather troublesome child.”

That did even less to make Martin feel better, because he suddenly had this image, unbidden, of a little boy with big eyes and gangly knees, head hanging as his grandmother told him off in clipped tones, before leaving once again to the bustling capital. No hugs, or gentle forehead kisses. Just a scolding about his messy bedroom.

I’m sure you were wonderful, he wanted to say. I’m sure you deserved better than that.

But he was probably just projecting again.

“I’ve always liked cleaning,” Martin said, instead. “Makes me feel useful. My mum, she’s … she’s been sick most of my life. Nothing too serious,” Martin added quickly as Jon turned his head. “She just gets tired a lot. You know, hard to stay upright most of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better, but keeping things clean helped.”

“I … I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill.”

“We were really lucky, actually. We lived in the same town as a really good doctor. He was really generous with us, but eventually … I-I couldn’t keep up with the bills running the farm all by myself, especially after our last goat died. We had to sell a few years ago, and I had to find work in the city.” Even after all this time, his throat tangled at the memory of leaving his childhood home. “Managed to land a really good job at the lord’s castle, so I always had money to send home. Every month. Haven’t been late once, yet. Until …”

“… Until now.”

Martin opened his mouth, because, well, he wasn’t late yet. There was still time for Martin to send his letter: about a week or so. That was plenty of time. But he refrained, because saying as much to Jon felt … dangerous. Like he was tempting fate.

Things were going to work out. They had to. The storm was going to clear, they were going to get out of here, and then …

“Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” said Jon.

Warmth ballooned in Martin’s stomach, spreading to the tips of his ears. It was an absurd thing to receive praise for (oh, you love your mother, really going above and beyond), but … well, it was still nice to hear, every once in a while. Or at all. “Thank you.”

It took most of the morning, but, with their combined efforts, they managed to restore the fireplace to an off-colour white. Martin stepped back, basking in the glow of a job well done. Jon, however, didn’t appear quite as chuffed as Martin felt. Rolling out his wrists, the man collapsed onto the couch, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process and triggering an intense coughing fit.

“Break time?” Martin asked, taking a much more gentle seat. His only answer was more coughing. Poor thing looked utterly done with the whole enterprise, if the curl of his nose was any indication. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Unless you really intend to help me clean this room all day?”

Jon laughed, turning away sheepishly. “I … yes, um … Well, this and that, I suppose. Reading, mostly. I’ve always had a penchant for it, and I’ve yet to make my way through the library. Um. Music, although it’s been quite some time since the gramophone worked. I took to baking for a time. I like to think I’d gotten rather good at it.”

“Wait, so you did bake that bread? When I first got here?” Martin thought back on it, how crispy the crust was, the soft and tasty inner dough, how fresh it had been. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten fresh bread. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“It’s hardly a complex task. But … yes, thank you.” Martin wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the dust, but Jon’s face looked a bit darker, a bit flushed. But then, the good humor in Jon’s eyes fell away. “And then there was the garden, of course. It was … well. A disaster, to put it mildly.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I killed everything, didn’t I?” Jon’s eyes dropped to his lap, shoulders sinking. “Not a single bulb flourished under my care. I … I eventually figured it was more merciful to give up than keep trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Would be better to start with anything but roses, he wanted to suggest. You’re just setting yourself up to fail. But that would certainly come across as annoyingly patronising. “Maybe I can lend a hand?”

“Pardon?”

Wait. No. What business did Martin have making an offer like that? It wasn’t as if he knew any better about keeping things alive. But something about the resigned nature of Jon’s tone tore at him; his mouth had fallen open of its own accord.

“I-I mean … Well, it might be fun, yeah?” Martin tried. “Personally, I’ve always wanted to learn how to garden.”

“Is that so?”

Martin nodded, intending on leaving it there, but Jon was watching him, waiting. Oh.

“W-Well, uh, when I was a kid,” Martin said, face warming, “I’d always dreamed of having a, um, like a little cottage? That I owned? With a great big plot of land in the middle of a forest somewhere. Would get married, settle down, grow flowers and all kinds of food together. It’s … it’s a bit silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, eyes softening, and Martin’s heart fluttered something fierce. “I think that’s lovely.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace, because it had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in that particular fantasy. It just wasn’t feasible, these days, having a little cottage of his own or … or finding someone who’d want to marry him when he’s never even had a serious relationship before.

“Thank you, though, for your offer,” Jon said, cutting through Martin’s thoughts. “I’ll … be sure to consider it.”

The tight knot in Martin’s stomach unwound just a bit. “‘Course.”

By that point, the dust had become utterly unbearable, and they were forced to evacuate.

The brass of the door handle glimmered under the lamplight, rusted with age and disuse. How long had Martin been standing here, knees locked and shivering beneath the thick chill? Ages, by now. Griffiths was going to have his skin peeled for shirking his responsibilities like this, and the head butler would be perfectly within his rights.

But every time Martin tried to remind himself, that he still had so much work to do –

“… Hello?”

