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void-ink-studios · 7 months

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Wrath of the Wishmaster

You asked, you shall receive.

Thanks for helping me clear my writer's block. I might write more scenes that happened prior to this, but enjoy what's here for now! Might post to AO3 later, who knows?

Enjoy babes!

Word count: 2,500

There were many things Scarab did not understand about the Wishmaster, Prismo. Many… Many things.

Why did an all powerful being decide to spend its eternity making pickles and writing fan fiction of the universes he observed? Why, of all things to add to the featureless Time Cube, was there a hot tub?

And why, above all, did he tolerate all of Scarab's... strangeness?

Because no one liked bugs.

That was the lesson Scarab had learned in his eons of existence.

No one liked bugs. At least, not the kind of bug he was.

Of course, people like butterflies. They liked to watch the pretty and dainty little things as they flutter along. But only from a distance. People still recoiled if they got a good look at their face. Or anything that reminded them that they’re bugs, and not just living little splashes of color.

And Scarab was no butterfly.

He was a beetle. Was? Is? He wasn’t sure anymore. So much of himself had changed since he first emerged from his burrow.

And yet, there was Prismo, calling his little chirps and trills "cute." Encouraging him to find places in the Time Room to burrow and hide and crawl.

There was Prismo, who didn't recoil at the site of his real face. Who saw his strange mouth and eyes and decided to kiss it all over, rather than hide it behind his mask again.

So no, he did not understand many of how Prismo operated. But Scarab was not about to complain. He felt more alive in his own shell than he has in eons. He kept his mask off more often than on these days. His hidden arms had seen more exercise than ever before. He was starting to remember the strange language of chirps and trills and buzzes from his old home.

Of course, there were still bad days. Days where he had to sit still and stare at something stationary just to remember what direction was up. Days where he crawled away into one of his hidden nooks to tremble out of sight.

He had been reluctant to let Prismo in on those days, at first. He held up walls and scooted away and flinched enough to get the Wishmaster to back off for quite a while.

But, as he came back into contact with himself, and as Prismo called him beautiful and quirky, rather than disgusting and unsettling, the walls came down.

He wasn't ready to tell him what happened to his antenna and wings. But, Prismo was at least there to turn the screen wall to something calming. Or to rub his aching back and shoulders on days where he could do little else but shake.

It was... nice. He hesitated to call it wonderful, but it really was. Much better than a bug deserved, but he was not about to remind Prismo of that.

No, he had Orbo to do that for him.

He knew he had grown far too comfortable with Prismo when he heard the orb roll into the Time Room, loudly calling for his buddy the Wishmaster. Who was not currently there, but instead tending to his pickles for the moment. He trusted Scarab to watch the main room for any wishers, which he had been doing diligently from his perch on the ceiling.

Scarab froze, stuck to the ceiling like he was pinned there.

Maybe if I don't move, he won't notice I'm here.

It was a nice thought. But when had the universe been nice to him before?

"Uhm... Scarab? Mate? Whatcha doing up there? I thought we cleared up a while back that that creeped people out."

Scarab stayed silent as he crawled back down the wall. He ignored the way Orbo visibly shivered at his method of locomotion, standing at attention once his feet touched the floor.

He unconsciously made a nervous, light buzzing sound, his mouth parts clicking together as the orb stared at him like a disection project.

"So, what's all this then? You think just because Prismo's not here, you can do whatever you want? I thought we talked about this forever ago, Scrabs. You might be just a bug, but you got raised to the pantheon. You gotta act like it."

Orbo rolled to look around the Time Room. Scarab reached gingerly for the remote, trying to alert Prismo to their visitor.

"Seriously, I still feel bad enough for Prismo to get stuck looking at you when you were at your best. If he's stuck with you, it's the least you could do to not creep the guy out. That's not how you show appreciation, Scrabs."

Scarab tried to tune it out. He wasn't creepy, not to Prismo, Prismo called him beautiful, insect traits and all. Orbo swung around to look at him, now noticing his face.

"Where's your mask, man? No one wants to see the horror show your kind calls a mouth. It's bad enough when we have to watch you eat, you can at least put the rest of it away."

Scarab felt small. Tiny. Just like he did when he first met Orbo, who took one look at him, and decided he wasn't meant for the glittery Judgement Hall. He barely even noticed when he shuffled the plates back over his face.

"Much better. So, where's Prismo then? Not like I came all this way to talk to you, right?"

Orbo laughed. Scarab didn't. He just kept his eyes trained to the floor, still quietly chirping to steady his nerves. His world started to feel tilted. What he wouldn't do for his cane right now.

"Cut it with the noise, mate. It's like you've forgotten you're a god or something. You want to go back to the dirt? Is that it? I can talk to Boss for you, if that's what you want."

"...No. That won't be necessary."

"That's what I thought. Now, where in Glob's name- Oh, Prismo! Buddy, there you are!"

Scarab didn't look up to acknowledge the Wishmaster's presence. He felt so tiny. Just like a gross little bug pinned to the wall.

"...What are you doing here, Orbo?"

That made Scarab look up. Prismo's tone. All the warmth had been sucked out of his voice. There was an edge to it. One that the beetle had never heard before, not even during the whole Fionna and Cake disaster.

"Aw, mate, can't I just come check on my good buddy? It's been ages since your last party, man. Us at the office are just itching to groove again. We'd love to see you!"

Prismo's expression was unreadable. Scarab wasn't used to not being able to read the Wishmaster, he was usually an open book. The blue eye shifted between Orbo and Scarab subtly.

"Just haven't been in the partying mood, Orbo. I've been having some friends over for board games, I guess, but I'm not planning on a party any time soon."

The star core seemed to catch Prismo's shifting glance, turning his attention back to Scarab. The beetle stood ramrod straight. Partially to not draw attention to himself and partially to prevent his body from shaking on uncertain legs.

"Oh. Prismo, buddy, why didn't you say anything sooner?" Orbo rolled back over to Scarab, smirking.

"Say what sooner?"

"That this dude was killing the vibe in here! I mean, I totally get it, I wouldn't want a party either if that was lurking in my place somewhere."

Prismo's expression hardened.

"Scarab's not 'killing the vibe' Orbo. He's been nice to have around, he plays board games with me, Cos, and Death."

Orbo rolled his eyes.

"Prismo, you're cool. You don't have to keep it quiet for his sake. Just say the word and I'll find something else to do with him. It's not the first time he failed to learn a lesson."

"I'm not keeping anything quiet. I like having him around. He's actually pretty cool when he's got the space outside of work, and you're being, like, really uncool, Orbo."

Scarab was stunned. He'd been the only one to ever really talk back to Orbo. He'd never expect someone to do it on his behalf.

"What? Me, uncool? Pris, c'mon, mate. You're allowed to say he's creepy, we all know it. He's a bug. You know, those little creepy crawlies? I thought I trained most of the creepy stuff out of him by now. I know you're everybody's buddy, but you really need to make sure the lesson stays in his head if you don't want him weirding you out. Like, I came in here and he was on the ceiling! Looked like a ghost or something. And without his mask! I thought I made it clear his face is a horror show. Thank Glob I got him to put it back on before you had to see it, bud. It's a real doozy, I'll tell ya."

The beetle wasn't looking at Orbo anymore. No, he was watching the growing horror on Prismo's face. Horror not directed at him for once.

"Dude, Scarab's not that bad. A bit uptight when he's stressed, but still a pretty cool dude. Why should he have to hide so much? This is the Time Room, you're supposed to relax in here."

"Oh, Prismo, you sweet dream child. Scarab's not cool. He's not like us, you know?"

"Like us?"

"Buddy, you're the dream of one of the greatest living wizards in the multiverse! I'm the core of a collapsed magic star! That's where gods like us are supposed to come from! Scarab though? He's just a bug. A creepy crawly cockroach that somehow made it up from the dirt he's meant for."

"Didn't he manage to take down a galactic level threat that you couldn't catch?"

"He got lucky." Orbo looked annoyed. That usually ended well for no one. "Knew I should've finished his punishment before he came here..."

"I thought this was his punishment."

"Oh, no, I'm talking about his punishment for trying to start a revolt. Went over my head to the Boss! All over that nonsense with that unauthorized universe of yours. I was gonna take his legs. Maybe should've pulled out his other arms as well. I still can, if you wanted me to, mate."

The silence in the Time Room was deafening. Scarab has seen a lot of expressions on the Wishmaster's face. Contentment, sadness, boredom, amusement, joy, frustration, all of it.

But he had never seen rage. Not until now, anyway.

"What?"

Orbo seemed to completely miss the change in atmosphere, as he carried on just as before. "Oh yeah, it seems to be the only way he actually learns. Thought the antenna would be enough, but nooo, Mr. Buggy Bigshot still thought himself better. I really thought the thing with the wings would've gotten through to him, but I guess not."

The lights in the Time Room went out. Not even the stars from the void outside shed much light into the cube. Scarab never thought he'd miss the sickeningly bright yellow of the Time Cube, but he's permanently paint his shell its color if it would turn the lights back on.

"You. Did. WHAT?"

There was a guttural hiss coming from where Prismo once was. Blue what replaced by a bright purplish pink, staring down at Orbo and Scarab. A friendly smile was replaced with jagged teeth. Fingers replaced with claws. And a growl rumbled through the cube.

Scarab didn't think. Just acted. He opened himself a passage into the lower levels of the Time Room, scurrying in as fast as his legs could carry him. He could faintly hear Orbo yelling after him, but he ignored it completely. The adrenaline let him ignore the pain, ignore the feeling of constantly tipping over. All his instincts told him was run and hide.

He crammed himself into one of his many makeshift burrows, backing as far into the hole as possible.

Prismo was angry, he knew that much. Anger meant pain. Anger meant he'd lose another piece of himself. What would it be this time, he wondered.

It didn't matter he knew Prismo would never hurt him. It didn't matter he knew he probably couldn't be hurt like that while in this form. All he knew was to curl up and hide.

And so he did.

He shook, in fear and pain, and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. But he didn't dare come out of his cubby.

So he waited.

He didn't know how long it was until he felt the familiar tingle of light against his back. He flinched, a frightened trill falling unwillingly from his throat.

"...Scarab? Sweetheart, are you there?"

...At least he sounded like Prismo again...

"...Yes... Yes, I'm here."

"Good, good. I... I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I don't like what I am when I'm like that but... What Orbo was saying... Your wings..."

Scarab felt his elytra twitch under Prismo's touch. The ragged scraps of wings shivered as well, as the beetle sighed out a soft little chirp.

"...It is the way of things, Prismo... Orbo is not the only one with thoughts like that. It's what I've been taught for eons. No one likes bugs, after all."

There was a long silence after that. Prismo was looking at him with a sad calmness. He reached his other arm into the hole, petting a hand over the parts of his face he could reach under the mask. The bug shivered pitifully into the touch, trying and failing to resist the urge to lean into it.

"...You deserve better, Scrabby."

That's what did it. That's what broke the dam.

Scarab wept into Prismo's hand, shaking hard enough to make his carapace rattle.

"Shh... It's okay, honey... Can you come out here?"

It was slow. Almost painfully so. But he managed to peek his head out of his hiding spot. The Wishmaster gave him a kind smile, if not a sad one.

"Can you let me see you, beautiful?"

Scarab hesitated. Orbo's words echoed in his head, loudly, cruelly.

"...I'm not pleasant to look at, Prismo... Much less beautiful..."

"Nope. Not true, Scrabby. C'mon. Let me see that pretty face of yours."

"Prismo..."

"Please, Scarab?"

The beetle sighed. His face plates shivered again, tucking behind his head. His eyes stared, wide and wet at the Wishmaster. A soft kiss was planted on his forehead.

"There we go. Much better."

Scarab refused to start bawling again. Instead, he climbed the rest of the way out of his burrow to curl against Prismo's chest.

"You don't have to worry about Orbo anymore, by the way. He won't be coming back. Not for a few eons, at least."

Scarab didn't choose to question it. Not right now at least. Instead, he closed his eyes as Prismo's hand pet gently over his aching back, the beetle unconsciously opening up the elytra. The dream's hands were always careful when working around his sorry wings. They made the ache go away.

Scarab began chirping. Softly, at first. But it slowly grew, morphing into a simple, but filling cricket song. He heard Prismo softly join in with a light humming.

He might've been just a bug.

But it turns out at least one person likes bugs after all.

#prohibitedwish #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #scarab x prismo #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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lieutenantfloyd · 5 months

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When Duty Calls Part 2 | Cyclone x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You arrive at The Hard Deck, a place that was once like a second home to you.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, and Hangman being... Hangman.

Authors note: Life with a neurodivergent brain means I haven't updated this series since September but I managed to write this chapter in less than a day. Writers block be damned lol.

Read on AO3

It only took you twenty minutes to arrive at The Hard Deck, but another twenty minutes elapsed before you were able to convince yourself to open the car door.

You savor one last minute of air conditioning before willing yourself out of the car. Each crunch of sand under your shoes feels almost deafening but you push yourself forward, instead letting your eyes examine the scene in front of you. It’s early evening and a decent size crowd is occupying the parking lot while a slow moving but steady stream of people flow through the front door.

You join the back of the pack and slip your phone out from your back pocket. As luck would have it, your phone—unused since before you’d gotten in the shower—opens directly onto the text-that-shall-not-be-named. The panic inducing text bubbles have vanished and your initial message remains the last one sent between you both. Half of you is flooded with relief by the lack of response while the other half is more bothered by it than you’d ever care to admit.

You peer around the man in front of you, hoping to find a spot to slip through, but to no avail. From where you’re standing, you’re granted a perfectly framed view of The Hard Deck’s sun washed coastal siding against the blazing blue sky. It is a view that fills you with both comfort and nostalgia.

The nights you’d spent at this bar were among the few memories you let yourself get lost in. Quarters in the jukebox, the feeling of salt and sun making itself home on your skin, Clinking bottles and cans together after a job well done, the biting taste of whiskey on your tongue while venting frustrations. All things that drove you away, yet they kept you going when you needed it most.

Your spiraling thoughts barely register when you remember the phone still in your hands. You hurriedly lock the screen and slide the device back into your pocket. You far from expect anyone peering over your shoulder to piece together exactly who had left you on read, but your instincts tell you that you can’t be too careful. You’ve seen first hand how people here ensure that even the most baseless rumors spread quicker than wildfire. The last thing you need is to be pulled into an office and reprimanded before this mission even begins.

You were now second place from the entrance, so you capture the remaining moments and stomp out the last bit of anxiety left in your gut.

You cross the threshold in one quick step, your eyes already scanning the room and taking note of how many of the faces in this bar were completely unfamiliar. Whoever had sent the summoning text you’d received roughly two hours earlier chose to leave out who or what you should be looking for, so you instinctively set off towards the bar. ~ There wasn’t an empty barstool in sight, so you stay on your feet and shoulder your way through the rowdy servicemen until you can lean your elbows against bar top. Your chosen attire of light wash jeans and a brown tank top is nothing special, but your actions have earned more than a few glances, and you felt myself wanting to shrink under their eyes. You push your insecurities aside just in time to spot the woman you’re looking for.

“Penny!” you call out, raising your arm above your head in a lazy wave. She pivots instantly at the sound of her name and freezes briefly as her eyes land on you. A wave of memories—both wanted and not—wash over you in the time it takes her to abandon the towel and glass she’d been drying and pace over to you.

In a past life, you’d spent the majority of your free time helping out behind the bar or escorting Amelia and her friends around town. Penny was like a sister to you then, and both her and Amelia had been two of the hardest people to leave behind.

“Now that’s a face I didn’t expected to see at my bar again.” Penny says bluntly, but you can see the tell tale signs of a smile threatening to shine through.

