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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Kismet {8}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Tiny Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes, Small Time Jumps

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

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***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-Henry-

The minute he woke the next day and the alcohol had worn off; he instantly regretted his actions. His head was pounding and his nose stuffy, which was always what the morning after a drinking fest looked and felt like for him. the pain in his head made him painfully aware of everything he’d said to you. More than half of him wished he would have just held his peace and moved on, but the other side of him—the stubborn bull side felt nothing but satisfaction from what he’d done. It was time, especially seeing that you completely had the wrong idea about who he was and his character. He couldn’t help but wonder what you thought about your conversation, but instead of dwelling on it, he decided to push it to the side and do the logical thing. Move on.

It was now five days since that conversation, and though it felt strange the first couple of days to not send you a message when you ran across his mind, he did it and adapted. He now was throwing himself into work because there wasn’t a shortage of it. Most days, he was in pre-production for Witcher two, and that in itself was a lot of work. Production decided to kick fight choreography up a notch because last season wasn’t badass enough. The choreography this season was definitely taking it up several notches, and it meant more long hours of training and even more potential for him to be hurt.

By week two post convo, he was steadily counting down to his vacation time. Training was kicking his ass, and the more and more days that passed, the more he thought of you. That wasn’t all though, the more the way he thought of you changed. In the beginning, he thought he was infatuated or possibly obsessed. When he was around you, he always felt as if he wasn’t in control. He felt like there were forces that were controlling your interactions and pulling a starry blanket over his feelings. He expected this time away to act as a purge, but it hadn’t, not in the way he’d anticipated.

“Come on, her name is Becca, and she’s super cute,” Alisha said.

“Why is it that all my brother’s wives want to set me up?”

“Because we care. You’re too great of a guy to be alone,” Halley complimented.

They all nodded, and his eldest brother painfully squeezed his cheek.

“Plus, look at this face,” Nik teased, making all of them elate.

It had been like this since they were kids. Nothing had changed.

“I’m perfectly fine being alone,” he answered.

“Doesn’t mean you should be,” Amee piped out.

No matter what, he said it wouldn’t be good enough until he gave them what they wanted. He had no intention of doing it, though. He wasn’t sure if it was really his loathing of being set up or because he didn’t want to pretend to want anyone else. Whatever it was, it had him declining to their annoyance. He could stick it out for the next two weeks until he got out of London.

-Aliya-

“You fucked up, plain and simple,” Amaya blurted out as she flipped through a magazine.

You rolled your eyes and tried to continue writing notes to the song you’d just wrote. As sure as you were that it was pitch black outside, you knew she wasn’t done—not by a long shot. A minute passed in silence, but as projected, Amaya began again.

“Just explain to me why you don’t want to be happy.” Amaya tossed the magazine aside, giving you her full attention. Still, you ignored her and kept your eyes glued to the note pad.

“Liya, come on. At some point in your life, you’re going to have to be honest with yourself.”

She was right. For the last few weeks, you’d spent a lot of sleepless nights doing just that. Since Henry’s call, you’d been forced to look at your situation in a light you’d ignored. It wasn’t that you were doing it maliciously. It was just easier and neater to see the worst in every situation hence the worst in people. You’d been the girl who dug deep for the best in people and only focused on that and their potential for too long. It made more sense from a survivalist standpoint to be different.

You’d went back and forth and round and round your situation, and perhaps you were too quick to jump to conclusions. The bottom line was the things he said had affected you, more than you liked and more than you could ignore. A few days after his call, you saw his picture in The Sun. He wasn’t alone. It looked like he’d had a long night of partying. You deduced it was probably the same night he called you. Though he was obviously drunk, he still looked so damn good. In the last few weeks, you’d thought about him a lot. On several occasions, you’d taken up your phone for the sole purpose to stalk his Instagram or even scroll through your gallery to gawk at his pictures. Never though, did you attempt to call.

The main reason was that you hated being the one in the wrong. You hated feeling like the asshole and what was worse was that you also hated apologizing. So, you bit your tongue, pushed your thoughts and emotions aside, and just hoped time would make it all fade. It didn’t.

“Aliya!”

Closing your notepad, you stood. “We’re going to miss the flight.”

“Whatever! It’s a private jet. It’s your private jet.”

You were already out of the room, which meant thankfully, you didn’t have to see her face. The drive to the private airfield was about forty-five minutes. For the entire ride, you could feel Amaya’s annoyance with you. she didn’t say one word. Instead, she kept her nose buried in her phone scrolling her life away. It was okay with you; you had plenty of work to do. Plus, you knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

Sure enough, twenty minutes into the flight to London, she was back at it. The difference between Amaya and Alicia was simple. Where Alicia liked to leave me be until she knew the perfect time to go in because she knew the perfect time would come when you would be more receptive to it, Amaya preferred to go in all the time. She was always on one hundred. You loved both your best friends dearly, and they both spoke to different sides of you, but sometimes you wished they were wrong a lot more often than they were right.

When you got pulled into a phone meeting, you were grateful and even more so when it lasted for almost two hours. By the time you ended the call, Amaya was napping. Though you thought the silence was what you wanted, it was a blessing in disguise. It meant you now had peace and quiet to think, and your thoughts more often than not went right to Henry.

When you landed in London and checked into the hotel, it was after midnight. Once you’d taken a shower and answered a few emails, you popped two sleep aids in hopes they would knock you out because you needed all your energy tomorrow.

-The Next Day-

Hectic was an understatement for how your morning and afternoon had been going. One of the great things about being you was that when you got bored with one career avenue, you had three more to distract yourself with. For the last several months, you’d been focusing on your acting career and had been able to complete two films and three guest appearances. In between acting gigs you were also able to do a few modeling events, including Fall and Spring fashion week.

What had fallen to the wayside was your singing career. It was almost time for you to fulfill your contractual obligations by releasing another album. You’d been focusing on writing new material for the last few weeks, and tonight you were putting on one of the last stops on a mini-tour your team had planned months ago. The travel alone was killing you. You were exhausted, even more than usual. With every show, you felt your body telling you it would soon be time to slow down or stop for a few months. You needed a break.

“I should have flown in days ago. I hate feeling like this isn’t perfect.”

“Aliya, it’s fine,” Alicia countered.

The perfectionist in you didn’t believe her.

“I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. You have to go anyway. The show is supposed to start at six; it’s already three.”

She was right. Though you hated it, you would have to cross your fingers and hope things looked cohesive. After finishing up the last-minute wardrobe adjustments and a quick pep talk with your dancers, you made your way back to the hotel to get in a little bit of pampering before having to get back to the center for prep.

As you laid on the table and enjoyed your deep tissue massage, you allowed the worries to float away. There was nothing you could do about it now anyway. You were also sure it was perfectly fine, and just your obsessive nature taking over. Tuning everything out, you focused on your meditative breathing. Before you knew it, it was time to get back to the center to get into wardrobe and put on a show worthy of the hundreds that were spent on tickets. You were determined to perform your ass off.

-Henry-

He couldn’t have gotten out of tonight no matter what. He’d tried. When Charlie announced to everyone that Heather had made plans for their adults' date night, he rolled his eyes. Now that he thought of it, it was around the time that Amee tried to set him up with that woman. This was supposed to be a blind date, and since he’d declined, he was here alone while all his other brothers were snuggling up and whispering to their significant others.

Here he was an hour and ten minutes into your show, and he’d never had more fluctuating thoughts and feelings. At first, it was surprise; then annoyance, then it transitioned into awe until it moved to arousal and admiration. Now he was stewing deep in all of them, and it was not a good look. Your voice was incredible. He’d always known how talented you were. Your stamina to dance and sing blew his mind. Then when he watched those dance moves closer, it was impossible to keep his thoughts pure. It also didn’t help that the outfits you were wearing only fueled his imagination more.

“What’s wrong with you? You said you liked Aliya Taylor,” Amee shouted over the music.

Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded. “Yeah, she’s great. I’m tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

When you came out for the final song in a flowing low cut white gown and barefoot, he staggered backward when he envisioned you walking down a flower aisle.

“Fucking hell!”

All eyes snapped to him, and the curious looks on their faces only had him needing air even more.

“I—I’m gonna get a head start to the cars.”

Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked through the crowd, not daring to look back at you.

-Aliya-

Amaya and Alicia laughed together at something on Amaya’s timeline. No doubt it was some picture of one of her boy toys. You sipped from your flower decorated porcelain teacup while staring out over London to the Eye. Just behind it, Big Ben stood tall and proud as it chimes for four o’clock echoed through the city. This was a city you’d spent a lot of time in thanks to your grandparents on your father’s side. Not as much time as they’d like, but there was only so much free time you had. Big Ben and the Eye were two of your favorite things about London.

You should have been on cloud nine after another successful show and checking another thing off your extensive to-do list, but you weren’t. You felt almost as gloomy as the rolling clouds in the sky that threatened rain.

“You seem depressed.”

Alicia’s voice had you turning back to them you softly smiled. “I’m not.”

“You look it,” Amaya slid home.

Rolling your eyes, you finished your cup of tea and gently placed it on its matching saucer with a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you then.”

Amaya then gasped with a smile in her eyes. “I know what it is. You’re finally missing your grade A prime beef of a man.”

Snorting, you shook your head. “Oh god. Try again.”

“You might be right, Mya,” Leece started placed her elbows on the table to peer at you closer. “This all started the night we had dinner with him. What’s his name again?” Both of them pretended to wrack their brains to remember his name, but they knew damn well what it was.

“Ah, Henry,” Amaya cooed, making you roll your eyes even harder.

“Both of you stop. You’re not funny.”

“We approve.”

“I second that,” Alicia added.

“What? Really?”

“Are you kidding? Yeah. Not only is he gorgeous, like drop dead gorgeous, but he is also super nice. Throughout dinner he was very courteous and sincere. You know I’m a good people reader,” Amaya attested.

“He’s funny, and he seemed to be genuine with his efforts to get to know Mya and me. He also was putting in effort into proving something to you.”

Sighing, you took a few sips of your water.

“Honestly, I couldn’t find anything wrong with him.”

“Really? Perfection?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you’d suspected they liked him, but the perfect word was just uttered. It was never spoken of, not by them.

“Pretty much,” Amaya doubled down.

“Wow.”

“Tell me about it. Move on that before some other chick does. He will not be single for long,” Amaya added.

For some reason, this was the first time you’d thought about that, and you couldn’t believe it. She was right. He was gorgeous, among other things, and women already fawned over him. He wouldn’t be licking his wounds much longer. A knot formed in your gut, and a sour taste in your mouth followed. Glancing away from their penetrative gazes, you looked around the restaurant and nearly dropped the water glass when you saw Henry across the restaurant laughing. This was the first time you’d seen him in person since your breakfast in New York weeks and weeks ago, and he looked great.

Your eyes drank him up, taking their time soaking up every detail of his face, the slight stubble that decorated his chiseled jaw, his perfectly imperfect smile, his hair that fell slightly longer than you remembered. When he spoke again, you watched his mouth move and quickly got lost. You didn’t have to hear his words. You knew how he spoke them. You knew the effect his voice had. At the thought of that effect, you peeled your eyes away and tried to keep them on either Alicia, Amaya, or the table. Of course, it was impossible. Your eyes continuously found him, and it was on him they remained until you forced yourself to look away.

“What do you keep looking at?”

Amaya glanced around the restaurant. You knew she’d found him because when she turned to face you again, her smile was as wide as a thief's.

“Oh ho ho, looks like fate is on mine and Leece’s side.”

“Stop. Be cool, act natural. Don’t make a scene,” you pleaded.

“Look at that, same place, same time, just mere feet away.”

From the tone of her voice, you knew she was tempted to fuck with you.

“Stop, Amaya. Don’t.”

“Why?”

Trying to keep your voice down and the panic from your face, you pleaded again. “Just don’t.”

Amaya studied you for a few moments before she nodded in defeat. Relief flooded you. Though you tried, you couldn’t get your head back onto lunch and off of him no matter how you tried. The three of you left shortly after passing his table on the way out.

Thanks to a little free time, you, Amaya, and Alicia were able to soak up some shopping in London and before getting back to the hotel for a quick change, then dinner. Even though you tried to stop thinking about Henry’s face earlier, you weren’t the least bit successful, but you played it off like everything was cool. You didn’t know if you fooled either of them, but you really didn’t care. You were so ready to get the hell out of London.

-That Night-

Big Ben’s chime for one in the morning ringing out all around you. It was yet another night of sleeplessness. From your seat at the window, you could feel the nice breeze. It still smelled like rain, but for whatever reason, the rain was staying away. Finishing your glass of wine, you sighed out and nearly leaped out your skin when your phone rang in the quiet room.

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong?”

You smiled from the unexpected sound of your gramaw’s voice. It was like the concrete gate you had around your heart that was constricting it to the point where it was challenging to breathe loosened.

Sighing, you leaned back, reclining against the surface.

“I think I fell in love,” you whispered.

“In love?”

Hearing the words said back to you made you close your eyes and shake your head.

“Yeah, at least I think that’s what I’m feeling. I can’t sleep well, not that I could before. I feel a little depressed, and I can’t pinpoint why, but when I think about it, I feel this way when I think about him. Not to mention, I think about him all the time. Christ, I even dream about him.”

Pausing, you glanced at your phone to find his picture there. It was the last thing you’d been looking at before tossing your phone away.

“I truly feel like I did something wrong, like I was wrong,” you confessed.

“Have you talked to him?”

Hitting your head back, you groaned. “Not since he called me and told me I’m missing out on him and gave me all the reasons why I should realizing I’m missing out.”

You couldn't help but smile at his words as you remembered them.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out?”

Your Gramaw always knew the right questions to ask. She was one of the few that did, one of the few that you’d even listen to. Bowing your head, you sighed again.

“Maybe. Normally I’m sure about someone and sure that I don’t need or want them in my life, but with him—I have doubts with my snap judgment.”

“Oh no, snap judgments are never a good thing, Aliya.”

You groaned hearing the disappointment in her voice. “I know, jeez do I know.”

“What do you feel like doing?”

You scoffed, if you knew that you wouldn’t be going through this struggle.

“I’ll be to you in a few days. I’ll see you soon.”

“Your heart, Aliya, not your head,” she cautioned before you ended the call.

For the next thirty or so minutes, you paced the balcony of your room as you debated with yourself over what you were going to do. After psyching yourself up as much as you could, you bit the bullet dialing Henry’s number before you talked yourself out of it. After one ring, you almost hung up but forced yourself to stick through the terror running through you. Two rings passed, then three. At the fourth you began to lower your hand to end the call and then his voice echoed through the speaker.

“Hello?”

You froze drawing a blank and forgetting for a moment you had a voice.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” you whispered.

The rustling on his end was loud but brief.

“Aliya?”

Swallowing the lump, you took a deep breath. “Yeah. Hi.”

“It’s after one in the morning. Is everything all right? Are you hurt?”

Your heart lurched, and a soft smile spread across your lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” you assured.

He sighed, then yawned.

“I uh—I know it’s late or early. I know you, um, probably have something better to do than be up. I’m sorry if I woke you,” you half rushed and stuttered out.

“You’re rambling, Aliya.” You stopped your pacing then and slapped your forehead.

“Yes, I am. I do that when I’m nervous,” you blurted.

“Why are you nervous?”

Pausing, you gripped the rail on the balcony and used it to center yourself and get your nerves under control.

“Well, I’m about to ask the man I told I wouldn’t be with to meet me somewhere at nearly two in the morning. I’m—sending major mixed signals.”

Henry didn’t speak right away. Instead, he waited, making you chew your bottom lip as your anxiety increased.

“Why?”

“Wh—why? Why what?”

“Why should I?”

Stunned, your jaw dropped. “Oh, wow, out with the hard questions. Okay. Um—well—you should meet me because uh—it’s not often that I realize I was wrong or did something wrong and when I realize that, I like to say so.”

Again the silence over the phone stretched for long moments. After a full minute of it, your anxiety peaked.

“Still there?”

Henry sighed. “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

His voice sounded so deliciously deep. Either you had woken him, and this was his sleepy voice, or he was purposely giving you that sexy baritone.

“By all means. Think as long as you need to. Um—I’ll be at the eye until 2:30. I um—I hope you show. If you don’t, I understand, really I do and no hard feelings.”

Quickly you ended the call and panted as if you’d been running a marathon all in an effort to calm yourself down. It had been years since you’d put yourself through something like that, and you had a feeling it was only the beginning of you making amends.

Being Aliya Taylor afforded you some perks, and one was being able to have access to the eye well after closing. All it took was one call, well two to be exact, and voila, you were sitting in one of the cars anxiously waiting for Henry. You had no idea if he’d show, and the more and more time that passed with him not magically appearing, the more and more your brain worked overtime. The scenery helped a lot, but when you glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost 2:30, the scenery could do no more. Your nerves and anxiety had erupted like a volcano.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Spinning, you saw Henry at the door still on the platform. You released a relieved sigh, realizing he hadn’t stood you up.

“Good thing I’m not—anymore.”

Henry stepped into the car and took a few steps to you but stopped when he was still a ways away.

“London after two is not safe,” Henry informed.

“I know.”

The doors closed, and the contraption began moving.

“How in the world did you get them to open this for you?”

Smiling, you shrugged. “I may know people in high places,” you replied, which made him smile.

“This is one of my favorite places in London,” you announced as you walked around the car, taking care not to get too close. You didn’t know if you could handle it right away, and you had to feel him out to see what his coming really meant.

“Why?”

“You can see all of greater London from here and out to the countryside if you really look once you’re up high.”

Henry also walked around the car, mirroring your intentions. Neither of you came close enough to touch one another.

“How often do you come to London?”

“A lot. I have some family here, plus I prefer the countryside.”

“So you have some British blood,” Henry inquired, half a question, half a statement.

“I had to. Only the Bris would dare think to send their daughters off to finishing school,” you quipped.

Henry’s laugh filled the car, making you smile widely. He walked to one of the many windows turning his back to you. Slowly you looked over his broad back, taking in every detail. Your fingers could still remember what the dance of his muscles felt like underneath them, and they itched to feel them dance again. Taking a deep breath, you fiddled your fingers.

“Uh--I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important by asking you here. Like I hope I didn’t impose on—anyone.”

You were fishing, it was obvious, and you felt no shame.