That voice. Still out there, somewhere behind the old door. Distant, but not beyond Martin’s reach. If Martin had already been here for ages, then that voice …

Wasn’t anyone coming for them?

If he opened the door, he could just take a quick look. Call out, see who needed help –

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?”

Martin yanked his hand back, hand burnt on the molten brass.

“M-Mum?”

“I always knew you’d leave for good someday. I could see it in your eyes, you know. You couldn’t bear to take care of your poor, sick mother, and now you’re off to traipse about the countryside with some invert.”

“I didn’t leave.” Tight pressure strangled Martin’s throat, the back of his eyes burning. “I’d never do that. Where are you? I’m coming, I-I’ll find you–”

“And what, pray tell, would be the point of that?”

“Mum, please, just tell me where you are, I’m coming–”

“You’ve always been a wretched liar.”

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can–

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #[air horn noises]#yes chapter 4 will now be officially two chapters #their love just could not be contained #momm

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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hellas in a handbasket

Thanks to Hannah (@cicada-bones) for planting the idea in my mind of what could have been in store for Lorcan and Aelin post-koa, and also for the title.

5 times Rowan finds drunken Aelin and Lorcan causing trouble + 1 time he gets them started. post-koa aelorcan bonding. (4.7k)

prompts used

Lord Lorcan Lochan, she still laughs every time she hears his name, is not her favourite person. He is her favourite person, however, to beat at cards.

Aelin isn’t sure how they ended up here, just the two of them. He and Elide are visiting from Perranth on ‘official business’ which she knows is just code for visiting their friends. Aelin has loved having Elide here; she missed out on so much time with Elide in the years they were apart, and she takes every chance she can to see her now that Terrasen has begun to settle and rebuild.

She’s not sure what time Elide drifted off to bed, and she knows Rowan’s meeting with the Ambassador from Wendlyn is likely to run long, but she hadn’t expected herself to end up here, in a booth in the back corner of a small, dark tavern in Orynth with Lorcan.

Their relationship is… better than it was. Better than when they first met and he had hated her with a burning passion for stealing Rowan away, better even than when he had begrudgingly sworn the blood oath to her on that small boat just over a year ago.

That said, it doesn’t stop him from slurring, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

He swipes a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping away any droplets of the ale left in his thick stubble. She frowns in disgust.

“Speak for yourself,” She says properly, looking back down to where she’s spread her winning hand on the sticky tabletop. “It’s not my fault you’re awful at this game.”

He offers her a sarcastic smile, unamused as always at her sense of humour.

“I could always make you win,” She says, all too sweetly. “Deal another round.”

With a gentle tug on the blood oath between them she cocks her head at him. Lorcan bears his teeth but gathers the cards up to deal again, unable to fight the order, no matter how small.

Aelin leans back in her seat, smiling slightly, as he flips the cards neatly into two piles in front of them.

She revels in the fact that she never normally has to use the pull of the oath, confident in the devotion Rowan, Aedion and Fenrys offer her without question- well, without serious question. None of them are inclined to bite their tongue if they ever disagree with her, but still, she never feels the need to use it.

She wants to with Lorcan sometimes, simply just to wind him up, but Rowan always seems to catch her mid thought and raises a silver eyebrow.

It’s always some version of causing trouble again, Fireheart?

She only ever answers yes.

She picks up her cards, and grins over the top of them at Lorcan, who is already scowling at her and then back down at his cards. It really is just luck how she keeps winning, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let him believe she’s a cheat, Aelin doesn’t care, she will empty his pouch of gold by the end of the night.

She tosses a card down onto the table and takes another swig of her ale as Lorcan frowns at the card she has put down. His knee begins bouncing under the table and she knows she’s won again already.

She bites her lip to try and stop the cunning grin from spreading across her face, but from the dark rumbling sensation she feels stirring it doesn’t work. He picks the card up and throws down one of his own, and as if by magic, it’s the card she needs.

With half a thought she decorates her brow with a glowing circlet of fire and Lorcan throws his cards onto the table with a growl. The rumbling grows louder, and the tavern seems to darken.

She has half a mind to look around and check none of the other patrons have noticed, she knows they will have, but winding Lorcan up is worth the tongue-lashing she’ll get from the Lords of Terrasen about her un-queen-like behaviour.

In a second though the darkness is gone, and the crown of flame atop her head is put out. The scent of pine and snow fills her and she settles into the presence of her mate.

“You two,” Rowan starts, “Are causing a little bit of a commotion.”

He’s smiling at them though as he approaches, his sharp canines shining in the dim light, so she knows they’re not in trouble.

“She started it,” Lorcan mutters and she laughs in his face.

Rowan only sighs, the sound of someone tired of playing mediator, but he signals to the barkeep for another round and takes the seat next to her, picking up the discarded cards to shuffle for another round.

Lorcan knows he has mellowed in the past year or so. The release from the torment that was serving under Maeve, and the torturous longing that came with it, was more than a weight off his shoulders.

But he maintains that he still hates Aelin Galathynius, or whatever the far too long string of words her name is. He hates her.