“It’s good to see you too, pen.” You say with an easy smile.

“I assume you got called back too?” she asks. You give her a curt nod in response.

“Well then it seems like your friends got the party started without you.” She says while signaling towards the pool table on the far side of the bar.

“Friends is a strong word.” You say dryly.

“Well, in that case,“ She starts, only to pause and crouch down behind the bar. “Go easy on them.”

She finishes her sentence with a soft laugh and slides a can across the bar towards you. You wipe the ice and condensation off the rim and crack open the soda. The action is so familiar you don’t even give the can’s label a glance. You make sure to take a long, dramatic swig in the process.

“Thanks.” You say, tilting the can towards her while simultaneously breezing past her comment.

“I mean what I said. I obviously don’t know what’s ahead, but I get the sense that they don’t either. Hold your cards close to your chest around them.” She warns.

“Yes ma’am.” You affirm.

The area around you has cleared a bit which gives you some much appreciated breathing room. Over Penny’s shoulder you watch yet another man approach the bar, only this time it’s a face you’re anything but excited to recognize.

Of course Hangman would be back too.

You fight back the urge to grimace as he calls out to Penny, who quickly acknowledges him before turning back to you.

“Do you still have my number?” She asks.

“Always.” You answer, which earns me a soft smile from Penny.

“Good. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That we do.” you agree, trying your best to mask any lingering unease about what the following weeks had in store.

You take your time circling the bar, and keep your eyes on Hangman as Penny serves him another beer. You have half a mind to ask him if he has any idea why we were all called back, but the thought dies the minute he makes an painful show of checking you out.

"Hangman." You say with the fakest smile you can manage.

“Just when I’d thought you were gone for good…” he says while dragging his gaze slowly up your body until he reaches your eyes.

“I knew you’d be bored without me.”

Jake laughs while you take a sip of soda and swallow down the anger building inside you.

“Aw, how considerate.”

“We can’t all be complete assholes, so…” You respond pointedly.

Hangman gears up in rebuttal just as Penny calls out your name and waves you back over. He turns to make his leave—and you’re almost shocked he’s accepting defeat—but the shock instantly becomes irritation when you both back away while throwing each other equally unkind hand gestures.

Turning towards Penny, you let her take your free hand in hers and give it a sisterly squeeze. An uncomfortable silence lies between you, and you can practically see the wheels of contemplation turning in her head.

“Have you… talked to him?” She queries in a low voice.

You don’t know what your face betrays, but hers instantly fills with a look of regret. You change your grip on the soda can, the chilled aluminum suddenly searing against your fingertips. You open your mouth to answer but can’t find the right words. Thankfully, she seems to take the silence as a hint.

“Well, I hope to see you both around more often.” She says quietly. Her words are simple and pleasant, but you can’t help but feel the urge to read deeper into them.

“Yeah, me too.” You breathe.

She squeezes your hand once more, and you all but cringe as the vulnerability in your words and voice rings loudly in your ears. After the unfortunate events of the last ten minutes, you’re quick to follow Hangman’s path towards the pool table. ~ You can feel eyes on you as you drop into one of the surrounding barstools, but make no effort of acknowledging them. The game plan you’d written earlier in the day flashes through your mind, and you know you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. You chose to sit and observe for a while before briefly catching up with old friends from your first time at Top Gun over a few rounds of pool. Soon after, you use the uncomfortably tense exchange between Hangman and Rooster as cover and slink onto the stool next to Phoenix’s new backseater.

You quickly learn that as quiet as he may be, the WSO—who’s stationed out in Lemoore and has the name and callsign Bob, according to your former wingman Natasha—Is more than happy to engage in a bit of gossip. Something which you’re happy to do as you watch the last several aviators file through the door.

It is only when you rise from your seat to refill Bob’s bucket of peanuts that you notice the awkward hush falling over the group. It wasn’t hard to decide that if the already heavy dose of tension was anything to go by, this mission—and the complete lack of details as to why any of you had been called back here in the first place—has everyone feeling shook up.

Bucket in hand, you skim the outskirts of the group. And quickly share a collective double take with Harvard, Yale, Omaha, and Fritz. You know the same question weighing heavy on your mind is doing the same to theirs. Yet before you can ask, the sound of Phoenix’s voice commands everyone’s attention and breathes life into one of the many questions you are all dying to ask.

“Everyone here is the best there is. So who the hell are they going to get to teach us?”

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xreaderbooks · 1 year

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Paradise on Earth (18)

Chapter: 18. The Cross

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, grave digging

Summary: All kinds of secrets are revealed in the island room

Links: Wattpad and AO3, Playlist

Chapter 17 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 19

You had a headache. The events of last night had you tossing and turning. The illicit fight, the key is taken, you consoled Pope as best you could as he let his tears flow freely and the sobs wrack from his throat and into his crossed arms- you rubbed his back and let him rant. You feared he was close to his breaking point if he wasn’t already.

All of you had hardly slept, talking through the night about the new game plan- there was none- you were all sleeping in unintentional shifts, sprawled around the porch til daylight. You had all come to the conclusion that it was over, there was nothing left to be done even with Denmark Tanny’s diary.

The key was your only true lead.

That was until Sarah Cameron walked into your screened patio where you all lay like dead flies.

You whistled lowly at the sight of her, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Shouldn’t you be on Figure Eight with your little group of polo players?” John B taunted her. “Or did you break up with Topper?”

She smiled sarcastically at him, “We’re just friends.”

“It seems like you have a lot of friends, Sarah Cameron.” Your brother continued as she walked a little way from him between where JJ was leaning against the metal that attached the screen and Pope who was sitting on a recliner chair.

“Yeah, and it seems like you’ve got some of your own too,” She must have seen John B with the girl who had invited him to the bonfire. “I’m here for Pope.”

Pope gave her a confused face.

“I found the island room.”

The five of you instantly perked up, the words she had just spoken had revived you all with hope.

Immediately, the six of you hopped into the Twinkie and rode out to Tannyhill.

“Guys listen to this!” Pope calls for attention holding the stack of paper that were copies of the diary. “The diary says the cross holds the most holy relic in all of Christendom, the garment of the savior.”

“So wait, it’s saying there’s a holy garment inside the cross?” Kie peeks over his shoulder to look at the paper.

“Yeah, it says the garment is capable of healing the sick from any malady.”

That must be what Limberey was after this whole time, you thought, that delusional bitch.

“‘If only I may touch his garment, I shall be made well’" JJ quoted from who knows where. You side-eye him from your seat, the rest of your friends equally as bewildered by him. “What? I went to Sunday school.”

“That’s why Limberey is desperate to find it, she wants it to heal her,” You said. “What else does it say?”

“‘Many feel that we have sinned to steal such a sacred thing and God will strike his vengeance on us’” Pope recites.

“Thing is, God did have his vengeance...” Kie pursed her lips.

“He sent a hurricane to sink the ship, only Denmark survived,” Pope says solemnly.

~~~

Sarah directs you all around the mansion, guiding you all through several corridors to a room that you believe to remember is where Ward took his meetings. The room was completely different now, the fancy wallpaper was torn off, and a mural of a town was painted on the walls of the room.

“It’s the island room,” Sarah gave him a pleased smile. “It has to be.”

Pope walked into the room and written all over his features was pure awe “This has got to mean something.”

“This is a map of the whole island,” John B noted.

You take notice of historical Kildare Island landmarks, as do the others, they name the places the group has been to. Parcel 9, the lighthouse- JJ mentioned Rixon’s, and John B just pointed out the surf break at Mase. The boys determined that the drawing in Denmark's diary and his writing had matched that of the paintings on the wall.

“This has something to do with the key, right?” You ask, though at this point it was obvious it definitely did. You run your fingers across the torn edges of the wallpaper leftover and question Sarah, “How did you uncover it?”

“I didn’t, it was like this when I got home.”

“So then who did it?” Kie questions.

A voice came from the door you all had entered through not too long ago, you and the rest of the pogues jumped at the sound. It turned out to be Wheezie, she answered Kie, “It was the freaks.”

“What freaks are we talking about, Wheeze?” JJ recovered from being startled by her quicker than the rest of the group.

“That sick lady and her attack dog,” She said. You laughed at what she called Renfield, you sent the group an apologetic smile as Wheezie explained. “They showed up last night, and they wanted to talk to Rafe-”

“Pale blonde lady?”

“Crutches?”

“It’s gotta be Limberey.”

Pope, JJ, and Kie give out identifiers of the one person who could have known about this.

“What happened?” You asked, not wanting to wait any longer for the details.

“First, they searched the whole house looking for something, and then Rafe told me to go upstairs, but I didn’t wanna miss out so I listened through the grate, I heard Rafe show them this room and the paper ripping. They were talking about getting across the sand flamingo.”

“That’s code, that’s code for something!” JJ immediately theorized.

Pope dismissed him and clarified with Wheezie, “The cross of Santo Domingo?”

“Yeah that’s it, and they were talking about angels- a lot of angel talk, I don’t know.”

“Denmark’s famous last words!” You piece everything together. “He buried the real treasure at the foot of the angel.”

Pope snaps his finger, “We have to find the angel in the room!”

Everyone spreads out and starts to search for any sign of an angel, Wheezie said something that made you freeze, and a cold chill went down your spine.

“You know, I could never ask Rafe 'cause I know he’d be a dick about it but did you guys break up?” She spoke nonchalantly, “He’s been extra asshole-ish lately and I know there’s a lot going on-”

John B stood still, slowly turning his head to Wheezie. Sarah’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head, “What did you just say?”

You couldn’t move, all thoughts of looking for the angel were gone, you could hear a pin drop in the room as everyone had stopped moving.

“Y/n and Rafe,” Her voice got quieter, just now realizing that she had said something she wasn’t supposed to. Heat rushed up from your neck to your cheeks, not from embarrassment but from shame, that same feeling you get when you're in elementary school and get sent into the principal's office you probably weren't in trouble but it felt like the end of the world. To make matters worse, she pulls out her phone and hands it to Sarah.

You didn’t want to know, you shut your eyes, this was a nightmare- it had to be some shitty nightmare that when you opened your eyes it would all be gone. Everyone was staring at the youngest Cameron’s phone, Kie looked disgusted, Pope couldn’t have hidden the betrayal on his face, and JJ… he was still upset with you so his current indifference toward you hadn’t changed.

“Guys-” You started.

“How could you?” John B practically shoved Wheezie’s phone in your face, you grabbed it and saw a picture, he tapped on it so they could see the date it was taken on the top. “How long?”

Your lips quivered, the tears welling in your eyes, “We weren't together.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” John B shouted at you. You flinched, John B hardly ever spoke to you like this, and if he did- you were right there with him. It stung, it felt like getting scolded by your favorite parent or favorite teacher who you never wanted to disappoint. John B was your brother, so fights were normal but it never felt like this.

You didn’t know what else to say, “I’m sorry.” It came out in a sob.

“He framed me for murder, Y/n, he jumps Pope like every other day with no regret!” John B mentions every way Rafe has wronged the group. “He almost killed his own sister!”

You look at the ceiling to stop any more tears from falling, but it was too late, when you blinked they fell. 3-4 at a time, came flooding out of your eyes, you took every word he yelled at you, you knew Kie and Pope had their own thoughts to chew you out but John B was giving it all to you that they didn’t need to.

“Hey, yo guys!” JJ called out to the group suddenly in front of a painting with a tree. “Come here, this humongous tree is still on Goat Island, you know what it’s called?”

John B is breathing heavily and still glaring at you as he walks over to JJ with a shake of his head, Pope glances over at you once- not meeting your eye.

“Angel Oak,” He responds.

JJ points to the center of the painting of the tree, “Look, there’s a keyhole. That means the cross is buried at the foot of the angel, that must be where he put it, we should go.”

Pope wastes no time rushing out of the room, the others going after him, you push Wheezies phone into her chest as you walk out.

“I didn’t know that you didn’t tell them!” She comes after you. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head but you couldn’t find it in yourself to reassure her with a smile, you settled for just telling her it didn’t matter. “They were gonna find out one way or another.”

Surprisingly, they were still waiting for you in the Twinkie the sliding door left open for you. No one would speak to you, which was fine- you found it better that way. Pope gave John B directions, the tree was past Freedman’s church, a long road surrounded by trees and wetland.

“Shit,” John B cursed. “Tide’s coming in.”

The path turned muddy, there were tracks already imprinted in the dirt that Pope had pointed out. JJ who was in the passenger seat asked John B if they should risk it, “It’s a little dicey.”

“Well, clearly they made it,” Kie stated.

“In a two-wheel drive?” JJ clicked his tongue. “I don’t know about that.”

“Why are y’all acting like you’re not gonna do it anyways?” You dared to quip. “Like when have you ever done the safe thing?”

John B turned his head to give you a quick once over and JJ gave him a downward smile and they both shrugged, you didn’t take this as a sign of being on good terms, simply giving them the fuel they needed to do what they needed to do with no hesitation.

You, Pope, Kie, and Sarah held onto whatever you could as JJ talked John B through the speed he needed to get through the land without getting stuck. At a distance that was deemed safe enough to park, the Twinkie was stopped and the group piled out to where the Angel Oak tree was.

JJ began to ramble about gators, you weren’t entirely sure if it was to diffuse the tension that hung around the group now but it was working. You walked behind the rest of them, Sarah and John B a little ahead of you talking- bickering- more like, amongst themselves until she let a tree branch smack him in the face.

You snickered to yourself which earned you a sharp glare from your brother.

“John B-”

“Not now, Y/n.”

You sighed and came up behind Sarah and Kie who were hidden behind the cover of tall bushes. You heard Limberey’s dreamy voice go on about the significance of the garment, one touch and she will be healed. By the sound of the sarcasm dripping from Renfield’s voice, he doubted it.

There was a crane that dug through the roots of the tree, handled by a hired construction worker. He hit something hard that was covered by soil, and Limberey ordered him to stop. Rafe and Renfield dug with their hands and lifted a casket.

The pogues impatiently stood by as they opened it with a crowbar, the woman’s face fell in disappointment, “We must have missed something.”

She grabs ahold of her crutches and shouts out her new plans to go back to the island room and how it wasn’t over.

The coast was clear once they packed everything up, Rafe got into his range rover, and the construction worker hauled the crane on the back of his truck that was rigged up with something to hold it, Limberey right behind them.

Pope came out of hiding, and ran straight for the casket, “Cecilia Tanny, Denmark’s wife.”

It was empty, only dusty bones left.

“He wasn’t talking about the cross, he buried her at the foot of the angel.”

“The true treasure,” Kie breathed out.

How tragic, your heart clenched at truly devastating it all was- romantic even for all the wrong reasons. “Denmark was hung for burying his wife and they defiled her grave,” Pope reached in, searching for something in her ashen bones- a necklace with her name.

Sarah found something herself, a ring, “This must be from Denmark, her wedding ring.” She and John B shared a look.

“We can’t leave her like this.”

“We won’t,” John B reassured Pope.

You worked together to reseal the top of the wooden casket with nails from a toolbox in the Twinkie, the boys lifted and gently placed her in her resting place, and you all pushed the dirt back over it. Placing fresh flowers from around the area, on top of the spot.

“I just don’t get it,” Pope announces, “He hides his gold so no one finds it for 170 years and then he sends a message to his son, Robert, to come here to his mother’s grave- but the message never gets to him. Denmark wanted him to find the cross, I know we’re in the right spot, it just feels like-”

“Like we missed something?” JJ was looking up at the tree. “Guys, come here.”

Kie climbs up on the roof of the van and then onto the thick tree branch with JJ. “That looks like the painting from the island room.”

“It’s worth a shot right?” JJ reaches into the tree hollow, “There’s something in here.”

He begins to scream as if something inside was tugging him, he struggled to pull his arm out, and the four of you that were still on the ground instantly go to help him. You call his name and start climbing the van to reach him but his shouts were stopped by his laughter.

“Asshole,” You hop down from halfway up the Twinkie.

“I got all of you,” He chortles. “Wait, but seriously there’s something in here.”

He pulls out something metallic and thick, tossing it down to Pope before jumping from the tree to the ground and taking it from him. “Give it to the captain,” He observes before elongating it, “It’s a spyglass.”

“There’s something on the end,” You point out. “An inscription right there.”

“You’ve come this far, do not falter, the cross is on the Freedman’s altar,” Pope reads. “Freedman’s altar… the cross is at the church!”