“Eh, who needs sleep anyway. I can sleep when I’m dead,” Henry replied with a shrug of those magnificent shoulders still keeping his back to you.

“Were um--were you uh—sleeping—alone?”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you could swear he could hear it. He didn’t speak or turn around. He just stood there torturing you. You wondered if he knew it was sheer torture what he was doing. Did he even care? The longer he remained quiet, the more you freaked out until you decided to backtrack all the way back.

“I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. It is absolutely none of my business. I don’t even know why I asked that,” you rushed out, rubbing your forehead from embarrassment before beginning to pace the car.

That was when Henry chose to turn around.

“I know a woman doesn’t say something she doesn’t mean, and usually when a woman asks a question, she wants to know the answer either to prove herself right or in hopes she’s wrong. What is it for you?”

His voice made you stop in the midst of pacing to watch his mouth as he spoke. There was something poetic about how he spoke, and it always distracted you. Nibbling your bottom lip, you thought about how to respond. You were already tired of the verbal Olympics and talking around each other.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes. “Henry--.”

“You know that’s the first time you’ve said my name without the word goodbye in front of it.”

That made you snap your mouth shut. Had it?

“That’s not true,” you protested.

“It actually is. I was beginning to think you like saying goodbye rather than hello.”

You took a step to him. “That’s not true. I like saying hello way more than goodbye,” you defended.

The neutral look on his face gave you no confidence to go on, so you rolled your eyes and continued to walk around the car. This would be harder than you expected, you thought.

“I was sleeping alone. I’ve slept alone for quite some time now,” he informed just as you were looking out of the window to the city.

“Look, Henry, I-,” you began again, but then henry cut you off.

“That day in New York those weeks ago, I should have plain and simply laid it out for you. I should have told you everything. I was with Francesca--.”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t. I honestly don’t want to know.”

“But you need to know. There is no way you can begin to trust me or begin to let yourself gravitate to me the way you’re entire being wants until you know,” Henry slid out. Pressing your palm to your abdomen, you tried to slow the butterflies that began flitting.

“I was with Francesca for about two years. The whole time I knew she wanted a family in life. She was always vocal about her wanting to get married young and have kids. I knew, but I never paid attention to it. I was away filming something for a while, and when I came home one weekend, I caught her with someone else.”

Your eyes widened, hearing his words.

“turns out she was beginning a relationship with someone else, someone who she thought would lead to marriage and kids,” Henry added. His voice held steady, but you could imagine the pain going through those memories again.

“I’m sorry.”

Henry shook his head, “It’s not necessary. After a few months of her trying to make amends, I thought we’d try again.” He scoffed then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a hopeless romantic. After months of trying, I knew it wouldn’t work, but I kept a relationship of sorts with her.”

You understood. They were bed buddies.

“I then met Abby, and what started as a fling developed into something more. Long story short, I got wind of a rumor she was using me for fame and money, so I distanced myself from her. after some time of her telling I had it all wrong, I decided it was easier keeping her around though my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t juggling them. I hadn’t slept with either of them in a long time. I just—I felt it was better to have someone who misses me and wants me than living the lonely actor life.”

His honesty had you frozen. When he began to explain, you hadn’t expected him to reveal so much. You expected a bare minimum explanation, but what you’d gotten revealed so much more about him. You felt bad.

“I guess allowing the attentions and affections to remain is just as bad as juggling them. I was playing with their hearts. I’m not proud of it.”

Henry dipped his head, showing he felt some shame for his actions.

“When I met you, I realized although I had these two women sort of vying for me, I was still lonely, but those moments we were together, I didn’t feel alone. I felt--,” he paused as if trying to find the right word. His hesitation made you look down.

You knew what you’d felt.

“When I met you, I felt someone I’d never felt before, something I don’t fully understand. I don’t know what that means, but I know I want to find out—with you.”

Finally, able to release the breath you held, you took another, then cleared your throat. “I’m not juggling two guys. I was dating two guys, but not sleeping with both. I was with Liam first, and we had an okay relationship. We were busy, never saw each other and when we did it wasn’t for long. He um—he got annoyed and broke up with me. He said I was impacting his work, and he needed to focus.”

You remembered how he’d said it too. He’d said it like you were the one to blame for the roles he’d gotten or hadn’t gotten.

“I was fine with it, and during those five months apart, I met Jesse. We worked together and had fun and began dating. It wasn't anything sexual. Then Liam comes back and wants to pick up where we left off. I told him about Jesse, and he was fine with it.”

The shock on Henry’s face almost made you laugh. Alicia and Amaya were also surprised they’d chosen that unconventional path. Amaya, of course, thought you should have kept it secret from both of them.

“One day, Jesse sees Liam and me out, and it pissed him off enough to end things. Three weeks later, I lay it out for both that I don’t want to choose, and I don’t want anything serious. They were both fine with it, and so it went on. Six months later, I decided I needed to be on my own to focus on work and me. They didn’t like the decision. They call and text me to try to—rekindle something.”

Henry scoffed, and you watched a soft smile tickle his lips.

“I haven’t physically seen either of them in weeks, now maybe months,” you finished.

Henry was quiet for a few seconds before he snorted.

“They were mad.”

“Angry?”

“No, mad, bonkers,” Henry clarified.

“Oh, crazy.”

“Yeah. To be okay to share you, be willing to do something like that. I couldn’t do that,” Henry informed, making you smile in the process.

“Well, men do crazy things.”

“I can attest to that, but I’d never do something that crazy. I can’t share what’s mine. I won’t.”

Your eyes locked, and your body swayed toward his. It was like he was metal and you a magnet. Everything in you wanted to be close to him. The more you tried to fight the pull, the harder it became to breathe. The harder it was to breathe, the dizzier you became.

“I—I—I—I,” you began before gulping the knot in your throat down that was making you speak in a raspy whisper. “I don’t—know what this is.”

Henry nodded.

“I am not used to not knowing and being out of control,” you continued.

“You feel less controlled too?”

You couldn't help but to nod. Once you did, Henry took a step to you. You took a step back.

“Hold on. I like control. I like control a lot. Anything that threatens that control is not for me.”

Henry’s eyes lowered but only for a moment before he was looking right back into yours.

“But—I really want to find out why you make me less controlled,” you finally admitted.

The uncertainty on his face spoke volumes. “What does that mean? Where does that leave this—us?”

You chewed your bottom lip; you realized how ill-prepared you’d been.

“Honestly, I didn’t think this meeting out that far. I only planned up to when you showed up. I’ve um—I’ve been winging it this whole time.”

His smile started small but spread wide in seconds; then, he laughed loudly.

“So you won’t mind me making a plan?”

Oh lord, you thought, feeling his alpha pop out. You bit your bottom lip again.

“What kind of plan?”

Henry closed the remaining space between you. Every step he took had you shaking even more.

“A plan that I’ve envisioned every night since brunch.”

Stopped in front of you and held you captivated by his gaze and the sheer dominating energy rolling off of him. The way he stood there taller than you made your mouth run dry.

“Jesus, you’re freakishly short,” Henry teased in his perfect Englishman voice.

Smiling, you shook your head. “I know, I debated wearing heels but didn’t—I wanted you to see me normal for someone reason I don’t under--.”

Henry’s sudden movement cut you off. He dipped down the entire foot he overshadowed you and lifted you into the air to hold you flush against his body. Then he lowered his lips to yours, taking and keeping control of an intensely passionate kiss. A kiss you hadn’t known you craved until it began, a kiss you were not prepared for. You moaned against his lips, and that moan triggered his. Wrapping your arm around his neck, you clung to him, and every sensation you were feeling and even new ones he was awakening within you.

Slowly, Henry pulled his lips from your, but he kept your body to his. You kept your eyes closed, relishing the lingering effects.

“You’re shaking,” Henry whispered.

“So are you.”

You opened your eyes and gazed into his as he slowly lowered you back to your feet.

“What else is part of your plan?”

Henry's smile spread across his face. “For me to carry out any other part of my plan would be completely rakish of me.”

His smile was adorable, but still intimidatingly sexy.

“I take it you’re not a rake.”

“Not in the least.”

“All right. So, alternate plan?”

He smiled again. “Still pretty rakish.”

With that, he brought his lips back to yours, but this time he didn’t pull back for several long minutes.

Though you knew people in high places, it didn’t mean you could keep the eye open all morning. After three trips around, the two of you got off then walked around London holding hands and eating ice cream. It was such a weird sensation allowing someone to hold your hand. It had been a long time since you’d ever wanted to. The entire time you laughed and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. One thing was clear; neither of you was in any rush for your time together to end.

But end, it had to. When Henry walked you back to your hotel, it was almost time for the sun to come up.

“Home safe and sound,” Henry joked.

“Yes, thanks to Superman.”

“No, no, I’m just the man. Henry Cavill.”

He held his hand out to you. Smiling, you rolled your eyes.

“Now is when we get to this?”

His goofy smile and shrug had your head skip a beat.

“Aliya Taylor,” you said, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you. Mind if I call you Aliya or Liya, that's all a mouthful,” Henry teased.

Your laugh was loud, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, remembering what time it was.

“Yes, you can call me either. Can I call you Henners or Hank?”

“No. My friends call me that.”

“So, I’m not your friend?”

“If I have anything to say about it, which I do, then no. I don’t want you as a friend.” Henry replied, making you smile like a little girl at Christmas.

“Then what do you want me as?”

Your eyes lingered for a few seconds before Henry was pulling you closer to brush the back of his hand against your cheek.

“For now, I’ll settle for my girlfriend.”

The man was an expert at charm. You bit into your bottom lip and tried to stop smiling. “Girlfriend, wow. That’s a loaded title. What does it entail?”

“Well, for one, it entails being your true self with me, accepting my true self, being there for me when I need you, letting me be there for you when you need me or when I need you, allowing me to be your strength when you’re weak, your hope when you’re hopeless. Allowing me to grow with you, learn with you. Giving me your time and attention, enough of it so what we have can grow. Trusting me and letting me spoil you rotten.”

If he weren’t holding you against him, you would have fallen back.

“Is that all?”

Henry leaned closer kisses your cheek. “To begin.”

“And if I refused to be this girlfriend you speak of?”

“Then I’d just have to convince you,” Henry cooed.

“How?”

Right on que, Henry dipped his lips to yours. The second they touched, you moaned and held him close. Why resist when you could enjoy it, you thought. His tongue swirled with yours before he nibbled then sucked your bottom lip. When he pulled back, your eyes remained closed.

“I’m convinced.”

Henry pecked your lips once, then twice. “Good. Girlfriend.”

Your eyes locked again, and you forgot all common sense for what felt like an eternity.

“Eh-em—I have to be on a set in the morning.”

“Which is now,” Henry filled in.

Still hazed in the brain, you stuttered and smiled like a fool.

“Mm, did I stay out all night?”

“You did. I hope it was worth it.”

Smiling, you kissed his jaw. “We’ll see,” you whispered as you backed away from him, making your way to the door.

“Good morning, Henry.”

He smiled again, watching you disappear inside the hotel. As you walked to the elevator bank, you couldn’t stop smiling or stop the butterflies that had been flying all night in your stomach. As you stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors closed, you recognized the feeling you felt as happiness. It had been absent for a long time.

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

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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eggytranslations · 3 years

Text

Volume 1, Chapter 3-Promise

Content warnings: ableism mention

The young master of the Shen family had his snake venom purged clean, and he has regained consciousness; the young master of the Shen family can take a meal without help, and recline in bed to read; the young master of the Shen family was once again sunbathing in the courtyard…

The good news came one right after another. Although for Shen Qingxuan, it only meant that he could yet again linger on death’s door for another few years. Still, this did not hinder the old steward from burning the articles for the funeral rites to ashes in a fire. Even still, it did not prevent Master Shen, in his joyous exultation, from sending out a caravan to the southernmost wild lands and forfeiting high interests as thanks to the merchants who sent those two “detoxifying panacea” pills that year.

The banquet was set up, with family and friends filling all the seats.

The fragrant smell of wine lingered in the mountains, and the servants who were on edge for several days could finally dare to speak loudly.

Shen Qingxuan sat upon his wooden wheelchair, draped with a fox fur cloak and a silky soft quilt on his knees completely covered his legs. In one hand, he held a very thin little book, reading it quietly with his head tilted. Some of the noise from the outer hall slipped through the half closed window, laughter and drumming, as well as the tinkling sound of crisscrossing cups coming together.

Except, these things seemed to have nothing to do with him.

After a while, Shen Qingxuan felt a bit thirsty, but the tea was already cold. As he held the cooled porcelain in his hand, Shen Qingxuan thought of the palm that covered his forehead that day. Although it was a completely different sensation, that hand and this porcelain cup, however, had the exact same temperature. Ice cold, without a trace of human warmth.

His train of thought meandered and then returned to the matter at hand. Shen Qingxuan shook the brass bell, and after that, grasped this object that had been with him for many years, fiddling with it in his hand as he usually does.

The maidservant who heard the summoning bell quickly opened the door and came in. Without needing his prompt, she cleverly dumped the cold tea, resteeped the pot hot water, and stoked the charcoal fire in the handwarmer

before placing it back onto Shen Qingxuan’s lap.

Only once everything was done properly did the maidservant stand aside and quietly say, “Although shaoye did not drink wine tonight, perhaps it is better to rest earlier. Your health has just improved a little bit, yet you are already taxing yourself by reading a book.”

Shen Qingxuan lightly inclined his head, drank a cup of tea, and picked up his book again, continuing to thumb through it.

Upon seeing this, the maidservant lit a couple more of the oil lamps in the room, making the light a bit brighter, and only then did she withdraw and close the door.

After only a moment’s time, the doors of the wing-room were pushed open again. Shen Qingxuan raised his eyes to look. Outside the doors stood a young woman with her beautiful hair brushed high, and looking inside with hesitation on her face.

The two of them locked eyes, Shen Qingxuan slightly blanked, but very quickly smiled faintly. Although he could not make a sound when he opened his mouth, his mouth clearly formed a greeting: Er Niang.

“Xiao Xuan.” Although young, the lady was still poised, and relaxed her expression as well. She crossed the threshold and came inside. “You feel better now?”

Shen Qingxuan nodded his head.

“Ever since you were bitten by a venomous snake, the whole family has been worried sick.” The woman leaned down to sit in the chair that was to the side, expression tender, and stroked his face not without some sorrow, “Jiejie was praying for you in the family Buddhist hall. When she heard you recovered, she went back to fulfill her vows. She could not make it to see you today, so I only brought your didi here.”

Shen Qingxuan merely smiled, fetched the brush and ink at hand, and wrote on the paper: I have inconvenienced Er Niang with worry. Since didi also came, why not call him over to converse with me? How is my mother’s health?

The lady looked, and carefully replied: “The time was late, and your didi’s temperament is noisy, so I just told him to wait until tomorrow to keep you company. Jiejie is in good health. Just yesterday, she even went into the kitchen and cooked bamboo shoots for the family to try. Except, not sure who but, some mouthy servant told her about your snake bite accident, and she cried for two days. Luckily, you have great fortune and great blessings. Once jiejie found out you were alright, she went back to fulfill her vows at the shrine.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingxuan’s heart naturally found it difficult to bear. Only after being lost in thought for a while, did he pick up the brush and write some words, making idle talk with her.

The woman said, “The fierce animals and poisonous insects in these mountains are so impossible to guard against. You might as well return home with me. It would also save everyone at home from being concerned. Jiejie and I are womenfolk, and it is not proper for us to frequently leave home to visit you.”

Shen Qingxuan wrote: Although there are many fierce animals, they do not easily injure people. The servants take good care of me, this time was just a mishap. The climate here is just right, even the physician says that my body needs quiet rest to recuperate. Although returning home is wonderful, in the end, it is unequal to the quiet calm of the mountains.

Seeing this, the woman sighed softly, and thought of yet another thing. She hurriedly said, “Before coming, jiejie told me to ask you, do you have any girls you secretly admire?”

Shen Qingxuan was stunned for a moment, and promptly wrote: I understand my mother’s wishes, but I am afraid my body would be unable to bear the responsibility since my health is at this point. Even if there are good, unmarried girls willing to match with me, I would only let them down. The responsibility of carrying on the incense inheritance would be better taught to didi so he can assume these responsibilities in my stead.

While looking at the still wet words, the woman sighed again, “Even if you did not say, everyone at home understands. It’s just, you are such a good kid. Coming to this world for a turn, not to mention, suffering many sorrows, and now, to not even leave behind an heir...Even though I am not your mother, yet I also…” Before she finished speaking, the rims of her eyes had reddened completely. At once, she lowered her head, her voice choking with sobs.

Shen Qingxuan also stayed silent, and stared straight at the woman’s trembling head. Without knowing what he thought of, his eyes turned deep and unmeasurable, his thoughts appearing to be full of twists and turns.

In an instant, however, he had already returned to normal, and raised his brush to write again: Er Niang does not need to be sorrowful. My life ought to be like this. Perhaps I did too much evil in my previous life, and I am repaying it in this life. Except, as the eldest son, I cannot even contribute meager efforts for my country and for my family. What a shame.

Writing up to this point, his strokes took a turn, and he changed the subject, continuing on: Didi just became an adult. Although he is bright, he lacks experience. Recently, I heard he intends to join the court as an official; the rises and falls of officialdom are unpredictable. He still needs Er Niang by his side to give advice.

Since the topic involved her own son, the woman held back her tears as expected. She softly said, “I am a mere woman, so what could I understand of anything? You, however, are well-read. If you are able to help your didi, then that would be perfect.”

Shen Qingxuan: Er Niang need not be modest. Didi is exceedingly intelligent, but when he runs into problems, he lacks tact. With Er Niang at his side to assist, in addition to having Father to organize, then it should not be hard for him to rise quickly in rank.

“You always provide me with comfort.” The woman put down the paper, slightly showing a smile.

Shen Qingxuan also smiled, and started to write again: However, didi is still young, and yet he has to take up an elder brother’s duties: filial duty to his parents and loyal duty to his country. This is quite tough for him.

Shaking her head, the woman said, “You two are brothers, this is within his responsibilities, do not speak so distantly.”

After they spoke a bit more, Shen Qingxuan’s face showed weariness, and the woman promptly urged him to take care of himself before finally leaving.