“You know this is a bad idea,” He says as he strides into the small study he knows she works in in the cold of a winter afternoon.

The fire is burning bright in the fireplace, but the carefully arranged stack of wood doesn’t seem to char, and he scowls even more.

She turns a clearly fake look of innocence onto him, “What is, my darling blood-sworn?”

He hates that too, hates that he is sworn to her and her country, as if she hasn’t already won everything else in her pathetically short life, she’s won him too. Even if a small part of him reluctantly respects her for the way she runs her court.

The oath is to protect and serve Terrasen, not her, and he can feel it in his blood. Without it he would protect Elide until his dying breath, and even then he’d go down fighting, but the openness of this oath, the freedom it allows him, is refreshing. And he’ll never admit it, to anyone, but he’s proud to serve Terrasen.

“This,” He says and holds up the proposal she had drafted for the arrangements for the court to travel to the witch territory. He doesn’t want to see that other bitch-queen either, but Elide is excited, so he’ll put up and shut up.

She stands, the loose cotton of her dress unrolling as she glides over to a drinks tray in the corner of the room.

“Take a seat,” is all she says.

She doesn’t use the oath, and he appreciates how little she does, but he would have expected it at something as small as that. She likes to use it on him just when she knows it will rile him the most, on stupid shit that she knows he’ll do anyway, with or without the tug deep within him.

He almost deliberates over it, but decides ultimately it isn’t worth it. Young she may be, but the queen in front of him can put a male in his place.

She hands the small glass, with an inch of a brown spirit in the bottom, to him as she takes her own seat opposite him.

“So?” She raises an eyebrow as she curls up opposite him, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So you need to redo it all.”

He has trained for centuries for how to navigate these things. This stupid young girl knows nothing. She only smirks at him over the rim of his glass, and he curses himself for what he’s about to say next.

He tosses the piece of parchment across the floor between them and it flutters to the ground. “I added my suggestions for what would work better.”

The way she balances her chin on her fist, with the corners of her lips pulled upwards, tells him he’s fallen right into her trap. She knows the plans were bullshit, she just also knows he would plan it far better than she would.

“Bitch,” He curses but she only smirks.

“You’re centuries old, do you not know any other words? Bitch is so old by now.”

He draws up a tiny reel of his power, Whitethorn would skin him if he touched a pretty hair on the head of his mate, but it still feels good to do it.

“Bitch,” is all he says as he sends the tendril of his power over to her.

“Dog,” She snarks back as he feels the warmth of flame across his brow. She didn’t even have to blink to throw it at him, and he dulls the part of his brain that is impressed at her skill.

His next retort is on the tip of his tongue as he realises he’s actually having fun messing with her. She can give as good as she gets, and she doesn’t roll her eyes and refuse to bite the way Whitethorn would, doesn’t take it too far the way the young wolf would.

“You’re scaring the staff.” Whitethorn’s voice is amused as it drifts in from the doorway where he leans, broad arms crossed over his chest, pulling against the deep green tunic he wears.

He hadn’t realised how dark he had let it get, or how warm the queen had managed to make it.

“It’s all him,” she says, as her mate comes to rest by her side.

Rowan brings a hand up to lightly stroke a path down her back, and Lorcan thinks it’s nice to see Whitethorn so happy. Gods, he’s getting soft in his old age, but maybe Elide has shown him it is more than okay to feel this way.

He’ll pretend that isn’t another thing he owes to the Queen of Terrasen.

Aelin likes messing with Lorcan, loves it even, but honestly, this time was an accident.

She probably didn’t need to invite Elide and Lorcan on their trip to the Southern Continent but she thinks she deserves the trip, and the sunlight. Perranth is known for the rain and she knows that no matter how much Elide loves to be home she doesn’t love the rain.

She doesn’t give a shit how Lorcan feels, but where Elide goes, he goes.

And maybe that’s a lie, maybe she’s glad he’s here too, and not just for Rowan. Maybe she enjoys it when they end up just the two of them, drinking and talking shit. Maybe she knew exactly what would happen when she asked everyone if they fancied a drink and Lorcan was the only one up for it.

She’d rather burn all her favourite gowns than tell him that though.

Aelin hadn’t meant for the fighter to overhear her comment to Lorcan while they watched the street fight from a distance. They were beginning to make their way back to the palace after drinking their fill in one of the taverns nearby.

“Trust me, you could beat him blindfolded,” she had said, slapping the back of her hand against his chest.

“Shut up,” He had all but growled, barely in the mood to play tonight, still grouchy from his inability to sleep during their journey across the sea.

Apparently she had spoken too loudly for them to go undetected and the organiser had called out to them.

“You don’t trust her?” He had asked, his accent twisting around the words.

Aelin doesn’t know how he knew to use the common tongue, maybe something about them stood out in the crowd. Maybe Lorcan’s height or the dark energy that emanates from him at all times.

She’s hoping the hood of her cloak hides her identity, hopes it hides the bright gold of her hair, and keeps it a secret that the Queen of Terrasen is hidden away in the crowd, watching this street fight unfold.