~~~

Your luck appeared to have run out, the tide had risen and the path that was already made muddy from the water became worse. The road was gone, and John B hit the brakes before warning everyone to brace themselves, he and JJ debated if the Twinkie would make it or not; it did not.

About halfway there, John B hydroplanes and the Twinkie is stuck in the mud. Pope suggests you all walk from where you're at but John B refused to leave the Twinkie when the tide was still coming in.

“I can take my dad’s truck,” Kie begrudgingly suggests.

“Are you sure?” Pope asks.

“How much worse can it get, you know?”

“We’re gonna need something to pull her out with, there’s the winch at the Chateau,” JJ mentions. “That’s like two miles.”

“If you’re gonna do it, just go-” John B declares.

“Can- Can I go with?” You waver when you ask. JJ searches your eyes and glances at Kie as if he’s asking her permission, you almost roll your eyes at the action. She shrugs and encourages you with a tilt of her head.

You’d much rather deal with the asshole who was already giving you shit and your best friend who you could already hear in your head reprimanding you than face your brother, his ex, and the person who had been wronged time and time again by the person you had a secret affair with.

The three of you trekked through muddy waters until you reached the part of the road that had been untouched by the tide, and walked into town with half-soaked pants. The mission to Kie’s house went quickly, she snuck into her parent's house to steal the keys to the truck while you and JJ crouched outside the picket fence.

“You alright?”

You considered the question JJ asked you, it took you by surprise to say the least, you thought he was still upset- he probably still was but he cared. It increased the pace of your heart, you nodded, you didn’t think you were at the level yet with him to actually talk like everything was all good.

Kie tossed the keys at JJ the moment she came back, you rushed to get into her dad’s truck as JJ turned the car on and you were off to your next stop.

“This’ll only take a sec, it’s in the surf shack,” JJ told you both, running out the door- tripping, and falling onto the ground. You winced, he picked himself up and continued running.

“Why’d you do it?” Kie interrogated you the moment it was just the two of you. “Why him? That’s seriously so messed up Y/n, he’s a fucking psychopath.”

You understood the anger, you could take the judgment from Sarah and John B, and the puppy dog glances full of hurt by Pope who couldn’t believe you would betray his friendship. You could even handle the shit JJ gave you for fucking the guy he cannot stand and would probably kill if ever given the chance, but Kie?

“I know, Kiara, I know he is- it just happened.”

“Like what the hell was going through your head, honestly?” Her tone was full of condescension, “That’s just another thing he could hold over you. Did you seriously think we wouldn’t find out? Or that you could keep this from us forever? I’m your best friend!”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” You blurted out without being able to stop yourself. “I know, I know, I know! He’s a psychopath, he sent John B to jail, he fucked the group up too many times to count- he’s a shitty fucking person but he loved me!”

You didn’t want to believe the words that you had shouted at her, but you said it, it was out.

“He was there, and he is obviously toxic as hell but I saw something in him that I thought…” This was going to be embarrassing to admit. “I thought I could help him be better, he acted like he could be like he would- but I guess I was just desperate to think so because of all the bullshit he fed me when we were alone.”

Kie held a bewildered expression, but she openly listened.

“It happened once, it was sort of a long time coming with what we had going on but we weren’t in a relationship- I genuinely meant to help him be better. Clearly, I failed, and everything went to shit but there’s your explanation Kiara. I don’t need one more person- much less you, telling me that I’m fucked up for doing what I did when I’ve already had this conversation with myself too many times to count.”

She frowned and nodded, “I’m sorry.”

You felt like a small weight had been lifted, one down- four more to go. With perfect timing, JJ was walking back but with a taller older figure behind him. Luke. Since when was he out of jail?

Kie walked out of the truck, “No, Immediately no.”

“Just get in the truck, Y/n get in the front passenger,” He instructed as he put the tools needed in the trunk.

Without a word, you walked out of the back cabin and went into the passenger seat as Luke slid into your old seat. He winked at you with a smile, you shivered with disgust, Kie argued with JJ.

“Guys!” You yelled for their attention. “The Twinkie is sinking, what the hell are we doing?”

~~~

JJ made Kie stop at a corner store near the marina where he was to drop his dad off, you and Kie sent each other expressions of distaste as Luke sat in the back, he was just as ADHD as JJ. He tapped on the back of your seats, making as much noise as possible for attention that you and Kie were not giving him.

“You’re a terrible father, you know that?” Kie spoke.

“Preach it to me,” He leaned back into his seat, finally stopping his incessant noise.

“You don’t deserve him,” You chimed. “Not an inch of how amazing he is.”

“He’s a thief is what he is.”

Ire burned through you, you had millions of words to describe how you wanted Luke Maybank to rot in hell.

“And what are you?” Kie retorted. “You’re just a wasted local salt who never did shit but get messed up and hustle people, not exactly impressive.”

“You sound just like your mama,” He told Kie. “She was just like that in high school, always thought she was better than everybody else. Kook princess- and looky here, you're just like her slumming it with the bad boys, and the princess of pogues here pretending she won’t grow up to be trash just like her daddy.”

Kie snapped and elbowed Luke in his nose, knocking him back, “Don’t talk about my family.”

Pride surged in you, you wanted to laugh, you’ve been wanting to do that for years, and although it was Kie who got the satisfaction, watching it happen felt just as good. JJ came not a minute after, handing him a 6-pack of beer, and getting in the back with him.

~~~

JJ practically dragged Luke out of the truck, you called his dad's attention, and you and Kie had your middle fingers up. He went to react but JJ turned him around telling him to go. You and Kie giggled, calming down after a minute.

“You think he’ll be okay?” You worried over JJ dropping his dad off.

“He’ll pretend to be, for sure.”

“I’m gonna go check on him in a minute,” You told her with a frown, she gave you a half smile.

After a couple of minutes, you walked along the dock over to where he stood, watching the boat his dad drifted off in.

He saw you and immediately engulfed you in a hug, you didn’t have time to process before wrapping your arms around his middle. You whispered into your hair, “I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry.”

You felt droplets fall onto your shoulder, your arm went underneath his aviator jacket and traced the line of his spine with light tickles. Who knows what his dad’s final words were to him, how hurt he must feel.

“JJ,” You took a small step back from his arms, cradling his face in your hands. “It’s okay, you're gonna be okay, we’re okay.”

He shook his head and pulled you back in, clutching you tighter, “I didn’t mean to snap on you. I was just scared I’d lose you to that kook."

He squeezed you after a minute, "You know you’re my girl right?”

You just let him hold you, and tell you sweet nothings if that’s what made him feel better, nodding along as he kissed your temple. He seemed to hold himself up as you walked back with his arm around your shoulders.

~~~

“Oh look, the three tortoises are back!” You heard Pope comment through the open window of the truck. “Where the hell were you guys?”

You observed the three you left behind, John B lay in a weird position on his right- grimacing.

“Luke was at the Chateau,” JJ reached into the pickup bed grabbing what was needed.

“Great, while you guys were there having family time, John B got bit by a gator!”

“What?” You went over to him and ran your eyes over his body to see where he got bit. You saw blood smeared on the side of the Twinkie.

“What the hell happened?” Kie exclaimed. Immediately getting shouted at by Sarah, John B, and Pope. “I don’t why I’m being yelled at, I put my ass on the line.”

“You’re being yelled at because it was 20 minutes!”

“We got here as fast as we could!” You defended Kie.

Pope sent you a furious look, “Let’s not start on what you’ve been up to while everybody’s been put through hell!”

Words were said, voices were raised, and everyone was agitated. The five of you verbally fought amongst yourselves until JJ called out at the top of his voice for you all to stop.

“Seriously guys, I can’t take it anymore, alright- everyone just cut it out for a second.” He chuckles, leaning against a tree to steady himself, “Look, I just helped my dad leave this island for good like he’s not ever coming back. He’s straight up like the Spanish- just ‘Bon Voyage’”

Not the right language, you and Kie gave each other puzzled looks but everyone stayed silent nonetheless.

“All we got and I know for a fact all I got is you guys, okay? You’re it” He stared directly at you as he said it. “I’ve come too close to losing you, all of you. So, this blaming each other is some kook-ass bullshit, we don’t do that, we’re Pogues. Sorry, that was a lot right now… I didn’t mean to.” His hands were on his hips and he avoided everyone’s gaze after his speech.

The group looked as though to be in agreement, giving JJ a round of applause.

“That was the best freaking speech I’ve ever heard,” John B praised. “Also, you should think about getting a Rosetta Stone because your Spanish and French are flip-flopped.” JJ flipped him off.

Sarah raised her hand, “We should bon voyage out of here.”

JJ and John B attached the Twinkie to the back of Kie’s dad's truck, hauling it out of the water in no time and the pogues were off to the church.

~~~

Birds fluttered away from the door the boys had forced open. The church had been abandoned, long long ago, vines had grown through the cracks in the floorboards and around the windows.

Pope insisted the cross was here, and JJ joked about there being a secret button around the piano.

“How about we find obvious clues?” John B advises, but there wasn’t much to look for.

“It’s not an escape room,” Kie rolled her eyes.

Pope was on the verge of a break when John B doubted the cross was in the church. “No, no. There’s no way he would set us up on a freaking goose chase that would lead us to a church that has nothing in it.”

“Yes, I get it, I don’t know what to tell you, man.”

“The clues led us here, the cross is in this church,” Pope slumped down a pew. He fiddled with the spyglass and looked through it, pointing it at the ceiling. With a conspiratorial gaze at the wooden beams supporting the roof, Pope climbed on the walls through the termite-eaten holes.

You, JJ, Kie, Sarah, and John B warned him about the dangers of climbing, but he wasn’t listening. He ignored all of you and knocked on all the beams to hear if one of them was hollow.

You noticed a bee hive above his head, “Pope, just move slow- there’s a hive.”

Sarah left and came back with a crowbar to help Pope who was tearing up the wood on one of the beams that turned out to be hollow with his hands. With the metal in his hand, he tore all the pieces til it revealed the golden cross.

Cheers went all around, Sarah and Kie brought you into a group hug, and John B and JJ had their arms around each other. Pope accidentally dropped the crowbar from excitement, the glory of victory of short-lived as bees swarmed Pope. He slipped, holding himself on the supporting beam, the group worked in unison to move the pews and find anything that could break Pope’s fall.