After she left, Shen Qingxuan sat alone in his chair for a long time. His gaze lingered over the white papers covered with writing. No one knows what he recalled, but his face dimly showed a helpless smile that was brimming with ridicule. Only after a moment did he lift his hands to tidy the papers. He rang the bell to call in the maidservant who fetched the metal basin, and in a blaze of fire, turned the ink-infused pages into ashes.

At this point, it was late into the evening, and the bustle of the outer hall had settled down. Shen Qingxuan told a servant to open the window. He tightly wrapped the fox fur coat around himself as he leaned in the chair looking at the darkness outside the window. This night, the moon and the stars were all thin. Occasionally, there was the brush of mountain wind, which raised and lowered the wisps of hair on his forehead, over and over again.

After another long moment, Shen Qingxuan suddenly stirred, took out his hand from the cylindrical warmer

, wheeled the wheelchair to the table, and once again spread the paper and ink, writing: You have come.

He pushed the piece of paper to the middle of the table for the person to read. The air was peaceful.

Shen Qingxuan only smiled and did not speak, waiting quietly.

After a moment of stillness, the room he was sitting alone in had an extraordinary sight.

One could only see the paper on the table had moved by itself, without a breeze. The brush that was set on the ink slab

also stood by itself. Dipped in ink, the brush moved onto the paper with a slight pause, and then the dense ink gradually carved out words on the paper. The handwriting was refined, and seemed to be answering Shen Qingxuan’s question, writing: How did you know?

Shen Qingxuan, was still smiling, even winking in a teasing and suspenseful manner, to the empty air.

The air, just like that day, was suddenly entangled with the delicate scent of flora. The smell was like the forest after the rains; it had a cool freshness.

On the dizzying day that he vomited foul blood from his body, while he was surrounded by a rotten stench, this smell appeared at his side like a sudden light in the dark, profoundly branding itself onto Shen Qingxuan’s heart.

He was unable to forget for his entire life.

Shen Qingxuan suddenly sniffed his nose, and then with some surprise he lifted his brush to write: You went to the hot spring on the mountain peak?

The man still did not show himself, but took another brush from the brush stand, and right next to his question he wrote a Yes.

His original confusion was naturally answered by Shen Qingxuan’s question. The distinctive sulfur smell of the hot springs was the reasoning behind Shen Qingxuan’s question. He also found out how Shen Qingxuan easily knew of his arrival.

Yi Mo thought, His sense of smell is like that of a wild animal.

However, no one continued this topic, and turned to converse about other things instead.

Although Shen Qingxuan was indebted to his mercy for allowing him to keep his life, internally however, he constantly remembered that he was a snake yao, and not of his kind. He was not unguarded.

Yet, who knew yao were similar to humans, and had names and surnames, not to mention, enjoyed the hot springs. He was even here using brush and paper to converse with him for a double-hour.

Even though his words were concise and to the point, he still possessed patience unparalleled by ordinary people.

For remarkably powerful yao like him, it was not like there were not more direct modes of speaking; Shen Qingxuan had already experienced it before. However, this snake had laid that method aside.

After he lost the ability to speak, Shen Qingxuan would still frequently interact with others. But there was no one who was like this: willing to patiently use brush and paper, and little by little, write for him to hear. A double-hour of time is not at all lengthy, merely a speck of sand in a person’a lifetime. Never mind that it allowed his heart’s defenses to crumble, he had even felt a spark of subtle intimacy.

Taking the handwriting-sprinkled piece of paper and putting it to the side, Shen Qingxuan wore a smile on his face. He dipped into the prepared ink and continued to chat with Yi Mo on the newly spread white paper: If I help you successfully survive the trial, will there be a gift given in return?

Appearing very quickly next to the clear and neat handwriting was a line of refined writing, concise as usual: I will grant you recovery to be just like an ordinary person.

Shen Qingxuan’s wrist trembled, and the brush tip filled up with ink roughly slashed across the snow white paper.

********

Quick note: Hi thank you to @yunmengclouds and @t110n for your comments! Sorry I can’t reply directly since this is a side blog...Also if anyone has any issues with the translation or site so far, feel free to let me know~~~

#A Snake Encounter #Yu She #Su Hen #danmei #tl #eggytranslations

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 4 years

Text

Opulence - erasermic fanfic

Title: Opulence

Pairing: erasermic

Rating: Explicit

WC: 9k+

Summary:

When they’re done, when Hizashi is finally, finally laid bare and beautiful across their sheets, still shimmering and sparkling and flushed a delicious pink, the blond is breathing heavily, sweat drops gathering along his hairline and in the ridges of his collarbones.

He looks absolutely filthy in the best kind of way.

Notes: An incredibly late birthday gift for my friend, @rootistabootus(it has been 4 months girl I am so sorry), who can always make me smile any day, any time, who sends me the best memes, who supports my love for characters she doesn’t even know, who is quite possibly one of the bubbliest, most positive people I have ever met. Who makes me feel like I can do anything, who inspires me to create and take risks and stop letting fear dictate my life. She’s selfless and one of the hardest workers I have ever met. Her optimism is fierce and strong and makes me think that anything is possible. Thank you for always being there for me and making my life that much brighter. You are an actual piece of sunshine fallen down to Earth and I am happy to have the opportunity to bask in your endless warmth. I love you!

Read full fic here on AO3

Opulence

It was a normal occurrence, something that happened probably once a month at least.

Hizashi would come home, door swinging open and caught just before smacking into the opposing wall, the telltale clack of expensive heels giving away that this wasn’t a post-patrol late night entrance. His costume boots sounded the way all heroes’ did: like nothing at all.

Underground or not, every hero needed to be capable of stealth when the situation called for it.

With villains who had guns for fingers and steel wire hair, the situation often called for it.

Hizashi rarely dressed up for the studio either, unless he had a celebrity guest joining him on air. Shouta still remembers the glittery gold suit pants Hizashi wore when his favorite DJ was in town. It was hard to forget, with the way they threw speckles of rainbow light across every surface in their bedroom each time Hizashi opened the closet on the rare nights when Shouta forgot to pull the blinds shut.

Modeling was something that came with any popular hero’s list of duties, along with interviews, commercials, cameos in movies or TV shows, presentations at hero schools, the list went on.

The more public you were, the more the public wanted you.

Hizashi hadn’t gone the way of selling albums or cologne in magazines. Instead, he’d used his agency’s desire to sell his body in print and pixels to gain himself a spot in the fashion industry, a passion he’d had for as long as Shouta had known him. He once saw the young hero-in-training cutting out swatches of colors and patterns and pasting them inside his notebook, erasing any useful study material beneath.

Not like Hizashi ever needed to study.

Shouta didn’t quite understand the difference between couture and editorial, but he liked the way Hizashi’s smile looked when he ran his fingers over a sequined body suit or a faux fur shrug.

He never paid it much mind when his husband came home from a photoshoot, knowing the first place Hizashi would go was the bathroom to wash off any lingering glue and makeup, working gel and temporary dyes out of his hair. He’d spare a glance, curious to see what the other man had been zipped into that night, Hizashi somehow convincing designers to gift him the outfits more often than not, but that was about it.

Here and there he’d make a comment, a low whistle if it was particularly sexy, something more snide, like, that is not staying here for more than a week, if it was something they both knew Hizashi would never wear outside the house again. Shouta can still remember the great purge of spiked leotards and pointed shoulder jackets they’d been forced to endure last year when they’d run out of room in the closet for their actual clothes.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, as Shouta casts his eyes over his shoulder from where he is spread out on the couch, half-finished book in his hands, he is unable to turn away.

The smirk on Hizashi’s face, as he tilts his head up from where he’s bent down, unlacing the long, knee high black stiletto boots hugging his calves, said he hadn’t expected anything less.

Shouta’s eyes can’t pick one thing to focus on, generously grazing over every curve and dip in Hizashi’s body, all deliciously on display.

Hizashi’s shimmering, gold nails release their hold on the metallic painted laces, his hands running lightly over his knees, and then his fishnet covered thighs, before settling on his hips as the blond straightens into a standing position. He leans back a bit, the way he always did when he was feeling confident and hungry for attention, cocking a hip seductively.

That grin, accented by glimmering, glitter dusted lips, stays in place.

Shouta’s gaze is ravaging his husband.

Tonight, they’d put him in a long sleeved leotard, something Shouta was pretty used to seeing. This time, though, the material was all a shiny, smooth faux leather, with a delectably deep plunge from Hizashi’s collarbones down to just below his navel, his belly button piercing shiny and vibrant like all the other accent pieces to the outfit. Shouta is pretty sure they must have the suit taped over Hizashi’s nipples because there was no way it would be staying in place otherwise.

He also knows for a fact that they didn’t have Hizashi take out his nipple piercings, as the little ball studs were just as prominently on display as the perky flesh they were slipped through.

The whole suit looks like it was engineered to be one size too small, hugging Hizashi’s lean frame like a second skin, accentuating the angles of his hips and the deep V between them, the curve of his biceps as he shifts his arms, even his ass, never particularly all that large, looked plump and delicious with the hall light falling over the tight fabric. It left nothing, absolutely nothing, painstakingly nothing, to the imagination.

Shouta knows before his eyes dare to fall on the space between his husband’s legs that the bulge will be there, but he doesn’t expect Hizashi’s manicured fingers to wind up in his view as well, casually caressing the growing mound as Shouta continues to stare.

As if this wasn’t enough, as if the thought of his husband walking from their apartment’s parking lot and through the lobby in this incredibly sexual outfit wasn’t already getting Shouta’s throat to dry up, whoever designed this shoot had decided to take it a step further.

Hizashi had a natural beauty that was impossible to deny, and a sinful ability to turn on the heat when needed.

So why they’d decided he needed to be slicked up in a shimmery, glittering body oil was beyond Shouta.

As he finally rips his eyes away from the blond’s fingertips, still stroking over his erection as it pulls against the taute fabric, he sees Hizashi’s chest looking dewy in the same way it did in the moments before orgasm. A fierce, unrelenting heat begins pooling quickly in Shouta’s lower belly.

“Like what you-”

“Yes,” Shouta cuts off Hizashi’s teasing words, clichéd and useless. Of course he liked what he saw. Who wouldn’t? The whole point of dressing Hizashi up like this was to make any witless fool who picked up the magazine have to resort to using it to cover themselves up.

Hizashi exhales softly through his nose, one arm coming up, hand moving toward his face, and it all feels like it has slowed down, like each miniscule movement takes one whole rotation of the little hand around the analog clock hanging on the wall next to the kitchen entryway. Shouta watches the way the fabric relentlessly constricts around Hizashi’s body, as his hand runs through his hair, disrupting all those flawlessly smooth locks. They hadn’t styled it in any way tonight, letting it all fly free over the man’s broad shoulders. The golden shine of Hizashi’s hair broke up the predominantly dark outfit nicely. Shouta could see why they’d made the decision, but it certainly isn’t helping the uncomfortable way his jeans are getting tighter by the second. Hizashi lets his hand fall carelessly to his side when he’s done running his fingers through his hair, a few strands getting caught on his lip gloss and his long, fake lashes. Hizashi blinks slowly, eyes downcast, and Shouta doesn’t think it’s possible to get to the bedroom fast enough.

Judging by the way Hizashi’s next breath brings forth a small shudder as he releases it, he’s feeling the exact same way.

Shouta isn’t one to rush anything, though.

He closes his book in one hand, his middle finger still stuck between the pages, and slowly, slowly, leans forward, never breaking eye contact with Hizashi, to set it on the coffee table in front of him. Still bent over, he extracts his finger just as languidly, licking his bottom lip as the digit slips out. Hizashi swallows loud enough for Shouta to hear it from across the room.

“Are you going to take those boots off anytime soon?” Shouta asks, falling back against the couch, sinking lower into the cushions and lazily letting his legs spread wide. He lets one of his hands fall into his lap, just close enough to his crotch to stroke one finger lazily over his growing erection. He rests his head against the cushioned back and tilts it toward Hizashi, wearing a smirk of his own now.

Hizashi might have got him going with his outfit, but Shouta knew exactly how to get the other man just as riled up.

Hizashi hated waiting, and more than that, hated when his pleas for attention went ignored.

Shouta watches as the corner of his husband’s perfectly painted lips twitches. The blond flips his hair over his shoulder, brushing away the pieces that had stuck to his gloss, before sliding his legs and feet out of the high boots. The fishnet stockings go all the way to his toes, as does the body oil, despite never being in the photographs.

Hizashi steps up out of the entrance way, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, and begins sauntering across the hardwood floors like he’s gliding across a runway at fashion week. Each and every step pulls at the tight clothing, the light catching every curve, every dip as he moves, one foot in front of the other, bare thighs rubbing against one another, his hardon pressing up against the leotard, his slicked chest rising and falling with heavy, hot breaths.

The hand not stroking himself through Shouta’s pants is now curled into a fist beside him. Shouta clenches his jaw to stop himself from jumping off the couch as Hizashi finally stops in front of him. The blond’s last step is a powerful stomp that leaves his legs spread wide in a triangle, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, the other comes up to run over his own chest, fingers impossibly sliding beneath the bodysuit. Shouta watches with interest as Hizashi’s fingers make their way to the small bump of his nipple, everything so easily visible despite the fabric. Hizashi’s eyelids slip closed, long lashes caressing his upper cheeks. He throws his head back, letting his mouth pop open, as he pinches and rubs at the sensitive bud. Hizashi lets out a moan that Shouta knows is only half real, is entirely constructed just to get Shouta even more bothered than he already is, but it doesn’t matter.

His mind doesn’t care if Hizashi’s putting on an act.

His mind is hardly there anymore, all the blood gone rushing down to Shouta’s crotch the moment his husband had passed through the door.

So when Hizashi finishes gasping and tilts his head back up to stare down at Shouta, he stops playing games.

Shouta’s hands latch onto that deep plunged neckline and pull.

Hizashi comes all too easily, as if he’d planned the whole thing, as if he knew full well he’d end up straddling Shouta’s lap, their clothed cocks rubbing against each other with each and every panting breath they took.

He probably did.

Shouta doesn’t particularly care if it’s all going to Hizashi’s plan. He’s too busy fastening his mouth to the blond’s throat, kissing and licking over his adam’s apple, his collar bones, his jawline.

An annoying little voice in the back of his mind thinks I hope this oil is edible, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying the soft, supple feeling of Hizashi’s skin beneath his lips.

It’s made all the more better when one of Hizashi’s hands comes to his chin, pulling his face away from the other man’s collar bone and toward his mouth. He knows when they part he’ll have that glittery lipstick all over his mouth, that they’ll be laughing about it tomorrow morning, still tangled together beneath their sheets. Shouta’s stomach jumps in the same way it does each time he looks outside the school’s windows and across the courtyard to the other side of U.A.’s towering building, where Hizashi and he cross paths during third period, separated by far too many walls and windows and trees, but the other man never failed to send him a large, shining Present Mic grin.

It was the little things that got Shouta’s heart skipping, which brought a light pink flush to the tips of his ears.

Right now, though, his whole body was warm, as Hizashi’s tongue drags him back to the present.

The blond’s thighs tighten around Shouta’s, and Hizashi shifts positions, bringing his chest closer, pressing into Shouta’s, so he can settle his ass over Shouta’s achingly hard cock. He starts grinding on Shouta’s lap, bringing a gasp from his lips. Hizashi hums into their kiss as Shouta’s hands move from the blond’s hips to those two plump cheeks, digging his nails in just hard enough to get a rouse from the other man, but not enough to leave a mark. He never liked bruising Hizashi, though the blond sometimes seemed to enjoy rougher treatment. Shouta didn’t think it was good to have any tender spots on your body when you were a hero, no matter how many times Hizashi insisted no villain was ever going to get close enough to his ass for that to be a problem.

Hizashi’s hands make their way into his hair, curling around Shouta’s wavy, unruly strands. He pulls, just enough to get Shouta moving back, their lips separating, both gasping, panting for air. Hizashi stares down at him, his hips stilling as he catches his breath.

“Y-” Hizashi tries to start, but clearly needs another second. He swallows, takes another breath and says, “You ready to cut me out of this thing?”

Shouta raises an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips.

“Are you saying you can’t get out of that yourself?”

Hizashi rolls his eyes, “I’m trying to be sexy, Sho!”

Shouta doesn’t give in.

“I think it would be sexy if you did a little strip tease,” he says, squeezing his hands around Hizashi’s ass cheeks, making the other man jump.

“F-fine,” Hizashi says, an additional blush rising to his face atop the lovely glow that had already formed during their kissing. “I don’t know how they packed me in here and I don’t know how to get out.”

Shouta snorts as Hizashi’s eyes dart away, his lips coming dangerously close to a pout, and Shouta’s heart skips.

Hizashi could come home bare naked and he’d never be more attractive than like this, natural, guard down, no personas or masks or other personalities fighting for attention, just pure Hizashi.

Shouta releases his grip a bit, bringing a hand up Hizashi’s back, rubbing soothingly across the smooth faux-leather. Hizashi’s eyes and mouth soften at the touch, before he leans back in for a less hungry kiss.

This one feels like it lasts too little, but the message it leaves is far more than just lingering, it’s persistent, unending.

I love you.

Hizashi smiles as he pulls back, head titled just enough to the side to make Shouta see him in another time, japanese maple trees framing him, the orange autumn glow shining through their leaves and cascading over Hizashi’s shoulders.

Hizashi’s thumbs brush along Shouta’s scruff covered jaw.

“Bedroom?” Shouta asks on the tail end of a breath he’d been holding for far too long, bringing his hand to Hizashi’s front, finally dipping into the space left bare by the deep plunge neckline, casually playing with the longest jewel that hangs from Hizashi’s belly button piercing. He turns it over between his thumb and forefinger, watching how the lamp light beside the couch plays in all the little rivets of the small stone.

“Please,” Hizashi begs, his hands dropping down to Shouta’s shoulders, squeezing at the same time as he jerks his hips forward just enough to get some friction on his aching cock. They let out matching hums of pleasure and the heat in Shouta’s belly becomes more insistent.

“Then let’s go,” Shouta says, his voice deep.