Lorcan had only snorted and replied, “Our friendship is purely built on lies, I second guess everything she says.”

She had smacked him again as the organiser proposed his challenge to Lorcan, but she couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed at his choice of words. Friendship.

She should have put an end to it there, and when Rowan asks, she tried, but she couldn’t resist poking Lorcan when the challenge was made.

Now he stands in the centre of the crowd, knees bent and fists raised in front of himself. She wasn’t serious about the blindfold, but apparently the townspeople were. The man strikes and Lorcan blocks, the smile still not leaving his face. She shouts a taunt and he flips the finger in her general direction. The man uses it as an opportunity to strike, but Lorcan doesn’t miss it.

He uses an arm to block the man’s blow and uses his leg to trip the man’s feet out from under him. The man hits the ground with an oof and Lorcan tugs the blindfold off. Game over.

This street fight isn’t the same level as the ones in the pits that Arobynn challenged her to fight in. She would have never put Lorcan forward if it was. It might be questionable for a queen and one of her blood-sworn to be here, but it’s still technically legal. She’s tipsy, not stupid.

Lorcan sketches a mocking bow to the crowd and she cheers as a strong arm wraps around her waist and the warmth of her mate appears at her back. She leans back into him automatically and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I take it, this is your doing?” He asks, his tone bright with amusement.

She knows he used to be concerned about her relationship with his former commander, knows it used to worry him how they were at each other's throats, and she’ll never forget the look on his face when Lorcan had a blade to her throat that day in Rifthold. She’s confident he knows they’re settled now.

She turns in his arms to look up to his face in the dark.

How could you assume such a thing? She raises a brow, but beneath the cloak he probably can’t see.

All she can make out beneath his own hood is the shine of his fangs through his smile and the etchings of his tattoo across the lower planes of his handsome face.

Because it’s you. He leans down to press the briefest of kisses to her lips. And him.

She only shrugs, she can’t deny the regularity at which she ends up in situations like this with Lorcan. She can’t deny enjoying them either.

“What, you don’t like my majestic beard?”

Lorcan knows he’s over five centuries old, but he has downed enough ale that he doesn’t care as he leans over to the young Queen of Terrasen, close enough to get in her space and risk rubbing his rough beard across her skin.

She isn’t amused, the fire of her temper already prompting beads of sweat down the back of his neck.

“I want to burn that animal off your face.”

Lorcan laughs far too loudly, and he’s vaguely aware of some of the young sentries at the nearest table looking over with concern, before quickly emptying the table at the dark sound erupting from his chest.

“So touchy today, been a while without Whitethorn has it?”

Something flickers in her unusual eyes at the mention of her King-Consort, her mate, and his trip to Adarlan. The striking contrast of the blue and gold is something he has always found intriguing about the Ashryvers of Wendlyn. Meeting the queen and the pain in his arse that is her cousin quickly ended his curiosity.

He’s struck, deep and low in his chest, at the thought of the General, and his father who Lorcan served beside for hundreds of years. Gavriel. He thinks about the male often, misses him every day in ways that he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

The tribute to the Lion of Doranelle that now stands in Orynth is something he takes time to visit everytime he comes to Terrasen. He has to give the Queen that, it’s a beautiful statue, and paints Gavriel in the light he deserves.

He shakes himself, he’s a fucking morose drunk sometimes. Gavriel wouldn’t want him here moping.

Aelin seems to do the same, ready to fight fire with fire. “I know what you and Elide got up to last night, in my castle I might add, so I’m surprised you’re still so tightly wound. Struggles performing, old man?”

“Fuck you,” He says but he’s grinning at the blonde woman staring him down. He finally knows by now that the twist of her mouth isn’t anger, she’s trying to hold back her own laughter.

He brings a hand up to poke her on the nose, but she bats it away before he can get there. Shit, maybe he’s had more to drink than he thought.

“That’s not my job,” She grins at him and he throws his head back to laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” He tells her, barely holding down the urge he has to yank on her braid.

She just grins up at him and takes a very un-royal swig of her ale, before slamming the tankard back down on the table beside them.

“I’m not sure I want to know what this is about,” His wife’s voice sounds behind him and he spins so fast he stumbles to the side.

He hears the queen cackle behind him and he flips her off as he nods his greeting to Whitethorn who scoops her up under an arm.

“You’re back!” He hears the queen cry, the words a shriek that travels over the noise of the tavern.

He throws himself at Elide, wrapping the delicate woman tightly into his embrace and breathing her in. He doesn’t trust his mouth to land on hers if he tries to kiss her, so he settles for pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in deeply.

Elide laughs and he squeezes her in even tighter. He’s less afraid of displaying his feelings now, now that he’s not constantly waiting for the disaster around the corner. He trusts Aelin’s rule, and she has Whitethorn at her side, and what’s left of his Cadre.

She has him too, if she ever needs him.

She’s past the point of pretending she’s not seeking Lorcan out, and she thinks he’s at the same point too. She likes spending time with him, just the two of them, and who could have ever seen that coming?