Just as he landed, the cross came down after him.

~~~

Chapter 19

Taglist:

@jbassettjmaybank - @deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @loki-loveer - @rana030 - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @yunhobug - @syd223sworld - @strawberry--fawn - @mysticalavenuecheesecake - @itsmytimetoodream - @natashtessabeth12 - @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

(If your name is crossed that means tumblr wont let me tag you)

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doyou000me · 3 months

Text

Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better:

Tagged by @lurkingshan - thank you for the tag!

3 Ships You Like:

Luca and Vincenzo. They're my rare pair hell ship and I'll keep it afloat singlehandedly if I have to. Luckily I don't, because there's two of us holding up the fort on Ao3, and @ristique-xy and I are basically feeding each other at this point.

For those of you who haven't seen it, Vincenzo is a Korean drama from 2021. Vincenzo is the main character and Luca has like 5-10 minutes of screen time in the entire series. Nothing can convince me that they're not murderous lovers for life.

Yoh and Mizuki from My Personal Weatherman. I watched it, moved on, and then was reminded of it after a certain picture and discussion with @candidamay, which made me go back and rewatched MPW and now I'm trying to write a fic for them. It is resisting me but I shall employ stubbornness and persevere.

Kinnporsche. Again, I watched the show when it came out and moved on. Now incredible fanfics (go read Bad Bet by @luckydragon10 and The Power In The Taking by @iffervescent. Both are excellent and very NSFW - proceed with caution and heed the tags) and tumblr in general are slowly making me slide down the slippery slope into the fandom. Can't say I'm putting up any resistance. The Kinnporsche plotbunnies are breeding in my already overpopulated head.

Honorable mentions: PayuRain and PrapaiSky. Need I say more?

First Ship Ever:

My first ship must be something like 15+ years ago, so I really don't remember. Also, I don't think I've ever been big on exclusively shipping one pair of characters, so OTPs aren't really my thing. I tend to pick one favourite character and then ship them with pretty much any other character depending on what dynamic I want in the moment. I still do, but now I've started entertaining the idea of just throwing them all together in one big poly relationship.

Last Song You Heard:

Wonder by The Rose has been playing on and off in my head the last few days

youtube

Favorite Childhood Book:

The Redwall books by Brian Jacques.

Currently Reading:

Nothing. I tend to read in short, intense bursts (like a book/long fanfic in 1-2 days), and then I read nothing for a while.

Currently watching:

Love is Better The Second Time Around

Deep Night The Series

Bingeing:

Bloodhounds (rewatch with a friend)

Sandman (watching with a friend)

Currently consuming:

Yoghurt and musli with banana. It's breakfast.

Currently craving:

Juice.

Tagging @ristique-xy @functionalasfuck, @cryingatships, @candidamay, @7nessasaryevils because I'm curious about what's going on in your heads! Do it if you feel like it, ignore it if you don't :)

#tag game #kinnporsche #my personal weatherman #vincenzo #fanfics #Youtube

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torreshalstead · 10 months

Text

I’ll show you mine - Part 1

Summary - He didn’t fit. His clothes were too nice, his hair too neat, he was raising all the red flags for Hailey. She didn’t think he was part of the crew she was trying to take down, but why else would he be in such an establishment on a random Tuesday night? But then he muttered the words into her ear that she had least expected - ‘I’m police’.

Chapters - 1/3

Notes - I’ve wanted to write an undercover Upstead first meet fic for ages so here it is! It spiralled into more than a oneshot so it’s split into three parts, happy reading! ❤️ AO3 Link

Hailey lifted her glass to her mouth but the liquid only brushed against the seam of her lips before she placed it down again. No one was watching her close enough to see that the whiskey in her glass hadn’t decreased in the past hour. She was on the clock and whiskey was not conducive to remaining alert.

Her eyes scanned across the room again making mental notes as she did so. In the far corner was a black haired man in his 40’s nursing a beer whilst playing with a wedding band. The table opposite the jukebox was home to a couple whose drinks had remained untouched for the past twenty minutes, their mouths preoccupied with devouring each other. Other patrons were scattered around the room, the standard haunts for a drinking establishment on a Tuesday night.

‘Another for you Kelly?’ The barkeep said, knowing the answer would be no like it had been every other time he had asked.

‘Not for me Sam, but thanks,’ she said with a wink. He must have been only just over 21 himself, probably in his first job. Little did he know that the man who ran the payroll, was running cocaine cut with battery acid throughout the South Side and Hailey was trying to gather enough evidence to bring him down. There were already too many bodies they could tie to this guy.

It had been slow going. She had been coming to this bar every night for the past week, getting on first name basis with Sam until she learnt that he knew nothing. His poor attempts at flirting was all she had gotten out of him. They knew from previous recon that the owner of the bar, River Harrison, did show up on occasion and the team's plan was to either get something on the wire to incriminate him or Hailey was going to turn on the charm and they were going to go black ops and load him into the back of a van with some jumped up charges when she lured him outside.

But since she had started frequenting the bar, they hadn’t seen sight nor sound of him. She was starting to wonder if they, or more specifically she, had been made.

Just as she was thinking of wrapping it up for the night, the door behind her opened. Glancing at a strategically placed mirror on the bar, she saw who had entered. He was tall, closely cut hair - ex-army if Hailey had to guess. She watched as his green eyes scanned the bar before clearly settling on her. She kept her eyes straight forward - Kelly wasn’t interested in chatting anyone up or being chatted up.

‘This seat taken?’ The man asked, his voice silky smooth with a born and bred Chicago accent.

Hailey glanced round and shrugged, he seemed a little out of place for an establishment like this, although his outfit was casual enough, the blue jeans and black t-shirt with a khaki green button down. He had an air of confidence about him that those who drink alone on a week night don’t normally possess.

‘I shall take that as a no then,’ he smirked and settled down on the stool next to hers.

‘Free country,’ she said nonchalantly, turning her attention back to the television screen above the bar.

‘I could buy you a drink,’ he suggested.

‘You could but considering I haven’t finished this one, it’s likely to go to waste,’ she said cooly, her eyes flicking down to the mirror and immediately back up to the television when she was met with his emerald eyes shining directly back at hers in its reflection.

‘Well if you decide to finish it, you let me know,’ he said with a grin. He proceeded to order a beer and when he picked it up to drink, Hailey noticed another thing. His nails were perfectly clean and trimmed, also unusual. This bar didn’t usually house the most neatly manicured of men. She hoped her button cam was picking up enough of an image that she could run it at the district, he was raising all the red flags with her.

Having someone sit directly next to you when you were trying to run surveillance wasn’t the easiest, especially when he seemed intent on trying to engage her in conversation even as Hailey continued to shrug off his advances.

‘So come here often?’ He said on the third attempt, all his previous attempts had fallen flat with her being able to provide a yes or a no answer that allowed the conversation to stall.

Hailey scoffed, ‘that’s the line you’re going with?’

‘Well it got more of an answer out of you than any of my other ones did,’ he smirked again. The kind of smirk that you either wanted to slap off of a guy's face, or grab it with both hands and smash your lips into theirs. Hailey wasn’t sure which one of those she wanted to do although neither were professional when she was on the clock. Unfortunately.

‘Touché’ Hailey said, raising her glass to his and tipping the amber liquid against her lips again. His eyes were fixed on her as she did so and she saw something flash across his eyes as she lowered her glass again. She definitely needed to get back to the district and run this guy through the system.

‘I’m Ryan, not that you asked,’ he smirked again, lifting his own drink to his mouth. Mirroring her however, he didn’t appear to drink a single drop. The liquid line remained where it had been previously when he rested it against the bar top.

‘Kelly,’ she said simply. Ryan. She didn’t think there was a Ryan on River’s payroll, they knew all of his major lieutenants but maybe they had missed someone. This guy was giving off all the indications that he was here for a reason and she didn’t think that reason was the beer he clearly wasn’t drinking.

‘Kelly,’ he repeated as if he was testing her name on his tongue. ‘Pleasure.’

She hummed in response.

‘So you didn’t answer my question Kelly,’ Ryan persisted. She had to give him points for trying anyway.

‘And what question would that be,’ she said, finally relenting and turning to face him, resting her chin on her fist as her elbow lent atop the counter. She’d probably regret it later when her white sweater was stained with years of spilt drinks.

‘Do you come here often?’

‘On occasion,’ she said.

‘And is tonight any specific occasion?’ He asked, his smirk still firmly fixed to his face as he tilted his head slightly to the side.

‘Just a Tuesday that needed some whiskey,’ Hailey shrugged. She couldn’t work out what information he was trying to get out of her. If he was one of River’s men and they had the bar under surveillance then he would already know she had been in every night. But when he had walked in, he had not seemed prepared to see her at the bar or else he wouldn’t have scanned the room first.

‘And a chat from a handsome man,’ he winked at her and although a strange man winking at her in a bar would normally make her skin crawl, this made her cheeks redden.

‘If you find one, send him my way would you,’ she sassed back, raising an eyebrow and pulling her own lips into a smirk.

‘You wound me Kelly,’ Ryan said, feigning pain and clutching at his heart with his hand that remained free from the bottle of beer he still hadn’t taken a single sip from.

‘Let me know if you need me to call you an ambulance,’ she had to stop herself from chuckling at her own words. Serves the guy right for trying to flirt with her when she was busy.

——————————————————————————

When Hailey exited the bathroom with the intent of heading back to her seat, she was pulled to the side into the shadows of the bathroom corridor. A firm body was pressed against hers into the wall and she tensed herself to fight back. The body was definitely larger than hers, broader, but she’d taken down bigger men, she doubted this one would be a problem.

‘Don’t shout, I’m police.’ It was the dulcet tones of Ryan and those were the last words she expected him to whisper into her ear.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ she responded and she felt him take her hand and slide it under his shirt. To anyone walking past it would look like two intoxicated strangers fumbling with each other in the hallway. In reality, Hailey felt her fingers graze against his warm skin and then come into contact with a wire.

Shit.

He was police.

Well at least her instincts that he didn’t fit in at the bar had been correct.

She took his own hand and slid it under her shirt and up to the wire that was taped between her breasts.

‘So Kelly, are we getting out of here?’ He said, his mouth only an inch away from her ear.

‘I think that’s probably the most sensible thing you’ve said all evening,’ she whispered back, retracting his hand from her chest but then firmly linking his fingers with his. They didn’t know if there was a camera at this position in the bar but he had instigated their rendezvous and they needed to continue the act until they were certain they weren’t being watched.

She tugged him back into the bar and waved flirtily to Sam.

‘See you tomorrow Sam,’ she winked at him.

‘Bye Kelly,’ he said, his tone slightly disappointed to see her walking out of the bar that was someone that wasn’t him.

She giggled, she hated playing the giggly drunk but it seemed appropriate now, and she felt Ryan pull her into his side.

‘Yes bye Sam,’ he said over his shoulder and Hailey could only imagine the look on the young bartender's face.

When they had left the bar, it was her turn to push him against the wall. Under the guise of attaching her lips to his neck, which did look very tempting, she whispered against his lightly freckled skin.

‘Is your team near?’

She felt him nod and his hand buried itself in her hair, pulling her head up and bringing her ear nearer to his own lips.

‘Parked a block away, yours?’

She shook her head and pulled herself away from him, ‘your place or mine?’ She asked with a wink.

‘Mine,’ Ryan said, tugging on their still linked hands and leading her towards a blacked out panel van. It hadn’t been parked outside the bar when she had arrived or she would have noticed it, she had noted every car parked within a 100 foot radius of the bar.

‘After you,’ he said with a smirk and pulled open the door so she could climb in.

She was met with the perplexed looks of two officers, a young woman who she guessed was about her own age and an elderly cop who Hailey imagined was edging closer to retirement as every minute passed.

She heard the door shut behind her and turned to face Ryan.

‘Okay, so debrief now?’ Ryan asked.

‘Probably for the best,’ she agreed, ‘you can start.’

‘Okay,’ Ryan said, taking a seat on the small bench at the side of the van leaving Hailey to take up residence on the only remaining stool. With 4 grown adults in the back of the van it was quite a tight squeeze. ‘Detective Jay Halstead,’ he said with a smile. It wasn’t the same smirk he had given her at the bar, this was genuine, his white teeth shining and his emerald eyes glistening under the fluorescent lights. ‘This is Officer Burgess and Detective Olinsky,’ he gestured at his van mates in turn. ‘The Intelligence Unit got intel that the owner of the bar isn’t just in the liquor business so we decided to come and stake it out. You didn’t fit, too clean, too put together for a bar like that so I thought you might have been a member of his crew. We knew he had a couple of key lieutenants but hadn’t been able to dig in any further to be able to rule you out. I took a shot,’ Jay chuckled. ‘Sorry for the corridor,’ he added and she brushed it off, choosing to ignore how her heart had quickened as his hand had skimmed under her shirt and across her skin.

‘You’re fine. Okay so I’m Detective Upton, Hailey, with the Narcotics Unit. We had a similar piece of intel and it’s worse than just pushing the stuff, it’s being cut with battery acid and we’ve already had confirmed fatalities linked to it. So I’ve been staking out the place for the past week. We know Harrison drops in on occasion though we don’t have any evidence that the bar is used as a front to move product, more as a legitimate business to run the money through.’ This seemed to be news to the other occupants of the van so the female officer, Burgess, scribbled the notes down. ‘Technically I’m off book tonight, nothing has happened in the past week and my officers were tired so I gave them the night off and came anyway. Before you lecture, I was purely on an observation mission.’ She looked over at Jay, ‘I also thought you didn’t fit but hadn’t planned to drag you into a darkened corner to find out,’ she chuckled. ‘I was just going to run you through the system tomorrow.’

‘Fair enough,’ Jay said calmly, his eyes still sparkling as he looked at her, ‘so the bartender, Sam?’ He asked.

‘Is just a bartender,’ Hailey shrugged. ‘I thought he was in on it at the start, but he’s just a kid trying to earn money for his mother’s medical bills.’ Sam had admitted as much to her on only her second night in the bar, she felt sorry for him but apart from tipping him well, there was nothing she could do currently.

‘So the plan?’ Olinksy asked, ‘because no offence to the pair of you but listening to you flirt on the wire was painful.’ Hailey felt the blush creep up her cheeks and watched Jay smack him across the shoulders.

‘Well we’ve already left for the night now so it would be weird for us to go back in on the off chance that this Harrison shows up,’ Jay said and Hailey agreed with a nod.

‘So we can regroup in the morning and join up?’ She suggested.

‘Your Sargeant will go for that?’ Jay said, he seemed shocked that she had suggested a collaborative effort for some reason.

‘If it gets the case solved quicker than yeah, why will yours not be?’ She questioned and heard Olinksy scoff from behind her.

‘I’ll handle him,’ Jay said firmly, his eyes flicking between hers and Olinksy. ‘We are based out of the 21st, see you at 8?’

‘See you then,’ she said and made a move to open the door back onto the street.

‘Do you want a lift?’ Jay asked quickly.

‘My car is parked on the next block,’ she said with a smile. ‘See you at the 21st.’ And with that she opened the door and headed back into the brisk Chicago night but somehow the cold didn’t bother her like it had earlier.

#upstead #Hailey upton #jay halstead #Chicago pd #upstead fanfiction #one Chicago #chicago pd fanfiction #upstead fic #chicago pd fanfic #upstead fanfic #chicago pd fic

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nuttytani · 5 months

Text

Farewell, My Dear Boomer Lord

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Tartaglia | Childe x Zhongli and Xiao x Aether

Premise: Genshin Impact is back with a new addition to their movie franchise, with a talented and an exciting cast. What are you waiting for? Come find out who they are!

A/N: This is a social media au fic, except in text form… Just crossposting it from my ao3 (which you can read it here if you’d like!!) and this is the final chapter :DD

prev chapter

Ch 2 interview and behind the scenes

Spiral Abyss ✓ . @ abyssalmoon

Farewell Archaic Lord : Zhongli, Aether, Xiao and Ajax talk

1.9 M views

Watch now

—

( The screen brightens up, Xiao, Ajax, Aether and Zhongli can be seen sitting on black studio chairs. They wave at the camera )

Aether

So, how shall we begin ?

Charlotte

Hello hello! Hmm, now that I’m facing all of you, I have no idea what to ask- (looks at the camera sheepishly)

Ajax (gets ready to leave)

Alright, that’s the end of the interview! Thank you everyone for watching–

Zhongli (interrupts him by placing a hand on his shoulder and chuckles)

Not so fast, I’m afraid.

Charlotte

Very funny, Ajax. We’re not letting you go until all the tea is spilled!

Hmmm.. Oh right! This reminds me, where is the Liyue trio? I had thought Ms. Ganyu and the others would be attending?

(Charlotte looks somewhere off camera, as if to confirm something. Some rustling and muffled noises of people talking can be heard)

Xiao

Ah yes, unfortunately they got caught up in some other work and couldn’t make it. It was last minute and they couldn’t inform you in time.