For how weak his legs feel right now, he still manages to wrap his arms around Hizashi’s back and lift them both out of the chair, the other man quickly crossing his long legs around Shouta’s waist. Even this feels like too much, too similar to all the times Hizashi and he had pressed one another up against one of the many walls of their home, too distracted by the others’ body to make it anywhere near a horizontal surface. Hizashi had always joked it was a double workout, could be counted as training, but the hungry look the blond gave him each time he slipped his thigh between Shouta’s, rubbing up against his crotch before hoisting Shouta up the wall, said keeping in shape was the last thing on Hizashi’s mind.

Admittedly, Shouta gives a couple glances toward the smooth, sturdy surfaces framing their hastened walk as he carries Hizashi down the hall. The other man doesn’t help, doesn’t seem to care at all that Shouta’s hands are digging further and further into that faux leather as Hizashi sucks harshly under his jaw and along his collar where his shirt has been pulled down by Hizashi’s weight.

Read the rest here...

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #erasermic fanfiction

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salvatoreschool · 5 years

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Legacies Recap: The Truth Hurts — Plus, What Did We Learn From Freya's Visit?

The truth came out — in so many ways — on Thursday’s Legacies, arguably the strongest episode of the CW drama’s sophomore season thus far.

But let’s begin with the most exciting part of this week’s episode: the appearance of Freya Mikaelson! Hope’s aunt received an unexpected visit from Josie, who required some assistance in reverse engineering an “ancient Japanese black magic purge spell.” You know, casual witch stuff. Freya initially scoffed at the request, correctly pointing out that Josie was dabbling in some seriously dark forces, but she changed her tune when Josie asked if she felt like she was forgetting someone important.

Freya agreed to help, though she warned Josie that if she cast the spell without conviction, it could permanently erase everyone’s memories of Hope, rather than restoring them. And how did Josie thank her? By refusing to tell her who Hope really is, then knocking her unconscious with a spell, of course. (Listen, I get that Willow Josie is going through a Dark Willow dark phase, but that is not how we treat beloved guest stars in this house!)

Back in Mystic Falls, Hope & Co. had their hands full trying to combat both a zombie and a Croatoan, a spooky gentleman that feeds on secrets. Naturally, the gossipy beast went straight for Lizzie, who was still keeping Hope’s true identity from the people closest to her. During a moment of sheer panic, she nearly came clean to Landon, but Hope swooped in and literally shut her mouth in the nick of time. Of course, Hope’s silencing spell merely delayed the inevitable; Josie returned to Mystic Falls at the end of the hour and used the spell to restore everyone’s memory.

It’s also worth noting that Josie wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the spell — that is, until she called Caroline. “I talked to mom, and she said that people deserve to know the truth so they can make their own choices, even if they hurt,” she told Lizzie. “What choice do you think Landon’s going to make?” (From where I sit, Landon’s “I need some time” response was… not super encouraging.)

Fortunately, the episode had a lovely ending, as Freya surprised Hope at the Commonwealth Day festival with a big hug and lots of tears. Sure, the real ending of the episode involved one of the Evil Robed Guys™ using the zombie’s detached eyeball to spy on MG, but I’ll sleep much more soundly tonight if I choose to focus on the Freya/Hope reunion.

Since this week’s episode was all about dropping truth bombs, let’s dive into some other things we learned…

* I got emotional enough at the mere mention of Freya and Keelin wanting to send their son to the Salvatore School someday, but when she revealed that his name is Nick — presumably short for Niklaus, her late brother! — I just about lost it. There’s so much history built into this franchise, and Legacies has consistently done a wonderful job of honoring it organically.

* Speaking of history, Matt Donovan is now the mayor of Mystic Falls?!

* Hope admitted to having a crush on Josie for a week when she was 14, adding yet another layer of complication to the Hope-Landon-Josie triangle. It’s now been confirmed that Josie and Hope both had crushes on each other, while Landon is currently having feelings for both of them, as they are for him. Am I crazy for thinking these three should just become a throuple? Lizzie seems to think so, considering this was her response to Hope’s crush: “Read my lips, the two of you are never happening!”

* Arguably more shocking: Lizzie admitted that she thinks Hope is cool! She also admitted to killing Hope’s hamster and cheating off of her in school, but let’s just focus on the positives for now.

* We also learned a bit more about Sebastian’s history, which includes a surprising connection to the lost colony of Roanoke, Va. It was there that he fell in love with a witch named Cassandra, who summoned the Croatoan to punish the hypocrites who harshly judged the supernatural. Sebastian tried to stop her, fearing that her decision to keep his secret would also make her a target for the secret-seeking monster, which is why she desiccated him. She did it for his safety, though it also meant he was unable to stop the Croatoan from ripping her to pieces. (Something tells me we’ll be seeing a ghostly version of this Cassandra person in the near future.)

* Alaric tried to turn Sheriff Mac into his new Sheriff Forbes — or even his new Sheriff Donovan — but it didn’t exactly pan out. She made it clear that she wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the supernatural goings-on in Mystic Falls, prompting Kaleb to compel her to forget everything Alaric told her about the existence of otherworldly creatures. Where their relationship goes from here is anybody’s guess.

* I didn’t really know where else to talk about this, so I’ll just put it here: Did Rafael not completely break your heart this week? “I have to own up to the fact that I’ve always had feelings for you,” he told Hope. “Now that I remember them, we can’t be around each other anymore. I’m sorry.” I understand that Landon and Hope feel like their romance is written in the stars, but the fact that Rafael was so drawn to her — even when he didn’t fully remember her — tells me that he also loves her. And watching him lose hope/Hope wasn’t any easier the second time around.

OK, let’s discuss this week’s episode: Did you squeal when Freya name-dropped her son? Which girl are you hoping Landon will choose? And did you vote for Mayor Matt Donovan? Whatever’s on your mind, drop it in a comment below.

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calligraphist-artemisia · 5 years

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The Sun Prince (Chapter 2)

Summary: It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

2. Power Within

With his belly pleasantly full and his hair still damp from a satisfyingly long shower, Prompto belly-flopped on the cheep motel bed and wondered if he could get away with not moving for the next twenty-four hours.

Noctis grunted as he got up from the foot of the second bed and stretched his arms over his head, causing his shirt to rise up slightly. “Right, now it's my turn. Did you save any hot water for the rest of us?”

“Nope. Used it all,” Prompto joked. “You'll save me from Iggy's wrath, right?”

“Not a chance,” Noctis responded with a slight grin.

Prompto buried his face in the pillow. “Some hero you are. I thought prince's were all about rescuing the innocent?”

“You, innocent?”

“Mean,” Prompto said without any bite. He turned his head to watch Noctis walk into the bathroom, tempted to throw a pillow across the room. He didn't though; both because he was unable to muster up the energy to do so, and because Gladio would get involved and thoroughly trounce them. He yawned and rolled over onto his back. “I hope you weren't holding out for a round of King's Knight tonight, 'cause it is lights out for me.”

Noctis paused in the doorway. “I'll be sure to keep it down. You get some rest. You deserve it.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “You're the best, Noct.”

He heard Noctis chuckle and the squeak of the bathroom door shutting, but kept his eyes shut until the shower cut on and he knew he wouldn't be interrupted for a while. Prompto rolled over and sat up before pulling his emergency bag from the Armiger. He glanced at the door connecting their room to the one Gladio and Ignis were sharing, hoping he was correct in his assumption that either of them would knock before entering.

As much as he wanted to burrow under the blankets and sleep like he told Noctis he was going to do, first he needed a better look at the crown.

It was still warm when he removed it from the bag. The tiny gears shifted beneath his fingers, effortlessly moving as if by magic. (Which, he realized, it probably was.)

The crown really was a thing of beauty and Prompto couldn't understand why Rhyos just handed it off to him like it was no big deal. Clearly it was a very big deal. The biggest!

“Why me?” Prompto whispered.

Ancients, why did he accept the crown? Why did he have to touch that stupid sun? The one that was obviously – in hindsight – the set-up to a cliché trap. He wished he'd never fallen into that hole. Sure, getting to sleep in a bed instead of on the hard ground of a haven was nice, but was it really worth it?

Prompto took a deep breath.

There was no point in dwelling on “what if's” that would lead him nowhere and only cause him anxiety. He needed to focus, if not for himself, then for Noct.

(Why was his life such a mess?)

He ran his thumb over the gleaming sun, idly wondering what sort of gemstone it was made from. It didn't look like any of the others Dino sent them to search for, but that could be because they were rough, uncut pieces. In a way, the stone reminded him of the meteorshards up at Exineris, shining with its own ethereal light.

Prompto wished he knew more about Solheim; more about the Astrals and Messengers; more about anything that would help him understand what was happening. What he needed was someone who could help him learn.

Ignis was the smartest person he knew and was bound to know something about it, but there was that nagging feeling that he'd become suspicious of why Prompto was asking such things and ask too many questions of his own. Questions that Prompto wasn't ready to answer yet.

Lady Lunafreya was another option, but she was so far away and even once they found their way to Altissia, where she was waiting, he doubted she would have time to talk to a simple pleb like him. She and Noctis had more important things to do; things like forming covenants with the Gods and purging the world of the starscourge. Important stuff.

Impulsively, Prompto hopped out of bed and walked over to a round mirror hanging on the wall. He carefully placed the crown on his head, just to get a look at how completely ridiculous it made him look.

He felt like a little kid playing pretend.

He should take it off and forget the whole thing ever happened! Or find Rhyos and force him to take it back! Or... or he could dig a hole out behind the motel and bury it there!

Prompto groaned.

All of those were awful ideas.

He needed something better. He needed to understand what it all meant, but he didn't see any place to find the answers he needed, except...

Rhyos.

Rhyos would know. Maybe if he asked politely, he would be willing to answer. The only problem with that was that Prompto had no clue how long it would be before Rhyos showed up again. It could be days. Weeks. Months.

What if it was years before Rhyos came to find him?

A familiar rush of panic swiftly built up, and Prompto looked away from his reflection and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't think like that. Rhyos said he'd find him when the time was right, (whatever that meant) so he'd have to believe that.

Without looking at his reflection again, Prompto carefully removed the crown and spent another minute looking it over as if it held a clue he was missing. He was too lost in thought to notice the shower stopped running, and it was only when he heard the rattle of the doorknob that he moved again, leaping for his bed and cramming the crown into his bag, kicking it off the bed just in time. He yanked the covers up over his head, his heart hammering in his chest.

Noctis said nothing and Prompto started to relax, sure that he hadn't seen anything. Any minute, Noctis would pass out in the other bed and wouldn't wake up until late in the morning.

“Prompto, I know you're awake.”

Damn.

Prompto slowly lowered the covers to the amused expression of his friend. “Uh, hi?”

“Any reason why you're pretending to sleep?”

An excuse. He needed an excuse.

“I just, uh, didn't want you to know I was playing King's Knight without you.” (That sounded weak even to his ears.) “You know, after I said I was going to crash for the night.”

Noctis didn't look at all convinced, but he shrugged and let the subject drop, also choosing not to remark on Prompto's odd behavior.

It made Prompto feel ten times worse for lying.

He squirmed under his blankets, trying to get comfortable and convince himself that it was just a tiny, harmless lie and they'd both forget about it by the morning and also hopefully Noct didn't think he was avoiding him or anything like that and--

Out went the lights and a stillness fell over the room.

“I wasn't really playing King's Knight without you.”

There was a sigh from Noctis and the rustling of blankets. “I kind of figured, since your phone's charging across the room. Do you need to... talk or... something?”

Prompto bit his lip. “I don't know. Probably? Something weird happened while I was underground and I'm still trying to process, that's all.”

The light clicked back on and Prompto turned his head to watch Noctis sit up and run a hand through his hair. “I thought you said it was just like all of the others.”

“Well, not exactly...” Prompto winced as he revealed another lie. He hated keeping secrets. Too many, and he'd start to crack under the pressure of holding them all in.

The skin beneath his wristband itched.

“You know how all of the others have been dark and creepy and filled with all the creepy crawlies? Well this place didn't have any monsters. No daemons either. And all of the walls and stuff were intact. It was like the ground just swallowed it whole and didn't damage anything,” Prompto said.

“Maybe it was made that way,” Noctis suggested.

“Nah,” Prompto said, shaking his head. “It was covered in pictures of the sun. Or symbols, I guess. Doesn't really seem like something meant to be underground.”

Noctis frowned, his brow furrowing as he thought deeply about something. “The sun? Like a dedication to the sun god?”

Prompto's heart beat a little faster. Maybe he'd get an answer to one of his many questions without needing to ask.

But it didn't seem like Noctis had anything else to say about it, and after a few minutes Prompto assumed the conversation was over.

“No one knows much about Solheim. The only sun god I can think of is Ifrit, so it could have been hidden on purpose after he turned against humanity. Or it could've happened before then,” Noctis said at last. “Luna would know more than I do. Next time Umbra shows up, you can send a message to her.”

“You'd really do that for me?”

“Sure, why not? If it helps put your mind at ease,” Noctis responded nonchalantly.

Prompto took a moment to debate whether or not to specifically ask if Lady Lunafreya had heard of an Astral named “Rhyos”, but in the end decided against it. “Thanks, Noct,” he said with a yawn.

“It's really bothering you that much, huh? I don't think I've ever heard you express interest in the Astrals outside of class,” Noctis remarked.

“I guess falling in that place gave me a new perspective on things. I mean, you've got those covenants you're making with the Six and I still don't entirely know what any of that means, except that it's important. I know normally I'm more of a 'go with the flow' kind'a guy, but this feels like something I should know more about, yunno?”

“Seems logical enough. I can help with that, if you want. I don't know as much as Luna, but I remember some of the stories she used to tell me,” Noctis offered. “Or you could ask Ignis. He'd be better at explaining it than I am.”

Prompto rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get comfortable. “Wouldn't wanna worry him by suddenly showing an interest in academia. He might think I'm getting sick. On second thought...”

Noctis chuckled sleepily. “In the morning then.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed.

The light clicked off one last time.

His whole body burned from overuse as he ran, pushing himself well beyond his limit. He ha to keep going. Couldn't stop. Lives were in danger!

The landscape blurred, unfamiliar to his eyes. Water and rubble surrounded him, crowding in. Gunfire in the distance. Screams. Prompto didn't know what was happening or what he was doing there, except that there was some place he desperately needed to be.

Darkness began to consume the edges of his vision, but he pressed on.

Hurry.

Hurry!

He slipped, plunging into water, but it did nothing to ease the heat racing through his veins. It grew worse instead, like he was standing too close to a campfire as it spat up sparks.

He sank deeper and deeper, struggling o resurface.

And there suddenly – Lady Lunafreya, stumbling away from a pitch black figure, clutching her side as red spread across the white fabric of her beautiful gown. He trident slid from her hands as she fell, and Prompto screamed in horror.

“No!”

Something grabbed at him through the darkness, pinning him in place as he began to struggle. “No!”

“Prompto, wake up!”

Prompto gasped, his eyes flying open. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, so loud that he wanted to reach up and cover his ears to muffle the sound, but with his wrists restrained all he could do was moan in pure misery.

“Gladio, fetch a cool rag,” Ignis ordered. “Noctis, sit down if you're just going to hover like that. Prompto is fine. It is likely just a fever dream.”

Prompto tried to focus on what Ignis was saying. A fever dream? Yeah, that explained why he felt like he was on fire, but he couldn't remember getting sick. There should have been signs, right? There were always signs. He was pretty good at recognizing them – or he thought he was, but maybe with all of the fighting and running around, he didn't notice.

“Here, Iggy,” Gladio said.

Something freezing cold touched his forehead and Prompto whimpered and twisted away, but Ignis persued with the wet washcloth, carefully wiping down his face in hopes of cooling him down.

“S'cold,” Prompto slurred.

“Yes, it's meant to be,” Ignis said patiently. “Prompto, you have a high fever and I need to bring it down.”

Prompto did his best to hold still, but heavy shivers wracked his body, making his teeth chatter. After moment, Ignis quietly withdrew to talk to Gladio and Noctis.

“He will have to rest for the day. Moving him will only worsen his condition,” Ignis said.

“Do we have the funds for that?” Gladio asked.

At that reminder, Prompto struggled to sit up, but his arms refused to support an ounce of his weight. “I'm okay, really.”

Noctis looked over and raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Ugh,” Prompto gave up on trying to get up. He couldn't even muster up the strength to flip off Noctis for the sarcastic remark. “I just need a minute.”

“Regardless, Gladio and I will go look into what hunts are available in the area. Should you miraculously recover from your cold by the time we return, we can be on our way. If not, we can afford one more night here and I expect you to rest the entire time,” Ignis said, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Noct, you will remain here with him and ensure that he gets proper rest. No King's Knight.” His tone left no room for argument.

“Sure. Fine,” Noctis agreed.

“Unless you would prefer going on a hunt with Gladio?”

“No! No, I'm good with staying here.”

Prompto drifted back off to sleep to the sound of Ignis and Gladio playfully teasing Noctis.

He had no more dreams. No more nightmares. Or at least, none that he remembered. Prompto drifted in and out of sleep for a while, aware of the low hum of the AC running and Noctis trying to stay quiet while he played around on his phone, keeping busy while the others were away.

Prompto turned his head to blearily watch his friend for a few minutes. “How long have I been out?”

Noctis visibly startled at the sound of his voice and set aside his phone. “All day. How do you feel?”

Prompto took a moment to evaluate. He was no longer shivering and he was pretty sure he could sit up without his arms giving out as though they were make of overcooked noodles, so that was a good sign that he'd moved on from the worst.

His stomach growled at the thought of food.

“I'm starving. I don't suppose Iggy left any food for us?” Prompto asked hopefully.

“Even better. He's down in the kitchen making soup right now. Something about him and Gladio taking on a hunt at the request of the owner, and as part of the payment, Ignis gets full use of the kitchen,” Noctis explained. “I just hope it's not vegetable...”

“I'll eat yours if you don't want it.”

“That hungry, huh?” Noctis sounded amused.

“I feel like I could eat a whole Garula. No, one of those – what are they called again? Cobble-somethings? The big things down in Alstor Slough?”

“Catoblepas?”

Prompto nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

Noctis hummed thoughtfully. “I don't think Ignis is making that much food, but there should still be plenty for everyone. Knowing him, it's at least enough to last until he's sure you're better.”

“Do you think if I tell him I feel absolutely, one-hundred percent better, I won't be on some crazy soup diet for the next week?” Prompto asked.

“He'll make it two weeks if you do that,” Noctis warned jokingly.