Rowan has this one small smile when she says she’s off to see Lorcan, one that says he’s elated, but doesn’t want to make too much of a big deal in case she changes her mind. She thinks Elide probably has one of the same.

This tavern is busy and they probably could have gone somewhere quieter, but she likes it. She likes being with her people, in the crowds and the conversations. She basks in it, and she’s unashamed in her belief that it’s where she’s meant to be.

It’s her turn to get their round. They’ve set up camp at a small wooden table in the back of the dark room, and she weaves in and out of the crowds to make her way back, the two large tankards clasped in her hands.

The thing is, Aelin is a trained assassin. She’s been trained by the most powerful Fae male alive, she should be able to keep her footing, but apparently she’s a lightweight. Sober Aelin would have seen the spill on the floor, or at least would have been able to stay upright.

Drunk Aelin is another story altogether, and drunk Aelin slides.

She manages to right herself relatively quickly, but the ale is out of her hands before she can blink, waves of it flying over the wooden floor and sloshing up the boots of the nearest patron.

The young demi-fae turns, and she knows from the expression on his face that this is going south. Quickly.

“Watch it,” He hisses.

She has her hood up, golden hair and striking blue eyes hidden away, but she likes to think that she should still be recognisable, even in the woolen tunic and trousers she wears. It’s a far cry from her usual queenly get-up, but still.

She’s almost offended.

“I’m sorry,” She says all too sweetly, too pissed to pretend to mean it, and the demi-fae narrows his eyes. He hasn’t missed her tone, or her dismissal of his command.

“I said watch it.” He steps closer to her now, and she levels her stare at him. Her power is writhing within her, hot and angry, begging to be let out on this male, and she clenches her fists.

Aelin takes a deep breath. She is his queen, and she is better than allowing her temper to run wild, no matter how much she wants to let her body drop into a fighting stance.

But she doesn’t need to. She blinks and Lorcan is at her side, his teeth bared at the offender.

His voice is low and dark, and quiet in a way that promises violence, as he says “I would suggest that you watch your mouth.”

The demi-fae makes a reckless move and laughs, she’s not sure how he has the confidence to stand against both her and one of her blood-sworn, but they’re both still hidden under the hoods of their capes.

She can feel the restrained violence in Lorcan’s posture next to her, she can feel the waves of darkness beginning to wash over her, and she’s reminded of the fact that it’s a comfort now to feel that. Gone are the days when the touch of Lorcan’s power drew fear up inside of her.

She knows he won’t move until she says, knows that he understands she can handle herself, but she appreciates his swiftness to act in her defense.

Aelin opens her mouth, a fiery retort waiting on the tip of her tongue, but the tavern falls silent. She snaps her mouth shut as she hears the murmurs that build throughout the room, your highness, they say.

“Good evening,” Rowan nods to the group of demi-fae as he slots into his place beside her. She’s flanked now by two of her blood-sworn warriors. “Is there a problem here?”

She knows from his tone of voice that his expression is icy, daring one of the males to raise a challenge. She tugs down her hood and the one to start the commotion pales at the sight of her.

“No-no, your majesty. Ap- apologies,” He stutters.

Aelin offers him a tight nod, says “Sorry about your boots,” and turns to the door, her jovial evening over.

Once outside Rowan turns to them, “What was that?”

She feels as if she’s back at Mistward, looking up at Rowan wearing the expression of a disappointed mentor.

“She started it,” Lorcan mumbles under his breath, and she jerks to glare at him.

“That is such shit-” She starts, readying to defend herself even though it was totally her fault, as she turns back to Rowan. But he’s biting his lip, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he holds in his laugh.

“You two don’t go anywhere without adult supervision,” He says laughing and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

She pokes her head around Rowan to stick her tongue out at Lorcan. His returning middle finger makes her laugh, loud and joyously.

So maybe Lord Lorcan Lochan is one of her favourite people.

Being King-Consort to the Queen of Terrasen is a position Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius enjoys. He loves the people of Terrasen, and the country itself. He loves serving a queen who is noble and brave and strong.

He loves his wife, his mate, and the life they live together. He thanks the gods every day that he gets to spend the rest of his existence by her side.

One thing he does not love is the paperwork.

He runs a hand down his face, scratching the lines of his tattoo, as he squints at one of the pages. He stopped being able to think properly a couple of hours ago. Rowan skims through the words on the paper, holding the sheet up to the one remaining candle on his desk. The only ones of note are Adarlan and Terrasen, and he decides that everything else can be a task for tomorrow.

He shuffles the papers into a somewhat orderly pile and rises from his desk, sending a tendril of his power to blow out the candle as he leaves the room.

A sentry bows before him and hands him a small note as he makes his way to his wife. He nods his thanks as he continues down the dimly lit halls.

The palace at Orynth is a place he is glad to call home, it’s not the oldest castle he has known in all his years, but it has character and history. It’s kept warm by the remnants of power his wife managed to cling on to.

He reaches the royal quarters quickly and finds his mate in bed. Aelin is curled beneath the sheets with a book clutched in her hands.

The smile she gives him when he enters is bright and easy and it makes his chest feel warm.