Zhongli

Mmh, that is correct.

Charlotte

Awe,how unfortunate! We were quite excited to meet up with the bona fide Liyue Qixing. Next time, I suppose!

Okay, let’s start off now. Who among you guys messed up your dialogues the most?

(Camera zooms in at Aether’s face, who looks quite embarrassed as everyone stares pointedly at him)

Aether

It was me, ‘m sorry. Are spoilers allowed?

Xiao

Obviously, go on.

Aether

Ahem so- I might have gotten super annoyed by the side quests that the uhh… Traveler received from Mr. Morax. Such stupid side quests! I felt annoyed on behalf of Traveler, I mean– going all the way to Mondstadt to BOIL A FREAKING STONE? ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?? And then walking all the way back to Liyue. Also, don’t forget about spending absurd amounts of money on FLOWERS– FLOWERS I TELL YOU!

(Aether does the jazz hands to express his frustration. Meanwhile, Zhongli observes bemusedly)

So I may have said some things extremely off the script and we had to redo scenes. Multiple times. I’m so sorry guys! Blame Morax, he’s the problem.

Ajax

Yeah! We basically played “take a shot every time Aether says OH FUCK YOU”. I think it’s best to say we all got drunk, really really bad.

Xiao

Hmph. You just can't hold your liquor. I was sober, thank you very much.

Zhongli

Oh? Really now? Ajax, where did that recording of him singing “My heart will go on” go? He did the entire Titanic ship pose and all.

(The camera zooms in again, now at a very red Xiao, who looks like he’s about to burst. To make it worse, Aether and Ajax are wheezing, trying to hold their laughs in but failing miserably)

Charlotte

Is that so? I’d love to see that.

Xiao (looks at Zhongli in horror)

NO.

Zhongli

Aha, so you do remember!

Charlotte

Sounds like you all had a fun time during the shooting. Any interesting moments that you’d like to share?

Xiao

Oh yes definitely, I’m sure you all remember seeing a clip in which Morax stares at Tartaglia’s butt.

For those wondering, no, it was not part of the script. It was just Zhongli. All him, I swear.

(Ajax visibly chokes on air and hides his face at Xiao’s comment, grumbling indistinctly)

Zhongli (clears his throat)

Well I– it wasn’t on purpose… I was… Lost in… thoughts. Yes.

Aether

Lost in a daydream, you mean to say.

Charlotte (cackles and almost falls off of her chair)

Interesting! Well, let’s change the subject otherwise a few people might die from embarrassment here. Not that they haven't already.

We can all agree that the scenes in the movie were absolutely epic! Such a beautiful landscape. And the sunset skies! Was it all CGI or did you all actually go to those gorgeous places?

Ajax

It was mostly real, a few things were CGI but honestly you could say 85% of it was the real deal. Acting in these areas was super difficult though. I mean, you can’t really control weather and most of the time, since we did a lot of shooting around mountain areas, it was WINDY and all the hair would keep going in my mouth, the hanfu wouldn’t stay in place… A nightmare honestly.

Aether

It wasn’t that bad though.

Ajax

Yes, it was that bad and you can’t change my mind!

Charlotte

Well Mr. Ajax, despite all your struggles, I must say your acting was superb. You had me gripping the edge of my seat! How thrilling! It’s hard to believe such a bubbly personality such as yours could act as a villain. I’ve heard that the directors saw you and called it.

Ajax

Oh yeah. Umm, I’m surprised as well! This is my first acting experience honestly and sure, I’ve done concerts with Rosaline and Kabuki, but acting? Way above my paygrade. But they were super adamant I must audition for the role of Tartaglia. Next thing I know, I said a few lines and they picked me.

Aether

He was absolutely nuts, I swear. Super in character! Directors made the right choice, he looks and feels like THE living breathing Tartaglia. That one scene where he pulls out his water blades and does the cheeky toothy smile? That was all impromptu, off script. Ajax did all that and he didn't even realise it.

Charlotte

Impressive! Also back to the hanfu and hair. Oh my god, you all looked stunning! The costumes were gorgeous and the hair! Looked so real.

Zhongli

Mmhm, the costumes were all designed and made by Menogias. It’s always a pleasure to wear his hanfus, they really take your breath away.

Xiao

Yes, and it’s always a pleasant experience too. Which is rare, for such heavily embellished attire. You’d think they’d be heavy and itchy to wear but for some reason, Menogias makes only the best. It feels like you’re wearing pajamas. They're that comfortable.

Aether

Agreed! Oh and by the way, we actually needed to grow our hair out for this movie. I mean, mainly me, Xiao and Ajax. Since Zhongli does a lot of historical movies and dramas, his hair is almost always long. I’m sure you must have noticed.

Ajax (nods along)

Yeah, it was all our hair. We had extensions in a few scenes but it was mostly just… us. Honestly, I didn't think I’d like long hair, since it seems to be quite a hassle to take care of, but I kinda enjoyed it.

Xiao

Mmhm. It wasn’t bad. Plus, the kids had fun braiding it. Mostly Qiqi, she’d see us and immediately give us those sparkly puppy dog eyes. She’d have fun braiding and we’d get a free hairstyle so, win win.

Charlotte

I can totally imagine the kids having fun, this is giving that tangled scene vibes right now.

(Someone off camera comes and whispers into Charlotte’s ear and she looks surprised)

Oh dear! Time sure flies when in good company! I didn’t even notice that we’re almost about to go over your schedule.

Zhongli

Oh don’t worry about it, we can spare a few more minutes. This has been quite enjoyable.

Charlotte

Alright, let’s go through a few more questions then! I’ll go rapid fire speed, alright?

(Everyone says “yes ma'am!”)

Any scenes that made you feel like you were in actual danger?

Aether

Oh yeah, that one scene where I had to do the free fall and Xiao caught me. My heart almost jumped out of my chest!!

(The others nod)

Xiao

That scene was a bit scary. We had those rope contraption things holding us up, no idea what they’re called. Still, it felt awful.

Charlotte

Mhmm, the fans call it the moment “conqueror of demons falls in love with the traveler”. You were both gazing at each other quite intensely.

Aether

Trust me, it was the fear of falling. Nothing deep.

(“Whatever you say bro,” Ajax adds sneakily)

Charlotte

Any personal favourite scenes?

Zhongli

Hmm if I had to choose, it’d definitely be the Osial part. From its release and battle, it was all incredible.

Aether

Definitely the Osial scene, but also the scene where Morax just sits… while drinking his oolong tea IN THE MIDDLE OF A TSUNAMI.

OH MY GOD. That was insane. Like dude– run for your life– then you remember he’s immortal. And also a bit wrong in the head. Rex Lapis apparently does not know how to behave like a human, even after living for thousands of years.

Ajax

Oh preach. It was funny as hell. Zhongli came back looking like a wet rat too.

Xiao

We all looked like wet rats. Keqing took a picture of it too, she must have posted it somewhere.

Charlotte

Well now I’m curious! Gotta look into Keqing’s skygram for that, huh? And thank you all for your precious time. I really enjoyed talking with you, it was lovely!

Aether (grins at Charlotte)

Awee, thanks for having us!

Ajax (waves at the camera)

Let’s hope we meet again for another interview!

Zhongli

Soon. Hopefully. Thank you, and have a good day everyone.

Xiao

Mmh, bye.

(screen fades out for a few seconds as the cast wave at the camera smiling, before you can hear someone talk in the background)

Xiao

Ajax, you better delete that singing video, otherwise you’re dead meat–

Bonus behind the scenes (leaked by yours truly, Keqing <3)

—

[ Attached : a picture of Zhongli, Aether, Ninnguang, Ajax, and Ganyu looking like soaked and pitiful wet rats as they throw up a peace sign at the camera. All looking beyond exhausted ]

Caption : How come I wasn’t invited for that anime beach scene? I feel sad and left out — Keqing:3

—

Aether and Zhongli

“Ah it seems I do not have mora.. Traveler would you be kind enough to–”

“Fuck off, get your fatuus wallet to get you mora.”

“That wasn't part of the script.”

“CUT! AETHER PLEASE, THIS IS THE 4TH TIME IN A ROW.”

“Sorry….”

—

Ajax and Zhongli

“I can't believe I was betrayed by someone whom I thought of as a friend. Was everything just a lie?”

“Hmm.”

“Xiansheng?”

“Hmmm.”

“Hello?? Earth to Zhongli??? Did you just zone out?”

“CUT! Zhongli, you can stare at Ajax’s ass, chest, waist, all you want but later. Please.”

“What–”

—

Xiao and Aether

“Madame Ping gave me a teapot. Umm..”

“Ah yes.. So I heard.”

“I’d like it if you’d come over once, maybe tonight– for dinner y’know?”

“Of course, you just need to call out my name.”

Someone yells off camera

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST STAY FOREVER?”

“Hu Tao, please be quiet!!!”

“Boohoo, I just wanted to do that Mulan scene. You’re no fun, fatui boy.”

“CUTTTTTTTTT!!! You rascals, go away!!! It’s not even your scene right now.”

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anamelessfool · 2 months

Text

GEN, Original Characters (AO3 Link)

There is one major High Holy Day in the Satanic Church of the Void that corresponds to her counterpart. The Origin of the Void (685 words)

Tags: Dark Magic, Animal Slaughter (non-descriptive, somewhat off-screen), Ancient History, Curses, I'm Testing Your Bible Story Knowledge

“I shall tell you one last story before we depart. My Church was created from Peter’s betrayal. From Peter’s very human fear for his life. We forgive him, of course. We thank him. Without that honesty, we would not exist. And you would not be blessed with this lovely evening with me."-- Mater Emerita Jocasta

The servant girl stepped out of the house, biting her lip to hold back nervous tears. Mistress was furious. She wouldn’t wait for the man, she had said to her girl. She needed to feed these guests, and feed them now.

The sky lightened over the olive trees in the back garden while the rooster continued to crow. He flailed around the trees, bobbing his head and flapping, daring anyone to cross him. The girl was afraid of him, but not enough to pity him. She feared her mistress’ sandal more than his claws.

She managed to grab the old bird mid-crow, and he flapped angrily but soon settled into his fate. She carried him by his legs over to the usual spot where the man came and slaughtered their chickens. But they couldn’t wait for him today. Or, rather, her mistress wouldn’t wait for him.

She pulled the tie from her hair and trussed his legs, hanging him from the pole suspended between two trees. She pulled a little knife from her apron, hesitating. She’d seen the man do this so many times, waiting for him to be done so she could pluck the wretched things.

The girl grabbed his head, tripping over the words that she half remembered the man uttering, and drew the knife. She dispatched the bird with little effort, and now waited for the blood to drain, just like every time.

She heard a noise of distress. A man stumbled weakly out of the house, pulling at his hair and beard. She recognized him immediately. He was with the one the soldiers took away. He had told the soldier that she was lying. She flushed with fear, shaking her head. But he truly was there! Why would she lie?

The man fell to his knees by an olive tree, grabbing fistfuls of earth. He shook and wept. Earlier that morning he was so sure, he was so taken with the lie that he did not know his friend. That she was the dishonest one. She was powerless against him. Against most things.

She huffed, holding back tears herself. Every day was a new fear. Every day she wished to grow up, but every day she knew that she would instead become smaller. She sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and turned back towards the bird to inspect him.

Something had changed.

The pool of blood was a hole. A velvety blackness had replaced the glisten of fresh blood. She saw how the light nearby stretched and softened, as if being sucked into the earth. Terrified, she kicked a little pebble at the shape. It rolled and inexplicably fell, the pool was now a well. How deep, she did not know. Terror dragged at her bones.

We should have waited. We should have waited for him. And now…

The girl swallowed. Behind her, the bearded man in the dirt continued his racking sobs. She inched forward. Some sand from her feet slid into the darkness before her, hissing. She lowered her gaze and looked. Down, down, down into the nothing. Her eyebrows raised. Her face twisted. Her body convulsed like a dying insect.

Her shrieks of pain were drawn into the hole, echoing forever in some unseen chasm, heard by millions of eldritch ears not yet known to man. And her left eye burned.

Satanas our Infernal Father, deliver us into our truth, burn away the lies of this earthly society and bring us into your illuminated awareness forever and ever!

“Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be."

Our Dearest Dark Mother Imperator, through blood and blackened feathers birthed the Void into existence, may she nurture us in her poisoned womb and bring about the infinite endlessness, so say us, her children!

“Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be.”

Precious Void, Unholy Nothingness, through you we see past the flesh and blood of this world, and the hellish glory of realms beyond of our mortal existence, our eyes are open to you and our bones call out for our union!

"Satanas, Satanas, Glory Be!"

My Fic List | "Scenes from the Void" Eldritch Horror AU (AO3)

#ghost fandom #ghost band fic #eldritch horror #ghost scenes from the void #cosmic horror

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writingsofhubris · 8 months

Text

Portrait of a Lady

↞ | ← | Master | AO3 | →

Ch 4. And four wax candles in the darkened room, Rating: E WC: Tags: Lovecraftian Monster(s), Human/Monster Romance, Oviposition, Tentacle Sex, Cancer Ship: Harding Hooten/Reader Disc: You'd met Harding elsewhere, even though you'd never talked for more than a few minuets. When you'd stopped into his emergency room, when you'd visited Chelsea, you found yourself looking at a man you'd known only in passing heading your care. He'd led you through tumultuous questions, opened up as easily as any of the surgeons could open up a person. Somehow, you'd been drawn to Harding, and he was willing to take you up on your offer.

“Just tonight, a movie in.” Harding’s offer wasn’t a normal offer; staying in would normally begin with dinner, move to a card game, and would find a way to end physically. Very rarely, it would even end productively. Whatever the night would bring, staying in rarely stayed just on the sofa.

“Fine, but we’re getting candy and popcorn.”

“Just that?”

“And some overly processed butter topping. Something that doesn’t cost more than the change in the sofa.”

“A topping that would clog every artery, is it?”

“At least.” The common conversation really drove home the change in your relationship. Harding wouldn't have even considered such a choice for a movie months ago, but even he was in a good mood. Without allowing your hesitation to take over for you, you proceeded to lean up to Harding, and kiss him gently on the lips. His hand moved from resting on your lower back to sliding up to your cheek, thumb once more brushing against your cheek, soaking in the moment of just connection. The thoughts of picking out candy and toppings, movies or genre were far from your mind right then.

It was hard to focus on anything when his hand was so soft on you, much less what movie you were going to attempt to see.

"Do you have any idea what you'd like?"

"You." The unthinking answer filtered from your lips before you could stop it. His laugh was gentle, well meaning. "Your pick," you tried to cover your ass with, already knowing it was futile. His thumb brushed against your cheek once more, just admiring what you looked like in your flushed state.

“I have an idea.”

Honestly, you weren’t sure just what it was that made it so hard to watch the movie. Sure, you had your tendencies to daydream about the creatures beyond your ability to see, who didn’t? But it wasn’t as though Harding could have picked this movie with that knowledge. You watched as Eliza and the Amphibian Man fell for each other, learning a world more intimate than you’d ever seen in love before. You weren’t sure if it was the skill of the actors or the director, but it certainly didn’t take long for you to be sucked into the world of a new creature, something other than human, offering this human woman something more, a deeper love than she’d have ever hoped for.

Harding’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close when your eyes would get misty, his chest vibrating when you’d both laugh. Under his arm, you felt safe and secure, you felt as though nothing would happen. You ended up sinking further into his arms, not quite falling asleep, but relaxing so deeply any horror that might have provoked another just guided you to lay your head closer to Harding’s.

When the final frame flashed across the screen, you’d found yourself much more comfortable than before. Your legs had been pulled onto Harding’s lap at some point, and his arm was layered over your back. You were comfortable under his arm, and when his head turned, his lips brushed against your hair.

“Enjoy yourself?”

“That was a really good movie, Harding.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it thoroughly.” That smile you’d become addicted to showed up on his lips, and you mimicked it.

“That much, I did.”

“Shall I make us something light before bed?”

“Not yet. You’re too comfortable.” As if to prove your words, you pressed your body closer to his, his arm wrapping tighter around your back. With surprising strength, Harding managed to shift both of you, your back pressed onto the seats of the sofa, and his large body pressed into you.

“You won’t get away with that,” he replied, joy in his eyes. Despite his words, your arms wrapped around his neck, and pulled him closer, trying to lean up and kiss him. He indulged you for only a short amount of time, before pressing a kiss to your chin. “Not tonight.” Not even the pout on your lips stopped him, even as you caught a glance of the smirk he’d try to hide from everyone.

The sounds from the kitchen were soft form your vantage in the room, but you could hear the fridge opening, plates moving about. A dull ache had settled in your head, nothing even noticeable at the late hour. You were tired, and headaches didn’t scare you quite as much after brain surgery. Getting up from the sofa, you found your way back to the kitchen. Perhaps the snack would be enough to get the headache to fade, and allow you both to fall asleep that night. Between the book release, and the stress of recovering, you didn’t even have time to talk about the traveling you’d be doing without him.

Idly, you wondered if Harding had even had time to read the book, to see how you’d written about the head of surgery that’d guided your hand easily through the stressful times.

The sandwich that he’d offered sounded like the perfect meal to round out the night.

Getting up from the sofa after a few minutes, you started after Harding, looking for where he could have disappeared to. The kitchen was found shortly through the living room, a lovely alcove away from a sunroom. Art adorned the walls as you walked through the rooms, finding more and more opulence as you disappeared further.