Prompto groaned good naturedly, and the two enjoyed a few minutes of playful banter back and forth, coming up with more and more ludicrous ideas for the lengths Ignis would go to in order to ensure proper healing.

“Seriously though, I feel like I could go on a five mile run and barely feel winded. Must've been some weird, twelve-hour bug,” Prompto said. He sat up and adjusted the pillow behind him so he'd have something comfortable to lean back against.

“I dunno, Prom, you were pretty sick this morning,” Noctis said, his tone serious.

Prompto shrugged. “Whatever it was, I'm fine now.”

“Maybe, but Ignis would kill me if I let you get out of bed to go running.” Noctis said the word as though it was something distasteful. “Just... just rest tonight, okay? You had us all worried.”

Prompto honestly didn't see what the big deal was. A high fever and a terrifying nightmare sounded pretty standard as far as a flash sickness went, and he was willing to chalk the severity of it up to a combination of spending several hours in a damp, underground ruin and the anxiety of the aftermath.

Stress.

It was just stress.

He did feel bad that he made everyone worry and resigned himself to staying in bed until Ignis gave him the all-clear.

“Yeah, alright,” Prompto agreed. “Hey, so I know Iggy said no King's Knight, but...”

Noctis grinned as he stood up. “I'll get your phone.”

The rest of the night passed without incident, and Ignis said nothing about the two of them playing a game once he and Gladio returned from the kitchen with food. Prompto flushed under Ignis's scrutiny, but in the end it was determined that his fever had dissipated and if he was still feeling well in the morning, they would be on their way.

Prompto dove into the bowl of soup that was handed to him, trying his best to savor the flavorful broth and pieces of tender chickatrice, but his hunger got the best of him after the first two spoonfuls.

“We should go over our itinerary for tomorrow,” Ignis said in a manner that let them know it wasn't a suggestion; they would discuss it and he would accept no complaints.

That didn't stop Noctis from groaning, hunching in over his bowl as though Ignis would take his food away if he tried to refuse.

“Well, we've cleared out most of the hunts around here and we returned the dog tag to Dave, so we're good to move on to the next outpost,” Gladio said.

“We're not far from Caem, I was thinking we could stop there and check in with the others. Perhaps Monica has heard from Cor recently,” Ignis said.

Gladio grunted as he set his spoon in his bowl. “That's at least a half day's drive. No havens along the way either and there isn't much to the west, so would we double back through here? Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“It depends on whether or not Monica has news for us. However, we have not spent much time west of here and I have heard several of the hunters mention odd rumors about Malmalam Thicket. It's nothing they have been able to confirm, as they have some sort of agreement to not bother the wildlife there, but it sounds like it would be worth checking out.”

“Huh. You think there could be a royal tomb?” Gladio asked.

“It is possible.”

Prompto's spoon scraped across the bottom of his bowl and he glanced down to find he'd already finished. He must have made some kind of sound to indicate his sadness, because Noctis wordlessly took his bowl and passed it to Ignis, who refilled it and handed it back.

“What do you say, Noct? Shall we look into it?” Ignis asked.

Noctis shrugged. “Yeah, fine by me.”

Gladio held out his bowl and wiggled it slightly, which made Ignis roll his eyes. He refilled it anyway and looked to Noctis, a silent question of whether or not he wanted more as well.

Everyone's bowl was filled a second time and conversation resumed.

“So it's agreed, we stop at Cape Caem and then head on to investigate Malmalam Thicket,” Ignis tried to confirm.

Prompto had to admire him in that moment; his persistence to make sure Noctis was involved in the decision making, no matter how reluctant their prince was to take part. Prompto knew that Noctis appreciated it more than he let on.

Noctis grunted in agreement and the topic easily shifted, with Gladio taking control to explain he'd need some help checking over their camping gear once they reached Cape Caem.

“Don't want anything failing in the middle of the night,” Gladio said.

“Like the chair that broke when I sat down in it?” Prompto asked.

Gladio scoffed. “The only reason it broke is because you and Noct were fucking around.”

“Were we?”

“I do seem to recall you saying something along the lines of 'check out this cool new move' right before it happened,” Ignis said teasingly.

Prompto pouted. “I'm sick and you guys are going to pick on me like this? Not cool.”

“That's weird. I could have sworn you told me you felt like you could go run five miles and be okay,” Noctis remarked, joining in on the fun.

Ignis frowned in clear disapproval.

“That so?” Gladio asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was going to carry your share of the equipment, but if you're feeling well enough to talk about going running...”

Prompto whined and leaned back against his pillows.

He should have said “no”.

The moment Noctis started to drop hints about wanting to go down to the coast to do some fishing, everyone else had come up with an excuse as to why they couldn't go. Or in Talcott's case, point blank refused, citing that it didn't sound like much fun, which had at least gotten a chuckle from Noctis.

Prompto had no excuse, and a single pleading look from Noctis and the promise of riding chocobo's to their destination had him caving in and agreeing to accompany him there.

They promised Ignis they would return before sunset and then they were off, riding down the road and through the tunnel before they were able to take the path down to the shore. Prompto made note of how long the journey took, so they would be sure to have enough time to get back before night fully set in. The last thing he wanted was to get cornered by a bunch of daemons when it was just the two of them.

Noct's smile as he set up his fishing gear was worth it.

He had a beautiful smile and it wasn't one Prompto had seen much of since the fall of Insomnia. Which was understandable. Prompto didn't feel much like smiling either, but someone had to try and stay positive with everything happening or else they'd all fall to despair, and he figured he was pretty good at lightening the mood.

Prompto lifted his camera and snapped a quick series of photo's before the moment was lost.

He didn't often let himself take the time to admire Noct. Not anymore. It was too risky. Not because he was afraid of Noct figuring out his secret crush, but because of how damned observant Ignis and Gladio were. Neither of them said anything, but sometimes Ignis would raise an eyebrow at a casual arm across the shoulder that lasted too long or Gladio would smirk at how easily he caved to what Noct wanted to do.

Yeah, they definitely knew.

But Noctis was marrying Lady Lunafreya and that was a union looked forward to by all – well, almost all – of Eos. He wouldn't get in the way of true love and nor would he jeopardize their friendship.

Friendship was all he could have and Prompto was okay with that, even if sometimes it made his heart ache.

Prompto closed his eyes and tried to redirect his thoughts to Cindy instead. Gorgeous, charming Cindy, who was a delight to talk to once he got over his nerves. Cindy, who wasn't at all interested in him (or anyone else), but seemed to genuinely enjoy his company and his ability to mostly follow along her car-talk. Cindy, who had pulled him aside to give him permission to continue flirting, so long as he kept it appropriate and stopped if she ever asked.

(No one else needed to know about that little agreement of theirs and Prompto was still confused about why she trusted him to keep his word, but he wasn't going to complain. Maybe he just gave off a trustworthy vibe?)

His love life was a bit of a mess, to say the least, but hey, he was young. He had plenty of time to figure things out.

Noctis called out to him in delight, holding up his first catch of the day, and Prompto automatically snapped a picture, trying not to stare at the way the sun glinted off his dark hair and brought out the blue in his dark eyes.

He was unfairly beautiful.

They spent the rest of the evening like that. Noctis, showing off what he caught and Prompto trying not to let his thoughts lead him too far down the proverbial rabbit hole. Before too long, the sun began to dip dangerously close to the horizon, and Prompto began to get ansty.

“Noct, we need to get back.”

Noctis looked around, checking the position of the sun and then the time on his phone. After a moment, he agreed and sent his rod and tackle back to the Armiger before joining Prompto in the sand.

“No chocobo's?” Prompto asked after a minute or so of walking.

“Figured we could use the exercise. We'll still get back in time, unless... Are you still feeling alright?”

“Uh huh.” Prompto got a little tongue tied at the show of concern and cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander too far. It was going to take at least a day to recover from his daydreams. “Walking sounds good. Great!”

He could feel Noct's eyes on him.

“Sorry, just thinking about some stuff,” Prompto said, answering the unasked question with a wave of his hand, hoping Noctis wouldn't push for anything else. To his luck, they walked in silence, following the faint trail back to the road.

It wasn't an awkward silence, but comfortable and peaceful, born from years of friendship. Prompto liked that about Noct. They didn't have to constantly talk when they were together. Sometimes they could just... be.

Prompto frowned as they exited the tunnel to find it darker than expected and automatically moved closer to Noct, his eyes scanning for danger.

They hadn't taken into account the treed that blocked much of the light.

“We need to hurry,” Prompto said, his voice tight with fear.

If anything happened to Noct on his watch...!

They hastened their pace, both hoping to reach the safety of the lighthouse cottage without incident. Shadows chased their steps, spurring them on, but before they could reach the car park, a haunting groan caught them off-guard as inky blackness bubbled on the pavement and a massive form began to breech the surface.

“Iron Giant,” Noctis whispered, looking pale. “Run, Prompto!”

But there was another problem.

An angry shriek pierced the air as a Bomb careened out of the tunnel behind them, rolling between them and aiming a burst of fire at Prompto, who barely dodged out of the way. His guns materialized in his hands and he fired off a few rounds until the Bomb dropped and began to fade.

“Noct?!” he called out in panic, frantically searching for his friend. He found him soon enough, pinned down by the Iron Giant, which reared back to take a swing with its gargantuan sword, and with a burst of speed Prompto didn't know he was capable of, he put himself between Noctis and the daemon, raising his hand as though that would be enough to stop it.

Prompto braced himself, prepared for agonizing pain from his foolish mistake.

Instead, a bright flash of golden light illuminated the area, and the daemon toppled back, screeching in agony as it popped and fizzled away. Prompto stood and watched in shock, hand still outstretched and his mind blank, unable to comprehend what was happening.

There was a hand on his arm, pulling him towards the car park. Noctis, speaking to him in a low voice, telling him to move.

Prompto stumbled as his legs unlocked, letting Noct push him towards safety, and once they were under the bright lamp posts, he finally looked at Noct, who looked just as terrified as he felt.

“What the hell was that?”

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #promptis #fanfiction #accidental prince prompto #The Sun Prince

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

Friends in Dark Places [remastered; ch 10]

pairing: moxiety and logince (later on), background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: food mentions, eating, sex mentions, affair mentions, crude language, swearing, panic attacks, graphic depictions of self harm, suicidal ideation, abusive family members, yelling, fighting, blood, self hatred, self disgust, hurtful conversations, fear, anxiety, anger, homophobia, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: this chapter is SUPER intense, so please heed the warnings! as always, you’re free to ask for a modified chapter if you need it, but please be extra careful because none of those warnings are taken lightly!!!!

a/n 2: jsyk, it’s totally okay to ask for a modified chapter if you need it! i get it, and it’s no problem for me to quick edit a chapter or whatever :) also, feel free to send requests or questions that you have!

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 11 - chapter 12

companion fics: exes and ‘oh’s

consider buying me a coffee

It had taken a while, but the idea of going and conversing with the others started to warm up to Virgil. Patton had wrapped his arm around Virgil’s waist and held him close, grounding the anxious teen and giving him small bits of courage. Soon, they stood up and and ventured to the main pavilion to introduce Virgil to the other people he hadn’t met yet. There was Jo, who had a really cool cut down the middle makeup look on his face, and Joan, who did the most ridiculous impressions, and Terrence, who was the biggest ball of energy in such a small body.

For once, it was actually enjoyable for Virgil to meet new people. Years of being almost completely alone--save for a few friends here and there and his shitty ex-boyfriend--had turned him almost completely solitary. At the party, he still clung to Patton like a scared five-year-old, but he felt a little more included in the group. When Virgil began to tense up, Patton would place his hand gently on his back to provide a tether to cling on.

After two hours of eating and chatting, the party was over. Patton, Logan, and Roman offered to stay after and help clean up, but Talyn shooed the boys away, saying something about how they didn’t need any help. Virgil knew it was because they wanted him home ASAP after his panic attack, but he couldn’t bring himself mind. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was wash all of this makeup off and hopefully get most of the glitter off of his body. One day, Roman would pay for this pink glitter catastrophe, but that was a whole other train of thought.

Patton and Virgil were dropped off at their house just before midnight. Both of the boys got ready for bed, and Virgil was just this close to falling asleep when Patton softly knocked on his door.

Virgil groaned and rolled over. “Yeah, Pat? What’s up?”

The door softly clicked open, and the soft hall lights filtered in, giving Patton a light yellow glow. He entered quietly and sat on the desk chair, just barely visible in the low light.

“I, uh, just wanted to say thank you for coming to the party tonight. And also to apologize for your panic attack. I shouldn’t have let myself get swept away when you obviously needed some extra support.” Although his tone was sweet and kind, there was deep regret laced in his words.

“Oh, Pat. It’s okay. It wasn’t even your fault that we got separated.” Virgil assured, propping himself onto his elbows.

There was a beat of silence before Patton hesitantly whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Virgil smiled even though it probably couldn’t be seen by Pat. “I’m sure.”

Patton nodded quickly and left, but not before giving Virgil a small thumbs up. Soon, both of the boys were asleep and the rough day was far behind them.

---

The next week passed by smoothly. Virgil had a grand total of just three panic attacks (and Patton had come to help with each one) and hadn’t relapsed a single time. He was really proud of himself, as was Patton, and he just felt better about himself. It was liberating to have actual friends to talk to and hang out with. He’d even persuaded Logan to join crew!

And then on that fateful Monday--May first, to be exact--everything came crumbling down. It seemed as if everything bad in the word just happened to fall on a Monday. That just made Mondays even more dreadful.

Virgil’s day had started off like normal. He’d woken up, gotten ready, eaten breakfast with Patton, and went off to school. It was almost ridiculously mundane. It was in second block, however, when the not-so-normal things began to happen.

“Virgil Thomas to Office A, please,” the voice on the speaker crackled.

Shit, Virgil thought. What the fuck did I do this time?

His teacher gestured at him to leave, so he did. The walk from his math classroom to the office was basically a joke, so he made his way as slowly as possible, going so far as to dawdle by the bubbler for a minute.

As he walked up to the office, he saw his dad’s “secretary” standing at the doors. “Secretary” being used loosely, since she was, in reality, nothing more than the girl his dad had chosen to have an affair with this month.

“Hey, Virgil,” Nathalie cooed in her irritating voice. It sounded like sandpaper on ceramic plates. “Your dad is back in town and wanted me to let you know.”

“Why didn’t he just text me? He knows that I keep my phone on me at all times.” Virgil knew that he sounded bitter, but he didn’t care when his father was involved.

“He’s been very busy lately.” Yeah, probably doing you. “He hasn’t been able to find a time to take a break from work to text you.”

Work! Who knew that Nathalie could be so funny.

“Right. Well, I’m going to go back to class now, Nat. Bye!” He spun around on his heel and started to walk away when she cut him off.

“Oh, and your father wants you to have dinner with him tonight.”

Fucking great.

“Um, I actually had plans with a friend tonight,” Virgil rushed, dancing carefully around his current living arrangements and schedule.

“Why don’t you invite them over? I’m sure your father would love to meet them!”

Sure he would! Just like he was so fucking excited to meet Virgil’s boyfriend or any of his other friends when he’d brought them over.

“Sure. I’ll ask him.” He was never going to be able to get out of it, so he might as well try to get Patton to come along and soften the blow. Virgil walked to the bathroom instead of to his classroom, sitting in the nearest stall with his head in his hands until the bell rang.

---

“How do I look, Virge?” Patton modeled the black dress pants and blue polo get up he had on. His grey cardigan was actually on him, instead of hanging off of his shoulders or waist.

“Great! I don’t think Dad’ll have anything bad to say about that.” Virgil was ridiculously worried about his dad ripping the happy-go-lucky boy to absolute shreds. Mr. Thomas wasn’t the nicest or most accepting person on a good day, and any way that Virgil could protect his friend, he would.

“Awesome. Now, what are you wearing?” Patton’s question was innocent, but sent a small wave of anxiety through Virgil’s body.

“Uh, black jeans, some dress shoes, and a black jumper.” He’d worn this many times in front of his dad, and he hadn’t yet been ridiculed by his father for it. Unlike all of his other clothing.

Already, Virgil had wiped off all of his makeup and styled his hair out of its floppy fringe into a clean-cut look in preparation for the visit to see his dad. Any bandages that might have disrupted his appearance were removed, all scars were covered with foundation, and his whole personality purged of substance. Even his phone case had been switched out from the pretty galaxy case with the halloween Popsockets to the all black case with as much personality as a stick in the mud. It was absolutely dreadful.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll look fantastic, kiddo!”

Yeah. Sure.

---

“Alright, guys, have a good time! Just text me when you need to be picked up, Pat,” Mrs. Shea said before driving off, leaving Virgil and Patton stranded at the Thomas residence.

For once, the lights were on inside, giving the house the tiniest sense that it wasn’t vacant. Virgil couldn’t help but wonder which of his father’s chefs was cooking their meal. He hoped that it was Mei, whose food was both fancy enough to meet Mr. Thomas’ high expectations but held a sense of casualness that appealed to Virgil.

The pair walked up to the front door and rang the bell, sending a custom chime echoing through the house. Almost instantly, a mildly-disheveled Nathalie opened the door, grinning ridiculously widely.

“Virgil! Who’s your friend, here?” She greeted with faux cheeriness.

“Uh, this is Patton. He’s a friend from school,” Virgil paused, unable to focus when he could see a white stain on Nat’s mouth. He motioned up to his lips with a small grimace. “You’ve got a little… something… on your mouth, Nathalie.”

Gross. He didn’t even want to think about what had been happening just moments before.

Nathalie wiped gently at her mouth with the back of her hand, being extra careful not to smudge her pristine red lipstick. Opening the door wider, she motioned the boys inside. Virgil led the way to the dining room, not even bothering to wait for Nathalie.

“Oh, Virgil,” Mr. Thomas said as they walked into the dining room. “I didn’t realize you’d brought someone along.” Shocking. “Is this another one of your ‘boyfriends?’”

A pinched smile spread across Virgil’s face. “No, dad. I’m not dating anyone. This is my school friend, Patton Shea.”

“Hey, Mr. Thomas. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Patton’s happy voice lightened up the room’s atmosphere just the slightest amount, which all but astounded Virgil.

“Virgil could take some fashion notes from you, Patton. He’s always wearing those stupid looking skinny jeans and t-shirts. You look quite impressive and professional for a teenager,” Mr. Thomas commented, adjusting his glasses in a Logan-like manner. That was apparently all he had to say as he took a bite of the food in front of him.