“This might be Dorian’s best recommendation yet,” She says as he comes over to her side, holding the book high with a finger wedged between the pages to keep her place.

“Is that so?” He says with a smile.

His mate’s relationship with the King of Adarlan is another thing he is thankful for. He knows Aelin loves the correspondence she receives and the gifts he sends. Aelin always has him on the lookout for ones she can send in return.

Aelin nods enthusiastically as he takes a seat by her feet.

“Is this you all tucked up for the night?” He asks. Aelin raises an eyebrow and places the book carefully on the table by the side of the bed.

“I’m not tired,” She says and begins to throw the sheets back, a hungry look in her eyes.

Rowan cups her cheek with his palm and drops a delicate kiss to her lips. He allows himself to place another before gently pulling back. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like where your mind is going.”

Aelin kisses him again, rising up to her knees to press into the kiss.

Rowan allows himself a minute before pulling back finally to pass along the message he received. “Our guests have arrived, slightly ahead of schedule.”

Aelin jerks back, enough to smile widely at him, before throwing herself out of the bed and tugging her boots onto her feet.

The stables are always cold, the winters in Terrasen are known for being brutal, but he just presses himself further into his mate as they wait. The smell of her is divine, and he feels settled as he breathes her in.

Finally, their guests appear a short distance away, and his wife throws herself out of the circle of his arms and into those of his former commander.

He smiles at Elide and presses a friendly kiss to her cheek as they watch their lovers embrace.

Aelin is dangling above the floor as she clings to the Lord of Perranth and Rowan smiles as she returns to the ground. They’re already bickering about something Rowan is unaware of, but it’s not unexpected, he knows how they work by now.

He had hoped that their relationship would have the opportunity to develop but he could have never dreamed that they would reach this point. Rowan thinks they could be closer than he and Lorcan ever were themselves, and the thought isn’t unpleasant.

The pair reach where he stands with Elide and their contrast is stark. Lorcan, with his dark hair and sharp features towers over where Aelin stands, glowing bright and gold.

He clasps hands with Lorcan, who nods his head in acknowledgement.

“Good to see you, is it too late for a drink?” He proposes.

Aelin and Lorcan share a look, and something passes between them before she turns back to Rowan. Aelin smiles brightly as she links her fingers through Rowan’s and leads the way back into the castle.

#aelin ashryver galathynius #lorcan salvaterre #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #aelorcan is my new brotp #elide lochan #i have decided this is one of my favourite tog dynamics #they're so fun #also does anyone actually understand lorcan's powers?#because I don't #so some creative liberties were taken on that front #i haven't read koa in a hot minute #so if any details are incorrect just ignore #lol #this is why agkol 14 is late sorry

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noctualilith · 3 years

Text

What Friends Are For

This was a gift for the lovely @bkfstclubmember as a part of Hazelnoots Discord Server’s Secret Santa 2020! She listed a few wishes and one of them was Leo&Remus friendship, which my muse practically jumped at! The story works as a stand-alone, but is also a continuation of the LoganLoveLetter collab and would be happening a few days after Never Get Enough Of You if you want to read the story of the love letter mentioned ;)

My Santa hat is off to @jacklighting for running the magical place that is the SW/C2C Discord server and for organizing this Secret Santa exchange!

The Sweater Weather / Coast To Coast universe and beloved characters in this fic belong to @lumosinlove !

Merry and happy to all you wonderful people <3

“So, how are you doing, really?” Remus’ voice pulled him out of his thoughts and his hand that was absentmindedly stirring his coffee jerked in surprise, splashing droplets across the table. Leo looked up sheepishly, reaching for a napkin to wipe them away before they dried into an abstract painting on the wooden surface, giving himself a second to gather his feelings and try to put them into words.

He texted Remus way too early that morning, Hey Loops, up for a breakfast later? and got a reply not ten minutes later. Sure! Come to ours? Sirius will be out in an hour.

He had woken up before dawn and couldn’t fall back asleep, his thoughts circling and spiraling in on themselves, causing a phantom itch right under his skin that he couldn’t shake off on his own. Normally he’d talk to them about it, his two, currently tangled together under the blankets, Logan burrowed between them, head barely visible and Finn’s arm thrown across both of them, fingers pressing lightly into Leo’s ribs as if making sure he was still there, even in sleep. But this was about them and he didn’t know where to start. His eyes burned as he blinked against the dim light of the sunrise trickling through the curtains.

He loved them so much. He’d do anything to keep them. And still a part of him had been waiting for the day when they’d tell him they didn’t want him anymore, dreading it with a panic bordering on vertigo. He had watched them become more open and trusting with each other, their connection growing stronger and deeper with time, ever since that first time he had noticed there even was a connection, at that damn restaurant in Boston.

Their missing piece, they’d call him. But what if they weren’t missing a piece anymore? Something had changed over the weekend while he was gone, a subtle shift in their energy that made all the difference and he didn’t understand where his place was now. He needed an outside perspective. He needed a friend.