Though it seemed Chelsea was hurting for additions, Harding seemed to have his connections. Art you were sure you had recognized from miscellaneous articles were offered on his walls. But as you walked through them, you were confused by the array. You hadn’t paid attention to the Signatures on the canvases in the past. You were shocked by the vast majority. Every single signature on the canvases; right or left; spoke to a deeper connection than you were privy to. You couldn’t piece together if it was a personal connection or family, how he could have lucked into some of these pieces.

Regardless, the art spoke to a peace you’d strive for. Peace you were sure that Harding didn’t find often, a softness to humanity that the pain of the emergency room didn’t allow.

After a few ignored turns, including his music room with a piano that seemed to be ignored these days, you did find the man himself. Harding was preparing a simple sandwich, two plates prepared with plenty of vegetables.

“And here we are,” Harding at last said, offering you the perfectly sized plate filled with a sandwich, sweet peppers, pickled sweet onion. You took it, just to bite in, filling the hunger in your belly just as he took a bite as well. Flavorful as you’d expected from his purchases.

Harding held you all of that night, his firm arm wrapped around your waist, middle finger drawing a small pattern over your navel every moment of the night. You weren’t entirely sure what it could possibly mean to him, but Harding found importance in it.

That was reason enough for you to relax into his arms, his soft breathing repetitive on the small of your neck.

Not even the slight headache could stop that simple joy. You drifted off into a wonderful sleep, pushing Harding onto his bed to wake him up with a blowjob. He hadn’t expected it, but the moment he had realized, his hips canted further into your mouth, searching for that pleasure you’d already offered him.

#.w #harding hooten #x reader #harding hooten x reader

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ravixen · 2 years

Note

hey!! I came across your work thru ao3 and I am in love with how you write these drabbles! I’m a new carat and it’s really hit me how little fics there are for readers taller/physically stronger than the members. im all for the being taken care of vibe but they deserve someone they can “look up to” too!!

as such, i shall request a tall!reader or trainer!reader either platonic or romantic fic? either ot13 or 95line is fine!! thank u so much for ur service, all ur writing has me smiling at my screen like a crazy person. 💜

svt + needing help with the top shelf

➔ reaction || requested || 95-line

➔ warnings: none || 488 words ➔ notes: fluff, tall!y/n ; it always makes me so happy to see new people love seventeen. i watched as they handed out flyers on the street to advertise their performances pre-debut. years later, they continue to bring in fans. (also, if i may self plug, i occasionally post on @imagine-svt for specific carats such as wheelchair using carats, blind carats, tall carats, athletic carats, etc.) i chose a specific situation for your request :) pls reblog if you liked. if you're reading on ao3 or don't have a tumblr account, pls give kudos!

SEUNGCHEOL: have you seen this man — he's literally so baby. you hear him call you from the kitchen, and when you walk in, he's reaching for the top shelf, fingers a few inches shy of the peanut butter jar. you lean against the door frame and cross your arms, a smile tugging at your lips. "yeah, what's up?" you raise an eyebrow. you know what he wants, but you want to hear it from him. "can you get this for me, baby? it's too high." he throws in a pout for good measure, and you can't help rolling your eyes at how shameless he is. if any of his members happen to walk by and gag at his antics, he'll just lift his chin, daring them to say anything. today, though, everyone's out, so he even repeats the question in this cutesy voice that sickens you. you groan. "okay, okay, fine, just stop doing that."

JEONGHAN: he's so handsy. granted, he's handsy with everyone, but with you, he's particularly comfortable with grabbing a handful of ass and pressing up against your back until you throw him a look. he only sends you a saccharine smile, chin barely clearing over your shoulder, and asks you to do him a favor. "it's the hair dryer again," he says and runs fingers through his damp fringe to emphasize his point, as if you don't notice his shower-fresh scent and your sweater hanging off his frame. "i swear you get a stool and put it up there every time because i know i leave it under the sink for you," you tell him but follow him anyway. he laughs into a covered hand. "you can't prove it." but you both know by the way the plug hangs off the shelf that that's exactly what happened. still, he presses a kiss to your cheek once you hand the dryer to him and you keep your mouth closed.

JOSHUA: he doesn't ask you for help often in private, but in public...well, it's embarrassing to be climbing the shelves in the clothing store. "seriously, is there nobody around?" he frowns, looking up and down the aisle. the shirt he wants is just out of his reach, and it seems like every worker in the store is busy. he leans back against your chest, and your arm automatically comes up to curl around his waist, other hand pocketing the phone you were scrolling on. "you want me to get it?" you ask. "the white one, right?" he hums in confirmation. "the size medium right above us, please." you snag it with the tips of your fingers, and his eyes brighten once you pass it over. he holds it up to his shoulders and realizes that it's too small. "...uhm, would you be mad if i asked for the large instead?" he looks up and sees it already in your hand. "no, why would i be?"

#caratwritersclub #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seungcheol scenarios #s.coups scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #g: svt #m: seungcheol #m: jeonghan #m: jisoo #t: reaction #s: request #anonymous #ravixen

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forabeatofadrum · 1 year

Text

Ljubim te (15/24)

Notes: Ohohohohohohhh [rubs hands together] FINALLY.

AO3 | S&C

–

PUMP

Blaine is waiting at the airport. He stopped by the flower shop, so he’s holding a big bouquet of red roses. It’s utterly romantic, although Blaine doesn’t really feel romantic in the situation. How can he? He’s here to pick up his girlfriend after he kissed another guy.

Blaine and Quinn have been talking regularly again. Both act as if Blaine ghosting Quinn never happened, and that is fine by him. Right now, he can’t wait for things to go back to the way they used to be.

He also hasn’t spoken to Kurt ever since The Incident. When he first powered up his phone, he saw several missed calls and texts from Kurt, but those stopped as well after a while. It’s probably for the best.

Blaine also doesn’t have the time to think it through because Quinn, his fucking girlfriend, will be here any second.

“Blaine!”

Speaking of Quinn.

Blaine looks in the direction of the voice and there she is. Quinn. She looks like she’s from a movie, with her beautifully styled hair, her snazzy beret, black shining pumps and her matching dark red peacoat. Fuck, even her suitcase completes the look. She looks far too pretty for someone who’s spent hours in a plane.

Quinn is pretty. That’s what Blaine’s holding onto now. He’s always thought so.

She runs towards him and before Blaine can even say anything, she kisses him passionately.

Blaine is a bit shocked. He knows he should probably put his arms around her and hold her tight, but he’s thrown so off guard that his mind needs some time to catch up with what’s happening. They’re kissing and it’s… it’s fine. It’s just fine.

It’s always been just fine.

Quinn breaks away to take a breath.

“Here,” Blaine holds out the roses. They got smashed by the kiss. Blaine was holding the bouquet in front of him when Quinn basically jumped on him. “You look nice.”

Yes, yes, keep focusing on that.

“I’ve missed you,” Quinn says, “Oh, I am so glad to be here!”

“Shall we?” Blaine holds out his arm and Quinn hooks hers around it. Together they walk outside.

Quinn slept on the plane, but she’s still tired. She left around noon and now it’s evening.

“I remember you told me you skipped Monday when you first moved here,” Quinn says as she hangs her coat on the coatrack, “Now I get what you mean. This is weird.”

“Do you want a tour?”

“I’ve seen it all on screen, but yes, I’d love to see your apartment in the flesh!”

It isn’t much, but Blaine doesn’t know what else to say. Quinn is genuinely excited to see it, though, and it only makes Blaine feel worse. She’s so happy to be here. Blaine also should be happy to have her here. He has missed her, truly, and he had been looking forward to showing Quinn around, but after The Incident everything got weird.

Not only that, but the last person that was here in Blaine’s apartment was Kurt.

Quinn’s going through the fridge, since she’s hungry, and all Blaine can think of is the time Kurt stood in this same kitchen in his underwear.

No.

Nope.

Not now. He can’t think about that now, and about the weird feeling it gave Blaine.

They need to move away from the kitchen, which is hard since the kitchen, dining room and living room is all in one space. Blaine shows Quinn the nice bathroom next. That’s separate! And Blaine never saw Kurt in his bathroom, because that’d be weird and super invasive and totally not something he’d want.

“And last, the bedroom,” Blaine says.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous!” Quinn says and she falls face down on the bed, “So soft, just like you described.”

“Hah, yes,” Blaine says with a laugh, “Especially when it was still very cold here. Double duvets… oh the comfort!”

“We should buy a soft mattress like this for at home,” Quinn says, her voice muffled because she’s burying her face in a pillow, “Although it doesn’t get as cold in LA.”

“True.” Of course, yes, he has a home with Quinn in Los Angeles.

Quinn flips on her back and the two of them stare at each other for a long time, with Quinn lying in the bed and Blaine standing at its feet.

Quinn raises an eyebrow and she has an intense look on her face. She eyes Blaine appreciatively.

Right.

Huh.

Blaine should probably get in there as well. They haven’t seen each other two and a half months. It’s been a while.

Right.

Blaine awkwardly climbs on the bed and hovers over her. Quinn grabs his face and pulls him down for another passionate kiss. This time, Blaine saw it coming, so he kisses back. He deepens the kiss and he just so desperately wants her.

Or actually, he so desperately wants to want her.

But it’s awkward. Has it really been too long? Did Blaine just straight up forget how to be with Quinn? Quinn notices that he’s a bit lost, so she guides one of his hands to her breasts, but now it’s just lying there. Should he squeeze it? That’s what he did back then, back in Los Angeles, when things between them was easier. Before Kurt came in and messed it all up.

They’ve been dating for over a year. They live together. This isn’t new to him. He likes Quinn. He likes having sex with her, because it’s just something they do. They don’t do it often, since it is a touchy subject for Quinn, but it’s… fine. It’s all just fine. Maybe a bit bland, but fine. He doesn’t have to think about it. His mind usually goes on autopilot and it’s fun and it’s good and that is that. Sometimes he wonders if Quinn is bored during it, but it’s how it is.

But now he’s thinking about it. That’s new.

Quinn might be getting impatient, because she now guides his other hand down her stomach and all Blaine can think of is-

“No,” he says.

Quinn’s hands still and she stops kissing him.

“No?” she asks.

Blaine wants to apologise or come up with an excuse or a reason to go through with it, but he can’t. He… doesn’t want to. He tries to be interested, but he realises that he isn’t. What got him interested before? He can’t really remember in the moment. He never thought about it, but now that he does, he can’t remember.

Blaine rolls off him and Quinn flips on her side so that she can see him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Quinn says kindly.

“It’s just- I can’t- It’s not you, it’s me, and I don’t…” he trails off.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Quinn says soothingly and she gives Blaine a pat on his upper arm. That’s fine. “You don’t have to explain – or justify – saying no. A no is a no, and if you don’t want to tell me why, that is completely fine. And if you do, there’s no rush.”

“Quinn…”

How did he get so lucky? How is Quinn so understanding? Quinn’s all about giving people the space they need, and Blaine could cry from relief. He’s also still waiting for Quinn to bring up the fact that he ghosted her a few days prior, but she doesn’t.

“Can I still kiss you now?” she asks.

Blaine doesn’t love the idea, but he also isn’t opposed to it. He nods and Quinn plants a soft kiss on his lips before getting out of bed.

“I’m going to shower,” she says, “Maybe we can watch a movie afterward? I’d like to try the burek you keep talking about.”

Blaine props himself up on his elbows and he watches Quinn leave the room. She isn’t upset, and it’s honestly a relief. He also doesn’t think Quinn is faking this calm demeanour. She genuinely doesn’t mind not having sex, even though they haven’t seen each other.

Blaine also gets up and he walks towards the bathroom. He knocks.

“Quinn, I’m gonna go get that burek,” he says calmly. He is calm. Quinn being calm makes it easy to not feel bad. “It’s a twelve minute walk to Nobel, retour, and I still have to order and all that, so take your time.”

“Alright!’ Quinn yells from the bathroom.

“Pizza burek?” he asks.

“Sure. Can I pick the movie?”

“Definitely.” That means Legally Blonde, and Blaine does not mind at all.

#klaineadvent #klaine advent 2022 #klaine advent #klaine #glee #holy fuck I wrote #2023 #multichaptered

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checkoutmybookshelf · 2 years

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The Polin Fic (Part 3 of 3)

Hello friends! I have written a Polin fic to pass the time between seasons of Bridgerton, and I thought I might share for those of you who also ship. This is arguably safe for work, but anyone with medical/wound/illness triggers may want to give this one a pass.

This is the final instalment of the story. It follows largely the show continuity, with the odd bit of book continuity in there.

This is PART 3, so if you're just finding this now, head on back to my blog (I'm pretty sure that's what we call our tumblr pages? I am a tumblr novice) and check out Parts 1 and 2. They are also available on Ao3.

Anna took one look at the slightly at sea Bridgerton men and–masterfully restraining an eye roll–proceeded to sort out the mess that was the tea tray. It was still covered in spilled milk, porcelain shards, and uneaten food. Additionally, there were two basins of pinkish water and a pile of dirty cloths that needed attending. She rang for another maid, who appeared promptly, and the pair got the room back in some semblance of order.

While the maids were setting the room to rights, Colin walked to the window and stared out, both to avoid being underfoot by pacing and because from that vantage point, he could keep a tacit eye on Penelope. As he watched the sky turn peach and rose with lavender edges, he regretted his choice somewhat. As a seasoned traveler, he knew better than most that nights could be long, and Dr. Taylor’s words rang in his ears: if she survives the night.

Twice during his travels in Greece and Cyprus, he had heard the phrase “if they survive the night.” The first had been after a horse was mauled by a wildcat the party had failed to see in time to shoot, the second after a member of the travel party had taken a bad fall. Neither had seen dawn. In both instances, however, Colin had had his hands full with tasks, keeping the fire going, ensuring the rest of the horses and pack animals were tended, and other camp chores. He had kept himself distracted and useful, and when he had run out of camp chores as his colleague lay dying by the fire, he had distracted himself by writing to Penelope. His hands were fidgeting, wishing for similar distractions now.

Anthony moved to stand beside Colin, hands tucked neatly behind his back, watching the sun set.

“I don’t know how you did it,” said Anthony, quietly. Colin hummed an unspoken question in response, eyes fixed on the horizon. “As soon as I realized the doctor had Kate in hand after her accident, I couldn’t remain in the room. The thought of watching her go…seeing with my own eyes that I had lost her was more than I could have stood. And yet, you stayed with Miss Featherington.” Colin’s jaw worked for a moment before he snorted.

“Just when I thought you all might have at least read my letters, even if you did not write back.”

“Colin, this does not compare to the horse–”

“Of course it does not! We lost one of our party in Greece as well.” Colin was silent for a moment before admitting, “That does not compare either, not truly.” The two men stood quietly as the sun slid fully below the horizon, and the maids in the room lit candles.

From the corner of his eye, Colin could see that Penelope was growing restive, her head turning back and forth on the pillow, and her body shifting as much as it might without causing undue strain on her wound. Something about the candlelight accentuated the pained scrunch of her face. Were her eyes open? Colin was not aware of moving to her side; he simply found himself there.

“Pen, are you awake?” he asked. Her eyes turned toward him, but they still held the empty, glassy, nightmare look; she did not register his presence. She seemed to be in the throes of a fever dream as she whispered, “No, she shall not have Whistledown.” Her voice died away to incoherent mumbling as she continued to gently thrash beneath the covers.

Damned bloody Lady Whistledown. Colin stood abruptly and nearly knocked over the dressing screen as he emerged beyond it to pace the room, furious. Even delirious from fever and with her life hanging in the balance, Penelope was still choosing Lady Whistledown. He couldn’t seem to merge Lady Whistledown and Penelope in his head. There was Pen—beautiful, clever, vibrant Pen, who had been a fixture in his life since they were both children and whose letters had been his constant companions during his travels—and some faceless harridan who had challenged the crown, nearly ruined Eloise, and succeeded in aborting his and Marina’s elopement. And in Colin’s head, the harridan was firmly to blame for putting Pen in danger. Without Lady Whistledown, he reasoned, Lord Andrew would never have ordered Pen killed, she would never have been exposed, and the queen would not have threatened her life. She would not be lying before him, hanging on to life by a thread.

When the door opened, Colin’s head snapped toward it with nearly a snarl. A footman entered, handing Anthony a note. Reading it, Anthony sighed. “I am summoned to see Lady Danbury. If anything changes with Miss Featherington, Colin, call for the doctor and then have me fetched. And do not frighten the maid, scowling so.” He clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder, then left the room, leaving Colin and Penelope alone, save for Anna, who was unobtrusively blending into a corner, a bit of mending in her hands.