Much to Virgil’s disappointment, it wasn’t Chinese. Apparently, the first dinner you’d have with your son in literal months wouldn’t be complete without a giant French buffet--complete with dessert.

“I--Thanks?” Pat stuttered, confused by the backhanded compliment. Virgil disregarded the comment, instead choosing to lead his friend to the table. They sat close enough to his dad to be considered polite, but it was definitely farther than an appropriate familial distance.

The three ate in silence for a few minutes before Mr. Thomas spoke again. “So, Patton, what are you planning on doing after high school? Virgil said he wanted to be a graphic designer, but he’s probably going to take up the family business. Arts degrees are just a waste of time and money; better to strive to be successful on the first try and not have to go back.”

Patton stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I was planning on going to school to be a therapist, but being a stay-at-home dad seems like a pretty nice idea, too.”

“Psychology is an interesting subject; I’d have to agree.” Mr. Thomas shifted his focus to his son. “Now, Virgil, what did you say you wanted to focus on in school? Something with video making?”

“It was video game design, but I’m not going after that, anymore. It was a stupid fever dream.” None of the food on Virgil’s plate was making it to his mouth; it had merely been stirred into a gloopy mess. He already felt like shit about himself, but leave it to his dad to be make him feel even worse.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.” Virgil all but jumped up and sprinted from the room.

Within a few seconds, he locked the door to the upstairs bathroom behind him. Virgil turned his head and stared at the reflection in the mirror. It looked nothing like him. The Virgil in the mirror was normal; he had no flaws, and he was the perfect son. His goals were steep but attainable, and he never said anything out of line. The real Virgil was anything but.

The real Virgil was a gigantic disappointment. He wanted to go into the arts, not business management. He had an attitude problem and a “screw The Man” ideology that ended up getting him into more trouble that necessary, yet he never changed his ways. The real Virgil was an emotional mess, not knowing how to properly express himself except through suicide or self harm. He was pathetic and stupid and, quite frankly, “too gay to function,” as his dad would say. There was no place in this world for the real him. Every single fucking time that his father was around, the façade was put up in some wimpy attempt to deflect some of the hateful words that would always be thrown his way.

And that’s when he broke. Tears streamed down his face, and choked sobs ran through his body. He thought he’d been getting better, but who was he kidding? This was the same old Virgil who’d attempted suicide not once--not twice. No, he’d attempted to fucking kill himself four times. But thank god that he’d survived! The world obviously needed Virgil Thomas’ fucking presence to keep it spinning.

Virgil gripped at his hair. He’d left his phone at the table, but he needed an escape from the emotions berating him.

Think, Virgil! There’s gotta be something that can help you.

His blurry eyes scanned the counter before landing on a familiar piece of metal.

Yes.

Virgil reached out and grabbed the blade, flipping it open with ease. Memories of the past flitted through his mind. Ones where he’d said “just one last time” with false hopes that it’d be true, but the very next day, he’d be back in this bathroom, washing blood out of the tub. Weakness. Had he included that on his list? Because Virgil Thomas was weak.

“Just one last time,” he mocked as the blade sliced the skin of his forearm.

Pathetic. What kind of fucking child do you have to be to continually come back to a blade to solve your problems?

Another cut. And another. It was so calming--so ridiculously relaxing to watch the red blood splatter on the perfectly white floor where it mixed with his tears to make a watercolor painting.

Faggot. Nobody will love someone who’s gay, loser! Think of Jason. He ruined you.

A knock on the door jerked Virgil out of his daze, making him drop the knife in the process.

“Hey, Virgil? Are you okay? I can hear you crying, kiddo,” Patton worried; his words filtered through the door with a slight resonance.

“I’m fine, Patton. Don’t worry.” Yeah fucking right.

“Virge, please just let me in.” There was no way that Patton would take no for an answer.

“Okay.” Virgil pulled his sleeves down harshly, smearing a bit of blood onto his hands. He stepped in front of the blade and blood, trying to hide it from Pat’s prying eyes as he opened the door. A fake smile was plastered onto Virgil’s face. “See--”

“Is that blood?” Patton gasped and snatched Virgil’s wrists up. With an unprecedented gentleness, he rolled up the jumper sleeves that had started to plaster themselves to his arms. The look of worry on Pat’s face soon turned to one of pure anger.

He’s mad. You’ve upset him, and he’s going to kick you out. Maybe he’s finally realized what a mistake it was to save you--

“How dare your dad think he can say things like that to his own son! You deserve so fucking much, Virgil--in fact, you deserve the world. Yet here’s this asshole who won’t give you a god damn break, bringing you to hurt yourself because he can’t keep his idiocy to himself! Grab that towel; we’re going downstairs.” Patton stormed out the room and down the stairs. Virgil followed a few paces behind, terrified out of his mind.

“Mr. Thomas! With all due respect--which is none, by the way--who the absolute fuck do you think you are to think that it’s okay to ridicule your own child like that?” Virgil’s dad opened his mouth to speak, but Pat cut him off. “No! You fucking listen to me; you’re a terrible father! Your child should never be brought to self harm as a coping mechanism--especially not by his own fucking father. Are you fucking kidding? Who gave you the right to do this? First, you spend all of your time away from Virgil, and then you go about barely ever talking to him, and to top it all off, you give him shit for everything that he has a fucking passion for!”

Both Virgil and his father were completely silent. Neither had expected such an outburst from the docile kid between them.

After a long few moments, Virgil said, “Let’s go, Pat.”

Virgil and Patton quickly left the house, not stopping until they were a street away. Patton called his mom to tell her to pick them up, and they sat on the curb to wait.

“Thank you, Patton. For standing up to me. Nobody’s ever done that before.” Virgil’s voice was soft and genuine. A little fluttering sensation rose in Pat’s stomach as he leaned towards his friend.

“It’s no problem, Virge.”

chapter 11

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #moxiety #logince #virgil sanders #patton sanders

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turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating · 3 years

Text

Merlin (BBC) fic part 1

You were the one to teach me how to use knives

Welp I wrote a Merlin fic. It has been inevitably brewing for about 9 years, it’s honestly a wonder I left it this long.

Summary: Merlin chose to save Mordred against the dragon's advice. He should have made the same choice for Morgana. In which Merlin is more than a little fed up of old men and old dragons telling him what to do, and gives Morgana some hope. Maybe it won't change the dark path she's destined to walk down... Or perhaps in doing so, Merlin saves all of Albion from her wrath. Featuring the emotional catharsis and continuity we were denied in canon and a systematic re-writing of what could have been

Chapter summary: The Nightmare Begins (Part One)

Merlin decides to let Morgana in on one of his secrets instead of sending her to the druids

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387470/chapters/69556197

Fic under the cut

Merlin couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence. When he first arrived in Camelot, it was the noise of the city that kept him awake. Or, more accurately, the lack of farm noise. Merlin had been falling asleep to the sound of cows mooing as they settled down for the night for 19 years. So that first week or so in Camelot? It was the silence. Now, what keeps Merlin awake, after witnessing countless innocent sorcerers be beheaded, a singing enchantress, a snake shield, an afanc, being poisoned, a griffin, a creepy beetle-obsessed madman, the first in what Merlin just knew was going to be a long line of Arthur getting magically enchanted into falling in love with some beautiful woman, having to decide between letting a child get murdered or ignoring the advice of an ancient dragon, an undead knight, losing Will, thinking he’d lost Arthur to some magical unicorn poison, killing people to stop them killing a King who would execute him in a second if he knew what he was, almost losing Arthur, his mother and Gaius during the Questing Beast fiasco (and the power that ran through him, that deadly, furious power that felt so… good), a raven-themed madman, and, just last week, foiling yet another assassin hell-bent on killing Arthur, it’s the nightmares that keep him awake now.

Nightmares have been on his mind during the day too, but not his own. He huffed and rolled out of bed, fed up of tossing and turning. He had meant to go to the dragon early the next morning instead of this late at night, but Merlin doesn’t think there’s currently a curfew in place. Probably. With all the stuff that Camelot has had to fend off in the last year and a bit since Merlin’s been here, it’s hard to keep track of when Camelot’s in lockdown or not. He was going to ask the dragon for the location of the druids. They could help Morgana and then Merlin wouldn’t have technically broken his promise to Gaius to keep her in the dark. When he got to the top of the passageway however, he couldn’t convince himself to go any further. Instead, the words kept swirling around in his head.

I'm scared, Merlin. I don't understand anything anymore. I need to know what's happening. Please. Morgana’s begging, the usual no-nonsense woman distraught, practically on the verge of tears, won’t leave his mind. His feet stick, incapable of travelling further down the passage. Merlin’s nearing that verge himself. It’s too much, too much to expect of him. He’s not even yet of age, a year younger than Arthur but the fate of what feels like the entire world on his shoulders. Gaius helps, gods, even the dragon helps sometimes, but neither of them know what it’s like to bear this burden. To struggle, over and over again, to be kind where he wants to be furious, and furious where he wants to be kind. Would he be able to live with himself if Mordred did grow up to kill Arthur? Probably not. But he would be able to live with himself if he’d left Mordred to be caught and executed by Uther? Also no. And now, Gaius and the dragon want him to leave Morgana in that darkness? They want him to repay the woman that risked her reputation and even her life for him and his family, with betrayal?

Merlin had to believe the prophecies were real, had to believe that Arthur would make a better kingdom for those with magic. He couldn’t risk that prophecy for anyone, not even Morgana. The dragon said that Morgana had evil in her heart, that she would be the dark to Merlin’s light. Perhaps that will be true, perhaps Morgana will ruin him. But he knew that she had saved Uther instead of killing him, had forgiven him despite everything he had done. Not forgotten, no, she was not that kind of person. She’d forgiven him though, and Merlin didn’t think that sounded like evil. He thought, perhaps, that sounded like someone capable of the best kind of love. Why was he expected to judge her on her future actions? What if betraying her now, with his silence, with his lack of action, was what caused her to become evil?

The Merlin that turned away from the passageway and went up the stairs had been influenced by a single conversation, not that the man himself would ever know it. A single conversation that Merlin wasn’t even really a part of.

The conversation had happened months before, when a Lord that Merlin can barely remember the name of now had come to visit Uther. In another life, the Lord would be waylaid by snow for a couple of days, and the entirety of his trip would pass while Merlin and Arthur were on one of Arthur’s many hunting trips. In this one, he’d made it to the castle before Arthur’s hunting trip, and so it was Merlin who was serving Arthur wine at the Lord’s welcoming banquet. It had been a fairly boring evening, as Arthur had not been drinking nearly as much as Uther and his Lord, and so Merlin had not had much to do. In his clumsiness, he had tripped on his way towards Arthur, just a minor stumble, no wine even spilled, but the clatter of the jug as he kept it balanced drew the attention his way. The Lord had frowned at him, not in the same scowl-like way as Uther, nor in the exasperated (but fond) way Arthur did, but with confusion. He clicked his tongue a moment later, hands waving unsteadily.

“Uther, do you not think he looks like Balinor?” Uther, drunk enough to not be quite so curt but still, well, Uther, straightened.

“The boy, Merlin?” Merlin froze, eyes downcast. “No I don’t see it. Besides, Balinor died in the first few months of the Great Purge, hunted down like the traitor he was.”

“Hmm, true, true.” The Lord had said placatingly. “The man was ever so much fun at a party though. Do you remember the time he enchanted you to-”

“It’s getting late.” Uther said, with finality. “And you’re getting old and much too drunk.” The Lord had chuckled and they had retired for the night. Merlin had gone through the motions of getting Arthur ready for bed in a bit of a shaken daze, not used to ever being noticed by Uther. He wasn’t actually sure Uther knew his name until tonight.

He’d gone back to his quarters with Gaius, who’d noticed immediately that he was looking a little off. “Is everything alright Merlin?”

“Yes, yes, fine. The Lord that Uther is entertaining tonight, he just made a strange comment, said I looked like a man they used to know. A sorcerer by the sounds of it, who was killed during the Great Purge.”

“Who?” Gaius said, worry lacing his tone, as it did every time magic was mentioned. Merlin knew why, had nightmares weekly about why, but it still cut some part of him, the way that magic was spoken of in whispers and fear even here.

“Balinor.”

“Balinor!” Gaius exclaimed, though still in hushed tones. He shook his head, turning away from Merlin’s curious eyes. “What did Uther say? Merlin, what did he say?”

“He said he couldn’t see it himself. Gaius what’s going on?” Gaius exhales in relief.

“Merlin you’re not to go near that Lord again, do you hear me? I’ll tell Arthur I need you urgently for apprentice tasks, until he’s gone.” Merlin was surprised by the fervour at which Gaius demanded this, used to his uncle pleading his case instead.

“Gaius, what are you talking about?”

Gaius shook his head again, mumbling under his breath. “I promised Hunith I would never speak of this… But you must understand the danger you’re in. Merlin, Uther cannot think that you are related to Balinor, or he’ll have you on the pyre before you can blink.” Merlin held up his hands placatingly.

“Alright Gaius, well that’s fine because I’m not related to this Balinor fellow, whoever he was. Uther said he died before I was born.”

“And that is how we must keep it. Uther must never know that Balinor could still be alive.”

“Gaius you’re not making any sense. Why did you make my mother any promises about this man I’ve never heard of?!”

“Merlin…” Gaius gripped Merlin’s shoulders, smiled sadly down at him. “Merlin, I have always treated you as if you were my son.” Merlin softened, a smile lighting his own face. “But that is not who you are. The reason the Lord thinks you look like Balinor is because he is your father.”

Merlin stumbled out of Gaius’ hold, smile dropping from his face. “My… My father? W- What-”

“Balinor was a Dragonlord. He could do a little magic too, but his main power came from his ability to talk to and tame dragons. As such, he had a title, here in Camelot, back before the Great Purge. If I remember correctly, he was a favourite of Queen Ygraine, Arthur’s mother. And then… After- After, I helped him escape. I sent him to my sister’s, despite the danger it put her in. Uther eventually located him, and sent knights to Ealdor to hunt him down. He fled, to protect your mother. Hunith… He has no idea you even exist Merlin. She didn’t find out she was pregnant until he was long gone.”

“Why did neither of you ever tell me this?!”

“It was too dangerous, and Hunith didn’t want to hurt you. Uther is of the opinion his knights were successful. If he’s alive, no-one knows where he is.”

“I had a right to know.” Merlin snarled, eyes welling up. “He was my father. I had a right to know.”

Merlin doesn’t consciously know that finding out who his father was- not long before, in another life, he would have found out anyway- is the reason he turned away from that passageway tonight, but that same feeling of righteousness, that dark empty pit inside of him that screams to find somewhere to belong, the one that is only sometimes quietened when he and Arthur work together to solve some quest (usually unbeknownst to Arthur), it gets louder when he thinks about how alone Morgana is, how terrified she is, and by the time he’s stood outside Morgana’s door, he knows exactly what he’s going to stay.

Knock, knock.

The rap of his knuckles against the door is quiet, wary of the guards patrolling the castle. Still, he supposes he could simply pretend he was here to deliver another sleeping draught, and by the way Morgana’s face drops when she answers the door, that’s what she thinks too.

“Merlin, I told you I don’t want another remedy-”

“I’m not here with a sleeping draught. May I come in?” Morgana searches his face with her clever green eyes, but, though she is as beautiful as ever, Merlin is focused on the dark shadows under her eyes, the tremor in her hands.

She steps back to let him in and watches with trepidation as he closes the door behind himself, fastening the latch. “Merlin, what-”

“Morgana, what you advise me to do, if I told you I had a secret that could help you, but doom everybody else? If I told you this secret would save you, but it would put everyone I care for in danger, my mother, Gaius, Gwen, Arthur, even you? That would definitely kill me. Could you understand that there are some things I cannot say that you could, because of the position you hold? Could you understand there are many times I have agreed with you and not been able to say so? Would you ask me to tell you my secrets anyway, knowing the risk?”

“I… No, Merlin. I wouldn’t ask that of you. Not to save myself. But I don’t understand-”

“My Lady, I know we are not the closest of our lot.” Merlin smiles wryly, thinking of the way Arthur had kissed Gwen, the way Gwen brought flowers for Morgana every day she could, the hours spent gossiping with Gwen in laundry, the days spent mutually saving each other’s lives with Arthur. “And I know it is not appropriate to consider you a friend, probably not even appropriate for me to be here right now. But you risked your life for Camelot’s people, and you risked your life for Gwen’s father and you risked your life to come to the aid of my village. There are things I cannot tell you, for the reasons I have already stated. I hope, when you eventually learn them, you will forgive my secrecy in light of the consequences. But for all that you have done, and the goodness I know you have, I must tell you something, because I cannot stand for you to feel alone.” Merlin cleared his throat. “Morgana, I believe you. You know of what I speak. I’m sorry I did not say it before; I was too scared. Because, Morgana, your protection here holds only as long as this is unknown. You are already so vocal about the injustices you perceive. You are too sympathetic already. Too suspicious. Do you understand?”

“You did not say it before… Because you believed I was safer in ignorance?”

“Yes. I still believe you are. But I realised I feared more for what feeling alone would do to you than what could happen to you if anyone found out.”

“I need to hear you say it Merlin. Please. It is driving me mad.”

“Morgana,” Merlin takes one of her trembling hands and clasps it in both of his, “I believe you have magic.” Morgana shudders, equal parts relieved and terrified, eyelashes wet with tears. She takes several deep breaths, and then squeezes his hand and takes hers back, looking steadier than she has in days.

“Alright, now what?”

“First of all, I will keep your secret. I won’t betray your trust.”

“I know, Merlin.”

“Then I have another thing to tell you, so I can prove that I trust you in return.” Merlin cannot give her the core of him, not when it could be the death of Arthur. But he can tell her something that should only harm him. “My father was magic. He was born with it, just like you. And through him… I know enough. I can help you control it. Train you. If you’d like.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about your father, I guess I know why now.” Morgana says, eventually. “Is he…?” Merlin shakes his head.

“Uther.” He says, softly, and that’s all it takes. Morgana’s eyes blaze with a fire he knows is not aimed at him.

“Of course.” She says, scornful. Abruptly, she softens. “I’m sorry Merlin.”