Taking a sip of his coffee bought him a couple more seconds, but Remus’ question hung in the air and Leo was wildly grateful for his friendship all of a sudden, of his kind but firm no-bullshit approach and his patience. How was he really feeling?

He took a slow breath and then let it out in a whoosh of air. “I don’t really… I mean, everything is fine?” He winced when he heard the question in his own voice. “Everything is fine. I don’t know what has me so on edge. It’s just a-- a hunch. A feeling.”

Leo felt his hands dance across the tabletop in agitation, betraying the inner turmoil that he hadn’t quite managed to hide from his voice and even less from his body language. Remus leaned forward in his seat, raising one eyebrow and flicking his eyes down to Leo’s traitorous hands and then back up again, waiting him out silently.

Leo sighed and closed his eyes. It’s been amazing, having Remus’ friendship and confidentiality, being able to talk to someone about their very specific, shared set of circumstances, but sometimes his no-bullshit radar was bordering on scary; especially when it was forcing him to confront uncomfortable feelings that he didn’t really want to unpack. That is why you’re here, Leo reminded himself.

He needed someone outside of his bubble to tell him it was nothing, just his paranoia, his insecurity causing him to see problems where there were none. The trouble was, he knew his instincts were right more often than not and the rare few times he got lost in his own head, he got untangled quickly, helped by reassurance from Finn and Logan.

Finn and Logan. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had changed. He left on a rainy Thursday afternoon and came back on equally dreary Monday, tired but glad he made the trip and even more glad to be home with his boys again.They had been texting and facetiming every day but he had spent the whole Friday at his cousin’s wedding, surrounded by his extended family and not being able to check his phone all that often.

Saturday morning was for catching up on sleep and a late brunch with his parents so he only got to call them in the evening, finding them bright-eyed and happy, missing him but keeping themselves entertained and-- they had talked, Logan told him proudly. About their history, about their time at Harvard. Not all of it, but a start, a very good one by the sound of it.

Actually, Finn jumped in, Lo wrote me a love letter. Can you believe it? It was amazing. I keep re-reading it. Logan turned to stare at him then, You do? Finn just nodded, laughing as Logan blushed and then tried to smother him with kisses. Leo felt the familiar rush of affection for the two boys, his two, but underneath it he could taste the bitter tang of doubt creeping in. The unwelcome feeling that he hoped he had banished for good when it came to the three of them.

We forgave each other, they told him and he could only smile and tell them how proud he’s of them, that it must have been hard but he could tell they were lighter now, better for it. We love you, Peanut, they said, faces pressed close to the screen, jostling each other and laughing. His heart thudded painfully in his chest when he nodded in response, I miss you both so much.

“What is bothering you then?” Remus asked him gently, pulling the now empty mug of coffee from his hand. His hands unoccupied, his fingers immediately started plucking on the threads at the fraying hem of his sweatshirt. Finn’s sweatshirt. They both kept stealing his, and he would sometimes pull on one of Logan’s bigger hoodies when they were staying in, but he’d only leave the house in Finn’s or his own clothes, the exception being Logan’s snapbacks that they both took to sharing all the time now.

They were so intertwined, the three of them; he loved it and he was scared to death of losing it. He wasn’t ready to voice that frightening thought yet, but there were others that he needed to say outloud, if only for Remus to tell him that he was being stupid and there was nothing to worry about.

“I feel like-- like I’m intruding? It feels like something has changed, like they are somehow even closer now and I wasn’t there for it and now I feel--” Leo closed his eyes and thought back to the first evening after he got back. Logan’s calm joy where there usually was a low current of agitation running through him at any moment, not allowing him to stay still for too long. The almost reverent way Finn was around Logan, constantly pulled into his orbit, unwilling to leave his side and radiating a quiet happiness. Their hands linking every chance they got, basking in this new chord they had added to their harmony and somehow seemingly unaware they were doing it.

“It feels like I don’t have the right to join in. Like I’m one step behind. It feels so private and I can’t stand to be in the middle of it but it’s driving me crazy to be on the outside, too.”

Remus hummed and leaned forward, elbows on the table and his fingers steepled under his chin, regarding him thoughtfully and mulling the information over before speaking in a soft voice that Leo grasped at like a liferaft.

“It sounds like they started to heal some old wounds between the two of them and it also sounds like they would be willing and happy to tell you about it. Though they probably aren’t even aware of how you’re feeling right now. I’d expect them to still be caught up in the emotions of the breakthrough, because it seems to be a heavy topic for them from what you’ve told me, but it is affecting you a lot, too.”

Remus waited for him to take in his words and Leo nodded, wanting him to continue.

“What would you need to feel included again?”

Leo let himself think, as he turned his head to the side and stared at the sunbeams breaking through the windowpane and hitting the crystal prism placed on the windowsill in a burst of rainbow reflections dancing across the wall. He felt inwards for the answer and when he stumbled upon it, it rushed out unbidden. Things he had pushed down for later, for maybe even never because they weren’t his to ask for; now they burst forth and he welcomed the flood.