Finding himself largely alone with his thoughts and increasingly too tired to pace, Colin went to draw a chair to Penelope’s bedside and stopped. He was caught between how alarmingly right the action felt, his anger at Whistledown, and the sense that the entirety of the ton would disapprove. Colin growled. He’d been quick enough to ignore propriety when Anthony and their mother were in the room; why on earth would he hesitate now? With a bit more scraping and squeaking against the floor than absolutely necessary, Colin moved the chair to where he could easily take Pen’s hand and sat, arms crossed over his chest, scowl still firmly on his face.

“Were it not for Lady Whistledown, I’d be coming to talk to you about this,” he informed her. “It was always you I wrote to when I felt uncertain in my travels.” He reached again for a letter he was not carrying, sighed, and rubbed at his eyes instead. They felt grainy from a lack of sleep. When he realized he was fidgeting because he was waiting for Penelope to answer him, he forced himself to stop. The fever and infection had her in their grip; she was not going to respond to him. She would not simply wake up and tell him that Lady Whistledown was gone for good and that she would be the Pen he had always known.

Except…

Before she had been out in society, she had been a fixture in the Bridgerton household but as Eloise’s friend, primarily. It had not truly been until Pen’s first social season that she and Colin had really gotten to know one another, and how much her letters had meant to him on his travels had initially been a surprise. Thinking of her letters, Colin realized that if he had stopped and thought for more than a moment and held Pen’s letters and issues of Whistledown up beside each other, he would have been able to see similarities.

When Pen spoke to people at social events, it was always polite and often brief. The politeness and brevity carried into her letter writing, but the letters also revealed a wit and a deeply insightful mind that rarely came to the fore in polite society. Unlike Colin’s other correspondents, who rarely wrote enough to have developed their own voice in their letters, he could always hear Pen in her writing. She had favorite turns of phrase, particular ways of constructing sentences to make him laugh or rethink an argument that had been overly shallow. Occasionally, she even revealed flashes of how widely she had read with an allusion that he would have expected from Benedict or Lumley, not a gently reared young lady who was expected to have read enough to be “accomplished,” but not so much as to develop thoughts of her own.

Lady Whistledown’s voice was sharper, harder, and more overtly authoritative than Pen’s in her letters, but the sentence construction was too similar to be coincidence. Her easy, casual use of parentheticals in her letters to clarify a fact for him or drop a joke to make him smile was simply a softer version of Whistledown’s use of them to highlight a fact or offer a particularly cutting piece of commentary. If he recalled correctly, both the barb about Penelope looking like an overripe citrus in her yellow dresses and the reference to Kate Sharma as a shrew had been parentheticals in Whistledown, and both were near-identical in construction and placement, as many of Pen’s own observations to him about other matters. Furthermore, typical scandal sheets often either refrained from using dependent phrases and clauses in that way—for fear that their primary audience of gently-bred young ladies would be left behind in understanding—or preferred dashes.

Equally similar were Pen and Whistledown’s ways of seeing the world. Pen herself was softer in her assessment of marriage mart prospects in her letters to Colin, but the way she framed the marriage mart and the ton itself were, now he stopped to compare the two, shatteringly similar to Whistledown. Pen’s challenges to his thoughts, his assumptions, and his worldview were simply softly dropped lace cousins of the leather gauntlets Lady Whistledown had hurled at the queen’s feet.

If anything, Pen had been taking an enormous risk by writing to him so consistently. Colin himself was more than a casual writer. Pen knew of and encouraged his journaling while he traveled. He had been thinking of asking her to read them when he had returned, before he had put his foot so firmly in his mouth. But of the entire ton, Colin had known how Penelope wrote. And while there were differences in tone and content, it was fairly clear on close inspection that Pen’s and Whistledown’s voices were one and the same. Only Colin could have made that connection; Pen didn’t write to Eloise often, the two preferred to spend time together in person. Penelope had given Colin the means to uncover her secret, had trusted him not to, and he had simply failed to see it. Had failed to see her.

His stomach dropped through the floor as he realized the full extent of his second betrayal. It hadn’t been leaving without saying goodbye; it had been failing to see her and—as Benedict had said—asking her to be less than she was. His inability to see that she and Whistledown were one and the same, and that Whistledown was almost certainly simply a manifestation of Penelope’s own strength, wit, and skill had led him to dismiss that part of her. To ask her to abandon it. Small wonder she had ordered him out and not trusted him to carry out her plan; he had given her ample grounds to mistrust him—twice.

For the first time, Colin could see Pen’s plan with the final issue of Whistledown clearly. Not, as his siblings had suggested, by removing Pen from the equation, but by reconciling Pen and Whistledown and seeing her as truly herself. She had very neatly gotten exactly what she wanted and hamstrung the queen’s ability to fake Whistledown or publicly accuse Pen herself of treason for criticizing the crown. And she had done it from what was essentially a prison cell, with a stab wound (and the resulting fever), while sidestepping his clumsy attempts to stop her.

Penelope’s breathing began to rasp in her throat.

Colin surged forward in his seat, thinking she couldn’t breathe. Anna was at Penelope’s side as well, efficiently checking her pulse and airway. Then she took Penelope’s hand and gently pinched it. The small peak took long moments to melt away. Anna looked troubled as she lowered the hand.

“She can breathe, I think,” she said. “But she has not had anything to drink today, and I do not know that she has since the first time her stitches popped. Someone really ought to go for the doctor…” her voice trailed off, knowing that Colin was not going to do the proper thing and suggest that he himself fetch the doctor. She sighed when he proved her right and merely rose to pour a glass of water before returning to his seat.

“I will try to wake her enough to drink something while you are gone,” he said firmly.

“My lord, it’s hardly proper,” she began.

“Hang proper, Miss Featherington is extremely ill,” he snapped. Anna turned on her heel and marched out. The best she could do now was be quick.

Colin turned back to Penelope. He was loath to try shaking her awake, not wanting to jostle her wound. He settled for patting her cheek while calling her name. He was alarmed by how hot and dry her face was; with a fever that high, ought she not be clammier? They must get water into her. She could not succeed so brilliantly only to succumb to this. He would not lose her.

Penelope roused enough to turn her face away from him—he patted incrementally harder, avoiding the hand-shaped bruise that still shadowed her face. Her eyes finally flickered open.

“Colin?” Her voice sounded as though her vocal cords had been replaced with wood rasps.

“Yes, Pen, it’s me. You must drink something, here.” She was cognizant enough that she shakily took hold of the glass, though Colin maintained a grip on it just in case. She took a tiny sip, swirled it around her mouth for a moment, swallowed, and lowered the glass.

“Where has Lady Danbury gone?” she asked.

“Pen that was last night. A day has passed. What do you remember?” Sheer panic crossed Penelope’s face.

“A day! No, no, it cannot have, I must get the next Whistledown to print. The queen cannot be allowed to have it.” She tried to rise, to get out of the bed, but was unable to even push herself to a sitting position. Body trembling, Penelope tried again, fighting Colin’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let me up, Colin. I must—”

“Pen, Whistledown went to print. It is all right, you succeeded. Please, Pen, just rest. Drink a little more.” He held the glass out to her again. She took another small sip, eyes glassy but still appearing to see the room.

Expecting their mothers—undoubtedly furious at the lack of a chaperone in the room—and the doctor at any moment, Colin took a chance.

“Penelope, I owe you several very large apologies.”

Penelope took another sip of water to hide her incredulity. He wanted to do this now of all times? When she was fighting all out to stay present and barely succeeding? Already, there were creeping stars and darkness at the edges of her vision, and she simply did not want to pay attention to the black hole of pain and wrongness that was her abdomen. But naturally, Colin chose that moment to attempt to make amends. She might have laughed had she been alone and sure that laughing wouldn’t overwhelm her.

“Colin, I assure you there is no need–”

“Pen, there is every need. I behaved like an utter cad with no regard for how my words or actions would affect you–affect our friendship…” He petered off, suddenly uncomfortable. He had to apologize, had to set things right between them, but “our friendship” had felt dissatisfying, empty. The phrase no longer encompassed all Pen was to him. He fumbled, quite unable to find another phrase and finish the sentence.

For her part, Penelope was simply waiting for him to finish. He had made his feelings quite clear when he said he would never court her and clearer still when he had casually suggested she abandon Whistledown. She would not waste her energy here and now hoping that he had changed his mind, that he could see all of her, and find it in himself to meet her love with his own. However, she could not find it in herself to order him out again. If he needed his guilt assuaged, fine. She could do that much, and then she could rest. And when she recovered–she refused to listen to the creeping voice in the back of her mind that whispered “if” as it watched the swirling shadows at the edges of her vision–she would mourn Whistledown and then pick herself up, turn herself to the future, and leave Colin Bridgerton behind.

The silence between them stretched on, Colin feeling more and more the fool for being unable to finish his sentence or his overall apology, and Penelope increasingly understanding that she was losing the battle to stay conscious. She wanted him to finish his sentence, or perhaps begin a new one. Something, anything for her to focus on and help keep the darkness back.

She had forgotten about the glass of water in her hand until Colin’s expression changed from chagrin to concern, and he took the dangerously tilting glass from her hand.

“Pen? Are you all right? Are you still with me?” To Penelope, he sounded very far away. The breath she took to tell him that she was still there was too sharp, too deep. The pain and darkness pulled Penelope down once again, Colin’s face fixed in her mind’s eye.

As Penelope’s face twisted in pain and her eyes fluttered closed on him again, Colin caught both her hands, as though he could anchor her to consciousness. It was a long while before her face began to relax, and Colin had to pay close attention to ensure that she was breathing at all. It struck him then that Anna had said she would fetch the doctor, and she had still not returned. He did not imagine for a moment that the girl had dawdled, so what was keeping her?

“It seems Lady Whistledown was wrong, then,” said a voice behind Colin. “A rare occurrence indeed.” As he whirled and rose, Colin hid behind a polite bow the step that put him bodily between Penelope’s still form and the woman who had threatened her life.

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?” Colin asked, wanting nothing so much as to get himself and Penelope out of this encounter with their skins intact.

“Lady Whistledown wrote that you, Mr. Bridgerton, would never dream of courting the youngest Miss Featherington. And yet, here you are. Rumors of my displeasure with the young miss are rampant; most of the ton have abandoned the Featheringtons as lost to society at best and about to be banished in disgrace at worst. And yet you risk your own reputation and that of your family over a girl you would reportedly never consider courting. You even risk her reputation–what is left of it–by remaining at her side, quite unchaperoned.

So, Mr. Bridgerton, either you are the worst imaginable sort of rake or else the Bridgerton family’s penchant for finding love matches with the absolute maximum amount of scandal possible has once again come to the fore.” The queen paused, eyeing Colin pensively.

Colin, normally effortlessly charming in even the most awkward social situations, found himself at a loss for words. This was no matchmaking mama he could put off with a clever quip and a charming grin. The queen still held Pen’s life in her hands, could still decide that Pen had to pay for everything she had printed.

“Surely, your Majesty, despite Lady Whistledown’s prodigious skill at uncovering scandal, she is not so omniscient that she could know everything that goes on,” he said. He then had to cover a gulp as the queen frowned at him, eyes darting to Penelope.

“Hmph. Do you often continue to beat the bushes after the birds have flown, Mr. Bridgerton? That makes for an extremely poor hunt.”

“I bow to your expertise, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head.

“While flattery is the obvious choice, it is also the boring one,” Queen Charlotte snapped. “You are on unfamiliar ground, Mr. Bridgerton, and the familiar choices may not be best. Your Dr. Taylor says he does not expect Miss Featherington to survive the night–do not look surprised, Mr. Bridgerton. Do not for a moment imagine I do not know all that goes on under my own roof.” She smirked at him, eyes cold. “Lady Danbury is clever, but she forgets that she cannot escape my notice; however much she may try.”

So she knew that he and Lady Danbury had visited Penelope the previous night. But she didn’t seem to know that he and Benedict had ensured that the final issue of Whistledown had gone to print. He was not about to enlighten her about his family’s role in that endeavor, but he could not let her dismissal of Pen’s chances stand.

“With all due respect, ma’am, Miss Featherington will recover,” he said. The queen raised an eyebrow at him.

“If she will be fine in the morning, then why are you here?” she asked. “Surely, propriety would have you home now and calling during respectable hours tomorrow. You cannot mistrust your family doctor, not if you specifically requested him above the royal physician.” Her tone should have been a warning, but Colin didn’t hear it.

“Miss Featherington is a dear friend, I would be at her side in adversity,” he shot back, aware that his tone bordered dangerously on insubordination. The queen rolled her eyes.

“You sound like that little American fellow, Adams. He referred to his wife in precisely the same terms when he was here for an audience in ‘85.”

“Please, do not mistake my meaning, your Majesty–” Colin began before the queen’s waved hand silenced him.

“Lie to yourself, if you wish, Mr. Bridgerton, but I am bored with Bridgertons and their inability to recognize love when it places them firmly before the displeasure of their queen.” She narrowed her eyes. “I ought to order you out, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He took a half step back until his legs contacted the edge of Penelope’s bed, anchoring himself to her.

“It is your Majesty’s prerogative to give the order,” he said, meeting her eyes directly in what ordinarily would have been a catastrophic breach of protocol. But she herself had said they were in unfamiliar territory, and he had a promise to keep that overshadowed such petty constructs as propriety and rank. That promise gave him the courage to add, “And you may test its effectiveness at your convenience.” Anthony would kill him, Colin thought distantly. Well, Anthony could join the queue. Nothing was more important than Penelope.

The clear, bone-deep truth of the thought that nothing in the world was more important than the woman on the bed behind him reframed the world around Colin. It was as though he had stepped from shifting sand dunes onto a solid stone and grounded himself. Standing between the Queen of England and the woman he loved was exactly where he should be.

Had Penelope been conscious just then, she would have seen Colin’s body language change. Generally, the “Bridgerton backbone” involved subtle jaw and shoulder tension, and a tendency to set the weight ever-so-slightly back on the left foot. That tension eased out of Colin’s jaw and shoulders, and he squared his weight center: rock-solid and sure.

Queen Charlotte’s eyes remained narrowed, but the corner of her mouth may have quirked infinitesimally. “If I recall correctly—and I am never wrong about figures—there remain five Bridgertons to attach themselves in matrimony. I should hate to set the precedent now of giving orders that Bridgertons feel they can flout. Your Dr. Taylor has been called away—another of his patients has apparently gone into labor—and will return to see the state of things in the morning. Until then, Mr. Bridgerton.” Without waiting for him to bow politely, the queen pivoted and strode from the room.

Colin’s knees went weak, and he half collapsed into the chair behind him, reaching for Penelope’s hand again.

“It’ll be all right, Pen,” he muttered. “I promise you it’ll be all right.” He realized he was gripping her hand so hard that her fingers were changing color, and he forced his hands to relax around hers.

She was too pale, the fever spots on her cheeks too red, and overall too still. Lacking a clock, Colin glanced out the dark window. He could not even see the signs of false dawn in the sky. How much longer did Pen have to hold on until she was out of danger?

She was not breathing enough to suit him. Each breath was slow and shallow, and an eternity passed between inhale and exhale. Even hunched over in his chair, he couldn’t tell that she was breathing at all. He slid off the chair onto his knees, still holding her hand as he bent his head next to hers to listen for each breath. The fever heat radiated from her face, warming his. Quite without his thinking about it, Colin’s breath matched Penelope’s. Barely a minute later, he gasped in a deep breath. How could she recover with so little air?

He had just understood that he loved Penelope. He still had to make amends for how much of an idiot he had been, to tell her how much he loved her. And yet…he may not have the chance to do so. Colin had no sense of what a world without Penelope would look like. He had no desire to even imagine what that world would look like.

Feeling as though he and Pen had fallen out of time, Colin watched her face and breathed with her, waiting for dawn.

Penelope dreamed. It began innocuously enough, even pleasantly. In her dream, Colin had not dismissed the idea of courting her or the idea that she had the skill to be Lady Whistledown, and she could simply enjoy dancing with him, as she had through two London seasons. The music changed—a waltz. He pulled her in close, closer than propriety allowed, but Pen found she didn’t mind. That was when the first bolt of lightning struck the ground a meter or two from where they waltzed.