“Thank you.”

“I want to learn how to stop the nightmares. So, if you’re sure, I’ll gladly accept your tutelage.”

“There are limits to what I can teach you, I don’t know many spells. You could perhaps learn more going to the druids. But I fear if you were suddenly to disappear, Uther would not think you had left of your own accord.”

“And then he would take it out on the druids.” Morgana nods. “I won’t put them in danger. All I really need to know is enough to stop the dreams. Anything else would be more dangerous than sensible, with the court as it is.”

“I will not be able to teach you how to completely stop the visions, Morgana. If I’m right, you’re a Seer. The visions shouldn’t keep you from sleeping, however. I think because your magic is pent up, it’s escaping into your dreams. If you can get rid of the excess magic, you should be able to get through a night’s sleep.”

“What do you mean, a Seer?”

“Not all your dreams,” Merlin cautions, “but some of them; they’re prophetic. Do you remember when you dreamed of Sophia drowning Arthur?”

Morgana frowns, puzzled. “Yes, but I was wrong; Arthur became besotted with her and you managed to talk him out of it.” Merlin smirks, but it fades as he remembers the way Arthur had sunk into the lake, out of Merlin’s reach.

“Not quite. Her father had enchanted him to become enamoured with her. Sophia was mostly innocent,” but you still killed her Merlin, “but she did try to drown him. The heart of a mortal prince is a very potent ingredient in some dark magic spells. I-” Merlin coughs, can’t keep eye contact with her. “I killed her father. I didn’t tell Arthur the plot was magical in nature. Didn’t want him trying to track down Sophia.”

Morgana stares at him with appraising eyes. “You’ve saved him more often than he knows, haven’t you?” Merlin laughs, without a trace of humour.

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“He will.” Merlin says, with all confidence. “Arthur will be the greatest king the world has ever known.”

“You truly believe that.”

“I do.” Merlin smiles at her disbelief. “Arthur is not his father.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I already think, if Arthur became the king tomorrow, magical people would only be executed if they did something bad with it. He’d probably still banish anyone else; I’m not condoning that. But I hope he has the chance to see magic be used for good. It is difficult for him to have to relearn everything he’s been taught, especially when magic has been used against him so many times.”

“Not as difficult as it is to live in constant fear of being killed for something you can’t control.” Morgana says, hotly. Merlin inclines his head.

“No. That’s true.”

Morgana shakes her body a little, resetting herself. When she straightens, she’s back, for a moment, to the Morgana he first met, proud and strong and fierce. He can’t help but grin broadly at the sight of her. “Enough about Arthur. When do we start with my training?”

#my fic #my writing #merlin #Merlin fanfic #YWTOTTMHTUK #Arthur Pendragon #Morgana #Fix-it fic #AU

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purpleheartpoetry-blog · 7 years

Text

"Iraq War: 2003-PTSD"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’m purging everything Iraq and war related. It’s about damn time. I think 12 years has offered more than enough opportunities to absorb all that I can. I don’t think 12 decades will offer enough opportunities to absorb all that I should.

••••

It’s time to put this dark part of my life, a minuscule part, into a box, close the lid, give it to someone I trust, my sister, and have her safely put everything on a shelf. The reason being, I know I’m not losing my personal memories and history. I’m only tucking them away. Subliminally putting it all into my subconscious mind. Literally putting everything physically out of reach.

••••

I had one hell of a short, yet profound conversation with a Marine I’ve never personally served with or met in person. Our communication has never exceeded a few sentences here and there via social media. Tonight was a bit different though. Tonight was very different, in fact. As I relinquished to my sister my last photo, my only thoughts revolved around the only topic this Marine and I discussed. Somebody, somewhere, somehow, ALWAYS has it worse. These were the thoughts that filled my mind as that very last picture read “sent.” No longer my possession, never again my obsession.

••••

(To my Sister)

And without further adieu, my final pic taken by “yours truly.” Sorry for sending so many. In comparison to the total amount, this is a small portion, and with the exception to the obvious comical photos, they hold the most importance, pertinence, and historical value. These are pictures of the incidents, missions, accomplishments, triumphs, and tragedies we all endured.

••••

They have already made history, and will forever go down in history, as there’s no doubt they (we) will be discussed in regards to the Iraq War forever. I never shared these facts and stories with any of you. I don’t know why. 49 killed, so many died, hit so hard some think it’s a lie.

••••

These pieces of information, illustrating my life at war, is a glimpse into my psyche. At least hopefully. A part of my trauma, a part of my triumph. Part of an explanation as to why I’ve been impacted in such an enormous, profound manner, with such magnitude, from such a small, seemingly stereotypical, and even uneventful part of my life.

••••

This is why I tattooed myself with memorials, names, dates, and facts. I can’t forget. It would be a disgrace to stop remembering. It would be a disgrace to my Brothers who gave everything. They are why I cannot simply get over what happened, when what happened is still processing this very minute. What happened will continue to process until I die.

••••

This is why I’m not the same. This is why I have such an impulsive urge to continue fighting for these men. In my mind, I’ve been fighting next to them still, since 2005. Now, in 2017, fighting is synonymous with helping. Helping is now the sacrifice. The sacrifice is forever. The sacrifice didn’t end when the tour in Iraq ended. The sacrifice didn’t end when my contract ended.

••••

Things won’t ever be the same. They can, will, and even are good again, but the same? No. I can’t imagine you won’t be changed in someway yourself, simply looking at these pictures, and reading the documents and stories that accompany every detail, of every image. Imagine living it. I’m grateful you never will have to. It’s something you all have the choice to only imagine. Try though. Please try. Please try to understand. Please try to realize I’m not different. I’m broken, and I’m supposed to be broken. That’s OUR normal. I’m grieving. I’ll always grieve.

••••

Try to imagine coming home from one planet to another, where no one has a clue about the world where you just spent every split-second trying to stay alive, but everyone has a clue when you should be “fine” again. On this planet, only a few know exactly what one human can, will, and without hesitation can, will, and do to another human. And why? All because of where you happen to stand on the earth. All because of where you began your life on a sphere of dirt.

••••

War. Simply two groups of human beings. Each group lobbing hard objects back-and-forth at one another. The only goal to stop peoples hearts from beating. Which hearts you take aim at is literally decided by where luck happens to demographically place you on this planet. It’s THAT simple. It’s THAT stupid.

••••

My short and personal war wasn’t over with my closest near death experience. By no means my first, just my last, there, on THAT planet. A new war began when those two mortars forced me out of the sandbox and back to this land. This Planet, not brown and void of all other colors. back to this one, filled with so many colors was overwhelming. Neither were alien planets. I’d simply become an alien with no planet.

••••

Now my new war wasn’t called “war.” My new war was called funeral detail. The details required everything the human senses should not sense, and were not intended to experience. Smelling death and decomposition protruding from caskets while maintaining perfect military bearing. Inspecting the uniforms of my dead brother’s, once living beings, now returning home, being taken off planes wrapped in plastic and cardboard like furniture.

••••

My detail. Covering catastrophic wounds with folded American flags, just minutes before funerals began, and families arrived. Looking at the dead faces of friends, the last time I saw them, full of life. Alive and talking about “how good it was to take another breath,” like Joe Goodrich last said to me standing on the balcony at FOB Hit. Or the last time I talked to Bryan Richardson, and me telling him “you’re the only Marine guaranteed to live.” He was our company radio man. He should have been relatively safe being with the Company Commander at all times. He was our first killed in action less than a month into our tour. I’m not superstitious, but Jesus Christ do I wish I would’ve knocked on wood that day. Did I jinx him?

••••

The last thing I remember about Ryan Kovacicek (Kov), was him playing stairway to heaven on his guitar. Jesus it sucked. He literally played it wrong in every way. I literally don’t ever want to hear it played correctly in any way, ever again. Now I’m looking at his gray face, frozen in time. I see his Vietnam veteran dad, one of my heroes, next to the foot of the casket. I can tell he’s looking at my medals. I know he sees that one that I wish I didn't receive. The same medal Ryan and I earned for the same reasons. We were hit by the enemy. The outcomes couldn’t be more different. I’m wearing a medal that my dead friend in a coffin next to me is wearing. He'll wear it for eternity. Ill take mine off in a few hours. Kov’s dad then then asked how I got mine. How’d I get my Purple Heart. How’d I get that mass produced, left over piece of metal and fabric from WWII, that I’d be walking outside with, while Ryan would be going underground with his. “I see you have a Purple Heart son what happened?” I’m thinking but not saying “the same way your son got killed, Sir. Mortar fire. Except two mortars hit me, not one like in your sons case.”

••••

Why did I freeze? Why wouldn't I? Who wouldn't? Because any normal parent would at least for a second think, “why are you alive and my kid is torn apart with awful wounds, lifeless in a casket.” How could a completely normal human emotion, and natural question like that, not travel through someone’s mind? A grieving parents mind? How could I not have the insight to know that thought surely went through his mind? How could I not be affected? How could he not be affected? How could no-one be affected?

••••

Now Marines from my tour in 2005 are still being killed in action, today in 2017. It’s like a time machine created with 2005 as it’s only chronological destination. Marines are still dying from wounds endured 12 years ago. Just ask Shurvon’s Mom. He died of his 2005 combat injuries just two months ago. This is the never ending war, the war with only a start date, the war with only a beginning, the war that only ends with Post Traumatic Stress.

••••

I watched ISIS retake “Hit” (Iraqi City) live on TV. The city I almost died in. The city my friends DID die in. How can I consider myself human if I’m not completely affected by 49 of my Marines, and 4500 troops in total, all killed in action, all killed for nothing, all killed in vain. How could I not be affected? How can you not be affected?

••••

I grew up intrigued by the Vietnam War. I always wished I could be a Vietnam veteran. I still do. I never won’t. They are warriors through and through. The extent of their sacrifice, incomprehensible. The ingratitude for their sacrifice, inexcusable. Their treatment from this country, indescribable.

••••

Watch what you wish for because dreams do come true. Watch what is reality, it can easily deceive. Some dreams are nightmares, they also do come true. Remember though, someone’s nightmare will always be worse. Keep fighting. Continue sacrificing. Wake your brother from his dream. Wake your brother from his nightmare, keep moving. A brother somewhere is having a worse nightmare nearby.

••••

Sincerely,

°°°°A non-dysfunctional Veteran, with a normal reaction, to so many abnormal situations.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•US Marine Corps (0311)

•PurpleHeartPoetry (Iraq 2005)

•3rd Battalion 25th Marines, Kilo Company

•[email protected]

#creative writing #writers creed #my writing #writers on tumblr #iraq war #iraq veteran #war veteran #complex post traumatic stress disorder #combat veteran #military veterans

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storiesbyjes2g · 7 years

Text

“It must be nice…having your own office and all,” Aubrey taunted.

“Are you still on that? This isn’t my office!”

“What’s it like being daddy’s favorite?” she asked in faux innocent voice.

“Daddy doesn’t have favorites! Why are you being so weird?”

Jonathan poked his head in. “Can I see both of you?”

He waited for them in the living room. His tone and word choice probably alarmed them, and he didn’t mean to, but he was so nervous. He spent the last two days psyching himself up to share the Pruett Family Legacy with them at last.

The two girls emerged from the office with sad puppy faces; they thought they were in trouble.

He smiled warmly. “Do you have plans tonight?”

They shook their heads.

“Would you mind hanging out with me? I have something I need to show you.”

“Sure,” Maya said.

Aubrey simply grinned.

Earlier in the day, he told Skyla his plans for that evening. She offered to go with him for support, but he declined and said he needed to do it alone. Being the loving, supportive wife she was, she gave him the encouragement he needed to go through with it and wished him luck.

The girls were not familiar with Willow Creek and were silent on the way to their destination. He knew they were curious about where they were going but was glad they kept their questions to themselves. When they finally arrived, the girls were even more confused. Though he was still nervous, their confusion and anxiety made him laugh and eased his own anxiety just a bit.

It felt like a million years since he stepped a foot on the property. The paint had worn off leaving the dry wall exposed, but apart from that, the house didn’t look as bad as he thought it would. He half expected yellow caution tape around a seriously dilapidated building he barely recognized.

“Daddy?” Aubrey said.

The butterflies in his stomach began flitting around quite rapidly. “Yes, honey?”

“Whose house is this?”

He turned to them, bouncing his eyes between both of theirs. “This is our house…”

“…what?”

“Our house?”

“Yes…our house.” He turned toward the house and extended his hand. “This is where I grew up.” He heard two pairs of gasps behind him. “This is the Pruett Estate.”

He turned back to them and was met with befuddled looks. He smiled again and began walking the property. They followed him. So many awesome memories came to mind with every step he took. He recalled his dead grandfather joining them for breakfast from time to time. He remembered his grandma waiting for them with all kinds of baked goodies when they returned from visiting their other grandmother. He almost laughed when he remembered that drunken night out with Meatball and Wooly Mammoth. It was a school night, and he got home at some crazy hour of the morning with both parents waiting up for him; it wasn’t pretty. The first time he ever saw Skyla was right on the front porch that didn’t even exist anymore. Why was he so adamant about remodeling the place anyway?

Jonathan stopped in front of a small graveyard and looked over all the tombstones. “My parents…grandparents, aunts, uncles, past generations…they’re all here.”

The house used to have so much character, but without the landscaping and with the worn paint, it looked so plain. The Pruett Estate didn’t look nearly as grand as it used to. After having a brief moment at the cemetery, he walked over to the pool and sat at the table. The girls wanted answers, and they didn’t even need to ask for them.

He thought for sure he would lose his nerve and decided to stand before them. Perhaps the energy it took to keep him standing would absorb some of the nervous energy.

He cleared his throat. “Before I explain what all of this means, I need to apologize.”

As if he hadn’t confused them enough for one day. They were beside themselves.

“You’ve probably noticed that I don’t talk about my childhood or even life before you were born. There’s a reason for that which is why I brought you here. But, it wasn’t right for me to keep our family history from you…especially because of selfish reasons.”

He could see the wheels turning in their heads, but they remained silent.

“Can you forgive me for that?”

Their heads bobbed up and down slowly, and their eyes were so squinted. He wasn’t intentionally trying to stall, but he needed to say something fast.

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “Our family is special. We’re what’s called a legacy family. Do you know what that is?”

They shook their heads. He didn’t expect an answer. The only reason he knew another legacy family was because his Aunt Sasha just happened to marry into one.

“Legacy families begin with one person who decides how the family should continue and what gets passed from generation to generation.” He paused to make sure they were following him.

“The person who started our family was a man named Xavier Pruett. He decided the first sons should be the one to continue the family. The first sons are called heirs. Any other sons were called spares and could become the heir if something happened to the first son.”

Aubrey snorted. “Spares? That sounds so…so I don’t know…. Like, they didn’t matter or something.”

“Yeah, like they were expendable,” Maya chimed in.

“I know. I used to struggle with this stuff too. I still kinda do…which is why we’re here…. So, the first-born son is the heir, and he inherited everything and would pass it onto his son when he died. This has been done for nine generations.”

“Wooooow,” Maya said.

“What did they inherit?”

“This house and the money. There used to be a garden of lilies, but one of the heirs–my great-uncle–destroyed it. They were planted by Xavier and survived all the way until then.”

“Whoa,” Aubrey said. “They must have been pretty valuable!”

“Oh yes. The flowers afforded us a very luxurious lifestyle,” he gestured toward the estate. “Would you believe this house was once a one room shack?

“It’s evolved many times over the years. Anyway, I am the heir for the ninth generation. You are the tenth generation. If we were still living this way, Oliver would be the heir.”

“So…what would happen to us?” Maya asked. “If Oliver would get all the money, what would we get?”

Jonathan sighed. “Well…technically you wouldn’t get anything. But, I would have made sure you were taken care of before I died or when you moved out. I wouldn’t dare send you away empty-handed and force you to start from the bottom. Most heirs took care of their daughters that way.”

He took a moment to recognize how surprisingly easy it was to talk about it with them. He also loved how relatively receptive they were. At least he appreciated their listening ears.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Aubrey.”

She shifted in her seat and looked at Maya like she needed help. “Is it ok to ask…how much money we had?”

He felt like he was going to be sick. Whether or not it was appropriate for her to know, admitting a figure to her would further reinforce in his mind how much of a failure he was, and his daughters would know it too. But, he didn’t come out there to clam up. He came to purge and get everything out even if it cost him their respect.

He swallowed a golf ball sized lump in his throat. “Ummm…. With the value of this house and the money in our accounts…we…we were millionaires.”

He wanted to turn around, run away, and never return. They didn’t know the full story yet, but they grew up in a trailer and probably figured out something happened and he was the cause of it. Their eyes were as big as saucers, and their jaws dropped toward the floor.

“What happened to all that money?” Maya asked. “Why don’t we live here anymore?”

He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs. “That’s what I brought you here to say.”

If he didn’t get on with the story soon, he knew there would be a riot.

“Everybody knows us. We’re kinda on celebrity status. Well, not so much anymore, but we were. Your mother and I met in high school. It was seriously love at first sight.” He smirked. “Your mom knew who I was, and she was afraid I wouldn’t like her anymore if I found out where she lived and that she was poor.”

“Where did she live?” Aubrey asked.

He chuckled nervously. “Our old house.”

“That was mom’s house?” Maya asked.

She was trying so hard to put all the pieces together. He could see it all over her anxious face.

“Yes. Mom grew up in our old house. I didn’t care where she lived or what she didn’t have. I was so in love with her. We began officially dating, and the night of my young adult birthday, I gave her a promise ring.”

Aubrey grinned. “Did you make a big speech?”

“He always makes big speeches.”

They laughed.

He didn’t know what was so funny but appreciated the comic relief. “Well, anyway, when her birthday finally came around, I went to her house and asked her dad for her hand officially.”

“Awwww,” the girls said.

“I also asked if she could move in with me.”

Aubrey gasped. “Daddy!”

Maya simply smiled.

“What? She used to be a lot younger than me. I had to wait a long time!”

“Used to be?”

“Yeah…we took youth potion right before you were born, but I’ll get to that later. Anyway, he agreed she could move in. But then my dad died, and I was a total mess. It was so good she was already living there because my sisters had moved out, and I was gonna be all alone in this big house. Her dad was getting old by then too, so she invited him to live with us. We got married, I started my first restaurant–”

“You had another restaurant?” Aubrey asked. “Where was it?”