“I’m not sure, but-- They have this history with each other that I can’t catch up to no matter what I’d do. It just is. I just-- I don’t quite understand it, I think. And it feels so hugely important, it is important to them, but they both weren’t even able to talk about it until now, so I don’t--” Leo sucked in a breath and looked to Remus who was nodding at him encouragingly.

He still felt like he was grasping at vague shapes in a dark room and having no idea where the door was, but letting it all out might also let some light in, so he barrelled on.

“I don’t really know much about what happened between them back then. Bare bones, yes, but not really enough to be able to understand, or-- help, I guess? They would get this wounded look whenever the topic came up. Logan straight up wouldn’t speak about it and Finn had only told me bits and pieces. Said they weren’t ready to fully talk about it yet. God, Finn would tear up if any of us mentioned his first year with the Lions, after he got drafted. Logan would just clam up and go radio silent, disappear for a few hours.”

Leo shook his head and pulled the sleeves over his hands, trapping the edges in his fists and then wrapping his arms around himself, the fabric of the slightly too small hoodie stretching over his back and shoulders. It almost felt like a hug, he could still smell Finn’s scent on it when he turned his head and pressed his nose against his shoulder, breathing deeply. “I kinda gathered that it’s better not to ask,” he mumbled into the soft fabric.

Remus stayed silent, letting him finish his thought, but Leo couldn’t bring himself to speak the words that have been bouncing around his head for the past few days. He was irrationally afraid that they’d become real when he spoke them and the threat, however irrational, brought tears into his eyes.

“Leo, it’s okay.” Remus rounded the table and pulled out the chair next to him, settling down on it and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, his eyes earnest and attentive. “That is a tough situation to be in. The way you’re feeling makes total sense in the light of everything you told me so far. So - what would you need from them now?”

Leo swallowed against the apprehension climbing up his throat and stated firmly “I want them to talk to me about it. I want to know more of what had happened between them before we met, at least the parts they’re comfortable telling me. And now they might be ready to tell me more, but I’m scared it has already changed things between us. And-- and I don’t want anything to change! What if they realize they don’t need me anymore? What if--” he trailed off with a gasp, gulping for air and searching Remus’ face, silently imploring him to tell him it’s all just in his head. To give him a solution to stop the rapidly spinning worries in his head.

Remus squeezed his shoulder in encouragement, and then pulled him into a hug, letting Leo catch his breath and digest the words that were now in the room, fears named and spoken and challenged. Leo thought it would make it worse, saying them outloud, but as they both pulled away from the hug and settled in their chairs again, he had to admit he felt a bit lighter already.

“It’s perfectly normal to be afraid of change, you know,” Remus said as he reached for their empty mugs and tilted his head in question. Leo nodded and watched him pour them more coffee and drop two sugar cubes into his. “Thanks,” Leo smiled up at him, the gratitude encompassing much more than the coffee.

“Anytime,” came the answer in kind from Remus who was cradling his own mug in both hands and regarding him over the rim. “The way I see it, it sounds like they’ve had this shared experience that you weren’t a part of and they don’t quite realize how it’s making you feel. But you’re an essential part of their present and their future. Everyone who knows you guys can see it. You should see them when they talk about you, Leo, they both love you so much. Give them a chance to include you and maybe tell them what you told me? They won’t know what you’re worried about if you don’t tell them.”

Leo groaned, hiding in his hands and then rubbing them across his face. “It sounds so easy when you say it like that. It sounds like something I’d say to them when they argue about stupid shit. Merde. You’re right. I just have to trust them.” He looked up at Remus, letting out a heavy sigh and feeling the resolve settle in his chest. “I do trust them. I’ll talk to them. Thanks, Loops. For the coffee and for the talk. I needed this.”

“Anytime, Nut. ‘s what friends are for.” Remus’ tone was warm and honest.

Leo was grateful, more than he could say. He felt relieved and clear-headed, the fog of the past few days finally retreating enough to let him think without immediately spiralling out of control. He also felt brave; for talking about it and for deciding to trust the relationship they’ve built and the reassurances he realized Finn and Logan readily offered him anytime he voiced even the slightest doubt. Yes, things might have changed but that could be a good thing. It seemed to be good for Finn and Logan, and now he couldn’t wait to be with them again and find out how he fit into their new harmony. They would figure it out, together.

The gratitude in his chest made him say it again, “Really, Remus, I mean it. Thank you. How do you always know what to say?”

Remus burst out laughing at that, and Leo felt his own lips stretch into a smile, welcoming the change of the atmosphere, the heavy topics temporarily put aside.

“I’ve been accused of that several times already. Seems to be a talent of mine,” Remus’ smile was audible in his voice.

“Well, I’m glad, Loops.” Leo grinned and settled on his chair more comfortably, dragging his second cup of coffee closer and noticing the rumble in his stomach making itself known, now that the anxiety wasn’t tying it into knots.

“Now, what about that breakfast?”

#lumosinlove #lumosinlove fanfic #inspired by Sweater Weather & Coast To Coast #Loops #Leo Knut #Sweater Weather #Coast To Coast #Hazelnoots Secret Santa 2020

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