She tried to pull Colin from the dance floor, to find some shelter, to point out that lightning was striking the floor with increasing frequency, but he did not hear, did not see. He simply held her closer, speeding his step with the tempo of the music until Pen thought she might fly apart with how frantic everything was. They had to stop; she had to breathe, had to think. If she could just have a moment—a single moment of stillness—she could form and execute a plan.

The music stopped more abruptly than a typical orchestra at a ball would, and Colin stopped just as suddenly. She barely registered the moment before Colin was struck by a bolt of lightning and fell to dust around her.

Penelope knew intellectually that her heart was still safely ensconced in her chest. But in that moment, her heart fell to the floor and was ground beneath the heel of a scowling man holding a knife. She turned to run, making it only a couple of steps before she sunk to the knee in a mass the consistency of tar, but smelling like ink. Time and space stretched as one moment Pen was alone in the morass, and the next the knife-wielder was before her. She accumulated cut after cut—all largely superficial—as she struggled to put one foot before the other to get herself away, get herself stable, get herself safe. She could do this; she had done far more with far less and walked without fear through the city in the wee hours. She had nearly single-handedly kept her family afloat financially in the wake of her father’s murder.

She heard voices echo across the span of the mire as she struggled. Her mama, reminding her of all her insecurities about her body, her weight, and whether she would find love. Prudence and Philippa, cruel simply because they were bored. Cressida Cowper’s voice deriding Penelope without saying a single thing that was in itself cruel or mean-spirited but taken as a whole was a damning disparagement of Penelope’s existence. Eloise’s voice, insisting that Whistledown could do more, more, before finally repudiating not Lady Whistledown but Penelope herself. An insipid wallflower, indeed. I wish never to see or speak to you again. Eloise’s voice made her shudder deep in her chest, and tears slid down her face, but she kept moving forward. She could do this. She would do this no matter what anyone else said.

She kept listening.

Ordinarily, it was no trouble to block out the voices that pinched and stabbed at her heart, but she was listening for the one voice that was unfailingly supportive and never failed to lift her spirits. A voice she knew, whether it came to her ears at a ball or to her mind in a letter. The voice that always seemed to know when she would appreciate a joke or a kind word, even when she could not ask for them.

Was this muck getting deeper? She could no longer lift her feet clear with each step, and she had the horrible sense that if she were to trip and fall, she would be submerged and held under by morass’s viscosity. She simply had to go slower to ensure that she would not fall. The crushing sense of desperately wanting help and knowing that not only was none forthcoming but she also could not open her mouth to ask was intimately familiar. She pressed her lips together, swallowed hard, and kept going. She would manage this herself; she was good at that.

The viscous, inky fluid was above her hips now, and she needed her arms to help pull herself inch by agonizing inch forward. The voices of her sisters, Mama, Cressida, and Eloise continued and grew louder. Still, Pen strained to hear the voice she was listening for. She was so focused on listening that she quite forgot to use her eyes and never saw the wake that would have warned her that something else was under the surface of the murk.

A bare second before something looped around her ankle and pulled, the voices went silent. She felt her feet go from under her, and she began to sink slowly. The ground that had moments before been solid under her feet seemed to disappear entirely, and the time it took for the muck to creep up her torso was enough for Pen to truly begin to panic, thrashing slowly and to no avail as she sunk to her collarbones and the muck crept up her neck, a millimeter at a time. Panting to the point of hyperventilation, and feeling the lightheaded buzz spread through her body and further impede her movement, Pen tipped her head back to keep her mouth and nose clear. She had to think, had to keep her head. She would survive this somehow. Her ears would go under in a moment, and she shuddered involuntarily at the thought of this tarry goo sludging its way into her ears.

Surely the queen cannot believe you are Lady Whistledown.

I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington.

Colin’s eyes as he refused to believe she was Lady Whistledown filled her vision and his laugh with his friends the night of her mama’s ball until she slipped fully beneath the surface of the viscous fluid and her senses went silent.

The back of Pen’s mind had suggested that she might find the bottom and kick off it, or bob back to the surface, as she had read that those who fell into quicksand did if they did not panic. But in the strange logic of dreams, as soon as she was fully submerged, Penelope knew that the fluid around her was more akin to a dry sandpit. She knew with utter certainty that she would make it worse by moving.

So what if she simply let go?

She was exhausted, and surrendering required no effort on her part. There was a peace to simply letting the sludge hold her body and not worrying about surviving. Everything she had told Colin about her family being looked after was true. She herself had killed Whistledown. Colin had made it clear that he would not be there for her. The question Penelope faced, the choice she had to make, was whether or not to be.

She had never liked Hamlet. Had always thought that his assertion that his love outmatched that of a thousand brothers was unnecessarily melodramatic, and that if he had simply made a choice—found his own “Bridgerton backbone,” she thought, as a smirk and a pang competed for space in her heart—he would have managed to find a solution that did not involve a body count. But faced with a body count of one, Pen was suddenly unsure. Would it truly be so bad to leave all the voices that hurt her behind? To embrace the rest that was silence?

Silence.

Penelope and silence were old nemeses. She had endured it her entire life, and although she could kill Lady Whistledown to keep her out of another’s hands—she nearly inhaled then, surrendering to the silence, in grief that Lady Whistledown was gone—she could neither go silently into eternity nor remain silent. That truly was beyond her capacity.

Penelope would be.

She began to move, carefully, purposefully. The long moments of contemplation had made her lose track of which direction was up, and she couldn’t feel herself rising if she remained still. Since her only real hope was dumb luck, she chose a direction and kicked, scooping blindly with her hands and deeply regretting her mama’s refusal to allow her swimming lessons as a child. She might have been able to make a more efficient job of it now if she had any sense of how one was meant to swim.

Even lacking any practical knowledge, Penelope knew quickly that she was truly lost, and was likely making it worse. She had read about people who survived the initial rush of avalanches, only to die digging in the wrong direction, and she had the dreadful sense that that was all she was accomplishing by flailing around in darkness and silence. She would have been grateful for the spiteful voices again; they could have spurred her on.

Penelope had no idea how long she tried to find her way out of the black morass; it could have been hours, or it could have been minutes, but she was flagging and she knew it. But, having chosen to try, she would keep fighting until she couldn’t. She wished she could call for help, but there was no one to hear her, no one to find her. A sob tore from her chest, and her mouth filled with viscous sludge that tasted of ink. Panicked—would it go to her lungs?—Penelope thrashed and felt herself begin to drift away with a terrifying finality.

“I was a cad, Pen.”

How could she be hearing him? Her senses were buried along with her body.

“I was careless of your friendship, your skills, your feelings. I hurt you.”

This wasn’t a fever dream, Pen was sure. She was hearing him, but his voice was soft, and she was drifting away. She strained, listening. She was still hurt, still furious with him, but if she was falling away, Colin Bridgerton’s voice was still very much something she wanted to hear. She stopped thrashing, stopped worrying, stopped everything but listening.

“I am so, so sorry, Penelope. I was an idiot, and I took you for granted. I should never have done that. I should never have belittled Whistledown to you, should never have asked you to give up a part of yourself. Benedict and I made sure that the final issue was printed. I thought—I was a fool. I thought that if we could just complete your plan, you would wake up and be all right. You might not ever forgive me, Pen. But if you simply lived to hate me, that would be all right; it would mean you were still here.”

Penelope’s heart went erratic, stumbling on beats of different lengths and skipping some altogether. This was nothing she had ever heard from Colin before. He was popular, had always been popular, enjoyed being popular, and had never in his life accepted anyone hating him. He had broken his leg as a child in a bid to befriend another boy. It hadn’t worked, but Colin had not ceased pulling idiotic stunts to be part of the group or to ensure that someone thought favorably of him.

Distractedly, Penelope noted that the inky sludge seemed to be less oppressive, as though someone had thinned it ever-so-slightly with water. It rippled as something that was half a laugh and half a sob reverberated in Colin’s voice.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Pen, but I couldn’t let you go without saying this to you. Please, please, Pen. Don’t go. You don’t have to stay for me, you don’t have to like me, or forgive me, but Penelope, you have to know that I love you and I am so sorry I hurt you. Just please stay.”

She was elated. She was furious. She refused to be silent in response to that. Focusing on Colin’s voice to give her a direction, Penelope kicked and felt the crown of her head break the surface.

During the long night that their traveling companion had been dying, the men sat or paced quietly around the camp. As the dawn approached, Colin had listened to them recount old wives’ tales and sailor’s stories about people on the edge of death who either fell over that edge or recovered with the change that came with dawn. A world away in a palace, as false dawn showed its near-imperceptible light, Colin couldn’t stop replaying each story in his head as he watched Pen’s breathing grow shallower and shallower, and felt her pulse go weak and erratic under the fingers that had fallen over her wrist—his hands engulfed her small one.

Colin couldn’t breathe. He felt as though the world was balanced on a knife edge, and there was absolutely nothing to stop it from falling to a world in which Pen did not exist. She exhaled. He waited, breath held, counting seconds. Finally, he had to breathe or pass out himself, and she still had not inhaled. The floor fell out from beneath him; his mind went blank. This was not happening. She would breathe. She had to breathe.

As the first fiery fingers of true dawn clawed their way over the horizon, Penelope took a deep breath and opened her eyes, finding his almost immediately and holding steady. The fevered glassiness was gone, and Pen was clearly there behind that steady gaze. Briefly forgetting that he had a voice at all, Colin cupped her cheek, noting that she was cooler than she had been all night. She might still have a bit of a fever, but it was not the burning force that threatened to take her from him.

“I—” she rasped before coughing at the dryness of her throat and mouth.

“Easy, Pen, here—” Colin collected the glass of water from the side table and slid an arm under her shoulders to lift her just enough to drink. After a few sips, Pen rested her head against his arm, and met his eyes again.

“I am still angry with you,” she said. She might as well have ripped his heart from his chest with her bare hands.

“Of course,” he said, releasing her and rising from his position on the floor. “I shall fetch someone else—” her hand shot out, capturing his. Her grip was weak, and she had caught his ring and little fingers more than his whole hand, but he couldn’t have pulled away.

“I am still angry,” she said, “but if you leave now, I shall never speak to you again.” Colin couldn’t help himself. He laughed as tears escaped his eyes, and he twisted his hand to gently take hers and lift it to his mouth for a kiss.

“As you wish, Pen.”

After that perilous night, Penelope’s recovery was slow, but it was steady. It was a week before she was well enough to leave the palace. Colin visited her every day; once it was clear that Penelope would, in fact, recover, Ladies Featherington and Bridgerton vehemently insisted on reinstating the rules of propriety. Colin had been bundled back to Bridgerton House barely an hour after Penelope woke up, where he fell upon several platters of sandwiches before falling into bed for the rest of the day and that night. The following day and the days after saw some subset of the Bridgerton siblings join Colin on his visits.

Lady Danbury also visited Penelope several times during her palace recovery. She had been fond of Penelope before her reveal as the notorious Lady Whistledown, and the girl’s actions and composure during her ordeal had only increased Lady Danbury’s esteem. The pair’s easy allyship developed quickly into a true friendship. It surprised neither Colin—who was visiting with Daphne as a chaperone—nor Penelope when Lady Danbury entered the room on Penelope’s final day in the palace. What surprised everyone was the queen entering behind her, holding a small box. Colin and Daphne rose, bowing and curtsying deeply, respectively. Penelope, who was still propped up on a mountain of pillows, bowed her head.

“Duchess Hastings, Mr. Bridgerton, Miss Featherington,” said Queen Charlotte. The three rose. Colin, still wary of the queen’s wrath against Penelope, quietly took Pen’s hand and squeezed gently, affirming that he was there if she needed him. The queen met each of their eyes before continuing.

“None of you will say a word of what occurs in this room today. Is that understood?” she asked. Penelope glanced at Lady Danbury, who tilted her head in an infinitesimally tiny nod behind the queen’s back. Pen, followed by Colin and Daphne, affirmed their understanding. The queen smiled and focused on Penelope.

“Miss Featherington, you have suitably impressed me and Lady Danbury. And while I cannot have a rogue columnist questioning me in public, one thing I have learned is the benefit of those who will offer their opinions—even those opinions that may displease me—in private. I have come to understand and respect your removal of Lady Whistledown from the assets of the crown.” The slight frown punctuating that sentence said that she was not happy about it, but she had accepted it. Something in Colin’s chest eased; Penelope appeared to be out of danger on that front.

“Miss Featherington, I am here to offer you a chance to join my inner circle and use your prodigious skills of observation and assessment to advise me. I do not ask you to write Whistledown for the crown—although I may occasionally request your help with the odd piece of particularly crucial correspondence. This arrangement would be private, mind. It is well known that Lady Danbury advises me; I also need someone who has a lower profile. You would be free to have your voice heard. What do you say, Miss Featherington?”

Penelope looked again at Lady Danbury, who raised an eyebrow and smiled. Penelope took a deep breath. She was still mourning Whistledown; Colin had sat with her and held her hands as she had finally cried for the end of the vehicle that had given her a meaningful voice, and Kate—their chaperone—had kindly melted into the background, granting Penelope what privacy she could within the bounds of propriety.

The queen was offering her a new avenue for her voice and the skills she had honed, and she would still be free to write as she wished—although perhaps not scandal sheets. There was something exciting about that prospect, and there was no question that it would challenge her to further grow her skills. Excited but undeniably feeling trepidation, Penelope reached out. Colin had released her hand once the queen had accepted the loss of Whistledown, and though she had made her decision, she found that she wanted his support as she voiced it. He didn’t even look down as his hand enveloped hers.

“I believe I would like that very much, your Majesty,” she said.

“Ah, excellent,” replied the queen. She opened the small box in her hand and removed a small medallion on a bit of ribbon. Stepping close, she pinned it to the robe covering Penelope’s chemise.

“Welcome, Dame Penelope,” she said. “We shall discuss this more upon your full recovery. Until then, my dear.” She swept from the room.

Lady Danbury hugged Penelope around the shoulders with a soft “Well done, Penelope” before she followed the queen. Shortly after, a letter reminding Penelope that, like her new position in the queen’s court, her honor must be kept secret from anyone not in the room when it was conferred. The letter ended with a directive to burn it. Penelope giggled—carefully, to avoid jostling her still-tender wound overly much—at that, and asked Colin to toss the letter in the fireplace for her. “It seems that I will use more of the skills I developed for Whistledown than I imagined,” she noted.

Colin kissed her hand with a smile that did not entirely belie the worry in his eyes. “I am proud of you, Pen. And I am glad that I can be here for you if you need me in this new role.”

The next morning, Penelope was carefully removed to Featherington House. After recovering from the move for a few days—during which Colin continued his visits, chaperoned by either Anna (who Penelope had personally hired) or Lady Featherington herself—Penelope began to take short walks to help rebuild her strength. They began in the house but quickly evolved to walks in the garden and finally short promenades. Throughout the process, Colin was at her side, supporting her. The difference was that where he had played hero to a construct of her as a damsel in distress when he had disrupted the ruby scheme, now he treated her as an equal, a partner.

Penelope let go of the idealized Colin she had loved since she was a girl and who had hurt her so badly. Instead, she fell in love with the man who challenged her as a writer and supported her in her choices. It wasn’t always easy, but their conversations while walking strengthened their relationship to the point that when Colin went to one knee before her at the first ball of the next London season, she knew that she was in for a life full of more love and laughter than she could have imagined.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! It was originally planned to be a couple thousand words max and to get me back into the flow of writing, but as you can see, it got *wildly* out of control.

#polin #polin fic #polin fanfiction #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #no beta we die like edmund

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