“Newcrest.”

Their eyes began to wander. They were probably trying to figure out if they knew where it was.

“I had my restaurant, and your mother had the renovation project. I knew she always wanted to live in a large house, but I wanted her to put her mark on the Pruett Estate so I made her renovate the house.”

“Made her?” Maya asked.

“Yeah. It seems so silly to me now, but I insisted even though she didn’t want to do it. It was important to me, but she didn’t care. She didn’t adjust well to living here, and I wanted to make sure she felt comfortable. I thought the only way she could do that was the remodel the house how she wanted so it felt like hers.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to her. We probably would have never…”

He was getting ahead of himself. “So she was remodeling the house as well as taking care of her father. He was sick all the time. It caused her a great deal of stress. Then we started trying for a baby. It stressed her out even more that we weren’t getting pregnant.”

Their faces melted upon hearing about their mother’s struggles.

“She got really depressed. Like, really depressed. I was so worried about her all the time. I had to be with her. I needed help at the restaurant because my staff was so young at the time. None of them were prepared for management, so I…so I…”

Maya and Aubrey were on the edge of their seats.

His voice got coarse, and he cleared his throat again. “So I called my best friend to help me. We agreed long before then that he would work with me, but I wanted to try it on my own first. At first, I’d only call him when I needed the help. But, your mom kept getting worse. It got to the point where I was having him open several days in a row. He was glad to do it, of course, but that just was not what I had in mind for how I wanted my restaurant to be.”

Jonathan took a few moments to gather himself before he got to the next part of the story. It was the cornerstone. The reason for everything. He couldn’t break down or get mad. He needed to hold it together.

“Your grandfather eventually died, and your mom was devastated. By then I had already asked my friend to run the restaurant full-time for a while, so I was already at home and prepared to care for her. Eventually, when the worst of her grief was over, we went to a fertility specialist to see if there was a reason she wasn’t getting pregnant.”

The girls hung onto every word that fell from his lips.

“She was perfectly healthy, thank The Watcher. The doctor said she was under too much stress. If she could relax and de-stress, she would probably get pregnant. So, we decided to spend some time traveling. I knew we would be away for a long time, so I needed someone to take care of things at home. I…”

That was the moment. All of it was building up to his next words. He was so afraid they wouldn’t react well. “I thought because Meatball was already taking care of the restaurant, he could take care of the house too. S-so I…I gave him power of attorney…”

“Why would you do that?”

“Wait,” Aubrey said, “what does that mean?”

Jonathan closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “It means…”

“It means his friend had the legal right to make decisions without his permission because the friend had the same legal privileges. Why didn’t you just have one of your sisters check in every once in a while?”

He shrugged. “I was young and stupid. He and I grew up together. We were like brothers! I trusted him completely. I had no reason to think he was going to screw me.”

Maya gasped.

Aubrey’s eyes began to water. “Daddy?”

He could tell she figured it out.

“Yes, honey.”

“Is Meatball…Mr. Corleonesi?”

The answer would break her heart, and he didn’t want to do that.

“He is, isn’t he? Julio’s dad? He took all of this from you?”

The tears were already streaming. He couldn’t do it. She already knew the truth. Why did he need to stay it?

“Aubrey…”

“Was it him?”

Previously, he was ready to bear his soul and expose every hidden, ugly thing. Standing there, looking into his daughter’s desperate eyes knowing she had her most treasured friendship hanging in the balance, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to be the one to crush her. But, just as he thought, she already knew.

She began sobbing and ran away.

3D: The Pruett Legacy - Part I - Jonathan finally gets the girls together and tells them of the Pruett Family Legacy. "It must be nice...having your own office and all," Aubrey taunted. "Are you still on that? This isn't

#Aubrey Pruett #entertainment #family #family drama #family history #family secret #family time #family traditions #father&039;s love #fiction #Jonathan Pruett #Maya Pruett #Pruett Legacy #SimLit #Sims 4 Stories #sims4 #SimsLit

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marleyjanerosearchived-blog · 7 years

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fragile || marson

TAGGING → MARLEY ROSE AND MASON MCCARTHY LOCATION → Hotel in NYC. TIME FRAME → 4/7/17, evening. NOTES → Marley nearly faints during night rehearsal and Mason’s suspicions grow. Warning: bulimia.

Marley: landed her final dance move with confidence, smiling the way she'd been practicing for when the judges would inevitably be, well, judging her. She moved back into her original standing position, suddenly feeling lighter, stumbling noticeably and nearly falling, she grabbed onto Mason for purchase and took some deep breaths. Don't let them see you sweat, Marley. Don't let them see anything. She knew, judging by the look on Mason's face, that there was no way he missed the way she'd lost control of her movement.

Mason: wiped his face with his t-shirt and took a deep breath. If you weren't swearing, you probably weren't doing it right, he always figured. They were having some pretty intense rehearsals though. And while he was pretty used to these things under his own regimen, he knew not everyone was. He felt Marley's hand on his shoulder and reached out automatically to wrap an arm around her waist. "Hey," he whispered gently. "You need a break?"

Marley: nodded, trying to shake it off, her skin feeling clammy, she managed a small smile, "Yeah, yeah I think so, I'm um. I'm just a little..." she trailed off, not realizing that she hadn't finished the sentence.

Mason: frowned deeply and turned her around. He gestured to Mr Schue for a break and ignored Rachel before guiding Marley over to one of the folding chairs in the room. He knelt down in front of her and rubbed her legs. "You're doing really good, babe. I know it's a lot."

Marley: gave him a little half smile, shaking lightly as she sat, "Thanks honey," she said, trying to will her body not to shake anymore. She saw his face and couldn't look him in the eyes, she knew he had a bad feeling, and she felt horribly that she couldn't quell his fears without lying.

Mason: chewed at his bottom lip as he watched her, still letting the last couple days run through his mind. "Hang on," he told her, getting up to retrieve his backpack. He brought back a bottle of water and a cookie he'd been hiding from Madison. He took the chair next to her and opened the bottle. "Here we go. Drink that for me, yeah? Hydration is key."

Marley: nodded, "Yeah, yeah, we've just been moving around so much that I keep forgetting to hydrate," she said, trying to use that as the cover. Anyone could get dehydrated, right? He'd get that, wouldn't he? She eyed the cookie, choosing to ignore it for a moment in favor of the water. She saw the cookie and could only think of the fat that would accumulate if she were to eat it, and it wasn't like she'd have any time to do damage control if she did eat it. "You're cute when you sweat," she told him, choosing to pull focus off of herself.

Mason: scoffed, shaking his head. "If you say so. I mean, obviously I'm cute always, but I never considered this my best look," he teased. He took the bottle from her and took his own long swig before handing it back. He broke a piece off of the cookie and put it in her other hand. "I don't want your blood sugar to get too low either," he stated simply.

Marley: bit her lip, "But I mean, I did just have a salad at dinner, I don't know if it's my blood sugar at all," she countered, feeling queasiness in her gut, her lies felt like poison leaving her lips, infecting him. "Every look is your best look. Especially the yoga pants look!"

Mason: sighed, resting one arm around the back Marley's chair. "You need some protein, but unfortunately I don't have any chicken in my bag," he chuckled. "Can you please just eat this for me? It's one fourth of a cookie, babe. If you're feeling faint, it'll help."

Marley: looked pained, like she was afraid the cookie would bite her, but she swallowed hard and took a bite, her stomach growling in response. It had been denied things that were actually good for her for too long. She tried not to cry. She wouldn't cry. She'd chew, she'd swallow, she'd find a way to purge later -- but how? She swallowed, sipping the water and taking a shaky breath, looking away from him.

Mason: didn't say anything for the moment, just watched her with concerned eyes. As oblivious as he was to everything around him, Marley wasn't just anything or anyone. He wasn't blind to the fact that something was wrong. He ran a comforting hand over her hair and leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he whispered. This wasn't exactly the place to have an in-depth conversation about this, no matter how worried he was.

Marley: could see his worry when she looked back at him, and rather than let him get anxious, she forced herself to take another bite, and then another. "Should we find somewhere quiet? My head just feels...foggy," she admitted.

Mason: looked up at their friends and gave her a nod. "Sit here, I'll let Mr Schue know you need to be done for tonight," he offered. He went to the front of the room and talked to their teacher before returning to Marley's side. "Okay, babe. I'm gonna take you up to your room, okay? Get you into some jammies. And we'll cuddle until the other girls kick me out," he chuckled.

Marley: nodded, "Okay, yeah," she said, taking his hand and kissing it gently. "You're too good to me," she said honestly, getting to her feet and grabbing her bag, squeezing his hand as they left the room, "Like, really. Just. too good."

Mason: slid his fingers between hers and smiled. "I like the sound of that a lot better than last weekend," he joked before glancing at her. "Too soon?" He hit the elevator button and let her lean against him when they were inside, rubbing her back. "Did you have lunch today?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

Marley: laughed lightly, nudging him, "No, no, I agree. I prefer snuggling up to you better than...yelling at you in a police station," she exhaled. "And being without you even just for a day...not ideal. Wouldn't reccommend it to anyone in love," she said simply, kissing his shoulder. She froze a little at his question, "I had a little something," she said, attempting to be nonchalant. In reality, she couldn't remember what she'd even eaten before they left for Phantom. Crackers? A handful of popcorn?

Mason: leaned his head against hers, a little afraid to look right at her in case she could see how hard he was thinking. And worrying. When the elevator doors opened her rested a steadying hand at the small of her back. "It's just with all the work we're putting in, I think we need more fuel than usual, you know? Coach Sue always pushes us, but you're not used to rehearsing this much in a short time frame. You're burning off a lotta calories with all this dancing and you gotta make up for it."

Marley: laughed lightly, "I mean, if I manage to lose five pounds this weekend, I'll send Mr. Shue a fruit basket," she said with a shrug, avoiding the comment about extra fuel. She wasn't going to eat more. She couldn't eat more. Should she just tell him? And then what, ruin nationals? Ruin New York? No. She couldn't.

Mason: sighed as they reached Marley's room. "Babe, I've seen every bit of you and I promise it's not something you have to worry about. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He reached out helped her with her keycard so they could get into the room. "But I'm less worried about that and more worried about you dancing yourself into the hospital. I know the trip is exciting, but you can't forget to take care of yourself."

Marley: sighed as she walked into the room, taking her hair out of her ponytail and not facing him, " 'm fine," she said stubbornly, biting her bottom lip. "And...it's sweet of you to say that, but I can't pretend that my hips being a little smaller would be a bad thing," she knew she'd said too much. She always ended up doing this with McCarthys and she hated it.

Mason: took a seat at the end of the bed and watched her. "Are you kidding? You're so gorgeous, babe. The perfect shape in all the right places," he insisted, though he knew it probably wouldn't do any good. At least she would know how he felt, even he had a feeling she wouldn't believe it herself. "But like I said, I'm just especially worried about this weekend, you know? It's a lotta extra work on your body. I just don't want you to overdo it. I know something about overdoing it."

Marley: sighed, "I'm trying," she said, swallowing hard, she wouldn't tell him tonight. She wouldn't do it to herself, and she wouldn't do it to him. "I love you, it's just...you're right, it's just a lot of extra work, and you're...so, so sweet to care enough to watch me and make sure I don't...I don't hurt myself, you know?"

Mason: nodded slowly, though he was still clearly worried. "All right. I don't mean to upset you or anything, you know that." He reached out and drew her closer, so she was standing between his knees where he sat on the bed. "I just don't like seeing you have dizzy spells like that. You wanna get your jammies on? Or take a shower? Or a bath? Whatever you want, I'm here for you, okay?"

Marley: nodded, "A bath sounds good," she decided. "I'd like it if you came and sat with me while I did, though," she said with a smile. "I mean, if you can handle my being naked without you also getting naked - we gotta behave ourselves."

Mason: sighed like it would be the toughest thing he'd ever done. "I'll do my best," he teased before standing up. "I'll run it for you." He cupped her face in his hands and laid a soft kiss to her lips before stepping away and into the bathroom. "Pick out your comfiest jammies for afterward."

Marley: nodded, "So one of your shirts?" She said with a teasing smile, shaking off her yoga pants. She marvelled at how good her boy was to her - who else would be willing to walk out of rehearsal just to make sure she was gonna be okay? She didn't know. "Hey, I love you," she said.

Mason: chuckled as he checked the temperature of the water. "We're in the wrong room for that. But I can go get you one if you like," he offered, letting the water fill the tub. He got up and stood in the doorway while he waited, smiling at her declaration. "I love you right back. Works out pretty well."

Marley: shook her head, "I stole some of your shirts, so I have some," she said, wrinkling her nose as she pulled off her t-shirt and unhooked her bra. "How about that -- we got pretty lucky," she said, almost swooning.

Mason: let his jaw drop in mock offense. "You little thief." He reached out for her and tickled her sides, letting out a sigh of contentment at the sight of her. "I know I certainly did."

Marley: giggle-snorted and wrapped her arms around his neck, her boobs pressed to his chest. "You love my thievin'," she said, punctuating it with a kiss.

Mason: raised a single eyebrow, but accepted her kiss. "That depends entirely on which shirts you took," he insisted, letting his fingers up her bare back. "And do you really need them? You look so much better without any shirt anyway, you know?" He stole another kiss before reluctantly letting go. "Can't start a flood in the bathroom."

Marley: nodded, "Don't pretend you wouldn't let me have whatever shirt I want," she giggled, kissing his cheek and walking into the bathroom, "C'mere," she giggled, getting into the water and letting herself sink down. "Fuck, that's perfect -- I mean! Heck! I meant heck!"

Mason: gasped in pretend shock once again, but then just let out a laugh. "That's the first time I've heard you curse outside of orgasms. That must be one good bath." He closed the toilet seat and sat down on it where it sat beside the tub.

Marley: laughed, "It just feels good to soak my sore muscles," she said with a little smile, reaching out for Mason's hand. "Did I mention how great you are, or?"

Mason: nodded in understanding. "Mr Schue shoulda bought us a truckload of epsom salts, to be honest." He tangled their fingers together and smiled down at her, the tip of his index finger rubbing gently at the pulse point in her wrist. "I just want you to be okay. Are you feeling any better?"

Marley: nodded, "...Why don't you think I'm okay?" She asked, swallowing hard and playing with his fingers, the tiniest bit frustrated that he was still thinking about what happened when she'd been trying so hard to get his mind off of it.

Mason: had about a million reasons on his list, but for now he'd stick to the present. "Because you almost fainted down there in rehearsal?" he reminded her. "You lost your balance anyway and you looked exhausted. I wish we could actually stay together so I could make sure you slept. And, you know... could also sleep," he laughed softly.

Marley: bit her bottom lip stubbornly, "It's nothing," she said, dismissing it, crossing her arms over her chest. "Although, I do wish we could sleep together...'cause I really miss you," she admitted.

Mason: didn't miss the fact that she'd tensed up on him. He slid down to the floor and knelt beside the tub, sliding a hand to the back of her neck and rubbing the tight muscles there. "I miss you too. How did you ever date Ryder anyway? He snores so loud."

Marley: laughed, then shrugged. She figured she was better off not actually answering that question. "We've all got our weird sleep stuff, for instance, my weird sleep thing is that I barely do it," she shrugged. "You don't really have any except for the fact that you hold onto me so tightly that it's hard to get up and pee in the night," she giggled. "I don't mind that, though. I really don't."

Mason: shrugged innocently as he sat back on his heels. "That's my classic abandonment issues," he explained matter-of-factly, though his smile remained. "You ca always give me a shove though. Peeing is very important." Laughing, he dipped his hand down to scoop up some hot water and let it fall over her shoulders. "No more worrying for tonight though. Just relaxing."

Marley: nodded, "Absolutely," she said, exhaling comfortably. "I don't wanna give you a shove. I wanna give you a kiss and lovingly whisper, 'gotta pee,' then come back to your warmth," she said simply. "Because that's where I belong."

Mason: hummed and leaned against the side of the tub. "I do like the sound of that better." He leaned in and stole a lingering kiss, peppering a few more along her jaw just for the hell of it. "If I look at you naked much longer, we could get in a lot of trouble, babe."

Marley: snickered, "Ugh, I wanna be bad, but I know we shouldn't," she giggled. "Should I put clothes on?"

Mason: nodded quickly. "As much I really want to, the thought of your sister accidentally walking in us really kills it for me," he decided as he got to his feet. He grabbed a towel of the rack and held it out for her to step into, sneaking in one last obvious peek.

Marley: smirked, "When we get home, we can just go crazy, okay? My place," she said, licking her lips as she got out and wrapped herself in the towel. "You gonna stay a little longer?" She asked, "It's okay if you need to go, don't worry about me."

Mason: let out a sound that was practically a growl. "Don't get me thinking about it," he laughed. "No, no. I want to stay. Being with everybody is... kind of exhausting. I told Mr. Schue I was gonna stay with you."

Marley: blushed, "I love you so much," she said, kissing his cheek and moving to her suitcase to grab a pair of underwear and a t-shirt of Mason's she'd pilfered awhile back, slipping both on. "Better?" she asked. "Savannah's out with TJ, so we've got some snuggle time."

Mason: leaned back against the headboard and tilted his head. "I don't know. You still look pretty damn sexy," he laughed, but opened his arms to invite her into them. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in the scent of her once she was snuggled up beside him. "Mmm, love you. And I'm so proud of you."

Marley: tilted her head, "Love you back," she said, wrapping her legs around him and tracing hearts over his skin. "Why though?"

Mason: raised his eyebrows as he looked down at her. "Why do I love you or why am I proud of you?" he asked but kept on answering anyway. "I'm proud of you because I see how hard you're working to make this performance amazing. And I know it's a lot, but I'm proud of you. If I listed all the reasons I love you, we'd be here for... ever."

Marley: swallowed hard, her eyes tearing up slightly, "I hope you always will be," she said quietly, burying her face against his chest to hide her face. "I love you," she mumbled.

#para #para: mason #ch: mason #eating disorder tw

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

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Friends in Dark Places [ch 10

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: food mentions, eating, sex mentions, affair mentions, crude language, swearing, panic attacks, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SELF HARM, suicidal ideation, abusive family members, yelling, fighting, blood, self hatred, self disgust, hurtful conversations, fear, anxiety, anger, homophobia, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

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